#its more sort of on the sidelines so far. sort of. slow burn. so like i think its fitting since i dont want to post big major spoilers dsfj | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alj4890 · 3 years

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I have an ask. We know in TRR Book 3 Ch10 Drake is the one being challenged by Neville but what if The King is the one to challenge Neville? After all he’s the one that would talk down to Riley during book 3 and nit once did Liam stand up for her during those times? So I wonder if Liam knew what Neville had said to his future Queen what would his reaction would be. I feel at least that Riley had the choice to punch him! Lol

A/N: Okay, seriously. WHY didn't all the other love interests tell Neville off?! He even annoyed Olivia with his pouting and whines. I get the tension between him and Drake and all; but Neville was talking bad behind Liam's back about his choice to elevate MC to becoming a duchess regardless of whether or not she was engaged to Liam. He was such a jerk to Hana and who in their right mind could be mean to her??? As protective and sacrificial as Maxwell was, (he did show getting ticked off whenever Neville opened his mouth), why wasn't there a dance fight between the two🤣 Now that my mini rant is over, let's see what would happen if Neville pushed Liam too far.

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@gkittylove99 @darley1101 @krsnlove @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @yourmajesty09 @mom2000aggie @ofpixelsandscribbles @twinkleallnight @lodberg

Too Far

It wasn't noticeable at first.

He even somehow managed to make friends.

Neville had a way that made him appear as the perfect example of a gentlemanly noble. His cultured tone uttering compliments and his ability to appear humble before his betters had assured his place within Cordonia's high society. Being heir to an earldom and not too horrible to look upon also set him up in life to have a variety of ladies to choose from.

Or so he believed.

When Prince Leo abdicated, the nobles of Cordonia were actually laughed at by the rest of the world. The teasing began with mere good natured ribbing at parties of how unfaithful a Cordonian must be.

It was enough to sour any disposition, especially one that was already so.

Neville Vancoeur kept his noble mask firmly in place. Nothing was going to stop him from his destiny.

Nothing. No one.

But the newest crown prince was best friends with, it was disgusting simply thinking of the word, a commoner. A commoner! What noble much less a direct descendant of the king himself would ever align themselves with someone who was absolutely worthless

Yet, the embarrassment that was Prince Liam didn't end there. He then went on to favor a poor waitress from America of all places. A waitress. He redeemed himself in Neville's eyes when he chose Countess Madeleine Amaranth of Fydelia to be Cordonia's queen. Though he didn't quite understand why the normally shrewd countess would allow the waitress to travel with the nobility, perhaps it was to give Drake Walker a playmate (one has to entertain pets, he supposed) he accepted it as a way to appease the people they ruled over.

Then New York happened. King Liam threw aside a well respected, birthed to perfection noble for that mongrel American who did not possess the first clue of how to behave amongst Cordonia's elite court.

Neville would have found it humorous if he was not permanently tied to his country.

To top it all off, not only was he forced to endure such unworthy company, he was shamed in front of them by some minor noble who had failed to win Liam. He blamed that brief moment of weakness for finding Lady Hana attractive on being inadvertently influenced by what had to be Drake and Riley's baser inclinations.

There was only one action left to a man so much more above these lowly peasants.

He was going to have to put these people in their proper place.

*******************

Liam knew that some of his fellow nobles took their positions as some sort of right in lording over those they considered their inferiors. It had never sat easy with him. He himself had a mother who had been a, "simple commoner". Yet, being in the tenacious situation he was in as a new king, he had to ignore for the most part their rude behavior.

But there was only so much he could stand when it came to the one he loved.

He knew something was going on the night of Madeleine's ball. As he stood on the other side of the ballroom, listening to Duke Godfrey drone on and on, he noticed Drake bump into the future earl. He knew there were very few nobles his best friend respected so seeing the flash of anger was normal.

Riley's though was surprising.

That unusual bitter twist to her normal, friendly smile followed by what he could only assume were heated words between his love and Neville made him feel the need to rush over and place himself between them. That desire to protect Riley was so strong that his body had already turned to leave Godfrey mid sentence.

But then Neville walked away.

Maxwell's brief sadness followed by Hana's irritation had him focusing once more on Riley's anger turning to resigned acceptance. Her relaxed stance returned as his group of friends found a table to sit and enjoy their meal.

He knew then that he would need to keep an eye on Lord Neville for the rest of the Unity Tour.

*****************

It didn't surprise him at all the insults and tension between Drake and Neville during the charity polo match. Liam felt sorry for Rashad and Maxwell being stuck on their team and forced to work with the two men that seemed to truly despise one another.

Liam also felt a large bit of pride when Riley used Neville's refusal to pass to Drake to score.

He also was relieved that Neville had not turned his disdain toward her.

Perhaps he was beginning to respect his future queen.

**************

It shouldn't have affected Liam like it did. Maybe it was the fact he was under so much pressure from keeping his father's cancer hidden, the fear from hearing he had been rushed to the hospital, all the terrorist attacks and threats, and then having to focus on pampered nobles instead of actually running his kingdom that caused him to lose his last shred of patience.

This ball was one that he had looked forward to. It would be the first of his escorting his Riley before the court. He had waited so long for such a moment to show his world how proud he was to have won her heart.

And Neville had to ruin it during their first dance.

The heated exchange of words escalated when Riley jumped in to defend Drake. Liam could see the utter hatred and lack of respect Neville had for the two people he was closest to. The way the young lord talked down to his beloved sent a bitter resolve through Cordonia's king.

"I've had enough of your insolence!" Neville snapped.

Liam saw his hand reach for his pocket and begin to withdraw a white glove. Before he could think through what he was about to do, he slapped Neville with the back of his hand, cutting short the challenge the lord was about to issue to Drake.

The entire court gasped. Silence fell as all watched this rare occurrence of Liam losing his temper.

"I've had enough of your insolence." Liam bit out. "Lord Neville, I challenge you to a duel."

Neville paled. His eyes darted around the ballroom, searching for anyone who might possibly be on his side. Seeing no sympathy, his chin lifted.

"I accept." His voice cracked slightly.

****************

"Liam, why are you doing this?" Riley gripped his hand as they walked out to the courtyard.

"I'm tired of his attitude." Liam explained. "Especially around you."

"I can handle his snide remarks." She countered. "What I can't handle is the thought of you possibly getting hurt."

Liam paused and slipped his arm around her waist. "You don't think I can take him?"

She smiled, looping her arms around his neck. "I know you can." She snared him with a tender kiss. "Just make it fast. There's a certain king I want to slow dance with."

His lips curved once more before turning toward the growing crowd. "As my queen wishes, so it shall be."

With a wink to her, he removed his sword from its sheath with a dramatic flourish.

Her delighted laughter followed him as he faced his opponent.

Neville swallowed uncomfortably as Constantine laid out the rules for the duel.

He barely managed to block Liam's blows, footsteps retreating most of the time. His lip curled into a snarl when the new king sliced into his blazer.

"My lady was right," Liam taunted, "that is a dreadful dinner jacket."

Neville's cheeks burned when those watching nearby chuckled. Each time he tried to make an offensive strike, Liam not only blocked it but somehow turned it into a point in his favor.

At one point they locked swords. Neville hated he had to tilt his head up to meet Liam's eyes. He hadn't expected to see the coldness there.

"You will apologize to Riley and Drake." Liam commanded in a low tone. "You will also never speak to either of them with such disrespect again."

"Why should I?" Neville breathed. "They need to learn to respect their betters."

"Really?" Liam's tone held a sinister edge.

With an elegant spin that happened in the blink of an eye, he knocked his opponent’s sword out of his hand, caught it in mid air with his free one, and had both blades crossed with Neville's neck in the middle.

"Well done!" Constantine cheered from the sideline.

Riley let out a whoop as she hurried over to Liam's side.

"Wasn't there something you wished to say to her grace, Lord Neville?" Liam asked

Neville's ready sneer died when he felt a slight nick to his tender skin.

"Forgive me, your grace." He managed to say without choking. "I will remember my manners when next we meet."

Riley gave a regal nod of acceptance.

Liam lowered the swords. "You're dismissed."

Neville scurried through the amused crowd, keeping his eyes downcast.

Riley yanked Liam into a passionate kiss once all the compliments were given and the crowd dispersed.

"My lady?" He asked with a grin. "What brought that on?"

"Nothing except my impressive Prince Charming fighting for me." She responded. "Perhaps he would like to find somewhere more private where I can better express my admiration."

"As you wish." He handed his swords to a servant as the couple sneaked away for a moment alone.

#king liam x riley #liam x riley #choices fanfic writers creations #choices the royal romance #liam trr #request #choices fic writers creations

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akajustmerry · 3 years

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What are your top five favorite mcu ships? (And why)

hi! these aren’t in order because at various times i’ve also hated them. plus, mcu romances aren’t written well at all but if I had to pick five from the films i’d go with:

gamora/starlord: truly love how their damage as individuals makes this utterly dysfunctional, but in doing that also makes them kinda raw and really sweet?? love the way they sort of just steal moments together without realising. loved the slow burn of gotg 1 and 2 before infinity war/endgame ruined them.

valkyrie/thor: really just love how wholesome they are. i am just a sucker for that mutual respect and admiration as a foundation for love, even tho it arguably hasn’t happened yet. like, marvel is homophobic af so my hopes for a wlw romance for valkyrie aren’t high, but I think seeing a Black woman get to be the love interest of a main Avenger as well as a king in her own right is just as important.

ant man/wasp: the most criminally underrated pairing in the mcu imo!! scott and hope are a great team with great chemistry with all the sass of tony and pepper, but they actually respect one another. ant man 1 does sideline hope a bit, but its more than made up for in ant-man 2

mj/peter: i’ve never made a secret of my lack of love for mcu!spiderman, but one thing i’ll give spider-man: far from home is how well peter and mj work. they nail the frienemie > bestie > crush dynamic. zendaya has great chem with tom. they’re just so wholesome i love them

t’challa/nakkia: the only pairing on this list I have no complaints about because they’re the only pairing that actually seem to function like adults and I just love them. they’re so solid and comfortable with their relationship and once again chemistry off the charts. i’ll miss them so much

honourable mentions go to magneto/prof x, and peter/gwen and daredevil/elektra in various other marvel media because I also love them. but my main marvel ships are wolverine/deadpool, wolverine/storm, storm/t’challa and ESPECIALLY bucky/natasha but all of them are sadly only romances in the comics. x

#i love wanda and vision in the comics but don't think they work in the mcu #marvel #anon

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mementofloreo-archived · 3 years

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@sorrowmarked || smoochie prompts || hehehehehe[this is cut bc it is SUPER FUCKING long. This is literally the longest thing I've written for you I think]

His team has had a couple of practice matches against the soccer club from Ken's school since they both entered high school, in part thanks to Daisuke's friendship with him. Even without any influence from dark gears or things like that Ken has managed to remain an excellent player with a wide reputation.

Daisuke is unknown, of course. There was no soccer club at his middle school, after all, so he wasn't able to play competitively. He stayed on top of fitness training, even adopting some of the rigorous conditioning routine his sister had used for prep after being scouted by a pro team. Still, with no reputation to boost him he had to earn his place on the main lineup when he entered high school.

...Which he's done, really. He's far exceeded anyone's expectations, especially his own. His drive, his vigor, and his honest love for playing have earned him a lot of strong friendships, and apparently also skyrocketed the morale and motivation of his teammates on more than one occasion. They went from a club thought of as 'not bad, but nothing special' to semifinalists at the prefectural tournament all within the course of his first year. They'd lost to Ken's school, in fact, by a single point shave in the last two minutes of the match.

At his school, first years who join the club via application and not recommendation don't play starting positions in tournament matches(common practice, really). Daisuke still managed to distinguish himself, though. When he was played as a starter in practice matches against Ken's school he was usually placed in a midfield winger position. It gave him some flexibility for movement while relying on the one thing the coach and captain already knew he had, which was stamina.

When their first tournament rolled around, he was put in as a substitute for their attacking midfielder. The position was considered the playmaker, as far as team structure. They were responsible for helping to direct the flow of the team's offensive play, connecting the defensive positions to the forward ones and managing the support for the striker, who was the primary goal scorer(and the position he had played in elementary). For Daisuke, it felt like a test, an opportunity and a show of faith all in one, and so he'd pushed himself past his limits to live up to those expectations.

His fierce, quick, and precise play style coupled with his apparently 'freakish' stamina and adaptability in the position have since earned him a place as its starter as well as the team's vice captain in his second year.

When he was ten or twelve, he'd have been gunning for the striker position. It was flashy and considered the really 'cool' position in most formations.

Now, though, he's stopped caring about looking cool. He wants to play his best, he wants to have fun- and he wants the rest of the team to have those things as well. Realizing that his play sense and his technical skill are best suited to that position when those goals are in mind, he's both content with and proud of his current place.

Ken is a striker. And in their practice matches this season his team has, as usual, come out on top(even if it's usually close).

In the prefectural finals this year, Daisuke's team drags Ken's into a lengthy and brutal double overtime- in the pouring rain, no less. Everyone is exhausted, sore, soaked and filthy. Losing momentum, losing cohesion, desperate for a goal just so things will be over.

...Daisuke, though, ignores it. His burning legs, the sharp pain of his overworked lungs, the chafing of his drenched uniform, the slick ground beneath him and the way the water impedes the ball's movement. He puts himself in a mindset as if he were playing a one on one scrimmage against his sister. She's a professional player on a high ranking team in the highest tier women's league of Japan's professional circuit and has even earned a place on its national team.

If Daisuke's stamina is freakish, then Jun's entire spectrum of skill is on the same level as a natural disaster. The ferocity and lack of hesitation she shows on the field would terrify any normal high schooler, boy or girl, and even a lot of capable players from the men's league.

Which means that even a casual match against her demands ignoring his body's pleas for a break and pushing past its screaming to keep playing at his top form no matter how exhausted he is.

That's the extent he exerts himself to in that double overtime. He's in a state where he barely even registers physical sensation because he's so focused. He barely even registers the directional tips he shouts to the other mid and forward positions, and he doesn't register at all the captain calling for everyone to follow Daisuke's lead.

There's a single thought in his head: keep moving. If he stops or even slows down for just a split second, he knows he'll keep losing steam and he won't get it back. He has to barrel forward no matter what until the game is over. He doesn't pay attention to the faces or numbers of the opposing team. He focuses on keeping the ball in play, keeping his body in motion and staying at least aware of where his teammates are, though he doesn't differentiate between them very well.

When he scoops the ball right out of Ken's grasp, turns sharp, rockets past him, he doesn't know that it's Ken. He doesn't try to close the full distance to the goal either. The moment he sees a small gap in the defense he shoots. For the left corner and with every ounce of strength he has left.

The ball hit's the keeper's open palms- and blasts right through them like they're made of paper, making a loud snap sound and spinning against the net. Daisuke watches it sail in, speechless, and slowly he sinks to his hands and knees, well past being completely spent.

His awareness comes back to him gradually in the several seconds both the players and spectators are left in shock to process the split second reversal and upset of a team that made it to the nationals last year. Even the referees take a few second to declare the clean goal. But once they do, everything erupts around him.

He hears it, registers the shouting and the celebration, the exhausted and frustrated but still impressed acceptance of the other team. And he lets himself laugh breathlessly in relief, still completely unaware that he left Ken dizzily in the dust a few moments ago. Right at that second, he's mostly glad he still pre-medicates with his inhaler before any kind of exercise and keeps it on hand as a rescue. He's going to need it.

His teammates, bless them, have the presence of mind not to jump on him the way they would normally. The captain and Ken make sure he's not injured and help him to his feet, and once he confirms he can walk with some support they help him to the sidelines. The teams shake hands, exchange congratulations. Both for a hard earned victory and a well played match despite a loss. The coaches and officials are able to get the attention of the crowd enough to let the players have some breathing room for a few minutes.

Ken informs Daisuke of exactly what he did in those last few seconds while he digs for his inhaler and then takes a long drink from his water bottle. Daisuke is a little shellshocked by it all now that he's properly registering it, but he's happy all the same. He's helped carry his team to nationals, a first time accomplishment for them.

Moreover, he had the time of his life with this match, even as exhausting as it was. The frail little kid he used to be would never believe he could accomplish something like this.

He makes a note to himself to call Jun with the news- this isn't the kind of thing he should relay via text. She'd just drop everything and call him to yell about it anyway.

There isn't a formal locker room building at this field, but there's covered areas around the benches and a lot of the seating. Daisuke and a lot of his teammates take some time to rinse the mud and sweat off of exposed skin, towel off, change into dry shoes from their cleats, put their warmups on to keep from catching cold.

Everything is so hectic that when he finally shoulders his bag and shambles off the grounds a half hour later he's completely forgotten that Hikari was planning to try and be at the match.

So when he sees her he's not really shocked, but he does sort of stare at her for a few seconds, brainless.

She's been his girlfriend for less than three months. Having her so openly focused on him is still a new experience. In general he's really not used to being anybody's first priority. He still pinches himself sometimes to make sure he's not dreaming when Hikari ducks under one of his arms to curl against his side on the train or in front of the television.

Still, he manages a weary smile, and greets her. "I'm glad you managed to make it out," he says, and his voice is hoarse, "I know you weren't sure you'd be able to see the whole game, or even be here at all."

He lifts his neck towel and wipes some lingering rainwater off of his face.

...She's a little flushed, he notes. Wearing a decent raincoat and carrying an umbrella. She's just a bit damp, where he's still pretty drenched. (the moisture and humidity add just a touch of wisp to her hair though, lift it just a little from its usual straight line. It's cute.)

A half suppressed laugh trickles out of her as she looks up at him. Daisuke's not very tall- he's right around average height- but he's strong, filling out a lot as he nears the end of his growth period, so Hikari looks almost tiny next to him now. (She certainly feels delicate when he hugs her)

Her eyes are shimmering. It's easy to see she's feeling pretty emotional right now, and she still hasn't said anything. Daisuke rifles a hand through his hair awkwardly.

"...Uh...Hikari-chan?" He asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she blurts, beaming, "Sorry. You were just- you were incredible out there. I think you left everyone there starstruck."

"O-oh," he feels himself flush, "Y'think? Those last few minutes I was running on autopilot, so I wasn't really-"

The rest of whatever rambling he was launching into freezes and catches in his throat. If real life came with record scratches or freeze frames, this would be one of those moments.

She's usually the one to kiss him first. He's a little shy, still, not completely confident taking the initiative with affection yet.

But this is- she's never jerked him down by the collar before. Certainly not so suddenly and so sharply that he's actually unbalanced and brought in.

It's a hell of a kiss, to be frank. Firm, held out for so long, her hands moving to his shoulders, pulling herself in as close as she can until he has the presence of mind to lift her at the waist and kiss back.

He's outright dizzy when she finally lets him break away for air, and Hikari is flushed and beaming.

"Uh," he fumbles, "Oh, uh. Okay."

She peppers his face with short, sweet little pecks until he's laughing, and then she hugs him tight.

"I know how hard you worked to get here," She murmurs, "I'm so proud of you. Congratulations, Daisuke."

He tenses just a little in response. Hearing this kind of praise from anyone is always a bit of a tearjerker for him, but from Hikari it's a million times more significant.

"Yeah," He breathes, setting her down and holding his hand out for the umbrella. "...Let's get to the station, though. I want to get somewhere I can change into dry clothes. And then maybe pass out for a couple of hours. I'm beat."

#「ʜᴇʀᴏᴇꜱ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴩʟᴀɪɴ║ꜱᴏ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ꜱᴇᴇ yᴏᴜʀ ᴩᴀɪɴ」 [Daisuke]#「ᴡʜᴇɴ ʟɪꜰᴇ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇꜱ ᴜꜱ ʙʟɪɴᴅ║ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴋᴇᴇᴩꜱ ᴜꜱ ᴋɪɴᴅ」 [Daisuke🎔Hikari;sorrowmarked]

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solavillain · 5 years

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Pas de Deux Ch. 3: Puzzle Pieces

+pairing: Spinel x fem!Reader +genre: Drama, romance, angst, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers +warnings: None (for now) +word count: 6K +Chapter 3 / ? previous || next

Read on AO3!

“Don’t be sad, your new best friend Spinel is here!”

Spinel has been trying to get Steven to smile for a minute now- the pink Gem cheers and dances for Steven, but his eyes look far away, lost in thought.

“Here we are in the future, and it’s wrong...” Steven laments to himself. You can only look on sadly as he pulls out his phone, gazing at a selfie he took with the Gems earlier. “Happily ever after, there we were...”

You move to comfort him, or talk to him, something to erase the morose look he has on his face. Seeing him like this hurts- he's been through so much and you hate to think what will happen if the Crystal Gems never remember him...or you, for that matter. You were part of this group too, even if you only visited during the summer.

Before you can say anything to your friend, Bismuth moves past you and extends a hand to Steven. “When has it ever been easy? Hasn’t it always been hard to be us? That’s why we’ve got to have each other; we’ll figure this out together! We are the Crystal Gems!”

You smile, and your eyes dart to Spinel, who is watching the exchange with wide eyes. You can’t help but recall how different her eyes were just hours ago- flashing pink, wild with anger and clearly hurt about...something. Now they’re shining and dark- innocent, joyful, but not vacant like earlier. She’s observing everything that’s going on happily, content to sit on the sidelines and let her “best friend” work though things. Other than the outburst a moment ago, she’s been rather quiet the whole time you’ve been in Little Homeworld. She must really not be sure what to make of all of this...you couldn’t imagine what it must be like for her. What it must be like for any gem, really- to wake up in a strange world, somehow knowing your life’s purpose before you’ve even lived a life. No wonder the Crystal Gems broke away from that régime; it sounds so suffocating to you.

You let your attention drift back to Steven and Bismuth, still worried for the boy but feeling rather uplifted by Bismuth’s empowered words. She’s reassuring him that they’ll get the Gems back to how they were, even if it takes a thousand years.

“Believe me Steven, I’ve known them longer- I've seen them get through worse and come back stronger!” She says enthusiastically, guiding him to the lift and motioning for everyone to follow. Next to you, Spinel’s eyes light up and she grabs your arm, tugging you forward with her. You hold back a grin and rush towards the group, content with being led by the smaller pink Gem. Somehow, she has charmed you for the time being, and you aren’t quite sure how that happened. But it gives you hope that if she eventually does remember her past, she might be more forgiving the next time around.

As the lift nears the ground, Bismuth leaps off to rush to one of the finer details you assume she’s been working on- a mold of a star in the ground, surrounding the warp pad. She pulls a pot of bubbling gold over into the mold, and gestures to the golden star that’s forming.

“We are the Crystal Gems! We’ll never give up!” Steven’s eyes brighten and he nods along, as the rest of the group steps off the lift. You glance over at Spinel; she’s still just watching and taking everything in. Idly you wonder why she’s not joining in the encouragement- is she uncomfortable around all these new people? Although you suppose everyone is new to her. You can’t help feeling sympathy for her in this situation, though. After all, you’re staying to the sidelines as much as she is, mostly because you feel that the new CG’s will know what to say more than you would. This sort of stuff is their whole life, after all. You’re just along for the ride...

“Why do I keep getting so distracted thinking about her?” you wonder, “She’s the reason we’re in this mess. I really need to stop forgetting that...”

When you focus your attention back to the present, Lapis and Peridot have joined in with the encouragement. “We’ll find a way!”

Steven grins at his friends and claps his hands together once, looking much more confident and determined than earlier

“Okay! Let’s put our heads together. There’s gotta be some way to make them remember,” he remarks, turning to look at Ruby and Sapphire. Next to you, Spinel takes a small jump forward and suggests something.

“What if it’s like a puzzle? If we give ‘em all the pieces...eventually they’ll get the picture!”

“Steven, that could work!” You say with awe in your voice. “Based on Pearl’s...regeneration...it seems like their Gems function as like, organic computers? Or something similar, and very beyond my comprehension. But if it’s like our hard drives, the memories could still be in there somewhere!”

“Spinel...Y/n... You might be onto something!” Steven smiles back at the both of you, grateful for your input. “If every experience they lost is a piece of who they are, we just have to give them back all the pieces! One experience at a time!”

Spinel takes a small step back and smiles up at you, looking very proud of herself. You give her a small smile back, thankful that her idea might actually have some chance of working. Or at least, Steven seems to think so, and you’re happy to defer to his expertise on these things.

“Are you serious?” Lapis exclaims in response to the idea.

“That could take forever!” Peridot agrees.

“Exactly! So let’s get started!” Steven says, gazing out at the group. You can’t help but share in his enthusiasm. If this works then everything can be fixed again, Steven can have his family back, and you can have your friends back.

“Yeah, let’s do this!” You exclaim, rushing forward to join the gathered group. After a moment, you turn back and motion Spinel forward as well. Although she’s the reason for the problem, she also seems to have come up with the solution, and you can't imagine Steven holding anything against her for too long if everything turns out all right in the end. You’re certainly thankful for her in this moment.

Spinel giggles at your request, and stretches one leg forward, a teasing look in her eyes.

“Oh, c’mon Spinel,” you laugh, “you know what I meant. Get over here!”

Her face softens, and her eyes turn from mischievous to gentle and almost shy.

“A-All right,” she says softly, and springs the rest of her body forward to join the group. She clings to Steven’s arm like before, re-assuming her position as his “best friend”.

Steven looks over to Ruby and Sapphire, the former of whom is patrolling back and forth in a line, constantly observing her surroundings for any signs of danger to her charge.

“Okay, so...when Ruby and Sapphire first became Garnet, Ruby rushed in to save Sapphire from danger, and boom- they fused. So maybe we gotta create some sort of dangerous situation?”

“Well...” Lapis muses, what do we have that’s deadly and dangerous lying around?” She looks to Peridot, who you assume probably keeps track of many random assorted objects.

Sure enough, she answers, “I think we can dig something up!” And with that, she heads over to a giant dumpster, full of construction tools and other things that you’re not sure why she has.

Spinel and Steven rush forward to help her look, but you’re content to stay back from all the sharp tools Peridot has begun throwing out of the container. You’re definitely not as resilient as a Gem- no poofing and coming back for you. So you watch bemusedly as the three look for something to threaten Ruby and Sapphire with.

“This can only end well,” you comment to Bismuth and Lapis, folding your arms and smirking. They chuckle in return, exchanging a look that you assume means they agree, knowing Peridot like they do.

Eventually, Peridot produces a giant weapon, and exclaims, “Ah ha!”

“A giant pizza cutter?!” Steven gasps, stepping back in alarm, “I can’t threaten them with this!”

Spinel stares at the object in awe, obviously never having seen anything like this before. Which makes sense; she has technically only existed for a few hours, at least as far as she remembers.

“That is one of its functions, yes, “Peridot replies. “But here!” She pushes a button on the side of the weapon, and it begins to spin menacingly. “Now it’s much more threatening!”

Steven gulps, and starts to walk towards the two reset Gems, staring up at the spinning wheel cautiously.

“Steven, please be careful!” You call out, following him in case something was to happen.

After a moment, Ruby notices Steven approaching her and Sapphire, and immediately takes a defensive stance in front of her charge.

“Halt! I cannot allow you to approach my Sapphire with such a threatening device,” she warns.

“That’s too bad, cause I’m gonna get you!” Steven cries out, raising the device over his head.

You wince, wondering if he’s actually going to attack his family like this. Spinel walks up next to you and clutches your arm suddenly. You jolt, surprised at the sudden contact. She looks slightly worried, staring at Steven and the weapon with concern.

“Ah, Spinel, are you all right?” You ask, after seeing her expression. “Don’t worry, I think it’ll be all right. He’s probably just faking it.”

Sure enough, after Sapphire predicts he’ll back down, he does. He turns off the weapon and turns around, a crestfallen expression on his face.

“I can’t do it! Even if we are just pretending,” Steven says sadly. He walks back to the New CG’s, who are standing near the dumpster of tools. Spinel lets go of you as you turn to follow him, eager to keep planning something else to try.

You face the group, the five of you circling around near the dumpster, ready to brainstorm. None of you take notice that Spinel has picked up the now still weapon off the ground and begun to investigate it.

“Well, maybe we should try...” Bismuth starts to say, before a whirring noise interrupts her. Spinel has turned the giant pizza cutter shaped weapon back on, and she’s quickly losing control.

“No, Spinel, wait-!” Steven calls out, but it’s too late. The weapon is spinning away from her, pulling her along with it.

“Oh my gosh,” you gasp out, worried for Spinel. You know if it hits her she’ll just poof, but even then there’s no telling how long it would take her to regenerate. Not to mention the damage she could cause if it gets even more out of control-!

Without thinking, you ready yourself to catch her as she passes by, her small frame now being entirely pulled along by the spinning weapon.

“Y/n, what are you doing?!” Steven exclaims, looking on in disbelief. But you know you can do this; Pearl’s training has taught you to be quick and calculated when need be. You can anticipate the timing needed to jump onto Spinel and pull her away from the danger, you just need an opening...

There! The weapon has turned course, bringing Spinel passing by the group again. You leap forward, grabbing her and rolling to the floor less gracefully than you would have liked, but it got the job done.

“Are you okay?” You ask Spinel, who ended up lying next to you. She nods, still a bit shaken up from the abrupt journey she just went on.

You flatten out onto your back, close your eyes, and let out a sigh. At least that’s over now. Then why do you still hear the saw spinning? You open your eyes and gasp, jolting to your feet as quickly as you can. The saw is now flying up the building you had come down from, the one still under construction.

“My scaffolding, my precious scaffolding!” Bismuth cries out, powerless to stop the destruction happening before her eyes. You can’t do anything but watch, not thinking about moving away from the danger- but Spinel is. She grabs you and Steven and pulls you back away from the building

“Gah-!” You cry out, surprised at the sudden yank around your middle. Your eyes widen as you’re dragged back next to Spinel and Steven, grateful for her intervention. Just as you’re about to speak, a piece of debris falls onto the spot you had just been standing.

“Spinel...woah. Thank you,” you say breathily, “I guess we’re even now?”

She giggles loudly and replies in a sing-song voice, “You’re welcome!”

Not able to do much else but watch, you stay back with Steven and Spinel as the scene unfolds before you. Peridot, Lapis and Bismuth are doing their best to hold the building together, Peridot with her metal telekinesis, Lapis with some water from nearby, and Bismuth with sheer strength. One side of the scaffolding collapses entirely, but the three of them contain the debris and everything seems safe.

“Is it...over?” Spinel asks, walking closer to the building again.

Suddenly, Sapphire cries out from where she and Ruby had been standing, “The saw! The saw will continue to cut!”

Sure enough, you all look up, and the saw is continuing along the side of the building, curving towards some heavy looking material. You gasp as the blade cuts into rope and embeds itself in a log, finally stopping.

“The anvil will fall, and you- you will be shattered!” Sapphire cries out to Ruby.

“Huh?” Ruby questions, clueless to the anvil that has just dropped.

“Oh my god, Ruby!” You yell, on the verge of tears. She can’t be shattered, can’t Bismuth or Lapis or Peridot-

Steven interrupts your train of thought with a thrown shield, only just catching the anvil above Ruby. But he’s straining to hold it together, sweat is beading on his face and all his concentration is on keeping the shield from disappearing.

“The curly-haired one’s power is fading!” Sapphire calls out to her guard, “Ruby, I’m sorry! I told you, you wouldn’t last the day!”

Ruby seems to have accepted her fate, as her voice is calm as she says, “Well, I’m glad fate allowed me to meet you!” And with that, the shield shatters.

“NO!” Steven shouts, hand extending towards his family.

Among the falling pink fragments, you glimpse Sapphire rushing under the anvil towards Ruby, and you avert your eyes, unable and unwilling to watch two of your friend’s lives end. But suddenly, a flash of light makes you turn back towards them. Is this-?

You grin as Garnet comes into view, gleeful at the prospect that the Crystal Gems’ fearless leader might actually be back. But your heart swiftly sinks as you recognize the confusion plain on her face, and take note of her odd color scheme- this is definitely not the Garnet you’ve come to know.

Steven doesn’t seem to notice yet, and rushes forward yelling her name with arms outstretched. She swiftly backs away from him as he goes in for a hug, leaving Steven falling flat onto the ground. Even still, he doesn’t falter.

“Thank goodness it’s you!” He says, looking up at the newly formed Gem.

“W-what’s going on?” She says in a light tone, looking around in confusion.

“Everyone’s memories are wiped and my powers are all messed up and we need your help! What should we do, Garnet?”

With each explanation he makes, he takes a step towards Garnet, and she steps back from him in fear.

Your brows furrow and you call out, “Steven, I don’t think...”

You trail off as Garnet begins to speak. “I’m sorry, but...do you know me?”

Even from behind, you can read the disappointment that washes through Steven. His shoulders sag, and his posture once again looks defeated.

The group walks up to join him, and you place an arm around his shoulder, trying to be a reassuring presence.

“Her memories aren’t back...I guess fusion was only the first piece,” Steven says quietly.

In the distance, a loud horn diverts the groups attention from Garnet, who looks grateful for the distraction. You turn to see Greg’s van rolling up, and you relax. You always feel better when Greg is around for Gem related stuff- being the only other human can be exhausting sometimes.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise when Pearl steps out of the drivers’ seat.

“I guess driving is an innate skill for gems, somehow...?” You ponder, as she places a small set of stairs at the back of the van and literally rolls out a red carpet. You hold back a chuckle, as do Peridot and Lapis. Even though it’s not exactly pleasant to see your rebellious friend reverted to her old ways of being a servant, the extravagance she’s presenting is still 100% Pearl. Always the theatrical one, she is.

To further drive home your point, Pearl materializes a small trumpet from her gem and plays an announcing tune.

“Attention, everyone! Um-Greg Universe has arrived!”

Greg bursts out from the back of the van, stomping over Pearl’s delicately laid out carpet.

“Steven!” He cries, rushing over to his son. You step slightly to the side, nudging Spinel away as well, trying to give the family some space.

“Have you seen Amethyst?” Greg continues frantically.

“What? I told you to watch her!” Steven answers.

“She must have wandered off as I was wrestling my laundry out of Pearl’s hands...” Greg replies, sounding defeated. He turns back to the van as he notices Pearl has begun to wash a tire. “You don’t need to do that Pearl, I own a car wash!”

Steven rolls his eyes and turns back towards the group.

“I need to go find Amethyst...can you guys watch Garnet?” He asks you and Bismuth.

“Yeah, sure,” Bismuth answers easily, “but it looks like she’s doing a pretty good job of watching herself.”

You to glance at the newly formed Gem, who is indeed examining her new body with wonder, poking and prodding at her unfamiliar limbs. You suppose it must be strange to be a fusion for the first time...you wouldn’t know. Even though Steven and Connie had explained some of what it felt like to be human and fused, you couldn’t fathom it. And you’d never really had the opportunity to try with anyone. Not even Pearl, whom you were closest with. You felt it was a bit...intimate. Oh, you’d had a crush on Pearl once, sure, back when you first started staying in Beach City during the summers by yourself. And once she had suggesting training with her the crush had intensified, but ultimately you’d gleaned from many talks that she was learning to be happy without a partner in that regard, and you wanted to respect that. So you’d gotten over it, and you were perfectly happy now just being close friends. But still, fusion was something you’d like to experience one day, if possible...

Steven nods and thanks Bismuth and the others, rushing back towards Beach City. Out of nowhere, Spinel stretches towards his retreating figure and grabs on, propelling herself towards him and stopping Steven in his tracks. “Don’t forget your best friend Spinel!” She says with a wink.

“Oh, right. Spinel, you stay here with the others, and I’ll be...right back!” He says gently, letting go of her hand.

Her eyes widen as she looks down at her empty palm, a look of horror flashing across her face.

“NO!” She screams out. You jump at the sound; you didn’t think she could even get that angry.

“Spinel!” You call out quickly, moving forward to stand next to her. “Hey, how about you stay here with me? Steven might need to move quickly, and he knows the area and knows Amethyst better than any of us do. We could hang out and chat while we wait!”

You smile at her with what you hope to be a comforting gaze. The quicker Steven can find Amethyst the better, and you know Spinel might make things more difficult. Besides, you’d rather keep her where everyone can help out if something goes wrong. And if that little outs burst is anything to go by, she might still be dangerous and angry in this form...

You glance over Spinel’s head at Steven for confirmation that this is ok, and he nods in response. After a moment, Spinel turns around to face you.

“Yay, let’s do that!” She replies gleefully, wrapping her arm through yours instead. Steven relaxes, and rushes off without another word.

“He must really be worried about Amethyst,” you mutter to yourself. You lead Spinel back to the others, who have circled up to discuss the situation once more.

“Hey guys, I know I’m just a human, but let me know if I can help out in any way, okay?” You say, “I really want to be of use.”

Bismuth grins at you, looking grateful for the offer of help. “Well, right now we’re just trying to figure out some equipment we might need to go check out the injector. We figure if Steven’s on the memory thing, we can at least try to figure out a way to slow the injector down. While we gather that stuff, maybe you can watch over Garnet? You can help Y/n too, Spinel,” she adds as an afterthought.

You nod, determined to do your part. “Yeah, that sounds fine! I don’t have anywhere to be,” you joked, reassuring the Gems that you weren’t going anywhere.

“Spinel, want to sit for a bit?” You ask, walking over to a concrete block pile nearby. You need to take a bit of a rest, and from here you can still see everything going on.

“Sure!” Spinel cheers, plopping down next to you and humming cheerfully while gazing out at the town. You smile to yourself at her bright personality, and pull out your phone, glancing up every now and then to check on Garnet.

After a moment, you feel Spinel watching you and your device, peering over your shoulder in curiosity.

“Whazzat?” She asks, pointing to the phone.

“Heh, not too sure how to describe this one...” You answer, “But uh, it’s basically something that lets me keep in touch with people even if they’re far away. Oh! And it’s a camera!”

You open the camera app and hold it out in front of you, capturing a small portion of Little Homeworld. You hold it out for Spinel to see, and her eyes go wide with wonder.

“Woah...that’s cool!” She exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.

You’re sure that Homeworld has camera-like devices, so it’s odd that she’s so enamored by your little phone. “Ah, the reset,” you think, rolling your eyes at yourself. You realize that she wouldn’t remember ever being on Homeworld. “I can’t believe I keep forgetting.”

“Hey, Spinel, let me show you something else,” you say, taking the phone back from the Gem. You switch the camera to front facing and hold it out in front of you two. “Look, it’s us!”

Spinel gazes up at the reflected portrait, making funny faces every now and then. You decide to capture a few pictures together, just for fun. After a little longer, you put the phone away again, and gaze out over Little Homeworld, and Beach City.

“I love it here,” you tell Spinel quietly, just voicing your random thoughts out loud. “I love the beach, the sound of the waves, the smell of the air. The peacefulness in the mornings at my job, people just waking up and getting their coffee. But more than that I love how unique this place is, with all the Gems. As far as I know, there are no Gems anywhere else on Earth now that the corrupted Gems are...better. I love the fact that I can glance outside my window and see two entirely different species of people cohabiting the same town. I love that people are just...accepted here, no matter who they are or what they’re like.”

You glance over at Spinel, who’s staring out at the town as well, an unreadable expression on her face. You continue, “After all this is over...I’m sure there will be a place for you too, Spinel. We can get your memories back, and... work through whatever happened to make you angry.”

Spinel’s brows crease, and she turns her head away from you.

“I still don’t remember anythin’,” she mumbles, “but I’m happy I’m here now.”

You smile softly, and nudge her with your shoulder.

“Hey. Me too.”

You sit in silence again, checking in on Garnet every so often, who is alternating between looking at herself and looking around at Little Homeworld.

Eventually, Bismuth, Peridot and Lapis head back over with lots of equipment in tow.

“Okay! We’re ready to analyze the injector thingy!” Peridot says confidently. You nod and stand up, stretching a moment to get back into Save-The-Earth mode.

“All righty, let’s go!” You exclaim, and begin to follow the group, with Spinel by your side.

x * x * x * x * x

You make your way through the town, opting to walk instead of warp because of all the equipment, and not wanting to try to keep track of Garnet in the warp stream. A feeling of unease washes over you as you get closer to the giant injector perched on the hill. Being so close to it, it’s hard to forget that Spinel brought this to Earth in the first place. You’re constantly torn between enjoying the pink Gem’s company and being wary of her due to what she’s done.

You’re so lost in thought while the New CG’s set up their tech, that you don’t notice when the sky begins to darken- until Peridot gasps out, “Everyone needs to come look at this!”

You rush over, expecting to see something on the monitor (is that a microwave?), but instead she’s pointing to the ground around the injector, which has turned a sickly black-blue color.

“The grass...it looks like it’s dying,” you mumble, slightly shocked at the sight before you.

“Y/n, Bismuth, Peridot!”

You turn at the sound of your name, and see Steven and Amethyst rushing up the hill. Your eyes brighten at the sight of the purple Gem- she looks like she’s back to how she was before the rejuvenator strike!

Before you can say anything, Peridot sighs and turns away from them. “Amethyst, get away from me...I can’t stand to see you all vacant and bereft of personality!”

“Yo, I’m back you dip,” Amethyst says flatly, which earns a chuckle from you. She really is back to normal!

“Oh! Well- you're just in time for the end of the world!” Peridot says, trying to put on a cheerful façade. “This is no ordinary injector. Whatever it’s leaking into the ground is toxic.”

Bismuth walks up to Peridot’s set up and holds out a bit of Earth to the green Gem.

“Let’s get a scan going and see what we’re dealing with,” Peridot continues, bubbling the affected dirt and placing it in her makeshift scanner. You watch in silence, wanting to leave the science to the smarter Gems. You wouldn’t even know where to begin with this tech, even if it is made out of a microwave.

The scanner ejects a piece of paper with readings and statistics on it., and Peridot looks over it and frowns.

“Just as I thought,” Peridot mumbles, gazing up at the injector. “Bio-Poison. Pure and uncut. As of this moment, the ampule has drained fifteen-point-four percent of it’s contents, meaning the poison is releasing at a destruction rate of 5 cubic meters per hour, giving us...hmm...forty one hours until the destruction of all organic life on Earth.”

Your eyes widen as you and the group step closer to Peridot’s set up, all staring up at the injector with horror.

“All organic life...?” Steven says in shock.

“Yeah, like the animals, the plants, the insects...y’know, people,” Peridot finishes nonchalantly.

“I’m people!” You blurt out, wrapping your arms around your middle, trying to hold it together. You can’t hide the fear that Peridot’s words have instilled in you. No matter what happened with the Crystal Gem’s memories...it wouldn’t matter if the entire Earth was dead in two days.

“This is what Spinel meant! ‘Your human half won’t stand a chance against my injector,’” Steven says, realization in his voice, “She- she brought this thing here to kill me! And now it’s gonna kill everything else on Earth too?! I’ve gotta do something!”

With that, he rushes towards the giant injector, prompting everyone to call out to him in protest. But he continues forward, stopping at the drill head. You watch in equal parts amazement and shock as he wraps his arms around the base and attempts to lift the entire thing out of the ground. For a moment, it actually looks like it’s working- the injector begins to lift, and you dare to hope that he might actually end the entire problem right here.

“Steven, be careful!” Bismuth calls out from beside you.

“Yeah! Lift with your legs!” Spinel says, oblivious to the danger.

But it seems like Steven’s powers fail him once more, and you watch as he drops the massive machine back deeper into the Earth. Lighthouse Park shakes with the impact, and pink glowing cracks begin to form on the ground around Steven. Some of the pink liquid splashes out from one of them and hits Steven on the arm, burning through his jacket and wounding him.

“Steven! Get out of there!” You call out, frustrated that you can’t do anything but sit back and watch as caverns of bio-poison open up around him.

Next to you, Spinel seems perfectly relaxed about the situation. You look to her frantically, about to suggest she stretch out and grab him, when she does exactly that. She shapes her stretchy arms into a fishing rod, and places Steven on the ground.

“Well look what I reeled in!” She jokes. You let out a sigh of relief. She may be charming most of the time, but she was entirely too relaxed during a dangerous situation. It must be part of her nature to joke about everything...

“Steven!” Peridot calls, rushing forward with the rest of the group.

“Are you ok?” Amethyst asks in a concerned tone.

“My organic jacket,” Steven says, sounding crestfallen. “I can’t do anything with my powers like this! Bismuth, Lapis- can't you lift that thing? Peridot, what about your metal powers?”

“You think we didn’t consider that?” Lapis says incredulously.

“Disturbing the injector accelerates the poison’s rate of release,” Peridot explains, holding out her screen. “Also, it might explode. We have to find a way to move it- without touching it.”

You glance towards the injector, and your eyes drift to Spinel, who has walked up closer to her machine.

“Steven, Spinel is the only one that we know for sure can control it safely,” you remark, gesturing to the pink Gem who has adopted the vacant expression again as she waves back at you.

“But...she doesn’t even remember what it is, let alone how to control it,” Steven replies.

“Then you gotta change her back,” concludes Bismuth. You nod in agreement, looking at Steven. It’s really the only way you can think of that won’t endanger anyone further.

“No way! She’s cute and harmless now, but if we bring her back she’ll kill us all!”

Peridot gives him a look. “You’re going to die anyway if you don’t get her to deactivate that thing!”

Steven looks to you, silently seeking the advice of the other human.

“Steven, as a fully organic being, I think we need to do it. It’s only going to get worse from here and we don’t have much time, especially since we need to get her memories back...How did you end up doing that for Amethyst?” You ask, glancing at the restored purple Gem.

“I- I just reminded her of things from our past, personal things, and of the bond we share...but that’s different, I don’t even know Spinel to be able to do that for her! None of us had ever even heard of her except...”

A look of realization dawns on him. “Pearl! Pearl knew her!”

x * x * x * x * x

“I’m afraid I can’t help. I’m currently in the service of my Um-Greg Universe, preparing for tonight’s concert!” Pearl explains cheerfully to the group, “It’s showcasing a promising ensemble in the rock-n-roll genre.”

You and Amethyst look at each other and instantly burst into muffled laughter at Pearl’s exaggerated pronunciation- you two were definitely going to tease her for this when she eventually regains her memories. Peridot probably would as well, when she hears about it. The New CG’s had stayed behind to monitor the injector, so it was just you, Steven, Spinel and Amethyst who had gone down to meet Greg and Pearl.

You hear Greg’s voice from inside the unit, seemingly talking on the phone with Mayor Nanafua.

“You’re evacuating people to the warehouse? I’ll- I’ll cancel the rock show!” He says, walking out towards everyone and avoiding Pearl’s gaze.

“Oh- no? You’re right, Sadie Killer always draws a crowd...You got it, Mayor! I’ll drop the cover charge and...heck, thirty percent off merch!” He finishes triumphantly, and ends the call.

“Dad!” Steven calls out, grabbing his father’s attention.

“Ah, Steven, Y/n! Everybody! You found Amethyst!” Greg exclaims, relief plain on his face.

“And you found Garnet,” you remark, gazing past Greg into the storage unit, where she and Spinel are fiddling with some wires. Garnet had apparently wandered off sometime while the group was at the injector, but everyone had been too busy to notice until the situation had calmed down. You were just glad Greg and Pearl had found her wandering.

A crash sounds in the unit, and Greg turns around in alarm.

“Garnet, are you okay?”

“Did you want the red cable...or the blue one?” Garnet asks calmly.

“It doesn’t matter, they’re the same!” Greg replies. He turns back to see Pearl storing a guitar in her gem. “Pearl, what are you doing? We need those for the show!”

He seems to be getting more and more stressed by the minute, and you are as well. Just watching him is making you jittery.

“Greg,” you say calmly, “It’ll be ok. The show will be great, and let me know if I can help!”

“Ugh, who cares about the rock show!” Steven interjects suddenly, “We have to stop Spinel’s injector or everyone on earth is going to die!”

He turns and walks away in frustration, and you and Greg follow. You don’t want him to get too frustrated again, he doesn’t deserve to feel like this...

“To stop it, we need Spinel back, and to do that, we need Pearl back, and to do that we need her missing pieces,” Steven continues, “Pearl and Mom rebelled together so she’s gotta rebel with you, Dad. We gotta stage some big dramatic event, something to jog her memory, like...like a-”

“Like rock show, dude!” Amethyst cuts in. Steven turns to her in surprise, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

You put your arms around Steven and Amethyst, sandwiching yourself in between them.

“Well...let’s go to a rock show!”

#spinel #spinel x reader #spinel x reader fic #steven universe #spinel steven universe #spinel fanfiction

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gascon-en-exil · 4 years

Text

Mercilessly Judging the Men of Fòdlan: The Kingdom

It’s been a long time coming, over eight months in fact, but now that it may be assumed that the last of the DLC has been released and the fandom as a whole has settled comfortably into its various camps I think there’s no better time than now to answer that burning question: how raunchily, outrageously gay can the male cast of Three Houses possibly be? For those unfamiliar with this fun little series of mine, I’ve been applying my extensive knowledge and experience of gay male sex and hookup culture to the men of Fire Emblem, originally as a way of reckoning with the refusal of the games themselves to provide me with any worthwhile self-insert M/M content. I stand by that premise for FE16 - you all know how absolutely nothing appeals to me about m!Byleth or his prospects on that score - but in the years since my first outing of merciless judgment with Awakening that idea has expanded into something broader, an imaginative modern AU of sorts where all these guys are into men (if not always exclusively) and willing to put themselves out there in the lewd and semi-anonymous world of hookup apps in search of their preferred carnal delights.

A note on organization before we begin, as this material is too long to cram into one post. Excluding Byleth (as Avatars and their spawn always are for this project) there are twenty-one playable male characters in Three Houses. This makes for an even threeway division to preserve the eponymous conceit of the game, but not a particularly neat one. Aligned with the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus I therefore have below the male Lions, Kingdom knight and Azure Moon-exclusive Gilbert, and Faerghus-based underworld kingpin Yuri. As with all things concerning M/M outside of Byleth and his awkward S rank monologues, the Lions have it the most clear-cut.

The Empire

The Alliance

Dimitri

It’s rare that you can get a feeling for someone’s whole life story entirely from watching their presence in hookup spaces over time, but he’s an exception. Once a sweet, wide-eyed collegiate who looked eager to get dicked down by any reasonably polite and attractive top/vers, hard years have turned him grim and sad and just barely put together enough to be presentable for a clothed face pic, much less anything more revealing...and still eager to get dicked down. He’s been dealing with a lot lately, and even though he’s still game for a quickie from time to time (especially with muscle guys, a shallow weakness of his he’d blush to admit to out loud) a single roll in the sheets isn’t going to make him emotionally available. Apparently he’s already well-covered on that front as it is; with his charisma and open-minded way of looking at the world he’s made many friends and fuck buddies and companions who seem half like boyfriends and half like something indescribably beyond that, and a new trick would be hard-pressed to compete with that and likely wouldn’t want to if it means engaging with his demons. Still an enviable hookup partner though, with a full pert ass and a whole assortment of friends who love to play with him and anyone else who lands an invitation to his bed. His cock has left many a bottom drooling, but unfortunately he’s haunted by the memory of the time when he went too hard and nearly caused a medical emergency. Now he just takes it and doesn’t even let anyone ride him, but there are just as many men who aren’t complaining about that in the slightest. Has a very high chance of winding up in a tender and fulfilling poly marriage that’s still open on all sides - he’s got a lot of hot, sweaty love to give.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: body worship, muscle bears, group sex

Favored gift: a body pillow, on the infrequent occasions where he has to sleep alone with no one to cuddle

Dedue

One of those shy larger men who will never initiate conversation, because he’s been blown off one too many times for shallow reasons and isn’t expecting that to ever change. It doesn’t bother him greatly though, because as his profile states he’s in a relationship and he and his partner only play together so unless you’re only looking for friends - not impossible, as he’s got quite the array of engaging hobbies on display in his pics - you’ll have to accept that this bear has a cub...or something like that anyway. Bad at small talk and even a little embarrassed to talk about his expertise in the kitchen or the garden, it’s a completely different story when the lights are off where he’ll give cocky power bottoms and scoffing total tops exactly what they deserve. Sub bottoms on the other hand bring out his softer, cuddly side, and he’s more likely to be using his considerable weight to lovingly press them into the mattress as he opens them up with his tongue and eventually his dick. Is utterly devoted to his partner but enjoys watching him playing around with third parties, even if he’s almost never allowed to sit on the sidelines for the entire night. To the shock of everyone he’s actually a total vers, even if he leaves most tops stammering excuses and bending over for him anyway. He’s usually polite enough to stick to oral in those cases. He’ll never be the most sociable man, but he’s a real catch regardless in every other aspect and is no doubt looking forward to his inevitable wedding and only sometimes X-rated married life. Still fondly recalls the first time someone introduced him to the idea of sex while cooking, and now he takes it as a challenge (only when he’s cooking just for himself and his sexual partners, of course; he doesn’t want to be unsanitary).

Favored erotic tea time subjects: twunks, voyeurism, cum swapping

Favored gift: a chef’s apron short enough to let his junk hang free

Felix

Has a biting retort for every unsolicited nude and “looking?” ever sent to him, and he gets a lot of both when his pic is just enticing enough and his profile is full of enough acerbic wit to provoke the kinds of guys who actually read those things. Claims he’s vers, gets pissed whenever anyone tells him that’s just code for bottom, gets even more pissed after hookups when his partner points out that that’s totally true in his case. Prefers oral to conversation, both giving and getting, and he’s got a remarkable talent for handjobs that surprisingly doesn’t seem to be born from excessive masturbation. Not so great with fetishes - he punched the first guy to pull his hair while he was giving head, and passes made at him during his workouts leave him more annoyed at the interruption than aroused. Disarmed by anything too soft and cutesy so he’s not great with fems, but it’s unclear if this has anything to do with his lingering daddy issues that he’s not working out in the bedroom because they’re (probably) not like that. Not sentimental at all, but he’s probably got that one longtime slow burn affair he doesn’t bring up with his tricks. If anything ever comes of that he’ll vanish immediately from the app space, but until then he’s up for a 69 followed by a good long pounding - much longer than you’d expect from someone of his frame. Good thing too, because he loves making his partners cut loose and give it to him raw and hard.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: “straight” guys, dildos, pig sluts

Favored gift: high-quality lube. and lots of it

Ashe

Everyone’s BFF, sweet and affable and able to bounce from friend group to friend group even without always having to take his clothes off. Usually finds himself as the token twink surrounded by men who are very much not that, because they value his friendship and reliability (and also his ass, as expected). Did not have the best home life and has probably had to do a few shady things to get by, but with all that mostly behind him anyone would be happy to date him or even just to take a walk with him, as he’s quite outdoorsy when he’s not taking care of relatives or less responsible friends. A bottom by expectation because there’s not much else one can infer when he shows up to bars and house parties alike in the company of guys twice his size who aren’t shy about being casually handsy with him. Still, has learned to be quite deft when the need arises and knows how to stimulate on multiple fronts, whether for one partner or several. His weakness for muscles is genuine too, and he loves a firm chest as much as taking some guy’s thick meat. Paradoxically doesn’t have a lot of patience for dumb jocks, but since he knows just about everyone worth knowing (and sleeping with) in his area and works the freckled fresh-faced young cutie angle with an artlessness that surprises some of his less gifted peers he’s bound to wind up in a comfortable relationship of some kind or another. Prefers to have sex with the lights on, and if given the option will cuddle for a long time afterward to avoid turning them off. His ass has freckles too, but he rolls his eyes when he gets asked that.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: gym sex, spit roasting, breaking in new bottoms

Favored gift: a sensible jockstrap, for workouts and for dates

Sylvain

Everyone you know has slept with him, but almost never more than once. You might have even met him in person long before you encounter his minimalist profile with its headless abs pic hitting you up with a shot of his erection measured against a beer can followed by an address. Gets a lot of action on that pic alone, but repeats are few and far between when he pulls out his phone right after pulling out of his guy of the hour and starts browsing through what’s on offer again and slow jerking. Not a big fan of FWBs met through hookups since he always feels like they’re being too clingy even if they just happened to get horny for him again a few weeks later. Does not like to talk, especially about his family, and he almost never extends an invitation to spend the night. Still, as callous as he is that cock is impressive and he knows how to put it to work. Good with his mouth too, and true to his cultivated total top persona he’d sooner rim than blow. He’s also successful and likeable enough in his personal life to have buddies who’ll play around with him, and he might even have some kind of nebulous long term thing going with one or two of them that they strictly don’t discuss. Bottoms only as a challenge, but he’s not great at it and doesn’t have the stamina to last very long while riding. Is on PreP and uses condoms religiously so he’s got that going for him, but testing after sex with him is still recommended because there’s really no telling how many other holes he’s filled that week. Likes twinks and twunks, but loudly refuses to ever be a sugar daddy no matter how desperate he might get in his later years assuming he doesn’t die of untreated syphilis or something equally appropriate and ridiculous.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: marathon fucking, double penetration, open relationships

Favored gift: a fleshlight molded into the shape of his favorite fuck buddy’s hole, for sentimentality

Gilbert

His pics are neither very current nor very flattering, and he doesn’t excel at small talk although he’s evidently been around long enough to know how to get an open-minded hookup over to his place from time to time. Encounters are fast and fumbling and drawn out more by his waning libido than anything else, and half the time he’ll settle for watching a guy play with himself in front of him while he makes an effort to get into it. It would be inaccurate to say that he’s not a romantic man; rather, it’s as though all his passion has been left behind in a difficult former life that he only reveals some of in long wistful moments over multiple encounters. Doesn’t get many repeats however on account of the lackluster performances, and also because his stubbornness bordering on self-righteousness about certain topics becomes very grating very quickly. Based on the stories he tells and the few pictures he has to show he was quite a catch in his earlier days, but circumstances and being closeted until much later in life kept him from exploring as much as he wanted. Has the potential to end up in a loving if not particularly sexual relationship with someone provided they’re extremely patient as he works through and/or learns to set aside his numerous hangups. There are worse fates...but never, ever call him daddy. It brings up a lot of bad memories, plus he just thinks it’s weird. Kink is something he left behind decades ago when he resigned himself to the knowledge that he wasn’t going to be getting much vanilla action, much less anything more exotic.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: mutual masturbation, actual straight guys, spooning

Favored gift: the balls to get some closure

Yuri

A consummate professional, albeit one whose marketing strategy carefully conceals that fact and also leaves no room for the kind of casual bigotry that flourishes on hookup apps - having a problem with “no fems” is expected from the build and the guyliner, but he’s all for equal opportunity sex even on top of that. Accustomed to the usual array of lonely and horny men who hit him up for pics and dirty chat and the occasional good time, and skilled enough in a variety of roles to perform whatever’s being asked of him. It’s not entirely clear where his own tastes lie; even the muscled closet cases who show up in his messages on the DL don’t seem to do all that much for him if they’re not paying. A former career in the arts has left him with an entertainer’s flair for pleasuring his clients both in and out of the bedroom along with an eclectic skill set that always finds a way to get put to work during sex. He can grind his hips, swirl his tongue, arch his back, and moan in the just the right ways to drive his partners wild, and all that experience also lends itself to his ability to patiently tutor even the clumsiest of lovers into something resembling competence, enough for them to get off if not himself. Bottoms more often than he tops, but he’s vers enough in skill and in preference to pivot when necessary and will probably have little trouble keeping this gig of his going later in life as well. He may not ever end in a proper relationship, but he’ll still do well for himself in an unorthodox way in keeping with the curiously world-weary optimism he sometimes espouses during pillow talk with guys who actually interest him enough for conversation.

Favored erotic tea time subjects: flip fucking, big top/small bottom, religious kink

Favored gift: creative restraints, for when he’s feeling acrobatic

#Fire Emblem #FE16 #Fire Emblem Three Houses

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kikizoshi · 4 years

Text

Gogol Dialogue w/ Turgenev then Dostoyevsky

Gogol stared suicidally down at a blank page.

He didn't bother brushing off the itchy black flakes accumulated in his hair from the quill nib's scratching, nor did he concern himself with the fact that he was, as was he every evening, due in the dining room in about… negative five minutes, so indicated the glowing clock. His only care, rather, was the fact that, in the four hours he sat staring at the page, not a single image in his mind seemed to want to grace its empty canvas.

Unlike many who tried this craft, he wasn’t want for stories. He imagined a Tsar enjoying a heroine, embracing her and singing her praises as she slid a knife from her thigh into his back. He remembered two young men talking in a plain drawing-room, sparsely furnished--especially compared to the men, one of whom’s shiny black suit hugged his frame in place of the woman long-since gone; the other who quite resembled a gentlemanly peacockish clown, with frilly lace and a quilt of vibrant patterns--yet the atmosphere remained homey and comfortable nonetheless. He saw through his mind’s eye these stories as clearly as the neon numbers before him, but he couldn’t find /written/ words to express them.

If Gogol wanted to orate the story to someone, to make a grand spectacle of it, the words would flow endlessly. He could go on for hours about the most inane of matters, and men would hang on his every word. However, those magical, honeyed phrases he just never seemed to be capable of forcing through his quill.

And so tonight, exactly as every night for the past three months, a restrained knock came upon his door, and Gogol sighed.

“Come in,” he said as he resignedly set the quill down. “I was practically finished anyway.”

“Ah, good,” the man's voice came muffled from behind the door, which he opened thereafter. The relatively average-sized man--an Ability user by the name of Turgenev--held quite the appearance of the black-suited man previously described, though I’m afraid Gogol neglected to mention the quite striking scarlet hair. “Dinner’s ready," he continued, "I know you probably don’t feel like eating, but you should at least come out of your…” he looked around, blatantly fraternally concerned about the, frankly speaking, hovel of a room his friend managed to subsist in, “nest.”

Gogol chuckled and stood, cracking his back at an alarming volume. He waved for his friend to leave, and went about the room, picking up the black-and-white vest he discarded as too confining hours ago and grabbing his cape from the hat rack. While he went on reassembling his outfit, Turgenev spoke once more.

“You didn't get up once?”

“Mm, yes, so it seems,” Gogol said, agitated, after a moment. “I’ve taken your advice to ‘try and write something’, but nothing comes to mind! It’s not even art block… I just have nothing I want to tell the page.”

Turgenev sighed. “You don’t /have/ to write, it was just a suggestion. Now, frankly, I wish I’d said trapeze instead and avoided this whole ennui.” He held the door as Gogol moved to exit. Gogol shuffled out.

“Seriously,” he continued as they entered the hall, “at first I thought some rest would do you good, but now it’s clear that being cooped up for days at a time is draining the little sanity you have left. What am I supposed to do when you get jobs that have you killing again? Watch your slow descent into madness from the sidelines like some half-rate circus hand watching the clown set the tent ablaze?”

Gogol forced a laugh, “Well, why not? All of your work--which has always been excellent, at least as long as I’ve known you--has been shrouded. Where’s the harm in a change of scenery?”

“I said seriously.” Turgenev sighed. “Be serious.”

“Hmm, well, seriously,” Gogol considered, turning into the dining room and taking his seat across from his friend, “Seriously, then, isn’t madness the point? After all, my namesake wouldn’t /be/ my namesake without his madness! And what am I, if not, his namesake-ee?”

“Ha,” Turgenev said, “Hilarious, I’m dying. Have you considered stand-up?”

“Eh? No, I’m writing stories right now.”

“Comedians can tell stories. I know, become a trapeze comedian.”

Gogol huffed merrily, “Well, why don’t you?”

“/I/ don’t-”

“Excuse me,” the butler of the house, Gregor, interrupted, “I wasn’t instructed to account for the palate of Gogol, so I need to have your order now.”

“Hm, well Gogol,” Gogol said with a conspiratorial wink, “probably wants--though I don’t know, you’ll have to ask him directly for confirmation, God knows where he may be--whatever’s leftover. I’ve heard he’s not picky! Although that could be just a rumour…”

“Very well,” Gregor said, unperturbed, and turned to Turgenev, “and for you? I’m afraid I wasn’t informed of your coming either, Sir.”

“Ah, no,” Turgenev said, “that’s because I won’t be eating here. There’s an assignment I’ve gotta do not long from now, but I wanted to see Kolya here first.”

“How gentlemanly,” Gogol gasped, starry gold eyes twinkling, “I’m almost jealous of your lover, Vanya! If this is the treatment she gets...”

Turgenev simply smiled. “And I,” he said, “am not in the least jealous of yours.” Gregor took the moment to slip away.

“How proper…” Gogol gazed at Turgenev, lost in bittersweet memories, “You never used to be so cordial, to imply I’d manage something as sophisticated as that.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Turgenev scoffed. He flatly punched the side of Gogol’s arm in jest, “I’m still every bit of the strapping young chap you knew. Just… in a different skin.”

“Hmm…” Gogol donned a severely suspicious face, “But old Vanya wouldn’t have implied such! No, you must be Ivan Sergeyevich now… If not, then tell me: where’s the grin in your eyes?! The coil in your limbs?! The fire in your heart?!” All of a sudden, Gogol’s face fell into a deep melancholy, and he lay a single finger over the centre of Turgenev’s breast, “It’s bitter cold in here now, I can barely feel myself.”

Turgenev frowned. “It’s cold,” he said, “because fire without fuel always burns out eventually. There’s no if, and’s or but’s. Oh, but one but,” Turgenev rekindled some warmth into a smile, “you should still be able to feel yourself; the fire hasn’t gone completely. It’s just muted right now.”

“A muted fire…” Gogol thought aloud, retracting his hand, “How very… poetic.” He laughed, “Like your hair.”

“My hair?” Turgenev tugged at his short red ponytail in confusion. “How is my hair poetic?”

“Exactly in the way that it exists!” Gogol exclaimed, “In this dull, drab, dreary, /monochrome/ colour scheme our boss seems so fond of, not one colour stands out when you’re away! Not Sigma’s grey-and-darker-grey hair, not our boss’ white-and-black suits, and /especially/ not either of my own! The only slight argument you could possibly make is for the Recluse’s eyes, and their purple is so muted they might as well skip the middle man already and turn black. No, only yours,” Gogol concluded, “is a colour that inspires.”

“Well, I disagree,” Turgenev said, smiling, “For you at least. You’re not wrong about the Recluse, definitely, but you have some colour in your eyes. Yes--they’re pale. But they’re very expressive, even when they’re trying not to be. They have a liquid shine, so maybe they’re the gasoline that keeps the red flame burning.”

Gogol clutched his chest dramatically, “My, how sincere! If I were a woman, no kings or horses could ever restore me after how far I must’ve fallen!”

Turgenev’s face lit up, and he laughed, “So, in other words, the women in my life are eggs? Give me a hundred years and I’ll never crack what on /earth/ that’s supposed to represent!” He cackled and nearly fell over. Gogol grinned along.

It wasn’t just Turgenev’s face that lit up when he laughed, Gogol thought, but his entire being. His shoulders relaxed from their usual stiffness, the rigidity melted away and the true man--the ‘Vanya’, as Gogol loved to refer to it--shone through with a blinding passion.

Every time Gogol saw it, it was as though the gamma was suddenly switched from near-debilitating dark to enlightening technicolour. Alas, the times nowadays that such an occurrence happened were few and far between. And unfortunately, Turgenev took the time in Gogol’s silence to check his watch.

“It seems my stay is up,” he rose, “or was up way too long ago. But eat when Gregor comes. He went through the trouble of getting it ready, so don’t be an ass.”

Gogol nodded and waved as Turgenev hurried off, smile taking time to fade from his face. He sighed. Along with Turgenev’s departures, Gogol’s happy interludes vanished just as soon as they appeared.

‘It’s just as well,’ he thought, ‘happiness isn’t something that’s meant for me, and Vanya’s too nice to be corrupted by me for long. Plus, I shouldn’t get carried away. He’s wrong about my eyes… If anything, mine are like Fyodor’s--no, worse, because mine aren’t weathered by compassion. Maybe an empathy, but I have no compassion to keep some sort of innocence in my eyes like he. If Fyodor’s eyes are the dead twigs left in the ashes of the fireplace, mine are the cracked stone, with no hope of ignition. But we’re both dead.’ Gogol sighed at his conclusion. ‘Lone Vanya, then, has the only touch of colour, the only spark of happiness in this God-forsaken world of ours. I suppose I should thank Him that happiness isn’t my goal.’

“...Are you going to eat?” A voice, soft but not hesitant, crept past his thoughts.

Gogol forced the mask of his smile into place and turned to look at Fyodor. “Yes! Yes, I’m just waiting…” As he spoke, he noticed the distinct smell of seasoned tomato. Quite strong was it, in fact, so strong that it surprised him, and he looked down to see an innocent bowl of tomato soup staring politely up at him.

“Gregor brought it while you were disassociating,” Fyodor supplied.

“Hm…” Gogol contemplated for a moment, mask still firmly in place, and continued, “Hm, well, I suppose…” But he, so lost in a state of confusion, couldn’t figure out how to continue. The boy seemed to take pity on him, and sat gently next to him with a bowl of his own.

“Turgenev sent me to you,” he went on, “to ensure that you would eat. So you will eat?...”

“Yes,” Gogol said, a spark of amusement in his eye as he replied. “I will eat.” He noticed, looking at Fyodor’s eyes, that his former thoughts were eerily close to the mark, though perhaps Fyodor was more like he than initially suspected. The simmering mania and deep morbidity felt sickly familiar.

“Good,” Fyodor replied. He left it at that and stirred his soup quietly. He must have known, Gogol realised in that instance, what Gogol and Turgenev thought of him--that they called him the Recluse. He was smart, even if young, and so Gogol couldn’t help wondering why Fyodor would waste time on them. On a whim, he inquired thus.

“Why?” Fyodor paused, then smiled benevolently, “‘As you do to the least of these, so you do unto me.‘” Gogol raised an eyebrow.

“You fancy yourself our saviour, then?” Fyodor merely sipped his soup carefully in lieu of a reply. Despite the care, he winced as the tomato seared his lips, and set his bowl down. After a moment, he appeared to deem it worthy of a second attempt, and brought the bowl’s lip to his own gingerly. He blew softly this time on a tilted portion before sipping slowly, and, as evinced in Fyodor’s lack of reaction, he managed to consume the cooled viscous liquid harmlessly. For reasons unknown, the boy’s actions struck Gogol as odd.

“Well, if that’s the case, then surely you’ve a plan for our salvation,” He prompted as Fyodor set his bowl down once more, “Care to share?”

“A plan…” Fyodor considered for a time, “For you two, no, not yet. Is it necessary?”

“‘Is it necessary?’” repeated Gogol, as though he couldn’t believe the words were uttered, “Of course it is! How can you save someone without the slightest clue of how you’re to go about it? Your enemy--no matter how metaphysical--isn’t going to just sit there and wait patiently for you to come up with plans. If you start a performance haphazardly, if the bar gets tossed just a second too late without the safety net of a plan, the trapezist comes crashing down and all the show is ruined.”

“Much to my fortune, the trapezist is more than capable of catching himself and his fellow performer.”

“No, not like that,” Gogol said. “That’s my point. If I’m a trapezist, then I can’t perform with a cape--it’d ruin everything preemptively! And so I couldn’t catch anyone. It’s up to the choreographer to ensure that the performers have a set route more ingrained than their own morals. If a saviour can’t ensure the safety of his save-ees, then he’s no better than an incompetent stage director.”

Fyodor frowned and drank more of his soup. After all that remained in the bowl was a splotchy red residue, and he had nothing else to occupy his thin mouth with, he sighed and rested his chin on his palm. The angle couldn’t have been comfortable, Gogol mused. Fyodor’s wrist bent at a right angle and his sharp chin dug into the delicate skin of his hand, where Gogol could already see the blood gathering under the surface. Gogol’s own hand ached in sympathy.

“Safety of what?” Fyodor asked after another moment. “If the matter is of the physical, then you’re correct. However, if it’s the soul, then so long as a person devoutly follow their God, their spirit shall be forever saved.”

“And eviscerated over time,” Gogol continued for him, “as what’s first assumed as a benign happenstance crushes self-expression and crumbles autonomy. Metaphor or not, we’re talking about performers, and performers can’t perform if they can’t hold a simple form.”

“...Eat your soup, please.” Gogol sighed, but acquiesced.

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gasp-iwrotesomething · 4 years

Note

Uhhh I read all your Cal writings and I am in love!! May I request something for Cal? Maybe with S3 and S40??

Aw, thanks so much, anon; I’m super glad that you really like them! I’d love to do your request as well (even if writing ‘Daddy’ makes me wither from shyness), so thank you for requesting and I hope you can add this to your list of Cal fics that you love!

And, p.s., this is a bit long so beware lol

S3: “I mean, I’ve never been called ‘Daddy’ before, but I can’t say I don’t like it when you call me that…”

S40: “You’re gonna make me–ah, fuck!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

MC could hardly breathe in the air surrounding her, the crisp and refreshing nature overlapped by the abrupt burst of smoke and fire in the atmosphere. A gun smokes with the succession of one bullet, then two, then three, until the resonating bang is all MC’s ears ring to. She claps her hands over her eardrums as Cal fires a few more. She stays like that, a startled figure on the sidelines, until the lack of blasting gunfire finally reaches her. Cal was finished, the hand wielding the gun now at his side, the barrel pointed harmlessly at the floor. That made some--though not all--of MC’s trepidation recede. His gaze is rampant on her and that familiar sense of “he’s watching to see my reaction to his grand achievement” falls over her. Once his palpable smirk dawns, MC’s eyes swing away to the target a long distance away, bullet holes and tears made by an influx of bullet holes scarring the dummy ahead. Cal’s malevolent blue eyes glitter with satisfaction as he turns to MC and places the gun in her hands. Despite the cold weight of the pistol and the sickening feel of it in her palm, Cal’s touch is a soft remedy that consoles her and she struggles to stay focused when he squeezes her fingers. “Now you try,” he keens, tender and warm, too affectionate to be intentional, “aim for the next one over and see if you can do better than me.”

She was still new to the idea of using an actual gun on actual living things. Lessons had been rickety following the consistent demon attacks and the looming presence of Alejandro over their shoulders, but Cal had kept persisting. He kept coaxing MC into the shooting range for more practice despite her evident hesitation. “Just think of this as some sort of cheesy life lesson, okay? Like... be prepared for whatever happens, or, get ready to use a gun if a demon approaches you. Y’know, those sorts of lessons.” Cal had said when MC first voiced her misgivings. A weird coil of warmth twirls around in the base of ribs and she prays that it wasn’t the feeling that comes after a pleasant memory was reminisced. She took a breath and raised the weapon, ignoring the lingering warmth in her chest. Whatever it was, it wasn’t welcome. Cal’s gaze was a pressure on her shoulders that she tried to ignore as she hooked her finger around the trigger.

BANG!

A bullet flies through the air with a staggering clap and dives into the dummy’s left hip, just shy of passing into the wall behind it. Her eyes were squeezed shut so her temporary victory wasn’t something she knew until MC heard Cal applaud slowly. “Not too bad,” he says, signature smirk blatant on his lips, “for a rookie. Unfortunately, that shot wouldn’t kick a demon down so you’re about as good as dead.” The amusement and snark that he emits is poisoning as MC rolls her eyes, scowling at the ground. Did he have to be a smart-ass about it? She heaves a groan and aims the gun once again, grumbling under her breath, “yes sir.”

BANG!

The second shot sails past the dummy and just misses its shoulder. By just an inch or two. She sags in defeat. Why did she have to suck so bad in front of Cal? The scowl on her face deepens as she senses Cal’s smug smirk on her back, almost like he could pick apart her thoughts and understand them. “Don’t say a word,” MC snarls as she tries her best to avoid his eyes and scrutiny she was under. A moment passes, filled with deafening and suspenseful silence...

“...after this session, I’ll make sure to have your funeral costs covered. Just in case.”

She shoves her elbow in his ribs as he snickers. “And you’d be okay with me dying?!” MC gives him a scolding, almost condescending glower as he mindlessly massages his ribs--right where she elbowed him. “Last time I checked, you’re the one who insists on teaching me!” His expression dilates a few degrees and a quiet hint of worry and disdain flood his eyes. Hell, even a waft of offense breezes through, as if her just making that accusation was insulting. Like the notion that he didn’t care for her was something to make Cal defensive. MC had been thinking about those pure blue eyes for so long that she had a picture in her mind for whatever emotion filled them next. For this, MC imagined an ocean plagued with pollution...why was her heart suddenly beating so fast? “No, I wouldn’t be,” his soft voice and serious tone sway her a little and MC has to reinforce her stubbornness before she falters, “that’s why I’m teaching you, MC. To prevent that from happening.” The trick shooter holds her searching gaze for all of another second before tearing his eyes away. He fixates on the pretty-much-uninjured dummy and gestures with his chin, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re getting there,” he pats her shoulder and it feels like he was being condescending to her, “but I do believe in your ability to be better--no matter how scarce that ability might be.”

MC scoffs, “what are you, my daddy or something? Seriously, I don’t need your cute little words of encouragement to do better.” Her words rush out in a mindless quip and she moves on autopilot: lifting her arm, pointing the gun accordingly, checking to assure she’s gripping the damn thing right... What MC’s autopilot fails to detect is the furiously-blushing Cal to her side, his gaze to the side and his hand ruffling through his hair awkwardly. He was stunned at her word choice in more ways than one. Her “daddy”? His “cute little words of encouragement”? The silence is a time bomb ticking in his head, awkward and loud in duet with the blooding roaring in his ears. Did she not understand what she just said? MC finally, after a few more painstaking moments on Cal’s end, swivels her head to see what he’s gone so oddly quiet about and discovers the color in his face, on the tips of his ears... She blinks, completely baffled. “What’s up with you?” He doesn’t respond immediately, his mouth parting like there were words ready to be said but just couldn’t leave. It only furthered her confusion. “Spit it out already, Cal.” She demands, a stern frown following her words.

“...do you ever even hear half the things you say?” Cal asks, a genuine lilt to his tone, his eyes perpetually soft and rigid with bashfulness. He looked shy, which was a look she saw rarely embellishing his features. Cal seemed to always have a mask in place and a blush of steel, one that only danced out whenever something truly undeniable happen. She doesn’t respond right away, her frown creasing her cheeks and wrinkling her nose. What was he talking about? Her mind rewinds their entire conversation and then, in unison with her falling frown, her face burns with the words she said to him waltzing in circles in her mind. “I didn’t--it wasn’t-! I was-!” She feels her tongue tangle in her mouth as she tries to defend herself, the tint in her face deepening. “...you’re the worst.” MC relents. The shy barrier of his expression doesn’t wane or dilute seemingly at all. In fact, it seems to strengthen as he opens his mouth again.

“I mean, I’ve never been called ‘Daddy’ before, but I can’t say I don’t like it when you call me that...”

MC considers self-destructing as her face flames even more like she was already on a timer, just ticking down the seconds. She shoves his shoulder like her life depended on it--if she was about to combust, then her life did depend on it after all. “Shut up!” Her expression squeezes into a pout as she whines this, her heart pounding so fast that she could hear it in her ears, “you are so dirty that it’s not even funny!” MC’s abrupt reaction must coral his snark out again because the shy smile on his face flips into a smirk and he snickers, lightly driving his elbow into her arm. The carefree attitude he chauffeurs does little to tranquilize her shame and embarrassment. “Hey! Don’t blame me for taking things you say so literally,” Cal says this as he safely removes the pistol from MC’s possession--just for good measure, “there’s always so much blabber coming from that mouth anyway.” He punctuates his point by poking his finger into her cheek, to which she swats away.

“Can we just focus on the lesson?!”

“Of course, who ever said I wasn’t? You’re the one talking about ‘daddies’ over here, MC.” Cal barely pronounces her name before he gets a fist pushed into his bicep, followed by his own light laughter.

“Cal! You’re just as guilty as I am!”

“I doubt that. You are far more distracting than I could ever be.”

“Idiot,” MC roughly bumps into his side, face now scrunched in a scowl.

“Jerk,” Cal reciprocates, grinning.

Tiny little quips follow into their session as MC attempts to lampoon the dummy with bullets in areas Cal would consider a ‘take-out zone’. She attempts again and again, her results varying in rapid degrees, before she slings her last shot. The bullet zips through into the crook of the dummy’s supposed elbow which is in the outskirts of a take-out zone, according to Cal. The circus performer is a statue to her side, quiet when she’s aiming and annoying when she misses. This final shot draws a dull snort out of him and he gives her a slow clap, mocking her. She both thanks and curses the pistol for no longer having any ammunition.

“Wow, somehow you did even worse. You would be definitely be a goner if we were actually in danger.” He critiques, vapid and sly, before the pistol is suddenly wrenched from her hand and she’s yanked backwards--right into Cal’s chest. She squeals out of surprise, yelping when she notices how tight his arms were around her waist and how his breath billowed against her nape. His laughter, alluring and soothing, sounds just behind her ear and she tries hard to not shiver at the whisper of it. The warmth of his body and the corded expanse of his arms and chest surround her, blanketing her in a Cal-fitted sheet. MC finds her heart pounding as he play fights with her and pretends to overthrow her, drag her away like a demon would. “Get off! I get it!” MC shrieks as he heaves her off the ground, casually holding her high enough to avoid enough the tips of her shoes from touching the ground. “Get what? I’m a demon, not your instructor. The only thing you’ll get from me is an ass-kicking!”

MC smirks as she swings a faulty kick to his side. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line, demon?” She teases easily, her hair swinging into her face as she spins out of his grip. Cal’s grin is challenging and ripe with glee as he lunges for her again. “No, only the person who can actually kick asses can have that line, and I do believe that person-” the gunslinger wraps her in his arms and secures her to his chest, close and tight enough to render her squirming as useless “-is me.” Her eyes snap up to meet his and once they do, it’s like a puzzle piece clicking into place, the pigments of their eyes losing their humorous glint. Suddenly, Cal’s grin fades from his features and the previous elation of a challenge rots away as well, leaving nothing but an undecipherable expression. A book she couldn’t understand, a language she didn’t speak but she yearned to learn. Their heavy, synchronized breathing and faint flush in their faces only add to this, becoming the tool to etch all of this in his gaze. His blue eyes dart to her lips when she parts them and her heart stomps in her chest. She registers the cradle of his arms and the minor proximity between them, the calming touch of his skin and the brittle vulnerability set in his gaze. Surreal was the feeling thrumming in her bones, daunting and deep. Insides, there was an amusement park alive and kicking, the adrenaline-provoked screams dancing in her stomach when Cal’s face becomes red and the coasters swooning when her mind imagines closing the distance between them.

That thought, however, is stolen as fast as her breath when Cal suddenly whirls MC against the wall, his grin choking the sentiment that had been collecting in his expression. “Stalling me, eh?” His lips move harmoniously and it’s hard not to glance down as he speaks, MC discovers. “I admit, you had me for a second there.” The smug warble of his voice seemed miles apart from the softness that had engulfed his eyes just moments before; it was like MC was talking to a whole different person. She knows she should respond, say something smart back, but her entire body, mind, and spirit were hyper-focused on how she was cornered by Cal’s body. She tried to not blush harder at the faint puff of his breath to her lips. She attempts to calm her raging heart and stave the desire leaking into her bloodstream, fueling the rest of her alike with the same blood that colored her skin and pumped rapidly in her heart.

MC tries... and fails.

The last thing she sees, imprinted in her mind’s eye, was Cal’s figure alight with the glow of fluorescent lights as she kissed his smirking lips.

Then quite literally, her body was alight with Cal’s hands traveling all over her skin, shedding layers upon layers of clothes as he proceeds. She didn’t even know when everything escalated--she just knew the feel of his kiss and the languid discovery of his hands. A nexus of passion strengthened and renewed with each touch, each kiss, each breathless retort or mindless quip... This was what intimacy was with Cal, right? Being so deprived of his touch to fold when he does and to feel that desire flow between each other; a river of lust, a stream of passion. MC drowns herself in that river, letting it wash over her as Cal kisses her again and again, something bubbling between them... When she came to her senses, she was still pressed to the wall, her clothes an abandoned heap on the floor along with Cal’s, whose defined body was pinned to hers.

Everything else was silent, a wasteland of nothingness, except for the thrilled pants of Cal and MC as they hold each other in the dark. Fervent warmth was exchanged at their skin and friction was created with their limbs. An ocean’s worth of desire peers at her, searching and needing and wishing--could he hear her heart racing this fast against him? “You... you understand what I mean when I say ‘distracting’? This--you--are distracting, MC.” Cal’s raspy, low voice husks over the intense jump of his chest. Even in the shadows, she could faintly see the pink infecting his face. MC found it hard to breathe even though Cal’s body wasn’t crushed against her. Her lungs failed her when he mentioned how distracting she was, when she glanced at the brunette curls adhered to his forehead from the sweat gathered on his skin. Had he always been this beautiful? Words congregate and knot in her throat, a ribbon of unspoken feelings and libido all threaded into one, so instead of responding with anything verbal at all, she smashes her mouth to his and kisses him with those unsaid words.

Cal’s mouth was still fervent and silky as it embraced her own, again and again, the furnace of heat between them unyielding. She could feel the gentle swipe of his hands up her torso, the way he presses his palm gingerly to her flesh like she was a treasure worth salvaging, and the sensual pattern of his fingertips smoothing over her. All of it made the furnace in her lower belly seem to explode and catch fire, somehow much hotter than it should’ve been possible. His small groan chases that rush of sparks in MC and their kiss was deepening, the passion intensifying. His teeth rake against her bottom lip but she hardly minds the sting. One of her hands card through the mishap of curls on his head while one of his travels up her thigh sinuously. MC’s heart rate hiccuped when she felt his need for her against her skin and her legs, off of reflex, clutch him closer to her. It was all MC could do but burrow in his strong embrace and relish in the friction of his flesh, the sensation of his fingers touching her, the solitude she felt wedged to the wall. They don’t even part to join their bodies, connecting themselves together in more than just their lips.

They didn’t need to; their two-person orchestra required no conductor.

When they come together, it’s an indescribable feeling made inexpiable with the council of emotions churning in her chest--it feels so good to become one. She delights in the sharp inhale near her ear and the slight grunt that he elicits, the sound resonating inside her. Cal was making it harder and harder to not lose that little scrap of self-control that she was still clinging to. His kiss turns rough, his touch spreads fire all over her skin. They move in brittle harmony, more of it powered by the desperate jerks of their hips. She held onto his broad shoulders and let her noises of ecstasy melt on his tongue, allowing him to swallow the vibration and the dull hum in his throat.

“You’re gonna make me--ah, fuck!”

MC’s thoughts divorced from coherency and soon she was bubbled in this constant rhythm of pleasure to notice anything else. Nothing but Cal and his desire for her, the gentle embrace he soaked her in, the taunting sounds he made for her ears only. All of the heat he gave her and all of the kisses he placed on her parted lips. Seconds blur together and before she feels she can even properly breathe, they were toppling over an edge and they were falling together. When the blissful flog clears in her mind, MC finds herself still against the wall with Cal’s lithe form pressed to her skin. His mouth is against her pulse as he continues to press a chain of kisses up her neck, the soft curls on his head brushing her chin. She was captivated in the soft and nurturing way he touches her, worships her, that it wasn’t easy to just pull away. Neither of them speak and they don’t have to.

She smothered herself in his arms and returned the sincere kiss he plants on her mouth. MC allows him to hold her tight, even for just those few extra moments, wanting to relish in the feeling of having Cal North to herself.

Maybe she should’ve been more respectful of her feelings and the welfare of her heart, but she felt like this was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.

Like a trip to see the Pyramids of Giza: she just didn’t get to do that very often at all.

Or in this context, Caleb North.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you again for your request! I’m so sorry for the long delay, I really enjoyed writing this for you though!

Oh and before you click away, support @vowtogether!!

If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.

#cal north

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dearlazerbunny · 5 years

Text

Lie to Me (Ch. 27 of 27)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 3100

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, the absolute loves of my life

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity, @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany , @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings, @lokis-butter-knife, @help-i-need-a-social-life, @vodka-and-some-sass, @pandacookieowo

EPILOGUE

“Are you positive you wish to do this?”

You roll your eyes and shove a finger into Loki’s side. “Yes, Loki, I’m sure. Just as sure as I was ten minutes ago when you asked me, and the thirty minutes before that.”

He holds up his hands in mock defeat, a gentle smile on on face at your exasperation. “Yes, yes. Pardon my concern at your self destructive nature.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m pretty certain everyone already knows; second, being associated with you is not self destructive.”

“They still do not trust me.”

“That’s their problem.”

“Witling-”

“No, no, stop that. No coercing me with nicknames.” You grab his hand and entwine your fingers together. They fit together perfectly, just as they always have. “I love you, and I don’t give a damn if SHIELD, Bill Nye, and the freaking Queen of England knows or cares.” You wrinkle your nose at him, and he wrinkles his back, though it’s halfhearted. “You’re stuck with me. Suck it up, buttercup.”

Loki sighs and rubs a thumb over your own in small, comforting circles, eyes watching the city pass by as you weave through traffic. “I do not wish to bring malice upon you simply because you walk by my side. It isn’t worth the prejudice or the risk.”

The resignation in his voice makes your heart sink. He’s been training with the Avengers for a bit over a month now, and you’ve hoped that they’d be a little more open minded about their new teammate once they got to know him. Apparently that hasn’t been the case. You tighten your grip on his hand and scoot over so you can let your head settle in the crook of his neck. “Look, Loki. I don’t want to cause you any trouble either. If you really don’t want to tell SHIELD about us, fine. It’s more your head than mine after all. I just- I never want you to think that I’m ashamed of you. Ever.” You let your chin perch on the bony part of his shoulder and give him a wicked grin. “Plus, I’ve taken on Stark before. He’s just an asshole; I can handle him.”

“Please do not ever do that again.” He boops your nose lightly with his own before you pull away. “My healing skills are nowhere near sufficient enough to mend a repulser blast to the stomach.”

“I’m wounded!” Dramatically, you put a hand to your heart, pretending to swoon into the car door. “My one true love, unwilling to save me from death’s door!”

“I’ve done it once,” he reminds you firmly. “And I do not care to ever repeat the experience.”

“Fair enough.”

The car comes to a stop, and while Loki busies himself with opening your door, you grab your bag and your crutch from where it leans against the seat next to you. Your ankle is permanently problematic, unfortunately, and save for going in and replacing everything with steel, there’s nothing the doctors can really do. You never planned on going out for the Olympics, so you decided to just let it be. A crutch really isn’t that hard to maneuver anyways. And sometimes, if you whine enough, Loki will pick you up bridal-style and carry you around the apartment, even though the kitchen is less than ten feet away.

You’ve decided he probably secretly likes it.

The compound hasn’t gotten any more colorful or any less huge since you’ve been away. It was a bit strange, finally getting around to the paperwork and legalities and clearance of getting yourself reinstated at your job after basically disappearing for a year, but the second you step inside you know you’ve made the right choice. It’s a strange sort of home, with its stern-faced agents and terrible coffee and casually world-threatening incidents on any given Tuesday. Having Loki by your side, and not in a cell, makes it that much better. You can’t hold his hand while you walk, but he knows exactly where to step to avoid tripping you up; how far behind you to follow so he can support you if you need the help. The two of you being so in sync with such little effort always makes your heart happy.

You get a few hesitant nods from colleagues as you pass, and a deliberately blank stare from Sitwell, which you ignore. Deep breaths. You’re fine, he’s fine. This is just day one. It’ll pass.

You’re about to give him a peck on the cheek goodbye and turn off into your own hallway of offices when an intern appears, looking scared out of his mind. “Mister- um- mister Loki? Sir? The others are waiting for you in the training facilities.” He at least waits until Loki acknowledges him with a nod before scurrying away like he’s fleeing for his life, but- wow.

“Is it always like that?” You give him a glance. He’s watching the intern practically sprint down the hallway.

“Unfortunately.” He must sense your annoyance, because his next question can only be a distraction: “would you like to come see?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. You’ve asked several times what this group training entails, but he’s always avoided it or been extremely vague. Mostly you just want to make sure he isn’t getting hurt, and see if you need to punch Tony Stark’s face in. “Really?”

He nods. “This way.”

The training facilities turn out to be another building entirely, most likely constructed for the superheroes to do their… superhero-ing? Without breaking SHIELD’s fancy chrome offices or some poor intern’s leg. He opens the door for you and you duck in, unsure of what to expect.

The room is massive, and the ceiling is so far up you can’t even see it- the roof just ascends into shadow. The ridiculously high-tech looking screens and simulators are at odds with bare-bones gym mats lining the floor and a couple of old-timey punching bags hanging in the corner. Currently, the Black Widow and Captain America appear to be sparring, as both are on the floor with the Widow’s thighs wrapped around the Captain’s neck in a very unpleasant looking hold. Clint Barton looks on appreciatively from the sidelines. Stark is half dressed in his metal suit, fiddling with a hologram hovering in front of his face, and-

“LADY Y/N!” Before you can blink, you’re whisked into someone’s absolutely massive arms so quickly your crutch goes clattering to the floor. His voice booms in your ears, but you just laugh as you’re spun into the air, because only one person can have that loud a voice and that big of a bicep.

“Thor!” You wrap your arms around his neck, giggling as you receive one of the most enthusiastic hugs you’ve ever experienced. It’s like being tackled by a mountain of golden retrievers. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

“Aye, I wished to surprise you!” Loki, who is watching amusedly from a few feet away, gives you a wink. “My brother aided me in my deception!”

“I can see that,” you laugh, tapping him on the shoulder so he’ll put you down before you suffocate. “Careful you don’t pick up too many of his bad habits.”

He laughs heartily. “It has been many moons. How fares my little sister?” He picks up your brace and hands it to you, but does so casually, as though nothing has changed. Loki must have filled him in, thank god. The last thing you need is for him to cause an impromptu thunderstorm over a limp.

“As good as I can be.” You grin at him, genuinely thrilled to see him. He tucks an arm around your shoulder protectively and gives you another squeeze, almost lifting you off the floor again.

“Please do not hurt the witling, brother. Mortals are such delicate things.” You stick your tongue out at Loki’s teasing but take his hand as you’re finally set on the floor properly, helping you steady yourself.

With the absence of Thor’s booming, you’re suddenly aware of the rest of the room and their incredibly loud silence. The Captain and Romanov, at least, are pretending to be uninterested while they discuss tactics and maneuvers, but Stark and Barton are openly, unabashedly staring at the three of you. Barton can’t take his eyes off the crutch tucked under your arm. You take a breath- you weren’t really planning on meeting them again- well, ever- but might as well get it over with. “Um, hi. Agent Barton. Stark.” You’re not really sure what to say next: ‘sorry about the screaming match we had?’ ‘No hard feelings?’

Unfortunately, Stark takes care of that little dilemma for you. He’s watching you with undisguised disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Steve Rogers looks over sharply. “Tony-”

“No! This is- this is absolutely ridiculous! This is insane. How the hell has SHIELD not mind wiped you and shipped you off to Antarctica yet? And you just waltz in here like nothing’s even happened?”

Every one of your nerves is immediately set on fire. You are not going to be cannon fodder for some stuck-up playboy. “Listen, Stark, I don’t answer to you, and whatever I do with my life is absolutely none of your-”

“What happened to your leg?”

The archer’s question is quiet. Unobtrusive, but yet somehow still louder than your rising voice. You blink at him. “Some HYDRA idiot crushed my ankle. Doctors can’t fix it.”

For a second, you swear he’s going to be sympathetic, until he snorts. “Your boyfriend has enough magic in his fist to drop a small country, but he can’t fix an ankle.”

Loki immediately steps forward and puts a hand on your shoulder, effectively holding you in place. “Witling. You should go.”

“I’m not leaving you here with people who apparently still want to tear your fucking head off!” You snarl, nearly fumbling your crutch to the ground with how much your hands are shaking.

“He’s a criminal-”

“So are you, Stark! The army would love to hand you your ass!”

“I’d like to see them try.”

“Maybe we all just need to-”

“Steve, he murdered Coulson. Remember that? Remember your trading cards with his fucking blood on them?”

“Clint-”

“Never mind the fact that he tried to, I don’t know, enslave the human race! No big deal!”

“Glad to see at least one of us has a level head.”

“I swear to god if another one of you makes another sound I will-”

“IT WAS NOT HIS FAULT!” Thor roars, and this time the air is charged with the smell of ozone. Everyone falls quiet, even Stark, though his mouth is still open to toss out another retort. “It was not his fault,” Thor says again, quieter, but with just as much anger simmering below his voice. He turns to Loki. “Brother, I tire of this falsehood. If you will not tell them, then I shall.”

Loki’s eyes widen. “Thor-“

“Loki is as much a victim as any of us,” he says firmly, “for he too had lost his reason and control to the Mind Stone. His will was not his own.”

And if that doesn’t just make everyone’s jaw drop. You almost wish you could snap a photo. The Avengers are staring at Thor, and Loki looks like he’s about to smite himself out of existence where he stands, and you instinctively take a few steps toward Loki like you can somehow protect him from the coming onslaught. “Thor..? How did you-”

“When you mentioned to me the infinity stones, I decided to follow the path your questions led me down.” Thor shakes his head, more serious than you’ve ever seen him. “The truth is dark, and more troubling than I can say, but it is the truth nonetheless. Loki is not at fault.”

Loki shoots you a venomous glare, and you hold up your palms, trying to placate him. “I ask him back when I didn’t know what they were! When I didn’t know. I promise, I would never have told him the whole story. Not without your permission.”

His jaw is still clenched tight, and you can tell he’s struggling to control his breathing. But slowly, his fingers uncurl from fists on by one. “It appears we need to speak privately, brother.”

Thor nods. “Indeed. This is a burden you have been forced to shoulder for too long.”

Across the room, Stark begins to clap. It’s the slow, mocking clap of a person who just witnessed someone falling on their face and is too cruel to go and help them up. “Fabulous. Really, five stars, I’ll call the Broadway producers right now and have them set the whole thing up.”

You take in a sharp breath in favor of gasping out loud. Loki’s fury is slowly being eaten away by a painful resignation that makes you want to cry. Thor hasn’t quite caught on. “I beg your pardon, but I-”

“No, sorry. I just can’t buy this one. You actually expect us to believe that shit? You try to pass him off as the misunderstood villain all this time and then decided, whoops, guess what, he was actually brainwashed! None of it was his fault!” Stark shakes his head. “Unbelievable. Seriously.”

“I do not claim that I am purely innocent,” Loki says quietly. “Though what my brother says is largely true.”

“He told me himself,” you add, trying to send positive thoughts to the man standing beside you. You’re pretty sure grabbing his hand to comfort him wouldn’t be appreciated by anyone right now. “Back when he was in his cell. You can check the footage yourself.”

“Oh, I have no doubt he told you,” Stark sneers. “He told you a bunch of bullshit and you swallowed it hook, line, and sinker, like a good little pawn. And Thor, buddy, I’m sorry, but Loki has been feeding you lies his entire life and you just keep falling for them. Stop making excuses for him and accept the fact that he’s a fucking murderer!”

Stark’s voice has risen to a crescendo over the course of his little speech, and small pieces of his armor lock into place until he’s fully suited in metal, save for his helmet. The repulsors on his palms are glowing white hot. At some point, Rogers grabbed his shield, though he looks as though he isn’t sure whether to throw it at Tony or Loki. Barton is remarkably silent, standing completely still, not moving a single tick. His eyes have a horrible haunted sheen to them, as though he’s reliving a nightmare. Romanov is taking to him in low, worried tones, in- Russian, maybe?- but she doesn’t seem to be getting through to him.

Thor, for his part, is in a proper rage. Mjolnir flies to his grip, and small streaks of lighting are beginning to form at his wrists. “You dare insinuate I lie?”

Loki has visibly locked himself away; pushed any thought or feeling deep down and thrown away the key. His fingers are twitching like he’s searching for something to defend himself with, and the hard look on his face says he’s preparing to fight his way out.

And then there’s you, small and remarkably unremarkable, standing in the midst of gods and monsters about to throw themselves into a civil war. You want to scream, you want to throw yourself at Stark and claw him out of that stupid suit of his piece by piece until he knows what real pain feels like. You’re mad. Livid. Indescribably enraged. Something hot and mean is streaking through your veins, and you let it race through you like wildfire, coating your vision in sparks of white and making you feel like crushing a gang of superheroes beneath your heel will be child’s play.

Your fists close around something sharp and solid.

Things happen too quickly for you to process. Loki shouts, alarmed, and Stark’s eyes widen in something that looks like fear before raising his hand and firing off two bolts of energy directly at you. Thor throws Mjolnir to intercept, but not before Captain America flings himself between you and the beams of light, forcing them to ricochet off his shield and into the wall, where they leave scorch marks and the smell of molten metal.

There’s a stillness that falls over the room, ominous as a single black crow. You’re still angry, still running hot with this indescribable something, but your brain is somewhat back online- why did Stark just fire at you?

And why does everyone look so scared?

“Witling.” Loki’s voice, gentle and very calm, floats through the haze. “Put down the knives.”

The… knives? You want to ask him what he’s taking about, you want to say something, but everything in you is frozen, quivering, waiting to strike.

“Love. It’s just me. I’m right here. Don’t move-” you feel his hand around your wrist, then deftly flick… something… from your hand into his. The spell is shattered, and he world falls back into place with a rush of static and a ringing in your ears. Everything in you seems to slump, and something metallic clatters to the floor.

Everyone around you is still holding their breath, watching the timer of a bomb hold steady at 00:01.

You blink, suddenly incredibly tired and confused. “What- what just happened?”

“I believe,” Loki says, his voice outwardly calm but internally shaking like a leaf, “you just conjured yourself some daggers.”

“Excuse me?” When you look to your right, a gleaming knife, dark as night and etched with glowing runes carved into the hilt, lies at your feet. Its twin is in Loki’s hands.

Your eyes widen. “I- I what?”

A hundred dimensions away, overlooking Asgard’s city of gold, Frigga smiles.

A/N: So. Here it is. The longest fic I have ever written by over 20k. I wrote this fic during a kind of terrible time in my life. My waking hours were basically nothing but scrolling through Ao3, and once I’d read all the fics I liked three times over, I thought, well... write what you’d want to read, right? So I did. The amount of love I’ve gotten has been asTOUNDING. Like seriously, guys. Wow. Thank you so, so freaking much. You have absolutely no idea how much it means to me, and I want to personally give each and every one of you a huge hug.

That being said... I, uh, kind of want there to be a sequel? Now, I started writing this fic in January of this year. I finished in September- that’s nine months. I only started posting when I had 35k written plus a very specific outline and idea of where everything was going. I have none of that for this sequel. I cannot promise this sequel will come soon. But I think it will happen, eventually. I like this world too much to let it go just yet. If you have notifications turned on for this fic’s updates, keep it, so six months from now you’ll know when I start posting the second part of the story.

I’m still dealing with a lot right now. I’m not sure if it’s because of the completion of this basically-a-novel or my health or school or all of the above but I haven’t really written anything in months. It scares me a bit. I hope my need to write will come back soon. Until then, I’m excited to fulfill the prompts I promised, and you can always submit other things you’d like to see here or on my tumblr- I’ll post them on here as they get finished :)

Once again, thank you all SO much. Sometimes the only thing getting me through the days was the excitement of posting another chapter and getting to talk and laugh with you guys. I love you all so much.

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julianxwood · 4 years

Text

You saw GRANT GUSTIN in London recently? It was actually JULIAN WOOD, the two share a resemblance. Apparently HE is KNOWLEDGEABLE and RELIABLE but can also be CONDESCENDING and SNARKY. They are TWENTY-FIVE and were sorted into GRYFFINDOR. The PUREBLOOD works as a (RECENTLY RETIRED) CHASER FOR THE MONTROSE MAGPIES, lives in LONDON and is affiliated with NEITHER SIDE. (pat, 21+, pst, she/her).

open reference books, hastily drawn sketches, steaming mugs of Earl Grey, freshly carved wood, dim light of sunrise

Full Name: Julian Augustus Wood – It’s not that he doesn’t like his middle name. It’s good. It’s regal. It’s got that air of authority a Quidditch Captain should have. But he never uses his middle name really, unless it’s absolutely necessary on paperwork because he knows that his name is fucking July August

FC: Grant Gustin

Age: 24

School: Hogwarts

House: Gryffindor

Country of Origin: United Kingdom

Current Place of Residence: Horizont Alley, London. He’s not far from Diagon Alley, but in a less busy neighborhood. He likes his quiet. As of right now, he lives alone—I do have a headcanon that he shares an apartment with his brothers (so this is definitely subject to change depending on if those wanted connections are filled and if the players are cool with this)

Please list any canon relatives:

Father: Oliver Wood

Mother: Oliver’s relationship with Julian’s biological mother was complicated, and they had split after their second child. Oliver had a relationship with Daphne Greengrass, who gave birth to the third and youngest of the Wood trio; Julian considers her his mother and developed a close relationship with her while he was still a toddler.

Career:

Current: Julian recently retired from his professional career. A rather severe Quidditch injury made it difficult to fly around crowds and loud noises, and despite his insistence on being perfectly fine—everyone deals with a bludger to the head every now and again—it was time to step down. He doesn’t like to admit that he retired from the Magpies because of a dumb injury. If you hear him tell the story, he’ll have some rehearsed lines on how Quidditch wasn’t for him. But Merlin does he miss the thrill of the chase(rs).

Next steps: A lot of his free time is spent flying; either by himself or helping his former teammates practice. The next part of his career will involve him spending a lot of time at Quality Quidditch Supplies and eventually working there. He’s got the Quidditch expertise to tell you which broom is best for playing, travelling, or just recreation—but certainly not the confidence to become an Assistant Coach for the Magpies. It was definitely about time Julian stepped away from Oliver’s meticulously laid out plans—and Julian feels himself becoming much less aggressive about the sport off the pitch.

Eventual: While Oliver didn’t particularly emphasize the importance of anything except Quidditch, Daphne was a much more reasonable voice as far as academics. Julian’s favorite subject was Transfiguration and he had gotten enough NEWTs to call himself a competent spellcaster, though he never thought he would need to ever have a backup plan should Quidditch go awry. Eventually, Julian would work as a broom developer for Ellerby & Spudmore, but he’s certainly not at that point where he’s even aware of this path—and who knows? Maybe something in the game will make him passionate about something else; the most I’m concerned with is that he’s got room to grow!

Affiliation: (subject to change after discussion with revelant players) Right now, Julian is neutral. However…

Possible DA plot: Julian probably played Quidditch with James Sirius, but he’s a bit older—two or three years—so I’m not sure if James would have invited him! However, if Julian did receive an invitation, Julian’s a bit of a overthinker and would need to consider the risks in joining—so I think this struggle would be fun to write! Even if he knows of the DA’s existence, he’s not about to go blabbing about it to other people, especially if he’s been told to keep it secret. And he will—so long as the DA continues to the work of keeping the peace.

Possible DE plot: Given enough motivation, there’s a chance Julian could even join the Death Eaters. While he does have a bit of bias being raised pureblood, he wouldn’t join to push the pureblood agenda—after all, his father fought in the Second Wizarding War! But are his brothers in danger? Is he being blackmailed or bribed? Have the Death Eaters offered him something that he won’t be able to get anywhere else? It’s possible but a little unlikely given that Julian doesn’t have any ties to any former Death Eater families (yet?).

Significant Other: None yet. Julian has a scattered dating history, and the relationships don’t last very long. He’s been so focused on Quidditch that he doesn’t realize that he’s not giving his partner the right attention and perhaps not giving as much effort as he should have. Now he’s off the pitch, he’s definitely much more emotionally available. I will say that I’m a sucker for reunion plots though—getting back together or hooking up and seeing something more or something new in this person he thought he knew.

Sexuality: He’s demisexual, though he wouldn’t know what the word means nor does he have the self-awareness to figure this out for himself even if he did know. He thinks having a slow burn relationship is just being a gentleman! I would say he’s mostly heteroromantic; Julian’s played around with both genders early out of Hogwarts but really prefers girls.

Any HC’s: l mean… here’s what I got… idk if these count and these will have to be updated as the game progresses!

Acceleration – the rate of change of velocity per unit of time. Oliver Wood expected his sons to have the same career trajectory he did. Therefore, Julian learned to ride a broomstick not long after he stopped crawling, learned how to handle a quaffle as soon as he could ride higher than five feet off the ground. Those skills did translate to the pitch at Hogwarts, becoming a chaser on the starting lineup as a second year, becoming Quidditch Captain by his seventh year, and recruited by the Montrose Magpies after finishing school. Oliver wasn’t happy with Julian’s choice—though not enough to abandon Puddlemere and coach with the Magpies instead.

Crest - the point on a wave with the maximum value of upward displacement within a cycle. Even in school, Julian was incredibly intense and competitive, only to be compounded by his success outside of Hogwarts--and clearly he didn’t give a damn who disliked him for it. The obsession--though any Wood will tell you that this is passion--was at its peak when Julian had gone professional. It was all he could think about and it’s all he wanted to do; he wore down the leather of his chaser’s gloves and smoothed down the handle of his broom.

Free fall – downward movement under the force of gravity only. His Quidditch career was short-lived: a particularly bad injury with a bludger during the season finals finally pulled Julian to the sidelines. Julian maintains that this was his choice; Quidditch wasn’t for him anymore! Part of it was the terrible press he received throughout the last few years, especially considering his father’s legacy that he had to carry. Still passionate about the sport, Julian stayed involved by supporting his brothers who are also still playing on professional teams.

Displacement - occurs when an object is largely immersed in a fluid, pushing it out of the way and taking its place. Julian has a few memories of his mother, but he was never at a loss for maternal affection; Daphne may have been inexperienced with children, but she certainly cared in the best way she could. She may not have seen eye to eye with Oliver on Quidditch--after all, she couldn’t tell the difference between a quaffle and a bludger when they first met! But she always supported her stepsons in soft but unexpected ways, even after she bore a Wood of her own--even if it meant what she had to say wasn’t about what the kids wanted to hear. She’s one of the few that Julian truly trusts and she was the one that had to advise him to walk away.

Friction - the force resisting the relative motion of solid surfaces, fluid layers, and material elements sliding against each other. Julian has a tendency to ignore his privilege. He has the advantages of being able to train for Quidditch before he’s even allowed a broom at school, and he’s been treated to the best equipment that the Greengrass family could buy. But he’s so certain that all it takes to get to the top is hard work. His fall from grace certainly challenges his perspective on this, and perhaps this is what drives him to say that he had chosen to walk away from his career. He didn’t want to be seen as weak--nor did he want anyone to think he didn’t try hard enough to stay there.

Equilibrium - a state in which opposing forces or influences are balanced. Later, Julian will eventually start work as a shopkeep for Quality Quidditch Supplies; certainly he loved to help people find what a good fit was for them as far as flying. Not everyone played Quidditch and there were always variations of the sport that Julian loved to come up with. For someone who was such a stickler for the rules on the pitch, having a life off of it now made him much less aggressive about it.

Impulse - a force acting briefly on a body and producing a finite change of momentum. Julian was always destined, if not determined, to make a name for himself. At the very least, he was a competent spellcaster--Transfiguration in particular was one of his favorite subjects. He’s determined to make himself something more than just the Quidditch player.

Elasticity - the ability of an object or material to resume its normal shape after being stretched or compressed. Julian always has some sort of injury, usually bruises from falls—but he’s usually so quick to recover that it was actually such a surprise when he realized that the bludger incident really prevented him from playing to his potential. Once his brothers started playing Quidditch at school, he was already making sure he knew some basic mending charms—though it was probably more to Julian’s own benefit that anyone else’s!

Buoyancy - the ability or tendency to float in water or air or some other fluid. Julian doesn’t know when his coffee addiction started, but he certainly knew when it ended. A close friend of his kept calling him out on complaining about how disgusting coffee was and, as a joke, kept gifting him tea for any occasion she could think of--and it’s his morning, afternoon, and evening cups of Earl Grey keeping him afloat.

#serenum: intro #bio #info #archive #serenumjulian

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dvp95 · 5 years

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can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 12

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, deeper than anticipated but still not that deep y'all this is primarily silly, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 3,311 for this chapter (53,098 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The last time that Dan was alone with his mum for longer than a few minutes at a time over Christmas, their conversation had felt awkward and stilted. All of the things they had to say to each other lingered right below the surface, sharpening the edges of the conversation in a way neither of them knew how to acknowledge.

That's what Dan expects this lunch to be like. He thinks he's prepared for every option of what his mum might say to him, carefully building up the familiar walls in case he needs them, but.

She arrives late with apologies on her lips and Colin in her arms, frazzled as always, and it's almost comforting to Dan that she hasn't gotten any more punctual since he moved out. That's something they share that used to drive his dad up the wall. Maybe it still does. Dan wouldn't know. The only reason he's on time is that he came straight from work to nab a table at the dog-friendly brunch place that Yelp insists is good, and he's been happily dog-watching since he sat down.

"Sorry, sorry, hi," his mum is saying, dropping Colin on Dan's lap without warning. "Traffic was a bloody mess."

"That's alright," Dan says, but the words are coming out on autopilot. He scratches Colin's fuzzy head and blinks back the wetness that threatens to well up behind his eyes.

It's been a good few months since he'd last seen Colin, and he's as cute as ever. Dan can bet that the collar is brand new, though - the vertical stripes on it are narrow and the hues are garish, but there's no doubt about what it is.

"It's nice, yeah?" his mum asks as she sits across from them, clearly noticing Dan's preoccupation. "I hope I grabbed the right one."

Dan swallows around the growing lump in his throat and lets his fingers brush over the bright rainbow around Colin's neck, making sure it's there and real. It's a gesture that he didn't expect, and one he has no idea how to deal with. He keeps petting Colin absently and meets his mum's eyes.

"It's perfect," he tells her. "Suits him."

"Suits you," she counters lightly. She gives him a soft, sad sort of smile. "Caught you on the telly yesterday. I haven't seen you look this happy in a long time, bear."

Oh, fuck. Dan is not going to cry, not surrounded by dogs and strangers in this weirdly bougie restaurant in Chelsea. He wipes hurriedly at his eyes and feels a rush of gratitude when his mum pretends she hasn't seen, looks down at the menu.

He hadn't expected this. He doesn't know why, since he'd thought about a million and one ways that this lunch could be awkward or painful, but he somehow never thought she'd be so... supportive.

And maybe that's not fair of him. His mum had supported him when he'd dropped out of school, when he'd bought a one-way ticket with his shitty Asda paychecks, when he came home from drinking in the park at three in the morning with a split lip. She hasn't been perfect by any means, and because of that Dan has always assumed that her support was conditional even if her love was not.

Vividly, he remembers the way she'd cheer on the sidelines of any game he or Adrian played - although Adrian had wanted to play, the absolute freak - and how embarrassed he'd felt at the time, hot under the collar from the attention.

"I am happy," Dan tells her. They are both looking at their menus now, one of his hands shaking on Colin's back. "I'm - it feels good to be honest with myself and with you guys."

"With yourself?" his mum asks, her voice softer than he's heard it since he was a child. "Oh, Daniel. You didn't know?"

That's not something he really wants to get into with her, but Dan understands why she's asking. He's almost thirty years old. She'd probably just thought he was keeping it from her, not smothering his own wants for fifteen years. "No, like. I knew. But I didn't want to know. It's not like it's been fucking easy, has it? So I just. Pretended it wasn't there as best as I could, and. I've been pretending for a really long time, mum."

There's more to it, but she doesn't need to know any of that. Dan doesn't want to sit there and tell his mother how much he'd hated himself, how unsafe he'd felt at school and home and out with his 'friends', how there had been a point where he didn't want to live at all if he had to be gay.

Dan had definitely come a long way in the decade or so since then, but he'd done that by keeping a box of feelings locked up tight and ignoring the voice in his head that reminded him how much he wanted men.

Now, he feels... okay. He's going to be okay.

His mum's hand covers his on the table, the size difference between them almost comical.

"I love you," she says. "Blimey, I can't even imagine. I'm so glad you told me, Daniel. I feel like... like we don't really know each other that well."

Maybe a week ago, that might have gotten Dan's back up against the wall. And whose fault is that? he thinks but doesn't sneer, because his mum had put a rainbow collar on Colin and keeps saying she loves him. He can fight past the automatic defensiveness.

Dan runs a hand over Colin to calm himself back down, smiling when Colin licks his hand. Eventually, he feels like he can respond to her without snapping something he'd regret later. "That's true."

Luckily, their waiter stops by their table with three waters - two in glasses, one in a bowl - and effectively startles Dan and his mum out of the very serious conversation they'd decided to have in a public place. The conversation moves on to their jobs, Adrian's various adventures, and how good of a boy Colin is. Dan remembers to ask after his grandparents and his mum snorts into her vegan pancakes at one of his jokes, so. It's all going suspiciously well.

They even have the waiter take a photo of the three of them, which is surreal to Dan. He's not used to this, to wanting to have a physical reminder of any time he's spent with his family, but they're having such a nice start to the afternoon.

There are moments where Dan can feel the gap more deeply, though. Stories that carefully don't include his father. Questions she asks that he doesn't know the answer to.

It gets to a point, boiling up inside of Dan, that he has to ask before he explodes.

"Mum," he says, quiet. They're nearly done eating, which means that if this goes badly Dan can easily hug his mum goodbye and go take comfort in Phil's lap. "Did you... did you tell Dad about my text?"

He's nervous to look at her when he asks, but he's glad that he didn't try to hide. The anger that flashes across her face for a split second is so vindicating that Dan can't even imagine how differently he'd feel about his mother if he'd never seen that.

"I did," she says shortly.

There's a beat. "I suppose you're going to tell me that he'll come around and he loves me?"

"I'm not going to tell you anything of the sort," his mum says. Dan is desperate to look away now, doesn't like seeing that disapproving twist of her mouth even if it isn't directed at him. "You're both grown men and can make your own decisions. I made mine, that's all I can do."

Dan swallows hard and gives Colin a nibble on his bacon so he has an excuse to break eye contact with her. "Adrian's fine with it."

"Well, of course he is. And of course I am too, Daniel, because even if I had some issue with gay people - which I don't," she stresses the words like she's trying to convince Dan, "one of my best friends is a lesbian, she's a lovely woman - I would still prioritize my son who I love over any of that prejudicial nonsense. It takes a very special kind of person to think that anything about their child is worth not speaking to them."

Ten, fifteen years ago, Dan had been convinced that everyone in his life would hate him for this part of him that he kept under wraps. He hated himself, why would other people be any different?

And maybe that could have been the case back then, before society started to get its shit together a little bit and 'gay' stopped being synonymous with 'bad'. There's no way to know for sure, and he supposes it doesn't really matter. That's not the timeline he lives in.

Dan chances a glance at his mum, who is idly folding her napkin into various floppy origami shapes like she needs to be doing something with her hands.

The question sticks in his throat, but Dan forces it out anyway. His mum has said a lot of nice things that he's going to cry about when he's alone, but he needs to know how far that extends.

"And... am I still invited to Christmas?"

His mum blinks up at him, looking a bit startled. "Of course you're still coming to Christmas. My home is your home and always will be, don't be stupid. If your father wants to put his own selfish arse over his sons, then he can be the one to fuck off. We don't need him to have a good holiday."

Dan buries his face in Colin's fur and squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment, letting the gratitude and grief wash over him.

Out of every scenario he'd pictured, Dan never even thought to hope for this kind of unconditional acceptance. He knows that they still have a long way to go, that he and his mum will always have things they can't say to each other and that Adrian will never be his best friend, but. They're trying. All three of them are trying to navigate this so that they can be a bit closer, know each other better, and that's a start.

The park isn't far, but Dan's mum insists on driving so she doesn't have to walk back and get her car later. Dan hates how much he relates to that.

An old CD blares over the car's shitty speakers, knocking Dan back into childhood the way few things can. Some indie punk bullshit from the 90s that he still somehow knows all the words to. They both sing along to it and his mum scream-laughs when Colin barks, coincidentally in rhythm with the drums.

Dan is having fun with his mum, a concept that is so foreign to him he's half convinced it's a sleep-deprived hallucination, and he almost forgets to text Phil that they're on their way.

Ok! We're already here, Thor insisted lmao, Phil sends back immediately, and Dan feels a little bad that he hasn't been keeping Phil updated all morning. Still, he supposes, he was working and then dealing with family bullshit, so he supposes that Phil will understand.

They park a little ways down the road and Dan feels odd in the sudden quiet of the car. The things they don't talk about seem to fill the space between them, creeping in as the nostalgia fades.

"Mum," he says, and she pauses in the midst of opening her door. "I... thank you, for this. It means a lot to me that you came today."

"Of course," his mum says like it really is that obvious.

"You might see more of me soon, if you'd like to," Dan tells her, putting Colin on his lead so he doesn't have to make eye contact. "I'm thinking about moving to London."

"Oh, Daniel, that's wonderful," she says, warm, and Dan's heart hurts so fucking much. Their relationship has always been a bit complicated, strained, but he's willing to make an effort if she is.

He gives her a small smile and gets out of the car with Colin, the sincerity in her voice suddenly too much to handle in such a small space. While they walk, he chats to Colin about how nice the park is and how there are a lot of new friends for him to play with. He likes to think that Colin's tail wags faster at the information.

The sound of the gate opening makes a bunch of dogs look over, the way it always does, and Thor starts bounding toward Dan as fast as his stubby legs can carry him.

"Thor, you can't just - oh, Dan!"

Phil stops chasing after Thor and just approaches them at a regular pace, grinning.

"Don't worry, he's not making an escape," Dan laughs, crouching down to greet Thor and holding tight to Colin's lead just in case.

Thor licks at Dan's free hand and then sniffs at Colin, who seems chill with it. He's such a calm dog, Dan loves him so much. Dan is so busy overseeing this introduction that he nearly misses the humans above him introducing themselves to each other.

"Hi, I'm Phil, and this is Thor! You must be Mrs. Howell."

Dan's mum pulls a face, and for a terrifying second Dan thinks she was all talk after all, that she really does care now that she's faced with a man, but she just says, "Not hardly. Call me Karen or call me nothing."

The problem, of course, is that Phil is predictable. Dan knows the joke is coming a split second before he brightly says, "Nice to meet you, Nothing."

Thankfully, his mum laughs.

"Cheeky. This young man here is Colin."

Phil crouches down too, his eyes meeting Dan's for a brief, nervous moment before he's holding out his hand for Colin to shake. Colin, the very good boy he is, sits down and shakes paw.

"And very nice to meet you," Phil says solemnly. Dan had no idea his heart could fit any more of Phil in it, but it swells three sizes like the fucking Grinch. Dan's sure it's written all over his face, but he doesn't need to hide that from anyone here. He's allowed to be obviously smitten over his boyfriend. "I've heard so much about you."

It's all far too genuine for Dan, suddenly, this whole thing, so he snorts and unhooks Colin from the lead.

"You're such a dork," he tells Phil as they both stand, the dogs chasing each other around now that they've both been released. Phil just shrugs and grins, hands in his pockets.

He looks nice in his buttoned shirt, short sleeves showing off his arms and a headache-inducing print enough to make Dan ridiculously fond, but he also looks a bit anxious. Dan knows the feeling.

"Wanna sit?" he asks his mum, gesturing to a picnic table. She rolls her eyes.

"I've been sitting all morning, Daniel," she says lightly. "I think I can handle craning my neck to look at you lot."

Quick getaway, Dan's depression gremlin shouts. She doesn't want to be here, she's just acting nice because she's afraid you're on a ledge, just like Adrian was, none of them actually accept you or want you to be around...

It always gets harder to shut up the less he's slept, so Dan has to ride the wave of self-hatred until Phil smiles down at his mum and starts making easy conversation.

Phil is so good at this part. He's not relaxed, Dan can tell by the set of his shoulders and the awkward way his hands are sticking out of his jean pockets, but some combination of radio training and natural charm make him seem like nothing is more thrilling than hearing about Dan's mum's drive to the city.

Dan isn't good at this part. He tunes out a bit and starts taking photos and videos of the dogs whenever they come close enough. They're fast friends, and Dan likes the idea of orchestrating puppy playdates when he lives here.

He zones back in when he hears his name, blinking over at them like he's fallen asleep standing up.

"What?" he bleats.

"We weren't talking to you," Phil informs him, his lips twitching.

"You're talking about me, then?"

They exchange an amused, exasperated sort of look. Dan suddenly isn't very sure at all that this was a good idea. Of course Dan's mum likes Phil, it's impossible not to like Phil. Now they're just going to gang up on him all the bloody time.

Even in Dan's own mind he can't pretend like that's a bad thing.

"I was just saying," Dan's mum says, "that I wanted to thank Phil for bringing you back to England. I know you've been talking about doing it for years, kid, but you do tend to put things off."

"Like I said, Karen," Phil says with a level of familiarity that Dan isn't sure how to feel about. It's just the way the Lesters act, but it isn't the way the Howells are. It's strange to watch his mum try and keep up with the vibe of a man who's talking like he's known her his whole life. "It's really nothing to do with me."

"Oh, bollocks," his mum says. Dan laughs.

There's still so much he and his mum don't know about each other, things they need to reconnect on, but that doesn't mean it isn't obvious to anyone with eyes that Dan's plan is only changing right now because of Phil coming into his life.

"Well, can you blame me?" he jokes, some of the knot in his chest easing. She really doesn't mind, does she? Not the way he thought she would.

"Not at all," she says, and Phil ducks his head with a stupidly shy sort of smile. Dan wants to kiss it off his face.

Colin trudges up to them then, panting and whining a bit, and they all coo nonsense at him. He's always so lazy and chilled out over Christmas, Dan bets he doesn't do the zoomies with super excitable dogs very often.

"Seems like Colin's done for the day," says Dan. He leashes Colin and hands the lead to his mum. "It was really nice to see you both. Like, really. I had fun."

"No need to sound so surprised about it," his mum says dryly. They aren't huggers, really, not unless some traumatic shit is going down, so it doesn't surprise Dan when she just blows him a kiss goodbye. "Hopefully I'll see you both soon, yeah? Don't be strangers."

"Wouldn't dream of it," says Phil. He shifts closer to Dan, their shoulders knocking lightly together.

"Love you, mum," Dan says, because he feels like he has to after everything, and because it's the truth. She smiles up at him, so warm that something in Dan settles into place.

"Love you too, honey. It was really nice to meet you, Phil."

"Likewise," says Phil. He bumps into Dan again as they watch her and Colin walk away, the solidity of his shoulder keeping Dan grounded. Dan has had a very long, very emotionally taxing day, and that small bit of contact makes the stress of it all seep out of him at once. "You okay, Dan?"

The sleepless night is catching up with Dan, now that the anxiety is dissipating, and all he wants to do is melt into Phil's chest and take a long nap.

"I'm very okay," he says, surprised by how much he means it. "Let's go home, yeah?"

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #can't breathe when you touch my sleeve #words words words

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championfrita · 4 years

Text

Pokémon Sword and Shield Review

So...I've taken some time to fully play Pokémon Shield. Now, I know this is pretty delayed, and I got the double pack so I wanted to play Sword first to see if how I felt was really accurate or if I was being too harsh. That said, let's talk about my experience with the Galar Region.

Initial Impressions

Overall, I was excited to play Shield at first. Everything was bright and exciting and the characters were easy to recognize and not overly generic.

The first few hours of this game, well it's a slow burn. And I do mean SLOW. Even with the text set to Fast and me taking things at my own pace it took me at least a good couple hours to reach the Wild Area. Furthermore, this game has an infernal amount of handholding, even when given the option to say "I know all this already" it still gives a brief explaination for almost anything and STILL makes you sit ALL THE WAY THROUGH the catch tutorial.

It's 2019 and older players still don't get the option to skip this. Come on GameFreak.

That said, the longer I played the more I began to notice...how should I put this? Blatant laziness?

The Wild Area

Now, the CONCEPT of the Wild Area in theory is amazing. It's still not too bad as is, but there are definitely flaws. For starters, the same tree has been copy pasted all over the place to make up 90% of the foliage.

More than that, though, despite the Wild Area having a good selection of Pokémon and a fairly varietied environment (desert, lakes, forest) it feels oddly...empty. There are no real secrets to speak of, no hidden areas, no easily missed items. Everything is all right out there to see and spread pretty far apart. I don't know if it's a lack of Trainers or the fact that I don't have an Online membership so I played alone, but the Wild Area feels like it just needs something MORE.

Dynamax Raid Battles, even when done alone, are fairly fun and sometimes challenging with the turn limit. Radiant AI Trainers spawn in to assist you if you're playing alone so there's no worries about having to take one on with just one Pokémon.

Camping, which can be done anywhere but is introduced to the player here, is an absolute treat. Have YOU played fetch with a unicorn? I have, and I love it. The wide variety of curries you can make with different ingredients is nice, and your Pokémon even get EXP boosts if you play with and feed them while camping.

The Pokémon

Honestly, I'm really not impressed. The Galar Dex of new Pokémon feels painfully small, so much so that playing Pokémon GO and catching a few Unova Pokémon made me yearn for the days when we used to get regions completely FULL of new Pokémon. Remember when you had to wait until AFTER the main game to start catching Pokémon from past gens? I...well, this might be an unpopular opinion, but I LIKED that.

That said, using a sparse selection of Galar Pokémon and Galar Regional Variants on my team definitely made the Gym Challenge more difficult. I picked Scorbunny, because Fire Types, and honestly didn't really care for it or its evolutions at first. Cinderace has really grown on me though and I like Pyro Ball as a move. It's flashy and powerful and that suits me just fine. Most of the new Pokémon's DESIGNS were good and I liked them, there just really weren't ENOUGH of them.

I'm fairly pleased with the regional variants as well. It was difficult to adjust to Ponyta and Rapidash being Psychic Type, but I really liked having them on my team. At the same time...Meowth not evolving into a Persian doesn't really sit right with me.

I'm all for branch evolutions, but Perrserker honestly just looks more like a giant Galar Meowth than anything. I played this with only the info given in the few scattered trailers I'd seen, so I was genuinely excited to see what a Galarian Persian would look like only to end up with Perrserker. The Typing is phenominal, and I think it's great to see a Steel Type Meowth for a change, but I just don't like where they went with it. Eh. Ces't la vie, moving on.

The Story

It's weak. Straight up, the story in this game is poor. There were so many directions they could have gone. I really liked the idea of Rose being this charismatic chairman hype man for the League and being the bad guy. I saw it coming, but it was a nice change to see just based on his personality. Still, it feels rushed. His motivations are really one dimensional and glossed over. Like, "Oh, here's the bad guy. Go get him." It worked in Gen 1 because Giovanni was a MOBSTER. He was MEANT to be a bad guy straight to the core in general, but Rose just doesn't have that vibe.

Not only that, but the "Bad League Members" are kinda meh. That feels REALLY lazy. They didn't even really get a decent uniform change when they started taking on the name Macro Cosmos in Rose Tower. They got black glasses. That's it. Just that. The fight with Eternatus feels painfully rushed and shoehorned in too, almost like they thought "Oh no, we need to give them a big nasty boss to fight! Let's just throw a random monster at them and say Rose summoned it. Seems like a solid plan."

I DID like the after story with Piers though. It really solidifies that older brother sort of nature with him, even if he tries to hide it most of the time.

The Characters

I liked Hop. As a character he's really fun and I like how they gave him this over excited very grand gestured sort of personality. He's really just happy to be ANYWHERE as long as it's with his Pokémon and you. His admiration for his big bro might come off strong and make him seem a little flat at first, but he's overall portrayed as a good kid and I like him.

Leon on the other hand...well I hated him for most of the game. His design is great and he looks fabulous, but he just has the most cocky, obnoxious, pandering personality 90% of the time. Still, I have to give credit where credit is due and recognize that he IS actually a multifaceted character. He showboats not just because he's too confident but also to give the crowd a show and put people at ease in times of danger. Not only that, but his recognition of his little brother's accomplishments and his graceful acceptance of defeat when you beat him reveals a really well written character.

I don't DISlike Sonia, and I have no problem with Prof. Magnolia sitting on the sidelines, but she can be a little...irritating at times with the way she speaks about and to people. The Gym Leaders, aside from Piers, feel a little...light.

I mean, most Gym Leaders don't have detailed backstories, but these ones feel paper thin personality wise as well. I had to look at the official GUIDE just to be sure what the relationship between Melony and Gordie even WAS because you only seem him in her Special League Card in Shield and that tells you nothing about him. The only real leaders that stood out to me were Piers and Raihan, and while I was iffy about his design at first I LOVE Raihan. He has so much more personality and ferocity than any of the other leaders. And the social commentary about him needing to constantly take and post a selfie, even after losing, is a nice touch.

The Galar Region

Is very linear. Like, VERY linear. Even when you take a branching path it either loops back around or gives you a free ride to wherever you have to backtrack to. I hope you like Hammerlocke, cuz you're gonna be visiting there several times.

I know that the region is based off the UK, and maybe my Americanized idea of cities is different (idk, I've never been to the UK), but a lot of the towns in this game feel really small. Like, almost smaller than some of the towns in Hoenn small. Maybe it's a lack of significant interactable buildings, but despite many of them having multiple floors you typically can only access one and that's kind of a disappointment. The hotel in Wyndon won't even let you get in the elevator, and while I get that Alola also did that, it's kind of jarring when the hotel in Motostoke WILL let you see other floors.

That said, I kind of expected more than ONE Wild Area. The one we DID get is fine, and I appreciate what it is and lets us do, but I honestly thought there would be multiple places to really explore outside the standard straight lines. Pokémon has never been a franchise to shy away from puzzles before so I expected this to not be any different. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

Moreover, many of the environment pieces are just UGLY. A lot of the ground textures are reused 3DS assets, and those copy pasted trees I mentioned earlier? Also 3DS assets. How do I know? They're pentagonal instead of round. In other words, they have five sides. Why? Because the 3DS hardware couldn't handle complex environmental shapes that well so they could get away with it, but now that we have nice round berry trees the contrast becomes painful. The Wild Area is so ugly the first time you see it is at NIGHT. They were so aware of what they did they hoped making it darker would hide the lazy flop instead of showing off how bad it was.

It isn't like they COULDN'T fix it either. Look at Ballonlea and Glimwood Tangle. They're absolutely beautiful and very well done. The modeling with them is fantastic and I love the glowing effects. They absolutely could've made the poorly done areas look amazing, but for some reason they didn't and the game suffers some as a result.

Other Thoughts

The Gym Challenges...they were not fun. Like, honestly some were ok. Herding Wooloo was easy, but they really didn't feel like anything I would expect from a Gym. The water puzzle in Nessa's Gym was fine, and I personally liked the spinning cup ride, but the rest just felt like agonizingly long padding because they couldn't come up with anything. Look at Circhester's challenge. It's a dowsing rod gauntlet where you have to avoid falling in pits in an artificial blizzard. It. is. SO. SLOW. That said, Spikemuth having just a Trainer gauntlet instead was kind of awkward. I reached the end and asked myself "Was that it? Is this it? Is this all there is to Spikemuth? Just one giant alleyway and a Pokémon Center?"

Raihan's three trials of worthiness challenge? It was more difficult than the battle AGAINST RAIHAN. Speaking of, I beat Hop, Marnie, Bede, all the Gym Leaders, Rose, Oleana, and Leon on my first try every time. While it was more difficult with my specific Pokémon choices, it really wasn't much. And can I just say that the Gym Badges are kinda lame? I get what they were going for, but the designs of each piece could've been really unique and intricate and instead we got glorified stamps.

I liked a lot of the general features of the game. Camping, clothing shops, League Cards. I love designing League Cards, even if I'm the only one who's ever gonna see em. That said, the clothing choices were really narrow based on what we got in Sun and Moon. The variety of different items was pretty small, though I loved all the punk leather stuff but WOW IS IT EXPENSIVE. Like Lumiose Boutique expensive. AND WHY IS THERE NEVER A REDHEAD HAIR COLOR THAT ISN'T JUST AUBURN RED? There are actually A LOT of redheads with LIGHT RED hair (that's more a personal gripe than anything, I know).

A lot of the music felt almost like rehashes of older BGMs. Like, Postwick, Route 1, and Wedgehurst all sound like they have remixed Hoenn music. A lot of the other music tracks just don't feel fitting for the areas or for Pokémon games in general. I like parts of the Slumbering Weald music and I like the Gym Music, but the opening of Slumbering Weald feels awkward and like it doesn't fit a mysterious forest we're not allowed to be in.

I know I've complained a lot, but there were some things I genuinely liked. A lot of the Pokémon designs, place names, and other radiant decor and parts of the region are actually subtle and not so subtle references to cultural points of the UK. Skwovet and its evolution for example are a gray and red squirrel respectively and are a nod to invasive species, which is neat.

In Conclusion

Is Pokémon Sword and Shield amazing? No. Is it bad? No. Sword and Shield fall into that mediocre middle ground of being ok but nothing to write home about. Could I have done without them? Sure, they aren't some world ending imperitive must play. They're ok, and they make for a fine jumping on point and a fine little adventure if you have spare time. Have other mainline games done it better? Heck yeah, but that doesn't mean Sword and Shield haven't done a few good things too.

Overall, it sort of feels like GameFreak bit off more than they could chew, or were afraid to make changes because of unfamiliarity with the Switch's hardware and software limitations. Pokémon Let's Go had a lot more effort, but it also was much safer and had a much easier to work with art style to everything. Chibi proportions are a lot easier to fake than a more realistic counterpart. Things can be not perfect and it's less noticable than with more realistic proportions, and I think they were afraid to push back the deadline any further for the inevitable backlash despite that being what they likely needed. The DLC may change my mind, but as it stands, just the fact that they feel they can JUSTIFY their laziness with DLC packs really upsets me.

I give Pokémon Sword and Shield a 5/10.

It's just, OK.

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redrobin-detective · 5 years

Text

Quick before I have to go.

Sort of an add-on to my Mortal Aziraphale and Crowley fic. So Heaven and Hell have abandoned the pair to humanity feeling they’ve gone native. But they do need representatives on Earth so they choose another angel and demon and this time they ABSOLUTELY won’t fall in love and fuck things up for management (spoiler alert: they totally do, only with lesbians)

I only half concocted the characters but one is Arachne, she is a small but curvy dark skinned beauty with a baby face but pitch black spider eyes and her hair is woven into 8 beautiful but deadly dreads. She’s heard the stories of the demon Crowley who was said to have tempted an angel to his bed and she’s like ‘man that is so wicked’. So she intentionally seeks out the former angel and demon, now comfortably living out their semi-mortality. She both loves and hates the Earth, like soap and high fashion so great, can’t get enough but she hates humanity and having to do humany things. She acts the part of a seductress in her deals but really is just, not into any of that kind of stuff.

On the other side is Belladonna, who worked in like Heaven Accounting or like the equivalent most boring department because they wanted someone stable and not likely to rebel. She is a tol girl, big but not buff. She has sharp features and curly brown hair cropped sharply at her chin, usually pinned back. She has always lived a super regimented life so the absolute freedom on Earth, it’s kind of terrifying? No one really sees what she does??? How does she know if she messes up???? She tries to really establish order and be like the Best but after the initial period it was clear Heaven kind of didn’t care more interested in the Great Plan (part 2). Super anxious but hides it behind a blank mask of indifference. Also happens to run into Zira and Crow (who she hates and deems traitors) and Aziraphale is like “aw she’s a mess just like I was” and his long suffering husband is just like “was? as in past tense?”

Anyway thats as far as I got but we get ANOTHER long ass slow burn of a demon and an angel falling in love. They fight a hell of a lot more than Aziraphale and Crowley did, much higher expectations are put on them, there’s some intensely romantic combat scenes, and them occasionally mutually bitching about Earth but its better than heaven/hell, and slowly, very very slowly being like ‘hey this person gets me, they understand’. And the Ineffable Husbands are on the sidelines munching popcorn like hell yeah this is bomb ass entertainment when I’m not in the middle of this painful emotional shit. Right before they die mortal deaths, Arachne drags her sorta friend over to her mentors/sorta parents’ house and Belladonna has to sit at an awkward dinner while Aziraphale and Crowley moon at each other and talk about how it took them thousands of years to understand. She tells herself she’s better than that but then the way she looks at her lively demon, her brightly painted lips wide with a smile, ask to hear more about what nonsense the original dynamic duo got up to speaks volumes to the two. Some things have a way of repeating themselves.

(Several thousand years, their bosses look down to see them canoodling. “GABRIEL THEY’RE LESBIANS” an angel shouts, kicking down a heavenly door. “Goddammit not again” John Hamm screams)

#good omens #dont mind me I spent my walk today on fictional angelic/demonic lesbians #crowly and zira fucking know they KNOW #'oh you say you don't love her well youre a gd LIAR I said that for 4000 years and now we have wedding rings'#also its very important you know Archne is the soft femme lesbian and Belladonna is the tough butch lesbian #spider demon loves fields of flowers and being snuggled #while the angel is like 'I can should and absolutely will raze this planet for my spider gf'#crowley and zira are uh a little nervous by how destructive the pair are #they don't have the longterm love of the earth they have #they don't *actually* care about the people all that much which gets um awkward #okay i'll stop bc Im running to the end of my thoughts but yeah #spider/angel lesbians hella

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hurt-care · 5 years

Note

I've had an idea rolling around in my head about an archaeologist, typically one who works in the desert in Egypt, who has a crazy terrible allergies that make going in and out of dusty/moldy tombs a nightmare. I don't know if that's anything you might want to write about, but I don't have the talent and I love your work, so I thought I'd put it forward in case it did something for you!

Okay, so this one immediately sparked my imagination! It isn’t exactly what you described but hopefully close enough! Enjoy

The jingle of a cell phone ring broke through the cloud of white noise coming from the air purifier and the AC unit. Thom rolled over and reached for the phone, almost knocking it off the bedside table as he fumbled sleepily.

He squinted at the display and toggled the slider to answer.

“Mhm? Hello?”

“I'm out front. It's ten past.”

Thom sat up with a start and blinked at the clock across the room.

“Oh fuck. I'm sorry Asha, I overslept. Give me a few and I'll be right down.”

He kicked off the sheets and tore through his closet in the small flat for a fresh pair of khakis and a thin linen shirt. He splashed some water on his face and ate a banana quickly while he refilled his water bottle and searched for his baseball cap. Thankfully, his backpack was still stocked from the previous day of work, so he slung it over his shoulder, grabbed his keys, and raced down the two flights of stairs out into the busy Luxor street.

Though it was barely seven, the sun was already blazingly hot. Asha sat, idling her motorcycle and chatting with a street vendor.

“Sorry, sorry,” Thom said as he approached.

“Doctor Rutledge is gonna kill us,” she said, pushing her helmet back down and handing the spare one to Thom. “Let's go.”

Thom sided onto the bike, put on the heavy face-shielded helmet, and took hold of Asha's waist. The bike roared to life and they sped off towards the dig site.

He'd first met Asha two months ago when he'd come to Egypt for his practical experience under the tutelage of renowned Egyptologist, Doctor Emila Rutledge. Asha was a daughter of Luxor, born and raised in the city and her knowledge of its winding streets and the surrounding archeological sights had proved very useful. She was a local assistant on the dig, helping with some of the more tedious sorting and packing of artifacts. And her motorbike was a much faster way to reach the desert than taking a bus and then walking.

They turned down a street leading out of the city and towards the Theban Necropolisdig site. The bike slowed as they turned down the side road and came to a halt where the road turned to sand.

They tugged off their helmets, the sweat dripping down their faces drying instantly in the arid climate. With Asha pushing the bike, they walked the last bit down the sandy path to the tents that marked the research areas.

Thom blinked in the dry air and rubbed at his left eye, turning it a little pink. As they ducked under the canopy of the first tent, he cleared his throat and took a deep swig of his water bottle.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, capping the bottle and putting it back in his pack. “It's my fault. I didn't set a proper alarm.”

Doctor Rutledge looked up from her table of equipment and glared at him.

“There's limited time out here during the storm season,” she warned him. “Don't waste it being late.”

March and April in the desert meant sandstorms and sometimes they struck unexpectedly, plunging the camp into a fog of dust and undoing weeks of excavation work. Thankfully, none had hit the site thus far in the season.

Thom set down his things and turned to his work, Asha at his side, cataloguing a tray of rocks that had eroded off a nearby statue.

“You alright?” she asked, looking at him critically. “Your eyes are kinda pink.”

He blinked and rubbed at his left one again. They did feel a bit gritty.

“Still half asleep,” he said. “Didn't have time for coffee.”

She laughed.

“You'll have to suffer until break then.”

Thom nodded and made a mark in his notebook about one of the artifacts. He rubbed the back of his hand to his nose distractedly, pawing away an itch.

In the distance, the air was growing murky and dim as a far-off storm kicked up sand into the air, turning the sky an unworldly red.

His throat felt drier than usual out in the heat of the open desert. Putting his notebook down, he reached again for his water bottle.

“You sure you're fine?” Asha asked suspiciously. “Your eyes look awful.”

Thom pushed his water bottle cap shut and opened his mouth to answer her, but he was distracted by a sudden, very urgent itch. He wrinkled his nose and turned away, cupping his hands to his face.

Hurh-TSGHT!

“Blessings to you,” she offered.

Thom sniffled and wiped at his nose. He could feel the familiar burning of an allergic reaction growing in his respiratory system and suddenly his stomach sank. In the haste of his departure that morning, he'd neglected to take his allergy medication.

He'd always been someone who struggled with allergies, to everything from cats to pollen to mold and dust. His youth had been full of inhalers on the sidelines of the soccer pitch, extra allergy pills packed for sleepovers, and his own air purifier for his college dorm room. Adulthood had not improved things as much as he'd hoped. He'd expected that the dry air of Egypt would be a relief to his hayfever, but he'd been warned about dust-storm season and the large amounts of pollen and mold and dust kicked up by the strong winds. The local pharmacy had put out a display of face masks only a week prior.

“Oh shit,” he groaned, digging through his backpack. Maybe he had some spare pills stowed away.

“What?” Asha asked.

“Ugh, my allergies,” he said, sniffling again. “I forgot my medicine this morning.”

“Wow, you really did fuck up the start of your day,” she teased. “You have allergies? Bad ones?”

“Yes, bad ones,” he said, reaching to the bottom of an outside pocket and feeling his rescue inhaler. At least that was some relief. “Bad enough to need a prescription daily.”

“And it's storm season,” she said. “The worst for that.”

“I've been told,” he said miserably. He could feel his eyes beginning to water and he ran his tongue along the top of his mouth and back towards his throat, trying to settle an itch.

Hhrr-TSGHHT!

He sneezed roughly into his shoulder.

“Well,” he said, pulling a bandanna out of his pack. “This might help a little.”

He tied the triangle of cloth over his nose and mouth, tucking the excess into the top of his shirt.

“Very mysterious,” Asha teased. “My work partner, Zorro.”

Thom went back to his notes, but concentrating was extremely difficult. He wrinkled his nose under the bandanna and tried to focus on his work, but the itching was too strong.

Hehh-ehh-GSHTT!

A damp spot blossomed on the bandanna under his nose.

He clamped a hand over the fabric and pinched his nose, turning away from Asha.

NghT! Hehh...eh-TSGHT! Tsh'GXHT!

Three rapid stifles tumbled forward, held in by his fingers.

Tsgh! Ehh-TSGH!

“Wow,” Asha said, watching. “You were not kidding.”

“No,” he said miserably, letting go of his nose. “This is pretty mild, actually. Usually I...I..hehhh...heh-TSGHT!”

He sneezed once again into the bandanna and tugged it free from his face, using it as a proper handkerchief.

“I'll ask around to see if anyone else has some medicine,” Asha offered. “Sit down a minute.”

He sunk into a camp chair with the bandanna over his nose.

Hehh-ehhhh-GSHTT!

By the time she returned, his breath was growing wheezy and his eyes were swollen. He coughed hoarsely into his fist and swallowed hard.

“No luck,” she said.

“What going on over here?”

Doctor Rutledge was standing behind them, looking expectantly at them both.

“Thom is having an allergic reaction, Doctor,” Asha explained. “I was looking around to see if anyone had any medication.”

“And?”

“No one does,” she said. “I'm sorry, Thom.”

“That's okay,” he croaked. “I just need a minute. I—heh-SGHHT!”

He sneezed thickly into the bandana and pinched his nose before giving it a sharp blow.

“It's storm season, Thom,” Doctor Rutledge said. “The longer you're out here, the worse it'll get.”

Ehhh-GSXHTT!

He was starting to feel the strain in his lungs and he fished in his bag, curling his fingers around his rescue inhaler just in case.

“I think you should go back home, Thom,” Doctor Rutledge said. “It looks like the winds are headed this way.”

He could barely see her through his watering eyes.

“Are you sure, doctor? I could go work in one of those more covered tents across the way.”

“No, that isn't necessary. Asha, will you get him home?”

“Yes, I'll do that.”

Doctor Rutledge turned to head back to her work as Thom launched into another fit.

Ehh-tsxSHTT! Ngh'GSHT!

Thom curled in on himself, sneezing rapidly.

Tsgh-GSHT Tsh'GHT! TXGHT!

He blew his nose hard into bandana and surfaced from the fit with a wheezy gasp.

“Hold on,” he croaked, raising the inhaler. “I need this first.”

He took a puff and breathed in the medication, holding it in as long as he could before he started to cough and exhaled nosily.

Asha sighed sympathetically and held out her water bottle. He took a deep swig from it and thanked her.

“Let's go before you get worse,” she said.

They returned to the motorcycle, going slowly along the path because of Thom's swollen eyes. He shoved the helmet over his leaky face and climbed on the bike behind Asha.

The ride back into Luxor was a blur of exhausted sniffling and two very unpleasant sneezes inside the helmet before they pulled up in front of Thom's apartment.

“C'mon,” Asha said gently, taking his arm and leading him inside. He started to climb the two flights of stairs but on the first landing he was forced to pause as another fit took over, wrenching him forward with several forceful sneezes that tore out of him rapid-fire.

Hurhhh-TSGHHH! Ngh-TSGHHT! Hehh....ehh-TSCHHH!

They staggered up the next flight and into Thom's flat. He swallowed two of his prescription pills from the medicine cabinet before slouching down into his sofa and taking another puff of his inhaler.

“I thought leaving England would be the end of all this mess,” he said miserably.

“Oh no, we've got all our own special allergens here too. Storm season is infamous. I'm sure you've been told.”

“I have,” he said. “I probably would still be a bit of mess with my prescription, but I can't believe I managed to forgot taking it at all!”

“I guess we'll see,” Asha said. “There's two months of this dust. Maybe invest in a mask. Lots of people wear them this time of year.”

Eh-TSCHH!

Asha shoved a box of tissues across the coffee table towards Thom.

“And maybe invest in a few more of those too. Sounds like you might need them.”

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ladytrollfishes · 6 years

Text

Inktober 8th, Fright

Daginy Chamae | 10 sweeps, 20 years | BAD END AU | 4116 words | tw: abuse

-----

You swallow nervously as you step in behind Vadaya and in through the door. The gym was built for psions- huge, with high ceilings and open space for sparring practice and exercise with two inch mats on the ground, but also a jungle gym and different terrains to practice combat on.

You've been here before, when you had a tour of the facility, and with your trainee classes, but this time you're here to meet the rest of Vadaya's battery.

You bounce nervously on your heels as you go over the information you already know about Nanako Bonjou and Casman Kainya. Nanako's an oliveblood with invulnerability psi who's impulsive and friendly. Casman's a yellowblood with eye lasers and a penchant for extreme sports. Vadaya cares about them both very much, and you desperately, desperately want them to like you. What you know about them could fit on a sticky note- it's hardly a comprehensive file. If you knew more, you could prepare, but actually giving you, the ex-rebel, their files would have been crazy. Vadaya's already aware of your blackmailing habit, and while he's approved of using it to manage your classmates, you think he'd take a different tact if you tried it with his friends.

As it was, it feels as though you're walking in blindfolded. You'd reach for Vadaya's hand if you weren't afraid it'd make you look weak in front of his battery.

The gym's pretty much empty at this time- the Burning Barghests were known to be a little destructive, you had heard, so the other batteries scheduled their practices for different times. You can see them, at the other end of the gym when you step in, a bobbing white shock of hair beneath a curling set of horns and a shorter figure with a single horn protruding from her forehead. You see the colors of their uniforms. Nanako, and Casman respectively.

You can't help it- you shy behind Vadaya.

"Are you alright?" he asks you.

"J-just nervous," you say. Your hands are gloved, but you're sweating inside them, and you rub them pointlessly against your pants. "I just want them to like me."

"I am sure you will get along," Vadaya says. You look up at him, looking for his calm, for any kind of steadiness. "Welcoming a new battery member is always an adjustment, but they are both friendly."

You nod, still not quite assured, but there was nothing to be done now. You had requested to watch a practice session, Vadaya obliged, and you were not about to walk out now.

"I'll be okay," you say, voice quiet as you approach. You're not convinced, but you'd do it anyway. This was important. If you didn't get along- if Vadaya decided he didn't want you, you're not sure what's going to happen to you.

The two women of Vadaya's battery watch you carefully as you approach, and you try not to wring your hands. You know they're watching you as carefully as you're watching them. Nanako looks pretty strange- you've never seen anyone like her, not that that’s saying much with her hair bleached bone white and deep, even, scars cut into her cheeks. You wonder who put them there. She bounces on the balls of her feet, her fingers linked and her arms pulled straight behind her. She smiles when she sees Vadaya, but it fades as her gaze lands on you.

You can't see Casman's eyes from behind her mirrored lenses- a precaution with her eye laser psi?- but her mouth is carefully neutral as she surveys you. You think you might be starting off on negative preconceptions.

"Nanako, Casman," Vadaya says, nodding in greeting. "This is Daginy."

You chance a wave. "H-hi," you say. The word sounds small. Your voice sounds small. You look to the side, clear your throat, and try again.

"Hi," you say, nodding. "It's nice to meet you guys."

"Very small, leh," Nanako comments. "Eh, sure they can fight?"

"Yeah," Casman says. "Sorry to say it right off but liiiike. They're tiny."

You shrink a little at the immediate judgment.

Vadaya glances back at you, then turns back towards the other two. "They are still in training," he says evenly. "They are not battle ready yet but I believe they will be an asset to us."

"Sure," Casman says. "Whatever you say, big guy. How useful is their psi again?"

"I have illusions," you pipe up, eager to sound useful. "I can manipulate light."

Nanako and Casman exchange a glance and a chuckle that you don't understand, except that you think it's at your expense. You feel tears start to work their way up but you bite your lip viciously until they stop. This was just like meeting the other trainees, but the stakes were so much higher. You couldn't just break down.

"They will not be practicing with us today," Vadaya says. "They are here to observe."

"Cannot run laps, yeah?" Nanako addresses you directly. "Too short, short, short to run with us?"

"Nanako," Vadaya says sternly, just as you jump forward.

"I can run laps," you say. You've gotten a lot fitter since you started training, and you have run a lot of laps. The extra exercise isn't going to hurt. You look towards Vadaya for approval, who hesitates before he nods.

"Very well," he says. "Though you will not be able to keep up with us."

"I can try," you reply firmly. Vadaya usually approved of you reaching for extra goals, but when you glance at the other members of his battery, you catch the tail end of Nanako's eye roll, Casman's little sigh.

You just want a chance, was that so much to ask?

"Ten laps around the floor," Vadaya orders. It was a large floor- a run that'd take you probably thirty minutes even though you've been training for this sort of thing.

"Yessssssir, Dayasir" Nanako says, saluting, and then she, Vadaya and Casman are off like a shot. You strip off your jacket and take off after them.

It's immediately obvious that Vadaya's right- there's no way you'll be able to keep up with them. Nanako's in front, running with a long, loping gait that springs her forward. Casman's not far behind, her shorter legs working faster to keep up that speed. Vadaya's behind her with a heavier gait, and they're all already a quarter of a lap ahead of you. For a run like this you have to pace yourself, you know, but as often as you've been outpaced by your classmates, this is somehow even more frustrating.

They obviously don’t like you already. Vadaya must have told them something about you they don't approve of, though you don't think he would have done that on purpose. You hope so anyway. You wish meeting them was as nice as meeting Dhraji- but maybe everyone would hold grudges against ex-rebels.

Oh. Vadaya had mentioned before that you had clashed with him when you were still a rebel. His battery was also probably there. Maybe it was something you did then, that they still held a grudge against. It wasn't you, you wanted to tell them. You were different now. That was someone else. But just telling them that while they felt like this would only prompt more suspicion and you have to prove you're useful enough to fill the shoes Zavare had left.

Nanako laps you as you finish your first lap, then Casman, then Vadaya. You truck on.

They get ten laps done while you're still on number six. You watch as they converse quietly when you're far away and fall silent when you come close. Nanako's sulking, you can see, her arms crossed and leaning against the wall. Casman's got a frown under her glasses. Did Vadaya tell them off? Would they resent you now, for earning them a lecture? Would they be as petty as the other recruits?

You finish your laps a whole ten minutes after they do, according to the clock. Nanako and Casman are already sparring when you pull into the last stretch. You note that Casman is wearing guards but Nanako isn’t. You're panting hard and sweating but not completely wasted, at the very least. It's a relief, even, to be too exhausted to care too much about what they think as you slow to a walk.

"Here," Vadaya says, and hands you a water bottle. You take it, too breathless to thank him, and swallow a few mouthfuls.

"My apologies," he says. You look up at him, surprised, which he notes. "For the way the others judged you. I failed to see how much bitterness Zavare's injury left in its wake."

You take another drink and shake your head.

"Not your fault," you say, then pause. You look up at him again, wary. "Was... was it something I did? From- from before. I mean."

You've got no way of remembering- Vadaya's the only one can tell you if your hunch is correct.

He pauses, then answers carefully. "As a battery, we saw you at your worst," he says. "It may take some time before they see past the deeds you have done."

"Right." You nod slowly, filing that away. It hurts to hear it, but as much progress you've made with Vadaya, you guess it's too much to expect everyone else to forgive you. You don't know what you've done in your past, but whatever it was, it was awful enough they had to make you forget you had done it. That's not the sort of thing everyone can forgive, and you'll just have to bear it now. "I can be useful. I'll show them I can be useful."

Vadaya nods.

"They will come around," he says. "Do your stretches, then watch us spar."

You watch them as you do your stretches, touching your toes and pulling at your shoulders, and when you're done you take a seat quietly at the side. You watch with your eyes and your psi as you try to keep track of their rapid movements.

They spar with psi and without. Nanako's is always on, and she bounces around the battlefield like a wrecking ball. The care she has to take when she fights Casman is gone when she spars with Vadaya. He's one of the only indigoes in Scimitar- he can take the hits she throws at him and vice versa. Neither of them are wearing armor.

You could see why the two of them were placed on the same battery. Casman's psi is to volatile to use on her teammates so she ends up sitting on the sidelines too, watching Vadaya's purple constructs wink in and shatter under Nanako's blows, and Nanako bound around her changing surroundings as Vadaya built faster than you could breathe.

"Pretty impressive, isn't it?" Casman comes to stand by you and you watch her with a wary eye too. "Oh put that look away. I won't bite you."

You look down, unsure of what to say, or what she even wants.

"I just wanna know," she says, "you look at Nanako and Vadaya duke it out. You really think you can keep up with them?"

You look back up at the dueling psions, moving much, much faster than you ever could, even with all the training in the world. You think hard about your response before you can give it.

"It won't be my job to keep up," you say slowly. "It'll be my job to protect them. And I can do that."

Casman snorts softly, incredulous.

"Whatever you say, twerp," she says, then moves back towards her water bottle.

You turn back to look at the spar, mind racing for options and possibilities. You can help, you know it, and you come up with a couple strategies for exactly that.

There’s a loud crack as Nanako lands a hit, breaking through the constructed sword and sending Vadaya flying. If you or Casman got hit like that you’d be back in the med bay with ten broken ribs. Instead, Vadaya just sits up, rubbing that spot.

“Good show, lah,” Nanako says, still bouncing. “Watch your blindspots Daya!”

“I know,” Vadaya says, with a slight rueful smile as he stands. “Again?”

Nanako nods, and you hop up from your seat before you can change your mind.

“Wait!” you exclaim. Everyone looks at you, but you swallow and jog up to Vadaya.

“What is it?” He looks up at Nanako, then back down at you quizzically. You’re interrupting. But you can’t let yourself get sidelined either, so you gather up all your courage. If Nanako and Casman wanted to get rid of you, you’d make it hard for them to do it.

“I want to help,” you say, low. Vadaya leans in to hear you. “I have- I have some ideas about how to assist.”

Vadaya listens to them, and frowns down at you.

“Yes,” he says. “That is feasible. Are you sure you can keep up?.”

“I’m sure,” you say, with a nod, even though you’re really not. You flex your fingers- you don’t like to think about the empty space between your fingers, but if there was ever a time for them to come in handy it was now. Nanako and Casman don’t have to like you, they just have to respect your contribution.

“Then I would be eager for the experiment,” Vadaya says. “If you feel as though you are about to burn out, stop.”

You nod, and he straightens back up.

“Daginy wishes to assist me with their psi in the course of this next spar,” Vadaya announces. “Would you be alright with that Nanako?”

Nanako cracks her neck and rolls her shoulders.

“Sure, lah,” she says, and nods towards you. “Little one is a target or nah, nah? Promise to tap, mor.”

You hold your breath and look towards Vadaya. An excuse to snap your neck and call it an accident? Nanako would get sanctioned but you would still be dead.

“Not today,” Vadaya says, and you let out the breath you were holding. “One thing at a time.”

“Fine, leh,” Nanako says, standing at the ready. “Time to see what little Dags can do, yeah?”

You turn back and jog towards the side of the gym, fists clenched and adrenaline flooding your system. It’s different from facing down the other recruits, when you freeze up and get knocked down. It’s like in chess games, when you see an opening and you itch to take it.

Casman’s sitting up too, watching you with renewed interest.

The two combatants face each other in position, as you move towards Nanako’s side. You hold your breath.

Vadaya constructs- a handful of wedges sharp enough to serve as weapons, wide enough to work as shields. You work as fast as he does- you pull a template off his constructs and triple their number in illusions and send them whirling with the rest. Geometric shapes are easy to work with- you’d see how effective they could be.

Nanako bounds forward, raising her arms to break through a wedge, only to stumble through an illusion. She’s thrown off balance. Vadaya spots an opening and bowls into her. Nanako curls against the blow and flips back through the air. You’ve seen her bounce off of constructs for momentum- you move an illusion into her path and she instinctively attempts to land where she can’t and ends up crashing to the ground as you run to find a better vantage point. She rolls back to her feet, fists up but eyeing the field of floating constructs with a wary respect that feels like vindication.

Vadaya doesn’t allow her to take stock of her options. He’s already flying forward again, with his sword at the ready for another blow. As much as your illusions can limit her maneuverability, Vadaya was the one who had to actually make contact.

Nanako blocks the blade with her forearm, up too close for it to be an effective range. You watch anxiously as they trade blows- Nanako snaps out a fist towards Vadaya’s face- he blocks the blow, barely, she’s faster than him. He steps forward to shove her back- he’s stronger, but as the distance opens, Nanako’s knee comes up and a kick snaps into Vadaya’s side.

He grunts, and your clench your fists tighter. You can’t help so much in a close combat fight like this. Throw random illusions to distract and disorient? You can’t risk distracting Vadaya too. You warp her vision then, setting the frequency you use to adjust the vision in your bad eye in front of Nanako’s face.

“Wha-” she says, blinking rapidly, too distracted to guard against Vadaya’s fist, which plows into her head and knocks her down, sending her rolling over her head till she’s face down on the ground.

Oops. Did you go too far? Vadaya dismisses his constructs so you let your illusions loose and jog over to make sure she wasn’t hurt.

“That’s enough,” he says, and extends his hand to Nanako, who pushes herself up and rubs her head before clasping her hand in his. “Is something wrong?”

“Oof,” she says, blinking and looking around quizzically, rubbing her head. She turns towards you. “Was that you, ah?” she asks.

“What did you do?” Vadaya asks. There’s an edge to his tone you can’t place, and when you look up at him, his face is stony. There are lines of anger around his mouth. You stop in your tracks, your hands already flying to your shoulders in a sign of surrender. Did you just jeopardize your goodwill with Vadaya?

“I’m really really sorry,” you say hurriedly. “I didn’t- I- I didn’t mean-”

You just need to answer the question. You swallow, take a deep breath.

“I just- I bent her vision a little,” you say, voice small. “Like I do for my eye. But. Bigger.”

“Thought maybe I hit my head too hard, lah,” Nanako says, giving her skull a couple knocks. “And in practice? Shame shame shame. Is alright, lah.”

“And what do you do for your eye?” Casman asks from behind you. You jump and turn to face her.

“Um,” you say. You take another step back. “W-well, I’m near sighted. B-but in one eye, so. I just compensate with my psi.”

Casman hums thoughtfully. “Well that’s clever,” she says.

You glance at Vadaya, wary. It’s just the barest movements of his mouth and brows, but you know him well enough to know you’re watching him regain his composure.

“It is a clever application of your psi,” he says. “But perhaps do not use it during practice sessions.”

“Right, yes,” you say, looking down at your feet, embarrassed. “Thank you. You’re not um, hurt are you? Nanako?”

“Have a hard head, lah,” she replies. “Am fine, double confirm. Triple confirm.” She smiles wide, up at Vadaya, which seems to set him more at ease too.

“I have some ideas for you too,” you tell her, eager to show Vadaya you don’t have it out for his battery. “If- if you want to try.” “Yeah, lah?” Nanako says, putting her hands on her hips and leaning forward. “What you got?”

“Um, mirages. And invisibility, for you, that could like, flash.”

“Wah lao,” she says. “Show?”

You look towards Vadaya, who nods in assent, so you take a breath, and reach for the tapestry of light that surrounds you. Multiple copies of Nanako’s form appear around you, stock still, then begin to wink in and out of existence.

“Woah,” Casman says, waving her hand through a couple of fake Nanakos. You move the copies to a sort of auto pilot, then move place an invisibility cloak over Nanako, and have it blink in and out too.

“Like strobe lighting, lah,” Nanako says, staring at her hands. You have the winking copies step back when she does, moving in unison.

“That’s creepy as fuck, goddamn,” Casman says. Nanako starts running in a circle around the three of you and you oblige, the clones flickering as you fake the run until she springs up behind Casman.

“Boo!” she yells as you dismiss the illusions.

“Empress!” Casman yelps and leaps forward. “Nana!”

Nanako just laughs and throws her arms around Casman’s neck. “Sorry sorryyyy,” she says and gives you a wink. “Looks like little Dags is useful, lah.”

“If you do not need to rest, practice aerial maneuvers with Casman,” Vadaya says.

“Gonna grab water first, lah,” Nanako calls, and bounds away.

“Finally time for me to do something,” Casman says and stretches. She takes off her shades and strides to the middle of the room.

Then it’s just you and Vadaya. You’re not really sure how to interpret his flare of anger- Nanako and Casman didn’t seem to have noticed. Or maybe they did and just eased it off by distracting him.

“You did well today,” Vadaya says to you. “How is the strain on your psi?”

His words release the tight grip of fear around your pumper and you can suddenly breathe properly again. You duck and put a hand up to your mouth to hide your smile at his praise. You’re glad he thinks so- and Nanako and Casman have to see the value you bring to the team now too, even if they don’t like you.

“It’s fine,” you say. “The thing I tried with Nanako was harder than the fight. I have to work on multitasking better.”

“Perhaps use a psimudra,” Vadaya says. “They often help with the sort of split focus that requires.”

You nod and rub your horn. It’s never occured to you to do that. It always seemed more useful to keep your psi under the radar- people who didn’t know you were an illusionist wouldn’t be looking out for illusions.

“As a precaution,” Vadaya says, after a pause, “do not use any techniques in practice that you have not previously discussed with me.”

You swallow, and look up at him.

“Um, you mean like what I did to Nanako?” you say. He nods, his face schooled to a perfect blank. Your eyes find the floor again.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I just- I just wanted to help.” There’s a pause, and you hear Vadaya sigh.

“I appreciate your eagerness,” he says, “but your psi does present certain challenges by its very nature. The middle of a spar is not the time to surprise us with a new application of your versatile psi.”

You remember the wary anger in his face. He’s smiled more easily here, with his battery, than in any of the time he’s spent with you, and for a moment, you know he was worried you had hurt Nanako somehow.

He’s told you, that he can’t trust you. That his duty was to ensure that you’d never return to your former life, and that he would have to make inquiries into you because of it. You had accepted it, but you guess you didn’t realize that that distrust wasn’t just duty.

It wasn’t just your psi, you realize. It was you. Vadaya’s battery had already lost someone in the field, and the replacement he had been given was another rebel, someone he’d have to watch to make sure they didn’t turn, that wouldn’t take yet another batterymate from him.

You’ve heard the other instructors bark at their students, demanding nothing but obedience, hit the ones who disobey, but Vadaya’s never lifted a hand to you. Vadaya’s never said anything cruel to your face. You would have failed completely in regular training, something that made everyone else hate you, for not bearing the burden they did. You thought he cared, but Vadaya’s tactics in your training made sense: you were more fragile than the other recruits and when he was tasked with making one troll a better soldier, rather than weeding out the weak from a group, he had to be careful not to break you.

You turn to see Nanako toss Casman straight into the air. She flips, and the immense force of her psi pours out of her eyes to push her into another flip.

“It’s because it’s hard to tell when I’m using psi, right?” you say. “It’s a safety issue?”

Vadaya nods. “In practice it is better we stick to known quantities,” he says.

Would he tell you if it wasn’t? Maybe he did care for you, in a way. The chess games, setting you up with Dhraji, the careful consideration he always treated you with, they weren’t necessary, but on the list of things Vadaya cared about, his battery would always, always come before you.

“I understand,” you say, and bow your head.

#daginy drabbles #bad end au #tw: abuse

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strmyweather · 6 years

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one foot in front of the other, babe / one breath leads to another, yeah / just keep moving

I’m in the homestretch of my training for the New York City Marathon; the race is a little over five weeks away. Honestly, I sort of can’t believe I’m saying that -- because it seems like just a minute ago there were multiple months stretching out before me like the Great Dismal Swamp (which is an actual place) -- but now I’m realizing that there’s actually a faint light emanating from the end of this endurance tunnel. Somehow, I’ve only got four more ‘long runs’ left before the taper.

This is marathon number six for me, which might give the impression that the process is old hat by this point, but that would be thoroughly untrue. There have been a ton of ‘moving parts’ this time around, physically, mentally, and nutritionally -- maybe more so than ever before -- and I’m definitely due to set some of it down on paper. I had intended to do regular updates every couple of weeks as the training progressed, but (surprise, surprise) never actually managed to do so -- meaning this will probably be another of my infamous ten-page missives. So… pour another cup of coffee and strap in.

Back Story

I have a rather long and karmically-entangled history with the NYC Marathon. I was never a runner in adolescence -- swimming was my sport -- but took it up gradually during my senior year of college, mostly because my roommate nudged me into accompanying her on a couple of races of various distances. When we graduated and I no longer had easy access to a pool, I started doing road races and triathlons regularly, almost by default -- at that point in my life, I needed something concrete to train for in order to ensure that I remained consistently physically active. I gradually built up to marathon distance, starting with the Marine Corps Marathon in 2008, and although I entered the NYC lottery more than once, I was never selected.

In 2012, I finally just bit the bullet and bought a charity slot for NYC. Thanks largely to my PA classmates, I successfully raised 100% of the money (!) -- but those of you playing the home game may recall that 2012 was the year of Superstorm Sandy, and that the NYCM was therefore canceled that year for the first and only time since its inception. (I was literally ON THE BUS from Philadelphia to New York when the verdict came down.) Along with most of the field, I deferred my entry to 2013 -- and ended up with a stress fracture in my foot. Thoroughly annoyed, I deferred again, to 2014 -- and, a month into training, promptly sustained a stress fracture in the OTHER foot. (Pretty sure that’s what the kids call #facepalm.) However, by then I was out of deferrals, and I sure hadn’t raised that $2500 for nothing, so I adapted a CrossFit Endurance-style training plan to keep my fitness at a reasonable level while avoiding anything involving repetitive impact. Three weeks before the race, I was cleared to run.

So I did. My longest training run was five miles. It was by far my slowest marathon. It wasn’t the race I’d envisioned, to say the least. But I finished it.

That was supposed to be it. The end. The closing of a chapter. Yet somehow, every year, I have consistently managed to end up in New York City on marathon weekend. Typically, I’m just there visiting friends or seeing shows -- but this past year, it was because a dear friend of mine from the Netherlands was running the race herself. And, reliving that experience from the fringes last November -- walking around the expo with thousands of excited runners, dashing around Manhattan with my friend’s husband to try to catch a glimpse of her at various mile markers, standing on the sidelines cheering with my camera at the ready -- well, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me wish I were running myself.

So, on the spur of the moment, I threw my name in the hat, for the fifth time in ten years. And then promptly forgot about it.

...Until the evening of February 28, 2018 -- when my mind was entirely occupied by Week 2 of the CrossFit Open -- and my phone suddenly beeped with an alert for ‘Unfamiliar Credit Card Charge’.

Over the coming minutes, my initial alarm changed to confusion -- then, as the realization dawned, to equal parts shock, excitement, and dread.

Oh, shit. What had I done?

Fast-forward another seven months or so, and here we are.

Physically

The metaphor I keep using is that I feel like I’ve been driving a 4-cylinder automatic transmission for the past decade and am suddenly being asked to master a stick-shift Maserati. That’s not to say that I’m any kind of speed demon in the grand scheme of things, just that I have a much larger number of ‘gears’ than I used to. I spent a solid decade doing ‘long slow distance’ in various forms prior to discovering CrossFit in 2012, but back then, I was basically either running or walking (or crawling!) -- there wasn’t much of an in-between option. Nowadays, I’m much stronger, faster, and lighter than I used to be -- all good things! -- but this kind of training also utilizes an energy system that we just don’t routinely tax to the same degree in CrossFit, and it takes time (and mileage) to get comfortable with that. Therefore, much to my dismay, I’m having to become intimately familiar with the feel of a ‘threshold’ pace -- a.k.a. the place where I’d LIKE to slow down, but don’t objectively NEED to slow down in order to complete a given work requirement. This is occasionally validating on the back end when I review my split times -- never could’ve imagined a day where I ‘accidentally’ hit an 8:15 mile IN THE MIDDLE of a long run! -- but also inevitably involves some ‘overshooting’, a.k.a. those sessions where I come out of the gate too hot, hit a wall after two miles, and spend the remainder of the time feeling like death. Yet, slowly but surely, I’m starting to internalize how it feels to run at an 8-minute pace, vs an 8:30 or 9:00 or 9:30 pace. There are two processes happening simultaneously -- physically training my body to run faster, and mentally training my ‘sixth sense’ to learn how to calibrate a pace that can be held for MANY miles, not just two or three.

I’ve learned a couple of interesting things about myself so far, including that, on a physical level, I am inherently a more aerobic athlete (read: not a power athlete). This had already become apparent in recent months via barbell performance -- I can use a pretty high percentage of my max with decent form for a lot of reps, but tend to struggle in terms of getting my actual one-rep maxes to move upward. It turns out I’m similar with regard to running -- I can hold a ‘moderate’ pace for a relatively long time (on one of my earliest long runs, I averaged 8:54 across seven miles and felt pretty great the whole way), but, as above, I’m learning that ramping that pace up even just a little bit past the sweet spot will quickly lead to a major crash and burn. However, I suppose I’d prefer to be built this way, as opposed to the alternative -- and one silver lining is that, since my 10-rep maxes are a lot closer to my 1RMs than they have any right to be, my working weights on the current (muscular-endurance-focused) weightlifting cycle haven’t had to drop down SO far as to make me sad. :)

In terms of programming, at my request, we are continuing to prioritize my CrossFit fitness, just with a necessarily heavy slant toward endurance and bodyweight strength. Running isn’t my primary sport and isn’t going to be; my goal is simply to ‘complete’ this marathon in relatively good shape -- to stay healthy as possible throughout the training, to feel strong for the majority of the event, to soak in and thoroughly enjoy the atmosphere of such a special race, to crush several very large piles of food afterward (first stop: milk bar!) -- and then immediately jump back into ‘normal’ CrossFit training. A new PR would be a bonus -- and I do think it’s well within my abilities -- but I also won’t be too upset if it doesn’t happen; I’m playing the long game here, and I’m much more concerned with retaining muscle mass and overall fitness than with earning the fastest possible marathon time.

This all means that my actual ‘mileage’ is relatively minimal -- which is good for me, both in terms of personal preference and due to the fact that my feet are typically the part of me that ‘breaks’ first when subjected to high volume. (Other CrossFitters have wonky shoulders or knees; my own personal Achilles’ heel -- pun intended -- has always been my feet.) I started out having weekly long runs programmed on Sunday mornings and two-a-day sessions on Wednesdays (light CrossFit in the morning + running speedwork at the track in the evening). However, I promptly sustained a (mild) foot injury in the third week of increasing speed mileage (#typical). This led to us changing the sprints over to the rower and assault bike -- so now, with five weeks to go, my only true running is the long Sunday-morning piece. However, almost everything else I’m doing supports those sessions by having taken a sharp turn towards aerobic capacity and bodyweight strength. My ‘metcon’-style work these days is usually ridiculously long and pretty boring -- think anything that taxes the legs: biking and rowing mixed with long light high-rep sets of wallballs, thrusters, air squats, deadlifts -- but I’ve just had to accept that. (I halfheartedly complained at one point early on, and Coach shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “Well, it’s either this or more running,” so I immediately buttoned my lip!) :)

This brings me to...

Mentally

Going in, I tried to keep a semi-open mind -- after all, I did this for a solid decade prior to CrossFit; this could turn out to feel like a refreshing break for me. It might even be exciting to do something a little different for a while. No such luck, though; I’m actually finding this type of training to be tremendously more mentally fatiguing than regular CrossFit, for two main reasons.

First (and most obviously) -- compared to barbells and handstand push-ups and ‘three-two-one-go’, endurance training is just LONG and BORING. There have certainly been a few gratifying moments -- ‘accidentally’ running a sub-27-minute 5k during training, crushing 3000 calories in a day, realizing I’ve somehow become that girl who truly is most comfortable running in just a sports bra (who even AM I?!?). But it simply isn’t where my heart is. In hindsight, I’m pretty sure the only way I was able to convince myself that I ‘liked’ this for so many years is because back then I wasn’t physically ‘training’ so much as giving myself a forced MENTAL break -- shoving in my headphones, zoning out, letting my mind wander. Fast paces were things that occasionally ‘happened’ on days when I felt good, not things that I could deliberately strive for. As I mentioned above -- turns out it’s a whole different ball game (and a lot more mentally taxing) when you’re actually TRAINING at a prescribed intensity level and staying attuned to keeping yourself there.

And secondly, this type of training is a lot more isolating than I had bargained for -- both physically and mentally. Gym-wise, I knew it wouldn’t be fun to watch other people crushing their CrossFit goals while I sat on the assault bike plugging away at another hour-long conditioning piece… but I was at least somewhat mentally prepared for that part. What’s been harder has been the (many, many) hours when I’m NOT in the gym. Getting up at 4:00am to cover a dozen miles in the dark before work is not much fun, nor is forcing myself to drive to the track at 7pm after I’ve worked a full clinic day and just want to go home to bed. It’s also tough to feel as though nobody in my life can relate to both this odd set of obligations AND the (even odder) accompanying headspace -- after all, most endurance athletes choose this method of training because they genuinely enjoy it. And -- to add insult to injury -- because the repetitive pounding beats my body up in a whole new way, it means I have to be hyper-focused on recovery (I’m getting to that!)... which then FURTHER detracts from time that I could be spending training in a way that I DO actually enjoy.

Training is generally my favorite part of any given day, because I usually find it validating and motivating just by its own nature. So, lately, it’s been frustrating and demoralizing -- and, frankly, a little frightening -- to feel such a major piece of my life evolving into a chore. I’ve certainly completed marathons on far less training than this (albeit a lot more slowly and painfully), so there have been many moments when it’s been hard to stare down the gun barrel of WHAT DO YOU MEAN TEN MORE WEEKS (or however long). However, I’m trying to remain cognizant of the fact that this is temporary -- and that, the better-prepared I am for the marathon, the less of a toll it will take on my body -- and therefore, the faster I can jump back into the stuff I really love.

This brings me to…

Recovery

I'm being extraordinarily careful about prioritizing my recovery, in part because, with endurance training, problems tend to show up LATER rather than declaring themselves in the moment. Aches and pains tend to be related to overuse, rather than to any kind of obviously-pinpointable injury, which makes them more slippery and insidious -- and therefore more difficult to prevent (until the horse is already out of the barn, that is). This is not my first rodeo with regard to distance running -- I've completed five marathons, over a dozen half marathons, and quite a few triathlons -- so I’m well aware of this dynamic by now. I had a bone deformity in one of my feet as a teenager, and although it’s been corrected, I've still had the pleasure over the years of dealing with shin splints, Achilles tendinitis, severe plantar fasciitis, and two metatarsal stress fractures. The latter is the worst-case scenario for any runner -- because by the time you 'feel' a stress fracture, it's already too late. That’s exactly where I’ve ended up during two of my previous marathon training attempts -- and is a place that I’ve been valiantly trying NOT to revisit.

Knock on wood, this training program has kept me considerably healthier overall than any of my previous attempts (not coincidentally, it’s also been the plan with the smallest weekly run mileage!). As I mentioned, I did end up with a mild foot injury a couple of weeks ago (nothing ‘specific’ enough for a true diagnosis; my left foot/ankle just got ‘angry’ through the retinaculum and the lower segment of the tibialis anterior) -- but it was definitely a soft-tissue problem this time, nothing bony, and responded well to a couple of weeks off running, some RockTape, a better-fitting pair of shoes, and a couple sessions with the PT and the bodywork guru at my gym (both of whom I’m seeing about twice a month for dry-needling, cupping, taping, and various other ‘hurts so good’ interventions!). My coach and I are perfectly in line with our opinions on this, which is that -- if we have to choose -- it’s vastly preferable for me to reach the start line healthy and perhaps slightly underprepared, versus crush every mile of the training and then be in pain from the first five minutes on the day when it actually matters.

Honestly, I am feeling incredibly well-supported in terms of the team I have around me -- more so than I have been maybe EVER, athletically speaking -- and so (general saltiness aside) I’m actually managing to stay pretty calm, even during the acute injury phase. First, because it always feels like a small miracle to be able to lie down on the therapy table with legitimate pain, and then stand up a little while later with it having essentially vanished (!) -- but second, because of the sheer emotional comfort that lies in the knowledge that (for once in my life) I actually don’t have to worry about EVERY little thing, that ‘other people are taking care of’ some pieces of this puzzle. The three of them are all aware of ‘where I’m at’ physically, and are in communication as far as what they think is best for me, which is such a gift. Just the awareness of that support network provides me with a huge amount of reassurance -- AND additional motivation to ‘do my best for them’, after all the time and energy they’re investing in me. (The first time she dry-needled the injured area, the PT bade me farewell after the session with the admonishment, “Don’t f*ck up my good work.”)

Unrelated: one other thing I’ve found useful for recovery purposes has been my new Garmin watch (Fenix 5S). It’s definitely not a hundred percent accurate -- it’s very much an endurance watch and thus has absolutely no idea how to interpret regular CrossFit most of the time, so it occasionally tells me my weekly training load is ‘light’ or that my performance condition is ‘peaking’ when that is BLATANTLY FALSE -- but in terms of things like heart rate, daily stress level, and sleep quality, it’s fascinating to see numerical data that backs up my own internal gauges, and it’s admittedly also been pretty helpful nutritionally in terms of calorie burn estimates (I’m getting to that!). And although it’s apt to underestimate my effort output at times, there are other times when it keeps me honest; on one memorable occasion, my coach sent me a new month’s worth of programming, and I saw that my long Saturday metcons had been dropped in favor of more movements that were labeled as ‘for quality’ or ‘not for time’. This is the sort of stuff I tend to find ‘boring’, and I groaned internally as I made a note to ask her why she’d done that. However, before we even had a chance to discuss it, I completed my first Friday session on the new plan (over 60 straight minutes of biking, rowing, wallballs, lunges, running, and air squats, if you’re curious!) -- and as soon as I clicked my stopwatch off, Garmin popped up with a cheery little note: “Recovery Time 45 Hours / Easy Effort Recommended.”

Well then. As usual -- it seems Coach knows what she’s doing!

Awesome support crew and techie gadgets aside, a few other essential recovery things: -- compression socks or calf sleeves for the 24 hours following a long run -- supplements: vitamin D, krill oil, zinc/magnesium/B6, probiotics, vitamin C -- a consistent 9-9:30pm bedtime -- Epsom salt baths after the heaviest leg days -- tart cherry juice in my workout shake (helps reduce inflammation) -- and doing my best to NEVER be in a calorie deficit (more on this below).

Which brings me to...

Nutritionally / Fueling

One enormous and unexpected side benefit of this whole process is that I’ve had to become much more flexible and forgiving with regard to food. (This is something that definitely needed to happen, but I just couldn’t really foresee exactly how I was going to get there!) I’ve been following Renaissance Periodization for 18 months now (cut #1, short maintenance, cut #2, long maintenance, third/SHORT cut, now currently on maintenance again), and it has done phenomenal things for me (which is why I’ve stuck to it so rigidly until now); however, the origins of the program lie in weightlifting and strength training. To their credit, RP has put forth a lot of effort recently to try to tailor their approach to make it work for endurance training, and I definitely found their tools to be a pretty useful starting point in terms of calculating carb recommendations for long run days -- but I also learned that the math could really only carry me so far. A standalone long run is one thing, but it gets trickier when I’ve got (for example) a day with two training sessions, or a workout that’s maybe only an hour long but is almost entirely composed of sprints, or one of those super long Fridays where my ‘metcon’ is 60-100 minutes of work at “70% effort”. The bottom line is, at some point, you just have to take the toolbox you’ve got, start experimenting, and figure out what works for your body.

I’ve said before that I think one of the official RP hashtags should be #alwayslearning, and this training cycle has been no exception! While I obviously knew I would need more carbs/calories on long run days, I did NOT expect for the caloric demand to increase ACROSS THE BOARD as much as it did. It didn’t present as traditional ‘hunger’, so I didn’t recognize the ‘deficit dynamic’ at first -- but after a couple of great weeks initially, my performance and general well-being started to fall off around the 4-week mark. I wasn’t sleeping well, was feeling generally moody and anxious, and my long run paces were significantly slower than they had been up until that point. I also knew the scale had been running rather low, in the 138s-139s. However, none of this by itself was THAT far out of the range of ‘normal’, so it took me a week or two to put it all together. The larger picture didn’t fully click until, independently of one another, two separate CrossFit coaches (both of whom I’d only known for a month!) asked me if I had lost weight. That finally prompted me to look back at my daily scale trends, and I realized that my ‘maintenance’ was not actually maintenance; I’d slowly lost about two pounds over the course of the first month of endurance training.

Now, while two pounds is obviously not a tremendous amount of weight, this was still a super important phenomenon to identify and address, because in my case, it would NOT be beneficial for me to get any smaller right now. From a general health and performance standpoint, I’m already right where I need to be (my DEXA scan in July measured me at 17% body fat), which means that losing weight would fly directly in the face of ALL my goals: not just day-to-day performance and recovery, but also muscle retention. Muscle is a heavy and metabolically demanding tissue, so the body doesn’t want to hang onto more of it than it truly NEEDS -- so it’s one of the first things to go during heavy endurance training (ever checked out the physique of a Kenyan marathoner?). Since my primary goal is to preserve CrossFit fitness and performance, the last thing I want to do is sacrifice my hard-earned muscle on the altar of marathon training.

Another SUPER important facet to all of this is hormonal health -- which, unfortunately, seems to be one of those things to which I’m more sensitive than some other women. During the past 18 months of intermittent cutting, my body has shown me repeatedly that it haaaaaates being in an energy deficit (and that it will respond to this by promptly grinding my reproductive cycle to a halt for MONTHS). And while I don’t necessarily love everything about the monthly cycle, it’s an inescapable fact that estrogen is one of the best defenses I have against all this repetitive pounding on my feet. As I mentioned, I already have a history of two prior metatarsal stress fractures, both sustained during marathon training -- therefore, I absolutely need my biochemistry to hang in there this time around!

At any rate, in hindsight, I’ve been playing this RP game long enough now that I felt pretty stupid for not recognizing the ‘deficit phenomenon’ sooner. Once the light bulb came on, I started increasing calories, mostly carbs (amid a lot of jokes about my need for ‘supplemental frozen yogurt’); this immediately made performance feel much better and got my run paces back to the range where they needed to be. I’ve learned that 200g carbs seems to be the absolute minimum on a training day (and on most days it’s significantly more!), and that even on rest days I need a few more carbs (for recovery purposes) than my templates officially prescribe. However, it eventually turned out that in order to truly stabilize my weight (and to stop waking up hungry at two o’clock in the morning!), I ultimately had to slightly increase my training day fats as well. As we got deeper into the training plan and my sessions got longer, I also had to tweak my pre- and intra-workout strategies to figure out how best to fuel for a longer time duration (it’s not unusual nowadays for my Friday gym workouts to take over three hours -- meaning my regular fruit juice and whey shake alone simply isn’t sufficient) and/or what types of things I prefer to carry and consume while I’m out running. (On the plus side, my iron gut serves me well here; many runners suffer GI distress related to intra-workout nutrition, but it turns out there’s not a whole lot that I can’t tolerate!)

I’m definitely still tweaking and refining -- it (unfortunately!) isn’t as easy as just stuffing my face round the clock, because GAINING weight right now obviously wouldn’t be ideal either -- but I’m learning a ton, and, equally important, am also learning how to relax a little. My modus operandi for just about everything in life is that I tend to dive in at 120% enthusiasm, then have to slowly work my way back to a place of more moderation, and RP has been no exception. But this endurance training cycle has really forced me to try some different things as well as be a bit less rigid in general -- i.e. more willing to eat ‘combination’ foods (that don’t fall squarely into one macro category), and even to dine out in restaurants once a week or so. (Exhibit A: the best free meal I’ve had recently was a fried green tomato biscuit from Rise, when I did my long ten-mile run on a Sunday morning and then met up with two other runner friends for breakfast. LOOK AT THAT HEALTHY BALANCED RP MAINTENANCE LIFE. :)) Additionally, the necessity of (on many Sundays) fitting a homemade high-carb meal in between an early-AM long run and a full day of work means I’ve also learned how to make certain things in such a way that I actually enjoy them just as much as (or even more than!) the restaurant versions. For example, Aldi’s frozen sushi is surprisingly awesome, a home-assembled burrito bowl is totally on par with Chipotle, and (for me) a flatbread pizza in the toaster oven really does satisfy a pizza craving. I’m reaching the point where (MOST) food just isn’t really that exciting anymore -- which is actually a pretty great (mentally healthy) place to be.

Unintentional weight loss is one of those things that sounds like a #firstworldproblem to a lot of people -- and in another scenario, I can see how it could be! -- but honestly, I’m grateful to have experienced this ‘problem’, because the necessity of tackling it has been a pretty big eye-opener. This whole process has required a new level of intuition -- less straightforward following of a numerical macro chart, and more paying attention to my body’s physical, mental, and emotional cues. If I’m feeling ridiculously tired and depleted after a long workout (even if I don’t feel obviously ‘hungry’), or if I’m noticing that my hand ‘wants’ to flash out and grab the frozen yogurt when I open the freezer, then I probably need more carbs. If I wake up hungry at 2:00am, I probably didn’t eat enough fat that day. And, when eating foods I didn’t ‘plan’ for, it’s been validating to see that what often feels to me like a ‘crackout’ is usually just my body trying to maintain homeostasis. During the first few weeks of trying to sort through all this ‘data’, there were several occasions where I ate a larger-than-normal amount of something (usually the better part of a pint of frozen yogurt...) that I didn’t necessarily ‘plan’ to have. Each time, I fretted guiltily for a few minutes -- then did the actual macro/calorie math in the context of that morning’s workout and realized that my body had done EXACTLY what it was supposed to do, almost to the point of being eerie (as in, I worked for X minutes longer than last week, and today’s calories worked out to be X amount higher than last week -- without any intentional effort on my part to make it so. Biology is pretty neat). On some level, I do still ‘expect’ myself to self-sabotage -- and maybe always will expect that to some degree -- but these past couple months have reinforced to me yet again that my body truly does ‘know what it needs’ most of the time, and that I can actually ‘trust myself’ on a gut level a lot more than I tend to believe I can on a cerebral level.

What’s Next

We’re not quite tapering yet, but getting close. Tomorrow is my peak-length metcon -- by my reckoning, that portion alone is going to take about 95-100 minutes (!). But after tomorrow, Fridays will get somewhat shorter; the metcon portion will probably only take 20-30 minutes or so for the remainder of this cycle (and I’m laughing out loud at the fact that that genuinely sounds like a SHORT metcon to me now!). My long runs on Sundays will continue to build for another 3-4 weeks; the programming is written in ‘minutes’, not miles, and we lost some time because of the foot injury, but my rough calculations would suggest that I’ll make it to about 14-15 miles (on October 21st) before the two-week taper. (Which, yeah, is a bit shorter than ideal, but as I said above -- better 15 and healthy than 20 and broken.)

November 4th is the big day. I’m so, so ready to be done with this training, yet (I’ll admit) am also getting something of a ‘second wind’ mentally now that the end is finally in sight. And while I have no plans to ever (EVER) do another marathon after this one, I’m also not so jaded that I can’t recognize how very grateful I’ll be, come race morning, for all the blood, tears, and sweat (SO MUCH SWEAT) that I’m putting in right now.

In 38 days (38 days!), this will all be worth it.

#marathon #training #running #goals #fitness #crossfit #progress #RP #RPstrength #renaissanceperiodization

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