#holy grail fic alert
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Making Daddy Proud
Stepdad!Duncan x Female Reader
After moving in with your estranged mother and her new husband, Duncan Shepherd, you started to grow very close to your new stepdad. The two of you had a great relationship and he was doing his best to be a good father figure for you, knowing you missed your dad so much. But there was a problem, you found yourself insanely attracted to him and were starting to notice little things indicating he might feel the same way.
Warnings: very inappropriate relationships, Stepfather/stepdaughter relationship, Cheating is ofc implied, 20+ year age gap, daddy kink, unprotected sex (but I kinda imagined the reader to be on birth control so is okie😌) fingering (female receiving), choking, vaginal sex, oral (male receiving) and face fucking😃
Notes: Okie sooo I know some people will hate this fic and ofc I understand that, but if you do hate it then please don't send me any hate!! just don't read it🖤 anywayss I got dis ask saying "Concept: Stepdad Duncan x naive reader😉" nd omg i LOVE the whole concept of Stepdad!Duncan sm, like if you've been in the fandom for a while you'll probably know the fic "The Hand That Robs the Cradle" by Langdonsrapture nd that fic was my holy grail when it came out!! so you know I just had to go all out here nd get carried away writing it hehe:')
word count: 5.4k
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The opportunity to study political science at American University in Washington DC had been one you simply couldn’t pass up on, but unfortunately it meant moving away from your father to stay closer to campus grounds. You knew it was worth it in the long run, I mean you had been waiting on this chance for years and wanted to make your father proud, but you would miss him.
He was never home too much, always busy working, but he meant the world to you. It had been just the two of you for a long time now. Your mother had moved away once their divorce finalised 7 years ago, impulsively leaving you in his custody as she ran off and gallivanted around the world, meeting all sorts of interesting men she would tell you about.
Luckily for you, she had settled down with one of those interesting men in DC recently, and upon discovering your acceptance into the prestigious university she had offered you a place to stay whilst you studied.
It was a frightening move to make, but staying with your mother in DC had actually been pretty interesting. You hadn’t spent time with her in so long and it had been nice to catch up with her, I mean sure she had been a little distant, but that was expected with having not spent any real time with her in so long.
You were just grateful she had let you stay with her in the first place, thinking she would have probably preferred to be left alone with her new husband, Duncan Shepherd.
They had been married about four months when you moved in and from what you could see, things were going well; especially considering she had sprung the engagement on everyone pretty fast. You were just happy knowing she was happy.
Though you had only met the man in question once before moving in, he really seemed like a perfect partner. He didn’t have a single obvious flaw to him, but see that was the problem. He was completely flawless to you.
You had tried to find things you didn’t like about him, even just tiny things, thinking hating him would be far better than thinking of him the way had been, but no matter what you did, you just couldn’t seem to fault him. And the longer you stayed with them, the worse your little problem became.
You weren’t 100% sure of how old he was. You only knew he was in his early to mid forties. But being at least 20 years your senior, you knew he was definitely old enough to be fulfilling the role he was as your stepfather. It felt strange to have a new stepdad at the age of 20, (almost 21) but it was even stranger with you being so blindly attracted to him.
And it wasn’t even just his looks. Though, yes, they were quite the spectacle, it was more than that. He was confident and cocky, always knowing exactly what to do and say to make the people around him do whatever he wanted them to. He could make you laugh until your stomach was in cramps, and not just through telling dad jokes. Charisma rolled off of him in waves.
He was intuitive and crafty; smart to put in plainly. And his interests appeared to be more intellectually based than anything else, which was quite the opposite of your mother, so it baffled you as to how your mother had managed to snatch him up so easily in the first place.
Now it’s not that you were jealous, really. It was more that you didn’t understand how these two polar opposite personality’s had ended up colliding together in the manner that they had.
Whenever the three of you would sit and have an evening meal together, Duncan always made you feel welcomed in the conversation, which was a great comfort to both you and your mother, being the relationship you had was so strained. Because of this and the fact you both had quite a lot in common when it came to your interests, Duncan and you had become almost good friends in the small time that you had been living there.
It was obvious he was doing his best to be some kind of fatherly figure to you. knowing that you were missing your actual dad, he did his best to help you with the things he knew your dad usually would. Whether it was school work or just having someone to joke with from time to time. He was there.
Sometimes when he was there, though, you felt like maybe, just maybe, he felt something more too. Such as the moments where his stares would linger on your form for just a little too long, or the way he would sometimes fix your hair for you if it had strayed across your face the wrong way. Just small things he did that fatherly figures didn’t typically tend to do with their daughters; especially when his wife, your mother, was right there. Sure, she seemed oblivious to it, but you certainly weren’t.
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Taking your now lukewarm cup of coffee from the breakfast bar counter, you brought it to your lips and gulped the bitter liquid down, fighting viciously to stay alert. It was nearing 3am and you had been writing for hours. Concentrating was no longer your most favourable asset and your half lidded eyes were growing wearer by the minute, but you just had to finish this paper.
It was 17 percent of your grade and due in two weeks. A persuasive essay on propaganda within the current American political climate and you had been slowly working at it for weeks, but you knew if you left it hanging over your head any longer it would drive you insane.
Sitting back in the stool you resided on, you took quick solace in the many noises coming from the ajar kitchen window, listening to a low rumble of thunder, accompanied by the constant pitter patter of rain falling from the gloomy DC sky above. It had been hot and humid all week, eventually cultivating into large clouds that had now given in, spilling out showers for almost the entire day past.
You recalled all the time you’d spent by the pool with your mother and Duncan in the past week, enjoying the current heatwave by sunbathing next to it on one of the many loungers. The house was kind of set up like a hotel that way. With Duncan always needing to be prepared for any events he may have to hold for his company’s business associates or press, he had furnished the home with what was to the three of you, unnecessary seating and tableware; amongst other things.
You stirred, returning your eyes back to the last few lines you had written and attempted to go over them in your head, but quickly realised you couldn't even manage that without stumbling over them or jumbling the words up beyond comprehension.
Abruptly interrupting your confused stream of thought, was the kitchen door groaning open. So with a frown plastered to your face, you shot your head up to recognise the intruder. But your frown was quickly blown away at discovering that it was Duncan who had entered the balmy room, and he was in more glory than you had ever seen him.
You had seen his silhouette whilst he showered before. Having gone into his and your mother’s shared bedroom whilst searching for earrings, you had seen him through the whited out, frosted glass of the on-suit bathroom door. But this was something entirely different. This was him, stood in kitchen doorway with nothing on but his grey Calvin Klein boxers.
“Y/N? I didn’t know you were still up.” He quirked a brow at you, wondering why you were still sat in the kitchen so late at night. You swallowed deeply at the sight of him. Your eyes magnetised to his body, dilating with such a sultry image before them. Pulling your eyes back up to his face, you hoped he hadn’t seen their little detour down to his crotch.
“Uhm.. i’m, uh.. w-working on an essay.” Fuck! He’ll definitely know how nervous you are now. You looked away from him, too embarrassed to face him and cringing at your own attempt to speak. “It’s due in next week and I wanted to get it finished.” Okay that’s better, you thought. Maybe he’ll just think you’re just too tired to have a proper conversation or something.
“Oh, right,” he trailed off, looking you up and down a bit as he walked further into the room. You watched the back of his head as he opened the fringe, holding it open and scanning the contents of it. Deciding on a small bottle of water, he retrieved it from the middle shelf before closing the door and walking over to lean on the opposite side of the counter from you.
He didn’t seem too bothered by the fact he was practically undressed in front of you. Of course, you weren't complaining, but it was interesting. You tried to think of something else you could add to your open word document, wanting to distract yourself from his displayed body. But thinking as hard as you possibly could, your mind still brought you nothing.
You awkwardly pulled at the sleeve of your oversized ‘American University” sweater and hoisted it back up onto your shoulder. It had ridden down your arm whilst you were aggressively fiddling with your fingers - a nervous habit you had developed in your early teens. People would often point it out to you, but it was just one of those things you couldn’t stop doing.
There was a deafening silence stuffed between the two of you. So looking around the room, you tried to focus on anything in your line of vision that wasn’t him. It was just too hard seeing him like; his plump lips wrapped around the bottle’s mouth as he drank, his sleepy un-styled curls falling just above his perfectly manicured brows and wearing nothing but those fucking grey boxers. He was making it unbearably hard not to stare.
Deciding to speak, you cleared your throat. “So did you just wake up? Or could you not sleep?”
“Just couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the most random shit.. and you know how your mom is, she snores a lot.” He chuckled. His eyes never leaving you, beginning to feel as if they were boring holes into your soul as you kept full eye contact with him.
“Yeah, that must get pretty annoying.” You nodded slowly, thinking about how many nights you had spent wide awake when you were younger, all due to her roaring, loud snores passing through the paper thin walls of your childhood home.
“It does.” A smile played on his lips, taking another swig of water before speaking again. “so what’s the essay about?”
“It’s that one I was telling you about a few weeks ago, if you remember. it’s a persuasive on propaganda within the current American political climate.” You reminded him of the conversation you had about it when he dropped you off to class one morning not too long ago. The two of you often carpooled together, with the University campus being so close to his office, it made for an easy drive on the days he was needed in.
You guys would listen to playlists together on the drive and make fun of each others music taste, that was when you weren’t too busy being amazed by how similar they could be.
“Are you struggling with it? I mean, it is getting pretty late now.” He turned to check the clock which hung on the wall behind him, then looked back at you questioningly.
Duncan was good at helping you with this kind of thing. He was extremely well versed in politics, with his family’s background and all. Your mom had told you he used to be very involved with the white house, saying when he was younger he even went to prison for a short time before president underwood had pardoned him.
“I just can’t concentrate, but I really need to get it done or it’ll stress me out.” You lifted your bare feet up onto the stool seat, your knees coming up to your chest so you could rest your chin on them. You were only wearing panties with the sweater, it being too hot to wear anything more.
“Can I come over and check it?” He closed his bottle of water, tightening the lid with his muscular arms as he spoke. You had almost forgot he wasn’t wearing much before he said this, but watching him screw the bottle cap on as he asked to could come round to your side of the counter? It had you weak for him all over again.
“Uh.. yeah, course.” He padded his bare feet over the white, tiled flooring towards you, placing the bottle down on the counter and moving behind you to read the most recent paragraphs you had written. His hand was stretched over to the other side of you, resting on the edge of the breakfast bar as the skin of his arm grazed across your back.
Even with you being sat on such a tall stool, he still managed to tower over you. His hight was usually intimidating as it was, but with the added factor of him being almost completely undressed it was even worse. A small waft of air blew his expensive cologne towards you, creeping past your nostrils and possessing your senses completely before you started to feel his breathe on your upper neck. It wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to make your cunt start pulsating.
You were disgusted by yourself. He’s your mother’s husband! And your Stepdad! What the fuck was wrong with you? You could only imagine what people’s reactions would be if they knew of the truly sinful thoughts you had about him, and you hated yourself for it.
He was your type, yes. A rich, older man who wasn’t actually an asshole, and they were hard to come by, but that wasn’t relevant. You needed to control yourself. No matter how hard that may be.
“What you have so far is really good. Your argument is strong and as always with your work, it’s written well. You’re smart, Y/N. It’s impressive.” He humoured himself with a scoff, his voice interrupting your lewd thoughts.
You blushed at his compliment, hiding your face behind your knees slightly and looking up at him. “Thanks, Duncan.” You knew he was just trying to be a good dad figure to you, but you couldn’t help being attracted to the way he was so caring for you. Maybe it’s fucked up, but it’s not your fault all you need is an older man’s approval to become turned on.
“I mean it.” He looks so sincere as he talks to you. His face would be intimately close to yours if you hadn’t hidden it from him earlier. You notice his eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second, and then back up to your eyes again. His stare no longer felt friendly, but more.. lustful. Were you crazy or was he really doing this?
Suddenly he looks away from you, moving his eyes back to the laptop’s screen. “Maybe you should just get some sleep. I know you said it’ll stress you out, but if you get some rest you’ll be able to get back into it tomorrow with better concentration.” He does his best to steer the conversation back to where is once was, reminding himself that you’re his fucking step daughter and that he has a beautiful wife sleeping just upstairs.
“I know that, its just..” You sighed, blinking up at him. You brought your legs back down you hang over the edge of the seat, but you couldn’t stop thinking about how close he was to you, wanting to do nothing more than to drape your arms behind his neck an-.
“Nope I won’t listen to it. From what I can see it’s an incredibly strong piece of work already, so just go get some sleep and come back to it in the morning, okay sweetheart?” He laughed a little, looking down at you again.
That nickname. Sweetheart. He called you it all the time and yet it always managed to take your breath away. But the thing is, he usually wasn’t this close to you when he did. So when you squeezed your legs together and bite down on your bottom lip, doing your best to ease the overwhelming desire you felt for him in that moment, there was no way he hadn’t seen it.
You were frozen staring at him, his face static and unreadable. You hoped he didn't choose to shout at you for how repulsive your behaviour was, or maybe he would kick you out? Your mind began spiralling, wrapping itself in intricate knots as you held your breath, awaiting a reply from him.
“Do you like that? When I call you sweetheart.” His voice was deep, sultry and dripping with desire. Shock coursed through you. That was definitely not what you had expected him to say. He seemed even larger now, his confidence making you feel small in comparison as your mind scrabbled to find the words you were supposed to use in your current predicament, but it never found any.
"You like it when daddy gives you nicknames?” He moved his hand up and delicately grasped the skin where your neck met your jaw, his eyes half lidded with lust. Your heart was beating so fast now and your breathing had grown shallow. You were so lost for words, only able to whimper out a weak “yes” before looking down to his boxers, trying to avoid his eyes but still wanting him just as much as he now appeared to want you.
He lifted your chin and kissed you roughly, drinking in your lips as if you were the water he had ventured down stairs for all along; and you began to wonder if you perhaps were. Maybe you were what he had been craving, just as you had been craving him.
He pulled the stool closer to him with his spare hand, leading you to wrap your legs around his torso as you tangled your tiny fingers through his sleep rustled hair. It was passionate. His kiss was sloppy, yet perfectly executed as his tongue slipped past your lips to glide over your own. His greying stubble dug into your skin, burning it with pure contact.
You parted to breath; and for just a moment, though it felt like hours, you stared into each others eyes with a ferociously neither of you could nor wanted to tame.
He tuts. “You really shouldn’t drink so much coffee little one, it’s not good for you. And it’s all I can taste.” He couldn’t help but reprimand you for the little habit, he had just gotten so used to doing it over the past three months, and using it to tease you sounded even more appealing.
You opened your mouth to speak, but were cut off when he lunged at you again, kissing you viciously. He began to move his hands all across your body, his fingertips grazing over every inch of you they possibly could as he started to undress you, pulling your oversized sweater above your head and taking handfuls of your breasts. He was kneading them, leaning down to kiss and suck on them whilst he watched you throw your head back, completely enthralled by him.
You were taken aback by how quick things had escalated, your sense of control had deteriorated far too rapidly and was ebbing away even further with each little kiss he left on your skin.
His large hand slid down to your panties, playing with the lacy bow that was centred on the waist band. He hovered his hand over your heat, cupping it and feeling just how sticky you had become for him. You let out a moan, all sense of wrong and right leaving you completely as you uttered a soft “Daddy” and ground your cunt into the palm of his hand.
“That’s right. So desperate for daddy.” He mused, ripping your thin underwear off and dropping it down onto the floor beneath you. Bringing his face to yours again, your noses bumped and leant on each other for some kind of purchase, the both of you watching his hand as he rubbed his fingers through your folds, gathering a fair amount of slick on them before pressing two inside you.
“Ahh!!” You let out a moan, it was louder than you expected and reminded you of what was really going on here. Having been too caught up in the moment, you hadn’t even thought about how being complete fucking naked with your step father between your legs would look if your mother had decided to come downstairs.
“Ah, ah, shh baby. We don’t wanna get now caught do we?” His breathe was hot on your lips, whispering as to not alert anyone. “So tight.”
You whispered back. “I’m sorry daddy, it was an accident- mmph!” You muffled your moan.
“That’s it. Who’s my good girl?” He lay a gentle peck on you lips, only stopping as to allow you to answer his question.
“I am daddy!! I’m your good girl!” You spoke with urgency, but did your best to keep the volume low, which was quite the struggle in between moans. Duncan could see this, so he pressed your lips together. Kissing you into a muffled silence.
You felt his spare hand on your neck, squeezing it just enough for you to still breathe okay when he pulled away from your mouth, moving his lips to the shell of your ear and biting the lobe. He murmured in your ear. “Do you know how hard it was, this week? Having to sit there next to your mom at the poolside and see you just lying there like that?! That fucking bikini. It took everything in me not to cum right there.”
His fingers were moving slowly, going in deep and curling up against your g spot, making you cry out and lean on his shoulder, biting it to keep yourself quiet. he started to rub your clit in hard circles. He was so experienced. It was mind-blowing.
“Would it have served you more pleasure to know, I only wore it for you?” It was true, you had only worn it for him and it had obviously worked. You certainly had his attention now. He growled at this, pulling his fingers out and slapping your cunt.
He yanked your neck closer to him, speaking down to you. “Just for that? Get on your fucking knees.” As soon as he let go of your throat you were climbing off the stool and onto the floor. The heat of the room, and of your acts too, made the marble tiling feel like ice pressed onto your flushed skin. But you didn't care.
You watched him pull his boxers down, cock springing free, adjacent to his stomach. Never having been with anyone of this size before, you had never seen a cock this big. You reached out and touched it, feeling just how hard he was. He hissed at the contact, looking down at you as you watched his facial expressions with wide eyes.
You played with it in your hand, stroking it with one and palming his balls with the other. He stroked his fingers through your hair, giving you a reassuring look as you licked the tip. The salty taste hit your tongue, making you crave his cock even more. So without another second going to waste, you took him into your mouth as far as you could.
“Ahh fuck!” You began bobbing your head, your eyes fixed on him as a groan left his lips. He was watching you intently, threading his fingers through your hair and onto your scalp to get a good grip on your head. You let your jaw go loose, knowing what he was about to do and preparing yourself for it.
He started thrusting his hips into your face, his cock hitting the back of your throat with almost every shove. You had honestly impressed yourself, I mean you knew you gave good head, but taking a cock this big as it fucked into your throat was something to be proud of.
“Mmm that’s it sweetheart.” Your stomach fluttered at his approval. The gagging noises you were making giving him even more pleasure. “You just wanna make daddy proud, don’t you princess?” You mumbled a wet “yes daddy” around his cock, sending sweet vibrations through it as he pushed himself as far as he could into your throat.
You couldn't even fathom how this was happening. You had pictured this moment late at night with a vibe pressed to your clit far too many times to count, so it finally happening was something hard to comprehend. Somehow he looked even more handsome from down on your knees than you had ever imagined he would. His stubble contouring his face perfectly with the ‘o’ his lips were forming.
Suddenly pulling you off of him, you gasped out for oxygen and tried to wipe away some of the saliva dribbling down your chin. It was like a snapshot from one of Duncan’s wet dreams. You looked so incredibly fucked out. He thought it was beautiful.
“Come on little one, stand up. Daddy wants to fuck that tight little pussy of yours.” You moaned as he talked down to you, stroking his calloused thumb over your bottom lip and pulling it down just to watch it bounce back up again.
You stood up, finally wrapping your arms around his shoulders like you had wanted to all this time. He pulled you in for a kiss, one much slower than the rest, communicating something more to you than just pure sexual carnality. His embrace was comforting, making you feel protected and small in his arms.
His hands grabbed at your ass as he picked you up, sitting you back down onto the bar stool and adjusting the hight while his lips stayed connected to yours. Once the seat was low enough for his liking, he picked up your thighs, shelving them onto his hips and laying you back just enough so that you could lean on the backrest.
The room was sweltering, your body hot against his and anticipating having him buried inside you was getting too much to handle. He dragged his cock through your lips, teasing your clit and moving back down to almost enter you, but he never would. Just wanting to get you all worked up and loving the way you would squirm when he did.
“Daddy.. please.” You steadied yourself by holding on to the sides of the seat, hoping he would end his tournament and fuck you already.
He slid the head barely into you. “Hmm… Since you were so polite, suppose daddy should reward you.” He spoke calmly before snarling and stuffing himself into you, pushing as deeply as he physically could. He felt your walls clamp around him as he set his pace. It was a lot. Having never taken a cock this big and the fact he didn’t even let you adjust, you couldn’t help but wail out.
He shot his hand up to cover your mouth, needing to keep you quiet and seeing you clearly couldn’t do it yourself. “Wouldn’t want to wake up mommy now, would you baby?” you attempted to utter a “No daddy”, but his hand kept your lips glued shut.
He fucked you. Like really really fucked you. He was making the stool shuffle underneath you, the powerfulness of his thrusts causing you to slide down in the seat. The only reason you didn’t slip off completely being the barbarian hold he had on your hips.
It actually surprised you how rough he was. A pleasant surprise, of course, but he had been so delicately caring towards you since becoming your step father and now here you were, receiving the best of both worlds.
The closer you grew to your high, the more incoherent your thoughts became. His eyebrows were scrunched together, lips trembling as he picked you up off the seat and held you closer to him. Supporting your ass, his hips ricocheted up and off yours as he tried desperately not to yell out.
His thumb was brought back down to your clit as he pressed you up against him, swiping at it hellishly, trying to hurry up your release upon feeling your legs begin to quiver; and knowing his own was approaching rapidly.
“That’s it sweetheart, come around daddy’s cock… Gonna cum so fucking deep inside your cunt. Would you like that?” You could see a thin line of perspiration cascading down his cheekbone, he was almost breathless and his thrusts were messier now.
“Yes da-AHH!“ you whipped a hand up to your face, holding your mouth shut as you came. You dug the hand you had placed on his shoulder deep into his skin and was quickly reminded of his marriage to your mother. You hoped you hadn't left any nail indents she might see.
You felt his hot seed spurt onto your walls as he rested his head on yours, mouth open wide and letting out a silent groan. His release was long and powerful. The both of you were left panting, the only noise in the room being your own breaths and a small creak from the stool when he softly set you down onto it.
He pulled out, your mixed juices gushing out of you along with the sexual haze you had been overcome with. The severity of what you had just done began to settle in. His head still resting on yours as you started freaking out, contemplating what would happen if your mother was to ever find out what had just occurred.
You wrapped your arms around his back, needing his comfort and squeezing him in an urgent hug, which he returned. his fingers stroked the sweaty skin of your back, trying to ease the thoughts he too had running through his mind. He lifted your chin up, the look he had in his eyes telling you everything would be okay.
Kissing you cautiously, he savoured the feeling of your lips on his and prayed he would get a chance to feel them again. “Are you okay?” He whispered
You didn’t really know if you were. On one hand, that was something you had wanted for a long time and it had been far better than you ever imagined, but on the other you had just helped your stepfather cheat on your mother. “I don’t know. I think so.”
He stood up, grabbing your sweater and panties, handing them to you before putting his boxers back on. “Well, at least that paper won’t seem like such big problem now.” He chuckled, doing his best to find humour in a humourless situation.
You giggled a little, hurrying to throw on your sweater and being reminded of how he had ruined your panties. “True. Now this can hang over my head instead.” You wiped any left over salvia you had on your face onto your sleeve and thought about how you would probably need to shower after this. “At least the sex was worth it, right?”
He sent you a dark smirk, picking up his bottle of water and walking towards the kitchen door. “It was. hopefully it'll be just as good next time too.” You opened your mouth, faking shock at his confidence as you watched him open the door.
“Goodnight Y/N” He gave you one last look as he sauntered through the door, getting ready to close it behind him and leave you alone in the kitchen with no one but your thoughts. The thoughts of your acts. Remembering all the little moments you had just shared together.
In that last moment before he left, you struck eye contact with him, chewing your inner lip and speaking.
“Goodnight, daddy.”
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Thank you sm for reading!🥺🖤
Tags: @dark-mei-rose @sojournmichael @ntxoza @blakescoven @ghostangels @jimmason @fernfiction @brattylovee @7-wonders @angelicmichael @melodylangdon @instincts-baby i'm so so sorry if you don't like this kinda fic or it has triggered you in anyway, but just let me know if it has and I won't tag you in this kind of thing ever again! You can also let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list too:)
#Duncan Shepherd#Duncan Shepherd x reader#Duncan Shepherd fic#Duncan Shepherd smut#Stepdad!Duncan#Stepdad!Duncan Shepherd#Stepdad!Duncan Shepherd x reader#Cody fern#Cody fern fic#Daddy Duncan#my writing
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dating anthony was a blessing. he was the sweetest person you have ever met, he’s taught you so many things and has taken you to so many places since his band gained fame and recognition. however, there are some bad aspects to the relationship. you both struggle with drug addiction, his father introducing the both of you to the world of heroin, cocaine, and marijuana. what happens when a drug deal ends up bad?
INSPIRATIONS - in a week by hozier + karen crowley.
THIS FIC CONTAINS drug use/abuse, slight sexual references, gun use, death, and one minor curse word.
A/N - layout by @adoresobs!
“would you pass me the lighter?” you said, hand reaching out to anthony as his red tinted eyes look over to you, his movements slow as his deft fingers wrap around the blue plastic cylinder, handing it over as his back scraped against the wall he was leaning on for support. sometimes he wished he never begged his father to convince his mother to let anthony stay with him. he wishes he never got on drugs, wishes it never became a lifeline for him. but, if he hadn’t, he would have never met the band, would have never have had some of the life lessons he’s learned, would have never met you. he would have never met the person who would become the love of his life.
but. . . he’s corrupted you as well.
he introduced you to his father and his father introduced you to the drugs he had shown his son a few years prior, and taught you how to take all of the drugs he had at his disposal. you were the goody two shoes at school. people thought you were one of those holy catholic girls who would never do anything that was sinful and seen as unholy in god’s eyes. but then you began taking those drugs, and people now saw a different side of you. you have become a drug-obssessed, sex-crazed person who clung to anthony, doing most, if not all, of the crazy stunts he and flea did. you had watched as anthony jumped off a five-story building and broke his back, you were still the one to call 911, and you were the one anthony turned to when he needed a different kind of high.
you were his soulmate.
you both graduated high school with straight-a’s (no one knew how, you both were high most of the time), tony attended college for what seemed like a year before he dropped out, and he, flea, hillel, and jack formed tony flow and the miraculously majestic masters of mayhem. you watched all of their shows, seeing them perform on sunset strip in l.a., tube socks placed strategically on their nether regions, a gimmick that slowly became their trademark over time. in 1988, the news of hillel’s death shocked the band, causing jack to exit, not wanting to play in a band where his friends would drop like flies. they were able to replace them by chad smith and john frusciante, releasing mother’s milk later the next year.
and still, you supported the band, even as the times changed towards the newer grunge rock sound. the band was still able to sell records, even with a tiny bit of difficulty.
anthony had managed to become sober from the drugs for a few years, but later, in 1994 after getting his wisdom teeth removed, going back to the lifestyle he has known since he was 11 years old. he hated it, if he was being honest. hated knowing that it had become so integrated into him that he couldn’t even stay a decade off drugs. he had been clean off them for five years, why were five more years too hard for him?
in 1995, you had noticed your stash of heroine had gone missing. had you used it all already? you called out to anthony, eyebrows furrowed as you wrecked your bedroom, looking for the trademark bag that had held your drugs for however long. the singer walks into the room, a confused look on his face as he saw the status of your shared room, hand brushing through his long hair, “what is it?”
“have you seen the heroin anywhere?” you pushed aside a chair to the desk, looking in all of the drawers frantically.
“no,” he shook his head. “we can grab more, if you want.”
“yes!” you nodded. “i need it, anthony.” you ran over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso as you cried. “i need them. please.” tears streaked down your cheeks, leaving a small puddle on anthony’s warm shoulder, soft skin pressing against your cheek.
“it’s alright,” he petted your hair. “let’s go get more, alright?” you nodded, feeling him peel himself away from you as he took your hand in his, leading you out of the bedroom and to the front door. minutes or hours could have passed, you didn’t know; your need for the heroin was dehabilitating at that point. you needed it, needed the high you got off them, needed the liquid running through your veins. you would do anything to get it. your mother had tried to get you to rehab, had tried to get you to become sober, but nothing ever worked. she claimed that you didn’t know what you were doing, but you did. that’s the thing.
you always knew what your limit was, you knew when to not do drugs and when it was okay to do them, and looking in the mirror as a middle school photo of you hung from one of the corners, you didn’t notice any changes. maybe a little older, of course. but no sign of a drug addiction was showing on your face. no pockmarks, no angry red spots glaring at you from the mirror, save for the few pimples you did get from stress or from having been out for too long. but no one could tell you did drugs. it was too well hidden; the only other person who knew you did drugs was flea. you only ever did drugs with flea and anthony. to you, chad and john were too new to the band. you liked them, you honestly did, but something inside you refused to let you shoot up heroin or snort cocaine or smoke marijuana when they were around.
up ahead, a bridge stood.
anthony told you of the things you were to say once you got there, such as the fact that you were a distant cousin of so-and-so visiting them from milwaukee and that the you two were currently dating. you nodded. anything to get it. the bridge now loomed over you, and a group of mean looking men stood under its shade, looking over at the two of you. you didn’t belong here.
anthony. . . he could pass off as one of them from time to time. but you? the junky who needed a fix and was currently seeking those drugs like a holy grail? you didn’t. you looked like a secretarist, from their perspectives. what was a goody goody two shoes secretarist going to do in this side of town?
“we’re looking for. . .” anthony began talking to one of them.
you were too worried to get the drugs that at this point, you didn’t give a damn about what was being said. you were too busy wondering how much you would get and for what price. the progressing of loudening voices alerted you, however. why would they need to scream at each other? facing the men, you noticed one of them holding his hand to his side, shouting at anthony as your boyfriend continued to try to get the narcotics.
everything happened so quickly.
one minute, there was the sound of shouting.
the next, the sound of gunshots going off.
the third, the pain of bullets penetrating your chest.
your body hit the ground so quickly, and on impact, you felt the air rush out of your lungs. the holes in your chest didn’t help either. what happened? you weren’t listening to anything being said.
did anthony say something they didn’t like?
had they asked you something and you didn’t answer?
had they seen through tony’s lies?
you continued struggling to breathe, hand reaching out for anthony, trying to touch any part of his body that was close enough to your hand. head turning to the side, you noticed the puddle of blood beneath the two of you, the red stains on tony’s shirt, the smell of burnt iron that coated whatever you were able to breathe. taking note of your hand, tony’s warm palm encase yours, his head facing yours, tears brimming in his eyes. the two of you were in a bad part of town. how long until the police noticed your missing bodies? how long will it take the band to call them in the first place?
“i’ll see you in the afterlife, my sweet.”
TAGLIST:
@strugglingqueer @stateofloveandvedder @state-of-love-and-lust @honeysympathy @grossgold @sea-sxns @d-arknecessities
#anthony kiedis#imagine anthony kiedis#rhcp#rhcp red hot chili peppers#anthony kiedis x reader#john frusciante#chad smith#hillel slovak#flea#drug abuse#drug use#anthony kiedis imagine
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Les Mis – Sondheim Theatre (New Production) – 28/01/20
** HUGE HUGE SPOILER ALERT! CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED**
**second disclaimer: it is nearly half midnight and I’ve been on the go since 5:30am, please forgive rambling, meta commentary to myself, and bad grammar. I just wanted to get this all out whilst it was still fresh**
General
YES the new staging was 90% a hit. I liked it. It was great to see Les Mis performed in a radically different way, I think, and enough was kept (like, for example, the basic structure of One Day More) that it didn’t feel totally alien and I didn’t miss the turntable all that much?. The opening scene is now on a ship, rather than in a mine. More on specific stagings below.
THE. SET. WAS. BEAUTIFUL. There is literally no other word for it. The original Les Mis set is quite minimalist, I think, whereas this one was lush – heavily centred on the idea of houses, which really gave more of a feel to the Paris streets. They had tenements and posh houses, the barricade was still huge, don’t worry, and they had a staircase which was in the café and the Thenardiers’ inn, etc. The scale really worked as well – like in Who Am I, the courtroom felt enormous as opposed to the little mobile thing they had before.
A preface to this point is that I don’t think I’m the right person to offer a critical commentary on race & the cast of Les Mis, but I think it is worth flagging – will 100% defer to folks with more experience/expertise. There were four black cast members – Éponine, Gavroche, and two of the chorus, which is way more than I’ve ever seen in the West End in this damn show. I’m under no illusions that Les Mis in the UK hasn’t got a bit of a problem with race. It is slowly inching its way better – when the Bishop came out and he was black right at the beginning I had a moment of “finally? Are they finally doing this right?” but the diversity wasn’t quite as much as I’d hoped. Especially as in my head, I’ve developed a huge, very multi-racial dream cast for the show, so…yeah. I’d love to see some of the characters who always get played by white people played by folks of colour – Enjolras, for example, Grantaire, Valjean himself. Or have both Éponine and Cosette be not white? For once? This would be great? Please let me know what you all think?? (this is West-End specific, I know there have been some productions working on this elsewhere).
The general mood seemed a bit darker? More violent? Perhaps that was the updated lights and set, idk, but more fake blood abounded I felt, and yeah – more actual deliberate fight scenes. It worked, ngl, the world feels like it’s gotten to a darker place, and the new Les Mis reflects that in a way, doesn’t gloss over the violence. Again, I think more thinking will let me know what I actually think about this, but we’ll see.
ONTO SPECIFIC CHARACTERS & SCENES!
Valjean
· Jon Robyns – he was brilliant, like, nearly as good as my holy grail (Killian Donnelly). Voice incredibly on-point – I’ve seen some Valjeans with really harsh voices which I don’t think fits the character – his Bring Him Home started so softly and gently and then really soared (until some twat decided to take a FLASH PHOTOGRAPH of him mid-song, whoever it was should have been ASHAMED of themselves).
· He was so sweet with little Cosette! At the end of the curtain call, he and the actress had their own mini bow and then hugged, and he carried her off into the wings.
· He really made more of Valjean’s physicality than other actors I’ve seen – perhaps to do with staging too – but his and Javert’s interactions were much more physical, violent, and in your face than they have been. It wasn’t OTT on his end I don’t think, but you definitely got the sense that he was trying to rein himself in and that the violence was still there? You know? But ofc NEVER towards Cosette or anyone unlike SOME adaptations I could mention (yes I am still bitter about the BBC trashfire, sorry to anyone who liked it but eh, imho, gross).
· At the end, he and the Bishop have a hug in heaven! It was very sweet!
Javert
· This is the second time I’ve seen Bradley Jaden in the role of Javert and I am a blessed human being (really want to take my Dad to see him too) because he has officially ruined every other Javert for me. Like ever. His characterisation feels very book Javert, very stern and uncompromising but more so than other Javerts, idk, it’s just his sheer stage presence as well, and his facial expressions and his general look…I can’t put my finger on it. He’s just phenomenal.
· Stars was on this beautiful Parisian bridge (fake stone balustrade-style complete with four hanging lanterns) that came down from the flies, incredible backdrop, and he just brought the house down again.
· Ngl – they have him actually holding a legit chain during the Confrontation and maybe I’ve read too much ship fic, but it certainly gives a whole new dimension to the line “Msieur le maire, you’ll wear a different chain!” Also especially as the Confrontation was so much more physical as well, they were properly fighting each other instead of just circling.
· He was much more bloodied at the barricade, and there was this moment where he was being taken offstage as a prisoner and he’s on his knees in front of Enjolras, who’s very blonde hair is all you could see from where I was sitting, and they’re both in a spotlight, and the mood just really reminded me of the dynamic in the fic Les Hommes de la Misericorde by Kchan88 (which is great and you should read if you want to).
· After the barricade, they incorporated that heartbreaking idea from the movie – Gavroche is lying dead in the front of the stage and Javert bends down to shut his eyes and crosses himself. There’s then a total reversal of the moment with Enjolras described above, but I’ll get to that in more detail in the Enjolras section.
· In Javert’s Suicide, he did the complete breakdown thing again – which worked as he actually had blood on his face and long hair loose everywhere from the barricade scenes. Back on the pretty bridge, which split in two and he legit FLEW for the drowning scenes, so was thrashing suspended in midair as the lights and backdrop swirled around and behind him. That was something special.
Fantine
· The one, the only, the Carrie Hope! She played a very understated Fantine? Which…I liked more than I thought I would? Like the voice came out at the end of I Dreamed a Dream, Lovely Ladies etc, but she was so…controlled? It perhaps felt odd after seeing her as Éponine and Veronica in Heathers where she let loose a lot more, but her Fantine just felt a little more mature, a little more resigned?
· Her Fantine also gets put through the bloody wringer, jeez – the fight with the factory woman is much more physical (and when I say more physical, I actually think they were properly choreographed?) and with Bamabatois, who is just as grim but less slimy than the last actor I saw play him?
· I’d kind of almost forgotten about her by the time she came out as a ghost at the end, but that bit was lovely, as it always is.
Éponine
· Shan Ako was a scene stealer. Bloody hell she can sing – she put some pretty riffs in On My Own (small, but noticeable if you know the song) and her belting voice was unbelievable.
· With the new set, you really get a feel of the Gorbeau tenement – she’s hanging around up there a bit. Also in Attack on the Rue Plumet, with the set the way it is (a house with a wrought iron balcony and a door, with the gate and fence extending out towards centre stage) you again get a feel for the scene in the book when Éponine basically says to her father and his gang that they’re dogs but she’s a wolf and she’s not afraid of them because she’s standing guarding the door with her arms wide…yeah, it really worked.
· She and Gavroche are either friends or it’s a subtle nod to their siblinghood, as they fist bump right when Gav introduces Éponine.
· On My Own was a tour de force – second standout of the night after Stars, for me.
· Her A Little Fall of Rain was also gorgeous, and she had a real fizz with Marius, which was cute.
· A rather large niggle – Shan Ako is black, and Young Éponine was white. Perhaps there was a last-minute emergency, but surely they could have got a little black actress to play Young Éponine? Idk, it just bothered me.
Cosette & Marius
· Oh my god, Harry Apps as Marius – he Pontmercied around the place, and was so awkward and adorable! In Éponine’s errand, when he tried to go up the stairs, he banged into the set! During his bit in Red and Black he gets up on the staircase and starts full on declaiming, arms wide etc. His scene with Cosette in Heart Full of Love was gorgeous – he chucks a stone at her window, and she comes out, sees him, and disappears and he’s like “oh god I’m doing everything all wrong” and then she comes hurtling out of the front door instead and then stops and they stare at each other and it’s so cute! And then he’s just so self-conscious for the entire scene? And what’s so interesting is in the reprise at the end and the wedding, he’s so much more sure of himself – I really loved all the little nuances like that?
· He’s also really young! He’s the complete unknown they cast off the open auditions for the UK tour, and he is bloody amazing – totally deserved that!
· Lily Kerhoas was very charming as Cosette. I adore the character, but sometimes actresses play her too girly, which drives me a bit nuts, but she managed to pull off young/innocent/naïve/very soprano with a bit of practicality, heart, and edge. And there was a great moment when she and Éponine are both in the garden after, and getting that look in at each other without the gate in the way was really powerful.
· Cosette and Marius had chemistry! It was lovely!
· Empty Chairs – wow. So basically Turning (my underrated fave) was a range of women dressed in black who leave candles dotted all over the stage. Marius sings Empty Chairs surrounded by them, and (you guessed it) the dead Amis come in and all pick one up and Marius does too, and then they blow them out and leave and Marius is left holding the only lit one and blows it out then raises it like a toast and WOW MY FEELINGS WERE NOT PREPARED.
Gavroche
· This kid STOLE THE SHOW. LITERALLY. He was black too (like Éponine) and they had a proper little thing going, it felt like it really drew on the brother-sister Brick canon. He also felt very book-Gavroche, so cheeky and so serious at times.
· They’ve changed his first set of lyrics in Look Down to be those from the movie, which…sure. Worked.
· OKAY – in The Robbery, when Javert is like “everyone about your business/clear this garbage off the street” everyone scatters APART FROM GAV who’s pootling around behind Javert yelling “go on! You heard the man! Go away, even you!” and then when Javert turns to face him, Gav just does this irreverent little salute and saunters offstage and Javert just…lets him?? It was a FANTASTIC moment.
· At the barricade when Gavroche busts Javert’s disguise, he goes right up to him and on “this only goes to show what little people can do” just cheerfully gives Javert a big old middle finger. Which was SO GREAT.
· When Éponine is dying, he spends most of a little fall of rain loitering next to Marius and not really knowing what to do and my heart just BROKE.
· He and Grantaire had a cute bromance going – after Drink With Me, when Grantaire nonverbally tells Enjolras to go fuck off and goes off to the side of the stage, Gavroche just goes over to him and starts hugging his back, and then they have a cuddle on the side of the stage together for Marius’ solo.
· Because no turntable – Gav didn’t die alone on the other side of the barricade, he makes it just back to the top, gets shot with the bright white light (which they kept) and then just falls over into Enjolras’ arms, who then carries him down the barricade and puts him in Grantaire’s arms who just stands there, centre-stage, cradling a dead Gavroche for a few minutes before lying him down at the front of the stage.
· At the end, Gavroche gets dumped unceremoniously into the cart with dead Enjolras and idk, it’s just a moment.
Enjolras
· Right – instant disclaimer that I am incredibly biased and Hyoie O’Grady is and will forever be my Enjolras and I measure everyone against his performance.
· This guy, Ashley Gilmour, – mostly had the look and the hair and general icy beauty. I was initially disappointed with his voice, but he did grow on me – he just really didn’t have the presence I associate with a great Enjolras. This was especially evident in the speech bits like in Red and Black?. Like, you know they’re not right for the role when you don’t particularly have much to write home about. Maybe I’m being unfair – other people who’ve seen him – what do you think?
· The one bit of changed staging I didn’t like was Do You Hear the People Sing. I think Enjolras being towed around on the cart (which did come back during the beginning of the barricade) gives the song the momentum it needs & deserves? Whereas they were just marching round a staircase they’d shoved in the middle of the stage which Feuilly got up on for his verse, so…
· Aside from a few handclasps, there was basically no E/R. Not even a hug during Drink With Me. It wasn’t even like “no homo” bullshit whatever, it just…didn’t happen. Actors didn’t have chemistry, and it’s a fair reading – this Enjolras read ace/too busy for romance quite strongly, I guess, and also very young, but yeah. After the joy that was Sam Edwards, even a bit more chemistry with Hyoie O’Grady (even though he said he didn’t really like that reading (I think??) which totally fair), and some actors I believe ACTUALLY KISSING OMG in other productions (one Enjolras also wore a Pride sash instead of a revolutionary one in Brazil, I think???) it really wasn’t anything. I would love a cast with an outwardly gay & together E/R, but I think the West End has a while to go before that becomes reality.
· Enjolras’ death: obviously no turntable, end of that iconic spin to reveal him draped across the front of the barricade with his flag. In this version, he basically yeets himself off the front of the barricade very dramatically (there is no other word for it, I promise I’m not using “yeet” gratuitously) and then when Javert comes back after the fall of the barricade, there’s a soldier with the cart from the building of the barricade with a very dead Enjolras on his flag, arms akimbo out the end. Which worked. It was more quiet and understated, but it worked. No complaints from me.
· At the curtain call he gave us a little hand heart, Taylor-Swift-circa-2010 style. It was cute and I should probably stop being a cow.
Les Amis
· They’ll never cast them as diverse as they are in my head (I can only hope one day, perhaps, PLEASE!) but they were a good bunch. Their Feuilly looked more like a Jehan to me, but eh. Again, just no real…buzz. Not in the way I’ve seen them performed before? And I think Les Amis depends on a good Enjolras and a good Grantaire, because as the two main Amis in the musical, they set the tone?
· When the soldiers’ final announcements were happening during the Dawn of Anguish, one of the boys (idk which, they were basically all blonde) was having a very obvious panic attack on the floor by the tables, and one of the others was comforting him and it was like that horrible powerful scene in the 2012 movie and I didn’t like it because it was heartbreaking but it was very effective.
· They all seemed a bit less tolerant of Grantaire, who wasn’t even that disruptive by other actors standards, which I didn’t like?
· Grantaire was, again, eh? Funny, fine, but didn’t have interesting things going for him (like Adam Filipe’s pacifism, for example, or any kind of chemistry with Enjolras) in the way others have done, but it was a solid performance.
The Thenardiers
· Yes, they were great! Master of the House built to Thenardier being given the birthday bumps, which was funny.
· Madame Thenardier’s solo in Master of the House was delivered in the kitchen all by herself as a bitter monologue, rather than the drunken rowdiness you used to get in the old show.
· They were a pretty typical funny Thenardier couple, and I’m getting tired, I might remember some more about them tomorrow.
So yeah. Those are my thoughts. Would love to hear what other people think, and I definitely want to go back and see it again, perhaps with a different cast (a different Enjolras, argh). I’m off to bed, I have class in ten hours. Oops.
#les mis#les miserables#les miserables west end#west end#show notes#les mis notes#sondheim theatre#les miserables 2020#enjolras#grantaire#valjean#javert#bradley jaden fan service#shan ako fan service too#eponine#fantine#carrie hope fletcher#cosette#marius#meta#les mis analysis#les mis musical
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Heather Says: What do you mean season 8 didn’t exist and the show totally ended with a three way relationship between the two most powerful women in Westeros and Jon Snow? Never been a big fan of Jon/Sansa before this, but this is another of those writers that I would literally trust if they wrote a fic about a fork and a spoon.
13. never tell me the odds by @wildehacked | Wolf 359 | Eiffel/Hera | 9k
“I tried Star Wars," he says, adjusting the phone under his neck, "and it was way underwhelming.”
A shaky breath from her end. “Well, where did you start?”
Heather Says: I don’t remember which of @wildehacked‘s fandoms I started reading first. Most recently it’s been The Magnus Archives (more on this later). The point is, they’d written Wolf 359 fic and it had Hera and Eiffel and it was literally everything that I’ve been looking for since the series ended.
14. Find Me Somebody by raiining | Good Omens | Warlock/Adam Young | 11k
“You left me,” he said. “You both left me, for him. And I can’t even blame you, because I’d have left me for him too.”
Heather Says: There was an Art. The art was lovely. So I went looking, because that’s what I do when faced with beautiful art depicting a rare pairing. And I found the holy grail. Like, possibly my favorite Good Omens fic? Ever?
15. flirting with fire by @brawlite | Stranger Things | Billy/Steve | WIP | 7k
Steve's a cop, Billy's a firefighter. It's not a grudge, it's just a regular old small town rivalry.
Heather Says: Okay so brawlite has written a lot of great stuff this year (more on that later), but I read this in bed at the beach house this August while I was reeling from both a horrible sunburn and like seven hours of mild to moderate day-drinking while everyone else was still throwing back shots right outside my bedroom door. Jaws was playing on the tv and I wasn’t even paying attention to it, because THIS. Long story short, I’ve been thirsty for more ever since.
16. gold, when you find me by mmtion | The Flash | Iris/Barry | 53k
It's not that Iris hates The Flash, per say - more that she hates writing about The Streak in a weekly, pun-heavy comic based on The Flash.
Heather Says: I never would have thought that a canon pairing would make it to my Top 25 list, but here we are. I like Iris/Barry a lot better when they don’t grow up together and spend a lot of time playing the Superman game, apparently. Also, this was really well-written, and sexual tension has never been something I’ve felt from Barry and Iris, but I felt it in this fic. Just. Damn.
17. never gets old by @brawlite & @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger| Stranger Things | Billy/Steve | 78k
Falling in love with a cam boy named KingSteve isn't the smartest thing Billy Hargrove has ever done, nor is it the most healthy -- but the good choice is rarely ever the fun choice, and Billy is all about living life fast and loose.
Heather Says: Told you I’d come back to it. brawlite and toastranger are a fantastic team. last year was cherry pie and under the covers, this year it’s camboys and cop/firefighter dynamics. Also, I have a really strange fascination with fics where a character has an instragram. It’s really, incredibly strange. Also also, every time I see this fic title I get that one Discovery Channel song stuck in my head. And no, it probably isn’t the one you’re thinking.
18. ways to save the world by @wildehacked | The Magnus Archives | Martin Blackwood/Jon Sims | 19k
“I left you,” Martin says softly.
Heather Says: And we’re back at wildehacked too! The Magnus Archives was a thing that happened to me. This is I think the first fic I read for it while listening, and it was so very close to what we got in canon. I think when it comes down to it though, I still prefer this fic, even if the ending of this season was pretty fantastic.
19. The Denial Twist by beethechange | Buzzfeed Unsolved | Ryan/Shane | 35k
“This is kind of surreal,” Shane says, taking a sip of his tea. It’s piping hot and delicious, except it tastes like hot chocolate and not like tea at all. “Sort of—Wonka-esque, right? Or Alice in Wonderland.”
Heather Says: While the vampire one is my favorite both because it is excellent and because it was my first, this one was bizarre and sexy and also I read it like only a month or so ago! The dancing was my favorite part, but having dreams to work with made this story fantastically interesting and I loved every second of it.
20. silver in our lungs by taywen | Spinning Silver | Miryem/The Staryk Lord | 4k
The marks had been with Miryem for as long as she could remember. There were a number of them, all the same shade, following one after the other around her left wrist. They were pale as old scars, though they felt no different from the rest of her skin, and her mother claimed that Miryem had been born with them.
Heather Says: I really like soulmate aus. There’s so many different ways to twist them and the way they can sometimes change the dynamic entirely and other times not change them at all is just fascinating. I’ve been hoping there would be more Spinning Silver content on ao3 and running into this while I was trying to decide what I wanted to do for yuletide was a real treat.
21. you got me begging, begging, i'm on my knees by plalligator | The Queen’s Thief | Attolia/Eugenides/Costis | 5k
Costis has a particularly enlightening evening. (or, that struggle when you're a guard who's in love with your rulers and it turns out you would kind of like it if they bossed you around a little)
Heather Says: I accidentally re-read the King of Attolia and it made me consider ships I had perhaps not previously considered. This was really lovely and just steamy enough.
22. something more alive than silence by pageleaf | The Queen’s Thief | Attolia/Eugenides/Costis | 21k
It was a good thing that six months after the king had promised to halve the guard, he still hadn’t done it, because since then, there had been two attempts on the king’s life.
Heather Says: I want to only type the words AGONIZED NOISES to describe this fic because that’s basically my headspace when I get 21k of a shiny new ot3, but I mean. Really. This is super good and maybe my favorite yet? Why didn’t I start reading this fandom when I first read the books?
23. Timing it Right by DragonBandit | The Bright Sessions | Mark/Damien | 14k
The dragon chooses, Mark knows that as well as any boy born in a weyr. He'd never considered what that would mean if the dragon picked someone you hated. He's starting to think that was a mistake.
Damien's gold rises at Whitney. Mark tries to make things right.
Heather Says: This should actually be somewhere back in March, but I apparently closed out of the tab at some point. I never really got into Pern much. I have the first three books, but got most of the way through the first one a long time ago and then never picked it back up. I didn’t think I would like this, mostly because of the fact that I hadn’t gotten into the books, but was surprised to find that I absolutely loved it.
24. Keep It In Your Sights Now by LuckyDiceKirby | Shades of Magic | Lila/Kell/Holland | 9k
Holland travels with Lila and Kell. Somewhere along the way, they reach an equilibrium.
Heather Says: I love the new things I’ve discovered during my yuletide trompings. I don’t think I ever actually considered this pairing when I first read the books, but I am just so enamored with the idea of the three of them together. Like, why did I not realize that potential back then? This was lovely, and I loved it, and I want so much more out of this pairing than what ao3 has to offer me.
25. Charioteer by petrichoral | The Queen’s Thief | Gen & Costis | 13k
Captured in battle and stuck in the Mede capital, Costis has given up all hope of seeing his country again. But Eugenides has a habit of turning up where he's least expected.
Heather Says: Technically this shouldn’t be on here because I only read it today, but it was really wonderful and so canon typical. Gen and Costis were perfect in it, Irene was perfect in it. Everyone was perfect and nothing hurts.
#heather says what#2019#memes#new year's memes#top 25#long post#the queen's thief#shades of magic#buzzfeed unsolved#the bright sessions#spinning silver#the magnus archives#stranger things#the flash#good omens#wolf 359#game of thrones#persona 5#legend of zelda#the penumbra podcast#she ra#dbh#american gods#serious apologies for the length of the post guys#i tried to keep it shortish#recommendations
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The Princess of White Chapel (8/12)
Dr Killian Jones is having a terrible day. He’s got a mission, he’s got a time machine, he’s got … drunk. What could possibly go wrong?
AO3 | Tumblr
Rated M for alcohol use, violence, minor character death, frank discussions of depression and grief.
Thank you all for reading, liking and reblogging. I loved your amazing responses to the last chapter, I get a kick out of seeing what you think! I love this chapter - in fact, from here on out I love all the chapters - shit’s about to get real guys! My betas @ultraluckycatnd and @distant-rose made every chapter of this fic better - never more so than this one, which is full of London details that I couldn’t have included without help. @princesse-swan made my header - thank you to the @captainswanbigbang mods for matching us up, I couldn’t have asked for a better artist!
Now on with the show...
The first thing Killian noticed upon waking up on Saturday morning was the refreshing breeze tickling his nose and filling the room. When he'd gone to sleep the air was heavy, an impending storm looming over the city. But somehow the air had cleared without a crack of lightning or peal of thunder. He might have been suspicious at the sudden change if he weren't so grateful for the reprieve.
For the first time in forever he could breathe easily (or perhaps it was only since last Tuesday, not that the British were ever needlessly melodramatic about the weather). Air. Sweet, fresh air. He greedily gulped it down.
The second thing was the soft chink of crockery bumping together. Emma.
He opened his eyes and sat up slowly, peering over the back of the sofa at her. She was rifling through the mugs in his cupboard and he watched, fascinated, as she searched for some unknown treasure.
Despite needing to reach up into the cupboard, she was stiff and tense, pausing often to just listen. She's like a frightened animal, he thought, on the alert for an imminent attack.
At one point two mugs knocked together with particular force resulting in a large crash. She tensed further still, shoulders flying up and slightly crumpling in on herself in what could only be described as a full-body wince. She froze, listened hard, damn near stopped breathing. She waited. Waited. Killian found himself mimicking her and hardly daring to breathe, not willing to share that she had already woken him, too intrigued by what he was seeing. Then after an agonisingly long few seconds she moved again and he too breathed a sigh of relief.
He could tell the moment that she found her treasure. The tension was gone instantly and she punched the air, doing a little wiggle of excitement. She grabbed her holy grail and pulled it out. It was a large white mug that curved inward at the base. The words “would you like an adventure now or shall we have our tea first” were emblazoned across it in an elegant handwritten scrawl. He couldn't help but laugh that this ridiculous gift from Belle - who knew his affection for Peter Pan (even if he did have an intense dislike for the eponymous character) - was her object of desire.
He realised his mistake at once.
She froze. He cringed. Busted, seemed to be their simultaneous thought.
Emma turned around slowly, hugging the mug to her. “How long were you watching me? Why didn't you tell me that you were awake?” she questioned, her accusing tone hard to ignore.
“Just a moment!” was his defensive reply, a moment too long, you creep, his inner demon hissed at him. “I didn't want to - I didn't mean -” he sighed and started over. “I'm sorry. I was trying not to startle you and honestly I was curious about what you were so desperate to find, but that was kinda creepy and, yeah, I shouldn't have done that. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.” Stop talking you babbling buffoon!
He expected Emma to lash out at him, perhaps remind him of some boundaries, but to his surprise she simply blushed and set the mug on the counter.
“Oh it's nothing,” she brushed off, “that's just the perf- a good size. For tea. If you happen to like that sort of thing.” She shrugged and slumped back against the counter in such a forced gesture it was almost comical, a parody of nonchalance.
Killian eyed her thoughtfully, realising that she wasn't used to having nice things. Or not used to being allowed to keep them. “You have it, love,” Emma's eyes lit up but she simply shrugged again, trying desperately to convey utter indifference. He knew only an equally strong display of indifference from him would induce her to accept it now. “I don't much care for it anyway, Belle should have known better than to get me a mug with that demon Peter Pan's words written on it.”
“He comes to your realm too?” she gasped in horrified amazement, the mug temporarily forgotten.
“Err, no? I just don't like the character in the book.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Perhaps that's just lingering bitterness on my part that he didn't steal me from - from normal life.” He had inadvertently almost revealed too much of his sorry beginnings in life, perhaps after feeling as though he intruded on Emma, she deserved his vulnerability.
But this felt too much.
Something about her though loosened his tongue, he felt a strong kinship with her that he could not explain. What could he possibly have in common with a princess? And why did she have that look in her eyes that he so often saw reflected in the mirror - the look of an orphan? She was a mystery. One he couldn’t solve without giving up his own secrets. But he wasn’t ready yet - maybe he wouldn’t ever be.
“So, you want to go get some new clothes this morning?” He asked, breezing past the awkward moment.
“I don’t need any - I’ll be fine in what I have.”
“Didn’t we cover this last night? Hardly seems fitting for a bad ass motherfucker to go around saving the realm looking like they might be doing a walk of shame.” Emma’s eyes narrowed at his words. He couldn’t be sure if his meaning was unclear or if she was just deeply unimpressed by it, but he felt the need to clarify. “Not that I think a lady should be judged by her clothing - never judge a book and all that - I just think that something more practical might be helpful.” Plus the tabloids will have a fucking field day if they catch sight of her performing magic while scantily clad, he thought. Right or wrong, this society was obsessed with women’s clothes and she didn’t deserve to be attacked over something that held no bearing over her ability to help.
“You’re right. I just feel like I owe you so much. Everything that you’re doing - that you’ve done. It’s a lot.”
“I’m not sure if I can ever do enough to make up for taking you from your realm. Possibly forever.”
There was the smallest grimace of pain that flashed across her face at his words. The most fleeting microexpression. If he weren’t studying her so intently he might never have noticed. But he was and he did and he felt sick at hurting this wonderful person. “This isn’t forever.”
“No?”
“I believe you can do this.”
Bloody hell, he didn’t deserve this utter faith in him. He’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone so completely on your side, to just know that he would do the right thing. That he could fix this. It had been so long since he’d had this.
Since Milah.
And once again he was stuck in a cycle of shame. Distressed at letting Milah down. He’d forgotten her. No. Not forgotten. But he’d lost her inside his stupid brain that couldn’t figure out how to save her or how to keep her memories fresh and alive.
Stop it.
He couldn’t do this again, not right now. He needed to break free of this cycle of shame, torment, and regret that was making him sick, keeping him stuck.
He took a deep breath of that clear, sweet, fresh air and closed his eyes. He felt a light touch on his arm. He started and looked back up into Emma’s disconcerted face.
“You okay in there?” she asked. “All this faith can be pretty intense, can’t it?”
He nodded slowly, intrigued. He’d found himself beginning to think of her as an open book to him - it never occurred to him that he might look the same to her.
“I think we understand each other pretty well, you and I. You think that I’m - what was it you said - marvellous? something like that? You’re so sure that I can just do this all so well, and that’s really … great. But that doesn’t make this less scary because what if I can’t? You want me to trust that you’re right. Well, this is me saying to you that you should trust me. It’s ok if you don’t believe that you can sort all this out, because I’ll believe in you enough for the both of us, got it?”
Killian felt embarrassingly close to tears at Emma’s emotional plea.
God this was one of the things that he missed most about having a partner. Milah’s support meant everything to him, and even when he didn’t - couldn’t - believe in himself she was always there for him. He’d lost so much when she died, and not just because she was gone, but because he shut himself off from the possibility of having someone else be there for him. He couldn’t let her be dead, he needed her not to be dead, so he tried to will her back into existence. And now that he was finally beginning to really come to terms with her loss - to accept that perhaps there was someone else who could be a true partner to him - he would have to lose her too.
The universe was laughing at him.
The universe felt a lot like Gold with his stupid high pitched giggle. He wanted to punch the universe in the goddamn face. Or maybe that was just Gold. But for once he wanted to show the universe, or Gold, or whoever that he could be better than this, that he wouldn’t be destroyed again.
He was ready to heal.
“Yeah, let’s do this. Don’t stop believing, hold on to that feeling.” He tried to be serious, but he smirked at the stupid reference, even if he was going to have the Glee rendition of that song in his head for the rest of the day.
Emma cocked her head to the side. “Why do I feel like you’re quoting something at me?”
His smirk turned to a laugh. “Because I am.”
She punched the air in delight. “I’m getting good at recognising these references of yours,” she said with a cheesy grin over her face. “Now, can we stop with all this serious talk and eat something? I’m starving.”
It took them far longer than it should have to get going that day - lingering over breakfast and both having lazy showers as though they didn’t have an important mission for the day. Maybe it was just that “purchase a new wardrobe for the princess” didn’t feel quite as significant as “fix whatever gaping wound in reality you’ve created”, but he didn’t feel the urge to rush.
They ambled down the city streets, past tall blocks of flats and two storey brick buildings. Past building work that was sure to make some flat owner incredibly pissed off that the grand view of the London skyline that they paid extra for was about to be blocked out. Past grand architecture, which clearly impressed and possibly even awed Emma in the way that London architecture often did with newcomers when to Killian it had become simply the bog standard backdrop to his life, and past scruffy shops, which did not.
They reached a barber’s shop with golden awning, ornate lettering announcing it to be the imaginatively named BarberBarber. A hipster sat in a vintage leather barber’s chair in the window, no doubt paying extra for the “authentic old school touch that money can’t buy” as he had his beard sculpted into the latest facial hair du jour.
Killian paid the shop little mind, turning right and walking through an impressive set of metal gates into a covered market.
He casually looked at Emma out of the corner of his eye as they strode through the stalls selling leather bags in a variety of shapes of satchel, all manner of quirky signage to suit your every interior decorating whim, scarves in every colour and pattern imaginable, tasteful abstract art, vintage pocket watches and other antique fripperies to suit the discerning hipster and foods of all varieties.
Milah used to love it here. So bustling and full of life. Excellent for people watching. Great for bargains. Occasionally offering hilarious items that they could only guess at the use of - usually ridiculous suggestions made in hushed whispers into each other’s ears until they had to quickly move on before earning the seller’s ire. He was letting Emma into a part of their London, and he desperately hoped that she approved.
Judging by her wide eyed looks of wonder, curiosity, and, occasionally, complete confusion, she did.
He made a beeline for a stall he always loved that sold genuine vintage band t-shirts at knockdown prices. They rifled through the racks, looking for possibilities. Emma made Killian smile by pulling out a ginormous Beatles Yellow Submarine t-shirt her eyes shining with glee and holding it up to herself.
“Bit big, don’t you think?” he commented, arching one eyebrow.
She blushed. “I’d wear it as a dress with a belt. I don’t know. I like yellow. But … yeah, it was a stupid idea.” She started to put it back, looking crestfallen, but he stopped her, feeling guilty for mocking her.
“If you like it, it’s yours.” Her smile lit up her whole face and Killian knew then, he would do anything to see that smile again.
They continued on, taking in different stalls and gathering up things that she would need, before it occurred to him that she would need underwear. He was certain that she wouldn’t appreciate him trailing along as she bought panties and bras so he pressed money into her hand and gestured her towards a suitable stall, fiddling with his ring as he waited.
She returned soon after, face flaming red. She clearly had bought something, but she was clearly deeply flustered by the experience.
Knowing he’d probably regret it, he took a deep breath. “Everything okay, Swan?” he asked, scratching at his ear.
“I - I -” she looked around awkwardly and leaned in close to him “- I don’t understand the corsets you have in your realm.”
“Oh!” He felt his own face redden as blood rushed to his face and he tried hard not to picture what she did - or possible did not - have on under his shirt. “Perhaps I could ask Belle to join us later and help out?” he asked, hoping that his voice hadn’t really risen an octave as he spoke, although he rather suspected that it had.
“Seriously?”
She was utterly incredulous and he could tell that this was the wrong thing to have said. “Yyyyeesss?” he said slowly, unsure what else to do.
“She’ll hardly believe that I’m really your colleague if I don’t know anything about… bras I think the sign called them?” Killian opened his mouth, honestly unsure of what the right answer might be to this excellent point. Emma sighed in frustration. “It’s fine, I’ll just go without.”
He really wished she hadn’t told him that. He made a show of looking away, so as not to stare at her chest. As he did so, he thought he caught sight of a familiar - and unwelcome - face in the crowd. But when he looked again, there was no one he knew in sight.
“Killian?”
He was still scanning the crowd suspiciously when Emma got through to him. He had no idea how long she’d been talking for. “Hmm?” he asked absentmindedly.
“I was just asking what’s next?”
“Oh love, you’re in for a treat,” he said, eyes gleaming.
He took her on a tour of the street art that was in and around Brick Lane. Emma gasped at the fine detail of the giant hedgehog on Chance Street, scowling at Killian when he laughingly clarified that such creatures did not in fact, exist in this realm - not at that scale, at least. She ‘awww’ed at the cute figures by Stik that were sprinkled around the area, wondering at how the artist conveyed so much with such simple drawings. She exclaimed at the vibrant colours they saw from numerous artists as they walked on by, loving the energy they brought to otherwise dull buildings.
Two moments stood out for Killian in amongst all of the beauty they saw.
He had a specific piece that he was eager for her to see, a large black and white heron on red brick. Emma was awestruck by the piece, gazing at it for several minutes in quiet contemplation.
“Thank you for showing this to me,” she said, eyes sparkling, “I can see why you love it so much.”
This filled Killian with pride and he couldn’t help but beam. “Milah painted it.” He smirked as Emma’s jaw dropped in surprise. “The council tried to cover it up a few years back but the community revolted.” He was boasting now and he didn’t care. “She always loved that street art was transient, that one day it might suddenly disappear, but to know that something she made is so special to other people, people who maybe didn’t even know her…” He gazed up at it, feeling a lump in his throat. “It means a lot.” He turned away before Emma could respond and strode off down the street, trusting her to keep up with him.
Later, he brought her to a car park that was covered in street art, walking past an artist holding spray cans, their fingers stained with colour and the chemical scent of paint in the air.
The door slammed open, and Killian crept out of their room, grinning at the sight of Milah gulping down a drink at their kitchen counter. Her curls tumbled down over her hoodie and she wore scruffy trousers, paint speckled across her clothes and coating her fingertips.
He snuck up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. He inhaled the scent of spray paint that always clung to her when she’d been creating on the streets. “You been painting, my love?”
Milah laughed and leaned back against his chest. “What gave it away?”
“Well you look awfully dirty, perhaps I could help you with that? These clothes need to come off for a start.” He grabbed her zipper and tugged on it.
She batted his hand away and turned in his arms to grin at him. “Something tells me that I’ll end up dirtier after your help.”
He licked his lips and wiggled his eyebrows. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” And he surged forwards to kiss her...
Killian was nearly knocked down by the force of the memory slamming into him. It had been years since he’d recalled Milah with such perfect clarity. He could practically feel the memory, could taste it, and it was all thanks to that smell. He was stunned. Perhaps he had been wrong to cut himself off from the art scene, if it could’ve kept Milah alive to him so completely.
“Everything ok?” Emma had at some point taken his hand in hers, and she was gently stroking it. Her face was a picture of concern. He hated that he’d worried her.
“Never better,” he said, putting thoughts of Milah to one side and tugging her into the car park. “In fact, looks like there’s a new piece for us to see. I wonder what it might - oh.”
He stopped short. Emma barrelled into him and they both stumbled. He pulled her into his side, placing his hand about her waist and pointing towards the freshly painted scene.
It was Emma.
She was radiating confidence, arms loose at her sides, wearing clothes similar to those she had worn when she first arrived in London, but with some key differences. Her vest was not worn on top of a shirt, and was fitted to her body, her boots stopped mid-thigh and she wore short shorts. There was a golden circlet across her forehead and her blonde hair flew out around her face. She stared down the viewer, looking strong and powerful, arms held loosely at her side, a lightsaber clasped in one hand. Light shone out from her like she was a goddess amongst men.
And alongside her were the words:
Our Saviour
A true Wonder Woman
The Princess of White Chapel
“Is that me?” she breathed, breaking away from him to move closer to the painting.
Killian smiled at the way she reached out as if to touch it, but stopped herself at the last second. “Aye, love. I’d say it’s a good likeness.”
She cocked her head, reading the words, and half turning to him, but seeming unable to quite tear herself away from the sight. “What does The Princess of White Chapel mean?”
“You’re in White Chapel. It’s this part of London.”
She frowned at turned to him. “But how could they know what I am?”
“I don’t think they were being literal. See this and this?” He stepped towards her and pointed to the lightsaber and circlet in turn. “That’s Leia’s weapon, and Wonder Woman’s crown, they’re two incredible, feisty and badass princesses from our popular fiction. They’re showing that you’re just like them, so you should be known as our princess.”
Emma choked up a little at his words. “Oh. Oh, that’s…” She didn’t finish the thought, just stared hard at the sight, until she was ready to leave.
But the day wasn’t overtaken by intense emotional moments, they were able to laugh at the funny art, to grimace at the dark and distressing and revel in the joy of the creativity that adorned the walls all around them. Where yesterday it had pained Killian to be so reminded of Milah’s love of art, today it was a comfort, a way of honouring her.
The only dark cloud was the constant sense Killian had of being watched. Time and again he thought he saw an old ally out of the corner of his eye, only to find that she’d disappeared when he turned his head. It was unnerving. If she was around there could only be one reason: Gold.
Emma hadn’t been keen to try any of the curry places they’d passed on their meanderings so he was taking Emma to one final gallery on their way back to catch a bus to Borough Market, where he was sure she’d find something she’d like. From the poncy wording of the exhibition listing, he wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but it could usually be counted on to provide more examples of amazing street art. Stolen Space with its sleek painted black brick frontage nestled in between ominous looking tall fences with spiked tips (which felt slightly counter to the whole purpose of showcasing street art in Killian’s opinion, but what’s life without irony?). But, before he could open the door, she flung her arm out to stop him.
“Why does it say Wish You Were Here on the windows?” she cried out in alarm.
“Name of the exhibition I expect,” Killian replied, unsure what the issue was with this innocuous phrase.
She turned to him, exasperation spread across her face. “Don’t you people understand how dangerous wishing can be?” she hissed indignantly.
He laughed, and anger flashed in her eyes. He sobered at once. “I’m sorry, but we don’t believe in wishing here. That phrase is just a platitude that people write on postcards.” She had relaxed as he talked but still looked wary - at the word postcard her nose scrunched in confusion. “Notes that people send home from their holidays. It’s meaningless, just a way to say ‘thinking of you’, what’s the harm?”
Emma rolled her eyes. “God people in your realm are so stupid.” “Hey!” Killian butted in indignantly, not appreciating the slight to his intelligence. “Wishes always go wrong,” she continued, “they shouldn’t be taken lightly.”
“You’re taking be careful what you wish for a little too literally, love.”
“Really?” Her mouth had dropped open in disbelief. He hadn’t thought she could be even more mystified by him than she already was, but apparently her incredulity knew no bounds. “So you do know that, you just choose to ignore it?”
Killian started to feel like they were having two entirely different conversations. “It’s just an expression,” he said feeling more than a little defensive over Emma’s continued ire.
Her face darkened and her voice went quiet. “You wouldn’t say that if you’ve seen the pain that wishing can cause.”
“Bloody hell,” he breathed out, face softening as he realised that Emma herself must have been somehow hurt by a careless wish. “I didn’t mean to upset you. We don’t - there isn’t -” He broke off, dropped his shopping bags and ran his hand through his hair. He wanted to find the right words to soothe this situation. “Wishes don’t come true here, it’s easy to be careless about something fictional -” Emma looked indignant “- I know that where you come from they are a fact of life, but here, they’re just another fairy story. I’m sorry for being so thoughtless.”
Emma studied her feet “sok,” she mumbled to the ground.
He stepped closer to her, intending to wrap his arms around her and comfort her, but he felt that prickle on the back of his neck of being watched and it made him anxious to leave. “Let’s skip this place and go get food shall we?”
They hopped onto the 47 and climbed up to the top deck of the red double decker bus. Emma was quiet on the journey, content to gaze out the window at the sights, until she spotted Tower Bridge as they made their way across the Thames. “Isn’t that where Lily landed the other day?”
“Yep. That’s Tower Bridge, it’s a major attraction.”
“Typical Lily,” Emma said, rolling her eyes.
“We’re on London Bridge - and we need to get off in a minute.”
When they were off the bus and walking towards Borough Market, Killian couldn’t help but wonder where everyone was. Usually this area was teeming with tourists and locals alike and while the streets were hardly empty there were still far fewer people around than he’d expect. It made him feel nervous, and he was already on edge.
When they made it to the market and he started to guide Emma around the stalls, he began to relax. It was hard not to, with the way she lit up at the sight of all the sweet treats on offer. He tried pointing out all the amazing savoury options, suggesting venison burgers, homemade pastas, cuisine from all over the world. But she still chose a salted caramel cronut the size of her fist and did a little wiggle of happiness, her eyes going wide with excitement as she took her first bite.
He good naturedly shook his head at her, as she refused to even try his duck fat chips. “These chips are actually legendary, are you sure?” he asked, taking one before stowing the rest in a paper bag as they walked by the Thames.
She shrugged. “My mom was taught how to use a bow and arrow by Hercules, legends don’t impress me much.”
“OK, so you have actual legends for family friends, my poor chips never stood a chance with you.”
“I’d definitely rather take a bite out of this cronut than Hercules any day.” Killian nearly choked at this unexpected innuendo, while Emma grinned mischievously, delighted at her own joke.
When he’d recovered from his coughing fit he asked somberly, “does he not quite measure up to the legend? The size of his herculean tasks not all that he claimed?” This earned him a smack. “You wound me, Swan,” he yelped with a grin.
Food purchased, he steered them towards the Tate Modern, aiming for the grassy area in front of it where they could people watch and he could finally settle down to enjoy his chips.
When they arrived it was already crowded with people driven to find any patch of grass they could to enjoy the sun in. An alarming number of whom had clearly been exposing far too much skin while wearing far too little sun cream and there was a veritable rainbow of sunburn on display. A few bold people had beer bottles in their hands, clearly ignoring the ban on public drinking in the area. Several people had picnics, most lazing on towels and blankets, but an ambitious pair had brought out a small picnic table, chairs, and appeared to be slicing up roast ham with a carving knife. Killian shook his head at some people’s idea of a picnic.
They found themselves a spot near a living statue performer who was sweating in silver paint and a silver suit. Killian had tossed a fiver into the man’s hat, feeling sorry for the poor bloke in the heat, marvelling at the endurance of both the man and his make up. He began a jerky robotic dance routine in thanks, which caused Emma to yelp and throw up her hands into attack mode in alarm.
“Relax,” he said with a laugh, gently pushing Emma’s hands down. “It’s just a performance.”
“Oh,” she replied, looking a little sheepish and laughing at herself. They settled down on the grass and he finally tucked into his chips.
“What do you think of it here?” he asked.
“It’s lovely, reminds me of a place back home.”
“Yeah I love it h-” He broke off as he yet again saw the ghost from his past. He had a chip halfway towards his mouth when he spied her, lurking at what she obviously thought was a discreet distance away. Ursula. She was undoubtedly following him and he couldn’t ignore her anymore.
“Long time no see!” he called out, dropping the chip back into the box as he stood up, instinctively placing himself between Emma and Ursula, at a distance though she was. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but we both know that’d be a lie.”
“Screwed up anymore lives recently?” Ursula replied cheerfully nodding towards Emma meaningfully as she strode towards them.
He seethed at her words and clenched his jaw, knowing that she was entitled to her anger. If he weren’t sure she was working for Gold, he’d even feel bad for her, knowing how he’d destroyed her life. As it was, he knew better than to respond to her jibes. “I’m sure that Gold has you out watching me, so just let him know that I’m not that easily intimidated.”
Ursula shook her head, as she closed the gap between them, a picture of innocence. “I have no idea what you mean, I’m just out enjoying a lovely summer’s day, like you and the lovely Emma.”
His nostrils flared and his jaw ticed as he took a deep steadying breath, trying not to let the use of Emma’s name get to him.
“Killian, what’s going on?” Emma stood up behind him, gently touching his shoulder to get his attention as she spoke. He turned to her, ready to offer her reassurances when Emma’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Fuck.”
He spun around immediately, kicking himself. He was sure that Ursula wouldn’t actually make a move today, or he would never have antagonised her.
What he saw was entirely unexpected.
The creature before him still looked like Ursula - after a fashion - their faces with their gorgeous smiles, chocolate eyes and dark skin were identical at least. But that’s where their similarities ended.
For one, the Ursula he knew tended to wear stylish, tailored clothing and was always impeccably dressed. Whereas whoever this was was wearing a fitted corset that accentuated her breasts and flared out at the hips, sculpted leather gloves that reached up past her elbows and an elaborate headpiece that looked to Killian like a cross between a tiara and sea foam.
For another, this creature had tentacles erupting from beneath her corset and slithering across the pavement and into the road.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, staggering backwards and bumping into Emma.
“Hook!” the creature snarled, glaring at him with murderous intent. “Do you know how many years I’ve waited to get my tentacles on you?”
“I - I - I don’t believe we’ve met,” he stammered, as a tentacle snaked closer to him.
“Oh move over, that’s Ursula the fucking sea witch!” huffed Emma. She shoved him sideways as though being attacked by an angry mermaid (what do you call a creature that’s half woman half octopus? Killian wondered, a little hysterically) over a case of mistaken identity on the South Bank were a common occurrence.
She rushed forward with her arms stretched out before her. Bright light blazed out from her hands.
The blast hit Ursula in the chest. She staggered backwards with the impact, crumpling in on herself. The tentacle that was almost upon them recoiled and reached up to her chest protectively.
Her head snapped up.
“Oh! Princess Emma! I didn’t recognise you,” Ursula jeered. “Consorting with pirates? What will Mummy and Daddy think?”
Killian was bewildered by the witch’s words. Judging by the confused glance Emma sent his way, so was she.
He was dimly aware of many things around him. The living statue shrugging off his jacket, picking up his hat and settling down next to them saying “I can’t compete with this”. A crowd of onlookers gawking and filming. There was the screech of brakes as a cyclist slammed to a halt, leaping from his bike as it slid out below him, coming to a stop just feet away from the tentacles.
(He also had a niggling thought to be annoyed at the constant Captain Hook jibes about him, just because he had lost his hand.)
“Oi what the fuck mate?” the cyclist yelled at them in his thick cockney accent. He clearly had no sense of self preservation.
One tentacle reached out lazily towards the bike, coiling around the middle of it and squeezing.
Metal scrunched as the bike was crumpled as easily as if it were paper. The tentacle flicked it lazily into the Thames where it landed with a loud splash.
Killian could hear more shouting. Londoners really needed to learn some chill. And possibly watch a goddamn Marvel movie once in a while. Now was the time to get the fuck out of dodge, not yell at sea witches with the ability to crush bikes with their bare tentacles.
Tentacles, thought Killian, the hysterics bubbling out of him.
“You shouldn’t have done that fucking Octopussy!” the cyclist continued. Perhaps they should start to include the rules of surviving apocalypse scenarios in cycling proficiency, mused Killian.
“I'm going -” but the cyclist didn't get to finish his entirely futile threat to the monstrous tentacled woman, because another tentacle had knocked him out.
Killian shook his head, unsurprised at the fate that had befallen the unwisely feisty cyclist, then looked up to assess how best to help.
Emma was firing magic at Ursula who countered with blasts of her own murky purple magic. Emma's pure light magic was clearly stronger, but Ursula’s tentacles gave her an edge. Four of them seemed to be struggling against invisible restraints, but the rest were writhing, thrashing and lashing out.
His mission was clear: take out the tentacles.
His possible methods to do that were less so.
His prosthetic was far stronger than a standard issue one and could potentially damage a tentacle, but that would require gripping and squeezing one, which given their speed seemed unlikely. He scanned for available weapons, thinking mournfully of those that Lily had destroyed the night she sent his lab up in smoke. Perhaps he should replace his stash.
Carving knife: most suitable weapon, required running to the pair with the overambitious picnic, and trying to persuade them that he should have their knife while there was a dangerous creature within spitting distance and leaving Emma alone. Also risk that they’d just stab him with it themselves at seeing him hurtling towards them.
Broken bottle: easier to access quickly, risk of damage to himself and possible others to procure it.
Keys: in pocket, potentially useless against the sea witch but right to hand.
He grabbed his keys in his right hand, laced them between his fingers and made a fist around the keyring. Wolverine claw it was not, but it should cause some damage.
Now, how to fight a bloody tentacle?
He knew hundreds of ways to hurt a man - the precise points to hit with a swift blow and cause maximum damage. But do octopuses even have pressure points? He racked his brain for knowledge of the animal; crazy smart, wily and incredibly strong was all he knew. He was sure he'd read tales of octopuses escaping their tanks into sewers or simply to visit friends.
Perhaps distraction was the best thing he could offer.
A potentially foolish plan sprang to mind. He moved to action before he could second guess it.
“MOVE!” he barked at a gathering crowd who scattered, shrieking. He sprinted past Ursula away from Emma towards a busker with drums that he’d spotted at what he hoped was a safe distance away.
“May I?” he asked the drummer, who had stopped drumming to watch the action and now silently handed over his drumsticks.
He turned to face Ursula’s back.
“OI! URSULA!”
He banged as hard as he could on the drums as he shouted.
Ursula had turned to the noise as he hoped.
“Hey sea bitch!” he called cheerfully, striding closer to her, “you want to kill a human? Well I’m the worst human around!”
She snarled and lunged.
A blast of almost blinding light from Emma hit her in the back and she fell to the floor rendered immobile.
The air shimmered and Ursula the monster was once again Ursula the human.
“What happened? Where was I?” she cried out in alarm. She looked up at Killian and glared. “Gold will hear about this,” she snarled and ran off.
“Be sure to give him my love,” he taunted.
The crowd around them burst into wild applause. Several of them surged towards him, pressing money into his hand and complimenting them on the performance. He pushed through them all in a daze, brushing off the living statue who wanted to know how they did their special effects. He stumbled over to Emma who’d found her way back towards their abandoned shopping bags and his now cold legendary duck fat chips.
He flopped down beside her, sighly sadly at what was left of his eagerly awaited food. He stretched out on the grass, giving his heart rate a few minutes to return to normal, before he sat up and fixed Emma with a winning grin. “Well, Swan, I hope you don't mind my saying, but I think we make quite the team.”
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Good Men Don’t Become Legends (FMA/Fate Zero AU, 15)
I’m shook. I can’t believe I’m updating this again so soon. No joke, writing that BNHA stuff really helped me get a jump on this again. Also, the fact that my three major fics all feature some sort of mind control is ridiculous and completely unintentional, as I’ve had this planned for like a year, but I’m slow as molasses. There was supposed to be more action in this, but I got tired and didn’t want to do it after writing so much action in my other fics. The next one will be all action then, so expect me to drag my feet.
good men don’t become legends
war must be
They spend the next hour rushing around the house, packing up whatever they deem necessary. Edward is particularly moody about it, mumbling his complaints under his breath. Riza knows that he doesn’t understand the necessity to leave, but they do. This house is a death trap waiting to happen. If Roy comes back under the spell of Father, he can turn all his defensive spells back on them. They can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous.
“Can you defeat him?” Winry asked after Riza explained the situation.
Riza didn’t give her an answer then and she doesn’t have one now. It’s not really a matter if she can or not at this point. If it comes to it, she doesn’t have much of a choice. Roy will either force her hand or he’ll be able to hold himself back. If he can’t do the latter, she will be forced to fight him and even kill him if she finds the opportunity. If she doesn’t defeat him, then he will defeat her -- it’s that simple -- and it’s something Riza can’t allow.
Does she have the ability to defeat Roy? She’s honestly not sure. He’s in a class of his own.
Nonetheless, he’d given her permission to end his life should it be necessary to stop him. If he’s lost control to a Master with terrible intentions, then it will be necessary to at least try. There can only be one Servant remaining in the end for the Holy Grail to work anyways. They’ve both deluded themselves into thinking this could end in any other way than good. Maybe the Holy Grail could bring the other person back, but would it be the same? Would it really be her or him or just the instrument’s impression of them?
“Are you ready?” Riza asks.
Edward shoves a bun in his mouth and attempts to speak around it, but all Riza can gather is that he thinks this is stupid or something like that. Still, he slings a backpack over his shoulders and nods his head.
“Where are we going?” Winry asks while they pile into the car.
“We just need to find a place to lay low,” Riza explains, starting the car. It’s mostly futile. Roy and Assassin will be able to find her most likely, but at least they could make it on their turf. There are too many traps lying in wait here at the house that are far above any of their levels as mages. She knew that Ed didn’t like to be reminded that he wasn’t as strong as Roy, but it was the truth. “A hotel or something.”
Alphonse has been silent since being reunited with Edward. It was all smiles and hugs at first, but now he’s staring out the car window, a glazed look about his eyes. With the exception of Rider’s brief words, none of them know what happened while Alphonse was with Father. The marks on his wrists and ankles let them know that he was imprisoned and not kindly either, but that’s the extent of it. He offers them no details and pretends as if everything is okay, like doing that will make it go away.
What kind of monster would do that to an innocent child? She can’t picture Roy under the thumb of a man like that. He would rage against it.
Pinako finds them a motel on the outskirts of town where they can hole up. There isn’t a lot surrounding it, so that when the fight comes to them -- because it will -- there will be less in the way of collateral damage and Riza will be able to go all out. There can be no holding back, not if Roy is the one she has to fight. The rooms are nothing to get excited about, but she’s slept on dirt grounds with no tent, so it’s the least her problems. She keeps guard outside by the car as the other four get settled. The two rooms are joined by a door, which they leave open for now.
It’s a quiet night right now. Despite the nervous energy and thick tension radiating from everyone, no one says a word. Even though there’s so much to talk about, none of them know what to say. There isn’t anything they can say that will make this better. They’re not for sure who they’re running from, if Roy is no longer on their side, and what’s going to happen. Edward doesn’t even know if he’s a part of the Holy Grail War or not, which leaves him in a confused and angry fog as he storms about.
Winry teeters anxiously in the doorway of hers and Pinako’s room. “We can set up some defensive spells that will at least alert us to a Servant’s or Master’s presence, but…”
“That won’t matter for shit if it’s Caster,” Edward snaps. “He can bypass them easily without any of us knowing.” A frown cuts across his face as he stares off into the distance. He doesn’t look defeated by any means, despite losing his Command Seals, but there’s an edge to him now that wasn’t there before. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s lost his place. She idly wonders if that was how Roy felt after he lost her. “I couldn’t even tell he was nearby when he was--”
He bites his tongue before he can continue. When he was Caster’s Master. He isn’t anymore. Or maybe he can be once again if they break whatever spell Father put over Roy. None of them know. Pinako’s knowledge has extended as far as it can and Rider’s information only confirmed their fears but gave them nothing they didn’t already know. They are flying in the dark and Riza truly hates it.
“What are we going to do?” Winry asks in a quiet voice. She wraps her arms around herself and looks up into the night sky as a gentle breeze blows through the air.
“We wait,” Riza simply replies.
“We fight,” Ed growls.
We try not to die.
*
“You disobeyed a direct order!” Olivier roars. “You let them go with barely a fight!”
“I fought honorably!” Rider counters, the first time he has ever said anything against her.
Olivier’s blood boils and she whips out her sword, a family heirloom that was charmed centuries ago to inflict wounds that bleed every few days. Rider does not flinch when she points the gleaming tip of her weapon an inch away from his neck. He knows that she won’t purposely hurt him, seeing as how it might make him weaker in any upcoming battles, but she is tempted.
“Disobey me like that again,” Olivier warns, “and I will force you to do something you truly regret.”
He thinks he regrets what he did now? This is war. She will make him feel all kinds of regret. It’s not a matter of punishment either. It just is what it is. She came into the Holy Grail War with the understanding and acceptance that she would be forced to give up a part of herself and he will have to do the same. The path to victory is not always paved with good deeds or even intentions.
She knows that Rider hates being involved in the Elric boy’s kidnapping. She knows that he hates being mixed up with Father, Assassin, Saber, and his loony Master. She even knows that he might even hate her being his Master. None of that matters. She doesn’t care what Rider hates and she doesn’t give a damn about his regret. It does nothing for them in this war. His compassion is a weakness that she wishes she could carve out of him.
Curse the Holy Grail for giving her this pathetic whelp to work with. Caster is little better with his arrogance, but at least he is powerful and willing to go the distance.
At the thought of the other Servant in the basement, Olivier’s thoughts turn dark. She sheathes her sword and turns away from Rider, too furious to look at him. It’s like he’s staying in his corporeal form just to anger her further because his presence is doing nothing but make matters worse between them. It’s punishment. She hopes he understands that hers will be much worser. She needs him strong for this though.
They didn’t want Father to get a hold of Caster. It’s the last thing they need. As much as she loathes the other mage, Caster’s strength is undeniable and the last person they need to control him is Father. The dagger he used to steal Edward Elric’s Command Seals is locked away in a safe. No doubt there are many magical traps lurking about to protect it from thieves. It’s a conundrum that needs to be solved fast. If she was able to somehow get Caster on her side, she’d be unstoppable.
Of course then she would have to deal with two difficult Servants that would want to fight her on every decision. It’s enough to make Olivier want to stab something.
Not to mention that she knows Father has every intention of stabbing her and Rider in the back the second they are seen as being no longer useful. She’s an exceptional mage, but there is something off about Father that has her hackles rising. He doesn’t just use magic; it’s like he bends magic to his will. It’s unnatural. He is not a mage that should exist. There will able be dark mages out there, as long as their are good ones, but it’s as if Father is dark magic. He needs to be take out not just to ensure her victory in this war, but also because it is the right thing to do. At least that’s one thing Rider can agree on her with.
She would stab him while he is sleeping if she didn’t know Assassin would be there to stop it. He’s a sneaky, little bastard. Even though he looks to be no more than an innocent child, she can feel that his malice knows no bounds. He knows that he is a stronger than most and he lords it over them like a black fog.
“Rider,” Olivier prompts. Even without looking back at him, she knows that his eyes are on her. “The next time you cross paths with Archer, you will kill her. Do you understand me?”
If he doesn’t like her words, he doesn’t show it. Rider simply replies, “Of course,” in his deep voice like thunder.
Olivier turns to face him and catches his eyes. “And you will eliminate hers and Caster’s former Masters as well. Even with their Servants out of the War, Masters are dangerous foes.” Rider’s eyes widen, his nostrils flare, and a look of indignation crosses his face, but she ignores them all, giving him such a furious glare that he almost backs down physically. “They are not children anymore. They’re our enemies. You will do as you’re told and take them out.”
If she has to use two of her Command Seals, then so be it. Her Servant will listen to her, whether he likes it or not. It will be easier if he did so she doesn’t have to waste them, but she almost relishes the power that will come over her when she does. Rider has been so stubborn up until now, but the fact that he completely disobeyed her when retreated from Archer has angered her beyond repair. She won’t have any mercy with her enemies and she won’t have any for him either.
That’s just the way war is.
*
Considering that he doesn’t know this city well and May is unconscious, it takes some time for Ling to figure out where to go. It’s more or less by accident that he finds himself at a motel on the outskirts of town. They need to stay away from where it’s busy. The motel is on the opposite side of the city from the forest where he first battled Saber is and also is cheap. Judging from the money he found in May’s wallet, it’s still almost too expensive, but he’s able to figure it out without resorting to stealing.
Good gods, Ling was once the wealthiest emperor in the entire world and now he’s been reduced to considering pickpocketing innocent civilians. He almost tailspins into melodramatics, but stops himself.
He would pay them back later, after they win the War, but he highly doubts that May would be pleased with him doing such things. Still, if it comes to either that or starving on the streets, he’ll stoop that low. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe, even if it’s just finding a roof to put over her head and warm food in her belly. He’s her Servant, after all.
Also, he’s really hungry. May flooded him with her mana when she unlocked whatever was holding her magic back, but now he’s beginning to feel the strains of his fight with Saber and wandering around the city with his unconscious Master in his arms.
Getting a room at the motel is kind of awkward. May dealt with those things before while he drifted around the area in his incorporeal form. Now he’s stuck pretending that he’s some regular mortal in the modern world. It doesn’t help that he’s carrying an unconscious girl around in his arms. He highly doubts that he’ll be able to just stroll in and get a room. Still, he can’t just set her down somewhere outside.
Ling is clever if nothing else. He grabbed a blanket along with her meager belongings (all of which fit into a single backpack) from their old hotel room. After shifting her in his arms so that the side of her face is resting on his shoulder and one arm is slug around his neck, he puts the blanket over her. It looks like she’s just fallen asleep, which she kind of has. Knocked unconscious by unleashing an insane amount of magical power and mana -- same difference.
“Hi!” Ling greets the night clerk in a quiet whisper.
The woman blinks at him in surprise, noticing the young girl sleeping in his arms. “How can I help you?” She matches him in volume immediately.
“My little sister and I are in the city to meet our father, but she tuckered out,” Ling explains. “I thought it would be best if we just stopped here.”
It was similar to the lie May told the other people at their old hotel. They were half siblings coming to the city to meet their father. They look like each other just enough for the lie to pass. Ling can play the big brother role when necessary. It is easy with May. Although he’ll never say it out loud, it’s like she makes him want to be a brother. He had siblings back when he was fighting to become emperor in his own life, but he was forced to kill them or be killed in a series of many assassination attempts.
“Oh, of course!” the woman says happily. “You’re such a sweet big brother.” She types away at the computer as she searches for a room. This isn’t the best place -- certainly not one fit for a princess and the former emperor of half the world -- and the woman is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but she’s suddenly as kind as a clerk at a four star hotel. Some people are still good. “My brothers were never so nice.”
Ling gives her a winning smile. He knows how charming he can be. After getting the details of a room, he digs the appropriate amount of money out of May’s wallet. It’s cheaper than their old place at least. There’s not much left in that wallet though. He’s uncertain what they will do next, but they can figure that out when she wakes up. It is difficult to believe that he is willingly waiting to talk things over with a little girl when he never listened to anyone before, but it feels right.
The room is dingy and dim even after turning on a light, but it will make do. He lays her down on the bed farthest from the window and then takes a deep breath as he stands up straight. She looks peaceful, her face soft and flush with youth, her mouth open as she lightly snores. He’s still too wired from all the mana she gave him and what he really wants is something to eat, so he snags more money and slips out of the room to find a vending machine.
Right when Ling is trying to decide on what he wants to eat and if he should just break into it and get whatever he wants, someone shouts, “What are you doing here!”
Not afraid in the slightest, Ling turns his head to the side and sees Caster’s young Master gawking at him, clutching a container of ice like he might be able to use it as a weapon. Completely uninterested, Ling returns to examining his options in the vending machine. “What does it look like? I’m getting something eat.”
“I mean, here! At this motel!”
“Whatever it is people do at these places.”
Edward gawks at him and asks, “So...you’re not...looking for a fight?”
Ling huffs and finally chose something. “Does it look like I am?” Honestly, he can go for one right now. He has the energy and the strength. Of course, he doesn’t really fancy a fight with Caster, especially not when May is still out of commission, but Edward doesn’t need to know that. He takes his food and turns around to face the other Master. He’s got a few years on May, but hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet apparently. “You might as well bring Caster out. He can’t hide from my Master.”
A strange looks flitters across Edward’s face. It’s like he can’t decide between anger, discomfort, or something else that Ling doesn’t recognize. Fear maybe?
It gives Ling pause and he narrows his eyes. “If you’re not looking for a fight then, what are you doing all the way out here?” This seems like a reasonable question, despite the ridiculousness of a situation. Edward is a Master to another Servant that will try to kill Ling if he isn’t already -- they’re enemies in a very powerful and dangerous war over a wish granting object -- and here they are having a conversation by a vending machine.
Archer appears out of thin air behind Edward, laying a hand on his shoulder. That’s curious. Shouldn’t Caster be the one defending him? There is a hard expression on her face, but she’s not in her armor and she doesn’t have her magical bow. “What are you doing here, Lancer?”
Again with the same question? Ling just wants to eat, maybe watch a little television like a regular person, and relax while May gets some rest. That’s all he wants, truth be told. He doesn’t want to fight, but he will. It would be more fun than answering the same question over and over again. “Do you expect my Master to stay on the streets?” He points a finger at them. “Your presence is the unusual one. I know you’re not based in this part of the city.” Casually munching on his food, he eyes them carefully. “Are you hiding?”
That’s technically what he and May are doing here. He chose this place because it was out of the way and he didn’t think any of the other Masters or Servants would come looking for them here. The fact that two other Masters and Servants were here caught him off guard, but maybe they’re here because of the same reason. What are the odds that all of them would end up here? It’s one hell of a coincidence. If so, all Ling can do is stay calm and keep a fight from starting out. As much as he would love to fight them, he can’t do it while May is in such a vulnerable position.
When neither Archer nor Edward respond to him, Ling straightens up in surprise and exclaims, “Oh, you are! How interesting.” His eyes leave Archer and rest on Edward. He’s clutching that ice bucket against his chest like it will protect him somehow. Only when Ling notices the back of Edward’s hands does he stop cold. “Your Command Seals.”
“It’s nothing,” Edward snaps hastily, scowling at him and hiding one of his hands in his pockets. The sight of their bareness can’t be unseen though. The Command Seals that mark a Master in the Holy Grail War aren’t smudged after being used; they’re completely gone, as if they hadn’t been there in the first place. It throws Ling completely off and now he’s the one gawking at them.
“We will ignore your presence for this one night, Lancer,” Archer warns him, “but if you are not gone by the morning, I will end you.”
“Alright, alright,” Ling replies, holding up a hand. “Don’t get all worked up.”
What is going on? It is more than clear to him now that they are in hiding. Somewhere in this building Archer’s Master is probably sleeping. But where is Caster? What happened to Edward’s Command Seals? Did the marks completely vanish after being used up? If he did do that, then what had they gone through in the days since he saw them last?
*
Assassin peers closely at Caster. “How is he holding up?”
“It is nearly over with,” Father confirms.
His Master is confident, but Assassin is less certain. Caster has been fighting the command transfer from the beginning to the point where they thought it was going to kill him instead. He acted like he would rather die than allow Father to take over the role of his Master. Caster’s horrible screams had echoed throughout the castle, sounding as if they were being physically ripped from him, until he would pass out from the pain. Whenever he came to, it would happen all over again, though weaker with each round that passed.
Currently, Caster is chained up to a wall, having been heaved up into the position by Rider, hanging limply from the magic dampening manacles around his wrists. They digs into his skin, rivulets of blood to streak down his forearms and stain the sleeves of his shirt. Sweat drips from his pale face and stains his shirt. He looks terribly ill, like he’s been trying to sweat out a fever, and weak, as if he can’t possibly stay on standing his feet if they take the shackles off.
“He looks pathetic,” Assassin decides. He gives his Master an unimpressed glance. “Are you certain you’re going to be able to use him after this?”
“He’s not connected to my mana yet,” Father explains, examining Caster like he might a map. “He’s using the last bit of his own energy to fight it, but he’s at an end. He’ll have no choice but to give in or die.”
How unpleasant. “And if he chooses death?”
“Then that’s one less Servant we have to worry about,” Father answers simply. Honestly, Assassin won’t mind that outcome. Even if the magic dagger does completely sever Caster from the Elric boy and transfers his bond over to Father, Assassin will not be able to trust Caster. If there is one Servant class that is trickier than him and more likely to turn on a Master, it is that one. Plus, Assassin just doesn’t like Caster. Him dying is an outcome that he prefers.
Father steps towards Caster and waves a hand over his face. The magic must be a shock to Caster, who is being slowly drained of it, as his eyes snap open and he jerks hard in his shackles. It doesn’t phase Father at all; he merely stands just out of Caster’s reach and watches the mage with a critical eye.
“You…” Caster rasps, his throat most likely raw from screaming.
“Rise and shine, Caster,” Assassin greets in a pleasant tone. Caster’s dark eyes shift over to him. Normally, he will hide what he’s thinking, but after days of mental and magical torture, he lacks the ability to hide his thoughts. A faint snarl curls onto his face, but he is too exhausted to do little more. He sags in his chains again, letting them hold him up, his knees bent and his feet barely doing any work.
“How are you feeling?” Father asks, like a parent might a child.
Caster closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. “Been better.” The last few times they checked on him, he tried to resist, fight back, jerk away, anything. This time he does none of those things. Besides being startled awake, he is almost placid by comparison. Assassin doesn’t know if it was a lack of will or energy.
“Are you ready to accept your true fate?” Father uses the same tone. It has a strange effect of making him appear kinder than he is when Assassin knows that there’s a kind bone in the man’s body. It’s not a bad thing. Assassin doesn’t have any in him either. He didn’t in life and he doesn’t now as a Servant. For all the horrific stories about the Flame Alchemist though, he is a kind man in his heart. It’s a weakness, one that Father seeks to exploit.
Unlike before, when Caster would snarl back a response, this time, he doesn’t respond right away. His tired eyes flicker from Servant to Master, only a little heat in them. He’s worn down, but more importantly, he’s not putting up near as much of a fight anymore. He might still be struggling against it by not giving a proper answer, but it’s as good as one. Father seems pleased, allowing a small smile to appear on his face as he straightens up.
“You’re very close,” he says. “I knew you would give in.”
Caster’s gaze falls to the ground as he begins to breathe steadily. It’s a look of defeat and shame. For all his strength and magic, it is impossible to ignore the call of the Holy Grail War. The bond between a Master and their Servant is too strong to ignore, especially when it has been forced upon a Servant. Assassin knows that it isn’t just the Command Seals that now adorn Father’s other hand that bind Caster to him. He’s been weaving some powerful magic over the other mage, bending Caster to his will, molding his mind to match Father’s own desires. It’s very dark stuff.
Assassin bets it was the kind of magic that even the Flame Alchemist stayed away from in the Mage Wars. He probably killed mages for using such magic, no doubt, and now it was being used on him.
After deciding that Caster needs to suffer a little longer before unleashing him, Father and Assassin make their way back up the stairs from the cells. It stung to lose the younger Elric boy, but they gained a much better weapon and bargaining chip with Caster. Surely he was aware of that when he showed up on their castle steps the other night. The fact that Rider could not retrieve the boy was another slight, but it was no matter. They have Archer spooked. It’s going to be very interesting to see what happens when the Hawk’s Eye sees her beloved Flame Alchemist again.
“It’s almost time,” Father decides as he sits down in a luxurious chair in front of the hearth.
“Do you think Rider and his Master are prepared?” Assassin asks.
Father waves a dismissive hand. “It makes no matter if they are or not. The second Archer is taken out, we will kill them as well.”
The two have come in handy, but both of them know that Rider and Armstrong aren’t necessary in order to defeat the rest of the Servants. Once their purpose is served, Assassin and Saber can take out that huge emotional piss pot of a Servant and his arrogant Master. They’ll have to take Lancer out afterwards, which Assassin knows that Saber is itching for. He’s still infuriated over his last defeat, hellbent on killing Lancer’s little Master even more. Assassin likes Saber well enough, but it’ll be nice when they can chuck him in the bin as well.
If his thoughts sound cold, it’s because they are. He’s never known to feel anything but that and it serves him well in the Holy Grail War.
“What if Caster is able to break free?” Assassin asks.
“He won’t,” Father replies with utter confidence.
Assassin isn’t so sure, but he doesn’t question his Master again. He’ll just have to keep an eye out. If worse comes to worse and Caster is able to snap out of it or Father is forced to use all his Command Seals, then it will be up to his original Servant to take Caster out. Assassin smiles to himself. He’s definitely looking forward to that.
*
When the sun rises in the morning, Riza feels as if she can’t breathe, so she sets to walking around the motel. It’s a beautiful morning, only a few fluffy clouds in the sky. Being on the outskirts of town means that there are more trees and greenery, something that she takes comfort in, even when the backdrop is a dingy motel. For a moment, she can pretend that everything is fine.
Roy will come back. He has to come back.
As far as she can tell, Lancer is gone, but there’s always the chance that his Master is hiding them. She remembers how the young mage was able to pinpoint Roy’s location when he was hiding in his incorporeal form when no one else was capable of it, not even his own Master. She’s a strong, little thing, no matter how innocent she looks. She sensed how strong Lancer was last night as well, radiating power that far exceeded what she felt during their last encounter. It is concerning, but there’s nothing to be done about it right now.
Pulling her loose hair from her right side to her left to hold it in a side ponytail, Riza lets out a sigh and turns back around the head back to Winry’s room.
And then there is Roy, standing five feet in front of her, greeting, “There you are, Riza.”
Riza’s first instinct is to run towards him. It is always her first instinct. She can’t imagine a world in which she doesn’t go to him. He’s a part of her as much as she is a part of him. Her heart swells. He’s here. He’s back. He’s came to her. Her mind doesn’t question how, not when he’s right before her eyes, not when he’s close enough to touch with just a few steps.
Her second thought stills her though. She’s not just Riza or even the Hawk’s Eye. She’s a Servant in the Holy Grail War -- and so is he.
“Roy?” she calls out softly.
There’s something wrong with his eyes. When she really looks at him, it’s the first thing she notices. They’re very focused on her, but there’s no light in them. His face is more than blank. It’s like there’s nothing there at all. As if he’s been entirely wiped clean. Even the way he holds himself, hands in his pockets but arms limp, like someone would look like if they were trying to imitate his lackadaisical attitude.
It looks like Roy, but it isn’t him. She doesn’t know who this is at all.
Riza takes a step back and he takes a step forward.
A smile twitches onto his face. It looks wrong. “What’s wrong?” His voice is wrong.
“Where have you been, Roy?” she asks him, keeping her distance from him.
“I got caught up with Father, but I managed to escape,” he tells her. “I went back to the house, but you all were gone. It took some time to finding you.”
Not long enough apparently. It’s not enough of an explanation. Roy certainly looks like he’s been through a ringer now that she looks at him. He’s disheveled and tired-looking, as if he’d spent days struggling against the torture many mages were subjected to before the Mage Wars. His movements are halting. All of it makes her wary. He wouldn’t just show up here unannounced. Something is seriously off.
“Where’s Edward?” Roy asks casually, but there is intent underlining the two words.
“He’s not here,” Riza lies, though she knows that he’ll be able to see through it.
Roy furrows his brow. “Now why would you say that? I ought to know where my Master is.”
His tone almost freezes the blood in Riza’s veins. It’s so cold. She clenches her hands at her side and turns away from him, ready to materialize her bow and arrows in less than a second. “Then where is Father?” This time, it’s Roy that halts. He rears back and blinks at her. “We know about the weapon that transfers the bond between Masters. I saw Edward’s Command Seals vanish. It was like they were ripped out of his soul. It hurt him. It almost killed him.”
A cold, disinterested look comes over Roy’s face and he says, “Pity it didn’t. Would’ve saved me the trouble and would’ve been less painful.”
Her heart clenches in her chest and the bow appears in her hands as she raises them, an arrow already notched and ready to be let loose. She aims it directly at Roy’s heart. He doesn’t flinch -- barely even reacts -- as if it is exactly how he believed she would react. He knew that she would point an arrow at him. There’s not a hint of shock or hurt.
“Are you going to shoot me this time?” Roy questions her. He tilts his head, eyeing her so coldly. “This is how many times you’ve pointed an arrow at me? You couldn’t let loose then. I doubt you can now.”
He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. She knows instinctively that this was what he was after her death. This was who he became. This is the monster he allowed to take control once she was gone. There were glimpses of it before her death, peeking out when something particularly awful happened. She thinks of the village they came across, completely destroyed, and the bodies of children gathered in a church. When they caught the dark mages responsible for it, Roy spared none of them. There was no mercy in him then, but he wasn’t cruel either. He didn’t prolong their deaths as those mages had done to the innocents they killed.
This Roy is different. Maybe he won’t take pleasure in killing, but he won’t make it quick either.
Before Riza can prove him wrong though, she hears movement behind her and she rolls out of the way just before Rider slams his heavy fists into the ground where she was standing. It’s so strong that he breaks the concrete, his two fists creating creators. She pops back onto her feet, aiming again. It might appear like she’s still aiming at Roy, but he doesn’t know the extent of her Noble Phantasm. Rider, who has seen it in action, is more hesitant, but there is an intensity in his bright blue eyes that she knows comes from a Command Seal being used on him.
“Really, Riza, it would be easier to just tell me where Edward is,” Roy says, holding out his hands palms up, like he’s being merciful. “We’ll make yours and Winry’s deaths quick. I would rather spare you the pain.”
“You’re going to kill us?” Riza asks.
“It’s the Holy Grail War and I am a Servant in it,” Roy replies. “That’s what we were brought here to do.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Besides, once we win, I can use the Holy Grail to bring you back. What does it matter who I win it with? Edward? Father? Either way, I get what I want.”
Riza shakes her head. “That’s not what I want.” Roy drops his hands to his side and narrows his eyes. “If you think like that, don’t you dare bring me back because that is not the man I love and I won’t stay with you.” He stares back at her, as if not quite sure he’s hearing her right. What did Father do to him? “You do this now and I will never forgive you.”
“We’ll see what you say after I bring you back,” Roy says. “I’ll make you understand.”
And then he snaps his fingers and fire roars to life.
#riza hawkeye#roy mustang#fma#fate zero#ling yao#edward elric#winry rockbell#may chang#mei chan#selim bradley#pride fma#father fma#pinako rockbell#good men#fma x fate#fate series#fma x fate series#fma x fate zero#fmab#fma: brotherhood#fullmetal alchemist#olivier mira armstrong#alex louis armstrong#fma fanfiction#the things of songs
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