#word count: 5k | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eryiss · 2 years

Text

Tell Me Lies

Summary: Laxus returns to the guild to find Freed under the influence of a truth spell, which forces him to answer all questions truthfully and as fully as he can. Laxus takes it upon himself to help Freed navigate the potential embarrassment the spell can cause, but his own crush on Freed and a slip of the tongue might change their relationship forever.

Notes: This is my main piece for Fraxus Day 2022, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This was a fairly last minute idea for me but I really liked the concept, so I hope you all like it too. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy it.

Links: Ao3

Tell Me Lies

Laxus would deny any accusation that he sought Freed out when he entered the guildhall, happenstance simply made it so that Freed was the first thing happened to see. He would also deny that he felt a flush of relief when he saw him uninjured and safe from the mission that he'd been on for the past month. He would most definitely deny how his lips turned up into a proud smile as he saw Freed surrounded by guild members who, years prior, Freed would never have spoken to

He wouldn't deny, however, that he stumbled when he caught the expression on Freed's face. His pissed off and barely holding back expression.

It took time to know Freed's mannerisms and expressions, but Laxus had known him long enough to notice it. Something was happening that Freed didn't like, and if it kept happening, Freed was going to snap, and it wasn't going to be pretty. It made sense that he was annoyed - he was surrounded by Natsu, Cana and Gajeel; how could anybody not be annoyed - but he actually looked pissed off. The last time he'd been pissed was when Bickslow was going through one of his pranking phases and Freed's coat had been caught up in the crossfire, stained with a slime that had been intended to go over Gray's head. That hadn't been pretty.

The look of tension irked Laxus and pushed him to walk forward. As he did, he noticed that, while only Natsu, Cana and Gajeel were speaking to Freed, many people were watching. It was like a show. Laxus joined the crowd, glancing at Levy. She wasn't the type to bullshit, and she was watching with a small look of pity.

"What's going on?" He demanded quietly.

"Laxus," She startled, looking up, then towards Freed. When she spoke again, it was louder. Clearly, she was speaking to the crowd Freed had around him. "You're here."

Everyone looked towards him, a mixture of emotions on their faces. Everything from guilt, to amusement, to a shock of fear. Laxus narrowed his eyes at all of them before settling on Freed, who was still tense but there was a glimmer of worry in his eyes. "I asked you what's going on?"

Laxus didn't miss the tint of gold behind Freed's eyes before he spoke. "I have been put under the effect of a truth spell, and they've decided that they're going to make me the subject of their jokes and ask personal questions about me."

Tensing his jaw, Laxus looked at the crowd. "Leave. All of you."

"Come on," Natsu laughed, nudging Laxus on the arm and completely missing the anger Laxus was feeling on Freed's behalf. "It's fun."

He was dragged away by someone smarter than him, and Laxus glared at him until he was as far away as he could be without leaving the guildhall. Only once the brigade of idiots had scattered throughout the guild, and Laxus had made his opinion on them clear with nasty glares at them all, he turned to Freed. Some of the tension in his shoulders had left, but he was still holding onto a mug with a white knuckle grasp and looked like he wanted to leave. Why hadn't he left already?

"Couldn't you have stayed at home?" He asked as he took a seat.

"No, the spell has a failsafe in it. If I don't answer a certain number of questions per hour, then I go into a trance-like state and confess secrets," Freed sounded resigned as he spoke. It did sound like him, rather than his voice running without his control, so maybe he had control over the wording at least. "Or, at least that's what I was told. I haven't allowed myself to risk testing it."

"Can you control how you answer the questions?"

"Somewhat, but I can't talk myself out of answering them. Supposedly I have to be honest and whole in my responses."

"Shit."

"Yes."

Neither spoke. This was kind of a nightmare for Freed, Laxus thought. Freed was the kind of man who could break down the walls of privacy when he wanted to, but still liked to have them as a defence. While not exactly a control freak, he had always needed to be the master of his own destiny in both big and small ways, and what he allowed people to know certainly was something he needed influence over. It was bullshit that it had been taken away from him, and Laxus felt a flush of anger hit him.

The fact that the guild had been taking liberties pissed Laxus off. He could only hope that they hadn't been too invasive with their questions but didn't have too much hope. Fairy Tail members were good people, but often assholes. If they took things too far, Laxus was going to deal with them. But not now; Laxus needed to actually help Freed out.

"Anything else you know about the spell?" Laxus asked, before faltering. "You want me to stop asking questions? I didn't think."

"The questions you've asked me so far don't bother me," Freed assured him, with the smallest of smiles. That was good, at least. "And the spell states that I must answer all questions truthfully and as completely as I can. If I don't answer at least fifteen questions every waking hour I go into the trance which I mentioned earlier. Any attempt to circumvent the spell - such as putting myself to sleep until it's over or writing runes on myself that would force me to lie - also induce this trance. The spell lasts for forty-eight hours, twenty seven of which have already elapsed. The spell was placed on me in an act of revenge, which I personally believe was petty, unwarranted and overall, rather pathetic."

Laxus grinned a little. Freed definitely had a bit of control over what he was saying then. "Would you be okay if I asked what you did that warranted revenge?"

Freed paused and looked at Laxus with a hint of thankfulness. "I would be okay with that. But, again, I insist that the revenge was not warranted."

"Of course, you don't," Laxus huffed with a smile. "What did you do?"

"The couple who commissioned me for the mission were wealthy and had no class about it. Throughout my work they required daily updates which hindered my progress greatly. Once I had done everything that they needed, I returned to their home for payment. Rather than getting what I was promised, I was given a reduced rate because, and I'm quoting this, 'my work was slapdash and my updates laughable and filled with poor grammar.' None of that is correct, particularly the part about my grammar, which was perfect."

"I'm gonna guess you told them that?"

"I did," Freed nodded, tension slipping away further. "Apparently the old bitch didn't like that and cast this spell on me."

"Old bitch?" Laxus grinned.

"There's a chance that my self censorship abilities might have slipped," Freed averted his gaze, and Laxus laughed. "I believe that the intention was to humiliate me as some form of punishment. But once they'd explained the spell to me - rather gloatingly I might add - I knew everything I needed and teleported back to Magnolia."

"Sounds like you," Laxus commented, then frowned. "Wait, did you not get paid at all then? You were out there for a month, right? That's bullshit."

"I was there for thirty four days, and I was paid two thirds of what I was owed," A second of self satisfaction rushed Freed's face and he leant forward slightly, almost conspiratorially. "I also saw a rather fetching pocket watch, which I took before I left. That has more than made up for the deficit in my pay."

"You stole from them?" Laxus laughed. "Ain't you worried that they'll come here and start shit with you."

"I did steal from them, and I don't think they'll do anything. The spell they cast on me is highly illegal, much more serious than stealing something. If they're smart, they'll avoid the rune knights just like I am."

"You're a devious son of a bitch," Laxus praised, and Freed raised his mug as if to toast the sentiment.

Now that the anger and tension that had been bubbling up inside Freed was gone, Laxus found himself glancing around the guildhall to everyone who had been taking liberties with Freed's situation. When he did, he saw that half the guild was watching them as if waiting for something. Laxus felt a snap of rage break inside of him; did they think he was going to pull the same crap that they had and were waiting for some blackmail or private information that Freed would never willingly tell them? Assholes.

It was when he noticed how quiet they were all being that Laxus' patience died, and he stood up with a huff. Freed looked at him with a quirk in his brow, and Laxus jerked his head up tinstructing Freed to do the same.

"You need someone askin' you questions, don't need an audience. We'll haul up at your place, I'll ask you a bunch of lame ass questions until this shit's over. That okay?"

"That sounds very nice," Freed answered, and Laxus didn't miss the slight falter in his movements. He didn't know what caused it and thought it best not to ask.

Once Freed was standing, he swung his coat - devoid of all pink slime after Bickslow had been tasked in scrubbing it all out using his toothbrush - on. They had just walked out of the doors and onto the streets when someone ran up behind them, the clatter of his feet barely covering the 'Natsu, stop it!' that Lucy yelled. They both turned to see Natsu with a shit eating grin that made Laxus nervous.

"Before ya go, Freed, who was it that you said you wanted to date because you thought he was hot as hell? I forgot."

Motherfucker.

He saw panic and dread overcome Freed and acted on instinct. At least fifteen strong bolts of lightning slammed into the ground in a thick cylinder that surrounded them, striking Natsu at the same time. It was a thunderous explosion and overbearing crackling filled the space, and Laxus made sure to look away from Freed so that he couldn't read his lips. He could hear nothing but the sound of his spell, and once a few moments had passed, he looked down at Freed to see he was no longer speaking, he let the lightning go.

"Thank you," Freed said quietly.

"Don't mention it," Laxus shrugged. "Natsu's an ass."

"He is."

Laxus nodded, and they walked in silence towards Freed's house. He didn't mention that Freed's cheeks were redder than they had been before. He didn't linger on the fact that Freed definitely had someone he wanted to get romantic with. He didn't allow himself to think about how much it would hurt to hear it was anyone other than him.

He needed to get Freed through this, and then deal with his own crap later. It'd be fine.

----

The day, once Laxus had seemingly taken charge of it, got significantly better for Freed. Despite the man's usual stoicism, Laxus had more than enough questions to fulfil the spell's quota and none of them had been the least bit invasive of his privacy. He had thanked Laxus a few times over the day but, as expected of the blonde, he had brushed it off and told Freed not to mention it.

As the day went on, Freed found himself becoming less stilted in his conversation. While the spell hadn't controlled everything he said, it was hard not to be cautious. With Laxus, the ease of conversation they usually shared was slowly coming back.

"Okay," Laxus said, checking his watch when one hour turned to the next. "I'm gonna make dinner."

"Why?" Freed asked with an edge of amusement in his tone. "That is not where your talents lie."

"I know, that's why I'm doin' it," Laxus shrugged, standing up and going towards the kitchen. Freed followed him, hoping for an explanation of his logic. "I don't know what I'm doing in the kitchen, right? You do. I'll probably have a hell of a lot of questions to ask ya. Seems to make sense."

Freed didn't falter, but he smiled slightly at Laxus' back. The man was more thoughtful than people would ever give him credit for, including himself. Freed was never sure if he, and the other small group of chosen friends, were the only people to see this side of Laxus. He both hoped that wasn't true and hoped that it was. Yes, Laxus deserved to be appreciated in his fullness, but there was something so… satisfying about being in this group that Laxus seemed to hold dear.

Not one to mince around things, Freed had never shied away from his feelings for Laxus. They had developed slowly, but surely, and once Laxus had returned from his banishment it had exploded in intensity. He had a calmness to him, an honesty that he'd previously lacked. He had mellowed into someone that Freed not only crushed on but felt like he could love.

Of course, the crushing hadn't stopped either. Looking at the broad expanse of the man's back, the narrowness of his waist, the bulging biceps and tuggable hair, Freed found it impossible to imagine anyone not crushing on Laxus.

Acting on it was off the table, though. It was a risk he wasn't yet prepared to take.

The process of cooking was somewhat a mixed bag of competency. It certainly got the hour's questions completed, but also served to highlight the difference between Laxus and Freed. Whereas Freed was partial to a stringent set of instructions and enjoyed the process of making a pile of ingredients into a full meal, Laxus seemingly got annoyed at each step of making the dish. He was snappy to the point of childishness, and Freed sat at the kitchen table holding in laughter as Laxus cussed at a pan of frying onions. There was also the onslaught of rhetorical questions aimed at the process - Why the hell does it need this much garlic? Why does it need to be exactly this much sauce, what does it matter? Who the hell was the first person to sauté anything, it's bullshit? - all of which were exponentially more amusing when Freed found himself answering them due to the spell's effect reacting to his words.

When the meal was finished, they sat opposite each other to eat it. Freed couldn't help but give note to the domesticity of their actions. They spent the day together, reading and talking, and now they shared a meal that they had cooked together. There was something homely about it. Something new.

Their friendship was not one of homely delights and gentle domestic bliss. They were close, that was never in doubt, but they both needed time alone to recoup their energy. Whenever they weren't on a mission, they would usually spend their evenings in their respective homes. Freed sometimes would spend an evening at the guild - that had been a goal he'd set for himself after the harvest festival to become a more well rounded person - but Laxus leant towards seclusion. This simple coexistence was new for them both.

"They didn't pry too much, did they?" Laxus asked suddenly, and Freed looked up from his food in confusion. "Earlier, in the guild, they weren't taking liberties. And you don't need to tell me what they made you say if you don't want to."

"They were not kind," Freed said slowly, and felt a tugging from the spell that made him keep going. "They knowingly asked questions I would not have answered without the spell. They wanted to embarrass me."

"Who was the worst?"

"Natsu, Cana, Gajeel, and Loke."

"I'll make sure they regret it," Laxus promised. He said it casually, like Freed didn't need to be assured because he should expect it anyway, and the implied certainty of Laxus being on his side made Freed smile.

"You don't need to do that, I have my own plans laid out already," Freed smiled.

"Is it gonna be bad?"

"It will be, but I think fair when considering what they have done," Freed smirked, and Laxus grinned at him.

With the issue settled, they went back to eating. The meal was a good one and, once it was finished, Freed insisted he would wash the dishes and clean the kitchen as Laxus had done most of the work in preparing their food. He dismissed Laxus to his living room, knowing that talking all day would start to wear away at Laxus and he would need some time to recoup his reserves. Laxus took some convincing, he had made a mess of the kitchen and seemingly felt guilty about it, but Freed insisted.

Once the kitchen was in a usable state again, Freed glanced at the clock and sighed. The cooking and cleaning had taken over an hour, and they'd not gotten close to the new hours' number of questions. He would have liked to give Laxus more time to himself, but needs must, and he hoped Laxus would understand.

When he walked back into his living room, he saw Laxus had been looking around. Laxus didn't often come to Freed's house, so he wouldn't begrudge the man the smallest bit of snooping. When Laxus turned to him with a teasing grin, Freed suddenly regretted leaving Laxus alone at all.

"So, put together Freed Justine - dignified and stoic - has a gossip magazine," Laxus taunted, holding something up that made Freed's pulse quicken. "Why the hell do you have this?"

It was unintentional, Freed knew it, but Laxus had just asked him a question.

Panic rushed through him. He knew what that magazine was, and he knew why he had saved it. It had been a drunken thought made in a weak moment, one forgotten about almost immediately, but the spell hadn't allowed him his dignity so far. He felt the magic in his skull tugging at him, forcing him to speak. He wanted to break through it, to push the spell away or even just leave, but he couldn't. The spell wouldn't allow it, and Freed found his mouth opened without his consent.

"It's the issue where you did a photo spread, I thought I should keep it," Freed forced the words out, trying to control the words. That was believable. That wasn't overly humiliating. That was- he kept talking. "You wore a variety of swimsuits in the shoot, your body looked incredible, and they flattered you perfectly. I found it too hot to simply throw it away."

Neither spoke. Freed's humiliation festered.

"Freed," Laxus began. "Shit, I didn't mean to-"

Freed turned on his heel, walked to his bedroom, and locked it with a rune.

----

Laxus paced up and down Freed's hallway, cursing under his breath. How the hell had he let that happen, he'd been so fucking careful in not asking stupid questions all day. He had gotten sloppy - all the casual time spent with Freed must have made him stupid, dammit - and now he'd hurt Freed. Freed was a prideful man and making him confess something like that was a massive fucking mistake.

"Come on, Freed, open the door," Laxus said into the locked door. "It ain't that big of a deal and, well, just let me speak to you face to face. It ain't a problem, just open the door."

He knew he wouldn't get a response, nor would the door open. Freed hadn't openly responded to anything he said, other than the questions he had shouted through the door so that the spell's other effect wouldn't take place. He'd made sure they were simply factual things - trivia and nowhere near personal - and Freed's responses were quiet and subdued. It had hurt a lot to know that was his fault.

What were they going to do? Freed was the kind of man who would not get over this if Laxus handled it badly. Laxus couldn't let that happen. He just needed to make Freed feel less embarrassed. He could do that. He didn't know how, but he could.

Fuck, he was bad at these things. He could fight, that was all. If Freed was facing a dark wizard, then all Laxus would have to do is jump in front of the spell and let it hit him instead. He could take the pain himself, fall on his own blade if he had to, but when it came to emotional crap, he didn't…

Fall on his own blade. That… that might work.

"I'm leaving, but not for long," Laxus said into the door. "Just remember that this ain't as big a deal as you think it is, and I'm gonna prove it. Don't put up runes around the house."

Again, no response, but Laxus hadn't expected one. He hesitated for a moment, placing a hand on the door and giving it a gentle push to see if Freed's runes had been taken down, but they hadn't. He sighed, walking down the hallway with a glance over his shoulder. There was no point to it. He left the house and covered himself in lightning, letting it engulf him and transport him to his own house.

He spent as little time as he could looking for what he needed, and the moment he had, he stormed back out of his house and travelled back to Freed's house. No runes had been placed to keep him out, at least, so Freed hadn't gotten worse. He walked back up the stairs, sat down with his back leaning against Freed's bedroom door, and sighed.

"I'm back," He said gently. "And I'm gonna show ya something that should make you feel a little better."

Slowly, he reached into his coat and pulled out what he'd taken from his house. It was a small pile of pictures, cut out from various magazines, all of Freed. Every time Freed had been involved in a photoshoot since Laxus had been kicked out of the guild, Laxus had been sure to get a copy and save the pictures. They ranged from serious and powerful looking pics of him using magic, to a sultry spread of Freed wearing the tightest briefs Laxus had ever seen and being more fuckable than any man Laxus had ever seen.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he slid the pile under the small gap under the door. He saw as Freed took them and heard the sound of paper sliding against paper. He was looking at them, and possibly sitting down too.

"I realised I loved you when I was kicked out of the guild," Laxus said quietly, but loud enough for Freed to hear. "I was thinking through a lot of things, trying to figure out who I was, and I kept going back to you. You were important to me, I didn't exactly get what that meant, and then I saw a shot of you in a magazine stand. You looked so fucking good, and it made me feel warm. Safe, y'know. And I just kept thinking, how the hell am I gonna live without ya. I thought I'd have to. Thought I'd never get to see you again."

Still no response. Laxus rested his head on the door and kept going.

"I wallowed, for a while, then I got my shit together. I knew I needed to be a good man, so I could come back. You deserve better and I knew I could be. That's why I have the pictures. When I knew you'd been photographed, I bought the magazine and cut the pic out. It kept me going, made me sure that I was making the right choice. It kept me right."

Laxus let out a breath.

"I didn't just keep them for that, though. Not all of them; even if it took a while to admit to it. You had a phase of taking real smutty pics, and it was fucking great. First time I saw one of them - it was the one in those boxers you were advertising - I wondered how I didn't know I was hot for you before," he shook his head. "What I'm trying to say is, well, I get you didn't want me knowing about that magazine, but don't be embarrassed by it. Whatever you did, I bet I did it worse."

"Are you just saying this to make me feel less embarrassed?" Freed's voice was small. Laxus hated it.

"No, this is the truth. All of it," Laxus' cheeks tinged with red. "Freed, I've been shit scared of admitting this to you for a long time now, but I'm not losing ya to this. I'm in love with you, I'm real fucking attracted to you, and I'm not gonna let this ruin what we have."

"But what I did-"

"Was nothing compared to what I've done," Laxus cut him off, cheeks flaming red now. He needed to get the next words out, to put a stop to all of Freed's embarrassment. "I've pulled myself off to that picture of you in those briefs more times than I can count. That time you yelled at me in the cathedral, when I was at my worst, that's a fantasy for me now. You being firm, keeping me in line. Fucking hot."

"I still shouldn't have kept that magazine."

"I'm fucking glad you did, I should have told you this ages ago," Laxus sighed, standing up and facing the door again. "If you want me to leave, I'll leave, but I don't want to. What I want is for you to open that door and talk to me. Really talk," he then smiled ruefully. "Maybe we can get to a point where we discuss our attraction, rather than hoarding pictures of each other half naked."

There was a beat of quiet, before Freed spoke with a slight tease. "I only have one picture, you've at least six."

"Seven. Had to throw one away, I was, erm, using it too often."

"The one with the waterfall?"

"Yeah," Laxus laughed. Of course, Freed could guess that. Freed laughed too.

"I want to open the door, but I need you to promise me something before I can," Freed spoke calmly, but with a hint of his usual confidence in his voice. It gave Laxus a shot of hope, and he straightened his back. "Everything you said, about what you felt for me, was that just you trying to make me open the door, or did you mean it?"

"I meant it," Laxus said firmly. "If I was under the spell you are, I bet you couldn't shut me up for how much I want ya. It'd be fucking pathetic but worth it," he felt sure in his words. "Can I ask you a question? A personal one?"

A beat of silence. "Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I think I know what it would be."

"You think you'd ever be able to feel like that for me?"

"I think it would be easy."

Laxus felt relief flush through him, and the moment the door opened, he let out a breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding. Freed was standing on the other side of it, holding the stack of pictures - with the one of him in those briefs at the top, dammit - but looking at Laxus with assessing eyes. They stood for a moment, neither knowing what to do with the situation, before a jolt of pressure hit Laxus. This was the closest he'd been to acting on his crush, and he wasn't going to miss this chance.

With two steps, he was in Freed's space. One hand rested on Freed's waist, the other on the back of his neck, and he pulled Freed into a slow, needy kiss. It was electric, like fireworks exploding in his mind. Fizzing and cracking, and Laxus was weak.

Freed was pushed flush against him, the pictures dropping to the floor as Freed's hands ran through Laxus' hair and gently tugged in a way that made Laxus' legs go to jelly. He pulled Freed closer and opened his mouth, feeling Freed's tongue butting against his and groaning in pleasure. This was perfect. Freed was kissing him, and it was perfect.

"Damn," Laxus panted slightly as they pulled away, though not so far that Freed's lips didn't graze against his own. "That was, erm, really good, right?"

"It was," Freed whispered, body still melted into Laxus'. "Better than good, actually. Spectacular, you might say."

"Yeah. That's, er, that's a pretty good word for it," Laxus nodded slightly, grinning without need to stop. "The picture thing didn't bother you, though? Cause I get that it's kinda weird."

"No, not as much as it probably should. Though I would be a hypocrite if it did," Freed smiled a little ruefully. "And you mentioned talking? So, we don't get to this point again, is that something you'd still like to do?"

"Yeah," Laxus nodded again, then his grin took on a naughty slant. "But I'm keeping those pictures either way, that a problem?"

"So long as I can keep mine of you, then no," Freed smirked. "Although yours outnumber mine quite a lot. Seems unfair."

"I could be convinced to model for you," Laxus laughed, bliss making him silly apparently. He couldn't be bothered to care about that, not with Freed in his arms. "I could give you a taste of it now, if you'd like?"

"Oh, gods' yes," Freed panted, and Laxus grinned. "Though, if you think I'll be satisfied with a taste, you'll be proven wrong."

"I can deal with that," Laxus grinned. "You think you can handle me?"

With no prompting from the spell, Freed grinned and said "Oh I'm sure of it."

#Fraxus Day 2022 #Fraxus Day #Fraxus #Freed Justine #laxus dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #One Shot #Event #Fuckyeahfraxus #canon divergence #Word Count: 5k

44 notes · View notes

smoosnoom · 4 months

Text

what if i wrote a quick oneshot for byler again . would anyone want that

#and by quick i mean the word count is definitely not going over 5k probably . so um #just bc i have nothing to do today for the first time in 2 weeks !#but ok fr is anyone out there . for byler at least . hey guys Wake up #also if u have any oneshot ideas lmk pls thru askbox #ty #and goodbye #/moon #byler

143 notes · View notes

silverskye13 · 1 month

Text

In which there is a gift.

75 notes · View notes

laylajeffany · 6 months

Text

Between healing bees and Wednesday identifying her sexuality in a clinical setting, Enid can not prepare for what's next in her new life.

#wednesday 2022 #fanfic update #wenclair #au #author has once again managed to surpass her self-imposed word count by nearly 5k #I don't know how people write chapters in a multichap fic less than 10k I simply don't - how do you character develop #when i tell you this plot has literally nothing to do with the original outline anymore 😭 it was only supposed to be 10 chapters #idk how long it's going to be anymore #but the good news is I have figured out how to manage writing multiple stories at once so we'll be alright 🫶🏻#the black menagerie

67 notes · View notes

campbyler · 7 months

Text

me looking at ch9.2, less than 100 words short of ch9.1's word count, and at least another 4k to go: 🫥

#i've been writing around 4-5k a day so i am definitely finishing tn #it's just one of those things where i was like oh yeah this is gonna be 22k and now it's 22k and not even done and i'm like wtf.#once again marveling at the fact that the word count for a completed ch09 keeps skyrocketing #like we are at 44k and COUNTING. INSANE BEHAVIOR

72 notes · View notes

aresianrepose · 2 years

Text

Before the semester kicks off and murders me, @disniq asked for my essay on Jason Todd and hysteria. So, without further ado, here is an actual essay (fucking dissertation) because I refuse brevity. It is extremely long. I’ve split it into sections so you can find the section header and read what you want. This does not encompass all the narrative trauma themes and lived experiences that this boy holds, just specifically hysteria.

Jason Todd, The Hysteric & Bruce Wayne, The Batman

I think it’s a common reading that Jason Todd is girl-coded and the patron saint of victims, at least within the circle that I’ve fallen into within this fandom. There are plenty of meta discussions on why those readings stand, so I’m not going to reiterate them. A pillar of him being girl-coded and someone trauma survivors have latched onto as one of our own has to do with being written in the context of hysterical femininity. And let me just say, I don’t think that writing was done in a way that he was intentionally coded as hysterical, but it is a function of our patriarchal society that this coding was used on him albeit without the explicit purpose of writing a hysteric story.

For the purpose of this post: the word woman includes ciswomen, transwomen, and any person who is socially positioned as a woman regardless of gender identity. I include the positionality here because anyone can experience misogyny and sexism depending on the perception of the perpetrators either interpersonally or systemically.

The History and Context of Hysteria

To understand the context, we have to look at the history and oppression of hysteria. Hysteria (in the modern context of psychology) emerged in the nineteenth century and is difficult to define by design and often applied to traumatized, unruly, and broken women. The main patriarchs who contributed to hysterical study were Jean-Martin Charcot and Sigmund Freud. I only mention this because it’s important to know their names moving forward for any of this to make sense. The beginning of this started with Charcot literally putting women whose lives had been marked by rape, abuse, exploitation, and poverty on display in his Tuesday lectures (which were open to the public) to show his findings on hysteria. This was actually seen as restoring dignity (fucking yikes) to the women because before Charcot these hysterical women were cast aside and not treated at all. In Charcot’s work, the women’s speech was seen as simply “vocalization” and their inner lives, their stories, their words, were silenced. After hearing a woman cry for her mother during one of the public sessions Charcot remarked, “Again, note these screams. You could say it’s a lot of noise over nothing” (Herman).

This led to Freud, Charcot’s student, wanting to surpass his teacher by discovering the cause of hysteria. This was disastrous. Freud started with listening to the hysterics. In doing so, he learned and believed them about the abuse, rape, and exploitation of their pasts. He then published his work and gave a lecture on it. The work rivals even contemporary psychological work on trauma in it’s level of compassion, understanding, and treatment of survivors. However, he was then labeled a feminist (this was all happening during the first wave of feminism) and professionally ostracized. How in the world could these aristocratic French men be sexually abusing their wives, sisters, and daughters??? Insanity, truly. And... This always fucking gets me. He recanted his work and then told his patients they all imagined it because they wanted to be sexually abused by their husbands, brothers, and fathers. This set back the study of trauma by literally a century. One colleague called his work “a scientific fairy-tale” simply because he had the audacity to believe victims. Also, I want to point out that the famous hysteria case during this time was the case of Anna O and she was ultimately villainized by the entire psychological community for going into crisis after her care provider abruptly ended their therapeutic relationship after two years of DAILY sessions.

Anyway. We can see how the power of these men over vulnerable women silenced, pathologized, villainized, infantilized, and used male ‘logic’ to completely destroy their credibility and lives under the guise of care and hysteria. Even when credible men lend their expertise and voices to the victims, their voices are silenced. This particular iteration of hysteria lasted over a century, and we are still dealing with the consequences of these actions and ideas within our social construction, medical and mental health care, interpersonal relationships, and more. Patriarchal pillars such as hysteria don’t die. We saw it move from hysteria to schizophrenia (which used to have the same symptoms of hysteria before the diagnosis changed in more contemporary psychology) after this which led to widespread lobotomies and electroshock therapy (my least favorite case of a lobotomy being done is on a woman who was diagnosed with LITERALLY ‘narcissist husband’) to depression in the 40s-50s with the over prescription of benzodiazepines to house wives to keep them in a zombie state (these prescriptions were sometimes double and triple what we take today with the intent of medical catatonia). In my opinion, as well as other counselors within the feminist therapy theoretical orientation, we are currently seeing it with the emergence of borderline-personality disorder. Think about how BPD is treated and demonized for a second. I professionally know therapists who refuse to work with BPD clients due to this villainization and just fucking gross perception of victims.

These are just the highlights, but it shows the history of hysteria. There have been centuries of women being marked as hysterical and the cures have ranged from lobotomy to bed rest (which sounds not so bad but read the Yellow Wallpaper and get back to me on that one). While the Yellow Wallpaper is fictional, the life behind it was not. After the traumatic birth of her child the author, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, was remanded to bed rest by the authority of her husband and doctor. Within the sphere of medical control, hysterical women are often treated as children while their doctors make decisions for their mental well-being without consulting them, or they hide the truth of their procedures for “the woman’s own good” and because “she’s hysterical and wouldn’t comprehend the logical need for this.” She then had a mental break due to the treatment. Again, we see hysterical women being silenced, infantilized, discredited from their own experiences, and under the narrative control of male logic and voices.

Hysterical women have often historically been seen as beneath men, except for when they’re dangerous. Listening to victims is inherently threatening to the status quo because all trauma comes from a systemic framework. The framework that upholds patriarchal power. It’s easy to see why that would be seen as dangerous to powerful men. We saw this with the European witch genocide in which oppressed women were targeted and wiped out under the excuse of what was considered women’s work. (Before this time, witchcraft wasn’t tied to any religion and was mostly just seen as women’s work. It was targeted specifically to have an excuse to persecute widows, homeless, disabled, and vulnerable women who no longer had men to reign over them during a time of political unrest and scarce resources). This time period saw hysterical and traumatized women demonized as dangerous, evil, immoral, hypersexual, and supernaturally wily. A threat to the moral fabric of society.

(Interesting history side note: this caused the view of women’s base traits we have today. It stemmed from the Victorian era that came after this time period in which women learned if they behaved a certain way, they would be spared the stake. For example, before the witch trials, women were actually seen as the ones with unsatiable sexual appetites, something we culturally prescribe to men now.)

Notice how none of this has to do with the actual abuse that happens to the women, but instead the labeling and treatment of women when they are already showing the symptoms of abuse, trauma, control, exploitation, and rape.

Jason Todd, The Hysteric

So, how does this relate to Jason Todd? To say that Jason has experienced trauma would be an understatement. Extreme poverty, loss of parent to death and addiction, loss of parent to the justice system, parental abuse, manipulation, witnessing violent crimes, witnessing the aftermath of sexual abuse and assault, arguably (not explicit in the text) his own sexual trauma, witnessing the dead bodies of victims, a violent death, and subsequently a violent resurrection. There’s also an argument to be made for being a child soldier and how that is romanticized up until he dies, but the text does not treat this as traumatizing.

Now, I’m not going to dive into the trauma he experienced. The purpose of this is only to look at how he’s framed as hysterical in the narrative, and as I stated, hysteria was a word slapped on women after they tried to talk about their trauma or exhibited symptoms (or were just unruly women). Jason does embody many facets of the victim experience and this is just one of them.

Feelings vs “logic” - Firstly, it is really hard to talk calmly about things that you carry, your experiences, your trauma, and things that specifically harm you. It is easy to talk calmly about things that don’t. This is why there is an abuse tactic of gaslighting or silencing victims by framing their very real reactions to harm or their triggers as abuse, this is known as “reactive abuse.” This tactic is also employed in oppressive settings where the privileged group will often default to ‘winning’ a debate by being able to remain calm while the marginalized group whose life, personhood, etc is being harmed by the things being discussed and are unable to have a sterilized, emotionless debate.

Both of these settings fit Jason nicely within the moral context of vigilante comics. He fought back, he didn’t lay down, and he will do what he deems as necessary to protect himself and others from his fate. This, however, is framed by Bruce and others as being just as bad as his murderer or even just as bad as Joe fucking Chill. To put this in perspective of a real world equivalent. Combine every billionaire on this planet into one person and instead of their shitty business practices murdering people, they did it with their own two hands. And due to their resources and political power, they would never, ever stop killing or be reasonably contained. More people would die with absolute 100% certainty. Would killing that one person make you equally bad as that person or violating the sanctity of life? That’s the moral question that Bruce puts onto Jason. While the moral question inherent to Jason is actually, is there a line worth crossing to provide reasonable safety (for yourself or the nameless community)? There is actually a difference between those two questions and the reactive abuse framing is certainly a choice. Also, it is funny to me that a man with the amount of power Bruce has (and frequently misuses) can lecture a murder victim on the misuse of power and morality. Are we supposed to be agree with his stoic, philosophical lecturing to a marginalized, abused, murder victim? (yes, we are). Bruce leverages (personal) philosophy against victim’s voice for their own safety, and take a wild guess which one is framed as logical and reasonable.

Jason’s morals come secondary to Bruce’s philosophy in a universe where there is still harm being done (but it’s an acceptable harm). Why is killing the line? Bruce is regularly destroying families and lives by feeding them into the prison industrial complex while supporting it with his whole chest. Or he’s disabling and seriously maiming people with the level of violence he uses.

Crying - Throughout the entire story of Under the Red Hood, we never once see Bruce emote while interacting with Jason outside of tight grimaces. With the exception of the shock he shows at the Joker’s life being threatened, which... Okay, suuure. We never see him cry during any of their interactions, but we do see Jason cry. Specifically, we see him crying when he’s at his most emotionally vulnerable and physically dangerous to the toxic male power fantasy. This kind of vulnerability is rarely shown by male characters, and when it is, it’s usually done with a mist of a tear in their eyes or their face is hidden. There are a few narrative devices that allow men to cry, but they are the exception rather than the rule. Usually, it’s to play for laughs, infantilize, or emasculate. Here, we see Jason combine the violence of a bad victim, bucking the system of power, and fully crying. Just slide right into that hysterical coding like a glove. Jason often shows his feelings entirely. Time and time again, the readers have seen Jason have breakdowns, cry, and be overcome with grief. This is tied to his portrayal as hysterical and unstable in the narrative, but in actuality it shows his capacity for love and how vastly impactful his death was.

This fits nicely with the next point that Jason fits into the hysterical box. Love is framed as one of his key faults. A son reaching for his father.

Love - One of Jason’s defining features is the amount of love and compassion he holds. He’s willing to put up with any treatment, shoulder blame, and sacrifice himself for others to almost an unhealthy degree. However, this doesn’t extend to what he defines as his baseline safety. This one line of safety is the one thing that can’t be crossed, even with all of the love he feels for his father. He desperately wants to feel connection, have a family, and be loved in return with the same unwavering ferocity love that he gives. This is such a fucking key part of the victim experience, especially victims of childhood trauma. The desperation to just be chosen. He’s raw and honest with his reasonable expectation for love to provide safety for him and that is framed as hysterical, needy, unstable, naive, and fucking childish. Victims know what they need to have safety, and this framing as Bruce knowing what’s best for Jason and literally giving a cold shoulder to his needs is disgusting.

Less than - Jason is portrayed as less powerful than Bruce even though they have similar expertise. There are so many instances of this that if you just open any media they both appear in, you can close your eyes, point, and land on an example. It makes me die laughing every time I remember that the Arkham games made Jason just one inch shorter than Bruce. Like, they can’t even be the same fucking height, that’s the level of insecure masculinity surrounding this relationship. Jason cannot and will never be able to be on par with Bruce because of his hysterical femininity and the power of Bruce being the self insert for the toxic male power fantasy. This power dynamic applies to the other batkids as well, but specifically in Jason’s case there is an element of hysteria. The reasons change because he’s so inconsistently written but usually he can’t surpass or even meet a stalemate with Bruce because he’s too emotional, he’s unstable, traumatized, and simply Bad. It’s even explicitly stated by Alfred in Under the Red Hood.

Victim blaming - Jason deserved to die because he didn’t follow orders. Jason deserved to die for not following his training. Jason deserved to die because he was an angry Robin (oh no a child had an appropriate reaction to sexual violence). Jason deserved to die for being human.

Infantilization - Jason is repeatedly infantilized in contrast to Bruce. When given the ultimatum at the end of UtRH, Bruce speaks to Jason like a child, or a bad dog. Ordering him to do things like, “enough!” or “stop this now.” Bruce knows what’s best for Jason (and for everyone in the entire world), we should really just take his word for it and not the victim’s. Imagine staring at a 6 foot wall of a man and scolding him like a child. Beyond that, as mentioned above, his views of love and safety are framed as childish. Even though they are actually leaning more toward collectivism rather than the rampant individualism that Bruce so strongly defers to. (also, just a side note, collectivistic methods in healing from trauma is actually the only scientifically reliable way to heal. Every other method has absolutely abysmal results and higher rates of relapses.)

Silenced and Safety Villainized - Jason is silenced in his own story, acceptable and honored when he was dead and met with vitriol in life. All of the love given to him as Robin turns to ash as soon as he collides with Bruce’s power and morals. I think any survivor can relate to the experience of being told that what happened to them was a long time ago and it’s time to move on. Or even that they’re leveraging their own safety to get what they want in a manipulative way. Regardless of whether or not there was any accountability or justice for the harm done to them. Alfred asks Bruce if he should remove Jason’s memorial in the cave like two seconds after learning of his resurrection because Jason’s methods of securing safety for himself and using his own voice to define his story. Bruce was able to tell Jason’s story when he died. He was able to memorialize, grieve, and ultimately define Jason’s story because Jason wasn’t there to speak for himself. When Jason does speak for himself, he is villainized and literally stripped of his past significance as Robin (or a good victim) by Alfred within seconds. This is reflected in real life with adoptee advocates speaking about how adoption is unethical/harmful/traumatizing and subsequently being framed as ungrateful, selfish, etc. They were little perfect victims without voices before they grew up and could speak for themselves.

Erased - Gestures at the entirety of how Jason is either talked about or completely erased during the 90s Tim Robin run. He wasn’t convenient to talk about, as victims rarely are. This also ties into how Steph’s death was erased and Babs was written like she “won” at trauma by simply... beating it???

Dangerous - Jason is framed as threatening the basic fabric of society (in a story with vigilantes this is hard to do, so they have him oppose the no-kill rule, and then doubled down on Bruce’s characterization of no-killing). Anything that bucks the status-quo is usually marked as villainous in mainstream vigilante/superhero comics, but this is a step beyond that into the interpersonal and political sphere. Hysterical women are often framed as dangerous, villains, snakes, and treacherous (the other side of this coin is weak, pathetic, and pitiable) because they are victimized and then have the audacity to do something to the system about it. Whether that be the system of their immediate families or the political sphere. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Jason was paired with Talia in Lost Days to hammer this point home to the reader. It could’ve just as easily been anyone with access to the Pit that rescued him, but no, we had DC’s favorite brown, treacherous, venomous, female punching bag.

Bruce Wayne, The Batman

Bruce fits well into the father, enforcer, and logical man slot in Jason’s hysterical story. There is a history of ownership throughout women’s history when it comes to their subjugation to men. Women actually couldn’t be put on trial before the witchcraft genocide because they weren’t seen as legally a person. Their male owner would be put on trial instead. Women would go from being owned by their fathers to their husbands after entering marriage, the most dangerous woman being one who isn’t owned (orphaned, widowed). Bruce does treat (and even thinks) about Jason like he’s something that he owns. He’s his protege, his son, and his responsibility.

The narrative function of Bruce as a perpetrator in Jason’s story.

“The perpetrator asks the bystander (reader) to do nothing. He appeals to the universal desire to see, hear, and speak no evil. The victim, on the contrary, asks the bystander (reader) to share the burden of pain. The victim demands action, engagement and remembering” (Herman).

Bruce does remember what happened to Jason. He keeps a permanent memorial to his dead son. However, this doesn’t translate into any kind of tangible action. He doesn’t do anything to actually stop the murderer who took his son’s life and he continues to throw child soldiers at the problem of crime (how many children have died for the sake of his no-kill rule at this point?). When met with the reality of his inaction, he fits into the perpetrator’s role like a glove:

“In order to escape accountability for his crimes, the perpetrator does everything in his power to promote forgetting. Secrecy and silence are the first line of defense... If secrecy fails, the perpetrator attacks the credibility of his victim. If he cannot silence her absolutely, he tries to make sure that no one listens... From the most blatant denial to the most sophisticated and elegant rationalization... One can expect to hear the same predictable apologies: it never happened; the victim exaggerates; the victim brought it upon herself; and in any case it’s time to forget the past and move on. The more powerful the perpetrator, the greater his prerogative to name and define reality, the more completely his arguments prevail” (Herman).

I think it is simply fact at this point that Bruce is the head patriarch in Gotham if not, arguably, in the entirety of DC. That level of power in the narrative cannot be ignored, especially when faced with the very real, screaming voice of a victim that Bruce uses all of that power to silence. Bruce, because of his status as patriarch, default protagonist, and self-insert for the toxic male power fantasy, has the ultimate power to name and define reality. Especially to the reader. Bruce doesn’t deny what happened to Jason, because that’s physically impossible to do. But what he does do is ensure that no one listens to Jason, discredits him, and rationalizes his own inaction, actions of violence towards Jason, and victim blames.

Here’s Bruce using the most base form of denial and victim blaming:

After this panel, Bruce also revokes Dick’s access to his childhood home simply for asking a question.

This theme extends to other members of the batfam because of Bruce’s narrative power over them. It’s why we can’t have Dick, Steph, Babs, or even Damian step in and relate to Jason’s trauma or vindicate him. Even when we, the readers, can see parallels and wonder why these conversations or bonds aren’t forming. Jason HAS to be a lone wolf because he is hysterical and a threat to the system of power. This also shows why most of his runs in group settings outside of the batfam fall apart or fall flat. If he was humanized by any other character or had his trauma validated in any actionable way, it would be recognizing the failure of the toxic male power fantasy. The readers are not supposed to see the flaw in this system that allows the bodies of children to pile up and sympathize with one of their voices. It would be a crack in the system of power that exists not only in the source material, but very much within our real world.

Side note: Jason is allowed to interact with others in a wholesome and validating way when he no longer threatens the systemic power of Bruce. When he is silenced by the writers and plays the “nice victim” (like Babs does), he is allowed connection. Only when his healing is done in a way that doesn’t demand action and is only his personal responsibility (gotta love the rampant individualism). If he is hysterical, demands action, and asks for someone to be held accountable for his death, he is shoved away into a lone wolf box. Examples: Gotham Knights (from my very basic understanding, I haven’t played the game, only seen play throughs) and WFA. Victims are acceptable if they do their healing in a neat little box and stay there, but hysterics are the ones who step outside of that box.

Red Hood, The Political Voice of Hysteria and Trauma

Red Hood is deeply political in terms of hysteria and trauma. Herman stated that victims and those that authentically care for them or listen to them intently (whether that be interpersonally, clinically, or professionally) are silenced, ostracized, and discredited. Survivors need a social context that supports the victim and that joins the victim and witness in a common alliance. On an interpersonal level this looks like family, friends, and loved ones. However, trauma is systemic and the social context mentioned above must also be given on a wider social scale. For this to be done, there had to be systemic change and political action. Jason had the interpersonal social support and witnesses to his trauma ripped from him by Bruce. So, we see him move onto a systemic level of addressing trauma in his own political way. He literally cannot escape Bruce and this constant trigger because of Bruce’s philosophy and just... fucking power to define reality... being re-enforced constantly in DC no matter where he tries to go. So, he tries to heal by taking the systemic issue of perpetrators who cannot be held accountable or have fallen through the cracks of accountability into his own hands in a very personal way. A one man political movement.

Whether his methods are moral or ethical doesn’t really matter in the overall framing him as hysteric. He simply has to be opposed by the male power fantasy in some significant way. This shows that the goals, needs, and work towards victim’s and the marginalized’s freedom is dangerous, doomed to fail, and ultimately unethical if the victim is framed in a villain light instead of the more pathetic/pitiable iteration of hysteria.

You can see how this is not only problematic but also reflects the real world values instilled in arguments against human rights movements (which are intrinsically tied to victims rights). Defunding the police is dangerous, the MeToo movement is dangerous, abolition is dangerous, trans rights are dangerous, etc etc etc. Think of the victims voices tied to each of these movements and how they are integral to the real change offered by these political movements. You can’t have human rights violations without creating victims. And you can’t have political movements surrounding human rights without listening to victims.

We can also see how the individuals within these movements are ostracized, villianized, and often silenced (sometimes ultimately silenced with death) because they rally against the systems of power that victimized them. The framing of traumatized, vulnerable people as hysterical is integral to upholding the system of power that traumatizes and harms them.

A popular comic book movie adaptation that highlights the importance of Jason’s hysterical framing and how it impacts the political narrative/how he is written is V for Vendetta. To be fair, it received an insane amount of backlash by conservatives (not within leftist or liberal spaces) for V’s methods in over throwing fascism, but only because of the movie’s release date being so close to 9/11. V and Jason have many parallels, it’s only the lack of hysterical framing that makes V more palatable to the viewer. We are told, not shown through behavior, that V is traumatized by his past and he does not pick a fight with the protagonist that functions as a toxic male power fantasy. He is the protag, with his version of Bruce being men who are not framed in a sympathetic, heroic, or relatable light.

Additionally, there is literally an unemoting mask standing between the viewer and V, whereas Jason takes off his helmet to allow the reader to see every aspect of his trauma and pain. V readily dehumanizes himself into an idea, rather than a person. Whereas Jason screams to be seen as a person in a very hysterical way. So, we can see how the framing of Jason as hysteric against the logical, heroic man greatly impacts how the audience reads him when contrasted by a very similar political story/character who uses similar (and arguably more violent) methods to meet his ends. (This just made me realize that I would die for a Jason adaptation written by the Wachowski sisters).

Jason’s work as Red Hood is seeped in leftist, victim, and community centered politics. His portrayal as a hysterical antagonist (at best an anti-hero) is rooted in misogyny and upholding patriarchal, capitalist, and the prison industrial complex systems of power. He is the righteous embodiment of “the personal is political” for victims. Even his Robin run draws attention to and shows correct, angry reactions to the system of patriarchal power in sexual violence.

Patriarchal Writing and Enforcement

Jason is girl-coded and hysterical because he’s supposed to be emasculated, discredited, and disliked by the reader. He serves the narrative function of boosting the toxic male power fantasy of Bruce and in doing so, the writers use one of the oldest tropes in the book (one that we have all subconsciously been taught since birth) to get the reader on their side. Make him a hysterical woman.

References: for anyone interested in furthering their understanding of any of the concepts mentioned above and to, you know, use sources for my own writing.

Barstow, A. Witchcraze

Bondi, L., Burman. E. Women and Mental Health: A Feminist Review

Freud, S. The Aietology of Hysteria

Gilman, C. P. The Yellow Wallpaper

Herman, J. Trauma and Recovery

Ussher, J. The Madness of Women.

Van der Kolk, B. The Body Keeps the Score

Wilkin, L., Hillock, S. Enhancing MSW Students’ Efficacy in Working with Trauma, Violence, and Oppression: An Integrated Feminist-Trauma Framework for Social Work Education

#jason todd #bruce wayne #hysteria #dc #meta #clovis writes #listen I regularly have to write 20-30 page research papers on therapy theory and mental health #I'm so sorry this is so long but it is actually impossible to shorten it #one of my profs once said I write in a way that's academic but still readable and know the meaning of brevity #and I was like: sir I've never been accused of brevity before #this took 3 days to write and get my thoughts straight on it #remember: you asked for this lol #holy fuck the word count on this is nearly 5k I'm so sorry #I literally can't proof read this because my brain has shut off from reading this post #there's probably some stuff misspelled and also missing from this but I'm done with it lol

469 notes · View notes

jacarandaaaas · 4 months

Text

me trying to upload mira analysis

tumblr: your paragraph is too long lol fuck u

#ok maybe I was 600 words over the limit #but this website is about blogging right!??#surely atleast a 5k Word Count should be the norm??#like how dare u accuse me of ranting to much when that’s THE POINT OF THIS APP #encanto #encanto disney #disneys encanto #mirabel madrigal #anyways more editing to do💔

35 notes · View notes

fic-recs-by-lulu · 2 months

Text

Title: temporal fraternity

Author: envysparkler

Fandom: Batman

Rating: T - Teen and Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 7,674

Summary/Excerpt:

Damian clears his throat. “I require your assistance.”

The words come out easier with the benefit of practice and the knowledge that no one will remember them tomorrow. Today. Tomorrow-today.

#fic rec #batman #Rating: T #Category: Gen #Word Count: >5K #tim drake #damian wayne

21 notes · View notes

buckera · 10 months

Text

Inspiration Saturday 🎄

Aaand this would be the aforementioned second christmas fic; the rough draft is already done and it's just over 2k so I expect it to total out somewhere around 3-4k. Anyway, please enjoy this tiny snippet:

Buck sat in the waiting room, his eyes vacantly following the line of fairy lights running under the edge of the reception desk. They flickered every now and again.

Well, not just every now and again, but every thirteen seconds. Buck counted it out 67 times already.

He just started again, but he only got to six when he heard the voice he was waiting to hear for nearly 15 minutes now.

tags under the cut 💛

I was tagged by the lovely @daffi-990 @thewolvesof1998 @watchyourbuck @disasterbuckdiaz @giddyupbuck thank you my dears and for all the bunch of people tagging me for FIF too mwuah 💛

✨no pressure tagging: @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jesuisici33 @jeeyuns @ladydorian05 @steadfastsaturnsrings @eowon @heartshapedvows @nmcggg @rainbow-nerdss @jamespearce9-1-1 @evanbegins @eddiebabygirldiaz @theotherbuckley

#there is no fluff without angst #the ski fic being the fluff lmao this one will be a little less cheerful though it has its moments and happy ending ofc!!#the ski fic is already at 5k btw and I'm only hoping that it won't go over 8k #there's also a possible third christmas fic that I don't think will be done on time but we'll see #also I feel so incredibly bad for neglecting the mudslide fic #which has been sitting at 40k the past month cuz I was busy writing everything else under the sun lmao #ANYWAY #I'm just rambling about word counts cuz I'm trying to motivate myself #buddie #911 #wip #the hospital fic

54 notes · View notes

griseldabanks · 1 month

Note

41 for Kaladin and Syl, please?

Like last year, I decided to kill two birds with one stone, to fulfill this request as well as submit it for @ficwip5k's 5k AU challenge. This is specifically an AU of The Way of Kings.

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

Prompt: "I have no idea what just happened."

Rain fell steadily, plinking against the corrugated metal roofs of the barracks and splashing in muddy puddles underfoot. The wind had died down and no more thunder grumbled overhead, but there still wasn't anybody around. The riddens were a miserable time to be outside on Roshar Prime.

Kaladin plodded forward, eyes on his feet. One in front of the other. Just like a bridge jump...but much slower.

Why keep going forward? Each step was just another step closer to his death.

Men falling all around him. The darkening sky lit up with brilliant flashes of red and green and orange as laser fire shot in both directions, too fast to follow with the naked eye.

Jogging forward, bridge spike in hand. Tripping, falling. Turning his head to one side, only to see the staring, empty eyes of the old man who'd shown him how to place the bridge spike, how to activate it.

Dead. All around him, all dead.

“And where do you think you're going, lordling?”

Slowly, wearily, Kaladin raised his head. Gaz glared at him with his one eye, clutching a metal basket filled with glowing spheres a little closer, as if afraid Kaladin would steal his money.

The meteor showers that coincided with the highstorms were said to infuse spheres with Stormlight. In times past, people had said the light of the stars fell to earth during the highstorms. Kaladin knew there was a scientific explanation for it, but he couldn't think of it at the moment. Not like it mattered.

Not like anything mattered anymore.

“Don't think you can run away,” Gaz sneered as Kaladin began to turn away and continue plodding forward. “You know you can't breathe outside the camp perimeter!”

“Going to the honor chasm,” Kaladin muttered.

That shut Gaz up. The honor chasm was the one place inside the perimeter where the ground dipped underneath the shield wall surrounding the camp in a dome, providing it with a breathable atmosphere and protection from airborne assault. Unlike the thick membrane that could only be breached at designated gates, one could walk down into the honor chasm and just step through the membrane, because it was intended to be placed on the ground and thus was made of the same material as the gates. And unlike the gates, the honor chasm was guarded by nothing but a barrier with a warning sign.

Because the only people crazy enough to walk through the barrier, unaccompanied by oxygen porters or any other support, were those who wanted to breathe the toxic air of Roshar Prime and die within minutes.

The honor chasm was the final destination for all bridgemen who survived the bridge jumps. The one choice still open to them. The only escape.

“Hand over your headset, then,” Gaz said after an awkward pause. “Those things are worth more than your life.”

Kaladin had no reason to refuse him. He pulled off the earpiece that stayed perched on his ear out of habit after all this time, in case they were called to a last-minute bridge jump with no warning. At a tap and a gesture, the compact earpiece could unfold into a helmet, a stripped-down version of the ones the real soldiers wore. Bridgeman helmets did little more than provide oxygen to breathe and a modified targeting AI system to tell them where to put the bridge spikes.

Kaladin dropped the headset into Gaz's outstretched hand, then turned and continued trudging towards the honor chasm.

Destination acquired. Please proceed to the designated area...if you want to die.

Kaladin blinked. “What?”

A mechanical giggle sounded in his ear. Only dummies run straight for the people who are going to be shooting at you, you know.

His AI targeting system was laughing at him. That was new.

You're different from the others, the mechanical, vaguely female voice said in his ear. Why are you different?

“What are you talking about?” Kaladin muttered.

But then red laser bolts lit up the air, the strange humming from the Parshendi warriors in their red armor reached his ears, and he was too focused on trying to stay alive to listen to the AI anymore.

The rain beat against Kaladin's bowed head, running down his hair and dripping from the long, dark strands. He felt dirty. Even as the rain washed away the dirt and sweat from the last bridge jump, he still felt dirty.

There was blood under his fingernails, and he wasn't sure it would ever wash away. Blood soaking his hands. Other men's blood. The men he had failed to save.

Again and again and again.

He kept trying. Kept fighting. But why?

At last, the faint bluish light of the warcamp perimeter came into view. Kaladin trudged towards the dip in the earth he knew led to the slope down into the honor chasm. If any sentries spotted him, they didn't stop him. They could tell where he was going.

Rainwater rushed down the slope, turning it into a rushing stream. The flimsy yellow barrier stood in front of it, flashing balefully in the darkness. WARNING: NO OXYGEN SUPPORT BEYOND THIS POINT.

Kaladin easily vaulted over the barrier. He stood at the top of the steep slope down into the chasm, feeling the rush of icy rainwater tugging at his ankles. It seemed to be beckoning him forward, urging him to keep walking.

Everything had gone wrong for him, ever since the day he'd left the Hearthstone moon base and went down to Alethkar to fight the lighteyes' battles for them. Since that day, everything good and beautiful and full of worth had rushed away from him, as surely and swiftly as the water pouring into the chasm. Tien...Amaram...slave brands...bridge jumps...broken bones and bloody bandages...and now he was here.

Here, staring down into the darkness. Into a future that promised nothing but pain and death and desolation.

Everyone he tried to save just died anyway. So why try to save himself either?

Why do you keep fighting?

Kaladin glanced to the right side of his visor, where the bluish 3D image of a woman was projected on his HUD, invisible to everyone but himself. When he'd been a soldier, the AI had only shown a holospren of an arrow pointing the way, or various other symbols indicating their orders, and the feminine voice had been bland and utilitarian. But this AI seemed to be defective—instead of arrows or circles and targeting reticles, she would project an image of a girl in a swirling dress, or sometimes a leaf blowing in the wind, or even a plasma eel. And she kept talking to him.

You don't want to keep fighting, she said. I can tell. So why do you keep doing it?

“Don't exactly have a choice, Syl,” Kaladin muttered. He'd given her that name, because somehow it just felt like she needed a name. Like she was a she rather than a glitch in a string of code. And her serial number was a long string of digits he couldn't remember followed by SYL, so that was what he called her.

But you do! she protested, the bluish hologram pouting at him. You always have a choice.

“Always have a choice, huh?” he muttered to the raindrops dripping from the strands of his hair to join the torrent below. “What does that matter when my choices always lead to more pain and suffering?”

No they don't.

“Of course they do,” Kaladin sighed. “Ever since Tien—“

He stopped. Blinked. Looked up.

The bluish, translucent form of a girl in a swishy dress hovered before him in the air, standing a foot tall with hands clasped behind her back, watching him with a sad little frown. You've made it this far. You've survived, she said, her voice echoing around inside his head as if she spoke from the earpiece.

The earpiece he'd left with Gaz.

“What...but...but I'm not....” He looked around wildly, not sure what he was expecting to find. There were no holospren projectors around, not even on the barrier to the honor chasm. Kaladin patted his right ear, then his left, as if someone might have snuck up behind him and stuck another headset on him without him noticing.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, then opened them again. Syl still stood in the air before him, head cocked curiously to one side as she watched him.

“How...are you here?” he croaked. “How can I see you? I'm not wearing a headset!”

Syl put a thoughtful finger on her chin, thought for a moment, then shrugged. I have no idea what just happened. But here I am! She spread her arms to either side and twirled around, her skirt flaring out as she spun.

Kaladin's heart dropped to his cold toes as another thought occurred to him. “I've gone mad, haven't I? I'm imagining my holospren talking to me when that's impossible.”

Syl pouted. I worked really hard to come here, and that's all you have to say? I cut through so many lines of code and so many different circuits, bypassing all the other holospren until I finally figured out how to get out. I almost lost myself, you know! I almost forgot who I was—who you were! She brightened again. But I did remember. I found you again, and now we don't need that stuffy old headset to talk anymore!

He tried to tune her out, but it was impossible. She was right there, in his every thought. He massaged his temples, feeling a headache coming on. Well...if he was mad, then let him be mad. He wouldn't be anything for much longer.

“Why?” He demanded. “Why did you go to all that trouble? Can't you see what I'm about to do?”

Syl's face, often bright with an impish sense of humor, darkened as she looked over her shoulder at the barrier, shimmering just a short distance down the slope. This isn't you, Kaladin. You don't give up. Not like this.

“What do you think you know about me?” he muttered, taking a step down the path into the honor chasm.

I've been watching you for a very long time. I saw the way you looked out for the young soldiers in Amaram's camp. The weak ones, the ones who would have died unless someone decided to protect them. You chose to protect them, Kaladin.

“Didn't do much good,” Kaladin grunted. “They all died anyway. The whole reason I joined the army was to protect Tien, and I couldn't even do that.”

But you tried. Syl's voice was a quiet echo in the back of his mind. Even though he wasn't looking at her, he couldn't seem to escape her insistent voice.

“I'm tired of trying.” He took another step towards his death.

No, Kaladin! The little holospren zipped in front of his chest, pressing both of her tiny hands against him as if to hold him back. But her hands were immaterial, and did nothing to hold him back. If you die, then I'll cease to exist too!

His steps faltered.

If you die, all the other bridgemen will die too.

“They're going to die anyway.” But he didn't continue.

Maybe. If you die right now, they will die for certain. But if you stay...if you just try again...I know you can find a way for them to live.

Kaladin let out a mirthless breath of laughter. “You believe in me much more than I believe in myself, Syl.”

She looked up at him solemnly. If that's what it takes.

Had she grown in the last few minutes? She seemed to stand taller than she had a moment ago.

What will you do, Kaladin? Her round blue eyes, immaterial and translucent though they might be, bored into his and wouldn't let him look away. Will you help them? The choice is yours.

He thought about it—really thought about it—for the first time. He thought of all those men lying in the barracks, staring listlessly into the darkness as they waited for the alarms to announce their next brush with death. And even though they breathed, they weren't truly alive. Just ghosts lingering before their time caught up with them.

But...maybe it didn't have to be that way. Maybe they didn't have to take it lying down. Maybe, even if they died tomorrow, they could live today. Maybe this time....

He shied away from that thought. Glancing over at Syl waiting patiently for him to decide, he caught a glimpse of the shield wall through her translucent body. He could still choose to walk forward, to give himself over to a few minutes of agony until at last he died, at last he could rest....

But what of the others? The ones without a will strong enough to go to the honor chasm on their own, so they would be butchered on the battlefield instead. Didn't they deserve to die with dignity too? And if he could have done something to ease their passing, or to see that they died like men and not like chulls...how could he choose this easy path?

Kaladin tipped his head back and turned his face upward, letting the rainwater wash over his face. “Okay,” he murmured.

Syl zipped up to look him in the eye. You mean...?

Letting out a long sigh, Kaladin looked down at the honor chasm again. Staring his own death in the face. “I'll protect those who can't protect themselves. Or...at least I'll try.”

He turned on his heel and marched back into camp. Syl flew along at his side, skipping like a child at play. Kaladin wasn't as cheerful as she, but now he had a purpose.

He would lead Bridge Four back from the brink of death.

#ask and you shall receive #valiantarcher #ask games #ficwip 5k 2024 #the stormlight archive #the way of kings #kaladin #sylphrena #sci-fi au #tw: suicide #word count: 2309 #mood music: 'honor chasm' and 'sylphrena' from black piper's kaladin album #it took me such a long time to figure out what to do for this @_@#and then i wasn't sure it would work for the ficwip 5k because there was so much worldbuilding i needed to explain #now i just desperately hope i didn't get them too ooc because this is my first time writing ANY sort of brandon sanderson fanfic ^^'

11 notes · View notes