#through her sheer knowledge of how to play on his emotions (on his guilt). i literally have notes from not long after the start

[noirsteelarc]

penumbra   3.22:    exists ( w-when did they say we were getting a part 2 i’m - )

me:

[buckyownsmylife]

daddy issues - final chapter

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

A/N: this is it, everyone! Thank you for following along for the ride. This series is now officially completed, but I will write an epilogue for it eventually (it most likely won’t be coming out next Tuesday). If there’s anything in particular you’d like to see in it, please let me know!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The gentle sunlight dancing through the sheer curtains woke me up. I did not understand why anyone bought these types of curtains - maybe for the living room, sure. But to place them inside a bedroom?

The aesthetic purposes weren’t as important as the usefulness and as far as drapes go, these were pathetic. I had told Ransom about them before, and all he did was chuckle and agree to call his interior designer to ask for something made of a better fabric.

Yawning, I sat up on the bed and stretched out my arms, moaning softly at the pleasurable pain on my muscles. I was still half-asleep, mind not yet connected to anything when I felt a sweaty hand slip from my stomach to my thigh, and I realized it was naked.

I was naked. All at once, the memories from last night returned and I whipped my head to the side to check on a sleeping Ransom, face turned to me as he snored gently on the pillow.

I remembered everything then. The fight, the insecurities, the reassurances, the physical reassurances… The way he told me he loved me…

I wanted to say it back. I really did because I knew I felt the same way about him, but I hadn’t anticipated it would happen during sex after what was probably one of the worst evenings of our lives.

It felt too real. Too much, too soon. I needed to get out of here.

In my rush to leave the bed, I dipped the mattress too abruptly considering there was someone else slipping on it - someone I didn’t want to wake up. So that’s precisely what happened.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

I inhaled deeply as the slumber slowly left my body, memories of the night before rushing in as I exhaled into a smile. God, that was the best night of my life.

Opening my eyes, I was hoping to find her body right next to mine, close enough that I could reach over, touch her and maybe repeat some of last nights best moments until hunger forced us to leave the bed.

But my fingers didn’t find anything and when I looked up, it was to find her frantically trying to put on some clothes as she fumbled from one side of the room to the other.

“What’s going on?” My voice came out harsher than I intended, throat hoarse from last night’s activities and the sleep that still somewhat dominated my body. Upon hearing it, she froze, keeping her back to me while my mind raced, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

And then I understood it.

“You’re trying to leave me.” She didn’t deny it, but guilt must have been inside of her, fighting for dominance over her fear because she turned around to face me, a pained look on her expression.

“Ransom…” I knew that tone. I hadn’t even employed on anyone before because I never cared enough about someone to feel bad when I broke things off with them, but this feeling was universal.

I rushed to leave the bed, uncaring of the fact that I was still naked when I crossed the distance between us and took her face in my hands. “Don’t do this,” I pleaded. “Don’t lock me out again.”

Tears dominated her eyes and she blinked them away, forcing them out so they could run over her cheeks. Frustration was clear on her every feature, she shook her head as best as she could considering my hold on her, squeezing her eyes shut for a second like she was trying to think.

“Why the fuck can’t I control myself around you?” She burst out, and immediately the angst I was feeling escaped my body, letting me go now that I knew what was bothering her.

Taking a deep breath, I brushed her hair away from her face, gazing deeply into her eyes so she’d know how much I meant what I had to say.

“Because you like being with me just as much as I enjoy being with you.” She couldn’t counter that, but when she tried to avoid it, I called her out, “It’s true, you can’t deny that!”

She bit on her bottom lip, trying to contain herself, trying to get a hold of her emotions that must have been all over the place. I could understand that, considering… well, everything. Not only her pregnancy and our emotional connection, but the array of feelings we went through last night.

One thing remained true. I loved her and after what she did for me, I knew she loved me too.

“Your head’s trying to talk you out of it,” I recognized, hoping now that I was showing the problem she would acknowledge it too. “But you know this in your heart, just like I know on mine!”

Once again, she didn’t oppose it, and that gave me all the confidence I needed to keep going.

“We’re supposed to be an ‘us’, sweetheart,” I breathed out, hope and longing evident in every single word I uttered, as well as my eyes, that never strayed from hers. “Please, give this a try.”

Silence followed. She was calmer now, more rational. Her breathing was slower but she still looked weary, still looked scared. So I let her go, separating my skin from hers even though it was the exact opposite of what I wanted to do, so I could give her as much room to think as possible.

But I was going to lay all of my arguments because this was the battle of my life.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I felt cold without his hands on my body, his presence towering over me. Hugging myself, I hesitated between leaving the room or staying there, when he started to talk again, making the decision for me.

“You know it makes sense.” He was talking about him and I, I knew it. And I agreed. There wasn’t a single cell on my body that could deny this - not anymore. Still, my brain persisted, stuck on idiotic reasonings that had no place ruling something so important to my heart. “It makes so much sense.”

The fact that he was willing to fight for this, to fight for me was making this even harder on me. It was clear on the way he spoke - on every word he said - that this mattered to him and I felt comforted in the knowledge, but even more frustrated that my stupid insecurities still haunted me.

“I know I’m not easy,” he acknowledged, leaving me even more frustrated with myself. “And I definitely don’t deserve someone like you. But if you want me, I’ll be here.”

I had to say something. I couldn’t just let him think so low of himself, not when he was being the perfect partner and my only reason to hold back resided exclusively on myself.

“I do want you,” I managed to admit, my voice tentative as I played with my own dress. “I want you Ransom, and you do deserve me but I…”

That was enough to get him near me again, hands once more cradling my face as he dipped my head so I’d look him in the eye. “I know you’re scared,” he recognized, tongue wetting his lower lip as he rushed to try to calm me. “I know you’re scared of loving me, and I was scared too.”

A chuckle escaped his lips, he sounded almost guilty. “I still am, if I’m being entirely honest. But I’m willing to give this a try because the other option… well, the other option is simply unacceptable to me.”

Silence laid heavily in the room as I contemplated what he was saying, thinking about the other option myself. I didn’t want to live it. I didn’t want to go through this alone and love Ransom from a distance.

The fear of losing him brought me the courage I needed to push through and tear down the last wall I was stupidly trying to keep against him and I.

“You’ve done so much for me,” I recognized, trying to keep the shame in my voice to a minimum. “So much to prove to me that you’re worth it.”

The light coming through the curtains made the atmosphere almost romantic somehow, and now I found myself enjoying them because this way, I could see the sparkle of hope that twinkled in Ransom’s deep eyes.

I needed to say it. It was time for me to say it. “You’re the only person I want to be with,” I started, dipping my toes in the water while I prayed that the sea wouldn’t take me. When Ransom smiled, thumbs brushing over my cheeks, I felt comforted that if a wave should swallow me, I’d die happily in its embrace. “Ransom… I love you.”

His lips connected to mine, my heartbeat loud on my ears but I wasn’t anxious anymore. All I could feel was happiness, blinding, hopeful, bright - taking over my entire body when he parted and rubbed his nose against mine, cocky grin on his lips as he teased, “I know.”

Snorting, I allowed him to pull me back to bed, perfectly content on his embrace as I was suddenly reminded of something. “Oh, but if you ever cheat me, I’ll cut off your balls.”

It was my payback for his response to my love confession, but also my way of admitting my biggest insecurity. Ransom knew it, and so he pulled me back to lay against his chest so he could rub my back calmingly.

“You really shouldn’t worry, baby…” I knew from his tone that he was joining in on the light banter, but whatever he was going to say would be a truthful reflection of his feelings on the matter. “I don’t think anyone is more attractive than you.”

That sent me into a fit of giggles, aided by the fact that he took advantage of my distraction to start tickling me. Once he was done and I was trying to catch my breath, I caught him staring at me with those deep, emotion-filled eyes again.

“Besides…” he continued, like he had never even paused. “I’ve never wanted anyone half as much as I want you.”

[duskwood-legacies]

“Blood Moon Masquerade”

•Fandom: Duskwood

•Pairing/Character: Jake x fem!MC

•Word Count: 1.5k

•Genre: Romance, Angst

•Summary: MC pursuaded Jake to attend the infamous Blood Moon Ball along her side. However, the blissful and furious spark of the night shall take an unpleasant turn.

-----

Cold air surrounded Jake and MC, spots of the starry sky covered by dark clouds. Their arms were hooked together as they neared the castle’s entrance.

MC had persuaded Jake into attending a masquerade ball on this special night with her. He was strictly against it at first. He thought public events portrayed a too great threat for them, but after seeing MC’s sad, almost heart-shattered expression he gave in.

Tonight was the night of the “super blood moon”. Jake didn’t want to steal it away from her. She has always wished to see this moon, has been expecting this day with joy and excitement for weeks. When she saw the poster inviting to this event, she couldn’t be held back anymore.

It was a masquerade ball. Parts of their faces would be covered, making it harder for them to be recognized. Jake also knew MC would be as careful as him. Those were the main thoughts keeping him composed.

Guards supervised the entrance. MC and Jake greeted them with a lightly nervous but friendly smile. The guards inspected them intensely, going as far as searching them through for weapons and other harmful objects.

Jake’s corded muscles relaxed by a bit as they got a green light and were allowed inside. MC gave him a kiss on the cheek to reassure him everything was okay before finally entering the building and venturing through the castle’s corridors. After taking three or four turns, they arrived at the open doors of the ballroom.

The ballroom was enormous. Chandeliers made of crystals hung from the ceiling and the walls were lined by elegant pillars. Soft shades of beige painted the entire room, occasional decorations made of gold provided the final touch of luxury to the royal place.

They entered the room with sheer amazement.

Countless amounts of people filled the place after them. Countless of amounts that could get them in trouble, countless amounts that would help blend in and hide. The endless contraries Jake and MC faced on their run, the endless opportunities each of these contraries brought.

It’s not about how face the world, it’s about how you view it. How you observe it. Observe the contraries, weight your chances and then face the world.

Right now, they blend in perfectly. Their chances of staying safe were high.

They stood near the windows as happy chatter sounded through the air. Closely Jake examined MC’s appearance from under his mask, not being quite able to tear his gaze away from her.

She wore a plain black mask around her eyes and an A-Line dress that hugged her figure tightly to the smallest part of her waist, until it divided into a wider, floor-length skirt. The skirt was made of a black base with uneven layers of golden fabric, which were yet again covered by a thin, transparent black net-like fabric. The upper part of her dress was black as well, covered in marvelous golden flower pattern.

MC did the exact same. From Jake’s black leather boots, to his black and white suit to his golden tie and black-golden mask. He looked breathtaking. Both their outfits matched well together, both their outfit matched well with their surroundings and other couples.

The chatter quieted down as the hostess announced herself. Applause filled the air, Jake and MC joining in.

After the hostess’ speech, music started playing and butlers walked around the room handing out champagne. Jake and MC both took a glass, smiling at each other and taking a sip. They kept standing on the sidelines, assuring they were safe and their pursuers weren’t nearby, or at least didn’t recognize them.

Once the alcohol of the now emptied glasses reached their blood flow, their tension eased a bit off. MC waved a butler over so she and Jake could get rid of their glasses.

After the butler walked away, Jake turned towards MC, a gentle smile evident on his lips and holding out his hand for her.

“Would you give me this dance?”

MC grinned and gratefully took Jake’s hand. She knew how much he hated dancing and how much he probably despised being here, but she was endlessly thankful for him to come along and even offer her a dance. Not even his smile could convince her otherwise.

Jake, somewhat reluctant at first, drew MC close and slowly started swaying across the dancefloor with her. He wanted her to enjoy the night, in defiance of the presence of danger. The only way to assure they kept safe and allow MC to enjoy herself was by dancing.

Against the fact of Jake’s initial boldness, they relished the dance and soon started to move more elegantly as Jake grew more confident. Despite the growing confidence in both of them, neither let their environment quite out of sight.

The lights of the room went out, allowing the silver-blue moonlight from outside to illuminate the place through its large windows. It was part of the ball. The guests grew excited, knowing exactly the vanishing of the lights announced the soon-arrival of the blood moon.

The music and dancing carried on. If it wasn’t for their eyes, touch and heart-stopping appearance, MC and Jake would have gotten exhausted by now. It was the adrenaline, each other’s company that kept them on their feet, kept them going, kept pushing further.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours.

They danced as the music drowned the room in mysterious beats and melodies. Tranquilized with each other’s bodies in their embrace, they lost themselves in the music and danced away in their own, little universe.

Jake’s and MC’s feet guided them over the wooden floor like they were leaping through a sea of clouds. Their caution dissolved into nothingness with each step they took. They became careless in a world with no mercy left for them.

The world around them got competitive without their awareness. Everyone wanted to out-dance one another, everyone wanted to show that they are better than anyone in this room.

The soft moonlight began to shift. The lunar eclipse has begun.

Timed perfectly, the music increased in tension and speed, sending floods of hot lava through their veins. MC’s and Jake’s minds were melting away piece by piece.

Passion burning like millions of fires ignited in their bodies as they moved over the dancefloor with swiftness and finesse. Nothing has ever felt so indescribable. Jake’s gaze remained on MC. The black mask around her eyes made them shine brighter than the stars outside, brighter than the diamonds and crystals of the chandeliers.

The moon’s gleam grew into a rosé color.

The competition that had broken loose before kept going. The ballroom now didn’t hold hundreds of people anymore, but hundreds of universes those people were floating in. MC focused on every single one of Jake’s touches, savoring, memorizing every second of this moment as long as it lasted. She looked up to see his face. Despite the mask, his face seemed so perfect, so comfortingly familiar.

By now, the moonlight seized the entire room in its deep red glow.

The meeting of their eyes was like a match thrown into gasoline to their feelings. Their performance they never imagined to appear so flawless, so powerful, reached its climax. The sea of clouds they were walking on turned into an ocean of feathers, pushing them across the floor with weightless elegance and emotion.

MC’s dress was flowing with ethereal grace as she spun underneath Jake’s hand, catching him in a trance he’s never been in before. The red, the gold, the black. Her sight was too heavenly to look away.

He pulled her close again and lifted her off the ground, pirouetting with her in his arms. Her legs wrapped around his body for better hold and tighter proximity.

MC stared deep into Jake’s eyes as they twirled over their ocean of feathers. The moonlight crossing his eyes, the red color painting his frame. He was too divine to break away from.

Jake gently set MC down on her feet again. It was time for their dream to come to an end.

Both of them noticed people pushing through the crowd, people that didn’t exactly look like guests. The fierce sensation the taste of danger left prickling on their skin made their hairs stand up.

Their chances of a safe escape slipped away.

MC felt guilt creeping into her eyes as the endlessness of this night seemed to crawl away, their pursuers drawing closer than they’ve ever been.

She placed her hands behind Jake’s neck and pulled him closer. His hands snaked around her waist, gradually giving in to her pull.

Their lips met in a soft, almost defeated way.

They knew they’ve been caught, they knew they had to fight their way out. They knew they were outnumbered.

Helplessness spread in both their chests as they broke the kiss. Their gazes met one more time with the awareness of their evaporating opportunities lying heavily between them. MC could feel the tears gathering in her eyes, feel the remorse in her throat.

“I’m sorry, Jake”

-----

A/N: Hi everyone!💕 I want to mention that I don't really have knowledge on how masquerade balls work, so I apologize for inaccuracies in advance! I still hope you enjoyed the story🌿💕

[regeek]

Thoughts about the Deltora Gem Guardians

I’ve fallen back into the fandom of a book series I read as a kid thanks to great art, memes, and analysis by tumblr users like @doomofthehills, @sisterofthesouth, @rat-king-reeah, @dragoninmypocket, and @dragonloverdoran​. I’ve been rereading the books and ahve a lot of thoughts about them. Theres a really good post by @mask131​ about how each book reflects the stone in it that got me thinking about the gem guardians. 

Deltora is interesting for it’s themes of anxiety and despair. Sure, each book has a big scary monster, but often the stakes are as emotional as they are physical. Lief clearly struggles with anxiety, and has two attacks (in Shifting Sands and Shadowgate) that almost read like dissociative episodes. A lot of people have said they interpret the struggle against the Shadow Lord as a metaphor for living with depression or anxiety. Rereading the third series this is quite obvious, but I think there’s a bit more woven into the monsters of the original series. All of the Deltora books have a unique, memorable monster in its climax, some of the most diverse in fantasy fiction. But I think each of these monsters has a deeper meaning. In addition to being twisted versions of the ideal each Gem represents, I think they are each intended to represent a negative thought pattern, one that led them to their monstrous life and one the protagonists must keep themselves from falling into. 

First up is Gorl, who I think represents Delusion. I’m not saying he’s meant to be a metaphor for actual psychosis symptoms (though he is one of the more unhinged characters in the series) but rather self delusion. Gorl lives in his own little world, unaware of even the most basic developments of Deltora’s history. He’s also one of the least interested in the stone he guards, obsessing over a different treasure our protagonists don’t even want. Gorl has been consumed by both his own greed and guilt, incapable of accepting the reality he has created for himself. He is a mass of paranoia and ignorance, trapped in a prison of his own making. (A theme later touched on in Isle of Illusion.)

Soldeen is one of the easiest to peg: Depression. Happiness and despair are examined from multiple angles in the Lake of Tears, and in Soldeen’s case he represents the tendency for people to drag others into their own misery. This is most clear when he attempts to force Manus to live with him, but is generally why the Lake of Tears is such a depressing place: it’s ruler would rather force others to join in his misery than find happiness for himself. 

Reeah is also pretty obvious: Narcissism. It is curious how vain Reeah is, given that pride isn’t one of the main themes of City of the Rats. It is an interesting bit of foreshadowing that Reeah considers itself the most valuable of the Shadow Lord’s servants, the “Chosen One.” We see a lot of the Shadow Lord’s minions feel the same way, though in Reeah’s case it might be true. Reeah was tasked with not only guarding the Opal, but the source of the Grey Tide. Reeah is also the guardian most responsible for corrupting its section of Deltora. The City of Rats exists solely to feed Reeah, giving it a kingdom where every other creature is tiny and insignificant compared to it. But the rats small size is made up for by their numbers, and ultimately they end up feeding on Reeah as it fed on them. 

The Hive can be seen as representing Conformity or Compulsion. This sort of thing is par for the course for hive minds in fantasy and sci-fi, but it’s interesting how the Hive affects the minds of those around it. Rigane the Mad and Lief struggled to keep their inviduality when exposed to the will of the Hive. It nearly pushed them into a life of mindless obedience through sheer force of will. The Shadow Lord and his followers always tried to manipulate and control others through trickery and deception, the Hive used brute force. One of the most chilling lines in the series is when Lief realized the warning didn’t say “mindless will to survive” but “mindless will to serve the Hive.” It’s interesting that we never saw the Hive’s queen, though we know it had one. I would assume she was a creature of compulsive service too. The Hive wasn’t about serving an individual, but service for its own sake. 

Gellick represents Spite. While Reeah focused on how high it was above others, Gellick relished in punishing those below it. Gellick was petty and demanding, doling out harsh punishments for the smallest slight. It demanded nothing less than complete subjugation and was barely satisfied with that. Gellick was like a petulant child, reminding me of Dudley Dursley. Gellick was able to get away with this abhorrent attitude because it was so certain nobody would rebel against him, as they needed his poison. Gellick took full advantage of this to be as bossy and horrible as possible for he never believed anyone would resist. 

The Glus is a little hard to pin down, but I would argue it represents Instinct. Instincts aren’t necessarily bad, but in order to make it in life you have to resist your base urges every now and then. The Glus’ origin story adds an interesting layer, depending how you interpret it. Either it preserved the girl who cared for it in its web forever, or it ate her despite her kindness, ruled only by its own hunger. Either way I think the Maze of the Beast is not the ideal environment for the Glus, and it can be thought of as an invasive species. I imagine the Glus is meant to crawl in the ocean floor, its massive size free to explore the open sea. It is as trapped in the Maze as its victims, refusing to leave a habitat it was not meant for. I find it notable that the way the trio escaped the Glus is by damaging its home, and it ignored prey in favor of its obsessive need to repair its environment. I also find it interesting how the only two Guardians that are not destroyed are the Glus and the Hive, who are also the only two that are natural parts of Deltora’s ecosystem. 

The Guardian of the Diamond is kind of tricky. He’s the most intelligent, and most human of the guardians, so his personality is the most complex. He’s also explicitly associated with greed, pride, hate, and envy, making it hard to associate him with a single theme. However I think that overall he is a creature of Sadism. He is obsessed with games and puzzles, forcing his victims to play them. But he delights in the knowledge that no matter what they do, they are doomed to failure. He is excessively polite and glib, even though he plans to kill everyone he meets. And why wouldn’t he be? He knows they can’t steal the Diamond, and even if they figure out his puzzle, the revelation of his “true name” will make them abandon hope. So he sits on the side, taunting his victims with false kindness and reveling in their inevitable suffering. 

It should be noted that in each book, Lief, Barda and Jasmine succeed by rejecting the lifestyle of each guardian. They destroy Gorl with the prison of vines he built around himself. They convince Soldeen to pull himself out of his own despair. They feed Reeah to the masses he lorded over. They retrieve the Lapis Lazuli from the Hive by replacing it with something of equal size but no value, and Lief keeps his sanity with the help of his friends. They destroy Gellick by uniting the Kin and Dread Gnomes in rebellion against him, and his own awful personality is what ultimately kills him. They distract the Glus with a more powerful instinct than its hunger. And they play the Guardian’s game but keep up their resolve the whole time, even at its emotionally devastating conclusion. 

Anyway, hope any DQ fans reading this liked it. I’d love to hear your thoughts, And I’m thinking about doing a similar thing for the guardians of the Four Sisters. 

[theliteraryvampire]

Take Your Heart In Your Teeth (5/?)

Warnings: Blood, sort of? Non-con biting. That’s it, I’m pretty sure!

Fandom: BBC Dracula (Dracula x Reader)

Author’s Note: There’s actually barely any reader in this chapter, but a new character comes into the mix! Also, male bonding, woo! Plus, some of my own lore comes into play a bit. Comments, reblogs, feedback, etc. are always welcome!

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Something was happening to me. I was being inundated with images that made no sense. I kept swimming in and out of focus, but one thing was clear: Dracula had a hold of me, his lips were on my neck, and he was drinking my blood. An image flashed in my brain, of Dracula sitting back and talking but, no, that...that wasn’t real. He had me trapped, I felt him keeping me still, and as much as I twisted, I couldn’t break free. Another flash and, Dracula was laughing at something I had just said but...no! That wasn’t real either. I hadn’t said anything.

After what felt like hours of fighting, he finally let me go. He sat back for real this time, and suddenly, everything came back into focus. I blearily looked at him and went to reach for my neck, but he grabbed my arm before I could. 

“Are you alright, (Y/N)? You look a little...drained.” Dracula was staring intently at me, pupils blown.

“I...think I drank too much?” I hazarded a guess, but I couldn’t say for sure. I felt like I was waking up from a nightmare. “I should leave. Uh, sorry, for this.” I gestured to my glass.

I went as fast as I could to the closet and threw my coat on, ignoring Dracula who had followed me out. 

“(Y/N), please—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, before slamming the door behind me. I didn’t wait for a ride home. In fact, I wanted to walk, hoping the cold January air would clear my head. My mind was so dazed and I was walking so fast, wanting to get away as quickly as possible, that I didn’t even realize it when I walked right into another person, until he grabbed my shoulders to steady me.

“Are you alright?” the stranger asked, English accent clear.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” I didn’t bother looking at him. Instead, I tore myself away from his grip and ran down the stairs.

~~~

Dracula was confused, and greatly concerned. He had gotten no information from (Y/N)’s blood, and that worried him. Never in his long life had this occurred to him. He couldn’t have done it wrong. He’d been eating people for five centuries. Yes, finally tasting (Y/N)‘s blood had been euphoric, pleasure inducing, even, but he still had searched for information and...nothing. Not a name, not a thought, not a feeling. Just, pleasure. Waves and waves of his own blissful pleasure, until he had pulled away, when he saw the look of sheer terror on (Y/N)’s face. She had left so quickly...

A knock came from Dracula’s door, tearing him away from his thoughts. He wanted to ignore whoever was on the opposite side but the knocking became insistent, so begrudgingly, Dracula made his way over and opened the door before his visitor woke up all his neighbors.

“Oh! Mr. Seward.” Dracula was a bit taken aback. He knew he should've left the door closed. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Why did you turn me?” Jack asked, trying, but failing, to sound intimidating.  “And why did you leave? I woke up in the middle of the road, confused...and completely alone!”

“Oh, um, I wanted to see how you’d turn out, I suppose,” Dracula answered, getting ready to shut the door. Before he could do so, Jack stormed his way into the foyer, which amused Dracula. His misplaced sense of courage was almost...endearing.

“And I suppose the girl that just left, looking scared out of her mind, I might add,” Jack turned on his heel, “is just next on the list? Are you going to kill her as an experiment as well?” he accused.

In the blink of an eye, Dracula had seized Jack around the neck and was now holding him against the wall, fully intent on killing him for a second time. “Do not dare anger me, boy,” Dracula warned, before letting Jack fall on the hardwood floor. He didn’t stay down for long. Jack got right back to his feet and turned once more on Dracula, obviously intent on settling the score. Dracula smiled to himself, almost respecting Jack for this ludicrous courage. Almost.

Dracula spoke before Jack could make his next move. “Before I rip you to shreds, and I will rip you to shreds, you can’t blame me for killing you. You must have killed, oh, four people now, at the very least? What’s that old saying...something about a pot calling the kettle black?”

Jack lunged at Dracula again, an animal-like growl ripping from his throat, but he easily caught the material of Jack’s shirt and threw him down on the floor once more, this time pinning him there. Leaning over him, using his height to his advantage, Dracula got close to Jack’s face. “Listen to me, carefully. (Y/N), that girl you saw moments ago, is not like the others. If any harm should come to her, I won’t think twice about tearing my way through this entire city.”

“Then why’d you feed from her?” Jack asked, full of malice. “I could smell it the moment I stepped foot on this floor.” 

Dracula closed his fist, still full of Jack’s shirt, even tighter. “Need I remind you that you are in no position to question me. Now, be a good boy and scamper home.” 

“I’m just trying to find answers,” Jack admitted quietly, and there again was that meek little boy Dracula remembered, that fragile little thing who was so easy to kill.

Perhaps it was against his better judgement, but Dracula found himself lifting Jack back up, standing him on his feet.

“Ironically, that is what I’m trying to do as well,” he heard himself saying, surprised at how willing he was to open up to Jack, a man he didn’t even particularly like that much. But something about his naivety, and his willingness to adapt to his new life reminded Dracula of himself, or at least himself in the very beginning of his transition, too. Not that he would ever admit that, of course, but he felt himself softening towards Jack, if only a little bit. 

He led Jack to his dining room and, questioning himself for a second, Dracula finally pulled out a chair for him. Grabbing two glasses on his way to the fridge, Dracula reached all the way into the back to grab a blood bag, hidden by needless mortal food, and poured the contents into the cups.

“I prefer mine at 98.2, but this does well in a pinch,” Dracula said when he returned, handing Jack a glass.

“I never thought you’d stoop to blood bags,” Jack tried joking, but he couldn’t force himself to laugh. There was a long silence before either man spoke again.

“I’ve only killed one person. I didn’t want to, but...I still did it,” Jack admitted, eyes cast down on his glass.

“I know,” and for an instant, Dracula remembered what that had been like, the guilt of his first kill.

“And, uh…” Jack looked over his shoulder, back into the foyer. “Sorry, for barging in like that. After I...woke up...I tracked you. I’ve been in the city for a month, actually, but I didn’t know how to confront you about...everything.” He swirled the blood around in his glass. “And then I met someone, and well, we haven’t been on a proper date yet, I’m hoping she’ll agree to one tomorrow, but I figured it wasn’t fair to her to keep a secret like this, so I came here to get closure, but then that girl that left, and she ran into me looking terrified, and I thought you were doing the same thing you did in London and—”

“I assure you, it’s nothing like London. (Y/N) is…” but Dracula trailed off, not knowing exactly how to describe (Y/N). “She’s very knowledgeable on the topic of so-called myths,” he finally decided on.

“You’re using her for information about you...about...us, you mean.”

Dracula hated the pit in his stomach that Jack’s accusation caused, but he hated the feeling most of all because he knew that it was partly true.

“I was,” he finally admitted. “At first.”

“You care for her.” It was a statement. Jack wasn’t questioning him this time.

“Yes.”

Jack wrung his hands together. This wasn’t how he thought the night would go at all. This was a new side to Dracula that he hadn’t seen in London, and it was almost comforting knowing that Dracula could also feel something, other than the need to kill.

“When you, um...killed me...I didn’t feel anything after the transition. Except confusion. It was like everything reset. I remembered what I felt, but I didn’t feel those emotions anymore. Even...Lucy. I remember loving her, but I don’t...I’m not in love with her anymore. So, I don’t know how, or why, it happened, but I walked into that gallery on Grand Street one day, um, Gavin Brown’s Enterprise, and...the girl I talked about...she was working there, and I took one look at her and, it was like everything came flooding back. Like all of a sudden, I felt human again.” Jack laughed. “I guess that seems pretty cliche.”

Dracula smiled to himself. He knew that feeling well.

“Are you laughing at me?” Jack asked, smiling.

“No. It’s just nice to be understood,” and, to his great surprise, Dracula found himself smiling back.

[timeguardiansarchive]

Rescued from the Depths:

@makesownluck​​ continued from X 

(Please don’t kill me for taking creative license with this or the fact that I continued it. I will also apologize heavily for Rose. She got super carried away. Hope the reply makes some miniscule amount of sense. There is absolutely never any pressure to match length or anything!)

Pure pandemonium had erupted upon the once leisure-filled decks and Rose, feeling more observer than participant in it, found herself clinging to Jack as tightly as she dared. Her exhaustion riddled orbs fixate on witnessing an emotional father bidding adieu to his bawling, petrified daughters. He had adorned himself with a brave face and spun a silvery tale in parting. While she was only being vaguely attentive in her eavesdropping, his words lodge in her cranium. “It’s goodbye for a little while,” the man professes. Nevertheless, she could see the truth laid bare in his eyes. With that thought, remained the knowledge of the conversation she had held with Mr. Andrews about the number of lifeboats the Titanic housed. Mr. Andrews’s words wage war on her already dismal dwellings. “There aren’t enough lifeboats even by half.” If what he claimed was true, and she had little doubt that it was having done the math herself and checked it by Mr. Andrews, her mind raced through countless more calculations until panic begins to inspire her to protest the offered spot on one of the lifeboats. This night would end with many innocent lives being lost. 

Whatever insistence she made was quickly overridden by the adamant and unrelenting persuasions of Jack and Cal. They had made an arrangement. Or at least Hockley claimed, that he had one with a ship’s officer to escape safely. Why he would offer such salvation to Jack, she is uncertain. Doubtful, she observes them both but allows herself to be ushered into the waiting lifeboat. She turns her back to the ocean and finds Jack’s outstretched hand, clutching his fingers with all her might willing him to come. Why couldn’t he just forget chivalry and join her? Why did he have to be as valiant and selfless as he had been the moment they first met?!

All too soon, the warmth of his contact is wrenched away, and she is pushed towards the back of the tiny wooden vessel to make room for more. Eerie traces of dimly illuminated indigo waters etched and ebbed across the side of the massive, struggling ‘Ship of Dreams.’ Oh, how that bestowed title torments her in that very moment. It was no longer a palace of celestial imaginings. It was a full-blown nightmare straight from the pit of hell!

While Rose was outwardly skillful in concealing her terror, it continued to bubble up inside of her chest. The force of which, battered heavily against her ribcages as her gaze shoots upwards, seeking, till they find Jack. He and Cal have a deal. She kept reminding herself. However, if they had a deal with an officer on the other side of the ship, why would they remain so stagnant in nearly the same place she had taken her leave of them? Conscience whispers, there is no deal. Is there? There is no grand reunion coming later on. Was there?! This was going to be their final goodbyes. The longer she ruminates upon these thoughts the more the internalized panic began to claw its way to the surface.

In the glow of the lone bursting flare, Rose could see the intolerable grief etched upon Jack’s handsome countenance. With that glimpse alone, she realizes, she can’t do this! She can’t abandon him now!!! She loves him more dearly, more ardently than her own life. She pictures where this road to supposed salvation will lead and it is the same hideous path she’d been set upon with Cal. A road that led her to near self-destruction.

She rallies courage around herself like a cloak, rises to her feet and she lunges quite forcefully forwards across the lifeboat to make the biggest leap of faith she can muster. However, sheer will alone does not propel her far enough towards her end-goal. Whilst her arms were outstretched and the ship had been briefly in reach, Rose finds herself plunging helplessly into the glassy indigo waters below.

There is little Rose can do to prepare herself or brace for the pending harsh impact. It’s all happening far too fast for actual cognition to fully ignite.

The connection with the frigid water below is punishing, forcing her to let out a terrible gasp. Following that gasp comes an influx of salted water that burns down every inch of her esophagus. Choking, she scrambles to suck in another breath of air, but the effort is futile. This inhale is also tainted with water. Lungs heave out a final ratty cough expelling as much as she could before she’s pulled below.

Rose begins to kick furiously, her legs tangling precariously with her skirts. She desperately grapples with her cold-numbed hands, clawing for the surface. Yet, she finds herself being dragged farther downwards. Weighted as if her pockets, correction- Cal’s pockets, were lined with bricks rather than luxurious fabrics. With every second, the adorned articles of clothing seem to be growing heavier and heavier as the water absorbs into the once dry material. It does not occur to her panicking mind to shrug the dress-jacket off. Instead, her focus remains on getting back to the surface despite her rapidly waning energy.

Rose had desperately wished for this horrific fate. Not more than a night or so ago, she had stood on the Titanic’s stern. She peered into churning waters that beckoned with the promises of eternal liberation and prepared herself to take the readily offered exit. That alluring promise had been nothing more than a mere mirage which, Jack Dawson helped to expose. He rescued her and gave her life purpose again!!!  

Jack had also been right about the water feeling like ‘a thousand knives all over one’s body.’ The chill is suffocating, snatching the breath straight out of one’s lungs. Something Rose was now experiencing with terrifying, miserable clarity thanks to the miscalculation.  

The auburn-haired young woman is jarred from thoughts of her own death by a sudden forceful tug that propels her upwards till she resurfaces. A powerful arm coils around her middle and draws her nearer. Sputtering out water, Rose turns her alarmed orbs towards the source. There is an immediate, grateful softening  to the cerulean hues as she discovers Jack beside her in the water. Hoarse vocal cords rasp out, “J...J...Jack? Wh...wh... what are y... y... you doing ... he... here? Y... you we....were safe! You ha....had... had that deal. Did ... didn’t y... you?” Rose prods, with great effort. Guilt adds to the crimson stains stealing across her porcelain skin. It was her fault that he ended up in the water!

She shivers fiercely against the night’s unforgiving chill as it winds through sopping curls and weaves itself into the drenched fabrics surrounding her slender frame. Rose allows herself to be drawn closer to Jack’s sturdier build knowing full well that she can hardly rely on her own strength anymore. Stiff fingers clumsily attempt to curl around his deeply saturated shirt until the wooden lifeboat begins to gain on them.

It took a good deal of effort on the ladies behalves to hoist both bitterly cold  unintentional swimmers to ‘relative’ safety. Rose stiffly pauses near the ledge of the wooden raft and clumsily attempts to help with Jack’s rescue until the indomitable force she recognized as Molly Brown slung a blanket over her shoulders and ushered her towards an empty space away from the edges. “Well ain’t you two a sight for sore eyes,” Molly exclaims, in a purely materialized way. “Sure glad we made room for you. Thought we nearly lost you both.” She confides, taking up a seat near-by.

The air is torturous, hardly tolerable against her already numb skin. Every subtle strike of a breeze feels more like a slap than a caress. Rose allows her violently quivering limbs to be maneuvered closer to the familiar comfort of Jack’s. Gnashing teeth attempt to emit a strained sound of words, “God, I’m ... I’m s.... sorry, Jack. I... I couldn’t...  I... I cou... couldn’t ... leave you.“ She confides, her tired eyes flooding with hot tears.  The contrast between the tears and the cold was uncomfortably significant though, Rose actively elects to ignore it in favor of Jack’s comforting words.

Cerulean orbs linger, fixating on drinking in every inch of Jack’s beloved countenance. Her own tired mind is dogged with unrelenting doubts that are compounded by the soundtrack of horrific screams, calls for lost loved ones, and the sound of twisting and groaning metal. She briefly pries her gaze away to examine the endless horizons but she could discern no warm lights from responding vessels.

Internally, Rose did not relish boarding another ship of any kind. Still, she is far too keenly aware that they are thousands of miles off their intended destination and that if they did not receive help soon, the disastrous fate of the others, would also become their own.

Rose knew that if she let herself focus on any more of the sufferings playing out all around them, she might drown in something more deadly than the depths of the North Atlantic. Shifting her attention, she whispers in question, “th... thi... think we’ll ev ... ever see New York?” Right now, the thought of dry land itself felt like a pipedream, a fleeting, hopeless imagining. An imagining that was infinitely safer than reflecting on the fact that many of the people she had brushed shoulders with, locked eyes with, shared a laugh or smile with, or even saw milling around the various decks, would never reach the final destination. Was it selfish of her to want to fixate on something sanguine than death? Perhaps. But Rose was beyond the point of caring.

There is something about Jack’s claims that bids her to believe, dares her to dream, that this nightmare would cease with the awakening of dawn's first light. His words offer a salve to her troubled soul and she melts into it as eagerly as she does his proffered embrace.  

“You...you’re.... you’re shivering.” Rose blandly states, pointing out the obvious when her attention returns fully to Jack. She instinctively moves to shuffle more of the drier parts of her damp blankets around him and she nestles tighter against his side. While she didn’t have much warmth to share, she would gift him what she could. Feeling a renewed sense of gratitude for Jack, she breathes, “you ... you could have le... left me behind...” There is no chastisement in the shallows of her syllables but rather curiosity and relief. If he had left her, she would have surely died without his intervention but his health wouldn’t have been potentially jeopardized. 

[foolgobi65]

careful man’s careless daughter

@philtstone prompted: Anne/Gilbert babysitter au fake dating prompt #5 let’s go laydees “you have the emotional capacity of a brick. that slate I broke over  your head.” (we’re pretending people still use slates now....american schools have no money...its possible ok) 

k so i was trying to figure out how to work in the babysitter + fake dating and ... like a flash the plot to this old telugu/tamil movie i love missamma/missaimaa came to mind -- its not quite the same because they’re two people pretending to be married so that they can make money as school teachers/live in tutors for a wealthy family’s daughter but it works just enough that i decided to roll with it lol. 

this technically isn’t the actual babysitting, nor the fake dating which I actually turned into a fake marriage lol, but i hope u still like it, even though it is all over the place and a general wreck because i wrote it straight through without any editing or thought towards pacing/characterization bc i havent written in forever lol!! im not even sure what the time period setting is lol, and i dont think my translating of the anne events into a semi modern day even works but w/e lol. 

u are the truest of friends, the light of my life, and have certainly heard more than your share of my mental breakdowns both in the last month and the last few years lol. u deserve all the good things, all the good fic, all the time. 

title is a perversion of a tswift lyric because it came up on youtube. if anyone wants to send in prompts from here

---

“You owe him how much?” 

Anne sighs, crossing her legs to hide how uncomfortable she is in this moment -- here she is in the park, fifteen thousand dollars plus interest in medical debt for Marilla’s eye surgery and being hounded by Roy Gardner, ex boyfriend apparently turned loan shark who was on his knees proclaiming both love and loan forgiveness should Anne just accept his proposal. 

Here Gilbert Blythe is, sitting on a park bench after two years without contact, watching the whole thing. 

“Marilla doesn’t have health insurance,” Anne says, eyes on the ground as she uses the toe of her shoe to grind a leaf into the sidewalk cement. “Even when I was teaching, the union plan didn’t let people add parents on as dependents.” She sighs. “With everything happening with the farm, she couldn’t afford to put money towards a plan and so when her eyes got bad....” 

For a moment, there is silence. Anne can almost hear Gilbert’s jaw clench “That’s just wrong.” 

Anne laughs, and because her eyes are averted she doesn’t see Gilbert flinch. “That’s America, Blythe.” 

“Well,” she hears him say, tone just dripping with what Mrs. Rachel would call the Blythe Stubbornness, “It shouldn’t be.” 

She won’t ever admit it, but there’s something Anne has always found deeply compelling about Gilbert when he gets into these moods -- all righteously indignant in a way that Anne feels inside of her own body. Or felt, before Matthew died and left behind debts not even Marilla had known about, and Marilla’s eyes worsened around the the time Anne was let go from her teaching job and even if she had had the job it wouldn’t have mattered, she knows, but still. Beautiful, wonderful, beloved Diana had offered to help, of course she had, but Anne knew that Fred’s business wasn’t yet where it should be and that the parents Barry were still unimpressed with their son in law to be’s financial acumen. So she’d had to go to Roy, who had of course lent his beautiful Anne the money, and of course had arranged for Marilla to be treated at the best hospital in Toronto, of course had set them up in the apartment of a friend of his right in downtown where the rents were a thousand maybe two per month. He’d popped the question for the third time the second Marilla had been released back into Anne’s care. 

Almost as if he can hear her thoughts, Gilbert speaks -- “Gardner shouldn’t be harassing you like this either. Who ever heard of charging interest on a loan to a friend? And what on earth does he think he’s going to take from you if you just don’t pay?” 

Anne burns. This, she hasn’t told Marilla, nor even her darling Diana. For some reason, it seems alright to tell Gilbert. “The farm,” she mumbles.

Gilbert snorts. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard. Are you saying that Roy Gardner, heir to one of the biggest fortunes in Boston and your ex boyfriend, took your home as collateral on a loan for money you needed to pay for your mother’s surgery?” 

Anne says nothing. She still hasn’t looked up at him, hasn’t been able to meet his gaze since she sat down on the bench and told Roy to get up off his knees and wait two months for either his money or her affirmative answer. She blinks, having mercifully forgotten that Gilbert was present for that last bit. She hopes he’s forgotten too. 

“And wait, before he left you said....” No such luck. “Anne!” Anne’s sure her entire head must be flame as she closes her eyes, bringing her knees up on the park bench and burying her face into her own lap. “Anne you said you’d marry him if you couldn’t get the money!” 

“There’s no debt between spouses,” Anne mumbles. “We’d get to keep the farm, and I wouldn’t ever worry about Marilla’s health again.” 

“But you don’t love him!” She doesn’t know if she’s ever heard Gilbert sound so scandalized. 

“I used to!” she tries to retort, but even Anne knows that her voice betrays her when she tries to speak this lie. “I used to think I was,” she amends, “and maybe that’s as close as I’m allowed to get -- he’s rich, handsome, he even loves me! What more could I ask for?” 

“Coercing you into marriage, demanding interest on money that we all know is just pocket change for someone like him...that’s not love,” Gilbert Blythe responds, with all that....that all-knowing Blytheness in his voice that Anne has hated since she was 13 years old and the new kid in a class of people who had always known each other just as easily as they had known themselves. “Love is selfless, Anne, strong and kind. It makes you better for giving away your heart, even if the one you love doesn’t give you theirs in return.” 

Gilbert Blythe, always acting as if he knows something Anne does not. He speaks as if he’s been in love, at some point over the years since he was last in Avonlea and for some reason Anne absolutely burns with that knowledge. Ooh she just hates him, now at 24 just as easily as she had at 13! 

“And what exactly is love worth if it means I just lose the farm trying to pay for Marilla’s surgery, and still have nothing for the next time she’s sick?” Suddenly Anne is on her feet, hands on her hips as she glares at Gilbert looking quite alarmed as he still sits on the bench. The words she has kept locked on the inside, too private to even be written in a diary, come pouring out in one big rush:

“Three of my four parents are already dead, Gilbert Blythe.” Her voice hitches, to her horror, her sudden fury vanishes as she has to blink away the tears she has kept at bay since she and Marilla buried Matthew. Damn Gilbert, for bringing this out of her as well. “I can’t...I couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.” Her lips thin, and with a breath, her voice steadies. “I don’t care what you, or anyone else thinks about my choices if it means that I can take care of Marilla.” 

Gilbert’s eyes have the sheen of his own tears when he stands, his own lips wobbling just slightly. “I...” he swallows. “Of course, Anne.” Something Anne recognizes as self hatred passes briefly over his face, but she doesn’t understand. “I wish I had money like Gardner to give you, I really do.”   

Anne gentles, even if something inside her twists to be the object of the long-old guilt mixed with pity, much less Gilbert Blythe. Since Matthew’s death, every person in Avonlea it seems has sat with Anne and Marilla and offered their deep condolences, their absolute shock at the pair’s financial state of affairs, how much they wish they could help but sadly cannot, what with the way the bank’s collapse has hit their own finances. Only families like the Gardners survive economic crashes with money to burn. 

“I wouldn’t have taken it even if you had,” she offers instead, shrugging casually. 

His eyes flash. “But you took Gardner’s?” 

“I thought he loved me!” Anne closes her eyes, somehow feeling her cheeks flush even deeper. This is why she’s avoided all mention of Gilbert Blythe so strenuously since high school graduation, because more than anyone else he is the one who drags out the words she is always learning to keep inside. Here he is, somehow pulling confessions Anne hadn’t even dreamed of telling Diana, confessions that make her seem small, and stupid, lost in a world so much more complicated and treacherous than she can handle all on her lonesome. 

Well, she thinks, in for a penny -- 

“I thought he loved me,” she says, “and that he had the money to spare. I didn’t realize...” She looks away again, so that she never has to see him react to her folly. 

“Oh Anne,” Gilbert says, for some reason so soft and stricken that Anne’s knees go weak with her sudden desire to fall to the ground and weep. “You deserve so much better.” 

And now she’s angry again. “What would you know about what I deserve?” Anne spits, “you haven’t even been home since you started med school!” Vaguely, Anne thinks that Gilbert hasn’t been home since she and Roy had gotten serious, serious enough for her to bring him to Green Gables and show him the place that had been her very first love. Coincidences can be so strange. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, glaring again at the ground. “None of this matters. I’m just going to go home” Anne clenches her jaw, knowing that when she gets back to Green Gables she will go into her room and play every excruciating part of this conversation back in her head, again and again until she throws up or passes out at dawn from sheer exhaustion. Maybe both, if she’s lucky. She leans back slightly and manages to turn around on her heels, a trick Gilbert Blythe had always pulled at school and had had girls thinking he was so cool.

She’s five minutes away from the park bench when suddenly she hears him call out her name. 

“Anne,” he shouts again much closer, bending at his waist to balance his hands at his knees as he pants. “God, it really has been two years since I was on the university football team.” 

Despite the roiling emotions of five minutes ago, Anne’s lips quirk. “I can’t imagine you all practiced very much to end up near the bottom of your league every year.” 

Gilbert’s eyes widen, and for some reason he flushes. Maybe he’s so out of shape that it’s from exertion? “I didn’t realize you kept up with my matches.”  Ah. Anne, it seems, will experience nothing else but one long sustained flush as long as she is in front of Gilbert Blythe. “You know,” she tries to say casually, “you hear things here and there. Diana told me the village gossip.” 

Gilbert opens his mouth, but then suddenly shakes his head, like a dog trying to dislodge water from its fur. “I have...” he frowns. “I have a proposition for you.”  Anne raises what she hopes is an elegant eyebrow. “Oh?” 

He grimaces. “There’s a boarding school, a Catholic one, that’s asking for teachers over the summer for a few of their select students who want to be coached for college admissions. Essays, standardized tests, everything. They’ve got heaps of money, and are willing to pay salaries up front. Plus, they cover all your expenses while you’re there!” 

Anne blinks, feeling the beginnings of hope gather as kindling at the very dredges of her heart. Once, both Anne and Gilbert had competed so well against each other that they had both gotten into Harvard. Then, Matthew had died, and Anne decided she could just as easily get a teaching degree at the state school and stay closer to Marilla too. Gilbert alone had had the distinction of being the first from Avonlea to reach such heights, and had reached even higher when he had been accepted again to Harvard Medical School. 

But at one point, both Anne and Gilbert had taken their SATs. They’d both written their application essays. They’d both gotten in. Anne, even, had been offered a full ride compared to Gilbert’s only partial scholarship, so there could even be an argument that of the two, Anne had been the one on top. 

And if nothing else, Anne is even better at teaching than she was at taking tests. 

“I’ll do it,” she says firmly. “Where and when do I need to report, and how much money are they offering?”  For a second, a bright, dazzling grin paints Gilbert’s face. “Really? Ten--” he coughs, “Twenty thousand.” Anne frowns. 

“Each?” It sounds like a dream come true. Five thousand more than Anne needs, and paid upfront. She could save the farm, and put away five thousand towards the farm’s debts. “That sounds....exorbitant.”  He nods, suddenly more confident. “Yep! Twenty thousand for sure.” He laughs. “I know Gardner was supposed to be slumming it at state school, but you really can’t be surprised at how much money rich people are willing to throw at a problem.” 

“The problem being...their children.”  Gilbert’s grin turns wicked. “The problem being their children’s SAT scores, and lack of compelling anecdote to base an admission’s essay on, yes.” 

Anne laughs, wicked in this moment as well. She wishes in this moment, fiercely, as she has many times over the last few years, that she had been able to go to university with Gilbert at her side -- as the friends they had slowly begun to be after years of one and two sided enmity, before time and distance had turned them into near strangers. She doesn’t regret staying back, not really, but there is a part of her that no one had ever understood half as well as Gilbert Blythe, who had, after the Harvard interest meeting, drawn and pinned up a schedule for practice SATs that took into account both his and Anne’s often conflicting life schedules. 

“What’s the catch,” she asks, grinning when Gilbert chokes “come on, Blythe, there’s always a catch with offers like this. Is it across from a waste manufacturing plant? Is the principal a pervert?” 

Slowly, Gilbert Blythe is turning red. “Ah,” he says, shuffling like he never did even when he was an errant schoolboy. “Well,” he says, and....is that his voice cracking? 

“Gilbert,” Anne says, trying to reassure him, “I grew up in the foster system, I can handle much worse than bad smells and pervert principals, I promise.” 

He frowns. “It’s not that,” he says slowly, “but basically they’re looking for two teachers, a man and a woman to manage the boys and the girls while the rest of the staff go on vacation.” 

Anne smiles, trying to ignore the jolt of her heart at the thought of an entire summer with Gilbert, studying like they used to but as friends. Her old dreams, finally coming true. “That’s perfect then, you take one job and I’ll take the other! It’ll be like old times, kind of.” 

He smiles faintly, as if, even after locking horns with the best and brightest at Harvard, Anne is still the person he wants to be trading barbs with over the heads of high school students for months on end. “I’d like nothing better, he says, except...” 

“Except?” 

Gilbert inhales. “ExceptTheSchoolWillOnlyHireAMarriedCoupleSoThatTheyDon’tHaveToWorryAboutOutofWedlockSexorTeachersHavingSexWithStudents.” All in a rush, and now Gilbert is the one who can’t apparently handle eye contact.

“What?” 

“The school,” Gilbert says to his shoes, “since it’s Catholic, and also since they’re lazy, only want a married couple so that they don’t have to have anyone watching to make sure the teachers aren’t having sex with the students. Or each other.” 

Anne blinks. “But we’re not married!” 

Gilbert grimaces, opening his mouth, but then just biting his lip. They could be, Anne thinks, only a tad hysterical. Only all of Avonlea was matching them up all the years of high school, and even the years after until she’d met Roy. It would be so easy to get a certificate. They could get a divorce by September, even annul their marriage since they definitely wouldn’t be having sex. 

Twenty thousand dollars. 

“So what you’re saying,” Anne says slowly, her lip curling of its own accord “is that after all that talk about what love is and isn’t, and telling me that I shouldn’t marry Roy for the money he’d give me, your blockheaded solution is instead, for me to marry you?” 

Gilbert looks up. “Well when you put it that way--”  Anne sees red, even as she already sees herself in one of her old white lace dresses, standing with Gilbert at the courtroom and signing. “Gilbert Blythe I don’t believe you! Sometimes, I think that you really do have all the emotional capacity of that slate I broke over your head!” 

“I know,” he says tone heavy with something so sad that Anne’s hearten softens a bit of its own accord. “But you really need the money, and I promise we’ll get a divorce by September.” He smiles, but there’s something bitter at the corners that Anne has never seen before -- she almost raises her hand to rub the strand of emotion off his lips. “And you’re not the only one who needs the money. Will you do it?” 

Twenty thousand dollars. The farm, Marilla, an end to the eternal pity of Avonlea. And also, a small part of her suggests, an opportunity to finally spend time with this new Gilbert Blythe who went off into the world and left her behind. 

She sighs. “I vote that you be the one to tell Mrs. Lynde.” 

[dabistits]

Himiko & emotional intelligence

This is an aspect of Himiko that I deeply appreciate and want to talk about here, especially since I haven’t seen a comprehensive post about this character trait. I think this is especially important given her desire to Kill and Replace, but it also contradicts portrayals of Himiko that construe her as not particularly smart or strategic. Emotional intelligence is actually a huge asset of hers, in many terms, including as a weapon. She exhibits a profound and seemingly intuitive understanding of other people’s emotions and can modify her own behavior accordingly for her own ends. Below is a listed breakdown with specific examples, in no particular order of importance:

1. Intuitive understanding of unspoken feelings

This is probably the most prominent example, and which we see time and again. Himiko repeatedly makes assertions based off tangential information, which she surmises into an accurate reading of other people’s character. Ochako and Izuku are basically complete strangers to her, but with minimal interaction, Himiko’s able to deduce important relationships to both of them. In the latter examples, while Izuku and Jin have alluded to their feelings to or around her, Himiko cuts right to the heart of the issue: not only does Izuku hold Ochako’s abilities in a conflict situation in high regard, he trusts her; not only does Jin feel guilty for Magne’s death, he feels the most guilt, and cooperating with the yakuza hurts him because of his guilt.

She confidently makes a statement about three different characters, and she’s shown to be correct in how she interprets their feelings. Her intuitive deduction often acts as a narrative device to show authorial intent (that Ochako does have a crush, that Izuku does trust her, Jin does feel guilt), so it’s important that her statements are accurate. As a result, she happens to become one of the most emotionally perceptive characters in the series, almost to an unnerving degree, able to correctly make snap judgments about people’s feelings and relationships. But how else do you use a quirk like Transform, right?

2. Blending into her role

We’ve so far seen Himiko in four different transformations (Rock Lock isn’t on here because I got lazy lol). Quite obviously, she’s not perfect—Kemi’s classmates at Shiketsu notes that she’s been acting weird, and Izuku quickly figures out that the Ochako he rescued during the Hero License Exam was an imposter. That said, Himiko does several things very well that shows it’s not carelessness on her part, so much as reasonable limitations given how much she knows about each of these people.

Starting from the obvious: her mannerisms. Himiko adjusts her mannerisms according to whomever she’s imitating, including expressions, body language, and (I’m assuming, w/o the requisite Japanese knowledge to go on) speech. Her personas are distinctive in each instance, and tailored to suit the situation they’re in, from Ochako’s sheepish look to Izuku’s direct, urgent communication. Himiko assumes a, at the very least, passable imitation of people she’s, again, barely met, adopting salient behavioral traits so she doesn’t easily get found out. Even when Izuku calls her out, he points out technical flaws in her imitation of Ochako (that she didn’t float, the lack of planning when coming to save him) rather than obvious tells from personality.

That said, where and when Himiko uses her Transform ability is also strategic in nature. For sustained periods of transformation, she selected a target who she could imitate more easily, whose strangeness would be more likely to get overlooked. Shishikura Seiji says this about Kemi:

Himiko’s target and surroundings are carefully chosen to minimize chances of discovery, all strategic considerations that rely on an ability to read the atmosphere and people’s dispositions. She makes use of moments of confusion and plays off of people’s (but especially heroes’) need to react and help, betting on them to act before asking too many questions. This also raises an interesting question for me: in the hero license exam as Ochako, did she fall deliberately, counting on Izuku to catch her? Canon doesn’t make it particularly clear either way, but to speculate about it is fun in its own way.

3. Curiosity towards others

This trait ties in obviously to Himiko’s fixation on Kill and Replace, but it also serves to expand her understanding of other people. By asking these questions in her drive to satisfy her curiosity, Himiko must also necessarily take in and process the information she receives in response, so she necessarily acquires an (emotional) understanding towards others. While this line is directed to Izuku, her interrogation of him broadens her perspective about not only Izuku himself, but those who are like him—in this case, heroes. Both Himiko and Tomura (in the mall scene) seek out Izuku to elucidate certain ways of thinking that are foreign to them, and seem to come away from the interaction with some knowledge gained about the enemy. While Tomura is the one who clearly grew during his encounter, in beginning to use his acquired philosophy to gain legitimacy, it would be inaccurate to say Himiko gained nothing from hers, even if it was marginal enough not to be addressed in the canon narrative yet. She’ll obviously have more interaction with Izuku in the future though, so there should be plenty of opportunity to show how this encounter affected her too.

4. Using emotional information for her own ends

All of her skills amount to this—a brilliant play in the Hideout Invasion Arc that is vastly under-appreciated. Let’s set the scene: she and Twice have been drafted into the yakuza, whom neither of them much like, and now they’re embroiled in the yakuza’s affairs which involves a confrontation with heroes. They’re disadvantaged in terms of sheer physical power, they’re trapped in the battlezone with a significant risk of getting arrested, and their true target (Overhaul) is quickly making his escape while Mimic slows everyone down. Mimic is someone with whom she’d had a brief but antagonistic interaction that we know of, maybe more went on off-screen. Regardless, she understands enough about this person to figure out where he’s hiding (which stupefied the heroes), and exactly what to do to make him reveal himself against all his best interests. How she goes about this sets the course for the rest of the chapter.

With the right combination of words, she coaxes Mimic into self-sabotaging by revealing his location, and the heroes react exactly as she wanted them to. They prioritize subduing Mimic; once Izuku catches on to where he’s hiding, he takes him out, and it occupies all of the heroes for just long enough for her and Twice to make their escape. Himiko talks the situation into her favor, and ends up with one of the most troublesome yakuza members out of the way, and the road cleared for Twice and herself to execute their own plan to sabotage Overhaul.

I don’t think I need to go on about how amazing it is to manipulate a chain of events like that. Suffice to say that achieving such a result required a remarkable understanding of Mimic’s character and tics. She knew what to say that would dig the most at his insecurities, what would piss him off the most, and how the heroes would react. Basically, she played them, pretty much effortlessly and with very little time to think everything through. As stated in point 1, her ability to grasp a situation and all personalities involved seems pretty much intuitive, allowing her take advantage of what is going on around her. This is one of those scenes when the cunning of a character truly shines through, and it happens by allowing Himiko to take control of the situation just by reading someone’s personality and emotions. 

5. Emotional intelligence=empathy?

One would think that this all amounts to an extremely sympathetic reading of her, and Himiko does tend to get very sympathetic reactions out of fans. After all, she’s redeemable by her age, she’s fun, and she has extremely endearing interactions with Twice. People particularly like to cite the scene above as evidence that she’s empathetic, and therefore not just a surface-level sadistic serial killer. I somewhat agree on these points, but although I’ve just spent a lot of words detailing indications of her emotional intelligence, I hesitate to assert that it necessarily makes her more predictable in terms of her loyalties or willingness to self-sacrifice.

So as to not get too deeply into what other people think or don’t think, I’ll just present my own argument here. While Himiko does show herself to be perceptive towards other people’s feelings, upset at the team’s loss of Magne, and reassuring when Twice is distressed, it may not come from a totally selfless, empathetic place. This is something of an extrapolation from her behavior in other instances, like the serial killing lmfao, but also this bit towards Tomura:

When faced with the possibility of doing something she doesn’t like, her reaction drastically differs from Twice. Twice is hurt by Tomura asking them to join the yakuza, but Himiko doesn’t seem to feel hurt; rather than echo Twice’s plea for consideration, her reaction is a logical, problem-solving attempt to remove the element that is making her do that which she dislikes. Her gesture towards Tomura is antagonistic. Her expression is placid, she even calls Tomura by his first name, but her action is a threat, making it clear she will hurt someone to get her way.

What I read from this interaction is that, to Himiko, people are disposable if they become ‘unpleasant.’ It’s the people on her good side who warrant her reassurance, but given that it’s Tomura she threatens here, that can change at the drop of a pin. This is why I hesitate to point to her emotional intelligence as something that indicates unconditional loyalty or compassion; there is very clearly a self-centered and opportunistic streak in the way Himiko evaluates people around her and her relationships to them, and that’s a trait that’s often overlooked. People are welcome to interpret her however they want, but I think her willingness to rebel against and threaten the people she deems friends is something that bears acknowledging.

6. Bonus: she still cares to remark on what Tomura thinks though

IT’S CUTE, that’s all.

Emotional intelligence doesn't always point to good deeds and intentions, and I think this aspect of it is ignored when it comes to Himiko. Focus on her character tends towards the moments when she's being compassionate (and I get that because it's really cute) but I feel like it undersells how manipulative she can be. She regularly uses her people skills to infiltrate, confuse, and sabotage, which is also very a interesting and fun part of her character. She can be strategic! She can be cunning! It's just a different type of intelligence that most of our main characters exhibit, especially in terms of how she uses it, but that's also part of what makes her a great villain.

[luckynovak]

                       ❝ AND WHAT ABOUT ME, MOM?     WHAT ABOUT THE DAUGHTER WHO'S STILL HERE?                 LYDIA WAS TAKEN BUT YOU? YOU LEFT. ❞

— PARS UNA: the rumbling.

      Lucky doesn’t want to believe the rumors floating just outside her social circle. Her mother’s name is one very few dare to utter to the actress’s face but they certainly didn’t mind mentioning her behind her back from time to time. Lately however it seemed to be on the tip of everyone’s tongue. Lorraine Jacobs, playwright extraordinaire, back on the West coast to turn one of her infamous plays into a motion picture. At first it felt too outrageous to be true. Lorraine Jacobs hated Hollywood and she’d sworn to never step foot in Los Angeles county again regardless of it being where her children resided and yet it was all true.

       She couldn’t be sure what hurt more that her mother moved back for a job opportunity rather than to mend faces or the fact that she had to find it out through complete and utter strangers congratulating her for the early Oscar buzz her mother’s play turned movie was getting. By the time Lucky’s manager sat her down with news that the director assigned to the project was interested in screen testing her for a part she had already reached her limit. “Excuse me?” She all but shrieked manicured fingers digging into the expensive leather of his couch. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. No, no, fuck no.” What exactly was her mother thinking? That she could make up for years of abandonment by spoon feeding her daughter a role in her movie? Did she really think so little of her own flesh and blood? 

      “Luce, listen, I know how you feel about your mother but this is a golden opportunity,” Jonathan attempted to reason, large hands reaching forward to engulf the one angrily tapping on the surface of his coffee table. “Even if the role you're given is small, it’ll do wonders for your career. It could be the big break you were looking for.” It barely takes her any time at all to pull herself out of his grasp. Her slender frame ricochets from the couch, golden hues burning as they search for the purse she’d abandoned somewhere in his office during their weekly meeting. She should have known something was up when he offered to read through scripts with her rather than just handing her a stack of them and sending her off. “How many times do I have to tell you that I want to earn my big break?” The question leaves her laced in thinly veiled venom. Disappointment etched into her features just as she finds her abandoned bag by a half-dead fern. 

      “I don’t want it handed to me because my father knows someone or because my deadbeat mother rolled back into town and wants to rid herself of some guilt. Now if you’ll excuse me I have somewhere to be.”

— PARS DUORUM: the explosion.

      How she managed to track her mother’s location couldn’t be spoken for. In fact much could be said about the last hour and half of her life. It passed by in a blur of was anger, hurt, and sheer force of will to hunt down the person responsible for her current less than pleasant head space. Ironically enough her mother had only been located fifteen minutes away from the set Lucky traveled to each day. Some may have been comforted by the knowledge of their mother being so close but it only fueled her anger. Tinder to the ever growing fire within the pit of her stomach. Lucille barely gets through the small talk it takes to trick the front desk into providing her a key to her mother’s room and the entire elevator ride up to the woman’s hotel suite is spent perfecting the monologue she had pieced together in the car ride over. 

      “Who the hell do you think you are?” Lucky demands to know the moment her mother swings open the door. She crosses through the threshold without permission, brushing past the older woman with more force than needed. “You can’t just waltz back into town expecting to placate me with a role in your movie. Don’t tell me you think that makes up for a decade and a half of skirting your duties as a mother?” There isn’t a pause long enough for Lorraine to answer, like an automatic with a finger on the trigger, the words kept spewing from her mouth. “You know what’s so funny to me?” Lucky continued, the laugh following her question far from one of amusement. “ You didn’t even have the balls to offer me the role yourself. You had to do it through the director.” 

     The last couple words spill from pink painted lips in a sneer. Her gaze wild and angry as she runs her fingers through wavy brunette trusses not unlike the style being worn by the woman before her. She can feel the tears building up beneath her lids and attempted to will them away. The last thing Lucky wanted to do was shed tears in front of her mother. Even if they were ones caused by years of built up rage. “I’m not sure what you thought you would accomplish by coming back here but,” it’s then Lucky finds herself cut off for the first time since her abrupt entrance.

    “I’m trying to accomplish a movie. That’s it. I’m sorry you worked up all this courage to come here and yell at me but your anger is misplaced.” If Lorraine’s intention were to calm her daughter down the sound of her voice seemed to be having the opposite effect. “If you got approached by anyone to do this movie I can assure you that it wasn’t my doing. In fact I strongly advocated against it.” Girl Rising had been a biographical play based on Lorraine’s real life. Once it became apparent that the success of the play could be repackaged into a successful movie she had been hounded to sign the rights away. Unable to part completely with something so personal she managed to negotiate a position for herself as co-screenwriter which gave her full control of the script but little control anywhere else. 

    When producers began to suggest that her daughter play the titular role as a gimmick to get even more eyes on the movie she had done her best to steer the conversation elsewhere but it seemed that her suggestion of other names hadn’t been enough to rid them of the idea completely. Hesitantly, as if she were holding out for Lucy to decide to leave, Lorraine shut the door behind the hurricane otherwise known as her estranged daughter. She maneuvers past Lucille to head directly to the mini bar. She needed something to subdue the headache forming in her temples. “You’re not going to take it right? It would make things extremely difficult for me in you did.”

   Her mother might as well have slammed one of her Tonys into Lucky’s chest, it would have hurt a lot less than the damage being inflicted upon the actress’s heart by the callously  dismissive words of the woman. In fact I strongly advocated against it. The statement repeats itself within her subconscious, ripping through her psyche much in the similar fashion to that of runaway freight train. How naive could she have been? Of course Lorraine wasn’t capable of extending an olive branch. She barely seemed capable of looking Lucky in the eyes since the disappearance of Lydia. Embarrassment floods through her system, olive features falling into expression devoid of any emotion as hazel hues silently watch the older version of herself cross the room. She barely manages to process the blow inflicted to her ego by her own mother before the woman delivers yet another.

   “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she’s quieter now, her response barely above a whisper. The anger she had entered with suddenly depleted along with most of her energy. Slender shoulders slouch forward, the invisible weight against them threatening to crush her as her mind attempted to pick up the pieces of her heart in real time. She doesn’t mean it, a small voice promises somewhere from the labyrinth of her wounded soul. She loves you, she does, it continues to urge sweetly. All pretty lies meant to sooth her and maybe they may have if it weren’t for the cold gaze in her mother’s eyes as she waited for a response. It was easier to convince herself that the woman who brought her into the world actually cared for her when she wasn’t right in front of her looking anything but the loving mother of her memories. “It would make things difficult for you?”

   “Is that all you care about? Yourself?”

   “Don’t be dramatic, Lucille. I didn’t mean it like that.”

   “But you did mom, you did.”

   God, Lorraine made it so easy to be hated, so why was it that even after all these years Lucky searched desperately her approval? Her love? Any ounce of affection she could drain from the seemingly cold hearted woman left in the place of the mother she once knew. She hadn’t always been so dismissive, cold, cruel and sometimes Lucky couldn’t help but wish that she had been. If she had been a monster from the start then maybe the actress would have been spared the heartbreak of losing a mother. “I've been making excuses for you my whole life and I’m tired. I’m so tired,” her voice breaks with the declaration. Resolve wavering the longer she stays in the presence of her Achilles heel. Hot tears spill over flushed cheeks as shaky fingers pick at the fabric of her skirt. “I can’t imagine the pain of losing a child and I hope I never do but what about me, mom? What about the daughter who’s still here?”

   It’s a question she never dared to utter before this moment, yet as she spoke it she knew it had been one that haunted her ever since the departure of her mother all those years ago. “Lydia was taken, but you? You left.” Her sister held no blame in her departure from Lucky’s life, her exit had been forced upon her. Lorraine Jacobs on the other hand chose to leave Lucky behind and never look back and in the end that had done more damage to her heart than her twin sister’s disappearance ever had. “I never gave myself permission to hate you because I knew you were hurting but why should I care anymore? You clearly don’t care when you hurt me, so you know what?” Lucky asks as she lifts a hand to wipe away at her tears. “I think I will accept the offer to screen test for the movie. Consider it karma for being such a shitty mother.” With nothing else to say and no stomach to stick around long enough to allow her mother enough time to retaliated the actress spun toward the door and made her second dramatic exit of the day.

[bounnostra]

marigold O crisis O grand sob trial O r.e: ana, moss, seattle

To speak right now felt to be triggering an explosion, such was the emotional charge from right next to her- that perfect knife edge of an accusation laced with the pure emotion only describable as one digging their heels in. All Bams could do was dab at her eyes (with her hands alone, as to take Orwell's offering now felt nothing but rude) and try to get her stomach to settle; if she had no hope of removing the stones weighing down her heart, getting the gut knot to lay still seemed the next best option. 

(It was digging her heels in to not leave someone to have to surrender control alone and forcing herself through the snow, nothing but the shape of the animal under her hands and a desire to do the right thing for once for now as an anchor-) 

Even if it was likely incredibly unattainable, as Bams found herself looking back over to Ana once again. What little could be seen of her palms were bright red, but it slipped Bams' notice in favour of the first half smile she’d managed in a little while. Still a shell of its former self, but what could she say. Something in Ana’s eyes - something she’d gently dug at regarding her lack of self preservation so many more lighthearted times - seemed to help string her words together just a little bit more.

“...Some things I’ve said were pretty outlandish. At choice theory times. Again, decision making. Not... a strong point of mine as much as I’d like. Was still trying to... play both sides to their own conclusions, even... that long after...” 

(It was diving out the hotel in search as soon as it was known people won't die but someone else suddenly seemed more tested here, to see if there was anything she could be the one to take the fall on-) 

"...Either way, I. This time, even if I was- stuck, I just- wanted to try and help all of you as... as much as possible, any other way-" 

(It was sitting with someone already so shaken by their minds twisting left right and into the unknown over and over again to try tell them that they're still them, maybe more in common than they realised-) 

Her hands were further and further retreating into fists again, so tightly balled that they really, surely should've released themselves from the sheer pain of it long ago even as the discussion started to swirl around other people- until Moss’ next verbal attack jolted them looser, a side effect of the words cutting right through that knotted stomach and snapping free something that had to force its way through a tightening throat, ripping against the hoarseness still there but ignored nonetheless-

"...You think I'm enjoying this?" 

(It was desperately trying to dig through a hivemind to find the true host and tell her it was just the circumstances rather than her, bandaging fingers broken beyond recognition even if it accelerated her own descent-) 

“You think I’ve enjoyed having to- having to dodge around so much here? I guess it would be easier if I had, huh. Would’ve been a lot easier for me and you if I could have just- if I c-could have just pulled [Ana] or [Scourge] or whoever along guilt free or snickered to myself as I had to pretend I haven’t seen you all die already or been o-on board with- with the winning methods happening here, right..? My- my whole thing is about trying to help people, but here I’ve- I-I’ve had to try... overwhelmingly...” 

(It was going into the second half of a defence with an unfair knowledge advantage that didn’t feel like one, knowing how a successful killer vote went but with no way to suggest in hurried conversations in the snow-) 

The steam ran out just as quickly as it came, punctuated with a strained sound that couldn’t quite decide if it wanted to be a sigh or a sob. By the time Seattle was so calmly gathering up all their remaining points all Bams could do was look at him with utter exhaustion, barely even raising an eyebrow at his new line of questioning; the only change in her expression was a concerned glance over to Aki and the empty seat next to her. 

“...I’ll admit, I... I’ve had to play along with the gang system too. Like it or not, like we all have, whether we... whether we committed murder or not. Fear of Gamb, fear of being singled out by this... stupid system, fear of... well, Frigid did tell us her... plan for how she’d bunk each of us off for her own cause. You want to ask my gang this time about me..?”

A pause for a mental shuffle around of gang members.

“Sure, we’ve been... kinda messy by some standards, I guess. Not for lack of trying, but... at the end of it all. But Clubs... there’s a reason I always asked the others here to tell me if they. Were going to do something. To know what I was getting into this time. We’ve... we’ve described. Clubs already. One... kill last time was so... I guess even Gamb didn’t want to try magically fix it back up when we reset-”

(And it was so much more, all the small acquaintances she tried to stay so on top of, just a little bit for everyone-)

“...I was carried. Last time. And I told you I... felt I owed the Don. But you don’t want to hear it pieced together from me, do you.”

(Would it have been easier otherwise, she wondered?)

(It had been nice while it lasted all over again, after all.) 

[ifeveristoday]

“...You don’t listen to anyone.”

“Nope!”

Angel & Buffy, Hellmouth, Part 1

So this has been the big tease - among others in the Boom! verse. Buffy and Angel had to meet - and whether it would turn romantic? Well, that pretty much was answered in the last few issues of Angel. Angel had to go to Sunnydale, not only for world-saveage purposes but to make friends. Of a sort. And also, all the baddies/omniscient entities in his life kept on telling him that love was going to bring his greatest pain.

Right, says Mr. “I-live-in-a-glass-house-even-though-I’m-a-vampire.”

He doesn’t do happy. So love? Forget about it.

Of course, as anyone who’s ever seen Buffy, the joke’s on him. There’s no time for a full recap of what B/A is and was in the OG canon (and frankly, I’m not the one. As someone who is very picky about BtVS ships, B/A in particular, I have no dog in the eternal battle about who ‘deserved/belonged’ best with Buffy. My only OTP is Buffy/happiness however she finds it. Also let Buffy fuck 2k19, etc. etc.) because what the Boom!verse has done has lifted the overwrought starcrossed/fatedness of it to create something new - the screwball office comedy.

Spoilers for disaster grumpy bats below the cut.

Angel doesn’t believe or have time for this ‘greatest pain greatest love’ nonsense. Buffy has to save the world. Together they’re a roiling mass of stoicism/stubbornness/and misplaced savior complexes. Sounds like endless years of therapy or a tired jaunt through Joseph Campbell, right?

Nope. Think about the campiness and innocence of season 1 Buffy and skip the insta-love retroactive knowledge of S2′s Becoming’s Angel. This is a Buffy and Angel that are annoyed to bits about each other.

Angel views Buffy through a lens of disbelief - one, that this is the Slayer, comma the, and two, Her? Really?

He knows her as an idea - and mostly a bad one.

Buffy figures out who he is belatedly, and spends most of the issue calling him ‘Hunch-y Shoulders Guy,’ ‘Jiminy Cricket,’ ‘Creep-o,’ and ‘Dude that doesn’t even go here,’ before Angel finally tells her his name.

They’re genuine strangers to each other - Angel can’t shake Buffy who wants to know exactly how he knows the things he knows, and also if he knows so much, he ought to know that she’s the Slayer and it’s her job to fight the things in the dark. 

There’s enough evil to go around, children!

She also has zero patience for Angel’s tendency to lapse into self-pitying/resigned guilt trips and calls him out on assuming she needs protection from the Hellmouth.

For his part, Angel tries to be stoic about Buffy coming along, but finally settles into a stunned acceptance that ‘well this might as well happen.’

They slip from rapid-fire interrogation/evasion into a smooth meet-fight cute as they punch out snakes, winged rats, and other demons. Then they’re calling each other by their first names - and in another scene where Buffy lets Angel see her vulnerability and self-doubt (as a nice parallel to the Halloween Dance scene in issue 8 where he asks her what she wants to do)  and he comforts her, telling her she can do something about it. I think about the Angel I met in Angel issue #0 (aka WOC on narrative ice and Angel’s hair shirt is on the inside) and the different way he approaches Buffy. He doesn’t have to protect her or train her. She already has the tools she needs - and as she dives in feet first into the Hellmouth, the strength and conviction to do what needs to be done. It’s Big Damn Hero stuff - but knowing what we know about Buffy now (and Angel), it’s not boring, stirring speechifying to rally the troops. It’s just Buffy. And Angel. Making the choice to do the hard thing - possibly the only thing - so their friends and their world can survive.

This is a chance to see Buffy and Angel as partners in fighting crime (ha) and kicking demon ass and working together without being mired in the tragedy of their will-they-or-they-can’t situation, a slow-burn build-up of trust on a semi-fair playing field (I’m still not happy about the fact that Angel knew about Buffy first but considering he’s kicking and screaming the whole way and the fact that Buffy’s not impressed plus has lingering crush what-if feelings about Robin makes it okay for me) and the sheer comedy that comes from their interactions. B/A being funny without being the butt of a joke or a dismissive snark? It’s more likely than you think when you’ve got the Boom! writers on it.

Ultimately, I know there’s going to be pain involved - because uh, they’re not subtle about this foreshadowing, but the journey to get to that point - I’m still excited to know what’s going to happen. I’m invested. I want to know how they’re going to change each other - for better or worse. I believe that Jordie and Jeremy are going to give the B/A relationship the care and respect that the relationship deserves, just as Jordie has done for Jenny/Giles, and Willow and Xander - hell, she even gave Joyce a long term boyfriend! Relationships are important in this verse, and not just as plot vehicles for drama.

Also, Hellmouth is probably the most exploration we’ve gotten for Boom!Verse Buffy as a character - or a building on of her from issue 8. Buffy is my favorite character from OG canon, but I wasn’t sure of her comic character despite the reasonable 2019 updates - because I admit, I too was stuck a little on the way SMG delivered the Whedonisms and the general sass Buffy has - that’s hard to duplicate in a 2D space, and the art and writing need to work together. I think Jordie had a bumpy start trying to replicate Whedonisms but as the issues have progressed and she found the emotional beat she needed - she doesn’t need to duplicate Joss’s voice. She has her own. And it’s coming through the characters and with Hellmouth, I can safely say, I love this Buffy Summers.

A disclaimer and prerogative to change my mind if all of this goes belly up in the future, obviously.  

😂 

[tenroseforeverandever]

Wonderful Tonight - Chapter 1

Characters: Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Original Character, Wilkins from Vitex Patents

Tags: hurt/comfort; angst; romance; fluff; love; Pete’s World; sexual content; drunkenness; drunken confessions; swearing; songfic

Story Summary:

On the first anniversary of the instantaneous biological metacrisis that created him, the same day he and Rose had been unceremoniously dumped in Pete’s World, the Doctor can think of a few gazillion different ways he would prefer to spend the evening, and the Annual Vitex Gala is not one of them. All he truly wants is to spend a quiet, intimate evening at home alone with Rose. But when Rose doesn’t acknowledge the significance of the date, the Doctor finds the strain and rejection he has worked so hard to overcome surfacing again, leaving him feeling vulnerable and insecure.

A song fic, based on the song Wonderful Tonight, by Eric Clapton.

Notes:

This story has been in the works since Christmas and was intended to be finished by Tentoosday in February. LOLOLOLOL So, right on schedule for me, then!

Written for @doctorroseprompts‘s Tentoosday event.

Many thanks to my brilliant betas mrsbertucci and @rose--nebula​ who have taken the time out of their very busy schedules to look this story over for me.

Four Chapters, posting on Wednesdays

Read also at: AO3; Teaspoon; FF

Summary, Chapter 1:

Feeling out of sorts on the first anniversary of being left in Pete’s world with Rose, the Doctor is worried Jackie will blame him if they show up late to the Annual Vitex Gala, and frustrated that Rose isn’t ready to leave when he is.

--oOo--

It's late in the evening; she's wondering what clothes to wear

She puts on her make-up and brushes her long blonde hair

And then she asks me, “Do I look all right?”

And I say, "Yes, you look wonderful tonight.”

The Doctor stood in the front hall of the little flat, peering at his reflection in the full-length mirror. He ran a tongue over his teeth, and tilting his head from side to side, critically assessed the controlled chaos that was his hair. Giving his fringe a final tweak, he stepped back and swivelled back and forth, his lip curling at the sight of the tuxedo. Well, at least his feet would be comfortable in the black and white Chucks he’d procured specifically for the occasion. After the last party Jackie had hosted, his feet had been aching for days, blistered and cramped by the uncomfortable leather dress shoes she’d insisted he wear.

Nope! Never again!

And especially not tonight of all nights. The day of his… weeeell, his first-ish birthday, he supposed, give or take the millennium’s worth of knowledge packed into his brain. He could think of a few gazillion different ways he would have preferred to spend this evening, and the Annual Vitex Gala was not one of them. The only thing that could possibly make it tolerable was the fact that he would be attending said gala with one Rose Tyler by his side.

One Rose Tyler who was distinctly not in the front hall, ready to go…

“Roooo-ooose! We’re going to be late!” He sent a little burst of annoyance along their bond.

He was usually the one who kept her waiting, primping his hair to untamed perfection. It was her own fault, really. Afterall, it was she who’d found a jar of Pompogix’s Hair Pomade (precisely as brilliant as the stuff he used to use in the Prime Universe). He could hardly be blamed for wanting to make good use of it. You couldn’t rush perfection.

Except in Rose’s case… she always looked perfect. Therefore, he reckoned, logically, there was no reason for her not to be ready to go.

He shuffled from foot to foot as he peered down the hallway to the bedroom. “C’mon, Rose! You know who Jackie’ll blame if we’re late. Me! I’m still recovering from the slap she gave me two bodies ago. I don’t fancy another one, ta!”

Rose’s head popped out from the bedroom doorway, a towel still wrapped around her hair, and her face devoid of make-up. Utterly gorgeous, but definitely not even remotely close to being ready for the gala.

“Blimey, the paps’ll have a field day with shots of you in that get-up.”

“Yeah, ta for that.” Her frosty reply was accompanied by the equivalent of a growl vibrating a warning in his mind and a dangerous little crease forming over the bridge of her nose. She grumbled as she disappeared back into the bedroom, but a few seconds later she called out, “Doctor! I need your help! Can you c’m’ere?”

She seemed a little flustered (as well she should, given the time). He couldn’t imagine how he was supposed to help. Nevertheless, he followed the sound of her voice into the bedroom and found her dressed only in knickers, sheer thigh-high stockings, and the towel on her head, poring over three gowns spread out on the bed before her. The sight of her topless might have been more enticing if he hadn’t been so frustrated.

“I can’t decide which dress to wear.”

“What the hell does it matter? You’ll look beautiful no matter what. Wear a bin bag if you like. Just pick something and let’s get a move on, before Jackie has my head for the centrepiece on the buffet.”

She huffed. “So glad I have you, then!”

“Oh, all right,” he relented, quite sure nothing good would come of him offering his opinion. He looked carefully at the three options, considering the pros and cons of each. “Wear the green one. It’s a festive colour and it’s sparkly. I quite like sparkly.”

“The green one? Really? Do you think so?” Rose screwed up her face, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “I kinda thought the sparkles were a bit naff, to be honest.”

“I knew it!” he growled through gritted teeth. He arched a judgmental eyebrow. “Why did you bother asking me my opinion? Is it some kind of test? A trap? A psychological experiment, perhaps? Hmmm?”

“Blimey, Doctor! Overreacting a bit, yeah?” Rose averted her eyes from him, glancing over the dresses again.

“Nope! I think you’ll find my response was perfectly calibrated to serve the situation at hand. You asked me for my input – which I gave quite willingly – and then, without a second’s consideration, you rejected my opinion out of hand. How am I supposed to react to that?”

Her hands flew to her waist as she turned to face him, a fierce, wolfish spark in her eyes. Her bare breasts jiggled temptingly, and suddenly any frustration was pushed to the back of his mind and he found himself forced to tamp down his body’s responses. Now was not the time for that sort of distraction.

“Oi! Eyes up here!” she snapped with a sharp tweak of their bond. (So, definitely not the time…)

His irritation wriggled back to the forefront, and with his libido conquered, he was able to retrace his earlier train of thought. “It wouldn’t matter what dress I’d selected; you’d have had some excuse not to choose it.” Oh, it felt quite satisfying to get another dig in.

“That’s not true.” Hurt transformed Rose’s face, and she placed a soft hand on his arm. Her love and sadness flooded through him. “I value your opinion, Doctor. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

As her lovely, soft, kissable lower lip wobbled, guilt gushed through him. He sighed. Despite his better judgement, he found himself spouting out more words of gala-gown wisdom. “How about the black one, eh, Rose? Classic! You can never go wrong with a black dress for a formal occasion.”

“Hmmmm… but black’s so dull. I mean it’s a beautiful dress, but it’s nearly Christmas, yeah?”

The Doctor gaped at her in stunned silence for a few charged ticks, then he threw his hands in the air. “I give up! I can’t win! Tell you what: I’ll be waiting in the lounge, planning my funeral. Jackie can throw another party to celebrate the occasion, and you’ll be able to wear the black dress to that.” He stalked away, ignoring Rose’s incoherent squeaks of outrage.

He needed to calm down. He was on edge and was letting little things get to him. He muffled his telepathic connection with Rose. Bombarding one another with negative emotions would be nothing but hurtful.  All he had truly wanted was to spend a quiet, intimate evening at home alone with her. This day held special significance for him.

That fact, in and of itself, came as a shock.

Never before had he bothered to observe the linear progression of his life; he’d never given it any thought. Even though he knew time progressed in a distinctly non-linear, wibbly-wobbly fashion, he had to face the fact that his time would now have a distinct end; there would be no more cheating death. Observing the passing years, taking time to reflect on the successes and challenges of the past and his aspirations for the future, had suddenly become something of the utmost importance. He wanted to celebrate the love he and Rose shared and how hard they had both worked over the past year to overcome the strain and rejection of being unceremoniously dumped in Pete’s World.

Instead, he once again felt redundant, useless… vulnerable, the unsettling image of Rose walking away from him at Bad Wolf Bay, rejecting him as he tried to win her favour, playing on auto-repeat in his mind.

The last thing he wanted to do was parade around at the Vitex Gala, hobnobbing and exchanging vapid small talk with vacuous socialites and tedious politicians.

He wandered into the kitchen. A nice cuppa was what he needed. The brilliant effects of the superheated infusion of free-radicals and tannins never failed to soothe him. A good, stiff drink would have been marvelous as well, but he’d learned the hard way, this new, more-human body was not very good at regulating the effects of excessive alcohol consumption. He’d be drinking plenty at the gala, later (if they ever got there); he needed to be careful not to overdo it. No, for the time being, tea would be just perfect.

He filled Rose’s mug as well, adding the perfect amount of milk (just a splash) and honey (a little, to cut the bitterness). She had her own demons to face on this particular day. Although… come to think of it, she hadn’t mentioned it, either the day – his birthday (that hurt a bit), or the demons – being abandoned by the other Doctor and, in turn, abandoning… him, the metacrisis (at least, initially). There were more closed doors in her mind than normal, but she hadn’t even given any overt hints of any anxiety through their bond. But even if she wasn’t worried, he still thought she would probably appreciate the gesture of the warm comforting beverage and it would give him a chance to apologize for his “overreacting”, however justified it might have been.

He returned to the bedroom and leaned against the doorjamb, mugs in hand, silently watching Rose as she sat at her little vanity, still in a semi-dressed state (although her hair was loose and dry now), carefully applying the finishing touches to her make-up. Analysing her reflection, she dabbed stray traces of crimson lipstick from the corners of her voluptuous mouth, then smoothed the concealer under her eyes. With a heavy sigh, she picked up her hairbrush, and pulled it through the soft tangles of her long, blonde hair. She’d allowed it to grow over the past year and it now reached almost halfway down her back. The doctor loved the silken feel of it between his fingers, loved the way it tumbled around his face when she rode him to their mutual bliss.

And, oh, that train of thought was no more helpful now than it had been earlier, but unable to resist the temptation, he stepped forward into the room. “Here, let me.” He took a gulp from his mug before setting both mugs on the vanity. He plucked the brush from Rose’s hand.  “Have a cuppa,” he offered as he gathered her hair in his hands and brushed out the ends at the back where she couldn’t reach.

“Oh, a cuppa would go down a treat. But I can’t. Just put on my lippie, yeah.”

Rebuffed again, he held his tongue. Rose hadn’t meant to be hurtful, but it seemed he just couldn’t do anything right. Although, it wasn’t like he was doing anything especially wrong... just a bit off-target, perhaps. He decided there wasn’t anything to be gained by making a fuss, but he didn’t trust his stupid gob to behave. It would be safer to just leave her to her grooming. He set the brush down firmly on the vanity and, pointedly removing her tea mug, moved toward the door.

“Doctor…?”

He turned back toward her, helpless to resist the sway she held over him. She’d always been his weakness… and his strength. She completed him.

“I was hopin’ you could braid my hair for me...”

“No doubt I could…” He arched an eyebrow at her.

“Would you? Please? Somethin’ nice and soft. You always make it look nice, yeah.”

“Will you hurry and get dressed if I do?”

“Oh, we’re not that late!”

He set her mug down again. “Not your life on the line, is it?” he snarked, but he was unable to keep a small smile from tugging at his lips.

As he gathered her hair in his hands, parting it with expert strokes of his fingers, she sighed her contentment and met his eyes in the mirror. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I love you,” she whispered.

He opened their bond, allowing his love to mingle with hers. “My precious girl, I love you too… but I’d like to be around for many more years to repeat that sentiment.” He granted her a teasing frown, and she responded with a cheeky kiss blown at his reflection. When he rolled his eyes, she chuckled and beamed at him, her tongue peeking out at the corner of her smile.

In minutes he had completed styling her hair, a long, soft braid that meandered down the back of her head. “It just needs… Oh, I know! You get your dress on, and I’ll be back with the finishing touches in two shakes.”

Leaving a bemused Rose in his wake, he rushed out of the bedroom to the kitchen. He had purchased a dozen red roses, intending to present them to her before leaving the flat that evening, but decided they would be put to much better use tucked into her golden plaits. He scrounged in the drawers for the kitchen shears and snipped several of the roses from their stems. He tucked one into the lapel of his jacket (he and Rose would coordinate) and gathered the rest of them up.

When he returned to the bedroom, he was stopped short (nearly spilling the roses from the cradle of his hands) at the sight before him: Rose, resplendent in a deep-red, satin gown. He licked his lips at the sight of her: the v-neck, off-the-shoulder bodice displayed just enough of the soft, round curves of her breasts; and the flowing, floor-length skirt sported a thigh-high slit that exposed the full length of a tawny, toned leg. She was absolutely captivating.

Shaking himself out of his daze, the Doctor swept behind her, beginning his task of nestling the flowers into her tresses. He couldn’t resist planting soft kisses to her bare shoulders and neck as he worked, and she encouraged him with soft hums, as each touch of his lips sent a surge of his arousal along their bond. With one last rose tucked into her braids, he placed a final kiss behind her ear and reluctantly pulled away from her.

“All done. Are you ready, then?”

“Almost…” She stepped back to the vanity and picked up the earrings lying there. She turned to him as she set them in her ears, her dress swirling around her. And then she asked him, “Do I look all right?”

“All right?” No words could properly express the vision of loveliness before him; he stammered, trying to find the right way to describe how she affected him, how in awe of her he was. What eventually came out of his stupid gob was the understatement of the year. He only hoped he had projected enough emotion along with his words for her to understand what he had really meant… “My darling, you look wonderful, tonight.”

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Z 158

Vegeta’s been dominating Cell for the past two episodes, and Cell’s just now realized that he can’t win.    Cornered, all he can do is lament the fact that he can’t obtain his perfect form.   This catches Vegeta’s interest, since the implication is that Perfect Cell would win this this fight easily.    Cell insists that it’s true.   Sure, he can’t beat Vegeta now, but he’s confident that his final form would be invincible.  

Of course, Cell doesn’t actually know that.  He’s just repeating what Dr. Gero’s computer told him, and the computer was making some pretty big assumptions based on projected power levels the Z-Fighters might have reached if they hadn’t all been killed in the alternate future Cell was born in.   We’ve already seen Dr. Gero make some major miscalculations.   He never dreamed Goku and Vegeta could become Super Saiyans; he never expected 17 and 18 to kill him; he never knew about the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, which is how Vegeta got as powerful as he is now.   For all Cell knows, he might absorb 18 and still lose.   But he has faith in Dr. Gero.   In the end, all Cell really ever has is his creator’s declaration that Cell is the perfect, ultimate life form. 

Vegeta spends a decent amount of this episode kicking the crap out of Cell for no obvious reason.    He’s clearly not trying to finish Cell off, because he could have done that a long time ago.    He’s not trying to wear down Cell’s resolve, because Cell’s basically already given up.    He wouldn’t be making excuses now if he still thought he could win.   

But while he smacks him around, he asks Cell if he really believes in what he’s saying.    I’m pretty sure the beating is just filler Toei added in to give Vegeta something to do while he thinks this over.  

As dumb as this is, I can appreciate Vegeta’s position here.   He can either kill Cell now, easily, and be done with the whole thing, but there’d be very little satisfaction in it.   And he’d have to live with the knowledge that he could have fought Cells’ perfect form and chose not to.   He’d have to live with the mystery of just how strong Perfect Cell really would have been.   

From the sidelines, Trunks sees what’s going on here.   He warns Vegeta not to let Cell trick him.  The whole point of this battle was to prevent Cell from becoming perfect.   But that was the others’ mission, not Vegeta’s.    He doesn’t care about the Earth, or securing a victory.   He just wants the best possible fight.  I think this is an important distinction, because if Vegeta only cared about glory or recognition, he’d just bump Cell off immediately so no one else could steal the accolade.  

And I suppose this speaks to Vegeta’s character flaw.   As much as he talks about his desire to fight and to be the best, those goals are usually at odds with each other.    At some point, the fight ends, and you have to claim your victory.   Vegeta seems reluctant to do that here.    He made the same mistake against the other Androids.   When 19 and 20 proved too easy for him, he insisted on letting Gero activate 17 and 18 so he could fight them instead.   In doing so, he traded an easy victory for a harrowing loss.    Neither result would have satisfied him.   In the end, what Vegeta wants is a fairy tale battle, where he’s somehow both invincible and faced with a suitable challenger.  

On some level, this sort of dilemma probably applies to Trunks as well, since he’s half-Saiyan, but he’s also coming from a very different perspective.   Where Trunks came from, the Z-Figthers--including Vegeta--already lost this battle, and he’s been living with the consesquences of that defeat ever since.   Wins and losses aren’t abstract concepts to Trunks.    They matter, and right now he really wishes his dad would just take the W.  

Really, what’s dumb about this is that by Vegeta’s own admission, Trunks is almost as strong as he is.   Then you’ve got Goku training in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber himself, so there’s a decent chance that he’ll be catching up to Vegeta very soon.   So it’s not like Vegeta needs this challenge from Perfect Cell.   He’s got at least two worthy opponents to play with after this is over.    Maybe Vegeta just doesn’t like the stakes, though.   He wants Perfect Cell because he knows he might die if he loses.   

Speaking of Goku, he’s curently taking a bubble bath with his kid. 

While all of this has been going on, Krillin has noticed Androids 16 and 18 on the same island, watching this battle.    Krillin has the remote control that can shut down 18, allowing him to destroy her so that Cell can’t absorb her and become perfect.    That angle seemed kind of superfluous before, since it looked like Vegeta had Cell completely boxed in.   But now, it looks like Vegeta’s planning to let Cell go, which means Krillin might just be the only chance of stopping Cell.   If there’s no 18, it doesn’t matter how badly Cell wants to become perfect, or how much Vegeta wants to help him.

The problem is that Krillin is conflicted about this.   18 kissed him during their first encounter, and that still haunts him.   

To be sure, I don’t think this is just a matter of Krillin losing perspective over a cute girl.    His attraction to 18 certainly clouds things for him, but it’s more than that.   Shutting her off might be one thing, but it can’t end there.    Krillin would have to destroy her to ensure that Cell wouldn’t be able to grab her lifeless body and absorb her that way.   

And when you get right down to it, Krillin can’t square that in his head.   From what he’s seen the androids aren’t such bad people.   They spared the Z-Fighters before, and most of the things Future Trunks said they would do just haven’t happened yet.   Right now, they look scared and helpless, and Krillin didn’t get into this business to kill scared, helpless people in cold blood. 

Basically, this is trolley problem.   Krillin can kill one person now and live with the guilt, or he can spare her and risk letting many, many people die by his inaction.  Of course, 18 might still get absorbed by Cell, so sparing her might not change anything.    Maybe if Vegeta wasn’t beating Cell up so easily right now, Krillin would feel a greater compulsion to act.  But right now, the whole situation looks pretty grey to him.    Does it really make sense to kill one enemy to beat another, when both of them have already been neutralized?  

This is why this is one of my favorite episodes.    The sheer turmoil that Krillin goes through is some really great drama, which is balanced perfectly by Vegeta facing a similar dilemma.    The difference is that Krillin’s indecision is selfless, while Vegeta’s is completely selfish.   

And in the end, he just steps out from his cover.    18 hears him by the clanking sound of his huge brass balls.  

Then he just drops the remote, and she flips out, wondering how he got one of those.    I don’t know how she knows what it’s for, since it looks pretty nondescript.   Maybe she’s just guessing.

Then Krillin apologizes to Bulma for what he’s about to do.   He knows a lot of work went into getting him this far.  He’s about to throw it all away, but he knows it’s not a simple thing.

Then he just cuts the remote in two with his foot!    Awesome.    This is kind of an overlooked moment, probably because the emotional impact of it is so great.   Yes, Krillin’s made his fateful decision, and that’s the main point here, but he’s also a super-karate guy, so when he decides to break something, he does it as cool as possible.    Team Four Star did a funny out take where he accidentally hits the button with his foot, causing 18 to explode.   That’s great and all, but we can see here that Krillin knows exactly how to kick with such precision as to miss the button altogether.   

As for 18, she just wants to know why he did this.    Krillin tells her to run for it, but she knows he didn’t come all this way just to warn her about Cell.    She can see the entire story laid before her.   Krillin’s conflicted expression, the broken remote, Cell, it’s obvious to her that he had a chance to stop all of this and rejected it.  

Meanwhile, Vegeta has decided to let Cell continue his search for 18, but Trunks didn’t agree to jack shit.    He’s more than strong enough to kill Cell if Vegeta won’t, and that’s what he’s going to do.    Cell looks back to object, but then...

He notices the androids!   And Trunks sees them too!     How did they not spot them until just now if they were so close?   Ah, the fickle hands of fate...

[whatscallion]

nightmare.

/ /- hello! been a bit since i've put up writing. so, here we are with a little romanogers living hell. it's great. originally a collab with @captain-festeve.

There are days where I find myself lost in thoughts, and those are the most dangerous days for me to endure. I'm distracted, and I miss details. It's always in the details that truths are hidden, creeping between lines and smoldering in the background. These days where my thoughts consume me, I know better than to engage in anything remotely social, be it through my Big Brother employer or those I considered friends. People pry. People take advantage of my lack of attention. This was something I learned early on, having inadvertently allowed a greenhorn to get me in an arm bar during a spar session.

I should just go home. I'm no use here today in this shell of an organization. I'd be more detrimental than anything, and the importance of knowing when one is compromised is a sublime skill.

Thank god these days are few and far between.

The door to the apartment in Manhattan swung open without sound, leaving Natalia greeted with the stale familiarity of a life without much luxury. It forced her to feel a sense of homesickness for Brooklyn despite it not being too far away. The notion of yearning for a place that belonged in the past forced sadness to blend with anger, setting her jaw tight as the door slammed, waking the only other inhabitant of her dwelling. Liho, in nonchalant arrogance, perked up at company from its perch on the window sill. A small squeak came from her only trustworthy companion, but the Soviet ignored the call for attention. A heavy mood was settling over her thoughts, plucking at precious pieces of energy. It left her with just enough to fall haphazardly onto her disheveled bed.

Natalia should've known with how quickly everything black that this was so far out of the ordinary. Further into a void she fell, her back breaking through a barrier to allow a frigid cold to overtake her, as if a frozen lake had swallowed her whole. Through thick darkness, she waded without panic or reason. There was simply a void to supply absolute nothing. Calmness and peace held her tightly without weight. It was bliss transcending that of any cumulatively consecutive nights of slumber.

The abyss shattered as lightning struck, stars burning too brightly as pain screamed forth to make itself pertinently known. Weightlessness transpired into a sluggish lead weight filling muscle and sinew without mercy. The coldness was no longer comforting, but cumbersome in its own unique way. Copper blossomed on her tastebuds as discomfort rolled in like rapids in a river. Movements ceased in their freedom and gravity held her in an iron grip. The stark contrast between then and now snapped forward, forcing her eyes open once more.

This was not her home in Manhattan. It wasn't even Steve's old apartment in Brooklyn. Concrete from floor to ceiling radiated damp coldness, the lone lightbulb above sending ominous shadows to cascade about the room. There was no room for slack, giving Natalia little respite from the discomfort coursing through her in that moment. Parts of her were hurting, but she was restrained completely. Nothing budged. There had been times in which there was enough room in restraints that she could slip her hand through with minimal damage to herself, but not now.

Dull emeralds were slow to sharpen, focusing on the details she could soak up from the room. How did she even get here? Origins were hazy as she attempted to recollect, but there was no doubt that this was real. Where was here, exactly? Despite the knowledge already gained, Natalia struggled once more against her restraints, only to find nothing was giving still. For now, she was at the mercy of whoever came through the heavy metal door before her.

Minutes blended into hours before movement filtered through beyond the barrier, attention coming forward full fledged. Shadows moved just beneath the door, and for an instant, the redhead braced herself against who she speculated to be just on the other side of that doorway. Chaos? Recluse? Any of the countless enemies she'd made throughout her illustrious career? No amount of reaffirming her callous nature could prepare her for the person when they finally made themselves known.

Eyes once swimming with the purest ocean depths were now carved from the most unforgiving ice, darkened with malcontent and twisted virtues. A jawline she long ago memorized was now set tight as a warped grin beset lips that once tasted of honey. Steve Rogers, a man who had the world's faith placed upon his shoulders, was now clad in the enemy colors and standing right before the former spy. The Axis painted him coal and blood, and Natalia felt herself try to grow indifferent, but she knew just how opposite that was.

The sound of heavy boots carried him forward as Natalia settled a glare on the Hydra emblem on his chest - the same chest she had jokingly spoken of landing a plane on. Such candid thoughts threatened to worm their way into the folds of her mind, but she had to push them back, Now was not the time. That chapter was closed. He is not who he used to be.

"The red really does suit you," he murmured in amusement, a hand coming out to touch upon the tacky substance coating the side of her face. Natalia instinctively flinched from his touch, but the fury in her glare grew palpable as she drew her gaze to meet his own twisted one. "My ballerina."

The use of her pet name tore adrenaline through her, masking heartbreak as she struggled fruitlessly against the restraints. This was not Steve. This was not the one she had fallen for. This was not the one who had betrayed her. Emotions were breaking free of their usual restraints, the belief that love was for children thrashed at the site of love lost. This was her nightmare, and it was smiling pleasantly down at her, confident that she wouldn't be able to escape her confinement.

"You're so beautiful, even when you're angry," he spoke in a quiet sigh, a calloused hand coming up once more to brush back strands of crimson. The flinch wasn't there anymore, death conveyed in verdant depths as gazes met. Some small sliver of her wanted to see a semblance of the man she once more, some sort of guilt or regret of even love, but nothing remained. All of it washed away beneath the haze of deceit. Words tempted to bubble forth, filled with scorn and anger, but she had to think straight. This was not the first time she'd been crossed by someone so close. This was merely the most surprising of them. Natalia had to keep her cool, keep from letting him creep beneath her skin and keep herself alive.

"There's no coming back from this, Steve." It wasn't a plea or a bargain. This was her warning to him, that no matter what actions played out against her or the world, there would be someone there to stop him in his tracks. Natasha could only hope to be alive to see it. "You died the second your turned your back on the world and your team."

"You won't live long enough to tell anyone about this, my ballerina." Natalia couldn't help but feel fire surge through her at the reiteration of her pet name. It was obvious he saw it, the quirk of his lips lifting further in warped nature. He was reaching for something on his belt, but the dread settling in the pit of her stomach told her she already knew what it was. "I've been doing this since I was a child. Loyalty to something greater, something you wouldn't understand."

Cold steel pressed just beneath her jaw, prompting her chin to tilt up against sharp pressure. The knife in his grip had been what she spied upon when he came in. In that moment, Natalia felt more mortal than any other point in her life. Mortal, doomed, and heartbroken. But she couldn't let him see. The Soviet couldn't let Steve see just how much he had won already. Defiance, though feigned, was thick in her glare.

"The Red Room was a great asset," he noted. Immediately, Natalia's thoughts were working against his words. No, no, no. "A shame their best couldn't live up to their expectations."

Time had to be bought. If her fate was sealed, she could prolong it enough to at least do some damage to the belly of the beast. Speaking meant added pressure to the knife's tip, but she couldn't even bring coherent words forth that weren't coated in venom. Every inch of her being wanted to rip him apart with her teeth, hope having died with the warmth she held for him. A moment passed, and that slap-worthy confidence drew him down to press his lips against her own in sheer audacity.

There was no possible way in which this stemmed from what they shared before, forcing Natalia to react appropriately. Teeth bit hard into his lower lip, enough to break skin and renew that taste of stock copper on her tongue. In a split second, the tip of the knife pierced through her own skin, though only enough to force compliance in getting his lip out from between the Widow's jaws. Steve withdrew, smiling with crimson coating his teeth.

"So full of fire. Reminds me of our trip to Macau." His tongue darted out over his lip, doing little against the trickling crimson. Even using the back of his hand to wipe at the mess did so little to help.

"Let's hope you have the same stamina you showed me during those long and hot nights."

[danipopplers]

Mirrored Masks Chapter 8

It’s finally up!! Sorry I’m a little late! 

You can also read it on AO3 and FF.Net

Reiner watched the sky darken to purples and blues with increasing anxiety. His stomach felt as though it dropped down below the horizon with the sun itself. Annie would be waiting for them behind the woodshed soon, and she hadn’t looked pleased at the prospect when she’d stopped him after equipment maintenance.

“Tonight. Don’t get sidetracked,” she’d hissed in his ear. The implication being that he would get sidetracked with Krista. He wished he could do that instead of slipping back into his warrior persona. Being a soldier in her presence was becoming much more enjoyable. The thought of how he’d dismissed her after maintenance ate at the corners of his mind. He couldn’t risk speaking to her so soon after Annie’s warning, but he hoped it hadn’t bothered her. It had certainly bothered him.

They never had long to discuss their plans and preparations here. The training was designed to schedule out each increment of time in the cadet’s day so that they were molded effectively. They had taken to meeting during chores or during times designated for changing or grooming. The last two months or so had granted him a reprieve from their scheming, and a break from his double life, as the snows had been too deep for Annie to travel. His Soldiers uniform had settled comfortably across his shoulders during the break, and he found that he didn’t entirely like taking it off. It was a better fit than his Warriors clothes, always too tight and too big at the same time. Too ill fitting. The Soldier role, however, fit him like a glove.

As the horizon swallowed the last streaks of gold, Reiner pushed himself off the cabin stairs and made his way casually towards the wood shed. Deep pockets hid his white knuckled fists as he strode for nonchalance.

They were already waiting for him, in deep conversation with each other. They made a pretty picture, Bertolt almost bent double to whisper fervently to her, stars beginning to peak out over head. The couple even froze and fell silent when he approached, both staring at him in wariness. All that was missing was their hands clasped. But this wasn’t an interrupted romantic rendezvous. This was a covert military debriefing. His stomach flipped over on itself.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Annie drawled, and Bertolt straightened quickly, a hint of blush staining his cheeks. Maybe it had been more romantic than he thought?

“I told you I’d be here, didn’t I?” Reiner replied defensively. Inwardly, he winced at how childish he sounded, but he closed the gap between them anyways, closing in the triangle and crossing his arms.

“I’m glad you came Reiner,” Bertolt smiled cautiously, and he felt a sharp twinge of guilt. Bertolt trusted him, and while he knew he hadn’t betrayed that trust outright, Reiner knew he hadn’t been the friend he’d deserved.

“Thanks Bertolt,” he smiled back, and let his gaze flick down. “Alright Annie, what’s up?”

Half lidded eyes blinked slowly in his direction. “What’s...up?”

“Yeah. What did you find out?” Reiner fought the urge to tap his foot impatiently. The air was chilling around them as night descended. Annie observed him in silence for a few agonizing moments before answering.

“I couldn’t make it far last night. The snows haven’t cleared enough for wall access yet.” A small shrug ghosted across her frame, spiking Reiner’s already mounting frustration.

“Then why are we even here?” he snapped.

“Why? Have somewhere better to be?” Annie asked dryly, and blinked at him again, long and slow. Silence stretched, a gaping maw between them that Reiner struggled to find a method of closing. Bertolt did it for him.

“I’m sure Reiner wants to be here, Annie,” he said softly, cutting her a quick look. “Please continue.”

She stared at Bertolt, and Reiner wondered for a moment if she would refuse to speak on sheer principal before she began again.

“I made it to the village to the west.”

“Dauper?” Bertolt clarified, and Reiner could see the location on the map in his mind. He had memorized the layout of the walls and villages as soon as they’d arrived- they all had. Training had cemented the knowledge to the point that he couldn’t help the images from flooding his mind as they spoke. There was only one problem.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Now he didn’t just see places and names. He saw faces.

“Sasha is from Dauper,” he commented absently. He couldn’t stop seeing the faces of the people he’d met plastered over unassuming dots. Dots could be conquered and catalogued. Faces were more difficult. The other two were staring at him, one with unsurprised annoyance, and the other with confusion. “What?”

“How do you know that?” Bertolt asked, brow crinkling as he tried to puzzle it out.

“I heard her talking to Krista one time,” he deflected, and mentally throttled himself for bringing her up. Keeping her required more discretion than he had just shown. “Just keep going ok?”

His comment didn’t go unnoticed, but Annie chose to ignore it to continue with the debriefing.

“No one had anything interesting to talk about other than the usual. The King passed some new tax law no one is happy about.”

Bertolt nodded, deep in thought. “Unsurprising. There’s still too many mouths to feed in here. They must be looking for a way to keep up their supply of titan fodder.”

“Come on, Bertolt,” Reiner hedged, and shifted his weight on his feet. Regardless of the truth of his words, it made him...uneasy to hear them said so casually. Even if he had repeated that same rhetoric scarcely weeks before. They continued on as though he hadn’t spoken.

“I’m going to scout Hermina next week. The snows should be clear by then. It’s another pocket city like the one we smashed the first time,” Annie continued, ignorant to the stab of guilt that ripped through him at the reminder. A dull ache started at the base of his skull.

Bertolt hummed in consideration. “Could be useful. What do you think Reiner?”

Two sets of eyes swiveled in his direction. He felt his face heat under their scrutiny. And he made a choice.

“Do you-” he began and cleared his throat. Even to his ears, he sounded scratchy and unsure. “...do you think smashing another wall will actually draw out the Attack Titan?”

They stared at him again, and as the tension drew and snapped, the Warrior part of his mind knew he had made a mistake. Screamed at him to reconsider, to say something. Anything. The Soldier watched on silently.

“Are you doubting your own plan?” Annie finally asked, her monotone dripping with disdain.

“I’m just saying,” he replied hastily. What was he even doing? “It didn’t work the first time, and it’s been four years so far.”

“So what? Our time here was a waste?” she snapped, and Reiner could feel the monotone deserting her. Harsh tones began to creep in, a sure sign of her fury. “Marcel’s death was a waste?”

His resolve shrunk in the face of her raw emotion. “No, I didn’t say that,” he corrected in an attempt to backtrack.

“You might as well have,” she sneered. “You told us to trust you, and we did. You got us into this mess.”

“I still think we can draw the Attack Titan out,” he assured her, hands up in supplication as he struggled to put words to his feelings. “I just...don’t think more people have to die.”

“Excuse me?” Annie began, but Bertolt placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Tagging in.

“Look, the death bothers me too. But this is our purpose,” he reminded him, eyes pleading. “We were honored when we were given this mission. Marley chose us.”

“Not him,” she barked. Bertolt winced and looked away. Reiner sucked in a breath as his heart stuttered to a stop.

“What?”

“Marley didn’t choose you. Marley didn’t want you,” she hissed venomously. “You’re a second string nobody desperate for a cause.”

The dull ache in his skull stretched wider with every word she spoke.

“My blood runs red for Marley,” Reiner whispered in retaliation, drawing a sharp scoff from Annie.

“I’m sure it does. But it runs hot for her.”

“Who?” he asked. He knew who. He could feel the blood draining from his face. The headache throbbed. His ignorance was drawing an almost animated fury from his teammate.

“Oh, now he’s going to play dumb.” Annie shot Bertolt a look as she gestured. “The girl you’ve been mooning after and compromising yourself for. Krista Lenz.”

“Shut up,” he murmured, his voice trampled by her continued onslaught. The ache curled like fingers, grasping at his face.

“You’ve put us all at risk with your little obsession.”

“Shut up.” The urge to rub the palms of his hands into his eyes, burrowing them into his skull was almost too strong to ignore.

“If she finds out who you are, she will turn you in without any remorse.” Her eyes narrowed, blue eyes flashing ice.

“Annie-” Bertolt cut in, but she barreled over him in her escalation, scenting blood in the water.

“It would be the patriotic thing of her to do surely. You’re nothing-”

“I said-” Reiner began. The pain ratcheted up. It was all he could do to stay standing.

“-but a traitor.”

“SHUT UP!”

His voice echoed in the frigid air, as she finally fell silent. Annie let her energy drop off again, face falling slack and arms crossing again as her wall resurfaced. Bertolt eyed him warily, as though he’d never quite seen him before. His pain retreated in the lengthening silence but continued to throb, asserting its presence with the steady beat of his heart.

“What’d I tell you, Bertolt?” she asked, he tone bordering on bored. As though she hadn’t just goaded him into erupting in the night. “He’s compromised.”

His blood ran cold. “No.”

“Our mission is at stake here,” she reminded them.

“I’m not compromised,” Reiner insisted, but he could feel his credibility splitting beneath his feet. He couldn’t even try for a tone that bespoke of the absurdity of her accusation- he just sounded desperate.

“Which one of us will have to eat him?” She looked to Bertolt for the answer, but he was still frozen in place, staring at Reiner in mute shock.

“Hey!” That tone was better. At least this time his tone held some indignation. Indignant didn’t sound guilty.

“Reiner please…” Bertolt sounded exhausted, anxious. Sad.

“What? I’m not! I haven’t told her anything suspicious,” he insisted, hands spread in supplication. “I’ve kept up appearances.”

“A little too well,” Annie snarked and he scowled back at her, irritation spiking.

“How is that a crime? I’m making sure we don’t get caught!” The Soldier reminded him that that wasn’t all he was doing. He was falling, head first. He was drowning in her. But that same voice begged him- deny it.

“By sleeping with the enemy? Real helpful!” she snorted and Bertolt blinked rapidly, pulling himself from his shocked stupor and rounding on Reiner.

“Have you slept with her?”

“No! Of course not!” Reiner assured him. At least that wasn’t a lie.

“But you want to,” Annie asserted, and Reiner held his tongue. That wasn’t a lie either, but they could never know that. It would be the end of them both.

“You can’t have her Reiner.” Reiner felt his fists clench as Bertolt spoke. He resisted the irrational urge to bare his bare his teeth in defiance.

“To even think it is to risk everything we stand for.” As though he didn’t already know that. The Warrior grappled with it. The Soldier flaunted it.

“I don’t want her!” he insisted, lying through his teeth. The pain flared white hot in his mind, distorting his denial with pain and confusion. “I want to complete our mission and GO HOME!”

“Prove it then.”

Reiner’s mind stuttered to a halt as Annie’s challenge leveled him. She couldn’t mean...

“W-What?”

“Prove it. Cut her out.” She said it casually, as though it wasn’t asking him to remove the one thing that allowed him to live as this other person; that made his soldier’s role tangible.

“Don’t you think that's a little extreme?” Bertolt hedged, but Annie held her hand, silencing him with a glance.

“So is a traitor’s execution,” she reminded them and stalked towards Reiner, feet crunching in the frigid earth, her stare freezing him in his spot. “What do you think? Do they still draw and quarter in this hell hole? Or will they just throw us over the wall?”

Reiner’s mind spun on its wheels, searching wildly for traction. His chance to maintain his budding relationship was slipping like sand through his fingers, and no amount of grasping could contain it. His chance to have this pure, simple thing- the only thing he’d wanted for himself since before he signed up for the Warrior unit as a boy- drifted away on the cold winter wind. He reached out anyways.

“I can’t cut her out. That will look suspicious.”

He could tell it didn’t work before he’d finished his sentence.

“I saw her face after equipment maintenance this morning. She already thinks something is wrong. It shouldn’t be hard to use that for distance.”

Her drawn expression flitted into his mind before despair pushed it back out. “But that…”

“And she has that friend who always hangs off her and shoots you dirty looks. She’ll pick up the slack,” Annie assured him.

Acidic jealousy tinged his vision, twisting his insides. “Ymir-”

“Oh so you know your rival’s name too?”

The ache throbbed again. “She-”

“Reiner...do you have feelings for her?”

Pleading eyes met his, and in that moment he knew he looked as desperate as Bertolt. How could he answer that? How could he admit to the depth of his illicit feelings?

“No I-” he began but Annie cut him off.

“Don’t lie to us.”

“Reiner, we’re your family.” Guilt and pain coupled as they ripped viscerally through his torso. Bertolt was correct after all. They were the closest thing he had to family within these Walls. “Please. Do you have feelings for her?”

“I…” Truth or lie? And whose to tell? Soldier? Warrior? “I don’t know.”

The expression that stole over Bertolt’s face was sympathetic, but firm.

“Then it’s too close to risk. I’m sorry. But she could compromise our mission and ruin our life's work. You have to let her go.”

Reiner expected the world to crumple at the edges when all hope was extinguished, but in reality, it was just silence. Deafening, hollow silence that seeped into his soul and colored his thoughts in dark, opaque hues, shrouding the future in despair. The pit forming in his gut rooted him in place.

“Understood.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth. But Bertolt and Annie didn’t notice, and they both nodded as though they’d checked on a box on their to-do list. Reaffirm Reiner’s loyalty? Check.

Ruin Reiner’s existence as a Soldier? Check.

“Then we’ll meet back here same time next week?” Bertolt asked. The words sounded far away. Annie nodded.

“I should be finished with the Hermina scope by then.”

“Good. Come on, Reiner. Let’s grab some dinner.”

And then, as though nothing had changed at all, Bertolt pulled him along from behind the shed towards the mess hall. He sat with him as they ate, Reiner choking down every bite, eyes glued to his food to avoid the gaze of anyone unintended. Any people for whom he might harbor feelings. After all, he was a Warrior. He had a job to do. A mission to complete.

Orders to follow.

[bgn846]

The Niflheim Experiment Chapter 11

The last thing any of them expected was Noct’s sheepish reaction at being told the news of Luna’s departure. Gladio had assumed the prince would yell and demand they go after her. Instead, Noct didn’t utter a word. He stayed glued to his seat and stared at the floor. Shit, they’d missed something in translation here; Noct should have been railing to rally the troops.

After several long minutes of terrible silence, Ignis took a guess as to what was going on. “Highness, did you help them leave?” he asked with a knowing look. Leave it to Ignis to crack the case. The look on Noct’s face spoke volumes, he still refused to make eye contact, but it was clear he’d done just as Ignis had suggested.

Groaning in frustration, Gladio wished they’d waited to have their ‘planning meeting’ so it would have included Iggy.  They’d wasted time trying to think ahead only to be thrown right back to square one. “Noct, where are they going?”

This time the prince had something to say, “I dunno,” he spat out. “Away from here and away from the empire, that’s all I know.”

The next hour was fraught with emotion as they all tried to figure out where Luna and Ravus had gone. It became obvious that Noct was telling the truth, he didn’t know and didn’t want to.  Gladio supposed Noct’s reasoning had been if he didn’t know, he couldn’t tell no matter how hard he was questioned. Stepping out of the room for a moment Gladio tried to clear his head. If they were seeking safety from the empire, where would they go? No place came to mind.  In an act of sheer frustration, he pulled out his phone and texted Ravus.

Gladiolus Amicitia 7:39pm: I’ll never forgive myself if you or Luna dies. You got me involved and now you think you can just run away.  That’s a shitty move.”

Without re-reading his message Gladio hit send in a fit of rage. He was angry at having missed the signs last night and again, not being able to do a damn thing to help.  Why was he constantly being thrust into situations where he had no control over anything? What kind of special punishment was this?

“Gladio, is everything alright?” A voice asked from behind.

Turning revealed Ignis standing just outside the doorway to the meeting room with a concerned look. “I’m just pissed, we can’t seem to catch a break,” he growled.

“Perhaps if we regrouped and --.”

“We’ve regrouped already, and it didn’t help, Iggy. Noct isn’t even on our side, which is screwed up when you think about it.”

“Now, now, there is no need to question Noct’s part in this, he was only doing what he felt was right.”

“Helping them leave? How is that a good thing, how does that help? They could get captured by the empire and be killed!” Gladio exclaimed.  He could feel his blood pumping faster just thinking about that scenario. “They tried to turn me into a daemon, what do you think they’ll do to them if they get caught?”

“Love, calm down, I know you’re frustrated but this isn’t going to solve matters,” Ignis tried as he walked closer.

“Nothing I’ve done has helped!” he bellowed. “I got captured like an idiot and set off a chain of events that has resulted in this clusterfuck.  Gods, why the hell am I so freaking useless?!” After the words left his mouth Gladio shut down. He didn’t want to talk anymore, there was nothing else left to do.  Stepping back and away from Ignis he shook his head, enough was enough.

Without any further explanation he turned and left, he needed to escape this nightmare.  Ignis called after him but he ignored it. Everyone else had been allowed to run from their problems, now it was his turn.

However, his defiant streak didn’t last long.  In the time it took Gladio to walk outside, to a quiet corner of the gardens, the guilt at having behaved like a child caught up to him. Today sucked so badly, he should’ve stayed home. Sighing in defeat at his own foolishness Gladio dug out his phone.  He could at least call Ignis and apologize for leaving.

Ignis answered but didn’t immediately talk to him, “Yes, it’s Gladio, hold on one moment.” He uttered before his voice got louder. “Please tell me you’ve not skipped town as well.” Ignis chided.

“No, sorry, I’m acting like an asshole.” Gladio supplied before slipping into silence once more.

“We are all stressed, might you be willing to come back so we can continue?”

“I can’t, I – I need some time.  It’s not like we can do anything else about Luna and Ravus.  They’re gone.”

Ignis was silent for a beat, “You make it sound as if they are already dead.”

“They might as well be! We can’t protect them now.” Gladio sputtered.  

“You don’t know that.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter at the moment.” Humming thoughtfully in response Ignis took a deep breath but remained quiet. Gladio could tell he was stressing the advisor out. “Sorry, I know you don’t need me actin’ like a fool on top of everything else right now.”

“As I said before, we are all stressed. Perhaps, I could come to sit with you?”

“I think I’d be shitty company, but I’m in our spot in the gardens.”

“Very good, I’ll be there shortly,” Ignis said before hanging up.

Left again with his own destructive thoughts, Gladio couldn’t help but worry about Luna and Ravus. After everything they’d been through, he owed it to them to secure their wellbeing.

Plopping down on the grass Gladio leaned forward cradling his head in his hands. He had to calm down and think. Being a big mope wasn’t going to solve anything. A buzzing noise caught his attention a second later, thinking it was Ignis calling Gladio pulled his phone out. The caller id was blocked. A small part of his brain desperately hoped it was either Ravus or Luna but he knew that was too good to be true.

Answering the call quickly Gladio almost fumbled the phone out of his shaking fingers and into the grass. “Hello?”

“Are you always in the habit of sending rude text messages?” Ravus clipped voice asked.

“Are you two alright?!” Gladio blurted. He knew Ravus wouldn’t tell him shit so he could at least make sure they were safe.

“Same as we were last night.”

“Thank the six,” he breathed.

“What? That’s it, you send me a nasty text and then thank the astrals we’re not in ill health?” Ravus questioned gruffly.

“Like I could say anything that would make you come back,” Gladio scoffed. “I may miss some things Ravus, but not I’m not that stupid.”

“To my knowledge you’ve not missed anything Gladiolus.”

“Damn, full name status. Guess us Lucians screwed up real bad this time.”

“Stop acting like a child,” Ravus huffed. “I’m traveling with one already,” he added in a hushed tone.

“Sorry, I shoulda tried to talk to her but I thought I had more time,” Gladio lamented.

“It’s not your job to help my sister understand my viewpoint on things. I’m not sure she’d ever believe you anyway.”

“I’m pissed at Noct cause of you,” Gladio threw in for good measure.

“Oh don’t blame me for that one; my lovely sister handled our escape.”

“Seriously?! You were okay staying?”

“I can’t say I especially liked it, but I do feel like it was a safer choice.”

Gladio was about to respond when he heard Luna shouting in the background. Well, it was more like whining but she still wasn’t happy. “Did I just get you in trouble?”

“Nonsense, I’ve always been in trouble. Don’t worry yourself about that one.”

“We’re both a right pair of idiots, aren’t we?” Gladio sighed.

“Now, I’m not following you, why are you an idiot?” Ravus questioned.

“I’ve screwed everything up since day one, I got captured, turned the empire against you, lost the oracle, should I continue?”

Ravus took a deep breath over the phone and cleared his throat before replying. “Gladiolus, you got captured because you saved your prince. The empire turned against me because I made the choice to leave them,” he paused and sighed heavily. “Luna does what she wants, so please don’t think that us leaving is any reflection on you.”  

Luna, again, made a noise in the background, but this time she came close enough to be heard clearly. “What does he think?” she asked with concern.

“He feels responsible for you running away,” Ravus explained calmly.

“No, no, no, that’s not true at all, give me the phone.” After a brief pause, Luna’s voice was crystal clear. “Gladio, you can’t think any of this is your fault. I needed to get away to protect you all.”

That wasn’t what Gladio was expecting to hear. “What do you mean protect us? We’re supposed to be watching over you.”

“No, there’s more to this than just the armies and the emperor. There is another evil at play that we’ve not accounted for.”

Distracted for a moment when Ignis suddenly appeared by his side Gladio motioned for the man to sit as he pointed to his phone. Pulling Ignis close cued him in that Gladio wanted him to listen as well.  Nervous to put the phone on speaker in case it spooked Luna, Gladio continued. “What do you mean another evil? That sounds ominous.”

“It is, I’m afraid Niflheim has discovered an ancient power.”

“What? We need to research this so we can figure out how to beat it.”

“No, you don’t understand Gladio, it’s not what it’s a who.” Luna corrected.

“One man can’t be that difficult to beat, who is it?” Gladio asked nervously.

“I have reason to believe Niflheim has discovered adagium.”

Gladio had no idea what Luna was talking about, but Ignis flinched and had gone pale. “Luna, this doesn’t sound good at all, please come back so we come up with a plan of attack.”

“Trust me, this is the best way.”

“Luna I don’t thin--.” Gladio’s words died into thin air as the phone line disconnected.  “Luna! No!” he shouted. Dammit, why was he always left trying to pick up the pieces?  “Who the hell is adagium?!” he demanded reaching out and grabbing Ignis’ arm.

Ignis still looked rattled and was trying to come up with something to say. “I believe we may need to speak with the king. What little I do know has never been told to me directly.”

That confused Gladio even more. “Come on, let’s get Noct as well.”

“Aren’t you still mad at him?”

“Yeah I’m pissed but we got a lead, this is more than we’ve had since I got back. We need to figure out who this dude is and see if we can find Luna.”

--

Gladio wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anymore. How the heck had this been forgotten? A crazy man had stormed Insomnia nearly twenty years ago and no one knew?! The ensuing calamity and minor destruction had ended up in the history books, but it’d simply been attributed to Ifrit going rogue. The truth behind the tale was shocking and hard to believe.

However, the thing that was even harder to swallow was the reason why the king had lied about the attack in the first place.  Gladio felt like his world was falling apart.  He wasn’t mad at Noct anymore, far from it. He wished he could take away his friend's pain, but there was nothing he could do.  Noct had a prophecy to fulfill, a fairly grim one from what Gladio could gather.

Though, Gladio still didn’t know the details, as he’d been asked to leave along with everyone else so Regis could talk with his son.  Remembering his father’s adamant declaration that Regis wouldn’t be happy to send Noct out of the city again, Gladio wondered if that was why. No wonder he’d gotten so upset earlier.

Now, as he sat outside the king’s office waiting for any kind of update Gladio felt truly lost. Things had gotten so out of hand.  The sound of footsteps approached caused him to look up. Aranea and Loqi were coming and they didn’t look happy.

“We heard something bad had happened, how can we help?” Aranea announced as they came to a halt in front Clarus.

“I’m not sure what you could do at this point. The prince is with his father at the moment and I’m not going to interrupt that meeting.” Clarus supplied.

“What about Ravus and Luna? Can we go get them? I’ve got my drop ship at the ready.” Aranea offered.    

“I’m afraid you’d be wasting gas, we’ve no idea where they headed off to.”

“I put a tracker in Ravus’ sword, I can find him.” Aranea supplied like it was nothing.

“When did you do that?!” Gladio growled before his father could respond.

“Ages ago, when I didn’t know where his loyalties lied.”

“And you think he’s not discovered it yet?” Clarus asked in disbelief.

“He’s smart but I’m smarter, so I’ll ask again. Do you want me to go get him?”

“Yes!” Gladio blurted, “They’re not safe and Luna’s rambling about evil people and Noct’s--,” Gladio trailed off not willing to say anything more. The news that his friend and prince had to die to save them all was not an easy pill to swallow.  There had to be something they could do to stop all of this.

Aranea looked a little shocked at the outburst but remained silent. It seemed she was looking between Clarus and him waiting for a more direct answer.

“I can’t stop you should you decide to go look for them,” Clarus added a second later.

“You can’t stop me taking Loqi with me either, can you?”

Clarus simply shook his head, but he didn’t look the least bit angry about it.

“I’m going with you!” Gladio huffed as he stood quickly. “I can’t let you two go out there alone without backup.”

“Who are we keeping an eye out for?” Loqi asked with concern.

“From what I’ve gathered, it’s a man named Ardyn Izunia or Ardyn Lucis Caelum.” Clarus announced somberly.

“I knew that idiot was bad news!” Aranea angrily spit out. “He always gave me the creeps.”

“Ardyn is the bad guy?” Loqi scoffed. “He’s just one of the emperor's puppets from what I could tell.”

“I think you may have that backward sweetie. Remember, no one ever knew where he came from. Plus, the fact that he hung out with Versteal so much was always a red flag. We gotta get a move on if he’s involved.”

Gladio moved to follow Aranea and Clarus held out his hand. “Whoa there, aren’t you forgetting your duties?”

“Rescuing me got Luna caught up in all this, I need to see this through.”

“You have an oath to uphold to Noctis if I’m not mistaken.”

“If I don’t help put a stop to this now, Noct won’t be alive for me protect, dad,” Gladio replied sadly. That comment seemed to halt Clarus in his tracks. He waivered and lowered his hand after taking a long breath.

“I need more time to think on this.”

“I’m leaving in thirty minutes, whoever shows up gets to come along,” Aranea announced before walking away with Loqi by her side.

“Dad, I have to help. If we can bring Luna and Ravus back we can talk more about how to beat this Ardyn guy.” Clarus barely imperceptible head nod was all Gladio needed to see to know he’d succeeded.

“I’ll keep watch over the king and Noctis. I have a feeling Regis isn’t going to want to part ways with his son anytime soon.”

“I’ll let you know when we’ve found them and are on our way back.” Gladio sighed in relief, thankful that he’d been given the go-ahead to proceed. Turning to his boyfriend Gladio tried to think of what he could say. He’d only just come back and now he was leaving again. “Iggy – I –I.”

“You two can talk more on the ride in the dropship.” Clarus cut in as he began to herd them down the hall together.

“What?”

“I’m not letting you go out there alone!” Clarus all but yelled. “Ignis do what you can and I expect a full report when you get back.” His father pulled him into a tight embrace. When they pulled apart Gladio was greeted with a watery smile. “I have faith you in son.” He added before turning to go back into Regis’ office.

“I need to grab some things from the training room,” Ignis cut in quietly. “We’d best hurry.”

“Yeah, for sure, uh--,” Gladio stalled out not knowing what else to say. Ignis reassuring grip on his arm was the only thing that got him moving a second later. They had a mission to do. Find Ravus and Luna and bring them back.

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