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c0ntr0lledchaos · 1 year

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i am not ok after that episode jesus christ...

but I do have some thoughts

assuming that hetch was telling the truth, he mentions that the company 'moved into' the mall. they didn't rent a space, they moved in, like a parasite. this is also shown by the wires and cords in the server room and other places in the mall resembling veins and looking like they were infesting the place.

that would also explain why the security is a strange amalgamation of wires and other technology

hetch talks about showfall in a very specific way, calling it 'the company' in a way that sounds like he is talking about it like a creature. a singular entity.

the office is a creepy concept. to have the mind-controlled people stationed as if they were in a snapshot of an office, and with the row of them standing in the window like mannequins. it felt weird the first time watching but now that I'm going back and analyzing it, they were set up like this for us, the viewers. there is no reason why a hivemind would need whiteboards or computers, or even to talk by the water cooler. Gl!ranboo didn't notice the corkboard with the clue about the color red, that was all for us to see and help with the next puzzle. why else would they be posed like that, who else would even see them

hetch talks again about how something 'moved in' and 'repurposed' the people in the office. I know a lot of people didn't trust him at all anyways but right there was a very clear sign that he was not a good guy. he talked about people and objects like they were the same thing

I also think that the showfall staff were people who were unfortunate enough to have been inside the mall whenever showfall first infected it. the mall was probably already dying but that was probably a good thing with how big that mall was.

'they set up these missing posters just on the off chance you managed to escape' is such a weird line to me. was Hetch just trying to convince gl!ranboo that he was special? what was the purpose of telling him that? All it did was prompt gl!ranboo to question how long he had been there which hetch doesn't even answer

I can't make out some of the smaller red writing on the first whiteboard shown but the rest is defiantly just the general idea of what happened in episode 2.

there is a bunch of letters that represent all the characters from that episode with all of them except for R (gl!ranboo) being crossed off.

part of it is covered in a smudge of something (kinda looks like slime? idk could just be a spot where the whiteboard got fucked up) but it says 'audience will choose N' I believe. did they predict we would choose gl!Niki? she was crying the hardest out of all of them which would have gathered the most sympathy and emotion from us. in the same bullet point, it also says 'two plus two equals five' which could indicate towards them guessing we would make an emotional decision rather than a logical one.

I did have a thought that started with episode one about showfall knowing how to control our voting. The Create a Creature section at the beginning of episode one was a normal vote at first, with four equally good options. yes, shark probably won because of the meme but that meme is kinda old now so idk how much it actually affected the outcome. but in the second vote when 'pickle' was randomly thrown in as an option, of course that was going to be the one to win, it's the funny option, it's not like the rest, it's a bit. the slime demon even mentions how the other options got barely any votes in comparison to pickle. this happens a few more times in the episode, with the funnier choice winning. Mr. Squiggles also demonstrates how our choices can be easily manipulated in episode 2 during the first pipe puzzle. when chat was about halfway through the puzzle he mentioned how we could also turn pieces that were not directly next in the sequence and immediately people started clicking on other pieces. he then came back a moment later bragging about how he divided our attention.

'play me in case of death' proves my theory about the puzzler's death being planned and not from him accidentally blowing himself up like how it was made to look for the show and I really wish I could read what it says in red next to it but I can't. maybe ranboo or someone else will post pictures of the whiteboards or something so we can read them better

the next whiteboard doesn't reveal much from what I can see, but there is still some text that is hard to read. what it doesn't say though is interesting cause it appears to only have notes about the cooking show portion of the episode with no mention of gl!Sneeg or Frank from what I can see

there are two pictures next to the printer, one being just an employee of the month picture but the other one looked like it could be an area view of a rural area? It's kind of hard to tell but I think I see a lot of trees and a building or two. It's not directly what's outside the mall most likely so what is it?

again, I really wish I could read all the stuff up on the cork board but some is just too small so oh well

I've already seen some people point out the paper that says a person named Frank is deceased meaning that Frank was a real skeleton this whole time and we just couldn't see

there is also a color blind test that has the colors red and green on it which is probably a reference to the gl!charlie vivisection

and right smack in the middle is the hint for us about the color red for the code. it's not even subtle, just a note that says 'The color of the wire is RED' just like you would find in a point-and-click video game. a convenient note that has no other reason to be there. that was just another hint that this was still part of the game

I think its interesting that gl!ranboo says 'your not giving me much here' he has spent the past who knows how long following a script and now suddenly is left with little to no guidance, it makes sense that he is confused

I am pretty positive that ranboo was never going to be able to shut the server room down at all, but I don't know what would have happened if he had put in the right code. maybe a false victory that just would have ended with Hetch betraying him anyways?

I just realized something kinda sad. so gl!ranboo has not made many choices that were his own, all before this being either scripted or left up to chat. with these codes though, he was made aware of the choice as hetch gave it to us. It's understandable that gl!ranboo didn't wait for us, he's almost free and still having other people choose for him? no thank you (Plus not trusting us which is also understandable, all he knew was the viewers were watching a show about killing people how was he supposed to know if they wanted to help or not). but he chooses wrong. the first real choice he made on his own and it was wrong.

Charlie was live during this but does anyone know if any of the other streamers were also live? I imagine it would be confusing for their chat to just hear ranboo yelling in the background of the stream randomly lol

while it could be just for convenience that the streamers are all set up in part of the old food court but I think it's also a bit on the nose. showfall is getting something from viewer interaction during these episodes but what if they get something from viewer interaction in general? what if they are feeding on it? that would explain why they have just a bunch of streamers that aren't even a part of projects or anything.

(I have to put a brake here cause of a text limit)

I think it was really funny that gl!Charlie got his own sign. also him being actually live was perfect. I wasn't watching his stream but was anyone suspicious of his background or did they get it accurate enough that no one questioned it?

the shrine for the puzzler is a bit strange but it again confirms that he was a part of showfall and killed by them. the thing is who is this shrine for? like, who is going to see it besides us? As far as we know there isn't and hasn't been anyone with free will inside the mall for the entirety of the show. it could be like the office again, set up just to get information to the viewers, possibly attempting to get another emotional reaction out of us.

on second thought that most likely is the case since the puzzler was just playing into Hetch's plan anyways. who knows if the puzzler actually wanted to help gl!ranboo or if he was just unconsciously following a script. plus the notes I can see are very emotion-driven but short, saying they loved the puzzler and one of the flower arrangements having a note that just says 'DAD' on it.

the map doesn't have a lot of information on it but it does show a blinking red dot that we soon see is the security, meaning they have trackers on them. it makes sense but I feel like it is a bit unnecessary for a hive mind to need. (not that they would need a map at all either) another thing that is just a prop meant for the characters and viewers probably

this dead body is interesting cause it shows two things. 1) that the security creature does not care about who it is attacking, attacking even people who are still under mind control and 2) this person is/was bleeding. that is important to remember later

the bucket of slime in the supplies room just confirms what most people were already suspecting for episode one. all the slime we saw was actually blood and gore seen through a filter

as cool as it was when gl!ranboo destroyed charlie's camera, can you imagine how cool it would have been if the stream was left going and caught them on camera when they eventually came back around?

I mentioned earlier that I believe the showfall staff are just people that were in the mall at the time of it being infested by showfall but what if that goes for the characters as well? what if no one was 'chosen' for this show and it was just a case of wrong place wrong time? would add just a bit into the tragedy, their whole lives stolen from them on random chance

the kill button sounded too good to be true and it was, especially after trying to take down the server room it didn't make sense. we know Hetch wasn't helping but gl!ranboo didn't. hetch must have been taking advantage of them being scared and confused to give them instructions that conflicted with other things he had told gl!ranboo

gl!charlie asks 'is this even what you want?' and I think that is an important question. gl!charlie, while still being scared and confused, can tell that there are still other ways to control people and is at least starting to question if that is happening to gl!ranboo, which it is. while not directly under mind control anymore, gl!ranboo is being manipulated just like Chat is being manipulated, using strong emotions to push them in the direction showfall wants them to go

remember how I said it was important to remember that the body earlier was bleeding? the one ranboo kills does not and I don't think it's because of a filter since we haven't had a filter on anything else in this episode. what we see with the person gl!ranboo kills is what I believe a late stage of showfall infestation looks like on a person, the wires literally growing inside them and slowly replacing their organs and tissue

going off that theory, that would mean that the security could have been a person at one point that was just completely turned into a mess of wires and other tech

the button is huge and red and right out in the open, it should never have been trusted. it was connected to showfall though, as seen by the wires on the floor and walls around it. it's not a normal prop like the slime or anything on the cabin set we just saw.

hetch gives us a lot of information in his villain speech and I am going to attempt to dissect it to the best of my ability

so first he says 'I have a role to play' suggesting that he is not completely of his own free will either, although it's probably more like a job to him and not complete mind control but his wording is interesting. it would not surprise me if we find out that Hetch is just as much of a pawn in showfall as anyone else is

he also says 'The founder gave me a purpose many many years ago' implying that showfall is old. just how old is anyone guess. it also shows though that Hetch isn't the founder but did know them, perhaps was even close to them to be given such an important role

'to repurpose this company and create these experiments' again has interesting wording since he has used the word 'repurpose' other times, usually while refusing to the people or tech that was taken over by showfall. I am not sure what it means though to repurpose the thing that is repurposing other things though. what did showfall do before Hetch took control of it?

and its experiments, plural. again we are reminded we have no idea how long this had been going on or how many experiments have been conducted

he says the experiments were to find people for 'future shows' but what could be the qualifications to be cast in future shows? could it be a hunger games situation? whoever survives these shows makes it onto the next ones

he also says 'Who in your world' which could imply Hetch and showfall are from a different world. could be aliens, a different dimension, or maybe even just something that has been there but hasn't made itself known to most of the world. what I'm curious about is if chat is from the same world as gl!ranboo or not as well

hetch mentions 'real human emotions' is 'where the real fun is' which could confirm my theory about them controlling our votes and some of gl!ranboo's choices by influencing us with emotions. yes, the choices were manipulated but at the same time we still up to us. like then gl!ranboo stabbed that person. yes it was understandable, yes gl!ranboo probably deserved to do a little killing but in the end he still did it. he still choose to do it, with no one forcing his hand

I wonder if that is how the mind control actually worked. It didn't outright tell gl!ranboo what to do but instead controlled his memories and emotions to get him to do what they wanted

hetch says this is the first time they have a live audience meaning the other shows were not live like this one. I'm curious what the other shows were like if they were not live

as the camera zooms out we can see we are back in the server room, the 'heart' as Hetch called it earlier. gl!ranboo is being held in place by the wires growing on the walls and I wonder just how much control hetch has over the wires themselves

I do think that death was the best option, as sad as it was. if gl!ranboo had been kept alive he would have just been thrown into another show, maybe not even as the hero this time. there would have been no guarantee for his survival just like how the other characters were killed off on this show

I really hope the tapes at the end imply more shows, I would love to learn more about this universe and what is happening. I wonder if the order is important, which would mean there would be four shows before this one and three after. at least out of the ones that were kept on tape for one reason or another. the tapes being blank is also a possibility since none had any writing on them. new shows are yet to be recorded maybe? either way, I am excited for more genloss stuff

closing thoughts:

my main theory is that showfall is more alive than previously thought. showfall is a parasite-like thing that takes over whatever it infests, whether that is a person, a place, or any tech it comes in contact with. I think it feeds off viewer interaction and with the ability to now stream to a live audience, it can get so much more than it could any other way. what we choose didn't matter, just the fact that we chose did.

I also want to say I am kinda happy with how this ended. it was sad but still satisfying. I know I had guessed ranboo might take his mask off but I'm kinda glad he didn't mainly due to the fact that it would have set the bar too high lol. no other faceless streamer or youtube would have been able to top it.

I really hope we get more genloss stuff in the future, this was so amazing and impressive and defiantly fun to watch.

#generation loss #generation lost spoilers

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malarkay · 6 months

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Inside the Wire Chapter 15

During their final battle with the Storm Hawks, Cyclonis is stopped just short of destroying the Dark Ace. Victory, however, eludes them. With Cyclonia fallen, and escape to the Farside cut off, they're forced to confront the consequences of their actions.

I.J. Domiwick was, above all else, a schmoozer. He knew how to make people feel listened to, liked, valued. People loved people who made them feel important. He’d learned that from a young age, and, more importantly, he had learned how to capitalize on it.

It was how he had managed to go from castaway to formal meeting with the President of Lithos in less than three months. Decked out in finery one rarely saw anywhere on Atmos, a midnight blue dovetail coat over a gold brocade waistcoat with matching cravat, he felt every bit the role he was playing.

“Mr. President, may I present to you Ambassador Domiwick of Atmos,” Vizsla, the Chief Magistrate of Pripolos, introduced him. He gave a deep, courtly bow and received a head tilt and a small, polite smile from the president in return. President Androcles was a tall, broad-shouldered man with hazel eyes and more than a little grey peppered throughout his black hair and neatly trimmed beard.

“Ambassador Domiwick, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name. I’ve heard all about your ill-fated voyage. It’s a miracle you survived.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. I only wish my ship and my crew had done the same.”

“My deepest condolences. Magistrate Vizsla, have you had any luck retrieving any of the bodies? I’m sure it would provide the ambassador with some closure if he could give his men a proper burial.”

“None, Mr. President. No signs of any of the wreckage, either. I fear they may be lost at sea forever.”

He had washed up on one of Pripolos’ beaches when he came through the tunnels he’d discovered in the depths of Aquanos. It hadn’t taken him long to concoct a story explaining who he was, where he was from, and why he was there. He was an ambassador from Atmos, the land beyond the Barrier Cliffs, sent to establish diplomatic relations once a way to cross over to the Farside had been discovered. But his efforts had ended in disaster. An earthquake had destroyed the passage connecting the two lands, and shortly after, a storm wrecked his ship. He'd been alone when he’d come to after washing up on shore; all others presumed dead.

His story had gotten him an audience with people of increasing power and authority until he finally caught the attention of Pripolos’ magistrate herself. She was a remarkable woman. He’d taken an instant liking to her. But more importantly, she had taken an instant liking to him. His very first meeting with her had turned into dinner. Dessert had followed. Then coffee. And by the end of the night, he was in her bed. That was the moment he knew he would get everything he wanted from these people.

And now here he was, talking to the most powerful man in Lithos, the Farsiders’ name for the Farside. Lithos was a collection of city-states whose borders he didn’t quite yet understand. Back home, things were much more straightforward. A terra was a terra. But here, the people weren’t forced to live on mountaintops. They had no Wasteland, just vast expanses of land and water they called seas, land that was divided into territories via invisible borders. Not that those borders really mattered. Every city-state in Lithos was united into one giant nation with President Androcles at its head. He was what Master Cyclonis wished she was. With all that power, he had expected him to be like her, too. That arrogant, deceitful little bitch; he had been a fool to take her at her word. Having been burned once before, he had gone into this meeting with a healthy dose of paranoia, intent on not making the same mistake twice. But this man, with his relaxed posture, kind eyes, and genuine sympathy in his voice, took him by surprise. A very welcome surprise. This was going to be easy.

“That is unfortunate,” Androcles said. Moving to take a seat, he motioned for him and Vizsla to do the same. “My apologies; I’m sure you’d rather not dwell on painful memories. Let’s speak of Atmos instead. I’m curious to hear all about your homeland.”

He smiled. This is where he would shine. He gave the president an overview of Atmos: history, politics, geology and geography. He made sure to put a positive spin on things. They believed he was here to encourage relations between the two hemispheres. He didn’t need to scare them off with talk of war, especially not one being instigated by some unhinged teenager with peerless magical powers and a taste for world domination. Leading with that would get him nowhere. He then launched into a couple of stories of his adventures that were tried and true crowd-pleasers, ones he hadn’t already told Vizsla. As predicted, they had both her and the president enraptured. He ensured that his last story was one where he had bungled things in the middle but managed to salvage the situation. Never underestimate the power of a bit of self-deprecation. He had yet to meet a person who didn’t eat that up. It seemed the Lithosians were no exception.

“Fascinating, truly,” Androcles smiled, but it quickly faded. “It’s a shame the passage through the Barrier Cliffs was destroyed. I think I would have loved to visit Atmos.”

“There may still be a way,” he said, hesitant yet hopeful.

“How?”

“In Atmos, there’s a legend of a Doorway, a mystical artifact that can open a portal directly to Lithos. I suspect it has a twin that can be found on this side of the barrier.”

“I’ve never heard of such an artifact,” the president confessed.

“Very few people in Atmos have heard of ours either, but I know it exists.”

“You’ve seen it?”

“Well, no, not exactly. But I have a sixth sense for these things.”

“Legends and extrasensory perception isn’t much to go by.”

“Maybe not, but I can’t give up. It’s my only way home. I have to find it.”

The president looked from him to Vizsla and then away in thought. After a minute or two of contemplation, he looked back at him. “What is it you need from me?”

“The magistrate tells me that Lithos’ largest library is here in Athephia.”

“The magistrate speaks true.”

“I’d like unrestricted access to it. I’ll need to do extensive research if I am to have any hope of finding the Doorway and its Key.”

“That’s simple enough. Granted.”

“And, should I find ample evidence that a Doorway does exist in Lithos, I would like to lead an expedition to uncover it.”

“And you need me to fund the expedition.”

“That would be ideal, but I’m willing to seek private sector funding if needed.”

“Bring me compelling evidence that this Doorway exists, and we’ll talk.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. You won’t regret this.”

~*~*~

Progress was slow, but no one seemed to mind. The president was content to let him search for information on the Doorway at his own pace. That suited him just fine; it allowed him to split his attention between researching where the Doorway may be (if there was indeed a Doorway as he suspected) and learning all he could about Lithos. That was what he had come here to do, after all: study the Farside and document everything he could so that when he returned to Atmos, he could write his magnum opus. His book was sure to become the bestseller of all time. It would cement him as Atmos’ premier archeologist. The world would be his oyster.

With no competition to worry about and the president not pressuring him for results like the Cyclonians had, he was content to take his time. It allowed him to immerse himself in Lithosian history and culture. And it allowed him to enjoy his dalliance with Vizsla.

Being Chief Magistrate had its perks. A fully staffed mansion was one of them. Her every need was attended to without her having to lift a finger, and by association, so were his. With no need to worry about mundane everyday tasks, they could spend their free time focused on each other. A man could get used to living like this. Sometimes, he questioned whether he wanted to return to Atmos at all.

Even travelling between the mansion and the capital’s vast library wasn't much of an inconvenience, despite their geographical distance. Each city had a centrally located travel station, a large building with shops and dozens of archways lining a wide promenade. Each arch was labelled with the name of the city it was networked with. Powered by a stabilized warp crystal, each arch instantly transported pedestrians who stepped through it to their destination. It was ingenious.

They had quickly fallen into a routine. Monday through Friday, he'd go to work in the morning and come home early in the evening. More often than not, she would already be home, holed up in her office, thoroughly engrossed in what she affectionately referred to as her second shift. The work of governing a city-state never ended. If what she was working on didn’t look critical or time-sensitive, he'd disarm her with shoulder massages, having discovered early on that was the easiest way to coax her away from her desk for dinner and some quality time. The weekends were mostly theirs. Often, there would be events that she needed to attend on those days. Still, they were usually fun and only commanded a few hours of her attention.

Tonight, for example, they were attending a gala at the Lithosian Institute of Crystallography and Technology, a museum, university, and research facility all rolled into one massive campus. He'd often pass by it on his way to and from the library, but tonight was his first time inside. He was not prepared for what he saw when they walked in.

The gala was being held in the main museum. The building was huge, filled with exhibits that exalted Lithosian achievements in science and technology. But what really caught his attention was the large, twisted crystal in the very center of the exhibition hall, glowing a faint, fiery orange. It rotated slowly as it floated above an elaborately carved display pillar. It had no protective glass case. The pillar wasn't even roped off. He could go up and touch the crystal if he wanted to. It couldn't possibly be what he thought it was.

“Is that…?”

He startled slightly when President Androcles, not Vizla, answered him. He'd been so focused on the crystal that he hadn't noticed him approaching.

“The Helix Crystal.”

The Helix Crystal! Here! Unguarded! He looked around surreptitiously for security but saw no one who stood out as a guard. They must all be undercover, then.

“Generous of you to let the Institute borrow it for the gala.”

Androcles looked puzzled. “It’s not mine to lend.”

“Who does it belong to if not you?”

“It belongs to none of us and all of us. No one man should wield such power.”

“Aren’t you worried that someone might steal it?”

“No Lithosian would do such a thing. This crystal is a symbol of Lithos. Stealing it would be tantamount to treason, and justice is swift for those who would commit treason.” He was unused to hearing such steely resolve from the usually genial president.

“Justice would be equally swift for any outsider caught stealing it,” a new voice cut in, and he turned his attention to its source. The speaker was a tall, slender man in his middle years with a strong jaw and flinty eyes. He wore a formal naval uniform: A white, collared shirt with a navy blue tie under a cream-coloured waistcoat. Cream-coloured trousers tucked into brown Cavalier boots. A long, navy blue coat decorated with medals at the breast and insignia of rank at the collar that marked him as the Admiral of the Navy. If that weren’t enough to give away his identity, his auburn hair and blue eyes, identical to his sister’s, would have.

“Admiral Selkirk, we meet at last! Vizsla has told me so much about you,” he smiled, offering his hand to shake.

Selkirk didn’t return his smile, but he did shake his hand. ��She’s told me much about you, as well, Ambassador,” he told him in a carefully neutral tone.

They spoke for nearly an hour before Selkirk excused himself and his sister, pulling her off where he couldn't overhear them. Not that he didn't try. He watched them surreptitiously as he engaged other attendees in conversation. Vizsla was slowly growing annoyed by whatever Selkirk was saying to her. He could tell by the set of her mouth, the tightness in her eyes. At one point, she hid an open scowl behind her wine glass, taking a long sip as she composed herself. Not long after, she parted ways with her brother and returned to his side.

Later, when they were back home in bed together, he asked her what Selkirk had said that had bothered her so much. She had tried to deflect, but he wouldn't let it go.

“He doesn't trust you,” she finally confessed.

“Why not?”

She laughed a little before answering. “He thinks you're a gold-digger.”

“To be fair to him, I am an archeologist,” he joked, which earned him a swat from her.

“And a con artist,” she finished.

That hurt.

“I would never lie to you,” he told her.

“I know.”

~*~*~

Several years passed before he got his first real lead on the location of the Doorway.

In that time, he had made incredible progress on his research of Lithos, gathering enough information to fill several notebooks.

He had also grown all too accustomed to life here. Everything was objectively better. The technology was more advanced. Crystals were more powerful. There was peace and prosperity. And there was Vizsla. On more than one occasion, he had questioned his own plan. Did he really want to return to Atmos? He had everything he ever wanted right here.

So he let another year pass while he sat on his lead.

Soon enough, however, he started to feel that itch. The one that had driven him his whole life, a need for adventure and the notoriety such adventures brought. He may be comfortable in Lithos, but what was his claim to fame here?

He was painfully aware of how little respect he had earned besides what was afforded him thanks to his Ambassadorship. He was reminded every time they joined Selkirk for dinner or an outing and had to endure the man’s silent judgement. Vizsla’s brother stubbornly refused to warm up to him.

And so he had gone to the president with his information. He went into the meeting armed with an in-depth presentation and came out of the meeting with the funding he needed to lead an expedition.

He smiled. It felt as if cobwebs had finally cleared from his mind. It was time to finish what he had started.

~*~*~

A month. That's how long it took to discover the Doorway, hidden within the depths of an expansive rainforest. The sheer size of the forest put even Terra Amazonia to shame. He never failed to marvel at how different the landscape was on this side of the Barrier Cliffs. Everything was so vast!

A month spent out in the field had done him a world of good. A part of him had worried that he'd grown too soft for such a strenuous expedition, but he had proven himself up to the challenge. He had missed this. The thrill of the hunt. Hacking his way through the undergrowth by day and sleeping under the stars by night. Deciphering clues. Outwitting carefully laid traps.

And now he and his team had unearthed the Doorway, along with a new series of clues that, once solved, would lead him to the Key. They had radioed their coordinates to the president. An entire company had been dispatched to secure the Doorway in less than a week, and he was provided transport back to the capital.

He and Vizsla had celebrated his success with a weeklong trip to the mountains of Albona, renting a chalet near the shores of a pristine lake. She had scolded him when she caught him poring over the clues to the Key, saying that if she had to leave work at home, so did he.

On their last day at the mountain lake, he made the mistake of asking her if she'd come with him to Atmos.

“Of course, I’d love to visit Atmos with you,” she told him, not understanding what he was asking of her.

“Not to visit,” he clarified. “To live.”

She got quiet, a silence that felt like it lasted an hour, even though it was less than a minute.

“You know I can't do that.”

He wasn't surprised by her answer. Her life was here. Her family, her responsibilities. Still, he was disappointed.

She picked up on his disappointment, seeming surprised by it. “As the Atmosian ambassador to Lithos, you belong here. Why even ask about Atmos?”

He smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Feeling a bit homesick, I suppose. It will pass.”

She wasn't convinced. “That's all it is? You aren't thinking of stepping down as ambassador, are you?”

“Not at all, forget I asked.”

But neither of them did.

When they got home, she seemed a bit more distant, spending more time with Selkirk and Selkirk’s friend Lynx. He wasn't sure which one of them he hated more. Lynx was a small man, but what he lacked in stature, he made up for in personality. Domiwick found him to be insufferable. He reminded him of some of the more boisterous Sky Knights he had met, which wasn't surprising since he was the head of the Lithosian Air Force.

Not wanting to spend more time than necessary around them and mentally preparing himself to leave Vizsla behind, he threw himself into his work.

~*~*~

The clues led him to the Zoran Desert.

He had foregone his usual expedition gear, opting to listen to the locals when they suggested looser garb made of light linen and a scarf, teaching him how to wrap it around his head.

As protected from the sun and the heat as possible, he set off with his small band of underlings, using strange, lumpy pack animals native to the region to carry them and their supplies. Mechanized transportation was notoriously unreliable out on the dunes.

Luckily, their quest didn't drag on as long as their search for the Doorway had. Three days after leaving the city-state of Zora, they came upon a dark stone pillar covered in ancient markings rising out of the sand. The location matched the coordinates he had decoded from the clues.

Approaching the pillar, he studied it without touching it, wary of traps. It appeared to be scored at regular intervals, and he realized that the pillar wasn't one solid piece but sections stacked on top of one another. Not seeing any obvious traps, he took hold of the second section from the top and twisted. Slowly, creakily, the section rotated. He stepped back, scratching his chin. Of course. A puzzle.

Retrieving his notes, he shuffled through the pages of clues until he got to a cypher. Comparing the markings on the cypher to the markings on the pillar, he saw they matched.

He turned to the others. “Set up camp. It’ll be nightfall soon, and it will take time to translate these runes.”

While the others worked to set up the tents and get started on dinner, he began the painstaking task of translating the pillar’s inscriptions. He worked until darkness fell, and he was about to grab a torch to continue working when a chill went through him, which had nothing to do with how quickly the desert cooled down once the sun set. It felt like he was being watched. Watched from every direction.

He glanced at his workers, noticing that they all seemed unsettled. Strangely, the pack animals were unaffected, placidly chewing the hay they had been given.

He abandoned his work at the pillar to sit near the fire. It made the oppressive feeling ease just enough that the goose pimples on his arms faded. The subtle shift in his mood did not go unnoticed. Soon, everyone had gravitated towards the flames, eating and talking about everything and nothing, as if afraid of the silence that awaited them when they stopped.

But it couldn't last forever. Eventually, it was time to sleep.

Wrapping himself in a thin blanket, he lay down by the fire and closed his eyes. Only to open them again what seemed no more than a minute later. The fire still burned as fiercely as before, but he was alone.

He scrambled to his feet, looking around, but he couldn't see more than a meter in any direction. Beyond that, there was nothing but darkness. Looking up, he saw that there was no moon. There was no vivid splash of stars against the inky sky as there had been moments ago. Nothing but more darkness.

And the feeling of being watched was back, even worse than before.

“What is this?” he demanded. His voice sounded odd, muffled as if even sound refused to travel beyond the barrier the darkness had created.

“What is this?” a voice breathed slowly as if whatever spoke to him had not spoken in years. Decades. Centuries.

Did it expect an answer, or was it just mimicking what he said? He decided it couldn't hurt to introduce himself either way. “My name is Domi-”

“We know,” the voice interrupted him, and dozens more echoed it.

“We know…we know…we know….” they chorused. In the voice of a man. Of a woman. The hiss of a serpent. The screech of an eagle. The baying of a wild dog. So many voices, everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“You come here as a supplicant,” the first voice spoke again. It wasn't a question.

“I came here looking for-”

“We know,” came the chorus of voices again, drowning him out.

“Supplicate yourself.”

He stood rooted to the spot uncertainly until a low growl made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. A figure emerged from the darkness, bearing down on him. A jackal leaping for his throat.

He screamed as its teeth sank into his flesh, as its weight bore him to the ground. And then it was gone. Frantically, he raised a hand to his throat. Intact. He rolled over and pushed himself to his knees, but when he tried to stand, he was driven back down by some unseen force.

“We see what's in your heart,” the voice spoke, and from the darkness, whispers responded.

“No wisdom.”

“No humility.”

“Unworthy.”

He felt a jolt of anger at that. Unworthy? How dare this thing, whatever it was, insult him like that! He tried again to stand, only to be forced to prostrate himself.

The whispers came again, a chorus repeating the declaration. “Unworthy.”

“Turn back. You cannot pass the trials. You will not find what you seek here.”

“I’ve come too far to turn back now,” he said.

“If you die here-”

“I won't.”

The things that lurked beyond the darkness laughed at him.

“We shall see.”

He awoke with a gasp. The fire had died down to dully glowing embers, and the eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten. His men were all still asleep. Getting up, he stoked the fire and set a pot of water to boil for coffee.

He had runes to finish translating.

~*~*~

The sun was beating down on him from directly overhead when he completed the translation. The runes told the story of a great king from ancient Lithosian mythology. Through his research, he’d grown familiar with these people’s myths and legends, familiar enough that it was a simple task to rotate the pillar sections so that the king’s heroic exploits were told in the proper order.

As the last section locked into place, the pillar began to vibrate. Gears whirled, and mechanisms unlatched with metallic clicks as the rune-covered casing pulled away to reveal a central pillar lined with shelves. Upon those shelves sat dozens of ornate skulls that glittered in the sunlight. Some were metal, but most were crystal. There were skulls of solid gold, silver and platinum, many encrusted with jewels. One skull was of the clearest quartz he had ever seen, covered in a delicate lacework of gold filigree. Many were carved from some of the rarest, most expensive crystals known to Atmos or Lithos. Some had jewels set into their eye sockets, brilliant sparkling diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. A few had gold-capped teeth. There was a king’s ransom here, free for the taking. He reached out to touch one carved from a fire opal and hesitated. This was a trap.

Stepping back, he paced around the pillar, studying the skulls before him. Was one of them the Key? And if so, how was he supposed to figure out which? He was beginning to regret not bringing a Crystal Mage on the expedition, but, to his surprise, true Crystal Mages were as rare in Lithos as they were in Atmos, and their services didn’t come cheap. Besides, they hadn’t needed one during the expedition to the Forbidden City. It stood to reason that they didn’t need one now. He just had to figure out how to solve this puzzle.

His concentration was broken by a small commotion from his men. They had stopped what they were doing when he unlocked the column, gathering a respectful distance away from the pillar to admire the skulls. But one, a boy who couldn’t be more than eighteen, had been bold enough to approach, ignoring the warnings of his compatriots. “I just want to get a closer look,” he defended himself. “I’m not stealing anything.” Before anyone could say anything or physically intervene, he picked up a sapphire skull wearing a delicate platinum diadem.

The air shifted the moment the skull was touched. Where there had barely been a breeze before, sudden winds materialized out of nowhere, whipping around them. The wind began kicking up the sand. Domiwick quickly emulated his men as they pulled on their goggles and secured their scarves around their mouths and noses to protect their lungs. A dangerously short distance away, a massive wall of sand was forming, headed straight for them. His instinct was to run, but he worried that if he did, he’d get lost and never find the column again. Or worse, get so lost that he died out here. He wouldn’t last long on his own with no water. He knew that. So he stayed rooted to the spot.

The wall of sand began to shift as it bore down on them, morphing as it did. It wasn't clear initially what it was, but as it got closer, it became more defined. A giant scorpion made of sand was towering above them, too close now to outrun even if they tried. Dark spots writhed along the creature's surface, some falling from their host, plummeting to the ground only to scuttle back towards it, getting swept up once more.

Some of the men stood frozen as it approached. Others ran. He quickly lost sight of those who fled. He did not, unfortunately, lose sight of the boy who had taken the sapphire skull. The scorpion creature lashed out with one of its claws, catching the boy just as he tried to run. He watched in horror as the dark spots swarmed over him. This close, he could see what they were now. Live scorpions. He could barely see the kid through the mass of arachnids that covered him from head to toe. The only thing he could hear over the howling of the wind was the kid’s panicked screams. The screams grew in pitch and intensity as the sand creature lifted its prey, drawing him in close before biting off one of his arms. The boy thrashed, futilely trying to fight until the monster tightened its claw, crushing the boy's ribcage, and he finally went limp. The creature made short work of devouring the rest of the body. Then, it dissolved back into a swirling wall of sand. Scorpions rained from the sky, falling onto those who had remained. He was unashamed of his own horrified shrieks as he and the others frantically brushed them off. Thankfully, they scurried away when they hit the ground. By the time the sandstorm passed them, no trace of any scorpions remained.

He took stock of his men. About half of them were missing. He looked in all directions, but the ones who had run were nowhere to be seen. Hopefully, they'd find their way back to camp by nightfall. He lowered his scarf and pushed his goggles back onto his forehead before the shell-shocked silence was shattered by one of the men breaking down.

“Touch nothing,” he said, rather unnecessarily now, over the sound of the man’s weeping. A couple of them looked at him as if he were mad. He ignored them, his skin crawling at the memory of the scorpions as he turned his attention back to the skulls.

He studied them one by one with renewed interest, careful not to make accidental contact with any of them. One, in particular, stood out to him. The words the voices had spoken to him the night before sprang to the forefront of his mind. They had said that he lacked humility and would fail his quest because of it. And now here, right before his eyes, surrounded by riches, sat a plain skull of smoky quartz. It contained no jewels, no precious metals, no crown. It was by far the humblest skull of the lot. Had the voices supplied him with the Key to solving this test? There was only one way to find out.

Taking a deep breath, preparing himself to run at the first sight of any new sandstorms, he laid his hand upon the quartz skull. He was immediately overwhelmed by a dizzying, pulling sensation. His vision blurred, and his stomach churned as he felt like he was being yanked forward impossibly fast. He staggered when he came to an abrupt stop, stumbling and falling to his knees. When his vision cleared, he looked up. Before him sat a giant statue of what the Lithosians called a manticore. It had a man's head, a lion's body, and a long tail bristling with wicked-looking spines. Beyond it stood a solitary pyramid. He looked around himself to discover that he was, once again, alone.

Pushing himself to his feet, he tried to walk past the statue towards the pyramid. As soon as he moved, cracks began to form in the statue, running the length and breadth of it until the stone shattered entirely, leaving a living, breathing manticore standing where the statue had been. Its gaze fell upon him, and it unleashed a loud roar that made him stumble back.

“Not one step further, mortal, until you have answered my question.”

“Very well,” he said with more confidence than he felt. It wasn't like he had much choice. “Ask.”

“So eager. I am obliged to warn you that once the question is asked, there is no walking away. You answer it and continue or,” it paused, its grin showing off inhumanly sharp teeth. “I enjoy the first meal I've had in centuries.”

He tried not to think about the boy getting devoured by the sand scorpion as he nodded his understanding. “I’m not turning back.”

“Very well,” the manticore said, regarding him shrewdly. “My question is this: If you have me, you’ll want to share me. If you share me, you don't have me. What am I?”

He mulled over the riddle for a minute or two, going over all the possibilities that ran through his head before settling on what he suspected was the correct answer. “A secret.”

The manticore grinned again, its eyes boring into his as if staring straight into his soul. “You know all about secrets, don't you?”

He frowned, immediately on guard. “Is that part of the question?”

“It's an observation,” the manticore answered. “Be very careful. Better men than you have buckled under the weight of such heavy secrets as the ones you carry.” Before he could respond, the manticore stepped aside, presenting him with a clear path to the pyramid. “Enter,” it ordered.

He did as he was bidden, entering the pyramid and taking the only path forward, winding his way through hallways and up staircases until he found himself in a large chamber that was empty save for the statue of a man with the head of a ram. A large crystal rested in his outstretched hand. The Key.

He waited, knowing after all these trials that this wouldn't be as simple as walking up and taking the Key. Less than a minute after his arrival, the statue began to glow blue, and the spectral figure of a fully human man emerged from it. The figure stepped forward and regarded him soberly.

“If it was within my power to stop you from taking the Key, I would,” the man (Oracle?) told him bluntly.

He narrowed his eyes, annoyed at how each of the spirits he had encountered seemed to have such a low opinion of him. He wasn't doing anything wrong. He just wanted to go home and write his book.

“Why?”

“I have seen what will happen if you attempt to return to Atmos. Death and destruction will follow.”

“How? Did the Cyclonians take over Atmos? Because even if they did, they're no match for Lithos.” He'd love to see Cyclonis try. She'd be in for a rude awakening.

“Cyclonia is no longer a threat.”

The Oracle’s casual, matter-of-fact tone left no room for misinterpretation. He laughed. So the Sky Knights had finally put them in their place? It couldn't have happened to a nicer bunch of backstabbers. “I don’t see how my returning to Atmos is a problem, then.”

“Death and destruction will follow,” the Oracle repeated. “Leave the Key with me, and you may return to the life you have made for yourself here in Lithos and live out the rest of your days in peace. Take the Key and…” the Oracle trailed off and stepped forward to lay a hand upon his forehead. Sounds and images flickered through his mind. The clash of battle. Screams. Terras burning. He saw Selkirk, Lynx, and others he didn’t recognize. They felt important, but the visions flashed by too quickly for him to process what was happening. Then, there was nothing but pain and darkness. When awareness returned to him, he found himself curled up in a fetal position on the ground. Sitting up, he looked around. The Oracle was gone. Only the ram-headed statue holding the Key remained.

He stood slowly, his eyes locked on the Key the whole time. The Oracle’s warning and the visions he had been shown had all been a test. It hadn’t been real, could never be real. How could it be? The idea that his return to Atmos would spark a war was preposterous. Resolutely, he approached the statue and snatched the Key from its hand.

He was almost home.

~*~*~

Did he feel guilty telling everyone he hadn't found the Key during his expedition? A little. But if he had, they would have moved the Doorway and its Key to a more secure location, making it much harder for him to slip away. He did regret running like a thief in the night, but he didn't know how to tell Vizsla that he had been lying to her for years, that he wasn't actually an ambassador sent by Atmos to establish contact with the Farside. He didn't want to see the disappointment in her eyes or, worse, listen to her claim that her brother had been right about him and that he had just been using her the whole time. It wasn't like that. Okay, it had started out that way, but he really had grown to care for her. And if she had seemed amenable to going with him to Atmos when he brought it up, he’d tell her the truth and take him with her now. But she hadn't. So, what else was he supposed to do?

The morning of his planned departure, he got up, shouldered the bag he had packed the Key and all his research in, and kissed her goodbye after telling her not to wait up for him that night. He had made a show of working late the entire week, feigning obsession over uncovering the actual location of the Key.

He ‘worked’ until around 9:00 at night. The Lithosian Institute of Crystallography and Technology never truly closed. It was always open to scientists, mages, professors, and students working on their research. But they were few and far between at this hour, and tourists rarely stuck around the museum past dinnertime, leaving it abandoned but for the stray docent. Which worked out perfectly for him since that was where the government was keeping the Doorway until the Key was found. Until it could be used to establish diplomatic relations with Atmos, it was just another curiosity to be admired.

He looked around as he entered the museum, finding the place deserted. This really was working out perfectly. Not wanting to test his luck by wasting time, he made a beeline for the Doorway, then hesitated. Only one exhibit stood between it and the Helix Crystal. His fingers itched as he stopped to look at it. If he brought it back to Atmos, he truly would cement himself as a legend, and his name would be remembered forever. And what difference did it make if it ended up sitting in an Atmosian museum instead of a Lithosian one? He wouldn't consider taking it if the Lithosians used it for something like Atmosia used the Aurora Stone to power the Beacon Tower. But they weren't, so really, what was the harm?

Mind made up, he snatched the Helix Crystal from its pillar with one hand as he dug the Key out of his bag with the other. He moved quickly to the Doorway, fitting the Key into its slot and stepping back.

Nothing happened.

Then the Doorway pulsed an angry red and expelled the Key. It clattered to the ground, frissons of electricity licking across its surface as it shorted out. There was a shimmer as the illusion around the crystal disappeared, leaving a spent shielding crystal in its place.

Impossible! That was impossible! The Oracle had confirmed that it was the Key, hadn't it? He stepped back, head swivelling left and right to check that he was still alone. He couldn't afford to have anyone walk in now. Not until he had returned the Helix Crystal. He needed to get out of here and regroup, try to figure out what went wrong.

“Looking for this?”

He spun around to find Vizsla standing behind him, holding the Key. She looked so betrayed. His mind went blank momentarily before he blurted out the first thing that made it past the shock. “Where did you get that?”

“Did you really think you could hide it from me? In my own house?” she asked coldly.

“You went through my things?”

“Don't you dare! Don't you dare try to turn this back on me! You lied to me. Why? Who are you really?”

“You know who I am.”

“I thought I did. But then you started acting strangely in Albona, and I began to suspect there was something that you weren't telling me. When you came home from Zora, I knew you were lying about not finding the Key. You did a poor job acting like you do when you hit a dead end. So yes, I went through your things, and I found this. Selkirk gave me the fake to plant in your bag, and we’ve had the Doorway under surveillance ever since.”

“You dragged Selkirk into this?”

“You left me no choice. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? I have been defending you against him for years! So I ask you again, who are you, and why are you here? I suggest you answer truthfully because if you have to be questioned further, the people asking the questions aren't going to be as nice about it as I’m being.”

He frowned, deciding to answer her honestly. Not because of the threat but because she deserved the truth. “I.J. Domiwick, archeologist. I didn't lie about that.”

“But you're not an ambassador,” she guessed.

“No.”

“And are all Atmosian archeologists thieves?” she asked, nodding to the Helix Crystal he still clutched.

He could feel his face heat with rare embarrassment. “You must understand, this crystal is practically a myth in Atmos. It would be heralded as the discovery of the century!”

“You didn't discover it; you stole it!”

“No one would need to know that,” he said, wincing when her expression changed from anger to incredulous disappointment.

“Selkirk was right. You really are just a con artist, aren't you?”

“That's not fair; I take my work seriously. I discovered the Doorway and the Key through countless hours of research and hard work! You know that,” he said, anger burning in the pit of his stomach at the accusation that he was nothing but a fraud. He threw the Helix Crystal at her feet. “Keep it. Just give me the Key, and I'll be on my way home.”

“You won't be going anywhere,” Selkirk said from behind him. The hell he wouldn't. He spun around to face Selkirk, aiming a punch straight at his face. The other man threw an arm up, deflecting the blow and answering with a punch of his own. It all happened too fast. He failed to block it, staggering back as the punch caught him in the eye. He reached for his machete but was grabbed before he could draw it. Before he knew it, he was disarmed, his bag taken from him, handcuffed and forced to his knees by two soldiers who kept a firm grip on his shoulders.

“I gave you the Helix Crystal back. What more do you want from me?”

“The truth,” Selkirk answered simply.

“You already have it. I'm an archeologist.”

“Why did you lie about being an ambassador?”

“Because I needed funding! I came here to explore the Farside and write a book. That's not easy to do with no money.”

“Is that all I was to you?” Vizsla asked him. The hurt in her voice made his chest ache. He craned his neck to look at her over his shoulder.

“No. I truly do love you. You have no idea how close I came to giving up my search for the Doorway and staying here with you.”

“Touching,” Selkirk cut in. “Unfortunately, I don't believe a word of it. You were sent here for a reason. We will find out why, one way or another.”

“I'm telling you the truth!” he told Selkirk before returning his gaze to Vizsla. “Please, you believe me, don't you?”

It was his turn to feel betrayed as, wordlessly, she shook her head no. Then the world went dark as a bag was thrown over his head.

~*~*~

Domiwick wasn't sure how long he had been here. He scratched feebly at his itchy cheek. If he were to judge the time based on the amount of facial hair he found there, he’d guess about two weeks.

It felt longer.

He couldn't do much more than lie on the cold floor. He was weak from hunger, exhausted from lack of sleep, and everything hurt. He had a throbbing headache that refused to go away, and his hands shook no matter how hard he tried to force them to be still.

The door opened, and a full-body shudder ran through him as the last person he wanted to see stepped into his cell, flanked by two of his black-clad goons.

Skarn.

He was a Saurian, Lithos’ nightmarish version of Bogaton’s Raptors. Standing roughly two hundred centimetres tall, he was a hundred and twenty kilograms of pure muscle. His only clothes were a pair of wide-legged black pants that tapered to the ankles and matching boots. It was all he could wear. Most of him was covered in tan-coloured scales. But sharp, dark brown spikes crested the top of his head and worked their way down his spine, getting shorter and duller as they approached his waist. More spikes protruded from his shoulders, the backs of his arms, and his tail. Two more curved up from his temples. They looked like the horns that devils were always portrayed as having in storybooks. Unfortunately, that wasn't where his resemblance to a demon ended. His tail whipped slowly back and forth as his gaze locked on his, like a cat sighting its prey, and he smiled.

Domiwick scrabbled back until he hit the far wall of the cell, trying to put distance between them, though he knew it wouldn't save him. He wanted to cry. He realized he was crying when the first salty tears reached his chapped lips. He licked them away. He was so thirsty.

His muscles screamed in protest as Skarn’s assistants dragged him to the center of the room and hauled him to his feet, shackling his hands high above his head. Pain wracked his body as his legs shook, not up to the challenge of supporting him. But every time his knees buckled, his shoulders would have to bear the brunt of his weight. Shoulders that had been dislocated more than once during his time here before being forced back into their sockets without a single care. It was excruciating, and they hadn't even begun yet.

Skarn drew the instrument these people called a sakit from its holster at his belt, and he lost control of his bladder. He should have known this was coming when they walked in empty-handed. Of all the tortures he had been subjected to, the sakit was the worst. It was a pronged rod, about thirty centimetres long, whose sole purpose was to bring pain. Skarn, who considered himself a master in the fine art of interrogation, didn't usually favour the sakit. He preferred more creative methods. For him to threaten the sakit immediately meant that he was in an impatient mood. This session would be particularly brutal.

Skarn stopped in front of him. If he noticed his accident, he didn't comment. "Admiral Selkirk is growing impatient with your continued defiance.”

He hung his head, closing his eyes as he breathed a shuddering sigh. “I've already told you what you want to hear.” And he had. Skarn had fabricated an entire story about him. And he, eager to make the pain stop, had willingly parroted it back to him. He wasn't an archeologist; he was an Atmosian spy. His journals full of notes weren't research for his book; they were intel he had gathered to aid an Atmosian invasion of Lithos. His theft of the Helix Crystal wasn't a crime of opportunity; it was an attempt to secure a power source for the terrible weapon of mass destruction that Atmos wanted to unleash upon them. He repeated it again now.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me it's true.”

He lifted his head, looking Skarn in the eyes. “It's true.” He flinched when Skarn bared his teeth, a sure sign of his displeasure.

“You don't believe that.”

“I do,” he said desperately. “I swear I do!”

“You don't. But you will.”

He slammed the end of the sakit against his bare chest. His shirt had been taken from him long ago. The prongs stabbed into his flesh, and Skarn activated the device. The pain was immediate, searing and inescapable. It felt like his blood had been replaced with lava, fire racing through every artery and vein.

He screamed and didn't stop screaming until the session ended over an hour later.

~*~*~

Androcles leaned back in his chair at the head of the table, sinking further into his thoughts as the emergency meeting dragged into its third hour. All twelve magistrates were in attendance, along with the heads of the Defense Committee.

Admiral Selkirk had instigated the meeting and was doing the lion's share of the talking. He and Magistrate Vizsla had been the ones to uncover Domiwick's treachery and hand him over to the Central Security Defense, who had, in turn, obtained a confession and unearthed the full extent of the threat they faced from Atmos. In theory, at least. Androcles neither liked nor trusted Skarn, the director of the CSD. He didn't trust his methods nor the validity of any information gained through their use.

He could believe that Domiwick had lied to and used them, though it was embarrassing to admit that he had been taken in by the man's charms. But he did not believe that he was a spy. For starters, he'd drawn far too much attention to himself since day one. He'd also been in Lithos for years. Was the Atmos so patient that they'd hold off their invasion for years while awaiting his return? Admiral Selkirk had been adamant that Atmos must have had no choice; they had to wait for Domiwick to find the Doorway since the way he had come through initially had been destroyed. But they had activated the Doorway and sent a scout through, only to discover that the portal on the Atmosian side was entirely dependent on the Doorway remaining active on the Lithosian side. They wouldn't be able to reliably stage an invasion from their end. It didn't add up.

He said as much now, constructing his argument against the Committee's proposed attack on Atmos. He didn't believe that the Atmos posed a clear and present threat to them, and he was against launching a preemptive strike and dragging all of Lithos into an unnecessary war. The Committee could earmark as many resources as they liked to monitor and guard the Doorway, but he would not support an invasion.

His words prompted more arguments for or against the proposed war, and finally, it was time for the magistrates to vote. The city-states of Jacta, Nilvale, Pripolis, Ekasa, Klora, and Aetheria voted in favour of an invasion. Albona, Athephia, Delponis, Oniodale, Zora, and Tagate voted against it.

He would have to act as a tie-breaker. Before he could cast his vote, General Lynx stood and stormed out of the room. Admiral Selkirk watched him go before locking eyes with him. "You will regret it if you vote no." He then met the eyes of the magistrates who had already cast their votes against his proposition. "You all will."

Androcles' shoulders stiffened as he sat up straighter. He wouldn't be threatened into changing his vote. It was easy for Selkirk, Lynx and General Beryl to sit here and warmonger. They weren't the ones who would be sent to the frontlines to fight and die in the war they so desperately seemed to want. He had his people's well-being to consider here.

"The answer is no. Prepare to repel an invasion, should Atmos attempt one, but we will not launch an invasion of our own," he said with finality.

~*~*~

Beryl, the imposing Tauran General of the Army, had been the hardest to convince to go along with their idea. Still, she had seen the necessity of it in the end. Selkirk understood. He wished it didn’t have to come to this, either. Androcles was a good man. But he was wrong about Atmos, which put all Lithos at risk. He couldn’t stand idly by and wait for them to be attacked. He had sworn to protect his homeland when he first joined the Navy, and his feelings hadn’t changed in the years since.

After the emergency meeting, he’d gone to Androcles privately and tried to convince him one last time to change his vote. That had gotten him nowhere. He’d done the same for the Magistrates, to no avail. They left him no choice.

He, Lynx, and Beryl began to plan. They quietly began moving their men into position. The Central Security Defense had been adept at identifying the people they’d need to make this work. Skarn hadn’t needed any convincing as Beryl had. He knew a war would be good business for the CSD. Selkirk didn’t let his distaste show. He needed Skarn as an ally. Thankfully, they didn’t have to interact with him much. He was content to continue working from the shadows. For now, he had him extracting every last bit of information about Atmos from Domiwick, with orders to execute him once he had outlived his usefulness. That would be a mercy. He’d seen him the last time he’d stopped by CSD headquarters to keep Skarn apprised of their plan’s progress. The husk that remained wasn’t Domiwick anymore. He almost pitied him.

Ultimately, it only took a month for them to be ready to execute their operation. It proved shockingly easy. In a single, bloody day, Lithos became theirs. Every magistrate who stood against them was dead, along with their families, closest confidants, and most loyal staffers. New magistrates, ones who were loyal to them, were installed in their place. The capital was purged of everyone the CSD identified as a potential problem. He was the one who got to kill Androcles. He was defiant to the end, bravely trying to fight back, and had died on his feet. It was a good death for a good man. He was happy for him.

No new president was raised in Androcles’ place. Instead, Lithos would remain under the direction of the Defense Committee. A state of emergency was called, and martial law was declared throughout Lithos. The rest of the month was spent putting out proverbial fires, quashing protests and would-be rebellions. And then, once the dust had settled, they began to mobilize. New troops were conscripted and trained. Factories began to churn out weapons. Their fleet was converted into airships, and their sailors were retrained to sail the winds instead of the seas. The Doorway was heavily guarded and closely monitored.

Soon, they’d be ready.

#storm hawks #storm hawks fanfic #storm hawks domiwick #inside the wire

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688199 · 1 year

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I'm just surprised at Thomas Astruc, he seems to write scripts, come up with interesting stories, animated series, has he really never heard of such a word as diversity, neutrality and character development. He continually divides people into good and bad, pretends to neutral and people with a difficult past or a complex character do not exist at all. What prevented him from simply giving Felix character and character development! All heroes go through this! Characters are like people, they constantly have to change, they need to pay a lot of attention and not forget about them existence, and if they do not do this, they will stupidly degrade and lose all sympathy and interest among the audience.

either he is too lazy, or Thomas simply lacks fantasy and imagination!

It's a pity and a shame for Felix. We have lost such a wonderful, beautiful, interesting, intelligent, educated morally gray (neutral) character with a secret golden heart and a soft side.

the fact that thomas is able to come up with such a concept initially shows that he doesn't lack imagination at all. however, i believe he's extremely lazy + has very narrow minded opinions + superiority complex

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dxavoidant · 1 year

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Unpopular Opinions because i'm bored:

🧑‍🏫 How on earth do teachers NOT get paid anywhere as much as doctors? Keeping the future generation of citizens educated and keeping human alive, to me, is equal responsibility.

🐮 Unpaid overtime and unpaid internship should be criminal cases and the business owners who practice these should be FINED into bankruptcy no matter what.

🛍️ It's mind-boggling so much that right-wing female commentators still don't know that they are being used, and are not nearly as appreciated as their male counterparts. At the end of the day your main audience (mostly men) aren't going to listen to some random "females" nagging.

👸 Calling fellow women a "pick-me" for sharing different socio-political views than yours is anti-women behavior. Unless that pick-me is JustP**rlyThings because she is not a woman; she is a puppet.

🥱 I know this is not unpopular but cis- is NOT a slur. True, I don't like being called cis because I feel like the society is already divided enough, and I expect people to respect that. But is that prefix a slur? A reach. Stop playing victim game, please.

🐙 I came across this comment on Youtube:

And I had to agree to disagree. Sometimes hits are hits because the person singing the song is popular, even if the song is not their style at all.

😒 I will never understand Kpop girlgroup stans and their criteria for stanning. I will try to watch Queendom Puzzle because I like a lot of girls attending this show, and I hope the girlgroup stans do not ruin the whole show (and the final supergroup) for calling that girl ugly and this girl rude. I mean, aren't y'all tired hating on women in the name of women empowerment?

I see, Bora is getting a lot of hate from the stans for now. Y'all girlies and simps don't know how to watch Mnet's shows smh.

🙎‍♀️ To use Beta as an insult is pathetic af. Y'all reek Losers-who-cannot-take-the-L energy rather than Alphas y'all claim to be.

🤡 The whole circus pops up when y'all say that women doesn't deserve equal pay as men because women's job are less physical. Hunney, men can occupy women's roles in women's jobs just fine and still get paid more. Meanwhile, jobs remotely for men (physical jobs) are less likely to hire women who apply for the same position because employers are aware of physiological differences between the sexes. If we REALLY have the power to just choose our jobs, we would see more women do robotics, construction, electricity and oil rigs right now. We just ask for equal pay, not victimize ourselves. That's another topic for another day. We are not blinded to the problem which is right in front of us, and refused to be gaslit by men in this men's world.

🫠 This one is REAL UNPOPULAR: Subjecting oneself as a victim to cast a spotlight on a societal cause is attention seeking behavior. It is not the same as being a victim. If you have to put yourself as a victim of something, that cause is not major, and it is understandable why the public dgaf about your silly "movement." I have no sympathy for people who subject themselves as victims when they can simply opt out. However, real victims of unfortunate events have all my heart and support.

And yes, I am not the kind to romanticize social movements. I look at them with an objective lense. It might look cute and hopeful and heroish in pictures, but behind victory, there are losses. And loss is never cute.

#dx venting #unpopular opinions #teachers #feminism #equal pay #cisgender

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ganymedesclock · 2 years

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Like, not to sound like the evil overlord list- which I otherwise kind of dislike- but I am in fact very passionate about the logistics of organization in fictional structures, and I think that it’s actually worth noting that the majority of evil fictional organizations are actually. Very badly organized.

It’s not really a plot hole- many antagonists have a sense of massive arrogance and entitlement such that they don’t want to think about what “the help” is doing and punish said help for bringing problems to them. It’s also the inevitable result of like. If a Massive Evil Empire sprouted or expanded rapidly and is sinking the majority of its resources into further expansion. Or, hell, if you just have a really hot gig going and a lot of people want to join up, they’ll often have conflicting and selfish goals, because they may or may not have thrown other people under the bus to become your toady in the first place and their coworkers, or even you, may be next in line depending on their needs.

Like, villains are villains for a reason and often those reasons lead to inefficient behavior, because, actually, a lot of the most efficient behaviors for working with other people are things that we generally perceive as Nice, because a lot of our rules of politeness are basically in a broad sense, that we live in a society, and we think it’s good to facilitate what makes the society go.

(For example, that one post that went around about people talking about small town vs. big city manners; in a rural environment a high amount of personal socialization is expected because you’re going to be stuck with these same eighteen people for years on end and it’s good to work to not want to strangle them or at least simulate well enough; in an urban environment, large numbers of people are going through at a time and there’s an expectation of respected privacy so it’s expected to be as streamlined as possible. These are generalizations- a bunch of other factors weigh into it- but in all cases, the unifying theory is that ‘polite’ is what makes things collectively easy)

Generally speaking, if you want the most efficient way possible to run an organization, the result is ‘don’t have mooks’. This makes a certain amount of in-universe sense; having a smaller number of highly educated and trained people who know what’s going on and can independently reason about it does have drawbacks (it means it’s had to replace people, and you don’t have large numbers of bodies to throw at a problem, skills will be specialized making it even harder for one person to fill in for another) but it also means that you can move as efficiently as possible.

And it also actually, out-of-universe, pays dividends in a fictional context: if I introduce thirty people in storm trooper helmets the audience MIGHT get attached to one of them who does something memorable but even if they’re individuals inside, the genericness of them is going to prevent a lot of attachment to individuals.

Conversely, if I introduce an antagonist and their extremely personalized strike force that is individually color-coded and has personal areas of specialization, the audience is going to be invested in them. Not in the sense that they’re good people- they may actually be far more obviously worse people to each other and the world in general- but they’ll come off more interesting. This is often in play whether or not there are mooks- if anything it’s often used as a kind of focusing agent, of who seems like the actual threats. If you see ten mooks and one guy in a black coat with a lot of jewelry you know immediately who to look at. And it’s going to be unexpected if something bad happens to the black coat guy and the story actually follows the ten mooks who are now going “shit, what do we do?”

#writing ruminations #this kind of overlaps with the conceptual roots of 'the butler did it'#dividing audience attention and sympathy.#a mook is a mook because we're (not expected to) care much about them #because they're metatextually expendable. they're red shirts.#if anything bad is going to happen that isn't supposed to be a huge dramatic game changer it's gonna happen to them #and like all receptacles of the audience's total confidence #it is immensely satisfying to mess with #but I do think it's very funny #that like... in reality if you treat a 'mook' like a real person #it actually is a solid protection against certain mook-related tropes

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 2 years

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An Unlikely Little Miracle

A practitioner of a different sort of magic offers temporary relief for the pain of Stephen's damaged hands.

characters: Stephen Strange, Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC)

relationship: Mentor and Student

rating: general audience, a wee bit of angst, some hurt comfort--and MAGIC, of course

word count: 2.1K

Morning brought a driving rain upon the city, and Stephen’s hands throbbed with a pain that rivaled that of the initial weeks following his accident. The morphine they’d given him in the hospital hadn’t always reduced his pain, but had made his mind foggy enough to allow him periods of escape from consciousness. But there was no drug for this pain—nor did he want one. He needed a crystal clear mind to deal with the supernatural forces that had created a hotbed of plague-like illnesses and unnatural deaths in a remote village in the mountains of Bavaria--so that meditation would have to do.

Seldom had he been less successful at it; an hour passed, and his efforts proved futile. Stephen hated to undertake the task ahead in such a muddy, distracted state, but he absolutely had no choice. He washed and dressed—laboriously—went down to the dining area, took his place at the head of the table, and forced himself to eat some breakfast, knowing he needed to fuel his body for the magical chores that awaited him. He hid his misery as best he could, even from the two Adepts who would accompany him into what might devolve into a mystical battle

Teyla joined him at table, wishing him a fair day, and he answered her too brusquely, informing her that she must return to Kamar-Taj for the next several hours—or at least spend the day at her Lafayette Street loft. Confused and a little hurt, she accepted his decree meekly, focusing on her plate, and sneaking periodic looks his way.

Her meal finished, Stephen hoped she would leave him to his misery—but wasn’t surprised when she approached him cautiously, taking a seat on his right hand side. Let me help,” she offered softly, “Please.”

Stephen answered gruffly, “You’re nowhere near ready to assist me in this matter, Adept. And I can’t afford to divide my attention just to keep an eye on you.” He hated how harsh he sounded, so far from the pleasant accord, which they had shared up on the roof only hours before—but it was necessary for now, and he would mend the break once he was free of his duty…and after his pain receded some.

A stubborn line creased her brow, but Teyla remained undaunted, addressing him exactly as he had asked, “Stephen.” Patiently she waited for him to meet her eyes; the sympathy he saw there was no surprise either.

“I know you would not ask, but see now what I offer. I can alleviate your pain, make it more bearable.” She touched her fingertips to his, the spark there meant to help convince him. “Your judgment is clouded, and your pride in this negates your usual wisdom.”

“Teyla, I would never impose my pain on you. You have no idea what you’re asking,” he contended, clinging to his resolve, “And it just wouldn’t be right.”

“This is no imposition, for I freely make this offer,” Teyla declared, then added to her argument, “And as I came to this world to expand upon my skills, would you--as my mentor--deny me the chance to fulfill my calling?”

He huffed hard, accepting the inevitability of her offer, “Alright, but if it appears for even a moment that this will cause you harm, I’m out. Is that clear?”

Teyla nodded vigorously, smiling in victory.

“So tell me, Teyla—what do you need me to do?”

____________________________________________

She had told him she needed time to prepare, asking him to come to her room in thirty minutes or so. The door was closed when he arrived, and Stephen hesitated; maybe this was a bad idea after all. Now that the time had arrived, he wondered how he might handle the disappointment if Teyla’s attempt should fail. He wondered too, how such a failure might affect the young Healer.

She called to him from beyond the door, before he had decided to plunge ahead and knock. “It’s open, please come in.”

He found her sitting cross-legged on the bed, the room darkened but for the glow of a dozen candles, the familiar scent of frankincense wafting through the room. It made for a very relaxing atmosphere. “I’ll leave the door open, if it’s all the same,” he told her, “For, uh…propriety’s sake.”

“As you wish,” she replied impishly, “Though I assure you that your honor is safe with me.” She rose from the bed, motioning for him to join her in the small alcove, where normally sat a desk and chair, along with a laptop provided for guest use. Teyla had gotten another chair, so they could sit opposite one another as she worked the spell.

Once situated, she instructed him, “First, I would ask that you relax. When you are calm, it will be far easier for me to read your energy.”

Stephen breathed deeply several times, doing his best to make his mind blank, opening himself to the experience. “Good. That’s good,” she encouraged him. “Allow your cares to fall away for just this little while.”

Teyla breathed deeply as well, as she had done in the greenhouse, and then spoke softly, “We are both as ready as we can be. I have worked this spell for a variety of reasons—and your injury, severe as it is, is not the gravest I have faced. I make no promise this will permanently end your pain—but I swear I will do what I can to lighten your burden.”

Stephen nodded, dry-mouthed now that they had reached the crucial moment. Teyla held out her hands, gently commanding him, “Give me your hands please…”

Reverently, Teyla traced the scars upon the back of his right hand and along the length of each finger, then gently flipped it over, to do the same upon his palm, moving on to his left hand in her own good time. Stephen had not allowed such familiar contact with his damaged hands in ages, and his flesh seemed to spark at her soothing touch. He found himself mesmerized by the softness of her patient exploration, understanding as he watched that her fingers were memorizing the patterns of his scars, and that she was methodically building a magic he had never seen before.

“You must trust me now,” she told him, as she brought his hands palm to palm, laying her own atop and underneath them, “There will be pain, but I promise it will be brief. You must not flinch or pull away, lest the charm I weave be broken.” Her voice was hushed, but like her motions, held him spellbound. “Can you do this for me, Stephen? Surrender control in this moment to me, and do not fight the sensations you will feel.”

“Of course,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse with awe and anticipation—though he remained somewhat skeptical that she could even deliver what she had claimed.

Teyla had his hands still sandwiched between her own; she had closed her eyes and was humming softly, a pleasant run of notes which seemed to resonate in the bones of his hands. Was he actually feeling this lulling music beneath the skin, in his muscles, ligaments, joints? Her head was bent close to their hands, so that her lank brown hair curtained them; how far different, he reflected, was her plain physical appearance, from the fetching luminescence of her astral form. It seemed to him now, he could see the ghost of that unearthly beauty behind and beneath the pallid skin she inhabited; a beauty ever present but secret, except to eyes that had been opened to the astounding truth that Earth was only one among an infinite number of realities—and that she hailed from a far different reality than that which he called home.

Their hands were now wreathed in a bright blue light; an echo of the true color of her eyes, which he had glimpsed in his encounter with her astral form. His own hands grew warm and tingly as Teyla continued to work her spell. She had called her unique gift “empathetic magic”, and he was at last beginning to grasp what she meant.

Moments later, Stephen understood her warning that there would be pain; his hands flared with it, an agony that felt as though his skin was crammed full with shards of glass, a flash of heat so intense it was like fire burning through his every cell. Despite his best intentions he cried out, though he managed to remain still as Teyla had instructed.

“Almost there, Stephen,” she said through gritted teeth, “You’re through the worst of it—but please do not let go.” The mounting pain screamed for him to pull away, but still he left his hands in her care. He realized his breath was drawn in sync with hers—her own heavily labored with her efforts–and she began to moan softly.

Then, like a light switch being flicked off, the excruciating pain was completely gone. The suddenness shocked him, while the relief elated him, and he wondered if some phantom pain would reawaken before too long had passed. Stephen watched in stunned silence as a map of pale scars took shape upon Teyla’s fingers and the back of the hand she rested on top of his. He had not anticipated that. She had prepared him to expect her hands to temporarily take on, to a lesser degree, the chronic pain that was his daily measure—but she had said nothing of bearing marks akin to his own; nor had his own scars faded in any way.

“It is done,” she told him, just as the cerulean halo that encompassed their hands began to fade. She withdrew her hands, moving them most gingerly, as though she feared that even the smallest physical contact would bring a fresh bout of discomfort.

Relieved of his own misery, he observed Teyla with a doctor’s practiced eye, noting the tremor in her hands—so like that which he had suffered from the day his bandages had been removed—and that she appeared weakened. Beads of perspiration stood upon her brow, a bloom of hectic color on her cheeks, her mouth drawn tight as she acclimated to the bone-deep ache she had taken upon herself. Stephen felt an urge to tell her he would take it all back, but knew she would deny that request. “It’s bad, isn’t it,” he asked, helping her to stand, before guiding her back to her bed.

“No more than I can easily bear, I assure you.” Settling on the mattress, she looked up at him, covering a grimace with the gamest smile she could manage, “And this will fade quickly enough. You must not be concerned.”

“Is there anything I can do…anything I can get you to ease you through this?” Again, the doctor in him, wanting desperately to relieve her suffering, especially knowing he was the direct cause.

Teyla smiled, more naturally this time, “I’m tired--very, very tired. I should rest, perhaps sleep. That will go a long way to alleviate the side effects of the spell.”

“Of course,” he nodded, watching as she lay back upon her pillow, settling onto her side. Pressed for time as he was, he regretted the fact that he had to leave her so quickly. Wishing there was still more he could do to help her, Stephen took the lightweight afghan that lay at the foot of the bed, and draped it across her slight form. “I’ll see you’re not disturbed,” he promised. And then, because he knew words were sure to fail him in the wonder of the gift she had just given him, he bent low and brushed a kiss upon her hair. She gave a little sigh, before he turned to leave.

He’d reached the door before Teyla called to him. “Stephen, I just want you to remember—the effects of this magic are rarely permanent. I have given you perhaps days only, of relief from you condition; and if you’re lucky, weeks, perhaps a month or two.” She yawned, looking nearly ready to drift off to sleep. “I would it were more. You deserve more. But spend these days wisely, and if my bit of magic makes your tasks easier for a time, I know I have served a useful purpose for your world.” With that, her eyelids fluttered shut, and she slept.

Only as he watched her breathing steady and slow, did he realize he hadn’t even thanked her—but then what mere words could he speak to prove the measure of his gratitude for such an unselfish gift?

__________________________________________

My Doctor Strange Masterlist

#my writing #An Unlikely Little Miracle #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange fan fiction #Doctor Strange #Stephen Strange #OFC #Teyla #Teyla of Hadeeth #magic #healing spells #angst #(if you squint)#hurt/comfort #Strangebatch #My Eternal Muse

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spideycents · 4 years

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Start-Up thought for the day:

Second-male lead syndrome hits especially hard with Ji-Pyeong because of the cinematography of the scenes featuring the love triangle, the majority are shot through his perspective.

Examples:

- The string in Dal-Mi’s hair: the camera angles and focus suggest that the viewer was meant to want Ji-Pyeong to be the one to move it. The shots feel his hesitation and then heartbreak when Do-San reaches for her hair. We watch that moment over Ji-Pyeong’s shoulder.

- The conversation after the networking party: that whole scene features, a very comical, tiny Ji-Pyeong noticeably in the background. Many of the angles are from his point-of-view or have him somewhere in the frame. The viewer is meant to feel his exclusion and desperation to get Do-San out of there. The moment never really feels personal and private because Ji-Pyeong’s presence is almost always known by the camera.

- The DoDal hug when they’re accepted into Sandbox: until he leaves, that moment focuses mainly on Ji-Pyeong’s perspective and, once again, the viewer feels his wish for his and Do-San’s places to be swapped.

- The dinner at their house when Dal-Mi gives them different sizes of meat: the camera doesn’t pay special attention to Dal-Mi serving Do-San. It stays with Ji-Pyeong when he realizes what’s happened. The camera wants the viewer to feel the initial elation of Dal-Mi serving him first, then the instant hurt of finding out she gave Do-San a bigger piece. Honestly that whole sequence from the moment they reach the house through the entire night and morning, Do-San’s desperation to have time alone with Dal-Mi and her grandmother is played off in a comical and whiny way while Ji-Pyeong’s instance to stay, still also comical, is played off more understandably, like the viewer should agree that yes, he should stay. Neither is more deserving, but the viewer is meant to want both of them there. (Gah, while writing this, is so obvious that whoever you shipped by then was who’s side you’re on through these scenes. Oof what a mess. That’s not how that should be.)

- The aftermath of the fist-fight: the first person Dal-Mi runs into is Ji-Pyeong, so just on that and potentially the fact that makeup gave him more bruising, he is seen as the victim in Dal-Mi’s eyes and Do-San as the attacker when she later connects the dots that they fought each other. It’s the principle of little kids fighting and whoever makes it to the parents/authority first is seen as the defensive side. I’m not really sure the psychology behind that, I’ve just noticed that pattern.

I have more examples, but I don’t want to scare people away with a long text post. The big takeaway, which has been obvious since the first scene when he was the first character to be introduced, is that no one should be surprised that the viewers have put so much love and focus on JI-Pyeong because the direction did that first. Intentionally or not, that’s what happened. Sure, it was mostly for plot-twist purposes that Do-San’s story has taken more time to unravel, but the initial viewer sympathy, if you came into the show unbiased, was put on Ji-Pyeong and Dal-Mi and their connection. Initial reasoning for the letters aside, it was obvious he started to care about her. The grandmother didn’t dictate every letter, just the first.

TL:DR: Start-Up’s character dynamics have been unfairly balanced since the beginning and no matter who you root for, the ending isn’t likely to feel earned because of the mess they’ve made throughout the arc of the plot. The strong attraction by the viewers toward Ji-Pyeong can be traced back to who’s perspective starts a scene and his has been featured heavily.

I will make another post about this later cause I have more thoughts comparing this show to She Was Pretty and how to do mistaken identity and love triangles. Cause oof this show...this writing...the viewers shouldn’t be this split. Creators shouldn’t purposefully want to divide and anger their audiences. I’ve always been confused by that.

#i have so many more thoughts on this show but this one's on the brain right now #start up #tvn #kdrama #han ji pyeong #nam do san #seo dal mi #ji pyeong #do san #dal mi #kim seon ho #nam joo hyuk #bae suzy #startup

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bookmovienerd · 3 years

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I don't care who or where you are stop scrolling and read this

If that worked and I got your attention, hello. Welcome.

So I am shocking late boarding this particular train, but BOY am I in no hurry to jump off. At all. Anyway, I just finished this and I need to ramble before I EXPLODE in a mess of feels and repressed adoration and that would be sad. For me. You, the person reading this, probably wouldn't know if I exploded or not....

Anyway!

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue - V. E. Schwab

Jesus on a jet ski this book is fucking delicioussss!!!!!!!

Partly because it's a written work of precious art, but partly because the cover is a literal work of art-

And if that isn't enough then JUST LOOK at the inside canvas cover of my Waterstones copy!!

Absolutely flawlessly stunning, right?!?! If 'no': please re-evaluate your choice ;)

"Joyous," Neil Gaiman said on the front of my copy. Joyous? JOYOUS?!?!?! Understatement of the CENTURY

The English language can't come up with a word sufficient to describe this book. The closest one I've found is:

Masterpiece...

Now, I will admit, it took me a while to properly get into this book - though that was primarily because of things in real life that were stressing me out (who isn't dealing with that stuff right now though am I right?). But I do think that this book is slow and zen and chill; it's part of its charm... You could curl up quite comfortably on a lazy Sunday afternoon and just get completely, mercifully lost I someone else's life and that, to me, is exactly what a book should do. It isn't fast-paced, no - it's a book that you fall in love with "slowly, and then all at once" ~ John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

Spoiler-free Reasons to Love This Book

(obviously you're well within your rights to disagree with me, but I'm not sure why you're still reading this post if you didn't like the book...)

Badass female lead (and yes sometimes it is only quietly rebellious but I love her all the same)

Henry Strauss is a precious smol bean and I would sell my SOUL (get it? Haha) to meet him

He works in a bookstore. There is a cat that lives there. The cays cat's name is Book. It's fabulous and I love it

Luc - I'm genuinely torn between hating and slightly pitying him. I start to feel sympathy towards him and then I remember he's awful and I just sort of love to hate him... Although I think he's such a complex character I would definitely be prepared to read a book solely from his point of view about life and humans and art and war and love and promises and places. I think it would be so insightful and interesting (*wink wink*) (did you catch my not-so-subtle request for another Schwab book??? *wiggles eyebrows*)

This book is extremely descriptive. But done in such a way that it fits with the narrator and it doesn't feel condescending or patronising which I feel is sometimes the risk with overly descriptive books. They either are done really well and I love them or I want to throw the book across the room and go find a dictionary. There's no in between. Thankfully, this belongs to the first category

Personally, I walk through life and see potential stories in everything I see, so I thought it was really nice and uniquely relatable to read from Addie's perspective because she just sees beauty and art in everything and I thought it was fascinating

Following that, between each Part, there was sort of a divider that had a piece of artwork connected to the story in each section and I thought it was really cleverly done and actually really interesting to read about the (disappointingly fictional) artworks etc I've never seen something like that before....

This book feels and is timeless. I will love this even when I am old and grey and stooped and that is just a fact

In the acknowledgements, Schwab mentions loving and being devoted entirely to her stories and I think it really shows - in all her work - but particularly this. It seems to have been made carefully and delicately, like she was actively trying to do what was right by her characters and I love it when you can tell that a book is precious to author as well as audience

Finally: the ENDING! I said no spoilers, and I stand by that. All I will say: it's sort of like Crooked Kingdom (Leigh Bardugo). It doesn't end completely and resolutely, but it ends in the perfect place for the story Schwab told and I thought it was bloody excellent

Bonus: this whole book reminds me of the song Pierre - Ryn Weaver - (AWESOME song) and that completely unrelated thought I had definitely made me like the book more

So like I'm no longer at risk of exploding. If you're still here, thank you! If not... Well. Bye? Not that you'll see this but whatever.

And if you've read it please, please talk to me, I am by no means finished gushing about this book. But also: RECOMMEND IT! To anyone who will listen to you long enough for you to have chance. Because this book is a perfect escape from reality and anyone who doesn't get to read about Addie and her life is definitely missing something magical, they just don't know it yet...

#v e schwab #victoria schwab #Addie LaRue #The invisible life of addie larue #i remember you #henry strauss #ryn weaver #carry on rainbow rowell #john green #the fault in our stars #book dragon #love this book #I dont know what to do now #halp #book hangover #books!

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toysoldiers-rwby · 4 years

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[SYT] 10. Show Your Teeth

Show Your Teeth

Characters: Fiona, Winter, May, Robyn, Joanna Rating: Explicit (tagged as thoorist) Tags: slice of lif, knife play, bdsm undertones, voyeurism, exhibitionism Word Count: 6,804

Summary: Victory isn’t a score. It’s in the little things.

Read on Ao3

It happens at the worst possible time. When May is sparing against her partner. There was something in the way that Joanna moves that just… clicks. One look at her and people think she’s power. She’s tall and looms over most Specialist that watch over the ‘Accelerated’ course, muscles that are constantly tearing through thick Atlesian clothing despite being reinforced by Aura.

Joanna is definitely power but above all she’s control.

She can’t hide her stature but she can control herself. Joanna has never thrown her weight around, never raised her voice. She can command a conversation through presence alone, has done so during arguments with Robyn and Winter, but Robyn’s charisma takes the lead because Joanna lets her. She moves with grace that rivals Winter’s, it was just different dance.

If it was anyone else coming at her full sprint, May would have been knocked out. Instead Joanna being fucking Joanna notices her partner’s dazed stare during the middle of her attack. She shifts her body so slightly her punch and all that power and momentum swings between her ribs and arm. Instead of a punch that can beat Elm’s rocket boosted sledgehammer, May is tackled.

May can only laugh, it pauses when they hit the ground but May continues to laugh anyway. There’s a soft confuse Faunus noise and Winter’s faux disappointed sigh. It’s too light at the end and the click of her heels doesn’t exactly sound like a march.

Joanna is control. She has the power to easily lift May up and turn her around like kitten and does so. She’s asking questions, worried, gently turns May’s head in her cheek and fingers feel for any bruises hiding under her hair. May paws them aside and tries to stop laughing.

“Marigold,” Winter’s drawl is professional right now, in public, in the combative room with cameras everywhere it feels like suffocating under May’s Aura. “Have you finally succumb to madness?” Glade peeks out from behind Winter like they’re a small lamb and not slowly developing Joanna’s build.

"I just realize Joan’s right," May said with a smile. Winter and Joanna glance at each other confused. Winter doesn’t press another question she calls RMJT and the Junior Ops, doesn’t actually call them that, to attention and they all line up.

“Continue your self directed training. Make arrangements with your instructors too ensure your combative exam takes precedence during your mid-terms. RMJT,” Winter’s eyes sweeps over her former teammates and their new partners. May can barely roll her eyes at Winter’s theatrics. The pause is long enough that she can see Marrow’s tail twitch in sympathy. They were always in ‘trouble’ with Win. “With me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Robyn drawls out in the most sarcastic tone possible. RMJT doesn’t miss the slight glare Winter gives her but at least they manage to play the role of good students and listen to simple instructions.

Winter doesn’t take them to the Specialist department. Instead it is the Science Division. May can see the subtle changes in Winter and Glade. They’re more relaxed, despite more cameras. This is the only place where rank is secondary. As soon as anything gets in the way of advancement, the environment becomes hostile. Literally, with hidden lasers popping out from walls or with robots and drones firing.

Technically it wasn’t May and Fiona. It was a weird ‘bug’ that set off the alarms.

Glade breaks composure first, or rather just slips into another one. From being a softer version of Winter to a slightly hyped up Fiona. The way Winter sighs and grabs their shoulder before they can run off tells May this happens far too often. May smiles, enjoying the nostalgia until she sees the back of Glade’s skulll. Those arguments bolted on.

“You know you can’t run off,” Winter gentle chides. Almost like she was scolding Weiss when they were kids. Glade is making noises such small and cute noises, bouncing ever so slightly even under Winter’s hand. May misses being able to hug them. Fiona’s hands slip into hers and there’s that odd feeling of her semblance. Both nothing and everything thrums under Fi’s Aura. May squeezes her hand to tries and sooth it. They all miss the stray.

When it’s obvious Glade isn’t calming down, Winter sighs and lets go. Glade bolts down a hallway and swiftly into a room with a thick metal sheet bolted over a display window.

“Welcome back, Glade, no! I’m- Ugh!” Silvio’s voice and a pathetic sounds of a struggle plays into the hallway. Winter rolls her eyes and quickly walks in with RMJT following. Silvio was pulled from his computers, lifted into a hug by Glade and he’s struggling to break free. “You’re like a needy dog! Off!”

“Glade.” And Glade instantly heels. They sets Silvio back in his chair and practically prounces back to Winter. Fiona’s laughing. Ears twitching in the best way and May finds her hand combing through white fluffy curls. When RMJT hovers at the doors, Winter waves them in and locks the door behind them. Instantly the sixth sense under May’s skin vanishes. Robyn and May exchange surprise glances. The cameras always throttling their spine are gone from the ‘criminal’s’ room.

Winter laughs and that’s how Joanna and Fiona know it’s private.

It’s safe.

Fiona lungs forward arms wrapped tight around her girlfriend. She nuzzles into the stupid uniform, taking deep breaths. Winter tries to walk but Fiona makes noises, doesn’t move her feet and yelps when their soldier picks her up.

“Hill, spoils you.”

“And you reinforce it, princess,” Robyn shoots back. It’s different from where it should be so May looks around. Their leader had wandered off to explore.

Glade’s room hadn’t changed much from the last time May and Fi sneak in. Workbenches scattered in the front far enough from the furnace and forge to be considered safe and Silvio’s work area was further still to be actually safe. There are gadgets and weapons in various state, including Marrow’s. Maybe some grenades and a lot of gravity and fire Dust laying dormant. This time there was a wall divider, making it feel less like a cage and more like studio apartment.

“Bet I’ll find it first.” Robyn said. Their semblances pushed the same urges, the same curiosity and pull towards secrets and hidden mysteries but May’s been lectured and slapped so many times the impulses are locked. But Robyn gives her a smile. ‘It’ was that sixth sense calling in their aura.

“You never do,” May huffs, “I’ll even let you have a head start.” She says, throwing herself onto the couch and laying her head in Joanna’s lap. The women blinks and eases into the unfamiliar setting. With everyone around them; Silvio typing away, Fiona and Winter cuddling on Glade’s bed, and Robyn digging around it felt like home.

Joanna postures in a way that isn’t really posturing. With muscles as big as hers even breathing is considered flexing and the way she leans back against the couch and props her head up is illegal. No wonder she quit being a cop.

“So, kitten-”

All the happy musing drops, “Stop with that.”

Joanna laughs. She leans over, pulling May up to meet the kiss halfway. May grumble and pouts. But Joanna is control. The subtle way she moves, the gentle press and curling smile of her lips, lures May in. Joanna is warm and patient and May is sighing into her partner. They pull apart and relax. Truly relax in way they couldn’t be in months.

Because Atlas stole Winter and Glade-

“So, kitten,” Joanna grins down at May. She tries not to let her win again, tries not to pout but just knowing the nickname bugs her is enough, “Is there anything you want to share with the class.”

May theatrically puts her hands over her heart. It’s a habit she’s picking up from Fi and all those movie dates. Her throat flexes in a range that was higher than Fi’s, “I’m trans.” Under the roaring laughter from Joan and Robyn, the calmer chucking from Winter or Silvio’s amused huff, the Faunus’ are making noises.

May looks at Fiona who’s tense. Like an a dog signaling an alert, ears forward and eyes staring at May. She turns to find Glade but the size difference and build and realization of just how close the stray is makes it feel more like a wolf. The sudden alarm calms into a what-the-fuck confused and angry stare.

“That was not you,” Fiona said.

“Don’t be rude,” May’s continuing to speak in that high pitch- Glade makes another noise and suddenly May finds her cheeks being pulled at. “Okay! okay,” May laughs, her voice back to her natural octave. She manages to get a grasp on those baby horns and pull goat Faunus off. “But as I was saying it just… clicked.”

“That’s a new word for boner.”

May flies a throw pillow on the couch. He throws it back without even a glance. “But I finally figured out Glade’s semblance.” Glade perks up again, settling on the couch at May’s feet. “It has something to do with control. Atlesian 101 and 102, catering to the masses until they are your audience.”

“Ugh, enough of the stupid manipulation lessons,” Robyn yells from the workbenches. Winter scoffs but before the augment can pick up again Robyn yells, “Give me a hint, Horns!”

“Cold!” May yells grinning as she sneak a glance at Winter and Fiona on the bed. Fiona was being especially bratty with her new found freedom and wanted a little more than cuddling.

“Not asking you, kitten!”

“Control is close. You’re technically not wrong,” Silvio interrupts. He’s finally done being anti-social and brooding. He disconnected the screen and walked over. Joanna moves her other arm so Silvio can sit on the arm rest. “You know that Dr. Pietro is using the augments for the foundations of an advance AI project-”

“Classified, Silvio,” Winter said, delayed as she was occupied with Fiona in her lap and relaxing into the slow kiss. Winter blush embarrassed and just rest her chin on Fiona’s head. She pulls a Faunus ear when innocent lips not so innocently meet her neck. Fiona huffs and pouts but behaves. “Do not tell anyone.”

“Me and Robyn are great with secrets,” May drawled, “Right babe?”

“Shut up! Not you Silvio, I’m still listening.” Robyn was now at Silvio’s desk, shifting through high classified papers. Silvio glares at her for a moment before showing off the data on his monitor. The four women blink at all graph and numbers and the colored dots scattered around with lines randomly connecting it.

“Ironwood’s neural map when he uses his semblance. This is Glade’s,” Silvio tapped the screen. The dots shifted ever so slightly. Looked brighter? They all gave Silvio a frown but he was too busy being confused by the results. “Mettle let’s Ironwood hyper-focus. Glade’s semblances has a broader range it Focuses on an aspect and not just a task. A part of their personality, an ability, their senses.” Silver eyes glare at Glade accusingly. They respond non-verbally, like they have been for months. This time they stick out their tongue, the Dust infused metal shining before they blew soft embers in a pout.

The words rang a little cold in May’s head. Joanna looked down at her with a sad smile. It makes sense that Joanna is the first to figure it out. She always advocated against saving Glade and more for helping them. She’s the other side of the coin. Joanna’s control is for herself. Glade’s control is over people. The Giest, the Grimm Infestation, their surrender…

They were the type to hide and bury everything if it meant everyone was smiling. Like now with the puppy act.

“But in the end it’s all still Glade,” May mumbles. Glade who ran after getting shot in the shoulder, despite having enough Dust and skill to blow up a block and all the twisted mutated Grimm. The gentle idiot that doesn’t want to hurt anyone even if they deserved it. Glade blinks so surprised that their semblance shorts and flicker from their eyes. It happened a few times. Mostly when they were crying in Winter’s lap at night. May and Joanna quickly moved but the smile stalled them. Then Focus returns.

Robyn marches between them and kicks Winter’s feet for her attention and holds a hand out. “Give it.”

“I thought you were going to find it,” Fiona playfully interrupts. The two partners trade a smile. One Winter misses because she’s still a little daze from the kisses and jumps when Robyn suddenly lunges at her.

“Ugh, you guys are gross, sis.” Silvio mumbles walking back to his corner of the room. May only laughs. As always with Robyn and Winter, things snowball but it was kept minor friendly. Winter shoves Robyn’s face away but Robyn’s arms are longer and Fiona is helping. Together the Mantle Rats rifle through the Schnee’s pockets until papers wrinkle somewhere.

Robyn pulls back and retreats as Fiona pins Winter down with a laugh.

“Finally,” May scoffs. Robyn give her a look before sitting on her stomach. May has to work her Aura, not enough to shine but enough so she wouldn’t suffocate under Robyn’s ass.

“Let’s see… Argus. Broken hard-light fence. Abyssal Dust…” Robyn quickly scans the document. “Is this an escort contract?”

“A non-military contract guarding Dust for the Argus base,” Winter says with a smile. Fiona is slowly winding up in Winter’s arms. Her ears are dancing and the grin looks so lovely on her face. Winter tries to ignore it and Fi paws for attention. Winter ignores that too. “Ironwood wants to send Glade in Dr. Pietro’s place for maintenance on the Colossus.”

Robyn watch Fiona and grins. She looks up at Winter and rudely continues the conversation, “Makes sense, they admitted to tinkering with Argus Military tech. But what’s with the ADC?”

“Due to imperfections Glade found in the SDC’s Dust, the Abyssal Dust Company is taking over supplying Argus.”

“Does your father know?” May ask with a laugh. From Winter’s smirk the answer was a resounding yes. No wonder this wasn’t a military mission- “We get to go to Argus! When?”

“Few days. Your combative final will be in Argus.” Winter says. Before Fiona can pull her in for a happy kiss she gently puts a hand as a barrier and glares at Robyn. “And if you four continue playing up Robyn’s image.”

“This again,” Robyn huffs and jumps of May’s gut. The estrange Marigold takes a deep breath. “We haven’t beaten up any racist assholes in weeks-”

“The Hero of Mantle should not be assaulting other students!” Winter’s voice raises to match Robyn’s. Glade made a noise and left their spot by May’s feet. They eluded the kingdom of Mistral because they knew when to make themselves scares. May only huffed as the two started fighting again. She would have turned over and buried her face in Joanna’s gut but Fiona joined them. “You need to-”

“I know, I need to be better!” Robyn yelled back. They were within each other’s melee range now. “I have people swarming me every day reminding me I’m the Hero of Mantle. I know!”

Since the semester started they’ve been having the same argument every other week.

“How long do you think it’ll last this time?” Fiona asked. She combed her hands through May’s hair ears flinching as the yelling increased.

“20 minutes?” Joanna offered. “Maybe we should try and stop them this time?”

“I don’t know… their angry make outs are kinda hot,” Fiona teases, finger twirling around the tail of May’s hair. That stops the argument, both hot headed leaders glared at their three girlfriends with an embarrassed blush. Fiona only snickers and rest a chin on in her hand. “Well, go on. Continue yelling at each other.” Robyn and Winter exchange a conflicted glance.

“Did you just rage-shame them?”

“Shut up, Silvio!” Winter yelled. She tries to hide her embarassment with an annoyed sigh. “You four need to pick your battles. There are still people trying to get you expelled and I’m not there to-”

“We don’t need your protection,” Fiona interrupts this time. As gentle as a needle. May reaches up and rub at her her twitching low ears. A look passes over Fiona’s eyes, annoyed and concern, “You need to take care of yourself too.”

Winter’s shoulder finally slump, heavy with all the weight she’s been carrying since they were kids. “It doesn’t matter-”

G.O.A.T: I disagree G.O.A.T: also yall need to go take care of a some Teryx

Robyn says with a hand on her hip. “Don’t we have an assignment due for Politics and Law?”

“Isn’t that the only class your passing?”

Robyn huffs and takes a step forward, “I’m tired of hearing your voice, Schnee.” She pulls Winter in by the collar and meets her in a frustrated kiss. Fiona takes in a sharp breath and Joanna lets out a low appreciative hum.

May tries not the blush and fidget. Maybe, just maybe, Fiona was right. Winter and Robyn were an intense couple. They took out frustrations on each other in a way that they would never do with any of them on the couch. May chalks it up to their competitive nature.

//transition But as the fight with the Grimm continued, May could tell it was something more. They weren’t synchronized. Winter may have been RMJT’s supervising officer but Winter fought with them during the summer. She knows how May and Fiona fight, knows when Fiona is charging in with a close range weapon pulled from her dimensional pockets.

Winter should know when May is being the bait.

These were Teryx. Only Robyn and Joanna had reliable long range weapons and ammo. May needed to be bait. Needed to hide RMJT in the Invisibility Field while she screams her head off and think about all the bullshit Ironwood puts Glade through, anything to attract it’s attention. They’ve done this a thousand times before the Academy.

Winter shouldn’t have tackled her out of the way on her Manticore.

May’s so stunned she loses concentration. The Field breaks and while the one Grimm chasing May is still after her, three more are diving on her team.

“What the hell Winter?!” Robyn screams into the comms.

Winter looks back and curses. Up close May can feel something is wrong. Her breath is off, her face is flushed, and she’s favoring a side. May clutches her chest, something unyielding under the thick fabric. Before May can ask what’s wrong, the Teryx diving on the rest of RMJT roars.

The Schnee is trembling, more summoning Glyphs spinning to life. Manticores barely emerge to block them. They fade in only one swipe but May is close enough to bring her Invisibility Field up again. Robyn nearly yells but Fiona reaches up a little and grabs her face, covering her mouth. Whatever bravo Winter feels the need to hold up cracks a little. Her summon fades from under her. May watches her fall. Angry. Winter should have trusted them to handle it.

The Teryx roar around them, circling for a few minutes, sniffing the air but all they can get is combustion Dust from Robyn and Joanna’s bolts. The Grimm is still leaving when Specialist Schnee tries to stand again.

Robyn keeps her down. With a foot. May glares and Robyn ignores it.

“What the fuck was that Winter?!” Robyn hisses. Winter doesn’t answer. Only slaps the foot off and rises to her feet. "You’re constantly on my ass for not being as good as people think I should be but you’re better than that!" Robyn is met with silence. Winter’s breathing is audible even to humans. She’s still favoring that one side and her steps are shaky as she tries to leave the Field. Robyn blinks away her worry, frustration and betrayal shining through.

Fiona steps in her way, the same scowl on her face. “Stop trying to protect us. We don’t need it.”

“Your combative mid-term is in a few days. You can’t afford to-”

"You can’t afford to break your image either, Ice Queen," Robyn hisses. She takes a step and Winter goes to match it but she gasp in pain, Aura flaring across her chest.

Fiona sighs in frustration a knife flashing into her palm. “Your a fucking idiot, Win.” She pulls at Winter’s clothes pulling her blouse out of her pants and slipping the knife under- “She’s fighting in her binder.” Fiona explains when Joanna tries to grab her.

May blinks. A few emotions run through fighting for priority. She completely ignores the weird things the knife in a body part she is ignoring. Sympathy and empathy are winning at first. Winter Schnee, the heiress binds to get away, to run from the box and pedestal she was born on. But frustration and pain wins because this is Winter. She should have known better, should have trusted May’s skill and experience if not Robyn’s and Joanna’s. The sound of cutting fabric and Winter’s gasp stops brings May out of her spiral.

“I’m sure it’s ruined but… I didn’t cut it completely,” Fiona says, pulling her hand out from Winter’s shirt. The knife is gone and she sighs. “Focus on Glade- Winter!” Fiona grabs that tie pulls Winter down a little with the women tries to leave again. Still not at her level but it has the same effect, maybe more if the high pitch gasp was any indication. Or maybe it was just pain. "If you need to be that stupid knight focus on Glade and Silvio. Or better yet, Weiss and Whitley."

“Or fucking talk to y’know, girlfriends,” Robyn growls under her breath.

“I’m fine.” Winter finally spits out in pain.

“Yeah,” May said. An angry scoff burns in her throat, “A” real piece of work-"

“Enough,” Joanna scowls at the three and steps in front. “We can talk when we’re safe and Winter can stand on her own feet,” She says the last bit, taking Winter into her arms. The so called Specialist let’s out another noise, too surprised to be pain too airy to just be surprise.

“I can walk!”

“To your death,” Joanna mumbles with a roll of her eyes. “I’m taking Ice Queen back to the transport.”

“May go with them. We need someone to handle the Grimm and another to handle the stupid,” Robyn gestures to Winter. She finally caught her breath again and her pride is flaring to life. Her glares have more heat and life to them but it was cute in Joanna’s arms.

“Fine,” May scowls.

The short walk back to the transport was barely longer than Fiona and Robyn finishing the Teryx. Thankfully because May wasn’t skilled enough to hid a vehicle yet, and she was low on Aura, and part of her just wanted to dangle Winter in the Teryx jaws. What was she thinking?! RMJT fought along side her. They weren’t damsels waiting to be rescued.

“Damn it! Joanna! May!” Robyn called out in their comms.

May snapped to attention just as a stray Sphinx roared into view. They glared at Winter to stay seated and ran out of the transport. She twist the Dust chamber in her staff. It clicks empty, empty, then she felt electricity hum as lightning Dust slots in.

“Joanna!”

“For the record I hate it when any of you do this!” Joanna yells. She still held her out her hands for May to vault off of and May only grins. Even pissed off she likes the vertigo. May blames it on all the times Winter carries her around or all the rush from the Glyphs. But the low pulse in her gut tells her that she just likes being handled. Her partner only frowns as hearing her thoughts. She still throws May high into the air and barely has time to dodge the Grimm herself.

Joanna fires a gravity bolts to the ground and into the wings, tethering it. May yells a warning, plunging the staff deep into the Grimm’s eye. It doesn’t bleed, doesn’t smoke, it just… sinks in with a bone shuddering wet noise. The lightning Dust pours into the Sphinx but it isn’t enough to kill.

“Sorry May!” An explosion throws May’s off. It wasn’t silent like the crossbow bolts so it had to be something Fiona stole.

May’s limbs burns like she’s been fighting for an three hours. She sinks deep into the snow and it doesn’t help. It does the opposite. All the blood is pooling between her legs, all the running and fighting had everything rubbing just right. The knife… That would be useful in relieving her tightening pants. May groans. With a shuttering breath she stares up at the red sky and fading sunset. Focuses on how warm the rare Solitas sun is on her skin because they were in public. Fiona eclipses the sun for a moment. Then a moment longer as her body falls-

“Fi!” May screams, trying to scramble away. The snow gives and gives under her hands and Fiona finally crashes into her. Even the sharp head butt does nothing for the low arousal in her gut. If anything it just gives her shaft a reason to throb harder. It has everything to do with Fi’s groan and not how her brain was mixing pleasure and pain. With Fiona’s hands firm on her chest. Sweet laughter against her neck.

May drops her Aura for a few seconds. The idea was that the snow would chill her blood. But so many hours, wrapped around Winter’s fingers… May groaned slamming her Aura back on. She wanted those cool hands on her thighs. Clawing. She wanted Fiona seated higher on her chest.

Who’s idea was it not fuck? Winter? It has to be Winter’s because May is still mad at her.

Fiona’s laugh draws May out of her pout. “Woops,” Fiona mumbled unapologetically. There was something in her voice. The faux innocent tone and sinfully slow drawls. “You really need something for distance.”

“Shut up,” May growled. As revenge she hangs limp. Fiona is strong enough to carry her but she just… so tiny. And tired. The snow makes things harder than it should be and they fall back into it. Out of stupid habits May holds Fiona tight, as if they were falling out of another crashing airship. As if Fiona wasn’t already laughing on the way down.

“This is your fault y’know,” Fiona said with a grin. Looming over her, elbows blocking May. It fucks with her breathing and then more. Fiona’s eyes flicker down. That heated gaze slowly growing intense, like the day in the changing room. She licks her lips, her ears straining forward for more soft noise. She knows Fi can feel her heart race. That innocent smiles grows sweet and beautiful and so far from innocent.

Her knee slides up.

Pausing between May’s. That low throb was firmly settled between May’s legs now. She glances away but that only opens her up. Fiona’s lips and nose press into her neck. Her pulse is far to alive against such a soft kiss. Too soft. May wants more. Her body already arching for it.

“Fi…” May was starting to tremble.

“The others have been playing with you all day. I deserve a second,” Fiona says as if it was a warning. Then her teeth digs in hard. May presses her hand against her mouth, breath loud and harsh as her back arch but Fiona’s hand quickly comes up to pin it down. Her ears flutter pointedly. May wanted hands and teeth, Fiona wanted it all including her moans. She sucks hard and gives May a teaser for what it could feel around her pulsing cock.

She doesn’t stop until May tugs her hair. After May feels pre-cum sliding down her shaft. Fiona growls and huffs. Teeth teasing the bruise but it was already healing. It still hurts, so Fi tongue sooth the spot. Low and slow like it was May’s shaft- Their Scrolls ping and Fiona looks ready to break it in her hands.

foxhot: babe. stop making out with may foxhot: we can do that in our warm bed happywool: but that far and May’s right here

She steal a kiss from May. Even buried in the snow, fighting in the cold, the kiss is warm and sweet. Even if Fiona’s sharp teeth nip with frustration. Her knee shifts higher. A hand palms May’s chest.

mt.spur: fine. we get to play with the specialist

The picture they send made May throb. Pressed against her Fiona took in a shuttering breath and arched her hips into her lightly. It was taken from Robyn’s phone. With Winter on Joanna’s lap. Robyn had worked that stupid uniform open a little more, binder covering that deep cleavage. A few buttons were missing and the fabric was stretched with handmarks. Joanna had more control than to rip it. Winter’s Aura was still gone, judging from the bruises on her neck.

“Assholes…” Fiona growls. As if she isn’t lightly grinding on May. She only stops when May whimpers her name, which only took a few seconds. Fiona pulls her up and drags her back to the transport. Robyn laughs a little seeing their mussed up hair and flushed faces. May spies her in the cockpit, no doubt to pissed off to play with Winter.

“Think you girls can make it back to Mantle?”

“Define ‘make it.’” Fiona says. She shoves May into the seat next to Joanna and Winter and climbs onto her lap. Her hips settle on May. Warm pressure and just the barest friction. May can feel her pre-cum push against her skin. Fiona takes a deep breath, probably smelling it through her thick clothes. Fiona doesn’t grind against her. Instead she pulls at Winter’s shirt, popping another button. “I’m still mad at you. That was stupid, and reckless, and you need to take care of yourself.”

The look in Winter’s eyes is dazed but she’s there enough to whisper back, “I know.”

The ride back to their apartment in Mantle is a blur. Too fast, too short, too much Fiona. She can feel that hungry semblance in Fiona’s touches. Her hands are everywhere but always on top her clothes. With Winter she’s all teeth. Hard bites on that pale collarbone, nips on her ears and growling words that May can’t quite make out but it leaves Winter shivering.

Somehow Robyn gets them all inside their apartment without security being called. They only lost another button in the elevator, this time from May’s clothes. When May finally have the space to reorientate herself, they’re in the bedroom. Robyn is still to the side, watching but she wasn’t as furious.

Something passes over her face as Fiona and Joanna handles Winter. As Fiona shoves the ‘Specialist’ into Joanna’s lap and those hands intertwined with Winter’s… pressing it against her own thighs.

Just like the changing room.

May blinks, everything too tight. Her breath comes out in sighs and whimpers as her memory contradicts each other. Winter dominating Robyn, squeezing her moaning throat quiet. Winter pinning May down, spreading her knees apart with her own as she grind against her ass, hands lazily stroking her begging wet shaft. She blinks away the memories and Winter is damn near docile, trampling as Fiona claws at her binder.

“How’s your Aura?” Fiona asks. Winter the image of Atlas perfection, is too dazed in arousal to answer at first. Then that knife is in her hands again. Win is suppose to be power and control, yet she’s trembling with Joanna’s hot breath on her neck as she nods and whispers- begs really, for Fiona to continue. Winter is suppose to be power, but when that knife slices into her uniform she’s praying Fiona’s name.

Robyn sits besides May, a light touch pulling her away from the show. “Are you okay?” Robyn asks. May nods. She climbs into Robyn’s overly clothed lap at the smallest gesture. Robyn pulls May into a kiss. It’s more tentative than usual, insecurities lingering until May desperately kisses back, all head and lust. “We figured out what’s been bothering, Win. Control.” Robyn’s voice is putting May in a haze.

She’s squirming and whimpering but Robyn steadies her with her hands on her thighs. Thumbs just inches away from the tent and wet spot in her pants.

“The image, the fame, the people…” Robyn sighs. “Manipulation… it’s a two way street. It’s just takes and takes,” Robyn’s hand cups May. "But taking that image," Her her fingers and palm press, massaging May through those thick cloths. “If taking control helps you two, we’ll gladly have you begging, Winter.” The gasp and groans and whimpers, Robyn’s voice so hot ear cuts May senses to a handful of things.

Warm. Tight. Wet from her own slick.

Robyn groans at the noise, “Good girls watch, kitten.” May snaps her eyes open. She sees Winter’s Aura flare around the knife licking her skin. Fiona briefly smiles over her shoulder. The knowledge that this show was also for them… May throbs against her clothes. Whimpers with as Joanna hums, staring at the tent her pants. Winter looks ready to feint. Breathing shallow and eyes clouded. Still Fiona goes slow. Those flexing abs revealed inch by near minute.

“Hurry, please Fiona… I’m going to pass out-”

“Oh- Oh!” Fiona’s blinks, that dominance replaced by surprised concern. She laughs nervously, knife swiftly gliding through the shirt, coat and binder. Winter’s Aura lights up her skin as the blade tilts her head back.

The Rats so easily have both their elites gasping. Wet and whimpering. The ‘Specialist’ being so exposed makes May’s clothes suffocating. Winter on a private display, gasping so vulnerable.

Submissive.

“Robyn!” Suddenly her hand is gone and May is grinding the air.

The knife kisses under her chin. May’s world shift to Fiona standing between her legs. “Wrong name. But since you’ve been good, we’ll let you try again.”

“Fi…” May whispers. That knife leaves her skin and May isn’t sure if she wants it back or not. She does want those hands to continue long the zipper of her pants. “Fiona…” Their lamb smiles and presses closer. Fiona’s hands gently cup her face, titling her neck up. Exposing her to Robyn’s lips and teeth- Pleasure digs into her neck. “Ro- Fu… Fuck, Fiona!”

Fiona laughs and rewards her with a kiss. She turns to Winter with a haughty smirk, “See, Schnee. Instructions aren’t hard.” Robyn’s hands continue. Undoing her belt. Zipping down her pants, so fucking slow. A light pressure down her shaft and May was shaking in Fiona’s hands.

“Careful,” Joanna hums, “She can with visuals alone.”

“Like you didn’t help,” Winter’s voice barely filters through. Fiona’ palms her boxers. There’s an odd energy from her semblance. Almost like nothingness, a void and suddenly her boxers are gone. “Really, Thyme.” Winter barks. That tone confuses May out of the edges of her orgasm. Fiona is grinning adorably between her legs, ears fluttering happily like she just got… got away with cutting up their Specialist’s uniform when her semblance just ate May’s boxes. Winter shifts growling but Fiona only hides further between May’s thighs.

Even with the exchange every little motion sends jolts of pleasure through her body. Fiona’s hands goes back to wandering her hips. Robyn’s is pushing up her shirt and bra. Winter’s clothes is hanging off her arms in shreds-

“How am I going to explain my uniform?!”

“Figure it out. Next time don’t be an idiot,” Fiona grins. She looks up at May and settles against her thigh for a moment. “I’m busy enjoying our girlfriend.” Then hands finally wrap around May’s shaft.

“Fuck… Fuck, Fi!” May’s body twitches. She can feel herself throbbing in Fiona’s hand as she plays and experiment. Fiona doesn’t work her shaft. Ignores all the pre-cum sliding on her finger tips. She fucking lays her head on May’s clothed thigh as her thumb pushes the foreskin up shifting it from the shaft, onto the ridges of her head.

All the while white heat and pleasure burns all the air in May’s lungs. She lurches forward despite Robyn’s hands on her chest. Her hips jerk, pre-cum almost a steady stream. “Fiona! Fi-Fiona please…”

“But I’m not done, barely even started,” Fiona grumbles. Her hand lets go and May is begging with tears in her eyes. Fiona stare is almost apathetic as she licks her palm clean. She gets up and crawls onto Winter’s lap holding her fingers out for Winter. Without even being told the women leans forward and takes them into her mouth.

“Playing good doesn’t mean I’ll let you off so easily.” Fiona muses. Winter hums around her finger. Her eyes dazed eyes manages to focus pass Fiona and onto May. She let’s go with a pop. And suddenly May feels a missing pressure around her cock. “How should I make May scream? Riding her or-”

Joanna scoffs, “Ride her. You have a bad oral fixation, Fi. Once you start it takes hours for you stop.”

Fi flushes hard, ears wiggling their way out of character. Despite the slick crawling down her shaft and the smell of lust in the room, everyone laughs light. Fiona huffs a little embarrassed, “I don’t!”

“Well…” Joanna drawls. May is pulled away from the exchange by Robyn’s lips. She sighs into it, melting as a different warmth settles into the blood. Wandering hands kept her pulsing and ready but every small moment with them is nice. Even if its a feint clicking noise. And metal blinking. “We can always see if you can stop with this one.” Joanna said. As if Winter wasn’t Winter Schnee.

“The cuff’s aren’t too much?” Fi asks. May spares a glance to see Winter’s arms bound Joanna’s neck. May doesn’t know if she’s jealous but the next kiss with Robyn is a little more desperate. Her ass meets gentle thrusts and chest arches into Robyn’s hands.

“Everythings perfect.” Winter said quickly, rushed as if Fiona would suddenly stop but slurred on a high May never heard before.

"So how about you kitten," Robyn ask against. Her lips goes to her neck. They only got soft whimpers and prayers as Robyn’s hands forgot to stop playing with her chest. Robyn doesn’t stop, instead one hand wanders down, to the slick on her abs smeared from her tip. “I promised Fi that she gets you to cum first but think you can last if we watch?”

May groans. Just thinking about Fiona between Winter’s leg makes her thob. Hard enough that everyone sees it and laughs lightly. “Plug.” She makes out, pushing her ass against Robyn’s hips. Their heavy pants filled the room for a bit. Heat in May’s blood shifting to need and hungry. “I’m probably gonna cum from the plug alone.”

“Guess that settles it,” Fiona smiles sweetly. She pulls a ‘small’ plug from the silk bag and lube. Robyn holds the base of her cock tight after it throbs again. She whispers words May can’t hear over the pressure building in her balls and shaft. The wet sounds. She feels the light chill as it rubs against her ass. That still new pleasure jolts through her shaft and it pulses heavily in Robyn’s hand. Fiona looking up at her. “Ready?” She ask with a smile. Like those sensitive Faunus ears wasn’t twitching at every peg and prayer.

Fuck. “Damn it Fi. Ye- Yes!” After all that play and build up… May realizes she’s almost screaming, moaning high and needy as the plug slides in. It… it’s isn’t enough. The pressure is just right but May is thrusting into the air. She only feels her own wetness sliding down her shaft.

Fiona’s hot breath almost sends her over but fucking Robyn pulls Fiona’s head back. May and Fi whimper and beg. Joanna laughs at their efforts. “You’re eating Winter out to make sure you don’t kill May.” She chides.

"Ugh… I know but she’s so easy," Fiona said. May’s reply is lost in a moans and a prayer, Fi’s hand slowly rolling down her shaft, easy with all the lub and May’s own slick. She doesn’t jack May off, more like playing watching the foreskin slide on and off her head-

“I think you can get her to pass out if you peel the skin back and massage her head,” Robyn says between live bites and kisses on her neck and shoulder. Fiona grins wicked and May screams her name again as the world blurs into color.

For the rest of the night Atlas, their image, and power plays doesn’t matter.

#Robyn Hill #Winter Schnee #springthyme #schneewood forest #rwby #rwby7 #May Marigold #Fiona Thyme #Joanna Greenleaf #Show Your Teeth #hellbore #sassagrass #goldleaf #poly #wlw #very happy huntresses #very seasoned huntresses #thoorist #fic

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chaosworthyarchive · 3 years

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7.07.3227 Location ¦ Scrap Brain

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“Hey!”

It was funny, Sonic thought, how one word could completely ruin a day. How just the tone of one syllable could make him feel like there was a boulder in his chest when he had been fine, happy even, just moments before. He had actually had a very good day with Amy, window shopping and chatting mostly, and the two of them had just been heading back to their respective flats together when the exclamation came. Maybe it was because their day had been sullied, or just her natural protectiveness, but something had Amy turning on her heels towards the voice, hands on her hips and eyes narrowing.

“Did you need something?”

The blue hedgehog had turned right after her, hardly surprised to see an angry-looking stranger, a tiger, standing just a few feet behind them. The heroine’s question had made him bare sharp teeth, a scoff coming forth as he returned the glare.

“I’m not talkin’ to you, I’m talkin’ to him,” disregarding the female he raised a claw to point at the hero, his demeanor likely threatening to anyone else but his target. “You’re not welcome here, ya know that?”

“I picked up on it,” Sonic answered, somewhat bitter but still matter of fact as he held up his hands. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble. I’m just passing through. Last time I checked ’s not a crime.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. You’re nothing but trouble, that whole ‘hero’ guise can’t fool me,” the feline snorted, making a grand gesture around them and it was only then the two hedgehogs noticed they had more than a few eyes on them there on the sidewalk, just a few meters from a construction site. “You’re the reason we have to go through any of this in the first place.”

“As if!” Amy shot back, and angrily at that. “He’s the reason you’re even alive to begin with, or that this city is even still standing.”

While there were murmurs from the crowd around them, some of agreement and some of argument, there was a definite tension in the air. Sonic couldn’t help the natural rise of his quills, an involuntary defense, as the feline took a step forward. There was such a livid glare in the stranger’s eyes, he just knew that something was going to go wrong there if the tiger had their way. It was a thought that was annoying as it was sobering, and a thought that was cut through by them speaking again.

Or perhaps ‘speaking’ was too kind a term given their tone.

“He’s the reason it’s like this at all! If it hadn’t been for him none of this would have happened! People like him are dangerous,” he snapped, and the hero flinched much to his own distaste, but it was the next words that seemed to ignite something not only in Amy, but the crowd around them. “He should have joined the rest of the people in Grand Metropolis.”

“And people like you should be locked up!” Amy shot back, fist clenched. She either didn’t notice the ruckus the crowd had started or was ignoring it. “He’s never done anything so leave him alone!”

The murmurs from their unwanted audience grew to a crescendo at that moment, turning the once quiet street into madness. People were yelling now, trying to be heard over one another as they chimed in with their own opinion, or to argue with the one of the people closest to them who said otherwise.

“She’s right!”

“Don’t be stupid! He’s a menace.”

“He saved us!”

“He’s a threat!”

During it all, the tiger’s eyes never left the blue hedgehog. There was something almost triumphant in their eyes, as if fueled by the chaos they had created. And all the while the hero never broke eye contact with them, a careful and level expression on his face despite the heavy feeling in his chest. He couldn’t say what exactly, but something…wasn’t right, like there was another thing entirely just beneath the surface. A real reason for this.

Unfortunately Sonic didn’t get too much time to decipher what he had seen in the feline’s eyes because something happened. He didn’t know what but one second the crowd had been unruly and the next all hell had broken loose. Someone had clearly made a wrong move, or perhaps said something just on the side of wrong, because it didn’t take the hedgehog long to realize that the sidewalk and parallel street had turned into pandemonium. Sharp shouts, bitter curses and smaller fights had broken out all around them, all in an instant.

Being in the middle of it, and yet not the target of any assault, the hero felt a surefire relief when Amy shifted next to him, putting them back to back in the growing madness. Looking back to see the apologetic expression on her face, the hero only offered a small, half-hearted one back. What a dramatic change to the day. What an unwanted turn of events.

The next few minutes, frankly, were a blur. It hadn’t taken long for someone to either notify the authorities or for them to notice themselves but getting the crowd under control was a task on its own. Eventually, somehow, a line of officers divided the two quarreling sections though the harsh words would continue to be thrown back and forth. Having ended on opposite sides, the two hedgehogs were acutely aware of the feline’s tilted glare from across the line, thankful for the distance but not breaking eye contact. They seemed frozen in that position, even as the clamor around them settled down and the police began funneling people out of the area in safe numbers.

It wasn’t until it was their time to move that Sonic shifted, though it wasn’t to follow the light pull Amy had given his arm. Just the opposite. He remained where he was, eyes narrowing at the feline who merely scoffed before trying to slink away into the other half of the throng.

“Wait.”

How ironic, still, that one word could hold so much power. Or perhaps it had been the authority in which the hero had spoken it. Either way, he hadn’t expected the sudden stillness in the air, for the crowd and cops to freeze as they had. He had only wanted the tiger's attention, and he had gotten it.

“Sonic?”

He ignored Amy, eyes locked on the feline’s and emeralds being bored into as a result. For a moment, during that tension, it seemed one or the other would snap. That one word, or action, would send that part of the city into chaos again. But nothing came, not like that. There was only a growing realization in the hero’s eyes, a sense of familiarity as he stared into the other’s eyes, into something deeper. He knew that look. He had seen it far too many times.

“Who did you lose?” The question was abrupt, but soft, though the hero took no satisfaction in the surprised expression on the feline’s face. So…that was it. Did it justify the other’s behavior? Yes, in a way but the hero still spoke, unrelenting. “If you’re going t’ stand there and tear me down, I want t’ know why.”

The tiger growled, fangs bared. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“But you want t’.” Again, quick words, spoken matter of fact as he frowned. “Who was it?”

There was a pause, weighted, debating before the feline spoke in a voice that hadn’t been heard thus far that day. Broken, fractured. The sound of loss. “…My wife.”

The word struck a chord with the blue hedgehog, had cast a sense of sympathy and dread over him that he couldn’t hope to hide. That he didn’t want to hide. “What happened…?”

If a glare had been able to kill, Sonic imagined he would have died on that very spot. The feline’s hatred was near palpable, creating a tension in the air that had stuck all nearby silent, a nervousness falling over the crowd as the tiger stepped forward, only to be stopped by one of the police officers. It only served to make him angrier, venom in his voice as he spat in the hedgehog’s direction. “We were coming back from dinner when those…things attacked. We didn’t stand a chance…she was there one second, and the next…”

They didn’t complete the sentence, he didn’t need to. Even the officer holding them seemed sad, understanding, but their stance remained firm much to Sonic’s relief. The hedgehog knew the tiger was no real threat, not to him, but it was better not to risk it. Besides, he couldn’t even get a word out before a new voice cut across the tight silence on the street.

“It’s not his fault.”

Every pair of eyes in the area shifted to the left, towards the new arrivals. A tall, slender black cat and a bushy-haired, brown, stout canine. A well-known and utterly respected pair in the city, their advance alone had an unspoken weight to it, an air that demanded respect. It was Amy who broke the resulting shock, surprised but relief in her tone. “Ebony? Pyjamas?”

The former nodded to the pink hedgehog, slitted eyes lingering on Sonic with a sympathetic expression before turning to the tiger with a cold, matter-of-fact demeanor. Pyjamas, meanwhile, stood at the hero’s side. “You have the wrong person. If you’re looking to lay blame, turn it towards Robotnik. It was his robots that attacked, it was his goals that brought our city to ruin. Like all of us, Sonic did his best to stop things from getting to the point of no return.”

“But he leads you band of freaks, doesn’t he? He should have known better! He should have stopped it!” Anger rose in the tiger anew at the new resistance, taloned hands clenched and fangs bearing all over again.

“How?” One word, short and teeming with an unspoken impatience. “How could he have known when it was happening all over the planet? Our few forces scattered, fighting for not only their lives but to keep innocents alive. While you did…what, again?”

The black feline’s words were short, as were the ones that came next from her partner. There was a coldness to even Pyjamas' voice, a rare but chilling thing as her gaze bore into the tiger’s. “You never even thought to help, did you? Because you just assumed he’d be there, like he always was.”

Whatever the tiger was going to say next fell dead in his throat, the briefest flash of guilt in his eyes before the scowl returned. Yet, he said nothing. No one, in fact, said anything for a long time. Not even as glances were exchanged between the other bystanders, some of guilt and some of uncertainty. Pyjamas' words, it seemed, had hit a note with more than just the unnamed tiger.

For a few moments the hedgehog and orange-hued feline looked at each other once more, and this time there was something more in the meeting. Something the hero couldn’t quite put a finger on but he sighed, slowly and softly nonetheless before speaking. “It’s not easy…”

The words were quiet but in the silence there on the street he may as well have shouted. All eyes were on him, every breath on the street bated, the other Freedom Fighters wary and the officers tense. The feline, however, was listening and that was all that mattered.

“It was never easy. Just for the record I never gave myself that title, being a hero was never something I set out t' do.” The firm truth in those words wasn’t to be doubted, the conviction in Sonic’s tone leaving very little to the imagination. The distaste in his tone was clear. He may have been addressing the tiger, but all had stopped to listen. “I’ve only ever done what I thought was right but everyone always wanted t' jump on the chance t' have it be more than that. They wanted t' paint me in a perfect light, they never thought that I could do anything wrong because that's the image they painted in their heads. You an' everyone else are the ones who put me on a pedestal, you never bothered t' think that your expectations were too much, and you never thought I could mess up until it affected you personally. You never bothered t' remember that I was just one person.”

The hero hadn’t meant to but there was an ire in his voice, a long ripened bitterness as his eyes swept over the crowd before settling on the tiger, eyes narrowed but betraying the sorrow in them. “She wasn’t the first, and she wasn’t the last. But…Chaos, I tried…”

Sonic always did. Yet for all his efforts the hedgehog still came up short more times than he cared to think about. A part of him knew it was inevitable, but a much larger part of him hated that fact. It never failed to leave a bitter taste in his mouth, a looming sense of failure that seeped into his voice as he stared the tiger dead in the eyes.

“I’m sorry about your wife. If I could trade places with her, know that I would in a heartbeat…but I can’t. Things just don’t work that way. All I can do is keep moving forward and try t' keep anything like it from happening again, if I can. If I don’t then everyone who died would have done so for nothing.

“So, no, I’m not a hero, I’m just a guy who fucked up and now has t’ live with that knowledge every day. But ’s not going t’ stop me from doing what’s right, it’s not going to stop me from protecting the people who are left.”

It was all he had to say, and perhaps it was a good thing given the heavy air about the hero. Good given the breeze that had started to blow through the crowd, and how the hero’s hand had clenched at his side tight enough for nails to draw blood from a red-clad palm. Be it those things or something else, Amy placed a gentle hand on his back and, while there was hesitation as their eyes met, there was little resistance as the heroine started to lead the blue hedgehog away, goading him to walk.

No one tried to stop them. In fact, the crowd had parted to let the two hedgehogs through, leaving the older feline and canine psychics behind. Both of whom had fixed their gazes, hard and cold, on the tiger who, for the first time that day, seemed struck to silence.

“Still think he’s the bad guy?”

#give a little time to me | queue #// tl;dr: some jerk tries to call sonic out on what happened when robotnik attacks and gets reamed by amy ebony and pyjamas #// also people hear something the needed to hear #everything has changed | update #amy | guest stars #ebony | guest stars #pyjamas | guest stars

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onceuponakdrama · 3 years

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Crash Landing On You KDrama Review

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Bingo Card for Crash Landing On You

Synopsis: Yoon Se Ri [Son Yejin] is an heiress to a conglomerate in South Korea. One day, while paragliding, an accident caused by strong winds (and a tornado) leads her to make an emergency landing in North Korea. There, she meets Ri Jeong Hyuk [Hyun Bin], who is a North Korean army officer. He tries to protect her and hide her. Soon, Lee Jung Hyuk falls in love with Yoon Se Ri.

Overall Main Plot: Rating - 8 out of 10

I was actually pretty invested throughout the entire drama. There wasn’t much I skipped, unless it was giving me secondhand embarrassment. Seeing the divide between the North and the South actually came into play for more than just the romance; there was the tension and threat that Cho Cheol Gang and the military director that come into play with the power dynamics. It was also interesting to see how was affected by the political relations, not to mention the role Se Ri plays as an heiress and CEO and Jeong Hyuk as the son of the Military Bureau. It did make things more dramatic, especially since when one was in the North vs the South and they weren’t allowed to be there and the risk of getting caught made things interesting. However, there were a few aspects that made me a bit tired.

First things first: the whole plot with Cho Cheol Gang was drawn out for too long. It wasn’t really clear as to why he was so obsessed with taking the Ri family down other than to gain more power. The writers kind of wanted to try to give him some sympathy when he was talking about how he had nothing to lose because he grew up as a child beggar, but it was not working on me. I only felt upset when he died because he wasn’t going to be punished for the rest of his life for targeting Se Ri. If he was going to die, it should’ve been earlier. Anyways, I got really tired of him as the antagonist and the writers should’ve taken care of him earlier or made him more interesting as a character rather than just the antagonist.

In the beginning, it was actually a really good pace. My only thing about Se Ri in the North was the fact that it took so long for her to get back. I understood that it’s not easy for her to get back, but they dragged it out for so long and I felt disappointed when they couldn’t get her over. I know it was also supposed to set up the couple and have them spend time together, but I was more invested in the fact that Se Ri was supposed to inherit the family fortune and company and I was interested as to how she was going to get that back and she couldn’t get it unless she returned. I don’t know though; that was just my opinion.

Characters: Rating - 9 out of 10

↣ Yoon Se Ri [played by Son Yejin]: okay, I absolutely loved her. She gave me major Cheon Song Yi vibes. Her confidence, her vibes, and her everything made me simp so hard for her. I also loved her development on her thoughts on romance and family. It’s very clear through the comparisons of having her wait for someone, relying on someone to help her, etc. I love an independent woman, but I also love seeing her understand that she doesn’t have to be strong all the time, especially considering how much bullshit her family put her through. I also loved that she had a life for herself in North Korea as well because she made friends with the ahjumma ladies from the neighborhood. There’s just so much I loved from her character and growth and I felt so much for her.

↣ Ri Jeong Hyuk [played by Hyun Bin]: okay, I have never loved a man more. I know most of the viewers felt the same about him in the sense that he’s such a soft character and, at the same time, a strong character. He also had great development too, in the sense that he opened himself up to love and vulnerability that he didn’t get to feel after his brother died. He also felt that sense of responsibility to protect someone he loved because he was unable to protect his brother. God, I just have so many feelings for him. I loved him as a character and how soft he was for Se Ri and his comrades. But there was also the side where he was so charismatic and.... wow. What a man. 10/10 would recommend.

↣ Gu Seongjun [played by Kim Junghyun]: I felt conflicted about him. I felt bad for him as time went and felt even worse when he was killed. It was still a good character though because he also had a lot of development and it was clear he was conflicted about the things he was doing and things he was seeing. I was also interested as to his relation with Se Ri; I liked it when the three teamed up, but I wished we got a chance for Se Ri to know that Seongjun passed—he did help her out after all and she let him go after he stole her brother’s money. The writers should’ve given him a happy ending, whether it’s faking his death to escape North Korea or something. He deserved so much better.

↣ Seo Dan [played by Seo Jihye]: for Seo Dan, it took a while for me to like her because she was centrally framed as the second female lead that just wanted to break up the main couple. She was similar to Se Ri, in the sense that she was very confident about herself and knew how to assert herself—but she was just so insecure when it came to Jeong Hyuk and that made me upset. She also was written as the “I saw him first” girl and I did not like that. I was also upset that instead of giving her a chance of happiness with Seongjun, the writers killed off her love interest for her to be more secure about being single. There’s nothing wrong with her being single, but I don’t think she should learn that as her love interest died in her arms, like. Bruh.

Personal Notes: I absolutely loved the ducklings squad (Captain Ri’s comrades) and their dynamics with both Se Ri and Jeong Hyuk. I felt so bad for them when they were being separated and then when they were wandering around Seoul because Se Ri would have really taken care of everything for them. I also loved Man Bok and how he was just listening to these conversations and reacting to them. I’m so glad he got the happiness he so deserved and got to move past Cheol Gang. I also loved seeing the side stories with the ahjumma ladies and how they were surviving. At first, they felt like average Asian moms, but seeing as to how they were all close and how they cared for one another melted my heart. There were so many good characters, protagonists and antagonists, because they all played some role with the plot and their relationships with the main characters.

Romance: Rating - 9 out of 10

Oh my God. I can’t remember the last time I rooted so hard for a couple. I absolutely loved them and I cried so hard during the last episode. From the separation, the stand-off, and when they got back together.... there was just so much to root for. I already said this, but seeing Jeong Hyuk be so protective of Se Ri and vice versa was so cute—especially since they didn’t really have someone to be there for them before. All of their scenes are absolutely precious. The only reason it wasn’t a 10 out of 10 was when Jeong Hyuk tried to do the stupid kdrama thing and dump her to protect her, only to cause her to collapse and she falls ill. Other than that small note, they were very refreshing—their chemistry was clear (as noted, considering the actors are dating irl) and I think the writers did a good job of making the audience root for them to get together even though it was nearly impossible considering the political relations between the North and the South. We love a forbidden romance.

Second Plot/B-Plot and Secondary Characters: Rating - 8 out of 10

I felt that there were some characters that could have been better written, even if they were secondary characters. These mainly include antagonists, but Seo Dan is also kind of included (as noted on the character section). Again, I really loved the little found family aspect (the one with the soldiers and the ones with the neighborhood ladies) and seeing as to how they progress throughout the drama. There were a lot of side characters I liked and understood. However, some of the antagonists really felt a bit unnecessary. I know they’re written to be unlikable, but some of them were really questionable. The major question is directed at some of the higher officers: what did they have against Ri Jeong Hyuk and why was he constantly targeted? There was no real motivation. I get that it’s supposed to drive the plot, but it didn’t really contribute anything major and felt unneeded. Other than that, I loved all the other side characters and seeing their lives progress as time goes—it was also interesting to see as to how it connected with the major pieces or branched from the major plot. One other note I wanted to include was Seo Dan’s family and how supportive they were. Her mom was kind of annoying at first, but, by the end of the day, she actually just wanted her daughter to be happy and nothing else mattered and I loved that. Her uncle was hilarious and seeing their little family dynamic was good comedic relief compared to what else was happening in the drama.

Additional Notes:

The Scenery/Atmosphere - I really loved the camera work and the colors of the scenes. While dramas like Record of Youth had a nice aesthetic, I think the colors was something that was really nice and worked really well. You can see this specifically when Se Ri goes from South Korea to North Korea. It’s really the attention to details that got me and seeing how the physical environment shaped the drama.

I mentioned it earlier but I’m still upset that they killed off Seongjun, especially after all that build-up they had for him. They really killed him off on the 15th episode on a series that was 16 episodes long. This just sucked considering how much he had helped out Se Ri and Jeong Hyuk, along with his developing relationship with Seo Dan. It felt like the writers were testing out to see what would happen if they did kill off someone for the sake of the drama. The writers kind of screwed up on that one.

The Ending - I personally really liked it. It was realistic in the sense that they couldn’t be together because of where they came from, but there was some of plan for them to get together eventually. It was heartbreaking to see them separate, but it was bound to happen. I did like the idea of them getting together in the place that brought them together—although the year long text messages made me cry and the waiting for him to show up broke me. It was still very satisfactory for the main couple and we already know my thoughts on the secondary couple [they 100% deserved better].

Overall Rating: 9 out of 10

Recommended?

↣ Yes: I think there’s a lot to like about this drama. It’s very romance-centered with very likable characters that you root for. There’s a lot of tropes used, but it actually works. There’s also the aspect of found family vs blood-family, considering how rich families function and those who actually cared about Se Ri. There were also a lot of interesting side plots, so you would never be bored watching the drama throughout. Many twists and turns take place and it made for good entertainment; again, it was kind of tropey, but the writers kind of were just giving the audience what they wanted, so I can’t complain.

↣ No: there’s a lot of political context, if you want a drama more focused on the romance and romance alone, you probably shouldn’t watch it. Some of the side plot focused on the North Korean military and it did bore me, but you had to pay attention because it actually mattered to the major plot. There are also some parts where it feels exhausting to watch, such as the beginning relationship of the main male lead and the secondary female lead, there’s the pop-up proposal from Seongjun (which came out of nowhere), the fake break-up sequences to try to protect one another, etc. There’s also a lot of emphasis on the heir fortune, so that means a lot of family drama that involves near attempted murder—which is also frustrating to watch. There also should have been a trigger warning, in the sense that Se Ri had a depression period, to where she was borderline suicidal. If you can’t handle any of these things, I don’t suggest watching it.

#crash landing on you #kdrama review #kdrama recs #spoilers #mine

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hudsontfreeman · 4 years

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Noticing (or a Case for Seinfeld Living)

It’s really impossible to know definitively, but I’d say I’m about halfway through the fourth or fifth season of the second reboot of my life’s tv show.

This is more of an estimate - I’m not really sure how I’ve been dividing up the seasons. Obviously, the first season was the 3-4 years at the beginning where nobody really knew what was going on and the protagonist was kind of just there. He was arguably, more of a blank canvas for the audience to see themselves through, as the real protagonists (his mom and dad) did all the expository heavy lifting. To be fair, this was just an introduction to the series and audiences were at least impressed enough for it to be renewed.

The formula found its bearings in the second season, as most successful shows tend to do, and stayed more or less on track for ten seasons till adolescence prompted a hard reboot. I can’t stress enough how much the show changed: episodes varied widely week to week, multiple characters were booted, the previously so-called co-protagonists of the show (those rascally parents) occasionally became outright antagonists, etc… It was quite frankly, not that great of a show, and in many ways traded the lack of conflict of its predecessor, with an abundance of conflict rarely resolved. It was not a show anyone was enjoying and the second college reboot was a welcome return to form.

This latest season is not half bad. We’ve got a lot of good series-wide story arcs going. There is a fair amount of midseason conflict, reoccurring characters that are staying relatively fresh (with the exception of Trevor), a decent theme song (it’s currently some experimental jazz from hell), and I’m really feeling like the protagonist is “starting to figure out what his deal is”, so to speak.

It is important to note that the protagonist has “started to figure out what his deal is” many times before this season, so I wouldn’t necessarily trust his judgement, but the confidence is remarkable.

He, at the very least, seems to finally be able to admit that he is not a cool person, which is certainly progress. Naively, though; he is convinced that this admission might very well be the first step to eventually becoming cool.

Most engaged viewers know this is a misstep.

“Life’s not like a movie” might be as useless of a phrase as it is pervasive. The assumption of the phrase implies that everyone is going around living their lives like the main character in a blockbuster comedy - cartoonishly pursuing their dreams, accidentally falling in love, and somehow, repeatedly being surprised when things don’t work out the way they think things should.

This is clearly false. No one thinks like this.

No one thinks everything will work out. No one thinks they’ll get everything they want. No one thinks their life is simple. No one thinks they’ll find the complete answer to the question they’ve been asking all along.

No one is nearly as naive about their existence as we seem to think they are. And I don’t think people watch movies and TV shows because they want these things either.

Sure, maybe there is someone out there who says they want life to be this uncomplicated, straightforward thing, but no one actually believes them. Nearly every person I’ve ever met genuinely believes that they are the true pragmatist. Has anyone ever actually met a consciously sincere idealist? Who wants to be the sucker?

Perhaps I’m generalizing, but I don’t think people watch television or movies, read books, and tell stories because they are innocently convinced of the simplicity of their narrative structure or because they want to vicariously live through that simplicity either. People are not starry-eyed, gullible children, nor do they wish they could be. People reflect their lives through story, not because they make life seem simple, but because these stories make life seem meaningful. I would go as far as to say - they don’t just make life seem meaningful, they remind them that it already is.

My friend Trevor and I believe genuinely, that we are this latest generation’s reincarnation of the 90’s sitcom, Seinfeld. He is George and I am Jerry, respectively. We’ve drawn out many of the parallels over the course of our friendship and I will list them here now:

- Trevor is short and stocky (George), while I am tall(er) and lanky (Jerry).

- My friend, Sam (Kramer) often walks into my house unannounced, hair lopsided, looking to “borrow” things from my kitchen.

- We routinely complain about our lives at various diners/coffee shops loudly and with little sympathy for the people around us. (The plot of the show)

- We improvise neurotic standup routines about the absurdity of mundane life and our own selfishness. (Much like George and Jerry, these routines are more sad than they are funny)

The only thing we’ve failed to find a direct parallel for is Elaine, as perhaps the most unrealistic aspect of the show, was the fantasy of anyone staying good friends with their ex.

All of these specific comparisons aside, I think what Trevor and I really like about this joke, is the idea that the only difference between our lives “in the real world” and our lives as tv characters, is the perspective that comes with observing rather than experiencing. What I mean by that is to say, there is something inherently and beautifully constructive about observing years as seasons, days as episodes, and people as characters. They become features of the life we are actively noticing, not just necessities of the existence we are passively being forced to endure.

As many sad, 90s-sitcom-obsessives like myself know, the significance of the creation of the Seinfeld rested in the catchphrase Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld sold the show on - it’s “a show about nothing.” The idea of it was, if you take a comedian like Seinfeld and put him in a variety of mundane settings, the jokes will come, not from heightening his experiences, but by letting him endlessly interpose his observations on the absurdity of the mundane itself. But I don’t think that’s significant in the way people may think it is.

Yes, George/Jerry/Elaine/Kramer are funny, goofy people with above average neurotic tendencies. Yes, it is a situational comedy written by professional comedy writers, building narratives out of the ways standups get their material. Yes, it broke many mainstream television conventions and historically broke the formula of the sitcom. But I think the most brilliant thing Seinfeld did, is definitively inspire the tacit belief that everything is worth paying attention to. Maybe, it’s worth noticing because its infuriating, or ridiculous, or hilarious, or disturbing, etc… But absolutely everything demands to be noticed.

In the fourth season of Seinfeld (arguably the best and most influential season), George and Jerry begin developing a TV show in much the same way Seinfeld and Larry David did four years prior. Throughout episode after episode, they go back and forth trying to come up with some fresh idea to wow NBC executives. This goes on with some degree of expected laziness and hijinks till George finally has it. Ever the meta-self-referential goldmine, George decides it should be “a show about nothing.” NBC executives are neither wowed nor thrilled, but the pilot get’s made, and all the characters in Seinfeld get remade in the show-within-the-show - “Jerry”. This was genius for two reasons.

It justified itself as a show by explaining its own concept directly to the audience through the show itself. (Perhaps the reason why this season skyrocketed the shows viewership)

It explained how television works, and more importantly, it explained how stories work.

The characters of Seinfeld, much like the characters of any story where the writer takes the time to describe them, are just bizarre people living in our bizarre world. Brought to their logical conclusions, television characters are human beings incapable of not observing the particularities of their existence. They go to the same coffee shops, they hang out with the exact same people, and they can’t stop scrutinizing the smallest detail of, or change, to that reality. Television shows remind us that the details of our existence are interesting.

The characters we surround ourselves with can be the funniest people in the world when we notice why they do what they do. The job we spend thirty to seventy hours a week at can be the weirdest thing in the world when we notice how ridiculous it is. This year can be a not-so great season. Tomorrow can be a particularly great episode. The television show we’re participating in can be surprising and disappointing and funny and sad and predictable and strange, but its a show we choose whether or not to watch - just watch it!

Sometimes, when I have a bad day, I go home, I go to bed, and I narrate out loud, “Hudson was not having a good day.” It almost always helps. Not because it reminds me that I am an insane person and that’s funny, but because it reminds me that I am a character in a movie I am watching, not just playing a role in. I am the protagonist of my own movie, playing a character in other people’s movies, learning how to notice why we’re in a movie at all. Any moment that we don’t realize that, that the story is meaningful, whatever it is, is a moment lost to ourselves.

"Life’s not like a movie” is a pointless phrase that doesn’t mean anything about anyone. We know life is not simple, but we want life to be consequential. Stories tell us it is. So we remind ourselves by telling the stories and listening to the stories and vice versa and on and on till we're dead and death is always a pretty good story too. (Almost always a great tv show or movie)

Life may not be painless or easy, but it is certainly interesting. Movies, television, novels, myths, comics, plays, etc… Those things are at their best when they remind us that the only difference between letting living pass us by and actively choosing to experience existence, is the amount of attention we pay to it. The latest season of the tv show that is my being is sometimes pretty rough, especially when I’m arguing with Trevor about who the main character is, but it is not boring. I can’t ask for much else.

#writing #in this essay i will #essay #personal essay #seinfeld #existentialism #existential humor

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sergeant-donny-donowitz · 5 years

Text

The Traitor and The Bear Jew (Inglourious Basterds Imagine: Donny Donowitz x Fem!Reader)

Requested by @svonschroeder! (Thanks for being the first to submit one, it means a lot!)

"TEDDY FUCKING WILLIAMS KNOCKS IT OUT OF THE PARK! FENWAY PARK ON ITS FEET FOR TEDDY FUCKIN' BALLGAME! HE WENT YARD ON THAT ONE, OUT TO FUCKIN' LANSDOWNE STREET..." Donny barely glanced at the remaining enemies. He wasn't wasting time, after all, a basterd’s work was never done. He looked at one of the nazis. He was a man, crying and shaking in the face of the Bear Jew’s justice. "YOU." The Nazi's futile attempt to escape was shot down by Hirschberg's gun.

"Damn it, Hirschberg."

Aldo sighed... He was hoping to get something useful out of their captive audience...and they were running out of them.

He chewed on his sandwich and looked at you, half annoyed, mostly disinterested. "Bring the girl."

Donny glanced to the remaining nazis. You were among them. But you were anything but a nazi.

In fact, you were a traitor.

At least...to the nazi high command.

In the brief instant that Donny looked to the survivors, he saw something he'd never seen before. He'd heard of laughing in the face of death. In fact, it was one of the Basterds' favorite past times, but no one, not a single soul, living or dead, had ever smiled in the face of the Bear Jew's wrath.

Not like you.

At best, you were a traitor to the nazis, and you expected that at some point you would be killed for your pursuit of justice and revenge.

At worst, your charade and double life would be too convincing to the basterds, and you'd be seen as just another enemy.

Your truth, your story was nothing but a rumor trickling down the OSS lines.

You were a German, but you were no nazi. You were young, but you remembered a time where the world was a big place. There were no tanks, no raids. Friends, families, cities weren't divided by rallies and hatred... People didn't disappear in the middle of the night. Entire communities weren’t slaughtered... Neighbors didn’t betray each other. They invited each other over for dinner. They went to clubs together. Swing wasn’t outlawed then. Humanity wasn’t seen as a weakness. Schools were full. Shop windows weren’t broken or vandalized. Entire neighborhoods didn’t just disappear...

You remembered a world where there was justice.

And when that world collapsed, when your best friend was murdered for her faith, when your neighbors vanished, when everything changed, you did too. You became a traitor in a heartbeat. If you had to die a traitor trying to restore that world, you would.

And by the looks of it, you were going to.

And you were going out watching the infamous basterds.

You joined the nazis, but you used their information against them. You tended to have an easier time gaining officers’ trust, and it doomed them. You usually rummaged through their documents as your gun was still smoking, or you rknife still dripping, searching for leads that could save a life. You used them to warn, and save Jews. You'd done it for years. You always anticipated dying before the war’s end, but you pictured it a different way: against a wall, facing a firing squad back in Germany.

This was not it.

No one would ever know your story... just a distant memory of those you saved, and you accepted that.

You could plead. You could tell the basterds the whole story... the truth...but it was far too good to be true.

Who would believe a word from a person a step away death? You wouldn’t lie, that wasn't the problem, it was that they wouldn't believe.

You tested that theory. You made it short and sweet. You told Wicki you were infiltrating Werner’s team, and you were a traitor to the nazis. You’d helped save dozens of Jews in the past year alone.

Unfortunately, your theory was right, as you observed Aldo the Apache sighing in disbelief, and Wicki's amusement in translating what he believed was utter bullshit.

You glanced at the other basterds, now that a gun wasn't directly trained on you.

You glanced up to a higher ledge...and spotted an old friend. It had been quite some time...

Hugo Stiglitz.

You were friends, once. Long ago, long before the war. You were just teenagers then. You walked to school every day of your lives, your mothers were best friends. You were there the day he became an orphan. You were always there for each other back then. But, once the nazis took over, you were both older, you'd been distanced for some time because you’d chosen a different university, your jobs never matched up... And then he joined the Gestapo. You avoided him. You hated him. You could never stand to see him.

You didn't know he waited in the market every Saturday, just for a chance to tell you the truth. Just for a chance to see his last true friend. He was certain you'd understand...But you never showed up.

Six years had passed. He didn't recognize you. You weren't surprised. He was always a clueless boy...

And...you weren't quite the same either. You had short brown hair when you last saw each other. You were once a ballerina, you played the violin and dreamed of a quiet life in a small town. You traded your ballet slippers and bow for a sniper and a pack.

You were a little taller, your build was more of a warrior than a ballerina after carrying a pack and a burden for years. You couldn’t simply claim to know him. After all, Werner was right. Everyone in the German army had heard of Hugo Stiglitz. You’d changed your name to cover your tracks after one botched kill, and your dogtag couldn’t prove your true identity.

Still, you were you at heart. No one could deny that. “Ask her about them Germans in the orchard. I needa know ‘bout them snipers. How many there are, what they got on ‘em.” Wicki translated, though you didn’t need it, you thought it might be rude to point it out after all that time. The truth was, you didn’t know about the troops up the road, and you told them so. Again, it was too good to be true. Aldo sighed, “God damn it. Donny!” You lowered your head, ready to accept your death as you were thrown to your knees, at the mercy of the one they called Donny.

You bit your bottom lip with a sigh as you looked at the man about to murder you, with nothing but respect and admiration in your eyes as you glanced at the bat with the names.

Donny looked at you. He shifted for a moment. He hesitated. He blinked forcefully, and shook his head once. "Come on, Donny."

Still, he looked back at Aldo. Donny never thought he'd hesitate in killing a nazi. He'd never killed a woman before, but...a nazi was a nazi.

He looked you in the eyes. He saw something he didn’t see in Werner’s eyes, or in the eyes of any nazi he'd encountered before: a soul.

He saw humanity. In the depths of your eyes, he saw the mischievous threads of a cunning mind. He saw an honorable acceptance of fate. It wasn’t a psychotically blood-driven acceptance of death for your country like Werner’s. In his eyes, Donny didn't see "bravery," he saw blankness.

Yours were human.

You didn't glare into Donny's eyes like Werner did. You didn’t look down at the ground and stain it with your tears like Private Butz did.

You looked toward the horizon, west, toward the freedom you have to others, and the freedom you were willing to die for as a traitor.

All you could hear was your own heartbeat, and the slight breeze tussling the leaves.

Then, you heard the lieutenant's voice, "Last chance soldier," followed by Wicki's translation. "Er sagt eine letzte Chance, Soldat."

You were silent for a moment. Your eyes sauntered from the horizon, back to Donny's.

He couldn't help but shift again, changing up his grip on the bat as he awaited Aldo’s instructions.

Donny gulped... something was different about you.

There was not a trace of cruelty in your eyes.

For a moment...he believed you. He believed every word of your story.

It was the truth after all, but...Aldo was older, and wise, and had a habit of reminding his men that if they hear a story too good to be true, ‘it ain’t.’

Donny clenched his teeth... bracing himself as a wave sympathy took him by surprise, something he'd never felt before.

But orders were orders...

He took a breath, and raised his bat as Aldo nodded to him. Your voice was soft, but wasn’t trembling. It was a small, simple request. You wanted to sound polite. You wanted to take that chance. "May I speak to Hugo?"

Your voice wasn't shaking in fear, it didn't reveal a tell in your state of mind, it didn't give way to a hateful rant. Donny froze, bat still in the air, eyes still trained on you.

The Basterd's stood still, unaware you were able to understand them the entire time.

Wicki was a little annoyed, admittedly.

Donny's arms had been hanging high, ready to swing... He lowered the bat, and stood in confusion.

Aldo raised an eyebrow, and lowered his sandwich for a moment.

Hugo took a step back. He turned to face you, he hadn’t quite been paying attention, being entertained by Donny beating nazis with a baseball bat, after all.

He knew the voice was familiar.

After he squinted, so was your face. Your hair was longer, and... blonde.... He'd never admit he thought it looked better before.

A few steps closer, and he saw a scar on your forearm. It had been there since you were kids, running around Frankfurt. You fell, skinned your knee and your arm that day.

He knew you.

He knew you too well. He knew you were telling the truth.

"Wait."

He slid down the ledge, and set his gun down as the basterds turned to him, "Donny, put the bat down."

"What?" Donny wasn't sure if he was more confused over what he was feeling, or because Hugo was speaking more...

Hugo wasn't playing. "The girl goes free."

The basterds by then knew better than to ever question Hugo Stiglitz.

He stood over you. It was you...it was definitely you, and he smiled. Hugo actually smiled, ashamed he hadn't known before, as he held his hand out, and pulled you to your feet, "Y/n..."

You smiled, "Hugo."

When you heard he was a traitor and what he really did in the gestapo, you cried. You should’ve known better, and you wished you'd spoken to him. You should’ve known he was better than that.

You should've known he was no more of a nazi than you were.

He smiled as you stood face to face, and he hugged you... You were taken aback, for a moment. You slowly reached your arms around him. It just wasn't a very Hugo thing to do. He wasn't much of a hugger, even before the war.

It was nice...

"What are you doing here?!" He gestured to your uniform. You smirked a little, and gestured to his basterd friends. "What are you doing here?" When you looked at the basterds, your gaze wandered over Donny for a moment longer....

Omar shook his head in confusion, "What's going on?!"

Hugo turned to the basterds. "Y/n is telling the truth. She's a friend...an old friend. I know her.” He glanced at you with a sly grin, “I know a traitor anywhere."

Utivich was still suspicious. "A traitor...what exactly did you do?"

Donny turned to look at you, a wave of relief cooling him down as he registered everything. It really was almost too good to be true.

But he was grateful it was true.

He listened to you. He listened to every word.

He loved it.

The way you moved, the way you spoke: the elegance in the words you chose, the almost shy smirk in the four letter words you knowingly dropped.

He hung on to every word that fell from your lips.

"I had to. I stole the lists, made copies of them. I'd figure out which Jewish families they were looking for next. I would sneak away, warn them, sometimes I'd lead them to German friends who would keep them safe. There were a few I was able to smuggle onto ships that would eventually take them to England. Had to kill a nazi or two along the way. For all intents and purposes, I am a traitor. I'm a fucking traitor, but I wouldn't have it any other way."

The basterds were amazed...

They liked you. You had guts, they had to admit.

Donny liked you... He liked every single thing about you. You had heart, you had guts, you definitely had brains. He liked the way you spoke. He liked the way you stood, brazen, and unmovable, like a rocky cliff facing the endless and brash ocean. He liked the way your eyes revealed your heart, and who you were.

He hated to admit it....but he might have fallen for you.

He was almost in a daze as you explained yourself.

He snapped back when Aldo rose to his feet, walked over and stood face to face with you. You weren't sure what to expect from the man from Maynardville.

You were surprised, "Well, y/n... seein’ that your old team’s nearly defunct..." Aldo glanced over at the last nazi that was being guarded by Hirschberg, then back at you, "How would you like to be a basterd?"

You raised a mischievous eyebrow, and couldn't help but smile a little as you looked back at Hugo, one of your oldest friends. You looked back at Donny, your almost-killer, and...the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on. You gazed at the disfigured body of your former sergeant, Werner. You glanced at the blood of your former team. You watched as the only other survivor of Rachtman's post: Private Butz, who was shaking in fear as tears streamed down his face. You had no pity on him, or anyone else on that post. "Now, before you say anything, soldier, I got a warnin' for you. You join my team...my team, my men, my command, you take on a debit. A debit you owe me, personally." You smiled, not just because you had admired them, and had desparately wished the rumors about the basterds to be true...but because you would get a chance to patch things up with your old friend... and, as you looked to Donny Donowitz, you blushed. Aside from that, you always thought the accents in American movies were exaggerated...yet there stood Aldo Raine. "You join 'em boys there, and you owe me one hundred nazi scalps, just like 'em. You understand?" You were unbothered, mostly because as of January of that year, your body count could have paid off the debt. But you had no problem with doing it all over again. You gladly would, and you’d double it if it meant justice and freedom for the innocent, for Jews, the roma, any and everyone that was unjustly stripped of everything. "Yes, sir." Your new lieutenant smiled, set down his sandwich, and picked up a rifle that had the term 'inglourious basterds,' carved into it. He tossed it to you, and handed you your knife. "You’ll be needin’ these, soldier." You nodded, beaming with pride. You looked down at your knife, realizing it needed sharpening, you intended to look back to Hugo, having heard of his skills with a knife as passing rumors when you heard he was arrested. But instead of Hugo, you nearly ran into your new sergeant. Donny's left hand rested on the back of his neck, his right arm relaxed so the tip of the bat was dragging on the ground. He was embarrassed, and relieved. He didn't know what he'd do if he'd killed someone on their side...and he was embarrased he didn't speak up, especially when he believed you. "I...uh.. How about we start over, kid?" You smiled, of course. It would be nice. It was always nice to start over. "My name's Donny." Your soft chuckle, and smiling eyes captivated him as you responded, "I know." Through the blood, grime, and shadow of war that coated you like any soldier, there was some light behind your eyes, a sheer need for retribution, for freedom, for justice. He could tell. And he loved you for it. He'd never forgive himself if he'd killed an innocent person, though in the eyes of the nazis you were far from innocent, in his eyes, you were simply trying to make the world a better place. He respected that. In fact, he respected the hell out of you, and admired the way you faced your fate. But, he was still ashamed... he'd never forgive himself if he had done it. It was at that moment that he swore to himself he'd never hurt you. He'd never let anyone hurt you. He promised himself that if anyone so much as laid a finger on you, he'd kill them. You reached your hand out to shake his, but you both stopped for a moment. The second your fingertips even grazed each other, you took his breath away, and he made your eyes shy away. Soldier to soldier, heart to heart, traitor to basterd, you both understood. You both knew it. Everything was going to change. Everything was going to be alright. You looked into each other's eyes for a moment longer than you should have, and you turned away, your cheeks were burning as he looked up, biting back a nervous laugh. "Donny, bring that other one over here. Alive." Donny didn't hesitate. Not anymore. He took up his bat, and looked at you. Both of you were smirking. It was the beginning of more than just a wartime love story. It was the beginning of something that the nazis would come to fear: You were the one and only person that could handle the Bear Jew. You were the one and only person he would drop everything to protect, (though you didn't need much protecting, after all, Aldo had a habit of calling you 'a regular Annie Oakley.') Still, word did spread that if any nazi so much as aimed in your general direction, they'd have a short, and unnegotiable encounter with the Bear Jew.

The last thing they'd ever see was his wrath, his wild eyes, and a bloodstained baseball bat. But the first thing you saw each morning after that was a brief, flash of his loving, warm eyes, and a secretive, knowing smile, just before he called the basterds to stand at attention.

#inglourious basterds #donny donowitz #donny-donowitz #donny donowitz x reader #aldo raine #smithson utivich #omar ulmer #hugo stiglitz #wilhelm wicki #ww2 #quentin tarantino #imagine #inglourious basterds imagine

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