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inkandpen22 · 3 years

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Otherworldly Kings and Queens (2/?)

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Female!Reader / Prince Caspian x Female!Reader

Warning: mild mentions of violence

Word Count: 1.8k

Part Summary: Y/N and the Pevensies search the surrounding cliffs and they start to piece together what happened since the Pevensies leaved. Then, someone is nearly attacked...

A/N: As requested, I’m releasing one more part today! In the next part Y/N meets Caspian!!!! Get hyped!

Masterlist

After our antics on the beach, the five of us hike up the cliffs after Edmund spotted some old runes he mentioned not remembering. Peter holds my hand the entire way. One, because when does he not frankly? Two, because I don't keep my eyes ahead of us as I'm too distracted by everything around me. I've never seen any place Narnia! There's so much untouched land, for as far as the eye can see! I've lived in London my whole life. There's constant noise and good luck finding a patch of grass that isn't a park. I had only ever been to the ocean a handful of times and it never looked like this one. The water is so clear and crystal blue! Also, I swear I saw an actual mermaid tail flick up through the surface at one point.

"So you really don't remember these?" I question, referring to the runes.

"Not from what I can recall," Edmund pants ahead.

Once we finally reach the ancient-looking stone structures, we all start to wonder about the place individually to figure out where we landed. Peter and I, however, remain together and stroll about. Trees and bushes of various kinds have grown over the rubble. It's must've been centuries, perhaps even thousand of years, since this place was inhabited.

As Peter climbs to the tallest point to get a better look, I pick a bright red apple from its branch and toss it to Lucy with a giggle. I stroll over to the edge of the platform that overlooks the western coast. Scattered bits of green covered land streak the horizon. Whoever lived here was lucky, they had the most incredible view! The sunsets must be unparalleled.

"I wonder who lived here?" Lucy questions beside me.

"I think we did..."

I glance over my shoulder and Susan holds up something in her hand. I narrow my eyes at the shiny object and I go over to join her.

"Hey, that's mine!" Edmund announces as he takes the thing from Susan. "From my chess set!"

"What chess set?" Peter interlocks his hand with mine once he reaches us.

"Well I didn't exactly have a solid gold chess set in Finchley did I?" Edmund sasses, examining the piece.

"It can't be!" Lucy runs off, shocker.

The four of us follow the youngest swiftly to catch up. It annoyed me when she would run off in London and I know that city like the back of my hand. If she continues to run off in a foreign land... okay, so I don't know what I'm going to do, but I sure won't be happy about it!

Lucy takes Peter's hand and starts to escort him up a platform. I slip my from his, which earns me a subtle glare of annoyance. I snicker as Lucy aligns Peter in a specific place. She sets each of her siblings in a spot, clearly onto something.

"Imagine walls," she instructs. "And pillars there!" She points before stopping in her own place on the far side. "And glass roof!"

I observe the four siblings lined up a few feet above me on the platform. I start to see what I think Lucy is envisioning. The pile of rock behind each of them, they're remnants of thrones! I look to Peter and he's starting to process it too.

"Cair Paravel," he concludes with a solemn expression.

We continue searching the once glorious palace that Peter vividly described to me countless times this past year. Peter is understandably crossed and has grown quiet. All I can do is continue holding his hand and rub my free one on his arm comfortingly. I hate not being of more use in figuring out what happened here. In my defense, I've never been to Narnia before.

Edmund jogs ahead and kneels beside a boulder. "Catapults," he mutters.

"What?" Peter finally breaks his silence.

"This didn't just happen," Edmund determines. "Cair Paravel was attacked."

After a moment, Peter marches off with a stern expression. Silently, he takes me along with him on his march without slowing down. Lucy and the others follow, just as confused as me. Clearly, Peter knows where he's going and is on a mission to get there. I would ask him where exactly our destination is, but I prefer to keep my head.

Abruptly, he stops in front of a tower-like structure. He releases my hand and starts to remove brush from the building. Edmund helps him press against the stone which eventually shifts to reveal a worn wooden door with a lion engraved on the handle. Peter picks up a rock and starts to go at the wood panels. The door breaks and gives way to expose a dark stairwell leading down. I glance over at Lucy and Susan who simply watch their brothers act. Evidently, they must remember this place too.

Peter rips the bottom of his shirt and starts wrapping it around a stick he’d picked up. "Don't suppose you have any matches, do you?" He checks with his brother.

Ed starts to dig through his bag. "No, but would this help?" He reveals his torch.

The girls and I giggle. Of course this would happen.

"You might've mentioned that a bit sooner!" Peter laughs.

Ed starts leading the way down the stairs. Peter gestures for his sisters to go then holds out his hand to me. He follows behind me down the grumbled stairs. I'm really trusting these four not to get me killed, aren't I? The three ahead of Peter and I and hurry around inside.

Sunlight pours in from skylights and my eyes land on four golden trunks are line up perfectly in a half circle.

"I can't believe it," Peter expresses as he appears by my side. "It's all still here!"

The three younger Pevensies start to search through their old trunks while Peter and I examine the dusty treasures that have been knocked around from the attack. Peter picks up what appears to be shield and blows away the dirt that hides the giant lion face on it.

"Was it your's?" I ask over his shoulder

He hums, holding it out for me to see better. "Many years ago..."

My eyes flicker up from the shield and land on a marble statue ahead. The figure appears so familiar, yet how would that be possible?

"Wait," I step forward to study the face better. "Is this you?" I point.

"Yes," Peter laughs, placing a hand on my lower back gently. "Again, many years ago. I was older then."

I shake my head in awe, "yeah, no kidding."

"Here Y/N!"

I turn my attention to Susan and she tosses me a royal blue velvet gown. "You can borrow it," she grins. "It'll help you blend in."

I hold up medieval style dress in front of me. The only time I ever imagined myself wearing something like this was for Halloween.

"Take this too," Peter hands me a dagger from his trunk.

"Why would I need a weapon?" I frown.

"Not every creature in Narnia is necessarily in favor of us," Edmund snickers, glancing between his siblings.

Peter rests his chin on my shoulder as I examine the red leather handled dagger in my hands. "It's alright," Peter comforts with a whisper in my ear. "I'll keep you safe... promise."

"I could I at least have a real weapon?" I request, laughing lightly. "If I'm going to be in real life threatening situation, I prefer to have a weapon that doesn't require me to be mere feet from my opposer!”

Peter snickers, collecting items to change into.

"I might as well kiss my life goodbye,” I add under my breath.

"I got this katana as a gift from the Emperor of the Eastern Desert Lands," Edmund offers.

"What's that?" I've never heard of it before.

Ed removes the sword from its sheath with a whoosh as I cross the chamber to him. Its curved, thin, long, blade would be perfect. I graze my finger tips across the shining blade, in awe of it.

"I did research on it when we returned to our world. It's native to Japan, amongst the Samurai," he explains, placing the sleek black and gold handle in my hand.

"Hey! Hey!" Peter appears at my side in a blink. "Careful!"

"I got it! I got it! Don't get your knickers in a twist," I tease. I turn hold the sword up right to admire the blade closer.

"You could get hurt with that." Peter still worries.

"I could get hurt by someone attacking me too," I sass, lowering the weapon to address my friend.

His eyes meet mine, filled with annoyance. He wants me to simply agree with him all the time.

I smile, "wouldn't you prefer I have a sturdy way of defending myself?"

"I think your words and wit would be enough to frighten them," he smirks.

"You charm me,” I blush.

"Always do," he winks, taking the katana from me before someone gets hurt. "You can get it back when we leave. After that, I want it in its sheath unless absolutely necessary! I mean it, Y/N!"

I watch him slip the blade back into its leather casing cautiously. I place my hand over his to gain his attention.

"You may be the King of Narnia, but you forget I'm not one of your subjects," I mock playfully.

"You're right," he agrees surprisingly. Gently, he picks up my hand and places a kiss to the back of it. Then, his features turns serious. "But while you're here your safety is my responsibility."

I roll my eyes, I hate how he patronizes me. One would think I'm one of his little sisters too with how protective he can get. Actually, he's less overbearing toward his siblings, even Lucy and she's significantly younger than me! With my luck something bad will happen, I will be away from Peter, and then what? I will be left with the dagger toy he gave me. As soon as I get that sword in my hands, I'm not giving it back. I'm just going to have to prove my capability to Peter.

___________________________________

Okay, so Edmund was right, some creatures don't like us! A black bear quite literally attacked Lucy! Fully charged at her and was going to eat her as a midday snack! That was until the DLF shot it with his arrow. DLF as in “Dear Little Friend.” His real name is Trumpkin, he’s the dwarf we saved from some Telmarines. Telmarines are apparently from another land in this world. They're human like us, but not friendly! I repeat not friendly!

Peter quickly grabs his little sister and pulls her to safety by me. I take her into my arms and comfort her as she cries.

"I thought you said the animals could talk?!" I scream at Peter, rightfully distraught.

"They can! I mean... they could..." Peter stammers, evidently just as lost as me.

“We... we just killed an innocent bear!” I stumble over my words. “We took an innocent animals life!”

“Innocent?! He was going to kill Lucy!” Edmund justifies it.

“Y/N’s right!” Susan defends. “It clearly didn’t know any better!”

“It was probably hungry!” Trumpkin shouts over all of us arguing.

“Great! That makes me feel so much better!” I shout at the dwarf.

"You've been away for a while... ” Trumpkin grumbles bitterly.

He pulls his dagger and stabs the bear. I cover Lucy’s eyes so she doesn’t see the horrid sight. Peter notices me grimace and guides my face to hide in his chest.

Was the stabbing really necessary?! It’s dead!

“I think you'll find Narnia is a more savage place than you remember,” Trumpkin adds.

"Oh lovely!" I sarcastically remark. "Looking forward to it!"

"Just stay close to me," Peter instructs, keeping one arm around me and the other around Lucy.

"Don't have to ask me twice," I mutter, utterly afraid.

Narnia is supposed to be this fairytale lovely land! There are pixies and stuff here! Where are the dancing trees?! Where are the people made of flowers?! I envisioned Neverland and I got a fence-less zoo!

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Tags: @hyperactiveravenclaw @rangergranger11 @blackbirddaredevil23

Masterlist

#narnia #narinia imagine #edmund pevensie #lucy pevensie #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #king peter the magnificent #king peter x reader #prince caspian #prince capsian x reader

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sour-n-salty-citrus · 3 years

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Do you have any hopes for the season finale? I saw in another ask, you described the dynamic between rick and morty this season as "very weak, distant, and downright frankly boring" and I completely agree with you! I hope that, because this is most we'll see rick and morty interacting this season, it'll have at least a few moments of what makes their dynamic so interesting to watch.

(Ok i started airing my grievances with this season, which ended up being... long, so skip this paragraph (starting at / / /) to get to my thoughts on the finale)

Oh gosh I remember that ask (I think-). And yeah, maybe I'm being a bit overly critical. I'll probably look back on this season with retrospect, and a kinder, fonder view. Ik androgynousblackbox (think thats right) made a great point about it being the season FOR rickorty shippers. And sure, I agree on some bits, like Rick acting all pissy and partying the way you would if your ex got with someone new in the planetina ep. Overall though, i think my problem lies in that I was enjoying more individual moments than episodes themselves, especially the middle three. For example- Amortycan Grickfitti. Like, I really liked the idea of the Ship getting on a crazy adventure with Summer and Morty (and Chutback). I like the idea of a Beth-Jerry-Rick adventure. But put together, it's just kinda... meh? You know? I liked the first half of the Thanksgiving special... but it kinda dragged on after that. I get that they want to give other characters (particularly female ones) more attention, which is completely understandable and i encourage it(!) but I can't help but find it underwhelming. Like, Summer in the voltron ep was like- girl how are you STILL vying for Rick's attention! He's the worst! Haven't we done this already? (I will say though I ADORE how far Beth has come, props to her for continuing to seeing through her dad's BS. I was worried the character would relapse into a more typical s1/s2 Beth, and I'm glad she didn't). Some of these plots, funnily enough, seem more fitting of the comics (they actually had a voltron parody already). Fun and entertaining for two or three-something issues, not so much a 22 minute episode. i think most of my complaints come from the dynamic between our titular characters- ok, I know I'm very biased (I mean you can see it), but I came to the show primarily for their relationship. It doesn't even feel drama-fueled, just that they kinda... can't be arsed. I'm torn because on the one hand, they're unhealthily codependent and this separation is probably a good thing, but on the other... it doesn't feel natural? I'm not sure if that's the right word- it's like, season 4 had them practically joint at the hip, but all that's suddenly flung out the window. It just kinda feels like this "i got better things to do" vibe from both of them and its strange. The only time they both got a solo adventure (I'm classifying "solo" as an adventure where they spent a significantly large portion of time together, without the other family members) was in the sperm ep and Thanksgiving ep. And, well, in the Thanksgiving ep Morty felt like a side character in his own show, and the sperm ep... um. Yeah. I don't think it's AS bad as people were saying, but I was cringing the whole time (the second hand embarrassment for Morty was so strong I had to turn off the episode multiple times and return to it. It's just like- godammit MORTY). And I think there's good reason those two seemed to be the most disliked episodes overall. They're the ones RaM spend the most time together and it's... meh. Meh? Meh. I don't mean to say the season overall is bad (it has loads of good points, and its amazing for Smith family as a whole) just that if we're talking specifically about the dynamic between these two? Yeah, I wouldn't recommend a single episode from this season so far to use as an example of their relationship.

/ / /

There's one thing this season has been pretty good at, though. And it's showing us what happens when Rick is alone.

And that brings me to the finale.

"Who is Rick without Morty?"

Well... we already know the answer to that. Pathetic. Sad. Lonely.

This season has been phenomenal in humbling Rick. (And trust me I'm happy for it- every time someone beats the crap outta this shitty old man I'm like YES!!! IT'S WHAT HE DESERVES!). Ep 1 had his "nemesis" clearly besting him, ep 2 had Beth making constant digs (love her) and overall pointing out his extreme callousness and cruelty towards even himself(ves). Ep 3- when Morty shows interest in a girl and ditches him (like seriously it's not like he's moving out, chill) he immediately goes on a bender and develops a deep attachment to the first person he can (wearing yellow, funnily enough). Ep 4, he devotes himself to becoming an "honest man" for his new child, only for it to instantly be taken away from him. Ep 5 highlights how RICK is the asshole for making fun of and taking advantage of someone well-meaning and honest, if "simple", and how literally not cool that is. Ep 6 has his crazy rivalry with the president, and they both get smacked down a couple pegs for that. Ep 7 shows what happens when he allows himself to get carried away, and that he can end up driving everyone else away in the process (lucky they still wanted to save his ass when he needed them). And episode 8? Hooooo boy. Episode. 8. We see a direct parallel in Birdperson with Morty, and the whole "Rick and [insert] 100 years!" Rick has few people he cares about, arguably only one or two that he truly devotes himself to, but when he does, boy does he go HARD. We see younger Rick, optimistic, energetic, friendly and hopeful. And we see all of that crushed in minutes. Rick is desperate for a companion, someone to see the stars with. He needs someone there, someone he can trust and rely on to stay. Someone like Morty. So without Morty, who is Rick?

No one.

And the thing is, Morty doesn't need Rick anymore. Not like Rick needs him. In season 1, Morty was this bright-eyed kid who was new to the cosmos and the multiverse, who needed his grandpa there with him as they explored all these places together. But that's not him anymore. That's not them.

The promo has Morty using the portal gun to go somewhere w/o Rick's permission (i like to think it's boob world lol). It doesn't matter to me as much where he's going, as much as he's doing it alone. He doesn't just not need Rick there, he doesn't want him.

(Also correct me if im wrong but I've missed that sweet portal gun so much. I think the last ep was like- the first time this season we saw it).

Morty's response to Rick? "Replace me!". And wow. Wow. WOW. Morty doesn't give a FUCK! I think Rick thinks that because he's so smart, that he can offer so much, that Morty will come crawling back, and I don't think he will.

Hopes for the finale! Hmm. I mean, I definitely hope "evil" Morty makes a reappearance, haha. I think we all do tbh ;). I want to see some Morty development too, this season has been very Rick-centric (not that there's anything wrong with that!) so I wanna see what's in store for Our Boy. I really hope we get to see the Citadel again, and see the state it's in, but I doubt it. We know something super big is in store, it's just a question of what? Other hopes I have is some Summer + Beth action (please let them team up Im BEGGING) and Jerry too ahaha. I'd love if some other side characters made an appearance as well. Oh- I'm definitely expecting a dramatic cliffhanger at the end of the first half leading to the second half, with the kind of angsty music that leads into the credits (pls that shit is so good (OH WAIT imagine if it was like, for the damaged coda, but like- the chopin version or smth so it could be more subtle maybe bruhhhh)). Ok haha, maybe that's asking too much, the writers made it clear in the story train ep that they weren't gonna do that big dramatic showdown (... unless 👀). Oh, I'd also love some Premium Angst too, like someone getting kidnapped/nearly dying (like ACTUALLY nearly dying). These stakes better be so damn high I could spear a man on them! OH, also I remember androgynousblackbox (is that right? I hope it is) mentioned something along the lines that they could be driving Rick and Morty apart this season in order to have them come back together stronger than ever in an explosive finale, which, I'm strongly hoping for myself.

Thanks if you made it this far! If you have any thoughts on or hopes of your own for the finale please feel free to share! :D

#ohmygod im sorry #i rambled way too long #akdjsksaksn #someone needs to take this phone away #also AGAIN im not shitting on s5 as a whole i actually quite like it #its just the RaM dynamic thats lacking #but again that could be intention so ig we'll see #RaM #rick and morty #meta #?#long post #citrus speaks #oh wait i should probably tag to be safe #rickorty mention

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 4 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer and Reader go on their first date. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW 18+) Content Warning: Adults w/ Age Gap (10yr), exhibitionism, masturbation, fingering, spanking, penetrative sex, Prof/Student fantasy Word Count: 8.3k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

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When I was younger, I hated going to museums. Granted, I'd only ever really had the opportunity to go during school field trips. The crackling, barely coherent ramblings of a stranger through a loudspeaker had never been my idea of fun.

In fact, I'd been to that exact museum before. But the present time was a little different. That time, I was enthralled with the objects on the other side of the glass. With wide eyes and childlike wonder revived, I was hanging on every word out of Spencer's mouth.

I knew the guy was probably a genius, but I had no idea how much of a genius he was until he was recounting the entire history of civilization like he'd been reading straight from an encyclopedia. He looked like a hilarious mix of proud and embarrassed when he finally admitted his IQ. Meanwhile, I had to admit that I not only had no fuckin' clue what my IQ was, I was certain it was significantly lower than his.

He didn't seem to mind.

In a way, I thought it was strange when he told me he wanted to bring me to a place like that. After all, I'd told him I wanted to learn more about him. I figured a museum would teach me about everything else, not him.

But seeing him in this environment told me more about him than I ever could have imagined. I learned about his avid love for the most trivial facts, the way his inflection changed when he got excited, and that despite reading probably hundreds of thousands of books, his hunger for knowledge was still very much alive and well.

Most of all, I learned that Spencer Reid was unlike any man I'd ever seen before.

It was a bad idea. Because when we finally made our way out of the final exhibit, I didn't want to leave. Not even close. If you'd told my mother I spent several hours in a museum and didn't want to leave, she'd never believe you.

"Hey, so..." I started, pausing outside the gift shop on our way out. "It's almost 5. Did you want to grab dinner before we head back? I have worked up quite the appetite listening to you for the past 4 hours."

"Has it really been that long?" he asked incredulously before glancing down at his watch wrapped over his shirt.

I tried very hard, and failed, to suppress a giggle at the habit.

"I'm honestly surprised you still have spit left in your mouth," I joked as I swayed closer to him, almost enough to touch him.

"Ha ha, very funny," he replied. A slight pout formed on his face. I almost enjoyed the swapped roles; it wasn't often that he was the one who looked so forlorn.

"Come on, I'm joking!" I laughed before slipping my arm around his and pulling him closer to me.

Spencer glanced down in surprise, staring at my chest that was now fully pressed against his arm. Although, the way he looked at me was nothing compared to the response he'd given after I showed up in a pleated skirt that better belonged on a Catholic schoolgirl.

But I mean, like I'd said, I used to go there on school trips. It was only fair.

"I love listening to you talk, Spencer. You know that."

The speed with which he looked away when I finished talking was enough to tell me that I had said the wrong thing. His goofy, playful demeanor vanished so quickly, I'd almost gotten whiplash. He didn't remove his arm, instead clearing his throat and pulling out a brochure from his pocket to look at nearby places to eat.

A bit reserved, he asked if I was interested in one of the closer casual restaurants, to which I agreed. At that point, I removed myself from his side and was only a little surprised to see the way his body immediately relaxed.

I wanted to believe he just didn't like to be touched, which I was certain was true, but he was behaving differently with me than he had before. We'd touched in public before, a lot more than that, and we'd known each other a lot less!

But of course, that was probably why. The closer we got, the farther away he felt.

The walk to the restaurant was slightly awkward, so after a moment I decided to break the silence.

"You said you grew up in Vegas, right?"

"Yeah, until I moved to go to school," he explained, looking around at the surroundings of the D.C. crowds winding down rather than turning his attention back to me.

At least I was finally learning more about him.

"Where did you go?"

"Caltech."

He was keeping his answers short, but I feel like he might still be a little embarrassed at my little jab at the museum. That was fine, I knew ways to make him talk. I clasped my hands behind me as I walked by his side, still tempted to touch him somehow, however ill advised.

"Was it hard being away from your family? That's a few hours away, isn't it?"

He laughed awkwardly, a sure sign that I'd forgotten that him and I come from different worlds.

"Well, I was barely 13, so... My mom was kind of legally obligated to follow me."

He was so cute, and he definitely wasn't aware of it.

"Right, sorry, forgot about the genius thing for a minute. Don't know how."

The smile he returned was genuine, which helped my guilt for bothering him yet again. But in my defense, it was easy to do when he was a literal genius and I was barely scraping by half the time.

As we arrived, we were seated in a booth near the back of the restaurant. I offered him the booth with a view of the door because I'd figured he would want it. He gave me a strange side glance at my assumption, like I was hiding something from him that would grant me the knowledge that it would be more comfortable for him to be able to see the door.

I didn't want to talk about how I knew that, though.

Instead, I asked, "Do you like it here? In Virginia?"

He nodded as he flipped open the menu, speaking almost scripted answers absentmindedly, "I do, but mostly because it's been so long that everyone I know is here."

I'd already been here before, so I didn't bother looking at the menu. Naturally, he'd only required a few seconds to read it. When he made eye contact again, I spoke through my thoughts.

"You said you're a profiler for the..."

"Behavioral Analysis Unit."

His tone was a mix of pride and nerves, which immediately made me nervous.

"I haven't looked it up yet because I'm scared about what I might find. What do you guys do, exactly?"

The server brought us drinks just in time to pause his answer, which he seemed to appreciate. I figured it was either a tough job to explain, or he didn't want to share that part of his life with me just yet (or, potentially, ever).

Spencer lowered his voice like he usually did when he talked about work.

"We profile the behavior of serial killers. Sometimes for research, but mostly to assist local police in catching them."

"Oh..." I started, stopping mid-sip of my drink. It was a lot to take in at once. "So... yeah, I'm glad I didn't google it."

He scrunched his mouth in that unsure way, like he wanted to explain to me how he really felt about his job. Something in the bags under his eyes told me he hasn't talked about this in a long time. At least, not like he should. But he didn't talk about it. He looked away, opting to say nothing at all.

"Doesn't it get to you?" I pushed, trying to offer him the platform to talk about the thing that no doubt consumes most of his life.

"Does what get to me?" His voice sounded so far away.

"Spencer, when I met you, you were whisked away at the crack of dawn to go talk about serial killers. On a weekend. The second time you showed up at my place after clearly not having slept, I'm guessing straight from work..."

His eyes narrowed as I spoke, like I was talking from a tightrope that I could plummet off any second. He seemed scared that I would speak something into existence he wasn't ready to face himself.

"You're surrounded by evil all the time. You're responsible for learning, recognizing, and manipulating evil. That can't be easy."

Spencer's eyes were glazed over in a way I couldn't describe. He seemed defensive, steeled, and absolutely terrified. He wouldn't look me in the eyes, opting instead to stare down at the menu in front of him.

He shrugged as he halfheartedly concluded, "I guess that's one way to look at it. We also get to see a lot of good."

"Yeah..." I nodded solemnly, recognizing the dismissive thoughts from my own experience.

He was downplaying the great likelihood of traumatic memories he carried, as if he could will away the damage. Like it would stop existing if he could convince himself it wasn't that bad.

I wondered what had happened to him on the job for him to already have forgotten that things didn't have to be the worst possible to matter. That he still deserved better. That hurt does not require permission.

I couldn't stop myself, needing to see how he reacted when I continued, "But which do you see more of?"

I never got my answer. The server once again saved him from a conversation that got away from him. The presence of a third, impartial person shifted the mood back to what it was in the museum. I wondered how much was an act, both back then and in that moment.

Deciding it best not to dwell on the thought, I tried to forget about the darkness brewing in those coffee colored eyes. Once our orders were in, he turned his attention to the cocktail menu still laying in the middle of the table with a smile.

"I'm almost surprised you didn't try to order alcohol," he half-joked.

I leaned forward on the table, bringing a hand up to my mouth and whispering, "I heard there might be an undercover fed here, so, never can be too safe."

The bubbly, childish laugh that followed renewed my faith in him. He had that kind of infectious laugh that made you forget that badness existed at all. Once our ruckus had died down, he looked at me with the softness that had drawn me to him in the first place.

"You're cute."

When the words registered in my mind, I couldn't believe I'd heard them. The way his expression changed shortly after the words left his mouth told me he hadn't meant to say them aloud. But their effect on me was not at all stifled by his momentary lapse in judgment.

I'd wondered if it was getting hotter in the building, or if it was just my nerves getting the best of me. But it wasn't bothering Spencer, who was about to down yet another cup of coffee in front of him. I cleared my throat, trying to not look like a schoolgirl whose crush had just checked 'yes' on a note asking if he liked me.

Pointing to the mug in front of him, I joked, "How do you sleep?"

"Honestly? I usually don't."

That was the goofy overly literal dork I wanted to see more of.

"I can think of one way to wear you out," I suggested, lifting my leg to press the top of my foot against his leg under the booth.

He raised his eyebrows, giving a simple glance down to acknowledge the contact. Then his eyes were back on me, staring deeply with a hunger that would not be satisfied by whatever dish they brought out to us.

"I can think of several."

Humming cheerfully, I continued to run my foot up and down his leg. My cheeks flushed with my growing desire that I'd managed to put off for several hours. I was honestly shocked that I'd spent the whole day with this man, and only then thought about sleeping with him.

"It's too bad we can't," I pouted. "My roommate is back in town. Not sure she'd appreciate all the noise."

That time as my foot drew up his leg, he shifted in his seat so that his legs moved closer to me, extending the contact for a few seconds longer.

"Not to mention, I don't think you'd like to deal with several 20-year-olds."

The way he behaved whenever I pointed out my age was endlessly entertaining. That time, though, he seemed significantly less bothered.

"One is already borderline for me," he teased back.

I gasped, clutching at my chest as I batted my eyelashes just dramatically enough to showcase my pride.

"You flatter me, Dr. Reid."

He almost choked on his coffee as he stifled a chuckle, putting it down as he shook his head.

"Only you would take that as a compliment."

Recognizing this repartee as the foreplay it had always accompanied, I leaned forward on my elbows towards him. He immediately mirrored the movement, putting our faces much closer to each other than they'd been all day.

"What can I say? I enjoy being a challenge."

"Yes, you do." He hadn't even thought about it, responding almost instantaneously, suggesting once more that he could actually read my mind.

"How are you so good at that?" I kept the question vague on purpose.

He didn't fall for it.

"I'm good at a lot of things. Which are you referring to?"

What a cocky bastard. A very handsome, ridiculously sexy, dork of a bastard.

But he wasn't the only one at the table that knew how to get someone hot and bothered.

"Your humility is my favorite part, Dr. Reid." I stuck my tongue out at the end of the sentiment, a cheeky grin that reflected on him just as quickly.

"Quoting me? That's bold."

Deciding it had been too long since I had touched him, I lifted my hand to press a single finger against his chest as I taunted, "You aren't the only person with a good memory."

He leaned back at this point, backing away from my finger and the heated exchange.

"I don't have a good memory. I have an eidetic memory."

He had been very proud of that fact earlier when I asked him why the hell he was able to list off every single word from a museum display we'd seen an hour earlier. I'd asked him if it was the same as a photographic memory, and he'd gone on a rant about the pejorative connotations of the term. I wasn't going to go down that rabbit hole again today.

Instead, I took the same hand that had touched him moments before, curling all but one finger into a fist.

"So you'll be able to remember this forever?" I cooed as I held up my middle finger.

"I'll just file that away with the most important memories, like birthdays and the works of Arthur Conan Doyle," he sighed in response, graciously admitting defeat.

I was not brave enough to tell him I had no idea who that was, but I was sure I'd learn one day. That one, I thought, was probably safe to google. While he filed away my crude gesture, I filed away yet another fun fact to surprise him with later.

"You are, by far, the most interesting person I've ever met," I implored, to which he immediately shot back, "I could say the same about you. And I regularly talk to serial killers."

Touché, Dr. Reid.

"I'm flattered," was the last word I got in edgewise before our food arrived.

The rest of our time in the restaurant went very similarly, with teasing comments that built the sexual tension that was already too big for this tiny room. Our legs never stopped touching throughout the entire meal. Maybe that was why, when it was finally time to leave, we both felt a strange mixture of excited and sad. Once we were no longer behind the booth, it was back to pretending like we weren't constantly trying not to pounce on the other.

The walk to the metro was equal parts long and tense. At one point I'd swayed closer to him than I intended, and our sides brushed up against one another. Unlike before in the museum, he hadn't moved away. I couldn't believe something so minuscule could made me so happy.

The metro was more crowded than I'd anticipated. The fact that the station is underground was usually enough to make me feel a little claustrophobic, but the number of people bustling around me felt especially overwhelming. I couldn't help but chastise myself for having worn a skirt, considering the stark number of perverted men in places like these.

Spencer's touch woke me from my reverie. His arm had wrapped around my lower back with such unassuming delicacy, I'd hardly registered it at first. He was looking down at me with concern covering his features as he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, sorry, there's a lot of people here."

I had one hand holding my skirt down against my leg, the other crossed over my chest.

"Makes me nervous," I further explained.

"Can I help?"

Even though he was offering, I could tell the crowds bothered him just as much. Thankfully, his presence was enough for me.

"You already are."

There was something so calming about his presence that was hard to explain. It wasn't his ability to physically protect me, considering he didn't have his weapon with him most of the time I was with him. It wasn't his emotional availability (or lack thereof). It was more like he exuded some chemical that made me docile. It was hard to explain.

I just liked him, okay?

When our train pulled in it was relatively crowded, but we managed to grab two seats near the back of a car. I sighed in relief as I plopped down into the plastic chair, happy to finally be able to rest my legs.

With Spencer on the aisle seat and us on our way back to Franconia Springfield Station, I let myself relax. My head dropped down onto his shoulder without much thought, and my entire body slumped over with it.

"How am I supposed to stay awake for this when you're so comfy?" I mumbled, looking down at the hem of my pleated skirt as I fiddled with it.

"That certainly sounds like quite the predicament," he said in what I assume was jest.

He sat up, bumping my head off his shoulder for a moment. I interpreted it to be a subtle way of telling me not to do it, but once he had shrugged off his cardigan, he looked at me like he was confused I hadn't resumed the position.

Armed with a simper, I cuddled up even closer this time, wrapping my arms around his and resting my cheek against his shoulder. I wasn't sure why he had gotten so open to touch, but I wasn't going to complain.

He didn't say anything when he draped his cardigan over my lap, covering my knees peeking out from under my skirt. A nice gesture, I thought as my body instinctively gravitated towards him. It wasn't until I closed my eyes that the pieces started to come together.

I was on the metro, in a skirt, with Spencer Reid's hand slowly but surely inching up my thigh.

My eyes shot open, and I tensed my grip around his arm. It was the only thing I did to betray my otherwise composed and unassuming position.

His breath was hot on my ear as he leaned over to me and began to whisper, "Do you know the idea that people fall asleep after sex is less true for women than men? Many speculate it's because women are just neglected in bed, but that's not quite it."

I didn't dare respond, hardly trusting myself to breathe as his hand continued to move closer to me.

"Both sexes do release the same chemicals during orgasm. Oxytocin to stimulate smooth muscle contraction and initiate the need to bond, prolactin to relieve arousal and signal satiation, and the leftover gamma aminobutyric acid, dopamine, and serotonin..."

I couldn't understand how he'd managed to make the lecture sound sexy, but I was too lost in the sound of his voice to bother thinking about it then.

"Still, women are less likely to fall asleep. Sure, they typically exert less physical energy during sex, but what about those women like you with a penchant for going for a ride?"

A woozy, lovesick smile spread across my face at the reference to our first encounter.

"Those women might still stay awake for longer and may actually be more invigorated after reaching climax. And it's all thanks to their naturally lessened refractory period."

I nodded dumbly, gasping lightly once I felt his fingers make contact through the flimsy cotton of my underwear.

"Which might sound like a curse. But it's not. It means that those lucky women can reach multiple orgasms in succession. Some partners just aren't willing to put in that kind of effort," he continued, tracing a finger up and down my folds through the fabric.

"But I'm not one of them."

His words were strong, and I buried my face into his shoulder, trying not to alert the entire car what was happening underneath his cardigan.

"I would much rather watch you come undone. Again, and again, and again. I want to make sure that when I'm done with you, you can't keep your eyes open."

My breath was getting quicker, and I let out a small squeak against his shirt as he pressed down on the bundle of nerves at my center, drawing circles around it.

"That being said, if you need something to keep you awake, I do have a solution. But if you make a single noise, I will stop."

I had to bite down hard on my bottom lip to prevent any noise from slipping out. My legs were wavering between opening and closing as I tried to keep them apart. I could feel how damp I was getting. My hips were moving with a mind of their own, rocking toward his hand. It took all of my concentration not to give us away.

I choked on my breath as a sly finger snuck into the side of my underwear, allowing entrance to the others that followed.

"Shhh," he hushed, pressing a soft kiss on the top of my head. Underneath my skirt, though, he was much less chaste. Slipping two fingers into my heat, I could have sworn I heard him laugh from above me.

I didn't dare look at him, nervous that the moment I did, I would lose all control.

"I had no idea it would be so easy to get you to follow directions. Are you that worried you might get caught?"

He could feel my heartbeat against his arm. He must have been able to, because I was suffocating against his arm. My hands clenched around him like he was the only lifeline in an ocean of pleasure.

"Imagine what they would think if they knew what you let me do to you. What you beg me to do to you."

My legs were beginning to tremble around him as he stroked me from the inside. All I could feel was him. His hands, his breath, his words.

"Is that why you wore this skirt? A naughty little schoolgirl fantasizing about an older man touching you like this?"

He quickened the pace of thrusting into me, his words getting more insistent as the train was almost empty now, closing in on our stop.

"Is it everything you thought it would be? No. Can't be. You wish there was something else of mine in between your legs."

I couldn't explain how, but my climax snuck up on me. When it happened, it smashed into me like a wave crashing onto the shore. I gasped for breath against his arm, and he thankfully took mercy on me. Despite definitely making a noise, he continued his motions, palming at the crest of my folds to give me one last boost of stimulation.

I shook around him, my thighs tightening onto his arm as I finally found release. I could hear the announcement calling for our station, but it felt worlds away. Still, Spencer pulled his hand out from underneath our pile of clothes, wiping the evidence of our escapade against the inside of my skirt before also removing his arm from underneath my tight grip.

"Son of a bitch," I puffed, relaxing all my muscles at once as I tried to retain control over my pulse. I could barely think straight.

"You're welcome," he beamed, as if he hadn't just gone full dominant as he finger fucked me on the metro.

I didn't understand how the hell he expected me to get up and walk off like nothing happene, but somehow, I managed. I stood with wobbly legs and a flustered state of mind until he linked his arm with mine and led me off the car and into the station. I clung to the assistance, grateful that he was once again taking pity on me.

However, it felt like it wouldn't last long. Once we'd gotten to his car, he helped me in before climbing into the driver's seat. It was silent for a moment, like he wanted me to ask him a question that I wasn't willing to ask.

I didn't want the night to be over, but if he asked me if I was ready to go home, I'd have to say yes. After all, it wasn't proper form to invite myself to his apartment. Especially with how weird he got whenever I got close to him.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

The pity was gone.

I didn't think before I spoke, immediately responding as a joke, "Not unless it's yours."

The silence was back.

Oops.

I realized that I'd spoken out loud at the same time he delivered his response; I was going to stop him, but he was too quick.

"My place it is, then."

I couldn't help but smile, my cheeks burning as I asked quietly, like my volume might change his mind, "Really?"

"Sure, why not?"

I didn't have an answer. We didn't talk for a moment, enjoying the contented silence as I texted my roommate to tell her that I was going to be late home, if I came at all. I was hoping for the latter. Once that was sent off, I returned my gaze to the man paying almost full attention to the road.

"You know, I have to get you back for what you did back there."

He smirked, not breaking away from the road as he replied, "I did you a favor."

"A cruel favor," I whined, turning in my chair as I buckled my seat belt so I could get closer to him.

"No such thing," he corrected, although I think we both knew there very well could be such a thing.

"Uh-huh."

I watched him for a moment, trying to decide the best way to get back at him. I could always try the most relevant payback...

He didn't even notice my hand reaching out until it was already sliding up his thigh at a rapid pace.

"What are you doing?" he asked, as if it weren't already obvious.

"Getting you back," I snickered as I finally made it up his leg, palming the quickly forming erection under his pants.

"I'm driving!" His voice was so high pitched it was heartwarming. It was like our roles had switched, even just for a second.

"I'm not stopping you from driving!"

Obviously trying to compose himself, he grabbed my wrist and held it in the air and out of reach of him.

"Unless you want to crash this car, you'd better wait until we get back to my place."

It was a valid warning, but not one I wanted to hear.

"Spoil sport."

"At least you're alive!"

It was back to the sexual tension from before in the restaurant. I wanted to touch him, and I was guessing based on the visible tent in his pants, he wanted me. So, I got to thinking, and I figured that if I wasn't allowed to touch him, that only left one other person.

"... What are you doing?"

It was a valid question. He'd glanced over to see my hand traveling up my own skirt as I parted my legs just enough to maneuver beneath my underwear.

"Nothing," I hummed, now looking at him with half-lidded eyes as I rocked forward onto my hand.

"That's cruel." He sounded so devastated to see that I was doing what he couldn't, despite the fact he had his hand in this exact spot not that long ago.

My fingers dipped between my folds, collecting the remnants of the orgasm he had given me as I crooned, "What? You said I couldn't touch you while you're driving. I'm not touching you. You're welcome."

I opened my eyes just enough to see the way he tightened his grip on the steering wheel while trying not to look at me. Couldn't drive distracted. That was the entire reason why I was touching myself and not him.

"Unless, of course, you do consider this part of me as your property. In which case, I'm not going to stop, anyway," I snickered.

Rewarding myself with a soft moan, I tried to prolong the experience the best I could. It was hard when every couple of seconds he would look over at me. I hadn't thought that I would find his anger that attractive, but there I was, coming apart at the seams already based on nothing but a look.

He was thoroughly unamused, which only egged me on, honestly. I didn't care if I was being overdramatic as I touched myself, I wanted him to think about what he was missing. Which was why I didn't stop myself from moaning. Pants and gasps echoed throughout the car as I picked up my pace.

"I hope you're ready for the consequences of this very poorly thought out decision."

On the contrary, Spencer. I had very clearly thought it through. I was thinking it so clearly I could picture his hands where mine were, among other parts of him.

Thinking about how to dig an even deeper hole for myself, I found the perfect mechanism.

"Mmm, Professor Reid," I cried, recognizing that it would either infuriate him or bring him a great sense of pride. I was fine with either.

I closed my eyes so I could better envision the fantasy that was actually just a memory. For now. With my eyes closed, I couldn't tell much of what was going on outside of my touch, trying to ignore the man beside me as best as I could. I wanted him to suffer.

Spencer, however, had other plans. With both eyes still on the road, his hand had found its way to my legs, where it shot up to join mine. He removed my hand quickly and replaced it with his own.

There was no subtlety or warm up this time. Without any hesitation, he dipped a finger into my heat just to remove it and begin rubbing harsh circles over my clit. I couldn't stop the yell that resulted, and seconds later I came undone against him.

As soon as the spasming stopped, he removed his hand, not speaking a word or even looking at me. I'd realized at that point that he'd only finished me off because he hadn't wanted to grant me the satisfaction of doing it myself. He was asserting that yes, in some sense, he viewed this as a part of his property.

I was oddly okay with that.

"Is the silent treatment my punishment?" I asked with a pout after a few moments of nothing.

He laughed bitterly back, finally looking at me for a moment before vaguely replying, "No. Your punishment will be much more fun for me."

I had to admit the implication that the silent treatment wasn't fun for him was flattering, at least. I was glad to hear that he enjoyed talking to me as much as I enjoyed listening to him talk.

But for the moment, I was sort of exhausted. Not in the way that would make me fall asleep, but in the I-just-had-two-orgasms-let-me-recoup way. Even though we enjoyed talking, those moments were refreshing in their own way. The best kind of connections were the ones that could always be maintained, even in the quiet.

Despite it not being my punishment, Spencer remained fairly quiet the rest of the way home. I wondered if part of that was due to him brewing a plan for what would happen when we got there.

God, I hoped so.

As we pulled up to the nondescript building, I had to admit I was a bit disappointed to find Spencer didn't live in some whimsical fantasy like I'd always envisioned. The building looked like every other one. But, at the same time, I couldn't want to see the inside. If I had to bet, there would be a lot of books and a stark lack of computers.

Walking into Apt #23, I was only a little surprised by what I saw. The warm green tones of his walls were complimented by red and brown accents, and my theory was quickly proven correct.

"Whoa," I mumbled under my breath, "It's like a library."

"You must go to some pretty small libraries, then."

I rolled my eyes. Like his usual attempts at humility, Spencer failed horribly.

I spun around on my heels to face him, but at the same time as I heard the lock flip into place, I felt his hand around my arm. Spencer's movements were quick as he gripped tightly on my wrist and pulled me towards what I could only assume was his bedroom.

Weirdly, I was still trying to take in my surroundings rather than focus on fucking him. It made sense, I figured. I had already experienced two orgasms today, whereas he had none.

Oops. Guess I really was a spoiled brat.

But seriously—I was in his apartment! I wanted to snoop, dammit!

Spencer wasn't going to give me an opportunity, though. He'd even made a point of shutting the door to his room once we were inside. Something told me he would keep a close eye on me as long as he could. That was probably deserved, considering that within the first few hours of interacting with him, I had answered a call from his boss.

In my defense, it had been fucking hilarious.

He led me to stand in front of him, and out of instinct and habit, I moved forward to kiss him. I never made it to his lips, though. Spencer pushed me aside toward the bed, and I laughed as I leaned over it, making a point of flipping up the back of my skirt.

"I've been bad, Professor," I giggled, turning to glance back at him from the position I had happily assumed without being told.

He had that dark fire in his eyes that usually came before a storm.

He looked like he was ready to break me. I was ready to be broken.

"Are you going to teach me another biology lesson?"

When his hands touched me, they were as tender as ever. He caressed my hips where I had turned the skirt up, hooking his fingers around the waistband of the underwear and casually removing them.

"No, I'm afraid not."

He sounded delighted despite the words he spoke.

"This will be a very different kind of lesson."

Oh, I realized all at once.

"A lesson in discipline?" I inquired, swaying my hips underneath his hands and waiting for confirmation.

The loss of his hand on one side caused anticipation to build. I could hear the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

It was hard to tell which happened first. Instantaneously, his hand came down hard on the soft skin of my backside as he responded, "Yes."

The adrenaline that coursed through my veins in response shook any feelings of fatigue I might have sustained throughout the day. I welcomed his body heat against my back as he leaned forward against me, and used his weight to press me down into his bed.

"Unless you've changed your mind."

"No!" I shouted back much too forcefully before gripping onto the sheets in front of me. "I deserve to be punished, Professor Reid."

He withdrew from me and, within seconds, brought his hand down on me again, that time striking the other side. The snapping sound of the contact was enough to elicit a response. I clamped my legs together and gave a soft mewl. Appreciating my vocal response, the next two hits came in rapid succession. I could feel the warmth building in the skin, the breeze from the motions acted as a buffer for the delicious sting.

He roughly grabbed both cheeks in front of him, for no reason other than wanting to. I groaned at the sensation of the tender flesh being handled, which only led him to release one to smack it once more. He followed with the other, appreciating the balance required of this particular punishment. I wasn't going to stop him. I was happy to continue. But something told me that he was breaching the point of comfort in his own conscience.

He was always so worried he would break me. I couldn't say it wasn't endearing. That didn't stop him from giving each side one more forceful blow, however, which earned him a mangled cry from deep in my chest. His body was against mine again, one of his hands reaching around to tilt my head up, despite not being able to see him. I was beginning to think he just enjoyed manipulating my body at will. To see how far I would let him.

"I think you're starting to get it, (y/n)."

"Yes," I responded, not caring if it didn't make much sense in response.

Despite the fact he'd already finished me twice today, I somehow already wanted him again. Maybe it was the allure of finally being able to fuck him in his own bed, or maybe it was the desire to see him fall apart as a reminder that I'm not the only one desperate for the other's touch.

So quickly he returned to the gentle, barely there traces along my skin.

"Punishment looks good on you," he praised, and something about the way he said it filled me with pride.

"You look good on me, too, sir," I slurred as he continued to draw feathery markings on the abused skin. He chuckled, finally moving up along my back before I interrupted his thoughts and appreciation once more.

"Fuck me," I begged. I wanted him and didn't care how I got it. "Let me help you feel good."

The hands that had inflicted pain moments ago were now gently massaging my shoulders through my top. I sighed, relaxing further into his touch. So easily I had become complacent to his desire. I let him do whatever he wanted, trusting that he would never do anything to truly, honestly hurt me.

"Something tells me you're more interested in making yourself feel good," he asserted — quite correctly.

"Can't we have both?"

His silence told me he was considering my words. I knew that he didn't want to, since that would ruin the whole idea that this was a punishment in the first place. Then again, I didn't think he was fully committed to that idea anyway.

Dragging his hands once more down the plane of my back, he stopped to grip my hips and shift me backwards until I was pressed against him.

"You're lucky you look so fucking cute in that skirt," he growled.

I felt dizzy again already, drowning in the way his bed smelled like him.

"Mmm, I wore it just for you," I admitted, rubbing myself gently against his crotch now pressing into my bottom.

"Smart girl," he responded.

It felt like I was in a dream, to be there with him like that. For a long time, I'd thought I'd never see him again, let alone be laying on his bed.

I could hear him stripping behind me, and I peeked over my shoulder with a modest smile.

Time was not moving fast enough, I thought, but it was also moving too fast. Because as badly as I wanted him to ravish me, I was afraid what would happen when it was over.

I couldn't think about that in that moment, though.

Once he reached into his nightstand, I giggled with anticipation. He raised his eyebrows at me, unable to contain his own laughter.

"Oh, you're happy with yourself, huh?"

"A little bit, yeah."

When he returned to me, his hands were still gentle as they pushed my skirt back up where it had fallen. He revealed my body to himself, and I didn't have to be able to see it to know that my arousal spread down my inner thighs. I had, after all, already had two orgasms before now thanks to the man behind me.

"I'm also pretty happy with you," he whispered as he leaned over me.

With no warning, he fully entered me with one swift thrust. I whimpered at the feeling of him hitting against angered skin, mixed with the pleasure of being full once again. I clutched at the sheets and wished that they were him, wishing that I could somehow be even closer to him than I already was.

"We'll see if you still feel like smiling after I'm done with you."

It was the last thing he said before he began to ruthlessly pound into me. I struggled to scream as loudly as I wanted to, but I couldn't make any noise at all. My body seemed to have relented all control to him within seconds; I didn't put up a single battle. Although his grasp held me in place, I still attempted to cant my hips forward to allow him better access.

My chest and face were warm with friction from rubbing against the bed, and my knuckles were blanched from the force exerted to try and remain grounded. Each movement seemed so purposeful, much like the way he thrashed at my skin with his hand.

"Fuck me," were the first words I managed to string together.

With one forceful thrust, he held me down on him as all the moans I couldn't make previously came pouring out of me. I thought I might actually cry from how overstimulated the day was becoming. Seemingly reading my mind, Spencer pulled out of me entirely. I tried to reorient myself, but he stopped me. Using one hand to grab hold of my arm, he flipped me onto my back beneath him.

I hadn't even realized I was still wearing basically all of my clothes until he had to force my skirt back up again. Missing him between my legs, I began to crave him everywhere else, too. I struggled to pull my shirt over my head.

Spencer didn't stop me, just watching while he playfully rubbed his arousal at my entrance.

"Please, sir," I pleaded once I was finally able to lift my legs. I wrapped them around his hips and pulled him closer to me without letting him slip into me just yet.

"Just as impatient and needy as ever, (y/n)."

I chewed on my bottom lip, looking up at him with the puppy dog eyes that had always worked on him up to that point. It must have worked again, because he was sinking back into me before I knew it. My arms spread out across the bed, holding onto whatever I could reach as he set another brutal pace.

Our bodies melding together in a chaotic fusion of skin and fluids, I let myself get lost in the bliss of Spencer Reid laying claim to my body. I threw my head back, my eyes clamped shut as one of his hands came up to caress one of my breasts through my lacy bra.

"With undergarments like this, I have to wonder if you planned this all, young lady," he teased, no doubt referring to the matching underwear now discarded on the floor.

I opened my eyes to meet his, and for a second I was left breathless at the sight of him pumping into me. How I managed to say anything at all is a miracle.

"Never a plan, sir. But always a pleasure."

A flirtatious sparkle in his eyes, he slowed down as he pressed, "Did you wear them for someone else, then?"

The way I arched my back caused him to push even further into me, and I had to pause to moan before I continued.

"Are you jealous?"

His hips snapped forward, producing a simultaneously jolt of pain and pleasure. His voice was breathy as he tried to hold himself together while speaking, "Should I be?"

Our eye contact caused tension so powerful that I was certain it was palpable. A devilish grin and a bit of a snicker was the provocation he needed to drive into me harder once again. I didn't even try to suppress the noises he elicited from me, tightening my grip around him with my legs.

"Take me," I whispered under my breath, almost hoping that he wouldn't hear me.

I couldn't tell if he did, but his hand switched sides of my chest, and our faces grew closer together.

"I'm yours," I slurred. I truthfully hadn't thought about the words when I gifted them to him, but he clearly took note of them. That time, it was his moan that filled the air in the room, and I had never felt so excited by one of his responses. I chased after the feeling, locking eyes with him as both his hands grabbed my hips to begin the race to the finish.

"I'm yours, Spencer."

I didn't stop to wonder if I could play this off as part of the fantasy. I mean, it was part of my fantasy; the fantasy of being his, and him being mine.

He didn't object to my words then, either, and he had definitely heard me that time.

I smiled, barely noticing that he'd placed his fingers back on my heat, swiping frantically at my clit until I lost all composure underneath him. My hips rocked at no apparent rhythm, and distorted versions of his name broke through my mouth.

I hadn't even come down yet when he rammed into me with full force, bottoming out once again. I felt his cock twitch inside of me, followed by my muscles pulling everything out of him that they could.

The view of his satisfied face through my lust-filled daze was angelic. It appeared that he saw the same in me, but I couldn't be sure. Just as quickly as the moment had come, it had passed, his arms giving in to his weight as he collapsed onto my chest.

His hair tickled my collarbones, and I laughed at how incredibly out of shape he was. Especially for an FBI Agent. Even if he did go on the field often, I figured the resident dork didn't need to be totally ripped, anyway.

And, hey, he was strong enough to treat me like a ragdoll, so who was I to judge?

"Tired?" I asked, taking a shaky hand to his head, playing with the soft brown curls damp from sweat.

"You aren't?" he slurred, his words smothered against my skin.

"I am fucking exhausted."

That time, we both laughed. He was clearly pleased that, despite any perceived weakness, he was still able to thoroughly wear me out. When he moved to leave me, I dropped my legs. I was surprised I had managed to hold them until then, honestly.

He fixed his hair that had fallen in his eyes first, and I smiled at the peculiar priority. It was cute, though.

"Do you have to take me home?"

I tried not to let the disappointment bleed into my voice, but it did. He tried not to notice. He didn't answer as he cleaned himself up, and I sat up to look at him — once the world stopped spinning, anyway.

"No."

The butterflies spiraled out of control, spreading through every inch of my soul. I must have been beaming, because he looked so very nervous.

"Thanks."

His response came in the form of an unsure smile, followed by a genuine appreciation.

I briefly wondered if he realized just how transparent he was, but then decided I didn't want to think about it. I excused myself to clean up before bed, taking a long moment to rub my skin with aloe from under the cabinet, only to realize that I had basically nothing clean to wear. I rolled my eyes at the situation, wondering how many red flags it would set off for me to ask Spencer for some of his clothes.

I could just be naked. He seemed to like me that way.

I padded back into the room, expecting him to be waiting up for me. He wasn't. Spencer had passed out on the bed before he even had a chance to get under the covers. I stood at the door for a moment, trying to appreciate the value of this quiet moment while I still could.

Stripping off my clothes as quiet as possible, I was careful not to wake him. However, that also meant I couldn't climb under the covers, either.

It isn't exactly snooping if I'm looking for something innocent, right? That's what I had to tell myself, regardless. Because I was not going to freeze my ass off over a hookup's paranoia. Glancing at the dresser, I almost convinced myself it wouldn't be an invasion of privacy to open it. Luckily, I didn't have to. Directly next to it was a hamper of clean, folded laundry, with a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt on top. While disappointed that I had lost my excuse, I was grateful I had stripped myself of the choice.

He deserved better than me trying to pry into his life like that.

Slipping into his clothes, I stopped to hug myself in the soft fabric. With him asleep, I felt comfortable taking a moment to revel in the position he'd allowed me to exist in. I was in his apartment, in his clothes, and I would soon be back in his arms.

For now.

I chased the inevitable end out of my thoughts, slinking onto the bed and shimmying over to him until his hands found me in his unconscious state. I faced him, my hands pressing softly against his chest to feel his heart happily working under my touch.

His eyes fluttered open for a second, just long enough to see the wonder in my own. A smile crept along his cheeks, and he wrapped a lazy arm around my waist.

I wondered if he recognized his own clothes, or if he even realized this was real. Then again, the alternative was him assuming that it'd all been a dream... and it was a pleasant one, it seemed.

"I'm happy," he confirmed in a hushed tone.

My heart almost stopped, and I peeked up at him, inching up so I could better see his face. His breathing evened back out as I felt the way he relaxed, quickly retreating back to the comfortable embrace of sleep.

"About what?" I whispered back.

Our legs twined together, and a soft sigh left his lips. I waited with bated breath for his response, although I don't think I could have ever been prepared for what followed.

"I'm happy that you're mine."

... What?

—————————————————

| Part 5 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #smut

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tomhardygf · 3 years

Text

an equine mistake 2.7k tommy/alfie

“Peaky Blinders AU where giving someone a horse counts as a courtship tradition amongst the Romanies and not knowing about it, Alfie presents Tommy with a rather beautiful stallion. The next day he has both Arthur AND Polly at his throat. Tommy enjoys the chaos.”

this is silly and dumb and i didn’t wanna bother posting on ao3! has a lot less tommy enjoying chaos and more him being absolutely bewildered. set in a world where homophobia doesn’t exist, maybe. ft: john shelby being a little asshole, alfie being a belligerent asshole, and me dunking on ollie even when there is absolutely no need for it 💖

original prompt: (x) (ty @ohmykaspbrak ✨ ur brain is powerful and huge) ohmykaspbrak’s fill: (x) read it she’s beautiful

Tommy stood on the Garrison doorstop, blinking down at the man before him. “What’s this?” He asks, fingers itching for a cigarette, but too surprised to actually reach for one.

“What’s it fucking look like, mate?” Answers Alfie, rope twined around his hand at least 5 times, as if afraid his charge were to bolt at any moment. “Recently acquired the bloody beast in a deal, and thought to myself, ‘right, who do I know who’ll take this thing off my hands’?”

“And you thought of me?”

Alfie waves his free hand in the air. “Yeah. It was either that, or put a bullet between its eyes.”

Tommy is still skeptical, but he takes a step forward. The horse that Alfie’s brought him is beautiful— fur black as night, with strong, powerful muscles shifting underneath. He moves closer, carefully considering the state of it’s health, but the eyes are bright and clear, the nose and mouth free of any signs of sick, its hooves well maintained, when he picks one up for inspection. It’s young, and it’s clearly been very well taken care of. Whoever Alfie had taken this horse off of had likely poured a great deal of money into its acquisition and it’s upkeep.

“A thoroughbred,” Alfie adds, when Tommy doesn’t respond any further. “Least, think that’s what he said. He wasn’t exactly speaking straight, had something blocking his mouth.”

Tommy makes a considering noise in reply. Alfie turning up in Birmingham tugging a horse along, no car or any of his men in sight was certainly the strangest thing to happen to him that week. He’s half expecting an ambush, for the sounds of gunfire to start hailing down on them, but nothing happens. It’s just Alfie, standing in front of him, looking as out of place on the street in front of the Garrison as Tommy ever could have imagined. The man looks more and more uncomfortable the longer Tommy doesn’t respond, so he eventually takes pity on him. “Do you want to give him a name?”

“Nah,” Alfie snorts, “I trust you can come up with something suitable for the creature.” At that, he begins to unwind the rope from his wrist, holding it out vaguely in Tommy’s direction. Tommy resists the urge to crack a smile at the discomfort still evident in the man’s posture. He’s still a bit bewildered by Alfie thinking to give him what was undeniably a gift— a stallion, of all things— but he’s sure that the man hadn’t meant anything by it.

Tommy lifts his hand to take the rope. Just as it is passing between them, the door to the Garrison swings open, John bustling his way through. He’d been in the back of the bar when Tommy’d been informed about Solomons marching down the road, and Tommy had quietly slipped out before he would be any the wiser. He stumbles to an abrupt stop at the view before him. “What’s this?” He slurs, not drunk, just confused. His eyes dart between the two men and the horse standing behind them, the look on John’s face becoming rapidly accusatory as he takes in the scene before him.

Tommy opens his mouth to speak, to give an explanation that wouldn’t make things worse for himself, but Alfie beats him to it. “Was passing through your pisshole of a city, and thought I’d stop by and drop your brother off a gift I’ve been meaning to give him.”

John’s mouth falls open, face twisting up in a mixture of confusion and outrage. He tears his eyes away from Solomons, staring directly now at Tommy. “He brought you a fucking horse?”

Tommy moves forward, the horse following along after him, docile. Tommy switches to Romani, aware of Alfie’s presence behind him. “Relax, brother. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“He’d better fucking not,” John spits, partially soothed, but shoots a glare over Tommy’s shoulder at Alfie.

“How would he know?” Tommy asks, resting a hand on John’s shoulder, face purposefully clear, despite how much he’s holding in the strange urge to laugh at the situation. “He’s Jewish. Different traditions.”

“Oi,” Alfie interrupts, stepping forward now as well. When Tommy looks over to him, he’s got his chest puffed out, looking harsh and burly. “Don’t know whatever the fuck you two are saying, but I know who you’re talkjng about, alright? Enough whispering.”

John scowls at him, unimpressed with the man. But after a moment, a new expression crosses his face, something significantly more mischievous— his anger having faded, he’s fallen back into just being his little brother. “I’m going to tell Polly about this.”

“You’ll do no such thing!”

John grins, slaps Tommy on the back. He slips back into English. “Yeah, I’m going to tell her.

“John!” Tommy hisses, but John’s already ducked out and away from him, practically skipping down the street in his excitement to cause problems. Tommy sighs as he stares after him. That’ll be something to deal with.

Alfie follows his gaze, deflating a bit now that John’s gone. “What was all that about, then?”

Tommy snorts, and he lifts a hand to pat against the horse’s flank. “It’s… one of the traditions of my people,” he murmurs, his cheeks suddenly feeling a bit warm. “The gift of a stallion represents certain… expectations.”

“Expectations?”

Tommy looks up at Alfie, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice, especially at the look of bewilderment on the man. “You’ve asked me to marry you.”

Alfie follows him home. Or, more accurately, Alfie follows him back to Charlie’s Yard, to board the horse, and then he follows him home. He tells Alfie, as they walk, that there’s no need for him to follow— that it wasn’t as if he needed to explain to his family his intentions (or his lack of them), that him showing up will likely only make things worse. But Alfie is apparently determined to make a vaguely uncomfortable conversation into something much more excruciating. So Alfie’s there, at his back as he opens the front door, a dull feeling of dread filling Tommy as he hears John’s gleeful snickering from somewhere deeper in the house.

It was too much to hope that John wouldn’t find Polly before him. Far too much to hope that when John found her, that she wouldn’t already be accompanied by every single member of his immediate family. He turns the corner to the kitchen, five sets of eyes locking in on the two men as they enter.

“See?” John laughs, absolutely delighted, gesturing wildly towards Tommy and Alfie standing in the doorway.

“No,” Arthur grunts, going a bit pale.

Ada and Finn snicker behind their hands, eyes wide.

Polly just purses her lips, eyeing the two of them, considering.

“Alright, look.” Tommy steps forward into the room, shooting his younger brother a quick glare. John, unrepentant, grins back at him. “I’m sure John’s told you—.”

“That congratulations are in order?” Polly interrupts, arching a brow.

“It’s been good weather,” Ada jumps in, still giggling a bit. “Good for an outdoor ceremony.”

“Alright,” Tommy holds both his hands up, trying to quiet them down, to stifle the laughter. “No one’s proposing to anyone, you hear me?”

Arthur lets out a sigh of relief. The rest of them keep looking amused. Polly turns her gaze on Alfie, still standing behind Tommy. “So I suppose I don’t need to ask you for your intentions with my nephew, then?”

Alfie makes one of those noises he does, that deep rumbling in the back of his throat. “Well, you could ask me, right, and maybe I’d tell you, out of respect for our dear Thomas standing over there, but I’d not be sure you’d like my answer.”

Tommy looks up, frowning. He’s always overly cautious around the man, always looking for double meaning behind his words. Is what he’s said… a threat? “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” Alfie moves in closer, tilting his head to the side. He lifts a hand, gesturing towards Tommy standing there. “I mean, if given the opportunity, mate, I’d love to take a run at it, but if that would mean volunteering to join in on this family of yours, I’ll have to decline, right.”

The room is silent for a moment. Just for a minute, though.

“What?” Arthur growls. Ada releases a nervous bark of laughter, eyes still wide and shining with her glee. John and Finn, sitting on either side of her, have matching expressions. Tommy just… stands there.

“Jesus Christ,” Polly murmurs, and with that, she rises to her feet. There’s a sly look to her. “Tommy, perhaps you should have a chat in private with your suitor. Best of luck to you, Mr. Solomons. Heaven knows, you’ll need it.”

The Shelby’s slowly leave the room, Arthur and John seeming particularly reluctant to leave them, for very different reasons. Arthur, on his way out, gets directly into Alfie’s face, glaring, but Alfie is as unphased by threat of direct violence as he always is.

Soon (much too soon), it’s just Tommy and Alfie stood in the room.

“What?” Tommy asks, weakly, because he still thinks there’s been some sort of misunderstanding, that he’d not interpreted what the man had said correctly, because there’s no way that Alfie actually meant it, right? Not in that way.

All Shelby’s gone, save Tommy, Alfie has the sense to look a bit more bashful than his previous bravado in the face of Arthur and Polly. “Well, wasn’t gonna just fucking… say it, alright?” He runs a large hand down his face, stroking through his beard. “Was going to be proper nice, was going to be romantic.”

Tommy coughs out a laugh, something far more nervous than he’s normally capable of. “Romantic?”

Alfie nods, twitchy and unpredictable. “Yeah. First was the horse, right? Had to give you a gift, a signal of my esteemed interest. You’re very pretty, is the thing. Makes me want to give you gifts, daft as it is. Couldn’t decide what you’d want, was between that and a razor to sew into those silly little caps of yours. Thought that might come across the wrong way, that you’d think I was threatening to cut ya.” He sighs, eyes darting up towards the ceiling. “Should’ve just gotten you the razor. How was I to know that the horse would be as good as dropping to bended knee?”

Tommy almost blushes at the turn of phrase. Alfie, with his eagle eyes, still notices. His lips quirk up into a smirk.

“That a nice thought, Tom? I’m not as young as I used to be, sweetie, knees don’t cooperate as much as I’d like them to. For someone with a mouth like yours, though, I might be persuaded to try.”

“Alright,” Tommy holds up a hand, putting a stop to that train of thought before it can go any further. He weighs his own words over in his mind, still trying to puzzle through this unprecedented situation. “So… what exactly are you saying? You…” he clears his throat, hating it before he even says it. “You want me?”

Alfie just nods, as if he sees absolutely nothing strange about the concept, as if Tommy’s just asked him if he’d like to stay for a cup of tea. “Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”

“Oh.” Tommy nods back at him. He bites at the inside of his lip. “Okay. You. Alright.”

Alfie studies him, something shifting in his expression that Tommy instantly picks up on. Disappointment, maybe. “You don’t need to reciprocate, lad. Just say, ‘thanks, but no thanks’, and I’ll be right on my way back to Camdentown, won’t I? Daresay I won’t even do something dastardly, like charge you an extra percentage on your goods. No charge for rejection, alright?”

Tommy snorts. “No cost for hurt feelings?”

Alfie, curiously, laughs. “Different sort of cost, perhaps. Nothing I’d hold you to, though.”

It gives him pause. He’d been well on his way to formulating his rejection, on how to say it without causing any damage to their professional relationship. It’s not that he dislikes Alfie, per say. On the contrary, Tommy finds himself thinking frequently of the man, drawn to him like he’s never been drawn to anyone else, be they friend of foe. He’s strong, and broad, and interesting, and exactly the sort of man that Tommy thinks that people would be attracted to. In fact, if Tommy thinks about it for too long, he’d say that he likes Alfie very much. It’s just his first instinct is to draw away in the face of violence and uncertainty, two things of which Alfie had to offer him in spades. Especially if Alfie weren’t all that serious about this, if he’d just like to “take a run” at him, like he’d said, that was too much mystery for too little payoff. Though it’d probably be spectacular.

But… Despite his words, Alfie doesn’t seem all that interested in something quick, a one-off. The way he’s looking at him now, as if Tommy held the fate of the world in his hands certainly seems invested.

“Can I… Can I think about it?” Tommy finally decides on. There’s a tension between them, tension that is not unpleasant.

Alfie nods, expression brightening significantly. He steps forward. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll let you do that.” He looks so large up close, despite not being all that much bigger than Tommy, in reality. “Suppose I’ll go now, then. Give you your time to think on it. On us.”

“Alright.” Tommy manages, the words threatening to get caught in his throat as Alfie continues to approach him. It doesn’t feel menacing. It feels playful, somehow. “Best get back to Camden.”

“Oh, you’ve no idea, treacle. Left the bakery in Ollie’s incompetent hands, you see. I’d be surprised if half of London hasn’t erupted in flames left under his supervision.”

“Ollie’s not that bad,” Tommy offers, lips twisted up a small smile. Alfie takes yet another step closer. He can feel the heat radiating off of his body, the scent of rum and smoke billowing off of him.

“He has his moments.” Alfie nods, face serious, but Tommy can see the amusement in his expression. “Think he just likes to show off, whenever you’re around. Pretty eyes like that will make a man do stranger things.”

Tommy’s smile grows. “The door is behind you, Mr. Solomons.”

“Yeah, yeah it is, isn’t it?” Alfie’s eyes flicker over Tommy’s face, as if trying to memorize what he sees. “I said I’d leave you to think about it, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Tommy nods, “was very courteous of you.”

Alfie’s beard twitches with his concealed grin. “It was very courteous of me, wasn’t it? And I’ve got to check on Ollie now. So I’m leaving.”

“You’re doing a poor job of it.”

“Alright! Alright, I’m going.” Alfie rubs a hand through his whiskers. “Just want to leave you with one more thing to think about, if that’s alright with you.”

“If what’s alright with me—”

Tommy is quickly cut off by Alfie leaning in the final few inches between them, capturing his mouth in a kiss. Alfie’s lips are warm against his, firm and insistent. There’s a hand holding onto his chin, tilting Tommy’s face in exactly the right position to be kissed properly. Tommy’s surprised by it, and surprised by how he melts, how he allows himself to be held onto, his eyes fluttering closed against his volition.

All too quickly, Alfie darts away, ending the kiss far too soon for Tommy’s liking. He opens his eyes again just in time to see Alfie licking his own lips, as if tasting for anything Tommy might have left behind. The man’s fingers, still holding onto his chin, run soothingly up the length of his jaw before he drops the hand once again to his side.

“Alright.” Alfie grins. “I’ll be off then. You give that a bit of thought, Tom.”

“Oh,” Tommy chokes out, body flustered and reeling from the kiss, and from Alfie’s quick withdrawal. By the time he’s managed to pull himself together a bit, Alfie’s already at the door.

The man glances back over his shoulder. He’s still smiling, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “See you soon, sweetie.” With that, he’s out the door.

Tommy stands there, listening to the door swing shut behind Alfie. He lifts a hand up to his own face, traces over the place where Alfie’s hand had touched him, then over where his lips are still tingling with the memory of the kiss. His blood pumps hot through his veins, heart racing.

He stumbles over his own feet in his haste to get to the door.

#tommy/alfie #:~)#my tommy is always OOC and i will not rest until hes happy #my fic

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moony-meadow · 3 years

Text

The Very Hungry Beelzebub (3)

Previous Part / Next Part

“Uhhh…” Beelzebub was frozen. He was clearly unsure whether to reveal everything to Mammon in hopes of getting his help, or concocting some kind of lie to protect both his and my dignity. And I had a feeling that, unlike Mammon, Beel didn’t want to make the decision without getting my approval first.

“It’s okay, Beel, you can tell him,” I sighed. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to finding out what Mammon’s reaction would be. I honestly wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

Though I couldn’t see it, I could easily imagine the confused expression currently painted on Mammon’s face as he wondered why he’d just heard my disembodied voice. No doubt he was looking around the room, searching for the source of the sound. “Huh? What was that?” he questioned, sounding thoroughly befuddled.

Poor Beel was going to be forced to explain the bizarre situation. Of course, I could try to do it, but it seemed like something that would be more easily done by someone not hidden away inside a stomach.

I could feel Beel take a nervous breath. He was obviously not looking forward to this. Despite being younger (and less powerful) than Mammon, he had never really acted like it. Beel would never take orders from the second oldest, and he showed no qualms about stepping on his toes. But now, he was anxious about admitting the truth to Mammon. What exactly he was afraid of, I didn’t know. Did he think his brother would be angry, or disappointed?

“After I started to recover from being sick, I got hungry...really hungry,” Beel began. “I-I wasn’t in control of myself. I ate everything in the kitchen.” I placed a hand on one of the fleshy walls, hoping it would come across as reassuring. “And then...and then Y/N came in.” He winced as he said it, and honestly, I did too.

“What exactly are ya sayin’?” Mammon’s voice had taken on an edge, a dangerous edge I hadn’t ever heard before.

Beel swallowed hard. “Mammon, I...I shrank Y/N and ate them.” He spit out the last part of the sentence, as if he was worried if he didn’t say it fast enough, he would never say it.

“You what?!” Mammon roared. I heard a commotion, and then suddenly everything around me lurched. I threw my arms out to brace myself against the walls. I definitely had not missed being thrown around like a ragdoll inside someone’s stomach, completely subject to their massive movements. “No, that can’t be right. Y/N has a pact with you. They woulda ordered you to stop.”

I could visualize the kicked puppy look on Beel’s face perfectly as he admitted to what he’d done in his hunger-fueled delirium. “They couldn’t. I put a silencing spell on them.”

More rough movements rocked my world, and then I heard, as well as felt, an echoing slam. I had a suspicion Mammon had just shoved Beel against a wall, which was difficult for me to imagine. I didn’t think I had ever seen him get violent with his brothers, or anyone for that matter.

“Mammon! Relax, I’m fine!” I shouted. The last thing I wanted was for things to get more physical, for my own sake as well as for Beel and Mammon’s. Seeing the brothers bicker and get at each other’s throats was commonplace, but I never enjoyed witnessing them coming to blows.

“Y/N?” Mammon exclaimed, his tone of voice instantly shifting. “Y/N, if you didn’t order Beel not to hurt you then you’re in danger! You’ll get digested--”

“Don’t worry, as soon as I got my voice back I made sure that wouldn’t happen,” I promised. The unfiltered concern in Mammon’s voice was more than a little endearing. The guy was quick to play the aloof, uncaring demon, though of course I knew that was all an act. It was refreshing to hear him being genuine and not attempting to hide his true feelings.

I could feel Beelzebub’s heartbeat begin to come down from its heightened rate as the tension in the room began to lessen. Once again he placed a gentle hand against his stomach, and I reciprocated with my much smaller hand on the other side.

“The only problem is I can’t bring them back up the same way you did,” Beel told Mammon regretfully.

“I guess that means you found ‘em tasty, huh?” Mammon said in a grumpy tone. Evidently he was aware of the little stipulation that prevented the Avatar of Gluttony from throwing up. I wasn’t shocked to hear Mammon was none too pleased about “his human” getting eaten by another demon. The Avatar of Greed was nothing if not possessive.

“Even the worst humans have a good flavor,” Beel remarked. “Of course Y/N would be leagues ahead of them.” My heart fluttered at the compliment, though it was a bit spoiled by the context of said compliment. I was glad Beel considered me to be “leagues ahead” of the worst humans, though I didn’t really like the fact that that seemed to go hand in hand with my level of tastiness.

“None of that matters,” I called out, eager to direct the conversation away from how enjoyable I apparently was to eat. “What matters is getting me the hell out of here.”

“Damn right,” Mammon was quick to reply. I had a feeling his determination was in large part attributed to his possessiveness.

Before Mammon had eaten me, when he was trying to convince me to agree to the whole endeavor in the first place, he had mentioned a backup place in case he was unable to cough me up naturally. His exact words had been, “if I can’t get ya out naturally, I could always just swallow the end of a string and pull ya out that way.” While the idea did sound pretty ridiculous and silly, I didn’t see any reason why it couldn’t work.

“Mammon, do you really think Beel swallowing the end of a string would work?” I questioned. I would be more than a little pissed if he had only offered that as a suggestion to trick me into letting myself get swallowed.

“Oh yeah, good idea!” Mammon exclaimed. “Lemme go find somethin’ that’ll work.”

“Wait, hold on a second--” Beel started to protest but was quickly interrupted.

“Beel, you should go to Y/N’s room so we don’t gotta worry about anyone walkin’ in on us.” After that came the sound of hurried footsteps exiting the room.

Beel remained still for a moment before releasing a soft sigh. “I’m going to make my way to your room,” he announced. “I doubt we’ll run into anyone at this hour, but just try not to move too much just in case.” He gave one last soft pat to his stomach before heading off.

While Beel definitely seemed to be making an effort to move slowly and carefully, the ride inside his stomach was still fairly unsteady. While it may have been my second time being eaten, that didn’t mean I was anywhere near used to the experience of riding around in a giant stomach.

Thankfully the trip to my bedroom didn’t last long and was completely uneventful. Once I heard the sound of the door clicking shut behind us, I let out a relieved sigh. “Is it okay if I sit down?” Beel asked tentatively.

A little smile formed on my face. Beel was so considerate and sweet. It was definitely a different experience being in his stomach than in Mammon’s. Aside from Beel’s far more mindful behavior, his stomach was also significantly bigger than Mammon’s had been. Of course that wasn’t surprising. He was the Avatar of Gluttony after all.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I replied with a light chuckle.

My environment creased slightly, signalling that Beelzebub had gone ahead and taken a seat. I myself took a seat at the bottom of the stomach, reclining slightly. Feeling much more confident that I would make it out of this situation alive, I allowed myself to relax a little bit. To be honest, being inside someone’s stomach was kind of comfy in its own weird way. I had gotten one of the best night’s sleep I’d had in awhile when I’d spent the night with Mammon. Of course, I would never admit that. Mammon’s head was already big enough as it was.

“Hey, Y/N?” I could feel Beel tracing patterns on the outside of his stomach as he spoke. “You know that I don’t, you know, just see you as food, right?” There was nervousness in his voice, as well as a large dose of guilt. He clearly hadn’t forgiven himself for what he’d done despite me having already given my forgiveness.

I paused for a moment. All seven of the demon brothers viewing me as tasty in some capacity was something I had accepted a while ago. I had forged friendships with them knowing that fact. At the start, the only thing keeping any of them from eating me had been my status as an exchange student. However, I believed things had changed. I couldn’t imagine any of the brothers intentionally trying to bring harm to me anymore. Even Belphegor had gone from wanting to kill me to being a close friend.

So maybe they all still secretly imagined eating me. It didn’t matter. Because I was convinced that none of them would put that desire before my wellbeing--so long as they were in their right mind of course. “Don’t worry, I know,” I reassured the demon.

“You’re sure?” Beel asked uncertainly. “Because I know I always talk about how delicious you look, and I ask if I can eat you sometimes--”

“Hey, I get it...well I sort of do anyway,” I said. “Humans are usually on the demon menu. I suppose it’s normal for you to want to eat us.” I added with a shrug.

I tried to imagine the situation from the demon perspective. To put it into human terms, I had to guess it would be like having a delectable ice cream sundae walking around and talking. I definitely wouldn’t feel comfortable eating a sentient ice cream...but that was beside the point.

“That doesn’t make what I did okay,” Beel stated firmly.

I sighed. “Well no, but like I said, that wasn’t really you.” I didn’t care that he wanted to eat me when he was in his right mind. All that mattered to me was that he didn’t actually do it.

It seemed likely that Beel would try to argue with me, but he didn’t get the chance before I heard the bedroom door opening. “Alright, let’s get Y/N outta there!” Mammon announced.

#shall we vore #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t vore #soft vore

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giveemhales · 4 years

Text

Moodboards for Sterek AUs: 10/?

For @averystereksummer Day 6

AU where Stiles has a fear of storms

For the prompt: “How’s the weather?”

With a ficlet! Content warning for anxiety and panic attacks.

Stiles was afraid of storms.

Maybe that’s putting it wrong, because there’s a lot of things Stiles was afraid of that he could deal with. Really, he had a fear of storms, “astraphobia.” He hated it.

He wished he could say there was a reason. That his mother died on a stormy night or that the thunder reminds him of gun shots.

But there was no rhyme or reason. It was nothing more than a phobia, an anxiety disorder, an evolutionary flaw.

He’s always been good at hiding it, though. When he was younger, he hid it because he was made fun enough as is, he didn’t want to give any other material for his bullies to work with. Not even Scott ever figured it out. He could usually handle rain, but when there was thunder, he’d always make an excuses to go home, whether he was at school or on a sleepover. He’d usually say he was sick, and his mother was understanding enough that she’d be willing to take him home. She would build them a blanket fort and put on way too loud cartoons to help drown out the noise. Sometimes she would hold him closely, and remind him the thunder couldn’t hurt him, and that she would always protect him.

Then his mother died, and his fear got worse. It wasn’t just that storms were harder to handle without his mother, it was also the way his mental health had deteriorated after her death. His anxiety was significantly worse, and things that once scared him would now trigger full blown panic attacks.

His father got him a therapist to help him, but the therapist was mostly focused on his grief and how to handle his panic attacks. He had coping mechanisms now, but he still tried to avoid being out when there was a storm at all cost. Avoidance wasn’t necessarily healthy, but it was what worked for him. He continued to claim illness, and would curl up under the covers, blasting music through his earbuds.

He had even managed to hide this fear from the pack, which he’d say was pretty impressive considering most of the members could quite literally smell fear.

He religiously checked the weather every day, using multiple sources for the daily and weekly forecasts. If there was a forecast for a thunderstorm at any point, he’d make up plans (which was difficult when dealing with people who can hear when you’re lying, but he had perfected the art of half truths, always using something like “having homework” or “wanting to see his dad,” which were all technically true). So far, he’d only been outside in a thunder storm with the pack once, and they were fighting wendigos so they didn’t really question his scent of fear or him running off to his Jeep as soon as the creatures were declared dead. That was one of the few times in his life he had been unable to avoid being outside during a thunderstorm, and the resulting panic attack had been so bad he hadn’t been able to go to the school the next day (which was easy enough to get away with, since the rain had also resulted in a cold).

He’s not really sure why he spends so much time and energy hiding this fear like it’s a dirty secret. Maybe part of it was that he knew he couldn’t avoid thunderstorms, but he could try to avoid being around people during thunderstorms. It gave him something to focus on, a feeling of control.

Honestly though, he knew it was mostly his own insecurities. He was at a good place with the pack, and he doesn’t really think any of them would be malicious if they were to find out. But he knew that he was just human, that he was weaker than the rest of them, and he strived everyday to prove he could keep up. He couldn’t show any weaknesses because he couldn’t let them know he was weak.

So he had basically perfected the art of keeping his phobia hidden away from the rest of the world.

But one of the worst things about storms was that you don’t always know when they’re coming. And that’s what led to his current predicament.

He was in the car with Derek after they had met with a pack outside of town. The pack was new to the area and hoping to make an alliance. With Derek the alpha and Stiles the emissary, it was customary for the two of them to make negotiations.

The meeting had been fine. A simple agreement had been made and then Derek and Stiles made the hour long drive back to Beacon Hills, specifically to Derek’s loft where Stiles’ Jeep was waiting.

Derek had insisted that they drive together, and had refused to go in Stiles’ “death trap” (more like because he was a dick), so Stiles was now seated in the passenger side of the camaro. And that was fine, Stiles honestly enjoyed spending time with Derek. But it was about half an hour outside of Beacon Hills that he noticed the grey clouds.

Stiles had checked multiple weather sources that morning like he always did, and none of them had mentioned a chance of storms. A couple had mentioned a chance of rain that night, but it was still afternoon. There was no reason to expect a risk of storms.

But Stiles had obsessively studied storms enough to know what storm clouds looked like. And right now there were definitely storm clouds in the direction of Beacon Hills.

Fuck.

“How’s the weather? I mean, do you know? I feel like with your special werewolf senses you should be able to tell. You know, smell when a storm is coming. That would actually be pretty cool, it would make you a great meteorologist. Although meteorologists aren’t as bad as people make them seem. They actually have a 90% accuracy five days in advance. And on the actual day are usually within 2.5 degrees in their predictions. That’s pretty impressive. But obviously they don’t always get it right. Clearly, since they hadn’t said there would be rain today and-“

“Stiles!” Derek barked, cutting him off. “No, I can’t “sense” the weather. But from those clouds over there I’d say it’s probably going to rain.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. Looks like it. That’s cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.”

Derek side-eyed him, but at this point he was used to Derek’s seemingly constant annoyance with him.

His leg began bouncing, as it usually did when he was nervous. Derek was clearly annoyed, but fortunately didn’t say anything.

A couple minutes later, the drizzle began, and Derek turned on the windshield wiper. Stiles looked down at his phone which had the directions. Still 20 minutes to go. He desperately hoped that they would get back before any thunder started, but it seemed unlikely.

Stiles leaned over and began fiddling with the radio. He eventually found a station playing heavy metal, and turned it up as loud as it would go, hoping it would be enough should there be any thunder.

Derek cursed and immediately shut off the radio. “What the fuck is your problem, did you forget about the werewolf hearing?” He grumbled, pawing at his ears with one hand still on the wheel.

“Just wanted some music, you’re so quiet, you know. Thought we could liven things up.”

Derek just growled in reply, which was pretty par for the course for him, so Stiles didn’t bother saying anything else.

Pretty soon, the rain started getting heavier, pouring down loudly on the windshield. Derek increased the speed of the windshield wiper, but seemed unbothered.

Stiles opened his mouth before closing it again. He honestly wanted to just explain to Derek why he was being so weird. Derek wasn’t the type to judge, and would probably even do what he could to be accommodating.

But at the same time, he couldn’t think of worse person to find out about his fear. Besides the fact that Derek was one of the strongest, bravest people he had ever met, Stiles had also been pining after him for years. He knew Derek had seen him as the hyperactive, token human, and even if Stiles now had a spark and Derek had accepted him as the pack’s emissary, Stiles didn’t want to risk revealing anything that might ruin their progress. He knew Derek would never feel the same about him as he did, and he was okay with that, but he was absolutely not okay with Derek ever viewing him as lesser. He wouldn’t, couldn’t be seen as weak.

So Stiles kept his mouth shut, and tried to just focus on anything other than the impending storm.

That worked out until the thunder came.

The first roll of thunder hit when they were about 10 minutes from the loft, and Stiles’ composure began to crumble.

He felt his heart beat quicken, his palms sweat, his breath become raggedy and stomach begin to cramp. These were standard symptoms for his anxiety, but not something he ever truly got used to.

He tried to focus on his breathing, but was interrupted by Derek.

“What’s wrong? Your heart is pounding and your breathing sounds weird,” Derek said, the concern clear in his voice. Stiles supposed that after all the terrifying shit he had been through, it would make sense that Derek wouldn’t make the connection between his fear and the thunder.

Stiles clenched his fists and closed his eyes, trying to block everything out. “Nothing. I’m fine, dude,” he ground out.

He could practically hear Derek rolling his eyes, but for once he ignored the “dude” comment. “You’re clearly not fine, I can smell the anxiety rolling off you. If you’re in danger or if something’s wrong, I need to know.”

“I said I’m fine. Just drop it,” Stiles knew Derek would be able to hear the lie, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He was focusing too much energy on trying to calm down to come up with a plausible lie for why he was acting the way he was.

“Please, Stiles, I just want to help you,” Derek’s voice was softer than Stiles had ever heard, and he hated the way it made his eyes tear up. He turned and rested his forehead on the window, trying to focus on the cool feeling.

Stiles was surprised Derek didn’t pry further, but instead grabbed his hand.

Stiles thought about the fact that his palms were sweaty and probably pretty gross, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. It wasn’t even because he had been dreaming of holding Derek’s hand for years. It was because it helped ground him.

He tried to focus on touch so he could block out the flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder. He tried to think about the warmth of Derek’s hand, and his mother’s voice when she reminded him the storms couldn’t hurt him. He counted his breaths, and reminded himself they were only a few minutes away. And as soon as they were back, he could get in his Jeep, blast his music, and try to ignore the outside world.

They arrived to the loft, and Stiles vaulted out of the Camaro before it was even in park (although a small part of him was reluctant to let go of Derek’s hand).

He ran as fast as he could to the Jeep to try to avoid the worst of the storm. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance to make it to the Jeep before he was being grabbed by Derek (honestly, fuck werewolf speed, that’s just not fair).

“Stiles, I need you to tell me what’s wrong. I can’t just let you leave if you’re in danger!”

One of the symptoms of anxiety that is less talked about is that heightened anxiety makes a person prone to emotional outbreaks. Maybe that’s why he lost it at that moment. Or maybe it had been building up for years, the anger and shame and fear finally boiling over. Or maybe he just wanted somebody to know, because he was so tired of being alone.

Whatever the reason was, Stiles finally let it all out.

“Oh my god, I’m not in danger. Nothing is going to happen to me and I logically know that but I can’t help it. I’m terrified of storms. Is that what you wanted me to say?” Stiles was yelling, even though he was sure Derek could hear him perfectly well, but he couldn’t stop. “I’m terrified of how loud the thunder is, how I can barely hear myself think over the noise. I’m terrified of lightning even though the likelihood of being struck is one in a million. I’m terrified that I can’t always prepare for storms and that I have no way to control the weather. And I know it’s a fucking stupid fear. And that’s why I’ve tried so hard to hide it. But I feel like I can’t breathe. And you probably don’t know what that’s like, you probably don’t have stupid fears and constant anxiety because you’re the bravest person I know. But you know now so please just drop it.”

Stiles was panting by the end of his rant. He wanted to turn around, to go to his car, just like he said he wanted, but the masochist in him needed to see how Derek was going to react.

“Do you really think I’ll judge you for that? You think I don’t feel afraid? I’m scared every day. I’m afraid I’m going to fail as an alpha. I’m afraid I’m going to lose everything again. Hell, I’m afraid every second I’m around you.”

“What? Why would you be afraid around me?” Stiles asked incredulously, fairly certain Derek was just making it up to make him feel better.

“Because I’m afraid I’m finally going to break and kiss you.”

Stiles isn’t sure what Derek saw in Stiles’ slack-jawed expression, but evidently it was an invitation, because the next thing Stiles knew, there were lips on his own.

Derek’s were wet from the rain, but still warm. The kiss was soft and tender, and everything Stiles had ever wanted.

Unfortunately, it was still storming, and Stiles jumped back just a moment later when there was a roar of thunder and crack of lightning.

Derek looked stricken, clearly drawing the wrong conclusion.

Stiles was quick to correct him. “As amazing as that kiss was, I can’t- I need to be alone right now.”

Derek looked relieved, and reached out to Stiles. “Do you- You’re welcome in the loft if you’d prefer.”

Stiles usually preferred to be alone during storms so no one could see his vulnerability, but the Jeep was also usually his last resort. The loft would be much quieter, so he nodded and took Derek’s hand.

Up in the loft, Derek grabbed Stiles a towel to dry himself since he was dripping everywhere. After he dried off, he went ahead and wrapped himself in a blanket and curled up on the couch. “Do you mind if I turn on the TV? Noise helps.” He was still shaking, but felt himself calming down. Hopefully if he put on the TV, he could try to forget about the storm.

Derek nodded and then paused. “I can leave if you’d like but if it would help... Would you mind if I just held you?”

After years of keeping his fears private, Stiles’ instinct was to ask him to leave. But he remembered how he would feel when his mom would hold him during storms. He remembered how his fears had quietened when Derek had kissed him. He remembered all the reasons he fell in love with Derek, and how safe he made him feel.

He nodded.

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waifstarion · 3 years

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I don’t think there is any harm in the baby Jack posts as he is in canon a baby, we only ever see him from age 0-3, it’s his 4th birthday next month. Never in canon has it stated Jack is autistic or coded as such, those quirks we see are canon as an angel not fitting in on earth, Castiel does it all the time. I believe it’s only really Gabriel who doesn’t have this issue as he’s been on earth for a very long time. I have quite a few traits in common with Jack from another condition that is not autism but overlaps, along with others (my condition sadly is very hard to diagnose for this reason, so a lot of people are often misdiagnosed as something else) I don’t post how angry that makes me as people are appropriating my condition and babying my traits (even if I do need help sometimes dressing myself right) If people are happy making Jack a baby then they should be allowed to post that. Jack only aged himself up after Kelly told him the world was unsafe, now Chuck has gone there’s no reason why Jack wouldn’t deage himself back to a toddler to finally experience playing on swings, slides and all the fun things with Castiel and Amara by his side. In a way too, the baby Jack is also a coping mechanism, in canon Jack left and Sam and Dean never seen him again, Sam lived at least 40 years without seeing Jack ever again and even in heaven, Jack wasn’t there 😭😭😭 so to draw or headcanon a small child who may need Sam to cut off the crust on his bread sandwiches, or Dean to read him a story and it be Game of Thrones or something... then that’s how that fan is coping with the true sad ending of Jack’s arc. We know he is with Castiel, he’s happy but Sam and Dean never learned that until after they died.

we would consider him a baby age-wise, as he is never older than three. however, seeing as he was born in a body roughly the age of eighteen, give or take a couple years (based on sam giving 2000 as his fake birth year when he was in the hospital and the cut line from 13x06). jack is never mentally an infant. he may have had the mentality of a younger child in his early episodes, but it doesn’t take too long for him to reach the mindset of a teenager. even at the end of the show, his mental age is probably around late adolescence or early adulthood (though that is up for interpretation). while he may be a baby in a very literal sense of the word (ie age-wise), he is not a baby in his mental state or appearance, which is what truly matters.

jack’s autism coding is all up to interpretation, however, i very intentionally use the term coding due to the fact that it is never outright stated in canon. coding typically isn’t confirmed within the actual show, otherwise i would have simply called it canon. another prominent character with autism coding (which was confirmed by ben edlund in the s6 commentary) is castiel, who just so happens to be a strong basis for jack’s character. many of the other angels are seen exhibiting neurotypical behaviours. angels such as naomi, balthazar, metatron, and many more do not display the traits that cas does. significantly, misha has said in numerous interviews that while his initial intention was to portray cas as something unhuman and unaware of human customs, not a single other actor did the same. as a result, this left cas as the odd one out, firmly establishing that this behaviour is just cas being himself, not an inherent side effect of being an angel. furthermore, the angels frequently make comments about cas being an outlier who doesn’t fit in, and make comments about it being a fundamental difference (eg. coming off the line with a crack in his chassis) rather than a learned behaviour. circling back to the autistic coding of cas and jack, it is never outright stated that either one is autistic, however there are traits that lead people to believe they are. this post does a good job of illustrating some potential autistic coding in jack. while it may not be intentional, it is certainly there, and a very prevalent interpretation within fandom. i'm sorry to hear that people infantilize your condition. i respect the fact that you make the personal decision not to make angry posts about it, as that is your prerogative. however, it is also mine to make a post about a pattern of behaviour i (and others) have noticed in fandom. the intention of my post is to encourage people to notice such patterns, and to draw their attention to it as there could be many people who never considered it from this point of view.

i never said they aren’t allowed to post it. on the contrary, i reblog posts about it on a semi-frequent basis. that being said, i find that there is a difference between sometimes posting about it versus exclusively portraying him as a baby and never talking about him as a person. in my post, i very clearly stated that it was about people posting it constantly and exclusively portraying him as an infant, which was my phrasing verbatim. it can be fun to portray characters in different ways, but in my opinion it becomes a problem when you constantly erase his character and backstory just to be a prop for a ship or your favourite character.

as for him wanting to deage himself, he has never indicated that. quite the contrary, he has been bothered when he is not taken seriously or seen as incapable. he wants to be capable and independent. it doesn’t make sense for him to want to limit himself mentally and physically so he becomes entirely reliant on those around him. he would lose essentially all of his autonomy, and i doubt that would be enjoyable for him. if he wants to go on a swing or a slide, no one’s stopping him in his current state. he can do plenty of the typical fun things while still being in his current form.

as it is, i don’t think that jack would be yearning for the stereotypical ideal childhood. no one jack has been around has had a normal, stable childhood. the bros, cas, rowena, etc all had abnormal and unstable childhoods. he was very briefly in his mother’s childhood heaven and that’s about the extent of it. even then, her heaven just consisted of her house with her dog. jack had a house and a pet, which he could easily view it as similar. even the tv shows we know he watches (clone wars, the walking dead, and riverdale) all seem to deal with people who do not get to experience real childhoods. he may not even be aware of the extent he is missing out on. even if he is aware, he may be perfectly fine with that and content with the memories he has already.

citing sam and dean’s preferences in and of itself is endemic to the issue of the constant baby jack posting. to be blunt, i don’t really care about what sam and dean want him to present himself as. they made little to no attempt to care for him as it was, so why should jack sacrifice his autonomy just so they can get some enjoyment out of it? in the finale, they barely even noticed his absence. you mention sam living forty years without him, yet he couldn’t be bothered to include a single photo of him in his house. jack shouldn’t have to change himself to make people happy. he should be himself, with complete autonomy, and loved for that. there is no true sad ending of jack’s arc. he’s happy with cas, just as you said. cas loved him unconditionally and was the only one who believed in him the entire time. cas wasn’t fazed when jack was an adult instead of the baby he had anticipated. he was happy to be with his son, regardless of what form that took.

the way cas and jack operate heaven is also left largely up to interpretation. all we know is that sam and dean are now there in the same place of them. it can easily be interpreted that they are all spending time together if that’s what you so please. it could very well be amara, cas, or another character that runs heaven. we don’t even know if there is anyone who needs to be in charge. it may run autonomously at this point and allow for jack to go off on whatever little hijinks he pleases

there are ways to write about tfw and jack post finale without erasing his personality and turning him into a prop. the entire issue is the fact that jack keeps getting used as a prop, and his tag consists almost exclusively of content where he is used as an accessory for other characters. all i’m asking is for people to stop constantly infantilizing him and to take the time to portray him as a fleshed out character sometimes.

#this ask has literally been taking up my brain’s real estate since i woke up #the market is already very oversaturated i can’t dwell on things too long #anyway i tried answering this earlier but i only typed three words before tombstone script dropped so yknow #jack kline #anonymous #i prefer the word trusting. less dumb. less ask.

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k1rishiki · 3 years

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i am curious, as someone who’s only exposure to arthurania was reading jane yolen’s young merlin as a child, would you mind saying why hnoc is a bad adaptation? i’m super curious but no worries if not <3

this has been sitting in my inbox for months bc i kept telling myself i needed to write a full essay with proof from medieval lit to make myself feel smarter. however, since i’ve recently lost all credibility bc i can’t articulate points to save my life, and since i’ve realized that i could answer this in a just a couple paragraphs, now seems like the right time to answer this ask. sorry for the wait.

under a cut bc length

also warnings for mentions of racism bc this is hnoc we're talking abt and sexual assault bc this is med lit we're also talking abt

the basic problems are pendragon polycule itself, the story beats of the album, the fridging and lack of characterization of morgan le fay, the clear influence of pop culture arthuriana, and whatever the fuck happened with gawain/e.

pendragon polycule is... just not a good take. there’s a bit in the lancelot-grail abt arthur viewing lancelot like a son (and lancelot not giving a shit abt him). also arthur knew his parents for years before lancelot was even born. plus lancelot just Doesn’t care abt him and i can’t stress this part enough. arthur repeatedly tries to have guinnevere killed, mostly in the lancelot-grail, and guinn didn’t really have any say in marrying him bc she was a teenager. lancelot and guinnevere is a lot better but that’s not saying much. guinn doesn’t exactly treat lancelot too well... like at all, BUT it’s not intrinsic to their relationship and is completely caused by medieval misogyny and i’m all in favor of modern retellings saying fuck that. but also lancelot has multiple pseudo-canon boyfriends (this is med lit after all), and one pseudo-canon husband so like... there were better options. (also lancelot’s husband is basically in a lavender marriage with guinnevere’s maybe girlfriend who most authors just eventually forget abt as the story progresses).

this next one is a problem with a lot of modern arthurian works bc the inclusion of elayne of astolat is too much to ask apparently. the grail quest isn’t tied to the fall of camelot, it just happens to be one of the last grand adventures the knights of the round table have. the event that traditionally sets off the fall is the death of the maiden of astolat/the lady of shalott/elayne of escolat/she has a lot of names, her story has a few variations but usually she either is cursed to stay in a tower and weave and only be able to see the outside world through a mirror positioned across from her window, until lancelot rides by and she rushes to see him out of the actual window and her mirror shatters, setting off her death, or she lives with her father and brothers and takes care of lancelot bc he was injured for a time and she gets to go on adventures to find him and she’s friends with gawaine and she dies bc lancelot rejects her and this version’s a lot more fun but also more happens which makes it harder to explain. the way her story ends however, is that she dies after she makes arrangements for a glorious boat to drift from astolat to camelot carrying nothing but her dead body and a letter explaining that she died of love for lancelot du lac and the court mourns the death of such a beautiful and young maiden (her age varies a lot but i’ve always read her as a young teenager at most). but the important thing is, camelot is doomed from the moment she washes up on its shore bc she’s an omen of the end and has symbolic meaning and all that, the maiden of astolat washes up on camelot’s shores, the court mourns the loss of a maiden in her prime and she marks the end of camelot’s prime as well, morgan le fay reappears after being presumed dead and warns arthur of guinnevere and lancelot’s affair, aggravaine and modred conspire to bring lancelot and guinnevere’s affair to light, they succeed but lancelot escapes, guinnevere is to be burnt at the stake and lancelot rescues her, killing aggravaine, gaheris and gareth (gawaine’s brothers) in the process, gawaine drags his uncle and camelot to war bc he was driven mad due to the loss of his brothers, lancelot accidentally kills gawaine, his best friend and maybe boyfriend (i have RECEIPTS), and gawaine forgives him on his detahbed while lancelot and guinn rejoin arthur, meanwhile modred, who practically had the throne handed to him, usurps and invites the saxons in, camlann happens, and camelot is destroyed. no where in there is the grail quest.

morgan le fay is honestly the most questionable part of the album bc there’s not a single text where she dies. like.... at least with eurydice in udad she died in the original... there’s no basis for morgan dying. also she is NOT modred’s mother and anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar, she interacts with him once in the vulgate bc she had three of her nephews over and that’s IT. it’s a horrible take which originated in the mists of avalon by marion zimmer bradley who is an honest to god monster for reasons i don’t want to trigger tag this post for. also she’s one of the most dynamic and thought-out characters in the entire canon and they just made her a watered down morgause (modred’s actual mother, morgan’s sister, canonical milf)... there was no reason for it to be her apart from the fact that she’s more well known......

pop culture arthuriana is,,, one of my least favorite things. no, morgan wasn’t modred’s mother, no, morgause wasn’t abusive but her husband sure was implied to be, no, aggravaine didn’t kill his mother, that was gaheris, he loved his mother, you’re only saying that bc he has a reputation as the “evil” orkney, no, the once and future king is not a good descriptor for arthur, stop making me read it, no, morgause wasn’t the one to initiate the thing with arthur resulting in modred, no, lancelot and arthur weren’t friends, no, tristan wasn’t a self-centered asshole, tennyson is a fucking liar, no, galahad didn’t have sex or want to, he’s one of the first ever explicitly asexual characters out there, no, galahad’s conception was NOT consensual, lancelot was tricked, and no, elayne of astolat wasn’t galahad’s mother, she’s implied to be younger than him. those are just the big glaring ones, but i swear it’s bc of arthuriana’s reputation as a mythology and the connotations belonging to that word (no one true canon (which is true but there are still things that just AREN’T canon, not completely written down, passed by oral tradition) that causes ppl to see mediocre modern texts and go “oh. well this is abt as close to the original as i’m going to get” and don’t bother to look into so much as malory (who i only name bc he’s one of the most well known medieval authors with the most commonly used storylines, don’t read malory kids, he’s a mediocre-at-best writer even by medieval standards). the big perpetrators of modern arthurian tropes are the books the once and future king by th wh*te, who is a shitty person and lets it bleed into his writing (which isn’t like... nice to read or anything, seriously why do ppl love this book so much it doesn’t have redeeming qualities), and the mists of avalon by marion zimmer bradley (it’s poorly written, the story is a mess, and mzb is honestly a monster and one google search will tell you that), and unfortunately the writings of tennyson, which are mostly good but he clearly didn’t read the povest (a later text that’s also my favorite, known for significantly improving ppl’s opinions on tristan, isolde and co.) before deciding he hated both tristan and isolde and he has HORRIBLE takes on them. high noon over camelot is SEEPED in pop culture arthuriana and i think it would have been so much better if the band had read so much as a SUMMARY of the events of le morte. it’s evident in the song “the once and future king” bc it’s,,,, literally named after one of the worst books in existence. it’s shown in the morgan le fay thing, and it’s shown in the pendragon polycule thing. and hell, i think you can even explain away the lack of elayne of astolat with pop culture arthuriana, bc ppl have had bad takes on her ever since th wh*te combined her character with that of ela*ne of corbenic, and the band probably went “huh, let’s write lancelot’s abuser out of this” and they would’ve been right to do so if that’s who elayne of astolat was.

the final big issue is gawaine, the closest thing the genre has to a protagonist, he’s pretty much canon bi and, in some texts, arospec, he’s a dashing knight of great reknown and he derails every romance to steal hearts, commit murder, and make out with every knight and lady mentioned. and in hnoc he’s... racist. that’s it. it’s,,, almost completely unfounded by the arthurian canon and shows a major misunderstanding of his motivations (like i said earlier, he wants to avenge his brothers bc there’s a reoccuring motif of how much the orkneys value family). i say almost bc in one text it’s his motivations for killing palomydes but i’ve never heard it mentioned by name bc that’s just what it’s known for. most arthuriana fans just look away from it except when critiquing hnoc but that one text is an outlier, shouldn’t be counted, and i highly doubt the mechs made hnoc gawain how he is bc they found this text. it’s just a bad text.

hnoc has,,, quite a few more minor issues, such as villainized ladies of the lake (their ONLY crimes were sealing away merlin bc he tried to assault teenage nimue/ninniane (proto-nimue/vivianne from the vulgate), and that one time vivviane/ninniane kidnapped adopted baby lancelot), assigning brain to merlin (y’know,,, the predator who helped arrange the [redacted] of arthur’s mother and tried to assault a teenager,,,) although merlin is portrayed in a positive light throughout modern arthuriana so i don’t think they knew, giving a song to pellinore, who my perception of has been forever altered bc i was introduced to him through malory and the explanation of torre’s conception, which you can just look up “sir torre arthurian” to find out abt if you can’t just Guess, if they wanted a song abt the questing beast palomydes was Right There AND has been associated with the questing beast for longer, but once again i don’t think they knew.

also namedropping a bunch of knights in the fiction is... it Suggests a bigger world full of all these other stories but they just don’t work bc the world of hnoc wasn’t designed in a way where the appearance of half these characters would make sense. like,, tristan is referenced as dying in the grail quest in the same sentence as bedevere (one of the characters who is known for almost always surviving), but tristan Isn’t one of the knights who dies on the grail quest, his possible deaths (ignoring the potentially happy ending of the povest for a second) are either being murdered by his uncle, king mark (bc mark married tristan’s gf to try and get tristan killed and also to spite him), bc he was driven into a fury bc of tristan and isolde’s affair, or he’s injured and only isolde (the best healer in the world) can save him so he sends for her and if the ship he sent for her is supposed to fly white sails if she’s there, or black sails if she’s not, and the ship flies white sails but his wife (also named isolde) says it’s black sails (the why depends but usually comes down to jealousy), and so he gives up bc he thinks all hope is lost and usually succumbs to his injuries, either way isolde dies of a broken heart over his body. there’s no way for the tristan and isolde story to play out like it’s supposed to in the world of hnoc, just as there’s no way for any story with gawaine (and Oh Boy are there a lot of stories with gawaine) or pretty much anyone else, without severely altering the canon.

of course, there are still parts of hnoc i like a lot, most of the music i adore and i just like the idea of space cowboys and the secret good hnoc that lives in my head. and it has one of my favorite characterizations of galahad, even though galahad hnoc is nothing like galahad arthuriana. it’s not GOOD but i like it and it’s fun to turn my brain off too, and i’ll always value it as my introduction to arthuriana.

also there are modern arthurian tropes i do like such as characters being genre-savvy/knowing they’re fictional/knowing they’ve done this before (which hnoc does wonderfully!) and bedevere-as-the-storyteller (everyone say thank you lord tennyson).

WOW that was longer than expected, i feel very passionately abt this, when i was planning to write a fully sourced essay i meant to include a bit at the bottom with recommendations to get into better arthuriana and i think i’ll keep that in this post.

if you like hnoc for the arthurian music i’d like to suggest heather dale’s arthurian music to you, she does occasionally fall into the trap of modern arthuriana (some parts of lancelot and arthur being close, morgan as modred’s mother), sometimes she’s just wrong (galahad at lancelot’s trial, a lot of tristan and isolde), and her stuff is kinda straightwashed sometimes (sir gawain and the green knight, for example) but i’d be lying if it wasn’t catchy, and it’s not quite as bad as hnoc adaptation-wise. culwch and olwen is pretty accurate (albeit abridged bc culwch and olwen has SO many tangents), as is lily maid (it’s abt elayne of astolat!).

if you liked hnoc for king arthur... in space! then may i recommend to you my own fanfic? it's not posted yet but the second i finish writing the first chapter i'm going to make a Big Deal out of it that'll be impossible to miss!

if you want to learn abt arthuriana through tumblr-osmosis like i did at first, i’d like to recommend the love of my life @acegalahads, first and foremost (it’s me on a sideblog i’m just obsessed with myself), and i can’t recommend my arthuriana mutuals over there, @/gringolet, @/merlinenthusiast, @/jcbookworm, @/elayneofshalott, and @/elaineofascolat (the elayne urls have been popular recently), also i know for a fact that my mutual-in-law, @/itonje makes great arthuriana posts that i look forwards to whenever i open the tag.

here are a few good reference posts, a quick guide to the characters, a guide to characters of color, and a much more comprehensive intro to arthuriana post with even more texts linked to it.

if you want to ease into med lit, i’d like to introduce you to pre-raphaelite poetry, alfred lord tennyson and william morris are my favorites, although tennyson can’t be trusted with tristan and isolde. the poem the lady of shalott is basically a rite of passage for arthuriana fans, although when it comes to tennyson’s writings abt elayne of astolat, i prefer lancelot and elaine, which is part of his much larger story, idylls of the king. for morris, don’t trust what he says abt aggravaine killing his mother, but my favorites of his are sir galahad, a christmas mystery, which sounds like a shitty disney sequel, and palomyde’s quest, which i blame for my love of palomydes (that and the one bit of the povest where he asks tristan to be his greatest enemy and that he wants nothing more, gay ppl,,,,).

if you want to read abt lancelot and his husband, there’s the lancelot-grail cycle, which i believe was taken off of archive dot org and i think i found it on @/tobeisexhausting’s blog but don’t quote me on that.

the povest, which was a religious experience for me and i can’t reccomend enough if you want to like tristan and isolde, is here, i don’t know who scanned it but i think i found it on @/lanzelet’s blog

the dutch texts are just good in general, here’s a link to their section of a(n unfinished) site for hosting various texts by my former mutual @/reynier (who’s no longer on tumblr). i’d like to recommend lancelot and the white hart specifically bc it’s mainly just just gawaine being gay for lancelot.

if you want older works, here’s my scan of the history of the kings of britain, and here’s culwch and olwen and pa gur.

oh wow this is even longer than i thought it would be so i’m going to wrap this up by saying that i always love to talk abt arthuriana more than anything if you have any questions or just are curious!

#med lit on main #asks #hnoc #the mechs #romeo.txt

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solalunar-eclipse · 3 years

Text

Team Dark: A Holiday Special

Chapter Two: Shadow

One | Three

Word count: about 6500 words

No warnings, just more angst than last time because Shadow.

Author’s Note: Thank you all so much for the great comments you left on chapter one- it’s really what keeps me writing and posting.

In other news, I believe that Hanukkah started yesterday evening, so to anyone who celebrates that holiday, Happy Hanukkah!

...

It was the dawn of a bright new day, and Shadow stirred as the sun rose, feeling oddly content. His bed was warm, and he was comfortable, and he really didn’t want to get up just yet. Fumbling around on the bedside table for his book, he began to feel even better at the thought of hiding under the covers for another hour or two, curled up reading…

Except his book wasn’t there. He made several quiet irritated noises, before forcing himself to sit upright.

Chaos, he was not a morning person.

This was incredibly frustrating, of course, since he only needed about five hours of sleep a night and tended to wake up early. Coffee beans usually helped with that, though, and some hot water.

His thoughts now focused on coffee, Shadow dragged himself slowly out of bed, shuddering as the cold air hit his fur. He searched through the clothes he’d brought and pulled out a warm, soft sweater, sighing with relief as he put it on. It was his favorite, too, since it matched his stripes nicely.

Sliding on a pair of slippers (plaid, fluffy, chosen by Rouge) he padded downstairs silently, eyes scanning the area for his book- and caffeine. He wandered through the main hall, enjoying the view that the large windows provided of the snowy landscape. Still, he wished they’d turn the heating up a little, shuddering as he wrapped his arms around himself tightly.

As he walked into the kitchen, still half-lost in a morning haze, Shadow was fully awakened by the shock of seeing other people up. More specifically, Rouge’s mother and stepmother were cooking. Already. He clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from shouting, and his quills bristled in surprise.

His friend’s mother startled and dropped the flour she was carrying, while her stepmother yelped and fumbled with the frying pan on the stove. Shadow rushed over and caught the dropped bag before it could explode, his nerves feeling slightly shot from having to deal with so much this early on.

“My bad,” he whispered, placing the flour on the island in the middle of the kitchen. “I didn’t know anyone else was awake yet- sorry.” he finished lamely. The hedgehog began to feel slightly uncomfortable, as both of the other occupants of the kitchen were looking directly at him. Until now, he’d managed to avoid everyone’s notice pretty well at this party, fading quietly into the background after that first introduction.

He was not prepared to socialize, especially not this early.

Camellia just smiled at him, though, and said kindly, “It’s perfectly alright, honey, we didn’t realize anyone else could stand to get up so early either!”

Rouge’s mother rolled her eyes good-naturedly at Shadow as she walked past him. “You say that like I like mornings, Cam.” she quipped.

He felt awkward just standing in the middle of the room- especially having interrupted their formerly-private moment- so he took a couple of steps to the side quietly. “I’ll just be out of your way now…”

“Oh no, don’t worry about it at all!” the bat exclaimed. “Were you looking for something, sugar?”

Having two terms of endearment directed his way in as many minutes stressed (and slightly flustered) Shadow, and he found himself beginning to retreat into his usual cold persona. The hybrid muttered, “I was just looking for my book. If you happened to know where the coffee is, that would help. That’s all.”

The cardinal handed him a bag of coffee beans, still smiling warmly. “And I think your book’s over there, honey.”

Shadow took his book and turned to walk out of the room, nodding a quiet ‘thank you’ as he did so.

However...the second he set a foot outside the kitchen doorway, he froze. Looking back over his shoulder, he asked, “...how much more do you have to do?”

It would be downright rude to leave his hosts doing all the work, wouldn’t it?

...and why did that sentence sound like someone else had said it?

“Oh! Well, we have the eggs, and the waffles, and the…” the bat began to rattle off a long list of the different things they had to make. “But don’t worry about us, dear, you have your book to read!”

He wavered a moment longer in the doorway, before reluctantly putting the book down. Walking back to stand in front of them, he sighed. “Where are the aprons, then?” he asked flatly.

“Are you sure, honey?” Camellia asked. “You really needn’t trouble yourself…”

Shadow raised a brow ever so slightly. “I’m sure.”

“Oh, aren’t you sweet!” Rouge’s mother gasped. “We usually get help a little later on, but if you really want to…”

“I have a little experience with cooking, but not much.” he warned, taking the apron she offered him and putting it on. (This was true. He only knew how to make waffles and French toast, and that was just because Rouge decided she would go without breakfast if she had to cook.)

The cheerful cardinal pulled him over to the counter, making Shadow startle slightly. “Have you ever made hash browns before, honey? Those shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“No…?” he said, a little confused. “I...I’ve never had those before. What are they?”

“What?” Lila cried out, on the other side of the room. “What has Rouge been feeding you? Well, it’s about time you learned then.” She moved over to stand next to Shadow, handing him a bag of potatoes.

The hedgehog just stared at the vegetables, his mind going blank.

He needed to have his coffee before he dealt with this. Now.

…

Two hours and several handfuls of coffee beans later, Shadow could say that he absolutely knew what hash browns were, having produced enough of them to feed an army. He had also made veritable mountains of scrambled eggs and stacks of pancakes, all while asking ‘Are you sure we need this many?’. He’d thought that the dinner spread was incredible last night, but seeing everything as it was being made only served to emphasize just how much food everyone here needed.

A few other family members had shown up near the end to help out Rouge’s parents, but the real flow of people was only just beginning. Young children were now rushing down the stairs, lured by the smell of breakfast. A few adults began to come down as well, along with Rouge and Omega.

The younger bat looked a little surprised to see Shadow in the kitchen, and he internally cringed as he realized just how bad he must look right now. His quills were tied back in a sloppy ponytail and the apron he’d been given was more than a little long on him. It wasn’t long enough to conceal his slippers, though, and his sweater was rolled up past his elbows, while his arms were covered in flour, sugar, and even a little bit of oil.

“Aww, hon! You’ve been helping!” she said, batting her eyelashes in a blatantly over-the-top manner. She was clearly fighting the urge to laugh at his appearance.

Shadow rolled his eyes. “Don’t rub it in.”

Rouge’s mother bustled up at that, smiling warmly at him. Shadow became significantly more uncomfortable- he was used to having glowers and wide-eyed stares directed at him, not...that.

“He just walked over and demanded an apron, then he got right to work!” she said cheerfully. “He’s really quite helpful, honestly!”

Omega looked at the older bat. “Shadow does not like to admit that he’s helping, even when he is very clearly doing so. His pride is too great to ever admit that he’d do such a thing.”

The hybrid scowled. “That is not true.”

Rouge giggled. “Oh, it’s not, hm? Then what about the time you finished-”

“-don’t you dare-”

“-cleaning my room when I-”

“-now you know how it feels, Shadow-”

“-shut up-”

“-took a quick break, or the time when-”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Shadow roared, leaping at her. Rouge’s mother seemed quite startled at this, but Rouge started cackling just like last night, and Omega looked incredibly smug (somehow), watching as she dodged his attack.

“Just look a little sad, Mom, and maybe tell him you’d be ‘ever so grateful’ and he’ll drop everything to do iiiaaaAAAAH!!”

Shadow had managed to catch Rouge and pin her down on the couch. “Take it back.”

“Never.” she said, smiling sweetly at him.

The hybrid prepared himself to inflict some sort of punishment (messing up her makeup, perhaps, or tickling) when he was hoisted bodily and flung over a very square and very metallic shoulder.

“Umph.” he wheezed in a very undignified manner as Omega hauled him out of the room.

The robot looked very pleased with himself. “Ah yes. Revenge is truly sweet.”

...

“Alright, guys!” Rouge announced after breakfast. “It’s perfect weather out, so you know what we’re gonna do? We are going sledding.”

Shadow- who had been cleaning up and lost in thought- nearly hit the ceiling. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t worry, hon, we’ll get you all wrapped up first.” Rouge said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The hybrid’s body immediately sagged in poorly disguised relief.

Five minutes later, Shadow wore three layers of shirts, a coat, sweatpants, snow boots, thick gloves, a hat, and a scarf. “I look like an idiot.” he growled.

“Would you prefer to be cold?” Omega asked him dryly.

Shadow shuddered at the very thought. Pulling his clothes a little tighter, he was suddenly launched back into the past, a very particular memory running through his mind.

“You ready for lessons today, Shadow?” a young, blond-haired girl asked.

Maria.

Shadow, at the perky young age of two and two-thirds (eight mentally), leaned on the edge of her bed, smiling. “Always!”

Professor Gerald entered shortly with their lesson for the day- exponentials for Maria and multiplying fractions for Shadow- and began to teach.

As Shadow worked on his problems later, the professor’s voice going on in the background as he spoke to his granddaughter, he began to notice his fingers trembling. Weird.

The longer he worked, the more it spread, until his fur was bristling and his whole body shook occasionally. But he was the Ultimate Lifeform! He was made to be tough!

So he kept on going.

Eventually, his breath began to come short and his teeth clicked together. He accidentally dropped his pencil, his fingers trembling too much to hold it.

Maria noticed.

“Shadow, are you alright?” she asked. “Come here for a second…”

He walked over, trying to keep his legs from shaking and failing miserably. She reached out to touch his arm, but gasped as soon as she felt his fur.

“Maria!” he cried out, worried. “Maria, what’s wrong?”

“You’re freezing, Shadow! Come here…”

She pulled him onto the bed next to her, the warm quilt on it keeping her from struggling as Shadow had.

He let out an involuntary sigh as warmth began to flood his body, melting away the shudders and allowing his breathing to return to normal.

“Strange…” the professor had said, after getting Shadow a warm jacket to wear. “This was unexpected- I didn’t think it was so cold! I know the temperature on the space station is meant to simulate wintertime inside on Earth, but it’s only an indoor climate.” He’d later discovered that Shadow’s DNA predisposed him to get cold easily.

Or as Rouge put it: “You’re half lizard, hon. I’m honestly surprised you don’t spend all day lying on hot rocks when it’s cold.”

That event had led to a lifelong hatred of Space Colony ARK’s air conditioning (and several heated glares at the ventilation system for Maria’s benefit).

And then…

Shadow remembered what it felt like to have ice cover his body. When he’d woken up from his frozen sleep, he’d been filled with a chill he just couldn’t shake.

He’d been able to ignore it in his quest for revenge, but from then until he finally went Super, he had struggled to become warm, even in the tropical heat of the jungle. A cold sensation had settled in his very bones.

But now, he no longer felt frozen inside, and the cold was just an irritation, albeit a slightly more emotionally charged one.

Wasn’t everything.

Rouge and Omega had both been incredibly understanding, though. The bat had never made him go outside when it was cold, and she often dumped armfuls of blankets on him at random moments. (He appreciated it more than he let on.) The E-series robot was more subtle in his support, doing things like handing Shadow an extra scarf before he left their house or silently placing a mug of hot chocolate next to him when he shivered.

And now, they were standing in front of him, having packed all of these clothes for his benefit.

Somehow, Shadow couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

“No,” he sighed, “I suppose I don’t.”

“Alright, guys, let’s go!” Rouge practically dragged them out the door, pushing Shadow up onto Omega’s shoulders and then flying up to grab his hands once they were outside.

“I will never comprehend how such a small being has the power to lift both myself and Shadow.” Omega commented as they took off.

“Lots of practice- hff- and weight training- hh- does the trick.” Rouge gasped, evidently straining to keep them in the air. “I’m- ngh- out of practice.”

“It’s fine, Rouge.” Shadow said, his voice muffled by the scarf. “Take your time.”

Eventually, they made it to a giant hill with an incredibly steep slope. As they trudged up to the top, the (relatively) small hedgehog began to notice just how very angled and high the incline was...

Shadow regretted everything.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Rouge?” he asked, watching as Omega lay down on what would have been his chest to be the actual sled.

“Of course, hon! It’s going to be great!”

“Uh…” the hedgehog muttered nervously, even as he allowed Rouge to pull him onto the robot’s back. “I…”

“Alright let’s go.” Omega said quickly, firing his rocket boosters.

Rouge whooped and Shadow (to his eternal shame) screamed as they blasted down the hill at top speed, flying across a patch of ice at the bottom and skidding to a stop several yards away. Panting heavily from his adrenaline rush, Shadow fought to get his thoughts in order. “That...that was….”

“Awesome!” Rouge shouted. “We’re doing that again!”

“...alright?” Shadow agreed. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, but it was a little fun.

The next time, Rouge tried lying down and yelled the whole way- not being able to see where you were going made things a lot more scary. Omega tried carrying them up to the top of the hill as well, completely eliminating the usual grind of dragging a sled up the slope that came with this activity. Shadow got into it eventually, clearly enjoying himself despite the fact that he never quite yelled like Rouge as they careened wildly downhill.

Eventually, Rouge convinced Shadow to try lying down as well. “Don’t worry, hon, I’ll hang onto you and make sure nothing bad happens.” she reassured him.

“Okay...okay. Just make sure you hold on tight.” Shadow groaned, clinging to Omega with enough force to strain his fingers.

They blasted off down the hill and Shadow shouted in surprise- this was so much more intense! He felt every bump and jolt all the way down, but it was all fun.

Until Rouge yelled, “Omega! Tree!!”

Shadow gasped, startled. There was a tree and it was coming up-!

Omega fired his left booster, spinning them far away from the tree. Unfortunately, that meant spinning literally, as he’d majorly overcompensated for the potential collision. Whirling around in a circle, both Shadow and Rouge were thrown off. The bat managed to catch herself mid-air with her wings, but the shaken hedgehog wasn’t quite as lucky.

Shadow’s vision went completely white. For a moment, he feared he’d hit his head- but it was only snow. He sighed in relief.

That feeling didn’t last long, though, as he felt the cold begin to seep in from all sides. Panic wormed its way into his chest- and then when he tried to move, he could only push helplessly against the lightly packed material.

Calm down. It’s only snow. Rouge and Omega will be here any minute now.

He took a deep breath.

And another.

And then Omega was there, clasping his hand to pull him out of the snow, and Rouge was sitting on his shoulder, looking worried but pleased to see him alright.

“I’m so sorry, hon, I didn’t mean for that to happen…” she said sympathetically.

“Neither did I.” Omega added, and Shadow noticed that the robot wasn’t quite looking him in the eye.

The cold was quickly banished with yet another reminder of just how much his friends cared. “It’s fine. I just…” He looked away, a little embarrassed. “I did what the therapist told me to do and just breathed, and waited for you.”

“Awww, that’s good, hon! Tolja therapy’d help somehow.” Rouge smirked at him, but it was all warmth and kindness underneath.

Shadow shuffled awkwardly in the snow. “It seems that way...I’ve decided to keep going with it, after all.”

“Excellent.” Omega said, and Shadow felt even better. “Now we should get back. Shadow appears to require the immediate application of blankets and hot cocoa.”

The snowy, slushy hedgehog was not in the mood to protest, and simply said, “Yes. Now.”

...

Two pairs of red eyes narrowed in a face-off. It had taken their owners over an hour to get to this point- the final competition. The winner of this match would be crowned champion.

About half of Rouge’s family watched, holding their breath as Shadow opened his mouth to speak.

“E-4.”

“Miss.”

“Dammit!”

Shadow didn’t care one bit who might hear him swear right now, his teeth gritted and mind racing a mile a minute. He was supposed to be good at tactics and strategy, yet here he was losing at Warboat. Badly.

Three of his ships, covered in red markers, lay slain off to one side. Meanwhile, Omega had only lost one and a half of his. Accursed computer processors.

The hedgehog was certain that Omega would have a gigantic grin on his face, if it were possible for him to produce one. As it was, he stared constantly at Shadow, even as he moved his markers around.

“C-6.”

Shadow felt relief flood his very soul. “Miss.”

It didn’t take long for Shadow’s fourth ship to get knocked out, even as he still searched for Omega’s third. He was getting trounced, and he knew it. Yet still, somehow, he had a shred of hope.

But then, two rounds later, he snarled furiously when Omega switched his LED eyes from full circles to half-moons- an evident hint at a smile.

“H-2.”

Shadow’s stomach dropped. “No!”

“Yes.” the robot said proudly, before planting a red marker on his board.

The hedgehog began to search frantically for Omega’s ship, his moves becoming increasingly random and less thought-out as imminent destruction closed in.

Finally, something happened. “A-1.”, he muttered, resigned to his painful end.

“...hit.”

“Yessss.” Shadow hissed, somehow feeling triumph despite his imminent defeat.

“Yay.” Rouge remarked dryly from the spectating area. “Consolation prize.”

“Shut uuup.” he whined petulantly, before realizing how very relaxed his demeanor had become. Straightening his back and smoothing down his quills, he allowed that familiar blank expression to settle back into place. “No distracting the players, please.” he added coolly.

Was it him, or was that a flash of...disappointment he caught from her?

Anyhow, he lost on the very next turn. Grumbling quietly, he went to sit down on a couch as Omega partied loudly with all of the children, blasting up-tempo dance music from his speakers.

It was one of the children (such sweet little kids, some of them were) who suggested that they make trophies. Pulling out cardboard and paper to draw on, they quickly made little certificates and gold, silver and bronze medals. One parent found some ribbon to thread through a punched-out hole, and then the little ones all scrambled to set up a proper ceremony “like on TV”.

As Shadow bent down to receive his handmade medal and crayon certificate, he knew without a doubt that this was being saved. For good.

…

Later, Shadow was relaxing in his bedroom when Rouge’s mother walked in, Omega following behind her.

“Oh, good, I’ve found you!” she said, her voice bright as always, but...off, this time. “Would you mind coming with me for a minute?”

As Shadow followed her out of the room, exchanging bewildered looks with Omega, he realized what the strange tone was.

Her voice was brittle. Fragile. As though it might break if one of them spoke wrong.

They entered a different room, one high up and far away from the rest of the party. Rouge’s mother stood in front of them for a moment, pulling at her sweater before deciding to sit down. She looked at her gloves for a moment, clearly thinking…

And then promptly burst into tears.

The two were incredibly startled at this, and despite both being relatively...emotionally inexperienced, they gathered around her to try and help.

“Uh...I...is something wrong?” Shadow asked, immediately kicking himself mentally. Of course something’s wrong, people don’t cry if everything’s perfectly fine!

Omega, thankfully, got straight to the point. “What is it?”

“It’s...no, no, it was...Rouge.” the bat said, her voice sounding choked.

“Rouge?!” Shadow’s quills bristled. “What happened?”

“She...when Rouge came back. From her two years, you know, away-”

Shadow and Omega did know, now.

“-she came to the party two years ago, and she was different. She was cold, and distant, didn’t talk, and only laughed a- at people, not with them.”

Rouge? Cold and distant?!

“She wouldn’t talk to anybody about her life- the only reason I even knew she worked for G.U.N. was the logo on the paychecks she sent. When she stopped sending those, after I told her the news about Camellia- she took that well enough, but after that...I heard nothing. Nothing, for almost ten months.”

Omega’s eyes were wide, and Shadow was sure his own were as well.

“A-and then one day, she called me up. Her voice was different. Warmer. Happier. She apologized for her silence, and said she’d been in a bad place. I blamed myself, and accepted her apology, of course. She had to grow up so young, do so much all by herself… and she paid the price for it...for a while.

“And then I happened to look at an old article a couple weeks later, and I realized why she was better- and I couldn’t believe I’d missed it. My baby girl, in the news! And of all the things...fighting a world-renowned supervillain alongside the likes of Sonic the Hedgehog!

“But that wasn’t why she was better. No, when I started searching the internet frantically and saw her perched on the shoulder of a massive black and red robot, laughing uproariously- when I finally worked up the courage to go to her social media pages and saw, not darkness and pain, but her with an arm slung tightly around a young striped hedgehog, flashing the biggest smile I’d seen in years, I knew.”

Shadow’s hands were jittery and he really wished his heart would stop beating so loudly.

“It was both of you. I never found out the specifics as to how she met you two- I hope she’ll tell me the story someday- but you saved her from all of it. She had coworkers, sure, some nicer than others, but you gave her friends, and ones who understood her position at that.

“And this year- getting into a snowball fight! Telling silly stories at the dinner table! She would never have done that last year, mark my words.”

Rouge’s mother was smiling broadly through her tears now, looking at both of them. She reached out and hugged Omega, tightly but quickly, and did the same for Shadow, leaving him dumbfounded. “Just- I-

“Thank you.”

Shadow sat there for a minute, unable to do anything other than keep a hand on her shoulder. Suddenly, though, he noticed some movement by the door, and spun around to see Rouge standing there, absolutely silent as mascara-filled tears streamed down her face. Her hand was clamped over her mouth, presumably to keep from making any noise.

“Rouge?” her mother asked, startled.

“Mooommmmm….” she whined, her own voice sounding tight- and then she rushed across the room and into her mother’s arms. “I love you, Mom.”

Shadow tried very hard to ignore the burning sensation just behind his eyes.

“You’re right. About, like, all of it.” Rouge said quietly, once she was finished crying with her mom. “Nothing here mattered to me when I was out there every day being, basically a soldier, y’know?”

She sighed, wiping more tears from the corners of her eyes, and stood up. “I think now’s a good time to say something that I’ve been thinking about for a while. Sorry if it isn’t perfect-” she laughed thickly- “I’m not exactly in the best state right now.”

Rouge’s mother smiled at her. “I’ll give you three some privacy, then.” she said gently, closing the door on her way out.

After she left, the younger bat resumed her impromptu speech. “Okay. Omega....chaos. Omega. Ohhh man.” She pointed at him. “That day? When you busted out of heckin’ nowhere and started blasting your machine guns like mad? O-one of the best days of my life. Wanna know why? I met you.”

Omega looked very fixedly at a point on the wall behind her.

“You literally carry me places. You crush our enemies with your epic missiles and fists of steel. You helped me prank Knuckles so bad he was checking everywhere for traps for the next week. You’re so fun and I just. You. Awesome. I can’t explain it properly right now but hopefully I’ll get to do a lot more of that later. You’re the best ever.”

“I…” Omega sounded like he was at a loss for words. “I am...honestly extremely flattered by this statement. I will continue to carry you places and destroy all who oppose us.”

“Awesome.” Rouge grinned.

“Aaaand Shadow.” She wheeled to face him, and the hedgehog in question attempted to mentally prepare himself and failed horribly. “You. You are so cool there are no words to describe it. And I don’t mean because you own a motorbike or you dress in all black or any of that stuff.

“I mean because like half the people who’ve been important in your life so far have been trying to kick the ever-loving hell out of you...and yet you get up each and every single time they do it and win. Honestly...I’m proud to know you, Shadow. And I hope you know that if you need me, for anything ever, know that I will give up the Master Emerald in a hot second to help.

“So yeah. And you’re the first guy I’ve ever met who’s actually willing to talk makeup- let alone likes it. The one who tries all the new restaurants with me. And the only person I will ever know who can somehow handle going to the mall with me more than once in a week.” Rouge finished with a smirk. “I guess you really are Ultimate.”

Everyone in the room who had tear ducts was currently using them. A lot.

Shadow sniffed furiously and wiped tears from his eyes. “Th- thank you…” He cursed internally as his voice betrayed him.

“Oh yeah, get ready for more.” Rouge warned him. “There’s more.”

The hybrid’s throat tightened in response.

“You know how I said, before we came here, that you guys meant as much to me as my real family?”

“Yes?” Omega asked, his voice sounding a little quieter than usual.

“To heck with that. You guys don’t have to, like, change anything because of this, but you are my family. You’re both my real family. As real as Mom is.” Rouge said, her words shaky yet determined.

Shadow felt as though he’d just been struck by a bolt of lightning. Dazed, he swayed slightly, clinging to the edge of his seat.

Family?

Is...is Rouge...is Omega….

He began to hyperventilate just thinking about it, just considering that after all he’d been through, after everything he’d lived through- at the end of it all, waiting for him, right now, was a--

“Shadow. Shadow, hold your breath.” Omega reminded him, and he shut his mouth and clasped his hands tightly for a minute.

A family? My family?!

“I- yes. Please. Yes. Family sounds good.” Shadow managed to stammer.

“Well, then!” Rouge said, looking pleased. “Now I get to assume the official Big Sister duties of kicking anyone who dares look at you wrong and buying you food.”

Shadow blushed a little. “Rouge. I don’t need protecting like that...”

“I know, but since when’s that going to stop me?” she asked. “And don’t start complaining- being the baby brother’s the good life, from what I’ve heard.”

A fresh wave of tears poured down his face at the words ‘baby brother’.

Of course, that was when Omega decided to go completely off the rails. “Am I the middle sibling or the youngest?”

Shadow and Rouge stared at him for a second. Then they both started laughing wildly, the toll of the various emotional highs and lows hitting them all at once.

“M-middle one.” Rouge gasped out eventually. “Definitely, the attention-seeking middle sibling.”

Omega made angry eyes for a second, but reconsidered. “Fine. That...yes, that works.”

“Family group hug?” Rouge suggested, smiling warmly at them both.

Shadow nodded weakly. “F-family group hug.”

Omega picked them both up and held them tightly. “You both will always be my favorite organic beings.”

“Thanks, Omega.” Rouge said, squeezing them both a little tighter.

…

A couple of hours later, Shadow was pulled out of his room for the third time in two days, again by Rouge’s mother. “Sorry to bother you, honey, I just wondered...would you mind giving us a hand with dinner? You were such a great help with breakfast that Cami and I had hoped....”

Curse you, Rouge.

So now he was in the kitchen. Again.

Only things were very different this time. Now, there were about ten people in there, all rushing around in some complicated pattern and carrying hot, cold, cooked, uncooked, and various other kinds of dishes all over without running into each other.

Somehow.

Shadow, despite feeling very overwhelmed and (strangely) underqualified, took one step into the fray- and immediately jumped several feet straight back as he was nearly mowed down by one of Rouge’s auncles rushing past with some sort of casserole.

“Sorry, kiddo!” they yelled over their shoulder, handing off the dish to someone else before sprinting back across the kitchen. Seconds later, another relative vaulted over the island in the middle of the room to get to the sink as quickly as possible, while carrying a semi-full plate that he somehow managed to keep steady.

The hybrid suddenly remembered several battles and sparring matches that he’d participated in. This...actually looked a lot like those.

He locked eyes with Rouge’s stepmother. She didn’t have time to say anything to him, instead just tilting her head in one direction. Shadow’s eyes snapped to a frying pan left unattended and knew what he had to do.

He took a running start and launched himself clear over several people’s heads before sticking the landing right in front of the pan. Several people applauded, and one person- the vaulting relative from earlier- frowned, having been severely upstaged.

So it was a competition, then?

Shadow looked directly at him and smiled like a feral shark.

...

The wild food preparation/parkour show finished with several people throwing the food to each other across the room like in a musical (Shadow thanked his lucky stars that he’d caught his- it was made of glass), and he decided it only existed because Rouge’s family was extremely over-the-top.

Immediately following that, everyone gathered around for another large dinner, during which Shadow only ate a little. And after too many more embarrassing stories, everyone gathered into a room to watch one of those cheesy Wintersweek romance movies that always came out in droves at this time of year.

Shadow said that they were all incredibly cookie-cutter style stories, each one following the exact same plot. Rouge claimed they were uplifting, fun stories and that she didn’t care if they were all the same. Omega liked to categorize all of the things that were wrong with them, so he was willing to sit with Rouge as she watched them.

The hybrid had scoffed cynically and walked away, filling the kitchen sink with water in the next room over and making a big deal out of clattering the plates around that he planned to wash.

Romance movies were so overrated.

Shadow could still see the screen through the doorway (not that he wanted to), and despite his wishes, the movie kept distracting him. He couldn’t stop himself from looking up to see what was going on.

It appeared to be a classic enemies to lovers story, as currently the shy young woman with a rock band shirt- who also happened to be the main star (cliche alert)- was glowering furiously at the trendy, popular blonde movie star. Who was, of course, berating the main character for her poor customer service.

At a coffee shop.

Shadow sighed loudly.

And of course, just as he’d suspected (he wasn’t paying that much attention to the movie all these films were the same really) they both ended up competing. In a Wintersweek cooking competition.

The movie star was confident she would win. Her film crew was ever-present, taking all the best shots of her as she ‘worked’.

Obviously, the main character was determined to beat her through hard work and skill. She was fully prepared to show this star just who she was dealing with…

...and all that and so on. Shadow rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the soapy water.

And then (this movie was like every single other one!!) their partners both came down with an illness that wiped out several other competitors as well. So naturally they were forced to work together. And of course they worked well, too.

(Shadow had stopped working on the dishes by now. Somewhere around here, he’d forgotten to look away.)

By the time these two had begun to look past each other’s flaws and see the real person beneath them, his eyes were riveted to the screen. It was still bad, he told himself, even as he watched every move they made. It was still bad.

They were working together now, smiling slowly and talking quickly and sometimes, occasionally, laughing. The obligatory hands-touching-by- accident scene happened. The two looked into each other’s eyes.

Shadow couldn’t decide how he felt anymore. Confusing emotions swirled inside him.

The kiss scene. (He saw it coming a mile away.)

The awkwardness. (Just to build up the tension.)

Their lips meet. (And a little voice deep down inside Shadow whispers…

...that feels right.)

The hybrid didn’t move a muscle for the next several minutes of the movie, refusing to miss a moment.

The couple won the competition. Of course, he thought, some form of rational thought returning to him. That was to be expected.

As the movie ended on their celebratory kiss, Shadow began, strangely, to feel as though someone had just punched him in the chest. When the credits rolled, he left, walking away from the movie, trying to get rid of this strange sensation.

He heard the click of Rouge’s high heels follow a minute after. And then the stomp of Omega’s ironclad steps.

Folding his arms, he tried to project an I-don’t-care attitude. Unfortunately for him, Rouge and Omega could a) tell that he was projecting said attitude and b) figured out quickly what he was really thinking. Curses.

“Was it the movie?” Omega asked bluntly.

The only acknowledgment Shadow gave was a slight twitch of his shoulders up and down.

“Did you hate it?” Rouge questioned.

Again, just a twitch of the shoulders.

They both studied him for a second.

“No…” the bat whispered, her teal-shadowed eyes widening. “No, you liked it! You liked it!”

“I did not!” Shadow spat furiously, more venom than he’d intended finding its way into his voice.

“You did.” Omega said. It wasn’t a question.

“I mean…” he sighed, looking away. “Let’s not talk about it, okay?”

“Come on, Shadow…” Rouge said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Please?” Omega asked.

The hybrid groaned. “I...it was just- it wasn’t good, are we clear? It was just sappy. But. If you insist. I suppose...romance...argh. I can’t say it!”

“It’s okay, hon, just be patient.” Rouge said soothingly.

“Ugh...I mean...I’ve never dated someone before. Is it...really that nice?” Shadow muttered. His eyes narrowed, daring them to taunt him.

Omega looked at him, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “You want to date someone?”

“Wh-no, not like that! I- I mean...not just anyone…” he sputtered.

“So you’ve got someone in mind, then?” Rouge smirked at him, raising a brow.

“No!” he snapped, his eyes wide. “I- just meant- promise me you’ll never set me up on a blind date, are we clear?”

“Promise.” she said. “And I’m not crossing my fingers, either.” The bat waved both of them in front of her to demonstrate.

“However, we will force you to converse with others at future social events.” Omega declared. “I have heard that this is the first step in a successful relationship.”

Shadow scowled, but without any real heat. “Don’t you dare.”

Rouge giggled. “No more sulking edgily in the corner for you, emo-hog!”

He groaned. “Are you both turning against me? Really?”

“Of course we are.” Omega remarked. “That is exactly what family is for.”

“I don’t know whether to feel flattered or irritated.” Shadow grumbled.

“Flattered. Definitely~.” Rouge quipped with a wink.

“Ugh. Well, I’m going to bed now. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.” he sighed, stalking out of the room.

“Aw, come on, Shadow!” the bat said teasingly. “Don’t you want to watch the sequel?”

The hybrid spun around so fast his quills nearly sliced up the doorway. “I’m sorry, the what now?”

“The sequel.” Omega repeated flatly. “You know you do.”

He hesitated.

“Fine.” Shadow growled through gritted teeth, his hands occasionally clenching into fists. “But only if I get to run commentary with Omega.”

“Sounds fair!” Rouge chirped, flying off with the other two right behind her.

As they walked away, Shadow in the back, he allowed himself a small, secret smile. They truly cared about him, and he knew they only wanted to see him happy. The teasing was all their way of showing affection. His eyes began to glimmer softly with a faint hint of happiness as fond thoughts and memories drifted through his mind. One sentence, though, stood out above all the rest.

I love my family.

#shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #e 123 omega #team dark: a holiday special #team dark #several other things i should probably mention:#please please please don't sled down a hill while lying down #you might crash into a tree #only do so if you are on top of a sentient robot that can steer for you #also i will give omega ALL of the cool upgrades #you can't stop me #and i do hope shadow's not too ooc #i tried my best (even looked up character analyses) but he's SO DIFFICULT to write well #hope you enjoyed!#there's one more part left now- we can't leave our favorite gem thief out!#sol's fanfiction

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hysterialevi · 4 years

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His Name Was Isaac - A RDR2 Fanfic

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Author’s note: Alright guys, here’s the first part of my Isaac fic! I’m not 100% sure if I’ll continue this one so please let me know if you like it. I hope you enjoy :)

Next chapter

This story is also on AO3

AMERICA, 1907

WEST ELIZABETH

Bang.

The man collapsed to the ground.

His body twitched, his face contorted, his chest spurted blood, and within a few heartbeats... he was already gone from this world.

He was dead.

Just like that.

And soon, his friend would follow with him.

Smoking pistol in hand, his assailant cocked their firearm one last time and brought their attention to the final survivor in the room, preparing to take them out.

They crawled helplessly away from their pursuer and attempted to grab the weapon of one of their fallen comrades, only to cry out in agony when the other man pressed a boot on top of their fingers, practically grinding them to dust.

“You ungrateful son-of-a-bitch...!” The victim growled through gritted teeth, his eyes wet with tears from the pain. “I knew I shoulda killed you when Whitley first brought you here...!”

His attacker disregarded the comment and simply continued to twist their heel into his hand, causing a disgusting crack to emit from their joints.

“...You expect me to be grateful?” The other man replied, his tone low and venomous. “You signed your death warrant the minute you killed my mother all them years ago. You pieces of shit ain’t even getting a fraction of what you deserve.”

The injured man remained on the floor, his jaw tightly clenched due to the ongoing pain throbbing throughout his hand.

“We let you live...” he whispered, desperately attempting to bargain with him. “We gave you a place to stay. We kept you fed. Goddammit, Isaac -- we raised you!”

Isaac glowered at the absurd statement and knelt to the ground, making sure he was face-to-face with the other man.

“No,” he corrected. “You used me. You took everything I had and then forced me to give you more. And now...”

He applied even more pressure onto the man’s hand, causing him to start weeping.

“...you’re gonna die for it.”

Knowing there was no way he was going to talk himself out of this one, the man resorted to cowardly insults and intimidation, trying his best to scare Isaac out of going after the rest of the gang, but to no avail.

“If you’re thinkin’ about tracking Whitley down too, you can forget it. He’s already long gone. He ain’t nothin’ but a ghost nowadays.”

“You think?” Isaac said. “Well, I’m not too worried about it. I managed to track you down, didn’t I?”

His victim shook his head in anger. “It’s been ten years since Whitley left our gang, Isaac. Ten. How the hell are you gonna recognize him? You’ll never find him!”

Isaac let out a chuckle and rose from the ground, finally taking his foot off the man’s hand.

“Have no fear.” He reassured, taking aim. “I already have.”

Bang.

~~~~~~~~~~

THREE DAYS LATER

RHODES, EVENING

“Blackjack!” The dealer announced after checking his cards, earning a series of groans from the two players sat around him, along with the spectating crowd. He happily removed their chips from the betting position and retrieved their cards, stacking them proudly amongst his own.

“Alright, everyone, place your bets.” He instructed once everything had been reset.

Not too confident about his luck, the first player decided to adopt a safer strategy and presented a smaller amount of chips than the last round while the second player, Eli Whitley, decided to go higher.

He scooted the chips into the small circle drawn onto the table’s surface, biting his lip in uncertainty.

“Okay, no more bets,” the dealer said, shuffling the cards. “Let’s begin.”

Placing a total of two cards in front of each player, Whitley ended up with a six and a jack while the other received a king and a queen, leaving them in a much more favorable light than Whitley himself.

The dealer addressed Whitley first, throwing a quick glance at his cards.

“We have a sixteen.” He observed.

“Hit me.” Eli said, taking a third card. This one was an eight.

“Bust.”

Whitley sighed in disappointment upon seeing the result, leaning back as the dealer took away his chips before moving on to the next player.

“Twenty.” He noted.

The player held a hand up. “I’ll stand.”

Keeping his cards in hand, the dealer returned to his own pile and began flipping them over one by one, only to end up with a nineteen.

The second player grinned proudly at that. “Well, alright then!”

“...Dammit.” Whitley muttered to himself. Tonight was not his night.

Repeating the cycle as always, the dealer cleaned up the table once again and put everyone’s cards back into the stack while also giving out the appropriate number of chips, only to perk his head up in interest when a third man joined the game.

“Welcome, sir.” The dealer greeted.

“Evening, gentlemen.” He replied casually, settling down two seats over from where Whitley was.

The new player caught Whitley’s attention.

He appeared to be much younger than everyone else at the table, and had a head of wavy, blond hair as well as a thick layer of scruff outlining his jaw. He carried the look of someone who was no stranger to traveling around the country and also kept a beautiful revolver on his waist, allowing it to hang just beside the rim of his rugged duster coat.

Though, what really intrigued Whitley was the man’s eyes. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something strangely familiar about them. Like... he had seen this man before. No names were coming to Whitley’s mind at the moment, and he was fairly certain he had never ran into this young man in the past, but everything about him just screamed, “you know me.”

Well, Whitley supposed it wouldn’t hurt to ask and turned to face the new player, curious to learn who he truly was.

“Hey there, partner.” He said, leaning forward. “Have we met before? You seem... familiar.”

The player simply carried on with the game, clearly not sharing Whitley’s sense of recognition.

“I don’t think so, mister. I’m usually pretty good at remember peoples’ faces, but...yours don’t ring any bells.”

Still, Eli was determined. “What about my name? You know anyone called Eli Whitley?”

The young man’s expression paused for a moment upon hearing his name -- as if he suddenly remembered who Whitley was -- but then returned to its natural state as he placed a small stack of chips in the betting ring.

“I’m afraid not. Sorry, mister.”

Whitley furrowed his brow in disappointment and confusion.

“Hmm... strange. Perhaps I’m mistakin’ you for someone else.”

The young man smiled in a friendly manner. “No worries. I guess I just have one of those faces.”

Letting their conversation drop there, Whitley fell back into silence as the dealer continued on with the game and began making his way around the table, starting with the new player.

“I see a twelve.” He examined.

“Hit me.”

The dealer placed another card down. “Eighteen.”

The young man held a hand up, signaling a stand. He moved on to Whitley.

“Fourteen.” He announced. Eli decided to take a risk and placed another stack of chips in the ring.

“I’ll double down.”

The dealer gave him an extra card, presenting a jack. “Bust.”

“Damn...!” Whitley cursed under his breath, shaking his head as his chips were whisked away. He could hear a few scattered moans of discouragement coming from the crowd.

“Welp...” He said with a lighthearted shrug, “I never did have much luck with gambling.”

The young man laughed softly at that and slid his cards back to the dealer.

“No, you didn’t.”

Whitley froze at the comment.

Wait, what?

What the hell was going on with this guy? Didn’t he just say that he had no idea who Whitley was? And now he was talking as if he knew him? Perhaps there was some sort of misunderstanding in their little exchange that Whitley failed to catch.

Eli jolted his head in the young man’s direction, admittedly somewhat perplexed by what was happening.

“Hang on a minute, I thought you didn’t--”

Just before he could finish speaking however, a fourth player decided to jump into the game and occupied the seat between Whitley and the blond haired man, blocking his line of sight. Eli tilted his body so that he could see around the newcomer and leaned back a tad, only to find himself staring at nothing more than an empty chair.

“What in the world...?” He murmured.

Whitley was beside himself with bewilderment.

Where did the man go? Who was he? How did he disappear so fast? Was he even real? Or did Eli just have one too many drinks tonight?

Well, whatever was going on, Whitley started to suspect that Blackjack wasn’t the only game being played. Clearly, the young man knew significantly more than he let on, and Eli was beginning to suspect that his true intentions were far from innocent.

Deciding to call it a day, Whitley returned his cards to the dealer and stood up from the table, fully determined to find that young man now. He had about a thousand questions swimming through his head at the moment, and by God was he going to get some answers.

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE RHODES, MIDNIGHT

Squeak.

That was all Whitley could hear as his lantern swayed back and forth with his horse’s movement, causing his shadow to warp into all sorts of ominous shapes on the dirt road beneath him.

At the moment, Eli was trying to locate the young man in the fields just outside of Rhodes, but the nightfall in this area was brutal. Even with a flame to help guide the way, the darkness still managed to swallow the light of his lantern whole, and it also nearly enveloped his vision completely.

There was nothing around him except for endless fields of grass shrouded by utter blackness, and in the distance, Whitley could’ve sworn he saw an abandoned barn standing behind a misty layer of fog.

“...Jesus Christ...” He muttered, admittedly feeling on edge.

What was he doing out here? Was it even worth it to find this boy? For all Whitley knew, that young man could’ve been absolutely no one special, and he could’ve just been wasting his time out here like a complete moron, searching an answer that didn’t exist.

But no... it wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be. It was clear that the man knew who Eli was. He knew his face. He knew his name. And somehow, he knew Eli would be in Rhodes tonight.

Whitley just had no idea how.

Pushing further into the night, Eli decided to make a beeline straight for the barn and lightly whipped the reins on his horse, urging it to go into a steady trot.

Despite all the fog surrounding the eerie structure, Whitley managed to spot the soft orange glow of another lantern sitting outside the barn’s doors, indicating that someone else might’ve been there, too.

Even if it wasn’t the young man, Whitley still felt a wave of relief rush over him nonetheless. There was no denying that these empty fields made him uneasy, and with the odd encounter he had at the Blackjack table earlier, he wanted nothing more than to return to his room until the world realigned itself.

Cautiously approaching the barn, Eli squinted through the darkness and held his lantern up a bit, hoping to catch a glimpse of what lay ahead.

Not too far away from him, it looked like there was another horse hitched by the barn’s entrance, and -- if Eli’s eyes weren’t deceiving him -- a person sitting on top of it as well. Their back was turned to Whitley at the moment, but there was no one else accompanying the stranger as far as he could tell, so he assumed it would be safe to introduce himself. Perhaps they were another lost soul, hopelessly trying to find their way around these winding meadows.

“Um, excuse me, sir?” Whitley called out, getting off his mount. “Or ma’am...?”

He walked over to the other horse, curious to see who this stranger was.

“I apologize for intruding, but I was wonderin’ if you could help me find my way back to town. It’s a hell of a lot darker out here than I first anticipated, and I seemed to have gotten myself turned around. Would you be so kind as to--”

Finally standing next to his new friend, it didn’t take long for Whitley to notice that the stranger was no person at all, and in fact, a simple scarecrow that had been placed on top of the saddle.

“What in the hell...?” Eli whispered in a baffled voice, observing the decoy.

That was when someone suddenly shot him from behind, planting a bullet in his leg.

“Shit!” He hissed, falling to the ground as smoke rose from his shattered kneecap and the horses whinnied in fear.

Tightly clutching his leg, Whitley heard the distant sound of someone cocking their gun, followed by a chain of footsteps emerging from the shadows that eventually led to his side.

“No wonder you have such bad luck with gambling,” a familiar voice remarked. “You’re far too predictable, Whitley.”

Holding onto his wounded knee as he writhed on the ground like a worm on a hook, Eli gazed upwards at his assailant and saw the same man from before, only with a completely different temperament this time.

As opposed to the casual, laid-back demeanor he carried during the game of Blackjack, he now lacked any empathy in his expression, and didn’t seem to hold even a shred of remorse in his conscience. His blue eyes were narrow with a sense of hatred, and the angled light coming from Eli’s fallen lantern cast a number of shadows across the man’s face that only seemed to sharpen his glare.

Whitley let out a series of rapid, shaky breaths, attempting to speak through the pain.

“W-Who the hell... are you?” He groaned out. “Why are you doin’ this...?!”

The young man kept his pistol aimed at Eli and slapped his horse with the other, scaring it off as a way to ensure Whitley had no means to escape.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember.” He answered vaguely. “I know it’s been over ten years, but seein’ as how you was drowning your sorrows in the parlor house back there, I figured you hadn’t forgotten.”

Eli sighed in frustration, his voice becoming more ragged due to anger. “Enough games, sir! Just gimme your name so I can know what the hell is goin’ on! Haven’t you played with me enough?”

“Not really,” the young man disagreed, “but I ain’t got any more time to waste on you. So consider yourself lucky. For once.”

Circling around Whitley like a vulture observing its meal, the young man finally decided to come clean and crouched next to Eli’s face, making sure his revolver was ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

“Fifteen years ago or so... you and your ‘associates’ may have robbed a small cabin...? Killed the owner in the process, too. A young woman, barely into her twenties. Her name was Eliza, and she had a son as well.”

He paused, holding up a finger. “Oh, but you didn’t kill her son. Instead, you took him in. Forced him to work for your gang, and then dug another grave by his mother’s to ensure his daddy wouldn’t come after him.”

The man aggressively pressed the barrel of his pistol against Whitley’s temple, nearly digging it through his skull as he growled his next words.

“Any of this ringin’ a bell now?”

Suddenly realizing just who this man was, Whitley’s eyes sprung wide open in remembrance as he gaped at his captor with a horrified look, finally understanding what all of this was about.

“...I-Isaac Morgan?” He breathed out in disbelief. “Is that you? My God... y-you was just a little boy the last time I saw you.”

Isaac nodded as confirmation, appearing satisfied with the answer. “If I recall correctly, you left your gang members behind ‘cause you couldn’t... ‘deal with the guilt anymore.”

Whitley closed his eyes in shame, unwilling to relive the tragic memory.

“...It was one of our first jobs, Isaac. We never meant to kill Eliza. We only wanted her money. But people just panicked, things got escalated, and -- for God’s sake -- it was an accident! Okay? The trigger went off and we couldn’t just undo it!”

Isaac shrugged at Eli’s confession, evidently not taking a word of it in. “I don’t care. Your ‘accident’ cost me my family, my home, and my childhood. And there ain’t no way in hell you can give any of that back, so I’ll just settle for takin’ your life. But before I do...”

He took a handful of Whitley’s collar, yanking the man’s face closer to his own. “...Tell me where Mackintosh is.”

Eli furrowed his brows at that. “Shay Mackintosh? How on earth would I know?”

“You and Mackintosh were practically brothers before you left the gang. You must know something!”

Whitley raised his hands in a diplomatic manner. “Look, I haven’t spoken to Mackintosh in years! I have no idea where he could be!”

Isaac pulled the hammer on his pistol down, afterwards pointing it at Eli’s other knee. “Well, you better give me something.”

“Wait!” The other man exclaimed, starting to panic. “Just wait! I’ve... I’ve heard rumors of him runnin’ around with the Van der Linde gang recently. Apparently, he’s one of them now.”

Morgan wasn’t quite finished with interrogating him yet. “The Van der Linde gang? Who are they? Where can I find them?”

“I don’t know,” Whitley answered truthfully. “I’ve never met them before. All I know is if you wanna find them, you gotta find Dutch van der Linde first. He’s their leader. He’s the one in charge.”

“...Dutch van der Linde...” Isaac repeated to himself, taking a mental note of the name. “Alright, then. I’ll go find him. And Mackintosh, too. Seems you ain’t completely useless, after all.”

“But what about Baumann and Blackmore?” Eli questioned, confused as to why Isaac stopped his interrogation there. “Aren’t you gonna look for them as well?”

Isaac stood up from the dirt path and patted any dust off his coat, averting his aim back to Whitley’s head.

“No need. They’re already dead.”

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #isaac morgan #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #Micah Bell #rdr2 oc

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makeawisdom · 4 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Verin Thelyss, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Essek Thelyss Characters: Essek Thelyss, Verin Thelyss Additional Tags: Just two siblings talking about feelings, established shadowgast Summary:

Verin noticed his internal conflict, but he wasn't able to guess Essek's train of thought. He stood up and look him in the eye. “Why him, Essek? Why is he so special?”

(In which the Mighty Nein have been invited to dinner by the Umavi Deirta Thelyss and her two children have a heart-to-heart conversation while they wait for them)

“This is all your fault”

“I don't see how it could be. I didn't do anything” answered Essek without looking at his brother. “It was our mother's idea.”

“It was our mother's idea” repeated Verin, mocking his voice. “Bullshit. It's your fault. Our lives were happy and peaceful, and we didn't gather for more than fifteen years. But then you've decided to go out of your lair and get yourself a boyfriend.”

Essek felt the warm creeping over his cheeks, but he hoped he was able to hide it well enough. He didn't want to give his brother more material that he could use against him. He already had enough of his repertoire.

“That's not the reason why she's doing this. Our mother only wants to check if the Mighty Nein could be used as leverage in her schemes.” Not that he was to allow it, but he was wiser than to confront his mother straightforwardly. He worked better behind the scene, anyway, hiding in the shadows. “And he is not my boyfriend. We're… figuring things out.”

It sounded bland and hackneyed, but it was the truth. He and Caleb talked about it, and that was their mutual agreement. Everything was overly complicated already, taking in count the Mighty Nein knew about his endeavors with the Assembly. Essek's position as regards the group was precarious, to say the least. A few of them felt some resentment against him and he couldn't blame them. It would have been understandable if they decided not to trust him ever again. Why Caleb still could have faith in him, was a mystery. Essek couldn't fathom why would he hold any sort of feelings towards him either, even if Caleb was persuasive enough to convince him that he did. Words could lie, he knew, he mastered that art. But glances, and caresses, and tender smiles between kisses were a whole different story, one than Caleb told him with blunt sincerity and Essek couldn't help believing.

“That's definitely the face of someone that is thinking of a person which is figuring things out with, sure” Verin leaned back on the armchair he had claimed and raised one eyebrow. Essek, standing, looked at him from above with a deadpan expression. “I swear I still can't believe this is happening. I was so sure you will die alone in that huge tower of yours, surrounded by thirty cats that will feast on your remains.”

“That's hilarious. Hilarious and disgusting” said Essek with a tone that expressed he didn't find it funny at all. “Don't make that kind of jokes during dinner, please”

Verin gave him a grin.

“Why not? Do you fear that I will embarrass you in front of your figuring-things-out-friend?”

“No, my sweet little brother. I fear that they might like you.”

Verin laughed wholeheartedly, making Essek crack a little smile.

“What is your opinion on this?” He knew his brother well enough to try and be more specific before he could find room for another witty comment. “About Caleb and me, I mean.”

“Hold on a second, since when do you care about what I think? Are you okay? Did you hit your head or-?”

“I know mother will expound her point of view as clearly as she likes. I was hoping that, if you have something to say as well, we can discuss it privately, so I only have to deal with one criticism at a time.”

He seems to think about it for a little while until he finally said:

“Well… he's a human. A human from the Empire. That's weird.”

“I assume it must look like it is, yes.”

“But, that's not even the weirdest thing. The worst of all is that he is a wizard. A wizard, Essek! Do you know how untrustworthy wizards are?”

Of course, Verin wasn't talking seriously, but he can't help but think of what his brother would think of him if he knew how right he was. What Essek has done. How he, unintentionally, started a war that could have endangered his own brother.

How he was responsible for their father's death.

Before meeting the Mighty Nein, those thoughts wouldn't have even made him twitch. But now…

Now…

Regret is a novelty that didn't wear off easily. He didn't use to worry about the consequences of his actions, but at that moment, he realized his ambitions could have cost him more than he was willing to pay. Only one thin thread on the big tapestry of the odds had prevented his brother from being one of the numerous corpses soiling the ground of the battlefront, instead of being there, pestering him, laughing at his own jokes.

Before meeting the Mighty Nein, he has had already so much to lose but he couldn't see it. They didn't only give him another chance; they also give him perspective.

He thought he could live with the idea of his brother hating him. Essek had been alone for so long that he believed for a matter of fact that he didn't need anyone else. But the idea of Verin finding the truth, blaming him for what he did, was terrifying.

Verin noticed his internal conflict, but he wasn't able to guess Essek's train of thought. He stood up and look him in the eye.

“Why him, Essek? Why is he so special?”

His guilt didn't disappear, but that question was enough to bring him back to the conversation. That was his current battle: his denmother, his younger brother, the dinner all of them would be sharing with the Mighty Nein in less than an hour.

One concern at a time, he told himself. The first thing was finding a good answer to his brother's question. A very uninspired one, he thought. Only the seriousness his brother used to drew it up stopped Essek from dodging it and telling him he sounded like the side character of a badly written romance novel. He couldn't do it because he knew Verin's worry was sincere and that it was his way to show it.

“He’s outstandingly intelligent. Although he’s lacking formal education, he’s a competent…”

“Blah, blah. Magical nerdy stuff is one of the reasons, I get it. I didn’t even doubt it. But if that were enough, you would have hooked up with any of those stuffy people from the Marble Conservatory, but you didn’t, and it’s not as if you didn’t have your pick. You used to have a flock of infuriating suitors.”

“Yes, and all of them were infuriating, as you’ve correctly pointed out.”

“Well… but one or two should have been salvageable, I guess. But you’ve never had a partner before. Not one I’d heard of, at least.”

“I’ve never had a partner before, period.”

“See? That’s why I’m so curious! It must be something else!”

Verin was right: there was something else, but he didn't want to talk about it. He's always been proud of being discreet, keeping his matters to himself. Verin, on the contrary, shared everything, even those things Essek would have preferred not to know. It was an unbalanced dynamic, the one that they had, but Essek felt sheltered that way, stronger. Talking about what Caleb meant to him... Essek knew it would make him seem vulnerable and he didn't want that.

But that was the point in trying to do better, wasn’t it? Doing what is necessary to improve, even when he considered it to be the last thing he wanted to do. He had a long road ahead, but he could start with that little step. He took a deep breath.

“He is… He is everything I thought I didn’t need until I had him in front of me.” His mouth started getting significantly drier with every word he said, while he felt how goosebumps claimed his entire skin. He felt awful, self-conscious, and exposed, the same way he felt beneath the deck of the Ball-Eater, the day he confessed his crimes. He hated it just as much, but that probably meant he was doing something right, so he kept going. “He’s caring and understanding. He’s fun in his own awkward, delightful way. I’m still amazed at how much kindness he can show, after… After everything. I’ve never met someone with such endurance before. He’s admirable, in every possible way.”

He gave him a second chance when any other person would have made him pay for his wrongdoings. He hoped for him to be a better person, and Essek obliged out of selfishness, as he always did. He still believed in the cause he sold his soul to. His pursuit of knowledge, crossing limits anyone else hasn’t even dared to reach. He had lived through that desire, put all his stakes on it. In an ambient where he could not thrive, surrounded by people that didn’t understand him and didn’t care for him, magic was the only thing that pushed him forward. Without that itch, without his ambitions, what was left for him?

Love, he learned that infamous night in Nicodranas. There was warmth. There was friendship. There was love.

There was Jester, lovely Jester, holding his hand.

There was Caduceus, urging him to spit his dirty secrets as if he were trying to make him vomit a poison that was killing him inside.

There was Caleb, with his eyes, and his hands, and his lips. He kissed him gently, in a moment when any other person would have landed a stab-wound between his ribs.

That’s why his change was so selfish. He could not drop every project he had fought for during all his life and change just for himself. But he could change for them. Be whatever the Mighty Nein wanted him to be: a friend, an ally, or a lover. Damn, he would even be a good person! He was trapped and enthralled, and he never, ever, would like to be let go.

Did he ever stand a chance? No, probably he didn’t, not against them, at least. Not against Caleb.

“I wasn’t seeking companionship when I first met him” Essek admitted, “but when we stumble on each other, when I had the opportunity to talk to him and get to know him better… I couldn’t help but see how similar we were, and yet so different. I don’t know how to explain it, just… Everything between us clicked together.”

“An instant connection. How romantic.” Essek was grateful for the lighthearted inflection of his brother’s voice. That was normal, familiar. It was a good grip to keep his mind from spiraling. “Who knows. Perhaps the Light pushed you two together and you are meant to be, after all. I mean, what were the odds of you finding another oddball like you?”

What were the odds, indeed.

“I don’t believe in destiny.”

“Of course you don’t. People like you have ‘destiny’ for breakfast, but even you would admit that this is some kind of divine intervention. I mean…”

“Yes, I found someone that can stand me. A miracle” Essek replied with a deadpan expression, “You might find someone someday as well, if you ever stop being a little brat.”

Verin showed him the sharp point of his fangs. Essek was sure his brother was preparing himself for the delivering of another witty comment, but instead, he just shrugged and gave him an honest smile.

“You seem quite different, I would say.”

“Well, I am different. I suppose it shows.”

After a brief pause, Verin added:

“You really love him, huh?”

Essek didn’t need to consider the answer.

“I do, Verin. I love him immensely” he admitted so naturally that he surprised himself. That was such a profound truth that he couldn’t have expressed it with less honesty, because it wouldn’t have sounded right any other way. “Not only him. I love all of them. They’ve changed my life for the better. My relationship with Caleb has indeed meant a lot of adjustments in both our lives, but it works somehow, and it makes me happier than I can express with words.”

Verin blinked once, then twice.

“That’s… wow. Just wow. It turns out that nor only you have feelings, but you’re also able to talk about them! I’m impressed, I’ll admit it.” Essek raised an eyebrow, but Verin kept talking before he could comment on anything. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m not teasing you right now… well, a little, but that’s what I always do. Believe me, I’m glad to hear you’re happy. It’s everything I could have hoped for you.”

Verin patted his shoulder a few times, a gesture that probably was just friendly between well-built soldiers, but it was a little rougher against someone as slim as Essek. He was able to keep his balance and his dignity with it. It hurt a little, but he did not express it in any way. He was too grateful for his brother’s reaction to getting mad at him for not knowing his own strength. Verin really mean everything he had said, Essek knew, and that tugged at his heartstrings. He cared; he had always had. Essek was lucky to have a brother like him, he thought.

“I have a question, though”, Verin began.

“Go ahead, please.”

Verin grinned.

“May I call that Caleb brother-in-law?”

Essek didn't hesitate.

“Don't you dare.”

***

Fun fact: If ‘Person A talking about their feelings for Person B with Person C’ can be considered a trope, it’s my favorite one.

Fun fact 2: This is not really my hc for Verin and Essek’s relationship. I think they hate each other’s guts, but I started writing this and I thought: ‘Oh, okay, this dynamic is wholesome. I’ll stick with it’

#critical role #campaign 2 #essek thelyss #verin thelyss #caleb widogast #shadowgast #text post #fanfic

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gstqaobc · 3 years

Text

THE ROYAL FASCINATOR

Friday, May 21, 2021

Hello, royal watchers and all those intrigued by what’s going on inside the House of Windsor. This is your biweekly dose of royal news and analysis. Reading this online? Sign up here to get this delivered to your inbox.

Janet DavisonRoyal Expert

Meeting the Queen online

For Dr. Steve Beerman, it was in many ways like having a pleasant conversation with his 92-year-old mother. Except it wasn’t his mother. It was the Queen. Beerman, a retired family physician in Nanaimo, B.C., spoke with Queen Elizabeth online the other day as she gave him — virtually — an award recognizing his longstanding work in drowning prevention. “I’m very delighted to be able to present you with this cup, a very large cup, which one day you might see if you come to London,” Elizabeth told Beerman as she honoured him with the King Edward VII Cup during the virtual session with the Royal Life Saving Society. Beerman, co-chair of the Canadian Drowning Prevention Coalition, was quick to reply that it was “a pleasure and a humbling honour to be with you.” Being with the Queen in this way has become the way of the royal world during the pandemic. Many observers have said that virtual sessions involving the Queen have offered new insight into the 95-year-old monarch, who has more often been seen from afar, giving formal speeches or doing a walkabout. “Many people who commented to me about the interview [said] that they had never seen her have what they would describe as a nearly normal conversation with some people,” Beerman said. “My own mother is 92. This was not a whole lot different than talking to my own mother.” Beerman, a trustee with the Royal Life Saving Society, had met the Queen at Buckingham Palace a handful of times in connection with that Commonwealth organization. But his most recent session with her was memorable in a new way. “It was more chatty,” he said. “It was more communicative than when I’ve experienced these encounters in real life, face to face. So I thought this was actually a better way to do this.” A seven-minute video of the session involving Beerman and others honoured for their drowning prevention efforts was posted online, but the overall virtual encounter lasted about 20 minutes, and came after participants had two practice sessions. “In the second one, we actually rehearsed what we were going to say and we were coached in a very nice way by the people from the royal household about pausing and being slow enough to allow her to interject with comments or questions,” Beerman said. “We were very much encouraged to participate in a conversation as opposed to doing an acceptance speech.” Still, there was a bit of nervousness for Beerman as the call began. “There’s always some nerves about are you going to misstep or say something in a way you might regret or that might be perceived to be awkward by others,” he said. As the conversation progressed, Elizabeth shared her own memories of receiving a life-saving award as a teenager. In 1941, she became the first person in the Commonwealth to receive the Royal Life Saving Society’s junior respiration award. “I didn’t realize I was the first one — I just did it, and had to work very hard for it,” Elizabeth said. “It was a great achievement and I was very proud to wear the badge on the front of my swimming suit. It was very grand, I thought.” Beerman sees the shift to the virtual world for the Royal Family as a signal the House of Windsor can change with the times. “I think it’s a strong statement of ... we can pivot when we need to, we are flexible, adjustable and, like the rest of the world, we have to respond to the reality that we live within.”

The deceit behind the Diana interview

The interview was as devastating as it was haunting. And now, 26 years after Diana, Princess of Wales, sat down with a BBC journalist and told the world “there were three of us in this marriage, so it was a bit crowded,” an inquiry has found that Martin Bashir acted deceitfully to gain the interview. It’s a finding that will echo through both the royal and journalistic worlds. In response, Princes William and Harry made statements that lay bare the deep pain the interview with their mother has left with them. “It is my view that the deceitful way the interview was obtained substantially influenced what my mother said. The interview was a major contribution to making my parents’ relationship worse and has since hurt countless others," William said in his statement. "It brings indescribable sadness to know that the BBC’s failures contributed significantly to her fear, paranoia and isolation that I remember from those final years with her." But what saddens William the most, he said, “is that if the BBC had properly investigated the complaints and concerns first raised in 1995, my mother would have known that she had been deceived.” Diana was failed, he said, “not just by a rogue reporter, but by leaders at the BBC who looked the other way rather than asking the tough questions.” Prince Harry said their mother “was an incredible woman who dedicated her life to service. She was resilient, brave and unquestionably honest.” He said what “deeply concerns” him is that similar journalistic practices are still widespread. “Our mother lost her life because of this, and nothing has changed. By protecting her legacy, we protect everyone, and uphold the dignity with which she lived her life. Let’s remember who she was and what she stood for.” Observers suggest it will all have a significant impact on how the BBC is viewed. “It shakes the real core of journalism because people will no longer look to that broadcaster and trust them wholly because we now know that they're prepared to lie to coerce people into taking part in interviews,” marketing consultant Diana Young told the CBC’s Tesa Arcilla. Diana and Prince Charles were divorced in 1996. She died after a car crash in Paris in 1997.

Babies and the line of succession

(Peter Byrne/Press Association via The Associated Press Word this week that Princess Beatrice and her husband, Edoardo Mapelli Mozzi, are expecting their first child will add yet another shuffle in short order to the line of succession. The child, due sometime this fall, will be the 12th great-grandchild for the Queen, and the fourth baby to arrive in a matter of months. Beatrice’s younger sister, Princess Eugenie, and her husband, Jack Brooksbank, welcomed their son, August, in February. The following month, Princess Anne’s daughter Zara, and her husband, Mike Tindall, welcomed their son Lucas. Prince Harry and Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, are expecting a daughter, with a due date thought to be in early summer. That baby will take the highest spot in the succession among the new arrivals, landing at No. 8, following her father, Harry, who is sixth in line to the throne and Harry and Meghan’s first child, Archie, now sitting at No. 7. The passage of time can mean marked shifts in the line of succession for those who enter it somewhat lower in the roster. Take, for example, Sarah Chatto, daughter of Princess Margaret. When she was born in 1964, she was No. 7. Now, she is 26th.

Royally quotable

"Planting a tree is a statement of hope and faith in the future."

— Prince Charles, in a video posted online to mark the launch of the Queen’s Green Canopy,

a tree-planting initiative to mark Queen Elizabeth’s Platinum Jubilee

next year that aims to enhance the environment now and for future generations.

Royal reads

1. Prince Harry says the pain of Diana’s death

pushed him to drinking and drugs

. The Duke of Sussex’s latest comments, along with further criticism of how he said the Royal Family neglected both him and his wife, Meghan, came in an interview with Oprah Winfrey in The Me You Can’t See, a new Apple TV series about mental health debuting Friday. [CBC]

2. Queen Elizabeth’s

first major ceremonial duty since the death of her husband

, Prince Philip, came during a scaled-down state opening of Parliament. [The Independent]

3. Prince Michael of Kent, a cousin of Queen Elizabeth, has

denied reports

he was willing to use his royal status for personal profit and provide access to the regime of Russian President Vladimir Putin. [BBC]

4. There was

lots of taffeta and no tantrums

during the creation of Diana's wedding dress, recalls one of its designers. [The Guardian]

5. One of the Queen’s two new puppies, which she reportedly received a few months ago from Prince Andrew for companionship,

has died

. [The Daily Mail]

6. The succession for the British throne is clearly laid out, but succession can in some other countries be

considerably more complicated

. [The Guardian]

Cheers!

I’m always happy to hear from you. Send your ideas, comments, feedback and notes to

[email protected]

. Problems with the newsletter? Please let me know about any typos, errors or glitches.

New newsletter alert! Our CBC colleague Peter Armstrong has a newsletter called Mind Your Business, a weekly guide to understanding what’s happening in the worlds of economics, business and finance. Subscribe to it

here

💜🙏🏻🙂✝️💟PG💟✝️🙂🙏🏻💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿.

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scribbling-stiks · 3 years

Text

AAR - XXVIII - A Brother Gone

Russia tunes out most of the talking until he sees one of the provinces standing by the window with a concerned look. Apparently, he wasn't the only one to notice.

"Hey Sassafras, what's going on?" Ontario asks, approaching the window.

"I don't know. Some animals are being weird outside," Saskatchewan replies, concern in his voice.

That catches Russia's attention.

Russia kisses America's forehead and stands up. He hurriedly walks over to the window and pokes his head out. The provinces clear the way for him and allow him a clear view of the baffling sight outside.

He stares dumbfounded as bears, deer, rabbits, and other animals that Russia couldn't fully make out all begin to gather around the slime and eat it. It seemed as though they had no interest in each other, and didn't seem to notice others around them. They eat and Russia watches as the rabbits begin to fall. At first, they looked almost drunk, but they began to topple over and stop moving.

The smaller animals fall first, and as Russia watches the display, the bears and deer stumble and begin to fight over the 'food'. Neither seemed to care that they were being disemboweled. It reminded him of the carcasses he had hacked apart in front of the mine.

Russia watches, almost mesmerized, as the larger animals go down. The bears lie down on the ground and Russia watches as the creature's breathing slows significantly until it stops for longer than it had and it didn't start again.

Russia waits for one of them to rise back up from the ground and begin attacking the fortress, but they don't. The animals just lay there, dead.

Russia spins back to the room full of people and claps his hands, shouting, "Look at me!"

Heads spin to stare.

"If you ate the stuff outside, I need to know. NOW!" Russia demands hit tone tight and angry.

He is met with sincere shakes of the head.

Russia sighs. America runs up to his side.

"What's wrong?"

"Animals outside were eating it and they seem dead now."

America swallows thickly.

"That's not good."

Russia nods.

"I will keep watch," Russia says.

"I will help," Finland volunteers, escaping the kids that surround her, a rifle in hand. Russia nods in appreciation.

"I want to help as well," America says. Russia shakes his head.

"You need to rest," Russia says.

"What do you mean I need to rest?" America complains.

"You were not well when you were not sleeping," Russia recalls aloud.

"I'm fine now," America emphasizes, holding his arms out as if to prove his point.

Russia shoots him a skeptical look and America pouts.

"He's right you know," Dixie comments, leaning against the barrel of his shotgun, "you need sleep, Amy. In fact, I don't think you should be leaving again any time soon."

America groans. "Fine! Fine. I'll go and sit over there. All alone," he whines.

Russia rolls his eyes and scoffs lightly. "The states will keep you company," he says with a smile that he fails to hide.

America huffs and crosses his arms like a child. Russia rolls his eyes and smiles softly.

'So stubborn.'

America throws his arms in the air and stomps away to the mat. The children giggle at his antics. Russia grins.

"Don't worry Dad!" Nevada shouts, "we won't leave you alone!"

"Everyone pile on Dad!" Arizona shouts, throwing her hands into the air.

The children cheer and the states and the Philippines jump ontop of America with the provinces yelling encouragements. America is rocked with laughter from under the pile. Russia shakes his head at the scene.

He returns his eyes to the outside with Finland at his side. He tenses slightly before forcing himself to relax.

'She is an ally now,' he scolds himself, 'do not make this any harder than it already is.'

Finland mutters something under her breath which Russia could only imagine was a comment about the strangeness of the situation.

"Do you think it will return?" Finland asks, cocking the rifle.

Russia jumps before answering. "I don't know. I don't see why."

"That stuff was a trap. But it might not have been for just us. I mean look, it killed them."

"But why would it..?" Russia says, trailing off.

"Maybe for food," Finland says with a shrug, "it might come back to eat."

Russia hums, mulling over the possibility. He stares blankly at the pile of corpses until movement catches his eye from the tree line. Russia's head jerks up and he zeros in on the blurry black shape snaking between the trunks of trees surrounding the base.

"Do you see that?" Russia mutters.

"What?"

Russia points to the shadows slinking around just out of eyesight.

"What is that?" Finland mutters.

Russia doesn't answer. He watches as the shadows approach the base. Its shape finally begins to solidify and Russia sees the spider-like monster slowly stumbling toward the still warm cadavers and it crotches above them. The ground rumbles when it opens its mouth and it begins shredding the meat away from the animals, and bones snap. Blood flies through the air and steam rises from the red-stained ground.

"Huh. It looks like a garburator," Canada says, and Russia spins around, startled.

"It's called a garbage disposal," America calls from across the room.

Canada scoffs.

Russia turns when he hears one of the phones begins ringing. New Jersey grabs the phone and tosses it to New York, who catches it easily.

"Heya, this is York. What's going..." New York trails off, "Whoa Boss, you gotta calm down! I can't understand... *Okay. Yes, he's here.*"

New York pulls away from the phone at looks around for a moment, "Russia!"

Russia quickly walks over and New York hands him the phone. "It's your pops. He's freaking out and wants to talk to you."

Russia takes the phone and holds it up to his face.

"*Hello?*"

"*Russia!*" Soviet yells into the phone, panic in his tone. Russia stiffens at the tone. He hadn't heard his father like that. His father is normally much more reserved and controlled.

Now, he sounds completely frantic. A pang of panic hits Russia hard in the chest.

"*Papa, is something wrong? What happened?*"

"*Ukraine is gone!*"

"*What do you mean he's gone?!*" Russia asks dread fills the pit in his stomach.

"*He was only outside for a moment. Alaska ran inside and he's gone!*"

"*Is he hiding outside?*" Russia asks desperately.

'Maybe he's playing a cruel joke.'

'Please, he has to be playing.'

'He has to.'

"*NO! I went out to check. Whatever took him is gone and he is too. His footsteps just stop.*"

Russia feels his heart stop.

'It's real. He's been taken.'

Russia forces back his horror and tries to keep himself together enough to make sure everything was under control at home.

'It dangerous now,' Russia thinks, his hands on his head, 'Alaska! He needs to be there to protect her.'

"*Papa, you have to come back inside,*" Belarus calls in the background, "*It's too cold to be out here for very long.*"

"*I can't-*"

"*Papa,*" Russia interrupts, struggling to keep his voice steady, "*I know you're panicked, but you can't leave the others alone.*"

"*I need to find him! I shouldn't have ever allowed him to leave!*"

"*NO! Do not! You need to be there for Alaska*!" Russia demands, his thoughts blurring together in his terrified state.

Russia hears his father breathing heavily and Belarus trying to coax him back inside. His heart jumps out of his chest when he hears the door slam shut.

"*Hello Russ,*" Belarus says, veiled anxiety in her voice, "*I will try to keep things from falling apart. You need to find Ukraine.*"

"*Okay,*" Russia mumbles before the phone line goes dead.

Russia stands frozen, the phone still pressed on his face.

"Russia?" America asks.

Russia spins around and sees America staring at him. America slowly approaches him.

"Meri?" Russia asks breathlessly.

"Rue, you gotta calm down your breathing. You're gonna pass out," America says softly, carefully placing his hands on Russia's shoulders.

'Calm down my breathing?'

Dizzyness fills his head and he sees America begin breathing slowly, exaggerated inhales. Russia shakily mimics him.

"What happened?" America asks, staring Russia in the eyes with a serious, but concerned look.

Russia glances away.

"Ukraine is missing. He was taken," Russia mumbles, covering his face.

"Hey," America says gently, "look at me."

Russia looks up and meets America's eyes, trying to ignore the discoloration of the blind one.

"It's okay," America says.

"No, it's not!" Russia shouts "it's not okay! Ukraine is missing! He was taken. Taken!"

Russia hears America talking, but he doesn't understand the words. Russia's chest tightens painfully and he sinks to the ground. Ukraine, his annoying younger brother. He's gone. He's gone.

Russia feels himself spiraling.

Ukraine has been taken as a test subject.

"Russia!" America shouts from in front of him. Russia looks up and sees America kneeling in front of him looking terrified. Once America sees Russia had looked up, he forces a smile.

"Rue-Rue, please," America begs, "you have to calm down. If I could survive, if we could get out, he'll be okay."

Russia shakily nods. Still, his heart pounds against his ribcage.

"Rue," America says with a sigh, "I'm going to ask you a few questions, okay?"

Russia gives a trembling nod.

"Okay. Where are we?"

"Home base," Russia forces out between gasps.

"Who am I?"

"Stars."

"What are you holding?"

Russia looks down at his hands.

"Phone."

"What color is the wall?"

"Red."

"What color is the floor?"

"Grey."

Russia finally manages to calm his breathing and stares into America's eyes. America offers a comforting smile. Russia lunges forward and grabs America into a tight hug. America hugs him back. Russia struggles to match his breathing to America's. He hiccups and gasps.

America sits quietly and just holds him.

Once Russia can think clearly again, he pulls back.

'Thank you.'

Russia looks America dead in the eyes, set on fixing this.

"I need to find him."

"What? Russ.."

"No. He's my brother. I need to find him and make sure he's okay."

"You are not doing that alone," America states plainly.

"I have to get him!"

"That's not what I meant," America says, taking Russia's hands, "We are going to find him, okay?"

"...you're going to help me?" Russia asks, breathless.

"Of course!" America says, "of course I'm going to help you. Rue, I'm not going to let you do this by yourself. If you need to go and find him, I'm coming with you."

Russia tucks his head into America's shoulder and tries to hold back his shaking.

"Thank you," Russia mumbles.

"I'm here for you," America says reassuringly, "of course I'm going to help."

"We need to figure out where he is," Russia mutters.

"We will," America says.

"And we need to get him."

"I know."

Russia lets out a shaky sigh.

"How am... How are we going to find him?"

"We'll break into the bases we know about and get maps and information and track down where they're keeping the missing countries."

Table of Contents

#rusame #ch russia #ch america #statehumans #countryhumans

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saitamaandmanakoblog · 3 years

Text

Manako’s Training

(Kinda wish I drew her better.)

Who’s going to be in this story

Fubuki: Miss Blizzard

Saitama: Caped Baldy

Manako: Bright Light

Zombieman: (Does he even have a real name?)

Isamu: Child Emperor

Harlequinn: King (I’m not sure if that’s actually his real name.)

——————————————————————————

“You’re going to train with Zombieman, King, and Child Emperor?” Miss Blizzard asked with a surprised gasp at lunch the next day. “I didn’t realize all of you were so close!”

“I guess we are.” Manako explained as she shake her bag to mix the Yogos Bits. She opened it to take a few bites as she continued, “I guess they really liked my skills and wanted me to train them?”

(This is what she is eating)

https://www.google.com/search?q=yogos+bits&client=safari&hl=en&prmd=sinv&sxsrf=ALeKk020Al38NdqU-gm0rdJeyCsURktIkw:1623196287230&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiQ-eawnYnxAhV8ETQIHXboAm8Q_AUIFSgC&biw=414&bih=715&dpr=2

“Wait, you’re training them?” Saitama sat forward more.

Manako nodded. “I was surprised too!”

“King is the strongest hero in the world.” Miss Blizzard said, tapping her fingers against the table with a curious frown. “What could you have teach him?, he can beat up monsters already.”

Manako tried to not get offended by that. It wasn’t like Miss Blizzard knew King’s secret or her true skill. She had only shown off a bit of it in the test. “We’re just practicing agility movements right now. It’s our second training session together.” She took another bite of her snack and chewed before swallowing and saying, “You’re welcome to join if you want. But I don’t know if you’ll be interested to join in on the training and because of your super powers that me and Saitama don’t have.”

“Oh I see where your coming from?” Saitama asked.

Manako held up her hands with a tentative smile. “Miss Blizzard you’ll just have to see it your self.”

“I definitely want to see this!” Miss Blizzard excitedly nodded. “I wanna see Kings moves up close and yours as well! Maybe I’ll learn something new!”

“I will join” Saitama agreed. “I want to see how far they came from your training!”

Manako chewed her snack and said nothing. They would see what she meant when they get there.

—————-—————-—————-—————-————

Time Skip

—————-—————-—————-—————-————

“Oh are they here to train with us?” Zombieman asked as Saitama and Miss Blizzard followed Manako and walk towards the training grounds. Zombieman curiously look at them like he was some kind of detective. “Did you invited yourself?”

“Manako did.” Miss Blizzard said. “Plus Saitama wanted to see how fare you came with Manako’s training.”

“And how Miss Blizzard wanted to observe you guys especially King.” Saitama cut her off as he tugged on his belt to straighten it. Both Miss Blizzard and Saitama stood out what with the two of them still in the Hero Outfit while both Zombieman, Child Emperor and King were in their gym uniforms.

Manako just sent Zombieman a look without saying anything as they approached the waiting Child Emperor and King. Both of the boys appeared a little surprised to see their extra guests. They were all once again back at the training grounds.

“Are you joining us today?” Child Emperor called with a wave and a grin to their coworkers/heroes.

“Just observing.” Miss Blizzard crossed her arms as she looked over her coworkers. “We heard from Manako that she was training you and we were quite curious.”

“Plus I always love watching Manako move when we’re younger!” Saitama added with a bright, delighted smile. Manako felt her cheeks heat up and had to look away. ZombieMan moved past her with a smile and joined Child Emperor and King to face Manako. Manako looked up to see him pulling on some gloves. He had included some knee pads. Manako approved. ZombieMan just added knee pads on his hero outfit recently, so he would need to get used to moving with those on him.

“Um…” Manako glanced around at all of her friends/coworkers and shifted awkwardly, unsure of how to start. She tried, “King... Have you also been practicing?”

“When I could.” King said with a nod.

“Good.”

“We’re moving onto part two, right?” Child Emperor , excitedly asked while King busied himself with stretching. ZombieMan and Child Emperor must have already stretched while Manako had been eating with Saitama and Miss Blizzard during lunch.

“Part two?” Miss Blizzard questioned.

Manako didn’t need to stretch. She pulled on his own pair of gloves as she spoke, “I’ll explain depending on if they can prove they’re ready.” She grin with pride. “You said all of you have practiced? Then show me.” What you got!, Manako immediately darted towards one of the rock towers and began her climbing. This would really show if they had the skills necessary.

Manako was halfway up the rock when she saw ZombieMan, Child Emperor, and King making their way up at a slower pace but definitely with much more confidence than their first lesson. They really were getting the hang of it, she realized, if their bodies were adjusting to climbing even something new. She didn’t have time to pause as he braced her feet and then threw himself over to the nearest pillar. This one was a bit farther away on the left. She didn’t doubt they could make it, though.

“Whoa!!” Saitama yelled with awe as Manako focused on climbing the rest of the way. She heard ZombieMan let out a curse, and then there was the telltale sound of rock crumbling.

“Careful, ZombieMan!” Child Emperor called.

“I’ve got it.” ZombieMan responded. Manako didn’t look back as she pushed herself up with extra strength to grab onto the top ledge and haul herself over it. She felt exhilarated much like he always did after climbing so far. She loved the sensation of standing so far up and knowing she got their by her own power and not from The Monsters Association. She took the time to examine how the others were doing.

ZombieMan was the farthest ahead, but that didn’t surprise Manako since he’s good at analyzing. Child Emperor had grasped onto the point of part one of training faster than the others had. King was great with his own instincts and he was allowing them to lead him thank goodness he took her advice. He was still significantly slower than Manako and still had to occasionally test his footholds, but unlike last time he didn’t hesitate as he threw himself across the gap to the second rock. He recognized that he didn’t need to judge the power behind his jump and knew it was better to slam bodily against the rock than to risk undershooting it. Manako couldn’t help but be very proud of King on had far he came from the first time. (Since you know he actually took Saitama’s credit and somehow became a hero by accident since he has extreme luck by his side.)

Child Emperor had no trouble with the gap this time. After King had shown them the way to go about it, ZombieMan had no worry with hitting the stone. His body was used to handling plenty of hits and stabs or being rip apart for most of his life. His grip hold tight while he wrapped his legs around the stone and clenched. He was using everything he had and succeeded in gaining him valuable time to find a grip with his stronger hands.

But Child Emperor second jump didn’t go so well, because he had slipped down a little since his weaker grip strength had a setback. Manako could see where he didn’t trust himself and hesitated on his jump. Saitama and Miss Blizzard made shocked noises, clearly concerned considering how far the fall was, but Child Emperor’s focus sharpened and he caught a bit of the rock at the last moment. He slammed his foot hard and created his own foothold against the softer stone. It was just sturdy enough that he could thrust himself upwards to continue his training. (Like dang this kid is determine to be a good hero like ZombieMan.)

All three of them were panting as they made it to the top and stood with Manako overlooking everything. Child Emperor let out a whoop of victory. “Look at that view! Oh hey we are really high up!”

“You did great!” Manako praised, honestly thrilled for them. It was amazing watching how people with a history of training achieved this type of trial(because you know, we have YouTube and Google to learn where Parkour came from). Manako could remember how she and the other Monsters had done on their first few tries. It hadn’t been nearly as dangerous or as easy as her friends tries.

“You did amazing kid, but dang you almost gave me a heart attack.” ZombieMan ended up scolding Child Emperor as he checked his foot.

“I think I can continue,” Child Emperor responded, standing up.

“Is your foot okay?” Manako asked.

“I’m fine.” Child Emperor seemed distracted with himself. Manako knew to let it go.

Manako eye danced around the rocks and made quick evaluations. “Your definitely ready for part two. Follow me back down.”

“Without powers and gadgets, right?” King asked with a grin. Manako nodded.

“Yup!” The climbing down part could be done in many ways. Manako could show off some more of her moves, but Manako knew she would be able to do that soon enough. She had trained for far too long and had too high of expectations to even dumb himself down for her friends to make the training easier.

Manako climbing down normally with the others following after her. She totally noticed that Child Emperor’s foot was a bit injured, but it didn’t stop him. Manako had to dodge a bit of little spray rocks from crumbling down when one boy or the others would slip while figuring out how to climb down. It made Manako laugh a little because they had been so focused on climbing up that they hadn’t learned how to get down.

They all made it down without anymore injuries and met up with Miss Blizzard and Saitama as they ran up to join them. “That was actually very impressive!” Miss Blizzard motioned widely in her excitement. “None of you used your powers or gadgets for that? I can’t believe you could do all of that on your own!” (Because you know she as freaking Psychokinesis why the heck not would she not use it.)

“It took a lot of cut up hands and bruises everywhere.” Child Emperor admitted with a laugh. “You should’ve seen the first time we tried this!”

“I understand what you meant now, Manako. This certainly does not look like something one can achieve without practice.” Miss Blizzard was frowning and gazing up at the rocks. “What is the purpose of this, though?”

“Parkour!” Child Emperor responded.

“Speed and agility. Reaction time.” ZombieMan added.

King crossed his arms. “It’s to get stronger!”

(Oooh sh*t that’s sounds really scary coming from King of all people, since they don’t know about his secret.)

“I should definitely join you guy’s” Miss Blizzard decided, looking determined. “Can you teach me as well Manako?”

“I’m just gonna watch as usual” Saitama added.

“Your gonna have to wait your turns” ZombieMan said. Manako gave them a sheepish smile as ZombieMan looked at her. “Manako can you please get started with part two. Your friends are just tag-alongs today they can join us later. We’re the ones training.”

“He’s right.” King agreed. “I want to move on.”

Miss Blizzard look at Manako questionably . “Can’t we do it at the same time?”

“Sorry, Miss Blizzard ” Manako scratched her head. “Part two requires my attention.” She thought for a moment. Assistance to her friends in the form of a next time. But don’t she have time to train her friends later? The need to check my schedule. But she really kind of liked helping out his friends. It was rather thrilling to see them achieve a goal. She didn’t mind helping Miss Blizzard as well. Besides if it helped them in their hero careers, then it was a relief for Manako.

“Next time, okay?” She told them. Manako then put her hands on her hips and turned to face King, ZombieMan, and Child Emperor. “Okay, so part two! Think of this like a game of Tag mix with hide and go seek. The rules are simple:” she held up his fingers as he listed each rule, “No gadgets No supper powers. Everything is fair game. All you needs to do is touch me once with your hands and you win. It has to be a proper tag, though. Brushing clothes or hair doesn't count.”

“So we’re on a team.” King stated. “3 versus 1.”

Manako loved when it was summarized like that. He made it sound like it was so easy. Manako would absolutely not go easy on them. “Plus it’s fun to watch them struggle.”

“Why can’t we use gadgets or supper powers though?” Child Emperor suddenly asked, surprising Manako with that question.

“What would be the point of training like this if we’re just going to use our powers as handy cap tools?” King said blatantly.

“He has a point, kid.” ZombieMan agreed. “It would be too easy for us considering your smart uses of your gadgets and King’s power. Me and Manako would be at a disadvantage.” Manako bit her tongue because she was sure she could still avoid being tagged even if Child Emperor and ZombieMan used their powers or gadgets. However it would definitely be a challenge between the three of them. It would certainly be unfair for King, though.

“It’s simple, really.” Manako examined the tips of his gloves in an unconscious movement to check her scars even though she didn’t need to. She dropped her hand again and regarded them all seriously. “You guys are here because you wanted to learn something from me. I’ve only use my powers during the year I’ve been stuck in The Monsters Association What could I possibly teach you about your powers or gadgets that you haven’t learned since you have freedom in your life? Without any fear for your life or something your ok with failing at.

None of his friends responded to that, but Manako spotted Saitama’s eyes regarding her with suspicion. Manako couldn’t help her small disappointment that this had to be pointed out to them. She thought it was pretty obvious, after all. Although she didn’t tell her life story either to them or anyone else at that matter. She could think of one or two things that she could possibly teach them about their powers or gadgets that they have missed.

“And that’s why we have YouTube and Google for: to learn how to use our powers or to improve gadgets better.” Manako let out a huff of a laugh. “I’m not sure I can teach you guys that better than yourself.”

“That’s actually a very good point” Child Emperor said, tucking his arms behind his head.

“This kind of training is to show you how far you can push your own limits.” Manako added as her gaze drifted to the sky with a frown. “All your lives you’ve decided to train your powers or learn how to make gadgets. I know you all have also trained your bodies or brain muscles in preparation for getting into The Hero Association This is obvious just by looking at you or history.” She dropped her gaze to look at each of her friends. They were all watching her as if enraptured. “But all of your training and skills you learned is probably just to help your powers to improve and gadgets to use as your advantage. Everything about you guys is about making sure your body can keep up with your powers while for the kid it’s about gadgets. Your body and brain is merely a support item.”

Manako’s gaze darkened as she remembered her own training. The way her body had screamed on how she broken herself to pieces so that she could survive. The way she had cried bitter and terrified tears not knowing if she had screwed up enough that she would be the next monster to never return to training. Not knowing why she was training in the first place but believing the strong monsters when they told them that they would not kill her if she succeeded in his training. How she had burned with envy towards anyone who had a better life then her. How she knew that her training would've been so much easier if she had some type of gay to rely on. She would've taken anything. But she’d only had her body to rely on since she didn’t discover her powers yet at that time.

“Take it from someone who was born a Monster for a majority of her life when I say that your body is not a support item. It is your main weapon. Sometimes it will be your only weapon. What if you run into a situation where you can't use your powers? There are people who won’t even give you a chance to use your gadgets. There are people who are amune to your powers and it will be absolutely useless against them.” Her throat tightened, “...There are people out there that can take away or destroy your gadgets.” She swallowed back the tightness and her voice strengthened again as she straightened. “At those times, what will protect you? Will you just run? What do you do when you can’t flee? You will be person or monster. In a life-or-death situation, are you confident that you will be able to help yourself, help anyone else? Sure, you’ll know how to fight... but do you know how to survive without your powers or gadgets?”

Manako turned away from them and pressed her head to the stone well. She could still hear the sounds of bones crunching. The screams of young monsters as they ran for their lives and were brought down because they weren’t fast or skilled enough. Stronger monsters laughing as there pain and fears heartlessly hunted Manako while random humans from different ages will be there just for fun and get killed in the end smelling the blood pouring out quickly, Her fingers dug into the clothes.

She still remember her time with her gang there, trying to help each other in secret to not show weakness, while planning to get the heck out of there while secretly going to school with Saitama while Aden cover up for her to befriend her first human for a brighter future. Intell that faithful day...

Her breath was coming a bit harder. She had to blink rapidly to bring herself back to the present and away from that time. The harsh sunlight startled her because she half-expected to be back in the darkness. The lack of sound from her friends had her glancing back at them with wide eyes, terrified that she had exposed her past too much when she had been lost in the past.

Her friends only stared at her back without a word. ZombieMan lowered his eyes with a frown as he thought. Saitama’s fists were clenched so tightly that Manako could see his arms shaking. His face was pale and his eyes were unreadable for Manako. Child Emperor , King, and Miss Blizzard all looked grim as his words reached them and they understood. Saitama was biting his lip and his eyebrows were pulled together with worry. Manako wondered if she should have explain it definitely.

Manako had to force a smile onto her face, trying to lighten the mood and cover for the slip of her mask. “So that’s why I don’t want you to use your powers or gadgets.” She laughed and felt how it echoed hollowly through her heat. It sounded real enough as she gave them all an sad smile as a way of apologizing for getting too dark. “I just want to make sure your bodies are getting stronger....”

“Manako…” ZombieMan glanced at his friends and then back to Manako. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something important, and Manako felt her chest constrict with fear. She waited to be called out. “You’re... Yes, you’re absolutely right! Our bodies should be trained with the intention of mastering them before our powers or gadgets! A true hero should know how his or her body works without fail!”

“Right!” Child Emperor agreed stretching his arm. He grabbed his water bottle in determination. “I want to improve with you guys so we can help more people in the future! Especially if my gadgets ends up being useless!”

Miss Blizzard and Saitama said nothing. Saitama had lowered his head so Manako could no longer read his face. Manako's heart was racing in her chest with the knowledge that she had let more information to Saitama. It’s not like Saitama didn’t know what Manako been through in the past, she remembered everything they have done to her at that time with her monsters classmates, but since Manako never told Saitama what she did in The Monster Association, This was Manako confessing to something she had experienced for himself. Her fear and experience was in details. She hope that Saitama doesn’t feel even worse since he wasn’t strong enough to protect her at that time.

Manako wasn’t sure she was courageous enough to ask later. She had to push it aside as she finally gave a shaky smile and asked, “Are you guys ready for part two now?”

The End

#one punch man #saitama&manako #opm #manako #saitama

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