#i don’t have he physical energy to deal with her at this point
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i actually can’t stand biology like what do you mean i have another half an hour of this bullshit
#i enjoy the subject but i hate my teacher#i don’t have he physical energy to deal with her at this point#she’s lowkey a shit teacher#just puts up a powerpoint that half the time she didn’t even make and we just write down everything on it#this the third year i’ve had her and i can’t take another minute of it#it’s time for katie’s opinion#very extremely niche
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Hello there author! I know you're taking your time writing the chapter 2 but may we have Neighbor!König visiting y/n to her office, where könig drop off her things or she kinda forgot her lunch something. Thank you for the hard work you put into your fic! WE LOVE IT!
Ahh, i'm sorry! I guess I needed a little time off from writing, but I'm back! And thank you very much!
Lol idk what Reader does for a living, but it sounds nice! I hope you like it!
(Rated T+)
It wasn’t until an hour after your shift started that you realized you’d forgotten your lunch in König’s truck, and it was only because he texted you. You sighed and shot off a quick response, telling him not to worry about it. You can just walk across the street to one of the fast food joints and grab lunch there. You thought nothing more of it and got back to work.
And you would have continued to think nothing more of it until you saw more than one security guard making their way to the front. Odd. You glanced at the clock, it was still a few minutes before your lunch break, and thus a few minutes before you could be nosy and check out what was going on. Well, at least that's what you thought just before your desk phone rang.
“There’s a man here for you,” the receptionist sounded a bit anxious. “I’ve got security keeping him in the lobby, but he’s insisting that he see you.”
Oh! No!
“Let me guess, big guy, like, absurdly big. With a scary looking mask?”
“Yea. Should I call the police?”
“Oh please don’t! He’s…harmless.”
“Are you su-”
“I’ll be down in a sec!”
Ok, you weren’t entirely sure he was harmless. He had told you stories of his time fighting in war zone conflicts, and though he never said it outright, you’re pretty sure he has a kill count that’s higher than one. But in this particular scenario, just visiting your office, as long as no one tried to fight him, you’re almost certain he wouldn’t do anything. (The thought never crossed your mind that the only other situation in which he’d react violently is if you were threatened in any manner).
By the time you reached the lobby, there were three security guards standing a few feet from König. Two of them were very clearly nervous. They’re not at all in any kind of shape, one of them is on the elderly side and the other on the pudgy side. The one young man that is in any kind of fighting shape honestly looks so small compared to König.
“Oh, you can let him through, he’s with me!” You spoke up in a loud, clear, and forcibly cheerful voice.
You were glad for the time it took to get to the lobby, it’d given you just enough time to think of what to say to security. You weren’t entirely sure on where you stood in relation to König. What were you supposed to refer to him as? At this point he was more than just your neighbor. You could say he was your friend, but somehow that didn’t feel like enough either. Yet to call him your boyfriend or partner felt like a stretch. (He was just a really nice neighbor, who was also a good friend, who you maybe sometimes had a little bit of a crush on). So, for now, he was just “with you”.
König was used to having his orders followed. It had been years since he had been denied access to anything and these small men that pretended like they could stop him, all while shaking in their boots, were beginning to…annoy him. Just when he was about to push past them, he heard your voice declare that he was with you.
It was you who slipped past security as you lightly ran up to him. “König!” You smiled and, much to his surprise, pulled him into a quick hug.
Just like that he forgot about the way dealing with these civilians that worked with you had made his anxiety flare, how he wanted something to fight, to put his physical energy into. It all melted away as his world shrunk to just you. Your body flush against his for a single moment, the soft touch of your hands on his back. He was so tempted to lift his hood and bury his face into the crook of your neck, to inhale the intoxicating aroma that haunted his dreams. He almost whined when you pulled out of the hug, one of your hands moving to the bag that he was carrying.
"I thought I told you not to worry about it?"
Before he could stutter out some excuse, you turned around, to the little audience in the lobby, and he had the urge to pull you behind him, to shield you from their eyes. They didn't deserve to look upon you, and certainly didn't deserve your attention.
Perhaps you thought this too (not quite) since you turned back to him and motioned back to the entrance. "Let's go sit outside, it's nice out."
He would follow you anywhere, especially when you looped your arms around one of his like that. You led him to a side patio, where a couple of picnic tables and benches were set up under comfortable shade. There were already other people seated in the area, but one look at him and they returned to their business, better to ignore the frightful stranger than to antagonize him.
You chose a picnic table furthest away from others and took your bag that he had still been carrying and set it down. "Do you have to leave right away?"
“No.” He shook his head as you sat down on the bench facing outwards.
“Good, then, want to join me for lunch?”
He sat down next to you, glad that he didn’t have to try to squeeze his legs under the table and probably bang up his knees in the process. He realized, a soft smile pulling at his lips, as you turned to start digging through your bag that that was probably the reason you sat this way, for his comfort.
He shook his head when you offered a share of your food. "I don't want you to get hungry later."
"Please, you've seen me buy car snacks, you really think I don't also have desk snacks? I would be just fine even if you hadn't brought my lunch, which, thank you, by the way. This is really nice of you." When was the last time someone had been so thoughtful?
"You're like a squirrel." He laughed as he accepted the offered food.
"Psh." You playfully rolled your eyes and softly bumped your shoulder into his arm. "If I'm a squirrel, what does that make you?"
He was silent for a moment, head slightly tilted to the side, before he looked at you, eyes crinkled under his hood in a way that you’d come to recognize as a smile. "A dog."
"A dog?...But dogs are always chasing squirrels!” You then gasped dramatically, "don't tell me you want to eat me!"
König fought down the sudden surge of heat brought on by the memory of a dream. It made his responding laugh a bit too loud, a bit too awkward and forced him to attempt to cover it up. By growling and leaning down quickly to nip at your shoulder.
"Ah!!" You half shrieked and half laughed as you leaned away from him just enough to get out of his silly attempt at biting you through the hood that covered his face. "Stop!" You finally managed through giggles.
He pulled away with another playful growl and snapped his teeth at you twice. "One day I will catch you, Squirrel."
"Yea? Then what?" You laughed again.
He was quiet for just a second too long, eyes boring into you a bit too intensely. He even dropped the playful tone in his voice, now deeper and rougher than you were used to hearing. "I'll eat you."
It’s a good thing that you weren’t eating or drinking anything at that exact moment or you would have choked at the way it sounded! He certainly couldn’t have meant it like that! You chuckled and looked away from him, hoping he could not tell that your thoughts were less than appropriate.
Finished with the main part of your lunch, you opened the packed snack cake and portioned it in half, once again intending to share with König, but he shook his head. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t like this particular snack, not that he’d ever go out of his way to buy the like either, it’s just that he knew it was your favorite. Though, you must have sensed that, as you narrowed your eyes suspiciously at him.
You portioned an even smaller piece, “not even a little taste?” And held the piece of confection up at level where you assumed his mouth was.
König froze, if you were offering to feed him…
You reached for the edge of his hood and pulled it forward, giving you room to slip your other hand under it without revealing his face. The backs of your fingers lightly ghosted across his chin until you held the treat near enough to his mouth. Though he remained stock still, eyes never leaving yours, his lips wrapped around the offered treat and his tongue barely brushing against your fingers.
It was hardly a bite, and his lips and tongue had hardly touched your fingers for half a second. You smiled, hot in the face, and pulled your hand back, “good?”
He hummed and nodded. “Very good. Sweet.”
As if your face wasn’t burning enough!
You looked down at your portion of the sweet treat to realize there was a dab of cream on your finger still. You glanced back at him, not completely titling your head back up, casting your eyes in a coquettish shadow, and licked your finger. “Good.”
König quietly grunted, one of his hands landing on your knee as he leaned in a little closer to you. He didn’t know why. He just needed to be closer to you, needed to feel you.
Your breath hitched but you pretended not to be affected by his touch as you quickly finished off your lunch while his fingers fidgeted with the hem of your skirt. You then grabbed his hand, gently squeezing before you pushed it off your knee. “Unfortunately, I am not a general that can dictate my own break times.”
“What?”
You cleaned up what trash was left from your lunch and tossed it in a nearby bin. “My lunch is just about up.” Sure enough, an alarm on your phone sounded just as you returned to the table.
König frowned, it felt like he just arrived! How could your lunch be up already? “Oh, let me.” He stood up and grabbed the bag you had stored your lunch in. An excuse to visit you later.
“Thanks.” You started to walk back to the office, him right beside you again. “And thanks again for stopping by. Can you still pick me up after work?”
“Yes. Five?”
“Yep!”
König is practically walking on air after lunch, though eager for the end of the day. He couldn’t wait to see you again.
[Neighbor König Masterlist]
Neighbor König taglist (blurbs): Please let me know if you wish to be added or removed.
@warrior-of-justice @cumikering @ihateuguys @rand0m--fangirl @keiva1000 @dtftheavengers @takeyour-pants-off @aeeliy @milenko115 @sodonuthideout
#anonymous#könig x reader#könig x fem reader#neighbor!könig#blurb#short#fun fact: in the first draft when he bites her the hood doesnt get in the way. and he practically left a hickey on her neck#but i thought that was too forward! so changed it a bit#i was thinking of qing this up for lunch. but i think i'm gonna nap for lunch instead.
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Early Riser
AO3 Link
It’s five a.m. when the chain stumbles out of the portal. Well, actually it’s four minutes past five and counting seconds, but Time’s pretty sure no one cares about that. It was somewhere in the middle of the second watch when the portal appeared on the opposite side of their campsite.
Warriors, who was on watch, bore it with the grace of someone used to terrible hours in the army. Those that were woken up were in…less useful states. Wind was mostly asleep standing upright. Legend’s glare could light rain on fire and Hyrule’s arm around his waist might be the only thing restraining him.
Four drooped against Sky, who was also mostly asleep. Maybe he’s gained the ability to sleepwalk; Time wouldn’t put it past him. It takes him three slow blinks to claim the era. “We’re in Skyloft.”
Time doesn’t point out that this is obvious as the predawn light is lighting up the clouds. A cold wind bites at his fingertips; no wonder the chosen hero wears so many layers up here.
“Why is it so early?” Wild burrows into Twilight’s arms—ah, he’s trying to get into the wolf pelt. His successor isn’t magnanimous enough to give it up but wraps Wild up in his arms.
“Aren’t you made for early mornings?” Legend glares around Hyrule. “You’ve got a shit sleep schedule.”
“Just because it’s bad doesn’t mean it’s a choice.”
“Sleep, asshole!”
Time sighs and says, “Language, vet. I know it’s early.”
“Self-righteous piece of—”
“Legend!”
His only answer is a feral hiss. The vet is not pleasant without coffee in the morning. Time turns his attention back to Sky, who’s still staring blankly. “Where can we go this early?”
“The market—” a yawn interrupts him. “The market is setting up by now, so we can hang out there. Or we can try the Academy.”
“Which is closer?”
“Market.”
Time waves Sky forward, then leads the way when the hero doesn’t move. “Market it is for now.”
The cloth walls of the market block out the chill, although it’s still dim inside. They congregate in a corner, still yawning.
“Good morning! Oh, look at you all! Link! I’ve missed you!”
Time drags his attention to the approaching girl who has, frankly, far too much energy for this time of day.
“Hey, Zelda.” Sky yawns halfway through and slumps into her hug.
“Aww, who’s a sleepyhead?”
“It’s like, dawn. That’s when people sleep, Zelly.”
“Nonsense! This is the perfect time to get up and get going for the day! Smell that crisp air?” She takes a deep breath to demonstrate. “We just need to get you all moving, you’ll see.”
Legend’s moan is full of so much pain that Time whips around. Did he miss an injury? Did something happen after they landed?
The vet does look physically ill as he says, “Oh no, you’re a morning person!”
Hyrule pats his shoulder. “It’s okay, Legend. Remember, Sky has to deal with her forever.”
Zelda makes a face, then makes another when Sky only sighs sadly instead of defending her. He nuzzles her shoulder. “I’ll bear the burden. Learn to sleep through it.”
She steps back abruptly, letting Sky fall to the ground. “Well. Some of you don’t appreciate the benefits of a good morning.”
“Zelly! Why?” Sky rolls on the ground, arms wrapping around her ankle. “Do you have no pity for your hero?”
Legend steps forward, possibly deciding Sky needs backup. “It was the middle of the night when the portal came! Do you know what’s important? Sleep!”
“I like waking up early,” Twilight pipes up.
“Shut up!” No less than three glares are turned on him, and one from the champion still leaning into his fur.
Zelda senses an ally and zeroes in the rancher. “You get it, right?”
“Yeah. I help out on the ranch so there’s no late mornings for me.”
Wild, unwilling to be pulled into the discussion, leaves the protection of Twilight’s fur and barrels into Legend and Hyrule. They easily absorb him into their group and slump against each other.
Time watches the group drift around, blinking slowly. Zelda and Twilight’s conversation grows more animated and starts to pull in those heroes who are at least functioning. Good, they can take care of themselves.
Leaning against one of the tent poles, Time lets his eye slide half shut. It was the middle of the night when he got up. Safe in Skyloft, he can afford to be a little lax. Actually, the Academy has that great bathhouse. Maybe an early morning bath?
It’s too bad Malon isn’t here. Or if they had a bathhouse like that in their era. Large pools of water…steam from the fire…yes. Just the two of them alone. He could help her wash that beautiful red hair.
Time shuts his eye fully, losing himself to a drowsy fantasy of warm water, soft hands, and carefully detangling hair. Maybe he can rub her shoulders; Malon pushes herself too hard on the ranch.
After the bath they could get breakfast…maybe ride on a loftwing…
“Time!”
He jerks and whacks his head on the pole. Zelda is grinning at him. “You awake, hero?”
“I was thinking.”
“Mmm. With your eyes closed.”
“That’s the best way to think.”
She rolls her eyes, but gestures. “Come on, let's head up to the academy. You can either stay up a bit for breakfast or go back to sleep.”
The word sleep has the magic effect of motivating the other heroes to brave the chill morning air. They troop out of the market and up the hill to the Academy. Sky keeps Zelda tucked against his side; cape wrapped around her shoulders.
Time smiles to himself as he watches them. They aren’t like he was with Malon, but that’s okay. What they have is pure and sweet. When he first started courting Malon…well, he was a mess. It’s a miracle she put up with him, much less agreed to marry him.
“Good morning! Oh, Link, it’s good to see you! And friends! What a delightful surprise this morning!”
A booming voice breaks him out of his thoughts and inspires groans from the heroes.
Legend goes back to practicing his fire-setting skills through glares. “Of course, Zelda’s dad is a morning person, too. Sky, your kids are cursed.”
Silently, Time has to agree.
#flufftober2023#alt-morning person#linked universe#linkeduniverse#lu flufftober#breannasfluff#mywriting#lu time#lu legend#lu sky#lu sun#lu wild#lu twilight#lu hyrule
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♥️ Ranking Richonne
#20: I Don't Have A Problem (S3E12)
Clear. 🤩 One of The Walking Dead's best episodes for many reasons, but especially for the beautiful seeds it planted between Rick and Michonne. The fence is where their lives became interlocked, and Clear is the start of where their hearts became interlocked. And in this scene right here, Richonne became absolutely inevitable...
This whole episode is something special, and I love Rick and Michonne's every interaction, with an honorable mention to their “the mat said welcome” scene. 😋 From the moment they met, these two had some romantic tension brewing, and it nearly boils over in this scene that just had to make the top 20.
Rick has brought Carl on his first run and decided to bring Michonne along to help and to see what she’s about. It'll forever be telling to me that Rick felt comfortable enough to have Michonne on this run alone with him and his kid.
Despite some arguing that Rick was strictly skeptical of Michonne during this era of their relationship, I think the fact that he brought her out here to his former neighborhood and then, even more, let Michonne go out unsupervised on a crib run with Carl showed that there was some level of trust here that I don't think Rick would give to just anybody. Like while Rick initially tried to fight how drawn he was to Michonne in season 3, his behavior with her still painted a clear picture that to him...
And Michonne shows both Rick and Carl just how special she is and proves that she’s the real deal in all aspects throughout the episode. Especially in this scene here.
So what I love about this scene is that in a moment where Rick is feeling visibly frustrated and disappointed, Michonne’s regal calm spirit practically tames his defensive energy. He asks if she has a problem with the new approach they have to take, despite her showing no signs of having an issue. And Rick asking this will just always make me amused because no one got him hot and bothered quite like Michonne just existing.
Like she was silent for a literal second, but that was enough to evoke a reaction from him. And Andy, to me, found the perfect way to ask where it was defensive without sounding overtly challenging or particularly offputting.
And then Danai just makes all the right choices in this scene cuz Michonne knows that she doesn’t need to match that testy energy. Instead, she turns slowly and looks right at Rick and sets the tone by gently saying, “No Rick, I don’t have a problem.” 👏🏽👑
Something about even just her saying his name has some weight to it. And I love that this is the approach she takes. This is genuinely me every time I hear Michonne perfectly deliver that line...
Michonne had been a bit quieter and apart from the group prior, and this line is her elegant offering to let Rick know she isn’t his opponent and wants to help - that she isn’t a problem and doesn’t have a problem, not with his approach, or just doesn’t have a problem in general that he has to worry about.
And then to make that verbal offering of her alliance even more physical, Michonne hands Rick the lone bullet she picked up. Rick takes it and the way they focus on their hands again feels like it’s an important exchange. It’s like their first peace offering. And it’s one of the first of many things Michonne and Rick will hand each other, including a very special pack of mints that parallels this scene a bit. 😊
I love that Carl is visible in this scene and noting this exchange between his dad and the woman who will become his mom and his best friend. Carl knew something was up here and that something was different about this. He was still skeptical of Michonne at this point, but I think it was at this moment he began to tell that Michonne has some sort of unique impact on his dad.
This scene is also special because this is Rick in the freshest stage of being a single dad. He has to raise his son, who went through the trauma of having to put down his mom, and he also has a newborn to take care of, who he knows is actually Lori and Shane’s baby. And he has to deal with all this madness with the Governor. The weight of the world was on Rick's shoulders, and you see him really frustrated that the lack of guns at the station is yet another L. But Michonne is just so calm about it which is the energy he truly needs in his life.
She just asked if there’s a new solution cuz she only envisions winning. Even just when hearing Rick earlier explain how he was the police in this small town and there are other places to check and all that you can tell that he’s used to being second-guessed and challenged by people, and having to prove himself...But Michonne isn’t other people. She gets him, and she’s not rattled by their situation, so he doesn’t have to prove himself.
I also love how, even as they speak, it’s tense but not harsh. There’s just always this passion pulsating between them, even as strangers.
There’s so much power in the fact that Michonne wasn’t hostile back, but rather calm, collected, and compassionate. The way she looks at him here just says she sees Rick in a deeper way than most. Even that early in their relationship, she understood him.
So even with Rick bugging out, it doesn’t intimidate her or put her off, Michonne gets it and she handles it beautifully. If Rick and Carl didn’t know they were rocking with a queen before then, they knew now.
And y’all, I know Rick knew they were with someone special because of his reaction after this exchange.
Rick’s reaction to Michonne after she hands him the bullet and looks right in his eyes with that soft knowing expression before walking away is the cherry on top of this golden scene because homeboy looks like he’s been fully enchanted. Like Rick's whole energy is giving...
Rick pockets the bullet and takes a whole moment to collect himself after the way Michonne looked at him. His look up to the sky was a 'dang, can Lori see me falling for another woman in just a few short days?' look. #DirectMindQuote 😂
Rick and Michonne felt a spark right then and there. I know it. And no characters would have an exchange like this unless it was a seed toward something romantic growing.
Even deeper than that, I love that this moment was an insight into so much of what makes Rick and Michonne's relationship special. They can speak to each other and reach each other in any state. They can be a calming presence. They can enchant each other. They are so clearly the exact type of person the other needs in their life. They have such a unique and positive influence on each other, and this was the beginning of many moments that show that.
I love that it was this moment that had even Danai wondering if Rick and Michonne were endgame and that it was then confirmed that for Gimple, Richonne really was in the works during this episode. I mean after an exchange like this, the road to Rick and Michonne falling in love was pretty much guaranteed.
So I love seeing Rick and Michonne in this early stage, especially knowing they will go on to become beloved family to each other in the fullest sense. #Husband&Wife 😌
#richonne#top 30#number 20#rick x michonne#reveling in richonne#twd 3.12#top 20#twd towl#the ones who live
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Lars and sexual energy
Lars Lindstrom thoughts + gn!reader imagine
∘₊✧ Thoughts: 500 words - imagine: 900 words
∘₊✧ Author’s notes: I started writing a few thoughts about Lars and why I’m so attracted to him based on his character, the screenplay and things I’ve enjoyed in the movie, and it ended up in me writing a bit of a smut imagine to go along with it, so I thought it might be worth sharing. It starts with thoughts on Lars’s sexual energy, desires, urges, and how he deals with them. Until you come along. And then he has no idea how to deal with them at all.
∘₊✧ Warnings/content: nsfw, masturbation, possessive streak, rough sex (and soft, tender sex), blow job mentions, making out, crying, switch!Lars, touch starved Lars
∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘
You know what half the appeal with Lars is?
He’s not supposed to feel sexual desire. At least, he doesn’t let himself. Starting with the basics, he won’t allow himself sleep in the same room — or even building — as Bianca until she’s taken ill. He says right at the start that it’s because he’s religious, and I’m sure that does mean something to him, but I’m also sure it’s not just that.
At the beginning of the movie, he cant stand psychical touch and wears layer upon layer to avoid the excruciating pain it causes him. He sleeps in layers. He eventually says (in the script, but not in the movie) that he’s the one with issues around nudity, not Bianca, who comes from a culture that is very comfortable with it. I think he's reached a point here where he’s experimenting a little. If she’s perfectly comfortable, he could maybe get used to it, too. And maybe he secretly wants to see what she looks like under her clothes out of curiosity or to learn a thing or two from her; but he can’t just take them off without good reason. And she needs her nightly bath, right?
Then, looking back to the script, we have his ‘sexual energy’ which he canonically burns off by chopping wood (in his own words, he’s really good at that, and in Karin’s thoughts, he’s sexy while he does it). When Mrs Gruner asks him about partners, she tells him, ‘Don’t wait too long, it’s not good for you,’ which could easily be interpreted to be about sex. Lars plucks up the courage to ask Gus if it’s sex that will make him feel like a man; both admitting his virginity and in a roundabout way asking his older brother’s permission to lose it. And yet, he never (that we know of) shares any physical affection, other than innocent hand holding, cuddling, dancing and that one tearful goodbye kiss with Bianca. Bianca, a doll who was created for sex.
Add into this that Lars can be possessive. Part of me wants to think that it’s simply in his nature, buried somewhere deep under his trauma and social difficulties, because according to his family, he ‘wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ And in that case it surfaces in the right circumstances, because in all other ways he’s so soft and gentle and caring. The other part of me wants to think it comes from his sexual desires and urges being pushed so far down that he doesn’t know what to do with them and ends up losing his temper and needing to take it out on the firewood i.e. a good fuck might calm him down. Maybe it’s both, maybe it’s neither. Maybe he’s confused about it himself.
Throughout the film, Lars gradually learns to enjoy the sensation of touch, starts to forge meaningful human relationships, experiences jealousy (with little bit of that delicious possession peeking through with it) toward someone he’s scared to pursue despite knowing she has romantic interest in him, and the layers he wears as armour gradually reduce to his underclothes. So we could take from this that given the right conditions, he could learn how to enjoy being physical with someone.
And, with that in mind...
∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘
Imagine being the one who finally turns his head. You catch his eye so unexpectedly, it snowballs faster than he can control it. He’s never felt like this before, never fought so hard to keep his thoughts clean and his physical urges at bay.
Lars, who uses his religion as a reason not to even sleep in the same house as his partner and doesn’t want anyone close enough to touch him, who can’t even get through a conversation with you without scrunching his eyes shut or running away, suddenly can’t get you off his mind. And the pain of carrying that pining, longing feeling around with him far outweighs the pain he might feel if you actually touched him, or so he convinces himself. Something must be done about that.
Chopping wood doesn’t distract him. Church doesn’t distract him. Driving to the lake doesn’t distract him. And neither does reading his favourite book or going to work or even accepting dinner invitations from Gus and Karin.
Lars goes from completely avoiding any hint of sexual desire his mind or body might conjure, to furiously jerking off every time he's seen you, rushing home and forcing down his pants to relieve the ache between his thighs. When he can’t sleep because his mind is buzzing with fantasies of you, his delicate, precise fingers wrap around his length before he can find a way to calm himself, and before he knows it, his thick, hot seed is spilling inside his pyjamas and he falls asleep in the mess, guiltily washing away the evidence in the morning. But not before indulging the wet dream he was having about you first.
It’s filthy. He feels filthy. And he likes it, whatever it is that you’ve done to him.
Lars ‘it’s always the quiet ones’ Lindstrom, has gone from sitting on the edge of his bed cringing at the conversations he’s had with you replaying in his mind because he feels so awkward and embarrassed about them, to daydreaming about his fingers wound in your hair while your soft, wet lips are wrapped around his cock, or fucking you hard against the tree by the lake while his tongue is shoved down your throat, or slipping one hand into your underwear and one over your mouth in the kitchen at work to quickly get you off while you steal a few minutes alone.
All the while, he’s breathless and trembling with anticipation, his hand wrapped tight around his cock as he pumps furiously, or stroking himself, soft and slow until he’s a whining, whimpering mess, moaning your name as his release washes over him.
Through this, he learns how to enjoy pleasure, learns his body, and starts to crave touch. Your touch. His own simply won’t do any longer.
So when he finally gets you all to himself? When you’re kissing him all chaste and sweet?
I hope you’re ready to have your clothes torn off, to be grabbed at until he leaves bruises, to have his fingertips driving into your flesh, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, ‘I’ve dreamed of doing this with you,’ through shaky breaths, to feel the burning heat of his flesh against yours, his mustache tickling at your skin when he stays in the same spot for long enough, his teeth dragging down your throat, pausing to suck at your pulse point, strong arms controlling your movements because he knows what he likes now, and when he’s around you, he loses all semblance of self control and has to have you just the way he’s fantasised.
In the thrill of desperation, he doesn’t even get his clothes all the way off, completely lost in a haze of excitement, but he manages it eventually, needing to feel as much of you as possible against as much of him as possible.
His hair is a mess, his cheeks are burning up, he’s completely ruffled, and he switches wildly from being a possessive, commanding lover to giving you the sweetest, most sensual fuck of your life.
His possessive side takes on a whole new meaning as he completely devours you — soft, sweet, innocent Lars — moaning loudly as he watches you cum from his touch over and over, bunches your hair into a fist to feel the bobbing of your head while you suck him dry, snaps his hips hard and fast against yours, followed by what feels like hours of slow, tender lovemaking while he whimpers needily and drips dirty words and praise into your ear like warm honey between breathless begging, revelling in this new sensation of the touch of another, until he’s spent, trembling and sobbing into your shoulder, overwhelmed and thankful and incredulous. Finding the soothing strokes of your fingers through his hair incredibly calming.
After so many years of repressing all these urges, and not finding any pleasure in touch, it could take a while to tire him out. But even when he’s temporarily sated, he will snuggle into you, press his lips gently to yours, and make out with you in a languid, sloppy kiss that doesn’t end until you’re both so worn out you’re falling asleep humming and sighing into one another’s mouths, limbs tangled together because now he's experienced your skin against his he will never get enough.
As he sleeps with you pressed against his chest and his strong arms keeping you safe with him, he has the biggest, warmest smile on his handsome face, but when he greets you in the morning, that naughty streak is back, and he’s smirking at you with a glint in his eye that you’ve already come to associate with nothing but pleasure.
#not s f w 💀#lars lindstrom smut#lars lindstrom x reader#lars lindstrom imagines#lars lindstrom thoughts#lars lindstrom#lars and the real girl#ken-dom writes#if you’re wondering what the other half of the appeal is#his relatable autism beautiful singing and soft belly have captivated me
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eyes on me, babe || s.harrington
summary: steve harrington knew you like the back of his hand - except for one thing: your biggest fear. when he's kidnapped by the russians along with you and robin, he realizes he never wants to see you that afraid ever again.
aka the season 3 russians scene because i love angst
warnings: detailed descriptions of injuries, panic attacks, cursing, physical violence/torture, angst
she/her pronouns used, enjoy :)
Fear was such a complex emotion that often caused a train of reaction. You could probably list on one hand the amount of times you’ve felt true, heart-wrenching fear in your life. The situation in front of you threatened to move that amount up further and the dread in your stomach was building each second.
It took one glance for Steve to recognize the expression on your face. That was all it ever took for him. One glance and he could read you like his favorite novel. You and Steve were an open book with each other and had been since 7th grade. Then, you almost lost him to his King Steve era before Nancy Wheeler snapped him out of it. Despite all the drama and the arguments, you and Steve prevailed. You knew everything about each other down to the dark details but there’s one thing you’ve never told him.
“Come on, come on. I need a good one. Give me something juicy,” 17 year old Steve Harrington laughed as he leaned against the headboard behind him. “You can’t just say you aren’t afraid of anything. I know that’s a lie.”
It was movie night, a Friday tradition for the two of you when you weren’t chasing after his intoxicated form or struggling with work. More than often he ended up staying over so he didn’t have to return to his more-than-likely empty home. The movie had ended not long ago and faded into a game of random questions that you two played often. Most answers you already knew but you loved to watch him dig himself out of holes and light up at mentions of the kids, especially Dustin.
You shrugged your shoulders slightly from your place resting against his chest. “I mean yeah I’m scared of something but I’m not gonna tell you.”
“Why not! I tell you everything and you’re not gonna tell me your biggest fear?”
You grabbed his hand in yours. “Steve, it’s not that big of a deal.”
He shook his head aggressively from behind you as he closed the gaps and laced his fingers between yours. “But I wanna know! What kind of best friend am I if I don’t protect you from your biggest fear?”
Ever since then, he constantly spewed random guesses to what exactly could be so important you refused to share it. He swore up and down that he would never use it against you for fun but you still wouldn’t give him a slight hint and it drove him mad.
Staring at the large machine the Russians made that was spinning with energy, you tried to not think about the consequences if it worked. The Demogorgons, the Mind Flayer, the Upside Down. It wasn’t something fun to face and the idea of someone trying to reopen the gate was unnerving.
“I don’t get it, you guys have seen something like this before?” Robin asked as she walked in front of you down the stairs away from the Russian infiltrated room. The two of you had clicked easily, both pointing at Steve as a target of fun. You were thankful for her presence to keep your mind from going dark in the midst of the chaos.
“Not exactly,” Steve mumbled quietly as he glanced over his shoulder to the emerging blue light. He wasn’t up for fighting other worldly monsters and really just wanted to be in your room, in bed, cuddling and watching movies.
“Then what, exactly?” Robin countered. She was easily terrified and her confidence was shaken so this situation had her spiraling easily. Usually she could feel some sense of control but she felt helpless down here.
Your feet slipped on the stairs as you ran off the last one while Dustin and Steve attempted to convince Robin that the machine’s success would guarantee world destruction. Steve’s hand instantly caught your hip to keep you from falling as he answered Robin’s questions, unphased by your misstep. Glancing around the room, everything suddenly felt alarming and you took a step back in caution further into his hand.
“Um, Steve?” Erica seemed to pick up on it too as she looked to the boy behind you. “Where’s your Russian friend?” In a true group fashion, everyone’s eyes searched the room for the said missing soldier only to come up empty handed.
You reached over to grab Dustin’s arm just as a bright red light filled the room and an alarm followed. Steve scrambled to the nearest door where you could all see the previously knocked out man was gaining attention from his injury before guards rushed towards you.
“Shit. Shit,” Steve mumbled as he slammed the door shut before turning and pushing you all back up the stairs. “Go, go, go, go, go!!” His fingers grasped at your shirt as he nearly ripped it with the force of his grip.
“Fucking hell, Steve. This is not what I meant by a chill weekend!” You shouted backwards as Dustin guided you through a door. With your luck, it was straight into another room filled with soldiers. You stood frozen for a second before sprinting to the left with a shout.
“Come on!” You held onto Dustin’s arm as he continuously cursed in distress. The stairs in front of you led down to the side of the machine as the room vibrated with energy. Dustin randomly shrieked and pushed the soldier to your left before he continued to run ahead of you.
Stopping just alongside the laser drilling into the wall, Dustin began screaming louder, “Holy shit! Holy shit! Shit! Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!” He shouted one final time, holding the word out for longer as you stared at him incredulously.
“Guards!” Erica yelled, snapping you all out of your staring trance before Steve began to run further down the steps. He didn’t hesitate to shove a man over the railing of the stairs before tossing some empty barrels into more oncoming attackers.
“Steve!” You grabbed the back of his shirt and tugged him with you as you followed Robin’s lead into a hopefully empty room. After a brief headcount, Steve slammed it shut, using his body weight to keep it that way as guards started hitting it from the other side.
Dustin and Erica scrambled behind you to find some other form of exit as Robin pushed herself next to Steve in an attempt to keep the door from opening. Your eyes scanned the room for something, anything that could help. The heavy feeling was creeping in again and you jerked your head around to look at Steve in hopes of reassurance.
“Shit, shit, shit,” You whispered to yourself as you saw the door start to pry open. Without a second thought, you were on Robin’s right side and pushed yourself in between the door and the wall for some sort of resistance.
“Here, come on! Let’s go!” Erica lifted up the grate of an air shaft before climbing in with Dustin hovering behind her. You hesitated at her call, knowing there wouldn’t be enough time for all of you to get over and in before a gunshot went off.
“Go! Just get out of here!” You shouted in return as your feet started to slide beneath you. Your breathing was beginning to pick up and you were quick to try and talk yourself out of the panic attack incoming but it was useless.
Dustin stepped down into the drop of the vent and looked up at the three of you. “Go! Come on, now!”
“No! Just go get some help, okay?” Steve responded. His hands were sweaty with adrenaline and he suddenly doubted his ability as a so-called leader to keep everyone safe. Removing the kids was always the first step in a dangerous situation but knowing you were here and he couldn’t guarantee your safety was enough to send his heart into his throat.
“I won’t forget you!” Dustin screamed before the three of you told him once more to go. The second the air vent cover clanged shut, the door behind your back threw you forward and into the wall on your right sending your head into the concrete wall. A scream almost left your throat at the pain radiating through your skull before you crumbled to the ground next to Robin and Steve.
Guns were suddenly in your face, the sinking feeling of dread now overwhelming as you tried to breathe. Your hands shook as you raised them in the air, mimicking Steve and Robin’s actions as the guards surrounding your small trio.
Sparing a quick glance towards Steve, you tried to convince yourself you would find a way out of this. The uncertainty in his expression didn’t help in the slightest but it only got worse when rough hands latched onto your skin and pulled you from the ground. Your vision blurred with the movement as you tumbled forward.
“No!” You couldn’t tell if you or Steve screamed louder as the guards yanked your arms behind your back to secure your wrists with a belt. “Let me go!” Writhing in their grip, you couldn’t even begin to think of any defense other than biting the hand of whoever was holding your left arm. A sharp sting spread across your face before a gasp escaped your mouth at the sensation. You guys were screwed.
“Don’t touch her! Let her go, she didn’t do anything!” Steve shifted on the floor towards you before a gun pressed harshly against his forehead forcing him back against the wall with a harsh swallow.
The guard holding your arm chuckled at the action, evidently amused. “Weak. Cares what happens to her.” You could understand bits and pieces of his sentence as you silently thanked Dustin for his books on Russian translation. “Take her.”
An ear piercing scream left your throat as they tugged you backwards towards a long hallway. Robin and Steve shouted in panic, both of them too scared to try anything but fearing for your safety. Your cries continued as they pulled you out of view, Steve wincing at the sound like it physically pained him. He never liked when you were upset. He could count the times you’ve cried in front of him on two hands and he swore it hurt him more each time he sat through it and comforted you.
Now, sitting here, with a gun to his head, Steve could only watch as you were ripped from his view with a clear expression on your face that made him sick to his stomach. You were terrified, and there was nothing he could do to help.
--
The room they held you in was freezing. A shiver ran up your spine every so often as you curled up as best as possible. Every so often you could hear a shout from Steve down the hall causing you to wince at the sound. Your shoulders were tense with the awkward position of your hands being behind your back. All you could do was sit there and wait with hopes that Dustin and Erica would come back soon with some help.
The lock on the door clicked as it shoved open to reveal three Russian guards. Your heart clenched at the sight of blood on their knuckles and you prayed it wasn’t Steve’s or Robin’s. Harsh fingers pressed into your jaw, forcing you to look up into the commander’s eyes.
“He cries for you,” He spoke as he leaned down to your face. “Lies to us to protect you. Shame, isn’t it?”
You twisted your face out of his grip as you glared up at him. “Don’t fucking touch him. I swear to God you’ll regret it.” The notion of Steve being hurt enraged you and terrified you at the same time. You were always so used to his strong exterior that the idea of him being in pain made you want to throw up.
The commander laughed at your attempt to suede him before pain suddenly radiated into the side of your already concussed head. Thrown off balance, you fell back against the bench with a harsh groan as you realized the other guard punched you.
“Oh great, you guys aren’t above hitting females, that’s awesome.” You hissed as your vision blurred again and your ears rung. The metal was cool beneath your back but it didn’t bring any comfort. “Fuck that hurts.”
“Who do you work for?”
Cruel fingers dug into your shoulders and forced you to sit up. You groaned at the movement of your head. “I’m a babysitter. I watch kids. Steve and Robin work at the ice cream place, Scoops Ahoy.” Apparently your answer wasn’t good enough as another aggressive punch had you tumbling to the floor. The copper taste in your mouth told you that one broke skin as you attempted to roll onto your back. “Fucking hell you people are so aggressive.”
“How did you get down here?”
Pushing yourself against the wall behind you, the thought of just screaming at them crossed your mind but you had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well. “There was an elevator at the loading dock and you morons turned it on while we were in it,” You explained as you closed your eyes, wishing this would all disappear. “We didn’t mean to, okay? And if you let us go, we’ll act like nothing ever happened and you’ll never see us again.”
The thing about hiding from reality is things caught you off guard. You always relied on Steve to keep you safe when you wanted to relax and shelter yourself from the darkness of life. He was always there too, until suddenly he wasn’t and you didn’t have time to clock the aggressive kick coming towards you. The sound of your shoulder popping out of its socket was sickening but the scream that followed was even louder.
“Holy shit!” You hissed as tears escaped your eyes at the force of the injury. If this was their reaction to honest answers, you feared what would come if they didn’t believe you. Evidently, you were on the path to finding out as two guards pulled you up off the ground and began leading you out of the room.
Digging your heels into the ground, you tried to stop their movements but it was fruitless. The pressure in your shoulder was suffocating and your head rattled with each aggressive movement. “Let me go!” You begged repeatedly, trying to kick out or twist from their grip. Another door was open and in a blur, you were tossed to the floor again with a loud groan. “Ow, oh my God.”
“Y/N!” The concern in Steve’s voice couldn’t be missed as you attempt to keep yourself from passing out. The ceiling blurred above you as you tried to blink it back into focus. “Holy shit, are you okay?”
A loud groan replaced your words as you pushed yourself onto your knees as best as possible. The light burned as you flopped onto your ass before finally looking up at him. The blood on his face was bright against his usually clear skin and you could see bruising already forming on his cheek. Other than that, he didn’t look too torn up as he sat on the metal bench in front of you.
“Stevie…”
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” He attempted to reassure you but it failed as you recognized a flitter of pain in his eyes. “It’ll be fine, it’s worse than it looks. Wh-What did they do to you?”
You let out a bitter laugh as you forced yourself to stand on shaky legs before sitting next to him. He didn’t hesitate to turn towards you and pull his feet up on the bench like you so both of you were sitting across from each other. The bare skin of his shin and calf muscle rested against yours, a small sense of comfort from the horrendous situation.
“Your cheek is bruised,” He states abruptly as you continued to look at him. He was nervous, you could tell, but he wasn’t as tense as before you were thrown into the room. The exhaustion was clear on his face and you felt the same, you were just glad to be near him again.
“Concussion and my shoulder’s gonna need to be popped back into the socket, no biggie.”
His eyes widened in shock before returning to their comforting gaze as he moved closer to you. The fear in his throat was suffocating and he hated knowing you had to see him like this, that you were even going through any of it. “We’re gonna get out of here.”
You laughed, letting your head rest against the wall behind you. “I wanna believe you, Stevie, but this one’s a bit harder than usual.” You were trying not to let the overwhelming sense of dread and hopelessness consume you but it was hard. Tears burned your eyes as you took a deep breath to calm yourself down. “I just wanted to watch Breakfast Club with you and eat chicken wings and sleep.”
“I know, I know, bubs. And we will, as soon as we find Robin and get out of here. I promise. Gonna make you the best damn popcorn you’ve ever had, m’kay?” You nodded to his soft statement even though you wanted to make a comment about making promises you couldn’t keep.
Your peaceful silence was destroyed when the guards reentered the room. Steve’s body tensed next to you, both of you sitting up straighter. You wished they would just get whatever they wanted over with and leave you alone. At least then you and Steve could come up with some sort of plan in hopes of getting out.
“I ask you one more time, who do you work for?” The commander was done playing around evidently and without giving Steve time to answer, a silver gleaming knife was being pressed against your arm.
“Whoa whoa whoa!”
“Scoops Ahoy!” Steve screamed the answer at the same time as you yelled in shock. “I’m not lying, it’s in Starcourt Mall!”
A harsh punch landed on his stomach as the blade began to cut through your skin. Gritting your teeth in pain, you refused to let out any noise of discomfort. Steve was already blaming himself, you didn’t doubt that, but you wouldn’t let him feel any worse.
“How did you get in?”
Steve gasped for air to answer the question, “I already told you. I told you before. My delivery didn’t come, and my friends and I, we thought that it was left at the loading dock. We went in the room and then it turned into an elevator and then… and then we dropped and next thing I know I open my eyes and we’re in this… wonderful facility.”
The knife dragged through your skin slowly as you twitched in reaction, letting out a small groan that had Steve turning towards you so fast you swore he got whiplash. “No, no, no leave her alone! I’m telling the truth, I swear to God! Nobody knows about us, nobody saw us. You can just let us go alright, and-and we’re not gonna tell anybody about this, okay? Shit happens, life goes on-”
He continued to ramble long enough before you kicked the Russian in front of you in the stomach so the knife clanged to the floor. Blood pooled on your skin before you looked away from the wound with a wince. “Fucking hell! We’re telling the truth! Just let us go!”
The soldiers laughed at your desperation for freedom as you and Steve shared a glance of confusion. There was no chance to figure it out before a guard hit Steve across the face, sending him unconscious as you yelled in protest before darkness spread across your vision and you let the welcoming sleep win.
--
“Y/N. Y/N, Steve, wake up!”
Robin’s voice echoed in your ears as you let your head fall back with a groan. Someone else was behind you as your skull connected with theirs lightly.
“Y/N! Hi, hi. Are you okay?” Robin’s voice was clear now as you winced away from the light.
“Robs, shhh. Holy shit, I have a bad concussion,” You mumbled as you took a deep breath, ears ringing with her yelling. “Where’s Stevie?”
You tried to feel everything out: the ache in your shoulder and new cut on your arm, you were stuck with your wrists, chest, and thighs restrained against the chair behind you. Headache building each second, you turned to see Robin to your right and Steve to your left, the three of you in a triangle tied together.
“Steve?” You whispered as you tried to nudge him awake. Him being unconscious was the last thing you needed right now, the heavy pit in your stomach finally bursting when he didn’t answer. “Steve, c’mon wake up.”
“He’s been out since they threw you both in here. They haven’t been back since. Said something about bringing a doctor,” Robin explained softly, understanding the light and sounds bothered you without you having to say it.
You almost whined at her words, scared that maybe Steve wasn’t waking back up from the attack they landed on him. “Stevie, wake up. Wake up! You promised me we would get out of here. Wake up. You can’t leave me!” Vision tunneling and chest suddenly feeling like it couldn’t move, you feared the worst. A wave of dizziness washed over you as you tried to breathe through the tension in your throat that threatened to suffocate you. You shook your head to yourself. “No, no, no. C’mon. Not now.”
“Y/N, are you having a panic attack?” Robin asked the obvious question as she tried to look at you. “Whoa, hey, you gotta breathe okay? He’s gonna be fine.”
“Robin, I can’t,” You sobbed as you choked for air in your lungs, feet kicking the ground harshly as you tried to wiggle out. “I can’t lose him. He’s all I have, okay? I can’t, I won’t-”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” She tried to reassure you but without being able to move, she had to rely on her words to do the best she could. “He’s probably just unconscious and worn out. He’ll be fine. If they wanted to kill him, they would’ve already.”
You knew she was doing her best but it wasn’t helpful enough to calm the racing in your heart. There was a point to her statement; if they wanted to get rid of you guys, they would’ve. Regardless, neither you or Steve did well seeing the other in pain.
“Hey, would you stop yelling?”
“Steve! Oh, my God!” Robin’s voice was full of worry as she leaned directly back against his left shoulder to try and see him better. “Are-Are you okay?”
He took a choppy deep breath, “My ears are ringing and I can’t really breathe, and my eye feels like it’s about to pop out of my skull, but you know, apart from that I’m doing pretty good.”
“Good, good, yeah, because Y/N over here is having a panic attack thinking you weren’t gonna wake up.”
“Robin!” You whined in embarrassment at her comment, letting your head drop to your chest. Small drops of blood smeared up and down from the deep slice on your left arm. You wanted nothing more than to just go home with the kids, shower, and cuddle up for movie night. A slight sense of relief came back when you heard Steve speak.
“Bubs,” Steve’s voice cracked as he tried to get your attention, eyes moving to look at you as best as possible. “You okay?”
Tears slipped down your cheeks at his voice and you were grateful he couldn’t see you fully. “Mhmm fine. Good.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Well sorry I’m not feeling very positive,” You mumbled back. Your injuries were starting to get the best of you and the tired feeling was hard to hold back. “Just wanna go to sleep.”
Steve’s leg kicked yours as gently as possible, his hip at an odd angle to reach you. “Nonono, hey, you have a concussion. Stay awake. You better stay awake.” You softly groaned at his word, letting your head rest gently on his shoulder even though it pulled your muscles uncomfortably.
“I can’t believe I’m gonna die in a secret Russian base with Steve “The Hair” Harrington and Y/N Y/L/N-Harrington.”
A beat of silence followed her statement before you spoke up. “Did you just hyphenate my last name with his?”
“Mhmm,” She hummed in agreement. “Because you two are rarely separated and you love each other so deal with it. It’s just too trippy, man.”
“We’re not gonna die,” Steve responded to the first part of her initial statement, ignoring the little nudge at your relationship. “We’re gonna get out of here, okay? You gotta let me just think for a second.”
Robin ignored his request for silence and kept mumbling, “Do you remember, um, Mrs. Click’s sophomore history class? Mrs. Clickity-Clackity. That’s what us band dweebs called her.”
“God, that woman hated me,” You added. Your headache was getting stronger by the minute and you prayed Steve had some kind of pain relief in his car.
“It was the first period, Tuesdays and Thursdays and Steve was always late. Always had the same breakfast: bacon, egg, and cheese on a sesame bagel. I sat behind you two days a week for a year. Mister Funny. Mister Cool. The King of Hawkins High himself. Do you even remember me from that class?” Steve’s silence was enough of an answer for Robin before she scoffed. “Of course you don’t. You were a real asshole, you know that?”
Steve let out a small sigh before agreeing, “Yeah, I know.”
“But it didn’t even matter. It didn’t matter that you were an ass. I was still… obsessed with you. Even though all of us losers pretend to be above it all, we still just wanna be popular, accepted.”
“If it makes you feel any better, having those things isn’t all that great,” Steve admitted as he let his head drop to rest against yours gently. “Seriously. It just baffles me. Everything that people tell you is important, everything people say you should care about, it’s all just… bullshit. But I guess you gotta mess up to figure things out, right?”
“I hope so. I feel like my whole life has been… one big error.” Robin’s response pulled a chuckle from you and Steve both. Somehow in the midst of the worst moments, Robin always brought that feeling out in you. “At least it can’t get any more messed up than this.”
You let out a small noise of protest. “Don’t jinx us, please.”
“I wish I’d known you in Click’s class,” Steve continued their hushed conversation. “Really, I do. Maybe you could’ve helped me pass the class. Y/N can only help me so much before it’s impossible.”
“Hey!” You grumbled, “Listen Harrington, sometimes the student is unteachable for the teacher, okay?”
He laughed at your defense, twisting just enough to press a kiss to your temple. “I’m kidding, bubs. You did great. You always do.”
The buzzer of the door ruined the moment as the commander and his guards entered the room again. This time though, a bald man in a white shirt with dark pants came with them and you could only guess this was the doctor Robin was referring to.
The commander leaned down in front of Steve. “Try telling the truth this time, yes? It will make your visit with Dr. Zharkov less painful.” His grimy hand ran down Steve’s neck in faux comfort as your best friend tried to lean away, wincing as the Russian’s thumb dug too hard into his bruises.
Your eyes followed the so-called “doctor” who held a large needle full of blue liquid. “Wait, whoa, what is that?” Your question was left unanswered for a moment as he continued to approach Steve. “Stop stop, leave him alone!”
“It will help you talk.”
“No, no, no!” Steve protested as the doctor pushed his head towards you before injecting the needle into his neck without a second of hesitation.
You turned your head as best as possible as he groaned next to you. “Steve, Stevie. Are you okay?” For all you knew, it could’ve been poison and he was gonna drop dead any second.
Shifting his jaw back and forth, he nodded to you. “Yeah, fine. For now.”
Your attention was drawn back to the doctor who grabbed another needle from his tray, turning to you. “Oh, fucking hell.” You tried to kick at his legs to keep him away before someone’s fingers dug into the raw skin on your arm. A scream left your lips, feet dropping back to the floor as fresh blood poured from the wound the same second the needle entered your neck.
“Let go! Get your hands off her!” Steve shouted from next to you as the doctor moved on to Robin before they left the three of you alone in the room again.
“Holy shit,” You gasped in shock as you watched the drops of blood fall down your arm. Thankfully none of you had stopped breathing yet, so maybe whatever they gave you wouldn’t be so bad.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Robin asked since she couldn’t see what you and Steve could.
“Asshole stuck his finger in my arm.” A sharp hiss left your teeth. This day definitely was not turning out the way you thought it would.
A few moments of silence passed between your trio. Nobody knew what to say. Emotions were tense and it had been over 24 hours since you had seen the normal sky and fresh air. You were exhausted, head leaning against Steve’s. You craved the peace and quiet of your room, his soft snores filling the air. Despite the coolness of your room, Steve’s skin was always warm and no matter how much you whined about being hot, he refused to not be holding you while you slept.
“Honestly, I don’t really feel anything. Do you?” Steve broke the quiet with a light attempt at humor.
“No,” You whispered quietly, voice threatening to give out from all the screaming.
“I mean, I… I feel fine,” Robin added, “I feel kinda good.”
Light laughter followed her statement from you and Steve. She wasn’t wrong, you kinda felt like you were floating on clouds. The pain faded slightly and everything just felt easy.
“Morons,” You snorted in laughter, “They messed up the drug.”
“They messed it up,” Robin couldn’t stop her giggles.
“Morons,” Steve called out, “Hey, morons!”
“Oh man,” You sighed with a smile once the laughter died down. “There’s definitely something wrong with us.”
The door buzzer sent a ringing through your ears as you complained loudly in annoyance. You could see the familiar guards and even the doctor had come to greet you again. The clinging of his metal tools as he unpacked his bag caught your attention easily. The twinge of terror in your chest didn’t last very long, blown away by whatever they injected into your body.
“Would now be a good time to tell you that I don’t like doctors?”
Robin’s joke was left without reaction this time as you stared at the shining tools. Now even more defenseless, you wondered if Dustin and Erica were somewhere safe. Maybe it was a good thing they never returned to help. At least you knew they wouldn’t have to see whatever happened next.
“Let’s try this again. Who do you work for?”
“Scoops,” Steve answered bluntly causing you and Robin to giggle, “Scoops Ahoy.”
“How did you find us?”
“Totally by accident,” You answered this time, not hesitating to give them a response. It was like your brain just wanted to talk and it wanted to say anything and everything that came to it.
Some Russian was spoken, something you weren’t sure of. The doctor picked up a pair of pliers from his tool set and stepped towards your best friend. “What is that shiny little toy?” The target of the command was oblivious to the danger heading his way.
“Stevie, maybe he’s gonna cut your hair,” You cackled at the idea of Steve losing his biggest trait. “Ha, you’re gonna be bald.”
Robin practically screamed with laughter seconds before Steve was screaming in terror as the doctor put the pliers beneath one of his nails. “Whoa, whoa, hey, hey. Wait! No! Wait! Wait!”
“There was a code!” Robin blurted, “We heard a code!
The commander seemed somewhat pleased with the information. “What code?” He pushed further.
“The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west. Blah, blah, blah. You broadcast that stupid spy shit all over town, and we picked it up on our Cerebro, and we cracked it in a day. A day!” Robin was particularly gleeful as she explained how you ended up here. “You think you’re so smart, but a couple of kids who scoop ice cream and watch kids for a living cracked your code in a day, and now, people know you’re here.”
“Who knows we are here, suka?”
“Uh, well, Dustin knows.”
In a flip of panic you turned towards him. “Hey, Steve.”
“Yeah, Dustin Henderson, he knows.”
“Stevie!” You yelled this time, hoping the force in your voice would make him shut up. No way, no way, was he going to sit here and rat out the little boy you considered your brother.
You hated the way Dustin’s name rolled off the commander’s mouth. “Is this your small, curly-haired friend?”
“Ah, curly-haired. Gread hair. Small. Kind of like a ‘fro. Yeah.”
“Where is he?”
Steve couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “He’s long gone, you big asshole. He’s probably calling Hopper and Hopper’s calling the US calvary. They’re gonna come in here, commando-style, guns a-blazin and kick your sorry asses back to Russia. You’re gonna be two pieces of toast.”
Laughter burst through your lips as your head fell forward. The ups and downs of your emotions were making you dizzy but this was so fun and dangerous and sickening.
“Is that so?” The commander bent down in front of Steve’s face to mock him. You all burst into another fit of giggles that only escalated when an alarm began blaring through the base. The commander and his two guards rushed from the room to diagnose the issue.
The door slammed open as you recognized Dustin’s high pitched yell before there was a zapping noise. The doctor’s figure crumbled to the ground from whatever the younger boy did before his curly hair was popping up in your peripheral vision.
“Hey, Henderson!” Steve was giddy at the boy’s presence in front of him. “That’s crazy, I was just talking about you.”
“Get ready to run!” Dustin’s command wasn’t left up for discussion as he yanked the belts holding the three of you together off. Erica quickly moved to untie Robin individually before Dustin’s hands were suddenly on your knees. “Y/N, holy shit. Are you okay?”
“Dusty!” Your voice was way too excited in his opinion as he tried to pull his eyes from the dried blood on your skin. His hands moved fast to free your ankles and wrists before he tucked an arm under your shoulder and helped you up. Unlucky for you, it was the one the Russians popped out of socket causing you to yelp and jump away from him. “Ow, that hurt!” Your pain was disguised in a fit of laughter as Dustin stared at you in concern.
“We gotta go. Come on.” Grabbing your wrist gently, he pulled you out of the monotone room that had consumed your thoughts for the past few hours. Handling you carefully, he helped you climb into the back of whatever transport they had found, Steve and Robin clambering in after. The door slammed shut, the ringing in your ears making you press your hands harshly against your head. Curling into yourself, you laughed as the cart began to move making you roll around like a ball.
“Jesus, slow down,” Steve’s words were slurring together as he tumbled into your side. His hands were as careful as possible as he tried to get off of you.
“Yeah, what is this, the Indy 500?”
“It’s the Indy 300,” Steve attempted to correct Robin’s statement but failed.
“No, dingus, it’s 500!”
“300!”
They two kept going before bursting into laughter again. Your senses were suddenly overwhelmed, the medicine they gave you blurring together as you dropped into a fit of panic. Head aching, chest tight, you clenched your fingers around your arms tightly as you tried to protect yourself as much as possible. Erica let out a shout before you were slammed against the metal walls of the cart, a cry leaving your lips as you hit your already bruised head. Dustin asked if you were alright but you were too busy trying to choke in air to answer.
More yelling followed before hands were pulling on you, yanking you from your comforting position. Whining as you moved, you let Steve and Dustin practically carry you along slowly into the elevator you came here in.
The chaotic elevator ride went in a blur, Steve and Robin giggling a little too loud for your enjoyment. Dustin was trying to check your best friend’s stability before his finger was poking into his neck where they had injected the drugs earlier. The ride back up to ground level didn't take too long and eventually, Dustin held your hand tightly as he led you from the elevator back out into the fresh air of the night. You thought you were in the clear and could finally go home, take a shower, and go to sleep. That idea slipped away quickly as Dustin started yelling and pulled you back through the side doors of the mall while Erica attempted to corral Steve and Robin. You caught a quick glimpse of the two Russians undercover that were running towards you.
“Whoa!” Steve shouted excitedly as your group turned a corner sharply in the back halls of the mall.
“Where are we going?” Erica asked Dustin, who didn’t give her a clear answer. Soon enough, he was pulling you through the door that led to the movie theater hallway and into an ongoing showing of Back to the Future.
Your feet couldn’t keep up as he ran towards the bottom row, demanding you, Steve, and Robin take a seat. Steve broke out into complaints about the shitty view while shoving someone’s discarded popcorn into his mouth.
“Whatever you do, don’t go anywhere,” The younger boy directed.
“Fine, Dad,” Steve scoffed, earning giggles from Robin. You watched Dustin and Erica shift down the aisle to two other open seats. Steve slumped down aggressively, throwing more popcorn than he could chew into his mouth, mumbling that he had no idea what was happening.
Three minutes went by of your trio staring dumbly at the movie screen before Robin spoke up, “Guys. I’m bored.”
“Me too,” Steve blurted a little too excitedly. You looked over at both of them to see their expectant eyes staring right at you. Dustin’s words be damned, you were bored and hungrier than shit.
Moving quickly to the left, you snuck back out the same hall you had walked through. Food forgotten, the water fountains you found looked much more appetizing as you crumbled against it and chugged down water like you’d never seen it before.
Plopping on the floor, you let Robin take over the water fountain you previously occupied. Steve started conversing with her again but their words faded to whispers as you stared forward. Whatever they gave you down in the lab was causing panic after panic. Slumping forward, you wrapped your arms tightly around your legs as you tried to slow your breathing. You thought once you left that elevator you’d be free, but realizing that the guards lurked around every corner was enough to freak you out, especially when you figured out how vulnerable your group was.
“Steve!”
Your cry had his attention instantly, laughter disappearing immediately as he turned to you. He felt bad, but whatever the guards gave him made him want to giggle again. He clumsily clattered to the floor next to you. “Y/N, hey, hey. What’s wrong?” Hands were on your arms, your bare skin touching his. “Okay, okay. That’s okay, just breathe for me.” He was trying to walk himself through the normal steps. Helping you through a panic attack wasn’t abnormal to him, and he was always willing to keep you from suffering alone.
“I-I don’t know, it’s too much,” You admitted as you crawled into his lap, letting him hold you like a child. Tingling ran through your limbs, numb to the point where you could barely feel the warmth of Steve’s hold on you. “I can’t, it hurts, everywhere. We can’t get out of here, a-and and you, you weren’t waking up and-”
“Y/N, hey. Eyes on me, babe. I’ve got you.” His fingers were soft as they moved your chin to look up at him. He had never seen your body so tense, so rigid. He knew ever since the demogorgon attack that the nightmares were getting worse but you always, always insisted that you were fine.
You cried into his bloody uniform, hands refusing to let go of his wrists. “I was so scared, I didn't think you were gonna come back to me and I’m sorry! I’m sorry I never told you but I didn’t want anything to happen if I did and I’m just so so scared of losing you, Stevie. Can’t even imagine a world without you and I thought you left me alone and… and…”
So, here you were, a bloody mess in Starcourt Mall when the secret broke free that you had hidden from Steve Harrington for so long. Your biggest and greatest fear had always been so close under his nose and he had no idea. Maybe it was obliviousness or just denial but he had never realized how important he was to you.
You were scared, terrified, of losing him to the point where you didn’t want to risk speaking it into existence. Now, it all made sense though. The moments of hesitation when a plan involved him in the front lines, the over worry when he got into a fight, or the simple things like making him dinner and staying in his usually empty house so he didn’t feel alone.
You couldn’t live in a world where Steve Harrington wasn’t yours.
He felt stupid that he didn’t see it sooner, but you were so good at hiding things when you wanted to. He had slowly been figuring your patterns out but this one was just right out of his reach.
“Shh, it’s okay. C’mere.” His arms held you close, chin resting on your head, tucking you into his neck as he tried to bring you any sense of comfort, to let you know he was here and he was okay. You curled closer into his body, trying not to disturb the wounds on his face. “M’not gonna go anywhere, bubs. Promise. Could never leave you.”
Robin couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized at the way the two of you fit together like missing puzzle pieces. She admired it, yet despised it because she never would get to experience it. You were like soulmates, destined to be entwined infinitely in the universe. She begged, hoped, dreamed that someone would show up and love her for her the way Steve loved you. There was a lot of room for her to grow, to open up to the two of you about who she really was and she would, soon.
“Hey,” She cursed herself as she interrupted your small moment, her eyes drifting upwards as she let her head fall back. “Is the ceiling spinning for you guys too?”
You sniffled as you pulled your head away from Steve’s neck to look up at the indeed bright, moving lights. It was gorgeous, a blend of soft yet bright and elegant color.
Your stomach shifted uncomfortably before all three of you were scrambling to the nearest bathroom to rid your bodies of the toxins that had been plaguing you. You tried not to be too grossed out on the bathroom floor and the cold porcelain toilet you were resting your head on. Letting out a small groan, you tucked yourself against the corner of the stall between the wall and the toilet, letting yourself slump in exhaustion.
“The ceiling stopped spinning for me,” Robin said as she broke the silence. You could see the backs of her thighs as she let her legs rest upwards against the stall. “Is it still spinning for you?” Taking a second, you looked up and shook your head no, forgetting that she couldn’t see you.
“Holy shit. No. You think we puked it all up?” Steve asked from the stall next to you. You could barely see his blue shoes and knee high socks against the multicolored floor.
“Maybe, ask me something,” Robin suggested before changing to a Russian accent, “Interrogate me.”
Steve let out a small chuckle, “Okay, interrogate you. Sure. Um, when was the last time you peed your pants?”
“Today,” Robin answered without hesitation, “When the Russian doctor took out the bone saw.”
A short laugh left your mouth as Steve mumbled something about the drug still being in Robin’s system. You felt fine now - not back to normal but you didn’t feel as floaty and instead, your body was riddled with pain and exhaustion but you were just glad to be out.
“Alright, my turn. Have you… ever been in love?”
“Yep. Nancy Wheeler, first semester, senior year,” He made a noise with his mouth to imitate a gunshot to his heart.
Despite Steve being devastated over the situation, you were so grateful Nancy snapped him out of his King Steve persona that became so overwhelming. You had been watching your best friend disappear piece by piece, his new friends becoming your enemies with their snide rude comments that Steve didn’t really attempt to stop. So, despite Nancy Wheeler breaking Steve’s heart, you got him back and you were more than grateful for it.
“Y/N, did you just OD in there?”
By the time you realized you were missing the conversation, Steve’s body was sliding under the metal door into your stall and shaking you back to reality. You gave him a small smile, chin resting on your crossed arms as you tucked your knees into your chest. Neither of you talked about what had happened not too long ago and you were suddenly ashamed of your reaction.
“That floor’s disgusting,” You muttered as he settled closer to you. His hands were gentle as they grabbed your ankles and released your legs from their cramped position to rest over his lap, fingertips ghosting lightly over your shins. He needed to hold you, to comfort you the best way he knew how.
“Yeah, well, I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so…” He waved his hand lazily towards his destroyed uniform. “Do you wanna talk about it? Robin went to get some more water for us.”
You shrugged lightly, leg twitching as you threatened to curl back into a ball. You felt exposed, more exposed than you ever did to him and usually you didn’t mind it but it just felt weird. Steve noticed, just like he always did, and shifted to sit facing you with his legs slotted beneath yours, his feet resting on the sides of your hips. Tugging you forward gently until your thighs rested on top of his and his hands sat on your waist, Steve Harrington finally looked at you the way he had wanted to for so long.
“I love you.”
Your response was automatic, “I love you, too.”
Steve smiled but shook his head slightly as he messed with you. “Nah, c’mon, babes. You know that’s not what I mean.”
You gave him a half smile, your skin bubbling with excitement. “Stevie, I think we both know exactly what we mean.” You could feel the dynamic shift, both of you could. It was obvious enough but it didn’t feel heavy or overbearing - it just felt right.
“Oh, do we now?” The smirk on his face was smug but it disappeared into the tiniest smile when you rolled your eyes at him and finally leaned forward to close the distance, your lips settling perfectly onto his. Steve Harrington was in heaven, and he was in love. He didn’t know why it had taken this long for either of you to react and make the emotions between you known after so long but he was so glad.
His hands slipped to your lower back to pull you closer into his lap as your fingers sorted through his slightly matted hair. Taking a second to breathe, you leaned back with one hand still lingering around his neck, the other gently brushing the bruises on his face. He was just so real, so close, and somehow still always yours.
The bathroom door slamming open had you shifting your gaze to see Dustin, Erica, and Robin crowding the doorway, the biggest smile on the latter's face as she held water bottles in her hands. Steve moved slightly to see them, his hand never leaving your waist as he turned to see your friends had returned. “Oh, hey guys.”
“Okay. What the hell!”
--
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#steve harrington x reader#stranger things imagine#steve harrington#stranger things x reader#joe keery x reader#joe keery imagine#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington smut#stranger things 3#steve harrington x henderson!reader#joe keery#joe keery one shot#stranger things reader insert#stranger things
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can i request a Imagine how was the villain league invasion with gojo! reader in this episode
My Hero Academia with a Gojo! Reader during the LOV’s USJ invasion
A/N: thank you for this request!! I’ve had many thoughts about it but had no idea how to word them lmaoo, hope this does the scene justice. Also sooo sorry I took so long for a part two
GN! Reader
Genre: Fluff, angst if you squint, hurt/comfort (i guess??)
based off of this
You all entered the bus after Aiwaza sensei said that you’ll have training somewhere, you sat beside Midoriya.
When they were talking about quirks and Asui mentioned that Midoriya’s quirk was similar to All Might’s, you used your six eyes to analyse Izuku. ‘Hmm, she’s not wrong… ‘ you thought
Kirishima was talking about how flashy quirk havers were lucky because they were what makes heroes more famous.
“If you want someone strong and flashy, then it’s definitely Todoroki, Bakugo and Gojo!” Kirishima said, the half and half haired one was asleep while the blonde grumbled at the comment. “Bakugo is explosive. I feel like he won’t be popular” Asui replied, “say that again, you jerk! I’ll have fans!” Bakugo answered angrily. They continued to taunt the blonde while you watched, amused at the scene.
“I feel like Gojo-san will be one of the popular pro heroes! Their quirk is strong and flashy and they’re also attractive!” Kaminari pointed out, “ehehe, you think so?” you replied. “Yeah! Aside from your dad being one of the most famous pro heroes of all time, you’re definitely strong enough to reach top charts!” Ashido added. “You all flatter me,” you replied, smiling at them.
When you reached the venue, you were welcomed by pro hero Thirteen who also introduced you all to the USJ training ground and also explained her quirk to you all.
As introductions went on, you began to notice something off. Immediately exchanging your black out glasses for blindfolds.
You were now on high alert, you started scanning the area with six eyes, looking for anything that seemed out of the ordinary, that's when you noticed energy building up in the centre of the arena.
“Aizawa sensei…” you said, voice void of the usual cheerfulness, alerting the teacher and immediately sensing something wrong. When you all looked towards the centre, a portal appeared and out came villains, shocking your classmates and the pro heroes.
Aizawa got into a fighting stance, mirroring him as you got ready to engage. You know full well that if these villains were able to bypass the U.A's strict security system, they were somewhat of a real deal.
“Y/N, you have experience?” Aizawa asked, you gave him a nod. “Yeah, dad likes immersive and visual teaching so he’d bring me to missions. I can handle, don’t worry, sensei.” you answered, Getting ready to attack and act as support for your teacher.
You both ran down the stairs and into the frey, you had your infinity on, therefore making any counter attack done by the villains useless.
You looked up at your classmates and saw them getting sucked into the portal. ‘Shit!’ you thought, unable to leave the fray right now due to being ambushed left and right.
You fought back to back with Aizawa, dealing with the villains that his scarf couldn’t deal with. You were only doing hand to hand combat, as sending in one of your coloured moves might be fatal to some of the weaker ones. You saw Aizawa rush towards the one with hands around, shocking yourself when his elbow suddenly got injured. You rushed to his aid, removing him from the villain’s grasp. However, what you didn’t expect was a creature to sweep in and bash your teacher’s head on the ground.
“Aizawa sensei!” you shout in concern, immediately trying to remove the creature from him, however, your efforts lead nowhere as the creature was stronger than you physically as it continued to bash the erasure heroes head on the concrete and sent you flying towards a farther place. You weren’t able to activate your infinity in time, so your head got hit and you felt blood oozing out.
Lucky for you, you can heal yourself, since that was one of the first skills your father taught you, so you healed yourself and went back into the fight, more determined than ever.
You notice the hand villain rush towards Midoriya, Tyusu and Mineta, and as far as you know, a single touch from that villain means destruction.
You ran towards them, luckily, Aizawa cancelled the villain’s quirks, saving Tsuyu. You gave the villain a black flash punch and sent him flying. You looked towards your teacher, seeing the creature bash his head once again. Midoriya tried punching it, but nothing happened.
“Fuck this, Reversal: Red!” you exclaimed, aiming at the creature’s head, sending it slamming into a wall. Shocking your classmates.
You ran towards your teacher to assess the damage done. He was in bad shape, You saw the creature was back and Midoriya was fighting it. Then, the gym’s doors burst open, revealing the No.1 Hero, an angry look on his face.
Everyone rejoiced as All Might made quick work of the smaller scale villains. The creature then faced All Might, Midoriya gave All Might information on the creature, to which the hero responded with a reassuring smile and phrase. “Midoriya, Tsuyu, Mineta. Hold onto me.” You said, grabbing onto Aizawa and teleporting you all out of the way.
The fight continued, with your group watching from the sidelines. As much as you’d like to help out, you don’t want to get in All Might's way. You were shocked when Midoriya ran into the fight, only to be stopped by Bakugo who appeared out of nowhere along with Kirishima and Todoroki.
You plastered a smirk, handing Aizawa to Tsuyu and rushing into the fight yourself. The hand villain went through a whole speech about kids these days, then ordered for the creature called a “Nomu” to finish off Bakugou. All Might looked at you for a brief second and you got the message. “Not on my watch!” you shout, teleporting to Bakugou and away with him, shocking the boy.
The villain made another speech to which All Might asked you all to escape.
A battle between All Might and the Nomu ensued as you students watched on.
He sent the Nomu out through the roof with one strong punch, ending the fight.
The other two villains then proceeded to attack All Might, when you and Midoriya ran towards them, you created a barrier and extended your infinity towards your classmate and All Might, giving them some sort of protection.
Then, a bullet got shot towards the villain, making him fall.
The fog villain and the hand villain retreated, but not without the promise of coming back for revenge.
The other pro hero teachers came as back up, to which you were thankful for.
When you reached outside, you found police officers detaining the small fry villains,
The head police informed you all of Aizawa and Thirteen’s conditions, which were luckily stable. They also informed you of Midoriya’s condition.
“You were awesome there, Gojo!” Uraraka complimented, your other classmates surrounding you. “Yeah! That attack you did that sent the Nomu away was so strong!” Mineta exclaimed. As praises filled your ears, your mind was in a different place. “Thanks! I learnt from the best!” You replied.
Although deep inside you knew you weren’t strong enough, you had lots of opportunities to join the fight, to help All Might and not make him shoulder all the burden, but you stayed still and just watched as he was getting beaten up.
You were scared to act, scared to get in the way, and scared that although Gojo Satoru, one of the world’s strongest heroes is your dad, you aren’t strong enough to handle your own battles.
No amount of prior training or watching your dad handle missions would have gotten you ready for what just happened, and in all honesty, in your opinion, Midoriya was more of a hero than you were.
When you got home, your dad heard about the news, and you told him everything, including your doubts.
“Hey kikufuku… the first time isn’t always easy. You’re at a hero school TO learn about being a hero. Not just because you have a powerful quirk means that you’re already a powerful hero. You have much to learn, and that’s where experience comes in. I wasn’t always this strong, my strength comes from experience and training.” Satoru comforts you.
“Stop being hard on yourself, you contributed to the fight and saved your teachers and classmates, and that’s what matters. You have plenty of other opportunities, so grab them and learn from them, okay?” he added, bringing you into a hug.
At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what background you’re from, because from then on, all of you are standing on the same stage, and are all training to become the next generation of heroes.
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#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#my hero academia headcanons#Gojo!Reader#mha x reader#jjk x mha#jujutsu kaisen#my hero academia#Boku no hero academia#class 1a#Gojo satoru child#Dad!Gojo#jjk quirk au
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Hey Aby ! I have a question (actually, two) for you regarding bizzare dolls that came into my mind just recently, maybe you’ve answered this question before so i apologize in advance.
Firstly, why do you think the Star Lords exist in the first place ? Like, sure, they “take care” of the blood collecting centers, but what else ? Do you think they have any purpose other than this ? Are they part of something greater ? Because as of now it seems to me they’re actually a waste of energies for Undertaker (like, you know, having to harvest blood for all of them, making sure they’re healthy and don’t lose control…)
Second and last question, why the different blood types ? I’ll explain this better, if Undertaker’s main goal is to keep R!Ciel ‘alive’ why not collecting just Sirius blood and calling it a day ?
I take this opportunity to thank you for being the literal pillar and backbone of our fandom 🫶🏻 who knows what we would be without you ! Lots of love !
⚠️ long post ⚠️
Ok, so I've sort of answered these questions before, but I'll try to be more specific and in depth about it here.
Why the Star Lords to begin with?
There are several parts to this answer, and I'll go into some more details about each one:
The star lords exist because Undertaker wants to bring back real Ciel
Even this part of the answer requires looking at a few different aspects. Real Ciel is one of the star lords, so wanting to bring him back automatically explains why he's one of them. Bringing in other individuals can serve some purposes. Such as:
So real Ciel isn't the only one; he's not alone. It gives him the added bonus of having (loyal) allies to go up against our earl and his allies (particularly Baldo, Mey-Rin, and Finny). These star lords can fight very well (though that might not be the case for real Ciel, since he's apparently only getting AB blood transfusions. More on that later. And he might naturally not be as physically inclined or well-trained). We pretty much have to assume, by now, that Polaris is the one who kills Agni. Real Ciel shooting at Soma (who mistook the shooter for our earl) and Polaris (mistaken for Sebastian, probably) killing Agni turned Soma into an enemy. Much of the star lords' existence seems to be about getting rid of our earl's support system.
The others might end up serving real Ciel in some other way, too, such as collecting blood supplies from the other facilities; we know Vega (Layla/Al) and Polaris are sent off by Undertaker to do that. At some point, real Ciel wants one of them to act as his butler, and later Polaris seems to be filling that role, even though he was away and unable to serve as one earlier. Either way, Polaris identifies as a butler "even in death".
So there's a representative for each major blood type (more on that in part two). That's about religion (or occultism), symbolism, and balance. It's also about scientific research.
The star lords exist because Undertaker wants to make a point to our earl about the choices he makes (which I find very ironic).
Choosing Doll (to represent Canopus) might have something to do with wanting to make our earl feel guilty for her death... if he ever sees her or finds out about her return. We won't know what/how he finds out until we get back to him and he's receiving reports. We aren't quite sure yet who Polaris is, but I suspect he's a former Phantomhive butler, and that could make our earl feel bad about his death, too, even though there was no way for him to prevent it. (Mostly, someone like a former Phantomhive butler for Polaris would be for the fierce loyalty that could be achieved with his "episodes".)
The star lords exist because Yana-san needs to provide more adversity.
Undertaker might also see Doll as someone who could take Snake away from our earl, because of their history. And even if Undertaker doesn't have that in mind, Yana-san sure does; it makes sense from a writer's perspective to have each of our earl's helpers deal with something that exposes their emotions and/or weaknesses. With Doll, Snake feels a sense of belonging, while Finny feels guilt. Layla/Al is good to go up against Lau and Baldo because they likely wouldn't suspect a little girl (by all appearances) to be much of a threat. Polaris is so strong, fast, and flexible that Mey-Rin and Ran-Mao have no idea how lucky they are that they were gone by the time Polaris found out what had happened. Agni and Soma weren't as lucky, dealing with Polaris and real Ciel. 😢
The star lords exist because backers of Aurora Society begged and/or paid to have dead loved ones revived.
At least that's what I think in the case of Layla/Al. I suspect she might be Baron Heathfield's dead daughter. Undertaker agreeing to help restore Heathfield's family might be why Heathfield got involved with Undertaker and the Aurora Society. Not just to find the right "soul shape" for his wife... but also to somehow revive his daughter.
The star lords exist because Undertaker is still curious about humanity (life, death, souls, etc.).
He's continuing to experiment. Even though the main purpose seems to be to revive real Ciel, the effects are much wider in scope. They really are one big series of experiments. Some elements of what he's been working on (possibly with a helper, like Druitt, on the medical aspects):
Manipulating cinematic records. He started out -- probably long before real Ciel was killed -- just adding little snippets of himself to their records, much like the BDs on the ship. He says that when he started working on real Ciel his revival techniques weren't up to snuff (not nonexistent, just not strong enough), so he needed to make quick progress. The others on the ship weren't for that purpose, so they don't really count here. The murders at Weston gave him an opportunity to improve upon record manipulation. And so do the other lords of the stars. This gives him more time to cherry pick which "episodes" to use for each one.
Blood typing and transfusion technology. It is way more advanced (than it should be at this time) because of his work... or the work of whoever is helping him in the lab. It's already led to the development of dialysis machines, too, which brings in another money-making opportunity. The star lords might not have functioning hearts, bone marrow, livers, or kidneys, so the blood transfusions are an ongoing need.
Organ transplants. Experimentation continues with organ transplants, since the orphanage staff mentions something about how hard it is to match the kids up with the star lords based on aptitude. With organ transplants, matching blood type isn't always enough. The personality test doesn't guarantee any more precision, of course, either, but that's not exactly the purpose of that test. Also, transplanted organs don't last forever, even in living humans, so they probably last even less time in a BD. As a star lord wears out their transfused blood, they probably also wear out transplanted organs and other tissues.
Soul transplants. We don't have absolute proof just yet, but I do think Undertaker is also experimenting with transplanting souls into the star lords. On the ship, he says BDs can't do anything with the souls of the people they attack. And he says he can't make souls. However, he hasn't said he can't manipulate souls that already exist; definitely, he has soul manipulation abilities that the BDs lack, and I think he's testing the limits of his own abilities. He's also got Heathfield thinking that he needs to find a woman with a soul the same "shape" as his dead wife's. As I said before, I think Undertaker might be using Heathfield's dead wife as a test subject for soul transplants. I do think he wants to transplant a similar or same-shaped soul into each of the star lords. Either Layla has Al due to one of these experiments... or Undertaker chose Layla to be one of the star lords partly because she already has Al, and Undertaker wants to study this dual personality. His reasoning might go that if he could just transplant the right soul into a star lord, then that star lord would be truly revived... would be able to pump and clean the blood that's been transfused... would be able to make more blood for themselves... would be able to make better use of the organs they've received.
The star lords exist because Undertaker needs a gimmick to lure in people to give blood (whether or not they know that blood is being taken) and for patrons to donate money.
And that's where the different blood types become even more important.
Why the different blood types?
I suppose Undertaker could focus all the efforts on just getting AB "Sirius" blood for real Ciel. But there are benefits to collecting all four types in the ABO blood grouping system (ignoring Rh factor).
AB is rare, and it would still require blood typing a large number of people to figure out who has AB. Hence why they opened Sphere Music Hall and made it a mixing space for all walks of life, placed ads for maids of all backgrounds for Heathfield, offered state of the art medical services for veterans at Athena Sanatorium. and provided a shelter and rare education opportunity for orphans at F. O. L. And people would feel unwelcome if most of them (or any of them, really) were turned away. Making the facilities as inclusive as possible (particularly the music hall and Heathfield's manor) increases the likelihood of getting enough AB blood for real Ciel.
And since Undertaker (and whoever) now also has all this blood for A, B, and O, he should do something with it. By then, probably anticipating the fact that he'd have blood supplies for different recipients, he'd have selected the other three star lords to match the remaining blood types. Each star lord just sort of falls into place, most likely. Real Ciel has AB. "Polaris" is A, so that works. This girl Layla is unusual, plus she's got type O; great, let's bring her on board. And Doll happens to be B; perfect, now all four types are covered.
In the case of Sphere Music Hall, there's also a major occult aspect to it, and having these four portray worshipped individuals works out well to lure people in and gives each visitor a purpose. Even the lesser "stars" that make up the multitudes are useful. Truth is, most of them didn't even know about the star lords; they were too caught up in adoration for the idol singers. Built-in idolatry. Layer upon layer to shroud the star lords in mystery.
For a while, there was so much extra A and O blood that they could also distribute it to renal failure patients who donated money to Aurora Society. Like those old guys in Bath.
There's also the fact that a major truth about the ABO blood grouping system has been, so far, either ignored or misunderstood within the story. When it comes to whole blood transfusions, AB is the universal recipient, so real Ciel doesn't have to "starve" from the scarcity of his blood type. All this time, he could have accepted any of them. It actually all could have been collected for him... from anyone (again, ignoring rh factor). All this trouble to collect AB blood for him could have been avoided, but either the researchers don't yet know this fact, or they know but still aren't making use of it. There is also the possibility that even real Ciel now knows this, but he's refusing anything but AB due to elitist bias. Keep in mind that they have created their own caste system within this "blue cult", despite saying how everyone is welcome and to be treated equally. There's obviously a premium put on Sirius and Canopus. And there've been a few times where individuals talked down to anyone who wasn't amongst the cult's elite and described the vast majority of participants as lesser or "dim" stars.
I'm still waiting for someone (maybe Sieglinde?) to point this out to Undertaker (and whoever is doing the bulk of the blood work). So, part of the reason to have a star lord for each blood type might be to lead up to the revelation that they went through a bunch of completely unnecessary lengths... and to maybe show them that -- for all the knowledge they had -- they still knew so little.
Well, I hope this sufficiently answers your questions. 😂 I feel like I'm forgetting something, but after typing this much, I can't think too clearly about what that might be. 😮💨 😅
And thank you so much!! 😊
#black butler#kuroshitsuji#blood groups#star lord#lords of the stars#real ciel#ciel phantomhive#polaris#lord polaris#canopus#lord canopus#vega#lord vega#layla#al#undertaker#medical advancements#medical technology#soul shape#shape of souls#transfusions#organ transplants#doll#anon asks#i answer#answered asks#long post#long reads#feb 1 2024#sorry for the delay
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daylight [pt. iii (1/3)] ; colt grice.
pairing colt grice x f!reader
word count 22k
synopsis colt grice's life has never been easy, and it's about to get a hell of a lot worse.
content contains sw!reader, canon discrimination against eldians, derogatory terms towards women, deployment
author's notes this is a shortened version of the chapter; i got too excited to share my work with everyone, and also, i know your attention spans are all lacking. if you survived reading 20k+ words in one sitting, pls soldier on and leave a comment expressing ur thoughts x much love <3
part three: no falling in love
“Name?” The bored voice of the administrative assistant tasked with filing away the paperwork for all deployed soldiers stares at Colt with a mixture of disinterest and delight. It leaves him feeling unbalanced, halfway wanting to put on a good show for her and halfway wanting to disappear into thin air. She’s bored, probably thinking about what she’s going to eat for lunch after this, but Colt knows all too well that bored Marleyans make for the most dangerous ones. Best not to get on her bad side and remind her that prior to doing this lineup, she was the one who had checked him in and confirmed his name.
“Colt Grice.” He answers, and she frowns, like she was expecting any other answer than the one that actually answers her question.
“Unit?”
“Warrior.”
“Blood type?”
“O negative.”
“Race?”
The energy in the room comes to a standstill. He knows that this is just a formality, that she’s just doing her job, but he also knows that she’s staring directly at his armband. He also knows that most people tasked with dealing with people like him don’t enjoy doing their jobs and would actually prefer to do anything but.
“Eldian.” He says, and she repeats it back, slowly, exaggerated.
She makes a note on her clipboard, checking all the boxes that correspond to the answers Colt has given her. The bright red pen of hers matches the bright red she coats her lips in, and she tears at the perforation in the paper, handing Colt the lower-half of the sheet.
“Turn this in to the people running the clinic.” She tells him, looking more disinterested than ever now that her interrogation with him is over and that Colt has proven himself to be a very boring and painfully polite young man.
When Colt gets to the clinic, which is nearly half a kilometer away from the administrative office, he turns in the slip. The lady at the front desk glances at it, then hands him a clipboard with a form for him to fill out. He’s not sure how to feel when he realizes that the form is asking the same exact questions that the administrative assistant asked him, and he feels like he should point out the fact that all the answers the clinic needs have already been turned in to them through the slip of paper he just handed them.
He doesn’t say that, though, because he knows doing so will only slow down the process some more. So, he fills out the form, hands it to the front desk lady, who then looks down at the form and compares it to the slip of paper he gave her, as if checking to see if there are any discrepancies.
“I’ll let you know when the doctor is ready to give you your physical.”
Colt spends the whole day like this: just going through the motions and complying with anything the Marleyans ask of him because that just so happens to be the natural order of things around here, around anywhere. For a country that prides themselves for their innovation and intellect that helps them maintain their superiority over everyone else, Colt (and perhaps every other Eldian soldier forced to waste their time with this deployment process) thinks he can spot some internal inefficiencies in their military.
(Not like he’s going to say anything about it. Not like he can.)
After being poked and prodded by the doctor (who, just for good measure, wastes five minutes to ask Colt for his name, unit, blood type, and race), Colt is then sent off to the on-base barber who shaves his hair off to the standard buzzcut given to all Eldian soldiers who are fresh to the fight. Colt isn’t vain by any means, but the haircut takes less than a minute to complete, and he feels foolish for hoping that this process would be just as lengthy and meticulous as everything else he’s had to endure. His last stop of the day is to the uniform repository, where Colt is given a brand new uniform and dog tags to wear for when he’s sent off to the war.
The sun is already setting by the time Colt makes his way back to his barracks, and when it seems like the world is giving him a good and proper beatdown, it usually sends him somebody to mock his misery and make the sting of being the universe’s punching bag burn deeper.
“Heard the news,” a familiar voice stops Colt in his tracks. Porco stares at the crisp uniform Colt’s holding, and scowls. “For deployment?”
“Yeah,” Colt says, even though he knows that Porco knows.
He snorts. “Great. Maybe the enemy won’t bother shooting at you once they realize what a shame it’ll be to let top-tier drycleaning go to waste.”
Once again, the world is ending when Porco makes a valid point. The whole process of preparing for his deployment feels silly and senseless; after all of this, all Colt has in his brain is “Name: Colt Grice, Unit: Warrior, Race: Eldian.” The craziest part is that no actual combat-active military official has given him any details on what’s happening at Fort Helena, and why he’s been chosen to be deployed there.
The uniform feels heavy in his hands, and the weight only becomes more burdensome when Porco asks him, “Hey. Does Falco know yet?”
It’s Falco’s first year in the program. Because he’s so young and still too early in the process to be considered as a Candidate, he stays in the youth barracks, which are appropriately stationed far away from the actual soldiers. From the ones who will actually have to answer the call to arms.
“No. I just got the letter last night.”
Something indiscernible softens in Porco’s features. “I’d hate to be the one who has to tell him.”
Colt forces himself not to make a face. Falco won’t take the news well, no matter how Colt gives it to him. Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time someone hasn’t wanted to be in Colt’s shoes. Sometimes, not even Colt wants to be himself.
“Yeah.” He finds himself agreeing with Porco. “What an unlucky guy.”
All soldiers cleared for deployment are confined to staying on base at all times, probably because when you tell young men that you are essentially sentencing them to death (or, at the very least, forcing them in a situation where it’s more likely than not that they are going to lose a limb — and most people happen to like having all their limbs, thank you very much), they get scared and start thinking up stupid things like deserting their country or trying to kickstart a munity.
Then again, the only people who are allowed to be frightened enough to pull stunts like that are the same people who have nothing to lose. Colt has a titan to inherit, a family to feed, and you. All of the Eldian soldiers getting prepared to be shipped off to Fort Helena are in similar boats.
The Marleyan unit assigned to Fort Helena, however, is in a state of all sorts of distress and chaos, and Lieutenant Michael Sells is enjoying every second of it.
Sitting criss-cross applesauce on the top bunk of the barracks, Michael looks down at his fellow Marleyan soldiers who fucked up badly enough to be receiving the same punishment as him. Marleyan soldiers aren’t supposed to be the ones who get sent to the frontlines; sure, there are some idiots with ideas of grandeur, and those are the ones who volunteer to see some “real action,” but for the most part, joining the military just seemed like a better alternative than spending their young adulthood stuck in a university’s lecture hall.
The thing they forgot to consider is that when you mess up in college, you get sent to the dean’s office. When you mess up in the military, you get sent off to the shitty deployments that no one wants. War is war, an enemy soldier who doesn’t know anything about you but is hellbent on shooting at you is a pain in the ass wherever you go, but like with everything else in life, there is always something better. Considering that Michael is on this assignment, and every soldier here has a long list of transgressions (long enough to the point where their officers can no longer turn a blind eye to them), this is an indicator that Fort Helena is going to be literal hell on earth.
Early on in the war, the first wave of soldiers to come back from the battlefield all complained about rats in the trenches and the lack of plumbing. One group was fighting closer to a mountainside, though, and they actually had sufficient enough coverage from the enemy to set up a decent camp. Trenches or tents. Both aren’t screaming luxury, but one is infinitely better than the other, that’s for damn sure.
“We’re fucking screwed!” Jude scowls, kicking at the uniform hanging by his bed.
“Can’t be that bad,” Elliot rationalizes from the top bunk across from Michael. “They’re sending off Eldian units with us, and they outnumber us by quite a large margin. Chances are, we won’t even be on the frontlines.”
“It’s true,” Oliver is sitting at the singular desk crammed in the barracks. He claims he’s writing a farewell letter to his girlfriend — all three of them. “This is just a scare tactic to get us back on the straight and narrow. You think they’d be willing to sacrifice us for that fort?”
Jude’s frown doesn’t disappear, but he’s silent. Elliot and Oliver have a point, and everyone here knows it. That’s because the boys in this barrack aren’t enlisted soldiers, but officers. They’re the ones who’ll get the nicest benefits package, the better meals, the high ranking titles. They’re the ones who society holds up to a pedestal. Elliot, just like Michael, is a legacy — someone who already has a generation of their family who served as an officer. For most Marleyans, this is something you can boast about.
“Don’t worry, Judy. If Captain Baron decides he’s sick of us and forces us to be human shields for the Eldian soldiers, he’d pick me first.” Michael sounds too cheerful at the prospect, and Jude glares at him.
You either love Michael, or you don’t. There is no inbetween, there is no merely tolerating him — only like or dislike. Everyone else in the barracks is on decent terms with the lieutenant, even going so far as to consider him not just a comrade but a friend, but Michael’s the type to sniff out the few who despise him, and then he antagonizes them for sport. Jude belongs to the group who dislikes.
“Don’t call me Judy, and don’t spout off bullshit like that, either. Don’t act like you wouldn’t willingly fight alongside those damn devils. We all know why you’re here.”
“Really?” Michael’s eyes go wide. “Why am I here?”
In the office, there is a big, fat file labeled SELLS, MICHAEL (LT.) with a very long record of transgressions committed by the angelic-looking young man who is anything but. What a shame, the officers who have to update his file muse, that he is nothing like his father who was honorably discharged as an Admiral for the Navy. The only thing Michael seems to have inherited from Admiral Sells are his looks.
The fact of the matter is that Michael is here because he is a problem child who manages to stir up trouble no matter where he is and no matter who he is with. At least on a battlefield, they can make good use of his restless energy, and hopefully the fear of being killed in action will be enough to get him to behave.
He’s been a pain in the ass since the moment he came into this world (a C-section baby, which is a universal indicator that someone is destined to be annoying), and he’s only grown into a walking, talking, migraine-inducing bastard ever since.
“Don’t act all innocent. We know you started the fight with Brutus.” Jude sneers, as if Brutus the Brute didn’t deserve the one singular punch Michael managed to get on him before getting his ass handed to him.
“If you can call that massacre on Michael a fight.” Oliver pipes up.
“Hey! Whose side are you on?” Michael asks him, not offended in the slightest.
“The real question is, whose side are you on?” The look Jude gives Michael reminds him of the same glare one of the other Marleyan officers, James, gave him during visitation day. The visitation day where James’ girlfriend couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of Michael. It’s a look that’s full of contempt and vitriol.
Everyone likes to act all holier-than-thou when it comes to Michael, and it’s because nobody is more openly rebellious than him. They think that he can’t keep a secret, that his heart is constantly on his sleeve, and they’re right; too bad no one can actually read him. Michael gets into fights all the time, and he’s either stupid or brave with the way he shows no fear in attempting to take on guys twice his size. In middle school, he lost a tooth (that has since been replaced with a fancy implant that blends seamlessly with the rest of his pearly whites, despite the fact that he thought the gaping hole would’ve added character) because he picked a fight with a high schooler about to graduate. Everyone misinterprets his bold actions for recklessness, but he does stupid shit like this because he cares. No one knows he picked that fight because the boy said something downright vulgar and disgusting about Claire, one of his older sister’s friends. Just like how no one knows that Michael didn’t swing at Brutus because he took the last brownie during dinner, but because Brutus was the one who nicked Colt’s face.
“The right one.” Michael cheekily answers, not elaborating further. Let everyone make their assumptions about what that means.
Alize Evans is no one’s fool.
When the universe deals you a shit hand in life, the least you can do is not be stupid. Alize might’ve came into this world as an accident, the result of a drunken mistake (perhaps she inherited bad luck from her mother; she can’t be certain, considering that the only mother figure in Alize’s life had been the stern mistress of her orphanage), and it’s because of this that Alize is very careful in not making mistakes in her life.
Maybe ending up at The Gentleman’s Club wasn’t exactly a part of her master plan, but Alize remains adamant that she is not stupid — just down on her luck.
It isn’t stupid to walk the streets of the red light district alone. Alize knows the area better than the back of her hand. She lives here. She knows the strip of street to avoid unless she wants to have the stray dogs’ shit under the soles of her too-tight shoes. She knows that the drunkard who looks like the type to harass women is quite the opposite; in fact, he’s probably one of the kindest men who stay around this area. She bought him a bottle of cheap liquor once, just because decent people are hard to find and the least she can do is show her gratitude in a way that doesn’t automatically demean her. (Deep down, she knows that he wouldn’t have accepted free rein of her body, the only currency she has unlimited access to. It had cost her a week’s worth of wages to gift him that bottle.)
Turns out, he’s not stupid either. He’s just down on his luck, too.
Alize’s bad luck seems to be on a winning streak. Not only did she wake up late, but the bruises scattered on her body have turned a ghastly shade of purple with a sick, faint green ring around one of the abstract shapes. In the winter time, she’s paler. She already sees a lack of sun, and the darkness of this season doesn’t do her any favors. She likes it when it’s spring; she tans easily, for one, and everyone says spring is the season of possibilities, of new beginnings.
Alize isn’t stupid. She doesn’t believe in those sorts of things. But it’s nice, she supposes, to indulge every once in a while and believe in things like that.
Her bad luck clings to her as she walks down the street, quickening her pace. She knows the creepy, distorted shadows in the corners of her eyes are just figments of her imagination; the street lamps are all cracked and now line the street just for show. They don’t actually work. The whole district is shrouded in darkness, with only the censorious moonlight to look down on her. She hates moonlight. Nothing good has ever happened to her when it makes its appearance.
That fact won’t change, either. She knows this when she hears the predatory whistle coming from behind her.
Alize isn’t stupid. She knows she doesn’t stand a chance if she tries to run. She knows that there is nowhere to run. She knows that she wants to try, anyway. She knows that things will only be worse if she does.
Alize pauses. She takes a deep breath. And then she turns around.
It’s a Public Security Authorities officer. Mid-forties, at least. He looks like today is his lucky day.
She wonders what that might feel like.
“What’s a young girl like you doing around these parts? Don’t’cha know it’s dangerous?” He smirks, and she can see every wrinkle and crease on his face, all thanks to the moonlight. She curses the wretched thing. She hates everything that looks down on her. Not even the solar system can escape her wrath.
She doesn’t say anything. He’s leering at her, licking his chapped lips as he eyes her, his excitement evident as he openly admires the armband circled around her left arm.
A piece of fabric that defines her entire being. A piece of fabric that is the reason why she receives the worst customers in the brothel. Men like the one standing in front of her liken her to something inhumane, filthy, but they’re the ones who fuck her like savages, like devils. The irony isn’t lost on her.
“Let me walk you home, sweetheart.” The man grabs her left arm, gripping her armband. He tugs her with such a force that she almost wishes to see the piece of gray fabric come loose. She remembers when someone used it to choke her with it, and then she decides that with the way her luck is going, he’d probably have the same idea. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe he’ll be quick. Maybe Willa will feel bad and brew her a cup of tea when she manages to limp her way to the brothel.
Alize isn’t stupid. She knows to let the man drag her away. She’s resigned to her fate.
And then, the strangest thing happens.
Another man is strolling down the street. Traffic here is usually light considering that there isn’t much in this area, save for abandoned buildings and the occasional homeless trying to seek shelter from the harsh, biting wind. Alize thinks her luck is getting worse when she notices this one is wearing a cream colored uniform, too.
When he comes closer, she’s pleasantly surprised. At least he’s cute. Say what you want, but having an ugly bastard slobbering over her is awful. If she’s going to be used, why can’t she at least have a decent view? It might distract her from everything else.
“What’s going on here?” The young man says, blue eyes focused on the officer before traveling to Alize. She looks at him briefly before focusing on the gravel underneath her feet.
“Nothing for you to worry about.” The officer spits on the ground. “Go run along and find your own hole to get your dick wet in.”
“See, when you say stuff like that, it does make me start to worry.” Alize dares to take another look at him. He’s blond. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, and he has such an easy-going manner about him. The top two buttons of his military issued coat are undone, and she spots a peek of bright white cotton from his undershirt. He’s tall. Taller than her, and even taller than the man who has her in his grip. “I don’t think she likes the way you’re handling her.”
“You think I give a fuck about what a bitch like her likes?”
The blond man’s eyes narrow. Gone is his easy-going manner. Alize can feel the shift even from her current position, which is her being all cowered and looking like she wants to be as small as possible. Apparently the man senses the change in his demeanor, too, seeing as he loosens his grip enough for Alize to slowly free herself.
“I think you should give a fuck on how I feel about it.” He says, taking a step forward. “You know that PSA officers with a rank as low as yours are only allowed jurisdiction in his designated internment zone.” Another step forward. “This isn’t an internment zone.”
“You’re a fucking greenie. You’re barely a second-rate private in the military.” The man snarls, spotting the lack of any high ranking adornments on the blond’s uniform.
The blond shrugs. “Yeah, but this isn’t an internment zone, meaning that as an officer in the military, I have more authority here than you.” He smiles. “Bet you give a fuck that a greenie like me can tell you what to do, and you have to sit down like a good dog and listen.”
Alize isn’t stupid. She knows that she has the opportunity to run. But she’s frozen in place, admiring the way this young soldier seems to greet a fight like an old friend, with welcoming arms. If it came down to physical blows, she thinks he’d win, easily.
The man’s hand seems to gravitate towards his side, but the blond is quicker on the draw. Before the PSA officer can grab his gun, he finds himself staring down the wrong end of this private’s pistol.
“I’ll let you take out yours, too, if you want. It’s only fair that you show me yours after I showed you mine.” The moonlight illuminates the smug expression on the soldier’s face. “But know this: the law won’t give a damn what went down here. All they’ll care about is that a PSA officer broke the law and drew his weapon against a Marleyan militant officer in the military’s jurisdiction. You think you’ll have any power from a jail cell?”
“I have connections.” The man snarls, still hesitant to whip out his own gun.
“Really? What a coincidence, so do I.” The soldier releases the safety on his pistol. “Do you mind sharing who those connections are? My uncle, the commanding officer of the PSA, might be interested in knowing, too.”
The man’s face pales. “You’re that Sells kid.”
“Yeah. Trying to make a name for myself, though, so take out your damn gun and let’s try to make headline news, okay?”
They don’t make headline news. Instead, the man apologizes to this “Sells kid”, and then he turns and apologizes to Alize after the Sells kid tells him to.
“Get on your knees and kiss the ground she walks on.” The soldier commands him to do. Alize feels a sick sort of satisfaction witnessing the man slowly get down and press his lips to the dirty ground. For once in her life, Alize is the one who is looking down. What an addicting feeling.
When the soldier gets bored of humiliating the man, he sends him off by tapping his shoulder in farewell; he does so with the barrel of his gun, whose safety is still conveniently off. One wrong move, and a bullet could be pierced through the man’s shoulder blades.
“You want me to walk you to where you wanted to go?” The soldier asks her, clicking his gun and sliding it back into its holster.
Alize isn’t stupid. She nods, and he lets her lead the way.
She starts to foolishly believe that maybe her luck can turn around.
But then he drops her off at the front door of the brothel, hands in his pockets.
“What’s the matter?” He asks her, when she doesn’t immediately walk in. “Is it not safe for you in there?”
He sounds like he actually cares. Gone is the stern soldier with the cocky attitude and smirk. The gentleman standing here doesn’t seem like he just shoved his gun in someone’s face less than ten minutes ago. He’s interesting, this soldier.
She shakes her head, giving him a tiny smile. This brothel might actually be the only safe haven for her here, perhaps even safer than the shitty apartment she rents a couple of blocks away.
“Will you come in and join me?” I won’t even charge, she wants to add.
He seems to pick up on her suggestion, and he gives her a small smile, too, while shaking his head. “I’d feel a lot better knowing that you’re somewhere where you feel safe. I think some time alone would be good, don’t you agree?”
Alize’s never been alone for long stretches of time. She grew up in an overcrowded orphanage, then traveled with a small group of runaways when the original mistress died and got replaced by some creep who eyed like the girls in the house like a butcher looking at a prize pig. Even when sleeping and begging on the streets, she always had at least one other person right with her. Renting this apartment is the first time in forever that Alize’s ever lived on her own, and even then, she spends so much of her time in the brothel, surrounded by her chosen sisters, blanketed in their warmth and comfort, that she forgets all about living on her own.
“I don’t know how else to repay you.” She admits. Out of all her meager belongings, she’s come to terms with the fact that her body and Eldian fetishization are her most valuable.
“You don’t have to repay me.” He says, and she almost wants to roll her eyes.
Alize isn’t stupid. Life is a series of transactions. You receive, you have to give back. Otherwise, karma will intervene. Karma is a sick and twisted bitch who balances the scales in the worst way possible. Her luck might be starting to turn around, but she’s not going to push it.
“I can’t have you walking around with my favor in your pocket. Let me pay you back now.”
He waves a hand carelessly. “You don’t owe me anything.”
For once, Alize dares to go against a soldier and stand her ground. “No. I really do owe you.”
He lets out a thoughtful hum, staring at the closed door of the brothel.
“Fine.” He says, but then he follows it up with something she isn’t expecting. “Pay me back by going inside and taking care of yourself. Take it easy tonight, okay?”
Alize isn’t stupid. She takes the offer.
But, of course, seeing him changes her perspective on things. Meeting him while flat broke, weak, and defenseless proved to her that her luck could change at any time. This hope that builds up in her causes her to seek him out, to expect him to walk through the brothel doors and maybe the story Willa tells her comes true. The story about the girl who saves the businessman and gets her happily ever after.
Alize is stupid. He doesn’t come back. Which means he doesn’t come back for her. Luck can turn around, but it can go back right where it was, too. The disappointment that follows serves as a cruel reminder of what being stupid does to a girl.
When she looks into the worn faces of the girls working alongside her, Alize decides right then and there to protect them from the soul crushing discovery that no one in the world is coming to save them. Don’t even bother dreaming about it.
So when she turns her attention to you, demanding you to spill the details on the soldier, you mistake this interrogation for being an unwanted intrusion. If you had realized sooner that it came from a place of care, you wouldn’t have immediately played dumb.
“What soldier?” You ask innocently, perhaps playing a bit too dumb.
Margaret lets out a loud laugh. “You’re so full of shit! ‘What soldier,’ my ass! Nadia, can you believe her?”
Nadia looks at you for guidance on how to react, what to say. All you can do is shrug helplessly. Hurricane Alize has already touched down, and there’s no stopping this force of nature.
“The soldier who visits you and brings you gifts and just wants to talk.” Alize says, crossing her arms. “Tell us about him.”
“I don’t know much about him.” Besides the fact that he ran away from the girl who gave him his first kiss. Besides the fact that he loves his family, especially his little brother, Falco, as easily as breathing. Besides the fact that he kisses you with poorly concealed restraint; you think you can taste the hunger for more on his lips, but he’s too much of a gentleman to cross that line. You don’t know much about him, besides him enlisting in the military for his family. He was supposed to go in sooner, to prove his family’s loyalty after his uncle got exposed for being an Eldian Restorationist.
He had been a sickly child, he tells you, back against the wall as he resigns himself to the floor, letting you have your bed all to yourself. He’d be bedridden and useless to the Marleyan military if they took him in, and luckily, they saw some sense in that. His parents foolishly dared to dream that the government forgot about wanting to take him, but after his father falls ill and it lands on him to handle his family’s finances, of course he enlists. Of course they remember him. Of course they make him pay for everything with interest. Always waiting for him to slip up, always delighting in punishing him. Mocking him.
You know that he had to learn how to take it all lying down. To grit his teeth and bite back any protests. To resist the urge to ask the Marleyan officer what did I ever do to you?
You know that he’s gentle. Genuine. Sweet. Soft.
No — maybe soft isn’t the right word. You’ve felt the smooth ridges of hard-packed muscle underneath his shirt. You’ve seen the flex of his biceps, felt the rough calluses of his fingers every time the ghost of his touch lingers on your skin. You’ve seen the way he delivers his words, how he can say something with such strong conviction. He never raises his voice to make a point, but the stern look and his steadfast adamance that he wants you to be happy, even if it’s not with him, because he cares about you, was strong enough to knock some sense into you. You think of how it’s his natural instinct to protect. You think of the way his body immediately went to shield yours when that bar fight broke out, his stance that seemed so formidable, unyielding to any external force.
You think of his casual discussion of the abuse subjected to him. How he tells you, in the same soft voice he always uses, as if he’s telling you the weather today, about how one time some Marleyan soldiers pulled a prank on him and handed him his food in a dog bowl, with DEVIL DOGGY crudely etched into the metal. He had to eat out of it, he explains, because he was hungry. This was his only meal of the day, and it was one against too many. He’d never be able to get a lunch tray.
Despite it all, he didn’t let it turn him bitter. Vengeful. Mad at the world and seeking to take it out on others. You wouldn’t blame him for turning cold; anyone else would. But Colt lets it bounce off of him.
You like that. You like everything about Colt, you realize, but you like his resilience. His unwavering good character. He isn’t soft; maybe tender. You could cut him to the bone, but he still wouldn’t lose shape; he might even put up some resistance.
“Really?” Alize narrows her eyes. “So what exactly do you two talk about then?”
Everything. A story for a story, you decide one day. You’re sitting on your calves, knees digging into the stiff mattress, and the excited expression on your face makes Colt give in to your whims before the request even fully leaves your mouth.
A story for a story, he agrees.
You tell him the bits and pieces of your childhood that you remember. You tell him about how it feels strange to cling to a culture you think is dying, that soon no one will remember, but stranger yet to not take pride in it, to not want to hold on to what generations before you have held on to. He tells you about how he doesn’t like the feel of a gun in his hands, but that he’s such a good shot, his officers want him to constantly be on the frontlines, armed with it. He’s never been on the frontlines, he reassures you, when he notices your horrified expression. A couple of simple deployments, as a reserve in case the battle doesn’t turn in their favor, is all the action he’s seen so far. Probably will be that way for the foreseeable future, since the military doesn’t like risking the Warrior Candidates with the most potential.
“Anything that comes up naturally, I guess.” You say, holding all your conversations with Colt close to your heart. “Alize, what does it matter what I do with this soldier?”
“It matters because every time I mention the soldier, you get this look on your face.” Alize is not a mean person, but the way she says look — dripping with disgust, topped off with pity — you suddenly go on the defensive.
“I can’t make facial expressions anymore?” You ask her, and the girls in the room shift their bodies awkwardly. Someone clears their throat. Alize is silent, but she doesn’t lower the intensity of her glare.
“I’m worried about you.” She sounds like admitting this is a painful ordeal. “I don’t want you making a mistake.”
I don’t want you making a mistake. You’ve whispered this exact phrase in the dark, saying it so softly you almost think he won’t be able to hear it, but he does. Of course, he does. He notices everything about you.
He looks at you, that same unwavering conviction coating his words as he reminds you, nothing about you is a mistake to me.
“So what if I make a mistake? It’s my life.” You regret telling her this the moment her stern expression falters, revealing something hurt and pained, before she brings back her perfect poker face. You’re so used to being the older sister that sometimes it’s jarring to come here and interact with Alize, who is the designated older sister in this room. You don’t know how to handle being the one that is cared for, too used to having to be the strict one, the one who does the caring in a less-than gentle manner.
“Mistakes hurt.” She says flatly. “But by all means, continue living your life how you want. It’s yours.”
You don’t make mistakes often.
When Marleyan forces destroyed your homeland, sent you and the rest of the survivors running to a false salvation (the sprawling, abandoned hills on the outskirts of Marley’s cities), you made many mistakes. You were too trusting. Just shy of fourteen years old, you had a six-year-old little brother to take care of and parents who left behind nothing to help you. It’s not their fault; who anticipates their young daughter to take on the role of matriarch? There’s no instruction manual, no how-to guide on what to do when you’re a refugee with no skills, no talent, and nothing to offer to a country that already looks down on you. You used to be so desperate that when it seemed a citizen was taking pity on you, you chose to trust them. To believe in their goodness.
You quickly learn to stop making that mistake.
You can’t talk to strangers, then. You only stay close to the other refugees, only trusting their kindness, sometimes hesitant and fearful that they could turn on you, too.
You make more mistakes. You misjudge how long food can last, what the weather will be like, the intentions of the people around you. Sometimes, you reject kindness because you think it’s viciousness in a clever disguise; gone are the times you accidentally identify cruelty as care.
(You don’t make the same mistake twice.)
Occasionally, when you think about who you are, you think you’re a dog backed into a corner. A dirty alleyway. Surrounded by bigger, hungrier dogs, with no room for escape, no chance for survival. Some days, you think there’s something admirable in not backing down without a fight. Other days, you find that playing dead and hoping they lose interest is more reasonable. Every day, you know that it doesn’t matter what you do — you are still a dog backed into a corner.
You don’t like being backed into a corner.
You don’t like feeling small, and you certainly don’t like feeling vulnerable. Weak. Defenseless.
You know your position in life. The men who filter in and out of your room remind you of this.
Cheap whore. Loose fuck. Good for nothing. Bitch.
Katie, one of the quieter girls in the brothel, admits to everyone that sometimes she takes sleeping pills in the hopes that it’ll get her drowsy and she can filter in and out of consciousness when she’s working.
It’s better when you’re dead to the world during the sex, she says. If I could be asleep and unaware of everything happening to me, I’d be so happy.
Everyone handles this job differently, but you could never let yourself be so unguarded. No matter how tired you get, your body refuses to go limp and allow you a brief moment of sleep when you’re in the presence of a strange man who paid a price to have his way with you. You made a lot of mistakes in your life, but falling asleep in this brothel will not be one of them.
But one night, you find yourself fighting the urge to let your eyelids droop and your body to sink into the mattress. Colt’s telling you about how he finds it odd that Michael is actively avoiding some investigator who’s visiting the base. Colt can’t seem to fathom why. The investigator supposedly only covers cases concerning Eldians, and he doesn’t look like someone who would want to get into a fight with Michael. You’re struggling to follow along, and the last thing you remember hearing is oh no, I’m stopping you from sleeping.
When you do wake up, your mind is on high alert. You instantly sit up, heart racing.
Calm down, nothing bad has happened to you. You try to swallow, but your mouth is dry. You can’t tell if the pounding noise in your ear is from your heart or the rush of blood to your head. You sat up way too fast. You can hear your ragged breaths, and you close your eyes, resisting the urge to chastise yourself for being so weak. You’ve never fallen asleep here before. You followed the same routine you’ve always done, so you shouldn’t have even been tired. There’s no reason why you should have fallen asleep, just as you realize there should be no reason for the thin sheet on your bed to be covering you, a pitiful excuse for a blanket.
You pause. Calm your breathing. Reassess the situation.
You didn’t have the sheet covering your body before you fell asleep. You know this because you never use the sheet as a blanket. You slowly turn your head and find Colt slumped against the wall, his eyes shut, his breathing calm and steady. The position looks uncomfortable, and when you move to sit on the edge of the bed, letting your sock-covered feet hit the wooden floors, you can still feel the chill of hardwood biting through the cotton.
He didn’t do anything besides tuck you in. You glance down at the watch on your wrist, only feeling safe enough to wear it when he’s around. Not even thirty minutes have passed. There’s still an hour left of your time that he is promised.
You didn’t make a mistake, you realize.
You take the thin sheet and drape it over his body, hoping that it provides some sort of comfort. You do this, and then you climb right back into bed, turning to the side so that you can get a view of his peaceful expression before you allow sleep to drag you under its spell once more.
After that, Colt insists that you go to sleep whenever you feel tired. You tell him that that isn’t fair, and he gives you a look.
Fairness is a foreign concept to him.
You never realized just how late into the night your shift takes you. You never realize how sweet a peaceful slumber truly is. The first few times you go to sleep, Colt still remains on the floor. Then, one night, he’s helping you readjust your watch and suddenly your right arm is hanging from the bed as you sleep, and he’s holding your hand, equally unconscious to the world. You wake up to the comfort of his hand still securely wrapped around your own, the rest of his body relaxed on the cold floor. You don’t let go, feigning sleep when you notice him stirring and about to wake up. You want to see what he does when he thinks you’re still asleep; every time before this, you’ve always been open about being the first one to wake.
You wonder if this is when you relearn the lesson of never trusting outsiders. You hear him shift his body, try to reawaken muscles that have gone slack. And then, he’s moving your hand, slowly bringing it upwards. You fight to keep your eyes closed, your body relaxed.
A quick brush of his lips against your knuckles. He squeezes your hand, and when you shift your body, prepared to finally “wake up,” he’s quick to drop your hand, acting as if he’s done something he shouldn’t have. Like a kid caught with his hand in the jar of cookies.
(He’s been that kid before; you couldn’t stop laughing at his retelling of the whole ordeal. He turned pink, telling you that it was because Falco wanted the cookies, and he refused to listen to Colt’s explanation of how they weren’t allowed to have any until after dinner.
“Did you take the blame for everything?” You ask him, with tears in your eyes from how hard you’ve been laughing.
“Yes.” He admits to taking the fall, acting as if he was the one who wanted the cookies, and Falco was just a tiny witness and not the reason for getting him into this situation.
You start laughing again, to the point where your stomach aches. You’re unaware that he thinks the sound of your laughter is the soundtrack to his life, and both of you are unaware of how he’s pulling you in even deeper.
For someone with a fear of falling, you sure don’t know how close to the edge you really are.)
In the months leading up to you kissing him in front of your whole community, these are the moments shared. Every conversation, every secret, every story for a story, every shared slumber, the singular barely-a-kiss upon your hand — all of it fills the cracks and crevices of your heart.
(You refuse to admit to being scared of a lot of things, but the meaning behind him taking root inside your heart — that’s the scariest thing to you.)
You try to steady the beat of your — slowly transitioning into his — heart every time you watch the door handle twist. You know not to expect him too often nowadays; his training more grueling, more intense, as his inheritance of the Beast Titan is fast approaching. If it’s not hope (and the inevitable disappointment that soaks you to the bone when you realize it’s not him) that’s serving you a slow death, then it’s the waiting.
You have experience in waiting. Waiting in long lines at the food bank during the cruel heat of the summer, knowing that leaving the line in search of water would be fruitless and only result in you losing your place in line (and as a result, food for the next two days — three if you limit your own portions). Waiting for your parents to miraculously come back from the dead and to give you a big hug, tell you that you did such a good job taking care of yourself and Ramzi. Waiting for your particularly rough clients to finish having their way with you and to leave you be. You’re always waiting. Always in a constant state of looking forward to what comes next; a side effect that stems from the fact that your current standard of living always leaves much to be desired.
And you know about desire. As much as you’ve tried to avoid it, to avoid the senseless action and feeling of want, you’re only human. You dream of a better life; nothing too luxurious. A small apartment instead of a tent. A real school for Ramzi to attend instead of the volunteer tutors who come by once or twice a week, covering material that kids Ramzi’s age have already learned years ago. A different job, even. You’re fine with labor — your current work already is laborious — but a respectable job. Something that won’t have people who know what you do sneer and spit at you. Cleaning houses, watching over spoiled children — yes, those are preferable jobs. You’re not a person accustomed to selfishness, to letting your desires run rampant. You are not asking for pleasure from the world; you’ll gladly settle for a reduced sentence of pain.
But desire grips you by the throat, winds itself around your body, chokes you, strangles you, in all matters involving Colt Grice. The unfamiliar, devastating punch of want hits you in your heart as all you can do is stand frozen in your room, trying to let what he tells you sink in.
It doesn’t sink in. It hangs stagnant in the air, looms over the both of you before expanding, surrounding you two on all sides. Takes the shape of the four walls, and suddenly, it’s closing in on you, everything is closing in on you.
Why is it that you always have to wait? Haven’t you waited long enough for just a glimpse of something bright to enter into your world? You’ve dealt with all this shit for years, suffered in silence, took everything lying down, and Colt stumbles into your room, stuttering over his sentences, and you dare to think that this is your luck turning around. That the universe is throwing you a bone. That nature says spring is coming early, spring is here to stay. Every time he walks through that damn door to enter your room, you see the sun peeking through the storm clouds.
“You’re leaving?” You don’t like the way you practically choke on the question.
Regret roughs up the soft features of his face.
“Yes.”
Colt Grice is handed a metal container that is roughly the size of a shoebox and is informed that anything placed in there will be sent to his family in the case that he does not return.
He’s sitting on his bed, staring at the empty box resting on his lap. Whatever is supposed to go in here is meant to be a satisfactory consolation; sorry you lost your older son, here’s some junk he found in his barracks to help you remember him. He places the lid back on the container. How is anyone supposed to fit a life inside something not even a foot long?
He lays down on his bed, savoring the stiffness of the mattress and the cold sheets neatly tucked with military precision. This will be one of his last days of enjoying the comforts of a real bed, and Colt is not the type to be ungrateful. He can take pleasure in the little things.
He has to be able to — if he waited for anything major to happen before he started considering it to be a win, he’d never have a cause for celebration.
There’s this funny feeling he gets sometimes. Moments in his life where he feels like everything is moving too quickly for his liking. One second he’s tossing a ball back and forth with Zeke, then he blinks and he’s in the mess hall, listening to Porco complaining about “the fucking slop” they’re being fed that day. He knows it’s silly, knows that the impending deadline of thirteen years won’t loom over his head just yet, but the idea of this life — his life — being cut short has never bothered him before.
And then he meets you, and suddenly, life stops moving at a pace where everything around him is a blur and leaves him feeling dizzy, unable to find his footing. Suddenly, time stands still for him. He finds his footing. He can stand tall. Everything is in hyper focus, and he’s all too aware that the future is bleak.
His future’s always been destined to be bleak; if he wasn’t in the Warrior Unit, there’d still be a chance that he’d be used as a titan for war. Just not the kind that grants some form of glory. Just the kind used as a weapon. Just something in a military general’s arsenal. He’s certain that “unleash the titans” is written on a slip of paper and is put inside a case alongside grenades and guns.
He shuts his eyes, thinking about his sheer impermanence. His lack of a future has never been a major cause for concern. Eldian families know what to expect when their sons and daughters end up in the Warrior Unit. But then you kissed him and all he could think about when he felt the pressure of your lips against his for the first time was maybe there is a future out there for me. One worth chasing after. One worth being alive for. One with you.
He wants a future now. He wants it so badly, so desperately, that all he can do is lay here and curl his fingers around the bedcover, ruining the hard work that went into perfecting the appearance of his bed. All he can do, all he’s allowed to do, is grit his teeth and force down the bitter truth: he has no future.
And he would really, really love to have one now.
It’s not like this dream is new — just repressed. He’s gotten too good at pushing down his selfish desires in favor of thinking about what’s best for the collective good. If he becomes the Beast Titan, his family will be elevated in status; better healthcare, better home, better paycheck to mail to them. There would be less pressure on Falco to do well; there would be no point. The Grices would have given up one son; surely, even Marley would have pity and tell them to do everything they can to hang onto the last one. As a child, he used to skip recess breaks to help his teachers clean up the classroom or grade papers. He’d wipe down the windows, pretending that he doesn’t want to be one of the carefree kids swinging on the monkeybars. Because of his volunteering to help the teacher, she was less stressed, with no frustrations to take out on the students. No one ever thanked him for doing this. No one even acknowledged it.
“What’re you thinkin’ so hard about?” Porco drops the metal lunch tray onto the table. It’s the sound of the tray making contact with the aged wood that snaps Colt out of his thoughts and back into reality.
“I wasn’t thinking about anything.” He’s lying, but Porco doesn’t need to hear about his inner turmoil.
“Don’t bother lying if you’re not even going to try to be good at it.” Porco snorts, digging his spoon into the mushy vegetables steaming on his plate. “You’re being sent home tonight, aren’t you?” He’s in the middle of chewing a mixture of too-soft carrots and green beans. Colt pretends not to notice the way the vegetables are being blended together in his mouth. Pieck complains that Porco needs to learn how to chew with his mouth closed, and out of spite, he chooses to do the complete opposite.
“Yeah.” Colt uses his fork to play with his food, poking at an overcooked steamed carrot. “Falco gets to spend the night at home, too.”
“Damn. How’d he take the news?”
Colt cringes. “Didn’t get a chance to tell him.”
Porco gapes at him, but then his stomach growls and he’s back to shoveling more food in his mouth. He has the decency to swallow first before resuming the conversation. “You’re fucked, Grice.”
It’s not like leaving Falco in the dark was intentional. He stays in the barracks designated for younger kids, and Colt’s been running around the base, trying to make sure that he’s properly preparing for his deployment. He meant to take the walk to Falco last night, after he finished finding things to put in that damn shoebox, but thoughts of you, his mediocre life, his wasted time and lost chances, his family — all of those thoughts weighed him down, kept him chained to the bed. He couldn’t even get a decent night’s sleep. And his box still remains empty, shoved underneath his bed. It’s gotten to the point where he’s even debating asking Porco to fill it on his behalf, but who knows what he considers appropriate?
“The worst part is, Falco’s definitely been notified that he has the opportunity to be sent home, and the reasoning they’ll give him is because an immediate family member is being deployed. He knows I’m being sent away, and now he’s just waiting for me to actually tell him.” Colt sighs as Porco beats him to his drawn conclusion:
“Yeah. You’re super fucked.”
After a few minutes of silence, Porco finds even more stuff to ponder about. “Hey, how’d your girlfriend take the news?”
Seriously, since when did Porco suddenly become so chatty? Was the tasteless lunch food not enough to keep him occupied? Colt takes this moment as an opportunity to shovel a heaping of hot, bland mush into his mouth in order to avoid answering that question. He thinks he burns a few taste buds in the process, but with the food that’s being served to them, it’s not like they were being used in the first place.
Colt wishes Porco didn’t have such a stubborn streak. He sits there, unimpressed, waiting for Colt to finish eating, which takes no time at all. The silence and his bemused expression say enough: hurry up and answer.
“Didn’t really get a chance to tell her, either.”
Porco blinks.
“Damn it, Grice. Who does know about your deployment?”
He thinks for a second, mentally doing a count. “Well, for starters, you—”
“Okay, so no one. No one knows you’re being deployed.”
Well, when he puts it like that.
“I planned on telling them.”
“When? When you’re already on the battlefield?”
Colt flinches. “When they would have less time to worry about me.”
Porco pauses, the snarky comment sliding back down his throat. For once during this conversation, Porco seems at a loss for words.
“They’re always going to worry about you.” Porco says, all sarcasm gone from his tone and replaced with a seriousness that Colt doesn’t get from him often.
Colt thinks about how Porco used to react when Marcel would be sent away, even if it was just for a training camp sponsored by a different town’s military unit. He’d be even surlier than usual, and with no Marcel to stop him from picking a fight, he’d get into more trouble, too. People’s worry seems to manifest in different ways. When he first made it into the Warrior Unit, his mother pulled out his baby album and started tearing up at the rare photos of a baby Colt. The six year old boy with a front tooth missing, smiling for his elementary school photo, is the son she sees being taken from her.
Colt doesn’t know how to verbalize his feelings on the matter without embarrassing himself. If it were possible, Colt would gladly shoulder the weight of everybody’s worry for him. He doesn’t like the idea of his parents and little brother anticipating Marleyan officers coming to them, presenting them with a shoebox filled with trinkets meant to represent his life. He especially doesn’t like the idea of you anxiously waiting for him. He sees the split second of desperation in your eyes when you watch the door crack open, trying to see who’s behind it. He knows the relaxed slump of your body when you see it’s him is reserved just for him. He doesn’t want to try and imagine the reaction you have when it’s anyone else.
(Because it will be, for at least several months, someone else.
And he will be miles away, trying to dodge a spray of bullets coming from men he doesn’t know, powerless to help you and maybe even himself.)
“That’s the problem.” He admits to Porco, before pushing his tray aside, losing his appetite.
When Falco is born, Colt can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that this crying, red-faced gremlin swathed in a baby-blue blanket is his brother.
“This is your baby brother, Colt,” his mother cooed, rocking a newborn Falco and beckoning Colt to come closer. “His name is Falco.”
Colt doesn’t know what baby brothers are supposed to do. For the first few days since they’ve brought him back from the hospital, Falco sure doesn’t do much besides cry and sleep. There’s a funny feeling he gets, though, whenever he hears his little brother cry. He wants his little brother to stop crying; not because the noise bothers him, but because he doesn’t want tiny Falco to be in any sort of distress.
Colt’s still too young to worry about things like life and death, but he does find himself on his tip-toes, peering into Falco’s crib, seemingly worried that if he doesn’t watch over Falco himself, Falco will just disappear into thin air. He doesn’t ponder on it too much, but as Colt stares at the peaceful state his normally loud brother is in, Colt realizes two things: life is very precious, and he wants his brother to enjoy this life for as long as he can.
He offers to carry Falco at any given moment, telling his mother that she’ll have her hands full while cooking and can’t carry him herself. He watches with morbid fascination (and a little disgust) as his father explains how and why he has to change Falco’s diaper, and even though he’s just joking when he asks Colt if he wants to change Falco the next time, he grins when young Colt nods solemnly.
“You’re a good big brother,” his father tells him, squeezing him on the shoulder.
A good big brother.
This praise becomes one of Colt’s goals in life. He’s a dutiful son, a capable soldier, and a dependable older brother. He’s the one who Falco looks up to in this world. Falco’s the reason why he doesn’t ever fight back against the blatant disrespect some Marleyan soldiers show him. Falco’s the reason why he’s careful about who he hangs around with; Colt was never meant to be with the group who walked him straight to the red light district. Falco’s the reason why Colt finds himself nervously trying to build up the courage to give a request to Zeke.
“They’re sending you to Fort Helena.” Zeke says rather than asks, tossing the baseball in a wide arc. Colt winces, but not because of the impact of the ball landing neatly in his palm.
“Just my luck, I suppose.” He says, throwing the ball.
It’s an ancient-looking thing, discolored from age and dirt. Colt can’t understand why Zeke hangs onto it, but asking him that seems even scarier than the prospect of asking him for a favor.
“Do you?” Zeke raises an eyebrow. “Think you’re lucky, that is.”
Colt catches the ball once more, hanging onto it for a few more seconds than necessary as he mulls over the question. He thinks about his family gathered around the kitchen table, no fear of ever starving, a nice roof over their heads. He thinks about Falco falling just short of making the preliminary list of future titan inheritors; with Colt inheriting the Beast, the Grice name will be restored. There will be no reason for Falco to chase after a meaningless legacy full of empty glory and an early death. He thinks about you.
“I’ve lived a better life than most.” Colt answers carefully.
“Gonna be a bit of a short life, huh?” Zeke holds a hand up to stop Colt from tossing the ball back to him. Zeke fumbles with the inner pockets of his jacket, taking out his lighter and a pack of cigarettes. “My advice to you is to start doing whatever you want, otherwise the deadline starts to get to you.”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
Zeke takes a drag of the cigarette, casually exhaling smoke. “I don’t want to leave behind unfinished business.” And he leaves it at that, choosing to not elaborate any further. Colt doesn’t press him for more details; they don’t have that sort of relationship. Despite the fact that Zeke’s been a full-fledged Warrior for so long, Colt has a feeling that Zeke doesn’t really have any relationships that allow him to confide in others. “On that note, do you have any scores you’re trying to settle before you go?”
Sometimes, Colt gets the funny feeling that conversations with Zeke are more like interrogations. Unlike Porco, who outright asks what’s on his mind, Zeke meticulously pokes and prods at all the weak points Colt wasn’t even aware he had. Colt finds himself shifting his weight around, the baseball suddenly feeling too heavy, his uniform too restrictive.
“I just want to ensure that the people I care about are well taken care of, long after I’m gone.”
Zeke studies him for a moment. The more time they spend together, the more layers of Zeke Colt thinks he unravels; the only issue is, surface level stuff is easy to understand. It’s when you start to dig deeper into a person’s being that they start to become confusing. He makes an effort to try to get to know Zeke, not for his own personal gain, but because no one really knows Zeke. How incredibly lonely it must be, Colt thinks, to not be known. To not even have anyone willing to try to learn you.
Of course, he knows that eventually he’ll understand what goes on in Zeke’s mind, that one day, Zeke’s memories will blend in with his own. But Colt’s not the invasive type. He needs to be invited in.
“You’ll do a lot for your family.” Zeke comments.
“They’re my family.” And Colt leaves it at that, certain that nothing more could be said on the matter. In typical Zeke fashion, he pokes and he prods. He’s perfected the talent of softening the words that come from his sharp tongue, though.
“Your parents and your brother; they mean that much to you?”
They mean the world to me. I’d die for them without any hesitation. I’d give up anything to ensure they live good lives. Those answers come to Colt naturally. He doesn’t have to think about saying them, but he does pause. Thinks to himself what a good answer might be.
When he was younger— the Beast still wholly belonging to Zeke, Colt uncertain of what his bleak future might hold — Zeke had always seemed to be an enigma. All Colt knew about him was that he mostly kept to himself, that he proved his loyalty to Marley by betraying his family (and by extension, revealing Colt’s uncle as a dirty Restorationist), and that he knew much more than he let on. Colt figures out this last bit of information through years of conversation and mentorship. Zeke’s trick, Colt realizes, is that he lets everyone else around him do the talking. At best, Zeke will offer up the most bare minimum reply he can get away with.
“I’m standing here, aren’t I?” It’s a cheekier reply than what Colt would normally give, but he relaxes his shoulders when he catches the barest hint of a smile on Zeke’s lips.
(That’s another thing Colt notices about his mentor; he doesn’t ever seem to smile.)
“You worked hard to inherit the Beast. The appeal of being a Warrior so enticing that you would shorten the time you could spend with your family?”
Colt sometimes forgets that Zeke technically has no family; his parents are either deep in the dungeons or dead due to their betrayal to the country. Colt hasn’t decided which fate is worse, and now he wonders if Zeke knows what has become of his parents. Zeke also doesn’t have any siblings; he probably can’t see where Colt is coming from.
“What I do affects my family entirely. If I become a Warrior, they receive the benefits and retain the status of honorary Marleyans.” Colt clears his throat. “Even after I’m dead.”
“Your brother — I heard he wants to inherit one of the Titans, eventually. Maybe follow in his older brother’s footsteps and take the Beast.” He’s not asking a question, but Colt can’t help but answer.
“That won’t happen.” He’s quick with the reply, tightening his grip on the battered baseball. “He’s already ranked close to the bottom of the list of candidates, and there wouldn’t be a point to him inheriting a Titan anyway.”
“There’s always the opportunity to make Marley proud.” Zeke’s being sarcastic; his actions might indicate that he’s nothing but loyal to the motherland, but his expression and attitude suggest otherwise. “That’s not a pointless ordeal.”
Yeah, but this conversation is starting to feel like one. Colt loosens his grip on the baseball, unsure of what direction Zeke wanted to take this conversation in. Maybe it’s just a setup, and he’s trying to gauge Colt’s loyalty to the country before he officially inherits the Beast. Having someone who can transform into a powerful monster at will is already dangerous enough; imagine if that person just lost control or wanted to take their anger out on the people who abused them on a daily basis.
(Honestly, the more he considers it, the more he realizes the amount of self-restraint Porco truly possesses.
That, and the fact that he’s a mama’s boy. If he went rogue, Mrs. Galliard would surely pay the price for his transgressions.)
“I just don’t see the point in him wanting to be on the frontlines of war.” Colt decides to say. It’s the truth. “There’s nothing to be gained from it.”
“You’ve got a point there, Grice.” Another drag of his cigarette, another puff of nicotine-infused smoke being exhaled. “War’s only glorious when you see the pretty posters telling you it’s an honor to enlist. Won’t be long ‘til he’s being sent out there. The disillusionment they feel after their first deployment is always worse than the shell shock.”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you.” Colt locks eyes with Zeke, and he continues speaking before he loses his nerve. “Falco still has some time where he’s considered a child, and you know that war isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. He looks up to you. Could you possibly… make some time to throw around the ball with him, maybe convince him that some fights just aren’t worth joining?”
Zeke doesn’t answer immediately. He finishes off his cigarette, drops it to the ground, and stomps on it, still possibly mulling over Colt’s request.
“If it’s a request from my favorite successor, then sure.” A brief flash of a smile. “Hopefully he throws half as decent as you.”
As a baby, Colt wasn’t very fussy. His mother used to tell him that she was worried about him while he was growing up because he wouldn’t make a lot of noise. She tells stories about how, as a child, he would curl up in bed, trying to make himself as small as possible, almost as if he was scared of taking up too much space. This anxious reflex was something he grew out of, probably because that growth spurt of his resulted in him taking up a lot more space everywhere he goes. It’s hard to hide in plain sight when you’re the one who has to grab stuff on the top shelf for others.
Falco isn’t like that, though. Colt remembers the long nights of constant crying that came from his baby brother’s crib, the way he could never hold in his wails of pain when he would skin a knee while playing on the decrepit public playground in the internment zone, the excited shouts of joy he let out as he barreled straight into Colt’s outstretched arms on the days a young Colt would return from the military base. Falco might be nearing ten years old now, but he still hasn’t outgrown much of his childhood; tufts of feathersoft hair that still sticks out against his longer strands, baby fat that makes his cheeks appear to be chubby, adult teeth that fits awkwardly in his mouth, and most incriminating of all: his innocence.
Falco doesn’t know anything about war. It’s because their father doesn’t like to discuss it, and Colt will do anything to ensure that Falco never learns. He complains that everyone in their family babies him, and Colt doesn’t know how to tell Falco that it’s because to them, he still is a baby. When Colt looks at him, he still sees the little brother who would hide behind his back, wiping his tears and snot against the fabric of Colt’s shirt.
Colt isn’t the type of person who speaks up for himself, but it’s an entirely different story when it comes to others. Growing up, he would get teased on the schoolyard, yelled at by his instructors in the military, sneered at, spat at, laughed at. He took it all in stride, and when it comes to matters concerning only himself, he still does — take it all in stride, that is. Just last week, he was on courtyard cleaning duty, except the Eldian units had no brooms to sweep with. He had to make do with a crutch (loaned to him by an injured soldier who felt bad for him) shoddily attached to some raggedy broom bristles.
The alternative would have been to ask a superior officer for a proper broom, but Colt already knows how that would have ended: with him getting yelled at in front of everyone, absolute humiliation and shame coursing through his veins, and still, no broom.
When you spend most of your life being someone’s go-to punching bag, you start to get a feel for what’s a losing battle, for what fight is worth having.
Even if things will only prove to get worse for him, Colt jumps to the defense of others. Even if it’s a losing battle, when it comes to matters concerning Falco, it doesn’t matter what odds are stacked against him, what cruel punishment awaits for him; defending Falco will always be a fight worth having.
It’s why he’s the big brother who kills all the bugs, the brother who checks the closet and under the bed to make sure there are no monsters in the room, the brother who couldn’t hold in his shout of disapproval when he saw the youth commanding officer punishing Falco. He’s the brother who enlisted so Falco would never have to.
And now, picking him up from his barracks so they can take the train home, Colt realizes that he will have to be the brother who leaves.
It leaves a bad feeling in his stomach, punches him in the gut, and it’s silent as he and Falco board the train. It’s no more than a twenty minute ride to the internment zone from base, but the silence between them makes the seconds drag out and feel like years. Even worse — no amount of time seems to be sufficient enough for what Colt wants to say to him.
Sorry I didn’t tell you I was getting shipped off to war. Hey buddy, looks like I’m heading off to war! You’ll never guess where I’m going! Don’t be selfish; let your brother get some glory for you to brag about!
He thinks he’d rather get waterboarded than say any of those statements to Falco. If the roles were reversed, if he was the younger brother feeling betrayed over his older brother’s silence, what would he want to hear?
The truth.
“I didn’t want to tell you because I was scared.”
Falco looks up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted in surprise. He’s sitting on the seat across from him, and Colt can’t help but notice the way he’s still short enough to where his feet don’t even hit the ground. It makes him swallow hard, before continuing.
“I was scared you would be worried about me.”
“But I am!” Falco interjects, looking like he’s about to hop out of his seat. “That’s why I’m training so hard, so that I can be the one who fights alongside you in the future!”
The thing about little brothers is that they can’t fathom a scenario where they’re not right by their brother’s side. Falco doesn’t think about how awful going to war will be; just that it’s important to him that they’re with each other when it happens. Colt thinks back to the way Porco used to go around bragging that one day, he’d be fighting side by side with his older brother, Marcel.
Then Colt thinks about the haunted look on Porco’s face when he realizes that his older brother is dead. When Porco’s birthday comes around, the one where he reaches the age Marcel never had a chance to be, he doesn’t celebrate. Colt stares at the earnest expression on Falco’s face, memorizes his childlike naivety, and prays that nothing changes about him when he comes back from Fort Helena.
(Because he will come back. There’s too many people waiting for his return.)
It’s barely late in the afternoon, but there’s a darkness that smothers the internment zone of Liberio.
The sun is shining, and Colt can feel himself already getting overheated in his uniform as he steps off the train, but even the sunlight does nothing to wipe the grim expressions off the faces of his fellow soldiers. Everyone’s excited to be off base and to see their loved ones, sure, but this isn’t a holiday visit
When there’s active war and their enlisted sons are stuck on base, Eldian parents know what it means when they see their child on the doorsteps of their home, no prior explanation given except for a letter in the mail sent just a day before the dreaded arrival of their son.
Opening the door and seeing their baby in uniform isn’t a cause for celebration. It’s the chance that this very well may be the last time they ever see their child again.
No one is out in the street. Parents and families have received their letters in the mail, telling them that in twenty-four hours, they can expect to see their soldier returning home for the night.
Not even a full day, Colt realizes. He’s back a few hours before supper, but what really can he do with his family before he wakes up at the crack of dawn to head on a train to a warzone? Maybe, in the few hours he has with them, he’ll figure out a proper way to say farewell.
The Grice family home is modest, unassuming. Much like its inhabitants.
Barnaby Grice is where Colt inherits his height from, but he’s developed a slouch (a disappointing consequence of his chronic back pain) that makes it hard to believe. His shoulders sag, and he looks tired. Mom says it’s because he can’t sleep at night; too much restless energy. His father is good with his hands; before the illness took over, he had been one of the engineers — one of the few Eldian engineers, too — that worked on the Navy’s ships. He still wants to work, offering to help fix up neighbor’s boats, free of charge. It’s a slow death, to be a busybody whose body is failing them.
Amelia Grice fusses over her husband constantly. With both of her boys now out of the house, it’s easier to manage the household, but that doesn't mean she can’t find problems that need her attention. If keeping an eye on her husband proves to be not enough to keep her entertained, she spends her time flipping through old family albums, seeing her little boys, and then wondering what she can do to help them. She’s taken up knitting; sewing is essential, but knitting is purely for pleasure. There’s a stack of sweaters and blankets she’s managed to make, and they’re all going to be stuffed in her sons’ knapsacks before they take the train back to base.
(She knits every time she thinks about them.
It’s going to be impossible for them to take all her completed projects back with them.)
As plain as it appears to be, it’s home to Colt. He stares at the faded red brick exterior of the house, the shutters black (and the color too saturated, indicating that it’s been freshly painted since the last time he’s been here), the welcome mat swept clean from any outside debris.
He doesn’t even have to knock on the door for it to swing open, revealing the tired, worn, but relieved expressions on both of his parents’ faces.
“Colt, Falco, you’re back home!” His mother ushers them into the house, and Colt is slapped in the face with the strong wall of nostalgia.
When was the last time he’s been back home?
(Will this be the last time?)
No matter the time that’s passed, Colt can tell that his mother’s been cooking her famous roast; the spices are still marinating on the meat, and he can recognize mom’s cooking from miles away. If he faints on the battlefield, the scent of her cookies should be enough to bring him back to full consciousness.
He sees his father’s work boots still resting by the front door, and as he walks further along the narrow hallway of their home, he spots the pencil marks etched on the wall. It’s markers for his (and then Falco’s) new heights as they went through their childhood years. Amelia is back in the kitchen, fussing over the food, and Falco follows her, probably in the hopes of sneaking in bites when she’s not looking.
Barnaby watches as Colt looks at the pencil marks he left behind all those years ago. He can still picture his son barely able to reach his shoulders, and now Colt is easily taller than him.
“Should I get out the tape measurer and pencil?” He asks, smiling as Colt seems to be broken out of whatever trance he was in.
Colt gives him a sheepish grin. “I just couldn’t believe I was ever this tiny. Even Falco was taller than me when we were the same age!”
“I can remember when you weren’t tall enough to reach the cabinets so you would have to climb on top of the counters.” When he catches the faint blush on his son’s cheeks, Barnaby laughs. “Bet you would rather not remember that, huh?”
“Mom screamed at me to get down because she was scared I was going to fall off and break open my head or something. Her yelling was what nearly made me lose my balance!”
“Ah, your mom just worries about you too much.”
“Don’t play Mr. Tough Guy!” Amelia peeks her head out from the kitchen. With her back turned, only Colt and Barnaby can spot Falco mischievously popping one of the baby potatoes from the pot roast into his mouth. They hold in their laughter while his mother continues. “Just so you know, Colt, your father’s been up all night ever since we got that letter! He even started sifting through our trashed newspapers for any articles he might’ve missed on Fort Helena.”
“I was just curious about the crossword.” Her husband mutters, but she rolls her eyes.
“Falco, go set the table! You two, come in here and sit down. I’m about to serve supper.”
Nothing beats a home cooked meal, but when you’ve been fed nothing but indiscernible mush and questionable protein on a military base, the Grice boys can’t help but devour everything on the table like they’ve been starved. Too happy at having the whole family over for dinner, Mrs. Grice ignores the way they forgo table manners and instead encourages them to eat some more. Right when Colt’s plate is almost cleaned off, she’s forking over more meat and potatoes onto his plate.
Colt tries to savor the taste of the meal, hopes and prays that his taste buds retain the memory of his mother’s cooking so he has something to substitute for the tasteless protein bars they serve all soldiers on the battlefield. He’s been trying to actively avoid thinking too much about it, but where he’s headed, there will be no pot roasts or mothers to serve it up on a nice plate for him.
Later on in the night, Colt gets that funny feeling again. The one where he feels like time seems to quicken its pace when it comes to him. He blinks, and he’s suddenly not at the dinner table, laughing at what the neighbors have been up to. He’s no longer washing the dishes, either (he does it despite his mother protesting that he shouldn’t have to worry about cleaning when he needs to be up early tomorrow); Falco still finds it funny when Colt makes funny shapes out of the bubbles and suds from the dish soap, and their boyish laughter fills the house, makes it feel like a home once more. Time gives him some grace, though, when it comes to tucking in Falco.
“A lot nicer than the bunk beds in the barracks, huh?” Colt teases. Falco’s sheets are still the same baby blue, but they smell fresh. His mother must have washed them while waiting for them to come home.
“Smells a lot nicer, too.” Falco comments, and Colt laughs. He’s sitting on the edge of his little brother’s bed, and Falco’s all snuggled up in his blanket. With the sweat and grime washed off from his face, his pastel colored jammies fitting only a bit too snug, and the way he fits so perfectly in his childhood bedroom, Colt knows that this is what Falco’s nights should have still been looking like. Falco will take the later train back to base, but Colt’s happy that he’ll at least get to eat lunch with their parents; maybe even find some time to catch up with the other neighborhood kids.
“If you think the barracks are bad, I don’t think you’ll want to be going where I’m going.” He’s trying to keep his voice light, teasing, but Falco immediately frowns.
“I’ll always follow you anywhere! I don’t care how bad it gets! You told me that as long as we’re together, everything will be okay.”
People aren’t supposed to go back on their word — especially not older brothers. Colt cringes as he thinks about how he’s going to have to make an addendum to that particular promise.
“You know, Falco, war isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s dirty, and disgusting, and the officers are all harsher than they usually are.”
“I know that!”
Not really, not yet.
“Then why do you want to go with me so badly?”
“Because you’re my brother. Because I don’t want you to go through that alone.”
“You know that I love you, right?”
“Of course, I do. I’m not an idiot.” He mumbles, pulling the blanket closer to his chest, covering his chin.
“And it’s because I love you that I’m telling you to not follow me to these places. I’m your big brother. I want to do all of this so you’re never obligated to.”
“But—”
“Do you know why I thought inheriting the Beast was such an honor? It wasn’t because I wanted to make Marley proud, or because I was finally giving our country reparations for what Uncle did. It was an honor for me to inherit it because it meant that our family would be safe. No one else would have to fight anymore. It’ll all be over, don’t you get it? You can live better lives now.”
“But I don’t want to live a better life without you! It won’t be a better life without you!” Even in the dark, Colt can spot the familiar shine in his brother’s eyes as an indicator that he’s about to cry.
“Falco—” Colt pats him on the head, feeling babysoft hair underneath his calloused palm. “Everything will be okay in the end. I promise.”
That’s the first promise of the night that Colt makes. The next comes a few minutes later, when he heads downstairs and sees that the living room light is still on. His parents are seated next to each other on the couch, and they seem to be waiting for him.
If Colt was still a teenager, he would be feeling nervous. They’re seated almost as if they’re about to confront him about breaking curfew or a bad grade (neither scenarios have actually happened; the nickname of “Golden Boy Grice” didn’t spring out of nowhere).
“Hi.” He sits on the armchair adjacent to them.
“It’s still early in the evening, but you might as well go wash up and head to bed. You have an early morning ahead of you, sweetie.” His mother suggests this, but there’s a reason why she’s still up and waiting for him. It’s because she doesn’t want him to go to bed, not yet, not when she finally has her baby within reach.
“Too early for me to be able to sleep.” Colt tells her, because he knows how she’s feeling. “Besides, I feel like there’s some stuff I didn’t get to share with you two during dinner.”
Colt explains about how the paycheck he’ll receive while he’s actively on the battlefield will increase; not only has being a Warrior greatly increased his earnings, but being on the frontlines will leave plenty for his family. Half of his paycheck will go to them, of course, but he loses his confidence in his speech when he reveals his plan.
“And a portion of my earnings will be going to someone else.”
“Someone else?” His father raises an eyebrow; it’s not out of malice, but curiosity. He doesn’t care what his son does with his money, but throughout this entire day, Colt hasn’t given any indication of anyone important entering his life.
“A girl.” Colt answers, suddenly quieter than he’s been all night. “I’ve made the proper arrangements so that you two won’t have to worry about manually divvying it up yourselves, especially if I… don’t return.”
(It had been an awkward affair. He knows that you don’t have a bank account, and his only choice was to turn to Willa, the redheaded woman running your brothel.
“You want my bank account information so that a portion of your paycheck can be deposited into my account, and then you want me to cash it out and hand it over to her? Is that correct?”
“I understand if it’s too much of a hassle. If necessary, I can pay you—”
“I’m not going to kick someone when they’re down.” Willa interrupts him, and he can’t help but feel like maybe she’s even insulting him. Does she think he’s poor?
He kind of is, but he makes a far more decent living than many others in his neighborhood!
“Of course I can do it. Did you tell her about you sending her money?”
“No.”
“Good. She would have refused it.”
He knows you would. That’s precisely why he didn’t tell you.
“I don’t meddle in the affairs of soldiers, and I certainly don’t micromanage my girls. I’m asking this because I care about her. What are your intentions, truly? Are you going to steal her away from this place? Are you going to keep on giving her your paychecks, even when you find yourself a wife and start a family? Are you going to leave her with nothing but a few memories of you?” Willa’s green eyes are too sharp; just like Zeke, she pokes and prods, but it’s her intense stare that seems to whittle away at his very soul.
“I want to do whatever she wants.”
Willa’s eyes soften, just the slightest bit, before she promises to hand over the money to you every week, and then she sends Colt on his merry way.)
“A girl?” His mother repeats, and his father only continues to look more concerned.
“Did you do something with this girl to make her your responsibility?” Barnaby asks, scared of what answer he’ll receive.
“No! It’s not like that!” Colt exclaims, nearly jumping out of his seat. “It’s different. It’s… A delicate situation.” He tries to avoid looking into his parents’ eyes when he says this.
“Is she Eldian?” His father presses, leaning forward, practically holding his breath.
“She’s from the refugee camp.” Colt explains, and he watches as his mother processes what he’s just told them, along with the relieved slump of his father’s shoulders.
Refugees aren’t treated much better than Eldians; at least most Eldians have houses as opposed to tents.
“Is she a nice girl?” Amelia enters her Mother Hen mode, knowing that it’ll do no good to worry over her son. She shifts her anxieties onto you instead. “Oh, that poor girl, she’s going to be freezing in the upcoming weeks! You know we have some of the harshest winters here. Maybe I should knit her some sweaters. Do you think she would like that? What’s her name? I’ll head down to the camp one of these days, and—”
“Mom, it’s okay! She’s doing well.”
She doesn’t seem to believe him, but she eases up on her questions.
“She must mean a lot to you, though.” His father brings up. “Enough to mention her to your dear old parents. About time you bring a girl home to us, boy.”
Colt looks down at his hands. “She does. I’ll bring her back home if I make it back.”
The if stabs him in the throat, but he knows better than to make the promise of when.
“Well, we can’t wait to meet her then.” His mother is smiling at him, her hands clasped with his father’s. “I have a great feeling about her.”
There’s a breach in the barbed wire surrounding the back outskirts of the internment zone. Legend has it that a Marleyan officer once fell in love with an Eldian girl, and he sneakily cut this discreet opening so that they could make an escape and run off into the woods to be together.
Truthfully, Colt believes the other version of the origin story of the hole. It goes something along the lines of how a Marleyan officer once fought on the battlefield with an Eldian, and the Eldian saved his life by taking a bullet for him. Feeling bad, the officer returned, took his name off for active duty volunteer, and became a patrolman for the internment zone instead. When he heard that the Eldian’s brother was going to be shipped off next, the officer, not understanding that deserting his duty would lead to the Eldian’s death, decided to cut open this part of the fence and let him know that running away was an option.
Colt’s not sure what to believe, but he does know that this opening in the fence has been used for the past decade or so, and will probably continue to be of use long after he’s gone. No one’s ever used it to desert their duties, and Colt thinks this is precisely why it’s never been fixed. You can loosen the leash on a dog to give them some semblance of freedom, and it’ll make it feel better when it heads back to its owner.
He checks his watch. He’ll make it to you just short of ten at night; he has to be back on the train by five in the morning. He needs more time, but he knows he’ll never get it. Instead, he finds himself awkwardly sneaking through the poorly cut opening of the fence, glad that it’s an unspoken rule that the Marleyan officers don’t patrol the streets on deployment nights.
If anyone was actually idiotic enough to escape, they’d find all the officers waiting for them at all the possible exits.
Even entering the brothel starts to feel too familiar to Colt. The sparsely furnished entrance puts him at ease since the space is so narrow, he’s bound to bump into something or knock over a vase if they had it. The lightbulb burns brightly; one night, he stopped by and offered to change the bulb while he waited for you. Now, he even can recognize some of the girls photographed on the wall.
Even Willa doesn’t seem as intimidating as before — still intimidating, yes, but Colt can almost muster up the courage to look her in the eyes for prolonged periods of conversation.
But there’s someone here that feels the most familiar to him, the one person who puts him at ease, the one person who makes time stand still for him.
You.
Just looking at you makes his anxieties momentarily freeze, and he resists the urge to scoop you in his arms and hold you close to his chest.
“Why so serious, soldier?” You giggle, smoothing down the dress you put on just for him. When Willa went down your list of appointments, she didn’t miss the way your face lit up as she mentioned Colt’s name. You had some free time; you wanted to look pretty for him.
He’s taking you in, eyes unsure of what to focus on, just knowing that he wants to focus on you. You’re wearing a pretty, colorful dress that reaches down to the floor and accentuates your figure. The fabric looks light, soft. He likes it when you wear your colorful clothing. It makes you stand out even more. You brighten up his life, and you don’t even know it.
“You’re beautiful.” He breathes out, still standing there, a man stunned.
“I knew you would appreciate all the time and effort I put into getting ready!” You give him a pleased hum, before looking up and gasping. “Your hair!”
“Huh, what’s wrong with it?” He runs his hand through his fresh buzz cut, worried that a branch or leaves had somehow created a nest on top of his head.
“Why is it so short now?” You look so concerned that he can’t help but laugh. You’re taking his hand, dragging him to bed, forcing him to sit down as you balance yourself atop his lap. He wonders if you’re as hyper aware of how intimate this position is. He wonders if he’s a bad person for having to restrain himself, trying his best to chase away any unchaste thoughts about you. Instead, he chooses to focus on you.
Colt’s used to being scrutinized. Every move he makes is under the careful, unremitting surveillance of Marley. There’s probably a counter for every blink he’s ever done, just to ensure he isn’t communicating to his fellow brethren via morse code. He’s used to the watchful eyes of Marleyan soldiers and officers who eagerly wait for him to mess up; no matter how minor the infraction, there will be a punishment to serve for his mistake. He’s used to the feeling of eyes focused on him. The harsh glares, the fearful looks, the disgusted glances, the pitiful gazes.
You’re looking at him intently, your eyes trailing over every centimeter of him.
Curiosity. Wonder. Appreciation.
Your eyes are full of them, and so much more, and all of it is meant for him, because of him.
Even from this position, with you straddling his lap, it’s still hard to peer over him. He has impossibly nice posture, always with his back straight and stiff. Still, you play with the hastily shaved hair, running the tips of your fingers against the incredibly short strands, so concentrated on your little exploration that you almost seem to have forgotten you even asked him a question.
Until you pause, let out a little gasp that has him looking up in worry, and now you’re asking him a question you couldn’t possibly be distracted from obtaining your answer to.
“What’s this?” You ask him, fingers pausing at the two scars dangerously close to his forehead. You’ve never noticed them before; they’re too close to his hairline, easily hidden when his hair is grown out and covering it from the world. With the buzzcut, the twin scars stick out against his fine, blond strands.
“My scars?” He meets your eyes, reaching up to gently place his hand over yours, the one that was tracing his scars with morbid fascination.
You nod, not wanting to speak out of fear that the words are going to get tangled in your throat. He lets out a soft laugh, even though nothing seems very funny to you right now. He stops when he sees your frown, your sad eyes.
He squeezes your hand. “They’re just scars. Nothing to worry about.”
“How long have they been there?”
“Since I was fourteen, I think.” Colt’s other hand finds its way to your waist, and he holds you, keeps you steady. “See, I can’t even remember all the details from how I got them. Not that serious, okay?”
But it is serious, you want to tell him. Because it’s him. Because a scar indicates an injury. Because it’s Colt getting hurt.
You swallow down those sentences, and instead let out a shaky, “How’d you get them?”
Now he winces, almost like the memory is being played out in his mind. Colt doesn't think too much of how bad his luck is, but he is acutely aware of how lame his life sounds when he has to actually verbalize what he’s been through to you. “It was during one of my earlier sparring matches. They had all of us get dressed in full military uniform to simulate what combat as an active soldier would feel like, and you’ve seen it before, the helmets we wear. Bulletproof, so the material isn’t the softest.” He chuckles a bit, but it’s clear that he failed to lighten the mood. He clears his throat, continuing.
“It’s not a very interesting story. A Marleyan soldier was just being extra aggressive that day, and I happened to be the one paired up with him.” Because that’s typically how Colt’s luck goes. “And he managed to take my helmet off and rammed it against my head. None of the officers noticed until after he got the second hit, which is why there’s only two. So, could be worse, huh?” He’s smiling, trying to make you feel more at ease, but the look you’re giving him makes his heart ache.
Only two? Only?
“Did the officers not notice or did they just refuse to acknowledge it until it looked like you would bleed out to death on the training field?” Your voice is shaking, and Colt moves your hand from his hair to down on the bed.
“Hey. Look at me, please.” Always gentle, always kind, always soft. You like that about him, maybe feel something even more for him because he’s like this, but where does that gentleness, that kindness, that unwavering softness, lead him to? Bloody wounds and lasting scars? Bad memories and story retellings that leave a bitter taste in his mouth?
You comply, still frowning at him.
“I’m okay now. I’ll always be okay.”
He squeezes your hand as if to punctuate his promise.
“I can’t believe I never noticed you had these scars.” You sound upset over this fact.
He laughs lightly. “Even the people watching the match probably don’t remember if it left me scarred or not. You shouldn’t feel bad. Besides, when my hair grows out, it’s hard to see.”
“Why did you get a haircut?” You ask him again; the soldiers you’ve seen all grow their hair out. It’s not a bad look; you think Colt is so handsome he could pull off just about anything, but still — your soldier doesn’t strike you as someone who wants to venture out and try new haircuts.
You don’t miss the hard swallow and the tightness of his jaw. He’s stressed about something. He’s hiding something.
“Colt—” Despite the nervousness of what his answer could possibly be, you still say his name gently.
He closes his eyes, memorizing the way you say his name. You always say his name gently. You even say your brother’s name, Ramzi, gently, too. You treat names with care, like they’re something precious, fragile.
He’s a soldier, yes, but there’s something nice in knowing that the person you adore the most believes that you are something precious, fragile, meant to be handled with care.
“—why did you get your hair cut?”
He opens his eyes. Your pretty features are contorted into a look of confusion and concern. He wants to tell you not to worry about him, that he’ll be fine, that he has everything handled. Instead, he swallows hard and takes you in, commits the image of you to his memory. He’d forget his own name in favor of remembering the way you look when you smile, pure joy lighting up your usual melancholy expression.
“Tonight is my last night seeing you before I get deployed.”
“You’re leaving?” He doesn’t like the way your question sounds, coming out raw and scratchy. Disappointed. Hurt.
And he’s so close to you right now, your weight resting comfortably on top of him, that he can witness all the emotion flickering across your facial features, pooling around in your eyes.
“Yes.”
Gone is your good mood. You’re staring at him, lips slightly parted, his hand still holding yours. You’re looking at him like he’s going to disappear at any minute now, and he’s so scared that he’ll blink, and he’ll really be gone, already on the train off to war.
Don’t look at me like I’m already a ghost. He wants to beg you. Stare at me for as long as you want, but trust that I’ll still be here.
“When will you be back?” You finally manage to find the strength to ask him.
“As soon as I can be.” It’s the most honest answer he can give you; the answer that will crush you the least. The truth? He’s not even sure if he’s going to make it back. War promises a lot of things: honor, glory, heroics. It never promised a safe return.
“You’ll come back, though, right?” You’re staring at him so expectantly that Colt Grice knows he’ll do anything on the battlefield to ensure that he’s on the train back home, back to you.
“If that’s what you want, I’ll find a way.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” You scold him, and he can’t help but smile at a fond memory of you telling him the same exact thing just a few weeks prior.
Before the kiss that he relives in his memories constantly, before deployment was even a thought on the forefront of his mind, just barely a fortnight before now, Colt’s sitting on the floor, back against the side of your bed, looking up at you from an angle that surely hurts his neck but he doesn’t protest. He never complains.
Sometimes you wish he would, just so you could know what to do to put him at ease, like how he always seems to be able to comfort you.
In this moment, Colt’s finishing up telling you a story about the blind date mishaps that happen on base. The girls-to-boys ratio on base is absolutely abysmal, he says, and the girls hold all the cards.
“The girls on base must find you handsome, don’t they?” You’re on the bed, but you’re sitting upright, knees up so you can rest your chin atop them.
“Um, well, I don’t know—”
“They do.” You say, suddenly wanting to curl up and make yourself feel smaller. You know it’s silly to feel the way that you do; scared that one day Colt will just look at you and not see anything worth looking at. If Colt stops and thinks about the future, you wonder, where do you fit in it? You know that you don’t exactly resemble the beautiful Eldian girls that he’s grown up with, the same ones who are probably more than happy to pursue him. They’re connected to him by the same culture, the same background — surely whatever connection he feels with you couldn’t possibly be as strong as what he can share with them.
“I don’t care that they do. I only care if you find me handsome.”
The expression on his face is so earnest and honest that you find yourself practically melting into the mattress. You’re not good at being vulnerable, never as open with your feelings as he is, but it’s almost like he can tell when you’re on the brink of insanity. When you’re close to blurting out that you don’t want him anymore, even though that’s far from the truth.
“Well, what happens if the most beautiful girl on base approaches you and says you’re the most attractive man she’s ever seen, and she wants to let you do all sorts of depraved, nasty things to her? What then?”
Colt likes to think that he’s managed to get a good read on you. You don’t often say what’s exactly on your mind, but he thinks he can fill in the blanks most of the time. There is no beautiful girl on base for you to be concerned about, and just the hypothetical that you’re bringing up is so comical that he almost wants to laugh. Even if it seems silly, he holds back his smile. You’re not asking him because you think this scenario is likely going to happen; you’re asking him would you choose me over someone else?
The answer is you’re the only one for me.
“I would scream for the authorities to take her away from my vicinity.”
“Hmm.” You mull over his answer, secretly pleased that he’s playing along with your antics that stem from places of yourself that you don’t want to explore; the insecurity, the fear, the anxiety that comes with being someone who you’re so certain is too good for you.
The more of himself he hands over to you, the more comfortable you feel with him. But the more you have of him, the more frightened you get at the prospect of losing him, because as the days go by, there’s more of him to lose. He’s not the stuttering boy who brought you socks one time. He’s the only man who knows your name and says it with such tender care that you start to believe that if you dare to fall, he’ll be there to catch you.
“What if you go out drinking with your friends, and the bartender is a very pretty girl, and she offers you free drinks and flirts with you all night?” You know Colt can’t turn down a good drink. Him not turning down the opportunity to go to a bar practically led him to your room all those nights ago.
Is your favorite vice more appealing than me?
“I would pay off my tab immediately, and let her know that I took a vow of sobriety. I wouldn’t even finish my current drink. I would just run and get the hell out of there.”
This makes you laugh. When his time is up, and he has to pass along the Beast to the next successor, he hopes they know how blessed they are to be able to hear your soft laughter in his passed-down memories. This is a melody that cannot be replicated by any trained orchestra.
“A vow of sobriety? You would never!”
He pretends to be hurt at your comment. “If you asked me to give up drinking, I’d never let a single drop of liquor in my system ever again.”
You mean more to me than any vice. There is no pleasure on this planet that can compare to the euphoria I feel when I’m with you.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep!” But you’re still giggling, adjusting your position so that you’re laying on your belly now, looking at him like you believe him.
(You should. He means every word he says to you.)
“You always tell me that.” He brings your hand close to his face before he’s pressing a kiss against your knuckles. Like heat hitting butter, you melt into him, suddenly finding yourself sinking against his chest, hiding your face from him in the space between his shoulder and jawline. The top of your hair tickles his chin; you breathe in deeply, catching the faint whiff of cologne and soap on his neck.
“No I don't.” You mutter, knowing damn well that you do.
You always ask him wild hypotheticals, usually out of the blue, too, as if you’re trying to catch him off guard. As if you’re waiting for him to slip up and admit that one day, he really will just run away with some other girl and drop you like a bad habit.
“What if you find a girl who doesn’t bother you with her stupid questions?” Your hands grip the material of his uniform, fingers curled around the dry cleaned cotton blend.
“There’s only one girl who keeps my attention, whether she’s asking me questions or not.” You feel the familiar touch of his hand pressed against the small of your back. Warm. Comforting.
Refusing to give in to him too soon, you soldier on, picking your next set of questions. These are a bit more serious.
“What if the war never ends, and you’re stuck on your deployment forever?”
“I’ll pretend to be insane and get sent to the mental facility back home, and then you’ll be the one who has to do all the running around to visit me.”
You don’t have to look up to know that he’s smiling when he says this. You should chastise him for not taking this seriously, but then the warmth of his body pressed against yours keeps you grounded. Helps you to remember that no one else in the world would be taking this barrage of stupid questions as seriously as him.
“Well, what if you’re fighting and get horribly injured, and then some cute nurse saves your life? I heard that’s how a lot of soldiers meet their wives.”
You can feel him playing with the ends of your hair as he tries to decide on a proper answer. It feels nice, to have him twirling a strand of your hair around his finger, and it’s almost enough to get you to ditch all these hypotheticals, but you stand your ground. “Well?”
“That won’t happen because I won’t let any nurse work on me, cute or not. If I get hurt, I’ll fix myself up.”
You think about the scars permanently embedded on his skin. The casual violence inflicted on him. The indifference of every doctor he’s dealt with.
“Don’t say that.” You mumble, trying to sink yourself even deeper into him, curling up against his chest and almost shyly burying your whole face into the stiff material of his uniform jacket. “I don’t want you to not get medical attention.”
Colt catches himself smiling. First, you’re worried about him running off with a nurse, next you’re telling him that he needs to get aid if he needs it. He doesn’t mind answering all your questions if it’ll put your mind at ease, but he does wonder why the terms of engagement keep switching.
“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll tell the nurse that just because she saves my life, it doesn’t mean I’ll run away with her.” Then, after really taking the time to consider a scenario in which he does need medical attention, he adds, “I don’t think I’ll look like someone worth marrying when I’m bleeding out and covered in dirt.”
You let out a little huff of laughter at the idea of Colt ever looking unattractive. As if. Still fresh in your memories is the vision of him from months ago; even with his bruised face and body limping from exhaustion, he still looked handsome.
“What’s so funny?”
“That you would think anyone wouldn’t want to marry you.” Now you tilt your head to look up at him. He has an unreadable expression on his face, almost like he’s deep in thought, but you’re not sure what he could be considering.
“I wouldn’t marry just anyone, though.” He finally says, looking down at you. One hand is still playing with your hair, constantly toying with the ends of it. This time, the action isn’t enough to distract you.
He wouldn’t marry just anyone?
You’re aware of your heart beating and from this position, you’re certain that he can feel it, too. Hating this sudden overwhelming sensation of vulnerability, of being exposed, you feel yourself trying to edge away from him. You must have been easy to figure out, or maybe Colt just knows you too well already, because he’s prepared, gently pushing his hand against your back to keep you settled next to him.
“Hey,” he says this softly; just when you think he reaches peak gentleness, it’s like he unlocks some hidden reserve of it. Like he has an unlimited amount of kindness stored in his battered body. Softer still, he’s telling you, “Ask me another question.”
“What if you find the one you want to marry?” You can’t look at him when you ask this.
“I already did.” This is the quickest he’s ever answered you, and you know that he gives you outrageous responses for every silly hypothetical you throw his way. You want to tell him that out of all these questions, this is the most serious one. He needs to take this seriously. The implication drawn from his answer frightens you as much as it excites you.
“But what if you don’t come back?” Your voice sounds so small that he can practically see the words shrinking in size as you speak.
“I will.” You feel him tracing a shape against your back. He swallows hard. “I’ll come back to you. I always will. I promise.”
Out of all the ridiculous statements exchanged this night, you think this one takes the cake. Even more unrealistic than him giving up drinking.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” You don’t like the way your words come out when you’re with him, all coated in emotion. He makes you feel things to the point where all those feelings struggle to be contained ‘til they’re spilling out your lips and drowning the both of you in them.
“Okay. I’ll promise not to make promises I can’t keep.” You wonder what he’s outlining on your back with the tip of his index finger. It could be letters, and you try to focus on following his movements, but you can’t. Something about it seems to calm you down, steadies your heartbeat. Makes it feel like you won’t drown from the overwhelming urge to beg Colt to run away with you, that you’ll survive this tidal wave of emotions and live to see the start of a new day.
And then he says something that pulls you under, drowning you, crushes you with the intensity of something indescribable. All you know is that you’re full of this foreign feeling when he tells you, “I promise to come back. Always.”
He can tell you that he’ll try to come back, or that he wants you to forget all about him if he doesn’t make it. Those are more realistic. Those are promises that are easy to keep.
But Colt can never seem to take the easy way in life. He’d rather take the roughest route there is, all the while, he’s fixing the road so that the others who follow have a smoother path to take.
“I’ll come back to you.” He repeats, cradling the back of your head as you try to bury yourself into all the empty spaces of his body.
He catches a glance at the face of his watch; it’s nearly midnight now. He’ll have to head back soon, even though he thinks he could spend the rest of his life with you on top of him, his arms wrapped around you.
He whispers your name, and you barely stir, but you let out a little hum to let him know you’re listening.
“Do you want to know how to send me letters while I’m away? Just in case you ever need to reach me for anything, or just in case you want to hear from me?” He sounds almost afraid, like he thinks your answer is going to be a rejection.
“Of course I want to! I didn’t know we could send letters to soldiers.” You actually sound excited, but then you pause. “Oh, you should let me know if there’s a limit to how many letters I can send. I don’t want you to get sick of seeing my name in the post. And, you’ll be busy, obviously, so I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”
You’re used to your gentle, soft soldier. Colt, who always ends his sentences with a chuckle or a good natured jibe (usually self deprecating). This is one of the first times you’ve ever heard him sound so serious. The gentle ministrations of his finger tracing letters and shapes against your spine don’t cease, but his voice is hard. Full of conviction. It leaves no room for your insecurities to rent out.
“You’re never a bother to me. Write to me as much as you would like. I always want to hear from you.”
It’s the truth. Always honest, always open, Colt is telling you the truth.
(He loses count of how many times he’s traced stars across your back, and in shaky, anxious letters — fearful that you’ll figure it out — I love you.)
In 852, roughly four thousand Eldian soldiers and twenty-two Marleyan officers are sent to capture and restore Marleyan order in Fort Helena. Only nine hundred Eldians and twenty Marleyans will come home.
The train ride to Fort Helena is a rowdy one.
The train rides to all deployments usually are.
Even if they want to believe (desperately) that they’ll come back, Eldian boys are raised to be practical. Despite their wishes for it to not be important, they all found themselves getting their affairs in order. Telling their families that they love them, what to do when they’re gone, how they want to be buried, where to spread their ashes. It’s hard to have a reunion with your family and reminisce on the good old days when they know that there’s a chance they’re about to become just another memory to share.
But thinking about that would put a damper on things. They’re already on a speeding train to death and demise; there’s no point in acting like it. They’re not sure for who, most for most of them, this may be the last time they get to create cheerful, happy memories. Something to keep them warm when the rain is pouring on their battered bodies, hailstorms of bullets flying overhead, the thunderous booms of cannonfire.
Someone is singing a song from their childhood; joyful chants butchering the melody and swapping the innocent lines for something dirty are filling the train, and nearly every compartment can hear the anthem, regardless of whether anyone in said compartment is singing or not. A bunch of soldiers managed to sneak in some liquor; half-full bottles of whiskey from their family’s liquor cabinets, cheap bottles of beer from bartenders pitying the deployed soldiers, homemade moonshine.
They’re not allowed to bring too many personal items with them on deployment. As the officers like to remind them, this ain’t a vacation, ladies, so pack light and pack sharp. The alcohol should be fine; Colt knows that the officers are indulging in their own (the only difference being that theirs is top shelf). Some have snuck in baked goods from their mothers and sisters; photographs tucked away in jackets and pockets; handkerchiefs from girlfriends. Colt has a knitted blanket from his mother. It takes up more space in his pack than the thin military issued ones, the ones created in a lab and supposedly designed to retain body heat.
While it’s Colt’s first time being the first group of soldiers on a deployment — meaning he’s the first to be on the frontlines — this is Michael’s first time ever being deployed. Colt wonders what type of soldier he is. You can tell a lot by a person based on what personal item they choose to bring with them.
The flash of a light hits Colt right in the face.
“Aren’t you just a handsome fella?” Michael has a large grin on his face as he yanks out the rapidly developing photo from his camera.
An instant camera. Michael brought an instant camera to the deployment.
Most Eldians have only seen large, bulky cameras, and getting your photo taken was a big deal. It’s a pain to find time (or money) to get it developed, and most Eldian families can’t afford a personal camera. The instant camera is a shiny, brand-new technological feat, and expensive. Of course Lieutenant Sells would be the only one able to afford one — able to afford to bring it to an active warzone, too.
He’s been going around, snapping photos of all the soldiers, even the Eldians. He’s not in the compartment designated for Marleyan officers only. He’s been roaming around, jumping from compartment to compartment, ignoring how every Eldian who doesn’t know him is on edge until he’s goading them to take a photo.
Before they had gotten on the train, Michael made Colt pose for a picture with him. The only person nearby and readily available to take it for them was a displeased Porco who begrudgingly agreed but was frowning the whole time. Colt was sure Porco nearly burst a vein from annoyance when Michael requested he take two pictures; a copy for him, and a copy for Colt.
Michael seems as cheerful as ever despite the fact that he’s being sent off to war. Perhaps it’s his good spirits and the fact that he interrupted Porco’s farewell to Colt that had Porco on edge. Truthfully, Colt’s glad for Michael’s interruption; the conversation they were sharing had reached very serious, very deep territory.
“You seeing me off?” Colt tries to tease Porco, but he doesn’t smile back. He’s got his hands shoved his pockets, army green bomber thrown over his clothes.
“Why wouldn’t I? This is the first time you’re being deployed without me.”
“I know. I grow up so fast, don’t I?”
“You don’t need to joke around with me, dickhead. You can tell me you’re scared.” Porco’s not looking him in the eyes; he’s staring at the space above them. Colt wonders if he’s staring at his now-visible scars.
“Well, it doesn’t matter if I’m scared or not. It won’t change the fact that I’m about to be sent off.”
“Just don’t be stupid out there, got it, Grice?”
“Gee, is this your idea of a proper farewell? It’s not my first time going to the battlefield, Galliard.”
“Listen, things are different with this deployment. You’ll be the first person they think to send out in enemy territory. Zeke has a bad feeling about this assignment, and I do, too.” Porco is finally looking him in the eyes. “And I know you. You’re the type of idiot to take a bullet for someone, enemy or not.”
Porco isn’t a cold-blooded killer. He’s the type of soldier who learned to develop the mentality that when it comes down to his life or an enemy’s, he must do everything in his power to ensure that he’s the one who will be returning home — preferably in one piece as opposed to being shipped back in a box, a broken body for his mother to bury.
“You need to finish the job. Ghosts haunt you in your memories, but a soldier with a vendetta against you can haunt you in real time.” Porco claps Colt on the shoulder, and they’re looking into each other’s eyes. There’s no malice evident in the hazel color of Porco’s eyes, but there is worry. Genuine worry.
Colt is nearly frozen in place at the fact that Porco would be affected deeply if he didn’t make it back. Another person he has to promise to come back to.
“Do what it takes to get back home.” Porco tells him. “Don’t worry about anything else.”
Colt is the type of guy who could be actively getting shot at, but he’d still find the time to be more concerned about the lives of other people. His parents, Falco, you.
Trying to lighten the mood, Colt swallows and lets out an awkward, breathy laugh. “Well, if I wasn’t scared then, now I sure as hell am.” Knowing Porco’s status as the Jaw, Colt asks his comrade, his friend, for a favor. “Just don’t let Falco know I was scared, okay? Tell him his big brother had it all under control.”
Porco scowls. “Tell him that yourself. When you come back.” And then, looking like he’s about to say something else, Michael comes around the corner to brush Porco’s hand off of Colt’s shoulder so he can swing his arm around Colt.
Porco’s scowl only deepens as Michael waves his camera in his face. “Hey, Galliard, mind snapping a quick pic of me and Colt?”
The photos Porco takes of them have found their respective homes; Colt’s copy rests in his jacket pocket, and Michael’s will also be carried in his pocket, too. Right now, though, his copy is turned on the blank side, residing on the traincar’s table, and Michael’s got a pen out, scribbling something on the back.
Colt leans over to see what he’s writing down on it. Probably something stupid and embarrassing. Michael doesn’t show it off like Colt expects him to; instead, he tries to discreetly slip it into his jacket, turning it over to its proper side, where the image of Colt and Michael standing side by side, Michael’s arm slung over his shoulder, can be seen.
But Colt catches a glimpse of Michael’s surprisingly neat handwriting.
Colt Grice & Michael Sells — brothers in arms
“The ladies are gonna loooove this.” Michael shows Colt the photo he’s just taken of him. Colt is staring out the train window, looking to be deep in thought. He’s glad that Michael didn’t catch him when he was staring stupidly at the flash, mouth open in shock. The only person who would loooove that would be Michael, because it’d be a new addition to his blackmail folder, probably.
There’s only one lady that Colt cares about whether she loves this image of him or not. He left instructions to you on how to send him mail while he’s deployed, and it’s not like it’s just letters he’s allowed to send.
“Can I have it, please?” Colt finds himself asking, realizing that he really doesn't look half-bad in the photograph.
Michael pretends to sigh. “I was really hoping to be able to hang onto this photo. Cuddle with it when the nights get cold, and I need a comforting presence. That, and I was gonna sell it off to one of the many lovely nurses back on our home base who are dying for a chance with you.” He gives him a cheeky grin before sliding it over to Colt. “Whatcha gonna do with the picture?”
“I’m sending it to someone.” Colt goes back to staring out the train window as Michael slides into the seat opposite of his.
“Oh? Is it a girl?” Michael wiggles his eyebrows mischievously, which makes Colt instantly regret looking at him.
He doesn’t answer, but the tips of his ears turning pink gives Michael all he needs to know.
“So it is a girl!” Michael leans forward excitedly. “Tell me everything about her. Is she a stick in the mud like you are?”
“She’s not a stick in the mud.” Colt makes a face. “Stop being so nosy. It’s not a good look, Michael.”
He pretends to have been shot, clutching his heart and making exaggerated, wounded noises. “Ah, you’re breaking my heart, Colt! Oh, it hurts so bad to be insulted by you. Please, make the pain go away. I’m in agony!”
Michael’s antics make the corners of Colt’s mouth turn upwards. “You know, you’re the reason why I met her.”
“Oh?” He immediately stops his dramatics. “How’d you meet a girl that I know? No offense, but we don’t necessarily live in the same neigh— Wait a minute!” Michael gapes at him. “Willa found you a girl who showed you a good time!”
“It’s not what you’re thinking.” Colt mutters, almost regretting letting Michael know about you.
“You dirty dog! And here I was, sitting and thinking that you’re the most gentlemanly out of all of us.” Michael is smiling. “So, what’s her name? What’s she like? Don’t tell me any of the sordid details of what you two get up to, though. It’ll give me nightmares.”
“Shut up, Michael. I told you it’s not like that.” Colt is blushing, but there’s something nice about being able to talk about you in public. He doesn’t want you to be a secret, to be the girl who he sneaks out to hold in his arms in a windowless room. He carries your name in the interior breast pocket of his uniform jacket, close to his heart. Ignoring Michael’s initial question, Colt smiles as he tells him, “She’s everything.”
Michael lets out a whistle that gets drowned out by the train’s own whistle. The brakes squeal and when the train comes to a full stop, the boys’ bodies are lurched forward.
Colt looks out the window and sees nothing but rolling hills; save for the mutters fluttering throughout the compartments, it’s completely silent.
They have reached their destination.
author's note: remember when the synopsis said that his life is about to get a hell of a lot worse? chapter three, part 2 is when we go full throttle into the war arc <3 but dw!!! reader's life ALSO gets worse too!!!! equality!
#colt grice x reader#colt grice x you#aot x reader#snk x reader#one shot#fluff#angst#smut#series: daylight#attack on titan#colt grice
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Reflections on Ep. 2 of LBFAD on rewatch
Haotian Tower: Body-swapped with each other and unable to access their usual powers, neither DongFang QingCang (DFQC) nor Xiao Lanhua (XLH) are able to escape from Haotian Tower. Not realising whom she is dealing with, XLH defiantly pokes DFQC in the shoulder when he asks her to use his body’s energy to break the Haotian matrix. This is the first of many times she pushes him around, something nobody else would even dare to contemplate! :D
DFQC is able to effortlessly tap into and use XLH’s usual powers to much greater effect than she herself can - to her amazement! Using white energy similar to what she used in ep. 1 to fix destiny leaves, he creates invisible scissors to give her body a trendy haircut (ever the king of style!) “Don’t forget, your body is in benzuo’s (this seat of power’s) hands now”.
XLH, mocking his self-address, angrily retorts that “ben gu niang (this girl) is going to make you bald now!” The moment she angrily starts tugging at her hair is when he first notices the effect of the one-heart curse she cast on him, which causes him phantom physical pain even when body-swapped!
DFQC can’t stand the sight of his own face crying and covered in tears and his nose running, which is why for the very first time in history, he allows himself to submit to the will of someone who is threatening him. He painstakingly reattaches each individual hair strand using XLH’s usual powers, something she could never have achieved herself while in her own body! XLH now agrees to cooperate with him, slyly justifying that an escaped criminal should the problem of the heavenly high gods and soldiers, and she shouldn’t take this job away from them. “Xiao Hua Yao (little flower demon), you have some features of the Moon Tribe” DFQC tells her appraisingly. But however hard she tries, XLH can’t control DFQC’s hellfire. Their only option is to repeat their previous kiss in an attempt to swap back!
Fountain Palace: Changheng (CH) is purposefully avoiding the victory celebrations in his honour. Although Yunzhong claimed in ep. 1 that CH was suppressing a rebellion at Northernmost Ocean, DFQC’s lieutenant Shangque (SQ) says later in this episode that the celestials recently invaded the Northernmost Ocean, that they have been taking advantage of the civil unrest to claim more and more of the Moon tribe’s lands! DFQC at that point noted bitterly that the celestials had been bullying the Moon tribe while he was away. I think CH must have at least an inkling that his tribe are the bullies here. The Moon tribe at Northernmost Ocean were so divided and disorganised that it was no challenge for him to defeat them and drive them away.
CH brought back souvenirs from Northernmost Ocean for the two people he cares about the most. The Firefly stone for XLH, and Green Flame Wine for Ronghao (RH) who has popped in(to a painting) for a visit. CH shares that he is horrified at the attitude of the celestials towards the masked fairy that sacrificed herself for him, saving his life and allowing them to reseal the Haotian matrix. The celestials never gave her a second thought. RH’s grief for his master Lady Chidi is a direct parallel of this! Lady Chidi’s battle with DFQC not only weakened him enough to allow the celestials to seal him in the first place, but her sacrifice (allegedly) saved the celestials from being wiped out by the 100,000 soldiers of the Moon tribe. However, none of the celestials gave her sacrifice a second thought, and nobody apart from RH and CH even visited her grave on the anniversary of her death.
RH is fishing for information from CH about the whereabouts of the Goddess of Xishan (Yunzhong also asks CH about this in ep. 5), whom he needs to kill in order to resurrect his beloved master.
Haotian Tower: Enter Dominatrix DFQC in XLH’s body! :D He is generally dominating, but it is more hilarious when they are body-swapped (and sexy when they are not). Knocking an unwilling XLH to the floor, he straddles her and tries to steal a kiss. XLH is finally able to activate the hellfire innate to his body to blast him away. But when he collides with an electric wall, realises that her body is in danger and could be disintegrated! She hastens to propel herself towards him so they can lock lips in their second lengthy and electrifying kiss.
It works, and they are back to their original bodies! DFQC smashes the Haotian Tower and matrix (made of the combined strength of the entire heavenly High Council) as if they are nothing. He then tries to follow through with his plan all along to kill XLH, not so much for revenge, but to keep his escape a secret. At this stage, he does not trust anyone, not even SQ, and much less any celestial. But his attempts to strangle her are foiled by the one-heart curse kicking in! Unable to harm her, he allows her to leave (he also does this after their next encounter at Haishi). He has rarely encountered a problem he can’t solve himself and believes the curse is no exception.
When reconstructing Haotian Tower, he deliberately leaves the bottom level of the tower broken, allowing celestial criminals to escape – both to provide a plausible reason for the disturbance that occurred when he destroyed the tower, and to distract the heavenly soldiers who would then be preoccupied with rounding up these escaped convicts. He is careful, however, to leave no sign of disruption to the Haotian matrix in order to prevent the celestials from checking on him.
Shuyu Forest: XLH, having discovered that CH’s destiny leaf is back to normal, is skipping happily through the forest. She’s happy because of CH, but this reminds me that the next time we see her skipping happily through Shuyu Forest in ep. 8, it’s because she has just spent several hot minutes exchanging underwater kisses with DFQC! The source of her happiness has changed between now and then ;D
CH, while investigating the disturbance in the forest and rounding up a couple of escaped convicts, drops XLH’s handkerchief which he had hastily stuffed into his sleeve at the end of the 2D painting scene. What kind of place is that to store such a treasured item? The impracticalities of robes without pockets! :D
Oblivion River: DFQC calls for his lieutenant, SQ, a fearsome giant black dragon who can also take the form of a handsome man. Although SQ was resting in the river when DFQC calls for him, he has proactively been keeping tabs on everything that has been going on during the 30,000 years of DFQC’s absence while keeping himself concealed. DFQC’s death had been announced 30,000 years ago, but SQ never gave up hope that the man he saw as a brother would return to him. SQ’s love and loyalty towards DFQC is incredible. XLH may have waited 500 years for DFQC, but SQ had already waited 60 times that amount of time before she came onto the scene.
Haishi: XLH visits Haishi, a city in a location outside the three realms and sees snow falling for the first time! She goes to the shop of her (so-called) friend Jieli to buy a Universe Pill in an attempt to heal her corroded immortal roots. Sadly, Jieli has been raised her whole life under the control of the show’s villains, who have used poison to force her obedience. It is so awful in retrospect :(
Xuanxu Realm: DFQC and SQ visit the site of the catastrophic battle between DFQC and the former God of War Lady Chidi 30,000 years ago. In a flashback to the battle, both DFQC and Lady Chidi had blown themselves up to gigantic proportions (as DFQC does in ep. 3). This is an epic portrayal of how overpowered they both are! During a lengthy one-on-one battle, DFQC had marked the back of Lady Chidi's neck with his hellfire, and Lady Chidi had significantly weakened DFQC. When 100,000 soldiers of the Moon Tribe arrived, Lady Chidi sacrificed her life in order to seal them within the earth with the magic of her devastating Shuofeng sword. Lord Dong and the High Council were then able to seal a weakened DFQC’s body and spirit away with their combined efforts.
The enormous Shuofeng sword and the 100,000 petrified Moon Tribe soldiers still remain, but DFQC is unable to free his people without the primordial spirit of Lady Chidi.
Liufang Pavillion: Sent by Jieli to deliver goods to the pavillion, XLH rescues a poor plant spirit that had been abducted by the show’s villains, and discovers a hidden destiny leaf there! But all destiny leaves should be placed at Arbiter Hall so she quickly retrieves it. When she tries to read it, she can’t make out who it belongs to. To DFQC in ep. 3 however, it is as clear as day that it belongs to Xie Wanqing, the mortal reincarnation of Lady Chidi, as he recognises the mark of Hellfire on the back of her neck.
Alas, she is captured by Dieyi who cruelly whips her arms with a chain! Through the one-heart curse, DFQC suffers the same wounds as her and realises that something is wrong.
Here is a link to my episode 3 review (contains spoilers). All of my LBFAD articles and episode reviews can be viewed with the tag #lbfad reflections (hyperlinked) and the table of contents to these is here.
#lbfad#love between fairy and devil#canglan jue#clj#dongfang qingcang#dfqc#xiao lanhua#xlh#cdrama#lbfad meta#cang lan jue#lbfd#lbfad ep review#cdramasource#asiandramasource#asiandramanet#dylan wang#wang hedi#yu shuxin#esther yu#lbfad reflections
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Not how it works
Pedro Pascal x reader
Summary: When your uncle dies on your birthday and shit hits the van with family. Pedro jumps in moments of crisis.
Warnings: TRAUMA bestie, trauma, losing a loved one, death of a loved one, hospitals, mention of dissociating, TOXIC family, getting kicked out of the family, breakdowns, not being able to say goodbye, abandonment, neglect (this whole stories is full with pain so please read with caution if you’re vulnerable for this. You’re not alone)
A/n: So this is extremely personal and very specific. I need to write this off of me so I can deal with the trauma. This is probably going to have a part 2 because this bullshit isn’t over. everything that is the backstory for this story has happened this week. I’v lost my uncle, can’t say goodbyes, been kicked out of the family because of one piece of shit ‘aunt’, who tries to break the whole family. Please read the warnings. This isn’t for everyone
Not how it works
You were currently chilling with Pedro at your house. He stayed with you for a couple of weeks for shooting and stuff. You worked on the production team and became close friends with Pedro. This wasn’t the first time working together but this project made you grow closer to each other than ever. You were watching a movie until your phone went off. It was your mom and you picked up. “Hi mom” you greeted “Hi dear, uhm I don’t have great news. Your uncle Jo is in the hospital… he’s not doing great. We have to go to say goodbye to him.” you stared in front of you, trying to process it. Pedro noticed the sudden change in energy and paused the tv. “Okay…. I’ll get changed. What time are you here?” you asked her and stood up.
“Ehm… it’s only for the brothers, sisters and children….” She told you and your disbelieve grew. “So… I can’t go?” your voice broke slowly and Pedro looked with concern at you. “No, I’m sorry. But I’ll come when we’re done.” She told you and you sat down back defeated. Anxiety, worry swirled through your stomach, making you almost physically sick. “okay.” Your voice broke down completely and you hang up. you were waiting for a reality check right now and tried to comprehend it.
“Sweetheart? What’s going on?” Pedro’s voice ever so gentle and laced with worry as he sat closer to you, rubbing your back softly. “My uncle… he’s going to die… he’s in the hospital.” You told him. “Okay, so let’s go than!” Pedro told you and stood up, holding out his hand for you. You just looked at him, eyes started to water up, making you feel defeated. “I’m not allowed… I can’t go.” Your voice broke and Pedro looked with disbelieve at you. “Are you serious right now?” Pedro didn’t understood and to be honest, neither did you. The tears started to slip and you started to sob. Pedro immediately sat down and pulled you into a tight hug.
He knew about your family and how you always felt left out. With the death of your godfather, you weren’t allowed into the church or whatever. They made you stand outside, all alone and in the cold, which was extremely traumatic and it was all because one piece of shit of a ‘lady’. You were still struggling with that to this day and this brought you back to that point, where you were, once again, all alone. You were a wreck right now and Pedro’s shirt was wet from all the crying. You were in for a rollercoaster and Pedro and you knew it.
You held contact with your mom but you couldn’t contact her anymore, feeling even more left out. Finally after 7 hours, you heard from her. She called you to ask you if it was okay if she was going home or not. You couldn’t believe it. “No. I rather want to see you. I’ve been waiting all day.” You said with tears in your eyes. Pedro was softly rubbing your back, sympathy and pain written over his face. The way he saw you, broke his heart into pieces and how they already treated you.
In ten minutes your mom arrived at your home. You both sat there in silence. “We had to eat together with everyone… and your niece was there as well and nephews.” You felt your blood boil. “So they could but I couldn’t??” you started to get mad as the tears slipped down your cheeks. Pedro heard everything from the kitchen, where he stood so he gave you both some privacy but could still hear and see you. “Y/N, They had to be!” You shook your head and let out a frustrated chuckle. “Oh okey, so they could all say goodbye. Everyone except for me! And what about dinner Huh? I’ve been waiting here all goddamn day! The whole FUCKING day for what? I didn’t hear from anyone because you were all together and I HAD to stay home! I couldn’t even say goodbye!” you were furious to say the least. “I would’ve really fucking appreciated if someone asked me: ‘hey, I know you’re at home, would you like to have at least dinner? So we’re all together? But no, no one asked me because they don’t care!”
“They do!” she told you. “Oh really?” you didn’t believe anything she was saying right now. “You want to go to the hospital than? You want to say goodbye?” she asked you and you were absolutely flabbergasted as you got into a fight with your mom. “Yes, of course I want to say goodbye!” She nodded and clenched her jaw. “Then get dressed.” You looked surprised at her. “You said I wasn’t allowed….” You couldn’t believe it and it fueled your anger. “You are now.” you shook your head, not understanding that, now you could but not before when there were even people who weren’t allowed in. And they didn’t even think of calling you. No, they left you with all the question, didn’t respond, left you out as usual.
You stormed passed Pedro, tears streaming down your face as you walked up stairs. “Be quick.” Your mom called after you. Pedro looked at your mom and quickly went after you. You were sobbing while gathering your stuff. Pedro had a sympathetic look on his face, which became almost permanently now. “Can you please come with me?” Pedro looked at you with a soft gentle look and nodded. He walked up to you and pulled you into a hug. “Don’t worry, I won’t ever leave you alone. Do you understand that? I’m not going anywhere baby girl.” He told you as he looked straight into your eyes and cupped your cheeks. He only called you baby girl when life got super rough and you needed gentleness in your life.
You nodded, tears still streaming but now because of the warmth and love radiating from Pedro. (The love and warmth you needed so bad in your life.) You were ready and all got into the car. Pedro held your hand the entire way. It was late at night and the hospital was almost empty. You felt a pit in your stomach as you stood in the elevator. You searched for Pedro’s hand and held it. Your family didn’t know that you knew Pedro, let alone be so close. The elevator opened and you stepped out, seeing your uncle, some other aunts and uncles that you didn’t know and some you did. You greeted them as you usually did and your mom took you to the room he laid in.
Pedro waited for you in the ‘family room’. You walked into the room of your uncle and he was everything except peaceful. He couldn’t communicate and was very agitated and was fighting his own death which broke your heart even more. You saw your grandma comforting your uncle. It broke your heart to see. Your grandma already lost one of her sons (your godfather) and not even 2,5 years later, her other son. Comforting him to his own death.
You sat there for a good hour and a half before coming back to the family room. Pedro was awaiting your reaction but you were so extremely closed off that he was unable to read you, so he figured the worst because you would never close him off. You gave your family a hug and left, making your way to the elevator. You were all silent and Pedro gave you the space you needed, never pushing you for answers but waiting until you were ready to talk about it. But Pedro noticed when you wanted affection as in, cuddles, holding your hand or your back, it didn’t really matter, you just wanted some physical contact. So that’s how he noticed that you were very much in need for some comfort, so he went with the back of his fingers over the back of your hand, making you grab his hand as you walked out of the elevator.
You walked to the car and it didn’t took long to arrive home. “He won’t make the night.” You commented, making your mother nod as you stood inside of your house. She gave you a hug and left, leaving you alone with Pedro. You poured a glass of wine in for yourself and looked at Pedro, if he wanted some. He was leaning against the kitchen counter as the clock ticked 1 AM. He nodded and gave you a sympathetic smile. You poured some in for him, got your joint and you jumped on the kitchen counter, lighting the joint and took a big puff.
You were both silent and Pedro stood next to you, not really knowing what to say or do. “are you…. okay?” he asked carefully and soft. Your eyes started watering and you tried to push away the overwhelming feeling of sadness and defeat. Even though how hard you tried, the tears started to slip. Pedro put his glass of wine away and put his arms around you for a hug. You were still sitting on the kitchen counter but the only person who was allowed in your bubble was Pedro. There was a safety, comforting and reassuring energy from him and you trusted him with your life. You started to sob, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. After an hour of crying and a bad headache, the weed finally kicked in, making you calm down a bit.
Pedro slept with you that night. Comforting where he could and giving you all the cuddles, making sure that you didn’t feel alone and that you felt loved.
The passing days, you’ve gone to the hospital. Your mother had a moment of communication with him and could say her goodbyes. You stood there, looking and unable to actually say goodbye. The next day, when you got ready for the hospital, they told you that you weren’t welcome anymore. It broke your heart but they said his children wanted to be with him, which you could understand. Until you heard and saw pictures that nieces and cousins were there.
On Thursday, it was your birthday and let’s just say, you were NOT in the mood. You walked downstairs, feeling heavy and it got rougher with the day. Pedro was already awake and was making you a birthday breakfast. He saw you walk down the stairs and gave you a soft smile, pulling you into a hug. “I know you’re not really in a festive mood but I still want to make you feel special sweetheart. Happy birthday baby girl.” He told you and you held onto him tighter. “Thank you Pepsi. I appreciate it.” He gave you a kiss on your forehead. You ate breakfast together and before you wanted to open your presents from Pedro, you got a call from your mom. You spoke to her before and she whished you a happy birthday so you knew that this call was going to be THE call.
“Hey sweetie…. There’s no easy way to say this but your uncle has passed away. I’m on my way so we can go to family okay?” you were silent and you felt completely empty. “Okay..” you whispered out and hang up. You stared at Pedro, still feeling empty and you felt confused because of that. So many feeling swirled to your body and you couldn’t identify them, leaving you feeling empty and confused. “He’s gone.” You whispered out and Pedro teared up, seeing you like this.
He stood up, placing his hands on your arms, making you stand up. He pulled you into a hug. “I’m so, so sorry… I’m here for you. I won’t leave you. You don’t have to do this alone baby girl. I’ll be with you.” you nodded, still feeling empty and weird.
Your mom and her boyfriend arrived at your house, whished you a happy birthday and their condolences at the same time. Friends of yours did the same thing. From going to happy birthday to my condolences, was horrible and confusing. You got in the car and held Pedro’s hand the entire ride to your grandma’s house and picking up your uncle on the way. You were scared that the same thing would happen here as it did with your godfather. (leaving you outside, unable to say your goodbyes, not allowed in the church because of COVID. But everyone knew better. She wanted you out of the family, a so called aunt of yours who wasn’t even in the goddamn family. She was married to your uncle so as a matter of fact, she had no right in any way, shape or form to put you away.)
Pedro knew what had happened with your godfather and how you despise her. It was trauma where you still haven’t really healed from. You told him there was a lot of tension in the family. Like A LOT. That so called aunt of yours, treated on of your uncles horrible. He had to do everything for everyone for free when he was still recovering from getting a new hip. And she even told him that he should be grateful that he could eat with them. She is one of the most evil person you’ve met. So, you knew that there was at least something going to happen. And that there would be a big bomb of confrontation, tension and drama, falling in one of these days.
You got out of the car and greeted the people in the house but something was off. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something was going to happen. Your other aunt was behaving weird towards you. Not really looking at you when you tried to talk to her and sometimes staring at you when you were doing nothing and it caught not only your attention but Pedro’s as well, who sat next to you. You felt a distance between you and some ‘family members’.
One of your uncles came in, who you disliked as well cause he stood next to that piece of shit aunt and was one of the ‘leaders’ when your godfather died. So he was also to blame for how they treated you.
It was now 7 in the evening and you still hadn’t eaten yet, but they told you that Maria (THAT aunt) was making dinner. It was a part of the culture to eat together when there was a loss in the family. It wasn’t even up for discussion because you HAD to. So it was weird that you still hadn’t eaten yet but maybe after seeing your uncle who had passed, you would eat.
That uncle spoke up. “This is a sad day. I just want to make clear that what’s going to happen, are the whishes from the family and not my decision…” he looked at you and your mom, making you frown a bit. You felt a pit in your stomach as flashbacks from your godfather came to mind, scared that history was going to repeat itself. “After seeing him, we want you all to go home. We have long and tiring days ahead.” He finished his sentence, looking at you and your mom once again. Everyone stood up and his wife was looking sympathetic at you, making you even more suspicious. You looked at your mom and Pedro, hoping that they noticed it too. Your mom was too busy talking with that uncle so you looked at Pedro, who seemed to noticed it as well. “I’m with you, remember?” he softly told you, making you nod.
You all got in the car, your mom was driving, her boyfriend next to her, the uncle you picked up in the backseat and Pedro next to you. You were the second to arrive at the place they put your uncle in. Your godmother, another aunt and her daughters first as you waited. You couldn’t see him from where you were standing so you waited for your turn. Everyone followed behind you, there were at least 25 family members behind you. The kids of your uncle walked in and one of your aunts (his daughter that hugged you in the hospital) walked straight up to you and your mom. “I appreciate you coming here, but you’re not welcome. I need you to leave, you’re getting too close and I can’t deal with it.” you felt a brick hitting you, knocking out the air from your lungs. Tears started to water and your heart was pounding. Everyone was surprised and Pedro looked shocked.
You were the first to turn around and walk out of the building, almost knocking over that piece of shit of your uncle, over as you picked up your pace. You’re breathing started to become uneven while you sobbed, trying to catch some air. Everything was spinning around you. You heard someone call your name but you didn’t care anymore. The humiliation you felt and not being able to wrap your head around it. Why did she want you gone when you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong and when she hugged you in the hospital. You didn’t understand until it clicked where it came from. THAT aunt…. She was sleeping there and she wanted you gone from the minute you were in the family. They were vulnerable and she abused that vulnerability so she could push you and your mom out by manipulation.
You looked up in the sky for a minute, trying to get out of the panic attack, gasping for air. You felt hands on your arm, as the person tried to turn you around while you gasped for air. It was Pedro, worry extremely visible on his face. His heart broke into a million pieces, seeing you like this. You tried to push him away. The pain you felt in this moment was out of this world. You couldn’t handle it but Pedro didn’t budge. He knew you were in survival mode from this traumatic event.
“Hey, it’s me. It’s me, look at me.” Pedro begged as he cupped your cheeks. “Breath for me baby girl, breath.” He begged and you sobbed uncontrollably. Pedro pulled you into a tight hug. You saw over his shoulder, your mom and her boyfriend talking to your (good) aunt and your other uncle (that you picked up) walked out, extremely mad and pointed at the car to go in. You were ready to leave this hell place right now. You got out of the hug and into the car. You were completely dissociating right now.
Your uncle extremely mad as he got in the car. “Bring me to the station. I’m leaving. This isn’t over yet, I promise you that! Nobody touches my family. Nobody touches Y/N. NEVER. Don’t you worry, this isn’t over.” He told you but it was over for you. you got kicked out by half of the family because one person dislikes you for no reason. The other half, was standing up for you but there was no way you would go back.
You stared out of the window, trying hard not to make a sound from crying. Pedro had his arm around you, holding you tightly to his side, never looking away from you. His hand cradled your head and carefully pulled you into him so you could hide in his neck. You arrived at the train station and you all got out of the car and hugged your uncle. He cupped your cheeks “Listen to me. You are my family. Fuck them. This isn’t over. You keep being strong okay sweetheart?” You nodded, tears streaming out over his hand and he gave you a kiss on your forehead before leaving.
You sat in the car again, everyone was silent. Even when you arrived home, you couldn’t comprehend what had happened. You were dissociating very hard and had a blank expression. Your mom was talking to her boyfriend while Pedro stayed next to you, never leaving your side or leaving you out of his sight.
You were going from crying to thinking everything over to feeling blank to hate. It was a whole damn rollercoaster. Your mom picked up some groceries for dinner but you weren’t hungry. You were all drinking wine that your mom got until she got a call from that aunt. She picked up and they told you that they had to go back and eat at grandma’s house. “So they even fucking lied….” You told them, remembering what that uncle told you before you left. Then she told you that the aunt that told you to leave, told everybody that she didn’t. you couldn’t believe it. “She said it in front of every fucking one! And now she wants to fucking LIE about it?!” your rage was out of this world and you angrily stepped outside in the garden, lighting a cigarette.
You sat on the lounge couch outside and lit the fireplace and stared at the fire for a couple of second until Pedro came outside with some wine and a blanket. You were silently crying from all the pain you felt. You knew that you weren’t going to be invited for the funeral. And even if you was, you wouldn’t go. You had to protect that little girl inside of you from ever happening something like this again. Kicked out to the curb like you so many people did before her. It wasn’t about ego or pride but to protect yourself and like I said, that little girl inside. If you would go, than you would show them that it was okay to treat you like this when it absolutely isn’t. You don’t want to be around so much toxicity. This had to be the hardest choice to make and there wasn’t a good ending for what you would choose except to protect yourself.
“Hey” Pedro said softly. Your face was puffy and irritated from crying so much, your eyes red and watery. You tried to give him a smile but you could see from miles away it wasn’t meant. He placed the bottle of wine on the table in front of you and placed the blanket over your shoulders. It started to rain but luckily the lounge area came with a roof. Music softly played in the background. You had your knees up to your chest and rested your chin on your knee. “Thank you.” you softly murmured as you poured wine into your glass.
Pedro didn’t know what to say to make it less painful for you. I mean, how could you. There was no way to make it less painful. “I’m so sorry….” He told you softly and carefully looked at you. Tears pooled in his own eyes as his heart broke to see you like this as images flashed in his mind of how you walked away and remembering the pain on your face. You looked at him and slowly nodded, both at this point unable to say anything. Pedro sniffled and looked away for a sec.
You looked down as tears just kept streaming as if you were in a trance. Pedro stood up and took your hand in his, making you stand up. You had no clue what he wanted to do but neither did you care that much. He sat down in the corner and softly pulled you with him so he could cuddle you in a more comfortable position. “God, I’m sorry.” He told you and pulled you in for a hug. Pedro held you tightly to his side while you cried. You held onto his cardigan, pulling it into your fist and squeezed tightly. “Just let it out baby girl. I’ve got you and I won’t leave you.” he whispered, cracks in his voice since he became emotional.
After a while, your mom and her boyfriend stepped outside and you finally calmed down. Rage took it’s place as a defense mechanism. You all hang outside for a while until your mom and her boyfriend left. You convinced them that you would be okay and if you weren’t, would contact them. Besides, you had Pedro and he promised them to look after you.
Your feet were propped up on the table as you listened to the rain, heavily falling onto the roof, the fire crackling before you and the music softly playing on the background. “So… what are you going to do if you get an invitation for the funeral?” he asked and your expression looked pained again. “I won’t go.” You explained why.
“They’ve treated me so horrible… not only today but years even. And I kept going back. I just wanted to be loved but in that process, I’ve lost myself. I wanted a family that cared about me so badly that it almost didn’t matter what they would do. But they don’t love me. They’ve never seen the real me. They don’t care. I can’t afford reacting the same way as I used to. Never speaking up for myself or whatever. I’m not going to fight for this, neither do I want to. I’m done. I rather have no family at all, than them…. I’m done being okay with being treated with the BARE MINIMUM. I can’t and won’t let them.”
Pedro nodded. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. I really admire you and the strength you carry. People can only wish to have 1/10 of the strength you have. I’m here, and will support and stand behind you with every decision you take. Let them lose you kiddo. Let them miss out on your big heart. They don’t deserve even a small part of the love you’re able to give. They don’t deserve you, baby girl. They really don’t.” The moment he talked about your big heart, you lost it and he hit you right in the feelings.
Your eyes started to water again and before you even knew it, the tears slipped. “Can you give me a hug?” you asked, voice broken as you softly broke down. What he said, hit very hard. It was like that little girl inside of you, felt seen for the first time. “Of course! Come here baby girl!” he stood up and pulled you into his chest again. You wrapped your arms around him and held his cardigan tightly in your fist. He placed his hand softly on the back of your head and placed multiple kisses on your head. “We’re going to be okay. You are going to be okay.” You nodded and cried. “I need you to know, that I do love you. Very much so, okay?” you nodded again.
After an hour and two videos further, you both decided to head upstairs. You were exhausted, yet your mind kept wandering back to the events that took place earlier. You got into bed and Pedro walked into your room, not wanting you to be alone and neither did you want too. He crawled in next to you and you immediately clang to him. His arm underneath you, pulling you closer, your head on his chest. You listened to his heartbeat and breathing, hoping that you could keep your focus on that but tears slipped silently. Pedro didn’t noticed that you were crying until his shirt started to get wet and you finally sniffled your nose softly.
He got you out of the hug for a minute and held your hand and got into the corner again. You let your head rest on his chest. You were mentally and physically exhausted and still had some rough days ahead of you. “I’m so tired Pedge… I really am.” He softly shushed you. “I know baby girl, I know.”
After you finally calmed down. “I know something fun to watch. I don’t want to go to bed immediately. Need some distraction.” You told Pedro as you chugged your wine in. He gave you a soft smile and nodded. You got a new, stronger joint along side your laptop from inside. It was peaceful outside with the rain (and now thunder from afar). You put the heather on and placed your laptop on your, stretched out legs and searched for what you wanted to. Something easy to watch, yet something that would keep your attention. You found what you wanted and leaned against Pedro. Pedro took the laptop from your legs and placed it on his own so you could get comfortable.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay princess.” He told you. “I’m not going to let this happen just like this. When I see Maria, she’s going to hear what I have to say. I’m not letting her take my right of speech.” You sniffled. “You know I’ll support you. I know you’re strong enough. Stronger than she could ever wish to be. And I know how intense you can get too. You do, what you need to do, to process this and if that’s, speaking your mind to her. Than you should and I’ll be right beside you.” he told you, kissing your head.
“Thank you Pedge. For showing me what love is.” Pedro smiled softly. “And I’ll never stop.” He comforted you. “Goodnight.” You told him softly. “Goodnight baby girl. And wake me up if you can’t sleep or for anything okay?” you nodded. “Promise?” he asked you softly. “I promise.” Pedro kissed the top of your head as a reaction. You closed your eyes, knowing that you needed sleep for whatever bullshit was coming your way, knowing that it wasn’t over yet. But you were strong. Stronger than you ever thought you could be and even stronger than that. It was going to take time, a lot of time to get over this and heal from it. But for now, you needed sleep if you were going to survive this battle you had to face.
#Pedro Pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal imagine#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x ofc#pedro pascal x female reader#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal imagines#pedro pascal oneshot
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DannyMay Day 16 - Fangs
Words: 2,122 (FFN)
Summary: A few student interns at DALV notice some odd things about Mr. Masters. The reactions vary, to say the least. (inspired by a prompt borrowed from @danphanwritingprompts: A few student interns at DALV notice some odd things about Mr. Masters. Like hell they’re gonna call him out though; this is the only paid internship in the county)
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“Hey, have you guys noticed anything… weird about Mr. Masters?” Tariq asked as he slid into his cafeteria seat. The other four interns at the table looked up.
Dylan was the first to speak up. “Not really,” she said, looking back down at her lunch. “But I haven’t really seen him much. They’ve had me practically locked in those server rooms downstairs since the data breach last week.”
“They should just hire you at this point,” Linh-Nhu said as she began to peel an orange. “You’re basically doing the work of a full-time employee anyway.”
“I’m just glad this is a summer stint. I’d be a dead girl walking if I had to deal with this on top of classes.”
“Wait, wait,” Tariq interrupted. “That data breach, wasn’t it that weird ghost with the mullet that attacked last week?”
Dylan sighed and picked at her fried rice absently. “Unofficially? Yes. Officially? Apparently no. Something about having to deal with PR and all, since random CEOs from California apparently don’t buy the whole idea of ghosts in the first place.”
“You had better not be insinuating anything about Mr. Masters,” Marc said hotly, unfazed by Dylan’s woes. “Especially if you don’t have evidence to back it up!”
“Whoa, man, take it easy,” Tariq said. He raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Who said I was insinuating anything? I’m just curious is all.”
“I did overhear him talking to someone named Maddie over the phone the other day,” Linh-Nhu offered. “I don’t know what they were talking about, I was just passing by his office, but I was just confused because I could’ve sworn Mary-Claire said that Maddie was his cat.”
“He’s filthy rich,” Dylan said, pointing with her fork. “Rich people always do wacky things like talking to their cats on the phone.”
Tariq shook his head. “Nah, I’m not talking that kind of weird. I mean more like, physical things you’ve noticed about him.”
Marc slammed his water bottle onto the table with a little more force than was probably necessary. “Nope! Nuh-uh,” he said, wrinkling his nose into a look of disdain. “We should not be having this conversation in the first place! Do you realize how much trouble we’ll get in if someone overhears us?”
“Please, no one pays attention to the interns of all people,” Dylan retorted. She flipped her long brown ponytail over her shoulder. “I should know. My supervisor keeps calling me Diane. Any time I tell him it’s Dylan, he thinks I’m talking about the other Dylan, and he quit three weeks ago to move to Dallas.”
“Katarana, you haven’t said anything,” Tariq said, panning his eyes to the fifth and final member of their little intern group. “Have you seen anything weird going on with Mr. Masters?”
Katarana was still staring at Tariq with wide eyes. “No way,” she whispered. Then, with much more energy, “You’ve seen it too?”
“Seen what?”
She turned her head to Linh-Nhu, who had asked the question. “Vlad Masters is freaky,” she told the table. “We’re talking major freaky vibes.”
“Will you stop?” Marc hissed. “We cannot be talking about our boss like this!”
Dylan shrugged. “Free country, bro. What’s he gonna do to us?”
“Oh, hmm, I don’t know, how about fire us from one of the most prestigious internships in the country?”
She just grinned impishly. “And go back to Delaware, where I don’t have to worry about some dumb ghost thing interrupting my commute? Or try and steal all my cereal boxes again? Sign me up.”
“Marc, just shush for a minute, I wanna hear what Kat has to say,” Tariq said, flapping a hand dismissively at Marc. The latter drew his thick eyebrows together in a deep frown.
Katarana met each of their eyes in turn. “They say you can hear him talking in his office to other people, but when you open the door, he’ll be all alone. And others will swear up and down that the room will literally get hotter when he walks into a room, especially if he’s in a mood.”
Tariq scoffed. “Yeah, the same thing happens with my mom when she finds my dad’s sports magazines lying around all willy nilly. Come on, I’m looking for the juicy stuff here! I wanna see if any of you saw what I saw.”
“Your dad still gets actual, physical sports magazines? Like, in the mail?” Dylan said, eyebrows raised in disbelief.
“I’m being serious here!” Katarana insisted, completely ignoring Dylan’s comment. “Jarvis told me the thermostat was reading 80 after a conference call gone wrong.”
“Wait.” Linh-Nhu frowned as she tried to process the information. She’d grown quiet and serious just within the past minute. “Am I the only one here from Amity Park?”
“I mean, I literally just got done talking about going back to Delaware, sooo…” Dylan shoveled a forkful of rice into her mouth.
“Not me,” Tariq said. “I basically go to school in the middle of a cornfield in Iowa. And honestly, I thought I was applying to the main branch for DALV in Madison.”
“I told them I was good with either,” Katarana said, shrugging. “Anything to get out of freaking Texas.”
“I haven’t lived in Amity Park, but I’ve basically been close enough,” Marc told the group. “Grand Rapids. About an hour or so north of here.”
“Bro, in what universe is an hour up the road ‘close enough’?” Tariq asked.
Linh-Nhu simply nodded. “So none of you have experience with ghosts,” she said. It was a statement, not a question. “Because if you did, you would know that Katarana’s claims are absolutely plausible.”
“What?” Marc screeched. “There is no way someone can heat a room just by entering it! Especially our boss, who gave us these jobs, need I remind you!”
“Says the guy who tried to say he pretty much lived here,” Dylan muttered under her breath.
“Wait, seriously?” Katarana said to Linh-Nhu. “I mean, not that I didn’t believe it was possible, but it has to do with ghosts?”
Linh-Nhu hesitated. “Possibly,” she conceded, “but not for certain. Here, it’s a well known fact that ghosts tend to have an effect on their immediate external environment, especially in times of heightened emotion or power. Most make it colder - especially a ghost such as Phantom - but there have been known to be some who can make the environment warmer instead.”
“How do you know all this?” Tariq asked. His eyes shone with a curious thirst, and accusation was nowhere to be found in his tone.
Linh-Nhu blushed. “I graduated from Casper High. It turned into a hotspot for ghost activity during my senior year,” she explained. “Plus I, um, might have sat in on one of Dr. Fenton’s public lectures. Or… more than one.”
“So you’re saying Vlad Masters is a ghost?” Katarana breathed. Dylan whistled, impressed.
“Oh, no! Nothing like that, of course. But… it’s certainly possible that ghost activity could be involved.”
“Both of you!” Marc seethed. “If you don’t quit making false accusations against Mr. Masters, I’m going to report you!”
“She literally just got done saying she wasn’t making any accusations!” Dylan said, gesturing towards Linh-Nhu, who had hidden her face behind her dark hair. “Like what is your deal, man? Why go so aggro all of a sudden?”
“Well, excuse me for having a sense of preservation about this internship!” he shot back. “Do you know how hard I worked to get here in the first place? This is one of the most competitive internships in the country! I had to go through a lot to make sure I got this job!”
“We all worked hard to get here,” Katarana said as she folded her arms across her chest. “Doesn’t make you any more special than the rest of us.”
“Can we go back to the part where Mr. Masters is potentially involved in some ghost crap?” Tariq whined. “I wanna tell you what I saw!”
“No one’s stopping you,” Dylan said. “Well, other than Marc apparently.”
Marc had buried his head into his arms. “We’re so getting fired,” he moaned, his voice muffled by his sweater.
Katarana practically glommed onto Tariq. “Do you have proof he’s a ghost or something?” she asked with her eyes gleaming in excitement.
“Alright, alright,” he said. He moved his arms in the universal ‘quiet down’ movement. “Gather ‘round, kids, ‘cause you won’t believe what I saw him do earlier.”
“I don’t know. You have to have a pretty open mind to live in Amity Park,” Linh-Nhu muttered quietly, the hints of an amused smile on the corners of her lips.
“Okay, so I’m in the copy room, right? Trying to un-jam one of the printers after it ate my reports. In walks Mr. Masters, and he’s on the phone going on about some deal with the S. Culcar client. He’s like, super up in arms about it all for some reason, and it literally gets to the point where he growls into the phone!” Tariq said, waving his arms theatrically.
“Growled? Like, a dog or something?” Dylan asked through another mouthful of her rice.
“Yeah, basically! It was so weird, but it wasn’t even the weirdest thing!”
“Because things can get weirder than a business mogul growling at one of his clients?” Dylan deadpanned.
“Oh, they absolutely can,” Tariq said with the air of someone trying to create a mystery. He took a long, dramatic swig from his Dr. Pepper before continuing. “He keeps getting angry, something about a failure to find someone, or something, I don’t know. But anyway, he yells something, and he’s got his teeth all bared and stuff, like he was seriously channeling a dog or something. And I look over, just cause he’s being so loud and stuff, and he’s literally got fangs showing.”
The table was silent for a long moment. “Wait, hang on,” Katarana said, waving her hands. “You’re telling me Mr. Masters has fangs? Like he’s some sort of lion?”
“Yes! Exactly!” Tariq exclaimed with a vigorous nod. Clearly, he was waiting for a different sort of response.
“You know, some people just have really sharp canines,” Marc said, apparently interested enough in the conversation to temporarily get past his resistance to it in the first place. “Are you sure it wasn’t just that?”
“Nuh-uh. These things were bonafide fangs, all long and stuff and poking into his lip and everything!”
“Do ghosts even have fangs?” Dylan asked. “I thought they were supposed to be all gooey and stuff inside. Or something, anyway. I guess the two ghosts from last week weren’t super gooey.”
“Ghosts can present in a number of different ways,” Linh-Nhu said, re-launching into her teacher voice. “Many are humanoid, like Technus and Phantom - the two from the ‘data breach’ you’re talking about. Some are more blob-like, others are more like animals. Really, they can take any form, as far as I’m aware.”
“Oh! Oh! What about that thing they can do where they can possess people?”
Linh-Nhu hummed. “I don’t know if that would necessarily alter a person’s appearance. Usually the ghost takes over the person from the inside to avoid detection. I don’t know much else about that, though. I suppose there were a number of students and teachers who were possessed during that first major ghost attack, but they didn’t show any physical signs, I think.”
“So then he is a ghost?” Tariq asked.
“I still think we need to wait to make calls like this until we have certain proof,” Marc said, his chin propped up on his arms lying on the table. “I might not be from here, but I’ve been here long enough to see that one couple, the… Fontaines? Finleys? I’m not sure. Either way, I don’t want to lose my job and find myself on the wrong end of one of those guns.”
“But if he’s a ghost, or possessed by one - whatever - shouldn’t we tell someone?” Katarana frowned. “Like the one ghost kid who stopped Techno-babble or whoever it was.”
Linh-Nhu laughed lightly. “I’d be impressed if you could track him down. He’s a slippery one.”
Dylan suddenly slammed her hands on the table, startling the other four interns. “I got it!” she shouted. Her voice drew the attention of a few other employees sitting nearby.
“Think about it!” she continued. “Those fancy suits, the whole white-hair-at-the-age-of-40 thing, now the literal fangs and have you seen how pale that man is? There’s an obvious answer: Vlad Masters is a vampire!”
The table fell into a stunned silence again.
“Well, at least he’s a vampire who pays his interns,” said an utterly defeated Marc, letting his head fall back into his arms.
#danny phantom#dannymay#dannymay2023#dannymay 2023#danny phantom vlad#vlad masters#danny phantom fanfic#hannah writes#not so great at writing dialogue heavy stuff lol
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And since I’m on the topic of the Black Altars and how they seem to allow the Lords in Black to manifest in the physical world, let me give my explanations for which Lord rules over which Altar.
(Keep in mind I personally don’t believe anything that started being influenced AFTER Miss Holloway got the Black Book would be one of the five listed in there. The Black Book is super old and it’s possible some of the old Black Altars fell out of use or got replaced)
!!SPOILERS FOR ALL OF HATCHETFIELD!!
WIGGLY: Lakeside Mall
This is self explanatory. It’s explicitly stated to be a Black Altar and it’s where he attempted to be born.
NIBBLY: the Old Waylon Place
I went over this in my last post about Black Altars. However it IS entirely possible that at some point the Waylon place fell out of use and there’s a new Black Altar not listed in the book.
TINKY: CCRP Headquarters
I’m not 100% on this, because the only reason it’s got the time travel properties in the first place is because of people trying to harness Tinky’s power in in the FoA/Time Bastard timeline, but it seems to me like that wouldn’t be possible if it wasn’t already an Altar (unless they somehow had the Black Book). I’m assuming it was built on someplace that used to be a Black Altar.
POKEY: The Starlight Theatre
We don’t know WHERE the Apotheosis comet landed in the NMT2 timeline but since that’s where it began in the TGWDLM timeline this is the best guess I can make. I’m presuming in both timelines it landed in the Theatre because:
A). Pokey presumably couldn’t just manifest without using the Altar if they’re so important
B). It fits with his whole Musical Theatre deal.
I 100% believe the Roller-Rama isn’t his altar. He was already manifested in the world when Otho was brought to the Roller-Rama and that place had no other supernatural properties besides him.
BLINKY: Hatchetfield High
I’m aware this is somewhat of a stretch but it’s the only Altar we know of that doesn’t have a clear link to a Lord in Black. Blinky’s whole deal is that he’s a voyeur, and the whole point of Watcher World is peer pressure and the constant feeling of observation. I’m not saying it’s perfect but it’s the best link I can make.
Important Sidenote: I wholeheartedly believe Watcher World isn’t his Black Altar and he only created it in a timeline after he manifested. We’ve seen him physically in Watcher World so it’s safe to assume he’s already been brought into the real world in that timeline.
Also, I’m like 99% sure Watcher World was supposed to be located somewhere in the Witchwoods (???) and the woods absolutely CANNOT be a Black Altar; they’re maintained by the Hatchetmen, the only real opposition to the followers of the Lords in Black, and all the psychic energy there is a result of their interference, presumably nothing to do with the Lords.
The caveat I have to this is it’s entirely possible that Watcher World is a Black Altar created after the book was written and Blinkys followers moved out of Hatchetfield High and into the Witchwoods without being noticed by the Hatchetmen. I still believe if that’s the case then Watcher World itself wasn’t built until Blinky’s actual manifestation. I don’t think he’s interested in bringing about the apocalypse; that doesn’t seem like his style. I think Watcher World’s timeline is one where Blinky’s already won, and this is his end goal; creating somewhere he can watch people suffer.
WEBBY: The Witchwoods
There’s really no evidence to suggest Webby even has a White Altar so this is just an addendum to the theory, but the fact that it’s made out of the bodies of children who could presumably see her and is used for rituals against the Lords in the same way the Lords followers used their own Black Altars for them makes me see some sort of connection.
It’s also pretty notable to me that Willabella and Webby both have access to Hannah’s mind and Willabella is called the Witch in the Web. It really feels like there’s a connection there.
Okay thanks for reading bye ! <333
#can you see the hatchetfield brainrot yet#starkid#hatchetfield#tgwdlm#hatchetfield trilogy#nightmare time#black friday#nerdy prudes must die#npmd
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To the anon that said Jungkook fs is empress, I actually predicted strongly the same,and with the tarot readings I observed, she is such a traditional and conservative, everytime hierophant comes for her, with empress, it's pretty much possible to say she maybe virgin, one more thing to note is the things we predict is Astrology it's effect may be on the lighter side too, eg., Cancer stellium people are often seen as so sensitive and emotional, I read my friend's chart she has all inner planets in cancer..5 planets in cancer taking consideration of other placements too, she is sensitive and emotional but more on a lighter side, this placements tend to be so moody and depressed easily, but she handles them quite well, I observed things like this in other charts too , I also read a chart which indicated she tends to cheat easily, but she is very very loyal, the people's upbringing and the environment plays a impt role in shaping a person, instead she tends to flirt easily, but whn in relationship she nvr cheats, so I am saying the astrology predictions are quite true, the qualities are present in a person but it would manifest on a lighter note , especially for people who are more spiritual, and for people who are healing and clearing their karmas, I also predicted how his fs could attract people very easily but that doesn't actually mean she gets into relationships easily, and for jk with moon and Mercury conjunct in virgo, he needs deep emotional connection with a person to be physically intimate, and as per the reading by the admin, it's highly likely that he is not really into one, FWB, type..need not to say he is such a shy and introverted person, with virgo stellium he must be very sure of you to evn let u into his friends circle, let alone date ..let alone sleep.. especially after his Saturn return and aftr his maturity, and also that he is healing his karmas slowly, as time goes he sets to become more mature and more responsible, especially after meeting his fs, I wouldn't be surprised if Jungkook later actually feels bad for having ons or fwb if any so..or just feel bad for his immature self in the past , that's how much he is going to transform..as for his fs getting angry on him.. it's not evn abt being angry, if u have diff opinions on how to view things u wouldn't be compatible in the first place, which again makes me think he would be same as his fs the empress energy..not being fboy or so, him being virgin or not isn't a big deal, as much as she is mature enough to let go of his past or understand him, untill it interferes into their personal life, then Jungkook gotta deal with it whatever it is, remember we create karmas for evry actions especially when it involves another person, simply think he gotta deal with his karma if any of his past actions interferes them.
It was super long to read but very interesting point!
For the reading, to be honest i didn’t finish studying JK’s chart, from what I see, he can be willing to try those stuff but you all need to remember we don’t know jungkook personally, it’s an analysis, so we like to say the two sides of a coin if you know what I mean.
But in the end, I don’t think he does it often or is really into it. I know a guy who has Pisces Venus (and other stuff in his chart) and he really enjoys not being in a relationship and fwb stuff. He is not mean nor fuckboy vibe, he just likes the freewill to do what he wants (he is an Aquarius sun). He likes to have many different story with people.
But Jk def is curious on the s3x part, he likes it. He could do that for a while but then realize it’s not his thing. Also he could do it with someone he is very comfortable with. But I don’t think he did it a lot to be honest. He is tricky because:
1. We have the hot jk, who likes to seduce people, being seen, crave to be admire and for people to like him. He loves compliments so much and loves when people praise him. He is very much into competition, Scorpio has a lot of influence on him. He is very freaky and wants to experience many things. And loves to flirt.
2. Shy, introvert, responsible. Doesn’t let a lot of people in his life, personally. Don’t like to go out too much. In love with love.
He just has so much tricky placements. Some people mostly remember the « clean » part of him and others see a freaky man mostly. Let’s not forget we don’t know jk personally and it’s all about interpretation. And mostly for fun!
- uyu
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🥊Nina and Logan Relationship Synastry🥊
Credit: @venuscnjunctpluto
*I recently watched an interview w these two and their energy towards each other was interesting . Obviously their relationship has attracted alot of drama due to the his boxing opponent cyberbullying Nina*
🥊 first and foremost Logan is a Pisces Venus. These men are looking for someone kind, empathetic, and fairytale like. Women who are in distress, emotionally vulnerable, dealing with grief and trauma. Obviously people aren’t perfect but it takes some time for Pisces Venus men to learn this. When they are young they will fall in love with the idea of a girl who will turn out to not be what they wanted. They will hold onto this woman while still longing for their true fantasy and usually this leads to cheating. They are constantly displeased with the realities of a relationships /!; If you do not fit their fantasy you’re done for. These men can really disregard women who don’t fit their ideal and use this to justify sleeping around because the women weren’t “worthy” of good treatment anyway. They have to learn there is no prefect partner and everyone has bad days but loving someone despite all that is the purpose.
🥊Pluto in 10th his reputation is all over the place. He’s done some terrible things and this is something he’s struggling with. I think he’s worried that he’ll never find someone he genuinely likes because he doesn’t think he deserves it. Also, indicates image obsession and control issues. Nicki Minaj also has this a shes made statements about her husband being w her with or without the fame and during her hate train era.
🥊regarding her past, Ik a lot of Aquarius mars women who don’t view intimacy the way society wants them to. I love love love Aquarius mars women lol and I do not agree w the slut shaming. Not to mention the person (Dillion) who is fueling a lot of the slutshaming has mars conjunct lilith. This might indicate he directs his anger towards women who are outspoken, nonconformist, or overtly sexual as those are themes of Lilith.
🥊Logan has moon square neptune which mean his relationship with women is not always clear to him. He could be very empathetic towards women to the point he gets manipulated or he’s the manipulator.
🥊Logan has Venus in the 1st so he’s attracted to Martian qualities in a woman. He also has mars in the 7th so his marriages could be very chaotic and Rocky. Nina is an Aries sun + Aries Mercury
🥊her moon is in his 12th…. It’s a big he’s not seeing her for who she actually is. She can pick up on his emotional cues and sensitivities. He mentioned noticing her years ago on a super-bowl ad and it’s a high chance he dreamt about her. He views her as someone who needs protection from this “big bad world”. I think he literally called her an “Angel” and a “Saint” 😭😭😭. He is especially attracted to this overlay because he’s a Pisces Venus.
🥊also as a Capricorn rising a big thing for him is settling down with someone they can start a family with and marry. He’s made it clear he wants to marry Nina and have children. They take having children very seriously because usually these people were forced to grow up too soon and they don’t want to inflict that onto their own kids.
🥊her mars in his 1st he looks exactly how her ideal man should be. I’ve had this synastry before you’re just very very very attracted to them. It can get to be a lot when the 1st house person starts to “put on a show” and do too much lol.
🥊her Venus in his 2nd…yall saw that ring right?💍 and they seem very big on physical touch as he mentioned Nina loves PDA.
🥊Nina has Venus trine Pluto so it’s no shocker that her looks and beauty lead her to be engaged to someone with money. These women can use their femininity to gain access to other peoples funds, secrets, and fears. They know relationships aren’t just about “love” and they easily find themselves playing the game. However her Pisces Venus is still a hopeless romantic at heart.
🥊he has Venus square pluto and he’s definitely used relationships or flirting for content purposes. He made it a point to say he didn’t want Nina to feel like content so he kept their relationship private. He is attracted to women with access to money and bonus points if she’s secretive.
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Post AGIT SPOILERS
Dark Danny character arc
Ok so Dark Danny, or Dan for short, is now in a clone body of his past self. Cool. Personally I’d like to think that Clockwork made the transfer possible by having Dan’s time ectosignature be back to Danny’s own in this timeline. So he’s not got a 24/50-something year old ectosignature anymore BUT he still retains his memories of course. So he’s basically 16-17 years old now.
Why do I think his ectosignature being resynced to this timeline, so that he’s 16-17, should be a thing? Well mostly because I can see the darker NSFW side of this fandom rubbing their hands together and saying “well he’s an adult technically”, need I say more? 🤢
Anyway, aside from that, where can I see Dan’s character growth in the series?
Well, he’s human again for the first time in 12-13 years, he’s going to have to deal with teenage hormones once again. That’ll suck. Imagine going through puberty 3 times?
I don’t think he can go into his human form at first, I feel that seeing his own true human face would give him some form of PTSD. “Well he didn’t react before in UE” Because it was an illusion, not his actual human face. It’s different when it’s a fake face, but when it’s the same, flesh and blood, that you killed? That’s going to hit hard.
This is something he can work on with Vlad, giving Dan a chance to open up about all the wrong he did in his timeline, Vlad has no idea what Dan did, he just knows he’s a messed up ghost hybrid of himself and Danny.
———
I don’t think Dan will be at 100% power, not because he’s reverted to his 17 year old state, but because he’s still recovering from that battle. It doesn’t just mess with him physically but also mentally, so he trains at first but eventually it leads to a hesitant therapy treatment with Jazz.
This also gives Dan room to talk to Jazz about what he did to her, his own guilt towards that, and how he sees his family. Remember, he tried to kill them twice now, that’s going to really effect him. He lost his family from a stupid accident, but knowing he actually wanted them intentionally dead? How messed up is he that he would try to kill his family? How will he react now to seeing them and how affectionate they are with Danny?
As for Sam and Tucker, I think he’ll get jealous of that too, he tries to reconnect with them but it’s a bit difficult when he also tried to kill them. I don’t doubt that he’ll admit to them that he really did miss them, he says so himself in UE, his reaction when they hug him leaves him in a stunned shock too. Then he snaps out of it when Tucker insults him xD But yeah, I think he will try to befriend them again but shortly realises that their friendship wont be like before, that he needs find new friends.
———
Another thing, Vlad’s clones. UE takes place BEFORE Kindred Spirits, meaning that Dan had no idea that the clones existed, so how do you think he’ll react to seeing those for the first time? “What, you had a bunch of these just lying around?” Vlad can explain it all to Dan, about how dozens failed, “died”, and that’s gonna really piss him off.
Then Vlad lets him know about Danielle, a clone that somehow survived the process and surpassed the other clones despite being ‘imperfect’. Dan goes to find her in the GZ at some point, using Vlad’s own ecto-signature tracking device (based on the Boo-merang), he finds her in the frozen Tundra with Frostbite.
She’s with Frostbite because now she’ll be 14-15, meaning her ice powers started to kick in as Danny’s did, so Danny lead her to Frostbite’s world. It’s here that she stayed, found a home and her own identity. Her new name is Ellie. Dan then trains to learn how to use his own ice powers but struggles as he’s got two infused ghost cores. In these training sessions he learns more about Ellie and asks how she survived, he also relates to her more than just being his clone but also another one of Vlad’s ‘mistakes’. ✨Sibling energy✨
She explains that she’s regained her self confidence and her own identity, she liked being called Dani but felt that it was too close to being Danny, she didn’t just want to be ‘his clone’, she wanted to be herself. Dan takes a moment to consider this and offers for her to visit anytime, Vlad is trying to be better now.
———
Onto Valerie, Danny was only starting to have feelings for her around the time of UE, so Dan had those too. But obviously due to their animosity in the future and how he nearly kills her repeatedly, that’s gonna suck big time. He tries to get to know her again, much to Vlad and Danny’s dismay, Valerie isn’t exactly sure on how to feel about Dan since he looks so much like Danny. Which is explained with the statistic there’s an almost exact duplicate of you somewhere around the world, Danny found his and wanted to meet them, not only that but they had similar names, Dan being short for Dathaniel… Danny’s not great at making up shit on the fly, but Dan simply admits he uses the short version because of how dumb the long one is. I also believe that she’s working alongside the Mayor in the anti-ghost protection teams, her dad and the Fentons being the ones to help supply with Anti-Ghost weaponry. Also I do see Dan and Val trying to make it work romantically.
Again this is why Dan needs to be 16-17 again because dear god the implications behind a 24-50-something ghost in a 16-17 year old’s body just makes it so damn confusing on a ‘shipping’ level. I feel that it needs to be 100% clarified at some point otherwise it could get very VERY messy and people will scream p*do no matter which way you go because of the implications 💀
Alright, previous timeline Valerie. I am in agreement that there are 2 Valeries, you see them both in different places in the book so I don’t think they’re the same person. I’m gonna call her Val for this section.
Val is definitely not on Danny or Dan’s side, she wants to out both Danny and Dan as ghosts to Amity Park but struggles to provide proof. Both Dan and Danny have to work together when it comes to Val because she is a genuine threat, but also Danny thinks she can be reasoned with. Initially Dan doesn’t agree but over his redemption arc he basically winds up reasoning with her instead of just wasting her.
———
Alright, what about his relationship with Danny? Well… I don’t think he and Danny will get along initially, he’s… grateful that he didn’t leave him to disappear, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t resent him. Danny got his happy ending, Dan has to work hard to build things he’s lost, he’s not going to like being around him. They do start to act like brothers eventually, but Danny is clearly the favourite child when it comes to that. Dan eventually learns that he never really hated Danny, he just hated himself. He also asks how he managed to save his family, Danny says Clockwork helped.
Clockwork… OKAY BUT for real, why did Clockwork help Danny and save his parents, but not Dan’s??? Clearly he could have, but didn’t. “Everything’s the way it’s supposed to be”, so Clockwork must have seen a timeline where Danny would have to face himself twice just so he can become the bridge? Ooh Dan’s not going to like that. He had to suffer, to kill himself, his family, everything and everyone who died, just for the possibility of this outcome??? Damn. That’s going to suuuuck.
———
Final note: Dan isn’t going to be a good person just because he’s put in a clone. He has to relearn everything, go back to school to gain better social behaviours, try to learn how to fit into society again. He wouldn’t just be a ‘good guy’, think of him more as an anti-hero Danny Phantom. I don’t doubt that he wouldn’t agree with Danny initially about wanting to ‘help’ ghosts, but is quickly reminded about how Danny could have just left him to disappear.
I do also think Danny will take Dan to the old Ghost Runes, Dan is going to need his own purpose now. I’m not sure what that will be.
Thanks for reading!
#danny fenton#danny phantom#going ghost#nicktoons#dp#danny phantom a glitch in time#danny phantom agit#dark danny#danny phantom spoilers#danny phantom headcanon
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