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yukipri · 3 years ago

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Bad Batch end of season thoughts/ramble, bc it's been a week and I just wanna get it all off my chest...

(end of season spoilers and very disorganized rambling)

First off, I do want to say that I enjoyed watching the show. It fulfilled its primary purpose: entertainment. It was nice having something to look forward to every week, and even though it wasn't quite what I was expecting, it was fun. The animation was gorgeous, I liked all the references and tie ins. I will likely watch it again, and will watch season 2. This is by no means meant to be a hate post.

That being said, it is critical so please just skip if you're not into that!

The thing is...it takes very, Very little for me to love a clone. He doesn't need lines, or a face, or even a name, and the default is that I will love him. He can even be a little bastard, like Slick, and it's fine. I always want to know more about them, and wish they had more screen time and time in general to develop their characters. So given that we were getting 16 (20 eps total if we count TCW S7 pilot arc) centered around these guys, I was expecting to absolutely adore them by the end.

And I wanted to love the Bad Batch, I wanted to love them so damn much, and I tried. But I think one of the reasons why they never fully clicked for me was that their thing seems to be "we're unique, we never fit in, we're outsiders in our own home, among the people who are supposed to be our own family, and so we've found our home with each other."

Which! That's usually a wonderful message, and not a particularly rare or unique one either for stories! I usually dig these kinds of stories!

The problem here is the extremely unique situation of the clones. They are literally created to be identical, brain washed to be uniform. They must conform, or are killed off by their creators, and their conformity isn't a choice in the slightest, but one of fear and necessity.

Their uniformity is something that they are also entirely aware of--it's unavoidable, they're clones. Once out in the real galaxy, they all strive to find and establish unique identities for themselves, struggling against a galaxy that just wants them to be faceless products. It's a shared struggle, and all they have are each other, and their brotherhood is sacred as a result. Shunning unique identity is the opposite of who a clone is--it's what they all want.

So on one hand, it's understandable that the Batch stuck out (when all others who would have also stuck out were culled, when individuality isn't allowed). It's understandable that they would have yearned for the brotherhood shared by the other clones, and when they couldn't have it, they stuck closer to each other. It's even understandable that they would feel bitter, having experienced bullying at the hands of the other clones (but isn't it also understandable that the other clones would feel bitter that the Batch gets special treatment, when their own brothers with less-than-beneficial mutations were taken by the Kaminoans to never return?).

And so we have this batch of clones, who the Kaminoans call "mutated," but also specify that their mutations are "desirable" (implying what happens to mutations that are undesirable...). They have their own unique unit, in which they're able to improvise and act freely with seemingly little to no oversight, so long as they complete their mission. No Jedi to obey, no nat-born officers who look down on them. In fact, they look so different from standard clone troopers that most of the galaxy probably don't even know they are clones. They have their own ship (personalized), they have their own possessions (which we don't really see any other clones have), they have their own barracks (probably also very unique), and they even have access to superior weapons and armor (most of the Batch, minus Echo, seem to be wearing modified Katarn-class armor which is supposed to be for Commandos. we KNOW it holds up better than standard trooper armor).

So I'm sure they had some unpleasant experiences growing up, and I do get it. But at least at "present" end of clone wars, they honestly seem to be living infinitely better than all other clones? They still need to follow orders but they have more freedom, and perhaps most importantly, they have clear uniqueness that is denied almost all other clones. And yes, some of the clones on Kamino bully them, but we've seen NONE of the "regular" clones that we know to be particularly nasty to them, and in fact it's Crosshair who starts it by calling them "Regs."

And how does the Batch respond to this situation? By acting superior. It's Crosshair who says and it believes this firmly, and I do feel that the others are likely mostly influenced by this, but it's also true that Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech don't really deny this either. They don't like the "regs," they do act like they're "better." Poor Echo, who they repeatedly seem to forget is in the room, and who they call "machine" and such...yikes yo

So I guess the point is, I just really struggled to feel sympathetic towards them, and was already on a kinda eh about their premise. They're marketed as "the special clone squad"--and yet they're not nice to the clones I love. I thought that wasn't great, but also hoped that the series would work towards them understanding the other clones better, and I love character development so that woulda been fine--but, nothing. A glance from Hunter at Howzer. Extended camaraderie from Gregor, who I feel they mostly just tolerate for the mission, other than Echo who genuinely cares.

And on top of feeling not feeling particularly sympathetic towards what I saw as a pretty privileged group of clones, the Batch seems to place primary blame of their woes on the "regs" themselves, who again, honestly seem far worse off! There isn't blame directed at the people who demanded the conformity from the other clones in the first place, that made it so the Batch couldn't fit in. The Batch was modified due to the Kaminoans (and implied specifically Nala Se). She's the reason why they don't fit in. And the Kaminoans are also why the other clones have to be so uniform, why they must fight to be people and not products.

Bitterness and pettiness can be fine in characters. But it's frustrating to see in a group supposed to be competent and elite, especially when those feelings have consequences. Sure, it sucks when someone throws a food tray at you. You can throw food back. It's not an equal reaction to feel no remorse when you shoot that guy dead in a blaster fight, when for all other clones, having to kill another clone is one of the most horrible, tragic things that one can do (thanks, Umbara).

Fives was the only clone to actually point a blaster at Nala Se.

We know Omega has deeply personal history with Nala Se. She was Nala Se's personal medical assistant. We see her cry when she takes off her head ornament that matches Nala Se. We know that being back in the lab gives Omega complicated, and probably not entirely positive feelings. But we barely learn more about this relationship, other than these glimpses.

And I get the feeling that to Omega at least, Nala Se wasn't all terrible. If Omega grew up with mostly only Nala Se for company, she had to have gotten her sheltered outlook on life, and her willingness to help others from somewhere. Nala Se intentionally let Omega go, to be "safe."

I think Omega's adorable, and I do like her. But I wasn't able to fully love her to the extent I wanted to, because there was always the fear that she was involved in the creation and implantation of the chips. She knows about them, she would have been positioned to do so. I want to think she would never, and I was hoping the show would reassure us of that, but it never did. We don't actually know how Omega feels about Nala Se, or even the chips and their presence in other clones. Instead, all we know is that Omega doesn't like "regs."

And again, "they call me lab scrubber," and "I helped put (or am complicit in putting) mind control devices in their heads," are kinda, unequal. Again I hope it's not the case. But it definitely kept me feeling uneasy throughout the show.

It really boils down to I don't trust or forgive Nala Se, and the Batch's lack of stance against her and the other Kaminoans, and clear distaste for their other clone brothers, really puts them in a situation that makes it difficult for me to take their side entirely.

And then gosh, Hunter. During Crosshair's whole "you never came back for me," spiel, I couldn't help but think he's kinda right. He had 15 episodes. Sure, it's difficult to get Crosshair back. But they could have done something. They could have done research. We could have had scenes of them wondering where Crosshair is, discussions on how best to find him, even if that discussion ended in, "but we can't risk it right now." They could have grilled Omega for information on the chips, which they really shoulda done either way, but especially since that knowledge is important to understanding what (they thought had) happened to Crosshair. Instead, they just ran every time Crosshair showed up. The show could have done better to show that they cared, and were trying, instead of just, y'know, doing chores for Cid. One, "I kinda miss him," doesn't really count as working on getting him back, at least in my books.

The sole exception to all of this, of course, is Echo. Who really, he works with the Batch fine, he's a former ARC and can more than keep up. Skillset-wise, he fits in well enough. But this season really made me wonder why he's with them at all. Crosshair's revelation and true feelings at the end of the season were no surprise to me, as they're consistent with what we've seen of him from TCW S7. But for Echo, a former "reg" to have to work with someone like Crosshair...even if Crosshair thought Echo was "different" enough to accept him, those are his brothers that Crosshair thinks he's so superior to, and has no issue speaking disdainfully about.

The increasing tension between Echo and Hunter, Echo's interest in helping Rex, in helping other clones, in doing something...I do hope they reach a point where Echo demands they go help, or he's leaving.

They gave Crosshair a chance, despite the fact that his choices were willing. I really hope Echo can convince the Batch to help save the other clones who don't have a choice. Because even if the Batch doesn't consider them their brothers, they're certainly Echo's. They matter just as much as Crosshair, and I really hope season 2 shows it narratively.

To conclude, again I'm interested in seeing what happens next, and I want answers about Omega and Nala Se. I find it interesting that they tied the facility where they took Nala Se in with the scientist dude collecting data on Grogu in the Mandalorian and those cloning labs. All of this is interesting, but at the same time I feel like it's trying to build up to Snoke/Palpatine stuff in the sequels which...I don't care nearly as much about, but who knows, could be neat ^ ^;

I'm okay with, and have made peace with the fact that the Bad Batch probably isn't the "clones-centric" show I wanted, and that they'll continue their own story, and probably continue to not care much about other clones in upcoming seasons. That's unfortunate, but alright. I'm interested enough in their story too.

But at the same time...I can't help but think man, if they have the time and budget to do a season 2, after seeing what was (or wasn't) accomplished in season 1...I wish they'd also make a Rex/Cody/Wolffe/"regular clones" show, because in the end, if you're going to do a "clones show"....that's who I want to see most.

If you got to the end, thank you for reading, and being an ear to my ranting ^ ^; Again this is literally just getting this off my chest. If this take isn't one you agree with, please just ignore. For people who did fall in love with the Batch, I'm happy for you, and regret that it just couldn't happen for me. But, I'm hoping that S2 will change my mind, but we'll just have to see! ^ ^;

#the bad batch #bad batch #YukiPri rambles #really i'm not interested in a debate i just want to ramble

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sesskagarchive · 3 years ago

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Do you know any sesskag dubcon/rape fics?

Hello anon, thanks for asking.

We decided to compile a list so here are some recommended fics for Dubcon/rape. Some of these even come with Sequels! Happy Reading!

Admin Wicked/k9plus1

DUBCON LIST:

A Curse of Lust by Squash/Fearless miko:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, Rating: MA Summary: A lusty curse leaves the females in Inuyasha's group running for their lives...and towards their destiny!

A Mere Digression, by elle6778:

Posted on: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: A digression was what Sesshoumaru called it. ‘It’ being the heated encounters between him and Kagome which took place simply because neither of them could resist. Heed warnings and notes in the first chapter.

A Woman!, by sugar0o:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net , Rating: M Summary: Based somewhat off the idea of Mulan, staring our fav paring Sess/kags, AU, their both demons, because well it makes it easier, and I don’t want to make Sess human, its not right! [lemon w/a plot] this has 2 points, I want to write a lemon to get more comfortable with them, also I want to explore detailing my writing, I will ask that you give serious reviews/critiques, bc I want to learn from this, not just entertain and enthrall. *COMPLETE as of 9/3/9*

Acquisition, Possession, Seduction, by Mistress Sianna:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net Rating: M Summary: “Do not think for one moment that you can escape me.” he said slowly, deliberately. \"You Higurashi Kagome, are mine! Only I will decide if you will stay, if you will go, if you will live or if you will die.\"

Alpha, by Lyra/ lyrainthedark:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net Rating: M Summary: Kagome mates Inuyasha...but Inuyasha was reluctant. Why? Pack politics...and his brother, who is Alpha. What that means will take time to learn, if Kagome can only live long enough for the lessons... Finally Complete!

Bound by Corruption, by BelovedStranger/ Two Hearts:

Posted On: Dokuga. AO3, FF.net Rating: M Summary: Inside every individual, darkness dwelled large or small. A young woman, cast under her elder sister’s shadow, was bent on proving her worth. A terrible threat hung over her village, giving Kagome the opportunity she had been waiting for. On a mission to save them all from the hearts of evil men, she journeyed to the Inu no Kami’s temple to beseech divine intervention. Instead, danger befell the headstrong woman. Rather than obtaining help from a merciful god, another stepped in to slaughter her enemies, but for a price. An Inugami did nothing for free. Status: Completed

Detrimental Desires, by Mistress Sianna:

Posted on: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: The idea was to make Inuyasha kill Kagome. Little did Naraku know, that on the night of the new moon, Inuyasha looses his demonic powers. Instead, Sesshoumaru and Kagome will be forced to succumb to their most detrimental desires.

Fix It, by Smortz:

Posted On: Dokuga. Rating: M Summary: When Sesshomaru needs Kagome to help him, she takes advantage of the dog demon now in her debt. As they set out on a new journey, will Kagome be able to overcome the problem that arises? Pun Intended.

He Must be Breeding, by ChaoticReverie:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Sesshomaru requires the perfect female to bear his heir, and Kagome… well, she doesn’t know how she gets herself into these messes.

Heated Blood by Imani Joain:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary: Kagome cannot help but try to fix anything she finds broken, even if it is not in her best interest to do so. When she comes across Sesshomaru in dire need of assistance, she cannot deny herself. She only hopes that he won't kill her for it. Rated MA for graphic intimacy. Staus: WIP

House of Ill Repute, by Aurora Antheia Raine:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary: "I will never be yours." // "But you will be, miko," he nearly purred, "you will be when this Sesshoumaru is finished with you."

Irresistible Temptation, by DestinysTears:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net Rating: M Summary: Sesshomaru finds he cannot ignore this inexplicable temptation. (Oneshot)

Just Another Lemon, by Tiegrsi:

Posted on: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Sesshomaru has gone into heat, and finds Kagome willing to put up with his antics. Kagome thinks he was unable to find a suitable woman, and came to her as a last resort. Perhaps there are some things Kagome needs to learn

Lair, Lair, by susie:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: After nearly being nearly absorbed, Sesshoumaru's Bakusaiga is forged, and we all know the rest of the story... or do we? In a deal with Sunrise to accelerate the events of TFA, part of the infamous manga was left on the cutting room floor. Though the hack job began well before that. For the sake of public decency, and in accordance with Japan's obscenity laws, the spiciest and most controversial scenes from the original manga were banned from ever seeing the light of day. Until now. On the condition of anonymity, a diligent hacker provided via email a copy of the raw version you were never meant to see. This is Inuyasha Nights – The Lost Chapter *Dubcon

Macaria, by mythicamagic:

Posted on: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary: Post-apocalyptic AU. Human women were all but wiped out when the demons took over. What few remain have gone into hiding or concealed their true gender. When Kagome hears news of an orphaned little girl, she'll stop at nothing to protect her from the dangers of the world- including the city of demons and the infamous Killing Perfection. But is he friend or foe? Status: WIP

Not Impervious, by Oroyukae:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: He was supposed to be the most powerful demon in existence; one that none could best in any situation, at any time. That was not entirely accurate, it would seem. One error in judgment at the most vulnerable of times, and all that he knows lay in jeopardy. Just what would said being be willing to agree to in the direst of circumstances? {FIN}

Passion, by CiraArana:

Posted On: Spark, Rating: M Summary: Sesshomaru turned to her and gazed back. He did nothing else, just standing there, looking at her... As he kept his eyes on her, his lust for blood and killing faded away, leaving behind another lust. For her. Status: Abandoned

Poison of Erised!, by Vyncent:

Posted On: Dokuga, Rating: M Summary: Tomorrow night, brother moon would be witness to the music that he heard, and felt in his very soul, as he howled his conquest to his blood red face. Tomorrow his hunger would be fed by the blood and flesh that he hungered for, and the world would know of his claim. Status: Abandoned

Poison Within, by Angelic Memories:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net Rating: MA Summary: *Two-Shot* Due to a nasty bite Kagome is poisoned and fights for her life. Inuyasha can only think of one person who might be able to help her but there’s a problem he didn’t consider.

Secret Possession. By SakuraAngel1:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Sesshoumaru is forced to put his mating plans into action a lot sooner than expected, and has Kagome kidnapped in order to fulfill it. When Kagome awakens, she finds herself as the new Lady of the Western Lands...with no Lord in sight… Status: Abandoned

Sleeping Beauty, by Catalina:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Based loosely on the Disney movie, but darker and a bit twisted. Sesshoumaru is betrothed to a little human princess who is delivered a curse by the hanyou Naraku, Kikyo, Miroku, and Kaede agree to raise the child in safety. Smuts in final chapter. Status: Completed

Striking a Deal With the Devil, by Smortz:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, Rating: M Summary: Does anything sound funner? Kagome needs help from the new Commissioner. A man that gave 'bad reputation' its standards. However, will Kagome be able to pay the price he demands when a life is on the line? Status: Completed

The Sacrifice, by Catalina:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Kagome is lured to a strange village, where she finds herself in an unpleasant situation. She is to be a sacrifice to an as yet unnamed youkai. Semi-non-consensual. Status: Completed

Trapped, Breeder, by sesshou_lover:

Posted on: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: N/A Status: Completed

Virginity of the Soul, by Madison

Posted on: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary: Fresh from a betrayal that shattered her world, she was lured into getting even. Alas, the ones we trust and love aren’t always the ones we should. Semi-PWP. COMPLETE Staus: Complete

The Western Breeding, By Blackthorn:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, Rating: M Summary: The end has come. Demons have found that certain humans can breed pure blooded demon pups. Sesshomaru is leading with Kagome running from the demon lord. Once she is at his side can she learn to love her captor for the sake of her unborn pup or find a way out? Status: Abandoned

RAPE LIST:

Blood Stained, by Madison:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary: COMPLETE! A sudden loss of control intertwined their fates. It dragged her through hell and he couldn't have cared less. She tried to escape her fears but the only way to do it was to face him through time and love.

Heat of Exchange, by Catalina:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: It is that time of year for demon women, but Kagome is experiencing something very strange. Sesshoumaru arrives to help her, against her wishes. Freshly beta'd now.

Hell’s Shadows, by Catalina:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: MA Summary: Formerly named "Ghost of Death" Sesshoumaru lives in hell requiring human women to increase his own power. Kagome falls into his waiting claws, while all of hell is turned upside down by her.DARK. NON CONSENSUAL.

His Wife, by Aries_heart:

Posted On: Dokuga, FF.net, AO3, Rating: MA Summary: "With a kiss on her shaking lips, he would leave for work and once the door was closed she would allow herself to cry once more. And then the cycle will repeat."

I Don’t Want a Mate, MLMonty:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Sesshoumaru goes into heat during mating season and rapes Kagome. Now she's pregnant and wants nothing to do with him. Should Sesshoumaru respect her wishes and leave her unguarded while she carries his heir? Status: Abandoned

Kagome’s Trust, by Fire_and_Earth_Sorceress55/Huntress-of-Flames-55:

Posted On: FF.net, AO3 Rating: M Summary: When Kagome is raped by Sesshomaru on the night of the new moon. Kagome goes home to the future as finds out that she is pregnant with pups? PUPS! Now one year later, she decides to go back to the feudal era.

Paper Cranes, by midori Haru:

Posted On: FF.net Rating: M Summary: Meeting, attraction, courting, commitment. For most of the world relationships form in the normal fashion from start to culmination. Naturally normal isn't enough for Sesshoumaru. And he wonders why he runs into problems trying to build a relationship from the wrong end.

Principal Life, by Catalina:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Kagome is dating the principal's brother, and he finds out about it. What can an untrained miko hope to accomplish when she is so ignorant of youkai mating traditions? Story is dark and now involves non consensual situations, with more to come. Status: Abandoned

Rise Again, by Catalina:

Posted on: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: Youkai have become weak and feeble but are attempting to strengthen their population. Sesshoumaru leads them, and discovers the solution to their problem in an unwilling human. VERY non-consensual stuff happens. Frequently.

S t a s i s, by wonderbug:

Posted On: Dokuga, AO3 Rating: M Summary: Love, he tells her, as he trails a claw along the pathway of her shivering spine, is only a human notion. [VERY dark; drabble-ish CU/AR]

The Breeder, TexanLady:

Posted On: Dokuga Rating: M Summary: There is more to Kagome than anyone could ever imagine. After learning of her destiny Sesshoumaru swears to make her his at any cost. Once forced to his side can Kagome teach him to love or learn to love him. Status: Abandoned

#sesskag #messages #requested rec list #sesskag fic recs #admin Wicked #dubcon #rape #tw: rape #tw: dubcon

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insanityconflict · 3 years ago

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.....then... I want thy lore dump *grabby hands*

EHEHEHE [rubs my evil rat hands together] this may be VERY long so i'll just hide it under a cut for anyone who doesnt wanna read and/or see it all MNSMNGasADGA

The AAHW and the Nexus Core team up sometimes when it comes to big scientific projects. A prime example of that would be the MAG Agent program, but that's a discussion for another time. While that's still an ongoing thing, there are quite a few things that either didn't work or just wasn't what they were looking for. A more recent collaborative project was the Pyrokinetics Experiment, which the Agency lead with Nexus keeping a close eye on them.

The project consisted of a total of twenty clones, each genetically engineered to be able to summon fire at will and use it as a weapon. It was supposed to anyway, before things went horribly wrong. The first ten failed completely, becoming charred and shriveled messes before any growth was made. The second was more fortunate, though they all still met terrible fates. Through either spontaneous combustion or just not being able to withstand the heat of their own flames, every clone met a very unpleasant demise; All but one actually survived, and even then that survivor was weak, considered a runt among other clones.

The Agency gave up, not wanting to put effort into a defect that probably wouldn't make it to the end of the week. That's when Nexus stepped in, taking the clone for themselves to milk every opportunity they had to take what was right and make it better for a future attempt. What wasn't expected was Phobos deciding that he would watch over the clone. Some may argue that it was because he wanted it protected from unpleasant employees who got a kick out of beating up weaker individuals, others would say that it was because Phobos planned on using it as his own weapon rather than an actual living being.

The clone did survive to the end of the week. With proper care - like they were a real person - they became stronger and more active, going from a pathetic whelp to an outgoing, and somewhat annoying, individual. Phobos liked this outcome for both a scientific and personal standpoint. As much as he'd deny it, he started to grow close to the clone as if they were brothers. Eventually Phobos gave it a name rather than a worthless string of letters and numbers. Besides, Deimos had a pretty nice ring to it.

As great as things were, Nexus was still a horrible place to be raised under. For three years Deimos had witnessed more death and famine than anyone ever should, and he still received plenty of negative attention from others when Phobos wasn't around to protect him. It only got worse when Phobos started going mad, becoming more and more restless and less patient when things didn't go his way. This resulted in plenty of undesirable arguments between him and Deimos, and what used to be a very strong brotherly relationship turned into a complete mess of anger and hatred for the other.

Deimos had never considered dissenting, at least until Phobos finally snapped threatened his life. That's when he started getting ideas, wondering if life outside the city was better than whatever hell was going on inside. Life was becoming unbearable, and he needed to do something now or things wouldn't be looking very great for him later on. He got the perfect chance when he was given his first actual mission that would send him beyond Nexus City and into the unknown. He had a very distressing dilemma, because if he did leave he'd never be able to come back. He was going to throw his entire life away, and for what? Just to die within his first few hours of fresh air? It wasn't an easy thing to comprehend.

The Agency had requested help from Nexus for assassinating a certain individual. When they caught wind of the fact that Nexus still had that one runt they'd surrendered years ago, they were dead set on sending him to do the job rather than anyone else because apparently he had the best "survival chance". Whether that meant in self-defense or what, that wasn't disclosed. Phobos didn't care, so he agreed and let the Agency do what they liked with Deimos.

The mission was supposed to be simple. It's just one guy that they needed dead, so how hard could that be? Very. Very hard. When Deimos found out who exactly he was being sent to kill, it was already too late to back out and say no. I mean, throwing hands with Hank? The Hank? What was he, a miracle worker? Not knowing what else to do, he finally agreed and went on his way.

His plan was to pose as a rogue that wanted to join the fighting cause, get close to Hank, then finish the job. And it all worked well and fine until he met the man himself. Fortunately, the guy he was partnered with worked great as a distraction. Besides, what'd he have to lose? It didn't hurt to have at least a little bit of fun while he was here, right?

He fell. He fell hard. See, Sanford was everything Deimos had been missing out on. A best friend, someone he could have fun with and talk to without having a gun pointed to his head when he stepped out of line. Plus he was hot. Like, really hot. When he realized he was crushing on the guy was when he knew he was in too deep. There was no way he was going back to Nexus after all of this. Abandoning all of this would be the last straw for him - this was the best fucking time he'd ever had in his life! There's no way he was just gonna leave it all behind and forget about it! It didn't take long for Deimos to put his foot down and say he's never going back. Phobos could shove it for all he cared.

It was the best decision in his entire life.

#he found love and that's the main thing that made him stay #it makes me smile tbh #i may put them all through hell but i still care about them a lot #asks #madness: deadspace #deimos

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theodora3022 · 4 years ago

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Love You To Hell And Back(Yandere Claude)

Pairing: Yandere Claude Faustus x F!reader

Summary: Upon running away from home due to an unwanted arranged marriage, you took up a maid position in the Trancy household. You thought it would be simple, lay low for couple of months then the other family would cancel the engagement. Being a maid should be easy right? Just wash and clean the house and saying yes to their lords. You never thought you would end up in such a bizarre and dangerous household.

Notes: I am a Claude simp. If you do not know before, you do now. Do not get the wrong idea, Sebastien is handsome alright, but there is just something about those golden eyes makes me shiver in the best kind of way. (Also I love the French pronunciation of his name but whatever)

Word count:2k

Warning: Non-con touching, coercion, possessive behaviour, general Yandere content

SFW

As a lady on exile, you do not have many options. Your relatives were out of the question since they could inform your parents of your whereabouts, and so does all of your friends. Luckily, you figured out the perfect solution: disguises! And who is more unnoticeable then a maid? They blend naturally in the background of drawing rooms and parties, no one will bat an eye if there happen to be an extra one. Nobles do not care for servants, so a forged name and documents would get the job done.

Answering advertisements seems to be a good way to start. Ah, there is one right here. The Trancy Estate? To your knowledge, there is only one young lord there, and you are not acquainted with the family. Seems the ideal choice: “Only for two months, as a replacement.” You know being a servant would be unpleasant, compare to your noble lady life now, but you had chosen between this instead marrying a man you despise.

Packing some essentials, you thrown on a simple cotton dress borrowed from your maids and sneaked out. You thought you had escaped from hell, not knowing you are better off staying. Because, you had quite literally, walked into a spider’s trap.

A dark-skinned maid welcomed you, explaining how she has to leave the household for some personal business while giving you a small tour of the building. She seems nice enough, although you were curious why her right eye is covered by bandages. The manor is dead quiet and empty, giving you an illusion of how you can hear your own breathing.

“Miss Hannah, where are the other servants?” You shiver, tightening your clock just a bit. Although it is only autumn, the winds are chillier in this house, or so you felt.

“There is only five of us. Me, the triplets, and Sir Claude the butler. Our master can be...difficult, one could say.” Handing you a basket of maid attire, Hannah seem to be terrified of this master she speaks of.

I wonder why he is so difficult. You thought as you thanked her and settled down in the little servant room you were given. Better put on these maid clothes soon, getting use to them as fast as possible. Blue and white does not look so bad together.

Kitchen duties are not so bad since all you need to do is chopping up vegetables and wash the dishes while the triplets took care of the cooking. Dusting is a nuisance, but with enough efforts it was taken care off. The triplets are an odd flock, as they never speak unless necessary. All your befriend attempts had failed miserably, you felt as if they look down on you somehow? Since you only do backstage work, you had yet to meet the master and his butler. Not that you mind, you want to kept your existence covert, after all!

You were trying to dust off the chandelier in the drawing room when you first met Claude. The stairs you use are a bit unstable, which causes you to have major anxieties about falling.

“Ahh!” You squeal as your staircase finally deciding to let you fall. Closing your eyes in horror, you were certain you are going to suffer at least bruises. But the expected pain never came. Instead, you felt a strong set of arms had caught your body mid-hair.

Gazing up, what did you see?

Oh did that gorgeous face make this fall worth it. The tall man in black reminds you of those flawless Roman statues, of King David. You never thought humans can be this magnificent.(Well you are still right, as he is no human)

Gently placing you back on your feet, Claude started to examine you behind those clear glasses. You quickly smoothed the wrinkles on your skirt as you dip your head for greeting.

“Greetings, kind Sir. You must be Sir Claude. My pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am (y/n), the new maid.” Gods, he is handsome. You were not even sure words can describe how those golden eyes made you feel. Are you blushing? Ugh, get it together, self! He is only a butler here. It is beneath you to swoon over him. You put on a smile, then courtesies to the stoic man in the most elegant way possible.

The lack of callus on your fingers and your sophisticated manners informs him that you, are no ordinary maid. As a servant to his lord, Claude needs to make sure no sketchy individual can harm him. Some investigation would need to be done.

How interesting...Why would a high-born lady such as yourself ran away from your prestigious noble house, only to serve as a humble servant here? Just where did Hannah dig you up? Ah, that is no matter at present. Surely your cheerful spirts can light up the dull days of this mansion. The only thing Claude need to ensure is you do not expire as quickly as others. Alois can be such a spoiled brat; however no harm should befall to you as long as he can help it.

Your voice reminds the demon of little birds of forest mornings, chirping delightfully to a new day no matter how horrid the night before was. The way you thank him stuttering then trying to go back to your duties are just adorable, and amusing. It is clear as day:you are fascinated by Claude’s pretty face. Quite bold for a lady to do so. Claude had met a lot of people in his long life, but none of them intrigues him so as you do. He cannot grasp what exactly, but there must be something enchanting about you, that makes him want to pull you close and do unspeakable things to your good, pure body.

Tender and cautious, that is what the knocks on his office door suggests. It is late, way past Alois’s bedtime. Who could have business with him this hour, apart from his demanding lord? “Come in.” Claude’s curiosity had spiked up.

It is you, still dressed and with a plate in your hands. What a pleasant surprise. And are those pastries?

“I...baked these for you, Sir. I want to thank you for your help earlier today.” Looking away, you quickly remind yourself how you should never indulge too much. However you had already spent two hours of your free time trying to bake something decent.

Did your parents taught you it is improper to visit a man’s quarters this late at night, alone? How rebellious of you, not that Claude minds anyway. You might appear to be demure and good at first sight, but under that nice façade is a bold maiden who does not care for modesty, how complex.

Chocolate chip biscuits, but with distorted shapes. “I am not very good at this, so I totally understand if you do not wish to eat them. I jus want to properly show my gratitude, that is all.” Nervously fidgeting your apron corner, you bit your lip when he raises one of them to his lips and took a small bite.

Edible, but has lots of room for improvement. Claude can practically taste your eagerness to please from the chocolate spheres. Seeing your gaze fixated on him, expecting his comments on your work, Claude let out a quiet laugh. Which made heat rush up to your cheeks. Is that a good or a bad response? It cannot be that terrible can it?

“Come.” He signals with a hand wave, and you hesitantly walked beside his chair. How cute, the butler and the little maid. It would be a shame to just give you some half-hearted praises and send you out, wouldn’t it? It is what a gentleman would do, of course. Claude on the other hand, has never been one. He could entertain that appearance for his lord’s sake, but in this little room with just you, there is no need for charades.

You were shocked when one gloved hand pulled you swiftly onto his lap, with the other locked around your waist, pressing you against his chest. Of course, you fantasized the idea of being the lover of such a fine specimen of mankind, but only the idea of it. Even though you are nothing more then a lowly maid now, you are still a lady of nobility with conducts of propriety.

Your shrinking pupils made Claude realize he might be pushing a bit too fast. But human lives are so fragile, so short compare to demon ones. If he does not seize this opportunity, who knows when is next one going to arrive? Whether it is your intention or not, Claude is now mesmerized with you. Now that he is holding you this close, breathing in your intoxicating sweet scent, the old demon had his first epiphany of a millennium: you are lovely, and he intends to keep you this way, one way or the other.

Squirming with protests, you tried to get out of his suffocating embrace. “Sir, this is not proper, please let go of me.” Yet you achieve no results, those iron grips still hold you firmly in place, those same arms that spared you an embarrassing fall this morning.

“Little bird, finally thinking about propriety? You should know better then coming to my office this late unless you want something to happen.” Claude is close, too close, you can feel his breath fanning your ears gently. Gloved fingers trace down your jawline, making you tremble with fear. “Am I right, Lady (family name)?” You froze. What how did he-how do he know you are not a mere commoner? Had he already done a thorough investigation on you?

“Now, repeat after me, little bird.” His golden eyes shifted its color to pink, round pupils bending into a thin line. In normal circumstances, you would be terrified of how his features suddenly changed, but now you are too possessed by his intense gaze to think of anything else. Those eyes, you felt as if you could drown in those two magenta pools.

“I love Claude Faustus forever and I would do anything should he asks of me.”

“I-I love Claude Faustus f-forever...and I would do anything should....should he-e asks of me.” It is still your voice, although those words are defintely not your own. What is happening? Why do your tongue just moved on its own like man possessed?

“Perfect.” Running his bare fingers through your hair, Claude left a light kiss on your forehead, ignoring the horrid expression you are wearing. “You will behave, right little bird?”

“Of course, Sir Claude.” You did not just say that !There is no way. What has this evil man done to you? You never should have come here. Your terrible fiancée at least could not cast spells on you!

“I’ll take good care of you, my dearest little bird. After all, your fate is defined since the moment I lay my eyes on you. We are destined to be together.”

“Oh, do try to behave. It would be a shame if something should happen to your dear family. I would hate if you end up like your other human predecessors.” His lord, despite his young age, is a master at torture and inflicting suffering. There is a unfortunate reason why there is only a few servants in this manor, and the fact that they are durable demons too. Claude knows exactly where you would end up had he not intervened. Do not worry, he would never let you go. Demons mate for life, didn’t you know that? Why resist?

“I love you my dear, to the hell and back. We shall stay together until the end of time.”

#black butler #black butler imagines #black butler fanfiction #yandere claude faustus #claude faustus #yandere black butler

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bookwyrminspiration · 3 years ago

Text

Shattered Upside Down

A kotlc wings au: masterpost here

Chapter 8: The Regretted Reflection

word count: 8.9k

chapter summary: Sophie made multiple impulsive decisions in a panic, but now she has to deal with the consequences and face the people she left behind.

warnings: picking at skin, panicking, fighting, a brief section that's slightly surreal/like rolling a nat 20 perception check but there's nothing to see/uses second person, blood, swearing, intentional misuse of grammar, I think that's everything but please let me know if there's more /g

taglist: I’ll reblog with it. let me know if you want to be added or removed!

This chapter is 8,932 words. Why do I do these things? I don't know. But! That means even more content for you so I hope you enjoy! Definitely enjoyed this one and the twists even I wasn't expecting. Damn this au is getting long

ao3 link here or read below

Sophie Foster felt nothing.

The imparter buzzed in her hand, tickled her skin. This should alarm her, the incoming message and whatever it might say. What could the council possibly want with them? What could Oralie want with her? They’d fallen out of contact weeks, maybe even months ago. All those useless meetings, unproductive decisions and orders, watching as they fell down and down, deeper and deeper indebted to every other goddamned species on the planet.

She had no interest conversing with them, engaging in pleasantries, the idea even less appealing with sleep crusting her eyes and clogging her throat, with the uncomfortable rub of her dry, damaged skin against the very air.

Everyone was looking at her, glancing between her and their own ringing imparters, seeming to wait for her judgement on this situation. Right. Because she was the one who’d isolated them in the first place.

The thought jerked her, tugged her into consciousness, and all that nothing shattered into something. Her muscles tensed and she leaned out of Keefe’s grip, shakily running a hand through her hair, steeling herself.

She answered the hail.

Every other imparter in the room fell silent.

“Sophie, there you--” her pristine voice was so so irritating, unwanted.

“What do you want.” The demand fell flat, dropping from her tongue like a stone. She pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose, trying to breath the exhaustion away, still not fully awake. She’d set the imparter down, angled it towards the ceiling so they could all see the perfectly curled ringlets and pink tourmaline, but no one on the other end could see them.

“Sophie, you need to listen carefully. We need you to--”

“That is no way to speak to your rulers, Miss Foster.” She glanced back at the screen. That hadn’t been Oralie. No, she’d been cut off. Councillor Emery's face now filled the screen, warped with disdain, jaw clenched.

Ah.

Who were your hails from, she asked, the words slurred but urgent. Different friends chimed back different names, each one a different councilor. No one said Emery.

“If you so desperately wanted to contact me, Ruler, you could’ve hailed yourself.” She was being unpleasant, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

His mouth tensed, something flashing across his features before he spoke. “As cooperative as ever, I see. I’ll make this brief. We, as your councilors, order you to return to your underground. Whatever has given you this disposition that you are above the protocols set in place to protect our people must cease immediately.”

“Hmm. No.” Keefe turned to her in disbelief, a slightly worried grin cracking his face. She wasn’t normally this vocally indifferent, this casually opposed to authority. Little did they know she could feel each individual blister lining the skin of her stomach rubbing against the threads of her shirt, hear the trickle of water from Linh’s bath, smell the cold of Tam’s skin and the heat of Marella’s.

This conversation was a waste of energy.

“You seem to think this is a request. It is not. You are expected to comply and have 24 hours to return, or we will set out to find you and bring you back by force if necessary. You not only disrespect our authority with your blatant disregard for the protocols, you also insult the dwarves who have so graciously opened their homes to us all. We will not say it again.”

That’s not good, Dex whispered into their minds, voice unnaturally light.

Maruca shifted her stance. I don’t think that’s all there is to this.

Things rarely are that easy, Sophie breathed, pressing her hands together against her chin. She’d love to go back to that nap, please. Deal with whatever this was later. Just push it off.

She glanced at Dex, and something he’d said to her flickered in the back of her mind. Fuck it, go for it, deal with the consequences later. Holding eye contact, she spoke. “We’re not coming back. If you’re having issues with the dwarves, figure it out. Maintaining the peace between our species does not fall to ten teenagers. Well, mostly teenagers.” She inclined her head towards Wylie. She could see the confusion flashing around the circle, watched each of them try to connect the dots he hadn’t meant to hint at. “We will, however--”

What are you agreeing to, Fitz demanded, waving his hands around to get her attention. She didn’t stop watching Dex.

She continued talking like he hadn’t interrupted. “--meet with our parents in a neutral location. We’ll work the details out with them so you can stop playing messenger. We will not compromise further.”

Then Sophie leaned forward and ended the hail.

Sophie didn’t dream. Her limbs were leaden, sinking sinking sinking into the ground, leaving a sullen impression as moss and decay and rot crept over her body. She did not move. She did not toss nor turn. Anyone who saw her might mistake her for a statue, a corpse, a freakish conglomeration of flesh, something to be ripped apart and studied.

Hell knew what they’d find.

There was no one occupying her mind, not even herself. Time became thick and lucid, a block of stone dropped into a stagnant puddle. All there, all at once, all the time.

And yet, she existed. Somewhere.

She wouldn’t remember this when she woke. Memory was curious like that, picking and choosing seemingly at random, so little control over what lingers. So many moments we’ve left behind, that only existed as they occurred.

It’s the little moments, the ones you don’t even realize you’ve forgotten. The few minutes right before you fall asleep, the thirty seconds it takes for your essay to print as you watch with impatience.

The dreams you know you’ll forget.

There are some who are more in tune with their existence, who can recognize something that will fade as it happens. But for the most part, we don’t remember those moments.

And Sophie wouldn’t remember this.

Wouldn’t remember seeing herself in the mirror.

Someone was doing an absolutely terrible job at keeping quiet. Bare skin scuffed against the wood floor, approaching from behind, stopping in place as something creaked, hesitantly moving once more, a weight lowering itself onto her bed.

Sophie didn’t move, unwilling to give up these few seconds she had left with her eyes closed. Fabric pressed against her skin in a way that told her she hadn’t moved in quite a while, had sunk sunk sunk into the sheets. Did she have the energy it would take to face what moving would bring, the world she needed to return to?

The person was breathing, exhaling slightly, as if unsure of themself.

“I know you’re there,” she said, so quiet no one else in the world would hear besides the two of them, whoever the two of them would turn out to be.

“Are you awake for real this time?” Maruca. That was Maruca sitting beside her, fiddling with the thin blanket tossed over her body and clenched beneath her chin.

Sophie took a moment to respond, slowly opening her eyes, taking in the dust motes and pollen floating around, exhaling and watching the air disturb their fall.

There was a steadiness, a clearness to her mind that she hadn’t had in days, maybe weeks. Yes. Sophie Foster was awake.

“Yeah,” she breathed, still unmoving. She slid her line of sight to Maruca, taking in the lines of her face, the tight purse of her lips, the downturn cast of her brows. The exhaustion. The determination.

Slowly, she pressed her hands to her face, rubbing away the fading fog of sleep. The skin of her cheeks was surprisingly chilly against the warmth of her hands, and she held her head between her palms, feeling as they reached equilibrium.

Muscles dead, Sophie pulled herself into a sitting position, Maruca watching with a sort of detached glaze over her face. She tracked every movement, but made no move as if to do anything. Not even readjust herself as the bed shifted under Sophie’s fiddling.

“Why are you here?” she asked, rubbing her hands down her thighs, trying to work some life back into her body. She must’ve slept hard. The time had vanished in her mind, the last thing she remembered was overwhelming exhaustion as she’d been dragged from unconsciousness, so so desperate to disappear into it once more.

And now she was here. Everything else was blank.

“Making sure you’re not dead, mostly” she smiled slightly as that, hands curled tight in her lap. “One of us has been checking in every hour or so, just to make sure you’re still breathing.”

Sophie stretched out her neck, which rewarded her with several pops. “Well, surprise surprise. I’m alive.” Which meant she’d have to deal with whatever shitstorm she’d stirred up that had Maruca so tense. Her knuckles paled as her hands remained clenched in her lap, her lips pressed firmly together.

“Where do you need me?” she asked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. There was always something to be done, a place she could be useful even if it wasn’t as a leader. As groggy as she was, she’d follow Maruca’s directions, anything anyone needed.

Sophie stood, fighting the head rush that came with the change in blood pressure, glancing back at Maruca. She hadn’t had time to speak with her lately, and something tugged at the back of her mind, a memory of some sort...oh well. It faded.

“You need to coordinate that meeting you randomly proposed. And include us in the process.” The last part had some bite that should’ve had her flinching with guilt, but her mind hadn’t moved past that first sentence. That meeting. That meeting she’d proposed.

To see their parents again.

“How long was I asleep,” she asked, already heading for the door, panic pushing against her chest and constricting her heart. Depending on how long--

Maruca was somehow just behind her. “I’d guess around ten to twelve hours since your little excursion with Tam, six or seven since the council called.” Sophie turned, looking her up and down. There was something about her manner of speaking, something about the way she conducted herself that felt...off. She couldn’t put a finger on it, hadn’t spent enough time with Maruca before to know what was different now. She had to fix that.

“Thank you,” she said, inclining her head. “For checking on me. I’m sorry I haven’t done the same.” It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Maruca shrugged, hands still in tight fists. “It’s not your job, but don’t forget to include the rest of us. We’re all in the same situation.”

Sophie nodded. She was right. She’d been so focused on just her her her fixing herself and holding everyone together and trying to solve the world for them that she’d somehow forgotten they wanted to fix the world too. She’d grown up so alone.

It made it even harder to remember she wasn’t anymore, even if it sometimes felt like it. Even if she acted like it. Even if she wandered into the forest and told nobody.

“Thanks,” she whispered, and pushed open the door.

Hours. It had been hours since that hail. She needed to figure out what had happened since. Surely the council had notified their parents of the possible arrangement, maybe they’d even tried to reach out.

As far as she knew they hadn’t tried to contact them since that first day they’d left, had realized they wouldn’t respond and had turned to other measures. Maybe their parents had sent the council after them, desperate for any contact.

The thought churned her stomach. No matter how distraught she was by her situation, how confused and doubtful of her own morals and mind, she didn’t know if she’d be able to forgive herself for leaving her parents so hurt.

She’d just...pushed them aside. It had felt as if she ignored them for long enough, she’d never have to face them, never have to explain...whatever was happening to her. The strange feelings and senses, the inexplicable urges to just walk off into the woods. She’d been careless at times before, yes, but never so thoughtless.

And that was why she’d left. Whatever was making her so scatterbrained and impulsive, even if it was mostly harmless right now, could become a much bigger problem very quickly. She’d wandered into the woods, she’d flown into a lightning storm, what was next?

Wait. The lightning storm. She’d never learned what happened to the dragons, had been too tired to ask. But was that most pressing right now?

She’d ask, Sophie decided. Just briefly think about it, to get ready to return to that issue when its time came. The creatures flitting in and out of her life, appearing for brief moments and vanishing into the sky--literally, two out of three of the times.

Why weren’t they bothering her, tearing her to shreds?

“She’s awake!” Someone called out, and Sophie was reminded of her goal, snapping back into reality.

Fitz was waving from just up ahead, Keefe grinning beside him. He turned to whisper something to Fitz, who promptly rolled his eyes and shoved him away. He nearly toppled over, his wings shifting with the movement and flapping slightly to steady his balance.

“What’s going on?” she asked, reaching the two of them. Fitz was sat upon what looked almost like a beanbag chair, hand propped behind his head as he looked off into the sky with that unnerving stare.

He didn’t look at her as he answered. “Waiting for you. The next step requires you, so we couldn’t exactly do anything while you were...sleeping.” Sleeping was a generous way to put it. The red indentations along her arm from the sheets indicated it had been much more...dead than normal sleep.

“Right,” she exhaled, absentmindedly patting at her clothes, any place she might’ve--

“I have your imparter,” Keefe interrupted, pulling it from one of his own pockets and handing it to her. “Y’know, cause you couldn’t answer it and all those fucking adults wanted to contact you.” She nodded, turning it on.

She scrolled through some of the messages. Both Bronte and Oralie had sent her private messages. She didn’t open them. She’d regret that later. It seemed Keefe had only sent one to everyone in return, ignoring everything they’d said.

Foster is absolutely passed out right now. She’ll see your messages when she wakes up.

Right. And now she was awake. And had to deal with this.

So why couldn’t she get her fingers to press the buttons?

She sank down to the floor, crossing her legs and leaning against the railing, looking off into the sky like Fitz. It was just eating eating eating at her.

Keefe hesitantly lowered himself next to her, one of them now on either side. Fitz turned to look at her.

“What happened to the dragons?”

She had to know. It just kept clawing away at her mind, her sanity, something so big so large so catastrophic and she couldn’t stop the petrifying thought that if she kept pushing it off it would eventually become too big a problem and she’d never be able to fix it.

Fitz glanced away towards some movement in the distance before looking back at her. “We don’t know.”

She waited for him to say more, but he just stared off.

Keefe continued for him. “There really isn’t more to it right now.” He fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt, pulling at it again and again, betraying the anxiety they were so carefully trying to keep from her.

It was weighing on them too. All of them. They just didn’t want her to know it.

“After Marella...exploded,” Keefe continued, seeming to sense her blooming revelation. “They both fell; she blasted them back. Lit up the entire sky. We don’t know where they went or what happened to them. Or if they’ll come back.”

Sophie just nodded as he talked. Okay. She’d asked her question. Time to move on. There were other people, other things waiting to be dealt with. As long as those dragons weren’t an immediate threat, she could set that aside. She had to.

She didn't want to.

She did it anyway.

Okay. Everyone to the...me. Wherever I am. I’m going to hail my parents.

“To the me,” Keefe snorted, settling back against the railing, the portrait of faux ease. The wings at his back readjusted themselves against the wood, the grey fading imperceptibly--but undeniably--darker and darker as they waited.

It took a few minutes, but one by one her friends found their ways to her--good thing she’d been out in the open; she had no way to direct them otherwise. They took up places around the circle, similar to how they’d been just a night or two ago, before the dragons had flooded the sky.

Actually, looking around, she could see evidence of that night strewn all over the place. She’d been so focused on everything else, she hadn’t even noticed the destruction. Shredded petals and vines littered the wooden planks, streaks of dried dirt washed across the ground. Branches hung crooked from trunks, bridges had snapped, dangling precariously into a sudden drop.

Inexplicably, a lump rose in her throat. All the work put into this place, all the love and hopes and tentative dreams just disintegrating, deteriorating more and more each day. And they were no better. They were leeching off this place until they could figure out what to do next.

“Do you actually have any plan for what you’re about to do,” Wylie asked, helping lower Linh and himself to the ground across from her. Linh leaned against his arm, expression wan. She must’ve woken up while Sophie was still asleep. Marella sat on her other side, looking like she was itching itching itching to help but just couldn’t bring herself to make initial contact. Her lips were pressed thin, fist pressed against her sides beneath crossed arms. Like she was restraining herself.

“I have...an idea,” she answered, realizing everybody had gathered. And were looking at her.

“An idea?”

“An idea,” she repeated.

Biana looked for a place to sit as she spoke. “Do we get to know this idea, or is this some plan you’ll pull out of nowhere without consulting anyone first?” Finding only dirt on the ground, she remained standing.

Sophie grimaced, glancing towards Dex, who stood beside Biana. “Not my idea, actually. I’m just...modifying it. And none of you have to go along with it.” Several of them rolled their eyes at that. They were going to follow her, likely no matter what. She loved them for it, even if it was foolish.

“Take it away, Foster,” Keefe said, gesturing towards her dramatically. This next step fell solely on her shoulders.

She glanced to her lap, where her imparter lay, picking it up. Which person to hail? They were likely all in similar places, or would be as soon as they saw the incoming call from her. So who?

Sophie took a deep breath, curling her knees into her chest. Glancing over her shoulder, she made sure the wings were hidden, hearing a slight buzz in response. Tam smiled at her slightly, as if to say he was glad it wasn’t him making the call.

“Show me Edaline Ruewen.”

It didn’t even take a full second before the hail was answered.

Her mother’s face filled the screen, circles beneath her eyes and stray hair falling from it’s style. The expression hid nothing, not the fear or worry or confusion or...hurt. Plain hurt.

“Sophie,” she exhaled, shoulders drooping.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her fingers tightened around the imparter, voice indescribably thick in her throat.

Another voice sounded from off-screen. “You okay, kiddo?” Edaline moved, setting her imparter down so multiple people could be seen at once.

“Hey Dad,” she said, watching as he scooted on screen, clothing rumpled and stained, a crease between his brow. “I’ve...We’ve been better.”

She shouldn’t have done this. She shouldn’t have called, shouldn’t have let herself see them again. It hurt so fucking much.

Their weary, worn faces clawed through her with guilt, overwhelming guilt. They were like this because of her.

Hey. Focus. You can get through this. Fitz. His voice whispered into her mind, entirely separate from the others, just the two of them in this space in this brief moment of peace before she’d have to do something she hated.

Her fingers skimmed over the rough skin of her thighs, finding the edge of something peeling and picking at it absentmindedly. Gently. She didn’t want to make it worse. But she couldn’t help it.

Another figure appeared behind her parents, all pudgy and wrinkled. She’d known they’d probably all be together, and anyone away from their group was likely rushing to be part of the call, but still. There were so many of them. And just her on this call. The rest of her friends watching her, letting her take this step.

“Miss Foster, are all of you together?” His voice was unnaturally grave, even for him.

She nodded, looking around the group. A few of them waved at her and she almost smiled. “Everyone’s right here.”

“Are you fucking outside? What the hell do you think you’re doing on the surface? You idiots are going to get yourselves killed like this.”

A few people around the group flinched. Ah. Lovely. Ro. Keefe drawled, voice dry as he ran a hand down his face.

Several sounds erupted on the other end of the hail and Sophie tilted her head back, looking towards the sky like Fitz. A pair of birds flitted by overhead, swerving downwards and rustling the leaves, the sound so much louder than it should’ve been.

She looked back to the hail. Might as well put that hearing to good use. Multiple conversations conducted themselves at once, the sound of a door opening and more voices joining the fray--Alden and Della, Tiergan, Juline. Elwin. Rapid conversation amongst themselves, trying to decide the best way to find them, to talk to them, the questions to ask, how to make them cooperate, catching each other up on information, what could have possibly driven them away in the first place, how much danger they might be in.

Sandor stepped in front of the screen finally, Sophie and her friends having just sat there in disbelief at the cacophony, and her unable to stop them. They wouldn’t have listened anyways, so she hadn’t bothered trying. This was her punishment for running away without leaving a proper note. Now she’d have to live with it, endure it.

“You--all of you--must return immediately. You aren’t safe outside.” There was no room for compromise in his voice.

And he was right. They weren’t safe out here, exposed. They’d, well...she’d had multiple encounters with several creatures in the last few days. But...they hadn’t killed her yet. And she had a growing suspicion as to why. But she wasn’t ready to face that yet.

“No, thank you. We’re not coming back.”

Edaline cut in, impatience and panic clear on her face. “Where are you? If you can tell us--”

“I couldn’t tell you,” she grimaced.

Grady held up his hands placatingly, like he knew his justified anger wouldn’t make her cooperate. Like he cared about her. “Kiddo, I don’t know why you all ran away. But you’re not safe. We just want to help you. So please just tell us where you are so we can come get you. We know you took a pathfinder, so just tell us where you went and we can follow. We’ve been checking around the different undergrounds, the old Black Swan hideouts; we’re worried sick. ”

She sighed, rubbing at her face with her free hand. “I literally cannot tell you. Even if I wanted to. I actually do not know where we are.” She hadn’t realized they would try to follow. It would’ve worked too, if their pathfinder hadn’t broken and sent them wherever here was. This dilapidated little grave.

“If we wanted to come back, we would’ve. Sophie could teleport us back,” Fitz cut in, turning slightly to face her, holding eye contact for a moment before he glanced down at the screen, focusing on the faces displayed.

“Fitz?” Della's voice came through the phone and he scrunched his nose up, like it pained him or he didn’t want to hear her.

You wanna talk to them? She asked, to which he shook his head fervently, gesturing to the wings protruding from his back, clearly visible over his shoulders. Right. Her own shivered slightly in response. They couldn’t tell them.

She turned back to the imparter. “Yes. That was Fitz. He’s here. Everyone is.”

“Hi, Mom,” Biana said, appearing behind Sophie, the wings carefully tucked beneath a cape draped across her shoulders. The same ones they’d worn when they’d run. How long ago that seemed.

Look. Now you’re not on the hail alone, she whispered into the mindbubble, squeezing Sophie’s shoulder slightly.

“Are you alright, Biana,” Grady asked, attention laser focused on the two of them. If he couldn’t get information from Sophie, maybe he could get it from her. It was...endearing. How hard he was trying, how desperate he was to find them. Neither of them would give in, though.

She shrugged. “Like she said, could be better. We’re not coming back to the underground though. Don’t know how many times we need to say it before you’ll get it. Now correct me if I’m wrong, which I'm not, but wasn’t the purpose of this call to figure out a meeting or something? Not for you to try and convince us to come back, something we’re capable of and clearly aren’t doing. You’re wasting your energy. Maybe we won’t meet at all if you keep this up.”

Silence echoed for a moment. Whispers erupted on their end, more debating and bargaining and she didn’t even bother to listen.

Thanks, she said, resting her free hand atop Biana’s, still on her shoulder. She gave a reassuring squeeze. There were just so many people it was hard to deal with on her own. But she wasn’t on her own. She could let other’s step in when she faltered.

Brrr.

Her attention snapped away, eyes darting from side to side. The others sat forward slightly. No no no no no. Why now?

Not now. Please please please.

Brrr.

Shit.

She sat forward. Fuck it. “I’m only going to say this once.” It went quiet on the other end, a few meager conversations lingering between people she couldn’t see. She found Dex, holding his gaze, speaking to him. “Tomorrow morning we will be in the Lost Cities, in Mysterium. Meet us there if you want. This is not up for debate. If any of you are going to come, bring Elwin. We have to go. Bye. I love you.” The last part was almost a whisper, but she could see their lips start to form the response when she ended the call.

“The Lost Cities?!” Marella asked in disbelief, looking at Sophie like she was worried something had happened to her head in that explosion. Maybe something had.

Keefe cut in. “That’s reckless even for me, Foster.” She just shrugged. She couldn’t stop herself. She just kept making rash decision after rash decision, impulse her sole motivation.

It terrified her. But she couldn’t stop it.

“I was going to go with Dex anyways.” He shifted his weight under the attention now directed at him. She hadn’t realized she’d made that choice, had intended to indulge his request until she said it out loud.

What had happened to her? Where were her worries, everything about her that made her cautious and prepared and her?

Brrr.

“You guys hear that too, right?” Biana asked, looking around. They nodded, and Sophie just hoped hoped hoped it wouldn’t show up. She didn’t want to lie to them, didn’t want to pretend not to know and wander confused just like them.

The leaves rustled somewhere, and she watched the shift in her friends’ postures, something...strange...taking over them. Biana’s movements became jerky but coordinated, seeming to move in unnaturally quick bursts. Marella began to lower herself to the ground, veins glowing.

Brrr.

So close. So so close. It was so close. No no no. She wasn’t--she couldn’t--

A weight appeared atop her shoulder, right where Biana’s hand had been just a few moments ago.

Brrr. It whispered in her ear, so close it nearly set the world spinning. She’d never been this close to it before. It kneaded it’s paws against the skin of her shoulder, readjusting itself as it perched there.

“Don’t move,” Marella whispered, inching forward with eyes set on the little echo, a hand outstretched. Everyone’s eyes were on her, the thing on her shoulder, creeping forward.

Sophie held up her hands reflexively, taking a step back. “Wait. Don’t.”

They paused, bewildered. What was she doing? She didn’t know.

All she knew was the thought of anything happening to this tiny creature, this little thing that had found her and brought her to something earth-shattering twice before, was enough to set her stomach rocking, terror slicing through her veins.

Why was she so defensive of it? She didn’t even know what it was.

And then it was gone. Blipping away as if it’d never even been there in the first place.

“That one’s fine,” she whispered, refusing to meet anyone’s eye, to see the confusion littering their faces.

“What do you mean it’s fine? It’s clearly one of those creatures!” Fitz exclaimed, bewildered, waving his hands about. There was too much happening all at once. All the sounds were too clear, the sun was too bright, her clothes were too itchy. She needed a moment, needed a single second, just wait hang on back up--

“They’re not all bad,” she argued back, not even thinking about what she was saying. She just needed them to stop looking at her and give her a moment she needed to get away right now.

The wings at her back buzzed and shivered, rhythmically pounding out a beat. No no no not that too. They couldn’t know she’d been using them. That they responded to her so easily that she could work beside them--what would they think of her?

Were they right?

Her breaths came too quickly so she began to rub at her skin, pressing against the cracks and peeling flakes and hating the feeling but it was something. Keep it under control.

“Foster...are you alright?” Keefe asked, stepping forward hesitantly, rubbing a hand against his chest. Shit. He could feel her spiraling. “You’re…” he trailed off, shaking his head, as if trying to clear his mind.

“Mmhmm,” she responded, starting to bounce one of her legs. Keep it under control.

So much extra energy with nowhere to go. It was accumulating beneath her skin, this panic, this need to run to get away to just be alone. To find someone else.

Wait. What? Who--

“Sophie is there...something you've been keeping from us?” Biana asked, blinking into place beside her, apprehension marring the scars on her face. No no no no no. They couldn’t find out like this. She wasn’t ready. She hadn’t thought it over and she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it out loud in front of them. She loved them loved them loved them so much but this was not something she could do. Keep it under control.

They’d judge her. They wouldn’t understand they’d try to convince her otherwise and it would hurt so much because she knew they were right and she was wrong and it was all a misunderstanding anyways and she didn’t really know what she was doing and

Biana’s hand brushed against her arm, reaching out for her in comfort.

And

Sophie

lost

control.

It wasn’t a conscious decision to bring her arm up, to whirl around to wrap her fingers around Biana’s forearm, the skin so rough and supple, to clench and flinch and shove her away, to tear her fingernails along the length of the skin as she let go, wings flaring as she stumbled back, crouching down, eyes only on that threat. That touch. That--

No.

Someone snarled, crashing into her and she was so caught off guard by her own behavior that she stopped thinking. Someone’s hands were on her wrists, pinning her back and tearing her away from the situation.

Wings buzzing, she shoved them too, breaking one of her hands out of their grip, the other tightening as she thrashed. Out out out out out she needed to get out. They used her disarray against her, pressing forward and collapsing atop her, pinning her to the ground.

“Sophie--STOP!” Maruca. It was Maruca. She was propped above her, eyes wide as she held her down. Restrained her. She searched her face, seeming to see something--someone--there and letting her go, falling back, panting.

Red slipped down Maruca’s hands, and Sophie looked to her own to find tears, slices down her skin. Sharp and neat. She glanced back to Maruca, to the inhumanly sharp nails that were more like talons gracing her fingertips. Solid and cutting.

It hit her then and Sophie gasped, muscles trembling and convulsing, coughing as her body gave out, falling from her strain forward to sitting back on the wood, eyes widening in absolute horror. She whirled around.

Biana held her arm close to her chest, tears tracking their way down her face as she bit at her lip, grimacing, trying to stay quiet. Linh was by her side, reaching out and trying to pry the limb away so she could take a closer look.

Everyone was quiet. Expressions wide and everywhere and shocked and afraid.

Afraid of her.

Sophie’s hands flew to her mouth, clamping over her face as she breathed.

“I’m sorry--I didn’t--I don’t--” she couldn’t get the words out. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, backing away, pushing to her feet and stumbling back back back. She couldn't take it, the looks on their faces. The way they looked at themselves. Like they might be next.

She’d been first to grow wings, first to wake up, first to fly. She’d be first to lose it.

But she just kept stepping back, walking away again and again and again she was alone alone alone.

Keefe made as if to reach out for her, arm darting forward as his eyes widened in panic and she didn’t understand why.

Her foot met the edge of the platform.

And Sophie Foster walked off the edge of the world.

The ground was damp, sticking to her feet. The lingering cool rain soaking the dirt, the roots, the scent mingling with the fragrance of the pollen sticking to her skin. Absentmindedly, she brushed her thumb against her skin, a faint poof of powder showering onto the soil. The speckles of flowers against the ground were too bright, seemingly glowing with color she knew they shouldn’t possess.

She didn’t know where she was.

Her back was pressed gently against a tree, wings spread slightly to keep them from rubbing too harshly against the bark.

Her arms stung. The blood had dried in rivers down her skin, nails raked through her forearms down to her wrists. It was nothing next to the constant dull ache of her burned skin. Which still didn’t hurt as much as it should have. An explosion in the sky, even with a last-minute forcefield--it didn’t add up. It shouldn’t have equaled just sore skin and a few blisters and flaking, surface-level burns.

What was it? She wasn’t sure she even wanted to know, was sure she’d regret learning the answer if she sought it out.

Brrr. It appeared a few feet away, paws dainty in the damp grass.

Not again. It pranced through the foliage, jumping over exposed roots and avoiding a mushroom dripping dew, walking right up to her and brushing its head against her legs, which she’d pulled in close to her chest.

She let out a sigh, hesitantly reaching down to run her fingers through its fur. It was oh so soft, so delicate, her fingertips ghosting through the texture like it wasn’t even there. A faint rumble originated in it’s chest as it propped one of its paws against her leg, so she dropped them down.

It lifted itself into her lap, damp little paws pressing gently against her ruined skin, seeming to move at a glacial pace, carefully lowering its weight as it settled itself. Like it didn’t want to hurt her.

Her hand came to rest on its back as it laid down atop her, rubbing its cheek against her leg the same way it had against that monster in the vines. Her heart dropped.

It saw her as one of them.

Oh. Her jaw slackened and her shoulders dropped. Oh.

It hit her then. The things she’d done. The secrets she’d kept. She didn’t recognize herself, those actions. Who was that?

Who was the girl who’d run away from home, run off into the forest when one of her friends was hurt, freed a creature she didn’t know and then kept it secret, flown into a lightning storm to find dragons with no plan. Who’d stolen from a store and talked back to the council and ignored her parents.

Who’d attacked Biana, torn into her skin and shoved her away.

That wasn’t supposed to be Sophie.

So why did she keep doing it?

She released a shuddering breath, rhythmically running her fingers through the little creature's fur as the first tear fell. Then another. Then she couldn’t see anything but splotchy colors and the vague outline of the world around her, shrouded by the fog in her min.

She leaned back, head hitting the tree with a thunk as she pressed her eyes closed, feeling those tears squeeze out and track their way across her skin, down her neck.

“Dammit,” she hissed, gritting her teeth, hands forming fists at her side. They trembled for a moment before she released them. That was exactly the problem. The violence. She didn’t need it here, too.

The little echo kneaded at her thighs as she suffered, rubbing against like it was none the wiser but she knew it was too smart not to sense what was happening within her mind. The hollow hallways and dark corridors coming to life and stacks upon stacks of memories rearranging themselves as she tried desperately to find herself.

The sun moved across the sky but she couldn’t see it, hidden beneath the thick foliage that maintained the damp atmosphere. But eventually, she could hear branches cracking, something else approaching, coming to find her. She didn’t care. Could only see Biana’s wide eyes and mouth agape, that shredded arm held close to her chest as she backed away. Maruca collapsed on the ground beside her, backing away as she looked down at her own nails with disgust and trepidation.

“Hey, you.” Dex’s voice was so quiet as he lowered himself next to her. At least, she thought that’s what he was doing. Her eyes were still closed against the world. “Biana’s okay. So is Maruca. They’ll heal.”

Her arms loosened, her muscles giving way to relief. At least she hadn’t done any permanent damage. Well, not to their bodies.

Their friendship was an entirely different battlefield.

“How did you find me,” she asked, voice gravelly and thick. So slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking into the sudden light dripping through the foliage from above. Turning, she saw Dex fiddling with a piece of wire in his hands, curling knots and kinks into it then smoothing it as best he could.

He shrugged. “I just did.” She huffed a humorless laugh. Of course.

“How bad was it?” she whispered, fingers curling in the echos fur. She wasn’t even sure what she was asking.

Dex tucked the wire back into his pocket. “Bad. But...not for the reason you’re thinking. We could all guess how you felt about that,” he explained, seeing her scrunched brows. “You’re an open book sometimes. It was bad because we were--and are--worried about you. Just like you’re worried about us. Because that wasn’t like you. Biana knows you didn’t want to hurt her, and that you feel awful about it. She actually wanted to find you herself, but…” he trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck. “That part doesn’t matter.

“The point is...it’s bad for all of us right now, you know? So, I guess I found you so...you wouldn’t be all alone. That’s what best friends do, right?” He half-smiled at the last part, and she half-smiled back, trying to mean it.

She exhaled, the expression dropping with it. “Thanks.” She scooted over slightly, leaning to the side to press up against him, cheek to his shoulder. He readjusted slightly, leaning against her too.

Brrr. Her fingers had stopped their rhythmic stroking, and the little thing was making it known it wanted more attention. She resumed petting.

“So, it’s really just...fine like that?” He asked, looking down at the creature with hesitation, but leaning forward nonetheless. He chewed at his lip, reaching down to grab that wire from his pocket once more, playing with it.

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s never hurt me before. It kept showing up, making that noise. But it never did anything threatening. It’s just like...a funky cat. But it’s not a cat. Either that or I really don’t know what cats are like.”

Dex hummed his agreement, and she just sat there a moment, feeling the movement of his chest as he breathed. Waiting here until she’d face what she’d done.

Wire coiled over itself again and again in his hands, forming shapes she couldn’t even begin to understand. It was soothing to watch him fiddling, to see the method and reasoning in his brain. Until--

“Is that a feather?” She didn’t even mean to ask, and he paused, setting the wire down.

“Kind of.”

She looked towards his face, then back at the intentional tangle of wire in his palms, lines overlapping to form the outline of something like a feather.

“Elaborate?”

He seemed confused, looking at her for a moment. “Really? You sure? It’s a lot of ‘techy jumble’ or whatever Keefe calls it.”

She nodded. “Yep. Go for it. I like listening to you talk.”

He flushed slightly, then lifted his hand to show her the wire. “I’m just in the planning stages right now. I don’t know what exactly I’ll need or how I’ll go about doing it or even what supplies I’ll be able to find. But…” He looked away for a moment. “I want to fix my wings. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

Dex glanced at her like he was waiting for her to interrupt, to tell him what a stupid idea that was, but she just stayed silent. He continued, bolstered. “You haven’t seen them, but there’s still a lot of the natural base there. Just..missing feathers and weakened muscles. And I figured...if they’re there, might as well fix them, you know?”

She nodded against his shoulder. “Makes sense.”

“Right! So I’m using this wire to try and map out a good shape based on the feathers I do have left, mimic what it tried to be and then make it even better.”

He continued his spiel, running through his thought process, the mechanisms he would create. He lost her several times but she didn’t care. It was...peaceful. They sat there for well over an hour, Sophie just listening to Dex talk through his ideas, the little echo in her lap, brushing dried tears from her skin. Until she could breathe easily and her smile was genuine.

She hadn’t realized how much she missed him.

She almost would’ve preferred it if the floorboards would creak. Acknowledgement that she was there, announcing her presence so she didn’t have to do it herself. She carefully avoided the splinters and petals littering the wood, remnants left untouched after that mighty storm--the dragons they hadn’t seen since.

For a faint moment, Sophie wondered if she’d imagined them. She’d seen them, but had they been there? Or had her mind created something so spectacular, so impossible, just to give herself something to focus on that brought her away from her personal troubles?

Dex had told her this was Biana’s residence, the gnomish house she’d chosen to inhabit bulging and bursting with flowers, leaking petals from the windowsills and a door painted with colors swirling together into symbols she didn’t recognize--she didn’t even think they were an alphabet.

She watched her feet as she crossed the final bridge, closing that distance one step at a time. This was necessary. She couldn’t stand to live in her own skin if she didn’t make this right, verbally and in person.

And then the door was right in front of her and she didn’t know how to knock. Didn’t know how to open herself up to this. This vulnerability and willingness to connect.

She heard someone shift inside. Biana knew she was here. But she didn’t open the door, was waiting for Sophie to cross that threshold herself.

Sophie took a deep breath, bracing both hands on the back of her neck. She surveyed the area, anything to ground herself. The flowers in the windowsill were vibrant and alive and loud, unnaturally so in a way she’d never seen before.

Something sparked in her mind, and she dropped her hands, approaching the windowsill--the window.

On purpose. She wouldn’t rush in before she had the chance to think. She would do this intentionally or not at all.

She knocked on the window.

Biana appeared behind it, suddenly there. She pulled open the window, no screen so they were facing each other with nothing but open space between them and a wall that hid nothing.

“Do you have a moment?” she asked, throat suddenly so so dry, so thick. Biana looked her up and down for a moment, seeming to see something and nodding, moving back and gesturing for her to follow.

“Why the window?” she asked as Sophie climbed through. She shrugged in response, gesturing to Biana’s face.

“To see you smile.” Biana paused, realizing she was indeed smiling slightly, the expression growing wider and more bold as she realized what Sophie had done. It faded as they both stood there in that room, the faint scent of cherries and wood permeating the space.

Biana sank into a worn cushion against the wall, nodding her head in the direction of another beside it. Sophie sat, dreading this silence she’d have to break. Biana only watched her, seemingly content to wait for her to say whatever she needed to say.

Sophie surveyed the room, but her eyes couldn’t stay off Biana. The haphazard bun she’d thrown her hair into, the flickering of the butterfly wings on her back, the embroidered sleeves of her tunic that left her arms fully exposed.

The bandages wrapped around her forearms. The blood stains seeping through.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. It would never be enough. She could never say enough to express just how much she wanted to fix this, how much she hadn’t meant those scratches.

“I know.”

There were too many words in her mind, too many things to say and not nearly enough ways to say it. “I didn’t mean to attack you. I don’t know why I did--I can’t, I don’t--” she cut off, interrupting herself. Maybe it was best she just stopped talking.

Biana was uncharacteristically quiet, just watching her, those wings fluttering slightly behind her as she readjusted herself, fiddling with her nails in her lap.

“I forgive you, Sophie.”

“Uh--you--I--you what? Wait.” Sophie shook her head trying to collect herself as she rubbed her temples. “I haven’t even apologized properly.”

Biana looked away, rubbing at the bandages on her arms. Seeing it felt like being stabbed in the stomach, the blade slowly drawn through her flesh. “I know. But I think I know what you’re trying to say. Even if you don’t know how to say it, I understand. And I know. And I forgive you. Just...don’t push me away because of this. Please?” She met Sophie’s eyes, something raw and vulnerable shining through as she searched her face for something, only for a brief moment before it was hidden once more.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She didn’t deserve this. This easy forgiveness for something that could never be made right. “Wait, what do you mean push you away?”

Biana rolled her eyes with a slightly exasperated smile. “I know you, Sophie. You'll take your time to figure out the right thing to say; when you do, you can come and apologize to me properly. But until then, don’t try and protect me from you or any of that bullshit. Keep me involved. Include me in plans--tell me what’s happening. Just spend time with me. Don’t leave because you’re scared. That’s just as unfair to you as it is to me. Got it?”

Sophie nodded automatically, still trying to process everything she’d said, it was so...official. “When did you get so smart? Where. What? Where is this coming from?”

Biana actually laughed at that one. “I had time to think this over, dumbass. When you were coming down from that…” She trailed off. “Frenzy. Panic. I don’t know how to describe it.”

Sophie winced, lacing her fingers together and squeezing them tightly.

“I just hope it doesn’t happen again,” she admitted. “Especially not tomorrow.”

Biana ran her hands through her hair as best she could with the bun. “Yeah. Tomorrow. We’re really doing that, aren’t we? Seeing them.”

Sophie nodded. “If they decide to come. I kind of hung up before all the details could be worked out.”

Biana snorted. “Oh, they’ll come alright.” She leaned back, yawning as her eyelids drooped slightly.

“Oh, sorry. It’s late. I should go.” Sophie began to lift herself from the chair, deciding to take the door this time.

Biana’s fingers closed around her wrist. “No!” She flushed. “I mean...stay. If you’d like. I don’t mind.”

She looked down at where their skin met, the cool touch of her fingertips. She glanced at Biana’s face only once before nodding. Her shoulders relaxed as she stood, pulling Sophie along into an adjacent space, a small bedroom with a plethora of blossoms cascading down tilted shelves lined with tiny carvings and figurines. The cherry scent was even stronger here.

Biana stumbled slightly as she pulled Sophie into the bed, already half-asleep. Rest was more elusive for her, and as Biana settled into the cradle of her chest, arm wrapping around her, Sophie was content to just hold her for as long as she could.

Sophie Foster was fourteen thinking she was thirteen years old and she’d just run away from home and her pajamas were fuzzy and Biana was so anxious she’d sought her out. Had asked to lay beside her. They had slept in a bed in a hut built by gnomes, a bridge connecting them to a meeting center and one reaching from there to another structured filled with all the other people she loved.

It was funny how time worked in circles.

And once more, they slept.

At some point during the night it had rained. Not the chaotic, destructive downpour of dragons, but more a light misting. To keep everything cool.

Too cool if you asked Sophie, shivering slightly despite the temperature regulation. Biana was the same beside her, Wylie and Linh too.

Everyone stood in a huddle, save for Dex and Fitz who had run off to grab one last thing before they departed. Sophie had her new, stolen backpack slung over her shoulder, the others dutifully not commenting on how she’d gotten it. Or the embroidered design.

No one made small talk, content to just wait there until those approaching footsteps reached them.

“Okay. We’re back. I’m good,” Dex called out, rounding a corner. A cloth-bound notebook was clutched in his hands, the thing he’d gone to retrieve. Fitz was just a moment behind him, having forgotten his cloak.

Speaking of which. “We all set, then? Capes on?” Fabric rustled as everyone pulled them on, some wings better hidden than others. Biana, Sophie, Linh, and Wylie didn’t appear to have anything unusual going on at all--aside from Linh’s...iridescent skin.

“Everyone remembers what we’re doing?” They’d talked it over briefly this morning, snacking on fruit bars and juices. Affirmations sounded out alongside nods.

Sophie took Biana’s hand, who took Tam’s, who took Linh’s, until they were all connected into a chain. As one, they raised themselves into the sky. It would be easier this way, she’d decided. Dropping instead of trying to haul them all behind her as she ran. They didn’t have the space for that amongst the trees.

Once they were high enough, they let go.

Falling falling falling from the sky as the ground rushed up to meet them, beckoning them to make contact and break their bones, fracture their spines and tear their nerves apart as their bodies deconstructed themselves.

But Sophie Foster was immune to heights.

And they slipped into the void. To the Lost Cities.

#so 9000 words and we're still not done with the story #nice cliffhanger tho--#i am not sorry #also formatting might be a little weird but I don't know why #i also can't tell if it is weird or not or if im making it up #alright cool now that we've got this thiqq chapter out of the way #i'm going to scream about the au some more #y'all i have many things planned #i don't know what will end up happening but things are planned #kotlc #kotlc wings au #shattered upside down #shattered upside down chapter #kotlc fic #kotlc fanfic #kotlc chaptered fic #quil's quill #is that all the tags i need?#who knows

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the-darklings · 4 years ago

Note

Not gonna lie, Lucien grabbed me by the throat since the first attack on V and then my heart by the sewers scene ;; if you have time, could you mayhabs give us Luci stans a lil something with V? 👀

nature of doubt.

⤫ notes: so this is actually based in that original world I keep alluding to post-coa and uh,, Lucien and V actually have a very different relationship here (tho this piece isn’t considered entirely canon for them, either) and you’re getting a backseat into that relationship. Lucien/Reader is established here - more or less, considering how he is.

⤫ pairing: lucien x f!reader (+clara (oc!v)

⤫ word count: 4.4k+

“You can’t keep doing this.”

Your feet halt sharply at the sound of those words, startled into an acute silence.

The night hums around you, and you lean against the side of the greenhouse, peering through the blur of the glass. Humid heat keeps you warm from the night chill and you slow your breaths in order to hear better. You’ve come up to the terrace because you couldn’t sleep for the life of you, caught in your turbulent thoughts as you were.

Lucien being back should make you happy but something is different this time. You’ve kissed him and hugged the moment he came close enough to touch, and that might have led to a long and strenuous session in your shared bed. Bites and kisses and nails against the skin—just him, raw and passionate, and…

He always comes back from his disappearances with an appetite of a starved man—cruel, dangerous, prowling thing. Always dancing on that line of pain and pleasure. Never pushing more than you ask but there had been a strange detachment this time, a drift you know he felt as well.

Something, this time, felt emptier than usual. For both of you.

Coming up here so late has been more about getting some fresh air to clear your mind and get rid of that gnawing, traitorous whisper of soft brown hair. Hazel eyes and shoulder against yours when you replanted one of hundred plants in her greenhouse.

And it’s because of that, that you recognise the owner of that low, smooth feminine voice that speaks.

“Doing what?”

Of course, it’s him. Of course, the two most nocturnal members of the Pit of Vipers are the ones you have managed to stumble upon.

Instincts scream at once. They’re beyond dangerous individually much less together, and if they caught you spying they might be angry. Disappointed. That thought sits like curdled milk inside your stomach, tart and bitter.

Still. There is something that moves your body. Some need, a draw.

Leaning over the edge of the greenhouse, you spot the shadowed figures of Clara and Lucien. The latter stands with his back to you, his wispy blonde hair loose in the wind, a mess from your running your fingers through it earlier. Hungry. You had been just as hungry and just as needy for his touch.

Yet for some reason it…

It hadn’t been the same.

You love him so much, you do, and you think that maybe—just maybe—there is something inside his chest too. A small, fond thing you so rarely catch glimpses of but know is there.

Clara, on other hand, stands with her arms crossed over her chest, one side of her face bathed with terrace lights. It cuts a terrible, steely line—one dark, one light; and you suppose that’s only right too.

She’s tense though, her stare set as she drills holes into the side of Lucien’s pale head.

You know full well that is a terrifying position to be in. Her stare is downright chilling on a good day. Even more so when she’s angry. It’s made worse, you think, by the fact that she has a face that looks like it should be smiling. It’s a face made for kindness.

She hasn’t smiled once since you’ve met her. It stings more because you know she used to. Noah told you as much once; a sad, thoughtful expression crumpling his sharp, friendly features with sorrow.

Not since him.

The one no one speaks of openly, and certainly not Clara herself. A man with glaciers in his eyes, and tar-black heart.

“Disappearing like you do,” she says flatly, a fine lace of irritation in her voice.

Lucien clicks his tongue, shaking his head in amusement. “It’s what I’ve always done,” he returns dismissively. And you know that it’s an answer that will not go down well. He disappeared for so long you were starting to doubt he would ever return. Clara, since then, had been even more solitary and distant. You’ve always thought that Lucien needed her more than she needed him but this disappearance has proven different. “How is this time any different?”

She doesn't respond right away. It’s as if considering his question, wondering if he actually means those words and you swallow.

You shouldn't be here.

This is a private conversation and yet…

You’ve been just as disappointed by his actions. And you know that if you asked he would not answer.

He answers to no one but her—his leader, the only one he trusts and has chosen—and perhaps that’s the only way for you to get a glimpse into him as well. Find out where his head is at.

It was not so long ago that their bond used to make you jealous and insecure. A tiny part of you still has doubts—it’s hard not to, not with the looks they share, the mute acceptance between them, the way you sometimes just find them sitting together, shoulder to shoulder—but ever since Lucien’s last disappearance something has changed.

“You were gone for months,” she states briskly, her voice icy, and a shiver races down your spine hearing it. She doesn’t raise her voice. It’s smooth, controlled; a pleasant, ordinary string of words. She stands there, and simply looks at him, and it’s terrible somehow. “Even Step couldn’t find you. I couldn’t find you,” she adds after a slight pause, the tiniest of catches in her voice.

You’ve heard that catch a handful of times in the past. Mostly in the shadowed greenery of her greenhouse. Where you sometimes found the viper curled up and resting, hiding away from the world. You’ve tried sitting by her like Lucien sometimes does. It made you feel special, near euphoric the first time she allowed you to hold her hand in silent comfort. The first time she leaned her head on your shoulder.

The way she had sagged against you—atlas on her shoulders, expression fragile, soft—had stuck with you for a long time. So long, you can’t help but see it now.

This is the first fracture you’ve seen in her demeanour in weeks though. She’s so controlled for how Lucien is untamed. But demons that stir under the Viper’s skin might be worse than his and somehow…

That thought is as thrilling as it is terrifying.

The blonde doesn’t take much note of her words. Still staring out towards the twinkling New York streets. “Yes, I imagine it was rather annoying for him,” he says, deliberately avoiding her softer admission, an open fear. “Such a pity.”

It's wrong to say. Right now when every muscle in Clara’s body seems to have gone so taut with tension she bristles. Then, follows fire.

It thickens the air and even some distance away, hugged and hidden away by the shadows, you can feel something volatile bubbling in the air between them. It becomes near suffocating the longer Lucien remains impassive and disinterested in their conversation.

You’ve never seen him show fear, but perhaps, this once, he’s aiming for someone who can remind him of the feeling.

He knows it, too, you conclude when his head finally turns in her direction.

“I do it for you,” he snarls lowly, practically spitting the words, his grip on the railing tightening. “If I didn’t leave, I would skin your loyal little snakies and give you their skins as a present. By the time I came back to myself, it would already be too late, and you would hate me for taking them away from you. You would kill me for it, and maybe I would let you.”

Your heart slams into your throat at his calm, chillingly logical explanation.

You knew—to some degree—that him leaving was about protecting others as much as it was about allowing Lucien that room to roam. It’s hard to feel trapped, tied down, to something when you’ve spent years being treated as no better than an animal.

It makes you value that freedom just that much more.

Your lungs burn yet you feel too afraid to inhale lest you miss her reply.

The woman is silent for a leaden, disturbing moment and you feel your heartbeat accelerate the longer she remains quiet.

“Do you really think you mean so little to me?” comes her chilling whisper of a question and goosebumps tickle across the length of your arms. “That I would kill you?”

She laughs but it’s an unpleasant, cold thing that makes you think of a viper circling her prey and Lucien’s chin tilts at the challenge, at the mocking tilt of her inquiry. “You may act like you don’t care for them but could you really kill them? Just like that?” she demands, her tone sharpening as if she’s wielding one of her blades. “Kill her?”

Your heart thuds; once, twice.

You’re not sure what you feel more surprised at.

The fact that she’s pushing or that she sounds so furious at the mere prospect.

It’s them, you remind yourself hurriedly, ignoring the flush of heat you feel in response to the honeyed, poisonous edge you catch in her words, not what she’s saying.

Yet it feels like a weak argument even in your own mind.

Lucien pushes back from the railing, clenching his fingers experimentally, humming lightly under his breath before offering his verdict, “I won’t even hesitate.”

“You’re lying.”

It’s sharp, and immediate dismissal. So knowing that you don’t even doubt the call out because she knows him better than anyone. They’re two beasts snapping jaws and snarling and it makes for a beautiful sight. Captivating despite the danger.

The terror you should feel around them doesn’t come. That should probably concern you more. You’re not helpless but getting even more tangled with these people is a death sentence.

Lucien steps closer to the leader of the Vipers, and it’s only then that you notice that his white shirt is still unbuttoned. His skin often feels cold to the touch but he’s never once complained about it. The pale canvas of his flesh is marred by scars and faint bruises alike. You’ve tasted them, traced them with your tongue just a few hours ago—so even though you can’t see them clearly, you know they’re there.

“Funny thing. Lies. Like you lie to yourself daily, I imagine, hm?” Lucien’s voice slices through the night air, fills it, stretches it into something even tenser. “You walk around like you want to destroy everything in your path yet you still hold yourself back,” he spits knowingly, his voice slipping into harshness, and his eyes narrow, inspecting the woman before him intently. “He still clings to you and you let him. Still love him.”

He spits the word love out so hatefully you nearly flinch. Like no bigger crime could be committed against him.

His throat grows tense, tendons trembling, and in that moment he looks near feral. Livid.

Because she’s in pain, you think sadly, and he wasn’t there for her, and now she carries it.

It saddens you.

“You have no right,” it’s a warning, a hiss of a statement.

Lucien comes undone in a span of a second.

His arm snaps out, locking behind the slim curve of her neck, his fingers sinking into the nape. He doesn’t drag her forward, he drags himself to her. She lets him, and that surprises you more. She watches him from beneath her heavy, quietly furious brow, silent.

“I have every right!” he fires back, his stare brimming, and he briefly presses their foreheads together but his next words are cruel, “When we crawled out of that filth it was you and me. And then you let some fucker steal you. Do this to you.”

She rips out of his grip with speed that’s a blur, her teeth flashing, “Then maybe you shouldn’t have abandoned me!”

Pain in her voice is like a whip against your skin and heart. They rip into you, linger under your skin. Is that how she felt? All this time. Alone. With no one to turn to.

It...

“You know that’s rich, Lucien,” she continues, her voice a low growl. “You really think I don’t see how you are with (Name)? Did you really assume you could hide something like that from me?”

Your gut coils at her tone. She sounds...small.

And then her words…

Oh.

She must think…

Does she feel like Lucien is replacing her with you? It’s true that you have bonded and grown closer together but…

God, doesn’t she realise no one could come even close to her for Lucien? You’ve accepted their bond long ago though it took time and a lot of battling insecurities that still crop up to do so.

It’s startling to realise that she has even more of those. That beneath a woman who has carved her way into power with such ruthless efficiency is still, at the end of the day, just human. Capable of wounds and bleeding. Doubts and diffidence. It gives her a different light, a human light, one that makes you want to hold her hand again. Feel the fold of her long fingers around yours.

“Ah, my pretty girl,” Lucien begins, sighing softly, his voice silky with tendrils of desire, hunger. So he’s concluded the same, then. Based on his sudden change in topic. “She’s a greedy thing. I see how she watches you, too. A heart so eager and big she doesn’t know what to do with it. So eager to give...and take,” he purrs, his tongue wetting his lips, and you choke down a breath at the memory of that searing tongue on your body. “At least I can say that about her. Can you say the same about your spider?”

You suck in a breath, holding it in your lungs, wide-eyed and unsteady.

Why is he goading her like this? Does this truly get under his skin so much? No—you know it does. Lucien has a greediness of a child who never got toys or enough food growing up. Eager hands and darker eyes. Constantly clawing for more, claiming everything he touches and hoarding it, ready to bite and snarl at any hand that tries to take his things away from him.

He’s considered her his own long before he even knew you. That same silent burn of mine, mine, mine rages in his gaze every time he looks at either of you.

“Do not speak of him, Lucien,” this time her voice is soft, deceptively so, a fragment of a warning that’s the last second of stillness before a viper strikes. “This is the only warning I will give you,” she adds.

Lucien’s head shakes. “Wipe him away,” he warns in return, his voice ice. “Do it, Clara, because if he destroys you, I will scatter his remains across this Earth. He will know agony long before I grant him death. Let her in.”

This time your heart jumps straight to your throat and stays there, beating and trembling, trying to flutter away.

“She’s not a thing for you to decide what to do with.”

There’s an edge to her voice, to her stance. They’re both tense, their shoulders taut as they glare at one another.

You’ve never seen them fight before. Not once. The fact that you’re the topic of their conversation…

Lucien snorts, shaking his head back and forth. “I’m only stating what you noticed long ago,” he says knowingly. “What my pretty girl wants even if she won’t admit it to herself yet,” a pause, and he licks his lips again, his head turning to stare right into the darkness, into the spot where you’re standing, “Isn’t that right, my brave foolish girl?”

Your muscles stiffen with shock. Your flee instincts scream at you to get away but you only stare at them numbly.

Clara doesn’t look surprised by his words, either. Did she know too? This whole time? Then why let you listen to this. Why—

“Don’t be shy,” he coaxes, his voice beguiling and gentle; a dangerous purr. “Come on out.”

You shouldn’t.

They’re…

Too much, too dangerous—you called them a death sentence only minutes prior, and you know you’re right.

Yet you step onto the terrace and straight into the jaws of two awaiting snakes who watch your every step with rapt intensity.

It’s an effort to keep your steps steady and spine straight. Under their stares, you become intimately aware of every stitch of clothing on you. Namely the fact that you’re in nothing but loose V-shirt and worn sweatpants, having pulled on the first thing on hand before departing your room in restless haste.

The intensity of their regard makes you feel like you’re naked, however.

Gulping a quiet breath you try to ignore the way Lucien traces the dip of your collarbone where a love bite is still visible. He sucked on the skin relentlessly, following that with a scattering of open-mouthed kisses, soothing the twinge of the ache.

“I…” you try and sigh. “Sorry. It was rude of me to listen. I…”

Your voice fades when Lucien steps towards you, his footsteps inaudible but purposeful. Same hunched shouldered, tense prowl of a gait, his arm encircling your waist the moment he’s close enough. You lean into his touch despite your wariness, your breath tickling against his exposed skin but over his narrow shoulder, you can’t help but watch Clara.

Dark jumper, messy braid over her shoulder, and sunken cheeks. Tired smudges sit under her eyes, her stare empty, and she looks…

Sad.

There is no particular expression on her face—she’s not that obvious, and he taught her well, you suppose—but the air around her seems to be teeming with some melancholic ache.

Lucien’s mouth brushes over your ear, nipping once, and you expect a shiver of shame or embarrassment to flood through you but it doesn’t. It doesn’t feel wrong to have her witness these things, to watch Lucien’s rare show of intimacy so closely.

The argument between them seems to be forgotten, for now, all of you caught in your own spells. Lucien’s mouth drags downwards, his teeth scraping against the hollow of your throat and you gasp softly.

The sound seems to snap Clara out of her daze, and her expression tightens in a blink. You still can’t get over how pale and tired she looks. Worn. Everything about her seems to be muted today. It’s then that you also recall that you haven’t seen her the whole day. When you asked Hector he had only barked a harsh she’s busy and you had retreated after that, noting his foul mood—more so than usual.

Why?

You try to think if this day holds some sort of significance and—

Oh, oh, oh.

It must be today.

Your stomach sinks at the realisation. So hard and suddenly the sensation of Lucien’s mouth fades just for a second. Because just like that the man’s return also makes sense. He returned so he would be here just in case she needs him.

Two years since the night she was taken in Tokyo.

There must be so much turmoil in her today. No wonder you haven’t seen her out and about and now, out here, in the private space between them, her guard has worn far quicker than usual.

Lucien presses you flush against him and hums a pleased sound when you sigh at the feeling of his lips skimming over your jaw. His head tilts then, staring at Clara over his shoulder.

“You’ve made your point,” she snips the moment he does, her voice throaty.

She stalks past you both, her jaw set and lips pressed to a hard line. Your actions are instinct alone.

Your fingers wrap around her wrist, partially jerking from Lucien’s hold to catch her in your grip. Last time you’ve done something like this she flinched and yanked her arm away with a heated glare. This time she freezes, tensing, but doesn’t pull out of your hold. Her steady, strong pulse beats against your palm and you inhale at the contact.

Last time you touched her had been when she told you her real name.

Clara, Clara, Clara.

With her hands knuckle deep in a pot, a smear of dirt across the freckled nose, and near content look in her eyes. You know she never demands. Yet each member chooses to cement their loyalty to the Pit in their own time and on their own terms. Once the snake tattoo marks their skin, it’s forever. In return, Clara gives them her own name—the ultimate sign of acceptance.

You don’t have a snake tattoo. Yet she had given you her name still. She had noted your startled expression before it morphed and bloomed into a bright grin. That seemed to have startled her more.

When you had hugged her—breathing her in, absorbing her warmth, and savouring the comfort that comes with such simple affection—she had stood there, not moving. It took her several minutes to fully relax, melt into you with a sigh so gentle you barely felt it.

Now, your hand is on her skin again, even if circumstances are so different.

“Don’t go,” you say, fighting back the urge to tug her towards you. “Stay.”

Lucien shifts around you—another snake coiling—but he’s waiting and watching. Almost vibrating with energy you have no name for. Arm around your waist, hand resting lightly on your lower stomach, but you feel his stare digging into her.

He’s eager to see how she will react.

This. This feels right.

Lucien at your side and you holding onto her. A unit, a chain of energy. A thrill rushes through your hand and right to your heart at that conclusion; hot and fierce.

Those dark eyes peer at you, and there is something in her gaze—maybe longing, maybe regret—but it blows out like a candle in a stiff breeze.

Her stare goes to Lucien briefly and she tugs her wrist free. Your expression falls the moment cool night air kisses your palm instead.

Clara turns and disappears down the staircase. Her room is on this floor, just below the terrace and you listen to her fading footsteps. The disappointment you feel stings, bubbles in your chest and you pull your hand back, folding your fingers into a loose fist.

Lucien hisses under his breath, displeased, muttering something in French. His nails scratch against your stomach as he pulls his hand away.

“Why did you do that?” you demand quietly.

A soft breath and quick, hard kiss against your head, his fingers sinking into your shoulder.

“Because I will not let her run anymore,” he mutters coldly, and it carries through the night air, making you shiver.

Turning in his hold, you stare at him.

“Have you two ever…”

He reads into your meaning without you having to force the words out. You’re immensely grateful for it.

“No.”

Your throat aches but you still wonder, “Kissed?”

“Yes. Once,” blunt and straightforward as always. For once, you find yourself appreciating that. “We both thought we were going to die, and neither of us wanted our last memory to be of rotting in pain and alone. Our humanity stripped away.”

You step out of his embrace, mulling that over. You can’t even begin to imagine what that would be like. Feeling that level of desperation. That lack of hope and despair. That kiss had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with comfort, with a need to cling to something so ordinary yet human in what they perceived to be their last moments alive.

“It’s today, isn’t it?” you finally ask, your words soft, thoughtful. “When she was taken. That’s why you came back. Because you knew she would need you,” you add knowingly, staring up at him.

Lucien stares back at you wordlessly. He doesn’t need to waste his breath and verbalize it for you to know you’re right.

“She needs us both,” he concludes and there is no room for argument in that statement—for him, it's an absolute, a known fact. “She’s just too wrapped up in him to realise that.”

Him. It always comes back to him.

The seething rage lingers in Lucien’s soft words, practically spat, certainly damning. Yet you never expected him to be as accepting of this as he has been.

“Why aren’t you mad?” you wonder, watching his profile, the dips of his skin illuminated by the artificial lights. In this moment he’s a wraith, a spirit, a restless ghost. “At the thought that I might…”

Do feel something for a woman you shouldn’t. Did that make you selfish? You often felt selfish for simply wanting Lucien. For hoping that one day he will be able to make peace with his demons and stay with you.

You can’t help but wonder if the woman who reminds you of a beautiful, haunted house could ever, possibly, let her demons go too.

Could...could she feel the same?

Your blood warms at the thought, your mind cycling through every moment shared with her over these last several months. Combing them for any signs and...

“Why would I be, pretty girl?” he retorts with a tsk and a cutting glance. He reaches out, fingers caressing the length of your chin. “I have no intention of choosing, you’re capable of loving us both I know that, and she needs to learn happiness again.”

You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut, savouring the contact. There is that greediness in his hold when he drags you to him. You follow. This time there is new conflict but the energy between you seems to be back, settled. Pressing your forehead against his bare collar, you shiver at how cold he feels to the touch but feel happy at this return.

The missing piece finally has a name.

“What did he do to her?” you mumble against his skin, so desperate to understand what no one is willing to share with you.

You want Clara to tell you herself, one day, but until she’s ready, if ever...

Lucien's voice is dark and low, barely audible when he answers, “He made her love him.”

You doubt anyone can make someone love another person. Not really. But now can’t help but wonder if Lucien feels like that man stole the Clara he knew—Clara that smiled—away from him and that’s what boils his blood. Something that he considered his own was taken from him and he was powerless to stop it.

“And did he love her back?”

He was a fool if he didn’t.

Lucien is quiet for a long, long time after that question, and you feel him staring out towards the twinkling skyline.

“There is a reason why he’s still alive.”

. . .

an: yeah, little to no context and I don’t really expect anyone to read this or care but if you did and happen to enjoy it thank you very much for giving it a chance! love you guys lots. this was written a solid month back so discord gang this is familiar to you lot *wiggles eyebrows*

#oc x reader #oc writing #original writing #reader insert #c: lucien #c: clara #s: we are bound #v: npfh #i said reader is here for both and what of it? also yeah oc!v/clara is bi too so (blows kisses)#anon #asks

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and-then-there-were-n0ne · 3 years ago

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When I was in group treatment for anorexia, not everyone was thin. Those were just the high status patients, of whom I happened to be one. Naturally we patronised the shit out of the others. They’d say they didn’t feel they had the right to be there and we, the thin ones, would graciously reassure them that no, they were wrong, they were just as sick as us. There was never any need to acknowledge the hierarchy that granted us, patients not therapists, the right to say who had done enough to earn their treatment. By “allowing” women heavier than us to share our space, we got to feel virtuous and they got to feel, well, tolerated. In truth we were afraid of how similar we were. One year prior to entering treatment, during a bulimic phase, I hadn’t been thin either, but I never mentioned that. I liked to portray my past as a pure, uninterrupted decade of snow-white starvation. No need to let anyone know that I, too, had the potential to tumble down the ranks. The prospect horrified me, but it happened again all the same. A year after leaving treatment I was officially overweight, feeling, as Nancy Tucker describes in The Time In-Between, like “an anorexic in a fat suit”. Binge-eating in the aftermath of anorexia is not an uncommon thing to occur. People have a terrible tendency to call this “recovery”. It was a grim time, not least because those who’d known me at my thinnest were enthusing about how “well” I looked while those who hadn’t made it perfectly clear they saw me as just some fat bird. I was living in Germany at the time and mentioned to a colleague that I hadn’t always been fat, but had just been through a lot of stress (actually, I probably mentioned this to a lot of people. Being in a new country, surrounded by people who hadn’t known thin me – the real me, as I saw it – made me always want to introduce myself with a declaration that the person they saw before them wasn’t my actual self. I left my proper body at home). The colleague, in true “Germans have a compound noun for everything” style, responded with the term “Kummerspeck”. Literally translated as “worry bacon”, it refers to “the excess fat gained by emotional eating”. I didn’t find this helpful. It didn’t seem enough. It is hard to capture what it’s like to have an eating disorder when it doesn’t look like you have one. Also hard to know where the boundaries lie between “disordered thinking” and “shit most women think about food and weight all the time because that’s just how things are”. Obviously I fantasised about being thin again, misremembering a great deal of the unpleasantness, but nonetheless feeling – in a way I think is not altogether irrational – that if I was going to feel this crap every minute of every day, I ought at least to have an emaciated body to show for it (eventually I did lose weight again, through chain smoking. “You look great!” said the people who’d seen me as some fat bird. “Are you okay?” asked the people who’d thought I looked well). I think there are many women who occupy this zone, cast out of the ranks of the “properly ill” without feeling any better. Remembering the judgements, the hierarchies, the isolation of not having the physique to match the constant torment of thoughts about food and weight, I do see a value in reframing our understanding of eating disorders and what a person who is suffering might look like. And yet, the more I think about the tyranny of a label itself, the less I am sure how adjusting diagnostic criteria might achieve this. Current responses to plus-size model Tess Holliday’s post about suffering from anorexia – and the way in which atypical anorexia seems to have become, not a neutral diagnosis, but an opportunity to show how intersectional your understanding of anorexia is – remind me of our responses to the non-thin women in group therapy. Thin people get to show how tolerant, how inclusive they are. Only there is a difference between showily re-framing an illness for which the diagnostic criteria are in any case pretty arbitrary, and really getting to grips with why people feel the way they do in the bodies they have. I am not sure being told I “still counted” as eating disordered would have helped. It might have been a ticket to getting my pain recognised as valid, but it’s also a way of getting valid, rational responses to social phenomena recategorized as individual maladjustments. Far from having more people acquire the anorexia label – or one of the other new labels for eating disorders which, alas, do not conform neatly enough to the classics – I often wish we could move away from it altogether, treating each case of a person obsessing over food, fearing it, starving themselves, as strange, unique, something to be investigated on their terms. What happened to you?, not I declare you THIS. There’s something about the question “is a non-thin woman still anorexic?” which reminds me of other social justice-y questions whereby answering “no” – that is, restating that your criteria for what counts as “X” don’t include a particular quality – is considered cruel and implicitly right-wing. You’re meant to say yes, recite the catechism, “eating disorders don’t discriminate” (I’ll be honest, I think they do; while there are no fast boundaries, the age- and gender-based trends are pretty fucking obvious). I don’t think answering yes or no is revealing of inner virtue or its absence, just differences of opinion on what a useful diagnostic category might be. After all, “anorexic” should not be seen as a superior, gold-star diagnosis in the eating disorder world; that it has been, and that early eating disorder specialists were even quite scathing of “lesser” sufferers, is a problem in its own right (Hilde Bruch, for instance, was a right cow with regard to bulimics: “They make an exhibitionistic display of their lack of control or discipline, in contrast to the adherence to discipline of the true anorexics […] The modern bulimic is impressive by what looks like a deficit in the sense of responsibility […] Though relatively uninvolved, they wish to share in the prestige of anorexia nervosa.”). We have to move away from that. But today’s eating disorder activism, a political cheerleading which often seems to be leading therapeutic recommendations, doesn’t necessarily seem to me the answer. Eating disorder activism should be political, of course, but there’s something very shouty about it which often seems to me to elude confrontation with serious questions about why sufferers have developed particular thought patterns and coping strategies. Instead we get a set of statements to which everyone must agree lest they be viewed as both unenlightened and unkind. Anyone can be anorexic! It’s never the parents’ fault! Blaming the fashion industry is trivialising! Early diagnosis, and more diagnoses, now! A label for everyone! etc. etc. Engagement with thornier issues – is physically restraining women to force-feed them still okay? What do our current understandings of puberty (and its avoidance) tell girls about their growing bodies? Are we allowed to criticise the role of pornography head-on, or do we have to vaguely hand-wave about “the internet” and “social media” forever more? – is absent. I sometimes feel we are more invested in validating suffering than alleviating it, because alleviating it might piss off more powerful people. Or even just our best mates. Anyhow, I just went back and edited an earlier paragraph of this. I originally wrote “two years after leaving treatment I was officially overweight” rather than “a year”, on the basis that just a year sounded a bit crap and might have made you think I was never properly ill at all. Then I thought “why am I still doing that?” It was just a year, but here I am, still pushing for the status, still worrying about whether I “count” while also musing on the pointlessness of counting as opposed to caring. That is the problem. It shouldn’t matter at all.

#anorexia #eating disorders #glosswitch #psychiatry

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weepywillowsap · 4 years ago

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Very indulgent jealous Charles ficklet (based on the ballroom dance scene in Emma).

Part 1

The ball was in full swing around him. Charles was jubilant as he danced with Warren. His partner was pleasing in both his manner and conversation, and if the word going around was to be believed, quite the catch. Warren smiled at him widely as they stepped into the next sequence, leading him through the moves flawlessly. Around them sparkled the sound of good music and laughter, enlivened by the easy flow of good wine and champagne. Charles caught eye Moira’s eye as she twirled past him in the arms of Lord Janos and winked at her.

He was breathless with laughter by the time the set came to an end. Charles fought a blush as Warren took his hand and raised it to his lips after they had bowed to each other. After agreeing to dance another set with him, Charles made his way to the refreshment table tired and absolutely parched. He had danced every song so far. He chatted merrily with some of his acquaintances as he had another glass of mulled wine, tonight felt like a success and he felt exuberant. If only Erik were here, Charles sighed to himself a little despondently. He had been called away on business a fortnight ago but he was supposed to have come back this afternoon. Charles hoped he would be here tonight, Erik's absence always left him feeling out of sorts. There was no one to bicker with or make fun of. It left Charles feeling strangely bereft.

He was interrupted from his wallowing by Raven who had just arrived. She was dressed in soft chiffons with her hair styled according to the latest fashion. She looked wonderful. Charles pushed through the throng of people to reach her, she stood near the entrance of the room uncertainly. She had still now grown used to the niceties of society and it reflected in how she held herself. Charles frowned to himself as he neared her, he should have come with her. It was thoughtless of him to have abandoned her to her own devices.

Raven gave him a huge smile as she saw him, her face transforming instantly from its previous reluctance.

"Raven!" Charles exclaimed, "you look beautiful my darling"

Her cheeks reddened as she laughed at his compliment, "I had better, considering the number of hours I spent on my toilette this evening".

Charles laughed as he took her hand and pulled her along, introducing her to people along the way. He had the perfect partner in mind for her. Lord Shaw stood in the corner with his usual retinue of followers. He had gained his title rather recently, but he was obscenely rich and rather charming. Like Raven, he was somewhat of an outsider in their society, but a welcome one no doubt. She would find it easier to be with him than any of the other more stuffy suitors. Somewhere in his head he could hear Erik's disapproving voice telling him he was being presumptuous. He ignored it feeling miffed. Erik should have been here. It made very little sense for him to miss this ball, especially since he had been away for so long. Especially when he knew Charles would be there.

He shook off the unpleasant feeling in his chest as he introduced Raven to Shaw. The conversation flowed smoothly between the three of them. Raven seemed pleased, while Shaw seemed uncharacteristically hesitant and shy. He kept trying to draw Charles into the conversation, good naturedly laughing at him with Raven. Charles was just thinking of a way to extricate himself from the situation and leave Raven to make a new friend, when he caught sight of a familiar figure from the corner of his eye. Erik! Exclaiming in pleasure Charles hastily made his excuses and ignored Raven's knowing look as he turned and hurried towards his friend.

Erik stood in the corner of the room talking to Mr Burchfield. He carried himself as stiffly as he usually did when he was out in society. Leave it to him to enter a party and find the most boring individual to talk to. Erik caught sight of him as he drew closer. The expression on his face softened and his stance relaxed almost imperceptibly. Erik's lips curled at the corner as they usually did when he was happy but unwilling to show it.

"My dear Mr Lenhsherr" Charles cut into the conversation smoothly, firmly tucking his hand in his friend's to tug him lightly towards himself. He gamely ignored the exasperated look Erik gave him.

"And Mr Burchfield" he said giving the man a little bow, “a pleasure as always”

The older man seemed a little taken aback by the sudden interruption, but he was also used to the quirky ways of the nobility. After a few polite words he was glad to leave them, but not before eliciting a promise from Erik to meet the next day to continue the conversation.

Charles finally turned to face his friend fully, beaming at the familiar expression on the well loved face.

“Charles, I am glad to see you remain as impetuous as always“ Erik said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as they did when he smiled. As rare as that was.

“And I am glad to see you remain as severe as always old man“ Charles shot back affectionately, while carefully observing the man before him, “you look tired, maybe you should have rested tonight“

“And risked you whining at me for ditching you for a month after?“ Erik said dryly, his eyebrows raised.

Charles bristled a little at that expression, it was the same expression that Erik always adopted when he was feeling particularly lofty and disapproving. As if Charles was still a child and not a well respected adult. It stung a little, he wanted Erik to see him as an equal. He had long ceased to be the little boy who would Erik around and hanging upon him with stars in his eyes.

“I did not even note that you were gone“ he retorted with a poorly disguised scowl, turning to pick up another glass of wine from the passing server.

“Really?“ Erik was smirking at him now, “have you found more projects to keep yourself employed? I saw Raven on my way in, she looked beautiful by the way. I would keep her from Shaw if I were you“ he gestured towards where Raven was standing with the man, “he is an awful opportunist”.

Charles felt himself flush with annoyance.

“I was actually glad to have the opportunity to enjoy myself without someone judging my every move“ he looked away, taking a fortifying gulp from his glass.

“Raven is doing quite well actually, Shaw has taken to her marvellously. In fact“ Charles paused for effect and finished the remains of his wine, “he has asked her to dance the next set with him“.

He looked triumphantly at Erik, only to falter at the contemptuous expression on his face.

Charles could feel his temper rising. Coupled with the wine he had, he felt a bit light headed and brash.

“In fact“ he pushed on, ignoring the thinning of Erik’s lips, “I quite enjoyed myself in your absence, there was no one to check my every move and pass judgement on my manifold follies“ Charles looked away from Erik to glare at the glass in his hand.

“In fact, contrary to your opinion, people do find me pleasing company and I am not the spoilt child you make me out to be”

“In fact“ he said as he gestured towards Warren at the other end of the room, “Warren Worthington, the most eligible bachelor in the county, has been seeking my company of his own voilition. I am to dance the next few sets with him and I have not even noted your absence in the very least. So you see“ he paused to draw in a steadying breath, “I will not have whined at you, for I do not even care if you aren’t here. Indeed, I am far happier when you are not!“

Charles finished his diatribe with a pleased flourish of his hands, only to stop when he saw the expression on the other man’s face.

Erik’s face was a passive mask, his grey eyes cold and distant. Charles flinched at the sight as he realised he had overstepped as always.

“Erik..“ he hastily moved to correct himself, but he his friend was already moving away from him, untangling his hand from his.

“It is quite well Charles, I apologise for burdening you with my presence. Indeed you were only to say a word and I would have obliged“ he paused only to give him a stiff bow. Before Charles could say another word, Erik was striding away from him with his quick decisive strides, disappearing into the milling crowd.

Charles stood there feeling sick, an awful feeling rising in his chest. He felt alarmingly like he would cry. He was rescued from the moment by the arrival of Warren himself. Their set was due to start next. He allowed himself to be led to the floor and mechanically followed the steps of the song. His mind kept going back to the fight with Erik. It was unfair, it was terribly unfair. It was his fault, he never could control his tongue around him. But Erik had no business chastising him at every turn. He ignored the questioning look Warren sent him as they twirled together into the next sequence.

Tomorrow he would go over to Erik’s with some books and the chess set. They would work it out. Erik would be aloof at the start, but he would forgive him with the ease of practice. Perhaps in the evening they could go out riding to the river. Charles felt his chest unclench. They would be alright. He had missed Erik terribly.

He smiled at Warren reassuringly, everything was okay.

Suddenly a familiar couple whirled away next to them. He turned to look curiously only to stop short in surprise. It was Erik and Raven,

He tried to suppress the surge of betrayal that rose within him at the sight. Erik never danced. He had never danced with Charles, despite him asking a hundred times. Erik always claimed it was beneath his dignity to fail at anything, and he would certainly fail at dance. And here he was, gracefully twirling Raven through the set, with the soft smile that indicated he was genuinely enjoying himself. In the amber light of the room, with cheeks flushed with exertion, Raven looked beautiful. She was radiant. Erik looked effortlessly handsome as he always did. Heart achingly familiar and his. But dancing with another.

Charles tore his eyes away from the couple, stumbling over the next few steps with a foreign clumsiness. As soon as the dance ended he bowed to his partner and mumbled a few excuses to make his way out of the stifling atmosphere of the room. There was a burning sensation in his throat. The idea of Erik dancing with Raven was unbearable. The idea of Erik dancing with anyone who was not Charles was unbearable. He was his best friend. The possibility of the fact that someone else could ever come between them was intolerable.

He found an empty library and closed the door, his eyes burning. This was irrational, the logical part of his brain supplied. Erik was his friend, he was allowed to have other affections. Had not Charles himself enjoyed Warren’s attentions. No, the other part of him supplied fiercely. It was not the same. Charles knew that he did not feel anything for Warren, he was a pleasing companion and nothing more. Erik on the other hand did not make friends easily, and he had genuinely seemed taken with Raven. Even now they were there, dancing together without a care about him.

Charles wanted to punch a wall, he wanted to break the crystal vase on the table, he wanted to pull Erik to him and shake him for being so foolish, he wanted to kiss Erik senseless till he forgot about anyone else, Oh.

Oh.

He wanted to kiss Erik. He wanted. He wanted.

He groaned in distress and sank into the sofa, covering his face with his palms.

He loved Erik. It was a revelation. It was the most obvious thing in the world.

He groaned again, shaking his head. Moira and Edie would be so smug.

#cherik #Charles Xavier #Erik Lehnsherr #cherik fanfic #cherik fic #characterization is hard #charles says the worst possible thing #poor erik #oh well #jealous Charles

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