#anyways. might subject everyone to excerpts. we will see. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

limitlessgojo · 3 years

Text

Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 12)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: Kyoto-Tokyo Goodwill Event

Next Chapter: Home Sweet Home

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife @lordguameow @track5enthusiast

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty <3

2.8k words for this chapter.

Chapter 12: Goldenrod

You went to check on Noritoshi getting cleaned up in the infirmary. He perked up upon seeing you.

"Ieiri San!" You smiled at the woman who was dressing his wounds.

"Y/n, it's been a while. How are you?" She called out.

"Doing okay here. You let your hair grow out!" You hurried to her side for a quick hug.

She laughed. "The last time we saw each other, I still had short hair?? That must have been years back. You as well, from a little girl that came up to my waist, you're nearly my height now!"

You nodded wistfully at her before turning to Noritoshi, looking over his wounds. "I'm alright, y/n." He said quietly. You gave him a shaky smile, quietly hiding the fact that you were worried when he got knocked around by some of the seniors.

Ieiri smiled at the both of you. "No need to worry, he is fine y/n."

"Ayiieeee, lovebirds get a room!" Satoru popped up from behind you. You flinched hard and on pure instinct, lashed out with your whip. It sprung out, but Satoru easily stopped it with two fingers up. "Women in love are so scary."

"Toru nii, can you not?!" You wanted to skin this man alive. Ieiri just sighed out, cleaning up her tools. "I've done what I can Kamo kun. Try to get more rest for tomorrow." He nodded, "Thank you Ieiri san."

"Wahhh, you got kicked around huh Noritoshi? You look all worn out. Ain't my students amazing?!" Satoru taunted.

CRACK. Satoru teleported a few meters away. The space where he was a few seconds ago was filled with ice and frost.

Your face was hard as stone as you said, "Noritoshi did amazing. He did his best to coordinate with his team members as he fought against 2 of his seniors. Okkotsu kun was just different as a Special Class. But of course you know all about that, Toru."

"Why so defensive Neko Chan? I didn't say your man didn't do well right?" He drawled.

You opened your mouth, eyes furrowed, ready to retort when Noritoshi pulled you to him, gently hushing you as he softly patted your back. "He's riling you up. It's okay, I've learned a lot from today. It's our loss."

You leaned into Noritoshi, "You're too nice to that dumbass."

"Hey! Anyways, I wanted to speak with the both of you. If you're done here let's go." Satoru motioned towards the door with his head.

Both of you turned to him, before looking at each other and nodding.

◇◇◇

Satoru led you both to his room. "So, how long has your soulmate bond been active?" He asked as he closed the door.

Noritoshi was surprised, "How did you know about this?"

You nudged him. "He's my family friend, he eventually found out." You lied for the sake of protecting the details of Satoru's six eyes ability.

Satoru removed his blindfold, revealing his crystalline like eyes. "Yup, don't worry your secret is safe with me. I'm surprised but not too surprised that it's the two of you." He sighed out.

You crossed your arms and sat on his bed. "What do you mean?" Noritoshi remained standing.

"Both of you are just so different. And I've known you both since before. I guess it just never crossed my mind that you'd be together.

A soulmate bond is incredibly rare and fragile as you know. And I guess it only fits since both of you are more complementary to each other rather than have similar personalities like twin flames.

I have the soulmate records of some from the Gojo clan if that would help. But Noritoshi, sorry I have to ask you not to share it with your family." He said.

Ahh. The Great 3 clans still hold their secrets. You turned to Noritoshi, worriedly looking for his reaction.

He had this internal war of obedience to his clan elders vs seeing you so close to Satoru and seeing another side of the Gojo and Tsuchimikado clans like this.

"Toshi, if you can't, it's okay, we don't need to read it." You said carefully. "I know how hard it is to keep secrets from family."

Noritoshi mulled it over. Satoru was actually sizing him up. Seeing his family friend get entangled with a great 3 clan's future head… he would be lying if he wasn't worried for you.

“I’m assuming that there might be some details or secrets of the Gojo clan involved in the diary entries, which is why you’re being wary of me. But you have offered to let me read it, which already shows a bit of trust. As a future clan head, I know the significance of keeping good relationships with the other clans and elders. And so, I promise not to tell anyone else of the details in the diary.” Nori said solemnly.

Satoru perked up at that and smiled, “There shouldn’t be a problem then. Here, you both can have a look. Return it to me tomorrow afternoon. I hope it can help with your situation. It must be scary not knowing anyone else to turn to for help with the bond.”

You felt touched by that, “Thank you Satoru.”

◇◇◇

That night, you slept over once more in Noritoshi’s room, reading the excerpts.

"A soulbond can be rejected?!" You both stared at the notebook in horror.

"That must be so painful… imagine shutting down your fated pair." You murmured, turning to Noritoshi.

He patted you and nodded. "Hey look at this." He pointed to another passage.

“Wow, they can really telepathically communicate with complete sentences, that’s insane.” You said in awe.

Noritoshi cozied up to your side, playfully nudging his head against yours. “You want that for us too someday angel?”

You turned and bumped your nose against his before kissing him. “Of course, I want to experience everything with you Noritoshi.”

Noritoshi’s heart skipped a beat or two at that. His pulse was irregular for once. What on earth was that feeling? He confusedly looked down at his chest and patted it. He checked his vitals with his technique, but everything was in order.

You worried over him, “Are you not feeling okay? You got hit in the chest earlier right? We can call it a night and rest, you need sleep for tomorrow’s individual battles.”

“Okay then. Let’s quickly skim the diary.” You both caught a few important details, like how strong trust and honesty can strengthen a soulbond.

After spending time with each other and having significant encounters (“What on earth does that mean?” Nori asked. “Maybe like notable events with each other” you supplied.) helps a couple to move forward from one stage of the bond to another.

Something caught Noritoshi's eye. Reverse cursed techniques and some other advanced techniques that usually can only be done on oneself can be applied to the other soulmate.

That made him wonder… if he could manipulate your blood. But he put that thought aside for next time, unwilling for you to be a subject of experiment.

After that you both went to bed. "I'm gonna have such a hard time sleeping alone after spending so much time in bed with you." You whined out.

He chuckled, "Then just stay over as often as you want to. I like sharing the bed with you. It's not like it's cramped for the both of us." He pressed his lips to your forehead as you kissed him on the neck.

His heart squeezed tightly once more. What was wrong with him?! He was used to having it speed up whenever he was around you and attributed it to regular attraction. But this was different. His chest was tight, almost painful, and it was getting harder to breathe.

"Okay then. No take backs." You smiled, before closing your eyes. Noritoshi watched the moonlight illuminate your features for a bit before falling asleep.

◇◇◇

The next day, the lots were out. They announced that it would be a duel between 2 students on top of thick, tall, vertical standing logs set in a small lake. First one to push the other off the logs and into the water or out of bounds wins. Momo senpai has a huge advantage with no handicap at this.

To your slight horror, Okkotsu Yuuta was matched against Noritoshi. You visibly paled, but he went up and squeezed your hand before he left for the event. “I’ll be okay.” He promised.

“Oh you will be okay. I’ll make sure of it.” You said determinedly, already planning to step in just in case Rika goes wild on Noritoshi. Your thoughts were cut as Nori poked your forehead.

“I can hear your thoughts. Have a little more faith in me.” He gave a small smile. You nodded dumbly.

You watched the matches. None of them were particularly eye-opening. Until it was time for Okkotsu to fight Noritoshi. You clasped your hands together in prayer, eyes and senses wide open.

“Ready, Start!” Satoru called out.

Noritoshi immediately fired arrows, which honed on Okkotsu even though he tried to dodge. Good technique. Okkotsu had some trouble keeping up with the arrows and Noritoshi quickly moved in to punch him hard.

But Okkotsu was quick on his feet, leaping back diagonally onto another log before slashing at Noritoshi with his Katana. It went on a bit like this. With both men trading blows back and forth. They had decent balance on top of the logs.

Until Noritoshi made a major move, “Blood Manipulation: Slicing Exorcism!” He cut down a huge number of logs in Okkotsu’s area.

Okkotsu barely held on, jumping to another log that was borderline about to collapse. The water was now dangerously filled with the sharp edges of cut wood.

Your eyes brightened, ‘Please win Toshi.’

Noritoshi moved in for the kill, “Red Flowing Scale”, the X mark appeared on his eye as he readied to knock Okkotsu off. Until the dark mass that had been hanging around Okkotsu screamed, making everyone wince. “Yuuutaaa! You’ll get hurt if you fall down now!”

Satoru had explained that Orimoto Rika was the Special Grade curse with overwhelming power. Rika made a half-manifestation, easily smacking Noritoshi away. But she hit him too hard on the head, sending him flying way past the little lake set up.

Everyone gasped and yelled in horror. You saw red.

He was going to hit the ground hard. You stood up, slowing down his body in midair as you blasted your way over to him. You caught him in time.

"Angel?" He looked up to see you, and his heart tightened again. Ah... this might be love.

"Shhh, it's alright Toshi. You've done really well. Don’t speak," You worriedly activated your Reverse Cursed Technique as you floated down to the ground, hugging Noritoshi tighter.

“Thank you for catching me.” He patted your arm weakly. Blood was streaming down his temples. Not a good sign. “Ieiri san!” You cried out, but she was already making her way towards the both of you.

“Winner! Okkotsu Yuuta!”

Your blood boiled, but you knew it was still Okkotsu’s win. ‘He didn’t have to be that harsh on Noritoshi.’ “Age doesn’t matter to Jujutsu sorcerers darling.” Noritoshi coughed out as though he could read your mind. “I said not to talk!” You worriedly scolded him.

Ieiri quickly activated her reverse cursed technique alongside yours. Hers was incredibly refined, easily sealing up Noritoshi’s popped blood vessels. “Infirmary.” She said, putting a brace around his neck just in case of any spinal injuries.

“I’m so sorry, Rika went overboard!” Okkotsu yelled out. He looked really worried and sincere. You shifted uncomfortably; the apology isn’t for you so you backed away. Noritoshi waved him off, “It’s okay. Thank you for the fight, Okkotsu kun.”

A few more apologies and words of thanks were exchanged before Noritoshi was sent to rest in the infirmary. Satoru caught you by the collar, “Stay until the end of the event. Shoko will take care of Noritoshi.”

You glumly nodded. To be honest, Okkotsu was really friendly, easily chatting with all of you. And you all were delighted, laughing hard when Rika beat the living shit out of Todo as he tried to harass Okkotsu for his ideal type. The Tokyo kids weren’t too bad.

◇◇◇

“Take care y/n!” Satoru hugged you tight as the Tokyo school students and staff readied to go home. “Thanks again for everything Satoru.” You already returned his diary to him in Noritoshi’s place. He was still resting up in the infirmary.

“Hey…. Have you ever considered transferring to Tokyo Jujutsu Tech?”

‘What?’

“No, why would I? Noritoshi and my family are here.” You were taken aback.

Satoru looked thoughtful, “I could teach you a lot, and honestly I’d love to have you as my student. You’re really strong y/n. Think about it. Later!” and walked off with the rest of them, leaving you at a loss for words.

◇◇◇

It’s been a while since you’ve been dating Noritoshi, and everything seemed a bit brighter. Like the sun seemed to be really strong, the flowers smelled so nice, the air currents seemed to bend a little more easily under the command of your technique.

'Is this the effect of our bond?' You wondered to yourself, but then quickly shook away the thoughts to focus on your task.

A few days have passed since the Goodwill event. You would be lying if you said you weren’t inspired by watching Okkotsu and Rika fight. Rika was just a force to be reckoned with.

Learning how to move well in mid-air was a challenge, but it wasn't impossible thanks to your inherited technique. Since you grew up mainly focusing on items around you and the four elements, you were still having some difficulty with some mobility techniques.

But there was something you’ve been itching to do. Aside from working on your cursed technique: reversal, domain expansion, extension techniques, etc., there was another special technique that ran in the family.

You remembered your father’s words: “Lightning is generated in the presence of both hot and cold air. You can manipulate molecules to generate both. But doing it simultaneously is the challenge. The ice shards in the cold air collide with the warm water particles in mid air, causing static electricity to form."

"That way, you separate positive and negative charges in a space. That is how you generate your electricity. Take particular care, because for this to happen, you need to master both your extension technique: Niflheim and technique reversal: Inferno.”

For personal reasons, you didn’t like using Inferno. Because the last time you successfully used it was when you were 6 years old and it caused a disaster. A memory which you’ve buried so far under everything else that you continuously try to forget about it.

But for the sake of the secret art, you will.

“Merging techniques… does any other jujutsushi do this…” You wondered.

You set up several targets of bamboo shoots and wood. “Niflheim.” You froze a target then took a deep breath before trying your reversed technique.

“Cursed Technique Reversal: Inferno.” You put out two hands and linked your thumb and ring finger in each hand together. One hand facing the other from above and below. Then a red light appeared as you encircled and swapped the positions of your hands.

This hand movement activates Inferno as the target immediately explodes from the rapid heat expanding the cooled target. Steam and smoke billowed out. You let out a slow breath. So you can still do it even after all these years.

“Special Art: Goldenrod.” You manipulated Inferno in one palm and Niflheim in the other. Your left hand had your ring and thumb still linked together. While your right hand uses the 4 pointer hand position designed for Niflheim.

At first it just made small explosions of steam. Your hands got really sore from the back and forth temperature control.

This is where it gets tricky. Goldenrod has to be activated within your hands. So you also guard your hands against the drastic temperatures with your cursed energy, as you do when you control fire.

It hasn't worked out so far. Maybe you simply had to condense the molecules. You condensed them further and started seeing small sparks of lightning.

Your eyes widened in joy. You tried activating it once more with more cursed energy, only for a huge bolt of lightning to shoot out from your hands and destroy a large amount of targets. There was a loud crack of thunder.

You didn’t expect the energy to be this high as you were pushed back from the force. The air was knocked out from your lungs as you hit the ground hard.

“I think I need help. Maybe Satoru nii can...” you wondered to yourself. ‘Is it worth bothering him over something like this…’ With a shock, you realized you were actually considering his words to transfer to Tokyo Jujutsu High. “No way.” You laughed it off with uncertainty.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

#blood bound #red strings of fate #kamo noritoshi x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk x you #noritoshi fluff #noritoshi x you #noritoshi x reader #noritoshi headcanons #jjk x oc #jjk x y/n #jjk spoilers #satoru gojo

56 notes · View notes

sineala · 3 years

Text

Captain America: The Great Gold Steal

I wrote this up last week because I did not have access to my usual comics files but I figured I could review something that was just a book. So here is a review of the 1968 Captain America novel Captain America: The Great Gold Steal by Ted White, with an introduction by Stan Lee. I really liked it, actually! It was surprisingly good!

This novel features: Cover art of Captain America holding his shield in one hand and a very large gun in the other! A scene where the villains dramatically unmask Captain America and have absolutely no idea who he is! Captain America being extremely, extremely depressed about being in the future! Captain America dropping acid!

(I'm not kidding about the last part. In this novel there is a lot of LSD use. By Captain America. Talk about something the Comics Code wouldn't ever let you put in a comic book. Thank you, 1968.)

Faithful readers may remember that some time ago I posted reviews of Marvel prose novels from the 1970s. There was a line of prose novels featuring everyone's favorite Marvel superheroes, published by Pocket Books in the late 70s; I have reviews of the Iron Man, Captain America, and Avengers entries in the series; I liked the Iron Man one best, and I also have a Doctor Strange one I have not yet read. They're all short and action-packed paperback reads, of varying quality; the only one by anyone you might have heard of is the Avengers one, which was written by David Michelinie, who was actually writing the Avengers run at the time. That one was, um. An experience.

(Yes, it's "prose novel" because otherwise the assumption is "graphic novel.")

Marvel still publishes prose novels now, of course, also of varying quality; some are new plots and some are straight-up novelizations of comics arcs, which I guess is useful if you want to, say, read Civil War and not look at pictures at the same time. I also have a bunch of those that I could probably review if anyone wants. But, anyway, I personally am particularly intrigued by the older Marvel prose novels, both because the stories are all original and not retellings, and also because I often prefer the characterization found in older comics. And the older prose novels of course use the then-current characterization. So reading a Marvel prose novel from 1979 is like getting to read a brand-new comic from 1979, and that's a whole lot of fun for a nerd like me. Also do you know what's not subject to the Comics Code? Prose novels. So things can happen in these that definitely could not happen in comics of the same era.

This brings me to my current prose novel, which is something else entirely. I mean, okay, not really, it's still a Marvel prose novel. But it's not part of the same line. It's actually a lot older.

Bantam Books actually published Marvel prose novels in the late 60s. Yep, a full decade earlier. They published exactly two, so I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that they were probably not bestsellers. The first one, which I do not own and now sort of want to track down, was an Avengers novel in 1967, The Avengers Battle the Earth-Wrecker. And then in 1968 they published the novel I am currently holding in my hands, Captain America: The Great Gold Steal by Ted White.

(I am still not sure why no one involved in titling this book thought of the word "theft.")

Judging by the back copy, it appears to be about Captain America foiling the villains' dastardly plan to steal gold from the Federal Reserve. Oh boy. Fun.

So this book is from 1968. The modern Marvel universe had kicked off just a few short years ago! Captain America was just getting his own solo book after the end of Tales of Suspense! And here's a novel about him, back when certain elements of his characterization were perhaps a little more flexible than they are today, by which I mean that the cover art -- which the internet informs me was painted by Mitchell Hooks -- is a striking full-body portrait of Captain America, head held high, shield in one hand... and a very large gun in the other. Hell, yeah. Not gonna see that in today's Cap comics, are you? It's amazing and I love it.

(Okay, you might see that in Ults. I'm pretty sure I have seen that in Ults, actually. But this is still cool.)

So the cover art is a definite plus, and apparently it's one of the few reasons anyone has ever heard of this novel. The other reason -- and the reason this is more expensive than the later novels, I assume -- is that Stan Lee's name is slapped on the cover, because he wrote an introduction. (I think I paid about $30 for this. The others were definitely under $20.)

All right. Here we go.

The first page is actually a brief summary of Steve's origin story, but not a version I was familiar with. Steve was born July 9, 1917 (yes, I was surprised too), was orphaned at a young age, and was a student at Columbia University (!) before Rebirth, which in this version is a gradual process that is also extremely body-horror. Steel tubing was inserted into the marrows of his bones. He was fed "high-protein compounds." Then they gave him a chemical that "gave him complete control over every nerve, muscle, and cell in his now-magnificent body." Sweet. Where can I get some of that?

The blurb also confirms his control over his own metabolism as well as his healing factor ("wounds would heal in half the normal time"), which is nice, because sometimes I wonder if canon even remembers the healing factor.

(I don't know why Marvel has this kink for filling people's bones with metal, though. It's not actually empty in there, guys! You need your bone marrow! How else do you want people to make new blood cells?)

The book is dedicated to "Jack Kirby and Stan Lee, without whom there would be no Captain America." Hey, Marvel, Joe Simon would like a word with you. I'm just saying.

The Stan Lee introduction is three paragraphs written in Stan Lee's, um, inimitable, distinctive and extremely florid narrative style -- if you've read any of his work, you know what I mean -- and making the point that Captain America is incredible and you will like him. If you are just discovering him for the first time, you will definitely like him. Okay. Thanks. I guess.

Oddly, the writing style here is substantially different than any of the other Marvel prose novels I've read; it doesn't immediately front-load you with exposition and a cast of colorful superheroes. It opens with a sort of James Bond spy-novel feel, running through a series of unnamed villains and bystanders, and a man who wants nothing more than to talk to Captain America but is killed before he can. Steve comes in halfway through the chapter, and he seems to be written for a reader who doesn't necessarily know who he is, and he isn't introduced as Captain America with his shield flying ahead of him to smite evildoers, or anything like that. He's just a tall, handsome blond guy who is reading a bunch of novels and is unsatisfied by all of them because all he can think of is the past. It's definitely an attitude I would expect from Steve in this era -- he is very much a Man Out Of Time here -- but it's also not how I expected the book to introduce him. You wouldn't even know he was Captain America by the end of the opening chapter, which then ends with a digression about the history of NYC subway tunnels. It's like it wants to appeal to someone who has watched a bunch of Man from UNCLE and just wants to read a cool thriller. Which is not at all what I was expecting.

By the beginning of the second chapter, of course, we discover that Steve is Captain America, as he changes into his uniform. The narration refers to him as Rogers when it's in his POV, if anyone is curious. He apparently keeps the cowl off in the mansion, because the cowl annoys him.

It was not so much that he needed to conceal his identity these days, because for all intents and purposes he had no other identity. Steve Rogers was officially dead, and had been for almost twenty years. Captain America *was* his identity. It was only when he donned the tight-fitting blue uniform with its shield chest-emblem, the red snug-fitting leather boots, and the heavy, yet pressure-sensitive red-leather gauntlets, that he began to feel real -- a complete human being.

Steve? Buddy, are you okay there? You're really not okay, are you, huh?

You see what I mean? They're really hitting the early-canon angst. Hard.

(Also it sounds like his uniform is a few sizes too small.)

We then get an expanded version of the backstory from the beginning excerpt. In this version of canon, Steve actually has an older brother, Alan, who is handsome and athletic and basically amazing, and when they are orphaned they are raised by their aunt and uncle. Steve gets TB twice as a kid, nearly dies from it, and when the stock market crashes, ends up separated from his brother and in an orphanage after his uncle loses everything.

(Honestly if I were writing this book, his brother would be the secret villain. Chekhov's Gun!)

Steve has glasses, gets bullied, is a nerd and an honor student, and studies law at Columbia because he wants to help stop fraudulent business practices and also fight organized crime. Legally, I mean. In a manner relating to law. I guess he's sort of like Daredevil. The lawyer part of Daredevil.

And then he joins Rebirth, and this is the part where I had to put the book down for several minutes, because Erskine's secret chemical, the key to making super-soldiers... is LSD.

Oh my God. You should see my face right now. My expression is, I am sure, indescribable. I'm trying not to wake the dog up laughing.

I just. Holy shit. This book is from 1968 in a way I definitely was not expecting. What the fuck, Marvel?

This project was headed by the brilliant biochemist, Dr. Erskine. His work with the endocrine system, and chemical body control, was well beyond that of his contemporaries. Only he, of all his colleagues, had fathomed the secrets of the Swiss Dr. Hoffman's 1938 discovery -- the mind-controlling LSD-25.

Let's just pause here for a few minutes and contemplate this.

I will point out that Albert Hofmann (yes, the book spelled his name wrong) didn't actually discover that LSD was a hallucinogen until 1943 when he accidentally tried it, but I am positive that 1968 here was a time when Some People were convinced LSD was a wonder drug. I'm still laughing. As far as I can tell, legal manufacturing of it stopped in 1965 so I am pretty sure that the author did not just decide to name a drug that had an ostensible legal therapeutic use, because it wouldn't have still had one by '68.

Anyway, in this version of events, Rebirth is a month-long process that involves a lot of vitamins, physical conditioning and training, and, yes, putting metal in his bones like he's the next Wolverine. They're filling his bones with stainless steel rods to make him stronger. That doesn't seem like a great idea to me, but I am also not sure about dropping acid to gain superpowers. Clearly I am not a genius scientist. Also Erskine knows what DNA is, apparently, because he's just that great. Anyway. Other than the metal, those all seem like relatively normal interventions. So far.

Now Steve has become fairly big and strong (and I guess he still has metal in his bones? this concerns me!) but they need to make him superhuman, so, yes, really, it's time to drop acid. Several pages of this book are devoted to describing Steve's acid trip. His acid trip is amazing and he discovers that he has conscious control of his entire body down to the cellular level. He can control the adrenaline in his bloodstream! He can tighten his muscle fibers! And when he's done tripping he still remembers how to do this, if not exactly on a conscious level, but he can still access the abilities. And that is how you make a super-soldier. It's LSD. Remember, kids, drugs are awesome! Do drugs!

Let's maybe take a few more minutes to think about this.

I just. I have no words. How did anyone at Marvel agree to print this?

I think for the most part superhero origin stories tend not to involve real drugs because people are generally aware that drugs they've heard of won't make you into a superhero. I guess this is what it looks like when you invoke the names of real drugs. They probably wanted something that sounded more realistic but somehow I don't think this was the best way to go. (Radiation, of course, will definitely make you into a superhero but I feel like most people have accepted that as one of the conventions of the genre.)

Anyway, after that Erskine gets killed by Nazis, of course, and Steve goes to war, and for some reason this book contains footnotes by Stan Lee himself listing the comics you can read all of this in. Just like the actual comics do!

We are introduced to Bucky, who for some reason is also from the LES in this version, although not anyone Steve knew before the war, and there is of course a description of Bucky's tragic death and Steve's subsequent icing.

They are really, really stressing the Man Out Of Time thing here:

No other man could have survived so fantastic a voyage through time. And no other man could feel so displaced by time.

He was a man twenty years in his own future. By rights, he should be nearly fifty years old -- nearly twice the age of his fellow Avengers. Yet his mind and his body were not yet thirty.

When the Avengers had brought him back to New York with them and insisted that, as an honored hero of the past, he join them, he felt a sort of melancholy homesickness for his own time and world.

We then get a few paragraphs with the usual being sad that he let Bucky down and got him killed, and also that he misses his family, and that Steve Rogers doesn't exist anymore, and that nobody is alive who remembers him, and that war is hell.

Hey, Steve, maybe the drugs you should do are antidepressants. Just a thought.

Also, this book is 118 pages and we're not out of the origin story flashback until page 34. I think there are some pacing issues here.

Actually, I lied, the flashback keeps going, but now we're up to the Avengers finding him, and I have to say that the list of things Steve finds strange about the future is kind of charming when the future is 1968. Men have long hair! Women have shorter skirts! Everyone is kind of blasé about rocket launches because there have been so many space missions now. (Oh, come on, you haven't even landed on the moon yet, 1968! You're not that blasé.) Color TV! And, excitingly, LPs! You can now listen to 36 minutes of consecutive music. (I actually don't know what previous standard he's describing that is a ten-inch record that holds six minutes a side because I don't think 45s are that big. Yeah, no, I just checked and 45s are seven inches in diameter. Hmm. Oh, never mind. He means 78 rpm, doesn't he? In my defense, the record player my family had when I was a kid didn't play those.)

The description of Steve coming into New York for the first time is definitely written by someone who knows New York, which is fun. There is generally a lot of local flavor to the setting of this book. That’s one of the best parts.

There is a brief summary of Steve's feelings about all the Avengers -- he is most impressed by Thor, which, I mean, fair, he's an actual god -- and Hank telling him all about how he can live in Tony's mansion. With Jarvis. Who Hank says is actually from Flatbush. Apparently Steve spent a lot of time at the NYPL branch at 5th and 42nd trying to catch up on history. And then of course the Avengers ditched him and gave him the Kooky Quartet, and for some reason they're not here right now either so it's just Steve being sad and alone and dealing with this mysterious dead guy. I think probably the book is also done explaining fiat currency now. This is definitely the weirdest Marvel novel I've read.

Anyway, we have now returned to what is ostensibly the actual plot. Steve shows up at the New York Federal Reserve Bank (I guess the theft is happening here and not, like, at Fort Knox) with the gold bullion that the dead guy from the beginning of the book had on him -- I think I got distracted by the LSD bit and forgot to mention that part, but the dead guy was carrying some US government gold -- because the actual plot is that villains are trying to tunnel into the bank vault and steal gold. Steve discovers this after he gets the bank manager to give him a tour. The bank manager tries to refuse, citing security concerns -- Captain America could be anyone under that mask, after all! Steve just smiles and says, "If I removed my mask, would you have any better idea of who I am?" and I guess that's a flawless argument because he gets his tour.

(I'm sorry, all I can think of is that one gif from the JLA cartoon where Lex Luthor bodyswaps with the Flash, announces that now that he's in the Flash's body he's going to discover the Flash's secret identity, then pulls off his own mask, stares at himself in the mirror, and says, "I have no idea who this is.")

Given that the theme of Steve's interior life in this novel is "Steve Rogers died twenty years ago" it seems even more sad that Steve is just walking around basically saying, yeah, well, I'm nobody. And apparently that is being reaffirmed for him by the narrative.

So Steve goes down the tunnels, takes out some of the bad guys, and gets himself knocked out and buried in a collapsing tunnel. Don't worry, he's gonna be fine.

A lot of this book, by the way, is from the POV of random people, like this bank guard who went with Steve into the tunnels:

He had wondered, briefly, if a man like Captain America ever knew the pinch of too many bills, had ever felt desperate over the arrival of yet another mouth to feed. But, of course, Captain America had no family, and would hardly concern himself with such matters. It didn't occur to Thompson to wonder if this in itself might not be something for which to pity Captain America.

Rude. I mean, come on, do we really need random characters telling us Steve is a sad sack whom nobody loves? Steve's already got that covered! (Also, how does this guy know Captain America has no family?)

Anyway, thanks to the power of LSD, Steve is going into a trance, amping up his metabolism (he loses "several pounds" in a few minutes), and making himself super-strong so he can dig himself out. Hooray. This is definitely how human bodies work. Also LSD. This is definitely how LSD works. Yes.

Steve then finds out that a couple of the guards who were with him in the tunnels died down there and he goes home and eats dinner while stewing in miserable guilt because he was responsible for their deaths. He's really not okay. I'm not sure the book actually understands how not okay they have made him. Then someone from SHIELD is on the phone for him and he is briefly cheered up by the thought that it might be Sharon although I think we should also note that the narrative makes it clear that at this point in canon Steve still doesn't know her name. Remember when that was a thing?

Alas, it is not Sharon; it's just a random SHIELD agent who happens to have information about the plot and asks to meet. Then, as Steve leaves to go to the meeting, we get two pages of exhaustive description about the mansion layout and how it's built relative to the surrounding buildings. It feels like this book was written by a frustrated city planner. But anyway, the meeting is a setup and the villains capture Steve.

They knock Steve out, drug him, take him to their hideout, and tie him to a chair. Except, once again thanks to the power of LSD, the tranquilizer they're using wears off way sooner than they expected and so Steve feigns unconsciousness and listens to them discuss their evil plans.

And then the villains unmask him and I swear it's exactly like that JLA gif:

Rogers heard footsteps scuffing across a thick carpet, and then Sparrow's voice again, almost directly over him. His ears still buzzed, but he fought to catch the elusive familiarity of the man's tone. He wished he dared open his eyes.

"This is a moment which I, personally, have long awaited," Sparrow said, his voice rising in triumph. "*The unmasking of Captain America!*"

Then, his nails scraping along Rogers' face, Sparrow dug his fingers under his cowl, and ripped it back. Rogers felt air strike his exposed cheeks and forehead. Then fingers clutched his blond hair and pulled his head back. "Behold!" Sparrow said.

Raven was first to speak. "Well, I dunno about you, Sparrow, but it rings no bells with me. I never seen him before."

Starling agreed. "His face means nothing to me."

"He could be anybody," said Robin. "What good does this do?"

Sparrow let Rogers' head fall back to his chest, and his voice when he spoke was defeated. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess. I always wondered. I felt, if these guys -- these costumed heroes -- wore masks, it must mean something."

"Captain America was missing for twenty years," Starling said. "That could mean the first one died, and this one took his place. He looks awfully young."

"Perhaps. It doesn't really matter. Let's get going."

(Yes, the villains all have bird-themed codenames. I have no idea why.)

This scene just makes my day. I love dramatic unmaskings. I bet they'd have been a lot happier unmasking Iron Man.

The villains then leave Steve and go to a power plant, where we switch POVs to one of the plant employees and get two entirely unnecessary paragraphs about his racist and anti-Semitic thoughts about his coworkers before the villains murder him. Great. Thanks.

Anyway, the villains cause a blackout, while meanwhile they've left Steve alone with the girl villain, and Steve is busy trying to persuade her that crime doesn't pay. He's moved from the "do you know what they'll do to you in prison?" theme onto "how exactly are you going to spend a billion dollars in gold bullion when it's illegal for civilians to possess? who are you going to do business with?" and then points out that gold is heavy and hard to transport, which is when she gets out a a knife.

The bad guys are off to steal the gold, and Steve has now successfully turned the girl they left him with, because she frees him. Of course, the first thing he does is put the cowl back on.

"Why do you wear that?" she asked.

"The mask?" He smiled. "It gives people something external to concentrate upon."

"But..."

"Without it, I'm just another ordinary-looking man. With it, I become a symbol. For some people it creates awe; for others, fear. Look at me. I'm different now, aren't I? With the mask on."

"Yes," she nodded. "You look -- bigger, somehow. Stronger. Fierce, implacable. You look a little scary."

"Exactly. You no longer see me as a person, but as a thing -- an Avenger. It can be a potent psychological weapon."

"They were so disappointed, when they took your mask off. As though underneath they'd find a famous person."

"Maybe that goes on TV -- handsome playboys, and all that. But I've been anonymous all my life. Even my real name would be meaningless to you, to them. No, the mask is part of the uniform, a psychological device. That's the whole story.

Now: let's get out of here. You have a good deal more to tell me yet, and we can't waste more time."

Bwahaha. In a few years, Steve's going to be pretty surprised about who superheroes are, I think.

STEVE, now: Superheroes definitely aren't secretly handsome playboys! That would be silly! STEVE, after Molecule Man: fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK I'm such an idiot

I'm definitely looking forward to that.

Also, not that the issue of Steve's psyche actually recurs after this, but he's once again having the narrative vindicate his belief that Steve Rogers is dead and whoever he is under the cowl doesn't matter. Steve, I don't think this is very healthy.

Steve then tracks down the villains stealing the gold, has some geopolitical thoughts about where the gold could be going (he thinks either South Africa or Russia for the best laundering potential) and then hides himself in the villains' trunk while they drive to Staten Island, which is where they're taking the gold out of the country from.

During the final confrontation, Steve finally gets to see the villains, and he discovers that the one in charge is in fact the director of the Federal Reserve Bank who Steve met at the beginning of this book. Gasp. But that's not all! He's also... the Red Skull!

Honestly, I was kind of surprised; I didn't think this was the kind of book where we'd get any known comic villains, but I guess it's always gotta be the Red Skull. I think he's the only one of Steve's big villains who likes to disguise himself; Zemo has obvious disguise issues and I imagine it's also hard to cover up Zola's Teletubby-esque television body.

Steve shoots one of the villains, because I guess that's what he does in this era of canon.

So the plot wraps up in, like, two pages, because for some reason all these early Marvel novels wrap up very fast. Red Skull, of course, attempts to escape and then disappears and his body is never found. The end.

Well.

That was definitely a book. That I read. Believe it or not, I actually think it was the best of these early Marvel prose novels that I've read so far, even if it was also the absolute weirdest; I thought the thriller-style plot was entertaining, I liked Steve and his Extremely Sad characterization, I obviously enjoy all the identity themes, I liked how very detailed the New York setting was, and I do like how they tried to treat it all seriously. I mean, sure, this did lead to LSD in the super-soldier serum in presumably the name of realism, but I felt like the book was trying to present superheroes in a way that didn't feel silly and also didn't really take for granted that the reader would automatically accept superheroes.

It felt like a book that was written hoping that people who weren't superhero fans would read it, if that makes any sense. And I thought that was interesting, because most modern superhero work that I can think of assumes they've got complete audience buy-in and everyone is willing to suspend their disbelief and we all know the genre conventions and are expecting people running around in brightly-colored spandex. Whereas this is more like a James Bond novel if for some reason James Bond were called upon to defend his decision to wear brightly-colored spandex instead of bespoke suits. But I assume no one read it, because Bantam never published a Marvel book after this one.

If you can actually find a copy of this one for a price you're willing to pay. I recommend it. It was delightful and way more solid than I thought it was going to be.

Also, come on, you know you want to read about Captain America's acid trip.

#posts i actually wrote

35 notes · View notes

haloud · 3 years

Text

things we could burn in one go (eminence) -- chapter 10

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Alex and Forrest struggle to understand each other in the wake of their breakup; Alex makes a shocking discovery at the Long farm.

Excerpt:

The corner of Forrest’s mouth twitched, as did one eyebrow, and his stance softened slightly. “No serenade? No boombox? No diamonds? There goes that fantasy.”

It was true; Alex had come here empty-handed, the way he brought himself to every step of their relationship. All the things he had inside him, all the things he had to give, he’d failed to deliver any of them in a way that Forrest needed. He’d made do with illusions, convincing ones, convincing enough to fool even himself into thinking he was built any other way than this. He was a problem-solver, a provider; it was bitter medicine to learn that brute-forcing himself into the proper shape for someone else only hurt everyone involved.

Alex ducked his head with an infinitesimal smile of his own. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Forrest shook his head. “Honestly, I’m just kind of surprised you’re even here. I thought I’d be waiting until I decided to come to you. And shouldn’t you be at work right now?”

“I took a half day,” Alex replied. He’d taken tomorrow off as well to prepare for their planning session, but Forrest didn’t need to know that. “I didn’t want to make either of us wait. Not for this.”

(Wednesday, 14:00)

The Long family home was leagues from the old barn and the fallen tree, but an odd sort of almost-nostalgia sloshed in Alex’s stomach as he approached the house all the same. He had only been back here a few times since he and Forrest met; it wasn’t a part of their relationship; it was more convenient to spend their time at Alex’s, where there was no one to bother them. When they spent the night together, it was in Alex’s bed, and the sex they had was there too, unless Forrest knew for sure Wyatt was gone and not coming back. That thought only made it stranger, how Alex had never quite gotten used to sharing his space with him, sharing a bed, sharing a life. For the thousandth time he wondered what was wrong with him, but he took a deep breath and cut that feeling loose and let it float away. What good was a question with no answer to him now? It was a search he’d never finish, and he would have to learn to live with it.

It felt wrong to leave something before it was finished. To turn his back on a piece of himself before examining every inch of it under the light, to cut loose a string without following it to its end and seeing where it led. But to force it would only make things worse, and he’d done enough of that already.

By the time Alex parked, shut off his car, and gathered his willpower to approach the house, the door was open, and Forrest was waiting for him on the porch. He looked…great. Normal. He’d touched up his hair; his eyes were well-rested and sharp; his fingers and neck dripped with jewelry, and Alex could recognize the look for the armor it was. His own leather jacket was a solid weight across his shoulders.

“Hey,” he said with an awkward wave.

The corner of Forrest’s mouth twitched, as did one eyebrow, and his stance softened slightly. “No serenade? No boombox? No diamonds? There goes that fantasy.”

Alex ducked his head with an infinitesimal smile of his own. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Forrest shook his head. “Honestly, I’m just kind of surprised you’re even here. I thought I’d be waiting until I decided to come to you. And shouldn’t you be at work right now?”

Forrest just snorted and moved aside, sitting in a rocking chair and nudging the one beside it with his foot. “Well, let’s get this over with.”

Sitting, they were silent for a while, the world peaceful around them—birds chirping, sun shining, the whole nine yards. Alex watched a small lizard creep across the dirt below the porch railing until it disappeared beneath the house.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you about Michael. That wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry for how I acted and the things I said.”

He swallowed, grimaced, almost, the words juvenile and inadequate to his own ears.

“About Michael staying with you, or…about Michael,” Forrest replied, guarded.

“The first one. Well—both, as it turns out. I thought…I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m sorry for not telling you that Michael was staying over; that was shitty, I knew the whole time it was shitty, and I did it anyway because I didn’t want to fight. But at the same time, I had no idea you were worried about, well, me cheating on you.”

Sighing, Forrest said, “I told you, man. Unfinished business. It’s kind of visible from space. Before this, I wouldn’t even have thought I was a jealous person, can you believe that? I should have said something to you, but I thought I could just power through it.”

“I guess we both learned things about ourselves,” Alex said wryly. “I didn’t think I had anything to hide, but when it came time to say something about Michael to you, I just clammed up. Would I have felt that way if it was Kyle staying over? Probably not. But I wasn’t thinking about it like that.”

“Huh.” Forrest paused. He rocked his chair slowly forward and back, hands folded on his stomach.

“Did I act weird? Shifty, like I was hiding something?” Alex asked, awkward and vulnerable, embarrassed at how poorly he knew himself, how poorly he knew how he should have acted to not even know that much.

“No, not really. Well, you were pretty distant, but,” he shrugged, “there’s nothing wrong with needing space. It was just…you know, you sang that song at the Pony when we got together, and I had an inkling it was about Guerin, but for some reason I thought I could handle it. Dating a guy who was in love with someone else, who was trying to move on. But it didn’t work like that, huh.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex repeated weakly. “I really thought I was ready. I didn’t mean to lie to you; mostly I was lying to myself. But I know it doesn’t make it any better.”

“Can I ask you a question? Point blank?”

“Um, sure. Go ahead.”

“Were you cheating on me with Guerin?”

“No.” That, at least, he could say firm and clear.

Forrest took a deep breath, dropped his eyes, then looked out across the desert. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I believe you.”

Briefly, Alex had to push down the urge to lash out defensively like he had during their previous fight. Had he really done so much to deserve that scrutiny while they were together?

“Thank you,” he said, not sure of what else needed to be.

“I appreciate you coming here and being honest. I mean…it still kind of stings for things to end this way, but. I do appreciate it. And, well, I’m sorry too.”

“For what?”

“Showing up and exploding like that without giving you some warning. I mean, I’m kind of not sorry it brought things to a head in the end, but it was still rude.”

“No, I should’ve—”

Forrest held up a hand to stall Alex. “No, seriously, dude. The martyr act is cute, but I’m a big boy. Your house is covered in cameras, and you need like two weeks of warning for a coffee date; I knew better than to think showing up like that would be a cute surprise.”

“Oh. Um.” Alex floundered for a way to respond to that. He felt seen, pinned under the lamp of an insight he hadn’t known Forrest had. It was itchy.

“Um, thanks. For the apology. And I get what you mean, about being sorry it happened but not sorry that…well. I really am sorry it ended this way.” If not that it was ending at all.

“Are you?” Forrest raised an eyebrow. “You’re a free agent now. I half-expect Guerin to send me flowers by Saturday.”

Alex winced. But still, he said, “Okay, that’s fair. We kind of, um…”

Forrest let out an ugly snort. “You know, most people double check after a fight like that. Damn, I’m glad I was already planning on breaking up with you for good if you hadn’t gotten the message.”

“I…I know. The way it happened, it just…” Alex sighed and raked his hand through his hair. “I won’t make excuses. You have every right to be mad.”

“I am mad. And hurt,” Forrest said matter-of-factly. “But maybe not as much as I thought I’d be, once the shock cooled off.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah.” A smile flickered on Forrest’s mouth, and he shrugged. “Looking back on it, it kind of feels like we’d been forcing it for a while, huh.”

Alex matched him hesitant smile for hesitant smile. Between them there were stacks of stilted conversations and unmade plans, awkward mornings and missed connections. From the morning Fields barged into Alex’s life to the moment he thought he saw his brother at the airport, in the past few weeks there were a number of times Alex had found himself unable to reach out across a gap and meet Forrest there. He’d thought it was just something wrong with him; it was an unbelievable relief to find that Forrest felt the same.

“You might be right,” he confessed.

“Yeah, I think I am,” Forrest sighed. “Damn. That’s probably why my head went straight to cheating.”

“You don’t have to find a way to even that scale,” Alex replied, shaking his head. “I was wrong; I won’t back down from that. But Michael aside, I never wanted to hurt you, Forrest. And I’m sorry I did.”

Forrest chewed on his lip, an old nervous habit. He had a pinprick scar just there, a souvenir from a piercing he’d grown out of, and when Alex would kiss him there, he’d smile. Alex was walking away from this with warm memories, sweet new patterns in the weaving of his life, unexpected treasures. And that in itself was something to cherish, no matter how much their relationship faded into history.

“Yeah, well, same here.”

“You didn’t hurt me, now you’re the one trying to even the scale—” Alex protested.

Forrest cut him off. “I like you, Alex, and I liked our jam sessions, and you made my time in Roswell suck so much less than I thought it would. But there’s a universe where we’re sitting on opposite ends of this, because my book is way more almost done than I’d let on to you just yet, so. Thanks for being such an almost-two-timing emotionally constipated jerk so when I tell my friends this story five years from now I can totally get all the sympathy.”

Alex let out a surprised snort that turned into laughter, and Forrest joined him, if a little more subdued than he’d normally be.

When they collected themselves, Forrest wiped some wetness away from his eyes and said, “Seriously, though, Alex, I hope he makes you happy. Because I don’t think we did that for each other, in the long run.”

“I hope that for you, too, Forrest,” Alex replied softly. “You deserve someone way less fucked up than me.”

“Nah, cut that crap out. We’re all a little bit fucked up.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“It is true. You, me, whoever I date next. My old granny,” he said with the first true smile of the afternoon. “And Guerin, too.”

His smile dropped as quickly as it had appeared, and he leaned forward, reaching out and putting his hand on Alex’s knee; Alex almost shied away, but he forced himself to stay still.

“I just want to make sure,” Forrest said, voice gentle—a gentleness Alex didn’t trust. His composure broke, and he drew back, the slight movement causing Forrest to drop his hand. He continued, “Guerin…he’s what you want? Truly, this is what you want?”

“Yes,” Alex snapped, no hesitation.

“Okay. Just, if you’re sure. If this is really your choice.”

Alex’s patience ripped clean in two. “I know the two of you spent some time together at the library,” he said, voice level and deliberate, “but from what I can tell, you don’t know him at all, so spare me this paternalism, okay? I can make my own choices. Whatever assumptions you’re making—”

“Okay! Okay.” Forrest held his hands up in surrender, but it did nothing to cool Alex’s temper. “I just had to ask.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

“Noted.”

Alex stood stiffly, and Forrest followed just a second behind. They stood and stared at each other for a few seconds, Alex waiting for him to make a move, Forrest waiting for something Alex couldn’t figure.

Then Forrest stuck out his hand. In the same motion, Alex half-turned, made himself sideways, a smaller target, flowing out of the path if that hand continued forward in a blow. But no, it stayed still halfway between them. Forrest didn’t comment on his reaction. Alex reached out and shook his hand.

“I’ll see you around sometime,” Forrest said. His smile crinkled up the corners of his eyes.

“Take care of yourself, Forrest,” Alex replied.

He left the Long farm the same way he came, down the same dirt road, down the same path in his head, with the same almost-nostalgia. Leaving looked a hundred different ways, and he’d been a hundred different times, but this time the scenery was new, and he was ready to be home.

(15:00)

A lot of work went into making Alex’s house a home.

When he moved from the Valenti cabin closer to town, it was out of necessity, even if it took him a long time to admit it. It was a victory over his own stubbornness and solitude and maladaptive independence, a concession to comfort that surprised even himself. It made his life better. He was closer to work; he was closer to his friends; he had an accessible bathroom, and something he’d considered so small before helped him along a journey he’d barely acknowledged toward accepting and appreciating the body he lived in now. But changing environments wasn’t easy for him. He’d had to put a year’s worth of care into finding the perfect location and fitting the house there to be someplace he could feel secure without complete solitude for miles around him, between the cameras and the vantage point of the patio and the orientation of his bedroom within the house and just everything from top to bottom. He’d fought hard. He won.

And then he came home from breaking up with his ex-boyfriend to find a strange car in his driveway.

Well, not entirely strange. He’d seen it once before. But when he saw it, it was from the vantage point of his own front door, not from the outside.

The car had room to park in the driveway because Michael’s truck was gone, and that was the only mercy Alex knew as he parked in the street and unholstered his gun. Michael wasn’t here; he was safe with Isobel or Max or Sanders or someone—someone who wasn’t Alex, who thought he had a safe space, a space to protect Michael, but in the end had nothing at all. The house hadn’t been empty since Michael’s injury, but now that he was on the mend, it was at times. Michael was alone at times.

Was this the first time Fields had come by? What was stopping her from returning with backup and taking Michael away?

Gun in one hand, phone in the other, there was one defensive maneuver on Alex’s mind before he confronted his enemy.

Michael answered quickly, though every second felt like an eternity as Alex watched Fields watch him, face expressionless, body language placid in her place between him and his own front door.

“Alex—” His voice came through, so light and happy it stole the breath from Alex’s chest. He was okay. He wasn’t shoved in the back of a van, chained and muffled and senseless, his truck abandoned in a ditch somewhere in the desert.

He didn’t let him finish. “Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

Worry stole the light from Michael’s tone, but Alex could beat himself up for causing that later. “Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

Alex hung up on him and stowed his phone before leaving the car and crossing the street.

“Captain!” Fields said cheerfully from one of his patio chairs. Her eyes flicked down and clocked Alex’s weapon held at his side, but her demeanor didn’t change.

“What is this about? Get off my property,” Alex almost snarled.

“Sure, Captain. Your call.”

She stood, adjusted her skirt, and pulled her phone from her pocket. It couldn’t have rung more than once before she said, all lightness gone from her tone, “Get me Sgt. Manes.”

Cold clarity broke over Alex’s head and trickled through his veins. His arms snapped up and locked into place, gun pointed directly at Fields, unwavering.

“Hang up,” he ordered.

“You’re in control here,” she replied. “I’ve given you all the time in the world, and now I’m giving you more.” She angled her phone away from her face so he could hear the tinny hold music blaring from the speaker. “If you’re going to keep avoiding me, I’m going to call someone in who has answers and gets results. Or are you prepared to do that for me?”

The music measured the seconds as Alex considered his options, mind apart from motionless body. Project Shepherd, the source of so much pain, so many nightmares. He still didn’t really know what Fields wanted from him, except to continue his father’s work.

But he didn’t have to do that, did he? Put him at the helm of the Project, and he could quietly shut it down from the inside, erase it from existence, reduce it down to nothing. Euthanasia of a legacy.

In a perfect world, if Alex were a perfect man, he would. The path was paved with solid golden intention—but the end of it was hazy. How many times had Alex seen a stranger in the mirror and known he needed to get away from the military to find himself again behind his father’s shadow, and how many times had he made a different decision? How could he be sure this time would be different, that he wouldn’t find reason after reason that Project Shepherd was a necessary evil, that with himself heading it, he was keeping his loved ones safe, working for the greater good, even if they didn’t understand—all in the same uniform of generations, the uniform Michael could barely look at?

So, then, the other choice. Walk away. Let Fields call in Flint or promote some other career man to do what they would, set their traps, work in secret for the eradication of a threat that might never come at the expense of everything Alex held dear. No control, no insight, how many times would he have to fear the ultimate loss, Michael, dead, Maria, dead, their loved ones, dead, their accusing eyes on him.

The uniform laid to rest and packed away, a closed chapter in a life that still had so much living worth in it.

The music looped. Alex’s steady arm began to ache. He was running out of time.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Fields said, voice low and convincing past the jangling notes and Alex’s own pounding heartbeat. “This work isn’t just your legacy, it’s rewarding in its own right. Have you ever wanted to settle down, have a family? This offer comes with total security. No more moving around, way less following orders. I’m sure your lover would appreciate it too—”

That snapped Alex out of his frozen poise, the clanging dissonance making him snort. “My lover? You’re a little late with that one; we just broke up.” He dropped his gun hand. “Hang up the phone. Here’s your answer.”

“Go ahead.”

“The answer’s no.”

Fields’s face turned down, but, true to her word, she pressed end call. Alex reholstered his gun.

“Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed. I was looking forward to working with you. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I hope so too,” Alex replied, surprising even himself that he’d be that candid. But something about Fields’s demeanor diminished with the threat of Flint on hold, almost like she’d pushed so hard because this was something she wanted, rather than something she was under orders to obtain.

Even with her phone silent, though, it represented the same thing—a direct line to Flint, an accessory to a job offer, putting someone with his track record highly placed to wreak havoc. But if Alex made all his decisions based on that fear, he’d never be free. He’d spend the rest of his life running into airport bathrooms after strangers.

And maybe he would anyway. Refusing to let himself be intimidated this once wouldn’t eradicate the real threat the aliens lived under every day. But allowing himself to live between those moments—he owed himself that much.

Shocking Alex further, Fields stuck out her hand, and he shook it.

“Apologies if I was overzealous, sir. I’ve been told I need to work on my impulsivity.”

“It’s—” Alex let out a weak laugh. “Water under the bridge, Lieutenant. What’s with this change of attitude?”

She shrugged. “Disappointment, I guess. A little embarrassment that I waited so long for no payoff. But I won’t force the issues. My superiors have other options.”

There was a veiled threat in there, too, but Alex was too tired to force the issue either. For the second time today, he resigned himself to walking away from stalemate.

“Goodbye, Lieutenant,” he said, stepping aside to let her get to her car.

“Goodbye, Captain.”

The last Alex saw of her was the back of her head driving away. And when she disappeared into the heat haze, he collapsed back into a chair, muscles weak and vision swimming. He stuck his head between his knees and sucked in deep breaths until he landed back inside his body.

When he could stand again, he did, pointing his body toward the door and marching inside. The door was still locked: no sign of forced entry anywhere, not in the front or the back or any of the windows Alex checked methodically, sash, latch, frame. The safe and medicine cabinet were both untouched; he checked each twice; he opened every closet and cabinet door on autopilot. He got on the floor to check beneath both beds; he pulled back the shower curtains.

And when there were no more places to check, he stood in the center of his house, staring down his own cameras, trying to break through the walls his own brain put down around him, trying to regain control.

So on edge, Alex wheeled around seconds before a car screeched into the driveway, the pounding of feet, the scrape of a key in the lock and the door thrown open, and—

“Alex!” Michael cried.

He bounded around the corner, wild-eyed and frantic, and as soon as he spotted Alex standing there, he rushed to him, arms already outstretched. Alex barely got his own arms up in time to catch him, but he didn’t need to; Michael was enough for both of them, steady and strong and there, solid arms around Alex, almost lifting him an inch off his feet. His hands clutched at Alex’s back with a desperation that registered only dimly.

“Alex,” he breathed again, holding him, if possible, even closer, pressing their foreheads together and sucking in a deep shuddery breath. “You’re okay, fuck, I was so scared—”

“I told you to stay away,” Alex said weakly.

Michael’s answering laugh was just as weak, almost hysterical. “You know I’m a rebel.”

They drifted like that for a minute or two, Michael’s warm, soft-rough palms cradling Alex’s face, grounding the both of them, letting their souls settle. Then, he stepped back, those hands on Alex’s shoulders, holding him at arm’s length.

“You’re okay? You’re not hurt? That phone call—you scared the shit out of me, Alex, what the hell happened?”

“When I got home, Fields was waiting for me.”

“What? Fuck!”

“I freaked out, I had to make sure you were safe, that you stayed safe—”

“Are you safe? What did she want? What did she do?”

“I’m fine. Physically, I’m fine,” Alex let his eyes fall shut, wrapping his hands around Michael’s wrists, fragile bones in his grip, and he let Michael hold him, shutting off his senses.

“Okay. Okay, Alex. I’ve got you,” Michael rasped, pressing into him even closer.

“I told her no,” Alex blurted out, pressing right back, starting them swaying back and forth. There was no other way to get close enough but to push and pull, no matter how much they tried to meld themselves into one.

“What?”

“Fields, I—I told her no. No Project Shepherd. No.”

“Alex.”

Michael’s fingers sought across his face, stroking, feeling, calloused finger pads on his brows, his cheekbones, fit so gently against the line of his jaw, tracing his lips and the corners of his eyes, and then Michael’s lips caressed him too, forehead, nose, then mouth, and by the time he was done, Alex’s breath hitched and his body shook.

“I love you,” Michael whispered. “I love you so much. You are—you are so fucking strong, you know that? I know, I know how hard this is, but I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you too,” Alex replied helplessly.

“It’s going to be okay, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

Somehow, Michael spoke with confidence, such a tiny, intimate assurance, no matter how unlikely, no matter how utopian, like a siren it sung to Alex to let go, to give his fear and stress over into Michael’s hands, and he needed somewhere physical for that feeling to go, so he looped his arms loosely around Michael’s neck and rested there.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he admitted. “I don’t know how bad I fucked up—I don’t know how long she was here before I got back—there was no sign of entry, and I checked the house, but I don’t know—I don’t know—”

“Let’s sit down, okay? I’ll get you something to drink, and your meds, if you want, and I’ll, uh, let me tell Max he can go home…” Michael said sheepishly.

“Max?”

“Yeah, he was with me when you called and wasn’t gonna let me rush over here by myself if there was trouble.”

“Good man,” Alex said weakly.

Moving stiff, he sat on the couch. Michael flitted around him for a second, adjusting pillows, giving him a blanket, fingers trailing over him like he wasn’t quite willing to be out of arm’s length. He tore himself away, though, and Alex tracked him from one end of the house to the other, front door, bathroom, kitchen, and when he came back to Alex’s side he was barefoot, glass of water and pill bottle in hand, and he sat on the floor below Alex, leaning back against him, folding himself so his forehead rested against Alex’s hip and Alex could rest his hand in Michael’s hair.

“They’re not going to take you,” Alex promised. “No matter what it takes, whether I told her yes or no, I won’t let them have you.”

“I know,” Michael replied. “But I won’t let you give yourself up, either. We’re together. In everything. No matter what happens.”

“No—”

“That’s why I didn’t listen to you when you told me to stay away,” Michael explained, lifting his head enough to look Alex in the eye. He was as serious as Alex had ever seen him. “You can’t ask that of me. We stand together. That’s…that’s a line in the sand, okay?”

Alex swallowed. “I can’t promise I won’t say something like that again.”

“I know. But just understand—whenever you do, I’m gonna disobey.”

Alex’s eyes slipped shut, lips pressed together, riding out the fear, the straight shot of catastrophe in his brain. Michael’s words, so clear and steady, so different from the people they’d been, the places their relationship languished. Alex had to respect that, even knowing it would likely cause them to fight for the rest of their lives.

“I love you,” he repeated, the best acknowledgment he could give.

Michael smiled, crinkling the corners of his honey-sweet eyes, and Alex twisted a hand in the collar of his shirt, pulling him forward into a deep, sweeping kiss. He moved easy with every move of Alex’s, half-crouched to crawling up onto Alex’s thighs, then onto the couch to straddle his lap, his hot mouth driving deep against Alex’s. Alex’s hands went to his hair, gripping and tugging those soft curls, sliding down his back and back up, they made out on the couch like the teenagers they used to be.

Pulling back to breathe, but not so far Alex couldn’t shift to kissing down his throat and chest, Michael panted, “Bedroom? Do we wanna—should we--?”

“Uh,” Alex stalled out, the light from the window warm where it pooled, Michael’s hardening cock warm where it pressed against Alex’s belly through their clothes. The world was out there, the camera, in the corner, and Alex weighed his options, immediate gratification versus comfort and privacy.

Did they have any privacy, anyway? The image of Fields waiting, alone, at his house, free reign to tamper with whatever she wanted, haunted the edges of Alex’s mind.

“Alex?” Michael asked softly, brushing his fingertips through the overlong ends of his hair.

Their faces were only inches apart, their breaths mingling between lips and lungs, and there wasn’t anything Alex would let keep them from nurturing the happiness finally within their grasp.

“Yes,” Alex said, palming Michael’s hips, “Yes, bedroom.”

Sliding off his lap, Michael reached out a hand, and Alex took it, heat zinging up his arm where they were joined. Michael led the way until they reached the bedroom, where he hesitated beside the bed, watching Alex under his lashes. So Alex sat, pulling him by his belt loops back to straddle his lap like he had on the couch, running his hands up and down Michael’s body as he settled in, his own arms warm and solid around Alex’s neck.

The world held still, then, their eyes locked, electric and hypnotic, Alex’s hands twitching where they rested on Michael’s strong thighs, the scent of rain sharp and sweet in his nose and mouth with every inhale, every breath made tactile in puffs of heat in the space between them. The longer the moment stretched, the higher the temperature climbed, blood filling Alex’s cheeks, blood filling his cock as he waited for Michael’s next move.

That move was to lower his lips to Alex’s once again, slipping his hot, velvet tongue behind Alex’s lips and along his own tongue, flicking it against the roof of his mouth as he opened and relaxed into the languid kiss. As their mouths moved, so did Michael’s hands, cupping his neck then sliding down his shoulders to his chest. He dragged his thumbnails across Alex’s nipples, making him gasp and hiss, and Alex could feel the wicked smirk spread across his mouth even as he didn’t let up, nibbling his lower lip. Hips beginning to sway, Michael’s hands finished their journey at Alex’s waist, under his shirt and tugging it up—it was unthinkable to separate them, but they managed to wrench their mouths apart long enough to pull Alex’s shirt over his head—and then back down, he fumbled with the button on Alex’s jeans, fighting for access to his hardening cock.

Not to be outpaced, Alex did the same, making short work of Michael’s button and zipper even as he was distracted by the heat and velvet and texture of his chest and the sweet line of hair pointing down to his cock. Michael got up on his knees to shimmy his jeans down under his ass, tugging Alex’s off too, and when they were down to just the thin cotton of their underwear Michael let out a soft wavery sound, buzzing right into Alex’s mouth so he could taste the pleasure on it, frotting their cocks together, rubbing the weight of his body down against Alex. With every grind, his ass rolled against Alex’s thighs, a delicious tease, but not tonight, not tonight, it didn’t have to be tonight, taking everything of each other, they had so much time to explore every facet of their intimacy, every way to make each other climax, complete, come up and down all on each other.

“Come on, Michael,” Alex murmured, holding his hips as he ground down again. “C’mon, c’mon.”

“Alex,” Michael whispered back, all reverence.

“You’re so—fucking—” Beautiful, hot, incredible, amazing, all words that Alex didn’t even need to say, saying would cheapen them, and they had a better language, anyway. He tugged at the waistband of Michael’s boxers, and Michael’s dick bobbed free, hard and hot and Alex wrapped a hand around it, luxuriating in the texture and weight of it in his hand. He gave it one easy, loose stroke and Michael shuddered, another little sound falling from his lips.

They got into a rhythm quick—Michael slid his hand into Alex’s underwear to match him stroke for stroke, their hips moving in time, knuckles brushing every time they came together. Alex rolled his thumb over Michael’s slit and dragged the drop of precum collected down his vein, then let out a bitten-off cry when Michael did the same. Even the things Alex could predict were surprising at Michael’s hands.

After minutes of this, after sweat slicked the pace between them, hearts pounding, senses flooded, Michael shifted even closer, chasing Alex’s hand away as it came up his shaft, so he could wrap them both up and jerk them together, fast and rough, both of them fucked Michael’s hand and fucked against each other, Alex’s teeth on Michael’s ear, Michael’s lips against his cheek. Alex dug his nails into the meat of Michael’s shoulders, riding out every wave of pleasure until finally he came in messy, artless spurts over Michael’s hand.

Michael followed shortly behind, a stuttering moan and a pulse of pleasure, and then they both fell back onto the mattress, panting and laughing. They rolled toward each other like magnets, Michael slipping a leg between Alex’s thighs.

“It’s going to be okay,” Michael promised, serenity and certainty in every line of his face, and Alex sighed, pulling his hand to his chest and holding it there.

Michael couldn’t make that promise. Alex couldn’t make that promise. He had, before, and the universe turned it into a cruel joke. Believing it now would be a hard-fought battle.

“As long as we’re together, we’ll get through it,” Michael amended, and it drew a small smile to Alex’s face.

“I’ll do everything I can.”

“I know you will. But you don’t have to do it alone. You aren’t doing it alone.”

Alex answered him with another kiss, sealing it as truth between them.

(Thursday, 07:00)

Michael watched Alex through one lovely tawny eye as he went through the room double-checking there was no stray shirt of Forrest’s or toy of Buffy’s to collect before he made his last trip to the Long farm, to put paid to his and Forrest’s relationship once and for all.

“It’s early,” he said muzzily, through lips still mashed to the sheets warm with his sleep.

“I don’t want to keep this waiting,” Alex said with a wave of his hand, grabbing the bag of Forrest’s things. “Not while I have the day off. Get this done, then get back with plenty of time to prepare for our meeting.”

“Mmm, so efficient.”

“I do my best,” Alex said, hoping it came off as charming. “What are you up to today?”

Raising himself up on his hands, Michael arched his back in a luxurious stretch, muscles shifting in the early morning sun. He groaned as his muscles clenched and released and a couple joints popped, then said in his sweet early-morning rasp, “I should put in a couple hours at Sanders’s. Do we know everyone is coming today? Should I cut out early and meet you back here, or will you guys just be coming to the junkyard anyway?”

“I’ll touch base with everyone, but we’ll probably come to you.”

“Sounds good.” Michael stretched again, then swung his legs around to sit on the bed. One side of his face was flushed, one side of his curls scrunched. A bubble of light filled up Alex’s chest, and he cradled it so carefully, letting it show on his face, just for Michael.

Smiling back at him and rubbing one eye, Michael gestured at the bag of Forrest’s things and said, “How are you feeling? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alex replied, shifting the strap on his shoulder. Then, jaw working his face into a grimace, he added, “And that’s weird, right? I shouldn’t be fine? We dated for months—I should feel something.”

For weeks after his breakup with Maria, Michael had lurked on the edges of himself, head tucked between his shoulders, hands in his pockets. And now Alex turned his back with one last box on a to-do list, a final chore of separation. What did that make him?

“Hey,” Michael said, beckoning Alex forward and sliding his hands to cup his hips when he came. “Look, I don’t have a lot of experience in this area either, but enough with the should, okay? The only feelings you gotta feel are your own. You deal with breaking up however you need to, and so will Forrest.”

Alex took a measured breath, counting in, counting out. “You’re right. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” Michael said, kissing him softly right on his sternum, above his anxious heart. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Alex left a parting kiss on Michael’s forehead and left him to get dressed and get to work. Making the drive to the Long farm for a second time in as many days was even more alien than the first; had he ever gone to Forrest’s so frequently as now, at the end?

The only feelings you gotta feel are your own, Michael said, with the wisdom of many years of terrible feeling, so as he drove, Alex did just that. One of the last sweet moments of their relationship was in a car just like this, playlist on the speakers half indie, half punk, both of them singing along to Pretty. Odd., where the two intersected, an album neither of them liked all that much in isolation but belted out together. For the rest of their lives, whenever those songs came on, for a moment they’d be back in a car together; wherever Forrest went next, in little three-minute bursts his phone would carry a dark desert road with Alex beside him.

For the rest of the drive, Alex turned on his music and let it play.

When he got to the farm and called Forrest, he came out of the house harried. “Why did I think you were bringing this stuff tomorrow?” he asked, a scowl on his face.

“I’m not sure; I had the day off and I thought—”

“Whatever. Thanks.”

A snappish retort leapt easily to Alex’s mind, but he held back. Forrest had reason enough to be mad, and if this was how he felt his feelings, they were broken up now—Alex abdicated soothing and fixing, and he’d take Forrest’s anger on the chin.

Forrest’s eyes darted toward Wyatt’s truck parked on the dirt drive beside Alex and said, “You should get out of here. Have a good life, Alex. I mean that.”

And just like that, Alex’s mind flipped and he couldn’t help himself. “If Wyatt is—”

“No, no, he’s mostly harmless. To me, anyway. But him seeing you here would be more trouble than it’s worth, so.” Forrest shouldered the bag of his things and half-turned away. “Bye.”

Alex didn’t move until Forrest disappeared back inside, gripping the steering wheel too tight until his fingers went cold and stiff. Fuck, maybe he should have waited to return this stuff, or just ditched it; all the closure from their last conversation soured on the tongue. But it was over now. Alex threw the car in reverse.

Then he threw it back into park a few yards down the lane, just out of sight of the main house. Wyatt was always more trouble than he was worth, but something was wrong in Forrest’s tone, and Alex would find out what. He had time, at least an hour, to sweep Wyatt’s most likely haunts, from the horse barn to his rigged-up shooting range.

Head on a swivel, Alex moved methodically, hot and dusty within minutes. The barn bustled with activity, so Alex gave it a wide berth, abandoning it as an option with no sign of Wyatt’s dulcet tones cutting through the air.

His mental map of the farm was imperfect at best, so Alex headed to the shooting range by way of the old barn, despite the distance out of his way, an acceptable risk when compared to the prospect of getting lost.

There was no time to linger, but the sight of the old building and fallen tree struck Alex with twin nostalgia and grief. Tripp’s dog tags hung body-hot beneath his shirt, and he let them, closing his eyes and focusing on that feeling, the chain around his neck, the weight of decades of inaction. He drifted closer to the barn, like returning Tripp’s tags to this place had some sort of meaning, whether blessing or blasphemy, Alex wasn’t sure.

He was still too far away to smell the rain burnt into the wood. Would it have smelled the same in Tripp’s time, rich and loving?

Alex hoped not.

Just as he turned to leave on that sour thought, a familiar voice drifted from inside the barn, freezing Alex in his tracks.

“I’m asking you again—are you—or not?”

What was Max doing here?

Alex crept closer. The response was clearer and came from Wyatt, loud and protesting.

“How are you even asking that right now? I’ve been doing all the shit you tell me for months, you gotta give me some quid pro quo—”

The last three words were a mocking drawl.

The response came, “Everything I’ve told you will come to pass, Mr. Long. Now’s not the time for doubters.”

That wasn’t Max. Alex’s heart pounded in his throat.

“Tsch. Whatever.”

“You’ve come far, Mr. Long. And, as always, I appreciate your talent for gathering information. Your eyes within the town are indispensable.”

“Oh yeah?”

“And you will be duly rewarded: doubly so for patience. Time is of the essence; I have to move while Manes is away—”

The sound of his name flashed hot and sharp through Alex’s frozen body, every nerve coming to life and screaming one thing: home.

#malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #my fic #malex

21 notes · View notes

yadds · 4 years

Text

Heyyyy so guess who’s not dead! Anyway, for anyone that’s interested, I’ve decided that I’m not posting ongoing works until I’m done with them then will post as I’m editing. Sorry! However, I do have an excerpt that I like a bit that can stand alone, so here it is! Also, despite the sexual nature of the initial conversation, this is pre-starker and isn’t really much about sex.

Minor background info: Tony has come back from the dead and is still with Pepper but they’re having issues. Meanwhile, the Starker bromance is developing and they hang out quite a bit.

____________________________________________________________________

“Spit or swallow?” Peter asked out of the blue as they sat on the couch watching reality tv.

Tony’s eyebrows were about to climb right into his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Spit or swallow?” he repeated, over enunciating. “What are your thoughts?”

“Just to be clear, we’re talking about…” Tony trailed off slowly.

“You know, bjs. Blowies. I’m sure you’ve gotten one once or twice,” Peter said with a roll of his eyes, tossing several pieces of popcorn into his mouth.

“Yeah, might have happened on a rare occasion,” Tony responded dryly. “Well, honestly I can take it or leave it on the receiving end, doesn’t make that much of a difference to me.”

Peter’s head tilted back and forth, considering, before shrugging.

“When giving though, I generally don’t like either. Don’t get me wrong, I love going down on people and making them feel good, but I prefer if they don’t finish in my mouth. Obviously I’ve done it before and may very well do it again so I guess I’d probably say swallow? It’s already there, so why make a mess?”

Peter’s attention was now fully on Tony, the TV forgotten in the background. Tony glanced over and smiled wryly when he saw his gaping mouth and red cheeks. “What’s with the stunned mullet impression? Did you not literally just ask that question? Am I going senile already?”

Peter cleared his throat and turned back to face the tv again. “Uh, yeah, I uh I did ask. But I was thinking more on the receiving end - I wasn’t expecting you to talk about giving.”

One of Tony’s brows crept back up. “Oh? And why is that? Because you think I’m a selfish asshole in bed as well or because you think I’m shy?”

Peter shook his head quickly, not catching the amused tilt of Tony’s lips. “No, no of course not! I just didn’t know that you, uh, you know, partake, in partners of the, uh, male persuasion?” If Peter shoveled any more popcorn into his mouth after the desperate handful he just shoved in there, he was going to suffocate.

“Huh,” Tony said thoughtfully. Had they really never talked about this before? “Well, weird phrasing aside (because that was weird, kid, what’s up with that?), I thought it was pretty common knowledge that I was bisexual.”

Peter shook his head again, glancing back Tony’s way. “Nope, definitely not. At least not in any of the articles or interviews online. I mean, yeah, there are a few sources that mention the possibility of you not being completely straight, but they all sound like speculation.”

Tony was speechless for a minute. He watched Peter notice the extended silence and seem to realize what he just said, curling forward and burying his face in his hands, ears bright red.

He finally gathered enough wits to say, “Well, then I guess it was just common knowledge among people who actually know me. SI probably paid off the men I slept with - because heaven forbid the infamous playboy figurehead be seen with a man back in the day. I honestly never paid attention to what exactly was in the press, just made sure I was in it. If I’d known, I definitely would have been more blatantly obvious.”

He was quiet again for about five seconds before he pulled his leg up on the couch and fully turned towards Peter. “I’m sorry, I tried, but I can’t just let this go. I knew you were a big fan, but sounds like you’ve really done your research, Pete.” He couldn’t drop the shit-eating grin on his face.

Peter flopped all the way forward, shoving his face into his knees, groaning. “Can we not do this?” he whined. It only took another ten seconds of pointed silence before Peter broke. “Ugh, okay, so I may have had a crush on you when I was younger,” he admitted. “A teeny tiny, definitely not life-consuming, crush.”

Tony laughed. “And when was this?”

“I don’t know, it started when I was like 13 probably.”

“And you thought you should google my sexuality to see if, what, you had a chance with the guy four times your age that you’d never meet?” Tony didn’t think he’d been this amused in a long time.

Peter sat back up and peeked at him just to throw him a glare. “Yes, because thirteen year olds are so logical, especially when it comes to hormonal urges.”

“Never would have pegged you for being into older men.”

“Really? Because most people aren’t surprised - I apparently just radiate ‘twink with a daddy kink’,” Peter said matter-of-factly.

Tony choked, coughing loudly. “I’m sorry, did you just, in a roundabout way, call me a Daddy? In a way that has nothing to do with my daughter?”

“I- can we talk about something else now?” Peter squeaked.

“That...is probably a good idea,” Tony agreed, feeling his own cheeks heat.

They both stared very intently at the TV, trying to think of anything else.

After a while, Peter spoke up. “Why would you do it again?”

“What?” Tony asked, confused.

“Sorry, I’m back on the spit or swallow question,” Peter explained.

Now it was Tony’s turn to groan. “I thought we were talking about something else.”

“Yeah, something that’s not my personal and very embarrassing past. Now that I have the question, I can’t think of anything else.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. So why would I do what again, exactly? Give a blow job?”

“Well, I mean, that too, considering that you’re still with Pepper and I’m 99.9999% sure she doesn’t have the right equipment for that. But I was talking about spitting or swallowing. Why would you do either? You said you don’t like it.”

“Relationships are about compromise Pete, even in the bedroom. And I don’t hate it when I’m in the mood for it.”

“What a ringing endorsement,” Peter said flatly. “Yeah, there’s gotta be some compromise, but that should be more along the lines of maybe trying new things that you may not have done on your own but are open to. Doing something you definitively, straight up don’t like in bed should not be one of them.”

Tony looked at Peter, perplexed. “I...don’t even know what to say to that. When did you become an expert in this?”

Peter shrugged. “You’d be surprised how much of my time as Spiderman is spent just lending an ear when people are having a hard time. And sex and relationships come up a lot because I guess it’s easier to talk to a random person in a mask than to someone you know. I try to just listen and not to give advice most of the time, since I’m not an expert and everyone’s situation is different, but sometimes people are in circumstances that are dangerous, emotionally and mentally. So I took a couple relationship health and psychology classes my freshman year in college and read up on some of these things to know what to say.”

Tony’s heart warmed, hearing how earnestly Peter wanted to help people. He smiled softly. “Never thought you’d use that on Tony Stark, did you?” he joked.

Peter scoffed. “Please, you were like, the poster child for a lot of these issues. I like to think you’ve finally gotten wiser in your ‘old age’, but I’ve mentally given you several high-handed pep talks.”

Tony was taken aback. “Oh? And what was the subject of these pep talks?”

“Mostly self-worth and your complete lack of it.”

Tony chuckled again. “Well maybe you haven’t heard, but I actually have an unrealistically high opinion of myself, kid.”

“Yeah, do you think that if you keep talking about it loudly enough, you might start believing it?” Peter asked, eyebrow raised.

“Excuse me? I am one of the richest, smartest people on the damn planet. I single-handedly created a superhero while a prisoner in a cave. I created clean energy that can power the planet and I’m pretty sure I’m damn close to being able to end poverty,” Tony rebuked, getting irritated.

“I know, so why do you still feel like it’s not enough?” Peter asked with a shrug, pointedly not looking at him. “All those amazing accomplishments, things no one else would be able to do, but how often do you think about that instead of the few mistakes you’ve made?”

Tony crossed his arms. “Get out of my fucking head, kid,” he grunted.

Peter turned to him with a grin. “You think I should change my degree plan and become a shrink?”

“Definitely not. You’re pretty much done anyway and I need you in my labs, not consoling lunatics like me.”

Peter reeled back exaggeratedly. “You’re quite presumptuous, Mr. Stark, assuming I’ll be working for you.”

“You’d better,” Tony insisted.

“Is that a threat?” Peter asked cheekily.

“Definitely.”

Laughing, Peter settled back into the cushions and resumed his popcorn eating.

After several minutes of watching TV in silence, Peter turned back to Tony. “You know I still think you’re just as amazing as you try to say you are, right?”

Glancing at Peter out of the corner of his eye, he shook his head at Peter’s earnest expression. “No clue why,” he said wryly. “But yeah, I know. Thanks, kid,” Tony said, smile soft as his hand came up to grip the back of Peter’s neck before pulling him into a hug.

Tony cleared his throat and sat back before saying gruffly, “Now shut up and watch...whatever the hell it is you’re making me watch.”

Peter snorted but kept his mouth shut. And as he settled more comfortably under Tony’s arm, his back pressed up against Tony’s side as Tony’s arm draped across Peter’s chest, Tony had to wonder if this is one of the things Pepper had been talking about.

But as he felt the warmth of Peter pressed against him, felt the soft rise and fall of his breathing, felt the proof that Peter was alive and safe, Tony shook away the thought.

_____________________________________________________________________

So I’m starting to see a pattern - I tend to write like hell during the fall and winter and not during the summer at all. So apparently I have an off-season lol. Hopefully the pattern continues for the next few months and I can get a few projects finished!

#starker #pre-starker #starker endgame #fic #ficlet #yadds writes #idek #im so out of practice tagging #and i just don't care right now

173 notes · View notes

writingforevren · 3 years

Photo

WIP Intro Coming Soon

Excerpt - The boy who fell in

POV - Eros Rosario

Words - 1761

I was twelve or thirteen when it happened; On that day I had gone closer to land. I had always enjoyed watching humans my age hang out together and have fun, though I was too nervous to talk or interact with them- which could be due to the fact I was worried they might judge me for my rather… Unusual appearance. So I just watched them and wished... and watched... and that night I was just minding my own business, floating under the water as you do, when I heard a splash. Somebody was sinking and they weren't trying to stop themselves. I swam quickly and grabbed them, bringing them to the surface. I was worried; What if he’d drowned? I mean he had sunk, so what if something had happened to him or somebody wanted to kill him or something? I had no clue but all I knew is that I wanted to help.

At first he didn't breathe. I couldn’t help but think, Oh crap did he die? Humans needed to breathe right? He was motionless. I leaned forward and gently slapped his cheek. "Are you alright?" I asked softly and watched as his eyes fluttered open and his gaze settled upon me.

"Wh- who are you?" He jumped back away from me as he caught sight of my tail. "What are you? and what're doing to me?" he asked again and I could sense fear in his voice.

"Hey it’s okay! I’m just here to help, okay? I thought you were gonna drown so-” I tried to explain that I was there to help- that I wasn’t trying to hurt him, but… he didn’t get it.

"G-get off of me you're a monster!" he exclaimed and pushed his hands against my chest, sending this feeling of pulsing pain, causing me to fall backward on the sand. My chest throbbed and it was so painfully hard to breathe, I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on steadying my breathing. "What did I just do? What did you do to me?!" He cried, his voice was very shaky and I could tell he truly had no idea what was going on.

"P-please I was just trying to help..." I stammered through the painful pulsing that ran through my body.

"I- but can't you see I wanted to sink... why'd you- why would- why would anyone save me?" As I opened my eyes, there were thick tears rolling down the boy's cheek. I felt bad… It was obvious he was hurt and fragile so I couldn't blame him for lashing out at me but... a monster? It still hurt.

I took a deep breath and laid back on the sand as the pain subsided. "Nobody deserves to die... we are all a part of this planet and we all have our purpose, now I dunno what yours is, but I promise you whatever is going on in your life is nothing compared to the amazing things that will come in the future." I tried to cheer him up, despite the fact that’s not really something I’d had to do before. Usually I told myself those things when I felt down, I had never actually said anything like that to someone else before.

"I- what's your purpose?" He had asked.

I felt- Well I didn’t know the answer and that’s something I had been trying to figure out. But I couldn’t exactly say ‘i don’t know’ I highly doubt that would’ve worked "mm perhaps it's to help save the world..." "Or maybe it's to save an innocent life that was far before their expiration date." I gave him a warm smile.

"Are you an angel? Are you sure I'm not dead? Is this a test of some sort?" he started asking all these questions that I found himself utterly confused as to where to start.

"Uh-” I paused for a moment. “No, Yes, and No, I'm not an angel, I'm actually a siren.” I replied, I wasn’t exactly thinking, I didn’t understand that he would judge me for being a siren, I didn’t know all the false rumours that humans had spread about us, Which makes me wonder what other false information humans are taught.

"I- A siren? Holy crap a siren? PLEASE DON’T EAT ME!” He yelled and put his hands up in front of him.

"Why would I eat you? I literally just saved your life..." Obviously he wasn’t seeing the logic here, If I wanted to eat him I would’ve just waited for him to drown and then ate him. It would be so much easier than what I had done.

"Because sirens lure humans to eat them?" He answered hesitantly, looking as if he was ready to run away at any moment.

I shook my head. "No... I eat fish also fish eggs are nice they have this sort of popping feeling in your mouth and they have a really strong-”

"So you don't eat humans?" he interrupted, and seemed genuinely confused.

I shook my head again "No I dunno who would wanna eat a human- I think I accidentally bit someone one time and they didn't taste very good."

"Oh..." He looked down.

"Why do you sound disappointed? did you want me to eat you?"

"Uh- n-no I just uhhmmmm I dunno I wasn't disappointed-" he stammered.

"Why're your cheeks red?" I poked his cheek. Once again I was naive and had no idea what a blush was considering I had never met a human or someone with pale skin; All the sirens I knew had darker skin and were at least tanned.

"This is a really weird situation- I don't know what to say… s-o I'm not dead?" He seemed to have calmed down at least a little bit at this point.

"Nope- you seem alive to me... Also why does this cloth take so long to dry and why do humans always wear them?" I leaned over and started to peel the wet shirt off of his skin.

"D-D'you think you could not do that?" He stammered and pulled his shirt back down.

"Hmm…” I ignored him and leaned closer to his face "you're a nice one~”

"Wh-what's that supposed to mean?" He shrank back onto his hands behind him.

I leaned forward and cupped his face, it was so soft. I briefly pressed my lips against his which were soft and warm. "I mean you're pretty and your skin is soft."

"I- uh- thanks" The boy flushed bright red and averted his eyes.

"Mhm... Wow, legs feel different than they look." I ran my hands along one of his legs "What's this hard part?" I bonked his knee.

The boy quickly retracted his leg "Ow shit that was my knee and that hurt-"

"Oh- sorry-"

"Uhm do you mind me asking what sirens actually do with humans if they don't eat them?..."

"Mm well it’s a bit different, A lot of sirens are just lonely and lure sailors to keep them company for the night. Most of the time the Sirens have no idea where they came from so they just dump them on a random plot of land which is usually pretty far from where they should've been, so a lot of the sailors are reported to have gone missing after going to these parts of the water where there are sirens. Probably some random person came up with the idea that we eat them 'cause he saw one of us and that we have sharp teeth y'know but like worse sirens do to humans is like sometimes we can leave bites- I mean I never have but sometimes there are teeth marks and pretty dark bruises.” I explained.

"Oh-"

"Mhm..." I smiled

"Is this a dream?..." He asked, as he looked around the beach.

"Uhm no I don't think so- why?"

"I just tried to drown myself, so technically I could be in a coma- Sirens are mythology- and also you are incredibly attractive and I feel like only my dreams could make you."

"Am I not real enough for you?" I pouted and leaned on his chest

"Uhm- I'm just really confused mate..."

"Mate? but wait, you're a human..."

"I- what?"

"Oh wait- do humans not have mates? Mm ah yeah right I should probably explain that too. Sirens generally have to choose a siren mate before they're eighteen so that we don't go extinct considering we actually don't find each other that attractive compared to humans.”

"I eh... Okay-”

"Mmm do you have a mate?"

"I- ehm no I don't- I mean I've never even- I’ve never even kissed anyone before..."

"Never? why not? I kiss pretty much everyone I like-"

"Oh eheh- just different for humans I guess..." He laughed awkwardly and seemed to be looking anyway other than myself

"Can humans not sense when someone is mutually attracted to them?"

"No- Sirens can?"

"Mhm I mean I could tell at first you didn't like me but then you realized what was happening and you are now very attracted to me." he smiles. "That's why I knew if I kissed you, you wouldn't reject me."

"Oh-"

"Mhm..."

"So you're on land- how does that work?..." He changed the subject.

"Well I can breathe both air and water so going on land isn't much of a problem however the sunlight does burn our scales so we can't really go to the surface in the daylight also we can't really move around that much without legs" I swished my tail around in emphasis.

"Right but uhm do you need moisture to survive?"

"Mhm we have to be in water uhm I think it was at least 6 hours a day otherwise we'll start to dry out."

"okay cool- ehm..."

"Do you have water at your house?"

"Uhh I mean yeah?"

"Can I come with you?"

"As much as I'd love to say yes- no-"

"... So you have magic right- do you think you could figure out the spell to give me legs? Because I'm bored with the ocean. it's so big and all I do is swim around and eat fish."

"I have magic?"

"Well obviously you just shocked me when you got scared."

The boy was so confused, the look on his face said it all.

"The sun's gonna start coming up soon so I'll see you tomorrow night meet me here 'kay?" I smiled at him.

"Uhm alright I guess-"

"Mhm" I cupped his face and pecked his cheek before turning and swimming away back into the sea.

Thanks for reading!

This is something I wrote about a month ago and just got around to editing, it’s more to introduce you to the characters and the way that sirens work in this world. I probably won’t include all of it in the final story but I wanted to give you a little taste of the story idea.

Taglists

General Writing - @weirdfishy @wannabeauthorzofija @annlillyjose @iespeciallyme @radiomacbeth @opes-magnas (ask to be +/-)

A Song From The Deep - (ask to be added)

#writeblr #writing #creative writing #original writing #amwriting #teawrites #wip: a song from the deep #urban fantasy #mythology #new wip #fiction

4 notes · View notes

duhragonball · 3 years

Note

Krillin for the character ask :)

Give me a character and I will answer:

Why I like them: It’d be easy for me to say “he’s just a good dude” and leave it at that. I think people would agree with that statement, but I think it runs deeper than that. The thing that stuck with me about Krillin was when I was checking out the bonus features on the Movie 6 DVD I bought in 2002 or whenever, and they had an interview with Sonny Strait where he explained that Krillin only got into martial arts to impress girls, and that was the same reason Sonny got into voice acting. Maybe I’m misremembering that, but it always stuck with me.

Krillin wants things out of life, and unlike a lot of the other characters, he’s not looking to get them by wishing on a magic dragon. He wants to become worthy of the things he wants, and he may not always be sure of how to get there, he knows that he has to become more than he is.

Recently, I’ve been seeing excerpts from Barack Obama’s book, where he talks about reading up on subjects to try, unsuccessfully, to get girls to like him in college. I think the idea was that he was trying to be self-effacing, but it hasn’t gone over very well. I’m not sure if the problem was that he wasn’t being self-effacing enough, or if there’s something more sinister about reading Karl Marx just in case it helps your odds of getting noticed. I’m not going to wade into that controversy, except to say that it reminded me of Krillin.

Is it shallow to have self-serving reasons to improve yourself? Did I just answer my own question? The point I’m making here is that it’s a useful motivator. Krillin has self-esteem issues, and he joined the Orin Temple and then Kame House to try to overcome them. He thought “If I just get really good at this one thing, then people will like me.” And we can say “Oh, no, it doesn’t work that way, Krillin, people like you because you’re a such a good person, and besides, it doesn’t matter how good you are at martial arts.”

Okay, fine, let’s assume that’s true, and Krillin deceived himself by training in martial arts. Oh no! He put in all that work, and all he got out of it was... being the strongest human on Earth. Shoot. He made himself a better person for nothing.

The reality is that I don’t think he would be as well-liked if he hadn’t gone down this road, simply because people wouldn’t have gotten to know him. That’s really what it’s about. It’s easy to say that you’re liked for “who you are on the inside”, but what people really want is to be noticed long enough to be liked for who they are. And sometimes you gotta take a long look at yourself and say “I need to do something to grab people’s attention.”

And sometimes, in order to motivate yourself into that kind of work, you have to play that trick on yourself. “Just think, if I put in those extra reps in the gym, the ladies’ll be all over me!” And it never actually happens, but it gets you through that workout, and the next, and the next, and the next.

I think we can all relate to that. I’m writing this because three people asked me to, and I’m sort of hoping a few more will see it and like what I wrote. I try to get better, because I like the rush of validation that comes with it. And if I don’t get it, well, boo-hoo, I wrote a few hundred words about Krillin, a subject I enjoy writing about. It’s a no-lose situation, and there’s some non-zero chance that attractive single women might see this and decide to slide into my DMs. It’s a tiny chance, hardly worth mentioning, but it’s a lot higher than if I just sit in my apartment and stare at the wall.

Why I don’t: Ocean Dub Krillin really rubbed me the wrong way, because they wrote and voice directed the character to be really nebbishy. That wouldn’t necessarily make him a bad character, but it definitely conflicted with what you see on the screen, where he’s stepping to Nappa, Vegeta, Dodoria, and everything else he has to deal with. Once Sonny got the role, everything turned out cool. Mondo cool, if you will.

I suppose I should point out the flip side of what I wrote above. Krillin’s so focused on being worthy that he fails to recognize his achievements. That’s admirable in its way, but it also makes you worry about the guy. Like, he knows 18 is crazy about him, right? Wait, does Obama know people like him? Do I? Oh I might have made myself sad there for a minute, excuse me.

Favorite episode (scene if movie):

Probably the moment he tries to take on Super Buu all by himself. One of the cool things about Krillin is that he’s taken on every major villain from Piccolo Junior to Buu, despite being outclassed. I think the Super Buu thing is the best one, though, because in that situation there’s literally no chance of anyone jumping in to save him. His entire plan is to hold off Buu for a few seconds and maybe buy a few minutes for the others. He’s doomed and he knows it won’t even work as a diversion, but he still jumps in anyway. It proves that this is who he is. When there’s literally no one left to impress, and nothing left to gain, he’ll still play things out the same way.

Favorite season/movie: The Androids/Cell Saga is probably his best material overall, just because of his conflicted feelings regarding 18, and the difficult choices he makes because of that. You can make a strong case for the Namek Saga, where it’s literally just Krillin and Bulma and Gohan, so he has to take the lead by default, but I’m just not that into the Namek Saga.

Favorite line:

This is really more from one of the video games. I think Budokai 3, but I’m not sure. Piccolo demands custody of Gohan and Krillin’s like “No way, you’re probably gonna eat him or something!” and I’m pretty sure this wasn’t in the Ocean Dub, so it completely caught me off-guard, like it was the last thing I expected Krillin to say. And then Piccolo comes back with “I’m not going to eat him!” like he’s offended at the very suggestion. As a runner-up, I dig that part in DBZA 54, where Trunks and Vegeta are both reeling from their losses to Perfect Cell, and Krillin reminds them that they don’t have to posture around him, because it’s just him... “Krillin. Everyone’s friend.”

Favorite outfit: That’s easy.

Yeah, the Frieza Soldier armor looked mighty good on this dude, and the cop uniform does too, and the classic Turtle Hermit outfit is a signature look, but this, right here, is the Krillin for me. My man’s got the blue shirt under his orange shirt. No more of the Yamcha slipppers. Those look great on Yamcha, don’t get me wrong, but Krillin needs those big chunky Goku boots, because they’re perfect for stomping those pesky girlfriend-exploding remotes. Fellas, this is the ideal male body. You may not like it, but this is what peak performance looks like.

OTP: Maron HAHAHAHAHAHA oh wow. No. It’s 18, obviously.

Brotp: Clearly Goku is his bro, but it’s not surprising at all how effortlessly he gets along with just about everyone else. He’s bros with the entire world.

Head Canon: I’m pretty sure the Maron/Marron thing was just a coincidence in real life. Maron the girlfriend was a filler character, and Marron the daughter was introduced in the manga some time later, and both used the same naming convention to end up in the same place. However, I choose to believe that Krillin actually named his kid after his ex, and he somehow convinced 18 to go along with that idea.

By that, I don’t mean he had to sweet talk her into it or promise a bunch of stuff in exchange. I mean he must have discussed what to name their kid, and 18 was like “Your ex-girlfriend? Seriously?” and he was like “Yeah, I know she’s a ditz, but you gotta understand I was in a really low place and she helped me through it.” Or something like that, where once he lays out the whole reason 18′s like “Yeah, you know what? Okay.”

Or maybe Maron helped deliver the baby or something. Or she was the surrogate mother? Holy shit I might be onto something.

Unpopular opinion: Krillin clanks when he walks, due to the solid brass balls he’s got.

youtube

A wish: They should do a movie where Krillin just fights Frieza and wins. Decisively, undisputably, irrevocably. Krillin is stronger than Frieza from that point forward. I don’t care if that means nerfing Frieza or godmodding Krillin, but I just want it made plain that if they use Frieza from here on, it has to be with the understanding that Krillin can whip his ass at any time.

That might sound silly, and I guess it is, but you see what this accomplishes, right? It forces Frieza into a new character dynamic, so it’s not just the same old shit with him. Or Toei collectively admits that they can’t use him anymore, which was what they should have decided in 1995. I’m fine either way.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: Don’t grow his hair back, okay?

5 words to best describe them: Qualified to sell real estate.

My nickname for them: The Kriller.

#ask duhragonball #dragon ball #krillin #heavydbz

23 notes · View notes

common-blackbird · 4 years

Text

it’s time... for a dragon age 2 playthrough post. scroll on!

The things i loved most:

1) the frame of the game - Cassandra interrogating Varric.

What a great way to get hook the player. Like, the opening of guards dragging this poor dwarf with cuts of the title, and then Cassandra demanding answers... Whoaaa! I have no idea if that’s usually done in games or not, but it’s definitely such an amazing intro with characters introducing themselves as well as the story so perfectly, it captivates instantly. The tutorial has a charm to it bc varric is messing around. Which serves to show more of his character. Cassandra’s personality was pretty much blank here but her presence is so powerful. Something happened, something huge and they know and i was about to find out. I can’t describe how excited that intro made me feel. Each time the scene cut to the interrogation scenes, my eyes were glued more than ever. Just GREAT.

Also it makes for a very convenient scapegoat for every plothole ever with the argument “it’s just his version of the story”.

2) The story.

It’s tragic. It’s amazing! The further you play, the more you can see that no matter what you do, everything leads to a disaster. Hawke doesn’t want to take sides, tries to mediate, does not want to get involved, but just can’t stop it. For every thing gained, Hawke loses two more. Your friends come with packages that get you involved in terrible stuff. Your good intentions result in disasters. The whole game you spent time climbing the social ladder not only to reach the top hauntingly alone after losing all of your family, but also losing even that empty title and watching as the city you started to find your place in fall apart in blood. UGH! GAH! FEELS!

3) Kirkwall.

“ But, I beg you my dear readers, never forget that, no matter the subject of any story that might ever be explored between the cliffs of Kirkwall, She will find a way to steal the thunder of the protagonist. Or become the antagonist. Kirkwall is never a mere background. We could even understand it so: the challenge for you dear readers is to prevail against the smokescreens and observe to what extent our characters are players or played by the merciless black souled stone giant. Enjoy playing the dare of the ages between the lines of these humble memoirs. “

Memoirs from the Downfall - Act I. Mirage by Pfefferminze on ao3 (fic rec!)

This paragraph summs up what Kirkwall is better than I ever could. This shrouded mystery that surrounds Kirkwall keeps you on toes. From the first intro when Varric describes it (paraphrasing from memory) “Kirkwall. The city of chains. It is a free city - keeping in mind i use the the word loosely”. You already start seeing how dark Kirkwall gets. The name, that derives from its black walls (interestingly, the walls in the game aren’t black...), the history of slavery etched into every corner of that city and its surroundings - the names (The Gallows, the Bone Pit, the Wounded Coast, the pub The Hanged Man), the scenery (sculptures of slaves, the sunken ships by the Wounded Coast, slums and underground of the Lowtown and the Darktown).

I was really digging the History of Kirkwall and it loved it. Kirkwall has a history of violence, from the times of slavery of the Tevinter Imperium, to Qunari conquests and liberation from Orlais. Many revolts and uprising. And though free now, it’s suggested that, seeing that the Templars hold the most influence, Kirkwall is in the hands of the Chantry.

It’s full of cultures mixing together. I love how not one of your companions is a native to Kirkwall, and it feels like a crossroads to every character’s life. a very tragic crossroads in their life, seeing there’s nothing ever good waiting for you in Kirkwall.

Also there’s these codex entries you look for about the Enigma of Kirkwall. It was when i started digging that up that i fell in love with the city and all. Combined with the History of Kirkwall and every codex entry for every place in and out of Kirkwall, I was pulling my hair out reading about the Enigma. I..i’m still not quite sure what happened. Did the magisters use blood of thousands upon thousands slaves to unbound a forgotten one? if so, is that corypheus? And around what time did that happen?? I get that part (or all?) of Kirkwall’s mysterious violent agency is owed to corypheus slumbering relatively close to the city, but is that all? or is there something more? In either case, the Band of Tree are my heroes.

4) The characters.

I’ll talk more about them later, but in general, i just love how they oppose each other, how complex they are, and there is just not pleasing everyone. They feel genuine. They are all deeply flawed. They all have a solid background that makes their beliefs and actions convincing. The friendship/rivalry points are shaky though, and sometimes really don’t fit the character, but i guess there must be someone hating/loving your bad choices for the sake of the game regardless of characterisation. But all in all, i really appreciated each and every character, and loved how their viewpoints challenged me.

First i want a disclaimer: i love each and every character in the game, whatever i say against them doesn’t diminish my liking of them. My issues really aren’t significant. Also, i might and probably will say smth wrong bc i’ve only played it once. I’m a baby.

let’s start with Family:

Mama Hawke:

i really loved mama hawke. after reading her codex entry and an excerpt of some book on this site, i really feel for her. I mean, imagine going back to your home city where you only remember being respected and wealthy only to find out everything you remember is gone, you are forced to live in poverty, your kids are doing dangerous jobs and you can’t stop them bc you do need that money, you write letters trying to get the old connections but keep failing (at least it was implied?), it’s really been hard for her. I get why she was so obsessed with her legacy. She wanted her childhood home back. She can’t feel like Kirkwall is her home until she is home.

Also loved her antagonism towards Hawke. It seems she can no longer treat him like a child, so she criticises him instead. and honestly, hawke is doing some crazy things so he defintiely deserves some criticism. And stopping Hawke from taking carver with him is just logical to me, idk. since she knows she can’t stop Hawke from going, she will at least attempt to prevent the last kid from going into mortal danger. I’d do the same. AND AFTER HAVING CARVER DYING IN DEEP ROADS I AGREE WITH HER

All in all, i don’t think she’s a perfect mom, but there is no perfect mom, and Leandra does care a lot for her kids. The All that remains killed me too :’(

Bethany

RIP :(

Her codex is not long, but i guess she wasn’t happy with her magic :(

CARVER

My favouritest bestest bro in the game. A secondary character with an inferiority complex towards his sibling, with no sense of humour, blaming everyone else for his inability to get a life? I see a lot of myself in him. He is sooo bitter, but doesn’t even realise (or at least doesn’t admit) that he’s his biggest obstacle. He feels like it’s Hawke’s fault for Carver not getting his place in the sun, but honestly, it’s Carver’s devotion to Hawke that keeps him from getting a life. He’s just tied with that responsibility and can’t break from it unless forced to.

His interactions with other characters are so funny. Either he’s bitter or he’s awkward, i die every time ;;__;;

Anyways, he became a templar in my game and i thought it fits better thematically (throughout the game the grey wardens felt more like a fanservice material since they really aren’t connected to the story), but after reading that meta about carver and seeing the striking difference between warden!carver and templar!carver i wanna reload and redo everything ;;__;;

i mean... carver isn’t exactly a templar material. The codex entry for templars says that the wanted characteristics of templars are strong faith and utmost obedience, none of which carver really has... . But that moment when he stands up against meredith was *chefs kiss* worth it. I’m just wondering what happens after, is he still a templar? is he with hawke? is he in Kirkwall or if not, where did he go?? so many questions ;A;

Uncle Gamlen

I feel bad for him. Mostly he’s mean but i like to think it’s bc he’s so ashamed that his sister sees what he’s become. And he’s bitter about his own life. I was so happy when i realised he has a personal mission ;__; I feel bad that he didn’t come to live in the hawke estate tho, especially since Hawke is also alone there :(

COMPANIONS!

Varric

There are no words that can properly convey the amount of love for this guy. He is simply flawless. He’s a charming godfather of the dwarven mafia. I wanna have a charming godfather of the dwarven mafia in my life... He already becomes interesting with the intro, and i gotta say, out of all ~storyteller~ types of characters, he is the best. he puts a disclaimer at the beginning with that game tutorial, and during the whole interrogation he’s like “well, how do you know i’m not lying? i could be.” Also, his voice is the second best voice in the game.

As for his personal missions, oh wow, that thing with his big bro really hurt. I also gave him the red lyrium... was that a mistake? will i regret it? ;__; I know the true friend would prevent him, but i also trust that varric knows how to handle dangerous stuff...

On a side note, since i’ve read the comics (no self control whatsoever), i loved the beginning of the Until We Sleep, where varric mentions it’s easier to imagine all the people he had to kill were evil than to face the fact that those were normal people just doing their job or trying to survive. Man, it hurts TAT

*garret hawke’s voice when he looks a certain way at the family crest in the hawke estate* ISABELA!

Ok ok, so, i love Carver bc i relate, i love Varric because he’s simply perfect. But I love Isabela because she’s the most intriguing.

She just crashed in Kirkwall and really didn’t sign up for all the trouble she got. She never likes to have deep conversations, she is always downgrading herself and you just wonder, what is it that happened in her life, and you know her past mistakes haunt her, and she’s doing her best to move on. Her arc was i think my favourite. I think the comic Those Who Speak really adds a lot to her arc in DA2 and makes some of her choices more understandable. Her whole story is about her internal conflict of whether to survive or do the right thing. Her story about freeing the slaves got her ship wrecked is great and all for making her be a pirate with a golden heart, but that story about her drowning all the slaves few years previous make this freeing of slaves a big character moment for her. She finally did the right thing. And she got for it was more trouble, because she’s a pirate which means she can’t afford to just do the right thing. And throughout the game, that same story is going back and forth. She runs off with the Relic bc she’s done the right thing before and it got her nowhere, so now she decided to put her own survival as a priority, but comes back bc she’s too kind to just leave Hawke standing like that. And again, with the slaver papers, it’s the same reasoning: it’s her or the higher cause. She needs that ship. She chooses herself. It’s her biggest flaw. But hey, between pros and antis in your party, it was really refreshing to have someone who, along with varric, just gives you a break with moral high-grounds.

I only wish we actually got to see her more as a captain in power in the game or that she showed me that amazing hat she saw in lowtown. It’s cool that it’s implied that her crew doesn’t like her and she also lost most of them during the crash while the others probably left her after.

I love it when she says she goes sometimes to the docks just to watch the ships. That there is no feeling like sailing. I just want a spin-off with captain isabela’s terrible adventures (´A`)

Also, isabela’s VA is my fave, she really did an amazing job. she voices so smoothly, i wouldn’t know if i was playing a game or watching a movie. And has such a pretty way of talking...

Aveline

I’m really neutral towards Aveline. I like her personality and i like that she’s found herself a purpose and advanced in the guards, and she’s always looking out for everybody. I just wish her personal missions went in the vein of the one in act 1... i feel it would have been more interesting to see her having trouble in her position and that you can’t just waltz into Kirkwall and take command. It’s implied she’s being pressured, so i guess she’s just dealing with it herself, but i just... eh. She’s ok.

Merrill

Merrill actually has one of the if not the most tragic story-line that really challenges you both morally and emotionally.

Her cheerful and cute personality is dampened by her constant dark leitmotif of willingly practicing blood magic. And i think her story really showed well the indirect consequences of it.

Not in one instance was Merrill’s practice of blood magic an active culprit for all tragedy that surrounds her. First, it seems that blood magic is practiced in the clan, seeing there is no freeing Flemeth without it, but i’m guessing it’s seldom practiced and with great caution. So Merrill wasn’t in any danger of being prosecuted for her blood magic. It’s actually her wish to study it further with the help of the demon that makes her an outcast. That and the magic mirror that apparently is forgotten for a reason. Also, it’s made quite clear that Merrill would be welcomed back no questions asked if she at any point decided to ditch the demon and live without the study of magic mirror. She, on the other side, is driven by the higher cause, the idea that figuring out the forgotten purpose of some evil mirror might help her clan, and is willing to be an outcast if it means reaching her goal and helping her clan. Fast foward to act 3, the clan is still there when they should have moved away, and it’s only when you face the demon possessed Keeper, you realise why. She knew Merrill would sooner or later bargain with the demon again. And she sacrificed herself, trapping the demon within her, as to prevent it. And i think that is why the clan stayed so long there. She waited for Merrill because she wanted Merrill to kill her, and hopefully with her the demon. It didn’t go as planned, obviously, but i really think she had good intentions. When Merrill does manage to kill the Keeper she’s forced to face the clan and i chose the wrong option of telling the truth which resulted in a massacre. Merrill gets back and regrets everything. She, however resolves to help the alienage.

The thing is, there is no one to blame Everyone had the best intentions. Everyone is working for the safety of the clan. it’s a story of sacrifice and when sacrifice feels like the wrong choice (whether it truly is or isn’t depends on your worldview) and it’s really done well.

But here are my issues with Merrill. I love her as a character, but i don’t agree with her decisions. It’s a personal issue. Merrill is giving up everything as to help her clan by learning history of the evil mirror. And while this is a game where old things are important and significant, her mission is always explained as this duty of preserving history. And while i agree that preserving history is very important, there is a limit to it. you should never put history before the present. If your research endangers the present, you give up on that line. The other is that you need to make peace with the fact that many, many things are forgotten and will be forgotten. It’s sad, but you gotta make peace with the fact that some things are just gone.

And Merrill, who is a magic historian, fails to see that. So that kinda irks my historian moral codex. And in the end, as far as i know, Merrill doesn’t succeed in reviving the evil mirror and dedicates herself to help the alienage. It was a terrible way to learn that some things aren’t worth it.

The other, less personal issue, is that none of this had to happen. I mean, the keeper obviously didn’t think Merrill was experienced enough to actually deal with demons and therefore distrusted her and warned the clan about it. So, if Merrill was a little bit more patient she could have just studied normally under the keeper, and when she herself becomes the keeper, she could have fraternize with that demon however she wanted without much complications. So yeah... i guess youth is made of idealism.

But as i said, minor issues. Her story is really, really great.

Fenris

Fenris and Anders are my “i love you but i am soo annoyed by you but i still love you” characters. Half of the time they’re just there to make you feel guilty for being a neutral party. Which sometimes has me rolling my eyes. If Fenris and Anders actually got along with each other, slavery and mage oppression would have ended in 2 days. Which makes it all the more frustrating that they do not.

Fenris.. his voice. What a nice voice colour. So elegant, but kinda rough, sometimes he talks like he’s 80 years old, sometimes like he’s a teenager. I love it.

As for the rest, i mean, i don’t agree with his methods, but very often, the guy’s got a point. I get his experience with mages colours his view on them, so while i symphatise, it’s really hard to have him on my “free mages” missions when he’s my best tank and i want him to be on friendly terms with Hawke so this makes things... difficult. That aside, it’s interesting that fenris doesn’t see mages as evil per se, but rather victims who, in his experience, will always, always going to succumb to a demon. It’s an inevitable reality to him. And this makes me wonder if he ultimately, despite being his friend or lover, is just waiting for the day he will be forced to kill Hawke too :(

As for his missions, they were ok, it led up to culmination and i didn’t let him kill his sister bc Hawke has just lost his mom, don’t do smth you’ll regret ;__;

also, somewhere around the end of act 2 i decided to romance fenris bc i love to suffer, so i worked the whole act 3 trying to get more aproval points and also wondering why are there no romance options when i talk to him... turns out that one night stand with isabela romanced her and canceled fenris. But i never even finished the romance with her so i’m just ??? about it all.

I wish it was more explained about the tattoos fenris has? I just thought the tattoos would play a big role somewhere in the game and it just never happened. There was a banter with Merrill about how his tattoos are similar to valaslin, so i thought, hmm, interesting, maybe the two are connected. But nah they just glow in the dark and make you pass through walls. Whatevs.

also dude just goes and kills without a second thought, i’m just “mate, you gotta calm down”. But that’s his thing. He’s constantly bitter and is very bad at anger management. I can’t blame him, considering he lacks around 10- 20 years of experience due to amnesia.

He’s the only one who left me when Hawke sided with mages, and i was like, “ok i getcha, it’s been nice knowing you”, but then when i asked him to join me 5 minutes later he just went “ok changed my mind” which was so funny, like, where did all that integrity dissappear??? It would have been more impactful if the dialogue went in the line of “i want to stand by my principals but you’re a living breathing proof that not all mages are weak to succumb to demons so i’ll join you in the end” (and then side-eye “i told you so” when orsino turns into a demon)

And i wanna read the fenris comic now bc my question for every character here is what is their fate after kirkwall. I only know that isabela & varric are working for alistair and merrill wants to help the alienage. Aveline is i guess either dismissed from her job or got a pass after cullen took the command. But Carver?? Fenris?? Anders?? They never talked about long term plans...

Anders

ooh boy, here we go. there are many questions i have for him and am generally just hmmmm. First, as for his pro-mage rights - it’s like opposite fenris so i just have the same feelings: you mean well, i don’t agree with your methods, your experiences define your worldview so i let some things slide, but other things i will not agree with. Though, question: in how many circles has Anders been? He knows the kirkwall circle, he knows the fereldan circle. Seeing he has excaped 7 times, did they send him to a different circle each time or was the fereldan the last one? or the first one? Or maybe it was his boyfriend they transferred? did i miss something?

I’ll just whisper: awakening!Anders >>> da2!Anders. I just miss the old anders. Which says a lot bc during the awakening i was just “shut up anders”. I miss his bad jokes, his terrible attempts at flirting, his enjoyment of freedom, nagging all the time, and generally being more moderate in pro-mage rights. Like, in awakening, because it was not the only thing he talked about, it felt more personal and intense. Here mage-rights are the only thing he ever talks about + justice. I mean, please correct me if i’m wrong, this was just general impression. But to defend da2!Anders here, it makes sense that merging with mixed both of their personality, and i like that they did that. It’s also very sad.

The thing is, when i’m thinking about anders, i love his story and character. Just as it’s terrible that Fenris, having no memory from before being Fenris, Anders can never go back to being just Anders. And this, people, is why you don’t fraternize with spirits. He’s obviously afraid of how justice is affecting him and there are some bare traces of his old personality and i guess he wouldn’t be as radical if he didn’t have justice personality that can’t stand the injustice. And in combination with anders quite selfish personality (form awakening, and i say that lovingly), it makes him do things that justice wouldn’t condone. Anders is literally a walking bomb.

Again, same problem as with fenris, i really thought that the justice glow would have a incredibly significant culmination, and it didn’t, it was just to show that anders and justice are very bitter. Eh, ok.

Also, i let anders join after he blew up the chantry, bc he started it, so might as well follow it through.

Some minor characters that i remember

Senechal Bran for the next Viscount! He hated hawke so much but still put up with him.

Feynriel is the coolest mage in Kirkwall. I think his missions were my favourite. Dude goes from “oh no i’m a mage” to “i will just dreamwalk to tevinter and learn control the reality” to “i dream-killed bad people from thousands of miles away”. Does he appear in the next game? I want him on my side. He’s so cool.

I think the Maker is sending Cullen signs to quit being a templar. First job: evil mages that tortured you. Instead of “this job will kill you” h took it as a “never trusting mages again, got it”. Second job: your boss is evil possessed paranoid maniac. Man, talk about bad luck.

What is the story of the Lady Elegant?

Flemeth had that big great talk at the beginning of the game and i thought by the end of the game i’d realise what it meant, but nope, still no clue.

Ok so I defeated Corypheus, but there was this looong shot of Larius walking away. Corypheus possessed larius, didn’t he? He’s out there. In a madman’s body. I know he appears in inquisition.

Many thoughts

I gotta say, in Kirkwall, at least, it didn’t feel like much of a challenge to pick a side. Like, there was no mage who said “hey i actually really like it here in the circle, the templars aren’t so bad”, and having templars actually smuggling mages from the circle says a lot to say the least. Every time a mage talks to you, unless you go with “oh they’re 100% lying”, their stories invoke sympathy and of course you want to help them. And then in 99% cases they turn to blood magic bc there was no other way. Except that dude who always hanged out with the wrong people, he only did blood magic to save Carver. But yeah, that turning to blood magic was like having Fenris side-eye me with an unspoken “i told you so” bc every mage, whether in desperation or hunger for power, will turn sooner or later into a demon. Regardless, blood magic was always in the act of desperation and self-defense. The only times where magic was actually evil was the slavers and the serial killer, who is a madman.

When i was reading the Enigma of Kirkwall, there was a part that talks of a blood-mage conspiracy and i was all, oh shit, there is a reason why templars are mean to mages! maybe the conspirators are framing innocent mages on blood magic crimes that they actually commit, maybe Meredith is actually on trail of the conspirators, maybe there is a reason for animosity on both sides. After all, Kirkwall was known for having a bigger number of apostates, a bigger number of blood magic cases and far more ruthless templars. It added up.Thinking back now, i never even got any specific reason why meredith was so intensely anti-mage, other than going mad.

But yeah, no conspirators. Just sad mages and mean templars, and good templars that get screwed by desperate and mean mages.

While in Kirkwall it’s easy to be a pro-mage, i was thinking a lot about mage-rights in general so let me indulge myself: there are circles, but the mages aren’t oppressed. Rather, the circles would be educational centres and society in every larger city where one learns how to properly handle magic bc magic is dangerous. You can leave when you pass the final exam and also come back anytime to hang out with mages who decide to live there since the institution would support mages.

Also, when one gets possessed, i’d invest more into “walk into their head and free them of demons” specialists. It’d be cool if you could have a dreamer who does that bc no lyrium spent. Honestly, why don’t they ever do that? How did the keeper do that rite for Feynriel? Was it blood magic?

I guess, you’d still have to answer for your crimes, tho no death punishment and degradation allowed. Blood magic wouldn’t be punishable by death, but rather have specialists who study it, but practice with extreme caution and use of another person’s blood is strictly prohibited.

Templars would still exist but completely reformed. No more “mages are all potential disasters”, but i’d rather make it that mages can too be templars, since they both have abilities that prevents the others from casting magic. This way the control system would be much like the dalish: if the keeper(mage) is possessed, the clan (which means the non-mages and the first(mage)) need to kill them. You could argue that you don’t need templars as non-mages, since mages can do it too, but seeing that in general people fear magic and feel inferior to it (since there’s a collective memory of the great tevinter imperium), having non-magic specialists would make them feel like on equal ground. The extra-reformed templars would be under Circle, not under direct command of the chantry, and circle, depending of whether chantry is reformed, might or might not be under chantry.

(a side note, i was thinking about templars recently and i can’t recall an instance where it says who had the clever idea to chew lyrium first? i just wanna know)

I know that DA2 wasn’t about grey wardens and therefore not about darkspawn, but seeing as in legacy we get corypheus being... an evil version of the Architect(??), i was only wondering do we get more answers about the darkspawn? is there hope for them? is the Architect still alive?

And oh, to turn to the Anders question:

Is he a terrorist, or was that just activism? I mean, i don’t see why those two can’t go together. blasting a building with a symbolic significance killing and harming many innocent people to get a message of your radical activism across belongs into a schoolbook of terrorism. Does he have a good cause? He sure believes so, and i, too, agree that mages should not be oppressed for just being mages. But does that mean this is the right way to do it? Personally, i do not condone any act of violence in service of a political or religious cause. I know it’s sometimes inevitable, but i like to believe there are more diplomatic ways, or at least not including an attack on civilians.

That aside, the moment where anders goes in front and just announces that the church was gonna blow up in a minute was the best anders moment for me. Until that point i more or less just viewed his activism as a hobby since he just did it in his free time, but now he put his money where his mouth is and freaking went all out. Cool character moment. And incredibly heartwrenching. He was aware of how many innocents he killed, but just didn’t see other way to get the point across.

I still don’t agree with his idea of blowing up the church tho. Maybe if he told Hawke, they could have done something to empty the church previously and further people away from it and then blow it up?

But still, blowing up religious buildings isn’t the answer. If i was the radical mage activist, i would have gone for the open assassination. Seeing it worked in WW1, i don’t see why it couldn’t start a fantasy war.

Some random things i liked:

uniportant but lovable interractions in the house: it starts innocently with gamlen’s house, to see how you’re doing, and becomes really fun during act 2 when you see your friends have been here and left you things. In act 3, however, it feels melancholic. no more family to come back to, just ghosts of friends that have visited, Bodahn and Sandal being there for you, Orana still not getting some sunlight and your dog at the fireplace. The Hawke Family Suite is playing, and you feel older than you are, lonlier than you should be. just... ouch. I hope Bodahn adopted Orana and took her out of Kirkwall :(

t i named the dog “Maker” which is very funny to me bc every time i summon the dog i just imagine Hawke yelling “Maker help us”. Carver hates the name bc he needs to chase the dog often in the streets. Mama Hawke never ever calls the dog Maker, but she never has to call the dog anything: he’s super obedient towards her.

Fighting wasn’t as hard as in origins, i like that.

The haunted house mission was so cool.

When random people greet aveline in Hightown.

And that’s i think about it. There are probably plenty more things i loved, but i think this is already enough. if somebody told me i’d be playing so much this year, i’d laugh, but I already want to play the next game ;;___;;

#don't klick keep reading if you aren't ready to scroll endlessly #a very long post #in which i:#love everything #stan carver #cry over fictional characters #need a romance manual #form political opinions in a fictional game #give a random fic rec that is so worth your time #if you've read this you're a hero and i'm sorry #da2 #spoilers for those who plan to play #it took me a week to write this god

29 notes · View notes

you-are-my-neverland · 4 years

Text

so. it’s finally time to talk about [my] nano.

i’ve kept my nano project pretty under wraps so far, mostly because it’s been out of my hands. i wasn’t actually planning on doing a for real for real nano; instead, i thought i would dedicate some time to my fanfic (spoiler alert, but i haven’t yet) or work on finishing up revising fairbone (spoiler alert: i did revise one chapter, but i still have like half of it left to go and a nov 30 deadline...rip). if that didn’t work, i thought i would pick a wip i started over the summer or one i had half developed (let’s just say the ideas note i have really boomed over the summer and like...yeah). in conclusion, there were many wips ready for me to work on them, including ash heart, which i really want to write but haven’t figured out how to.

instead i started a new wip.

well, it’s not necessarily new, persay. it’s an idea i’ve had stewing since like late september/early october and planned out a good portion of. however, deciding to start it was a last minute decision - and by last decision, i mean that on october 31st i finished developing the barebones of character development and basic plot lol and then gave it a go. it’s honestly been going crazy well. as of today (november 9th), i just hit 21.2k words. i’m hopeful about this year, while also not wanting to jinx stuff, but like...wow. but writing is has made me realize that, wow, this book is going to be crazy long probably...like i’m 21k words in and we’re still like in the exposition idk what’s going on. but hey, i finished planning out the rest of the basic plot for it today!!!

right. onto the wip details.

honestly, the only reason i haven’t introduced this wip is because a) i want actual stuff done on it and like a proven commitment, because i feel like too often i introduce wips i don’t actually go anywhere with and i hate it, b) i don’t have a set title and c) i actually have no idea how to summarize this.

the novel i’m working on right now is the first of a projected trilogy. i say projected because i have a vague idea that it belongs to a trilogy, but like not a lot of plot except some vaguely connected ideas that should happen in the future. in it, i used a lot of characters from these violent ends, which i tried to write for camp april 2020, but like just their basic barebones; i changed a lot to fit the story, of course.

not to sound nerdy, but it is like....harry potter inspired, but ONLY in the magical boarding school sense. of course, right now all i have is magical boarding school shenanigans, which i don’t really like because i feel like it unfairly sets the book up as like fun magical stuff when it’s really about murder & politics & student activism (+ a lot of other things ending in -ism). the whole activism part came from watching the trial of the chicago 7 and i was like, bingo, this is what this story needs.

kay but ANYWAYS. onto the story. like i said, i can’t really summarize it, but there are lots of themes of classism, feminism, the affect on youth and youth’s effect, manipulative adults, revolution, terrorism, sibling dynamics and found family vibes, like all that stuff...packaged into a magical boarding school off the coast of maine setting...recipe for disaster!

mainly i’ve been writing in ophelia’s pov, because she’s my main girl and she’s problematic, but also she’s trying her best and just having a little difficulty fitting in. some other main characters are her twin brother, sebastian, and two other boys, asriel and vincent, who have an initially animistic relationship with ophelia (& kind of each other?) but it’s like enemies to friends (to lovers?).

anyways. here are some carefully curated excerpts below the cut:

i. vincent and asriel meet on a train (ch. 1)

The boy pursed his lips together. “It’s unusual,” he said, finally. “That’s all.” But he was looking at Vincent as if he was noticing him, which meant he was lying, or at least withholding the truth about something. He added, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Do you mean geographically?” Vincent replied, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m from New York.”

A small glimmer of a smile appeared on the boy’s lips, though it vanished as quickly as it had come. “From the Magical World,” he clarified.

“What gives it away?” Vincent asked sarcastically, waving a hand across his body. “My impeccable taste?”

“Among other things,” the boy said.

ii. sebastian and ophelia discuss grief on a ferry (ch.2 )

“You and mom talked?” Ophelia asked, surprised. She hadn’t exactly been keeping track of them, but she was sure she and Sebastian had spent much of the day together, as they were wont to do.

Sebastian looked at the floor. “Yeah,” he answered, hoarsely. “At least she wants to talk about Des. Dad doesn’t, and neither do you.”

Ophelia sighed, wondering why, today of all days, her sister was haunting them. Maybe it was because there should have been three people heading to Rijevduct, instead of two. Maybe Mother Magic was reminded of the loss of one of her own.

“I’ve let her go,” she said. “You should too. We have too much of our lives ahead of us to mourn Desdemona forever.”

“I don’t mourn,” Sebastian said, words uncharacteristically sharp. “But I do grieve.”

“Isn’t that basically the same thing,” Ophelia mumbled, closing her eyes and feeling the press of a headache behind them.

“Sorrow,” Sebastian said, the word a soft shudder. “And sad endings.”

“What?”

“That’s what makes a good tragedy,” Sebastian answered. “I read it in a book.”

iii. headmistress alexeyev gives a speech (ch. 2)

“Eight years ago, seventy two students were slaughtered here. Some died on the very spot where you now stand today.” Ophelia glanced down at the floor, seeing the motion repeated instinctively around her as well. She looked over at Sebastian, who had closed his eyes instead, a pale flush meeting the faint color in his cheeks. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, tennis shoes scraping against stone as he toed them against the floor, as if he was shaking something only visible to him off.

“It was a tragedy,” Headmistress Alexeyev continued. “I say this because it is the truth. It was a tragedy, and not one that should never have happened.” She inhaled; Ophelia saw her chest rise, shoulders with it, in a sharp motion before she exhaled, body rearranging itself into poise once more. “I speak of this to tell you to assure you that Rijevduct is safe. I know there have been continuous doubts over the security of this school since that day eight years ago. I cannot, of course, guarantee that you will not come to any harm here. I cannot tell you that Rijevduct is the safe haven you were taught it was growing up; events have already proved that it is, in fact, not as impenetrable as one might think.”

Ophelia frowned, confused as to the line of reasoning. She had thought the whole point of the year of transition was to make sure that Rijevduct was infinitely more safer than it had been—and they had all been under the assumption that Rijevduct was virtually impenetrable until the massacre, which had led to the heightened security measures they saw today.

“I can, however, promise you that I, and everyone here today, will do anything in their power to keep you safe,” the Headmistress said. Next to Ophelia, Briar bowed her head, lowering her eyes and swallowing, the action almost a convulsion of her throat and mouth. Ophelia brushed her hand, lightly, in question, and the other girl just shook her head, looking away purposefully, so that Ophelia lost sight of her face and her sad eyes.

“These next three years will be far from easy. Gone are the sheltered lives where your parents could kiss your injuries goodbye, or sing you to sleep at night. Rijevduct is far from the cold, real world, but it is close enough when it comes to not asking you what you want first. This is an adjustment period. This is learning how to survive—and I will tell you this; surviving means many different things to many different people. You will have to decide on your own what this will mean for you, and how you will apply what you are taught here to your futures. Be wise. Be proud. Be humble. Cry. Laugh. Live. As your Headmistress, I, along with your professors, will be here throughout your time.” She raised her glass, “To the worthy,” and then drank, turning and walking back to her seat, which she lowered herself into gracefully.

iv. sebastian pov! (ch. 3)

There was a dead girl in Sebastian’s first period Magical Theory class. She was sitting diagonal from him, on the Glass side of the classroom, in an empty chair, staring straight ahead at the chalkboard. Sebastian tried not to look at her too obviously, his eyes straying from the open book in front of him to her cautiously, beneath the sleeve of his sweater.

She was sitting blankly in the chair, scraping her shoes against the ground, though they could not leave any scuff marks. Though she was the same faded shades most girls were, Sebastian could make out her pleated pale blue plaid skirt, which brushed around her knees, and the stained white blouse that might have once been spotless, but had been marred forever by the circumstances surrounding her death—objectively, that was to say, with blood. Her dark brown hair fell into loose curls around her shoulders, little silver studs glinting dimly, unable to catch the light. Her knee high socks now pooled around her calves and ankles, revealing a rotting bandaid on one of her knees. One of her tennis shoes was peeling at the toes, looking as if it had been ripped apart.

Her fingernails had all been pulled off. Sebastian was good at analyzing ghosts by this point; he recognized the bloody flesh and bone of the nail bed. There was also blood matted across her head, trickling down her temple, with bruises covering her body; they peeked out from beneath the collar of her shirt, blackened across her cheekbones with a sunken quality in particular to one of her cheeks, as if the bone had begun to cave.

Subjectively, she was far from one of the worst that Sebastian had seen.

#writers on tumblr #writing #creative writing #nano 2020 #nanowrimo 2020 #nano update #11.9.2020 #enjoy these excerpts they are not so trash after all #this is all so messy #but i didn't want to ss because it will look ugly #this should be called i explain my nano2020 w/o explaining anything #i want to make a point with this but also]#magical boarding school shenanigans TT #like it's bothering me how it has like a different start than its end but maybe that will be good in the end?#who knows who knows #anyways if i tried to actually explain my wip we would be here all night

9 notes · View notes

oathkeeper-of-tarth · 4 years

Text

2020 SU Fic Sampler - WIP Showcase

So in my continued attempts at distraction, I trawled through my SU fanfic folders, looked at the ol’ endless WIP pile. Figured I’d do a little roundup of some that are in something resembling a decent state. Maybe even see where interest lies and all that, get some attention and validation, you know, all that good stuff one craves. Of course, there’s loads more than this, and I might one day post some things I wrote but never quite managed to finish up, or that got super jossed in ways I couldn’t get myself to work around.

Now, in no particular order, here’s 8 draft snippets totaling almost 6000 words - not very polished, obviously, some quite rough around the edges, some long, some short, some that work better without context than others. But here they are anyway, with an utterly predictable array of focal characters. Any missing segments or my asides/notes in the text are [written like this], because I usually write very non-linearly. Hope you all like mood whiplash!

P.S. I live for comments.

Like Talking To A Wall, aka Bismuth making friends with the wall, statue, and floor Gems. Early precursors to radicalisation and “I would have liberated everyone”, perhaps. Started as one of my first reactions to the Diamond Days episodes.

“Hey, thanks for listening.”

“Anytime. You’re lucky I’m so supportive,” Mica piped up from up on her arch.

Bismuth laughed. Bittersweet. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

Then, with a surprisingly gentle hand pressed to the carvings she’d been so careful about, she added a soft: “I’ll miss you.”

“Chin up! It’s gonna be a lovely off-planet adventure for you,” Granite rumbled from just above her head. “A brand new colony! Think of the sights!”

“You can tell us all about it when we see you again.”

Bismuth leaned back, pressing her whole back against the wall, reluctant to leave, even if a snooty shift supervisor was bound to come around and chase her off soon. “Yeah, I’ll make sure to do that.”

They all knew very well that, as always, when the building was done, it was goodbye. The chances of there being a need for repairs or remodelling - and the exact same bismuths being brought in to do them - were incredibly slim.

But pretending was nice, sometimes.

Hey, Steven, think I could get a moment before we leave? I won’t be long.

They were right where she’d left them, and the years had done very little to change them. A bit of a patina there, some dust, the tiniest bit of wear on sharper corners.

“Bismuth?” Several familiar voices cried out to her in shocked recognition.

She knew she must look a sight - battle-ready and battle-worn, but armour still gleaming, and with a bearing of one who had been through much and was always ready for more. She felt her back had never been so proud and straight, her shoulders so resolutely set.

“I think,” Bismuth grinned, “you’re gonna start seeing changes around these parts.”

---

One for that favourite Pearletariat/Pearl Solidarity fic sub-genre of mine: Clever Pearls Cleverly Getting Around Badly Worded Orders. A bit of an origin for an as-of-yet unnamed pearl OC, because I sure don’t have enough of those!

In the untold thousands of years of Homeworld and Gemkind, and the hundreds of thousands of commands given to hundreds of thousands of pearls, nobody ever thought to Order a pearl not to think. That would imply a they mattered at all, and who would ever put stock in a pearl’s thoughts? Most Gems weren’t sure pearls could think, anyway. I mean, if they could, all that standing around would be intolerable, wouldn’t it? And imagine not being able to say no to anything, even crushing your own gem - shards, at least I’m not a pearl!

They were, occasionally, when dealing with an owner’s important, private, confidential business, Ordered to forget, or, a bit less esoterically, Ordered never to tell.

And [OWNER] has always been all too eager with the Orders. As if she went to bizarre lengths in her thinking that pearl couldn’t - or wouldn’t? - do anything upon merely being told, let alone by herself. Every little thing, from sweeping up the shards of a broken decorative plate to taking down the minutes of an important meeting [OWNER] was presiding over - (im)pressed upon pearl with the crushing weight of an Order.

But she could still think.

Even when Ordered to wait by the door, freezing her limbs and anchoring her legs to the ground with all the force of a starship mooring mechanism. Even when Ordered into silence for days and planetary rotations on end because [OWNER] had wanted to read an important document without being disturbed and it simply didn’t occur to her to lift it when she was done.

In the wake of the Rebellion and the Renegade Pearl, it only gets worse, and soon enough pearl can barely remember the last time a single movement she made was voluntary.

---

SU Future-era Bismuth and Steven convo I scribbled down in between some of these recent eps - after Growing Pains in particular I think - because Bismuth is the absolute pep talk queen.

“You already said you were sorry for trying to kill me in the Forge, and really, it’s okay, it was all a misunderstanding. Besides, it’s more than a lot of people have done!”

Bismuth blinked at the pinkish sheen around Steven’s cheeks, around the downturned brows - strange trick of the light, that. “Steven, come on. Just listen to me for a minute.”

“Okay,” Steven sighed, and leaned against the railing Bismuth had fixed just that morning.

“Point is, for me, the war had never ended. It wasn’t only yesterday, it was today. It was over for everyone, it seemed, except for me. And getting over that, getting used to that, really seeing that as the truth, not living every day buzzed up with that anticipation of the next battle, just waiting for Homeworld to come down hard on us with whatever new horror they’d come up with… that took a while. And it took help.”

[sudden apparent non-sequitur but It’s An Allegory, Steven.]

“When you make a sword, you can’t make it rigid and unyielding. You can’t just temper it into toughness and hardness and make it unbreakable. It needs to have some give in order to be durable, it needs to be able to bend so as not to shatter on impact. And sure, maybe the first parry or strike wouldn’t be the one to do it, but the tenth, the hundreth, the thousandth? Any time you might just find yourself holding on to a hilt with the jagged remnants of everything, and shards scattered on the ground. And if you’re very lucky, that’ll happen during friendly sparring, not in the heat of battle.”

Steven shrugged without response, and seemed to be shrugging off all the words as well. Back to the direct approach it was, then.

“Now you, Steven,” that at least got a bit more attention, “Sure, you can brawl with the best of ‘em, and you put that gem to damn good use. You’ve got great technique drilled in, too - I’d expect nothing less from one of Pearl’s students. But that’s not how you won, in the end, is it? You never won because you were tough, or strong. You have a diamond in you but you’re not hard at all. Well, except on yourself.”

“In the end all of this was possible because you were soft. Just malleable and pliable enough when it was needed. And that takes guts.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Bismuth put a hand on his shoulder, and even with all the very human growing he’d done, he still seemed to almost disappear in it. “You put yourself out there for others… maybe it’s about time you let them help you.”

---

The next chapter of the His Dark Materials/Daemons AU which I am sooooo painfully late with it’s not even funny anymore. Already posted some excerpts [here] and [here].

“She’s been... away on business, but we’ve sent a zeppelin for her and she’s well on her way back. Hopefully.”

“You have a zeppelin?” Rose was rapidly failing in all her efforts to keep her voice down.

“Of a sort. We, er, we... stole it.”

“Stole-!”

“Yes, well, stole might be a strong word,” Pearl tapped a finger against her chin. “You see, there was a small decommissioned postal craft left below the southern mail station aërodock that nobody would ever miss, all I had to do was fix it up a bit and-”

Rose blinked. “You fixed a decommissioned zeppelin.”

Pearl waved a hand almost casually. “I had some help, but yes. Svalbard, understandably, is hard to reach with other means of transport, and Bismuth needed to be able to go back and forth.”

“You,” Rose began, awed, “are utterly wasted on bringing me my slippers, I’ll tell you that.”

“Well then, maybe,” Pearl blushed, but there was nothing hesitant about her smirk and the strikingly proud tilt of her head, “maybe you could take them off with a bit more care than kicking them halfway across the room and sending them off under the cabinets and- and then I wouldn’t need to do that at all. And I could fix all the zeppelins in the world.”

[more from the super secret backroom rebellion meeting]

“They’re with the Consistorial Court of Discipline, no doubt. Always on the lookout for,” Bismuth grimaced, “heretics. A lot falls under that. A lot of good excuses to snatch someone off the street and do who knows what to them. And they’ve been funneling people there, people vanished by the CCD. Not lacking in test subjects lately.”

“How did you get this? Where?” It was Sapphire, this time. Ruby seemed overwhelmed, and sat clutching her hand desperately as the tiny frog and hare both whispered something to her.

“We traced the funding for all this. It was difficult and deliberately obfuscated, but we managed. A facility like this, an entire operation, cost a pretty amount, you’d assume - and you’d be right. It had to come from somewhere. And whoever was paying for it was likely to want to know what was being done with their investment.”

“So we followed the trail. And it turned out I was… ideally positioned to… to, erm, procure what evidence there was to be found. Because, well...” Pearl trailed off, and lifted one of the stolen report sheets for all to see.

It was as clear as day, the family crest right above the astronomical amount being granted. Four diamonds, neatly arranged.

Neshu’s ears were flat against his mane, and Rose found herself wishing the ground would simply open up and swallow both her and him and the chair that she sat on and he’d tried to duck under.

Bismuth spoke up, grim, every drop of earlier exuberance gone from her. “When the Diamonds look out from the windows of their mansion, they don’t see people. They see tools, toys, and weapons. Nothing else.” She sounded more tired than angry. “It’s just what they’ve always been doing, but writ large.”

---

And then, of course, the Longass PearlRose Fixit because I hate the gag order but at the same time want it gone… slowly and organically. Alternating Rose and Pearl POVs spanning throughout the rebellion era, all sorts of flashbacks and Imagining Things included. At one point they end up attempting to essentially jailbreak Pearl, because Pearl is, as we all know, absolutely the most hardcore. Also thank you SU Movie for confirming all the awful Alexa-flavour fanon/headcanons and giving me an excuse to dive into a bunch of Gems-as-AI tropey stuff, on top of everything. [another previously posted fragment here]

“I don’t want to. I never want to do that to you again.” She stops, takes a breath, reconsiders. “And I know it’s a lot to ask of you, the trust I just… trampled over. So I want to make sure that it’s not just that, you trusting me not to make the same mistake again, with no reassurance anywhere. I—I want to not be able to. Nobody should be able to do that to you.”

“Nobody should be able to do that to anyone,” Pearl corrects readily.

“You’re right,” Rose smiles, only a bit wry, “as always. My brilliant, brilliant Pearl. What would I do without you?”

“Never get back to the point you were trying to make, I imagine,” Pearl quips with something resembling sauciness, and Rose feels at least some of the weight starting to lift off her.

“Right,” Rose agrees, chastised, and tries to focus. “I just… I’m not sure how, or what I need to do at all. It’s not like there’s much precedent – ownerless pearls are unheard of. Even when their owners get shattered, it’s only ever temporary, and, with such high demand, very brief.”

Pearl nods in agreement, and hums. “Luckily, we’ve seen plenty of unheard of and unspeakable things here.”

[echoes of Scabbard convo]

“I want to know, I want to be certain, that you’re here because you want to be.”

“So do I.” Pearl responds quietly, letting their fingers entwine.

[Giving an order not to follow orders doesn’t work, failsafes exist. Then they try a sort of ownership transfer thing, and try to make the new owner Pearl. It doesn’t register, “invalid transfer target”, even when Pearl tries to hack it - some odd gem tool that scans and pokes at her gem - she gets all bummed out because she can’t even reprogram a very basic and modifiable handheld tool/device to recognise a pearl as an actual gem and person. What chance does she have against hearts and minds and an entire ingrained culture of an entire sprawling empire?

“You changed my mind,” says Rose all softly and earnestly.

Have I really? Pearl asks herself but doesn’t let it escape out loud. Still. Step by small step, she admits to herself. Incremental, slow, but persistent work. She can do that. Even as down on herself as she is, she can do that.]

“The… the override.” Pearl breathes out suddenly.

“What?”

“The administrative override - you, or, well... Pink Diamond should be able to trigger it, even without a Rejuvenator. We shouldn’t…” Pearl looks strangely scared now, swallowing small gulps before pushing onwards, hands trembling and fingers knotting together, “w-we shouldn’t need a full reset, really, but. But we can try modifying the owner identification...”

Having to… turn into Pink again (turn back into yourself, you mean, a small voice whispers, who are you trying to fool) doesn’t sit well with her, of course, but. Get a hold of yourself, Pearl certainly has it so much worse in this scenario.

[more here about how they both need to kind of “revert” a bit to try this and it sucks, because no! unpleasant poking of holes in the elaborate fantasy! For the greater good, but still.]

And oh, Pearl looks just about ready to either cry with some strange terror Rose has never seen her display, or dissipate her form on the spot - the small dam of coldly throwing around terms like administrative override activation and owner identification variable providing just enough distance for her to carry on.

“It shouldn’t be too risky if we’re… if you’re careful.”

[Pearl trusts her with everything, her literal entire self - with this thing that is such a blatant violation of her being and her person, that she now wants to turn against itself, using one of the most humiliatingly clearly objectifying aspects of her status as an instrument of her liberation. It is all A Lot.]

Rose remembers, also, with a sting, the way she grumbled and sulked over the gaping pit of guilt in her stomach and refused to even look at the glowing, floating shell Blue was so insistently pushing her towards. She wanted her Pearl back, not whatever White and the others had decided to foist upon her now. Not a pale replacement, nothing they deemed suitable.

“Please state preferred customisation options.”

“Come on, Pink,” Blue urges, softly but mercilessly as ever, large hands enveloping Pink almost whole from where they’re planted on her shoulders, “White had her specially made, just for you! And we helped as well - only the best for our Pink. Now it’s up to you to put your finishing touches, as is proper-”

“What for? You’ll just take her away when you feel like it anyway,” she grumbles into her arms, curling up on the floor and resolutely refusing to look even as the glow spreads from the corner of her eye, insistent.

Just as insistent as the awfully familiar little voice. “Please state preferred customisation options.”

“I. Don’t. Care!” But now with a newly noticeable, if strained restraint - not, like her usual, punctuated with a slam of her fist on the floor tiles, perfectly shiny and pink. No, she couldn’t- do something like that again-

“Default setting selected. Please stand by.”

Yellow scoffs and moves to leave. “Come on, Blue. No point to us wasting our time being here if she’s just going to throw one of her tantrums.”

But Blue refuses to leave it at that, and makes sure to cut with parting words, before slinking through the large pink doorway. “I am very disappointed in you, Pink. To act like that, and with White personally making sure you got such a lovely gift even after everything...”

“Waste of good nacre, if you ask me,” Yellow muses from somewhere up above. “At least try not to break this one.”

The glow intensifies with a hum, and Pink screws her eyes shut and pretends not to see or hear anything.

By the time she opens them again, the others are gone.

But then there is another presence at her side, hovering just behind, as is proper court protocol. The shuffling of tiny, soft slippers on the polished stone - weren’t pearls supposed to be endlessly, effortlessly quiet?

“Leave me alone,” she preempts quietly. The shuffling moves away.

“Please identify yourself.”

Calmly, now, calmly but firmly, just like we planned it. Don’t mess this up now. She’s counting on you. She trusts you. “Pearl.”

“Please state preferred customisation options.”

They’ve discussed this too, of course - extensive (over)preparation and planning down to minutiae is Pearl’s go-to at the best of times, and something she clutches at for comfort at the worst of times. And she’s always, to a sometimes comical extent, despised that ridiculous dress. To a wonderful extent, too, all things considered.

“Revert to last implemented appearance.”

“Settings selected. Please stand by.”

[Of course this doesn’t work because all it does is change the $username$ variable, not the actual identity of the person imprinted: it’s still Rose/Pink, she’s just nicknamed “Pearl” now, but she can still give orders and everything.]

[evolves into Pearl literally hacking herself… the most hardcore of modders]

---

Pearl Playing the Field aka “why not hyper-analyze that one brief shot of the notes and phone numbers in Pearl’s gem and write 9 meet-cutes”. Pearl goes out to “find herself”. Whatever that is supposed to mean. Supposed to be set pre-ASPR, but also extends past it. Ended up with some Bispearl in it too because I am predictable and can absolutely not help myself.

“Your hair is wonderful!” She feels like she almost has to shout to be heard over the din of the bar’s ill-chosen soundtrack, and she doesn’t appreciate it. Definitely not one of her favourite places she’s decided to visit recently. And the ventilation is atrocious.

But still, she’s come all this way, so she may as well make the best of it. And while the preoccupation with hairstyles during first meetings seems like a bit of an odd running theme (can it really be termed a running theme, though, if it’s happened all of two times?), it’s certainly worked in the past (recent, very recent, and hardly bursting with relevant instances, Pearl!). Oh, and this particular one is just too fascinating. Approaching a work of art, Pearl would dare say. Especially, well. Especially when paired with the lovely eyes and striking jawline and strong neck it seems to deliberately be drawing attention to.

Pearl leans on the bar, in the bit of space the woman happily makes for her, and tries to look confident and well-informed, but not smug, no, never smug. “I know... about the, uh, goop, of course. I know how one accomplishes this.”

The woman gives a bemused smile. “Thanks! Not too shabby yourself.” She leans in closer. “I'm actually in school for it.”

“School?” Pearl casts desperately back to what she's heard from Steven and Greg's often hasty instruction. That was for educating human children, wasn't it? She'd put one together for Steven that one time, with desks and a blackboard… and Connie attended one regularly...

“Yeah, kind of a late game career change.” Pearl nods along as she realises - or, rather, remembers - she is absolutely terrible at gauging human ages. “But I thought... after almost 30 years in accounting and not going anywhere I wanted to be going... it’s not like we have all the time in the world, right? So I figured, why not? Go for something I'm actually invested in and that I've always wanted to do, y'know?”

“Oh. Oh yes, yes I do.” And for once, she really does. Well, not the time-related bit, perhaps, but the very particular delight of getting to pursue one’s genuine interests after a long while of being denied? Absolutely. “I’ve done something of the sort myself, actually. Go for it! As they, uh, say.”

The dramatic gesture of almost punching the air with a closed triumphant/defiant fist might have been a tad over the top, but it wins her a smile that doesn’t seem unkind. The woman winks and tips her glass at Pearl, then finishes her drink - something sweet-smelling and almost as colourful as her hair.

“I had a classmate do this one for me, and I did hers after.” Pearl is nodding along again, leaning in to hear better as the woman’s voice dips lower. “I kind of like to experiment, push the limits, go wild with it. Hey. You interested? Promise I won’t go too wild on you.”

Pearl's mind goes blank there for a moment. The woman is… very close, and there are unignorable implications unrelated to hair styling so obvious here even she is picking up on them without issue, and the music hasn’t gotten any quieter. Interested in what, exactly, she wants to ask, but she came here for wild new experiences and exciting novelty, didn’t she, so instead comes out with a rather strangled-sounding: “Eughhhhh...uhhh.... Ye...s?”

The woman’s expression goes serious. “Hey, come on, we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

---

Forge Showdown AU - aka in a twist of fate Bismuth poofs Rose during their confrontation and revelations happen that change the course of… well, pretty much everything - one of a bunch of AUs where the PD reveal happens earlier and under different circumstances (I had an idea of doing a 5+1 of those at one point).

The glow of the lava coloured the quickly dissipating smoke more orange-red than pale pink, and Bismuth stared numbly at where their revered leader, Rose Quartz herself, had been standing mere moments ago. She’d lashed out, true, but she hadn’t really been expecting the clumsy blow - more of a warning, or underlining a point in their continued argument-turned-fight - to land. In all their many sparring sessions, Rose had never succumbed to something like that, would have never so much as let it brush against her. But she’d been- frozen, distracted… by what?

There, scraping softly against the ground as it rolled with leftover momentum...

That was not a rose quartz gem.

Bismuth raked her mind feverishly, thought back through the last few, oddly blurred seconds.

“We’re not using this, Bismuth! It’d make us just as bad as them!”

“No! You’re the one who’s as bad as them- look at you, lording over all of us, thinking it’s your right to command me, order me around, like you’re, what, my diamond?”

It… it had to be some kind of imposter, or spy. Right? Some kind of… awful Homeworld plan, trying to tear the Rebellion apart from the inside. Where was Rose, then? The real one? Captured? Being interrogated somewhere, her whereabouts kept strictly secret to minimise the chance of rescue? Shattered? Impossible, they’d never hear the end of the victorious crowing.

When could it have happened? The last few battles and meetings had been nothing out of the ordinary, and Bismuth couldn’t think of anything odd or off about Rose recently at all. Not a single hint or sign that anything was amiss. Not a single misstep. Homeworld would have trained and conditioned its agents well, but Rose- Rose was singular, and utterly one-of-a-kind, and how could they possibly capture all of it so perfectly-

Bismuth startled out of her thoughts as the beginnings of light seemed to gather in the core of the gem, and all but threw herself onto it, encasing it in a bubble.

Rose was rather special, wasn’t she? And not just in what she said or what she did or how she behaved or what she led and encouraged them to do, but…

Her endless array of wondrous powers. Her sheer strength, overpowering ruby fusions and quartz battalions alike almost single-handedly. The healing which Bismuth herself had been on the receiving, lifesaving end of countless times. The way she called upon the organic creatures of the planet to fight for her, fighting in their name. And then, her regular absences. The way she seemed to know exactly what the Homeworld troops were up to - that wasn’t just some kind of tactical brilliance.

She dared to look at the gem again. Its hue was changed some by the bubble, but that was still in no way a rose quartz gem. No, it was an altogether different shape, but a terrifyingly familiar one.

But it made no sense!

Bismuth ran a slightly trembling hand down her face.

Pearl. Of course, Pearl would have to know, if anyone. About… whatever this was.

But if this, if she was… her, then Pearl-

Bismuth’s insides twisted in horrible ways as the implications began to flitter through her mind, each one worse than the one before it. There was the old call-and-response ringing in her ears, making her feel disoriented and sick with what had to be the beginnings of anger, could grow into a great fury, leaving her unnecessary breaths ragged: Who do you belong to? Nobody!

But-

Not Pearl, then. At least, not at first. Garnet. Garnet would know, and Garnet could See. They’d get to the bottom of this.

---

A metric ton of rebellion era ficlets, vignettes from my eeeEEeeEEeeEEE Bismuth collection mostly, which I’ve been accumulating since 2016 and have only posted some - Pearl, Rose, Garnet, Bismuth centric, occasionally with my takes on namedropped characters, some of which would now need an update to match actual canon.

Snowflake was there, held in Garnet’s arms. The familiar pattern of white speckles on black skin, the tight silver coils of hair sticking out every which way.

“We got her back. She wanted to see you.”

“Me? And you just listened to her? Are you out of your mind? How can I help? Have you taken her to Rose? If her gem- if she-”

“I’m right here!” Snowflake struggled out of Garnet’s hold, and stood up - wobbly, barely upright, but determined, on those legs that ran circles around Homeworld, and ran interference and messages faster than any Wailing Stone, in a pinch. “And I’m fine!”

“You don’t look fine, Snowy- listen, please just-”

Snowflake walked up to her, not stumbling a single time, and, gritting her teeth, looked right at her. The hairline fractures in her gem were visible from here, and Bismuth couldn’t help a wince. “Snowflake, come on-”

“I didn’t tell them anything.”

Bismuth wanted to clutch her to her chest and scream a thousand things at her, but You don’t have to prove anything to me and I’m proud of you and I’m going to make them pay for ever laying a finger on you all waged a war in her throat.

In the end she just settled on holding her close, very gently, until Garnet left, unheard, and came back with Rose, tears already in abundance.

[Later:] “I never properly thanked you, Garnet. For bringing Snowflake back.”

Garnet shrugged. “It was a group effort.”

A familiar voice sounded at the entrance to the Forge. “Now come along, it’s just here. Bismuth? Do you have a moment?”

“You know I always have time for you, Pearl,” she called back, putting her current project away. “What did you nee- oh.”

Bismuth blinked.

“Uh... wow,” was the only thing she could manage as pearl after pearl filed into her Forge, soon taking up most of the space around the anvil in impressively neat rows. “New recruits? A whole bunch of you, too.”

“Yes, well,” Pearl made her way to the front of the group, carefully avoiding brushing against the others on her way. She was fidgeting again, long fingers tangling and untangling rapidly, and that was one sure sign of mounting distress. “Garnet and I had planned out an attack on one of Blue Diamond’s supply lines. There was supposed to be a shipment of weapons coming in today, but it turns out it was… pearls.”

There was something rather off about Pearl’s tone, too. Bismuth made a note to ask later, and do her best to catch her alone.

“Well, all the better for us. Nice to have you all on board.” Her jovial tone was only slightly forced - the pearls all looked like they clearly needed something resembling friendliness, but their skittishness was palpable. She turned towards a pale green pearl right at the front of the group. “Now, what do I call you?”

There was nothing but mild confusion, vague fear, and general quiet shuffling. “No ideas yet? Don’t worry about it! There’s plenty of time to decide and find something that fits.”

[she does indeed manage to talk to Pearl alone, later]

“What’s the real problem, Pearl? You can’t fool me. I can tell something’s wrong.”

The rather flimsy front finally crumbled at that.

“I just… we- we took out the citrines they’d sent with the shuttle, and Garnet boosted me up so I could force the hatch open and I did, but then...” Pearl let out a distressed little half-sigh half-sob, one hand gesturing weakly. “They were all looking at me so wide-eyed and...”

She took a moment to at least attempt to collect herself.

“I don’t mind having them here, it’s not that at all. It’s just that… we were standing there, with all these newly-made pearls and… obviously I couldn’t just leave them there, in the middle of nowhere! And after what we did, whoever found them, they’d just have them shattered. Because of me. They were compromised. You’ve heard what they do now, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard. They’re the monsters, Pearl, and it’s not on you. It’s not you doing that to pearls, it’s them.”

“But it is on me! It quite literally is because of me, because of what I did, and continue to do. I made myself visible and played at being important and look what it got us,” Pearl was near tears, a frustrated blue colouring her face, “a handful of runaways and the rest being treated worse than ever.”

The tears were out in full force after that, and Bismuth put an arm around Pearl’s shaking shoulders. “Hey, hey, none of that.”

“We ended up taking them with us, but it feels like… it feels like I forced them to come here. Is it really any better than what Homeworld does? All I did was say you’re going to be rebels instead of you’re going to serve and they never got a say in anything.”

“Have you asked them?”

“They don’t know what-”

“Hey. Just ask them, okay? Ask them what they want. We can help them either way. Of course I’d love them to stay. But it’s not up to me, and if they want to go to wherever it was they were supposed to go- we can do that, too.”

[Rose discovers her healing tears in a dramatic fashion - they come up with the idea to make the fountain - and thanks to Save the Light we have a pretty good idea of who lovingly made all those statues]

She gently wiped away some of the chiselling dust with the flat of her thumb, just like a tear. A magnificent, healing, life-giving tear.

This was familiar work. But with none of the endless chafing, none of the hated reminders of her former station - Bismuth couldn’t find anything in herself but reverence. And… inspiration. She was a Gem, stars knew she didn’t need rest, breaks, anything of the sort, but still - this pace wasn’t something she’d felt driven to in a long, long while. All day under the burning summer sun, and every night under the light of her own gem. All alone, as the sanctuary took form under her hands.

To get the curls just right, tiny detail by tiny detail, somehow communicate the softness of those cheeks in stone… it took drawing upon the very depths of her well of skill, because how else could she ever hope to capture the likeness of someone as extraordinary as Rose Quartz?

With small, careful movements, she formed the roundness of the lips that could spit fiery words of rebellion, inspire like no other, scowl fiercely in the heat of battle, smile contagiously, bellow out an outrageous fireside guffaw, murmur comforts so softly, kiss…

And then she did it again, and again, and again.

[in the end, Rose is presented with a veritable shrine to herself]

“Rose? Is something wrong? You… don’t like it?”

“No, no, Bismuth, it’s… it’s incredible.” The smile Rose turned on her was as beautiful as anything, but it wasn’t hard to notice it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

#steven universe #oathkeeper writes things #INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO:#pearl #bismuth #rose quartz #bispearl #pearlrose #daemon au #the pearletariat #pearl playing the field #those stars of brightest magnitude #let's get down to bismuth #steven universe future #i love pearls just... bury me in a big pile of pearls honestly #endless wip pile #fanfiction #my fic

38 notes · View notes

ecthelions · 4 years

Text

Hey everyone! It’s been a long time, but I finally want to share with you all a project I’ve been working on for the past couple of weeks.

I know there aren’t many of us left, but it’s isolation times, and I lost my job, so I figured it was as good a time as any to rewrite my old tattoo artist/florist AU! (Eden)

Looking back, there were a lot of things wrong with it, and a lot of things I wished I had done differently, so I just went ahead and scrapped it all to rewrite it from the very beginning.

Anyway, I’ve written 20k so far, and officially deleted the original fic from ao3.

Here’s a little excerpt if anyone would like to read it - this part is from chapter 4 and Bard and Thranduil have known each other for a little over a week by this point. Let me know what you think! I plan on writing the whole thing before publishing to make sure it’s perfect, but I’m happy to keep people updated if they’re interested, whether it’s on tumblr, twitter, or the barduil discord ♡

The rain from that morning seemed to be threatening a savage return and Thranduil tugged at the collar of his shirt to stay the cold wind. Bard was already waiting for him at the café.

“How long do you have for lunch?” he asked, opening the door.

“I’ll go back when I’m needed, but I’ve got time,” Thranduil said.

He did not miss Bard’s small smile as they entered.

It was crowded, as usual, but only with passers-by on their usual coffee runs. Bard and Thranduil made an order and then sidled into chairs at one of the many empty tables by the window.

“Do you know if you can come to the art show on Saturday?” Bard queried, grabbing a salt shaker to fiddle with as he spoke.

“Oh, yeah, I can. What time is it again?” Thranduil had left the flyer on the fridge at home.

“Seven-thirty. I’ll pick you up and we can go together,” Bard said.

Outside, the rain arrived. It was warm in the coffee shop, and Bard’s leg stuck out comfortably under the table. Thranduil brushed it with his foot every time he shifted in his chair, but Bard did not move. He was watching the droplets of rain chasing each other down the window, and Thranduil took the moment to observe the little tattoo that was inked just above his right eyebrow. It said ‘hopeless.’

Bard’s eyes flicked to Thranduil suddenly and Thranduil didn’t have time to look away. He hadn’t really been subtle.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Is it this one?” Bard said, touching his eyebrow, as if trying to feel the tattoo. “It’s the only one I actually regret.”

Their coffees arrived. Mithrellas set them on the table with a clink and lingered just a bit longer than was really necessary.

“You do have… a lot,” Thranduil continued when she was gone. To have only one tattoo to regret was quite an achievement considering Bard was practically more ink than skin.

“Yeah. Can’t say I get used to people staring at me,” Bard said, emptying a sugar packet into his mug. “But that’s okay. I do it for me.”

“What do your kids think?” Thranduil asked.

Bard took a drink before answering. “I don’t think they really see me any other way. Even Sigrid. She’s the oldest, but not by enough to remember me before I had tattoos. My ex-wife doesn’t like it, though. She thinks I look like a criminal.”

Thranduil frowned. He didn’t get that impression from Bard at all, not even when he’d first walked into the flower shop. He was so good-natured and easy-going from the moment you set eyes on him. Thranduil barely even knew Bard, but he thought that judgement was a bit unfair, especially coming from someone who did know him.

“She’s an idiot,” Thranduil finally said.

Bard barked a laugh. “She’s not all bad.”

“Have you been separated long?” Thranduil hoped it was too impertinent a question.

“Nearly two years,” Bard said. His leg bumped against Thranduil’s under the little table. “We did everything young. People weren’t even surprised when we split.”

“How young were you?”

“We were seventeen when Sigrid was born. Got married right out of high school; all that fun stuff. But we called it quits about a year after Tilda was born. It just became too... empty.”

“I’m sorry,” said Thranduil.

Bard shrugged. “It’s no one’s fault. She’s already found someone new, anyway.”

“And you?”

Bard blinked at Thranduil, his brown eyes wandering over him before catching his gaze.

“Not yet.”

A swell of heat rushed to Thranduil’s throat and he picked up his drink to hide his face. He couldn’t tell if Bard was being direct or evasive, and didn’t know which way he would rather have it. Thranduil hadn’t taken a liking to anyone since he was a teenager, and it occurred to him in that moment just how out of practice he was when it came to flirting and picking up other people’s hints.

He decided perhaps he was reading into it too much. There was no need to get his hopes up.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Bard said, breaking the silence before it became too heavy between them. The coffee shop had mostly emptied now, with only half a dozen other people enjoying lunch around them.

“You can try,” Thranduil said lightly, put back on his guard. He always did keep his cards close to his chest, but he thought he might make an exception for Bard.

“Do you find it hard being a single parent?”

It was a fair enough question, Thranduil thought. He had honestly been expecting something more intrusive, so he appreciated it for what it was.

“I do,” he said, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup. “But it’s not the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Okay. I’m glad it’s not just me, then,” Bard said.

Outside, the rain came down in sheets, lashing down the road as people ducked into shops for cover. Thranduil checked his phone, but there was thankfully no message from Haldir.

“So, um, what kind of art do you do?” Thranduil scrambled to keep the conversation going, afraid for Bard to lose interest.

He seemed to perk up at the change of subject. “I mostly do black work at the shop, but I’ve been experimenting with watercolour for the art show. Wanna see?”

Thranduil nodded eagerly and Bard pulled out his phone. They leaned closer to one another across the table so Bard could pick and choose what pictures to show Thranduil, which was unfortunate because Thranduil could hardly concentrate on what he was looking at due to such proximity. Bard’s shoulder was nearly touching his own, and he could smell the remnants of the cigarette underneath his body spray. Thranduil had to force himself to pay attention to the photos.

“I like that one,” he managed, pointing to a colourful portrait of Bard’s eldest daughter.

“I tried to get her to sit still for that one, but I ended up copying from a photo,” Bard said.

He turned to face Thranduil as he spoke, and their noses almost touched. Thranduil felt Bard’s warm exhale on his mouth and drew back quickly. Perhaps too quickly. Bard looked down sheepishly and straightened himself in his chair.

“I put that one in the art show,” he finished lamely.

“Is there some kind of competition?” Thranduil asked, the back of his neck still hot.

“No, but nearly everything will be for sale.”

“Maybe I’ll buy something,” Thranduil teased lightly.

A hint of colour flushed Bard’s cheeks. “Please don’t. It’s all way overpriced.”

“Taking this town for all it’s worth, then?”

“I hope so,” Bard said with a smirk. “They owe me.”

“Just try telling them that,” Thranduil said, glancing around the café at the other patrons. He didn’t recognise anyone, but Mithrellas was still behind the counter making coffee, and she was worth ten witnesses on her own.

“Here, I’ll give you a sample and maybe you can commission me later,” Bard said.

He took a napkin from the cup of cutlery on the table and slid a pen out of the pocket of his flannel. He bent low over the table and started to draw, making long, steady strokes with the pen so as not to snare the napkin. When he was done, he handed it to Thranduil.

It was a drawing of a fox, curled up asleep with little flowers forming a border around it. Underneath its tail was a banner that said ‘fox this town.’

Thranduil grinned at it, his heart skipping a beat at the gesture. It was by no means a perfect drawing, but it was a shame it was on a napkin, because he wanted to frame it and keep it forever.

He thought he might do that anyway.

#barduil #bard x thranduil #barduil fanfiction #bard bowman #thranduil #eden rewrite

25 notes · View notes

elevenharringtons · 5 years

Text

Boyfriend

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader (and a tiny bit of Billy Hargrove x Reader)

Summary: You’ve been Steve’s best friend ever since you could remember. The two of you have never defined your relationship with each other, but there’s obviously something there. A few drunken mistakes bring everything to a head.

Warnings: Profanity, alcohol use, angst, some fluff

Word Count: 6.8k (I had a lot to say ok???)

This literally took three months to write because I kept leaving it and coming back to it, not sure where it was going to take me. Some of it in the middle might seem ya-ya’d through because of this fact. HOWEVER, I’m glad of where it ended up, and I feel like if I wrote any more on it, it would turn into a full out novel. It’s based loosely off “Boyfriend” by Ariana Grande + Social House, so you’ll see some lyrics in there, but as a guide. Also, it’s set in between S2 and S3.

SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, here’s Boyfriend, aka my first writing endeavor in the Stranger Things fandom. (also, also, requests are open!)

I don’t wanna be too much And you don’t seem to give a fuck

It had been months since you actually went out, let alone went out and partied. College applications, scholarship essays, and staying on top of your schoolwork kept you extremely busy. Not to mention you were one-half of a babysitting team that you and your best friend, Steve Harrington, were thrust into the night Will Byers had been taken over by the Mind Flayer. Needless to say, you had your hands full and you were ready to let it all go.

It was the Friday before Spring Break and you had finished your last application out to your “reach school”. It was an application that required two essays, three recommendation letters, and a statement of purpose. You had stayed up the night before perfecting it. Steve threw rocks at your window at midnight (a common occurrence, usually when he was bored), to which you had clumsily accepted, loudly throwing the window open and launching yourself back onto your bed as Steve crept into your room.

“Subtle much?” “Oh, shut up,” you mumble to yourself. He sits on the edge of your bed, pulling out cans of Coke, bags of your favorite candy, and a box of Number 2 Pencils from his jacket pockets. “Thought you might need a few pick-me-ups,” he smiles, and, as if right on cue, your pencil lead breaks. Steve scrambles to open the box of new pencils to hand you one while the rest clatter to the floor. “Now who’s the subtle one?” You smirk, accepting the new pencil before burrowing your face back into your notebook. Steve looks at all of the paper scattering your bed, taking the actual application into his hands and studying it intently. “Harvard, huh?” “Before you go making fun of me, it’s my reach school.” “I wasn’t going to make fun of you! With the amount of studying you do, you could get into any school you wanted to,” Steve said. “Was that a compliment, Harrington?” You ask, eyes finally taking in the brown-haired boy at the end of your bed. “Uh, no, why would it be?” He fumbled over his words, shaking his head to the point where you thought it might roll across the floor. His cheeks flushed a light shade of pink before he started thumbing through your application again with furrowed brows, occasionally tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Your heart skipped a beat for a moment, before quickly sobering up and going back to your essay. There was no denying that there was something between you and Steve. You had been friends since kindergarten, when his family had moved onto your street. You were there for every playground injury, countless fights with his parents, numerous hookups that turned to feelings that turned to nothing but Steve crying on your shoulder, and, of course, Nancy Wheeler. You two knew everything there was to know about each other and yet kept your distance. Accidental flirting caused you both to be a bumbling mess, trying to compile yourselves before awkwardly acknowledging that it happened and going your separate ways. An endless cycle of frustration on your end. And his end? You weren’t sure. You knew you could catch him off guard at any given moment, but, he never gave off any other vibe than being your best friend. You carefully tore the finished essay out of your notebook and placed it next to your recommendation letters. Steve reached for the essay, only to be slapped away.

“Uh-uh. Too personal,” you said, taking a box of Nerds from the pile of candy at the foot of your bed. Steve feigned hurt.

“Too personal? This coming from Y/N, AKA, the only person I tell everything to? I’m shocked, I thought we were better than that.”

“You know how I feel about other people reading my work,” you said. You were known to leave the room the second you heard a teacher read an excerpt from your work as an example in class.

“I thought I was supposed to proofread your essays before you sealed the envelope,” Steve looked at you with pleading puppy dog eyes. Your heart fluttered again, but you swallowed your pride.

“You’re here for moral support, dingus,” you rustle his hair with one hand, causing him to frantically put it back together again.

“Just the guy who brings the snacks.”

“Hey, you’re the one who agreed to it,” you pour a handful of Nerds into your mouth, grabbing all of the paper strewn across the bed and putting it into some kind of order. Steve watched as you mouthed the words on paper to yourself. You could feel his eyes on you, and after a while, began to feel your cheeks heat up.

“Stop reading my lips, Harrington.”

“I wasn’t!” He flopped onto his back, watching the ceiling fan create slow circles around and around. “Have you ever thought about not leaving Hawkins?”

“I mean, yeah, but I’ve lived here my whole life. Don’t you want to see what else is out there?” Truth be told, you were terrified of leaving Hawkins. Hawkins was your entire life and leaving meant you would have to leave Steve behind too. He was never one for education, promising you that he would take a couple of community college classes to earn his AA just to prove to his parents that he wasn’t a “failure”, but you? You were almost expected to be the one to make it big; get accepted into a school with a full ride and have a successful life after. You weren’t sure if that was the life you truly wanted. Submitting college applications wouldn’t hurt, though, right?

“Hawkins is changing though. More opportunities. Rumor has it, there’s a new mall opening up soon,” Steve elbowed your leg, looking up at you with childlike wonder in his eyes. You shook your head, making pencil marks in places you wanted changes in your application. His face dropped when he realized you weren’t listening to his untold ‘stay in Hawkins and get a job with me' story. “I’m just saying.”

“Are you staying here tonight?” You ask, changing the subject completely so you could avoid any anxiety over the potential of leaving Steve in Hawkins for four years. “I left an extra pillow and blanket on my chair, just in case.” “I wasn’t planning on it, but now that you mention it...” “You can go to sleep, I’m just perfecting anyway,” you cracked a smile, noticing his droopy brown eyes drifting between your stack of papers and the bedding in the corner of your room. Steve got up, patted you on the head, and made his bed on the floor next to you. “Don’t work too hard, Y/L/N.” “Don’t count on it.”

And I might not be the one for you But you ain’t allowed to have no boo

You awoke that morning to a blaring alarm, papers on your face, and Steve’s leftover blanket and pillow neatly folded on your floor with a note on top.

“Don’t worry about breakfast. I’ll have it at your locker when you get to school. See you then.” Breakfast was a common occurrence between you and Steve. It was mostly coffee and donuts from Dunkin’ Donuts, but it was breakfast. You threw your hair into a loose ponytail and slipped into a t-shirt dress before grabbing all of your application envelopes, stuffing them into your backpack, and heading out the door. The bike ride to school allowed you to clear your mind of everything that had happened the night before. The college applications were done and soon to be in the hands of every college you had applied to. It was up to them now, and you were at the mercy of the school board. Dustin was adding his bike to the rack as you pulled into the school parking lot. “Y/N! Aren’t you usually, like, 30 minutes early?” “And aren’t you usually riding to school with the party? Where’s everyone else?” “Already here. I had to finish a project for class this morning,” Dustin said, pulling out a smushed diorama of the solar system from his duffle bag. “Solar system, huh?” You ask, studying the sad structure. “I didn’t have enough glue, okay? Duct tape fixes everything, I’ve heard,” He replies defensively. You raise your arms in response. “You better get to class. Don’t want anyone to think you’ve been stolen away by the demodogs again, now, do we?” You joke. Demodogs were no joke, though. That was the night you actually thought you might die if it weren’t for Steve. Dustin rolled his eyes. “You want me to get to class? Your boyfriend is the one who’s been moping around with a cup of coffee all morning,” and with that, Dustin was running into the middle school as the 5 minute bell rang. You could feel your cheeks heating up and the world closing in around you. ‘Boyfriend’? “You’re such a little shit!” You yell after him. He raises his middle finger to you with his free hand, the mobile of Saturn almost flying off the diorama as he ran. Huffing, you turn to go to the high school when you run into a wall of muscle, drops of hot coffee spilling onto your arm. “Shit! Y/N! I’m so sorry!” Steve was frantically mopping up the coffee droplets from your arm. “It’s not burning, is it?” “Steve, Steve, calm down! It’s okay, I barely felt it,” you say, watching as the boy slowed his movements. He held out the coffee, which you graciously accepted. “I didn’t forget about the donuts; they’re in my locker. I was walking to class and saw you pulling into school so I figured I’d meet you halfway. Was that Du-“ “Yeah, he was just, um, yeah…We should get to class,” you cut him off before anything else could be said about the little curly-headed boy who insisted Steve was your boyfriend. Steve stood frozen for a minute before reluctantly following you into the high school building. You could hear the small squeaks from his Nikes as he hustled to keep pace with you. “You know, Tina is having a kickoff to Spring Break party tonight,” he says once he is side by side with you. “I didn’t know you knew Tina?” “I mean, old friends, I guess? Anyway, since you’re done with your applications, I was thinking maybe you’d want to let loose a bit.” You stop in your tracks, turning to face Steve. “Are you asking me on a date, Harrington?” “No,” he says matter of factly, “I’m asking if you want to go to a party and forget about college acceptances for a night. I’ll pick you up, though!” You don’t know why your stomach drops when he doesn’t hesitate on not calling this a date. The warning bell sounded more like a foghorn as it blared across campus. You shake yourself out of a trance. “Oh, yeah…great. We should get to class.”

I know we be so complicated But we be so smitten it’s crazy I can’t have what I want but neither can you…

Seven dresses, three pairs of pants, four tops, and three jackets are strewn across your bedroom floor. You’re standing, hands on your hips, in a bra and denim mini skirt, surveying the hurricane of clothes in front of you. It was just a stupid party, what did you care? It’s not like you’d ever been to one before, but tonight felt different. Tonight, you felt like you needed to stand out. It was the last time you might be seeing all of these faces in the crowd before going off to college. That didn’t matter, though. What mattered was Steve. The bike ride from school today made you sit and think about everything that you and Steve had been through together. It made you finally realize that maybe, just maybe, you had feelings for him. In your head, it made sense to dress to the nines and go out of your comfort zone for a night. Maybe you wouldn’t be viewed as the stuck up prude that studies in her room every night. You look in your closet for the last time before grabbing a neon pink tank that was a previous reject from your floor and putting it on. The outfit was simple but bolder than your usual wardrobe. A car horn blares outside, and you know it’s Steve waiting for you. In a panic, you pick up a cropped leather jacket from the mess on your floor and rush out the door. It’s not that you were afraid of immodesty. The jacket was more like your protective shield of sorts; the kind of shield that keeps your good girl reputation intact in case the colleges you applied to were watching. It was 1985, anything could happen. Steve was standing outside of his car as you lightly jog up to him. He was wearing his usual uniform of a t-shirt, jacket, and jeans that were a bit tight, but in all the right places. You catch his eyes scanning your body before snapping back up to meet your stare. “Ready?” You ask, stifling a chuckle as you watch him scramble for words. “Uh, yeah…ready.” The ride to Tina’s was silent at first, save for the music softly playing from the radio. Steve kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. You had your legs crossed, right hand tapping along to the beat of the music on the windowsill. Every once in a while, you would feel Steve’s glance on you, but it would quickly fade once you even slightly turned your head in his direction. The silence was killing you, so you spoke up first. “You know Dustin had a project for school today?” “Oh, yeah? What did he bring? Another species that he “discovered”?” Sarcasm dripped from Steve’s speech. “No,” you laughed. “Poor thing brought a very smushed version of the Solar System. Did he tell you about it?” “I couldn’t help him there,” Steve said. “Science isn’t my thing, you know that.” “Did you not hear me say that it was smushed? You could’ve driven him to school!” “Then I couldn’t have gotten you breakfast!” “I would’ve lived! He’s your responsibility in some way now, right?” You counter. “You wouldn’t have lived. I know you didn’t sleep last night. It’s a wonder that you’re even awake right now,” Steve responds. “I slept last night!” You said defensively. Truth is, you didn’t fall asleep until at least an hour before you had to get ready, and you definitely heard Steve crawl back out of the window. “Bullshit, Y/N. I could see you working until the last minute. There’s no way you got a decent amount of sleep.” “You saw me working?” You counter again. “Light sleeper,” Steve is on the defense now. You smile and shake your head as he pulls up to Tina’s place. Cars are littered across the lawn. Some partygoers lean up against porch railings, nursing beer bottles and red cups filled with God knows what. You notice Nancy Wheeler with Jonathan Byers, which was bewildering to you since Jonathan was never much of a partier. At least Nancy would be occupied for the night, you thought to yourself, not that Steve would even try anything anyway with the way things ended. Steve opened the door for you, interrupting your thoughts. Tina drunkenly stumbles out onto the lawn dragging several other people with her. They all seemed overly enthusiastic to meet you. Then again, maybe it was just the alcohol. “Harrington! You made it!” “Who’s the girl?” “You didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend!” You feel your cheeks start to flush red. “Oh, no, she isn’t…” Steve trails off. “We’re just friends,” you finish his sentence, cheeks going back to their normal shade. It wasn’t a date. Regardless of the comment, Steve’s hand grazes your lower back as he leads you toward the house, making chills ripple down your arms. “Mhmm, we’ll see. Can I get you a drink…ummm…?” Tina struggles to find your name even though you were pretty sure this was the first time you had ever met her. “Y/N,” you respond. “Y/N! Right! Come with me, we’ll get you set up!” Before you know it, Tina is pouring you a plastic cup filled with some kind of sangria. Or maybe a rum and vodka mix? You weren’t sure, but man, was it strong. You watch as a group of boys lead Steve to the beer kegs, trying to egg him on to take back the title of “King” from Billy Hargrove. Steve is vehemently denying wanting to get back on the “King Steve” train, but you watch as two boys lift him up and upside down onto a keg. You catch his glance before he drinks. A wink from him. A smile from you. Your heart is beating out of your chest, and you down your drink to rid the feeling. You slide your leather jacket off and place it on the counter, not feeling the need to hide yourself. You’re here to let loose, right?

You ain’t my boyfriend, and I ain’t your girlfriend But you don’t want me to see nobody else And I don’t want you to see nobody

A few hours pass, and you’ve made your way through four (maybe five?) drinks. You’ve learned Tina’s entire life story, met a new group of girls who also applied to Harvard, and made friends with a girl who went to the same elementary school as you. One person you were missing from the night was Steve. You hadn’t seen him since the keg stands, and there were at least three of them. It was like he was a celebrity, the way they were all standing around the kegs chanting his name. It made you laugh, though. If they only knew how much of a complete softie he was instead of this jock facade that he always seemed to put on in social situations. There is a group dancing in the middle of the room. You spy Tina and a mystery boy, Nancy and Jonathan, the girls that you had met earlier, Steve and…you squint your eyes as if it would help you to see across the room. You can’t tell if they’re dancing or kissing due to Steve’s back being turned to you. Your vision is blurry as you stumble across the floor to get a better look. The girl has curly red hair cascading down her back and wearing the tiniest black dress that would make even Tina blush. Steve’s hands are resting on her lower back, her hands tangled in his hair. Your cheeks flush red and full of hurt. Adrenaline began to take over your entire being. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to pull her away and tackle her to the ground or push her away and slap Steve in the face. Your feet are moving you before you’re ready, taking you quickly across the room and through the tight-knit group of teenagers. Arms reach out to separate the girl from Steve. You might have seen him wince a bit from the girl’s hands being yanked out of his hair, but you weren’t concerned about that in the moment. You’re not thinking straight as your hands fly up to Steve’s face, pulling him to yours in a heated kiss. The room feels still, world silent for a moment as the music still blasts loudly from the stereo in the kitchen. Your head is spinning, the taste of alcohol mixing with your cherry lip balm and the stale faint taste of beer on Steve’s breath. There is not an eye in the room that isn’t on you and Steve. After what feels like an eternity, you pull away, wide-eyed and stumbling backward, not able to decipher Steve’s expression. “Y/N…” you hear your name on his breath in the faintest whisper. It all becomes too much. You turn on your heels and sprint towards the bathroom, barely making it as you barrel through the door and collapse on the cold tile floor. The music still blasts loudly through the house, feeling like a hammer and nail pounding against your head. You just want it all to stop. The headache. The vomiting. The music. The girl dancing with Steve. Hell, at this point, you want to forget Steve. Maybe you’d be able to be a functioning human without having to constantly worry about if Steve is with someone. You could just focus on you. Maybe college was the fresh start waiting for you to forget Hawkins. A knock at the door pulls you out of your thoughts. “It’s taken,” you manage to get out before another wave of nausea hits. The door opens suddenly and closes gently. “What part of taken-?” “Hey.” You look up, staring into the eyes of a boy that you had only seen once (ironically, in another awkward situation involving you in a bathroom), but heard thousands of stories of. To be completely honest, you’d thought they made up the story of Steve getting dethroned as “king” because they were tired of him winning keg races. But, real or imaginary, Billy Hargrove was staring at you from the doorway, leather jacket open, exposing his glistening chest. “Billy? How are you-? What are you-?” “Speechless, sweetheart?” “No, I…I just didn’t see you tonight.” Nice recovery, idiot. “I’ve been around. Came a bit late. Figured I’d say hello.” “While I’m puking my guts out? Wow, what a romantic,” you retort sarcastically. He smiles and kneels down next to you. “Figured you’d need some company.” He gently brushes your hair out of your face and down your left shoulder. Electricity runs through your body in a way you’d never felt before. There is a moment between the two of you as Billy leans in closer. “I’m fine,” you say finally. You brush the butterflies in your stomach off as an early hangover and stand up to wash your face. Billy stands up and snakes his hands around your waist as you’re drying your face with a towel. Before you know it, he is spinning you around and pressing you against the sink. He dips his head in the crook of your neck, eliciting a small gasp from you as his lips gently graze along the sweet spot of your neck. You feel Billy smirk against your skin as you tip your head back ever so slightly, his lips continuing to explore your collarbone. You’re here to have fun, right? “Y/N?” A gentle voice is at the door and you know immediately know that it’s Steve. You feel Billy’s grip on your thighs tighten as you jump, reality hitting you square in the face. “Come on, Y/N, open up. It’s me. Look, I just want to talk about...about...you know...” Your head is spinning out of control. If Steve caught you with Billy, that would absolutely be it. The last time you dressed a wound of Steve’s was when he was protecting the kids from Billy. You could still hear Dustin’s panicked, but hushed voice on the phone, telling you to come over, it was really bad. A shudder rings through your body. You didn’t want to think about the wounds that would have to be dressed if Steve walked in on this scene. The doorknob begins to wobble, Steve still gently knocking on the door. Adrenaline surges through you enough to push Billy off of you so you could at least plant your feet on the ground. Billy grins. “If I’m not mistaken, that must be Pretty Boy himself standing on the other side of that door.” It’s almost cinematic as you watch the door swing open revealing a brown-eyed boy with a pout on his lips. He looks up at Billy with disgust, and then to you with hurt. You feel your heart shatter into a thousand pieces. “Well, I was coming to check on Y/N…but I see she’s got all the help she needs,” Steve says. Billy leans up against the doorframe, arms crossed. You wished you could slap that shit-eating grin off his face. You wished his cologne would stop wafting off of your clothes and into the air. You wished, more than anything, that you could stop replaying Steve’s expression in your mind. “No, no, no, you’re not getting away that easy, Pretty Boy. You wanted to talk about something? Now’s your chance.” “Billy,” you manage to choke out. You knew exactly what he was doing and you weren’t prepared to sit back and watch it happen. “Don’t get in the middle of this, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty little face of yours,” Billy smirked, bringing a hand to the corner of your mouth gently, which you promptly swatted away. You wanted to make Steve jealous before, but not this way. Not here. Not with Billy. Part of you began damning yourself for even kissing Steve in the first place. If jealousy wouldn’t have played a part in this, you wouldn’t be in this situation. You try reminding yourself of the redhead. The way she had her fingers twirling Steve’s hair. His smile as she swayed to the rhythm. Steve’s defeated expression in the doorway kept pulling you away. “Don’t talk to her like that,” Steve whispered. “You’re brave for still being around these parts, you know that, Harrington? How about I kick your ass again to remind you why you shouldn’t be here.” Billy’s hands clenched into fists. Steve’s cheeks flushed rage. You just wanted out of this situation. With what little strength you had remaining, your hand met the back of Billy’s head with a loud smack. Billy turned to face you, one of his hands immediately flying up to the pulsing red spot you had left him with. “Just go, Billy.” You say sternly. Billy eyes the both of you, chuckling softly. He turned to disappear back into the party, but not before body checking Steve on his way out. You watch as Steve winces, eyes wandering up to meet yours. Before you can open your mouth, Steve is following suit, disappearing into the wave of teenagers. Tears sting your eyes, begging to be released. You blink them back as you follow Steve’s path. You had to fix this.

I promise the way we fight Make me honestly feel like we just in love … I lose my mind when it comes to you

The cold night air is a pleasant change from the humidity between bodies in Tina’s crowded living room. The breeze wasn’t helping the fact that there were still tears in your eyes, each wind blowing past threatening to release an entire ocean. Your eyes were locked on Steve’s silhouette as he walked towards his car. “Steve!” You’re yelling for him until you’re hoarse. It’s not until you’re directly on his heel that he turns to face you. His eyes are red and you can see where a few tears had cascaded down his face. “Why.” “I should ask you the same question,” you counter. Steve shakes his head, spinning back around to open his car door. You grab his arm. “I don’t want to hear it, Y/N,” he says coldly. “Please.” Steve sighs and closes the car door, leaning against it. A tear escapes his eye. You reach up to wipe it away but he swats your hand away to take care of it himself. “You were in there with him,” his voice cracks. “He-“ “You were in there with him, Y/N! You’re going to try and deny it? What? After you kiss me, making me look like the biggest idiot on the planet for not immediately running after you? And then the moment I do, he’s blocking my way? What the hell?” “Steve it isn’t-“ “What do you mean it isn’t like that? You’re going to kiss me, after everything we’ve been through, and then I walk into that? Is this a game to you? Our whole…everything?” You watch as Steve hesitates in continuing his speech. Tears stream down his face, and your heart shatters in a million pieces. You can’t help the tears that well up in your eyes. The girl dancing with him seems like a blur in your mind. Just another one of the girls that loved him and left him within the same day. Just another heartbreak you would have to deal with as you stroked his hair late at night and told him that “the one” is out there. Him not knowing that “the one” had been there all along. “Steve…” “All this time, you know? I really thought I had you figured out. One moment, we’re sitting on your bed cracking jokes together, and then the next you’re…I really thought…shit,” he takes a moment to rub his eyes and get his thoughts together. “Look. I made a mistake, okay? That girl…that girl was a distraction. I was trying to get your attention.” “And you got it. What makes you think Billy wasn’t a mistake?” You respond. “Because it’s Billy. I mean, he just looks at girls and gets them to do anything for him. And he’s in there taking care of you? Something I should-“ “You think I wanted him in there, Harrington?” You interrupt. “The last thing I wanted while near death on the floor was fucking Billy Hargrove trying to feel me up. I…I wanted you, Steve. I’ve always wanted you, Steve.” Steve’s eyes light up for the first time that night. He runs his fingers through his hair, a nervous tick that you had picked up on over the years. Now it’s you who had tears streaming down your face. Steve’s hands move to wipe them away and you let him. His hands linger. They’re soft, save for the rough callouses on his left hand from that one year he tried to pick up guitar. You lean into his hands. It’s the first time you actually felt secure all night. “Can we…start this night over? Forget that any of this happened?” “I would like that,” you nod through tears, smiling. “On one condition.” Steve’s face falls and he takes his hands away from your face, worry in his eyes. You reach for his arms and place them around your waist, taking his face in your hands. “Stop being so goddamn stubborn.” And with that you kiss him gently, Steve returning the kiss before pulling away. “Only if you stop first.” You playfully swat at his chest as he leans in for another kiss, which you happily return. “Let’s get out of here.”

If you were my boyfriend, and you were my girlfriend I prolly wouldn’t see nobody else But I can’t guarantee that by myself

A month passed since you sent in your college applications. A month of agonizingly looking up at your ceiling fan until school started, then coming home and looking longingly out at the mailbox; a cycle you had grown quite accustomed to. Today was no different. As soon as the bell rang, you were darting out of the classroom and sprinting to your locker, fumbling with the lock as if it were the first day of school all over again. “Whoa, whoa, slow down there, Jethro,” Steve sidled up next to you, taking the lock from your hands and opening it for you. You throw your social studies book in the locker, throw your backpack over your shoulder, and grab your psychology book before slamming the door and starting down the hallway. “What if today’s the day?” “You’ve been saying that for a month, Y/N,” Steve is struggling to stay alongside you through the constant wave of students trying to get to the buses. “Okay, but what if?” You grab his hand and drag him down the hallway to the bike rack. The party is also getting out of school and grabbing their bikes, and there you are holding Steve Harrington’s hand. “Gross!” Dustin is the first to speak. “You all are holding hands?” Lucas adds. “When did this happen?” Mike is almost disgusted. “Guys, stop it. I think it’s kind of cute,” Will, always the gentleman, smiles at you, while getting looks from his friends. “Yeah, it’d be cute if it wasn’t Steve!” Dustin replies. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks. “I mean, it’s you.” “Uh-huh, yeah, very original.” “And you’re holding hands.” “Okay? And what if I did this,” Steve leans down and kisses you passionately to a chorus of “ewww” and “gross” and “please stop”. You pull away, grabbing your bike. “Well, boys, it was lovely to chat, but I have to go see if there is an acceptance letter waiting in my mailbox. You kiss Steve again (to the party’s dismay) before pedaling away. “I could just drive you, you know? It’d be quicker!…And you’re gone,” Steve yells after you. Dustin puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, buddy. You’ve got us to keep you company.” “Yeah, just in case, you know, she never comes back,” Mike adds. “She just went home, she’s not dead, you idiots,” Steve countered, although he couldn’t help the nagging thought in the back of his mind that you would get accepted to one of your dream schools and leave him in Hawkins. Will noticed Steve’s subtle change in expression. “Steve, are you okay?” “What? Uh, yeah, I’m fine. I need to go make sure Y/N gets home,” he says, digging through his jacket pocket for his car keys. “Are you coming to movie night?” Dustin yelled after him. “I mean, I don’t have a choice, do I?” Steve yells back. “Unless you want Mike and Lucas to get in another fight!” “Hey!” Mike and Lucas both hit Dustin on the side of the head. Steve turns to face the party, still walking back towards the parking lot. “I’ll be there at seven. You dipshits better not kill each other before I get there, got it?” The party nods collectively as Steve turns back around to find his car. Once he drives away, it’s a silent drive to your house. The inside of Steve’s mind was anything but quiet, though, as he still was thinking about what the kids were saying. They were kids, what did they know? But you were super smart. There was no doubt in his mind that you wouldn’t get accepted to Harvard. You did every extracurricular he could think of, plus got straight As, plus tutored him when he was struggling with algebra. Harvard was just too far from Hawkins. Purdue would be better so he could visit you, but he didn’t want to influence your decision in any way. You were sitting in your driveway, rifling through envelopes as he pulled up next to your house. “How’s it going?” You place three creme colored envelopes in front of you as Steve approaches, and stuff the rest of the mail in your backpack. He sits next to you, reading the return addresses. “Purdue, Ohio, and Harvard,” you breathe. “Which one should I open first?” Steve’s jaw clenches as he reads the schools in his mind over and over, mulling over in his mind how far of a drive Ohio was, how close Purdue was in respect to Hawkins, and truly how far Harvard was. Was he just exaggerating? He feels your eyes boring into the side of his head. “Harvard,” he blurts, silently cursing himself for doing so. You tense up. “I was gonna do that one last, you know? Save the best for last?” “Oh, no, it’s okay! It’s totally fine! Um,” he stammers. There’s a silence between the two of you before you begin to laugh at him. “Steve. Whatever happens, I’m not leaving you, okay?” “It’s just that-“ “I know. You are worried that I’m going to move away, find some college guy that is better than you, and fall in love. It’s not gonna happen, Steve. I waited this long for something to happen between us, and I’m not messing it up because of college. Plus, there’s no one out there who is going to make me think that they’re better than the boy who adopted a baby blue tang at the Hawkins Aquarium for my seventh birthday” you assure him.

Steve smiles at the memory. You wouldn’t shut up about the fact that you could adopt your own fish and visit it every day. Your parents didn’t have enough money at the time to do it for you, and when you came to Steve’s for a playdate after spending the morning at the aquarium, crying and holding onto a ragged blue tang plush, he silently vowed to save all of his allowances to adopt a fish for you. It was quite possibly your fondest childhood memory. “But, long-distance is hard.” “Stevie, we don’t know what any of these say. For all I know, they could all be rejection letters,” you reply. “You know that’s bullshit,” Steve laughs, leaning back on his arms. “Now, are you going to open the letters or let them blow away in the breeze?” You carefully opened the Harvard letter, unfolding the trifold, and reading silently to yourself. Your face fell slightly at the result. An acceptance. You were so prepared for rejection, why weren’t you happy that you got into the most competitive school in the country? Your reach school? But there was the acceptance embossed on nice card stock paper with your name on it and it made you sick. “It’s a no,” you say carefully, not wanting to convey the actual result to your boyfriend. “No it’s not,” Steve said, reaching for the letter. “Let me see.” “No, Steve. It’s a no,” you say, stuffing it back into the envelope and tossing it in your backpack with the rest of the mail. “I should’ve known anyway.” “Hey, come here,” Steve envelopes you in a warm hug, fingers running through your hair. “They don’t deserve you.” You lean into his embrace and before you know it, you’ve both fallen on the driveway, laughing as you went down. Steve kisses your cheek. “I could lay here forever.” “I couldn’t, I’ve still got two letters to open,” you bolt upright. Steve looks at you with pleading eyes. “I’m just joking.” You say, flashing a smile. “Let’s see what the other two say,” Steve lays on his side as you open the letters from Ohio and Purdue. Both acceptances, of course. Getting accepted to Purdue made you feel more at ease. It wasn’t Harvard, but it was home. “I have until the end of the month to make a decision,” you say, reading the last sentence on your Purdue letter. “Well, how many more are you waiting on?” Steve asks. “Four, but I think I’ve made a decision,” you say, smiling. “I’m going to Purdue.” “Are you sure you don’t want to wait?” Steve quizzes you, but you can tell he’s trying to hide his excitement from your decision. “I mean, it kind of makes me nervous to leave Indiana. I mean, I’m getting out of Hawkins, which is what I wanted, but I’m not far from home. Plus, I’ve got a good reason to stay close,” you say, leaning in to kiss him. He deepens it, pulling you as close as humanly possible. You smile into the kiss but pull away gently. “We should head inside. Kind of weird to be making out on my driveway, don’cha think?” ***************************************************************************************************** You’re snuggled into Steve’s side as Return of the Jedi is nearing its end. The boys are all asleep on Dustin’s floor, El is snuggled into your side asleep, Max next to her. If you had a camera, you would totally set it up to take a picture of the scene around you. In that moment, you truly felt like you were in your element. Movie nights with the party were your favorite, and you loved that you had El and Max to keep you sane while the boys were fighting amongst themselves. It made you that much more excited that you would be close to them so you could watch them grow. However, there was one thing that you felt that you couldn’t let go. You feel Steve’s head droop down onto yours. “Steve,” you whisper. “Hmm?” “You’re falling asleep.” “No I’m not,” he slurs sleepily. “I have to tell you something,” you say. “Hmm?” “I didn’t get rejected from Harvard. They accepted me.” Steve stirs. “I was born at night, but not last night, Y/N. You’re bad at hiding your facial expressions.” You roll your eyes, trying your best to ram into his side without disturbing El and Max. Steve hugs you closer with sleepy eyes. “But I’m glad you’re here.” “Yeah. Me too,” you smile.

You were truly home.

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fic #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things imagines

193 notes · View notes

syncopatedid · 5 years

Text

Kazetsuyo Novel Translation: Excerpt from Chapter 4: Track Meet

(Pages 170-173):

As the Tokyo Sports U track meet drew close, Kakeru’s mood was steadily rising in anticipation.

It’s been a while since he had competed in a real race. But even though Kakeru was confident he had covered his training very thoroughly, his mind would start to wander every night before falling asleep: Would running into a former acquaintance unsettle him and affect his concentration during the race? Had his race instincts gotten dull that he’d miscalculate his strategies? Could his time record which had gained him much attention back on his high school track team even pass for a college-level standard?

As soon as he closed his eyes, negative thoughts would surface one after another. Restless, Kakeru threw his blanket aside and sat up on his futon.

Suppressing his urge to immediately get out of bed to go jogging, he adjusted his breathing in the darkness of his room.

“Be patient… be patient…” Kakeru told himself.

Don’t think about anything else. Just picture yourself running. Feel the movement of your muscles throughout your body. Keep moving forward…

Rekindling that fire, his doubts evaporated into thin air. Like Nira waiting to be taken for its walks, Kakeru was feeling eager again.

Aside from practice, Kakeru was also properly attending his lectures at the university. Kiyose had rationalised that “one cannot possibly produce results in running if they can’t even fulfil their credits”, but because Kakeru was fully committed to his training, he had been repeatedly turning down invites to mixers and gatherings. As for Chikusei-so’s other occupants, they were making a concerted effort to hit the qualifying time as well; as soon as school was done for the day, they would all head back to the apartment without delay to work on their runs.

So it didn’t take long before word of their activity started to spread—not only was the shopping street abuzz with chatter, even the students at the university got to talking: “It seems that those guys from that run-down apartment are training very hard for a race.”

The day before the Tokyo Sports U track meet, Kakeru had asked a favour of a friend who was in the same foreign language studies class to answer roll call on his behalf.

“What, you’re taking a break tomorrow, Kurahara?”

"I’ll be running in the track meet, so…”

“Ah… speaking of that, I hear you’re aiming for the marathon, right?”

“It’s not a marathon…”

The ekiden is what I’m aiming for, and tomorrow’s track meet is the 5000-metre run, Kakeru thought to himself, but did not bother to clarify.

Kakeru had come to realise a fact when he started university, that those who have no ties to track and field wouldn’t know the difference between a marathon and an ekiden. And when it came to the track meet, some would even look surprised and laugh it off as a joke. “5000 metres? Isn’t that just running in circles around the track?” they’d tease, as if it were some sort of bizarre ritual.

To Kakeru, track is life. To most others, however, a track meet is just another boring race.

The truth was a harsh reality, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel a little complacent.

I guess not everyone can understand how big a deal it is and why we’ve been training so hard every day…

Hence with the present conversation, Kakeru was able to smile and casually gloss over the details.

“Well… think of it as a condensed version of a marathon. Anyway, I’m counting on you, thanks.”

“Just leave it to me! Go get ‘em, champ!”

His friend had the sincerest expression on his face. Even though he might not understand Kakeru’s ambitions, Kakeru could tell he was cheering him on from the bottom of his heart.

That night, Kakeru could barely fall asleep. His rest was shallow, and his mind, sharp and alert. This is fine, Kakeru thought as he drifted in and out of sleep, sensing the last of his lingering doubts dissipating. After tonight, his transformation will be complete, and his body and mind will be in a state that is ready to run.

He was feeling it—that feeling he had pretended he’d forgotten all this time—his fighting spirit before a race.

————————————————–

Footnotes:

- And Kakeru’s uni friend makes his cameo! I’ve mentioned in this post before, I was really quite heartened to read that Kakeru seems to have other friends aside from the Aotake squad (he does get invited along to mixers and parties after all), so I do read novel Kakeru as someone who’s less emo than anime! Kakeru, and radiates a kind of “sports jock” vibe that draws people to him even if he’s not exactly proactive at making friends. Besides, he was asking this friend to help him tell a white lie, so I guess that takes a certain level of established trust?

The exact word they used in the original was “Yuujin” (友情), which is a formal word for “friend”, but even though this friend isn’t written as a “Nakama” (仲間) or even has a name to his credit, I do feel the choice of words over “classmate”( クラスメイト ) or “acquaintance”（知り合い… which, btw, was the word used in this excerpt in reference to Sakaki), hints that this guy could still be a good friend despite them not being on a first-name basis. I am reminded of the “Yuujin” in Natsume Yuujinchou and I draw the impression from Takashi’s close friendships with his normie friends, despite all of them still addressing one another by their family names. So let me just have this nice little headcanon that Kakeru sees this friend the same way as well, okay? :*)

- I’m also pretty delighted to learn that Kakeru takes a class in foreign language studies! Since he’s in the Sociology department, I would assume the guy could be taking (cross-faculty?) modules from the linguistics department that are relevant to his area of study, maybe Language & Culture? The question is, are we talking foreign languages in general, or is his module more focused on a particular language? If it’s the latter, my headcanon would default to the English language, since that seems like the most “useful” language for a Japanese to study, and Kakeru feels like the type who would opt for practical subjects that would be more applicable to the working world, compared to say, maybe Haiji or Akane, who might have deeper appreciation for languages as lit majors (or maybe Kakeru does appreciate them to a small extent, but they are secondary compared to his overwhelming love for track, idk.) But anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself here cuz the modules you take as a first-year are mostly introduction modules and are pretty rudimentary, lol. Freshman year is still the honeymoon period, you know.

- p.s: Haiji says to attend your lectures properly so you can win all the races, m’kay? #ThisHasBeenAPSA

#kaze novel translations #Kaze novel things #Kazetsuyo #Kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #Run with the wind #Kakeru Kurahara #Woke up this morning and screamed at my grammar #Finally some *quality content* lololol #One backlog down and sdfghjk to go #I may or may not be just a tad bit over-invested in my imaginary son's education

103 notes · View notes

haloud · 3 years

Text

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 7

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, starts forlex ends malex, other characters may appear - Freeform, tags subject to update

Chapter Summary: Alive but weak, Michael wanders Alex’s house as he tries to come to terms with the past few days.

Excerpt:

At night, Alex slept in his bed, and Michael slept in the guest room, but the sheets were Alex’s, the pillows were Alex’s, the walls and floor were built to hold him, he picked out the curtains. Alex was inescapable. And now, neither could Michael escape knowing that he still slept in old band shirts worn soft and peeling, that he composed music with his eyes closed and hid his written notations in books around his house, that he kept all his condiments room temperature and screwed up his nose at the thought of cold sauce on hot food. All these domestic details he’d lived and loved without, stuffed inside the empty spaces in his skull after only a few days.

What was he supposed to do, knowing this? The little details made up friendships, too, for certainly Michael knew plenty of his siblings’ idiosyncrasies, even kept shelves in his heart for lovely little scraps old one or two-night lovers had left him as parting gifts.

But things would never, ever be so simple and nostalgic and normal with Alex. Too many years had passed for Michael to even attempt to fool himself. His ribs sung like a tuning fork struck pure, and Michael longed, with the oldest, basest longing, to be anything so useful for Alex to set the music of his life to. And here he was, sharing Alex’s house with Alex and Alex’s boyfriend’s dog and Alex’s boyfriend’s toothbrush on the sink and Alex’s boyfriend’s clothes in the laundry.

So he’d live with it.

“Fuck!”

Michael’s water glass flew to his hand but bumped the edge of the table and skidded the last few feet, spilling water across its surface. Still cursing, Michael shoved his chair back and got to his feet to clean shit up the old-fashioned way, on weak and shaky legs, with weaker and shakier lungs.

Max kept healing him, checking for any possible little injury, but it seemed that Michael was just weakened by the enormous strain Jones’s “teaching” had put on his body, and he’d have to build back his strength.

So there it was. All his fears about not being to protect anyone, all the needy clamor in his head, all of them led him here, by nothing but his own recklessness and desperation. Weak as a kitten. More a burden on Alex, quite literally, in his life, taking up his space, invading his home, leaning on him to get from point A to point B.

Fuck.

He was, at least, too tired to wallow in much, in between long jags of ragged sleep, torn apart by vivid dreams of light and letters and scraps of knowledge just out of reach. But despite the awful aftertaste of near-death those dreams represented, they were almost better than his waking hours, hovered over by a furious Isobel and a Max worried half to death, Valenti inspecting him head to toe the normal way, Maria trying to cheer him up, and Alex .

They hadn’t spoken much since Michael awoke. Alex had to work, and when he didn’t, they, well. Cohabitating was a lot to get used to. But no matter how awkward things got, he offered a perfect porcelain protection, and Michael studied him obsessively for flaw, for the true Alex underneath the façade brought on by Michael’s own foolishness.

“Everything going okay?” Max asked, emerging from the guest bedroom, Buffy at his heels. She’d become his shadow in the days since Michael’s near-death; it was almost endearing enough to keep Michael from snapping at him, but only almost.

“Fine,” he snarled, but far from driving Max off, his tone brought Max forward, to sit across the table from him and fold his arms.

If snapping wasn’t gonna keep people away, why had he been working so hard to not be a total asshole for the past few days, through every well-meaning coddle and condescension from any one of their friends, from everyone but Isobel, who wasn’t talking to him.

Max sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, and a twinge of guilt disturbed Michael’s surly mood.

“Go ahead,” he said a little too loudly, before those thoughts could get to him. “Tell me what a hypocrite I am. One of you has to, and it might as well be you. I was fucking stupid after getting on your case constantly, and it almost killed me. Go ahead!”

“You seem to have gotten a head start, so I don’t see the need,” Max said wryly.

Michael scoffed.

Picking up Michael’s abandoned glass, Max ran his finger around the rim as he spoke. “You know, I know what it’s like to lose this. When my heart was still so weak…I pushed myself too hard and almost…well. You know. So I understand. Give yourself time. Let your system settle and see where you are.”

The words were too kind and too logical for Michael to bear, so he let out another bratty huff and didn’t respond.

Max just sighed again. “Well. Anyway. Kyle’s going to be here soon. I know you hate him, but he’s—”

“I don’t.”

“Huh?”

“Hate him. Kinda hard to hate the guy after what he did for you. I don’t like the doctor shit, but…”

That brought out a small smile on Max’s face, and the knot in Michael’s stomach unclenched. “That’s good,” he said.

A knock on the door saved Michael from having to find a dignified answer, and he stood hastily to answer it—a little too hastily, it turned out, because the world tipped and took Michael with it.

“How ‘bout you let me,” Max said as Michael dropped heavy back into his chair before falling. He clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “Alex’d kill me anyway if it was trouble and I let you answer it.”

Alex. The too-casual reminder that he might have some kind of stake in Michael’s well-being sent him reeling. What was he supposed to do with that information, that perspective? How did he earn it, how was he worthy of it, and how did he keep it from flying away? All questions that were too much to answer—questions he’d asked his ceiling and his eyelids and his stars every night for a decade and was farther than ever from answers even now that he was coming to accept the core truth of the problem’s existence.

Of course, there was no trouble at the door; it was just Kyle, as expected, and he pet Buffy with one hand while waving at Michael with the other.

“Hey, Guerin. How’s it going?”

Michael marshalled himself to answer.

“How do you think it’s going, Doc? A newborn deer’s got fancier footwork than me right now. But I’m alive, so…”

“Can’t complain,” Kyle finished the sentence with an amused shake of his head. “That’s one way to look at it.”

His exam was quick and efficient, something Michael was grateful enough for that he’d die before he ever let Valenti see it, and when he was done he took a seat across from Michael.

“It’s not exactly a clean bill of health, but your condition seems stable and improving. The condition of your body, at least. It’s hard for me to give any diagnosis about what might be impacting the use of your powers.”

“Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t expect you to. I’ll figure it out. You’ve done enough,” Michael said, scratching idly at his temple where Max’s handprint lay, thankfully hidden by his hair. “Tell me this, Doc.” He glanced around to make sure Max wasn’t in earshot, and when he spied him through a window throwing a ball for Buffy, he continued, “Have you had a chance to check out Max yet? The healing he did, with his heart—”

Kyle smiled, and Michael glanced away from his knowing face, shifting in his seat.

“I did, and you have nothing to worry about. He’s fine. It was a significant strain, but considering the alternative, the outcome could have been much worse.”

“But what about his condition otherwise?” Michael powered through. “He’s been dealing with depression and exhaustion for months since—"

The back door swung open and Buffy bounded in for her water bowl, Max following. “How’s it going?” he asked them both, but mostly Kyle, voice full of false cheer.

“All good,” Kyle said easily, getting to his feet. “It’s going to be fine,” he tacked on the firm reassurance to Michael. “I should get going so I can get ready for work. Catch you later, Max.”

“Thanks again, man.”

“Free drinks at the Pony for life, you know my price.”

As little as Michael cared to socialize with Valenti even now, awkward silence descended when he was gone and it was just the brothers again. What did you say to the guy who saved your life—again—when you had nothing but your own stupidity to blame?

It didn’t help that Max’s ability to make Michael feel small and stupid and guilty as hell without even trying was still unparalleled, or that he was still too weak to pace it out, or that he was hyperaware of how everyone would perceive him if he sampled some of Alex’s liquor cabinet to take the edge off.

“I’m going out to the back to get some light exercise,” he said eventually.

“Okay,” Max said, not arguing or inviting himself along.

“Thanks,” Michael replied, not elaborating on what for as he passed him at the fastest shuffle he could manage.

Outside, under the sun, Michael’s head was no clearer, his muscles no stronger. Alex’s backyard was featureless, incomplete, clearly not somewhere he spent much time, unlike the front patio, which at least had some furniture, some lived-in rested energy. And, Michael thought, of course: Alex would spend his leisure somewhere he could anticipate most attempts to accost him.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Michael ambled from one end of the fence to the other. As he went, Alex’s cameras followed him, and Michael tried not to feel weird about that, weirdly paranoid despite it being Alex, weirdly comforted to know Alex could watch him. The whole thing was weird. Living in Alex’s home was…weird.

So he’d live with it.

His pocket buzzed frantically, and he swore loudly, startled, before he realized it was just his phone ringing.

“Fuckin’ spam calls,” he muttered as he fished it out. “Why the hell does anyone carry this shit around all the—”

But it wasn’t a spam call at all. Ortecho sat dead center on the screen, and, not knowing what ring it was on, Michael answered immediately.

“Mikey!” Liz’s breathless voice shouted before he could say a word.

“Well it’s about damn—”

“Thank god, are you okay, why am I hearing from Maria that you almost died, what the hell?”

“Glad to know that’s what it takes to get a hold of you,” Michael snarked back.

“Listen, I—”

Michael just sighed. “I know. I get it. But we’ve been calling you a damn lot, Ortecho.”

“…I know.”

Despite what he said, he didn’t understand. He’d never understand the running, not as someone so stuck in the ground he’d been planted in that he’d die if he tried to rip himself away. But he couldn’t love Alex after ten years without accepting what he’d never understand and knowing how to survive it.

He hadn’t thought, until now, that maybe he and Max could talk about this shit. But maybe it’d be worth a try. If there was one thing that Michael did know, it was that Liz and Alex wouldn’t talk about how the situations made them similar until they’d exhausted all possible escapes from that conversation.

“Well…” Michael said into the silence. “How’s California been? How’s the Genoryx lab; they better be letting you do all the mad science shit, or else what good’s a shady government drug company…”

“Don’t change the subject! You haven’t even answered me. Are you okay? ”

“I…”

What was the harm in being honest? Liz wasn’t even here, wasn’t even talking to anyone who wasn’t dying, so who would she tell? Maybe Maria, but Maria could read it from him like an open book.

“Gotta tell you, I’ve been better,” he admitted.

Liz let out a soft, sympathetic noise. “What happened? You can…you can talk to me, if you want. I know I haven’t been the most reliable, but we’re friends. We are. Okay?”

Shaking his head, Michael paced the length of the fence again, one hand on it to steady himself. He reached the house and kept walking to the front, leaving the barren back garden behind.

“There’s not that much to say. Maria probably told you already. I made a bad gamble on Hyde, and Jekyll had to haul my ass out of the fire. That’s it.”

That version of the story left out the part Isobel played, but Michael didn’t have the words to describe walking his own head as it melted around him, images flying past bright enough to sear his eyes, snatches of conversation, aphasia in every sense, and how empty and cavernous and bereft he felt now, knowing what Jones had stuffed inside him—the knowledge of his entire people—knowing he wasn’t enough to contain it, weak, corrupted, and now he might never get it back. And knowing Jones did that to him on purpose, gave him more than his body and mind could handle to make him feel this way, didn’t make the feeling it any damn easier.

Liz went silent on the other end. There was a question she wasn’t asking, but Michael let it ride, gave her the space.

But finally, he answered it for her. “Max is okay. His heart held up, and so did the pacemaker. And I’ve got a handprint six inches from my nose, so I can call him on it if he tries to bullshit me.”

“I—okay. Thank you, Mikey.”

“Don’t thank me. Seriously, don’t. I, uh, said a lot of shit I probably shouldn’t have in your voicemail, about Max. But it’s up to you if you want him in your life at all, so, uh. Yeah.”

“No, no, it’s fine.”

There was a thunk on the other line like she’d dropped or hit something.

“Look, I should go,” she said.

“Okay,” Michael replied.

“I’m—really glad you’re okay.”

“And, uh, it was nice to hear from you.”

“Okay.” Her final reply was soft and hesitant and awkward as Michael felt making an earnest overture a friend might make. “Bye, Mikey.”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

She hung up.

Michael dropped his arm and let his phone dangle at his side for a little while. His legs shook a little, so he held onto the back of one of the patio chairs to steady himself, but he wasn’t ready to sit just yet.

Friends or not, clearly he and Liz had plenty to work on if they were that fucking awkward without a project between them.

Still, this was something. Something unexpected. Michael was too tired to sort through feelings right now.

But he should have—

Before he could second guess himself, he pulled his phone back up and dashed a text off to her.

We all get together on Thursday nights. Open invitation. -G

Then he dropped his phone face-down on the seat and sat down several feet away so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at it if she texted him back.

All the chairs on Alex’s patio were tilted subtly to watch different angles of the approach to the house, so Michael settled in the one that was shadiest. It was too fucking hot to be relaxing outdoors without water or sunscreen, but the air indoors with Max hovering and Alex…everywhere…was just as stifling.

Max hadn’t asked him why, yet, even though the question itched at Michael’s head, even through the careful distance they were keeping from the handprint bond between them. Which was good, because, in the sunlight, on the other side of the storm, his arms wrapped around his own stomach, holding himself, Michael couldn’t have answered it himself.

Eventually, though, people would ask. And what would he tell them—should he admit he thought that the pollen would be enough to keep himself from harm, should he confess that he’d been willing—or thought he was willing—to accept the risks if it meant no one would have to take a blow for him?

The street stretched long and quiet as far as Michael could see. Every now and then, a car would pass from one point on the line to the next, disappearing down some other driveway or just continuing until the heat haze swallowed it whole. The sun hurt his tired eyes, so he blinked slow, and let minutes trickle past, waiting for something to happen.

Maybe his phone would ring again; maybe Max would come looking for him. Maybe Flint Manes would leap out of the bushes and shoot him. Maybe Alex would come home from work and smile when he saw him. Maybe Forrest would come home early and try and fight him for shacking up while he was gone. Maybe Jones did something to him that was lying in wait and would detonate his heart any second.

Thinking of possibilities was an endless sort of entertainment for a man who never knew what to do with having a future and who just nearly lost his lease on it.

As Michael watched the road, a truck appeared on one side of the horizon, moving faster than most would on a residential street like this. It whipped up dust as it went, and Michael rolled his eyes and slouched deeper into the chair. Fucking assholes in their screaming steel overcompensators almost universally considered themselves above getting work done in a junkyard, and that didn’t exactly give Michael a better opinion of them.

And this piece of shit in particular, Michael recognized. What the hell was Wyatt fuckin’ Long doing on this side of town? Michael tensed as he roared by, just waiting for him to slow or stop—did he drive by often, harassing Alex for dating his cousin? Or looking for his cousin to harass somewhere off the farm where a real adult might stop him?

He didn’t do either, though, and in seconds he was gone, cowgirl mudflaps dangling behind him.

Asshole.

What time was it anyway? Narrowing his eyes, Michael focused on his phone where he dropped it in the other chair and, slowly, tried to pull it toward him. It took seconds and enough strain his head hurt before it moved, but move it did, wobbling slowly towards him. Halfway there, it changed velocity and came shooting toward him, and he only barely managed to catch it before it overshot and slammed against the wall behind him.

Still, progress.

It was later than he thought. Shouldn’t Alex be home from work by now? Should he be worried?

He was just hovering his thumb over Alex’s contact, deciding whether or not to call, when another car hissed along the drive and slowed. This one, though, turned into Alex’s driveway, and Michael relaxed.

Alex pulled the car to a stop, and Michael stood up to greet him, stretching as he did. Unexpectedly, Maria was also in the front seat, but her presence answered the question of why Alex was late. If he wasn’t talking to Michael, at least he was talking to someone.

“Hey,” Michael greeted them.

“Hey, Guerin,” Maria replied.

“Is everything alright?” Alex demanded.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Kyle was by earlier. Seems like I’m still on the mend.”

“That’s good to hear,” Maria said, as Alex said nothing.

Michael gave her a smile. “Yeah, it is. So…are you staying for dinner? Maybe I can cook something…”

Side-eying Alex, who stood as stiff and stoic as Michael had ever seen him, shoulders and back soldier-straight, Maria returned Michael’s smile and said, “Oh, Alex just asked me to take Buffy out for her walk for the next few days, so I’m here to see her.”

“I didn’t want to impose on you for that,” Alex added.

Michael rocked on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets, chewing on his tongue to hold back any indication of how desperate he was to be imposed upon. The weakness in his legs kept him from making a real argument; despite her age, Buffy was a hell of a walker.

Was that the reason Alex was asking Maria to step in? Was his leg okay? Michael rocked forward again, swaying toward Alex and tugging himself back, an old, familiar dance.

“You could’ve. You’re puttin’ me up, I oughtta work for room and board,” Michael joked.

It didn’t exactly land. If possible, Alex shut down harder, face cold and hard, though his voice was soft.

“You don’t have to work for me to take care of you when you’re in need,” he said, every syllable clipped and careful.

Michael should have known something was up then and there, seen it, seen Maria’s downcast eyes and crossed arms, the way she hovered close between them and kept to herself; he should have expected it, Alex to pull some kind of bullshit, but his head didn’t go there. Not yet.

“So…you going somewhere?” he asked, licking his lips. The thought might have sent a bolt of panic through him, but now that Alex had a life here, a house and a job and roots, the threat was less immediate.

That didn’t stop Liz, his mind whispered, but he shook it off.

Alex wasn’t answering, so Michael continued, “You heading out to meet Forrest in DC? You should have gone with him in the first place, man, take some time off.”

Maria shot Alex a loaded look, but Alex’s face just hardened.

“And been across the country when you almost died on my doorstep?” he demanded so fervently Michael took a step back, and Alex closed his eyes, chest rising and falling with a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry.”

“No, uh, it’s fine. You’re right. I’m glad you were here.”

Somewhere deep in his heart, Michael thought that it wouldn’t have mattered where in the universe Alex was when he lifted his foot and stepped across space to get to his door. His thoughts were inside out, tripled and rearranged with pieces missing, he couldn’t have said what he did or the powers he used or how he could do it again, but he could say this: for a brief moment, he’d possessed the ability to reorder the universe to put himself at Alex’s side, and no technicalities of time or distance would have stopped him.

He didn’t have that power anymore, though, and neither did he have the ability to read Alex’s mind.

“Seriously, though, are you going somewhere?” he asked again.

“…I should get inside. My phone’s dead, I need to charge it,” Alex said.

“ Alex, ” Maria said in a scalded voice.

Michael, though, was cold. Frozen. It barely registered when Maria reached out and squeezed his wrist to reassure him; he wasn’t reassured, though he was pathetically grateful to her for trying. She was a good friend—better now than she was or he was when they were two isolated points on a severed line, ten years as two stars on an unintelligible constellation, half its lights gone out.

But that friendship, as cherished as it was—could it hold him up if the new foundation he’d built for his life was ripped away again? Again, he’d built it up around Alex without expectation or intention. It was reflexive, habitual, migratory. He followed a pattern etched into his bones. He didn’t know any other way to build.

“Alex, I told you,” Maria said.

“I know. But—”

“No! No buts. If you can’t even be honest about what you’re doing, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“It’s fine,” Michael said. His voice was distant inside his own skull. “I get it. You don’t have to tell—you don’t owe me anything.”

For some reason, Alex turned back around to face them, then, his face so openly wracked with pain and indecision that Michael had to close his eyes.

Even less than he could stand to watch Alex walk away again, he couldn’t stand to watch it hurt so bad and him choose it all the same.

“I’m not leaving you, Guerin. Michael. I’m—not. I’m not!”

He said it again and again, like he was arguing with someone who wasn’t Michael or Maria, both of whom were silent. Maria pressed closer to Michael, leaning her weight against him, wordless but telling him: I’m here.

“I’m not leaving,” Alex said again.

Michael forced himself to open his eyes. A few feet in front of him, Alex took up the same amount of space he always did, posture helplessly perfect, hands helplessly flat at his sides.

Through a tight throat, Michael said, “Okay. Then why…”

Alex struggled for the words. At his side, Michael felt Maria breathe in and release a heavy sigh.

“Talk to us, Alex. Please,” she said.

Dropping his eyes, Alex replied, “I’m just going to be busy and out of the house a lot for the next few days and won’t have time to give Buffy the attention she deserves.”

“Really? That’s it?” her voice was close to tears, and Michael unlocked himself to wrap his arm around her. She continued, “I asked you to talk to us, not just repeat what you told me before. What business, Alex? You’re scaring me.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Alex cried, spreading his arms wide. Then he dropped his arms just as suddenly, head snapping back and forth looking for anyone who might have heard the outburst, then he dragged a hand over his face. He continued, quieter, flatter, “I get so wound up about one threat, and another one starts swinging from my blind side. I’m not waiting for Fields to come calling while Michael is here. And Jones—” That awful blankness crossed his face again. “—What am I supposed to do, let what he did to you go without doing something about it? Wait until he tries again? Absolutely not.”

Every word stung Michael’s senses; he had no response, mouth parted but silent, eyes wide.

Maria let out a frustrated growl. “And would you have told anyone these plans if I hadn’t forced you? Oh my god, of course not, you both suck so bad! What part of this one,” she jerked her thumb at Michael, “getting his gray matter pureed forty-eight hours ago makes you think now is the time to run off with some lone wolf Rambo act? What’s the point of being able to see the future if no one ever asks or listens?”

“Did you? See something?” Michael asked.

“Well. No. But I might have,” Maria replied.

“Wait, nothing at all? It’s been how long now?”

“Too long,” she admitted. “It’s not nothing, I just keep seeing our bearded friend standing in a field. I can’t even tell if it’s now or if it’s from before or even if it’s from the home planet. He doesn’t look at me, just…stands there.” She shivered.

Alex’s eyebrows drew down. “Can he…block your sight? Is that possible?”

Shrugging helplessly, Maria said, “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure we can’t just ask him. What are we going to do?”

We. Part of Michael wanted to protest, in the face of the danger that alliance would pose to two of the people he loved most in the entire world. Standing alone already almost got him killed, left him weaker than he’d ever been, but still part of him would try again, and again, until he was out of second chances, if it meant sparing Alex and Maria anything.

But that wasn’t in question, was it. They’d made their choice. It was time for Michael to learn to live with it.

“Thursday’s coming up,” he said. Maria and Alex turned to look at him, and he lifted and dropped his shoulders, curling in on himself. “If you guys are still available. We can talk about a game plan.”

“ Guerin, ” Maria sighed. But she smiled when she reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. “Of course we’re available.”

Alex didn’t reply. Silence fell between the three of them, until Maria sighed again and headed toward the front door.

“I already came all this way, I might as well spend a little time with Buffy. Since I won’t be walking her after all.”

As she passed Alex, he made a soft noise, and whatever it was, she understood perfectly, because she turned to meet Alex’s raising arms, and the two of them hugged tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You were right. I’m sorry I didn’t--I shouldn’t have made you--”

“Stop with the ‘shouldn’ts’,” Maria replied. “Just...don’t make us watch you destroy yourself alone when we’re here for you, okay?”

Michael flinched. Neither of them looked at him, but her words hit home anyway. He was part of that grief, too.

Alex nodded against her shoulder. “I won’t.”

Then she gave him one last squeeze, he let her go, and she went inside, leaving Michael and Alex alone.

And alone, what was there to say? They hadn’t found it so far.

Michael’s heart still beat uncomfortably fast in his chest, a frantic effort to keep him standing and sane while his brain and body figured out that Alex wasn’t going to disappear from before his eyes, and it only pulsed harder when—he blinked to clear his eyes and—Alex got closer, closing the space between them in a few long, uneven strides.

On instinct, Michael took a step back, but Alex stopped six inches away, just staring at him with his dark eyes. They scanned from his feet to his hair, taking in every minute tremble of his damaged muscles.

Jittery, Michael licked his lips and said, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer--”

Alex took Michael’s shirt in his fist and pulled him in. They hit, chest to chest, Alex’s arm trapped between them until he pulled it away, down and out, clamped it around Michael’s back and held on, held on for dear life. He didn’t need to hold on so tight; Michael froze with the shock of Alex around him and couldn’t have budged for love or money, not until his mind caught up with his body and he slumped in Alex’s safe arms.

“I’m so mad at you,” Alex said in his ear, close enough that his hitching breaths stirred Michael’s ear.

“I know. I know,” Michael spoke back, lips moving against his shoulder. He let his eyes fall shut again. Like this, he didn’t need them, dropped every sense that wasn’t touch, anything that didn’t tell him the only thing he needed to know. Alex was here. Michael was here. They were alive. They were together.

“How could you? What did I do wrong?” His breathing hitched harder, enough for Michael to feel it in Alex’s entire body.

Gripping him tighter, one arm around his lower back, one arm around his broad shoulders, Michael murmured, “Nothing, God, nothing. I was stupid. I just wanted—I just had to—”

“I wanted to protect you. That’s all I wanted—did I push too hard?” Hot, wet heat hit Michael’s neck. “I’m so shit at this, Michael, every time I try, I just make everything worse!”

“No! No, hey, hey.”

They were too tightly entwined for Michael to do much, but he maneuvered them enough to press their foreheads together.

“I just wanted to protect you, ” Michael rasped. If he looked at Alex this second, this close, he wouldn’t be able to stand it, so he squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know how to—be protected. You making that sacrifice for me, I don’t know how to be worth it. It’s not your fault.”

“You don’t have to do anything. Ever. I’m so fucking—sorry, for all the times I made you feel like you had to—earn...”

They swayed slightly back and forth, half because Michael had pushed himself too far on his weak legs, half because it was an old self-soothing motion one or both of them fell back on, completely alone in the universe as children. They did it together, now.

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael swore, clasping Alex’s sweaty hand in his own sweaty hand, in the nonspace between their chests, knuckle to sternum, palm to palm, sternum to knuckle. The words tasted like hope on his tongue.

They opened their eyes, Alex first, then Michael, and they stood like that for a long time. Alex’s eyes were red from crying, but beautiful. Always beautiful.

We’ll figure it out. Neither of them believed it fully, but if both of them held a half, maybe they’d manage to make it work.

“We should get back inside,” Michael said eventually, dropping Alex’s hand, stiffening his own to keep the shape of it held to his side as they parted.

“Actually, could we, um.” Alex cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we could sit out here a while longer. It’s a nice sunset? And maybe we could catch up on normal stuff.”

Michael looked over his shoulder at the sky. It really was stunning, broad beyond comprehension, all alien with pinks and purples and golds.

“Normal stuff sounds great,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

#malex fic #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #my fic #roswell new mexico

17 notes · View notes

mordellestories · 5 years

Text

Anathema & Newt: The Matchmakers

Chapter excerpt from Ineffable Timing

Aziraphale watched the mother and daughter with a kind smile. “The baby is just lovely,” he marvelled quietly.

“Would you like to hold her?”

Aziraphale beamed. “Oh, yes. Please.” He held his arms out and carefully cradled the infant. The small thing yawned dramatically and fell asleep. The angel chuckled as a tear of joy slipped out of the corner of his eye. “How are you, dear? I know the first few months can be challenging.”

Anathema sighed and sat on the bed, but smiled. “I’m good. Newt is a big help. He’s an amazing father and things have been wonderful. We’re tired all the time but we’re managing. We’ll need a new place soon. I love Tadfield but the cottage will be too small for the three of us.”

“You know, I’m always available to babysit,” he mentioned hopefully. “Crowley is an excellent nanny as well.”

Anathema laughed aloud but smothered it when she saw he was serious.

“We have references,” Aziraphale uttered a bit hurt.

“Oh, right, you both cared for Warlock. Um, sure. I mean I guess we’d be lucky to have actual angels looking after Theo for us when we need some time for ourselves.”

Aziraphale gave her a grateful look, not just for the chance to watch over the baby but for how she always referred to both he and Crowley as angels. He never corrected her and curiously, neither did Crowley. “It might do the insufferable idiot some good. Keep him busy with fussing over someone other than me for a change,” he muttered with annoyance.

She giggled in response. “He’s still that bad?”

The angel looked behind him at the empty hall then moved closer to Anathema and whispered harshly. “Worse.” He let her laugh again and shook his head. “If I were a demon, I’d have wrung his neck by now. He’s… what’s a proper American expression?”

Crowley picked up a biscuit. He knew better than to press that kind of subject, but something in him couldn’t help it. “No, no. Go on. Explain the joke,” he drawled.

Newt squirmed in his seat nervously and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Well, it won’t be funny anyway. You know, when, um, a joke is explained--” he watched Crowley lean forward and take a bite of the cookie. “What I mean is…” his eyes grew wide as the demon masticated slowly, watching him with what appeared to menace. He couldn’t be sure. The spectacles hid all, but it did feel like a menace. He swallowed hard.

“Driving you batshit crazy?”

It was a distasteful phrase but seemed appropriate. “Batshit. Yes. Crazy. He’s going mad and taking me with him.” He sighed. “He miracled away my candles last night,” he whined. “He calls at all hours of the day even if we’ve just seen each other. Bosses me around all the time. I can’t take much more.”

Anathema rolled her eyes but nodded. “Partners can be a bit much when they’re worried about our safety.”

Aziraphale nearly choked and sputtered. “Oh, we’re not… I mean--”

“Or friends,” she corrected herself before Clueless Husband Number One could drop her baby in his sudden flustering.

The ex-witchfinder cleared his throat. “It’s just a little joke between me and Anathema, really, because, you know, you two are,” he coughed, “always together.”

Crowley stared at the young man for what seemed like an age before he finally swallowed his biscuit. “You haven’t said yet.”

“Said what?” Newt squeaked.

Painfully slow, the demon reached for his cup of tea and took a sip. “The joke.”

“Oh. Again it’s nothi--” he suddenly felt compelled to tell Crowley every little secret he ever had. “We call you the Clueless Husbands.”

There was a pregnant pause before Crowley scoffed with amusement. “Is that right?”

“Yes.” He couldn't stop himself. “We have a bet.”

“Do tell.”

“I bet you two are a couple and just hiding it from everyone. Anathema bet that you’re not and totally oblivious that you’re both stupidly in love with one another.” He took in a long, loud breath and the spell was over. “Oh bugger.”

Aziraphale composed himself and placed Theodora in her bassinet. He rocked her a bit as he pondered on the opportunity to finally confide in someone about his predicament with Crowley. “We are friends…” he trailed off not knowing how to proceed.

Anathema sensed the change in him and wondered if he was finally going to mention the elephant in the room that always sat between him and Crowley. She had grown to care for them both over the months after the world almost ended and wanted them to be happy. “You do know, don’t you?” She tested.

The angel held his breath. “Know what?”

The witch sighed and shook her head. She knew she was the one who had to say it if Aziraphale was going to confide in her. She decided to be cautious. “That Crowley seems to fancy you? I mean, I thought, at first, you knew and were just being...” she shrugged, “British. But I’m not so sure anymore.”

Crowley was now reclined on the sofa completely, looking like a patient at his therapy appointment. “We’re of different stock, us and you humans. It’s completely different.”

Newt shrugged his shoulders. “So, you’re not together ?”

The demon splayed his hands, always keeping tabs on Aziraphale’s location in the house. “In some way, we are, I suppose. We have a sort of… arrangement .”

“Not labelling it then. That’s fair.” Newt nodded slowly, hoping he was saying the right things.

Crowley hissed softly. “Except this arrangement doesn’t really expand to other areas outside of business, and well, there’s no more business to speak of. See my dilemma?”

Aziraphale was now lying on the bed, feet still on the floor, hands dragging on his face. He had spilt his guts and more information than Anathema needed about angel relations or lack thereof.

“It’s not like I haven’t noticed at all that Crowley and I are…” he waved his hands in the air as if trying to grasp the perfect word that kept escaping him, “ something. It’s just, our case is a bit tricky! Our kind doesn’t need the sort of physical affection that humans exhibit for one another when, well, when you know.”

The witch nodded in understanding. “True, but angels don’t need to eat, and yet, you do… a lot… and you seem to enjoy it very much.”

The angel sighed. “I actually started to feel bouts of hunger after a millennia or so, and Crowley sleeps every night though he shouldn’t need it.”

Anathema scoffed. “Oh, he needs it. He hasn’t slept in almost a whole year and look at him! Grouchy all of the time and driving you nuts.”

Aziraphale removed his hands from his face and sat up looking completely baffled. “What do you mean he hasn’t slept for almost a year?”

“Maybe after the anniversary, he’ll be able to relax more.” She reassured him.

“He falls asleep in my bookshop almost every night!” He almost yelled.

Anathema frowned. “Well, then he’s lying to one of us because when he was here last week, he mentioned he hasn’t slept a wink since the day the world almost ended.”

At that, Aziraphale launched to his feet. “Last week? He was here last week? He said that?”

She nodded. “Yes. He comes by once or twice a week to check up on things. You didn't know?”

The angel was frozen in shock with his mouth hanging open. Crowley had been coming to Tadfield once or twice a week to make sure things were okay with Adam and the Pulsifers. That was sweet and not exactly too surprising because Aziraphale knew that Crowley did not like to appear like he had any good in him. What was throwing the celestial in for a loop was the fact that Crowley had been feigning sleep while in his presence for a year. The times his head would roll onto his shoulder, or when his leg would limply fall against his own, or when his hand would drop onto the angel's lap, was now taking on a whole new meaning. The memory of Crowley needlessly pressing up against him, and the feel of his hand grazing the back of his head earlier made his eyes grow wide. In a blink, similar moments flashed in his mind going all the way back to the very time they met in the Garden as if someone hit the rewind button on an old VCR.

“Oh my,” he breathed.

-----------

Ineffable Timing complete and on Ao3

#good omens #good omens fan fiction #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable timing #ineffable husbands fanfiction #ineffable husbands fic #anathema device #newton pulsifer #crowley and aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrow #chapter excerpt #mordelle #mordellestories

48 notes · View notes