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odos-bucket · 3 years

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More Protective!Batdad Fic, With the Pretense that this is a Series Mostly Given Up

They’re returning to the cave after Robin’s first night out since the start of Tim’s parents’ most recent stay in the city. It had been a routine patrol, made noteworthy only by the return of the boy wonder. They’d gotten into a bit of a scuffle with some muggers towards the end of the night, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle, and they had both come away from it unharmed. At least that was what Bruce thought at the time. And he paid pretty close attention to things.

But when the domino mask comes off he can clearly see where Tim has a black eye, and a bruise blooming over his cheek.

“What happened?” He leaves his cowl and gloves on the computer, and takes a few steps closer to where Tim is fishing his civilian clothes out of a bag.

“Huh?” Tim bunches up the shirt he’s holding into a fist, and his eyes dart around for a moment without settling on Bruce. “Oh.” Fingers of his free hand fly up to hover over his injured cheek. “Thief got in a lucky shot.” His voice is a fraction of an octave higher than usual.

Bruce’s eyes automatically narrow as he begins his mental recall of the events that had transpired less than twenty minutes prior.

“I didn’t see you get hit,” he says slowly.

Tim just shrugs.

The bruise is too dark to be less than half an hour old anyway. It had to have come from sometime earlier in the day. It had been hidden beneath the mask though, and they’d both already been in full costume when they’d met earlier that evening.

Before Bruce can say anything else, Tim is ducking into a private alcove to finish getting changed. He’s a bit slower at it than usual, and Bruce wonders if that could be indicative of other hidden injuries, or if Tim is just drawing it out to avoid further scrutiny. Several minutes go by, and he finally clears his throat.

“Tim?”

“Just a second.” The words come out quickly.

Bruce goes to change himself, only to find that Tim still isn’t out by the time he’s finished and returned. He knocks gently on the wall that’s partitioning off the section of the cave where he’s changing, and hears a soft startled gasp, before Tim’s scurrying out.

“Yep! Sorry! Sorry! Just a little spaced.”

“Tim.” Bruce hopes his voice sounds gentle. “What happened?”

“What do you mean? I told you-“

“Don’t lie to me. That didn’t come from just now.” Bruce pauses and sighs. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Tim shakes his head.

“I won’t tolerate you hiding injuries from me.”

“I’m not.”

They stand looking at each other for several drawn out, silent seconds.

“Were you patrolling on your own?” Bruce asks after a minute. “I’m going to find out if you-“

“No.” Tim sounds even less like his normal self when he cuts in. “I promise I wasn’t.”

“All right. So what is it? Did something happen during the day?”

As much as Bruce wants to know about it if Tim’s getting into fights at school, or somewhere else, he recognizes that it may not be his place to intervene if this wasn’t vigilante related. That’s fine (at least so he tells himself) but he’d like assurance that someone’s looking out for his Robin.

“Is it something you can handle with your parents?” He tries.

Tim’s eyes widen for half a second, and then he bursts into tears.

Bruce briefly freezes, before returning to himself and rushing to Tim’s side.

“I’m so stupid,” Tim is muttering, barely discernibly. “I’m sorry. I was so stupid.” The words barely come out between bouts of gasping, shuddering sobs.

Bruce wants to beg him to tell him what happened, but settles for reaching out a careful arm, and slowly pulling him close. Tim freezes for a fraction of a second, before melting into his side, continuing to mumbled unintelligibly.

“It’s all right,” Bruce tries to sooth, very aware that he doesn’t really have the voice for that sort of thing. “You’re okay.” He desperately wishes that he could offer some more specific reassurances, but he still doesn’t know what’s going on. “I’ve got you,” he settles for, running a hand through Tim’s hair.

They stay like that for a while, Tim crying, and apologizing, and Bruce telling him it’s okay, and wishing he could be sure that it was true. Eventually the tears dry up, and the breathing evens out, and the tense body beside his goes limp with exhaustion. Bruce doesn’t let go, not until he feels Tim starting to shift around restlessly. And even then he stays close enough to be easily collapsed into again, should the need arise.

“I messed up,” Tim says, after a few false starts.

“Whatever it is, we can fix it.” A ridiculous promise, and one that Bruce normally wouldn’t be making without more information. But somehow- without Bruce meaning to allow him to- Tim has joined the narrow ranks of those capable of inducing him to speak or behave a-procedurally.

Tim shakes his head.

“Tim, I want to help, but you have to give me something to work with.”

Tim is too focused on keeping his eyes dry, and his breathing steady to respond.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Bruce forces himself to offer, forces himself to remember that this child isn’t his, doesn’t need him the way the other robins did.

Another sob escapes Tim, and he buries his face in his hands. There’s a pang in Bruce’s chest as he realizes what he has to ask next.

“Did something happen at home?”

The question is met with heavy breathing, followed by a drawn out silence, and then, finally, a slow nod.

Bruce forces down his rising anger, as Tim finally gathers himself to speak.

“I don’t know if they want me to go back.” It comes out in a hoarse whisper. “Dad was so mad at me.”

Fury coils in Bruce’s gut, and lies in wait for his next question to be answered.

“Did he do this?” He gestures to the black eye.

“It’s never happened before,” Tim rushes to say. “Nothing like this ever has.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Bruce practically growls. Tim, to his credit, seems entirely unaffected by the intensity of the tone.

“I started it,” he says.

“… There’s no way that’s true.”

“Bruce,” Tim chokes out, leaning back into him.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Bruce pulls him close like he could absorb Tim into himself, like if he holds him tightly enough he can keep him safe- as if he’s actually capable of keeping any child safe. This will never happen again, he wants to say, I won’t let it. His mind is racing. He doesn’t want to let Tim back into that house, doesn’t want to let him out of his sight really. He’s never been able to fathom how the Drakes can have this selfless, determined, brilliant child in their care, and be so willing to spend all their time away from him. He’s been wary of them from the beginning. But he never imagined that they could pose this kind of danger to their son.

“This is so stupid,” Tim grumbles into Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce can’t disagree, though he’s a little worried that they aren’t on the same page about what exactly that means.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Tim continues after a minute. “I thought- I thought things were going well!”

“Telling me was the right thing to do,” Bruce says quickly. “If somebody’s hurting you- no matter who it is-“

“That isn’t what I mean.” He takes a deep breath, and leans back a little bit.

Bruce watches patiently, as Tim calms his nerves, and steadies himself.

“I… told Mom and Dad about Connor,” he breathes. “Not the alien clone thing, obviously. But, I told them that I was seeing someone- a guy- and I don’t even know why I did it! In the back of my head I knew there was no way it was going to go over well. I knew that. I was just, I don’t know, feeling happy, and okay for the first time in a while. So I thought-“ He shakes his head. “I mean I didn’t think; that was the problem. And Mom reacted the way I knew she- the way I should have known she would. And I got mad, and I started yelling at her, and Dad, when I yelled at her, Dad, that’s when he- he…”

Bruce’s heart breaks. It’s not like he’d imagined that Jack Drake would have a good reason for lashing out at his son, but this was nothing.

“I’m still not hearing anything that you did wrong.” He forces himself to stay calm.

“Trying to come out to them was dumb! I didn’t need to do it. They were leaving soon anyways, it shouldn’t have mattered!”

“No. They shouldn’t have hurt you,” Bruce says fiercely. “This is part of who you are, so it should always matter. It’s not stupid to assume that people who are supposed to care about you would want to know more about what’s going on in your life. Tim, you did nothing wrong.”

He runs a hand up and down his back, like he’d done when Dick had nightmares as a child.

Tim glances at him out of the glassy corner of his eye, and scrubs his hands roughly over his face, before mumbling something that Bruce doesn’t catch.

He waits for a beat, before quietly asking if Tim will repeat himself.

“They don’t want me coming around here anymore,” he says more clearly, voice suddenly empty. “They- they saw that interview you did a couple years back, where you came out as bisexual.” His face is tinged pink, ashamed to even be repeating his parent’s words. “So they think that I, I don’t know, caught it from you, like it’s contagious or something. But I didn’t know where else to go! And I- I don’t want to give this up…“ He gestures broadly to the cave around them as hiccuping breaths overpower his speech.

Bruce just holds on as Tim continues to cry, softly repeating that he didn’t do anything wrong, carefully keeping the furious voice raging, ‘those bastards won’t take you away from me,’ under wraps. He doesn’t let himself think about every other instance of his sexuality being cited as a factor making him an unsuitable guardian that he’s committed to precise memory, the vicious arguments that his children should be taken away from him, the fact that if he hadn’t been born so lucky in so many other ways they might have been. Tim doesn’t need him to be angry, Tim needs him to be smart.

They wait out the tears again, until they’re not falling so heavily, and Tim is shuddering occasionally, rather than continuously, and can compose himself enough to speak.

“I didn’t mean to dump all this on you,” he says once he’s mostly calmed down.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Bruce threads his fingers through locks of lightly tangled hair. “I’m so glad you told me what happened. You’re going to stay here tonight, okay?”

Tim is with them often enough when his parents aren’t around that they already have a room made up for him, a room which after less than a year has come to show more evidence of his personality than his bedroom at the Drake’s mansion.

Tim nods.

“Thank you.”

Bruce squeezes his shoulder.

“Do you still have pajamas here? Or do you need to borrow a pair of Dick’s?”

It’s something easy in a moment where everything feels impossibly difficult.

“I brought them with me when I went home.” His breath catches on the last word, and it only half comes out.

“That’s all right. Dick won’t mind.”

Now it’s just a matter of getting themselves upstairs. There will be more to worry about tomorrow, much more, and it will undoubtedly only increase in the days that follow. Bruce will have to figure out whether or not Jack and Janet Drake are looking for their son, and he can’t quite decide which the worse option is at this point. He’ll also need to make sure he understands what exactly is within his power to do to keep Tim safe. Bruce stops himself before he can begin preparing for the future too obsessively. He brings himself back to the present moment, stairs, pajamas, bed, all very manageable tasks.

He just really doesn’t want to let go of the child in his arms. The realization that Tim might need him more than he thought is overpowering, making him feel violently protective, and a little bit terrified.

Some of the strain of the moment breaks when Tim uses the side of Bruce’s arm to stifle a yawn, but it’s still a little while longer before they’re ready to head upstairs.

When they do, Tim wanders up to his room, where Bruce hopes he’ll find easy rest. He stays awake and finds Alfred. There’s a lot they need to talk about.

#batfam #batfamily #tim drake #bruce wayne #batman and robin #batman #dc #batdad #jack and janet drake #my writing

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elysiadjarin · 3 years

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Sword and Shield 10

Tags: Bad Batch x reader (you), fem!coded, poly!relationship, multi-part series, nonhuman!reader, Echo later on

Part 9: Shatter

Warnings: very much 18+, minors DNI you have been warned, TW for trauma and PTSD, PIV unprotected sex (irl please be safe and use protection), everything is consensual, overstimulation, oral, cockwarming, dom/sub interactions, choking, subspace mentions, poly relationship. Also I swear Wrecker will get a chapter too, don’t come at me!!

I know it’s been a while but I hope this long chapter makes up for it!

10: Recover, Relive

Two more smaller missions later, the Bad Batch had been given a break. You’d pushed through the healing and the expected night of nightmares just fine thanks to being able to curl up to the warmth of Tech and Wrecker. The entire team had been pretty careful with you for the past couple of days, letting you have your space to recover while you continued to work alongside them for missions.

Crosshair hadn’t said anything, really, but his willingness to just let you quietly sit in his presence or in the back of his mind and polish your Rifle form was his way of showing support that you appreciated.

You'd been relieved for the break, knowing that you needed a moment to reset and devote everything to recovering. While you'd started to get over the worst nightmares and the last of your injuries had completely healed, you were still struggling with flashbacks and keeping your focus.

Sitting curled up on Hunter's bunk, you leaned your chin against your knees pulled up to your chest and sighed. Everytime you closed your eyes, you could see Skarla's maniacal eyes and bloodstained grin as she reached into your body and reveled in your pain. You could still hear your own screams echoing through your memories. You'd buried them so deep, the inhibitor chips having contributed to the suppression, and now... well, it was coming back and demanding to be dealt with.

The 501st had already helped you deal with so much of your past. But not everything. And this... these memories had been ones that you’d barely disclosed to even them.

“Shiv.”

You looked up to see Hunter standing in front of the bunk, carefully sitting down on the edge. “Oh... hi.” You smiled faintly.

He observed you carefully. “Are you doing okay?”

For a moment, the temptation to just say “I’m fine” hovered on your lips. But you remembered how disappointed all your Vod’ika had been when they discovered you’d been suffering and hadn’t told them. And the Bad Batch... the ones you loved, deserved better. You knew that.

So you looked down at your knees, then back up at him. “A memory for a memory?” you offered.

Surprise flickered through his eyes, then he scooted backward and leaned against the wall. “I guess that’s fair,” he admitted. Eyebrows furrowing, he thought for a minute before finally answering. “There was one mission,” he said slowly. “It was pretty early on. Everything... almost went wrong to the point of failure. In the end, it was my fault that I didn’t listen and got Tech nearly killed.” His chest heaved with a sigh, his head shaking. “It taught me a valuable lesson, and made me a better leader. Tech forgave me. But sometimes... I still hate myself for it.” Bitterness laced his tone. “I can still hear him screaming in pain, and remember how I felt when I realized what I’d done. I’ll never forget how my own stupidity and pride allowed me to fail the team. In some ways... what happened to you on our first mission reminded me of that.”

You sat in silence for a minute, mulling over his story. In retrospect, it would make sense why Hunter had seemed to loathe himself overmuch and take too much blame for your injury on that mission. Still, you knew that most of it had been your own fault for getting distracted and allowing yourself to get sidetracked from the mission.

“Skarla,” you said abruptly. You felt his surprise over the Bond before it faded away. “She...” Your lips twisted. “She is who she is for a reason. But she’s also... extremely cruel. I... I can survive and heal from wounds that most can’t, because of what I am,” you said, feeling a bit uncomfortable. “So my wounds sometimes— they seem a lot worse to others than to me because my scale of survival is different. Skarla has... well,” you said, shifting, “she’s well aware of that fact. Every time I would fail to defeat the Guardian, she would be allowed to punish me for fifteen minutes in whatever way she pleased.”

Fifteen minutes of Nine Corellian Hells. Fifteen minutes of begging for death.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve been torn open, ribs cracked, my guts rearranged,” you said, exhaustion lining your voice. “Honestly, I’ve forgotten a lot of it. My brain... couldn’t handle keeping the memories and still staying sane, I was told. I guess it’s better I don’t. What I do still remember... it haunts me. Just the memory of the pain, wishing for death. Staring up at the ceiling of the chamber and hearing my own blood splatter against the walls, hearing myself scream like a stranger. They’re some of my worst memories. Being back there... it was hard but...” You looked down thoughtfully at your hands.

“As hard as it was... it wasn’t unbearable. Not anymore. Knowing that- that all of you were there, and that— that you believed in me, trusted me... Even Tech: he trusted me. It gave me a strength to face not just my past but my nightmares and memories now because... because I have all of you.” You gave Hunter a small but genuine smile. “Being able to feel that strength... it helped me to defeat my past.”

Hunter met your gaze with a softness in his eyes that warmed you. He held out his hand, and you took it gratefully. “We’re here for you, Shiv. In whatever way you need.”

You nodded, then scooted closer to him and leaned into his side. “I’m here, too. I want... I want to return the strength you’ve given me.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “You do already. In more ways than you know.”

Despite yourself, you had to duck your head as heat rose to your face. Your mind wouldn’t stop supplying you with memories of Hunter thrusting into you, his hands gripped around your waist and siding down your back, pulling you into his hips. His face buried between your legs, fingers sliding into you— Crosshair’s lithe fingers wrapping around your throat as Hunter came inside you, moaning—

Hunter let out a quiet chuckle. “Oh, did you remember something else in particular, Shiv?”

Thoroughly embarrassed, you buried your face in your hands with a whimper, knowing he could feel the heat coming from you and probably even smell you at this point. But for some reason... the memories wouldn’t stop. You.... wanted it. Wanted him.

Hunter’s mouth brushed against your throat, even as he pulled you back and into his chest. “If you want to make new memories, I’d be glad to help with that.”

You whined, biting your lips. “I...”

He kissed your neck, sliding up to your jaw. His hand reached up and gently tilted your chin to his face. “Is this what you want, Shiv?” he asked it in a low, husky tone, his dark eyes darting down to your mouth with a flare of desire.

You swallowed, then nodded. Yes. You wanted Hunter.

He bent and kissed you. His kiss this time was a bit different. Maybe because this time you were alone, you didn’t know, but... there was something about his kiss that was more tender, more... slow, as though he were savoring you, memorizing the feel of your lips against his.

“Come here,” Hunter rasped, turning you towards himself. Reaching up, he pulled his shirt off and dragged you close again, his hands sliding down your back as he kissed you. His mouth was hungry, his hands taking yours and placing them against his chest. His fingers gently slid under your top, and he pulled back for a moment.

“Can I?”

You nodded shyly, letting him slide your shirt and bra off. His hands slid up, cupping your breasts in his hands and admiring them for a moment.

“Can’t blame Tech for being obsessed,” Hunter admitted after a moment, teasing your nipples with his fingers.

You whimpered, shivering under the touch as you bit your lip. His calloused hands were warm and firm, and the deft confidence in the way he touched you brought back memories of his hands effortlessly wielding you as a blaster. Hunter’s touch was one of a leader, confident and respectful of the power he held, knowing its limits and its capacities and treating it accordingly.

“So you feel that, too,” Hunter murmured, making you realize that his Bond with you was alight with shared sensation.

His hand moved down, splaying over your bared stomach. He paused, his eyes curious as he simply gazed at his fingers, his palm covering your navel. Your chest heaved with breath as you wondered what he was thinking. A little embarrassed at the intensity that had crept into his gaze, your fingers twitched on the waist of his trousers.

Hunter bent forward, then, and caught your mouth in a long, languid kiss that brimmed with appreciation. His hands swept down to your waist, settling on your hips. “You’re beautiful, Shiv,” he murmured against your mouth.

A little surprised, you pulled back to blink up at him. Hunter had never really struck you as one to pay attention to that sort of thing, so his soft, earnest comment surprised you.

He reached up, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “I know all of us love all of you, and admittedly some of us might be especially appreciative of specific things. But whenever I see you, all I think of is... you,” he said slowly, eyes trailing over your face. “Watching you interact with the team, seeing you get excited when you’re successful in Transference, or even just... sitting on a bunk somewhere. I think just your astral form is enough for me to know it’s you, mesh’la.” He leaned his forehead against yours.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you had to smile and close your eyes. The warmth curled in you, and you let your happiness spill over the Bond.

“Mm. Although I do think that you’re a different kind of pretty when you’re clearly enjoying getting fucked,” Hunter chuckled, his voice deepening as he leaned closer to your ear.

The filthy words accompanied by the way Hunter’s hands sensually trailed up your front made you bite your lip and flush, looking down. Despite yourself, a thought popped into your head and you suddenly giggled, reaching up to press your fingers against your lips.

“Something funny?” Hunter asked, amusement lacing his own voice.

“My Vod’ika,” you giggled. “They’d all be losing their minds if they knew that I—“ you burst into a fresh wave of laughter, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Maker, Kix is protective enough, he’d want to kill all of you- and Fives, oh, Fives—“ Tears of laughter welled in your eyes as you thought about it. Fives wouldn’t know whether to tease you or want to fight the Bad Batch. Hawk and Dogma would be in shock that you were with four people.

Hunter laughed with you, shaking his head. “Not sure if I should laugh or be offended that you’re thinking of other men while I’m touching you,” he teased.

You suppressed your laughter, grinning up at him. “Sorry, Hunter,” you managed. “I promise I’m paying attention to you.” You lifted his hand to your face, leaning your cheek into his palm with a smile.

His eyes darkened, and he tipped you back. Catching you gently, he lowered you onto the bunk and pulled the pillow under your head. Shifting himself above you, he bent to kiss you and pull your body against his. His fingers played against your shorts, and you had to squirm a little at the way your body sparked at the friction. Letting out a little noise into his mouth, you canted your hips up as he ground against you.

Hunter let out a quiet grunt into your mouth, nipping at your lips. “You want these off, mesh’la?” His hands tugged at your shorts.

You lifted your hips, letting him slide them off. To your vague surprise, he left your underwear on. He started to kiss down your neck and chest. His fingers slid around the thin underwear, and he grunted as he felt how slick you’d already gotten. His fingers found barely any friction as they slid into your core.

You gasped, back arching as he pressed his fingers up into you. He worked you in a way that had you whining, entirely at his mercy as he proved how diligent he’d been in exploring your body and leaning your curves and edges. He traveled down your body, kissing your thigh as he continued to work his fingers and stretch you. The way he stared at your drooling core sent a flush of heat through you.

Then his thumb pushed aside more of the underwear, and his face lowered.

You let out a strangled gasp, back arching as your hands flew down and found purchase in his hair. His breath was hot against your core, his tongue dizzyingly familiar with your body. He grunted as your fingers tightened and twisted in his hair, his fingers finding that spot that had you arching into his mouth with a moan.

“Hunter,” you moaned, trembling against him as you felt that coil tighten in your abdomen.

After one last, long lick, Hunter lifted his mouth and licked you off of his lips with a satisfied look. Shifting himself back up your body, he slid his fingers out of you and instead brought them to your mouth.

You let him slide his fingers between your lips, the flavor bursting in your mouth. His fingers pushed against your tongue, and he surveyed you with dark eyes and a lazy smile. After a moment, he pulled his hand away and slid his trousers off, bending to kiss you again. He settled himself between your legs, his cock resting heavily against your core and up your lower belly. Something slick dripped onto your skin, warm and thick.

“Is this okay, Shiv?” Hunter asked, his voice strained.

You nodded, reaching up to slide your hands up his shoulders. Over the Bond, you could feel the way his utter desperation to be inside you heightened. His mind, as he lost control of the Bond, kept focusing on the way your body melted into his hands, the way his body burned as he pressed against you, the way he gravitated towards you. He let out a quiet gasp as his cock slipped against you, his eyes squeezing shut above you.

He slowly, ever so slowly, eased into you. Every inch earned you another low groan, and you had to stare up at his face in awe. Hunter’s face twisted in pleasure, his jaw clenched and his eyelashes fluttering.

“Maker, mesh’la,” he choked, shuddering above you as he completely bottomed out, buried deep inside you. “I can’t— you’re so kriffing tight.” His eyes, when he opened them to stare down at you, looked practically drugged.

You abruptly remembered Hunter’s enhanced senses, especially as a wave came over his side of the Bond of his overwhelmed pleasure. Reaching up, you cupped his face in your hands, trying to make sure he wouldn’t overdo himself.

“Just relax,” you whispered, feeling the way he trembled against you. You knew that the moment he started moving you’d be dangerously close to the edge thanks to his own pleasure he was sharing across the Bond. Not to mention the way Hunter was practically collapsed on top of you, his body pressed against yours, his low groans spilling into your ear as his mouth pressed against your skin. His arms braced himself on either side of you, your legs propped up against his hips.

“Gonna— gonna move,” he hissed, slowly pulling back out so only his tip stayed in you. “Kriff,” he mumbled under his breath.

You were already making sloppy sounds, and you whimpered as he pushed back into you. The way his movements were so precise and sure, the way his mouth pressed against yours with a burning need made that tightness in you start to snap. You whined, already so close to coming.

“You gonna cum, Shiv?” Hunter chuckled, his voice raspy. “You’re so kriffing wet around me.”

You moaned, eyes fluttering as he started to thrust, pitching into you smoothly. His hand reached down between you, and his thumb found your clit.

“You feel so good, so hot and wet and tight,” he murmured, beginning to praise you even as his hips started to stutter. “Kriff, mesh’la, you take me so well. So pretty, under me like this.”

You whimpered, reveling in the soft praises and touches that he showered on you. You could feel him starting to get close himself, his movements a little more erratic as he lost control.

“So lucky to have you, that you love us,” Hunter rasped against your neck, his kiss almost reverent. “Gonna— gonna cum, mesh’la—“

His finger twitched against your clit and you were arching, crying out his name as the heat washed through you, white hot. Pleasure burst behind your eyelids as you came, just as he slammed into you and ground, groaning your name. He spilled into you, filling you up, then shuddered and collapsed against you. His body leaned against yours, his face burying into the crook of your shoulder.

The heat that pooled in your belly as Hunter kept you plugged made your eyelashes flutter. Letting out a soft sigh of contentment, you reached up and gently drew your fingers through his hair.

His chest heaved for breath, and his hands ran down your sides appreciatively. “I love you, so much,” he whispered, his voice getting heavy.

You reached up and pressed a shy kiss to the corner of his lips. “I love you too, Hunter. Thank you for taking care of me.”

He fell asleep rather quickly, though you guessed it was in part due to the overstimulation. You waited until he was asleep before carefully sliding out from underneath him. You quickly adjusted your underwear to catch Hunter’s cum starting to run down your leg. You needed to make it to the fresher, but had to lean against the wall halfway there as your knees almost gave out.

You finally managed to go get yourself cleaned up, and went to go change underwear and fetch your bra. You made rounds to collect laundry, putting in a load and blowing out a breath. Pushing hair away from your face, you went to the common area to go find a T-shirt you knew you’d left in there.

Looking around, you finally caught sight of the large shirt and perked up, going to go grab it and slide it over yourself. Tech was the only other one in the common room, and you made a quick decision as you walked over to him.

“Tech?” you asked softly.

He looked up at you, blinking owlishly as he registered your presence. “Ah, Shiv.” He readjusted his goggles. “Can I assist you with something?”

You tilted your head, clasping the edge of the shirt in your fingers. “If... if you’re not busy, can I— can I talk with you?” you asked, suddenly a bit nervous.

He turned fully toward you. “Sure, Shiv. I was just working on a few odds and ends anyway.”

You glanced down at his legs. “Um, can I— can I sit?”

Some confusion flickered across his face. “Of course-“

You got closer to him and slid into his lap, facing him with your legs on either side of him and your hands twisted in the hem of your shirt. He let out a small noise of surprise, his hands coming up to your hips to steady you.

“I wanted to thank you,” you said softly, still not looking up at his face.

“Thank me? For what, Shiv?” Tech asked curiously. His hands tugged at you, bringing you a little closer to him.

“I know I said it before, but— but I really wanted to thank you properly,” you said, scrambling for words. “For how you trusted me, back during the... the ritual.” You made a little, nervous gesture. “I mean— it means more to me than I think you realize. It’s— the ritual is one that’s... that’s fueled by blood, whether yourself or your Champion. Skarla— she’s always been very powerful and- and she... she was very cruel to me, a long time ago. Going back there was...” your face twisted in misery as you looked down. “It was really difficult, and I— it brought back a lot of fear.”

Taking a breath, you made yourself look up at him. “But you trusted me, believed in me. You didn’t even question me when I led you towards dangerous places, and did everything I asked without hesitating. You trusted me to the point that when faced with something unusual... you readily gave your blood for me.” Your heart was in your throat even as you said it. “It— it meant so much to me, Tech,” your voice wavered, your eyes welling with tears. “The only reason I actually won that match... is because of you.” You met his eyes, trying to convey how much it truly meant.

Tech’s eyes widened as he gazed at you with surprise, his fingers tightening around your waist.

“You gave me the strength I needed to push through, and the way you believed in me...” You reached up and wiped away the grateful tears that had sprang to your eyes. “I fought a battle against my fear and the memories of my failure, too,” you whispered. “But your faith in me was what really gave me the power to win. And I wanted— I needed to thank you. So you know... know what it means to me.”

Tech leaned forward. Your eyes widened as he kissed you, taken a bit aback by the suddenness. But it felt so good, the way his mouth pressed against yours and the way his emotions started to spill over the Bond to you. Tech was... his kiss always made you lean into him, eyes fluttering closed as you melted into the gentle, desperate affection. His precise, clinical nature softened whenever he kissed and touched you.

“I am glad that you are all right,” Tech said, his voice quiet and earnest. “It was... frightening, to see you fight alone. I am pleased to know that I could give you strength in any way I could.”

You leaned forwards and hugged him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Thank you, Tech.”

“You’re welcome, cyar’ika,” he murmured back. He let out a sigh as you shifted, his hands gripping around your hips. “Shiv— could I ask a favor?”

You blinked, pulling back to look up at him.

He glanced down at the hem of your shirt, and an image flashed across the Bond. You, leaning against Wrecker’s chest, fast asleep, Wrecker’s thick cock buried inside you as your chest rose and fell with breath and your face flushed with the arousal. Color crept up Tech’s neck.

“I— um—“

You looked up at him with a shy smile, a bit embarrassed but also flattered that he seemed to be so enamored with your body as well. Leaning down, you grasped his hand and brought it up to the hem of your shirt, pushing his fingers up under it.

Tech swallowed, his hand trailing upward, sliding to the edge of your bra. He glanced at you for permission, and you answered by reaching down and unzipping his trousers. His breath hitched as you began to slowly pump him, your fingers playing a little with his tip. His hand slid under your bra, brushing over your nipple as you bit your lips at the stimulation. Your body was still a little sensitive after Hunter, and you were starting to feel the tiredness pluck at your eyelids.

Tech slid his fingers around your underwear, only to feel you dripping wet and still leaking a bit of Hunter. He brought his fingers up and didn’t seem to be surprised at the white, simply sticking it in his mouth.

“Shiv,” Tech murmured, bending to press a kiss to your throat.

You scooted forwards, letting him guide himself into you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you had to let out a soft moan as he sank fully into you, stuffing you so perfectly. Tech really was the perfect girth for this, you thought dizzily. He just hit every spot inside you as he stuffed you full and kept you sitting still on his cock. It almost made you feel torn between wanting to move and wanting it to stay there, resting perfectly inside you, lighting you up in the best way possible.

He let out a groan against your ear, his hands keeping your hips pressed against his, keeping you completely pressed into his chest, every curve of your body melting against his. Letting out a shuddering breath, he shifted and scooted forwards, beginning to resume his work.

Despite yourself, you had to open your mouth against the crook of his neck and shoulder, biting down gently and beginning to absently suckle. His skin had a hint of salt, but just the warmth of his skin comforted you, your eyes fluttering closed as you suckled a mark into his neck.

Eventually you fell asleep, happily cradled against him and stuffed completely full.

“Oh, hey, there’s Shiv! I was wondering where she was.”

Stirring, you started to wake up. Reaching up, you rubbed at your eye and felt the yawn build in your mouth.

“You woke her up, Wrecker,” Tech sounded a bit morose.

“Huh? Oh— sorry, Shiv.” Wrecker’s voice sounded closer.

You sat up a little, arms still flung across Tech’s shoulders. Stretching, you let the yawn stretch your mouth and your eyes flutter open. Sleep still sticking in your eyes, you blinked up at Wrecker, lips parted.

Wrecker grinned. “Did you have a good nap?”

You nodded belatedly, reaching up to rub the sleep out of your eyes. For a moment, you just blankly stared at Tech’s collar as you woke up more fully. Then shaking your head, you looked up at his face. He gazed back down at you, his hand lightly resting on your thigh. He brushed his thumb across your skin, and you suddenly realized why your lower body felt warm with a pulsing heat. He was still buried hilt deep inside you, his cock thick and hard as it pressed up inside you.

“You’ve been asleep for a chron,” Tech said, his voice surprisingly even.

Your mind fizzled for a moment. He hadn’t moved for a whole chron? He hadn’t cum, obviously, so... Then your lips parted, and you tilted your head at him. But your breath caught in your throat, and you instead shivered and looked down, your face blooming with warmth. Reaching up, you pressed the back of your hand against your mouth to suppress your whimper.

“Ah— th-thank you, I— I think I needed that nap,” you admitted, trying to scrape yourself together. “Um-“ You glanced up to see Tech’s knowing, little smile that he gave you. His hand slid down to your inner thigh, his fingers pressing into your skin. His eyes glittered with the knowledge that at the moment, the T-shirt was the only thing hiding the way your body was clenching around him, making a wet spot against his trousers, drooling all over him, coating your thighs in slick. Every time he pulsed, you felt his cock press up against your g-spot.

“Wrecker, can you hand Shiv her datapad? I think it’s still on the table,” Tech said, his voice still frustratingly calm considering how clearly desperate his body was.

You glanced up at him in a bit of despair, wondering if he was really going to still not move. Though it didn’t surprise you that Tech’s patience and endurance were so high, still. This was on the verge of being cruel. Your body clearly had been frustrated this whole time you’d been asleep, denied movement and friction.

Wrecker handed you the datapad, and you took it with a weak smile. “Thank you,” you murmured.

Tech’s hand squeezed a handful of your thigh. Stay still for me, cyar’ika. And because it was Tech, somehow the order was still coated with that enamored desperation that made you want to obey, just to give him whatever he wanted.

Leaning forward again, you rested your chin against Tech’s shoulder and propped your arms over his shoulders, opening up the datapad. You also realized that Tech had taken off your bra, though you wondered where he’d put it. Not that you cared, particularly. He leaned forward a little as well, reaching for a tool, and pressed your breasts against his chest.

You whined across the Bond, pouting at how mean he was.

He just chuckled, the loving affection pouring across the Bond a satisfactory compensation.

Wrecker sat across from you, beginning to chatter about how he’d been training. You listened, humming and nodding as you pulled up the schematics that Tech had uploaded to your datapad for Wrecker’s combat gloves. You’d been studying and modifying them so that hopefully Wrecker would be able to have them by the next mission.

Just then, Crosshair strolled in. “Hunter says there’s a bit of turbulence ahead,” he drawled, just as the ship jolted.

You let out a choked gasp as it made you rise a little and slam back down on Tech’s cock. Eyes widening, you tried to keep your composure as you gripped onto your datapad. Tech’s grunt had been lost, but the way he throbbedinside you was a sweet sort of revenge.

“Whoa.” Wrecker grabbed onto his seat. “What is it?”

“Asteroid belt,” Cross said, grabbing onto the nearest steady surface. “We have to manually fly through some of it.”

Your mind was already short circuiting. Tech had somehow gotten bigger inside of you, and you were almost on the verge of tears thanks to the way he was pressing into all your sensitive spots. At this point, you were just desperately trying to hold still while your body clamped down on his cock and inched so much closer to the edge. Tech’s hand on your lower back still somehow kept you grounded, reminding you not to move. You didn’t want to disobey. You wanted to make Tech happy.

“Hey Shiv, what’re you working on?” Wrecker asked, turning to you. The ship still dipped and swerved once in a while.

You fumbled with your datapad, connecting it to the holoscreen and transferring the data. “Your- your gloves,” you managed, trying to keep yourself at least coherent. But it was so hard when Tech’s warmth was engulfing you, his hand sweeping down your back, across your thigh, pressing your chest into his.

“I’m trying to modify them before our next mission,” you continued, highlighting the list of mods you’d created off to the side of the schematic. “These are the ones that have already been done, and these are the ones that I’d like to try to do-“

The ship jolted, taking a sharp turn up before coming straight back down and banking. This time, you barely managed to keep yourself from letting out a filthy, desperate moan. Tech had slid his hand down as though to brace you, but his thumb slid under the hem of the shirt and instead slicked up your clit.

You’re doing very well, Shiv, Tech’s voice puddled in your mind. You already came twice while you were asleep. You were so good for Hunter, do you think you could be good for me just a little longer?

So you bit back your sob and instead sank your teeth into your lip so hard you swore you’d leave a mark. You weren’t surprised that Tech knew about you and Hunter’s earlier session: Hunter always projected unconsciously once he was on sensory overload.

“That looks super cool, Shiv! I can’t wait to test it out.” Wrecker was grinning.

“Ah— sorry, Shiv. I need to grab this for a moment,” Tech said, just before moving forward and pressing his hand against your lower back. He grabbed something, then leaned back again and trailed his hand up your back.

Crosshair met your gaze across the room, his lips tilting up in a knowing smirk. His eyes swept over you, a hint of appreciation buried in his dark eyes. He said nothing, but you knew that he’d figured out exactly what was happening. You were past the point of embarrassment. Not only because your body was desperate, but also because the boys all quite clearly appreciated the projections over the Bonds and the sight of you being made a mess over and over.

The final jolt back into hyperspace proved to be too much for you. The way it pressed you wholly into Tech’s front and caused your clit to grind against his hip. The way your body clenched even wrenched a grunt from him.

The datapad fell from your weak fingers, clattering to the floor. Your head dropped down, your breaths quick and shallow as your entire face flushed, eyes fluttering closed. Lips parted, you peeled open drugged and teary eyes.

“Shiv? You okay?” Wrecker asked, looking at you in some surprise.

“Cruel, Tech,” Hunter’s amused voice came from the doorway. He jerked his head. “I’m going to go get some more shut-eye. Take care of her.” He disappeared down the hall.

“Huh?” Wrecker looked thoroughly confused.

Crosshair rolled his eyes. “Wrecker, she’s been sitting there for over a chron.”

Tech turned the chair to give Wrecker the full view. His hand slid up your thigh, bringing the edge of the shirt up as his hand traveled further up your hip and waist. “She’s been cockwarming me,” Tech said almost casually. “I wanted to see how sensitive she could get. A... pleasant experiment, if you will.”

You were shivering at that point, your mouth watering as tears slipped down your cheeks. The overstimulation was a pleasure you simultaneously wished would end and yet never stop. Your entire body felt like you were trying to completely melt into Tech, legs trembling.

Wrecker laughed, eyes lighting up. “Whoa Tech, I guess you really must have wanted it. A whole chron?” He shook his head, but his eyes trailed over you. “I mean, Shiv does look really pretty like that, though,” he admitted.

Crosshair approached, bending to tilt your chin up to his face with his finger. “Well, it looks like our little kitten is rather happy about your experiment. But also getting... desperate.” A smirk curled the corner of his lips as he stared at you through half-lidded eyes. “How... appealing.” He brushed a tear off of your chin, then straightened and walked back toward the door. “Take care of her, Tech. I’ll be back to talk to her once she’s... available.”

“Good luck, Shiv. I’m gonna go get a snack,” Wrecker said cheerfully, following Cross out the door with a wave.

“It seems as though we all liked the results of this experiment,” Tech remarked, sounding satisfied.

Your fingers curled in his shirt, nails scraping across his back. Lips parting, you breathed his name in a soft, half-drunk voice that dripped with pleasure. You wanted to cum, yes, but more than that, you wanted the satisfaction of hearing Tech praise you for not moving, for being good. Just his hand on your back and the steady affection that poured over the Bond was enough to make you seek more, whatever the means.

Tech shivered under you at the sound of his name spilling from your lips, and his fingers tightened on your waist. “You’ve done so well, cyar’ika,” he murmured, kissing your ear. “Thank you for being patient. Can I make it up to you, now?”

Your mouth watered at the idea, and you pulled back a little to be able to look up at his face. You knew you were a wreck, lips trembling and tear streaks down your face, but you wanted it. Wanted to ask.

“Can I-“ You swallowed thickly, feeling your face flush. “Can you...” You licked your lips. “In my mouth?”

Surprise flickered in his eyes for a moment, then he reached forward and cupped your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away the tear-tracks, and his eyes softened. “If that’s what you want, of course. But I’d like to make you feel good, first.”

Your mind fuzzed with confusion. Make you feel good? But that’s literally all you’d been feeling the whole time, wasn’t it? He was the one that hadn’t cum yet.

All remaining coherent thought flew out of your head the moment Tech’s fingers found your clit. He leaned forward, drawing you into a tender kiss that sharply contrasted the way he dragged his fingers against you. His hips snapped up into you once, and you broke.

You wailed.

The pent-up release that had been building as he edged you over and over had you seeing stars, fireworks, whole galaxies. It burst inside you with a heat that washed over you and stole your breath, searing into your bones and wrenching a shattered sob from your mouth. You hardly registered that Tech’s name was spilling from your lips in a litany of prayer, too wrecked to even remember your own name.

You slowly wound down from the devastating high, trembling, tears rolling down your cheeks. Your body sparked and shuddered, humming in the aftermath in a way that left a glowing ember of satisfied warmth deep inside you. Coming undone had never so intensely walked the line of pleasure just this side of pain.

Tech’s arms were wrapping around your waist, one hand coming up to cup your face as he pulled you to lean against him. You started to register his steady stream of praise as he kissed your cheek and trailed his lips down your neck and shoulder.

“You did so well, cyar’ika. You deserve to feel good. So pretty, cumming for me.”

Your eyelashes fluttered as you slowly recovered, your body all but boneless against his chest. Snuggling into him, you tucked your face into his neck and sighed softly. You just... wanted a moment. To just press against Tech and feel his presence, his hands gently skimming over you, soothing you.

“Are you okay?” Tech checked, his voice low and inquisitive.

You hummed and nodded against his shoulder, basking in the glow of the high. “Thank you, Tech,” you murmured shyly.

He coaxed your head back so he could press a soft kiss to your lips. “For what? You’re the one who had to put up with my experiment.” The words were half-teasing, but his thumb stroked over your cheek with a tenderness that showed his mild concern.

You shook your head, reaching up to delicately brush your fingers across his face, peering up from under your lashes. “You take really good care of me, even though you’re feeling it a lot too...”

He had to be almost on the verge of pain. The way he was still buried inside you at the moment gave you an acute knowledge of how much his cock was throbbing, straining inside you.

His breath came out a bit shaky. “You come first, cyar’ika.”

Reaching up, you pulled him into a grateful kiss. Before the 501st, and even then rarely, no one had ever put you first in anything. The way the Bad Batch had taken care of you even in the middle of war had been a first in so many ways. And even now, Tech had put your wellbeing and comfort first, before his own. You wanted to return the favor.

Tech leaned into the kiss, clearly growing desperate for relief. Still, the kiss was tender for all its hunger, and his hands smoothed over your waist gently.

Pulling back, you slid out of his lap and all but puddled to the floor, your knees completely weak after the force of your orgasm. Still, that’s all you needed. Scooting forward a little, you reached out and brushed your fingers against the swollen, almost purpled head of his weeping cock. He was straining, and he let out a hiss as your fingers dragged across him. A thought struck you, and you tilted your head.

“What do you want, Tech?” you asked, your fingers smearing with your own slick coating his cock. You looked up at him, wanting to please him in the way he wanted.

He lurched forward a little, then looked down at you and panted. “I— wh-what... I...”

You paused in your stroking, your thumb rubbing on the underside. “I want you to feel good, too.”

Before he could quite help himself or stop it, a thought rocketed across the Bond. Color burst in his neck, creeping up to the tips of his ears. Despite yourself, you had to stifle a giggle and instead smile a little, wholly unsurprised even if his reaction did amuse you.

Shuffling forward, you pulled your shirt up and over your head. You had to think about it for a moment, but you decided to just give it your best shot regardless of the potential awkwardness. For Tech... you’d try your best. You pushed yourself closer to his lap, letting his straining cock fall between your breasts. Reaching up, you pushed your chest together and felt the slick slide against your skin.

Tech let out a low, tortured groan that made your already-battered body pulse with appreciation. He shuddered, eyes squeezing shut as pure pleasure flashed across his face. His eyes peeled open in time to see you kitten lick the tip of his cock just peeking from between your breasts.

Readjusting yourself, you found a position that let you move a little bit while still having access for your mouth. Sliding lower, you took the whole head into your mouth. It had swollen to the point that it was almost a struggle to get it in your mouth. The moment the heat of your mouth hit his cock, he let out a strangled moan and lurched, shuddering.

“I’m not— not going to last, Shiv,” he gasped, his whole body starting to tremble.

You lifted your mouth. “S’okay, Tech,” you said shyly. “You can use me.”

You knew that he was close, but you really had underestimated the effect the visual was having on him. You’d just stretched your mouth open around him again when he let out a half-choked cry. It took you by surprise, not expecting it that quickly.

Taken off guard, the first burst into your mouth made you squeak. Every spurt of his cum kept gathering in your mouth faster than you could swallow, and soon your mouth was completely full. It started to trickle out of the corners of your mouth, while you braced yourself for balance by splaying your palm against Tech’s stomach. His hand reached down and tangled in your hair, twitching weakly as he groaned.

He was gasping for breath by the time he rode out his high. His fingers loosened, and your mouth popped off of his cock as you fell back onto the floor. Mouth still full, you whined in protest as it started to drip out of your mouth. Some splashed onto your chest, and you lifted your fingers to your lips as you swallowed. You still hadn’t swallowed all of it by the time you opened your mouth for breath, so more of it ended up on your chest.

You pouted a little, wishing you hadn’t wasted so much. Tech’s cum, for some reason, was just enough of that tangy-sweet flavor with a hint of salt to make you not hate it. Besides, now you’d have to clean yourself off more than you’d normally have to otherwise. Looking down, you smeared a bit over your chest with your slick fingers, sticking them in your mouth.

Tech had slumped over in his chair, getting his breath back.

You crawled up closer to him again, getting his attention. “Are you okay, Tech?” you asked, a little concerned.

Tech looked at you, and his eyes riveted on your mouth, trailing down to your chest. Swallowing thickly, he nodded. “Maker, yes,” he murmured, dragging a hand through his hair.

You smiled up at him. “I’m glad.” Looking back down at yourself, you hummed. “I should go clean up again...”

“Sorry,” Tech blurted.

You looked up, surprised. “F-for what?”

“I— I made a mess...” He glanced down at you. “Didn’t get to warn you.”

You giggled. “It’s okay, Tech. I don’t mind.” You gave him a smile, standing slowly to make sure your knees would get you to the fresher. Scooping up the T-shirt, you headed for the door. “I’ll be back.”

You cleaned up, pulling the T-shirt back over yourself before heading back to the common area. Finding your poor datapad, you picked it up from where you’d dropped it. Tech came up to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you, Shiv. I’m going to go get cleaned up.”

You nodded back, giving him a smile. Turning back to your datapad, you decided to resume a bit of work you’d been doing. Taking a break from Wrecker’s gloves, you pulled up a series of footage you’d meant to assess from a recent mission. Hooking up the datapad to the holoscreen, you started to scrutinize the footage.

You’d wanted to see if you could better understand Crosshair’s personal preferences as far as vantage point and strengths went in order to better accommodate for him. Though you did know a few of his tells as a sniper, you still felt a little in the dark when it came to any patterns he had. You wanted to try to see if you could learn anything more, also wanting to see how he handled you as a weapon from an outsider’s perspective. Sometimes, it helped you adjust better.

As usual, you lost yourself in the familiar work and completely lost track of your surroundings. Hands wrapped around your waist, settling on your hips and bringing you out of your focused haze.

“Well, it looks like I found our little kitten doing something interesting,” a voice hummed into your ear, low and smooth.

Color leaped into your face as you gasped, pulled back into his chest. “O-oh, Crosshair...”

One hand anchoring your hip to him, his other hand started to trail up your front. “And what exactly were you doing, Shiv?” he drawled, lazy but not displeased.

You swallowed. “I— I was trying to analyze footage a little more,” you answered, voice pitching a little higher. “I just— I feel like I don’t know your preferences enough, and- and I wanted to see if I could do— do better for you—“

Crosshair’s fingers came up to your neck, tracing the side of your throat down to your shoulder. “Is that right? Don’t you think we should be the ones analyzing you a little more?”

The comment had something.... else to it. An edge that made you pause, tilting your head to look up into his face. Was he upset about something?

A soft sigh blew over your skin, the only way you even knew he’d done it at all. “We stood by and watched as you fought the Guardian and weren’t able to do anything. Didn’t even know you could fight like that. What’s the point in having you be our weapon if we don’t even know anything about you?”

You closed your eyes. “It’s not your fault if I didn’t tell you,” you pointed out quietly. “And I... I should have, I know. That’s on me, not you.”

Cross grunted. “You blame yourself too much,” he grumbled.

You gasped as his teeth sank into the crook of your neck, not hard enough to bruise but definitely enough for you to feel it. Your back arched automatically, though his fingers tightened around your throat and held your head back and neck accessible.

Your eyes squeezed shut as your fingers grappled against his trousers for some sort of stability. Everything seemed to be spinning, Crosshair’s mouth hot against your skin. His hand on your hip pulled you into him, and he ground against your ass in a way that left you squirming on the verge of embarrassment. He chuckled.

“Is my little kitten going to be good for me?” A hint of stubble rasped against your neck, leaving you shuddering.

“Yes,” you whimpered, already trembling. Cross may not have been physically as large or intimidating as Wrecker, but the lithe strength in his arms and the deft confidence of his thin, calloused fingers did something to you that left you utterly weak.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, voice slick. His hand slid under the oversized T-shirt, trailing up your hip. His fingers hooked on your underwear, playing with the fabric. His mouth moved lazily over the back of your neck as he tilted your head forward a little for access.

“Next time we make a stop, I think we’re going to have go get you some... things, hmm?” he remarked casually, just as his hand twisted.

The underwear snapped, slipping off of your hips and leaving you feeling oddly... vulnerable. You trusted Crosshair with your life, of course. But somehow... you felt so much more self-conscious around him than the others. Maybe it was the way you couldn’t read him as easily as the others? Or just the way he tended to not be as expressive as the others toward you? What was it that made you cherish his affection in such a different way compared to the others?

Crosshair nudged you forward, letting your hands land against the holotable for support. His other hand let go of your hip, only to slide your shirt up over your back before reaching back to unzip his trousers.

“You seemed to enjoy Tech’s experiments,” he noted, fingers sliding around your hip. His fingers spread you open, revealing how slick you were already. “And do you think you can take me too?”

You nodded faintly, then gasped as his cock slid against you. “I don’t think I heard you, kitten,” he drawled.

“Y-yes, I-I can,” you stammered, already shivering. Your body felt hypersensitive, both from your previous session with Tech as well as the way Cross somehow knew exactly how to touch you in every sensitive spot. Had he really observed you that much-?

He slid two fingers into your mouth, letting you suck on them as he kept a vise-like grip on your jaw. The movement was simple, but the way it made you feel so completely controlled, trapped between him and the table, made you go pliant. He handled your body as confidently as he did your Rifle form, tracing over you with a sort of muted reverence that you began to recognize as your memory drew parallels. The confidence was reassuring, as though he were subconsciously saying that you could trust him, that he knew how to handle you expertly, that you could leave it in his capable hands.

You whimpered around his fingers as your mind fully leaned into the reassurance, leaving you open and pliant to him.

“That’s right, Shiv.” Crosshair’s voice slid around you, through you. “Bend over.”

You obeyed almost without thinking, sliding down onto your elbows and then completely collapsing against the table. The cool metal pressed against your cheek, and your eyes fluttered closed as your breath shallowed. Your lips parted in a soft moan as you felt Cross start to slide into you.

For a moment, he only kept the tip in you, letting you flutter around him and adjust. Then he reached down and pulled both of your legs up, pushing them up on the table so you looked like you were in a sitting position, your legs both on one side and pulled against his hip. His fingers wrapped around your ankle like a vise, just as he thrust up into you.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the table as you choked.

It was the first time Cross had actually penetrated you, and it was already about to drive you over the edge. His cock was long, and while not as thick as Tech, it definitely stretched you in different ways. He pressed up inside you in depths you didn’t know were possible. You swore you could taste him in your throat, he was so far inside you.

Bending over you, Cross started to mercilessly fuck up into you, barely giving you a moment to breathe. The way he had your legs together and bent up put a pressure on your clit that spiked every time he bottomed out; and at the pace he’d set, you could feel yourself careening closer to the edge. He grunted, his iron grasp on your hips definitely about to leave bruises littered over your skin.

His hand tangled in your hair, pulling so he could lower his mouth back onto your throat. Every other thrust was punctuated with a sloppy kiss to your neck, a contrast that only made you moan louder. Your body rocked with the brutal pace, and you could swear that Cross was molding you around his cock.

Somewhere in the jumble of your mind, his name managed to slur off of your tongue. You weren’t sure how or why, but your mind was starting to blur and fuzz, focusing solely on the way Crosshair’s body was hunched over yours, his hands controlling you so deftly, taking control over your body, your pleasure. Everything else faded into the background, until all you knew was him, and the way his fingers wrapped around your throat as he fucked you into the table.

You weren’t sure how long you drifted in the haze, but when you managed to focus, you found yourself gazing up into Crosshair’s dark eyes. His thin lips tilted in a smug smile as he noticed.

“Looks like someone’s back.” He raised an eyebrow. “Well then. How about you cum for me, hmm?” a hint of amused indulgence laced his tone. “You want it Shiv, don’t you? To cum all over me like the cock-dumb kitten you are?”

You whined, the pressure around your throat grounding you just enough to keep you present. The pleasure kept flowing through your body like a steady, unrelenting stream, smothering you. You did want it. Wanted to please him.

He leaned closer, not letting up his pace as his hips continued to snap up into you. “Such a good kitten,” he murmured, “with my fingers wrapped around your pretty little throat. Cum for me, Shiv. Show me how good I make you feel.”

It drove you off the cliff. Your orgasm seemed to burst from inside you, rippling up through your veins, your limbs, arching your body. It sent a wave of white heat washing through you, leaving you weak and completely lax in its wake. A sob spilled weakly from your lips as you opened tear-filled eyes to focus on him through the pleasure.

Crosshair let go of your throat, his jaw clenching as he stared down at your face. His hips started to stutter, his chest heaving with breath.

Swallowing thickly, you reached up and traced the tattoo that ringed his eye and trailed down his cheek. “Please, Cross,” you murmured dreamily. “Please, cum inside me.”

His shoulders locked as he snapped his hips into you one last time. A low groan hissed between his gritted teeth as he came, still buried deep inside you.

The liquid heat pooled inside you, and your eyelashes fluttered with contentment.

Crosshair's breath washed over your ear. "You're ours, Shiv," he murmured, voice husky with the high.

"Yours," you repeated obediently, your fingers tangling in the front of his shirt. Sleepiness plucked heavily at your eyes, the aftermath of three sessions tugging insistently at your consciousness.

"Mmm, fresher first, kitten," Cross chided. His arms slid around you, lifting you up as he slid out of you.

You whined in protest, leaning against his shoulder, even though you knew he was right. Everything was too comfortable, the sleepiness heavy and warm.

"I'll take you to Wrecker's bunk once you're done. Clean up." Cross stayed unmovable, his voice dry as he set you down on your feet in front of the fresher.

But you still clung to his shirt for another moment, looking up at his angled face and dark eyes. A wistfulness flitted through you as you wished that you could stay with him for a little while longer. But you didn't want to ask, didn't want to bother him.

He raised an eyebrow, his hand on your waist steadying your weak legs. "Unless you want to start dripping everywhere, Shiv," he glanced pointedly down at you, "though I wouldn't complain." He smirked.

You swallowed, then looked down. "O-okay," you mumbled, shuffling into the fresher. Even as you sluggishly cleaned yourself though, you had to swallow back a few tears. You weren't entirely sure why, but something in you so desperately craved to be near Cross, to just receive some form of quiet reassurance from him through just a touch or word that he... he cared.

Shaking your head and smearing away the tears, you sucked in a steadying breath and walked back out of the fresher. You'd slowly lost some article of clothing to each of them along the way, so now all you had was the oversized T-shirt. Wobbling back out, you found yourself a bit startled to see Cross still standing there by the doorway, a toothpick clenched between his teeth.

He jacked himself off of the wall and approached you. Bending a little, he picked you up effortlessly and began walking down the hallway of the ship. Ducking into a room, he walked over to the bed.

Wrecker looked up in surprise. "Oh, Cross, Shiv." He grinned. His head tilted as he observed you. "You alright, Shiv?"

You nodded faintly, not trusting your voice not to break. Cross set you down on the bed, while Wrecker shifted over to make room. Then Cross rolled his eyes.

"Move, Wrecker."

"Alright, alright, I'm moving," Wrecker whined, shuffling to the back of his bunk. Lying down next to you, he reached out and gently pulled your back to his chest, wrapping his large arm around your waist. His warmth pressed up behind you, easing some of the pain that curled in your chest.

Then, to your surprise, Crosshair slid into the bunk in front of you. Wordlessly, eyes half-lidded, he scooted closer and ran his hand down your side.

Hesitantly, you squirmed closer, tangling your fingers in the chest of his shirt again. You could feel the warmth of his body under your fingertips, and you bit your lip and glanced up at him tentatively.

Something flickered through his eyes as he gazed down at you, his hand gripping your thigh. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

Your eyes widened, and you immediately shook your head adamantly. "No!" you blurted, your face crumpling despite yourself. "No-" your voice cracked.

Cross sighed, his thumb stroking over your bare skin. "You seem hesitant around me."

Tears welled in your eyes. "No— I-I'm just never sure if... if I'm bothering you, and-" You sniffled, the ache in your chest deepening. "I—I look up to you so much, Cross," you confessed. "Every time you let me Transfer with you and- and I can be near you or with you, I... it makes me feel so safe. I just-" your shoulders hitched, "I want to make you happy, but I feel like... like I never know if it's okay to get close to you. I don't want to bother you..."

Crosshair pulled you closer, tucking your leg up over his hip so you fit against him like a puzzle piece. "You don't bother me, Shiv," he said, voice low. "We've all been... worried about you."

You nodded, pushing your face into his chest. You decided to take the risk and reached out over the Bond, asking for attention. The Bond lit with acknowledgement, more subdued than the others' but still undeniably there. Crosshair's attention was quietly intense, making up for its more subtle nature.

Shyly, you pushed across your feelings. The way you felt safe around him, the way you looked up to his stern concentration of his craft, his diligence in working, his attention to keeping his teammates safe. The way whenever his lithe fingers handled you, whether weapon or body, it soothed and comforted you regardless of what was happening. The way you wanted his approval, his attention.

Cheeks flushing, you peeked up at him from where you'd buried your face into his chest. A hint of a smile crossed his thin lips, and his dark eyes softened as they observed you.

Reaching up, he brushed his thumb across your cheek. "Good girl, cod'ika," he murmured.

Relief burst through you as he accepted your feelings. Even though all you felt over the Bond was a soft pulse of acknowledgement and a hint of pleased affection, it was more than enough. Cross didn't need to say much to make his point, and you realized better than before that every word he spoke to you was deliberate, honest. None of his words even in the heat of pleasure were idle or empty. You clung to the knowledge, soothed with the reassurance that Cross did care, in his own unique way.

"Thank you," you whispered shyly, knowing that he didn't have to reassure you. But he cared enough about you to listen, to answer.

Wrecker grumbled behind you, scooting forward so he pressed more tightly against your back. "Share a little, Cross," he groaned, "Shiv is soft and warm and I wanna feel."

Cross rolled his eyes, the moment broken. "Selfish."

"Hey!" Wrecker protested, leaning his chin against the top of your head. "You're the selfish one here-"

You giggled, tugging at Wrecker's hand to drape over both you and Crosshair. "Let me take a nap, Wrecker, and then I'll let you cuddle more," you promised. Letting out a wide yawn, you snuggled into both of them. "Love you," you murmured sleepily.

"Love you too, Shiv!" Wrecker squeezed you.

"Kar'taylir darasuum, cod'ika," Crosshair murmured in your ear.

You fell asleep to warmth, content.

Taglist:

@subbing-for-clones

@darkangel4121

@mo-i-ra

@dolphincommander

@alis-gore

@ladydiomede

@spp2011

@the-sad-batch

@anoushe01

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secret-engima · 3 years

Note

I got my second covid shot yesterday, and the side effects are happening. Got anything in any of your RWBY AUs that'll makr me feel less Generally Bad?

Awww, sorry the side effects are happening, anon. :( Lemme see what I can find that isn't horribly angsty.

...

Team Gremlin verse:

Hei Xiong —Junior to literally everyone because apparently Mistralen names were too much for Vale tongues to handle— knew his boys weren’t … the brightest or the best. That was fine. His father wouldn’t have given him the brightest and the best even if he hadn’t been the family disappointment. But he had expected his boys to at least know the basic rule of, say, not bringing children into a criminal operation. Semi-criminal. Far less criminal than his father wanted it to be.

It was an abandoned warehouse full of guys with guns. Not a child suitable environment.

“Boys,” he ground out past the budding headache he got just looking at the tiny child sitting politely on a random box —the kid was tiny, how old was he, four?—, “I’m pretty sure I said to ‘go get us some cash’. Not ‘steal a random child’. And if one of you bozos did this thinking about holding a toddler for ransom-.”

“I’m not a toddler!” Piped up the child in the indignant tone of the young.

Junior ignored that outburst for the moment, “Then I’m going to throw all of you in the river. I told you, we’re not resorting to kidnapping to get the funds for this! If I wanted to do that I’d just go back to the old man and lick his boots for more money.”

His men cringed, and the biggest of them —Tiny, and why his men all gave themselves the stupidest, least relevant nicknames was still a mystery to him— held up his hands defensively, “We didn’t kidnap him! … Not … intentionally?”

Junior pinched the bridge of his nose, “Did he wander inside on his own?”

“Well, no-.”

“Are any of you related to him?”

“Well, no, but-.”

“Do his parents or guardians know where he is right this second?”

“Uh- I don’t think so-.”

“Then it’s kidnapping, you idiots! I oughta-!”

A light but firm whap to his knee cut Junior off and he stared at the toddler in shock, because since when did toddlers have canes to whack people with? “Excuse me,” said the boy in a tone that was far too prim for this part of town, “Please stop yelling at your men.” The boy ducked his head a little, looking almost embarrassed, “They were just trying to help me. I got separated from my friends and I don’t … my leg isn’t very good. They let me come inside to catch my breath.”

…This kid was very articulate for a four year old, maybe he really was a bit older than he looked. Still, Junior felt another sigh building in his chest that he squashed down with effort —he was twenty two years old and sometimes he already felt like he was his old man’s age—, “What are you doing out here, kid? The docks is no place for a kid, especially one who needs a cane.”

The boy scowled at him, cheeks puffing and oh no, he was adorable, “I can handle myself! Besides, one of my friends works here. I was with her before I got. Um.” The boy blushed and looked down at the ground, “A little turned around.”

Hummer, the quietest and arguably most observant of his boys, leaned over to whisper in his ear, “He was having a panic attack on the sidewalk about a block from here. We think he lost track of his caretaker at one of the intersections. He’s definitely from out of the kingdoms, he was terrified of the cars. He probably panicked at the sight of so many of them and bolt- ow.”

The boy pointed his cane warningly at Hum as the man held his knee in pain, “I can hear you. I wasn’t scared of cars, I just- got startled. That’s all.”

“Sure kid,” muttered one of Junior’s boys and Junior grunted loudly, because they were getting off topic.

...

One in a Hundred verse

The familiar jolt of rising, of sliding into place, and the body snapped awake with a startled gasp. Ozpin flailed, accidentally rolling right out of bed and landing on the floor in a tangled, confused lump of limbs and blankets. His head ached with the remnants of tears and when he waggled his fingers, they were gloved. He was … in control? No. No-no-no-no that wasn’t right, he only took control when it was necessary. “Oscar,” he rasped hoarsely in a voice that wasn’t his —was far too young and soft to be his—, “Oscar, where are you?” He sat up, groping frantically for the sense of Oscar under the dangerous thrum of Old Kings. He finally found a sense of him, a glimmer of Oscar under the flow, but when he reached to pull it out, the boy just batted his mental hand away like a tired, cranky cat, sliding deeper under the flow instead. Ozpin tried four more times before a spiking headache and repeated flairs of exhausted-agitated magic made him stop for fear of injuring either himself or the boy.

It would seem that … whatever had happened, Ozpin was temporarily in control.

…He hoped it was temporary.

Well. Lying in this position wasn’t good for either of them, so Ozpin careful set about untangling the body and … taking care of things he supposed. He debated the merits of a shower, and normally wouldn’t have dared, but Oscar’s frame was shivering slightly and felt clammy from sweat —from the nightmares of reliving a past life as Ozpin walked through it, just as he had relived his past when Oscar walked through his—. He grimaced, but so long as he was in control he had to take responsibility and care, so he hastily stripped down and hurried his way through a cold shower.

He froze up briefly in front of the mirror, because Oscar —by habit it seemed— rarely looked in a mirror or down at his hands, and never without his gloves and bandages on. Ozpin swallowed hard and saw the thick, ugly scarring on a too-young neck ripple with the motion and felt queasy. Grimm attack. He knew the signs. He just- hadn’t expected to —had hoped never to— see them on a boy this young. Then he shook it off and rummaged around for clean bandages and gloves and clothes. Finding a proper brush was a little trickier, because just a hair brush wouldn’t suffice, at least if his foggy memories of past lives were to be believed.

He took his time getting himself sorted, meticulously brushing out all the kinks and trying not to twinge anything sensitive —he was out of practice with that—, before putting on clothes. A few failed tries at tucking everything away without pinching and he gave up —he was very out of practice, not that it could be helped—. If Oscar’s aunt was accepting of multiple personalities and body-hopping cursed wizards, she would no doubt have long ago accepted this part of Oscar’s own body.

Ozpin made his way downstairs carefully, grimacing past the phantom ache in a leg he knew was just fine but would never feel fine to him, hanging onto the stair railing and repeatedly reaching out to Oscar in the hopes the boy would wake up from whatever strange trance he seemed to be in and take back his rightful control.

Miss Pine looked up in open surprise when he skirted carefully into the kitchen, “Oscar? I thought you said you were going to have a Quiet Day. I was just about to come check on you.”

Ah. This was likely going to go poorly, “My apologies, Miss Pine,” Ozpin murmured and refused to flinch when she stiffened in realization, “I … I do not know what is going on. I woke up in control through no action or intent of my own. I have tried waking up Oscar multiple times but he- he doesn’t respond.”

For a moment, he thought she would accuse him of lying, of stealing control. She would hardly be the first. But after a moment of hard staring, the fight left her shoulders and she sighed heavily, “No, I don’t suppose he would. I should have realized a Quiet Day with … another person … in his head would lead to something like this. Sit down, you might as well eat. Oscar won’t otherwise.”

Ozpin tentatively sat down, careful of how he moved so nothing pinched or was pinned, “You and Oscar mentioned those before. Quiet … days?”

“That’s what we call it when Oscar loses control of the voices. He usually spends the day sleeping or drifting around the house in a daze, unresponsive, barely eating.” She looked pained, worried for a moment, then shook her head, “At least they don’t make him sick and feverish anymore.”

#SE asks #anon asks #Secret Engima Rambles #One in a Hundred verse #Team Gremlin verse

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p-artsypants · 3 years

Text

P-Artsypants Fic Masterpost!

This information is always available on my blog.

Find most, if not more, of these fics on:

Fanfiction.net | Archive of Our Own | Wattpad

(~AU’s, *Finished, ❤️Author’s Favorites)

Kingdom Hearts

~❤️Rage Awakened AO3 | FF.net- Ten years ago, Terra, Aqua, and Ventus lost their fellow apprentice, Sora, in Deep Jungle. Now, they are to return with two new students, Riku and Kairi, to lock the heart of the world. All the while, something watches from the trees. Feral!Sora AU

My Kingdom for a Heart AO3 | FF.Net - The curse of being one of the Princesses of heart, is that there’s always someone out to get you. As Xemnas looked failure in the face, he reached out in a last ditch effort and destroyed Kairi’s heart. Now her friends must travel the worlds again. Sora, to find a way to recover Kairi’s heart, and Riku, to make amends to those he has wronged. All the while, the darkness grows. [Unfinished, on permanent hiatus]

Miraculous Ladybug

One Shots

*❤️Amalgam- When an young man is rejected for being ‘incompatible’ he turns into the akuma ‘Amalgam’ able to fuse two people together. And later Adrien and Marinette would debate if it was lucky or unlucky that they got hit. (Also Available in Russian)

*Sing We All Noel- After receiving the worst Christmas present ever from his father, Chat Noir finds himself out on the streets with nowhere to go on Christmas Eve. Thankfully, Ladybug finds him and brings him home.

*Speechless- In a world where everyone has a soulmark, the first words their soulmate will say to them, Marinette is born without one. But Adrien Agreste has two. Curious, considering he’s mute.

*❤️Tunnels of Love- The night started out with an accidental kiss from Adrien Agreste, and ended with her bleeding in the Catacombs of Paris. Ladybug, the wielder of the miraculous of good luck. Yeah right. (Some blood)

*The Reveal That Wasn’t- First Parts My ending to kittybug’s Tumblr Prompt

*What A Mess We’re In- Ladybug has a lot on her mind, and when Chat Noir bugs her enough, she tells him she’s going to confess to her Crush, Adrien Agreste. Chat’s reaction is not what she’s expecting.

*Oblivi-oh no! - A retelling of Oblivio, except Ladybug is the only one to lose her memory. How will Chat deal?

*Bad Day (3 chapters) - Marinette was Ladybug! This was Adrien’s luckiest day ever! Except it wasn’t, because all his good luck was used up in one go. Turns out this might be the worst day of his life.

*One Win, So Many Losses- Marinette was forced to break up with Adrien. It had been a low blow from Gabriel, to be sure. But she was Ladybug. She’d find a solution…right? An alternate ending to Chat Blanc, where Adrien doesn’t Cataclysm the akuma.

*❤️Five Minutes- Gabriel has had enough of all these girls fighting over Adrien. He decides it’s high time Adrien picks one, and arranges the perfect opportunity for him to do so. Each candidate has five minutes to present why they’d be a good girlfriend. Marinette decides to take this opportunity to shoot her shot.

~*Panache- Every eligible maiden was invited to the Prince’s ball. That included Marinette, scullery maid in her own household. But her stepsisters destroyed her dress, and she can’t go to the ball in rags. Or can she? (Cinderella!AU)

*Perfect, No Matter What-In which Gabriel sets the bar even lower for himself, a reveal happens because of pain medication, and the new guardian actually goes to Chloé for advice.

*Crushed- Stuck under a collapsed building together, Chat Noir and Marinette have a heart to heart.

*Lovelace- Convinced that he's unlovable, Adrien is quickly thrown for a loop when Marinette confesses her love for him out of the blue. An akumatization and reveal later, he changes his mind about being unlovable.

Long Fics

*❤️Longest Night- (FF.net | Ao3) - The day started out sucky to begin with. Her crush ousted to the class and Adrien. Lila taking pride in exacting her revenge. But by the time patrol was over, a young man was dead, and Ladybug’s identity was at risk. Lila was the least of her concerns. Good thing Adrien was taking it all like a champ. (Rated M for scenes of torture)

*❤️Nine Lives- (FF.net) When Adrien Agreste is scheduled to go to a Military School in Germany, Chat Noir must make a critical decision. Does he give up his Miraculous? Or does he give up his life as Adrien? I’ll save you the trouble of guessing, he gives up being Adrien.

*Tender Words- When Marinette finally gets the guts to confess her feelings for Adrien, some things go so wrong, and other things go so right.

*Integrity- Overwhelmed with her responsibilities, guilt, and drama, Marinette has an emotional breakdown in front of everyone, and even hands over her earrings in a moment of weakness. Only for a few seconds, but the damage was done. Adrien’s pretty quick on the uptake like that.

~Much Obliged- Everyone deals with grief differently. Some take to drinking, others devote themselves to charity. Adrien Agreste? Well, he became a cowboy. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a witch, one of very few in the world. She knows what it’s like to be doubted, and assumed delusional. Maybe that’s why they got along so well. Or maybe it’s just because they both like big hats. AU where everything is the same, except instead of superheroes, Adrien is a Cowboy and Marinette is a witch. (Unfinished) (Based on a AU by @bugaboo-n-bananoir)

*I’ll Handle This- “I’ll solve all your problems,” Plagg had said. “You just have to agree to it.” A fixed relationship with his father, Lila to stop bothering him, and Ladybug to fall in love with him? Who wouldn’t agree to that? Except Plagg was the God of Destruction and Chaos and had a more…hands-on approach. Adrien just wants his body back. (Body swap fic)

The Ghost of Smokey Joe- Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Stilted body language, plastic smile, and he seemed to have forgotten how close they were. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

How To Train Your Dragon

One Shots

The Vikings Have Their Tea (FF.Net | AO3)

Arranged Marriage- Takes place at the beginning of HTTYD

❤️Breathe- Survival of the fittest

~Childhood Friends- At the Sandbox

❤️Easy Fix- In which Hiccup has a bad day

~Fashion Designer- Astrid needs a fill in

❤️Frozen- In Which Astrid takes a Dip and things get frisky (Rated M)

❤️Headache- In Which Hiccup hits his head….really hard

❤️Heir- In Which Hiccup is Picked (Longer version by FateCharms)

Illness- In Which Stoick is a dad

~Illusionist- Trick gone wrong

~In the Walls- In which there’s a poop ghost

~Knocking On The Wrong Door (2) - A chance encounter

❤️Messages- Astrid is Frustrated with Hiccup’s obliviousness

~To Mirkwood- Hiccup is not a dwarf

~Monster Falls- Hiccup and Astrid take a dip

❤️Mute- In which there’s a quiet stranger

~Music Video (ImgHS)- He didn’t expect it

❤️Operation: Lovebirds- In Which the gang makes a plan, and Hiccup gets Drunk

~Over- Too many nightmares

~Partners in Crime- A normal day at work

~Pirate- Astrid is the greatest treasure

~Prince- He doesn’t want to be a broken King

❤️Sorting Things Out- In Which Astrid gets her ducks in a row

~The Dragon and The Dame- Beauty and the Beast Au

The Pit- In Which Hiccup is rescued

Hide and Seek- Part 1

Lost and Found- Part 2

Long fics:

*❤️Infernal Responsibility- Being the son of the chief takes brains, courage, and a lot of patience. But at his father’s the request for marriage, Hiccup decides he has had enough. When he seeks out a life of ease, he runs into more than what he bargained for.

*❤️Roses and Lilies- “Astrid, you and I both know you’re much tougher than I am. You’re more brave, and a better fighter…but just for a little while…could we pretend that I’m the one protecting you?” “Oh gods yes!” (Also Available in Spanish!)

*~What the Water Gave Me- The sea is a wild and dangerous thing, something that cannot be foretold or predicted. Hiccup discovered this many years ago, in human naiveté. Yet, what was meant as a sacrifice became a new life, one like no one could comprehend. He now finds himself once more in the unknowing hands of those that sentenced him to death. He only prays things will be different this time. Merman!AU

*Parasite- Soulsnatcher Dragons are rare but deadly. But, As Hiccup finds out, it’s the eggs you have to watch out for.

*~320 State Street- Gobber’s Goods. A Hardware Store that was rumored to have everything you needed. She thought she only needed a job. Turns out, she needed a lot more than that. (A Modern AU no one asked for)

*~❤️The North Tower- When Finn Hofferson died, Astrid inherited his castle in Wales…and a whole lot more. Something sinister lurks in the North Tower.

*~❤️Boy Toy- AO3 - At the age of 21, Princess Astrid lawfully has to pick a husband. But when the perfect groom is nowhere to be found, she requests the toymaker to create one for her. It’s safe to say that everyone in the kingdom is a little concerned. (Pinocchio!AU I guess?)

No, You Go First- AO3 - The Chief of Berk was a headstrong viking, stubborn and full of pride, and willing to do whatever it takes to keep his village safe. But for a moment, he puts that aside, and listens to his son. In which Hiccup convinces his dad not to make him go through Dragon Training, and the subsequent changes that follow.

*In Due Time- AO3 - As another illness sweeps through Berk, Gothi needs another ingredient for her medicine…one that doesn’t exist anymore. Fortunately, she kept that old spell book around for such an occasion. Big Hiccup is sent to five years into the past, and his younger self sent to take his place in the future. But it’s only a few days, what could go wrong?

Trollhunters: Tales from Arcadia

❤️Arcadia or Bust- In Which Arcadia welcomes back it’s underground citizens.

Teen Titans

Oneshots:

~Big Brother- Don’t turn out the light (Horror)

Dear Jason- Bruce Writes a letter

Just Drawing- Bruce thinks about Robin

The Prisoner- Starfire is Guilty

Of Mustard and Three Foot Purple Tongues- A collection of Oneshots and Drabbles

Long Fics (*Finished):

*~❤️Carol of the Bells- High in the dark Bell Tower of Notre Dame, there lives a mysterious bell ringer. Legend tells of the angel who fell from the sky, and the curse she bares. There are few who know her true identity though; her master, the priest, and the acrobat that performs on the streets below. Based loosely on ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’ RobxStar and slight BBxRae

*No Escape- Three years ago, Starfire escaped an Alien race called the Gordanians, to arrive on Earth. They’re back, and ready to put Starfire back where she belongs, behind reinforced Titanium bars. Robin’s not about to let her go…if only he hadn’t got captured first. How does it feel to be the alien, Robin?

*Now you Know My Pain- When the new Villain, Gender Bender, comes to down, the Titans find themselves in an odd situation. They’ve been turned into the opposite gender against their will! Now in order to change back, they must learn to understand the gender they’ve turned into. Rated T for obvious reasons. A great read if you’ve ever wondered why girls or guys do [blank].

*Paint it Black- Robin disappeared three months ago. Now, Jump City’s crime rate is mysteriously being taken care of by a normal, albeit strange, teenage boy who goes by the name Black. As the Titans befriend this lunatic, they begin to see a relation between him and their missing leader. Will they be able to find Robin, or will Black turn them all insane as himself? Actually, contains NO OC.

*Saving Grace- “When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to walk upright or speak coherent sentences and all you’ll see is my mask and my voice repeating in your head…Weak. Richard Grayson, I am not tough, I am everything that you fear.” Happy Ending! Smudge of RobStar. NO Slash!

Other Fandoms

Final Fantasy XV

❤️Requiem for Pitioss-“O King. The god’s have heard your cries. Know that we weep with you. The Oracle’s calling has not yet been fulfilled. But…Lunafreya as you know her cannot return the way she was.” Noctis looked up, hopeful. “But she can return!” Canon divergence from Chapter 9. Happy ending. Some spoilers.

Final Fantasy X

I Do…I Guess? - “I would…like to ask you something.” “Shoot.” “Well…if it’s not too much…I’d like to ask you…to marry me.” Knowing what’s to come during her pilgrimage, Yuna asks Tidus to marry her, strictly for convenience and having an official next of kin, of course. Starts after Luca and how this decision would affect the rest of the story.

Beauty and the Beast

*❤️Behold the Beast- A Oneshot alternate ending to the Animated Film

Cinderella

*❤️Midnight- “When the clock strikes twelve, the spell will be broken,” the fairy godmother had warned. A retelling of the story, when Cinderella doesn’t escape the ball in time. Oneshot

*So This is Love- What if Jaq and Gus hadn’t made it in time to help Cinderella? A new twist on the ending of the classic Fairytale, and what lies beyond the story. She still gets her happy ending and her Prince, and her step family gets their just deserts.

Sleeping Beauty

*❤️A Love Song Back To Me- Maleficent saw the loophole that stared her in the face. Prince Phillip would break the curse in time, for sure. After all, he was betrothed to Aurora. So in an effort for her evil plan to stay in action, Maleficent takes care of the young prince herself. Phillip never imagined having to live off the land like the birds above. Alternate twist on the classic Disney tale.

Escaflowne

Down Feathers- Hitomi’s depressed. She’s been away from Van too long, he comes back to visit her…but what if something went wrong with the transfer? (Not finished. Never will be finished. Mwahaha) Circa 2012

*Angel’s Wounds- Fanelia’s been victorious in their most recent battle with Basrum. Unfortunately, someone is wounded and just seeks solace in his love that lives so far away. Post Anime.

Momma Look Sharp- With the war between Fanelia and Basrum finally coming to a close, the kingdom is celebrating. The young king, however, is suffering from an experience unlike any he had before. Van finally seeks solace in his wife.

#fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #ml #kingdom hearts #Final Fantasy X #final fantasy xv #sleeping beauty #cinderella #beauty and the beast #Escaflowne #httyd #how to train your dragon #trollhunters #Teen Titans

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do-androids-dream-ao3acc · 3 years

Photo

Following a prompt by @frances-the-red here, who said she required “whump, a sexy bath scene and a sword fight”. All in one, you say? Why, yes.

Have “And the scars don’t write a song for me at all” (not a line from a Blind Guardian song, surprise!). It was quite easy because I already had an unused bath scene from an abandoned fic, that I just polished a bit and removed the smut. The rest is just the usual nonsense.

4300 words, mild Violence warning. Read it under the cut or on AO3.

Geralt awoke to find the bed was empty next to him. The room was dark, curtains still drawn. It was not unusual for Emhyr to rise with the sun's first rays, the early birdsong being his wake-up call. It was certainly very early; still, Geralt sensed it was not dawn yet. He got up, wrapping the blanket around his body. He'd made it a habit of sleeping naked in the palace – where not only the fireplace but also his husband regularly warmed him. Yet it was still winter, and the mornings were chilly. A quick tug on the curtains confirmed that there was time yet before dawn. The blackness of the night only slowly faded into a softer gray, illuminated at this hour only by a few lights from the city below.

Slowly he crossed the room, the coolness of the stone floor a sharp contrast to his body, still warm from sleep. The adjoining chamber door was open, and there he found Emhyr's silk robe hanging over a paravent. Behind it, unusually for the early hour, a bathtub was steaming with hot water. Emhyr's eyes were closed, but he seemed anything but relaxed: his arms were leaning on the edges of the tub, the fingers of his right hand playing an impatient little concert on the wood.

"You overdo it with cleanliness," Geralt remarked.

Emhyr opened his eyes, and Geralt was greeted by an amber glow so similar to his own. There were moments when Emyhr's eyes took on the color of ripe hazelnuts, but not now, not at this hour.

"I didn't want to wake you," he returned. "It helps me think."

"Contemplating before the sun rises? What's bothering you so much?"

"Come here," Emhyr said instead of an answer, and his hand underlined his words with a restless gesture.

That was a demand quickly obeyed. Geralt soon found himself pulled down, a firm hand on his neck and persuading lips on his own. After this passionate morning greeting, Geralt's voice sounded a bit rough.

"I'm not going to complain, but..."

"You know what I'm thinking about."

Geralt actually knew. The latest intelligence reports had led Emhyr to tighten security around Vizima. They seemed to be mere rumors for the time being, but their prolonged absence for the wedding in Nilfgaard seemed to make some local factions believe the emperor had developed a weakness. Not merely a weakness for a certain witcher, but perhaps a waning interest in strategy and political calculation, at least in the short term. In this, they were wrong, and Emhyr by no means took the flashing little skirmishes here and there lightly.

"Join me," Emhyr said, holding out his hand. "Make sure I don't think about it, if that's what you want."

The invitation sounded almost like an order, not to the witcher, but the husband. If it was, it was easy to follow, and Geralt stripped off the blanket. He bent over Emhyr in search of another kiss, and the firm grip on his neck resumed. Lips as hot as the rising steam met his, and for a while, the world shut down.

The steam seemed to cloud Geralt's senses – their lips parted, but Emhyr's face appeared to him as if he would look through a fog. He still felt his hand on his neck, and the grip seemed to get stronger. Then, he did not understand how it happened, the pressure became even harder, pushing his head under water. It was much less warm than expected, and the sudden immersion was a shock. Only reflexes and an immediate instinct prevented him from swallowing water. It was impenetrable to his eyes, far too dark, far too unreal. Some part of him refused to comprehend what was happening. His arm shot up, his hand searching for a hold but finding none.

It's a dream, he thought, a dream, a nightmare, and I will wake up soon.

But if this was a dream, why did he feel the air escaping from his lungs? Suddenly, the water dissolved into murky darkness. Now, he wasn't sure of anything anymore. Was he floating or lying on the ground? Part of this felt like a memory that was slightly off. Slowly the darkness gave way to an unreal gray, and Geralt realized that his eyes were still (or again?) open. Sounds kicked in as if all of his senses suddenly remembered how to work. There were unfamiliar voices, smells, and feelings. No, not all of this was unfamiliar. There was something his mind needed a moment to recognize... a sensation, sharp and hot and throbbing.

Pain. A feeling he knew – and an excellent instrument to come back to reality. Then, light. Now his eyes were able to focus: there was a wooden ceiling above him, small golden reflections of sunlight dancing on it. A house, a hut, maybe. He focused on the pain. The cause was not hard to find: an arrow sticking out of his right thigh. Moreover, his gaze fell on shackles on his wrists. Handcuffs, not a simple rope. Someone wanted to make absolutely sure that he would not free himself so quickly. In two ways, because his quick inventory told him something else: the arrowhead had been soaked in poison, and that was still inside him. Poisoning a witcher wasn't easy, but apparently, whoever had done it knew what to do.

His accelerated heartbeat and temporarily decreased breathing – a feeling that had manifested itself in a dream or hallucination – were clear evidence. The memory had been buried under the poisoning effects, but now he remembered this morning clearly. The actual events had been much more pleasant. They had made love impetuously on the damp floor next to that tub. Later, the breakfast had been interrupted by a messenger, asking for the witcher's urgent help. Should that have made him suspicious? The forests around Vizima were usually spared from any monsters. According to the vague description, it could have been anything from wraiths to a lost troll. He had not become wary, had followed his damned sense of duty, and walked right into a trap.

That part was still a bit blurry, but a surprising noise, a handful of guys looking like vagabonds, and a sudden arrow in his thigh definitely had something to do with it. Here he was, once again, a tied-up package somewhere in the wilderness, a victim to his own good-naturedness. Or dumbness, he thought, observing the handcuffs closely. At that moment, a crooked door opened, letting in more light than was comfortable for Geralt's eyes.

"Oh well, look at that, our princess is no longer slumbering."

A sleazy guy entered, a whole head shorter than Geralt, from head to toe the type of obnoxious order-taker that Geralt was pretty sure lacked the intelligence to come up with such a bold plan. He was right. Pushing past the guy was a taller man, beefy and bald, with a rather ugly scar from his right ear to his shoulder. Did someone ever try to chop your head off? thought Geralt incoherently. Dark eyes under bushy eyebrows regarded the witcher with due suspicion. Far more conspicuous, however, was the sword scabbard at the man's hip. For Geralt would have recognized the weapon's handle in it anywhere - it was his own, the silver sword. Of the two they had taken from him, it was by far the more valuable, and Baldy must have decided to keep it.

"Faster than I thought," he said.

His companion appeared slightly nervous.

"We still have a bit of that stuff, shall we..."

"We don't want to kill him," the other cut him off. "I already thought he'd suffocate; that's too risky on me."

"If it somehow matters that I survive, it would be quite useful to remove this poisoned arrow," Geralt replied nonchalantly, if a bit hoarsely.

He noticed a sour taste in his mouth. Somewhere, sometime, he must have vomited up some of the poison, but it had not helped much. Apparently, they had made sure that he did not choke on it, which also indicated that they wanted him alive, at least for the moment. From then on, it was easy to put two and two together. Ridiculous that he had fallen for it, but not the first attempt of this kind.

"Let that linger as long as possible," Baldy said, deadpan. "If you ever get back to your pretty palace, someone can cut that thing out for you."

The "if" was striking.

"You've already calculated that there might be no ransom, but you still came up with the insane idea of kidnapping a witcher," Geralt said calmly. It wasn't even a question.

"But one that seems to mean quite a bit to our new ruler," the bald one returned. "And look, all it took was a well-aimed arrow and some poison."

In other words, an element of surprise that didn't come to many. Geralt knew how amazed people like this were when they found out that witchers also ended up bleeding like ordinary people. Maybe not as long and not as persistent, but the bastard was right: an arrow and a bit of poison had been enough. Of course, it wasn't always quite that simple, but chance and luck had played into these guys' hands.

"Well, we'll see if we can capitalize on our catch, won't we? The swords, the dagger, and what we found in your pockets are probably compensation enough, should that not be the case. And if I don't need you in the end, I'll pull that pretty ring off your finger and have it melted down in Mahakam."

With these words, Baldy turned back to the door, pushed his accomplice out, and both disappeared. Gotta give him credit for having guts, Geralt thought. A bit of a megalomaniac, perhaps, but what did he have to lose? For scum like him, peacetime had little to offer. So why not stack up a little? Quite possible that they weren't even looking for a ransom now that they had valuable witcher weapons, which would fetch quite a bit in shady auction houses. Perhaps they had also concluded that the matter was too big in the end. They certainly didn't want to risk the army getting on their trail. Even Baldy could not be so shrewd as to believe that he was slipping through the fingers of the emperor's expected wrath. Whatever they were up to, they made a typical mistake: underestimating a witcher was never a good idea. And firing an arrow in his leg and tying his hands was not nearly enough. Neither was Geralt the princess they took him for, nor did he need rescuing.

Trying to sit up, he felt a bit dizzy. There was still poison inside his system; there would be until the arrow was removed. It was tempting to do it right now, and he could have done it even with cuffed hands. But without any knife, it was a gruesome business, and a painful one. As he could get a closer look now, he noticed the tip stuck quite deep in his thigh. He would do too much damage if he just ripped it out, so he focused on the shackles first. Solid steel with a short chain. No big deal, Geralt had learned such things as a boy. Lambert, Eskel, and he had always tried to outdo each other in their numerous attempts to escape from handcuffs. Vesemir had had to rescue one of them time and again, chained to all sorts of objects. Lambert once almost strangled himself when he was desperate to prove that he could free himself by hanging one-handed from the stair railing in Kaer Morhen.

Geralt shook his head. Not the right moment for merry (or rather not) reminiscences. If they had tied his arms behind his back, things wouldn't have been quite so simple, but they hadn't bothered. So Geralt only had to patiently twist the chain's individual links into each other until they locked. When that happened, he braced himself against the inevitable pain and pulled his hands apart with all his might. As expected, the metal broke after a few seconds, and his hands were free. He had no way to remove the remains from his wrists, and Geralt could already vividly imagine Emhyr's comments on this. This only spurred him on, so he looked for a hold on the wall behind him to carefully prop himself up.

Finally, he stood, painful as it was, but now he was able to assess the little window. He peered out cautiously from the side. Outside, he saw a handful of horses, their reins thrown loosely over the rickety remains of a fence. Roach was not among them. Smart girl, he thought. Didn't let yourself get caught. The guys outside had no idea that the soldiers were probably already closer to them than they thought – Roach knew her way back, as any horse in danger would seek refuge in its home stable. Slowly, Geralt limped to the door and listened, letting his senses wander. Most likely, one of them was standing right next to the door. One last time, he glanced at the arrow in his leg. The wound was bleeding again, but there was nothing he could do about it now. All he could do was take advantage of the element of surprise, as they had done with him. Oh, they would be in for a surprise.

With a jerk, he wrenched open the door, gaining a split-second overview. There were only five. Four sleazebags with Baldy as their leader. To the right of the door stood the little guy who had come in first – apparently Baldy's right-hand man. He was carelessly playing around with a sword, weighing it in his hands, observing it. It was part of the loot, Geralt's steel sword. In an instant, it was back in his possession: he rammed his elbow into the guy's face, whereupon the jaw cracked. Completely surprised, the man was not even capable of a scream, and in one fluid motion, Geralt grabbed the sword before it went to the ground like the bandit.

A little commotion broke out among the remaining members of the small band of robbers, and already the bravest among them pounced on Geralt. He attacked with a dagger. Geralt felt a series of small nerve jolts, a tingling sensation that rose up inside him, hardening his muscles. It was anger, he realized. For this was his dagger, not just any weapon; a particularly beautiful piece, pure silver, decorated with a wolf's head on the handle. It was a gift from Emhyr, and the thought that this was the second time somebody tried to steal it from him only fueled his rage. To take this away from him, like they wanted to do with the ring, his fucking wedding ring... It made him forget how tedious and painful it was to move with the arrow still stuck in him. He dodged the attack with a single side step, and the sword drove through the flesh of the assailant as if he were flaying a rabbit.

The bald one still held back, staying in the background, Geralt's sword loosely in his hand. He would not make it easy for him, but he let his comrades run to their doom without hesitation. In the end, they were all the same. Their idea of witchers was vague, almost mystical, but they were all eager to find out if there were any human traits beneath the legends. But then, when they lay in their blood, they whimpered for their pitiful lives, as if to conjure up any humanity they had denied the witcher.

If they wanted animal instincts, they could have just that. As far as some things were concerned, Geralt had all too human traits, and he didn't hesitate to take his anger out on them, even if it was basically ridiculous, almost childish. He could nearly hear Emhyr's voice in his head, "Those are just objects," he would say. But they weren't, not for him. And he didn't kill the men, he wasn't vengeful and not half the monster they probably took him for.

Number three had his own (well, probably stolen) short sword, but Geralt made short work of him. Soon after, the fourth one also lay in the dust with his eyes wide open, clutching his shoulder with one hand, as if he still couldn't believe where the guy with the arrow in his thigh had gotten the speed and agility from. Geralt was running on pure adrenaline now, and while it would have been a waste to use any potions on these blokes – if he still had them – it wouldn't have hurt to have some now, as his movements seemed to ram the arrow only deeper into his flesh. The remnants of the poison still made him a bit dizzy, and every step was a sharp knife into his leg.

But now only Baldy was left, and he would soon realize, just like the others, what it meant to mess with a witcher. The guy was either stupid or pretty confident of himself because his nasty face showed no fear. He swung the sword loosely in his hand, a boastful swagger; however, it did not catch. Geralt just stood there, perfectly still, his body balanced so that he put as little weight as possible on his right leg, but ready to do so should it be necessary. They always underestimated one thing: that he was willing to fight through anything, even pain.

"It would be better just to leave now. There's still time," he said against his better judgment. "There's nothing more to gain here."

"But I don't have anything left to lose either, do I?"

A swift, deft advance followed the words. But Baldy tried a blow from above – powerful but predictable, even more so for an experienced swordsman. Geralt ignored the stinging pain in his leg as he took a small step to the right, parrying the blow with his sword held to the side. His quick counterattack was textbook, but in that case, Baldy was trained from it as well – he rolled off the inevitable blow and was back on his feet in no time.

The arrow still secreted a little poison; Geralt felt his body reacting to it. He was slower than usual, his reactions stiffer than necessary, but he doubted his opponent suspected that. He still seemed to think that his injury should stop the witcher. That he would have an easy time of it. But he was wrong. Lunge, feint, and thrust came in quick succession, forcing his opponent to dodge. Despite his rather massive stature, the man was not unskilled, and at some point in his miserable life, he must have learned not only how to hold a sword correctly but how to use it. He did not make the mistake of permanently hitting Geralt's sword, as many untrained fighters did. That only cost strength and brought a somewhat acceptable result only with equal opponents anyway.

Baldy searched for gaps in Geralt's defense (he found none), and when that proved fruitless, he began to try to disrupt his balance with powerful blows. Aiming for the legs seemed to be a reasonable tactic since it was clear that Geralt was dragging his leg. So he aimed at the left one to force him to put more weight on the injured right. It would have worked for anyone else, but not with a witcher. Instead, Geralt turned the tables and permanently shortened the distance between them. He parried the attacks with quick counterattacks, pushing Baldy back, coming closer and closer to him. And the latter reacted precisely like a stressed student who had mouthed off and dared to challenge the master.

The only thing left for him to do was to back away, yet all around the shabby old hut was nothing but forest. So if he didn't want to trip or run backwards into a tree, Baldy was forced to turn an attack into a counterattack. But he lacked the time and skill to do so, and that was his downfall. For a second, he frantically looked behind him to scan the surroundings. That was enough for Geralt to advance. Once again, a tremendous pain shot through his leg as he, both hands on the handle, performed an arcing motion. Once again, he ignored it, and what his attack lacked in apparent elegance, experience and instinct made up for. Strength alone was not the key. Baldy learned that like hundreds before him. Geralt's sword struck him just below the right shoulder, piercing the leather jerkin, causing the overzealous bandit to stumble. Even as he pulled out the blade, Geralt kicked him hard in the stomach. With a surprised gasp, the wannabe abductor went down.

Geralt grabbed the sword in Baldy's hand – his sword – and wrestled it out of his wrist after a brief struggle. He resisted the impulse to give the guy another kick and turned, shifting his weight back onto his left leg. The desire to get rid of the damned arrow became overwhelming. He looked at the horses - decent animals; he could just take one of them. Somehow he would get through the ride back. It occurred to him that he had no idea where he was. He glanced up to at least approximate the direction. The sky was clear, but thunder could be heard in the distance. Geralt blinked, almost disoriented for a moment. The adrenaline in his body stopped working. The last remnants of the poison had not yet disappeared, dizziness set in, and his leg almost gave way.

It was not thunder. Something, still far away, but on a direct course in their direction, was approaching. For a moment, he was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even notice that Baldy – amazingly still conscious, though losing copious amounts of blood – grabbed his ankle. Pure instinct ensured that he did not instantly go down and that he noticed the slender knife in the other's hand in time. A quick movement of his sword, which was still in his hand, was enough, and Baldy's pathetic little attack went into the dust with his knife.

He cursed, rage in his hate-filled eyes, and Geralt finally had enough. He turned his sword, the hilt pointing down, and took a short swing. But Baldy's hand was still on his ankle, and in a last desperate moment, he pulled hard. Weakened by everything that lay behind him, Geralt now actually began to falter. Bad luck for Baldy, because as he fell, his sword hilt hit the latter right at the wound Geralt had caused him, and he howled and rolled his eyes.

Then Geralt went down on his knees, and that in turn was his bad luck. The pain was so overwhelming that he nearly fainted on the spot. No longer able to keep his balance, he fell forward. Although he reflexively stretched out a hand, he could not prevent the new impact. The arrow bored deeper into his thigh than before. There wasn't even enough breath for a scream. The world turned into fire. But the red flames before his eyes changed to black almost instantly, and he went limp.

This time, he didn't open his eyes right away when the world returned – or rather, when he returned into it. His senses kicked in one by one, gently, as if he had been asleep for just a moment. He heard the soft crackling of a fireplace from somewhere, and beneath him, he perceived the familiar feeling of smooth sheets. The gentle smell that hit his nose – tart, a little juniper, a little oakwood – made it finally clear where he was. Still, his eyes remained closed just a little longer. There were cool fingers on his much too warm forehead. Something moist stroked over his brow and cheeks, and that felt nice.

"You drowned me in the bathtub, you know," he said, and he felt as if he could almost hear Emhyr's frown.

Now he opened his eyes, but if he had thought the dark eyes above him would look puzzled, he was disappointed.

"You're feverish, Geralt. Be still."

Now that was typical of Emhyr, to tell him off like that although he had almost killed him. Geralt frowned and tried to focus.

"No, that was before. This morning or whatever. You drowned me in the bathtub. Why would you do that?"

Emhyr looked worried for a moment, not sure how to respond. It was not too serious an injury, and the court sorceress had assured him that there was no residue left of the poison. Emhyr had experience with an injured, unconscious, and disoriented Geralt, but little with one who accused him of attempted murder in a fever. He set aside the cloth he had been using to cool Geralt's forehead, brushed a sweaty strand from his face, and gently replied, "I assure you, I have not and will never drown you."

Geralt grinned broadly.

"I thought you were going to say, at most, you'll drown me in your..."

"Don't you dare."

"... love?"

If that was possible, his grin only widened. Emhyr shook his head, let out a small sigh, and maybe the corners of his mouth turned up a very tiny bit.

"You won't remember it in a few hours anyway, but fine, on my account, I'll drown you in love. You're an idiot, you know."

"Yours?"

Emhyr sighed once again. Then he leaned forward, breathed a kiss on Geralt's hot forehead, and replied firmly, "Mine."

And that, Geralt thought before a much more restful sleep overcame him, is probably the most pleasant way to drown.

#writing #fanfiction #witcher 3 #emhyr x geralt #geralt x emhyr #Emralt #Emhyralt #Emhyr/Geralt #whump #bath scene #and a sword fight :)

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5wordsorless · 4 years

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buffy seasons ranked by how much buffy needed therapy, least to most

TW: mental health issues, suicide, assault

Season 4: yeah there was the Parker thing and some residual Angel trauma and also the Faith thing and general interpersonal tensions and her professor tried to kill her, but for Buffy, that’s honestly not that bad. 5/10 should go to therapy for personal growth but would probably be okay without it

Season 1: some bad and traumatizing things happen like finding out her crush is a super old vampire, voluntarily going to her own death, switching schools and having to make all new friends, etc. Also presumably this was not long after her forced hospitalization. But she says “Giles I don’t wanna die” which is a good sign, doesn’t have a death wish yet. 5.5/10 should really consider therapy but things could be worse given she’s the Slayer and at least she has a good support system

Season 3: okay, shit is hitting the fan. Serious identity issues around Faith and her own identity/future as the Slayer, and she’s acting out because of it. Her father figure secretly drugs her for a bit. Trauma of killing her bf and then having him make a comeback from hell. Both her bffs and her mom are kidnapped over the course of the season. Everyone is a dick to her when she comes back from LA. Never dealt with Season 2 trauma in a productive and healthy way. 7/10 girl really needs help but somehow this still isn’t as bad as it gets for her

Season 2: clearly super traumatized from dying/fighting the Master in Season 1, and it shows in how she acts in “When She Was Bad.” Has sex for the first time with someone way older than her who immediately turns into a monster and spends the rest of the season psychologically tormenting her. Her life is in imminent danger, even more than usual, in some way for most of the season. Her mom kicks her out of the house and basically disowns her right before she has to go kill her ex and for a hot second she’s a wanted fugitive. 8.5/10 this is so messed up but she’s handling it surprisingly well

Season 7: the collective trauma of all the past seasons, especially of Season 5 and 6, has added up and it shows. She also now runs an army who kicks her out of her own house and also her dad tried to kill her new boyfriend. 9/10 she’s hella emotionally repressed and clearly Not Good but also is doing a p good job of keeping it together anyway, we love a resilient queen. But also please go to therapy and learn coping mechanisms that aren’t repression

Season 5: she suddenly has a sister! her mom is ill! she drops out of school! her bf leaves her! her mortal enemy decides he’s in love with her and kidnaps her about it! her mom dies! she’s the guardian of her little sister who didn’t even exist till a few months ago! she might have to kill her little sister!!! she’s even concerned about herself and goes on a vision quest thingy instead of seeing a mental health professional. 10/10 for the intense catatonic state she goes into near the end of the season and the end of “The Gift” which is lowkey maybe suicide

Season 6: name one moment in Season 6 where Buffy didn’t desperately need therapy I dare you (the part where she was Joan and had no memories doesn’t count). Anyway to recap: pulled out of heaven and thus incredibly depressed/borderline suicidal and at least initially, kinda feral. Broke as hell and now needs to support a household where no one seems to be paying rent AND raise a kid, as a 21 year old. Sleeps with her mortal enemy to cope. Violent and unstable sexual relationship with said mortal enemy. Almost r*ped. Almost killed. Her friend dies. Her best friends’ lives are somehow almost as messed up as her own. Her father figure abandons her again for most of the season. Works a nightmare customer service job. Her ex shows up with his hot new wife. Multiple demons mess with her perception of reality. Still hasn’t dealt with losing Joyce. 100000/10 this season was incredibly dark and Buffy wasn’t blameless in all of it but literally everything she did was pretty understandable given she had to claw her way out of her own coffin at the beginning of the season

In conclusion Buffy deserved so much better and she really needed to see a mental health professional about her issues but literally the closest she ever got to that was some comforting conversations with Tara rip

#buffy the vampire slayer #buffy summers #buffy summers season 6 #i realize i referred to giles as buffy's dad and i'm right so i'm just not gonna go back and correct it #source: my own mentally ill mind and my extensive experience with therapy and hospitalization #joss really put buffy though as much as he possibly could huh #in all seriousness seeking help for your trauma or mental illness is so important #if youre looking for a sign about whether to seek help #this is that sign you can do it i believe in you #there are a lot of resources out there i would be happy to connect u with #one is crisis text line which i am a counselor for #text the number 741741 and you will be connected with a trained crisis counselor and able to talk with them over text or FB message #its totally free and confidential and as someone whos been on both sides of the convo i can really say it helps #buffy didnt get the help she needed but you can #your struggles are valid and i see you and im here for you #this was literally meant to be a shitpost but here we are

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: In Bad Waters - part thirteen Word count: ±3280 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part thirteen summary: The three hunters have unraveled the truth, but need more details to close this case once and for all. Time to break the news to the Shire family. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif does not belong to me, but I was unable to track down the creator. Is this your gif? Let me know.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

The ‘67 Chevrolet Impala rolls onto Lake Front Drive, a street where along both sides beautiful large homes are situated. On the left of the road they find a gorgeous house with blue woodwork, a big driveway and a nice yard, located right next to the lake. It’s the perfect picture of a family home, right out of a real-estate commercial. A dock runs out into the silent waters, geese bob at the surface as guardians of the deep.

Sam is waiting in the shadows of the streets on the side of the road, blending into the darkness, but his brother spots him, however. Through the window he has been watching Mrs. Shire, who is currently tidying the kitchen, while her son is out on the dock, absently bouncing a basketball on the wooden planks. When his brother’s car slowly moves past and comes to a stop, Sam emerges from the black shade. The tall guy crosses the street with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Right on time,” he comments, when Dean gets out of the classic car. “I don’t know who is in that grave, but it isn’t Laura,” Zoë fills in, emerging from the Impala with some difficulty. “The bones showed no signs of healed fractures.” Sam sighs; great, another curveball. “So where could she be then?” “We have a hunch,” Dean says, nodding his head at the waters. “Remember that she was soaking wet?”

Stunned, his younger brother turns to watch the shimmering surface, huffing when the pieces of the puzzle come together. “She travels through water,” Sam realizes. “It’s an awfully big lake, though.” “There isn’t a lot of current, so that at least helps. We need to figure out where Shire dumped her. That should narrow it down,” Zoë contemplates, glancing at the reservoir as well. “Let’s wrap this up, shall we?” the older Winchester suggests, ready to close this case.

He strides towards the Shire residence, but notices Zoë isn’t directly behind them. Dean glances further back and spots her. She got only several feet from the car in the timespan he reached the house, limping towards the men with her hand on her waist. Apparently the stiffness got worse after the car ride. “Comin’, Speedy Gonzalez?” he mocks. “Shut up, assface. I’ll be there before Christmas,” the wounded huntress bites back.

Fighting an amused grin, Dean climbs the stairs to the front door and pushes the bell. Before Mrs. Shire answers, Zoë joins them. “So what are we? FBI? State Police?” Zoë leafs through the several ID’s she’s got in the inner pocket of her leather jacket. “Just follow my lead,” Sam says without any further explanation.

Before she can ask about it, the door opens. A chain prevents the door from swinging out entirely; seems like the homeowner took precautions after the attack. Completely useless measurements of course, they need a lot more than a little chain to stop a ghost from entering. A tired and worried face of a woman in her late forties partly shows. “Can I help you?” she asks gently yet careful. “Yes, we are--” Zoë automatically takes the lead and is about to flash her badge, when Sam intervenes. “I’m Sam, that’s my brother Dean and this is Zoë. We’re here to help.”

Perplexed, Zoë stares at Sam, but recovers quickly. This is certainly not the approach she expected or would have chosen herself. He’s actually going to tell her the truth? She exchanges looks with Dean, but he doesn’t seem worried. Apparently he’s used to this tactic and has confidence in his brother. “Help me with what?” Mrs. Shire returns, puzzled. “We know what happened to your husband. Our sympathies,” Sam continues compassionately. “But there are some things we need to talk to you about.”

Doubtful, Mrs. Shire looks from one to the other. They can’t blame her, after the unexplained murder of Ronald, it’s only normal to mistrust anyone to show up at her doorstep, especially three complete strangers. “I don’t know who you are, but I already talked to the police,” she claims, after which she intends to close the door. With a quick movement, Zoë places her hand against the varnished wood to prevent it from locking. Her piercing brown eyes look straight into those of Mrs. Shire. “We know who killed Ronald,” she states, straight to the point.

The woman’s eyes widen as she freezes on the spot, shocked by the reveal. The widow is not the only one who is staring at Zoë. Sam doesn't seem pleased with her angle at all; talking about the direct approach. “Smooth.” Dean clears his throat while pronouncing the word. Normally Zoë would have glared at him, but this time her piercing gaze remains on Mrs. Shire, trying to get through to the woman. It seems to work, because she takes off the chain and steps back.

The hunters enter the house calmly. Zoë looks around like she always does when she’s someplace new. It’s a common household, the homey 90’s decor inviting. Pictures of the happy family fill the walls, portraying an illusion. She glances into the kitchen, spotting the dinner table she saw the family seated at in her flashback, the image exactly the same. While they walk in the living area, Sam hastens to the back of the house. “I’m gonna make sure her brother is okay,” he notifies, before he leaves the room. Mrs. Shire’s eyes dart to Dean and Zoë in confusion. They can read from her facial expression that she’s worried and suspicious; two words in that sentence raise a big question. “Her brother?” she repeats, dazed. “Is this about Laura?” “It’s about both your late husband and daughter,” Dean explains as he sits down.

Hesitating, Mrs. Shire settles on a comfortable chair opposite Dean. No one asked her to take a seat, but apparently something inside her tells her it might be wise. Zoë, on the other hand, remains standing. The only man in their company leans forward and rests his arms on his knees, forking his hands together. He pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth before he starts off; this is gonna hit hard. But before he can speak, the mother across from the table does. “Did you go to the police?”

Zoë can’t help but to raise her eyebrows. They are about to tell her who killed her husband and she’s worried about the police? Dean and Zoë exchange a look, after which Zoë answers. “No, we haven’t,” she states. “They usually don’t handle things like this that well.” “Things like what?” Mrs. Shire wonders, unable to follow. Dean sighs and glances up at his hunting partner; here goes nothing. “Things like ghosts.”

Flabbergasted, the woman across from the table observes them both. Then she starts to laugh nervously. “You’ve got to be joking,” she scoffs. But both Zoë and Dean keep a straight face. “Do we look like we’re joking?�� Zoë returns the question. The tense smile slowly disappears from Mrs. Shire’s face as she gapes at them. These two people who invaded her house are dead serious. Nevertheless, she refuses to believe it. “This is outrageous, I can’t believe I’m still listening to this.” She gets up as the anger sets in. “Get out of my house.” “I don’t think you want to be kicking us out,” Dean shoots her a penetrating glare. “Sit down, Mrs. Shire.”

The widow holds his gaze, but the anger is replaced with a hint of fear. No wonder, because Dean’s order sounded intimidating, making it very clear that they won’t be leaving anytime soon. A necessary evil that sometimes is needed to get shit done, and for once Zoë appreciates the older Winchester’s angle. His stern message does its job, because Mrs. Shire settles on the chair again and places her hand on her lap, anxiously pulling her skirt down.

“Like I said, we know what happened to your husband,” Zoë says, her voice somewhat softer now. “But we also know what happened to Laura.” “I don’t know what you're talking about,” the woman claims. “That’s funny, because Laura was pretty precise on the details of how you were very much aware,” Zoë returns.

Bug-eyed, Mrs. Shire stares up at the young woman - who is still standing next to the couch with her arms crossed in front of her - then her gaze shifts to Dean, frantically searching for answers. Zoë suppresses a sigh when the widow keeps looking at him like a deer in headlights. This is taking too long, and it’s not like the huntress has all the time in the world. Annoyed, she glances at the backdoor, wondering how Sam is doing. “We know what Robert did to Laura. There’s no use denying that; we know everything,” Dean makes clear. Not believing what she’s hearing, tears well up in her eyes. She swallows apprehensively. “H-How could you possibly know?” she stammers. “Take in consideration that ghosts are real and I believe you can answer that question yourself,” Zoë enlightens her.

Speechless, Mrs. Shire’s eyes drift off as they shimmer, then she closes them and tears roll down her face, mourning silently. Now Zoë too looks down at her shoes, not sure how to deal with this. She isn’t the type of person who puts her arm around someone to comfort the grieving, especially not to someone who looked the other way while her daughter was being abused. Dean doesn’t undertake action either and so they let her be. After a while, she starts to talk.

“Ron always had an unstable personality. He could be a loving guy and just like that--” She snaps her fingers, “- he could change into this bad-tempered, aggressive man. I hoped that having a family would change him.” She shivers during a short pause as she wipes at her tears. Dean observes the mother, as Zoë leans on the back of the couch. The sympathy they have for Mrs. Shire grows, now that they learn that Laura wasn’t the only one Ronald used to beat up when he was in a bad mood. “When Tom was born, it seemed like something inside him did shift. Tommy meant everything to Ronald, he never laid a finger on him. But then, when Laura came...” Mrs. Shire closes her eyes as teardrops find their way down her weary face. “He never meant to kill her, he just lost it that evening. She was stubborn and he lost it.” Whimpering, she buries her face in her hands. “He had to cover it up. Tommy and I and even Ronald, we would have lost everything. Our home, Tom’s school, what was left of our family, everything. We just didn’t want to make it worse.”

Son of a bitch, Zoë mouths without making a noise. Dean notices her expression and shakes his head himself. He could give Laura credit for what she did to her father, but this has to stop now before it spins out of control. “Mrs. Shire, I know this is tough, but we need to know where Laura’s body is,” he confronts her. She sniffles. “She - she’s buried at Linwood Cemetery.” “No, she’s not,” Zoë immediately cuts in.

Bewildered, the woman opposite of them glances from Zoë to Dean. The huntress can see from the look upon her face that this time, she genuinely doesn’t have a clue what they are talking about. As Zoë observes her response, another theory starts evolving in her head; what if Laura’s mother never knew about the body swap? What if she thought that she really buried her daughter at Linwood Cemetery? Maybe the only people who knew about the switch were Ronald Shire and Dr. Hughes. “Where else would she be?” Mrs. Shire utters, staggered. “Don’t play tricks on us,” Dean warns. “Dean, wait,” Zoë interrupts. “Was the coffin ever open during the ceremony?” The hunter looks over his shoulder; just like Mrs. Shire he seems disoriented. The only man in their company gives her a questioning look; where is she going with this? “No, Ron insisted it was closed. Why?” Mrs. Shire replies. Zoë sighs deeply and rubs her face, then she turns to the woman in front of her again. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Laura was never buried in Linwood Cemetery.”

Overwhelmed, Laura’s mother stares at the young woman in her living room. That’s truthbomb number three they just dropped on the widow who also lost her child. Mrs. Shire is being hit in the face with information that is almost impossible to digest, and it is starting to show. “W-what? But - but I stood at her coffin at the funeral. I - I visit her grave every day,” she whimpers. “Where is she? Where’s my Laura?”

Damn good question, Dean realizes. But he also knows that if Mrs. Shire doesn’t have a clue where her daughter is, they might be on a very dead end, literally.

“We believe she’s in the lake. We hoped you could tell us where exactly,” Zoë admits disappointedly. Out of pure desperation, the woman huffs and looks away. Dean can see she’s about to break, and decides to fill in the blank lines for the poor mother. Having answers is usually more comforting than being left in the dark.

“We believe your husband and a friend inside the hospital switched Laura’s body with a Jane Doe of the same age, because Ronald was afraid someone might start talking and kick off an investigation,” he explains. “He could forge documents and her medical records as Chief of staff, but if this had become a case, forensics would’ve noticed the many healed breaks and injuries that are consistant with child abuse if they had found Laura’s actual remains. He would’ve faced jail time.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Mrs. Shire whispers, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. Unable to swallow back the tears, the poor woman glances at Dean, a question dawning on her. “If - if what you just said about Laura’s… ‘ghost’ is true, why didn’t she tell you where her body is?” “Laura isn’t exactly cooperative,” he tries to explain. “She doesn’t want to be found. The hate and frustration she feels right now is driving her to get to the people who never helped her, while they could have.”

“The murders, first Ronald, then her principal Mr. Van Dyke, after that her teacher and a colleague of your husband, about two hours ago. They all knew about her situation, but in one way or another failed to do anything about it. Laura’s taking revenge for that,” Zoë fills in. “She would never do that. She’s ten, she’s not capable of murdering people,” her mother claims in disgrace. “I think she’s more than capable of violence, after what her father did to her,” Dean brings to mind.

“As a spirit, she doesn’t think or act rationally anymore. All she feels is rage, sadness, and frustration. She’s out of control. That’s why we have to find her and stop her. Otherwise you and your son will be in danger,” Zoë tells her. “She’ll…” Scared blue eyes dart up at the huntress. “She’ll come after us?” “You listened, you saw, but you didn’t act,” Zoë says, harshly yet truthful. “You didn’t stop it.”

For a moment, Mrs. Shire is able to hold the young woman’s gaze, but before Zoë’s eyes, the mirage of the perfect mother begins to falter. What started the day when Ronald struck his wife the first time and escalated when Laura lost her life, has left this family in ruins. The middle-aged woman begins to quiver, unable to keep her emotions at bay, and breaks down completely.

Zoë, not being the most patient of the three hunters, looks down on the woman who did nothing, and yet had such a big part to play in Laura’s violent death. Although she sympathizes with her, the tears aren’t helping anyone. Time is ticking and they have nothing besides a lake the size of multiple football fields. Also growing slightly impatient, but able to hide it, Dean gives it one last try. “Don’t you have any idea where he might have hidden her? Any clue at all?” “I know where she is.”

Surprised, the older Winchester looks over the back of the couch while Zoë turns around, both facing a young boy. He’s about thirteen years old and has blonde hair, with the same blue eyes as his mother. Sam’s standing behind him, a hand on his shoulder. “Tom? What are you talking about, honey?” his mother asks, concerned, trying to compose herself in front of her son.

He looks up at Sam, who puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, you can tell her now,” he ensures. Anxious, he turns back to his mother and takes a moment before he starts talking. But when he does, he stuns each and everyone in the room. “That night, when Laura…” He swallows apprehensively and takes a breath, then continues. “I saw Dad at the lake. He rowed the boat out and dropped a big bag in the water. When he came back, I pretended I was sleeping.”

Astounded, Dean and Zoë take in the brave little kid, who just stepped forward and gave them the break they were desperately looking for. An eye-witness, one whose voice was taken away by years of seeing so much brutality, that it left him petrified whenever he came close to telling. All this time, the little fellow knew, but couldn’t speak, knowing that he could quite possibly suffer the same fate as his sister.

“Oh, Tommy…” Mrs. Shire whimpers, as she walks up to him. The mother folds her arms around her son, who hugs her back while tears start rolling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Mom,” he cries, holding her tight. “I knew Dad would have been furious if I had.” “It’s okay now. Don’t worry, it’s alright,” she whispers while laying her hand over the top of his head, caressing his hair softly, yet she is barely able to hold it together herself.

The three hunters exchange a look, silent witnesses to the embrace, the last shards of this family mended before them. The truth has been revealed, offering them a strong chance to solve this case. They need more details, though, and the only one who can provide them, is Tommy. Zoë concentrates on the young boy, once he slips from his mother’s arms. “Tom, do you remember how far your father went out?” she asks, kindly. “Not that far, he didn’t pass the goose nests,” the teenager tells her.

They remembers the birds on the lake. Good, they have a marked area now, something to go on. Zoë straightens her back and glances at the boys. “Seems like we are taking a swim,” she comments. “You’re going to bring her to the surface?” Mrs. Shire swallows with difficulty, both upset and relieved that they might be doing so. “It’s the only way we can lay her to rest,” Sam answers.

“There’s diving equipment in the boathouse. Tom and Ron used to swim in that lake all summer,” she offers. “Thanks, that might come in handy,” Zoë takes it as she checks her watch. “It’s gonna be completely dark in about a half an hour.” “Okay then.” Dean sets his shoulders, glancing between his brother and Zoë. As much as he likes a good hunt, he’s not fond of the fact that he’s on the menu of this nasty little spirit. Seems like they will be done with this case by tonight, though. With strong words he finishes. “Let’s do this.”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter fourteen here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #STSS #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Zoë Sullivan #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Dean x OFC #Sam x OFC #Supernatural series #SPN series #SPN #Supernatural #Dean Winchester series #Sam Winchester series #1x02 In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington

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eriklivesinmybasement · 4 years

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Rise of the Guardians: Is it as good as we remember?

(Oof! I’ve been working on this one for a long while! Buckle up buttercup, this is gonna be a long one!)

(Before I get into this, I want everyone to know that I’m not claiming anything to be fact. This is just my personal opinion).

Back in November of 2012, we were greeted with Rise of the Guardians. This movie, based on the books entitled The Guardians of Childhood, written by William Joyce, gave us a new and unique take on our favorite childhood characters. This included Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Jack Frost, and more.

While it didn’t do so well at the box office, it seemed to explode in popularity. It spawned a fandom fairly quickly, even spawning a couple fandoms that branched off of it. For a long while there it seemed that, wherever you looked, you saw cosplays, fanart, tribute videos, fanfiction, etc. Loads of people seemed to absolutely love this movie, and I, as a twelve-year-old at the time and thus a part of the target audience, was no exception.

Even now eight years later, I still claim to love this movie. Even though I haven’t seen it in a long while, it left a huge impact on me as a writer and artist, which is why I am sad to see the fanbase slowly dwindling away. So I went back and watched it again, and as I sat there ready to press the ‘play’ button, I began to wonder.

Will this movie be as good as I remember it?

And the answer? Yes and no.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I still really like this movie, and I still stand by it being one of my favorites. But just like everything else in life, nothing is perfect. And while still amazing, this movie does indeed have some flaws.

And as I like to save the best for last, I’ll start off by diving into some of the movies flaws.

Flaw #1 - Pacing

The pacing in this movie can be a little awkward from time to time. Nothing super jarring, but enough to make me go, “I’m sorry, what?”.

Some scenes seemed to just jump from one to the other without much warning. Either that, or the transition from one scene to the next seemed a little off. One example of this is when North, Bunny, Sandman, and Jack Frost set off to the Tooth Palace. There was nothing inherently wrong with these scenes, but the transition between the two seemed a little awkward. One minute we were having a nice, calm moment between North and Jack, and then all of a sudden we get a quick, action-like sequence with the sleigh.

Another moment that felt awkwardly paced was the introduction of the movies villain, Pitch Black. It seemed like there should’ve been more buildup to him. We got a bit, but moments of buildup seemed quite few and far between. When he was introduced it felt almost a little random, him just appearing for a few moments and disappearing just as quick didn’t seem to work or do him justice.

There are other scenes, but I won’t go over those now, as I guess I’m probably already bugging some hardcore RotG fans.

Flaw #2 - Unexplored Questions and Backstories

Alright, before I get people shouting me down about how, “If I want backstory and questions answered I should read the books”, hear me out.

When you make a story, whether it be in the form of a movie or book, you’re going to want it to make sense. You’re going to want everything to tie together. It’s true that the original books do this, but it’s not seen in the movie. So for those who watch the movie, they may walk out confused about some aspects of it. The two parts I’m going to focus on here are Pitch Black’s backstory, and how Sandman came back to life.

Every story needs a good villain, and Pitch Black is certainly a well-defined villain. But here’s the problem. We get no backstory or explanation as to how he came to be. We do get a quick flashback to Pitch during the ‘Dark Ages’, which gives us his motivation as to why he’s doing what he’s doing. But that’s it. We get no other real backstory to how he came to be. Actually, we don’t get that for any of the other Guardians besides Jack Frost. But again, the other Guardians lack of backstory could be forgiven, as none of them are the main characters. But it’s important to tell a villains backstory because it gives the audience something to connect with.

Onto the next question. How exactly did Sandman come back to life?

This is a question that’s actually been on my mind for a while now. How exactly did Sandy come back? In the movie we clearly see him die, so how did he come back from the dead? The only lead I got is that maybe the kids somehow brought him back. During the final confrontation with Pitch, Jamie touches some of the black nightmare sand and it turns gold. It’s later on after that that he looks to the other kids and says, “I know what we have to do,” and they run offscreen for a little while, only for Sandy to show up soon after. Did Sandy come back through the kids believing in him again? Did they preform some sort of ritual to call him back from the dead? Who knows. It’s a dumb nitpick, I know, but I still wonder.

Well, now that I got that out of the way, and the RotG fandom is probably coming after my head, I’ll go over the strengths of this movie. And trust me, these really help the movie stand out.

Strength #1 - The Characters

All the characters in this movie are phenomenal! But to be honest, Jack Frost was the reason I originally wanted to watch this film when it first came out. Growing up I never really heard any stories about Jack Frost, and the only Jack Frost I ever saw in the media was of a withered old man. So seeing him portrayed as a teenager seemed pretty interesting. And the character was handled and written very well. His backstory was intriguing, he had a fun and enjoyable personality, but that’s not all.

One thing that was really great about Jack Frost’s character was his struggle throughout the story, and it’s actually a pretty relatable struggle as well. In the story, Jack Frost starts out not knowing who he really is or why he’s even alive. Not only that, but it seems that no mortals can see him, effectively making him invisible to the entire world. The story follows him as he looks for answers to his identity.

This can be a very relatable situation, especially for preteens and early teenagers who are still trying to figure themselves out. And most all of us get to this point. We reach a time in our lives, often in our youth, where we start to wonder exactly who/what kind of person we are. Along with the desire to discover ourselves, there is also the fear/feeling of being invisible and isolated, not understanding where we exactly fit in. Again, everyone reaches a place like that as well, where we feel invisible to the world. Just a passerby. Like we have something amazing to share, if only we could get someone to see it.

The other characters don’t come off as deep or complex as Jack, but that doesn’t make them any less enjoyable. Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and Sandman were all very creatively designed and portrayed. A lot of the fun from this movie actually came from all these strong, drastically different personalities clashing with and bouncing off of one another. It made for some fun dialogue and hilarious moments which had me laughing off and on throughout the beginning of the film.

Strength #2 - The Villain

Pitch Black is, without a doubt, one of my favorite DreamWorks villains. I loved everything about this character. From the voice, the design, the aesthetic, it’s all wonderful! But the one thing that set this villain up above many others was that he straight up killed an important character onscreen.

Reminder, I was twelve when this movie came out, and up until then, I wasn’t often exposed to death scenes like this in animated films. I grew up majorly on Disney animated movies and shows, and when a character died, it was usually offscreen. And on the occasion it was onscreen? The villain only indirectly killed a character. For example, in the Lion King, Scar pushed Mufasa into a gorge where a stampede was taking place. Scar killed him indirectly, as he’s the one who put him there, but the stampede is what really did the work.

But in this case it was much different. It’s not like Pitch took Sandy off to the side and killed him there. No, we legit saw this whole scene happen and play out on screen. When I first saw it, it blew my mind! This was actually kind of new for me! We saw Pitch take that shot at Sandy, and we actually saw Sandy’s final moments as he died. When you have a villain physically kill off a beloved character on screen, it sends a message. It sends the message that this villain isn’t all talk. That this villain really does have great power of their own, and that they are serious about getting what they want. That they aren’t going to let anyone get in their way. They mean business. And that was perfectly executed in this scene. (No pun intended).

Strength #3 - The Creativity and Art

I think it goes without saying that this movie is unbelievably creative! Everything from the locations, animation, and the characters themselves in both personality and design are just bursting with creative energy! The animation is incredibly detailed, and for DreamWorks as an animation studio, I think this has to be some of their best work. The colors, textures, details, and everything in between are just so beautifully done. In terms of creativity, two of the locations I want to talk about are the Tooth Palace and Pitch Black’s lair.

When it comes to the Tooth Palace, the artists and creators were given a lot of creative freedom. In media there is no set idea of a place where the Tooth Fairy lives or operates. We all know Santa lives in a workshop, and it makes sense to think that the Easter Bunny lives in a Warren, but no one really knows what to expect when it comes to the Tooth Fairy. When we saw the Tooth Palace, we were treated to some highly detailed and stunning imagery, all with a lovely color scheme of soft pinks, purples, and blues with accents of gold. Not to mention the design of the structural design was a spectacle itself to behold.

And then we have Pitch Black’s lair. As a lowkey goth at twelve years old in the early 2010s, the aesthetic here made it one of my favorite parts of the movie. This set here is similar to the Tooth Palace in that, the creators had a greater level of creative freedom, as we never really think about where exactly the Boogeyman lives. I mean, we know he kinda lives under beds, but that doesn’t sound as cool as living in a spooky, gothic underground secret lair. (But in all honesty, I do really enjoy the detail of the entrance of his lair being under an old, broken down bedframe. It’s a very good nod to the old stories).

It’s like a maze. A labyrinth full of shadows, and looks like the interior of an old, gothic castle that’s somewhat tilting into an abyss. It’s color scheme is predominantly full of grays and blacks, and the surprisingly elegant-looking cages hanging from an invisible ceiling really helps to establish a more gothic look. And since the lair is very dark and shadowed, it fits and aids Pitch black perfectly, in that he can morph in and out of shadows as he pleases. This gives him plenty of places to hide as he’s making an effort to mess with and get into Jack’s head.

The last piece of creativity I want to touch on is how the characters are presented. And holy crap after this movie this is the only way I can view Santa, Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, etc.!

They take these beloved characters that we are already familiar with, and, while still somewhat showing them as we know them, present them in an entirely different way.

We all see Santa Claus as this huge, lovable man with a big belly who’s always jolly. And while that is what we get from this Santa, or North, as they call him, it’s very much flipped on its head. While still jolly, North is very eccentric, high-energy, and is strong-armed, duel broadsword wielding Russian warrior with tattoos. Seriously, who thinks of a Russian warrior when they think of Santa?! Well, now I do! Also the fact that he’s not always super happy like other incarnations of the character. We get to see that he’s very capable of getting both upset and frustrated. It’s a pretty interesting way to humanize such a beloved character.

We then have the Easter Bunny, who is played by Hugh Jackman. Say that out loud. The Easter Bunny is being played by Hugh Jackman. Growing up, me and many other kids saw the Easter Bunny as a small, cute little critter who hopped around the world leaving baskets and painting eggs. Not a tall, boomerang wielding fighter from the Australian outback. Not only that, but giving him a small rivalry with North was interesting, and snot something I ever really thought about. As well as the idea of a the Easter Bunny having somewhat of a temper.

In terms of character design, I feel like both the Tooth Fairy and Sandman had the most creative freedom. We don’t see these two characters often portrayed in media, so they were able to receive some really cool and unique-looking designs. Especially the Tooth Fairy. Did you ever think of the Tooth Fairy looking a like an elegant cross between a beautiful woman and a hummingbird? No, of course you didn’t. But Rise of the Guardians gave us just that, and it truly set its place for it’s own individual take on this childhood legend.

Pitch Black is a fairy creative villain as well. When you hear about the Boogeyman, you don’t get very scared. The name actually sounds a little silly when you say it out loud. And even then, because of the success of The Nightmare Before Christmas, you usually think of their incarnation of the character when you hear that name. But this version of the character is actually much different. He’s not this weird, in-your-face kind of monster. He’s a very subtle, yet terrifying character. When I first saw the movie in theaters, there were kids in the room crying at moments when Pitch Black came on screen. It’s also interesting the way his powers work. We all grew up knowing the Boogeyman as someone who just hid under beds. We had no idea what magical powers he may or may not have had. So giving him the ability to morph into the darkness and into shadows was a pretty cool concept, but also solidified that he had a weakness. Light.

So, In Conclusion...

As I have gotten older, I admit that this movie does look a little different to me now, versus when I saw it as a preteen. I’ve noticed some interesting flaws here and there, but I’ve also been able to remember why I fell in love with it in the first place. It’s a very different kind of movie, but that’s part of what makes it so much fun and interesting.

The characters are delightful, the villain is intimidating, the story, while awkwardly paced, is still pretty solid, and is all tied together with a great lead character. And as you get invested in the story, you’ll find yourself getting really into the all artistry that went into creating this movie.

At the end of the day, it makes me sad to see the fanbase for this movie slowly dwindling away. But I feel there are always going to be people out there who enjoy this movie. And you know what? You never know what the future holds. Perhaps there will be a movie in the distant future. Or more likely a animated series on either TV or Netflix. And for the hardcore fans, go and read the original books.

All I can say here is that, every now and again when it starts to get a little nippy outside, I’ll sit in my living room with hot chocolate and give this movie another watch.

#rotg #rotg fandom #rise of the guardians #rise of the guardians fandom #rotg review #rise of the guardians review #rotg jack frost #jack frost #rotg north #north #santa claus #rotg bunnymund #bunymund #rotg tooth fairy #tooth fairy #toothiana #rotg pitch black #pitch black

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marril96 · 4 years

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Far From You

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: With quarantine having taken its toll on your relationship, you decide to win Rowena back by all means necessary.

A/N: Huge thanks to my awesome friend @midnightsilver for the prompt.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

Rowena was in a bad mood. Which wasn't a novelty; grumpiness seemed to be one of the woman's default settings, right alongside whining and attention-craving. However, the imposed quarantine seemed to have taken its toll on her, her regular irritation rising to levels that were, at best, barely tolerable, and, at worst, made you want to go outside and hug the sickest-looking stranger in order to get some time away from her.

It wasn't always that bad, though. For the most part, she just sat in silence and huffed and rolled her eyes at random things. That was, when she wasn't cursing out the politicians and the irresponsible people who'd made these safety measures necessary on the TV — a few times quite literally cursing them, eyes sparkling violet as she willed her magic to strike.

To say she was handling it badly would be an understatement.

Rowena was a social creature. As happy as being home with you made her, she loved to travel. Loved to explore different places, experience the world, get to know it. Being holed up in a house was worse than prison. At least prison could be escaped from without fear of catching a nasty disease.

It wasn't that she was afraid of dying. The devil himself hadn't managed to kill her, and neither would a measly virus. But she wasn't too thrilled about the possibility of getting sick. So she stayed home. Like a good little girl, she obeyed the officials' rules and holed up, leaving only when it was her turn to get the groceries.

Though she tried not to let it get to her, the changes in her temper made it clear she wasn't handling the situation well.

Not that you were any better. You weren't an adventurer like her, but you missed your freedom. Missed walking the streets, the sun bathing your hair, Rowena's hand in yours, a wordless but firm statement that she was yours. Missed heading to different restaurants, or ordering delicious food home. Missed Rowena randomly telling you to pack your bags, a promise of a new, exciting adventure sparkling in her eyes.

But, most of all, you missed Rowena. You were living in the same house, yet, as of late, it had started to feel like you were strangers. You still talked, but it was strained, distant. Like two random passengers on a plane discussing the weather to pass the time. You barely touched each other. When you kissed, it was pecks on the cheeks and mouth — solely initiated by you. An empty, passionless habit. A learned routine rather than a loving gesture. And sex… you'd engaged in it twice since the quarantine had taken place, and it, too, lacked its usual passion.

The quarantine had taken its toll on your relationship.

Today, sick of the distance, of the constant cold amidst the warm house, you decided to fight it. Decided to fight for your relationship. Things were horrible, not just in the United States but everywhere in the world, but that didn't mean your life had to be the same way. You could still live. You could still be the couple you'd worked hard to become.

What you had was worth fighting for.

So when Rowena went on another tirade against politicians as she watched the morning news (looking quite ready to throw her steaming mug of tea at the TV), you said in your most irritated tone, "Okay, I get it — you hate them. No need to get so worked up. It's not like they give a damn."

The look she shot you had to have killed before. You would have been frightened had you not known her the way you did. She might have been a serious threat, but when it came to you, she was a puppy. A cute, glare-y puppy who finally paid attention to you after days of nothing.

You plopped down next to her on the couch, set your mug next to hers, and shot her your brightest smile. "Hi!"

Rowena rolled her eyes in the fashion of a trained theater actress. Over the top, dramatic, her style to a T. She picked up a large grimoire that was resting next to her and spread it open on her lap. It was one of her newer books, acquired mere days before the quarantine had taken place. You'd looked forwards to exploring them with her, learning new things, asking questions she would pretend to be annoyed at but would answer with the ferocity of a teacher eager to spread her knowledge. Just like old times.

Instead, she'd taken to reading the books on her own. Using them as a distraction from the awful things happening in the world.

A distraction from you.

You tried not to let it get to you too much, but it stung. Your heart clenched with pain, with ache that ran deep to your core. Like poison coursing through your veins, burning you up from the inside one little bit at a time. It was as though she'd grown bored of you. As if being holed up with you inside a tiny house had made her resent you. As if it made her realize living with you wasn't the fairy tale you thought of it as and she couldn't wait to get away from you.

You're overreacting, you told yourself. But, even as you kept repeating to yourself that this was just a temporary thing, that it was stress, a sliver of a doubt still nibbled at you. What if Rowena didn't want you anymore? What if she'd had enough?

You still wanted her, you reminded yourself. You missed her. You loved her. And you would do anything to get things back to the way they used to be.

You leaned your head on her shoulder, which earned you another glare. You ignored it, eyes darting to the yellowed pages of the book that must have been older than the two of you combined. Intricate illustrations adorned the paper; those of flowers, of herbs you didn't recognize. They were surrounded by words in a foreign language. Written in an elegant handwriting, the writing gave off a feeling of class, of beauty. Whoever the witch that had written it was, she had obviously been a lady.

"What's it say?" you asked, feigning nonchalance. Heart, all the while, beating wildly, begging for a response.

Rowena eyed you for a few moments before turning her attention back to the book. "It's potion recipes." Matter-of-fact. Straight to the point. No trace of the warmth that usually accompanied her words.

On the bright side, she responded. It was something. Not much, but a start nonetheless.

"What language is it?"

"Italian."

"The book looks pretty old. When was it written?"

"The 1500s."

"Is the witch who wrote it still alive?"

"No."

"It's really cool that you can understand it."

No response. Not even the usual smile at the compliment. As if you hadn't said a word.

Your heart sank, but, insistent to complete this mission you'd tasked yourself with, you sucked in a breath and pecked her on the cheek.

Rowena flinched as if burned and shot you a startled glance. You smiled innocently. Sighing, she went back to her book.

Another failed attempt. Was there anything you could do to get her back? To get her out of her glum state? To make her your girl again for, as of late, it seemed she was distant from you?

To your knowledge, you hadn't done anything wrong. There had been no arguments — not even the pretend, teasy ones the two of you sometimes got into. You hadn't broken anything hers, or messed up any spells. It was as if she'd just decided she wasn't in the mood for you, that you were too much for her to handle. So she ignored you.

As much as it hurt, you weren't going to let her get away with it. You couldn't. Not after everything the two of you had gone through. You'd survived Lucifer. You'd survived her flashbacks and nightmares. And you would survive this.

Desperate, tears pricking at your eyes as pain squeezed at your heart, dove razor-sharp daggers into it over and over like a merciless killer, you leaned down to Rowena's shoulder and pressed a kiss into it. It was a small kiss, soft as silk, a swift, brief brush of lips against skin. A promise of more, so much more — all she had to do was want it.

Rowena stiffened. You laid another kiss to her shoulder, then another, trailing all the way up to her neck. Her skin was soft, incredibly tender; as expected, a small moan escaped her as soon as you reached her most sensitive place. She could be as mad as she wanted, as confused, as indifferent — the neck kiss always did her in.

Her greatest weakness, even in these difficult times.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" There was a hesitation in her voice, mixed in with the cold that coated her words.

"Having some fun," you said, then kissed her again. And again and again and again, and ran your tongue over a tiny spot just below her ear as if she were the most delicious meal, and then kissed it, and around it. A little game you couldn't get enough of.

"Why?"

Because she wasn't paying attention to you. Because you were lonely. Because she was grumpy. Because you both needed a little distraction from the horrors of the world, and what better way to get it than some intimate fun?

"Why not?" you countered. Dared her to defy you. To push you away as she had for days.

Your teeth grazed the sensitive skin, the milky white flushing red, soon to be a beautiful, rich purple. The kind of mark you hadn't left in what felt like ages. Rowena gasped at the sensation, satisfied despite pretending otherwise. Her vein throbbed underneath your mouth, heart racing, blood running hot.

You couldn't resist a smile. There we go. That was your girl! Goodness, you missed her!

The magic was short-lasted, though, as a moment later Rowena pulled away, looked you straight in the eyes, and, serious as a heart attack, said, "Have you gone bloody mental?"

You sighed. Inhaled. Exhaled. Did your best to remain calm because your thoughts were screaming and you wanted nothing more than to throw a tantrum and then curl up and cry your eyes out.

"Maybe I just wanna spend some time with my girlfriend!"

She looked at you as if you'd suddenly grown a second head. "We're together all the time!"

You used to be. Not lately.

"We would be if you weren't ignoring me." If she could play dirty, so could you.

"That's ridiculous!" she argued. Defensive. Second-guessing, but she wouldn't admit it. She was never one to admit she was wrong.

You'd expected it, really. Had prepared yourself for the blow. That didn't make it hurt any less. Throwing your arms up, you got to your feet and started pacing. Restless, nerves short circuiting, heart pounding like a hammer against your ribcage. Relax, you told yourself. Just relax. You'd wanted this fight. You couldn't give up now.

You looked her in the eyes with all the intensity, all the sincerity you could manage. Made sure she knew you meant business. "You barely even look at me. All you do is scream at the TV and read your books." Her outbursts were fun at first, entertaining. Now, they were exhausting. There were only so many times you could laugh at the very same curse words, even if they were Scottish. "It's like you're sick of living with me."

A tear slid down your cheek; you wiped it with the back of your hand and sniffled. Willed the rest of the tears to stay back, to not betray you at a time like this. You hated arguing with Rowena. You were used to peace in your relationship, to hugs and kisses and love and laughter and everything happy and bright. Whenever you argued, it felt like a piece of you was being torn apart. As if, if you went too far, if you pushed too many buttons, she would decide she'd had enough and, just like back in her wicked days, she would turn her back and leave.

You knew it was silly. Arguments were part of a relationship; they were healthy, so long as they were nuanced. But a part of you couldn't let go of the notion that fights would be the end of everything you knew and loved. It terrified you to the bone, and with the fear came more tears, and before you could try to stop them again, you were crying.

"Darling, that's not—I could never get sick of being with you," Rowena said. "I don't know what you think is happening, but, I can assure you, I've no ill feelings toward you." She flashed a smile, one of those bright, honest ones. "I promise."

You swallowed a lump that had popped in your throat. Gulped in a large breath. "You're always in a bad mood. And you never pay attention to me." You realized you come across as a needy, whiny child, but it was the truth. You felt ignored. You were ignored. Your usually attentive girlfriend had suddenly turned you a cold shoulder. "You don't kiss me back anymore. Don't even get me started on sex. Even when you sleep, you turn your back on me."

She pondered on your words. Twisted and turned them in her head, thought them through. When she spoke, her words were laced with regret, "Y/N, you've got this all wrong." She stood up and reached for your hand, tiny fingers wrapping around yours. The kind of touch you were yearning for, that you were missing. "I suppose I have been a tad distant these days. Not because of you. You haven't done anything wrong."

You allowed yourself to breathe out with ease.

"It's this house. I'm sick of being locked inside all the time," she elaborated. "It's starting to feel like a prison. I miss our wee trips." She pouted. "I miss dinners in my favourite restaurant."

You chuckled.

Rowena smiled. "I miss our walks. Going out for groceries hardly counts as going out."

"I miss it, too," you admitted. "All of it." But, most of all… "I miss you."

"I'm… sorry." It was hard for her to say the words. Two years into her redemption, and she still struggled with apologizing. "I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I love you, you silly girl. I could never tire of you. Even when you interrupt my reading."

She accompanied that with a small glare, a feigned one.

You rolled your eyes. "Gotta get your attention somehow."

"You've got my full attention now." Her eyes fell to your lips. Trailed down the length of your body. She was so close; you could smell her skin, almost taste her lips. "What is it you would like to do with it?"

"I can think of a few things."

You kissed her, deep and hard. She reciprocated instantly, drawing you in, arms snaking around you to pull you right where she wanted you. She tasted of promise and love and everything sweet, everything you were missing. You melted into her as she took lead, her tongue exploring your mouth, tasting it, marking it. Making it clear that it was her territory, her ownership.

Goodness, you missed this!

Parting for breath, you kissed her again, then pushed her on the couch a tad rougher than necessary and straddled her. Your mouth was back on her neck, kissing the previously marked spot. Licking and biting and sucking, leaving a trail of blossoming bruises in your wake.

"That's it, darling," Rowena moaned in her thick accent, which only made you got at it harder.

Maybe the quarantine wouldn't be so bad after all.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @shadowgirl-vsb @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock @fangirlxwritesx67 @rowenaslilwitch @midnight-lestrange

#rowena #rowena macleod #spn #supernatural #spn family #rowena x reader #fanfiction #my fics

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jjba-hell · 3 years

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Fate and Fortune

Part 8

Part 7- only linking the part before the current one from now on. All the earlier pieces are under the Fate and Fortune tag ^ω^

Content warning: violence, blood, Vera talking about her past and presumed death- ya’ll know the deal

Moots (^з^)-☆: @risottoneroo @fyre23 and @rat-makes-stuff (anyone else wanna get tagged, lemme know)

Part 9 being published right after this- yes, I would hate to see ya’ll in suspense so the follow up is already there.

Also this one is HELLA long

When they landed in Singapore, Vera wasted no time in guzzling down an ungodly amount of water and then crawling into her hotel bed to sleep off the remnants of her nausea- the peculiar thuds coming from the Frenchman next door not enough to deter her from her slumber.

“Mr Joestar apologizes for your luggage issue but I think he’s compensated well enough.” Avdol placed a clip of Singapore dollars onto her bedside, walking around to peel the blockout curtains open- as by her request.

“What will you be up to today?”

“I’m going to be with Mr Joestar, attempting to see Dio using Hermit Purple.”

She looked up at her guardian, smiling at the frustration softly bubbling at the surface of his facade. “I wanted to ask how he realized his stand works with pictures- more specifically smashing Polaroids.”

He gave a huff of laughter. “He informed me of his ability- I never suggested such a thing, in fact I was convinced a crystal ball would have been enough but essentially he beat me to it. We are about to try a television now, however.”

“Godspeed, Avdol.” She laughed as he exited her room.

Vera had just closed her room door when Noriaki called from down the hallway in the elevator. “Good morning, Vera.”

She strolled into the empty elevator he held open for her- extending the same greeting before watching the door close. “What’s our plan for today?”

“Define ‘our’.” She had initially only playfully teased but when he answered with “You and I.” it was her qeue to blush. “Oh, well-“ she cleared her throat. “I’ll be replacing most of my clothing today so unless you like shopping...”

“Oh you don’t have to worry about me- your sparkling conversation is more than enough thanks for me.”

She laughed to herself, rolling her eyes at him. “You are such a charmer!”

He tilted his head to the side, smiling slyly. “Pardon my assumptions, Vera but I truly don’t see you as someone who’s helpless under a charmer’s words- begs the question doesn’t it?”

“Ahh you think I want to be charmed.” She stepped out of the open elevator, Kakyoin trailing after her.

“Without a doubt.”

To Vera, being with Noriaki felt natural- he fell in step with her effortlessly, as effortlessly as the conversation flowed and her hand found his when there was a crowd. Being close to him- it felt right. Or was it safe? It was hard to tell sometimes.

“Well, now that we’ve come to the end of our journey- allow me to thank you for accompanying me.” She pushed her hotel room door open and put her bags down inside before closing it again and leaning her back against the closed door.

“Your company was all the thanks I could ask for.”

She smiled her most genuine smile and reached for his hand. There was rarely protest when she did this- his hands were surprisingly rough but warm- Vera chalked it up to his artistry being the reason.

She made him close the gap between them, pulling him closer until his shoulder was leaning against the door. “And you call me a charmer.” He commented, quietly, as if that little space just outside her door was for them and them alone.

Her heart was admittedly racing in her chest- the analogy of butterflies in your stomach always made her laugh but now, standing there so close to Noriaki- so close she could smell the shampoo in his hair and admire the slight silver streaks in his eyes... it made sense.

Vera assumed the feeling she was feeling was affirmative as she reached up a bit and brought her hand to the back of his neck. Noriaki obliged, of course, bringing his face closer to hers.

The gap only seemed to get smaller, her other hand moving up his arm- naturally trying to get on her tip-toes to help gain some height. By the time she closed her eyes, their noses were almost touching and then she waited, just the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears.

All at once- but not violent in the least- Noriaki’s lips brushed gently against hers and his other hand landed on the other side of her other shoulder- essentially caging her against the door.

The one action brought her excitement... but was painfully tainted by the fear that shot up through her spine at the other action. Her head turned away from him, the hand behind his neck moving to grip his wrist beside her.

“I’m sorry.” The words came from him, her eyes opening and gazing up at him. His hand moved away from the door- slowly and carefully, like moving too quickly would scare here off. Noriaki’s brows were knitted together in concern,

“It’s not you.” She tried to say- her voice failing her miserably in volume. That soft expression on his face didn’t falter, a small smile spread over his face. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Vera.”

His hand moved to hold hers, squeezing softly as he stood a bit taller once again. “You’re shaking.”

She peered down at where their hands were connected- noting how her hand was shaking in his. “Oh.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

Her gaze shot back up to him. “I’m not thinking that.”

“I know. But I figure it was something you needed to hear, right now.”

“Called it!” Anne’s voice called from the end of the hall and like a spell had been broken they separated back to their casual distance as Jotaro came down the hallway.

“Called what, kid?” Vera regained a bit of her voice back.

“You two are the couple.”

“Why does there have to be a couple, exactly? Y’know what nevermind- I got you some better travel clothes while I was out, can you just go try them on?”

“What are you? My mom?”

Vera only raised an eyebrow as she opened the door and let the kid in.

It was pretty quiet on their way to Calcutta- she supposed that she had become somewhat accustomed to the swaying of the sea- although it really didn’t help her getting any more sleep.

“Why are you always up at this hour?” Jotaro grumbled as he came to join her for a smoke break- once again at the dead of night.

“We really have to stop meeting like this- it’s become the only time you seem to talk to me.” She joked, offering him her lighter.

He didn’t respond- she figured he wouldn’t so she filled the silence for him. “I’m up at this hour for the same reason as you.”

Vera got nightmares of her parents’ deaths, it only seemed logical that Jotaro suffered the same fate because of Holy.

“Do they go away?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only been struggling with them for about two years now...”

He scoffed, standing up a bit straighter. “I don’t know how you handle it.”

“What? The sleep deprivation or the insatiable grief?”

Jotaro’s hand moved over hers, much like she had done with his before- the words that followed however seemed to pain him to say. “Quit fooling around. I’m serious.”

It wasn’t often she met someone who’d explicitly ask her to be serious. He may not have had to look her in the eye when he asked but she got the message- drop the sarcasm.

“I really don’t know.” Her voice started softly. “I just distract myself, I guess. I’d rather fill the silence with sarcasm than let my own thoughts consume me. I’m not so good at doing that when I put my head down though...” she gripped the railing under her hand tighter- fighting hard against the tears sliding down her face. “I feel so weak.”

Her vision blurred and right then she moved off- turning away from the conversation but Jotaro caught a hold of her wrist. His grip was firm but not crushing, subtly pulling her back.

The tears continued to flow as she looked over her shoulder at him, the smile on her face forced painfully to avoid more tears. “Unless you’re gonna hold me, I suggest you let go.”

Jotaro snapped them together like magnets- pulling her snug into him, her head on his shoulder. The shock delayed her thoughts for a moment- a barrage of ‘is this a joke? A stand attack? Is this even Jotaro?’ But when she finally accepted and hugged him back, her thoughts melted away.

How long had she gone without being held like this? Why did it feel like the first time in months her mind was quiet enough to release all the tension she held in her body? A heavy sigh followed as she practically melted into Jotaro’s firm embrace.

He separated them gently, standing up straight to peer down at her once more the hand he had first held, now properly entwined with his fingers. “Stop with the ‘weakness’ crap- got it?”

With her eyes dried she could give him that sarcastic grin once more. “Or what?”

He leaned in low, their faces almost touching. “Fuck around and find out.”

And with that he started walking back below deck- Vera trailing behind him. “Oh no, is Jotaro actually gonna tell me what he actually thinks about me?”

“Yare yare, woman- you know how I feel about you.”

“On the contrary- I wasn’t sure you felt anything at all, up until this point.”

In front of her room he sternly told her to go to bed and wake him up if she had a nightmare but she only shrugged it off- thanking him regardless. “And miss the opportunity to enjoy a cigarette on my own?” Was how she played it off.

Regardless she’d gotten a few hours of sleep in before they docked in Calcutta- more than she could say she’d had in a while.

“And you, Vera? No concern for the culture shock?” Polnareff had asked her as they waited for the ship to be free to leave.

“Well I took a round of birth control and an oxybutynin*... so I guess I’m not scared because I’m just well prepared.” She answered with a painfully wide grin.

Jean’s face dropped just in time with the door for their exit and immediately she stayed with the elder men- taking Mr Joestar’s extended arm to push through the crowd.

“Is this common occurence?” Noriaki asked as they all squeezed together on a crowded bus.

“Well I may be dependent off of Mr Joestar and Avdol’s movement but the chances of anyone bothering me are low. Did you get your wallet back?”

He laughed with a nod.

At the restaurant Vera went to change back into her traveler’s set- asking the table to order for her.

She’d long known to watch her own back in life but it would be a lie to say she was waiting for the knife to her throat the second she stepped out of the bathroom stall door.

Whoever or whatever it was clasped their hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming. Her frantic gaze fell towards the floor length mirror facing the stall door.

It’s breath huffed hungrily in her ear as she struggled. She knew her attempts in that moment were useless but she wasn’t trying to fight for survival, she was trying to stop their escape.

Mirrors.

Jotaro said something about mirrors.

It was probably the worst gamble she had ever taken but hey- Fortune was on her side wasn’t it?

She sent Fortune out to close the curtains of the window- plunging the room into darkness. The grip on her mouth and the painful prod at her throat loosened- her qeue to attack.

She sent Fortune towards her back where she guessed the perp was holding her from. Through Fortune, she could feel a successful hit but not without the cost of a few weak lashes at her arms. The barrage of attacks coming to a stop when Fortune grabbed hold of its head and shoved it into the wall beside her- the soft crack under her palm hopefully being an indicator of good news.

For a moment she had thought she was winning until the blood stain dripping down her neck over her clothes was too prominent to ignore. Had the adrenaline allowed her to ignore the lightheaded ness? Was she bleeding out?

She let Fortune hover closer to her to heal up her neck just enough to stop the bleeding but it didn’t change the fact that she had lost too much blood to be comfortable with.

“Goddamit I took the birth control to avoid blood!”

The light ruffle of the curtains had her bring a very translucent Fortune back for a fight but when there was silence and she couldn’t see anything in the mirror she deemed herself all-clear.

Where was that ringing coming from? Vera stumbled through the hallway back to the table where she only then noticed that she was having trouble swallowing.

Avdol’s jaw dropped as he saw her first- nearly leaping out of his seat to prop her up over his shoulder. “What happened?”

With a lot more strain than was quite fair she spoke. “Mirror attack. Stand.”

Jotaro was the one to get up and pick her in a princess carry. “We need to get to a hospital- now.”

For a moment she was about to joke about how much she enjoyed being carried but the searing pain in her neck had her nearly convulse straight of his arms. Jotaro’s grip on her tightened as she fought against him, the pain being the worst she’d felt in years.

“I’m sorry- I had to cauterize it.” Avdol’s face came into view for a second just before her vision started to swim.

“That really fucking hurt.” She hissed, feeling Jotaro start moving, her swimming vision going dark.

When she woke up she was in the hospital, with Jotaro and Kakyoin outside her room, catching her as she dragged the IV along the hallway with her.

“Well rested?” Mr Joestar had asked as they got into the taxi to the hospital.

“Somewhat. Where’s Avdol? At the hotel?”

There was a strained silence that followed.

“Polnareff left to go after the stand user that attacked you both- his sister’s killer.” Kakyoin answered.

“And Avdol is making sure he doesn’t get himself killed.”

If it wasn’t for her exhaustion, she’d have taken offense that Avdol chose to make sure Polnareff would survive and yet she laughed at the idea that he thought she was capable enough to take care of herself.

“Sounds like a tomorrow problem.” She grumbled as she tipped her head back and rode out the rest of the way to the hotel.

A few hours later she found herself treading through the streets in search of her guardian. He hadn’t called in a few hours and her gut feeling was telling her there was some kind of trouble brewing...

A part of her had to laugh at the irony. Avdol often veered her away from any possible dangers but was front, line and center to go after an idiot like Polnareff who didn’t know any better than to take a bait on an emotional whim. Unsurprisingly the others had felt that same premonition and had spread out to help find the two.

The longer she walked the deeper her stomach dropped until her worst nightmare came to light.

A bloody Avdol lay in the middle of street.

* oxybutynin is a medication that lowers the frequency/ need to urinate (yes, I felt for Polnareff- that shit’s nasty)

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #JoJo part 3 #jotaro kujo #Noriaki Kakyoin #Joseph Joestar #Muhammed avdol #Jean Pierre Polnareff #Fate and Fortune #OC content #OC Vera

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annaraebananawriter · 4 years

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(Part One) Cold Truths

Yellow again everyone! I am back yet again with another oneshot. In fact, this oneshot will have around three to four parts. I think. That’s the plan anyways, but it might change. Who knows.

And I want to say this now, this is meant to be seen as platonic, however you can think of it as a ship, if you want. This is also my first time wring FGOD Error. If you don’t know who that is, then I suggest checking it out!

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically Dreamtale and Errortale

Characters: Dream and Nightmare (Who both belong to Joku), Error (Who belongs to CQ)

Pairings: None really, but you can read it as such

Warnings: Implied/Referenced panic attack/flashback, and I think that’s it? Let me know!

Word Count: 2649

~oOo~

Someone was crying.

Error blinked, closing the portal behind him.

He stood there for a moment, mildly surprised by this. He says mildly because he always figured someone would find out about his reoccurring visits to Outertale without it being destroyed. It was only a matter of time.

Hopefully, it wasn’t any of the ‘light’/’Good’ Sanses. He doesn’t think he could handle another run-in with them so soon after a battle. Especially if that battle had ended up…well, let’s just say no one got out of it without injury. Even him, and he had all these glitched stats that made it impossible for him to die. Though, he could still feel pain.

He was getting sidetracked.

Where was he…ah, yes! So, hopefully, the crying wasn’t a trick from his enemies. He doubts it was, but he could never be too careful.

Although, there was a possibility that it was Blue, who was his dear friend. He smiled despite himself. Blue had been his friend for a few years now, ever since he kidnapped the Sans and told him about the balance. From then on, the other saw through the creator’s lies and basically acted as a spy for Error and the ‘Bad’ Sanses.

The smile widened slightly at the thought of Nightmare and the others. He could still remember the first time they met…

~oOo~

He stumbled blindly through whatever AU he had ended up in.

Error signs had overtaken his vision, leaving him defenseless. He was glitching quite frantically, too. Pieces of him breaking off and slamming back into place, only to unsettle another piece opposite of it, repeating the process over and over.

It hurt. It hurt so much. But he was used to it. This happened to him all of the time, so how could he not be? Even if the pain was amplified by the injuries leftover from his latest fight with Ink. The creator did know how to throw some mean attacks, he’ll give him that.

“Stupid squid…” Error grumbled to himself, voice glitching so much that he could barely make out his own words, tripping and just managing to catch himself with a tree, which he leaned on after. He growled, frustrated with himself. “Stupid soulless bastard…” He closed his eyes, not that it made a difference, and leaned his head against the bark of the tree, breathing for a moment.

“My, my…you don’t look good at all…”

However, when a smooth voice spoke from right in front of him, his eyes snapped open. He flinched and squinted from the sudden light. His eyes had cleared up.

Well…at least he could see again.

Once his eyes were somewhat adjusted, he glared at the person in front of him. He then blinked, half in shock and half in curiosity. The person in front of him was covered in a sort of…black…goo…thing. He didn’t know what it was. Despite the sludge on him, the other was surprisingly calm, gazing at him with a piercing cyan eye (the other was covered with the sludge) that almost seemed to both glow and look deep into his soul. There was also a hint of…concern in his gaze.

Error couldn’t place a reason about why. He was the Destroyer. No one was supposed to care about him, as much as he wanted that to happen. He was just a filthy glitch. He was—

None of that mattered right now. Well, it did, but it wasn’t the most important thing. That was knowing who this newcomer was and why he radiated a powerful aura, which he only now realized. He straightened so he wasn’t leaning on the tree anymore.

“Who are you?” He croaked out, voice back to the normal amount of glitches.

The other blinked, tipping his head forward. Error got the feeling that he was surveying him, sizing him up. He tensed, prepared to fight if need be. The other seemed to notice this and frowned further. A cold feeling, like if someone dumped ice down his shirt, overcame him and he froze. The other was CHECKing him.

He watched warily as the other’s eye grew in surprise. Then, Error grew surprised when the others surprised faded to…concern and…anger? At Error? No, for Error. Interesting. No one reacted like that before. Then again, no one even checked him before so…

He could never be sure of anything. This was all new.

The other seemed to come to a decision and walked a few steps toward Error before stopping when Error tensed, his hand coming to rest by his cheek, ready to draw his strings to fight. “I’m Nightmare,” the other spoke, finally revealing who he was.

Error narrowed his eyes.

Nightmare noticed and held his hands up in a surrendering position. “Relax. I’m not here to fight you. In fact,” he smiled, “I want to help you.”

~oOo~

Error had been rightfully surprised. No one wanted to help him. No one was supposed to.

After some explaining on both ends, and getting to know each other a little, Nightmare asked Error to come with him. To come to his home and stay there. Hesitantly, Error had agreed. It was the best decision he ever made. He got to know Horror, Killer, Dust and Cross, who had become good friends of him.

Now, they all saw each other as a family. A family who protected each other.

No matter what.

Coming back to himself, Error shook his head. None of this was important now.

Now, he had to focus on finding who was crying.

Yes, it could still be a trap. Yes, he could get hurt, even if it wasn’t. But he couldn’t ignore it. Just because he destroyed things, does not mean he didn’t have morals. He had feelings. And besides…the crying reminded him too much of himself.

He shook his head again, scolding himself. Focus, Error, he thought to himself, Focus.

He followed the crying to near the edge of the rock they were on. Any further, and you would fall from existence. You would fall into the Void. This was, in his opinion, the best place to view the stars. It was so clear and pretty. It was so peaceful, too. He loved coming here and relaxing, making some more of his dolls.

But that’s not what he was here for.

The crying was coming from behind a boulder a few steps away. Whoever it was, it seemed they were quite sad, or whatever emotion they were feeling, they were surely feeling it strongly. Error watched the boulder for a few seconds before walking around it, to the source of the crying.

He blinked in surprise.

Dream was there.

The positive guardian was curled up into a ball, hands held over his ears with his head bowed low. His chest was heaving rapidly, almost like he was just on the edge of hyperventilating, but he wasn’t quite there yet. He sobbed, tears running down his face as fast as his chest moved. It was like…it was almost like he was trying to block out someone who was saying something mean.

Suddenly, Error felt a great deal of sympathy for the guardian. He knew how it felt, trying to block something out that only you could hear. He himself did it all the time. Usually, no one helped him.

He won’t let Dream suffer the same. Even if the other was his enemy. Even if he had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t the first time this happened.

He knelt down next to the other. Hesitating slightly (he briefly wondered where Nightmare was. He should have felt all this negativity.), he reached out and placed a hand on Dream’s shoulder. He flinched at the contact, glitches wreaking havoc on his arm in his dislike. But he pushed through it, ignored it.

“Dream?” Error said, watching as Dream didn’t react to his hand. He frowned. He was worried now. “Dream? Can you hear me?”

All he got was a sob in return.

He sighed, settling down. He knew he would be here for a while, but that was fine. He didn’t really have anything he was going to do anyway.

~oOo~

Error wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there, rubbing Dream’s arm in hopes that that was enough, before the other finally broke out of his…trance? Flashback?

Whatever it was, he perked up once he felt the other shift. He retreated his hand just in case, but stayed where he was sitting. He wanted to make sure the other would be alright before he left. So, he had to wait for Dream to get his bearing and notice him.

(He might be attacked, but he was willing to risk it.)

Anxious, but hiding that with a calm attitude, he watched as Dream took a few shaky breaths. The guardian blinked a couple of times, his eyes focusing more on his surroundings. Then, he stiffened. He didn’t look in Error’s direction, not yet, but the destroyer could tell that he knew he was there.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Error figured that Dream was expecting to be ridiculed or attacked, much like he did. But he wasn’t going to do that, so he just shifted into a more comfortable position and looked at the stars. They were as beautiful as ever.

He waited.

After a few more minutes—probably even longer but he had no way to track the time, so oh well—Dream shifted as well. Error suddenly felt like he was being stared at, being judged. He forced himself to ignore it, however.

“…what are you doing?” Dream finally said. His voice was a bit rough and small.

“Watching the stars.” Error replied. It wasn’t the answer Dream was looking for, he knew that, but it was the truth.

“What are doing here? Now?” Was that annoyance Error heard?

He turned to look Dream in the eye. The guardian flinched slightly, wound up like a cat ready to run, and Error felt the slightest bit of guilt. “I told you. Watching the stars.” He continued before Dream could get even more annoyed. “And making sure you’re okay.”

Dream blinked. It seems he had expected something far worse.

Error laughed inwardly, finding a bit of amusement in the guardian’s reaction. He decided to explain anyway. “I came out here to relax, originally. Then, I heard someone crying, which worried me.”

“Worried you?” Dream sounded like he couldn’t believe what he had been told.

Error felt a bit annoyed. He rolled his eyes. “Yes, worried.” He shook his head. “Is that really so hard to believe? I followed the sound to you.” He gave Dream a searching look. “It looked like, to me, that you were having a flashback, or panic attack.”

Dream looked away and Error, somehow, knew that he was right.

A flashback or panic attack.

Hm…

Those weren’t two words that he thought of when he heard the title ‘guardian of positivity’.

Error sighed and continued, looking at Dream even if he wasn’t being looked at in return. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Dream was silent. He didn’t look back at Error, who only sighed again, diverting his attention back to the stars as he waited again.

“…why?”

Error blinked and looked back to Dream. The guardian hadn’t moved his gaze from the rock in front of him. “Why what?”

Dream huffed. “Just…” He waved his arms around, gesturing to nothing in particular. “Why?”

Error tilted his head. He was confused. Did he mean why he stayed to see if he was okay? “I wanted to make sure you were okay because I was worried. I—”

“No!” Dream interrupted him, snapping his gaze over to meet Error’s confused one. “I mean, well, yes, thank you, but…” He sighed in frustration. “I didn’t mean that. I meant…why do you destroy?”

Error blinked. Once. Twice. His confusion intensified. What did that have to do with the current events? Why he was here with Dream in the first place? He raised a brow at Dream. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Dream sighed and gained a pleading tone in his voice. “Just tell me, please.”

Error gave him a last searching look. He didn’t find what he was looking for. He didn’t even know what he was looking for in the first place. “I destroy because of the balance. If I don’t destroy, the AU’s will start to crash into each other, which will cause the Multiverse to collapse.”

Dream nodded slowly. “The balance…” He repeated. There wasn’t any confusion or disbelief in his voice, which cause Error to become confused.

“Yes.” Error was very confused and beginning to get a bit mad. “Did you know this already?” If he did, then why didn’t he speak up? Why didn’t he see the suffering and put an end to it? Was he just that selfish?

Error shook his head. No, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions like that. There must be a reason for this. A good reason, not a bad one.

“The balance…” Dream mumbled. He didn’t seem to have heard Error at all. As he continued, he seemed to be in pain, like something was stopping him from knowing this stuff. “There are…f-four…main balances…in the multiverse.”

“Yes.” Error confirmed, leaning forward. “Did you know this already, Dream?”

“I-hng!” Dream doubled over, suddenly grasping at his left forearm, like it was causing him pain.

Error’s eyes widen and he sat up a little, now on his knees. He shifted towards Dream, hovering over the guardian, but not touching him. “Dream! Are you okay?”

Dream breathed hard for a few minutes. He then let go of his arm slowly, though his hand was shaking quite bad. He shook his head and leaned back up, which made Error move away a tad. Dream’s gaze met Error’s and Error frowned in concern. Dream’s eyes were clouded with pain and confusion.

Dream swallowed and cleared his throat. “I-I knew that.”

Error blinked. “Knew what?”

“About…about the balances.” Dream frowned at himself, like he couldn’t believe himself. “I knew that. But I also didn’t.”

Now Error was confused. “What?”

“I know I knew about the balances, but I don’t…I don’t remember knowing about them. But I…” Dream frowned even further and screwed his eyes shut. “I swear I knew about them. Why did I forget?”

Error also frowned, thinking over what was just said to him. “I don’t know.”

They sat there for a minute, trying to find an answer.

They didn’t have enough pieces, though, so it was hard.

Eventually, Dream groaned in frustration and stood up, prompting Error to do the same. Dream met Error’s eyes and smiled weakly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put this on you.”

Error frowned. “It’s no problem. I’m happy to help, if you’ll let me.”

Dream laughed. “Of course, sure. I think I’ll need it.” He took a deep breath, turned and opened a portal. He stared at the golden circle before turning back to Error. “What are doing today?”

Error blinked and tilted his head. “Blues made us some tacos, so probably just eating those and chatting with Nightmare. Why?”

Dream nodded his head. Something had flashed across his face at the mention of his brother, but it was gone too fast for Error to pin down. “Okay. I just wanted to know.” He smiled at Error. “Hope you have fun.”

Something warm entered Error’s chest and he smiled back. “I will. Thanks.”

Dream laughed again and waved him off before disappearing through his portal. Error watched the empty space before him for a few seconds before sighing, looking to the stars one last time before entering a portal of his own. It was time for tacos.

He ignored the uneasy feeling in his chest that told him something bad was going to happen.

#my writing #my fanfiction #oneshot #part one #dreamtale #errortale #dream sans #nightmare sans #error sans #fgod error sans #tw panic attack #tw flashback

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rwby-grimm-guardians · 3 years

Text

RWBY Grimm Guardians Arc 2: Beacon’s Fragile Light Ch II

Hey guys! Welcome back and I apologize for the LONG-AS-FUCK WAIT! This is the second chapter of Beacon’s Fragile Light. Now then...a couple of changes.

After some thought, I’ve decided to use only certain chapters of the show in the fic. Everything else will be as original as possible. This chapter takes place during The Emerald Forest and Players and Pieces. As usual, please enjoy and give constructive criticism. Thank you!

Disclaimer: I don’t own RWBY or it’s characters.

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(In Emerald Forest)

Needless to say, Gambol and Crescent were somewhat surprised by today’s events. Ozpin had given them, their wielders, and four others an assignment; find their partner as they group went through the Emerald Forest. Due to the weapons being part Soul Grimm, they could tell whether or not their wielders had a partner. Ember smirked, “Seems like Yang and Blake have partnered up.” “Ah, good!” Arktis smiled.

Crescent seemed to be in a daze, due to her not getting much sleep last night. “Cres?” Gambol called out, grabbing the taller Weapon Spirit’s attention. “Huh? Yeah?” She asked. “I totally heard everything.” The three other women each gave the red-clad Weapon Spirit a glance. Arktis sighed, “What’s on your mind, hun?” Crescent went silent and looked down, before saying, “.....Memories….”

She then sat down on a pile of leaves, saying, “So….I had...dreams that I think were…memories of my past life.” The three women nodded, motioning her to continue. “I was at...Beacon and I was with...Qrow, I think. As well as Taiyang….” Crescent said. Gambol and Arktis each raised an eyebrow, before Ember explained, “Qrow is Ruby and Yang’s uncle. Taiyang is their father.” “Gotcha.” Gambol said with a nod.

“There was...one other person.” Crescent said, catching Ember’s attention. “She...looked familiar. Like I...had a history with her before….” Before she could continue, the group were interrupted by Grimm. The four women jumped, all grabbing their weapons. Crescent looked at the pack of Grimm and noticed that they looked familiar. “What are they?” She asked.

“Grimm Sapiens.” Arktis said, albeit somewhat surprised. “I didn’t think they existed.” Just then, Crescent saw images of her and the mysterious woman fighting against creatures that looks similar to the Grimm Sapiens. She felt extreme pain in her abdomen, causing her to hiss. Ember looked at her, concerned, “Are you alright?” The red clad woman didn’t answer as she held her head as pain throbbed through it, causing her think that it would crack open. She didn’t even notice the three women calling out to her in worry as she passed out.

That’s when the Grimm began to charge at the Weapon Spirits, using the distraction as an advantage. Immediately, Ember brought Crescent to a shadowed part of the forest as Gambol and Arktis fought against the Grimm Sapiens. Despite being outnumbered, the two Weapon Spirits were able to defeat the horde and went to check on Ember and Crescent. “How is she?” Gambol asked. The blonde sighed, “Well, she’s breathing. Thank the gods.”

“How did she pass out?” Arktis asked. “Did she remember something?” “Maybe.” Ember said. “She also probably experienced phantom pain as well.” The Schnee nodded, “So now what?” Ember bit her lip and went silent. Gambol sighed, “You don’t know, do you?” “It was never this bad before.” The blonde said. “She usually has nightmares, but that’s about it.” The two other women nodded as Gambol asked, “So, do the Grimm Sapiens have to do something with her past life?” Ember paused, “Maybe.”

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Crescent looked around. She was in the middle of what seemed to be an area that had just experienced a battle. There were multiple bodies of Grimm Sapiens at her feet...and blood coming from her abdomen. She realized she was also being held by the same woman she thought she had a history with. Crescent then felt tears run down her face, “Am I crying?”

The woman seemed to be crying too, as the Weapon Spirit could feel her tears drip onto her. That’s when she heard the woman say to her, “Rwy'n dy garu di, Summer Rose.” She then kissed the Weapon Spirit on the lips, making Crescent realize that had a romantic connection to this woman. However, her mind was focused on what the woman called her. ‘Summer...Rose...? Is...that my true identity?’ Crescent thought. Before she could question the scene further, everything went black.

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The three women jumped when the red-clad Weapon Spirit took a sudden breath and began coughing. Ember and Gambol helped Crescent sit up as she tried to catch her breath. “What...happened?” She asked, through her fits of coughing. “We were ambushed by Grimm Sapiens.” Arktis said. “Though you passed out at the very sight of them. Almost like you were in pain.”

“I was...having another flashback…” Crescent said. “I...think I have a guess on who I was...or AM….” The group went silent for a few moments before Arktis asked, “Should we tell your wielder?” Crescent shook her head, “No. I’m...not sure if she’ll be able to handle it calmly.” Ember nodded, “Well, you can tell Yang, if you feel comfortable. She and I have had a pretty good guess on your identity.”

Crescent nodded. She...honestly wasn’t sure what name she should be called by now. Summer...no, SHE was Ruby’s mother. However, Ruby only knew her as Crescent Rose and the girl, as well as Yang, Taiyang, Qrow had been told that Summer died. The woman she had a relationship with SAW her dying. She didn’t know if she should be called by her true identity...or by her Weapon Spirit name.

The four were distracted by the sound of footsteps coming from behind them. Before they could draw their weapons, the source of the footsteps made a soft whine. It was a grey wolf pup…a few of them, actually...which Crescent immediately fell head over heels for. “Oh my god, they’re fucking adorable…!” Crescent whispered, smiling. The pups noticed Crescent's voice, almost as if it was recognizable and walked towards her.

As the pups went towards the red clad woman, Gambol stepped back as the baby wolves passed, almost being cautious around them. Crescent picked up one of the pups that now surrounded her with a laugh, “Oh, you are the cutest thing ever.” Arktis and Ember took note of Crescent’s happier mood as she looked towards them. “Do you want to pet them?” The red clad Weapon Spirit asked.

“No thanks.” The black clad woman replied. Ember looked at her, “Are you serious right now?” Gambol nodded, “They’re wolves. It doesn’t matter if they’re young or not, they are still canines.” While the two women were arguing over the age and possible danger of the pups, Arktis went over and accepted Crescent’s offer, petting one of the pups along its back.

“You’re hesitant.” The taller woman said. Before the Schnee could respond in embarrassment, Crescent said. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. In fact, it’s natural for people to be worried. They’re STILL a wild species, even though they’re majestic.” Arktis nodded, albeit with a blush on her face as she attempted to pet the creature in the red clad woman’s arms.

“Did I...have a connection to wolves in my past life?” Crescent asked. “Hard to say for sure.” Ember said. “From what I heard about...Summer from Taiyang and Qrow, she did have a deep connection with them...to the point of them considering her their alpha.” The other Weapon Spirits, excluding Crescent, looked at Ember in a mix of confusion and shock.

The red clad woman stood and put the wolf cubs down, so they could return to their pack. “Okay, shall we head back for a bit?” She asked, standing back up. The blonde nodded, “That would be a good idea. Especially considering your current health.” The group nodded and cautiously left their currently location to meet up with their wielders. “Quick question…” The red clad Weapon Spirit started.

“Should we...tell the others?” She asked. “About me, I mean.” Ember shrugged, “That’s up to you, really.” Crescent went silent for a few moments, before saying, “Maybe we should tell a select few for now.” Gambol and Ember raised their eyebrows, while Arktis nodded. “I agree. After all, I was in a similar situation that you’re in currently.” She said. After that, the group went off to meet up with their masters.

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(Later that evening...)

By the time evening came, most of the group were already asleep. Gambol and Blake were still awake, reading, while Ember, Arktis and Weiss had fallen asleep quite a bit ago. Ruby was also fast asleep, obviously tired from today’s events. Crescent got up and put a hand on Yang’s shoulder, who was about to head to bed. “Hey. Could we...talk real quick outside?” The red clad woman asked. The blonde teen nodded, “Yeah, sure.”

The two went outside the dorm, before Yang asked, “Okay. What’s up?” The red clad woman bit her lip, before explaining, “So, you know how I get my memories back little by little, right?” Yang nodded, allowing the Weapon Spirit to continue. “So, today I was able to remember my name...I think.” The taller of the two said. The blonde teen nodded with a smile, “That’s great! What is it?”

The Weapon Spirit stayed silent for a few moments, before saying, “Promise me that you won’t freak out.” Yang raised an eyebrow, but nodded anyway, “I promise.” The woman cleared her throat and finally said, “I...think I might be Summer Rose…” Yang went dead silent and stared at the woman. Needless to say, she didn’t see THAT coming at all.

Summer tightened her fists, waiting for the freak-out she knew was coming. Yang had every reason to freak out, to scream, to be frightened that someone who was DEAD was standing right in front of her, right? So it was quite a shock to her when Yang wrapped her arms around the woman and hugged her tightly. Even though Yang had her face buried in Summer’s shoulder, she could feel the teen’s tears.

“We missed you.” The blonde said, earning a soft chuckle for the taller woman. “Missed you too, sunshine.” Summer said, smiling and kissing the blonde’s forehead. “I...know my next request might be strange, but could you not tell Ruby about this?” Yang pulled back and looked at Summer with a raised eyebrow, “Why?” The former STRQ leader sighed, “I..don’t think she’ll be able to handle that truth. Not yet, anyway.” “Plus, I would like to make sure I have all my memories before then.” The woman explained.

Yang nodded slowly. It was a strange request, but her step-mother did have a good point. “I’ll try. What about Weiss and Blake?” Yang asked. “They can know if you want them to. Gambol, Ember, and Arktis already know.” Summer explained. “Arktis is Myrtenaster, in case you were wondering.” The teen nodded, “Alright. I’ll tell them when there’s an appropriate time for it.” Summer smiled and ruffled Yang’s hair, “That’s my sunshine.” Yang giggled and hugged Summer once more before the two went back inside for bed.

To be continued…

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HOLY SHIT, THIS TOOK A WHILE! Summer semester was a fucking nightmare and I also had Rosebird Week to do. Chapter 2 is done. I apologize if the ending seems rushed. I’m currently DYING to get to Raven and Summer’s eventual reunion in the Vol. 5 chapters! Anyway, I’ll see ya later.

#rwby #rwby ocs #rwby au #grimm guardians au #rwby fanfiction #Summer Rose #willow schnee #Gambol Shroud #ember celica #yang xiao long #ruby rose #rwby grimm

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clumsybookworm18 · 4 years

Text

and my burden to bear is a love (i can’t carry anymore) | pt.6

ao3 | Moodboard | parts: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Summary: Josh awakens after dawn and makes an upsetting discovery.

A/N: This is me trying to write a simple flashback scene that ended up turning into a whole chapter and a bunch of ANGST™

Enjoy :)

Josh didn’t remember how he got here.

One moment he was in the mines. The next, he was walking through the station’s doors. The precinct was crawling with activity. Phones continuously ringing, rangers coming in and out, even a few EMTs walked in. For the life of him Josh couldn’t remember how he got here. Everything was so fuzzy.

The mines... He’d been in the mines with Mike. They were supposed to regroup with Sam and the others at the lodge. But he doesn’t remember getting out of the mines… He followed Mike. He saw a stranger's body hanging on a hook. He jumped into the freezing water. And then… and then… and then what?

Josh peered down at himself. His- the Psycho’s- overalls had been replaced by black clothes. His hands weren’t dirty anymore. His face no longer hurt. What happened? Did he make it out? Had the others?

He approached the man sitting in the front desk. Josh cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”

The man didn’t look up.

“Uh excuse me,” he repeats a little more louder. The man still didn’t look up.

Okay, rude. “What are you, deaf? Hellooo?”

Still not looking at him.

“Listen pal, I just had one of the worst nights of my life so if you could help me out here, that’ll be fucking swell.”

But the man kept scribbling some forms on the desk and didn’t answer him.

Oh, fuck this.

His eyes flickered towards the open door where an officer just came out of. Since the man in the front desk was still ignoring him, Josh saw no fault in walking in. Nobody stopped him as he made his way through the hallway, nobody acknowledged him.

For a moment, Josh wondered if this was another of his hallucinations, but it didn’t feel like one. Usually his hallucinations involved accusations or pointed fingers at him. Here, there was nobody telling him what a piece of shit he was, instead they were just ignoring him.

“Okay…” he murmured to himself. “This is freaking me the fuck out.”

Even with all the activity, there was a preternatural quiet- like an omen. Josh kept walking, ignoring the trepidation that tugged inside him. The flutter of uneasiness that grew as he slowly treaded farther. He took a turn and-

There she was. Sitting alone in the hallway, was Sam, her fingers clutching the blanket thrown around her shoulders.

“Sam,” he breathes, relieved to see a familiar face.

He doesn’t hesitate to approach her but she doesn’t look up, not even when he’s standing right in front of her. Josh frowns, studying her in the wan light, his eyes going to the blood smeared across her forehead and her cheek. She looked like she’d been to hell and back. “Sam.”

She didn’t answer. He grew more nervous with every passing second of silence. Josh knew he’d fucked up, that he and his friends weren’t on the best terms at the moment but Sam wasn’t one to ignore him for the sake of it. Especially at a time like this. Josh kneeled before her, her unseeing eyes making him uneasy. This wasn’t the same girl he saw in the mines.

Something was wrong.

“Sammy?” He raised a hand to brush a stray lock of hair from her face only for it to go through her. Josh stumbled back, falling on his ass.

Something was very wrong.

He touched his chest, his face, but they felt solid. He felt a sinking dread as he reached out, as he tried to touch Sam again but his hand went straight through.

What. The. Fuck.

“Samantha Giddings?”

They both looked up to see a cop approaching. Josh didn’t react fast enough, didn’t have time to move away before the man walked right through him. He doesn’t feel it, not physically, but the reality of the situation arrowed into him.

No. No way this was happening. Not to him. This had to be some mistake, he couldn’t… he wasn’t...

Dead.

Josh’s ears were ringing. No one can see him, no one could hear him, no one could touch him. Shit, someone just walked through him like he was nothing...

The cop said something. Josh couldn’t hear him. His eyes went to Sam again. She was being led to a door labeled as Interview Room 1. He called her name in a hoarse whisper.

Look back. Please.

She didn’t.

***

Rain fell without mercy as Josh walked upon rows and rows of gravestones, the sound of water hitting stone growing louder with every step he took. The cemetery was empty, something he didn’t find surprising, considering that not many people liked to spend their time among the resting dead.

After that godawful funeral that put his memory to shame, Josh didn’t know where else to go. Didn’t know what else to do. Since there was no way in hell he was going back to the manor (he had already haunted those halls long enough), he’d ended up making the graveyard his new lair. Josh was still getting used to the idea of being dead when he wasn’t actually gone. Not completely. And he found the grim ambiance of it all a perfect fit for his new predicament.

He finally reached the miniature city of mausoleums, striding his way across the sea of white marble to enter what had been appointed as his permanent residence. It had grown dark inside thanks to the stormy weather, the only light in the room coming from the candles placed on the small altar and the entryway.

The Washington mausoleum was a big, black block of granite with stained glass windows and arched bronze doors, placed on the outskirts of the cemetery with the ominous Washington supported by roman columns. Posh. Lofty. A bit Gothic. Pretty hard to miss.

What can he say, his family had a dramatic flair. Himself included.

For the past few days, he’d been prowling around the grounds, searching for signs of any other ghosts, lost souls, anything at all. Something that indicated that he wasn’t alone on this other side. And the cemetery seemed like the perfect scenario for wandering spirits, with its eerie atmosphere, and the obscure mist surrounding the graves. Makes perfect sense that it would be haunted. Right?

Yeah, no.

So far there have been no sightings of anything. Zero. Zilch. No other ghosts or spirits. No guardian angel to lead him up. No fiendish demons to lure him down. Not even the Grim Reaper himself. Nothing. He was truly alone on this ghostly plane.

So Josh had been biding his time, lingering close to his crypt. Waiting for any signs or answers because something had to give. Fate, God, Death or whatever the fuck is supposed to be in charge couldn’t just leave him here. Stranded.

The echo of footsteps alerted him to a presence. Josh instantly recognized the gait of the person striding his way. The heels of her shoes clicked against the polished granite floor, drowning the sound of the drizzle beating against the windowpanes.

She hadn’t been to the funeral. Everybody else had gone. Chris. Ash. Mike. Even Emily. But not Sam. So nobody could really blame him for being surprised when she showed up to his family’s mausoleum out of the fucking blue. That she even showed up at all.

She looked so tired. Even in the faint light he could see the smudged purple beneath her eyes, that familiar haunted look brought by a night of nightmares. He wanted to believe he was wrong, that this couldn’t be her. But it was. Josh was surprised to see how much she’d changed in such a short time.

Sam stopped in front of the joint grave beside his and murmured something he didn’t quite catch, before hesitantly moving to his own. She ran a tentative hand over his name engraved on the stone. Josh didn’t like it. It felt so… final. Well, as final as it could get, since apparently death wasn’t as permanent as he would’ve liked it to be.

Two tears slid down her face. Swift and cold. She didn’t wipe them away. “You lied to me.”

He went to stand next to her. “As much as I want to apologize, you can’t hear me,” he offers with a sad smile, looking at her face glowing in the dim light of the candles, her skin still glittering with rain. “So I won’t.”

“I am so angry with you. Furious,” she went on, unaware of the ghost at her side, her eyes desolate. “But for the most part I’m just tired. Tired of racking my brain, of trying to understand why, and I just-” The snag on the words was like a blow to his intangible gut. Sam puts her hands on her face, running them up through her wet hair. “Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m doing here. It’s not like you can hear me or anything.”

“Hey, hey. Don’t.” He cups her face between his hands, trying to wipe away the tears. The corners of his mouth turned down when he couldn’t. “Don’t say that. I’m right here.”

He scans her eyes, her face, looking… What was he looking for? Some sign of recognition? And if so, was he able to handle Sam’s reaction? Would she still be saying the things she’s saying now? Would she recoil at the sight of him? Would she be scared? Or would she be angry?

He drops his hands. If Josh were alive, she would hate him. He knows that much.

But her face didn’t change. Her eyes were still liquid, somber, lost. “You know I was thinking about what I last said to you,” she said, her voice quiet and loud at the same time in the silent mausoleum. “‘Josh, do you have the key for the cable car.’ God, I was so stupid…. All I was thinking about was getting us out of that mountain, you know? I didn’t think about saying goodbye- didn’t think I needed to. You were supposed to come back with us.”

He remembers her urgent expression, clear in the darkness of the mines. The light of her headband shining brightly on his filthy face. Her cold, bloodied hands brushing his palm, her touch brief but soft as he handed the key. Her voice, somehow still composed, even after everything she had gone through, as she and Mike planned their escape while he uselessly stood on the sidelines. The quick glance she gave him before she climbed away.

Sam took a shuddering breath, her voice turned unsteady. “I know you were hurting. That you lost your sisters, that your parents became more distant than they usually were, that you pushed everyone away but you had me… You had me. I only hoped that you saw that through this mess.”

Josh doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say. Not like it would matter anyways. So he only stands frozen in place as she walks out of the mausoleum, the rain still beats outside.

Later that night, he finds himself staring up at Sam’s bedroom window like he had done so many times before. Only this time, the lights were off.

***

Josh stays around her after that.

The days came and went, and Sammy seemed unaware of the time passing. She mostly stayed in her room, not getting out of bed, refusing to eat, not answering any of her texts or calls. What little time she managed to sleep, she awoke gasping and shaking. The liveliness that lived inside her now quiet. A static that made him uneasy. Everything about her was now static.

She was a ghost. Just like him.

Josh has stopped trying to make sense of it. He was dead and he couldn’t do anything about it. Instead, he spends his time trying to communicate with Sam, trying to let her know he was still there. But it’s proving to be difficult, especially when she doesn’t care about anything. She couldn’t hear him, no matter how loud he talked. He tweaks and moves some stuff here and there but she doesn’t pay any mind to it. Josh doesn’t bother to try touching her again, not wanting to see his hands go through her again.

It was hard to see her like this. But Sam was strong. She could survive this. She could survive anything.

Josh didn’t leave- he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. When he needed someone, Sam had been there. Month after month, Sam had been there for him. Even when he pushed everyone away, couldn’t bring himself to care about anything, Sam hadn’t given up on him.

And Josh wouldn’t give up on her.

***

She searches for him in the dead of night. Puzzling, since he was the root of many of her nightmares and yet she wakes up coated in cold sweat, her hand palming what used to be his side of the bed, searching for the familiar heat of his body. Hoping that her nightmares were just nightmares, and not the cold, harsh truth. But she could never forget for long. Inevitably, she relieves her grief all over again when she finds nothing but frigid sheets and emptiness.

Sam adds it up to the fact she had gotten used to sleeping next to him, to the codependency they both developed the last year (even though deep down she knows it was more than that- for her at least). A habit, she tells herself. And habits die hard.

But she can’t help but feel that his presence was still there with her, hiding in the shadows.

***

One afternoon Sam picks up her sketchbook. The one he gave her for her 19th birthday- the last one they celebrated together. She stared at it for a long time. Long enough that Josh was convinced she might throw it out in the trash or even burn it. But to his surprise, she flipped it open, flashing through the pages with enough agility that he couldn’t catch a glimpse of her older drawings, as if she herself didn’t want to see them either, until she settled on a blank sheet.

Mindlessly grabbing a pencil, she started sketching, brows furrowed and hand gliding through the page forming unsure lines that turned into rough curves that turned into confident shapes, transforming into something. Josh looked over her shoulder and-

Huh.

She had captured its cloudy predatory gaze, all of the sharp teeth and sharp claws, with its long limbs curved, the Wendigo looked ready to strike out of the page. Of all the things she could’ve drawn, she drew that. Don’t get him wrong, he was all in for the weird and creepy shit, but Sam? Trying to get her to watch a scary movie was a trial in itself.

Sam doesn’t stop to take it in. No, she passed that page and started doing another sketch. Then another. And another. Before they both knew it, it was already dark out and Sam had spent most of her day doing something other than moping.

***

The creepy drawings became a thing. Not that Josh was complaining. Her coping mechanisms were a hell lot better than his, that’s for sure.

In a matter of days, Sam had turned her room into a makeshift art studio. An easel beside the window. Paintbrushes in glass jars. Charcoal stained finger prints. She’d dropped out of all of her classes and had nothing else to do but paint and draw. Channeling all of her pain, sadness, and frustration into her art. Josh lingered by her side as she poured her heart out, filling white sheets with mountains and darkness, with monsters and death. It was terrifying… he loved it.

Sam had always downplayed her artistic skills, something Josh never understood. Sam was an artist, had always been. He’d seen it from something as simple as her nails, over to the rare occasions she’s shown him some of her drawings, either of a landscape she saw during one of her hikes, or a quick sketch of one of his sisters doing a silly pose (Beth) or staring off with a dreamy look on her face (Hannah). Hell, he was pretty sure she was the one that had helped Hannah design her tattoo. When he’d ask, she’d always shrugged it off with an It’s just a hobby.

Josh knew, even if he was stuck on his own personal hell, that Sam was gonna be alright.

Tags: @xmxisxforxmaybe

Anyone who wishes to be tagged can let me know!

#until dawn #josh washington #sam giddings #jossam #ghost au #ud sam #ud josh #until dawn fanfiction #jossam fanfiction

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atopearth · 4 years

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Shall we Date? Wizardess Heart Part 29 - Nox Noir Route

So, Nox is a phantom thief that steals magical tools? Sounds like it might be fun~ Gotta love how traumatised Rex seems to be of Zeus (since he used to be a Night Class Prefect) that he wouldn’t have come for the mission at the academy if he knew Zeus was joining in lol. Ooh Nox was a Night Class Prefect too~ I love how Zeus doesn’t like Nox because he used to scold him all the time hahaha. Well, Nox seems like an assertive flirt lol! Chocolate cake is such a long name for Nox’s familiar lmao, call him chocolate or cake instead lolll. Well, the cat disapproved but it’s good that the heroine shortened the name to Coco lolll.

On the other hand, I dig Rex with the heroine more right now, his smile and laugh just seemed so sincere when she said she thought he was a cold person when he actually wasn’t lol. He even pat her head! Nox better up his game lol. I like the mystery version of the board game they play! It was really fun to see how both Rex and Nox were so good at deducing who the culprit was and how it happened etc, too bad for Rex that his partner is Zeus who likes to blab and say whatever comes to his mind so he totally lost because of that hahaha. Lmao, can’t believe they played the game all night and got yelled at by Klaus for not going back to sleep at their dorms lol! Omgggg, they can’t do something like a love triangle, I can’t pick!! It was so adorable when both Rex and Nox got so sleepy and fell asleep on the heroine’s shoulders. They’re so cute lol. It was so cute when they went around the academy trying to solve the riddle, and one part told them to talk to a mirror, and the heroine sees it in the painting so she literally talks to it to see if it works hahahaha. I honestly forgot about the Phantom thief thing hahahah. Anyway, I’m glad to see that Willem is really enjoying his new life in the heroine’s village, and I love how he’s just accustoming himself to normal everyday human life and is enjoying stuff like making his own tea! It just feels so cute haha.

It’s actually kinda cute how the heroine started laughing at Nox when he nonchalantly ate a super spicy fire pie lol. I think it’s one of the few times, if not the only time that just as the guy is entertained by how “unique” the heroine is, the heroine actually feels the same about the guy and is amused by him. It’s kinda refreshing to see that lol. Anyway, considering how when they were at the Tower of Memories, the guardian didn’t attack the heroine and Nox/Nightmare took her away so she wouldn’t get injured, it was obvious that he likes her, but I didn’t expect a confession that fast tbh lol. Ooh okay, he’s confessing but he just wants her to think about it for now since he doesn’t want to really go out with her until he’s “done with something”. Lmao at Rex and Nox being silly and arguing about whether the heroine looks better with her hair up or down loll. Honestly though, when Rex confessed to the heroine, I was annoyed, not because of Rex, but because of how the route is being handled. I hate the love triangle situation in the story because this is supposed to be Nox’s route, I want to see it about Nox and the heroine, not a love triangle with another guy. I know they want to present how much of a rivalry the two have and yet how similar they both are, but instead of showing how they’re like two sides of a coin or something, all I’m presented with is practically like a shared or split route with Nox and Rex but it’s not like I can really choose Rex even if I wanted to, because why would I?! He has his own route! Sigh. It just really detracts from the romance because they could have spent that time that they focused on Rex falling for her to add more time for Nox and the heroine to bond instead zz. I prefer it to be focused on one guy and the rest like the heroine as friends, just like the other routes, sigh.

Anyway, lmao when Nightmare sent a calling card saying he would steal the heroine and all the guys (except Nox and Rex) thought it was impossible that Nightmare would want to steal the heroine, and that he must be coming to steal something she possesses instead🤣 Ooh, so Roger Nigel (the guy who competed with Walter Goldstein in creating magical tools) is actually Nox’s father! So I guess he’s stealing back all his father’s creations? Mmm, the magical tools sunk along with the ship his father was on and was then later pilfered by pirates to be sold around the world. Although I’m surprised that his father actually made a compact magic core used in his tools way before the Goldsteins, it is understandable for Nox to want to collect them all and destroy them since apparently his father chose to sacrifice his life to destroy all the cores with his ship in order to prevent power greedy kings etc from forcing him to hand them over and abuse their use. And the memory vial he needs to steal contains memories of the blueprint of the magic core so yeah, that’s definitely high on the list of what he needs to steal lol. You know, even though Nox has his reasons to be a thief, I don’t see why he needed to be like a phantom thief and throw calling cards or be so audacious and kidnap the heroine to tell her the truth. Like, uh, can’t you do it normally without causing so much trouble? I feel like he just wanted to spite Rex by stealing the heroine away when he was the bodyguard. On another note, I’m so annoyed that at this point of the story (near the end), the game is still going on about the stupid love triangle. IT’S SO FRUSTRATING. Like, now I know I like Rex much more, but I could and would have liked to discover that in his own route instead, like seriously, was Nox that boring of a character that they couldn’t be bothered spending more time developing him and his relationship with the heroine that they had to instead deal with this cheap love triangle all the time where they literally both just try to pull the heroine to them or whatever until whoever yields? It’s like, if you’re going to do a love triangle, at least do it in a way that enhances their personalities more or better because honestly, literally nothing has changed since the beginning. They’re like kids fighting over their favourite toy and I’m losing my patience over this.

I knew Rex realised that Nox was Nightmare and swapped the memory vial, but it was nice to see Nox’s reaction. He totally deserved it for underestimating Rex, but it was nice to see that he was happy to go against Rex another time to try and get the real vial back. Overall, although I quite liked Nox in the beginning, a lot of his personality and everything is established in the beginning and doesn’t really “grow” or feel any different afterwards. His love for the heroine is pretty much the same and he teases her etc but his character never becomes any more than that, which is rather disappointing. I’d say the main problem with this route though is that they focused more than half of the route establishing both Nox and Rex as love interests and honestly, it was pretty distracting and annoying because I totally favoured Rex, which felt really unfair to Nox but I couldn’t help it. Which is why I quite disliked this route even though I didn’t mind Nox. I really wanted it to only focus on romance with the guy that’s “chosen” and not any other guy, so yeah it was annoyingly sad and unfair to Nox, sigh. I felt like they could have totally put more emotion in the Phantom thief reveal etc if they didn’t waste so much time on their rivalry that was already established from the get go. Oh well..he was still a nice guy, but it’s so unfair to Nox lol.

#wizardess heart

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beerecordings · 5 years

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Around Your Wrists

Part 17 of My Brother’s Keeper (Part 1 l Previous l Next)

My taglist is a separate post. Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed, my dude. Sorry this is longer than usual - couldn’t cut it down. I had so many ideas for this chapter I wrote more than 12,000 words worth of draft. I showed Lau a draft to get some feedback and more than half of this will be entirely new to this (ty for your help dude ly :D). But!! I think I’m happy with how it turned out and very excited about the story again. :) Thanks for reading!

Tws for panic attack, PTSD, and mentions of cutting and torture

Edit: @loganandoli made such a cute Jamie drawing based on this chapter!!! I love it so much. You can see it here

Brotherhood is often forged in blood. Jameson and Henrik have shared much of the same suffering. They’re still sharing it. Henrik wonders if it has yet to destroy them both.

There's a moment where he wakes up and isn't afraid at all.

Chase is watching him from a chair next to the bed, his leg bouncing a hundred miles a minute, Schneep stands above him like a guardian, his eyes too wide, and Jackie – Jackie, that's his name, Anti rarely said it, but now he knows – Jackie is holding him.

But Jameson isn't afraid.

A hand, gently glowing, lies on Jameson's chest, above his heart, and Jameson is filled with light, with warmth like he's never felt before. Is this the power Anti warned him about? Nothing about Jackie was ever explained to him. Anti only told him he was dangerous, told him he should hate him, told him he should be afraid – but this feels nice.

This feels safe, safe in a way he's never felt before. His soul is bared, but the hand that holds it isn't clawed. He doesn't know why Jackie's reaching out to him, doesn't know why he's being held, but for a second, it doesn't matter.

“Oh,” says Jackie, startling, and then he sets him back down on the bed and draws away hastily. The light dies down around him as his power retreats and the world is no longer saturated in his warmth and color. “He's awake now.”

Fear creeps up Jameson's throat once again, cold in the darkened room, and he shivers weakly and sinks back into the pillows, licking his dry mouth and trying to bare his teeth.

“Thank God,” cries Chase, rising from his chair so fast he nearly knocks it over. Henrik puts a hand on his shoulder and stops him from touching Jameson, who recoils as a matter of custom. In the doorway, Jackie is already gone.

Good, thinks Jameson, with what little savagery he has the strength for. Good, stay away.

“Hey, are you okay?” asks Henrik, in a voice like a dying wind. His teeth chatter slightly in his tightened jaw. “I thought – you were unconscious for hours – you – you scared me, Jameson.”

Chase glances over at the doctor, alarmed.

Was he really out for so long? Jameson blinks and turns to the window, where the sun has risen cheerfully in the sky, melting at the last of the winter snows, leaving the dead grass to grumble its way out from beneath the cold. Well, he didn't really mean to be gone for so long – or he had, but he hadn't realized his body would just be here, non-responsive. It felt like minutes to him.

“You were just lying there shuddering.” Chase's face is a little grey. Not for the first time, Jameson is taken aback by his concern.

Why do you care? he wants to ask, and then, a little more morbidly, You should be happy to see me die. Don't you know I belong to Anti?

“How are you feeling?” asks Henrik, coming to sit beside him on the bed. “Do you know what happened?”

Jameson just stares and sinks down in his blankets until his mustache is covered. He isn't quite ready to tell them about his power just yet.

Chase draws Henrik away, pulling him just outside the door, whispering soft enough that Jamie can't hear. “Henrik. What happened to him?”

Henrik's eyes are dark and severe, his mouth taut with fear. “Do you remember the first time I came back from being Anti's?” he asks.

“Yes,” says Chase, mournfully. “Obviously. You were really freaked out and you got super sick.”

“Really freaked out” is code for “unraveling so fast we thought you had actually lost your mind” and “you couldn't look at our faces without screaming” and “there were days where you would go so deeply into flashbacks that you would act like you were possessed again,” but Chase doesn't think that needs to be said out loud.

The doctor nods and tilts his head, and he says, “Withdrawal,” softly, as a diagnosis.

An incorrect one, but a good attempt.

“Oh,” says Chase. “Oh.”

There are consequences to being taken away from the demon after too long under his control. Right now, those consequences are the best guess they have for why Jameson, blank-faced and shuddering, was unresponsive for more than four hours.

Henrik sets a hand on Chase's shoulder. Chase isn't sure if it's there to comfort him or keep Henrik from collapsing. It wasn't easy, sitting here for so long, praying to God that their little brother would get up again, undamaged. Chase is beginning to worry this is more than Henrik can handle right now, but he isn't about to stand between the good doctor and a patient.

“We've had a rough time of it for a couple days, haven't we, bud?” Henrik raises his voice back to Jameson's level and re-enters the room, sitting down beside him on the spare bed. “I think it's time to start feeling better. Chase, fetch me my bag and some water for him. It's time for a check-up, don't you think? Yeah. Let's get a check-up.”

“You okay with being touched?” asks Henrik, shoving some spare paper under his clipboard and writing the date at the top.

Jameson stares down at it.

Up at the doctor, waiting for an answer.

“Well?” asks Henrik, frowning. “You know, you can sign if you want. You haven't since we got you back from Anti. Chase and Jackie took classes in BSL as soon as your video was up. And then I – well, I learned a little later. What do you say, you okay with being touched?”

Jameson nods hastily, his hands rising and then falling again without a word.

“Okay.” Henrik looks him over without meeting his eyes and Jameson squirms under his professional gaze. “You tell me if you start to get uncomfy. Is not a problem. I just want to look you over, okay? Just some questions and a glance at you. I want to have you healthy soon.” He strokes a thumb down Jameson's cheek, and his little brother relaxes to be touched. “I'm here. It's going to be okay. Come on, chin up, let me get a look at you.”

Obedient, Jameson holds his head up.

Jameson is five months old. If Henrik didn't know his own face, he would guess that he was no older than twenty-four, perhaps younger. He's gaunt, the way dying flowers are gaunt. His teal-tint hair is stiff and messed into knots and his eyes are hollowed like too much wet blue paint sank into the paper it was put on. The fervent purple bruising around his throat makes him look like a very sorry little woodstar bird, and he is shaking, shaking, shaking, as he always shakes, shakes, shakes.

In the moment, he looks a great deal like Jack. The open first aid kit makes the bathroom smell like a hospital room.

“I'll be quick,” Henrik promises hoarsely, swallowing back a wave of nausea.

Jameson nods, only a little wary, tilting his head and then, trustingly, reaching out to put a hand on Henrik's shoulder, to keep him steady. To keep them both steady.

His eyes are good, his reflexes quick. All his teeth are there. Henrik asks him some questions about his pain, his immune system, allergies, sleep, and more, but Jameson, in nodding and shaking of his head, reports pretty normally, admitting to a few nightmares and frequent colds but little else. There's only a single scar on his face, a short white line high up on his forehead, hidden by his fringe, and then all the other visible cuts are recent and superficial. He has a bad infection in one ear, but his pain tolerance must be high, because he hardly seems bothered by it, only frowning petulantly up at the doctor when he sticks the otoscope in his ear.

“Good,” says Henrik, relieved. “Okay, could be worse.”

Jameson is nigh on content with Henrik's careful hands running over him. He looks warmly up at his brother and shrugs.

Whatever you say, doc.

Henrik laughs, bewildered by the clarity of his expression. “Yeah,” he chuckles, reaching out to pat the side of his neck. “Yeah, we're okay. Alright. Shirt off, Jamie, let's get a look at you.”

Jameson pauses, touching his shirt.

Survival is a game. He's been asked to make a move, a show of vulnerability that might result in increased health and affection. He calculates.

Trust is dangerous, and Anti warned him about the doctor and his friends. But Anti isn't here, and Jameson needs help.

Jameson needs Henrik.

He removes the shirt.

And anger tastes like blood, blood in Henrik's mouth.

He crushes it between his teeth, tasting the panic and the terror it is well-seasoned with, seething, fighting like a drowning man to keep his head above a trauma flashback or a blank-faced panic attack, because Jameson – Jameson –

Jameson is littered like a Jackson Pollock in red and white. He's covered in lines like cracked glass. He's scarred to hell and back.

And, oh, Henrik recognizes some of these scars – shares some of these scars – the thick pink lines of Anti fully ripping skin away, the short, blackish markings from electric plug-ins shoved against the skin and made painful by the demon's own power, the lean, lovely, terrible white carving from the great silver knife, Anti's favorite.

Above all else, he shares the strings.

Henrik's strings were given to him on a day when he was weak, he remembers that.

They were given to him on a day of despair.

He felt like an animal.

The basement was cold.

Even his blood had gone cold against his flesh.

He was freezing to death.

And he gave up.

Anti came downstairs. Henrik didn't look up, but the surrender was tangible, tangible in Anti's mouth.

He sang.

Something very soft and very sweet and very sad.

A song Henrik used to love.

And he carved delicate lines, white and pure, around Henrik's wrists and ankles.

The blood was warm.

Henrik reaches up and draws back, slow, the sleeve of his own shirt, revealing one of the white string scars.

He knows he should ask his little brother when Anti gave him the strings, how much did they bleed, did he cry, did Anti sing, was he grateful, does he still belong to him?

But Henrik cannot make the words appear.

Cannot bear to know the answer.

He stares at the strings on Jameson’s wrist and at a fifth string scar, carved in a circle around his poor little brother’s heart; he is horrified, sick, frightened, humiliated, tormented, weak, and Jameson is –

Oh, wait, hold up. Henrik blinks. Jameson looks... happy.

Jameson looks excited, delighted, overjoyed.

He lifts up his hands and he signs.

“Shared,” he says, with passion, beaming at him. “We are brothers.”

Henrik stares.

“Shared,” says Jameson again, and then he reaches out and touches his hands.

Reaches out, slow, and touches the pads of his fingers to the rough callouses of his knuckles, runs the smooth surface of his nails against the soft insides of his valleys and ridges, lets his skin drift down the flat bruises of his blue-river veins, and finally finds the smooth raised flesh of the old scars, as though they are sacred.

The movement is slow, uncertain, like he expects to be pushed away, but his touch is warm.

“Brothers,” says Henrik, finding his voice the way a colt finds its legs, and then he nearly chokes, breathing so fast it makes his chest hurt. “Ja, ja, ja – oh, yes, we are, we are brothers. We did share this, didn't we? Didn't we share this suffering? Don't we share these scars, and see – they have yet to destroy us.”

Jameson laughs without noise, his eyes shining. Fuck, he looks like Jack, he looks like Chase. Like Marvin, like Jackie. He looks like brotherhood.

Yes, they shared the same suffering, didn't they? He wonders if Jamie bled like he did, begged like he did, screamed like he did. Starved and wept and tried to kill himself like he did, professed love and hatred intermittently, begged God to kill him like he did, wished Sean had never created him like he did, cried out for his brothers to save him –

He chokes again and coughs and pulls out his stethoscope, and he sets it gently to Jameson's chest, and listens to his heartbeat for a very long time.

After a moment, Jameson sets his chin on Henrik's shoulder and closes his eyes.

Henrik can't fucking breathe.

He takes his blood pressure and cleans up a nasty cut in his stomach and weighs him in the bathroom and checks his head for lice and examines his calcium-deprived nails and he can't fucking breathe, he can't breathe at all, but he doesn't care, he just wants Jameson to be okay, he just wants to keep Jameson healthy –

He lets go of his little brother and sits back on the bed, reaching up to clutch at his hair, rough tears coursing down his face, and Jamie's face twists with alarm. Henrik doesn't know why he thought he could handle this. He can hardly even manage looking at his own scars, and Jameson's are barely different – it might even be worse, to know that he was tortured the way Henrik was tortured, to know that he has been through so much of the same, from starvation to the sickly sweet, overwhelming enslavement of Anti's control, the whispered “I love you” that falls from your mouth when you are weaker than you have ever been –

Jameson has wrapped his arms around him, holding his shoulders and trying to make him meet his gaze, but Henrik is already collapsing, dissolving, unwinding with his terror, choking, choking, suffocating on terror old and new. His wrists are cold-chained again, he can't hear anything but a high-pitched static whine, he is hungry, hungry, dying of thirst, and blood seems to seep from every pore of his white flesh, as medicine oozes through the tube of a bottle.

He can't fucking breathe.

Now doctor, this doesn't have to hurt. Close your eyes and repeat after me.

No, no, no, not the possession, he can't bear – he can't bear it – please –

He was doing so much better before Anti took him. He was doing so much better. He enjoyed his therapy sessions, he never freaked out more than once a week, and he was starting to feel like he might actually have some goddamn control over his life again.

Not anymore.

“I can't do this again!” he cries, his voice shattering halfway through. “No, no, no, I can't fucking go through this again, please, God!”

Sooner or later I'll get in. I always get what I want, brother dear.

He can feel Jameson's terror like a visceral thing, but above it all there is a sweet black burn, familiar and horrifying and wonderful, and he is sinking again, sinking, sinking, sick. Somehow the slow drowning of Anti's power is before his eyes again, within his lungs again, within his brain again, and the distinction between doctor and demon is becoming rapidly more blurred in his addled mind, his time of being a prisoner in his own head rising in his struggling throat.

Repeat after me. Give me strings.

Give – give –

He had fought. He had fought. None of it had mattered.

Give me strings.

And Henrik loses himself.

Withdrawal, withdrawal, withdrawal –

Jameson's hands are holding him.

“Dapper,” Henrik whispers, reaching up to touch his face.

His tear-stained face.

“Oh,” murmurs Henrik, his voice sweet and high-pitched. “I didn't mean to make you cry, puppy.”

Jameson's jaw drops and he stiffens like a corpse. His hands shake. He reaches up, up to his throat. He signs, slowly, unbelieving, an “A” drawn across his bruised throat.

“Anti?” he asks.

And Henrik whispers: “Of course, darling.”

And then, a millisecond later, “No, no, no, I'm not him, he's not here, he's gone, and I – I – oh, puppy, I didn't mean to make you cry.”

Jameson is here, beneath his hands; they're sitting on a bed together and nothing else matters, because he remembers, he remembers. Yes, they were here like this before. The after-effects of Anti's poison make him disoriented, but he remembers. They were here like this before. On the bed, at the motel, sitting together, Dapper so trusting, so naively trusting beneath his hands, torn between love and distress, and he laid him down, set his mouth against his ear –

Henrik takes Jameson's head in his hands, staring blank-faced, apathetic, at the fear, at the confusion in his silver-blue eyes, and then he pushes him gently down onto the mattress. Jameson, his eyes wide with terror, nevertheless goes without protest, yielding and compliant beneath his hands, lying down with his throat bared to the light.

“What am I doing?” whispers Henrik, and then, hatefully: “Disobey me and you will find yourself digging the life out of your own fragile heart. You will always belong to me.”

Jameson cries, but he does not move or struggle.

And his eyes are still warm with love and brotherhood.

Henrik places his cold mouth at the base of Dapper's ear. The command has to be issued. The seed has to be planted, and buried, and drowned. His name is Antisepticeye.

Jameson shrinks away from him.

Henrik jolts, his eyes fluttering, reality appearing too bright around him. For a second he can only choke, his heart moving too fast and too painful for him to breathe. He wonders if he's finally dying.

Reaching up, Jameson touches his shoulders and gently, pleadingly, draws him down away from his ear to look him in the eyes again.

“Oh, I'm s-sorry,” Henrik gasps, his chest heaving hard, an agony. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I – ” He stumbles off Jameson and collapses onto the bed beside him, his nails digging at the scars in his wrists.

All this time, all that he's been through. All it took was one week, and suddenly Anti owns him again.

“No, no, no!” shrieks Henrik, spasming and curling in on himself, tearing at his hair. What the hell is happening to him? What the hell happened that night? “No, he gave you an order! I gave you an order! Oh, God, what did he tell you? Jameson, what did he tell you? I gave you an order! Why can't I remember? Why can't I remember? What did he tell you to do?”

“Please,” Jameson is signing, hovering over him. “Please breathe.”

“I can't go through this again,” Henrik sobs, and shame overwhelms him like a wave on the ocean. “Please, God, please, Jack. Jameson, don't.”

Jamie is trying to hold his hands. He's trying to offer comfort the same way it was offered to him. There's no anger in his eyes and Henrik doesn't understand why.

“I'm sorry,” Henrik cries, trying to push him away. “I'm sorry, I didn't know – go to Chase, please, I can't take care of you – I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Oh, I can't – can't b-breathe.”

But Jameson does not go.

And he stays for the next half-hour, as Henrik works his way through the worst panic attack he's had in months. He weeps and collapses, shudders and stammers, remembers old words of hatred Anti gave to him and tries to tear out his stitches. He falls into a possession flashback two more times, but does not try and touch or speak to his little brother. Jameson sits with him and holds his hands.

“I'm sorry for scaring you,” whispers Henrik, limp on the bed when the worst of it has passed.

“You didn't scare me,” says Jameson.

“I'm sorry for hurting you.”

“You didn't hurt me.”

Henrik looks up and finds neither fear nor anger in his little brother's face.

Just warmth.

He is warmer than blood. Hateless. Loving.

He turns around and picks up Chase's red sleep shirt, tugging it back over his head. And then – still cautious, like he expects to be rejected – he lays down, carefully, warm, on top of Henrik's chest.

Henrik covers his face with one hand, and rubs Jameson's back with the other, and breathes.

No, Jameson is not angry. No, he's not even scared.

He's made his choice.

He loves Henrik.

This is my brother, Jameson decides, closing his eyes. This is my brother and brothers look out for each other no matter what. Brothers keep each other. Protect each other. Save each other.

Henrik falls asleep.

Jameson strokes his fingers along the scars on his wrists. They're lovely. They're shared.

He doesn't know exactly what happened, doesn't quite remember the night Henrik returned to, but something has changed within him. He never believed he would find someone who had been through the things that he had been through, and came out the other side alive, and softer for it. He never believed he would have the chance to live with him. To be his. He dreamed of it, wished for it, hoped with all his heart for it. But he never thought it would happen. Now this person – his person, his brother – is sick. Is scared. Is hurting. For the first time in his life, someone needs him.

And I, Jameson promises, curling up against his chest, and listening to his heartbeat. I will keep my brother safe.

#jameson jackson #schneep #jse egos #writers of jack #bee writes #my brother's keeper #tw torture #tw panic attack #tw ptsd #it took me so long ahahaha #ILY FOR READING AHHHHHHHH #okay i'm hungry going to go get a SANDWICH #please enjoy #tw aggressive reaction

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dahniwitchoflight · 5 years

Text

Candy 18-21

oh, oh no

I’ve heard things about Jane x Gamzee

now I get to experience them, oh boy...

Gamzee gets, strangely serious about stuff for once, huh, who would have thunk it

yeah, It’s clear Jane’s political stuff seem to stem from some kind of fear that one day humanity won’t exist on Earth C for whatever reason

that over time, the population of trolls versus humans will eventually skew so much that there won’t be any adam and eve left to match up with each other

in her mind she really doesn’t hate trolls, cuz its not really about the trolls, not at all, but obviously her actions are equivalent to someone who does hate them and she just doesn’t get that

and like, yeah if you just left them to their own devices, maybe that would happen, but then (and I can’t believe I’m saying this) Gamzee has an extremely good point that they already did that when they plopped all the ectokids down and called it a day for a 1000 years, like, they managed to figure it out on their own just fine

and also

ectobiology will literally never stop being a thing so like, as long as some of the god kids stick around, eventually you can just make more humans it’s no big deal to restart the human gene pool since it will be identical to the first time they started it

there’s no reason to make sure this system runs smoothly the “natural way” it won’t, this situation is unnatural for both species

Jane’s just gotta realize that if she wants humans to keep sticking around, she just has to keep supporting the human population, that’s it, whatever trolls do or don’t do doesn’t matter for that goal

course it doesn’t help to compare trolls to animals when talking about their breeding rate and how it naturally evolved over time unlike the apparently non animal humans Janey

Also Alternian society is def not how troll society naturally is but like how could she know that? And how could any troll near her really explain that?

aaaand I got so up in taking this seriously I forget who was talking

Jane’s into troll blackrom though that’s interesting and unexpected

oh wow, Jake was there the whole time

Did they really name Jake and Jane’s baby Tavros??? oh jeesus

Yeah Kinda figured the Jane x Jake thing wasn’t gonna actually be happy

I’m really surprised Jane’s version of happiness apparently involves boinking a weird funny man I mean, she canonically likes clowns and jokes, so at the same time I’m not surprised, I mean, she WAS raised by the condesce, it’s just weird how that influence comes out in her sometimes versus how it doesn’t come out in her

literal Jake nightmare scenario though I think lol

really hammering home how the passions of youth don’t really translate well to happy adult relationships

Oh, so there’s the part where Jade reveals she has Bec biology, considering the fandom reaction you’d think we were gonna get some kind of gross M rated sex scene where she pegs Karkat or something

but all she does is talk about how she’d love a normal family and home life and lament that her circumstances ended up not really allowing that and giving enough hints that we can figure out why that would be

it’s not handled grossly at all, even if the subject matter is odd and it doesn’t come off as some sort of character sabotage

this whole time what we’ve known all Jade was that she was lonely and just wanted a family, not that hard to figure out why, girl’s got the same complex as Joey Claire about her family situation, but she’s more reserved about her feelings since she didn’t get to have a comparison of role models like Joey did with her babysitter and also Jade’s food and shelter needs were somewhat taken care by a planet guardian so the affect was somewhat lessened on the outside, she just didnt get the same chances as Joey to be able to articulate her emotional turmoil about it

aww Jade’s not happy either, well, that’s how it goes when you make relationship decisions based on flimsy passions that are more about fulfilling the needs of the self than about actually wanting good things for a partner

More like Jade’s sort of realized that Karkat and Dave don’t have a genuine romantic interest in her and she’s the only one keeping this ship afloat

oh shit, a dead younger jade, oh damn wait she’s the one from Meat that was trapped in the house juju and then immediately died from space razors

Yeah’s she’s a bloody symbol of meat that’s for sure, theyre making that pretty clear

“Her eyes go wide and she feels the breath go out of her for a moment. She looks directly upward. Where did this body come from?”

Again, if we take that symbolism circle of Breath = Sugar = Drugged up High = Breath

This little dash of meat falling into wonderland would break the breathy haze for a bit wouldn’t it?

So if this kind of thing can happen to others besides John, there’s hope yet for something of value to come from Candy

“ There’s a peaked skylight at the top of the foyer that splits the morning sun like a prism, spilling multicolored dots across every surface below. Amongst those dots are drips of teen-Jade’s blood. It’s so dark on the spotless tile that it looks nearly black. “

I wish I could draw things, I’d love to draw this exact scene here, it’s pretty and morbid

Yeah, the relationship theme of Candy seems to be that everyone’s jumping into Kismesis plus Matesprite threesomes, that seem to be neither of what anyone actually wants in totality

There’s some realization that their Candy filled atmosphere is actually more a drug or a poison, teen jade can’t be revived, and it’s not because of what happened to her, but more because of the environment she is in now

Ah Roxy, ever the social chameleon people pleaser, not working this time though

Jade’s is easily explained already as she has the social graces of an elephant

It is kinda sad tho to see most of the human characters actually aren’t that good at being cool about troll stuff

“CALLIOPE: pUrple roses traditionally represent love at first sight, however these roses are actUally red roses that we prepared Using a blUe dye.CALLIOPE: the blUe rose is the most elUsive and mysterioUs of all flowers.CALLIOPE: the combination of red and blUe in this context is meant to evoke the dUal natUre of death, in that there is nothing more mysterioUs and impossible to comprehend than the vast void of the afterlife, bUt also there is nothing that makes Us appreciate the life and and love that we already have than the mystery of death.CALLIOPE: while death is terrifying, there is always joy to be foUnd among the sorrow. each time we witness death, we fall in love with the important people in oUr lives all over again.“

Why do I get the feeling Calliope is talking about actual rose here somehow?

Is it because she started off with “here’s the symbolism of Purple Roses”?

a Red Rose dyed Blue

Now if Cascade taught us anything Blue and Red certainly represent a mutual destruction of opposites coming together to create a third new thing in the blaze of the aftermath, but that thing was a Green Sun, not something purple, so why bring Rose into mind for all of this?

We have been seeing the effects of what happens when people in candyland awaken from their drug haze with a smattering of blood, but in that case why not make the symbolism more clear by saying a Blue Candied Rose dyed Red as if with Bloodied Meat?

is it more to mean that the correct path lies NOT in Candy being dyed Red, but in Meat being dyed Raspberry Blue?

I Mean, Candy!Rose certainly seems shaken here, having gotten jolted out of her drugged haze at some point, but unable to See, and she’s actually starting to be concerned about that and Meat!Rose is kind of out of commission at this point, So I guess to get things back on track, Candy!Rose would have to go back to the Meat somehow, or might be the influence needed to snap Meat Rose out of her daze

Though I don’t like how this is taking place in the context of a funeral, specifically bringing to mind how Dirk did the same thing using the vessel of Death, I hope Candy Rose doesn’t try to just, off herself

with Dirk taking control of Rose’s ultimate self in Meat, Candy!Rose might be the only true Rose left to take heroic action

Aww, Callie is still head over heels for Roxy, I’m really surprised with this theme of threesomes that nothing ever came of a John x Roxy x Callie, but then again all the threesomes so far have been painted Black and Red, and unless John or Roxy was to form a Kismesis with Callie, I don’t see it happening at all

OH SHIT SPEAKING OF RED AND BLUE

Damn, Sollux and Aradia are here

“KARKAT: MAYBE FUCKING NEPETA IS ABOUT TO POUNCE FROM BEHIND THAT GROTESQUE STATUE OF THE HUMAN SUFFERER T-POSING OVER THERE.”

Karkat don’t tease me about Nepeta but also again WHY is actual Jesus here.

Is Roxy a christian in this timeline? Was she legit just praying to actual Human Jesus? That’s so, weird, especially for Roxy to do, what the fuck in Roxy’s upbringing on an apocalypse earth would make her want to worship Jesus?

Oh wait, that’s obviously what she thinks that every other human sincerely does, since she only had human media to go off of, and like, technically no human has ever said they DONT worship christian gods to her.

“GAMZEE: wHeN tHe DoOr Of ThAt FrIdGe pOpPeD oPeN iT wAs LikE i Be AlL sEeIn ThE lIgHt AnD sHiT.

SOLLUX: well yeah

SOLLUX: that’s what happens when s0me0ne 0pens a d00r t0 a t0tally dark encl0sure.“

Gamzee has had a weirdly meta understanding of what’s going on so far, for some reason, I can’t fathom what could be the Lighty influence that he’s gotten

unless...

Dirk really IS starting to subsume Ultimate Rose, and that’s bleeding over to every Ultimate self connected to Dirk

the more Gamzee knows meta shit and says oddly correct things, the more we know Dirk is “winning” over Rose

Oh, that’s why Gamzee is really here isn’t he? I mean, storywise? He’s a Dirk thermometer/gauge/thing, he’s our way of measuring how far Dirk’s influences are going in Meat

“ARADIA: its so nice that you believe all that gamzee

ARADIA: i think i can honestly say

ARADIA: im reasonably happy for you?“

lol

“blue smoke”

You don’t really tend to describe Smoke as being Blue right? At least, I don’t think that’s usual

But if we’re straight up associating Candy with Blue to complement Meat with Red now, it’s just making the whole Sugar = Breath thing that much stronger

*EDIT* DUH OF COURSE OF CANDY’S COLOR IS BLUE

BLUE GUSHERS. OBVIOUSLY. *end edit*

and I mean, what is Breath but a weird bluey smoke?

Roxy just wants to be happy with all her friends, that’s all

It is a good shake at trying to explain the nature of infinite possibility, that in reality, there isn’t really more weight put into one possibility over others, that’s how it works in real life anyway

unfortunately a storyline of canon is going to favor some version of events over others, and people make choices because they have preferences for that choice over other choices, something that seems kind of lost on Candy!Roxy who seems to just be okay with going along with anything because everything has an equal chance for having happytimes in this place

Roxy may be starting to lose her sense of self as well, and with her knowledge on things and how’s she’s been described as immutable so far, I wouldn’t be surprised at her having easily and subtly slipped into Ultimate Self hood herself and just being really okay with the idea that there is no one true Roxy, that she is just one piece of many, and not like, needing to delve into that further, not needing to connect with all her alternate selves, happy just being singular but at the same time completely malleable

Oh! Baby time.

Oh fuck, Al!Calliope in Jade time.

Why is Callie so afraid of Alt!Callie? That didn’t come across in their meetings in Homestuck as much, so why is that different here?

Is it because of Jade’s earlier comment of “there can only be one instance of a person here” and Callie doesn’t think she can win against Alltie?

Also, all these instances of Alltie appearing in Jade’s body is making me worried Alltie is doing something to both of their Ultimate Selves, like she’s subsuming Jade somehow like Dirk is subsuming Rose

I mean, they are fighting one another, so if Dirk’s doing something she has to keep pace right? In her mind, it’s probably totally justified

this is getting long enough for this post though, off we go again but I’m still reading

#Homestuck #Meat or Candy

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