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misstvirus · 3 years

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** RESIDENT EVIL VILLAGE SPOILERS **

I decided to put this on tumblr so I could hide spoilers from Twitter and full explain why I gave Resident Evil 8 the score 5/10

These are my opinions and my personal review of Resident Evil Village. Everyone is entitled to their opinions and I am in no way saying that anyone’s experiences or enjoyment of the game are invalid.

Please excuse me - I had a hard time trying to put my thoughts in order. This is a game summary and commentary after the first few paragraphs.

I first discuss the graphics, music, etc but it turns into me basically explaining the plot so I could express my dismay at the end. Skip to the last few paragraphs to read my mental nerdy breakdown.

The gameplay, graphics and mechanics are perfect. Each installment since of series since Resident Evil 7 - has improved. The game mechanics while in combat such as switching weapons, healing and guarding are smooth, it’s damn near perfect. The Duke brought a lot of nostalgia and memories of Resident Evil 4’s Merchant. I enjoyed being able to interact to upgrade weapons, buy supplies and sell treasures. The games over all aesthetic, atmosphere and attention to detail. Each location was beautiful and you can see the love, sweat and dedication put into the game. The music is there, it is eerie at times but it’s not as memorable as other installments of the game. Resident Evil 7 had its featured title song, “Go Tell Aunt Rhody” - Resident Evil Village’s “Yearning for Dark Shadows” was not as heavily featured and did not get the hype like it’s predecessor.

Resident Evil Village had a good story (please note this is my thought strictly AS A REVITALIZED RE GAME BEFORE THE CHRIS REDFIELD SEGMENT). The story starts by continuing with Ethan and Mia Winters after the events of Resident Evil 7. I knew Capcom moved in a different direction and accepted that as long time RE Junkie that although it’s from the same universe - they would not be the same type of games. Chris Redfield’s end game appearance in RE7 and a few Easter eggs were the only MAIN (not DLC content) links to the previous RE installments. The new set of villains and interesting tie-ins to village folklore story was a great way to foreshadow the events to come. The village and story behind Mother Miranda and her reasoning for creating the big baddies because wanting to bring back her dead child were good and had this been a stand alone or continuation WITHOUT TYING THE GAME INTO THE RE UNIVERSE I would have liked it fully.

The game starts with Ethan and Mia Winters, a new baby, Rose and are Having marital issues not dealing with Louisiana/RE7 events and Chris Redfield shows up and kills “Mia”. Chris’s team takes the baby and Ethan and knocks him out. When Ethan wakes up in wreckage of a van, without his baby and dead drivers. As Ethan wanders into the woods and makes his way to the village. He discovers something is killing the people and meets up with a group of people who worship Mother Miranda and quickly die by monsters. These monsters are called “lycans” who are products/monsters of the Cadou mold similar/same thing in RE7. Ethan finds himself apart of weird meeting of all five villains - who stole baby Rose and want do some weird shit.

Tada! Ethan has escaped and ends up in Lady Alcina Dimitrescu or “Tall Lady” “Vampire Mommy” castle. You are confronted by her and her three daughters Bela, Cassandra and Daniela.

Let me step in to rustle the jimmies and ruffle the feathers of the Lady D hype group. What you see in the previews is what you get. No more, no less! There is nothing special and there are no redeeming qualities or mentions past notes in game files of Lady D outside your castle encounter. The story isn’t based around her, she’s just a tiny part in a larger story plot 1 of 5 villains/baddies. The daughters are overly sexual and have the most cringe worthy dialog. I love me some sexy characters and villains but the daughters were just so cringe. They could’ve AMPED up the horror with them and created a stronger scare factor but dropped the fucking ball. They were not creepy or scary and brought nothing to the story with delivering lines about wanting to “consume Ethan’s manflesh” “not stale as mother said - tastes so good.” Also to be noted they were not actually vampires but bioweapons. Lady D being a good result to the mold “Cadou” and the daughters the result of the Cadou and mixing of insects. You kill the daughters, get chased by Lady D who eventually mutates into a flying tentacle bat-dragon and it’s done, she gone. Sorry to fuckboys who thought she was bigger player.

After Ethan beats Lady D, he grabs a yellow flask that’s apparently filled with the juice and parts of baby Rose - and each of villains has one of these baby-juice boxes. Ethan will have to collect them all to be able to put Rose back together.

Next visit is House Beneviento. This was the scariest of all five villains and village locations in my review of the game. It reminded me of a Silent Hill installment less a Resident Evil installment - the use of light, sound and overall paranormal factor did bring in a successful horrifying portion of the game . The mutated baby chase was comical yet creepy. You have to hide to escape it and you ended up playing hide and seek with possessed dolls. The entirety of House Beneviento will definitely give you an uneasy feeling. Donna, the woman controlling a doll named Angie is another baddie who you later learn is mentally unstable and uses her abilities to manipulate plants - to cause hallucinations to create the creepy doll house scenario. (Oof it’s hard for me to stay on track). Part 2 of 4 of Baby Rose - which yes it what your game objective says.

Next Moreau, a mutated fish man - gives Ethan the Resident Evil 4 and Resident Evil 5 game play feel - having to complete actions while some oversized bioweapon is looming around and can take you out with a misstep, like falling in the water or moving too slowly. Moreau did not gain any abilities with the Cadou mold, basically his body wasn’t compatible and he just mutates uncontrollably. Mentally slow, weak and kind of a sad story. Ethan runs into Chris Redfield who tells him to stay out of it and than runs away. Ethans fights Moreau and gets another baby juice jar.

Next Ethan faces off and explores a laboratory with Karl Heisenberg - a bioweapon who can manipulate metal (think a less cool and weakly motivated Magneto). He one of the last big baddies - and motivated by being essentially rejected by Mother Miranda. He is the most stable reaction to the Cadou mold. Before Ethan and Heisenberg face off - Chris Redfield comes in - to reveal he was not the bad guy Ethan thought in the beginning of the game. Mia wasn’t Mia but in fact Mother Miranda in disguise- who was attempting to steal the baby Rose which she ended up doing anyway because Chris’s team wrecked with the baby. At this point I’m say FINE WHATEVER, I guess this works

Chris goes into kill Mother Miranda, we the audience discover the BSAA is now not what is used to be. Chris isn’t affiliating with them and his team hides away from them as they attack. BSAA gets struck down attempting to kill Mother Miranda’s mutation - a megacyte squishy organ (that’s keeping her alive and immortal). Chris puts a massive bomb on big Miranda squishy thing and discovers that Lady Dimitrescu, Karl Heisenberg, Moreau and Donna Beneviento are all attempts to create a perfect vessel to bring back her own dead child Eva, who died in 1912 of the Spanish flu. It is revealed Eveline, the RE7 little girl mold baddie wasn’t another failed attempt. Miranda has turned baby Rose into baby juice to use with the Cadou mold in a ceremony to bring her dead child back.

AND drum roll please - we find out Ozwell Spencer, founder of Umbrella and the progenitor virus the big Daddy of it all was in cahoots with Miranda at some point in his youth and supported her crazy ass research but had his own stuff going on. WHY?! WHO KNOWS? NOT ME! WHY WAS THIS PUT IN THE GAME. To piss me off? Yes. Chris has also discovered Mia is still alive in jail cell for what reason? who knows? And Mia reveals that Ethan is special!

Cue black screen, Ethan awakes to see to Eveline - the mold baddie from RE7. Eveline explains - that Ethan has been dead and died back during the events of RE7. Jack Baker had killed him and dragged him into the house. So he was dead the entirety of RE7 - That explains why Ethan is constantly dismembered, beaten and walking the mold keeps him alive. Ethan will not survive much longer because his missing heart but is determined to bring back his baby. Weakly he carries himself to fight Mother Miranda with Chris. Mother Miranda performs her ceremony with the baby juice boxes and out comes not Eva (her baby) but Ethan’s baby Rose.

They fight and Ethan kills Miranda, carrying Rose off to Chris but that missing heart is the end of Ethan so he takes the trigger for the squishy bomb and pushes Chris away and sacrifices himself for his daughter. Chris boards a helicopter with Mia and baby and the body of a BSAA solider. Ethan blows himself and the Miranda squishy up. The BSAA soldier turns out to be a bioweapon and Mia is distraught at Ethan being for reals dead and Chris is annoyed and directs the pilot for BSAA Europe HQ. Credits Roll, now we see Adult Rose (baby juice reborn as mold human) visiting her Dads grave it’s apparent Chris has been training her and her bodyguard (?) pulls up and they argue and she goes all combative on him. It’s implied she’s not normal since she was DUH she was turned into baby juice and put back together with Cadou mold they drive off - apparently you can see a ghostly Ethan in photo mode - I don’t know I don’t give AF enough about The Winters family and this game at this point

The End

5/10 - Story (read below)

9/10 - Everything else

- Katie’s Dismay and Final Review and Rating-

Graphics: 9/10

Setting: 8/10

Music: 6/10

Game Mechanics: 10/10

Story: (pre Chris Redfield tie in): 7/10

Story: (post Chris Redfield) 4/10

As a modern game, it was great, exceptional. It checks all the classic horror boxes but isn’t the scariest entry, Resident Evil 7 was a much more scary game. The story is why my rating is slow and it’s based on my biases and years of following the story.

STOP! Don’t want to hear my angry ranting? SKIP THE REST

THE ANGER OF a grown ass Resident Evil Fan.

They should’ve omitted the entire BSAA story and BSAA bioweapon-man and not included those notes about Spencer and Umbrella. This game was solid as a next installment and sequel to Resident Evil 7 until they decided they wanted to tie the original Resident Evil storylines into the new story.

When Capcom decided to breakdown and rebuild the franchise, it was a blow because so many storylines were unfinished. I understand they needed to keep evolving and I was blown away by the result. RE7 was not and did not feel like an old RE Game but it was new and it brought back the horror and fear the RE Games early installments were known for. A new RE for a new generation!

But TO ME PERSONALLY - The positive thoughts and opinions I had of RE7 are sullied by Resident Evil Village. Why try to tie it in as an after thought after such a successful overhaul? It’s a slap in the face! Capcom has created some of the best characters in video game stories just to say fuck them for this overhaul but WAIT WE REALLY LIKE CHRIS AND THE BSAA STORY LINE LET’S BRING IN THE OLD STORY NOW.

Fucking NO.

I don’t know what’s worse reading that fucking note from Spencer or the BSAA bullshit.

So now one has to say... WHAT happened to all of the characters who worked for BSAA or worked with affiliates of the BSAA? Chris goes on his own way - Now what? What happened??? There’s nothing explaining what happened between RE5 and RE6 to RE7! They failed to create that bridge. If they had established ANYTHING in RE7 it would be easier for me to swallow.

If you want to overhaul and change the series FINE but don’t back peddle now. Don’t try to throw it the last few minutes of the game with some lazy writing and a vague cliff hanger just leaving it like this.

And of course one could think - “maybe they will make a new game, maybe another sequel?”..... BUT HAVE Y’ALL seen what’s happened at the end of every RE game since RE4???? We are finally getting a Netflix series in 2021 to fill the time after RE4!!! That was 16 YEARS ago! So how can crazy ass fans like myself really expect them to fix the plot holes?!

My theory is that - in between RE7 and RE village They were working on the RE2 Remake and the RE3 Remake and it was if someone at Capcom finally asked - “If all these new RE players are going to play RE village - don’t we need a way to connect these stories????”

And someone jumped up in a conference room and replied. “FUCK IT LETS JUST TIE IN SPENCER AND THE BSAA IN THE LAST 10 MINUTES!”

I have cried, laughed and loved these games my entire life. Some of my major life events happened because of this series! I have followed every game, collected merchandise, gotten tattoos and met the most amazing people because our mural obsession over this series. That’s why it hurts me that’s why I’m tear it apart so viciously and also why I keep playing. There’s always hope that someone will fix the plot holes and finish the stories that lured in the older RE fans and I will always hold Capcom to a high standard and expect them to do right by the fans. I’m not speaking for ALL older RE Fans or ALL fans and I’m definitely not gatekeeping the fandom. This is how I feel - I’m grateful there is a new generation breathing life into RE but I’m screaming a warning - BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS - there’s a strong chance your favorite characters new or old aren’t going to get an ending or be reduced to a brief snippet in a file you may not not find.

ANYWAYS

Happy to those who loved it, condolences to those who are pissed off like myself

I’m annoyed but I’ll power through!

Happy 25th Anniversary to my longest obsession!

RE Verse coming in the summer, the Netflix series and the remake Live Action Movies.

HERE’S TO RESIDENT EVIL!

#resident evil #biohazard #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #my opinion #video game #capcom #spoilers #resident evil spoilers

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peachyteabuck · 4 years

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under cover of darkness

summary: a 24-hour convenience store, the night shift, and the man who gets you through day.

a commission for @lovelycarose

pairing: eliot spencer x reader

words: 5510

trigger warnings: mentions of a break-in with canon-level violence, fluff, mentions of an unspecified chronic pain disorder

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

There are some good things about the night shift. It’s easier to balance classes and your precarious mental health, plus the pay wasn’t terrible – a few extra bucks per hour were thrown your way after eleven and before five.

So you kept with it, one earbud in so you could listen to music while the hours ticked by at a pace so slow it felt like some supervillain had not only completely frozen time – but was also determined to thaw is at room temperature.

That was another thing about the night shift – the customers. It was mostly regulars, or tourists who forgot something at home but didn’t want to spend airport prices for a travel sized container of deodorant. None of them really stick out, none interesting enough to stick in your brain for long as you mindlessly pack their various items into white plastic bags.

That is, until he starts coming in. Tall and impossible big – it’s hard not to marvel at him as if he was a breathtaking skyscraper, like you had never seen something so magnificent. His flowing dark brown hair, his tight jeans…it’s all nearly too much for eleven-at-night-you. (Also for “I haven’t had sex in so long and I think I’ve eroded the ridges on my vibrator from using it so often and holy shit I would do anything to have that man under/above me” you, a you only made stronger and more desperate by how late it was and tired you were.)

He walks around with the confidence not often seen in newcomers, your eye used to college students too drunk to stand up perfectly straight. You’re used to people stumbling around with eyes-half closed, rubbing their temples as the bright white lights feel like cheese graters shaped like ice picks against their already hurting brains. You’re used to watching them stumble around, using some Neolithic instinct to find the cool fridges where they’ll rest their faces against the glass for an oddly long amount of time before opening it up to grab as many Gatorades as they could hold before attempting to grab one or two (or five) frozen pizzas, never able to access the higher order thinking necessary to understand that maybe grabbing one of the baskets by the entrance is important.

Or, on the other end of the spectrum you’ve come to know as normal: soccer moms searching for alcohol for their husband’s post-game barbecue. Moms with large dark circles under their eyes who probably read (and watched) the Fifty Shades movie unironically but still feels weird when their husbands suggest having sex in any position besides missionary with the lights off. Moms who went to college just to meet some mediocre-looking frat boy who votes Republican just because his father did and thinks thirty seconds of oral is enough foreplay.

They don’t spend as much time in the store as the drunk/high students, but it’s still just as entertaining watching them grab the food and drink – but not before lingering in the makeup aisle, staring at bold shades of red and waterproof mascara and the bright hair dye whose advertisements have terribly applied photoshop.

No matter the type – no matter the customer – they were nothing like the man who stood on the other side of the store, staring intently at your soft drink selection. None of them were beefy men with crumpled grocery lists, permanently furrowed brows, and the most beautiful five o’clock shadow you’ve ever seen. None of them wear thick black work boots that make not a single sound as they walk around the store, none of them wear jeans that are so criminally tight around a perfect ass.

Not even a perfect ass – the perfect ass. It’s symmetrical, looking as if it was drawn by a pin-up artist in the 50’s whose specialty involves drawing super buff men in poses meant for petite, slender women with perfect curves. As he walks you half expect sparks to form on his backside as if you were in some kind of Anime, or for each individual cheek to bounce up and down on their own asynchronous accord. Normally you’d be terrified of being caught staring – of him turning around and catching your eye and mocking someone like you for having the nerve to be attracted to him.

But that doesn’t happen, because for once in your life the universe is kind to you. For once in your life you’re allowed to listen to music and stare dreamily at the hot guy who checks the ingredients on every snack dip option you have available before choosing three different ones with a small, disappointed huff.

You watch him with that same silent intensity as he fills the bright red carrier he grabbed without a sound when he first strutted in, the packaging of the items crinkling being the only way to track his location when he steps out of your eyeline. If your boss wasn’t the one on security cameras you’d be angling all of them to follow him around the store, your eyes hungry for another look at him at whatever angle and whichever quality you could get. You feel like a fangirl obsessed with some boyband, your heart rate determined by the amount of the mountain of a man you can see between displays of holiday-themed candy and cheap make up.

You’re not sure how long it is before he’s approaching your counter (time appears to have lost all meaning the second he stepped into the store), but whether it had been five minutes or five years, he still takes your breath away. As he steps closer you realize he’s fucking massive – something your grandmother (a wonderful woman, but one lacking when social situations called for, among other things, any kind of brain-to-mouth filter) would call a “shit brickhouse.” He doesn’t even need one of the baskets as he prowls the aisles – scanning every item like a lion watches the Sahara through tall grass. It’s hard to look away, to go back to the book you’ve been trying to read the same page from since long before the little automated bell above the door had announced the man’s arrival – but the only distraction before had been the tiny, exhausted voice in the back of your mind that was shaming at you for not sleeping before the night’s shift.

Now, though, the voice has quieted to allow your tired eyes to follow him, pupils tracing along every inch of him.

The man checks out without a word; shaking his head when you ask if he has a rewards card and paying in cash. When you give him $7.26 in change, your hands touch for a brief moment and you nearly stop breathing – lungs suddenly void of their capacity to hold air as sparks fly from his callous fingertips to the bottom of your spine. He pulls away, eventually, because he has to – depositing the totality of the meager amount of money you’d just handed him into the donation box plastered with facts about victims of domestic violence right next to your register.

The box is made of an opaque deep purple plastic, the coins making a loud clink sound as they crash into the near-empty container. The man stares at it for a moment, swallowing an apparent lump in his throat as his eyes go blank for a fraction of a second before he digs into his pockets and fishes out a thick wad of perfectly folded five dollar bills before stuffing them into the hastily cut slot at the top.

Neither of you say anything as he does so, you too stunned by his generosity and him too occupied with making sure he had no more money hidden in his pockets to try and muster some vague capacity for speech. Still, as he turns and leaves, you cough to clear your throat and call out a loud and slightly hoarse “thank you!” to which he just turns and gives you a small smile in return.

The moment between the pair of you is fleeting but still makes your heart beat rapidly in your chest, swelling until your lungs feel tight against your ribs as you struggle to breathe. Fuck, you think. You haven’t felt like this since middle school when Jamie told you that your Katniss braid was adorable and you followed him around for two weeks until he agreed to take you on a “date” during lunch. You don’t even know this man’s name and you’re fawning over him as if you have another girlhood crush.

God, you need to learn his name.

Luckily, you find out the next time that his name is Eliot, even though the name embroidered in red above the right pocket of his dirtied coveralls says “Evan” in a fancy looped script (whatever, you don’t question it. You regularly wore your roommate’s sweatshirt from her alma mater even though you didn’t attend the university – must be the same thing, right?). That time all he buys is hair ties and chapstick – lots of hair ties and chapstick, just another thing you don’t question – but stays to talk with you about the Robert Frost poem you were annotating.

“Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening?” he reads aloud, smiling a little as he does so. “Is that for class, or…”

“It’s for class, but I’m liking it a lot more than the other obligatory readings for my degree,” you tell him a small laugh. “Do you enjoy poetry?”

Eliot shrugs as he grabs the full bags. “Oh, ya know. Just the occasional piece. You have a good day now.”

You smile as he walks toward the exit, butterflies pounding in your stomach once more. “You too!”

God, you think as he disappears from eyeshot. You’ve got it bad, girl.

He comes in again, irregular in each way except for the fact he arrives. Sometimes he’s clean cut, standing straight as he takes his sweet time wandering the store – as if he has nowhere to be, no need to rush around.

On those days, he buys a lot of things. Duct tape, orange soda, hair ties, sour candy in all shapes and colors. He makes conversation, asking about the book you’re reading or what you’re listening to, asking about your classes when you wear a jacket embroidered with your university’s logo on the front. On those days, he waits a little – even when all his items are bagged and there’s no real reason for him to stay – picking up on anything that would give him another thread of conversation to pull at.

“Something new?” he asks when you dogear one of the first few pages of a poetry book your friend had lent you.

“Yup!” you perk up just at the sight of him, cheery now more than you had been the entirety of the day now that he’s arrived. “Told a friend of mine about the assignment I was working on the last time you were here, and she shoved this anthology into my hands.”

You like those days – you look forward to them each time you step through the large door marked “EMPLOYEES ONLY” in large white letters that stand out against the incredibly depressing brown that’s been peeling since the day you interviewed here, spots covered sparsely by the maintenance guy who you’ve never seen. Those days are good, fun – they make you smile hours after he leaves and occupy your thoughts until you go to bed, sometimes even making it into the margins of your notebook when you’re zoning out in class.

Sometimes, though, he comes in nearly limping – at least one eye blackened and dark navy baseball cap pulled as far down his forehead as he can.

It scared you the first time, watching as he grunted with each step, every item he grabs from the shelves seeming like it pained him, his face scrunching into a wince each time he raises an arm above his ribs. You checked his items (bandages, ice packs, gauze, antifungal cream, a few first aid kits) with bated breath, terrified of making his mood worse.

It isn’t until you tell him the total, until you finally look up from your hands – that you finally look him in the eyes. They’re always warm like plate of freshly baked macaroni and cheese (and always make you feel just as gooey), but now appear to be clouded with a type of pain you can’t pin down. He doesn’t say much – or anything – as you bag his items, placing them gingerly into the paper bag as if it was an extension of him.

You try to keep a happy face throughout the entire ordeal, not wanting to push him in case what happened was particularly bad. Eliot gives you a similarly small, but earnest one in return – even if he barely hides the wince in his side as he does so.

But that was the first time things seemed a little off – your first time, specifically – and the others get easier as time passes.

At first, “easier” meant a return to days similar to the good ones – telling him things about your day as you ring up all his first-aid related items. He doesn’t respond with as much enthusiasm, doesn’t have the same witty banter – but gives you a small smile that you recognize nonetheless. But then, as the weeks bleed into months, you learn how to handle both the terrible days, the bad days, and the good days all the same.

It’s on one of the good days that he buys tampons, a piece of every kind of chocolate item you sell, and enough Acetaminophen to knock out a horse.

“Your girlfriend is very lucky,” you tell him, blushing as you bag the items. For a minute you think you’ve embarrassed him, crossed some line as a sickening silence grows between you two like mold on two-week old leftovers in a fridge that was turned off. It’s just as disgusting, too, which is why you’re so happy that he still gives you a small smile when you dare look up from where your scanner’s red line centers on the barcode of one of the tampon boxes.

“Nah, just,” Eliot’s plump lips look so kissable it makes your heart pick up. “A roommate, uh. She needs this. Her boyfriend is doing some game night thing and couldn’t pick it up. So I, uh. I got drafted.”

You give a little snort as you grab the receipt, smiling wide as you place it in the bag. “Well, your roommate is very lucky to have you.”

Eliot laughs as he grabs his stuff, cheeks heating up as he blushes. “Can I kidnap you for a little while so you can come remind her of that?”

In a rare moment of confidence, you lean forward and grin. “Is it kidnapping if I want it?”

The blush rages as he sputters a response, eyes downcast as he turns to leave. You get no witty response back, but the way he turns to wink at you as the automatic doors part is enough of a rebuttal for you to feel satisfied with your quip.

No matter what kind of mood Eliot is in, you look forward to his visits, watching and talking with him. Each evening you get ready for work you wondered if he would come in that night, if you would be able to tell him about the dumb thing this guy in one of your seminars said, or how you won an argument during bar crawl over the weekend using some of the random things he had taught you during the very conversations you now wish to have with him. It’s nice, the nicest thing you have in a long time – and somehow that doesn’t scare you, and somehow that makes you feel even better each time you see him.

But then “The Day” happens, and it changes everything.

The evening of “The Day” you woke up from your pre-work nap with this unexplainable feeling that something was going to go wrong. This feeling deep in the bottom of your stomach that you can’t quite place, one that makes the back of your knees sweat and where your ribs feel just a little tighter. Each and every sound – the cars that drive way too fast down your street, the creaking in your house, the dogs that bark obnoxiously – seem loudly, harsher than usual. When you sit up in bed when your alarm goes off it’s like you can feel the muscles in your back contract, feel the bones in your joints grind against each other. There’s some electricity in the air like when it’s right before a storm – only the sky is clear and your weather app doesn’t predict any rain until next week (and, even then, it’s only a drizzle).

At first you think it’s just a bad pain day; not bad enough to keep you home, or make you forget even the idea of doing anything besides groaning in pain in your bed and taking as many pain medications as your doctor says you’re able to. Still, it’s quite noticeable, and occupies your thoughts as you go through each part of your pre-work routine. Even as you shower, turn on your coffee pot, do the minimal make up required to make it look like you didn’t just roll out of bed or are some Victorian orphan plagued by tuberculosis and possibly a deep sadness embodied by the terrible weather that crashes outside their overcrowded London orphanage – you can’t seem to get rid of the proverbial dark cloud that settles itself between your brain and skull, clouding your thoughts and making your stomach hurt just a little.

It doesn’t get better when you get into work, either. There’s a tenseness in the air you can practically taste – electricity in the air that settles over your skin and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straighter than the carefully constructed sales display of some B-list celebrity’s nail polish collection, the one you spent hours fussing over during one of your very rare day shifts. It somehow only gets worse when Eliot arrives, whistling some tune that normally would be wistful and happy, but given the context sounds like something straight from a horror movie trailer that invades your otherwise-sweet daydreams for weeks to come; one of those songs that everyone knows but no one knows the name of that sounds really creepy when played slowly over a clip of some old, beat-up doll being held by an adorable little blonde girl with black-out contacts in.

You don’t tell him to stop, but the tune does slow when he notices your tense state when he passes to get to the soft drink aisle. When he gives you a questioning look you just shrug, hoping he forgets (or finds it in himself not to ask) about it by the time he finds what he needs. Judging by the song, lack of list, and spring in his step – it’s a good day, one where he intends to meander around the store and grab whatever it is catches his attention. Today that appears to be anything with sugar, most notably soda in every color but orange.

At some point he finds his way closer to you – more specifically he finds his way to the chocolate aisle, which faces your register – and strikes up a conversation. It’s just small talk, and doesn’t do much to distract you from the twisting in your gut, but you appreciate his efforts nonetheless. The small talk just feels like a dead-end – a polite road to nowhere that feels pointless to engage in. Still, it’s Eliot, so you give half-hearted answers and ask half-hearted questions and hope he doesn’t press you too hard on your slightly-sour mood.

And, because it’s Eliot, he draws a few small laughs and a couple of tiny smiles and it’s…nice. It’s not the usual “Good Day,” but it’s not a bad one, either.

But then it happens. And it happens quick – all of it.

Three men, dressed head to toe in black, enter guns a blazing as if they own the place. They’re wearing masks over everywhere but their eyes, the thick, black material likely silencing their voices if they weren’t screaming at the top of their lungs.

They enter in an oddly-triangular formation – one you’d describe akin to the Charlie’s Angel’s post if you weren’t scared out of your fucking mind. One of them runs to the aisle where you keep cold medicine, the other ransacking the liquor aisle and shoving heavy glass bottles of your most expensive bottles of alcohol into the black duffel bag slung around his shoulder. The last one – the one you think is the leader – keeps his eye on you as he steps closer to where you are at the register.

It’s the scariest fucking thing to ever happen to you, and what occurs next happens too fast for you to describe.

You blink once and find that you’re staring down the barrel of a handgun that’s definitely loaded and definitely has the safety off. The end shakes just a little, as if the robber is nervous, and you wonder why he’s the one scared. Both of your hands are up in the air, elbow bent at a ninety-degree angle while sweat pools at your brow and your bottom lip trembles. It’s the most terrified you’ve ever been in your entire life, and if you had enough in your stomach you throw up, you totally would’ve.

But then – Eliot.

You’re screaming at him to stop, to get away and hide and what are you doing? They’ve got a gun! Get away! You could be hurt! Eliot!

But then you realize that, holy shit, he’s actually taking the guy down. Holy shit, Eliot just punched that dude in the face. Holy shit, Eliot just punched that dude in the gut. Holy shit, Eliot just disarmed that dude while punching him.

It’s only when the guy that targeted you is screaming in pain from a dislocated shoulder that the other two realize something’s up and come rushing towards the man that stands just in front of your register. You’d scream if you weren’t stunned – eyes not sure where to look as Eliot disarms them with the grace of a professional ballet dancer at the same fucking time. He’s fierce but controlled – not breaking any bones but definitely leaving some bruises as he knocks them to the ground and kicks their guns across the carpet.

It’s then – when the inferior robbers are writhing in pain on the ground – that he grabs the leader by the collar of his black hoodie and pulls the teenager’s wincing face close to Eliot’s raging one.

“I will give you one warning,” he hisses, teeth bared like an angered wolf as he spits. “one warning to leave this place and never come back. If this,” his left hand raises to gesture to you in all your petrified glory. “Nice lady tells me that you have returned to so much as buy a single stick of gum, I will track you down and find you and make sure you pay for the damage you’ve done here today. You got that?”

The still-masked teenager immediately nods furiously, eyes wide with terror and legs already kicking at the ground to leave.

Eliot gives a small, faux smile, and shoves the kid back down onto the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of him. “Good, now get the Hell out of here and don’t come back.”

Without hesitation, the would-be robbers scatter as fast as their damaged legs can carry them, clutching their bags to their chests as they rush to their crappy getaway van.

If you weren’t scared shitless you’d admit you’re a little turned on at the feat, especially as Eliot flips his hair from his face as he watches them speed away.

Your boss appears a few seconds later, apparently one more to watch from his safe room in the back than to interfere. Thank Heavens Eliot was here, you think. Facing those three kids on your own – even if they were, indeed, kids – makes your blood pressure spike once more.

“Should I call the cops?” he asks, looking at the wreckage around the store. The only silent alarm is located under the counter where the register is and, given your petrified state, you weren’t one to trip it.

Eliot just sighs and shakes his head, kicking a broken bottle of whiskey that for sure was going to stain the carpet. “No, they can’t do much – those kids probably don’t have a record and I don’t think you’ll get much out of ‘em if they do find the bastards. They’re young, broke, and I don’t know how much priority your case will be given.”

Your boss sighs, rubbing his face. It’s not as if they stole more than a few hundred dollars’ worth of merchandise, but being the victim of a robbery is still both tiring and rage-inducing – especially when someone like him has gone so long without incident. “But, I, what am I supposed to do? I just-“

Eliot grabs his wallet from his back pocket, reaching into it to fish out a small, professional-looking business card that he hands to your boss. “Call the number there come sun rise and tell them Eliot referred you. They’ll help you out with whatever you need.”

The man who signs your paychecks furrows his brow and reads the block print allowed. “Leverage, Incorporated? They can help me replace what I lost?”

Eliot nods, placing a comforting hand on your boss’ shoulder. “Everything.”

Immediately the man nods and steps away to go out the back exit, leaving you and Eliot in the center of it all.

It’s then – just as you’re alone – where the sun’s just coming up and the large windows in the shop allow its warm light to bath the both of you in a beautiful soft orange. There are no other customers there, and with your boss preoccupied with calming himself down, it really does feel like it’s just you and Eliot – just the two of you with the whole world still asleep around you. It’s nice, perfect.

He’s the one to break the silence, voice gruff as he flashes you a small, shy grin. “So, uh…you want to go for coffee?”

Your heart rams in your chest even louder than when you were staring the possibility of a gunshot wound to the face, the poor organ exhausted as your brain screams at you to accept his generous offer. It takes what feels like an eternity to muster up the courage to do so, but before you can Eliot’s already speaking once more.

“Not that you, uh,” he clears his throat. “Not that you should feel, uh, pressured, or anything. I just mean like, hey, you worked all night and just went through a pretty rough event, and you’re probably tired, and probably pretty hungry as well, and a coffee place just opened up a street away that I’ve heard good things about. I’ve wanted to try it out, for a while actually, and I wanted to, uh, see if I’d have the honor of you joining me…”

“Eliot,” you laugh as you step closer, placing your hand on his face to guide his eyes to yours. “Don’t be stupid. I’d love to go with you,” he smiles and it warms every bit of you. “Just let me grab my bag and clock out, I’ll meet you outside in a moment.”

He sputters through an “okay, sure, yeah,” before you both turn to leave – him out the front doors and you behind the large one your boss had just been hidden behind. Your hands shake just a little as you insert the little card into the dinosaur of a machine, the loud noise and sputtering sound it makes now white noise as you grab your purse and rejoin him outside.

When you arrive at the coffee shop (aptly named “The Bean Spot”) you order a caramel latte with a cheese Danish, Eliot getting a simple black coffee with cream along with a walnut muffin. You wait for your breakfast in relative silence, neither you nor Eliot sure what to say after such an event. When the food and drink are handed over to you, you find a spot tucked in the back with an excellent view of the whole place.

The coffee shop is nearly empty since it’s still so early in the morning – the only patrons coming in, getting their coffee, and zipping off to the next part of their day. It’s nice to be the only inert thing, the movements of the people around you providing a nice cover as they zip past, locking you and Eliot in your own little world as the world stretches its arms and prepares for another day of hustle and bustle.

By contrast, you and Eliot are wide awake, laughing as you swap horrible roommate stories and whatever else comes to mind. He asks about your degree but has enough class not to ask you about your graduation year (a rare feature of conversations these days), talking to you about all the books you’ve read and professors you’ve liked.

It’s odd – not bad, per say – but odd nonetheless, to be able to talk freely and openly and having him in front of you, within arm’s length as your knees barely touch under the small table. Seeing him in this space, a space more conducive to conversation and watching his hands as they pick at his blueberry scone and watching his mouth as the corners of his lips twist into a smile every so often and watching –

You blush at your own serial-killer-like thoughts, trying to suppress them with another sip of way too expensive but totally worth it coffee.

Eliot notices, because of course he does. “Hey, you alright?”

You nod, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. “Y-yeah, just-“

He smiles warmly, one hand moving to cradle your chin – to guide your downcast eyes to his. “It’s weird, seeing me in a new place, isn’t it?”

Once again, you nod. “It’s not that I don’t-“

“It’s okay,” his smile widens even as he now avoids your gaze, his hands moving to his lap as he fiddles with them. “It’s…I understand. Trust me, I get it.”

You exhale deeply, your shoulders falling a little. “I’ve thought a lot about this moment for, like, since you walked into the store for the first time…to have you here,” you gestured vaguely to the rest of the coffee shop, to the very few customers and baristas chatting about something you can’t hear and don’t care to pay attention to. “It’s…I don’t know. It’s not as if you’ve fallen short of expectations-“

Eliot gives a little chuckle, mumbling an “I sure hope so” with a glimmer in his eye that makes you want to jump on his lap and kiss him right there. Somehow, you find it in you to continue.

“It’s just super, super weird,” you tell him honestly. “And I don’t like it.”

The man in front of you leans forward, placing a hand over yours to calm you down.

“How about we get out of here,” Eliot murmurs, voice warm and thick like the caramel drizzle over your latte. “I have an espresso machine at my place, and could make you homemade baked goods a million times better than whatever you bought, and we can continue this in a space where the baristas don’t misspell my name on overpriced coffee.”

He gestures to the cup labeled Elliott, wincing as he does so. It makes you laugh, and you nod in agreement. Together you down the coffee and throw the empty cups along with the wrapping for your pastry away. It’s natural – the way the two of you move – as if you’ve known each other for a millennia, as if whatever it is between you two that’s formed is already as strong and sturdy as an oak tree.

Eliot places one of his large hands on the small of your back as you exit the cafe, thumbing at the fabric of your sweater as you wait to cross the street. It’s comforting – just a flash of the fire that he started for you back at the store a mere hours earlier, heat warming your blood from your toes and up your spine. As he guides you to his apartment his hand finds yours, his fingers fitting neatly next to yours as he points out parts of the city you’ve never slowed down enough to see.

You may not have known Eliot for very long, but even within that short amount of time (and even shorter conversations) he had become a safe house for you, one that you could easily make a home.

And, unbeknownst to the other person, the both of you intended on doing just that.

#eliot spencer x reader #eliot spencer/reader #eliot spencer fanfiction #eliot spencer #leverage #lukis does commissions #lukis writes stuff

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syms-things-5 · 3 years

Text

Clear The Area - Chapter Seventeen

Previous Chapter Here

Warnings: Strong language and an air of discomfort.

Notes: I hope this reads OK as it’s quite dialogue-heavy.

Tags: @kelbabyblue @jennmurawski13

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The night shifts weren’t all bad. From time to time, they were even as good as “pretty straight forward”. They proved especially useful when trying to finish patient notes and random admin that always got left to the very end of the shift. Perhaps they’d endure a tidy-out of the stock cupboards if the crew was feeling generous. Since O’Brien had taken up his post at the hospital years earlier, he had insisted upon mandatory training updates for the ER units every three to four months (the national average was about once a year) so the team were regularly reminded not to set fire to their computers and not to leave boxes in places people could trip over. You’d be surprised how often both those things happened in an emerging crisis.

“I swear he thinks we’re idiots half the time.” Complained Jack, his head now glued to the palm of his hand. Jack was hurtling towards an early retirement thanks to an ever-increasing distrust of the corporate environment ER departments found themselves in. We trained to save lives, he’d say, not file stat reports. He was so right, it hurt.

The crew was sat round the reception desk. The ER was empty except for a local homeless man the team allowed in from time to time to sleep off his latest drunken adventures.

“Who doesn’t know how to bend their knees when lifting something heavy?” Jack asked again.

“Ryan for one.” Sarah joked, pointing her cold cup of tea towards the fellow nurse in question. Ryan was a tall and skinny guy, not dissimilar to Alexander Skarsgard in the right light but with less charm although he had left a few of the interns swooning of late. Shanna quite liked him, too.

“One time, Sarah. One time and I suffered for it greatly.” Ryan remarked, spinning a full 360 in his swivel chair. “Did you tick ‘agree’ or ‘strongly agree’ for question eleven?”

“Oh, if you don’t tick ‘strongly agree’ even if you only ‘agree’, they mark you down a couple of percentage points.” Entered Audrey, slamming down a pile of files on the desk beside Sarah. Their nightly routine just got more interesting. “Just get it over with. It’s not worth the effort. It’s just O’Brien being obsessed with stats again. He turns everything into a competition. I swear it’s unhealthy.”

Ryan looked momentarily confused before returning to face his computer screen. He re-read the question for the fifth time and rubbed his eyes in resignation. Something about 3am made this far too complicated.

“When did you even find time to do this, Aud?” Jack asked, turning back to Sarah and Audrey in time to witness their shared look self-satisfaction. “I’ve been sat here for half an hour and am still only part way through the first section.”

“I logged in at home earlier.” she responded before catching Sarah’s quizzical look. “Well, Michael did most of it for me.”

“Fucking hell!” exclaimed Jack, chucking his pen on the table, giving up. “Got no chance then, have I? Michael’s a bloody genius. Hey, how much for him to do mine?”

“Normally I’d say $100 but he’s pretty cheap these days.” shrugged Audrey. “Probably a fancy cigar would do.”

“He still grumpy about the you-know-what?” whispered Sarah to her friend when the guys started joshing between themselves.

Audrey leaned back on the desk beside her and took the mug from Sarah’s hands to take a sip, grimacing slightly at the sweetness. For some reason, Sarah had to have at least three sugars in her tea if she was drinking it post-midnight. It helped to keep her more alert apparently. She didn’t drink it like that at any other time of the day. “No more than usual. Seems like we’re both unlucky in that department at the moment.”

Sarah smiled at her in acknowledgement, lips thin before biting the inside of her cheek.

Following their last meet-up, Chris had been decidedly quiet. Too quiet almost. It was weird. He hadn’t messaged her. He hadn’t called or visited their apartment except to collect a parcel he had left. Sarah has been out for a run at the time and had felt silently glad to have missed him. He hadn’t updated his twitter and there had been multiple sports events occurring that would have guaranteed a humblebrag or five. Shanna had pledged to buy rib-eye steaks for a Saturday night meal during a Celtics game and he had cancelled at the last minute citing an interview he had conveniently forgotten. Even Audrey thought it was weird. If anything was guaranteed to get his attention and bring him out of whatever funk he was in, it was the promise of sports and a ‘Grade A’ barbeque.

Shanna merely put it down to his laziness or him having something better turn up. Scott had started replacing Chris around their apartment, wanting to get some of his own distance from the tricky Zach situation and it helped her feel better knowing he was at least in touch with him if Shanna wasn’t. He was evidently still alive.

Sarah decided to swap a couple of daytime stints to partner up with Audrey for the nights. She needed the comfort of working with a good friend to calm her down from whatever ledge her anxiety had placed her on.

“You know that he’ll come back, right?” Audrey interrupted her thoughts. Maybe Sarah spoke too soon. “Haven’t you got that birthday thing for Lisa coming up?”

That trip was a couple of weeks away yet. She was trying to bank some reasonable excuses but everything sounded lame in the cold light of day and Lisa was never going to accept her not coming as well. Surely things would have smoothed themselves out by then?

“This won’t just fix itself, hun, you’ll need to speak to him eventually. And the sooner the better.”

It was like Audrey had a hotline straight into Sarah’s psyche. It was unnerving at the best of times. Sarah knew she was right of course. It’s just, a little bit of distance would be a good thing, right? Even Chris himself had offered that advice from time to time, and stressing herself out at this point almost seemed counterintuitive.

“I reckon you could go in an hour or so if you wanted.” Audrey offered, nudging her friend with her elbow to bring her back into the room. “It’s dead out there.”

“I hope not.” Sarah joked, trying to lighten the mood. “We’d be shit at our jobs if that was the case.”

Audrey laughed for the first time since Sarah could remember that day. It was moments like this that reminded her of why she enjoyed working alongside her so much, and why she didn’t mind if it resulted in overtime.

“You wanna take patient referrals while I take the EPRs?”

“How can I refuse an offer like that?” Sarah picked up the dozen or so documents sat in front of her and grabbed the nearest chair. Audrey told her she’d put the kettle on and nudged the guys still glued to their screens. Ryan had pretty much given up logical thinking and was now ticking random boxes. Jack was cursing under his breath. O’Brien was going to be in for a real treat when he could finally tabulate the responses.

It was nearing 6.20am when Sarah and Audrey finally packed up to go. Matt and Stephanie had just arrived to take over for the morning, bringing a fresh perspective for the day. There wasn’t much for them to catch up on so it should be a smooth few hours at least. Sarah even ran a mop through the staff locker room as an added gift – Steph was a notorious clean freak – nearly tripping Greg up in the process.

He’d been on leave for the past fortnight and his hair was a little longer than she remembered. A five o’clock shadow graced the lower part of his face and it suited him more than she thought it would. He had kept up with the informal tie-less attire and he seemed to be, dare she it, enjoying himself.

“God, I’m so sorry.” She held her hands up in a mock mea culpa. “I was just gonna put it away before heading out. It was a stupid place to leave it.”

“Did you not take the Health and Safety refresher?” he joked, rebalancing himself and trying to play down the redness creeping into his cheeks from the embarrassment of temporarily losing his footing in front of her.

“You gonna rat me out to O’Brien? ‘Cos you know as well as I do that he doesn’t need yet another reason to know he’s right.” She shifted the mop and bucket and placed them back in the supply closet before reaching for her bag again.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He moved passed her before turning to face her again. “Tell you the truth, I ghosted the last couple of tabs myself. Who knew there were so many ways to ask questions about standing in elevators?”

Sarah rolled her eyes in acknowledgement. “Yeh. I can’t wait to have the team meeting when he realises we’ve all pretty much done the same thing. That’s gonna be fun. I might finally take some of my holiday.”

“Yeh, good plan. Hey listen,” His words stopped her in her tracks, feet from the exit. “Um, I know it’s been a while but I was wondering if you might want to reschedule that tennis match some time? Or if not, we could get some dinner or something? There’s that new sushi place on Reagan Street. It’s meant to be really good if you fancy it?”

She was indeed familiar with that very restaurant thanks to the glowing reviews she had been unable to avoid since it opened. Audrey had only mentioned it a mere thousand times in her presence. Word was that bookings were now months in advance so she wasn’t sure how Greg was hoping to find a table unless he wanted to make plans with her in November. Given the number of commitments he always appeared to have going on, it wouldn’t be completely outside the realm of possibility.

“Wow, I thought that place was fully booked?”

“Yeh, it is, but I went to college with one of the investors and he’s promised me a one-off.”

Of course he did. Sarah bit her bottom lip to stop herself from chuckling out loud, imagining Audrey’s face when she would inevitably find out. To be honest, she was genuinely surprised he was still showing a minor interest in her. When she finally made eye contact with him, his earnestness was practically shining. Had he always had perfect skin?

“Um…” That was a good start, she thought.

“Honestly, it’s not a big deal if you’d rather not.” He helpfully pre-empted her awkward rejection but she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. “I’ve been meaning to go is all and I knew you liked sushi and figured it might be fun? They have live Jazz on Sunday nights.”

When did he find out she liked sushi? And live Jazz? Just how much had Audrey told him about her?

Realising she probably looked perplexed, she shuffled her shoulder strap back up onto her shoulder and tried to relax the awkwardness setting in between them. It was still quiet and no one was within earshot that she could figure out of her peripheral vision.

“It’s not you, Greg, I promise. It’s just, I’m not really looking to get into anything right now. With anyone. Plus, we work together and…I’m sorry. I hope that’s OK?”

“Hey, look, I promise it won’t be awkward. There’s absolutely no expectations from me and if you change your mind, just let me know, yeh? I literally know no one else who likes Sashimi so I can’t waste my only chance to get a table.” He chuckled and she felt more at ease.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m a pretty crap date.” She smiled at him as she edged herself down the hall, putting space between them both literally and figuratively. “You wouldn’t be missing out.”

“Oh, I doubt that somehow.” He returned her smile. “I’m serious, though. Just let me know. Anytime. No expiration date.”

And with that, she had been left dumbfounded by two men in the space of a single week.

It would have been easier to get the early morning bus home at this time, as tired as she was starting to feel. She hadn’t slept well in the last few days and she had a creeping nausea from the lack of proper rest. The walk and crisp, fresh air might do her some good. It was practically full daylight even at this hour, and it was sometimes fun to watch people on their own way to work, huffing along, trying not to drop their coffees.

The out-of-town school bus passed her a few minutes out from her apartment and as she rounded the corner, she got this weird sense that someone was watching her. Another corner turned and she could see her building in the near distance. Still, she couldn’t shake it. She stopped, pretending to fumble for her phone in her pocket and turned around swiftly to see a sweaty Chris stop a few steps behind her.

It took her a moment to register it was in fact him, his beard fuller and a Red Sox cap pulled down low over his eyes. He had sweats and sneakers on and looked like he was on a run. Honestly, if someone else had spotted him from this distance, they would have worried he was going to attack her.

“Hey,” she said, turning to fully face him. “What are you doing out at this time?”

He didn’t respond at first. He shuffled from one foot to the other before grounding himself and taking a couple of steps towards her. Again, he shuffled back a step like he was rethinking his move. She didn’t appreciate seeing him like this, so unsure of himself.

“Five months out from filming some pre-shoots so figured I’d make a start.” He finally spoke. Not a really a smile but he at least sounded OK.

“Cool.” She said, nodding back at him. “Um, I’m not sure if Shanna is awake yet but do you want to come inside for some water or coffee?”

“Yeh, that’d be great. Thanks.”

She turned to continue walking on. For a few long moments, he stayed walking slightly behind her. A couple more strides and he had decided to catch up. The last time it had taken this long to walk this same street, she had been so drunk she had narrowly avoided falling into her neighbour’s front garden.

“Five months? You’re not that out of shape.” She tried to make a joke. It was the only thing she could think of. Audrey would be eye-rolling like a champ if she could see them now.

Chris knew she was trying to make small talk now so he decided to indulge her. It was a fair response, he thought - he was doing OK - as he followed her up the stairs deliberately keeping two or three behind her in an effort to keep it casual.

“Oh, y’know. I fluctuate pretty easily. A few pizzas here and there and it’s game over.”

They walked into her kitchen and she had been right in assuming Shanna was still asleep. Unless she had awoken really early but that was highly unlikely, unless there was a sale at Ted Baker she didn’t know about.

He lingered in the doorway while she searched the fridge for a bottle of water. Grabbing one from the back, she turned to hand it to him expecting him to be within an arm’s reach from her but he had been distracted by something down the hall before turning back to her. Gratefully, he accepted it and walked into the kitchen to take up his usual spot leaning against the counter.

“Sorry, did you say you wanted a coffee?” She offered.

“Nah, I’m good. Can’t really take caffeine until this afternoon.”

“Sorry. I always forget how strict it is.” She apologised, offering him a sympathetic smile.

He took a long swig from the bottle, not breaking eye contact from her. “No need to apologise. You OK? Night shift?”

“Yeh. Pretty quiet, thankfully.”

“I’ve always meant to ask but what is it like, a night shift? I can’t work out if it would be worse or not.”

She understood what he meant and laughed. “It can go either way to be honest but it’s been quiet the last few nights. Nothing crazy. I caught up with some paperwork, so…” She shrugged again, acutely aware of how boring she must sound.

He nodded at her. “Aren’t people supposed to be crazier in the summertime?”

“Well, kids are around more and families tend to spend more time together, so…”

The apartment was unnervingly quiet now which was weird. She could hear the uptake in traffic outside which provided some relief that perhaps he couldn’t hear her heart beating out of her chest. She could make out some small sweat patches on his hoodie and it did something to her that she wasn’t expecting. Shaking the thought from her head, she turned to switch the kettle off.

“What?” He asked.

She jerked her head back around to face him. “Huh?”

“You were thinking of something. Your neck just went red.” He smiled, tilting his head at her and relishing the look of surprise making its way over her features, knowing he’d caught her out.

That was news to her. She knew she had “tells” but a red neck was not usually one of them. How come no one had ever told her about this?

“I can’t tell if you’re joking with me or not.” She inquired, playfully narrowing her eyes at him in an effort to lighten the mood.

He shrugged a shoulder at her, a smirk starting to cross his fine features. Joshing with her was good. She’d take that. A small step in the right direction.

“Sometimes, it’s really obvious. You get it when you’re embarrassed about something, or when you try to lie. I’d never really noticed it before, but...” He paused. His expression started to turn more thoughtful and she wished he’d just continue to make fun of her instead.

“Guess I won’t be playing poker anytime soon.” She finished the thought for him.

“Yeh, no, you’d be rubbish at that. Just terrible.” He took another swig from his bottle and waited for her to throw something at him.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

The room went quiet again. She stirred her mug of coffee and offered him another chance at one which he politely refused although his discipline was waning slightly now he could smell it.

“So this is fine.” He said after a couple of minutes, nodding in a slightly exaggerated manner. He looked out of the kitchen window. “We can do this, right? No awkwardness. No embarrassment. Just normal, everyday conversation.”

“’Course,” she nodded in agreement.

“Start as we mean to go on, right?”

She nodded again. This felt like a trap and she couldn’t put her finger on why. Chris had a knack for saying and doing two different things at the same time, an intimidating ability that often put people on edge if he thought it would serve his purpose, whatever that may be. Probably the actor in him. When you called him out, he would aggressively defend himself which only served to prove the point you were making in the first place.

Scott was the only one, truly, who knew when it was happening. It had taken Sarah years to get to a similar position but now, she wasn’t sure she was remotely close to it.

“It’s as good a starting point as any, I guess.” She shrugged again, sipping from her cup.

“So there’s no need to ignore me then.”

“I haven’t been ignoring you, have I?”

“You tell me. I’m just pre-empting it is all. I’m just saying we can still interact, you and me, if we need to. Like, it doesn’t always have to be in social settings with other people around.” He took a final drink from his bottle and turned to locate the recycling pot stashed away in the corner. Even with a mundane task, he always looked cool doing it.

“So don’t worry about it.”

“Alright then. That’s good to know.” She shot him a raised eyebrow which he caught and returned with a sly smirk. “I’m just trying to be sensible. We have to get this right or else there’s no point.”

“I know, I get that, too.” If he wasn’t attempting to be serious before, he was now. He had a hand on his hip and seemed to have grown a few inches in height. “What do you think I’m trying to say?”

“I…think I’m on the backfoot again and it’s weird.” She held a hand up in defence.

“Hey, I’m just doing what we agreed, OK? I’m just following your rules.”

“They’re not rules.” She struggled to regulate the volume in her voice in case she disturbed Shanna. “And you’re making it sound like I’m controlling the situation when I’m not. We both agreed on this. There’s no point being difficult about it.”

Was he being difficult? Yes. Obviously, he was. He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling but happy definitely wasn’t it. Things were out of sorts and he hadn’t been able to eat carbs or sugar for four days so the withdrawal symptoms certainly weren’t helping. He should go easier on her. She was doing the thinking for the both of them. He should learn to be more grateful for that.

He scratched the back of his head and let out an audible sigh in frustration. “I’ll try harder, I promise. We’ve got that cabin thing coming up with Mom, so…I promise I’ll be good.”

He imitated the scout salute and she smiled at him, a smile not quite reaching her eyes.

Another night shift and Audrey and was starting to get suspicious. No one willingly switched for a night shift. For one thing, there was a disproportionate amount of recovery time. A couple of night shifts often took in excess of a week to recover from; a week that a nurse definitely did not have to spare.

“He been buggin’ you?” she asked, finally growing tired of the silence.

“Who?” Sarah looked up from the cabinet. “No, not really. We haven’t really spoken.”

“So why are you ignoring him?”

“I’m not ignoring him! Why does everyone think that?”

“Who’s everyone?”

Crap. Audrey had her there. Sarah open and closed her mouth without a sound coming out. She took a breath. “He’s not bugging me. He’s not. I’m just trying to limit the times we’re in the same place at the same time.”

“Huh, you’d think he would at least allow you to have peace in your own home.”

“Well, to be fair, he hasn’t been around all that much, but…at least I don’t have to worry about him showing up unannounced. It’s stupid but I feel way more awkward about him than I thought I would. It’s like I can’t even stand to be under his gaze.”

Audrey glanced at her friend, wishing she could offer some words of comfort. Even for someone as verbose as she normally was, she was finding it a struggle. Sarah wasn’t much looking for words of comfort at the given time either. She was all too aware of the predicament she was in and how much responsibility laid at her feet. In her mind, waiting it out was the only logical solution she could come up with. The only logical solution that didn’t require more conversations with someone who could feasibly run rings around her “theory” that if they just stayed apart for a little while, they would suddenly and magically forget about the past couple of months.

They stayed filing documents in silence again, the air seemingly getting thicker.

“You ever spoken with someone and it’s like they’re thinking the complete opposite of what’s coming out of their mouth?” Sarah huffed while shoving the cabinet drawer closed.

“Not really. That person’s usually me.”

“But why?” she asked. “Why can’t you just be normal?”

“I mean, it’s not my go-to response of course. It’s normally reserved for occasions when I am trying to indulge someone because I know they’re talking bullshit. Like, when I know Mike has been gambling but he tries to deny it? It’s just easier to figure him out that way.”

Sarah froze to the spot, looking at her friend. She breathed a heavy sigh and turned to lean back on the table behind her and crossed her arms. She stared at her shoes for a second.

“Chris is a smart guy. I’ll give him that.” Audrey muttered loudly so she was sure Sarah could hear.

“Give me something! I’m your friend here.” She implored her before chuckling to herself at Audrey’s face and her own apparent lack of self-awareness.

“You know what I think? You’ve probably got withdrawal symptoms from the all the amazing sex you’ve had and now you’re sulking. I think you should get back on that horse and let him fuck you again. That’s what this is.”

Sarah eyed her friend again. For once, she would love to hear someone tell her that she was right. “That’s really not helping, y’know.”

“And this is?!” Audrey’s shriller tone cut through the dry air, smacking Sarah right in the face. “Honey, this isn’t healthy. You hiding out in the hospital and treating it like your own solace is not healthy at all. I love you but you are your own worst enemy.”

“Alright, thank you. Thank you very much. Thank you for your unswerving efforts to be honest with me at all times and not, like a normal pal, be comforting in any way.” Sarah comically bowed to her friend before considering leaving the office. She would have followed through with the idea as well if it wasn’t for the cosy warmth of O’Brien’s office versus the coldness of the ER department thanks to a leaking pipe. “It’s difficult. I’m sorry. I don’t wanna fall out with you, Audrey.”

Audrey just smiled at her. “I don’t know why you think you have to be the beacon of morality all the time, Sarah. Take a look around. No one else is. We all out here just trying to live our lives as best we can and a part of that is taking advantage of moments of happiness when we find them.”

Something about what Audrey was saying did resonate with her but comparing two months of happiness with Chris to ten years with Shanna was not something she could in good conscience do. Shanna was her security blanket. She provided a comfort of living with someone with shared life experience, of knowing how little you thought about yourself because you were given up as a baby. Honestly, from the very first day they had met, Sarah felt lucky to know her.

Yes, Shanna could be immature at times. Maybe a little selfish. She would often get carried away with trivial things and wasn’t the most reliable person, but what Sarah got in return was worth that and more. Her family enjoyed highlighting the maternal care Sarah would have to provide to someone who was seven months older than she was, but honestly it didn’t matter.

Maybe this was one of the rare occasions where Audrey was wrong.

Chris was a fling at best, Sarah told herself, when she was lying in bed struggling to fall asleep. When she was cold and missing his arms around her. They were both having shitty times and they both got something out of it. That was what Chris had said himself at the very beginning.

Chris 08.15am: You home? Shanna said you were working late again

It was like he knew she would be thinking about him.

Chris 08.17am: I really dont want u ignoring me all the time. This is hard for me right now as well

Fuck.

Sarah 08.21am: I kno. I’m so sorry I made you feel like that :(

He didn’t respond. She thought she saw the tell-tale three dots of him writing something but nothing appeared. Giving up on sleep, she got up and headed into the kitchen. Shanna had left her some bacon in the fridge and a fresh bread bun on the side so she turned on the grill and set about making some coffee.

She felt strangely awake for this time and the apartment was nice and warm from the bright sunshine streaming in from all corners. Maybe a run would help. Or a cold shower.

Chris 08.44am: I wanna be honest with u but I dont think u want that

Chris 08.45am: so what do i do??

Fuck knows.

Chris 08.51am: Can I come over?

Sarah 08.54am: that’s not a good idea

Chris 08.55am: cos you know what will happen?

Chris 08.56am: what does that tell you??

She was sure he was nursing some kind of hangover or, quite possibly, he was still a little bit drunk. There were two responses she could give, she figured. The first would be her usual denial and perhaps an excuse that she was busy or working later than planned. The second, and ultimately the one she opted for, was to agree with him.

Sarah 09.05am: I know what it tells me. That’s why I’m saying you shouldn’t come over

Another three dots followed. There was only so many times they could go around and around in circles and as much as Audrey’s words made sense to her, it felt like she had to make the effort to regain some normality.

He didn’t respond. She stared at her phone for an age but nothing came through. Maybe he got the message? Maybe he had fallen asleep. She was both relieved and suspicious; Chris wasn’t someone who backed down from an argument when he thought he was right. He had said as much himself.

She turned the grill off, having lost her appetite. A run might make more sense and could help clear her head.

She couldn’t sit around waiting for Chris to make his next move.

#Chris evans #chris evans fic #evans fic #fanfiction #clear the area #sarah bernette #chris evans x original female character

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onemuseleft · 4 years

Note

Okay, okay, but. BUT. can we also get Zhao Yunlan/Shen Wei Blind Date AU?

Okay but: (this got way out of control, sorry)

So Shen Wei doesn’t exactly socialize with his coworkers, per se, but he does attend department meetings and he’s on a couple of committees and there are events meant to foster teamwork and comaraderie. Shen Wei attends exactly as many as he needs to in order to maintain his cover as an awkward but harmless introvert who has few interests outside his research. It’s more than he’d like.

Anyway, there’s Professor Jiang Yue in the History Department. She’s brilliant, well-respected, and knows more about the history of Dragon City than anyone else in Haixing. She’s one of the few people who doesn’t think his research is entirely hypothetical and often likes to pop by and discuss something she’d recently translated that supports his theories that there may have been “mutants” in history. She’s also terrifyingly outgoing, finds Shen Wei’s deliberate stubborness and not-so-deliberate awkwardness endearing, and has decided he needs a wife.

Or a husband. She’s open-minded.

Jiang Yue tries to hook him up with two grad students from her department (he declines for ethical reasons, even though they don’t work for him, which he suspects was a test), a young professor from the Literature department, her sister-in-law and a young woman she met at the market.

This all occurs over a period of about ten days.

In semi-desperation Shen Wei tells her he’s not interested in women, which she takes to mean he is interested in men, but which Shen Wei had meant to mean he wasn’t interested in anyone.

Look, he’s never been good at this sort of conversation, all right? No one’s ever tried to fix him up before.

Once she’s narrowed down the list of applicants to available young men, Jiang Yue appears to get a little more discerning. At the very least she spaces them out a little further.

(”Men are harder to come by,” she tells him much, much later. “You have to be more discerning. Also I had a bitch of a time pinning down your type.”)

She did, in fact, pin down his type, he just didn’t know it at the time.

Jiang Yue’s new husband is a police officer.

“I met someone at a fundraiser last night,” she says. “He’s very handsome, but the downside is that he knows it. Cleans up quite nice, but he mentioned he had a motorcycle so clearly he’s not afraid of a little excitement. And he had lips that I would have attached myself to were I not a happily married woman.”

Shen Wei had ducked his head and smiled and agreed that sounded very nice, but he wasn’t interested.

Kunlun’s face had lingered in his mind’s eye; dark, knowing eyes and pink, plump lips that would press against Shen Wei’s own until he could lose himself in their kiss. He’d made up an excuse to leave early and spent the rest of the night unable to ground himself in the present. He’d given up, eventually, let himself fall into the memories in a way he usually won’t allow. He closes his eyes and remembers the way Kunlun would run his tongue over his lower lip when he was thinking about something, the way his lips would be pink and swollen from Shen Wei’s kisses, the way his mouth moved when he called Shen Wei baobei and Xiao Wei. (The way those lips looked wrapped around Shen Wei’s cock, eyes gazing up at him with a wicked glint in them as he made Shen Wei shudder and come apart beneath him). The way they felt in the dry mountain air, soft and just a little chapped as Kunlun brushed them over Shen Wei’s temple - the last kiss before the Hallows separated them for a hundred lifetimes.

He’s a little more brusque than he really needs to be the next time she mentions a potential date but he can’t bring himself to regret it.

There is a brief cooling-off period in which Shen Wei thinks he has communicated his lack of romantic interests quite clearly and she has decided to respect that and back off.

He hasn’t communicated shit, it turns out she just thinks he’s not quite over an ex and is giving him some room to breathe. She’s right, of course.

“We’re having a little dinner party,” Jiang Yue says one day while they’re allegedly meeting for the efficiency committe, but really everyone is just gossiping about some rumors that the Chancellor is going to make them start submitting online lesson plans. Shen Wei wants to be outraged but he doesn’t even know how that would work. He makes a mental note to ask Li Qian. “We just bought our new house and we’re having some friends over. You should come!”

He’s flattered for half a second and then remembers who he’s dealing with. “Who are you trying to fix me up with?”

It’s the same cop. Apparently he’s friends with her husband even though they don’t work in the same department anymore. “He got promoted a couple years ago, but they still talk and hang out sometimes. He was at the wedding, apparently, but I was so nervous I don’t remember anything but staring into my husband’s eyes.” She smiled a little dreamily, then added, “That and my mother-in-law getting drunk and passing out in the photographer’s lap.”

He does not go to dinner.

She mentions a young man from the bookstore, and spends a few days dropping hints about Professor Chan in the archaeology department (he has a boyfriend, Shen Wei’s met him) before the cop comes up again.

She’s never been this persistent, usually taking his refusals as a challenge to do better next time. Shen Wei is wavering. If he says yes and it’s awful then maybe she’ll stop.

And it will be awful. Shen Wei feels faithless even contemplating it.

“He’s a department chief,” Jiang Yue says in a tempting voice one afternoon toward the end of the semester. “Apparently the youngest ever. He took down a bunch of Triad bosses a few years ago and saved a bunch of people’s lives and now he’s, like, the second most powerful person in the DCPD.”

That jiggles something at the back of Shen Wei’s mind. “What’s his name?” he asks. It’s been several years since he worked with the SID, and he never had any close associates with the main DCPD but something about what she’s saying rings a distant bell.

“His name is Zhao Yunlan,” she says, excited that he’s shown some sort of interest. “I told him about you and he said I could give you his number if you were interested-”

“Absolutely not,” Shen Wei says in a dull roar.

He spends five minutes apologizing and then pretends to have a headache that he can blame his rudeness on.

Jiang Yue lets the whole thing drop after that, not just her attempts to fix him up with Zhao Yunlan, but the match-making in general.

He feels bad about not feeling bad about it.

Everything goes back to normal though, aside from the matchmaking, so he’s reasonable certain she isn’t upset with him.

And then a few months go by and she mentions her husband is coming to pick her up for dinner. It’s getting late and it’s fairly dark out, even with the streetlights, so he offers to walk with her. Jiang Li is waiting for them on the sidewalk and he gives his wife a quick kiss, and holds his hand out to Shen Wei. “Professor! It’s been a long time. How are you?”

Shen Wei’s not great at chit-chat, but he taks Jiang Li’s hand and says something.

He’ll never remember what, because at that moment he happened to look over Jiang Li’s shoulder, and saw Kunlun.

Kunlun.

He can’t move, he can’t think, he can barely breathe. His eyes are locked onto the man leaning against the Jiangs’ car and he can’t tear them away. He’s positive if he looks away, Kunlun will vanish like a soap bubble, or turn into another person entirely

It has to be someone else. A trick of the light, his mind playing games with him. A similarity, a distant descendant whose blood ran true, a coincidence.

He stares until his eyes burn, but Kunlun remains.

He’s as beautiful as Shen Wei remembers.

Kunlun is dressed in modern clothes: heavy black leather boots, tight fitting denim pants that do nothing to disguise his lean calves and muscular thighs. He’s wearing a grey shirt beneath a black leather motorcycle jacket. His hair is short, in the modern fashion, brushed forward so it almost falls over his eyes, and his beard is little more than scruff, a carefully groomed five o’clock shadow.

He’s sucking on a candy, the same kind he gave Shen Wei that first night. The same candy that belonged to the scrap of paper Shen Wei carried in the pendant over his heart.

He’s too far away for Shen Wei to see his eyes.

And then Kunlun looks up at him.

And smiles politely, with no sign of recognition.

And looks back down at his phone.

The Jiangs leave but not before Jiang Yue leans in and whispers “I told you he was gorgeous, didn’t I?” and laughs in a friendly way at his stunned expression.

After they leave, Shen Wei stands there, watching the car vanish from sight, Kunlun, his Kunlun, vanishing with it, gone as soon as he was found again.

His Kunlun, who is, apparently, Zhao Yunlan, the son of a monster. Somehow. Reincarnation, or - the lollipops, the gun, baobei. Shen Wei has long entertained the idea that Kunlun had been familiar with the modern day, possibly a time traveler - the Hallows were near-infinite in their power, when used properly and combined. Perhaps Kunlan had always been Zhao Yunlan. Perhaps he looked at Shen Wei with eyes devoid of recognition because… Because this was the man who would become Kunlun, but wasn’t yet the man Shen Wei loved.

“Fuck,” Shen Wei said, softly but with great feeling, and went to send Jiang Yue an email asking her for that date after all.

#weilan #guardian #shen wei #zhao yunlan #nightwalker writes #my fic #prompt fic #amaronith

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alteredphoenix · 4 years

Text

In Defense of Calia: On the Topic of Misogyny and the Criticism of the Forsaken Double Standard

So I like to browse Twitter a lot, mainly for the art but mostly just to kill time. But I also follow people and websites, and one of those happens to be Wowhead. A couple days ago there was an article documenting Calia’s appearance within the Horde Council in the Shadowlands pre-patch, to which she would voice her opinion on the state of the Horde as well as the uncertain future that Azeroth now faces with the breaking of the Helm of Domination and return of the Scourge.

The WoW community can be...very passionate, or inflammatory, depending on your point of view. The same can be said for any big fandom, in all honesty. But I’m not in a lot of fandoms, and, at least where WoW is concerned, there’s a kind of laser-guided hyperfixation in regards to the introduction and development of its characters. Old or new, the fandom watches them like a hawk, but perhaps none more vigilantly than ones that have been mentioned in-game but have not made an actual appearance itself beyond the tie-in novels.

Three of these characters are Turalyon, Alleria, and Calia. However, Turalyon and Alleria are not given this much scrutiny outside of snide quips that “Turalyon is flat and boring/he’s a zealot/he’s the embodiment of the white savior among the draenei” and “Alleria is a fucking psycho for using the Void and wanting the blood elves to return to the Alliance, she’s just like her sisters, it must run in the blood/she’s arm candy to another, rugged Alliance man” whenever the plot calls for their convenience. I would daresay these parts of the fandom would go as far to say that with their developments given within the story, it would be in Blizzard’s best interests to have never brought them so as to “preserve their memory from before the Activision merger”. On the other hand, I would like to note that this sentiment is echoed ad nauseam for practically every character in WoW...but we’ll touch on that a little bit. This piece isn’t about Turalyon and Alleria or the others.

Rather, this is about Calia, and I wanted to give voice to my opinions on the backlash - or perhaps reception would be a better word - she has been receiving. She was a character I came across reading Arthas: Rise of the Lich King and didn’t think much of afterwards; for all I knew, she had died when Lordaeron and that was the end of the Menethil bloodline. However, with her debut in Legion and unique circumstances that followed culminating from the ending of Before the Storm, as well as being tangentially tied with the Light/Void conflict that’ll come to the forefront in the future, I wanted to keep an eye on her character arc.

Needless to say, when I read the Wowhead post, the comments could basically be described like this:

The WoW Community: Gawd, Blizzard is pushing Calia so hard into the narrative. She’s just another pathetic dev’s self-insert like Nathanos is, even though we only base this off some harmless, tongue-in-cheek posts on Twitter and we need to vent our anger toward another character who clearly has too much development! She’s everywhere!

Be me, off to the side, remembering she was only present in the Priest Class Hall campaign in Legion; takes part in Before the Storm before getting axed in the Arathi Gathering and being subsequently raised into Lightly undeath by a king, her Archbishop, and a naaru that may have influenced her into going to the Gathering; only shows up very late in BfA right after Sylvanas Blasts Off Again at the end of the War Campaign to reconnect with the Proudmoores and help the kaldorei undead as well as the Forsaken Sylvanas ditches; shadows Lilian and the Horde Council in Shadows Rising, and shows up in Icecrown when the sky cracks open and Bolvar is no longer the Lich King that took up the role her brother was in.

I don’t know what popular fanfiction you folks are reading (or whatever tea you’re drinking; I’ve been looking around since the last Calia post I made and I can’t find it!), but that is not what I would call everywhere.

Look, you’re more than welcome to despise Calia as much as Nathanos over baseless claims and double standards, but let’s not pretend there are other Forsaken that’d fill the hole Sylvanas left behind. Because they can’t. They won’t be able to, because for years Sylvanas made up the core of Forsaken identity. Prior to WotLK they were a race that was reviled and ostracized by the world and looked upon with distrust by everyone including the Horde, even as Hamuul vouched for them and convinced Thrall to give them a chance despite knowing full well how cruel and selfish they could be. Their sole purpose was to exact revenge on the man who took everything away from them, destroyed their lives, and raised them into his service against their will.

And even when Arthas was defeated, they had no other purpose but to conquer Lordaeron, find a way to reproduce their numbers, and reaffirm their loyalty to the Horde - because where the hell else are they going to go? Because even if some Forsaken disagree with Sylvanas’s strict institutions regarding the acceptance of their undeath and the complete rejection of their former, mortal lives, not everyone in the Alliance is going to welcome them with open arms; not everyone is an Anduin or a Jaina. You see this with Genn, who despite accepting that not every Forsaken is bad still holds them in contempt, and with Alleria, who, after spending a thousand years in the Twisting Nether fighting the Burning Legion and thus being removed from the changes that occurred on Azeroth, is justifiably concerned that they are no longer the same person in undeath as they were in life. You see this in the way that some families spurn their loved ones when the Gathering takes place.

So while it’s true that you can say Calia doesn’t have what it takes to be the person the Forsaken need in a post-Sylvanas Azeroth, you must also remember that of all the named Forsaken we know of only Lilian has been given due development. You can’t say the same for Belmont (a loyalist who disregarded Cromush’s warnings about using the plague in Silverpine, as well as fought a losing battle against Tyrande in Darkshore in BfA), Helcular (a presumably former Cult of the Damned affiliate who notably defended Tarren Mill during the Legion’s third incursion), Faranell (another loyalist who created the New Plague and believes Putress is behind Wrathgate, but perhaps unaware of Sylvanas’s possible involvement), and Velonara (who did not want to be want to raised but followed Sylvanas anyway until the Fourth War, eventually siding with the Horde Council). They are merely foot soldiers; outside of maybe Velonara they don’t have the luxury of experiencing the emotional turmoil a newly risen undead goes through the way Lilian Voss does when Thomas Zelling, dying from illness, makes a deal to be raised into undeath and help the Horde in their war if it meant protecting his family. They don’t have the luxury of watching him get executed by the Warchief’s right hand man in front of their eyes the way Lilian and every other Horde leader present did. You would not get the same weight by switching her out with any of them. You could say Lilian would make a decent successor to Sylvanas, and I would not disagree with you. However, Lilian does not have the familial connection that Calia does to Lordaeron, and while Gey’arah poses the question of leadership to her at the Horde War Campaign’s epilogue, it should be noted that Lilian believes there is “another more suited to the task”, preferring to be the hand that would comfort the Forsaken of the trauma of being raised into undeath and, as of Shadows Rising, act as their interim leader.

Then again, neither does Calia. We don’t know where she and Faol were after Lordaeron’s fall (which is one key detail I have seen people not take into account upon their criticisms of her character), but we do know that upon being asked she had refused to reassert her claim to Lordaeron. However, she has common sense enough to know that Faol was not like the other Scourge in the beginning, and later when she met with Elsie, Parqual Fintallas, and the Felstone family.

Whatever happened during that time period prior to Legion, she identifies with the Forsaken. They are, in a way, still her people, regardless of that. This is why I think she would suit the Forsaken best as their leader, not as Queen of Lordaeron that the fandom - or rather, most of the Sylvanas stans - has been so prone to parroting since her intentions to help guide the kaldorei undead and the Lordaeronian Forsaken were first revealed.

And look, I’m a Sylvanas stan, too. But it is very much apparent that Sylvanas only started the Fourth War for her own purposes, has clearly been in an alliance with the Jailer since Cataclysm (yet is hinted to not be entirely subservient to him), and even if she was doing everything up until Shadowlands as an extreme mixture of For the Greater Good and The End Justifies The Means she was still a toxic influence to the more honorable members of the Horde and to the Desolate Council. Even if her behavior were an act to conceal her true intentions, it would still not absolve her completely for all the atrocities she committed and the suffering she caused. Not even Nathanos, whom people have an obsessive, misandrist fixation of being based on someone who’s not despite being in the game for fifteen years prior to that dev joining Blizzard, would not be the best replacement for Sylvanas. Nathanos - the same man who loves Sylvanas so much he would do anything for her even as he pushes aside the brief moments where he hesitates following her orders and expresses shock at her actions - would not have either the Horde’s or the Forsaken’s best interests at heart, for his belongs only to her. After all, you can’t “redeem” a character if the character himself does not regret what they have done and does not want to change for the better.

Which is another thing I have noticed, in the years I have been in the WoW fandom: the concept of “redemption” in the wake of “character assassination” in the wake of events that caused by said characters that are often deemed questionable, which is what I believe makes people conclude the causation to be a source of “bad writing”. This also ties to what I also believe to be the misogynistic undertones the fandom expresses, simply because the events caused by questionable if dubious methods are done by a woman and not a man, which therefore leads to the notion that Blizzard “hates women”. This gives me the impression that these voices would prefer to have Blizzard write their women as someone who are pure and strong and multi-faceted but the minute she performs an action that not everyone is on board with then she is either considered “ruined” or a “dreadlord”, which is merely a cop-out excuse that you only see applied to the female characters (e.g. Jaina) but not the male characters; those men are simply called “evil” or “genocidal”, whether or not they are rightfully so. Then again, men are also considered “ruined” if they are so much as given the spotlight (e.g. Lor’themar in Nazjatar, Baine throughout BfA), but they are nowhere near under as much scrutiny than the women are (unless it’s Garrosh, then you’re going to have to put up with the “Garrosh Did Nothing Wrong” memes). Which leads us back to the hypocrisy the fandom shows towards Calia, a character to whom people call a “Mary Sue” but at the same time an “abomination” who is going to be “Queen of the Forsaken” that is being pushed by Blizzard to make the playerbase hate Sylvanas even more.

And from what we know about Calia, she is neither seeking to become “Queen of the Forsaken” for the foreseeable future nor a “Mary Sue” (if she were, she would’ve succeeded in making all the Forsaken defect to the Alliance and, you know, not die). Perhaps she is made to question if she is capable of providing for the Forsaken (for some, that is, for it was confirmed by Blizzard that not all Forsaken are willing to be lead by another Menethil, and one who had been missing and presumed dead for years at that). Perhaps she is an anomaly, but she is by no means perfection incarnate the fanbase paints her to be.

TLDR Calia Menethil is a character that deserves a chance at getting her character arc and development, and should be judged accordingly instead of jumping the gun.

#world of warcraft #calia menethil #meta

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secretlyatargaryen · 4 years

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Tyrion and Zuko: The Good Bad Guy, The Bad Good Guy

I’ve never seen anyone compare Tyrion Lannister and Zuko, but the parallels seem so obvious to me. I know there’s been a lot of comparisons in fandom to Zuko and his arc and a lot of discussion of what makes a good redemption arc and I’m not necessarily talking about this from that perspective, because I don’t really think Tyrion is on a redemption arc (and also reject the idea that I’ve seen bandied about that he is on a “villain” arc or that his arc is in opposition to his brother Jaime’s, with Jaime as the one who is usually seen by fandom as set up for redemption.) But I do think the parallels between the two characters are striking. I don’t think they’re 1:1 and even many of the parallels I make are not intended to be exact, as these two characters have narratives that are structured differently, and of course there are differences based on medium and target audience between the two series.

This is part one of a series of posts on these two characters, and this part will focus on how these characters are positioned structurally by the narrative.

Spoilers for both series to follow!

The biggest, most immediate difference between Tyrion and Zuko is that Zuko is positioned as an antagonist at the beginning of the story (although not necessarily a villain), while Tyrion is not antagonistic to the identifiable heroes at the beginning of AGOT, and is in fact the only Lannister not to be positioned that way by the narrative initially. In fact, part of this meta and part of my purposes for comparing them is to argue that Zuko’s narrative arc is not a straight line from villain to hero, which makes him very similar to Tyrion and his narrative positioning as the “good bad guy, the bad good guy” as Peter Dinklage says of his character on Game of Thrones. Even though Zuko’s mission at the beginning of the series is antagonistic to Team Avatar, he is still presented as a POV character with whom we are meant to sympathize, if at first only through sympathetic characters in his story like Iroh and characters who act as antagonistic in his own story, like Zhao and later Azula.

Tyrion also is presented to us as on the “bad side” of the narrative. He’s a Lannister, and many of the immediately sympathetic characters dislike and distrust him. Yet he is positioned sympathetically almost immediately as seen through characters like Jon Snow and Bran, and in contrast to his brother and sister.

Zuko and Tyrion also are positioned similarly in the narrative in relation to the way they are paired with and against the other characters in the story. Heroic narratives often make use of the Rule of Three, and one way in which this is shown is in presenting the main characters of the story as a triad. This type of narrative will have a protagonist, a deuteragonist, and a tritagonist. Usually the protagonist and the deuteragonist are male, and serve as foils and shadows of each other, and the third protagonist, or tritagonist, is a female character. You could argue about who takes the second and third position but it’s inarguable that in Avatar: The Last Airbender (further referred to as ATLA), these characters are Aang, Zuko, and Katara. In A Song of Ice and Fire (further referred to as ASOIAF) these characters are Jon Snow, Daenerys Targaryen, and Tyrion Lannister. This is also why it’s often theorized that Tyrion is the third head of the three-headed dragon that Dany and Jon are both part of, despite not having any Targaryen blood.

The other narrative structure that ASOIAF uses with regard to the characters that mirrors ATLA is what George R R Martin coins “the five key players” in his original manuscript of ASOIAF:

Five central characters will make it through all three volumes, however, growing from children to adults and changing the world and themselves in the process. In a sense, my trilogy is almost a generational saga, telling the life stories of these five characters, three men and two women. The five key players are Tyrion Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen, and three of the children of Winterfell, Arya, Bran, and the bastard Jon Snow. (source)

I have theorized from what he says here that when Martin originally conceptualized his story, he intended for Tyrion to be younger than he is when we see him in the series, as Martin says that the five central characters will “grow from children to adults,” and Tyrion is already an adult as of his first chapter in A Game of Thrones. However, the fact that Tyrion is quite a bit older than the other four is thematically important. Tyrion is a character who, when we see him at the beginning of the story, has lost his innocence and become embittered by an abusive childhood and a lifetime of cruelty directed towards him because of his dwarfism. Yet Tyrion, thoughout the series, often relates to the child characters specifically because of that lost innocence. He offers help and advice to Jon, Bran, and Sansa throughout the series, and as of ADWD is on his way to join Daenerys.

Similarly, Zuko is positioned against the four main child characters of ATLA that make up Team Avatar, Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Toph, and has moments where he relates to them even before he seeks to join them. And although Zuko is only sixteen and very much a kid (which becomes even more apparent when he joins the gaang), and Tyrion is an adult, he is still a young man and his relationship to Jon is something like that of an older brother.

Zuko and Aang’s relationship could be compared with that of Jon and Tyrion. Jon and Aang offer friendship to someone who they should consider an enemy, and Tyrion and Zuko end up becoming unexpected mentors to the younger boys. In both stories, this serves to highlight the tragedy of how war pits people against each other and what each of these characters has lost.

Aang to Zuko: If we knew each other back then, do you think we could have been friends, too?

-S1E13

Even after ADWD and all the war and strife between Stark and Lannister, Jon still considers Tyrion his friend. Obviously, we do not have the ending of ASOIAF to compare to ATLA, but I find it an interesting parallel, nonetheless.

Another thing that makes the characters similar on a structural level is the use of visual symbolism to show the characters’ internal struggle and duality. This is a clever and immediate way for the audience to understand that this is a character who we are meant to see as morally complex. Visual symbolism is more obvious in a medium like animation, and the specific piece of visual symbolism is something that was downplayed in ASOIAF’s television adaptation, so it might be less apparent, but I’ve talked before about how Tyrion’s heterochromia is a visual symbol of his dual nature as a character and his struggle with his identity.

Similarly, Zuko’s scar functions as a symbol of his duality. And although Tyrion also has a dramatic facial mutilation to compare Zuko’s burn scar to, I am comparing Tyrion’s heterochromia to Zuko’s scar instead because of the symbolism associated with eyes and seeing.

It is often said that “the eyes are the windows to the soul,” and the reason for this is obvious. Often we look into another person’s eyes to get a glimpse of who they are, to understand and empathize, to connect and hope they connect with us. Therefore, in fiction, eyes can often tell you a lot about a character’s identity. Having a scar over one eye is an immediate signal of Zuko’s conflict from the moment he is introduced to the audience. His stated goal from episode one is to capture the Avatar, but as the series goes on we see what this goal really is: an impossible task given to him by his father because it is impossible. Therefore, Zuko’s desire to regain his identity as prince of the Fire Nation is put into question. And what better way to represent a conflict with Zuko’s identity towards the Fire Nation than with an injury caused by fire? I’ll talk much more about Zuko’s scar in part two because this is an extremely important part of his narrative.

Tyrion’s heterochromatic eyes function in a similar way, and mirror the way Martin uses color symbolism in ASOIAF. Tyrion is described in the books as having one green eye and one black one, a fact that was not included in the show save for one scene in the pilot, and was eventually discarded, as were Dany’s purple eyes, because of the difficulty colored contacts posed for the actors, and because, as I suspect, it was decided that it was not enough of a noticeable detail to be worth the trouble. It’s a lot easier to get away with things like this in animation (and Zuko’s scar doesn’t work in a live action series for similar practical reasons), but Tyrion’s “mismatched” eyes are a detail often mentioned in the books. Tyrion’s green eye is the eye color he shares with his brother and sister and father, and is known as a distinctive Lannister trait, representing their physical beauty and perfection. And like Tyrion’s disability, his heterochromia is an imperfection and so not tolerated in a House that prides itself on perfection. His black eye, in contrast, while often called his “evil” eye and is a cause, in addition to his dwarfism, for others to treat him like a pariah, brings him closer to who he is as a person separate from his family, as dark eyes represent earthiness and intelligence.

Zuko’s scar also marks him as other the way Tyrion’s heterochromia marks him. It is often called attention to by characters in the series. In the first season it is often used to make him look frightening. Yet it also marks him in the eyes of the audience and the eyes of other characters as a victim of the Fire Nation and a survivor. In this way, the meaning of Zuko’s scar becomes flipped and it is his unmarred side that links him to what appears on the surface to be the order and perfection and superiority of the Fire Nation, but which, just like Zuko’s face if we are only looking at it from one side, hides a warped horror.

In part two I talk about how these two characters have similar trauma and conflict with relationship to their families and how that shapes their narratives.

#tyrion lannister #valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #zuko #avatar the last airbender

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thankskenpenders · 4 years

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Since we’ve been introduced to Black Doom in Archie now, I should add: don’t expect to see him again anytime soon

For some reason, the Black Arms have always been among the characters that Sega is very strict about. Archie missed their chance to directly adapt Shadow the Hedgehog because Sega wasn’t being cooperative with Penders in 2005, and by the time Ian got to touch on that backstory in 2007, they had already become off-limits. That’s why Shadow’s connection to the Black Arms was revealed in a single issue info dump like this, instead of doing a whole Black Arms arc

The conflict between the Xorda and the Black Arms mentioned in #170 was Ian’s way of explaining why neither party was returning to Mobius, even though both had unfinished business there. Apparently, Ian was just waiting for Sega to eventually give him the go ahead so he could say the Black Arms had defeated the Xorda and were ready to invade Mobius... but that day never came

Then we got to the reboot. In the new continuity, the events of Shadow the Hedgehog had already happened off-screen, and Black Doom was already defeated and presumed dead. So while the Black Arms would play a significant role in the story post-reboot, Black Doom himself was once again off limits, relegated only to flashbacks

I’m not entirely sure why Sega is so strict about Black Doom and the Black Arms. It’s possible they were eager to move on from the “edgy” image of the series after the poor reception of Shadow the Hedgehog and Sonic 06, but that’s just speculation. It could also just be another case of them being super strict about the comics using the games’ one-off villains, like how they also limit the use of Neo Metal Sonic, or how Infinite is currently not allowed to appear in the IDW comics

I’m sure Ian would’ve done some interesting stuff with Black Doom, but ultimately... I don’t think all that many people really care about the character in the first place

#StH 171 #tkp post

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uraharasandals · 4 years

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hi i was hoping if you could do a reader x dazai fic where they date in the port mafia then work at the ADA together! thank you so much! 💞

Hi! Thank you for requesting! The story was getting a bit long so I decided to just show their first interactions after being reconciled instead of working together. I hope you like it!

(Also I haven’t used Tumblr since ages I have no idea how to navigate things whoops)

It wasn’t easy being a spy, but somehow you’ve managed it and came out of it in one piece. Alive. Well, barely, considering the day you handed in your resignation letter you were shot in probably ten different places. Flesh wounds, but all the same, it was a near death, and they weren’t letting you off so easily.

And apparently, more so today, because as you swung out of bed, the ghost of fiery pain shot up your back, where some lackey or another apparently decided it was a good idea to knock you out with a blow to the back of the neck, except they missed. So now you were left with crippling pain down the column of your spine, and by God did it hurt.

It took about twenty minutes of wincing and gritting your teeth, all the while grasping the bedframe so hard your knuckles turned white, and stars erupting behind your eyelids, but eventually the pain subsided, and the ability to be able to breathe without a new jolt of pain was as much of a relief as a breath of fresh air after submerging in water. One of the training methods in the Special Ability Department, you recalled, for combatants.

Combatants. The title caused a memory to surface; your colleague, a bespectacled and dodgy man by the name of Sakaguchi Ango. He was one of the government’s spies too. Where was he now?

The ten paces from your bed to the bathroom was enough for about a thousand possibilities to emerge. Shot. Killed. Tortured. Hung. No; they didn’t do that anymore. Too old-fashioned, apparently. But still a chance. Or he survived. Who knows?

What did it matter, anyways?

Not then, and certainly not now. Once you’ve reported back to the Department, you decided to quit, having had enough running errands for the government which was half-assed anyways. Thankfully, Taneda-san was understanding, and kind enough, to write you a reference for the Armed Detective Agency, ran by a former colleague of his who also served the government once-upon-a-time. You might find it quite suitable for you, he said.

And so that was where you’d spent about half a year or so, fumbling with the ropes but slowly managing now. It was the next thing on the agenda too, after gulping down a cup of steaming black coffee, which you’d learnt in the mafia the best way to spring oneself straight into action. Boarding the train, milling amongst about a few hundred people in the subway station, before emerging and heading to the brown brick building.

The normality of it all was honestly absurd.

Just a few months ago, you were sitting in an office, acting second-in-command for one of the five Executives under Mori’s command, Ozaki Kouyou. Back then, the documents and lists detailing Port Mafia-owned warehouses, targets and whatever that needed to be done was the norm. Planning an assassination on someone, or taking stock of explosives in a warehouse, or riding the limousine with Kouyou to another meeting, was the norm. That was the pace of life, along with the discreet smuggling of information back to the government.

There was another thing that was the norm, you reflected as a hand grasped the shower knob, turning it almost absent-mindedly, allowing the shower of warm water cascade down your body, which reminded you of his touches. Stolen kisses behind closed doors, a brush of fingertips on skin during meetings, that knowing look across the room when it was time to report back to Mori.

It was probably the steam coming from the water, but nonetheless you could feel slight heat creeping up your cheeks as you relieve those memories, before deciding that scrubbing them away along with the lingering sleepiness was probably the best course of method. There was, after all, no point in thinking about the past. Anyone from the mafia was the enemy now, and he was no exception. You shouldn’t let your heart soften just because of one single man, and there was no way you were about to start.

Still…

The relationship was nice while it lasted, no doubt, and you reflected upon this fact as you watch lemon-scented foam wash down the drain. But just before you were the target of everyone — well, nearly everyone’s — bullets, the young executive had disappeared. After the death of his best friend, or so it was rumoured, a man called Odasaku. You didn’t remember his actual name, he was referred to as such by too many people. That was probably one day before you handed in your resignation letter. Not that you meant for it to happen; that was pure circumstance. A short while before that, Sakaguchi Ango also disappeared.

Now, whether that was pure chance was another matter. All you knew was that you definitely did not plan on resigning in the midst of that chaos; for all you knew, that was probably fate playing games with you. Unfortunately, because of, ah, previous entanglements and relationships with Dazai, you had somehow became the centre focus of practically every die-hard mafiaso on that day you stood in front of Mori in his office, which was probably the reason why they were all so trigger-happy to send you off to an early grave. Not because of suspected disloyalty, though some might have came to that conclusion (obviously, those who had more brain-cells), but it was highly likely that they decided to shoot you due to having a relationship with the escaped Executive.

Well, let them doubt and plot and think to their deaths all they want. Even I’m curious as to where that bastard is.

Anyways. There was no time to be wasted thinking of trivial things and driving oneself up walls speculating. You watched as the last remnants of water drip down to the marble tiles, before stepping out to the chilly autumn air and shivering in the cold. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you began to contemplate breakfast and what to wear for work.

Trivial, daily things.

“Good morning, everyone. "

“Oh, you’re finally here, ______.” Preoccupied with making sure the cups of coffee that you were carrying wouldn’t fall and splatter onto the sparkling tiles that Kunikida was so proud of, you only looked up when you heard his voice.

“What do you mean ‘finally’ - ” And that was when you see him. A shadow of your past, causing a shiver run down your spine that probably felt like seeing someone from the grave alive and walking.

Somehow, you had managed to set the container down on a nearby desk while attempting to regain your senses. The confusion was still clogging up your head, so you weren’t sure how you did that, plus you were still focused on him. His back was in front of you, so you couldn’t see his face, but you were sure. That dark and curly hair -

“_______? You okay?“

“I - yeah, I’m fine.“ Shit. Unwanted memories flooded your mind, and you shook your head to clear them before clearing your throat, regaining your demeanor. "W-who is this?"

"A new recruit. He came under Taneda-san’s recommendations. The Director’s just introducing him to us.” Kunikida supplied. Indeed, he was talking to the Director, while Yosano-sensei was surveying him, a hand on her chin - deciding the best way to cut him up before healing him, maybe? - Ranpo was making his way steadily through a bag of star-shaped candies, but you could see him analyzing the figure as well. You weren’t sure where Kenji was, but it didn’t really matter. “I’ll introduce him to you too.” He tapped the figure on the shoulder, who spun around with a cheery grin on his face - an expression that was more foreign than his presence in this office. “This is ______. They joined our organization earlier too, so you two might just get along."

If the mention of your name surprised him, Dazai didn’t betray any emotion. His eyes were observant, stopping and raking your face for a brief moment before his uncharacteristic grin appeared again. "I look forward to working with you, _____-kun*. Do teach me the ropes, would you?"

"Gladly,” You replied cooly, stepping forward and shaking his outstretched hand. Two could play this game, and it would do no one good if they knew you two were formerly, ah, associated. And if they knew his background and where he was from, well, let’s just say that Taneda-san made sure your references excluded your time in the Mafia. He had taken care to only mention your excellent results in the government (except that the Director was eventually informed, but by that time your work for the Agency was already top-notch), so you also took care to put your mafiaso background in the past. “I hope you find the Agency easy to adapt to, Dazai-san.” For effect, you squeezed his hand, and was satisfied to see a glimmer of surprise behind his otherwise immobile expression.

“You guys know each other?” Yosano-sensei asked, surprised. You cursed her internally, but Dazai was quick to cover up. “No way,” Dazai said carelessly. “I’m sure ______-kun is just being friendly, right?"

"Of course!” You made sure your smile was more than a grimace. “Oh, Dazai-san, I didn’t get your portion of coffee. Do you want to come along? The cafe downstairs is amazing.” Before he could reply, you had already spun on your heel, heading for the stairs.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You hissed, shoving him up the brick wall in the alley right behind the ADA’s building. You weren’t sure what led you to this violent outburst, but it didn’t matter; shock translated to anger, and here you were. “Missing for almost a year? Turning up here in this - this new get-up and just pretending nothing happened?"

"Why, ______, I would’ve thought you were glad to see me. Weren’t you happy your lovely boyfriend is still alive?" Dazai lost his cheerful facade, and the man glaring down at you showed a sliver of the danger and hostility that formed his aura during his time in the mafia. His smirk was scornful, and the light had vanished from his eyes. "Well?” He prompted, and the anger fueling you left you; your clenched fists on his shirt eased and he leaned back against the wall.

“I don’t know about ‘boyfriend’.” Your emotions swirled within you, and the confusion that you had when you first saw him came back. The sudden disappearance of anger made you light-headed, and you stumbled; Dazai caught you. The rough bandages brushing against your skin made memories rush back, and you fought back a sob. “But I do know the bastard in front of me is my friend. And if you want to build a relationship from that, that would be great."

"I’m glad you still like me, _____.” The playfulness was apparent in his tone, despite the existing rough edge. “I would’ve committed suicide otherwise. How can I live without you?”

"Don’t say that.“ His arms circled around your neck and you were glad; it allowed some distance but still intimacy. If he had hugged you around the waist you weren’t sure how you would respond. "I don’t want to hear you joking about your death anymore. Do you have any idea - "

"I do.” How quiet his voice was surprised you. “I’m really sorry, _______. I had to take care of something. But it’s alright now. I’m turning over a new leaf. The mafia is behind me. I’m done killing people. I’m done being Mori-san’s apprentice."

"I don’t care about any of that.” And you really didn’t. You had loved him when he was at his worst, in the mafia. Nothing would have surprised you, but you were happy that he decided to break free out of his own will. Spending half a year worrying whether he had died or not wasn’t easy, but now that he was back in front of you, you weren’t really concerned how he was.

To put it coarsely, you were just glad he was alive.

"Thank you, ______.“ His smell felt foreign, yet there was a feeling of returning home. You weren’t sure what happened, but tears were rolling down your cheeks and you felt ridiculously giddy; a sense of immense relief flooded your mind. You returned the hug hesitantly, and felt him murmur against your ear. "Thank you."

Bonus:

"You two were gone pretty long."

"Yeah, we ran into the mafia halfway and spent some time knowing each other. Apparently we are a pretty good combination. Right, Dazai-san?"

"You got it, _____-kun! Oh, Kunikida-kun, the coffee downstairs is great! You should drink yours before it gets cold."

"You two what now?"

*so I decided to use the ’-kun’ honorific because that is applicable to both women and men. For men, it is a common honorific for those younger/close with them. ’-kun’ for women is used only when the individual is close with the addresser. In any case, this honorific shows intimacy so I had Dazai use it. And because Dazai is carelessly intimate with people (outwardly), I had the reader address him with ’-san’ rather than using equally careless honorifics.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd imagines #Dazai Osamu #dazai #dazai imagines #mafia dazai #Fic #Anon #asks

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mobius-prime · 4 years

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260. Sonic the Hedgehog #191

Metal and Mettle (Part 1)

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Josh Ray

A few days after Scourge and the Suppression Squad have taken control of Freedom HQ, Miles alerts Scourge to an interesting and unexpected visitor - namely, Metal Sonic, through whom Eggman is speaking and watching.

Yeah, don't underestimate a fellow evildoer, Scourge. Meanwhile in New Mobotropolis, Sonic and Knuckles stand before the Council of Acorn to try to get permission to take the base back. Unfortunately for them, the council votes four to two to leave it for the time being, as they don't see Scourge as that big of a threat, and want to focus on taking New Megaopolis from Eggman before going after smaller holdings. Sonic, of course, does not take this well, and tries to talk to Knuckles about it once they exit the building.

Oh, Knuckles. You have to stop angsting about this, my dude. Sonic leaves the city on his own, musing as he races back to Freedom HQ about how despite their recent successes in battle, and many gains against Eggman and his forces, he can't help a strange feeling that overall they're losing ground. He hopes that kicking Scourge out of the base will cheer him up, but is brought up short by the sight of Scourge and Metal Sonic battling it out on the grass outside. Miles stands nearby watching, and not-so-subtly tests Scourge's leadership by asking if he wants help against Metal, as surely the others helping him would only be an insult since he conquered his planet on his own. Sonic, uninterested in any of the politics, merely barrels in to help, offering Scourge a truce to take Metal out, but Scourge angrily refuses, and both he and Metal turn on Sonic to attack. Meanwhile, Julie-Su finds Knuckles brooding on a bench in the park, and when she presses to know what's bothering him he snaps, yelling that he can't trust himself or anyone else, as no matter what he does, someone always ends up hurt, and he can't bear to face the few remaining members of his family. Julie-Su reaches for him, looking at first like she's going to comfort him, but then…

I mean, all things considered, Julie-Su, you make a fantastic point. Your family's loss has been largely glossed over until now - I don't think she was even given a single panel before now to mourn the deaths of her foster parents, despite how delighted she was to rediscover them before - and as you point out, it's not like Knuckles is suffering alone. Back at Freedom HQ, the fight continues, with Eggman telling Metal to hang in there as he's putting the "finishing touches" on some backup. Sonic and Scourge briefly wind up fighting each other without Metal's interference, during which Sonic criticizes Scourge for taking his advice to better himself to a brutal, negative extreme. Scourge merely mocks Sonic's restraint, pointing out how much more powerful he is as a king than as a hero.

Ooh, dramatic parallels to their prior talk! I love it! Metal interrupts before Sonic can respond, and as the fight continues once more we move this time to Angel Island, where Knuckles is having a talk with Archimedes while Charmy sits nearby.

So something that needs to be pointed out is that inexplicably, this is Archimedes' last appearance in the comic, ever. Unlike all the other characters who have disappeared from the comic, there's no reason given - no genocide, no dimensional portal to swallow him up, no deaths or sudden decisions to leave and find himself on another continent, nothing. He just… never shows up again. It's disappointing, as y'all know how much I like Archimedes, but again I really do think this stems from Ian's weird, irritating habit of erasing a lot of Kenders' contributions to this world. I know that he's trying to make the comic's world more like the games, and that in the games, Knuckles is the last echidna and isn't embroiled in all these politics, but dammit, there's nothing wrong with comic Knuckles being so different from game Knuckles! Personality-wise, he's still similar, still recognizable, it's just his circumstances that are different. Then again, maybe I shouldn't be blaming Ian for all of this - for all I know, Sega themselves ordered him to get rid of all of this stuff. I dunno, man, I'm just some random fan with a blog. Speaking of controversial decisions by Ian, though, it's nice to see him doing his best to treat Charmy's brain damage with respect here. He certainly acts more childlike than he once did, but he's doing his best, and isn't a punchline, still actively participating in missions and helping Knuckles sort his own problems out.

Anyway, Knuckles, encouraged by his mentor's words, uses his warp ring to head back to the city, where he and Julie-Su give a curt apology to each other with an agreement to sort things out more fully later, when he's had more time to work through his emotional distress. They consider heading to Freedom HQ to help Sonic, but Knuckles believes that Sonic can most likely handle the situation on his own. Of course, we know better - Sonic might be able to take on Scourge or Metal individually, but both at once is a real challenge. He kicks Metal aside, only to be startled by the sight of another robot coming to join the fray - a robot that looks exactly like Scourge. Wow, Eggman, you really didn't waste any time on that one, huh? How many Metal Sonics do you think he has lying around in his base just ready for a paint job and a new assignment?

Though there's another story in this issue, we won't be covering it. Why? Well, it's the first real installment of "In Another Time, In Another Place"! I've mentioned it before, but it's basically what Ian decided to do when it was clear he couldn't keep putting in half-adaptions of random games anymore, but still needed to do tie-ins for newly-released games. With the pattern we've been taking with these tie-ins lately, you'd think this one would be for Sonic '06, but nope! For whatever reason, Sonic '06 goes completely unacknowledged within the comic verse (at least for now), with the sole exception of Shadow joining up with GUN. However, as I've mentioned before, Ian did state somewhere along the way that Sonic '06 did in fact happen somewhere during the course of the comic's plotline - it's just that due to the very nature of the game's story, the events of the plot are entirely reset and erased from the timeline at the end, meaning an adaption doesn't even have to take place, as technically, even though those events did happen, they also… didn't.

But all that aside, the tie-in in today's issue is actually for the little-remembered DS title, Sonic Chronicles: The Dark Brotherhood, which was an RPG developed by Bioware of all companies (and yes, they did include one of their trademark Bioware romance sidequests, though it's probably of little interest to anyone who doesn't ship Sonamy). While again, we're not covering it due to it being non-canon, it's an important thing to note regardless. For one, these In Another Time, In Another Place installments became pretty commonplace throughout the comic as new games were released, but perhaps more importantly, this was the game that apparently really got under Kenders' skin. The problem is that after all he'd done to develop the world of the echidnas and all the political and military factions thereof, this game's plot ended up heavily centering around a band of echidnas in dark armor emerging from a parallel dimension where time moves more slowly, with an intent to take the Master Emerald and use it to cement their place of power in the real world once more, though one female echidna realizes the error of her people's ways and abandons her army to side with Knuckles against her megalomaniacal and powerful male leader. Gee, sound familiar? While I don't believe that Bioware or Sega actually copied Kenders' ideas outright - the way I've described it makes it sound similar, but there's a ton of differences in the plot and presentation that definitely indicate they're two different ideas by different people - Kenders certainly seems to think it's a rip-off, and this was from what I understand at the core of all his problems with Sega that led to his eventual lawsuit that forced the reboot of the comic. It sucks, too, because even aside from losing all the years of history in the preboot, the plot of Sonic Chronicles was actually quite fascinating and it ended on a cliffhanger, which will never, ever be resolved because Sega doesn't even want to touch that can of worms after everything that happened. I think the game has actually been quietly stricken from canon, too, because the cliffhanger literally involved Eggman having taken over the world while everyone was away, and there's just no way to solve something like that offscreen. Just a bad time all around, folks. As they say in the fandom - thanks, Ken Penders. Still, though, we have quite a ways to go before we hit the preboot's end, so let's forget about the negative stuff and keep trucking on.

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #sth 191 #writer: ian flynn #pencils: tracy yardley #colors: joshua d ray

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soranihimawari · 4 years

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A stroke of luck

Here is a short story I wrote instead of a drabble. Please be kind (it’s been a while since I wrote in 1st person):

taglist: @kaidasen, @m0nstergeneration20xx, @oikawaandkuroostan, @smolbludandelions

Notes: a different hc/mini-hc will happen about natsu and “ono-sama” on a different date later in the summer.

this takes place a little after the first loss to seijoh and the tokyo training art is a few weeks away. a practice match is set up with nekoma due to takeda and ukai’s swift thinking.

Begin here ::points down::

_________________________________________________________

“Oi! Natsu-chan! Wait for me!” I called out to the younger of the Hinata siblings as she scurried off around the corner. I received a text from her mother asking if I could babysit tonight since her son had evening club practice and since my house wasn’t too far from theirs, I humbly agreed. Afterall, I loved little Natsu. Her energy was quite like her brother’s. However, this is not a story about Shoyo’s antics with the club. Today was going to be a “princess day,” as dubbed by Natsu when she came to visit the Karasuno campus. I had explained to her on our walk over that I had left my lunch box behind in my last class, which was photoprahy. The darkroom was located close to the gym where the boy’s volleyball club was in the middle of practice. I literally turned around for one second in the darkroom when I noticed that Natsu had wondered off.

I didn’t really panic though when I heard her voice cry out, “Niii-chaaaaan!”

Oh shit. I came jogging up to the corridor and I thought I was going to lay my eyes on a teary eyed Natsu. I tried to think of viable excuses as to what Hinata’s mother, yet although I believe she would of expected something of the sort to happen eventually because as they say, “the apples don’t fall far from the tree.”

Thankfully that wasn’t the case, but I observed that Takeda-sensei was looking in my general direction along with the other coach. My lunch box was still in my hands when I heard Natsu call my name since the boys were also not alone that day. There was another club with them today. Unmistakably clad in the colors of red, white, and black; then deja vu threw my memory back a bit since Hinata mentioned he made a new friend. The battle of trash heap was real and apparently the visiting team today was from Nekoma. Upon closer inspection of the kanji and western alphabet on the side of their track jackets strewn across several of the bleachers, at least that was what I had deduced.

“Natsu-chan? What are you doing here? Wait,” Natsu was scooped up by her brother, who was in a state of confused surprise. “Was I supposed to pick you up today?”

Natsu just giggled and babbled on with sounds of delight of seeing her brother and his team again mid-practice.

“Hinata-kun... Umm... W-Who’s this?”

I heard one of the managers say. She was an adorable blonde first year as well. I recognized her because although I may have been in my third year, I noticed her around campus with Shizumi-san. Shizumi-san and I shared a class or two this year, so it honestly didn’t surprise me to see them all there and now both teams surrounded the sunshine children. I was eerily quiet, witnessing this interaction was for more appealing than retrieving my bento successfully.

“I’m Hinata Natsu!” she was so eager when she smiled. Her tiny thumb jutted outward as she pointed to her puffed out chest.

I walked toward the group with my hand behind my neck while I glanced at Daichi and the rooster haired boy who towered slightly over him. Judging that they were side by side and didn’t really notice my arrival, they were startled when my cleared my throat with a smirk curing my upper lip higher.

“Fearless this one, that’s for sure,” I said. My voice had a joking tone. As soon as my voice broke through the huddle of volleyball players, I laughed nervously before bowing apologetically, hiding my lunch box behind my back.

“Ono-sama!” Natsu exclaimed with a wave.

“Sorry for the interruption,” I stated as soon as I stood up. “I left my lunch bento in the darkroom earlier today and I was supposed to be watching over Natsu today Sho-kun. I guess she heard the game going on here and wandered in.”

Natsu was placed on the ground with a soft thud of her shoes before she took a hold of my hand. I brushed my long hair behind my ear glancing at the captains. Takeda-sensei told me it was ok since Natsu was a family member, since life tends to throw curveballs literally; and all was forgiven. Even Nekoma’s coach was chuckling since the score was still in the single digits of the second set. Apparently, the old man appreciated seeing just how close the bonds of siblings can play in shaping the mindsets of any athlete.

Now that all eyes and the excitement of this cute distraction took place, I felt Natsu squeeze my hand gently. She usually does this when she felt inadverntly shy around new people. I guess having Nekoma here for a practice match really sunk in.

“You’re gorgeous,” I heard one of the Nekoma players say. The voice belonged to the rooster haired boy. He was bold, but I saw the looks what I would assume his vice captain with a pudding styled hair gave him (slightly to severely annoyed). I noticed how he eyed me too after the fact Natsu greeted me formally. My instinct was to not give into such comments about my physical appearance as much, but it’d be foolish of me to not humour myself (and those present).

“Ono-sama! He’s really prince-like. Say something!” Natsu whispered loudly. Earning her a quirked brow from me as well as a few amused looks from the crows on my side. Upon further inspection, I was able to read the room. The boys were itching to go back to practice, especially the first years. I winked at Natsu and brought a finger to my lips.

“We’re supposed to be princesses today little one,” I said, chuckling letting the others know the game Natsu was wanting to play, hence my formal name.

“Woah, she even laughs prettily,” I heard him whisper.

“Kuroo, you’re embarrassing us,” his cohort with pudding hair said.

“Back off, she’s ours!” Noya exclaimed. Tanaka nodded. Those two jumped in the space between myself at the captain of the visiting team. Daichi shot his underclassmen a glare which froze those two in their place.

“Well, we ought to go now, Natsu. Seems like your brother and his friends have a score to settle,” I stated in a matter of fact tone. “Oh, and Kuroo, was it?” I walked straight toward his team after giving Natsu my lunch bento to hold.

“Y-yeah?”

“Ever wonder what it’s like to witness a murder, kitty cat?” My voice was menacing at best, but my eyes had a mischievous glint in them. “Because I believe you will one day. I look forward to seeing an official match. Until then, see you.”

He backed up a little bit. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the foreboding shadows of the crows’ behind me. They were a lot stronger together than they were apart (one of my classmates asked me to come along to one of their games in Sendai city a few weeks ago and I recall saying this to her). Anyways, that didn’t stop me from walking back toward Daichi and Koushi before pressing a kiss for luck on both of their cheeks which caused them to briefly short circuit.

“Good luck boys,” there was a smile in my voice amidst the hollering of their teammates. “Come along Natsu, we can’t reschedule the tea party with the royal guards again.”

A few steps were taken before I felt a tug on my sleeve. Natsu and I were almost at the front side gate of Karasuno when her curiosity got the better of her:

“O-ok Ono! Wait, what’s a ‘murder’?”

#word drabble #haikyu!! drafts #babysitting natsu-chan #haikyu!!#supportive friends #©himawaripapers

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tessatechaitea · 4 years

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Cerebus #11 (1979)

The only weapon you need to provoke a police officer to violence is scorn.

Sorry! The above caption had nothing to do with The Cockroach's first appearance in Cerebus and everything to do with how the Omaha Police arrested peaceful protesters by claiming that they're purpose was to "attack and/or provoke police officers to violence." Also, you can tell they're already spinning and lying by adding the "and/or" so they can imply that the protesters are planning on attacking police. And, well, even if they weren't (and they did say "or"!), their other main plan was to provoke them. But of course everybody whose ability to perceive reality isn't clouded by their incessant need to defend police no matter what understands that police will abuse their power at the drop of an eye roll. They believe any slight disrespect is an excuse for a violent rebuttal. They force physical violence on people whom they have no reason to arrest simply so the person can struggle against the assault, as any normal person would do, and then claim resisting. Police should be confronted by scorn and disrespect at every turn. Only when they learn not to instantly resort to violence and threats will they deserve to not be. Welcome to my comic book and/or police review blog! Deni's "A Note from the Publisher" continues on a theme that I hadn't noticed until just now: every new issue of Cerebus now seems to be a landmark issue! It's an interesting self-promotion take that I have to admit I'd never thought of trying. "Every new Eee! Tess Ate Chai Tea review is a landmark review!" You know what else is a landmark? Places & Predators, my Cribbage-based Roller Playing Game! You don't even really need any friends to play it. Just read it like a book and enjoy it! Or play it like a Fighting Fantasy Adventure Book! Use some online Cribbage app! Figure out how to use the crib in ways the online app definitely won't let you! Oh, the reason this is a landmark issue is because more letters came in than normal! It's a hit! Deni also reveals that she'll be making the Cerebus plush toys that were advertised in previous issues and at half the price! So kudos for stealing that job from the person who originally made them! It probably wasn't anything so dramatic but what fun is going through your life defaulting to the best, most optimistic possibility in every given situation? Have some fun! Act paranoid! Purposefully misunderstand your father and scream in his face! Kick a dog! Sorry! I got carried away! I would never kick a dog unless it was attacking me. But even then, I'd be wishing I was kicking the owner who let it go off leash. The dog doesn't deserve my epic self defense tactics in its soft face. But the owner certainly does!

The basics on the origin of The Cockroach.

I didn't realize Dave came up with The Cockroach because it was gross and disgusting. I just thought it was a more clever version of a bat, keeping to the shadows, hiding, surviving, a constant annoyance to poor people. In any case, The Cockroach is the greatest parody of The Batman, hands down. Because The Batman has become such a parody of himself time and time again, you just need an absolutely Batshit insane version of him. I don't do segues so Cerebus has come to Beduin to sell the Black Blossom Lotus. Just look at all the continuity Dave Sim is giving his readers! I wonder how many comic book fans would list "continuity" as their number one favorite thing about comic books? Like, are there people who would list that above great writing or terrific art? Judging by how terrible a lot of mainstream comic books are and how rabid many of the fans, I'd suspect it was a fairly high number. Maybe 65 out of 100, Bob. Change that card! The Merchant Cerebus deals with is a kook who might just have a super secret identity. It's weird to think of the Roach as being capable of actually living an independent life! I suppose he's just barely hanging onto his sanity at this point (and, of course, only during the day). But then he comes into the mystical aura of strangeness that aardvarks apparently exude out of their buttholes and he just loses it completely. He becomes less a merchant slash superhero and more a superhero slash zombie cosplayer. Also he becomes one of the greatest characters ever created! There are like four of them in the entirety of Cerebus! The exclamation point is because I think that's an incredibly high number and not because I think it's an incredibly low number. Most comic book's protagonists never quite make it to the greatest ever! Plus I'd probably give Cerebus more than four but a lot of them are just really good parodies, satires, and slightly-off representations of characters and people who already existed. The merchant buys the Black Blossom Lotus from Cerebus for 100 gold pieces and then promptly drops it out of the window and into the Feld River.

Not only does Dave Sim come up with a bunch of memorable plots across three hundred issues, he also comes up with a lot of good Dungeons & Dragons campaign ideas.

The Merchant pays Cerebus a sack of gold and gets ready for bed as Cerebus begins to leave. Before Cerebus can even exit the hallway outside the merchant's bedroom door, Cerebus begins to hear loud ranting coming from the other side. It's a lot of hissing and threats of murder. Against his better judgment, Cerebus decides to see what's happening and gets his first look at the guy who will be a huge headache to him for the next two hundred issues or so.

One thing I like about Dave Sim is how honest he is when recounting where he came up with or stole his ideas. He gives plenty of credit for the Cockroach and his hissing to Marshall Rogers and Jules Feiffer. It's admirable because a lot of people would just figure, "It might make me look less of an artist and who's going to know anyway?!"

Just a few days ago, my old elementary school friend who was blown up in Iraq and then became a comedian playing to Christians and patriots (which I mention so you'll understand how, as a wounded veteran, he'll never be criticized by his audience and he'll never really grow as a comedian) posted a Tik Tok on Facebook that was just a film of a television set capturing the "Masked Debate" bit on Last Week Tonight with John Oliver. The clip only shows all the clips of news readers saying "masked debate" and none of Oliver's or the show's set-up. He then watermarked it with his Tik Tok name. Now all of those naive followers who can only seem to reply to his posts with the laugh/cry emoji probably think he wrote it. Better yet, they're probably mostly Trump followers who would never admit to finding that libjerk Oliver or his show funny. What's even better is that the Tik Tok has some quote along top that's watermarked with somebody else's Tik Tok name! So it looks like Bob doubly stole the bit. Man, I wish I'd joined the army and gotten blown up and then found Christ and developed an audience of uncritical naive yahoos who would wildly applaud everything I wrote! Why didn't I join the army?! Oh, that's right. Because I believed I had a future right out of high school. Well, I guess Bob is having the last laugh now! Cerebus follows Cockroach across the rooftops to find out what's going on. He eventually witnesses the Cockroach confront a man in an alley, accuse him of killing his parents, knock him out, and steal his gold. The gold part of the night helps Cerebus to ignore all of the other confusing stuff. The Cockroach doesn't gloat for long. He's off to find another victim! Cerebus witnesses him mug another guy whom he also accuses of killing his parents. He also admits to doing this for thirty years. So now Cerebus thinks the guy is crazy but also crazy rich. At the end of the night, the Cockroach returns home and drops the gold purses into a secret panel in the wall. He falls asleep, wakes up, and, when he sees Cerebus, acts as if Cerebus were just leaving. So Cerebus realizes that the merchant doesn't have any idea what the Cockroach is doing. Which means Cerebus is going to recover those gold purses before the Cockroach comes back! At the moment, Cerebus doesn't realize that he's going to be finding thirty years worth of gold purses in the merchant's walls. Can you imagine how boring the last two hundred and eighty-nine issues of Cerebus would have been if Cerebus managed to steal all of the Roach's gold?! I'm sure some of you are thinking, "It wouldn't have been any worse than the last hundred issues we did get!" Also, can you imagine how fat Cerebus would have gotten drinking tons of ale and eating loads of rich foods? I'm laughing so much just trying to picture it! Ha ha!

Eight feet of gold would make Cerebus fatter than a domesticated raccoon!

In the end, Cerebus only makes it away with three sacks of gold. But in the process, he manages to completely screw up the Roach/Merchant equilibrium that's lasted for thirty years. In trying to exploit the man's mental illness so that he'd help Cerebus move the gold, Cerebus drags the Roach personality into the daylight. From here on out, the Roach will simply be a pawn of others, susceptible to almost any second-rate demagogue (although most of the people who subsequently control the Roach are of the first rate variety). The Aardvark Comment section was two pages this issue and had this letter that I don't think was being sarcastic?

I guess I also wouldn't necessarily consider a chainmail bikini as "a disgusting costume." He's probably thinking about Power Girl.

Also, and I admit it might have been a joke, but Dave Sim reveals that Ronald Reagan is Cerebus' father. That, um, makes sense! Cerebus #11 Rating: A. I almost gave it a B+ for variety but then I remembered I just read the first appearance of the Roach. I also forgot that my ratings don't actually mean anything.

#Cerebus #Dave Sim

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tessadoesstuff · 4 years

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Run It With Love - Chapter 2

For Day 2 - Beast

A non-linear story of Bly, Aayla, and Quinlan in the time of the Knights of the Old Republic games (about 3,800 years before the prequels) designed to be read without any knowledge of that game or time.

First Chapter! Next Chapter!

“I still think this is a bad idea.” Bly repeats again, and very carefully does not shift from where he’s crouched in the sand by the mouth of the giant cave.

“You’ve mentioned that once or twice.” Bastila responds from her place just behind him. “But we need the Krayt Pearl to get a meeting with the Sand People Chieftain.” Bastila sounds resigned, and she hasn’t taken her eyes off the mouth of the cave either, Bly knows.

Thank you to LadyVadar and GoBayern for betaing this fic for me!

“Uh, more than that, we need to get inside the cave so we can find out what happened to your father!” Mission chirps from where she has flopped down into the sand next to them. Bly turns away from the cave mouth just in time to see Bastila’s face tighten, her eyes pinching a little as she visibly tries to quash her upset emotions. If they were in private, Bly would have scolded her for that. He’ll do it later.

“Maybe. If we can trust anything my mother says.” Bastila cuts back in, never looking away from the cave mouth.

“How can you say that? She’s your family!” Mission responds, shooting into a sitting position.

“The Jedi are my family. She’s just an unwanted shadow of my past.” Bastila protests, crossing her arms, but still not looking at any of them. There’s a hint of defensiveness in her tone now. “Just because you are desperate to find your brother, doesn’t mean I feel the same.”

Mission looks to be gearing up to go another round with Bastila, and really, Bly would rather avoid doing that for a third time today. Their argument about improper use of the force will probably be funny months from now, but Bly’s headache has only just faded.

“Family is the people who are there when you need them. For Bastila that was the Jedi, for you that might be your brother, or maybe Zaalbar.” Bastila winds down a little in response to that, and Mission gives a faint smile.

“Big Z has been there for me ever since we met.” He’s glad. It hasn’t come up yet, but from what Sam, Carth and Juhani have been able to figure out, Mission’s brother hasn't really been family to her in a long time. Zaalbar is a much better older brother to the young Twi’lek.

“They’re back.” Bastila says, pointing over the sand dunes to where Aayla is heading back across the sand towards them, Sam and Sam’s newly purchased murderdroid by her side. Aayla and Sam both have arms full of bantha fodder, and HK-47 follows two steps beside them, giant gun brandished in case they are attacked by opportunistic sand people.

The three of them break into a run as the entire herd of Banthas behind them starts to stampede. Bly restrains himself from laughing, but it’s a near thing. Two Jedi had gone to get one Bantha, of course they would end up with an entire herd instead.

Bly grips his DC-17s tightly and slides his bucket onto his head. Keeping one eye on the cave to watch for movement, he hides his stupid grin behind the bucket as he watches Aayla and Sam lead the stampeding banthas their way.

“What are they doing? I told them ONE bantha.” Kormad, the Twi’lek hunter responsible for this absolutely banthashit crazy plan mutters angrily under his breath. Bly rolls his eyes. He knows Bastila can probably feel the irritation he’s radiating and he can’t bring himself to care. Bly does not like this man. He’s been nothing but rude and dismissive of Aayla since they met. Kormad had formed a first impression of each of them and then refused to budge on any of them, no matter who they actually were.

Aayla passes by Bly, her herd of Banthas kicking up a cloud of dust, and even with his helmet on he can barely see through the sand cloud. He hears the pounding of loud heavy feet and sees the dust cloud increasing in unfurling waves. Bly hears his companions and Kormad coughing from the sand, and silently thanks the Force for his helmet. From within the cloud of dust, a shape appears, growing larger as it hurtles towards him.

Bly catches Aayla out of the air, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She’s covered in flecks of bantha fodder which Bly will not enjoy picking out of his blacks later, but he pulls her closer anyway, shielding her face and lekku from the howling sand with his body.

“Hello, cyare.” He mutters at her, and she hums into his chestplate. All in all, the dust cloud lasts until Bly’s count of six before it begins to settle, revealing the herd of Banthas eating the bantha fodder that had been abandoned on the ground in front of the cave. Bly shifts, uncurling his arms from around Aayla but not leaving her side, and grabs his DC from where he had dropped it into the sand to catch her.

“Ready?” She asks him, and Bly grins at her from behind the bucket, knowing that she would get an impression of it in the force. A rush of movement has Bly turning to see Bastila and Sam uncurling from each other. Sam whips their head back and forth, and their hair lets loose a spray of sand, which earns a giggle from Mission, who had been tucked between them and is now climbing to her feet.

“Next time, Master, you should allow me to kill some of the meatbags, and then they won’t kick up quite so much sand.” Sam’s murder droid complains to Sam, who rolls their eyes in response.

A roar echoes from inside the mouth of the cave, and in a single blurred movement, a ten foot tall smoky grey krayt dragon explodes out of the mouth of the cave, pouncing on one of the banthas, not unlike one of the tookas that live in the Jedi Temple in Bly’s time.

“If you want to shoot something, shoot that!” Sam hisses.

“With pleasure, Master.” HK responds, and fires off a single round of his gun – Bly doesn’t know the make, but he can openly admit he has developed a case of weapon envy. The blaster bolt pings against the krayt dragon’s hide uselessly, but the dragon does take a step backward, and he swishes his tail in irritation. It’s a better result than Bly could have hoped for. In doing so, the dragon sets off over twenty of the mines that Mission had carefully placed.

Bly watches as clouds of poisonous gas blooms up from the ground, immediately followed by concussive rounds which go off with flashes of light right in the dragon’s face. Plumes of sand shoot up where the explosive mines trigger, pinning the dragon in place. Sam shifts their hand into the signal they’d agreed on for go, and Bly lobs three of his thermal detonators at the dragon’s head. Joining them are Sam’s two, Aayla’s one, and the shot of pure force energy that Bastila fires off. Bly notes with no little bit of irritation that Kormad does not actually throw the one he was given. Typical.

The krayt dragon gives on final cry, which Bly weathers by muting his audio sensor, and he wraps his arms around Aayla’s head, shielding her lekku from the strength of the sound as it drags on for several seconds. Bly looks over at Mission, silently wondering if he should do the same for her, but Bastila sees what Bly is doing for Aayla and matches him for the younger Twi’lek. Eventually, the scream of the dragon ends, and it collapses into the sand, dead. Mission gives out a whoop, and pulls Sam and Bastila into a hug.

“We did it!” She giggles as Bly turns back on his audio sensors.

“That we did.” Aayla adds from where she’s still nestled in Bly’s arms, making no attempt to move.

“Excellent! The greatest trophy in the desert is now mine!” Kormad cries, and Bly rolls his eyes behind his helmet, but does not comment. Sam does send him a lopsided smile, so apparently Bly is projecting.

“Remember our deal, Kormad. The dragon’s pearl is ours.” Bastila responds, her hand drifting to where Bly knows she doesn’t actually keep her lightsaber, but where logic dictates that she would. Kormad slumps a little, but gestures with his hand in a go-on motion.

“Thank you.” Sam gives a beautifully predatory smile and makes their way over to where the dragon is lying in the sand and gets to work extracting a pearl.

“Now we can give the pearl to the sand people so that we can open negotiations with them so that we can convince them to let both the jawas and Griff go.” Mission huffs beside Aayla.

“Honestly, I don’t know how Griff ever thought he would survive without me to sweep in and save him at the last minute.” They haven’t told her yet about how it is looking more and more like Griff got involved in the drugs and slaves side of Czerka’s business. There hasn’t been time, and they have only circumstantial evidence. The plan is to tell her as soon as they have proof one way or another.

Bly really hopes that Master Vos, Juhani, Canderous and Carth find something today so that they can do so tonight because no matter what the others think, he refuses to let Mission find out the hard way from Griff himself.

“Bastila! Let’s go!” Sam calls to the other Jedi from where they’re climbing to their feet and putting what is probably the pearl into their bag. “I think I can see the star map from here!” Sam adds, and Bastila gives a fond smile that Bly’s seen on more than one of his brothers when they look at their Jedi, and isn’t that interesting?

Bastila heads into the cave with Sam, and Aayla finally removes Bly’s arms from around her shoulders but is still leaning into him.

“That’s good news. The sooner they get ahold of that star map, the quicker we can get off of this dustball.” Aayla mutters, and Mission giggles.

“Two down, three to go.” Bly deadpans back, and Mission’s giggles evolve into full-on laughter. “Honestly, why couldn’t this ancient infinite empire put a whole map in one place? Why did they have to break it into pieces and scatter it across the worst planets in the outer rim.” Bly thinks it’s a legitimate question.

“Hey! Dantooine wasn’t that bad!” Aayla protests.

“The Jedi Enclave wasn’t so bad. But whenever any of us non-jedi left it, we kept getting attacked by Kath Hounds.” Mission snarks back, and her deadpan is improving, Bly’s so proud.

Aayla snorts. As she goes to respond, Sam and Bastila re-emerge from the cave, and the three of them rise to go meet them. Kormad has wandered off, Bly notes. He doesn’t know when, and he doesn’t really care. The Twi’lek kept Bly’s thermal detonator.

Sam has a copy of the star map in their arms and is working on getting it into the bag they carry, and Bastila has a satchel in hers. She’s holding it like it might vanish at any moment, but also like it could shatter into a thousand pieces. That must be her father’s bag, Bly realizes. He’s glad she can get some closure now, but he can also tell she isn’t ready to open it yet. He’ll support her when she is.

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timelessbian · 4 years

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we’re not too far gone

like i said last time, i do not control the hyperfixation. i’m obsessed with the clawthorne sisters and i really just want them to love each other again, is that too much ask?! also, i love eda’s gang of accidentally-adopted children. takes place post 1x17, so mild spoilers for that.

also on ao3

Eda wasn’t sure that she could pinpoint the exact moment that the Owl House had transitioned from an isolated secret outlaw hideout to the premiere after-school hangout spot for a quartet of misfit teenagers, but ever since Luz had started school, it had become common for there to be an extra kid or two or three hanging around.

The day after the grudgby match, a sleepover just seemed like the natural progression of events. For one thing, the kids were all far too excited to split up, but if Eda was honest with herself, it was also a welcome distraction. All afternoon she’d just heard Lilith’s voice playing over and over in her head.

No! I can’t go back to the emperor empty-handed.

Lilith had always been the stoic one, the strategic one, the brave one. But there was so much fear and anguish in her voice at the very thought of going back to the emperor, and it worried Eda more than she had tried to let on. Lilith wasn’t supposed to be afraid of anything. It was a childish thought, Eda knew, but she was still sure that anyone that could scare her sister like that was someone that Eda didn’t want to meet.

At least with the kids around, Eda was almost able to forget about Lilith and the emperor.

Almost.

She was still far too worn out from the day to even think about cooking, but she found enough leftover stew to throw in a pot for dinner, and she sent Owlbert out to try to snag something from the Bonesborough bakery for dessert.

Meanwhile in the living room, Luz had found a banged-up game board in one of Eda’s most recent treasure piles, and she was animatedly trying to explain it to Willow, Gus, Amity, and King. From what Eda could hear, it seemed to involve a lot of money, strategy, jail, and occasionally some good old-fashioned highway robbery; in other words, it was calling Eda’s name.

“Alright, you got me,” she said as she plopped down on the sofa. “Got room for one more?”

“The more the merrier!” Luz exclaimed. She slid Eda a metal game piece shaped like a wheelbarrow and set up the rest of the board.

It took a few turns for everyone to figure out the rules, but it quickly turned into a fierce competition. Willow proved herself to be a silent threat while Luz, confident as she had been in the beginning, seemed to be struggling to keep up. It wasn’t long before they were all completely lost in the game and Eda forgot about grudgby and the emperor and her sister almost completely.

She wasn’t sure how long they played, but eventually the light spilling in through the windows started to turn golden, and midway through a round, Luz got up to turn on the lights. As she was walking back towards the game she glanced out the window and immediately paused.

“Um, Eda?” she asked without turning around.

Eda had the dice in her hands frowned as she got up and glanced out the window to see a figure coming up the path to the house. The figure was wearing a long white cloak with a hood that hid their face, but Eda could still tell exactly who it was. “Ugh, her again?” She rolled her eyes and dropped the dice on the table. “King, play for me. I’ll be right back.” The sleeping demon let out an angry exclamation, but he snatched up the cards anyway and scrambled to sit at the table.

Eda rolled her neck and felt every joint in her body groan in protest as she walked towards the door.

“Who is it?” Luz asked, still eagerly trying to look out the window to get a better view of the visitor. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eda said. She cast a spell circle and the blinds snapped down. “You guys keep playing, I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“Luz, it’s your turn next,” Willow said pointedly.

That was enough to draw Luz back to the game, and Eda took the opportunity to slip outside. The evening air was crisp and cool, and a light breeze rustled the leaves in the trees. She cast a quick sleep spell on Hooty; she was hardly in the mood to deal with him right now.

The figure on the path stopped and lowered and her hood, and sure enough, there she was.

“Lilith.”

“Hello, Edalyn,” Lilith replied. “I’m sorry to drop in on you like this. Especially when it seems you’re…” she paused and raised one eyebrow. “…otherwise occupied.”

“Nah, it’s just the kids and they’re busy enough,” Eda said. “What are you doing here? Looking for a rematch?”

Lilith chuckled drily. “No. I’m not here to make a scene. I’m actually officially not here at all.”

“A social call? That’s new.”

“Not quite. I’m here to return this.” As she spoke, Lilith stepped closer and pulled Eda’s ring out of the folds of her dress. When Eda didn’t move to take it, Lilith rolled her eyes. “I didn’t do anything to it. Go ahead, you can check.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Eda said as she aimed a detection charm at the ring. Her yellow spell circle flew over the gem and spun around it a few times before dissipating without sensing so much as a schoolyard hex. With that assurance, Eda stepped closer and carefully took the ring, visually inspecting it before she slid it back onto her hand. “So,” she started. “How’d it go?”

“Well enough,” Lilith said simply in a tone that warned that Eda was treading dangerously close to an edge. “But neither the emperor nor I have any further use for it, so I thought there wouldn’t be any harm in returning it.”

The emperor.

The very mention of him sent Lilith’s desperate cry playing in Eda’s head all over again, and somehow having Lilith standing in front of her so frustratingly strong made it even worse. She crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest and started to turn away.

“Thanks,” she said simply.

“I think I should be thanking you,” Lilith said. “I can’t say that the emperor was pleased, but it was something, so thank you for that.”

Eda shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

There was a long moment in which neither of them spoke, and the quiet between them seemed as solid as a stone wall. There was so much she longed to say and to ask, but she couldn’t seem to find the words. And even if she could, she was sure that she wouldn’t get any answers. It was secret, after all. Coven business. Eda wouldn’t understand.

“I should go,” Lilith said finally.

She turned back towards the path, but before she could leave, something came over Eda. She sighed, rolled her eyes, and before she could second-guess herself, she called out, “Lily, wait.”

Lilith stopped and paused for a moment before she turned around, slow and almost uncertain like she wasn’t sure that she had heard right. “Yes?”

“Since you’re already not officially here, you feel like not officially coming inside for dinner?”

That clearly wasn’t what Lilith had been expecting. She frowned. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Eda said. “Last I checked there weren’t any laws against inviting my sister for dinner.”

Lilith’s lips twitched. “And if there were you’d probably break them anyway.”

Eda smirked. “Probably. But what do you say? I mean, it’s just leftovers, but the kids like it well enough. And besides, Owlbert should be back with something sweet any time now. What do you say?”

Lilith paused and bit her lip as she considered the offer, but her heavy sigh was answer enough. “I can’t. I’ve stayed too long already.”

“Is this about the emperor?” Eda asked. “Listen, I don’t know what he’s got over you, nor do I want to know, but I will say if you ever get sick of him and his dork brigade, there’s always a spare room around here. I swear Hooty just spawns them to mess with me on cleaning days.”

“Thank you, Edalyn.” Lilith’s voice was soft and looked down as she clasped her hands together. “But I promise I’m than capable of taking care of myself.”

“Oh I know that,” Eda said, waving a hand dismissively. She leaned back against the house and casually nudged the door so that it opened just the slightest bit, barely noticeable, but just enough that Eda could hear when the game inside apparently took a turn. King squealed and the kids’ laughter spilled outside. “Just know that you don’t have to do it alone.”

Lilith sighed again, but she didn’t try to object. In fact, she didn’t say anything at all. For a long moment, the only sounds were the rustling of the leaves in the evening breeze and the muffled cries and exclamations of the kids inside. Eda waited, let the quiet stretch until she saw Lilith bite her lip and shift her gaze upwards—the same tell she’d always had when she was trying not to cry. For just a split second the coven mask seemed to slip and Eda saw a rare glimpse of her sister behind it.

“I can’t,” Lilith said finally.

“Another time then,” Eda said.

Lilith offered a flash of a half-smile as she met Eda’s eyes again. “Maybe another time.”

Eda straightened up and let one hand fall lazily to her hip. “Well,” she said. “You know where to find me. The door’s not always open, but I can usually talk Hooty out of eating people if I get a heads up.”

A flicker of confusion crossed Lilith’s face. “Is that—”

“Yes, that was a joke.” Eda shrugged. “Mostly.”

“I’ll remember that,” Lilith said. In a practiced movement that Eda had to admit had style, she brought her closed hands together and parted them as her white staff appeared. She mounted her staff and let it hover for a moment as she faced Eda. “There are big changes coming,” she said. “No matter what you think of the Emperor, his is the safest side to be on.”

“And there’s the sales pitch.” Eda rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Well, it was nice while it lasted, but I’ll see you around.”

She started to turn back towards the house, but this time it was Lilith’s turn to stop her.

“Eda, wait.”

Eda. Lilith had only ever called her that when she was desperate, and that alone was enough to make Eda turn around. The low evening light cast shadows across her face, but it still wasn’t enough to hide the sheen over her eyes, and Eda felt her heart twist even before she heard Lilith’s tight voice.

“I know we don’t always understand each other, but I hope you know that I’ve never wanted to do anything to hurt you.”

And there it was.

The backs of Eda’s eyes started to prickle and burn and she crossed her arms again, tighter this time in a half-hearted attempt to keep herself together. There were a million things that she wanted to say and a million different emotions swirling through her: so many years-worth of pain, anger, betrayal, grief, and more that she couldn’t even name. But beneath them all was the one that she most feared admitting, so naturally, that was the only one that she could put words to.

“I love you, Lily.” Her voice was so soft to her own ears that she almost wasn’t sure that she had said it at all, but she couldn’t bring herself to repeat it.

Lilith didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Eda kept her eyes on the dirt, terrified that when she looked up, she’d find Lilith already gone. But after what felt like an eternity, she heard her sister’s quiet voice.

“I love you too, Edalyn.”

The first tear slipped its way out down Eda’s cheek and when she looked up, Lilith had already turned away. Her dark hair was a curtain blocking her face from view, but her hands were tight around her staff and she twisted them as she clearly struggled to compose herself.

At that moment, the game inside seemed to come to a climax. The inarticulate, overlapping screams and hysterical laughter was such a sharp contrast to the somber mood outside that it was almost comical, and Eda felt a smile twitch across her lips. Well, that was just one more emotion to add to the confusing mess that she wasn’t looking forward to untangling later that night.

Lilith had clearly heard the kids too. She let out a dry laugh and shook her hair back as she looked back down at Eda. “I’ll let you get back to your little slumber party,” she said. “And don’t think I’ll let you forget that you owe me a dinner.”

“I’ll be waiting for it,” Eda said.

Lilith offered her a half-smile, and there was a genuine warmth in her eyes before she turned her staff to the north and took off. Eda watched until she disappeared over the trees and even longer after that until suddenly the yard around her was bathed in light and she heard Luz calling her name.

“Eda? Is everything okay?”

Eda sniffed and swiped at a few last stubborn tears before she spun around to face Luz.

“Yeah, kid, everything’s fine.”

Luz narrowed her eyes, and for a moment it seemed like she was going to ask more questions that Eda didn’t feel like answering, but to her surprise, Luz didn’t say anything. Instead, she just wrapped her arms around Eda’s waist and hugged her tight. Eda hadn’t even realized how much she needed that.

“Thanks, Luz,” she murmured as she ruffled Luz’s hair.

“That’s what families do,” Luz replied. She pulled away and looked like she was about to say something else, but then something over the trees caught her eye. “Is that Owlbert?”

Eda spun around to look, and sure enough, there was the little palisman, flapping his wings hard to keep both himself and the overstuffed tote bag he had in his talons in the air. He hooted excitedly when he saw Eda and Luz, and he dropped the bag on the ground beside them before perching on Eda’s shoulder and nuzzling her cheek. The bag was filled to bursting with all different kinds of cakes and cookies and pastries—far more than Eda had expected—and she felt her stomach growl just looking at them.

“Good work, Owlbert.” She scratched the top of his head and he cooed. “Help me get this inside? I’m starving!”

“On it.” Luz grabbed the bag and picked it up with a groan. “Farewell, weak nerd arms.”

Eda chuckled and followed her back into the house. The game had been paused, but Eda still had to swat King away from the board to keep him from mixing up the pieces.

The kids clambered around the kitchen table, and Eda couldn’t help but notice how Luz helped Amity into a chair and volunteered to get her food for her. Willow was telling a story about some incident or another with a carnivorous plant, and Gus was entertaining King with miniature illusions of himself. It was almost strange how natural it felt to have the house so full of life, and it was almost enough to push all thoughts of Lilith and the emperor and the impending end of the summer out of her head.

Sister or no, Eda still had family, and at least for the night, that was more than enough.

#my fics #the owl house #toh #eda clawthorne #lilith clawthorne #my dream arc for lilith is her straight up killing the emperor and becoming the goth aunt of the owl fam #but i have a feeling agony of a witch is going to hurt me personally so i'm living in denial thanks #ngl i'm kind of unsure about this one but i really wanted it up before the new ep drops so here we go lmao #also y'all were so sweet on my last fic so that helps

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 5 years

Text

My Little Secret part 2

Summary: Something happened last night, and your brain is foggy on the details. You run into someone familiar when taking a fun little trip to Saint Denis.

Warnings: Alcohol mention and use, mention and use of weed (well, vaping)

With the sun shining through the blinds of your bedroom window, you woke up from a sound sleep. Although, you couldn’t remember exactly when you got home and how, it felt more like a dream anything. Did you hit your head or something?

Thinking back, you vaguely remembered getting into your car…being helped, actually. Someone had helped you, though your brain was too fogged to remember who exactly.

Either way, you’d gotten home without any issues.

The bright and sunny sky showed promise, a beautiful Saturday to enjoy. That is until you saw the mountain of textbooks resting upon your desk, and you groaned. Guess the day would be spent doing homework.

You spent a couple of hours around the house, cooking yourself breakfast and cleaning up the miniscule space you had in your apartment. You showered, treating yourself to a personal spa day. Eventually you’d run out of tasks to do, and you eventually had to turn to those textbooks.

It wasn’t exactly hard, yet there was a vast amount. Grad school for pharmacology, you read drug names a hundred times over. You knew human anatomy like the back of your hand, all of the effects and contraindications of different drugs. With all the information you’d crammed into your head for these past five years, it was a miracle your brain hadn’t shut down by now.

As an hour passed, your focus began to wander back to last night. Nothing seemed to add up, and you couldn’t remember why you needed help. Maybe you’d passed out somehow? You could recall leaving the building, and then between that and the car…nothing.

You thought harder, trying to fight past the fog that clouded your memory. You could recall…a voice…

The sound of your phone ringing snapped you from your train of thought. Grabbing it, the caller ID flashed with your friend’s name.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hey girl!” your friend, Sam, responded. “What’re you doing at this moment?”

“Eh, homework,” you sighed. “Feels like I barely made a dent.”

Sam made a noise of sympathy. “Well, you wanna take a break? Some of us are heading to Saint Denis today.”

“What for?” you asked.

“To have fun, of course!” Sam exclaimed. “Do a little shopping in the daytime, bar hop at night!”

Tempting. You thought about it for a moment, but you had to at least finish your homework. “I don’t know, Sam. This homework isn’t gonna finish itself.”

“Do it tomorrow,” she answered quickly. “Come on, it’s been a while since we all got to enjoy ourselves. And Saint Denis is the perfect place to do so!”

She had a point. The last time you’d truly had a fun night out was after midterms, in celebration of you passing all of them. Plus, you did like Saint Denis. The French charm that laced the city never got old. “Alright, you.ve convinced me.” You finally gave in.

You could practically see the grin on her face on the other end of the line. “Sweet. We’ll swing by and get you then.”

—-

You’d been ready to go within the hour, your friends swinging by in a large SUV to pick you up. Within two hours, you were in the intricate city of Saint Denis. You’d stopped at a diner for some lunch before hitting the streets to have a little bit of fun.

Saint Denis was a beautiful city with its French inspired architecture and culture. You’ve only been here a few times, yet you were always lost in its grandeur. High end restaurants and clubs lined the busier streets, while cute boutiques and hobby shops were confined to smaller streets and alleyways. Theaters and galleries were popular amongst natives and tourists alike.

You’d wandered in and out of smaller shops, collecting a couple of souvenirs as you went. Munching on snacks here and there, or just viewing items you wish you had the money to spend on. Clothes that would take a week’s worth of pay to purchase.

There was always something for you to do here, and each visit unveiled a new experience for you. This time your group had gone into a new museum of local history that had opened, a small building on the corner towards the center of the city.

Being a history buff, it definitely interested you more than your friends did. You spent a little more time than you’d like to admit while going through the exhibits, learning about how the city seemed to be a hot spot for outlaws in the late 19th century, even displaying a gun of a fallen gang member from a huge bank heist.

After your friends bugging you to leave, you wandered back out into the humid air. The sun was fairly low in the sky by then, a late afternoon beginning to be touched by twilight in the horizon. The need for alcohol was becoming apparent, and the daygoers were soon returning to their homes as the young night owls were appearing.

Your group eventually came across an old bar that wasn’t very packed yet. It was saloon style, a different setting from the club that you worked at. It wasn’t crowded yet, though a good amount of people moved amongst the space. Music played overhead, the clank of pool balls slamming together occasionally rang out from the corner.

With the first round of drinks, your group sat at a table, drinking happily and chatting about everything you hadn’t covered earlier today. As time wore on and the sky outside darkened, and more patrons entered. The music slowly began to pick up the pace, and a few bodies were beginning to dance.

At some point you’d moved over to the pool table, dividing yourselves into two teams of three. It started out fun, giggling at the awkward taps and misses and cheering whenever someone got a ball into one of the holes. Over time though you began to get bored, your idle eyes slowly scanning the ever growing crowd as you sipped on another drink.

It was more diverse than the club back at home, at least for a Saturday night. Sure, there were many people around your age, as well as older patrons swarming around the bar and buying pitchers of beer.

The sky had completed darkened now, from what you’ve noticed as the door occasionally opened, bringing a gust of humidity amongst the crowd. Gazing aimlessly, lost in a small daze as your friends continued the pool game.

But wait-

You looked toward a shadowed spot again. Towards the back of the bar, a figure stood, casually leaning against the wall with his arms folded. His head was tilted down, hidden behind what looked like a cowboy hat.

The brim lifted, immediately uncovering a pair of intense blue eyes. Somehow, they seemed familiar…

“Y/N!” Sam called to you. “Your turn!”

You blinked and turned towards the table again, noting the expectant looks on your friends’ faces. You sighed and grabbed a cue, lining up your shot for the eight ball.

---

Some time had passed after finishing the pool game, and you wandered back over to the bar for another drink. Squeezing in between others to reach the slightly sticky surface, you placed your empty glass upon it and waited for the bartender to get your attention. It always felt slightly strange to be on the paying side of the bar, knowing you could easily make your own drinks if you were that determined.

Both of the bartenders were busy dealing with others on the far side, not that you minded. You understood that rush all too well. Zoning out once again, you didn’t notice when another person took the empty spot beside you.

It wasn’t until his arm accidentally brushed against yours did you snap out of your daydream. Skin as cold as ice, you glanced toward him. The man from earlier.

It only now occurred where you’d seen him before: the previous night at your own bar. The guy who had a weird, predatory gaze but promised he wouldn’t act as such anymore. And somehow, you remembered him helping you to your car…

“You sure have a thing for starin’, don’t ya?” his voice startled you, not realizing you’d gave him a look longer than just a fraction of a second.

You bit on your bottom lip as you shied away from his gaze. Damn it, he caught you again. This time it wasn’t even intentional. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to remember where I saw you. You were at the club I worked at last night.”

“Yeah, I know I got an ugly mug. Easy to remember.”

Your head snapped up to look at him again. In no way was this guy ugly. From his piercing blue eyes to the built cheekbones and his strong jaw that had a decent amount of stubble, decorated with faint wrinkles and…scars? A rugged sense of handsomeness that touched his features. You never really looked at men much older than you were, yet you had to appreciate this one. “You…aren’t ugly, if that’s why you think I was staring again,” you said with a slight hint of bewilderment. “But…I think…didn’t you help me…or something? Unless I was dreaming.”

“Ah,” he sat up straight. “You tripped n’ fell at some point. Hit your head against them trash cans. I was nearby when I heard it. Came on over wonderin’ if there was a scuffle or somethin’. Saw you layin’, I waited till you came to, then made sure you were okay enough to go home.”

Tripping and hitting your head? You certainly didn’t remember that, yet it would explain the fogginess on what else had happened that night. “Well, I appreciate it, Mr…”

“Arthur,” he finished for you, giving you a small smile. “It’s not a problem, Miss Y/N.”

Wait. “How’d you know my name?” you asked suspiciously.

“You told me, I asked you some questions as you were gettin’ up.” Arthur explained.

Another memory that seemed to have slipped your mind. Maybe you hit your head harder than you’d realized. “Well…good thing you were there to save the day.”

“Or night.” He added.

You half smiled at his response. “So, isn’t it a little odd that we run into each other twice in a row? Saint Denis is a bit of a drive from Rhodes.”

“’Spose you could say that,” Arthur shrugged lightly. “But I came here for some business. Hate the city really, but this bar just happens to be a favorite of mine.”

“Why is that?”

Before answering, Arthur gazed up at the ceiling, staring into the dimness past the low golden lights. “The charm…I guess. This is the oldest bar in Saint Denis, and ain’t much changed. At least so I’ve heard.”

“I thought you said you don’t drink,” you pointed out. “What’s the point of coming here?”

“Fond memories.” His answer was short and quick.

“So, are you from here?” you asked.

Arthur shook his head, his nose wrinkling in slight disgust. “Nah, just have a lot o’ history here, personally. No matter how much I try to escape, somethin’ always drags me back.”

“Sounds like you put yourself in that cycle, Arthur.” you pointed out with slight amusement.

He shrugged again. “Don’t matter that much. Gotta work somehow.”

You hummed a response, understanding that plight all too well. You remembered the job you had in your first years of college. Wasn’t ideal, set in a place that you’d never want to step foot in again. “So what do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

His focus shifted to you again. “I’m an outlaw. I go around robbin’ banks and killin’ folk that need killin’.”

You stared at him. With his nonchalant tone, you weren’t sure if he were joking or not. After a few seconds of silence of contemplating, you snorted into laughter. “Sounds like one hell of a job!” you giggled, and he chuckled himself.

Before you could do anything else, you heard your name being called once again. Turning around, Sam was standing just a few feet away. She held up a vape pen, raising her eyebrows in invitation. You nodded in understanding, and turned toward Arthur again.

And then you realized you forgot to grab another drink. “Shoot, I wanted to order something else.”

“Go on with your friend, I’ll order for ya.” He said.

You frowned slightly, giving him an odd look. You hardly knew him, yet he was offering you to buy a drink?

“Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna spike it,” He said earnestly. “Just think of it as a gift for a nice conversation.”

This guy was strange, yet had a charm to him that you couldn’t place. “Okay, but if you try anything, my friends will gang up on you.” You warned, adding in your drink order and moving through the crowd to join Sam.

---

“Who’s that man you were talking to, Y/N?” Sam asked, her voice rough after taking a drag from the pen and handing it to you.

You two stood outside the bar, off from the main crowd as they entered and existed the building. Taking a drag yourself, you exhaled, coughing slightly at the end before responding. “Some guy I met at my bar last night. Helped me out after I hurt myself.”

“You hurt yourself?” Sam repeated, her eyes wide.

“Yeah, don’t really remember it. He said I fell and hit my head.” You explained.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Sam exasperated. “You’re gonna be a pharmacologist, you can’t go off killing all your brain cells!”

“As if this doesn’t?” you joked, gesturing to the pen.

“Hey, I was high during most of midterms. I passed just fine.” Sam responded as-a-matter-of-factly, swiping it back.

“And I suppose copying my notes had nothing to do with it?” you lightly shot back, unable to hide the grin on your face.

Sam coughed a “shut up” in mid-exhale, leaving both of you giggling to yourselves. As the amusement died down, someone had approached you.

It was Arthur, sidling up to you with a drink in his hand. You blinked in surprise, realizing he was absolutely serious about that drink.

“Here ya are,” he said, holding the glass out to you. “Unspiked n’ all.”

You took it. “Thanks, Arthur,” you glanced at Sam staring at you expectantly. “Oh, Sam, this is Arthur. The guy I just told you about.”

“Ma’am.” Arthur greeted, tilting his head to her.

“Hi! Thanks for helping out Y/N, she told me of your heroic act,” Sam responded, and leaned closer to peer at him from under the hat. “Hey…you look familiar, do you work in Gaskill Hall?”

Arthur stepped back slightly, but shook his head. “Sorry, got me confused with someone else.”

“You’re too high,” You stated with a laugh. “Sorry, Arthur. Sam can be…over the top sometimes.”

Arthur waved the statement off. “That’s alright, I’ve met quite a few like her over the years. Anyway, I’ll leave ya to it, then. I’ll be headin’ off. Enjoy your night, ladies.”

You bid your goodbyes to him, and once again thanked him for the drink. As he sauntered off, you peered into the glass. The fruity smell of the juice masked the stronger smell of the alcohol, the straw bobbing slightly with your movement. It puzzled you as to why he offered to buy your drink..

“Ya know, he’s pretty handsome,” Sam mentioned, breaking your train of thought. “In like a hot professor type of way.”

“What, you think he teaches at the school? Is that why he seems familiar to you?” You asked.

Sam shrugged before taking a short drag of her pen. “I dunno, but I think I’ve seen him before…somewhere. Just can’t really place it.”

You didn’t respond, idly sipping the drink. It tasted just as you expected, nothing gave off an indication that he might have altered it. You had to give him the benefit of the doubt, though. He seemed genuinely kind, giving a different air than any other guy you’d met.

Maybe you’ll run into him again at some point.

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #vampire au

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helpinghanikan · 5 years

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End of the game

Avengers (and Matt Murdock) x Reader

Sum: Game has played and the war has won, now live with it's consequences.

AN: My attempt at angst

Steve Rogers:

It’s hard to hear what was being said from so far away. Mouths are moving after Sam approached. A small glance towards you before he was at this familiar stranger’s side.

“It was beautiful,” said in the same tone as the rest but might as well be screamed.

A verbal gunshot through your heart.

Your bleeding out with realization with every clear cloud. When an opportunity arose to with the one you love nobody would pass it up. The years and decades you dreamed of, Steve had lived it without you, living in a house bought with a wife with someone else’s face, having children that weren’t yours.

Your Steve had left in a machine of science-fiction come alive. It was easy to think of the billion different ways he could have been convinced to stay. Hug him tighter before he leaves, do more of those things he liked weeks before. Maybe you should hop into that machine yourself, try and start over and hope it’s good enough.

It would never be, though. He was yours because he couldn’t have her.

You were just borrowing him.

Tony Stark:

There is a weight on either side of you in the form of a person. Happy on your right and Rhodey to your left. Both there for their own grieving and to counteract the weight dragging you down towards the lake.

Just like a wedding we’ve all had fantasies of our funeral. How we’d refuse the clichés and go our own route. That we’d be able to have a say in what happens. Change it from a day of mourning to that of celebration. Where there is to be nothing black, the music going, and drinks raised in our name. That won’t happened most of the time.

Death is more likely to grab you before any plans can be put into action. What little can be done for the dead’s wishes still won’t change the “cliques”. Every story of a wild party, of the great deeds and everything he’s ever done that’d go in history was covered. A thick layer of depression frosting you were forced to choke down with every bite.

You unknowingly start to waver back and forth. Happy’s arm slides into yours, your head resting into his shoulder, his head on yours.

Pepper took the reins of the entire funeral. A strong woman handling a horrid time with the grace of a CEO. A wavered voice here and there, tears on the bridge of her eyes that refuse to fall but constantly threating to.

That was okay, you could do that for her.

Thor:

“You’re still tired,” your hands disappear into his blonde beard.

You were too after the long nights alone in New Asgard.

“And you’re still gorgeous,” He says.

He was probably hoping that his pick-up lines (which were starting to become cheaper than cute) would make up for his ‘loss of looks’ and detachment from you in the five years. Ironically you had gained muscle; Brunnhilde putting you to work minutes after arriving to New Asgard.

“And I’m gonna throw up,” The, despite Thor’s protests, raccoon says from a chair somewhere in the background.

You probably had roommates before, maybe even gone to college. But this ship, although massive on the outside, was cramped on the inside. Dorm with roommates wasn’t the best description of the ship. Camping would be a better way of putting it. Sharing a tent with several people, things and animal that yells at you is the best way to describe.

There was no way Thor would leave the Earth again without you. With only one thing left to lose he wouldn’t be leaving you alone.

Bucky Barnes:

Bucky falls backwards like he’s full of cement. Although the comforter feels to be almost half a foot thick it still bounces you when he lands. He only made it to the middle of the bed, legs hanging off the side and spread out. With his long hair and beard it could be considered religious imagery.

“You’ve slept way too much to be tired.” You comment, sliding along the bed until you were looking down at him.

“Apparently I haven’t slept in five year.” He says, refusing to open his eyes. Another groan, bringing the metal arm over his already closed eyes. “Lights are making it worse.”

Another headache.

Reaching towards the lamp and clicking it off. The hotel room you’ve paid out of pocket was put into a shade of almost complete darkness. Light from the curtained window put the room into a blue haze, Bucky beneath you nothing more then a very detailed shadow.

“How’s that?” You whisper, hands going to either side of his head.

He nods slightly, letting his arm go down but kept his eyes closed.

They shoot open when your hands go on either side of his head. Thumbs gently rubbing over the temples, fingers sliding through the brown hair and to his scalp.

After the uncertainty of your touch is gone it’s like watching a full puppy. Trying their best to stay awake with a tummy full of food and laying down in a large blanket. Little noises at the back of the throat, whining that he was starting to fall asleep when he wanted to stay awake.

His head curls backwards when your hands slide through his hair. Scratching your way back upwards and smoothing the brown locks back down.

By the time your thumbs rub over his eyebrows his jaw slackened and let the moans out easy. Every hardship of the last day, past problems he’d live with forever were all gone. At least for a moment, with your scratches and gentle touch.

Natasha Romanoff:

The first invitation came minutes after your face is buried in Clint’s chest. Your hands are trapped between you, his head rests onto of yours. His arms around your back; holding your weight from falling to the ground then actually hugging you.

He stayed in arm’s length the entire ride to the farm. Only letting go when the jet’s door opened and the yelling of “Dad! Dad!” comes with the air through the open door.

You were the new adoptive member of the Barton family. An extra plate was added to the dinner table, a guest room was always ready, and Laura’s arms were always open when you entered the room and a beer was ready in the back, farthest part of the fridge when you would eventually need to talk.

That entire time you kept it together; lips in a thin line at any mention of the past few weeks and always a half-hearted smile towards the children who look at you with questions they aren’t allowed to ask.

It’s ironically little Nathan who breaks the hold on your emotions.

“Where’s Auntie Nat?” A whispered question to the older, wiser, Lila unfortunately made in the same room as you.

Trying to hide behind your book as the tears started running worked for a few seconds before Clint appeared in place of his children. Bottle opener ready in his back pocket for the next step of the healing process.

Bruce Banner:

Even standing on the kitchen chair you had to stand on your tippy-tip-toes to reach the back of the arm strap. Bruce could probably do it himself, but he stays perfectly still until you tightened it perfectly.

It horrible and unfair to say, but your lives had turned for the better in the five years. It was still a permeant memory of Bruce raising a human hand in a thumbs up for the last time before you slapped and turned on the machines.

It took some more weeks before you felt as comfortable with this Bruce/Hulk hybrid. A horrid mix of uncanny valley and outright monster forcing a few foot gap between you for a while. When you finally closed your notebook, unofficially completing your observation, his hands almost absorbed your head when he cupped your face.

T’challa:

It was a waiting line to get to your man;

His mother gets to him first. Cupping his face, kissing his face and forehead in quick succession. She coos in their mother language quickly. T’challa regressing to his mama’s little boy. Only able to stand there and take the affectionate assault.

Next is his sister. A side arm bump and the Wakandan salute, Shuri immediately starts laughing after words. T’challa practically grabs her, pulling her into his chest in a hug that Shuri still laughs at. Better to laugh then to start crying as she so obviously wanted.

Third was Okoye. She was respectful, butt of the spear slamming into the ground twice, an arm across her chest and fist over her heart. He, again, did the same, two handed version, of the salute. Bowing his head as she did hers.

Finally, there was you, hands behind your back. Pretending this was the same as any other situation you had ever been in.

He doesn’t play this game for every long. The moment you were close enough his hand goes out to your face. Cupping your cheek, forehead pressing against yours.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen him after he came back. The first lasted mere seconds before that wizard appeared and he was gone again. That hurt worst then when the snap took him from you. At least then he hadn’t left by choice.

Pietro Maximoff:

It’s hard to breath with your face pressed into a toned chest and long hair getting into what little opening your mouth could get.

He had probably thought when he reunited with you it was be romantic. He’d hugged you tight, maybe spin you around. Do all that cute sappy shit you’d mock on all the movies you unironically watched.

When he’d reunite with Wanda it would be more intimate in the opposite direction of yours. They wouldn’t have to say as much as all the cooing and almost tears he’d express with you. Try as you might, it would be hard to match the connection the twins had with each other.

Now, maybe if he had seen you individually after the massive battle this could have happened. Instead he found you both at the same time. Wave of emotions for both of you combined until words were impossible. A combination of both scenarios when he rushed forward. No words, and a combination of a strong hugs pressed you both into his chest.

Peter Parker:

May holds herself on the armchair like a teenager. Knees pressed to her chest, tea on the coffee table forgotten seconds after being set down.

It became a weekly tradition that you’d visit at least twice a week. May would open the door with tired eyes and an even worse smile. She’s been burying herself in charity work days after the Snap, staying up her eyeballs in work to keep from coming home and seeing the empty room.

Conversation was never the reason for your visits. Instead just taking comfort in each other’s isolation on separate sides of the living room.

This night was no different as your own tea was already gone. Laying the exact opposite way of May with your legs outstretched and arms hanging off the chair’s arms.

Sudden light takes over a quarter of the room. May’s legs stretch out from the chair as slow as the light had appeared. You rose at the same speed. Coming together between the chair and coffee table. May holding your shoulder, both to throw you backwards or to stop you from going forward, her nails digging into your shoulder.

It’s dark on the other side with the only color being shifting shadows.

Color finally comes through in shiny shades of red and blue covering one leg. Then another. Both attached to hips and a torso, leading to a brown-haired head who can’t speak through his tears.

“Peter…” May gets him first.

He wraps both arms around her neck, almost crushing her in a headlock. He presses his face against the side of her face. May holds him with almost equal strength. Holding him against her the same as she had after the plane crash years ago.

The golden circle tightens and closes behind them. It’s a tie between the circle and the extremely intimate moment that you kept a generous distance from Aunt May and Peter.

“Oh, I missed you.” She said, starting to rock him slightly.

“I’m sorry…” She says into her shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Your phone had five years’ worth of texts to Peter. Little good mornings and good nights. A few “I miss you” and other small messages. That Peter would read through every single one when May lets go of him grew a guilt garden in your stomach.

Your hand reaches out and touches his shoulder. When he looks up, sees your attempt of a smile, he starts sobbing even harder.

Stephen Strange:

His hands are shaking more then usual now. Old doorknobs were the enemy as every door you added a stop, only after permission of course. Any meals had to be pre-cut, you casually taking his plate and going to work without a single pause in conversation.

It hard to say if Stephen still counts as mentally human by this point. That maybe God or the universe or whatever created the world in it’s infamy had no intention of humans knowing everything that Stephen now possessed. He combs over books he’s had to had memorized by now. Snapping them closed when you’d look over his shoulder. Warning you from trying to read some as you were either not prepared or just wouldn’t be able to handle the information.

Stephen never outright told you he wanted to be alone. Instead moving through the sanctum at a pace you jogged to keep up with. Becoming more of a puppy or a side kick then as a romantic partner.

It’s rare that he in body sleeps. No matter if he’s twitching beside you or an astral projection above you take possession of his body. Legs wrapped around his center, arms keeping him close as possible, everything to keep him from escaping from you again.

Matt Murdock:

Your mug shatters across the floor. White pieces of glass stop from skirting around the floor by socks with sweatpants tucked into them.

You should probably feel bad that you basically took over his apartment. Turning the place into an almost shrine to your lost man. Coming in every few days to make sure it wasn’t broken into during the few days you stayed at your place.

Matt’s head tilts side to side for a few seconds. The shattering mug probably sent his senses into a spiral for a few seconds. Focusing instead on you, his partner, who had a five-year difference in their smell, heart beat and overall feel.

Your name coming from his mouth was the greatest song ever sang.

Hands cupping his face without saying anything. Matt standing there as you basically frisk him. Making sure he was completely there and not just some dream here to mock you.

“Um, Honey?” He says, using the almost mocking version of a pet name.

“If you do this again I’m gonna fucking kill you.” You whisper into his chest.

It was a promise you made every time he didn’t answer his phone or came home late. Unsure what was going on he said the same he did every time. “Wear something nice to my funeral.”

Carol Danvers

This moment was for Carol, a woman desperate to get drunk on nothing but you. Holding you in your practically abandoned apartment, the heater and power still out. No blanket was needed, though. Just being the little spoon with a leg over yours to keep you still would do.

It doesn’t matter how often or not she holds you. Nobody is ever prepared for that amount of heat to come from somebody. Her star’s breath on the back of your neck, nose in your hair and arms finding every inch to feel. Make sure nothing is broken and everything is the same. Even as a superhero, and a woman, she still found annoyance at the thickness of your bra cups.

Your turn to check her over would come later. For now, you just enjoy reaching back into her new haircut. Just to make sure it was still able to be tugged.

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