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fleursdemeduse · 3 years ago

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Remembrance AU: Fighting For the Right Side

Warnings: Nightmare [Depiction of child death] ; Mention of death ; Allusion to mass murder and bombs

Words: 3.3k

You were quick to settle into your position in Pogtopia. Every day was primarily spent with Techno, but it was relaxing. You farmed, took trips to the bastion you two had met at, he protected you in fortresses, you two even went mining together. He was a comfortable constant in your world. Even when the voices got to be too much, you were with him. But that might have been what caused it all in the first place.

Settling into the small alcove Tommy said you could use, you decided that you could take this brief moment of quiet to read. You felt safe in the ravine, so much so that you had shed your armor back in Techno’s hidden stronghold.

Once sat in front of the fire, you tossed another small log in the flames. You'd have to go find more wood tomorrow but this was enough; The fire burning was bright enough you didn't need to light a torch and waste extra materials they might need, and the air warm enough you only needed a small throw blanket for added comfort to cuddle during the parts of your book the suspense physically got to you.

And so you got comfortable. You relaxed against the wall and you opened your book. Page 47.

Suddenly, sounds bombarded the child - a mad rustling, and then, twit twit, echoing over and over. They were familiar sounds, not particularly frightening, but unplaceable. A heartbeat was louder than anything else and the small nine year old could only wish that the sound were quieter. That everything was quieter.

The maze was an overgrown thing. Something so large that anyone who encountered it knew they could never escape. The shadows kept moving though; rushing faster than legs could ever hope to outrun. Faster and faster they crawled like vines all around. And soon the child was engulfed. Darkness spread to every limb, smothering wails that spilled from parted lips. There were no cries for help or alerts to any who would listen. Soon, nothing remained.

The crash had startled you awake. Your nightmare releasing it’s hold from you at the sudden sound. You relaxed quickly, however, seeing Wilbur in a heap next to the stairs. He must have fallen again. You pressed your lips together, remembering Techno’s words. “We used to have railin’s but Wilbur, he just really enjoyed fallin’ to his death.”

The brunet slowly got up and pat himself off before looking up at you and smiling. A smile like that could have made sunflowers turn to revel in its glow.

“Oh, hey. Sorry for waking you.” His voice was soft, probably to not wake anyone else if they hadn’t already been awoken already.

"Don't worry about it. It wasn’t a very good dream.” He nodded at you in understanding. “What were you doing out? On a secret mission?”

The teasing smile on your lips grew bigger when his smile soured and he scoffed, grumbling to himself about how every mission was technically a secret one.

Yours fell away when he started walking off, his softness darkened with the thought of what happened during his outing. You hesitated. You didn’t want to wake Techno. You two were only just growing closer and you didn’t know how the hybrid reacted to missing out on the little sleep he was actually getting. But you didn’t want to be with your thoughts. Despite not being even remotely close to the man now leaving you behind, you reached out for him. “Hey Wilbur?” He turned to look at you. "Can you stay? Just for tonight, please. I don't want to be alone after that."

You watched his brown eyes brighten and a boyish grin overtake his lips. It reminded you of Tommy’s. You briefly wondered if his mood always swung this dramatically. “I'll stay for as long as you need." He made his way to sit with you and you added another log to the fire, sitting up so the rock digging into your spine shifted away. Wilbur sat across from you, his presence immediately making you relax.

"So, Mr. Leader," You taunted once more, "What was the secret mission?"

In the coming days, you and Wilbur spent more time together. He’d tell you the most random facts about himself whilst you two worked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pay it any mind.

"Hey [y/n], guess what?"

"Hm?"

"I was born on September 14th. That makes me a Virgo."

"Did you know I can play guitar?"

"I think everyone knows that about you, Wilbur. Why do you ask?"

"I just thought you might wanna hear me play you something sometime..."

"You know, I was once married to this wonderful salmon named Sally. You remind me of her sometimes."

“With you on our side, [y/n], I know that we’re going to win L’manburg back. And I promise you’ll have a spot in my cabinet.”

It was decided. Techno and yourself would attend the festival while Wilbur and Tommy hung back and watched from a safe distance. You were nervous. A bad feeling grew like a stone in your stomach as they all prepared.

"Hey [y/n], come here a moment, will you?" Sighing as you stood from the chest you were going through, you felt your back pop in a few different places and you hissed before walking to where Wilbur stood. It was silent in the ravine, everyone just as anxious about the festival as you.

"Yeah?" You asked, resting a hand on his arm as you peeked around him at the paper on the table. It was a map of Manburg with “x”s scattered across it.

"Are you prepared?" He glanced down at you, watching the crease in your eyebrows deepen as you examined the plans.

"Mhm." You hummed, finally looking up at him. His eyes were so warm when they looked at you, just like Techno’s. Even if he didn’t have a smile, they were always filled with that same warmth that made you feel important. The two were more like brothers than either cared to admit. "Why?"

"Can I tell you something and you keep it a secret from Tommy and Techno?" Everything around you felt like it had stilled. Everything waiting for the other shoe to drop. The stone suddenly felt heavier.

"What is it?” He continued looking at you and you found it almost hard to breathe. "Wilbur?"

His hand reached to cup your cheek gently. They weren’t calloused like Technoblade’s. They were the hands of a poet, of a musician, of someone whose hand reached for the quill not the sword. They smelled of gunpowder. Your heart felt like it was in your throat when you realized what all of those “x”s were.

“You would risk letting all those people die just so you could have L’manburg back? Why?”

His voice came out hoarse when he finally brought himself to speak. "Because if I can’t have it, no one can, [y/n]. I'm so sorry."

Your lips trembled. You thought of all of the innocent people who would never see it coming. You thought of Tommy and Techno, getting ready in another part of the ravine who wouldn’t know until it was too late. You thought of the man before you who probably felt like he was doomed to keep repeating this action again and again. When had blowing something up ever worked in his past lifetimes? He had to know that this was crazy, right?

Wilbur continued to stare at your frightened face for a moment. He looked so serious. His dark eyebrows drawn together and lips turned just the slightest bit downward. But his eyes? The warmth that filled them seemed to be slowly draining and being replaced with dark melancholy. You hated that look on him and drew your hand up to hold the one cradling your face. “You don’t have to do this, y’know. There is always another way.”

Wilbur stepped forward, pulling you into an embrace that smelled of cedar and leather. His hand left your cheek to instead hold your head to his chest. You didn’t like this hug. This hug felt like he knew things were going to go horribly wrong and he didn’t want you to see the aftermath of it. “If there were one, we would have found it by now.”

Your hands gripped the soft material of his trench coat and you pressed your face into his sweater. You didn’t want this. You were happy to help where you could, but you didn’t want to be a part of the destruction of a nation. You just wanted to help your friends overthrow a tyrant. “I wish I were as brave as you, Wil.”

The soft huff of a chuckle reverberated through his chest as he squeezed you tighter. “Did you know that that’s the first time you’ve called me something other than my name?” His voice was uplifted at the end. He almost sounded happy by the thought. It was squashed when he sighed, pressing his face into your hair. “I wouldn’t call it bravery, though. Still, I promise that we’ll all end up on the other side of this together.”

You tilted your head up a bit to look at him. “Where else would we be?”

He didn’t answer you, just held you tighter.

If there was one thing Wilbur couldn’t describe himself as, it was good.

In previous lives, he had been a cruel, sadistic god. He forced hundreds of people to compete for his entertainment. They were rats, moles, ants, sometimes even just humans while he played the part of omnipotent creator. He had been a king sometimes, or a hero. And time and time again, he was just an older brother. But no matter what, he couldn’t seem to save the people who loved him the most. He couldn’t protect the ones who looked up to him; be it because he found sick joy in their deaths, or because he wasn’t strong enough.

He never felt strong enough.

When Technoblade had told him of the strange person whom he had met in the nether, he almost brushed it off. There was no way he had met someone whom he hadn’t shared at least one lifetime with. There was no such thing as new players who weren’t just NPCs.

However, when you stepped into the ravine, inventory absolutely filled with different items that you just willingly handed over to the pink haired hybrid with a smile, he was utterly floored. The curve of your lips, the tone of your voice, even the look in your eyes were all new to him. He had never once met you.

He approached the two of you with hurried steps, wondering what kind of trick you were playing, only to freeze when you turned your gaze to him. He could hear his own blood rushing through his ears and, for a moment, he wondered if you could hear it too. The expression you wore unnerved him. It was as if you had seen every lifetime, every possibility. Yet you still had the nerve to smile shyly at him. When you waved at him in silent greeting, he knew Technoblade had been completely correct in his assumption. Your lives were missing from your wrist.

You were an investment.

But no one made him feel as powerless as you did.

You were able to try things over and over and over again. You weren’t held back by memories of mistakes or fears. The tiny flits of trauma they all seemed to feel were just… absent in your being. You were unapologetic about running errands in Manburg and doing reconnaissance whilst you were out, seemingly unafraid during the recounts you had given him of meeting Schlatt and Tubbo for the first time.

And this seemed to hold true in your interactions with Tubbo. He didn’t treat you with the same feral energy he shared with Tommy or the attitude he put forth for his leaders. When you weren’t spending almost every waking moment with Technoblade, the soft murmur of your soft voices being heard through the stone walls that led to the farm, you were interacting with one or both of the teenagers that helped fuel the rebellion. Tubbo told you about new ideas he had, or described to you his day, or even just explained to you things that even he himself knew he would have trouble understanding, despite Tubbo being the one to explain them. Wilbur noticed that you just did that. You listened patiently while someone talked, despite the knowing look in your eye that made him feel like you already knew exactly what they were about to say. And this seemed to carry over into your relationship with Tommy.

You paid rapt attention to the blond, reminding him that even if he was still technically a child, that doesn’t mean he didn’t deserve to be listened to. The oddest part he found, though? Tommy actually returned the favor in kind. It wasn’t so much that you would go on long-winded tangents and he’d be forced to sit there and listen. It was that when you asked or told the sixteen year old to do something, he did it without too much of a fight. That’s not to say he wouldn’t talk back to you, he did almost every time, but it was the point that he would still do what you said without much hesitation. And every single time, Wilbur felt the sharpest stab of envy.

He had questioned Tommy after the first couple instances of it happening before him. He had cornered the very person who had been his younger brother in many previous lives against the cold stone wall on one of the walk ways while you and Techno were out gathering things from the nether and demanded to know why. However, the young soldier just shrugged in response. “They just usually have very fun ideas.” He had stared long and hard at the blonde, the other fiddling with the hem of his dirty shirt. He made a mental note to ask if you’d be willing to do laundry for them when you next went to Manburg. “That and…”

“And?” Wilbur had immediately prompted, knowing the time he had to question the younger was running short.

“They just have that tone of voice. And something makes me feel like I should listen when they tell me to do something.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to berate him. “Sometimes it feels like they know way more than they should. Like they already know what’s going to happen.”

The brunet’s words died on his tongue.

They all felt like that.

But if you knew so much, why did you never talk about any of your past lives like the rest of them did? If you knew what was going to happen, why were you so patient and let them make mistake after mistake?

The thought sat bitterly at the forefront of his mind as he pat himself off, having fallen off the side of the walkway yet again. He almost regretted removing the child-proofing, but he was an adult, and he didn’t need them, and he certainly wasn’t going to recant his insistence that they didn’t need them. He turned when he heard shifting and saw you slumped against the side of the ravine.

In the dim lighting, you looked different. You were cuddled under a thin blanket, eyebrows furrowed and mouth pressed into a pout that reminded him of a child. He must have awoken you. You looked rather cute like this, though.

He smiled at you despite himself. He was still a little hesitant about being around you. He didn’t need help in his daily activities like Technoblade, he didn’t need a guiding hand like Tommy, and he felt plenty listened to daily, unlike Tubbo.

But somehow, he didn’t feel as loved as you were.

“Oh hey, sorry for waking you.” The words had slipped from his mouth before he had had a chance to stop them. Now he’d be forced to converse with you. He watched your eyes look away from him, even in the dim light.

"It wasn’t a very good dream.” You didn’t have good dreams? What was there to have a nightmare of? He tucked that piece of information away for later, your eyes were back on him. “What were you doing out? On a secret mission?”

His mood immediately dropped, especially when he saw the mocking grin that planted itself on your face. It was as if this were a game to you. “Every mission we pursue is a secret one, you of all people should know that.”

The grin just grew and he felt his chest tighten. How could you act so lax when you seemed to know exactly what happened when he was out there? He turned to walk back to his desk to write about the events that had transpired and quell his anger. He wasn’t truly upset with you, he knew that, and he didn’t want to take that out on the one person that seemed to be holding together his fellow usurpers, but you almost irritated him. His soft steps reverberated through their base.

“Hey Wilbur?”

His steps faltered. Despite your previous mood, you suddenly sounded so small. Afraid. He looked at you from over his shoulder and was surprised to see your extended hand.

“Can you stay for tonight? I don’t want to be alone after that.”

A new feeling sparked in him.

You wanted him? The one who had been so helpful for everyone else, to the cause, even to him on occasion, needed his help? How bad had your dream been? You looked so distraught, so powerless. He didn’t feel so weak when you looked at him like that.

“I’ll stay for as long as you need.” Your eyes held a warmth that could rival the fire in front of them. You moved to feed it and he sat across from you. You two weren’t close in either sense of emotionally or physically.

When had that changed?

He felt compelled to check up on you more after that night, use you as the investment that he believed you to be. No one in Manburg knew of your status, and he was planning on using it to their advantage.

Or, he had been.

But you made him feel safe about sharing things about himself. You were easy to talk to, easy to work around, easy to listen to. You would have been so easy to use.

Maybe that’s why he told you of the plan he and Tubbo had come up with.

You had found your way into much more than his good graces, just like the rest of them, and he didn’t want you to get caught in the crossfire. You were so susceptible to influence, he feared you’d start to see him as a villain. He knew what people would say about him. He wanted you to know his thoughts and feelings before you could be tainted by their remarks.

He had shared memories with you before. They all had. Words seemed to fall unencumbered whenever you were around and they were all victim to it. But you hadn’t judged any of them on the actions they had taken in their previous lives. You didn’t even judge them on the actions they had taken in this one. Despite this, he was still scared you’d be turned against him if he wasn’t the one to tell you.

“I think everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves.”

It was his turn to prove that they were fighting for the right side.

#RemembranceAU #dsmp au #dream smp au #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #mcyt x reader #tw: nightmares #tw: death #tw: child death #tw: genocide #tw: bomb

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years ago

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Κατακηλέω (νοσταλγία deleted scene)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Κατακηλέω: to charm, cast a spell over (Ancient Greek)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Narses/Reader but you know how that is

Summary: This is a deleted scene that happens between chapter 16 and 17, it centers mainly around Narses.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: The usual, plus a graphic depiction of burning alive (or my best attempt at writing it anyways)

A/N: Yeah idk what to say here lol, I put this together mainly bc @xbellaxcarolinax made a point of there being little Narses on the story, and bc she was interested in a chapter more centered around him. I write a lot of rambles that I don’t post cause I don’t think people wanna read ‘em, but here it is one of em, in deleted-scene form lol. Hope you like it, and thank you! <3

Also yes I have Michiel Huisman as Daario in my head as a faceclaim for Narses, idk what to tell ya, I suck at describing characters so of course you had no way of knowing that, and I’m sorry.

Taglist: (I’m sorry if you don’t wanna be tagged in these kind of chapters btw, just lemme know and I’ll keep you on the main story ones only, or just the main story and Ivar PoV ones, whatever works for you) @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson

“It scares you, doesn’t it?” Freydis starts suddenly one night, and you lift your eyes to her but don’t say anything. So, she continues, “The reminder of what you could do.”

“If you mean-…”

“You know what I mean. You could lie, and I keep wondering why you don’t.”

“Lying is what you would do, is it not?” You snap, head tilted to the side.

The blonde’s smile turns smug, as if she just made you give away a card. Instead of saying anything regarding that, she shrugs,

“You have traveled a lot, lived a lot,” She states, moving carefully and taking a seat next to you, seemingly choosing to ignore your eyes following her. “Will you tell me you are unaware of what men are able and willing to do for a woman’s love?

She stops whatever it is she was going to say next when an elderly woman enters the apothecary, her blue eyes following the woman’s moves. You are reminded of that night when she shared her thoughts by a window and was interrupted -eyes and ears follow the witch-, and realize why she holds her tongue.

Instead of waiting for the other woman to leave, she stands up and asks you to follow with but a gesture of her head.

Certain steps take you both to the same elevated patch of cold and foreign grass that saw you lay on your knees and pray to whatever Gods heard you to give you an answer.

And so, Freydis continues on,

“Look at all Ivar did to get you to be at his side. Imagine what he would do with the promise you could love him,” Manic blue eyes meet yours as Freydis stops you with a hand on your arm. You pointedly look down at it and back up at her face, feeling a tightness in your chest, dread mixed with disdain. “Imagine what he would do if you pretended to love him and threatened to take it away.”

There’s only one answer you can give her.

“Get your hand off me.”

If you were your mother, you’d have a sword in your hands and a snarl on your lips. But you never wanted to fight like a man, and so you only let the cold of this land seep into your voice and harden your expression, your voice.

She remains frozen for a few moments too long, and you once again pointedly look at her hand and back into her eyes.

“I don’t like repeating myself,” You state, and only then does she comply, her eyes searching yours. You return your arm to be comfortable covered by the warm cloak, and turn to keep walking. “I do not want to hear another word of this, you hear me? Not another damned word.”

“Does that mean you’ve given up? You’ll let him keep you here?”

“I said not another word.”

Freydis swallows whatever her words are to be next, and nods her head, accepting your order as if she thinks you gave her a choice.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Freydis speaks again.

“You choose to protect him now, is that it?”

Her dainty and delicate voice loses none of the edge and the certainty, even as her eyes betray something more human.

“You are a smart woman,” You concede instead of answering her questions, and tilt your head to the side, “But a smarter one would know when to hold her tongue.”

“You don’t hold yours.”

“I never claimed to be smart,” You reply easily, before bowing your head in goodbye. “Goodnight, Freydis.”

She knows it is a dismissal, and a rude one at that, but she only returns the gesture. You could swear a strange sort of pride shines in the girl’s dark blue eyes as she takes her leave.

____

And now you sit alone overlooking that same cliff and you cannot get her words out of your head. You wish you could hate her, berate her for her games and call her names, say she is nothing but a liar, a whore.

But it is not so simple, is it? You seduced a man into giving you his army, did it so well Freydis trusted you to seek Freyja’s favor and do the same with the King, knew you had what it took with only but a look at you.

You promised your love to Narses only for the faint possibility that he could drive the Byzantine Christians off your lands, that he could bend his army and his strength to your will and give you the kingdom you deserved.

And you did to Narses everything that Freydis would have done to Ivar. You kissed, lied, and promised yourself; for the sake of a game.

Because when all you are told you can be is a warm pair of legs to wrap around a man, a pretty little jewel for him to keep and parade around, a quiet and beautiful maiden to stand beneath who the Gods deem you belong to; you learn to play games, all women do.

You wrap your legs tight enough he begs for mercy trying to escape your spell, you show them how even jewels draw blood if squeezed too tight in a fool’s hand, you let beauty carry you near him and your voice be a whisper as it reaches his ear. You play games.

But, as you sit on the cold grass overlooking Kattegat’s horizon, the sea and the sky meeting far away and reminding you strikingly of dusks and dawns spent on that temple overlooking the ocean and awaiting for those ships; you think about how no women speak of what happens when the game ends.

Because it always ends. It is a world of change, after all, a world of wheels turning and of days and nights and of seasons unending. It goes on and on, and the world changes, the games end.

Maybe you don’t hear women speak of what happens when it ends because few survive it. Those that do, maybe, just like you, refuse to speak of it, refuse to give voice to the pain and the shame that comes after playing with a heart not your own.

Refuse to admit the regret.

“You’ll do it?” He asks, eyes shining, “You’ll be my wife?”

“I would love to marry you,” You lie, you lie, you lie; and it burns your heart, “But I don’t want to bring our children into a world that will push them into the dirt for the Gods they follow, Narses.”

And just like that, promises, vows, oaths, fall from his perfect lips like he cannot help it. And you believe him, because if you hold your breath and dive past the smoke into the memories of your past, you can recognize that the way Narses looks at you now is the same way your father used to look at your mother.

You remember Sieghild’s teachings about Freyja, about her ways of persuasion and seduction, and wonder if, even if you are foreign to her, the Goddess looks over you. You wonder if she would smile or frown at your games.

You fall down on the grass, keeping your hold on Narses’ hands to tug him down with you. Narses falls with a laugh, legs and arms holding him up above you, dark green eyes shining as they look down upon yours.

It is remarkably easy, to surrender to his kiss. You close your eyes, letting your fingers go up into his hair, and allowing your lips and tongue to dance with his.

When his impatient lips move down to your jaw, your neck; you let him, craning your head back so he can have more access to your skin. If you clear your mind, you can almost feel nothing but pleasure.

When you tug particularly hard on his hair as Narses bites at your collarbone, you feel a breathed laugh leave his nose.

Lifting himself up in strong arms on each side of your head, Narses looks down upon you. His words should not hurt like they do by now, as you are so familiar with them you know what they will be before he even opens his mouth.

He steals another quick kiss, and whispers, “I love you.”

As a lover, as his future wife.

You smile through the pain, and answer, “I love you.”

As a friend, as the protector of your people.

As an instrument of war.

You are reminded of the safety of Narses’ embrace, however suffocating; and you can almost taste your name on his lips, bloodied as they were the last time you saw him alive.

“You are in the Elysian Fields, I know,” You start telling the wind, hoping it can carry your words to him, “Or maybe these Varangians’ Gods are fighting with ours to take you with them to Valhalla. Either way, I hope you can hear my voice one last time, my friend.”

You laugh brokenly to yourself, lowering your gaze to the grass under your body, caressing the dark tresses of nature.

“I know I don’t make much sense, I-I never did to you. Ramblings about Fate and empires fallen and tales of Gods and heroes; things that you had no interest in hearing. And yet you still looked upon me like something…something out of a dream, Narses,” You tell him, pain clawing at your heart, reopening wounds you thought you closed long ago. You smile sadly still, and reminisce, “You used to tell me I was your dream, and…I wish I could tell you that you were mine, I truly do. But I can’t.”

And regret fills you, the useless and heartbreaking gift of hindsight showing you that the path you took led only to pain and war. Narses was sent by your choices, by your games, by your mistakes, to die; and you…you were sent here. To what?

You dare think not even the Gods have an answer to your present, or future. But you do have answers to your past, and if someone deserves to hear them, it is Narses, wherever he may be.

“Returning to Eleusis choked me with the smoke of all the fires lit before I left and during my time away. I…blinded myself with ambition and I thought the only way I could fight was through you,” You explain, honestly, brokenly, the only way you know how to, “I knew that if I had the heart of Thebes’ Strategus, I could get what I wanted. I just had to have enough guile, enough lies, enough poison; to trick you into giving me your heart.

You offer the wind a hollow chuckle, bitter and angry and oh so filled with regret you can feel your heart poisoned with it.

“And I did exactly that. Maybe Aphrodite and Peitho blessed my lies, maybe Sieghild was right and Freyja watched over me,” You look over Kattegat’s horizon, facing the truths of your past when you don’t know what you want out of your future, “Either way, I used you, I hated myself but I still did it and…I got what I wanted.

As the agony of the flames crawls over your legs, scorching your skin with the inferno, blinding your eyes with the smoke, flogging your throat with your screams; you turn your gaze to the sky, blackened and barren as it is, and plead the Gods you have fought and bled for to grant you a moment of mercy, a painless death.

And flesh being charred smells awful, making your poisoned lungs heave for unattainable retrieve. You hold a moment of clarity in your mind to beg for Sieghild’s forgiveness, that you left her in this world alone after she sacrificed so much for you. You hope her Gods let you visit her in Folkvangr.

With one last ragged and angry scream, you let your strength leave you, your agony leave you, your regrets leave you.

When you awaken you find yourself in too much pain to accept this is the Underworld. Before you open your eyes, a moment of panic and dread fills your heart at the thought that the Christians left you alive to torture you, but you hear familiar voices, smell familiar fragrances.

Sieghild’s hand over your forehead, gentle and loving in ways she rarely is, makes a small smile tug at your dried and bleeding lips.

“I know you are awake, open your eyes,” She chastises, gruff even when relief clogs her voice. You do, and her smiling inked face settles your quickly beating heart, makes you forget the pain for a moment. “I love you, you stubborn child.”

You allow yourself a smile, closing your eyes again and focusing on breathing for a few moments, before whispering, “I love you too, minn móðir.”

The shieldmaiden chuckles brokenly, pressing rough lips on the crown of your head. After a few moments of silence, she sighs.

“By the way, you mad woman, you did it.”

“Did what?” You ask raggedly, wincing as you lift your head to accept the cup of water she offers.

“Listen, little one,” She instructs, and when you do, you hear the rustling of armor plates, the heavy steps of soldiers outside your door. The Viking woman shakes her head in almost disbelief, “The Strategos, that boy, he saved you from the flames.”

“Narses?”

“His soldiers came with us, we have nearly a thousand men here.”

“I did so many things wrong, Narses. I lied and manipulated and pretended, and maybe because the Gods are cruel, or maybe because reaping what you sow is an empty promise; I succeeded, and I got what I wanted. I knew I wouldn’t win, not against the Empire, not against the Christians, but…I wanted them to remember me, to remember our names and our Gods and our ways. To remember we don’t die silently.

And even if it hurts, you admit to yourself that you would do it again. You wish you could have loved Narses the way he deserved, you wish you could have been honest, you wish you could have found other ways to fight for your kingdom; but…you understand why you did it, and feeble and useless as it is, you want to forgive yourself for it.

Where there is war there can never be love, right? And you wanted war, you will not lie to yourself and say you truly wanted peace all along.

No, you wanted to see those Christians that came to take your home bleed at your feet, you wanted Attica to be free again, and Laconia, and Macedonia, and Arcadia, and many others. And you would wage war for your freedom for a thousand years if needed.

You would promise Narses your hand again if it came to it. You know you would, because the person you were when Attica was yours…she would have done that and much more for a chance at freedom. Now, you know better. Now, you let yourself be softer. Now, the world is a lot bigger than it seemed back then.

Now, things are different. Maybe you are, maybe the world is, maybe your heart is. Maybe Ivar is.

You smile at the barren horizon that doesn’t seem so foreign and intimidating now, and whisper, “I could do it now, I know. I would end up dead when he knew the truth, that’s for certain, but the victory would be mine, our people’s, by the time Ivar could catch up with my lies. I could, Narses.

“We need Stithulf’s support. We will ally with him, and even if you scream and fight it is what will happen.”

But you are shaking your head before he even finishes speaking.

“As Anassa of Attica I ca-…”

“As the commander of your forces, as the man you’ll marry, I’m telling y-…”

The hostility, the command, in his tone startle you to attention, and you narrow your eyes as you step closer. You don’t reach his shoulder, but the years have taught you there’s few things a man fears more than a woman that refuses to fight like a man but still fights.

“If you try using that to silence me, I fear you will not live long as my husband.” The threat drips from your lips like wine, but Narses doesn’t cave for once, and he drags a hand over his face.

“You always fight me, why do you…why can’t you be…?” His words die in a sigh, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Why can’t I be someone I’m not? Would you love me if I were anything other than me?”

“Sometimes, I wish you were,” He sentences, a hand over his eyes as he grunts out the words. Your heart drops, and so does your guard. He sighs again, and a hand reaches up and cups your cheek, unaware your whole body tightens to a coil the moment he touches you. “Sometimes, I fool myself into thinking I still see the woman you once were in you. The woman that wanted a life surrounded by Eleusis’ warmth, the woman that cared not for war, for vengeance.”

You grit your teeth, and step back, closing your eyes tightly as you croak,

“That woman was never all I was. I wanted Eleusis, I still do, but that doesn’t mean I never wanted revenge, Narses. Those Christia-…”

When you feel he finally drops his hand from your cheek, you open your eyes and watch his hand clench into a fist.

“Why do I have to love a woman like you?” He hisses, turning his back to you and slamming both hands on the weak table in front of him. “I’ve asked the Gods why, you know. Why I have to love a woman arrogant and ambitious and…Hera help me, a woman that is not mine. Never was, never will be.”

“I-…What are you saying?”

“Do you think I’m enough of a fool to think I can make you my wife? If the Fates don’t stop me you will,” A humorless chuckle leaves his lips, “Lord Hades might split open the earth and drag you to the Underworld before I get to call you my wife.”

“Don’t say those things.”

“It is true! I was not Fated to have you, even if the Gods know I was Fated to love you,” He shakes his head, teeth gritted and eyes failing to meet yours, “We both know what made you say yes to me, and it is what is keeping you from saying yes to Stithulf. It was never love.”

Shame chokes you, keeps the next words form leaving your lips. Your lips tremble and your eyes cloud with tears as you look at his tense back, nothing but regrets shining in your eyes.

“Are you-…will you l-leave?”

Will you leave me? Is the question you dare not ask, because you do not have the right to believe he should want to stay at your side, not after everything.

You still don’t want him to leave you alone here.

But the Thebesian takes a deep breath, straightening his back again and turning to you. The same anguished softness you saw so many times in his eyes still shines in them now, and he shakes his head.

His voice when he replies feels like warmth, like safety and nostalgia,

“I will always be at your side. Until Hades summons you home, I’ll be at your side.”

You look into his warm eyes, and with shame still burning your chest, you ask,

“Why? The Gods know I do not deserve it. Why do you stay?”

The answer leaves his lips with the same certainty it always did, with the same hope and the same truth,

“I love you.”

You like to believe you would have loved Narses, you like to believe you would have been content remaining as Eleusis’ Priestess. You like to believe you could have birthed him children for you to teach the way of the Gods and he to give the fame of his family.

Problem is, you fear now, with the taste of this strange freedom still fresh and sweet on your tongue, you don’t think you could have ever lived with the binds of what Narses wanted to make out of you. A priestess, whose ambition is forgotten when he wills it so; a woman, whose eyes will need to lower from his; a wife, to be quietened when he speaks.

And you don’t want that, to be what Narses wanted you to, what Galla wanted you to, what Freydis wants you to, what Ivar wants you to. You want to be you, and you want to fight, and be compassionate and revengeful, and be soft and relentless, without needing to choose one or the other.

You want nights of stupid arguments and infuriating talks, you realize around a broken chuckle, you want foreign languages and even more foreign customs, you want…you want Ivar. In all his vitriol, in all his bloodthirst, in all his awkward gentleness and in all his armored heart, you want him.

Tears of regret and the path not taken fill your eyes, and you find yourself sobbing out a small laugh, “But the person that lied and tricked you, that could do the same to Ivar…she died amongst the flames, left me in her place, I think.

The Priestess is dead.

Taking the small knife Ivar gifted you what seems like a lifetime ago, you hold a lock of your hair in front of you, and cut off the wind-blown and tangled strands, holding a short tress in your hand that weights like a decade of apologies and promises made.

“I’m sorry. For everything I did and everything I didn’t do,” You promise him, closing your eyes and almost seeing his smiling face before you, his eyes shining and his sun-kissed skin weathered around a smile. “In another life, I may have loved you like you deserved.”

You open your palm, and let the strands of grief be carried off by Kattegat’s winds way across the sea.

And in another world, on another land, a dead man takes a breath.

____

So, hope you liked it, hope that last sentence got you wonderin’, and hope you have a nice day/night!

Thank you so much for reading, see you Tuesday with the scheduled update: chapter 18 :)

#ivar the boneless x reader #does this count tho #i guess so #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #νοσταλγία masterlist

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popculturebuffet · 5 years ago

Conversation

*Goofy and Launchpad are hanging a banner*

Banner: CONGRADULATIONS SENIOR WOODCHUCK VIOLET!

Huey: Excellent work guys.. and it only took three hours, four broken lamps.. several jabs in the eyes.. some bloodloss but you did it.

Dewey and Louie: (Walk in)

Louie: So what's all this?

Huey: A party for violet.. I thought she deserved a celebration.. I mean her parents took her out after but you can't get enough and I got one even though I turned it down because I did a terrible thing to try and get it.

Della: And i'm proud of you sweetie... (Has been there thewhole time with boyd, both in uniform)

Huey: I also thought I should bring some of our fellow woodchucks.. but most were small children and our house is a deathtrap on a normal day so for obvious reasons I invited the nigh indescrutable robot who my best friend can repair and my mom who lives here. I mean mom still counts. She's also going to try and start corunning meetings since .. how do I put this nicely.

Della: Launchpad your a terrible Chuckleader

Launchpad: Entirely accurate. And you look hot in that uniform

Della: Also entirely accurate. And while throwing a party for the person who defeated you in compettition isn't MY style, I prefer to sulk and swear vengance, I am PROUD of you for being the bigger duck. Metaphorically she's not a duck and her hair gives her a slight advantage.

Boyd: I"m just happy to be invited. As was my brother.

Louie: HUEY NO HUEY WHY HUEY WHY

Huey: "A woodchuck always invites another woodchuck"..though thankfully the guidebook also says "A woodchuck always obeys restraining orders" so the most he can do is creepily lurk outside.

Doofus:(Breathing heavily and creepily into the closest window from outside)

Louie: Eugh... but we're not going outside for this? Please say no.

Huey: We were but for obvious reasons I cancled the outside portion. I also laid out the solicitor traps with picutres of goldie so HOPEFULLy he'll evnetually end up in one of those. Your my brother, I take your eneimies as seriously as I do my oath as a junior woodchuck. Plus he scares me too.

BOYD: Oh he's not so bad. He stopped holding a knife to my throat while I was powered down after mama and poppa told him to only three times!

Webby: (Riding in on a cartload of snacks and books ) I got the suplies for your party! Almonds like she likes, some salmon and some light reading. You are such a good friend.

Louie: Sure that's ALLL he wants to be.

Huey: (panicked) yeah of COURSE I do... why would you say that?

Dewey: Ohhh Huey's got a girlfriend, huey's got a girlfriend, come on eveyrbody!

Dewey and Della: Huey's got a girlfriend, huey's got a girlfriend!

Boyd: HUEY"S GOT A PARTNER TO SHARE HIS HOPES AND DREAMS WITH MOCKING TONE

Dewey: Your learning buddy

Boyd: We have never met before.

Dewey: We haven't have we? ... why haven't we? I always wanted a robot buddy to laugh at my jokes and do wacky hyjinks with.

Boyd: And I always wanted a third friend!

Della: Sorry son force of habit.

Huey: I do not like violet.. just because she's pretty.. and smarter than me.. and she smells nice.. which I only know because she flew me out of danger after I didn't do the same in a moment of weakness... and she's also awwkawrd with people... and fine I do.

Webby: EHHHH MY BROTHER LIKES MY BEST FRIEND... I'M SO HAPPY RIGHT NOW. WE NEED A PLAN.

Huey: I have one it's called be nice and hope she notices.

Della: Oh baby child no. You have to actually make a move. Don't be like your uncle donald

Donald: (Burts in from the back) Stop telling the boys that! I mean it's probably true but it hurts.

Della: I was telling dewey to actually MAKE a move and not just wait for her to notice.

Donald: Oh... then your mother is absolutley right.

Huey: You taught me that!

Donald: And I was very wrong and i'm very much alone and i'll probably die alone aside from you guys. I'm okay with that.

Della: Okay i'm going to put a pin in that because your going to die alone over my dead body.

Donald: We talked scrooge out of us sharing a casket though.

Della: Again pin my baby needs me, Huey just be honest, be yourself... and just don't corner her.. just ask her nicely to go to a movie, or a library or an abandoned condo built on an native american buiral ground.

Webby: Thanks again for the date spot suggestion by the way. Lena loved it.

Della: your welcome. I have enoguh mom for all of you.. includingt he tiny robot and the grown man who misses his child.

Goofy: Awwww...

Louie: Wait why IS goofy here?

Donald: He's rooming with me. I still had the spare room and he has empty nest.. plus he needs a new house after the old one burned down.

Goofy: It's just like college!

Huey: But I"m.. scared okay? besides her being objectivley better than me, I had BOYD run the satstics.

BOYD: But your still great.

Huey: Thank you, what if she dosen't want that or dosen't feel that way?

Louie: Then you'll be awkard around each other for a while.. you were going to be ANYWAY if you don't tell her and either way the awkward goes away. You got this man. She's a nerd, your a nerd, your all nerds.

Launchpad: (Happily) hey!

Louie: You got this. We're all in your corner.

Doofus: (from outside still) Even me... though if you fail i'm going for that.

Webby: (cheerfully) If you even THINK about hitting on my best friend again I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and bury you where no will ever find you.

Doofus: Ohhhh I won't.. your much more intresting.

Webby: Ewwwww.. I have a girlfriend. Also your objectivley disgusting in every way shape or form.

Doofus: Well I (gun cocks) Am being threatned by your help. Good day to you. (Runs off)

Louie: MRs. b, did you ever know that your my hero?

Beakly: (beams proudly and then goes back to her gardening)

Dewey: Louie's right, while I will mock you constnatly you got this. Plus you got her best friend in her corner.

Webby: Yeah.. though if you ever hurt her i'll do to you what i'll probably have to do to doofus one day

Huey: That is entirely fair and I will accept my death without a struggle.

Webby: See you are good boyfriend material!

Huey: Though I doubt I mean she couldn't possibly...

MEANWHILE: not far from the house, Lena and Violet are walking

Violet: Feel the same way. I mean... for one your around.

Lena: I appricate the compliment but i'm dating his sister. And i'm also VERY gay. Like our dad's gay. Like huey's mom is turbo bi.

Violet: Yes i've read the "Bi as explitive" t-shirt she wore when we first met her. But besides a lack of better options why me? I'm stilted, I do not get people, and until a few months ago my only friend was learning.

Lena: Take out stilted and you just described him too. Your similar enough to really click but just diffrent enough it won't get boring.

Violet: But you nad webby

Lena: Are opposites. Yes this is true. But it's not ALL relationships. Sometimes you date someone just like you, sometimes you don't.. I mean our dad's aren't exactly the same either, but their amazing. And so are you. I may not belivie in most people, But I belivie in you. (they arrive at the gates, violet has been in uniform naturally) Now get in there and get that nerd, Nerd.

Violet: (has been tearing up slightly and hugs her sister) You are the best sibling I never asked for.

Lena: (Hugs her back) right back atcha

(Inside)

Dewey: (holding a cake shaped like violet's head and eating it directly with his mouth) I got the cake

Huey: This isa why I set up a decoy.. three of htem.

(Della and launchpad are also holding hteir own cakes)

Della: But i'd never...

Huey: You would if this wasn't so important to me, so I feel your behavior deserves to be rewarded. Now if you'll excuse me I need to hide my emotions. (Waves hand over face.. and still looks like a nervous mess) There no one will notice

Louie: Huey she's a nerd not blind. Look man, your amazing, you are a catch.. I mean not at our age or even in highschool but eventually scrooge will die and you'll be richer because you'll probably invent something that makes you rich before that. As I said just go for it man, just find an opportunity and cease it.. we're all backing you up. And if it fails, we'll be there to pick you up. Now go get that nerd.

Huey: Right.. i'm just going to pen the door and

Duckworth: Masters violet and lena... (Leads them into the foyer) Also nicely done.. and thank you for asking my permission though in the future as long as your uncle is uninvolved you need only give me a heads up so he can hide from it.

Huey: Thank you duckworth.. ahme... ta-da!

Violet: (blushes) It's wonderful... and is that a bookshelf? And.. is that terry pratchetts complete works? And a cake shaped like my head.. may I?

Huey: (Hands her a knife)

Violet: (Cuts in) And it's an exact repleica of my interior cranimum. I knew you wanted those x-rays for a reason b esides curosity you rascal

Huey: (Blushes) I uh.. thanks

Violet: (Blushes bakc) Uh any time)

Della: Awwww

Huey: Hey violet I was uh wondering,, I uh..

Violet: ... okay so he does feel the same wya tha'ts a relief. You were right Lena

Huey: Wait what?

Louie: You had to give her the pep talk too huh?

Lena: Yup.. I mean she is usuually confident

Louie: Not so true here...

Dewey: I"m fine with that.. it's what makes him loveable.. that and it means i'm not 100% teh donald

Della: Nah you got too much of my genetics for that.

Huey: Okay I can handle this okay..

Violet: Oh god you really aren't intrested

Huey: No I am I am but why me? I"m not even a senior woodchuck.

Violet: no but when given the easy out you didn't take it, you took the honorable path. YOu also are smart, adorable, and do not mind the fact I speak more roboticaly than our actual robot friend.

BOYD: 4 friends!

Huey: An dyou.. dont' seem bothered that I kinda sorta a little am nervous.

Violet: If you mean extremley yes but I find it cute.

Huey: I.. uh (Blushes0 uhhhhh... youralsobrillantandcuteandIlikeyourhairandthewayyousmellandIknowthat'sweirdbutIwasupwindofyousoicouldn'thelpitandiwnattobeyourboyfriendeventually

Louie:Wow just.. wow.. I mean I expected it to be bad but that is art

Violet: I accept (Smooches his cheek) Now let's dig into my head shall we? I call frontal lobe

Lena: I want a large portion of skull

Webby: I get the eyes.

(The two nerds hold hands and head for the cake)

FIN

#JESUS FUCKING CHRIST #DUCKTALES #just JESUS FUCKING CHRIST #this took me forever and grew out of hand #ducktales spoiler #huey duck #violet saberwing #huelet #webby vanderquack #dewey duck #louie duck #della duck #donald duck #goofy goof #also from now on outside of actual qoutes i'm going to try and keep continuity.#so keep an eye on that #doofus drake #boyd drake

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monochromemedic · 4 years ago

Text

“Get the hell away from me you freak-” the man’s exclamation was cut short as a wet force shot into his legs, his body slamming against the pavement with a loud thud. A direct slime bullet shot, and the last of the gang was contained within their gooey prisons. I sighed in relief, lowering my arm. ‘I should quip, that’s what all the good heroes do right?’ “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” I said softly before realizing that no one, not even the gathering crowd could hear that. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?!” I repeated before realizing how weak that was. Baby steps... just needed to not show my face around here for a week so they’d all forget how much I fucked up. I rubbed my neck, fingers gliding along the cryo collar as it released a blast of cold air, waves of relief flooding my body. The crowd erupted in clapping, something that startled me back to the situation at hand. A small rising gang had been causing havoc over the city, something larger heroes would only keep their eyes on before attempting to resolve. They were there to help with big tasks, real villains or aliens, something that would cause real devastation. It made sense but that didn’t mean that some real low lives could sneak under the radar and cause some damage as long as they spaced what they were doing enough or kept it the damage to a minimum. The Graveyard Gang was playing with that line and it was obvious that if it wasn’t stopped some hero would have to come down and take them out themselves. If not for me. I raised a hand sheepishly, waddling to the side of the street to meet the crowd that formed around me. “Hey... hello. Did someone call the police already? Is everyone ok?” My words were met by the sound of sirens drawing near, a large news van trailing not too far behind. A frantic woman nearly rolled out of the van, mic at the ready as she bolted through the crowd, ushering a small man lugging a camera to follow her. “Hi, hello, out of the way, Channel 9 news. Hi, I’m Sandra Stevens of Channel 9 news would you mind giving an interview about the heroic deed you just committed?” Her words were fast and rehearsed, like she had either done this a million times or dreamt about doing it so much, the words burned into her brain. Her mic was pushed into my face, knocking against my chin and drawing a thin strand of goo onto the mic. The woman didn’t seem to notice however, her eyes laser focused on me. “I... I su-sure. I’m just not very good on camera-” “Don’t worry honey, editors make everyone look good. Cameron! Start rolling, everyone please clear the place we need a nice shot of...what do you call yourself, Miss?” “G...Grey Matter.” “Grey.” she repeated, a eyebrow raised in silent judgement. “Well Grey Matter, hope you’re ready for your 5 minutes of fame because we’re rolling.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My fingers ran across the laptop keys, restarting the video again for the 11th time in a row. I couldn’t stop, my first interview, my first well known appearance as a hero. And the interview was... terrible. The comments didn’t say that but I couldn’t help but notice how nervous I looked, how much I stared into the camera at times, the way I showed my powers and how one guy said it was like a bad hentai. I knew that but god when others said that made everything feel ten times worse. However other commenters were nice, saying how cool I looked, how good it was to see another hero on the streets, taking care of baddies that the others didn’t get. I felt like my ego was a metronome switching from feeling like a god to feeling like a dumbass. I readied my finger to press the replay button as the video neared the end when a knock came to my door. Strange, I didn’t expect anyone, and not many people knew where I lived. Maybe it was a neighbor coming to congratulate me? Not like I could easily disguise myself and not many other people had the consistency of tar. I slid my pants on and walked to the door, opening it to a face almost 3 inches away from mine. “Hello-” I jumped back, arms raising and balling like huge slings, ready to attack only for them to deflate and fall to my waist as I realized who it was. “You really do stretch! It’s like you’re one big sticky hand toy. Neat, Neat...” Plastic Man commented, his neck extended to look at me further. “Mind if I come in? I’d like to talk.” “I... Y-yes of course Mr... Mr. Plastic Man I... Um.” I could feel myself beginning to melt as I went to close the door behind him, gesturing to my messy house before him. He towered over everything easily, walking past my fridge and ducking to get into my living room to observe more of the house, making eye contact with the laptop. He smiled widely to himself before shifting his eyes back at me. “Please, Mr. Plastic Man was my father, just call me Plas. And I assume you know about me from the way your fangirling?” “I... yes of course you’re an inspiration to me ever since I became like this. The way you quickly maneuver and creatively problem solve with an air of ease is inspiring. Not to mention the way your so cheerful with the public, it puts alot of people at ease, I...starting researching you because we have such similar powers.. not in a weird way just, how you do things.” I rambled trying to literally hold myself together as I felt my body begin to dribble to the floor. “I’m sorry can you excuse me-” “Go ahead, you need... help there?” He asked as I sped past him to my room, grabbing the collar and placing it around my neck. In an instant it came to life, a release of cold air wafting over my body. I returned to the living room, head craning to look at the tall hero. “No thank you, I’m alright. Sometimes when I get nervous or overheated I start to lose my form. The cold from the collar helps me keep me together.” He lowered his head, neck stretching once again to look closer at the device. “I get that, hell sometimes on summer days I gotta put myself in a freezer and become a Plas Pop or else I nearly melt down the storm drain. That’s just another thing we have in common I guess. And that’s what I came here to talk to you about.” I swallowed hard, his hand gesturing to the opened interview on the laptop. “Everyone’s been talking about the girl who took down the Graveyard Gang and word gets around fast. So fast that even I got word of it almost as soon as it aired. Boy was I surprised when I saw you on camera, showing of a little of what you could do. Another stretcher like me! And one who’s new to the game, a fresh face. It got me thinking.” He paused, crossing his arms as he glanced towards the ground. “Things have been quite in the League, least for ol’ Plas. Much as I love my job and helping the universe, seems like I’m always backup number 54 on the list of who to call when the world’s gonna end. Which isn’t bad but it leaves a guy with alot of time on his rubber hands. So I was thinking maybe I should give the whole mentor thing a shot, take someone under my wing. Just haven’t got the chance to meet someone I could actually teach anything to, till I saw your little stunt. So what do you say? Willing to make what the Batman described as ‘A horrible decision that no one would agree to’?” This was crazy. A proposal like this? And so soon? Learning under one of the League, one of the bests? “Yes, I’d be honored to be mentored by you Plastic Man- er... P-plas. I hope I don’t disappoint you, um... you know I can’t shapeshift like you right. I can’t turn into lions or trucks... I... I can’t do alot of those things actually, just basic stretching and modifications.” “Hm? Oh well that’s ok, besides I didn’t expect you to be exactly like me, that’d just be crazy thoughts. Also that’d make you my son, and that’s just weird. You got something else that I don’t have, you got that goo shot. I can’t shoot bullets of myself at people and you said you can set up traps and knock people out in a hail of slime. That’s kick ass, we just gotta embrace that side of you and you’ll be up there with Superman at the table, talking about what multiverse crisis was your favorite.” He grinned, lowering himself to my level and wrapping an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close against his body. I felt my face grow warm as I looked away from him, my chest pounding despite the lack of heart in my breast. Now he was touching me? Telling me how cool I was? I felt myself begin to drip again, knees beginning to buckle. “Y-you really think so?” “I know so. You got spunk kid, we just gotta polish you up and you’ll be golden, Pony Boy.” The force of his palm hitting my back sent me jolting forward, his shadow looming over me. “How about you meet me outside of your place, tomorrow. 1pm. We’ll assess your abilities and work from there. Sound good? Too bad, crime never waits. I’ll see you there.” And with surprising grace he dipped out of my apartment, leaving me like it was just a frantic dream. If it wasn’t for the sting from his palm I’d assume I was merely daydreaming, but it was real. Plastic Man and me, working together. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Come on, haven’t you ever seen Spider-Man. Leap of faith!” “I don’t know if you’re legally allowed to reference that...” I muttered, eyeing the large gap between buildings before staring back at Plas. “I haven’t really done much uh... traversal practice. What if I fall and hit the ground I... I mean I don’t think I can die like that but-” “I won’t let you fall, I promise you. I’d be a real bad trainer if the first person I mentored became a permanent stain on 4th street. You got this!” Plastic Man grinned widely, flashing a thumbs up and stepping back. His words echoed in my head, as I stepped back a few feet, already making my plan as I dragged a line of slick slime in front of me. ‘I’ll run forward, using the slime to propel me even further to close the gap. Then when I get as far as I can, I’ll stretch my arms out, attach to the building and slingshot my way up to the roof.’ I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, waiting until every last bit of air left my lungs. And then I ran. My feet slid against the slime trail like a skater on the ice as I raced towards the edge. Before I could even attempt to jump, I hit the edge, my body fling more downward then I expected. I felt the air leave my lungs, my head snapping up towards the roof top I was aiming for and snapped my arm forward, splatting against the brick a few feet down. Damn it, Damn it, I got this. I got this. I felt the tension build in my arms, threatening to snap under the pressure. Just when I thought it was going to be too much, it released. And I found myself ascending just as fast I was falling. Up against the building. A wave of pain shot through my body as I was bashed against the wall, slowly feeling the way my body spread and slowly began to peel away from the window. Just as I felt the last few strand of myself start to detach, I felt a warmth wrap around my body, lifting me up to the roof of the building. “Hey you good? I never saw anyone but me rubber band that hard into a building before.” I tried to nod my head, wheezing and groaning as I laid on my back, staring up at the titan of a man before me. “I’m ok... just the wind got knocked out.” “Mm, yeah I’m not surprised. I mean if anything I guess we found out that a fall from here would be a-ok. Painful but... if you can survive going mach one into a building a fall should be no sweat.” He stretched his arms and sat down beside me, hands forming something just out of my range of vision to mess with. “Take your time, and we can try again. Maybe something with less of a gap to fall down.” I closed my eyes, a sickening knot forming in my stomach. I fucked up the jump, and fucked it up bad. Was he disappointed? Rethinking his decision to choose me? He had been teaching me for 2 weeks now, and I couldn’t help but think that I wasn’t enough by the way he’d sometimes look away, seem upset, maybe wanting to be anywhere else but here. My body slumped forward, lingering pain in my core. “Plastic Man?” His head cocked to the side, eyes unidentifiable behind his goggles. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask him what he thought of me. The words caught in my throat, my fear too great to hear the truth. I didn’t want to seem too pitiful, too... “I’ll try better next time.” “That’s what I like to hear.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “GM what were you thinking?! You know you can’t handle that kinda heat, why did you head into a burning building?! No one was in there! Everyone was safe!” I ducked my head away from Plas’ rage, watching the soot swirl around the remains of my arm. I was hurt bad, nearly melted and burned in a raging fire me and Plas tried to contain. But I was careless, eager to please a man I thought was losing interest in me. Despite the fact the building was clear I thought if I could help put out the fire before the firefighters came he would praise my boldness. But I only ended up making a fool of myself, having to had Plas rush into the building and collect me himself. He didn’t fair well himself, parts of him still goopy from harsh heat damage. “Look at me when I’m talking to you! Why did you do that.” His eyes were angry, his usual smile twisted into a disappointed frown. “I wanted to impress you-” “Impress me?! Yeah your new power to turn into a corpse was real freaking impressive Jenna. Why the hell are you trying to impress me like that-” “Because I don’t think I’m good enough to be taught by you!” I exclaimed, shocked by how I raised my voice at him. “I... I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to... I just... I feel like ever since you started to mentor me I haven’t been good enough. I’ve always been messing up and-and I feel like if I don’t do anything to impress you, you’ll just abandon me and I’ll fuck up the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I-I look up to you so much, and I feel like it’s such a privilege that you chose me I... I feel like it’s a mistake. And so I’m just waiting for you to realize that and I feel like you’re catching on so I had to do something to make sure that you didn’t fuck up with your choice.” Plas’ face immediately dropped, a look of concern replacing his scold. “Christ... I gave you Imposter Syndrome. Is this what the other people with sidekicks have to deal with... Woozy was never like this. Er...well, no he was he just didn’t have powers.” He bit his bottom lip, and sighed, inching to take a seat beside me. “I’m not good at this teaching stuff, I don’t know if you noticed. So if I made you feel like you weren’t impressing me, I swear it isn’t true. I remember when I was first getting the hang of being a hero. I was dog shit. The amount of times I did somethings stupid or tried to impress others without knowing what I was doing myself, god... and when I was part of the league? The first month was a hell, I didn’t get anything done. I still mess up, I just make it seem like I don’t cause I play it off. We all screw up, even Superman. I would know, I was there for a couple of those times, etched em right into my head.” He glanced away, tapping the side of his head where the words ‘Pantsing Incident of 05’ appeared. “Point is we all started somewhere and we were all ass at it. You think Flash got the hang of dodging every car while he ran down the road? No, it was just that no one remembers those times cause he’s too busy kicking ass now adays that no one cares that one time he ate asphalt. No one accept me who uses it to blackmail him occasionally because I’m petty and like to knock him down a peg every once in a while. You’re doing great.” I could feel the tears dripping down my face as he spoke, using my palm to desperately hide my emotions from him. His arm wrapped around my shoulder in a cautious, yet caring touch. “Can we just not... run into burning buildings next time we’re trying to prove something? I might not be able to get you out next time.” “Yeah, of course sir. Thank you, for believing in me, after I did that, and that you believed me in the first place.”

#self ship: plas #have my scraps

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delimeful · 5 years ago

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how easy you are to need (3)

warnings: miscommunication, panic, death mention, virgils negative thinking and completely wrong assumptions

For the next few days, Virgil drifted in and out of consciousness.

His body needed rest badly, especially when it was so injured, but fear wouldn’t let him forget where he was, keeping an iron grip on his mind. He was restless, waking periodically to check his surroundings, make sure they hadn’t grown tired of his stubbornness enough to cage him yet.

For the first day, he only saw Roman and Logan for brief spurts of time, but upon the next morning, Patton had returned to his spot on the plush armchair with no explanation. It was as though he had never been held hostage at all, and whenever he caught Virgil’s gaze on him- and he somehow always caught him- he would offer the shifter a bright smile, one he could see no lie in.

He never responded, but Patton didn’t seem to take offense. He generally didn’t, Virgil recalled from his nights under the floorboards, but he certainly hadn’t thought the courtesy of forgiveness would be extended to him.

That was the strangest part, the casual acceptance, and the most difficult to figure out. The three of them would eat their meals in the living space, settled onto the floor or the chairs around the couch, conversation as easy as if there wasn’t a monster laid out three feet away from them. He was their fourth mute roommate, watching them with narrowed eyes when they weren’t looking and ignoring all subtle and not-so-subtle attempts to draw him into conversation.

It was hard. He’d spent ages wondering what it would be like to be up there with them, human and safe and pack. It was just an impossible dream, but sitting here, in the room with them, made something in him yearn to reach out, let himself be tricked into false comforts. He struggled to repress it, because, well. If he was going to die, he might as well take advantage of their pitying kindness, right?

Still, he managed. A kernel of bitterness was shored up in his throat, a reminder of what was to come, a reminder that this was as cruel a death as any. Maybe crueler than letting him die from his wounds. At least that would have been quick and easy. He was pretty sure the humans weren’t being intentionally cruel. They couldn’t have known how attached he’d gotten, how badly it would hurt to be faced with their larger-than-life presence directly and still know how the story would end. Still know that they were trying to catch him off guard, make him shift so they could kill him and take his pelt.

No matter how many times he told himself that it was for the best, that he understood why they were doing it, that he was a risk to their safety, that kernel of bitterness remained lodged there, a sound like the smallest voice wishing things were different. It wasn’t fair, but neither was life. So it went.

With that dreary mindset driving him deeper into hopelessness, it was no wonder he’d caved when he did.

It was Patton that ultimately got him, which he could have predicted. He woke up as soon as his mind registered something moving around him, and instinctively snarled, flashing his teeth (still considerably sharp in human form) and jolting upright to take in his surroundings.

The soft human was frozen in surprise, the edges of a knitted blanket in his hands. It had already been on his lap when he started drifting off earlier in the night, so it seemed Patton had simply been trying to pull it up to cover more of him. Virgil recoiled back into himself immediately, scanning the dark room for other humans with regret swelling in his throat. Stupid, stupid, he knew better than to snap at one of them, he was going to get himself tortured-

“I’m so sorry!” Patton whispered, mindful of the quiet atmosphere around them. Virgil stopped short, confused, and watched as the human flapped his hands around like errant moths, always stopping short of touching him. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, I should have thought before I- Oh gee, I’m sorry, kiddo.”

“What?” Virgil said hoarsely, too-loud in the stillness of the night. And then, before his mind could catch up- “Why aren’t you scared of me?”

Patton initially looked delighted at his voice, but then he registered the words and his hands dropped slightly, an uncertain look crossing his face. “Afraid of you? Kiddo-”

“I’m not a child.” Virgil snapped, voice low but distinctly laced with a defensive growl. “I threatened your life a couple of days ago. You shouldn’t be… treating me like this.” Like a houseguest, like someone he cared about.

“Mr. Wolf.” Patton said seriously. “You saved my life just a few days ago, don’t you remember? If it weren’t for you, I’d have come away with much worse than a scratch. It wouldn’t be beary nice of me to treat you badly, now would it?”

Virgil blinked, thrown. “Was- was that a pun?”

Patton grinned, all soft edges and rounded teeth, and his hands flitted over to Virgil’s side. The shifter tensed, but all that happened was those hands tucking the blanket back against him gently and retreating as swift as they came. The human gave him a thumbs up, and when he simply stared back, bewildered, Patton whispered a ‘good night’ before vanishing from the room as well.

The complete lack of fear from the man was astounding. First Logan, now Patton as well? Was he losing his edge or something? Did they somehow not realize that he was a dangerous monster?

He was left alone with his racing thoughts, and by the time morning light broke through the window, he believed he had figured it out.

The kindness, the care, the lack of blood or skin harvesting- it wasn’t a trick to lower his guard. It was a form of gratitude for saving one of their small pack. The humans couldn’t afford to let him live, but they didn’t want to leave such a life debt unpaid, either. Making his last few weeks comfortable was as close to a compromise as they could manage.

The bitter kernel softened slightly, the ache in his chest soothed by the hope that he’d get a taste of real pack living after all. It wouldn’t all be fake. He could let himself accept this.

His concession felt worth it when he got to see Roman’s face, dumbstruck as he finally began to shoot back the nicknames he’d been building a repertoire of all this time. Patton didn’t mention their late night encounter, but he did slip him a sugar cookie. It was sweet and soft in his mouth.

They took his sudden willingness to speak to them in stride, and before long they were laying it on thick, asking his thoughts and opinions on all sorts of things. He was still quiet most of the time, fatigue draining his energy, but they didn’t seem to mind. There was a space for him in their conversations, one he hadn’t noticed before.

Naturally, it was in one of these comfortable conversations that he slipped up.

It was a conversation about the stars, one where they made a game of remembering which hero went to each tale. Logan was banned, of course, from doing anything but offering obscure hints, since he was the one who told the stories in the first place.

Roman and Patton went back and forth, racing to remember this or that name, until Logan described a specific myth that had them both stumped. They were bringing up and discarding all sorts of options, and Virgil felt a stirring of familiarity, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he focused on just recalling…

“Andromeda.” Virgil muttered to himself, pleased that he’d managed to remember the name of one of his favorite constellations.

“That’s correct.” Logan said, and he looked up, startled to find the three humans looking at him. “I didn’t know you pursued knowledge about the stars.”

“Dark and Gloomy, you could have been playing properly this whole time?” Roman cried, aghast.

“I don’t- it was just a coincidence. I don’t know anything about stars.” Virgil hurried to correct them, and then followed it up with, “I just overheard Logan mention it. Coincidence.”

The humans all went still for a moment, like a hunter spotting prey, and Virgil felt the first stirrings of panic in his chest as Logan adjusted his glasses. “Falsehood. I have not had time to regale anyone with the mythology behind the Greek constellations since the bear attack. I assume you heard me outdoors at some point prior to that, then?”

Virgil gave his guilt away by stiffening up, teeth clenching and adrenaline coursing through him, but his racing thoughts were promptly interrupted by Logan turning his head to Roman, smug. “Pay up.”

Roman groaned loudly, and Virgil snapped his head to the side to watch as he forked over a handful of cash. “Huh?”

“Sorry, Mr. Wolf.” Patton said, sheepish as he passed over his own currency. “We’ve sort of been maybe trying to figure you out a little, and Logan put his money on you hanging around us for a while before the bear incident…”

That… hadn’t been what he’d expected. “What… What did Roman bet on?”

“I completely reasonably guessed that you were the bear’s destined rival, and you were so sulky for the first few days because you desperately wanted to get back to your passionate battle of broken bonds!” Roman defended with wide gestures for emphasis.

“I’d never seen that bear before in my life.” A startled laugh escaped him without his input, and Roman flushed pink. “Hey!”

Virgil turned to Patton, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

“My guardian angel!” Patton informed him brightly, then paused. “Or, guardian wolf, I guess? Either way, the point is you were heaven-sent in my time of need!”

“Uh… not likely.” Now Virgil was the one blushing, and Roman snorted with laughter at his expense. Logan stood, drawing attention to himself.

“My theory was based on significant circumstantial evidence, including the markings you left near our cabin, the familiarity you have shown with us and our… peculiarities, as well as Patton and Roman’s feelings of being watched.”

Virgil winced at that last one. Guess he wasn’t as subtle as he’d thought. Roman complained about ‘not sharing vital evidence with the rest of the class’ and Logan steadfastly ignored him.

“Whatever your reasoning,” Logan continued, “I wish to thank you properly for saving Patton, and helping us. You didn’t have to and it came at... a great cost to you.”

The other two humans quieted, looking to him with their strange expressions. Pity? Gratitude? Expectation? He couldn’t make it out, especially not as flustered as he was at that moment. What was he supposed to say to a heartfelt thank-you like that? ‘Totally, no problem’? Of course it had been a problem, Patton could have died and also now he was stuck here till he was killed. The silence was dragging on too long, shit, just say something-

“Yeah… sure.” He finally choked out, eyes darting anywhere but their faces.

They shared small smiles with each other, returning to their game without mocking him or being irritated with his inability to behave normally. He felt a swell of that heart-squeezing affection again, and before he could talk himself out of it, he spoke.

“Virgil.”

They all looked over, and Roman spoke first, a little confused. “I’m pretty sure this one is Gemini, J.Delightful.”

“No- I’m Virgil.” He averted his gaze as Patton’s eyes grew round as saucers. “I know all your names, so it only seems fair…”

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Virgil.” Logan said, and the other two took the opportunity to add their own greetings, trying his name out on their tongues with glee.

It was the first time he’d ever shared his name with a human.

Somehow, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

#sanders sides #ts virgil #werewolf au #ts patton #ts logan #ts roman #heyatn #how easy you are to need #my god this one took a lot out of me #not completely happy with it but i hope you enjoy #next chapter we finally beat virgils ass for being dumb. looking forward to it #writing #my writing #werewolf #hes soft.

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shibalen · 4 years ago

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💥hewwo can I pwease get a romantic male matchup for bnha (darkbox bc I live for angst) (music box) when you have the time uwu

Levi he/him gay entp supposedly (also if it's not too much to ask please no characters under the age of 18 please)

I've been described as having a strong and loud personality, I'm extroverted and outspoken. I'm pretty eccentric too.

I value friendship, kindness and standing up for others.

Goal wise I'm pretty aimless. I dont have any goals, if I die well I guess that's it babey. In the meantime I'm just here to help animals and people who need it.

Positive traits: I always stick up for people in need, I'm good at reading people, I'm good with animals, I love to make people smile and laugh, cheerful, good at talking my way out of bad situations, uhm. Friendly!

Negative traits would be: hot headed, loud, stubborn, arrogant, comes across as intimidating:( good at getting into bad situations, gets into fights very often. Can be spiteful, I've been described as a pyromaniac so theres that. Can be sadistic

What pisses me off: my father. I can and will cause trouble for that man for as long as I live. And people who pick on the weak.

My hobbies and interests areeee: true crime babey! Crying over video games, baking, the occult, taking naps, dream interpretations and tarot readings

Likes: animals, cats specifically, stars, fire, sunsets, supposedly haunted places, storms, being dramatic for the hell of it, tormenting people in a good hearted way

Dislikes: uhhhh hot weather I guess.

Quirks: uh I have 5 cats! Ones my fathers but he never takes care of his cat so i pretty much count him as my own (plus he likes me more than my dad and it pisses my dad off hehe) I have weirdly accurate intuition, it makes reading people easy, knowing what they want to hear and what they dont.

Uhhh dates and relationship wise I'm honestly happy doing whatever my s/o wants to do. All I want is to see their face light up.

My love language is physical touch, I dont like touching people but if it's someone I feel strongly about youd have to pry me away from them.

I once got kicked out of a library for starting a fight in it, trashy I know but I wasnt going to stand there and do nothing while my friends were being bullied and pressured into getting involved with a really dodgy man. I scared the bullies off for good at least B) they never bothered my friend again babey

Oh I'm also known around the area I live in as someone who's good at finding homes of lost pets. Often times I come across a lost animal and befriend it in no time and use my connections to find its family.

Sorry if this was rly long and thank you for your time!! I hope you have a fantastic day uwu if anything's too difficult to come up with ideas for I'm more than happy for you to change anything to make it easier for you too!

♡︎ matchup for anon

heya! here i am with another late matchup but i hope you still see this. i'm sorry about the delay (╯_╰)

bnha: i match you with . . .

natsuo todoroki !!

• this was one of those "heureka!" moments for me. you both hate your dads and hot weather? it's a match made in heaven! okay jk, these are just nice add-ons.

• what really made me consider Natsuo were your values and personality. kindness and friendships are important to both of you. Natsuo's a medical student so i am convinced helping others is high on his priority list too. he loves your driven and passionate nature because he doesn't go sugarcoating bs either.

• you're definitely the more energetic one while Natsuo only gets hot-headed about the things that are the most important to him. i think it's a good compromise, you can help each other out :)

• he was a little taken aback and cautious of your explosiveness at first but warmed up to it quickly after learning what a kind person you really were. now he thinks your dramatic attitude is funny during your sillier moments ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

• speaking of, you lads met at an animal shelter. there had been a dog that was astray in the neighbourhood of his home, so Natsuo, being a responsible boyo, took it to the local shelter.

• then there you were, standing by the help desk with five kittens wrapped in your jacket in your arms. apparently someone had been trying to drown them so you'd taken care of the situation accordingly.

• Natsuo understood jumping into a lake to rescue the poor animals because he would have done the same, but you could have had just called the police?? it was extremely ridiculous but admirable at the same time to beat all those guys up.

• your chat turned into a pleasant conversation afterwards as you were waiting for the animals to finish their check-ups. Natsuo was a bit shy but you didn't mind and kept the chat going which he appreciated.

• later he volunteered to help you look for good homes for the animals you'd both found. during this project the two of you got to know each other quite well and ended up hanging out together afterwards!

• and from that point on, everything fell into place naturally. the growing spark between you was undeniable and you both knew it. Natsuo definitely liked you longer, he was just a lil dense about it . . .

• you're nothing short of a hero in his eyes but dear lord he worries for you. when he's attending lectures he sometimes can't help but wonder if you're all right and not getting involved in anything violent.

• attends to your possible injuries while nagging you not to be so quick to start a fight next time. in return, you playfully bully him for being such a mom.

• you join forces with Fuyumi to pick on him about your relationship. even though you're already together, soft Natsuo still blushes when his affection for you is brought up, it's entertaining for both you and Fuyumi.

• idk if you've heard but Natsuo's 181cm tall!! hugging someone has never been easier even if you happen to be taller than him. the only thing is his skin's naturally kind of chilly so he's lowkey worried if you dislike it but you always assure him he's perfect!

• one time he was stressed over exams so you baked him some blueberry muffins. he gave you the biggest hug and kiss because it's exactly all these little things you do that set his heart racing for you ♡︎

• "last night i saw a dream about being a frog and eating giant flies, it was gross."

• "oh, that just means your love life is about to become fun."

• "i'm not sure how those two are related."

• "just trust me. i'm a pro at this."

• he also likes giving you headpats as much as he likes receiving them! his hands are quite big so he often runs his fingers through your hair when you're cuddling or hugging. it's especially relaxing after a long period of studying. also him carring you on his broad back ԅ(￣ε￣ԅ)

• you enjoy the little things in life and complain about your fathers together. you've agreed to wait a while before even mentioning your relationship to them because, honestly, Natsuo doesn't want any more horrible influences in your life.

• you get him sucked into the world of video games. it's always fun to watch him struggle but he never gets salty about losing maybe a lil he adores your smile as you laugh at him for being so bad at them.

• your dates include: helping out at animal shelters and retirement homes, video game and movie nights (especially about true crime), arcades and astronomy tower explorstions. i feel like Natsuo's more into traditional, romantic and chill dates and that's your usual thing. though i see sometimes you going to get coffee and ending up solving a 50-year-old murder case instead (✧ω✧)

❦︎ ink box

— despite Natsuo's best efforts to distance himself from Endeavor, it wasn't quite as easy and everyone was very much aware of the Todoroki family. and now the son of the number 1 hero had a lover.

— it wasn't actually that troublesome at first. some newpaper paparazzi occasionally annoyed you but you didn't care for them. most of the time Natsuo and you had your peace during dates aside from a few casual fans.

— but of course there are all sorts of people out there, some out for revenge, some for money, and being desperate means using even the lowest of methods to get what you want.

— so one time it happened, and it was all that took. several bitter villains thought they'd get their revenge through you, silly as it may sound. they made a big show of kidnapping you and demanding Endeavor to 'make up' for his wrongdoing. but all got resolved thanks to heroes, the only casualty being Natsuo's heart from almost exploding from worry and his deepening hatred for his father.

— later on, it wasn't that Natsuo was worried about you not being able to handle yourself, he feared what might happen if more of powerful villains came after you.

— so, after some debate, you agreed not to meet up for a short while to let the fuse of the incident settle down. it would be safer once the media forgot about it. you still texted and chatter over phone though!

— but then a week turned into two weeks, then into a month. you were wondering what was taking Natsuo to say the coast was clear and did a straight-up inquiry through a video chat.

— you could see he was restless the entire time. he said you should wait longer just to be sure everything was calm before meeting up. you became irritated because he was obviously lying and not being his normal, brutally honest self.

— why was he giving you this crap straight to your face?

— truthfully, Natsuo hadn't been sleeping all right recently. ever since that day he had reoccurring nightmares about something awful happening to you. they were just dreams, he knew. yet considering his ruffled up past and the frequency of those horrible visions, it would have been lie to say he was unaffected.

— paranoia just wouldn't leave him alone, and no matter how much he wanted to hold you in his arms again and hated making up stupid excuses, the voice at the back of his mind whispered this was for the best.

— after a month and a half had passed you've had just about enough, however. whatever reason he was keeping you in the dark for did no longer stop you from crashing into his house and demanding the truth.

— Natsuo knew you and expected this to eventually happen. after you made such a powerful entrance though he also knew there was no getting around it this time. really, it was comforting knowing you cared so deeply.

— he told you exactly what had been happening and you resisted the urge to punch him in the arm for having such a mindset. but the look in his beautiful grey eyes was so heartbreaking you threw yourself to embrace him instead. your touch was everything Natsuo had craved for for all this time.

— you skillfully assured him for the next couple of hours while keeping the talk light-hearted (he had obviously been overthinking way too much already). soon enough the issue was resolved and you had a sleepover right there to make uo for the lost time (Shoto and Fuyumi kept eavesdropping on you because y'all were being way too loud in a cute way).

— "i love you, Natsu, but if you ever keep something like this a secret from me again, i can't guarantee the safety of your arm or your front door."

♫︎ music box

— If I Had An Airplane by SayWeCanFly

— This December by Rick Montgomery

— Round & Laundry from Carole and Tuesday

— Haven't Had Enough by Marianas Trench

— Bowie On The Radio by Ryan McMullan

♡︎ runner up: Dabi / Touya Todoroki

thank you for requesting, hopefully you enjoyed this! i'm really pleased about matching you with Natsuo, it's just so perfect. have a lovely day and remember to take care of yourself ♡︎

#len's matches #💥anon #matchups #bnha matchups

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hungover-and-broke-student · 4 years ago

Text

100 character development questions

these are fun questions so i wanted to answer them all here

original post

001. When is their birthday?

- Today! October 10th 1995

002. Do they do anything to celebrate their birthday?

- Her parents used to bake her a cake but since living alone she just makes herself cupcakes

003. Does your character like coffee better, or tea?

- She likes both but coffee does a better job but tea tastes better

004. Do they prefer being alone or with others?

- She spends a lot of time alone and has convinced herself it’s what she wants

005. Are they in good health?

- Kind of? she could stand to take better care of herself

006. What sense do they most rely on?

- Sight, she won’t wear a hood if it obstructs her peripheral vision

007. Is your character an optimist or a pessimist?

- Pessimist cause she’s either right or pleasantly surprised

008. What is their favorite fairy tale?

- Chicken Little

009. Do they believe in happy endings?

- She does but for others, not herself

010. Do they believe in love at first sight?

- Unfortunately no

011. How would your character court the person of their dreams?

- Awkwardly try and fail at flirting

012. What makes your character embarrassed?

- Being made to look foolish or stupid in front of others

013. Have they ever been bullied or teased?

- Yep, especially in elementary through middle school

014. Detail one secret shame your character feels.

- She hasn’t been able to graduate on time and it secretly eats away at her

015. Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue?

- Fists, she’ll start talking but get herself in deeper trouble

016. What is their choice of weapon?

- A box cutter she uses for work or a baseball bat studded with nails

017. When does your character think that violence is justified or deserved?

- She believes it’s justified to protect one’s self or friends and deserved when people do amoral shit. If you hurt kids she’ll curb stomp you

018. Your character wakes up to find that war has been declared. What do they do?

- Either not give a shit or join an underground anti-war resistance group

019. If they could have a superpower, what would they choose?

- Flight or invisibility

020. What are their hobbies?

- She likes sewing and crafting

021. How do they display affection?

- She’ll want to spend a lot of time with them and bake them cookies

022. What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen?

- She once went out to the desert and got to see the stars with no light pollution. The view in Gotham depresses her

023. What do they consider beautiful in others physically?

- Expressive eyes and a good laugh. Big muscles are a plus too

024. What do they consider ugly in others physically?

- Those who give an air of superiority

025. What do they consider beautiful in others personality-wise?

- If she can have fun with them and not feel judged

026. What do they consider ugly in others personality-wise?

- Taking advantage of others and cruelty

027. What is their idea of perfect happiness?

- A life free from debt

028. What makes them laugh out loud?

- A well delivered joke or clever pun can never fail

029. What sort of sense of humor does your character have?

- Some might call it childish

030. Do they believe in the afterlife?

- She’ll say no but secretly believes in ghosts

031. Are they superstitious about anything?

- She tries to read omens but doesn’t always get them entirely right

032. Does your character believe in ghosts?

- Yes, but she’ll never really admit it until she gets proof

033. Do they keep their promises?

- Tries to, but it doesn’t always work out

034. What’s their view of lying?

- Of course it sucks to be lied to and she wants to be honest with people but sometimes you need to save your own skin

035. What is the most important rule your character lives by?

- Don’t get stuck in Penguin’s pocket and don’t go to a second location, they will kill you

036. How honorable is your character?

- Not very, she’ll lie cheat and steal if need be but can be loyal to a fault

037. If your character saw someone drop a large sum of money and knew that they could probably take it without anyone noticing, what would they do?

- If they were just a regular Joe she’d at least try to give the money back, otherwise just take it

038. What bad habits do they have?

- Smoking, drinking, drugs, mouthing off to powerful people

039. What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person?

- Fucking with someone’s sense of reality and/or breaking someone’s teeth

040. What is their obsession?

- She doesn’t really have one

041. Are they comfortable with technology?

- Comfortable enough, she can print a document but don’t ask her to code anything

042. What is their greatest achievement?

- Getting into college

043. What will they stand up for?

- She’ll stand up for those weak or in need

044. What disgusts them?

- Cruelty and general disregard for others

045. Does your character have any chronic medical conditions?

- Chronic headaches/migraines that’s about it

046. How do they handle getting sick?

- Not well, she’ll be mad and grumpy at herself

047. What was the last medical problem your character had?

- She got food poisoning from a bodega cheese steak sandwich, spent almost two days vomiting

048. Do they have any allergies?

- I think I’ve said she’s allergic to tomatoes in the past but I decided to change it to shellfish

049. How does your character feel about growing old?

- She never thought she’d live this long, growing old is almost unthought of

050. How does your character feel about their own mortality?

- The fact that she will die doesn’t bother her, the question of how and will it hurt like hell does

051. If they knew they would die tomorrow, what would they do today?

- Probably just have a very chill day getting stoned

052. What is your character’s worst flaw?

- Not thinking things through and mouthing off to the wrong people

053. What is your character’s greatest strength?

- She’s able to notice things others might overlook and find creative solutions to problems

054. Does your character want power or authority of any kind?

- No, being in power doesn’t appeal to her, too many people will want what you have

055. Is your character an introvert or an extrovert?

- Introvert

056. Has your character ever struck someone in anger?

- Yes, she’s not proud of it

057. Has your character ever killed anyone?

- Not purposely, she tries not to think about it

058. What is your character’s idea of a perfect day?

- It’s cold and rainy outside and all she has to do is get cozy and find a movie

059. List several phrases your character is fond of uttering. Where did they pick them up?

- “beg your pardon?” from just being southern “ex-fucking-cuse me?” a phrase from her dear old dad “suck a dick, dumbshit” from bojack horseman

060. What is your character’s attitude toward education and learning?

- She loves learning, hates the price tag attached and was never really good in school

061. Does your character prefer adventure or safety and security?

- She thinks she wants safety and security but she prefers the excitement of adventure

062. What sort of legacy does your character wish to leave behind?

- A legacy of caring for her friends

063. How well does your character handle difficult people?

- She’ll be nice in a forced customer service setting and glare behind their backs.

064. In what ways does your character annoy others?

- She can be aloof and has been described as being “a little shit”

065. Is your character better at leading or following? Which do they prefer?

- She’s no good at leading others, she’s marginally better at following but doesn’t like being told what to do

066. Does your character prefer city life or being out in nature?

- Being in nature is nice and all but the city has her stuff

067. Does your character believe in fate or destiny?

- Not really but it makes a nice scapegoat when things go wrong

068. How strong is your character’s sense of responsibility? What kinds of things trigger it?

- She feels a responsibility towards her friends and family but especially for her fish, Gene

069. What about your character is heroic?

- She’ll stick up for people in need, even if she doesn’t know them

070. What about your character is cowardly?

- She’ll lie and deflect responsibility for her failures

071. How kind is your character?

- Depends on whose asking

072. In a Dungeons & Dragons game, which class would your character be? (wizard, fighter, bard, priest, ranger, etc.)

- probably a bard and annoy everyone

073. In a novel, what plot role would your character fill? (hero, anti-hero, sidekick, villain, etc.)

- Villain’s unwilling underling, is in it for the dental insurance or to pay off her own debts

074. What is your character’s favorite game?

- Puzzle games, especially portal and portal 2

075. Is your character ticklish?

- Yes, but don’t tell her I told you

076. How do they express anger?

- Her fists will clench and she’ll probably yell or try to kick their ass.

077. How often do they cry? Over what?

- She either cries over any and everything or goes months without expressing emotions

078. How emotionally stable is your character?

- She’s not, though trying to work on it

079. How easy is it for them to read the emotions of others?

- She can pick up on emotions but doesn’t always get it exactly right

080. How easy is it for others to read your character’s emotions?

- Too easy, her face is expressive and gives her away more often than not

081. Is your character religious?

- Nope, if anything she hates the Christian God and actively distances herself from it. Christmas is nice tho

082. What are your character’s sleeping preferences?

- Either on her side or stomach under an absurd amount of blankets

083. What is the first thing they say and/or do when they wake up?

- Checks her phone and freaks out because she’s probably late

084. Describe your character in one word.

- Tired

085. Describe your character in three words.

- Doing her best (and failing)

086. How would your character describe themself in one word?

- Broke

087. How would your character describe themself in three words?

- “I’m so tired”

088. Is your character quiet or loud?

- Generally quiet

089. How vocally expressive is your character?

- Very, she can mask her disdain in a customer service voice but otherwise it gives her away most of the time

090. How bodily expressive is your character?

- She’s pretty expressive

091. What type of music does your character like?

- Lots of Pink Floyd and the Clash

092. What emotion does your character evoke in others?

- Probably annoyance

093. What is your character’s goal in life?

- Graduate and get out of Gotham eventually, maybe move out west

094. Name three things most would not expect your character to be able to know.

- 1) How it feels to get shocked by an electric fence, 2) knowledge of decomposition specifically human decomposition, 3) how to hot wire a car

095. Name three things most would not expect your character to be able to do

- 1) drive stick shift, 2) sneak around unheard and unseen, 3) hold her breath for up to 3.5 minutes.

096. How do they move and carry themselves? What energy do they project?

- She has decent posture but often carries herself in a way to project to others to stay away most of the time

097. How well do they adapt to change?

- Badly, she doesn’t like sudden change at all

098. Does your character like animals?

- Loves them, she’ll feed the pigeons around Gotham

099. Do they talk to inanimate objects?

- Pretty often, she’ll apologize to a table if she walks into it and will greet stuffed animals in stores

100. Does your character dream? If so, what do they dream about?

- She has a lot of nightmares but usually can’t remember what about, usually about being watched or trying to convince someone of something and not being believed.

#ooc #lotsa questions #meme

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mothscoolcorner · 5 years ago

Text

Fairytale

In fairytales, everybody gets a happy ending, it gives people the illusion of being happy themselves, deceiving them to think, there is one waiting for them as well. This however is the real world and not everybody’s ending is going to be happy, most of them are tragic, heartbreaking and all you can do about it is watch, witness as everything important to you, everything you’ve ever treasured or held dear, slips through your fingers and disappears forever. Cold hard truth but when that happens, life will be ruthless as if only out there to break and destroy you. Way too many times does it succeed, leaving one as nothing more but a shell of what and who they used to be.

Fate does not take pity or show mercy. It doesn’t spare you, just so you can feel better or relieved. It takes and it takes and it takes, seemingly never actually giving back half of what it took from you. Even when it looks as if things are going well, the truth pulls you down once again into reality way too quickly, not giving you a chance to breathe as if trying to drown you in pain and sorrow. It’s almost like all efforts are in vain no matter how hard you try to outrun or even deny it. This is no different. We all experience more pain than what we deserve and sometimes, those who would need a little, just a little more light, don’t get to have that. By the time you could get up and fight, there is another blow, stronger than the last one. As a hero, most of the time, literally.

Ayame had teamed up with Oliver to watch his back but of course she never forgot about her rather reckless friends that seemingly always needed a quick patch up. Generally, she didn’t mind at all and was just glad she was useful enough to help. But being the only support; the only healer in a team of sometimes over 20 people excluding injured civilians was tougher than one might think. And working way over your limits everyday for extended periods of time is anything but good for one’s health.

It started with just feeling weak and tired all the time which then grew into dry and then eventually wet coughs until one day after removing her hand from her mouth, the girl saw blood. At first it was only a couple of droplets, however that changed soon. Way too soon. Not wanting to worry anyone as much as she had to worry with all the hero work, healing and trying to be a patient, good friend going on. Almost ironic how selfish, yet at the same time selfless that is, With all that and her awakening also messing with her weight and health, she really needed to pay attention to herself a bit more. Of course with the worsening health state, the girl got hurt quite a lot, being sore all the time, or in pain all over was not exactly fun.

Unfortunately taking enough time off to change things, to really recover and try to sleep it off was not really an option as evil never rests and seemingly there is always someone in trouble. Due to being as busy as she was, sadly helping out at the clinic which she loved so very much was no longer an option, as her health was already way worse than it should be. There were a lot of times she thought about telling her teammates, ask for help but there was a voice in her head stopping the girl each and every time. Telling her that as the only healer in the group quitting and leaving them alone, even for a single mission would be selfish, inhumane, so she stayed silent. Didn’t mention a word about the sleepless nights, bloody noses and coughs, or the unbelievable weight loss that she could hide fairly well. But whenever she healed, that soft warmth she would feel has turned into a horribly painful feeling. It didn’t affect the healing itself, only what she, and she alone felt, as the warmth made it feel as though pure acid was running through her body, making her want to stop way faster than required. Then one day she got used to it. Used to the never ending pain, the nausea, dizziness, even the coughing and the constant feeling of weakness. She got used to the acidic burn inside of her blood stream. Adding a mask to her hero costume helped to hide just how pale she was and how empty her sapphire orbs seemed.

Way too many sleepless nights spent on thinking, turning from one side to the other. She didn’t fear death, after all it was inevitable, the path leading there however was much more terrifying. She was okay with not leaving a mark in anyone’s life. Okay with being forgotten once she was gone and never again mentioned or even just popping up in someone’s mind. She was okay with all of that. Not knowing whether the effects of overusing her quirk, or the constant tiredness that made her sloppy would end her rather meaningless life however, did get her thinking way too much about the future.

A future that she would most probably not see, but one where her friends were happy and laughing. It seemed like a dream, yet, she knew it wasn’t. Too tired to be asleep, to dream. Nothing but a simple wish for a future she wouldn’t witness if things continued like this. Way too many times did the girl’s mind hallucinate that those she loved and treasured so much ended up dying because of her. Way too many restless hours, trying to come up with strategies not to let anyone die, disregarding her own health for who knows how manieth time.

Ayame felt extremely guilty for underestimating even a single one of her friends. Deep down she knew they would be alright even if she couldn’t give her 100%. Man but were they reckless. Sometimes it seemed like they took the danger head on without any actual planning, which, to be fair, as long as they didn’t die seemed like a logical and the most illogical plan at the same time. Obviously if the opponent could read their thoughts or plans, having none to begin with seemed so very… well, it seemed to work, however any other time it was terrible to watch. The medic liked to plan ahead and know what she’ll do next, not to mention that sometimes she even needed to plan when and how she’d heal people as after that, she was usually out of the game by now.

Working and healing no longer worked. The girl could no longer strive to achieve both as using her quirk made her feel so terribly ill and weak, there was no way she could dodge anything afterwards. Most of the time she tried to time her support tasks after a mission was done, unfortunately that didn’t always work though as obviously there was no way to always prevent more severe injuries from happening on a battlefield. Whenever it did work and the support hero was able to come up with an excuse to stay longer, she hid in one of the nearby allies, no longer able to carry herself home, she just sat there for hours. Sat there trying to regain enough strength to walk to her apartment and take care of herself to the best of her abilities.

The more time passed, the less that worked out. There were times when Ayame had to sit around and just try to breathe for up to 6, sometimes even 7 hours before she was able to stand up and force her wobbly legs to take her home.

It had been months since the girl started coughing. Weeks since she was able to feel her hands. And days since she could put her head down to sleep. It seemed like the more tired she got, the less sleep wanted to accompany her. 40 minutes of sleep obviously didn’t work when trying to do even basic things, let alone trying to work as a hero. And it was definitely showing. The hero costume having short sleeves needed to change.

Her hands emitting the power of healing had started to show clear signs of her worsening state. Veins could be clearly seen from her wrist, all the way up to her shoulder, not only that, but they seemed to be a gentle looking mix of yellow and orange that most people would definitely find cool. It wasn’t. It hurt like hell and whenever the quirk was in use, it made the girl feel as though someone was rubbing hydrochloric acid all over an open wound. Pure agony was the only way to describe it and it seemed like whenever she got used to it, things got only worse. Everytime she felt like she got used to the pain, it seemed like it got worse. Way worse than the day before.

As the days passed, the veins seemed to be more and more visible and were no longer only up to her shoulder. It took a while to notice but they were headed towards her heart for sure. She wondered whether it could even get better at this point. The effects, to her anyways, didn’t look reversible and maybe there was no cure for it either. As these were all caused by a quirk that’s function was still a rather large mystery, the girl had given up hope on easing the pain. On getting better. On making it out of this.

About 2 months after it all started, the healer had decided to lower the amount she uses her quirk. Still wasn’t an optimal amount but definitely less than before, however that didn’t help. 6 months in and she found walking for extended periods of time way more difficult than it should be. That’s when she finally decided to come clean and tell her teammates. Even after only taking on one single job a week, healing about 3 people during those, things never got better. The spreading of the weird discoloration slowed but never completely stopped.

One thing she will never forget, no matter what, was their faces. Names too blurred together but the memory of their faces would stick with her till the end of her life. The pale, worried faces that don’t belong there. That don’t belong to her always cheerful and determined friends. And the scolding. How upset their muffled voices sounded like, as they scolded her for not telling them sooner. And just how heartbroken they looked upon realizing everything. Realizing why she had been slower, why the hero costume looked baggier than usual and why it got constant updates that showed less and less of her. Even going as far as getting a pair of palmless gloves. That realization seemed to hit them like a moving train without a stop.

Ayame managed to live for a year, after the coughing started. 6 months after her veins changed. 3 weeks after she could no longer work and one and a half days after she could no longer stand on her own. The discoloration reached her heart and not even the best clinic in japan could stop that from happening. Not even after the blood transfusion. In her weakened state, an operation was out of the question, as the doctors feared she could not wake up after it. She could no longer express the pain she felt but in the corner of her eyes, she saw everyone there. All of her friends and even a couple of her patients and past teachers. The girl could’ve sworn she saw the ghostly shadow of Kiara as well. Everyone was there, by her side and luckily, no one knew the pain she felt once the discoloration reached her heart. The pure agony as the acid like feeling filled the organ.

On the outside, it looked peaceful. Painless and maybe that was for the best. In the end, no one actually knew the pain she went through but the sacrifices the hero made would be remembered. Without saying a single word, everyone in the room had agreed not to forget Ayame Lee and everything she stood for, the sacrifices she made and the friends she found on her way.

#ayame tanaka #bnha oc #whump #i don't remember the plot to this...

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fireslostchild · 5 years ago

Note

Odd questions for me.

001. When is their birthday?

November 12th, 1988

003. Does your character like coffee better, or tea?

Coffee all day. Seriously. She’ll drink coffee all damn day.

005. Are they in good health?

Her health is in alright shape.

007. Is your character an optimist or a pessimist?

Optimist. She always try to somehow find something at least funny about a situation.

009. Do they believe in happy endings?

She’s starting to believe in them again.

011. How would your character court the person of their dreams?

...She doesn’t even understand how anyone goes about that beyond Shakespearean plays.

013. Have they ever been bullied or teased?

When she was in school, yeah. She seriously fucked up the curve, and always did assignments early and stuff like that, and almost never made a bad mark. In Korea, it was a little bit worse during secondary because she was the foreigner who was coming in and ruining shit at a private school.

015. Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue?

Depends on the person, really. Strangers and friends? Her fists. A lover? Her tongue.

017. When does your character think that violence is justified or deserved?

When she’s been backed into a corner. Well, NOW that’s her stance on it.

019. If they could have a superpower, what would they choose?

Invisibility. Both so she could hide and be nosey.

021. How do they display affection?

In all the ways possible.

023. What do they consider beautiful in others physically?

Eyes and hands.

025. What do they consider beautiful in others personality-wise?

Their strength, and how they use it. Some people use it as an excuse to be a jerk, but if they can come away from something horrible and still be kind to other people, then it’s absolutely beautiful.

027. What is their idea of perfect happiness?

Not feeling like everything is a simple push away from crashing.

029. What sort of sense of humor does your character have?

Dark and obnoxious.

031. Are they superstitious about anything?

More than she’d like to admit.

033. Do they keep their promises?

She deliberately refuses to make promises that she’s even iffy on being able to keep. So a promise from Jae is a rare thing, really.

035. What is the most important rule your character lives by?

Don’t take your life for granted. She grew up seeing it herself that you can have something one day, but no more the next, and there was no guarantee it’d come back.

037. If your character saw someone drop a large sum of money and knew that they could probably take it without anyone noticing, what would they do?

She would flag the person down and return it. No matter how hard up she is, she would look at that money as someone elses life savings. So, they might need it more than she does. She’d fight with it for a minute, but ultimately she would return it.

039. What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person?

Betraying their trust.

041. Are they comfortable with technology?

She’s comfortable enough with it.

043. What will they stand up for?

She’ll stand up for other people, even if it means she’ll get her own ass kicked in the process.

045. Does your character have any chronic medical conditions?

She has a nasty back injury still and probably a few more injuries that she doesn’t bother getting treatment for either. Doctors are the worst for her.

047. What was the last medical problem your character had?

The last major problem was when she went too long without eating and actually had to spend time in the hospital.

049. How does your character feel about growing old?

She is actually incredibly terrified of it.

051. If they knew they would die tomorrow, what would they do today?

She would spend every minute she could with Gordon and Aleksi.

053. What is your character’s greatest strength?

Her ability to somehow always bounce back.

055. Is your character an introvert or an extrovert?

She’s more of an extrovert, really.

057. Has your character ever killed anyone?

It was officially ruled an ‘accident’.

061. Does your character prefer adventure or safety and security?

Adventure.

063. How well does your character handle difficult people?

Uhm...She can handle them in a professional manner, but otherwise she’d much rather blow them off.

065. Is your character better at leading or following? Which do they prefer?

She does both. It depends on the situation as to which she’ll do.

067. Does your character believe in fate or destiny?

She does. She believes heavily in fate, and it actually gives her a more positive outlook on life.

069. What about your character is heroic?

A lot of people seem to obsess on the fact that she survived her first husband, and later went on to raise a kid on her own. She doesn’t really see it as heroic, though.

071. How kind is your character?

She can be very kind. She tries to put kindness first until her trust is broken.

073. In a novel, what plot role would your character fill? (hero, anti-hero, sidekick, villain, etc.)

She would be the loud mouth sidekick.

075. Is your character ticklish?

VERY ticklish.

077. How often do they cry? Over what?

She cries more than she’ll ever admit to the world. Lately it’s been good crying, though.

079. How easy is it for them to read the emotions of others?

It is almost impossible for her to read other people.

081. Is your character religious?

No. She used to be, until her mother’s passing and she went into a huge anger phase that is now just a questioning phase.

083. What is the first thing they say and/or do when they wake up?

Curses the sunlight as she climbs out of bed to go to the bathroom.

085. Describe your character in three words.

Bright and Loud.

087. How would your character describe themself in three words?

Loud and Obnoxious.

089. How vocally expressive is your character?

Very.

091. What type of music does your character like?

She prefers rock and metal, mostly from the 80s/90s, but she also listens to damn near anything else. It would be absolute hell if anyone went through her spotify or mp3s.

093. What is your character’s goal in life?

To make sure her son and future children grow up to be really decent members of society, without being blind little sheep.

095. Name three things most would not expect your character to be able to do.

She can understands Shakespearean English, she really enjoys having her nails done, and she loves apple gummies.

097. How well do they adapt to change?

She’s used to it, so she adapts pretty well.

099. Do they talk to inanimate objects?

Yes. She even thanks them and apologizes.

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rosesisupposes · 6 years ago

Text

Who Tells Your Story?

Pairings: Platonic/Rivals Prinxiety; Royality into MoRoLo (aka Roman has Two Hands); Minor Creativsleep; Remceit; Platonic Moxiety Warnings: Major Character Deaths; Infidelity; Whole Lotta Angst; guns; Word count: 6,785 Contributions: @potestessemagishomosexualitatis @mariniacipher

This was initially inspired by a snow day and @the-pastel-peach‘s wonderful commission of a Logince Ham/Burr Duel. Then it got angstier

Read on ao3

Edit to add: want to cry more? Listen to this wonderful edit of Dear Theodosia that @notveryglittery sent me 🙃

~~~~~~~~

How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean by providence, impoverished, in squalor grow up to be a hero and a scholar?

This is a story about Roman Hamilton.

Roman, who has grown up surrounded by people who lived and died without anything, without leaving anything behind but a mourning family and an empty job that'd be staffed soon enough. Roman, hearing about people who were Grand, who were Great, who were Powerful, who left a Legacy of themselves impressed into this world, and he wants. He yearns to be one of those men. The wish, the dream, it swallows him whole, becomes all he can think about, and he reads everything he can get his hands on and writes as much as he can. But when his mother grows sick, he stops, he cares for her, until he grows sick too, and when she dies, he cries and weeps, and it feels like the entire world must have fallen apart because his did.

But the world kept on spinning.

His mother's death left nothing but a mourning son and an empty job that'd be staffed soon enough. And, he knows, with absolute certainty, that he wants, needs, to be more than that. Starts writing non-stop, to get out, get away, rise up. No matter the cost.

When he finally makes it to New York, he falls in love with politics. He also falls in love with men.

Roman, who is charming and beautiful and scrappy as hell. Roman, who's more than a little desperate to prove himself as more than his upbringing. Roman, who walks right into a gorgeous heir to a wealthy man.

The young Mr. Sanders is far too aware of his social status and social responsibilities, the context in which he must act. He's far brighter than anyone gives him credit for, and delights in the revolution because of the new ideas and theories it has introduced into the colonies. He is far too aware of the optics of falling in love with a penniless soldier.

He is also far too aware of how goddamn beautiful Roman Hamilton is. And when Roman and Logan collide - it is sparks. They match each other perfectly, twin burning flames of candlelight dancing in circles.

But then, Logan sees his best and oldest friend. The one he refuses to admit he’s been in love with for years. Patton, the sweet one. Patton, who would never ask Logan to give up anything on his account. Patton, who is helpless.

And Logan is far too aware of all the dynamics involved. Roman can socially climb with Patton just as well. Patton is the second son of the wealthy Mr. Schuyler, so the connection is less important. And Logan... Logan never could deny Patton anything. Not for the one person in the world he is positive is the best person he could ever know. Not for the person he loves best. And so Roman is introduced to Patton with a gallant bow and a witty quip, and now they're both helpless and besotted.

Logan is an excellent friend. He supports their marriage, quietly advocates to Patton’s father on Roman's behalf… And he gives a wonderful toast at their wedding.

~~~~~~~~

Roman's burning need to be more doesn't lessen when he's married to someone as wonderful as Patton. If anything, it makes the need even stronger. He has a family now, even more need for a legacy. He will prove himself, or die trying. He will be whatever the Revolution needs.

And Patton tries to understand, he does. But... he doesn't pretend to know. He wants to be a wonderful husband, and he is. He wants to be a wonderful father, and thanks to the multitude of revolution orphans, he is that too. He adopts their first child Thomas when Roman is out on the front lines. Roman is sent home to be a father, but chafes the whole time at being separated from the fight.

"Roman, look around - look how lucky we are to be alive right now. Alive, and in love, and becoming parents."

"But Pat- the war's not done."

"I know, Ro. But as long as you can stay alive... that would be enough, for me. We don't need a legacy, my love. We can be enough." He takes Roman's hand in his as Thomas is between them, sleeping in his crib. "Together we can be enough."

Those words will haunt them both.

Roman promises to be careful, and even is. He survives the war, at the General's side. He comes home with the news, flush with excitement. He picks Pat up and spins him, he carries Thomas around on his shoulders. Patton finally feels the tension melt away. He's home, finally. The war is done, finally. Now he'll be satisfied, and they can be a family.

The day Roman gets a letter from the President asking him to join the convention, and then the administration - it's the first time Roman and Patton fight.

"I need to do this! I'm being asked to serve my country!"

"You just got home! Could you stay here for a second?"

"Pat, you don't understand-"

"No, I really don't! I don't understand why you want to run away from us the minute you have an excuse?"

"I need to make a difference, Pat!"

"You've made a difference in my life, Roman. And in Thomas’. Can't that be enough?"

Patton's last question hangs in the air as Roman refuses to respond, refuses to even make eye contact.

Roman was about to leave for the capital when a letter arrived. It was from Logan, a long letter written in his steady hand, in his normal flourish-less prose.

"Roman, I'm leaving for England tomorrow. My father found a wealthy sponsor who will help elevate our family. He's... not particularly smart, or clever. No one could match you in that regard, in any case. So please - don't stop writing. Don't stop writing letters to me, don't stop thinking the brilliant thoughts that this country needs. I am happier when I hear from you. All my love to you and Patton [added later:] and Thomas, Logan"

Logan, leaving? Across the sea? Where letters will take weeks and weeks to reach other? Roman almost directs the driver to divert their path. He could go to the wharf, get Logan to stay somehow. Is there something he can do?

“Pat, I… It’s Logan. Would his father marry him off? Are we going to lose him?”

Patton reads the letter silently. “I… I don’t know. I hope not. He’s always been there, I can’t even imagine…”

Roman reaches out for Patton’s hand. “My dearest… what if I asked him to stay?”

“With you?”

“With us. With both of us.”

Patton’s eyes grow wide as a smile stretches across his face. “You would? You’d be okay with that?”

Roman smiles. “I would love nothing more.”

When Logan does leave for England, to study and to work under an accomplished mentor, he does so with a ring on his finger and uncharacteristic butterflies in his heart. He leaves knowing that he will always return, because no matter where he goes, his home will always been wherever Patton and Roman are.

~~~~~~~~

Virgil Burr knew every day of his life that his parents were amazing and impressive and peerless. And then they both died at the peak of their careers, leaving him with just the overwhelming weight of expectations. So yes, of course he hesitates. He has so much to lose. Anything he does could tarnish the Burr legacy. Any wrong step could bring down himself and his parents' good name too. And he admires Roman, even as he's utterly confused. How can be act so brashly? How can he be so sure in himself to not hold back?

And Virgil, well, he doesn't have the best luck in anything. He gets passed over for promotions and assignments because he's so scared of putting himself out there.

And then he falls in love. And of course, that's not easy either.

Emile Picani is beautiful and brilliant and soft. He is also married to a British officer in Georgia. But Emile is beloved by men and women alike and he loves Virgil back. So how could Virgil do anything but wait for him?

Roman and Virgil find themselves in their favorite bar after Roman’s second wedding, when Logan and Patton are off entertaining other guests and old friends of both their families. Virgil confesses that he's been sleeping with Emile, despite the other's marriage.

Roman is baffled. "Virge, if you love this man, go get him! What are you waiting for?"

"I... I can't risk it, Ro. And I'm willing to wait for it."

"But, why? Why not risk it, when the reward is so high?"

"There are just too many factors, so many things that can go wrong. I am the one thing in life I can control."

They don't and never will understand each other, not completely. But they share a need, that burning desire to prove themselves, to belong. Roman, to belong to a family, to have a purpose that can't be replaced. Virgil, to his family, to be an heir they wouldn't be disappointed in. And so their methods will never be fully aligned.

But, at least it works out for Virgil. Emile's husband does get sent back to England and Emile stays. They get a divorce, and Emile at long last becomes Virgil's. They have a son together, named Emile too. He joins them within months of Thomas coming home to Roman and Patton. Roman and Virgil write to each other with a new level of awe they could never have imagined before.

"Pride it not the word I'm looking for - there's so much more inside me now," Roman tells his oldest friend and rival. He quotes his husband, too: "I don't have the vocabulary to describe what I'm feeling inside."

Virgil writes back "When he smiles, he knocks me out - I just fall apart. And we both thought we were so fucking smart."

~~~~~~~~

Even with two loves now bound to him, even with a son who amazes and delights him, Roman cannot bear to stay at home, not when there is work to be done. Rushing back into politics brings Roman back into contact with his favorite and oldest rival, who continues to just not get him. Roman and Virgil clash like an angry cat meeting a dog determined to play: neither really gets why the other doesn't understand their reactions. And yet they move in the same circles, and both have the same undercurrent driving their every move, their every decision: "Prove yourself." Roman needs to prove he can be more than the transient, interchangeable kid he used to be on that tiny island. Virgil needs to prove he is not a disappointment to his parents' memory. He can't be the weak link. And his fear of doing the wrong thing paralyzes him more often than not, even as his ideas and thoughts rival Roman's.

The fights and tension Roman has with other members of the Cabinet are amazing. He feels more alive, just like in the revolution. He has a goal, he has obstacles/enemies, and he knows he has the ability to overcome. It all just makes sense, and it electrifies his blood to be able to be right where he needs to be.

Except, well. There are other places that also need him.

One place that also needs him is London. He does as Logan asked, and keeps writing. They debate the ideas he's bringing to Congress and the Cabinet, they make Shakespeare references constantly, and finally, now, they have the space to tell each other that they love each other. Every letter, every post-script. Patton’s letters are filled with endearments and compliments, just as Logan and Roman’s are insults that weave themselves right into declarations of affection.

Roman has a home office that he practically lives in, those days he's not in the actual office in New York. So Patton knows where to find him when he needs his husband to come be a human downstairs.

"It's Thomas' birthday, Ro. And we know it's a little unorthodox, but he actually has a gift for you!"

Patton beatboxes as Thomas starts to rap and sing, bursting with excitement.

And Roman hears his son singing to him, so proud of the words he wrote himself. Taking after Roman in his musical sense and his uncanny ability with language, taking after Logan in his impeccable timing and rhythm, taking after Patton in his pure delight and sunny nature. And Roman just melts.

"Our son is.... our son is pretty great, isn't he?" he asks his beaming husband, tearing up as he smiles.

"Yes he is," Patton says, hugging Thomas. His insides fill with fuzzy sunlight as he sees Roman sit with Thomas and listen, really listen about all his adventures and the French he's learning, and how hard but rewarding piano is.

"Darling, I know you've been working so hard - don't you think you deserve a break? We're going to my father's house for the summer, all of us. All the children: Thomas and Valerie and Joan and Talyn…”

Roman hesitates. "Work is so busy, there's so much I want to do..."

"Oh but Ro, when I say the whole family, I mean the whole family." Patton takes a letter out with brightness in his smile. "Logan is coming too."

Roman grabs the letter and kisses Patton’s cheek. “We’ll all be together?”

“We will, my dearest. At last.”

And Roman does mean to take a break. He earnestly does.

When Logan arrives off the boat from England, he and Patton immediately embrace, exchanging soft kisses. They've been together since they were children, and they always come first for each other. Always. But then Logan turns and sees Roman and... he's not a hugely expressive man. His face is usually inscrutable to all but those who know him the very best. Patton, however, knows him the very best. He sees the stars swirling in Logan's eyes and he hears the warmth in his love’s normally stoic voice. Hears how Roman, his famously, obnoxiously loquacious husband, is reduced to a single word: "Hi."

His heart is alight, seeing the two men he loves most take each other’s hands, unable to look away from each other even to kiss. No jealousy burns his skin, not even at the edges. It gives him only joy, to know that his husbands love each other so very much, as much as he himself loves them. They’re a family, a balanced triangle. And finally, they can all be satisfied.

Which is why it's so gutting when it turns out, no, it's still not enough. Roman just keeps saying "I can't stop until I get this plan through Congress..."

Patton's and Logan's hands immediately find each other's, just like when they were young. The mutual heartbreak is palpable as they stare back at Roman from the coach taking them away upstate, surrounded by all Patton's and Roman's kiddos.

Is Patton surprised? He is, actually. He thought if he wasn't enough, then he and Logan surely would be. He doesn't think he'll ever be surprised again, though.

If only Roman had just taken a break.

~~~~~~~~

We may never know for sure that it was a plan, a joint scheme between Remy Reynolds and his speculator husband Daniel Reynolds. We may never know if it was perfectly staged for Daniel to be gone from home when Remy collapsed on Roman's doorstop, begging for help.

Between his overpowering sense of chivalry, the ease with which his ego is stroked, and how fucking exhausted he's made himself... Roman isn't quite powerless to resist, but it's close. Roman almost pulls himself away but Remy suddenly has this look that reminds him just too much of his husbands. Who are gone, together, and it’s his own fault he’s not with them, but he misses them both, so much.

And then the letter arrives. The extortion letter. "Dear sir, I hope this letter finds you in good health and in a prosperous enough position to put wealth in pockets of people like me down on their luck - you see, that was my husband you decided to...."

"How could I do this? Why didn't I say no? What am I doing?" Roman despairs, but... where can he go now? He's already done it, and both Reynolds know. The only way this could be worse would be if Patton knew. If Logan knew. So Roman pays. Nobody else needs to know.

~~~~~~~~

Life doesn’t stop when Roman’s morals do. And Virgil Burr is still alive and kicking.

And he finally comes to a decision point when he realizes that Roman's just executed the most ambitious compromise in the nation's history. Compromise is Virgil's thing. Roman has always rolled his eyes at him for wanting to find middle ground between sides, the 'safe' option. And now he turns around and has invented the treasury and placed the capital city all at once? And no one can say exactly... what happened, there. How they got to that point. And Virgil wasn't part of it.

It hits him like a thunderbolt: he wants to do this. If huge accomplishments can happen even through compromise, then he can do it too. This can be how he finally lives up to his legacy. He's sitting in his study when Roman bursts in, furious.

"You just unseated my father-in-law in the Senate? Since when the fuck have you been a Democratic Republican?"

"What the hell, Roman?"

"No, what the HELL, Burr? What were you thinking?"

Virgil is confused. "I finally did what you keep bugging me to do. You know, actually do something for once instead of hesitating."

"But Senator Schuyler? Why him?"

"You're not exactly the most popular dude around, Roman. The connection was what made him weaker."

"I've always considered you a friend, Burr."

"Thanks, but why would that change? This isn't about you. This is about opportunity. Don't let your pride get the way of common sense, yeah?"

Others see the rift forming, and bring Virgil in on a plan to undermine Roman's even bolder plans. They have.... information. Why did it appear just now? Perhaps because there were murmurs that particularly rich senators and cabinet members looking for dirt on one Treasury Secretary.

Roman Hamilton has always, always been a great writer. It's what he's known for, what he's proud of. And thanks to his eloquence and overwhelming prolificacy, it's gotten him out of a lot of narrow spots and dead-ends. So when his political rivals, now supported by Virgil, approach him in an attempt to blackmail him with the info from the Reynolds....

Well, obviously, he's going to write his way out.

Roman figures that the power of blackmail is the target's shame. And the insinuations that he used the money for speculation, that he took funds from the government, when the treasury is his one crowning glory so far? Speculation rumors are clearly going to be more dangerous than the truth for his professional life . Better to get in front of the wave.

The Reynolds Pamphlet hits without warning. Roman, impulsive, dumbass, short-sighted Roman, didn't imagine how huge the uproar could be. He's immediately alienated out of the public sphere, all his influence and credibility shot.

Virgil has lost Emile, in the meantime. Sickness overcame his love, and he and young Emile were left on their own. It makes it all the more baffling when he sees Roman's missteps: how could he possibly risk a love as wonderful as what Virgil had with Emile? How could he even think of such a thing?

Roman’s political career is dead. His dirty laundry is aired to the public. No one will make any deals with him, not when they can just say "well the adulterer supports the opposing position" and walk away the victor. His public life is empty, and his private life…

There was no warning. None at all. Not even a single heads up, even once the pamphlet had been published. His husbands didn't even find Roman's article on their own. Thomas did.

Thomas is in shock and disbelief. How could Dad do this to Papa and Father? Dad is a good man, there must be some mistake, right?

Patton knows there hasn't been. Patton is... devastated, but not surprised. He wishes he could be surprised. Does that make him a terrible husband, that he already thought so little of Roman and still stayed? He finds himself wishing, in a weird, backwards way, that the affair had at least been someone he knew. Then at least, he might know how it could be that he and Logan were both missing something that Roman could only find elsewhere.

Logan, on the other hand, is furious.

His face is a glacier, his blood is ice, and Roman can practically feel the frost sprouting off his lips as Logan glares at him, spitting out, "I'm no longer here for you. How self-absorbed, how selfish do you have to be to think that I would possibly take your side in this?"

The time following the publication sees an angry Logan who refuses to listen to Roman's pleas, who ignores every explanation, who stonewalls every attempt of Roman’s to talk.

"It’s not that it’s another man, you idiot. We’re a polyamorous marriage. No, I’m pissed that you honestly thought that your goddamn ego and reputation mattered more than actually talking to us. Because Patton takes this personally. Our husband is the best person in the world. He is kind, he cares about others' feelings, and he has raised six children to be compassionate young adults. In short, he is everything you're not. So congratulations, Roman. You've done what you always wanted: become famous. Created a legacy that will never die. And that legacy is for inventing a new stratosphere of stupid. I love Patton more than anything in this life, and I have chosen his happiness every time I could. I have chosen it, I will choose it, and I choose it now. I'm back in America to stay, for him and him alone. You took the best thing life could have given you, and you ruined it. So well done, Roman. Congratulations."

Patton does not lash out. There is no reflexive anger or reaction dragged out of him. No, instead, his response is calm, collected. He looks at Roman’s actions and says to himself, "I have seen exactly what you've done and I refuse to give you room to hurt me further."

Yes, he's a storm of hurt and final betrayal. He has never hated anyone before. But all those years ago he said he'd never be surprised. And he isn't, now. Just disappointed, that he was right all along. He couldn't be enough.

And now he's free. Free to stop trying. Free from trying to drag Roman into being a father to their kids. Free from having to try not to see the glances from other men (and women). Free from having to be a pseudo-widower, who'd lost his husband to politics. Now he decides on his own: Roman is exiled from his half of the house. He can stay in his home office. He can avoid dinners. That's what he did before, didn't he? Patton will stay with his children and remaining husband. Logan and Thomas and Valerie and Joan and Talyn and Terrence and Brittany. All his kiddos. They can be a family on their own. They could never be enough for Roman, but they're enough for each other.

~~~~~~~~

The eldest children are... dealing. Valerie has inherited her Papa's temperament, and throws herself into taking care of her younger siblings. Joan latches onto Father and they follow him everywhere.

Thomas is still in shock. And disbelief.

And he, more than any of the others, has inherited Dad's temperament, and maybe more than a little of Father’s. And he has a strong sense of privacy - no one should be gossiping about this if they're not actually affected. Thomas is on his university campus when he hears of speech publicly disparaging his Dad, saying he's without any redeeming qualities, calling him dumb and unintelligent and both a philanderer and a traitor the the country.

The young man is already burning with anger, and then the speaker throws in a last little gem:

"What more could we possibly expect from a man like that? Of course he was going to show his true nature eventually. Look at his ‘husbands.’"

Now, this man has implicated not only Dad, but Papa and Father, too. And now that patented Hamilton rage is spiking. Thomas walks up and slaps him with a glove, trembling with anger. The ancient call to a duel. The man looks like he just stepped in something slimy, but accepts, naming a time and place.

Thomas walks away and immediately begins to panic. He can't fight! He doesn't even own a gun! But when he pictures trying to withdraw the challenge or back down... he can't do it. Not unless that @%#%$ apologizes.

He runs to his Dad. He's been the only child regularly talking to him ever since the pamphlet, so Roman can't immediately tell something's wrong. But then he sees the familiar fire in his eyes and realizes sadly that it turns out Thomas really is his son after all.

He counsels Thomas (his little Tommy, how is this happening?) to fire in the air to show he's been satisfied of his complaint.

“Don't risk taking a life, son - it's not worth it. Promise me, Thomas. Don't give your Papa another heartbreak."

"Okay, I promise."

"Come back home when you're done. Take my guns. And Thomas,” he hesitates, wanting to tell him to run, hard and fast. He wants to tell him to back down. But the set of Thomas’ chin tells him he may as well tell the boy to fly. “...be smart. Make me proud, son."

Shaking with nerves and anger, Thomas meets the rude man the next morning. He's still polite, following all the etiquette. And then his opponent fires on the count of seven. Of all the times to find out the bigoted speaker from your college is also a marksman.

Roman arrives at the doctor's still panting from the sprint over. It's all his fault. He knows it is. Thomas is pale, too pale, and the bandages around his middle are not.

"Hey, Dad," he says weakly, coughing. "I... I did just as you said. I did just what I promised."

"I know, I know, Thomathy. Shhh, save your strength."

"Why did he still fire, Dad? I was aiming for the sky, I was..."

"I know you were, Tommy. I know. You did everything right, just rest easy, okay?"

Logan takes care of all their children so that Patton can get to the doctor, too. He sprints, and he is already crying the minute he enters. He makes eye contact with Roman, heartbroken, guilt-ridden, definitely-responsible-for-all-this Roman, and glares.

"Who did this, Roman? What did you know about it?"

Thomas interrupts before Roman can answer. "Papa - I'm sorry..."

"Thoma-llama, no, nonono, it's not your fault," Patton says, immediately at his side, gentle and soothing, holding his hand tight.

"Do you... do you remember piano lessons, Papa?"

"Of course I do, kiddo. You always changed the melody, because you liked it more." He smooths the boy's hair. He is still a boy. Only 19, barely out of college, so sheltered, and now....

Thomas laces his fingers through Patton's, the way they did when he was 6 and still learning how to reach the keys. He hums the tune they always played, and Patton hums along, his voice breaking in his throat. Roman stands off to the side. He can't interfere in this moment. Patton was the Papa who mattered - actually there for their children when they needed him. Actually a father. Roman never spent enough time and now... he's out of time.

Patton holds Thomas tight, long after his time is gone. If he can just hug him tight enough, it won't be real. How can he believe this is real? It's... it is unimaginable.

~~~~~~~~

Roman and Patton move numbly through life. Logan is not emotionless, no, but he powers through. He helps the family move from the house where Thomas was born, relocating further uptown. Hiding from the shadows, and the memories.

Roman is utterly and thoroughly a broken man. He ruined his career, his hurt both his husbands, he's burned his friendships, and his family is shattering. He shuffles around the city in a daze. He accompanies his remaining children to school and lessons. He eats mechanically at the dinner table. And all it takes is the slightest reference to Thomas for him to fall apart.

Patton is too connected to the children to shut down, and they know him well enough to not expect the same happy pappy Papa. He's just a little bit colder. A little bit sharper around the edges. More easily startled. Valerie, who was always the closest with Papa, climbs into his lap all the time. She knows he needs affection the most right now. The younger kids make crafts for him, and they sing his favorite songs. If only his favorite songs hadn't been Thomas' favorites, too.

One night, after the children are asleep, Roman finds Patton staring blankly into the distance in the living room.

"I... I know I don't deserve you, Patton. But could you just... listen, if you will let me? Just knowing you can hear... that would be enough."

Patton doesn't turn or nod, but his eyes shift. He can hear. He's not moving away.

"If... If I could spare his life, Pat. If I could trade his life for mine, he'd be here now, and you would be smiling and... that would be enough for me. I know there's no way that can happen - we can't replace what we've lost, but... if you could just let me stay here, in this house. At your side. That would be enough."

The refrain might have broken Patton's heart, if he had enough left to break. But instead, without looking, he takes Roman's hand in his. He might not say it now, or ever, but he needs every family member now. That's enough to forgive him.

Patton needs both his loves. And Logan can understand that, can forgive Patton for forgiving Roman. But he hasn't let go of his anger with their husband. Not yet. Logan blames Roman a little more than Patton does, even though he knows it's unfair. but casting blame is easier than looking inwards, at his own flaws, at where Thomas might have gotten his stubbornness and hotheadedness.

It seemed like there would be years to be mad at him, for Roman to prove he'd changed, to learn to forgive. Patton knew Logan was beginning to come around, as Roman rededicated himself to his family. Seeing Roman so gentle with Patton and the children, Logan starts to feel the seed of something there again. But not all seeds are destined to grow. And some don’t grow fast enough.

~~~~~~~~

Even in the face of hearts shattering and families breaking, the indifferent world keeps spinning. Even in the face of personal devastation, the thrum of politics doesn’t quit.

Virgil is running for president in a crowded primary, against one of Roman's most antithetic rivals. But he won't take any positions. Too nervous about being rejected, he continues to hedge, and compromise, and avoid hard stances. He's learned how to hide behind a charming mask. He talks to people, and smiles and laughs, and buries his nervousness behind bluster (Who is he modeling his bluster after? The former prince of pride, of course). He's openly campaigning. It's new. And honestly, it's more than a little draining.

But the convention comes to a dead tie, and the only person left in the party who's able to weigh in is Roman. Despite his numbness, he's never forgotten why he cared so much about wanting to help his country. He still believes in its people and its promise. So after the 20th letter asking for his opinion... he declares publicly that he supports Virgil's opponent.

"What the fuck?"

"What?"

"You supported him? Over me? Really?"

"He had positions. And beliefs. I don't know what yours are."

“At least I have morals.”

The rage simmers, hot and itchy below his skin. Who is Roman of all people to act better than him? To casually derail his biggest ambition? He asks for an apology, and acknowledgment, anything. Roman responds with a literal list of issues on which they've disagreed, "any one of which I could use as equal basis to oppose your candidacy."

The barbs fly back and forth, neither man backing down, apologizing, or conceding a point. Virgil, for the first time, feels entirely compelled to act, the quiet voice telling him to 'wait' strangely absent.

“I'll see you at Weehawken, at dawn, Mr. Hamilton. Bring your pistols."

Roman wakes Patton by accident that morning, sitting at his desk, writing.

"Ro, come back to bed, please?" his wonderful husband asks sleepily. "What are you writing?"

"Nothing you need to worry about yet, love. I just... I have an early meeting. In New Jersey. I'll... see you later, okay?"

Patton nods and is snoring again by the time Roman's walked to the door. He takes a look back, and returns to the bed to softly kiss Patton's temple. He walks past Logan’s bedroom, too. He’s not yet been allowed back, even as Patton spends as many nights there as with Roman. But knowing what he’s about to do, he stops and steps in, quietly.

Logan is so much softer when he sleeps, and Roman's heart fills as he sees the slight smile. He carefully, softly, so gently it can't be felt, places a kiss on Logan's cheek. He can't wake him, can't ask for forgiveness beforehand. That would be leaning on guilt and fear, and he would never manipulate his love in that way. So he just writes a letter.

He doesn't address it with a name, but leaves it in the kitchen where both Patton and Logan will find it. On the outside of the folded letter, in Roman's bold hand, is one phrase for both his hearts:

“Best of husbands, Best of men"

~~~~~~~~

Staring at his one-time friend in the cold, misty air, Roman tries to remember the vigor he used to feel. The fire of wanting to defend himself. The burning passion of being right. He can't find it in himself anymore. But he recognizes it in Virgil's eyes.

Virgil’s anger has changed from a cold weight in his chest to a fiery stream spewing from his mouth and pen, the fire before the smoke of his pistol. He is driven by his age-old hunger, yes, but by another need, too: that this man will not make an orphan of his son.

Is it a selfish need? Of course. Roman's children will lose a father. But they'll have two left over if he falls, while Emile, Jr. would be utterly alone. And even if his pride lets Virgil concede, his love for his son won't.

For once in his life, Roman thinks and reacts a bit too slowly. Both combatants follow the proper steps, but he doesn't decide where to aim his pistol until the count has already reached 9. And Virgil is shaking with anger still when the his finger depresses the trigger on 10.

Of all the times not to miss.

Just as he fires, he sees Roman lift his gun up, and up, and it's pointing towards the sky and WAIT!

The one time he should have hesitated more, and he didn't. He was too young and blind to see that Roman's approval would never have been enough, that his disapproval wasn't why he didn't feel accepted. The world could have been wide enough for both of them.

And now, history will remember him as just... a villain. He will always be remembered for what he destroyed, not what he made. He will always, always be the bad guy. The worst part is he agrees. He thinks he deserves it. He shouldn’t have tried to act decisively, shouldn’t have gone against his regular actions

Patton and Logan can’t help resenting him. Politics isolates him. And just in case the universe wasn’t clear enough that his actions have consequence, he loses Emile. Again.

His son dies at sea not two years later, and Virgil is left alone.

~~~~~~~~

Imagine, if you will, Logan and Patton drying their eyes and taking the remaining Hamilton children to Washington, D.C. Logan and Patton continue to campaign for the end of slavery, for President Washington’s monument to be completed. Logan brings the policy, Patton brings the heart. Logan shows how feasible it could be. Patton shows why it’s necessary.

By the time old age claims Logan, Patton is stronger, more able to live on his own. His children have grown, and he has too. Logan is buried next to Roman, back in New York, and Patton will join them one day. Them and Thomas, in the family plot.

But Patton looks at the world and asks, “What more can I do?”

He and Roman wouldn’t have been so well matched if he didn’t understand that need to help, to do more, to make a mark on the world around him. Patton and Logan would never have loved so deeply if Patton didn’t understand what it took to make real change happen. Patton’s mark just never had to be a huge, sweeping legacy. The smallest change in someone’s life could be enough.

Roman’s biggest weakness was never feeling like he was enough- because he never fit in. He never felt truly at home. So Patton looks at the children of the city and says, “I will build you a home.”

Patton visits Roman’s grave each year, and one year brings pictures

“Roman, love, can I show you what I’m proudest of?”

The orphanage.

“I established the first private orphanage in New York City. I help raise hundreds of children, and dear one- I get to see them growing up. In their eyes, I see you, Roman. I see you and your hunger, I see Thomas and his optimism, I see Logan and his brilliant mind. I see us, all of us. I see our family and our love.”

And there’s yet so much more he can do.

~~~~~~~~

Virgil draws back from the public life, invests in public libraries, and tries to do what he can to create scholarships and opportunities for young people like he’d been. Like Roman had been. One day, when he’s aged and grey, he gets a knock on the door of his New York home.

“Hello, pardon me, are you Virgil Burr, sir?”

“I, Uh. Depends who’s asking?”

“Oh sure, sir. My name is Patton Hamilton. I’ve been looking for you.”

Patton knows that no one, no one spent as much time with Roman on the intellectual side. No one knew his political approach quite so well. Virgil spent so much time studying it, trying to understand, and he knows every aspect. So when Pat wants to enshrine his husband’s political legacy, he knows who he needs to talk to.

If there’s one thing Patton is good at, it is forgiveness. And Virgil has needed it for so very, very long. He helps publish the book of Roman’s writing, his letters and treatises. He helps build the Hamilton library. He consults on the business side of the orphanage.

And Patton, at his annual gravesite visits, tells Roman. One year, Virgil comes with, once he’s finally convinced he won’t be interfering. He stares at the gravestone, throat tight, eyes full.

Finally, he manages to say, “I’m sorry, Ro.”

He leaves a quill at the base of the stone. And parchment to write on. He never visits again, but he doesn’t need to. He knows there’s nothing more to say.

~~~~~~~~

As Patton ages, and knows he’s reaching the end of his life, his only true regret is wondering, “Have I done enough? Will the world remember us, and you? Will they tell our story?”

But ultimately, that’s not what matters. What matters is that he has done his best, and that one day soon, he will see them all again. Logan, and Roman, and Thomas… it’s only a matter of time.

~~~~~~~~

General writing taglist: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse @thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @max-is-tired @almostoveranalyzed

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theyearoftheking · 5 years ago

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Book 5: The Stand

Bloggers note: if you’re looking for a complete plot summary and a list of all the characters in this epic tome, this is not the blog post for you. Proceed with caution.

Once upon a time, there was a precocious ten year-old, with divorced parents. One parent embraced her weirdness and didn’t pay attention to what books she was bringing home from the library; and the other parent was my dad... who constantly wondered (aloud) why I wasn’t like normal kids.

Being of slightly above-average intelligence, I saw this as an affront, and did subtle things just to piss him off. Subtle things “normal” children probs wouldn’t do. The summer I was ten, my dad had picked up a paperback copy of The Stand, and was raving to me about how good it was. I remember he was fixated on people falling dead in their bowls of Chunky soup.

“Sounds like a cool book, maybe I’ll read it,” I commented.

“This isn’t a book for children. You still haven’t read that copy of The Hobbit I gave you.”

Hold my beer, motherfucker. I’m here for it. And The Hobbit was boring af. I never got past all the singing.

Just to piss him off, I read the book cover to cover, faster than he did. You know, like normal vindictive ten year-old girls do. I don’t have a lot of memories of my dad growing up, but I hold onto this one fast and tight, because I got mine in the end. I was like the Trashcan Man of the fifth grade set. Just with a worse haircut. See below.

Needless to say, my comprehension of The Stand almost thirty years later is a little bigger, wider, and deeper. It’s also colored by other epic “Good vs. Evil” reads (sigh, yes... even Tolkien); and King’s other works (mostly The Dark Tower). While at times this was not an easy book to read, I’m glad I powered through it. Ultimately, I feel rewarded I didn’t give up on page 872 like I had initially wanted to. I’m also glad I didn’t go with my gut instinct of reading the original released in in 1978, and then later on the uncut edition that was released in 1990. One reading of The Stand per year is more than enough, thank you. And besides, there’s fun pictures along the way! I mean, if I’m being honest, the book is mostly pictures with just a few words here and there to break it up. I’m absolutely kidding.

Let’s get into it, shall we?

First of all, I picked the worst fucking time to read this book. Coronavirus is probably going to kill the whole world, and I refuse to be one of the survivors like in The Stand. There’s not enough bourbon in Kentucky for me to survive that shit show. Additionally, my family is huge into board games, and we thought Pandemic might be a fun cooperative game to try. Spoiler: it’s awesome, we’re all hooked on it. I highly recommend it for your next game night. Maybe an End of the World/Pandemic theme?? You can all wear gloves and masks, eat shelf stable foods and bottled water, and play REM on repeat. Sounds... awesome.

But I digress. The Stand is your ultimate post-apocalyptic good versus evil showdown. A government employee with Captain Trips (the world ending virus) goes AWOL from his base, and takes a frantic road trip across the country with his family, where he manages to contaminate everyone he comes in contact with.

What is Captain Trips? Well, I’m so glad you asked! To hear a doctor explain it, “We’ve got a disease with several well-defined stages... but some people may skip a stage. Some people may backtrack a stage. Some people may do both. Some people stay in one stage for a relatively long time and others zoom though all four as if they were on a rocket-sled...”

The virus spreads (like viruses do), until there’s less than 15,000 people left in the country (rough estimate). The people still alive start having two types of dreams; either scary nightmares about The Walking Man, or peaceful dreams about Mother Abigail. Again... good versus evil. Guess who is who. If you need clarification, let me give you this one little quote about Randall Flagg, courtesy of Mother Abigail, “He’s the purest evil left in the world. The rest of the bad is a little evil. Shoplifters and sexfiends and people who like to use their fists. But he’ll call them. He’s started already. He’s getting them together a lot faster than we are. Before he’s ready to make his move, I guess he’ll have a lot more. Not just the evil ones that are like him, but the weak ones... the lonely ones... and the ones that have left God out of their hearts.”

And his followers?

“They were nice enough people and all, but there wasn’t much love in them. Because they were too busy being afraid. Love didn’t grow very well in a place where there was only fear, just as plants didn’t grow very well in a place where it was always dark.”

Yeah. I’m just going to leave that there for you to read and digest.

So, the remaining people from all over the country either ended up in Vegas with Flagg, or Boulder with Mother Abigail and The Free Zone; which is basically Bernie Sander’s Utopian dream.

God damn it! I swore I wasn’t going to get political and compare Donald Trump to Randall Fla-

Ok, so The Free Zone. Most of the people who come to Boulder, want to meet Mother Abigail Freemantle, the one hundred and eight year old black woman they’ve been dreaming about. She’s got a self-described case of the shine, and speaks stupid relevant truth to her followers, “I have harbored hate of the Lord in my heart. Every man or woman who loves Him, they hate Him too, because He’s a hard God, a jealous God, He Is, what He Is, and in this world He’s apt to repay service with pain while those who do evil ride over the roads in Cadillac cars. Even the joy of serving Him is a bitter joy. I do His will, but the human part o me has cursed Him in my heart.”

I’m not religious, but that hit hard. And it shows you the clear difference between Randall Flagg, and Mother Abigail.

Later on, Mother Abigail also hits us over the head, and explains to us why this book is titled, The Stand: “But he is in Las Vegas, and you must go there, and it is there that you will make your stand. You will go, and you will not falter, because you have the Everlasting Arm of the Lord God of Hosts to lean on. Yes. With God’s help you will stand.”

Spoiler: it doesn’t quite go according to her plan. Very few are left standing at the end.

So, The Free Zone. People come together, dispose of dead bodies, get electricity turned back on again, clear the roads of abandoned cars, and form a de-facto government. While lots of characters come and go (die. They die.) throughout the book, there are a few mainstays in The Free Zone: Franny, Harold, Stu, Larry, Nick, Tom, Nadine, and Lucy. But again... good versus evil. While most of the residents of The Free Zone are good, Flagg is able to whisper in the ears of some members, mostly Harold and Nadine, who end up defecting and making the trip to Vegas.

While socialist utopia is succeeding in Boulder, Flagg is ruling with fear of crucifixion in Vegas. His henchmen include Lloyd, and The Trashcan Man. Oh, Trashy... maybe one of King’s most iconic characters. He’s a bit of a firebug (understatement of the century), and really goes out in a blaze of glory (ha. Pun intended).

In fact, the two heroes of this book are Trashcan Man, thanks to his epic nuclear disaster; and simple-minded Tom Cullen, who is able to infiltrate Flagg’s inner circle, and successfully make it out, rescuing Stu Redman, who is dying in the desert with a broken leg and a horrible infection along the way. Tom Cullen is the character you root for. But Trashy is the character you’re always curious about. He’s like that rebel guy you dated in high school for ten minutes, and now stalk on Facebook, because you want to see what shady shit he’s up to twenty years later.

This is the biggest oversimplification I think I’ve ever written. The onus is on you to just pick up the damn book and read it yourself. Do it soon, because you might not have a lot of time left, what with Coronavirus breathing it’s death fumes down our necks.

For those still keeping track, we have TWO Wisconsin references in The Stand. The first was on page five, set in a gas station in East Texas, “...had covered himself with glory as a quarterback of the regional high school team, had gone on to Texas A&M with an athletic scholarship, and had played for ten years with the Green Bay Packers...”

I can’t help but feel Steve is a closeted Packers fan. He lives in Maine, so I know he’s contractually obligated to be a Patriots fan (gag), but come on... homeboy loves him some green and yellow.

The second reference comes from our friend Trashcan Man, while trying to find a walking route of possible destruction. “He had planned to get over to the west side of Gary, near the confusion of interchanges leading various roads towards Chicago or Milwaukee...”

Question... does Gary, Indiana still smell in a post-apocalyptic world? Asking for a friend.

We also start getting the Dark Tower references fast and heavy. I didn’t make note every time Steve referenced wolves, crows, or wheels; because we’d be up over a million references now. And Randall Flagg himself is straight out of The Tower. So that’s fun. And we have our first “ka” reference: “And it came to him with a dreamy, testicle-shriveling certainty that this was the dark man, his soul, his ka somehow projected into this rain-drenched, grinning crow that was looking at him...”

‘Tis ka, bitches.

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 8

Dark Tower References: 4

Book Grade: A-

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Shining

The Stand

‘Salem’s Lot

Carrie

Night Shift

Next up is The Dead Zone, which I must have watched a million times as a kid, because my mom was obsessed with it, but I’ve never actually read the book. So this should be fun! I mean... who doesn’t love reading a book and imagining Christopher Walken without his cowbell as the main character?

Long Days and Pleasant Nights, Rebecca

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destructiveurges · 6 years ago

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“We Are All Going To Die” by Black Oak Clique (USA)

An open letter and anti-manifesto to Climate Offensive, Extinction Rebellion, Earth Strike, and other nonviolent movements

When the world ends, people come out of their apartments and meet their neighbors for the first time; they share food, stories, companionship. No one has to go to work or the laundromat; nobody remembers to check the mirror or scale or email account before leaving the house. Graffiti artists surge into the streets; strangers embrace, sobbing and laughing. Every moment possesses an immediacy formerly spread out across months. Burdens fall away, people confess secrets and grant forgiveness, the stars come out over New York City...and nine months later, a new generation is born.

(CrimethInc.)

We’re going to die?

"The Earth is not dying, it is being killed, and those who are killing it have names and addresses." But us – me, you, even those who are killing the earth? We’re going to die.

In the worst case scenario, you drown, you starve, or you succumb to heat stroke. Not figuratively. You will drown, you will starve, you will succumb to heat stroke. Perhaps there’s the small chance that you will survive the mass migration to the last reaches of habitable land in and around the poles.

Perhaps.

But let’s be realistic here: In all likelihood, you’re going to die. A slow, horrible, excruciating death at that. We would like to say this is the future we’re hurtling towards at an ever-increasing rate. But it isn’t: it’s the present, the material, graspable present. Islands are sinking into the ocean. The poverty-stricken are freezing to death on the streets. People are burning to death in gigantic wildfires. The collapse is not to be a single event. It’s a process, and it’s currently underway. In the best case scenario, death is liberation. Perhaps the real “you” – your body, your consciousness, your soul, what have you – won’t die, per se: instead, the abstract “you” – your way of life, your social relationships under capitalism, your system of meaning that’s been drilled into your head since day one – will die.

Can’t we reform the system?

No. We can’t. The system is the problem, and the system runs deep. The problem isn’t just capitalism. It’s also the state, but it also isn’t just the state. It’s the ideology of consumption itself: that beings – plants, animals (including humans deemed to be subhuman), fungi, even inanimate natural “resources” – are objects to be bought, sold, and eventually, consumed. This ideology is perhaps the deepest ideology we have. It permeates every form of knowledge: from science, to art, to politics. It seeps through our language (one must think how often we refer to feeling, living beings – ones with the capacity to suffer – as “it.”) It permeates our relationships. It is the very basis of our societies, if it cannot be deemed our “society” itself – the group of capital-h Humans deemed to be worthy enough to be circumscribed by the abstract Community, that constructs itself in opposition to literally everything else.

Your favorite pet politician isn’t immune to this. Not Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, not Bernie Sanders, not Jill Stein. Not the Democratic Socialists, not the Green Party, not the CPUSA, and not anyone else, either. Perhaps their hearts are in the right place – but sadly, that isn’t enough. To quote the amazing piece Anarchy Works by Peter Gelderloos:

Some people oppose capitalism on environmental grounds, but think some sort of state is necessary to prevent ecocide. But the state is itself a tool for the exploitation of nature. Socialist states such as the Soviet Union and People’s Republic of China have been among the most ecocidal regimes imaginable. That these two societies never escaped the dynamics of capitalism is itself a feature of the state structure — it necessitates hierarchical, exploitative economic relationships of control and command, and once you start playing that game nothing beats capitalism.

What about nonviolence?

Concerning nonviolence: it is criminal to teach a man not to defend himself when he is the constant victim of brutal attacks.

(Malcolm X)

The struggle against ecocide was never nonviolent, and it never will be, because it cannot be. That’s because ecocide is violence: violence against me and you, against animals (wild and domestic,) against the trees and the grass and the water and the mountains. Climate insurrection is self-defense. Strict adherence to nonviolence – that is, the rejection of violence – is complicity in the face of ecological destruction. It is not “offensive,” it is not “rebellion,” and it’s not a “strike” at climate change. Many of us do not have the privilege of being nonviolent – namely, those of us who already marginalized. We will be the first to go. We’re the rural farm workers and their families being sprayed with pesticides. We’re the houseless freezing to death in polar vortices. We’re the indigenous peoples whose homes are being swallowed by the sea. We’re the poor who will not have the capital necessary to complete the long trek north to the last remaining habitable lands. If we aren’t violent – if we don’t rebel against the system that oppresses us – we will be crushed. Don’t be complicit in our death, in your death.

What’s climate insurrection?

Perhaps the only hope me or you have. It’s destroying that which destroys us - by any means possible.

Wouldn’t that hurt the movement?

No. A better question would be: what has “nonviolent” protest won us in the long run? The answer: absolutely nothing. Many supposedly “nonviolent” movements, such as the Civil Rights Movement, were incredibly violent. There were hundreds of riots throughout the United States, and of course, the existence of armed paramilitary groups such as the Black Panthers, or the Brown Berets. One could make the argument that this narrative of nonviolence is pushed by the very people whose power would be threatened by violence, because violence means (perhaps immediate) change. Hence: why those in the US celebrate Martin Luther King Day, a federally recognized holiday; but not Malcolm X Day. Even the most-oft example of nonviolent resistance, the Indian independence movement, was not so. Bhagat Singh, who after his execution became a folk hero of the cause, was inspired by French anarchist Auguste Vaillant to bomb the British Raj’s Central Legislative Assembly. Less than a year before, he had assassinated a British police officer in retaliation for the death of the nationalist leader Lala Lajpat Rai.

Wouldn’t it be counterproductive?

Counterproductive to what? Getting meaningless reforms passed? Getting empty pyrrhic victories in the legal circuit? Performing impotent marches through major cities that don’t achieve anything other than receiving lukewarm press from second-rate newspapers? Ask the battery hen liberated from cramped cages by animal activists, or the old-growth forest protected indefinitely by logging saboteurs (and all the animals who call those forest home): is direct action productive?

Anarchist action— patient, hidden, tenacious, involving individuals, eating away at institutions like a worm eats away at fruit, as termites undermine majestic trees — such action does not lend itself to the theatrical effects of those who wish to draw attention to themselves.

To quote the great illusionist Georges Méliès, "I must say, to my great regret, the cheapest tricks have the greatest impact."

If insurrection is so great, how come people aren’t doing it now?

They are. You just haven’t heard of it because the media is smart enough to hide it. Hearing about the heroic stories of those who fight back would be too dangerous for most to hear – it runs the risk of radicalizing them. Movements like the Animal and Earth Liberation Fronts, have been waging war against ecocide since the 1970s.

I don’t want to go to prison.

We dream of a world without prisons.

I’m scared.

We’re scared too, friend. We should be, but we should be

strong, too

What can we do?

We’ll let the great animal activist Keith Mann speak for us.

Labs raided, locks glued, products spiked, depots ransacked, windows smashed, construction halted, mink set free, fences torn down, cabs burnt out, officesin flames, car tires slashed, cages emptied, phone lines severed, slogans daubed, muck spread, damage done, electrics cut, site flooded, hunt dogs stolen, fur coats slashed, buildings destroyed, foxes freed, kennels attacked, businesses burgled, uproar, anger, outrage, balaclava clad thugs.

What if I don’t have the ability to fight?

You do, even if you can’t physically. Despite the tone of this letter, we aren’t totally opposed to above-ground action. In fact, in some cases, we think it’s necessary. Groups like the Earth Liberation Prisoners Support Group and the Animal Liberation Front Supporters Group are active in representing and advocating for operatives. As Sinn Féin, the Irish political party once associated with the militant IRA has been described:

Both Sinn Féin and the IRA play different but converging roles in the war of national liberation. The Irish Republican Army wages an armed campaign... Sinn Féin maintains the propaganda war and is the public and political voice of the movement.

What happens next?

We don’t know. But with any luck, we’ve laid out our options.

(via Heresy Distro)

#Extinction Rebellion #Black Oak Clique #Climate Insurrection #Violence #Theory #Anarchist Theory #Anarchist Texts #Attack #Climate Apocalypse

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furryarbiterangel · 6 years ago

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October Post 15

The fairies often came to the edge of the woods. They couldn’t enter the town limits, although no one knew why, but they were fully capable of blocking the only road in or out. Calling out softly they tempted those who were forced to travel through their territory. Those who dared to leave often vanished, never to be seen again. Newcomers who didn’t know the rules either learned very quickly or attempted to return home only to be caught in the tempting snare of the fairies’ sweet promises.

The rules were very simple. Don’t stop moving. Pretend you don’t see or hear them. Never turn around. Don’t linger. And most of all, whatever you do, Do Not Answer Them.

Close the doors and blinds at night. Lock all the windows. Never go outside after dark, no matter what you might hear. Even if the voices calling out to you were in fact the people that they sounded like, it meant it was too late for them. To open your door after dark was to seal your own fate.

Everyone knew that the fairies played dirty but it was a special kind of pain to hear the voices of lost loved ones just outside your door, knocking and pleading to come in. They could mimic the dead perfectly. Or perhaps it really was the lost soul begging to come home only to be forced to drag their loved ones into the dark with them.

If you were forced to travel beyond the town limits, you put your head down and walked as quickly as possible. Sometimes you would be lucky. Sometimes the fairies would grow bored of their games and disappear. No one knew where. But other times, there they would be, skin translucent, wings glittering softly, smiling ever so sweetly at you. They always knew your name, even if you were new in town, and they could peer into your heart and grasp your darkest desires. “Come with us. We can give you everything. Your mother waits for you back in our home. Your son is alive and happy. We can give you your freedom.”

One day, as you walk as fast as you can -without running- for running drew their attention, along the path back into the town. Cars wouldn’t start in town. You were forced to park your car in the next town over and walk the path back to Glennsdale. You never would have left at all but recently you had been throwing up blood and had been forced to leave to visit a specialist.

You were told that you had cancer.

You had about two years left to live.

You wonder what you will tell your father. Your mother vanished, victim to the fairies when you were a small child and you were all that your father had left. He was aging now and often spoke longingly of you getting married and starting a family before his death.

You see the fairy lingering in the trees before you hear it. It calls out your name softly, vanishing from the behind the tree to appear farther down the path. Keeping your eyes directly on the ground in front of you, you keep walking. Yet you can still see it out of the corner of your eye, glittering in the late day sunlight.

Thoughts are racing in your head, torn between fear, worry, and your own impending death, you aren’t paying enough attention to the fairy and run straight into it. You stumble to a stop and in that moment that fairy grabs your shoulder.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

You quickly sidestep but it’s too late.

The fairy matches your movement. “Aren’t you going to ask why?”

You keep your head down and try to move around it again.

The sudden brush of a finger against your chin surprises you into looking up. You meet the fairy’s eyes. They shimmer, the color changing so quickly that they’re impossible to describe. You try frantically to look away. The fairy smiles at you and you’re caught in the glamour. You feel yourself relax even as you try to mentally break free.

“Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”

You will not give the fairy the power of your voice. Yet you dare not to anger it by continuing to ignore it. Determined that there’s still a chance you may escape you shake your head.

It seems satisfied with this for now as it’s smile widens, you notice that its’ teeth taper to a point. “I’ve been watching you for a while now. I know how sick you are.”

You fight down your surprise, forcing your expression to stay blank. You thought that their power ended at the town’s limits. How did it know?

“Ah, you’re wondering how I know. I could smell it on you. I would guess that you have… maybe two years left to live? And they will be painful years. Filled with treatments that will only make you sicker. Treatments that will only leave you weaker. You won’t be able to work. Forced to sit around the house, unable to even leave your bed. You will wither away to nothing. Having accomplished nothing, leaving no one left behind you to take care of your father, no one to remember you when he’s gone.”

Its’ words strike the very thoughts you were lost in when you ran into it. Suddenly cold despite the bright sunlight you shiver.

“Your body is betraying you. Destroying itself from the inside out. You can’t see it yet but soon it will start to show as you lose weight and your hair thins. Bags will develop under your eyes and never vanish no matter how much sleep you get. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

You still can’t look away from its’ eyes. Hypnotized by its’ unearthly beauty, it takes a few moments for the fairy’s words to sink in fully.

Your mouth opens and you stop yourself from responding just in time.

The fairy nods. “We can cure you. We can save you. You will live a long and prosperous life. Success beyond your imagining. Your book will be published and turned in to a movie. Children everywhere will know your name as their hero. You will meet the love of your life. You will grow old and raise your children and grandchildren together. Your father will die well taken care of and provided for, wanting for nothing. And when the times comes, years from now, all you have to do is give me your promise that you will come with me.”

Temptation. Desire. All of your dreams come true in a single beautiful lie.

“You will see your mother again.”

“What?” The word slips out. Your hands fly to your mouth but it’s too late.

The fairy is grinning now and you notice that the woods around you seem different. Darker. Wilder. Older.

“That’s right. Come with me and see your mother. Live your life to the fullest. Long and happy and all I need is one little thing.”

You shake your head fervently.

“Don’t you want to live?” It wheedles.

You shake your head again but falter. You do want to live. You don’t want to waste away to nothing, eaten by cancer, spending your days fighting a battle you’re destined to lose. The fairy’s vivid description burned into your mind, you slowly nod.

“Say it.” It commands.

“I want to live.”

The woods are definitely darker now and you somehow know you’re no longer on the path outside of town. You’re being transported someplace… else.

You know it’s already too late. The fairy already has a hold of you. It’s just a matter of whether you going willingly.

“I want to live.” You repeat.

“Excellent. I knew you would see it our way. All I need from you… is for you to say your name.”

Inspired by @write-it-motherfuckers

#October story time!#cancer #fairies #horror story #impending death #horror

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pushspacetocontinue · 6 years ago

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Russell Tolbert TV Tropes

Below the read more (because it is a long long list) are a list of TV Tropes (because I love them) that apply to Russell. There is a list for his main verse, Gemsona/SU Verse, his TF2 Verse, and his Superhero verse (the rest haven’t had much of a chance to be used) and I plan to add more of them as I find them, along with the ones for AUs.

So if you decided to read them, click on and enjoy. Trigger warning for mentions of abusive parents, alcohol addiction and a suicide attempt below.

Normal Verse TV Tropes

Abusive Parents: His Mother, Cassandra. He and his brothers were all victims of her abusive behaviour. While her favourite thing to do was verbally and emotionally hurt then via humiliation, degradation, and manipulation, she wasn’t afraid to get physical with them either. She was also neglectful and dismissive, leaving her oldest sons to look after the others while she did whatever she wanted. Thankfully, his Father, Jean-Luc, is none of these things.

Adorkable: Loyal? Check. Shy? Check. Kind? Check. An absolute nerd when it comes to videogames, space, and drumming? Check.

Affluent Ascetic: Lives in a modest but nice apartment with basic furniture and a few luxuries despite having the money for more. His reason being is that he’s perfectly happy with what he has already.

Animal Motifs: Moths and Butterflies.

Apologises a Lot: Part of him being an Extreme Doormat.

The Baby of the Bunch: He has seven brothers, and they’re all older.

Bad Dreams: He has them often, usually after something particularly distressing or painful.

Befriending the Enemy: Usually his first option. If that doesn’t work and the enemy isn’t backing down, then the switch-blade comes out.

Beware the Nice Ones: Will not hesitate to jump in and protect someone he cares about, even if it means kicking ass.

Bookworm: Books and games were his biggest forms of escapism when he was a child. He’s carried his love for both into his adulthood.

Bungled Suicide: Also combined with Interrupted Suicide. He tried to die but was too drunk to make himself bleed out quickly, which gave Gertrude enough time to find him and call an ambulance to save him.

- This led to a Happily Failed Suicide, where he had managed to start turning his life around since the attempt and making positive changes. He’s not where he wants to be yet, but he’s doing better than he was.

Character Tics: He laughs awkwardly when he’s nervous or embarrassed about something.

Chronic Hero Syndrome: He admits that he just cannot leave someone in need behind.

Cool Uncle: Viewed as such by his eldest niece, Gracie.

Combat Pragmatist: He’s not strong, but tries to make up for this by using speed and agility, fighting dirty, and thinking quickly. He’ll go for the eyes, crotch and neck if he has to.

Cowardly Lion: He’s shy, socially awkward, insecure, and tries to avoid conflict whenever possible, but when it comes to protecting his friends or defending himself, then he’ll jump straight in.

Disappeared Dad: For most of his childhood and teen years, although not his father’s fault. Thankfully, they’ve since reunited.

Extreme Doormat: Something that he needs to change.

Friends Are Chosen, Family Aren’t: While reconnecting with his living brothers again, he still chose new people as his family after his mother disowned and vowed to kill him if she saw him again, and cares for him like they’re his siblings too.

Guilty Pleasure: Nintendo games (particularly Pokemon and Yokai Watch). While his colleagues at the cafe like them too, he still feels a little bit embarrassed about it.

Hair of Gold, Heart of Gold: A man who tries to be good and decent to those around him. His sandy/straw-coloured locks fit the bill.

I Am Not my Mother: Partially why he does his best to be the good man that he is; he refuses to continue any pain or suffering his Mother caused him and his brothers, especially now that she’s gone.

The Insomniac: Has trouble falling asleep and then staying asleep if he does.

Le Parkour: One of his main hobbies and skills, having kept up the practice for years.

Massive Numbered Siblings: Lived with his seven older brothers and mother in the same house until they started moving out.

Musician: A drummer for a (mostly) Electro Swing band known as Midnight Swarm.

Must Have Caffeine: He honestly has no idea what he would do without coffee or other such caffeinated substances.

Near-Death Experience: Has experienced a few of these in his life time. The most serious left him unconscious in hospital for two days, and needing time to recover after he woke up.

Never Speak Ill of the Dead: A mild example. When people find out his mother died, he tries to downplay it simply by telling them ‘she wasn’t a good woman’ and leaving it at that.

Platonic Life Partners: With his dear friend, Pari Vass.

Plays Games at Work: Plays on his 3DS or Switch when it’s slow at the cafe.

Pungeon Master: He admits that he really likes puns a little bit too much for his good.

Rage Breaking Point: How his anger presents itself. He holds it back and if it doesn’t get vented out, one more straw will eventually break the metaphorical camel’s back. There are warning signs though, such as increased irritability. He inherited this from his mother.

Recovered Addict: Used to drink alcohol to excess. He has since stopped and has been clean just over a year and a half.

Right Hand Cat: A non-villainous example in Misty, who he inherited from his previous landlady, Gertrude.

Secretly Wealthy: Thanks to a very large inheritance he received from his late landlady, Gertrude. He doesn’t like to flaunt it for fear of attracting the wrong kind of attention. That doesn’t stop from making regular anonymous donations to crowdfunding sites, charity organisations and from paying for other people whenever he can.

Self-Deprecation: Guilty of doing this a lot.

Sir Swears-a-Lot: Having a bunch of sailor-mouthed older brothers and a foul-mouthed mother has had this effect on him. He swears even in his casual speech, although he does rein it in when around kids or the elderly.

Speech Impediment: He has a noticeable stammer. He has got it somewhat under control thanks to spending a lot of time practising his talking, but it still comes out on occasion.

Stage Names: When he’s drumming for the band, he’s Luna Moth.

Straight Gay: Is attracted to other men, but has been mistaken for straight or asexual on several occasions.

Weak but Skilled: Is fast, agile and knows how to move. But he can easily be taken down if he makes one wrong step.

Unfazed Everyman: Has met multiple supernatural beings, monsters, or otherwise odd people, but has already learnt to accept their presence.

Why did it Have to be Snakes?: He’s absolutely terrified of the ocean.

TF2 Verse TV Tropes

Breaking the Fourth Wall: Has done this a few times now. It seems to be a Scout thing.

Double Jump: A Scout standard.

Death is a slap on a Wrist: He respawns when he dies, making any kind of death this. That said, he tries to avoid it whenever possible.

Eaten Alive: Has been a victim of this twice now. He respawned both times, but he’s been left with a deep aversion to that kind of death.

Fish out of Temporal Water: A very mild example. He was killed and remained dead and stuck in respawn for two years. When he came out, it felt like no time had passed, leaving him very surprised to see that he really had been gone for an extended period. However, he quickly became used to the idea and accepted it. If anything, he was glad for having more movies, books, and music to catch up on.

Fragile Speedster: Once again, a Scout standard.

Friendly Enemy: Is this to REDs when off the clock (see Punch-Clock villain below.)

Never Hurt an Innocent: He won’t attack civilians unless absolutely necessary, and even then, he does his best not to use lethal force.

Nothing Personal: How he views his job.

Older than they Look: While this happens in his normal verse, it happens a lot more in the TF2 Verse. He’s often mistaken for a newbie, or someone way too young to be fighting.

Only in it for Money: Why he chose to work a job killing people in an endless war in the first place. That, and getting away from his mother.

Punch-Clock Villain: Is this to the REDs. Once battles are done, he treats them like any other person; with decency and respect.

Railroad Tracks of Doom: How he was killed and spent two years in respawn.

Stereotype Flip: Scouts are often viewed as being loud mouthed, arrogant, and bratty. He is none of those things, not even in battle. This has surprised many a merc.

Why did it have to be Snakes: Due to a previous medic’s experiments, he has been left terrified of snakes and spiders. He’s also very afraid of being eaten, having been swallowed alive before and finding it less than pleasant.

Super Hero/ Luna Moth Tropes:

Lunacy: The night sky, particular the moon and the stars, bring out his full abilities. While he can still fight and use his abilities during the day, his performance suffers greatly.

Mutant: How he feels it’s the best way to describe him, due to his zombie-like traits, he way he makes no noise (no rustling of clothing or a voice), and millions of stars can be seen beyond his pupils. That said, he uses his powers for good.

Revenant Zombie: He spent a year ‘pupating’ when his mutation occurred. He was considered dead when it happened and even now, he doesn’t need to breath, eat, or sleep. He doesn’t even have a heartbeat or bleed. However, he does feel pain, he can become injured, and become fatigued. He theorises that whatever developed in his corpse happens to possess his memories and has yet to develop any consciousness if it even has one.

Rise From your Grave: The first thing he did after he first revived as the mutant he is now was claw out of the hole he was buried in.

The Speechless: Due to his inability to make any noise, this also affects his ability to talk. He communicates via sign language, text, typing, and a special device that reads his brain waves in his base.

Star Power: In addition to his enhanced speed, agility, and stamina, the easiest way to describe his powers is ‘summoning pieces of the night sky from within and shaping them into whatever he chooses’.

The Stoic: Comes across as this due to his emotions being severely numbed since his resurrection into Luna Moth.

Uncanny Valley: Has invoked in a few people if they hang around him for too long without knowing what he really is. So he tries not to get too close to them.

Gemsona/ SU Verse Tropes:

Alas, poor Villain: Feels this for Pink Diamond. He wishes she hadn’t been shattered and that things hadn’t gone as far as they had.

Amazing Technicolour Population: A standard among gems like him. His especially so due to being a Bornite.

Because You Were Nice to Me: Pretty much the main reason he defected to Rose Quart’s side. After the other gems believing he was flawed and treating him as such, he exchanged Rose Quart’s acceptance for his services.

Desperately Looking for a Purpose in Life: He was originally dismissed by the Crystal Gems, who told him they would call him if his services were needed by them again. He still feels lost even now, despite trying to fill his life with different drives.

Dual Tonfas: Has a pair of bladed ones that his Energy Bow (see below) turns into when he ends up in a situation that necessitates close combat.

Energy Bow: The weapon of choice he summons from his gem, the arrows are made of Hard Light and infinite. However, he needs to take time to concentrate on ‘reloading’. It splits into Dual Tonfas (see above) for close combat situations.

Inside Job: Before the shattering, some of his jobs were to pretend he was still on the side of Homeworld and give false messages.

Martial Pacifist: Since the shattering of Pink Diamond, he refuses to raise his weapons unless absolutely necessary. However, despite all the years he’s been dodging combat, he still has some prowess and will fight if he has to.

Really 700 Years Old: While he vaguely looks like a young human male, he’s just over 6000 years old. And it shows.

Sure, Let’s Go With That: Early humans who happened to meet him often assumed he was a fairy or other magical creature due to magic being widely believed in. He just went along with it. The same thing happened when people assumed he had a strange skin condition, which is now the excuse he often gives.

Super Speed: Was designed to be fast and agile, so that he could deliver items and messages as fast and efficiently as possible.

Trade Mark Favourite Food: Even though he doesn’t need to eat, he does enjoy coffee and noodles, although not at the same time.

Video Game Dashing: Has the ability to ‘dash’ in a burst of speed in the air or on the ground. This ability even works on the surface of water.

Wall Crawl: Has the ability to do this, most likely to get past as many obstacles as possible while on messenger missions.

We Are as Mayflies: Makes this observation a lot, about how humans and other organic Earth species live such short lives. He finds it endearing that they still make the best of the time they have.

#ooc #ooc post #Did you know that Russell…#Altruistic Astrophile | Russell

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