#and not get almost buried in my own hubris
Text
bc i might have been motivated by comments on twitter and my own hubris... here is part 2 of the post trimax vashmeryl baby au
part 1
Snorting into wakefulness, Vash’s hands tightened, immediately feeling for the baby. He was relieved when he felt her familiar weight on his chest, his tense frame relaxing back into the plush couch. Falling asleep was not something he had intended to do, but ever since crossing that threshold the night before he had felt an uncommon reprieve from the title of ‘outlaw’. Perhaps it was because he was under the protection of Meryl Stryfe.
Meryl.
Sitting upright and clutching his daughter to his chest, Vash turned his head around the room, seeking for any sign of his friend, but he was only met with the dim light of the early morning. It laid in little dots on the wall and countertops, the single sun peeking in through the blinds.
“Meryl?” Vash called, but the sound only summoned his daughter’s whining, her face buried in his chest for a bit too long. Pulling her into a more comfortable position, Vash said, “Sorry, little one, but it seems we have lost our host.”
Venturing through the small apartment, Vash was unable to find any signs of human life. The insurance agent had seemingly disappeared into thin air. He suddenly felt a wave of anxiety.
Why did she leave? Where could she have gone? It was still so early in the morning. Far too early for work or any other proper errands. Did she leave to go get camera equipment? This would be the perfect opportunity to catch him while he was down, unable to run from an interview. Maybe she wanted to exploit the baby for views.
Vash shook off those intrusive thoughts, feeling guilty for allowing himself to think of Meryl in such a way. Despite the fact he knew they had moved on from insurance to video journalism, he had a strong feeling that Meryl (and Milly) weren’t likely to expose him during his lowest points. Although, he wouldn’t consider the small child in his arms one of his lowest points.
Deciding to have faith in the woman and squash his fears, Vash shifted the baby in his arms and began scavenging for something to eat. He'd just repay Meryl (somehow) for the food, so she shouldn’t mind if he ate the veggies in her fridge that looked like they were about to go bad. He also found a can of generic chili, excited to eat something spiced with his various dry vegetables.
The babe squirmed, her chubby arms freed from her swaddling and waving about. Vash set his breakfast down to try and stick her arms back in, but she had a discontented look on her face, frowning ever so slightly at him with pouting lips and round knowing eyes. He wondered if he had once looked like her.
Vash quickly swallowed the strange hot bile that rose anytime he thought about how much he and this little girl must resemble each other, seeing as she would almost certainly only contain his genetic makeup. And that meant she contained the same makeup as Knives. He swallowed again at that thought, focusing more intently on his scrappy meal and less on thinking.
Lucky for Vash, he was exhausted even after his short descent into sleep. He didn’t have much room for thinking or reminiscing (not that there was much to reminisce on). Instead, he let his skilled hands do the work of carrying a child and pulling flowerettes of broccoli from the head. He plopped them into a pot, intent on filling it with water and boiling the green vegetable. He’d apologize to Meryl about the smell later.
Letting the veggies boil, Vash searched for another pan, hearing the creak of the cabinet door and the front door. It took far too long for the signals to reach Vash’s brain, likely getting stuck in that hot goopy emotions he had swallowed earlier.
“Good Morning, Ma’am! I brought some breakfast. Just some poppyseed muffins I-”
Vash turned just in time to see Milly freeze, one hand on the door knob, the other holding a plate of fluffy muffins. Her jaw hung open, but she didn’t wait long before sliding the muffins onto the couch and rushing forward.
“Mr. Vash! It’s been ages since I’ve truly been able to talk to you! I had hoped you would-”
Milly froze once again, this time just shy of wrapping Vash in a tight bear hug. Vash’s face was scrunched up in apprehension as he pulled his limbs in and clutched his baby to his center.
Surprise turned to awe and then to excitement as Milly ran through her spectrum of emotions. Then, far too loud for a man who had only slept three hours in the last week, Milly shrieked, “A baby! Is that a baby?! I love babies!”
Waving a long finger in her face, Milly made little cooing noises while the baby looked back, a bit unimpressed. That was to be expected, seeing as she was only three days old; appeasing others was not yet on her to do list.
Milly’s smile was quite lovely to see this early in the morning, adding to the brightness of the rising suns. Her eyes flicked over to his, “What a lovely little baby. He or…”
“She,” informed Vash, his voice rough.
“Well, she’s adorable. What’s her name?”
Taking in a deep breath, Vash realized he hadn’t said the name aloud yet.
“Tesla.”
That vivid smile of hers continued to keep his spirits up, “That’s so pretty! I’ve never heard a name like that before.” Milly waggled her finger again and Tesla nearly caught it with her own chubby fist that had once again broken free, “She has such pretty eyes, just like… well, just like yours,” she said matter of factly. Then, standing to her full height, Milly looked at him curiously, “Where.... Vash, where did you get a baby?"
Speaking frankly, Vash said, “She’s mine.”
Eyebrows raising, Milly said, “So I was right: she does have your eyes. But when did you get Meryl pregnant?”
Vash felt his heart stop
Milly barreled forward, “And how did she hide it from me? She’s so small and would have such a hard time keeping it a secret, unless it was cryptic. My mom told me that she had a cryptic pregnancy with my little big brother, but they’re so rare. Was it during Octovern? The time frame would make sense but I didn’t think we had any alone time to-”
Vash was reeling from Milly’s ramblings and assumptions, “Milly!” he said, interrupting with a bit too much force that was certainly influenced by his overwhelming embarrassment, “She is not Meryl’s!”
Cocking her head, Milly let out an awkward laugh, “Well then, whose is she?”
Looking down at Tesla, Vash’s tense brow relaxed, “She’s just… mine.”
Milly gave him one last skeptical look before accepting his vague answer, likely accustomed to his aversion techniques, “I’ll get the answer out of you eventually, but for now it honestly looks like you need breakfast and a nap.”
“I just woke up.”
“And yet,” Milly said, which was only the beginning of a sentence, but it clearly described her opinion of his situation, “Why don’t you take a seat and eat a muffin.”
Vash graciously took one, biting down and enjoying the fluffy texture immensely. His last month had consisted of dry rations and the rare drink he could afford at the even more rare saloon, but as of the last few days Vash hadn’t eaten anything.
He took three more muffins.
“I’m glad you like them,” said Milly from the kitchen where she adopted Vash’s mismatched set of ingredients, “I added just a hint of lemon to them. I’ve had too many overpowering lemon muffins in my time.”
Vash just took another bite while she spoke. Tesla wiggled slightly when a crumb fell on her face. He wiped it away.
“It seems you have the makings for a pretty good omelet,” Milly noted as she rolled an onion in her hand, “But I don’t see why you’re boiling broccoli.”
“It was going bad,” Vash said through a mouthful of muffin, “Figured I should use it before Meryl gets upset that it's rotting in her fridge.
Milly slid a cutting board out from one of Meryl’s few drawers. The kitchen was certainly compact– a characteristic of many December apartments if Vash’s experience was to be trusted– but it held a vast and valuable collection, “I thought as much, but it doesn’t pair well with your other items,” she turned to him, “I assume you were just trying to get in as many calories as possible?”
Milly Thompson: always able to see though to the very core.
Pulling off the wrapping on the final muffin (which was extremely hard to do with one hand) Vash answered, “Seems like you already know the answer to that one, Milly.”
She just put on that wide, knowing grin, “Then broccoli and eggs and muffins sounds like a perfectly balanced breakfast to me.”
It might not be in terms of flavors, but it definitely packed a significant amount of nutrients for one plant. And for Meryl, if she ever reappeared.
As if reading his mind, Milly asked while cracking the remainder of the eggs into a bowl, “Is Meryl here?”
He let out an exhale, a bit strained, “No. I haven’t seen her since I got here last night.”
“She didn’t call me when you got here.”
“I guess I should say when I got here this morning.”
“Ah,” she said in understanding, pouring the recently whipped eggs into a ripping cast iron, “Well, she’ll turn up eventually. Especially since we walk to work together in the next hour.”
Vash hoped he could stay awake long enough to see her return.
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
Game of Thrones - 40 CATELYN VII (pages 416-428)
Cat picks up some sus vibes from her sister, but puts them right back down again, and Bronn wins Tyrion's freedom.
-
Alyssa Arryn had seen her husband, her brothers, and children slain, and yet in life she had never shed a tear. So in death, the gods had decreed that she would know no rest until her weeping watered the black earth of the Vale, where the men she had loved were buried. Alyssa had been dead six thousand years now, and still no drop of the torrent had ever reached the valley floor far below. Catelyn wondered how large a waterfall her own tears would make when she died.
Are you sure about that? cause, water cycle babe, unless that earth is parched, her 'tears' have watered that ground for sure.
Poor Alyssa Arryn, she didn't dissolve into a weeping, wailing mess and got punished for eternity. It's all "she's too stoic and unfeeling" until a woman actually starts crying then she's an unstable wreck who proves one bad stereotype or another.
Love subtle world building like this, oooohhh, the tragedy of it all~
The sneaky peak at Cat's own mindset. Mmmm, the good stuff.
The builders had intended it as a godswood, but the Eyrie rested on the hard stone of the mountain, and no matter how much soil was hauled up from the Vale, they could not get a weirwood to take root here.
I feel like this says something about the presence of gods in the Eyrie, like it is a godless place, ruled by the hubris of men who climbed too high and now think themselves above the matters of other men. Or a place that shuns its history in favour of new fancies.
But also you would need just, so much soil and also a stable self sustaining biome to grow a tree, because it's not just dirt, soil is the good stuff, with the microorganisms, and you need nutrients for the tree, and where do they come from once the soil is tapped out? Trees need a lot.
"Life needs things to live."
"And I remind you, the dwarf murdered my lord husband!" Her voice rose. "He poisoned the Hand of the King and left my sweet baby fatherless, and now I mean to see him pay!"
Part of me wonders if part of her genuinely believes that. Every vibe I get from Lysa is that her brain is a scattered mess of cats, like she cracked under the strain of everything (not getting what she wanted as a girl (Petyr), being married to a man old enough to be her father, and taken to live in such a terrifying and remote location (the Eyrie) before being relocated to King's Landing which we all know out does Mos Eisley as the most wretched hive of scum and villainy) and now she doesn't even know she's lying because she's made herself believe in her own innocence.
or she's 100% lying her ass of and deserves All the Oscars.
"I believe the Lannisters murdered Lord Arryn," Catelyn replied, "but whether it was Tyrion, or Ser Jaime, or the queen, or all of them together, I could not begin to say." Lysa had named Cersei in the letter she had sent to Winterfell, but now she seemed certain that Tyrion was the killer... perhaps because the dwarf was here, while the queen was safe behind the walls of the Red Keep, hundreds of leagues to the south. Catelyn almost wished she had burned her sister's letter before reading it.
So do we all.
Come on Cat, even if you can't see this is her lie unraveling, you should at least be able to see this is retribution, not justice.
*sigh* you do though don't you, you know this is wrong, your instincts scream it at you, but you've walked yourself into a corner and you've only realised it now that you've gotten trapped.
"You are mistaken, Maester," Catelyn said. "It was Casterly Rock, not Dragonstone, and those arrangements were made after the Hand's death, without my sister's consent."
The maester's head jerked so vigorously at the end of his absurdly long neck that he looked half a puppet himself. "No, begging your forgiveness, my lady, but it was Lord Jon who-"
Hindsight is flagging this conversation with so much red.
But Bronn jerked back. Jon Arryn's beautiful engraved silver sword glanced off the marble elbow of the weeping woman and snapped clean a third of the way up the blade. Bronn put his shoulder into the statue's back. The weathered likeness of Alyssa Arryn tottered and fell with a great crash, and Ser Vardis Egen went down beneath her.
That is so much more dynamic and a fun use of the terrain than fight up the stairs and down and kick him out the hole. It has that nice subtle hint of "the gods think you suck also." Like obviously the trial by combat is always decided by the better fighter, but I don't know, I just like it when 'fights overseen by the gods' have a trace of 'the higher powers were watching and they have no complaints with the outcome.'
You know, after this chapter I'm kind of wondering if the anti-stark sisters crew (the anti-sansa arya-stans and the anti-arya sansa-stans) are applying one sister relationship over another.
Because Lysa and Cat are sisters too, who had a decent enough relationship as kids, but then they moved apart and grew apart and ended up on opposing sides at the end, are some people seeing that and thinking "this is how Sansa and Arya's story will go also" even though their relationship is kind of the opposite, they both felt like outsiders in their youth, like they were excluded by one another, but after all the shit they go through they both just want their family back.
They went through different stuff, luckily, because neither would have survived the other's journey as much as we'd like to say they would, but at the end, the differences between them are going to look so petty and insignificant.
#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf#game of thrones#catelyn stark#catelyn tully#a chapter a day reading#got
4 notes
·
View notes
Note
okay so i'm not sure if my previous ask was sent or not? but, just in case it didn't: [gently places these wbw asks for your shadow wip [it's called call of shadows, right?] in your hands]: what are some traditions people follow in your world? are there any cool myths/legends shared in your world? how do people celebrate any special event? what's a really big event in the history of your world that Everyone knows about? :D [@fiercely-raging-writer]
Ah, thank you for the ask!! And yeah, I don't think the other one got through?? Stupid tumblr. But thank you for the ask, and happy WBW, Jai!
(and yes, it's called Call of Shadows!!)
What are some traditions people in your world follow?
Well, for one, after the "public" part of a wedding, but before any kind of private celebration (wedding night / honeymoon), newlyweds typically make an offering or pray to Viala, the goddess of love that their marriage lasts.
Also, when a child is born, people tend to 1) pray to Idala, the goddess of children and families and also 2) pray to Morian, the goddess of fate that she may be merciful with the child.
When someone dies, they are usually buried, as cremation (which would take magic to get hot enough anyways) is viewed as wasteful. Let your body be used by the earth.
Are there any cool myths/legends shared in your world?
Hmmm... I'm not sure. There are lots of stories about various gods and such, but there's also a good deal of myths about the early mages, hundreds of years ago when magic was new. A lot of them fall into somewhat similar veins as some tales in our world, serving as cautionary tales about the overuse of magic, etc. (Hubris/pride or greed as one's downfall are common themes in mythology around the world.)
There's also the myth that Idala, the goddess of children and families, lost her own family, hence why she fills the role she does. Though I don't know exactly how.
How do people celebrate any special event?
FOOD! Almost every kind of party involves a meal, or at the very least snacks. Rather than huge and fancy, formal feasts, most of the kingdom celebrates via large shared meals where dishes are passed around and shared, somewhat how (at least at my house) Thanksgiving is celebrated. Sometimes a whole community or extended family will all bring dishes to share, like a potluck in our world.
Rather than birthday cakes, it's traditional to have the birthday-haver pick an entire meal, from appetizers to main course to desert. Then their family or loved ones will cook it for them.
What's a really big event in the history of your world that everyone knows about?
In recent history, the death of Dorian's parents, and subsequently his own "death".
In ancient history, the appearance of the first mages, though that is so old that there's many versions of how it happened and what happened after.
Thanks for the ask, Leo!
#Morrigan replies#worldbuilding wednesday#wbw#wbw asks#wip: cos#shadow wip#Call of Shadows#Jai 📖#CoS: worldbuilding
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Terracotta King and the Moon
Kilik often found himself staring out the window of his room. He lived in an old dilapidated hut and sometimes he could hear the creaking in the wood beneath his feet and cracking of the foundations. Especially when it was raining outside he could hear water finding its way in but he could never find where the dripping sound was coming from. He sometimes wondered how it felt to run in the rain, play in the mud and jump in a puddle or two and make a mess. He imagined how it would be like when he got home and his parents would tell him off but still give him a clean pair of clothes after and some warm food.
He didn't have any of those things. He never knew his parents. He lived with his grandpa who was strict and swore him off from going outside most of the time, let alone to go out and play. "You are a man grown, you don't need live in your own head like those good for nothing street urchins!", his grandpa would often yell, "when I was your age I was a captain in the grand imperial army of his Majesty, Chin the Conqueror. He was the mightiest of men and brought the world justice and peace, until that accursed and painted outlaw avatar deceived him with an offer to duel and then buried him alive after crippling him. May she forever rot!"
"But grandpa, the stories say he died due to his own hubris. He-"
"Have you been speaking to the ealderman again? He's a Beifong. Do you know what the Beifongs are? They come from an ancient line of tyrants. Everything they have in wealth they stole from the people of the earth kingdom. All of it!, " his grandpa rebuffed. Kilik did not want to anger his grandfather so he stayed silent. The ealderman would often come by to bring them food since what he made at the tea house was never enough to feed both him and his grandfather and Oak Beifong saw how skinny he had gotten at the teahouse and how he barely fit into his clothes since he spent his allowance to feed his grandfather.
"You don't have to choose. I'll speak to the owner and I'll make an extra allowance for you as well. I knew your parents and they'd never forgive me if I watched their only child starve while his stubborn and wretched grandfather cursed them in their graves." Oak tried to be considerate but Kilik loved his grandpa and didn't like people talking about him irreverently. Even Oak's late father called him General Beila until his passing despite the two never liking eachother.
"I shouldn't. My grandpa would object-"
"Fine, how about I hire you for a few quick deliveries every week and you can tell him it's from work. I'm sure your grandpa wouldn't deny your work ethic or the rewards from your own hard work, even if it's from a Beifong."
"I'll discuss it with him. Thank you."
"No need to thank me, it's my duty to look after everyone as Ealderman. Especially Alia and Othek's kid. Here's a retainer fee, as proof I'm serious about hiring you and something to show your grandpop. Tell him I have his favorite mix of dried cocoa leaf and tobacco chew again. I'm sure he'll get a kick out of that since the fire nation blockade recently ended and cocoa shipments have resumed again after 10 years." Oak bowed and left the teahouse in a hurry. Kilik didn't know what reception awaited him with this news. He appreciated the extra allowance all the same but Kilik kept thinking about Yun and if she ate yesterday. He ran to her house after work and brought her some bread and her favorite jelly treats. Both of them lost their parents but unlike him, she had no older family left and had to help feed and raise all her siblings in an old shack alot worse off then his. She almost never ate herself, making sure every bread crumb was saved for them. Kilik wanted to give a few loaves but after seeing her give almost everything to her siblings he pulled her outside of the house and secretly handed her his loaf of bread and jelly tart.
"Please.." He started trying his best not to cry, "you need to eat if you're gonna take care of them, Yun. Please eat.."
She stared into his teary eyes, her expression tired and stiff. Where Kilik used to find joy and curiosity, the eyes that met him were empty and void. They both cried and she ate as he watched and he mustered a smile to let her know it'll be alright.
"I know, Ealderman Beifong gave you this money" she finally started. 'You don't have to explain it. He probably knew you'd help us since I denied his offer of help. Our families don't like the Beifongs but I'm glad you're able to put that blood fued aside." She smiled and Kilik could have sworn no sight, not even that of a full moon on a clear night was more pleasant.
" You know the Beifongs were royalty, once?" Yun began. "They ruled the earth kingdom as elder kings in the old times, at least that's why father would say. They were called the Terracotta lineage. The last king unified the earth kingdom's many peoples but to do this he shed too much blood. And for this his subjects hated him. But in his old age, this battle hardened and undefeated conqueror king lost something dearer to him than even his unified kingdom. He lost his wife to childbirth and nearly lost his only child in the process. The child was a girl he named Cira Luna. He loved his daughter so much he vacated his seat as king to a viceroy so he could attend to his sickly daughters every need. His court found his new obsession and abandonment of his throne a betrayal and sought to force the return their war hungry general and king as they feared the newly unified fire nation would come to invade them at the first sign of weakness. They weren't going to let him walk away." She stopped, looking at the few bites on the loaf of bread Kilik gave her. She barely ate anything.
"You can do both you know. I'm not going anywhere.."
"But your grandfather? Won't he.."
"Don't worry about it. I'll be fine. I want to hear the rest of the story. But first, eat up."
They shared a few laughs and she took a few big mouthfuls of bread and continued with her story: "it's said that they called her Cira, the Moonstone princess and so enamored was she with the moon that her father, one of the greatest earthbenders that ever lived would bend the very earth and moon so that the full moon would last nearly a month. It was said that only under the light of the full moon, her illness would wane and regress but after great exertion her father would fall ill himseld and would not be seen for days and even weeks. These months came to be called blood moon months, and among with iymt camr a great number of disasters. The oceans would swallow entire islands and coastal towns disappeared overnight. But this did not hinder the great Terracotta king. He would repeat this for two years until one day, his daughter suddenly passed away in her sleep. So distraught was he that he swore the bring down the very moon to revive his daughter instead of observe her funeral rites and as it's said, his court nobles who very well might have poisoned his daughter to end his distractions and ruin of the kingdom with his lunar machinery, they were powerless to stop him from destroying the earth from the grief of this father over his beloved daughters death. And he was almost successful. Before he died of terrible exertion, it is said the moon grew so close to the earth that it set the sky on fire. Being old and having exerted himself too many times to give his daughter so many full moons in her short years of life, he had a heart attack and died shortly after.
The immediate Beifong line ended there and the other line of Beifongs were immediately exiled with whatever wealth they already had but all of their history would be expunged and erased, lest the Terracottas return and destroy the earth kingdom and the very world with it."
Yun smiled and they laughed at the thought of someone bending the moon. "You think that's possible? Could a fire bender one day bend the sun as well?" She asked as she ate the jelly tart.
"Who knows. Someone once said the air nomads used to bend tornados, typhoons and hurricanes. If that was possible why couldn't a water bender bend oceans or even someone's blood?"
They looked at eachother in amusement and laughed at the suggestion. "Like bloodbending!" Yun cried out, "Someone should write a horror play about a bloodbender and breathbender, can you imagine?!"
"A breathbender? Like an airbender that can bend the air in your lungs? What a scary thought? We should write it! We'd be rich!' Kilik exclaimed and they joked the night away, suggesting more and more outlandish bending abilities.
It was a night to remember.
0 notes
Text
The Beginning, Middle and End
“Do you remember what school taught us? What Hogwarts taught us?” she asked.
Beneath his Department of Mysteries mask, Draco looked Granger over. She’d certainly changed in the five years since he’d last seen her, their Eighth Year at Hogwarts as it was known.
Her hair floated about her head like it was underwater, defying gravity in a beauteous display of constant magicked manipulation. It crackled with lightning and small plumes of flame, snow motes drifting to land on her shoulder despite the heat of the desert they had met on.
Power and magic flowed out of her in a visible aura, she hovered above the ground and her eyes burned. Whorled even. Like she held galaxies inside her.
It was certainly fascinating. Usually when Draco was sent to dispatch an Elementari, they were a witch or wizard that had fallen deep into a singular element, lost their sanity and their soul to one of the forces of the earth, tipping a balance that needed righting.
Draco wasn’t sure that was the case with Granger.
He wasn’t sure if she was the same person that had attended Hogwarts with him though. He needed to be careful.
Granger certainly wasn’t what he had expected when there had been such a huge level spike a week or so ago. That usually indicated another magical entity’s experimental magic with the natural forces had backfired.
Granger was lucid, though. The elements balanced within her. She wasn’t hiding her magic anymore like she must have been to go undetected. No. Not hiding, restraining.
As his eyes flashed with the realisation, her smile curled higher.
“Exactly,” she told him. He hadn’t said a thing but she told him anyway. She’d seen it. “Restraint. They teach us the accepted prescribed magics and restraint.”
“They don’t even have a World Magicks class,” she tutted as if admonishing an unruly child. “And it’s all so very Western European, they don’t have any of the nature-based magics of the Celts or Picts or older Britannic clans. There’s not even any singing, Euro-centric magic is an anomaly in that regard. Most other cultures harmonise their voices to the wavelengths of the Earth, it makes their magic stronger, more reliable and-”
She stopped, and blushed a little. She’d gotten carried away.
“But you don’t care about any of this, do you, Malfoy. You’re here to eliminate me and move on, correct?”
Draco removed his mask, vanishing it away. “Only the Head of the Department and my immediate superior know I’m an Unspeakable, Granger,” he cautiously eyed her. “How is it you know?”
She flourished a hand, “It’s easy, really. A fundamental tenet of Indian, Chinese and other Asiatic schools of thought. Everyone has a magical signature, a unique... flavour if you will. I’ve noticed the same one over and over again at the scenes following the destruction of other Elementari. I knew it was you, I recognised it almost immediately.”
“And why were you visiting other Elementari?” Draco queried, pocketing his curiosity about these other magics for now. He could research it all later.
Granger looked saddened, “I could feel the disturbances, too. I don’t have the same resources as the Department of Mysteries though, I have to follow the tremors in the elements. I’m usually too late.”
“Usually?”
“Yes, usually. I’ve found two that weren’t too far gone. The physical body destroyed of course, but the elemental spark was alive enough to gift it back to the universe.”
Draco knitted his brows together. He had no idea what she was talking about.
But he was intrigued. It felt foreign, unfamiliar. No, wait. It wasn’t intrigue. It was fascination. The Elementari he had come across were all extremely dangerous, their magic flying out in all directions and a danger to society and nature. None of them had been like Granger.
“You aren’t like the other Elementari,” he stated and she nodded.
“No, unfortunately, hubris gets in the way of most who pursue the elemental forces. They focus on one and try to master it, to wield it like they control the force and not the other way around,” she explained, floating to circle around him.
“But not you?” Draco scoffed.
“You laugh, but yes,” she fixed him with those worlds she called eyes again. “I partner with the forces, I hold no dominion over them. And I utilise them equally, the mistake the other Elementari make is only using one but not balancing the element’s opposite.”
“But if you use all four at once, then you avoid that,” Draco surmised.
“Precisely!” Granger clapped her hands together in excitement.
Her enthusiasm was infectious and Draco had to fight a grin. However, something didn’t make sense.
“Why reveal yourself now? You’ve obviously been able to do this for a while, your control is remarkably impressive. Which means we should have been aware of you much earlier... So, why now?”
She looked away briefly but forced herself to meet his gaze again.
“It isn’t my control that’s impressive,” she said, the words cryptic and soft.
He narrowed his eyes and looked at her with a more discerning gaze. Then he saw it. She was right. From the looks of it, she wasn’t in control. She was chaos, only exerting small amounts of her own magic to centre the elements where needed.
So different from his own. So opposite. A balance.
“There’s still more magic out there, you know,” Granger told him, tilting her head. “Magics that don’t suit my own, but that doesn’t mean I’m not interested in them.”
“So what? You want me to give up my life and travel to gods know where just to satisfy your wanderlust?” Draco crossed his arms. He sounded dismissive, but in reality, it sounded appealing.
“Such control, you really are just full of it, aren’t you?” Granger laughed a little. “Your probation ended a month ago, didn’t it? Wouldn’t you like to do something not controlled by the Ministry?”
Well... when she put it like that.
He looked over the way she projected magic, “Won’t you be a little conspicuous?”
She lowered herself to the ground and enacted a full body glamour.
“Whatever do you mean?” she blinked at him, innocently.
They stared at each other.
Her sparkling brown eyes, her amused smile, the coils of her hair...
She made a small movement towards him and he used the indication to pull her in and bury his face in her curls.
Her arms wrapped around him and squeezed.
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he told her. “When you disappeared and not even Potter had heard from you... I thought you’d done like we’d always said. Started fresh, new, away from the past and expectations and reputations. Though, as always, you’ve surprised me with how you went about it.”
“I didn’t want to tempt you until we could be sure you would be safe,” she said, the words muffled against his chest. She tilted her face up, “Is that a yes?”
“I’ve never said no yet, have I?” the fight to hide his smile well and truly over now.
She returned it, “Not to me,” she said.
“No, not to you,” he replied.
She stepped away a little and held out her hand.
“Well, then?”
He took it. Her hand, the adventure, the promise of a life with her.
It was elementary, really.
62 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi friend! You seem vast in your knowledge of Stephen and willing to share so please enlighten me as I don’t read the comics but I do watch the mcu movies, and do love Stephen.
I know he’s erratic and impulsive and reckless sometimes but didnt we already complete this arc in his first movie? Especially since we’ve watched him deal with the consequences of his actions for the entirety of the film and end of the movie Stephen was a different Stephen from the beginning of the movie.
IW Stephen seemed like a more mature version of the man we’ve met at the end of his first movie, a linear progression of the character, more responsible.
The spider man trailer is just a few minutes so I’ll further reserve judgment till I see the film, but he seems.. silly almost? I’m aware he has his funny moments but I’m just nervous they’re gonna make him the joke instead of having him make the jokes.
Do you notice anything weird about how the adults act in these newer marvel projects.? (I’m thinking of loki specifically) they all have a silly undertone to them? I cant put my finger on it but it’s definitely new and ..off
Is this a constant characterization for Stephen in the comics? Is this what he’s like all the time?
Regardless, thank you for your time if you see this xx
Oh yeah, Stephen's my favorite subject at the moment so I'm happy to give my thoughts!
Note that my answers apply to MCU!Stephen and what we've seen in the four films he's been in.
I know he’s erratic and impulsive and reckless sometimes but didnt we already complete this arc in his first movie? Especially since we’ve watched him deal with the consequences of his actions for the entirety of the film and end of the movie Stephen was a different Stephen from the beginning of the movie.
In my experience of just living, there are personality quirks that can be tempered out and made better, but not entirely eliminated, even if it's undesirable. In my opinion, Stephen's need to push himself and prove that he can Do A Thing is a trait that won't ever go away--especially as that trait has helped him more than hindered him. Examples would include the more mundane such as getting through a combined MD/PhD program and inventing surgical procedures at what is still a really young age for a neurosurgeon. We don't have a canonical age for Stephen, but Benedict was 40 when Doctor Strange was filmed and released; even if he's canonically in his mid-40s, that's still very young for him to be at his caliber after the necessary years of med school and residency in the United States. He's young and nowhere near the end of his career when he gets in the car crash. So with that information in mind, we know that he's very ambitious and throws himself into doing difficult work with gusto. That doesn't even go into everything he did as a sorcerer.
Why get into all of this? Because while we, the viewer who has seen the multiverse open at... some point (possibly, in a rewritten timeline, it's always been open now with what happened in Loki!), we have seen just how nuts it gets. We have seen the consequences. Stephen's smart, but I don't think it's a matter of strictly recklessness and more a combination of ignorance on this specific subject (erasing memories across the world or slightly rewriting time-- we don't know how he's doing it, but a memory spell makes more sense to me), hubris (of course), and the real desire to help Peter out. The latter two traits combined in intelligent people have proven bad in both fiction and reality.
The reason I don't think it's pure impulsiveness is because in the trailer, we see Stephen doing some meditation type thing in the underground area before the spell. He's also always doing research and as he tells Peter he'll help him, he clearly knows of a spell already and has some working knowledge of how it works. The conversation with Wong wouldn't have happened otherwise. But I personally get the vibe off him that he'd not do it without being very confident that he can do it -- and his history in the films has shown 0 failures in any of his spells once he's past novice-level, so in that aspect, his confidence makes sense. If he *should* do the spell due to the risks of failure, and lack of practicing precaution in the face of his confidence, is where his flaws lie, IMO. And in that sense people could say he was reckless for deciding to perform a complicated, dangerous spell, but that follows his M.O. completely -- he performed a very complicated, dangerous spell consistently with the Time Stone again and again, from how the sorcerers spoke about the Infinity Stone (and he casually just... throws himself into a time loop, then to look through time. He takes calculated risks, but they are very much risks).
One last thought on this statement - the biggest, biggest lesson that Stephen learned in his first film was that it was not about him. There was more to the world than his glory and his brilliance and even his happiness. He started doing things for the greater good rather than himself. And he started doing things for others -- fighting for the Sanctum in his own film, and protecting the Earth. Serving something greater than himself. But that doesn't make him suddenly humble, and it doesn't suddenly take away his strange (hah) sense of humor.
IW Stephen seemed like a more mature version of the man we’ve met at the end of his first movie, a linear progression of the character, more responsible.
He was more serious in that film. So was Tony. They still had some quips and arguments, but they were very serious. And it makes sense as to why -- it was the end of the world. So the mood of the setting would change anyone's demeanour. But he had very little chance to unwind in that film, considering that he was trying to protect one of six items that would destroy the universe, and also got freaking tortured in the middle of the film with little time to recover. But nearly every Avenger was super serious in that film, and for good reason.
It's a completely different setting from what is now Stephen's life which, from what little we've seen in the trailer, is weird enough that he got a magical snowstorm in the Sanctum. It's safe enough that Wong's off on vacation. It's been nearly a year since he returned from the dead. He's either figured out how to move on in the last year or, as some prefer, has gotten good enough to put on a facade and bury the trauma so far down that he's putting on a normal act - but that's up to debate until MoM. And we have no idea if old traumas are going to be brought up there or if it's just the new things.
I think the point is that it's possible to be both a responsible person and also to make colossal mistakes due to either emotional connections or hubris (or both - we don't know which way the film will go, if they'll explain it at all). They're not mutually exclusive. He can be protecting reality fantastically, while also believing that he's skilled enough to pull off the ability to pull off a dangerous spell which he did in his own film and in IW. He's guided the timeline down a specific path in IW/Endgame, after all - what's a little identity item compared to the fate of the universe, after all? Removing the Spider-Man/Peter association is, in comparison, child's play I imagine to a man like Stephen.
The spider man trailer is just a few minutes so I’ll further reserve judgment till I see the film, but he seems.. silly almost? I’m aware he has his funny moments but I’m just nervous they’re gonna make him the joke instead of having him make the jokes.
Do you notice anything weird about how the adults act in these newer marvel projects.? (I’m thinking of loki specifically) they all have a silly undertone to them? I cant put my finger on it but it’s definitely new and ..off
He was definitely silly in his own film. He was constantly trying to get Wong to laugh and there was a banter between Stephen and Christine after he gets stabbed. He's always been a bit awkward and a bit jokey--I think Thor showed that combination of humorous snark and good research rather well, though he was flippant in a way that didn't get to show his kinder side that is better established in his film. And now we get to see that sympathy in his agreement to help Peter (at least, in my opinion).
Because he was doing an amazing awesome spell not once, not twice, but *three* times in the trailer alone, I am not worried about Stephen just being a joke. He seems just as powerful as he was in IW and Endgame. The rest of the world is just getting reminded that he's definitely a bit of a socially awkward duck at times (or, if you prefer, Putting On a "I'm Fine" Front And It's Coming Across As Weird). So him being a big joke is not something I am personally worried about.
Situational humor has been a staple of Marvel films since Iron Man. I watched the films casually before 2016 when I fell head deep into Stephen Strange (or well, 2018/9 is more accurate as that's when I *really* went nuts), and my viewings before that time and after that time was a lot more analytical. And it's very easy to see where the silliness started, all the way back when Tony crashed into his own car and Dum-E sprayed him with a fire extinguisher. Thor was the butt of the joke in the "fish out of water" scene in a good, good chunk of the film. Even Captain America had some situational humor. And remember that Guardians of the Galaxy was back in 2014, which was halfway through the MCU's time thus far. The stars of these films are almost always the butt of some joke a couple times and do things that could be viewed as childish.
I don't know your age at all, but if you were born after 1990, what might be happening, rather, is that they are not getting sillier, but that you may be getting older. I was an adult (legally, at least) in 2008, but the way I view the adults of the films throughout the early 2010s as compared to now is night and day. It's just come with my own life experience, and wider understanding to media tropes. The jump is even more significant if you were younger in Iron Man/Avengers days and are an adult now. If you're an older adult than me, then I'd argue it's the matter of life experience adding to your overall knowledge of media plus, potentially, rose-tinted glasses giving you a better vision of the older movies while forgetting that the older movies had plenty of their own flaws (and silliness). Could be a lot of things- it's too individual to really say why your perspective has changed. But I don't think the MCU's largely changed their comedy formula since 2012/2013.
Is this a constant characterization for Stephen in the comics? Is this what he’s like all the time?
Oh the comics are a mess of characterizations. It's very difficult to find full consistency across writers, and some writers did him much better than others. At the moment, Jason Aaron's 2015 run is viewed as very good by a large amount of fans, while Waid's 2018 run is viewed with mixed reviews. It's largely a matter of preference as you'll see traits that are just so uncharacteristic in an arc and then it never happens again. He takes on secret identities, he kills billions to save trillions (along with the other Avengers!), he sells his soul, he's in a steady relationship for 30 years, then he's sleeping with a new woman every arc he co-stars in-- it's just so dependent on the writer over the decades. What Marvel thinks will sell. Right now Marvel thinks his death is gonna sell issues, so yeah :P You pick and choose with the comics and build a personality from there.
Thank you for the thoughtful ask. I hope this wasn't too much of a drag to read through; I get rambly on my favorite subjects. Or anything, really.
#stephen strange#doctor strange#spiderman no way home#spoilers#meta#mcu#i did a long ramble#i love stephen#i hope this was somewhat enlightening nonny#anonymous#ask#answered#long post
49 notes
·
View notes
Text
Took me a few extra days but... finished the yandere!hawks request I got a while ago. Requested by the lovely @the-grimm-writer, whose stories I recommend wholeheartedly. Hope u like it, dear !
Open the ~read more~ for a little drabble (hawks x reader, 911 words) that I wrote to give some context to the backstory behind the piece 🖤
The shackles snapped shut around your ankles, forcing you to slump against the arms of your jailer and submit to the overeagerness of his grip. But inwardly, the only thought in your mind had been a simple, concise one.
This is my fault, you lamented as his claws gripped your jaw, making you look up into warm pools of liquid gold. The fixation in them burnt you, almost as dangerous as the feathers tickling your arms in a taunting dare.
A dare to move away, to cry out, or do anything really that might excuse some swift retribution. An open ended challenge, just so the smile stretching his lips could finally reach his eyes as the predator in him rejoiced.
Hawks had always liked a challenge, you were told several times by several different people —only you had been mistaken into thinking they were referring to his job as a pro hero, to the thrill of taking down criminals and villains of all walks of life.
Nonetheless, you would soon find out just what type of hunt he most appreciated. What started as just another day staying over at your boyfriend’s place, but this time resulted in you waking up in the morning to the chilling reality of unlocked doors now sealed and password protected, things you remembered leaving at your own apartment now carefully tucked away in boxes pilling up around the bed.
You were alone, the dread building up as you ran across the penthouse, a scared little mouse still refusing to believe in the beast your boyfriend turned out to be.
And the faint reminder of a conversation shared a few days ago resurfacing almost as if on cue, of how you had laughed at his premature preposition to move in with him (who even moved in together after barely two months of dating?, you remembered saying to an increasingly perturbed Hawks).
He had then implied you were too busy working to spend more time with him, as if his own career didn't keep him away much more than yours ever could. And Hawks implied a lot of other things in that argument, actually, his eyes somber and his eyebrows set in a frown so uncharacteristically bitter.
Yet as you two parted ways that night, "agreeing to disagree", you were sure that the awkward argument was just another necessary milestone to reach between new lovers. All couples argued, and your boyfriend had been so sweet and apologetic afterwards that you had been naive enough to lower your guard, to forget about the implications behind that one discussion and just dare to move on...
Once again, you really had nobody to blame but yourself, did you?
When he got back later that night, all of your complaints and wails had fallen into deaf ears. Because see, he never quite got over your first argument; if anything, your refusal had sparked in him the type of challenge a villain refusing to go down did.
Perhaps he was already nursing an obsession beforehand, but your stubborness to comply had been the one to lit up the flame, to fire up a slightly worrying infatuation into a shining pile of delusion.
His usually sweet kisses now weighted you down as he silenced your pleas with his mouth, now accompanied by the added metallic aftertaste of your own blood dripping down parted lips, Hawk’s tongue proceding to lap it all up before his honeyed whispers attempted to calm down your sobs.
As the days slowly passed, your body began to stand out as a testament of the sick desires buried deep inside the man you once trusted. Bruises that bloomed on your hips, purple handprints across the span of your breasts. Scratches on your back, although it was hard to pinpoint which were from his nails and which from his crimson wings.
"The thrill of the hunt is indeed enjoyable", your boyfriend had admitted once when you inquired about the type of joy he found on his job. His hand had been a reassuring weight in yours then, a comfort which you never expected to turn dangerous, "but the best part is afterwards. Once you win, once you can finally stop worrying about the fight and get to bask in the afterglow of victory."
And so blinding his smile had been then, so compelling in his devotion. In retrospective, you really had been a victim of your own hubris. So greedy you were for him, that the beast peaking behind his handsome features had you trapped from the start.
It was your fault and nobody else's, truly. You who were naive enough not to think of your relationship as just another battle to be won in his eyes, his partner yet another object to conquer and force into submission. You who dared reject a man whose life you had already unwittingly surrendered to.
His lips crashed against yours in the present, snapping you out of your clouded laments, and by now you were smart enough not to hesitate before responding.
The shackles made it difficult to move at all, but the affectionate curve of the lips now going down your neck was almost just reassuring enough to make you forget that small fact.
How bright your jailer shined down on you, and like Icarus to the flames it was only a matter before you succumbed.
But, hey, maybe if you were a good girl the shackles wouldn't need to be a permanent fixture.
-----
And special thanks to my bestest of pals @reinawritesbnha for encouraging me so much, helping me with anatomy AND giving me feedback on my writing. You’re the mvp 😤👑
🥀 Requests/Suggestions OPEN 🥀
~and as always click image for HD quality~
#bnha fanart#yandere bnha#yandere hawks#takami keigo#hawks x reader#bnha#hawks fanart#yandere mha#yandere takami keigo#takami keigo x reader#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#bnha imagines#bnha art#mha art#keigo takami#yandere keigo takami#anime fanart#artists on tumblr#just art tingz
465 notes
·
View notes
Text
Who dies in season 4?
Hey, this is a fun little topic, isn’t it? Well, there’s not a ton to talk about, so why not? I will list the characters in order from least likely to most likely to die based on my own opinions. It will largely be based on what I feel is or isn’t logical, so it in no way means it is correct. I will only be including characters who I think will likely be included in season 4.
Very unlikely
Holly Wheeler
She may well be in kindergarten now, meaning she’s away from her mom during the day, which could create some tension if there are reports of people missing/dying. I really don’t think they’ll kill a 5 year old, though.
Erica Sinclair
I think it’s unlikely that they’d kill off the youngest of the regular cast.
Robin Buckley
As the only current explicitly gay character, Robin dying would put the Duffers into “Bury Your Gays” territory. It just really wouldn’t look good.
Jim Hopper
He will be coming back from supposedly being dead (from the perspective of the other characters). Having him then die for real would make the whole thing seem cheap.
Unlikely
Martin Brenner
I feel like he’d have a role to play in the final season, but I could be wrong here. I could also see him being undone by his own hubris. It also depends on whether his role this season is just in flashbacks or not.
Max Mayfield
Seriously, Max has suffered enough, and she probably still is if the end of season 3 is any indication.
Nancy Wheeler
Honestly, I just see her as too badass to die. She’s like the Ellen Ripley of the series.
Steve Harrington
Steve being hurt is almost a running joke at this point, but they also seemed to have made it a point that he gets better at fighting each season. If he does die, it will probably be protecting the others.
Toss-up
Eleven
Death on this show being what it is sometimes, it probably wouldn’t be a real death. Still, El dying would have both characters and fans wondering how the heroes could possibly win in season 5.
Mike Wheeler
He constantly puts himself in harms way for his friends, especially Will and El, despite not really being equipped to do anything of value.
Will Byers
Like what I said for El above, it probably wouldn’t be a real death, but Will “dying” could be used to set up season 5.
Joyce Byers
She’s tenacious and brave, but her insistence on following her intuitions could get her into a situation she can’t get herself out of. It’s really anyone’s guess, but she’d go out like a boss if it happened.
Dustin Henderson
It’s easy to think that someone in the Party dies to show how dire things are. Then again, people said that about the Trio in Harry Potter, too. If one had to die, it might be Dustin. He doesn’t take Mr. Clarke’s statement that “science is neat, but I’m afraid it’s not very forgiving” seriously enough, focusing more on the first part. He might experience the second, part as a result.
Lucas Sinclair
See Dustin above. Lucas appears like he might be the most separated from the Party, which might leave him vulnerable.
Karen Wheeler
They already teased us with her “death” last season. Was that foreshadowing?
Ted Wheeler
Will he be just as oblivious as always and fall victim to the new danger? Will he die protecting his family? Will he show some hidden depths and actually do something? Your guess is as good as mine.
Likely
Murray Bauman
I can’t help but feel at least one of the “Jailbreak” crew isn’t coming back. Murray makes the most sense to me. It might just be a Russian accomplice that takes that role, though.
Jonathan Byers
This is mostly because I see Will as being the “main” character (for all intents and purposes since this is still an ensemble show). The mentor/protector character almost always dies to force the hero to rise to the occasion. It would be heart wrenching, though, since Jonathan deserves to be happy.
Lonnie Byers
Assuming his presence this season isn’t just flashbacks, anyway. If Will does have powers, a confrontation with Lonnie might be what causes them to manifest. Regardless, he’ll probably find himself in a situation that he can’t abuse his way out of.
Almost Certainly
Any new character
Since season 2, and especially in season 3, new characters had a higher mortality rate. One or two might survive to join the crew in season 5, but there’s not really enough information to guess as to who.
43 notes
·
View notes
Text
Naught But A Fool In The Body Of A God
(Gore + existentialism warning) A foolish gamers... character study? I think?
Totems were funny things. Made of gold and emerald, looking both very much and not at all like their creator. You could go your entire life never seeing one of them. It is a rare person who needs to to face a powerful and dangerous raid, or to track down a mansion, all of which are filled to the brim with Illagers, just to get lucky and catch an Evoker off guard.
Totems are particular about who they save, seeming to despise their own holders. Evokers almost always held one, but they couldn’t seem to use them.
They seem almost heretical, as though Death herself is only tolerating their presence. She does not seem the type to let a method of escape slide. Though, she is simply a collector, and totems can only be used once. Perhaps she created them, to give some sense of hope as she waited at the finish line, merely extending the bridge into the void.
That is not the case, however. The creator was a young god then, full of spite and bloodlust. He carved them in his image, gave them to those who followed him through lava and storms, across oceans and land. He was not a god of death but a god of dying, a conglomerate of souls of those slaughtered in his name. He is of much the same stock as gods of war and blood, power growing from violence and destruction.
He was older, though. Older than the concept of war. War implies thought behind destruction, implies plans. Dying is a natural aspect of life. Everyone is dying, ever so slowly. He was an intermediary, an active force on the field of Death, who, for all those who fear her, is quite passive.
You, most likely, do not fear death. You cannot, for you do not know what awaits you in her loving embrace. You fear dying. Your last breath leaving your body, laying still, moving for the very last time, thinking your very last thought. You fear the unknown and the end, the change. You do not know what comes after death and that strikes fear into your heart. You do not know what it is like to take your last breath, and that haunts you.
This young god, so new and so primordial, hunted. If he stopped moving, stopped hunting, stopped killing, he’d fade away and die. He sent his followers to hunt, to pillage, his need for souls insatiable. They hunted, and they warped, skin greying and eyes darkening. They began to shift from human to something else, something other. Infused with his power, they hunted, leading groups to hunt down more sacrifices to their god.
He grew in power, grew in strength. Death herself watched, for he was just like his creations. He was a totem, serving a greater power. He was sculpted from gold, inlaid with emerald eyes, given the wings of all her favored creatures, and he engraved himself with stories of his past, his triumphs, his losses, things he wanted to hold close to him forever.
--
Blood runs through the canals of those engravings, a trident plunging into the chest of the next breathing mortal, and the god, whose name has been long since lost, laughs. Another one came for him, not learning the lesson of its companion, and a sword is driven through their heart, buried up to the hilt, freed moments later by the golden flames eating at its nervous system, reduced to ash in seconds. He brushes them away as one would brush away eraser shavings.
Bodies lay strewn across the field when he’s finished, a one-sided war, headed by a mortal he’s already forgotten, over some sin he no longer cares to remember.
A chuckle rings out from behind him, and he whirls, sword drawn. “That’s quite the display.”
They were half-buried in a fog, extremities concealed in the mist that he knows for a fact wasn’t there. Their eyes glow with hunger, with spite, with a thousand emotions he couldn’t even begin to untangle. It hurts to look them in the eyes too long.
“A lot of flair for some bodies nobody will even see. Nobody but me, of course.”
“What can I say, I’m an artist.”
“Or a zealot.”
“What’s the difference? You won’t have the breath to tell anyone.” He swings his sword, runes glowing. Whoever they are, they will soon be ash, soaked by their own fog, as fire eats them from the inside out.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. My father wouldn’t be happy, he’s not nearly as forgiving as me.” He whirls again, seeing white eyes and a ruffled shirt, mere feet from his face, leaning back against nothing. He gets the feeling that they’re looking at him, truly looking at him, and he chokes, breaking his gaze away from swirling, dancing white, blank but never empty.
“How-”
“Foolish, that’s what you are. A fool.” The mortal- No, they are not mortal. No mortal stares a god in the eyes and calls him a fool. “Why do you fight?”
--
His companion smirks at him. He grins right back, rows of teeth glinting in the light of the enchanted blades. Centuries of fighting together made them a well practiced dance, a machine of blood and souls. Three arrows pierce the hearts of the guards, falling wordlessly from their towers. That’s all the warning they get. Before the night is out, blood flows so thick it sits for years, soaking the wood and drowning the now-ashen grass.
His companion’s footsteps wither and rot the wood on which they stand, warping it beyond recognition. They work their way to the center of the fortress, people charging to their deaths, impaled, sometimes, by naught but the thorny whips of their enchanted armor.
The stone crumbles beneath their feet, and the god would feel the effects, if he were not himself a statue, life breathed into him by the very goddess who steals it, made of pure gold, which doesn’t tarnish, doesn’t decay. Tapestries crumble to dust as his companion runs their hand along them. The god tosses a mortal to the side, its body lying crumpled, its soul buzzing as he adds it to his own. Another voice layered over his own, another voice to buzz with every angry word.
His companion grips a guard by their chin and laughs as it crumbles to dust beneath their hands.
The general of the army falls, and they dance in the blood of their enemies, spin in the blood of their victims. The hem of the smaller god’s dress sprays droplets of blood as they twirl, the god of dying laughing as his friend grabs his hands, dancing in victory, in elation, in completion. They propel themself into the air and spin him. They move as a unit, as they did in the heat of battle.
Later, the god will sit, stare at his companion, and say “You once asked me why I fight.” That day is not today. Today they will both fight, dance in the blood of their enemies, and move on, the fortress a shell of its former self, growing over with vines, breaking apart.
--
Two gods, a god of dying and a god of withering and ash, rest in a small village on the bank of a river. The withering god rests against a tree, long ago struck with lightning, telling a story to the village children, as the god of dying laughs, interrupting them with his own commentary on just how comically wrong they’re telling it.
It has been decades since they drew first blood, traveling for weeks at a time, collecting, remembering, rather than destroying. Fights found them, of course, mobs never learn, but fewer mortals have fallen to their stained hands in the past century than in their best year previous.
They still delight in the occasional bloodbath, if the chance arises, but as the world shifts towards calm, they drift away from senseless slaughter and towards traveling.
They pass by cities, or the ruins of what once were, and they ask themselves, “Was that our doing?” and they do not know, hundreds of civilizations having fallen to their blades, their arrows, and their fire.
But they sit, ancient, immortal warriors, telling stories to children, their hands still caked in more blood than these children will ever see.
Later, the god of dying will say to his companion: “I fight because destruction is control. Nothing exists that I cannot destroy, nothing exists that I cannot control,” but that day is not today. Today they laugh at incorrect accounts of tales they experienced, true histories lost, new memories formed. Today the god of withering and ash closes their eyes, and the god of dying makes the skies dance with light for the descendants of people they long-ago killed.
Later they will reflect. Today they will reminisce.
--
Two gods part ways, on a mission from Death. They will meet again, but it will not be the same. The god of dying, of storms, and of the ocean and all that that entails smiles down on his old friend, their white eyes glowing with hundreds of memories.
“I’ll see you soon, Old Pal.”
“See you soon.” They turn down different roads, one a path of explosions, of wars, of power-grabs and monarchies, and one down a path of self-reflection.
Their paths take them to the same destination: Redemption. Neither take the same road there, and neither path is straight, but it never is. And redemption is a place not easily found, but easily lost, easy to slip back into old ways for moments at a time, on a godly timescale.
The god of dying takes the name Foolish, a reminder of his past. He arrives in a strange land, full of holes and trauma and death. The place reeks of hubris. It makes him sick. It makes him hungry. The hunger curls in his stomach and the stench gives him a sickening headache, so he runs. Runs far away, and he builds.
Builds for control, builds for stability. Builds are his one constant, gigantic pyramids and sculptures and he can’t stop. His temple expands. A man, a man he has seen, a man who feels like too much and too little, too much in one body, a vacuum and a black hole, asks him for a kingdom. Simple enough. A child approaches him, telling him to build a mansion, a mansion larger than a country, for him, his husband and their son. He will be paid. He is not paid nearly enough.
--
A demon, a cat, and a not-quite-human man encroach on his summer home. They reek of vines and death, and Foolish loses his composure. They doubt his power. They threaten his home and he smiles with too many teeth and grows, grows to his full size. His eyes glow. They taunt him, threaten him.
“I’m a peaceful man, Ponk. But if I must defend myself, I can.”
“Defend yourself against this, then, Foolish.” Ponk hurls a trident at him, glancing off him, a mortal not strong enough to pierce his skin. He’s a fool, more a fool than the man who took it as his name. That is his weapon, carved of prismarine and ivory, more his domain than any other. For a moment, the god tastes blood.
“I may be a totem of undying, but in the past, I have been a totem of death.” He calls power to his fingertips, lightning in his eyes. “It’s not just one thing, Ponk. It's never just one thing. Have you ever tasted lightning? Smelt the ozone in the air, seen it dance across your skin before you black out from the pain?”
“Do you see where we are, Foolish?” In Ponk’s mind, the name is fitting. He has never seen a storm called from nothing before. Never seen a storm called at all, only harnessed. He disbelieves.
“It does not matter. A sunny day does not matter.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Let me show you.” He smiles, rows of teeth bloodied with the lives of thousands, millions of mortal souls. His voice layers, thousands of voices, screaming to be heard. The crack of lighting lands mere feet from the three. “Now begone from this place, and I don’t ever want to see you here again, am I clear?”
The vines must be resolved. The egg continues to hunger, but he has hope, hope that there is a piece of mortal soul left in them, a piece of morality that wishes to be free. He does not give up hope.
--
The gods’ paths cross again in a city, the totem and the king. A city drowning in red, twisting, oozing vines, calling out for blood. They spend hours weeding, burning red vines and laughing. His friend no longer flies, his friend hides their once-beautiful eyes, but they’re the same. They do not remember him, but they are the same.
“Foolish, have I ever shown you my eyes?” Of course they have, and he says as much. “I’m going to show you again, just in case.” Their eyes dance, with confusion and worries, and a deep-seated fear of rejection.
“Yeah, that’s the Eret I’m thinking of! The one with white eyes, the one with the netherite armor!” Foolish looks concerned, but this is nothing that they can’t fix. They’ve fought armies together, a few missing memories aren’t going to make him give up on them.
They attend a banquet. They dance for the first time in centuries, spinning in circles to the music played by that infernal catmaid. They attend a banquet and it goes south, hard, as all parties attended by gods do. It goes south and he makes use of his totem nature, wrapping around their heart, taking their place. They will not die to the monstrous egg before they get to dance together, and reminisce.
Soon, the god will say to his old friend, that he builds to replace. He builds to counteract the destruction he caused, and it will not replace the lives lost, but it adds something new, something beautiful to this harsh reality, but that is not the truth. The truth is, he creates for the same reason he destroyed.
--
Soon a mortal man in a cardboard mask will tell him that he let him die. Soon, he will be taunted by a mortal man, full of hubris, who says that his builds mean nothing, are nothing, bring nothing to the world, and a part of him will think the mortal man is right. A part of him whispers that he is selfish. That his ways are wrong. That he must pick up the sword once again, bleed mortals for their souls.
He will shove that part deep inside, and he will remind the man that no good comes of blood. He will tell the man that he too once believed that death was the answer, death would give control, but he will tell the man that he was wrong, and that he will be too.
You either die a monster, vengeful and wicked, or you grow. You adapt, you create, you reconcile. Some may never forgive, but many will. Mortals only get one lifetime, he must make the most of it.
He will not say that though. He will sit up against the side of his sphynx and sew hundreds of thousands of tiny dolls, breathing life into each one, giving each one a small hard hat and a job, so he will never be alone. He will build, children safe in the ender cradle, and he will give himself time to think. He will stop moving, for one moment, and he will not die. He may be the god of the seas, but he is not a shark. He keeps moving, a perpetual motion machine, purely out of fear of what his own thoughts bring, and he truly lives up to the name given to him so long ago. Foolish. For he is naught but a fool in the body of a god.
#Foolish Gamers#Foolish G#dsmp foolish#dream smp#dream smp fic#Foolish gamers fic#dsmp#dsmp eret#eret#Eternal duo#ponk#dsmp ponk#Anyway I'd love it if you could reblog? It'd make me really happy#and I love seeing y'all's comments#mic writes#< keep forgetting to use that tag f
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Queen and Her King
Category: Friendship Fluff, Puppy Love
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Characters: Sora, Kairi
Hey, everyone! I finally decided to try and get back in and participate in full fandom weeks, so here’s a story for Day 1 of @sokaiweek for the prompt “King & Queen”! I hope you enjoy this sweet childhood fluff :)
Kairi cooed in delight as she sat back on her heels to admire her artistry— an absolutely splendid sand castle complete with tall towers, a moat with a driftwood drawbridge, and some hermit crab guards that weren’t quite as good at their jobs as she would like. It was an exceptionally large castle, too, one that she could step in! She’d gathered some big palm tree leaves and folded them up to make a nice, comfy throne right in the middle of her castle. She’d made another one right beside it, too, because what was a queen without her king?
“Wow, Kairi!” She heard someone cry behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to see Sora and Riku dashing over the sandy dunes toward her. Their faces were flushed with exertion and their hands clutched driftwood sticks that had some chips in the bark; no doubt, they’d spent the last thirty minutes or so whacking at one another in a “swordfight.” Sora cast his stick aside as he ran up, and then he squatted down in front of her sand castle to admire the seashells studded into the smooth walls. “It’s amazing!”
“Thank you very much,” she said, puffing out her chest with pride. Riku tipped his head as he walked a circle around it, inspecting it critically before giving an approving huff. Sora stood up to peer over the edge, squealing happily when he discovered the two makeshift thrones inside.
“Ahh, are you the queen of the castle, Kairi?” he asked, looking at her with sparkling blue eyes. Kairi’s cheeks flushed a little pink. She’d always thought Sora’s eyes were so pretty, not unlike the glittering sea washing in and out of the shore a few feet away.
“That’s right,” she said as she stood up. She shyly clasped her hands behind her back and gave him a demure flutter of her lashes. “A castle isn’t complete without a king, though…”
Bless Sora’s heart, though, he really was an airhead sometimes. The invitation was obvious, but he just gawked stupidly at Kairi while he tried to figure out the meaning behind her cryptic statement. Riku got it just fine, though, prompting him to stomp up and jab his thumb into his sternum in a clear declaration of hubris.
“Why didn’tcha say so, Kairi? I’ll be the king of your castle,” the silver-haired boy declared haughtily.
“What?” Sora objected. “No way! I’m gonna be the king, Riku, back off!”
Kairi poked her finger into her cheek as the two began to squabble. She should have known they were going to bicker about it. She hadn’t been on Destiny Islands for very long, but one thing she’d learned very quickly is that despite the two being the very best of friends, Sora and Riku had an intense rivalry about almost anything. She didn’t have the heart to tell Riku that she was really asking Sora to be the king of her castle, but what was she going to do about it?
“Why don’t we just fight it out, then?” Sora huffed and snatched up his driftwood sword. “Whoever wins gets to be Kairi’s king, and even more, the loser has to marry us!”
Well, it looks like the two had worked out a solution for themselves— even worse, it was one that had Kairi burying her face into her hands as a blush ran rampant across her cheeks.
“You’re on!” Riku agreed, brandishing his own stick with a wide smirk. “This’ll be a piece of cake. I beat your butt four times a week.”
“Yeah, but I win the other three days,” Sora refuted matter-of-factly. Kairi groaned inwardly; those odds weren’t exactly in her favor. She peered through her fingers as the boys marched off to the little island jutting out into the sea with the curvy palm tree in the middle— their favorite battleground. Kairi scurried along after them, nervousness swirling in her belly. Maybe she should have just ruled solo after all…
“You’re going down, Riku!” Sora asserted while pointing his stick at him.
“Funny, you stole the words right out of my mouth!” Riku taunted back, which made Sora huff indignantly. Kairi crossed between them to sit in the bend of the palm tree, feeling no less than a trophy. It was kind of nice, watching the two boys fight over her; a girl couldn’t help but feel flattered. Still… She’d be a liar if she said she didn’t want Sora to win.
“Do your best!” she smiled at him, and the brunet looked at her like she’d hung the moon for him. That gave Riku the opportunity to spring at him with a battle cry, and Sora only just managed to throw up his driftwood sword in a block before it whacked him over the head.
“Hey! No fair!” Sora pouted as he shoved Riku away.
“What? I was supposed to wait around while you made heart eyes at Kairi?” Riku jeered back, which made both Sora and Kairi flush bright pink.
With a strangled battle cry, Sora rushed at Riku, swinging his stick wildly back and forth. Riku pranced around on the balls of his feet, parrying each blow. However, Riku underestimated the power behind Sora’s swings, so one of them finally caught him off guard and knocked his stick aside. Riku could only yelp as Sora tackled him to the ground. Driftwood abandoned, they began to wrestle in the sand like a couple of dogs.
“ I’m gonna be the one to marry Kairi!” Sora insisted as he grabbed Riku by the collar and slammed him into the sand. The spongy surface of the dune absorbed most of the impact, giving Riku the freedom to laugh.
“I thought it was about being king of the castle?” Riku scorned playfully. Sora had been caught red-handed, making him flush the color of an apple. Kairi was too busy burying her face back into her hands again, both mortified and delighted at the boy’s spontaneous declaration. Riku took advantage of Sora’s shock to try and flip him over, but they ended up just rolling over one another until they plopped right off the edge of the circular island and into the water.
“Ah!” Kairi exclaimed at the sound of splashing, and she rushed to the edge of the island to peer down into the sea. At first, there were just a bunch of bubbles popping at the surface, but after a few seconds, two heads burst through the surface, spluttering and coughing. Kairi laughed, then squatted down to extend her hands to the two of them before they could start trying to drown each other.
“You two are so silly,” she chuckled. The boys grabbed one hand each, and she dug her heels into the sand to haul them over the small retaining wall back onto the island. They both collapsed on their backs into the sand, chests heaving with exertion, and Kairi sat between them next to their heads. “Did you decide on a winner?”
“Just gonna take a breather,” Sora grunted. “Then I’m gonna kick his butt!”
“Save it,” Riku panted. “As soon as I rest a bit, then I’m gonna kick your butt.”
Kairi sighed, putting her cheeks in her hands. This was going to take a while. Maybe while these two battled it out, she could find some pretty seaweed to string along her sandcastle walls? Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.
It was just as she was draping the last bit of seaweed across her sandcastle’s battlements that she heard Sora’s triumphant crow echoing across the island. She glanced up to see him standing triumphantly over a very bitter-looking Riku, who was nursing a goose egg sticking out of his silvery hair. Kairi couldn’t help but smile as he scampered over to her, flinging his driftwood stick aside so he could wrap her up in an excited hug.
“Didja see that, Kairi? I beat him!”
“You did!” she praised. Sora pulled back from her, sliding his hands down her arms to shyly hold her hands.
“And now I get to be your king, right?” he asked bashfully, a smile playing over his lips while he toed at the sand. Kairi nodded meekly, prompting Sora to wiggle his hips in a little happy dance. Kairi giggled, finding herself excited at his enthusiasm. Riku came trudging up behind Sora, still rubbing the top of his head and looking like his ego was a bit bruised.
“All right, all right. Now I have to marry you two or whatever, right? Darn, and I really wanted to be king…” he muttered under his breath.
“We’ll build you a nice big castle and you can be our next-door neighbor, Riku!” Sora suggested, and Riku immediately brightened. Kairi felt a little relieved that Riku was more concerned with having a throne than marrying her. She peeked out of the corners of her eyes at Sora, who was looking at her with this big, goofy, dreamy smile on his face again.
“All right, all right, enough with the heart eyes,” Riku snorted in disgust. “You have crowns, right? You can’t be a king and a queen without crowns!”
“Oh, right!” Kairi exclaimed. She rushed back to her castle to lean over the edge and retrieve a pair of crowns she’d woven out of fern frowns and tropical flowers. She put one on her head and dropped the other on Sora’s brow, blushing at the absolutely adoring look he was giving her at the moment. Riku crossed his arms impatiently and clicked his teeth as an indication for them to come stand in front of them, so they hurriedly did so, though Sora and Kairi still snuck glances at one another.
“All right,” Riku said with a roll of his eyes. They weren’t being as sneaky with their glances as they thought, apparently. “Dearly beloved, we gather here today to join these two in marriage, blah, blah, blah,” he said with disinterested gestures of his hands. “Whatever, whatever, Sora, tell Kairi how much you love her or something.”
“Okay!” he exclaimed with zeal that had Kairi hiding her flushing face in her hands. She squeaked when Sora pulled her hands away from her face to grip them enthusiastically. “Kairi, as your king, I promise to protect you with my life! You’re the most beautifulest girl I’ve ever met and I’m so happy that you’re my queen and you’re gonna rule alongside me!”
“Sora,” she said quietly. It was so moving that tears had begun to flood her eyes, and with a sweet smile, Sora reached up to thumb them away. “I’m glad you’re my king. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“All right, all right, by the power invested in me or whatever, I pronounce you king and queen. Now kiss, guys!” Riku ordered gleefully, pointing at them with a mischievous grin. Kairi’s mouth dropped open in shock; how had she forgotten the most important part of a wedding? She turned around to see Sora comically puckering his lips and leaning in. She barely had time to clamp her mouth shut before he delivered a sloppy but quick kiss to her mouth. Her face went fiery red at the contact, but… it was kind of nice.
“Yay!” Sora grinned as he pulled back. “Now, let’s go sit on our thrones, Kairi!” He tugged her to the castle, nearly tripping over his feet and destroying all her hard work in the process— but they managed to step over the wall and plop down on their palm leaf thrones without incident. Sora wiggled on top of the folded leaves with delight, while Kairi rested primly on her knees beside him. Her hermit crab army scuttled around them, as if they were celebrating the arrival of their rulers.
Of course, Sora got bored of sitting there after about five seconds.
“All right!” he cried and jumped to his feet. “Riku, let’s build your castle!” he said and clambered back out to run over to his friend. “It can’t be as big as mine, though, because you don’t have a queen.”
“I could if I wanted to! Maybe I’ll ask Selphie.”
“Psh, I bet Tidus’ll build a castle and declare war over her!”
“That sounds like fun, actually. Oi! Tidus! Selphie!”
As the two boys ran off, Kairi chuckled to herself. They really were a bundle of energy, those two. Kairi reached up to her crown, her fingertips brushing over the petals of the hibiscus flowers woven into it, and she smiled softly.
I wouldn’t want it any other way… My brave, wonderful king.
Enjoy this oneshot? Here’s Part II! Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
Forget Bored Stiff, I Got Rigor Mortis
“You’re here, you’re sleeping here, it doesn’t feel- it doesn’t feel right for me to go home and do nothing while whatever that thing was-“
Jon was working himself up now, Martin could see it and so could Jon.
“I’m-I’m sorry, I suppose you’re right that I haven’t been sleeping.”
He buried his face in his hands, and for a second Martin remembered how young Jon was, despite his behavior and appearance.
“God it- it sounds dumb but I keep- I keep having nightmares?
Martin nodded, he had his fair share too recently and he pushed down the fact that Jon was in some, while he was trapped at least.
“I just. I can’t sleep.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi!!!!!!! For JM Week 2021
Prompt: Comfy Jumpers//Nightmares
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Jon?”
It was dark in the archives, almost one in the morning, no one should’ve been here.
Shouldn’t be, but he was.
After the worms and everything with that the lady-
The light to Jon’s office was on.
Jon should be at home, sleeping.
“Jesus man, learn to knock-“
Jon’s face went grim as he said it, it was sweet but the taller man brushed his worry away.
“Sorry, sorry, it’s just… it’s late?”
Jon sighed, dropping the pen he was holding onto his desk.
“Astute observation, Martin, but if you’ll excuse me-“
He turned back to his desk, putting one arm on the top and resting his head in it.
“Jon I mean that you need to go home, to sleep”
They both needed to sleep, it’d been a long week and Jon just looked more tired by the daily.
“I’ll go home shortly.”
Martin sighed, entering the office and sitting on the couch.
“Jon is… is something going on? Like, you’re here constantly, from when I wake up, and I am staying here so that’s pretty early and the time I go to bed, again, that’s pretty late since I sleep here, but like, is there something at home, Jon?”
He was rambling and he knew it, his face turning red and his fingers playing with the jumper he was wearing.
Jon sighed, turning to Martin fully and failing to suppress a wince.
“No, Martin, there’s nothing at home I just-“
His usual pompous pose and hubris-lined tone depleted.
“You’re here, you’re sleeping here, it doesn’t feel- it doesn’t feel right for me to go home and do nothing while whatever that thing was-“
Jon was working himself up now, Martin could see it and so could Jon.
“I’m-I’m sorry, I suppose you’re right that I haven’t been sleeping.”
He buried his face in his hands, and for a second Martin remembered how young Jon was, despite his behavior and appearance.
“God it- it sounds dumb but I keep- I keep having nightmares?
Martin nodded, he had his fair share too recently and he pushed down the fact that Jon was in some, while he was trapped at least.
“I just. I can’t sleep.”
He laughed, an exhausted and tired laugh.
“Jon do- do you want to stay here tonight? I can sleep on the break room couch or- if you want to be in the same room I’ll sleep on the floor?”
The archivist looked up in shock, almost by the suggestion but also by the kindness Martin assumed he didn’t get shown much of, Tim and Sasha had been hard on him, and he seemed like a loner.
“I- I don’t have any pajamas or anything and it would be wildly unprofessional-“
Martin hesitated but risked it, putting his hand on Jon’s knee, carefully and lightly, free to move if he needed.
“Jon, you had a damn cot here, you can’t look at me and say you don’t have a stash of toiletries here, and you can borrow my pajamas, it’s not a big deal.”
To Martin’s heart, it very much was a big deal.
Jon, to the other, man’s surprise and it seemed his own, nodded.
“Yes I- I think that would be ok, if you’d- if you’d stay in the room? You can have the cot I’ll take the floor I wouldn’t want to run you off but-“
Martin stood up, slowly not to scare the seemingly already frightened man.
“I’ll go grab some of my pajamas, finish up here, I’ll be right back.”
Jon nodded, and stood, turning to his desk and organizing papers.
Martin shuffled quickly to the document storage room he was currently calling home.
He grabbed a pair of pajama pants with a drawstring that he hoped would be tight enough around Jon, and his softest, and to Martin the comfiest, jumper he had.
He didn’t usually sleep in it, but Jon seemed permanently cold.
Gods, he wanted to hug that man.
He very quickly pushed that thought away.
Knocking when he arrived at the office this time, Jon replied with a quick come in, having just finished organizing.
“I brought, uh, I brought these? I hope they work and uh- a jumper.”
Jon looked a little taken aback by it all, Martin would probably say the whole being cared about.
“Uh thank you- I will uh- change in here”
He closed the door and emerged a few minutes later, his hair done into a messy bun, in the jumper which hung off his shoulder and lose frame slightly in way too baggy of pants.
They both blushed and turned away.
“You look- heh, cozy”
Jon huffed indignantly, toying with the collar on the jumper.
“We should sleep.”
Martin nodded, walking silently to the document storage.
“Are you sure you don’t want the cot, Jon? It’s not comfortable but it’ll be better for your joints than the floor…”
“Ah, I’ll be fine, Martin, thank you for, uh, letting me stay here”
Martin smiled to cover up the worry and sadness.
They got situated on their respected sleeping areas, the silence only slightly awkward.
“Sleep well, Jon”
He was thankful for the dark to cover the blush on his cheeks.
“Goodnight, Martin.”
It was the best sleep either of them had in a while and would be, for the foreseeable future.
#jonmartinweek2021#jmart#pre relationship#tma#the magnus archives#jon sims#martin blackwood#trans martin blackwood#jon sims has eds#eds#hurt/comfort#fluff
36 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 19: Debridement
Characters: Captain Logan “Sy” Syverson, Shane Benton (OFC), various other original supporting/secondary characters
Summary: Shane begins to process life after her trauma, and Sy delivers the news of her safety to the people that matter most to her…but there is pushback on a few aspects of his report.
Romance and Smut Abound HERE!
Word Count: 4.1k
Warnings: Mostly fluff, but with mention of Shane’s trauma in the cellar. Not graphic.
Author’s Note: My darling readers! Thank you so much for your patience as I deal with seasonal stress, fatigue, anxiety, and some depression. It was my goal to have all chapters of this story done by the end of this year. I don’t think I’ll accomplish it, but I’ll do my very best to get at least one more chapter up by the 31st. 2020 has been a totally shit year, but I will forever owe it some remarkable things. This story, which has been an amazing escape from real life, the friends I’ve made from all over my country and the world, many of them because of this story, and a long overdue shift in my work hours starting next week. I’ll be glad to see the back of it, but the year has really opened me up to new ideas and some major soul-searching. I think, mentally, I’m actually more myself than I’ve ever been, despite some blue times. You can all take some credit for that improvement, because many of my moments of clarity have arisen from brilliant and profound posts here.
The title of this chapter seemed appropriate for a few reasons. Wounds are cleaned and cleared of damaged tissue during debridement. This is one of the steps usually required for a large and/or traumatic wound to heal. We see Shane beginning this process here in this chapter, and in a sense, Sy, as well. The cleansing of Shane in both the literal and figurative sense was so interesting and satisfying to write. And Sy’s bit at the end was a fun puzzle in which I had to figure out how to have Sy give the same news to four different recipients without sounding repetitive. I hope that landed, and if anyone has any suggestions, please let me know.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism. This is an original work by me, Hannah. Please reblog if you wish to share. Please do not repost either in whole or part, as the work of anyone but myself. Thanks so much for reading!
Tags:
@onlyhenrys @cavillryarchive @summersong69 @titty-teetee @bloodyinspiredfuck @agniavateira@oddsnendsfanfics @omgkatinka @thisismysecretthirstblog @speakerforthedead0 @tumblnewby @suavechops @radkesgirl83 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @heartfelt-pen @auds24 @geekycanuck @lunarstarknight @wilma-g @coldmuffinbanditshoe @feralrunaway @sugarpenchant @bichibibi @mzchievous-blog @shesakillerkween @madbadidc7ed @foodieforthoughts @toomanyfandomsshreya
If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)
X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@
Shane still felt as if her head was floating above her body, like a balloon on a long string. The combination of meds in her system had helped many of her symptoms. The pain she felt, the physical pain, had been alleviated. Her troubled mind had been put at ease, more or less. But that was a long time ago. And unfortunately, the side effects weren't wearing off at the rapid rate of the intended ones.
As she sat in the SUV--the escape vehicle-- parked outside a large building the size of a small airplane hangar, she tried not to think about what Sy and his pals were discussing just outside the vehicle. She tried not to reflect on the past few days that she had convinced herself would be her last. She tried not to think about what -- or, really, who -- was inside that building.
She thought about seeing Elliott again. The man who had planned to kill her, and almost succeeded. A part of her wished he had, because she wasn't sure she knew who she was anymore. She was a stranger to herself. And living like this seemed so much more difficult than a quick painless death. She couldn't bear the thought of being in view of him.
But another part of her wanted to go in there and end his life herself. That part of her could pull the trigger on a gun aimed at his head. That part of her could bury a knife in his kidney, or sever an artery. Her anatomy and physiology courses could serve her well here. She had dangerous knowledge. Maybe that's why doctors often seem so full of themselves. They possess the knowledge to end life, and yet they choose to save it. It sort of puts things into perspective. Maybe they're justified in their hubris.
Still one more part simply wanted to go home, clean up, and lay naked in her soft sheets with Sy wrapped around her. Warmer and more comforting than any blanket had ever been. She had remembered missing him so much. She thought now about his gentle, loving hands on her, his mouth tasting her so delicately, his…
But then her mind was ripped from the sensual thoughts of Sy and back to her horrific memories from that cellar. The hands of strangers, rough and hateful, their mouths full of words like bile or the grunts of their own violent fulfillment.
Her nightmare of a daydream was abruptly interrupted by the opening of the back passenger door. She jumped, and looked at the source of the noise with wide-eyed terror. It was only Sy, but she couldn't school her face into a softer expression, even after realizing she was safe.
"Oh, Sunshine, I'm so sorry I startled ya! You okay?"
She said nothing, just let out her held breath woefully.
"Let's head home. I'll get your purse and bag of clothes here."
"I don't want those clothes. Throw them away. And these shoes are going in the trash as soon as possible, too."
"Okay. I'll toss it. You sure?"
"I never want to see that bag again. I'm positive."
He nodded, grabbed her purse, and went around to help her out of the vehicle.
One of Sy's friends approached them from the building.
"You guys okay? You'll make it home alright?"
"Yeah, Matt, we'll be okay. I'll be in touch soon about next steps."
"You got it, Captain. Anything you need, let us know."
"Will do. Thanks for everything you've already done. I owe ya."
"You don't owe me a thing, brother. You don't owe any of us. Not after everything you've done for all of us…for everyone."
Sy just nodded at Matt, and turned toward his truck, steadying Shane all the way to the passenger door.
The drive to Shane's house was quiet. Sy kept one hand on the wheel, holding hers in the other. She felt safe, but she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling inside her. Like the other shoe would soon drop, and her love would be taken away again.
When they were safely parked in her driveway, Sy took her keys out of his pocket, apparently having gotten them from his friend who'd drove her car from Elliott's to the airplane hangar place. He walked around to get her, and helped her to her door. She kicked off her shoes immediately when she stepped inside her shadowy living room. She had left the same lamp on that she always did, but it was dimmer now, having been on almost a whole week.
"Bath?" Sy asked. Shane nodded slowly. She would need a long soak to erase this feeling.
Sy got the bath water ready while she found some clothes to put on after. She laid her comfiest lounge pants and her favorite sweat shirt on the bed and walked toward the bathroom. She was soon hit with the comforting aroma of lavender, chamomile, and vanilla as soon as she stepped through the doorway. He had used her favorite bubble bath and salts.
"Check that water temp. I think it's about right." he requested. It was perfect. She started to peel off the stiff paper scrubs she was still wearing, but he insisted on helping her. As she stood before him, even though he'd seen every inch of her body before, she felt more naked and exposed than ever. She looked at him, noticed tears welling in his eyes, and dropped her gaze to the bath mat under her feet. Her skin, typically immaculately clear, olive perfection, was now peppered with dozens of bruises. She felt like a dalmatian, covered in spots. She chuckled inside herself at the thought of one of her favorite Disney films featuring the breed most heavily.
Sy's strong, but gentle hands landed softly on her upper arms. His lips lit tenderly on her forehead. "Ready?" he asked. She nodded and stepped into the large, garden tub full of steaming water. It stung her feet, ankles, and calves, but she still bent to sit, wincing as her tender petals and behind met the medicinal broth. Sy held her hand as she stepped in and guided her down. She closed her eyes at the soothing pain of the hot water and did not open them until she felt the water level rise. Sy had stepped in with her, wearing just his boxer-briefs, and was sitting on the side of the tub. He reached for the hand shower, and turned the water back on, slightly less warm, but still soothing and soaked her hair, directing the water away from her face. He had thought to grab her shampoo from the shower, as well, and was lathering some up in his hands to apply to her wet strands. It felt like heaven to have his fingers in her hair like this. Relaxing and soporific. He kept at it until she was certain he must be getting pruney, not to mention tired.
After carefully rinsing her hair of the coconut-scented lather, he grabbed the lavender foam bath she loved, and worked it up in one of the wash cloths he'd brought from the linen caddy between the sink and shower. He massaged the suds into her tired and injured skin over her back, then requested each leg in turn, kneading her calves and feet as she took another of the cloths and washed her face with the rich cleanser she kept by the bath, typically using it only on her "spa days" but feeling that it would nourish her battered cheeks and nose better than anything else. Sy's ministrations filled her with a kind of blissful contentment. She couldn't help but wonder if she deserved him. She always had thought she deserved the best things in life, even though her romantic past didn't tend to pan out that way. She'd worked very hard and often allowed herself to invest in quality. But now…she felt broken, in spite of herself. She'd have to tell Sy all that happened to her one day, and when that day came, he'd probably realize how damaged she really was, and he'd leave. Just like everyone else always did. She knew the conversation needed to come sooner rather than later, but couldn't bring herself to break the spell yet.
Sy let her soak for as long as she was comfortable until the water grew tepid. She looked up to him, sitting on the side of the tub, legs now outside, his gaze like twin seas met hers. He had been watching her, it seemed. As if worried that she would dematerialize if he looked away. Her bath robe was draped across his lap, as was a large bath towel. She moved to stand from the now chilled bath water, and Sy was immediately up to aid her rising. He held her hand as she stepped out of the tub and dried her top half before helping her don the robe, then continued to dry her bottom half.
"Go on in there and get comfortable, Sunshine. I have a few phone calls to make. I wanna let your folks know you're okay and I wanna tell Detective Clarkson you've been found. Anyone else you want me to get in touch with?"
"Umm, do you know if my brother and sister know what's happened to me?"
"They do. They should both be at your parent's house by now from what I gathered when I visited."
"Okay, so mom or dad will let them know. I guess you should call Susan, and let her know that I'm alive but won't be in this week. On my fridge, there's a phone directory for everyone in my department. But first, call Heather. I don't want her to worry any longer. Call her right after mom and dad. And tell them all I'll have them over tomorrow, but I can't tonight. I'm…"
She didn't even know what she was. Tired, sore, depressed, hopeless, and angry. A combination of so many feelings and emotions coursed through her.
"I'll work it out. You get in bed, and I'll be back in when I'm done with these calls, okay?" she nodded. He continued, "I love you, darlin.'" and wrapped his arms around her, making her feel almost whole again.
"I love you." she replied. Holding back tears until he had left the room.
~~~~~~
Shane realized she hadn't brushed her teeth in…far too long. She donned her sleeping clothes and went into the bathroom again to complete a comprehensive oral hygiene routine. Sy had been gone for about a half hour, during which time, his absence felt like a noose around her neck. Or an anvil on her chest. It made it feel like hours had passed rather than mere minutes. She was fidgety. When he finally re-entered, she breathed a sigh of relief.
"Do you need anything, sweet pea?"
"Just you."
Sy crawled under the covers with Shane to spoon her, arm laying over her rib cage. She winced, as the bruises on her torso were disturbed at the contact, but she didn't ask him to adjust. Despite the dull pain, this was what she needed. Sy's protecting arm around her.
"Did you get a hold of everyone?" She asked, sleepily.
"I did. Your family are eager to see you, but they understand your need for rest. Heather says that you better let her come over soon, because she's holding your phone hostage until you pay her in hugs. They all send their love."
"And Susan?"
"Yeah, that woman is a piece of work, I know, but I think she's going to come through for you. She's going to have them hold off on scheduling patients with you until you're better, and put both weeks in as vacation. She said you have plenty of it. But also, if you need more time, she can work out some…family medical leave…thing? She said she'd get the ball rolling on that, and will let you know what you need to do on your end."
"Oh, good. Yeah, she can be an asshole, but sometimes she does right by her employees. What about the detective?"
Sy paused there. "I, uh, I talked to him for quite a while and he said a lot of things. Let's go over the finer points tomorrow at breakfast. Or, rather, today." He said, looking at the blue numbers on the glowing digital clock on Shane's nightstand that indicated the wee hours of the morning were running out. "I'm sure we're both tired enough to grab a few winks, ain't we?" He asked, and she hummed her ascent as she tucked herself closer to his warm, monolithic chest.
As Shane drifted off, she thought she felt a warm kiss, and a whisper at her temple. It sounded like a tearful prayer. She was too far into her sleep to comprehend the words being said.
"Thank you God," Sy whispered. "I know I'm not your most faithful servant, but I am truly grateful that you've kept this treasure of mine alive and brought her back to me. Thank you for reuniting me with the woman I mean to spend the rest of my days with, if she'll agree to it. Thank you."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
About Thirty Minutes Ago-
Sy left the bedroom and began scrolling through his phone for the Benton's number. He pressed the call button with joy.
"Sy?" John answered frantically, just as he did the first time Sy spoke to him.
"John, is everyone there?"
"Yeah, we're all just watching a movie in the family room. Do you have news?"
"I do. You may want to put me on speaker, because everybody's going to want to hear this."
"Okay." and after a brief struggle with the speaker button and help from two younger people Sy presumed were Ethan and Gabby, John was back with the whole family. "Okay, Sy, we can all hear you. What's the word?"
"Oh, it's a very good word, guys. I found Shane and she is alive, and now safe." Cheering from what sounded like a stadium full of fanatics resounded from the ear piece of his cell phone.
"Sy, this is Gabby, Shane's sister. Can we come see her now?" Gabby's tears were evident in her voice. He wished he could tell them yes. But Shane needed her rest.
"I know she would love to see you, Gabby, she'd love to see all of you, but I think what she needs right now is rest. She's been through…a terrible ordeal. I took her to the Emergency Room to get checked out, and she just had a bath and is about to go to bed. She'll want to see you all tomorrow, though. Maybe around lunch time?"
"That sounds good, Sy. We'll bring some of this food over." John said.
"Are you sure we can't come over tonight? I…I want to see my daughter with my own eyes." Margaret said, weepily.
"I truly wish I could tell you yes, Peg, but she's hardly slept the last week, and just had her first full meal since she was taken this evening at the hospital. I really think it's best for everyone if you guys wait until tomorrow when she's more herself and rested." Sy reiterated.
"What about the people who did this to her?" a male voice he didn't recognize asked, assured to be Ethan. "Any leads on them?" He wanted to tell them that most of the men had been dealt with using lethal or nearly lethal force, and that the perpetrator of Shane's misery was locked up in Matt's shop bathroom until they decided just how to take care of him. But he needed to disclose what he knew to as few people as possible.
"The less y'all know, the better. For your own good. At least right now. Just know that whatever justice has not yet been served, it will be very soon."
"That's good enough for me." John offered, in an apparent attempt to bring Ethan on side.
"Thanks, John. I'll take care of her tonight. I won't leave her side. I promise."
"Thank you, son." John replied. Sy appreciated the tender address, but wondered how Ethan felt about his father referring to someone else as his son. Probably not that great. He couldn't worry about that now.
"It's my sincerest pleasure. I want you to know that. She's my world now. I won't let anything else happen to her."
"We know, dear." Peg added.
"Good night. And we'll see y'all tomorrow."
Four incoherent replies rang out before he ended the call. Next was Heather.
"Hello?" she answered in sleepy confusion.
"Heather?"
"Who'sis?"
"It's Logan Syverson. Sy? From PT. Shane's boyfriend."
"Sy! Oh, it's good to hear from you! Any news?"
"The best news, darlin.' Our girl is alive, and home safe." he smiled ear to ear saying the words, but it quickly turned into a wince when Heather shouted for joy in his ear. It was fine. Not like he didn't already have mild tinnitus.
"Oh my GOD! I'm coming over right now!"
"No, Heather, she's resting. She told me she'll see people tomorrow, but I don't think anyone but you and her family should be allowed in right now. She's…well, she's been through seven levels of Hell, and when I look into her eyes, I can still see the fire."
"Shit. Anything I can do?"
"She'll be thrilled to see ya. But tomorrow."
"She better. I have her phone and the ransom is a thousand hugs."
"That's a steep debt." Sy chuckled.
"She can owe me for a while." Heather laughed. "Is she okay?"
What a loaded question. Physically, she was injured, but would heal. Emotionally, that would be more of a journey.
"Honestly, Heather? Not really. The physical stuff is more or less superficial, but…I'm worried about her mental state."
"Poor thing. Please let me know if I can do anything. Anything at all. She's like a sister to me."
"I will. For now, keep the news and the details quiet. I'm gonna call Susan next, and I don't think she'll like it if you know before she does. Just a hunch."
"An accurate one. She'd be furious. I'll keep mum. Thanks so much for putting my mind at ease, Sy. Take care of her."
"I'll do my best. See ya."
He was dreading talking to Susan the most. More than Clarkson. He couldn't quite pinpoint why, but she'd really pissed him off every other time he'd talked to her, and he really didn't think too much of her.
"Hello, this is Susan."
"Hey, Susan, it's Logan Syverson. Shane's boyfriend." He made sure to put the label in there. Remind her that her policy had not been enough to keep them apart.
"Mr. Syverson. Hello. What can I do for you?" her haughty tone was softened a measure with concern for her employee. Even though she didn't ask about her in so many words, he knew that she was wondering.
"Nothing. I just wanted to let ya know, Shane's okay. She's been hurt, and won't be in this coming week, at least. She's in some pain right now, of both a physical and emotional nature."
"What happened?"
"She, uh, hasn't given me a lot of details." Not a lie. "She just escaped from her captor and we found each other." Misleading, but mostly true. "We just got home from the ER." Perhaps a lie by omission of the stop off at Matt's. "They said she'd be okay, but to follow up with her primary for more tests."
"Okay, I'll make sure her schedule is cleared. She has plenty of PTO for these two weeks, but I'll call the FMLA office in charge of family medical leave and short term disability and let them know she'll need some more time off, and see if we can get that going. I'll get with her about the details, and what she'll need to do. I'll text her sometime this week. How's she doing?" Sy thought he heard genuine concern from this dragon woman.
"About as well as someone who's been kidnapped, tortured, and assaulted for a straight week can possibly be, I'd say." Sy's words were civil, but tinged with venom. Even though she was being decent right now, he knew the kind of person she could be.
"Dear God." Susan gasped, shocked at the statement, and Sy wasn't sure whether it was due to the events themselves, or the blunt way he'd told her about them. "Well, I'll do anything I can to help her though this on my end. She's one of my best. I can't…I really don't think I could replace her."
"I'm glad you don't have to try, Susan. Have a nice evenin.'"
"Thanks, Sy, you too."
Sy took a deep breath as he pulled up Clarkson's number and called him. He honestly wasn't completely certain how he was going to explain things, but he'd figure it out. He was good at flyin' by the seat of his pants.
A gruff voice came from the ear piece. "Clarkson."
"Detective, this is Captain Syverson. We spoke about the Benton case a few days ago?"
"I remember you, Sy. What's up?"
"Oh, uh, well, wanted to tell ya you could close the case. I found her." It was the coming conversation in which he would really have to bend the truth or lie altogether.
"Really?! Oh, that's great, man. Where'd ya find 'er."
"I's drivin' 'round, hopin' to come across some lead or sign of her. I was a few miles down highway 100 when I saw a slumped form in one of the ditches. I pulled off at the next drive and went back to check, and it was her. She was hurt, but once she recognized me…I dunno, everything's kind of a blur after that. But I got her checked out at the ER, and brought her home now." Most of that statement was false…but not the recount of them seeing each other for the first time. That was a very real and true fact.
"Highway 100?"
"That's right. Why do you ask?"
"Well, I heard about a terrible, two-vehicle accident on Highway D tonight. No survivors."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." He wasn't. "I hope there weren't any kids involved." He knew there weren't.
"Nope. All adult males, aged 30-40. Couple of SUVs. One ran off the road, and another…well, it's almost like it was blown up on purpose. Happened just a few miles from town."
"That sounds horrible, but what does an accident on Highway E--"
"It was D. Highway D." Sy knew it was, and had said the wrong thing on purpose.
"My mistake. My question though, is what does that…tragedy have to do with my finding Shane on Highway 100?"
"That's what I'm wondering, myself, Syverson. See, there was some…evidence that suggests military involvement in this incident."
"Well, I'm retired."
"Are you though? Is anyone ever really retired from the armed forces. No veteran I've ever talked to can seem to shake off the war shackles."
"Well, I ain't shackeled, detective. I'm proud of my time serving my country, but I got no cause to relive it or hang on to it. Especially now that I have Shane. She's my life now. That part of it’s over."
"I guess I have to take you at your word, captain. Got no evidence so far that ties you to the scene. Just…be careful. If you do anything retaliatory to Miss Benton's captor or captors, I won't be able to protect you, no matter how I feel about your actions. Or how justified they might be."
"Understood. I will keep that in mind should I decide to take matters into my own hands." he tried not to let the smile on his face show in his voice.
"Right, well…is she okay?"
"I, uh…I think she will be…eventually. She hasn't said much to me about what happened, but I know it was torture, or akin to it. "
"Well, I hope she recovers quickly. I'll want a statement from her before I close the case."
"Sure thing. As soon as she's ready to talk."
"Great. Thanks for the call, Sy. I'm glad she's safe now. That's all that matters, really."
"Agree. Have a good night, Clarkson."
He ended the call and rubbed his face as head in frustration with his free hand. They'd have to come up with a story. A good one. Close enough to the truth that Shane could feel comfortable telling it, but far enough of a departure that they weren't incriminated in any kidnapping, murder, or manslaughter charges.
But for tonight, they’d rest. And just be glad to be together again.
Up Next: Chapter 20-Second Assist
#Sand Castle#netflix sand castle#captain syverson#Captain Syverson x OFC#sigh for sy#henry cavill#henry cavill fanfic#henry cavill x ofc
67 notes
·
View notes
Text
Anniversary Blues
A/N: just some slight angst then fluff... idk, this is random but I decided my weekend needed some of our favorite Mountain King. Enjoy!
M’Baku x Reader
"Leave us!" you called out, authority reverberating throughout the throne room as you marched down the center aisle to your husband's throne. Like a hunter eyeing its prey, you only had eyes for the man sitting tall and proud at the front of the room as weeks of building frustration propelled you forward. You were so distracted that you did not really pay the rows of soldiers much attention. You tried to be understanding for over a month now. But this was the final straw. You finally had enough.
The chatter in the room ceased almost immediately as the men and women around you looked from you to her husband, waiting for the leader of the Jabari to speak. He simply looked at you with confusion. If you hadn't known him as intimately as you did, the flicker of annoyance and frustration that passed behind his brown eyes would have gone unnoticed. But you noticed and like gasoline to a fire, your anger exploded.
Once you reached the front of the throne room, you sighed deeply at the sustained presence of others in the room. You turned to find the group gathering their things at a painstakingly slow pace, not with the haste you required and demanded.
"Are you all suddenly hard of hearing? I said: Leave. Us. Now. Do not make me repeat myself again."
As the Queen of Jabariland, you were known for your gentleness, your compassion, and empathy. The calm to M'Baku's fire. In your two years of marriage, most had never even heard you raise your voice. This was uncharted territory and no one needed to hear or see anything else. They quickly scampered, scurrying from the room as if they were trying to escape a literal fire. You waited for the heavy wooden doors to slam shut behind the last person before you turned back to your husband.
"What is the meaning of this Y/N? I was in the middle of a meeting."
"I know. A meeting that was more important than our anniversary?"
M’Baku’s heart fell into his stomach. That was today. His eyes studied your body, taking note of the black skin-tight dress (his favorite) covering your shape, the makeup on your face and the small gift-wrapped box in your hand. He hung his head, guilt rushing through him, as he remembered the private chef and dinner you planned in the city to celebrate two years of marriage. Though he would never admit it to you, your anniversary had not even been on his radar before you reminded him of this dinner. And it didn't stay on it long because he quickly forgot to add it to his calendar.
"Y/N… I am sorry. Today has been hec-"
You raised your hand to silence him. His excuses had long grown tiresome, you were not interested in them anymore. "Is everyday not hectic for a chief? That does not excuse broken promises, M'Baku. You are a man of your word, are you not? That is certainly one of the reasons I married you... because you are trustworthy and reliable. So, you are going to need to do a whole hell of a lot better than that." You were not angry that your husband was busy, there was no leader on Earth that was not burdened with too much. And since rejoining Wakanda, your already overflowing workloads had only grown larger. But this was not an ordinary evening, he was not just missing dinner in your private quarters or movie night. It was your anniversary, your night to celebrate your love and commitment to one another, your night to make each other a priority.
"I am sorry, Y/N. I will make it up to you, I promise."
"'You'll make it up to me?' How? When? It is not like you are ever home," you retorted. Your eyes rolled up toward the ceiling as you tried to stop tears of anger from falling before you took a deep breath and continued. "We barely see each other. I fall asleep alone almost every night. I wake up alone every morning. I eat alone, I am basically alone in this marriage. When will you carve out time in your busy schedule to make it up to me? I mean... I just asked you for one night." Your voice trailed off as your anger dissipated and hurt seeped in.
"I am trying to run an entire tribe, Y/N!" M'Baku said defensively, frustration taking over as his pride could not tolerate an attack from his own wife. " I can't always be with you! And it is unfair for you to be angry at me every time I have to prioritize our people."
You almost considered just turning on your heels and walking out the door as you listened to him. You knew exactly what moment you were approaching in this argument, his voice steadily rising to the point where he simply shuts down and refuses to listen or see reason any longer. You let out a deep sigh, trying to calm yourself before attempting to explain your position again.
"I am not asking for always M’Baku! I mean Hanuman! At this point, I am not even asking for sometimes. Merely occasionally. It is not about one dinner. It is about you being emotionally and physically unavailable for over a month. I understand you are running a tribe but lately, it seems like you do not have time for me at all."
For the most part, you had enjoyed a union of marital bliss for the last two years. No real issues, no real arguments. Your marriage and the foundation of your marriage were seemingly solid and unshakable. But something shifted in the last month. Your husband stopped being your husband and he became your coworker. Your marriage stopped being a marriage. It was as if someone extinguished a fire and robbed you of all the intimacy you required to survive. If it did not pertain to a council meeting or tribal business, M'Baku carved out no time to talk to you, much less spend time with you. You had not gotten married to be lonelier than you were before.
You could justify the late nights, missed dates, lack of intimacy to a point... He gave you many excuses but you made them for him as well. You tried your best to bury your frustration and disappointment, pretending like rarely seeing your spouse did not bother you. Because you did understand he served a higher purpose, his responsibility to your people was too important. But, last week, everything changed for you. You started viewing his absence differently, examining whether he actually had time for you or the little ones he desperately wanted. How could you be a successful couple... successful parents if you existed as co-workers and not as husband and wife?
"I cannot ignore my responsibilities to be with you every second Y/N! You knew that when we got married." The bark and anger of a scorned chief now fully coloring his words.
You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I am simply asking you to remember you have a wife, other obligations outside of these four walls," she argued, gesturing around his throne room. "When was the last time you asked me how I was doing or asked me something unrelated to being chieftess?" you listed. "You claim to want a family but how? When you barely have time for me?"
"That is enough!" He yelled, his fist banging loudly on the arm of his throne as his hubris and exhaustion made him unwilling to continue listening to his wife's very valid criticisms of his behavior. "I said I was sorry Y/N! I will not apologize again. The Jabari are my obligation first and foremost. We can discuss this later in the Golden City when you have calmed down and can see reason."
You scoffed, knowing there would be no later. Tomorrow morning, you were both supposed to head down the mountains for meetings and King T'Challa's birthday party. You saw the jam-packed agenda the Queen planned for the week; there would be little time to breath, let alone have private conversations.
"No! Go by yourself!" Your mind conjuring up the only consequence you could think of.
He immediately shook his head, almost scoffing at your assertion. "Absolutely not. First, your presence is required as chieftess. And second, I am not leaving you here alone for a week."
"It would not be any different than the last month. I will not go down the mountains to smile and put on the show of the happy chieftess when I am everything but happy. You want to be alone? Fine. Enjoy doing your job alone." You turned on your heels to leave him, ignoring the rage painted on his face. However, before you took a step, you whipped back around.
"Oh, I almost forgot. Happy anniversary Lord M’Baku," you stated stiffly, voice void of the love and adoration it usually held for him. You tossed the box at him before you walked out, leaving him alone.
***
You sighed as the masseuse kneaded your tense shoulders and pounded into your back. You preferred M’Baku’s massages… his gentle touches melting away all the tension you housed in your muscles. Usually those massages turned into less medicinal activities, which made you crave them even more. You missed that, especially now, after being deprived of his soft, sensual touches for a month now. But this was a fine alternative for when your stress levels ran too high. The tranquility and meditation was short lived when the shrill sound of your beads, a recent gift from the Wakandan Princess, rang out loudly. You lifted your head to see who was calling before slumping back down angrily.
I should have known who it was.
Three days had passed since your argument in the throne room, three days since you had spoken to your husband. You ignored his 50 calls a day, they were nonstop and incessant. You knew it was not rational to be this angry over one missed dinner but you stood firm in your position. You refused to speak to him unless he was calling to apologize and promise to change his behavior. Any other conversation was useless
The ringing continued, leaving you frustrated. It was over. Whatever relaxation you hoped to get from this would not be achieved with him bothering you. You politely asked the masseuse to finish up. When she was done, you covered yourself in a thick navy blue robe before calling out to Amari, who stood on the other side of the door.
"I think I would like to go to the market to do some shopping. Can you prepare the carriage?" you asked when he poked his head into your bedroom door.
"Are you sure, my lady? There is supposed to be a storm tonight. Lord M'Baku told us to ensure you were safe while you were alone."
You cut your eyes, "My husband does not dictate my movements around my kingdom. This is as much my dominion as his. We will make it back well before the storm. So please, prepare the carriage," you responded coolly.
"Yes, ma’am," he answered, retreating to make preparations.
Less than 20 minutes later, you were off on the winding roads down the mountain for much needed retail therapy. You knew you would find no real comfort or answers in the racks of clothes but it was the only thing to keep your mind off your very real problems at home. But you figured it was a necessary trip either way, you would need new clothes in a few months anyway.
***
"Lord M’Baku, I was sad to hear Lady Y/N was not able to attend," Nakia offered as she and M'Baku shared an embrace at the entrance of the banquet hall.
"W-well yes, she was sad that she could not attend either. However, she was under the weather and we both felt travel was not in her best interest," he lied, fidgeting with the cuff links on his suit. He was not a fan of lying but admitting to his King that he upset his wife so much that she refused to come did not seem like a better option.
"Understood. We are happy one of you was able to make it and perhaps we can all get together soon for dinner. The next time you both can make it down the mountains?" T’Challa offered, as he took Nakia's hand again. M'Baku caught the subtle motion with the corner of his eye and a tinge of sadness blossomed inside as he tried to make it through the night without his partner in crime.
"Y-Yes, that is a great idea. Happy Birthday again, King T'Challa. Will you excuse me?" He saluted his king and queen before finding his seat. He was not in the entertaining mood, nor had he been in the socializing mood any moment since his arrival. He had not really realized how much he relayed on you to survive these hellish events until you weren't there. You made every meeting and event more tolerable, you knew exactly what to say or do, how to charm the right people. His fingers picked at his beads as he contemplated stepping out onto the balcony and calling you. He knew you would likely not answer, like the other 100 times that day. But he needed the silent treatment to end. He missed his wife.
It only took the length of the ride down the mountains for him to see the error of his ways. Your words echoed in his head every night and free moment since the blow up in the throne room. He wasn't listening then, but he heard the words loud and clear now. He had been absent and unavailable. He could see the path littered with broken promises and miscommunication that led you both to this exact moment. It was entirely his fault. He could always count on you, you never missed a beat, never failed to be present for him. And he was unable to be that for you. He spent most of last night brainstorming ways to make it up to you immediately and ideas to balance his schedule to make more time for you in the future.
His desperation to go back home showed through the Jabari King's sulkiness the entire evening, only engaging in conversations directed at him with short responses. His internal debate on whether to call you raged on as he listened to the leader of the mining tribe drone on and on about something uninspiring. He feigned interest in her story until his head guard raced up to him.
"We need to return to the mountains. There has been an accident!" He kept his voice low, as to not attract too much attention, but he failed to limit the frenzy, urgency and fear coloring his words.
Confusion clouded his eyes as he looked up at Dakarai, trying to understand what accident could warrant interrupting an official ball. No one paid the two Jabari any mind as they mingled and danced among themselves. "What kind of accident? Surely the warriors and Lady Y/N can handle it?"
"No! Lady Y/N was in an accident," he stressed. "In her carriage, it hit ice coming up the mountain. She is hurt, the healers are tending to her."
Dakarai was unable to conclude his thought; M'Baku was out of his seat and racing toward T'Challa the nanosecond he heard your name. He resisted the carnal instinct to strangle his guard for wasting precious time and not leading with the critical information first. He caught T'Challa's attention with ease, the King abandoning his conversation immediately at the site of M'Baku's face. M'Baku didn't take a breath as he explained the situation and excused himself from the remainder of the week.
"Take the Royal Talon. Ayo can have you there in under 20 minutes. Ayo," he motioned for the Dora soldier who arrived at his side in seconds. "We are praying for her. Update us when you can."
M'Baku nodded and shared a salute before he marched quickly behind Ayo. They were loaded in the Talon and zooming toward the snow-capped mountains of Jabariland within five minutes. He paced up and down the small ship, praying silently for her health as it zoomed toward home.
***
M'Baku ignored any and everyone he passed as he ran through the Lodge to your private quarters. He threw the heavy double doors of his bedroom to find you in bed, chatting with his private healer. The healer was replacing a bandage on your head gently when M'Baku approached him. You were listening to the healer tell a story about his daughter while patiently staring around the room. You wanted this examination to end so badly, you were exhausted and just wanted to rest.
However, your face lit up when M’Baku walked into the room. You felt bad, the clear anxiety etched in his eyes. You both connected eyes and you offered him a small smile, mainly to reassure him that you were indeed ok. You were in pain, sure, but given the state of the carriage when the guard helped you out, you were just thankful everyone walked away.
“Lord M’Baku, I am glad you were able to get here so quickly. Lady Y/N is going to be fine. No need to worry,” the doctor prefaced quickly, getting the important information out of the way. “The head wound was pretty bad, which caused a bit of panic. But otherwise, all the injuries will heal with time. And the baby is doing just fine as well, Glory to Hanuman. A strong heartbeat.” He turned to address you, “You are certainly lucky, Lady Y/N. The damage could have been significantly worse.”
M’Baku let out a deep sigh of relief, he was so elated to hear that you were indeed alright that he almost missed his last statement. “T-thank you. Th- wait. The baby?” He turned from the doctor to you, waiting for confirmation. If you weren’t so tired, you would have hit yourself in the face for forgetting to tell him not to mention the baby.
“Surprise?” you offered quietly, with a tentative smile on your face.
The healer’s eyes widened and he bowed his head, “A-ah… M-My apologies, Chief M’Baku. Lady Y/N found out last week. I assumed you knew.”
M’Baku smiled politely, mainly to assuage the man’s obvious guilt at spilling his wife’s secret. Of course now, your anger the other night made so much more sense. He, not only missed your anniversary, he ruined what would have been a life-changing surprise. “No need to apologize. S-she had not gotten the chance to tell me. B-but thank you. Could we have some alone time please?”
He bowed to both of you before quickly exiting, leaving the two of you alone.
“You are supposed to be in the Golden City,” you smiled softly, as you pushed yourself up into a seated position.
“Well, the well-being of my queen is my top priority, my only priority. When you are in trouble, I come running.” He walked up to you and pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.
You grimaced silently but held on to him as tightly as you could with one arm in a sling. While you would have loved different circumstances, you hadn’t been in his arms in so long. Your body filled with warmth like he was hot chocolate on a cold day. He shifted and pulled you so you were curled up in his lap, your face buried in the nape of his neck. You stayed like that for a few minutes before he leaned back to look at you. His finger lifted your chin as he examined the bruise growing darker on your cheekbone.
“None of it is that bad,” you promised. “It is my own fault. Amari warned me not to stay out too late, that a storm was heading through. I lost track of time because… I-I didn’t want to come back here and be alone. I missed you,” you whispered, your fingers played in his beard as you spoke. You had every intention of making him sweat originally but now that he was here? You just wanted to be close to him. “I thought we would make it back in time. Thankfully no one was seriously injured. I am sorry, it was reckless of me.”
M’Baku shook his head, “Don’t apologize to me my love, this is all my fault. You were right, I have not been the present or attentive husband you need. I get so wrapped up in the tribe and obsessing over every little detail, I lose sight of the bigger picture. I couldn’t last 2 days without you. I am in love with you and I know I can’t do this job… this life without you. You were right, my head hasn’t been here with you and certainly not enough to start our family. I am just sorry it took so long for me to see that. Can you forgive me?”
Part of you was hesitant to forgive him so quickly. After all, actions did speak louder than words and recognizing your faults did not mean his behavior was going to change. You picked at your nail beds as you responded, “I will always forgive you, my King. I-I j-j-just need to know you are there, you know? I thought about it and I shouldn’t have waited until it built up to say something. If we are upset or disappointed, we are supposed to speak up… talk. And I didn’t do that. I am sorry too.”
Silence fell over you both for a few moments before you spoke up, “This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out by the way. I had this cute onesie and everything. That was the gift I threw at you.”
M’Baku’s loud laugh rang out through the bedroom, “I don’t care how I found out. You have made me the happiest man in the world, Y/N. I swear on my life, that you and our child are my first priority, now and always.”
“I will hold you to that,” you giggled as he peppered your face with soft kisses. He picked you up and carried you to the bathroom. He sat you down and filled the oversized bathtub with your favorite bubble bath and hot water.
“How about this? After the bath, we can pick a movie to watch tonight and a few more for tomorrow?”
You paused as you tried, pathetically, to strip off your clothes with only one arm. He turned and chuckled before helping you. “What do you mean tomorrow? You still have meetings in the Golden City?”
“No I do not. T’Challa will understand. I am all yours. I told you, you are my priority.”
“I like the sound of that.” M’Baku helped you into the tub and slid in behind you. You laid against his hard chest, your eyes lulling closed as his finger traced patterns into your stomach. His lips placed soft kisses on your neck.
“I love you… more than anything,” he said quietly.
“I love you more.”
Tags: @muse-of-mbaku @jellybean531 @destinio1 @skysynclair19 @ashanti-notthesinger @gloriousgam3r @archivistofwakanda @leahnicole1219 @mygirlrenee @dramaqueeenamby
#black panther#Black Writers#black panther fanfiction#black panther imagines#m'baku x reader#m'baku imagine#m'baku x oc
145 notes
·
View notes
Note
What would your Superman film franchise be like? Does Jon by the last film, or earlier? What is your blue print be for it? Also, I want all the details.
Every fanboy's arrogant enough to think they could do a better job making a movie about their favorite franchise than the people who have actually been given the gig. I'm no different in that regard, although I'm at least self-aware enough to recognize it as hubris. You asked for it anyway, so here's what I would do (with caveats).
Caveats being that the mandate at WB for their DC films currently is that they need to get their budgets under control. Snyder blowing through massive loads of cash to rather unimpressive returns caused no small amount of consternation among the higher-ups I understand. Likely that a budget bigger than Shazam's would not get approved now, nor would it get approved under Zaslov. WB's new boss has a reputation for being unlikely to approve outlandish budgets on anything that isn't guaranteed to print money, something Superman films haven't guaranteed since Superman II sadly.
Superman: Champion of the Oppressed
Keeping all that in mind, I would want to start small with a weaker Superman up against localized threats to Metropolis anyway. Many of my preferences would work well with a lower budget. Superman would be in Year 2 of his career, Clark working for the Daily Star as a way to build up his journalism credentials. Kents are dead and buried, he's living in Metropolis with Jimmy Olsen as his roommate and dating Lana Lang, who recently moved to Metropolis after seeing him on the news, and the two rekindled their old romance. Lois is a friend of Jimmy and rival of Clark, Jimmy works for the two of them as a photojournalist and neither is happy sharing him with the other.
Powers-wise he can't fly, heat vision sets things on fire but it can't obliterate anything equal to or stronger than concrete, his invulnerability stops bullets from piercing his skin but they still leave nasty bruises, he can go faster than sound if he builds momentum, and strength-wise he's Spider-Man tier. Short version is we're going with the Golden Age/early New 52 power set where he can kick the ass of almost anything one on one, but in large enough groups he can be subdued.
Villain for the movie is going to be Metallo with General Sam Lane as the secondary antagonist. Love Lex and normally I enjoy him being involved in creating Metallo, but I'm tired of Lex and Zod being the only villains we get on film. I'd use Lex as a background threat that grows over the course of the trilogy, but he would never be the main villain. So here he helps create Metallo and he tortures Superman after Supes gets captured by Metallo, but he's not the main bad guy, just a high-profile underling for General Sam Lane who is the true big bad. Metallo would be a sympathetic villain, someone who genuinely believes Superman is a threat because of how Superman runs roughshod over the law to pursue his own brand of justice.
Cast:
Clark Kent/Kal-El/Superman
Lana Lang
Lois Lane
Jimmy Olsen
John Henry Irons
Captain Maggie Sawyer
George Taylor
General Sam Lane
Major Lucy Lane
Major John Corben/Metallo
Lex Luthor
Plot:
Act I - We're introduced to this incarnation of Superman dangling an elite with ties to Intergang over the side of a building. After demonstrating how his powers have increased by overcoming the efforts of Captain Maggie Sawyer and her SCU to capture him for assault, Superman gives them the slip. Monitoring the action via satellites and security cameras are General Sam Lane, Major Lucy Lane, John Henry Irons, and Lex Luthor. Sam, Lucy, and Lex agree that more extreme measures to capture Superman are necessary and decide to put Project: Metal-0 to the test against Superman over the objections of John Henry Irons. Superman changes back into Clark and reunites with Lana where the two argue over the effectiveness of Superman's aggressive approach to cleaning up Metropolis. The next morning Clark turns in an article about the SCU's attempt to arrest Superman to his editor George Taylor at the Daily Star, who reminds Clark that Clark told Taylor he would crack the Intergang story months ago. Clark meets up with his best friend Jimmy Olsen who works as a freelance photojournalist for various Metropolis news media, and his chief rival over at the Daily Planet Lois Lane. Clark and Lois have been competing over the Intergang story, but neither have been able to crack the story solo. Deciding to work together, the two share what they know with each other, and both want Jimmy along to help collect evidence. The trio agree to follow up a lead that Intergang is going to attempt to rob a train tomorrow. Lois drags Jimmy to the train site the next day early, hoping to outscoop Clark because she's still sore he got the first interview with Superman before she did. Lois and Jimmy shadow an Intergang agent and catch him attempting to plant explosives on a train. Superman shows up, Clark having followed the two in secret, and subdues the agent but discovers that the agent is just a decoy. The train has actually been hacked to switch onto an unfinished rail line and crash into a building, causing Superman to push himself to his limits and stop the crash. Superman manages to stop the crash but is weakened by the effort, when Metallo shows up. Equipped with a nanosuit that makes him Superman's physical equal and comes with counters to Superman's powers, Metallo kicks the crap out of Superman. Afterwards Superman is taken into custody along with Lois and Jimmy.
Act II - Lex Luthor tortures Superman in an effort to find out the limits of his powers and to find any weakness. Irons quits in a fury over this, and Sawyer threatens to arrest Lex next if he doesn't stop with Lex rudely dismissing both. Sam and Lucy interrogate Lois and Jimmy about what they know regarding Superman, and try to intimidate them into staying silent over what they saw. Superman is able to recover his strength enough to use his heat vision and fry the equipment holding him, which also overloads the base's power and security mechanisms. Lois and Jimmy escape their cells where they're given information linking the military and Intergang by Irons. Apparently the military has been supporting Intergang's activities in an effort to use them to study Superman, and has files on all the major leaders of Intergang as blackmail material to force compliance. Intergang was directed to sabotage the train by Lex in order to put Superman at a disadvantage against Metallo. Superman breaks free, rescues Lois and Jimmy, and also recovers the rocket he landed on Earth in, which was also being held in the same military base. Metallo attempts to stop Superman, but Irons activates safeguards he built into the suit which immobilize Metallo, and allow Superman and company to escape. Irons destroys his research and then flees on his own, resolving to earn redemption for helping Sam, Lex, and Lucy. After dropping Lois and Jimmy off at Metropolis, Clark seeks out Lana and the two of them take the rocket to the North Pole where it creates the Fortress of Solitude. Clark gets a suit and learns about his origins, which also prompts a continuation of the old argument between him and Lana over his actions as Superman. Lana tells Clark that she doesn't think she can follow him down the path he wants to go, and Clark tells her that he can't ignore the responsibility he feels to help others in need. Clark takes Lana back to their apartment and then leaves to find Lois and Jimmy. Meanwhile Lois attempts to publish the information Irons gave her regarding Intergang, which is intercepted by her father, who rearrests Lois and Jimmy.
Act III - Lex disables the safeguards for the Metallo suit to allow Metallo total control in order to kill Superman. However the suit was based in part on other alien technology, and Corben's mind begins to be altered without the safeguards to protect him. Metallo advocates using Lois and Jimmy as bait to draw Superman out, with Lex and Sam approving and Lucy being against. Lex builds a signal that only Superman can hear, telling him to come to a location if he wants to find his friends. Irons, wearing a version of the Steel suit he designed for the military, intercepts Superman and the two agree to cooperate against Metallo with Superman telling Irons his secret identity as a way to show trust. The two face off against Metallo who grows more and more unhinged throughout the fight, ranting about a voice in his head who is taking control. Metallo goes totally berserk and heads towards the center of Metropolis, attempting to attack citizens there. Superman and Steel rotate between protecting civilians and battling Metallo, with the final moments of the fight coming down to Superman ripping Corben out of the suit only to reveal that Corben has been transformed by the suit's nanotech into a cyborg with much of his body in the process of being reconstructed by alien technology. Metallo gives Superman an ominous warning that he's not the only alien out there, and then slips into a coma. Superman, Irons, and Sam Lane cut a deal where the government agrees to give Superman some degree of latitude in return for Superman restraining himself somewhat, Irons gets a pardon for his actions rather than being arrested, and Superman promises to not go public with what he's learned regarding the government's connection to Intergang. Lois made no such promises however and does publish the information, causing her father to be recalled to Washington D.C. to face Congress, and multiple high-ranking Intergang officials to be arrested. Clark publishes an interview with Irons where Irons blows the whistle on various unethical actions that happened during the hunt for Superman, causing Lex to be fired for his use of torture and disabling the Metallo safeguards. Lex decides to be his own boss from now on, and creates Lexcorp. The Daily Star dissolves due to inability to pay bills, Lana breaks up with Clark, but Clark has a "date" with Lois where she offers him a job at the Daily Planet.
Post-Credits Tease: Metallo is in stasis while scientists work to understand what's happening to him. He hears the voice in his head again, introducing itself as Brainiac. Brainiac wants to know how Metallo came to be bonded with his technology... and everything Metallo knows about the one called "Superman".
That would be the first movie, pretty low level compared to Man of Steel ending with Metropolis in ashes. It's just a basic skeleton of a plot, I'm under no illusions it would win any Oscars. If you guys enjoyed this I can post the other two follow ups, Last Son of Krypton and Man of Tomorrow.
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Family Reunion Part 7. The Child
{Masterlist}
Notes: I screwed up the timeline of Star Wars because I didn’t think about it so, sorry.
Ps. I stan big-brother Therapist Opress
Warnings: Swearing, reader is a panicky mess for a little bit, some suggestive language
Words: 3246
Taglist: @and-claudia // @tararuthven // @ravenclawlegacy // @noiralei // @pinkiemme // @darthsmol
<- Previous
………………………………….
Forever
Forever indeed. It felt like Maul had been gone for forever. You hadn’t seen him in two months and they were some of the most excruciating months you’d ever lived through. What made it worse were the few and far between calls late at night that only made your aching for your unofficial husband grow. You were legitimately becoming concerned for as the time stretched on without contact, you began to feel sicker. Was it possible to get sick from missing someone? Is that what people meant when they described someone as ‘lovesick’?
“Y/n, are you sure you are alright?” Ki-Adi’s voice shook you to the core as you were forced to refocus on the fact that you were currently in the middle of a duel with him. Your master had lowered his saber, one hand held up to stop you from pressing your advantage while he questioned you.
“I’m fine, Master.” The reply was immediate and spoken without thought. You knew you were just being dramatic and that your life had to go on when Maul wasn’t around. You were to become a Jedi. He was a Sith Lord. Divergence from each other was what founded your relationship and when that manifested in not seeing each other for months, you had to learn to deal with it. The whole ‘feeling sick because my husband isn’t here to hold me’ thing was getting old fast.
Your husband....gods, those words didn’t seem real. Legally binding or not, the fact of the matter was that you had married Maul in total secrecy two months ago. You could remember the moment he claimed you as his wife so clearly that on the most lonely nights it seemed to become the only thing that was real and untainted by hypocrisy, hubris, and politics. The knowledge that you were the only one who would ever know the feel of Maul’s hands on your hips, or the gentle nudge of his nose against your own as he pressed his lips to yours, or even how solid he felt when buried in-
You internally shook your head. Yes, the knowledge that you were the only one that would ever know how any of that felt was...intoxicating. And you were selfish. Maul’s love was a drug and you were the only one that had access to it.
“Are you sure? You seem very distracted.” Ki-Adi continued, blocking the strike you levied at his side.
“I’m. Fine.” You seethed, frustrated at your mind for wandering and at your body for how poorly you were fighting.
Ki-Adi sheathed his saber and raised an eyebrow at you, hands finding a place clasped behind his back. He was disappointed. You sighed and sheathed your green saber as well, already preparing for the inevitable lecture. “I do not believe you, Y/n. You haven’t been acting like yourself since we returned from negotiations on Toydaria.” Ki-Adi stepped forward to grasp your shoulder, communicating his concern more clearly than his perpetually calm voice would allow. “Did something happen?”
You shifted on your feet, knowing you would have to lie. There was no way you could tell him that you were lovesick but you could explain the physical symptoms your predicament had manifested. “No, master, nothing happened. Just...I don’t know how to explain it.” You carded a hand through your hair briefly. “For the past few weeks, I haven’t felt...like myself?” You tried, looking into your master’s calm face.
Ki-Adi’s brows furrowed. There was no condemnation in his eyes, only curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“I mean...I can’t remember the last time I got a good night’s worth of rest. For some reason, certain smells have been bothering me lately, I’m so tired all the time-yesterday I passed out in the library and Madame Jocasta had to walk me to my room because I couldn’t walk more than a few steps without feeling nauseous.” You let out an angry huff directed at the strange reactions your body was having to the absence of Maul. “But, every time I’ve considered going to the healers to see what is going on, the symptoms vanish.”
Ki-Adi was quiet for a moment as he digested the revelation. “Do you know what might be causing these reactions?” He eventually asked, taking a seat in the middle of the mat you had been fighting on. You followed his lead, sticking your chin in one hand and propping your elbow on your bended knee while your free hand toyed with a rogue string on your robe. You shook your head, eyes boring into the ground. “Are you, perhaps, nervous for the Trials?”
You shook your head again, straightening up. “No, I mean...I am just a bit nervous but I know that these reactions aren’t originating from that. I was more nervous about making my second lightsaber and this never happened.” Your stomach gave an almighty lurch all of a sudden which caused you to clasp your hand over your mouth, the other shooting to your stomach. But, just as quickly as it had come upon you, the sensation vanished leaving you and your perplexed master. You groaned in frustration, almost wishing you would just vomit so that whatever was going on would cease. Ki-Adi sent you a sympathetic frown, helping you to your feet. “If I may forgo discretion, master?” He hummed to tell you it was alright. “I spoke with Luminara Unduli and she posited that it could just be an intense bout of pms. Which would make sense…” Because I’m late…Like,...two months late. And with that realization, a whole new plethora of issues became very likely possibilities. No, no...we...Maul and I aren’t even the same species. That can’t happen...or can it? Zabraks are classified as Near-human. In theory, we could...no, no.
“Hmm, this is troubling. May I suggest that you go to the healers, Padawan? Even if Master Unduli is correct, I think it would be wise to receive confirmation.” Ki-Adi, ever tranquil in his approach, thankfully rescued you from the spiraling panic now coiling in your chest. “Come, I will escort you there.”
…………………………………….
“Y/n?” Savage’s rumbling baritone voice pulled you back to reality and you suddenly realized that you had been zoned out for a very long time. When had you started deep cleaning the ship? Looking away from the floor of the cockpit you had started diligently scrubbing, you met the towering zabrak’s questioning gaze as he leaned against the doorway. “Are you alright? You’ve been cleaning incessantly since you woke up.”
Briefly letting your eyes flicker over the various cleaning supplies strewn around you, you shrugged, mouth feeling dry. “I...I guess.” With a little more focus, you returned to scrubbing, eager for some distraction. “I’ve just...been lost in thought, I guess.”
“I noticed.” Savage stated bluntly whilst crossing his arms. “I’m worried about you, sister.” You paused at his words, momentarily closing your eyes as you collected yourself. You could hear him approaching, long strides echoing around the small area as he neared until he crouched next to you and gently worked the rag out of your hands. “You have not been yourself for the past few days.” Your eyes snapped open and slid to the side to meet Savage’s gaze. His brow was worked into a frown and one of his large hands was hesitantly reaching out, as though he was unsure if he was allowed to console through touch.
Opting to let him in, you reached out and grabbed his hand. “I’m afraid seeing Maul in this state has...drained me. I just needed a reprieve and I guess shutting down was the way I went about achieving that.” As you spoke, you let your thumbs dig into his palm while you used him as an anchor. “And,” glancing around Savage to see into the makeshift sleeping area the three of you had set up, you took note of how Wild was still completely passed out which made it safe to make your confession, “and it isn’t helped by the lying on my end. I want to tell Wild the truth, but I’m terrified of how he’ll react. He’s lived his whole life believing his father to be dead. What will he do when he finds out that he’s not and that he was, in fact, a Sith Lord? I don’t want him to go into shock over it but how the hell am I supposed to adjust him to the idea organically?” You muttered more to yourself than to Savage who was still patiently crouched next to you, happily lending an ear.
Savage’s breathing was the only thing you could hear, low and steady like the breath of a mythical beast. It was soothing to hear something other than your own panicked thoughts. “I wish I knew how to help you, Y/n. I care for Wild and I care for you too. The three of you are the only kin I have left.” He sighed and finally took a seat beside you, still allowing you to toy with his hand.
“I hadn’t thought about that...how are you holding up?” You tried carefully, releasing Savage’s hand when he gently tugged it away from you.
“Not well, if I am to be completely honest. Though-I have the benefit of not remembering what Maul used to be like.” Savage’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper.
Not entirely sure where to go from here, you opted to voice the most pressing anxiety that plagued you without ceasing. “Do you really think Mother Talzin will be able to help him?”
“Help him? No. Bring back Darth Maul? Yes.”
……………………………………..
“Padawan L/n, these results are...most concerning.” The words falling from the Mirialan healer are...disconcerting which causes you to sit up, propping yourself on your elbows as you rise from the bed to watch her movements.
“Why?” You ask, sitting up a little further as your panic makes a resurgence. “What’s wrong? What do they say?” She didn’t reply nor did she turn to look at you as she raised a hand and flicked her fingers in unison to beckon you over. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and walked over to the screen that was displaying the results of the full-body scan she had run to pinpoint the epicenter of your troubles. The particular area of interest was a position that was decidedly not your stomach like you thought it would be. Oh no. “W-...what does that mean?” You asked, trembling. Your throat was swiftly closing up as you continued to stare at the red circle that blinked placidly above your uterus.
“Y/n, you know what it means. Coupling the scan with your other symptoms, I think the issue is impossible to deny or misinterpret.” The Mirialan was bristling as she spoke, the sympathy draining from her voice with every word till it was sucked dry of any humanity. “I must inform the council immediately.”
Inform the...shit. Whirling around faster than you thought humanly possible and leaping over the bed, you practically tackled the healer to keep her from leaving the room. “Dariada, listen to me. I don’t know how this happened.” You attempted to explain, hands grasping her left forearm in a vice.
She made a noise of utter indignation that echoed in your head. “You don’t-how could you not know?! You slept with a man, Padawan L/n, that’s how this happened. You broke the code! They’ll expel you from the order for this!” She was livid.
“They could if I had broken the code! But I didn’t! I didn’t sleep with anyone!” Liar. Liar. This baby’s mother is a liar. Maul, fuck, where are you? One hand shot to your front, gently laying over where your womb was. “There was no one. I swear.”
“That doesn’t happen, Y/n. You had to have slept with someone.” Dariada shot back, hood dangerously close to flying off. Her vibrant green skin was a shade darker from the blood rushing to it in her anger. You had never liked Dariada, she was always far too self-righteous, but you liked her even less now. With what could only be described as a snarl, she wrenched her arm free and grabbed both of your wrists in an iron grip, already marching her way out of the hall and dragging you along with her. She held true to her word and informed the council of the...situation.
Soon you were standing in the middle of the council members, begging for them to believe you that there had been no one. The lie felt like poison on your tongue, it seeped into your own system just as it flew at the council members. Plo Koon was the first to believe you. “I can sense much fear in you, padawan. Why?” The Kel Dor had asked amidst your muffled sobs. There was no hint of condemnation in his modulated voice, but, instead, compassion and empathy.
“With all due respect, Master Plo, I just found out that I’m pregnant and I can’t even explain how it happened. I am not ashamed to admit I am terrified of what is to become of my baby.” You turned towards him, hiccuping and blubbering throughout your confession.
“Only your baby?” Plo Koon asked, raising the ridge where his eyebrow would be. You were painfully aware of the gazes of each individual master on you. Ki-Adi’s was the heaviest of them all.
With a swallow, you attempted to calm your nerves. Maul could help you. Maul would help you. You just had to get in touch with him. But what would his master do to him, to your baby? The tears began anew. “Only my baby. I can be expelled from the order and find a way to survive but what of them?” No answer was needed for your question. The implications were clear.
“Padawan, approach.” Master Yoda’s voice called to you as he beckoned you closer with his three-fingered hand. His expression was unreadable. You did as he commanded and the old master closed his eyes and held his hand out in front of him when you were little more than a foot away from him. “A child of the Force, the babe is. Clouded is their future.” The grandmaster sighed heavily, letting his head and hand fall in time. “Expel her, we cannot. Powerful will the child be. We must not let either of them fall to the dark side.” Murmurs fell from the masters, sneaking past you as they slipped from loose lips.
“But is she telling the truth, Master Yoda?” Master Tinn was the one to voice the question on all of their minds.
“She has to be, Master Tinn.” It was Ki-Adi who spoke in your defense. “Dariada said that she was approaching nine weeks, in that time, the only instances where Y/n has left my sight was when she was in the temple. Y/n is predisposed to the light side and has never broken the code before, to assume that she would to this extent is unwise and unfair to my padawan.” You sent Ki-Adi a grateful smile as he rose from his chair and approached to stand beside you in front of his fellow masters.
“What are you suggesting we do then, Master Mundi?” Mace Windu asked from your right.
“Put Y/n’s training on hold and postpone the trials. We will keep her in the temple to watch over her and when the baby comes, I think it would be wise to look into training them.” Ki-Adi offered swiftly to muttered agreements.
With a tap of his staff, Yoda called the room to him. “A wise decision that is, Master Mundi. Watch her closely, you must. Now,” He focused on you, eyes penetrating your defenses till his gaze seared into you, “fetch Master Qui-Gon Jinn, young padawan, know something of this occurrence, he might.” You dipped your head to bid the council farewell before skirting away from them. As you fled the meeting area, one thought remained. Where are you, Maul?
…………………………………………………
Maul was being a nuisance. You had gone into the cargo hold in search of more ration bars and thought that he had still been asleep. You were correct, he was still in the same place you had left him last night. Or he had been until Savage came stomping in after you and woke him up. Now, he was acting like a feral tooka; hissing and spitting at Savage while you, once again, trapped behind him. Savage had backed off with his hands up to show surrender but Maul hadn’t relented and you were rather fed up with it. “Savage, go get me a damp cloth, I’ll try to calm him down.” You ordered whilst nodding your head to Maul. Savage was eager to help calm his brother and so, swiftly backed out.
Meanwhile, you worked to soothe Maul once more, delicately coaxing him to lay down with his torso across your lap. Gentle purrs rumbled in his chest while you worked your hand into the perpetually tense muscles in his back. Savage entered once more, quietly this time, and handed the cloth he had gotten to you. You used the rag to dab at the junctures of Maul’s body. You hoped the motion would be soothing. His fever had broken sometime during the night but you were still trying to ensure he was kept comfortable for the remainder of the journey.
Before the silence could persist for much longer, Savage broke it as he leaned on some stacked crates across from you. “Did Wild mention the tattoos to you?”
Looking away from Maul and to the door to the hold, you made sure the three of you were alone. “Yes, he told me he had been talking to you about Dathomir and the Nightbrothers.” You brought your gaze back to Savage who seemed a little hesitant to continue talking.
“Did...did he tell you why?” You shook your head. Savage sighed heavily and slid down to be seated. “I’m afraid Wild suspects we are hiding something from him.”
“I knew he’d start to.” You muttered under your breath, subconsciously gripping the cloth tighter. “Did he say anything?”
Savage shook his head, “No, but he was asking a lot of questions regarding Maul. I answered as many as I could.”
“Wild’s always been perceptive, I knew we couldn’t hide this forever. But, did he tell you why he wanted more? He told me you had offered to help him.”
The yellow zabrak groaned, pulling one knee up to use as an armrest as he averted his gaze to Maul who had taken to playing with your free hand. “All he said was that he could feel something coming, something monumental.”
Your brows furrowed. That was...news. Why hadn’t he talked to you about this? Probably because you’ve been keeping secrets from him, you lying piece of-
The door suddenly slid open to reveal the boy of the hour. His...cold saffron eyes zeroed in on Maul before flicking away to Savage and then yourself. His face was stiff. “We’re approaching Dathomir, I took the liberty of starting landing procedures.” His voice was clipped and serious, more than it normally was. With one last glare at Maul, he turned and stalked towards the cockpit.
<- Previous | Next ->
130 notes
·
View notes
Note
*Stares At The “Fake Kill Scare” Prompt In The Bad Things Happen Bingo Intensely*
"Virgil? What are you doing?" Janus lifted an arm up slightly as he realized his husband had slipped his head under it.
"Snooping," Virgil said with a grin and a laugh.
"Now now Virgil, its rude to spy when I'm planning such a nice surprise for you," Janus said, tsking slightly.
"You're no fun," Virgil groaned as Janus shepherded him out the door.
"I'll let you know when it's ready darling, now go relax with the others alright?" Janus said softly.
"Fiiinnnneee," Virgil said, pouting as he left.
It was many hours until he heard from Janus again, but the blood-curdling scream that had uttered from his room certainly wasnt the summons Virgil had expected.
Living in a household of witches wasnt exactly easy, but this, this was an entirely different situation.
Virgil had raced as fast as his legs could carry him up the stairs, flung open the door to Janus' room.
And found Janus still and stiff as a board, sprawled across the floor, a gouge in his chest, and blood trailing from his mouth.
"JANUS!" Virgil's cry echoed throughout the household, soon enough he was joined by the four remaining magic users. He felt Patton attempt to hold him back, Virgil shrugged him off and rushed to Janus' side, eyes and fingers tracing over each wound and each drop of blood to be sure they were real, to be sure this wasnt a trick of the light, after all, he didnt want to get his hopes up about a happy ending for once in his life.
"No. . ." Virgil whispered the word, almost breathlessly.
It hung in the air for a few moments, and then Virgil heard the melodic ticking of a music box. He looked up to Janus' work desk, there, shining in the light, was an ornate music-necklace. There were two translucent figures dancing at the front of it, almost ghost-like, one a tall and suave looking humanoid, with a black suit and yellow undershirt, and the other a smaller elven figure dressed in lilac purple dance clothing, Virgil's hand traced over his pointed ears as he felt tears running down his cheeks.
He took a few careful steps toward the table.
Then a few more.
Then his hands found the clasps of the necklace, and the back of his neck.
It had been three years.
Virgil didnt talk.
Virgil didnt sing.
Virgil didnt dance, nor measure the beat of a song with methodical tapping of his feet or clapping of his hands.
Virgil merely lay in his room, eyes trained on the ceiling, twisting a key in a necklace that contained long buried memories.
He wasnt even sure why the taller figure made him cry anymore.
Wasnt sure why the hissing of snakes made him sick to the stomach.
He wasnt sure of anything anymore.
One week.
Two weeks.
Three weeks.
"Darling?" A soft voice echoed from Virgil's room, Virgil felt himself seize up.
"Oh my goodness, darling, look how thin you've gotten! Surely you havent punished yourself for my own hubris?" Virgil felt tears stream down his cheek as a very solid and very real hand made it's way across his figure.
"Janus. . ." Virgil lept up from his position on the bed and grasped tightly at the back of Janus' clothes, almost as if he were afraid that Janus would fade into nothing if he didnt hold on.
"I'm alright my love, I'm alright," Janus whispered softly.
"Who did this. . ." Virgil muttered.
"Someone who's long gone now, all that matters is that Remus brought me back, and I can hold you close to me again, I love you, my darling," Janus said, rubbing circles between Virgil's shoulderblades.
"I love you more than words can say," Virgil whispered, sinking into the feeling of bliss that was creeping it's way into his chest.
----------------------------------------------
Tag list:
@nova-xx
@softestpatton
@meowthefluffy
@a-deceit-salad
@nerosdayinhell
@soupforfree
@willowaudreykeyes
@frawkeye
@the-sad-strawberry
@sneaky-slytherin
@private-snippers
#cori answers#ts virgil#ts sides#ts janus#ts patton#ts remus#anxceit#romantic anxceit#tw blood#tw murder#tw major character death#tw death
35 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
xzc-uxui
XZC.UXFTMAR2021
thenerdyindividual
Nerdverse