#he’s a very clever and well spoken kid for his age but he’s also very blunt so he’s always saying things that catch me off guard like this
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i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back
character: dabi | todoroki touya
notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques
warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use
words: 7.1k
part 2.1 | part 2.2
synopsis:
“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—
But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.
Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.
✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰
Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.
She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.
You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.
It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.
It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.
You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.
But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?
You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.
He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.
Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.
The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.
It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.
The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.
He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.
He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.
✰ ✰ ✰
To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.
This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.
You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.
Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.
You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.
Touya must have a lot of things imported.
You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.
After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…
You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.
You don’t ask—no one ever does.
You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.
You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.
The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.
“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.
“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.
You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.
“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”
You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.
Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”
“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.
But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.
So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.
“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”
It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.
And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.
It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.
And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.
Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.
Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.
Who are you to deny him that, really?
✰ ✰ ✰
The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.
He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.
You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.
You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.
Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.
Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.
Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.
His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.
“You had niichan worried,”
You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.
“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”
Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”
“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”
Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.
Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.
“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.
“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.
He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.
“I…I did?”
Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”
“Wh-What?”
Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.
Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.
“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.
But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.
“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.
“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”
“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”
“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.
“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.
“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”
His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.
“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—
But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.
Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.
✰ ✰ ✰
He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.
Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.
A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.
Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.
It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.
“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”
The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.
✰ ✰ ✰
It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.
A nightmare.
You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.
You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…
Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.
You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.
That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.
Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.
He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.
“Princess? What is it?”
You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.
“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”
You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.
But he plays along.
“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”
Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.
“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”
The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.
Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.
“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.
You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.
These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.
Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.
“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.
His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.
Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.
It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.
“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”
You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.
“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”
You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.
“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.
“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”
“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”
He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.
“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”
Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.
“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”
He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.
Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.
And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?
“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”
Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.
“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”
And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?
Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.
“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.
Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”
He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”
Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.
Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”
Of course. Of courses you do.
Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.
“But you gotta get it wet first,”
You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.
He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.
They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.
He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.
Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.
“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.
You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.
But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.
He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.
“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”
✰ ✰ ✰
You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.
He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.
And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.
“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?
Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.
By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.
“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.
As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.
He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”
You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.
✰ ✰ ✰
He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.
But eventually, he returns.
The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…
He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.
And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.
With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.
“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.
“So what if I am?”
“What did you take?”
“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”
Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.
“Can I try some?” you ask instead.
All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.
“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”
Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.
He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.
“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”
“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.
You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.
“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”
You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.
“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.
He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.
“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.
“Wh-What?”
“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”
Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.
Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.
“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.
“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.
“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”
You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.
Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.
A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.
The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.
You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.
His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.
“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.
He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.
Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.
Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.
You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”
He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.
But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.
And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.
“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.
He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”
#todoroki touya x reader#todoroki touya#dabi x reader#dabi smut#touya x reader#dabi may be a scumbag but he loves his momma#tomura baby i’m so sorry#promise u don’t horrify me at all oof#pls come horrify me more#christ if dabi isn’t touya we’re all gonna look like goddamn fools#a buncha clowns#anyway this is my first time posting something like this#n i haven’t written smut in an extremely long time#so pls be nice#actually u should always be nice#so pls be extra nice#no one beta’d this so there’s a good chance i’ll come back to it n revise it or whatever idk i’m just sick of looking at it rn#the ‘he talks too much’ is inspired by ch 271 w hawks where he’s all ‘he’ll keep talking’#dabi shut the fuck up challenge#prone to monologuing this boy is#also sorry abt the crazy sentences with a thousand commas#apparently now i’m oscar wilde w these run on sentences#idk i still kinda like em tho#i like oscar#tw pseudo-incest#tw noncon#tw dubcon#tw emotional manipulation#tw somnophilia#tw drugs
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Okay but has anyone considered Obi-wan/Cody/Satien (is that how its spelled?) Regardless, hes got two hands for his two mandalorians, the au where this happend is gotta be top notch ridiculous ye?
Okay thank you so much for giving me a reason to think about this, because this AU contains three things I adore: polyamory, ships where everyone is frighteningly competent, and Obi-Wan
In this AU, Ventress is somehow even less well-adjusted (bear with me). What this means is that, instead of taking a gap year and finding herself after her family is brutally murdered, she decides she needs to get revenge even more now. What does this mean? In the short term, she still becomes a bounty hunter, but in the long run? She’s looking for a Sith lord team up so she can punch Dooku (with a lit lighstaber) in his stupid, elitist, backstabbing face.
So when Maul invades Mandalore, what happens? Ventress comes right along, ready to give her ‘I know we hate each other, but consider teaming up to kill someone we both hate even MORE’ space TED talk. And though Maul may be terribly annoying, a closet theater kid, always in a tits out kind of mood, and denying his gay awakening, he’s not stupid. He knows Sidious is coming for him, sooner rather than later, and he knows he needs more people on his side than his (impressively beefy) brother. He and Savage agree to the team-up.
Cue Obi-Wan showing up, ready to save his sort-of girlfriend, and finding Pre Vizsla, who got REAL sus the second ANOTHER lunatic with a red lightsaber showed up, occupied by capturing Maul, Savage, and Ventress.
Obi-Wan saves Satie, who convinces him to call Cody for a quick evac, and they’re running away, flirting, and arguing over shooting things (as usual), when they spot Ventress, Maul, and Savage, about to be executed.
Oh, they both think, hell no. And then, because they have a stupid moral code that makes them do stupid moral things, they go save them.
A little background on Obi-Wan at this point: He has been fighting in a war for over two years. He is exhausted, close to a breakdown, and seriously questioning his place as a General. Next to him at all times, supporting him, helping him, and saving him, is Cody, who is clever, kinder than he has any right to be, and is, of course, devastatingly handsome when he does his special, unique-to-Cody half-smirk.
Obi-Wan, to put it mildly, is totally gone on him. Obi-Wan also, to put it less mildly, is his commanding officer in an army that Cody can’t leave on pain of death. To do anything— make any advance beyond the flirting that he engages in with most people— would put Cody in a very uncomfortable position, whether or not he returns Obi-Wan’s feelings. So Obi-Wan watches him from afar, hoping against hope that his affections are returned, and that one day, after the end of the war, there will be a future for both of them.
A little more background on Obi-Wan at this point: He has always respected Satine. Their correspondence fell apart just a few months after the end of his mission with Qui-Gon, but he’s been keeping up with her professional accomplishments for years. Over time, the love he bore for her faded, leaving him with good memories and an enduring appreciation for her courage, her cleverness, and her ability to deliver devastating blows to someone’s confidence with a few well-placed words.
Until he sees her again. And yes, alright, he might be angry that she’s choosing to stay out of the war— he knows what good she could do— but he understands her fears, understands the very real possibility that if Mandalore gets embroiled in yet another war, they may never recover. The thing is... well, she’s still very beautiful, especially when he’s yelling at him, and as slowly as his feelings had faded then, they come back in a rush now.
He has very much fallen in love with Cody, and he is very much still in love with Satine.
Cut back to the present— Obi-Wan and Satine rescue the three most annoying Sith in the galaxy and get the heck out of dodge. Cody, because he’s Cody, comes swooping in with a last-minute rescue.
At this point, two things are occurring.
The first: Obi-Wan is stuck in a room with four people he’s periodically flirted with over the past few years, two of whom he’s desperately in love with, one of whom he had a weird encounter with that he can never tell Anakin about when she and him got trapped in a middle school auditorium, and one of whom is definitely wearing no shirt and all that jewelry for a reason. It is Supremely awkward for him.
The second: Every single person in that room, each of which is (barring Savage) deeply attracted to Obi-Wan, is realizing that Obi-Wan is dressed in Mandalorian armor, and while Obi-Wan in three layers of tunics and a cloak is an absolute knockout, Obi-Wan in Mandalorian armor may very well kill them (and he won’t even have to touch his lightsaber to do it).
For one single moment, everything is absolutely still as they all stare at each other.
...And then Maul starts on the ‘I will rend your flesh from your bones, feel my wrath, Kenobarrgh’ spiel, and Satine stuns him. Oh, and Savage. Ventress agrees to watch the two of them if they don’t stun her, and Obi-Wan agrees.
Which then leaves him, Cody, and Satine in a room alone.
A word on Cody at this point: He has been bred from birth to be the perfect soldier— loyal, clever (but not too clever), and rigourously adherent to protocol. Yet, within three months of knowing Obi-Wan, he’s, well, calling him Obi-Wan in his head. Even just that is a gross breach of protocol, but he’s compromised in more ways than one. He talks to Obi-Wan, now, not just as a subordinate, or secondary advisor, but as a friend, as a councilor. Every time Obi-Wan touches him— never for longer than a brief second— his skin lights up under his armor. One time, Obi-Wan fell asleep on him for half an hour, and Cody’s was sure everyone would hear his heartbeat.
What he’s doing— how he feels— he knows it’s putting Obi-Wan in danger, knows that if the Kaminoans had wanted to the clones to be equals to the Jedi, they would have told them so. And look, he knows what the natborns would call the way he’s feeling, but he can’t feel that way. He’s a clone— he’s expendable by definition. Even if, on some off-chance, he makes it out of this war alive, there’s nothing for him. Obi-Wan couldn’t care for him like that, couldn’t care for a man with the same face as millions of others, born and bred only for war. So it doesn’t matter how he feels.
A word on Satine at this point: Obi-Wan, when he left, was a gawkish, bumbling thing of red hair and freckles and the sweetest smile. Obi-Wan, when he came back, was graceful, eloquent, and very, very handsome. He is also infuriating. (This does not change how attracted she is to him in the least.)
She’s not a romantic, really, but she is a realist, and she knows she’s loved him in some form or another for over twenty years. She knows she can’t ask him to return it— knows that asking him to leave the order for her wouldn’t just be for her, it would be for Mandalore, and while the politician in her cries for her to claim him, the person in her who loves Obi-Wan could not abide tearing him away from his culture for her own purposes. She still loves him, deeply and irrevocably, and she knows he still loves her. (Maybe, she thinks, after the war... But she can’t afford to be sentimental).
What do Cody and Satine have in common? They’re both extremely competent, both instinctively ruthless, and they both love Obi-Wan. Oh, and they’re also both immediately jealous of their counterpart.
They know they shouldn’t be. They know it’s not fair, not when Obi-Wan isn’t theirs anyways, but it doesn’t change the surge of envy and dislike that happens when they see Obi-Wan use the soft voice he only uses for the people he likes best on the person across from them.
Cody knows he can never compare to the Duchess, who is beautiful and well-spoken and has held Obi-Wan’s heart since they were fifteen. Satine knows she can never compare to Cody, who has been at Obi-Wan’s side every second since the war’s beginning, who is so much closer in ideals to Obi-Wan than she is, however it might appear on the surface.
Fortunately, they don’t have to deal with it for long, because Ventress comes in with Maul and Savage and proposes a team up, at which point Maul reveals the identity of the Sith Master.
Obi-Wan swears a string of words that Cody and Satine are both very impressed by, and agrees to the team up. Cody and Satine, who are both going to Coruscant anyways, agree to it too.
What ensues is a good deal of scheming, during which Cody and Satine avoid each other like the plague, Obi-Wan is repeatedly told to get some sleep, and Ventress cuffs Maul to a door on multiple nonconsecutive occasions. When they get to Coruscant, Satine has already told Padmé, who has in turn told her group of anti-war (and anti-Palpatine) senators, Cody has given Rex a heads up, and Ventress, Maul, and Savage have been metaphorically sharpening their lightsabers for ages.
(It occurs to Obi-Wan, at one point, after he’s woken up from his enforced 25-hour nap, that Palpatine must have created the clone army for a reason— must have a failsafe in place— and he asks Ahsoka to pull all the data the Kaminoans have on the clones. They find out about the chips, and Ahsoka immediately immediately holds the Kaminoans at laser sword point until they reprogram every order into a command that dissolves the chip.)
The thing about organizing a coup together is that it makes it very hard to avoid each other. Cody and Satine are forced to work together, and, what do you know, it turns out that even with seething jealousy at work, they end up respecting each other. (Note: Obi-Wan comes into a room at one point to see them both bent over a commlink, heads together and hands nearly touching. He short circuits.)
In any case, coup, Palps dies, Republic fixed, whatever.
What’s important is that Obi-Wan gets really, really injured— so much so that he might die. Cody and Satine have dealt with him being dead before (Deception arc anyone?), but this? Watching him slowly fade, knowing there’s nothing they can do about it? That’s worse.
One night, when Anakin has fallen asleep, they have a long conversation in low voices about Obi-Wan, darting from fond to furious to devastated over and over again. If he wakes up— if, not when— they agree to say something to Obi-Wan, to let him know that they love him. It’s a meager consolation after all they’ve been through, but this is the end, in one way or another, and they deserve to be honest with him.
(Cody thinks, privately, that he will be— well, not tossed aside, because Obi-Wan isn’t the sort of person who does that, but there won’t be a place for him by Obi-Wan’s side anymore. Obi-Wan is a Jedi, a negotiator, a peacekeeper, and Cody is a soldier for a now-ended war. He is already steeling himself to accept Obi-Wan’s polite rejection with equanimity, to not cause more pain to the man. (It will be easy, he knows, to wish him every peace, every happiness. Cody has only ever wanted to see Obi-Wan happy. This does not mean it will not be painful.) Obi-Wan said once that he would have left the Order for Satine if she’d asked— she will ask, now, and Cody knows Obi-Wan will leave, can see the love written in his face, in his spine, in his hands, whenever he is around her. Satine will ask, and Obi-Wan will leave, and Cody will be left to look for a place in this new galaxy.)
(Satine thinks, privately, that Obi-Wan’s feelings for her must be long faded, replaced by his obvious ones for Cody. Obi-Wan is a warrior, a Knight, and Satine is a diplomat who foreswore violence long ago. She is already steeling herself to accept his rejection with grace. (It will be easy, she knows, to wish him well. She has only ever wanted good things for him. This does not mean it will not be painful.) He said once that he would have left the Order for her if she’d asked, and whatever he’d felt then for her pales to what he feels now for Cody. Cody will ask, and Obi-Wan will leave, and Satine will rule as she always has.)
And then Obi-Wan wakes up.
Cody and Satine let him have his long talk with Anakin first, partially because they know how important it is to him, partially because Anakin wouldn’t let them if they wanted to, and partially because they are dreading their own coming conversation. When Anakin has finished, and Obi-Wan is asleep again, they go in, hand-in-hand, and wait for him to wake up.
When he does wake up, he sees them holding hands and immediately comes to several wrong conclusions. Wrong Conclusion A: Cody and Satine are in love. Wrong Conclusion B: Cody and Satine are going to try to break the news that they’re in love to him gently. Wrong Conclusion C: This conversation is about to break his heart.
Then they speak.
At the end of it, Obi-Wan has some Thoughts. Thought One: alkdfjhskhsgjljlbhkgkjbjvnab,gkjvn;qlerghjsv?????!!!!fwbfwlkrehwogwhuwrijvhfdbhkf!!!! Thought Two: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Thought Three: Oh, we’re all idiots. Fantastic.
He then passes out, because being on the edge of death for days and then having a shock to your system this big tends to do that to you.
When he wakes up, he is mildly more coherent. Then he sees that Satine and Cody are asleep on each other, and the coherence is lost, but he does manage to wake them up and get across three things:
Thing One: He is desperately in love with them both.
Thing Two: He’s leaving the Order for a multitude of reasons, but they are a Significant Bonus.
Thing Three: He would very much like if they both held his hand while he falls back asleep.
Cody takes Obi-Wan’s right hand, Satine takes Obi-Wan’s left hand, and the three of them stay like that, fingers intertwined, for a long, long, while.
#this is. Long#obi wan DOES have two hands#i have not checked this for grammar mistakes#asks#missstar489#obi wan has two hands au#codywan#obitine#codyobitine#star wars#star wars au#obi wan kenobi#satine kryze#commander cody#willow's aus#god this is 2.4k#no wonder it took me so long#me: I'll just reply to this ask real quick :)#me an hour later: oh. oh no
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growing pains (d.m.)
prompt as requested by anon: after the war and settling down with draco, the time comes for your children to attend hogwarts.
pairing: draco malfoy x fem! reader
warnings: recollection of pregnancy, recollection of the war, crying, lots of cute fluff though :)
word count: 3.6k
a/n: i cried writing this. have fun.
Never did you think that you would have a normal life with Draco after everything that happened. The war took so much life away from you both; it showed you how truly ugly and vile the world could be. Especially Draco.
After the war, Draco refused to allow himself and his future family live in a world that was so cruel and unforgiving. Draco wanted to undo all of the wrongdoings he had done and work harder for a better future for himself, for you, and your family; it’s what you deserved, he told you. Draco wanted to give you the world and he would rest at nothing to do so.
Draco left his past behind him and moved from Malfoy Manor to settle somewhere new. A new start, a new life. You two were married immediately after the dust had settled from the war. The ceremony was very private just the two of you, professing your undying love for each other, Draco promising profusely that he would do anything and everything to keep you happy.
Life, for the first time, felt ordinary. And you thanked Godric for that. The two of you worked your jobs, supported yourselves, and were happy. And that’s all you could really ask for. You had everything you needed, a job, a roof over your head, and Draco by your side.
Although life was ordinary for the first time in years, Draco would do special things for you here and there to show you just how much he loved you and adore having you as his wife. During work, he’d send you three dozen roses to your desk, earning you strange glances as you just sat there, smiling like a school girl. Or when he knew you had an awfully long day, he’d draw you a bath and pour you a glass of wine and let you be for a few hours, letting you decompress. Or it could be something as simple as leaving you a love note on your pillow when he woke up before you. Draco was so thoughtful when it came to taking the time to appreciate all that he had. He had taken it for granted so many times in the past and with the war, it was all threatened. Draco learned quickly that he needed to recognize his blessings and take a moment each day to really show you how much he cared.
This was more than enough for you, just you and Draco living your lives together, relishing in this new life you created together.
But soon enough, Draco started casually tossing around the idea of having children. You had been married for a year when it he started toying with the idea of having your own kids. You were in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes from that night’s dinner, Draco wiping down the table.
“(Y/N)?” he spoke from the dining room.
“Yes, my love?” you called back.
Draco walked into the kitchen, leaning on the door frame his arms folded across his chest. “Do you think we should move?” he asked, searching your face for a reaction.
Your eyes furrowed. You had been living in this house for a little over a year and you loved it. It was a symbol of your freedom away from the mess of your pasts and your renewed love and dedication to each other. Why would Draco want to leave this place you so fondly called home? You spoke your thoughts that swirled around your head, “Move? Why would we move?”
He peeled himself off the door frame and took a few steps towards you as you shut off the water and turned towards him to give him your full attention. “I think we’ve out grown this home,” he speaks. “Think about it. With my new business starting and with your promotions at work, we’ll both need a home our own offices. Not to mention, we’ll need a nursery soon and that means we’d have to covert the guest room into one, but where would your parents stay when they visit us. Besides, I want to move somewhere were my commute is shorter to work,” Draco shurgs, dancing around the fact that he just mentioned having a nursery in your home.
You stop him in his tracks, “Hold on there, lover boy,” you tease him with the nickname you’d given him back in your sixth year at Hogwarts. He smiles at the name, lightly laughing. “A nursery? Why would we need one of those?”
Draco inhales a deep breath and takes a step closer to you, placing a hand on your hip, pulling you close to him. “I love you, (Y/N). I always have. You are and will always be the most important thing to me,” he tells you as you smile, him kissing the tip of your nose. “I want to start a family together. We have more than enough money to move into a bigger house,” he refers to his hearty inheritance along with the money he’s made from his booming company, “we are both mature and ready, and don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t want a little Malfoy running around,” he teases.
You hated to admit when Draco was right. He saw the way you watched children play in the park around the corner from your home. How children giggled and played, their small feet running around, tiny voices speaking childish phrases, getting excited over new discoveries. Having a child with Draco would be a blessing. But you didn’t know if you were ready to be a mother yet. It was a large step, and one you wanted to take, it was just a matter of if you were ready for it.
Sighing, you brush your fingers through Draco’s blonde hair, a familiar feeling to the both of you. Draco lets his eyes flutter closed as he hums as you do so. “You’re right, Dray,” you admit as he smiles widely. A child. For the both of you. “But,” you interrupt, “I don’t know if I’m ready to be a mother just yet. I’m doing so well in my job and I love working. I’m not ready to give it up. This is only the beginning for me. And it’s not fair to ask you to leave your job to raise a child.”
Draco lets out a breathy laugh as he cups your cheek, rubbing it gently with his thumb as you lean into his touch. “I’m not asking you to drop everything for our child, sunshine,” he tells you. “Besides, we can always take leave from our jobs temporarily on maternity and paternity leave. When you’re ready, you go back. I run my own company, darling. My own. I call the shots. If I need to work from home to raise the child we created, so be it. I’ll enjoy every moment.”
Your heart flutters as Draco speaks. He really was perfect.
And in nine months time, you had created the most perfect thing you could have ever imagined. Celeste Frances Malfoy. Celeste...your star. A gift from the heavens. Your family was as complete as the sky; Draco, the moon, you, the sun, Celeste, your star.
Watching Celeste grow up was like watching a movie unfold before your eyes. Your beautiful baby girl held the universe in her eyes. And boy, oh boy, was she her father’s child. Identical grey eyes and silver hair, but she had your smile and laugh that made Draco’s heart swell with so much love. She had Draco’s love of mischief and often found herself in sticky situations.
Once you had found Celeste sitting quite literally in the toilet, red lipstick from your make up bag smeared across her face and chest, along with the toilet brush. You gasped as you found her and stared in shock. “Cel, what did you do?” you laughed.
She simply smiled, that mischievous smile at the age of two, and spoke, “It’s my wand! Just like mummy and daddy!” She waved the toilet brush around, making small mouth sounds that replicated those of magic and your wand.
You laughed at the antics of your toddler. Instead of getting her out of the toilet bowl, you called out for your husband and called that he get the camera. This would be a memory you would love to keep.
Draco ran in and saw his baby girl in this predicament and burst out laughing. “What mess did you get into, my star!” he laughed as Celeste giggled along with him. “Merlin, I need to tell your Uncle Blaise about this!” he wiped his eyes from laugher.
The years past and Celeste grew and grew before your eyes. The more she grew up, the more she grew into her features. Her long blonde hair grew out and her eyes only grew to look more like Draco’s. But it became evident that your daughter possessed the same ruthless nature as you did. Celeste was bold and clever and wise beyond her years. She really was a perfect blend of you and Draco.
Knowing that you could make such perfect children, that only encouraged Draco and you to have more children. Draco insisted that he wanted five children, but you stared at him with wide eyes. “Do I look like Molly Weasley?” you laughed as he chuckled to himself. “How about three?” you suggested as Draco rolled his eyes.
“I don’t like odd numbers. What if two are very close and the third one feels left out. I can’t do that to our children,” Draco pleaded as you groaned. “Four? Four and I’ll never ask for anything else!” he begs as you roll your eyes, knowing damn well that him not asking for anything else was the biggest lie. “Okay, maybe not that, but four! Four is a great number!”
And in typical Draco fashion, he got what he wanted. Four children. Celeste, your oldest, your leader, your star. Xander, your second, the jokester, the pot-stirrer, but also the empath of the family. Sage, your third, the free spirit, the humble one, Miss Independent. And last, Nicolas, your last, the baby, the soft-spoken one, but incredibly defensive of your family and its honor. Your perfect family.
Each of your children all bore that same striking Malfoy hair, warning children to know who they were messing with. The girls looked much like their father, same hair and eyes, making your heart swell as you looked into their eyes. The boy, on the other hand, had Draco’s platinum hair, but your eyes and smile. The perfect combination.
Having such a large family meant chaos in the house. Celeste would often squeal about how Xander was bothering her while Xander tried to blame Nicolas for his pranks. Sage would quietly sit and observe before telling you the truth about what happened before going back to coloring. You laughed as Xander yelled at Sage for throwing him under the bus, but she just shrugged. The house never being silent always brought you a comfort that you never thought imaginable. The blabbering mouths of your children, the laughter, the fatherly voice of Draco booming over it all, catching your children’s attention.
Draco was a phenomenal father. You didn’t think he could love anything as much as he loved you, but you stood corrected. Draco loved you fiercely, but Draco poured his heart and soul into the needs of his children. Each child had a different relationship with Draco but each so beautiful and lovely. Celeste, being the oldest, idolized her father and how he treated you with such love and compassion. Xander insisted he wanted to be just like his father, smart, funny, and successful. “What more do you need?” Xander would shrug as you laughed. Sage loved Draco something wild, she would draw him little pictures that he’d tape to the walls of his office, she slept with his old quidditch jumper as if it were a blanket. The sight was heart warming. And Nicolas was the baby, Draco’s baby. Nicolas was Draco’s shadow, following him room through room, staring up at him with wide eyes. Your children loved each other and that was all thanks to how you raised them.
From a young age, you told your children that family was everything. You needed to protect and love each other because if you didn’t, who else would. From then on, your children were fiercely close and loyal to each other. You remember clear as day when Xander got into a fight on the playground and word got to Celeste. Celeste then gathered the other siblings and walked up to the child and scared the living shit out of the poor kid who thought to lay a finger on Xander Malfoy.
As your children grew up, you and Draco knew very well that a Hogwarts letter would arrive in the mail soon for Celeste as she approached her eleventh birthday. Your children knew of magic and magical abilities; you wanted them to know the powers that they would posses rather than shield them so they grew to fear it. Each child had a different reaction when they found out about magic, but all fears dissipated when you showed them each your wands and old robes. (Of course, Draco revering his time as a quidditch team member, Xander immediately yelling that he would also be a Seeker like his father.)
Soon enough, the eve of Celeste’s eleventh birthday rolled around and like you expected a letter dashed through the front mailbox and landed perfectly on the breakfast table as you sat down to drink your morning coffee. The pale beige envelope was addressed to Miss Celeste Frances Malfoy. A small smile grew on your lips as you sighed and looked towards your husband. Draco’s eyes laced together in confusion, but soon recognized the slip of paper you had in your hands. The two of you smiled at each other before Draco called out, “Cel! You have an early birthday present!”
Almost immediately footsteps sounded down the staircase before Celeste arrived in the kitchen. “What is it?” the almost eleven year old asked excitedly. You handed her the envelope with a beaming smile as she looked at you quizzically. She tore into the envelope and unfolded it to read the words scribbled onto the parchment. Soon, joy and excitement filled her eyes as she squealed out in excitement. “I’m going to Hogwarts?!” she yelled as you and Draco laughed.
You engulfed your eldest child in a tight hug as happy tears flooded your vision. She was growing up far too fast for your liking.
----------
The start of school eventually rolled around the corner as Celeste happily pushed all of her luggage through the train stations, veering around different platforms. Draco carried Nicolas in his arms as you held Sage’s hand in yours as Celeste walked ahead with Xander, blabbing about Hogwarts, smiles on both you and Draco’s faces.
Your eldest child was about to embark on the greatest journey of her young adult life and you couldn’t be more excited for her. You had no doubt that Celeste would excel at Hogwarts, taking after both you and Draco.
“Mum,” Celeste calls from ahead, “What house do you reckon I’ll be sorted into?” she asks.
You smile and look at your husband speaks before you, “I have my guesses, but I don’t want to influence you in any way, my star.”
Cel groans and speaks, “Come on! You reckon I’ll be a Slytherin like you?”
Draco laughs and tells his oldest child, “It doesn’t matter to me or your mother what house you’ll be sorted into. We know whatever house you are in, you’ll make us proud.”
Celeste smiles wide before looking at her surroundings realizing its come to the part she’s heard so much about. You look to Draco who nods as you sigh. Walking to Celeste, you place your hands on her shoulders. “You ready, star shine?” you ask, giving her shoulders a squeeze. Celeste gulps and looks at you, excitement and fear laced in her eyes. “We’re gonna run through together,” you aim the luggage cart at that all too familiar wall. “On the count of three,” you tell her.
Your daughter takes a deep breath in and huffs, “On three.”
“1, 2, 3,” the two of you speak before running directly at the wall, passing through with ease as another world appears before your eyes.
Multiple wizard families bustle through Platform 9 3/4, mothers calling to their children as fathers carry bags here and there. A smile forms on your face as Draco slides his hand in yours. “Looks familiar, doesn’t it?” he laughs as you roll your eyes teasingly.
You grab Celeste’s hand, “Come on, darling. Xander, push the cart for your sister. Sage, hold Daddy’s hand. She’s got a train to catch!”
Your family starts walking to the platform where the train awaited the loading of multiple new and returning students. Draco loads Celeste’s luggage onto the train with the help of Xander as Nicolas holds onto your leg and sucks on his thumb in wonder at the scene before him.
Turning to Celeste, you see watch her anxiously bite on her lower lip as you did when you were nervous. You place a hand on your daughter’s shoulder. “Cel,” you speak as she turns towards you. “This is going to be the greatest journey ever. Enjoy every minute of it because it goes by in the blink of an eye,” you comfort her as you see tears well up in her eyes. “Oh, sweetheart,” you pull her into a hug, tears forming in your eyes. You hold onto your eldest daughter, pressing kisses onto the top of her head. “I’m so proud of you, star shine. You are going to be incredible. I have no doubt about that.”
Draco places a hand on Celeste’s back and rubs gently. “Your mother is right. When is she ever wrong?” he teases as Cel laughs and hugs Draco’s torso tight. “My star...” he gets choked up before breathing in. He squats to her level and speaks, “Have fun. Make friends. And don’t forget to write us.” Cel giggles as Draco smiles widely at his daughter. “My first born...go kick some ass.”
Cel laughs and hugs you and Draco tightly. You wished you could stay in this moment forever. It was so bittersweet. Watching your baby grow up before your own eyes, but doing everything you’ve ever wanted for her. “Okay, my star,” you pull away, letting her know it was time. “Kids, give Cel a hug goodbye.”
You smile, wiping your tears away as Draco wraps an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. Your kids embrace in a tight group hug, telling each other how much they will love and miss Celeste. “I’ll be home for Christmas! I love you guys and I’ll see you soon!” Celeste waves as she climbs onto the train.
“Come on, Cel!” a voice calls out that you recognize as Tanner, Pansy Parkinson’s eldest daughter.
She’ll be just fine.
Celeste looks at you and Draco as you both send her a wink, letting her know she’ll be just fine. And there she goes, disappearing into the train car.
Slowly, you watch the train pull away from the station, waving at it, watching Celeste embark on the journey of her life. You turn to Draco, watching him gently wipe away the tears that escape his eyes. “Where did time go?” you whisper to him. “I remember being on that train.”
Draco smiles and looks at you, “I remember flirting with you on that train. And then you stomped on my foot and told me to piss off. Didn’t expect to be by my side years later with four children, did you?”
You roll your eyes, “You really know how to ruin a moment, don’t you, Malfoy?” you laugh. “Alright, my lovelies,” you call to your children. “Reckon we should get some ice cream to celebrate, shouldn’t we?”
Your children all cheer at the prospect of a treat as you scoop Nicolas into your arms, kissing his plump cheeks as he giggles. Sage jumps into Draco’s arms and Xander leads the way out.
With one final look back, you sigh out. This wouldn’t be the last time you did that. You still had three more children. But part of you wished it wouldn’t come as quickly as that just did. “One down, three to go, eh?” you tease Draco who laughs.
“Yeah! I’m next! One more year!” Xander exclaims as Draco tickles his sides.
“Yeah, a whole year! Don’t try and leave us too quickly,” Draco laughs as you join in.
It was almost surreal. The life you and Draco had built with each other. A life of love and beauty; beautiful and healthy children, successful jobs, a beautiful home to call your own, and all your loved ones safe and sound. You thanked your lucky stars that you had this life and that Draco was so adamant on giving it to you.
Draco looked back at you and noticed how deep in thought you were. As you walked through the train station, Draco took one of your hands in his. “I wouldn’t want to go through any of this with anyone else. I love you,” Draco squeezes your hand.
You smile fondly at your husband, brushing his cheek with your thumb. “I love you. Forever and always, my dear,” you whisper before giving him a sweet kiss in the middle of Platform 9 3/4 just like you had done so many times before.
Times flies when you’re having fun.
#Draco Malfoy#Draco#draco fanfiction#draco malfoy smut#draco smut#Draco Malfoy Headcanon#draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader#draco malfoy oneshot#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x y/n#draco Malfoy x female reader#draco malfoy x slytherin#Harry Potter#harry potter fandom#harry potter fanfic#harry imagine#Harry Potter Smut
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I LOVE the idea of jock/nerd Mericcup and cheerleader/jock Rapunstrid, do you have any more headcanons for that au?
I tried writing this and got distracted and now O have to start from the beginning so... let’s try this again
- Hiccup keeps trying to ask Merida out but his awkwardness and self Doubt keep tying his tongue and hands and feet and he fails again and again. Merida knows what he’s trying to say but she wants to give him the chance to do it since she knows it might hurt his pride if she asks him. Eventually she does anyway though and Hiccup is so relieved he’s been put out of his misery he kisses her right then and there and everyone’s like OoO
- Hiccup and Astrid are neighbors and they grew up right next door to each other. Like, saw each other through the window and climbed onto each other’s roofs and such. They did that thing where they opened their windows and just... talked if they were too lazy to climb up onto the roof. So they’re like actually really close friends. As kids Astrid always found Hiccup annoying and it was like “your mom is friend with my mom” but eventually he started tutoring her and she thought she was doing fine at school but suddenly she was acing everything and it all made sense and after that she thought Hiccup was cool
- Merida and Rapunzel live quite a bit from each other but Merida skateboards and Rapunzel goes on morning bike rides and walks and jogs and skates (on rollerblades) and really ANYTHING that gets her out in the morning. They end up meeting when Merida falls off her skateboard and busting her knee - Rapunzel took care of it with the med kit she always takes with her everywhere. After that they were best friends and upon hitting middle school, joined sports together to figure out what they liked. Rapunzel was good at cheerleading, being very petite and acrobatic, and Merida was better at the classic sports (soccer, hockey, baseball, football, etc.). They do figure skating together. When Merida had to fight to be on the guys’ team, or just. Create a girls’ sports team, Rapunzel was there to support her every step of the way.
- Astrid and Merida are on a team together. Astrid does either hockey or soccer (or maybe both Idk which seasons they are but it feels like they’d be in different ones) but eventually Merida talks her into joining every one that Merida is in too. They get each other SO much and eventually develop like a secret language. No one knows if that’s true for sure, but these two girls can communicate without moving their body or saying a single word and it’s so effortless and perfect a system that people thought they were dating for the longest time. When someone finally brought it up (it was Snotlout) the two laughed so hard and so long that he blushed, and they NEVER let him live it down. It was just so absurd to them....
- Astrid and Rapunzel actually happened pretty fast. Everyone thought Astrid would take charge, and normally she does. She’s confident and sure of herself and has fingers in SO many pies, and she doesn’t ever shrink from any competition. Everything seems very easy for her and she never falters off fumbles... that is until she tries to talk to Rapunzel. Because Astrid can affectionately bulky Hiccup and Merida already gets her so well that she doesn’t have to try to communicate with her. But Rapunzel is... her opposite in a lot of ways. She’s small and soft spoken and artistic. Her mind is creative and her hands are gentle and her eyes are huge and her smile is warm. Rapunzel is this golden stream in a fairytale and Astrid is.... probably a rock. Of some kind. Anyway, the point is Rapunzel approaches her with that pretty smile and those large eyes and very clearly asks her out and Astrid’s lucky that Merida’s there to say yes for her because her mouth forgets how to move
- Rapunzel cheers SO LOUD for Astrid every game, and they start to sit on the bench together if there’s any free time. During the half time show, Astrid cheers just as loud for Rapunzel and the phrase “THATS MY GIRLFRIEND” gets thrown around a. Lot. They get super competitive all the time and end up having so much fun. Rapunzel is a bit of a softie and let Astrid win a lot in the beginning until Astrid called her out and called her a loser (affectionate) and from then it was ON. No one thought anyone could beat Astrid at anything until Rapunzel came around.
- Hiccup tries to follow what’s happening in the games but he often gets really distracted and confused and ends up analyzing the plays and bombarding everyone with questions afterward. Astrid and Merida eventually directed him to Rapunzel, who actually listened to him and realized how genius his ideas and observations were. They started to talk with the coach about ways to make the team better, and Hiccup eventually starts to just. Help the coaches in general and no one even asks anymore.
- Hiccup has a cat named Toothless and he and Rapunzel are the BEST of friends. Astrid didn’t like him at first but softened upon seeing Rapunzel and Hiccup be so adorable with the little creature. Toothless HATED Merida for the longest time no matter what she tried and it made everyone laugh constantly. Eventually the little thing warmed up to her but for a while there Merida stayed by Astrid “where it’s safe” as she said.
- Rapunzel also has a pet chameleon and she DOTES on that thing. She knows everything about them and anytime anyone asks about Pascal she just wants and rants and rants about fun facts. It’s the only time Astrid will without complaint Listen to someone just talk facts and knowledge. Astrid usually finds it so boring but Rapunzel is so adorable when she goes off about this thing she’s so passionate about that Astrid doesn’t even mind.
- After watching Hiccup with Toothless for a while, Astrid gets her own cat named Stormfly and they are a DYNAMIC duo. Stormfly is almost as well trained as Toothless a lot sooner, and they just have this very clear understanding. Stormfly doesn’t hate Merida, so the red head prefers this cat, and Toothless often glares at her for hours for it. Rapunzel and Stormfly take to each other even faster than Rapunzel and Toothless did. Rapunzel smells like Astrid and Stormfly is HERE for it
- Rapunzel and Merida take riding lessons on the weekends. It was something they looked into when they were really young and when they finally convinced their parents to let them it was the single best thing to ever happen to either of them. Riding Maxmimus and Angus are the best parts of their week in most cases (unless something special happens) and the horses are considered as much their pets as the cats or chameleon. They end up buying them after they get out of college and securing a house for all four of them with a big enough back yard to keep the horses in. It’s a good time.
- Hiccup works as a mechanic, fixing mostly cars but also small stuff like bikes and the such in his free time. Toothless came to him missing a leg, so Hiccup comes up with a lot of really clever contraptions and systems to help Toothless move around the house without Hiccup’s help. He still prefers to be lifted into bed, but anywhere else is free game.
- Rapunzel gets a job at first at a diner, where she spends her highschool and college career working her butt off. It wasn’t the best experience but it achieved the goals Rapunzel needed to so she could go to college and become an art teacher instead. It wasn’t the best paying job, but it allowed her to show others why she valued painting so much, and left plenty time in the year to also go traveling if she wished. She’s very good at saving money so she makes it work.
- Astrid works a lot of fast food at first and even takes a stint at the diner with Rapunzel, but her short temper ends up getting her into a lot of situations where she hates her job and ends up leaving after six to eight months. Nowhere was very good for her until she finally got a job at a gym where she ended up learning a lot of really fun skills like self defense and axe throwing. She did it for so many years and got so good that she was hired on as the instructor, and she’s never been happier than in a position where if a man pushes the limits or a Karen tries her patience, all she has to do is sink an axe into a target and turn to them with a raised eyebrow and ask, “What was that again?” It works every time and unless someone has an actual problem they don’t bother her.
- Merida struggles with work. She gets every job under the sun, taking stints at the diner with Rapunzel and the mechanic’s shop with Hiccup and even eventually at the gym and fun enter with Astrid. She gets bored very easily and doesn’t keep a job more than like four or fives months at Max. Ever. She doesn’t think she’s good at anything and might have peaked in high school... until she discovers archery. In an attempt to help her out, Astrid pitches to the fun center to add archery as an activity, and Merida begins to come to it. Unfortunately they can’t really find a teacher who knows what they’re doing and Merida is the only one who shows up so for a while it’s threatening to shut down. But then Merida teaches herself via the internet and insane amounts of practice, and tries out for the job. They give her the position, but tell her that without customers it’s still going to go down.
- the four gather ALL of their friends and begin mass sharing any and all information they can get out there about the fun center and Merida’s growing skills and how helpful she’ll be as the teacher. They just spread the news and encourage people to at least try it out. Through sheer force of Will and hard work, they get enough people with interests peaked who end up coming. Merida’s classes are full of all kinds of people of all kinds of ages, and she loves it.
- none of them get paid a LOT, but Rapunzel and Hiccup are very good at saving money and slowly, Astrid learns as well and between the three of them they can get things figured out even if Merida doesn’t want to waste energy on budgeting and planning everything out and such. When the fun center is out for winter time, and school is out for Summer, they start taking temporary jobs that pay a lot more money. These jobs end up being labor intensive, but they always try and work together and combined, they can find the fun in even the most annoying jobs. Sometimes Hiccup will join them if he’s having a slow time at work, but he never lasts long and the girls tease him a lot about it.
- Yes the hall live together and yes they have “family nights” where they all go out and do something fun once every month, and they eat dinner and breakfast together as much as they can and they’re all very close and mean a lot to each other god I love them.
There are obviously a ton of other characters in this little world I’ve built so if you have any questions feel free to ask!
#Rapunzel#merida dunbroch#astrid hofferson#mericcup#Merida x hiccup#Hiccup x Merida#Rapunstrid#Rapunzel x Astrid#Astrid x Rapunzel#hiccup haddock#httyd#Brave#tangled#Disney#dreamworks#headcanons#how to train your dragon
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Scuffed Souls
Pairing: Midge Maisel/Lenny Bruce
Rating: M
Word Count: 2769
Summary:
Despite her declared intention to go get herself a taxi, Midge can't seem to leave Lenny's hotel. Parts of it aren't so bad—the ocean view, the pool, Lenny. She could be persuaded into a little recklessness.
It’s the way he says it—“before I’m dead”—that has her twisting on the soles of her new shoes to turn back towards him with an equally twisted smile that can’t fully perk up to the uncomplicated amusement she usually feels when Lenny cracks a joke. It just didn’t sound like one.
And now she’s probably scuffed the black soles on the wretched, fine-pebbled stone of these slabs surrounding the pool of what’s otherwise a really rather sad hotel. He knows it, she knows it, and she can’t blame him for wanting her to come into his room, if only to liven it up for a few minutes. She wonders if anybody’s ever died here. Wait, she thinks, of course they have. It’s a gracelessly aging Floridian hotel. The count for patrons who’ve left unscathed is probably lower.
“Is that a long list?” Midge calls back to him.
Like the melancholy, reluctant romantic he is, Lenny’s still leaning in his doorway, watching her depart. Until a moment ago. Now he’s watching her stand here in kind of a weird realm: the post-date, non-overnight stay who issued a spoken plan to find herself a taxi like a big girl. She’s loitering. Then again, unlike at home in New York, you can do that here. Loiter your heart out. Cross that heart and hope not to die before you’ve slept with the woman whose martial status changes from minute to minute. Roll the dice! No, that’s Vegas.
Even from this distance, she can see Lenny cock his head in that way he has—playfully subservient as a child and publicly tactful as a monied, middled-aged woman. Some days, he could mirror her mother. What a gag that would be.
“Things you wanna do before you’re dead,” Midge explains with a tight gesture of her arm. Just the elbow down. God, is she nervous? She seems to be suddenly doing an imitation of Susie meeting Lenny for the first time.
“Not really. I think of somethin’ good from time to time and, of course, when I do, I can’t find the paper I started the list on and I have to get a new one… so it never really gets that long.”
“I just wondered. You know, how much time I have.”
“The length of the list determines my distance from death? This I did not know. Powerful,” Lenny notes emphatically, producing the same noncommittal smile from Midge. “I guess I better look harder for the next one I lose. Handy thing to refer to.”
“There’s that,” she agrees, “but also…” She takes a step back in the direction of his open doorway. The pool shimmers at her side. He’s right about the pool. Somehow, a pool at night looks glamorous no matter the courtyard. She hopes she looks half as good. “I wonder if there’s sort of an implication in there that—” Midge rolls a modest hand over the crassness she’d have no trouble blurting out on stage, no matter which of her relatives were in the audience. “—the quality of it would extend your life.”
He’s smiling wickedly at her. She’s gotten away with nothing and has no option remaining but to clutch primly at the handle of her purse with both hands.
“If anybody else told me that,” Lenny warns, “I wouldn’t believe them, but you I know to have been engaged to a doctor, and so I assume that any medical information you may have to offer vis-à-vis sex—” Spoken in a harsh stage whisper that nearly makes her (her) blush. “—comes certified by some type of professional board.”
“I didn’t say it was the truth, I said I wondered whether it were what you were implying.”
“Me? Well, you can’t trust that guy. Still, worth chancing, wouldn’t you say?”
Midge’s scuffed soles have brought her many steps nearer to Lenny than she remembers being in lucid command of. She’s slow-tongued as she stares at his impish expression. Flat-out flustered when he tips his head back with a smile to rest it on the doorframe.
“In there?” she asks with eyebrows arching like the next stop on this tour is St. Louis. She points sideways, where his bedside lamp glows. “On one hand, eternal life—on the other, whatever diseases are living in those sheets.”
“Oh, they’re very well mannered,” Lenny assures her with a casual brushing aside motion. “We split the rent fifty-fifty.”
“Hmm, then I’m not sure there’s room for me in that scenario.”
“The shower’s not bad,” he counters.
“Water pressure?”
“No, cleanliness. Haven’t you ever—” He employs the hand roll she should patent if it looks like that when she does it. Elegant. Prudent. Half what she wants to be and the other half what she has no hope of becoming. “—in a shower?”
Because Lenny’s looking at her like she’ll either sidestep (metaphorically—the shoes have suffered enough these past few minutes without risking anything more than a regular forward walk) or say no, she takes very great pleasure in smiling devilishly back at him.
“A shower sounds luxurious. Never done it in a bathroom with a shower before. You look scandalized,” Midge notes. “Do the diners in your neighbourhood have showers in their ladies’ rooms?”
“You had sex in a diner bathroom? I’m impressed,” he allows.
“Thank you. I needed that. I carry every compliment about the encounter back to my closet and console my wedding dress with it. Poor thing never did look the same after rubbing up against those walls.”
“Is this in your act?” Lenny demands, leaning towards her earnestly. “Why haven’t I heard this?”
“Put it in my act? Lenny, please. I’m a lady.”
“Hence the ladies’ room, I suppose.”
She giggles lightly with her lips pressed together. He earned that last line. Set her face on fire to get there, so she’ll let him have it. Speaking of letting him have it. Midge finds herself dropping her eyes so they don’t get into their second intense staring contest of the night. Can’t look straight ahead, can’t look to the right because that’s where his room is and the bed is highly prominent. Almost too eager. The bed is the bump in the front of a virgin’s pants on prom night when his date’s skirt brushes a little too close as they dance. Those crazy kids. Oh, to be young.
Midge looks left.
“The ocean,” she observes, and says, like an idiot. She even does another fucking gesture towards it, like he’d miss it somehow. “It’s… big.” Clever. Real sharp.
“Bigger than in New York? I think so too. Alligators though.”
“It’s ok, you’re talking to a fellow New Yorker. You can use the real term. Pre-handbags,” she prompts when Lenny gives her an inquisitive look.
He lets her have the wrap joke this time, but he’s more persistent about trying to catch her eye. She gets it. She is still standing here making alligator jokes when she was supposed to be in a car on her way back to the type of hotel it would be kinder not to tell this hotel exists. A hotel containing her parents, Shy Baldwin and his entourage, the boxer shorts Susie sleeps in and forgot to pack when she went to save Sophie’s ass. Hopefully Susie doesn’t need to cover that famous, demanding ass because she left the best equipment behind.
Lenny tosses his coat into his room and pulls the door shut, startling Midge.
“How ‘bout the pool?” he asks as he steps around her, arm extended to point. She swivels (damn, damn, damn, her shoes) and chases him. “You ever done it in a pool?”
“Actually, no.”
“I heard the pause and, trust me, I’m enthralled that you even had to think about it.”
“Did I mention I hit my head doing it in the bathroom? Pretty hard. All my memories before that day are hazy, so it’s really anybody’s guess.”
He gifts her an indulgent little smile and stops at the side of the pool. As she looks on, he removes his shoes and socks. Midge hears herself make the noise she makes when she denies Ethan a cookie only to see Zelda handing one over when she returns to the kitchen. The noise says, Is that wise? when her adult mommy brain knows for damn sure that it’s not. Lenny wets his foot and flicks water at her. The mommy noise had no effect on him at all.
“It’s nice,” he says, clasping his hands behind his back. “Warm.”
“Of course it’s warm. The air’s warm. Everything here is warm.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” When Lenny frowns, it’s tragic. The most tragic thing you’ve ever witnessed. “You see, I’ve been so cold since the end of our dance. I really may die if I can’t hold you against me.”
Midge tilts her head back and laughs.
“You’re worse than the guy I tried to scare off at the bar by mentioning dick jokes. And you’ll die? Really? All of a sudden, I’m the cause of your death rather than the agent of its postponement?”
Though he smiles, his eyes remain soulful. There really is something tricky about trying to be funny when he’s looking at her a certain way. She’s probably returning the look.
“Take a dip with me.”
“Why?” she asks, smiling.
“Because I want to admire you with that rose in your hair without the rest of it to distract me.” He nods down at her dress.
“My outfit is distracting? Terrific. Now I know I wore a distracting outfit on Brye Adler.”
Self-deprecating thoughts trickle away, accompanied by the gentle slosh of the ocean behind them. A rambling, improvised bit about what she’s wearing won’t change the fact that Lenny said what he said and she heard it.
“Are you going to call me a taxi if I keep standing here?” Midge asks.
“I had no intention of reminding you of that plan.” He rests a thoughtful forefinger against his upper lip. “But you do seem to be stuck. You won’t brave the room, but you also haven’t left.”
As though demonstrating how to do it, Lenny crouches and trails his fingers through the water of the pool.
“Still warm.”
He gazes up at her with needful brown eyes. The need feels equal to hers. She’s tired of being the only one needing.
“You have neighbours.” It’s between a question and a statement.
“Ah, they’re all either young and stoned or old and asleep.”
Midge makes a decision.
“Gimme your key. I’m going to change in your room.”
“Change into what? Do you have a bikini in your purse?”
She leans close to snatch the key he’s withdrawn from his pocket for the second time tonight and grins.
“Into nothing.”
Lenny takes a visibly shaky breath, not trying to hide it from her.
“Well, I’ll be here performing the role of guinea pig by stripping for any neighbours who may be watching. Should you hear wolf-whistles…”
“I’ll run right back out and join the audience,” Midge promises.
They smile at each other until Lenny tests the tension by loosening his tie. Her eyes drop to watch and she realizes she’d better go do what she said before he’s naked enough to make her lose her nerve. She hurries, high heels clapping on the stone.
His room isn’t quite as bad as anything she and Susie experienced on their first road tour, but it definitely isn’t anything to write home about. Not that he’d need to, seeing as this is his home ‘til Friday and likely beyond. Standing beside Lenny’s bed, Midge unfastens her dress. For the first time since Joel, she does it quickly. For the first time since splitting up with Benjamin, she does it alone. Beneath the dress, she’s cinched in pretty damn tight and she rubs at the red lines in her skin as she takes deep breaths that she lies to herself about—telling herself it’s the relief of being free of her undergarments. She lays her dress on his coral bedding. She positions her purse on his nightstand. Adjusting the rose in her hair, she slips her feet back into her shoes and dons Lenny’s carelessly-discarded suit jacket. Though it’s no beach coverup, it hides enough to get from here to the pool.
She spots the pile of his clothes before she sees him, head bobbing up through the surface as he slicks his wet hair back and swipes water from his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Midge teases to his stunned expression as he locks onto her approaching figure. “The shoes are coming off momentarily. I know they’re distracting.”
As if he’s even aware that she’s wearing shoes; his eyes are fixed on her legs as though she’s an exotic species of butterfly and his gaze is a mounting pin.
“That’s all I see when I look at you,” Lenny says, arms thrusting to propel himself backwards across the width of the pool. He halts at the far side and rests his arms on the stones, chest above the line of the water. “One big pair of shoes.”
Midge shoots him a coy smile as she steps out of them, wary to avoid treading on his watch. That’s what gets her: his watch. She stares down at it, resting there, the glass face catching the light, second hand ticking away. Before they’re dead.
“Aren’t you going to close your eyes or something?” she asks, standing in bare feet, Lenny’s jacket, and a rose. “Or are you only a gentleman when it comes to sharing a cigarette?”
“For you, I will go through the charade.”
He places a hand over his eyes. His mouth smiles below it.
Watching him, she swiftly sits on the side, dangling her legs in the water. With tentative fingers, she undoes the first button on the jacket. His hand doesn’t move. She undoes the second. Nothing from Lenny. Jacket open, Midge shrugs it from her shoulders. As she pushes off the wall, dropping into the pool, he lowers his hand.
“Hey!” she complains, spluttering on water, but he raises both hands helplessly, then goes back to holding himself up at the opposite side of the pool. “That was a dirty trick.”
“I would repent if I could find it in my heart to do so, but I just don’t regret it.”
Midge laughs, shaking her head and treading water.
“By the way,” Lenny adds. “The rose looks wonderful.”
She managed to keep all but the very bottom of her hair dry and can feel the flower still tucked between the strands. Fleetingly, she thinks of where she’s supposed to be tonight. What would Carole have to say about a situation like this? Maybe Midge can be the one who knows how a situation goes for once, without warnings or tips. Just… living it. That’s how she gets the material for her act, which what’s happening tonight could never be part of. ‘So,’ she imagines telling a crowd, ‘I finally fucked Lenny Bruce. Plenty of people already thought I had, so I doubt anybody’s still betting on it, but if you had money on it happening in a swimming pool in Florida, happy days!’
“Can you see it from way over there?” she asks coquettishly.
“A little.”
“Seeing a rose ‘a little’ won’t do. Do you think Shakespeare only bothered to see a rose ‘a little’ before writing that line about how sweet it smells?”
Lenny shoves away from the side and swims lazily in her direction.
“What does yours smell like?”
“Pool chemicals, probably.”
“An underrated scent.”
Midge’s heart surges and her throat seizes up, tongue awkward in her mouth as he draws nearer. With the glow and distortive properties of the water, his body’s nothing but a blur below the surface, as she’s sure hers is as well.
“It’s like a forcefield,” he notes. “I get close enough to you and, it’s not that the world stops being funny, it’s…”
“It’s that it becomes somebody else’s job to make the joke.”
“That’s it,” Lenny agrees softly as they begin to slowly circle each other.
Gradually, they work their way over to where it’s shallow. Midge’s toes skim the bottom when she begins to uncurl her legs. Her body gets used to the weightless feeling of the water, muscles relaxing, but her heart beats harder and harder. Finally, she cuts across their circle and wraps her arm behind Lenny’s neck as she presses her mouth to his. His hand cups her cheek, then shifts, knocking the rose from her hair.
#my writing#The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel#tmmm#Midge Maisel#Lenny Bruce#Midge x Lenny#the ongoing dick-measuring contest between me and the Palladinos#so what if they aren't aware of it? does that matter?#as a writer I'm really just here to fix the unsatisfying plot points of the Palladinoverse
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Rosalyn51 Note: This article contains SPOILERS. The film will have its World Premiere at Toronto International Festival on Thursday, September 16. In theaters and streaming on AMC+ this December. Also worldwide. Stay tuned.
Female Filmmakers in Focus (TIFF Edition): Director Camille Griffin on Her Feature Directorial Debut, ‘Silent Night’
The British writer/director talks about making an apocalyptic black comedy set at Christmas.
Although ‘Silent Night’ is her directorial debut, British writer-director Camille Griffin has worked in film for over 25 years. With her husband, cinematographer Ben Davis (‘Eternals,’ ‘Cry Macho’), she is mother of actors Roman Griffin Davis (‘Jojo Rabbit'), Gilby Griffin Davis and Hardy Griffin Davis. Blending pitch black comedy with holiday cheer, ‘Silent Night’ is an apocalyptic twist on the ensemble Christmas comedy with a killer ensemble cast that includes Keira Knightley, Roman Griffin Davis, Matthew Goode, Lily-Rose Depp, Kirby Howell-Baptiste, Lucy Punch, and Ṣọpé Dìrísù.
As friends and family gather on Christmas Eve tensions rise - but not for the usual reasons. It’s slowly revealed that the end of society as we know it is nigh. As a poisonous cloud descends upon the United Kingdom, petty differences are worked through, grievances are aired, and despite it all, love remains all around them.
Griffin sat down with Moviefone ahead of the gala presentation of ‘Silent Night’ at the Toronto International Film Festival.
Moviefone: How did you first decide to combine a holiday film with an apocalypse film?
Camille Griffin: First of all, I'm the annoying person at a dinner party who wants to talk about real things, and I get on people's nerves, because I'm not talking about nonsense. And I've noticed that a lot of people don't have the tolerance or the energy to always have big, dramatic conversations. And I don't mind having a polite argument or something and then like having a drink. I like having difficult conversations. But I know that a lot of people don't. So that, for me, is why I tried to make a comedy because I wanted to talk about important things, but make it entertaining, and not lecture or be a bore. I thought if I have a load of great actors playing great characters and great dialogue and funny moments, then I can maybe get some important points across. I just wanted to ask questions with the film. I'm not trying to give the answers obviously, you can obviously have a clue and insight into my political values. I sound very middle class, I was brought up middle class.
I used to get very sentimental at Christmas. You miss the people you haven't spoken to, your friends that you've fallen out with, or your family. That dodgy brother or sister who annoys you. There's a sentimentality about Christmas, and relationships and friendship. And I think as I've got maybe weller, emotionally and psychologically older, I've become less sentimental. But there's something so profoundly powerful about the sentimentality of Christmas, and how we want to be with your loved ones and friends and family.
MF: Was the Michael Bublé song ‘Christmas Sweater’ written for the film? It's used very uniquely three or four different times.
Griffin: Matthew Vaughn, who was my original producer, and still producer, but then he brought on Celine Rattray and Trudie Styler. Matthew is a great entrepreneur. Other than being a filmmaker and producer, he has his hands in many creative pockets. He was tinkering on his piano and came up with this Christmas song. He took it to Gary Barlow, from Take That. He's an amazing songwriter. They've written songs before, and they came up with this. Our composer Lorne Balfe, he only admitted to me last minute that he also worked on the song.
Matthew said we need to shoot a beginning where they're all on their way. I said, so they can play your Christmas song? And he said yes. So then the song had to then be brought into the film and became part of the storytelling. But it didn't originate from me, and it didn't originate from my film, but I did take the song. And I love that you notice that it has an unusual usage. He asked who do you want to sing it? I said, it's got to be Michael Bublé, Michael Bublé is Mr. Christmas, you know? And then he was like, I've got Michael Bublé!. I said we have to integrate throughout the film.
MF: How did you cast this large ensemble? Did you have any of them in mind when you were writing?
Griffin: I thought I was going to make the film for no money. Because I have been writing screenplays for an awful long time. So I came back from ‘Jojo Rabbit’ because my son was in ‘Jojo Rabbit’. And I saw Taika [Waititi] using comedy. And I thought, God he’s very clever to use this comedy idea. I'm going to use comedy, I'm going to write comedy. I'm going to write a really dark comedy, because all my stories were kind of melancholic and challenging. And I thought, okay, I can use comedy that's going to make it so much better. Or when I make my movie, that's a very rich person I know for money. And I went to Matthew Vaughn for advice. And he said, I'll make your film. I'd written it for my friends who are actors, because I used to be a camera assistant for many years. I've worked in the industry for a long time, and I've accumulated friendships with some actors. I wrote it for people who are my age. One of the first things Matthew said was, Oh, we got to cast much younger, we're old Camille. It really hit me, hearing him say we're old, actually really hit me because I've never had a problem with age. I have to be honest, I didn't write the film for that cast, because I wrote the film for a much older cast.
But as soon as he had that conversation, I was like, okay, well, wouldn't it be amazing to have Keira Knightley play Nell? Wouldn’t that'd be fun, like, this whole kind of Working Title beginning and the idea of perfection and Christmas happiness. And I was like, we've got to get Keira. She’s Miss Perfection and sweet. Audiences think of her as like the perfect British jewel. We had a causal conversation right at the beginning of our development process, then months later he said Keira Knightley had read the script and wanted to talk to me. So it all starts with Keira, and she loved it. We had an amazing conversation on the phone, then we met in person and I fell in love with her. And then people wanted to work with Keira, but we were very careful with who we cast because everyone in the film is a version of who I'd written it for originally, if that makes sense.
They're exceptional. There isn't one person that I'm not so grateful to because they were really up for playing. They were up for being extreme. They were all up for trying things that weren't comfortable. I was so lucky. I had to cut a few times because I couldn't stop laughing. I couldn't believe they had this endless pit of delivering brilliant performances.
MF: Keira’s boys in the film are played by your sons. How did you decide to cast them?
Griffin: So the three boys are mine and Davida McKenzie is a friend of ours. She's Thomasin McKenzie's little sister. The boys had become close to her on ‘Jojo Rabbit’. It wasn't that I just wanted to cast my kids, I obviously wrote the part from Roman and Roman and I had been on a long journey together with him wanting to act way before ‘Jojo’, and thank God for ‘Jojo’ it changed his life. But I knew that the kids were going to be part of a big gang of actors, and that the characters were going to be subjected to a certain amount of trauma. We did meet some kids because Davida lives in New Zealand, she's bloody miles away. I kept saying, I want Davida, but she's in New Zealand, we can't afford to bring her over. We did audition other actresses, but they just didn't have what she had. The kid needs to feel safe, because she's bullied through the whole film, and if she's got her friends, Roman, Gilby and Hardy, they're all friends, she’ll feel safe.
Also, I don't want to kill other people's kids, I'd rather pretend kill my kids. They're going to be fine because they know it's a conversation, it’s a metaphor. But I didn't want to do the same to someone else’s child, who then didn't feel safe. My kids and I had these, we have quite an extreme family, we're quite volatile and passionate and loving. So I just thought it'd be safer for them as children if they were my children and our friend.
MF: What do you hope people feel after they've walked away from this film?
Griffin: I don't want to hurt anyone because I know the film is upsetting. I've cried a lot myself through the film, because I care about those characters. They're also very dysfunctional characters, they’re very flawed characters, but I cared about them because they became real. I think we all believe that there should be a slight trigger warning in the film. I don't want the audience to be angry or hurt, which is why it's important that they're not tricked. I’m very grateful there's a slight warning that, you know, it's a dark comedy, and there's death in it.
I do want people to think, you know, how do we treat our younger generation? Do we allow them to ask questions? Do we listen to them? Do we allow them to challenge us? They're going to have to inherit a damaged planet, they're going to have to inherit a damaged society. I also think, fundamentally, do we give a shit about each other? Like, I care? Am I doing enough? I'm not doing that much, because I've got three kids to look after. And if I think I'd like to leave the world a better place, but I’m feeding and cooking and helping them. But because I think okay, well, I want to be a filmmaker, and I’ve wanted to be a filmmaker since I was a young child. So maybe if I can ask the questions in cinema, and we can walk away and go, well, Jesus, that was hard, that wasn’t easy to watch. It’ll make us think, are we doing enough? Are we recycling enough? Are we paying enough taxes? Is our government making the right decisions? Are we getting vaccinated? Do we care about our neighbor? You know, how do we care about racism? Are we going to change our political view? The characters say, we should have voted Green. It's like, yeah, maybe we should all be voting Green. So I like to think that, you know, Trump’s gone now, thank God. But there's a lot of recovery from the mistakes my government has done and the American Government's, certainly. That's what I'm trying to achieve with the film.
MF: Could you recommend another female filmmaker that inspired you who readers should seek out?
Griffin: I think the interesting thing is there's a lot of women writers, there's a lot of women, cinematographers, there's a lot of women actors, and I think they’re all artists. Recently I’ve been recommending a film called ‘Polisse’, not because I'm saying it's one of my absolute favorite films, but because it's a film I saw at the Cannes Film Festival many years ago by a filmmaker called Maïwenn, who had been an actress. It was an extraordinarily powerful film about the French police system and children. And I remember just sobbing and sobbing and for weeks I was obsessed with her film and obsessed with her as a filmmaker. It's not easy. I don't have easy conversations. So if someone wants something fun to watch, they shouldn't watch that. But it's called ‘Polisse’ and it was breathtaking.
'Silent Night' premieres on September 16 as part of the Gala Presentation series at the Toronto International Film Festival this year.
#matthew goode#keira knightley#annabelle wallis#lily rose depp#silent night (2021)#roman griffin davis#sope dirisu#kirby howell baptiste#lucy punch#davida mckenzie#camille griffin#michael buble#tiff 2021#toronto international film festival#new film
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A Plan
Summary: Albus Dumbledore hears of a small boy—Remus Lupin—who was recently bitten by a dangerous werewolf. The boy-turned-werewolf is only five, but Dumbledore has already made the decision that he will someday be enrolled in Hogwarts: a feat which has never been achieved. First chapter from my longer fic (link in blog description)!
Wordcount: 2727
Dumbledore sat in the Hog's Head, trying to avoid the gaze of his furious brother. They never talked now. Dumbledore could understand why, but it did feel a bit childish to be bickering like... well, like siblings. He listened to Aberforth scrubbing the counter in a sort of agonized rhythm. Aberforth was still staring, eyes narrowed—perhaps Dumbledore could not see it, but he could feel it. "Just a few more minutes and I'll be out of your hair, Aberforth," Dumbledore said lightly. "I am afraid that this is the easiest place for secret information to remain secret."
"I had to shut down my pub, just for you," scowled Aberforth. "We can't all be rich and famous, Albus. Some of us have to make an honest living instead of pulling political strings for the greater good."
Dumbledore winced. All of their meetings went like this. "This is important," he said. "And Clark is an honest man."
"Clark Darnall is a werewolf."
"An honest werewolf, then. He is doing good work and he has important information. I might as well offer him a drink at one of the best pubs in Britain."
"Flattery won't work on me."
"I am not trying to flatter. I truly do not mean to bother you, Aberforth—" Dumbledore glanced up at the portrait of Ariana and sighed. "I do not mean to bother you," he said again. "Please. One hour."
"I wish the whole world knew that you aren't the paragon of light they think you are," hissed Aberforth, slamming down his towel. He sat down behind the counter. Dumbledore heard him cross his arms.
Silence. The only noise in the room was the sounds of Aberforth's annoyed huffs and the tapping of Dumbledore's long fingers on the tabletop.
Minutes passed. Suddenly, the door flew open.
"Albus Dumbledore. Oh, thank you fer meetin' me." Clark looked just the same as ever—all mussed brown hair, unhealthy frame, dirty face, and ripped robes. His strange accent was the same as ever. Clark Darnall had been bitten at age nine and had escaped to Greyback's werewolf pack shortly after. The pack, from what Dumbledore understood, was a conglomeration of all kinds of different people and nationalities. Clark's accent was a strange combination of a lot of different places. He hadn't lived in human civilization in a little less than twenty years. Dumbledore's heart ached for his plight.
"My pleasure. Sit down, Clark. Aberforth, if you would..."
"Don't speak to me," said Aberforth, slamming two cups of Butterbeer on Dumbledore's table. Dumbledore stole a glance at Aberforth for the first time. Sure enough, Aberforth looked ready to kill him. Never mind that, thought Dumbledore. He turned his attention back to Clark. Dumbledore's relationship with his brother, he suspected, was a lost cause.
"You said that you had pertinent information, old friend?" said Dumbledore gently, and Clark bobbed his head up and down.
"Yes. Yes, sir, I do. I... werewolves... you know. No one listenin' in?"
"Not a one. Except for Aberforth, but he's a very moral man. He can keep a secret."
Aberforth scrubbed harder and grunted an agreement.
"Tha' man. Aberforth. He doesn't like werewolves much, hunh?"
Dumbledore smiled. Clark wasn't usually this blunt, but a werewolf who had lived amongst other werewolves all his life often misjudged humans' ability to hear spoken comments. Heightened senses were a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse, according to Clark. "He can hear you, Clark."
"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, sir. Ab... Aberforth. So sorry."
Aberforth did not grace this with a reply, so Dumbledore broke the awkward silence. "How much time do you have?"
"'Bout an hour till Greyback notices I'm gone, p'raps less. I should hurry."
"I'm listening." Dumbledore took a sip of Butterbeer.
"Greyback's been excited lately. Dare I say over the moon." Clark chuckled weakly. "There was this man, while ago. Fergot his name. Somethin' like... Loopy, I guess. I'll remember later, prob'ly. But he sort of insulted Greyback... Greyback had a spot of trouble with the Ministry, you see, and was brought in fer a proper hearing. Pretended he was a Muggle tramp. Almost got away with it, 'parently, but... the bloke, Loopy... he didn't buy it at all. Clever man."
"Do you know anything else about this man?"
"Greyback was goin' on abou' Boggarts. 'Parently the bloke was an expert... and then they hired him at the Ministry. Somethin' like Crocodile fer a first name... you know my mem'ry's not all there, Albus."
Dumbledore paused. An expert on Boggarts who had been hired by the Ministry... Crocodile Loopy? Dumbledore's mind started to conjure pictures of the young man whom he had taught years earlier... brown hair, shy demeanor, studied various subjects for fun... sense of humor... got into fights with other Hogwarts students at times. Mostly mild-mannered, but a temper. "Lyall Lupin," he said heavily. "It was Lyall, wasn't it? I taught him." Dumbledore started to picture what possibly could have happened between Greyback and Lyall that made Greyback so happy... a fight, perhaps? Lyall lost? The full moon was a few weeks ago... was Lyall killed? Or bitten? Poor man.
"Yup, Lyall Lupin. Tha' was it, I'm sure of it. Well, Lyall saw righ' through Greyback. His coworkers didn't believe him, and Greyback mentioned... Greyback said they sort of taunted Lupin a bit. Seemed happy abou' it, whatever it was, but I don't know what they said. Ministry let Greyback free and tried to Obliviate him, but Greyback escaped. Ministry knows what 'e looks like now. Greyback was hoppin' mad abou' tha', he was. Face's all over the papers. Can't go undercover anymore. But 'parently Lupin said that... werewolves were... heartless, soulless... creatures? I do'nno. Also implied we should all die."
Dumbledore closed his eyes. Oh, Lyall...
"So I guess Lupin both insulted Greyback and outed his appearance to the media, and Greyback was goin' on abou' revenge for a full day. 'Twas the day before the day of the full, you know. He was tellin' the story to everyone who would listen. Called us all together. Plotted his revenge. Said he was goin' over to Lupin's and killin' him. Said if the whole world knew who he was, he might as well make it worth it."
"And...?"
"And he went over to Lupin's a bit before the moon rose. Came back. Looked pleased. Blood all over."
Dumbledore felt a bit ill. "Lyall...?"
"Perfectly fine. 'Parently Greyback went out and scouted the area. Watched the house fer a bit. S'not just Lyall livin' there, he has a family. Wife. Kid."
Dumbledore felt even more ill.
"You know how Greyback goes after the kids. Ecstatic that there was a little lad there. Big Lupin got away with not even a scratch, he did, but Greyback meant to kill the kid."
So there was hope after all. "Meant to?"
"Meant to. Lad was only 'bout five, Greyback says. Tiny thing. Asleep before half-seven. You know children tha' young don't survive the firs' full, so there was no point in bitin' him and lettin' him live. So Greyback decided to... you know. Rip 'im apart. Leave 'im barely recognizable. Wanted to hurt Lupin, he did."
"Meant to?" Dumbledore repeated. Clark had always had a flair for the dramatic; he certainly liked to draw things out for maximum suspense. It was usually entertaining, but right now it was just mildly annoying. "You said that he... meant to kill the child."
"Yeah, he did. But he says he only got one bite in before Lupin heard noises and scared 'im off. No sense stickin' around when a wizard's got a wand and s'firin' curses at you." Clark chuckled. "Miffed parents are dangerous, and Greyback's not stupid. Says it was still fun, though—lad didn't even scream; too stunned to do anything but stare. Greyback was pretty happy abou' how things turned out. Says it'll be a lot more fun for Lupin to live with a werewolf kid for a month. Said it wasn't possible fer such a young lad to survive the full, so Lupin would either have to put 'im down or let 'im die with the rising of the moon. But he regretted that he didn't get the kid fer himself. Younger ones taste better, he says."
Dumbledore shifted in his seat with discomfort. Clark was desensitized to such talk, having grown up among werewolves, but Dumbledore was not. He wasn't entirely convinced that Clark did not ever bite or kill people on the full moon, but he would never voice his reproaches to Clark. Clark was, after all, a good informant and debatably a good man... yet Dumbledore would not hesitate to protect anyone whom Clark may be willing to attack. "Continue, Clark."
"Righ'. Well, tha' was two and a half months ago, tha' was. Lad's been through the first full. Lupin let 'im live, which Greyback found surprising. But you know what's even more surprising?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
"The kid lived. Had his skeleton torn apart at the age of five, he did, and he didn't die. Mostly they've got to be at least five and a half, and even tha's rare. Greyback says seven is the best age. Greyback also said the kid wasn't even five yet when Greyback bit 'im. Close, but not yet—he was four. Family was talkin' 'bout fifth birthday prep'rations, he said. Lad prob'ly transformed for the firs' time righ' aroun' his birthday. Only five."
That was rare, certainly, but Dumbledore didn't see why it was such important information. "So...?"
"So tha's a big deal! You prob'ly don't understand. Yer brigh' and all, but you can't understand. In the werewolf world, tha's huge. Greyback went and discovered a kid who somehow got past all the laws of the world. Tha's why he's so happy. Got 'imself a protegee, he said. But when he tried to go get the kid and bring 'im to the pack... lad refused."
"Do you know the child's name?"
"'Course I do. Remus Lupin. Greyback's been sayin' it over and over, like it's a song stuck in his head. He gets obsessive sometimes. Scary. The fact that Remus refused made 'im even happier. Usually he can go into the child's room sometime before the second moon, cast a Soundproofing Charm, and then convince the kid to come join. After they've been through the firs' full moon they'll do anythin' to make it better, and Greyback makes sure the parents aren't aroun' to make the decision fer their kid. So tha's what Greyback did with Remus. Sometimes he makes us do it, but he really wanted to do it himself this time. Never seen 'im so excited abou' anythin'. His heart was going a mile a minute, it was."
"But Remus refused?"
"Yup. Greyback did all the normal stuff... promised he could make the pain go away, said it was almost like a cure, said Remus'd meet other kids like 'im. Greyback even said that he tried to act all nice and fatherly, but none of us believe 'im. Anyway, lad heard that Greyback could help an' then flat-out refused. Said he wanted to stay where he was. Also a big deal, Dumbledore... pain's a lot, an' kids don't offen have the presence of mind to make their own decisions."
"I see."
"Greyback tried Plan B, as he always does when the kids refuse. Took off Soundproofing Charms, let parents in. Sometimes the parents love to get the kid off their chests. But Lupin wasn't having it, 'parently. And Lupin can duel, so Greyback left. Lupin still loved his kid, even though he'd hated werewolves just two and a half months ago."
"Fathers do tend to love their children," murmured Dumbledore. "Lyall was always headstrong, but I never had any doubt when he was at Hogwarts that he'd do the right thing."
"Don'no if it is the righ' thing, meself. Remus Lupin's not gonna have an easy life. People're gonna hate 'im. And he's only five. He migh' have been better off with us... plus, I kinda wanted to meet him, I did. After Greyback's said so much abou' him."
"He will be better off here," said Dumbledore. "He will. Lyall is a good father, I'm sure."
"Yeah, well. They moved, after Greyback found 'em the second time, but Greyback isn't worried. Loves that the lad has a mind of his own. Says he'll go find Remus later when he's grown and try again. Says it's somethin' to look forward to. He's always so much happier when he has somethin' to look forward to. We're always scared of 'im after the euphoria of the last full moon dies down and he's got a whole month to go. But now he's practically bouncin' off the walls. No tellin' whether Remus'll survive the next full, but I hope he will. Really wanna meet the kid, I do."
"So do I," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "But I imagine that the family is going through a lot right now. You're right, Clark. This certainly changes things. You always do bring me good information."
"Least I can do after you saved my skin few years ago," said Clark. "Heckin' werewolf hunters. Execution's the worst way to go. Well, I'd better get back before Greyback wonders where I've been. See ya sometime, Albus."
"See you sometime," repeated Dumbledore, smiling. He watched Clark go. The second he left, the smile dropped off of his face. "Aberforth, you needn't listen. But I need to talk things through." Dumbledore stood up and began to pace.
"Oh, joy," said Aberforth sarcastically.
"Armando is set on retiring, and I—forgive my arrogance—expect to be headmaster in a few months' time."
"Of course you do."
"Lyall was always a good man. He will raise Remus to be a good man as well, I am certain of it."
"If you think werewolves can be good."
"I do. And I think that, since Remus is so young now, he will have had a chance to adapt to the curse by the time he is eleven..."
"Oh no," said Aberforth. "Absolutely not."
"I heard that Lyall has married a Muggle. I believe her name is Hope. Remus might be nonmagical... but with Lyall's talent, I suspect that he is a wizard. I shall have to check, but I would not be surprised if his name is already down for Hogwarts. If I can create arrangements for full moons..."
"You're not planning on raising this boy to fight in the war, Albus."
"I thought you didn't like werewolves," said Dumbledore. "Don't worry. That is not my intention. I simply think that he has a right to an education, don't you? I can see many ways that this will be a success... but, if I am as magically competent as I believe myself to be... I cannot see many ways in which it can fail. If this works... yes, indeed, I can see it working," he said, more to himself than Aberforth, "and it could be life-changing for a great many people. Or perhaps just Remus Lupin. Either will satisfy me."
"You say that, but you only care about the greater good. None of that is true at all."
"It is certainly true," said Dumbledore quietly, "and I'll thank you to let me be my own person. I am changed. I have learned. And Remus Lupin will learn as well, if I have anything to do with it... except in a very different sense. He is young still, but in six years... six years. Yes. I shall... what is the expression?... put it on the back burner." He smiled. "Would you like a caramel toffee, Aberforth? In thanks?"
"A caramel toffee will not make up for your mistakes."
"No, but a caramel toffee certainly doesn't hurt..."
"I don't want your toffees."
"A couple Galleons?"
"I am not a charity case."
"A hug?"
"Don't touch me."
"You may have my scarf, but it's a bit old and probably too flamboyant for your tastes..."
"Get out of my pub so that I can reopen."
"Very well. Let me know if there's anything you ever need, Aberforth."
"I need you out of my life," Aberforth called, but Dumbledore was already halfway down the cobblestone street, humming Rossini's Barber of Seville overture.
All in all, it had been quite the productive day.
#albus dumbledore#hp fanfiction#marauders#remus lupin#young remus lupin#hogwarts#little bit of a prologue#tone change from the rest of my fic but i like it#aberforth dumbledore
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That's Not On The Script
In which you go a little off script.
Ships: JensenxPregnant!Reader
Reader Gender: Female
Reader Age: 25+
WARNINGS: mentions of premarital sex (is that even a warning?), the reader is pregnant, sandwich scenario is heavily based off of an incident that occurred when my cousin was pregnant, character reader plays is named Lora
-There Is No Road So Far So We're Jumping Right In-
"Goddammit Lora!" Jensen, or more Dean, said with obvious frustration is his voice. "I can't read minds! Just tell me what the problem is. You've been acting so different lately, hell if I didn't know any better I'd say you were possessed."
I glared at him fiercely, crossing my arms. "There isn't a problem Dean, you're just looking for things to criticize."
He laughed humorlessly. "If that's the case then I don't have to look very hard. You don't think I've noticed? You avoiding me? Running out of the room when I come in? Is it because you regret it, that night?"
My eyes had gone glossy as he spoke and for a moment I forgot we were only acting. Although it was easy to forget, after all Lora and Dean were in the same situation Jensen and I were in. In the last season, filmed about four months ago, Lora and Dean had hooked up on the show and the sexual tension that had occurred while filming got to the both Jensen and I and we slept together. Only, much like Dean and Lora, Jensen and I refused to bring it up. Except now, in the scene where Lora was supposed to admit that she had fallen in love with Dean except that isn't what came out of my mouth.
"I'm pregnant, okay?" It was quiet, I don't think anyone had expected me to say that. "And you're the father," I added in a whisper.
Jensen stared at me mouth open in shock. "But that night... we used protection." I don't know if he was continuing the scene or if he was speaking as Jensen, either way I continued.
"I know," I choked out, "but it must've torn or something and now -" a sob broke out, "-now there's this baby growing inside me and I can't bring myself to get rid of it."
Jensen stepped forward and wiped the tears rolling down my cheeks, then his hands went to my stomach. As he placed them there I was sure he could feel the small bump that was concealed by the baggy flannel I wore. "And I would never ask you to. We'll get through this, okay? You, me and," he looked to my stomach, "our baby."
"Cut!" Both our heads snapped to look at Robert and the rest of the crew, they all stood there staring at us.
"Wow," Robert told us walking closer to us. "That was unexpected but it works. When did you two discuss changing the scene."
I looked to my shoes. "We didn't."
"Wait you mean..." he trailed off looking between Jensen and I.
"Yeah, I really am pregnant."
-Line Break-
I smiled warmly, placing my hands on my swollen abdomen as I watched the boys answer another question in that funny way that only they could pull off.
"Y/N," I looked to the young blonde girl that had spoken and nodded indicating that she continue. "I was wondering is you could tell us how Jensen reacted when he found out about you know the whole pregnancy thing?"
I laughed, as did Jensen and the rest of the cast. "Well, I assume you've watched the latest episode?" She nodded. "That scene where Lora reveals the pregnancy to Dean is also when I revealed that I was pregnant."
Her mouth fell open. "So that was genuine, no lines or scripts or anything?"
I shook my head. "In the script Lora was supposed to admit that she had fallen for Dean but I kinda broke character and it slipped out."
"The best is that everyone else thought that we'd talked about it before shooting and Y/N had to explain that nope, she's actually pregnant."
"Jared punched Jensen," Misha added.
The blonde looked perplexed. "Why?"
"Y/N is my little sister and best friend or not no one can sleep with my baby sister and face no repercussions," Jared explained.
Misha started laughing remembering what had followed after Jared punched Jensen. The crowd and cast alike stared art him in curiosity. "Y/N's reaction to the punch," he said as if that would explain it.
J2 both started laughing at the memory and I flushed, embarrassed at what I had done. The fan that had asked the original question glanced between all of us looking intrigued. "What happened?"
"Do you want to tell them or should I?" Jensen asked me teasingly.
I flushed further and shook my head, unable to speak of the embarrassing moment aloud. "All right, I'll tell them," he laughed. "So I had just been given a good right hook in the face by sasquatch over there then Y/N burst into sobs and stormed off. Misha, Jared and I followed after her (albeit in a bit of pain on my part). We met her at the kitchen and she was making a sandwich but she was still heavily sobbing. Being the oh so clever older brother Jared stepped forward-"
"Something you didn't do," Jared said cutting off his co-star.
"Are you kidding? I'd rather take on a demon than approach a crying hormonal woman. What you do is ward them off with hot bubble baths and chocolate until they calm down and then admit that you're wrong about whatever they're upset about ," Jensen explained as if it were a science he had perfected. "Anyway, Jared stepped forward and the next thing you know there's a moose covered in tuna, mayo and bread in the middle of the kitchen. Y/N is screaming at Jared that he's her least favourite Supernatural character and that she wished his character would be cursed to turn into a moose for the rest of the show. Misha and I just stood there, the rest of the crew must've heard the commotion because they were there too. And after 20 minutes of angry Y/N she turns around and offers to make everyone sandwiches."
"Did you guys have her make the sandwiches?" A fan called out over the laughter.
"Are you kidding? She had just thrown bread and tuna mayo at Jared, we weren't going to risk saying no," Jensen quipped good naturedly. He then proceeded to put an arm around me and rest his hand atop my swollen belly. "No but seriously, despite all the hormonal rage fits and the crying when she couldn't get a scene right I couldn't ask for a better baby mommy. Which is why," he removed his arm from around me and slipped onto one knee, "I'd like to make this official. Y/N L/N, Lora Pierce, Chipmunk, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife."
My hand had gone over my mouth in shock by the end of his proposal and tears blurred my vision as I caught sight of the ring he held in his hand.
"Y/N?" He asked worriedly after a beat of silence.
"Okie dokie," I squeaked out.
-Bonus-
Misha stood up and pointed at me as if accusing me of something. We all looked at him. "That was part of a Destiel fan fiction!"
Laughter broke out throughout the hall.
-Cue End Music-
#Destiel is mentioned#Spn#dean winchester#jensen ackles#jensen x reader#Supernatural#spn one shot#pregnant reader#supernatural x reader#jared padalecki#misha collins
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Deception
A/N; I may or may not feel guilty for not posting in AGES. Please enjoy.
Pairing; Steve Rogers x Reader
Warnings; None
“I'm sorry. I just don’t know what you want me to tell you. I’m telling you all I know, I’ve never been good at lying. I’ve always been proud of that.”
“You mean you’re telling the truth?” His brows furrowed slightly as he eyed her for a moment. A second later, he nodded ever so slowly. He wasn’t sure if there was a time when he couldn’t tell if someone was lying or not. “So, this man corners you, screaming and shouting about things you can’t make out and then he attacks you?”
“Correct.”
“And you stab him in self defence?”
“Also correct.”
“The thing is, Y/N... This guy... He’s been on our radar for months.”
“Our?”
“The Avengers.” Steve Rogers admitted, looking slightly lost in that moment. “We’ve been tracking him down for a while now. It’s strange how he managed to keep himself hidden from us all this time just to turn up in a random alleyway that you happened to be walking down.”
“It’s not strange at all.” Y/N shrugged, fiddling with her sleeve as she sat across the table from Steve. “He clearly wasn’t in his right mind.” She released a shaky breath. “He was shouting at me and jerking around. I panicked and I stabbed him, yes. I’m sorry he died from his injury. I didn’t mean to make it fatal. I wasn't walking through the alley anyway... He grabbed me and pulled me in.”
“You understand though, right? Why we had to question you?” Asked Steve. He couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for the interrogation process. “See it from our prospective. He’s been off the radar for weeks and when he does finally pop up, he’s dead before we can get an exact location on him.”
Steve watched her nod at his words. She was still fiddling with her sleeves as though trying to keep herself occupied in fear of looking weak.
He himself, couldn’t help but sigh, closing the folder that lay out in the table in front of him. There was nothing they could do with the case now that the main suspect was deceased. All the answers had died with him and apparently, so did the case.
“I suppose we have to look on the bright side of it all.” He spoke once more, feeling like it was his duty to try and at least make her feel less guilt. “His death means that he won’t be alive to terrorise anymore people. Though i hate to say it, one death is better than multiple deaths.”
“He murdered people?” Steve watched as she looked slightly scared. “He could’ve...”
“But he didn’t.” Steve was quick to reply. “You’re alive and he’s not. No one will be sad to see him go. I can’t give you any details, it’s a classified case but I can tell you that he wasn’t a very good guy.” He watched her nod solemnly.
Y/N sighed after a moment, rubbing her hands down her face. She brushed her hair away with the palms before she looked back up at Steve. “Am I free to go now?”
“I can walk you ou-“
“There’s no need.” Her smile was weak as she stood up from her chair. “You must have things to do. It’s a straight shot from the elevators. I’ll be fine.”
Steve, after a moment of thought nodded and moved to pull the door open. Y/N smiled as she slid through and let herself out of the room. With a final goodbye, she made her way to the elevators.
Steve waited until she had disappeared from view before he sighed, hit the folder on the door frame and made his way to room in which he knew some of the others were sill digging through the old files of the deceased.
It was almost as soon as he entered that he frowned due to the anxiousness that was floating in the air. He saw Natasha and Tony having a heated conversation next to a computer screen while Sam and Bucky seemed to be searching through some old boxes that held the files Tony didn't keep in his systems.
He made his way to Natasha and Tony, frowning when he picked up the words they were speaking.
“I’ll go in next.” Natasha said, folding her hands across her chest. “If there’s anyone who can get answers, it’s me. There's no way she won't slip up if i go in there and ask a few questions. She can't be that good.”
“It isn’t as simple as that.” Tony rolled his eyes. “This is a ghost we’re talking about. No name, no records, no nothing. She doesn’t exist!”
“What’s going on?” Steve tore the pair from their intense stare down. Natasha looked slightly pleased to see that he was there.
“Oh good, your done. I’ll take over.”
Her words caused Steve to frown even more. “With Y/N?" Natasha nodded curtly. "She’s gone.”
“What?” Natasha and Tony simultaneously said. Tony looked slightly alarmed while Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I got her statement.” Steve told them, motioning to the folder in his hands that’s was quickly snatched up by Natasha. “I had no reason to believe she was lying. She seemed beat up over the whole thing.”
“Did she give you a last name?” Natasha asked as Tony began to fiddle with his computer, pulling up the towers cameras while asking F.R.I.D.A.Y specific times. “It just says Y/N here.”
“I-I must’ve forgotten.” Steve stuttered, shocked with himself. He never, ever failed to complete paperwork and new that a full name was one of the first things to fill out. “She was talking to me, I must’ve forgotten to fill it in.”
“She was distracting you.” Tony rolled his eyes as though Steve should’ve known that from the start. "You see a pretty damsel whose looking like she's in distress and you try to fix it because you think it's your duty. That's what's happened."
“There’s still nothing over here.” Bucky spoke up, as Sam whined about not wanting to go through old files anymore. "Most of these dates are probably before she was even born... Or she was just a kid."
“What’s the issue here?”
“The issue is that this girl, Y/N? She doesn’t exist anywhere.” Tony sighed, re-watching the footage of her leaving the building. “Her killing our guy? That was no accident. She sought him out, Cap.”
“She can’t be that far, we-“
“She’s left the building.” Tony said, nothing to the footage. “No facial recognition. She was clever enough to avoid the cameras. We’ve got nothing on her. We've swapped one guy we can't locate for a woman we won't be able to locate!"
“She seemed so honest.” Steve found himself muttering, not liking the fact that he had clearly been played.
“Hey, boss.” F.R.I.D.A.Y spoke out, forcing everyone in the room to stop what they were doing for a moment in order to listen to whatever she had to say. “You’ve got an incoming call. There’s a signal blocker that I can’t trace.”
“Pull it up.” Tony said, crossing his arms over his chest as the sound of a phone being answered filled the room. “Can I help you?”
“With whom am I speaking to?” The voice was instantly familiar to Steve and he froze slightly while Tony looked slightly offended at not being recognised. “I’m just kidding Iron man, lose the look would you? How’s it going guys! Gotta say, I just love what you’ve done with the place! Interior design should be your new thing, I’m telling you!”
“Who the hell is this?” Tony’s eyes narrowed, fiddling with the pad on the computer to see if whoever it was had actually managed to tap into his cameras. “Are you watching us?”
“Nah.” The sound of an engine being started filled the room. “Your arrogant enough to probably be offended if someone didn’t know who you are. Also it’s me! Y/N! Your new person of interest! Found anything yet? I’m gonna go ahead and say no. I could also save you the trouble and say don’t bother. You won’t find anything.”
“What’s your deal?” Steve spoke up, his annoyance being overtaken by slight anger at the fact that he had been strung along.
“Steve! Hey! How you doing my man? Let me tell you that you’re one of the nicest interrogators I’ve ever spoken to. It was almost to easy that I’m slightly disappointed I didn’t have to put up much of a front.”
“You played me, Y/N. If that even is your name. You made me think you were vulnerable and weak.” Steve found himself spilling. “How’d you do it, huh?
It was silent for a moment. The only noise being heard was that of the car she was obviously driving. Steve couldn’t help but feel as though he was being kept in suspense on purpose.
“Remember when I told you I wasn’t good at lying?” Steve perked up slightly, remembering her words clearly. “Well, I might’ve been lying.”
.
#Steve Rogers#Steve Rogers x Reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#steve rogers fanfic#natasha romanoff#Bucky Barnes#tony stark#captain america#captain america x reader#captain america x you#captain america x y/n#marvel#Black Widow#iron man#the winter soldier#falcon#sam wilson
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Supernatural 15.16
What can I say? No, seriously, what can I say this was such a disappointment I just wanna salt it, burn it and forget it.
This is not what I wanted nor what we were told we were gonna get, the promo’s and the way it was promoted made it seem like this was gonna be a heavy brothers centered episode and we were gonna get to see flashbacks of Sam and Dean hunting solo together, without their dad, for the first time. It wasn’t.
This episode is snake oil. It was advertised in all the right ways to make us buy into it but it has no real substance or value.
The plot is simple: Sam and Dean have to investigate the death of an old, sort of friend they made in one of the motel’s they stayed at back when they were little and haven’t spoken to in over 20 years. And let’s talk about this real quick because at the beginning Sam and Dean don’t know they’re going to investigate their friends’ death they think they’re going to the funeral cause the victim’s sister, who was also a sort of friend of theirs back in the day, invited them to the funeral to guarantee that they would go which is so stupid, people miss funerals all the time especially when they’re the funerals of people who they only knew for a week over 20 years ago and didn’t keep in contact. So, the stupid starts early in this episode.
Back to the plot, the thing that Sam and Dean are hunting is something they had hunted and thought killed years ago back when they were the wee!chesters, and by “they” I mean….Dean and the girlie. I’m sorry you thought, we were gonna see young!Sam and Dean actually hunt together? No.
The four of them sort of work together to figure out where the thing might be hiding and Dean’s all ‘I’m handling this on my own’ and Sam’s like ‘I’m going with you’ and Dean’s like ‘no’ and the girls like ‘then i’m going with you’ and Dean’s all ‘no’ and so he goes off on his own but the girl follows him so it’s the girl and him hunting this thing down while Sam is stuck back in the motel on babysitting duty of the girls little brother which I’m sure the writer is patting herself on the back for because at the beginning in the first flashback Dean was all ‘I used to babysit you when I was your age’ so now Sam is stuck babysitting...get it? Get it? I think it’s supposed to be clever…...excuse me a minute
*clears throat* where was I? Oh yes, so anyways after some investigating and Dean finding a bunch of children’s corpses they arrive at the hotel in time to see the thing they’re hunting attacking Sam and the other kid and Dean’s all ‘Sam get out of the way’ and stabs the thing which makes it turn to dust so they think it’s dead which we all know it ain’t but let’s talk for a minute about the fact that Dean just walked to see a monster attacking his baby brother AND HE DOESN’T EVEN RUSH TO CHECK ON HIM WHEN THE THING IS DEAD!!!! Also, this thing was hunting kids that were around Sam’s age but Dean doesn’t seem to give a fuck.
So what was the thing Sam and Dean were hunting oh so many years ago when they did shit re-search even though we know that they knew how important research was but this writer doesn’t know how to write this characters in present time why would she be able to write young! them? Baba Yaga! But they still don’t know that they’ll find that out later in the episode, in like a 5min scene that really does not do this figure justice but neither does the rest of this episode as this writer doesn’t really care and treats Baby Yaga more like a traditional vengeful spirit.
For real though, it is a shame that this writer doesn’t care enough because Baba Yaga is a folklore figure with so much history they could have really done something interesting and scary; such a famous folklore figure and she was treated like a footnote.
But that’s what young!Sam and Dean were up to what about our Sam and Dean? Well, after they find out the truth that they’re there to investigate and not attend a funeral that happened a week before they go check what’s up at the motel since that’s where everything happened years ago and the dude died, Dean is feeling guilty af for so many reasons including that he had yet to tell Sam Jack was gonna die, at first Dean doesn’t believe it’s the same thing they had hunted but then he’s like ‘okay maybe it’s not as dead as I thought’ and leaves Sam and the girlie to do research while he has a scene with Billie where she tells him the end is coming and while that’s happening Sam finds out it’s the Baba Yaga and the girl gets attacked and then Dean returns and he and Sam go their separate ways to find her because of course the do and Dean gets attacked but Sam arrives and then they properly kill the monster.
Anyways, it all ends with their “friend” telling Dean for like the 20th time that he has changed and then they have a hug which gives us our final flashback where after him and the young girlie say goodbye to each other him and Sam are waiting for John to pick them up and Dean’s all ‘I don’t know about this college thing but we make a good team’ which would be great if we had actually seen them work as a team.
With the thing dead Sam and Dean make their way back home and Dean tells Sam the truth about Jack dying. We’ll come back to this scene.
And that’s the episode in a nutshell. It’s bad. It’s unforgivably bad. This is the mediocre, poor man’s version of Something Wicked.
It’s got no soul, with the exception of one scene it’s got no emotion. It stays at the surface level, we don’t truly get to see young!Sam and Dean work together, we don’t really get to see their dynamic with each other, we don’t learn anything new about them, Dean clearly didn’t like Sam thinking about college but it wasn’t really explored he was just an ass to Sam about it and then was all ‘we make a good team’ but like I said we didn’t truly get to see them be a team so it just falls flat, there weren’t really any proper scenes between the young brothers, Baba Yaga is not explored she’s more a footnote, we also don’t get to see adult Sam and Dean hunt together.
You compare it to other flashback episodes like Something Wicked, A Very Supernatural Christmas, Just My imagination to name a few, and you can’t. You can’t really compare it cause those episodes were well written and actually explored Sam and Dean’s emotions and their relationship. This episode is the worst flashback episode we have ever gotten and I wish it didn’t exist.
I wanna talk about the young!Sam and Dean actors real quick cause no shade to them but I didn’t like them one bit not just because of the way they were written but also because they don’t really embody Sam and Dean’s personalities in the way that their predecessors have, I look at them I don’t see Sam and Dean. Also, their acting? Not the best.
So, all around this is a failure as far as young!Sam and Dean.
There was one scene in this whole entire episode that had any sort of emotion: the final scene with Sam and Dean in the car where Dean tells Sam everything and about Jack dying and Sam is pissed off and they get into a fight. That’s the only scene where Sam and Dean got closest to acting and sounding like themselves and the only one that was worth something and I give full credit to Jared and Jensen for that because their acting in that moment was standing ovation worthy, they honestly almost made me cry. I think if this epi had been better written and emotions actually explored it would have managed to make me cry.
I don’t like that the epi finished with the boys fighting, even less that the one proper scene we got between them was a fight but it was the best scene of the episode and it should be watched if for no other reason than to see Jared and Jensen put on an amazing performance,
But that scene alone is not enough to save this episode.
The writer of this epi once recommended that you could put the first 2 seasons of this show on as background noise and maybe if she hadn’t done that and actually paid attention to the foundation of the show that paid her bills she wouldn’t have given us the mediocre version of Something Wicked or would have learned how to artfully weave the main plot of a season into a stand alone episode like Phantom Traveler did instead of sticking in a scene right in the middle for some exposition. As it is, you can use her episode as background noise.
Here’s the thing, you can make the argument that it’s not as bad as it could have been or as what we have gotten, or that we should expect the episodes to be bad because it’s all we’ve gotten, or that we should just be happy with what we get and listen you feel how you wanna feel about this episode and/or tell yourself what you need to make yourself feel better but that don’t work with me. I’m not going to thank the writers for taking a smaller shit on this show than they did last time, and expecting the episodes to suck doesn’t mean we don’t deserve better and that we shouldn’t be upset.
And I am upset. I am angry. I am sad. I am bitter. I am disappointed.
You know what stings most about this episode? What makes it cut differently than all the other shitty, insulting, disappointing episodes that have come before it? That this is the last time we’re going to see young!Sam and Dean. This was the last ever flashback episode. A badly written episode with barely any proper interaction between the young brothers, is the last time we’ll see young! Sam and Dean.
I so badly wish I could recommend this episode but the truth is that I can't. What I can recommend, and I highly do, is looking up the final scene and enjoying that beautifully acted, painful, brother moment. And then if you still want to watch young!Sam and Dean, just re-watch Something Wicked.
In conclusion,
#spn negative#this epi makes me so angry#fuck you dabb for greenlighting this epi#anti meghan fitzmartin#mine#opinion on supernatural#spn spoilers#spn 15.16#anti spn writers
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What it Ursa took her children with her? - Pt.1
So I was thinking about that idea I had the other day. And as no one could guide me to a fanfic on the matter, I thought I would try and expand on this idea a bit.
Right! So, if I were to write a full-length story – and I don’t know that I could. Unfortunately I don’t have a lot of time for that right now –, it would go as such:
Just like in the original, Ozai dares ask his father to revoke Iroh’s birth right, so Firelord Azulon orders him to kill his own son as punishment. Literally what the fuck, both of you.
And just like in the original, Ursa discovers Ozai’s intentions and makes a deal with him: in exchange for Zuko’s life, she’ll make an odourless, colourless poison for him to kill Firelord Azulon with. Additionally, Ozai demands Ursa to leave the Capital City and never show up again, to which she agrees on the condition that she can take her children with her.
And here’s where things will change: Ozai accepts these terms. There is no reason for him to keep Zuko, and although he can see potential in Azula as a tool for his needs, he can easily think of ways to replace her. If it means he can get rid of the threat Ursa presents (read “he’s scared shitless now that he knows she was a poison-making master this whole time”) and get the throne he wants, he doesn’t give a shit if he has to dispose of the children. And Ursa would be more than relieved to leave that hellish place anyway.
She hurriedly wakes up Zuko, takes a sleepy Azula in her arms and leaves through a secret passageway, as to not be spotted. Ozai watches from a distance as his wife disappears into the night with her children.
The next morning, Ozai puts up a whole act to his father about how he killed Zuko as ordered and how his wife, horrified by what he did, took his daughter and left. Azulon believes this and declares that the man has suffered enough of what he deserved, and that they are to wait for Iroh’s return as if nothing had happened.
(Yes, I do wholeheartedly believe Ozai is capable of fantastic acting abilities and menacing deceit when he really wants to.)
What about the whole thing with connecting Avatar Roku’s bloodline to their own in order to fulfil a great destiny or something? I’ll say Azulon would plan to eventually get Azula back in the picture. And that’s all I’ll say for now.
In the middle of the night, Ursa and her children take a boat to travel to her hometown, Hira’a.
While she goes into a spiral thinking about how her life got to that point, Zuko – who was barely processing anything that was happening – falls asleep by her side, whereas Azula starts to stir on her mother’s lap. She wakes up and silently looks around.
‘Where are we?’ She asks.
‘Azula,’ Ursa calls, snapping out of her thoughtful state. ‘Don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep, sweetie.’
‘What’s happening?’
‘Go back to sleep,’ she repeats. ‘I’ll explain everything later.’
Azula doesn’t go back to sleep, instead pondering about this unusual situation.
Upon arrival in Hira’a, Ursa is concerned about finding them shelter. So, unlike the original, she doesn’t stop after discovering her parents died years ago. She searched for old friends, finding that most of them had left the town at that point. Eventually, she finds the old director of the local acting troupe, Grandma Guchi, who is alive and well, albeit retired.
The old lady is happy to see Ursa again, and even happier to take her in in what seems to be a very difficult time for the Fire Princess and her children.
Guchi breaks the news that Ikem disappeared into Forgetful Valley a long time ago. This isn’t compatible with Ozai’s story, for his assassins couldn’t possibly have found Ikem in Forgetful Valley, could they? Regardless, nobody ever saw the man again.
The moment is interrupted by the sound of Azula indiscreetly opening cabinets around the house.
‘Azula, be respectful of others’ homes,’ Ursa reprehends.
‘I don’t like this place,’ Azula comments, visibly confused by why they’re here, by the fact that – and she noticed – they had spent the past few hours practically begging for a place to stay and by the apparent lack of royal procedures. ‘When are we going home?’
She receives no response.
‘Mom?’ Zuko asks meekly. Part of him hadn’t spoken so far because he didn’t want to overwhelm his mother, who already looked so perturbed. But he, too, was getting preoccupied. ‘What is happening?’
Ursa very carefully explains the situation to them, trying to make it seem as non-terrifying for two kids as possible. So instead of going full “I gave your father the means to kill your grandfather so that you wouldn’t be brutally murdered in your sleep, now he’ll hunt us down if we even think of going back to the capital”, she says Ozai asked her to do something, and the only way to keep them safe after that was to leave the capital.
Azula believes this situation is temporary, and they’ll come back home in due time, even if her mother didn’t know when that was.
Zuko is… uncertain of what to think. He wonders, again and again, if what Azula had said the day before was true; was his father actually willing to kill him? What was it that his mother did? Why did their safety lie in leaving their home?
Ursa is unsure if they’ll stay in Hira’a, but for the time being, she considers finding herself a job there. Grandma Guchi suggests she goes back to working with the local theatre, as an actress or otherwise.
The ex-Fire Princess is then formally presented to the new director of the acting troupe, Noren.
Ursa restarts her theatre life as a part of the production crew.
Noren doesn’t make his true identity known right away, as he doesn’t want to overwhelm her. So he acts as if they just met, and Ursa doesn’t quite notice the overly fond looks he gives her.
He is absolutely delighted to meet Zuko and Azula.
As days go by, the siblings get increasingly… frustrated. This is all new to them. No more servants, no more training, no more studies, no more feeding turtleducks by the pond, no more palace, no more of their friends, no more Ozai… they now have chores to do – which they find a tad bit indignant at first –, but apart from that, life is pretty boring in this remote town of peasants, stuck in this old lady’s house, told to forget their royal identities and customs…
Little more than a week goes by following the trio’s arrival to Hira’a, and word gets around that Firelord Azulon passed away in his sleep, leaving the throne to his second son. As literally no other family member attends to the funeral or to the coronation, Firelord Ozai immediately spreads the idea that he is to be a strong ruler who doesn’t let himself get overwhelmed by emotion, unlike his brother. (Little do they know he probably doesn’t have any emotions at all.)
Ozai took a bit of his time before using the poison so that no one would connect his father’s death to his wife and children’s sudden disappearance. These were two separate and completely unrelated events, and Ozai holds ultimate responsibility for neither.
Azula and Zuko are obviously upset. One would think that after their grandfather’s death, the family ought to stay together.
Azula is the one to reassure her brother. If Azulon wanted Ozai to have the throne after all, it means he was pleased with young man; He probably thought Ozai went through with killing Zuko – ‘don’t you see, Zuzu? That’s why mom brought us here in the middle of nowhere: so that grandfather could see that dad is much stronger than uncle Iroh. But now that grandpa’s gone, it’s only a matter of time before dad sends for us.’ And although they both come to the conclusion that their father loved them, it was also implicit that he needed them. They were his heirs, after all.
But as several weeks go by and there is no sign of them leaving Hira’a anytime soon, Azula starts to get apprehensive. While Zuko kind of likes it here – of course he misses home, but the absence of that watchful eye telling him everything he did was worthless makes him feel a bit more patient –, she is utterly done with the place.
Other kids don’t want to play with her because she’s scary and demanding and burns down things on purpose. She doesn’t want to play with other kids because she considers them to be beneath her.
The first performance of this season’s play comes, and Ursa is glad to see things work out. But of course we have to ruin that, so moody Azula breaks into an argument with her mother. As patient as Ursa tries to be – despite the clever and sassy remarks, this is a child she’s arguing with –, she ends up letting out that they’ll never go back home.
This confirmation is the last straw for little Azula. She can be as precociously mature as it comes, there’s only so much a nine year-old child can take when her entire world crumbles down beneath her. So she runs away.
The girl is determined to return to the Fire Nation capital. But as it turns out, Hira’a is quite far away from Capital City. She can’t firebend her way there, she can’t demand her way there and her manipulation skills only take her so far. By the end of the day, she’s lost, she’s alone and she doesn’t quite know what to do.
Deep down, she’s terrified of the fact she can’t do anything; already at this early age, Azula internalized that she’s supposed to be the “fierce prodigy soldier princess” and forgets that she’s just a child.
Hours later, Noren finds her somewhere in the outskirts of town.
‘Azula! Thank goodness you’re ok, your mother was so worried about you!’
A moment of silence. ‘I want my dad,’ Azula murmurs, almost as if afraid anyone will hear her vulnerability.
Noren takes a second thinking about it, then sits beside her. ‘I know you miss your home and your dad,’ he says. ‘Life is probably very hard right now, and it’s unfair that you never asked for things to change so much. But you know you can count on your mother and your brother, right? They love you-‘
‘No, they don’t. They think I’m a pest.’
‘They don’t.’ Noren sighs before continuing, ‘I know you probably don’t want to hear it from me, but your mother is trying her best to protect you.’
‘I don’t need to be protected,’ Azula retorts. ‘I’m not weak.’
‘Someone wanting to protect you doesn’t make you weak. It makes you loved.’
‘Dad says the only way to be strong is to fend for yourself. Those who don’t have no place in this world.’
‘Maybe he was wrong?’
‘He’s the Firelord!’ She cries.
‘Well, he was supposed to be a father.’
Azula goes silent. After a minute, Noren moves, and the girl flinches – for a split second, she thought she was about to be attacked. But when she raises her eyes, she sees the man was merely offering his hand. ‘Let’s go get your mom,’ he says.
(Excuse me if I can’t help it, but I think Noren is just a Nice Person.)
It takes a little while for them to find Ursa – who was running around the town like crazy searching for Azula –, but when they do, the woman is dishevelled and so, so glad. ‘Are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you? Oh, my dear baby, I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you! I was so worried!’
If somewhere inside her Azula actually believed Ursa didn’t care, she’s now just… strangely relieved to be in her mother’s arms.
Cut to sometime in the future, maybe a week or so later: Zuko is watching over Azula. He’s messing with some flowers, whiles she’s pensively looking at the sky.
‘Do you miss dad?’ She asks.
‘And uncle Iroh. And Lu Ten. And the turtleducks. And even your crazy friends-‘
‘Ugh, I just asked if you miss dad!’ Azula rolls her eyes.
‘Yeah…’
Silence.
‘I wish none of this ever happened,’ she comments.
‘You’d rather dad had killed me?’ Zuko asks disheartened.
‘Maybe, yeah!’ She stares at him for a few seconds, then sighs. ‘No.’
‘If it makes you feel better, here’s what I think dad would say:’ he clears his throat and starts making an impression of Ozai, ‘you have to fight for your honour! The children of the Firelord cannot be intimidated by weird situations, so always hold your head high! Now be more like Azula, Zuko.’
The two of them laugh. ‘Well, a princess has to maintain her dignity no matter what,’ Azula admits. ‘But I don’t think he would be proud of us meddling with dirty peasants.’
‘Call it tactical espionage,’ Zuko comments, and places his newly finished flower crown on his sister’s head ‘O, princess of the Flower Nation!’
‘Since when do you know how to do this girly stuff?’ The girl chuckles, taking the ornament from her head.
‘Mom taught me. Do you want me to teach it to you? It’s not hard.’
‘I’m a brave warrior, I don’t do this silly stuff!’ Azula says and proceeds to set the flowers on fire, because that’s still Azula.
Zuko has half a mind to snap at her for burning down his hard work, but he puts on a smug smile instead. ‘Ok. At least that’s something I can do that you can’t.’
She pouts at him. ‘Fine. But I won’t learn from anyone can’t even fight properly. So you better learn some actual firebending before giving me any lessons!’
This is only one scene, but please give me more of Zuko and Azula as children getting to close that gap in their relationship that was being formed by their parents. Quality Sibling Time, if you may.
Meanwhile, Ursa and Noren are overviewing the preparations for the last performance of the season. They chat idly, Ursa commenting on how Love Amongst the Dragons used to be her favourite play.
Basically, Noren takes that cue and says something awfully suspicious, Ursa suspiciously suspects and he ends up telling her that he’s actually Ikem. Yes, with the whole “When we were six you kicked me in the stomach and pushed my face into the dirt. When we were twenty-one, you shattered my heart.” Because I love that line. Heartfelt emotions when she realises the love of her life was alive all along.
Somewhere else: a few months go by and Iroh is finally back from Ba Sing Se. Things in his home are definitely different: his son, his father and (supposedly) his nephew are dead, his sister-in-law and his niece are missing and the throne that was meant for him has been passed to his brother, who rules as a ruthless Firelord and only plans to aggravate the war.
A changed man, Iroh sees the impacts of war very differently. A part of him wants to leave the palace behind and find peace; another part tells him that his brother has literally no one else left. So he vows to stay, not only because he takes pity on Ozai, but also because he is aware that, if left unchecked, the new Firelord would fuck things up even further.
Yes, Iroh becomes the Firelord’s advisor. No, Ozai doesn’t listen to half of what he says.
Back in Hira’a, Ursa is slowly getting to convince her kids that this is their home now. Slowly, very, very slowly.
The siblings are becoming closer, as seen by the fact that Azula has willingly been helping Zuko become a better firebender – both of them see firebending as less of a competition now that it isn’t being held against them anymore. But it’s still no common kids’ play. Don’t tell me they don’t “play” Agni Kai whenever they’re bored – and Zuko is willingly spending time with her and teaching her nice, non-destructive things.
I like to think that Hira’a isn’t a place where many firebenders would like to live, considering the jungle just around the corner and the fact that all houses seem very flammable. But I also like to think that there are two local firebenders, one of which is more erratic than the kids and another who is fairly well-trained, but refuses to teach anything to the Firelord’s children. Of course, eventually he cracks and teaches them one thing or another because he can’t bear to leave these demons to their own devices.
Ursa is having some Quality Time with Azula. Although the girl has the innate ability to say some disturbing things, Ursa finds herself to be more patient as time goes by. Now imagine the two of them by a riverbank as the mother is telling stories that have nothing to do with the royal life; imagine Azula excited to show this new firebending trick she learned and performing complicated yet beautiful moves; imagine the Quality Time.
The kids are being home-schooled by Ursa. And Grandma Guchi. And any willing member of the acting troupe. And any local elder and/or master. Truly, they’re getting some street smarts around the here.
Cue to Azula getting to discover something called “childhood”.
Cue to Zuko getting to be appreciated as a human being and loved by people around him.
So one day Ursa and Noren decide to finally get married – as they planned to do over eleven years ago.
Of course, this is a little disheartening to the kids. Ursa doesn’t quite know how to explain Ozai’s Abusive Husband Shenanigans, but they all know Noren is such a nice person and he’s made it pretty clear that he does not intend on trying to be their father – even though he unintentionally acts like a father every now and again. So the kids are sort of in denial for a while.
Zuko is a little afraid the prolonged company will drive Noren to take over his life and start acting cruel/mistreating him. The poor boy is just so used to the table being ruled over by Ozai that he expects Noren to snap any minute, so it feels strange when all the meals together are so… peaceful?
Azula sees all this as some sort of act. She never quite gives up on the idea that Ozai will come around any day now. Until fateful news come around…
(Cliffhanger, dun dun dun!)
(If you can even call it that)
Ok, so… This got kind of long. Way longer than I expected it to get.
My ideas for what happens next are a bit fuzzy – as in: they’re less structured and more like… just loose ideas –, but I still have a lot to talk about, so I’ll split this into a two-parter and get back to you in a bit.
#Congratulations you're witnessing the raw process of me plotting a story#even some sketchy dialogues#This is messy#I actually really want to write this properly#maybe someday#Writing 'mom' instead of 'mum' made my brain shut down for a second#Avatar the Last Airbender#ATLA#The Search#canon divergence#Zuko#Azula#Ursa#Firelord Azulon#Uncle Iroh#Ozai#I'm about to ruin these kids#No one gave me the fanfic therefore I must write the fanfic
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Purest Expression of Grief {haj dai}
Order 66 happens.
Cal goes quiet, Kanan thinks too much, and Ahsoka can never go back.
(Or; three children and a dying language, after they've seen their people die.) (AO3 link!)
Cal knows the Empire can track people when they use the Force. He hears it whispered about on street corners, broadcasted over the holoscreens in bars.
He doesn’t know how they do it, though. And, more terrifyingly, doesn’t know what else they can track.
There is a screaming, hysterical place inside him, irrational but un-ignorable, which is convinced that the Empire can reach into people’s minds and tear thoughts right out of them. That, if he thinks the wrong thing too loud or too often, he will bring the Empire down onto him.
This is impossible, he tells himself. But then again, he also thought it was impossible to see his friends gun down his Master.
So Cal forces himself to only think in Basic.
It isn’t hard to talk only in Basic, though he misses the curl of his lips over his other tongue more than he thought possible. But to think only in Basic is a constant, conscious choice.
Sometimes he slips up, and he clamps down on his shields and moves away from where he was standing. His heart races in his chest.
The last words his Master said to him echo in his dreams and they are not in Basic. He doesn’t want to think about those words, either. He has other things he needs to worry about.
There are very few kind people, here. And Cal is small and alone.
(He wonders if his Master would have done the same thing he did, had he known there was no one left to rescue Cal. The last thought in his Master’s mind had been of the council sending someone to scoop Cal up, safe and sound, bundle him away someplace warm — Cal can feel that from his lightsaber. But there is no one left to rescue him, and Cal’s Master had thrown him someplace cold and rainy and unsafe. There’s no one left to take care of him, not that Cal needs much taking care of, anymore.)
(Would he have made the same decision, if he knew Cal would be alone?)
His Master’s last words haunt him, in that language-which-is-not-Basic. He doesn’t think about those, either. Doesn’t think about at all.
The alone part makes him vulnerable on this planet, but the small part makes him useful. He’s not old enough to be a full member of any guild, but there’s always plenty of pickup work for the mice, as they’re called, in a scrapyard. Narrow heads and shoulders to fit up into places no one else could fit.
It keeps him fed, and Cal keeps his head down. Days start to creep by.
Today, there's a new worker on their rotation, and his Basic is thickly accented.
And he says Cal’s name differently, rounds out the vowel — “Khal,” he calls, “Little mouse, you are small, come here, get up into tiny spaces, come on, up-up—”
And it freezes Cal where he stands because— that’s almost right. That’s almost how you’d say his name in not-Basic, in that other thing he refuses to think about.
He hears those last words from Master Tepal’s mouth — “ Padawan kat fehl, netana, paikawaji uu dai” — and for a sudden, dizzying moment, that is all he can hear.
He must freeze in place for a second too long, because someone calls to him again.
“Hey, Cal, buddy,” and Cal hates how he jumps. It’s Prauf, with the kind eyes, who seems to have decided that Cal needs looking after. “Cal, you okay there?”
Cal shakes his head to clear it. He can still hear the words whispering, but ignores them.
“Haj dai, Jaieh,” he says, going for reassuring, already moving towards where the new worker pointed him.
Prauf says, “What?” and he sounds so baffled that Cal turns back to him.
“What do you mean, what?”
“What did you just say to me?”
“I said ‘Yes, Prauf.’”
“No you didn’t. You said haz —” Prauf twists his mouth around the words, and then gives up on saying the rest. “And, yeah, you called me something, what’s Jai—”
“I didn’t say anything like that,” Cal bites. He sounds strangled, even to his own ears. “I said ‘Yes, Prauf,’ that’s what I said.”
Prauf, to his credit, raises his hands in acquiescence. “Okay, okay kid, that’s what you said.”
The new worker, who Cal doubts understood much of the conversation, chimes in with a high voice and a wave of his arms. “Yes, yes, very good, we all talk Khal out, all friends now, so if little mouse pleases, could he climb up into tiny space?”
Cal turns away from Prauf and pretends his heart isn’t trying to escape his chest as he pulls himself up into the gap between a ship’s wall and what used to be part of the thrusters. He’s got pliers clutched in between his teeth, and is biting a little more than necessary.
He’s expecting troopers to grab his legs, yank him out, put a blaster to his head. He’s imagining the words floating up and dissolving into the Force, of his Jaieh tilting a disappointed eyebrow at him.
He bites down on his language, and schools his thoughts into Basic.
.
Kanan is working with a decent crew, right now. He signed on for a few milk run missions as general muscle and a gun, which should give him enough credits for basics and some wiggle room. They seem like a decent lot, and Kanan doesn’t mind working with them
Except.
Well, except the Pilot’s name is Caleb . And it is messing with Kanan’s head .
“Hey, pass this to Caleb up on the bridge?” says Maleek, their mechanic and general tech guy. They’re holding a holo chip of something, probably maps.
Kanan hates how much he falters, how his first instinct is to laugh and say, “I’m right here.”
“Sure thing.” He smiles and takes the chip, then starts making his way towards the front of the ship.
Honestly, he’s got no idea how this hasn’t happened sooner. “Caleb” isn’t an uncommon name. It’s one that’s used on so many planets that it doesn’t really have a planet of origin.
But it makes his body feel as if it’s peeling in two, future and past, twisting like soft dough, to hear it spoken in his presence like that.
“Agisti, ” says the laughing Padawan he has buried deep within him, “tumi mikah Caleb!”
“Kanan!” Pilot Caleb says, grinning as he spins around in his seat. “What can I do for you, buddy?”
“Take this off my hands.” He slumps himself into Kanan, gunslinger, wanderer, shit-talker. He flips the chip to the pilot whose name he didn’t want to think of, and ducks out of the cockpit as fast as possible.
The community on this ship is incredible. Or, maybe, it is average, and Kanan has been alone for long enough that it seems incredible.
And, even more surprising, they all seem to actually like him. Maleek fixes his blaster without being asked and Pilot Caleb keeps trying to get him into games of cards, the other guns and muscle jostle him in a friendly way when they pass him in the halls, and the captain says things about needing to help Kanan upgrade his armor, as if he’s going to stick around.
Kanan bites his tongue and pretends he doesn’t want to stick around. He can’t.
He can’t trust anyone. He can’t rely on anyone, can’t get comfortable anywhere. He needs to keep moving.
Trust is easily shattered. Nothing is certain.
He remembers his Master telling him about how important that was, how important it was to remember that nothing was certain, except the Force. That even their word for ‘yes,’ so concrete and decisive in Basic, gave room for ambiguity— “Force Wills,” the Jedi said.
He can hear the giggling of younglings in the creche — “Will you clean up the paint, little one?”
“Haj dai!” Force wills.
“So why aren’t you doing that now?”
“Force says no!”
Then squealing laughter, as the child is picked up and hugged and tickled. For being clever enough to make that connection, but silly enough to not help.
Nothing is concrete, nothing is certain, except the Force. And now Kanan doesn’t even have that to believe in.
“Will I ever see you again?” he shouts to the woman in her dreams, who commands him to run, who saves him and condemns him and gives him his new name.
“Force wills,” she says, and it’s a lie and isn’t. Because she doesn’t say yes.
So Kanan cut his own braid and renamed himself and soldered ( ha ) on.
He needs to walk away from these people, he realizes. He can’t stay, no matter how much he wants to. He can’t bring danger on them. He can’t let them be killed because he is found.
In a ten-days time, the Pilot Caleb and Maleek and their caption will say, “Stay, Kanan.”
And he will want to say “ Yes .” Haj dai.
Force wills.
He will run away again.
(ibli kanan )
.
Ahsoka has gotten here too late.
There aren’t that many Jedi left to rescue, though that’s something Ahsoka tries not to think about too much. Most of the ones who escaped the initial purge were hunted down in the very, very early days of the Empire, before there was enough structure in the Rebellion to even think about helping them. Ahsoka survived it by not being a Jedi. Well. That and Rex.
They’re always too late, with Jedi, if they even know at all. The Empire and the Inquisitors, always a step ahead. Always.
As Fulcrum, Ahsoka’s jobs keep her away from the front lines. She works in intel. She works in running messages. She works with refugees.
She’d been closest, when they heard the distress call. And, though Ahsoka would never admit it, part of her jumped and stood upright at the idea of saving a Jedi. Seeing another Jedi. Speaking to them.
But she’s gotten here too late.
The crumpled form of a Duros is all that is left of the Inquisitors. A Duros with a hole through his chest, bleeding sluggishly, twitching the last bits of life out of himself.
The Force wraps around him and weeps. Ahsoka knows that feeling. That’s what the Force always does, when a Jedi dies.
Ahsoka falls to her knees next to the form. She cannot judge the age of this being, she thinks in a panic — she’s always been awful at judging age in Duros, Barriss used to tease her about it — but she’d guess a few years older or younger than herself. Ahsoka’s hands hover uselessly. There’s no healing this wound. She knows it.
Had she ever met him? In the Temple, all those years ago? Had they passed in the halls, handed each other food, shared friends?
Helpless to do anything else, Ahsoka gets the Doros’s head onto her lap. Off the ground. Some measure of comfort.
She nearly jumps out of her skin when his eyes slit themselves open. When he stares up at her, eyes hazy, barely coherent.
She nearly passes out when a rush of warmth and relief swells through the Force between them, and the Doros smiles at her.
“Jaieh Tabris ,” he breaths out. The name is spoken as if it is comfort given form. His voice is achingly soft. “Jesara, Jaiah. Henelru...foh keelak.”
Ahsoka goes cold, because she recognizes the name. It conjures an image so old she thought she’d forgotten it. A Togrutan Master, maybe 10 years older than Obi-Wan. A soft-spoken and gentle woman, who liked to help teach children how to read. A woman who now shared Ahsoka’s coloring and build almost exactly, from montreals to face markings.
She knows the tone of voice the Doros just spoke to her in. She used to use it every day. (Wishes, often, that she still could.)
She’s holding Master Tabris’s Padawan. He’s dying in her arms.
The relief in the Force twists a bit, and he repeats, “Jaieh?” with a little more uncertainty. The fear creeping back in. Of letting down your Master, letting down your people. Of dying alone.
What else is Ahsoka supposed to do?
(Because if it were her— if it were her and Anakin, she’d want— even if it were pretend, she’d want—)
“Haj dai, Padawan ,” she says. She keeps her voice soft and even. “ Tamah foh bika. ” The words fall off her tongue as if she never stopped speaking this.
His eyes focus a bit more on her face. He tries to smile. “Jaieh,” he says, actually to her this time. And Ahsoka—
Ahsoka—
Ahsoka remembers a time in her life when all she wanted was to hear someone call her that. Being 15 and imagining a future where she was doing the training, instead of being trained. Her head on Anakin’s knee and a campfire warm on her face, imagining a future in peacetime, Anakin cutting her silka beads off and her rising to her feet a Knight, embracing him while Obi-Wan embraced them both. She remembers the future she used to imagine for herself; solo missions, growing and improving, always returning home. Finally being taller than Anakin. Obi-Wan going easily, gracefully gray.
She remembers imagining bringing her own Padawan to their lineage dinners, Anakin teasing them both, Obi-Wan resting and smiling. Imagining being in a position, one day, when a little Light would be hers to teach, and look up at her and call her “Jaieh.”
But Ahsoka never got to grow into that title. She never even got to be a Knight. She left her home a Padawan, and never got to return enough to become anything more.
And now she never would.
But Ahsoka cups the face of the person on her lap, whose name she would never know, and lets them both pretend.
“ Rakaah foh wungak,” chokes the man on her lap. “Jaieh, sooah foh enoctak.”
“Leoah foh, Padawan. Leoah foh. Tamah foh bika, tamah foh bika.”
His hand, nearly vibrating in effort, moves up to grasp hers. Ahsoka covers it with her other hand. She can feel the pain coming off him in waves, but she can also feel the peace. The knowledge that he is safe, now.
And in some ways, Ahsoka thinks bitterly, she supposes he is. Even if he isn’t in the arms of his Jaieh . Perhaps he soon will be.
The fingers in hers tighten. The Padawan’s eyes close.
“Komlah foh keelak, Jaieh. Komlah foh…”
And he stops moving.
And Ahsoka doesn’t move for a long time.
TRANSLATION NOTES:
Padawan kat fehl, netana, paikawaji uu dai: My Padawan, remember, trust only in the Force.
-"Kawaji" is "trust," in the future tense, and "pai" is our consequential prefix, which means that the action will have lasting consequences. This takes the place of the "only" for denouncing how important this piece of information is.
-"Dai," the word for the Force, never has an article before it.
Haj dai, Jaieh: Yes, Master.
-Haj dai literally translates to "Force Wills"
Agisti, tumi mikah Caleb!: Hello, I am called Caleb!
-"Agisti" is a greeting you would give someone who has the same rank in the Order as you, who you are equals with-- Padawan to Padawan, for instance.
ibli kanan: Little runner
Jesara, Jaiah. Henelru...foh keelak: Hello, Master. I...missed you.
-"Jersara" is a respectful greeting; Padawan to Master, Master to Council member, ect.
Tamah foh bika: I am here
Rakaah foh wungak. Jaieh, sooah foh enoctak: I feel pain. Master, I feel pain.
-There are different words for feeling physically and feeling mentally, as well as different words for mental and physical pain.
The first sentence is declaring he is physically feeling (raka, here in present tense) physical pain (wung, here in accusative case), and the second that he is mentally feeling (soo, here in present tense) mental pain (enoct, here in accusative case).
Leoah foh, Padawan. Leoah foh. Tamah foh bika, tamah foh bika: I know. I know, Padawan. I am here, I am here.
Komlah foh keelak, Jaieh. Komlah foh...: I love you, Master. I love...
-"Koml" (komlah here, in present tense) refers specifically to familial/platonic love
#star wars#my fic#sw#conlang stuff#dai bendu#did you know that there are people who remember to put fic on tumblr right away?
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*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ part three
part one ; part two ; part four ; ...
this work is protected by copyright.
copyright © kazuzuha ™ 2021
It took me another two years to find a new goal and remember my past one - the latter being that of me exploring the world, meeting new people, seeing the archons, eating new foods, feeling the wind of the highest mountains in Teyvat...
Interestingly, this goal that I had forgotten coincided with the one I had now; running away.
That was all I had in mind in the time gone by, all that truly kept me breathing in that suffocating place. My own mindset was an opposition to my mother’s, her traditional perfectionism trying to mold me into someone flawless, yet, not better than her. My own set of unbearably high standards wore me down, then were further pushed by her hand which ignored the fact that our pressures came from the same place. But I knew. I knew.
It was at fifteen that I fully understood that knowing you are in an unhealthy situation does not call upon the Archons to help.
Father was not around, busy with climbing ranks and taming the snowstorms. If he knew of my ambition, he would have agreed to that marriage proposal I had been given years ago, suspiciously immediately after the Tsaritsa’s interest in me was expressed. It was not that my father did not love or care for me; the opposite stood true. However, he was unaware of how deeply the mental scars inflicted by my mother ran. She was a good wife, a great wife for a Snezhnayan especially. But she was not a good mother. All I had tried to explain, he had already known of, but from a completely different perspective; words convoluted, actions exaggerated - after years of hearing second-hand stories about his child, his image of me became exactly what my mother intended. Therefore, hoping and begging for his help would be redundant. I had to get away on my own two feet.
That being said, I still needed outside help and financial freedom. I made acquaintances amongst my peers, though being taken into a circle of Snezhnayan kids was a difficult task; due to my family’s high standing and my mother’s foreignity, I was either avoided or sneered at. No one dared say much, but those that did were not speaking in welcome. The odds would be stately against my success, if it were not for my observance. Most children were homeschooled and the only way to meet others my age was at a very occasional party or in organised training. There were certain aspects that I saw were well accepted in their eyes; strength, resilience, beauty and charm. I trained in strength, my mind forced resilience, the beauty and charm part could be subsistuted by wealth and social standing. It should have worked. Unfortunately, I did not consider my gender.
After beating a boy twice my size in combat, I was not revered as I had previously expected. I was not suddenly accepted into a friend group, was not offered the bitter alcohol they hid under their shirts. I was a foreign girl they could not touch, could not win against. And that pissed them off. The spreading of rumours seemed like a simple childish act at first, but the way people began to view me was set in stone before they even met me, painting me as unattainable, arrogant. A sense of déjà vu made me realise that I was once again losing an exit out of this place. But I was a quick learner.
Instead of my peers at the training grounds, I looked elsewhere. Tagging along with my father under the pretense of learning his strategies, donning my most modest dresses and tint on my lips, I met the younglings of aristocracy. They recognised my situation as their own, shunned for being better than everyone else. The mindset of superiority deeply ingrained in their small heads made it laughably easy to appease them and get piles of information that I made sure to memorize. My graceful actions, soft-spoken words and dainty visuals… all crafted to fit the perfect standard of a young girl beloved by the Tsaritsa.
Manipulation was effortless to replicate and after shedding a false tear over an acquaintance’s loss of a parent, the apprehension of the lack of my care about using others sent shudders down my spine. I hated it. I hated being forced to do the same I had been an object of. Most of all, I was horrified by how good I was at it. A secret account provided by a lovesick fool who turned out to be the son of the main manager of our biggest bank. Five sources of income through illegal trade business from Fontaine. A shy girl who wished for one good friend, the daughter of the biggest weaponry corporation, owning over fifty industrial factories in Snezhnaya alone. In less than two years, I was the biggest shareholder of two major companies.
All I needed was a good public reason to leave and never come back - if I had run away in the middle of the night, the powerful people around me would send hundreds behind me without a second thought. The only ones who can facilely leave are the Fatui - Tsaritsa’s dogs - and, of course, her Harbingers. I have seen my fair share of Fatui, especially when I was still dealing with the mess that was the illegal trading with Fontaine’s machinery. They were soldiers, but they were also people; until you gave them enough power to be drunk on. As for the Harbingers, two of them I had met on multiple occasions; the man I had momentarily seen at Tsaritsa’s side on that balcony was presented as Dottore, or Doctor, though his unhinged expressions pointed to him being a rabid predator, not a healer. He was a shadow; never seen, but always… there. The second Harbinger was my father’s old acquaintance known by the title La Signora, or more favourably, The Fair Lady. As a visionless female aristocrat, I was expected to marry quickly and provide many future soldiers to the armies of Snezhnaya. When I was younger I did not understand the disgust and abhorrence I felt at the thought of my set future. Without dreams, I only wandered. It was not surprising that I began to look up to the notoriously powerful Signora, especially since the silver shade in our eyes was of the same empty shine. Fascinated by her bold disobedience of our land’s customs, I caught myself imitating her walk; young and impressionable, sure, but I also knew that without a Vision, I would never be able to stride as freely as she could.
That is why I spent so much energy and time on getting Mora. In complete honesty, I could have left Snezhnaya a year into my socialisation. In only a few months, I had enough financial security to start a business in the faraway Liyue which flourished past my expectations. Despite resigning myself to using others, the human mind sometimes cannot help but create bonds of affection to others and so, after the first time hearing “comrade” or the late-night conversations with a painfully vulnerable and lonely teenager, I could not help but want to stay longer, although merely subconsciously. I began finding reasons to stay; perhaps visiting Liyue to oversee my business after a scandal was not a good enough plan to leave, perhaps I should save just a bit more before I go on a long journey, what if the branch deal suddenly fails, I need to manage this project myself… The excuses piled up, my very few friendships strengthened and then, I thought; living here for the rest of my life would not be the worst. This idea was proven wrong time and time again, the glares like daggers in my back, enviness of others putting poison in my cups, the bloody display of the rare bunny I was gifted by a prominent and popular merchant, my mother’s slap at the word “Liyue” leaving my mouth.
I was woken up by news of the forgotten childhood marriage proposal being reconsidered.
“My clever girl is all grown up now!” my father spoke loudly, his fork sounding on the golden plate as the guests around him followed his proud tone with interest. Turning to his closest comrade, another one of Tsaritsa’s most trusted, he spoke as if confiding a secret though all invitees could hear him clearly: “Nobody is ever going to be good enough for my dove, but I’m considering accepting that proposal. They’d make a good match, both of their heads full of coins.”
Booming laughter ensued as my smile froze on my lips. He had never discussed this with me beforehand, so why now?
As if he had read my thoughts, Father’s eyes found mine, his bright and naive, sure that I would simply go with it as I had with everything until now. I decided to keep the illusion intact and made myself smile wider.
“Girlie that plays with coins, hah! If that’s what he needs to tie him down, I’d get on my knees myself,” the other man spoke, raising his glass towards me and eliciting another round of hollers.
Not one to stay quiet in rage, I spoke with a light, pretty tone: “Sorry to say this old man, but I’d prefer for the man to kneel down for my hand himself. Your legs might just give out from how long you’d have to be begging on the ground for him.”
The hidden jab of my not even knowing who the man proposing was went past their ears.
“As expected!” the man yelled over the ear-wrenching laughter, slapping my grinning father on the back, while another man, whom I recognised as my only female friend’s absentee parent, spoke up; “She’s really your kid, through and through. Shame you didn’t make a boy, too, with that spunk he’d be one of Tsaritsa’s best warriors by now.”
“No kid of mine would be any good as a soldier,” Father countered, the alcohol in his glass disappearing. “Us Silvers use our heads.”
After he playfully headbutts his comrade, the conversation moves elsewhere and I take my leave. Again, I find myself on the balcony, heaving deep breaths, desperately trying to calm my racing pulse. Vaguely, I think about my wild expression and how others would react if they chanced upon me at this moment, but my unbearable fear does not allow for a stoic attitude.
Ah, right, I wanted to run away.
It is needless to say that I got my plans in order just that night.
I only let my closest friends know of the finality of my departure, sent a personal letter to the Tsaritsa and prepared an entourage of people who wanted to permanently leave Snezhnaya as well.
Tsaritsa’s reply was swift and curt; a permit to leave for business. There was not any mention of a permit to return, but that was exactly what I had been looking for.
I mentioned my journey East to my parents at a rare shared dinner, as if passing news. My mother would have dragged me by my hair if we had been alone; having my father present was imperative. With my mother’s forced silence, I explained that, due to the scandal - which I had painstakingly created myself - I wanted to take charge of the business in Liyue Harbour for three months until I found a capable enough manager to take over the decision-making.
“It is unsavory for women to make the main decisions in a business,” I sighed, massaging the side of my head as if troubled by this gravely. My father nodded, sympathetically, while my mother coldly glared at my theatrics. It was not her that I needed to convince, anyway; she would follow whatever her husband decided. Holding Father’s hand, a physical contact of seldom, I continued: “I want to get this over with quickly, that is why I am going myself. After all, the marriage should not be put off for too long, should it? You told me a few days ago that you wanted a grandson, after all.”
I left three days after that.
The tearful farewells were done in secret, only polite nods were given in the public eye. More people have come to bid me a good journey than I would have expected, my ties reaching further than those of the usual Snezhnayan. I decided to speed up my leave before anyone else could notice.
White mountains and the creaking of snow beneath the heavy feet slowly turned into browns and greens and sloshes of mud. We stayed the night at a guesthouse in Fontaine, the waterfalls washing away the prints of our path. I wished I could have run away immediately, but arriving at the Liyue headquarters was a necessary evil to maintain our facade; if we did not send word, it would have been no different from an escape without planning.
The warm water felt wonderful against my cold skin, accustomed to the harsh weather of the land of Cryo. It was a few hours after sunset and only the sounds of nocturnal butterflies were present. The unchanging moon shone down, reflecting its light into the lake, its shape sometimes a copy, sometimes a caricature.
TBA
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We might as well just do all the Titans at this point and I’ll send in separate asks, so Koios/Percy (where even was Koios during the Titan War? Like was he just chillin in Tartarus or something) despite the fact that they’ve never spoken
You guys just want to watch the world burn lmao.
Despite the one scene with Koios I actually have decent info on him? I mean, Rick’s him that is.
Koios/Percy
Physical age
Percy would be 16 and Koios somewhere mid 20′s cause I’m nice.
As usual the Titan holds the power here idk what you expect
Mental maturity
Percy is fierce and loyal and determined boy who’s clearly forced to grow up from all that fun trauma he got. We love trauma, it does an amazing job of balancing things. A lot caused by Kronos, the Gods, his step-dad, and you know, being bullied through school years. He was abused as a child and of course has the trauma of the war so he’s cynical and a bit bitter but is fiercely loyal and knows how to stand up for his ideals.
Koios is grand, he’s a bit sophisticated in talking but overdramatic a bit. Not overly so really, but he does like to declare things. He’s happy to give information to his siblings even if he teases them (siblings am I right?). He’s clearly clever to an extent, cunning enough to be trusted to convince people to join their side. Unfortunately we don’t see much of him and most of what we saw was him chatting with Iapetus/Bob...
I’d say roughly equal due to lack of information, this may be subject to change
Emotional maturity
Percy needs therapy, as soon as possible really this kid has been through shit. He definitely grew up emotionally thanks to all that fun trauma, thanks Gods and Step-dad and Kronos. has been forced to grow up a bunch emotionally and also has a shit ton of trauma to work through so someone get on that. He is overall very mature emotionally because despite the trauma he has been given chances to work through things and talk to people, which some people didn’t get. He doesn’t have much control of his anger though, and he isn’t good at understanding other’s emotions but that’s fair emotions are hard. He has the maturity to understand his emotions at least, and deal with them in a healthy manner, but stars someone get the kid some therapy.
Koios seems a bit cold in general, though he seemed to be doing some brotherly teasing in the one scene we see with him (just Titan edition) and he’s boisterous but overall he seems a bit tense. I think he sensed something was off and put on a show to see what was up with Iapetus, but overall we don’t get to see much. He seems to care for his daughter, and he’s certainly dangerous, but overall it’s a brief scene that doesn’t showcase much of his personality, thoughts, or emotional and mental state. As it is I’d say that he has a good handle on his emotions.
Things lean in Koios’ favor but only a bit, this may be subject to change
Power Imbalance
There is no real power imbalance beyond Koios being a Titan.
Overall,
Koios and Percy aren’t horribly imbalanced but it does lean in Koios’ favor for sure. Unfortunately I don’t have much of a view of his personality and while I could do a fundamental breakdown of the lines we have, they wouldn’t help that much with this ask. I guess they could bond over loving their families though.
Send me an ask about a relationship
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The Casket of the Armadillos (by Edgar Allan Nope)
A Psych Fan-Fiction
by @emachinescat
@febuwhump day 9 - buried alive
Summary: When Shawn confronts a grad student turned murderer, he learns a very important lesson a very hard way: Don’t piss off English nerds - especially the homicidal ones.
Characters: Shawn, Gus, Juliet, Lassiter, Henry
Words: 5,924
TW: panic attacks, buried alive, claustrophobia
Note: If you liked this classic lit-inspired Psych fic, you can always check out this one I wrote, inspired by To Kill a Mockingbird: The Finch and the Mockingbird
Keep reading here, or on AO3!
If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)
I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat!
- Edgar Allan Poe, “The Cask of Amontillado”
Her name was Olivia Hale, she was a twenty-three-year-old grad student at UCSB, and she was working on her doctorate in American lit. She was attractive in a cute librarian sort of way - short and petite, with long, curly auburn hair she kept in a bun and oversized glasses with thick lenses, and a smattering of freckles across her slightly upturned nose. She knew a little bit about everything when it came to literature as a whole, a rather impressive amount about American literature, and absolutely everything there was to know about the life and works of one Edgar Allan Poe.
She was also batshit crazy and currently pointing a .22 pistol directly at Shawn’s head.
“Don’t move,” she growled, disengaging the safety.
Shawn did a cursory glance around the empty classroom, looking for anything at all he could use to his advantage, to distract her or attack her with or - worst case scenario - to use as a shield. But Olivia had found him snooping around on the tiny fourth floor study room that she’d been given to use by the department chair as her thesis headquarters. She’d really made herself at home here, piling books and journals and what seemed like hundreds of loose sheets of paper on every available surface.
But he was stranded in the middle of the room, with nothing close enough to use as a weapon, and so Shawn used the most powerful tool he had, one that had saved his life and many others, wooed women all over the country, and ordered more chili cheese dogs than he could count.
He started talking.
“Look, Olivia, I get it,” he said soothingly. Slowly, in the most non-threatening manner possible, he lowered his hands. Olivia gripped the pistol tighter but didn’t shoot. “I know what happened. You didn’t mean to kill him.”
Her eyes were wide and fierce, her lips pursed into a thin line. “No,” she admitted. “It was an accident. But he was going to--”
“Yeees,” drawled Shawn, slowly raising his left hand and putting it to his temple, very well aware that he was probably pushing the limit with all of this movement after she had expressly ordered, at gunpoint, for him to stay still. “I see it. Dr. Graves was feeling guilty, wasn’t he? A fifty-five-year-old professor with a fancy PhD and tenure, and a devoted wife and three kids and two grandkids, to boot. The perfect life. But oooh, it wasn’t enough for him, was it?”
Shawn immediately answered his own question, something that he had become exceptionally good at over the years since he was usually the only one who could keep up with himself. “Of course not! What’s the perfect job and family when you’ve got a smokin’ hot, super smart student in her mid-twenties who thinks you’re the most impressive man on the planet?”
She sneered, and Shawn noticed with some trepidation that the hand holding the gun trembled just the tiniest bit. When she spoke, her voice warbled with rage. “My age and appearance had nothing to do with it - and even if it did, there was nothing wrong with our relationship! We were perfect for each other, intellectual equals. We were on each other’s levels - he was my soulmate! So don’t you dare belittle what we had like that!”
Ah. So he had hit a nerve. This could now go either one of two ways, in Shawn’s extensive experience in being held hostage: Either she would get fed up and send a bullet screaming through his body, Garth Longmore style, or she would let her emotions distract her, and cause her to make a stupid mistake. Obviously, Shawn hoped for the latter.
Now Shawn had to make a choice, because he could proceed in one of two ways: Either he could back off and try from another angle, or he could further antagonize her into (hopefully) making a mistake. Naturally, Shawn went with the latter.
“Sure, sure,” he agreed airily. “Older men and younger women do it all the time. But to say there was nothing wrong with your relationship? The man was married, and you were his student. I’m not the headmaster here -”
“Dean,” she corrected sharply, and this further proved that Shawn had pegged her correctly as a know-it-all literature wunderkind who had to be right one thousand percent of the time. “This isn’t Hogwarts.”
Shawn gave a tiny shrug. “To be honest, all big schools look like Hogwarts to me.”
“Because you have the mind of a child.” The words were accusatory and patronizing, but Shawn flashed a dazzling smile.
“Thank you,” he said. Before she could respond, he continued his earlier thoughts, “Even though you were the ‘perfect couple,’ you were furious with him for even suggesting that you stop seeing one another. The affair was too risky, and he missed his wife. He wanted to tell her the truth, fix things.”
“It would have ruined everything!” Olivia hissed, and the sound of her voice sent shivers down Shawn’s spine. There was an unhinged quality to it, something raw and dangerous that he hadn’t sensed before. He fought the sudden urge to backpedal as far away from her as possible. “We were perfect together! And if he told his wife and she let it slip, I would be kicked out! All my research, all my time and work here, everything would be gone! He had no right to make that decision for me, to take away my future!”
“Maybe,” said Shawn, and it was like he was watching from outside his body, because he knew that what he was about to say was a big mistake, but he was helpless to stop the words from tumbling from his lips, “you should have thought more about your future before you pursued your married Shakespeare teacher.”
Fury etched itself into every feature of her face, turning her from a beautiful librarian to a feral monster, but her voice was slow and measured as if it was taking every ounce of self-control she possessed not to shoot him where he stood. “He taught Southern. Gothic. Masterpieces.”
Shawn tried to backtrack, to undo whatever damage had been done by his unpredictably big mouth. “But,” he pressed. “Killing him was an accident. You didn’t mean to push him down four flights of stairs.”
She considered this. “No, I didn’t mean to kill him,” she reaffirmed, and then an odd calm smoothed out the angry crevices between her eyebrows - the peace, perhaps, of having come to an important decision that she knew was absolutely right. Shawn recognized the look because he’d seen it on others’ faces before (very rarely, if ever, had he seen it upon his own). “And I don’t think I will kill you, either.”
Whatever Shawn had been expecting, this wasn’t it. Everything about this woman screamed insane and vengeful. If Shawn lived, he would turn her into the police, and she would go to jail for a very long time. She was incredibly intelligent - surely she knew this!
And then she clarified, and the world started to make sense again - though Shawn would have honestly been perfectly content in this alternate reality where the bad guy suddenly has a miraculous change of heart. “Well,” she amended, “I won’t kill you directly. I’ve never shot anyone before - I only have this little guy here because I’m a young, pretty girl on a big college campus, and I have two night classes. Besides, your death shouldn’t be so easy.”
Shawn swallowed. “Olivia, you don’t have to do this. You haven’t intentionally killed anyone yet. If you turn yourself in now and cooperate, your sentence will be a lot shorter than if you kill me - directly or not. Because make no mistake, even if you kill me, you will still get caught. The SBPD has some damn good detectives, and they’ll bring you down even if I don’t.”
She didn’t respond to him directly. Instead, her expression was flat save for the dark gleam in her eyes, and she intoned words that in and of themselves had no meaning to Shawn, but that still managed to strike a chord of fear deep inside of his soul. “‘The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge.’” Shawn was utterly unnerved by this point; it was like she had been taken over by something both sinister and incredibly well-spoken.
And indeed, in many ways she had, as Shawn soon found out, she was quoting the beginning of a story by Edgar Allan Poe.
Presently, however, Shawn had no context for her strange words or sudden shift of demeanor. His skin crawled and his heart pumped with more get-up-and-go than he’d ever been able to muster in his whole body before. “Uh, Olivia…”
“Move,” she ordered.
This time, though it was contrary to his nature, Shawn did what she said without arguing. This side of the student, with stolen words sliding evilly from her mouth, was a million times scarier than the enraged Olivia who had very nearly shot him between the eyes.
She marched him out of the room and down the three flights of stairs to the main lobby of the English building. It was dark outside, nearing midnight, and Shawn kicked himself for thinking he was clever for coming to investigate this late. He’d thought she’d be at home sleeping. He should have realized that as a grad student, sleeping was the one thing she wouldn’t have time for! And now he was in very deep trouble, alone, and no one knew where he was. He should have waited until morning, until the building wasn’t deserted, should have at least called Gus and told him what he was doing. But it was a college campus, and she was a tiny little literature nerd - it should have been safe!
As she forced him down one flight of stairs, then two, then three, and finally, into a stairwell off the beaten path that had to be unlocked with a key card - which she had - she continued to encant, her voice slowly losing its flatness and growing into something twisted and sing-songy with every word.
“‘You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; this was a point, definitely, settled - but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk.’”
“Olivia--”
It was as if she hadn’t heard him as she shoved him into the basement, and now her voice stilled from a chant to a slow, measured whisper.. “‘I must not only punish but punish with impunity.’”
Shawn wasn’t sure what impunity was, but it sure as hell didn’t sound good.
Their final destination ended up being a small, partially finished storage room near the back of the basement. Dusty boxes and rusted cabinets and archaic old computer monitors lined the walls and cluttered most of the walking space. Shawn was reminded grimly of a school supply graveyard.
Olivia stopped him when they came to a brick wall that had been busted through to fix some issue with the pipes - Shawn saw the water stains on the concrete floor near the break in the wall, and there was a brand new water pipe joined to an old, yellowed one at about eye-level in the small open space between the bricks and the drywall beyond. Shawn also noticed that the new bricks had been neatly piled up near a sealed bucket that almost certainly contained mortar, right outside of the hole. Someone was in the process of walling this section back up.
“Nice wall,” Shawn joked, relieved that Olivia had finally stopped her creepy recitation and desperately trying to lighten the mood and bring things back to some sort of normal - honestly, he’d take being threatened with the gun again to the horror movie stuff he’d just witnessed. “I bet all the other walls are jealous of it.”
It was a lame joke, but her eerie dramatics had him all kinds of messed up. He expected her to tell him to shut up, or to threaten to shoot him again, or to actually shoot him, but instead she asked him a question in that same cold, calm voice as before. “Have you ever read ‘The Cask of Amontillado,’ Shawn?”
Shawn blinked. “I make it a point not to read anything that’s not a magazine from the 80s or WikiHow articles on ‘How to Escape from Dangerous Forest Animals.’”
The corner of her lips lifted in a mockery of a satisfied smile. “Good. Then you’ll get to experience it for yourself, first hand. Just wait until you get to the ending! You’re going to love it.”
Somehow, Shawn doubted that very much.
Still holding the gun on him with one hand, she reached her free hand into the cross-body bag she wore and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Shawn groaned.
“Come on! What college student just carries handcuffs in their school bag?” Then he remembered that this particular student had until recently been having a passionate affair with her teacher. “Wait - never mind. It makes perfect sense.”
She laughed, even though what he said wasn’t even remotely funny. The sound of it was strange and discordant - light and tinkly with a threatening undertone that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Then she gestured at the hole in the wall and ordered, “In.”
Shawn had known it was coming, but had tried to shove that knowledge into the corner of his mind - something that was quite difficult to do for someone with a photographic and eidetic memory - in an effort to convince himself that even she wasn’t that cruel. He tried to appeal to her one last time: “Olivia, it’s not too late to stop this. I mean, are you really going to do this to another human being - seriously, look at this place - it’s dusty and moldy and I’m almost certain there’s no room service! If you’re going to chain me to a pipe, why not do it in a five star hotel?” When she nudged him with the gun, eyes gleaming with something dark and triumphant, he reluctantly stepped into the small space and implored, “I’ll even settle for a seedy motel off a poorly lit backroad. I’m not too picky.”
She didn’t answer him as she stood on her tiptoes and handcuffed Shawn’s wrists around the pipe, cinching them so tight that the metal dug into his skin and he doubted that even his dad’s lessons on escaping handcuffs wouldn’t be much help here. Already he could feel his fingers going numb, and his shoulders and back had started to ache from the hunched position he was forced to take due to the height of the pipe and the awkward angle of his arms.
Well, Shawn thought glumly as she smiled at her handiwork and carefully backed out of the small space, maybe all wasn’t lost. Surely someone would come down here and find him. This place was dusty, but it couldn’t be abandoned - work still needed to be done down here, after all. And he could always yell for help once he was sure Olivia was gone. She was booksmart, but maybe she wasn’t criminally minded. He might be in for an uncomfortable night, but in the morning someone would find him and he could have his vision and the cute little psychopath would go to jail for a very long time.
He waited for her to leave, but instead, she used a crowbar to pry the lid off the bucket of mortar, and the pit in Shawn’s stomach became a whole-ass trench. He should have seen this coming - his heart pounded madly against his rib cage as if trying to free itself, with or without him. He couldn’t blame it. “Olivia, please,” he said, and this time, there was no joke, his voice imploring and terrified. “You don’t have -”
Again, she cut him off. “How would you like to hear a story before you die, Shawn?” she asked in a tone so casual that she could have been asking him if he wanted to grab a taco.
“How about you tell me a story and then I don’t die?” Shawn bargained weakly.
“Mmmm… If you stay alive, my whole life will be ruined,” Olivia reasoned. “And I have worked far too hard to allow that to happen. So. You just stand there - quietly - and I’ll tell you the story of Poe’s most beloved tale of revenge. I won’t tell you word for word, of course - we don’t have time for that - but for posterity, I do have it memorized.” She sounded grotesquely proud of that fact. “It’s my favorite of his stories, after all.”
And so, as she slowly began to brick up the hole in the wall, with Shawn trapped, helpless and in a dissociative state of panic, she told him the story of two men with really stupid names that Shawn somehow managed, despite his raging fear, to file away for later as possible nicknames for Gus.
“Our story starts in Italy, during the carnival, and our narrator is a man named Montresor, who has a grudge against his once-friend, now-foe, Fortunato…”
The story was an interesting one, even to Shawn, who preferred watching over reading and especially over listening any day. And as it turned out, Olivia was a really good storyteller. If he had been in any other position, Shawn might have actually enjoyed the suspenseful tale of revenge.
But as he stooped there and was forced to listen, all he could think about was about how terrified this Fortunato guy must have been, and then he started wondering how long it had been before the man hadn’t been able to hold his bladder or… other things… anymore, and then about what had happened when he was too tired and dizzy to stand up, if the manacles on his wrists had pulled so hard against his flesh that they cut into him, and if lack of water or oxygen killed him first, all the while he knew that he wasn’t asking these questions for the sake of the fictional character. He was asking them for himself. Olivia had made it exceedingly clear - for a literature scholar, she was surprisingly un-subtle about any underlying meanings or motives - that Fortunato’s story was now to be his story.
It wasn’t until she had begun discussing with rapture the brilliance of Poe’s use of the Italian carnival as the setting of a story about murder (because of its abandonment of social order, whatever that meant) and had built up all but the last two bricks, leaving a hole around Shawn’s eye level, that came to the most horrifying realization yet. He’d been so focused on his own thoughts and fears with Olivia’s words washing over him like an acid bath that he’d barely registered that the dim light in the hole had been darkening incrementally with each new brick placed. Now he came to the bone-chilling understanding that once she placed those last two bricks, he would be completely in the dark.
He was going to die, alone, terrified, and in utter darkness with fear as his only friend. He thought in that moment that he might die of a heart attack before he could even think about dehydrating or suffocating. Honestly, it sounded like an easier way to go.
“Well,” said Olivia finally. “I can’t say that it’s been a pleasure to meet you in any way, Shawn, but I suppose I should thank you. Ever since I found out about this unfinished wall down here, I’ve had this unscratchable itch to recreate the titular scene from my favorite Poe story. You gave me the means and justification to do it!”
Shawn was so overcome by the surging sea of fear and early-onset claustrophobia that he couldn’t even muster up the gumption to make a joke about the word titular. Instead, as Olivia knelt down next to her bag, rooting around for something, he jerked madly against the handcuffs, desperately searching for any give in the metal or the pipe he was handcuffed to (or even his wrists, at this point he wasn’t picky). But the pipe was new, and it was sturdy, and so was the fitting that connected it to the old one, which itself didn’t seem too keen on budging, either.
A sick grin teased at Olivia’s parted lips. “Oh, Fortunato tried that too. But then he stopped crying and struggling and chose to die with a shred of dignity. But I highly doubt dignity is something you’re capable of.”
And then, with the finality of fitting a lid to a coffin, she slapped a piece of fluorescent pink duct tape over his mouth and a fresh wave of panic ravaged Shawn’s everything. He didn’t remember this happening in her retelling of the story! Then again, the Fortunato guy had been sealed into catacombs deep underground. Shawn was in the basement of a heavily trafficked university building. Someone would actually hear him if he called for help, so she took his voice away from him too. He couldn’t even sing “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” to pass his time or distract him from the inevitable. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he would die in the dark, he would die in the quiet too - and silence was, as his incessant need for chatter plainly proved, Shawn’s worst enemy.
“Goodbye, Shawn,” Olivia said, and she added one brick, layered on the mortar, and then gave her captive one last satisfied glance before adding the last brick and leaving Shawn in total, impenetrable darkness. He would never forget that last, terrible look in her eyes before his world went black - she was no longer human; she had elevated herself to the level of the storytelling gods and she relished in the twisted power she held over the life of another human.
As her footsteps clipped away, her voice, obscenely gleeful, called out, “In pace requiescat!”
***
The next ten hours were the worst of Shawn’s life, and they consisted of five main elements all bundled together into a nightmare that would stalk him for the rest of his life.
Cold. It was the middle of January, and though it couldn’t have been less than forty-five degrees outside, the basement - especially behind the walls - was chilly, and with the musty smell and the dust and the pitch black, Shawn was reminded far too much of a grave and knew that he might as well be in one, because this was going to be his. It was the kind of cold that bit deeper than the skin and wormed its way into the very core and dug its icy fangs in and refused to let go - the chill of death, an open invitation from the dead to join them in their home beneath the ground. He shivered a lot, but he couldn’t be sure if it was the cold, or the panic. It was probably a little of both.
Dark. The darkness that surrounded him had an unreal nature that could easily trick the eyes into thinking that they were already closed. It was oppressive and thick, pressing in from all sides, inky black water dredged from the depths of the sea.
Shawn had never been a fan of the dark, but neither did he exactly fear it. That changed the second that the last brick was put into place and he found himself in a darkness so severe that were in not for the feeling of floor beneath his feet he could have been suspended in the depths of space so remote that not even stars could reach. The darkness swarmed his senses - it had a physical presence, and it didn’t lessen, never permitted Shawn’s eyes to adjust to it in the slightest. It just hung there, surrounded him, assaulted his mind with its infinite arsenal of nightmares.
After experiencing true darkness, Shawn would never sleep without a nightlight again (which unfortunately meant he couldn’t judge Gus anymore for using one, either).
Pain. At first it was just the pull of his shoulders, the ache in his back. Then, about five minutes after he’d been sealed up, he realized his wrists were screaming with agony - he must have torn them badly when he fought to get away, but the adrenaline staved off the pain until now. He vaguely wondered how deeply the cuffs had cut - it felt like the skin on his wrists had been flayed - but quickly remembered that it didn’t matter where he was going.
Then there were the hunger pangs, and they mingled with the cramps from holding his bladder longer than he ever had before, and at some point muscle spasms in his arms and chest and legs joined the choir of suffering. At one point, he shed a few tears, but they could have just as easily been from anxiety or exhaustion, which itself produced its own kind of pain - he longed to sleep, but his body refused to allow him even that comfort until the very end, right before he was rescued, as if he were being forced on pain of death to endure the pain of death right up until the very moment of his painful death.
At least he didn’t have too much trouble breathing. There must have been a crack somewhere in the wall in front of or behind him, because fresh air was entering somehow. He did, several hours into his imprisonment, begin finding it difficult to pull in a full breath, and by the time he was rescued he was giddy with light-headedness, but he didn’t know if it was from the air quality or exhaustion or panic or from being forced to breathe only through his nose for hours, but he really didn’t care.
Quiet. Even worse than the cold and the dark and the pain was the quiet. The tape over his mouth prevented him from doing the one thing that could bring him comfort in even the most difficult of situations. Talking was what Shawn did - he utilized mindless prattle to distract bad guys, to make people underestimate him, to quell fear and panic in himself and those around him, to annoy and wheedle those whose opinions meant the most to him (and who he was most afraid to be real with), and most importantly, to distract himself from all the pain and baggage that his exceptional memory had filed away for him throughout the years. Talking nonsense meant that he wasn’t thinking about or acknowledging the parts of himself that arguably needed the most attention, those bits that were scared and unsure and hurt and vulnerable.
Shawn had always detested silence, and now it had invaded so intimately that even he could not drive it out.
And all of these culminated in a constant, agonizing state of absolute, unrelenting fear.
Panic attacks are horrific things that take your natural instincts in potentially dangerous situations and turn them against you in the cruelest of ways. They suck the air out of your lungs and make your heart pound so fast and so hard that you are convinced it’s going to give out in pure fatigue and never make it to that next beat. It makes your skin crawl like there are thousands of spiders nesting there, and your chest hurts and your breath is short and stunted and you know you are dying, that the next breath will be your last, but it isn’t, and the fear just continues and sometimes you curl into a ball or rock back and forth or scratch at your skin.
Panic attacks generally last anywhere from five to twenty minutes. Shawn was stuck in a state of raw, unfiltered panic for ten hours. When the EMTs at the scene took his heart rate, it was 160, had been the entire time he’d been buried in a collegiate tomb, knowing that he was going to die.
Put simply, Shawn Spencer spent ten hours in his own personal hell.
***
It was nearly three in the afternoon when Detectives Juliet O’Hara and Carlton Lassiter, with the help of a frantic Gus and a worried Henry that tried his damndest not to show how worried he was, made the final connections in the case and tracked down the woman who had slept with and then killed her lover like a hyper-intelligent, book-loving black widow. Juliet and Gus remained on the college campus to continue investigating while Lassiter and Henry went on to the station to question Olivia. She had refused to say where the missing psychic detective was, however, and only offered one bitter phrase, spoken in another language that sounded to the questioning party like a curse being placed on their heads:
“Nemo me impune lacessit.”
It was Gus who figured it out after Lassiter related the cryptic saying over the phone.
“I know that phrase!” he exclaimed to a swell of raised eyebrows. “It’s Latin! It means no one wounds me with impunity!”
“You speak Latin?” Juliet seemed impressed.
“Not much. But I recognize that particular saying, because it’s from a story that gave me nightmares my entire sophomore year of college.” He shuddered. “It’s from the second-most terrifying Poe story.” He didn’t elaborate on what the first-most terrifying one was, largely because he didn’t want to give the others fodder to use “The Tell-Tale Heart” against him like Shawn already did. Then the full implications of the words sunk in and he gasped, “We have to find Shawn, now.” The horror in his expression sent a chill down Juliet’s spine.
“Gus - what the hell are you talking about?” Henry was no longer trying to hide the panic in his voice.
“It’s from ‘The Cask of Amontillado,’ Gus clarified, his own panic making it difficult to express himself clearly.
“Guster, this is hardly the time for you to have a glass of wine,” Lassiter barked. “Now stop talking in riddles and just spit it out!”
But Juliet had now made the connection as well and answered for Gus. “Oh my gosh - isn’t that the one where the guy is sealed into a wall and left to die?”
The dread in Gus’s eyes said it all.
“He’s got to be somewhere on campus,” Henry reasoned, and his voice shook the tiniest bit. “Lassiter and I are on our way back to you now. In the meantime, check with the school and see if there are any places that are easily accessed and under construction.”
No one said it aloud, but the possibility that her words hadn’t been a hint at all and that Shawn was somewhere else entirely hung in the air amongst them. It was funny, Juliet thought - though it wasn’t funny at all - she urgently needed Gus’s theory to be right, because otherwise they would have no leads, but at the same time, she was terrified of the implications if it were true.
Her heart felt as sick as Montresor’s when he placed the last brick as she and Gus raced to the administration building and prayed they weren’t too late.
***
When they broke through the wall, the sight that greeted them was one that would never leave them - any of them. Even Lassiter, who made it his sacred duty to remain unfazed by anything his job threw at him was visibly disturbed.
A moment of silence, a beat where time stood still and everyone was afraid to move, and then -
“Shawn!” The four rescuers surged forward as one, but Henry got there first, his trembling fingers groping for a pulse - thank God, but it was racing, dangerously fast, and in the background he heard Lassiter radioing for an ambulance.
Shawn woke up as Henry gently peeled the hideous pink duct tape (an affront to all duct tape everywhere) off of his mouth. It wasn’t a gentle waking, a flutter of eyelashes or the murmuring of a name - it was violent and erratic, fueled by terror.
Henry had had to deal with panic attacks before - mostly Gus’s when he took the boys camping together, but once or twice when Shawn was really young and he’d had a bad dream. This one was the worst that he’d ever seen - Shawn woke with a muffled yell, panting through his nose, writhing, tears streaming down his face, eyes squeezed shut against the trauma he’d been subjected to, and he threw himself against the handcuffs so fiercely that Henry feared he’d break his wrists.
Soon his wrists were freed, though, and Henry, with the help of Lassiter, helped a weakened Shawn out of the wall and into the basement and lowered him to the floor. Henry sat with him and rubbed his back and spoke quietly to him, Juliet took his hand, and Gus reassured him while Lassiter ran up the stairs to check on the ETA of the ambulance.
Twenty minutes later, Shawn had been placed onto a stretcher and carried up the stairs and out into the sunlight - sensing the warm rays, he opened his eyes only to pinch them shut again as the brightness after so many hours in the dark nearly blinded him. He had been given something to calm him down, and he would be going to the hospital to be checked over and observed overnight, and a psychiatrist would be sent in to evaluate him in the morning, and everything was moving so fast that Shawn leaned over the side of the stretcher and deposited the remnants of the last thing he’d eaten, nearly twelve hours before.
“There’s one thing I still don’t get,” he gasped as he was eased back onto the stretcher. “Where do the armadillos come into her plan?”
The EMTs exchanged a concerned look at the stretcher, probably wondering if there had been some carbon monoxide poisoning after all. Gus, however, just rolled his eyes.
“Amontillado, Shawn. It’s a kind of wine.”
“The story is called ‘The Casket of the Armadillos,’” Shawn argued stubbornly, going so far as to cross his arms over his chest, pulling at the IV in his right hand.
Gus was going to argue, to insist that he’d actually read the story (and why the heck would someone fill a casket with armadillos?), but then Gus saw the plea in Shawn’s hazel eyes, that need for jokes and silliness, and understood that his best friend was clinging onto his last shreds of control.
“You know what - I forgot,” Gus corrected, shaking his head and giving himself a light smack on the forehead for good measure. “It is ‘The Casket of Armadillos.’” He glared out at Henry, at Lassiter and Juliet and the EMTs, defying them to challenge his claim. No one did, but they all shared a similar baffled expression.
Well, they could deal with their confusion, Gus thought protectively as he watched Shawn and Henry disappear into the ambulance. Shawn had been through a night of unspeakable horror, so if it was armadillos he wanted, then it was armadillos he was going to get.
#febuwhump#febuwhumpday9#psych#shawn spencer#fanfiction#burton guster#henry spencer#carlton lassiter#juliet o'hara#whump fic#buried alive#entombed#claustrofobia#panic attack#tw claustrophobia#tw panic attack#tw buried alive#angst#hurt/comfort#edgar allan poe#cask of amontillado#classic lit inspired#i created a monster#mystery#i've heard it both ways
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━ ☾ ⊹ ( bang chan, cis male , he/him ) say hello to HWA YOHAN / CHANCE HWA, the TWENTY FOUR YEAR OLD that seems to have a lot in his hands with HIS job as a STREAMER AND CONTENT CREATOR! beyond that, they seemed RELIABLE AND PASSIONATE upon first glance. i heard someone say they’re sort of SELF-CONSCIOUS AND CAUTIOUS though. HE seems to live in a 2 BEDROOM APARTMENT in SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA. anything else to add? oh, yeah! he also USED TO BE A PROFESSIONAL GAMER PART OF SEOUL DYNASTY (OWL) UNTIL HE GOT KICKED OUT.
basic information
― full name: hwa yohan / chance hwa
― nicknames: yohwa
― age: twenty four
― date of birth: october 3rd, 1996
― birthplace: cheonan, south korea.
―hometown: sydney, australia
― current location: seoul, south korea
― living arrangements: 2 bedroom apartment
― ethnicity: korean
― nationality: dual, korean (natural born) and australian (naturalized)
― gender: cis male
― pronouns: he / him
― orientation: demiromantic, heterosexual.
― religion: atheist
― occupation: streamer
― language(s) spoken: korean (fluent), english (fluent)
―accent: heavy australian accent
physical appearance
― faceclaim: bang chan / christopher bang of stray kids.
― hair: naturally brown, though he often dyes to a variety of colors, mostly black and blue. right now, it’s a purple color that’s already fading.
― eye colour: coffee brown
― height: 171cm
― weight: 56kg
― tattoos: none at the moment.
― piercings: lobe and upper lobe on both ears. anti-tragus, orbital and rook on the left one. double helix on the right one.
― clothing style: regularly techwear when he goes out and athleisure at home.
personality
― label: the cynical
― positive traits: attentive, dependable, reliable, passionate, brave, energetic, honest, humorous, clever, versatile, truthful, affectionate, sociable
― negative traits: self-conscious, cautious, opinionated, arrogant, detached, critical, tactless, stubborn, loud, quick-tempered, harsh, unfiltered, cynical, restless, ambitious,
― hobbies: baking, collecting enamel pins and funkos, jigsaw puzzles, skateboarding, reading, listening to music, curating playlists when he has time, learning origami.
― habits: obsessively organising, borrowing books and rarely ever returning them (he forgets who they belong to ok), really bad road rage, awful at keeping track of time, people watching, always wears a black ring on his left index finger, always hugs something when sleeping, gets easily impressed by things, quotes movies and shows in regular conversations, knuckle cracking, snacking between meals, eye rolling without noticing, squinting when concentrated, crossing his arms over his chest, running hands through his hair, slouching, rolling his shoulders.
― zodiac sign: sun libra, moon gemini, ascendant libra.
― mbti: infp-t “the mediator”
― enneagram: 8w7 “the nonconformist”.
― temperament: melancholic
― hogwarts house: ravenclaw
― moral alignment: chaotic neutral
― primary vice: greed
― primary virtue: diligence
― element: air
trivia:
― he’s played all kind of games and his twitch channel was created 9 years ago (whew) and it currently has over 5 million subscribers. currently, he streams mostly genshin impact, valorant, league of legends, overwatch, spider-man: miles morales, cyberpunk 2077 and the witcher iii. every now and then he makes charity streams. he also makes special lives with other gamers and figures where they play games like among us, minecraft, fortnite (though he absolutely hates it), party animals, fall guys and other party games.
― despite the rumours around him and his parents, he’s never talked about them to the media. it’s not like chance hides the information, after all it’s online, but he swerves questions about them and pretty much decides to not say anything about them just to avoid controversy. his parents didn’t mind until last year the company they worked at offered him a sponsorship and yohan turned it down. it’s safe to say they were pretty hurt over this and they haven’t talked much recently.
― yohan is, in his words, the biggest fan of spiderman (not really) but he’s his favorite heroe of all times and he collects everything and anything that has him in it. his biggest collection is funko pops with over 30+ figurines. he collects funkos of various other interests of him as well as enamel pins.
― lowkey a weeb. he likes watching anime in his spare time and if he likes it too much, he’d buy the manga and read it as well. his latest obsessions are kimetsu no yaiba, boku no hero academia, haikyu and jujutsu kaisen.
― won’t ever admit this out loud, but almost every ghibli movie makes him cry his eyes out, even when he’s watched the same one over and over again. he prefers to watch these on his own. his favorite one is grave of the fireflies.
― it took him a while to get used to korean culture, a part of him is still trying to. luckily, his family would speak in korean in their household most of the time and this helped him not struggle as much when it came to the language. his streams are most of the time in english to cater to a bigger audience, but recently he’s got himself a small team of an editor and a translator that’s helped him add subtitles to the videos he uploads in youtube.
― his current setup is completely sponsored except for a few extra things he’s bought himself and he has minimal experience when it comes to builds, though he’s really interested in learning and has recently researched more about the whole topic, hoping to get his first custom build by the end of the year.
― has terrible road rage and this is the reason why he doesn’t own a car or a driving license, even being in the backseat makes him anxious and would much rather prefer to use the bus, a bike or his skateboard to commute between places. taxis and other rides are his last option, if he’s quite honest.
― as a neighbour, he’s polite and tries to be mindful just to avoid needless problems. the first thing he did was soundproof his office in order to not disrupt others, but sometimes this doesn’t work as well due to how loud he can be. chance will try to greet every neighbour he encounters either with a wave or a simple nod.
― loves dogs but doesn’t feel he’s responsible enough to take care of one yet, though he will certainly volunteer to pet-sit his friends’ dogs.
background:
born in cheonan, south korea to two very affectionate parents and an older sister, yohan was the name given to the first boy of the hwa’s; a small loving family who moved to australia two years after his birth.
the reason for this is that his mom was promoted to become the director of a renowned gaming company that was opening its new headquarters in sydney. his father is a software engineer specialised in videogames development who works under the same company.
his sister is a graphic designer and she, too, is currently working with them in the multimedia and design area. she’s almost 7 years older than him and ever since they were kids, she took a protective role over yohan.
it was easy for yohan to get really invested in videogames from a young age, after all, his parents would often bring home their newest releases as well as games from other various companies (his father liked to play a lot as well and he himself was a fan of many games, mostly the nintendo classics).
fast forward to his teenage years; he was actually good at school, not the best, but definitely did good enough to not worry his parents with his grades. sports always piqued his interest. he was part of the basketball team and would use his skateboard often to get to school (which would earn him earfuls from the teachers saying how dangerous it was.) other than that, he was an active member in the gaming club (shocking, i know).
at 14 he got his first close up at what esports were like after participating in a tournament of counter strike, junior division. his team (which was made up by members from the gaming club) won and he got to watch matches from other divisions, only growing more and more fascinated about the whole thing. the idea of becoming a professional gamer didn’t seem so far fetched then.
around late 2011, the same year twitch started as what it is, yohan found the platform and immediately grew curious about it. it was fascinating to watch other people play, thus it didn’t take him long to start his own channel under the username “chance” right after he turned 15. it took him a while to find his own pace there, not quite sure of what to say or how to act. eventually, he saw that the less reserved and cautious he was, the more people watched and liked his stream, so from then on, he stopped worrying about what ifs and what people would think about him.
this is a double edged sword: as his popularity grows, he becomes more and more brutally honest and less mindful of the consequences his words and actions could have. whereas he quickly became one of the public’s favorites, he was also viewed as someone potentially problematic that could bring a bad reputation to the community, though this only seemed to be a prejudice from other gamers and public figures.
he doesn’t care, however, and chance was pretty dead set on keep doing his thing. he was also really active in tournaments, either small or big, and other teams would often reach out for him to fill in. he rarely ever turned down an opportunity and even though they didn’t always win, participating was more than enough for him to gain the favor of the audience.
when he was 18, a formal contract to be part of the chiefs esports club (a recently founded professional club with teams competing in counter-strike: global offensive and league of legends based in australia) was presented to him and of course he signed.
between his streams, which had become a tri-weekly kind of deal, and the “training” with his teammates the rest of the days, it was clear that yohan wasn’t in the slightest interested to pursue a higher education, and honestly his parents didn’t complain about it as he was already doing well on his own. nonetheless, his sister was concerned and pushed him to at least take a couple of online classes (which he did, but mostly to learn how to edit videos and understand audio aspects to improve the quality of his streams.)
around this time, nasty rumours about his parents buying his way into the club were spread which earned him the dislike of some of his teammates. it was the first time yohan ever encountered a situation like that but thanks to the management, he was able to move past that. the oceanic pro league was founded in 2015, a professional league of legends competition, and the chiefs esports club participated and won. this helped the rumours around him disperse for he proved his skills were what put him into the team. sadly, he left the club a year later.
for the next couple of years, he focused on his stream and growing his community. yohan was invited to different events, tournaments and other collaborations during this time and he was always excited for them. he even decided to create a youtube channel to upload highlights and vlogs.
then, the overwatch league was announced (chance quickly became addicted to this game and even reached top 500 in competitive) and he was contacted by the seoul team (seoul dynasty) to become part of their team for the inaugural season. like that, at 21, yohan packed his bags and moved to south korea.
between 2017 and 2019, he was part of the team as dps. he had to change his schedule yet again to stream only on the weekends and with some restrictions his contract established (like not talking about the team or the league live). some of his fans voiced their dislike for this new attitude of his, which yohan brushed with a roll of the eyes and a joke.
however, before the 2020 season started and the team was on break, chance was one day streaming and offhandedly said a comment about another player in the league which he had a match with. this caused a really big commotion online and several pro-gamers were rubbed the wrong way about his words (to this day, he still doesn’t know what was so wrong about calling out someone t-bagging him in a pro game) and his reputation was admittedly tarnished. the seoul dynasty’s management team decided that it was better to let him go.
that’s how last year, chance moved into his current apartment after looking online for a new place to live.
in the present, he streams 5 days a week a variety of games and his schedule varies, some days he goes live in the mornings and other days really late at night. he has a steady income from various sponsorships as well as the monetization of his youtube channel, which he updates twice a week.
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