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asphyxiateher · 3 years

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Only Monsters Come Out at Night *Chapter Update*

Chapter 7: The Devil Within Summary: Desdemona has been neglecting her health ever since she murdered her best friend but when the three women she's been bonded to come for a visit, she finds out all sorts of vital information that strengthens the bond she shares with them. Bela has a plan that may or may not piss off her mother but she swears it's for the good of their family. A/N: Thank you all so much for your patience and overwhelming support! I originally intended to end this book with this chapter but with all the comments I've been receiving, I've enjoyed fleshing out my characters even more and adding more to the story than I intended and I love how its turning out so much! I should have more time to work on this story next week since I requested some much needed time off from work. Anyway, please enjoy and thank you all again!

Desdemona doesn’t know how long it’s been since the incident with Veronica occurred. Ever since it happened, she had been plagued with guilt that eats away at the core of her soul and it seemed impossible to want to do or think about anything else. All she wanted to do these days was linger in the shadows and let the darkness consume her. Her mind is slipping away into nothing, her body slowly deteriorating because she refused to eat, and all she had left was the promise of death as she barely held onto life by a breath. Veronica’s lifeless eyes still haunted Desdemona every time she tried to close her eyes and it made her feel sick to her stomach all over again when she replayed the events of that fateful night. She tossed and turned as the images of Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela feasting upon her best friend’s corpse played in her mind, praising her for the kill as they did so, and the guilt churned within her even more. She wanted to be punished for killing her best friend, she deserved to die and so she lay in the room Alcina transferred her to and decided to rot alone where nobody could see her. Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters assumed that a change of environment would alter Desdemona’s self-destructive behavior, so they moved her to the room next to Bela’s since it was spacious enough to enjoy her other hobbies. Alcina and her daughters soon realized that their human plaything still refused to take care of herself properly and Alcina warned her daughters that if they did not do anything about it soon, Mother Miranda would have another vessel for her ungodly experimentations. This would explain the frequent visitation from all three girls, but today’s visit somehow felt different to Desdemona when she felt their presence outside of her door.

Desdemona sighs when she hears the familiar knocking on the door, a surprise to her at first since Alcina’s daughters didn’t embody politeness. The door swings open and Bela is the first face she sees as always, her sisters following her the moment she steps in and drops off a tray of food. Daniela used to tease her about the untouched trays of food they would walk into but now it was a little worrying. The last thing any of them wanted to do was to put down their favorite human plaything. Cassandra’s eyes linger on the untouched trays of food building up in the corner and rolls her eyes but refused to make a comment in case she offended her pet.

“Tsk, tsk, Desdemona, what shall we ever do with you? We are attempting to accommodate your needs yet you spit in our faces when we demonstrate kindness. That’s quite unfair.” Bela says with a frown as she gives Desdemona a once over, her brows furrowing when she realized the human’s condition was starting to worsen a little.

Desdemona exhales and closes her eyes for a moment before she slowly turns to face all three women. She wants to be furious. She wants to scream at them, throw something in their faces and make them feel small and insignificant but nothing can drown out the sorrow that has swallowed her whole. She opens her mouth to speak but the extreme thirst she feels burning in the back of her throat causes her voice to crack and it seemed nearly impossible to form words because of it.

Cassandra notices how dry her lips are, so she picks up the goblet of water from the tray and walks over to Desdemona’s prone form on the floor. She had been annoyed with the mild inconveniences her pet’s behavior had created but now she was legitimately concerned for her well-being, a concept that had seemed foreign to her. Cassandra loved and cared for her sisters but to care for mortals and the other people Alcina preferred the company of outside of family was beyond her. Still, she felt the need to show Desdemona tough love because she cared.

She kneels on the floor beside the smaller girl and roughly yanks her by the collar so she could force the human to sit upright. Desdemona doesn’t fight it, but she isn’t happy about being touched when she just wants to lay in this room to die. She wonders why they don’t just move on to the next best thing when she is just a passing interest anyway. Her mind is quieted when Cassandra tilts her head and gently compels Desdemona to sip the water continuously. “This is an improvement, Desdemona. As much as I would personally enjoy forcing this water down your gullet, you are in a fragile state and I would hate to break you, pretty thing. Why do you humans neglect self-care so much? I will never understand how you mortals function like this.” Cassandra tells the smaller girl, an arm now wrapping around her waist possessively as she pulls her tighter against her chest. Bela looks mildly annoyed by the action but doesn’t say anything.

“You will never understand, I’m sorry to say. If you’ve never experienced grief so great that it feels like a tidal wave of pure misery coming down on you, and you suddenly feel yourself being pulled to the bottomless depths of despair that it becomes difficult for you to try and come up for air, so rather than fight the inevitable you let yourself sink because it’s easier to accept your fate, then you will never fully comprehend what I’m going through.” Desdemona replies quietly, taking a few moments in between sips to speak.

Daniela eyes her curiously after she says this and then her eyes flick over to her eldest sister, who seems to have pulled out Desdemona’s phone before she decides to kneel beside Desdemona as well. The rambunctious sibling didn’t want to feel left out so she decides to sit herself on the floor next to her pet, her head resting on Desdemona’s shoulder as one of her hands gripped the younger girl’s thigh. Desdemona was too weak to fight her off but the dark whispers in her mind were soothing her, reminding her that Daniela’s touch was supposed to be comforting. It didn’t matter how depressed she was over the fact that she killed her best friend in order to save Daniela’s life; the bond she shared with all of them made her feel at ease at the same time and this stirred conflicting emotions within her.

“Help us understand you, Desdemona. Why can’t you seem to move on from this moral dilemma of yours?” Bela asked, showing the other girl her phone and on the screen were all the photos she had taken with friends, family, and strangers she had met at bars and work. The one picture Desdemona couldn’t take her eyes off of was the picture she and Veronica had taken when they were in middle school. Veronica had just gotten her braces and Desdemona was going through her awkward Hot Topic phase and once again, tears began to well up at the fond memories she had with the girl she had betrayed and murdered in cold blood. Veronica Joss was the best friend she had ever had in her life and Desdemona killed her. How could she ever move on from that?

“You don’t get it and you never will. V was my ride or die, and I betrayed her to save your sister’s life. I haven’t known any of you for more than three weeks and the girl whose corpse you desecrated was somebody I had known since I was a little girl. We fought with each other, we loved each other, and we made each other stronger through the years. She was there for me when I came out to my parents as a lesbian, which apparently isn’t a big deal over here, but it was huge for me where I come from and where I come from, stupid people protest bakeries that sell gay pride cookies but defend a cake decorator’s decision to deny gay people service just because of who they love! Veronica kicked a girl’s ass for me when she tried to touch me when I wasn’t ready to be touched. I destroyed a guy’s car with spray paint, my keys, and glitter when he cheated on her with someone she thought was her friend. Veronica put her life on hold when I became depressed our senior year of high school and helped me overcome one of the worst phases of my life. I graduated because of her and you know what I did to repay her for her years of friendship and unwavering loyalty? I fucking killed her and for WHAT!?” Desdemona yells out, angry tears now spilling out uncontrollably. She has the urge to shove Daniela off of her because her presence was now overwhelming, her presence a reminder that Veronica was dead and there was nothing she could do to bring her back. She glances over at Daniela and her heart stops at the sight of Alcina’s youngest looking down at her with a sad smile on her face, almost as if she looked…remorseful. She feels their connection vibrate with an emotion she can’t seem to place, and it makes her uncomfortable because she knows she has every right to be enraged but looking into Daniela’s glowing yellow eyes, guilt quickly takes over.

Bela doesn’t look bored but the neutral expression on her face bothered Desdemona a bit. Cassandra had the decency to look away for a moment although she was certain it was because Cassandra still didn’t fathom why she felt so strongly about the way things went down recently.

“You are the first human to ever share their experiences with us, you know. When we first met, you were driving me and my sisters wild with a lust we had never known before. We intended to kill you at some point but when we tasted you and you shared with us gifts that no one had ever given to us before, you unknowingly created a bond I know that you can feel. We feel what you feel and it is foreign to us, and I’m sure you can say the same about what you’re feeling whenever you’re near us. I…would, however, like to know more about you, I find myself completely enthralled by your history. The bond between us is growing stronger and I must confess, I’m enjoying the slow development of our relationship immensely.” Bela admits hesitantly as she points to pictures on the phone that she finds interesting.

Desdemona blinks at the revelation. They were all homicidal maniacs that reveled in the misery of others. They killed people for either fun or sustenance and here they were telling her how fond they were of her! The absolute nerve of them all! She should tell them off, attempt to run away and get maimed by Lady Alcina Dimitrescu or something! She shouldn’t put up with any of this, not after she killed Veronica in favor of Daniela. Why can’t she summon the willpower to do the things she wanted to do instead of listening to the stupid dark whispers that have completely numbed out whatever rational thoughts she had left?

“Why do you care? I have nothing to live for anymore; I lost the only people that ever mattered to me, and I just don’t have the strength to carry on anymore. I should bore you, waste your time, and possibly piss you off until you finally snap and kill me like you wanted to. Why jump through all these hoops just because you’re lonely and you don’t understand how friendships or romantic relationships work? Why don’t you kill me already?” Desdemona presses. She’s disappointed that this doesn’t elicit a reaction out of Bela but both Daniela and Cassandra are now paying close attention to how they’re interacting with one another.

Bela smiles at that so she puts down the phone to pull out a journal from her satchel that she brought with her. She carefully hands it over to Desdemona and Desdemona raises her eyebrow at the fact that the journal clearly belongs to her mother.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“I want to tell you a story but it involves my mother and how we were created. You may think that we don’t know what love is but we do. We come from drastically different backgrounds, we’re not even the same species, but we have something in common, Desdemona Hawthorne. I want you to listen and pay close attention because we don’t get attached to mortals or form deep bonds with just anyone; you are special to us, Little One and by me sharing our history, we will strengthen our bond and we will have a better understanding of each other. Our love will truly stand the test of time of that I can assure you.” Bela replies before launching into the tale of the four lords of the region, Alcina’s origins, and Mother Miranda’s history and why she continued to experiment on unwilling specimens in the region. Cassandra pitched in when she could. Daniela surprisingly contributed to the conversation more with her knowledge of the Four Lords; she wholeheartedly spoke about Donna Beneviento while she spoke about the other two lords of the region with great distaste. As Desdemona listened to their tales, she found herself eager to learn more, especially when Bela spoke about Miranda with a bitter tone to her voice. There was clearly a rift between her mother and this Miranda figure and Bela made it clear that Alcina looked up to the other woman. There was something to the way Alcina’s daughters frowned whenever Miranda’s name was mentioned and Desdemona herself felt the bond between all of them quiver with fear when they explained the nature of Miranda’s experimentations.

This woman was going to great lengths just to revive her dead daughter, and it did not matter how often she failed, she kept going. Even with Alcina aiding Mother Miranda, Bela suspected that Miranda would throw them all under the metaphorical bus just to cover her tracks.

“You don’t trust Mother Miranda, do you? When she released the lycans on the villagers, it sounds like you think she’s ready to sacrifice the only capable people that have been useful to her if it meant saving her own ass. Why do you feel that way?” Desdemona finally asked when the oppressive silence that followed her tales became too much to endure.

This information she learned…it was tremendous. Just one look at Lady Dimitrescu, and Desdemona wouldn’t have pegged her for a jazz musician or a winemaker, but she was all of that and more. Despite Alcina’s wicked nature and the cruel way she treated her servants, it astounded Desdemona that none of the girls were biologically hers yet she adopted all three of them when she formed a bond with them. If Desdemona were to be perfectly honest, she didn’t think Alcina was capable of love but…her overprotective nature of the girls made sense. While none of the murders or horrifying way they process their wine using maiden blood were in any way justifiable, they were apex predators at the top of the food chain doing what they must in order to maintain survival. They were no ordinary family, but the dynamics were the same and Desdemona can see by the way Bela holds her mother in high regard that they clearly know what love is.

“No, I do not trust Mother Miranda and I fear for my mother’s safety. When your group stumbled upon the village while we were out scouting for leftovers, we were ready to kill you all and have our way with you thinking you had been sent by Miranda to dispatch my mother. It turned out you were foreigners from another land, complete strangers to us and the other lords and the relief I felt knowing that you never even met the revered cult leader of the village was immeasurable. She’s incredibly dangerous, Desdemona, and no matter how often I tell my mother that we ought to cut our ties with her, she will not heed my warnings. While my mother is powerful, she cannot take Miranda on alone and the only other lord we can possibly convince to side with us is Donna Beneviento.” Bela finishes, feeding a spoonful of soup into Desdemona’s mouth. Desdemona didn’t realize how long she’d been distracted but her stomach felt full and looking down, Bela had been feeding her the entire time they had been talking. She was flabbergasted at how they were able to coax her into eating again after starving herself for a few days and she didn’t even notice that it had been happening the entire time. The dark whispers in her mind are telling her to calm herself, that her mistresses were taking care of her in her time of need and that she needed to be grateful. Desdemona obliged, surprisingly, and willfully took another sip of her water that Cassandra had at the ready for her.

When Desdemona slowly breathes in and out, there’s a renewed energy she hadn’t felt in days and the other women must have felt that sudden spark as well through their shared bond when they all turned to look at her.

“Well done, sister, look who’s back. There’s that familiar glow of yours that I’ve grown to love so much.” Cassandra says chuckling. She pushes aside Desdemona’s hair to reveal her collarbone and plants a gentle kiss on the exposed skin.

Daniela excitedly cups Desdemona’s chin and forcefully turns her head to the side so she could kiss her. It was sloppy and a little wet but Desdemona found herself kissing the other woman back just as enthusiastically. Daniela pulls away giggling but pouts when Bela stands up, pulling Desdemona to her feet as well. Bela delicately plays with Desdemona’s fingers for a moment before she raises a hand to cup Desdemona’s cheek. Once again, Desdemona’s inner turmoil from before has vanished and she leans into the touch, causing Bela to smirk. The blonde woman pulls Desdemona closer to her and presses a kiss to her lips, a kiss that leaves Desdemona wanting more. She had wanted nothing to do with them after recent events but here she was letting them touch and kiss her like they didn’t tear Veronica’s corpse apart after she had killed her.

Thinking back on her best friend’s death, Desdemona attempts to step away from Bela but the eldest sister kept her in place and hugged her closely. Because of the height difference, Desdemona’s head fell just a bit under Bela’s breasts and this made it easier for Bela to stroke her hair and whisper sweet nothings to her as if her pretty words could erase her horrendous actions. Maybe it was due to the fact that their bond was strengthening but Desdemona was starting to feel more at ease as her mind once again begins to slip away into nothing.

No longer could she resist the call of Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters whenever they were near her and the inner voice in her head that protested their actions was silenced, dulled, and ignored. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to please them and to do whatever was asked of her. The traumatizing memory of Veronica’s death was starting to fade away as happiness begins to seep in the longer she remained in Bela’s arms. Desdemona was losing herself, no longer willing to fight the women she was now bonded to and there was nothing she could do about it. She wanted nothing more than to be embraced and loved by Alcina and her daughters as the feeling of being needed and wanted by these exquisite creatures overpowered everything else in her life. They chose her, she was their chosen one, and nothing could top that.

When Desdemona sighs and slightly pulls away from Bela, she looks up at Bela adoringly, a stark contrast to how she’d been behaving and treating them from earlier before, and Bela looks relieved. She leans down and kisses Desdemona, her arm encircling her waist as she dips her to kiss her even more deeply. When they break apart, Bela smiles at Desdemona and notices the glazed look in her eyes.

“You’re changing, Little One. Until the time comes for your final transformation, we’ll need to keep our wits about us. Either we’ll assist Mother Miranda in finding another vessel to revive her daughter or we’ll be taking her on with hopefully one of the other Lords on mother’s side. Daniela, I need you to write a letter to Donna Beneviento and invite her over for a wine tasting, I’m sure that woman could use company right now. Cassandra, take our dear little Desdemona and clean her up in the bath. We need her presentable as we propose our ideas to our dear friend Donna. We cannot risk Mother overhearing our plans.” Bela says as she passes a dazed and confused Desdemona over to Cassandra. “Do you truly think Donna will be able to help us in any shape or form? I think going behind mother’s back is truly a disastrous idea.” Cassandra tells Bela as she carefully lifts Desdemona and carries her bridal style.

“We cannot risk Miranda betraying our mother first. She’s become reckless as of late and there’s no telling what that woman is capable of. She destroyed the village using the lycans, who’s to say she isn’t planning on sacrificing us all for her own benefit? Either we find a successful vessel or we prepare ourselves to fight; Desdemona’s transformation is nearly complete and we’re going to need her if we plan on luring more people out here.” “What are you going to be doing while we make preparations, Bela?”

“I’m going to make a few inquisitive phone calls to the innkeeper that led our beloved Desdemona over to us. As much as I would love to see Mother put down Miranda once and for all, it would be easier to lure in more victims with great potential. I do not want to see our family fall, not after all we’ve been through and not after we’ve found a loving companion to keep with us. I…love Desdemona, I would like to continue exploring these new feelings with her but not with Miranda behaving the way she has been as of late. You may not see the danger behind her actions, but I do and I will not stand for it.” Bela says determinedly, as she runs her fingers through Desdemona’s thick tresses. Desdemona had fallen asleep in Cassandra’s arms, an effect of the drug she had slipped into her food. They needed to make their case presentable, and Donna’s input would be invaluable, even if she disagreed with their actions. There’s no way Miranda’s actions weren’t suspicious to anybody else so she had to see for herself if the other lords were continuing to follow Miranda’s orders blindly. She loathed to think so little of her own mother, but Alcina’s been trying to prove herself to the other woman for so long that Bela thinks the the effort just wasn’t worth it anymore. They were going to present another vessel to Miranda and if the ritual failed, then they would plan their attack. However, if this next vessel somehow succeeded in reviving Miranda’s daughter, then they could finally cut their ties with the woman and live on peacefully in their castle away from all the bullshit politics. Bela just wanted her family to remain safe, and with Desdemona now bonded to them as their fledgling, Bela had a lot to lose should their plan fail but she was now more determined than ever to make sure their plan worked. She’d never known love outside of family before but this connection with Desdemona opened her up to a whole new world of feelings waiting to be explored and she wasn’t going to lose that. Not now, not ever.

#resident evil village #resident evil 8 #RE8 Village #RE8 #mine #only monsters come out at night #chapter update #chapter 7 #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #Alcina Dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu x ofc #daniela dimitrescu x ofc #cassandra dimitrescu x ofc #Lady Dimitrescu's daughters

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avengershumanresources · 3 years

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blood 5 - Strange/Stark!Reader

Relationship: Dr. Strange/Princess!Stark!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Adult Themes, eventual smut, adult language, implied sexual violence, general violence

Synopsis: Reader is the daughter of the legendary King Anthony Stark, Uniter of Lands, The Iron Defender, and leader of the realm. When the king disappears during battle, hope is lost and he is presumed dead.

When the late king’s uncle, Obadiah, takes the throne until your brother Peter is of age, he quickly arranges a marriage for you with a wicked king in a neighboring kingdom.

With the realms politics in question, and rumors of an upcoming siege to overthrow Peter’s rule before it starts, you quickly learn who is loyal to the crown and who is not.

part 4 - part 6

Masterlist

Chapter Playlist

5 - a gift for the princess

Stephen wove through the rowdy crowds of the pub, just jumping out of the in time to avoid being covered in vomit. Men sang, women laughed, and the ale was flowing.

He had to give Natalia some credit for choosing such a clever cover for their meeting in the back of the pub.

Spying the owner, John nodded his head toward a discreet door behind the bar.

Stephen slipped past the crowds, ducking under the tray of a hurrying barmaid, and slipping into the room.

Natalia was sitting in a chair, rising when he walked into the room. She started talking but Stephen’s attention was fixed on the dark haired prince across the space.

“What is he doing here?” he demanded sharply, throwing a finger toward the prince. “You’re supposed to be in Asgard.”

“That’s what I’m trying to explain you sack of stupid man,” she shoved him toward an empty chair. “There was a complication.”

Stephen immediately noted that James wasn’t in the room. Neither was the man he’d sent them after.

“I’m- so sorry,” he started but Loki burst out laughing.

“Honestly, you’re the Sorcerer Supreme?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “James isn’t dead.”

“Will you both shut up,” Nat snapped at the pair. “James is with the quarry in a rented room across town. Loki?”

He sighed and grabbed hers and Stephen’s hand, a cloud of green smoke enveloping them.

When the air cleared, they were in the room of an inn Stephen had visited frequently over the years, the space relatively unchanged for the two figures who glanced up at their entrance.

James was leaned back in a chair, picking out pieces of an apple, while Master Mordo sat on the edge of the bed with a book.

“Mordo?” Stephen asked, astonished at seeing the man before him. “I thought you were dead.”

“As far as Brock is concerned, I am,” he replied, standing to take the other sorcerers hand in greeting.

“I don’t understand,” he looked between the group before Loki broke the silence.

“He’s the one who poisoned the princess,” Loki gestured to Mordo, a smirking tugging on his lips.

Stephen’s hands lit up with shields in a heartbeat, a glowing dagger at Mordo’s throat.

“Explain,” he hissed.

“Stephen, calm yourself, it’s a misunderstanding,” he replied. “I’m trying to help.”

Stephen lowered his weapon slightly, signaling for the man to continue.

“The spell was supposed to put her to sleep,” he explained. “Brock is planning something wicked with Obadiah and the princess is key. I needed a means of moving her without stirring attention.”

Stephen’s hands fell to his sides, spells disappearing as they fell. That explained the black smoke when he’d cleared the spell from your system- an unusual occurrence for a simple poisoning.

“Obadiah plans to wed the princess to Brock in order to secure his army,” Mordo relaxed a little with the active threat to his life now gone, continuing his explanation. “Obadiah is the one who ordered King Anthony dead. He means to secure the throne and kill the prince, but Brock intends to double cross him and secure everything for himself after the prince is dead.”

“Our men wouldn’t let that happen,” Stephen shook his head.

“That’s not the concern,” Mordo murmured, exchanging an uneasy look with Loki over Stephen’s shoulder. “Securing a lineage in the princess’ bloodline makes his claims all the more legitimate.

The trickster snapped his fingers and Natalia and James froze into place. Time had been temporarily stopped for all but the three magic users.

“Stephen, there’s something you need to know,” Loki explained, looking to Mordo who nodded solemnly. “What do you know of the princess’ lineage?”

“Her father was the late king, Peter is her brother-,” he started but Loki stopped him with a wave of his hand.

“Her maternal lineage?” he asked. “Her mother, Queen Alexandra, was born of a powerful family of seidr magic users, she was one of the last of the fallen kingdom of Vanaheim.”

“Seidr is extinct,” Stephen shook his head in disbelief but the older sorcerers sighed. “It’s been extinct for centuries.”

“It was said to have died with the queen,” Mordo picked up. “And we let that rumor circulate to take any interested parties interest off of the royal family, in particular a newborn baby girl.”

“I was a child at the time, but my family was consulted by King Anthony for a remedy for his child. He’d lost his wife to greed and desire for her power. He wanted to prevent losing the baby in the same way,” Loki explained. “My mother’s most promising student, Amora, volunteered to the task. She sealed away the princess’ intrinsic power, effectively removing her from the attention of other magic users.”

“Loki had been the princess’ intended for this reason,” Mordo added quietly. “It was a means to protect both the princess and the kingdom from the untapped power going astray as she got older.”

“I was raised to ensure this secret went to the grave with those few who knew,” he explained, sending Stephen a knowing smirk. “Since there hadn’t been much concern as she grew, and the princess had obvious affections elsewhere, it was decided the marriage could wait.”

Elsewhere, being himself, Stephen realized sheepishly. To what extent did their unspoken affection further endanger the kingdom’s stability? Had he declared his intentions sooner, could he have prevented Brock’s move in the first place?

“When Amora was exiled of Asgard, she built a ruthless reputation that caught the attention of my former King,” Mordo frowned between the men. “Brock was, needless to say, very interested in a particular piece of information Amora provided about the princess. He banished me and ordered Amora to have me killed, but I managed to escape.”

“Brock intends to marry the princess and have Amora force the princess into his control,” Loki’s voice lowered sharply. “Her seidr would serve as an unlimited pool of power for both Brock and Amora, and the princess would be helpless to do anything about it.”

“Can’t he just have her marry him under the spell as well?” Stephen frowned, knowing a number of appropriate spells off the top of his head. It wouldn’t have been the first time he heard of someone using unethical means to sefure a union.

“That’s where this gets interesting,” Loki snickered, looking to Mordo in amusement. “I haven’t had an opportunity to strengthen my cloaking spell around her. I’d managed to renew it when I said goodbye the day of the funeral, but it’s weakened significantly in the meantime.”

“Amora’s magic is too weak to penetrate pure seidr, so the princess would have to be bound in marriage before she could twist her will,” Mordo explained. “The marriage ceremony she intends to perform to Brock’s customs will involve blood magic, and no matter the princess’ true feelings, she’ll be stuck trapped unless he is killed or the marriage is annulled in some other manner.”

“But that’s where this gets fun,” Loki purred in excitement. “The princess is in love with you. If her seidr continues in that direction, she should be able to continue to fight Amora’s influence. Possibly even after a union, if somehow this all falls through.”

The thought sent a little tickle off hope through his chest. At least if he stayed true in his desire, Stephen could protect you a little longer. Still, the marriage needed to be stopped before that even became a concern.

Not only was your wellbeing at stake, but Brock could not be left in control of the region with Amora at his side.

“Then what can we do?” Stephen asked and Loki waved his wave, breaking the time freezing spell and picking up without missing a beat.

“I’ll protest the union, as her original intended,” he replied. “Because the princess trusts you, you play the most important part in this all.”

Stephen listened while the group detailed their plan. It was an ambitious scheme, but Stephen had to admit, if they all played their parts to perfection- it could work.

But would it come at the cost of losing your good faith forever?

(—)

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Stephen cupped his forehead, the headache forming when he saw Peter hunched over with a cloak over his head, speaking discreetly to a group of cloaked figures.

They’d just finished their plan when he spied the poorly disguised prince and his friends.

“...cannot stand,” he was saying before his gaze wandered to Stephen’s approaching form and he cringed.

“What’s going on here?” Stephen asked, crossing his arms. The other figures turned around. Lord Ned and Lady Michelle. “Don’t tell me... are you planning a coup?”

Peter’s eyes went wide and he gestured for Stephen to sit, grabbing the sorcerer by the sleeve of his robes and pulling him down.

“Don’t speak so casually,” he snapped, ushering the sorcerer into an empty seat. “Surely you’ve heard?”

“I’ve heard a great many things, probably more than you, your highness,” he answered sarcastically. “Do be more specific.”

“About the wedding?” he raised a brow, watching for a reaction.

“Of your sister? I’ve just learned,” he murmured, leaning in and ignoring the pointed looks his companions by the door gave him.

“Brock intends to propose tomorrow,” he explained. “But Obadiah isn’t telling my sister until the morning. He’s taken my mother and Morgan under house arrest.”

That was a bigger development than Stephen had expected from the boy.

“He intends to kill the youngest princess and queen mother if the princess does not marry Brock,” Michelle added, looking forlornly at the table.

“Where’s the princess now?” Were the next words out of Stephen’s mouth.

When he’d left you hours before, you’d been sound asleep in your chamber. With the wards and protections he’d thrown around you, there wasn’t any reason you shouldn’t still be there.

“Safe in bed,” Peter assured him. “We need a plan. Brock’s army is twice the size of our without our allies.”

“Allies?” Loki had dropped into the bench, shoving Stephen to the side. “Do continue, your majesty.”

“Can you can open the border and prepare your troops?” Peter asked the prince hopefully, but Loki frowned.

“No, but I might be able to stall the marriage,” he replied coolly, a subtle wink toward Stephen. “You know how your sister and I have danced around one another. It’s time I make my claim.”

Peter scoffed, nodding toward Stephen.

“Is he okay with that?” he asked boldly, earning a laugh from the other prince.

“Strange knows his place,” Loki answered cockily. “He swore his little oaths and we both know the current king isn’t going to let him out as easily as your father would have. What other option does the princess have?”

Peter’s gaze feel on Stephen having been not entirely convinced, but against Stephen’s better instinct, he nodded mechanically.

It was your best chance of survival. He had his own role to play down the line, so he let Loki convince the group of his undying love and affection for you.

By the end, Peter seemed convinced that the Asgardian prince could get the marriage thrown away.

While the men gathered and discussed their plans, no one noticed the young Lady and the redhaired assassin conversing quietly in the shadows.

Nor did they notice when they slipped out the back to meet with an old friend.

(—)

Wanda found Stephen scribbling down notes on a piece of floating parchment the next morning. Books were floating through the air, and he meticulously thumbed through pages as they moved around him.

It was clear her friend had been up all night, the bags under his eyes exposing the unspoken truth.

On the table was an array of ingredients, a small flame burning under a concoction of bubbling green.

“What are you up to, Strange?” she asked suspiciously when she saw the chapter of the last book he had consulted. “An elixir?”

“A gift-,” he let out a tired sigh, eyes looking miserably to the paperwork strewn in front of him.

“For whom?” Wanda’s eyes widen and her brows shot to her hairline when she read through the incantation. She knew it well, an old, but reliable mixture.

“For the princess.”

(--) 6 - a promise

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missfluffywriter · 4 years

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Purple Irises I Mafia Park Jimin x Reader

Author’s note: Ooof it’s finally out. That took way longer than I expected. And I’ll be breaking this chapter into two pieces. I hope you don’t mind. I have to say I did a lot more research than I thought I would, just to say but everything I’ve written are pretty accurate, emphasis on pretty. Of course not everything, and I can never really be sure of the medical stuff, cuz you know I’m not a doctor. lolol. Well, that’s it for me. Happy readings!

Word count: 10.9k

Genre: Mafia AU, (slight) Doctor au, (slight) Florist au

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

(Series) Summary: You were supposed to be delivering flowers, how did you end up in an operation room digging out a bullet from a mafia boss’ shoulder?

Purple Irises: Royalty and wisdom

Warnings: Guns, language, mention of drugs, inconsistant grammar lol

Previous chapter I Next chapter I Masterlist I Requests are open!

“If I hadn’t sent (Y/n) when I did, your boss would be six feet under right now,”

Nearly three days had passed since the ball and yet Soomin’s toneless voice continued echoing through your head. Ricocheting from one corner of your mind to another, there were instances where the voice would dull to a soft whisper but never was it gone, not for an instant. Her words ring in your head yet you don’t know why. You were not angry with her, not at all; as a matter of fact, you felt no such anger or animosity towards your former boss. Neither did you feel betrayal or despair.

Originally you thought you felt nothing towards the situation, but that wasn’t exactly correct. What you had truly felt was apprehension, you did not understand a situation you were brought into or the reason behind your arrival. Was there a reason as to why you were forced into this world? Was there a role you were meant to play in Ji-Eun Duri’s game? Were you brought into this to serve a purpose? And if you were, then what about after that purpose has been fulfilled? What then? And if you weren’t, then why were you here?

There were more questions than answers, and every time you thought you were close to an answer, more questions arose. You weren’t used to this, more questions than answers; usually, you would at least have some semblance of understanding of what you were getting into, but this? You had nothing. You didn’t like the feeling of being left in the dark, and you absolutely despised the episodes of hopelessness that seared through your chest. Like you couldn’t do anything, you didn’t have enough information to take either defensive or offensive action.

However, the negatives aside, you also couldn’t deny the buzz in your system. A low hum of excitement, like expecting the unexpected, similar to a game of tag played in a sea of darkness. And though you had your bouts of helplessness and self-doubt, those thoughts only worked to fuel your imagination, your instinct for survival, and your drive to win. When you felt helpless your mind would create a thousand different scenarios, predicting the flow and outcome of each one. Thus, creating a skeleton of a plan so if the scenario should occur, you had some idea of your future movements.

And when you felt self-doubt you would think up back-up plans to any what-ifs that came to mind. If you were feeling uncertain of any of your plans or ideas you would test as many scenarios that would come to mind, asking others for their input regularly; what would they have done? Why would they have done what they did? Was there a better way to achieve what they were planning or warning for?

You would spend the time restlessness took hold to prepare for whatever future that may come. Because that was all you could do, prepare, and prepare the best you could. Besides, you felt a bizarre sense of gratitude towards the female responsible for your current predicament. If it weren’t for her you would have never been involved in this dangerous world, but above that, you would have never met Jimin or Jin, or Jeongguk, or any of these wonderful people. Apart from that, what Soomin had said was correct, if you hadn’t shown up when you did, Jimin wouldn’t be alive today. And thinking of a world where Jimin didn’t exist wasn’t at the top of your to-think list.

So while you didn’t appreciate the negative feelings brought on by the situation, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Okay, but, what’s the difference between sutures, stitches, and staples?” Jin questioned; his ebony locks slipping onto his chestnut orbs as his head tilted in a query. His voice, sharpened by confusion, breaks you from thoughts.

“Technically speaking, all three are used for the same purpose, to close wounds or surgical incisions, but they aren’t the same,” You explain; setting the silver needle forceps onto the medical tray while smoothly covering that fact that you had barely caught the words of the ravenette.

“For sutures, doctors use a thread or strand of material to perform wound closure. The term "stitches" refers to the surgical procedure or process of closing a wound with sutures. Staples on the other hand are another material that doctors sometimes use to make sutures or stitches.”

“Hm, I think I get it,” He did not get it. The confusion muddling his expression was as clear as day. This was a tricky subject, even you had trouble completely grasping the concept correctly. But he had barely begun learning of sutures and stitches, he had ample time to understand the material. Although he had progressed much faster than you had imagined, granted you weren’t exactly going in order by chapter.

You decided it would be best to teach him things he was more likely to need once he had a basic understanding of bacteria, pathogens, and such. You could move to the actual medicinal and chemical aspects once he has the basic skills he could need out on the job. Though symptom recognition and diagnosis are a part of the current lesson plan, for the moment it is a lesser matter.

“Do you know the different kinds of threads for status and stitches?” You ask the older male, testing the knowledge he was supposed to have studied the night before.

“There’s absorbable and nonabsorbable,” Thoughtfully he recites the information he had learned. “Absorbable sutures are intended to be broken down by the body over time and eventually dissolve completely. Some materials used to make absorbable sutures are derived from animal products that have been specially processed. Other absorbable sutures are made from synthetic polymer materials such as polylactic acid to make Vicryl, polyglycolic acid for Dexon, polyglyconate makes Maxon, and polydioxanone for PDS. And then there are non-absorbable sutures that are permanent and have to be removed. These sutures can be made from nylon, polypropylene which makes the prolene thread, or silk.”

“Good一very good,” You praise, eyes fluttering as you listen to the older male recite the passage from your old textbook word for word. Had he really memorized all that in a single night? If he had legitimately chosen this as a career path, you were sure he certainly would have gone far.

“So, do you have any questions before we move on?” You ask, a pleased smile curved onto your lips as you move to lay the ground world for the next lesson.

“Yeah,” Bobbing his head, the chestnut eyed male continued, “Why do doctors still use permanent threads if we already have dissolvable threads? Wouldn’t it just be easier to use the adorable ones? Since then the patient wouldn’t have to return to get the sutures removed,”

“Ah, that’s a really good question,” You exalted, hands coming together in a prayer position. “Well you see, permanent or nonabsorbable sutures are sometimes preferred because they are resistant to the body’s chemicals that might otherwise dissolve the sutures too early in the healing process. Non-absorbable sutures are useful for maintaining long-term tissue wound closure and healing,” You explain, reaching for the text-book that had been forgotten at the end of the surgery table.

“Oh, I see,” Seokjin hums, his forefinger and thumb on his chin as his thumb rubs the underside of his chin. “So permanent threads are still very useful too,”

“Yes very much so,” Nodding, you affirmed.

“So any other questions?” Flipping through the smooth pages of the text-book, you pause on the pages lesson twenty-four, “Sutures and Stitches”.

Shaking his head side to side, he signals for you to continue with the lecture.

“Okay, so today we learned the Mattress stitch and the continuous stitch,” You listed the day’s practice. “With that, you should be able to handle minor lacerations or cuts,”

“But,” You continue, “I want you to keep practicing on the suturing pad and study about those stitches, you may know how to do them, you still don’t know how to do them correctly,”

“And tomorrow we’ll get into the subcuticular stitch and look over some other stitches too, but一 yeah, that's it. And we’ll get more into staples in a few days. Tonight’s homework is just to study about the sutures,” You concluded, your gaze lifting to the brand new clock hanging on the wall. ‘Good, right on time,’

“(Y/n)?” Came the familiar low yet soft voice. Turning your body to face the white-blond leaning against the agape door frame.

“Yeah, let’s go,” You call, easing away from the operating table, you make your way to the other mafioso. But your attention is paged back in towards the room.

“Wait, (Y/n),” Humming in response you briefly angle yourself to the ravanette standing by the table, “Can I write in your book?” Shifting from one foot to another, he asks, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck. “It just gets a lot when I have to copy everything down,”

“Sure! Go ahead,” Beaming at the male you answer his silly question. It was his book now, he could do whatever he wanted on it. “That book is yours now, you can mark and write on it as much as you want,” Giving him a gentle smile, you reassure him.

“Thank you, and good luck in training” A sheepish grin curling onto his lips, Jin gives you a double thumbs up.

“You’re gonna need it,” The white-blond behind you scoffs as you make your way to the door.

“Oh hush you,” Half-heartedly slapping the mafioso on the chest, you bustle out the medical room - a compromise you came to between the doctor's office and operation room. As it turned out Jeongguk was not very fond or aware of the new name for the tiled room. He argued it be called what it had been called for as long as it had existed. Which was the “Doctor’s room” and though it was a very endearing term, it wasn’t exactly correct, nor was it very professional. Besides, OR sounded cooler.

And so you compromised, the name would have aspects you both had wanted, and thus the operation room was newly dubbed as the medical room. The new name contained factors you both liked, all in all, it was a happy arrangement.

“Alright, which one do you think we should do today?” Yoongi’s voice brings you back from your flashback of the great compromise.

“You’re asking me?” Pressing your hand to your hips, sarcasm bleeds from your words as your (e/c) orbs scan over the cloud-grey wall decked out with every gun or rifle one could imagine. Then drifting to the black metal drawers that were about waist height sitting under the gun mounts.

His eyes move in a semi-roll, before humming thoughtfully he picks up a solid black handgun from the wall adjacent to the one your sight had been fixed on.

Since the days after the gala fiasco, Hoseok had given the clear for you to begin your firearms training. You still had daily hand-to-hand combat training with either Hoseok or Jeongguk

“We practiced with a single-action for the past two days,” He speaks his thoughts as he examines the weapon in his hand before his slender digits trace a silver-black gun resting on the metal holders. “Yeah, maybe we’ll have you practice with a double-action today,”

“A double-action?” You parroted, forehead scrunching at the foreign vocabulary terms.

“Well, maybe not. It would probably be safer for a beginner to use a double-action until you’re used to all safety procedures,” Yoongi continues, oblivious to the query lacing your words.

“Wait, wait, what do you mean double-action一single action?” Voicing your question, you head involuntarily leaning to your right as you did.

Moments pass as he blankly stares at you, his eyelids fluttering open and close as he processes your words. “Didn’t we go over that when we started?” He asks, frown lines setting on his pale face folds in confusion.

“No,” Shaking your head side to side as his own expression transforms into one of surprise.

“Did we talk about how a gun works or anything like that?” Emphasizing the ‘anything’ he asked.

“Nope,” You return popping the ‘p’ as your shoulders rise into a shrug. “You kinda just gave me a gun, showed me how to use it, then we fired a buncha times,” Thoughtfully you review the events of the last two training sessions.

Yoongi’s face contorts in disbelief before his eyebrows lifted, his mouth opening as his own memories of the last sessions. “I should explain all that shouldn’t I?” Sheepishly rubbing the scruff of his neck, he jested.

“Probably,” You return with a soft chuckle.

“Right,” He grinned, beginning his explanation, “Well you see when you pull the slide of the handgun back, it allows for the magazine spring to push a bullet into the chamber. It also cocks the hammer of the gun back,”

His statement only caused your expression to rumple further as he once again used terms you were not familiar with. What did the word hammer have to do with guns? “What’s a hammer?”

“The hammer is a part of a gun that is used to strike the percussion cap or primer, or a separate firing pin, to light the propellant and fire the projectile. It is so-called that because it looks like a hammer and kinda works like one too, here, look,” Waving you closer he showed you the tail of the gun, pointing to the little lever-like bump that sat at the end of the gun.

“A cap?” You question; did he not understand that you were a beginner and that you hadn’t even seen let alone touched a gun before you had met them, or did he assume you knew your way around firearms after the way you spoke in the Matsuuru deal. It may have sounded like you knew what you were talking about, but you really didn’t, you were simply reciting the list of words Namjoon had shown you.

“It’s called a percussion cap or just cap for short, and some people even call it a primer. It’s basically a thin metal cup that contains a small amount of pressure-sensitive explosive, often mercury fulminate. And when crushed, the explosive detonates, sending a stream of hot gas down through a hole in the nipple and into the touchhole of the gun to ignite the powder charge.” He tried his hardest to settle his annoyance at your thousand questions

“Powder charge?” Another query falls from your lips.

“Gunpowder,” He curtly simplifies.

“Then, when you pull the trigger of the gun, it causes the hammer to snap forward, which pushes the firing pin inside the gun into the primer of the bullet cartridge. When the firing pin strikes the primer, it ignites the propellant or gunpowder that will send the bullet flying down the barrel at a high rate of speed,” He finally finishes without your interruptions. “That is basically how a hammer-fired gun works,”

“I think I get it,” Thoughtfully, you hum, stepping through the door at the end of the room, into the actual gun range. Then realizing he Yoongi had just used another term you did not understand. “Wait, hammer-fired?”

A deep exhale leaves his lips, he does not have the patience nor energy to explain hammer-fired and striker-fired on top of double-action and single-action. “Ah, well you see there are hammer-fired guns or striker-fired guns, a Glock is a striker-fired gun, but we’ll get into all that stuff some other time. For now, how about we just focus on the actions,”

“Okay so, the gun you were using yesterday was a single action, meaning you pull back the handle slide of the gun to cock it, then you pull the trigger to fire the bullet,” Alluding you with the simplest words he could think of, making sure to avoid any other firearms-related terms and words. “A double-action is when the cocking of the hammer and the firing of the gun both happen as you pull the trigger,”

“So we’re working with a double-action today?”

“Yeah, let’s get you used to double-actions. In the long run, I think it’d be safer for you to have a double,” He concluded, pulling out the magazine of the charcoal-colored gun in his grasp. Before cruising back to the room with the guns, walking to the farthest drawers sitting underneath the gun mounts, replacing the magazine with a new one.

“Do you have your earplugs?” The white-blond asked, his eyes flickering to you from the weapon in his hand.

Nodding, you wordlessly respond to the male’s question. Digging through the pockets of your hoodie, you hold out a sable-black box that was about the size of your palm.

“Good, always keep them on you,” His head bobs in approval as he hands you the newly loaded gun along with a set of large headphones. “But for now, use these”

The weapon sits heavy on your free palm. Saliva pooled in your mouth as you carefully held the gun - forefinger away from the trigger - you daintily pocketed the black box. “What gun is this?” You questioned, feeling a tingling sensation run underneath the skin of your palms, sweat gathering on them as your fingers tentatively brushed the body of the firearm.

“It’s a double-action Tanfoglio EAA Witness,” A swift reply leaves his lips “Alright, now what are the rules I gave you?”

“Trigger finger off at all times unless I’m ready to shoot,” Your answer is immediate, having had the core rule drilled into you for two consecutive days.

“Good, next,”

Your mouth moved to sound the correct answer, but you pause, instead deciding to reply with the lesson you had learned the hard way. “Don’t touch the barrel or muzzle after it fires,” Grumbling out the words, you grimace as your brain replays the incident that occurred a day prior.

Being the novice to weapons that you were, you didn’t realize just how hot the gun could get. Normally one would think it common sense that the temperature of the gun’s barrel and muzzle exponential rise, seeing as a mini-explosion takes place within the barrel for the bullet to exit the weapon. But at that instant, all rhyme or reason had left you, and you had the magnificent idea to hold the gun by the head. Which ended with you accidentally touching the muzzle area, a minor burn, and a life lesson.

“I see someone’s learned her lesson,” Yoongi chuckles, exhorting you to continue. “Next,”

“Never point the gun at anything unless I intend to destroy it,” You list.

“Good, now do you have a lock on your target?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Put on your headphones and shoot whenever you’re ready, take your time to aim each turn,” The mafioso instructs, gesturing to the noise-canceling headphones in your hand.

Following his directions, you place the cushions of the large headphone over your ears, adjusting them to fit your skull, then taking your stance.

Your heart heavily thudding in your chest, you take deep breaths, trying to calm the throbbing of your pulse that translated into your hand, making them shaky. Your first breath comes out ragged and choppy, but the exhales that follow pacify the palpitation ringing through your body, smoothing the flow or circulation.

Once your body had steadied, you moved into the weaver stance. Feet planted slightly wider than shoulder-width apart, placing the foot correlating with your dominant hand a half-step behind your non-dominant foot. A soft bend in your knees, leaning slightly forward, bracing yourself for the backlash of the shot.

Continuing your focused breathing you aim the point of the gun at the paper human target, you intently watch as the gun bobbed up and down with the cadence of your breaths. Your expression relaxes as your vision focuses on the target nearly twenty yards from where you stood. ‘Never aim for the head, the target’s too small. Always aim for the chest,’ Yoongi’s words echo in your head as you shift to aim for the center of the chest, where the heart would have been.

On your next inhale you solidify your aim, tightening your grip on the weapon, squeezing the trigger as you exhaled. Slowly, centimeter by centimeter you inch closer to the end of the pull, increasing the pressure on the trigger. And at the trough of your exhale the curve of the trigger meets its end.

The powerful push of the gun drives your body backwards, your bent knees, and the forward lean absorbing the shock, keeping you in place. The impact of the bullet firing rippling throughout your body. You felt a slight tremble in your hands, a hum of the aftershock. You hold on the grip constricts, eyes narrowing on the result of the shot as you bite back the disappointment of missing your mark. The bullet had landed below the right shoulder, much farther than your marked target.

Keeping your breathing as stagnant as you could, you refocus your aim. The same spot as earlier, this time you adjusted your aim, a touch lower, and a smudged to the left. Then squeeze the trigger again. And though the bullet doesn’t land on the intended destination, it is just a tad closer, the bullet having ended on the mid-chest area, right on the line of your designated mark.

The process of shooting and adjustment continued as you build experience and feel for the weapon. The cycle continued for the entirety of the time Yoongi trained you, pausing only to give you pointers or to reload the magazine - which you did on your own - Yoongi had shown you how to replace a magazine the day before and you had been replacing the cartridge on your own ever since.

And as the operation flowed you noticed that the gun you were working with today was much smoother and easier to use than the one you had been training with previously. The elongated trigger time caused by the heaviness of the pull gave you a chance to readjust your aim or even reconsider your decision to shoot altogether. You liked that added time frame to think about your decision and finalize your aim. But that also may have been a drawback as the longer fire time may give the other person to counter or even shoot before you had the chance to.

Nonetheless, if you were able to choose the gun you would have, then you would most certainly ask for this one. The body was sleek and clean, the modern designs pleasing to the eye, and above that, the feel of the gun was marvelous. Not that you knew many guns or their feels, but this one just felt right. It fit perfectly in your palm, and the grip was comfortable, almost natural.

By the time Yoongi had called the end of this session, you had burned through three fourteen plus one magazines. For a total of forty-five bullets used.

Huffing out an exhausted exhale, you place the gun on the table-like area that was separated into a booth-like space by walls of wood. You jerk your hands in a flicking motion in an attempt to ease away the pounding in palms. Your hands flushed a vibrant red and a little numb from the continuous shooting. You remove the headphones protecting your hearing before stretching your limbs, easing them into a more relaxed state.

“Good job today, you’re improving really fast,” Yoongi praises, taking the gun you had put down, returning it to its mount on the grey wall. Humming a soft ‘thank you’, you lean against the table-like space in between the separators.

“Hey, so does this mean I get my own gun or something?” You ask the older male, curious as to whether you were actually getting a weapon or if this was just training to prepare for a situation.

“You will,” The white-blond cruises into the shooting range, hands in the pockets of his slacks. “But first you need to try a bunch of them to see what you are comfortable with and can actually use outside of practice.”

“Can I have that one?” You head tilts upward to gesture to the gun he had just put away.

“The one you were using?” You nod at his question. Sure it was true you needed to build more experience and try out more guns to see what worked best with you, but you just felt a pull towards the one you were using.

“Yeah,”

“A tanfoglio witness, huh?” A familiar silvery voice resounded throughout the room. “I think it suits you, beautiful and efficient,” Jimin muses, coasted over to where you stood, wrapping his arms around your waist when close enough.

Giggling at his corny statement, you nuzzle into Jimin’s neck, arms coming to rest around his thin waist, purring at the warmth of his delicately comforting embrace.

“What’re you doing here?” You mumble into the exposed skin of his neck, basking in the sunny feeling of his grasp around your body.

“Getting the two of you for the meeting,” Answering softly, he places a caste kiss on your forehead.

“You’re here to get us?” Scoffing a laugh, you part from the silver-blond just enough to meet his eyes.

“And?” A questioning brow raises on his face as eyes you, a smile curling onto his lips. “You gotta problem?”

“You guys are sickening,” Yoongi wretches at the disturbingly cute moment unfolding before him. However, despite his outward expression, he was truly happy for his boss. The white-blond couldn’t properly recall the last time the don had laughed so freely, enjoyed the minor things in life, like a cup of tea or just a slow day. For the longest time, the young mafioso had been focused solely on the jobs neglecting even himself and his own health, on top of that Jimin was fierce一 short-tempered, denying any help or counseling the other core members provided. So having you hound him for skipping meals or being careless with his health and Jimin actually being rendered completely helpless to your care and affection, was a delightful change of pace. Besides, Jimin was Yoongi’s brother just as much as he was the white-blond’s boss.

“Sickeningly adorable,” You correct the older mafioso with a blinding grin as Jimin chuckles into your locks.

“But seriously, the meeting’s about to start,” The mafia don tugs you by your waist. Leading you out of the shooting range and back into the lavish mansion. Yoongi exited before the two of you, not intending on being trapped behind two mush balls, especially with one of them Jimin melting by the minute.

“How’s Shelty doing?” You question, falling into an easy pace with Jimin beside you, still holding onto your hip. Having not seen your precious puppy since morning as you had left her with Jimin.

“Guk may be having a bit too much fun with her,” The silver-blond answers, a sigh following his statement. He was forced to leave the wolf-dog in the care of the younger as you had forbidden your puppy from being anywhere near the gun range while guns were firing as the loud sounds would hurt her sensitive hearing. But, Jimin had wanted to personally fetch you for the meeting. And Namjoon and Jin were busy preparing for the meeting; Hoseok and Taegyung were out for a minor deal meeting; Yoongi was with you, so he had no choice but to leave the pupper with the youngest.

Which, now that he had a chance to really consider his decision, may not have been the best, Joengguk was responsible and mature most of the time, but most of the time there wasn’t an equally excited ball of floof jumping at him. It was like leaving two overzealous golden retrievers together… in a small room… alone.

“You know what? I think we should hurry up,” Jimin grumbles, increasing his pace to a brisk walk.

“What? Why?” Your eyelids flutter in confusion as you match his pace, dashed down the west wing corridors, and up the winding staircase of the main building.

“I left Shelty with Guk,” He groans, hoping all was intact in the cramped meeting room. You let out a joyful laugh as you realized the thoughts running through Jimin’s head.

His eyes playfully narrow as the silver-blond pulls into his grasp, tickling your sides as you a shrill of laughter and pleas from him to stop floods from your lips.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, sheesh,” Wiping away the tears that had gathered on the edges of your eyes, you chuckle. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Besides its Jeongguk he’ll take great care of Shelty,”

“It’s not Shelty I’m worried about,” A sigh escapes his plump, cherry-pink lips and you couldn’t help but give those plush pillows a soft peck.

“Shelt’s housebroken, she won’t jump or chew on any furniture,” You reassure the male with another chaste kiss on the cheek.

“See,” Your gaze gesturing to a placid Shelty, contentful snuggled into the youngest brunette on the floor as the elevator doors opened. And Jimin heaves a breath, stepping towards his seat then lowering into the armchair, relieved that nothing was destroyed or damaged.

“Shelty, I’m here,” You call the seventy-pound puppy. Her ears immediately alert when he hears the voice of her favorite human. She bounds over to you as you take your seat on the velvet armchair to the left of Jimin. “Heyya girl,” Cooing at the wolf-dog, you kiss her head, massaging her scruff and running your fingers through her silky fur. “Did you miss me?”

Even though he had an absolute blast with Jimin and then the chocolate brunette, she missed you very much.

“Jin, Taehyung, and Hoseok will be here soon,” Namjoon declared, coming to stand beside Jimin’s right with a touch screen tablet in his hand. Jimin nods to the tall, syrup-brown haired mafioso.

“Hey, (Y/n) wasn’t late today,” Jin walks into the room, Taehyung and Hoseok on his tail. You throw the elder a sheepish grin, which he returns as each man takes their respective seat.

“Alright, let’s begin the meeting,” Once everyone is settled, Namjoon’s voice resounds as he took his place in Jimin’s right.

“First thing’s first, how did the deal with the Myo’s go?” Yoongi asks, eyeing the pair that had entered with Jin.

“They were able to get five mill together but they don’t have enough for the nine-millimeter parabellum magazines,” Taehyung says, leaning his weight onto the armrest.

“What was their order,” Jimin questions, his right leg crossing over his left.

“A thousand units of M4 carbines, two-thousand units of Glock 20s, two-thousand units of Glock 43s, and four thousand units of nine-millimeter parabellum cartridges,” Namjoon answers his gaze, flickering to the don, examining his docile expression.

“I’m assuming the M4 carbines and the Glock 20s are the most expensive out of the bunch,” You say thoughtfully, eyes shifting to Yoongi and Jimin to confirm your belief. The pair affirm your words with a nod of their head. “Okay, do we know why they need the guns?”

“They were caught in a turf war, so they’re stocking up on weapons,” The tallest is once again to answer the question. Did Namjoon know everything?

“Well if they’re running short on budget, I would suggest they cut down on the guns and instead stock up on bullets,” Patting Shelty’s soft head, you bring your feet up to your chest as you speak. “It’s not like they’re just going to throw away the gun once they use them, they’re gonna need way more bullets than actual guns. Besides guns become as useful as your tailbone if there are no bullets for them to fire,”

Confusion floods the expression on the beautiful faces of the men, aside from Jin, who chortled at your medical analogy. The faces of the six contorting further, not understanding what their elder found so funny.

“It’s a medical thing don’t worry about it,” Waving off the query in the faces of the men, you dismiss the situation.

“ I’ll make sure to pass that along to the Myo’s,” Taehyung breaks the very, very short silence that had fallen after your unsuccessful analogy.

“Alright next,” Nodding at the chestnut-haired male, Jimin carries on the meeting. “The meeting with Ji-Eun Duri,” His expression hardens as the men sit up straighter, some toying with their suit cuffs.

“The meeting will take place tomorrow at one of her safe houses, we were told to come with minimal personale just,”

“Come with minimal personale? Does she want this to be like a ceasefire signing or something?” Ji-Eun Duri was truly an enigma to you. Every time you think you felt as though you were close to figuring her out, she does something like this. Why not meet at the safety of her own space, her own territory? It wasn’t as though the location of her home was a mystery to you, to Bangtan to be more accurate. But still, what was she doing? What was she really up to?

“Tell me,” You call. “Ji-Eun Dure, what is she like? What’s her business? What does she do?” Firing a barrage of questions, you try to piece together the puzzle that was Ji-Eun Duri.

“She’s sharp and cunning,” Yoongi speaks, his gaze hardening into a glare. ‘Well duh,’ That much was clear, by the way, she held herself, the way she addressed others, her smarts and wit were as clear as the crystal-like turquoise waters of the Maldives.

“She runs one of the largest drug rings in Seoul, and she holds power over many of the mafia families,”

“Where does she get her drugs from?”

“She has her own farms around the world,” Namjoon answers. “But, Peru and Colombia are the main producers,”

‘Peru and Colombia, huh?’ Two of the countries largely responsible for cocaine cultivation. However, it was surprising Bolivia hadn’t made the list of main producers, especially considering the abundance of coca plants in the region. Unless…

“Tell me, does she have anything in Bolivia?” You ask, acting on the bubbling in your stomach.

“Bolivia?” The tallest echos. “I’m not sure, I’d have to look into that. Why?” syrup haired male looks to you.

“Just wondering,” Humming, you mumble, leaning your head against the back of the armchair.

“What about guns? Weapons? Does she deal with weapons?” Twisting your head to the right you ask the man over Jimin.

“She doesn’t deal with weapons, no. She buys weapons frequently, but she’s never been known to sell them” Namjoon faithfully answers. She didn’t deal with weapons? Why?

“Then where does she get her weapons from?” If she has a running drug ring then she must need weapons. And the larger the operation the more weapons and supplies she requires.

“Ji-Eun gets all her firearms and ammo from the dealers and families under her and only from the people he has control over,”

“Yeah, she rarely makes deals with those who aren’t under her,” Taehyung adds.

Duri may have appeared to be arrogant or brash, but her actions spoke otherwise. She trusted no one other than the ones she had a firm grasp on. Those she could manipulate, those who couldn’t betray her. That level of caution was the making of a dangerous woman. You finally understood why the group might have been eager to align Bangtan ti Duri.

Aligning with Duri would mean not only her support but also the support of the families and groups beneath her.

“So it really surprised us when she wanted to make a deal with us,” Hoseok’s calm voice brings you back from the depth of your thoughts.

“If it were just us, we would have jumped at her offer,” Jin says, his hand coming up to brush the back of his neck. “So I’m glad you were there,”

“Yeah, you really saved us back there,” Yoongi chuckles as a sheepish grin forms on his lips

“I was so focused on what we could gain from the alliance, I forgot to think about what we would be giving in return, and just what exactly “loyalty” included,” Jimin sighs, his eyes shifting to your form.

“We all were,” Jeongguk quips. “Well, aside from (Y/n) I guess,” A smile playing at his lips, he gestures to you.

“How’d you catch it so quickly?” Taehyung asks.

“Well, you guys were so tense around her, I knew she was dangerous. And besides, I was already on guard because of the whole Soomin thing. So as soon as she presented her deal, I thought of every way she could benefit from having our “loyalty”. And the biggest one was that if she used her words right she could possibly have almost full control over our networks,” You explain, toying with the furs on Shelty’s head. “Which would mean she would have the most powerful weapon in existence,”

“Most powerful weapons in existence?” Taehyung parrots, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Accurate information,” Letting your feet down, you answer the male. “If used right it could bring the most powerful people to their knees,”

“But, you need to have reliable information to use it,” Adding to your previous statement, you make your point.

“Man I wasn’t even thinking of that,” The youngest grumbles, throwing his arms behind his head.

“That’s why words are so dangerous,” You hum. “If you don’t listen carefully, you might just end up understanding what you want to understand, and not what the speaker is actually meaning to say,”

“So you have to listen properly,” Chuckling you send Shelty over to the younger male, in an effort to heal his wounded pride. How could someone who has barely known the mafia world outwit him, someone who had been at this for years longer than you?

“Well then, we’re gonna need that kind of listening tomorrow,” Jimin concludes, coming to a stand. A sign the meeting was coming to an end.

“Tomorrow, we’ll be taking a unit of fifteen,” He instructs. “Jin, Jeongguk, and Yoongi, you will stay behind,”

A gentle smile curves on your lips at Jimin's decision. A smart choice on his part, he was leaving back-up just in case something were to happen while he was away. And if something were to happen to him, there would be people to look after the gang.

The mouths of the men called opened and closed, the words of protest dying on their tongue when faced with the hard glare of the mafia don.

“Tomorrow, the people I didn’t call the names of are to meet at the front of the house at 1 p.m. sharp,” He commands, his gaze landing on you as he leaves for the door. A silent demand for you to follow him.

“For now, the meeting is adjourned,” He calls, his back to the group.

Light currents of cool spring air wash through the front gardens. A gentle glimmer of sunlight shining past the few clouds that dotted the vast skies warmed the air, creating a comfortable temperature. The coolness of the wind soothingly caresses your body, crashing and receding like the fluid waves of the oceans as you wait for everyone to arrive at the front doors. If only you were able to properly enjoy this beautiful day.

A strange tightness had taken hold in your chest, forming a sort of a ball in the center of your chest cavity. It would have been easier to ignore if that was all it had been, but that metaphorical ball had been constantly exuding just a surge of nervous energy, almost like the winds that were blowing through the vicinity. It wasn’t that you were nervous about meeting Duri, you had already done that once, you could certainly do it again. And it wasn’t that not all of the core members would be with you, as long as one of them were with you, you would have been fine. Besides, Jimin would be with you.

And you knew it wasn’t because Shelty wasn’t going to be tagging along this time around. Seeing as before the mafia incident, you had rarely ever taken Shelty everywhere you went, aside from the flower shop and on her daily walks, she was usually home.

But perhaps the agitation you were feeling was somehow tied to the weights hanging from your thighs. You swallowed the saliva that had pooled in your mouth, gingerly brushing your fingertips across the bump jutting from the leather holster, skin making contact with the exposed grip of the steel gun.

All your training sessions for the day had been canceled in favor of letting you rest and mentally prepare for the meeting that was to come. And as you were doing just that, cuddled up in your many blankets and pillows when an unexpected visitor showed up at your door bearing even more unexpected gifts.

Yoongi was at your door, holding the leather holster you had currently donned, two guns - a charcoal-black Tanfoglio Witness and a similarly colored Glock 20 to be exact - and several magazines of ten-millimeter bullets.

At first, you had denied the need for the wraps as you would be with Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok, and not to mention the other fifteen men that would be attending the meeting with you. But he immediately countered with a “They won’t always be there to protect you”, which was true though you were still reluctant considering you hadn’t had adequate training in firearm handling yet. You had only been working with guns for three days for god's sake! That was when he mentioned that the weapons could be entirely for show and that if Jimin were with you probably wouldn’t even have to draw.

And you finally caved, allowing Yoongi to fit the double thigh holster around your thighs. Which was thankfully not as awkward as you had thought it would be. You had slipped on the belt portion of the holster on your own, and Yoongi simply adjusted the straps to sit comfortably around your clothed flesh.

Heaving another breath lean your weight on your left leg, trying to acknowledge then move on from the heaviness on your thighs.

“Are you nervous, love?” A soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Mm, a little,” You grumble, pressing your face against Jimin’s chest as warm arms encompass your waist.

“Don’t be,” He mumbles, placing a chaste kiss on the crown of your head. “You’ll do fine,”

Your cheeks puff at his words. He was talking as though you would be the only one carrying this deal. He was going to be there too.

“What?” He says, squishing your puffed out cheeks with his forefingers and his thumb.

The don chuckles as he watches you struggle to get out of his old. Groaning you twist out of the grasp around your cheeks. Then stepping away from him, an amused eyebrow-raising when he takes in your full form.

“What’s this?” He asks, gently tugging you back to him and facing you towards him. “Did Yoongi give you a gift?” His eyes travel the length of your physique, honey-brown orbs running over every curve.

“Yeah,” You murmur quietly, gaze falling to your feet. A sudden shyness blooming in your chest, the original anxiousness now forgotten. ‘This man,’ He always had an effect on you. No matter the situation or the circumstance - somehow every time he had either a calming effect or a flustering one. Personally, you preferred the calming one.

“You look hot," Jimin marveled, drinking in the image of you with leather holsters wrapped around your waist and thighs.

“Shush you,” You hiss, blood rushing to your face, a pretty pink settling on your cheeks. To which the silver-blond replies with a series of chuckles. But the moment is cut short when a loud ring of his cell-phone.

“Hold on,” He fumbled with his suit pocket, fishing out his phone and answering it.

“Hell一”

“Duir! She’s gone! She’s not there anymore!” Soomin rambles, her voice is urgent, almost frantic as she yells out unfinished sentences.

“Soomin, calm down. What are you talking about?” He calmly questions the girl on the other end. And although Jimin’s voice was as steady as a rock you could hear the slight worry leaving his tone.

“The safe house was attacked, they took Ji-Eun Duri,” Jimin’s expression changes to one of surprise, then to one of irritation.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Your head twists to meet the owner of the voice to land on a confused Taehyung and Namjoon with an equally perplexed Hoseok on their tail. The trio comes to stand beside you.

“What?” The male spat. “Do you know who?”

“Yeong!” Jimin’s eyes widened hearing the name of the culprit. Yeong, but how could that be? He was supposed to be injured, not to mention he had lost a sizable number of men, could he have called for this?

“Are you sure?” He asks the female,

“Yes, now, get over here! And quickly!” Frustrated by his many questions, Soomin curtly reaffirms.

“We’ll be there soon,” Jimin growls out a reply before ending the call and running a foul expression taking hold of his handsome face.

“What’s going on?” Tenderly taking hold of Jimin’s free hand, you question softly.

“Ji-Eun Duri was kidnapped,” Your eyes blew apart hearing the silver-blond’s words, and though you had a thousand questions, for the moment, you kept them to yourself. You would get all the answers you wanted once you met up with Soomin.

“Should I get everyone else together?” Namjoon inquired, his cell-phone already on hand.

“No, just us,” Jimin rebuffs. “Now, let’s head out,” He commanded, nudging you into the limousine that had been waiting for the group.

“You sure took your time,” Soomin grunts, leading your group into the safe house - which was more of a luxurious villa - with a bitter scowl etched onto her face. And the interior was in utter disarray; the furniture was displaced, fragments of glass and other materials littered the ground. Dull russet splotches of different sizes decorated the walls and floor. ‘Bloodstains,’ There was a fight, and a big one at that. The mayhem that began at the main entrance continued throughout the hallways you walked.

‘But why is she here?’ You eyed the female as you followed her through the grand corridors of the lavish home. A pressing question resonating in your skull of her current behavior, her actions. Why was she still here? From what you inferred from the encounter three days prior, the pair seemed close. And going by the agitated demeanor she was presenting, she was distressed. She was worried about her ally’s safety yet she was still here, why? Unless… ‘I see,’ There was a reason she wasn’t out there looking for her friend.

“Shouldn’t you be looking for her too?” A peeved scoff leaves Taehyung plush lips, articulating the question that you had been mulling over. Her corners twitch at the male’s words, her expression morphing into one of suppressed rage.

“She can’t,” Soomin's jaw opens to answer the chestnut-haired mafioso, but you cut her off before the situation had a chance to escalate.

“Well, it’s more of she’s already tried,” You clarify your words. “I’m guessing you only called for us because you couldn’t find Ji-Eun Duri on your own,”

“I’d forgotten how nice it was to have someone with a brain around,” Soomin sneers, banking left at the interaction between two hallways. Taehyung snarls at the female’s off-handed remark. “It’s as (Y/n) says,” She gestures to you with a nod. “I’ve put my best of the best at work they still haven’t found her,”

“I tried calling Duri this morning, but she wouldn’t pick up. But that's nothing new, so I didn't think much of it,” A deep sigh escaping her painted lips as she pushes open one of the double doors of the room at the end of the hallway you had been trekking down.

Once within the confines of the large office room, your eyes widened as you took in the condition of the space. It was pristine; not a single furniture out of place, only the rug had been muddied. But the rest of the room was clean, spotless even. It was almost as if this room was left untouched or…

“This place… ” Taehyung lets his gaze drift throughout the room, his hands stuffed into the pocket of his suit pants as Soomin leads the group towards the desk.

“Later when I showed up for today’s meeting,” Her hands spread to gesture to the interior of the house. “I came to this.”

“Then you couldn’t find her on your own and now you want our help, is that about right?” A questioning brow raises on the chestnut-haired mafioso.

“Yes,” Soomin’s jaw clenched at Taehyung’s brash words, before looking to Jimin, her gaze silently pleading for Bangtan’s aide.

“But,” She pauses. “There’s another reason I needed you, well specifically speaking, why I needed (Y/n),”

“Me?” You point to yourself. What did she need you for?

“That,” She gestured to the rectangular letter paper situated on a book. There was a table printed on the paper; eight rows with five columns. Each row of the first column held a single number, from one to eight with rows eight, six, five, three, and one being highlighted.

Each row of the second column held numbers one through fifteen with numbers highlighted on rows eight, six, five, three, and one.

Each row of the third column held numbers one to thirty with multiple numbers highlighted in two different colors on the same rows as the column before.

The fourth column was similarly organized, only these rows had numbers going from one to thirty-five, once again with some of the numbers highlighted, the colors corresponding with the ones on the third column.

But the fifth column was entirely different; it was handwritten rather than highlighted print. And what was even stranger was that only the first and the sixth row had numbers written in.

“What is that?” You question, gaze flickering back to the female that had brought you here.

“I don’t know,” Soomin’s shoulders rise into a shrug. “This was there when I came in,”

“I knew it was some sort of clue Duri left,” She heaves another sigh. “But I couldn’t figure it out,”

“You couldn’t figure it out so you wanted (Y/n)’s help?” Jimin reiterates Soomin’s words.

“Yes,” She affirms, her arms folding defensively over her chest. “Will you take a look?” Her pleading eyes meet yours. She talked as though you had a choice, if you wanted to keep the alliance then you had no choice to help find the older woman. But knowing that exactly didn’t do you any good, it certainly wasn’t going to help you find Duri any faster.

Exhaling a deep breath you focus your mind. There’s a very good chance she wasn’t even in this room while the abduction happened. But going by the mud on the rug and the way it is positioned, you could tell that whoever brought in all that mud stood on the spot, right in the middle of that expensive rug and chatted with someone. Someone sitting behind that desk.

Plus, seeing as there were no other footprints on the floor, no signs of people searching around the room. Duri must’ve been in here. Easing away from the group you carefully wandered the room. The answer to the clue was in this room. The way she highlighted those numbers, it wasn’t haphazardly done, the highlighter strokes were precise and clear. Not to mention the paper itself, most of the columns and numbers were printed out for god's sake. So this clue had been preplanned, she expected something like this may happen and had already taken precautions. Now the question was where was the answer?

Your intent gaze brushed over every nook, every cranny, every detail of this room. ‘It has to be in here,’ The sofas, the coffee table, the cupboards, the bookshelf一 the bookshelf. You briskly walked over to the tall bookshelf up against the wall behind the desk.

‘Are those numbers?’ Your eyebrows knit together as you delicately run your finger down the spines of a book before you. Examining the books, all of these books were in English, and each of them had numbers at the end of their spines.

‘One, two, three, four…’ Counting out the number of books in each row there were exactly fifteen books, all numbered. ‘Eight rows,’ Your eyes widened as you registered your own words, the pieces of the puzzle started to come together.

The carnage outside, and the lack of carnage in here, the footprints, the clue, it was all falling in place.

“She was in here when it happened,” You mused, your thoughts flowing straight from your head to your mouth. “There wasn’t a fight or struggle. Ji-Eun Duri left with them,”

“What are you talking about?!” Soomin is quick to defend the older woman. “My mother would never leave with the enemy!”

“She didn’t leave by choice, no. But she did cooperate with them. Oh yeah, she left with them, alright,” Hurrying back to the desk, you pick up the paper sitting on the book before your brain finally processing Soomin’s words. “Ji-Eun Duri is your mother?” You blanch at the other female.

“N一no, well, yes. She’s my adoptive mother,” The girl clarifies her hands creating round gestures as she did. “But that’s not the point,” Shaking off the question she speaks.

“Duri would never leave with the enemy,”

“Oh, but she did,” Your head tilts as you rush back to the bookshelf, pulling out the five books highlighted on the first column of the table. “But there’s a reason why she left,”

“Why are you getting books?” Taehyung asks, confusion muddling his already sour expression as he watches you gather book after book in your arms.

Once you retrieved the five books from the shelf back to the desk, you organized them by order of the rows they were in, believing that would be the order of the message.

“You mean the books?” Soomin’s voice quiets as the revelation dawns on her. “The numbers! The shelves! How did I not see that before?!” She exclaims, rushing to the desk, determined to lend you a hand. And to be useful to the search.

“If the first column means bookshelf and the second column means book number. Then the third column must mean page number,” The female mafiosos babbles, catching onto the pattern. “So the fourth column would be the word, but what’s the fifth column?” Frown lines set on her forehead as he faces another dead end.

“If we follow the progression, then the fifth should mean letter,” You chuckle when Soomin was unable to understand the last column even though the answer was right before her.

While you and Soomin were occupied with deciphering the message of the code, turning to the page the paper dictated, then to the word and letter. Another figure entered the chaos which was Ji-Eun’s office.

“Namjoon-ssi, I came here as soon as I could,” A smooth voice, comparable to softest silk spoke from beyond the agape double doors.

“Ah yes, Hyuk, come in,” Namjoon invited the owner of the voice into the room.

Even you couldn’t resist the urge to peek at the holder of such a honeyed voice. Your curious gaze landed on the figure of a beautiful man talking to the don’s right-hand man.

He had porcelain pale skin with a pair of the brightest hazel orbs you had ever laid eyes on. A sharp, defined jawline with pitch-black locks gracefully resting against his forehead. He was truly beautiful, of course to you no one could compare to Jimin, but the specimen standing before you was quite fine as well.

“Oh? Should I be worried?” Jimin chuckles, a deep fuschia dusts your cheeks, having been caught ogling admiring another man.

“Of course not,” You huff, pout puffing onto your cheeks.

“You’re adorable,” The silver-blond whispers, pressing a soft kiss against your plush lips, pulling you into him.

“Oh, hush you,” Mumbling into his pillowy lips, you place once last chaste kiss on them before returning to your code-cracking. A quiet chuckle leaves his cherry-pink lips as he eases away from the desk to the sofas where Taehyung had found himself a seat.

“So when did that happen?” Soomin goads as she flipped the first book of the list open.

“When did what happen?” You return cooly, taking the paper with the message, and rereading over the contents. The sly woman gives you a shit-eating grin, her eyes possessing an incredibly entertained glint.

“Whatever, just turn to page twenty-one,” You commanded. Soomin lets out a soft chortle before turning the page you had instructed to. “There are more than one numbers highlighter on this row, so I’m guessing two different pages,”

“And the highlighter colors must coincide with the which number is for what page,” Soomin adds.

“First is word number three, letters one and five,”

Craning your neck to look into the book, you count the words from the top line to the left, landing on “Jadeites”. What did that even mean?

“Jadeites, so a ‘j’ and an ‘i’,” Soomin noted down the two letters.

“Keep the capitals,” You instruct, a woman cunning enough to create such a message would know to keep those minor details in check.

“Alright, next page,” Soomin looks to you expectantly.

“Twenty-three; word five; letters one, two, three, and four,”

Turning to the commanded page, Soomin counts down the words before reciting her findings. “The word is “during”. So, “d”, “u”, “r”, and “i”,”

“Duri?” Combining together the letters you said aloud the word that came as a result. Your expression hardened at the outcome of the search - it was a sign - you were on the right track.

“Next book,” Sharply you call for the search to continues.

“Right,” Soomin sets down the book in her hold, lifting the next book in sequence.

“Page fifteen; words twelve and twenty,”

“It’s “thirty” and “eight”, any letters?” She asks. With a shake of your head, you reply a silent ‘no’.

“Okay next,” Picking up the next novel, she asks for directions.

“Page ten; words seven, twenty-eight, and thirty,’’

“So, “at”, “i” and “cloud”,” The peach-blonde woman read out her findings.

‘At I cloud,’ Wasn’t that... Your eyes wide as you finally understood Drui’s plan. And if your hunch was correct then this would certainly lead you directly to her.

“Soomin, what kind of phone does Ji-Eun carry?” You ask, urgency lacing your voice.

“An apple, why?” She answers, and the realization is immediate “Oh!”

“I’ll go get a laptop,” Soomin calls, scurrying out of the room.

“What happened?” Taehyung straightens in his seat when Soomin abruptly dashes out of the office. “What’s going on? Where is she going?” A slew of questions falls from the brunette's lips as he slowly lowers himself onto the sofa.

“What’s wrong, love? Did you two find something?” Jimin inquires, cruising over to where you furiously turned pages of a thick book.

“If this is what I think it is then it’ll only be minutes until we find her,” You say as you run your fingers across the page of the book, eyes scanning over the many words before taking a shaky step back. A wide grin curling on your lips.

“Oh, you sneaky woman,” Chuckling with a shake of your head you scribble down words onto a piece of paper.

“Alright, I got it,” Soomin returns with a slender silver laptop computer.

“I thought Ji-Eun didn’t have a tracker on her,” Hoseok said, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“That’s what I thought too,” Soomin admitted, taking long and unjustifiably confident strides towards the desk.

“Wait, so she does have a tracker?” Taehyung's statement sounds more of a question as he tries to piece together what the two crazy women were spouting.

“Not exactly,” The peach-blonde female purs.

“I am thoroughly confused,” The crimson-haired mafioso mumbles, arms folded over his chest, Hoseok stands beside Namjoon at the desk.

“You see she carries an Apple phone,” You begin, your excited gaze meeting their befuddled ones.

“And?” Taehyung grunts. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You see, most to all smart-phones these days come with a built-in GPS tracker, and that is especially for Apple,” The peach-haired female continues your explanation.

“All Apple devices come in with a “Find My Phone” feature where you can track your lost phone from an Apple computer or any other IOS device by using your Apple ID and signing into iCloud,” Piggybacking on Soomin’s continuation you fully expound the group in your findings.

“So you intend to track Duri’s location from her phone,” Jimin restates your intentions in clear terms, shuffling closer to better see the computer screen.

“Okay, settings, and here’s the Apple ID,” You instruct, shuffling the piece of paper the peach-blonde had jotted down the fragments of the encoded message.

As directed, she opens the settings of the computer, typing the email of the apple ID into the text bar before clicking the next option.

“The password?” Her questioning gaze lifts to meet yours.

“Come find me, no space,” You answer with a knowing grin.

“No, she didn’t,” Soomin crowed, pressing both her palms on the desk, her faze holding an oddly amused yet annoyed expression.

Scoffing, the blonde enters the password, immediately scouring the settings for the “Find My Phone” feature once the program accepted the password.

“And there she is,” Airily, Soomin breaths out. The tracking feature promptly displayed the image of the phone’s location. A smile erupts on your face as you see all your hard work pay off. Your chest blooming with pride at your achievement, in such a short time frame no less.

However, the sense of victory is short-lived when you realize that someone could have easily taken Duri’s cell-phone and planted it in another location, possibly a trap. It wouldn’t be too difficult to do so. Not to mention it would make an incredibly effective trap as you would have no choice but to fall for the trap, that is if you wanted to retrieve Duri.

“(Y/n)?” Jimin calls your name, quickly noting your now crestfallen expression.

“The phone could have been planted,” You mumble. “This could be a trap,”

The energy of the room falls, just as yours had, before a honeyed voice chime in.

“Then why don’t we have people scout the area from afar?” The charcoal-haired man that had later entered the scene suggests.

“And you are?” You ask the male standing across from you, beyond the desk. That was the man you had been caught ogling, his pitch-black locks falling to the side with the slight tilt of his head.

“Ri Hyuk, but please call me Hyuk (L/n)-ssi” He introduces himself with a soft bow.

“Oh, and you already know me?” Surprise lacing your tone, unaware that word about yourself had spread in the mafia community.

“With my line of work it would be strange for me to not know,” Chuckling softly, Hyuk pushes his fists into the pockets of his slacks.

“Right,” An awkward replay leaves your lips, unsure of how to react as the male stared daggers into you. His gaze was sharp, plush lips curling into a foxy smile. The more you interacted with the male the more he disconcerted you, you could feel his eyes appraising you, analyzing you. That man may have been handsome; he did not exude the warmth Jimin did, in fact, Hyuk’s presence brought a certain chill to the room.

“Okay so why don’t you give me the location you found and I’ll send out a team to scope out the place?” Namjoon offers, his voice bringing you back from your thoughts.

“Uh, yeah,” Your head turns to Soomin expectantly, your brain having ceased all function at the moment.

“Here, just take the computer,” She lifts the slender body of the laptop, handing the computer to the tall mafioso.

The room settles into a stifling silence as the group waits to hear back from the team Namjoon had sent out. You quietly sat on the sofas beside Jimin, toying with the straps of the holsters around your thighs.

“I have to say (L/n)-ssi, the way you solved the case was quite impressive,” Hyuk speaks, breaking the long quiet.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Sheepishly grinning, you accept the praise before falling back into the silence. Only for the same male to break it once again with an interesting observation.

“I must say, Ji-Eun Duri has quite the taste in flowers,” Humming, Hyuk gestures to the vibrant yellow blossoms decorating the cylindrical lavender flower vase sitting on Duri’s desk.

“Huh?” With all that had been happening you had completely overlooked the beautiful blooms that gracefully sat on the older woman’s desk. You hadn’t realized the onyx haired woman had an interest in flowers.

“Tansies?” Out of sheer habit, your mind had automatically identified the vivid bloom. Your eyes widen, hearing your own words.

“(Y/n), what's wrong?!” Jimin exclaims when you spring out of your seat, your eyes trained on the seemingly harmless flora.

‘Tansies’

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Tansy: Hostiliy; “I declare war against you,”

#mafia au!#mafia au #park jimin x reader #Mafia Park Jimin x reader #Park Jimin #bts mafia au #Mafia Park Jimin #Mafia Jin #mafia namjoon #mafia taehyung #mafia hoseok #mafia yoongi #mafia jungkook #Doctor reader kind of #Purple Irises #Mafia BTS #bts fic

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danwhobrowses · 4 years

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Why ‘The Karate Kid Part II’ Deserves More Respect

So guess what film I finished watching today? Of course, the Karate Kid franchise is considered iconic mainly for its first entry; Wax on Wax off, Skeleton fights, Sweep the Leg and the Crane Kick all cemented its legacy that allowed Cobra Kai to also be such a success. But imagine my shock when the approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes for Part II is 45% - 21% lower than the Jaden Smith ‘The Karate Kung Fu Kid’ version (and Part III is scored 15%, which is also super harsh but hard to debate outside of the magnificence of Terry Silver). Originally this was just gonna be a general post of how much I enjoyed retreading Part II, but upon seeing that score I had to give it my ‘Deserves More Respect’ posts.

It is an off-chance, but if you haven’t watched this film there will be spoilers within, I encourage you to watch it before reading, and maybe watch it again if you have so it’s fresh in the mind

Let’s start with a controversial point shall we? There are several parts where Part II is actually better than the original. Now I know! There’s a lot about the original which is iconic, but nostalgia does blind you to other shortcomings and while it’s easy to sell the first part because of its mystique, a sequel has the added pressure of rising above and developing on old and new themes set by the predecessor. The Premise In case you decided against refreshing your memory. Karate Kid Part II starts with a recap of Part I, a bit of content that was meant to be Part I’s final scene (in the script, not for filming) and then a timeskip. Ali with an i is gone - brutally dumping Daniel for some Football Player before Senior Prom and after crashing his car, Daniel’s mother is in Fresno for work and Miyagi has received a letter from his home Okinawa in news of his father’s fading health. The stage is set for Daniel and the audience to learn more about the iconic Mr. Miyagi and the life he left behind. Okay, so there is bad in this film Part II deserves respect, but it’s not perfect. It definitely gets messy near the end with Daniel’s antagonist Chozen, he mainly took beats from Johnny Lawrence in physically confronting Daniel when he could with a bunch of no-named goons and he fought pretty similarly to Johnny in catch counters and leg strikes. The opening recap did take a lot of time too, while the ending remained somewhat abrupt having just beaten up Chozen to embrace Kumiko (who had a delayed recovery after being punched once). While not bad, a fair amount of retreaded content felt like downgrades of the original; Chozen and Sato lacked the charisma of Johnny and Kreese, the crane kick was far more impressive than the drum technique and the Tournament setting was grander than the O-Bon festival. But, there are Iconic Moments in this film too Part I may have the Crane Kick and the Skeletons and the Training and Sweep the Leg. But people may forget that Part II had awesome moments too.

Like Daniel chopping through 6 Sheets of Ice! If that isn’t one hell of a power play I don’t know what is. It is a moment genuinely impressive in and outside of the 80s cheese universe of Karate Kid, and it gets referenced in Season 2 of Cobra Kai.

Also referenced in Season 2 is Miyagi vs Kreese. While this is the intended ending for Part I, it certainly acted better at the start of Part II, especially given that is foreshadows the situation Daniel finds himself in at the end of the movie. This moment is equally iconic as it completely encapsulates the character of both senseis - Kreese the confident brute brought to a sniveling mouse when size and power failed him and Miyagi the cool-headed and vastly more intelligent fighter still with the cheeky prankster lightness to him as he honks the scared shitless Kreese on the nose. Perfect.

While I did want to cite the Tea Ceremony as well I think the more iconic moment for Part II had to be Miyagi chopping the log during the storm. The storm itself is a very well-done scene which unmasks several characters in the face of adversity. True tension, worry and stakes are sold as the village are in danger of the cruel whims of nature, an act which is all too real for Sato when the house he’s in collapses on him in the calm before his scheduled deathmatch with Miyagi. Not only is this again some great foreshadowing by the rule of three (Daniel asking if Miyagi can chop a log like Sato is doing with a banner and then Miyagi and Sato meeting and seeing Sato fail to chop a log) it proves a pivotal point where Sato turns from aggrieved antagonist to repenting ally. A great show of power and friendship as Miyagi metaphorically breaks the rift between their friendship that weighs Sato down. Okay, we hear you, but how is it better? I do have to preface that I do still love Part I, I have to because in pointing out where Part II is better I have to pick at Part I’s faults. While the ending is messy Part II definitely has much better pacing, until the skeletons scene Part I doesn’t really pick up because it has to set up, Part II while it does recap doesn’t need to worry about it. Giving Miyagi the main plot was definitely Part II’s strongest suit. Part I profited from Miyagi being the ‘mysterious old teacher’ but learning a lot more about his humanity and history was engrossing and it allowed positive development for Miyagi and Daniel, especially their bond as a surrogate father and son when Daniel personally goes out of his way to support Miyagi on a very personal matter. The main characters maintain their charm as well, still a lovely array of life lessons in Part II more than just finding balance, Miyagi teaches Daniel through words and action on taking time to breathe, to refocus when imbalanced, to forgive rather than to harbour hate, mercy, selflessness and humbleness

“never put passion before principle. Even if win, you lose.” - Mr. Miyagi

The scenes involving Miyagi and his father were some of the most deep and emotive of the series up until Cobra Kai, some still haven’t been topped such as Miyagi’s dad’s first words to his son or when Daniel talked about when his father died. And say what you will about Chozen, he does have a lot of Johnny vibes but a lot of the character we believed was Johnny due to nostalgia goggles was more fitting of Chozen’s manner. The story did a great job in making sure Chozen was always an asshole, at times Johnny did at least display honour and grace but Chozen was always sore about stuff and quick to claim dishonour even when he was in the wrong. Contrary to Johnny it’s more about his family than it is about a girl, which allowed a lot more freedom in the plot. Whether you felt Elizabeth Shue’s Ali with an i was prettier than Tamlyn Tomita’s Kumiko is up to personal preference, but the messy-haired Kumiko definitely had a slightly improved presence in Part II than Ali did, with actual focus on her own feelings outside of attraction to Daniel, her ambition to become a dancer directly linking to the O-Bon Festival - which in turn related to the Drum technique - as well as the delicately beautiful Tea Ceremony scene and actually contributing to the final fight (granted Ali wouldn’t be allowed to). Also Daniel didn’t try to eat her face which is a general improvement to the romantic subplot, extra applause has to go to Tomita here too because this was legitimately her first role - Shue had her second so that’s impressive too - and both women had good careers going forward. The increased stakes definitely worked in the favour of Part II as well, as sequel culture is forced to do, but by moving to Okinawa (actually filmed in Hawaii) we opened the door to better suit Miyagi’s world while keeping Daniel the fish out of water. I can’t speak too much for appropriation because there is still kinda some ‘white saviour’ undertones but I didn’t feel like Japan was treated negatively in this light, its culture of the O-Bon Festival and the Tea Ceremony was treated with the utmost respect and explained without pandering, the flute music had definitely stepped up its game for the soundtrack as did the imagery. Can also appreciate that Daniel does go for the Crane kick when fighting Chozen but is parried. Added hat tip has to go to costuming too. A lot of costumes would have to have distinct Kamon such as Sato’s twin fish and Miyagi’s bonsai on a lot of their clothing

Between Sato and Miyagi the colours of their clothes often code their emotions towards each other, with Sato usually in grey and Miyagi in white or cream, when Sato and Miyagi prepare for death they are in black and when Sato wants forgiveness he moves to a lighter shade. While Part I also used black and white to differ Johnny and Daniel, Part II put Chozen and Daniel in the more Japanese-themed Red and Blue. While both men wear red, blue and whites at time, Chozen’s clothes almost devolve from the white he debuts in as his darker side comes out before flat out embracing yellow after his chance to prove his honour in the storm is refused (and he’s in white then), while Daniel often moves to Red or red tones even in his blue shirt. Kumiko also moves from white to blue, sometimes even purple, in set up to the final fight to have the primary colours stand out in the colourful crowd of the O-Bon festival, but even in the blue Kumiko had red to pair her connection with Daniel. Also her Yukata at the festival is just stunning, the Great Wave off Kanagawa print is a nice touch.

Anything else we should know? It might not be much else about the film itself I can tell you, but I do appreciate something I’m starting to call ‘The Rocky Connection’ when it comes to Karate Kid. Like Part I’s ‘You’re the Best (Around)’ was shortlisted for Rocky III, Part II’s song ‘Glory of Love’ was shortlisted for Rocky IV’s theme, losing to ‘Hearts on Fire’, Bill Conti also chose to score this film instead of Rocky IV. I like to pair this with Daniel’s Rocky-esque character, he has that same kind of swagger but a lot more naive and childlike. Martin Kove also gets a nod because those bleeding hands were legit, he had an accident on-set and the footage was kept for the final cut. Tamlyn Tomita wasn’t the only film debut for Part II, B.D. Wong of...well, several famous roles including but not limited to Shang in the animated Mulan, Dr. Wu in the Jurassic Park franchise, Hugo Strange in Gotham and many more, also had his debut here in a minor speaking role when he’s handing out flyers for the dance party to Kumiko and Daniel before the Ice Chopping Scene. So, why does it deserve respect A film that adds to a beloved character in a respectful fashion without having really any god awful moments does not deserve a 4.5/10 rating. It may not have as emphatic an ending or as great a villain but it has a captivating plot and a good pace, better stakes and much more emotionally driven and responsive scenes. A lot of effort and dedication went into this film to explore new dimensions of the main characters in a fashion which was enjoyable and at times heartwarming. And characters are given human moments, even Miyagi confesses himself not to be perfect and it keeps each character grounded. Even to this day parts of Part II are remembered fondly rather than the campness that Part III had outside of Terry Silver and his magnificent ponytail, the fondness also continues to reflect in Cobra Kai with homages and fan theories of Daniel going to Okinawa again and even re-encountering Chozen. Not to mention it grossed $113m on a $13m budget and got nominated for a Best Original Song Oscar (losing to Top Gun) Part II was a good and enjoyable film which deserves far more credit than to be rated this low, for that it deserves respect.

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mgtmnk · 4 years

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Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Gilbert Nightray & Vincent Nightray Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Uncomfortable Sibling Interactions, Canon Compliant, Mild Gore Language: English Words: 4896 Chapters: 1/1

Slowly Vincent reaches into the folds of his skirt, extracting a pair of scissors from between them. He makes a show of flaunting them to his brother, saying yes, these are the real deal, before conspicuously placing them on a cabinet behind him, lifting his open palms and showing them to his brother with a smile. “I’m unarmed.” A joke, probably, but Vincent’s sense of humor always struck Gil as rather tasteless.

Vincent helps Gil out after a problem when he moves rooms. Basically a Vincent character study from Gil's perspective when they're 14-15 and 16 respectively. Happy birthday gay little rat

NOT SHIP

Mirror under readmore

It’s been a couple hours now, and Gilbert’s arms still don’t hurt. Part of him wishes they did, that they had the decency to make his progress seem more tangible -- in the last two years he'd lived with Nightray, he'd gotten considerably stronger, used to associating pain with advancement. Yet despite having carried several boxes of considerable weight over a distance that he feels is nothing to scoff at, Gil’s arms don’t hurt in the slightest. It’s annoying.

A crash sounds behind him and he turns around, sees books scattered across the floor. His brother looks at him in a way that does not constitute an apology and Gil groans, sets the box he was carrying down, gets to work picking up what his little brother had dropped.

“God damn it, Vince,” he mutters, and Vincent laughs under his breath. Though Gil had insisted he do the moving on his own— the maids had offered, he didn’t want to trouble them and honestly, he liked the repetitiveness of the task— Vincent was even more insistent about helping him. He’d find it endearing, if Vincent weren’t fifteen and still small enough to bowl over in a stiff breeze and definitely well aware of this, making it the third time in the five trips they’d made that Gil is forced to stoop and pick up what Vincent failed to carry. On purpose, definitely, because when Gil glances up at him Vincent smirks like a cat who’s caught the canary. Gil makes the decision to not think about this comparison too hard.

“Brother’s a lot stronger than me,” Vincent says, and finally drops to his knees to clean up his own mess. “It still makes me sad to see him doing all this work on his own, though. I’d feel terrible to leave him by himself…”

The mess is cleaned up quickly, given that only a few books of Gil’s relatively sizable collection were dropped. That was one of the advantages of moving into Nightray— he’d never had much chance to do much reading on his own with Vessalius, given his daily duties, and he’d since discovered he was quite fond of it. About the only advantage, actually, with Vincent now clinging to his side, box in hand. He stands not an inch from his brother, their positions threatening collision.

“I know change is unpleasant… but, well, if nothing else, the room will be bigger.”

They round a corner. Gil scowls. “I don’t want a bigger room. I was perfectly content with things as they were.”

“But the room needed renovations… and brother’s an adult now, anyway. He’s even got women lining up to propose to him, doesn’t he?”

That is a subject Gil distinctly does not want to broach, so he doesn’t grace Vincent with an answer until they finally get to what is intended as his new room. It is certainly larger than his old one, with room enough for even a desk and shelves, unlike the child’s quarters he’d been living in previously. The bed was bigger to match, too, but this just made Gilbert more annoyed as they set down the boxes they had been carrying. Vincent’s had been books, but Gil carried the larger box containing personal possessions. Among those he had originally intended to pack his bedding, until Vincent pointed out that they wouldn’t fit on the new bed. Nightray has plenty of sheets to match any of their beds, sure, but Gil had gotten used to one particular set. He doesn’t want to have to get used to a new one.

Vincent sees him contemplating and laughs. “Still grieving those lost sheets?”

“I wish I were like you sometimes, able to fall asleep anywhere. I have to be dead tired to fall asleep anywhere that isn’t a bed.”

Gil actually falls asleep in places other than his bed quite often. He is frequently dead tired. Vincent definitely knows this, but doesn’t comment, to Gil’s relief. Instead he helps put away Gil’s things without comment or complaint, setting to work organizing his bookshelf without prompting. Though Gil’s tempted to watch him, make sure he doesn’t mess it up, he decides against it. Better to focus on his own task than get worked up over the possibility that Vincent will mess up an easy, inconsequential chore. Even if he gets it wrong, Gil sort of likes the process of putting away books.

“One more trip,” Gil sighs as the last thing he’d been carrying is finally stowed away. “Are you sure you won’t drop anything this time?”

“I won’t!”

It’s said so earnestly Gil almost believes it, even though he’d asked the same thing last time and got the same answer. He stands up from where he’d been crouching in front of a bedside table, stretches, lets his eyes drift to a window unobscured by curtains. It’s large, looking out to the garden, and he can see Elliot and Vanessa outside playing in the summer heat.

Vincent must have caught where he was staring. “Good thing our other brothers are out, hm?”

‘Other’ is pronounced with a fair bit of contempt, Gilbert thinks, but even that seems disingenuous. Their elder brothers probably hate Vincent even more than they hate him, for reasons Gil doesn’t understand, but Vincent acts like he hates them more for a joke than for the legitimate reasons he most certainly has. It sets Gil on edge even more than some of Vincent’s other eccentricities.

“Come on,” he mumbles and leaves the room, not having the check over his shoulder to know Vincent was trailing not a foot behind him.

The last things they need to carry over are some of Gil’s old clothes and the biggest box of books. Given that the former would probably be lighter and thus easier to carry, Gilbert takes the latter. Wordlessly Vincent takes the box that remains, and when the two leave Gil’s old room it is finally left completely empty. Somehow, the thought of that poor old room— walls stripped bare, mattress left open to the elements, windows without curtains and the dresser empty of contents— somehow, the thought of it makes Gil the slightest bit sad, having no one to need it anymore. He resolves to not enter it again.

No further items are dropped on their last trek to Gil’s last room, Vincent remaining quiet the entire time in a way that was either eerie or pleasant; Gil wasn’t entirely sure. The boxes are deposited— Gil’s beside a bookshelf, Vincent’s on the bed. For a moment Gil opens his mouth to ask Vincent to help him sort out his clothes— some were definitely too small for him, Vincent could drop them off to a maid he meant to give them to for her son— but he remembered his brother’s habits around fabric and dropped the subject.

“I’m not going to touch brother’s things without permission...”

Gil narrows his eyes, annoyed more at how his brother seems to read his mind when he can’t understand him at all than at what Vincent was actually saying.

“Brother’s special... I don’t break his things unless he wants me to.”

“You don’t have your scissors?” Gil asks, because he has to. There never was an occasion when Vincent had damaged any of Gil’s belongings, now that Gil took the time to recall it, but he couldn’t help but be wary around him. It was only natural.

A joke, probably, but Vincent’s sense of humor always struck Gil as rather tasteless. “Just…” he really should’ve sorted out which clothes he intended to discard before all of this, but there’s no changing the past. “Spread it all out on the bed, I’ll be able to pick out which ones are too small.”

If nothing else, Gil isn’t in the habit of keeping a lot of clothes, at least not for someone who is ostensibly a noble. He mostly likes cycling through the same few modest outfits every day until they get worn out, at which point he’ll usually repair them himself. Since arriving at Nightray he’d only gotten rid of a few old clothes too small for him, but he’d hit a growth spurt recently. Anyway, moving meant he’d have to reorganize his clothes, so he might as well deal with what he has to discard.

Little time passes for Vincent to do as he’s told, even making some initial efforts to sort the clothes into piles by side. “Oh... a lot of these look like they’d fit me.”

Gil shrugs as he climbs onto the bed, grimacing as he touches the sheets. They’re a different fabric from his old ones, and though he’s certainly worn clothes of worse material with little grievance, something about the thought of sleeping with them sets him on edge. “Then they’re too small for me. Put them in the discard pile.”

“Where are they going?”

“A maid. For her son.”

“Did brother promise them?”

With that Gil glances over questioningly, though he doesn’t really intend to. Vincent laughs.

“Brother’s always thinking of the help, isn’t he...”

“I used to be them. It’s hard not to sympathize. They’re a lot more tolerable than Nightray proper, anyway.”

“It wasn’t an insult... I think it’s sweet.”

The clothes are sorted through within a few minutes, Vincent passing no further comment, much to Gil’s relief. Having further things to sort out in his own room, he asks Vincent to drop off the clothes with the maid in question, giving her name and where he’s most likely to find her. Vincent nods, gathers the clothes in his arms, and runs off.

“Vince.”

It’s dinner. Away from the rest of the family, as usual. Aside from their adoptive siblings’ general hostility, Vincent has a habit of being asleep while the rest of the family eats, and Gil usually finds something to busy himself with so he has an excuse to be away. It had been a couple weeks since Gil made the room move, and he’s still not comfortable sleeping there. His head hurts.

“Hm? Oh... if brother wants me to eat his peppers, I’d be happy to.”

Gil flushes a bit, uncomfortable with the verbal acknowledgement of a ritual he regularly participates in. He pushes his plate towards Vincent sitting across from him and crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not about that.” He’d been avoiding the topic for about a week, but it was starting to eat at his sleep even more than the uncomfortable bed sheets, so he decided to bite the bullet. “The maid I told you to drop those clothes off to…”

“I have no idea what brother is referring to.”

Immediately Gil sucks in air through his teeth, covers his eyes with his hands, exhales, slams one fist against the table hard enough that the plate he’d given to Vincent jumps. “Vincent,” he groans, “why.”

A pause, Vincent looking to the side as a grin slowly crosses his face. “Well, I truly haven’t a clue what could’ve happened… but if I were to do such a thing… is it really that wrong for me to want some of Gil’s own…” he sighs, playing with his hair, closing his eyes. “You know, just to keep?”

The chair clatters to the ground behind him as Gil stands with enough force to knock it over. Vincent raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “A joke!” he assures. “I was joking, brother. I promise, nothing strange has been done with your clothes. I asked the maid- her son is eighteen, Gil, and already far too large for a young teenager’s clothes.”

Was that true? It could’ve been. Gil couldn’t remember ever actually asking the age of the maid’s son, just hearing that she had one. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well,” and Vincent laughs for some reason. “I do have them, yes. I was planning… it was supposed to be a surprise for the winter holiday…”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s just amateur, and only for this purpose. I’ve been studying quilting... If brother wants me to give them to the maid anyway, I will...”

“No, it’s fine, they’re probably—” Gil doesn’t know why he wanted to say tainted, doesn’t even know what he thinks Vincent could’ve done to them in the two weeks he’d have them to warrant that word. “Just keep them.”

Vincent smiles, nods, and they finish eating in silence.

The subject doesn’t come up again until a couple weeks later, when out of nowhere Vincent presents Gil with his progress on the quilt. He holds it out, grabbing it by the corner with one hand, and Gil reluctantly sets his book down to look at what he’s being shown.

“I’ve only just begun it. Time prior I spent practicing. Before I went too far, I wanted to ask brother if it felt alright.”

He’s only stitched a few squares together, not nearly large enough to take up the space of Gil’s bed, and while he obviously intended a pattern, Gil can’t figure out what it is. Gil runs his hands over the surface— he thinks Vincent must have remembered which shirts he was particularly inclined to wearing, because all of the fabric feels nice to the touch. Reluctantly he takes the swatch in hand, is surprised to find the back already pressed. When he pulls the edges of the piece apart, the stitching holds, not a single gap or give to be found.

“It’s nice,” he says, looking down at the unfinished blanket in hand. “You did this yourself?”

“I wouldn’t involve anyone else in it.”

“Huh.”

When he’d first heard about the project, Gil was almost tempted to stop Vincent. There were very few things Gil was better at than his younger brother— chores and handicrafts among them, Vincent apparently not having the patience for them. That Vincent may take sewing from him too crossed his mind, but Gil had set the thought aside. Ultimately, he doesn’t see it necessary for an older brother to be better at things than the younger. Gil is already long used to having other people be smarter than him, to the point he doesn’t really mind it anymore.

After a minute or so of inspecting the swatch Vincent had given him, Gil finally looked at his younger brother. In the time he took to test the sample he had spotted a couple mistakes where Vincent had run over the same piece too many times, made the seam a little too thin, but it really is impressive for someone’s first time. Their eyes meet, and Vincent spent half a second expressionless, as though analyzing Gil. Then he beams, smiled in a manner that actually went to the eyes, and Gil almost thought it was sweet.

“Then, is a higher loft OK?”

“I’d prefer it. I like heavy blankets.”

“That’s what I thought...”

Vincent asks him a few more questions about preferences, saying he was glad the secret got out since he’d rather make something perfect for Gil, taking the sample back and clutching it tight to his chest with both hands. The smile Vincent has never falters, and, being one of the only ones Gil had ever seen from him that wasn’t unsettling, Gil actually takes some relief from this. Soon the conversation ends, and Vincent dismisses himself, saying he has a conversation to have with their father. Gil doesn’t pry and simply watches as Vincent leaves.

Sleeping has gotten easier for Gil as the months begin to grow colder, moving out of summer into fall. Though his old resentment for his sheets remains, they no longer torment him. At this point his frustration is mostly a grudge, and sometimes he thinks about taking a page from Vincent’s book and cutting them all up for the hell of it. The thought is quickly dismissed as bizarrely cruel, and Gil chastises himself for letting his thoughts grow so morbid.

“Has training caused brother grief?”

It’s an unexpected question, one which arrives on another of their solitary dinners, and Gil isn’t sure how to answer it. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s been a sort of strange disposition about Gil lately. He doesn’t seem acclimated to things.”

Though Gil takes offense, he knows it’s true. Vincent is always much better at stomaching the sort of things they’re asked to do, doesn’t seem to mind the prospect of violence or the reality of blood. Once Gil had asked if Vincent ever regretted not being able to go to an actual school, which Vincent simply laughed at.

“I’m not sure I can do it. K- kill people, I mean.”

Vincent hums. “I wouldn’t worry about it…”

“It’s just… I can’t… I’m… I think I’m weak.”

“Gil can do it because he’s weak.”

Silence follows for the next couple minutes as Gil tries to think of an answer. He supposes it makes sense, that Vincent thinks he’s weak. There is not a single time he can remember being strong in front of him. The statement was strange, though. Gil thinks it must take a very strong person to kill someone else.

Eventually, Vincent interrupts his attempts to reply. “I meant to ask about something, actually…”

He gets up, runs off leaving an unfinished plate— Vincent was averse to vegetables, and Gil almost feels superior about this before remembering the hypocrisy of it. When Vincent gets back, he’ll give him an earful about table manners. Until then, Gil can hug his knees to his chest and think about how horribly everything he’s going to attempt in the next year is most definitely going to go.

Two or three minutes go by before Vincent’s return, at which point Gil had forgotten about chastising him and nearly forgotten he’d left in the first place. He only stops brooding with the sound of Vincent setting aside their plates and silverware, making space on the table to spread out the quilt.

“It’s not done…”

That much was obvious, given that there was neither back nor loft to it. The pattern was obvious now, though— an arrangement of angular crosses that Gil hadn’t seen before. On reflex he spends the next few minutes looking it over, testing the seams, checking how it’s pressed— Vincent had gotten significantly better over the course of making the quilt, and Gil could guess what order each part had been sewn together in.

“It’s good. Big enough, too. Are you gonna have enough fabric to finish this?” “That’s been taken care of.”

“How long did you spend on it?”

Vincent shrugs, smirking. “I just do it in my free time.”

“If you can actually manage this, it’ll be great.” It doesn’t occur to Gil to comment on the ambiguity of Vincent’s statement. Instead he runs his hands over the front, marvelling a bit at how Vincent managed to cobble enough good fabric together so that it was still pleasant to the touch.

Obligations had occupied Gil, such that he hadn’t seen Vincent all day. His family thought the two were spending too much time together, which was fair— Vincent was clingy, far past the point of being annoying. The excuse to get away from him for a while was one that was well received, and so he’d taken to his duties without complaint.

Having finished his labor for the day, Gilbert heads back to his room, now comfortable with the full arrival of autumn. He intended to get some rest, though it was rare for him to nap or sleep early. It had been a good day, though, and Gil was feeling a bit hedonistic. Maybe he’ll punish himself tomorrow, but for now, a little indulgence won’t hurt.

As soon as he turns the corner he hears familiar jeering and immediately retraces his steps, hiding behind a wall. The sounds weren’t getting closer, which meant his older brothers hadn’t spotted him. Carefully he looks over the corner, trying to get a grasp of where they are and if he can avoid them. The two of them— Ernest and Claude, older than them by a decade— both gathered around something they’ve cornered to a wall. Vincent. Obviously.

Gil presses his back to the wall he was hiding behind. Going through the entire house to avoid them was an option, but unpleasant. He wasn’t sure if he could go to the adjacent hallway without attracting their attention. If he listened to what they were saying, maybe he could get an idea of where they intended to go. Something about that option seemed impossible, though. He wouldn’t be able to understand their words even if he wanted to— or so said his convictions.

Again he looked over the corner, thinking alright, let’s just dash over, they’re too caught up in whatever’s going on with Vincent— don’t look at him. He’s not making any noise, it’s not that hard to ignore him. Yet against his best efforts Gil still pauses to stare at his younger brother by blood and miraculously, probably accidentally, they make eye contact. Vincent probably couldn’t fight off a boy his own age, much less an adult. Gil sees him mouth something indecipherable and then he steps out into the hallway, yelling something he doesn’t understand even as he says it.

The fight ends quickly, if one can call it that. Vincent grabs his hand as soon as there’s an opening and pulls Gil away, running into Gil’s room and locking the door. Smartest option, definitely— Gil is bigger than Vincent, sure, but still doesn’t compare to an adult. Their elder brothers won’t follow them, probably, being the only people on Earth who don’t seem that interested in teasing Gil. He takes a few steps into the room as Vincent leans against the door, looking down. From where he stands Gil can barely see some blood run down his brother’s chin— their brothers must have busted his lip at some point during the scuffle.

Impulsively he approaches, though he does not reach a hand out. Vincent looks up, looks straight at him. His younger brother’s eyes narrow and he seems to snarl before covering his face with one hand, fumbling for the door handle with the other, and he runs off without another word to Gil.

Later that evening the two find each other again, Vincent showing not a shred of humility despite the beating he had so recently taken. The wound on his lip had already formed a scab, at least, and when asked Vincent said it didn’t hurt.

“I don’t get it. Why do they hate you so much?”

“Oh…” Vincent says, a little chuckle following the sound as though the question was itself funny. “That’s pretty easy. I said I’d kill them.”

It’s said so plainly that Gil doesn’t register it at first, thinking he misheard, thinking Vincent was joking.

“I said I hadn’t seen how human blood looks against my scissors, yet. I get bored of fabric, you know… anyone would. I wanted to hold them down, see how their skin would cut open beneath them, see if I could make them get everywhere if I managed to cut their bodies right…” he exhales contentedly. “Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

Odd eyes meet Gil’s expectantly, Vincent sighing like he’d come out of a nice dream, reaching a reluctant hand towards Gil. In a panic Gil slaps it away, takes a frightened step back. Vincent’s expression shows no recoil, no widening of eyes in shock. He smiles such as to expose his teeth.

“It’s getting late,” his little brother says. “I’m going to bed. Sweet dreams, brother.”

Since then, Vincent’s been clinging to Gil’s side even more closely than before. A distinct change in disposition followed, though not one Gil could place exactly. He’d try halfheartedly encouraging Vincent to try a hobby, to clean his room for once, to maybe eat more than half of any given meal or to get some sun. Vincent would brush him off, saying those things were tiring, that he was happy so long as he could stay with Gil.

The winter holiday was nearly upon them, only a couple weeks away. Elliot would be back from school then, and Gil would have someone to talk to that wasn’t his horrifying blood sibling, even if Elliot was only a child. Vincent’s present hadn’t even crossed his mind until his younger brother brought it up again.

“I’m nearly done,” he explains, carrying the fully assembled quilt in his arms. “Can you test the weight of it?”

Slowly Gilbert takes the blanket, letting it rest over his forearms, feeling how it bears down against him. It’s warm, and soft, and nice to look at, and as he checks over it yet again he can see the amount of effort Vincent must have put into it— even someone with experience would’ve taken weeks to make it. Though the gesture is reluctant, Gil’s a bit too earnestly grateful to hide a smile.

“You did a really good job, Vince.”

Vincent perks up immediately, beaming. “It’s not too thick or anything?”

“No, it’s— um, it’s perfect like this.” Gil hands the blanket back to him, and when Vincent grabs it their fingers don’t touch, but it’s close. “I’m glad to see you invested in something for once.”

“Oh.”

Vincent pauses as Gil lets the blanket fall from his hand, suddenly hesitant to gather it back up.

“Is that so…”

His younger brother smiles, looking down at the fabric in hand.

The winter holiday was upon them. Elliot had come back home from boarding school, and though most of his time was occupied by his blood siblings, he had made time to visit Gilbert as well. Gil hadn’t seen Vincent for most of the day— busy with tasks related to his own entrance into society, having turned fifteen. With not much to do outside and his chores all finished, Gil had taken to reading in the empty dining room while his adoptive siblings had some bonding time without him, taking comfort in the warm fireplace beside him.

It had been a good day, even with the usual conflicts with his adoptive siblings about how he was supposedly being a bad influence on Elliot. Everything they complained about— the sudden contempt for authority, the constant why-asking— seemed much more likely to be Vincent’s fault. Gil personally doesn’t care what values Elliot has; he’s just fond of his company.

The fireplace’s crackle as it dies is soothing, having lost its strength from when it was lit at the start of dinner. The whole family was supposed to be there, Gil and Vincent included, but Vincent must have slept through it. Not that Gilbert particularly cared— he ended up having to eat all of his vegetables, but he could stomach it. Darkness had fallen, the moon high in the sky, and Gil took a break from reading to look outside the window and contemplate.

“Gil…?”

He jumps at the sound of his blood brother’s voice, then feels quite ashamed of this. Maybe he didn’t mind Vincent being smarter than him, but being afraid of one’s little brother was a different matter entirely. “Ah— ah, Vincent— you’re… here.”

Chuckling softly, Vincent stumbles over to his elder brother, hands behind his back. “Brother! I’m happy to have come in time... I’ve missed Gil very much…”

There’s no way Vincent isn’t being conspicuous about whatever he’s hiding on purpose. He’s too smart for that. “What do you have?” Gilbert asks with a groan.

“Did brother forget his present?

“My…” Gil stops to think for a moment. “Oh, that! You, um—” and Gil suddenly realizes he forgot to get Vincent anything. “You really didn’t have to…”

“Yeah, I know.” Vincent grins, takes a few steps back from Gil as the elder brother stands up. “But obviously I’d do it, if it were for Gil’s sake…”

Vincent’s being coy. “Listen— I, I’m sorry for not getting you anything.”

“Don’t worry about it. If anything, I’m glad. I just wanted to see the look on brother’s face when I showed him.”

“Um—”

And just as Gil is about to stutter another heartless apology Vincent throws the bundle he had been hiding behind his back directly into the fire, staring at Gil the entire time as months of work begins to burn away. Reflexively Gil dives to retrieve it, try to salvage what he can, but Vincent stops him, grabs his wrist before he can stick it into the fire.

“Why—”

Gil can’t get anything out further as nausea collects in his stomach for some reason, because he doesn’t feel bad for Vincent, because Vincent did this, but he doesn’t understand why he would and it makes him sick and he can hear what Vincent had worked so hard for burn in front of him and he can’t do anything about it as Vincent leans forward, wraps his arms around his chest, laughs delightedly as he stares at Gil’s expression contorted in confused despair.

“See, now? I love Gil more than anyone. Just that look is more than enough.”

#pandora hearts #vincent nightray #gilbert nightray #writing log #log #fanfic

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365days365movies · 3 years

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February 23, 2021: His Girl Friday (1940) (Part 1)

Oh, we’re going BACK for this one!

Yeah, this is smack dab in the Golden Age of Cinema! Post-depression, the cinematic culture boomed like CRAZY. Obviously, this age had started before this point, but there was no stopping Hollywood here. I mean, in 1940 alone, Disney came out with Pinocchio AND Fantasia, films like The Grapes of Wrath, The Great Dictator, and Rebecca came out, and some of those were prefaced by short cartoons featuring a brand new certain someone.

Oh, also, there was some war of the world 2 thing going on overseas, I dunno. But anyway! Another well-known film that came out that year was The Philadelphia Story, a George Cukor-directed film starring Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn, and one of a subgenre of comedies called the screwball comedy.

Arguably starting with the 1934 film It Happened One Night, these are romantic comedies that usually feature a self-confident and stubborn female protagonist inevitably falling in love with the male protagonist, who’s probably initially mismatched with her, personality-wise. You should also throw some slapstick comedy, disguises (cross-dressing’s a feature of a lot of these, weirdly), and class struggle. Yeah, also apparently a trend of these films, that were CRAZY popular from 1934 through the ‘40s.

And in case you’re thinking, “That plot structure sounds familiar, where have I heard that before?”, well, I just watched a later-era screwball comedy, Pillow Talk.

But today, the screwball comedy’s mostly disappeared. Some tropes survive, but the reason for the genre’s extinction is simply because of lack of demand. Part of that is because the genre emerged due to questions of class struggle post-Great Depression. Yeah, seriously, the Great Depression is involved in this shit! Obviously, though, that’s not currently as much of a stressor now, so this genre is dead save for some conventions.

But OK, screwball comedy. Why not look at older members of the genre, rather than this film from smack dab in the middle of it? Well, a few reasons. One, this film stars leading man Cary Grant in his prime. And two, because this film was directed by the one and only Howard Hawks.

Hawks directed yet another Grant-Hepburn vehicle, Bringing Up Baby. And yes, that IS a leopard in a car! I’d watch that this month, but I’ve already seen it. Anyway, Hawks is an understated but excellent director, and his female characters are an archetype in and of themselves, known as Hawksian women. They’re tough-talkers, and the main characters of most old screwball comedies.

OK, but Hawks had a lot of romance films with these characters, so why His Girl Friday? Well, other than knowing it from pure reputation as a good movie, it’s also been called one of the best romcoms of all time, and it’s one of his highest rated films as well. And honestly...I kinda just wanted to watch it based on the premise, which is...interesting. But OK, enough navel-gazing. On with the show! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

We start in a newspaper office in the year 1940, where “Hildy” Johnson (Rosalind Russell) has arrives with her fiancee, Bruce Baldwin (Ralph Bellamy), a sweet man who clearly loves her. Shit. He’s the guy destined to be left behind for the actual love interest of the movie Goddamn it, OK.

Anyway, Hildy apparently used to work here, although I’m not sure of the capacity as of yet. She’s only here now to visit her ex-husband, chief editor Walter Burns (Cary Grant). Their reunion is a bt icy, although Walter still seems to be in love with her still, while Hildy’s absolutely not interested. For now.

And as the two have a back-and-forth, I gotta say, GODDAMN is this some snappy dialogue! Fast-paced, but well-written and understandable all the same. It shuld also be noted that this film was adapted from a 1928 play, The Front Page, and it shows in how these two are playing in front of the screen. Their chemistry’s basically immediate, and you sense an unseen history between them easily.

What I��m saying is, it’s great. Anyway, the two have gotten divorced, and while Walter originally agreed, he’s now fighting the divorce to stay with Hildy, even though she doesn’t want that at all. He’s been calling her constantly, and bugging her. He also talks over her, trying to prevent her from getting a word in edgewise, and Hildy ain’t fuckin’ HAVING that shit!

He asks her to come back to work for him as a reporter (THERE’S the connection to the office), and if that doesn’t work out...they can get married again? Yeah, Walter, Jesus, take a hint. She tells Walter that she’s not coming back to him, and not coming back to work on the paper.

The two, through increasingly impressive dialogue, argue intensely, which is capped off by this well-timed and impressive dodge by Walter, followed by a crack that her aim used to be better.

This movie...holy shit, this movie. Anyway, through the argument, Walter gets a call and pretends that one of his reporters called out sick, in order to get Hildy to work one more job for him. Whoof, that’s manipulatiiiiiiive. But she breaks through his constant pressing to finally tell him that she’s now engaged, and is quitting the newspaper business.

Walter insists that quitting would kill her, s she’s a “newspaperman,” which is interesting. But she’s tired of it all, and wants to live a respectable, normal life, as she says. Her fiancee is an insurance man, which Walter notes is too boring. But Hildy notes that he’s kind, sweet, and considerate, and wants a home and children, and her mind is made up.

Walter relents (seemingly) , and gives Hildy his blessings. However, he decides that he wants to meet Bruce in person, and goes out to say hello, That results in...what is legitimately a VERY funny interaction between Water, Bruce, and a random-ass dude named Pete Davis. It is...it is funny.

youtube

So, for the record, Walter’s a verbally-manipulative asshole, and...I kind of like him? Like, he’s an ABSOLUTE DICK, but also a charmer. He quickly coerces Hildy and Bruce into getting lunch at a local place. There, we learn that the two are planning on moving to Albany, where Bruce is confident that the insurance business is strong. I’ve been to Albany, and I can see that.

Walter, during the lunch, is once again a DICK, doing his best to intimidate Bruce and sabotage their plans to leave for Albany that day. He makes his way to the phone, where he schemes with Duffy (Frank Orth) to keep her in town. Back at the table, he tells her of the case of Earl Williams.

Williams is, apparently, a man recently convicted of shooting a police officer...who was black...and they use a word to describe him that begins with a C...that makes me uncomfortablllllllllllle. But it’s 1940, so it could be FAR worse. Anyway, he’s going to be executed, even though he claims that he’s innocence. And while Hildy’s intrigued by the case, she refuses to cover it for Walter.

UNTIL, that is, Walter offers to buy an insurance policy from Bruce for $100000 in 1940 money, which means a commission for $18,000 in today’s money. Uh...yeah. Yes, please. And yet, Bruce says NO, not wanting to involve his future wife in his affairs, like a GODDAMN GENTLEMAN. But Hildy don’t give a FUCK, and basically accepts the deal for him. And, uh, I DO NOT blame her, that’s a lot of goddamn money!

Understandably not trusting Walter, she has Bruce give her all of the money that they have, to his equally understandable reluctance. Because there is NO WAY that she isn’t gonna lose all of that money. We find out from a group of reporters staying near the prison that Williams is to be hung tomorrow, and that he’s a bookkeeper that was recently unemployed.

Meanwhile, after a doctor’s check-up, Bruce and Walter write up the life insurance, and Walter tells Bruce to make Hildy his beneficiary. And Bruce is understandably awkward about that, but Walter ends up convincing him, the smooth and conniving DICK that he is.

Duffy walks in to give Walter a check for more money than originally intended, and it’s even been certified! Which is...odd, but OK. Bruce calls Hildy to let her know, and she’s very suspicious. She tells Bruce to put the check in the lining of his hat, claiming that it’s an old journalist’s superstition (it is not). Looks like she’s right to be suspicious, as Walter brings in a short gentleman for unknown reasons. He follows Bruce out as he leaves the office.

Meanwhile, Hildy brides a prison guard to speak with Earl Williams (John Qualen) before his execution. He’s a shy and bookish man, who was thought to become radicalized by people speaking in a pubic park, where he went after losing his job. This, it’s believed by the press and court, eventually drove him to go insane and kill the policeman.

But Earl seems perfectly sane, and committing murder goes against his morals. He also wasn’t won over by said radical park speakers, although he admits one of them made some good points. But still, he had a gun, and he apparently did shoot the policeman.

In their interview, Hildy learns that the man in the park was talking about “production for use”, which is the idea that everything produced should be used, basically in a way that production meets demand, and profit is less important than product. Which, granted, is an interesting idea. But Hildy uses that to convince Earl that he shot the gun because he had it in his hands. And since the gun was produced, it needed to be used, so...

Well, that’s...something. We also learn about Mollie Malloy (Helen Mack), who’s been unfairly labeled by the press as Earl’s mistress and the witness to his case. And she gives a very passionate and heartfelt plea with the male journalists, who are...vicious. And Mollie’s hurt indeed. And while she’s there, they all treat her terribly.

But she breaks down in front of them even further when she sees the gallows being prepared outside. And as Hildy takes her out, the men left behind actually do seem ashamed. And in a single stroke, in a single scene, the film uses an immense moment of drama to show exactly why Hildy wants to leave, and the things that it makes people in this profession do. It’s...masterful.

Good place to pause! See you in Part 2!

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baconpal · 4 years

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Bravely Default and BD2

Here it is, the partially prompted bravely default rant/retrospective/whatever the fuck!

With the announcement and demo of bravely default 2 out now for a bigger market than the original game ever had, I feel that as a massive fan of the original I should put some amount of effort into explaining what the appeal of the original is, why bravely second missed a lot of the appeal, and why bravely default 2 has been very, very worrying so far.

If you care about any of that, come on in and I'll try to actually avoid spoilers this time and make this a more legitimate recommendation of a game than usual.

THE APPEAL OF BRAVELY DEFAULT The games obviously have a beautiful art style, especially when it comes to the backgrounds. Every city is like a painting, a beautifully composed shot that you see from just one direction to give you one very strong impression. While the overworld and dungeons are fully 3d and do not have as strong of an artistic impact, they are still very competent and have good colors and cohesive elements. The character design, including the job outfits, the monsters, and all the villains are just top notch. Simple, evocative designs that make the most of the 3DS' limited hardware and build upon the teams skill in making handheld games look good. (its the same team that did the ff3 remake and 4 heroes of light, which looks absolutely kino on original DS) The music is also consistently excellent, with great use of motifing, a full and varied orchestra, and many good slow paced tracks for most of the non-combat segments. Shit like "Conflict's Chime" being the main battle theme, "Infiltrating Hostile Territory" being a common dungeon theme, and "That person's name is" as the rival boss themes makes even the seemingly repetitive songs a constant joy to listen to.

The story is pretty decent, it's not the best part of the game, and there are definitely some aspects of the story some people loathe, but the characters (specifically ringabel fuckin love him) are pretty good and the make for an enjoyable experience. The side material like D's journal are really well done and integrate into the main narrative well for how tucked away and ignored it is.

The gameplay and systems are also some of the best of any RPG I've played, and I've played far too many. The job system from ff3 and 5 is brought to an even greater depth with the addition of universal job abilities, allowing any character of any job make use of another jobs features to create an endless depth to strategy. The way various jobs can mingle together, and how no job is completely perfect on its own makes for very compelling team composition and unit design. The extensive amount of jobs helps as well for replay value and for assuring that no easy winning strategy is found by all players.

The BP system makes battles take on a very unique pacing as the player and enemies can choose to save up turns or blow them all at once to make more complicated strategies possible, or to make the most of an enemies vulnerabilities. This powerful option gives the player a meaningful way to capitalize on their knowledge of the game, while also allowing them to make truly detrimental mistakes. That may sound not good if you're a fucking baby, but nobody wants an RPG you cant lose, but losing because you fucked up is much better than losing because the enemies are just stronger than you or anything to that effect.

But the single greatest part of bravely defaults, which creates the games wonderful balance and unique design philosophy, is that the player is expected to hit the level cap long before finishing the game. Reaching level 99 should occur somewhere just after the middle of the game, at the point where the player has access to almost every job and has encountered almost every type of threat. Reaching level 99 brings with it a certain security, the implication that from then on, all enemies will also be level 99, and that any failure to defeat an enemy will be a result of a bad strategy or the players own mistakes. The game is not easy, and is certainly intended for veteran final fantasy players used to the games with job systems and changing up your entire party to combat a single encounter. Leveling up is not a slow grind part of the game, as you have a lot of control over the speed and frequency of battles, and it is not difficult to keep up with the games level curve.

The other layer to this unique design is that the game expects you to "cheat", or use strategies that would be overpowered and frowned upon in most other games. Bravely default easily expects you to know or discover strategies such as: applying a status to all enemies and killing every enemy with that status using another spell, cycling a counter move over and over to have a nearly invincible party member, applying a healing attribute to a self-damaging character to get huge damage at little cost, casting reflect and dangerous spells on your own party to bounce them at the enemy, or duplicating a move that does maximum damage 15 times in a row. The game builds all of its encounters with the knowledge that your team will be the maximum level and that you will be using the most vile tactics you can come up with, and the game will do the same. Bosses and even common enemies will employ equally vile tactics using the exact same moves that you have access to, meaning you can learn from your enemies or quickly grasp the enemies strategy through your own experiences. One of the late game dungeons is entirely optional, but involves several fights against parties of 4 just like your, using the same jobs and skills you have gained during the game as a perfect test of your ability to develop counter-strategies, instead of relying on your own overpowered tactics. This type of design is really not something you find in many games due to the prominence of grinding or the lack testing strategies, and it is the most true appeal of bravely default to me.

BRAVELY SECOND EXISTS I GUESS So bravely second, a direct sequel to bravely default, definitely is a video game. It uses the original game as a base to generate more content, but completely misses the appeal of the original, and the new content added makes the experience even less focused. Overall, it's still a fairly alright RPG, but it fails to follow up on bravely default in a meaningful way or to provide as compelling of a gameplay experience. Here's some of the things it fucked up.

The game reuses almost everything the original game had, including the same music, world map, and most of the original's towns and dungeons, while adding a few of it's own. Going through areas you've been before never feels good, and the new areas lack the quality or brevity of the original game, leading to uninteresting areas that overstay their welcome, despite being the only break from repetitively reused content.

This extends to the classes but in an even worse sense. One important trait of the original jobs is that they were not perfect by themselves. While every job provided some useful abilities to be shared with other classes, or provided a good base with which to make a character, no class was without flaws. The new classes in bravely second are a lot of the opposite, they are closed loops that think of everything they could have to make a good standalone character. The 4 starter classes you get in bravely second are all brand new, and there's almost no reason to use any class besides those 4 as they are just insanely good. The priest and magician specifically augment magic in a way that makes spells infinity scalable into the end game, completely trampling on any other magic classes territory without needing the extra effort of grinding a new class out. Many of the new job concepts are actually really interesting, like going back in time to return to a healthier state, or a class that changes the stats and attributes of all units in a battle, allowing for all new kinds of strategies; but these classes lack any opportunity to be used to their full potential since they don't mesh well with other jobs and are limited by their self-centered design.

Another completely missed aspect of the original is the level curve discussed before. Bravely second only really requires you get somewhere in the ballpark of level 60-70 to comfortably beat the final boss, and getting too leveled up is really hard to avoid if you are plan to try out various jobs.

Second also fails to account for how many incredibly strong strategies the player can come up with, and even introduces some of its own strategies that it has no way to counteract, such as halfsies (the first skill the first class gets) pretty much splitting the game in two by tripling the value of items like phoenix downs, and allowing for fool-proof strategies by making 1 character focus entirely on defense, effectively making the party unkillable. Essentially, if you play second after having played the original (like any sane person would) then you will absolutely destroy the game with no sense of satisfaction.

The story is also a large step down, enough to become an annoyance, as the writing style changes to a strange romantic comedy situation with, for lack of a better term please forgive my sin, anime writing, but like bad anime writing, ya know the kind of shit that makes people write off all anime cus a lot of it is awkward and unpleasant to listen to. The story tries to mess with some big concepts like "what if new game + was a real thing???" and time travel and shit like that but it doesn't mesh with the tone the rest of the game has and that tone doesn't mesh with the world or art style and it's just a mess.

BRAVELY DEFAULT 2 SEEMS KINDA POOPIE SO FAR So unfortunately, the big appeal of bravely default being part of it's end game makes it hard to judge how 2 is gonna go given we only have a demo of the beginning, but given that the original team behind bravely default has slowly been stripped out of the series as it goes on, the outlook is bleek.

Most immediately obvious is that the artstyle has made a horrible transition from handheld to console, somehow even worse than pokemon. The areas are all fully 3d and lack the style or compositional excellence of bravely default, and the outside environment look like asset store products. The small proportioned characters with simple features to be readable on a small screen have been replaced with identically proportioned characters with excessive detail and ugly features, and look horrible up close on a big screen. Only the negatives of the art style have made it over, and everything good has been made unsavory. The character and enemy design overall is much worse as a result, everything is messy, unclear, and clashes with everything else. It's an absolutely shocking downgrade.

The characters themselves are overly hammy and feel like shallow attempts to have a similar party dynamic to the original without having identical character types, and the writing as a whole doesn't seem to have improved from second, which was already quite a step down from the original.

The gameplay also has not done anything different or interesting yet, and seems to be selling itself to people haven't heard of or gotten enough of the BP system. Enemies being on the overworld as opposed to random encounters shows they have dropped the player agency over encounter frequency, which is dumb. The battles lack any of the flow the original had, especially when using the battle speed option, as the camera does not present everything very well and changes position often as a result. Overall, I have not enjoyed the bravely default 2 demo and feel it shows nothing but a continued decline in the series that likely should have just been a single game. With the release date being set for sometime this year, I feel there is no chance any amount of player feedback could save the game or even begin to pull it in the right direction, as it seems to be fundamentally flawed with an inescapable feeling of shovelware.

SO WHAT? Basically, all I wanted to say here is that the original bravely default is a very unique experience I think every RPG fan should give a good chance (and just do all the optional stuff during the "repetitive" part of the game, it's where all the best content is you bozo) and that the sequels are NOT the same experience. I guess it's kind of mean to just say "hey don't buy or like this new thing cus its not like the old thing" but people should know why there's a bravely default 2 in the first place, and should fight for what made the original great. I worry that BD goes down the same sad path that FF did, becoming a completely hollow, middling series that strayed so far from it's home that a whole new series had to be made to give the fans of the old style a place to go.

Thanks for reading, and hope you got something out of it.

#bravely default #bravely series #bravely default 2 #juvenile rant #vote now for the next rant! including things such as The Great Ace Attorney and why it's kino #or why i think arms is a really well designed game even tho i'm fucking shit at it #very exciting topics indeed #or ya know whatever other shit you think i have a lot to say about

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theangrypokemaniac · 4 years

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I'll state from the beginning that the images below display the sort of sweet synchronicity to which only love can give life:

MaAndPaShipping is the best ship, and here are five reasons why:

1. It Made James

Like the boy do yer? Ever felt the slightest tingle of warmth at the mention of his name?

Well get down on yer knees and give thanks to his mother and father for gifting him to the world!

Where would we be without their remarkable commitment? Could James have grown into the dandified dream boat of your desires if deprived of the safety provided by his parents?

Had they not brought him up, he'd be dead, The Dog of Flanders fantasy made reality. If miraculously he survived, foraging in the wild is not conducive to a foppish personality.

Is that to yer fancy? No? Then let's have a little respect. The luxury Ma and Pa gave enabled his macaroni tendencies to reach such heights.

Their love created him! How can it not be celebrated?

You lot would ship Jessie's parents but you can't, because she has no dad, and I don't suppose you'll ever assent to his obvious identity of Windy Miller, although 'Jessie Miller' has a wonderful ring to it, so what can be done?

Should a Pa Jess be conjured for the purpose, he still buggered off, didn't he? Where's the allure in a faithless git?

I can't comprehend the obsession with Ma Jess. As soon as here she's stiff, and what is there to remember but coercing her daughter into eating snow?

Hey, I named her. What more do you want from me?

I'd rather have the living, visible ancestors, if you don't mind.

Yeah, says the history fanatic.

Why not make the most of the chances offered, and follow a devoted couple whose love made a difference to your existence?

2. Canon!

There are many ships which I find repulsive for involving depravity, or absurd as the subjects haven't met, or don't inhabit the same fictional universe.

Video et taceo: I see and I say nothing.

Neither does anyone. Forcing decent folk in to incest, bestiality etc. is quite alright.

Perverted ideas are left alone, but woe betide a Rocketshipper, because that's offensive.

It may be the only original ship left standing, with proper evidence and sanctioned by Nintendo, but no, it's fair game for undermining. People pick at your arguments, quibble constantly and NEED to register their objections NOW. You MUST be made aware of opposition. You're not to be permitted your views the way those with twisted tastes are indulged.

Why, out of tens of thousands of combinations, does making Jessie and James an item provoke hostility?

The strength of negativity actually serves as validation, for why be so concerned if it's an impossible relationship?

However sick they are, I'm not anti any ship. I can't muster sufficient interest to do it, and if I scroll on, I forget. I certainly don't attack those responsible.

Anti-Shipping is inherently nihilistic for promoting loneliness. They aren't against Rocketshipping through wanting Jessie and James to be with someone else, as an alternative is not readily available, so the outcome of it is neither finding a companion.

MaAndPaShipping attracts no sourpuss silliness, for 'tis canon beyond question. There's nothing about being 'just friends' when married with a son.

How's the state of your O.T.P.? Not looking too clever I expect, and what's your contribution: wishing, and hoping, and thinking, and praying?

Cast it off! None of that longing is necessary in these quarters, as MaAndPaShipping is a fait accompli.

Hallelujah! Wallow in that Love!

Don't you yearn for at least one ship that all of us accept by default, to the extent these aristocrats are spoken of as a single unit?

Across the internet, Ma and Pa are bracketed as 'James's parents', never 'he' and 'she', always 'they', barely counting as distinct characters. That's how undeniable the love is between them. Sheer indifference has awarded it a blessing from everyone.

MWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!

Of course, now I've drawn attention to it the moaning will start, but we all know a spoilsport when we see one.

If they had any legitimate complaints they ought to have mentioned 'em before this piece highlighted the marriage!

Except it won't have occurred to 'em previously, proving the eternal, indissoluble quality of MaAndPaShipping.

You get good value with this one.

Find a post referring to Ma and Pa as individuals and I'll have written it, for that's what you call ironic.

3. It's a Fine Rocketshipping Proxy

I was at primary school when Pokémon hit the West like the bright, bearded meteor it is, atomizing all competition for a child's attention.

I have shipped Jessie and James before I knew anyone else did it, unaware shipping was even a thing.

There are other pairs where I think: 'That seems to fit', but it's incomparable to what I feel for them.

It is part of me. I bleed it.

I have shipped it longer than most Tumblerries have dwelt upon the earth.

I used to believe, what with the hints and manga finale, that this resolution was inevitable, and all I had to do was wait.

Well I've been patient for two decades now, thus when I look at the modern incarnation, and realise it's no nearer to that goal, and instead is further away, waiting starts to wear a bit thin.

I resent the lack of appreciation shown to the fans by the cretins in charge, how any meagre shippy inclusion is done not with an interest in deepening bonds, but with the blatant cynicism of moulding us into performing monkeys dancing to their manipulative tune.

I dislike being treated like a sea lion, expected to clap me flippers at the wave of a fish, or as a panting dog begging at top table, where, because they're desperate to maintain the status quo, every scrap flung down from above now comes with an Anti-Ship kick in the teeth, just to be sure nothing progresses. Not whilst the franchise can still be milked for all it's worth.

I have lost faith Rocketshipping will happen. What passes for Pokémon today carries not the remotest indication of any intention on the so-called writers' part to finish it that way.

Even if it did, it's not my Team Rocket, it's those skeletal, gargoyle bastardisations. My Jessie and James never got the reward they deserved.

I'm somewhat in the market for a replacement. Beneath this loathsome carapace of acid and ice beats the tender heart of a true romantic, and it must have an outlet!

Shipping Ma and Pa provides a certain spurious relief, because it's as close as you can get to Jessie and James without it being them, both biologically as his parents, but they're so similar to the duo it counts as proof in itself.

Holy Matrimony! is prime Rocketshipping territory, not merely the balloon lift, but many slight additions are as important, like the haircuts matching.

Ma and Pa are therefore Jessie and James in the past, present and future:

The past for representing Jess 'n' Jamie gone Victorian, and we've all wondered how that'd turn out.

The present as it's there right now, absent of suffering the shameless whims of morons to get what you want. 'Tis yours to savour.

The future as a glimpse of Jessie and James once married with children, and they agree:

That's how they play it given the opportunity!

What, James in blue, for his and Pa's hair, and Jessie wearing purple, like Ma's, with a red shawl for her own, and Ma Jess's orange earrings to copy the beads?

• Money!

• Bun!

• 'Tache!

• Classy pad!

• Fancy gear!

• Pampered pet!

• Identical cups of Earl Grey!

4. Original Blend

Ma and Pa have only got two fans! We care more than the entire fandom has in twenty years!

Rocketshipping art is ten a penny, so why not display a pioneering spirit, sharpen up those pencils and be inspired?

Let your mind expand and marvel at the possibilities of these unchartered territories, and I'll reblog it if it's nice.

Pay attention to the condition of it being nice. I'm not putting up with any old toss.

Real Ma and Pa is what I want too, not those Sinnoh coffin-dodgers.

It's never been done! Every drawing breaks new ground!

I don't like fan fiction, but I wouldn't say 'no' to that either. Recall the 'nice' stipulation again.

Come on, be the first amongst your friends and get ship shape!

5. It Gives Us All Hope

Suppose your favourite amour one day became canon: you imagine that's the end of the matter?

Well it ain't.

Between Ash, Misty, Brock, Jessie, James, Gary and Tracey, there are three-and-a-half out of fourteen parents (Flint doesn't count as a complete man) and one out of twenty-eight grandparents, and that's not enough!

If the series drew to a close with your beloved couple apparently walking into the happily-ever-after, there's no guarantee it'll endure. In fact, the odds are they'll split up within a few years and leave another generation to fend for themselves or starve.

That's right, so don't presume the final episode is all you need to worry about. Can you rest easy knowing it'll go pear-shaped once the camera stops rolling?

It's futile soothing one's worries with:

Oh, but they know what it's like to be alone. They'd never inflict such stress on their children.

Oh really?

Look at that poor showing of grandparents. Either Pokémon has a system reminiscent of the sci-fi film Logan's Run, where everyone over thirty is vapourized, or these disappearing maters and paters were themselves victims of abandonment.

I bet when they settled down, they thought it'd be different for their kids, they'd make sure of it, but no, off they went down that same route of feckless self-indulgence, and that's being kind assuming they intended not to repeat history.

Depressing eh? What's the good in any of us surrendering to romance, real or otherwise, if love is but a mayfly of emotion, and all dreams are doomed to die?

Then Ma and Pa arrive, and suddenly the storm clouds part for a ray of heavenly light.

It's not only that they made the effort in what was probably an arranged marriage and have stayed together from youth, it's that they've stayed together when no one else has, which augments its value.

When separation is commonplace, sticking it out becomes rarer and rarer as any belief in the sanctity of wedlock erodes with every failure.

If they didn't bother, why should I? What's the use when it won't work?

Once that idea enters your head, it's over, and your gloom-laden attitude fulfils itself.

Society is collapsing about Ma and Pa's ears, but they persevere nevertheless, refusing to buckle under the turgid malaise engulfing the arrogant and weak.

It's bloody beautiful, man!

You may suggest an environment of supreme wealth erases normality, and to their class and time period divorce is still taboo, so they don't really have much of choice but to remain wedded.

Ah, but it's not as if they simply tolerate one another for appearances, or carried on for the sake of their son (which is more than anyone else did besides), not when he walked out on them.

They've been married longer than James has lived, so at least eighteen years (don't all squeal at once), and they're still blissfully contented!

They hold hands!

They use terms of endearment like 'dear' and 'my precious'!

They were made for one another!

They work as a team!

They want the same thing for James!

It could bring a stone angel to tears it's so beautiful!

See what success can be achieved when you try? When you endeavour to love the one you're with and make yourself worth loving in return?

Better that than chucking 'em at the first sign of trouble.

Ma and Pa is such an irrevocable union even the despair of losing their only child failed to tear 'em asunder, and that'd defeat many, but not this husband and wife.

Be grateful, for it means all is not in vain.

It doesn't have to be misery and pain: love can last despite the pressure of a wretched, hollow culture bent on self-destruction. Your ship might just succeed too.

God bless 'em for keeping the magic alive!

...

Why do I have the presentiment that I'm going to regret encouraging support?

#maandpashipping #team rocket #ma james #pa james #ma and pa james #james #jessie #james's mom #james's dad #james's parents #rocketshipping #kanto #holy matrimony!

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astaroth1357 · 3 years

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Demigod MC Series: Hermes

Hey guys, still doing what I can to stay healthy (and entertained) in quarantine. Staying still, keeping calm, and trying not to exert myself too much because of the shortness of breath thing going on. My lungs just can't get enough air it seems… 😅 Anyway, I've gotten a lot of suggestions on this series and I'm excited to keep it going. Just going to be a tad slow until I'm feeling better. Thank you for the support, y'all!

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes

Lucifer

Oh no… it’s everyone’s worst nightmare… Another Mammon, but competent. Devil help us all…

Had he known who their father was, he'd have never assigned Mammon to watch over them. Hell, he would have made sure those two never even met. They became a new handful for him to manage from the day they first arrived…

When even more things started going missing around the House than normal, he knew he had made a grave mistake… They were clever, quick, and skilled. About the best WORST combination for a burglar to be…

Worse still, they were fast on their feet. He would pretty much have no way to nab them on foot and always had to resort to his wings or magic to have any hope of catching up to them… At least Mammon usually gets himself cornered!

But, paradoxically, he also came to notice that the mortal had an odd honesty streak to them... Like, they’d steal but they’d always admit to it, unlike Mammon who would try to deflect till he was blue in the face.

Were they proud of their work, maybe? Or just didn’t see the point in trying to get away with it...?

There would be several occasions where they’d take something, sell it with Mammon, and then steal the thing back later just to put it back where it belonged, seemingly never with Mammon’s permission to do so either…

Is it better that they returned the stolen item or worse because their actions went from just robbery to a full-on scam? Either way, it gives him headaches trying to deal with it…

He pretty much gives up getting the mortal to stop after 6 months, they are legitimately that good, but makes them swear to always put back whatever they take at some point. It seems to work out and he lets more things slide, but please someone get them out of here soon…

Mammon

Soulmatesoulmatesoulmatesoulmate, or maybe more accurately “Partner-in-Crime” but that means pretty much the same thing to him anyway. 🤷‍♀️

He’s never met a person better at thievery than they were. The day they met, they managed to pick his pockets without breaking a sweat (or a finger) and that was it. He was in love.

They could teleport! Actually teleport!! Suddenly, NOTHING was off limits to him any more! Lucifer’s rare records? Easy. Levi’s secret safe? Cakewalk. The Castle vault?? Child’s play!! It was like they could steal anything they put their mind to!!

He didn't even have to worry about them when they made getaways because they were fast too, the two actually have parkour races through the streets for the hell of it!

On top of all that, they were wicked creative. He’d come up with a money-making scheme then they’d offer him all sorts of little tricks to help get away with it...

HE’D have never realized that they could turn themselves into rats in order to frighten and sneak past Barbatos, but they thought of it the instant they heard of his fear of things. They're a mad genius!!

The only real downside was they seemed to like stealing for the sport of it instead of for the money… so they always steal back whatever they took.

That kind of defeats the purpose of all that work in the first place, right? Ah well, at least that's more money for him.

These two pretty much became a walking menace to Devildom society- Sorry, not sorry.

Leviathan

Not another Mammon!!! WHY?! What did he do to deserve this?!?

When he started noticing that EVEN MORE of his stuff was going missing than usual, he straight-up flipped! Like, had the mortal not been pretty tough in their own right they would have been Lotan-chow. End of discussion.

… And then they started using their powers for good? Kind of?

Like, first off they would always give back what they stole, which was a nice change from Mammon. Annoying, but at least he didn't have to go buy replacement games or anything…

And then they started stealing him limited edition merch or tickets and stuff because they… liked him?? He guessed???

Why else would they go to all the trouble of swiping one of the five ultra-rare Kitsune Ruri-chan figurines from its original collector? He would have had to pay Mammon half his tail for something like that but the MC just brought it to him one morning because they could!

Is… is this love? Has he grown to love that which he hates?! What is even happening anymore!?! Who is he?!? 😫

Eventually he has to reconcile his conflicted feelings by dubbing them the real life Peony Phantom Thief, Jane and even making them a cosplay. Yes, they have to wear it when they bring him things. No, it's not weird, shut up.

Satan

He wants to be irritated, no - furious, that they keep taking his stuff… But he’ll be damned if they aren’t making Lucifer’s life a living hell right now. 😏

He's honestly not even sure how they managed to swipe half of the priceless portraits in the Castle (a considerable feat since there's one for Every. Room.) but they pulled it off in under a week. Barbs didn't even notice the replicas…

If that's not mildly terrifying, he doesn't know what is. Who knows what things he could be missing at any given moment...?

At least the mortal had the good sense to return his things, unlike Mammon, which gets them off his shit list for the most part. 🤷‍♀️

It helps that they’re also impressively well-traveled. They claim to have been across every human continent and sailed every ocean. Though he was skeptical at first, just hearing their stories eventually convinced him.

What sort of person has sailed the Amazon River, hiked through Arctic tundra, seen every major capital city, and still had time to explore the sights of the French Riviera?

One that has magical teleportation powers apparently.

Frankly, he could listen to their stories of the human world all day and still ask for another. He's told them that they may as well just write a book of their own for him at some point, it'd be beneficial to their poor vocal chords.

Asmodeus

Ugh! Really? Another thief in the House?? Wasn’t one hard enough to deal with?!

Honestly, stolen beauty products aren't exactly something you can just sell or give back, so unfortunately a lot of Asmo's clothes/accessories get targeted and he is NOT happy about it...

Around the time his favorite scarf was stolen for the third time, he was about to gut the mortal himself, but they struck a deal with him. They could nab his clothes SO LONG as they returned them with an extra little "gift."

Jewelry, perfume, creams, nail polish, etc. Asmo kept a running list and pretty much treated his thieving friend like a less moral version of Akuzon. Whatever he asked for, no matter how rare or expensive, they always got their hands on so who was he to complain?

He once decided to test them by asking for the Hope Diamond - which they got for him - but he made them return it after a week after the curse on it made him ruin a particularly intricate manicure so…

Like Satan, he's also pretty impressed with all the places they've seen. He's pretty traveled in the human world himself so they exchange travel stories all the time!

He may bother them to him out traveling from time to time. There are so many gorgeous and romantic places to visit in the human world after all, it's not like anybody could stop them from just… popping in to have a look. Right? 😏

Beelzebub

They learned very quickly that his food is absolutely off limits and after that, they were good.

Seriously. Beel caught them once trying to swipe a piece of pizza from his dinner and he nearly ripped their arm off for it…

But on the flipside, he also knows that he can go to them if he REALLY needs a snack and is short on cash.

It's pretty comical watching the fleet-foot mortal running from angry demon vendors with a basket of stolen apples for their buddy… But he appreciates their enthusiasm! 🙂

Beel actually likes to hear about their travels too, but mostly what they've eaten. They can keep him enraptured for hours by describing all the food they've come across in the human world…

Watch out for the drool, though.

Since they can teleport, they'll sometimes pop up with a human world treat for him and the man internally swears his undying love for them every time...

Outwardly, though, he just smiles. 'Cause he's a sweetie.

Belphegor

They… they opened the attic door on, like, the first day they met… They didn’t even make it look that hard, they had some kind of knack for breaking and entering…

Seriously, imagine the look on his face when they just walk into the attic to say hello… He had this whole, “Lure and Trick the Human” plan all thought out then they pulled out a magic lockpick or something and BOOM! Freedom!

He laughed, perhaps a little closer to the edge of sanity than he was intending, and he tried to attack them but they were so damn fast he couldn't land a single hit!

Damn was it embarrassing when the others came in…

MC: "LUCIFER! LUCIFER!! There's a monster in your attic!!!"

Lucifer: "That's not a monster that's my brother!!"

MC: *stops midway through kneeing Belphie in the stomach* …. Ooooooooh!

MC: Whoops.

It was a… rocky start.

After they settled their differences quelled Belphie's bloodlust he found that they kind of grew on him rather quickly… Something about that mischievous energy and how much they gave his brothers (minus Beel) grief with it.

He absolutely helps them with their plans if it will annoy Lucifer in any way. Occasionally, they'll even take Belphie out on raids instead of Mammon.

Turns out he's surprisingly good at distractions because all he has to do is pretend to fall then take a nap. People around him will legitimately believe that he needs medical attention so the MC can sneak through crowds undetected...

Of course, Mammon gets PISSED when they do this, though. How dare his baby brother try to steal away his perfect partner!! Get your own damn mortal, Belphie!!! 🤬

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me demigods

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the-desolated-quill · 4 years

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Watchmen - Movie blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. if you haven’t seen this movie yet, you may want to before reading this review)

A movie adaptation of Watchmen had been in development in some form or another since the graphic novel was first published back in 1987. Over the course of its two decade development cycle, being passed from filmmaker to filmmaker who each had their own vision of what a Watchmen movie should be, fans objected to the idea of a movie adaptation, describing Watchmen as ‘unfilmmable.’ Alan Moore himself condemned the effort to adapt his work, saying that Watchmen does things that can only be done in a comic book. But where there’s a will, there’s a way, and in 2009, Watchmen finally came to the big screen, directed by Zack Snyder.

I confess it took me a lot longer to write this review than I intended and that’s largely because I wasn’t sure how best to approach it. Snyder clearly has a lot of love and respect for the source material and tried his best to honour it as best he could. Snyder himself even said that he considers the film to be an advert for the book, hoping to get newcomers interested in the material. So how should I be looking at this film? As an adaptation or as an artistic tribute? More to the point, which of the three versions of the film should I be reviewing? The original theatrical cut, the director’s cut or the ultimate cut? Which best reflects Snyder’s artistic vision?

After much pondering, I decided to go with the director’s cut. The theatrical release was clearly done to make studio execs happy by keeping the runtime under three hours, but it comes at the cost of major plot points and character moments being chucked away. The ultimate cut however comes in at a whopping four hours and is arguably the most accurate to the source material as it also contains the animated Tales Of The Black Freighter scenes. However these scenes break the narrative flow of the film and were clearly not intended to be part of the final product, being inserted only to appease the fans. The director’s cut feels most like Snyder’s vision, clocking in at three and half hours and following the graphic novel fairly closely whilst leaving room for artistic licence.

Now as some of you may know, while I’m not exactly what you would call a fan of Zack Snyder’s work, I do have something of a begrudging respect for him due to his willingness to take creative risks and attempt to tell more complex, thought provoking narratives that don’t necessarily adhere to the blockbuster formula. Films like Watchmen and Batman Vs Superman prove to me that the man clearly has a lot of good ideas and a drive to really make an audience think about what they’re watching and question certain things about the characters. The problem is that he never seems to know how best to convey those ideas on screen. In my review of Batman Vs Superman, I likened him to a fire hose. Extremely powerful, but unless you’ve got someone holding onto the thing with both hands and pointing it in the right direction, it’s just going to go all over the place. I admire Snyder’s dedication and thought process, but I think the fact that his most successful film, Man Of Steel, also happens to be the one he had the least creative influence on speaks volumes. When he’s got someone to work with and bounce ideas off of, he can be a creative force to be reckoned with. Left to his own devices however, and his films tend to go off the rails very quickly.

Watchmen is very much Snyder’s passion project. You can tell a lot of care and effort went into this. The accuracy of the costumes, staging and set designs speak for themselves. However there is an underlying problem with Snyder trying to painstakingly recreate the graphic novel on film. While I don’t agree with the purists who say that Watchmen is ‘unfilmmable’, I do agree with Alan Moore’s statement that there are certain aspects of the graphic novel that can only work in a graphic novel. A key example of this is its structure. Watchmen has the luxury of telling its non-linear narrative over twelve issues in creative and unorthodox ways. A structure that’s incredibly hard to translate into any other medium. A twelve episode TV mini-series might come close, but a movie, even a three hour movie, is going to struggle due to the sheer density of the material and the unconventional structure. Whereas the structure of the graphic novel allowed Alan Moore to dedicate whole chapters to the origin stories of Doctor Manhattan and Rorschach and filling in the gaps of this alternate history, the structure of a movie doesn’t really allow for that. And yet Snyder tries really hard to follow the structure of the book even though it simply doesn’t work on film, which results in the movie coming to a screeching halt as the numerous flashbacks and origin stories disrupt the flow of the narrative, causing it to stop and start constantly at random intervals, like someone kangarooing in a rundown car.

Just as Watchmen the graphic novel played around with the common tropes and framing devices of comics, Watchmen the movie needed to play around with the common tropes and framing devices of comic book movies. To Snyder’s credit, there are moments where he does do that. The most notable being the first five minutes where we see the entire history of the world of Watchmen during the opening credits while ‘The Times They Are A-Changing’ is played in the background. This is legitimately good. It depicts the rise and fall of the superhero in a way only a movie can. I wish Snyder did more stuff like this rather than restricting himself to just recreating panels from the graphic novel.

Which is not to say I think the film is bad. On the contrary, I think it’s pretty damn good. There’s a lot of things to like about this movie. The biggest, shiniest gold star has to go to Jackie Earle Haley as Rorschach. While the movie itself was divisive at the time, Haley’s portrayal of Rorschach was universally praised as he did an excellent job bringing this extreme right wing bigot to life. He has become to Rorschach what Ryan Reynolds is to Deadpool or what Mark Hamill is to the Joker. He is the character (rather tragically. LOL). To the point where it’s actually scary how similar Haley looks to Walter Kovacs from the graphic novel. The resemblance is uncanny.

Another standout performance is Jeffery Dean Morgan as the Comedian. Just as depraved and unsavoury as the comic version, but Morgan is also able to inject some real charm and pathos into the character. You believe that Sally Jupiter would have consensual sex with him despite everything he did to her before. But his best scene I think was his scene with Moloch (played by Matt Frewer) where the Comedian expresses regret for all the terrible things he did. It’s a genuinely emotional and impactful scene and Morgan manages to wring some sympathy out of the audience even though the character doesn’t really deserve it. But that’s what makes Rorschach and the Comedian such great characters. Yes they’re both depraved individuals, but they’re also fully realised and three dimensional. They feel like real people, which is what makes their actions and morals all the more shocking.

Then there’s Doctor Manhattan, who in my opinion stands as a unique technical achievement in film. The number of departments that had to work together to bring him to life is staggering. Visual effects, a body double, lighting, sound, it’s a truly impressive collaborative effort, all tied together by Billy Crudup’s exceptional performance. He arguably had the hardest job out of the whole cast. How do you portray an all powerful, emotionless, quantum entity without him coming across as a robot? Crudup manages this by portraying Manhattan as being less emotionless and more emotionally numb, which makes his rare displays of emotion, such as his shock and anger during the TV interview, stand out all the more. It’s a great depiction that I don’t think is given the credit it so richly deserves.

Which leads into something else about the movie, which will no doubt be extremely controversial, but I’m going to say it anyway. I much prefer the ending in the film to the ending in the book.

Hear me out.

In my review of the final issue of Watchmen, I said I didn’t like the squid because of its utter randomness. The plot of the movie however works so much better both from a narrative and thematic perspective. Ozymandias framing Doctor Manhattan makes a hell of a lot more sense than the squid. For one thing, it doesn’t dump a massive amount of new info on us all at once. It’s merely an extension of previously known facts. We know Ozymandias framed Manhattan for giving people cancer to get him off world. It’s not much of a stretch to imagine the world could also buy that Manhattan would retaliate after being ostracised. We also see Adrian and Manhattan working together to create perpetual energy generators, which turn out to be bombs. It marries up perfectly with the history of Watchmen as well as providing an explanation for why there’s an intrinsic field generator in Adrian’s Antarctic base. It also provides a better explanation for why Manhattan leaves Earth at the end despite gaining a newfound respect for humanity. But what I love most of all is how it links to Watchmen’s central themes.

Thanks to the existence of Doctor Manhattan, America has become the most powerful nation in the world to the point where its disrupted the global balance of power. This has led to the escalation of the Cold War with Russia as well as other countries like Vietnam being at the mercy of the United States. It also allowed Nixon to stay in office long after his two terms had expired. The reason the squid from the book is so unsatisfying as a conclusion is because you don’t buy that anyone would be willing to help America after the New York attack. In fact it would be more likely that Russia and other countries might take advantage of America’s vulnerability. Manhattan’s global attack however not only gives the whole world motivation to work together, it also puts America in a position where they have no choice but to ask for help because it was they that effectively created this mess in the first place. So seeing President Nixon pleading for a global alliance feels incredibly satisfying because we’re seeing a corrupt individual hoist by his own petard and trying to save his own skin, even if it comes at the cost of his power. America is now like a wounded animal, and while world peace is ultimately achieved, the US is now a shadow of its former self. It fits in so perfectly with the overall story of Watchmen, frankly I’m amazed Alan Moore didn’t come up with this himself.

It’s not perfect however. Since the whole genetic engineering stuff no longer exists, it makes the existence of Adrian’s pet lynx Bubastis rather perplexing. Also the whole tachyons screwing with Doctor Manhattan’s omniscience thing still doesn’t make a pixel of sense. But the biggest flaw is in Adrian Veidt’s characterisation. For one thing, Matthew Goode’s performance isn’t remotely subtle. He practically screams ‘bad guy’ the moment he appears on screen. He has none of the charm or charisma that the source material’s Ozymandias had. But it’s worse than that because Snyder seems to be going out of his way to uncomplicate and de-politicise the story and characters. There’s no mention of Adrian’s liberalism or his disdain for Nixon and right wing politics. The film never explores his obsession with displaying his own power and superiority over right wing superheroes like Rorschach and the Comedian. He’s just the generic bad guy. And I do mean bad guy. Whereas the graphic novel left everything up to the reader to decide who was morally in the right, the film takes a very firm stance on who the audience should be siding with. Don’t believe me? Just look at how Rorschach’s death is presented to us.

It’s very clear while watching the film that Zack Snyder is a big Rorschach fan. He gets the most screen time and there’s a lot of effort dedicated to his portrayal and depiction. And that’s fine. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with that. As I’ve mentioned before in previous blogs, Rorschach is my favourite character too. However it’s important not to lose sight of who the character is and what he’s supposed to represent, otherwise you run the risk of romanticising him, which is exactly what the film ends up doing. Rorschach’s death in the graphic novel wasn’t some heroic sacrifice. It was a realisation that he has no place in the world that Ozymandias has created, as well as revealing the hypocrisy of the character. In the extra material provided in The Abyss Gazes Also, we learn that, as a child, Walter supported President Truman’s use of the atomic bomb in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and yet, in his adult life, he opposes Adrian’s plan. Why? What’s the difference? Well the people who died in Hiroshima and Nagasaki weren’t American. They were Japanese. The enemy. In Rorschach’s mind, they deserved to die, whereas the people in New York didn’t. It signifies the flawed nature of Rorschach’s black and white view of the world as well as displaying the racist double standards of the character. Without the context of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Rorschach’s death becomes skewed. This is what ends up happening in the movie. Rorschach removes his mask and makes a bold declaration to Doctor Manhattan, the music swells as he is disintegrated, defiant to the last, and his best friend Nite Owl screams in anguish and despair.

In fact the film takes it one step further by having Nite Owl punch Adrian repeatedly in the face and accuse him of deforming humanity, which completely contradicts the point of Dan Dreiberg as a character. He’s no longer the pathetic centrist who requires a superhero identity to feel any sort of power or validation. He’s now the everyman representing the views of the audience, which just feels utterly wrong.

This links in with arguably the film’s biggest problem of all. The way it portrays superheroes in general. The use of slow motion, cinematography and fight choreography frames the superheroes and vigilantes of Watchmen as being powerful, impressive individuals, when really the exact opposite should be conveyed. The costumes give the characters a feeling of power, but that power is an illusion. Nite Owl is really an impotent failure. Rorschach is an angry bigot lashing out at the world. The Comedian is a depraved old man who has let his morals fall by the way side so he can indulge in his own perverse fantasies. They’re not people to be idealised. They’re to be at pitied at best and reviled at worst. So seeing them jump through windows and beating up several thugs single handed through various forms of martial arts ultimately confuses the message, as does the use of gratuitous gore and violence. Are we supposed to be shocked by these individuals or in awe?

Costumes too have a similar problem. Nite Owl and Ozymandias’ costumes have been updated so they look more imposing, which kind of defeats the purpose of them. The point is they look silly to us, the outside observers, but they make the characters feel powerful. That juxtaposition is lost in the film. And then there’s the Silk Spectre. In the graphic novel, both Sally and Laurie represent the changing attitudes of women in comics and in society. Both Silk Spectres are sexually objectified, but whereas Sally accepts it as part of the reality of being a woman, Laurie resists it, seeing it as demeaning. The only reason she wore her revealing costume in A Brother To Dragons was because she knew that Dan found it sexually attractive and she wanted to indulge his power fantasy. None of this is touched upon in the film, other than one passing mention of the Silk Spectre porn magazine near the beginning of the film. There’s not even any mention of how impractical her costume is, like the graphic novel does. Yes the film changes her look drastically, but it’s still just as impractical and could have been used to make a point on how women are perceived in comic book films, but it never seems to hinder her in anyway. It’s never even brought up, which is ridiculous. Zack Snyder’s reinterpretation of Silk Spectre is clearly meant to inject some form of girl power into the proceedings, as she’s presented as being just as impressive and kick-ass as the others, when the whole point of her character was to expose the misogyny of the comics industry at the time and how they cater to the male gaze. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying the graphic novel did it perfectly, but it did it a hell of a lot better than this.

Die hard fans have described the film over the years as shallow and ‘style over substance.’ I don’t think that’s entirely fair. It’s clear that Zack Snyder has a huge respect for the graphic novel and wanted to do it justice. Overall the film has a lot of good ideas and is generally well made. However, as much as Snyder seems to love Watchmen, it does seem like he only has a surface level understanding of it, hence why the attention and effort seems to be going into the visuals and the faithfulness to Alan Moore’s attention to detail rather than the Watchmen’s story and themes. While the film at times makes some good points about power, corruption and morality, it doesn’t go nearly as far as the source material does and seems to shy away from really getting into the meat of any particular topic. Part of that I suspect is to do with marketability, not wanting to alienate casual viewers, but I think a lot of it is to do with it simply being in the wrong medium. I personally don’t think you can really do a story as complex and intricate as Watchmen’s justice in a Hollywood film. In my opinion, this really should have been a TV mini-series or something.

So on the whole, while I appreciate Snyder’s attempt at bringing the story of Watchmen to life and can see that he has the best intentions in mind, I don’t think this film holds a candle to the original source material.

#watchmen #dc #warner bros #zack snyder #review #spoilers

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emperorsfoot · 4 years

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New chapter of my shamefully self-indulgent Entrapdak Arranged Marriage AU.

This chapter features Imp’s adorable antics, a broken ceiling, Hordak and Entrapta meet for the first time, and Catra is very frustrated.

...

“Entrapta! Entrapta! Grr!” Catra threw her arms up in exasperation, fur of her tail frizzing out, fangs barred with a snarl to vent her frustration.

Their ship had already started its descent to the planet’s surface and Entrapta wasn’t even dressed.

That wasn’t accurate.

Entrapta was dressed. As a mechanic. A menial worker.

Not the sovereign ruler of an industrial titan like Dryl that she was.

She could not meet her future spouse –never mind that- she could not meet the Emperor of the Known Universe and his brother, looking like the person they had their servants call to service the palace ventilation systems.

The ship gave a violent lurch as they hit a pocket of turbulence in Horde World’s atmosphere and Catra was thrown off balance. She landed on her feet –she always landed on her feet- but the trunk containing Entrapta’s wardrobe was thrown across the cabin, spilling the Princess’ gowns all over. Catra heaved another snarl. She longed for a simpler life, a war-orphan, or an underappreciated soldier. Anything had to be better than a lady-in-waiting to a tech Princess who thought measuring the pH balance of the atmosphere and how it affected the ship’s hull was more important that making sure she was ready to meet the Emperor of the Known Universe, or her future spouse.

“Hey, don’t worry so much.” Scorpia, another Princess and Entrapta’s friend, bent down to help Catra pick up the strewn clothing. “Entrapta’s a little quirky, but she agreed to do this because she knows it’s important. She’ll be ready in time.”

Catra sighed. In defeat, not relief. Scorpia was nice, but she did not seem to grasp the importance of first impressions. Entrapta was actually really amazing –once a person got to know her- but she made a terrible first impression.

Then it was Scorpia’s turn to sigh. Clasping her pincers together –still holding one of Entrapta’s dresses- and staring out through one of the view ports at the dusty and barren landscape of Horde World. “Isn’t it romantic.” She gushed. “Two people, crossing the stars to meet. Strangers coming together for the good of a nation. At first, just for duty. But then! A tender glance! A gentle touch! Gazes locking… and sparks fly… It’s true love!”

Catra just stared at her. Dead-eyed. Unimpressed and unmoved.

“It could happen!” Scorpia insisted.

“It’ll never happen if we can’t get Entrapta ready by the time ship lan-“ Catra was cut off as the ship gave another lurch as the pilot decelerated for their final approach to the Imperial landing site. Catra only hissed, showing more teeth.

“I’ll help with Entrapta.” Scorpia nodded, realizing maybe Catra’s concerns were more legitimate and pressing than she originally thought.

But the moment the ship did actually landed, Entrapta disappeared to explore the alien palace that was the heart of the Horde Empire and Catra had no idea where she went.

…

Hec-Tor bared his teeth at the scale, displeased by the result. He managed to go a full year and a day without any weight loss from his condition and in the span of only twenty-four hours had somehow managed to lose two-hundred grams of body mass.

He stepped off the scale, waited for the number to clear, then tried again. Double checking the result. When the number showed the same. He triple checked. When all three attempts yielded the same result, he was forced to record the data in his health tracker app. He was losing weight again.

That hadn’t happened since Keldor disappeared. Hec-Tor twisted the ring he still wore on the third finger of his left hand. Keldor’s ring. In another few days, he would have to take it off and replace it with a different ring. Entrapta’s ring. Slipping the band off his finger, he looked at the inscription. ‘By the Power…’ Keldor never really explained what it meant beyond ‘it’s just an Eternian thing’. Slipping the ring back on his finger, Hec-Tor stealed himself to face the day.

Today was going to be a bad day.

His intended’s ship landed some time in the early hours of the morning. Hec-Tor was glad he was not made to greet her first thing upon her arrival. He would not have been in the best of sorts to make an acceptable first impression. He was rather confident that he would not make any kind of good first impression at all. But then, he thought the same thing before his marriage to Keldor and in the end, first impressions turned out not to matter all that much.

Hec-Tor was younger back then. He was sullen and quiet and had adhered to protocol as best as one could while also looking at their feet and not making eye-contact. While Keldor was unlike anyone Hec-Tor had ever met up to that point. Instead of reciprocating the ceremonial bow with one of his own, the Eternian Prince had laughed –just a short, half stifled laugh behind his hand, but still a laugh- and asked Hec-Tor if he did more than posture and pose. Horde Prime frowned in displeasure, and Keldor’s father, King Miro, gave his son a strongly worded reprimand. But it succeeded in reminding Hec-Tor that the marriage had been arranged for Keldor just as much as it had been for him. They were both of them being forced into this and that was one thing they had in common.

Remembering that, Hec-Tor reminded himself that this was arranged for his current intended just as much as it was for him. While a small platoon of servants combed and gelled his hair, dabbed at his cheeks with foundation and concealer, lined his eyes with kohl, painted gloss on his lips, fitted decorative plugs in his ports, and just generally groomed him to look his best, Hec-Tor read over the dossier on his intended.

Princess Entrapta. While she kept the title of ‘Princess’ in reality, she was the Queen of her territory. She was the sovereign and sole ruler of Dryl, which was not its own planet, but a small mountain nation located on Etheria.

Hec-Tor paused at that. Recognizing the name. Etheria was a planet that shared a solar system with Eternia –Keldor’s home planet. Entrapta and Keldor were practically neighbors! However, unlike Eternia, which was unified under one monarch, Etheria was a confederacy of multiple independent states.

Dryl was small in terms of land coverage. But it was an industrial titan that specialized in weapons manufacture. Weapons that combined highly advanced technology with complicated magic. Weapons that could be powered by their wielder’s ‘fighting spirit’ rather than limited battery packs that needed to be recharged. Armors and shieldings that were just as resilient and strong as phitanium, but easier to shape, more efficient to manufacture, and –best of all- cheaper since they wouldn’t have to pay Queen Elmora’s premiums. Heck! Dryl even made bots that could be sent into battle in place of living soldiers.

That explained why Horde Prime wanted her in the family.

With Entrapta married to the Emperor’s own brother, her loyalty would be to the Empire –which her children might have a chance to inherit one day. That would ensure that Dryl would not be selling their weapons to the Empire’s enemies.

Scrolling through the file, Hec-Tor realized that the vast majority of the information was on Dryl and its arms industry. There was very little information on Princess Entrapta herself. Hell! The file didn’t even include a picture of her.

Hec-Tor sighed. Of course, the file wouldn’t contain much information on her. Horde Prime did not arrange this marriage to make his brother happy. He didn’t care about Princess Entrapta the person. All Horde Prime cared about were the weapons and power she could bring to the Empire. Who cared if Hec-Tor was miserable for the rest of his life? Not every arranged marriage could be as lucky as his first one to Keldor. Not everyone could fall in love with their intended.

His chair was turned around and Hec-Tor examined his reflection. They did everything but put contacts in his eyes to give him pupils. He sighed. This was far more opulent than his brother made him dress up for his first engagement. Horde Prime must really, really want those weapons.

With a sigh, Hec-Tor stood from the seat. He needed a break from all the primping and preening. Maybe get some real work done. There were a few items from yesterday that he never managed to get around to. At the time he thought there would be time to deal with them today. That was before his brother took the liberty of changing his entire agenda for the rest of the week –and his life. At the very least, he needed to address the blight on Antares. Horde Prime probably wouldn’t let him dispatch soldiers to either Krytis or Denebria until after the wedding, the Emperor would want to keep the military close until then.

But if he could just get to his office and do something productive.

Anything productive.

Even if it was just hitting ‘read’ on a non-critical memo.

He stalked down the corridors of the residential wing to his office, wearing nothing more than a dressing gown, with a head full of so much product he looked sculpted out of paste.

A door to his left burst open and Imp dashed out, in a similar state of half-dressed but very well make-uped. He saw his father standing in the corridor and skirted around to hide behind the older man’s legs. Just in time for a trio of servants to follow –tripping- out of the same room after the little… imp.

Imp hissed at them.

Only one seemed brave enough to approach, addressing Hec-Tor. “Your Highness, we are trying to make the Prince ready to meet your intended and he is not cooperating. Could you… speak to him, please?”

Hec-Tor looked down at the child clinging to his calves. Imp glared up at him. He did not like playing dress-up any more than Hec-Tor did.

“If I have to suffer through this, so do you.” He informed his son.

The boy gave a screech of disagreement, abandoned his father as an ally, and climbed up a wall instead. Imp shot his father a scathing look of betrayal before wiping half the makeup and cream from his face and smearing it on the expensive wallpaper. Then he disappeared into an air vent.

“Imp!” Hec-Tor shouted after him. Forget ‘feral’ that child could be outright wild sometimes. He got it from Keldor. He was also always a little wild.

Forget doing something productive. Now all Hec-Tor cared about was finding his son in the complicated and labyrinthine ventilation systems of the Imperial palace.

He turned suddenly anxious eyes and misplaced anger on the trio that had been grooming Imp or the introductions. “Find him!”

They ran to comply.

Hec-Tor headed in the opposite direction, long ears piqued. Listening for any movement in the walls that could indicate his errant son. Imp was spry and fast. Of all the members of the Kur family that Hec-Tor had known –both living and dead- Imp was by far the most healthy. His physical defects were extra limbs in the form of wings –that actually functioned!- and a pointed tail. He was also a little under sized for his age, but that just made it easier for him to pull stunts like this!

But the worst part was that Hec-Tor knew, if Keldor were here, he would be egging their child on. Encouraging Imp to make trouble and be an agent of chaos. Keldor would think it was funny. Keldor would be proud.

Damn. Hec-Tor made himself sad.

Before their wedding, during a heavily chaperoned stroll through the grounds of the castle in Eternos, Keldor not only convinced Hec-Tor to ditch their escorts and sneak out, but actually succeeded in doing it! Climbing up a tree close to the castle wall and pushing Hec-Tor over it before the Imperial Prince even knew what was happening. Keldor then took Hec-Tor on a tour of the back-allies of Eternos, a side of the city he was sure no Prince was meant to see.

Imp definitely got this rebelliousness from his other father. It certainly didn’t come from Hec-Tor!

He came to an intersection in the corridors and froze, closing his eyes, listening hard for any scuffling or scurrying sounds that could be Imp trying to evade him. Just barely picking up a faint sound, Hec-Tor made a turn a followed the sound out of the private residential wing and into the business section. If anyone dared give him an odd look for stalking the halls in what was essentially a bathrobe, he snarled at them.

The moment Hec-Tor found an access panel large enough for him, Imp was going to be in so much trouble!

A louder scuffling in the walls.

Imp must be closer!

Hec-Tor leaned against the wall. His ear just a hair’s breadth away from touching the wall –he was still mindful of all the cosmetic work he’d sat through already and did not want to sit through it again.

He followed the scuffling sound. Listening to the metal of the vents shift with the weight of a body. Funny, Imp was never heavy enough to make the vent paneling shift and bow before. But then, Imp was a growing boy.

He followed the movement in the walls he was almost in the public areas of the palace now. A place he did not want to be walking around in a bathrobe and little else. But he wanted to find his son more.

Then he heard Imp give a startled and confused little chirp. And his journey moving in the walls came to a halt. Now the scuffling in the wall was located in only one spot and it was fast and frantic.

“Imp?” Hec-Tor called, hoping the boy could hear him through the drywall and vent plating. “Are you stuck?”

Imp couldn’t answer, of course. While he might be the most physically healthy member of the Kur family, he was also born mute. His vocal cords not forming right during gestation in the vitrine. The only sounds he could make were guttural chirps and squawks. With a wall between them cutting off any visual communication, there was no way for Imp to make his situation and his needs known. Hec-Tor just had to guess and hope he took the appropriate action.

He grabbed the first person he saw, not caring if they were palace staff, or a visiting dignitary (or extended staff) there for his wedding. “You! Get me the head of palace maintenance! Immediately!”

Not sure what else to do, it was all the hapless passerby could do to nod an affirmative and run away the moment Hec-Tor let go of them.

Another squak of dismay drifted through the wall and Hec-Tor once again pressed his ear to the wall. This time he did smear his makeup, but he didn’t care. Some things were more important. “Imp? What is going on in there? Are you injured?”

The only answer he got was a string of confused chittering and trills.

“Imp!?”

People were casting uncertain glances at him now. What if mental instability was another of the Prince’s defects? He was literally yelling at a wall.

“Oh. Well, hello little guy?” Then another voice drifted through the wall. One Hec-Tor had never heard before. Pitchy and nasal.

Was this the head of maintenance come to extricate Imp from the wall for him? It had better be! He did not like the idea of a complete stranger being in a dark enclosed space along with his son whom could not communicate in words.

“Who’s in there?” He demanded.

“Is that your friend out there?” Asked the voice. “Are you stuck?”

Hec-Tor dragged his talons down the decorative wallpaper. He wanted to see what was going on in there. Who was in there with Imp? What were they doing?

“Hang on.” Said the other in the wall. “The thing with old castles and palaces like this is that all the ventilation was built in a closed system so that it’s harder to get inside for regular maintenance and service. See how the plating it warped here? Probably happened over the last hundred years by particles that made it past the first battery of filters. I heard the winds on Horde World can carry rocks as big as a fist a hundred kilometers in the air. I know something that big shouldn’t be able to make it through filters, but when the wind can throw it that high, they can also throw it clean through carbon fiber mesh. Something like that bouncing around these vents, no wonder you got your tail stuck in a warped section.”

Was- was the speaker giving Imp –a five year old child- a lecture on engineering? While they were both stuck in a wall!? Who was this person?

“Almost got ya… there!” There was a metallic popping sound.

Then Imp gave a grateful and relieved little trill.

Hec-Tor sighed. His son was okay. Still in the vents. But unharmed.

“I think I saw an outlet over there.” Presumably, the owner of the voice was pointing, but Hec-Tor could not see it. “C’mon. I’ll show you and make sure you don’t get stuck again.”

The shuffling and scuffling began again. This time moving up. To the ceiling. Hec-Tor looked up, trying to follow the sounds with his eyes.

Then a crack appeared on the ceiling.

Oh! Oh, no! No, no, no! Didn’t the voice in the wall just say this palace was old! If they were a fully grown adult being, they should not be putting their full weight on the ceiling panels. They were meant to be decorative and cover the unsightly support beams and insulation. They were not meant to hold weight!

“Oh.” Apparently, the voice realized this too late. “I might have miscalculated the addition of your weight.”

That was the last thing they said before the whole ceiling came caving down.

A cascade of broken panels and insulation that should have been replaced decades ago came crashing down in the center of the room. Among the debris, a ball of lavender hair came tumbling out. It rolled a few meters away from the main pile.

The hair slithered. Disentangling itself frown around the body of an alien female. Copper skin and fuchsia-red eyes. Wearing dark purple overalls like a menial worker. Maybe she was the head of maintenance. And held in her gloved arms was Imp. He was fine. Cradled and shielded from the debris by her body and hair.

“Well, you’re out.” She announced. Then glanced back at the mess in the middle of the room. “Though, I have a feeling I might be in trouble…”

“Give me my son!” Hec-Tor all but snarled at her.

“Oh. Sure.” She opened her arms and Imp fluttered his wings, flying into his father’s waiting arms. Then the woman paused, as if actually noticing him. “Why are you wearing a bath robe? Oh! Did I drop in on a bathroom!? I’m so sorry! I just wanted to observe the adaptations your architects have made to compensate for the harshness of Horde World. This building is an engineering marvel and I find it fascinating!”

“Who are you?” Demanded the Prince.

“Oh. Uh,” she twiddled her hair.

Under any other circumstances he would have found the fact that her hair moved like limbs quite interesting. But at the moment, he was unimpressed.

“This is a little awkward.” She confessed. “You see, I’m not actually from Horde World. I just came for the wedding. Oh! Maybe I’ll see you there. I should say ‘hi’ at the reception!”

That did not answer his question.

But then, another voice shouted across the room.

“Entrapta!”

A magicat and a scorpioness came running up to here.

Entrapta? Did they just call her ‘Entrapta’? As in Princess Entrapta? His intended. The person he was arranged to marry. This dirt-covered, vent-lurking, inelegant, creature could not possibly be the one his brother meant for him to marry!

“We are so, so sorry!” Said the scorpioness. She lifted ‘Princess Entrapta’ up into her arms.

“Where have you been!” Snarled the magicat. “Not only are we behind schedule, you’re an absolute mess! You can’t meet a Prince of the Horde Empire looking like this!”

Hec-Tor just stood there, staring at them. Did none of them know who he was?

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” The scorpioness said in a much gentler tone. “Maybe the Prince won’t mind. Maybe he likes quirky partners.”

He most certainly did not!

Well, okay. Keldor was pretty quirky. And Hec-Tor loved him. A lot. But Keldor was special! Just going off this first impression, Hec-Tor was not going to like this purple, prehensile haired, vent germline one bit!

This marriage was going to be a disaster.

#entrapdak #entrapta/hordak #hordak #entrapta #spop #au #arranged marriage AU #imp #catra #scorpia #Hordak walking around a palace in his bathrobe #Imp being Imp #first meetings #meet cute

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