#they all play a factor in deciding someone's worth together with their strength | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tundrainafrica · 3 years ago

Note

Hey so how does it feel to carry the entire Levihan fandom on your back? I absolutely love all your stories! I always look forward to when you update! I had an idea for a fic but I haven't seen anyone do it. Where past levi wakes ups ( when he only sees hange as a friend) in the future to find that he's happily married to hange or living domestically with her and just contemplates his feelings for her

Title: Unwritten

Summary:

“Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she creates really quality works is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the direction, to the design and just the overall production… And she knows how to do it. When I watch her movies, it feels like they're peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“What makes Hange Zoe's writing special are those in betweens. The unwritten parts... if you know what I mean?"

Levi is assigned to work with screenwriter Hange Zoe and he is left constantly wondering why the hell she's taking her work so seriously.

Link: AO3

Note: I conceptualized this long fic after looking through a some of the prompts in my inbox and playing with them.. TYSM to everyone who sent those. I won't be dropping all the prompts I used when making this now because it might end up spoiling the fic as a whole but I will be dropping the prompts with every chapter I updated.

This fic doesn't actually follow any prompt strictly, I twisted the prompts around them, tore them apart, put them together so they might seem unrecognizable for some.

Either way, I'm very grateful to readers who are sending me prompts. It keeps me writing and brainstorming even when life gets terribly busy.

So thank you for them :D. I'm trying to get back to posting my writing more regularly again and this fic has been sitting in my folder for a while, I was just a little nervous to post it. Thanks to itShailaAM for looking through it!

If neither of us remember anything… Then it’s like it never happened right?

The voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic. It had a unique way of twisting at his gut, spidering up his spine then leaving an almost painful pang in his chest.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, Levi found himself still able to take control.

So he reached out.

Then he was chasing after her again.

Chasing… He then wondered. How long had he been chasing? How long had he been awake?

With the first light of morning, whatever message, whatever meaning he could have made up for himself dissipated.

Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

For the first time in years or even decades, Levi was wasting his early morning window before work. He wasn’t doing much of anything but staring up at the white ceiling in some feeble attempt to make sense of it again. He came up empty save for two things: a faint throbbing in his head and a half hearted conclusion that maybe it really was just some fevered dream.

“Good morning!" Someone was right next to him. Her voice was higher, more mellow. A hairs breadth away from his ear though, it grated.

Levi narrowed his eyes and the blur cleared somewhat. “Petra?” He heard himself speak. He was in an unfamiliar in-between, completely in control of himself, yet strangely disconnected. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Petra put one hand on the back of her head and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about barging in like this…” She didn’t have to apologize. They were childhood friends and with all the family gatherings they had spent together growing up, they were more than comfortable just flitting in and out of each other’s apartments.

Levi didn’t respond. There were more important things to think about like the slow and almost painful process of sitting up. That morning, he was a little more careful than usual.

“Your mom told me to check on you.” Petra continued.

“Typical,” he muttered coldly. He turned towards the window, and took in the view of the blue sky, a few stories above ground. It should calm him if he stared at it long enough. “She always overreacts,” he added. At that point, the crankiness had started to subside and Levi realized he didn’t mind the doting too much. His mother had always been like that anyway. Growing up, a sprained ankle or an animal bite from a family pet had always been enough for Kuchel to insist on a visit to the doctor.

Petra let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t blame her though. Since the accident, she’s been asking about you every...”

Everyday. Levi completed it for her. He wouldn’t be surprised if his mother had asked about him every hour. “She can always ask me directly,” he said out loud before Petra could finish. He didn’t feel too bad about interrupting. Petra had been speaking particularly slowly since a while ago and if he let her speak like that for any longer, they might not get anything done.

As if she had read his mind or at least noticed the impatience, she immediately gathered herself. “You always downplay it,” she said, more clearly this time.

“She always exaggerates it.”

“That accident was pretty bad though.” Petra cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure you understand that, right?”

Levi averted his gaze for a brief second. He couldn’t deny that part. That accident had apparently been bad enough to merit a month long hospital stay, bad enough for Levi to not remember much of it aside from the phantom pains in his chest, And bad enough to take the brunt of the pain and the inconvenience of dealing with the symptomatic disorientation, the fatigue and the begrudging need for some support.

A few seconds of reflection later, Levi concluded maybe there was good reason for that overreaction. “But I can take care of myself.”

Ironically, his body chose that moment to teeter.

“Hey, you okay?” Petra put one warm hand on his shoulder. “You think you can make it to work today?”

The throbbing at the back of his head had dulled to a bearable ache but he could have sworn it had been worse in the hospital. “I don’t have enough leaves,” he said. He focused for a while longer on Petra’s eyes and saw reason.

Maybe I can take a longer break?

His body was probably silently begging for more leaves. On the contrary, another part of him had been yearning for normalcy for a while. Practicality had been the deciding factor. Although Levi had more than enough leaves, did he have more than he would have been comfortable giving up? Maybe not. He wouldn’t take it anyway. He had more than enough strength to push himself out of bed and pad lightly to the bathroom.

Unwillingly or willingly? He was too tired to tell.

“You were in the hospital just a week ago.” Petra was a voice of reason or a voice of temptation.

“I can’t take any more leaves,” Levi repeated again, as if saying it louder somehow made it more convincing. He made his way to his closet, keeping his strides purposeful, partially for himself, partially for her.

Even for a long time friend, Petra had always been shy and conservative. As soon as Levi motioned to pull his shirt up, she rushed out of the room in some characteristic gesture of modesty.

His bedroom door closed with a click and Levi started to slip his clothes off much faster. His head continued to throb. There was a strange ringing in his ears and the room was a little drafty, typical for early spring.

Levi didn’t have the mind space to prepare for that brush with icy wind. Fucking hell. Discomfort then the desperation that followed had him considering calling in sick again.

After using up three week’s worth though, vacation leaves were starting to feel more like a scam than an actual benefit of the job. He ran through the motions of his typical morning routine. Or at least, what had been typical a month ago. Since the accident, he hadn’t worn anything but loose shirts, pajamas and hospital gowns. Back in the hospital, he had been asleep a lot of that time.

He pulled his pants on, then sluggishly pulled his sweater over him, dolefully noting how snug fitting clothing seemed like strangers to his skin.

He didn’t feel like the same person anymore.

It looked like Petra did notice something was different. Over breakfast, she had pushed the plates closer to him. She did the honors of pouring the scrambled eggs onto his plate, then placing a loaf of bread right next to him. “Eat, we have a long day ahead.”

Levi mumbled something that could have been a ‘thanks’ or a ‘yes.’ He didn’t think too far about it either. There were more pressing things to deal with, like internally psyching himself up for his first day back at work and finding routine once again in the recovery process.

For a few minutes after, the two were silent in the small kitchen save for the sound of chewing and the sound of cutlery clacking on the plate.

“Hey Levi,” Petra hesitantly broke the silence. “You really don't remember what happened?” She had asked that question countless times before, back at the hospital, on his first day back at home and every single time she paid a visit.

He chalked it up to worry. In some semblance of a response, Levi downed the bread in his mouth in one painful gulp, then took a sip of tea. “I remember waking up in the hospital.”

“Before that.”

Levi dropped the half eaten bread on the plate and stared straight up at the ceiling for a second. “Leaving work,” he answered. It was too vague of an answer and Petra didn't seem satisfied.

Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied. He always walked the same route home and routine wouldn’t give too much of an answer to the question of how the hell more than a month ago, he had ended up with a severe concussion and a few contusions in the hospital emergency room, a few towns away from his own.

Past was past though. There was no use digging into it. At present, he had medical bills to pay and a career to salvage. No time for a personal investigation. He attempted to digress. “What did I miss?” Levi asked. “At work?” He noted Petra’s very disconcerting expression, a combination of pity and uncertainty. It was starting to get annoying.

Petra furrowed her brows, a little more hesitant to speak that time. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about...”

In protest, Levi put the bread down and stared at Petra, his stone cold expression unwavering. He wouldn’t be eating unless Petra continued. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

A few minutes of silence later and it seemed to work. Petra looked down at the bread then up at him. Whatever was plaguing her mind then had taken some control over her. “A lot has changed since the accident,” she started.

“With work?” Levi asked again. He dropped the bread on the plate, deliberately allowing the clatter, as if the loud jarring sound would be enough to drive away the disbelief. Three weeks or fifteen business days wasn’t supposed to be a long time taking into account the speed of office bureaucracy.

Petra nodded, a wry smile on her face. Her expression, her demeanor gave the uncertainty away before she spoke of it. “You’re probably going to have to talk to Mr. Zackley about it…”

Levi’s mind was racing. Despite the throbbing, Levi had managed to fill in the blanks for himself. Even before Petra expounded on it, Levi had started to accept already, going back to work was probably not going to be such an easy ride.

Being gone for weeks had done a number to his job.

Three weeks to be exact. It was just three weeks, fifteen business days. Despite Petra’s apparent discomfort, her incessant warnings not to ‘expect,’ Levi had expected some semblance of normalcy. When his hopes were dashed, Levi felt like he had been body slammed out of nowhere by an oncoming train.

“I’ve been working on their set for years…Since the pilot episode, ” Levi said slowly. Hell, since even before the pilot episode if you consider the preproduction stage. He didn’t want it to seem at all like it was an argument and he subdued his tone to something lighter, with the intention of reminding himself not to talk back at authority.

“And we’ve transferred you,” General Manager Darius Zackley said matter-of-factly. “Underground City has been garnering a lot of attention lately and we couldn’t afford to be undermanned at such a crucial point of production.”

“But was it necessary to transfer me?”

Mr. Zackley’s expression softened. He didn't have a natural expression that demanded authority but he made up for it with reason. “It’s a primetime show,” he explained. “One of our best, and given the uncertainty regarding your accident…” For some reason, he had hesitated at that word. “We couldn’t take a gamble. We had you immediately replaced after the first week.”

“And?” At face value, the new developments were starting to seem terribly, terribly disappointing. “I can still work there.” Levi was perfectly aware of where the conversation was going. Still, it didn’t hurt to try.

Mr. Zackley was surprisingly patient. “It’s not an issue of you not fitting in. But we want to properly and more efficiently distribute our labor. The production of Underground City is currently…” He cleared his throat. “Oversaturated.”

Oversaturated with budget, resources. Underground City was a crime and mystery drama, one of their more high budget productions. Levi wasn’t too surprised at that piece of information, having worked closely with the producers and the writers since the pilot.

With a boss a few reporting levels above his own though, Levi couldn’t do much but listen quietly. Disappointment and uncertainty loomed over him and he was tiring more quickly.

“We’ve made some arrangements, set you up with a new role.” Mr. Zackley was taking his sweet time, his painfully sweet time.

At the butt end of Mr. Zackley’s whims, Levi was a mess. He racked his brain for all possible outcomes of the ‘arrangements’, a painful process, hampered by the weight of too many possibilities. They were a medium sized network that produced most of their own TV shows on top of news coverage and documentaries, still too many for Levi to have cared enough about to count.

At that moment, he was determined to make up for lost time. Naturally, his mind first flew to the more well known productions, those that had been receiving the best ratings in prime time TV since he had started working there.

Underground City. Military Police.

Working at the set of the crime drama ‘Underground City’ had been a good run for Levi, one he would have liked to continue but Mr. Zackley said so himself, they replaced him. ‘Military Police,’ one of their more popular historical war dramas, also received one of the bigger chunks of their budget. With Zackley’s very sullen expression, it looked like he wasn’t at all there to give Levi a promotion.

He didn’t really mind not working on the ‘Military Police’ set anyway. Everyone there seemed like a lazy prick and that long running drama had always seemed overrated to him. What else would be waiting for him though? “To where?” Levi pressed.

The old man hummed for a second, leaned forward on his seat. “I talked to Erwin about this and we have an opening in one of our daytime shows.”

“Erwin?” Levi repeated. The name was more than just familiar and he allowed himself a brief moment to recall. Erwin Smith. One of the more prominent in-house directors. Just digging deep into his mind, riling up whatever was causing the headache in the first place. He sat still and waited for it to subside again.

Then he wondered if it had been physical or just an emotional reaction to the mess he found himself in. He was barely recovering, he was plunged into a new position and he was confused, utterly confused.

“Consider it a temporary position until something else opens up,” Mr. Zackley added. “Given that you just got back from the hospital, it would be better if you started small.” He shot Levi a placating look. “Either way, this is a good opportunity for you, Ackerman…” It didn’t seem so genuine. “To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.”

Zackley spoke for an eternity longer after that but it had done nothing to make the transfer any better.

Levi had been working with that same hustle and bustle for years and he was confident, a three week break at the height of production wouldn’t have been enough to throw him--- hell, most people off completely.

But he was being treated like some invalid. Zackley’s warm words yet his uninviting demeanor sent some alarm bells ringing inside Levi.Mr. Zackley was overly consoling, overly placating and Levi’s mind was racing.

Levi took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, willing himself to relax and focus on the present. Whatever the catch was, he’d find out soon anyway.

To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.

What a magnificent fucking lie.

“Start small my ass.” With the stress just piling up and his body barely catching up, Levi was tempted to let it out as anything louder, accompanying it with the very dramatic motion of dropping the paper work on the floor and relishing the loud thud. He imagined scattering the pages on the table, spilling them onto the floor and maybe kicking them out onto some curb.

Then he brushed off that mental image completely.

That would only create an unnecessary mess, maybe even cause a scene in that small cafe. Although his life seemed like it was complete chaos, his fastidious side wouldn’t have allowed him to make it any more worse. Then and there, he deemed it the best option to just take a sip of his tea, allow it to warm him up slowly and create a comfortable distraction, somewhere convenient.

A minute or so later, Levi accepted, tea didn’t do too good of a job. After all, what could tea do, aside from supporting him through the long and painful two days of ‘adjustment’ and the journey to the very frustrating conclusion that the general manager of the studio, Mr. Zackley was too out of touch with the struggles of the average worker.

“Just for long enough to get back to the hustle and bustle of TV production? What a fucking liar,” Levi muttered again. He dropped the tea cup on the saucer with a clank.

“Well, technically you are starting small,” Petra said. “They don’t expect too much quality wise from a soap opera on a day time slot.” She flipped through the pages of scripts and the storyboards that formed an overwhelmingly thick pile of papers on the coffee table.

It wasn’t too thick. Levi stared for a while longer and he decided it was a manageable pile of documents. The soft copies on his laptop were also of a countable number.

The deadline to be completely functional in two days though wasn’t as reasonable.

In search of some semblance of a break, Levi shifted his gaze towards Petra.

Her familiar presence had made the job change bearable. A half hearted response with her attention mostly channelled towards the piles of scripts had still been enough to have Levi more at home in the middle of the coffee shop in the late afternoon. “You didn’t even need to transfer,” Levi said. The indignance and the bitterness of a while ago seemed to be mellowing into something almost sweet.

Petra turned a beet red and she put her hands up in defense. “No no… I wanted to. Besides, this type of set is always in need of more people.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in response. Soap opera sets? Or maybe just daytime soap operas in general. Or maybe just that particular soap opera set. He turned back to the pile of papers on the table then back to his laptop.

The pile of papers on the table was the script for that month alone. The folders in the USB were eight seasons worth of soap opera scripts and episodes. Levi was once again reminded why such a project could have been so undersaturated.

Scratch that, he had never forgotten and he didn’t think he would ever forget anyway.

The script for just that month was much larger than the piles Levi worked with at his previous production. By the second day, he was starting to conclude, working with daytime soap operas was turning out to be a grind, a seemingly thankless grind.

Soap operas ran with the expectation of producing five episodes a week with a shoestring budget. The pressing deadlines and just the amount of content that had to be produced meant vacations and holidays were few and far in between for the average employee. And the unreasonable demands usually meant that quality would naturally suffer.

Since he started assimilating into his job, he also started to wonder. What audience were they even producing soaps for in that day and age?

“Do you think you’ll even enjoy this?” Levi challenged.

“It’s too early to tell,” Petra said.

Levi didn’t want to admit it then, but he was convinced that she would even find a way to enjoy it. The question should have been for him. He was the one who could barely even get past the first page of the script.

Petra flashed him a knowing smile, flipping the pages a little faster. She wasn’t reading them and all attention was on Levi.

Her face could have been asking questions. Or Levi could have been projecting. He repeated the question to himself. What now? More specifically, what was he supposed to do?

Then he answered it. Get used to it? Or maybe just accept it as a job. The grind would eventually get less painful he was sure. But would he ever see the beauty in it?

Levi had never taken the time to watch that particular soap opera but he had seen too many in passing to know what he would be working with.

The stories didn’t make fucking sense. The sets were cheaply made. The lights, the cameras and the resources for special effects were far from what he was given when he was still working with the twenty-one-episodes-a-season, one-season-a-year ‘Underground City.”

According to Erwin, they just didn’t have the budget. Besides, the average viewer didn’t expect much else anyway from a soap opera.

Either way, he was still hired as the cinematographer. This is still your job. Levi took a deep breath then exhaled with a soft huff. First things first, he had to familiarize himself with ten to fifty episodes worth of scripts. That night, he would be watching the blocking, the lighting, the editing, the overall production.

That was the job of the fucking cinematographer anyway. Erwin had warned him though, they were severely undermanned in all facets of production, pre production, production proper and post production. And for shows that aired multiple times a week, that meant, the grind wouldn't end.

So he wouldn’t just be the cinematographer.

At the impending workload that followed his orientation phase, Levi closed his eyes tight. For a second there, his mind flew to other opportunities and just the process of editing his CV and applying elsewhere.

Maybe in a year he would reapply, or maybe even in months.

He wondered if Petra was thinking the same thing. If she were, she didn’t make it obvious. Petra enjoyed the production process just as much as he did and she had been the reason he had found a job there in the first place.

“Welcome back to the working world.” Petra chuckled.

Levi blinked back the surprise in his eyes as he was once again pulled back to reality. Admittedly, he was overwhelmed. The weak throbbing returned and after spending too many hours insisting to Petra that he was ready to go back to work, he didn’t think it right to take a break.

He sipped his tea and deemed that a quick break.

“God I miss our tea times,” Petra said, looking pointedly at Levi's tea caup. She flipped the script over and pulled her teacup towards her.

Levi noted the wistful expression on Petra’s face. “I was only out for a month,”

Petra shook her head. “But for a week or so, we thought you wouldn’t make it.” There was a subtle crack, not too noticeable if Levi hadn’t tensed up and watched her closely.

It was bringing up too many unwelcome emotions at once, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a haze of memories aggravated the throbbing in his head.

Levi turned back to the pile of papers. With the amount of work to do, he would never have the time to ponder what happened anyway. In an attempt at digression, he pulled the script towards him, and started to flip the pages, poring over words yet only taking in half of it.

A very boring half.

Eventually, he gave up. “Let’s go back home. We’re not getting anything done here.” He gathered the pages, and meticulously returned them to each envelope.

He was supposed to be reviewing the scripts to get some idea on how the TV show worked. They had chosen to work in the cafe to escape from the bustle of the sets and attempt some productivity. Yet, they had been in the cafe for a few hours already and he still didn’t remember what the story had been about in the first place.

Soap operas didn’t have logical plots anyway. Levi thought to himself. Maybe just accepting could make his work feel more unbearable. He watched as Petra gathered the pages on her end, stuffed them into her bag.

“Sorry, I thought you would have wanted tea. You always liked this place…” Petra was explaining herself. The not-so-eloquent way at which she did it was a distraction. In fact, everything at that point was either a distraction or even irritating. Levi took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let the throbbing take control for a second.

One step at a time. Levi slung his bag over his shoulder. “The tea was good,” he said, more for her than himself. That was a lie. In fact, the tea tasted underwhelming. Tea usually didn’t disappoint though and Levi was starting to suspect the fault was in him. “Just give me some time to get used to life again,” he added, his tone more apologetic that time.

A few seconds or even minutes of reflection later and Levi had to admit, he felt like he really had changed during that break.

Cinematography is visual storytelling. Or so, that was what he had been taught when he started working with TV shows years ago.

When there was no story he could follow, there was no essence or heart to portray. So, Levi naturally approached it like a cold hard science. The hard copies on folders lay abandoned on the coffee table. His laptop remained unopened.

Levi's attention was trained on the big screen. He had silently been sprawled on the sofa since they arrived back to his apartment hours ago. Bundled up in a sweatshirt, legs propped up on the coffee table, Levi was in that convenient trance between relaxing and analyzing.

He had no idea what the couple on the TV had been arguing about. He had no idea who had fathered the large overly tacky baby bump sticking out of the woman.

The latest episode was playing on repeat and Levi remembered two things happening in the past ten minutes. A pregnant woman entering the crappy set of their mansion, hand on her oversized belly and man looked back at her then approached her, a look of abject horror on his face. He was shouting something, obscenities maybe?

By that point, Levi’s mind started to wander with too many other passing thoughts.

The horror at finding out the protagonist was pregnant was overly exaggerated. Were baby bumps really supposed to be that big? And why did it take them that many months to figure it out? How many pregnancies did the protagonist go through? How many love interests did she have?

Then the cinematographer and the photographer in him took over.

There were more important things to look into. The camera never moved. Levi was familiar with multi camera setups and he didn’t need to think too hard about it. Most of the scenes were filmed in the house, in the office, all conveniently made sets, the conveniently written scripts were written around the shitty budget.

And the high frame rate, in tandem with the inorganic lighting, the lack of special effects and just the lack of some careful camera movement, made the overall story and the overall view, underwhelming, not at all cinematic.

The soap opera effect.

Some wouldn’t see it. Others would probably notice it but not glaringly enough to complain. Levi had worked in film for years and when he would search for the characteristic motion blur, he would immediately find it. The culmination of a simple camera set up, a few sets, a cheap camera, and with a studio and network always in some hurry to cut the budget, the soap opera effect was very apparent.

And they would be expecting the same cooperation from him in putting together a cheaply made production. On the bright side, that meant that despite having to deal with some shitty soap opera plot that didn’t make any sense, he wouldn’t have to do too much thinking with lighting, blocking and editing. Planning sets and scenes would be a light stroll in the park at best, soul suckingly monotonous at worst.

Levi reached for the remote and started to rewind, his interest suddenly piqued.

“So what do you think happened to the baby?” Petra asked. She dropped a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

Levi wasn’t in any mood to eat. More importantly, he in the mood to speculate the cheap excuse for a plot. “Am I supposed to care?” He pulled his legs close to him and leaned further on the armrest of the sofa, giving Petra more than enough space to get herself comfortable.

“Well, you’re working on the set right? Better to at least know the major plot points of what you’re working with.”

“Spoil me,” Levi said.

Petra reached for the popcorn and grabbed a handful. She turned to him, a wry smile on her face. “You really don’t even wanna try to enjoy it?”

“This is a job. ”

Petra dropped her shoulders in defeat. “Well… Hanako gets kidnapped…”

“Hanako?”

“The baby…” Petra answered, looking pointedly at him. “They literally spent an episode discussing the baby’s name.” A laugh was very much evident in her voice.

And there are a hundred episodes to sift through. “I don’t have to know the baby’s name to do my job.”

“The baby will be the main character in the next season. If you have been reading the script--- Or even just following the story...” Petra put her hands out and pointed at the TV, starting to look more exasperated by the minute.

“Okay,” Levi responded firmly, not in any mood to stomach accusations. “Then I’ll learn her name when I start working. Just tell me what I need to know to do my job. ”

Petra sighed. “When we get back on air, there will be a time skip. Then the season post time skip picks up after Hanako’s first day of college. So before that she grew up with her adopted parents who found her abandoned in a box. They went through some tough times financially and in the latest pages of the script she gets a job in a coffee shop.” She turned towards the thick envelope on the table then glanced accusingly at him. “I could have sworn you were reading through that back in the cafe.”

Levi didn’t notice it. He had only half heartedly read the script. Still, he feigned a look of interest.

“Then a lot of the writers quit,” Petra continued. “So a lot of what happened hasn't been written yet.”

Levi flashed Petra a knowing look.

Petra sighed. "Apparently, people were overworked, the job didn't pay much so a lot of the crew, cinematographer, production designers, they all left which was most likely why they put you there.”

Levi only had to look back at his first day and his second day to understand the turnover rate. He had spent a little less than an hour familiarizing himself with systems that seemed to be put into place for show. Soon after that, he was bombarded with unreasonable deadlines, timelines, responsibilities outside his actual job title and a little less than two days to sift through eight seasons worth of scripts.

“And why they easily transferred me. We're really behind now. Post production for the last few episodes should be completed this week, aired by next week.

"Then we have a hiatus at least," Levi said, repeating it with that same cold professional tone Erwin had used with him on their first day. Except he knew that was a scam too. They would be using that two week hiatus to start filing.

That reminder at least pulled Levi back into reality. He couldn’t flit mindlessly from side to side and clock it up as ‘learning the ropes’ forever. Eventually, they were going to ask him to actually know the ropes. “Erwin said something about me working with production proper and post production,” Levi mindlessly rewinded some of the scenes again. “But they can’t expect me to write the script right?”

Petra shook her head. “No, I don’t think you will,” she said. “I talked to a few of the crew. They said they were hiring a writer. A whole writing crew actually--- And you know, among them, there are rumors about a big name screenwriter.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Joining the set of a daytime soap opera.”

She put her hands up in defense. “It’s just a rumor.”

“A stupid rumor. What kind of screenwriter in their right mind would want to work here?”

Petra paused for a second, deep in thought. “Fine, it might just be a rumor. Still, ask yourself, why would there be rumors circulating in the first place?"

Levi sighed. “Which screenwriter then?” he asked, mostly in an attempt to humor her. And himself. The fact that a big name screenwriter would work in soap operas, might actually make ‘soap operas’ work.

“Hange Zoe,” Petra said, a wry knowing look on her face. As if it was a name Levi was supposed to know.

“Hange Zoe?” And if he followed the same ups and downs of Petra’s tone, he could pretend it was familiar to his lips. “Hange Zoe,” he said again.

Petra nodded. “The writer of the Titan series? The final movie of `Advancing Titans’ is coming out in the fall.”

Advancing Titans. The name had seemingly come out of nowhere, especially when Levi had already run through a few possible names in his head. Hange Zoe hadn’t been one of them. Although she was a big name in the screenwriting industry for sure, the idea of Hange Zoe working with soap operas seemed almost preposterous.

“Hange Zoe…” Levi said it one more time, in surprise or in some attempt to practice saying it. “You’re seriously talking about that writer?” Levi looked to Petra for confirmation. Hange had only ever written one movie series from a completely different genre, which begged a question.“She has some experience in soap operas?”

Petra unlocked her phone, opened the browser and started typing and scrolling. “No… Just the movies…” she muttered a second later.

“Then why do you think she would suddenly want to work in a cheap ass day time soap opera?”

Petra looked back at him, a dumbfounded look in her face. “But the timing just fits too well. The final movie is about to be released. Apparently, she didn’t renew her contract with her studio. There are even rumors of her leaving the movie industry… And there were speculations and everything.”

“Retirement?” Levi suggested.

“Why retire in your thirties?” Petra said.

“Well, when you’re earning millions per script…” Levi trailed off. Thinking up an argument was too much of a tall order. He continued flipped through channels in silence and he had managed to pick out the movie ‘Advancing Titans’ by just a few seconds worth of a scene.

Speak of the devil.

But it wasn’t strange at all to come across the movies while flipping through channels. After all, Advancing Titans had become a household name over the past few years.

A person in a green cloak was flying, killing some man eating a zombie. It was a familiar scene, Even Levi, who almost prided himself in never having watched the movies, was familiar enough with the iconic movements, the colors and the insignia on the back.

The wings of freedom. How the hell that was connected to the story, Levi never watched enough to find out. Nor was he interested. Science fiction and fantasy were just never his cup of tea.

If Levi had to guess, soap operas and crime dramas shouldn’t have been big wig screenwriter Hange Zoe’s cup of tea either, especially after dedicating years of her life into a production as complex as a science fiction, dark fantasy cinematic universe..

“Do you really think Hange Zoe can actually work with low budget soap operas?” Levi asked.

Petra shrugged and Levi wondered why he had even asked her in the first place. Of course, she wouldn’t know. Still, she spoke up. “Even if the rumors were wrong and it wasn’t Hange Zoe. The important thing is they get someone to pump out scripts right? And your job anyway is to make sure everything gets filmed.”

“I guess.” Levi kept his eyes trained on the screen. The scene shifted from a forest, to the cobblestoned streets in town. A parade of miserable soldiers entered the town within the walls. The camera focused on a father, who navigated through crowds of people, zooming in one of the shorter soldiers.

Captain, I wanted to talk to you about my daughter… She wrote me a letter… She’s too young to get married.

Something about the expression of the soldier pulled Levi in. For a moment, he was frozen on his seat, completely hypnotized.

Petra’s voice tore into his trance. “That’s one of the scenes I can never forget.”

In some desperate bout of retaliation, Levi switched the channel of the TV. “Let’s watch something else.”

“Why? You okay?” Petra asked.

“I’m fine. I’d rather watch something more productive.” Levi flipped more rapidly through channels. He was tempted to just turn off the TV and call it a night.

“There’s a lot to learn from watching that,” Petra started.

"Like what?" Levi asked, his grip on the remote was still firm.

Petra opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “It's hard to explain... but remember that scene just a while ago. The father approached the captain about his daughter… She died while fighting the titans and they had to empty the cart so they lost all the bodies..."

Levi kept his eyes glued to the screen, suddenly hyper aware that there might have been a judgemental or impatient look on his face. “Go on,” Levi said, as if that could do anything to placate the discomfort already apparent in her voice.

“I guess the point I wanted to make is…” Petra still seemed far from calm. “Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she writes really quality works apparently is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the blocking, to the screenwriting and just the overall production… Which makes the storyline and the movie so gripping. When I watch it, it feels like the movie is peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“A lot of the novelty of Hange Zoe’s writing… The parts that make it special are those in betweens. The parts she left unwritten... if you know what I mean?"

“That’s cool,” Levi responded, only barely. He switched to their local channel, to the late night reruns of the soap opera. .

“They’re good movies. I don’t think they were overrated," Petra said, a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

"I never said they weren’t good movies."

"You don't seem to want to hear about it at all."

"I'm just not interested. Besides, I'm too busy with work." That was the right moment to feign business. Levi held his phone in front of him, opened up the browser and wrote out a few familiar keywords. The movies of the titan series were all ranging from four to five star ratings. Whether it had been commended for cinematography or writing, he had been too lazy to check the more detailed reviews.

The reviews were most likely raving, sloppily made and potentially biased and Levi didn’t want to hear another synonym for ‘peers into your soul.’

His eyes were drooping, he was exhausted. Petra seemed to be ready to leave as well. But he had some space, he needed some break. And what better way to spend it than to do a little stalking? "Petra, could you send a file of the first movie? I think I might wanna watch it."

"You can stream the older ones on demand," Petra said.

Levi only had to open the menu on his TV to see the option for streaming. Right. Watching movies was starting to feel like a chore though and he was in no mood watching that night.

He didn’t say much else after that and the night ended with greetings exchanged. Petra only lived a few floors below him and it didn’t feel any different from being alone.

Before he knew it, he was half asleep already. He gave up, turned off the TV and allowed himself to doze off. When he came to his senses again, the sun was streaming through the window, and with work starting in an hour or so, he had little to no time to even start the movie.

The set was small. The budget was miniscule. The turnover rate was high.

And for projects that wanted to disguise themselves as official and corporate, it was utter chaos. One week into his job, Levi had to admit, he was reaching too widely, and he was spread out too thin.

There was a semblance of structure within his team. Petra and Eld worked with cinematography, filming and camera management and all he had to do was make sure the blocking looked good, limit the amount of retakes needed. Gunther and Oluo worked in post production and video editing.

But structure was an illusion.

The actors hadn’t arrived yet. Other new roles hadn't been finalized. The script was still unfinished. Yet, they were under the mercy of the vision of higher ups

"We're heavily delayed,’ or so that was what Erwin had explained. ��Feedback of the higher ups.”

There were deadlines, unreasonable deadlines for the employees, yet a reasonable wait for the average audience. They had less than a month to finish filming and post production for the first few episodes of the new season, less than a week to produce everything for the old season.

When he was in a pseudo-management role, as a cinematographer, it was automatic. When filming, he should be going down to the set. But they weren't filming yet. In fact, there were people in the set not doing anything.

In the chaos, everything didn't seem to add up. So Levi forced one memorandum, one attempt at structure. He would finish the final editing by that night and start the next day with a blank slate. Even if he needed to, he would stay until midnight to make it work.

That new writing team should be coming soon. Levi repeated to himself. Erwin had said so himself, Petra had also mentioned it excitedly over lunch.

All Levi had to do was get the episodes ready for review by the higher ups, then ready for airing then he could start that new season with a healthier approach, maybe find some way to add more structure to his already hectic job.

“Petra, don’t wait for me. I’m working overtime today.”

Petra jumped on her seat.

Levi only realized then, he had come up from right behind her. And Petra had been busy reading through something in her laptop, a quick glance confirmed, it was the unfinished script.

Levi continued. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Petra looked back at him, a worried look in her face. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Deadlines,” Levi answered.

“You need any help? You know Oluo and Gunther, they can stay too. Or even me.”

“I can finish it myself,” Levi said. He was completely aware either way that it was his job to review everything before anyone else reviewed and before it went on air.

There was an indignant look on Petra's face. But Petra never really imposed. She nagged, doted, argued but she never imposed.

And he managed to pacify her by requesting an espresso and a cup of tea from the tea shop right in front of the studio. Beverages were frowned upon in the video editing room. Levi though was particularly meticulous, he was tired and stressed and he allowed himself some leeway.

Just today. And when they start filming the new season, during the hiatus, Levi would reopen his work with a more organized approach, more suited for his personality. He constantly reassured himself of that as he continued to edit the videos, crosschecking with storyboards and scripts.

Most of the work had been done. Most of the work had been easy to scan through. Still it was hours of sifting through retakes, reviewing and setting them up for reviews and cuts. In the silence, completely alone, He gladly gave the task the required focus, more than enough not to have noticed the sound of the door click behind him.

“This is the coffee you asked for right?” The voice wasn’t Petra’s but still it didn’t seem at all hostile. In fact, the voice seemed friendly.

Friendly enough for Levi to feel obliged to respond.”Thanks.” A new hire maybe? In the one week he had been working there, three people had already quit.

It wasn’t worth a second thought. The important thing was he got his coffee and tea. So he didn’t bother looking up, only looking with his peripherals to see the paper white of the cup just a few inches away. He reached one hand towards the cup and surprisingly, his hand didn’t grasp for paper. It went for something a little softer, something a little cooler but still warm to the touch.

And it moved. A bug? A pest? That had been Levi’s first speculation, being the paranoid clean freak he was. Before his guesses could get anymore creative he looked at the cup and saw the cup was stable on his desk. He had a grip, not on the cup itself but on the other hand which held the cup. The movements were from a hand underneath his..

A wild hand. It slipped out of his grip, and before Levi could pull away, it gripped him in return, squeezing harder on his pointer finger and his middle finger.

For just a second. A painfully awkward second.

A second of realization was all Levi needed to pull away. “May I help you?” he asked. It took a lot more willpower not to curse at that strange invasion of privacy. A second later, reason took over and Levi realized that he was the one who had gripped her first.

He had planned to grip the coffee cup, he justified himself.

“They said… You needed some coffee.” The voice was nonchalant. Yet somehow, nonchalance had managed to make his blood boil. “So I came here to drop it and say hi,” she added, as if that was the most natural response.

‘Say hi’ didn’t usually involve two hands gripping one another, then interlocking. Her hands were still gripping the tip of his fingers and for a second they were frozen.. “Are you always this touchy then?” Levi pressed. Especially with a total stranger. Levi looked up, turned his head towards the voice and confirmed it, she was definitely a familiar face but they were barely even acquaintances.

Brown hair tied up in a ponytail, glasses propped comfortably on her nose and just underneath them, warm brown eyes that had no problem just staring, studying… And in their own way, leaving Levi very very jarred by the mundane gesture called ‘eye contact.’

“I was hoping to talk for a bit,” she said. “If you’re not too busy, we can---”

“I’m busy right now,” Levi said. He pulled the coffee closer to him, suddenly careful when awareness dawned on him abruptly. Suddenly, he was completely aware that the coffee cup was only a few inches away from the computer. “Can this wait?”

Those brown eyes were suddenly wider, a hint of surprise. Then they narrowed at him and Levi felt some pity blanket his already sluggish and aimless movements. Before he knew it, he was very very unproductive.

He had to do something. “My name is Levi by the way.” He was deliberately gentler that time and usually lowering his voice and slowing down did some magic to make him seem kinder than he usually seemed to new people. Or so, that had been what Petra had advised multiple times before.

Levi looked up, forced a subtle smile, a combination between a tightlipped line and crinkles at the edge of his mouth. The most he could manage for a courteous introduction.

Her reaction was unexpected to say the least. He noticed her eyes first, the way they widened. Her jaw dropped. She closed it again, a subtle twitch in her lip.

Did I say something wrong? Levi thought to himself. He looked back at the computer screen. “Levi… Levi Ackerman,” he added. Would that help ease the tension of the room?

Even when Levi started to make a game for himself, playing video edits again and again, he realized he was more focused on pretending to concentrate than in actually polishing the transitions between scenes.

Hange eventually spoke up. “Hello Levi. Nice to meet you.” Her voice was softer in that last sentence.

“Nice to meet you too.” That had been surprisingly difficult to say. He sensed the discomfort in her voice, and maybe he had unknowingly mirrored it.

“My name is Hange Zoe. I’m going to be working as a screenwriter here…”

Oh. Oh. So that’s Hange Zoe. For someone who spearheaded blockbuster hits, who had people talking like crazy over rumors, it turned out she was a very underwhelming presence.

“I’m the cinematographer here,” Levi said. Technically, that was his job title but at that point, he was doing everything. “So I guess we’re going to be working together a lot.”

“We will,” Hange responded. Her presence was underwhelming. So underwhelming that Levi felt no need to even be excited that they had a prodigy screenwriter in their midst. Her voice was soft when she spoke to him. Her eyes were some mix of disappointment, nervousness, uncertainty.

Levi suspected it was her demeanor, her approach towards him that had caused such tension to settle in such a tiny room. “Thank you for coffee,” Levi said. Any nice gesture seemed like a worthwhile attempt to ease it.

A wide smile played at Hange’s lips, still far from what Levi would have considered confident though. “Happy to help.”

That’s the award winning screenwriter? “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I’m going to be working on a few scripts tonight, have Erwin look at them in a day or so,” she said. Her voice had shifted to something more professional, and her meekness was starting to feel more like a misinterpretation on Levi's end..

“Looking forward to them,” Levi said.

The door slammed behind him, a little louder than the click that followed. The room was dim, it was almost distracting. When Levi turned towards the lights, he considered turning it on, to save himself the discomfort of sore eyes.

He turned his chair, put enough wait into one leg only to notice the sluggishness, the numbness underneath. His legs were jelly. Her hands were trembling and his breaths weren’t coming out in predictable bouts. He turned back to the computer and prepared to review what he had already edited.

The video was playing and Levi was convincing himself that he was productive.

Halfway through the episode, or even a quarter through the episode (Levi wasn’t counting), his mind had wandered. When his surroundings just became a little too overwhelming, Levi let loose just a little bit. He let the heaviness in his chest and the stiffness of his limbs speak for him then.

That voice of a while ago, Hange Zoe’s voice. That voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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ace-oreos · 4 years ago

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I know its impossible for it to have happened but I would like to see some Alpha vs Darth Maul. Like Maul would be like 'oh your one of kenobi's' and Alpha would be like 'i just work for the man but i will absolutely fight you'

I’ve said it many times before and I’ll say it one last time here: anon, you were so very patient and I can’t thank you enough for waiting all these months for me to finish this.

I can safely say the funniest part of writing this was trying to figure out how to put together Maul’s Drama™ and... Alpha’s penchant for avoiding drama by any means necessary. It made writing the dialogue VERY fun XD

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added!): @dudewhynotthis @merspots @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @delta-the-mando @or-te-ka-ra @huitzilinthebudgie3 @a-lil-perspective

By all accounts, the Sith isn’t supposed to be here.

Just my luck, Alpha thinks, and sighs when he remembers Fordo offered to take this one off his hands. It wasn’t worth committing the full strength of Fordo’s squad to this assignment - or so he initially thought. They hadn’t gotten word of hostile Force-users until Alpha reported his findings.

He’d been unpleasantly surprised, to say the least.

Maul and Kenobi have history, if he remembers correctly. Kenobi hasn’t told him the half of it and Alpha really doesn’t care one way or another. He wouldn’t, if he had already devised his own method for killing someone who can very likely predict his every movement.

Really, the only way to get one over on Maul would be to cut off his connection to the Force. There’s no way of doing that, as far as Alpha knows, so this op will require a fair share of ingenuity and a healthy disregard for conventional means of warfare. Some more time wouldn’t go amiss either, but Alpha will have to work with what he has.

So he lets Maul find him. Draws him out now rather than exert energy that could very well be the deciding factor later. He can’t say for sure that Maul is surprised, exactly, but whatever flickers across his face doesn’t look like anger just yet.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” the Sith says slowly, all acid sibilants.

“I suppose you were hoping for Kenobi,” Alpha dismisses. “Tough luck.”

Alpha can put up just as much of a fight as any Jetii, but letting Maul underestimate him could work to his advantage if he plays his cards right. If Kenobi’s teachings are true, the Sith use their anger to guide them. Alpha intends to use that against him.

“So he sent you in his place, is that it?”

“The general couldn’t be bothered with the likes of you,” Alpha is more than happy to inform him. “He’s beaten you once already. Why waste energy proving it again?”

That strikes a nerve. The Force might not be part of Alpha’s arsenal, but he can read the rage in Maul’s expression all the same. Better to tread cautiously now; provoke Maul too soon, and the force of his anger will be too much for Alpha to redirect.

The Sith is examining him closely. “You must be one of Kenobi’s, then.”

Alpha shrugs. “Not exactly, but for our purposes - you could say so.”

“You feel no loyalty to him?” Maul asks slyly like that will get under Alpha’s skin.

“Depends on the day.” Alpha lets his hand drift casually to his blaster. “If you’re looking for a fight, I’d be happy to fill in. Like I said, Kenobi couldn’t care less about - ”

True to his intuition, Maul’s first attack isn’t based in the Force. He’s faster than Alpha anticipated, but he manages to dodge the headlong strike. Maul pivots, and a double-bladed lightsaber appears in his hands.

Maul is fast - Alpha just has to be faster.

Evasion isn’t Alpha’s usual style, but he recognizes the necessity given the threat he’s facing. It’s no use trying to get a round past Maul’s saber; it would likely be deflected back at him anyways.

And there’s no way Alpha can pull this off if he and the Sith are on equal footing. But if he can make the environment work to his advantage - if he can force Maul onto the wrong foot and seize that opportunity when it arises - he just might have a chance.

Still, Maul isn’t sloppy enough that an opening will appear without some coaxing on Alpha’s end. It’ll mean sacrificing discipline for whatever works in the moment, but he decides it’s justifiable given the payoff.

Even as he stays in motion he’s careful not to expend more energy than is strictly necessary. It’s just as well Jango was never one for fancy footwork; Alpha doesn’t get caught up in anything of the sort now. Eventually, however, Maul catches on and pulls back, eyeing him.

“Kenobi’s lessons weren’t lost on you, I see.”

Alpha lets him talk, mind racing all the while. The compound’s labyrinthine layout could give him an edge - he’ll just have to do what he can to avoid getting crossed up along the way. But there’ll be risks no matter what; it’s just a matter of choosing the approach that will leave him the most room to adapt.

Just as Maul begins another pass with his saber, Alpha sends a few well-placed shots towards the Sith's feet and makes a break for a doorway just off Maul’s left shoulder.

Something collides with the wall dangerously close to his head, aided by the Force. Alpha ducks away instinctively but doesn’t look back. The first corridor is narrow; the second opens up to a catwalk that overlooks a wide hangar several meters below.

He doesn’t have time to plant charges around the doorframe. It’s a shame, really - even the Force wouldn’t reveal detonators. But no use lamenting what he can’t have; Maul isn’t far behind.

Alpha doesn’t much like the thought of getting caught on the catwalk, either, but there’s no other route out of this section of the compound. At least it’s stable; he doesn’t like to think what could happen if he didn’t have secure footing.

He’s nearly halfway across, just starting to think he might’ve pulled this off when something slams into him from behind and he’s plunging towards the hangar floor in an uncontrolled fall, fighting blind panic.

It’s sheer dumb luck that his rappel line catches something solid. He clutches at the taut line, muscles shaking with exertion and a fresh wave of adrenaline. Regaining a clearheaded state of mind is a conscious effort made all the more difficult by the realization that for all the Sith underestimated him, it’s painfully clear that Alpha badly underestimated Maul.

With the catwalk no longer an option - he’ll only be walking straight into the onslaught - Alpha draws a steadying breath and lets himself fall. The breath is knocked from his lungs when he hits the ground, but he manages to roll with the impact.

One glance towards the catwalk confirms Maul intends to follow him. Before the Sith’s feet hit the floor, Alpha fires. Maul is nowhere near defenseless, but splitting his concentration between fending off Alpha’s attack and manipulating the Force is the closest he’ll get.

The first shot clips Maul’s shoulder; the second hits home center mass. Knocked back by the force of impact, Maul’s landing is graceless and uncoordinated. Alpha presses his advantage, aiming for vulnerable joints.

Another round sears Maul’s arm. He snarls and switches his blade to his other hand. Despite Alpha’s best efforts, a few more steps and he’ll be too close for comfort.

Alpha risks a glance at the catwalk. After Maul’s attack, it’s unlikely it’ll hold up under additional strain. He still has a few detonators on hand, and given their positioning…

The explosion rocks the hangar. Shards of metal pepper the hangar floor, and the catwalk begins to buckle. Sheets of metal tear away and plummet to the ground.

Alpha throws himself aside, narrowly avoiding being crushed. Maul isn’t so lucky. Another section of the catwalk crashes down, and the Sith disappears beneath the metal.

The hangar is oddly silent now; the ragged gasps seizing Alpha’s chest are suddenly deafening. He half expects Maul to explode out of the wreckage, enraged, but there’s no sign of movement.

Time to pull out.

Traveling to the nearest Republic outpost will take the better part of a day, but they’ve got reinforcements and his ride out of here. And if the rumors are to be believed, Fordo and his squad are just a star system away. Navigating through Separatist-infested territory will no doubt be slow going, but if he has to he can hold out until -

And suddenly a vice tightens around his throat and he claws at his neck instinctively, his free hand scrabbling for a hold on his knife, lungs aching as he struggles to breathe, and Maul proves to be very much alive, looming over Alpha, lightsaber in hand once again.

Even as Alpha’s vision threatens to fade - he can’t breathe - it registers distantly that Maul is within arm’s length. There’s a knife sheathed on Alpha’s belt - there’s a slim chance he can - if he could just -

Maul steps closer.

Alpha drives his knife up and in and doesn’t let go until it sinks to the hilt. Maul is howling, the hangar echoing with the animalistic scream, and the blur of red at the edge of Alpha’s vision streaks closer -

And then the pressure on his neck abruptly loosens. He curls into himself instinctively, coughing as he struggles to draw air into his lungs. The telltale hum of lightsabers drowns out Maul’s snarling; Alpha can’t help thinking that at least if he dies here, he’ll die on his feet. Not the death he’d have preferred, but -

“Easy, Captain.” A gentle pressure on his shoulder accompanies the familiar voice, and Kenobi’s face comes into view. He’s smiling, somehow, as though he couldn’t be bothered with the ongoing duel behind him. Of course Skywalker is here too; where his Master goes, he goes.

There’s a story behind that, no doubt, but Alpha has a feeling everything will be divulged in due time.

_____________

“Well, you certainly took your time, General,” Alpha grumbles with a halfhearted attempt at exasperation after Kenobi is done detailing exactly how he and his Padawan ended up here when they were expected at the Temple.

“We made a few detours along the way,” Kenobi answers, flashing his Padawan a wry look that suggests those detours were likely not by their design.

Skywalker decidedly ignores his Master’s remark and instead says, “So now what?”

Alpha sighs. “Maul escaped, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“And?”

“And you’re not going after him,” Kenobi declares, correctly interpreting the look on Skywalker’s face and the set of his shoulders.

“We don’t know what kind of reinforcements he might have,” Alpha points out. “Or where he is now, for that matter.”

“And some of us need medical attention,” Kenobi adds with a pointed look at Alpha.

“It’s nothing serious,” Alpha says, more out of habit than anything as he knows full well his protests fall on deaf ears.

“Alpha...”

“I’ve had worse,” he insists. “Sir.”

“Humor me,” Kenobi says with enough of an edge to his voice that Alpha understands the words are not open for interpretation. “I’m sure this won’t be the last we see of him.”

“Do me a favor, then, General.”

“Oh?”

“Next time you run into him, knock his shebs to haran and back.”

Kenobi smiles. “I’ll see what I can do, Captain.”

#alpha-17 #alpha 17 #darth maul #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #the clone wars #star wars #thanks for the prompt!#i know it took me way too long to write this #but I'm open to more!

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fenristheorem · 4 years ago

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Hi! can i ask you lance with a very motherly s/o? thank you

You're my first ask! Thank you so much @marytheredqueen!

I was originally planning on posting headcanons in a few days regarding Lance and how growing up as an orphan effected him and his relationships in the long-term, so I'll add in headcanons about how growing up without his mother specifically effected him as well 😊

~Headcanons under the cut because these are long as always~

Growing up without a mother:

Oh boy

This is major ouch factor

Almost too much to explain

I said ‘almost’, not ‘it is’

And bear with me, really, because this is SO LONG

Lance and Valkyon were born in a volcano; hatched from dragon eggs and then lived in a nearby village until the time they decided to leave (based on what Lance said in Origins episode 26). There’s very little detail about the specific events, but it’s known that Lance was able to charm a lot of people at a very young age with his strength and self-confidence. It’s also known that he learned about and practiced his dragon powers beginning at a very young age while Valk never participated. It’s unknown if they told the villagers where they were from, how they were found and if they could even talk when they were taken in, but it seems that the villagers never knew about their heritage

Lance was raised by this village, everyone took part in teaching and caring for him and his brother. They knew everyone, played with all the kids, learned lessons from everyone. It was well known that they were orphans, but nobody thought ‘well, they’re not my kids so I won’t worry about them’. Lance and Valk literally had a village to raise them. They learned a lot of general things because of this, from people working all different types of jobs, so therefore Lance is well-versed (roughly because it’s a distant memory, but it’s still there) in a lot of general aspects of life. He’s pretty self-sufficient.

However, he had a village to raise him, and while everyone took care of him, nobody was his mother figure.

At first Lance wasn’t entirely sure why other kids had a mother and why he didn’t. Were him and his brother abandoned? He found it very endearing, but overall strange, that one specific male and female took care of certain kids when the whole village could raise them all together, like with him and his brother. Over time, he learned social constructs better and began to understand more that his case was a special one.

Lance realized then that he and his brother could have had the same things the other kids had. He could have had an actual home instead of floating between houses, he could have had an actual adult to cook meals for him each night, who would learn his specific tastes over time and treat him as a major priority. He began to learn that he could have had a mature figure to rely on when he felt sad, scared, overwhelmed or lost. Everything that he was providing for Valk, he could have had as well, with someone who had more knowledge about life and their heritage. In a way, Lance felt a bit lost. He had to think of everything when he was growing up, because while he did have the villagers to teach him lots of basics, he never had one specific adult that he could really connect to and ask all his really important questions to.

Lance began to realize what he’d been missing. He watched the interactions between child and mother more, and saw how safe and happy the kids looked, and then realized that he would never feel the safe, warm embrace of a mother who would love him unconditionally and without question.

And then he realized that his relationship with the villagers, while nice, could never truly fulfill his biological need to have a mother

Suddenly he had a painful hole in his chest every day

But he kept moving on, because he had been fine so far without

He was sad and disappointed by the fact that he would never experience having a mother, but he realized that he at least had the villagers to give him the basic skills in life. It wasn’t the same, but it could have been worse.

So he grew more, watched out for Valk and worked hard for every scrap of reward he gained in life. He came from humble beginnings.

But one day he felt a bit different, and by the end of the week he realized he had specific abilities that none of the other villagers seemed to have.

He decided to practice with these abilities, learn how they work, as he must have gained them from his heritage and, therefore, they’re the only part of his parents that he’ll possibly ever know. He kept it a secret, realizing that his powers could be used in many ways, hoping to someday surprise the villagers and defend them in their darkest hours; to show them that something good became of him because they helped him.

And then he learned about what his heritage is

Talking to a village elder, he realized that his powers aligned perfectly with the legendary dragons, so he inquired about what happened to them. Realizing their noble downfall, he learned the first thing about his mother and his people that would stay with him forever. He now aspired to make them proud, even if they weren’t with him.

Lance took to harsh training after that. Staying up late into the night, practicing all that he’s learned about basic life skills, but also alchemy, spells, rituals, and his abilities. He never told anyone his heritage, and he urged Valk to keep it a secret, too; you never know what dangers could lurk around two young, inexperienced dragons if the world knew about their heritage. However, Lance still practiced heavily, and the first time he managed a successful transformation into his dragon form, while messy and very tiring, he felt as thought some part of him was right. He finally felt closer to his family. But the effects of not having a mother would always stick with him

Time passed. Lance and Valkyon found the Guard of El, and Lance found a very comfortable position as Chief of the Obsidian Guard. He was one of the leader’s right-hand-men, nearly indestructible, the greatest warrior in the guard and the protector of the good and innocent. He was proud of himself, Valk was proud for him, he had everything, could have any woman, everyone loved him. It was the village but better, because he could uphold and defend what his family, his people, his mother had sacrificed themselves for.

And then reality hit him hard

He discovered a horrible truth; him and his brother weren’t the last surviving dragons, and the guard was hunting them down

Now beemoov never specifies anything of how Lance found out, why there were surviving dragons when allegedly all of them sacrificed to create Eldarya, etc. but I have a headcanon of my own on how he found out (and frankly his whole past in general). It deviates a bit from canon but at least it’s a nearly full backstory (I’ll write about it if anyone requests it)

So when Lance found out this truth he never felt more grateful that he decided to keep his heritage a secret. And he pressed Valk to keep it a secret even more, in fear that his brother may not take him seriously.

This discovery turned Lance around. Suddenly he was feeling sick to his stomach. He felt blind. Were his people angry at him for defending the people who live within the realm they created? Possibly. After all, they all fought each other. He felt lonely again; and he didn’t have his mother to guide or hold him in this time of fear.

Lance began to realize that he was looking through rose colored glasses. He began to realize that few people acknowledged the dragons’ sacrifice anymore, and instead the point of the guard was to shove their nose in others’ problems, problems that hurt each other after the dragons sacrificed to keep them safe, and the guard seemed to use violence at times as a solution to these already-violent issues.

Ok, I’ve been deviating from the original idea of growing up without a mother, but I promise this is important.

Lance felt disrespected at this realization; for his people, for his parents. How dare they destroy each other when the dragons sacrificed themselves to avoid that?

How dare he help them in that by acting for the guard?

Suddenly his mother’s sacrifice seemed worthless

Suddenly he grew up without a mother for nothing

Suddenly he was no longer noble, like his people, because he was helping to hurt the people the dragons died for

His whole life - screwed up from the beginning and left lonely and scared with so much responsibility - was for absolutely nothing.

He couldn’t stay there anymore, and he couldn’t look at himself anymore

He faked his death, and decided that the crystal had to be dealt with, and so the long, lonely road driven by hurt, loneliness and a desire for revenge began, because certainly the fairies of Eldarya no longer deserved the precious gift of life from the dragons. They did nothing but hurt each other, so why did they deserve it now?

And he wasn’t afraid to die in this quest if it guaranteed his success, because after helping the fairies in their destruction, he didn’t deserve the gift of life from the dragons, his people, his mother, either.

And then it got worse

Instead of succeeding, he took away the last of his family that he had

Suddenly he realized how much the gift of life is worth

Suddenly the hole in his heart, opened first long ago when he realized he would never have a mother, re-opened from the ice that froze it over for his sake

He realizes now, that just because he felt he had a valid point, he ended up worse than the fairies of Eldarya. None of them killed their own family in their own ambitions, none of them sought to destroy Eldarya. They fought to protect their families and people, like him, but they didn’t kill their own family

He resigns, numb from shock that he could ever do such a thing on impulse, and allows himself to be taken prisoner

He asks only one thing - he wants to help bury his brother. Maybe it will provide closure and begin the path to some sort of change from what just happened

No? Well... it’s not like he deserves that honor anyways

The take-away from this whole spiel is that Lance grew up with a tragic past and it all snowballed into a lashing out of anger and disappointment upon realizing one fact, and this could have been very different if he had a mother. He would have had a closer relationship with others, he would have known how to nurture others better, how to possibly work through his emotions better rather than jumping into different situations immediately because he feels a certain way. He missed out on many vital life lessons that he should have learned, but didn’t. And while a village to take care of a child is nearly always beneficial, the child still needs it’s parents. A village is not a substitute for parents, it’s an extra teacher.

Due to this, Lance will always be different from others. He had to be self-sufficient, he had to take care of his brother, he had to be the rock, he had to be curious. It was the only way he could truly assure his and his brother’s survival, because they needed to be prepared in case the villagers decided to make them leave. Why? Who knows, but they didn’t have their parents, so clearly they could always lose everything they have, even when what they have is so little

Overall, I believe Lance is very smart, professional and strives to be better everyday, especially in A New Era, but he’ll never truly grasp the understanding of having close personal relationships. He can hang out with others, have a bit of a laugh, but he’ll never really rely on anyone, he’ll always have a back-up plan, a second way out. In a way, he’s always planning for the possibility that everything could fall apart and be taken from him, even things that he never knew he had or should have, so he’ll always be distanced from everyone. He can play the part of ‘perfect Chief of Obsidian and greatest warrior’, but he will always have a hard time understanding how to maintain a close relationship, because the only person he was ever actually close with was Valkyon, and he’s gone now

Perhaps if he had his mother as a guide, a teacher, a brick house in the storm of life, he would have perceived things differently and things never would have ended up like this

Lance with a very motherly partner:

i proMISE THIS WON’T BE AS LONG AS THE FIRST HEADCANON

Firstly I want to give a quick overview of what I perceive to be a ‘very motherly’ S/O - Being motherly suggests that someone acts upon maternal instincts, and maternal instincts differ from person to person. However, seeing as this ask requests a very motherly S/O, I’m taking a lot of the major aspects about maternal instincts, and what is typically seen in a mother and a motherly S/O, and writing them all within one person. So while there are many motherly partners and people, many of them are motherly in specific ways and are a bit less so in other ways, but again; very motherly S/O = putting as many major points as possible into one person. I originally wanted to write specific traits under their own bullets, but they just merge so much with each other to the point that it’s easier to just describe the general relationship. Hopefully readers who love Lance find a bit of themselves within some of the traits that I provide 😊

Lance didn’t originally intend to get this attached. He enjoyed her company, found it endearing that she worried about him despite his past actions, and found it even more endearing and amusing that she worried about him getting hurt on missions (you know, he’s known as the best warrior in the guard for a reason). However, something about how she treated him struck a chord in him. The villagers he grew up with were never this worried about him... they always just let him do his thing without much bothering. But her... she brought back to surface a deep chasm of mixed emotions that he thought he had forgotten. He realized in time that, while he likes when others depend on him and look up to him, it’s also quite nice for him to have a bit of a break. He begins to notice that he spends so much time trying to provide for others that he forgets to take care of himself sometimes. Suddenly it felt nice to have someone look out for him. He spent so long alone, without his brother and with no one to watch his back, that he realized having a close companion is something that he craves.

And this scares him

He’ll withdraw a bit, try to press the fact that she doesn’t need to worry about him. He’ll be fine, he’ll survive, he’s been through worse, but she won’t have any of it. He’s so used to allowing himself to live only the basics in life that when she begins to tug him into trying to enjoy and appreciate his life a bit more, it startles him a bit. How does he do that? Does he deserve it? He doesn’t really think he does, or can. So he gets a bit irritated every now and again, his personality bristles a bit as he tries to stress that she shouldn’t worry about him. He doesn’t mean to be prickly towards her, but it’s just so hard for him to accept that she wants to offer something the he lived just fine without.

He softens in time, begins to wonder why she wants to offer care to him. He comes to her one night and questions her; her motives, her thoughts, her feelings

She explains that it’s just who she is - she worries - about everyone. She’s a caretaker, she wants to help provide, to help heal, and he doesn’t do a very good job at hiding the fact that he’s in pain...

He softens upon realizing that she’s like this with everyone - it makes sense now - and is then disappointed at the fact that she treats him the same as she treats everyone

Just like the villagers...

It strikes a painful chord in him again, but he’s more comfortable at least understanding her reasoning now... but he notices subtle differences in time...

She seems to check in on him more-often than she does with the others. She tells him to be careful on missions and stresses that she doesn’t want him to get hurt. She worries about every little thing to the point where he needn't bother worrying because she has it covered. When he does get a small wound, or in the rare case he falls ill - but it’s not enough to send him to the Infirmary - she’ll move herself into his room to take care of him. She’ll try to be more included in his life and offer new subjects that she knows more on because she loves to teach him about things and she knows he’s genuinely interested in learning new things

Lance realizes that he truly enjoys all of this - yes even her endless worrying and rants about how she told him to be careful

And when she tries to scold him in a fit of anger because she doesn’t approve of something?

Fucking adorable

He begins to realize that she seems to spend more time with him than with others, seems to worry about him more than she does the others, cares about him more than she does the others

So he asks her another night why she’s so adamant on this - why she feels the need to press all of this onto him instead of giving it to someone who will - almost for sure - be more responsive to this. After all, Lance doesn’t know how to react to this; why does she insist on doing all of this for him when he’ll be fine anyways?

She admits that she enjoys his company, that providing moments of happiness during the day makes her happy as well, and that she admired his sturdiness in the whirlwind of life, but knows it can be tiring, and she enjoys being his safe place when he needs a break

“Well what if I don’t want to be fixed or protected or supported?”

“Then why do you keep letting me care for you like this?”

That stops him

And then he realized; he can find it irritating, annoying, and even overbearing at times, but he really enjoys having someone to care for him in a way that he should have had but never had

“I know you grew up without parents, and without someone to really take care of you, so I understand if my actions seem very strange to you, but this is what it’s like to have someone watch out for you. I worry because I care for you...”

But the look in her eyes, the way she speaks in a soft - affectionate - tone, and how she leans slightly towards him, almost looking ready to take a step towards him but hesitating, all tells him that while she may be a very motherly person, her feelings for him run deeper than just friendship.

‘I worry because I care for you...’ and the more she cares the more she worries

The instant this all dawns on him, he finds one of his hands tangled in her hair, the other wrapped tightly around her small waist to leave as little distance between them as possible, and his lips on hers in a harsh, desperate kiss that reflects all the things he wished he had but never could

Nobody ever offered to care for him like this, nobody ever opened their arms and gave him the opportunity to collapse into them in fatigue, so why should he push this away?

It’s then he realizes that he told himself to control his impulses better. Who’s to say she was alright with moving this quickly?

But she doesn’t push him away - she pulls him closer and lets him take her down onto the bed, and although she allows him to take the lead, they both know that he’s the one basking in her presence

He begins to soften more in time. He begins to realize that instead of being irritated, it’s better to listen to, accept, and diffuse her worries and concerns for him by reminding her that he’s incredibly capable of taking care of himself because he has the knowledge and experience to do so - he’ll do his best to come home safe. And when he’s hurt or ill, he lets her help ease his suffering. She’s forgiving with him, but still needs to scold him and rant every now and again because she needs him to know that she really cares for him. He lets her into his life more, finds places to take her that will spark new conversations and listens intently

And over time, he notices he begins to pick up a few things from her. He tells her to be careful, expresses his worries to her, panics a bit upon finding out she’s in the Infirmary and then steels himself to prepare for the worst as he heads there to do what he can for her (although, unlike her, he doesn’t come bolting through the Infirmary door like a wild Black Dog before asking so many questions that one would wonder if he’s interrogating her). And it comes to the point where one of the two doesn’t need to move into the other’s room for a few nights to care for them; they live together now.

He does this all because he knows better now that that’s what you do when you care for someone

However, as much as he’s gotten used to the fact that his S/O can act very motherly about him - and has come to appreciate that he has someone who cares for him that much - he still hurts occasionally at the fact that he never had a mother. He never had the first caretaker that he should have had

His partner recognizes this once in a while, when it seems like it’s really bothering him again

“Are you ok?” - silence - “You can talk to me, I’ll always be here to listen...” - silence - “You don’t need to talk to me now if you don’t want, I understand, just know that I’ll listen if you need to talk it out.”

His piercing blue gaze meets her kind eyes, a soft glint of a mournful smile on her face. She knows he has moments like these; where he thinks about everything he lost and everything he never had and needs to take a while to mourn it all again. But instead of looking away again, as he used to do...

“I wish I knew her... She seemed so taken by her emotions at times, like me, but somehow she still managed to make the right decisions through it all... I just wish I knew her, had her as a mother...”

Silence

“I know no one could ever take her place, or teach you the full extent of what she could have taught you, but she’s still your mother. She’ll love you no matter what, she’ll encourage you no matter what. She may not be able to tell you, you may not have been raised by your mother, but you’ll always be her son and she will always be your mother.”

She hugs him, offers to make him a cup of hot tea and cuddle on their shared bed, and he doesn’t resist. He misses his mother, wishes he could know what she could have taught him, but as he settles on the bed and watches as his partner shuffles around, he realizes that his S/O is right. He has a mother, who does care for him, who does forgive him (hopefully, he can’t be sure), he just can’t see or talk with her

His S/O returns to his side, hands him the cup and lays against him, her shoulder resting on the headboard behind him as she wraps her arms around him and settles her head at his shoulder. He relaxes against her as she strokes his back, and it occurs to him that while he didn’t know his mother, she must have acted similar to this - caring for him and loving him unconditionally

It occurs to him that his motherly S/O could ease the pain and grief that he carried with him from the beginning, and it’s her natural personality that does so

I don’t think that second headcanon was much shorter than the first one, but hey, this was written with Lance in mind and there’s not really a quick and easy way to explain Lance and his emotions lol.

Have a request? Ask them here!

But first, please read the rules list for asks!

#eldarya #Eldarya ANE #eldarya lance #Eldarya Lance ane #eldarya lance headcanons #fenristheorem writing #askfenris

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depressedhatakekakashi · 3 years ago

Text

Ao3

In My Way

Au: Spy Au

Words: 1931

Rating: Teen

Characters: Hatake Kakashi and Sasori

Warnings: murder, Blood, excessive amounts of Sass. Graphic depictions of violence.

Summary: Kakashi has a job to do, but there’s a familiar face in the crowd that tells him it won’t be as easy as he originally thought.

Get into the party, take out the target, get out without being caught.

The mission was simple. Something that he could do with his eyes closed, except for one small detail.

Sasori.

The deadliest Toxicologist known among every intelligence agency around the world. His work with poisons was revered by every toxicologist, including Anko. Even if she refused to admit it.

His presence at the party, while a welcome sight to Kakashi’s eyes thanks to that beautiful black and the red suit he had chosen to wear, was a hindrance to his mission. Not because Sasori was doing anything to stop him from completing the job.

It was quite the opposite judging by the fact that he had just seen Sasori drop something into his target's glass mere seconds ago.

Their goals were the same, and he’d rather die than allow Sasori to get the pleasure of saying he killed the target.

Making his way through the small crowd, he set his eyes on the phone in his hand. A convenient distraction to use, typing away furiously to an imaginary friend as he collided head-on with the target.

Red wine spilled all down his front, staining the white shirt he had chosen to wear to the party and earning him the ire of his target.

“Would you watch where you’re-” Taking one look at Kakashi, the man cut himself off and immediately changed his demeanour. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that you were there.”

If Kakashi was a weak-willed man he would find himself easily fooled by the soft tone of voice and the gentle touch of his arm. Thankfully he was trained for this exact situation.

“Sorry,” he laughed awkwardly, wanting his target to lower his guard. “I should have been paying attention. I was just…” His eyes darted down to his phone, a sad look crossing over his face for just a second before he plastered a smile on his face. “Never mind. Are you alright?”

“I’m not the one with red wine spilled down my front,” the target chuckled. “Your shirt is ruined.”

Feeling an arm coming down around his shoulder, Kakashi allowed the other man to turn him around and lead him towards a private table while chatting his ear off about the party and how much effort he had put into making it perfect. Something Kakashi forced himself to smile along with and listen to, even as he kept his eye out for Sasori.

This wasn’t going to be his only attempt, and Kakashi still had information that he needed to get before he could finally take care of the job himself. He just had to keep the man alive long enough to get that information, which meant keeping Sasori from slipping him any poison.

A task that was easier said than done given Sasori’s history.

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

Getting the target to trust him hadn’t taken long at all. For someone good at manipulating others, the man was just as susceptible to his tactics. Or he was just a sucker for a pretty face, and Kakashi didn’t have a pretty face.

Now he just had to get the man to spill the beans about some of the people he worked with.

“It sounds like a lonely job,” toying with the little umbrella in the drink he had been offered, Kakashi kept an eye out for any sign of Sasori. “Do you at least have any friends to keep you company? Or are you one of those people who thinks he doesn’t need friends?”

His target laughed, one arm resting on the seat behind Kakashi. “Friends are a hindrance in my line of work. I prefer to keep people at a length. Emotions are just another factor in the equation of life that I don’t want to have to deal with.”

A line he had heard far too many times over the years, from enemies and allies alike.

“Well, that just sounds like a lonely life to me,” Leaning forward on the table he forced himself not to cringe or lash out when he felt the man’s fingers playing with the edges of his hair. “No one to keep you company.”

“You could keep me company.” The offer is real, though Kakashi knows it would be only for a night if he were to take him up on it. Not that he needs to. He’s so close to getting what he wants.

Which makes it all the more annoying when he sees a familiar head of blazing red hair walking past acting like nothing is going on as he tips something into their target's drink.

Stubborn shit.

Leaning in a little closer to his target, Kakashi notched the charm up by fifty percent and gave him his best smile. “And what would that involve, hmm?” poking the man in the chest playfully, he chuckled when he was rewarded with a soft grunt. “Come on now. I can’t just jump in without knowing what I’m getting myself into.”

With little distance left between them, Kakashi used the distraction to push his target's glass back just a bit. Not knocking it off of the table, but shoving it right to the edge. Hopefully, his target wouldn’t realize and would take care of the rest for him.

“There’s a lot of things that it involves,” the target's smile sent shivers down Kakashi’s spine, though he kept a neutral expression on his face. “It could involve getting to know each other a bit better, some fun activities in private...” he brought a hand up to cup Kakashi’s cheek, cursing when his elbow collided with the glass of whiskey and sent it toppling over onto the ground.

“Oh,” tilting his head, he smiled when the target looked back at him. “I guess I’m not the only clumsy one tonight.”

Somewhere far away he could just imagine Sasori screaming into a napkin and cursing his name, and just that image gave him the strength he needed to keep flirting with the man in front of him.

He was going to get what he wanted no matter how damn hard Sasori tried to stop him.

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

Once he had finally gotten the target to start talking it was smooth sailing ahead. It had only taken a couple of drinks until he was just drunk enough to start talking. Three of which had been poisoned at some point by a very determined Sasori, but Kakashi had found a way to get rid of those ones without being too obvious about what he was trying to do,

It was honestly a little tiring. Trying to save his target’s life when he knew that at the end of the night the man would be dead anyway, regardless of if it was Kakashi or Sasori who killed him.

Just a bit more and he’d have everything that he needed.

“It sounds to me like you don’t get along with this guy too much. Why do you keep working with him if he’s causing you so many problems?” he asked innocently as he stirred his drink with the little umbrella.

“Best dealer in the business,” his target laughed bitterly. “Couldn’t find someone better no matter how hard I tried. And trust me, I’ve tried.”

So close. He could almost taste the successful mission.

Which of course was exactly when an interruption arrived in the form of a hand being slammed down on the table between them and furious brown eyes burrowing holes into his very soul.

“Can I help you?” tilting his head he met Sasori’s gaze head-on. This was not a mission he was willing to fail just because the redhead couldn’t take a hint and leave his target alive for five more minutes.

“You have been hogging the cutest guy in this whole party for the past two hours,’ that was not a response he had been expecting. “I get it, you’re adorable. You have a great smile, but you could at least share his attention.”

A great smile?

Folding his hands together Kakashi rested his chin on top of them and gave Sasori that ‘great smile’ that he had mentioned. “Isn’t there someone else you could bother for the attention your daddy never gave you?”

If looks were as deadly as Sasori’s poisons, he would certainly be dead right now. A well-deserved death of course, since the jab was a lot more personal coming from the son of Konoha Intelligence Division’s White fang. After all, anyone who knew Sasori was more than aware of his father’s death.

A death he had met during a mission gone wrong against the White fang.

“You think you’re all that, don’t you?” Sasori looked like he was ready to pounce, and Kakashi didn’t doubt that if he did there would be a poisoned Kunai in his hand. “You’re not even that good looking. I think he could do better.”

Lies.

He was drop-dead gorgeous.

“It sounds to me like someone’s just jealous he couldn’t catch the cute Guy’s attention. You really should lower your standards a little to match up with what’s achievable for you.”

He’s certain Sasori’s actually about to jump over the table and attack him after that one, but their target places a hand on each of their chests to hold them back. A precautionary measure that wouldn’t stop them if they decided to fight.

“Come on you two, there’s no reason to get nasty,” His words are slurred a little from all of the alcohol he has consumed, and the smile on his face is creepy and almost predatory. Just looking at it makes Kakashi shiver. “You don’t have to fight over me. We could always just share. You’re both very…”

No amount of information was worth hearing that sentence finished. Not that he would get the last bit of information that he wanted thanks to Sasori’s little interruption.

And since there was nothing else to be gained, Kakashi didn’t feel bad about unsheathing his hidden knife and plunging it into the man’s neck at the same time as Sasori.

It was messy, disgusting, definitely drew more attention than he would have liked, and yet oh so satisfying to finally put an end to that aggravating nails on a chalkboard voice.

“You ruined my mission,” He narrowed his eyes towards Sasori, sour that he hadn’t gotten all of the information that he had wanted. “You couldn’t have just waited another five minutes, could you?”

“And let you get a perfect mission while I've been cursing your name for the past two hours every time you managed to dump his drink or get rid of the poisoned donut even though I know you didn’t see me put it there? Not a chance.”

Donut? He hadn’t realized that the donut he had handed off to one of the man’s bodyguards to distract them was poisoned. It was a good thing the man had wrapped it up in a napkin and tucked it away in his pocket for later.

“Well, you got what you wanted,” scanning the area, he growled when he saw that everyone in the room had turned to look at them. “Anyways, congratulations on the kill. Hope your bosses are happy, don’t call me and I won’t call you.”

Planting his hands on the table, Kakashi heaved himself over it and made a run for the nearest window, praying that Rin had been paying attention the whole time and was on her way in to pick him up.

The quicker he got out of here, the less likely he was to have to deal with Sasori’s bruised ego.

#Hatake Kakashi #sasori #Spy Au #Naruto #Taryn's Birthday Celebration 2021 #Taryn's Birthday Fics #Excessive Sass #Kakashi is a sassy boy and he's not holding back #poor Sasori #he did not sign up for this shit XD

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shadowfae · 3 years ago

Note

1- Not much tbh, just what you've posted, and 2- To be honest I quite like your long answers. It can definitely wait though, you should get some sleep.

Is your warpriest link a constant thing? Does it ever fade into the background? I'm contemplating forming a second link, something happier than my copinglink, and I'm not sure how to tell when to tell when the line of a link vs a persona is crossed when not worn out of necessity.

And the original ask so I have it on hand. I did take a look at your original context, and if you're cool with it, I'll edit this post with a link for those who may find this is a useful answer and need that on hand. Otherwise, it'll stay a mystery.

But yes, it seems like my Sabe experiences would be a useful thing to talk about here. And in order to do that, I need to go over four things: who and what Sabe is, why he exists the way that he does, what that does for me, and lastly what I think he is in terms of terminology and why.

To start, here is his toyhou.se profile, if you want to read more about his actual story and thoughts and whatnot. But I doubt you'll have the necessary context for that, so let me go into it. RuneScape (RS) is one of the oldest MMORPGs in existence. WoW might be older but I doubt it. Basically it's a medieval magic fantasy that's very long running and you the player end up the World Guardian, aka the guy that stops the gods (who are very powerful folks who just don't die of natural causes and typically stand for some philosophy) from blowing the world up because Guthix, the dead god of balance, asked you to. Well, he voluntold you. And that makes you a major chess piece, Elder Gods get involved, it's a big mess.

But before all that happened, back in 2006 when I was introduced to the game and very shitty at it, well. I liked the lore insofar that I've always liked the lore, it was interesting and I liked thinking about it. I didn't have membership and I sucked at playing so I just read the wiki and the God Letters over and over and sometimes the Postbag from the Hedge. Alongside my two friends, we played at being children of the then-triad of main gods: Saradomin, Guthix, and Zamorak.

I liked Zamorak best, but I didn't think his ideas would be the best for society as a whole, so I ended up playing child of Guthix. Eventually we grew up and grew apart but every couple of years I'd go back to RuneScape, read the lore, settle on what choices I'd make if I could play, and think about being the player character. In 2010 I discovered a fic - dawn by khayr, it's on Ao3 and dA - about Iban, son of Zamorak, right around when I was reading Percy Jackson. Cue him showing up as a soulbond and an older brother figure and guiding me right up until the end of sixth grade. Iban got me through the ruthless bullying that would later set the stage for all my major suicidal-ideation and self-hatred for the entirety of high school: even then, I was more stable than I might've been otherwise, because he interfered.

Saradomin stands for strength through order. Procedures and law and diplomacy and war strategy. He was originally kind of a ripoff of the Christian god, but he's grown to be more of an order-over-peace character and is quite well-written. Guthix stands for strength through balance, and has been all over the board in terms of what he's done and will do. He's kind of a dick, actually, but his heart's in the right place.

Zamorak, as you've heard, is strength through chaos and personal strife. It's no "the strong over the weak" or "the strong take care of the weak", it's flat-out "everyone is strong, and just need the right circumstances to tap into it to be the best they can possibly be". Now, his philosophy is kind of more for warriors and scholars, but if you tilt your head, it applies to everyone. Chronically ill folks will find their chaos in fighting to get up every day and maintain a life. Folks in traumatizing, abusive situations find that chaos in their very survival. Scholars challenge themselves and their fellows and their predecessors trying to find the answers they so need. Nobody in lockstep, no such thing as "we've always done it this way."

A lot of human Zamorakians and Saradominist propaganda says that Zamorak is simply absolute evil: and to be fair, when most of that was written, he kinda was because he was based loosely on the Christian devil. Later writing says that they're typically mistaken on that. Zamorak isn't evil. The very first thing he did upon becoming a god was fulfill a promise and lead a slave rebeliion. (The Avernic uprising, if anyone's curious.) He stands for the downtrodden and says "You are never going to get your dignity by going through the motions and trying to peacefully show you're worth respect. Burn some shit down and prove that you won't stand for this bullshit."

Zamorak in a Saradominist's eyes is someone whose banner you wear when you want to be a crazy murderer. Zamorak in a Zamorakian's eyes is the singing voice who murmurs "Get up, this isn't enough to kill you, you can still do this," when transphobic laws get passed or you hear a slur thrown your way on the street.

And as someone who grew up queer and nonhuman, yeah, that resonates, and the older I get the more I think "Guthixian philosophy is best for a society at large, but Zamorakianism for individuals is good." Because Zamorakianism can't really apply on a theocratic level. It really doesn't. It turns into American bootstrap culture and no social services and all that shitty stuff.

The funny thing is that Zamorak himself has no issues helping out if he thinks you need it. (If he didn't, he wouldn't be cool with asking for help, or giving it when he's asked. Which he does do repeatedly so. The man has more kindness in him than people want to admit.) What I do find fascinating is what he thinks of the actions of some of his longtime subordinates, who clearly support him, but I don't think support his actual philosophy. Because if you ask me, he'd side with the downtrodden humans of Meiyerditch, not the vampire lords that treat them like cattle. He's proven that he likes humans, and doesn't see them as unworthy. I do wonder if Jagex will show us what he might do about that.

Either way. Ahem. Over the course of a decade and a half, I keep going back to RuneScape, refining my philosophy and side, thinking again what I would do playing the game proper. About... I want to say five years ago, Jagex opened up the Sixth Age and I finally noticed, and they rewrote every god's philosophy because they wanted every single one to be actually playable. Not just "hurr durr evil" but actually have a logical line of thought. They probably didn't have pop culture paganism in mind, but the gods of RS are incredibly well-suited to it.

Well, I found that out, and immediately went through every god's philosophy, and reasoned my way through it. What does a worshipper of this god look like? What sort of life would they lead? If i apply this to me, what does that look like from that perspective? Do I understand this? Is it comfortable to exist in?

And as it turns out, I understand Zamorak the most, followed a close second by Armadyl, which was quite surprising. Zaros remains incomprehensible and I don't trust like that. (That's another story.) So I thought about it more, and it stuck even when I wandered off to different fandoms and interests. But what happened was that I ended up internalizing it, unknowingly and without meaning to.

It meant that when, two years later, I ended up in a horrific and traumatizing situation, the anchor I hit that held me together was a mixture of being a Devil - I am a fucking God you will obey me and recognize my power - and Zamorak's core philosophy: this cannot kill me, this cannot stop me, this is pure fucking hell and I am going to laugh in the face of death because people are forged in hellfire and I will walk away knowing what I'm made of.

And I was right. Honestly, out of everyone who was there with me, I think I'm the only one that was that deeply entrenched and walked out without trauma. I do not believe I could have done that had I not internalized Zamorak's philosophy. (That isn't to say if the others had that philosophy they wouldn't be traumatized, because there were absolutely other factors I wouldn't know about and some that I do and didn't do them any favours; but I am saying that it saved my ass and without it, I might not have been okay.)

I walked out of that with zero regrets. Zero. Even now, I don't regret a thing. Because it doesn't matter what happened or how much I was lied to or if he deserved my kindness. I know what I perceived to be happening, and I know how I reacted, and when the pieces were down I was stronger than steel, gave kindness without considering the cost, and I walked away unscathed.

How many people can say they've looked death in the eye and laughed? More than there should be, not too many that knowing what I'm capable of when put into pure chaos isn't somehow impressive. Because it is. And Zamorak's words proved themselves, or rather, I proved him entirely correct.

And when I last went back to RuneScape, and thought about it with enough time to put it all into hindsight, well. Aw, shit, he was right. Then vaguely around that time I went back and read Dawn, which was unfinished, tracked down the author and demanded to know how it fucking ended. (She told me and we're still friends like three years later. xD) Then I went back and found my old OCs, and decided fuck it, I'm making my own World Guardian.

So first thing I did was log in and jump over to the Makeover Mage and make myself into a boy. Kept the plateskirt though, I wanted to have the RS equivalent of a limp wrist to prove I'm Very Queer. Then I went about remaking my character. I wanted to make a self-insert, I was old enough to know it wasn't cringey, it was just fun, but I didn't want to use my default avatar with the black hair over one eye and the Chaorruption. I wanted to make a new self-insert based in nothing I was already using.

So I made the most beautiful man I could! Long, dark brown hair, pretty semi-dark skin, looked Kharidian, and then I said fuck it and made him Zamorak's youngest son. Originally, he was adopted when he was young by Iban and Clivet, and suffered serious imposter syndrome when being WG meant he'd never get demigod powers. But as I grew more confident in myself, he ended up getting powers? And then eventually I rewrote his backstory, and then wrote about his mother, and her relationship with Zamorak, and then he had friends like Blaire and Icthlarin (who was also my furry awakening, rip me).

Then with the most recently questline I've been getting a bit more into RS magical theory, and I've been mulling it over lots, and Seanan McGuire's Middlegame definitely helped; and I figured out how I wanted him to handle being World Guardian: it didn't make sense for him to be openly Zamorak's son, the other gods would just target his family to manipulate him. So I had him play neutral openly and Zamorakian to his friends, effectively living a double life.

Then he just looked up one day and said "Oh, by the way, my father won't acknowledge me to keep me safe but I don't know that so we have a very unsteady relationship because I don't know if he loves me", and then Children of Mah came out, and he was all "Oh and I think I just got disowned (I didn't, Zamorak was protecting me, but I don't know that) so my relationship with Zamorak is Fucking Shitty" and he was stuck that way until I figured out how to save their relationship.

It culminated in Sabe not knowing how his Mahjarrat powers worked and guessing, and hating himself for being half-and-half, and missing everything about being a Mahjarrat, and literally you couldn't have gotten more obvious in order to tell me I was having Fucking Issues coming to terms with the fact I didn't have any understanding or knowledge of my own heritage, but whatever, eventually I noticed that.

And as I've been working to understand myself and my heritage, so too has Sabe been doing that with his Mahjarrat heritage. But for the longest time, no matter how I put him and Zamorak in the same room in a scene to try and get them to talk it out, it wasn't working. Something wasn't right. Sabe resented being World Guardian, hated having to betray his family, didn't know if he was wanted, and hated himself for having to kill Mah, the mother of his species.

Not that long ago, a few months actually, he informed me (which is my shorthand for 'I suddenly figured out this happened, and it genuinely feels like remembering that one fucking word you have on the tip of your tongue, I always knew and just forgot for a while') that no, he'd been ripped in two by a hope devourer, brought to his father's stronghold, and Zamorak split his magic between mortal and divine in order to get around his godproofing and heal him. Zamorak's intense worry for his youngest son was what caused Sabe to break down and tell him honestly what was going on and how he was feeling, which caused Zamorak to do the same, and they finally, finally made up.

A week later, I noticed the connection between Sabe's Mahjarrat issues and my Irish issues, and started to wonder if he was a linktype.

I mean... he's a self-insert. He makes the choices I would, the me in the here and now, that I think are best. He's not a person I was and still know myself to be, he's not someone I grow into, he's not living his life beside me like a shadow. He's me, choosing the things I do, because I say so. But he's also me in the things he reflects, the things he struggles with, and things I had zero fucking conscious input on.

Sabe is the person I am when a crisis hits and I have to deal with the chaos. Sabe is the person I am when I need to lead. Sabe is the person I am when I am desperate to be known and loved by those I consider family. Sabe is the person I am when I want to be sure in where I came from, where I will return to, and the things that I will always be. Sabe is a man of darkness who knows the light as an acquaintance and nothing more, who is cruel and careless and kind.

Sabe is a warpriest of Zamorakian philosophy, because it took me twenty fucking years to put into words how I see the world, and now that I know, I will argue them to death and use them to help others. Drakath may have wanted a messiah to share the hivemind with others. Sabe is a warpriest, spreading the word and calling home the broken and the damned. He is the Last Rider, not the last of the Ilujanka but the one who keeps riding towards the chaos and never falls, no matter what.

Some of who Sabe is I have conscious input on. A whole lot of him was unintentional and perfectly reflects me.

So when it comes to terminology... I don't know what he is. A self-insert, yes. A linktype, maybe. A kintype, also maybe. Sabe doesn't feel like my past linktypes, because Sabe isn't always catharsis and comfort. Until he made up with his dad, Sabe was brutal and hurt a lot and constantly yearning for his foundation and slowly going mad. It wasn't fun. I just refused to do anything but see the story through. I was going to get it right. I wanted to see it to the end. I wanted to be the Last Rider, even though I didn't phrase it that way.

But to answer your actual question, of what he feels like when I'm not actively being him out of necessity, desire, and active thought. If it fades into the background.

And like... it can? Sabe as he is, recognized for what and who he is, is kind of a new thing. Sabe as a concept is very old, but Sabe as what he is right now is new, and confusing, and honestly I'm still trying to figure out what to make of it.

Like, seriously. Sabe is Zamorak's son. Am I Zamorak's son? Is he keeping an eye on me as I am? Would he be proud of me? Would he offer his approval of my progress? Does that make me, in some way, the World Guardian?

I have not a clue, buddy. Not a goddamn clue.

So what it means is that I've been paying attention, really. I don't just become strong in times of crisis. I've been trying to do better. Be better. Learn, and listen, and rethink myself. Break out of lockstep, of doing things the way I've always done them. Try to always do better than I did, build habits I like, stop waiting for things to change and just do it. Become the chaos, instead of waiting for it to hit me.

It means I need to live up to what Guthix told Sabe to do. It means being gentler, being kinder, not burning bridges when I'm not sure. It means keeping an eye out for any sign Zamorak's listening, in case I am his son, in case I really have to decide what I'm gonna do about being the son of chaos incarnate.

But other than the questioning, what it feels like is just... what I was already dealing with, just a little more at arm's length and easier to deal with. Once I recognize that his issues are reflective of mine, if I solve his, I have a pretty good idea of how to solve mine. Some of it won't work exactly right - Zamorak will always forgive him for not being the son he expected he might have had, my own parents may not, yay I'm queer and pagan - but it's a good rule of thumb.

It's also just comforting to know that when in doubt, nothing can kill me, because I simply refuse to die. I am World Guardian, I am a demigod of chaos incarnate, all the hellfire in the world can do nothing but strengthen me. And if I present those to myself as unshakeable beliefs, because for Sabe they are, then I'll be okay. It probably couldn't stop most disasters or tragedies, but I got hit by a car, broke five bones, and walked away with a record recovery time, so I mean... I can't prove that I can't die by some accident or tragedy, but you also can't prove that I can. (Trying to do so usually falls under what we call 'murder', and I personally believe I can't be murdered. Only assassinated.)

But really, I think the worst that could possibly happen with a new linktype is that you learn what not to do. It's new, it's scary, it's chaotic, and from where I'm standing, that's the best way to learn.

#asks #anonymous #on copinglinking #on voluntary identities #on questioning #my experiences #here have me yelling about runescape and complaining about questioning #You Asked For This #essays of the skyrose garden #actually yeah this is an essay

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serendipitybutterfly · 4 years ago

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So continuing on the theme of doing cute readings... Some of you asked questions about how the members would be a boyfriends, husbands or in romance / dating in general... So here starts a new series... Beginning with the eldest, Seokjin.

*As always, these general readings are meant to be just that, very general. How a person acts in a relationship will be dependent on many factors and most people are likely to act differently depending on who they're with to some degree or another in any kind of relationship, romantic or not. This is just a light, general overview with a focus on the members core personality traits / tendencies when it comes to romance.

Seokjin in romance (a very general reading) :

When it comes to romantic relationships it seems like Seokjin has very clear expectations for both himself and the other person. He requires trust and honour very greatly. For him it's a matter of whether or not he can hold them to a similarly high standard of conduct as he holds himself. That's the firm basis of a relationship for him.

What I very clearly see is that for him, dating seriously is something that leads to marriage. That's the point of it in his opinion. I do feel like that's something he probably would make very clear to anyone he dates. He's always looking forward into the future... Of what their lives would be like together as a married couple and if they would work well together in that way. He's not someone you'd casually date for a long time in other words or date without intending to eventually get married... I get the sense that once he has decided he really likes someone he's quick to make it official and clear that he dates with a view for the relationship heading towards marriage, joining and fitting in with his family, having kids... Etc...

In a weird way, this might strangely make some people see him as charmingly childish, naive or innocent about romantic relationships... But this isn't really the case at all. Rather, he's extremely cautious. This isn't to say that I think he never dates casually or has romantic dalliances at all (I'm not saying he does that either just by the by!) but that when it comes to actual relationships he generally takes them very seriously and does not enter them lightly.

When he does, he allows his charming romantic side to blossom out of what may previously have seemed a sort of high, almost impermeable, wall behind which he carefully judged his subject of interest. Even within the relationship he may sometimes put up that wall which protects his more vulnerable side. That's simply part of his character... Something he likely perceives as a strength and even a way of protecting the people he loves.

When dating, he is a prince charming type... A perfect, almost old fashioned, gentleman. He knows 'how a man should behave' (there's probably an older man, maybe his father, who he models himself after in this regard). Once truly inlove, he sees it as his role to protect and cherish the one he loves and understands that it requires discipline, attention and a willingness to put aside one's ego to make a relationship work. He sees true love as something sacred, something worth striving for, sacrificing for... And, indeed, perhaps waiting a long time for.

Despite all this seriousness, I will say that a lot of this is actually just beneath the surface. Much of this is more about his inner thoughts on relationships, the things which inform his views, which are quite sensible and traditional... However, in love, he can often play the fool! Doing his best to make his lover laugh and smile with goofy jokes, slapstick, snarky comments... Probably also comically overdramatic expressions of adoration (that bely the true depth of his feelings... He's joking around... But he really means it!). Also, despite those walls, he's actually very soft hearted and sensitive soul... with his love for animals coming up as significant. I'm sensing that seeing him be so very gentle and affectionate with small creatures actually reveals a big facet of his character in relationships... He's very sensitive to the needs of his lover, very gentle and very nurturing.

He might occasionally be pretty stubborn and, in the case of an argument, may often withdraw behind his walls. He's not likely to be the most open about his emotions, especially negative ones, because he believes in being strong and stoic for people in his care. However, his emotions are always deeper and fiercer than they appear and he shows the depth of his love in other ways. He wants to share everything he has with another person, to provide love, strength and security and to be the one they'll trust the most.

Overall... While Seokjin may keep things light and jovial on the surface in dating, it's pretty clear from this reading that he takes relationships very seriously and views them more as a way to test compatibility for marriage than as a goal within themselves.

Hope you enjoyed reading this! The rest of the members will be coming soon! 💜 💜 💜

#Seokjin in Romance #bts tarot reading #Bts members in romance #Tarot reading #tarot card reading #Bts #kim seokjin #Tarot

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middleinthenight21 · 5 years ago

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Ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

@ravenfan1242 I don't know what I would do without your help. I have told you.

You are incredibly beautiful 💕

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

"So funny." Garfield smiled and Raven grimaced.

The demons smiled when they saw that they had lost, and the angels looked away from the pain.

"Why are you with me? "

The phrase came out hard and cold, as if she were asking a criminal why he decided on that life. She was tired and angry, tired of going through the uncertainty that his voice loved her so much and not meeting her expectations, of wondering what would become of Garfield if Terra hadn't died and wanted to get him out of her veins.

She clearly saw the disinterest; it was tattooed on his soul and he did not realize it.

If he gave her a reason to stay ...

Garfield looked up. "Excuse me?"

It's now or never.

"Maybe you should free me." She leaned against the counter. Her hands dug into the soft fabric of her clothing, like an anchor; She hadn't expected her heart to squeeze, she kept screaming, hitting the walls to stop it, but her mind reminded her that she was the girl who survived hell. Gathering her strength "Why are you with me? " She repeated.

Suddenly she's tired of building walls around the relationship to watch them fall repeatedly. She no longer wants to murmur that they are okay with others when they ignored each other, from having rowdy arguments only to end up coming back, offering flowers and hugs, as if that was enough to convince her, she had wasted whole nights trying to square their differences, watching the heavens and whispering to their gods to end all this.

She had been taught in stories that love should hurt, otherwise it wouldn't be worth it in the end. You get to know him, you fall in love, you suffer until you get your happy ending, cost and prize.

Fuck this love.

If he's playing, just let her know.

He sent her a painful look, put his cell phone aside "Rae…"

No, they would not do this again.

She stepped back.

Garfield stood up, smoothing down his pajamas, and for the first time in months she saw him take on a serious expression. He walked slowly, like stepping on needles and spread his hands trying to join them, but she moved away, shaking her head repeatedly.

"I love you. Rae please. " One of his hands caressed her cheek. He brushed her short hair behind her ear. "I love only you. Nobody else. "

She stepped back, pulling his hands away, and muttered, "You know it's not true."

She didn't realize how much it hurt until the words left her mouth. They became a curse, a truth that turned hearts to dust, but for Raven it is not an unusual sensation, more like hearing the last words of a condemned man.

She crossed her arms ignoring his face "We both know this was going to end like this. "

Garfield shook his head and put their foreheads together, she could no longer fight this. She saw his aura weaving into deep blue, a shade she didn't often see, but it wasn't the same as when a certain person died in his arms, it's not that sadness.

It was not the same.

Her green hair was soft, heshe smelled of shampoo made of plants, like a forest, and his breath of milk, like a cat; his hands cupped her cheeks being tender and soft. She almost melted, a part of her wanted to be left alone to receive his attention and affection, it told her stories of how they could rebuild and evolve, she would eat from the leftovers for a while longer until she realized that she is malnourished and sick.

Her father teased her about being too silly, laughed at Garfield and the situation.

"Come on, Raven. I love you and I want to be with you" he said. One of his hands went down to her jaw to trace her neck and settle on the nape of her neck, wanting them to get even closer. "Don't stop this. Don't do this to us. "

She closed her eyes tight.

Get out of this. It's now or never.

She pulled away, denying with a broken voice and tear-clouded eyes. Perhaps this was a weakness, a vicious cycle, for a long time he was her toxin, a drug that was destroying her every day, but she continued to cling to the pleasurable effects, dependence and habit helped her ignore the adverse factors.

Something that made you feel so good couldn't hurt you, right?

"I will not return to the same. We've been like this a long time, Gar" He looked at her; Her green eyes reflecting pain and she swears she'll miss having him so close. "Think about the future, you would be unhappy by my side; be honest you will never love me. We will be miserable together"

"Why are you doing this? "

Why was he acting like it was her fault? He knew what she was talking about, he saw what was hurting them. She gave the final blow, but that fight already started long ago.

The answer was clear "Because I'm not her. "

He stepped back, opening his mouth and closing it, unable to answer. Garfield was hurt, her words were like daggers and she felt terrible, but it is the truth; Raven is not Terra and is exhausted from pretending that he loves her.

For eight months she was a ghost, a specter threatening in the corners, Raven felt her presence unnoticeable in the eyes of the boy who swore he loved her; He was running after someone who would never belong to him and turned his torment on her, carrying her bound in chains with caresses. The chains wouldn't hurt until they hurt her wrists, his caresses turned into pins, and he would never admit that it was his fault.

Okay, she would accept it.

She didn't directly name Terra, but it's not a taboo in her mouth. After two years, the name of the former Titans member still hurt, it was a wound that would never heal for Garfield, perhaps it would live forever, nailed to his bones and running through his veins.

She hit him hard in a vulnerable spot and it felt wrong, like desecrating a holy temple, but she had no other way to show him the truth. Before they were dating, they were friends and Raven ruined everything.

His friendship, his love and companionship.

She bowed her head.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Dick smiles at the door and his girlfriend frowns, realizing something is wrong, but by then Raven is already gone.

A million thoughts go through her mind, like a whirlpool. When she opens the door to the roof of the tower the sky is a thick gray soup, there are no traces of the sun's rays, but the promise of a rain.

***

She always returned to Riva Street every time a memory haunted her.

Gotham has the charm of a Francisco de Goya painting, somewhat dark and twisted, it has Wayne Tower, a standard of progress for the city; Raven remembers her open mouth trying to analyze the immensity of the fortune and the power of the millionaire family of the city of the bat, Metropolis shone like the sun in summer, it was beautiful and wide, guarded by the most powerful hero in the world, but not compared to the magnificence of Wayne Tower, the Daily Planet looked like just one more figure blending in with the city, in her time in Azarath she was surrounded by incredible beauty and temples, Jump City was insignificant compared to the places she saw with her eyes, it was a city with the smell of a port, whose inhabitants depended on the coast and tourism.

Gotham has Wayne Tower, Metropolis tot Daily Planet, and Azarath had its temples, but none have Riva Street.

When Raven joined the Titans, she was a hurt and scared girl, who saw deaths, destruction, and dwelt in hell, loving a being who was unable to feel, value, and deserve love, but she had. That was her mistake.

She felt like a stranger, an invisible entity wandering the streets of a foreign city; She looked like a girl, but inside she felt much older. Starfire had shaken her hand, as if she needed a direction, held it so sweetly that she almost cried because she had been stroked long ago with the same kind of love.

Emotions came to her like the wind, it was a strong current that pushed her back almost releasing the hand of the alien princess, but she just whispered that she shouldn’t be scared. Raven had frowned because she probably thought she was shocked by the number of people roaming the streets and that couldn't be further from the truth.

Dick smiled at the scene. Even meters away, she sensed the warmth, how the hero's heart beat strongly, like a horse's trot and almost fell to the melted ground, she believed that it could not be more clear, it was obvious that he wanted the newly baptized leader of the Titans.

She grimaced, wanting to get away from this situation.

Raven did not want this familiarity, she did not deserve it after her choices. Sooner or later it would go wrong, the prophecy was set in stone, it was impossible to erase, and it was the first time that she seriously considered getting lost in the streets and disappearing forever.

Starfire led her by the hand towards a store, eager to try on an outfit she saw on a mannequin, but the girl's vision was focused on an alley, it did not seem part of the city with its buildings and gray streets. It was a corner with the cobblestone floor, small houses painted in different colors, square like match boxes with beautiful terraces adorned with flowers and plants. The restaurants served pizzas, spaghetti and all kinds of typical dishes, people gathered around tables chatting with their friends and families.

She watched people reading, laughing with their children and couples shaking hands.

The aura was tinged with pink, a color that she had never seen before in a concentration that made the sky seem like a sunset.

"If you want, we can go," Dick interjected.

She nodded, showing no emotion.

Years later, she continued to walk down Riva Street, that hidden alley that did not correspond to the city, just like her. Riva street was her, with its relaxed atmosphere, small family restaurants, ice cream parlors and bookstores, it was her secret, nobody knew how much she liked it.

Raven had started and finished books at this place. She created memories, like a buried capsule that few knew about.

It was too intimate.

She knew that her home was with her friends, the people she considers as family, who would die for her and would protect her with their life. It is not a place, but if she would ever settle it would be on this street.

Raven would lease an apartment on Riva Street, perhaps on the second floor of that bookstore with the unpronounceable name that specializes in classics and mystery novels; She would have a cat or dog as a pet who would walk by her side, read on the benches and it would feel great. She would rebuild her relationship with herself.

It was a nice dream.

She sat in a chair waiting for her coffee.

She took the book out of her bag. The first edition of The Raven glowed with its worn cover, it had become a symbol, a sign that her feelings must be thrown away in the trash, the moment she realized it and ran a hand over the object, stroking the bird image.

She frowned.

Her heart gave a painful beat, but she was not ill. She had been through this situation before; She knew this emotion and she was not going to allow it to continue.

How did it make a difference if she started liking him or it was dumb confusion at a low time?

Not that she had much experience around relationships. Her previous relationship was living proof, since then she had made a calculation, perhaps the outcome was not entirely her fault, but Raven tended to cling to people who would never feel the same way about her, loved and hoped they would return it. Her father, her demonic brothers, Garfield ...

Damian would only be one more number on her list. He was already having a bad time for her to have confusion, he didn't need any more drama in his life, where did she come in? Raven was going to destroy their relationship, she had to end it all.

It hadn't been long since she had ended it with Garfield, this couldn't happen to her now. It was just a passing taste, a flutter, and it would go away, like a butterfly.

Did her heart so quickly forget about Beast Boy? She almost shook her head, her words still got stuck when she saw him and she wished that she would confess the truth to him., Give a better explanation of why she abandoned him, because she left him before he did and left him pained on the sidewalk, but it is different, it is that kind of affection accompanied by bad memories, the one that asks for an apology and demands it.

With Damian it's different, it was stupid of him ...

She couldn't help but feel terrible. She felt like a bad person, wanting a friend was the worst thing that could happen to her. She had seen him for years as her best friend, they helped each other when they collapsed due to some circumstance and boy, they had., They talked about books and movies, they could sit down; share a tea and chat about a period of history. With Damian and she would respond with the same interest.

Random, she was going to ruin everything.

Don't feel, she told himself. Don't start, if you do you will want more. You are not that kind of girl.

He deserved a young daughter from a wealthy family, a Gotham princess, and even a model. If they didn't notice her best friend because of his attractiveness, they would because of what he represents. She heard that such powerful family practice was usual (like a novel), although she couldn't imagine Bruce Wayne agreeing with that.

Raven was but a half-breed, half human and demon; someone who was unaware of many terrestrial customs, an anonymous name that was forged from the depths of hell. An abomination, a protégé, destruction and the girl who became a hero hidden under a hood.

A strange sensation invaded her body, as if someone or something was watching her. The air was a mix of pink and green, which she had seen in few people; It is not a secret that Raven can see the aura, they would normally be tinted red, yellow, blue, purple to gold, but green was difficult to find.

She had only seen this shade of green on one person.

"Blessed chance."

She looked up, suppressing a shiver. Out of sheer inertia the book slid forward, almost ripped it from her fingers, and a chill ran through her entire spine, like a fleeting fire; appeared and left instantly.

What was he doing here?

If it wasn't for the voice, she wouldn't recognize him. Damian Wayne stood next to her with dark glasses over his eyes, a thin white scarf with black patterns, and his usual black t-shirt folded neatly to the elbows.

Titus appeared with his tongue sticking out, apparently tired and when he became aware of her presence, he approached flapping his tail. She smiled at the emotion of the dog and stroked him, he licked her hand up to her arm.

He sat down in a chair in front of her. She was surprised to see him leave the tower, since the drama on social networks he had not wanted to pronounce on anything with any of his identities.

Batman, the Justice League, and the Titans suggested solutions, from official statements to videos giving their reasons, but he dismissed it with one hand and focused on training. He didn't do any more, locked himself in and improved his techniques (in her opinion, he didn't need it), now he was he, in front of her showing most of his face.

Maybe Damian got tired, he was an active person, she was pretty sure that in the time they met didn't see a single day of laziness, he kept his hands busy; When he was not on patrol, he trained, when he did not train, he devoted himself to research, or he cleaned the room, sharpened his weapons, or contacted Wayne Manor asking for an update on the events there.

"You must keep an eye on your enemies as well as your allies"

"We are talking about your family, Damian" she replied.

"It does not matter"

She raised an eyebrow "I would ask you about the scarf, but I don't want to insult your taste."

"This scarf is made to make me invisible to the cameras."

She bit her lip to keep from laughing. Damian wouldn't appreciate laughter at his expense but she found it funny.

"Like a superpower?"

He rolled his eyes.

"It was designed by ..." He looked at the table, more specifically at the book interrupting what he was going to say. His eyes traveled from the object to Raven, as if trying to square two different things in a single scene and she never wanted to take it out of her bag. "It's from an online store” he corrected himself. " Now his voice was much more comfortable. "Many celebrities use it to make it impossible for paparazzi to take photos. "

She thought about it.

People had calmed down a bit, basically because Robin disappeared assigning missions in remote places, what surprised her most was that he did not protest. At first she had believed that negativity did not affect him, that he would turn off all opinions and focus on himself, but Damian had acted like a wounded animal, every time a camera pointed at his face he transformed into a more sullen version., He bit with his words when talking about his reputation and he left the Titans to be seen only in short periods of the day.

She had not seen him in a week.

"I didn't know you knew this place."

For a long time, she thought that Riva street was hers. It is not a crowded place, when you compete against luxury shops, festivals and fairs, a cobbled street taken from an old movie is not a great novelty.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Grayson said they wouldn't harass me here."

"Dick?"

Shrugged.

His shoulders had widened, and his muscles were protruding under the thin fabric, she was jealous that the material would embrace him highlighting the perfection of his body. His tanned skin darkened over the years from exposure to unprotected sunlight, he was strong, and he was acquiring new scars.

She looked at his hands, a collection of scars like silver threads running through his fingers, one of them going through his wrists. She wanted to know what had happened, to ask if it was hurting from the cold and if it really led the other way.

It was like a faded flower imprinted on his skin. A scar is a patch of skin that grows on a wound, insensitive to touch, but would he feel anything if she touched it?

Do not start.

"He named this street." Damian didn't seem very impressed, although his expressions are difficult to read. At first she found this frustrating, it reminded her of Batman's aura, a cloud that could not fade to see the true color, but his son was a green color like his eyes, but his exterior had been sculpted based on hard training, emotional manipulation, control and pain. The green is dull now, like dried moss. “He promised me that no one would bother me.”

She looked at the scarf.

"So that's just as a precaution and ... "

She was interrupted by the waiter carrying her coffee, a donut dusted in sugar and the house specialty, some delicious focaccias. She felt the tug of hunger in her stomach as the smell of olive and spices reached her nose.

Damian frowned.

"What? " She took a sip of the coffee; the drink was at its perfect point. The Costa restaurant is small, rustic with that stone façade and the chairs made of hand-carved wood; she felt the urge to defend it. "Yes, it is…"

"I didn't say anything." He grimaced. He would say it "I was just wondering why you were so quiet and serious in the Tower, while here you show more emotion to that donut than to the Titans,” he said.

He put the coffee aside.

He was right.

"You too have been silent."

Damian crossed his arms supporting his back. Titus played around a fountain, drinking the water and letting some children caress him, from here she felt the laughter and affectionate names that were dedicated to him and the animal bathed with love, its owner almost smiled. Almost.

Right now, he looks like he's getting his weapons ready for battle, his expression was determined and wild, and he must ...

"Is it because of Garfield?"

She steps back, and a bucket of cold water falls on her body.

"What? "

Uncertainty passed over her face and hardened her.

Why was he doing this? Raven sees a feeling, believes her powers have touched him, and would go deep, but instantly he blocks it entirely, his emotions and feelings painted under a dark canvas. He left her blind, only believing that her had the confidence to reveal a portion of himself.

She was surprised that he named her former partner, since he did not express interest in their relationship. Damian was non-sentimental; He would probably scoff at the honeyed explanations his older brother so badly wanted to get into his head; Jason would have a dirtier one, full of inordinate sex and add treason to it, just for the drama; Tim would give a talk about the chemical processes that were triggered when someone liked you, but he was not interested, he saw it as a necessity, a small distraction in his eternal crusade.

"Did you finish?"

As if that would explain everything, but what if it did? After the breakup with Garfield, she plunged into meditation, turning off her father's voice, but it followed her everywhere, repeating what she really was.

She became like thorns. If someone got close enough, they would only get a prick, there were no flowers in the first season or leaves in the summer, so she kept herself alone and promised that she would not be touched.

Garfield's face turned into punishment, if only she hadn't hurt him. It was too late, she is alert when he is close and knows why.

She really understood it.

Damian looked her in the eye. "I know it was a difficult breakup."

She looked down.

"It was. "

She did not lie, there was no need. Her affirmation was like a consolation, she just needed to let him go.

"I'm sorry. "

She raised her head. She never heard Gotham's bat son apologize to anyone, those phrases were not in his mouth, his tone was soft, like calm after a storm.

She smiled.

They shared a long look. At first, he looked serious, despite not wearing his Robin mask it felt like an eye mask, hiding the true emotion reflected in his eyes.

Damian smiled.

A dimple left on his cheek, and wrinkles formed around his eyes, making them look smaller, his expression softened, as if he had never been through torment. It was unlike any other smile she had ever seen, it was not arrogant, nor of victory or conceit; This was not the trained assassin destined to turn the world into a dystopia, he was not the angry and vengeful boy struggling to find a place next to his father, emerging as Robin, he was not the son of a famous billionaire, nor the hero that everyone hated, but Damian. It was soft and beautiful.

The first time he saw a genuine Damian Wayne smile was on Riva Street.

So, she knew she made a mistake and would never see Riva Street the same way. This street had represented intimacy, the beginnings and ends of novels, the best coffee she had ever tasted, flavors that she had not tried before, reflections and the smile on someone's lips. He had become entangled in her soul, the memories lost relevance compared to this moment and a feeling of fear of loss settled in her stomach, like a blow.

The story ends. Now.

Raven's smile disappeared from her face.

***

Raven had come up the stairs when the sun was barely caressing the mountains, a blanket hanging from her shoulders, a steaming tea floating behind her, and a book under her arm.

The roof of the Tower of the Titans gave a general view of the city. The blowing of the wind was strong, charging from the north, the color-degraded sky and a handful of stars remained in the sky.

Seagulls flew around the construction, squawking as if announcing the start of the day. The air was frozen, like sticking her head into a refrigerator and her nose was kissed by the cold.

Years ago, she read here, with the tranquility and amazement at dawn. Normally, the tower was full of noise, screaming, and disorder, making it impossible to read and struggling to find solitude around seven quirky teens, plus an alien princess with a tendency to incinerate food and her boyfriend with a highly activated parental sense.

It was a strange combination, but it works.

She sat on the floor wrapping the blanket around her shoulders holding back a shiver, sipped a shot of green tea, and watched the sunrise, amazed by the colors.

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall,

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

The pad of her fingers caressed the illustration, noticing the relief and ink of the illustration of the egg sitting on a wall with little Alice watching.

"Do you think it will disappear if you don't take it?"

Damian sat still in Robin's uniform; his face shows cuts and the purple colors began to manifest in the high point of his left cheek.

"What happened? "

"Patrol. "

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Always so expressive.

She watched him "You look tired. "

He snorts, but doesn't contradict her, and that's a confirmation. Damian had been behind a gang of robbers, and was recently called by Batman while away for two weeks; Photos surfaced in magazines and on social media about the charity event bringing the family together in honor of Martha Wayne, without However, if Bruce Wayne summoned him it would not be solely for that, the vigilante was having to contain the Joker.

Raven knew that it required the whole family.

When Damian arrived, he was angry and spent all his time on patrol, so he was living with his brothers and he needed to get rid of the teasing, arguments and annoyance.

Three days later she has him in front of her with his legs trembling and sweat dripping down his forehead.

"You should sleep," she recommended.

He clicks his tongue and his chest rises and falls. "When I was seven years old, I was awake for four days, just feeding on the vegetation of the place and the river water. This is nothing to me. "

She imagines a child abandoned in the middle of the forest, hungry and starving. It doesn't seem like an achievement.

She grimaces.

"What? "

She chose not to express it. He could take it as a criticism, or get irritated., Damian is not known for his tolerance of others' arguments, especially when it comes to his past, and equally who is she to argue about his story?

"Nothing. "

She reread the book.

All the king's horses

And all the king's men

Couldn't put Humpty

Together again.

"It's one of my favorite rhymes," he declares sleepily.

Raven grimaces.

He is looking at her, his eyes struggle to close, and she can see the struggle to stay seated… If only he wasn't so proud.

An impulse makes its way inside her and she thinks of the teenager who gave her a book. The one who appeared on Riva Street accompanied by his pet, who spoke about poetry and rhymes when tiredness is about to knock him down. She takes off the mask, it is soft and almost feels like a mass in her hands, he protests, but he is are just babbling.

"I'm going to hit Drake and-" "He can't tell enough; his head falls and heshe straightens his brow several times. Raven almost smiled. "Father and… They almost kidnapped Grayson…" He tries to formulate a complete sentence, but the voice simply leaves him. Before he falls to the floor, she gently grabs his arm and helps him lie down on the floor and balls her blanket into a pillow. "I like rhymes. "

Laughter echoes off the roof.

"Are you always so chatty in the morning?"

He growls.

"I must have a poem around here." She opened the book.

It is right in there

Betwixt and between

The orchard bare

And the orchard green,

When the boughs are right

In a flowery burst

Of pink and white,

That we fear the worst.

She took a breath to read the next paragraph when she was interrupted.

"Peril of Hope. Robert Frost. "

A memory greets her after years. When the world was almost over and her father had been inserted into the glass, she felt his stench emanating from that smallness, his power and evil in her palm, she could not be careless and silly like the last time; the world did not deserve destruction and her friends almost died, she agreed to stay in hell to protect them, but he convinced her as best he could, citing poetry by Robert Frost.

"You are full of surprises."

That permanent frown disappeared, and he buried his face in the blanket, closing his eyes.

She plunged into uncertainty for a few minutes.

She watched him sleep, muttering that she is not that girl and she would not fall so easily.

She drank her tea in one gulp.

He woke up an hour later, muttering and staggering to his room, he didn't go out all day.

Raven devoted herself to meditation, while Starfire and Dick trained together.

She could feel eyes from the other side of the room, even without opening her eyes she knew who it was. From a few meters she identified that aura and presence, the colors of his soul were a deep yellow like sand.

Garfield watched her apprehensively, as if aware of an unknown detail.

Her insides twisted like a worm, wanting to take his eyes off her. She just wants to push him away.

***

The next morning Robin appears on the roof, the next and subsequent.

Damian was there, she would have a new book waiting and she would feel that it became her new religion; They were like little children who shook their shoulders and tried to learn something new.

They don't talk much.

Raven drank her tea bathed in the rising rays of the sun behind the mountains, the wind would blow her hair in different directions and she would be covered by her thick blanket. She absorbed the silence when she watched him read Walt Whitman, Charles Dickens and Herman Melville after a night patrol where he hid from the eyes of the people.

No one has seen Damian Wayne in a month.

Robin is a vigilante who takes refuge in smoke and on missions with the Titans, would participate and walk away.

’’ Doesn't it bother you? ’” She asked one day pushed by bravery. Since the cancellation he was reserved, fleeing from the great masses and behaving like an invisible entity.

He didn't look up from his reading. "What are you talking about?"

’’ The hatred of people on the internet ’’

He frowned, processing her words. "The opinions of the despicable sheep are not worth it."

"You should print it on a card."

He smiled ‘’ ’I'm not an influencer, not a celebrity, Raven. I am a vigilante and did not need third party validation… I would just like to have privacy ’’

Raven understood that.

***

That morning it felt strange, like when you have a lump in your throat that is about to give way.

Damian had not returned for three days as he was on a mission with his brothers. Therefore, there were no conversations on the roof, books and herbal tea, lunches on Riva street and she realized how much she missed him. They did not spend all day together, she did not think about him for more than an hour, but she settled into her routine with those small and significant moments, they were pieces of her days that won against vacillations.

She was longing for more.

No one had to know.

In front of the Titans, two colleagues behaved as common as ever; there was a tacit agreement of silence between them. She discovered that she liked it that way. That she wanted that privacy, she said nothing, but she knew that for Damian's public life it is complicated that whatever they had was captured by a camera and exposed, stabbing the secret. Raven did not want to meet her face in teen magazines, or that they speculated around who she is, if she valued anything in her civil identity, it gave her a sense of normality.

Raven was terrified; her father's voice followed her every morning as she made her tea in the kitchen before going up to the roof. He brought back memories of her previous relationship, distant and sad green eyes, which made her feel so good she wouldn't have to tear him apart. With each fight she had a reason to leave Garfield and there were many, and she didn't want him anymore.

She knew he would never do anything to hurt her, she knew his heart and his intentions, but love can make you see roses instead of thorns. She only knew love in poems, books and performances, they said that love is a brilliant thing, but it is ardent. She always tried to see herself through the eyes of another person, it made her feel less dirty and that there was this story where after suffering there is a person waiting, with her heart in one hand and a smile painted on her face, like a pink brushstroke.

Maybe it only works on humans.

Now she thought that love was a golden cage, that makes you feel that you live in luxury and have all the comforts of the world, but you cannot go out without a fight, without facing the person who made you forget about yourself.

Her father was no longer using insults to destabilize her, he became crueler bringing memories that she was fighting to bury. It led her to the frustration, heartbreak, and anger she felt after the discussions, her mind formulating justifications and judgments, and her breakup.

Standing in the kitchen praying because she was doing well, not regretting and avoiding remembering this as a big one: what if?

She knew that it was her father taking advantage of her fear, but she could not help thinking that it was much better to look the truth in the eyes and that part of her is happy that Damian is not there.

She hoped that it would take him long enough to forget his smile, burn his presence on Riva Street and go up to the roof watching the sunset reading in silence, without feeling that something is missing. She felt he was getting under her skin, between the cuts of her past with something she has not known and does not know how to fight it; Damian takes what he wants, his defense mechanisms react in time.

She expects him to stay away days, weeks, months, and even years.

I am the only thing you have, ungrateful girl. I'm the only one who stays.

She growled and murmured a quick spell, dulling his voice.

She realized that she doesn't just want to have her father as her company, she still has friends who show her love, and they don't care about her love life just because of her condition. That thought brings her peace.

Raven lit the kettle. It is still night when she creeps into the kitchen in her pajamas, and the thin blanket around her shoulders like a makeshift cloak; she needed a tea to fully wake up, she still felt the tiredness in her body and her eyes closed when she leaned on the table.

She was ready to watch the sunrise alone and considered going back to sleep. With or without Damian it had become a habit, it was her, what did she gain by clinging as if he were an extension? She was sure that Damian would not like someone to consider him that way, she was also finished with that topic. She was better alone.

Someone cleared his throat.

She felt hesitation and fear. She turned, watching Garfield stand at the kitchen door, hesitating instead, as if fighting to run away or stay.

A heart beats.

It is like rereading a book with an unhappy ending, she had seen this a million times. She had already given up, but he came back every time she was healing and would be weak to fall under his love, as if that would fill her, even so, she felt that the end point had already been written.

She filled her cup with hot water "I left you the rest of the water, if you want. "

"Raven," Garfield scratches his hair, unsure. His head was down. "Can we talk? "

She shook your head.

"I woke up at five in the morning with a purpose." His eyes are marked by dark circles and puffy from lack of sleep. She gives in (just a little). "It will be a moment. "

The young woman sat down at the table holding her breath. Her hands traveled to the cup embracing the warmth, and she begged all the gods and spirits of Azarath not to end up in the same place as a month ago.

Aisha, the spinning spirit of Azarath's love and suffering is laughing at her. The monks illustrated her as a lonely old woman who lives in the high mountains, where the sun always shines, pulling the strings of love from mortals and immortals. She is temperamental, if she thought you were good, she could entangle your thread of love with others the easy way, her fingers would do the braid with details, but if she decided that you didn't deserve it, then she would make a tangle between love and suffering, condemning another innocent person; her tutors were afraid of her, they thought they had to atone for any offense against the spirit. She thinks Aisha hates her.

She remained silent, and inert.

The silence is uncomfortable, it keeps and brings conversations, memories and secrets.

"I'm sorry. "

He Frowned.

Raven raised an eyebrow, still surprised by what heshe was saying. On more than one occasion she imagined that at some point he would apologize, but she did not expect his voice to break, to feel the pain reflecting on his face.

She did not know what to say. She was never good at sharing her feelings.

He probably already knew that.

"I was a terrible boyfriend," he said. She is empathetic so she feels his conflicting emotions, but one of them predominates more than the others: Guilt. "You didn't deserve it."

She is about to speak, but he interrupts her with his hands up: "Let me finish, please" He keeps his eyes down. Her hands play with a napkin, folding and spreading the paper. "I wasted what we had. Don't think I didn't love you, in fact I did. I wish I could have loved you better. " He shrugs "I hurt you. "

She grimaced.

Beast Boy pursed his lips "Now you keep your guard high when I'm around you and I know why. I'm sorry for so many things and I understand if you don't want to have anything to do with me" His hands tremble. "Before we were dating, we were friends and I didn't think about you. I just want you to know that I come back to those mornings every day and I feel horrible about how I behaved. You didn't deserve everything I threw at you when you tried, the arguments, I ignored you for days to come back to your door asking for a chance and you forgave me. I really understand yes ... "

Before we were dating, we were friends ...

I'm the only thing you have, ungrateful girl.

She takes his hand, this time there are no artificial lights or contempt "I forgive you. "

Raven really says it. She does not want to live alone having her father as a constant, it would be a sad constant and now he is angry, insulting her and screaming because she is weak, gullible and stupid, yet she smiles.

He opens and closes his mouth, surprised "Really? "

She nods "It's not like I have any other choice, we live in the same place. "

Garfield laughs and exhales a big breath, touches his chest feeling his heart and snorts "God, I thought you were going to hate me. Maybe you would curse me for all eternity. "

She rolled her eyes.

"Maybe I will…"

"Let's be friends again!" He dances around the kitchen, ignoring her words. He turns to yellow and white again. "It's cool, baby. "

Raven stands up, deciding it's too much. She embraced the book and used her powers to make the cup levitate with her footsteps.

"You are so loud."

He is smiling.

She walks to the kitchen door to watch the sunrise, but he knocks on it and she turns around.

"What wrong? "

“You deserve someone who reads Shakespeare or something like that with you and kisses the ground where you step," Garfield smiles. "You may be half demon and your father is a monster, but not everything has to be suffering. Love is not pain, Rae. "

Again, she doesn't know what to say or do, so she nods.

When she leaves the kitchen, she realizes that the lump in her throat that she has been holding since she got up, no longer exists. She feels light, like dropping a load and all the bumps, cuts and infections are healing.

She still has her struggles but abandoning one she did not collapse. Sometimes getting rid of one makes the bag not explode.

She needed that talk.

She needed to let it go completely.

As she climbs the stairs to the roof, she feels the rays of the sun entering from the open door, the light wind on her face and the squawk of seagulls, agitated in the sky that is a beautiful combination of pinks, blues and golds.

Her steps are delicate, like the fall of a feather and she thinks of the crow as more than a bird that predicts tragedies, or its black feathers the consequence of the wrath of a god.

When she opens the door, she holds her breath. Sitting on the floor writing on a pad is Damian, dressed in his civilian clothes and a bruise above his eyebrow, he carries a coffee and frowns every time he sips his drink.

His hands are quick on the sheet of paper.

She didn't know he would be here; thought he’d be away for a couple more days.

"You are late. "

She does not answer.

"Selina had a daughter."

She raises her eyebrows.

"I thought your father had more than one girlfriend." Damian looks up for the first time. He frowns. "You know, Playboy. "

So, it wasn't just a mission with his brothers, the Bat family just got bigger. Honestly, she thought the world couldn't take another Wayne, but she was wrong.

He does not say anything.

Raven sits on the ground next to him, keeping her distance.

"How are you with the arrival of the new member? "

"Good. "

Oh.

"Congratulations. "

They remain silent and she thinks that is all the information that she is going to be able to obtain from Damian. She opens her poetry book right where she leaves the separator, which consists of a withered sheet.

"My father is happy, even if he doesn't say it" He continues writing, only this time it is slower. The pen in his hand runs smoothly, as if reflecting. "I thought Selina would be a strumpet, that she would give him carnal relief and then leave, but my father seems… comfortable. Dick says it makes him less intense. "

Dick.

For Azarath, Dick must be overflowing with joy.

"How is she? "

Damian grimaces.

"Pink. "

She laughs "Yes, I suppose all the babies at the beginning are. "

"Helena is small, like really small, so much so that my father fears that she will break if one of us carries her." When she is not crying, she is sleeping or eating" he pauses. "Selina says the first few months will be like this. "

She Smiled.

"What? " He asks defensively.

"You like her. "

He rolled his eyes.

"To be honest, my chips were on the end of their relationship, but she stayed." He shrugs. Damian makes it look like an unlikely result in an equation. "Drake and Grayson won. I suppose I are well. I can do nothing but endure. "

Raven laughs.

"It's not funny." His tone is not angry, he doesn't turn that red warning tone and she knows that everything is fine.

She looks down at the book and takes a sip of her tea.

She looked at Damian, who continued writing in his notebook; The sun's rays bathed his face, his skin is tan, and his green eyes roam the notebook, concentrating on whatever he wants to capture.

She closes your eyes and feels the taste of herbs in the mouth.

She feels his shoulders collide with her, it's a warm and dangerous pressure. Each of her molecules asks for more, and she shouldn't be allowing this, but she doesn't pull away, nor does she stop her heart from running wild.

No one has heard from Robin in two months and the internet is focused on the following drama.

Damian Wayne allows himself to be photographed, but the paparazzi are not interested in selling photos of a scarf to the big gossip magazines, so they disappear little by little.

Raven left a relationship behind and hesitantly asks: What is it about him here?

It is at this moment that he realizes that, if she bleeds, he would be the last to know.

#damirae #fanfiction #damian x raven #damian wayne #raven #dc animated universe

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shirtlesssammy · 5 years ago

Text

9x23: Do You Believe in Miracles?

Then:

*ahem* Lots of angel and Mark of Cain stuff happened... I guess

Now:

We pick up right where we left off in 9x22. Dean almost kills Gadreel, but Sam and Cas lock him up in the dungeon instead. Sam locks the First Blade away and discovers Gadreel is gone.

Dean’s busy vomiting up blood. Healthy.

Metatron is busy writing his Magnum Opus. It’s a story about “love and heartbreak...and love.” An angel helper is there to show Metatron his new angel radio station --it only allows his voice to play for all angels in heaven and earth. Metatron is delighted.

He gives them a rousing speech of how happy he is that they’ve all joined together under his rule. He tells them that he’s going away, but when he returns, it’ll be glorious.

Sam and Cas take a drive and find a very injured Gadreel on the side of the road. Cas, his powers weakened, heals Gadreel from Dean’s wound. They need his help.

Crowley, meanwhile, is enjoying a nice demon massage. But Dean calls him away.

Dean demands that Crowley tell him what’s been going on with him. Ever since killing Abaddon, he needs to kill, all the time. Crowley tells him the mark is making him kill, and if he doesn’t he will die. As a human, he can’t really survive this curse. Dean tells Crowley that he wants to get to Metatron, but he needs the blade first. He needs Crowley’s help.

Cas, Sam, and Gadreel come back to an empty bunker. Sam tries reaching his brother with no luck. Gadreel thinks that Dean and the blade are their best chance at stopping Metatron. Sam, ever the co-dependent, thinks it’s A HORRIBLE IDEA. They talk about how Metatron is tapping into the angel tablet to gain powers akin to God. They need to break that connection.

The one problem is that the tablet is in heaven in Metatron’s office. Gadreel can get them to the gate. Sam thinks this is also a stupid idea. Cas thinks they have to try.

Insert one unobservant woman getting hit by a car. Lucky for the world, Metatron is there to save her.

Dean and Crowley hit up a local watering hole for the wi-fi.

Crowley is really going through some existential crazies, and Dean’s not ready to embrace their summer of love yet. Dean does see through his angst in regards to Hell though, but is too focused on finding Metatron to dissect Crowley’s issues right now. A couple of Crowley’s demons arrive with a video of what Metatron’s been up to.

Marv’s been saving people’s lives!

Dean gets up to leave, and here’s where things get REALLY DARK. Dean doesn’t eat his cheeseburger.

Cas and Gadreel arrive at Heaven’s portal: a playground. Cas has a plan on getting them inside.

And just thinking about Cas getting the Wookie idea from watching movies with Dean and Sam, and learning from these humans that he’s come to accept as family, just, well, even though so much has been said about it, it all still messes me up a bit. Gadreel doesn’t understand that reference, and Cas has a sad.

Dean arrives at the recently resurrected woman’s home, only to find Sam. Dean refuses to engage his brother. Sam informs Dean that Cas and Gadreel are risking everything to help Dean win this fight. Dean hears “Cas” and records scratches. Sam powers through with their season’s worth of anger and resentment. They have a plan, and Dean’s just going to have to take it. Sam eventually concedes that Dean’s their best shot at Metatron. Crowley decides to bounce.

Gadreel and a handcuffed Cas enter Heaven. They’re taken right to Metatron’s office.

Oh wait, nope. It’s actually Heaven’s prison. (And UGH, Gadreel’s “no,no, not here!” stung a bit.)

Marv heads to a homeless camp to perform miracles. He moves among the people, healing them. Another angel calls him out as a fraud and not human, and then calls him Metatron. The other people rally around Metatron, attacking the accusing angel. HOW DARE! Marv is good and pure! Metatron kicks his angel blade into the fray and someone grabs it up and stabs the other angel. DUDES. There’s no need to go from zero to stabbin’! Light flashes as Metatron grins.

Dean struggles under the thrall of the blade, but tries to wrap himself up in the mantle of gruff normalcy when Sam fills him in on the latest Metatron intel. Dean attempts a half hearted apology for the past few months and Sam attempts a half hearted acceptance. My heart is so warmed? Oh wait, I’m feeling despair at their continued utter lack of emotional honesty. GAH. (This is the show I choose to love!) Dean coldcocks Sam, knocking out that poor boy and his delicate, delicate head. “Not your fight,” Dean tells him and then just...WALKS AWAY.

Up in Heaven, Cas tries to make Hannah see the truth about Metatron. Hannah is TIRED of all the angel deaths. Honestly, PREACH my friend! While Castiel pleads, Gadreel comes up with a very bad idea indeed.

Down on Earth, Dean enters the homeless encampment. He’s immediately greeted by two residents who tell Dean that “Marv” is expecting him. Dean’s directed into a warehouse to find Metatron.

Gadreel is EXTREMELY wound up in Heaven’s jail. “The only thing that matters is the mission,” he says. On this show, that kind of talk is a very bad sign. While Cas tries to calmly reassure him, Gadreel carves a sigil into his chest. Realizing what he’s doing too late, Castiel cowers as Gadreel blasts himself apart. Heaven’s jail crumbles.

Cas emerges from his broken cell and confronts Hannah.

In the old factory, Metatron calmly waits for Dean. He accuses Dean of harboring too much cynicism to be happy, but Dean puts forth his own share of belittling banter. Metatron’s a fake!

Metatron doesn’t care. He rails about God’s insecurity, spinning a story about humanity who will do nothing but bow and scrape for God’s favor even in the face of terrible adversity. He vows that he can save humans. He’s got a mission.

Dean doesn’t care. He’s out to get Metatron for killing Kevin, taking Cas’s grace, and whatever other ills befall humanity. He whips out the blade and does not...look...terribly stable.

Metatron sorts through Dean’s confrontation, concluding that Dean’s stalling to buy Cas and Gadreel time to enact their plan up in Heaven. Jokes on Dean, though! They’ve been imprisoned! The blade shakes in Dean’s hand. They fight.

Upstairs, Cas has made it to Metatron’s study. Hannah’s back on his side! Yeah!

Dean fights Metatron, but he’s no match for “the word of God.” Sam races through the encampment to help his brother. Meanwhile, Dean gets the stuffing kicked out of him.

Dean is looking really, really super not great. But he still summons the strength to reach out a hand to psychokinetically propel the blade to his hand. He sits up. It’s his hero moment!

And…

Metatron stabs him RIGHT through the CHEST. Just...RIGHT THERE THROUGH THE HEART.

Damn.

Everything slows down as Sam watches his brother get stabbed. Dean looks around, seeks his brother out one last time, and then falls to the ground JUST as, in Heaven, Cas dashes the angel tablet to pieces on the floor. UNFORTUNATE TIMING!

This is Our Hearts:

Sam hauls out a blade to stab the hell out of Metatron, but the angel flaps out.

Cas looks up from the desk to see Metatron. Metatron comments on the shattered tablet, destroyed to “save Dean Winchester.” He advances. “You draped yourself in the flag of Heaven but ultimately it was all about saving one human, right?”

Metatron drops the truth bomb: Dean is dead.

Sam is frantic as a not-dead-yet Dean slurs a request for Sam to leave him and get the hell out of there. Sam refuses. Surely there’s a spell or SOMETHING to save Dean? Too bad, Sammy. Dean’s already on board with embracing the sweet release of death if it means he can escape the ill effects of the Mark.

Cas folds his grief carefully into a box and then accuses Metatron of fooling the other angels with his savior routine. Metatron scoffs. “They are frightened little sheep,” Metatron says with dripping contempt, but he will lead them back to leading (and lording over) humanity.

Sam helps Dean walk out of the building and Dean asks him about his sudden change of heart. Sam’s not ready to let him go just yet! “Ain’t that a bitch.” It is indeed a bitch, Dean Winchester.

Metatron prepares to stab Cas, accusing him of lacking the imagination to spin a good story for himself. Cas throws it back at him: Metatron learned to spin a good story...and he narrated the hell out of his nefarious plot WHILE angel radio was on full broadcast mode. Angels storm the study and seize Metatron.

Back on Earth, things are going very badly. “I’m proud of us,” Dean chokes out to his brother right before he dies. Oh dear.

Upstairs, Cas and Hannah lock Metatron up behind bars. She tells him that not killing Metatron is what a leader would do. Cas denies her label. He just wants to be an angel. Hannah reminds him that he’ll die without replenishing his failing grace.

We cut to Sam laying Dean’s body in his room at the bunker and then drinking himself Winchester stupid in the dark library. He drunk-summons Crowley using the setup Dean left behind in the dungeon. TOO LATE, Sam! Crowley’s already in the bunker.

Crowley settles next to Dean’s body and tells him that Sam’s currently trying to summon him. Crowley swears that he didn’t know what would happen when Dean took on the Mark of Cain. But...he didn’t reveal the whole truth. There’s another story about Cain that factors in. Cain killed himself rather than become the killer the Mark was steering him towards becoming. The death didn’t stick. The Mark kept him tethered to the world. Crowley places the blade in Dean’s hand. “Maybe miracles do come true,” Crowley says. Dean is feeling LIFE right now, and not the cold embrace of death. “A new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. Let’s go take a howl at that moon.”

I’m Just a Broken-Quoted Angel:

What can I say? I wear my stress

Who else would he summon? I mean, he and Crowley have been bromancing over the Blade ever since Dean got the mark

Wookie!

You’re nothing but Bernie Madoff with wings

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 9x23 #do you believe in miracles #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel cas #crowley's bones #metatron #hannah #gadreel #supernatural season 9

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lovelilijazunde · 5 years ago

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And It All Fell Down, Part 2.

Fic: And It All Fell Down, Part 2.

Writer’s Note: This is, as you can probably tell, a Part 2 of the fanfic that I wrote for @deafgirl-and-hercoven ‘s Heir AU. I worked on this one with her, and I had a blast doing it!

Ships: Romantic Demus/Dukeceit

Warnings: Depression (in the past), random words in all caps, broken limb (off screen) (Again, if anything needs to be retagged, please tell me!)

Word Count: 2866

Summary: Princess, Deceit and Remus’s greatest secret, has just been revealed to the other Sides and Thomas. Also, a conversation was greatly overdue.

Princess blinked. Suddenly she wasn’t in Remus’s lovingly comforting embrace anymore, where he had pulled her into his arms after Deceit had disappeared from right in front of her with no warning. She was cold, and something was hurting, and there were strangers looking at her. Too many people - where did they come from - where was she? She whimpered, curling in on herself, scanning her surroundings, searching the strange new figures for a familiar face. She spun in a circle, and then stopped, with a feeling of relief amongst the panic that was washing over her. She darted into Deceit’s arms, crying.

“Mommy!”

“MOMMY?!” the others echoed in varying levels of shock and confusion. Then they all started talking over each other, asking questions “How?” and ”When?” and ”Why?”. The voices swirled around Princess, loud and harsh-sounding, causing her to bury her face even deeper into Deceit’s shirtfront. He hugged her with fierce protective love, bringing out all of his arms to do so, ignoring the horrified looks he got from the others, completely concentrating on his daughter as she whimpered.

His baby girl, his special care, his princess . . . no, no, no, don’t cry, he wanted to whisper, it’s going to be okay. But what if it wasn’t? What if-

Remus popped up, looking panicked and disheveled. He had gone to comfort Princess, only to have her snatched out of his arms by an invisible force. Upon locating his daughter, his eyes at first softened with relief, then melted with heartbreak. His baby girl was crying into his boyfriend’s shirtfront with terror, and he wanted to protect her, to make whatever had done that to her hurt and bleed. He knew what had done it though, and he knew he couldn’t do that to Thomas - curse object impermanence, his child was TERRIFIED and he wanted to DO SOMETHING.

Princess was crying, loud, gasping, chocking sobs.

“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, why did you g-go?! Did you not - not love me anym-more?! Why was I taken away f-from Daddy? Where a-are w-we?”

Deceit ran his gloved fingers through Princess’s hair calmingly. “Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, sweetie, it’s okay, shhh, Mommy’s here. Shhh, shh, you’re going to be fine. Hey, look at me, Princess, look at me.”

Princess raised her reddened eyes up to meet Deceit’s own, tears still falling down her cheeks, but slower now. She was hiccuping as she tried to choke her tears back.

“Remember that Mommy loves you very, very much, okay? And so does Daddy. You don’t have to cry, it’s all okay. It’s all going to be okay.” He kissed her forehead before shifting slightly to the side to allow her to see the rest of the room. “Remember when Daddy and I were talking about Thomas and the other Sides?”

“Uh huh,” Princess murmured softly, recovering slightly. She blinked at the other occupants of the room shyly.

Deceit pointed at Thomas. “Well, Thomas summoned you. And Mommy, too, We have a VERY important job to do.” He said, bopping her lightly on the nose. She gasped. One last tear rolled own her cheek, unnoticed.

“I’m a Side too?! Like you and Butt?”

“Pardon me, but who is ‘Butt’?” Logan interjected, grimacing.

Princess stared at him, wide-eyed for a moment as if startled by his voice, before pointing at Remus. “It means Best Uncle in The Thomas!”

At the confused looks that garnered, Deceit clarified, “She’s learning acronyms.”

“Wait,” Roman interjected, “If Remus is Butt, then who is Daddy?”

Remus looked as if he were about to make a dirty comment, but Deceit silenced him with a glare. Remus shut up, no powers necessary, and Deceit answered instead. “Princess used to call Remus Daddy, and still does in . . .” he paused, glancing down at her, nestled in his arms, “Times of trial. But Princess wanted to know why Remus says ‘Daddy’ oddly, on occasion, and Remus, naturally, explained it to her. Then she changed what she called him to Butt.”

Roman looked as if he were thinking this over, but the rest of the Sides nodded in comprehension. Patton looked a wee bit confused also, and Deceit decided to steer the conversation away from the previous topic. He looked back down at Princess.

“And, d’you see him?” Deceit asked, gesturing to Patton. Princess nodded.

“I’m not blind, Dee!” She giggled.

“Ah, the sarcasm is strong in that one,” Virgil commented, relaxing his posture slightly. Princess giggled at his words. Deceit rolled his eyes, trying to take back control of the conversation.

“That’s Patton-”

“The Light Side daddy!” Princess interrupted, gleeful to know the answer.

Patton made an aww! noise. “You taught her that?”

Remus smiled proudly. “We never said anything bad about any of you. Although, Double Dee here was worried that because of the bitterness between our groups, you would turn our princess against us.”

The other sides looked guilty for putting that horrible thought in Deceit’s mind. Deceit flushed, embarrassed to have his innermost worries laid out for his “coworkers” to see.

“Oh! Well, erm, that’s uhhh, one of many factors . . .”

Princess pulled on his caplet for attention. “Dee! Dee! Again! Again!”

Chuckling, Deceit pointed to Logan. “You want to play a guessing game? Okay, Princess, who’s that?”

“The smart Light Side! Lo Lo! Like how you’re the smartest Dark Side, Dee!”

Logan smiled at Princess for the first time. He had been paying close attention to this new arrival, but until that moment it was with curiosity devoid of emotion. He couldn’t help enjoying that this child knew that he was the “smart one”, at least out of the Light Sides. His inner teacher was pleased by this child, and he was feeling a feeling that felt the way chocolate chip muffins smelled. Was that normal? Logan decided that he liked it.

“That’s very correct, my dear. But his name is Logan.”

Princess rolled her eyes at him, which was rather comical, as she hadn’t fully gotten that hang of doing that without moving her whole head.

“It’s a nickname, Dee!”

“My apologies.” Deceit smiled. He looked at Roman then, squashing down six years worth of worry and evasiveness to do so. “Now, my little angel, do you remember when I told you that even though I made you with science, you don’t hold my blood?”

Princess nodded enthusiastically. “Uh huh! You used donors! Someone else’s duna!”

“DNA, sweetie.” Deceit corrected gently.

“Oh. Yeah. That.” Princess agreed.

“Do you know who that is?” Deceit asked, pointing to Roman. Princess nodded again.

“That’s Prince Roman. He’s Butt’s brother! I want a brother. Or a sister. Roman helps Butt with creativity!”

Roman looked a little affronted at being reduced to “help”, and Remus looked gleeful to see his brother affronted, and probably would have given him a playful shoulder punch if he were not so far away. At some point during all this, Remus had moved to stand next to Deceit and Princess, causing Logan to move closer to Virgil to make room. Virgil, in turn, had shifted closer to Princey.

Deceit pushed on with the lesson. “Yes, Princess, that’s right. I used Roman’s DNA to make you. And, Virgil’s, too.” Deceit gestured towards Virgil.

“Anxiety!”

“Yes, dearest, exactly. You have both of their DNA running through those little veins of yours.” Deceit started to tickle Princess. She laughed, rolling out of his arms and onto the floor. “If they want to be your other Mommy and Daddy that’s okay.” he glanced at Roman and Virgil, who seemed frozen, shocked. Deceit knew he would have to have a proper conversation with them later about this, but Princess was his priority right now. “Then you would have two mommies and two daddies.”

“Yay!” Princess said, before being interrupted by a giant yawn.

“Oh no, is someone ready for a nap?” Deceit asked.

Princess went limp. “Nooooooooooo! I don’t wanna nap!”

“How about this? You take a nap, and when you wake up, you can have a cookie?” Deceit offered, bribing his daughter for the upteenth time. Princess fell for it, just as she usually did.

“Yay! Can Butt tuck me in?” Princess asked.

“Of course,” Deceit conceded, giving her a loving peck of the cheek before putting her down. Princess scampered into Remus’s embrace before grabbing hold of his hand.

“Bye-bye!” She said, waving as she and Remus sank down together. Just before leaving Deceit’s field of vision, Remus sent Deceit a quick look of reassurance and loving support. The look gave Deceit the strength to not sink out with them, and stay for what he knew was inevitable. Deceit sighed softly, taking off his hat for a moment to run his gloved fingers through his hair.

“I’ll be taking your questions now,” he said as he replaced his hat.

There was a beat of silence before Logan spoke up. “How?”

“An artificial womb.” Deceit answered softly. Logan, ever the curious one, looked like he wanted to know more, but he was interrupted be fore he could get details.

“Why?” Virgil asked.

Deceit wouldn’t be able to explain why he reacted the way he did later, but in the present, Deceit just snapped.

“Why? WHY?! Because I’m never WANTED except for Remus! NO ONE EXCEPT FOR HIM EVEN THOUGHT I WAS NECESSARY! DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT’S LIKE? To be completely unwanted, and to be thought by all around you to be unnecessary? You’ve forgotten. When you LEFT US for the LIGHT SIDE, I was CONSTANTLY ALONE! Remus was in the Imagination all day and I was LOOSING MY MIND. I needed a project to work on to keep my mind off of that fact!”

Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw Thomas look guiltily at the ground, but Deceit was entirely focused on finally being honest. “So I found an article on fake wombs. I thought, ‘Hey, maybe this would solve both of your problems with one stone!’. Remus agreed, I think, at first only because he was scared that I would stop getting out of bed in the morning. So he helped me build a fake womb. We tried, again, and again, and again, with our DNA, but it WOULDN’T WORK. I nearly gave up on just about everything before Remus suggested getting donors. But of course we weren’t going to just go up to you and say ‘Hey, Virge, since you left I’ve been severely depressed and have almost given up on existing, would you mind donating some DNA for me to make a child so I don’t have to think about you?’. NO! At best you would have felt guilty. As for who we chose, WE CHOSE YOU IDIOTS BECAUSE ROMAN IS AS CLOSE TO REMUS AS IT GETS, AND YOU WERE A DARK SIDE!”

Roman looked instinctively offended by that, but his expression quickly morphed back to conflict. It looked like he was starting to process that fact that he had a child. Virgil was just staring at Deceit, eyes wide and chest heaving. Deceit wasn’t done yet, though.

“And you know why we hid her so long. I worked my ASS off just for Princess to EXIST! I almost killed myself in the process, but she lived. If I had to make a choice, I would chose her life over mine any day. I LOVE HER! You may see us as villains, but so help me, if you ever put your bigoted division into her eyes, you will regret EVER BEING FORMED!”

The room was quiet for a few seconds. Deceit realized that he was gasping for air, and mentally counted down from ten to try to regain control. He looked around the room at the others. Virgil was taking just as big gulps of breath as Deceit, and was trying equally hard to regulate them. Roman was still frozen like he was still processing the fact that he technically had a child now. Logan looked like the emotions were starting to get to him, and he didn’t quite know what to do. Patton looked like someone had handed him a new kind of spider and told him that it needed emotional support. Thomas looked frightened, but also like he was suddenly understanding Deceit for the first time. That was . . . new.

Patton was the first to regain control of himself long enough to speak. Sighing softly, he frowned, looking at Deceit. “Deceit . . . I’m so sorry that we treated you like we did. We had no idea how much you were hurting. And, I want you to know that Princess is completely welcome here.” The look he shot around the toom at the other Light Sides brooked no argument. “I’m sure that we will all try our best to work with you in a way so we can all, um . . .”

Deceit consciously relaxed his shoulders a fraction. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’ll be okay working with you, and Remus will as well. Princess is so curious about everything, Remus and I simply cannot keep up. Perhaps, you, Logan, could educate her?”

Logan blinked, surprised. “You . . . you want me?”

“It makes sense.” Deceit said. Logan looked a little bit shocked, and rather honored. He hadn’t thought that he would ever get a chance to really, properly teach someone, regardless of the fact that his first manifestation was that of a teacher from Thomas’s Vines. He didn’t think that anyone knew that he even wanted to be a teacher. And he definitely didn’t think that the ones who would notice would be the ones that he routinely countered - even if he agreed with their points. Logan smiled then, as warmly as anyone had ever seen him smile.

“I would be honored.”

Deceit glanced at the others, eyebrow raised in an indication that he would be amenable to more inquiries.

“How . . . how old is she?” Roman asked.

Deceit’s gaze turned wistful. “She’s turning six in April. God . . . I still cannot believe that it has been so long . . .”

Roman finally smiled. The Thomas-really-wants-to-have-kids instinct was overriding his confusion. “I see. Anything else we should know about her?”

“Well, she is basically a miniature you, Roman, but with Virgil’s unfiltered anxiety. We’re working with her on it. She’s scared of using her own powers, but that is a story for another time.” Virgil looked guilty at that.

“She loves music. Ah, ooh! She is very hard to say no to. Exhibit a) She did my makeup.” Dee chuckled, gesturing at his face. “She is very determined in everything that she does. Nothing goes unfinished if she has anything to say about it.”

Roman looked proud of her. Logan nodded his approval as well.

Deceit continued. “She loves snow in the Imagination . . .” he chuckled again. The others had never heard him laugh like he had today before, warm and soft and full of love, without a trace of sardonic belittlement in sight.

“When she was two, Remus introduced her to snow for the first time. She just stood there for a moment before falling face first into the snow and just . . . laying there. She wasn’t bothered by it at all. What a crazy kid.” He smiled off into the distance of fond memory for a moment before pulling himself back to the present.

“Oh, and one more thing: She is terrified of rats. Another long story.”

“Ahem. So, does she have a real name?” Logan asked curiously.

“Oh, no,” Deceit replied, subdued “When she broke free from the fake womb, I . . . I didn’t want to name her because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to take it if you . . . if you all took her away from me. So I didn’t want to get attached, but Remus started calling her Princess 626, not just normal 626-”

“Makes sense, after all, she is royalty,” Roman grinned. Deceit glared at him balefully for interrupting before continuing as if he hadn’t spoken.

“The next thing we knew, we were calling her Princess like it was her real name. But it is just a nickname - she had full creativity over her full name. So far, she has called herself Bob, Cat, Dean, Grey . . . pretty much anything she could think of, but she hasn’t ever been able to settle on one for long. Though we don’t mind calling her Princess.”

Virgil took in one last deep breath, making sure he was calm enough not to accidentally use his Tempest Tongue before asking, “Um, w-who dyed her hair?”

“Meee!” Remus popped back up, making Virgil jump. He grinned at the Anxious side cheekily before turning to Deceit. “Oh, also, Double Dee, Princess is really gonna need your cuddles when she wakes up. She broke her arm when you were summoned - fell forwards with a splat onto the floor. Her words, not mine. Poor darling.” He grimaced. “N-normally a broken arm is good, but not if it’s Princess’s arm.”

“Her arm is WHAT?! I gotta go - I have to check on her!” Deceit gasped.

“Don’t worry, Dee! Took care of it!”

Deceit shook his head at his boyfriend. “Really, Remus, I greatly appreciate your help with everything I have, but I do not trust your medical care at all.” He sank down as fast as he could. Remus shrugged.

“That’s fair.”

Taglist If you want to be added, message me!):

@deafgirl-and-hercoven @fanartfunart @fandomfan315

#depression mention #demus #dukeceit #sanders side fic #sanders sides #character thomas #remus sanders #deceit sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #broken arm mention

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natsubeatsrock · 4 years ago

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The Rewrite of Fairy Tail: Bonus (What If? #8)

What if Natsu and Lucy fought each other with magic?

I can't tell why this is something I haven't seen much speculation on. I've seen tons of people talk about Natsu turning evil and being saved by Lucy. I've seen tons of stories where Lucy ends up fighting Natsu, usually after kicking her off the Strongest Team.

But not too many people talk about the serious prospect of Natsu and Lucy fighting in the context of canon. I don't know that this is something I've seen anyone seriously consider. So, in honor of Nalu week, I decided to think through how that would work. (Never ask me to do anything like this ever again.)

This scenario could be based on a specific scenario that I'm not entirely sure is likely for me to consider. During the last arc, Natsu succumbs to E.N.D's control and fights Gray. I could imagine someone reworking the scenario to have Natsu and Lucy fight. However, that's too big a stretch for me to consider for a very specific payoff - having an all-out fight between the two main characters of the series. While I like that idea, I don't know if I could or should make that gel.

Of course, that isn't to say there's no reason to think a fight between Natsu and Lucy is only to be a fun idea for fans. There's a moment in the Avatar arc where both Natsu and Lucy are willing to fight with each other. Of course, this goes nowhere and we don't get a fight between these two.

But what if they did?

If I wanted to write this, I'd personally place their fight at the end of the Alvarez Empire arc as an epilogue. There's not much of a change to their powers before and after that arc, aside from Natsu's trump card (which I don't know how to handle in the rewrite proper). It's just easier to have that battle without that issue from over their heads and all their cards on the table for readers to see (and writers to abuse).

Now, it would likely be a less serious fight than anything from that arc, but that's not a bad thing. After all, Natsu and Erza's fight near the beginning of the series was similar to this and was able to draw the attention of the entire guild, with Makarov officiating it. Natsu's even said that he prefers to these kinds of fights than actual life or death battles.

This is an interesting idea for reasons that should be obvious. This is, or at least should be a rather interesting idea. It's not like this is a Death Battle headline fight. But I can't think of too many times when characters argued to be the main characters fought on purely friendly terms. Either they don't fight, one of them becomes a bad guy or mind control is a factor in their fight.

This isn't to say these ideas don't have merit. Mashima's even used some of these ideas himself. However, fans fight over how fights between characters would go for a reason. We want to know what it would be like if Jellal fought Laxus or Erza at full strength in earnest. (I originally wrote this before Laxus and Erza fought in the sequel.) For the most part, we don't expect characters in Fairy Tail to die, so we don't have that as a serious concern.

Now, a serious concern some may have is the actual prospects of a Natsu vs Lucy fight. For many, this is an easy win for Natsu. He's the one who has more practical combat magic and experience. A lot of Lucy's fights are ended by Natsu. Many of the ones that don't have him in the conclusion end via some form of outside shenanigans either helping her (Urano Metria in Nirvana) or hurting her(most Grand Magic Games fights).

Allow me to do go off brand for a minute and talk about some of Lucy's advantages in this fight against Natsu.

The biggest advantage is the mental aspect of the battle. Even as I think Natsu's incompetence is exaggerated by fans, I can't say that he's at the same level as Lucy in this aspect. This is especially important considering she might be one of the few people that are close enough to Natsu to find a weakness that can be exploited in a fair fight. Of course, this is a fun twist on that complaint of Lucy being sidelined in fights she and Natsu are in. In a few of those fights, she comes up with important strategies that come at decisive moments, in their fights.

So the fight I'm setting up is a classic brains versus brawns scenario. Can Lucy out strategize Natsu or will he power though with his superior combat skills? That's something worth playing out. I wouldn't give my answer the winner of this here, even as I have an obvious favorite for this. Though I can even imagine a few ways this would play out, as opposed to some other fights in this series.

The reason this is only a hypothetical scenario is that it would feel disconnected from the actual end. I'm willing to spin a scenario where Lucy and Natsu decide to fight each other for fun. But, no matter how hard I try, it's hard to connect it reasonably to the end of the series where I'd put it. It's especially difficult considering a few of the ideas I have for rewriting a new ending. And, if I want a sick fight scenario, this is the only time to put their fight in.

One of the fun things in thinking through the dynamic between Natsu and Lucy is seeing the kinds of amazing things that happen in the series because they are together. I've said this before but the series only happens because we have both of them. For all the issues I have with how they're written, I love to see how they interact with each other.

Based on Part 2

#fairy tail #the rewrite of fairy tail #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #what if 8 #also nalu for once #i'm not tagging this nalu week #nope #not gonna do it #i also wasn't joking #don't expect another post like this #for about a month #i'll likely want to make more ft stuff by then anyway

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bytheangell · 6 years ago

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hi elle! idk how you feel about max, but what about follow up moments of max calling magnus his brother and seeing magnus reactions?

Family is Where You Find Love(Read on AO3)

Maryse knows that she hasn’t always been the best example for her children. The lengths she went to in order to secure what she thought would be a place of power for them in the world only served to backfire and bring shame on their entire family name, and the prejudices she carried with her until embarrassingly recently were instilled in them as well, she’s certain.

Especially in young Max, who is still impressionable, who still watches her and Robert like a hawk to absorb and imitate. She knows that it’s her own fault her youngest harbors a distrust of Downworlders, and of Magnus Bane specifically - after all, she did nothing but speak poorly of him after Alec’s almost-marriage to Lydia, and the party he hosted for Max’s rune ceremony, and a number of other occasions she often tries to block from her mind.

And though she’s done her best to explain to him how wrong she was all those times she knows that it’s not nearly enough. Alec and Jace and Isabelle, they’re all old enough to see the change of heart she takes, to understand the sudden shift in her attitude and to embrace it rather than question it. But Max? Well, if she managed to not mess up the eldest three despite two full decades of perpetuating harmful rhetoric, she can only hope that the same holds true for her youngest.

She’s trying. When Max doesn’t quite understand why they were so happy for Alec now when they were so upset with him not too long ago for dating this same man, this warlock, Maryse does her best to make it very clear that it was her and Robert who were wrong, not Alec. Never Alec, and certainly not Magnus, who only ever had Alec’s best interests at heart. Max listens, and nods, and remains mostly silent throughout the ceremony.

Until the reception, when Max approaches Magnus and asks what he should call him now. Magnus doesn’t show the tension that the rest of them clearly feel - Maryse’s own muscles tense and her lips press together into a thin line of worry as Magnus looks down at Max and asks what he wants to call him. Alec rolls his eyes across from her and Maryse holds her breath as the response comes, already mentally preparing a million ways to respond to whatever Max is about to say.

What she isn’t prepared for is the answer Max gives.

“How about… brother?”

It’s all Maryse can do to stop herself from crying on the spot, nearly beaming with pride before turning her gaze to meet Magnus’ and catch his reaction.

It’s priceless. Magnus nods at Alec, and while he’s clearly surprised it’s the most pleasant daze of amazement, his features softening and a smile spreading immediately, voice heavy with emotion when he replies, “Sounds like a plan,” with a barely noticeable hitch to his words. But Maryse can see it - the relief at the love and acceptance they’re all here to give him, unwavering and unquestioning.

In that one word Max conveyed something the rest of them echo, and watching Magnus avert his gaze to recollect himself for a moment Maryse can see how much this family means to him. And Max is right - that’s what Magnus is now, and always will be.

Husband. Son. Brother.

Family.

—

There will always be talk, Izzy learned at an early age. In fact, she’s long since come into the opinion that if people aren’t talking about you in some capacity then you’re probably doing something wrong, because anything worth doing is going to be controversial to someone. Or maybe that’s just how she justifies her own habitually scandalous decisions time and time again. She’s used to it. In fact, though she’ll never admit it, sometimes she intentionally seeks out the thrill factor of knowing she’s going to get a rise out of people for simply speaking her mind.

But that’s her. When it comes to her family, however, it’s a different story altogether.

After picking more than a couple of fights with other Shadowhunters - peers and elders alike - over their opinions on her brother’s then-boyfriend, Alec pulled her aside one day and made her promise to just let them go. Which she did, reluctantly, and was about to do again while walking down to the cafeteria with Max, Alec, and Magnus.

“Can you believe we can’t even go a day at our own Institute without seeing more of them walking the halls like they own the place?”

She doesn’t have to look over to know the ‘them’ in question is, quite pointedly, the warlock linking hands with Alec. She’s also quite certain the jab at Downworlders in general is meant to reference Simon as well, who is around more and more often spending time with her. Izzy opens her mouth to say something but, remembering her promise to Alec, simply rolls her eyes and continues walking instead. Out of the corner of her eye she watches the muscles in Alec and Magnus’ arms and shoulders tense between them, their grip on one another a little tighter while refusing to justify the provocative insult with a response. And then–

“Excuse me,” comes the sound of Max’s voice. Max, who stopped short a second or two ago without them noticing, and was now turning to face the two Shadowhunters passing by in the opposite direction. “That was very rude, and that’s my brother you’re talking about. You should apologize.”

One of the men, surprised to be called out by a child, turns to face Max with a condescending grin. “C’mon, kid. We weren’t talking about Alec.”

“Neither was I,” comes Max’s simple reply. Isabelle watches as he shifts slightly to turn around and give Magnus a small, determined nod, as if to say ‘Don’t worry, I got you’. And though Max turns right back around to face the older Shadowhunters Isabelle’s eyes linger on Magus instead.

She watches the way Magnus holds himself a little straighter, shoulders back, chest out. She watches Magnus try to mask the shock of Max’s actions, and then the pride over them, before finally managing something relatively neutral.

The two men exchange a questioning glance and Izzy realizes they’re actually considering picking some bigoted fight against a child until they see the same thing she sees: Magnus, hand no longer in Alec’s but lightly clenched at his side, ready to fight anyone who would dare pick on a child for exhibiting something as simple as manners. Of course, Magnus is careful to remain directly behind Max, so when the two men decide to leave without another word Max turns around with a victorious grin, none-the-wiser that it wasn’t entirely him who scared them off.

Izzy watches carefully as Magnus kneels down to Max’s level. “Thank you for that, Max. But I don’t want you to get yourself into trouble for me, okay? If something like that happens again just ignore them.”

Max frowns. “You’d do the same if someone was making fun of me, wouldn’t you?”

And damn, when did her little brother get so clever? Izzy smirks, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth in an attempt to hide it. She knows she shouldn’t be encouraging this but she can’t help it - watching Magnus’ face contort in an attempt to come up with some answer that wins for everyone. In the end he can only nod.

“Of course I would, Max.” Magnus finally admits, knowing there’s no other answer he can give.

“Alright then.” Is all Max replies, already starting to walk ahead of them down the hall.

“He gets that from the two of you, you know,” Magnus says to Alec and Izzy. And with Max safely in front of them Izzy allows her smirk to show through in full, positively beaming.

“He certainly does.” And she couldn’t be prouder.

—-

Jace was put in charge of Max’s training a few months ago and the improvement he’s made in that short amount of time shouldn’t be surprising to anyone. He is a Lightwood, after all, though his tendency to favor rune work and tactical studies over actual physical battle left everyone a little concerned during the first few years of his proper training.

Turns out he just needed someone who knew him better, and could properly play to his strengths while improving his weaknesses. Max is quickly becoming a natural, picking up on new weapons much faster than most of the other Shadowhunters his age due to his extensive studies in the how and the why of them rather than just hitting and jabbing at will. That, Jace supposes, comes from having a former Weapons Master for a sister.

“You’re not this mean when you’re training Simon,” Max whines, retrieving the staff Jace just hit out of his hand for the dozenth time that afternoon.

“You’re right,” Jace returns. “I’m meaner to Simon, so consider yourself lucky. Now get back into position.”

“Or…” comes a voice from the doorway, where Jace and Max both turn to see Magnus with a travel carrier full of smoothies. “You could take a well-earned nutrient break. Fresh fruit smoothies to fuel what have got to be two very exhausted Shadowhunters by now.” Magnus pauses, eyes darting specifically do Jace. “That is, if it’s alright with your instructor.”

Jace looks like he’s about to protest when Max runs to his side, already repeating, “Please, please, please?” and Jace can only sigh in defeat.

“Fine. But only for 10 minutes. No, 5 minutes!” Jace says, raising his voice as Max is already halfway across the room to where Magnus waits, a plastic cup already held out.

“Thank you, Magnus!” Max says, eagerly taking the cup. “This is why you’re my favorite brother.”

Max says it loud enough for Jace to hear, and Jace is positive that’s on purpose, because Max gives a side-eyed glance in his direction to see his reaction. Jace is about to protest when he catches the way Magnus’ expression lights up, lips curling up in a wide grin he couldn’t stop if he tried. Jace always saw how important Alec was to Magnus; anyone would have to be blind not to. But he’s only just now starting to realize how much their entire family means to Magnus, not just Alec.

So instead of insisting that Magnus is only the favorite because he hasn’t been around long enough to be annoying - a comment he’d only be making in jest, of course - Jace remains uncharacteristically silent as he follows behind to grab the other smoothie.

“Yeah, well Magnus is my favorite brother, too. So I guess we’re even.” Jace finally says, just loud enough for Max to hear. “Thanks for these,” he adds, no longer surprised at the little extra thoughts Magnus puts towards the rest of them these days and how seamlessly Magnus blends into their lives now. “Want to join us?” Jace asks, motioning to the mats. “Maybe you wouldn’t be the favorite if you’re the one knocking him over once and a while.”

Magnus looks down at his outfit with an exaggeratedly helpless shrug, as if it’s an excuse and he couldn’t just use his magic to change. “Not today. I wouldn’t want to ruin my date night makeup, after all. Guess I’ll just have to stay the favorite a little while longer.”

Watching Max run up to give Magnus a hug goodbye, Jace knows he doesn’t mind that one bit.

—

The party to celebrate Alec and Magnus’ new positions in Alicante is a similar mix of attendees as the wedding, full of Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike, this time at the much more neutral ground of the Loft.

Magnus is surprised at how many of the faces that were unfamiliar to him at the wedding are, at the very least, acquaintances now. A few of the Shadowhunters come over to congratulate him while he hangs off to the side with Raphael and he knows almost all of them by name now.

Alec, at the moment, is tied up in the corner with his parents and siblings who are fussing over trying to get one nice photo of the lot of them. Simon, the unfortunate soul behind the camera, looks like he’s starting to realize this could easily take the rest of the night at this rate.

Raphael snickers as Maryse licks her thumb and uses it to get a bit of something off of Jace’s face while Jace squirms away in protest.

“Do you ever feel like you missed out, not having that experience? Doting parents, siblings to taunt you… just a normal family life?” Raphael asks. Magnus knows the lengths Raphael went to keep his time with his family as close to normal as possible (given his circumstances) while Magnus’ own experience with family from a young age was… well, traumatic, to say the least.

Magnus is about to answer when he hears his name from across the room.

“Wait, Magnus! You need to be in the family picture, too!” It’s Max, eagerly breaking free of his dad’s grip around his shoulders to motion for him to come join them.

Magnus turns to Raphael with a smile. “I used to. But it seems like that life didn’t pass me by forever… It just took a little longer to get to me.”

Magnus looks at the Lightwoods and sees the live he often wished for - the life he never dared to dream he might have one day.

It’s a gift he’s never going to take for granted for as long as he gets to call it his.

#magnus bane #malec #shadowhunters #maryse lightwood #shfanficnexus #alec lightwood #jace herondale #izzy lightwood #okay so this got a little more family feels than specifically brother feels #but I HOPE YOU LIKE IT <3 #and HAPPY BIRTHDAY CARLA!#elle writes a few deadbeat lines #kindaresilient #ask rune

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ibythetidepromotions · 5 years ago

Text

An interview with: Wax Vessel

Could you introduce yourself to the readers?

Nik Velleca - Founder/Owner/waytolongofaresponder

What led to the inception of Wax Vessel?

It’s actually a story in a couple of parts: the name (which is not interesting), the year before it started (mildly Interesting) and then the actual launch! Maybe two years ago I really wanted to get in to the whole Instagram vinyl collection showcase scene. Made a second account called Wax Casket (because it sounded cool) and did a couple hundred posts. No big deal. But at that time, it kind of out the inkling of an idea in my head. Fast forward a year or so, and Simon from WFAHM and I were taking about how literally every influential album from 2000-2010 was never pressed on vinyl. We thought about teaming up to do Ion Dissonance in vinyl (which is still a huge goal). It never materialized, so the label pages (renamed to Wax Vessel) kind of got shelved. Speaking of the name Wax Vessel (rant incoming) I landed on that name because I’m so fed up with the start of digital. MySpace deleting song libraries. Hard drives crashing. CDs getting bit rot. The only try archival format is vinyl. You could pull a WV release of a shelf in 2219 and it would still play. It’s a “time capsule” or “Vessel” for preserving history. Anyway. Fast forward to like 5 months ago - I had just stumbled upon PRR and they told me they were doing Destroyer Destroyer. I asked if I could just press the records to accompany that release, and viola! Here we are!

Wax Vessel is very unique, you what always comes to mind when I think of extremely rare and beautiful presses. What process goes into getting your visions to come together properly at the pressing plant?

So I’m glad you touched on this, because artisanal (barf) pressings are one of the tentpole features of WV. There’s so much that can be done with the format that it seems like an insult to just do single color records. I figured if I was going to bring all of these albums back from the dead after decades of never having a physical release, it might as well be in style! Otherwise someone will just repress it hah. But each release is its own project. My goal are always to have the color play with the album art, while also pushing the physical medium itself. Everything is very case-by-case, with the number of variants and the type of variant really just being subject to my mood haha.

Recently announced was the pressing for Dr. Acula’s S.L.O.B, congratulations on making it to WV007! From the posts I’ve seen on social media, you guys are really excited about this release. How would you describe Dr. Acula to someone who has never heard of them before?

Thanks! Dr. Acula was a huge one for me, they’re one of the forefathers of Deathcore in my opinion. They’re that early, wonky type of proto-Deathcore that uses a lot of samples before breakdowns and has a lot of inside jokes. It’s just fun, without taking itself too seriously.

They obviously got much bigger later, but SLOB was such a classic album, and a standout release from 187 records at the time (who really deserve all the credit for basically being the label pioneers of the genre along with Debello and BMA).

Wax Vessel focuses on pressing music from the MySpace era of metal. What about that era made it so memorable and dear to your heart that you decided to resurrect it in the wax form?

Man, prepare to watch me get spun up on this, haha. I’m really terrible at organizing my thoughts in to a cohesive essay on the topic, so as a kind of “stream of conciseness” ramble please accept this: 2000-2010 was just peak music. It was a digital Wild West with a bunch of talented Midwesterner pioneering new sounds for niche audiences. It was a perfect storm of a bunch of cultural factors playing out all at once. Literally all of these trailblazing bands were pushing envelopes and rail blazing new genres for No monetary gain and no fame. Every single review form music media was “this is unlistenable garbage”. They absolutely did not get the recognition they deserved at the time. I mean the “scene revival/20-9-scene” is more popular than the actual scene at the time! So what happens when you mix this new way to make music (digital production) with a new way to reach fans (social media/MySpace)? You get a fucking no holds barred race to make the most niche, unlistenable music in existence. The decade was a fucking blip in music history and then was lost to the ages. The internet was too young to preserve it, and to young for anyone to really use to their advantage. Just a lost decade. So I think that’s worth preserving. Especially since YouTube rips are the only thing left.

The default vinyl color of black is never an option with your releases, always seeing high quality, creative options for your limited presses. What is the reasoning behind this stylistic choice?

Black is such a fucking cop out. It’s only to save money. It’s lazy and requires no finesse or imagination. If you’re going to press records, go all in. Like imagine building a house in 2019 with all the modern amenities and building materials we have at our disposal and just building a 6-sided box. So boring. And for everyone who says it sounds best - black (carbon) is an additive for strength. Natural PVC is additive free and sounds better. So when I need a cheaper variant to offset the cost of some of the more expensive ones, natural PVC is always my go-to.

Have there been any challenges so far with the process of mastering these old files on vinyl? Were any of the music files hard to come across?

You have no idea! I feel like a lot of people see WV and then want to start a vinyl label, haha. But there’s so much craziness behind the scenes! Let’s start at the top - WV will only do a release if the band is on board, and the rights are retained. Mechanical licensing retained. Full quality tracks hunted down and mastered for vinyl. New art made (no one has their old art files) and laid out for vinyl. Then after all that, I have to drop $4k at the plant to get it pressed. Then promos and art made, coordinating with ZBR on timelines, etc. But none of that can happen without the tracks. Most of the time the band will have the master bounces, and it’s not that difficult. But on a couple of occasions I’ve had to rip old demos from personal CDs. I’ve even had to pay for a hard drive to be recovered for a band member so we could get tracks! I really believe that vinyl isn’t just for the fashion, so having great sounding records is top priority. Can’t do that with a YouTube rip! If we can’t get the best quality tracks, I won’t do it!

Any possibility of there being Wax Vessel merch down the road?

I mean I’m not sure anyone would give a shit! But if like 10 people messaged me and said they wanted a shirt, you bet! We would whip up a cool “no represses” design or something, haha. Maybe 2020!

With a new year right around the corner, what are some goals for kicking off the new decade in 2020?

2020 souls have some cool “firsts” for sure! I’ve got our first multi-LP box set dropping. First project with a hand-painted cover. First modern release (under a different side name, don’t want to dilute the WV name haha). Really what if love to do in 2020 is press Psyopus to round out the techgrind section. That’s a big goal! I’d also love to have a both and sell LPs at like a festival, but they all sell out too quick!

Anything else you would like to tell the readers before we go? Just a couple of blurbs! People always forget that wax Vessel is a non-profit and we give 100% of the money to the bands. So remember that the next time you think I’m an asshole for not doing something you like! We got a lot of hate mail about not doing represses, haha. To that point, there will never be represses. It’s a sticking point. I don’t want to make records that end up in dollar bins and eBay lots. I’d rather leave money on the table. I want to great collector items that will be cherished. All of these bands have been defunct for a decade. No one is coming back to just to try and make a quick buck. These are all swan song little fun presses for the core group of fans. For the 200 weirdo left who still care about early 2000s techgrind and vinyl, haha. It’s niche, but no one wants to make any money. It’s just a fun thing for the scene. Remember this is all for fun! Additionally, I see a lot of miscommunications that I’d like to get on the record! Please remember: Wax Vessel is its own thing. Not an imprint or affiliated with anyone. I shoulder all cost, design, etc for everything! So it’s very much WV as the label. I hate shipping and fulfillment, so ZBR [Zegema Beach Records] is WV’s official store. The mega studs over there (Dave and Dave) definitely allow WV to exist. If I had to ship everything, it would be one release a year haha. And super not last, WV couldn’t exist without Ryan Peter. I have absolutely no scene Fred, and Ryan gets fucking results. He almost single-handedly spreads the word and gets bands on board. Literally invaluable. All the records in the world mean nothing if you can’t get any bands to agree to get pressed! He’s a MySpace madman!!

Wax Vessel Social Media:

Facebook

Instagram

Website [Coming Soon]

Big Cartel [Coming Soon]

Merch through Zegema Beach Records

#Wax Vessel #Zegema Beach Records #Record label #vinyl records #Dr Acula #interview #I By The Tide Promotions

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blancheludis · 5 years ago

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@whumptober2019 Day 9: Shackled

Fandom: MCU, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Thor Tags: Kidnapped, Hurt Steve, Team as Family, Skrulls, Angst Chapters: 2/?, Words: 7.280

Summary: Steve and Tony’s favourite pastime is yelling at each other. After a mission, Steve appears changed, but Tony is so glad they are finally becoming something like friends that he does not question it too much. That makes it almost too easy for the Skrulls to infiltrate the Avengers.

---

When Steve comes to, he is still feeling lost. He does not often lose consciousness; his body is usually stitching itself together again too quickly. If he is out, it is mostly for mere minutes, leaving him to wake up right where he blackened out.

He does not know where he is, does not remember what he has been doing, what might have happened to knock him out. That in itself is worrying enough.

Groaning, Steve tries to take stock of his condition. He is hurting all over. Enough so that there must have either been serious damage to him or it cannot have happened too long ago. His skin is burning, itching right beneath the surface.

It is dark around him when he finally forces his eyes to stay open. He can see the outlines of a room that is unfamiliar to him. He is lying on a bed, although it is harder than anything the Avengers Tower or Medical have to offer.

Trying to push himself up, Steve hears the clicking of chains before he notices the metal around his wrists and ankles.

Panic hits him immediately, flushing the exhaustion out of his system, even if it does not do anything against the sluggishness of his movements or thoughts. He must be drugged. Drugged and shackled in a dark cell with no idea how he got here or who is responsible.

He distantly remembers the warehouse and the attacking robots. Robots usually mean Dr Doom or hijacked HammerTech. Steve is sure neither of them would want him as a hostage out of all of the Avengers.

Carefully, Steve pulls himself into a sitting position and then to his feet to test how far he can get. It is sobering. Barely two steps away from the bed and the chains go tense, allowing him no more room.

Steve sits back down and tries to loosen the shackle around his left wrist. There is barely enough room to get his fingers underneath that, but it does not matter. He pulls and pulls but the metal does not give. Then he follows the chain to where it is anchored in the wall and tries again. No luck.

His uniform is gone, he does not have any tools, not enough strength to get himself free, and no idea where he is. Steve does not do well with sitting idly. For now, though, it does not seem like he has any other option.

A splitting pain jolts Steve awake, sitting right inside his skull. It is still dark around him but it is almost like he is seeing flashes in front of him.

There is their communal living room in the tower. His friends shuffling off to rest.

“Good job today,” Steve’s voice says, and Steve catches a glimpse of surprise on Stark’s face.

Whatever drug the kidnappers have given him must be potent if it makes him imagine an amicable conversation with Stark.

Steve reaches up to test whether he has any head wounds that might explain the headache. As he moves, something stretches against his neck. At first, he thinks it is merely the chain, but when he touches it, it is a metal band circling around his throat. It is light enough that he is not surprised he did not notice it earlier, and it is strangely warm. He pulls at it, slightly more desperately than on the shackles. It does not budge.

Drugged, shackled, and collared. Steve does not like where that leaves him.

---

“Good job,” Steve says when they are filtering into the living room of the tower.

It has Tony stopping in his tracks, it comes that unexpected. The mission certainly was not a complete mess, but they did let their Captain go into a warehouse on his own where he was almost blown up.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head earlier?” Tony asks, only half-joking. He even talked to Steve right before it happened and did not do anything anyway.

Steve still looks a little rough. He moves slowly like he is hurting and his armour is ripped in places, hanging off him almost as if it never really fit. Most glaringly, he is holding the shield at a strange angle, slightly away from himself like he does not want to chance bumping into it. Probably due to the burns. And Tony is sure he cannot see all of them.

“I mean it,” Steve says, sounding even cheerful. “The robots are all gone. We had no casualties. Nobody even needs to go to Medical.”

It certainly could have been worse. Looking back, it did not even seem much like an attack at all. Just like someone stored their robots and they broke out of their crates, wreaking a bit of havoc without being interested in doing any serious damage. It could have been a test, of course, to see how the Avengers would deal with that, but they have proven their worth against much more serious enemies. It does not exactly make much sense.

“Perhaps you should,” Tony cautions, still feeling slightly guilty for having left Steve on his own. “Being so close to that second explosion –”

“I have a few scratches,” Steve cuts him off and shrugs with his entire body as if to show how very fine he is. “The serum will take care of that.”

Implied in that is that, without the serum, Steve would be in trouble.

“I’m sorry for letting you go in there on your own,” Tony says.

The surprise on Steve’s face rankles him. He can apologize if he has to, if he was in the wrong. Steve usually starts yelling before they can establish whether or not Tony thinks his decision was still merited by the time they get out.

“You did what I asked,” Steve reassures him and even goes so far as to smile at Tony. “Nothing happened.”

Tony frowns. He is not used to getting off so easily. “It’s just –”

“If you don’t mind, I could really do with a shower right now,” Steve says. Now it seems like he really just wants to keep them from starting an argument. “We’ll see you for dinner?”

Tony is taken aback. That sounded suspiciously like Steve is giving him his blessing to vanish into his workshop without having to sit through some boring debriefing. Everybody knows that, once Tony locks himself up down there, nothing brings him back up before he is not done with his work or his coffee has run out.

He is not going to test his luck, though. If he does not leave now, Steve is going to remember that Tony flew right up ahead of the entire team again, throwing himself at the problem at hand without anyone’s say so. He has no desire to continue their earlier argument.

“Dinner sounds fine,” Tony calls out while he is already leaving. He is pretty sure he will not come up for any meal, but he has learned not to poke the bear.

---

The peace does not last long. Tony is not surprised but still disappointed. It is like neither Steve nor he ever got over that first meeting on the Helicarrier. No matter the good moments they had in between, they are still facing off more often than not.

Tony, of course, has a long history of both loving and hating Captain America, of looking up to him and cursing his very existence. Howard only ever stoked that fire, and Tony has always had problems with letting go of the past.

Being part of a team is hard for him. Trust has never come easy to him, and he has been betrayed more often than not. Steve was not wrong when he said that Tony is not the hero type. Tony might be in this to do good, but he will always scramble to make up for his mistakes.

Tony has barely pulled up the schematics of the suit to see whether he cannot increase the heat resistance in case of another explosion on the field when JARVIS announces that Steve is standing outside the workshop. It is not hard to guess what he wants, it is just strange that he postponed the yelling until the rest of the team has left.

The workshop is Tony’s sanctuary. He tries to keep his problems outside of it. Or, at least, he does not invite them in.

Still, he tells JARVIS, “Let him in.” Then he turns towards the door, awaiting his doom with open eyes.

“Tony,” Steve greets, his expression friendly in a way it seldom is when he looks at Tony. “Do you have a few minutes?”

Something is wrong here. A smile instead of a frown. A question instead of a demand. Steve really should have his head looked at. Even with an enhanced healing factor, a concussion is nothing to tread lightly. Already, Steve is showing worrisome behaviour.

“I don’t think you’ve ever called me Tony before,” Tony blurts out, unable to make sense of what Steve is trying to do here.

They are not adversaries anymore like they were on the Helicarrier, constantly fighting to get the upper hand while not extending the slightest bit of trust. They are not friends either. On the field, they work well together, and they can play nice even off of it. They still communicate mostly in raised voices, constantly expecting another blow.

“Well, let’s call it a gift for good behaviour,” Steve says and grins like they do this all the time, trading jokes, being close.

“Next you’ll be trying to feed me treats,” Tony counters, still wary but deciding to test how far Steve’s strange mood will let them get.

Steve looks down at his hands as if he is disappointed he did not bring anything. “If that gets you to eat every now and then,” he says.

Up until now, it has mostly been Bruce and Clint bringing Tony food down to the workshop, while Steve simply complained that Tony does not seem to take being a team seriously. Tony never thought Steve cared whether he misses meals.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Tony asks, looking Steve over.

The cuts and burns from earlier are already vanishing and JARVIS surely would have noticed if something was really wrong with Steve. He sees the frown settling on Steve’s face before it has fully formed and is hit by immediate regret. It is seldom enough that Steve and he are getting along. He should not throw away his chances just because he cannot believe his luck and is almost resigned already to remaining at odds with his childhood hero.

“Never mind,” Tony retracts quickly. “What do you need?”

He is certain it is too late, that he burned another bridge Steve has been building for them. Instead, Steve’s face brightens as he comes further into the workshop.

“I was wondering whether you could look at my uniform. It’s –” he says. If Tony would not know better, he would say Steve’s ears are getting a bit red. “You know.”

“Garish and outdated?” Tony quips immediately as he gets to his feet. “Cap, I’ve been telling you for ages. What made you change your mind?”

Tony has a dozen ideas for Steve’s armour ready. Ever since he saw the horrible thing SHIELD procured, which appeared to have been made more to commemorate the good old days than to offer protection, Tony knew he had to do something about that. Only Steve never let him, deciding he was either too good for anything Tony made or he did not want to owe Tony. Whatever it was, Tony is giddy at the prospect of being allowed to make it better now.

“It didn’t help much with the explosion,” Steve explains, sounding ashamed as if that was his fault. “And I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me?” Tony asks. No one else on the team refused his services, smart enough not to say no to free upgrades. “Have you changed place with an alternate version of yourself? No, don’t answer that. I happen to like it that we’re not yet yelling at each other.”

It feels strange, too. Mostly because it is like Tony has to be the one doing all the reassuring for once. Steve should not be uncertain around him – and he usually is not, considering that he loves telling Tony everything he is doing wrong. He apparently does not like to ask for anything, though.

“I’m sorry for that,” Steve says and sounds like he means it.

This feels too much like Steve came too close to getting actually harmed in that warehouse, thus reconsidering his relationships with his team members. Tony does not think that Steve is the only one who made mistakes, but he does not exactly like that Steve is apologizing directly after a mission. Especially considering that they went into it arguing like usual.

“Huh. I guess I’m sorry too.” Tony is not sure what is happening, but he does not want to ruin it by questioning it too much. They will either go back to normal in no time, or Tony will find out what this is about. “Now, I have some ideas for better armour for you. Anytime you want to join me in the workshop, we can talk about it.”

Steve looks relieved as if he thought Tony would refuse him. “Well, I’ve eaten and showered, so if it’s all right with you, I’m all yours right now.”

Tony can only watch in wonder as Steve comes closer and sits down on one of the chairs, slightly eager and looking like he belongs here. Captain America in the workshop of the futurist. Stranger things have surely happened, but Tony still feels out of his depth.

Still, he claps his hand and does not have to put too much effort into being able to smile.

“All right, Cap, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you,” he says and closes his current project. “I’m going to blow your mind.”

“I very much hope so,” Steve replies without missing a beat.

No matter his doubts, Tony has never backed down from a challenge. So, without further ado, they get to work.

---

The new armour is a piece of art. Mostly because they have done away with the too patriotic paint job – and Tony has taken the liberty of making it a little bit more formfitting than the old one. If anyone asked, he would deny having checked out their esteemed leader, but to put an ass like that into the old USO outfit should be considered a capital crime. He just hopes no one on the team will point it out before Tony has had an opportunity to see it in action.

Working together on a project was fun. Tony did have several blueprints lying around already and Steve mostly just insisted on keeping maximum agility. While a bit more protection is needed, he does have his shield – which he does use to keep himself from harm when he does not throw it like a glorified frisbee.

They spent three hours without arguing. Without even coming close to an argument. Tony thinks that must be a personal record. Even Pepper cannot go that long without getting annoyed by something he does. It is mostly a well-established character trait at this point.

When Tony emerges from the workshop two days later, the finished suit in hand, he does not know what time it is. It is dark outside, but he frankly does not want to ask JARVIS. He has a gift to deliver and he cannot wait until morning.

After he knocks on Steve’s door, it takes a while for Steve to answer. That has Tony almost reconsidering his unannounced visit, but he does not just quit when he has made up his mind.

When Steve finally opens the door, he does not look like he has been already sleeping. He is wearing comfortable clothes but his eyes are alert.

“Tony, what are you doing here?” he asks, the beginnings of a frown marring his forehead. “It’s late.”

“I know,” Tony answers quickly, then clicks his tongue. “Well, actually I don’t know. But I wanted to bring you this.”

He holds out his hands with the suit like he is making an offering. And he is. His relationship with Steve consists of more downs than ups, and he does not want to ruin the good rapport they managed to establish over the past days.

“The suit,” Steve says. His entire face brightens as he takes it off Tony. “It’s ready?”

“Of course.” Tony shrugs, unable to hide his smile. “It was a priority.”

Steve holds it up to look at it in its entirety, putting the boots to the ground where he looks them over with a grin. “I see you didn’t go with the repulsor boots.”

Steve, as Tony discovered, has a sense of humour. Not the obvious, charming one he uses on strangers and journalists. Not the sassy, slightly dark one he uses in private when they are allowing themselves to let go. He is also prone to the kind of self-deprecating jokes that leave everyone wondering whether he might not have been serious after all.

The USO turned him into a mascot. They had him dance over a stage, mock-punch enemies, and generally make himself very visible. When offered any special features for his armour, he suggested repulsors to allow him to jump even faster into danger.

“Can’t have you showing all of us up,” Tony says as if Steve is not doing so anyway. “Before you ask, I didn’t devise a repulsor beam for the shield either. That thing is a safety hazard all on its own.”

Tony does not know where Steve’s sudden obsession with the suit’s weapon array comes from, but he cannot help but feel slightly flattered. So much disdain between has come from the fact that Steve does not think that the Iron Man suit makes Tony fit to be on a team of heroes.

“That’s a shame,” Steve jokes. “I still want to try it on.”

He turns around but leaves the door open in an obvious invitation. Tony hesitates to come in, but then he scolds himself for making things weird. This is a team thing. Steve is not inviting him in so Tony can ogle him, just to make sure the suit fits.

That does not mean he can keep his eyes off Steve’s muscles when Steve shrugs off his clothes, putting himself casually on display, and puts on the new armour. Tony barely even has time to mourn the sudden lack of skin to see before Steve stands before him, looking ready for battle.

The suit fits. Of course, it does. Thanks to Howard’s obsession with Steve – which might just be a hereditary defect – Tony had Steve’s measurements before they even ended up on a team together. While Steve goes through some stretches, Tony allows himself to appreciate the way the fabric hugs Steve’s muscles.

“How does it feel?” Tony asks, barely giving any mind to his own words, too busy with looking.

In his defence, Steve usually only wears his armour when they are out fighting, and Tony does not have any time to stare then. But this is Captain America as if he stepped right out of one of the posters Tony used to have in his room as a child.

“Perfect,” Steve says and hums as he moves. Then, with a mischievous grin, he asks, “How does it look?”

Tony’s staring must have been too obvious. “Are you fishing for compliments?” he asks right back, trying to save face.

“Only if you’re going to indulge me.”

Tony does not know what is happening. Surely, Steve is not flirting with him. That is too much change in too little time. Three days ago, they have been yelling at each other every chance they got. Sudden peace is strange enough, even if they are both trying. But flirting? Perhaps he is reading too much into this.

“Well, we’ll have to see how it holds up out in the field,” Tony says, firmly changing the topic. “Tell me if there’s anything that needs changing.”

Steve nods, but when Tony turns towards the door, he comes close. Tony almost shies away but finds himself rooted in space when Steve puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Steve says slowly, looking at Tony’s lips before he drags his eyes up. “I know we’ve been arguing a lot, but I hope you know that I’m glad we’re on the same team. I’m glad we’re here together.”

They are too close, the room is too warm, Tony’s heart is beating too fast. It must be his imagination that Steve is leaning towards him and that he is glancing at Tony’s mouth as if he thinks about kissing him.

Tony’s childhood crush is messing with his present and he cannot have that. He cannot ruin this sudden amicable atmosphere between Steve and himself. For the past days, it has felt like they could be friends. Tony is going to hold onto that as hard as he can.

“I’m glad, too,” Tony manages to say. It sounds a bit choked but Steve does not look like he noticed. “Now, I’ll let you get to bed. I know what they say about old people not needing so much sleep anymore, but I don’t want to be responsible for keeping you up.”

With that, he all but flees. He still hears Steve laughing quietly in his back, but he does not turn around. It is called a tactical retreat. He has to think about what just happened before he is jumping to any conclusions.

---

The next evening, Tony purposely chooses not to go back to the workshop after dinner but goes to the living room with the rest of the team. They have official movie nights, but some of them usually come together every day. That is one of the upsides of living together with a team. Loneliness is much easier to battle.

“Something’s wrong with Cap,” Tony says when Steve has already gone to bed and he is sitting on the couch with Natasha and Clint. If anyone might have noticed something strange going on, it would be their resident wonder spies.

They are watching some mindless action movie that does not require even half of their attention to keep up with.

“What have you done now?” Natasha asks, looking at him with a mixture of fondness and annoyance. At least Tony hopes it is fondness. It is not so easy to tell with her.

“I’ve been my usual self,” Tony protests, knowing that is not exactly a ringing endorsement. “But have you heard any yelling?”

They cannot have. Since that first evening in the workshop, he has not gotten into a single argument with Steve. Not over who took the last cup of coffee or over being too late to meetings or over slacking during training.

It has been downright harmonic in the tower lately, and Tony cannot help but feel nervous about that.

“Are you complaining about not arguing with Steve?” Clint asks, barely looking away from the screen. He is grinning and likely already thinking of to exploit that newfound peace.

Tony sighs. He does not particularly want to go back to their old way of dealing with things. It is just strange how quickly everything changed. “I’m saying that he is not rising to any bait while I usually don’t even have to try to make him angry at me.”

“So he’s trying to keep the peace,” Natasha says, raising an eyebrow at him. Out of everyone, she probably knows the best why Tony has issues with Captain America. She did research him pretty well before she came to spy on him, and therefore knows things that are not in his official file.

“No.” Tony shakes his head, unable to believe it is just that. Steve is not the type to just give up, and Tony has not changed one bit. He is still reckless and loud and always needs to have the last word.

“Tony?”

How is Tony supposed to tell them that, just the night before, Steve came very close to kissing Tony? Or it looked like it at least. Tony might be somewhat delusional, but the more he has thought about it, the less he believes he imagined last night’s tension.

Things like that do not just happen, however. More so, they do not happen to Tony. Not when Captain America is involved, who usually seems incapable of being in the same room with Tony without exuding disapproval in waves.

“Just keep a lookout?” Tony asks and pretends he does not seem them sharing a look.

He does not think Steve is planning something malicious. It is just that things have changed for the better too quickly. Tony is just wary and looking out for his team. Surely there is no fault in that.

And if it turns out that Steve is genuinely interested in being Tony’s friend – or more – Tony will be the last to protest. That would be a childhood dream come true. He is just not used to believing in that.

#whumptober2019 #no. 9 #shackled #stony #steve whump #hurt steve #skrulls #steve rogers #tony stark #tony has a heart #fanfiction #my writing #ao3 #2012 avengers #friendship #a lack of yelling #can you believe it

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