#like BRO yes. this job sucks but you have more tools than I do and you're STILL fucking that up
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Unit Teambuilding - Clair
I didn’t initially plan to do this, but apparently I have never talked about one of my favorites? Wild. And for the record, yes, Clair is a favorite. There was a long period of time where I liked Clair more than Jasmine. Think about that. So in absence of a prior post, I guess getting her EX is as good a time as any to talk about Clair as a whole.
General Overview
Clair fucking sucks, bro. Don’t use her. End post.
I’m only half joking. Obviously, use your faves, I have used Clair to off-type before (do not do this), but also Clair is atrocious with very few positives to her name. Her main source of damage is Draco Meteor, a delightful move with high BP thanks to both accuracy issues and a -2 special attack penalty. Unfortunately, Clair was developed long before the modern meta introduced the concept of drawbacks being optional, so she actually deals with these problems the old fashioned way. Accuracy +10 node on grid is a goddamn 8 energy node, and she has to run Dauntless or be rendered useless, which cuts into her sync damage. Clair’s slight saving grace was having very strong multipliers on her move damage: 50% for rain, and 50% for paralysis. The sad news is that no combination allowed her to get both with any reliability, while also dealing with her atrocious self-buffing. X Sp Atk is something, but she cannot buff crit at all. Until SS Kris dropped, Clair was easily among the worst sync pairs in the game.
But hey, Clair has an EX now! And with that, combined with some of the tools from last year that really propelled her forward, surely she is in a position to succeed, right?
Zero sync multipliers anywhere on grid. The only option she’s ahead of is base Iris, who suffers similar problems with Lessen Confusion 9 as a lucky skill. You know, it’s amazing to me that DeNA has entered this era of grid expansions for PokeFairs, giving new tools to options like Dojo Gloria and SS Morty who were already top of the food chain, but can’t be asked to give the early grid recipients something of value on their ancient and debilitating grids. I know it could be worse, there’s always Crit Strike 1 at 12 energy as your only multiplier, right Flint? But this stuff still hurts.
The big issue with Clair getting EX is that it’s worthless. She is a striker in the traditional sense of high DPS. That is her niche. She needed sync far, far less, given the absence of any multipliers, and lack of even a lucky skill backing it. It’s basically useless, barring a bit of spread chip damage for DPS to finish a job late game. Her old issue was the struggle of needing so much offensive support, Rain, and Paralysis in the same team, which was functionally impossible pre-SS Kris. But in the modern era, Clair has access to some very useful tools that actually achieve what she always wanted. And even that’s not enough to make her reliable anywhere but on-type. The sad reality is, her best point of comparison is Zinniquaza. Reliance on weather, need for crit support, runs Dauntless to offset a drawback the old fashioned way. But Zinniquaza has a much higher damage threshold and a sync multiplier and achieves EX for free. Clair cannot compete with Zinniquaza at all. Even with both multipliers firing, Zinniquaza’s mega evolution and easier time running Lucas makes her a far superior choice in every possible scenario. Clair’s become decent with the tools the meta developed, but still struggles to stand out at all. And is it really worth it to expend that much effort for something sub-optimal?
EX?
Yes. Always for Clair. EX Mandatory. (For legal purposes, this is a joke)
Team 1: Clair, SS Kris, Classic Elesa/Lucas
This is the team that SS Kris enabled upon arrival. This was the saving grace. Rain support on a pair that boosted special attack and crit specifically? Ideal. The only downside was that, because Kris needed an MPR to cap crit, usually this means taking first sync. Which is fine, Clair has no sync multipliers. But it can slow down the DPS due to missing a crit. Even when Clair wins, it’s with an asterisk. Classic Elesa and Lucas are the best possible partners from there. Lucas offers Dragon Zone, which is the biggest modifier on Clair’s damage you can receive, and doubles down on the Dragon-type damage spam. But. I prefer C!Elesa. The paralysis lets Clair get full access to her multipliers, and her grid does allow Clair to take both multipliers, both sync damage nodes, and accuracy +10 in one comp, so it’s viable. The debuffs on Elesa, I imagine, also push her over Lucas in terms of broad utility. The potential disruption on sides is what let Clair once off-type a stage. But there’s one other benefit. With Kris taking first sync, you have the issue of quad queuing. This outright fails if weather ends as sync is set up. The enemy will queue a move for sure. And given that Kris starts with Rain, it’s like to run out at that exact time. To put it plainly, quad queues are hard and not guaranteed. Elesa has a -1 cooldown effect on her trainer move, which allows Clair to reach sync before the opponent, and get that spread damage in. With full modifiers, Clair is much more likely to be in range for finishing the job through sheer DPS.
Team 2: Clair, NC Calem, Variety Lance/Lisia
I’m going to be honest, uncoupling Clair from SS Kris is not a wise idea, but we’ll talk about another. NC Calem can also set Rain, and gives at least some small boost to special attack, as well as capping crit at once. The problem is his buddy move condition sucks, and relies on Water Shuriken playing along. Classic Elesa works in the final slot too, but I want to talk about two alternate options. First is Variety Lance. With paralysis, Dragon Rebuff on the first target to be paralyzed, and a team accuracy buff, V!Lance fixes a lot of what ails Clair right away, and can even free some energy for other traits with that accuracy angle. Not that she affords much, ancient grid, but you know. Trying. The other I will mention is Lisia. Lisia has a few key effects with this. While it takes away from Clair’s paralysis multiplier, Lisia’s Twister is a possible flinch whiel getting 3 hits toward Calem’s buddy move. She can also draw aggro to herself, taking pressure off the fairly frail Calem. Lastly, Lisia’s Defog serves as another option to ensuring Clair’s moves land, and shifts offense boosting points into Crit Shield, which she dispels immediately.
Team 3: Clair, SS Brendan, Winona/Sophocles
One thing Clair has over Zinniquaza is access to SS Brendan. Zinniquaza desperately needs first sync to access her full power, and remove the horrific defense drops she inflicts on herself, so Brendan rarely gets to do his job. Clair, however, permits him to do as he wishes. She has very little use for first sync. Brendan then gives Clair a ton of benefits in response. Luster Purge is a rapid debuff to a target’s special defense, maximizing her damage. Team Sharp Entry successfully grants her capped crit after sync. Adrenaline ensures second sync before foe’s first. If needed, Hostile Environment Dragonbreath can be used instead. The third slot can go to anyone with Rain or Paralysis support for her multipliers. Winona’s the easy winner of the Rain demand, having easy flinch and her own speed buffs to maintain gauge, with Sophocles offering flinch alongside the sure paralysis.
Team 4: Clair, V!Mallow, Lucian
Variety Mallow, at 3/5, gives Clair pretty much everything she needs to start blasting turn 2. Fast-acting buff, paralysis, even debuffs to keep yourself alive. Lucian is a necessary third at this point. While Rain obviously rounds out her multipliers, you need the speed on this team, and Lucian’s debuffs will have to carry from here. “But the Rain-” listen. Sometimes we just have to accept the loss. 150 points into Offense +5 will destroy Mallow, whose survival relies on damage-based recovery. That’s not happening.
Team 5: Clair, Sabrina, Winona
When you look outside of limited pairs, you begin to notice how absolutely dire the Sp Atk/Crit buffing game is. Atk/Crit gets powerhouses like Sonia, Shauna, and Aaron, but Sp Atk/Crit gets...MC Torchic. Sabrina and SS Elesa are like the only other options, and they are...inefficient, to say nothing of Lodge Morty. You can get away with inefficiency when supporting a decent pair with high offensive present. Not Clair, though. Never Clair. Still, Sabrina is worth noting, thanks to the accuracy buff that comes from her trainer move as well, salvaging Clair’s potential miss. If desired, and I would never say to do this, Clair can use Hostile Environment to apply paralysis herself, and let Winona’s Air Slash maintain disruptive pressure on the opponent while Clair gets herself together. It also really helps to have someone with a good flinch rate alongside Sabrina, who is...not the most defensively valuable sync pair. She has some issues. Several, if we’re being real.
Final Thoughts
I want to be clear. There are five teams listed because Clair needs to have as many possible options as she can, because she does not do anything herself. Modern strikers tend to be easily built around, because they’re self-sufficient to a fairly high degree. Compare the needs of Summer Liza to this nonsense. Liza needs for literally nothing. Clair needs everything down to accuracy in some cases. It’s such a mess. I do like teambuilding for the shittier pairs, but also, the game is shifting into an open acknowledgement that off-type is the meta with High Score. Clair will not keep up in that environment. She will die. She can’t reasonably handle off-type in regular CS, you think she’s doing anything in that mode? Nonsense.
I dunno. I like running Clair when the mood strikes me, but I also feel like Clair is extremely bad, and a grid expansion, even a tame one, could accomplish a lot. Like, a simple Pinpoint Entry 1, Dauntless, Sharp Entry, [insert sync multiplier here] would be something. But that doesn’t seem likely at this point, and even if it were discussed, the grid expansions are coming out at such a glacial pace it’ll be years before she sees it. Maybe she can get lucky and get an alt. Tate and Liza did, maybe Clair can too...
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Ariadne and why the Mycenaeans can fuck right off
Warning: Includes brief mentions of r*pe, cultural destruction, ancient patriarchy reminding us why no woman would ever time-travel more than 5 years into the past if that and a great deal of spite for male historians/public education history/mythology classes.
Possible side effects may include a sudden intense rage for an ancient society equivalent to the innate rage one has for the Romans burning the library of Alexandria, a distinct hatred for ancient men not being able to let anyone have nice things, and a sudden fascination for Minoa.
Usually, I stick to writing imagines and being happy with that. It’s fun! I love it! But every now and again, in an attempt to escape the crushing forces known as reality and responsibilities I’ll put on a few cutscenes from games I’m:
A) Too lazy to play
B) Too broke to play
C) Too unskilled to play
D) All of the above
because cutscenes are free and why torture yourself with impossible levels when its free on Youtube?*
*In all seriousness please support video games and video game creators, but no shame to those of us who prefer cutscenes to gameplay.
A few weeks ago I added the game Hades made by Supergiant to the list because the cutscenes were bomb and the characters are so much fun! Intricate as all hell! Hella cute too but that’s unrelated! Now my pretty little simp patootie is especially a big fan of Dionysus and his gorgeous design so the cutscenes with him are my favorite.
I’m re-watching his cutscenes a few nights ago for fun as background when he has a certain line about Theseus. Don’t quote me on this since my memory is foggy at best but roughly it was:
Dionysus: Good job with Theseus. Never cared much for him- what he did to that girl was just horrible.*
*I know that’s not his exact line but this is clearly a rant post fueled by spite and ADD-hyper-focused obsessions with ancient civilizations so let’s not worry too too much about the semantics here.
Now, I like mythology! Personally, I prefer the Norse mythology due to the general lack of very very gross dynamics that several other ancient mythologies seem to include, but I’m decently familiar with Greek mythos. Enough to go - “Why does the God of Wine give a single fuck about the frat bro of Greek heroes being a dick to a woman? Grossness is embedded into the very DNA of all distant relatives of Zeus, a woman being harassed by Zeus or his bastard army is a typical Tuesday in ancient Greece.”
Wikipedia confirms that Ariadne is the only woman in the story of Theseus and the Minotaur, which I kinda knew already so unless Theseus did some f’ed up shit to some other princess of Minos, Dionysus could only be referring to her. Disregarding what I know about Wikipedia and how it can suck you down the rabbit hole of rabbit holes through sheer fury I stupidly clicked the link to Ariadne’s article.
By the time we get to the end of this shitstorm, I will have two separate plotlines for two separate stories based of Ariadne, 2k+ notes (and going) on an ancient civilization prior to a week ago I didn’t know existed and within me there will be a rage towards a different ancient civilization I vaguely recall learning about in high school.
Here’s how this shit went down.
First of all, apparently after Theseus abandoned Ariadne on an island to die (yep! He did that! To the one person who is the only reason he defeated the minotaur! Fuck this guy.) there are multiple storylines where Dionysus takes a single look at Ariadne and falls in love.
“A god falls in love?” you say, aware of how most love stories in Greek mythos can be summed up with Unfortunately, Zeus got horny and Hera is a firm believer in victim blaming. “This poor woman is about to go through hell!” I thought so too! And in one variation of the story, Dionysus does his daddy proud by being an absolute tool to Ariadne. In the majority though? He woos the fuck out of her, and ultimately marries her by consent!
Her consent!
In ancient Greece!
The party dude of the Greek pantheon knows more about consent then his father and modern day frat brothers!
Okay! That’s interesting, so I keep reading.
Ariadne getting hitched to Dionysus is a big deal in Olympus, to the point of getting a crown made of the Aurora Borealis from Aphrodite who is bro-fisting Dionysus, beyond glad she didn’t have to give him the talk about consent. The rest of the gods are pissy especially Hera who doesn’t like Dionysus much since he is the son of Zeus and Semele but they don’t do much. Ariadne ascends to godhood, becomes the goddess of Labyrinths with the snake and bull as her symbol and that’s that on that.
Colorin, colorado, este cuento se acabado.
And they lived happily ever after.
That’s the end of the post right?
NO! Because curiosity has made me their bitch and there’s more to this calling me.
Also, I was pissed! Still am! Why the fuck-a-doodle-do did I have to learn about the time Poseidon r*ped a priestess instead of the arguably healthiest relationship in the entirety of the pantheon? Why is Persephone and Hades’ story (which has improved since it was first written and I like more modern versions of it, no hate) the only healthy-ish Greek love story I had to learn when Dionysus and Ariadne were right there? The rage of having endured several grade levels of “Zeus got horny and Hera found out” stories in the nightmare of public education led me to keep looking into this.
There’s this wonderful Youtube channel called Overly Sarcastic Productions that I highly recommend that delves a lot into mythology, and I have seen their bombass video about Dionysus and how his godhood has changed since he was potentially first written in a language we comprehend.
Did ya’ll know this man is the heir apparent to Zeus? ‘Cause I didn’t know that!
YEA! Dionysus, man of parties, king of hangovers and inducer of madness, is set to inherit the throne of Olympus! Ariadne didn’t husband up the God of Wine, she husbanded up the Prince of Olympus and heir apparent to the throne! Holy shit! No wonder some of the gods were against her marriage to Dionysus - can you imagine the drama of an ex-mortal woman sitting on the Queen’s throne of Olympus? Hera must have been pissed.
BUT WAIT.
There’s more.
The reason we know Dionysus is a very important god and is possibly even more important than we think is because of a handy-dandy language known as Linear B, otherwise known as the language of the Mycenaeans!
For those of you fortunate enough to have normal hobbies and interests, the Mycenaeans were the beta version of the Greeks. Their written language of Linear B is one of, if not the first recorded instance of a written Indo-European language. This language, having been translated, gives us an interesting look at what the Greek gods were like back in their beta-stages before they fixed the coding and released the pantheon.
Interesting side facts of the Mycenaean Greek gods include:
Poseidon being the head god with an emphasis on his Earthquake aspect, and being much more of a cthonic god in general.
Take that Zeus, for being so gross.
The gods in general being more cthonic, as Mycenaeans were obsessed with cthonic gods (probably due to all the earthquakes and natural disasters in Greece and Crete at that time)
Several of the gods and goddesses that we know being listed, alongside some that we don’t consider as important (Dione)
The first mention of Kore, later Persephone, but no Hades because since a lot of gods were cthonic, there would be no need for one, specific cthonic god to represent the majority of death-related rituals.
That’s not what we’re focusing on though! What we’re focusing on is a specific translated portion of Linear B that we have. One of the translated portions of Linear B that for the life of me I can’t find (someone please help me find it and send the link so I can edit this post) says an interesting phrase. “Honey to the gods. Honey to the Mistress of Labyrinths.”
One more time. “Honey to the gods. Honey to the Mistress of Labyrinths.”
Mistress of Labyrinths.
Now wait a gosh darn minute. Isn’t there a goddess of labyrinths in the Greek mythos? Why yes! Yes there is! Ariadne!
Here’s a question for you. If Ariadne is but a minor god in the pantheon, a wife to a more predominant god, why is it that while all the other gods and goddesses are bunched together in a sentence of praise, the so-called ex-mortal gets a whole-ass sentence to herself singing praises?
And thus, we have arrived to Minoa!
What is Minoa, you ask? Minoa is to Rome what Rome is to us. An old-ass civilization either older than or younger by a hundred years to ancient Egypt. Egypt, that started in 3200 B.C-ish depending on who you ask. That’s old. Old as balls. They were contemporaries to their trading partner, Egypt until 1450 BC-ish. A 2000 year old civilization.
Minoa was founded on the island of Crete, and was by what artifacts we have found a merchant civilization with its central economy centered on the cultivation of saffron and the development of bronze/iron statues of bulls. Most of what we know about them comes from artifacts and frescoes found on Crete that managed to survive everything else I will mention later, but what matters is that we know a few things about them.
Obsessed with marine life for some time, given their pottery.
Had the first palaces in all of Europe, some of them ridiculously big.
Wrote in Linear A and Cretan Hieroglyphs, both still untranslated languages.
Had a ritual involving jumping over a bull, for some reason.
Firm believers in “Suns out, Tits out.”
You’d think I’m kidding on the last one but no! No no no! All the women apparently rocked the tits-out look in Minoa!
^^^^One of many, many Minoan works featuring women giving their titties fresh air. ^^^^
“Wait a second Pinks! What does this have to do with Ariadne being the Mistress of labyrinths?”
Well you see dear wonderful darling, while we know very little about Minoan religion because Mycenaeans (we will get to those bastards in a second), we do know this:
All the religious figures appear to be exclusively women.
The most important figures of their religion seem to be goddesses as there are few artifacts featuring male gods.
Because of the religion, the culture may have been an equal society or even a matriarchy! Historians who are male aren’t sure.
A frankly ridiculous amount of their temples, including the ones in caves in the middle of fuck-all feature labyrinths. A lot of labyrinths!
Their head god is a goddess! Whose temples have labyrinths and whose main symbols are snakes and bulls. Who do we know is a) the mistress of labyrinths and b) is symbolized a lot by snakes and bulls?
ARI-fucking-ADNE THAT’S WHO!
Ariadne didn’t upgrade by marrying the prince of Olympus! Dionysus wifed up possibly the most important goddess in all of Crete and becoming her boy-toy!
I’m not even kidding, most Minoan depictions of the goddess’ consort features a boy/man who cycles through the stages of death. Dionysus himself in several myths goes through the same cycle - life, being crushed, death, rebirth, repeat. Cycles the consort goes through in Minoan legend depictions too!
Okay, that’s great, but what does that have to do with the Mycenaeans? Why do you want to single-handedly go back in time and strangle the beta-Greeks with the nearest belt?
Everything I just said about Ariadne being a Minoan goddess, the Mistress of Labyrinths being hella important on Minoa, is all theoretical. The Mycenaeans are partially to blame for making it theoretical.
Minoa thrived for 2000 years but it had a lot of issues, mostly caused by natural disasters. Towards the end of their civilization (1500 BC-ish), the nearby island of Thera, today known as Santorini, decided to blow up. The island was a hella-active volcano that when erupted, destroyed a lot.
How big was the eruption? Well when Pompeii was wasted by Mt. Vesuvius, the blast was heard from roughly 120 miles away, 200 km.
The blast on Thera was heard from 3000 miles away. 4800 km away.
Fuck me, the environmental effects of the explosion were felt in imperialistic CHINA.
Holy shit that would waste anybody! And it did! Minoa went from being a powerhouse in the Mediterranean to scrambling to recover from losing 40,000 citizens and who knows how many cities. Tsunamis may have followed the blast, further destroying ports which for a navy-powerhouse of an island nation is a bad thing and the theorized temperature drops caused by a cloud of ash lingering for a while would have destroyed crops for the year.
Minoa was fucked.
The Mycenaeans and all their bullshit made it worse.
Up until a few hundred years prior to Thera’s explosion, Minoan artifacts don’t depict much in terms of military power. Why would it? Crete is a natural defense post. Sheer cliffs, high mountains and a few semi-fortified areas would make it pointless to invade. It’s only when the Mycenaeans in all their bullshit decided to attack/compete that Minoa really needed any army to speak of.
Guess who decided to invade while Minoa was reeling from an incredibly shitty year?
Mycenaea!
Guess who won?
Also Mycenaea!
Nobody knows how this shit went down though because wouldn’t you know it, the Mycenaeans in all their superiority-complex glory decided to destroy most written accounts about Minoa, a good junk of the temples and culturally eliminated most of Minoan beliefs.
Minoa isn’t even the real name of the civilization! It’s just the name Arthur Evans, the guy who re-motivate interest in Minoan archaeology, gave to the civilization because the writings that would have included the name of the civilization were destroyed.
“That sucks!” Fuck yes that sucks! “What does that have to do with Ariadne though?”
Oh ho ho. Strap in because you’re about to be pissed.
Those of us unfortunate enough to be aware of all the bullshit the Christians pulled on the European pagan belief system are familiar with the concept of cultural, religious destruction. There’s a special name for it I don’t know but if I did I would curse it to be absorbed by the horrendous will of fungi.
An example: Christianity was not the most popular of religions amongst the Vikings. A monotheistic religion that is heavily controlled did not strongly appeal to anyone with a pantheon as rad as the Norse one.
In order to appeal to the Vikings, what monks would do is they would write down traditionally Viking stories which up until that point were orally passed down. Beowulf, the story of the most Viking Viking to have every Vikinged, was one of these first stories.
However! Did these monks write Beowulf as closely to the original oral transcript as possible? Of course not! They took liberties! While Norse features such as trolls and dragons and all sorts of Norse magic occur, there is a lot of Christian features added in.
This happened across all Pagan religions that Christianity came into contact with in Europe. Stories would be altered when written down to be more Christian (this happened to the Greek Pantheon too btw), holidays that were Pagan magically lined up with ones the Vatican just happened to suddenly have. Even names of mythological figures were taken and added onto Christian figure names. Consequently, a lot of pagan religions they did this to got erased over time, with many of their traditions and details being lost forever, and the details we do know being tinted by Christianity.
The Mycenaeans were likely no different.
Minoa and Mycenaea were as culturally opposite as can be. Minoa is theorized to be a matriarchal or equal society*. Mycenaea and most of early Greece absolutely was not. In fact, during early stages of their religion where they believed in reincarnation, the Mycenaeans believed the worst thing to come back as was a woman.
Did you get that? With your options ranging from man to ever single animal on Earth, a woman was ranked as beneath literal animals in Mycenaean society.
Fuck the Mycenaeans.
* This is not to say Minoa was without fault, as a society that is matriarchal or equal can still have rampant issues such as privilege, classism, racism, sexism and more, but when history has a shortage of civilizations that didn’t treat women like shit, you find yourself rooting for them more.
What do you do then, when you take over a society that is very much the opposite of a nightmare of a patriarchy? You fold their beliefs into your own to bait them into yours. Going back to the Linear B line about “Mistress of Labyrinths” that line would/could have been an early tactic of incorporating Minoan belief into Mycenaean belief. Other goddesses and gods were made into aspects of Mycenaean gods. Bristomartis, the Minoan goddess of the hunt, would become Artmeis. Velchanos, a god of the sky, would become Zeus.
With more time, the religion shifted more into Mycenaean and eventually into ancient Greece as we know it. Through trade other gods and goddesses would continue to shift and change, some being straight up imported (Aphrodite for example). Dionysus himself changed a lot too, going from a God representing freedom and attracting slaves, women and those with limited power into his cult, to a God of parties for the wealthy.
Theseus and the Minotaur was a myth likely based on a Mycenaean myth based on a Minoan myth that changes Ariadne from an important, possibly the important goddess of an ancient religion and relegates her to a side character in a pantheon so vast that she would be lost within it.
All of this brings us to today. Today, where as soon as work ended I spent most of the day, as well as the past two days, looking up everything I can on Minoan civilization and added it to my notes. Spite is fueling me to write two possible different stories for two different fandoms where Minoa dunks of Mycenaea and it is giving me life. Expect an update within the next two weeks folks as I lose control of my writing life once more.
In summary: Ariadne deserves more respect, fuck the public education system for skipping over the good parts of Greek mythology instead of the r*pey as shit parts, the Mycenaeans can eat my shorts, and a world were Minoa became the predominant power instead of Greece would be an amazing world to live in.
Thank you for coming to my TedTalk. Pink out.
#minoa#minoan#crete#ancient history#ariadne#mycenaea#mycenaean#I hate#HATE#HATE HATE HATE the Greeks so much#homer is a dick#So much spite and curiosity went into this#if I ever get a time machine I will travel to the first years of Mycenaea for the express purpose of burning it to the ground before#they get a chance#the opportunity#to look at Minoa wrong
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Hoi Hoi! I’m new to the blog and so far I love your writings! I hope it’s alright to send in a request for Haikyuu! Perhaps Hcs of Hinata, Kuroo And Oikawa (perhaps Bokuto If your more comfortable ;; ) finding out their S/O was actually a female in disguise, but she like still wants to be on the team because she loves the bois so much and doesn’t want anyone else to find out ;; But like during games she has to hit them upside the head to get them back into the game because they lowkey protective
This is going to be l o n g, but I enjoyed writing this, thank u.
I change some things since I feel that Oikawa and mostly Bokuto will be supportive with reader choices.
HCs OF HINATA, KUROO, OIKAWA AND BOKUTO
YOU ARE A GIRL??
Genre: Fluff
Guide: (n/n) = nickname.
Hinata Shōyō.
Hinata x Fem! Reader.
Hinata was happy to see another short boy joining the team, and specially someone as nice as (y/n).
While Kageyama didn’t even wanted to toss the ball to him (y/n) was on to practice every time.
(y/n) position was a libero, so he was usually with Noya-senpai learning everything that he has to teach.
—You were practicing a lot with Noya-senpai, (y/n) you are getting better!!
—thanks Sho-kun —“he” smiled.
In that moment Hinata though “how a boy can be that pretty?”
(y/n) face was delicate, “he” mostly wore baggy clothes at practice, and hasn’t see him in his school uniform.
What a mysterious “boy”
“Practice’s off” said couch Ukai, all the boys at the team were changing their clothes but Hinata notices that (y/n) wasn’t with them.
—Kageyama where is (y/n)?
—um? He was taking with Kiyoko-senpai
“Strange” the red hair though, so he decided to hide in the club room to find out what (y/n) was hiding
(y/n) was changing his clothes, he took his pants off and what Hinata saw was unbelievable.
he saw... panties... panties?? “Why is he wearing panties?” “Is his dear friend a pervert person?” “Or...”
—SO, YOU ARE A GIRL?!
(y/n) screamed while try to hide her low part, finally dressed in her school uniform she told her friend the truth.
—I saw you guys play against Seijoh the first time, and I wanted that! I wanted to be part to a team like yours, close and full of dreams, so I put on this disguise and pretend to be a boy to be part of the team! Please Sho, I want to play with you guys forever!
So he kept the secret, but something in Hinata change, I stated to be overprotective to (y/n), “please be careful” “Hey Kageyama don’t smack (y/n)” “I’m going to stay here to make sure no one enters”
But then, the day that Hinata feared the most came, a match, and not a normal match, it was against Seijoh, and Noya had an emergency so he wasn’t able to play, lucky Karasuno that they had another libero available to play.
—no and no (y/n)! You can’t play! We are against the grand king, something could happen to you!! Have you seen his servers??!!
—Hinata, I don’t care, I’m going to play and we are going to win this.
—you can’t risk yourself (y/n) you can get hurt! I’m sorry but I’m going to tell Daichi-San the truth.
“Oh no he is not going to do that” in a fast movement (y/n) threw the ball at him and hit Hinata’s head.
Everyone was looking at them, what is going on?, Kageyama and Tsukishima were laughing at Hinata’s, while (y/n) has her cheeks colored in pink, she was upset.
—I’m going to play, then I’m going to tell everyone the truth, but need to do this!
Karasuno won that match.
And Hinata kept (y/n) secret for a little bit longer.
Kuroo Tetsurō.
Kuroo x Fem! Reader
Fact: Kenma has been friends with the reader for a long time so he knows reader is a girl.
With Lev joining the team, not only did they have a new member in the volleyball team, but also another boy was encouraged to be part of the Nekoma’s volleyball club.
(y/n) was a valuable new member, a middle blocker with a lot of talent came to help the team to be winners.
Kenma and (y/n) “became” good friends actually they already were, they were actually classmates, and with Kuroo they were the holy trinity, but only while they were in the club.
so for Kuroo that was suspicious, why if kenma and (y/n) were classmate he hasn’t see him before?, and Kenma’s actitud was suspicious too.
—don’t come to my classroom Kuroo, you are too annoying —kenma said—
That made Kuroo suspicious, why Kenma said that? Also, (y/n) was at Kenma’s course, are they hiding something? Since he joined the team Kenma and (y/n) were to secretive.
Kuroo began to observe (y/n), “why was that boy so delicate” “why does he smells sweet? Like cherries or some fruit”, also (y/n) was shorter than Kenma, and almost as thin as him, but... “that waist, how can a men have that waist?”
When they were cleaning the gym, (y/n) was with Kuroo sweeping the floor, and he notice how nice were the boy’s hands.
—(l/n) I didn’t notice, your hands look really nice... and small... —his voice became lower to the point to be almost a whisper— and with a soft looking...
—uh? What did you said senpai?
—Oh! Nothing, it’s ok, let’s keep cleaning.
Kuroo is an intelligent boy, with his carisma he could get (y/n) files. He chilling in his house decided to read them, “So he was a she?” Let’s see how this turn on.
Since (y/n) was only a backup Kuroo was calm, she wasn’t going to get hurt, but one day...
—Let’s put (l/n) to play, he is ready to handle this —coach Nekomata said.
“Oh no, oh no, pretty girl (y/n) is not going to play against that snakes”
—excuse me —Kuroo raise his hand— i need to talk with (l/n) for a minute —he dragged “him” by “his” arm.
In front of the vending machine (y/n) bought herself an ice tea, while waiting for Kuroo to talk.
—I’m gonna be straight with you (y/n) I know your secret, little miss in a boy disguise.
Damn (y/n) was afraid about what was gonna happen —senpai I can explain!!
—no, (y/n) I don’t want you to play in this match, I’m going to inform the coaches that you feel ill.
He turned around to walk to the gym, that he feel something hit the back of his head.
—did you throw that can to me? —he was amused —you could have knocked me out with that thing!! (y/n) are you nuts?!
—senpai! We are like the blood in our veins, we most flow without stopping, keep the oxygen moving, and your mind working! —she bowed ninety degrees— please let me win this with you!!
Kuroo smiled flirtatiously —how can I say no to a pretty girl?
—oh! Senpai, Don’t tell anyone or I swear I’ll kick your ass
Oikawa Tooru
Oikawa x Fem! Reader
Oikawa was not only tormented by Iwaizumi, now he has (y/n) to supervise every move that he makes.
—(n/n)-chan! Iwa-Chan is already mean to me! Why you have to be mean to me too?!
He only looked at him and ignore him, (y/n) was a tall “boy” almost as Iwaizumi, and blessed with talent, they were constantly in a internal matchup since they both were setters.
—Iwa-Chan which toss are betters? Mine or (n/n)-Chan?
—(l/n) is not a pain in the ass like you shittyKawa, it’s obvious which toss I prefer.
(y/n) will only smirk at that statement.
One day Oikawa saw (y/n) facet, he was surrounded by his fans, and (y/n) appeared to drag him to practice, he was about to whine and tell the boy not to be boring, but one of his fans looked amused when he looked at (y/n).
“Uh? (l/n)-Chan? Why are you wearing the boys volleyball team uniform?”
(y/n) with no hesitation grabbed Oikawa by his wrist and drag him back to the gym.
—did you knew that girl?
—not at all, let’s practice, next Monday we will have a practice match with Shiratorizawa, we need to be ready.
Yeah, he knew that, their team was going to beat stupid Ushijima’s.
Next day was strange, Oikawa had a letter in his desk, well that wasn’t strange, but what was writing on the paper definitely was. “(y/n) (l/n) is girl, not a boy” and some photos were attached.
“Such a pretty girl wow” he thought.
Next days he decided to forget about the setter x setter rivalry and started teaching (y/n) every thing that he knew
“(n/n)-Chan do this like this” “(n/n)-Chan use your legs to impulse your body” “(n/n)-Chan Be careful!”
And he attended to practice with her without paying attention to his fans “(n/n)-Chan let’s go to practice!”
Monday finally came, the team was already in the bus to go to Shiratorizawa, Oikawa sat with (y/n) before anyone else’s.
—so, (n/n)-Chan, you are a girl, right?
There was silence, but (y/n) decided to speak.
But before that she smack his head.
—auch! Why you have to be mean to me? (n/n)-Chan! —he whines.
—I’m gonna play, lame ass trash can.
—of course you are playing, ace setter.
Bokuto Kōtarō
Bokuto x Fem! Reader
Fact: no one knows reader is a girl but Yukie had her suspicions.
(l/n) (y/n) a second year “boy” who recently joined the team.
He was... troublesome.
(y/n) needed to be trained, the first time that he attended to play was a mess, a mess that catch up Bokuto’s attention.
—Don’t worry (l/n)!! I will train you!!
Best senpai ever.
—Now come on! (l/n)! Hey! Hey! HEY!
—hey! Hey! HEY! —the boy repeat
—good job! Now let’s practice your receives! You suck at that! Hahahaha
They became really good friends, and for Akaashi’s bad luck, now he had to looked not only for their ace, but now he had to looked up for the new baby owl.
(y/n) was a nice member, ready to give all his energy and commitment with the club and always helpful, (y/n) was the most helpful “tool” when Bokuto turned into emo mode.
—Akaashi —Yukie called— Bokuto seems down, Should I ask for a pretty girl to tell him he is awesome?
Meanwhile baby owl wanted to help “his” senpai —BOKUTO-SAN YOU ARE AWESOME!
—Really(l/n)? YES I AM! HAHA HEY HEY HEY.
—HEY HEY HEY
“Well it’s not going to be necessary to call a girl anymore.
Now their relationship development was faster than (y/n) development in volleyball.
—(n/n)-kun let’s practice!
—I’m on my way! Kō-kun!
One day Bokuto left his backpack on the changing room, “wait for me Akaashee I’m going to find my things” but we he opened the door he saw his “bro” changing clothes.
(y/n) was only wearing joggers and has “his pectorals” were showing.
—wow bro nice pectorals!
(y/n) being a mess, pinky cheeks, teary eyes and squatting hiding her naked torso.
And then Bokuto realized.
—SO YOU ARE A GIRL?! WHAT?!
—Please don’t tell Akaashi!
—SINCE WHEN YOU ARE A GIRL?
—Since the beginning of my life! NOW PLEASE GO I’M NAKED.
Bokuto just left confused, then he went to Akaashi to go to the train station together “what happened with Bokuto-san backpack?”
But he wasn’t going to say anything, when (y/n) joined the team he remembered what he, or she said “I want to be the best player just like all of you, let me be a part of the team please!”
“You are going to be the best player baby owl” he thought while start crying.
Next days were like “(n/n)! Let me help you!” “(n/n) I’ll do that for you!” “(n/n) let’s go home together, it’s too late!” “(n/n) watch out! Be careful with those balls”
Then they have the training camp with the other schools, Bokuto name himself like (y/n)-bodyguard.
“Don’t get too close to (y/n)” “get away be careful” “Eh don’t bother s- HE”
Then Kuroo trying to bother Bokuto said that (y/n) should play, the boy drag her out the gym, he didn’t care that she has a ball in her hands.
—LISTEN (Y/N) YOU ARE GONNA PLAY AND DO AN AMAZING JOB, YOU’VE BECOME A GREAT PLAYER, LET’S KILL THEM HEY HEY HEY.
—you are not gonna tell anyone?
—No!
Bokuto went to the Gym first and feel the ball hit his head.
—YOU ARE SO STRONG (N/N) LET’S WIN.
—THANK YOU SO MUCH SENPAI
Sent me more request I love this.
#haikyuu!! scenarios#haikyuu!! hinata#haikyuu!! headcanons#haikyuu!! imagines#hq headcanons#haikyuu!! x reader#hinata x reader#hinata shouyou x reader#oikawa scenarios#oikawa x reader#hinata shoyo x reader#kuroo tetsuro x reader#kuroo x reader#bokuto x reader#bokuto koutarou#kuroo headcanons#oikawa headcanons#hinata headcanons#bokuto headcanons#anime x reader#female reader#oikawa toru x reader#oikawa tooru x reader#kuroo tetsuro imagine#bokuto koutarou x reader#reader insert#haikyuu!!#hq
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The Great New Mexico Fake-Off (2/?)
Summary:
Michael expands his 'clientele' to his siblings. Jury's still out on whether or not he actually tolerates them.
(Collab’d with the wonderful @beautifulcheat
Read on AO3 or below
The next cake he made was a dark chocolate mint cake, for Max. He laughed himself sick the entire time he was making it, because Max may finally be dating Liz but that didn’t mean Michael was going to stop making fun of him for being an utter dork.
He walked into the Crashdown a week later with a stupid grin on his face and plopped the cake box in front of Max.
“Oh is this from that infamous baker you’re dating?” Max asked.
“Yes--No! I’m not dating anyone!” Michael huffed, dropping down in the seat across from Max.
“Who’s Michael not dating?” Liz asked, stopping in front of their table with a stack of dirty plates in hand.
“Maria told me Michael’s got a not-girlfriend,” Max explained, absolutely delighted in, for once, being the annoying brother as opposed to being the annoyed brother. “Apparently she’s a fantastic baker and he keeps pawning off the cakes she makes for him to Maria, of all people. Total mystery as to why.” Max gave him a look that told him that there was absolutely no mystery there, at all.
“Mikey!” Liz was aghast. Michael’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance at the use of that nickname.
“Right?!” Max agreed, gleeful. Apparently Max-with-a-girlfriend was just a pain in the ass.
“There is no girlfriend! It’s just a client for fuck’s sake!” Michael was not making cakes for Maria so she could think he was a shit boyfriend. It took almost six damn months to prove that he was trustworthy after all the shit he pulled with Lindsay, and even though they’re not dating anymore. He hated the idea of Maria badly about him.That’s not what making those cakes was about. It was about--
He must have been pouting because Liz laughed and ruffled his hair with the hand not balancing the plates. “Give me a second and I’ll grab some plates and silverware. I have to try this mystery baker’s love confections.”
“I hate you,” Michael said as Liz walked off, still laughing.
“We’re just teasing,” Max said, probably feeling a little guilty about the teasing. But Michael didn’t pay it too much mind because Liz’s words reminded him of what Sanders had said before.
“It’s something you do for the people you love. Or at least can fuckin tolerate.”
Liz returned a few minutes later with some plates, silverware and coffees, and sat down next to Max. They shared a kiss before Max opened the box. “Ohhhh yes dark chocolate!”
Michael was pretty pleased with himself. He’d done a great job with the dark chocolate ganache. Yes dammit, it was ganache. He’d gotten it right this time - completely smooth all around the cake. There was not one bump to be seen. He’d also been practicing piping and made a few basic flowers out of whipped ganache, adding food coloring to make them green. He’d practiced the flowers a few times before putting them on the cake too. He could draw all right in a notebook but doing it on cake with a piping bag was something completely different. They still weren’t the prettiest flowers, to his critical eye. He would not have given this cake to Maria, but for Max? It was more than fine.
“Is that mint?” Max frowned, pointing at the green flowers.
Thankfully Michael didn’t have to lie. Liz had swiped her finger over a fluffy bit of flower and popped it into her mouth, to check for him. Michael privately thought that the way Max looked at Liz while she sucked on her finger was pathetic.
“No chocolate,” Liz said cheerfully. Max looked like he’d totally forgotten about the cake. “It’s really good too.” She swiped up the rest of the flower with another finger and Michael was starting to worry that the table would rise six inches -- or probably more on-brand and dramatically, every lightbulb in the place would blow.
And normally Michael would be disturbed by that thought, but it did mean that Max was too distracted by Liz to pay attention to the slice of cake being deposited in front of him. He just mechanically took a bite and...
“Ugh.”
“What?” Liz’s eyes were wide because Max was looking at her with such disappointment in his eyes. Like when you’re playing fetch with a dog and pretend to throw the ball but the dog realizes it. That kind of disappointment.
“Not funny, Liz. You know I hate mint.”
“It’s not mint!” Liz repeated in response to Max’s withering look. Which Michael is pretty sure is the first time Max Evans has ever looked at Liz Ortecho with anything but blind adoration. Would their relationship survive such a shock? Would Max go home now and flog a Scarlet M on his back?
“Oh my God, Max,” Liz was saying. “I didn’t betray you--”
“Et Tu --”
“Oh my God Max!” She repeated with more emphasis. Now she was laughing and Max could barely keep his frown in place.
Michael grabbed a fork and took a piece of cake from Max’s plate. “No, that’s definitely mint Ortecho.” He grinned.
“You’re a dick.” Max complained. “Did you specifically ask your new girlfriend to make this trap of a cake?”
“My friend might have been taking a few pointers.” Michael grinned.
Liz looked like she was about to tear into him, when her attention was diverted, thankfully, by a new customer. “Alex hey!”
Oh, crap.
Liz got up, going to hug Alex. “Is it 3 already?” She asked, glancing at her watch. “Let me go see if your order’s ready.”
“Sure.” Alex was standing next to Michael, suddenly, looking down at them. “Another cake, Guerin?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow.
Michael just shrugged.
“Apparently the mystery girlfriend shares Michael’s shitty sense of humor.” Max said, picking around the mint parts. Michael was going to kill Max for mentioning the girlfriend again. “Want some? There’s no way I’m going to be able to finish it. It’s mint chocolate.”
“I thought mint was your favorite?” Alex asked, picking up a fork so he could try it. Michael tried to perfect the art of staring at him intently but also looking extremely nonchalant. But of course Alex’s face didn’t give much away. He looked like he didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t any sort of pure pleasure, mind blown sort of look.
Liz laughed as she came back with a bag of food. “Max is apparently a romantic idiot who drank shakes he hated for over a decade just so I wouldn’t be embarrassed.” She said, leaning down for a kiss. “Minty. Stop eating it if you hate it.”
“I don’t want it to go to waste.” Max complained. “It isn’t that bad.” The dark chocolate was still very good, Michael knew. Rich and a little cream.
“Don’t take this the wrong way.” Liz said, running her hands over Max’s hair… and leaning down to punctuate her words with kisses. “But you… are a weirdo.”
Alex laughed at them, setting his fork down. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Lemme ring you up.” Liz said lightly, pulling away from Max.
Alex nodded. “Tell your girlfriend thanks,” he said, with a glint to his eye that either meant that the jig was really close to being up or Alex was jealous.
He wasn’t so optimistic as to assume the latter.
But when Liz came back he did ask her, in the most roundabout way possible, what Alex had bought. He still ended up getting an ‘oh Mikey’ look for his troubles. When he finally made her a cake, he was gonna fill it with tartar sauce.
***
Since Alex remained a frustrating enigma, Michael needed to collect more data. And there was only so much in-person stalking Michael could do, both from a practical have-no-money standpoint and a definitely-gonna-get-caught standpoint. It was time, he realized, to start thinking outside the box, which is why he rolled by Prasong’s restaurant before they opened, during prep time.
“Prasong, my man.” He grinned at the owner of the Thai restaurant.
“Guerin.” Prasong looked wary. “I don’t owe you any freebies.”
Michael put on his very best smile. “I’m not looking for food. Just looking for information.”
Prasong looked suspicious, folding his arms, clearly waiting for Michael to spit it out.
“Rumor has it that Alex Manes comes here once in a while?” The suspicion didn’t fade… it just got thicker. “I need to know what he orders.”
“The hell are you into, Guerin?”
“It’s just for a project Prasong. I promise I’m not some crazy stalker.”
Prasong snorted. “This is crazy stalker shit though.” He pointed out.
Michael sighed. “Look, I’ll take a look at that fryer of yours for free. I know it’s on the fritz.”
“Fryer is fine.” Prasong protested.
“Your egg rolls last week say otherwise.” Michael tried to keep the smirk off of his face. “Kinda soggy, you know?”
“My fryer is not responsible for you taking too long to eat.” He snapped, then reconsidered. “But… fine. You can take a look at it.”
“You’ll tell me what Alex orders?”
Prasong rolled his eyes. “Fine. Not my fault if he takes out a restraining order on your dumb ass.”
“Perfect.” Michael said, turning to go.
“Hey!” Prasong called out. “Fryer isn’t going to fix itself.”
Right. “Just getting my tools, man.” He called out over his shoulder. It was gonna be a long day. He hated working on fryers.
***
About a week later, Prasong was in the Pony. Michael even bought him a beer before grilling him, because he was in a giving sort of mood.
“Bro he's got a boyfriend.” Prasong started, without preamble, when Michael set the beer down in front of him.
Michael rolled his eyes. “I mean. For now, yeah.”
Prasong shook his head. “This is not a good road you're on bro. I know this kind of longing, but you gotta let it go. He don't want you, bro.”
”Well I hope you’re feeling better now that you’ve channeled Kyle Valenti during his frat boy days….” Michael said, dryly, taking a drink of his beer.
Prasong rolled his eyes a little. “Oh, like Thai guys can’t be in a frat? Sigma Chi for life.”
“Gross.” Michael laughed though. “Fine, can you ditch the bros long enough to give me the information I need or do I need to break into your place later and re-break your fryer?”
Prasong groaned, and looked at him with something approaching pity. “Look, drunken noodle on the house to ease the pain.”
“No takebacks Prasong.” Michael pounced on that, because he never, ever said no to free food. He also wasn’t about to be deterred. “Now, spill.”
Prasong sighed, deeply. “Green curry, spicy, and a beer. They split Khao Tom Mad for dessert.”
“Great.” He… honestly wasn’t sure how that was helpful. Maybe something coconut? Banana? No, that didn’t feel right. He’d have to think about it. Still, he got a free meal out of it, so he couldn’t complain too much. “So I’ll pick up that drunken noodle tomorrow?” Michael asked with a grin. “My heart is very broken.”
Prasong looked frustrated. “Anyone ever tell you you’re an asshole, Guerin?”
“Every day of my life.” And Michael didn’t even try to keep the smirk off his face as he clapped him on the shoulder lightly and headed over to the pool tables.
This baking habit was getting expensive, after all.
***
He knew he had to walk a real fine line with Isobel. She had a great palate, but if he wasn't’ careful, she’d sniff him out like he was Tanqueray, and he was not ready to deal with her nosy sister bullshit.
But if he didn’t bring her anything, that would be just as suspicious. Especially after he brought Max something. Izzy’s page in his notebook was filled with things she liked. Sweet lattes, strawberries, everything citrus. He just had to figure out the opposite of that. Well, not the opposite in the sense that Max’s trap cake was, but something that wouldn’t ping her as being made for her.
He finally settled on cake pops. Well settled is the wrong word. Settled implied that Michael hadn’t chosen to make Izzy cake pops because he forgot to grease the pan for a lemon poppy cake he was making for Maria. Settled implied that Michael hadn’t been about to scrape the cake into the trash a moment before remembering that Isobel sometimes enjoyed buying cake pops at Starbucks with her overly sweet lattes.
And there was no way Isobel would know that he knew how to make cake pops.
Well, he didn’t know. But how hard could it be? He understood the basics. Take a cake, smash it and blend it with frosting. He made a nice tart lemon frosting and spent what felt like eons blending until smoothed. While scrolling pinterest (another secret that couldn’t even be tortured out of him), he was inspired by lemon shaped pops.
Izzy, like Maria, was all about aesthetics. The two of them were actually more similar than Michael cared to consider honestly.
Trying to roll the dough into lemons was hard though and at first Michael thought he was just bad at it. But then he decided to try sticking the room temperature dough into the fridge for a couple hours. He was very proud of himself when his idea worked. The dough was much easier to manipulate once it was a little chilled.
Michael had no intention of buying fancy straws. He had a ton of paper straws in one of his junk drawers from the Thai place. Prasong was all about the environment. So while the dough was chilling in the fridge, he took some straws and cut them in half. He briefly considered trying to paint them but decided that was unnecessary and he was too lazy for it anyway. Instead he worked on some calculations for his console -- or at least tried too. He found he wasn’t quite in the mood to work on an escape plan. Instead he started watching another cooking show.
Never able to sit still for very long, Michael ended up making yellow sugar crystals with regular sugar and food coloring while watching the cooking show. It definitely made the cake pops look prettier when he rolled them gently in the sugar crystals. And finally with his make-shift ziplock piping bag, he was able to make a couple lemon leaves on each pop. Which -- if he were sharing this with anyone -- he could wax poetic about how much of a pain in the ass that was. At least 4 pops were destroyed in the attempt. But they were a delicious sacrifice.
***
Michael stopped by Izzy’s new townhouse the next day. It was in town and smaller than she was used to, but Izzy was already well under way into making it her home. This was his second time here and the interior design had already been updated -- new paint on the walls, a couple pieces of new furniture. The place was already a lot more authentically Isobel than the place she’d shared with Noah, brighter colors, funkier design. It was good to see. He’d never really liked that Stepford Wife place she had with Noah. Though he did notice the snake plant he got her for a housewarming present was, somehow, dying.
Before he could say anything about the plant, Izzy gasped, “I’m finally getting a “not” girlfriend cake!”
Michael rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue. With his annoyingly perceptive sister, maybe it was better for his secret if she thought there was another woman.
He put the box on the kitchen counter. Instead of spending too much time eyeing Isobel’s large, comfy kitchen, he went to rescue the plant from certain death.
Izzy realized what he was doing almost immediately, laughing. “Sorry Michael.”
“You know I got this for you because you were saying you were interested in gardening.” He said, checking the soil. Bone dry.
“I mean I am but I’ve just been busy with Blaire--”
“Ok. No more details. And honestly, it doesn’t matter how busy you are, all you have to do is like water this once a month! Also this is a terrible corner for it. I mean, low light doesn’t mean no light.” Chiding her, good-natured.
“I meant to Google….” But she did stand next to him and dutifully listened to his lecture.
“Just try to be a bit kinder to it.” He said, shaking his head, eventually.
“Kinder?” Izzy laughed. “You’re such a dweeb.”
“Oh, shut up and open the box,” Michael said and placed the plant in a better spot with bright light.
He turned back to her just in time to see her face grow into a wide smile. “These are adorable!” Her cellphone materialized in her hand and she took a bunch of pictures from all kinds of angles.
Michael tried not to grin too big. He was really proud of them, honestly. “She brought them over today, and I know you like lemon, so…”
“Mmhm.” Izzy was taking a selfie of one of them up to her mouth, grinning… and then popping it into her mouth. “So good.”
“Yeah?” He stole another one of them, trying to feign surprise over how good they were. “Oh hell yes.”
Izzy laughed… and she was tapping on her phone, as she grabbed another one. “You should make us some lemondrops. Just complete the theme, hm?”
Michael laughed. “A little complicated. Maybe just a couple mimosas?”
“God, Michael, you’re so boring. You dated a bartender for like a year, did you learn nothing?”
“Why don’t you put your phone down and help then?” He says, with a laugh.
“Hmmm. I guess. Think this is good enough to post? She turned her phone to show him the instagram post she was about to publish, that selfie with the pop, plus a bunch of others of the pops themselves. But what caught his eye was the caption.
Adorable cake pops made by my equally adorable brother.
Oh god damnit. Michael groaned. “Isobel, I’ve told you..”
“Please, Michael.” She cut him off, smirking. “How long have I fucking known you? You’re not a master secret-keeper. You’re actually terrible at secrets. Are you gonna fess up? I don’t jump into people’s heads anymore, but I have ways of making you talk.”
“What the hell, Iz, I’m awesome at secrets.”
To Isobel’s credit, she didn’t laugh. Much. “I won’t post it. But you could stop lying to me, you idiot.” She said, reaching for his cheeks. “I’m potentially the future mother of your children, you know.”
He grumbled. “Do not make fun of me for this.”
“Oh Michael,” she said, shaking her head a bit. “I’m your sister. Making fun of you is my universe-given right.”
“I hate you,” he said, batting her hands away from his face. “Also that’s a really weird thing to say right after saying you’re gonna mother my children.”
“Poor baby,” she says, laughing. “Booze will help.”
“Nothing hard,” ��he started. Isobel raised her eyebrow. “Trying this new thing where I don’t get wasted midday.”
“Baking, gardening and temperance. You really are becoming domestic.” She smirked in response to the murderous look on his face.
“Champagne it is,” she said, lightly, whipping up a pair of French 75s, with a bit of a lemon nailpolish remover twist.
“You’re so pretentious.” He took the flute from her.
Isobel laughed, raising her glass to him. “There’s no shame in being a fancy bitch.” She took a sip, leveling a serious look at him. “Look. You can use my kitchen. I’ve got plenty of counterspace and a kitchenaid that my creepy alien sociopath of a husband bought me because he apparently didn’t know me at all.”
“Why didn’t you get rid of that, by the way?” He asked, looking over at it, all shiny and imposing on the kitchen counter.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, kitchenaids are expensive, and it looks cool…? Look, you can inexpertly psychoanalyze my trauma recovery, or you can just shut up and stop looking a gift horse in the mouth.”
“I…” Michael started. Frowning. It was one thing to admit he was baking. It was another to accept help from Isobel, but… he did want to get his hands on that kitchenaid. And her fancy oven that actually had accurate temperature control. And her stove which would be way easier to temper chocolate on than his stove.
He groaned. Her look was more excited than smug, which is the only reason he caved. “Okay fine.” At least now he could stop using his powers to blend shit.
#roswell new mexico#rnm#roswell nm#michael guerin#isobel evans#malex evans#echo#liz ortecho#alex manes#malexa#eventually#malex#miluca#i think that's all the tags in the universe lol
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Cindered Shadows was pretty decent
I recently finished the Cindered Shadows DLC and decided to once again write about my impressions, don't worry though, this one isn't as long as the previous ones. Spoilers: I think this is as good as fire emblem is gonna get for a while.
1) No Agarthans, thank GOD
A story as old as fire emblem: There's an interesting human villain with down to earth motivations or obsessions, but in the large scale of the story they're overshadowed by a supernatural being who wants to destroy the world for no reason other than "they're just evil". This is Edelgard and the Agarthans, Arvis and Manfroy/Loptous, Rudolph and Duma, Ashnard and Ashera, Walhart and Grima... you get it. This shit sucks to put it bluntly. Having these stereotypically evil bad guys who are clearly evil is one of the main things that brings down the plot of any fire emblem game. I'm of the belief that they should kick out these supernatural villains and just leave us against the human villains, the one's with actual ideals and beliefs other than "hurr durr, destroy the world".
And then there’s our villain for this DLC. Now yes, it feels like they recycled a certain professor from the Harry Potter series, but I like that he is "The" bad guy for the DLC, he's not being controlled by anyone. He's obsessed with Byleth's mom and in-game this makes a lot of sense. If Byleth, who is incapable of communication, can drive people crazy for them just by existing then just imagine a Byleth who can actually talk. Her "waifu" charms must be off the charts, so I can't blame this guy for being obsessed. More importantly he's not being controlled by the Agarthans, he's not being played by anyone. He's a man who's lived a righteous life, he took care of a lot of people who all love him but ultimately decided to use them for his own gain and his own obsessions. As far as FE villains go... He's good, honestly, great job Intelligent Systems, I expected a lot less.
2) Reduced avatar wanking
Shots fucking fired
Sure, Byleth's mom is a main focus of the plot, and Byleth is the one who sets the plot in motion, but rarely does it feel like the game is going "gee Player, you're so great, you're our god, we all love you and want to marry you". Byleth still plays a large role sure (unfortunately) but it still feels like this is the story of Yuri and his gang with Byleth being their strategist which is, idk, way better than the idea behind the main game? The one where Byleth turns into a literal god, gets every achievement of the army attributed to them only, has every other conversation remind us how glorious Byleth is, etc.
In fact the dlc goes as far as having Hapi constantly belittle Byleth and even make fun of their communication skills by calling him Chatterbox (good job to the localizers, she doesn’t say this in the japanese audio). Get that teacher’s ass girl, destroy them. (Obviously I would hate this behavior if it was directed to someone else, but in this case I'm willing to make a concession).
3) Yuri's backstory
Ashe: I admire and love this man who is my only parental figure but Rhea said he's kind of bad so I killed him
Yuri: Church ordered me to kill a bunch of thieves and delinquents and I refused
You have no idea who much I love the fact that Yuri is someone who protested his orders and got kicked out of the church for refusing to kill civillians. This instantly sends him very high in my rankings. Playing through the first half of the game all I wanted was to stop and say "No, Lady Rhea, fuck you. I don't think it's very cash money for the most powerful military force in the continent to eradicate a lightly armed militia of farmers (with popular support in their locality!)" this is what true imperialism is all about! But there is sadly no option for that.
Just by telling us that Yuri is someone who was punished for saying "No, these orders are inhumane, I refuse to carry them out" that is enough for me, the game is saying "yes, we know, have your compensation price". In the end Yuri is extremely loyal to Rhea which is unfortunate but hey, at least they lampshaded one of the most glaring issues I have with the main game, so that's at least something.
4) "You've obtained all information. Proceed with the story, NOW"
Rather than wasting time forever thinking up which activity I should carry out, abyss is simply a place where you talk to the abyssal denizens to get some plot information or speculation, and boom, you're done. No running around forever, no quests, no doors that take ages to load. You can perfectly skip the abyss parts and at most you'll miss out on Edelgard's conversation with Dimiri (which is fucking hilarious) and a few rusted weapons that can be forged but that's it. Upon talking to every resident of the abyss the game will actually say you’ve acquired all information and will prompt you to go into combat rather than assume you want to dilly dally for a while.
I actually rather like this and would not be opposed to it being the philosophy behind future in-between segments between chapters. I can understand IntSys wanting to load in a ton of features like a sauna and fishing to rack up excitement for the game, I know I was excited for fishing, but when these activities have rewards tied to them, replaying becomes kind of a chore, "aw geez, I have to fish 69 fish to reach professor rank A+ AGAIN" (I actually had to when trying to get the piss screen from clearing maddening). Getting only some conversations and a bit of context for the story, that's... pretty good honestly, I liked this better than the monastery and better than My Castle. Throw in some skits with multiple characters at once and I’m gold
(seriously how come there’s no scenes with the three of the bros, Dimitri, Sylvain and Felix all hanging out together, the fact that a third character never shows up in support conversations is fucking bad)
5) Sometimes less is more
I've extensively complained about three houses already but bear with me. Yet another thing that infuriates me about the game is the extensive amount of work it required. I truly do think that if they had released only the blue lions route and left everything else in the plot as mysterious and unexplained loose ends left entirely up to speculation, that'd be a great game on it's own. Instead I have to see all the hard work that went into making the other routes only so that, in the end, they just had me going "well it was ok I guess". Every scene in the game requires work, many hours of coding, writing, voice acting, sound editing, making sure the models don't look too messed up, bug testing, etc. The amount of work that went into three houses was brutal regardless of what you think of the final product, yet a lot of people didn't even bother playing through all of that. So yes, I honestly wanted less, give me a more concise game rather than spreading too wide and ending up thin.
Cindered Shadows on the other hand is concise to a fault to make up for that. The story is pretty straightforward and leaves no loose ends to itself, there's no anime cutscenes, no supports (within abyss, you can support them all in the main game). There's even that very awkward sacrifice scene where some characters are having their life and blood drained from them yet the visual representation we see is just them standing around like normal, with Yuri even doing that hand pose he does all the time instead of squirming in pain or something. It's very awkward looking, objectively not good, but it gets the point across and doesn't make me go "wow you put in all this effort for nothing" because the whole thing is also fairly short (5 to 10 hours in hard mode).
I know, it sounds like I'm shitting on the dlc, but the point is I'd much rather get something short that leaves me satisfied than something like the main game that makes me go "this could've been so hecking gooood if they changed X" for the rest of my life.
6) The gameplay
Chapter 4 is my favorite mission in the whole game
They made Hard Mode good. I previously said maddening was the one difficulty where this game made sense, but this one achieves perfection with just hard mode. This is because the team actually knows what you have. In the main game there's all sorts of variables to account for due to the large amount of player expression that is possible, you can reclass anyone into anything and throughout many lucky or unlucky level ups, maps can be entirely different based on that rng and choices. Here though, your characters already have solid bases starting at lvl 20, and you can't reclass too much so the devs know exactly what you're working with and can plan accordingly. Beating the maps feels incredibly satisfying not just because the objectives have more variety now, but also because you feel like you found the right way to use the tools you were given. This is why the first few chapters of any fire emblem game often feel so good, because the devs know exactly what you have.
Not that I think player expression is bad! It's very satisfying to warp skip chapters and to use broken units like battalion vantage+wrath Dimitri as these things make you feel like you've truly subjugated the game, but it takes some time for those things to really take off. There's a time to reap and a time to sow, and the sowing time can get pretty dull sometimes but that's what makes the payoff feel worth it. Still, for a short experience like cindered shadows is, this style just fits perfectly, plus chapter 4 has quickly become one of my favorite chapters in the whole game, along with chapter 6.
7) In The End
Idk folks, I just like it. If you just want more adventures with the three lords, this is it.
If you’re looking for any excuses to avoid this I'd say the better ones are: maps are reused from the main game (they work much better here though), it's 10 hours at most so it's price-to-cash ratio isn't very good with the expansion pass being $30, and also the Abysskeeper feels a bit TOO winkwink nudgenudge to me, especially since Gatekeeper was popular enough to make it into Super Smash Brothers. Like yeah bro, we get it, we all love Gatekeeper, you didn't have to do this.
I also like that they finally gave Dimitri a semi-problematic quote where he says he kinda likes the idea of poor people living underground out of sight, I think it’s a very rich-white-boy flaw to have and not entirely awful given his life experience up to that point. And yes I do think he has no flaws and is entirely unproblematic in the main game, “feral” as he may look it doesn’t seem like he goes around killing civilians or doing anything other than busting up imperial troops which is kind of justified since they started the invasion, on top that he’s the strongest unit in the game and the most chill and honest ruler once he calms down, so little dent in his record that’s irrelevant in the large picture is indeed welcome.
Overall though, after being so massively disappointed by the Fates DLC, so much I didn't even bother with the ones for Echoes, I certainly like what I'm seeing here and that's a good sign, bravo Intsys.
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The surrounding air is wonderfully clean, outrageously so, filtered so incessantly that it Ruben’s chest aches; lungs flowering open to absorb more of that sanitary oxygen, a tongue akin to rubber smacking across the roof of his mouth. Everything in this facility feels so unnaturally pure – a retouched image of civilization which never seems to pop! into focus despite how he rubs astronomy into his eyes. Here, like everywhere else, his unkempt boredom is a fickle mistress.
Pushing his lips out beyond their limit – simply to hear the minuscule squelch the movement causes – and smacking them in time to an unknown (yet to be established) rhythm, Ruben’s eyes flicker lazily throughout his sibling’s tidy office. The décor is mystifying, if lazy, a collision of stained oak and rusted embellishments. Certainly not the tastes reflected in his patchwork memory. James was always a plastic over steel type of person. Economy be damned.
Ruben finds his fingertips curling around a rather odd-looking sphere sitting nonchalantly on the center of James’ vast desk. The object bursts with energy, a vortex of brilliant neon light swirling around one and other in a tangle which causes Ruben’s eyes to twist over one together. He shakes the feeling of nausea easily and places the peculiar ball back onto its pedestal; that luminescent spectrum floating in front of his eyes in the minutes which follow. His fingers drum pointless syllables amidst forgotten papers and uncapped stationery and his eyes trace amidst the madness for a flash of anything even remotely Delgado related; a single semblance of the person Ruben used to know – that same being who would get high off sunshine and loathed the color black.
All he can find is a stack of unopened mail and a collection of neatly stacked manila folders. Folders which have been stamped scarlet and wrapped in a loose bow of twine. Each file houses a name, written in beautiful cursive scrawl, which he does not recognize. Curiosity tends to bring out the worst in him – a feline urgency which rattles at the barrier of his bones and has his palms trembling with the urge to explore; his very fingertips are the tools which can excavate an entire realm of unknowns. Even if they do not belong to him. Glancing swiftly over his shoulder as a precautionary measure, Ruben presses his thumb underneath the lip of the top folder and peers cautiously inside in search of someth-
The door swings open with far more momentum than Ruben could have anticipated, handle bouncing forcefully moulded wallpaper, causing him to leap back as though his fingertips had been submerged within sapphire flame. He straightens his posture almost instantaneously – save for the natural buckle of his knees, toes pointed in toward one and other. Porcelain and silver illuminate the entirety of his grin – genuine glee captured within boyish features.
Despite the downward angle of James’ face, eyes transfixed on polished linoleum and ill-fitting shoes, it feels incredible to witness a likeness which has not been seen for years. They have developed a few fair lines around hauntingly tired eyes since their last meeting. Their lashes are fuller, longer and darker. Their cheeks have swollen considerably since that final winter. They look surprisingly healthy despite how their lips pinch hotly in stress, fingertips wrapped around steaming Styrofoam and struggling to balance an oversized binder beneath their arm.
It’s still them. It’s still James.
And that notion alone is enough to bring forth a triumphant “Hi!” from Ruben’s glowing lips.
James flinches temporarily, their coffee wavering in unsteady fingertips while their binder is kept impeccably close. They pause, suck in a tepid breath, and sigh.
“Ruben… What’re you doing here?”
“Uh,” Ruben bounces forward, knotting his fingertips throughout each other until they creak in utmost protest. “I know you said you’d contact me when you’re free, but I’ve been here for a few weeks now and you haven’t given me a call. Or a text. Or anything, really.”
The sight of their younger brother sucking helplessly at the rotund swell of his lower lip is horrifyingly familiar; warmth spills forth like honey into the slender expanse of a previously hollow chest. James fights to keep their patience at bay, pushing a sand of sun-soaked hair behind their ear. They tut – just once – but it is enough to wilt Ruben’s charismatic smile.
“I told you – I’m busy.” Coffee spills like morphine across a dry tongue, allowing James a moment to gather himself; to keep the thorns of his altered psyche from protruding outward. “I’m glad you’re here, Rubie. You look well.”
Rubie. The vowels and consonants flood Ruben’s hyperactive mind with a certain ecstasy he had forgotten could exist; swaddling a heartbeat which had already begun to erupt in thunderous applause for such recognition. His vision dips down toward himself, traces across the loose stripes of an oversized sweater and drops to faded undersized cargo shorts. He is hardly the picture of modern adulthood and yet here is sibling is – passing out compliments as though they were crimson roses. Encore encore.
“You think?”
“Mhm..”
Something feels off. A collision of obsessive lines and organized chaos suddenly knocked into a world of disastrous carelessness. James’ eyes dart lazily across their desk in search of that one thing causing such a sense of disruption. Their throat feels full – so dangerously full – for a rat has been gnawing those wiry little whiskers into business which does not deserve to be caked in sewage. Something is wrong.
There. A file, sitting precariously atop its cousins, has been knocked askew. It does not belong. It has been touched.
“You know,” James begins, straightening the offending envelope. “My job is extremely boring. This isn’t the best place for us to spend time together.”
Ruben’s eyes trace his sibling’s articulation, glossing over fascinating manila and gargantuan binder; his stomach flutters terribly with the fantasy of the unknown. What a thrill.
“It’s probably cooler than you thi-“
“No. It’s not.”
James stands abruptly with their chair sliding nosily from under their weight. Their approach is deliberately slow, almost cautious, as they bring their palm to a rest against the intricate notches of Ruben’s spine. Affection spills with translucent mirth across the younger sibling’s heightened senses. To be touched by someone you love so dearly; to reattach severed strands after such an imposing separation. Ruben cannot help the way his lashes glitter.
“I still have quite a lot I need to do today, brother. But how about I take you out to dinner on Saturday? We can even get your favourite – nothing but chilli dogs and curly fries!”
Ruben doesn’t have the heart to tell them about his developed tastes.
“Yeah, I’d like that a lot!”
“Good!” Returning to their chair, James takes another sip of their rapidly cooling caffeine. You can tell me all about yourself. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to tell me.”
Visions of technicolour penmanship, bold and intricate and oh so vivid, overwhelm Ruben’s easily infatuated senses. His sketches had always been messy but important – characters summoned from a susceptible imagination and transformed into fully-realized beings. His fingers flex around the throat of an invisible guitar, plucking at well-worn strings and across tuneless chords he had sewn together to make his own master mixes yet unheard of. He thinks to the small collection of skateboards left untouched inside a cardboard box yet to be unpacked, the peculiar shapes and light-up wheels he had fought to win over Ebay despite his sincere lack of balance and dedication. All these projects and passions left unfinished that he absolutely worships because they were crafted by his own palms.
And now he has finally been given the opportunity to share such majesty with his estranged sibling.
“Yes! I-I mean, it sounds good. I’ll see you on Saturday, then?”
“Saturday. It really is great to see you, little bro.”
Ruben finds his spidery arms wrapping around James’ nape before he can halt himself, his stomach spilling across the mountainous paperwork scattered around a busy desk, nose buried amidst structured collarbones and grin utterly infallible.
“It’s so good to see you, too.”
He lingers there for a moment. Then another. Then another. Before finally parting from James with another one of those ludicrously vibrant grins. He stumbles from the office on loose ankles, skidding pathetically out the door as he trips on his own oversized feet. Typical Ruben.
Some things never change no matter how gracious time can be.
James, however, does not take the opportunity to laugh. Not when their fingertips are spilling over their intercom to signal their assistant.
“Yes, boss?”
“Courtney. I need you to bring all the footage recorded in my office today. Right away, please.”
“Of course. Right away.”
Thick fingertips press like pebbles across James’ knotted temple, worrying against miniscule tangles which have begun to throb enthusiastically underneath the surface. Through tinted lashes, they rotate their vision toward the large black binder taking pride of place on their desk; focusing on the imposing logo polished prettily on the cover.
H
V
N.
#writing#if you think I'm gonna be so sick as to ship James/Ruben a little#then you're DARN TOOTIN KID
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the dragons on the map: viii
Rating: M
Summary: After the Lifeboat is nearly destroyed, the Time Team ends up stranded in their strangest and most unfamiliar destination yet: 1195 France. With Rittenhouse to stop, medieval adventures to be had, and a pair of rival kings at war, it’ll truly be a miracle if they ever get home. (Garcy/Lyatt/pre-Garcyatt, Flogan, Rufus Is Judging, general Time Team relationships and bonding. Guest appearances from the Plantagenets, for reasons.)
Available: AO3
This has not been the most enjoyable night of Wyatt Logan’s life. In fact, it’s one of the worst, and considering how stupid it’s been recently, that’s saying a lot. First, the only thing less enjoyable than having a bullet dug out of your gut with medieval hardware store tools is getting to lie there for eight hours, completely sans morphine or even a goddamn Tylenol, feeling it throb with every heartbeat. Next, your only company is your friend who is still kind of mad at you, but isn’t enjoying watching you suffer, and who can’t go out to get liquid comfort in case he’s abruptly murdered by members of the cult you are chasing through Medieval Times Dinner Theater. And when your ex-girlfriend and your – fuck if he knows what Flynn is – are trying to stop said cult’s leader from doing anything bad like killing your wife version 2.0, and you don’t know when they’re coming back, or what’s going on, because the frigging Pony Express would be an upgrade…
Yeah. Wyatt thinks he’s earned a little bitterness.
He lies on his back, since he can’t exactly lie anywhere else, trying not to breathe too deeply. He’s a soldier, he’s been messed up in pretty gnarly ways before, and if nothing else, he’s always been used to pain. You can thank his dad for that. Wyatt can feel every single one of Flynn’s careful stitches, holding his side together with silk embroidery thread, and to his bafflement and disquiet, he keeps catching himself worrying about Flynn in the same way he’s worrying about Lucy. Not quite in the same way, but… not altogether different, either. Despite the chronic bickering, they’ve worked together since getting here, and Flynn has now saved his bacon twice. Once after the Lifeboat wrecked, and again with this. Kind of rattles his pessimistic presumption that if it came down to it, Flynn would still let all of them (aside from Lucy) die at the first chance.
In the back of his head, Wyatt wonders if that’s entirely true, if that’s what he really thinks, since he’s gotten used to having Flynn around and hasn’t actively wanted to kill him for… well, a while now. Has had to trust him in tight spots, worked with him on the mission to save Rufus, even had a beer with him when they got back, sweaty and grimy and exultant. In fact, there have been a couple moments where Wyatt thinks they might almost be friends, and he… he’s wanted it. And yet, since getting close to Flynn always feels like a terrible idea and Wyatt has several reasons to avoid it, he hasn’t said so overtly or made any real indication that he does anything apart from still 100% hate him. He’s reminded himself that Flynn's involvement (aside, again, from Lucy) is entirely strategic. The team is fighting Rittenhouse, it’s easier to do that with them than alone. Definitely better than jail. That’s all.
(Wyatt does know that this is a complete crock of shit, but emotions have gone really horribly for him recently. It’s better to take refuge in a few delusions, pretend that things are still simple, pretend that he hasn’t changed, when frankly, more than anything else, even painkillers, he wants Flynn and Lucy to come back. Both of them.)
He and Rufus do not talk much. Rufus dozes sporadically on the whatever-the-medieval-couch is called, a low, armless padded bench, though he keeps lifting his head whenever footsteps go past outside. Nobody tries to force the door, which is good, given as they’re completely unarmed after Wyatt sent his gun off with Lucy. Finally in the wee hours, when it’s become apparent that neither of them are going to get much sleep, Wyatt says, “I’m sorry. That I tried to lie to the others at dinner. About Emma.”
Rufus shifts position, rolling over onto his back. Even if obviously better than a gunshot wound, the couch thing (settee? Why does Wyatt want to say settee?) doesn’t look like luxury accommodation. It’s clear that he is weighing how to respond, is not going to instantly lie and pretend it’s fine. Finally he says, “I guess I’m just wondering if we would have been friends if this wasn’t our job. I don’t even mean that as a diss. But I’m an engineer and a nerd and a black kid from the West Side of Chicago who went to MIT, and you’re a redneck military white boy from Texas. It just feels like if it wasn’t our responsibility to save literally all of the known universe on a weekly basis, we wouldn’t have much in common.”
Wyatt opens his mouth, then shuts it. He wants to ask if Rufus really has to kick him while he’s down, but that’s the thing he does where he takes what someone is saying about their pain and makes it about his own, and he’s trying, he’s trying, to be less of a tragedy in that department. “Rufus, if this is about Chinatown, about Jiya… I know it was because of me that Jess was in the bunker and all of that happened, and I guess… it’s a lot to ask you to forgive me for. If you want to just be teammates and that’s it, I – I get it.”
There’s a pause. Wyatt stares miserably at the dim ceiling, thinking that he’s totally whiffed it with the other two, why not Rufus too? They can be the new threesome who are friends and family, and he can be the shunned, fuckup outsider looking in the window but not part of the house, the position he keeps putting Flynn in for comfort’s sake but which more accurately belongs to him. His loneliness hollows out the core of him, makes him feel as bleak and desolate as an abandoned ruin (all the ruins in their modern time probably haven’t even been built yet). “I’m sorry,” he repeats hopelessly, into the silence. “I’m sorry.”
“Look,” Rufus says. “Being dead sucked. At least I think it did, because – consciously, at any rate – I don’t actually remember it. After all, you and Flynn and Jiya saved me before it happened. I know that in your first timeline, I died, and you got visited by Lara Croft and an extra on the Walking Dead, and figured out how to work it around for another try. But you remember that happening, and I don’t. And that’s because you saved my life. Yes, I am still pissed about some things, I’m not gonna lie. But you know what? Honestly, it doesn’t matter a crap whether we would have been friends in another life or not. This is the one we ended up in, and we are friends. At least I think we are. You can disagree.”
“I – ” Wyatt blinks hard, tasting tears in the back of his throat. “No. No, I don’t. I’m just sorry I’ve been such a monumental screwup and I’ve hurt all of you and I kept doing it as a reflex instead of trusting you. I have a lot of humble pie to eat and… I just need to make sure I actually try to goddamn do that.”
“That’s all any of us can do,” Rufus says. “Even when time travel isn’t involved.”
“Yeah.” Wyatt grimaces as a bolt of lightning spears his side. “If you want to punch me in the face or stick my head in the toilet or whatever other dumb dude stuff we have to go through to make it up, just – wait until I can stand up on my own, all right?”
“No thanks,” Rufus says. “Because as you said, it’s dumb. You definitely owe me a proper dinner when we get back to the twenty-first century, though.”
“If we get out of here, I’ll buy you literally whatever you want.” Dining out might be a little complicated at the moment, but it’s the thought of just being able to do ordinary real-life things like that again, instead of being on house arrest in a succession of government bunkers and anonymous safe houses, that sends a pang through Wyatt’s abused chest. “Cool?”
“Cool.” Rufus sits up, gets to his feet, and walks over to the bed, holding out his hand, and they do as much of a bro-shake as Wyatt is functionally able to manage. It still hurts anyway, but he manages to ignore it for a while longer. Rufus goes back to the settee, they both doze off, and by morning, when they haven’t been murdered, aren’t sure whether to be relieved about that or worried about Lucy and Flynn. There’s no way to say how long that was going to take, when they should expect them back, or if they’d even know if something went wrong. In a slightly too-cheery voice, Rufus says, “Think they have continental breakfast?”
“I’m guessing no.” Wyatt can’t tell if he’s hungry or not; the thought of food is nice, but the effort required to eat it would probably make him puke. He also has a killer need to take a piss, but doesn’t want to make Rufus have to help him with that. “Maybe you can go look, though? See what’s going on in the castle, what people are saying?”
“I suppose.” Rufus is aware that they’re not supposed to leave this room until the others return, but he hesitates a moment longer and then says, “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Don’t try to go Superman on me or anything like that.”
“Yeah. Not gonna be a problem.”
Rufus raises an eyebrow, as if to say that he had to make sure, then pulls the bar out of the door and vanishes through it. Once he’s gone, Wyatt slowly staggers to his feet, and by dint of a clever trick (profuse and repeated use of the f-word in noun, verb, gerund, adjectival, and emphatic forms), manages to pee without killing himself. He peels away the knotted, blood-crusted tablecloth, trying to see if the wound looks infected, though there’s not a hell of a lot he can do if it is. It’s red and swollen and otherwise unhappy anyway, he can’t really tell. He’s glad Eleanor isn’t dead, he really is, but God. They definitely owe him a get-well fruit basket. Or maybe a knighthood.
Wyatt eases himself back down onto the bed, breathing hard. He has just gotten (not) comfortable when the door opens again. Rufus reappears, trailed by a grimy, tired, frowning Lucy, and a grimy, tired, stunned-looking Flynn. Wyatt bolts upright, swears again, and falls on the bolster pillows, but he doesn’t even care. “Oh my God,” he says. “I’m – thank God. Thank God. I’m so relieved you made it back.”
“You’re not going to be in a second.” Lucy looks at him with a foreboding expression. “We did catch up to Emma, and we even know what she’s doing, we think. But it – it’s bad, and you aren’t going to like hearing it. I’m sorry.”
“Oh?” Wyatt wonders what exactly can be worse than – well, everything, but tries to brace himself. “What are we talking, or do I really want to know?”
By the time Lucy has filled him and Rufus in on the latest terrible development (Flynn has continued to look like he’s been concussed the entire time, making Wyatt briefly worry that maybe he was hurt, and then have absolutely no idea what to do with that), Wyatt has concluded that maybe he didn’t. “Fuck,” he says. “Thirty Rittenhouse agents? And Emma brought Jess here? To marry Richard and use my kid to – the fuck?”
“I’m sorry,” Lucy says again. She sits down on the bed next to him, putting her hand next to his, but not quite taking it. “It’s – it’s diabolical, honestly. It makes plenty of sense for her, and it might be something Richard could see his way into accepting, but… neither you or even Jessica deserve this.”
Wyatt doesn’t know how to respond. His old instinct to lash out at them and defend Jessica’s honor is clearly not going to fly, and he doesn’t feel that he should. As they all keep saying, she’s chosen her allegiances, but – even for the sake of an organization that this version of her remembers as being part of since childhood, that saved her brother and whatever else – is she really willing to barter her kid, their kid, off like this? To choose between staying in the twelfth/thirteenth century with him for the rest of her life, or going back to the present as a faithful Rittenhouse disciple, having proved her bona fides, and never seeing him again?
(Wyatt supposes the takeaway from this is that he is in fact having a son. A son he’s probably never going to meet. A son who will live his entire life as Rittenhouse’s pawn to change the world, who will think that this time is his own. He’ll get to be a king – is that going to make it worth it? Make any of this worth it?)
(The thought hurts even worse than his perforated side, and he doesn’t think it ever won’t.)
There’s a pause as Rufus, Lucy, and Flynn all avoid looking at him, as Wyatt thinks grimly that yet again, his mistakes are here to bite them in the ass. Then he swallows his pride and decides to give this a try. “Okay, Flynn. What do we do?”
No answer.
“Hey. Flynn?”
“Sorry.” Flynn blinks hard, rubbing a hand over his face. “What?”
“Dude,” Rufus says. “Wyatt just asked you what you thought we should do, and you missed it? You must really be distracted.”
“I – oh.” Flynn doesn’t take the tailor-made opportunity to gloat, which is equally astounding. Wyatt glances at him in confusion, then notices that Lucy is maintaining a slightly too-casual expression herself, and feels as if he’s missed a step going downstairs. This is definitely not the time to wonder if anything happened while they were out on their overnight excursion, but even more unsettling is the fact that he isn’t sure if it’s just the obvious part of that (Lucy with Flynn) which bothers him. Or if it’s also somehow the –
Right, no, never mind that, back the truck up, up, up. Besides, Wyatt is still working on accepting that things have been broken and may not get put back together. After all the time he’s spent with broken – well, everything, you’d think this would be easier, but it isn’t. Flynn still seems too discombobulated to put together a substantial response, until Rufus is finally the one to chime in instead. “You two know where the Mothership is, right? Can’t we just go steal it? I know we can’t all go home with thirty frigging Rittenhouse agents here, but I could take Wyatt to a real hospital, and then come back to join Flynn and Lucy.”
“There’s no way Wyatt could manage a ride all the way there,” Flynn says. “The wound would open and he’d bleed to death before we got close. Besides, if we leave Wyatt in the present by himself in some hospital, how do we know Rittenhouse doesn’t just go in and pick him off? He’d be a sitting duck.”
Wyatt starts to say something, then stops. Not least because Flynn has voiced explicit concern for his well-being (twice!), and he is, yet again, not prepared to deal with that. At last he says, “I don’t want to split up except as a total last resort. Besides, if we make any move for the Mothership, that blows our cover and Emma realizes we’re onto her and her entire plan. We only have one shot at getting to it while she doesn’t know – yet – that we know where it is or what she was doing with it, and yeah. This eats a huge amount of ass right now. I’m not going to say it’s fun. But I’m not gonna let you blow that shot for me.”
Lucy glances at him, her expression troubled and tender. “Wyatt, we have to take care of you. You’re still part of the team.”
If nothing else? Wyatt doesn’t want to ask that, or know how she might answer. Delusions, after all. Kinda wants to hold onto a few, after reality has bitch-slapped him on both cheeks and taken a dump in his front yard. “Yeah,” he says, “but I think we’ll also agree that you’re all tired of me fucking up things for you. Don’t make me do it again. Okay?”
“Okay,” Flynn says. Yet again, refraining from any of the obvious cracks that are there to be made, which is just bizarre. (Or perhaps not at all, but Wyatt’s still not going there.) “Though either way, we’re probably going somewhere. I said they’re most likely taking Jessica to Chinon, and Emma will tell Richard to meet her there. So some of us will need to go.”
“I can’t ride, obviously,” Wyatt says, as neutrally as possible. “That seems to rule me out.”
“It’s your wife and child.” Flynn looks at him with an intensity that Wyatt can feel to the back of his spine. “That Rittenhouse wants to use for their own sick little game. Don’t tell me you’re content to do nothing about it.”
“Of course I’m not fucking content.” Wyatt wants to be more emphatic, wants to shout about this, wants to kick up more of a fuss, but his chest feels pulverized (in more ways than one) and the most he can manage is a croak. “Of course I don’t want this to happen. I never wanted any of this to happen. But I’m half-dead and I would definitely get all the way there if I rushed after Jessica right now, to – what? Get my heart stomped on all over again? Can I save her if she doesn’t want to be saved? I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I’ve tried to do that for years, since I joined the damn team in the first place, and we can safely say that I have totally blown it. Maybe this is what I deserve, I don’t know.”
“Yes,” Flynn says. “You’ve totally blown it. But you’re not the only one who has, eh?”
Wyatt blinks. He doesn’t know what the hell has gotten into Flynn, why he keeps saving his life and then worrying about it later and saying these things that almost sound like clumsy olive branches, and once again, he thinks it’s better not to ask. There’s another silence. Then Rufus says, “Just spitballing here. But is there anything to be said for the nuclear option? Say fuck it, tell Richard we’re time travelers, and that’s why he can’t remarry? I mean, he’s got his thing going on with Andrew, he doesn’t really want to shake that up, right?”
Flynn raises both eyebrows, but charitably restrains from comment. Then he says, “What? Tell Richard that he has to die without a son, to fail in the central duty of a king, to leave his throne to his little brother with whom he has, at best, an ambivalent relationship? That John then proceeds to arse it up to such a degree that it becomes enshrined in law for hundreds of years? I can guarantee that is not something Richard would have any interest in facilitating, and if we tell him that, we have to tell him his future. Tell him when he dies, and how. Which he would then obviously try to avoid, messing up history still further.”
“Yeah,” Rufus says. “Since you’ve always been the one of us who’s really concerned with preserving history, Flynn. I can absolutely see why you’d suggest that.”
Flynn seems to sense that he deserves that, and gives a sue me shrug instead of answering. Then Lucy says, “We could just not tell him that part. Right? Even if he asked – ”
“Do you want to be the one that says no to him?” Flynn asks. “Spill the beans that you know everything that’s going to happen in his life and after it, and then refuse to tell him? We’d get into even worse of a mess. Besides, if we come clean about that, we’d also have to tell him that we came from Paris and Philip sent us. And while he might laugh off the time travel, or not bother taking us seriously, I can assure you that he would not do the same when it comes to Philip. They hate each other past all reason, and if we get Richard angry at us…”
“Wild guess,” Rufus says. “We won’t like him when he’s angry?”
“Not in the least.” Flynn leans against the wall, eyes darting to Wyatt, then back to Rufus. He seems to be avoiding looking at Lucy if remotely possible, even when talking to her earlier. “He’ll kill us if he finds out that we’re supposed to be spying for Philip, and he’s not going to buy any pleas of having our arms twisted.”
“But he’s obviously going to notice that – sorry, Wyatt, but still – Jess is pregnant,” Rufus persists. “Aren’t they really into bloodlines and legitimacy and all that? He’s just going to accept some random Jon Snow as his heir, especially when he knows he is NOT the daddy? I mean, it’s not like they have Maury here, but it seems like an issue.”
“I don’t know,” Flynn says. “He might take it as a backup option. Or he might think that he just needs a son born to his wife and isn’t too particular about how he gets one. Emma could have already told him about it, assured him it’ll be a boy and promised he doesn’t need to end his relationship with Andrew if he doesn’t want to. If nothing else, it’s proof that Jessica could have more children, especially since Berengaria hasn’t had any. I have no idea where they’ve told him that she’s from, what she’s the princess or countess of, but I assume they’ve made it worth his while in plenty of ways. They could tell him what Philip’s going to do, treat him with modern medicine so he doesn’t die when he’s shot – anything, really.”
Wyatt grimaces. This may be an operationally necessary topic of conversation, but he still doesn’t want to hear it. “So what, Richard’s flirting with Flynn and now he’s gonna marry Jessica and steal my kid? The fuck? What gives?”
There’s a slightly too-long pause. Then Rufus raises both eyebrows. “Dude, I get why you’re upset about the latter, but… why the former, exactly?”
“I – ” Wyatt opens his mouth, keeps it that way, and then shakes his head. “Look, so, what are we doing?”
“I’ll go see if I can talk to Richard,” Flynn says. “I need to find out if Emma’s tried to approach him and what she’s said, and if there are any plans afoot to send the court to Chinon. He’s grateful to us for saving Eleanor’s life, so – ”
“You mean me, right?” Wyatt points out. “Still the one who got shot here.”
Flynn rolls his eyes. “Yes, Logan, we’re all grateful for the sacrifice. Anyway, I’ll try to leverage that. You three, don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”
With that, sounding very much like the stern school principal or exasperated father who is sick of these motherfucking Rittenhouse agents on this motherfucking field trip, Flynn whirls around and heads out. Rufus notes that he didn’t actually find any food earlier, and excuses himself as well. That leaves Wyatt and Lucy, who is still sitting on the bed next to him, though she glances away when he looks at her. The silence is not horrendously awkward, but it’s a long way from comfortable. Finally Lucy says quietly, “I’m sorry about Jessica. It just seems like that wound never gets to close, does it?”
“Guess so.” Wyatt blows out a jagged breath. “I suppose it makes sense as a plot for Emma. And Jess – I don’t know what she thinks about this. I was a shitty husband to her in any reality, so no wonder Rittenhouse feels like home. That they’ve given her what I couldn’t and didn’t, even though I wanted to. I don’t know if we’re ever going to be together again, but I just wish…” He trails off. “A son. I’m having a son. I used to think about that, what that would be like. Playing catch with him, having buddy fishing weekends, going to his parent-teacher conferences, teaching him about cars, all the stuff I was going to do and not screw up like my old man. I don’t even know if I could manage that now. It’s like half of me thinks it might be better for him if he grows up here and gets to be some medieval king, rather than have me as a dad. How fucked up is that?”
Lucy bites her lip, then looks at him full-on for the first time. “I don’t think so,” she says. “I don’t think that would be better. Not just because of messing up history, but because you deserve the chance to know your son, and I’m going to help you fight for it. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Jessica, but if she’s still what you want – ”
“I don’t know.” Wyatt stares at the ceiling. So long so determined to get his wife back by hook or by crook, convinced it would fix all his problems, and it’s only made everything worse. “I – meant what I said to you, Lucy. It’s just… it occurs to me it wasn’t a good time to say it, and it wasn’t what you needed to hear right then, and maybe I’ve screwed up things too far to ever really be fixed. So if you want to say something to me about that now, I’m listening.” He waves a hand and grunts in pain. “Can’t exactly get away.”
“Yeah.” Lucy lets out a breath of her own. “I don’t know either. You – you did hurt me. I can’t say I want to rush back into anything. Actually, I – ” She stops. “Never mind.”
“No,” Wyatt says. “Come on. I want us to be friends again, I want us to start talking to each other about things. I swear, you can tell me.”
Lucy looks at him as if she’s not really sure that she can, and the simple, painful realization that the trust between them has been broken, that he can ask but he has to be all right with it if she doesn’t answer, twists in Wyatt’s gut in a different way than the blacksmith’s pincers. He can’t push, that’s counterproductive, but he tries to think of a way to keep the conversation going, rather than cut it off full stop. “Okay, can you maybe tell me the reason why not?”
“You don’t – ” Lucy looks down at her fingers twisted in her lap. “You don’t take it well.”
Wyatt supposes that this doesn’t really narrow it down, alas, as he hasn’t exactly handled anything well in the recent past. However, he has an inkling what it might be, and while they’re being honest, maybe they should give it a try. “Is it about Flynn?”
Lucy tenses, shifting away from him, as if in clear preparation to be yelled at. Then she says, purposefully casual, “Yes, it’s about Flynn.”
“Okay.” Wyatt thinks that literally any way he’s ever reacted to this topic in the past, it’s probably wrong, and he should try something else. “I’m – look, him and me have had our thing, and it’s been what it is, but he’s saved my life twice now. I guess I can see why you trust him, and he’s been a big help. He still likes kicking my ass a lot, though.”
“That’s just how he is.” A small, fond, private smile turns up Lucy’s mouth, clearly summoned just by the thought of the team’s large garbage fourth party, and Wyatt struggles not to let it sting. “I just – I like him, Wyatt. I like him, and I want him around, and he’s proven himself as much as you or me or Rufus or Jiya or any of us. So if it’s just about you not trusting him, I think that’s settled. More than settled.”
“I do trust him.” It’s not easy, but Wyatt decides it probably should be said. “I don’t like him, but I trust him.” He doesn’t want to go so far as apologizing for being a dick to Flynn, since he feels like Flynn invites and eagerly reciprocates at least seventy-five percent of it, but he looks up at Lucy. “I promise, I’ll try to quit sniping at him as much. But if he starts it – ”
“I wouldn’t tell you not to defend your honor.” Lucy rolls her eyes, but laughs a little, and it feels like one of the first genuine moments they’ve had in a while. Not even in a romantic sense, but just as two people who are familiar with each other and are stuck doing a dangerous job with a difficult coworker, who can commiserate on equal footing and try to shut out everything else for a while. “I know he’s… a handful.”
“You seem to manage him pretty well.” Wyatt wants to bite his tongue, but it slips out anyway. “I mean. Never have any trouble getting him to listen to you.”
Lucy’s cheeks go rather pink, and she looks down at her hands again, that same shy smile paying a return visit to her lips. “That’s different.”
Yes, Wyatt supposes, it is. He glances up at her with a crooked smile, doing his best to play the role of a friend elbowing another friend about a crush, an aw-come-on-you-like-him sort of thing. He doesn’t have the heart to commit to it, but at least he can put up the appearance. Fake it ‘til you make it, and because Lucy deserves something else from him on this topic apart from condescension and critique and shame. Finally he says, “You think Rufus is going to come back with breakfast? I could maybe eat something.”
“Hopefully.” Lucy gets off the bed and goes to peer out the window. “Well, nothing’s on fire yet, so maybe Flynn and Emma haven’t come face to face.”
“Always a good thing,” Wyatt cracks weakly. His side is starting to really hurt again, and his flash of appetite is deserting him as fast as it’s come. He feels nauseous, and puts his head back down on the pillow. Well then. He fondly fancies that maybe he didn’t completely blow that conversation. Where it’s going to go, or how, or why, he’s given up speculating. Not dying is top of his priority list right now. The rest of it can wait.
(He is also thinking about when Flynn is going to get back, and whether he’s run into Emma or any of the new Rittenhouse gang, and what he’s said to Richard, and any of it. But that also feels like something that he would definitely prefer to delay.)
It takes Flynn a while, especially when his head is still going in wild vortexes and he needs to struggle an alarming amount to maintain the keen and razor-focused competence that he is generally known for, to track down Richard. He eventually finds the king just getting up (it’s midmorning, so Richard was definitely not springing out of bed with the lark to attend Mass at six AM) and not terribly interested in being bothered with business first thing. He is also clearly annoyed with Flynn’s lack of proper deference. “What exactly are you doing here, Garcia? Is it the custom in Spain to burst in on the royal presence unannounced?”
“Sorry, Your Grace.” Flynn inclines his head, hoping that Andrew de Chauvigny will not choose this moment to make his entrance and be even less enthused to find him in Richard’s private chambers at a still-unsociably-early hour. “How is your mother?”
“My mother is quite well, and if you really were interested in enquiring after her health, you would have burdened yourself elsewhere.” Richard whirls on his heel, pouring a cup of morning wine from the decanter. His hair is tumbled in his eyes, he’s only wearing a dressing gown and loose braies, and despite his protestations, he doesn’t seem entirely averse to Flynn glimpsing him in this less-than-regal state of dishabille. He sits on the unmade bed, stretching his long legs, and enjoys a few sips, with the kingly prerogative to make Flynn stand there and wait until he’s ready to continue the conversation. Then he says, “Your serving man isn’t dead either, I take it?”
“No, he made it through the night. Not very comfortably, but he’s alive.” Flynn hesitates. He doesn’t suspect that Richard is at all concerned about the well-being of servants in the ordinary course of things, and tries to think how to gently nudge the conversation from here. He knows that it’s only Richard’s – well, whatever notice he’s taken of him, of whatever sort, that is the reason he’s still here, and the king has not called his guards to remove this unwashed interloper until later. Much later, possibly. “Last night, what my wife told you and the queen about the assassins’ guild, Rittenhouse. Their leader, the woman called Emma – I don’t know if she’s approached you. But if she – ”
Richard gazes back at him inscrutably, until Flynn realizes that if Emma has, she may also have warned him that people might be asking about it, and to keep it appropriately on the DL until he has come to a decision. Probably with plenty of flattery. Richard is not the kind of man who appreciates criticism, constructive or otherwise, and if Flynn pushes him too hard into thinking he’s made a mistake entertaining Emma’s overtures, he might double down on them, just because. Still, Flynn feels the need to emphasize it. “Emma’s men are the ones who organized the attempt on your mother’s life. She wants you to marry again for reasons of her own, and you – you can’t trust her.”
“Even if any of that was true.” Richard finishes off the wine and puts the goblet back on the sideboard, then stands up. “Do you have any shred of proof?”
This was always going to be tricky. “No.”
“So how would you know that?” Richard stares at Flynn with a narrow, shrewd expression that makes it clear that no matter if Flynn has caught his eye or not, he is not going to be swayed into overlooking any other suspicions he has about them. “My mother said to me last night that she doesn’t believe you’re really from Spain, and I must say, I’m starting to agree with her. You don’t speak French like anyone I’ve ever met, for a start, and that weapon – ” He points to the Rittenhouse assassin’s Glock, which is lying on his desk, looking jarringly out of place among the charters covered in gothic script, waxen seals, daggers, quills, inkhorns, melted candles, and rolls of parchment. “I took it apart and looked at it, and I see no receptacle for Greek fire, which was how you said it operated. It’s much more advanced than the crossbow, and I can damn well promise that I would remember if the Saracens had been shooting at us with this thing while I was in the Holy Land. Where did you get it from? Who sent you?”
Flynn fights the urge to take a step back. To say the least, it’s the rare man that can intimidate him, physically or verbally, and that’s not even quite what’s going on here. But the Angevins of Richard’s paternal line are colorfully rumoured to be descended from the Devil’s daughter Melusine, for reasons of their hair and tempers, which are equally blazing. Richard’s father Henry used this legend to great effect, and Richard himself is extremely fond of it, telling the story to anyone who ever doubts his ability to cosmically fuck them up. But so far as Flynn remembers, there always came a moment when, faced with an angry Plantagenet, everyone started being pretty sure that it was not just a tall tale. As well, this is only an irritated Richard, not an angry one. Flynn himself was warning everyone about that. He needs to be very careful.
“Your Grace,” Flynn starts at last. “That is… a long story.”
Richard stares at him cuttingly, deeply unimpressed by this non-answer. “Yes, Garcia. I gathered that. Or are you several poxy halfwits cunningly disguised as a man?”
Well, Flynn supposes, that was feeble enough for him to deserve that. It occurs to him, ludicrously, to actually give the time-travel thing a try. He’s hardly been the most close-mouthed about that fact in the past, and witchcraft panics (and the attendant stake-burning, though that’s also a massively overstated stereotype) are an early modern phenomenon, not a medieval one. Heretics don’t even get the burning treatment until after 1400, in the run-up to the Reformation. Richard is religious, as everyone is in some way or form, and he is a crusader who believes deeply that the Christians are entitled to reclaim Jerusalem, but he formed real friendships with his Muslim counterparts and has made laws to protect his Jewish subjects, as well as repeatedly objecting to the crusade’s religious philosophy when it clashed with his thoroughgoingly pragmatic view of things. In other words, religious bigotry or baseless zealotry is not really in his nature; he is interested in how things work on a tactical and strategic level, and doesn’t have time for irrationality or hysteria or incompetence. Flynn says, “I don’t think you’d believe me, Your Grace.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Richard raises both eyebrows. “Your Saracen friend, Prince Ali, the one you said was an acquaintance of Saif al-Din. Where is Agrabah, exactly? It was never mentioned in any of my negotiations with the sultan’s brother or his advisors.”
Flynn winces. As he also seems to recall warning the others, Richard is much too smart to be easily manipulated, and their cover stories have been flimsy at best. Oh, what the hell. “We’re… travelers, Your Grace. From… well.” For once, he actually doesn’t want to be the one to do this, but needs must. “From the future.”
There is a long and very hideous pause. Then Richard bursts out laughing. “Travelers from the future? So you’re lunatics, you mean? Or are you from a traveling fair, one of those charlatans who promise to tell fortunes for a silver penny and get burning bushes to speak with the voices of saints and angels? You remind me of that venerable padre back in Messina, Joachim of Fiore. He was very keen to prophesy that my crusade would be a great success and usher in the fiery advent of the Last Days and the judgment of the faithful, along with various other dramatic mumbling that I misremember. To say the least, he was wrong, but it did earn his abbey a generous reward. Is that what you want? Money?”
“We don’t want money, my lord.” Flynn supposes this is a reasonable interpretation for Richard to take, but it’s also not helping them very much. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but it is the truth.”
Richard snorts. “You struck me as a sensible man, Garcia. Even if you were traipsing about with a woman, a Saracen, and a blockhead. Why disappoint me in such a fashion now?”
“I…” Flynn tries to think of something he could say to convince Richard, while wondering if he actually wants to do that, and if revealing any information at all could in fact get them (once again, as warned) into more trouble. “It’s just – it’s important that you don’t remarry, and especially not to the woman that Rittenhouse has chosen for you. That’s all.”
Richard regards him inscrutably. “My wife has not given me a son. That being the case – ”
“And have you tried very hard for her to do that, my lord?” Flynn is starting to push it here, but he’s in too far to turn back now. “I’ve heard certain… rumors of your conduct, both now and in the past. If you remain estranged from Queen Berengaria, surely that gives them cause to proliferate? Surely if you were to recall her to your side and – ”
Richard’s nostrils flare. In the original timeline, he was shamed into reconciling with Berengaria after a serious illness led him to reflect on his sinful conduct and hastily abjure it for the good of his soul, but unless they poison him (which, to say the least, is a terrible idea), it’s less clear if he has the same incentive now. In a very dangerous voice, he says, “What exactly are you accusing me of, Garcia? I suggest you choose your words most carefully.”
“I…” Obviously, as a modern man who has a certain perspective on this, and who has batted for the same team a few times himself, Flynn’s natural instinct is to tell Richard that there’s nothing wrong with him, and the church should shut up about the thrall of guilt and terror it exerts on him and others like him. Wants to say that he knows Richard and Andrew love each other and should be allowed to stay together. But while Richard is relatively open about his preferences, or at least habitually returns to them after brief episodes of public repentance, that does not translate into unconditionally accepting them. He views sodomy as a venial sin like any other, to which he seems unfortunately prone, and certainly not as an orientation or a legitimate way of life. Even if Flynn gets out his inner pride flag and tells Richard that in the words of one Stefani Germanotta, he was born this way, that will go directly against everything Richard has heard all his life, that he has taken to heart and believes about himself, and it’s not clear that he would appreciate it. Flynn isn’t going to call him a dirty gay, obviously, but how the hell does he do this?
When Flynn doesn’t answer, Richard seems more or less satisfied that he’s won the argument, but continues to stare at him in a way that makes it clear the subject has not been dropped. Then Richard says, “You’ve amused me thus far, Garcia, and as I said, I’m grateful for what your man did for my mother. But I get enough damned sermonizing from churchmen, and I am not certain that I require your advice going forward. Nor do I recall asking for it in the first place, or why you thought you had any right to offer it. If you wish to collect your wife, the Saracen, and your servant, then I think it best that you remove yourself from my court and get on amusing others with your fables.”
Oh dear. Flynn can sense this about to go badly. “My man is hurt, Your Grace. He can’t stand a long ride, and we need – ”
“I don’t recall that’s my fucking problem.” Richard’s eyes have turned to blue-grey slits. He gets up sharply and turns away, pulling off the dressing gown and shrugging on a red velvet tunic, the sleeves decorated with lions in golden embroidery. He ties his braies and slides his feet into his boots, then turns around. Richard the man is gone, and it’s the Lionheart, the king and feared warrior, who’s staring dead at Flynn and looking like it’s entirely likely he’ll go for his throat. “Was any part of that statement unclear?”
Flynn opens his mouth, even though he knows the best course of action is to duck for cover and run like hell. “Your Grace – ”
Just then, he’s almost abjectly grateful to be interrupted by a knock at the door, even if only because this might give Richard’s hurricane a chance to blow onto someone else apart from him. Then Andrew de Chauvigny’s voice calls, “My lord?”
Wait, no. Never mind. Flynn is pretty sure he doesn’t want to be caught like this. But it’s too late, as Richard strides past him and jerks the door open. “God’s balls, Andrew, what the bleeding Jesus is so important that you have to – ”
Flynn turns around just in time to see that it is very bad. In fact, actually worse. Because yes, Andrew is standing there, and standing right behind him –
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Emma Whitmore says, in flawless Old French. “I was hoping you had a moment to talk.”
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Week 1 Recap: Same Shit, Different Colors
It’s easy to get excited thinking this season of the Bachelorette is going to be different. Rachel is the first Blachelorette, it’s the most diverse cast in the history of the franchise, and she is really smart and down to earth and has a real, sustainable job. (Yes, I’m aware Andi was a “lawyer” too, but also, she wasn’t.) Believe me, as a black female attorney perpetually surrounded by white people I know should be excited. This is my jam.
If anyone can relate to Rachel and her search for true love (lol), it’s me. But aside from the color of people’s skin, this season will be no different than any other. The guys will still be macho, aggressive, and pathetic. The dates will still be awkward and infuriatingly low budget. The drama will still be manufactured. And at the end of all of this, Rachel will still walk away with a fake fiancé she barely knows. Sure, there will be certain dynamics that you wouldn’t otherwise see in the standard white girl season, but ultimately, this show will remain pretty fucking stupid.
Fresh Meat
As we dive into the spotlight segment of the episode it’s hard not to notice that everyone we meet is a minority (except the guy with the dead mom and the guy with the brain injury). I find myself annoyed by this only because it makes me “wonder” where these guys have been and why ABC “hasn’t been able to find” anyone but the same white guy to come on this show. Anyway, the first seven guys ABC wants us to pay attention to include:
Kungfu Kenny, the cute professional wrestler from Vegas with a 10 year old daughter.
Jack, the lawyer from Dallas who has a cute dog and a dead mom.
Alex, the meathead coder from Detroit who speaks Russian and is almost certainly a deep cover agent.
Mohit, the Bollywood dancing start up guy who doesn’t stand a chance.
Lucas, an aspiring Doritos spokesman and all around idiot.
Blake, the creep who couldn’t stop talking about his amazing penis.
Diggy, a fasion bae from Chicago who might also be gay.
Josiah, the smooth talking lawyer from Florida with a Stomp the Yard story line.
After Rachel gets some last minute advice from half of the cast of Nick’s season, it’s time for limos. Per usual, we had some awkward lines, over the top entrances, stupid props, and a lot of bowties. Here’s a quick rundown:
The first guy named Peter was boring yet charming.
Adam brought a doll which was pretty alarming.
Steve Urkel was cute, Dean was awkward and lame,
DeMario is clearly only here for the fame.
Josiah had a weak line about reasonable doubt,
While some big guy name Iggy continued to pout.
The penguin looked silly, Milton looked chic,
And the Tickle Monster guy is a fucking freak.
The dick guy showed up with a full marching band,
The rest blurred together and were horribly bland.
And just when I thought we had a full room,
Some douchebag arrived and screamed out WHABOOM.
Cocktail Party
Soon after Whaboom enters the mansion and puts everyone on notice that he is a psychopath, the cocktail party starts. I can’t say I’m surprised that Josiah is the first to steal Rachel away, or that he quickly launches into his good kid then bad kid then good kid back story. Nor am I surprised that right away the other guys start talking shit about him for doing something they should have done first. It’s classic Bachelor. After Rachel shuffles through a few duds, Bryan the Colombian with too much botox whisks her away to a more isolated location. Bryan tells her exactly what she wants to hear: that he’s 37 (with the face of a 24 year old) and is ready to settle down and get married. Even though Botox Bryan looks like a total douchebag and his flirting errs on the side of fuckboi, Rachel is really into it. So into it that she overlooks the fact that he kisses her like a plunger would a toilet.
Throughout the night we’re treated to a number of clips featuring DeMario, this season’s Corinne. Prior to the start of the night, Whitney “warned” Rachel that DeMario may not be here for the right reasons because she knows a girl who knows a girl who knows a guy who dated a girl who says DeMario is a clown. But OF COURSE HE IS. His name is DeMario. And beyond the racial profiling, anyone that comfortable and smooth in front of a camera in a situation like this has fuckboi written all over them. But I don’t find his arrogance offensive just yet. He’s more amusing than anything, and honestly asked Rachel the right question (N*Sync or Backstreet Boys). I have a feeling he might be the guy with the girlfriend (per season previews), but I also think that’s what ABC wants me to think, so for now I remain skeptical but excited. Eventually we get to Whaboom, who sucks. Prior to his 1-on-1 time with Rachel, he spends the entire night Whabooming around the house and shouting into his megaphone. Admittedly he got a laugh out of me when he started narrating Rachel’s time with Hugh Dancy lookalike Peter, the boringass guy from Wisconsin who will probably be the next Bachelor. Pretty much everyone in the house has the same reaction to Whaboom and even encourages him to an extent,
except Blake, the “great dick” guy from the drum line. (Wow, I can’t believe that sentence is about a white guy). Signaling to everyone that he has approximately no chill, Blake takes it upon himself to “confront” Whaboom for being a tool. The problem, of course, is that Whaboom clearly does not give a fuck about what Blake or anyone else thinks because “everyone has a little Whaboom in them.” Sure, but that the part of ourselves we hate. Despite being unattractive and cognitively impaired, Whaboom gets the final rose of the night, confirming my initial hypothesis that this season won’t be any different from the rest, and ultimately, this show remains pretty fucking stupid.
Did you notice . . .
575 pairs of sneakers seems like an incredible waste of money, Diggy
Also, we’re gonna have a Diggy and Iggy on the same season?
Speaking of Iggy, he literally could not stop complaining about every single guy that walked through the door. Like dude, this show thrives of first night gimmicks. Stop being such a bitch.
While DeMario and Joshiah were swaggering around in the midst of a pissing match, a group of white guys were huddled across the room discussing how loud and obnoxious they were being. I’m not saying it’s a race thing, but it will be interesting to see who sticks together on this show.
“He’s not ‘look at me I’m drunk’ he’s ‘I almost just missed that step drunk.’” RIP Mohit.
Everyone in the background watching Whaboom’s 1-on-1 time with Rachel.
Adam Jr. stole the show. I really hope he sticks around the house for awhile. Those of you who follow my snapchat know I’m a big fan of lifelike dolls. (that sounds weirder than it is, I promise)
Peter saying he “put a lot of things on hold to be here” is so fucking obnoxious. Of course you did, that’s the fucking point. Don’t try to act like you slutting yourself out on TV is some grand gesture for Rachel and that she should be grateful for you. There are literally hundreds of basic ass white men who would love to put their shitty jobs on hold and bro out with some personal trainers in California. Fuck off, guy.
Milton crying was the highlight of the episode for me.
Minority Report .. or should it be Majority Report? It’s too difficult to track how many there are or what they’re doing (although Jeff Sessions is trying his best), so I’ll use this space to discuss those we lose each week. This week, it’s Blake K., that super cute Asian guy who DEFINITELY shouldn’t have been kicked off. Pretty much everyone on the internet agrees she made a huge mistake letting him go and keeping the TICKLE MONSTER weirdo and Whaboom, but like I said, this show is stupid. But based on the love he was getting on Twitter, I won’t be surprised if he makes it to Paradise this year. I just hope he doesn’t pair up with Caila. Gag.
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Episode 1: New Beginnings and Bitter Disapointments
Welcome to my brand new Sims 3 Challenge: The Amazon Challenge. Some of you might recognize my username or maybe just my style of legacy storytelling from the Iridescence Legacy, which unfortunately now has so many damn problems (corrupt save file, deleted photos from both online and off) that there’s really no salvaging it anymore. And on my last generation too - I was so convinced I was going to finally finish one, but alas, lol. Anyway, I decided to move from LJ to here because of the BS anti-LGBT TOS they’re implementing, but it was probably a good idea anyway as tumblr seems a bit more popular with the simming community nowadays :)
Anyway, let’s dive right in, shall we?
Meet our Founder, Xena. Yes, I know Xena was not an Amazon but listen, I am obsessed anyway and besides, she was fucking tall enough to be one, lol. Regardless, our tribe leader Xena has a much different personality anyway, and is a brave and flirty diva who is both a perfectionist and athletic. Her LTW is Perfect Mind, Perfect Body.
Oh yes, and she is also a werewolf, and the tattoo on her back is representative of her royal bloodline and position as the head of the pack tribe. As such, a heiress must also be a werewolf that has the most ‘approved’ traits listed on the challenge. That means someone who might become heiress can also be knocked from their rank by a younger sibling that is more worthy than the previous.
But moving on, no tribe would be complete without at least one male slave to do all of the dirty work so our Warrior Princess Queen never has to lift a finger to do literally anything, lol.
Xena: Hello, I am interested in speaking to your owner. Is she around?
Thornton: I’m sorry... my what?
Xena: Oh, nevermind. I don’t know why I bother to speak to the help anyway, you all end up having a lower IQ than a bloody moth.
Xena: Hello, I am interested in procuring your male servant for the purposes of furthering the betterment of my Amazonian Tribe.
Morgana: You... mean my husband?
Xena: If that’s what you kids call slaves now a days, sure.
Morgana: Wait, so you mean to tell me that you would take my annoying husband off my hands and leave me with his immense fortune? Yeah, yeah... I can picture that happening.
Morgana: Yup, actually that sounds absolutely perfect. Have at it, and tell him to not bother saying goodbye because he was nothing more than a sugar daddy anyway.
Xena: Lovely. Pleasure doing business with you.
Xena: Alright, Daor, now that I’ve shaved those awful sideburns off your face and put you in an outfit more fit for a slave, I now require you to build me an abode. Get to it!
Daor: Wait, what? Daor? My name is--
Xena: I’m sorry, did I stutter? I’ll call you whatever I damn well please, now do what I say before I decide you’re not worth my effort and procure a different slave!
Don’t get too attached to this shit - I end up moving them to a different town eventually since originally I wanted them in isla paradiso but my game was acting weird. I eventually fixed the issue though, but we’ll get to that later.
Since I don’t allow my Tribe Leader to work because honestly, a Queen should never have to work a day in their lives lmao, and since slaves can’t work either, they’re pretty effing poor and I make Daor collect shit on the regular just so they can make a little bit of money, haha.
He seems to enjoy it though. Ah, the simple pleasures in life.
Xena found a friend as well! I decided he is now the tribe’s mascot and named him Guapo, lol.
Daor is working on his gardening skills as well because, again, they are poor as fucking dirt.
He also fishes, but he kinda sucks at it. I mean honestly, how is that tiny thing supposed to feed anyone? Ugh. Men.
Anyway, an Amazonian Tribe isn’t complete without more women, so I sent Xena out to scour the town for their first recruit, who ended up being easily impressed, a natural cook, ambitious, and a daredevil who had commitment issues.
Xena: Hello there, you look utterly helpless and in need of a direction in life. May I interest you in joining my Amazonian tribe? Lesbianism is not required but heavily encouraged - just not with me because let’s face it, I’m way out of your league right now it’s not even funny.
Random Woman: Oh wow, I’m super flattered; I’ve never been a lesbian before! By the way, my name is–
Xena: Why do people keep trying to tell me their names? No, I don’t care. Your name is Euryleia now. Learn to love it, because I don’t have time to listen to incessant whining over tribal names.
Xena: By the way, you’re going to have fix... all of that if you ever plan to move up in rank. We are vain by nature, or maybe I’m just a superficial bitch by nature, but either way. You’re going to have to go get yourself a job though, because we can’t afford your damn gym membership right now.
Euryleia: I will go get a job right away then, Mistress!
Xena: Good. I like people who can take direction. Also people who call me mistress. That will be allowed to continue, by the way.
So Euryleia went out and got herself a part time job, as that is all that is allowed at her rank. The money is still shit, but at least it’s better than nothing.
He is literally the worst slave ever, lol.
As punishment for burning the food, I made a starving Daor stand way in the back and watch everyone else eat the food that he finally managed to make halfway decent.
Xena: You know what would be better than this place? An island.
Euryleia: I agr--
Xena: I’m sorry, did I say I was asking for opinions? I’m just musing right now, so eat your food and stay silent.
I took pity on Daor and let him eat a mushroom, even though he looks like he’s trying to smoke it, haha.
The next day the two Amazons hit the gym so Xena could work on her LTW and Euryleia could attempt to lose a little bit of weight so she could move up in rank at some point.
Xena: Oh stop whining, it’s not that difficult!
Euryleia: But Mistress, my legs are not cooperating!
Who the fuck just leaves their newborn baby on the floor of the gym?
Xena: Actually, that’s not a bad id--
No, that is not how you’re going to get rid of your male children. Hush.
GUYS GUYS IT LOOKS LIKE ARGO!
(people who have never seen xena are probably like wtf are you on about but trust me this is awesome, lol)
Xena: So I’ve been thinking about moving somewhere with some sun 24/7. Thoughts?
Euryleia: Oh yes, Mistress, I adore sun!
Xena: Good, cause honestly the thought of having to buy you all outerwear so you can survive the winter didn’t sound like a fun idea to me. We leave in the morning.
Yeah, I put a lot more effort into this lot. I won’t show you the insides of the houses though, as I totally prioritized the outside over the inside right now, lol. Everything is pretty bare and minimal.
Guapo finally got a cage though!
And Daor gets... a tent. Lmao.
Xena: I have to say, Euryleia, I commend you on your progress. You have lost a significant amount of weight and as I am a vain asshole, this is something I care greatly about because I only give a shit about people’s appearances and not who they are on the inside.
Euryleia: Oh thank you, Mistress, I am flattered! Does that mean you might consider me as a potential mate or, better yet, an occasional fuck buddy because commitment is for old people and religious folk?
Xena: ...Don’t push it.
DAOR HOW ARE YOU THIS FUCKING USELESS JFC
At least Xena’s brave enough to put it out.
Xena: That’s right, I’m just your everyday hero. With fantastic guns.
Xena: I am so sick of you! One more misstep and I will drown you in the sacrificial well!
Daor: But... we don’t have a sacrificial well.
Xena: I. Will. Build. One.
Daor: *gulps*
If we could ever afford it, anyway.
Moving on though, another thing that a tribe needs is heirs, and for that we need a disposable piece of man meat.
Xena: You look like you have decent enough genes, how would you feel about a one night stand to get me pregnant with a female heiress for my Amazon tribe that you would have zero commitment in raising?
Harley: No strings attached sex? I’m in!
Xena: Good, I like men that are compliant. Meet me at your house in an hour.
Lol this house screams dude bro.
After their rough and tumble in bed, I sent Xena off to hunt as a werewolf because honestly, they’re still poor as hell and need stuff to sell, lol.
She didn’t find anything though, so I decided maybe the scuba skill might help. However somethings weird with my game and I realized that even with a high enough skill she can’t go actual scuba diving as all my community lots just say ‘community lots’ without names for some reason? If anyone knows how to fix it, help would be appreciated. Also some of the unoccupied houses say community lots too. Idk wtf is up but I’m sure its some kind of mod conflict *sigh*
...Appetizing. On the plus side though, a baby is on the horizon!
Euryleia: Oh Mistress, our first tribe daughter, I’m so excited! I’ll start preparing right away for her birth!
Euryleia desperately needs to move up in rank, so I sent her to the library to learn some skills so she could end up being a Provider instead.
Euryleia: Mistress! Since you and I are now friendly and I have enough skills and the personality to become a Provider for this noble tribe, I was wondering if you could promote me? If you do, I’ll be sure to get a career ASAP so we can start making some real money in preparation for the baby!
Xena: ‘Money’ is the magic word, Euryleia. You have my permission.
So Euryleia went downtown and got herself a job in the Culinary Career, since Daor sucks at making food anyway so it’d be good they got someone else to do that chore, lmao.
Xena: Good lord, it feels like my insides are being torn to shreds!
Xena: Wtf? This isn’t what I ordered!
How disappointing, lol. This is Aeolus though, and his traits are easily impressed and excitable. Don’t get too attached.
Xena: Harley? Get the fuck down here, we have a problem. Also bring some tools; I’m going to need you to help my slave build a sacrificial well.
Euryleia: Mistress, I know you aren’t fond of boys, but maybe we shouldn’t... you know, kill it? It’s still a baby, after all. And Harley still has decent genes, so maybe you should give him another chance? You could still get a beautiful girl out of him and if you don’t...
Xena: If I don’t, then I kill them!
Euryleia: I meant maybe you could just banish all of them from the tribe, but I of course will not argue with your judgement, oh divine one.
Xena: That’s right, I am your God. Worship me.
Xena: Alright look, you fucked up. You fucked up royally. BUT you still have decent genes, so I’m going to give you another chance to give me a baby girl.
Xena: Because if you do not, I will drown you in the sacrificial well I will soon have built and all your sons go into slavery. Understood?
Harley: But... what happened to no strings attached?
Xena: That was if you managed to give me a girl, which you did not. Now, you are in charge of that disgusting thing inside and will live here as a slave until I bear my next child. If it’s a girl, you and your son go free. If not... well, I already covered that.
Xena: Now, get the fuck inside and impregnate me the proper way before my patience runs out.
Will their next child be a girl, or will Harley’s lifespan be shorter than expected? Stay tuned to find out!
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