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reinvent-and-believe · 4 years

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Dialogue prompt 42. "I'm only here to establish an alibi." Lambert/Aiden :) May the inspiration fairy visit you!!

It’s been a shit night. A shit night, a shit week, a shit month.

The rain that’s started up again every time he finally managed to get dry from the last round for the past three days has turned torrential, and between the thunder and the fucking hail Lambert’s not quite stubborn enough to try to ride through it. So he sits in a shitty inn still a day’s ride from Ellander, drinking shitty overpriced ale and ignoring the stares from shitty villagers who whisper to each other with their eyes glued on him. He’s too far from the fire for any hope of it drying out his soaking layers of clothes and armor, and he doesn’t have the coin to manage a bowl of stew if he wants a room.

All in all, another fucking day in the paradise that is the Path.

And because Lambert thinks that tonight can’t possibly get worse, the door slams open and another fucking witcher steps through it.

Fucking perfect.

Common folk are uneasy with one witcher, nervous and on edge and wary. Lambert doesn’t mind. Geralt would probably go out of his way to put the people’s minds at rest, make himself smaller and softer and friendlier than he is, the way Vesemir taught him, taught all of them. Fuck that. Lambert doesn’t mind that they’re afraid, that they pull their children behind them, that they give him a wide berth. Makes it easier to get them to fork over their coin after he’s dealt with their problems if they remember he’s not their friend.

But two witchers, two witchers become a threat. Two witchers together seem to remind people that they could wipe out a village like this without breaking much of a sweat if they were so inclined, and that tips that helpful apprehension into something a lot more reckless, a lot more lethal. One particularly memorable contract where he’d teamed up with Eskel ended with a dozen snarling, terrified villagers cornering them with pitchforks, and they’d’ve both been fucked had it not been for Eskel’s freakish strong Axii holding the crowd long enough for them to get the hell out of dodge.

(This was before Geralt’s fancy bard started his quest to single-handedly rehabilitate the witcher image, of course, but still. That shit stays with you.)

Every eye in the inn’s common room is fixed on this new witcher, and then, seemingly in unison, they remember Lambert.

The other witcher’s gaze follows the crowd’s, and when their eyes meet his face breaks into a dangerous smile. He slinks over, every movement full of a graceful precision unusual in a man his size. He’s smaller than Lambert, though not by much: his lean frame is lithe and sinewy, his shoulders broad, the arms bared by his short-sleeved jerkin defined, solid. His skin bears the same telltale scars of the profession as Lambert’s does in shades of pink and red and white.

A cat medallion hangs on his chest, swinging casually as he slips into the booth across from Lambert as though he belongs there.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, Cat?” He pitches his voice as low as he can without a whisper dampening the impact of his growl. The less the onlookers hear of their exchange the better.

The Cat sprawls out as though he owns the place, an arm draping over the back of the booth. “Drop your hackles, Wolf, I’m not here to spirit away your contracts.” He gestures, beckoning the barkeep and Lambert nearly laughs at the audacity, as though that would possibly...until he notices that the man is heading towards their table with a mug of ale, which he sets before the Cat with a nod and nary a word about payment. The witcher takes a swig, tossing wet, shoulder-length brown hair out of his eyes in the process. A striking white scar intersects his sharp-angled eyebrow. His face is all sharp angles: strong, squared off jaw, covered in dark stubble; aquiline nose that looks to have been broken once; high, distinctive cheekbones.

Look, just because Lambert’s sure he’s up to no good doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the view.

“The name’s Aiden. And you are?”

“Not about to fall for any horseshit. What do you want, Cat?”

The Cat fixes him with that feral smile again. “To drink with a colleague.” At Lambert’s huff of disbelief, Aiden sighs. He drops his voice to a deep purr. “Relax, Wolf. I'm only here to establish an alibi. What could be more memorable than two witchers from enemy schools sharing a drink? It’ll be the talk of the town.”

“Rather not be the talk of the town. Rather put my head down, do the job, and avoid cocky assholes like you like the plague. Don’t really care to be part of some intrigue that’s gonna get me skewered.”

A flash of recognition lights Aiden’s handsome face. He nods, considering his words before he replies. “Spent a good while working jobs in this area last fall. Had some pretty grisly shit on their hands; a clan of wraiths haunting the woods just outside the village, cutting them off from the nearest fresh water source and slaughtering dozens every month. Then all those fresh corpses bring…”

“Fucking necrophages.” Lambert winces. It’s not an uncommon problem with wraiths. Unlike many of the monsters he hunts regularly, wraiths don’t consume the corpses, which has a tendency to attract secondary issues.

“Fucking necrophages,” Aiden confirms. “Ghouls and alghouls, mostly, but graveirs too, nests and nests of necrophages sprung up for miles in every direction. Job took over a month to wrap up. I stayed here at the inn, got to know most of the locals. Not saying we’re pen pals, but we’re safe here.”

A petite barmaid with wispy, dirty blonde hair approaches the table, setting a steaming bowl of stew before Aiden. “Me da says it’s on the house, master witcher,” she says as Aiden reaches for his purse, a comely pink flush spreading across her freckled face.

“Your father has my thanks, Brea, as do you.” The girl blushes deeper at that, ducking her head. “Might I get another bowl for my friend? I’ve the coin.”

“Me da says I’m to take no coin for you, master witcher, you’re our guest here. Be back with the stew in a flash.”

Lambert stares.

Aiden smiles, and somehow it seems a little softer, sadder. “Brea’s brother was one of those the wraiths slaughtered before I arrived. They didn’t have much coin, not enough for such an extensive job, but they were upfront from the start, and they kept me housed and well fed until the job was done. Didn’t get the warmest welcome from the whole village, but Keller—” he nods toward the barkeep “—and his family were always good to me.”

“Never seen anything like it.” The girl flits back beside the table, setting a thick, warm bowl of stew before Lambert with a quick nod before scurrying away again. He looked at Aiden appraisingly, slowly picking up his spoon. “Name’s Lambert,” he grunts. “Thanks for...you know.”

Aiden waves it off. “Eat.”

They do.

Conversation flows a little easier as they eat. They talk about the shit weather that brought Lambert to the inn, the ealdorman a few towns over that tried to stiff Lambert after he wiped out a cave full of endregas, their best hunts this year, the closest they came to dying this year. It’s been almost a year since he was last in Kaer Morhen, last around people who understood, who would have a real conversation with him, but it turns out Aiden’s surprisingly easy to talk to. He listens more than he speaks, watching Lambert with bright eyes through each story only to interject a thoughtful question here, a devastatingly witty quip there.

They’re on their third round of ale, courtesy of Aiden’s apparent heroism, their supper long finished, when Lambert leans forward on his elbows, fingertips lacing together. “Riddle me this, Cat,” he says slowly, watching the pretty face before him break into a grin, scarred eyebrow jutting upward. “If you’re just here so you have an alibi—and don’t think I forgot about that shady shit, by the way, I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to but I haven’t forgotten that—then why’d you come sit here with me? Yeah, yeah, two witchers are more memorable than one, I heard you, but not here, where they know you by name and keep the ale coming and treat you like a damn king. There’s a room full of people who’d vouch you were here even if you weren’t, seems to me. So why?”

Aiden stretches, hard lines of his body on languorous display. He looks relaxed, at ease. “Needed to assess the threat.” His voice is casual, but his golden eyes miss nothing. “You Wolves have a reputation as a prickly, self-righteous bunch—no, hold your protests, I assure you I know all about our reputation. I like to think we’re both more than the worst traits of our guilds, don’t you agree?”

Lambert nods, reluctant.

“There’s also,” Aiden continues, and although his body remains lax, long limbs still splayed out gracefully, his voice lowers carefully, “the fact that you want me. Smelled it on you the minute I walked in, strong enough to cut through your misapprehension.”

Lambert doesn’t deny it, just watches him, silent.

“It was flattering,” Aiden murmurs, leaning in, long fingers tracing patterns on the table between them. “Strong, handsome witcher who can’t keep his eyes off me? It’s a hard thing to resist. And denying myself has never been one of my strong suits.”

“I can believe that,” Lambert snorts. Aiden’s looking up at him prettily through hooded eyes, long, dark lashes, a quick tongue wetting his lip. And Lambert could deny himself, could walk away from this fascinating man who he doesn’t quite trust, doesn’t quite know but desperately wants to. “So what now?”

“Now I’m going to take advantage of my complimentary room upstairs. What you do is up to you, but I’d welcome your company.” He slips to his feet and fixes Lambert with a challenging smile. “You coming, Wolf? Or are you all bark?”

Lambert follows.

Maybe it’s not such a shit night after all.

#the witcher #the witcher 3 #tw3 #lambert x aiden #lambert #aiden #witcher fanfic #octinary #thank you so much for the prompt! this was fun!#this is the first time i’ve written for either of them #i hope you enjoy!#prompt fill #my fic #(also if anybody's interested in the smutty follow-up...i might be persuaded to write it 👀👀👀)

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jenovahh · 4 years

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The Honey Pot - Ch. 5 - My Name is Honey

“Welcome to the Galvus Estate.”

The words of the Hyur chauffeur pretty much pass in one ear and out the other, for you can’t keep your jaw from dropping at the sight of Zenos’ home.

Wrought in hauntingly beautiful metal, the Galvus Estate sits primly upon the hill that you are at the base of. Well-manicured gardens sprawl out what feels like for malms before the opulent mansion, showcasing a variety of flora which you can tell isn’t native to Hingashi. Multiple fountains of varying styles are sprinkled across the garden, the miniature shows eye catching as the car slowly pulls down the hand laid brick road.

Dark in color, the architecture of the estate differs greatly from any home (or any building in general) of that in Kugane, leaving you to wonder if it’s design hails to their Garlean heritage. As far as you knew, Varis himself was not a native to Kugane; that he immigrated from Garlemald as a child and that for someone with so much power, most of his origins are shrouded in mystery.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you try to not look too shocked; the very vision of a have-not being brought into the world of the haves. The chauffeur seems to realize he’s lost you and continues his drive to the front of the estate. Once there, he puts the car in park and steps out so that he may open your door for you.

He’s a bit late however as you’ve already done the job for him, ignoring his reserved sigh as he reaches to steady the door as you shakily climb out. “Ma’am, you still look very hurt,” He murmurs, holding out his other arm in offering.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You huff, standing on unstable feet, willing yourself to stand upright. A pain shoots up your right leg and you begin to go down, but thankfully the chauffeur’s reflexes are somewhat fast enough to catch you before you collapse entirely.

“Obviously.” He drones, pulling you back up and clutching onto you. “While I’m sure you have your pride Miss, I ask you to remember I too, have a job to do.” He speaks softly, giving you a knowing look. “Not all of us are...built to receive punishment for failure.”

Catching his grave meaning, you nod silently, allowing a bit more of your weight to rest on him. “I’m sorry.” You whisper, watching as he gently closes the door. With a gentle nudge he urges you toward the grand front doors, the brick beneath your soles somehow managing to feel just as fine as it looks. Just as you reach the door it’s opened by a housekeeper, who gives you a slight bow.

“Also for the record...I wasn’t punished. I fought Zenos,”

The chauffeur grips your side tight and you yelp in pain. “I do not know much about your relationship to Lord Zenos, but I advise you against addressing him so casually in public. People like me have only heard hearsay of your coming. You don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea, should it leak out to the public.” He hisses underneath his breath, guiding you past the grand staircase that is in the foyer. “One might guess you are quite close. Employees certainly do not stay within the estate.”

You purse your lips as he guides you through another door, deciding to heed his words. Like it or not, this was the path you were given, not the one you had chosen. From the tone of his voice, you wonder if the chauffeur has seen employees leave work to go home; and never come back.

“Why tell me this?” You ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

“None of us want to work here. But no one wants to struggle either. And just looking at you...I can tell this is the last place you want to be.” He smiles easily, accenting his already handsome features. “Also...you’re the first person to ever thank me. I’ve been workin for these guys for about three years now.”

That brings a smile to your own face. “I hope I get to see you around more often then.” You beam at him, watching as his cheeks tint red.

“You might. I’m Lord Zenos’ personal chauffeur.” He murmurs bashfully, leading you down another hallway. The estate certainly didn’t look this big from the outside, but you did only see the front of it to be fair.

“Got a name?” You ask, eyes wandering over the expensive artwork lining the walls. It seemed Varis certainly wasn’t above flaunting his very obvious wealth.

“Ardbert.” he answers, finally coming to a stop at a door. “We’ve arrived at your rooms. Just give me a moment,” Fishing what looks to be a credit card from his pocket, he presses it to the access point on the outside, the device chirping happily much like the one at the highrise. Leading you in, it is far grander than you ever expected.

“This is the wing where Lord Zenos stays. His room is the floor above this one. Your uniform,”

Ardbert’s words once again become background noise as you look around slack jawed. The walls are painted in a striking red with an elegant, black design strewn across it. Your bed sits against the far wall, now situated in the middle instead of tucked against itl. A canopy sits on top of the bedposts, your mouth forming an “o” as you can see a beautiful landscape painting on its underside.

Your room has a desk tucked against another wall, along with dressers and a walk-in closet. There’s a door that leads to your personal bathroom, which you are ecstatic to get a look at were Ardbert not doing his best to walk you to the bed as you try to crane your neck to look at everything.

“Ma’am,”

“Honey.” You interrupt, flashing him a smile. “None of that ma’am stuff.”

He gives a small smile at that. “Only when we are alone.” He concedes, giving you a none-too-gentle nudge to sit upon the bed. It almost feels like it’s trying to drag you into its cozy grasp as soon as you make contact. “While I don’t know how you managed to get so banged up, I am under strict orders to make sure you rest until the resident doctor is here to check up on you.”

Deciding to not make his job harder on him, you nod and allow the bed to draw you in. “All right. But only ‘cause you asked.” You snicker, appreciating how he always seems to return your smile.

“I appreciate it. And...take care of yourself.”

With that, he makes his way out the door, shutting it behind him.

You lie there and stare absentmindedly at the painting on the canopy, wishing you knew more about brush strokes and techniques to appreciate it better. Instead, you just lie there and let your bones relax, the pain mostly a distant soreness. They had given you some pretty strong painkillers, and from the look of the doctors’ faces, you’d think you had come from the brink of death and not a little spar with the Galvus heir.

That bastard.

Just thinking about him sets your blood to boiling, wishing you could land another fist in his face. And in his stomach. A swift kick in the balls to add insult to injury.

The train of thought pulls your lips into a sadistic smile, imagining taking advantage of your newfound position to get some good payback on Zenos yae Galvus. Even he himself said your place as his bodyguard was merely for show; nothing but pure looks. He gave you a position where you could be kept close with little question as to why, free for him to use you as he wished.

Even though the situation had not turned out exactly as planned, you still could find some humor in it. You could already imagine the look on his face when you finally did him and his father in, wiping their crime from the face of the star.

A knock on the door jolts you from your plotting, shouting for whoever is outside to enter. The Miqo’te doctor you saw yesterday strolls in, stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck. “Greetings.”

“Hello.” You return, eyes fixated on him as he moves to stand beside your bed. Did everyone who worked for the Galvuses speak so properly?

“How are you feeling?” He asks, hands pulling his stethoscope from around his neck, placing them in his fuzzy ears.

“Not too bad. Bit sore, but nothing another night’s rest won’t fix.” You reply, watching his expression turn into one of pure confusion as he conducts his light examination.

“A bit...sore you said?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah. Why?”

His features pinch together as much as possible, before he pulls away. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Though I must say...you have quite a few people in shock.” He finally answers, relaxing his face.

You tilt your head in confusion this time, watching as his eyes dart toward the door.

Leaning closer, he begins to whisper, “I know you’re new here, but I don’t think you grasp what you did.” His ears twitch nervously, as if searching for any foreign noise. “That you faced Lord Zenos is shocking enough...but that you lived to tell the tale has anyone who knows absolutely floored.”

“What? He doesn’t have any lackeys worth sparring?” You question, shifting to sit yourself up, forcing the doctor to sit back.

“There are very few....very few people who have dueled Lord Zenos. Not all have lived. And those that have were instead given to Lord Varis, to protect him.” The doctor explains, constantly glancing at the door. “You’ve fought him, lived, and walked away with bruised ribs at the worst. Others have had their bones entirely broken,”

“Speaking ill of me, are you?”

The doctor freezes up with fear, tail frizzing as Zenos steps into the room. Somehow he seems far too large for it, despite all the ceilings being noticeably higher than Doman architecture. “O-Of course not, Lord Zenos,” the doctor trembles, sparking your anger.

“He was telling me what a shitty employer I have.” You interject, meeting Zenos’ cool gaze with a fiery glare, inflamed further as his lips pull into an easy smile.

“I see your time in bed has done little for your tongue.” He drawls, looming closer. Your body rises naturally, kneeling in the plush covers so you may jump up at any moment.

“I’ve enjoyed my time in bed. It means I don’t have to deal with you.” You sneer, teeth bared as he stands at the foot of the bed. Something flashes across his eyes, something akin to interest as his eyes drink in your battered form.

“Luckily for you, my bodyguard is of no use to me broken and bruised. How much longer until she’s healed?” Zenos asks, settling to ignore you instead. The doctor nearly jolts at suddenly being addressed, his ears pressing flat against his head.

“Her vitals seem to be in stable condition, however,”

“That is not what I asked.” Zenos states coldly, that apathetic edge back to his voice. The glare he fixes on the shuddering doctor would kill him if it could, and it’s at that moment you decide you’ve had enough.

Standing atop your covers, you drag his attention back to you as you fist your strongest hand in his shirt. It’s soft to the touch, designer probably, for how plain it looks. But that’s not what matters right now. “I’m feeling just dandy.” You growl, hating how he places that stupid grin of his back on his face.

“Are you now?” He purrs, his eyes dipping to how your arm trembles. In a flash he makes a move to punch your side but you catch his fist with ease, wincing at the pain that shoots up your arm, unable to hide the cry of pain. “You are still unfit to serve me quite yet.” In a show of speed he frees his fist to grab your own, yanking hard to disrupt your balance and spin you around, pulling you against him, front to back.

You grit your teeth as he locks your arm behind your back, unable to move unless you feel like dislocating your shoulder. It rankles that he knows you know that. As if the doctor still isn’t in the room, he rests his chin on your shoulder, his hair tickling what bare skin is exposed to the air, drawing a gasp from you. For someone with such a cold demeanor, he is surprisingly warm. “Let me go, you overgrown, insufferable,” Your tirade is cut short as you stop to jerk away from his face as he presses closer.

He chuckles at your insults, the sound rumbling through you in the most delicious way. “Don’t stop on my account. Snarl and bite and gnash. Hate me if that’s what you must do. So long as you never stop fighting, living for that rush of blood, my beast.” His breath rolls across your skin, the sensation cool to the steadily rising warmth you feel. The man is a furnace. “I have found your strength and it is now mine. Deny my words all you want...but even now…” He pauses to laugh low and deep, and your teeth unconsciously bite down on your lip. “I can feel your pulse racing in my hand.”

You fall forward as he releases you, huffing indignantly as you flip yourself to face him. He studies you in silence for a moment before finally looking to the doctor. “She is to remain in bed until she is fully healed and ready for combat. Until then she doesn’t leave this room.”

“I’m right here, you know!” You hiss, glaring at his condescending smile.

“And here you shall stay. I look forward to you unleashing all that pent up anger when I see you next, my beast.” Done with the conversation, he turns with a flash of golden hair and strolls out the door.

You would kill him.

Well you wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Then you would be no better than he was.

Somehow that fact hadn’t sunk in...your doctor looked nearly ready to pass out from fear. Was Zenos’ reputation truly that horrible? Was there truth to the myth?

Had he really meant it when he said he would leave Nael there to die…

The thought that someone could be so heartless, so callous about another’s life, that they felt they could snuff them out whenever they inconvenienced them…

It’s what fueled your irritation as you were escorted across the estate grounds to Zenos’ personal training room, your fists flexing in the freshly bought fighting gloves you were given. Your favorites were stashed away in a drawer where hopefully no one would think to toss them out, or so you hoped. The fact that you were given an entirely new wardrobe without being asked or at the very least measured, concerned you a little less than it should have. ‘These damn rich people.’ you mumble internally, wiggling your toes in your brand new tennis shoes. Top of the line like nearly everything else in this Twelves damned, oversized house.

You’ve already made a decent map in your head back to your room, that way you can start walking yourself around the estate, and hopefully, snoop around in the future. The escort stops before an elegant metal door and you whisper a quiet word of thanks as you watch him press his card to the access point to let you inside.

The training room certainly is a lot more personal indeed, lacking the size and space of the gym at the high rise. The walls are painted a glaring red like the majority of the mansion, multiple weights of varying sizes lining one wall. A miniature fridge sits in one corner filled with a multitude of beverages, from water to what looks like sports drinks considering they have no label. The room is almost somewhat barren in comparison, save for a wall holding multiple training weapons on its racks.

Oddly enough, Zenos is seated in the center of the room, legs crossed in meditation, the pose looking strangely natural and effortless for someone of his bulk. His hands rest upon his muscular thighs, face completely relaxed as he controls his breathing. His breathing is so controlled, one might think he is not breathing at all.

“I’m here.” You announce, walking further into the room. His eyes slowly open to land on you, fixing you with a solid stare. “So you are.” He murmurs, giving you a once over. “And looking almost presentable. Enjoy your rest?” He asks and you have to remind yourself it’s not out of genuine concern for you.

“It ended far too soon.” You huff, watching as he stands to his bare feet, towering over you once more. You find yourself wishing that the only time you were taller than him wasn’t when he was on the ground. He is dressed much the same as you, a simple workout shirt loosely clinging to every bit of muscle he had, with equally form fitting pants. Had you already not pegged him as an apathetic narcissist, you’d think he was doing it on purpose.

Then again…

“So. You hired me as your bodyguard, what now? I just wake up and follow you around like a lost puppy? Hit anyone who calls you a mean name?” You snark, beginning to do your warm up stretches. He watches your every move like a hawk, and even were the situation different you weren’t sure if you would find it flattering or creepy.

“If that’s your prerogative. You are under my employment and my father’s by proxy. Therefore, there are rules you still must follow.” He explains, moving closer to you. His hand reaches out to grab your arm before you can jerk away, guiding it to a more comfortable position in a way that is strangely gentle. “I will explain the terms of your employment, after we have dueled.”

You mutter a begrudging thanks, finding the position much easier to stretch in. His eyes never leave you as you go through your motions, and it is clear he sees you as something to move and touch as he wishes; but thankfully he’s not handsy. His nudges and adjustments are purely instructional, his eyes completely analytical. “You are clearly trained, but have not studied anatomy. Most of your forms are off.”

“What kinda street rat knows anything about anatomy?” You retort, coming up from your final stretch. He’s finally backed off, walking back to the center of the floor. You watch his back muscles flex as he swoops his curtain of hair into his hands, elegantly pulling it into a ponytail.

“A street rat indeed…” He murmurs more to himself even if the words make it to your ears. “Your training does not speak of someone who has lived their life on the streets.” He observes, hawk eyes watching your every step as you come to meet him on the floor. You do your best to keep your expression in check, realizing that Zenos is not just a wall of muscle. He’s obviously smart.

“Are you gonna stand there yappin’ or what?” You spit, raising your fists to guard yourself. He sees your diversion for what it is by the glint in his eye, but is willing to let it slide as he brings his own arms up.

“You won’t hold back on me this time will you?” he asks, excitement glittering in his gaze as he slowly starts to circle you. You release a rude snort, unable to keep your lips from quirking upward. “You sure you want that? I handed your ass to you pretty good from what I recall.” You taunt, flexing your fingers.

“I would love nothing more.” He purrs, stepping in to make his first strike. You dodge him easily, able to weave your smaller form underneath the wide arcs of his punches. Deciding that it can’t get much worse from here, you don’t hold back, unleashing the full force of your schooling upon the eccentric heir. His face is pinched in concentration but the thrill never leaves his eyes, his exhilaration shining through in each strike. His blows seem to carry more force and it is with mild offense you realize even he was holding back on you that day.

How dare he.

Sweat drips down your back, your shirt clinging to your form as the two of you fight, adrenaline and excitement flowing through your veins like a delicious cocktail. Still, he will not let you get a hit in, his guard too solid, and he knows by now you’re willing to take a hit to get in one of your own. You’ve not had to think this hard about an opponent in so long, that you can’t help keep the smile off your face as you catch his fist in your hand.

He returns it, eyes gleaming brightly as he makes to grab you by the arm, but you are too swift, weaving out his grasp. He’s far too sturdy to nudge, and only a full fledged grab will do. You gasp as he manages to grab your arm and hold fast, his smirk downright feral. You tug and you pull to wrench your arm free, struggling to fight against his brute strength. He tries to pull you closer and you plant your feet down trying to twist out of his grip but he keeps step with you, smirk shining with victory.

Time to wipe it off his face.

Giving a sharp tug, you force him to move his weight with yours if he wants to keep you held. His free arm moves to grab hold but you grab him first, quickly turning your back to him and pulling him close. Bracing your legs you crouch down low and pull, yelling with the effort as you topple his weight and flip him backwards over your shoulder. He manages to twist himself to where he lands on his knees but he is on the floor regardless, and you grasp him by the collar in victory.

“Nice try.” You beam, chest heaving as you look down upon the Galvus heir. He stares up at you in disbelief again, his eyes wide with bewilderment and...wonder?

A trick of the light.

“Truly...there has been no greater prize I have won from my hunt…” he heaves, and you notice that he’s actually broken a sweat. His shirt hugs his chest tight, leaving little to the imagination as he gazes up at you, his blue eyes jumping across your features. “You are something else, my beast.” He purrs, despite how you clutch his shirt tighter and near your face to his.

“I told you. My name. Is Honey.” You bite out, for what good it does you.

“So you have said. But I find it a much more fitting name.” He croons, his cool breath slipping across your face. “A rat, plucked from the streets of savages--”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as you slam him on his back, digging your knee into his chest. “I will end you.” You hiss, wishing anything you said would have the proper effect on this man.

“You might be able to back up such claims, my little savage, but you lack the conviction.” He laughs, the sound growing louder as you sock him in the jaw.

“Shut up!” You snarl, praying he doesn’t notice your fist shaking.

“Do it then, Honey. Kill me, if that’s what you want.” He challenges, his body going completely lax beneath your own. He holds your gaze in a solid, unwavering stare, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

You could do it.

You could end him right here.

Your hands around his neck, he’s clearly defenseless; you’d just have to make a break for it before anyone could come check on him. You’d already be gone.

Your hands circle around his neck, and he has still yet to do anything to stop you. You squeeze, squeeze hard, feel the muscle and the veins cave under your hands. He hasn’t stopped staring, hasn’t stopped smirking even as you try to force yourself to add more pressure, to crush his windpipe--

“You disgust me.” You seethe, rising off of him and heading for the door, leaving the Galvus heir alone in the room.

#zenos #zenos yae galvus #ff14 #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #THP #my writings

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pluckyredhead · 4 years

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Daredevil 101: Eurotrip!

This is going to be a long one, folks. I tried to trim it down as much as I could, since I don’t want these sort of intermediary stories to be taking as long to cover as they have, but I was left with cutting it up into two short chunks or giving you one hefty meal. I chose hefty meal, so loosen your belts and tuck that napkin into your collars, kids!

...This metaphor may have gotten away from me.

Last time, Matt escaped from jail and headed to Monaco to track down Alton Lennox, the elusive lawyer who, for some mysterious reason, hired the convict who killed Foggy - who the reader (but not Matt) has just found out is actually alive! We’re picking up with more of the Brubaker/Lark run, DD v2 88-93. The official storyline name is “The Devil Takes a Ride.”

Content Warning: Image of a dead body, mention of murder made to look like suicide.

We start with Foggy, who is trapped in Witness Protection, unable to contact Ben or Dakota or anyone else who might be able to get through to Matt:

It’s not actually clear who the FBI is claiming to be Witness Protecting Foggy from, at this point? All they know is that he was stabbed by a guy at Riker’s, who is now dead, and also Foggy isn’t in Riker’s anymore. Matt’s enemies in general, maybe?

Anyway, this issue is called “The Secret Life of Foggy Nelson” and it’s basically a love letter to Matt. Foggy's narration boxes are all directed at Matt (who can’t hear him, of course), as he explains that he’s always wanted to do the right thing, but he’s been so afraid, especially with the dangerous life they lead:

I’M CRYING. Also, I’ve always loved that Foggy envisions Matt saving him, not Daredevil. Even after he learns that the two are one and the same, Matt is always the part he loves.

Foggy eventually gets so desperate to escape Witness Protection and talk to Matt that he sneaks out of the house he’s being held in and hails a cab that is...idling around this remote suburban neighborhood...suspiciously...

Hmm, yeah, that’s not good.

Luckily, Foggy is rescued! By ninjas!

Foggy’s face in that first panel is amazing.

Anyway, I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. Elektra is leading the Hand at this particular point in time, and she has ordered them to keep Foggy safe. Matt has no idea she’s doing this, of course - he doesn’t even know Foggy’s alive - but she knows what Foggy means to him. Also, she has a demonstrated soft spot for Foggy. I just love everything this says about all of them so much, even if I don’t know why the mafia wanted to kill Foggy. I guess they just be like that.

Thwarted in his escape, Foggy settles in to essentially wait for Matt to settle things in Europe and come rescue him. Meanwhile, Matt is being tormented by dreams of a bucolic Silver Age life with a living Foggy (and Karen!):

Aw, baby.

You can see that as is traditional for when Matt goes to Europe (or imagines going to Europe), he has dyed his hair black.

Matt is in Monte Carlo, because the only client he can find for Alton Lennox in Monaco, a mob boss named Tybold Lucca, runs a casino there:

Matt and his ill-fitting suit - I’m sorry, “Ray Mallory” and his ill-fitting suit - have been using his powers to win like crazy and thus draw Lucca’s attention. It works, as Lucca’s daughter Lily herself shows up to invite him to an exclusive party at the Lucca estate:

When Matt gets to the party, Lily doesn’t seem to be having a great time:

The scent thing is important. Lily reminds Matt of something, and he’s conscious of it enough to realize it’s making him want to bend over backwards to help her, without realizing exactly what - or who - she reminds him of.

The centerpiece of the event is a bullfight. After the bull is killed (Matt doesn’t enjoy that), Lucca announces the aforementioned deal with his “Spanish associate,” i.e. the bullfighter, Juan: Lily’s hand in marriage!

Matt’s moralizing over these strange cultures in the first panel makes me laugh. I know it’s another continent, Matthew, but it’s the same century.

Anyway, yikes! Juan has just killed Tybold Lucca! Also I don’t know how Matt knows the guy with the gray temples is Alton Lennox but whatever!

Matt Daredevils up, but Juan kidnaps Lily and Lennox and escapes in a helicopter. And that’s when something clicks into place, nose-wise:

I love this page. Why does Lily smell like Karen? Who is the mysterious mastermind behind, uh...a matador stabbing a gangster and said gangster’s daughter being kidnapped? What does this have to do with Foggy’s death? It’s a bonkers and extremely extra way of "explaining” this plotline, Brubaker, and I salute you.

Matt pursues Lily and Lennox, because they’re his only lead and because, well, it would be shitty not to. Lily’s scent haunts his dreams:

I love that all of Matt’s sweaty shirtless dreams about his conflicted feelings towards his love interests have Foggy in them, too. Just bro stuff!

Matt tracks the kidnapping victims to another opulent European mansion and finally catches up with Alton Lennox...but too late:

The man who hired Foggy’s killer has taken his secrets to the grave. But Lily is still out there. In fact, not only is her scent all over Lennox’s room, she’s actively being re-kidnapped:

This is Tombstone, who I don’t think has shown up in these recaps before? He’s a mob guy, gray skin, very strong, basically made of stone. A better sparring partner for Luke Cage than Matt “The World’s Most Breakable Bones” Murdock.

Tombstone gets away with Lily. Matt goes on the hunt:

This just makes me laugh. (In the first panel, I believe he’s saying “I can’t promise that you will land in the river.”)

Finally, one of the people Matt beats up mentions seeing Tombstone - and the woman he’s working for. And the whole plot flips over in Matt’s mind:

Yeah, Lily’s not the victim here - she’s the mastermind, or at least she thinks she is. Tombstone is working for her. She killed Lennox, or at least was there when he was killed. And that dude is Juan, the bullfighter, who killed her father so that they could be together and have all her father’s ill-gotten gangster money.

But how can she smell like both Juan’s mother and Karen? IS KAREN JUAN’S MOTHER??? (No.)

Matt finally catches up with Lily and her “kidnappers”:

Matt, you absolute tart.

Matt manages, rather ingeniously, to take down Tombstone, and the powerless Juan absolutely panics - like, to the point of something chemical going weird on him:

Juan kind of collapses after slicing Lily with the sword (not too badly; also wasn’t it a rapier before?) and Matt knocks him out. Matt then tells Lily he knows she’s been playing him, and demands that she come clean:

And so Matt finally confronts the mastermind behind all of this, the person who had Foggy Nelson killed, who hired Danny Rand to pretend to be Daredevil, who hired Lily and Juan and Tombstone, and who has had at least four loose ends murdered by now:

VANESSA FISK???

But why? Well, as far as she sees it, her life was destroyed by Fisk and Matt’s endless battle, in which she was essentially a pawn. (They don’t mention it directly, but it’s very worth noting that Matt once essentially held her hostage, after she had spent god knows how long as a presumably sexually abused prisoner, in order to manipulate Fisk. Matt didn’t, like, promise not to be a gangster and then marry her and then go back to being a gangster, but he’s not exactly innocent here either.) She is now dying of Killedherownsonitis - seriously, she’s like “the doctors don’t know why all my organs are failing, but it’s because I killed Richard” - and before she goes, she has a deal to offer Matt:

She has enough pull to get the charges against Matt dropped, meaning he can resume his normal life. In exchange, he will get Fisk out of jail. And from then, he’ll know that every time Fisk kills, it will be on his conscience. This is the kind of tortured logic superhero comics end up with, in a world where no one except civilians stays dead and jails have revolving doors, but trust me when I say that this reveal and all of Vanessa’s supervillain explanations absolutely work in context.

Matt’s like “YOU USED TO BE COOL, MAN”:

He refuses to take the deal and storms out. Vanessa tells her minions to put everything into motion anyway, because as she sees it, Matt is essentially selfish, and will ultimately act in his own self-interest.

And so, the FBI Guy who has been trying to bring Matt down for issues and issues and issues is found dead in his apparent from apparent suicide (killing people and making it look like suicide is Vanessa’s signature move, it’s the third one in the Brubaker run so far), along with a note saying he framed Matt who is totally super duper not Daredevil. And Really Incredibly Blind Matt Murdock is found wandering a road back in the States, having “escaped” from being “held captive.”

Matt being Matt, he decides to hold a press conference to explain his kidnapping/disappearance/reappearance, because Matt fucking loves holding press conferences:

Fratt shippers, please take Ben’s line as the gift it is.

Rather than spin the erotic tale Ben is clearly angling for (and that Frank, watching his on his Murder Van TV, is dreaming of), Matt spins some bullshit about Frank hating defense attorneys for putting criminals back on the streets and wanting information on Matt’s clients and yadda yadda. Basically no one actually believes him but everyone likes Daredevil so they’re all like “Welcome home, Regular Matt Murdock Who Isn’t Daredevil!” and then they wink a lot.

Matt is back home, reunited with Milla and Becky and Dakota, when he senses something impossible in the hall:

I will never be over this hug, or those tears, or Foggy’s joyous face in the fourth panel.

Anyway yeah, now that Matt’s officially Not Daredevil, Foggy I guess no longer needs to be protected from Daredevil’s enemies? Or more accurately, the only reason the FBI was really holding him was because of Vanessa’s machinations, and she’s now released him.

What I find really interesting is that she basically justifies it to her minion by saying she’s showing Matt how sweet life can be so that it will hurt more when he inevitably ends up bleeding out in the trash again, but Matt sees it as proof that the Vanessa he knew, the good person she once was, wasn’t totally gone. I think he’s closer to correct.

In return, even though he got what he wanted from her and never promised her anything, Matt gets Fisk out of jail. (Which is, again, the tortured bullshit morality of comics, where you have to get the villain out of jail to do more villain stuff.) The FBI case is so hopelessly compromised that it’s not even hard. But he makes Fisk promise to renounce his American citizenship and leave the country forever, AND he waits until after Vanessa has died so that Fisk can’t bury her, which is pretty vicious. (Matt’s, like...not a nice person, guys.)

And thus this storyline’s all over but the rooftop heart to heart with Foggy!

They are textually talking about Fisk here. They are also textually talking about Karen, who Matt admits that he’s still not over.

But Karen’s death didn’t change Matt so much that the freaking Punisher had to get himself arrested to remind him who he was. Matt has acted erratically since Karen’s death, but Matt has always acted erratically. Foggy’s “death” made him go feral.

So yeah, I think Foggy is talking about two people here (and I think Brubaker wrote the conversation to be about two people). But Matt is talking about three.

Next Up: Lily Lucca comes to New York! It doesn’t end well for anyone!

#daredevil #daredevil 101

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wenqtranslations · 6 years

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Mo Dao Zu Shi 魔道祖师 - Chapter 8

魔道祖师 Translation Project by 杨文秋（为了学读中文 )

this was one of my fav chapters :0

Chapter 8

Some distance away, after a fruitless search of the burial site, Lan SiZhui followed the trail to the Heavenly Woman shrine.

Apart from the graves of generations of townsfolk, DaFan Mountain was also home to a goddess shrine. The shrine payed homage to neither buddha nor bodhisattva, but a Dancing Goddess.

Many hundreds of years ago, a group of townspeople went into the mountains on a hunting expedition. There, they found a grotto, and inside the grotto, a strange block of stone. It was near ten foot high, formed naturally. It looked human, four limbs protruding, arranged as if it were dancing. Even more mysteriously, the part of the stone that suggested a head wore an expression resembling a softly smiling woman.

The townspeople were greatly intrigued. They thought it was infused with spirit energy, a block of heavenly stone, and so made it the subject of many folktales. Like the lord who secretly loved the Dark Lady*, and so carved it in her image in pining, yet, such was the Dark Lady’s fury upon discovery the unfinished stone statue lay discarded and forgotten; or the story of a Jade Emperor’s* daughter, upon who he doted on dearly, and his longing after her early death crystallised into a statue. A myriad of fantasies that made people’s eyes bulge. They became staunch believers of the legends that issued from their own mouths. Some people turned the grotto into a shrine, the stone platform into an altar, and proclaimed the statue as the “Dancing Goddess Deity”. For many years, they gave offerings, knelt in worship, and lit incense.

The grotto was divided into a two roomed temple. The statue stood in the middle. At a quick glance, it was convincingly human in appearance, even the waist could be said to be shapely. It became crude on closer scrutiny. But that something naturally occurring could look so human would make one click their tongues in astonishment.

Lan JingYi tested the demonic compass, raising and lowering it, but the needle refused to move. The altar was an unkempt array of candle stumps and a blanket of incense ash. A sweet aroma of rot wafted from the offering fruit platter. The disciples of GuSuLan sect were all obsessively clean. Lan JingYi fanned his hand over his nose. “The locals say the Goddess Shrine was actively granting wishes, but this whole place is a mess. And they don’t think to call a few people in to sweep it and clean it.”

Lan SiZhui said, “With all said and done, seven people have lost their spirit. The rumours say it’s because thunder split open a tomb and freed the fiend inside. Who would be brave enough to go up this mountain? They’ve already stopped the Incense burning, naturally no one would be cleaning either.”

A disdainful voice sounded from outside the grotto. “It’s just a shitty piece of broken rock. I don’t know who called it a deity, let alone dare give it a shrine and make people pray and light incense for it!”

Jin Ling walked in, hands behind his back. The “prohibition of speech” technique had a short time course; his mouth was free to open. And as soon as he opens his mouth nothing good comes out of it. He glanced at the goddess statue, snorted. “These country bumpkins, when they have a problem they don’t try to solve it themselves, and spend the entire day lighting incense, begging gods and asking spirits. There are thousands upon ten-thousands of people in the world. The gods have no time to manage their own affairs, they can hardly take care of them as well! Let alone a no name, no reputation country deity. If it’s so effective, then I’m going to make a wish right now. Make that human-spirit eating thing that’s terrorising DaFan Mountain appear before me immediately, can it do that?”

Behind him the group of small family cultivators followed him in, echoed him, agreed with a peal of laughter. The dead silence of the shrine dissolved into rowdiness, crammed by the crowd. Lan SiZhui shook his head imperceptibly, had made a half-turn away when he caught the goddess’s face in the corner of his eye. On her face, he could trace the indistinct shape of a compassionate yet sorrowful smile.

He thought this smiling face looked familiar, like he’d seen it before somewhere.

Just where had he seen it before?

Lan SiZhui thought it must be important. He found himself next to the altar, wanting to take a closer look. Suddenly, someone knocked into him.

A person who’d been standing behind him had silently collapsed. The others were frozen, stupefied. Jin Ling asked tersely, “What happened to him?”

Lan SiZhui braced his sword close to his body and bent down to examine the cultivator. His breathing was normal, to all appearances as if he’d suddenly dropped asleep, yet would not wake despite any amount of hitting, pinching or calling. He got up and began, “This seems like …”

His words cut off as the dark cave lit with a flash of red light, as if a bloodied shower were streaming down from all four walls. The incense sticks at the altar and grotto corners burst into flame.

Metal rang upon metal, as those in the grotto unsheathed their swords and readied talismans. At once, a man barrelled in from the outside. Hefting a medicinal gourd, he flung the contents onto the body of the goddess statue, flooding the grotto with the thick, choking odour of strong wine. He gripped a talisman and arced it through the air towards the body of the statue. It exploded into an inferno, sending the grotto into daylight.

Wei WuXian had used up all the objects he’d found in the sealing pouch, he threw the empty pouch away and roared, “Everyone get out! Be careful of the spirit-eating goddess inside!”

Someone screamed, “The goddess’s posture changed!’

Before, the two arms of the statue were raised, one hand pointing heavenward, one foot lifted, braced by the elegant line of her body. Now, revealed in the blazing yellow of the inferno, her hands and feet were both lowered. It was no trick of the light.

The next moment, the statue stepped out of the flames!

Wei WuXian yelled, “Run, run, run! Stop fighting! It’s no use!”

He was ignored. With a thousand eyes, in a thousand crannies, they’d searched without result. Now that the elusive spirit-eating monster finally appeared, how could they let it go! However, no amount of hacking and stabbing, talismans and magic items would halt its advance. It was close to 10 feet tall, a giant, an immense crushing pressure with each movement. It raised two cultivators before its face, its stone mouth seemed to open. Two swords fell to the ground, their heads lolled. Their spirits had been sucked away.

Their attacks were useless. Finally, they reluctantly acknowledged Wei WuXian’s words and flocked to the exit, scattered in the four directions, fleeing for their lives. A sea of people surged past him. The more panicked Wei WuXian became, the less he could make out Jin Ling. He ran the donkey into a bamboo forest. Upon turning back, he met the eyes of the Lan family disciples catching up to him. Wei WuXian hailed them. “Kids!”

Lan JingYi retorted, “Who’s a kid? Do you know whose family we’re from? Do you think you’re our senior now just because you gave your face a wash?!”

Wei WuXian conceded. “Fine, fine, fine. Big brothers. Send a signal, get that… that HanGuang-Jun to come!”

The juniors nodded, rummaging inside their clothing as they ran. A moment later, Lan SiZhui said, “The signals… we used them up that night, at the Mo household.”

Wei WuXian startled. “You didn’t restock them?!”

The signals were used once in eight hundred years. Lan SiZhui said, sheepish. “We forgot.”

Wei WuXian glowered. “How can you forget this? See what you’ll look like when HanGuang-Jun finds out!”

Lan JingYi was ashen faced. “It’s over. This time HanGuang-Jun will punish us to death.”

Wei WuXian muttered, “Punish. They ought to be punished! If you don’t punish them, they won’t learn.”

Lan SiZhui said, “Young Master Mo! How did you know the soul-sucking thing wasn’t a soul eating fiend or beast, but was that honourable goddess statue?”

Wei WuXian was running and searching for signs of Jin Ling. “How did I know? I saw it.”

Lan JingYi ran to catch up, the two of them flanking him. “What did you see? We also saw plenty.”

“You saw, and so? What was near the graveyard?”

“What else would there be - there were ghosts.”

“Exactly. There were ghosts. So, it couldn’t be a soul eating beast or a soul eating fiend. There are so many ghosts floating around, yet they weren’t eaten? Impossible.”

This time, more than one person spoke. “Why?”

“I say, you GuSuLan sect people … “ Wei WuXian could no longer resist. “Stop teaching etiquette and cultivator pedigree, what ancestor did what and when, that kind of long-winded rote-learnt nonsense. Teach some more practical things, can’t you? It’s nothing complicated. Ghosts are much easier to eat than living spirits. In living people, the body acts like a barrier. To eat the spirit, you need to first penetrate that barrier. It’s like …” He glanced at the donkey sprinting beside him, the poor creature gasping, its eyes rolled into whites. “Like having an apple dangling in front of you, and another apple in a locked box. Which one do you eat first? The one in front of you, of course. This thing only eats living spirits, plus it has a means of doing so. It’s very picky, and very powerful.”

Lan JingYi said in alarm. “So that’s how it is! That seems to make a lot of sense! Hold on, you really weren’t a lunatic!”

Lan SiZhui explained, “We all thought the incident was because the coffin was disturbed by the landslide and the thunder. Naturally, we concluded it was a soul eating fiend.”

Wei WuXian said. “Wrong.”

“How?”

“The order, the cause and effect, are wrong. I ask you both: of the landslide and soul-eating incident, what came before, what came after? Which was the cause, which was the consequence?”

Lan SiZhui didn’t pretend to think. “The landslide came before, the soul-eating after. The former is the reason, the latter the consequence.”

Wei WuXian said, “Completely incorrect. The soul-eating came before, the landslide after. The soul-eating is the reason, the landslide the consequence! On the night of the landslide, there was a storm; thunder and lightning split the sky and cracked open a coffin. Remember this well. The first person who lost their soul, that lazy fellow, was trapped in the mountains overnight. A few days later, he took a wife.”

Lan JingYi said, “What’s wrong with that?”

Wei WuXian said, “Everything’s wrong with that! A penniless wretch who idled his days away - where’d he get the money to find a wife and arrange a marriage?”

Dumbstruck silence. Unsurprising, for GuSuLan sect was a family with little reason to ponder the problems of wealth and destitution. Wei WuXian said again, “All the ghosts you’ve seen wandering around DaFan Mountain? Amongst them, there’s an old man who’d had his head crushed. The workmanship and materials of his burial clothes are of superb quality. With such extravagant clothing, he couldn’t have had an empty coffin. It must have contained funerary objects to placate him. The disturbed coffin is most likely his. Afterwards, the people who restored the skeletons didn’t find any valuables, because they’d been poached by that lazy fellow - this is the only explanation for his sudden exorbitant spending. That lazy fellow … something unusual must have happened for him to make his fortune and take a wife on the same night. That night, he sought cover from the storm in the mountain. Where can you find shelter on DaFan Mountain? The Goddess’s shrine. And when a person goes to a shrine, they will always do one thing.”

Lan SiZhui said, “Make a wish?”

“That’s right. For instance: for him to have good fortune, prosperity, be wealthy, get married, that sort of thing. The goddess heard his desires and sent down a clap of thunder that cleaved the coffin, revealing the treasures inside. His prayers were answered, and as her price, the goddess descended on his wedding night and sucked away his spirit!”

Lan JingYi said, “That’s a guess, right?”

Wei WuXian affirmed, “It’s a guess. But by taking this guess to its natural conclusion, everything falls into place.”

Lan SiZhui said, “How do you explain Lady A-Yan?”

Wei WuXian said, “An excellent question. Before you went up the mountain, you must have asked yourself this already. A-Yan had just been betrothed. And all newly betrothed young women have the same wish.”

Lan JingYi drew a blank. “What wish?”

Wei WuXian said, “What else but, ‘I wish my future husband will in his lifetime love and treasure me alone’, and the sort.”

The crowd of juniors were stupefied. “Can this kind of wish really be fulfilled … “

Wei WuXian spread his hands. “It’s easy. If his ‘lifetime’ were to come to an end, wouldn’t he have ‘loved only one person in his lifetime’?”

A lightbulb flashed, Lan JingYi said eagerly, “Oh, oh! So- so- so the reason her husband was killed by the mountain wolves on the second day after Lady A-Yan’s betrothal, was because the day before, Lady A-Yan had gone to the goddess’s shrine to make a wish!”

Wei WuXian swiftly continued his chain of thought. “It’s hard to say what killed him, whether it was a feral wolf or something else entirely. A-Yan is a special case: why was hers the only spirit that returned? How is she different from the others? The difference is, a close relative of hers lost their soul too. Or, to put it another way, a relative took her place! Blacksmith Zheng is A-Yan’s father, a father who loved his daughter dearly. He watched, helpless, as his daughter lost her soul and all the medicine in the world could not help her. What else can he do?” *

This time, Lan SiZhui caught on immediately. “—he pinned his hopes on one final wish before passing away. So, he went to the shrine and made a prayer: ‘I pray my daughter A-Yan’s spirit returns!’”

Wei WuXian approved. “This is why only A-Yan’s spirit came back and is also the reason behind our third spirit-loss, Blacksmith Zheng. Though A-Yan’s spirit was spat out, it was not unscathed. With her spirit returned to its proper place, she started involuntarily imitating the goddess’s form, her dance, and even her smile.”

What those who lost their spirit had in common was they’d made a wish at the goddess shrine. And the price for having such a wish fulfilled, was their soul.

The goddess statue began as a normal rock that by chance resembled a human form. The worship over the span of hundreds of years infused it with power. But it was not satiated. It developed a warped idea – it thought it could increase its power by eating souls. Exchanging a wish for a soul was the same as if the wisher had offered it willingly. A fair deal on both sides, to ask and be answered. It seemed just and reasonable; thus, the demonic compass was still and the shade summoning flag inert, both swords and talismans useless. Because it was no monster or demon on DaFan Mountain: it was a deity! This was a rogue deity raised on several hundreds of years of worship and prayer. To use demon-killing tools against it was the same as dousing fire with fire!

Lan JingYi shouted, “Wait! But back there in the shrine, someone else had their soul sucked away, but we didn’t hear them make a wish!”

Wei WuXian heart stuttered. He skidded to a halt. “Someone had their soul sucked away back in the shrine? Tell me what happened again, don’t miss a word.”

Lan SiZhui clearly and swiftly laid out the circumstance. Upon hearing Jin Ling’s words: ‘If it’s so effective, then I’m going to make a wish right now. Make that human-spirit eating thing that’s terrorising DaFan Mountain appear before me immediately, can it do that’, Wei WuXian remarked, “Isn’t that a wish? That’s called making a wish!”

The others had agreed with Jin Ling, so by extension, had made the same wish. And that soul-eating goddess was in front of them already, the wish was fulfilled. After that, was time to collect her payment!

Suddenly, the donkey’s hooves clattered to a stop, it turned and ran in the opposite direction. Caught off guard, Wei WuXian was thrown off its back again. As if a matter of life and death, he yanked the rope, then heard a crunching and sucking sound from the shrubbery in front of them. A figure, tall beyond measure, was crouched in the shrubbery. The giant head swayed above a human torso. Upon hearing a sound, it lifted its head and their eyes collided.

This soul eating goddess features were originally indistinct, with only the suggestion of eyes, nose, mouth, ears. After sucking out the souls of multiple cultivators in a single breath, her features had clarified into the face of a gently smiling woman. The corners of her mouth dripped with blood. An arm dangled between her lips. She ate with relish.

All of them followed the donkey’s example and beat a hasty retreat.

Lan SiZhui was on the verge of collapse, he gasped, “This isn’t right! The Yi Ling Patriarch once said the high-level ones eat spirits; the inferior ones eat flesh!”

Wei WuXian replied helplessly, “Why are you superstitiously trusting him, look what a mess he made from his own affairs! Rules are not set in stone. Just say it’s like a child, when its toothless it can only eat porridge and liquid food, but when it grows up of course it would use its teeth to eat meat. Now that her power’s surging, she’s naturally going to try a new delicacy!”

The soul eating goddess stood up from the ground, tall and sturdy as a horse, her hands and feet moved in concert, an ecstatic dance, as if it brimmed with joy. Suddenly, an arrow whistled across and thudded into her forehead, the arrowhead breaking through the back of her skull.

Wei WuXian followed the twang of the bowstring. Nearby, Jin Ling stood on a high slope. Another arrow was nocked to his bow. He pulled it taut before releasing another penetrating arrow to the skull. The force of the blow made the goddess stagger a few steps in retreat.

Lan SiZhui yelled, “Son of Jin! Send out your signal!”

It fell on deaf ears. His heart was set on capturing this monster. He expression stilled. This time, he laid three arrows on the string. Though she’d been shot twice in the head, the soul eating goddess’s benevolent smile still curved on her face. She advanced towards Jin Ling. Though she danced as she walked, she was frighteningly fast. In a wink, half the distance disappeared. A few cultivators appeared form one side and engaged her in battle, impeding her footsteps. Jin Ling’s arrows found their mark again and again, nocking and firing without pause. It seemed he’d set his heart in steel to shoot all his arrows, then fight the soul-eating goddess up close. His hands were steady, each shot met their mark. A shame that all their tools were useless against her!

Both Jiang Chen and Lan WangJi were waiting for news at the buddha foot town, who knew when they’d realise trouble was brewing and hurry to the scene. Using fire to extinguish a fire, the cultivation tools were useless. Better to use the demonic way!

Wei WuXian grabbed Lan SiZhui’s sword and cut off a narrow length of bamboo. He hacked it into a flute, hands flying. He placed it against his lips and took a long, bottomless breath. The piercing note flew with the arrow, cutting through the night sky, parting the firmament.

It was the last resort, he used it reluctantly. But with the situation in its current state, he didn’t care what he summoned as long as it was resentful enough, savage enough.

Lan SiZhui was shocked dumb. Lan JingYi covered his ears and said, “The situation’s already like this - what are you playing a flute for? It sounds horrid!”

In the brawl, already three or four cultivators had their souls sucked away, Jin Ling unsheathed his sword, no further than 20 feet from the goddess. His heart thundering madly in his chest, a rush of hot blood surging into his skull. “If I can’t behead it with this sword, then I’m going to die here --- so be it!”

From the forests of DaFan Mountain there emitted a clanking sound.

Clank, jingle, clank, jingle. At times fast, at times slow. It echoed in the dead silence of the forest. The strike of iron against iron, metal dragging the ground. It grew closer and closer, louder and louder.

This sound was unexplainably threatening. Even the soul-eating goddess halted her dance, her arms raised, gaze distracted towards the depths from whence the sound came.

Wei WuXian put away the flute. Focused, he patiently waited for whatever approached.

In his heart the apprehension weighed heavier and heavier. But the fact that it would heed his beck and call meant – at the very least - it was something that would listen to his command.

The sound stopped, a figure emerged from the darkness.

After a clear look at this figure and its face, the expressions of the cultivators twisted.

Though their soul may be sucked away in an instant, they would confront a soul-eating goddess without a trace of fear or cowardice. But now, their cries brimmed with unconcealed fear.

“… ‘Ghost General’, it’s the ‘Ghost General’, Wen Ning!”

The title “Ghost General”, was of a similar nature to Yi Ling Patriarch - a bad name with a far reach, known by all. The two commonly appeared together.

This phrase could only represent a single being. The first and most eminent servant under Yi Ling Patriarch Wei Ying’s command. The wind stirring, ocean agitating, heaven inverting accomplice to the tyrant, the malicious corpse that should have been ground to dust long ago, Wen Ning!

*ok “heavenly woman” is probably “goddess”

*Dark Lady refers to Chinese mythology: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jiutian_Xuann%C3%BC

*Jade Emperor refers to Chinese mythology: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jade_Emperor

*random aside – this reminds me of childbirth where the father can only watch, powerless, as his wife goes through one of the biggest tribulations of her life.

#mo dao zu shi #wenqtranslations #chapter 8

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written-at-sea · 6 years

Text

White Wolf - Stucky x Reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes (eventually)

Summary: While on a mission to eliminate a new threat, the Avengers come across you, a genetically engineered hybrid that people call the White Wolf. Though many in the team are against it, they take you in to train and keep a close eye on you, rather than let you run free. But what happens when while gaining their trust, you fall for the two Super Soldiers who have been nothing but torn about you since your arrival?

Warnings: A touch of Angst, Drama, Language, mild Violence, Poly Relationship and a lot of Fluff

Word Count: 1.4K

A/N: Hey everyone ^^ This is my first time writing a Marvel Fic, so do forgive if I make small mistakes. Timeline wise, this doesn’t have a proper place, but I imagined it somewhat between CW and IW, at least after Buck joins the team. Like I said, no real timeline, and with certain people not included. This is honestly just a bit of fun for me, and an excuse to thirst over Steve and Bucky. Still, I really hope you enjoy it and that my writing isn’t as shitty as I fear.

[Pt. 2]

[Part one]

The mission was one of the easiest so far. Infiltrate the building, knock out the guards and work their way to the centre of the base. Thanks to their planning and some inside help, the team could split up without problems, Clint, Nat and Wanda combing through the west side, Tony and Sam on the top floors and Steve and Bucky on the east. Vision had opted to stay near the jet, only to be called in if needed, Bruce was back at the tower and Thor - well only Hell knew where he was currently.

It was only when a siren went off when Bucky and Steve were trying to force their way into one of the hallways that chaos broke out. He’d heard Tony say to look out for the sensors near the labs, but they’d apparently been hidden way better than they’d expected. With a fight breaking out as soon as they entered the hall, Steve only just managed to communicate to the team what had happened.

“We kind of messed up down here”, shielding himself from the hail of gunfire, Steve glimpsed Bucky advancing towards the next door, “They know we’re in the building now, so watch out”.

“Great work, Cap”, he heard Natasha say, sarcasm heavy, “Not like that siren could be heard in the entire building. They’re currently coming after us as well”.

Tony’s impatient sigh rang through the line. “Just move quickly. Does anyone have any indication to where the experiments are hidden?”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but Clint interrupted him. “We have nothing so far. This part of the building is generally deserted; I don’t think we need three people here”.

He thought quickly, making the last of the still firing agents as he did. “Right, Nat, come down here to me and Buck. I trust that Wanda and Clint will be fine alone”.

“On my way”.

The line went silent except for the occasional quiet instructions or Tony’s swears as he and Bucky managed to beat down the stream of resistance and kick open the door to what seemed to be a medical ward and or laboratory. There were lifeless, naked bodies on tables and equipment along the walls, syringes with a strange liquid in them lying on tables. A shiver ran down their spines at the sight, an air of foreboding lingering in the room.

“Creepy, isn’t it?” Bucky muttered, reloading the gun he was holding. Steve nodded, motioning towards the doors leading off of the room. “Keep going, we should be encountering them soon”.

“Where are you?” Tony interjected over the earpiece, sounding out of breath, “Find anything?”

“Yeah, I think it’s a room they used to experiment”, Steve focused on one of the bodies. It had cuts and injections strewn across the skin, which was a sickly yellow colour. “Nothing but dead victims. You might want to take a look at the substances they have here though”.

“No kidding this is creepy”, Natasha’s voice made both of them jump, the redhead assassin coming up behind them. She was unharmed but for a shallow cut along her cheek and a bleeding lip. With an unreadable expression, she looked around, eyes running across the bodies.

“Nat, can you take the door on the left?” Steve said, interrupting whatever thoughts she’d been in. She nodded, and he threw Bucky a look. “Door in the middle for yo-”

A deafening crash resounded around them, followed by a loud rumbling and what sounded like a surprised yelp from Wanda over the line.

“Clint? Clint, Wanda, you alright?” Sam’s voice was briefly heard, taking the words straight out of Steve’s mouth.

“We’re fine”, he heard Clint pant, “Half the ceiling in the upper west wing collapsed. Shouldn’t be too bad, but we’ll get out of here before this whole thing falls apart”.

“Get down here then”, Steve instructed, looking up at the ceiling, “And move fast, we could probably use some help sooner or later”.

He gave a confirming nod to the waiting Bucky and Natasha, and all three of them moved in their respective directions. Just as he gathered his strength to run down the door in front of him, Clint’s suddenly tense voice rang in his ear.

“Cap, I think we might have found one of the experiments”.

[Your P.o.v]

So this is how you die.

As the ceiling collapses down onto you, you instinctively close your eyes. Metal hits the side of your head, knocking you to the ground, only to be covered in broken wood and stone debris. Dust rises to your lungs and you gasp for air, feeling hot blood run down the back of your neck.

Everything was blurred. Your eyes wouldn’t focus properly as you opened them, your left arm trapped under the same metal that had hit you over the head. You struggled to sit up, to move, to do something as you stare up into the abyss of darkness threatening to overpower your senses.

But maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was for the best that you died, you thought as your head fell back and you groaned in agony. Pain shot up your spine, body throbbing as you tried your hardest to free yourself, chest heaving.

The door to your right is thrown open, rubble and dust raining down on the entering figures. You can’t see who it is, don’t know if they’re the intruders or the people keeping you here. Ultimately, it didn’t make a difference.

They both catch sight of you, lying there, helplessly trapped. You cry out for help, not knowing or caring if it was even a good idea. The instinct to survive is pulsing through your veins, heart beating too rapidly in your chest.

You don’t hear them making their way towards you; don’t see them until they’re bent over you, an arrow pointed to your face. Vision still foggy, you try to speak, but only hoarse, scratchy sounds exit your mouth.

“Cap, I think we found one of the experiments”, the man says with a strained tone, arrow still directed straight between your eyes, “Female, with white animal ears perched on her head. She’s trapped in wreckage from the ceiling and is bleeding out from the back of her head, but still alive. What do we do?”

Your vision slowly clears again and you can hear every word being said over what seemed to be an earpiece. Your fingers twitched around your own, listening involuntarily.

“Did you say animal ears?” a man says in a sharp tone, “What kind of animal do they look like?”

He pulled the arrow back and bent slightly closer to you. His face was lined and weather beaten, a strong contrast to the much younger looking girl beside him, who had her hands cautiously held out before her.

“Dog or Wolf’s, I think”, he draws back, still looking suspiciously at you. His eyes ran over what you could see of your body and, looking back up, spotted the sharp canines in your mouth. You feel the blood flowing consistently down the back of your head and know you don’t have much time left.

“She looks like she’s been trained and her teeth mimic an animal’s as well. What do we do, Tony?”

Something that sounds like teeth grinding together sounds from the other end of the line. “Steve, what do you think?”

“Sounds like a bit of a threat to me, Stark”, a younger sounding male voice reports back, “But like you’re describing it, I don’t think she can resist or fight back”.

The coin dropped as you heard him say Stark. Those were the Avengers, coming to destroy the cooperation that had experimented on you, and probably even you.

You looked at the man and the girl again. Hawkeye, Clint Barton by name, had his eyes narrowed at you, but bow lowered. Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, still simply stared at you, expression one you couldn’t read.

Suddenly a strong pain ebbed over you, and you cried out, blackness clouding your vision once more. Wanda bent closer, long hair dangling over your face. She looked more concerned than scared, dark eyes boring into yours.

“I think we should take her with us”, she said, and your eyes widened slightly, “Look, if she somehow recovers or someone from here finds her as soon as we’re gone, they’ll have her on their side. Its better we save her now and decide later. She’s falling unconscious with every second”.

And that was, indeed, the last you heard. With a quiet groan, your eyes closed and your head fell back against the stones behind you. Darkness overcame your senses, and the ringing in your ears finally stopped.

#marvel #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #reader insert #avengers #hope you enjoy #my writing is crap i know

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sapphicscholar · 6 years

Link

Summary:

“Alex has no memory of the attack, nor of Reign or really much of the past couple of months,” J’onn explained.

“And?”

Eliza turned to face Maggie. “And she’s asking for you, Maggie. She’s asking for her fiancée.”

Or the one where Alex loses her memory and wakes up thinking she and Maggie are still together.

A/N: Alright, I've never written anything quite so angsty, but my fiancée asked for angst and amnesia, then along came this prompt on Twitter, and here we are. I hope you...is enjoy the right word with angst? Who knows! I'm a little nervous about posting tbh.

The first two chapters are short, and then we jump to long chapters from there on out. Most of the fic is already written (and it's completely plotted out), so it'll be posted on a regular basis until it's done (I'm thinking about 6 or 7 chapters over 2-3 weeks)

Chapter Text:

“Turn off your phone!” a voice yelled from behind Maggie in the movie theater, and she scrambled to find it and click off the volume. She’d never wanted to be one of those people, yet here she was: that asshole sitting in a crowded theater with her phone’s ringtone blaring, not muffled in the slightest by her seat or the bag. And god, it was for a random number too, not even the precinct. It wasn’t like she could do the whole, “I’m a cop! It’s an emergency!” and run out looking like someone who mattered.

Really, the whole incident seemed like a summation of her life these days: one shitshow after another. She didn’t even care that much about the movie; it had just seemed like a good way to get out of her shitty new apartment for a few hours to distract from the reality of everything that had happened. New apartment. She hated that phrase. It sounded like something she chose. Like how once upon a time National City was her “new home” because she’d chosen to leave Gotham. Only this time she hadn’t been the one to make a choice at all. Alex had. Alex had decided that her earlier promises about Maggie’s being everything she needed didn’t actually hold true, that Maggie wasn’t enough for her, just like she’d never been enough for anyone to want to keep her around. And so now Maggie had a “new apartment” far from the precinct with water stains on her ceiling and rats in the stairwell and a cheap mattress she’d gotten at IKEA that felt like sleeping on a pile of old yellow phonebooks. It made her long for the days of dormrooms and regulation furniture. At least then she had someone to call about the rats.

When she looked back up at the screen, she realized she had no idea what was going on. Two people were kissing, and she only recognized one of them. After a few more minutes of confusing dialogue, she got up and left. It wasn’t like the wasted twelve bucks for her ticket really compared to the wasted thousands of dollars on wedding shit that she’d let Alex convince her mattered. Because it had mattered to Alex, and Alex had mattered to her. She would’ve been happy enough to go down to the courthouse and get married—it wasn’t like she had family or even many friends coming out for her. The handful of friends she was still close with would understand. They’d make it down to whatever casual celebration Maggie eventually threw. Really, she’d wanted to have a party on the beach—just get the people closest to them to come out and have a bonfire and some drinks and good food and celebrate being alive and together and happy. Even after all these years, Alex still loved the beach, and Maggie loved things that made Alex look light and happy, like the cares and stresses of her job and her day-to-day life could finally fade to the background. But Alex had wanted the biggest, gayest wedding National City had ever seen, and Maggie couldn’t say no to that. And, she thought, with Alex by her side, she might just have been able to want that too, even if her side of the wedding would be quite a bit smaller than Alex’s, filled out as hers would by her family and all their friends. The same friends she saw still hanging out with Alex at the alien bar—the bar that had once been a space where she felt comfortable. She stopped going. It wasn’t the same after M’gann left anyway.

As she wandered the blocks around the theater, Maggie checked her phone, finding a voicemail from the unknown number. Furrowing her brow, she typed in her password and held the phone up to her ear.

“Ms. Sawyer? This is Nurse Roberts at National City General. I’m calling because Ms. Danvers was in an accident and is in the ICU, and this is the number she had listed as her emergency contact.”

Maggie hung up before the nurse had even finished her message. She was in a cab before she was quite conscious of having hailed one. In what felt like mere seconds, she found her feet propelling her toward the front doors of the hospital she knew too well from seeing crime scene victims rushed here after terrible accidents.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

Maggie blinked slowly, as if just now realizing that she had made it all the way up to the ICU. “I, uh, I’m her emergency contact.”

The woman arched an eyebrow at her. “Whose emergency contact?”

“Alex. Alex Danvers.” The words felt heavy in her mouth, and nothing seemed like it was quite real.

“ID?”

Maggie passed over her badge, figuring it worked as well as anything else.

“She’s in room 311. Can you follow the signs alright?”

“What happened?”

The nurse’s frustration seemed to give way into pity then. “I don’t know, dear. Her nurses and doctors will be able to tell you more.”

Maggie nodded mutely before wandering down the corridor. Everything seemed different, like she was getting all the sensory inputs but not in a way that made sense anymore. She heard herself speaking and responding, but the voice didn’t sound like her own, and her body seemed to move independently, as if it still knew what to do even when she no longer did.

“Ma’am. Ma’am!” a voice yelled as if from underwater.

“Yeah?”

“You can’t go in there,” the nurse explained, stepping in front of Maggie.

“I’m her emergency contact.”

“Ah, Ms. Sawyer?” he asked.

“That’s me.”

“Alex is currently being examined by her doctor, but you’ll be able to see her in a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want a seat? I can drag a chair into the hallway for you.”

“What happened to her?” Maggie asked once more.

“No one told you?”

Maggie was surprised to find that the urge to snap and yell wasn’t as strong as she expected it would be in a situation like this. There had been a few times when Alex had gotten injured at the DEO or when she’d been late home from a dangerous mission. Somehow this felt different. Maybe it was because she genuinely knew nothing this time. How could she be mad when she needed whatever scraps of information she could salvage from these people? “No,” she answered simply.

“She suffered severe trauma to the head.”

“Is she…”

“She’s in a coma right now. We…people do wake up, though.”

“Right.”

Maggie slumped down to the floor of the hallway, ignoring the nurse’s offers to get her a chair. Eventually the doctor came out and said more words to her. They were all similar. Coma. And traumatic brain injury. And blunt force. Then he told her she could go in.

It wasn’t how she’d expected to see Alex for the first time in months. She’d caught glimpses of her at crime scenes, and then the one time out at the bar, but she hadn’t seen her like this. Well, she’d never seen her like this. Now Alex’s face was mottled with deep bruises. A line of stitches ran across her skull and through her hair, and there was still some matted blood that the sponge bath Maggie assumed she probably got hadn’t taken care of. She wondered how much earlier Alex had gotten hurt. She wondered why she hadn’t been called then. Then again, if it was urgent enough that she was rushed into surgery without identification…she didn’t want to think about what any of it meant.

She sat still in the chair until the doctor came in again to check Alex’s vitals. It was a new doctor this time—a woman with graying hair and shallow wrinkles around her eyes. She introduced herself, and Maggie managed the most basic of pleasantries. She didn’t seem to expect anything more from Maggie.

One of the overnight nurses brought Maggie a blanket and a pillow at some point and showed her how to use the recliner in case she wanted to sleep. Maggie reclined the chair back and covered herself with the blanket and stared up at the tiled ceiling. There were watermarks on this one too.

#fanfic #amnesia #angst #maggie sawyer #alex danvers #supergirl #prompt fill #maggie's pov #sanvers sort of #seriously it's angstier than anything i've ever written #ao3feed

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vaguely-concerned · 6 years

Text

UNCHARTED 4 REACTIONS

- uuuh can I just… find out who the FUCK looked at tiny beautiful baby boy Nate and decided to leave him with a bunch of nuns who don’t get why other kids telling him his mom’s in hell because she committed suicide would upset him??????? Like I don’t know who his biological father is but I feel a strong need to divest him of his kneecaps. (C’mon Sully with your con man expertise and my vengeful nature we could figure this out between us)

- Sam reminds me a lot of one of my uncles. I’m not sure what to do with that except applaud Naughty Dog on their eye for people ha ha. I guess everyone has that slightly sleazy and self absorbed yet periodically charming and decent man in their lives. (Can I point out how amazing his costume design is, in a way you rarely see? He’s one of those dudes who look rumpled wearing pretty much anything, everything is so unflattering on him it’s a miracle. Contrast his and Sully’s outfits in the Scotland section — what they’re actually wearing isn’t that dissimilar and Sully is like twice Sam’s age but looks a) stylish, b) warm and c) Incredibly American somehow while Sam looks like a bum and it’s h i l a r i o u s.)

- When bb Nate’s face already does the thing where he goes from genuinely upset to dissembling smile… no… ow…

- “You only pull something like this when you’re trying to make up for something” lasjfdlsakjfslkdjfalskj my soul has left my body and I am crying hot saltwater tears

- a) Nadine is just so incredibly, vibrantly beautiful and I feel like sending a thank you note to the offices of Naughty Dog for putting her face and overarms on my screen, b) she’s already completely done with everything and we’re not even halfway through the game, c) she’s awfully uppity about Chloe’s methods for someone whose instinctual approach to archaeology is ‘dynamite’

- NATE PLAYING CRASH BANDICOOT

THE MOST PRECIOUS SHIT

I’VE EVER LAID MY EYES ON

“THIS IS TAKING VERY LONG” THIS BLESSED ADHD BOY

- OKAY NAUGHTY DOG YOU’VE GONE AND DONE IT I’M ROOTING FOR THE HETS

- the note from Chloe in the attic :( :( :( I feel bad for her even though she eventually upgraded big time on the spouse material, she does like him a lot even if they didn’t make each other very happy.

Can you imagine if Nate and Chloe had actually stayed together tho. They’d have the smartest, snarkiest, most-unprepared-to-deal-with-emotions children in history lol just as well things worked out like they did, probably

- did u guys know… that I would die for nathan drake… I mean you all probably do by now because I never shut up about it but it bears repeating… I would….

- oh no… nate no… don’t lie to elena she not only tolerates you she loves you despite the warning signs don’t throw this away

- It’s very impressive that they’ve managed to show that Sam genuinely does love Nate a lot while also making it clear how easily he tips into being a toxic influence — it makes all the psychological sense in the world that he’s trying to emulate the relationship they had when they were at their closest and only had each other, but purposefully trying to drive Nate away from the other people who love him is just… so perfectly the worst possible thing to do to him, jeeeeesus christ. No wonder he and Sully don’t get along — Sully is wonderfully protective without being possessive

- When Sam asks Sully why he’s there and it’s like… because… he’s HIS FUCKN DAD SAM???! YOU NUMBSKULL???!!? YOU ABSOLUTE FOOL??!?!

- All my fanfic wants for these games are so lame and low-key… like ‘the first time a teenaged Nate comes back to the hotel drunk as a total emotional mess, and Sully being like ‘oh wow… oh god… help… he’s like a tiny puppy I need to protect him being a parent is terrifying’... ‘Nadine and Chloe have a nice night in and make sweet character developing love, maybe braid each other’s hair and get in a fist fight with some dude’... ‘the gang go to an amusement park, have a good time, Charlie gets cotton candy and makes fun of Nate’...

(actually what I really, really want is a fic of Sully surreptitiously picking up the pieces of Nate after Sam ‘dies’, but, y’know. The heart wants what it wants and mine wants Nate to be taken care of)

- Sully’s face when he drops them off in Scotland… goddamn it he loves that boy so much ;___;

- The only illustration of Sam’s personality that matters is that he thinks S u l l y of all people might screw Nate over while thinking he can work with Rafe without it all going to hell

Just… the worst judge of character ever lol how’s that projection working out for you Sammy boy

- I played some multiplayer and Elena really has just the warmest, most reassuring presence, I absolutely see what Nate sees there ha ha

Also I love what they’ve done with her clothes, all her outfits are plausible and non-sexualized and look so chill and comfortable

- Nate’s high-pitched nervous laugh is everything to me, such a deeply endearing character tic

- Sam… you dumbass… when will you learn that the real treasure… is your little brother and his happiness…

- I have to applaud Troy Baker for his work here — he matches Nolan North’s speech patterns and timbre as Nate so well, you absolutely believe they’re brothers. (Also between them they’re like… 90% of all male characters in video games, it’s a wonder the fabric of reality isn’t fraying with two giants in such close proximity)

- Shoutout to my boy Charlie for getting one (1) whole reference in this entire game! Naughty Dog may have forgotten you but the face you pulled at Nathan in the scene with the torches will stay with me forever, you big British lug <3

- I LOVE that Nate and Sam still use ‘Father Duffy’ like you would ‘Goody Two-shoes’ or the ‘dad’ in a sarcastic ‘thanks, dad’, it’s an authentic-feeling kind of in-joke

- Nate’s journal entries are SO FUNNY in this one oh my god. I’m so happy they’re acknowledging that he’s actually an excellent artist, I hope he ends up with a sideline in making illustrated children’s books. (I have since learned they were drawn by Naughty Dog artist Alexandria Neonakis. From the bottom of my heart: thank you for everything, especially Lemur Sully)

- Gideon Emery is wasted — WASTED — in the role of ‘random goon #43’ yet again, but whatever, at least I got to hear his voice

- Sam’s supremely shitty tattoos give me life

- I realized during the Madagascar opening that in all likelihood the person who taught Nate to drive was Sully and can I just say… this reinforces my theory that Sully is the real hero of the Uncharted games because can you imagine taking on that responsibility for Nathan ‘Adrenaline Junkie Whoops Everything I Touch Explodes and Collapses’ Drake? No, because you and I don’t have what it takes to live that life but Victor Sullivan does

- It feels like they went a bit more naturalistic with the dialogue and characterization in this one? (As naturalistic as you can go with great big undiscovered cathedrals/pirate recruiting hubs under Scotland, anyway. Scotland ain’t that big, yo, pretty sure someone would have spotted it lol) I actually enjoyed it — U3 is still pretty much an Indiana Jones-esque adventure story with some purposefully discordant notes when you get to know Nate’s real backstory and stuff like that, but this feels all round a bit more grounded in reality and characters and it works

- Sully ineffectually keeping a grip on Nate’s shirt while he’s scrabbling to get back into the driver’s seat after the car goes off the cliff ascended my soul to a higher dimension. Big mood.

Also genuinely laughed for five minutes at Sam, lapsed Catholic and born opportunist, getting in as many Hail Marys as he could just in case he was about to die. I’m an atheist from a half-halfheartedly Protestant country but even I am pretty sure that’s not how it works buddy

- Nate’s continual refusal to think ahead enough to carry his own matches (and being saved by surrounding himself with smokers) is one of the most satisfying running jokes in the series

- “Lemurs, Sully!” “Rabies, Nate” fsdajfkljdaskjhasjkhfasjdk

*cries helplessly like a little baby because I love everyone in this bar*

- I must say the clock tower felt like one of Nate’s most catastrophic onsets of… Nateness. That delicate complicated piece of machinery was still functioning perfectly after four hundred years and yet… Nate’s in there for five minutes and it crumbles like paper. I guess technically sinking the entirety of a city into the sand beats it, but… I keep coming back to the image of the cracked bell and then *high pitched giddy voice* “Hi Sully” JFC Nate ha ha

- *screams as Nate sends Sully and Elena away, literally turning to the adrenaline/treasure hunting madness he used to cope with trauma before he managed to work up to emotional intimacy with people who care about him because Sam is a jackass who knew exactly what buttons to press and is weirdly possessive of his little brother*

- You know… forgiving Sam is so hard when he repeatedly doubles down on his lies, making up further details unprovoked, because he knows it keeps Nate hooked and feeling guilty? Like Nate is far enough along in his character development at this point that just waving some treasure under his nose alone wouldn’t do it, you need that illusion that he’s saving someone he loves — the first person he ever relied on, who he thought he lost once because he failed him — to make him keep going, and Sam knows this and uses it and it’s so horribly, calculatedly cruel? I think there are a few times where he kind of wants to come clean (uh already too late because what the HELL he’s already fucked up all his relationships lol) only to be interrupted by Action but in the end it’s a deliberate, long con of assholery that it’s extremely difficult to look past. Ah well I guess he’s stuck as my ‘I will mercilessly yet affectionately mock you’ character, that’s something.

- Aaagh the scene where Elena’s like ‘who are you’ is so good because it must be such a blow, knowing this man she loves and (bravely, because he is a disaster magnet) made the choice to try to make a life with for the second time still thinks he needs to lie to her, like he’s been lying to the world at large for most of his life — his name is a lie, so much of his outer identity is invented, but hey she wouldn’t have married him if she didn’t think they were past that this time and trusted each other with honesty… and then out of the blue a dead-yet-still-somehow-smoking-a-sketchy-cigarette brother???? Normally the ‘what else have you been lying about’ line makes me roll my eyes but she is ABSOLUTELY right to wonder about that and it breaks my heart

as does Nate going ‘I’m just me’ in that voice aaaaaaauuuuuugh he does try but he’s not completely at the point where he thinks he can be acceptable and loved as he is, no need to hide the broken things, still that kid learning that it’s better to not be seen or tell the truth because it just makes things worse

(I feel it’s a good balance between ‘protagonist making some DUMB SELF-DESTRUCTIVE CHOICES LIKE AN IDIOT’ and ‘makes perfect, tragic sense considering their history’, ending up at sympathetic but still in the wrong and in need of getting it the hell together in a hurry. At least he clearly realizes he’s fucked up pretty much immediately, which is something I GUESS)

TL;DR Nate, listen to Sully and go talk it out with your wife, I’m real upset now I’ll go make myself a cup of tea ;____;

- Sam was straight up going to shoot Nadine in the head, huh. I mean… wow. I wonder why she doesn’t like you very much, bro lol

- I’m a Black Sails fan so whenever Anne Bonny shows up I’m like *golden retriever face* HI FRIEND HI sorry about the... poison

- ...is it weird that I want to write fix it fic for Evelyn and Ken

All his letters are so c u t e and loving and I am devastated

Puzzling their story together like that was super effective too — it was so cool that if you know what to look for you could find the Tokugawa armor he mentions in the first letter before any other clues, I was going ‘Oh she totally married that beautiful nerd’ right there and then ha ha. Evelyn’s design was wonderful, you could tell the force of nature she must have been in her prime.

Bonus points for Nate looking up at her like a puppy who’s found someone really cool to aspire to. Also their father looks nominally less of a rampant unrepentant asshole if he sold Cassandra’s things specifically to her mentor. Microscopically. I’d still like to kick his ass tho.

- I guess Sam is three to five years older than Nate, then, if he remembers (vaguely) going to Windsor before Nate was even born? Bit hazy on the timeline here, because Nate’s memories of their parents — especially their mum — must be quite hazy if, like Marlowe states in U3, he was surrendered to the state at the age of five and they moved around with their dad a lot even before that.

- Nate was the most tired-looking twelve year old I have ever seen and it hurts me

The fact that Nate started off looking exhausted and a little snub-nosed and grew into a very handsome and charming young man (ssssh I’m in no way biased here just because he’s my son) while Sam was sweet and bright-eyed as a teenager and now looks like someone who is low-key dealing drugs around the local high school… this game is truly a tour de force of character design

- So apparently Shoreline was already off to a bad start when Nadine took over? That makes it doubly sad that she’s judging herself so harshly for losing it when her father had already left it to her as a mess :(

- THANK YOU ELENA AND SULLY FOR SAVING THIS WONDERFUL FOOLISH BOY YET AGAIN. “I left my life for you” D: D: D:

Also slightly sad that Sam has… literally nothing except Nate and Avery’s treasure? On the other hand that’s entirely his own fault so. Less sad. (Makes me immensely thankful Sully and then Elena found Nate when they did)

- Nate… using his words… cautiously expressing how he actually felt… Elena mulling it over… realizing part of why she loves him is that weird restless brain of his doing its thing……. coming up with a solution where they can solve it as partners in the ending………... I am clinically ded, go on without me

- Realest GPOY moment: Sully’s flat immediate ‘no’ to Nate going off to save Sam on his own. He’s so scared!!!! And so was I!!!! My soul bond with an American con man three times my age continues to be unbreakable

- Relieved that my sister was in control for the fencing bit, because I don’t know if I could handle being responsible for Nate’s safety like that

That said, how destroyed was I that Nate didn’t really start fighting back before Rafe threatened his family? Completely, though it does force me to take the words ‘ludonarrative dissonance’ in my mouth for the first time in my life — no way does he kill as many people in the reality of the story as you do in gameplay if he’s still this hesitant to respond to someone openly trying to murder him lol. I realize this is a game and they need some kind of pretense to keep it from being a movie with the occasional QTE, but Naughty Dog you can’t just… repeatedly show that Nate has a hard time killing in cold blood and then have him take out an army in the next breath

(Naughty Dog: We did and you’re completely willing to go with it lawl. Me: Oooooh I hate that you’re right)

- Nadine stone cold leaving those bitches behind Worked for me, you do you you beautiful disaster, see you next game with your excellent character development. Another wonderful thread they continue into The Lost Legacy: Sam being forever relegated to the back seat. Yes good.

- Sully promptly semi-adopting a second Drake brother, arguably the tougher case. A power move if ever I saw one.

- I deeply respect Naughty Dog’s decision to make an epilogue to let me know everyone is safe and happy and it all turned out okay, but I also wish they wouldn’t have ha ha. The last scene with Elena and Nate perfectly set that up for me already, specifically spelling out one happy ending among the many that could have happened actually somewhat cheapened it for me? The ‘flash forward, now they have children, get immediately invested!’ move is already suuuuch a hard one to pull off and I think it did it about as well as they possibly could, but somehow I also begrudge Cassie for her position in the narrative and that’s not how I want to feel about it, y’know? Actually it’s fine, I’ll accept it, because their dog is named Vicky and Nate writes in his journal that he’d call his pet lemur Victor and it made my entire week

- Having played three of the games I can still say that Uncharted 3 is definitely my fave, but then parts of that seem genuinely tailor made specifically for me, so that’s not really a surprise ha ha

- Thank you, Uncharted, for being the emotionally intelligent yet light hearted adventure story with lovable characters I needed in this dark cold winter and making me spill over with so many flaily happy words.

#uncharted 4 #uncharted #meta #thinky thoughts #I just... I love all these losers so much help me

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writingthingsisdifficult · 7 years

Text

Rest

Request from an anonymous friend: Are you able to write me a tiny Gadreel thing where the reader got mugged and her jaw is broken? I got home from the hospital was week with a mouth full of wires and I’m not feeling too hot

I’m sorry this has taken so long to write – real life happens sometimes. And I hope you’re feeling better!

As always: let me know what you think. And if you want on or off my tag list.

Word count: 2472

It was going to be a fun night out, full of alcohol and distractions, but the way things are progressing, the evening is turning into a nightmare. The guy you thought would be a perfect way to take your mind off things, turned out to be a total ass, and now he’s convinced that you should come home with him, even though he’s given you no incentives whatsoever to even consider it.

After you said no the first two times, he grasped your hand, and he won’t let go. You roll your eyes and huff; a thousand ways to end him running through your brain, but you don’t really want to draw attention to yourself – you still have a case to crack, and any attention means a chance for the vampires to slip away.

“Let go of me! I told you I’m not going with you! Creep!” You slap his arm, but it doesn’t help. His grip on your wrist is too hard, and you aren’t strong enough to twist free without resorting to tricks. Tears spring to your eyes, not so much from the pain, but from the frustration and stress and humiliation. Never in a million years did you think you’d be one of those girls. “You’re hurting me!” you try again, but that just makes him tug harder, and you stumble forward, struggling to stay on your feet.

Doug – Daniel? Whatever his name is, sneers at you. “See? You’re so drunk you can’t even walk straight –“ In the background his mates are watching and laughing.

“That’s not –“ you begin, but he isn’t listening, and you wonder why you started talking to him in the first place. An image flashes through your mind: the sombre face of an angel. A literal angel. Oh yeah, that’s why: to keep your mind off Gadreel. Being head over heels in love with an angel is just bad luck. Different species and all that. Plus, he’s never really expressed any interest in you – not like that anyway.

“No!” you say again, this time with enough force to make Doug hesitate. A wicked smile spread over your face as his grip on you loosens, and you break free with a whip of your wrist. “You know what? Screw you! You’re not worth the alcohol you’ve wasted. I’m leaving, and don’t you dare follow me!” Squaring your shoulders, you turn your back and march away, listening with poorly disguised glee as his friends holler and laugh at him.

The night outside is clear and chill, so instead of hailing a taxicab like you planned to, you decide to walk the few blocks to the small apartment you’re renting, to calm down and collect your thoughts. Nothing like a near-fight to get the adrenaline flowing.

As you walk along the neatly tended flowerbeds, you can’t help but mutter to yourself, cursing the existence of idiot boys and their entitled, tiny egos, and you’re so deep in your own little world that you don’t notice the man sneaking up on you before he pokes you in the back with something hard. Instinctively you put your hands up.

“Gimme all your money!” he demands, deliberately twisting his voice to avoid recognition. “And that pretty, pearl necklace you’re wearing.”

That makes you pause for a moment. That necklace is hidden under you jacket, and whoever is trying to make a shitty evening even shittier can’t see it. And there’s no way in hell you would ever part from that necklace. It was a birthday gift from Gadreel.

Slowly, you turn around – why, you have no idea, but you feel the need to look this person in the eyes. There’s a hunch lurking in the back of your brain – you just can’t pin it down.

You don’t realise what’s happening before it’s too late: a baseball bat hits you over the ear, and everything start spinning. Bright specks of light dance in front of your eyes, something warm and sticky runs down your cheek and chin, dripping onto your clavicle and chest. For a brief moment, you lament the ruin of your new jacket.

Every movement feel sluggish and slow, and when you open your mouth to yell at your attacker, a sharp pain shoots through your head. The ground rushes up to meet you, and his voice fills your consciousness as the world turns dark: “That’s what you get for embarrassing me in front of my friends!” The sound of bouncing wood echoes over the road as his groping hands search through your clothes, and then you hear his footsteps running away.

As silence surrounds you, you only have one thought: “Gadreel.” His name rings clear through your mind as you finally slip away into the dark.

Darkness still surrounds you as you emerge from the vast emptiness of the universe inside your mind. As you slowly regain consciousness, you grow increasingly irritated, and you don’t know if it’s because of that incessant buzzing, or the beeps that fires at uneven intervals. And why do you feel so… numb? It’s confusing you: like you’re there, but your body’s not.

Slowly you descend from the nothingness that wraps around you, becoming more and more aware of the darkness that presses in on you from every angle, like it’s squeezing you – holding you from floating away. No, wait, that’s not right. You’re not flying – there’s something solid beneath you, and something… soft draped around you, covering every inch of your body from your neck to your toes.

Oh Jesus, the temperature! You can barely stand it. And what’s with the goddamn beeping? It’s getting louder, faster. And there’s another sound. It’s familiar, but you can’t place it through the haze and the buzzing. Ah, the heat. You gotta do something about it. Maybe if you roll over, get some air on your back.

Moving feels foreign. And there’s something stopping you – something… it hurts! Like a thousand wasps just did their business on the back of your hands. With more force than strictly necessary – but let’s be frank here: you don’t really know what it will take to break free from the restraints – you swat a hand on the other; hit something hard. There’s… wires?

Suddenly you’re yanked back, but strength has returned to your body, and you try to sit up. Your arms flop around and hit your nose, and your hands feel something that’s not supposed to be there. Without hesitating, you curl your fingers under that something and pull as hard as you can manage.

It hurts. Again. You wanna scream, but a muted hnnggg is all you can muster. Heavy weights push you down, and you push back up. Cold sweat breaks over your forehead, and you feel your pulse hammering in your throat. What is this kind of hell? Is it… Hell? When did you die? The familiar sound grows louder, clearer, and you recognise words amid the fight.

“For Christ’s sake, hold her down!” a deep voice shouts. It sounds like a voice that’s used to get what it wants. Several voices respond, and the pressure on your chest and arms doubles.

To hell with this. Nobody is going to hold you down! With a massive effort, you push against it, and you imagine yourself smiling as you win.

“She’s gonna rip out the needles! Someone get me the –“ the deep voice begins, but another, softer voice interrupts.

“Let me try.”

“What the…? You shouldn’t be in here!”

There is a silent fight going on: you can sense the tension fill the air, and you hope – no, you pray that the softer voice wins.

Moments later the uncomfortable pressure on your chest is gone: replaced by a gentle, but determined touch guiding you back down.

“Y/N,” the voice whispers, “don’t be frightened. Everything will be okay.” You so want to believe the voice, and slowly, so excruciatingly slowly, you feel calmer.

The voice keeps talking to you in a language you don’t understand, but it makes you feel happy. Like all you ever wanted was to lie there and listen to that voice. But you’re so tired. So exhausted. “Sleep,” the voice tells you. “Rest until you’re ready to wake up.” It takes maybe a fraction of a second, and you’re gone.

When you finally open your eyes, it’s too bright to see anything. Your head is swimming. Nothing is as you expect it to be. But you blink a couple of times, and slowly the room you’re in comes into focus: light green walls, hideously patterned curtains, a silent TV in a corner – and a whole mountain of machines that beep and buzz and blink. And in a worn chair next to your bed, sits the one person you would most like to see in the whole world. He’s staring into the air, still as a statue, barely even breathing.

As you stir, he rolls his shoulders and turn to you. The smallest hint of a smile ripples over his face, and he takes your hand in his.

“…Gadreel?” It’s muted, and distorted, but it’s definitely your voice through locked jaws.

Gadreel nods and swallows. His voice would break if he talked to you now: the relief that you’re awake fills every corner of his being, and he’s afraid he might burst if he actually moves, and you sit in silence for a while, just revelling in each other’s company.

A nurse comes in to check on you, and when she sees you’re awake, she grins. “Oh good. You’re awake. Gave us quite a fright, back there, you did. Waking up on the operating table… that’s not something we see often. You’re strong too. Took four grown men to keep you from ripping out all your tubes and wires. Could’ve done quite a bit of damage, but luckily this fella over there didn’t follow the rules. Calmed you down for long enough so we could increase the drugs to get you to sleep.” She writes down something on a clipboard, and winks at you. “The surgeon was pretty pissed – he’s not used to lose arguments, but at least he recognised the need for this gentleman to be next to you. He hasn’t left your side at all while you slept. Well,” she says and adjusts the switch on the tube going into your hand, “everything seems to be in order here. You’ll be out in no time. I’ll leave you alone for now. Just push the red button if you need me.”

With that, she swishes out of your room, and it’s just the two of you left. Gadreel takes a deep breath and flexes his jaw. “Your jaw and cheekbone is fractured,” he begins, grateful to have something useful to say. “They put pins and wires in you to stabilise it… oh god, Y/N, I am so sorry. I was not quick enough!” He looks up and closes his eyes. “Damn this… this weakness! If only my grace was… I would give it all to you if it meant…” Dragging a hand over his mouth, he turns his attention back to you.

“I could hear you. See you. In here,” he continues with a voice that threatens to unleash Heaven’s wrath, tapping the side of his head. “Your pain, it filled me with rage, and I did not think straight. I should have gone straight to you, not…” Filled with shame, he turns away again.

You squeeze his hand, and tilt your head, looking up, around his barriers, searching for his eyes. Projecting all your love and forgiveness towards him, you squeeze his hand again.

“No,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “You cannot forgive me for this. I should have healed you, not… not gone after him. When I got back, I did not have enough grace to help you. I am sorry,” he repeats and dips his head, and refuses to look at you again.

“Hey,” you say softly, trying not to move anything. “I’m –“

“Do not speak, Y/N. I am not worth any more injuries. Allow me to read your thoughts instead.”

Rolling your eyes, you slap his arm. “This is not your fault,” you think to him, and mentally slap his head for good measure. “I’m going to be okay. These are good doctors. And yes – it will hurt once the painkillers fade, and yes, I will be angry and frustrated, but none of that is your fault. It’s his fault. He did this to me. Not you.”

“It just as well might have been me. I should have been with you.”

“Gadreel… you don’t owe me anything – you can’t be with me every second of the day. It would bore you to death – I’d rather…” You’d rather be alone for eternity and spend a few hours with him here and there, and enjoy every short, bittersweet moment. But you can’t bring yourself to think it.

The whole room suddenly vibrates as Gadreel looks you in the eyes. “No, you don not understand,” he whispers. “I should have been with you. I wanted to be with you. But I did not know how to… I did not understand this pressure in my chest. Not until I saw you, bloody and unconscious, praying my name from your mind’s prison. How my heart screamed for you. I was so afraid, and so angry. It is new to me, this urge to protect someone I love so very much. So I did the only thing I could think of: I spent what little grace I had saved up to track down that maggot that hurt you. He will not hurt anyone anymore.”

Blinking, you look at him, breathing hard through your nose. “I… Did you…” Your thoughts are a jumbled mess, and you feel like screaming, or maybe dancing – or maybe both.

“I did not kill him,” Gadreel replies, misunderstanding your interrupted question. “But he may wish I did. I do not want to speak of it.”

“Screw him! I don’t give a shit if he lives or dies,” you think, trying to slow down both your heart and your thoughts. It’s hard with the kaleidoscope of butterflies that tumble around in your chest. “You just said… um… Do you love me?” It’s better to ask, than to assume; explaining a misunderstanding is easier than to cover up a confession.

Gadreel’s face softens, and he smiles. “I do.”

“I do too,” you interrupt. “Love you, I mean.”

Breathing deeply, Gadreel leans forward in his chair and kisses your forehead. “Then I will not leave your side again, unless you ask me to.” Gently, he lifts you up in the bed and pulls you close, careful not to pull any tubes or wires. As his comforting scent envelopes you, you can’t help but smile. Everything is going to be alright.

Tagging my friends:

@awesomeahwu @brynleewolfe @funwithfanfics @babeinthebowtie @savingapplepie-eatingthings @winchesterprincessbride @savvythedork @littlegreenplasticsoldier @youtubehelpsmesurvive @blackcherrywhiskey @mrswhozeewhatsis @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte @aiaranradnay @fandomismyspiritanimal @barneybrigade @mogaruke @wstrumpel @whovianextrodinare @hennessy0274-blog @sushi-senpai-chan @tardis-is-mine @badasssweetsrebel @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @megasimpleplan4ever

#tw: assault #gadreel x reader #spn fan fiction #reader insert #gadreel #fanfic #rest #love #supernatural #anon request #writing is hard

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ninaahelvar · 7 years

Text

I can feel you (1/?)

Summary: Claire finds herself psychically linked with five other people, a bond of emotions and a range of abilities the others might not possess. Her life is getting more complicated, especially when she might be falling for someone inside her cluster.

Chapter: 1/?

AO3

A/N: So yes, this is a sense8 au cause i'm bitter and sad. anyway, PLEASE ENJOY! IT’S BEEN A WHILE AND I WANT YOU ALL TO ENJOY THIS AU AS MUCH AS I DID! (also, just tagging @cometothedarkside-x and @dealingdreams in case they miss this)

Do you know when you feel someone's hand on your shoulder when it isn't there? Or like someone is right beside you when you're all alone? That's what it was like always for Claire. Her entire life was always feeling like she needed to look over her shoulder, that even in her worst hours, she could have someone there to make her feel safe. One of Claire’s happiest moments she spent with a familiar presence at her side - that she wasn't feeling joy alone. It was strange and distant, but she knew that it was more than just a strong happiness. It had to be.

Yet there was a bitter aftertaste of that day, forever out of reach, yet so delightfully present. It was all her. Claire knew that for sure. She knew she couldn’t blame it on the weird sensations, but god did she want to. Everything just got too damn complicated. At twenty-eight, she wasn’t exactly thinking her life would be more complicated, but god it got that way so fast. And with everything her inner self was just muddling her life up.

It wasn’t until late June that everything started to fuck up completely. It was 6pm when she got the first headache - a migraine that wouldn’t ease. No matter how much she tried to prevent it from occurring, it pressed up against her temples and bombarded her mind. She took herself to bed, curling up in the oversized blankets, just trying to calm her mind. It wasn't until 2am that she was woken up. It was nothing in particular, just no longer able to sleep.

At the foot of her bed stood a man, worn out in clothes that draped over his body - as though he had grown too thin for them. He was an older man than Claire, dark skin and tired eyes. He was visibly shaken, like he knew something was coming - something inventtable. “It’s going to be alright. Find them,” he breathed, before taking a gun into his mouth and pulling the trigger. Claire shot up further, screaming wildly at the sight, but he was gone the moment the shot echoed in her ears. Claire cried and cried, unable to contain the terror that was clouding her chest.

Then, something else happened, something unlike she’d ever felt before. It felt universal - an extraordinary feeling of otherness, that she wasn’t herself but she was other people at once. Once, she sat up in her bed, shaking in fear, the next, she stood in an abandoned church around a mattress that was becoming stained with blood. Simon. His name was Simon. How did she know that so suddenly? How could she possibly know that? As Claire looked around, there were five other people standing - looking as confused as she did.

There were two women, one rather short and dark skin, like caramel - the other was average height with fair skin and dark brown hair framing her face; both women seemed to be in formal working clothes, pinned in pencil skirts and suits. The other three were men - two were half changed, one getting into their clothes for work, the other getting out of them. And the last man, donned in an American police uniform, was staring at Claire, his brow furrowed before they all looked down, Simon rising from his deathbed - head still dripping with blood. One of the other women screamed and everyone jumped.

Just like that, Claire was holding her mouth shut on her bed again, crying harder. She was shaking and suddenly felt warm hands grip her shoulders. The lamp on her bedside was turned on and she was shocked when she saw her room bare and Patrick looking at her with frightened eyes.

“Claire! What’s wrong?” he asked, his thumb running over her shoulder.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Claire mumbled, her hands running over her face.

The headaches from then on only managed to get worse. Claire took time off of work, barely managing to hold a conversation on the phone, let alone work an entire day at Hammond Industries. As she managed to get up and do things for herself, she thought she finally got that weird moment from the night before. That was until she heard gunfire. She thought it may have been on the street, but before she knew it, she saw her apartment in a blaze of bullets.

Ducking down, she was pinned behind a brick wall, a man donned in a police uniform, his dark skin drenched in sweat. Barry adjusted his vest, trying to relax as the bullets were still being hailed on them. Barry. His name was Barry. Claire looked around, a torn apart warehouse and in her hands she held something heavy and metal. A gun. She didn't drop it like she expected, but rather, gripped it tighter. Claire wasn’t exactly prepared for this, in her silk pajama shorts and bralette.

“Owen, what do we do?” Barry shouted over the gunfire. Claire turned to him, Barry’s eyes drilling into her with questions. He was talking to her; but he called her Owen? “Owen!” he repeated. Then, it took Claire a moment to shake off the moment. She was back in her apartment before she found herself back in the warehouse, standing in an open doorway.

“What?” Owen replied, glancing around. He stopped when he saw Claire, tilting his head at her. He remembered her, but he was curious as to why she was there. She could feel what he was feeling, hear what he was thinking. She was part of him, and apart from him.

“Owen, are you out of your fucking mind?” Barry shouted.

“I….I…” he stuttered, unable to stop staring.

“I’m calling for backup, stay here,” Barry said, getting up and chasing his way out of the warehouse.

As the gunfire became chaotic and closer, Claire collapsed down by Owen’s side. He looked around the corner briefly as the bullets stopped momentarily. He came back around, shaking his head, knowing it was a hopeless venture. There was a moment of doubt as footsteps approached. Claire leaned over to owen. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Do something!” she pestered in a hushed voice, but Owen didn’t move, just preparing his gun; which would be useless against a thug’s weapon. “Fuck.” Claire huffed, bounding her hands.

She stretched her legs out across the floor, swinging her hip around as the thug came around the corner. Kicking out his feet, Claire managed to get on her knees, bound her fist and punch into the attacker’s jaw with enough force to shock him. She flipped him on his stomach, clicking at Owen for her cuffs. He gave them willingly, Claire quickly cuffing the guy on the ground. Snatching the gun from Owen’s hand, Claire aimed it for corner, a perfect shot right to the -

“No kill shots,” Owen whispered in her ear, a calm voice like he was talking someone down. She rolled her eyes, repositioned her gun and fired. The man rounded the corner. Shot to the shoulder. The guy was on the floor and unable to handle any firearms. Owen went over, pinning the other guy to the floor, just as Barry arrived to handle cuffing the other guy, backup taking out the dazed man. It was now only Owen and Claire, standing in a dusty warehouse that was littered with bullet holes and shell casings.

Owen placed his hands on his belt, a common stance for most cops, just avoiding his holsters on either side of his hip. “How did you know to do that?” he asked and Claire shrugged, her chest growing tight in fear. “I know you,” he said, sighing and smiling in surprise.

“It’s you,” Claire replied, just as the sound of a metal door clattered shut outside the warehouse, shocking both Claire and Owen. She was back in her apartment, standing in the spot she last remembered being. “What the fuck is happening?” Claire said, shaking her head. The headache was gone now, but god was her head sore from all of this.

The memory of his question lingered in her mind; how did you know how to do that? Claire let her fingers run over the brutal scars on her ribcage, the same that her sister had on the opposite side. Just the thought of them made the old wounds ache. Her mind flicked to that day, the blood that stained her, the fire that raged in their home and her sister clamoring for her hand when Claire couldn’t hear anything. Claire’s lip wobbled as she tried to contain herself, bringing her knees to her chest.

The next morning, Claire stood by the kitchen bench, watching as Patrick became ever more frustrated. He stormed from one place to another, gathering things into his work bag. “You gonna go to work at all this week?” he questioned spitefully. Claire crossed her arms.

“Since when do I have to deal with your shitty attitude?” she barked and Patrick stopped.

“Since a headache seems to last for fucking days for no reason.” He continued to pack his things.

“It’s killing me, Patrick,” she groaned and he scoffed at her words. “Don’t scoff at me,” she spat at him. She walked to him, taking his arm and stopping his impatient walking around. “What’s the matter?” she asked softly.

“You’ve been acting like a complete psycho these last couple of days. Is something wrong with us, is that what it’s really about?”

“No! Of course not,” Claire swallowed. There was a lie hidden in her words. “I’ve just been feeling really crappy and this migraine is not helping with my own attitude. Please, just calm down. I don’t want to fight,” she explained and Patrick, with his kind eyes and curly brown hair looked up to her with sympathy.

“I think I might go stay at my brother’s tonight. Get out of your hair,” he said, picking up his bag.

“Pat,” Claire tried, but he continued on. “Hey, come on,” she said, only to have the front door of their apartment slammed behind him. Claire rolled her eyes and put herself in front of the TV. And that’s where her whole day was wasted, an agonising headache and watching TV, constantly aware of all the work she needed to do the moment she got back to work.

As the night came in, and drinking became appropriate, Claire had a glass of wine with her dinner. She thought she was alone when she put on her next movie, but soon, in front of her TV walked the woman from the other night, her skin the mixture of chocolate and caramel. She seemed more alarmed than Claire, but it wasn’t something Claire didn’t expect at this point - her life was already crazy, bring on the craziest shit ever, universe! Claire Dearing was ready for it.

“Hello?” they greeted. Claire rolled her eyes, throwing her head back.

“I’m not ready for another one of you. So either sit down and drink with me or leave me alone, thanks,” she said, rubbing at her forehead. Before she realised it, the woman was sitting down beside her underneath the covers, a glass of wine in her hand. Claire chuckled.

“Stristi,” she introduced.

“Claire.”

“What are you watching?” Stristi asked.

“My Fair Lady.”

“Isn’t that a really popular film?” Claire nodded. The film was only a little way’s though, Audrey Hepburn only managing to get through one of her songs so far.

“Yeah. The singing is a bit shit if you ask me,” she smiled, looking over to Stristi who laughed just a little at Claire.

“I’d have to agree with you on that one,” she chuckled, taking a sip of wine. She set the glass down before rubbing at Claire’s shoulder. “He’s going to come back,” she whispered.

“I know,” Claire replied, seeing that Stristi had disappeared once more, staying no more than five minutes. It was strange that Stristi could say the right words, the words to put Claire at ease for a moment in time. But the words she left out were the ones more telling.

*****

Owen woke up on his day off, the constant pestering and bombardment of a fist to his front door. Owen got out of bed, putting on his boxers and a tank top that was only tied together by the knots at his waist. He rubbed at his eyes, peeking through the eyehole to see the short woman he regretted seeing every time. “Diana! I said I’ll get you rent tomorrow! Work has been fucking around with my paychecks!” he yelled through the door. She gave one final pound to the door.

“I want that rent as soon as you get it, dumbass,” she yelled back, huffing and taking off down the hall again. Owen ran a hand through his hair before shuffling off to the kitchen.

“Yeah yeah,” he commented to himself. He saw the clock on the oven and he groaned. It was only 6am, meaning he only got two hours of sleep. And a full nightshift to get through in the night. God, he wanted to die - because dying slowly on his shift would be true torture. He laid his head on his fridge, finding the OJ and taking it from the cool interior. If he was going to be awake, he might as well try and enjoy his morning. Turning around, he saw the red headed woman that had been visiting him nearly everyday, sitting up on his kitchen island bench. She was wearing purple silk pajamas, a similar pair to what she had worn in the warehouse.

“Hello again,” she said, her eyes wide but not surprised. She took a sip from her mug. As Owen glanced around, he was in his own apartment, but also someone else. It was much brighter where she was - a bright and spacious apartment in a loud city.

“Hey,” he smiled, turning back to her.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Owen,” he said just before taking a drink.

“Claire.”

“Do you live here?” he asked, already knowing she couldn’t live in where he was; too many loud cars and shouting people for whatever time of the day it was.

“Where even is here?” she replied.

“Dallas.”

“I’m never been to Texas,” she laughed, holding tight to her mug. “I’m in New York,” she glanced over her shoulder and Owen went to the window, looking out onto the city that beamed with sound and vibrant colours mixed with faded bricks of time.

“The city that never sleeps,” he scoffed before looking back at her. Claire kicked her legs out on his bench, looking comfortable. Whenever Owen looked at her, his heart couldn’t seem to pick a rhythm, constantly changing whenever she smiled or moved closer to him. God, he knew she was beautiful, but there was something about her that made him feel like he had been floating off into nothingness, and suddenly, she grounded him.

“Seems to be accurate enough,” he smiled.

“What’s happening to us?” she asked. Before he could answer, she was gone, no trace she had been there at all - making his heart sink and job diminish to nothing.

“I wish I knew,” he sighed, leaving the OJ on the bench and going back to his room. He wanted some fucking sleep. He couldn’t deal with a nightshift and all of this - whatever it was - without it.

When the afternoon was creeping in, a short nap in the middle of the day, there was a persistence echo that went through the apartment. It was an abnormal sound for his apartment; a baby crying. Owen walked around his bedroom door to see a dark room with a dark haired woman standing over a crib. She was tired, hair in a mess; she hadn’t slept much before the baby started to cry.

“I remember you,” Owen whispered, moving closer to the crib. She turned, fear gripping her before he put his hands up, showing that he meant no harm. She relaxed, their minds both at ease.

“When Simon died,” she said in stunted English. Russian. She was Russian.

“I’m Owen,” he greeted, moving over to the crib, seeing the beautiful baby that was far too exhausted for its own good.

“Mira,” she replied.

“Is everything okay, Mira?” he asked in a whisper. He looked towards Mira, gesturing down to the baby and she nodded. He let his finger touch against the baby’s belly, tickling it so that its hands and feet moved his hand away. He chuckled. It was odd, the sensation was there, but it was distant, a memory of a feeling but also so very real. So present and so absent all wrapped in one.

“It’s just the baby. She’s scared of thunder,” Mira explained, the crackling of thunder in the distance was still rumbling where they were.

“I always wanted to have a kid of my own,” he told Mira, though he expected she knew.

“Soon. I can feel it,” she smiled. As the baby continued to cry, Mira picked her up, rocking her back and forth in her arms.

“Do you get what’s happening to all of us?” he asked. She shrugged.

“I met with Trip the other day. The skinny blonde boy from England. He thinks it might have something to do with our genetics,” she said and Owen crossed his arms, listening to her - trusting her. “he’s a science guy, majored in biology or something. He had another encounter with a man….uh...Ricky? Anyway, they talked and made sure the other was actually real. Turns out we all are, scattered all over the place. We’re still working out why this is happening,” she spoke just before the baby started to wail. “Gah! Baba, please,” Mira exclaimed. Owen bent slightly, the idea coming to him out of Mira’s sheer desperation, the thought floating around her head was at the forefront of his.

“Don't cry, don't raise your eye, It's only teenage wasteland,” he started to sing, waiting for the baby’s name. Mira smiled as the baby seemed to calm.

“Rita,” she whispered.

“Rita take my hand, we’ll travel south cross land. Put out the fire and don’t look past my shoulder,” Owen finished singing, humming the tune of the song as Rita started to calm.

“American songs. I must remember that,” Mira chuckled slightly, humming the rest of the song to keep Rita calm.

“Goodnight, little Rita,” Owen whispered, the image of them disappearing in just a moment. He sighed, going to his wardrobe and finding his clean uniform.

*****

Claire was putting her dinner in the microwave, the night coming in and she had yet another day on her own. Her headaches had subsided, though she did feel a low pressure hum at the back of her head, but it was easily ignored. Finishing up her dinner, she put her dishes away after cleaning them, when she was suddenly bitten - hard - on the nipple.

“Shit!” Claire cursed, inspected her breast.

“Sorry,” a voice said behind her in broken english. A dark haired, but fair, woman walked to Claire’s kitchen bench with a baby against her chest and pulling her shirt back in order. “Baby sometimes likes to latch too hard,” Mira explained. Her name. Then memories of different things filtered into Claire’s mind - some of Mira’s past, some of her recent memories with Trip, Stristi, and Owen. It was overwhelming and normal all in one; too much information shared between two people that made it all bearable.

“You okay, though?” she asked.

Mira nodded, trying to adjust baby Rita in her arms. Claire was going to bite her lip when she shook off the feeling. “I’ve heard if you put your knuckle at the corner of their mouth while they breastfeed, it stops them from biting down,” she explained and Mira’s brow furrowed. “My sister had two kids and made me look it up once,” Claire smiled.

“Thank you,” Mira sighed, as though the relief of the words were going to save her life. Claire almost went to touch the baby, just to see how gorgeous a little human being could be when Mira looked up in surprise. “Someone is here,” she whispered and disappeared. Claire looked over her shoulder, fear gripping her. Then, she realised it was only Patrick.

“Babe, are you okay?” he asked, setting his bag down. Claire rested her hand on her forehead.

“I’m fine. Just...feeling off,” she explained. Patrick came up to Claire, kissing her forehead, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“Maybe you need to go to the hospital,” he suggested.

“Don’t,” a woman said quickly, appearing from behind Patrick. She kept a finger pressed to her lip before disappearing. She didn’t fade out or disappear in a cloud of smoke - one moment she was there, the next, she wasn’t. Claire had never seen her before, but something told her that she had, maybe just out of the corner of her eye on a different occasion.

“Maybe,” Claire swallowed. She shrugged Patrick’s hands off her shoulders and held herself tightly. “I feel better than yesterday, so I think I’ll be fine,” she shrugged, just as she saw the black haired woman walk into the bathroom. “I’m going to go take a bath. It’s good to have you home,” Claire said, kissing Patrick’s cheek and going off to the bathroom.

The woman sat at the edge of the tub, reading from the shampoo bottle out of boredom. “Who are you?” Claire asked in a whisper, turning on the water for the bath.

“I’m Zara,” she said confidently, her voice loud compared to Claire’s hushed words.

“Keep your voice down,” she whispered.

“He won’t hear me. I’m in your head,” Zara gave an exaggerated whisper back. As Claire’s brow crinkled, Zara crossed her arms. “I’m not an illness, I’m a real person. But you know that already.” Zara seemed wiser than Claire, but something about her was bothering Claire. She didn’t feel the same way that Owen or Mira felt; Zara made everything feel distant, constantly unable to see what she was feeling or thinking. She was confident and bold in her interaction, knowing more about all of this than Claire ever could.

“What is happening?” Claire asked, putting in her bath soaps and fragrances.

“You’re a sensate. But sweetheart, you’re in a world of trouble. Keep the voices in your head to yourself, otherwise, you’re fucked,” she warned Claire. Zara glanced over her shoulder, bringing Claire with her. Zara was looking around a bend of a building, sirens echoing close by. They were coming for Zara. “I gotta go. They’re getting close. Be safe. And stay away from anyone called Vic Hoskins,” Zara said back in Claire’s bathroom.

“Why?” Claire questioned. Zara bent down to Claire, holding onto her hands tightly, fear in her eyes. But it wasn’t fear for those sirens approaching her; it was for Claire.

“He will kill you the moment he finds you. Do not look him in the eye,” she warned, and without warning she was gone. Claire sighed, the idea that Claire might someday be like Zara - on the run - was a frightening prospect. Claire got in her bath, holding herself closer and trying not to overwhelm herself with the idea of being hunted. But she could already feel, from the moment Simon died, she was now pray in someone else’s game of cat and mouse.

#this has been a post #my fics #clawen #clawen fics #Claire x Owen #Owen x Claire #Claire Dearing #Owen Grady #jurassic world

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thelegendofkuzon · 5 years

Text

The Legend of Kuzon Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Fire vs Ice

(Disclaimer!)

Kuzon was still snuggled with Korra fast asleep.

I managed to snag a photo.

"So cute," I said.

Anana screamed startling us all.

Kuzon quickly woke up.

"What is it?" Kuzon asked.

"The New Star Wars trailer just popped!" She said.

All of us got to Anana's phone and watched it.

"Isn't that the movie where a team of space heroes travel across to stop the evil Khan?" Korra asked.

"You're thinking of Star Trek, but you're close," I corrected.

Anana was no doubt confused by everything.

"Wait… so Kylo Ren and Rey are cousins?!"

"And suddenly her brain just exploded," Kuzon said.

We all laughed.

The boat landed in the south pole.

"We're here," Korra said.

We made our way to the spirit portal in hopes of claiming it before Tokuga.

We were joined by one of the members of the Creeping crystal members.

As we got closer we saw some of Tokuga's men at the portal ready to take it.

"Shit, we're too late," Kuzon said, "Zoe you getting this?"

"I'm seeing it," she said.

"Oh well, we tried," I said walking away.

Kuzon pulled me back.

"We'll have to go in disguise."

"But what can we do?" Anana asked.

Kuzon had an idea.

We saw some guards and stole their uniforms.

"This should make things easier."

Soldiers saw us.

"Hail Tokuga."

"Hail Tokuga," Kanji said.

We were getting closer to the portal.

"Remember the plan," Kuzon said, "Get to the portal, take out the guards, and tell them to move out."

One of the soldiers pressed a button blocking us from the portal.

"What the hell?"

We turned to the crystal member.

"Tokuga got to us before you did," he said, "We had no choice. I'm sorry."

"Well he just made a serious mistake," Kuzon said.

"Not as serious as yours I fear."

Kuzon turned to a muscular blue skinned man.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he said, "I am known as Mr. Frosty."

Kuzon got into a fighting stance.

"Tokuga has paid me a fortune to put you out of his misery."

He was doing some kind of water bending mixed with ice.

He kicked an ice block at Kuzon and he dodged it.

Kuzon went in with his Vulcan jab and Frosty blocked each of his moves.

"So fire is your ally."

"That's right, I'm Knuckle Joe and I'm gonna do whatever it takes to protect Republic City."

They continued clashing at each other.

Frosty went at Kuzon with a tackle attack to which Kuzon countered by jumping and doing a kick on the back.

"You fight well boy."

"I can say the same about you."

Frosty came at him with a barrage of attacks.

Kuzon dodged each of them using the air bending technique I taught him which was similar to a dance move.

"Wow, he actually did it!" I said.

"That's my boyfriend for you," said Korra.

Although Mr. Frosty was strong, Kuzon was still able to hold his own.

Someone shot a plasma beam at them.

"I think you've roughed him up enough Mr. Frosty," said someone.

It was the guy we heard about on the news; The Plasma Monger.

"Allow me to handle it from here."

Kuzon looked at him.

"Listen pal, you caught me in a good mood today so I'll let you off with a warning; stand down and you won't have to feel the burn."

Plasma King got into a fighting stance.

"Alright, your funeral."

Kuzon started fighting him.

Unlike Frosty, he was fast.

He managed to dodge each of Kuzon's moves.

He then charged up for a punch and Kuzon managed to block it.

"Nice try," he said.

He then noticed his gauntlets were starting to crumble.

They broke apart.

"Not so tough without your toys, are you… Kuzon." Plasma Monger said.

"What….."

"That's right, I know your secret identity, and the identity's of your teammates."

Kuzon was still determined to fight him.

"I may not have my toys, but I'm still strong enough to fight you!"

He came charging at him and then he picked Kuzon up and threw him to the other side.

"Kuzon, you disappoint me."

He then started pummeling him.

Kuzon quickly got back up and tried pushing him back.

"Very sloppy."

He then managed to get a cut on Kuzon's hand and then his leg.

He was in too much pain to get back up.

"Now its time to finish it," Plasma Monger said.

Korra jumped in and pushed him back.

"Leave him alone!" She shouted.

"I'm afraid I cannot do that," Plasma Monger said, "Wenyan paid me a fortune to finis the job. Benders are a curse that must be destroyed."

"You hurt him, and I will make you suffer!" Korra said charging up fire.

"Not so fast Avatar!" Shouted Tokuga from above.

He was in a blimp.

"I don't think you will be doing anything."

The rest of us looked at him.

"Where's Kelim?" Kanji asked.

"Look up boy, he's been with us this whole time!"

He had him captive.

"And as for you Avatar, you are going to surrender to us," Tokuga said, "I can't have you stepping on my plans to take over Republic City!"

"Not a chance," Korra said.

"Its either that, or….. your friends get to take a little trip."

He pointed to Asami, Mako, and Bolin being threatened.

"I… I surrender," she said.

She was being taken to the blimp.

Kuzon limbed back up still wanting to fight.

"Let her go…." He said weakly.

"Ah I was wondering what would break first," Plasma Monger said, "Your spirit…."

Kuzon went for a punch and he grabbed his arm.

"Or your body!"

He attacked him in the back putting him down.

"He's all yours Frosty."

Frosty picked him up.

Plasma Monger turned to us.

"Take them back to Republic City."

The soldiers took us back.

Anana wasn't going down without a fight.

She punched one of them in the face and went to rescue Kuzon.

One of them pulled her back.

"Let me go!" She said.

"Not likely," said the soldier, "Lights out dollface!"

He punched her in the face.

Anana woke up and we were back in Republic City.

"Well, looks like he agreed to the commitment that was discussed," Uncle Wenyan said, "You are all brought back safe and unharmed."

He looked at Anana who had a scar on her face.

"Well I can't say the same for you."

We walked off the boat.

"If I catch you twerps doing any protest, I will not hesitate to put you all in prison."

I made him face me.

"I will never forgive what you've done to Kuzon."

"He's a criminal…"

"You MADE him a criminal, to cover your mistakes, and to try and protect President Raiko's campaign," I said, "Don't ever speak to me as your niece again."

"Its only because you're my niece that you and your friends aren't moved to another area with all the other benders."

"What?" I asked.

"That's right," Uncle Wenyan said, "One day you'll understand why I'm doing all of this, and we can be a true family."

"I'll never be part of a family that hates benders," I said, "If Aunt Wu were here she would be disgusted, and despise you for your actions!"

He smacked me hard in the face.

"Don't you ever say that again."

I wiped the blood off my face.

"A lot of people, including your aunt told me there was nothing to worry about with your behavior, and now look what I have; An irresponsible, arrogant embarrassment of a niece who who can't even get with the times."

Those words hurt me.

"Everyone else have good kids, and i'm stuck with a disrespectful, brat who only cares about herself! Its no wonder why your parents abandoned you."

I ran off in tears.

"There she goes running off again," Uncle Wenyan said, "That's the problem with these benders. They always…."

"YOU SHUT YOUR RUDE MOUTH!" Anana shouted.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me! I can't believe you would say such horrible words to your own Niece who's only trying to do the right thing for Republic City!"

Anana got in his face.

"I don't know who you think you are, but you're mistaken if you think you can trash talk your own niece like that, you asshole," Anana said.

One of the guards came to try to calm her down.

"Shut the hell up," Anana said.

She then went back to face Wenyan.

"Saria is a kind, beautiful, supportive, encouraging woman, and on top of all that, she's a spectacular musician. But you're so goddamn busy with all your office work and this fucking election to even realize what a special niece you have!"

Uncle Wenyan started to back up.

"Whereas you see an embarrassment…."

"Excuse me young lady there…." Said someone trying to get her to calm down

"SHUT UP!" Anana said.

"Ok…. Said the person.

"Whereas you see an embarrassment, I see somebody who is going to do great things in the future," Anana continued, "And do you ever look at yourself in the mirror? It would probably be a good thing if you did, because then you'd see what kind of self absorbed, insensetive, good for nothing shitty-ass parent you are!"

Anana backed away a few steps.

"I grew up my entire life without parents, envying Saria for having an uncle, but then I realized how lucky I am not to have a self righteous prick for a parental figure."

"This is why I can't stand benders," Uncle Wenyan said, "Because you're hypocrites! You talk to us about being stubborn, and yet you go and cause damage and don't even apologize for what you've done! You bring our city to its near destruction."

"Well what the hell does that make you, the true President this city deserves?" Anana asked, "Big deal. FUCK YOU! You've got the brains of a lemur!"

"Get this bending trash out of my sight."

Anana pulled away and walked.

"At this point I'm not sure if President Raiko is trusting the right person for this campaign."

"You know I feel sorry you don't have any parents," Uncle Wenyan said, "Cause if you did, they'd teach you to respect your superiours. Have a good day, and remember; Vote Raiko for president."

"Oh fuck you!" Anana said flipping him off, and then looking at his associates, "FUCK THE LOT OF YOU, FUCK YOU ALL!"

She went off to find me.

"Saria?"

"Down here," I said.

I was behind a building.

"Are you ok?" She asked.

"I'm fine," I said, "I… I just can't believe my uncle would say such things to me."

"He's just self absorbed and caught up in his work," Anana said, "And he's too stupid to realize that."

I turned to her.

"When the harmonic convergence awakened and I got my bending, it was a surprise. I did my best to hide it from my Uncle because he hates air benders the most."

"Well I'm sure your aunt would love you no matter what."

"I…. I heard most of the things you said to him."

"I-I'm sorry…. I don't know what came over me when I said all of that…."

"Don't be sorry," I said, "You were defending my honor and I appreciate that. But did you really mean all that?"

"Yes, I see that, your friends see that, and I'm sure your parents see it as well. I find it cute when you wear your little suits and cut your hair short. And you're a phenomenal airbender."

I smiled.

"You're important to me, to Kanji, to Cydney, to Kuzon and everyone. Whenever something's bothering you, don't hesitate to come talk to me, ok?"

I hugged her.

"Thank you," I said.

"Anytime," Anana said hugging back, "I'm gonna go check on Zoe and see if she's located Kuzon yet."

She started to talk away.

But then she turned around.

She ran back to me and then our lips made contact.

We kissed for what appeared to be seconds.

It was strange to me, and yet….. it was passionate.

I was kinda sad when it ended because I wanted more.

"Um….. I should probably go now."

Anana walked away.

Zoe contacted King Dedede.

"Everythings going according to plan," she said with a grin.

"Good," he said, "Its time to put an end to Tokuga's scheme."

#kuzon #saria #kuzon tao #legend of kuzon #legend of korra #korra x kuzon #smash bros #FFEU Phase 3 #fan fiction extended universe #kirby nintendo #korrazon #korra AU #korra turf wars #lgbtq #bisexual

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