#I don’t even know why I’m still clinging to drawing in general. considering I’ve hit a plateau and haven’t taken any steps towards improving

[myname-isnia]

I had a moment of weakness and now regret it terribly because it has turned into just A Moment which means if I don’t get out of my head right now I will be miserable for the rest of the evening

[drabbles-mc]

The Long Game

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Request by Anon:  Nestor Oceteva with the fluff sections prompts 30: I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, 40: Why are you so scared of loving and 49: You’re the only thing that matters?

Warnings: language, fluff so sweet it’ll make your teeth hurt

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: So to balance out the angsty request, we have a nice fluffy one too. I had a lot of fun writing this. I just really like the idea of super sweet Nestor

General Mayans Taglist: @mayans-sauce ​ @thesandbeneathmytoes ​ @paintballkid711 ​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl ​ @queenbeered ​ @sillygoose6969 ​ @sesamepancakes ​ @yourwonkywriter ​ @chibsytelford ​ @gemini0410 ​ @multiyfandomgirl40 ​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead ​ @plentyoffandoms ​ @georgiaaintnopeach ​ @twistnet ​ @garbinge ​ @amandinesblogofstuff ​ @bucky-iss-bae ​

Nestor loomed over your shoulder, watching as you folded ingredients together in a giant mixing bowl. You bit back a laugh as he watched you intently. You hadn’t been expecting him to stop in, not that you minded. But the unannounced visit meant that he was going to have to deal with the fact that you were wrapped up in other things before he arrived. He didn’t seem to mind, though, as he wandered around your kitchen with you.

“Who are you making all of these for?” he asked with a slightly confused look on his face.

You shrugged, “I don’t know. I’ll bring some to work. You can take some home with you if you want,” you laughed when you turned to look at him, “I just felt like baking this weekend.”

“Can I help?”

You shook your head, “No way.”

He looked a little offended but you could see that he was trying not to smile, “Why not? I’m a good cook.”

You nodded, “I know you are. But you’re a terrible baker. Remember when you tried to help me with the pie for my sister?”

He laughed, and you tried to pretend that it didn’t make your heart jump inside your chest, “But these are cookies. Totally different, right?”

You smiled, shaking your head slightly, “You can help by being my taste-tester when the first batch is done. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like you’re trying not to be patronizing but you still are,” he chuckled.

You laughed and handed him the spatula that you had been using, “You can lick this clean while you sulk about it.”

Something flashed across his face for a moment that you couldn’t quite read. But before you could think about it too much, he snatched the spatula from you with a small smile, “Fine. But it won’t stop me from bothering you.”

You didn’t expect that it would. And, realistically, the last thing you would ever consider Nestor to be was a bother. You liked when he stopped in, even though as you both grew up and got wrapped up in your own lives it happened less and less frequently. He’d been your best friend for as long as you could remember, and the two of you had always balanced each other out. Nestor had always been a little quieter, keeping a lot of his thoughts and feelings to himself most of the time. You were good for him in that way, being open and honest enough to draw things out of him. He was good for you, too. Everything about Nestor made you feel safe. That sense of safety happened long before he became the man that was in your apartment that day—even as children you knew that he had your back and that hadn’t changed.

And as you both got older and he got involved with Galindo and everything that that entailed, you’d remained a safe place to go and rest. Your apartment was a place where he could recharge and he just got to be Nestor, and not the head of security for a cartel leader. You didn’t talk about work unless he brought it up, and he didn’t bring it up often. Despite the fact that his life had continued to get more dangerous, you never felt like it would ever get back to you. Something about the way he spoke and carried himself assured you of that despite the fact that he never verbally said it. You trusted that if things were too dicey, he wouldn’t bring it to your front door.

So, the two of you maneuvered around your tiny kitchen together. He was leaning against the counter, watching as you flitted around, spatula still between his fingers. He’d set the timer for you but other than that he let you do whatever it was you had to do to keep the kitchen from burning down. Every now and then your shoulder would brush and push against his and you pretended that you didn’t notice, that it didn’t make your face feel hot for a few moments each time.

The timer went off and you grabbed a pair of oven mitts. You carefully pulled the tray out of the oven, allowing Nestor to shut it for you as you carried the hot tray over to the table to cool.

“Can you put that tray in for me and start the timer again?”

He nodded, tossing the spatula into the sink before doing what you asked, “So I do get to help.”

You chuckled as you walked back over, “Baby steps. I might make a baker out of you yet.”

All that was left to do was wait. You were waiting for one tray to cool so you could empty it just to fill it up again, and you were waiting for the timer to go off for the tray that was currently in the oven. You and Nestor were each leaning on a separate stretch of counter, kitty-corner to each other. You wiped your hands off on your jeans, pretending not to notice the way that he was staring at you as you did.

“So is this how you spend your weekends now?” he asked with a quiet chuckle.

You smiled, “It’s been a while. Listen, I know it’s not quite as exciting as whatever you spend all your time doing, but it suits me just fine.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” he saw the disbelieving look on your face and he laughed, nudging your foot lightly with his own, “I swear! This is nice.”

“Mhm,” you smiled at him, leaving it at that.

You walked over to the table and started carefully scooping cookies off of the tray and onto a plate so they could completely finish cooling. When the tray was empty, you looked up and saw Nestor watching you, a calm radiating from his facial expression and body language.

“Wanna try one?” you asked.

He nodded, walking over. You smiled as you held one out for him. You expected him to take it from your hand into his own, but instead he just leaned and bit into while you were still holding it. You laughed, smile stretching from ear to ear as butterflies erupted in your stomach.

He gave a nod of approval, “Those are good.”

“Well here,” you fed him the rest of the cookie, “you gotta finish it now.”

You both laughed and without thinking you reached up and brushed the crumbs clinging to the stubble on his face. It didn’t hit you until it was too late how close you were standing, the weight of the gentle gesture clearly not lost on either of you as you took in the look in Nestor’s eyes. Before you could make it any worse you cleared your throat, scooping up the now-empty tray and heading back over to the counter to put more dough onto it.

Nestor materialized behind you, and you were hyper-aware of how close he was standing to you. “Can I help with this part?” there was a lightness to his voice that you found reassuring.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, “I suppose,” it got him to laugh and he playfully nudged your shoulder. You smiled, “They all gotta be the same size though, alright?”

He nodded, a small smirk tugging at his lips, “I think I can handle that.”

You hopped up onto the counter so you could watch him. You swung your legs as you watched the concentration on his face and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. He was so methodical, clearly taking his baking lesson very seriously.

You bit back a laugh, “Domesticity doesn’t look half bad on you, Nes.”

He flicked his eyes up to you for a moment, a smile passing over his face for a brief moment before returning to the task at hand, “Oh really?”

You nod, “Really. One of these days, when you find someone who makes you wanna settle down, you’ll be able to do it. I can tell.”

“Just from watching me scoop cookie dough?” he laughed but didn’t lift his eyes from the tray in front of him.

“Just from knowing you for so long. I can’t believe you haven’t put a ring on some girl yet anyway.”

He smiled at you, setting his tray off to the side, “And I can’t believe you haven’t domesticated some guy yet.”

You laughed, “What do you think I’ve been doing with you this whole time?”

You said it as a joke, but there was a lot of truth to it. Not that you were trying to change Nestor into someone that he wasn’t, but that there was a part of you that was always holding out. There was something in the back of your mind that was always waiting for it to be you and Nestor in the end. It was a long shot—you knew his life and that he might never be able to settle down, but you still hoped. You tried not to put your life on hold for it, but days like this made you realize that there wasn’t another person you wanted to spend this kind of time with. You didn’t know if there ever would be.

He chuckled, “Really playing the long game, huh?”

You nudged his leg with your foot, “Is it not working? You think that a couple years ago you would’ve spent one of your very few days off in some girl’s apartment watching her bake cookies?”

He smiled, but you could see that there was something else lingering in his expression, “Maybe not.”

“See? I’ve got you ready for whatever girl reels you in,” your tone was light but you didn’t really want to think about him being with someone else.

“You’ve got some high hopes for me,” his smile was soft.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He laughed, but there was a touch of hollowness to it, “You know me better than anyone—you know exactly why you shouldn’t have such high hopes for me.”

You shook your head, “Stop, don’t be like that,” you knew it was a bit of a touchy topic for him, but what was the point in being someone’s best friend if you weren’t going to call them out on their shit, “Why do you always sell yourself so short, hm? Why are you so scared of loving?”

“I’m not scared, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, “Right. Because Big Bad Nestor Oceteva isn’t scared of anything,” it broke the tension and got you both to laugh, “But I mean it, you know—don’t sell yourself short. You’re gonna make some girl real happy one day.”

He started to say something else when the sound of the timer cut through your conversation. He pressed his lips together, stepping out of your way so you could take the tray out. Your back was to him but you could hear him setting the next tray into the oven and starting the time over again.

When you turned around to walk back into the kitchen, you nearly bumped into Nestor who was already right behind you. You laughed, ignoring the heat taking over your cheeks, “Sneaky.”

He chuckled, “It’s a job requirement,” he paused, eyes desperately searching yours as he tried to piece together his next sentence, “You really think that I could have this with someone?” he gestured around your apartment.

You nodded as you made your way back to the kitchen, Nestor close behind, “Why wouldn’t you?”

“You know my life. It just feels stupid to even think about all of that when I do what I do for a living.”

You gently rested your hand against his chest, “It’s not stupid. You’re going to find someone who understands and accepts all of that. Someone who is…you know…patient,” you smiled.

“Someone like you?”

You didn’t think that three words could knock the wind out of you so effectively, but they did. You laughed, unable to meet his eyes, “Nes, c’mon, don’t joke—”

“I’m not joking,” he stepped closer, looking down at you intently. Every word you wanted to say got caught in your throat, so Nestor continued, “You’re my best friend. And, you’re right, I am scared. Or at least, I usually am. But when I’m here, with you, I’m not. Being here with you is like stepping into an entirely different world, one where you’re the only thing that matters. I love it, and I miss it the second I leave.”

It was everything you wanted to hear and yet you had a hard time believing it, “Where is all of this coming from?”

“Because, as usual, you’re right,” he smiled as he reached forward, wiping a small streak of flour off your forehead, “a few years ago I wouldn’t be doing any of this. And, honestly, if it wasn’t you, I still wouldn’t be doing it. But it is you,” his hand rested lightly on your cheek, “and you feel like home. I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, and it feels like a waste of time to keep pretending like I haven’t been.”

There were so many things that you wanted to say, but you couldn’t force yourself to speak. All the words were caught in a lump at the back of your throat. You could feel happy tears starting to gather in your eyes as you rested your hand over his. Knowing that there were no words you could think of that would accurately explain how you felt, you pulled him down into a kiss.

You could feel that it caught him by surprise, but he quickly recovered and leaned down into you. Both his hands rested on the back of your neck, pulling you up into him. You smiled into your kiss, arms easily wrapping around him as you soaked up every moment of his lips being pressed against yours.

The moment wasn’t long enough, cut short by the sound of the timer buzzing on the counter. You pulled away slightly, unable to stop the quiet laugh from escaping past your lips as Nestor rested his forehead against yours.

“Dammit,” you finally were able to make yourself speak, a tinge of humor in your voice.

Nestor chuckled as he reached over and turned the timer off, “Timing is everything, huh?”

You laughed, but the intensity of everything that had just happened didn’t slip from your mind. You looked over at him, “I love you.”

His eyes widened at hearing you say it like that for the first time. A small smile crossed his face, “I love you too,” he pressed a quick, soft kiss to your lips, “Don’t let the cookies burn.”

“Shit, right, right,” you laughed as you shook your head, trying to get all of your thoughts back in order.

You felt his eyes on you as you shuffled around the kitchen, thankful that everything was second nature for you at this point because there were a million thoughts running through your head and none of them had to do with the task at hand. You heard his light footsteps as he walked up behind you, and the wave of warmth that washed over you as he lightly draped his arms around your waist was unlike anything else you’d ever felt. He rested his chin down onto your shoulder, watching you get everything in order.

“Better take notes,” you said with a laugh, “Now you’re definitely going to have to help next time.”

He laughed, pressing a light kiss into your shoulder, “Oh, so this is what it took?”

You smile, nodding, “You’re leveling up now, Nestor. You think you’re ready?”

He smiled, “I guess we’ll find out.”

[vampire--dad]

Can’t Win A Battle For A Lost Cause - Part 1

Part 2

I don’t think I’ve ever written something so quickly, wow

I just love writing Lambert. I love exploring his character and breaking it down. And of course, as with any of my favourite characters, I love hurting him :DD

——————

Fucking vampires.

Monsters are so much easier to deal with when they’re stupid, like nekkers. Nekkers are idiots that would probably walk into a sword on their own if you gave them the chance. Vampires are smart, which is half the reason Lambert hates taking contracts on them. They know how to hide, or even worse, they know when they don’t need to. The whole damn duchy knows the duke’s new wife is a vampire, but none can get close enough to kill her. So what do they do? They hire a witcher, someone who can add more fuel to this political bonfire and walk away unscathed, right? Yeah, sure, that’s what we’ll go with.

From this spot in the lower gardens of the duke’s mansion, Lambert can see the vampire on the balcony. The guards are well aware that he’s there, they’re the ones that hired him, but they couldn’t let him inside in case a servant alerted the duke of an unwanted visitor. So here he sits, hidden among the bushes, watching. She’s ballsy, this vampire, sinking her teeth into his neck under the moonlight. The power she has over the duchy must have gone to her head, or the blood, but he knows he can’t underestimate her. Blood is almost like alcohol for a higher vampire, but that doesn’t mean she’ll be weak, if anything, this is going to be even more of a pain in the ass.

The duke stumbles back into their bedroom and the creature turns her face to the moon, her skin a ghostly white and nearly shimmering under the pale light. It seems to pass right through her, as she casts no shadow. Lambert shifts his weight under him and stays low as he creeps along the wall. The ivy that clings to the bricks is strong enough for him to haul himself up to the balcony. As quiet as he can try to be, he’d be an idiot to think she didn’t notice him.

“Tell me, witcher,” she says, opening her icy blue eyes but not turning away from the sky. “How much did they offer you for my head? I’d like to know how much they thought I’d be worth.”

“Looking to buy your way out of this?” Lambert replies. “I’ll warn you, it won’t be cheap.”

“Please, witcher. Killing you will be easier… and more fun.”

Lambert barely has time to roll his eyes before the vampire launches herself at him and they tumble over the edge of the balcony. He was really hoping she wouldn’t say that. He hits the ground with a grunt, barely holding the snarling duchess back. He mumbles something under his breath and suddenly she is launched across the garden, hitting the far wall and slumping against it for a moment. Lambert draws his sword and rolls his neck, considering what he might do with his reward for killing her. Well, not that he can really kill her. Hopefully her body being burned will teach her a lesson while she spends a few decades regenerating.

Her head lolls for a moment, but then she becomes very still. Her neatly manicured nails grow into long, razor sharp claws. The delicate features of her face are drawn back into a hideous, animalistic form. She lifts her head with a disgusting grin. Lambert centres himself and raises his sword as she launches herself at him once again. The duke’s blood has her all riled up. She’s crazed, swiping her claws at him and screeching, only to be met with his blade, at the very least redirecting her attacks away from his body. The witcher can’t risk taking his eyes off her for a second, lest he lose an arm to her talons. She’s lightning fast, but she is at a disadvantage. If she slips up, his sword will tear through her like paper.

His blade catches against her arm. She roars, more out of indignation than pain, but her pause gives him an opening. He surges forwards and his blade plunges through her lithe figure, lodged just beneath her ribcage. A crimson stain blooms across her abdomen and her breath leaves her lungs suddenly. Her claws recede, followed by the rough features of her face. She assumes the gentle beauty she used to get herself into this mess in the first place. Lambert smirks cruelly and cocks his head.

“Fucking vampires. You’re all the same,” he says. “You all think you’re the biggest and baddest thing out there. It’s pathetic, really, how cocky you all are. I’ve faced far worse things than you, sweetheart. You really think your kind is the worst on the Continent?”

His words light a cold fire in her dying eyes. She grins, baring her fangs.

“See for yourself.”

She grips the hilt of his sword and pulls herself into it, the blade sliding through her body with an obscene sound. With the last of her strength she throws her weight forward, opens her mouth and latches onto Lambert’s neck. He groans out a curse, expecting to feel a drag against his skin. He’s been bitten before, but those before her quickly learned that witcher blood tastes vile. But he feels no such drag from his veins, rather he feels a burning sensation spreading across his skin. Suddenly he feels dizzy and short of breath. He feels her smile wickedly against his throat. His knees buckle beneath him. The last thing he hears is a cruel laugh, a sputtering cough, and the sound of his own body hitting the ground.

Lambert wakes with a yelp in an unfamiliar room. He grips the sheets and feels something sharp pressing into his palm through the linen. As he recoils, he notices the pointed nails on his fingers and frowns. Then his memory comes flooding back.

The vampire. His hand finds a bandage wrapped loosely around his neck. She bit him, but didn’t feed. No, he felt something going in instead. It burned like hellfire through his veins. He vaguely remembers being picked up by the guards… then everything ached… he vomited a few times, he thinks. It wasn’t unlike the trials that made him a witcher. With wide eyes he stumbles out of the bed and, in the soft light from the window, looks for a shadow. Nothing. He looks up at the window now, expecting to see his reflection, but yet again, there is nothing.

Shit.

Shit.

He runs his tongue over his teeth and tastes blood. His canines have grown long and sharp.

Fuck.

She turned him. He’s a vampire.

He runs a hand through his hair. What the fuck is he meant to do now? He was made to hunt monsters, it’s all he knows, and now… he is one. Destiny really can’t give him a fucking break, huh? He sighs and sits back down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. What are his brothers going to think? They wouldn’t try to hurt him… would they? He’s their brother…

He stops that train of thought the moment tears threaten to well up in his eyes. Now isn’t the time. He needs to figure out what to do. Perhaps there’s someone who can help him… His mind wanders back to his brother’s, but instead of getting emotional, he latches onto a vague memory. Geralt’s friend, what was his name…? Regis. That was it. A higher vampire that Geralt had befriended on his search for Ciri all those years ago. He mentioned he had taken up residence in Nilfgaard. Lambert can think of no better person to go to than another vampire.

Well, he can. He wants to go to his brothers. He wants to find them and just hear them say that they still love him. That’s all he wants and all he fears he won’t get. How could anyone love him like this?

Lambert shakes his head and stands, finding his things in the corner of the room. His medallion rests atop his jacket. He puts it on and clutches it to his chest, ignoring the feeling that he shouldn’t wear it at all. He dresses quickly, collects his things, and emerges from the room into a shop he recognises. The healer’s. He bought a few herbs from the woman who now stands at her workbench across the room. She looks up at him with a friendly smile.

“You’re up,” she states. “Good. How do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” he lies quickly. “I should be on my way.”

“A moment, witcher. I assure you I won’t breathe a word of it, but… can witchers be turned if they’re bitten by a vampire?”

“No,” he lies once again. “Our bodies reject their… venom, I guess you could call it. We can’t be turned.”

He notices her glance at the floor behind him as he makes for the door.

“Very well,” she says carefully. “I wish you the best in your travels.”

Nilfgaard, to Regis’ surprise, is quite peaceful. Winneburg is a big enough place for him to fade into the background, but small enough that he doesn’t run the risk of getting involved in any silly political games again. His home is humble, but thankfully filled with books and things to keep the endless days passing by quicker.

It came as a relief to him to live a normal life again, or at least the mirage of one. He is generally regarded as one of the more reliable surgeons in town, as he had studied enough to know that blood-letting and leeches never work and opts for the use of medicinal herbs and salves for wounds. After all, he’d had almost 400 years to perfect his trade.

He knows he has a visitor well before the knock at the door sounds through the small house. He hears footsteps, hurried and nervous. Regis closes his book and sets it aside, expecting someone in need of his care. Instead, on the other side of the door stands a witcher. He has dark brown hair, a scar across his right eye, and he wears the same medallion that he saw around the neck of an old friend.

There’s a look in the man’s yellow eyes he’s never seen in a witcher before. Fear. Geralt was good at hiding his emotions, brilliant at it. Over the years he saw many things in his friends’ eyes; joy, despair, anger, content, but never fear. That was the one thing he never showed. But this one seems unable to hide it.

“Regis?” he asks.

“Yes, witcher?”

Given a moment to analyse the man before him, Regis quickly realises why he is here. Small details give him away. The bluish tint to his skin that makes him look far paler than he should be. The small cuts around his lips. The pointed nails that he digs into his palms as he looks around nervously.

“I need your help,” he pleads.

“I know. Come in, we have much to discuss.”

He stands aside and lets the man in, noticing the tension in his shoulders and the bags under his eyes. It’s not uncommon to see such things when someone is turned, but he’s never seen a witcher turned. He can’t imagine what this must be like for him.

“What is your name, witcher?” he asks as he closes the door.

“Lambert,” he says. “I’m one of Geralt’s brothers.”

Regis can’t help a small smile as he says, “Yes, I do remember him mentioning you. He spoke of his little brother quite fondly.”

Lambert seems to grow even more nervous at the mention of his brother. Regis drops the subject and gets to the point.

“How long ago were you bitten?”

“A week or so.”

“Where? Show me, it’s not uncommon for bites to get infected.”

Lambert sheds his leather jacket and rubs his neck before tilting his head to bare the scar. He had spent what little coin he could spare on a new jacket with a higher collar. Regis notes his lack of eye contact. Anxiety isn’t a good look on a witcher.

“That healed quite nicely, actually. Of course. Now, where was this?”

“A duchy in Maecht. The duke’s new wife was a higher vampire. She was slowly draining him of—”

Lambert pauses and curses under his breath. His fingers come away from his lips bloody.

“Pull your fangs back a little,” Regis says. “It should feel like tensing the roof of your mouth, and it might hurt a bit, but try it.”

Lambert finally looks up at him with a look of surprise, like he didn’t expect to be met with compassion. He makes an odd face as he tries, then clamps a hand over his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut. Regis chuckles slightly.

“I told you it would hurt.”

“Yeah, a bit…” Lambert grumbles

“You’ll get used to it. Now, a higher vampire in Maecht? What has become of her?” Regis asks.

“I assume the duke’s guards burned her body like I told them to. It’ll at least put her out of action for a few decades.”

“Good. I assume you know there is nothing I can do for you in terms of curing you—”

“Yes, I know,” Lambert snaps. “I just… I needed someone to… I needed…”

Now that he thinks of it, he can’t explain exactly why he came here. He just thought seeking out someone who knew better than he did what was happening to him would be a good idea.

“Guidance,” Regis finishes for him, his tone comforting and soft. “That is what you’re looking for. Guidance and reassurance. Would I be right in thinking so?”

Lambert nods meekly. Regis offers him a comforting smile.

“Fret not, dear witcher,” he says. “You can stay with me while you find your footing. I may not have been turned myself, but I can understand what this must be like for you.”

Lambert resembles a puppy more closely than a wolf. He looks far more vulnerable than Regis had ever pictured him. Geralt had described a man with biting humour, a tendency for sharp remarks, and more often than not, a cruel smirk. But the man Regis sees before him is, for lack of a better word, broken.

“Thank you, Regis,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck again.

“Come, Lambert. Let’s get you settled in. I have a spare room, you can stay as long as you like.”

——————

Tags: @elliestormfound @jaskierswolf @lovelyeskel @feral-jaskier @patchwork-doublet

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[ladylynse]

Chapter 13 [FF | AO3] of Whirlwind (SQ fic): Jake should be used to ominous predictions by now. Randy should know better than to blindly follow McFist. Adrien should think twice before sneaking away. And Danny should’ve expected something like this when he got that phone call.

Previous | Timeline post

-|-

7:50 PM

Jake couldn’t see Danny as he winged around to the building where Hawk Moth stood with Susan, but he had a feeling he knew Danny’s plan: namely, get Nino out of danger. Specifically, do that by phasing him out of Susan’s claws. Randy—who was clinging to the edge of the roof and barely showing more than his eyes and fingertips—looked ready to jump into action the moment that happened, and Jake knew he should be, too, but….

This situation wasn’t just his fault.

It was the fault of the World Dragons in general.

If they’d ever found a replacement for the French Dragon or at least done a better job of checking up on France, this might not have happened.

Which meant it was Jake’s responsibility not just to diffuse this particular situation and deal with the fallout but also to, well, see what he could do about Hawk Moth so that he didn’t keep doing this in Paris.

Jake hovered in the air for a moment, knowing he’d been spotted, but despite the telling flick of her eyes, his mother didn’t call any attention to him. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was good or bad; she still recognized him, right? Was she ignoring him on purpose? She had to know he couldn’t let this slide. Between her letting everyone in the city—and, let’s face it, beyond—know that dragons exist and this Hawk Moth guy misusing magical artefacts, there was no way he couldn’t get involved.

Jake took a deep breath, folded his wings, and let fire burn away his scales. He landed on the roof with very human feet, rolling with the impact and rising from a crouch as Hawk Moth turned. Jake gave him a wide berth, ignoring Hawk Moth in favour of his mom. He edged around to keep her in sight, though he knew better than to turn his back on an enemy. “Mom,” he whispered, “don’t do this. Please.”

He saw Hawk Moth’s triumphant smile out of the corner of his eye. “So. This is your son, one of the city’s great protectors.”

Susan said nothing, though she held Jake’s gaze.

“You’re better than this,” Jake said when he noticed Hawk Moth open his mouth again. “You know what I’m fighting for. You know why I fight for it. You have to know this is wrong. Just step back and think about it for a moment, like you always taught me to do. This isn’t you. Please.”

“Dracona,” Hawk Moth said sharply. “Tell me what else I should know about your son.”

What else he should know.

That meant he already knew something.

That she’d already told him something.

How much?

“What? What did you tell him? Why did you tell him anything?”

For a few heartbeats, Jake was sure his mom wasn’t going to answer—him or Hawk Moth. He hoped she was ignoring his questions because they were ridiculous and she’d never tell someone like him anything important, whatever he demanded. He hoped he’d managed to get through to her when it came to Hawk Moth, too. She was still looking at him, and he was familiar enough with reading dragon expressions to see determination settle on her face. It gave him hope—until she opened her mouth and said, “I made a deal. I’ve realized that I have to fulfill it.”

“You don’t!”

“Fighting doesn’t work.” She sounded more resigned than she looked, which was weird, but whatever. “I’ve tried. I can’t.”

Jake wanted to wipe the smug expression off Hawk Moth’s face, but Danny was right. If Randy’s book did mean that he could talk his mom down, he had to try—and if he could do that without giving Hawk Moth any more information about the magical world, dragons included, then all the better. “You can, I swear,” Jake insisted. “You just said you’ve fought it before. You can do it again. And you know what it’s like to try to fight off mind control; G would’ve trained you, I know he would’ve. You can’t give up now, yo. You have to keep trying. You can do this!” She turned back to Hawk Moth, and he called again, “Please! I’m sorry about earlier! I’m sorry about everything. Just don’t do this. You know it’s not right!”

Susan ignored him, instead answering Hawk Moth’s question as if they hadn’t let him have his say at all. “My son is foolish, and he is brave.”

“Mom, just stop, okay?”

“He is young, and he is skilled.”

“Don’t tell him everything. You can’t.” If he didn’t think he’d lose against her in a straight up attack, he’d do it. Nino’s magic suit looked more durable than Randy’s and seemed to protect him from a lot; it should protect him from being crushed underfoot or impaled by a stray claw. Trouble was, Susan was still the bigger dragon, and even if she didn’t have as much practice as Jake when it came to being a dragon and moving around, that inexperience hadn’t shown up so far. Besides, she knew way more theory than he did, and if she didn’t have any trouble applying it….

Attacking her now would just make him more vulnerable.

And attacking Hawk Moth was likely to invite a retaliatory attack from her, and he didn’t particularly want that in either form. Randy was not enough back up for that. So where the heck was Danny?

“He makes mistakes, many of them, but he always tries his best to do what is right.”

Jake shifted on his feet. He hadn’t expected a glowing review, exactly, but he hadn’t thought his mom would put it quite like that. He could guess why Hawk Moth might ask—if he’d identified Jake as a protector of the NYC, if not the magical world, then he knew Jake was here to fight him—but he still didn’t know why Susan had answered.

For that matter, he didn’t know why neither of them had just attacked; he was a lot more vulnerable in this form, and Hawk Moth at least had no idea how quickly he could change…unless his mom had already passed on that bit of information.

A subtle movement caught Jake’s eye, and he tracked it in time to see the tips of Nino’s ears slide downwards and disappear through the roof.

Strangely, Susan said nothing about it, even though Jake knew she must have noticed. He turned to get a better view of Hawk Moth, but he didn’t seem to notice, either. He was still staring at Jake. Maybe this hadn’t been a bad plan, after all, even if Nino had gotten who was a suitable distraction completely wrong.

“He also possesses a greater magic than yours,” Susan said quietly, “because the magic you use is borrowed and not your own.”

Hawk Moth scowled and looked back at her. “My magic will be greater than either of you can imagine once I have the Miraculous I seek. Give me Chat Noir’s.”

“Gonna have a hard time with that,” Randy called, drawing everyone’s attention. He was sitting on the edge of the roof now; Jake hadn’t even noticed him climb up. Maybe he’d still been underestimating Randy’s Ninja skills, despite having ample evidence of exactly how good Randy could be. “I mean, you kinda gotta have something to give it in the first place.”

“What?” roared Hawk Moth. He spun back to Dracona, and Jake had to look twice at the cane in his hand to confirm that, yes, it had hidden a sword, and now Hawk Moth had discarded its sheath. “You let him escape?”

“I brought you his ring, as you asked. It’s hardly my fault you didn’t take it when you had the chance.” She tilted her head towards Jake and added, “I’ve also told you about our local hero. Consider our contract fulfilled.”

“The Miraculous is not in my hands!”

“But I did bring it to you,” she repeated, “and—”

Hawk Moth lunged.

Despite how focused he’d been on Susan, he came at Jake. Jake scrambled back and somehow tripped over his own feet. He handed hard on his bottom and breathed a spout of fire in Hawk Moth’s direction to encourage him to keep his distance, but Jake realized a split second later that that hadn’t been necessary. Jake had a brief glimpse of Randy’s scarf wrapping around Hawk Moth’s torso and forcing him to a stop before one of Susan’s wings spread out between them as protection.

“Get his Miraculous!”

Jake turned as he climbed to his feet and saw Nino already back on the roof, racing towards Hawk Moth. Susan dropped her wing, looking like she was preparing to breath her own fire instead, and Jake saw Hawk Moth snarl and twist back towards Randy. He raised his sword and severed the scarf in one quick swipe.

Randy let out a cry as the fabric fell, and Hawk Moth froze even as he turned his blade on Nino.

That’s where Danny was, then.

“It’s his brooch,” Nino explained as he started unravelling the layers of scarf that covered Hawk Moth’s chest. He had to duck around the sword but didn’t seem overly bothered by the inconvenience; Hawk Moth’s arm had frozen mid-swing, partially blocking his chest, and his sword was still held in a tight grip, judging by how it didn’t even tremble. “If we can get it, then we can stop everything right now, and—” He broke off.

Jake didn’t need to walk closer to see what the problem was—even he was sure the Miraculous wasn’t supposed to be glowing that bright green colour—but he reached Nino only a few steps ahead of Randy. On closer inspection, the situation looked worse, with cracks of bright purple spiderwebbing across the entire brooch that grew wider as Jake watched.

“Um. You probably don’t wanna touch that,” Randy said. “It looks like it’s about to explode. Can those things explode?”

“I didn’t think so,” Nino said, but he sounded as confident as he looked—which, when he was chewing on his lip and staring at the brooch instead of reaching for it, told Jake all he needed to know.

Jake felt a hand on his arm, and he turned back to see the familiar face of his mother. “I don’t know if I’m free of him,” she said quietly. “You need to end this now, before—”

Purple light exploded.

Jake stumbled forward, hearing multiple grunts behind him and more than one body hitting the rooftop.

As he hadn’t been looking directly at the Miraculous, he wasn’t blinded like the others undoubtedly were. Still, he was too stunned to react as Hawk Moth’s sword flashed towards Susan, slicing away her necklace—and into her flesh. He heard her scream. He heard himself scream as he scrambled forward to try to catch her.

There was so much blood.

There shouldn’t be this much blood.

Red smoke clouded his vision, but at that point, it didn’t matter; Jake couldn’t see through his tears anyway.

7:53 PM

McFist thought he had a plan. Rotwood claimed that it was more his plan than McFist’s. Haley just had a budding headache and a growing, panicked worry in her chest that wouldn’t go away without more information.

The plan, as it was, wasn’t very good. It required a lot of luck, which in Haley’s experience tended to go sour; a healthy dose of lies, which sounded terribly unbelievable to her ears; and the remaining supply of Ninja Cold Balls, which McFist had picked out with unnerving accuracy. “How long would a pop-up skating rink even last?” Haley asked, interrupting whatever Rotwood and McFist were arguing about.

“Ninja ice lasts longer than regular ice,” McFist said. “Magic. Figured you knew.”

“Right.”

“So we’ll expand on the patch you started. It’ll still be there. We’ll call it a teaser if anyone asks. People like sneak peeks.”

There was absolutely no way this would work.

“Little bit of fashion, little bit of skating. It’ll sell. People eat this stuff up all the time.”

Rotwood sniffed. “And when people call your bluff, I will tell them the real reason for all of this—don’t look at me like that; I respect the deals I make, so of course I do not mean the real real reason. I will insist it is the work of magical creatures and use the fight of the Ninja and the dragon as my proof.”

“At which point I remind people that the best advertising is the viral kind, and people believe me instead of him. Everyone loves a good show.”

There was no nice way to tell them this wouldn’t work, was there? “I’m not sure—”

“You can even come out and pretend to be a ninja if you like. Really sell it. You any good at skating?”

She was better at the violin. “I don’t even have skates.”

McFist shrugged. “No one else will, either. You ever wear an expensive pair of shoes meant for indoors? Those things have no grip. It’ll be fine.”

It wouldn’t be. Not on its own. Maybe she’d get lucky and think of what else they could do to supplement it once they got going, though. Haley glanced at Rotwood. “You’re really okay with your name being dragged through the mud again for making false claims?”

“I will hardly be the only one reporting on this magical creature sighting. Besides, I can always try to prove the existence of the magical world again later. A visit the Magus Bazaar—or whatever you will do for me instead of that—is worth more than an attempt to get people to see the truth when I know you are already working against me.” Rotwood spread his hands. “Think of it as me hedging my bets. I have more chance of success in the future, when you and your brother are not aware of my actions.”

Haley had no idea how Jake put up with Rotwood in school every day. She sincerely hoped Rotwood would find another job by the time she went to Millard Fillmore, at least if he didn’t change his tune. It was hard to admire his perseverance when she knew how much his success would cost the magical world.

Maybe Jake should just try to sit him down and strike a long-term bargain with him. Rotwood might not be so set on exposing the magical world if he finally understood what that exposure would mean. She doubted he’d be happy to consistently work to protect the magical world, but he might agree to keep silent about it—and keep his personal rivals away from it—in exchange for more information. From what Jake had told her, he was working off a lot more fiction than fact.

Heck, if Randy could come up with something better to offer McFist, he might think twice about working with the Sorcerer, too. She was less certain on that front, of course, but McFist seemed to be in it only for his reward. Dealing with a rogue sorcerer technically fell under the purview of the dragons, too, so Randy would be perfectly within his rights to ask for help. It just seemed to her like there might be a better way to do this, since McFist and Rotwood were acting more reasonable than she’d expected.

And a lot more helpful, too.

It was different with Nino. He didn’t know Hawk Moth’s identity, and from what she’d seen and heard, Hawk Moth wasn’t someone that could be easily talked down. He had an agenda, and he’d see it through no matter who got hurt in the process. That made him someone they needed to take down, not someone they might be able to negotiate with.

But if Jake didn’t defeat him now, he’d have to play politics himself to get help to Nino. It would be a lot easier if he didn’t have to go through the Dragon Council to get permission for something like that, if he and the others could just make some agreement and do it all under the table. Gramps might not wholly approve, but he wouldn’t disapprove, not if Jake was doing the right thing, and Fu would be more than willing to help. She could cover for him if he ever had business elsewhere, with Trixie and Spud for backup if they were still around, and—

“I’ll keep these throwing balls in case they come in handy later,” McFist said as he started to pocket everything that wasn’t a Ninja Cold Ball. “You start making the rink, and Rotwood and I will seed rumours.”

“What if this doesn’t work?” Haley asked. “What if no one believes us? What if they see through it?”

McFist jerked his thumb towards Rotwood. “So you’re saying people might believe him? I was getting the impression that he was a bit of a Cassandra type myself.”

“That’s not the worst comparison you could have made,” Rotwood muttered.

“No, but…. What’s our backup plan?”

“What was your backup plan?”

She bit her lip. “I trusted that I’d come up with something that would work if it came to that.”

McFist snorted. “Yeah, well, my backup plan is the simple fact that if you act like you know what’s going on and you’re good at selling it, people will believe you, even if it’s outrageous. I mean, my company cleans up the messes our own robots make, and we’re commended for it. It’s all about having good PR. I may not be good at inventing things to get the results I want, but I am good at handling the public. You follow through on your end of the deal, and I’ll make sure they don’t turn on you.”

7:54 PM

“Randy said he can help,” Danny said as he pulled Jake away from Susan. “Let him. He’ll help your mom. You and I need to catch that akuma. Nino’s going after Hawk Moth. He grabbed one of Randy’s smoke bombs and escaped. We’re lucky it wasn’t one of those bee balls.”

Jake didn’t respond.

He might not even be listening.

He wasn’t fighting in Danny’s grip anymore, not even when Randy bent over Susan and held his hands over her to do some Ninja thing. Jake was just dead weight, conscious but not home, which was not what Danny needed right now. It wasn’t what any of them needed, Susan included.

Danny formed a handful of ice cubes and dumped them down the back of Jake’s shirt.

The reaction was thankfully immediate, with Jake jerking away from him. “Yo, that is not cool, man!”

“Actually, it’s ice cold, which is why I did it.”

Jake turned to glare at Danny, but his anger was short-lived; Danny could see new tears forming in his eyes. He started to turn back to his mom, but Danny caught his arm. “Hey. We need to deal with the akuma. You’re the American Dragon. This is part of that.”

“I don’t care about the stupid akuma.”

“You will if it multiplies and you’re dealing with a whole lotta people who can turn into dragons. Let’s go.”

“Mom—”

“Randy is helping her,” Danny repeated. “Let him. Help from your friends, remember?”

“That’s not—”

“We need to go before we lose the akuma entirely,” Danny interrupted. He was two seconds away from leaving Jake behind and just going to look for it on its own, even if he didn’t know what he’d do if he caught it, but Jake had better night vision than he did.

Jake took a shuddering breath and ground out, “Fine,” before transforming without another word.

Danny flew up to join him in the air, deciding Jake didn’t care about the other details right now. With any luck, Nino would catch Hawk Moth. That would make dealing with the akuma easier. Maybe. They needed something to go their way for once.

Danny knew better than to ask if Jake had spotted it yet, so he just hovered and waited as Jake looked and listened. When he picked a direction and started flying, Danny followed. He didn’t see anything that look remotely like a butterfly, but he trusted Jake.

After about a minute of flying with no butterfly in sight, he started to question that. They weren’t flying that slowly. The butterfly shouldn’t have been this far in front of them. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Danny ventured. “I mean, I can always scout behind us if you’re not.”

“The last one we saw was flying in this direction,” Jake said. “I think it was going for higher ground.”

“This is a city of skyscrapers. Isn’t everywhere higher ground?”

“You know what I mean.”

He didn’t, but Danny didn’t bother pressing the point. There was a more important question to ask. “What makes you think this one is going to the same place the last one was?”

“I…don’t, really. But it makes sense.”

Danny tried to figure out what he could say to that that wouldn’t sound completely insensitive when he knew Jake was preoccupied with worry about his mom. The truth of it was, it didn’t make sense, at least not to Danny, and he really wasn’t keen on the idea of them not splitting up to look for this thing if Jake wasn’t sure.

“I think it’s like those zombie ants.”

Danny blinked. “What?” He couldn’t have heard that right.

“You know. Those zombie ants. That get infected with that fungus. It, like, takes over their mind and makes them go to higher ground to die and then it spreads. This might be like that.”

“Okay, one, how have I never heard about this before if it’s real, and two, pretty sure the magical butterflies aren’t infected with a fungus.”

“I didn’t say they were! Just that it would make sense with the higher ground thing.”

Danny groaned. “I don’t suppose you know if Spud found that thermos?”

“I’m not even sure if he’s looking for it. He’s doing something that he thinks will help.”

“With what?”

“I dunno. Everything, maybe. I trust him. He and Trix have my back.”

It would be a little hypocritical to argue against the whole ‘trust your friends and let them help you’ bit now, but it was hard. Jake might be clutching at straws because it was better to do that than to think about what he’d left behind. Danny really had no idea what Randy could do, but he’d sounded confident, so Danny hadn’t asked.

Maybe he should’ve; it would’ve made this conversation easier to navigate.

“Look, this akuma is as important as Hawk Moth right now. Pretty sure it won’t go away when he drops the mask, so we need to figure out how to contain it. Would Spud and Trixie know of anything that would help? Are they following a hunch?”

Jake didn’t answer.

Perfect.

Danny followed him in silence, debating the merits of breaking off to check any other direction and then deciding that if Nino wasn’t successful in catching Hawk Moth, it wouldn’t be in their best interest to leave Jake alone in this mood.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said when the silence started to stretch. “I know this sucks. I know you’re worried about your mom, and what the Dragon Council is going to do when they find out about this, and—”

“Two o’clock, maybe thirty degrees up,” Jake interrupted, altering his course.

Danny blinked, and in his moment of hesitation, Jake let out a plume of fire that lit up and then completely engulfed a butterfly.

It didn’t immediately incinerate, like Danny had expected. It bubbled, roiling magic boiling across wings that fluttered frantically to stay aloft. When the flame died, all Danny could see was the afterimage seared green and white into his eyes.

“You wanna catch it?”

“It’s still alive?” Danny asked, looking around as his vision started to go back to normal. “I don’t—” He broke off. The white butterfly wings stood out more clearly against the sky than the purple ones had, and he caught the butterfly in his hands with surprisingly little effort—or maybe it just felt that way after everything else.

It was hard to believe he’d been in Amity Park for lunch.

Of course, coming from Amity Park and having the experiences that he did, he wasn’t about to assume that the colour change of the butterfly (or, frankly, its survival) was a fluke. Chances were good Nino could explain what had happened, but Danny just hoped it was a good thing. If they’d just released the magic and now didn’t have something concrete to chase after, he didn’t know how they were going to gather it all back up. Well, maybe Pandora could tweak her box if he borrowed it, but—

“I was trying to kill it,” Jake admitted as Danny stopped to hover across from him. The butterfly’s wings beat against Danny’s closed fingers, but he couldn’t lead the way back to Nino and (hopefully) answers. He’d already gotten turned around, and he wasn’t sure where they were. “I just…. I dunno. I wanted this problem gone. I should’ve known it wouldn’t work. The last one survived, too.”

“What? Really?” Danny hadn’t thought much about the first butterfly, but in retrospect, he supposed it must’ve survived if Nino was right about Hawk Moth recalling it. Maybe this was the same butterfly? He glanced down at his hands. Maybe Jake had had the same thought. He didn’t typically go for straight up destroying stuff, but if the butterflies were the only way Hawk Moth could release his magic….

“Just don’t let go of it,” Jake said, as if Danny had had any intentions otherwise. He flew back faster than they’d flown out, likely because he wasn’t trying to track a butterfly this time, but Danny easily kept pace.

He didn’t try to force a conversation, though. It was obvious enough Jake still wasn’t in the mood to talk, and Danny’s dismal attempts earlier made it clear that he didn’t know what to say.

Hopefully, by the time they got back to Randy, they’d get some good news for a change.

(see more fics | next)

[purplesurveys]

1167

surveys by emptyliketheocean

Brand of cigarettes you smoke? I don’t smoke cigarettes, or at least I never buy my own packs.

Should you be trusted with a person's life? Idk, that’s for them to decide.

How's your life in general? I lost two relatives from Covid this week alone. So, not very dandy. Still in shock. Waiting for it to all finally crash down so I can grieve and mourn properly. Scared of more losses and hoping there aren’t any more to come.

Have you ever put lipstick on anything besides lips? I don’t wear makeup, but when my friends have put some on me in the past there were a couple of times they dabbed lipsticks on my cheeks.

Have you ever picked a fight you knew you would lose? Metaphorically speaking, yeah. I don’t get into physical fights.

What's something you think is crazy about the world? The concept of centibillionaires and the fact that there are multiple ones who exist.

What do you think about religion? I think the only upside to it is how it has helped save lives for some and how it serves as a guide for others to spread good in the world. Like if your religion has given you purpose and strength, that’s great. But ultimately, I’m not a fan and I most definitely don’t think religion is necessary to be a kind person. In fact, I think it works the opposite...most of the homophobes, misogynists, pro-lifers, and sexists I know are from the Christian faith. Cringe.

What about when religion causes violence? Well I definitely have a bone to pick with this lol. The only reason the Philippines is predominantly Catholic today is precisely that when the Spanish arrived, they used violence to forcingly convert Filipinos - who were then living in peace with their own culture, government, and religion system - to Christianity. And now we’re ‘celebrating’ 500 years of Christianity in the country this year, which was always so off to me because why are we celebrating colonization lol????????????? But anyway, yeah, that is another issue I have with religion. I want nothing to do with it.

What color is one of your hats? I have an off-white summer hat but I have literally never used it in public because it’s huge and it’s 100% going to draw attention.

How do you feel? My shoulders are sore and I’m feeling slightly irritated because of them. I’m also starting to get a bit hungry.

Have you ever gotten in trouble for laughing? A few times.

Something that makes you smile: Free food.

What do you think about surveys with lyrics as the title? Surveys with random lyrics usually end up being the ones with interesting questions, so I actually am more likely to check it out.

Do you have any clothes with small holes in them? Maybe one or two.

Do you think the way you live is really okay? I think I am already quite fortunate with what I have considering what others don’t, so it’s definitely been a while since I have complained about anything during this whole Covid situation, living-situation-wise. Even though we’ve lost a few things, like having to sell one of our cars and with my mom being retrenched, we still get by and have a roof over our heads with working water and electricity and a stocked pantry; and I make enough money to hand a portion of it to my parents twice a month and still treat myself with things I want. There is nothing to bitch about.

Do you know anyone other than a cop who has ever owned a cop car? No.

Have you ever felt fire? No, but electricity, yes. I’ve been shocked before but that was also my own fault lol.

Have you ever seen a person light themselves on fire? Jesus no.

Have you ever used crutches when you didn't need them? Yes. I used to horse around with Katreen’s crutches when she injured her legs in 3rd grade, when she wasn’t using them.

If you had 15 beers you would be: Dead.

Are you as bored as I am? No, I’m good.

Why are you taking this survey? I feel like it.

What would you say if a person asked you why your face was so messed up? “How do you want me to react?” Easiest way to shut a person up and passive aggressively tell them to watch what they say.

What would you do if your first love asked you back out? Be very confused and ask why the sudden decision.

What's your home life like? It’s very routine, due to having to stay at home. I work a 9–6 on weekdays, follow that up with dinner, and use a few hours to scroll through social media until it’s time to sleep. Then on weekends I use the free time to recharge by taking surveys and watch videos of whoever and whatever I’m interested in at the moment. Just waiting for all of this to blow over so I can finally do the things I’m meant to be doing.

Do you have a talent that you don't do anything with? I don’t write a lot for myself these days. I do write frequently for work, which is great - press releases, event scripts, all your PR essentials - but I don’t get stimulated enough since everything is written in the same tone. I really should pick up a notebook and pen soon...

Do you know anyone that is a lesbian? Yes. Not that she’s in my life anymore.

What do you think about your mom? I think she tries her best. But I wish she were more emotionally in touch. And that she starts being politically correct.

What do you think about your dad? He’s worked hard and continues to, and I appreciate all his efforts; and I can’t wait to be able to buy him all the things he wants.

Which parent do you respect the most? Who do you think? Hahahaha.

Is there anything someone could lie to you about that you couldn't forgive? I suppose, like cheating.

--

Who do you love unconditionally? My two best friends.

Pick an element. Oooookay? Zirconium.

Have you ever wasted a great amount of time and felt horrible about it? It always feels that way on weekends these days because there’s only so much that can be done while stuck at home because of Covid. But I do try to justify it by telling myself I already work too hard during weekdays so it’s ok to bum around at home and do nothing, because using the time to recharge is still productive. 

What is something that's been said about you that isn't true? My mom has said a lot of hurtful things directed towards me that I internalized for a very long time, but I’ve since gained the strength to no longer let those words get to me.

Who do you want with you when you're scared? Anyone who can be calm while I’m not.

Know any bands that not many people have heard of? Many of the punk bands I listen to are virtually unknown on this side of the planet.

Do you have any advice for people in general? Don’t be racist.

What's something you like to do in the summer? Complain about the heat.

What's something you like to do in the winter? We don’t get winter here, but I’ve always thought I would love snow if I ever saw it, and that I would probably make a lot of snow angels and play snowball fights.

What do you think about marijuana? I don’t have a strong opinion on it as it’s still a very taboo topic where I’m from and I’ve also been lacking on research. I do know people who use it for recreational purposes and I’ve never been against that.

Do you wish anyone death? Just politicians.

Have you ever felt like you weren't getting anywhere with a person? Yes, it felt that way for a long time. I just was too afraid of confrontation to do anything about it.

What do you feel for the person you first fell in love with? Resentment and a whole lot of nothing.

Where are you? I’m in my bedroom.

Are you waiting for something? Hmm, not necessarily.

Who is someone you just think has a hole in their brain? People who still think Covid is a hoax.

A candy you like? Gummy anything.

Does any part of your body hurt at the moment? My shoulders and neck, hence the neck pillow I’ve since put on while taking this.

Explain how you got the last bruise you had. I honestly have no clue. I currently have a big black circle on my right thigh that just suddenly showed up, and I can’t recall a time I must’ve hit it somewhere.

Are you tired? A little bit because I got up as soon as I woke up, but I wanted to maximize my free time this Sunday before another work week starts. Last Friday would be our last non-working holiday in a while and we’re not getting another one until August. :(

Explain how you got a scar you have. A distant cousin hurled a glass jar towards me when I was 3, during a family reunion. He initially went for my eye because I guess he wanted to blind me, but he missed and ended up hitting my eyebrow instead. My mom has since banned him from talking to me ever since, and I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him since the incident.

Have you ever owned anything illegal? Illegal copies of movies I’ve torrented, sure.

What do you dream about? The most random scenarios. I’ll get the occasional nightmare, but those only happen when I’m going through a period of depression.

Do you ever daydream? Not anymore these days.

How do you feel about vegetarians? I don’t really think anything of them. There are days I’ll particularly feel for them because there aren’t a lot of restaurants with good vegetarian options where I live, though.

A fruit you like: Avocado, in very limited options.

Have you ever seen a person eat a bug? Only bugs that were already prepared a certain way and meant to be eaten; but I’ve never seen a person that just picked up a bug off the ground and went straight to chewing. I imagine I would freak out and gag.

Something you worry about too much: How much is in my bank account.

How do you feel about smoking? I hate how the smell clings to your clothes and all your things when you’ve been smoking or when you’ve been around people who smoke. I also wince when people pose with their cigarettes just to look badass and cool; but as someone who’s since picked up vaping as a habit, my once-intense hatred for smoking and smokers has since changed lol.

If you had to move out of state, where would you go? I would move to a big city. Somewhere noisier and with a lot of lights and foot traffic and general activity.

What is your favorite vampire-related movie? The Twilight Saga hahahahahaha

Is there a person you keep coming back to? My best friends, I guess?

If you're listening to music...Give me a lyric from the song you're listening to. I’m not listening to anything.

[tintinwrites]

the beach | Poe Dameron x Reader

A/N: I’m here! Working on some series’!

Rating: T

Warning: Reader’s planet was destroyed? Poe and reader in their underwear?

Word count: 1,659, apparently!!

Summary: You’ve never been to a beach. Poe decides he should change that.

I've never been to a beach.

It was something you had confessed during idle conversation over the comms on a slow mission, your fellow pilots talking about the most beautiful planets they'd visited.

Poe Dameron was entirely shocked by this, his voice an octave higher as he asked how you had never been to a beach. You explained that you had spent your whole life on your green home planet and then joined the Resistance when the First Order practically destroyed everything, and it hadn't occurred to you to travel for anything that wasn't dictated by your general.

This had the other pilots dramatically berating him for bringing it up, and the subject was quickly changed to something that would lighten the mood.

But you were used to the fact that your home had been taken over by the First Order; you pretty much forgot about the conversation.

A couple days later, you were checking on your ship during routine maintenance, nodding to Poe as you saw him working on his own X-wing.

You were looking over the cockpit and acknowledging that the rip in your seat had been repaired when a soft 'hey' was said behind you.

Poe stood there as you turned around, his small smile both gentle and mischievous at the same time. "You doing anything for the next couple hours?"

There was a moment of silence, your gaze going to the ceiling in thought. It was a day where pretty much everyone had nothing to do; no missions, no duties, and everyone was either relaxing or finding little jobs to keep themselves occupied. "I planned on taking a nap, but other than that..."

"Do you trust me?"

"Do I trust you?" The answer was yes. You had only known Poe a few months, but he was your commander and an all around good guy. "I don't know if I should considering you felt the need to ask."

"Do you trust me enough to believe that if we get in a ship together and I fly you somewhere, you would be safe?"

"—of course."

He grinned, walking from the room. You stared at him for a moment and then realized you were supposed to follow him, running out after him.

He took you out to the hangar which was usually filled with a bunch of X-wings and stopped you in front of a different ship that had room in it for two people. He offered you his hand to help you and the suspicious look on your face inside.

You were still looking at him with narrowed eyes as he got in and started to fly the ship.

You only stopped once you were apparently close to your destination twenty or so minutes later, hesitantly obliging to Poe's request for you to close your eyes.

All you were aware of was what you could feel and hear, which was the ship landing and then Poe helping you out of the ship so you wouldn't get hurt.

"Keep 'em closed, keep 'em closed..." He was taking you somewhere ahead.

"The ground isn't solid!" It was warm and shifting beneath your feet, and you were holding onto his hand tightly so you wouldn't topple over.

"You're fine. Trust me."

"I'm starting to think I shouldn't."

He released your hand and you held your arms out to keep your balance, jumping when you felt him holding onto your shoulders. "Open up."

Now you were hesitating to open your eyes, but maybe you wouldn't fall if you could see your surroundings. You could hear what sounded like very loud splashing as well and you were very curious as to what it was.

The first thing you saw was water, blue water crashing against land and stretching so far the other way that it blended with the orange sky. You looked down and toed the pink sand beneath your boots, marveling at the way it gave in.

"This is the beach."

"The...beach." This knowledge, combined with the beauty of the place and the intoxicating smell of the air, quickly brought tears to your eyes.

He had taken you to a planet with a beach.

And it was beautiful, and wonderful, and you never thought to go places simply to experience them, and you never thought you would get to.

"I mean, a beach. There are a lot of planets with—" Poe got the breath knocked out of him when you suddenly turned and launched into his arms, pressing your face against his chest.

"Thank you," you said softly with your tears obvious in your voice.

He slowly wrapped his arms around you. "Everyone should visit the beach at some point. This one is my absolute favorite."

"I wish I had seen it sooner. There's so much I haven't seen."

"I know, kid. I could show you all of it if you wanted me to."

You held him tighter in response and the two of you stood there in silence for a couple moments.

"You wanna go swim?" His question had you tilting your head back to look up at him.

"I don't know how. And I don't have anything to swim in."

"Of course you do."

"I do?"

He stepped away and immediately started to take his clothes off, and you were too shocked to turn around as he asked, "You're wearing something under your clothes, aren't you?"

"My underwear?!"

"Why not?" He shrugged as he stripped down to his own underwear. "There's no one here."

You opened your mouth to argue, but paused. You two were the only ones on the beach and you trusted Poe enough to know he wouldn't do anything that you didn't want.

You both wore underwear that was pretty covering anyway. He wore tight, black boxers that left enough to the imagination for you to be both comfortable and curious.

Beneath your own clothes, you wore black shorts and a matching bra that was truly made to keep you in place, and therefore wouldn't give anyone a glimpse of even a centimeter of your cleavage.

You started to take off your boots.

"I won't perv on you at all. You have my word." He put his hands on his hips, looking around instead of staring at you while you undressed.

"I still don't know how to swim."

"You have me to keep you safe."

"That's true." You liked the thought of Poe keeping you safe for some reason.

Your arms moved to shield what skin your underwear did show once you were out of your clothes, and you followed Poe to the water's edge.

It was a little bit cold. You laughed in amazement as the end of a wave rolled over your ankles and then started retreating away from the shore.

You were too busy experiencing every inch of water that you went deeper into to notice that Poe kept smiling at you.

He was pretty sure you deserved to see every beach in the galaxy.

The water was up to your waist and you did finally look at him with a big smile of your own, small waves lapping at you and trying to knock you off your feet.

Neither of you noticed the big wave coming until it hit you, achieving the goal of the smaller waves and bringing your feet out from under you, pulling you beneath the surface easily. You panicked almost immediately, thrashing your arms in your body's attempt to swim even though you didn't know how.

Two hands found yours and gripped them tightly, pulling you above the surface again. You gasped desperately for much needed air, your hands moving up the other person's arms until you grabbed their shoulders and could draw yourself to their chest, clinging to them tensely.

"I want to get out now, Poe! I want to get out now. Can we get out? Please, I'm not ready for something like this..."

"Shh, shh. You're fine." He stroked your hair. "Come here."

He held onto the thighs that were wrapped around his waist, carrying you further into the water. He practically rocked you in his arms as he let calmer waves wash over you, until your trembling stopped and you were relaxing against him. "I told you I would keep you safe, didn't I?"

"Why are you being so nice?"

"You deserve to see the beach, and you deserve to have a good time."

You calmed down considerably, but weren't keen on letting go of Poe anytime soon. He didn't seem to care at all, holding onto you and moving you through the water to let you enjoy it.

He carried you close to the shore, letting you down when you said you were ready to walk from there.

The serene mood that covered the two of you lifted enough for you to run along the sand where the tide came in, splashing each other happily.

But you discovered the beach was quicker to exhaust you than any mission you'd been on, and Poe fell into the sand as you laid down, both of you panting and grinning.

"Thank you." Your hand slid over his and you intertwined your fingers. "This means so much to me."

"I know. I usually come here by myself, but I've never had this much fun before."

You rolled onto your side and looked at him as he stared back, then leaned forward to kiss his cheek. He was most definitely turning his head to turn it into a real kiss and while part of you wanted that, you didn't want to give it to him so easily after one trip.

You stood up swiftly and grinned down at his confused look, running over to the water even though you would much rather have had a nap.

Poe watched you with a dreamy smile as you knelt down to experimentally gather wet sand into a pile.

He would definitely be taking you a million other places you'd never been.

[ranissupercool]

Bitch

Fandom: Danganronpa Characters: Mikan Tsumiki, Hiyoko Saionji Relationships: Hiyomikan Rating: Teen and up Word Count: 2,346 Summary: Hiyoko is Hiyoko, and Mikan is happy with that.

Some fluff I wrote while drunk. The Hiyoko/Mikan can be taken romantically or platonically, but it's portrayed as a friendship in this fic

Read on Ao3!

“Give me one half-decent reason why I shouldn’t stomp you six feet into the ground right now, you sneaky little rotten pig bitch.”

“B-B-Because I’m s-sorry…?”

Yeah… Hiyoko was mad. Understandably mad, but also scarily mad. This wasn’t what Mikan had been going for.

“A ‘sorry’ isn’t gonna cut it for secretly drugging me, idiot!”

“E-Eek… B-But you keep telling me to f-fight fire with fire, a-and you drugged the whole class that one time…”

“I… Okay yeah, I did do that,” Hiyoko muttered, unable to refute Mikan’s reasoning. “B-But inviting me over just to drug me with aphrodisiac is super shady and totally makes you look like a creep. I was just doing it to be funny!”

Mikan sighed. She really couldn’t win with this girl, could she? Not that she was exactly wrong, either…

“Hmph… You really are useless. I tell you to stand up for yourself and this is the thanks I get?” To be fair, Hiyoko was one of her bullies too. She knew that damn well, Mikan was certain.

Still, all she could bring herself to do was poke meekly her fingers together and apologize. She knew Hiyoko hated when she did that, but what else could she do?

“Ugh, whatever. At least I still have more self-control than you did when you got drugged. Heh, you remember that? How you were seriously about to use Peko’s sword as a--”

“I-I remember! I remember, s-so you don’t have to s-say it… Ugh… B-Besides, I-I used a low dosage…”

Still, despite Hiyoko trying to act like it was nothing, Mikan could clearly see that it was taking effect. Her face was flushed, she kept trying to fan herself… and she kept strangely shifting and rubbing her legs against each other. Seeing Hiyoko in such a state was rather odd… Should Mikan feel bad? She knew Hiyoko wouldn’t, were she in Mikan’s position, but--

“Geez, whatever. A-And stop staring,” Hiyoko huffed. Ah, Mikan had been caught… “It makes me think maybe you did do this to perv on me. Damn lolicon…”

“A-Ah, I r-really didn’t… S-- Sorry. I, um… To make it up to you, what do you want me to do? Strip? Or you could draw something on me… O-Or I guess hit me, if you really wanted…” It wasn’t as if Mikan necessarily wanted her to do any of those things, but if it made Hiyoko less mad… Gah, and here she was trying to get back at Hiyoko for once. Yet, now she was only submitting again, wasn’t she?

“Ugh, none of that, you weirdo masochist! Why do I even bother with someone like you…”

“Th-That’s what I’d like to know…”

Ah. Crap. Hiyoko was giving her a rather dirty look now. Was that bad to say? It was the truth, but--

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about! You’re so pathetic it drives me nuts! How the hell are you expecting to survive after high school like that?”

“E-Eep…”

“Ugh… Whatever.” Hiyoko, already seeming exasperated with Mikan, let out another huffy sigh. “I guess I can at least give you credit for trying… even if I totally want to twist you up right now.”

“I-Into a crybaby pretzel!?”

“Hey, you remember! Guess you have more than half a brain cell in that dumb head of yours after all!”

“O-Oh, um… I-I try…” Mikan couldn’t help blushing lightly, even knowing that wasn’t at all a compliment. “B-By the way, are you… feeling okay? If you want, y-you can go back to your room and… y’know... I-It might make you feel better…”

“What? Are you seriously suggesting I do something so gross!?”

“I-It’s not really that gross! I-It’s… healthy…”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“...W-Well actually, as the Super High School Level Health Committee Member… Y-Yes…”

Hiyoko rolled her eyes and flopped onto Mikan’s bed, startling her and causing her to instinctively back off to the furthest corner of said bed. “Whateverrr. I’m not doing that. You asked what you can do to make up for this, right? Keep me company and distract me ‘til it wears off.”

“Huh? Y-You want me to… talk to you?”

“Well yeah, no way I’m going to anyone else like this! Unless you’d rather I distract myself by twisting you up…”

“Eep! N-No, talking is fine! I-I just… ah, I usually memorize conversation topics for these kinds of situations, but I always get nervous and forget them…”

“God, you’re such a nerd. Maybe I should just sleep this off instead, so I don’t have to listen to your whining…”

“A-Ah, no, I… u-uh…” Mikan stuttered helplessly, racking her brain for something to talk about that Hiyoko might find remotely interesting. Unfortunately, it took her too long, Hiyoko having somehow already fallen asleep before she could think of anything to say. That aphrodisiac really mustn’t’ve bothered her very much, even despite the earlier signs…

...As anxious as Mikan may have been about being a boring host, maybe this was for the best. Hiyoko was a lot less scary when she was sleeping. In fact, if anything, she was kind of cute…

Was that creepy? That was totally creepy, wasn’t it? Mikan let out a helpless little whine for no one to hear, laying on the bed next to Hiyoko-- softly, so as not to wake her. Hiyoko was a bit of a light sleeper, and she did not like getting abruptly woken.

What was she supposed to do while Hiyoko was sleeping, though? She couldn’t just leave her there, alone. That would be rude and also dangerous, considering the mischief Hiyoko would surely get up to if left by herself to root through Mikan’s things. Maybe she could read a book…

That thought was cut short when Hiyoko began lightly clutching onto Mikan’s arm, muttering something incomprehensible. Well, now she was trapped…

...Hiyoko’s body sure was warm. And honestly, the clinging wasn’t too uncomfortable. Hard to believe this girl was capable of inflicting so much pain onto someone.

But, hey. She wasn’t all bad. Although her methods were unorthodox, she did try to inspire confidence in Mikan. While she didn’t get it at first, now that she understood, she really had to appreciate the rude, harsh girl now sleeping peacefully next to her.

She wouldn’t have dared try and drug her, otherwise.

“Wha-- You fell again !? God, you’re useless!”

“I-I’m sorry…! I’m r-really trying my best…”

“Like hell you are! Geez, I should’ve just let you clean the classroom by yourself and left with Mahiru, but no, she insisted I stay here and help… You better be grateful to her. If it weren’t for Mahiru being so generous and nice, there’s no way I’d cut a stupid bitch like you any slack.”

“Y-You’re not even helping anyways… You’re just watching…”

A pretty normal day, with Hiyoko acting the same as always. Not only that, but Mikan was forced into cleaning duty with her…

Well, ‘forced’ may have indeed been the case, but she didn’t mind. She’d been gradually getting used to Hiyoko over the past couple of years, amazed that the other hadn’t gotten bored of her by this point. Surely, she thought, if Hiyoko hadn’t gotten bored of bullying her, that meant she had to care in some way.

Er, maybe. It was, admittedly, hard to tell with her. Still, the attention was nice, and Hiyoko honestly didn’t do anything too horrible or gross, despite her insults and her threats. She may have been scary, but Mikan still preferred being with her over many of the people in their class.

She was… comfortable with how things were between them.

“And?” Hiyoko sneered. “Did you actually think I was gonna help? That isn’t stupid; that’s just delusional.”

“A-Ah… I guess you’re right…” Mikan sighed, resigned as always, and pushed herself off of the floor before picking up her fallen broom. “But, I mean… i-if you really don’t wanna be here, there’s no one to force you to stay… s-since Mahiru and Miss Yukizome left a while ago.”

“...Geez… Even when we’re alone…”

“H-Hm? I-I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that…?”

Hiyoko narrowed her eyes at Mikan, causing her to let out a small squeak and mutter another apology. “That. That’s exactly it. Even when it’s just the two of us, you don’t do anything . Are you some kind of masochist? Is that why you let everyone walk all over you?”

“Wh-What?” This was… new. Not exactly the questions being asked of her, but the tone Hiyoko took… “U-Um, no…?”

“Then why!? No matter what I do, you complain but still let it happen. It’s ridiculous!”

“You… m-make it sound like you want me to fight back…”

“No shit. You couldn’t even tell that much? Talk about pathetic…” Hiyoko scoffed, but Mikan still didn’t quite understand what was happening, so she could only stare quietly at Hiyoko. “...God, you really had no idea. You’re so… geh.”

“Geh?”

”You’re so disgustingly pathetic it grosses me out to watch. People feel bad for you, sure, but with the way you act, they’re still too weirded out to get close to you. There’s no way you haven’t noticed that, right?”

“That’s… j-just because I’m not very likeable, right? That’s the only--”

“It’s totally on purpose! I just don’t get why… All I do know is that if you were in my position, you’d be long dead by now.”

Mikan… didn’t know what Hiyoko meant by that. She sounded incredibly serious, though. “W-Well… I’m going to be honest in that I don’t… fully understand what you’re getting at. But if you want to know the reason I let people be mean to me, i-it’s probably just because I am that pathetic. I’m n-not any good at defending my--”

“I know damn well you can defend yourself. Maybe not against everyone, but me? You totally can; you just don’t. I’ve never even seen you try to stand up for yourself against anyone before. What, have you just… given up? Is that it?”

“I g-guess that’s not exactly wrong… Um… Trying to stand up for myself has never really done me any good before. So… I don’t. B-Besides, if I did, you might…”

“What? What could I do to you that could possibly be worse than what I already do?”

Mikan wasn’t sure how this would go over with Hiyoko, but she also wasn’t sure if she would ever get to see Hiyoko being so upfront with her again, so she might as well admit it. “...I-If I deter you from being mean to me, you might get bored and start ignoring me…”

“Seriously? Isn’t that still ten times better than getting insulted and hit and stuff all the time?”

“I-I don’t really think so…”

“...I think I’m starting to see why I haven’t been able to provoke you into fighting back so far…”

Was… that really what Hiyoko had been doing? This whole time? No, it definitely wasn’t that at first… but… maybe over time, Hiyoko had grown to be concerned for her? Mikan really wanted to know, but she couldn’t be sure without asking Hiyoko herself. “Um, do you… maybe… not… hate me?”

Hiyoko stared at Mikan for some time, perhaps trying to read Mikan the same way she was trying to understand Hiyoko.

Then, she sighed. “You really are an idiot.”

“Nrgh… Mikan…”

Mikan slowly opened her eyes. Right, she was still in her room, in bed, with…

“ Mikan! ”

A tiny hand roughly pushed against one of her boobs, and she realized her position had changed since she last remembered. She was hugging Hiyoko to her chest, arms and legs practically clinging to the girl… When did that happen?

Hell, what time was it?

“S-- Sorry…” She let go of Hiyoko, who immediately sat up.

“Jesus, what was that supposed to be? Were you trying to suffocate me or something!?”

“Wh-What? No, I…” Mikan sat up herself, glancing to the digital clock by her bed. 8 PM… it had been a few hours since Hiyoko went to sleep, so that must have meant… “I-I think I fell asleep after you did. Whoops…”

“Geez… Weirdo.”

“A-Anyways, how do you feel? Did the aphrodisiac wear off?”

“Must’ve. I’m not feeling anything.”

“Ah, that’s good…”

“Good? I don’t think you quite get the point of getting me back with the drug… Whatever. It’s a start, I guess.”

Mikan perked up a bit, leaning slightly closer to Hiyoko. “A start? Um… D-Does that mean I did something good?”

“Geez, you’re not supposed to expect praise from your bullies! Anyone else would get mad!”

“E-Eh? But… You did earlier, but you don’t seem very mad now. You were so good at acting like you hated me for two years… Why not right now?”

“Well… b-because clearly, you don’t learn anything unless I tell you when you’ve done something right. So… good job… I guess.“

Mikan couldn’t help it. She smiled-- giggled, even-- but her eyes also watered and watered ‘til they spilled over with tears. She was happy, yet--

“Wh-What the-- You still can’t take one nice thing being said to you without crying!?”

“S-Sorry, I can’t help it… I told you before that--”

“I know, I know… Trust me, Mikan, we’ve both had shitty pasts. And… I get it, sorta. But if you panic or cry whenever someone’s nice to you, you’re gonna scare them off. So, uh… work on that.”

“I-I’ll try.”

“Good. Also, stop apologizing for everything. It’s annoying.”

“C-Can’t make any promises on that one…”

“Huh? Did some useless pig just try to talk back to me? Did you forget who’s in charge here? Just because I’m trying to help you out here doesn’t mean I’m not totally willing to twist you up into a dumb little crybaby pretzel.”

Oddly… that just made Mikan laugh. “I’m not a useless pig… Hiyoko, you bitch.”

“Hey, that’s my word. Next assignment is to think of an insult without plagiarizing me. Bitch.”

“No… I think I’m still going to call you a bitch. Bitch.”

Hiyoko snorted. “...Maybe you are getting better at this.”

[phoenix-downer]

The Keyblade Graveyard Part 2: Japanese and English Comparison

This is the sixth in a series of translation and analysis posts I’ve done about KH3. I’ll go into detail on camera angles and camera shots, draw connections to past KH games, and, of course, talk about translation and the social aspects of language.

I’ve broken up this analysis into multiple parts because it was getting so long. The first part covered Aqua and Ven’s interactions with Terranort, and this part is about when he attacks Kairi and Lea. There will be seven parts total.

Here’s a general key for the kind of analysis I like to do:

JP: Official Japanese Dialogue

EN: Official English Dialogue

TR: My Translation (usually more literal and thus more stilted than the official English version. I’m not using natural-sounding English in order to stick as close to the Japanese versions of the lines as possible for the purpose of analysis)

Notes: things I found interesting, grammatical points, extra thoughts, etc.

One last note: media doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Every work of art must be viewed through the cultural lens of the people who made it. Kingdom Hearts, for all its ties to Disney, is still very much a Japanese game, so it should be analyzed in light of that.

With that in mind, let’s continue.

We left off with Aqua screaming Ven’s name in a panic:

The next shot is at a tilted angle again to show how “off” everything is about what’s happening, and Sora is the one who attacks. Goes to show how protective Sora is of Ven, which is a nice character touch:

JP おまえ！

EN That’s it!

TR Why you!

Notes: Sora uses the derogatory second person pronoun omae here to refer to Terranort. His tone is forecful, too, to indicate he is not happy about what Terranort has done.

He summons his Keyblade and charges:

And the camera changes to Terranort’s perspective. This has the added effect of making it seem as if Sora is charging at us, the audience:

Only for Terranort to stop him with the power of darkness:

He grunts and struggles as he tries to free his Keyblade. Note his clenched teeth, too:

We get this bird’s eye view shot as Sora continues to struggle and Terranort holds him in place almost effortlessly. Note how he only needs to use one hand to do it, whereas Sora is using both hands to try to free his Keyblade:

The camera pans over Terranort, and the Xehanort look is on full display in this shot before he blasts Sora backwards. Note again how the camera is at a tilted angle to add to the unease of the scene:

Much like when Ven was sent flying, the camera cuts to a rear perspective as Sora flies backwards. Note again the tilted angle and how the camera seems to be on the ground. Sora cries out both when Terra first blasts him with darkness…

…and again when he lands on his back on the ground. His Keyblade falls with a loud clank as well:

Note how his knee is bent here:

This will form a nice sense of continuity later on in the scene.

Terranort, content that Sora is out of the picture, turns around and sets his sights on Kairi, the camera panning with him:

The camera cuts to a shot from Kairi’s perspective of Terranort charging at her, and by extension, the audience. Note the tilted angle again:

Then we get a medium shot of Kairi bracing herself for the attack. Note her defensive stance as she gasps…

…only for Lea to jump in front of her in the nick of time:

This is especially touching considering how he kidnapped her in KH2; it goes to show how much their relationship has changed since then. He was her kidnapper before, and now he is protecting her with his life. His redemption has come full circle.

The angle is tilted again, and the characters are viewed from behind in a wide shot to better show the action. Lea has his Keyblade out..

…but it’s not enough. Terranort is simply too strong. He throws Lea back like he weighs nothing, causing Lea to cry out…

…and the camera tracks Lea’s movement pretty steadily:

Lea hits a boulder (ouch!)…

…before hitting another boulder, and the camera bounces and shakes as he does to give an idea of how hard he was knocked into those boulders, so much so that it affected the environment:

The camera cuts to a medium shot of Kairi, and much like how Ven’s loss was framed in terms of Aqua’s reaction earlier, the scene frames Lea’s loss in terms of Kairi’s concern, Kairi’s fear and sorrow and worry. She calls out his name, sounding very distressed:

JP アクセル！

EN Axel!

TR Axel!

Notes: She uses the name Axel instead of Lea, just like he told her to. Another detail showing how close they’ve become.

Her concern is for his safety and wellbeing…

…until something, well, someone else demands her attention:

And her mouth drops open and she raises her in surprise:

We cut to a shot of Terranort with his Keyblade raised high over his head, and Kairi gasps as the camera tilts upward. Note the low angle that makes him look as if he is towering over her. The rapidity of the cut also suggests how quickly he moves:

Something else I noticed is that he is attacking her differently than he attacked both Ven and Lea before. Those attacks were sideswipes that caught them in the chest and sent them flying. This attack is meant to land on her skull and make her crumple to the ground. Terranort is certainly strong enough that such a blow could kill her on the spot.

And while I’ve seen people wonder why she didn’t use her Keyblade, in her defense, she just saw how useless both Sora and Lea’s Keyblades were against Terranort! She is a much less experienced fighter than they are; she knows that if they don’t stand a chance against him, she doesn’t, either. Plus, she’s still in shock from seeing Lea, her friend, her confidant, her fellow student, just get flung to the side like he was nothing. Her freezing up like this is understandable, especially considering how quickly Terranort moves.

Thankfully, Sora has recovered enough to sit up. Note how his left knee is still bent like it was when he was knocked down:

He sees what is happening…

…and moves to do something about it without hesitation:

Notice how the camera focuses on his entire body in a full shot to better underscore him springing into action.

His pose in the following screenshot is not unlike that of a runner getting ready to start a race. He’s preparing to push off the ground with both his hand and his right foot to give him as much momentum as possible:

He knows he has a limited window to reach Kairi, and timing is everything. He’s preparing to run as fast as he can as he pushes off:

The camera briefly goes into slow motion here as we see him running towards Terranort and Kairi with his arm outstretched:

The framing in this shot is really interesting, too; we get a full body shot of Sora running towards the camera, with Terranort on the left side and Kairi on the right side looking up at him to really highlight the size/strength differences between the two of them:

Note the camera angle is still tilted slightly to give that sense of unease:

Then the camera changes to a full shot of Mickey and Riku reacting. For once the camera is not tilted, perhaps to indicate how Mickey is trying to break through the chaos here:

JP ダメだ　ソラ！

EN No! Sora!

TR It’s no use, Sora! OR Don’t do it, Sora!

Notes: In the Japanese version, Mickey uses the word dame, which can mean a variety of things, depending on context. Here it most likely means Mickey is trying to express a prohibition against Sora doing something, or he is warning of the futility of the act.

In the English version, Mickey tells Sora no, showing his concern for Sora’s safety, but the unfortunate side effect is that he sounds like he doesn’t care about Kairi. Perhaps it was intended to be an “oh no Sora, not you too!” kind of a thing, but unfortunately it does not come across that way.

I’ve thought about this at length, and I think adding Kairi’s name would’ve fixed the issue, because it would’ve made it clear Mickey was expressing concern for both her safety as well as Sora’s. Instead it kind of seems like he only cares about Sora here, even if that wasn’t the intent.

Just my two cents. Anyway, back to proper analysis.

Donald and Goofy, bless them, spring into action and race to get there in time in a blur of motion…

…as Mickey and Riku reach towards Sora:

The camera then cuts to Kairi. We’re shown a shot from Terranort’s POV, and the high angle emphasizes her vulnerability. Note the fear on her face as well. She’s exhibiting signs of shock here, much like Aqua and Ven did earlier:

Till suddenly, out of left field (literally), Sora intervenes:

He’s just a blur of motion compared to Kairi’s relatively stable form:

Notice how she staggers backwards a little under the impact of his weight as he throws his arms around her:

Then he buries his face in her shoulder and clings to her. He knows he might die, he knows at the very least he’ll get seriously injured. After all, he’s about to take the blow that Terranort means for her. But he doesn’t care, so long as he gets to die holding her:

I’ve seen him get criticized for not using his Keyblade here, but the thing is… he tried. Lea tried. It didn’t work. And magic for Keyblade wielders at least seems to be tied to wielding the Keyblade or some sort of weapon, so that probably wasn’t an option, either. All he had left, all he could do to keep Kairi safe, was shield her with his body. Which he does:

This is a Sora so terrified of losing her that he regresses to a scared child clinging to her for dear life. That’s all he can do, hold her as he awaits the inevitable. He’s acting on instinct here more than anything, and his instinct is to latch onto the closest source of comfort in his final moments.

You can see how wide her eyes are here, indicating her shock and surprise that he’s really here. Note how her arms are sort of hanging in the air because she’s not entirely sure what to do with them yet:

This hug is very similar to similar hugs they’ve shared in the past, so let’s talk about the parallels.

In KH1, Kairi was the one who hugged Sora to protect him from the Heartless. Note how she closes her eyes as she does:

And note how similarly her body is positioned to Sora’s in KH3. They both wrap their arms around the other person’s neck/shoulders and lean over the hug-ee’s shoulder because of height differences:

Then, of course, Sora hugged her back and thanked her once he was human again:

For the KH1 hug, we only got to see Kairi’s reaction…

…until KHUx released a medal that showed Sora’s face during the hug:

In the KH3 hug, we likewise don’t see Sora’s face up close in the game itself. The next post will talk more about some of the shots we do see of his reactions during this part, but they’re from a further distance to show the rest of the action going on in the meantime.

Now, on to their reunion hug in KH2. The element of surprise comes to the forefront here. Sora, filled with guilt at not keeping his promise to return to Kairi, begins to apologize when she suddenly hugs him:

Note how similar his reaction is to Kairi’s at getting suddenly hugged in KH3:

The visual parallels immediately come to the forefront - both of them have their eyes wide in shock, right hand held out because Sora doesn’t know what to do with his yet in KH2 and Kairi doesn’t know what to do with hers yet in KH3. This parallel serves as a callback to KH2, to remind the audience of what happened then, only this time the roles are switched. This time Sora is the one hugging her.

Then, after Kairi says to herself, “This is real…”

…and closes her eyes like she did for their KH1 hug…

…Sora gives her a look of compassion…

…and likewise closes his eyes as hugs her back:

The KH3 hug, in just a few moments, manages to remind the audience of their previous hugs and in doing so adds greater emotional weight to the scene:

Sora is acting like he’s doomed here, much like Kairi thought she was in trouble when she protected him in KH1. But is he really? Find out in the next post about Donald and Goofy’s epic counterattack!

To be continued…

[queenofcats17]

Shawn And His Inky Son 2

@bornoffireandwisdom asked for another story involving Grant and Shawn and I am happy to deliver. I’ve decided to make it a continuation of Shawn And His Inky Son, since it deals with Grant and Shawn again.

------------------------------------------------------

As happy as Shawn was to have Grant with him, surviving in the studio was still hard. Scavenging for food was difficult, especially with the roaming bands of Searchers. Grant could protect Shawn when there were just a few Searchers, but large groups tended to overwhelm his own will with the Searcher hivemind. It might have been easier if Shawn had just left him in the office. Shawn wasn’t going to leave him alone, though. Grant got sad and panicky when he was alone for too long, always worried that something had happened to Shawn. It made them both feel better to be together. 

Although, Shawn’s steadfast determination to keep Grant with him...Often ended up putting him in danger. Just as it had this day.

Shawn was getting ready to go on another supply run. He’d just about run out of bacon soup, which was pretty much the only thing in the studio to eat.

“Alright, ready for another adventure?” He asked, slipping on his bag and picking up the pipe he most often used as a weapon. Grant immediately perked up, rising out of the puddle he’d been in. 

“Whe...re?” He trailed after Shawn to the elevator. 

“Probably just the Heavenly Toys area or level P,” Shawn said. “Wouldn’t want to run into Alice or Drew.” He spat their names as though they were poison.

“Bad...” Grant agreed, screwing his face up. Joey’s name didn’t draw up good memories for him. Joey didn’t draw up good memories for anyone, really. And Alice was just mean. 

“Exactly.” Shawn nodded, pressing the button for Level K. In addition to looking for bacon soup, he also wanted to collect a few of his unfinished plushes. It got boring sitting in that office all day. He needed something to occupy his time. Grant was more than happy to just chew on a bone or a shoe, so he didn’t need all that much entertainment. 

The elevator began to lurch upwards with a sickening creak, which made Shawn tense. Shawn hated using the elevator. Tom had been right about it being unreliable. Even when the studio had been working, the elevator had always had mechanical issues. And now that the mechanics had been turned into ink creatures...Well, the elevator wasn’t really getting any maintenance anymore. 

But the elevator was enclosed and much safer than just trudging up the stairs, where they could encounter rogue Searchers or Butcher Gang clones. It was easier to haul big things in the elevator as well. Besides, it wasn’t like Grant could use stairs. If Shawn wanted to keep Grant with him, he had to use the elevator. And he did want to keep Grant with him.

Suddenly, the speakers in the elevator crackled to life, and to Shawn’s horror, a familiar voice spoke through them. 

“Well well well, hello, Mr. Flynn. I’m surprised to see you out of your little hidey-hole.”

“I’m not in the mood, Alice,” Shawn growled. He knew better than to call her Susie. Doing that would result in a meltdown of epic proportions from her.

“Oh, but I think you are,” she purred. The elevator shrieked to a stop. She’d been kind enough to stop them between floors, so there was no danger of them getting attacked. But she still had a captive audience. Grant squeaked, hugging Shawn’s leg.

“Sca...ry...” He whimpered.

“It’s okay,” Shawn whispered. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Aaaw. You’re talking to it like it’s still a person,” Alice cooed, her voice cloying sweet. “That’s cute.”

“He is still a person,” Shawn snapped. 

“Are you sure?” Alice asked innocently. “Are you absolutely certain that the creature beside you is still Grant Cohen?”

“Of course, I am.” Shawn instinctively pulled Grant closer. Grant let out another whimper. He didn’t like the tone in Alice’s voice. 

“And what makes you so sure exactly?” Alice asked. “That it can mimic speech? That it ‘knows’ your name?”

“I’m serious, Alice. I’m not in the mood.” Shawn felt his heartbeat beginning to speed up. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want Alice to give voice to all the fears that lurked in the back of his mind. 

“Grant Cohen is dead, Mr. Flynn,” Alice continued with malicious glee. “I imagine you watched him die, didn’t you?”

“Stop it!”

“That thing next to you is nothing but a sentient pile of ink. Maybe a reanimated corpse if I’m being generous. Certainly not Grant Cohen, though. Not anymore.”

“Stop talking!” Shawn roared, covering his ears. 

Grant pressed closer to Shawn, starting to get concerned. Why was Shawn getting so upset? What was Alice saying? He could hear her voice, but her words were indistinct and muffled. She had such a lovely voice, but it sounded...cruel.

“It’s hardly healthy to be galavanting around with a corpse, Mr. Flynn,” Alice cooed. “Especially when you’re pretending it’s still the person you know. They make horror moves about that sort of thing.”

“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up!” Shawn screamed. Grant whimpered, hugging Shawn’s leg. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like seeing Shawn so upset.  

“It might even be Joey stringing you along. Have you considered that?” Alice asked. “He controls all the ink, after all. He could just be luring you into a false sense of security so that it will be even more wonderful for him when he finally destroys you.”

Unfortunately for Alice, this didn’t have the effect she’d hoped. Instead of yelling or blowing up, Shawn slowly lowered his hands and smirked at the camera she was watching through. 

“It’s been months,” He snorted derisively. “Joey’s impulse control isn’t that good.” The thought had crossed his mind before, that this was just Joey stringing him along. But there was no way Joey would wait this long. If it really was Joey puppeting Grant, he would have pounced far sooner. Delayed gratification wasn’t something that Joey was at all a fan of. He’d been a nightmare to work for, certainly, unable to wait for anything. 

Alice was silent because she knew Shawn was right. Joey would never have waited this long. Perhaps that hadn’t been the best path to take. She’d been doing so well. Suggesting Joey’s involvement had been a misstep. 

“Maybe I was wrong about that,” she finally said, her voice soft as silk. “But I’m right about the rest. That thing is not Grant Cohen. Grant Cohen is dead. You can play house with it for as long as you like, but eventually, it’s going to end up killing you.”

“He’s not going to kill me.” Shawn narrowed his eyes at her, but she could tell she’d hit a nerve by the way his jaw clenched. 

“Maybe it’s fine now, but as soon as you run into more Searchers, it’ll turn on you,” Alice hummed. “Joey’s little hivemind is rather strong, after all. Your pet doesn’t stand a chance against it.”

The speakers crackled off and the elevator began to move once more. Shawn muttered some insult under his breath. 

“Ok...ay...?” Grant asked, tugging at Shawn’s pant leg. 

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” Shawn patted his head. He would have preferred not to have that confrontation with Alice, but he could deal with it. It wasn’t like she could actually do anything to him. They all knew she didn’t leave her level. All she could do was play mind games. 

“Alright, here we are,” he said as the elevator reached level K. Grant made a happy noise, oozing out. That happy noise trailed off as he noticed the stairs leading up to the Heavenly Toys area. 

“Oh shoot.” Shawn grimaced. “Sorry, forgot about those stairs.” 

Internally, he was beating himself up. How had he forgotten about the stairs?! He’d worked here for years! He’d have to leave Grant to get the soup and plushes from his workshop. If he left Grant, he’d be unprotected. But Grant would also be unprotected and susceptible to being dragged into Joey’s hive mind. He could try carrying Grant, but that would occupy both his hands and leave him unable to defend himself. There was also the possibility of the ink soaking through his shirt sleeves or getting on his bare forearms. He had to leave Grant there.

Grant whined, clinging to Shawn’s leg. He knew Shawn would likely go off on his own. It was dangerous for Shawn to be alone. He could get attacked when he was alone. Grant needed to be with him to protect him. 

“I’ll only be a bit,” Shawn tried to reassure him. 

“Not..sa..fe...” Grant said. 

“I know. But I’ll be quick.” Shawn crouched down so he was eye level with Grant, patting his head with a gloved hand. He always wore gloves when touching Grant.

Grant whimpered again but still allowed Shawn to move away. He watched as Shawn climbed the stairs and disappeared into the Heavenly Toys area. Grant began to pace the little area next to the elevator, or do the closest thing he could to pacing without legs. He could feel other Searchers nearby. If they got close, he’d be overwhelmed by their influence. Then he’d probably end up hurting Shawn. He didn’t want that to happen. Shawn was his best friend. 

He kept pacing and worrying until Shawn returned, bag full of soup and a few unfinished plush projects.

“See? I told you it would be fine,” Shawn said. Just as the door to the stairs burst open. 

Shawn froze, his breath catching in his throat. There stood Sammy Lawrence, stumbling forward on legs almost completely consumed by the ink, flanked by several other Searchers in various stages of losing themselves to the ink. The Searchers stopped as they caught sight of him. Shawn’s eyes flicked from the Searchers to the elevator. Searchers moved slowly, so he could probably get to the elevator in time. Sammy was a bit of a wild-card, though.

“Ru...n...” Grant rasped, beginning to shake. “Wa...nna...hur...t...” He could feel the urge to attack Shawn rising up again. This always happened when other Searchers appeared. 

Sammy opened his mouth, a low growl coming out as he took a step toward Shawn. The Searchers stayed behind him, seemingly waiting for the signal to attack. Shawn’s heart pounded in his ears. He’d had close calls before, it was part of surviving in the studio, but he hadn’t come face to face with Sammy since the day of the outbreak. It was horrifying to see how Sammy had degraded. Sammy still looked mostly human. The ink had consumed parts of his body, yes, but his body wasn’t amorphous like the other Searchers. Shawn could still see his face, his limbs. It was a sickening sight to see one of his former coworkers reduced to little more than a slavering beast. 

Shawn bolted for the elevator, jabbing the button for level S. 

“Come on come on come on.” He muttered as the doors slid closed and the elevator began to lurch downward.

Most of the Searchers were too slow to catch the elevator, but Sammy moved quickly. He slammed against the door, reaching through the slats and yelling. Ink dripped from his mouth, spraying toward Shawn as Sammy yelled.  

“Hey! Get back!” Shawn swung at Sammy’s arms with his pipe. Thankfully, Sammy recoiled from the blows, groaning in pain. 

“I’ll catch up with you, Grant!” Shawn called out as the elevator descended out of sight. He just hoped Grant would be able to shake off the hivemind. He didn’t like leaving Grant on his own like that, but he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t want to get infected. Grant could take care of himself, right?

....Right?

[magisterlys]

Deal with Never

Written Cross the Stars: Chapter 3

Summary:

A late-night discussion over drinks gets heated and the commander is a mess as they deal with even more of Mordremoth’s lingering shadows.

Outside the winds were howling but late into the night the people of Jora’s Keep lingered in the common room.  Small groups gathered around tables, nursing mugs of ale or playing dice games. It was a slice of normality, of sanity, in the insanity of life in the keep. The Commander’s table had been lively earlier, Jory and Jhavi had a spirited argument about necromancy that brought up their school days, much to the entertainment of everyone gathered. One by one everyone else had wandered off to find their beds, leaving only Braham and Lys in the now quiet corner. He’d insisted on her taking the warm spot near the fire and that along with the several strong ales she’d drank that evening combined to make her feel as content as she had in weeks. 

The two of them had been sitting in silence for some time, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. Lys found it oddly comforting, actually,  just to quietly share the same space. Across the room, the dice game was getting rowdy, so there was plenty of entertainment as well as a good distraction for how many looks she was sneaking at Braham.

All the ale she’d drank that evening told her that it was time to break the silence and be awkward, though.  "I'm really glad you have hair again." What the heck, Lys. She immediately blushed and regretted her comment.

Braham grinned slowly, running his hand over the dark red braid woven down the center of his otherwise shorn head. "Yeah?" He gave the commander a smug smirk, "You like it?"

"I do. I’ve always loved the color and the braid is … ruggedly handsome?" She returned his smirk, taking the excuse of considering his hair to generally admire him. He really wasn't her usual type, not that he wasn't a very attractive man, but how attracted she found herself to him lately made it impossible to deny that she had feelings for him. She realized that her staring been noticed when Braham’s smirk turned predatory. 

“Have I told you how much I like your new armor?” He let his gaze wander without trying to hide it.  If the commander could stare, he could too. He’d just blame the ale. “Especially the straps along your side, and the ones wrapped around your thigh…”

The way he said ‘thigh’, practically purring as he grinned at her, made Lys squirm. A change of subject was needed, quickly. “Can I ask you something, Braham?” 

Her cheeks were rosy, and she had that lingering dreamy smile that always betrayed her level of drunkenness. This should be good, he thought. “Would it matter if I said no?”

Lys flashed a grin. “You won’t say no.” 

“You got me there.” He chuckled, took the final drink of his ale so he could consider the commander over the rim. “Go on.” 

“You should have another ale.” She nodded encouragingly. 

“Yeah?” He arched a brow questioningly. “We gonna be here a while still?”

“Just the last time you got drunk you told me I was your best friend at least half a dozen times. I’m curious what you would reveal now, between just the two of us.” That was not changing the subject in the right direction at all, she berated herself.

Braham shifted uncomfortably, cleared his throat. “Didn’t you have a question for me?” 

Lys chuckled, he was so cute when he was embarrassed. “It’s kind of random, but it's something I've been wondering…" 

“Will you get to it?” His words were short, but the way he said them was laced with fond amusement. 

She opened with an establishing name. “Joko.”

“What about him?” 

“During our fight, when he was taunting me, he said that ‘my norn’ was crying.” She arched a brow, gazing steadily over at Braham.  “Were you?

Braham snorted. “Crying?”

“Yes.”

“Of course not! Why would I cry?”

Lys narrowed her eyes and slowly leaned forward, giving him a dubious look. 

Braham glanced at the commander sidelong then pushed his empty mug aside and leaned toward her as well, his voice lowered as he continued, “I was just forced to stand there and watch you fight for your life, to listen to all the shit he was saying to you. Just had to consider I might be watching you die when I couldn’t do a thing about it. Why would I cry?”

“Braham …” She hadn’t expected such a heartfelt response to her playful teasing, and in her tipsy state, all she could do was blush. She glanced away. 

Aware of how close they were, he chuckled and sat back, but only a bit. He was engaged in a constant state of battle for her nearness and you didn’t give up hard-fought ground until you had to. “What made you ask that?”

She glanced at him, took a small drink of the ale she was nursing. “I’ve just been … considering our past. Reevaluating? That’s not the right word.” She furrowed her brow. “We’ve known each other for a very long time, and we’ve … been through so much.”

Across the room the dice game erupted into a mix of cheers and boos, drawing both their attention for a moment. When they turned back to each other, Braham spoke first. His voice was still low, betraying his nerves  “Can I ask you a question, Commander?” 

“Of course.” Something about his tone made Lys understand that this wasn’t going to be a joking question. 

“I don’t want to ruin your good mood …”

“Braham.” She chuckled and reached over to touch his hand for a brief moment. “Quiet moments are rare. Ask.” 

The two of them were already sitting very near, all the empty chairs were on the other side of their table, but Braham turned sideways in his seat, facing her. She arched a brow and glanced nervously at her mug, “Should I get another ale for this?” 

He shook his head, forced a chuckle. “You’re not the only one who’s been … reevaluating. I’ve been reevaluating basically everything I’ve ever done recently. And I’ve been thinking …”

Lys stayed quiet, but she subtly turned in her chair as well, her knees brushing against his as she did. 

Braham took a deep breath, like before diving into a freezing river. “Back in Maguuma, with Mordremoth.” He paused, waiting for her nod before he continued, “Even before my mother, before Eir … if I’m being honest, Commander … I had a hard time seeing you as a person.”  The expression on Lys’ face made his heart clench. He quickly tried to correct, “I mean, I think about the Pact Commander back then and then about you … sitting so close to me right now with your cheeks all red and that frown on your face and I … .”

Lys frowned even more. She wasn’t sure if this was a confession or a laying of grievances.

Braham shook his head. “I just mean, you’ve always been you, haven’t you? It doesn’t matter how many more titles you take on. Dragon Champion. God Killer. You’re still ... you.  The Commander was so larger than life back then, so unshakeable. But you must have …” He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to say at this point and suddenly wished he’d had a few more drinks.

He was struggling with whatever he was trying to say so she kept her voice soft as she prompted, “You had a question, Braham?”

Thankful for the way out of his ramble, but still unsure how to ask he paused. Best to just get it over with now he'd started. He needed to know. “Trahearne?”

She inhaled and her shoulders went rigid, like something had shifted.  “What about him?”

Braham was greatly regretting this line of conversation now, but he'd started so he might as well finish. “Were you two …?”

Lys arched a brow, her defensiveness obvious. “Lovers?”

Braham frowned, his voice gentle, “I’m not trying to pry, tell me to shove it if you want. But … yeah.” 

The Commander swallowed and laced her fingers together in her lap.  It wasn’t a time she liked to talk about or a subject she liked to breach. She’d packed all that away as best she could in a little box and shoved it in a corner marked ‘deal with never’.  But it was Braham who was asking, so she was truthful. “We were, yes.” 

The repercussions hit him like a ton of bricks. In the jungles, he’d stood there and yelled at her about finding Eir, tried to insinuate that she wasn’t doing enough to find the missing when the man she loved was missing too. He'd been even more thick-headed and oblivious than he thought.  She’d seen Trahearne tortured, carried the guilt of not being able to rescue him in time, and then had to … Spirits, what she'd had to do at the end. The commander was clutching her hands in her lap so tightly that her knuckles were white. He reached out and took her hands in his, offering his hands instead for her to cling to. “Lys …” 

He’d never used her name before. No one used her name. She kept her eyes down and hoped that he wouldn’t say it again, or she might burst into tears.

The room had grown suspiciously quiet ... Braham looked up to see what was left of the dice players, their game abandoned, staring raptly at them from across the room. The glare he gave them set them to their feet, though they snickered and threw winks at him as they made their exit, leaving the room to just he and the commander. 

The sound of the door closing and the sudden blast of cold air brought Lys to her senses. She shook her head and blinked rapidly as she looked away and would have pulled her hands back, but her movement had made Braham’s hold on her tighten. He was refusing to let her go. His slow exhale prompted Lys to look back at him again. She’d expected to find pity there, she so hated pity, but instead, she found a look of remorse and pain in his bright green eyes that took her breath away. She gave his hand a tight squeeze.

“... I’m sorry.” He more breathed the words out than spoke them, like a sigh. 

“Sorry?” She shook her head, “We’ve been over this Braham. Loss makes us do things we regret. You don't have to carry this anymore.”

“No.” He leaned forward again, drawing their entwined hands up between the shared space between them. “I was oblivious to everything you were going through. We all were. You were our rock, and we didn’t even stop to think …”

“Braham.” She spoke his name gently and gave him a soft smile. “I was your commander. With Trahaerne … gone I was the only leadership the Pact had. I did what the Vanguard taught me. Leaders can’t fall apart, not with so many lives depending on you. It’s just … “  She lost track of what she was saying for a moment as Braham brought her right hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. Her pause made him blush and run his thumb  self consciously over the spot he had just kissed, “I did what I had to do to get us all out of there, to take down Mordremoth.  You weren’t oblivious, I was purposefully hiding what I was feeling.”

“You shouldn’t have.” He said stubbornly, though he knew on some level that she was right. He wasn’t equipped to have helped her back then, even if he’d known, but that didn’t change his regret. “Promise me something?” He leaned even closer, catching her eyes with his. 

Braham was still caressing her hand with his thumb, gently tracing along her fingers. He was so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath, so close she'd barely need to move to claim those full lips again ...it was a distracting thought but she tried to focus enough to keep her gaze steady as she nodded.

“Don’t try to carry the whole world yourself anymore? We know that you’re not an unbreakable rock. We’re all here for you and I …" The commander had subtly licked her bottom lip, probably an unconscious nervous movement, but Braham was entranced. His gaze flickered from her eyes toward her lips. It was all he could do to finish his thought, his voice just above a whisper.   “We’re family. Please don’t suffer alone.” 

He was going to kiss her. She could see it in the way he glanced at her mouth, in his shallow breathing, in the hesitant part of his lips. It wasn't that she didn't want him to ...it was how much she wanted him to that was the issue. If he kissed her right now, she would come undone. She couldn’t let that happen, not with Jormag trying to break them all, not when she had to be The Commander.  She untangled her fingers from his and reached out to lay her hand on his cheek. The questioning look on his face was almost too much so she leaned in and very gently pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth.

Braham sensed the limit being placed before him, the line being drawn by her chaste kiss but he was also close enough to feel how her pulse was racing, to hear how she struggled to keep her breathing even. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the affection she was willing to give. As the commander started to draw back he reached out before she could get away, laid his hand on the back of her neck and kept her close. He dragged his nose along her jaw, breathing in her nearness with a quiet hum of pleasure and nudged her ear as he whispered, "I'm right here, Lys."

Gods above, he was not making this easy. She held her breath and shivered. Unconsciously, she had tilted her head to offer her ear toward his affections and her hand once resting upon his cheek had wandered, her traitorous fingers now working themselves into the weave of his braid at the nape of his neck. She gave a soft laugh, sounding apologetic “I’m not trying to be difficult, I swear. I’m just … struggling.”

He would let her go, but not before making certain he left no doubt that he didn’t want to. He nuzzled her ear again, breathing a soft sigh as he kissed her neck once … twice.  He let his lips linger, taking solace in how he could hear her heart racing as fast as his own. “I know. I’m just … following your lead, commander.” 

The mixture of relief and disappointment she felt when Braham let her go was poignant. What was she supposed to say? What could she possibly say?

The look of remorse the commander was giving him made him shake his head. He forced himself to give her a smile, to pretend that they weren’t both just moments away from - he couldn’t finish the thought, or he’d be sweeping the table clear and having his way with her on it instead. Change the subject, Braham. “You know what I think?”

Lys squirmed in her seat, cleared her throat before she responded. “What’s that?”

“We should get you out of the Marches for a bit.” He cut her off before she could protest, “Hear me out. We’re stuck here until a pass is found and this place …. I know Jormag is targeting you more than the rest of us. I’m not saying run, just … be productive somewhere else for a couple days. We’ll keep the place standing.” 

Lys frowned as she considered. She had to admit that she was exhausted, she must be if the others were starting to pick up on just how relentless the dragon had been in tormenting her. “I’m not going to leave you all here, what horrors might I come back to?”

“A couple days. Weren’t you just all excited about some big lead the Priory found? You know they need their star Magister.” He gave her an encouraging grin, “It’s not leaving, it’s … expanding the area of operation.”

“You know ….” Lys returned his smile, gazing fondly at him. “You’re getting pretty good at handling me.” 

“... I’ll get even better at it.” He teased, giving her a meaningful look. “Just give me time.”

[losingmymindtonight]

Ooooh - you ask me for fluff??? Have you considered TONY AND PETER WATCHING MERLIN??????? All the way from the adorkable beginning to the angsty angsty end??? Bcs I'm betting Tony would have some jokes about Merlin keeping his secret about as well as Peter does. 😂😂

I was born to write this

Today is Merlin’s 10 year anniversary! I miss my dumb boys…

Merlin spoilers ahead!

Also this… might not make any sense at all if you haven’t watched Merlin? I couldn’t really help it.

“What’re we watching, again?”

Peter plopped down beside Tony and tucked himself into the man’s side, a maneuver perfected through countless days of practice. “It’s an old BBC show called Merlin.”

“And why are we watching it?”

“Because MJ told me that if I didn’t, she’d spoil the ending.” Peter blinked up at him innocently. Tony sort of hated that it wasn’t an act. The kid really was that pure. “And because you said we could binge watch whatever I wanted.”

He had said that, to be fair.

It was Peter’s spring break, and May was out of town. At May’s request, he’d happily volunteered to have the kid over for the week. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust Peter to be alone for that long, exactly…

Okay, actually, yeah. Neither he nor May trusted the kid to be alone for that long.

Could anyone blame them? He was a magnet for trouble. Tony was surprised Peter could walk five steps on the street without someone trying to detach his head from his body.

And so, in the name of what May called his “co-parental service hours,” Tony’s weekend would be spent watching a cancelled BBC show and living off of microwave popcorn and delivered pizzas.

He guessed that there were definitely worse things to be doing.

“So,” Peter maneuvered through the Netflix interface like it was a second skin. He tried not to be jealous, “give me a rundown. On what kind of journey are we about to embark?”

“It’s a show about Merlin-”

“Holy shit, I would’ve never guessed…”

“Hey!” Peter laughed, hovering the mouse over the first episode. “It’s like a ‘what if?’ story. What if Merlin and Arthur were the same age, and Merlin was Arthur’s servant instead of this wise old wizard? It’s supposed to be really good.”

I can’t wait. “Alright, kid. Let’s have at it.”

Peter hit play and tossed the remote onto the coffee table, leaning his head against the top of Tony’s chest as the first scene faded into view.

“No young man, no matter how great, can know his destiny. He cannot glimpse his part in the great story that is about to unfold. Like everyone, he must live and learn. And so it will be for the young warlock arriving at the gates of Camelot. A boy that will, in time, father the legend. His name: Merlin.” 

And, damn it, Tony could already feel himself drawing the parallels between the gangly kid on the screen and the gangly kid curled up next to him. 

Peter had no idea, did he? He couldn’t see the path that Tony saw winding further every day.

He had no idea that he was going to change the world.

He watched the Evil King character execute some random sorcerer with a weird taste in his mouth.

It felt too real, too present. Too close to what Tony imaged Ross would do to Peter if he ever got his hands on him…

He shook the thoughts away. No. This was supposed to be fun. They were binge watching a lighthearted show over the kid’s spring break. The occasion did not lend itself to thoughts like that.

He decided that he liked Gaius from the old physician’s very first scene. He voiced that thought to Peter, quietly, during a lull in the dialogue.

“Why?”

Tony shrugged. “He’s gonna suffer.”

Peter dropped his head back, craning his neck painfully, to stare up at his mentor with wide eyes. “He is?”

He chuckled, letting the sound release some of the tension from Peter’s gaze. “Of course he is. His job is to keep the reckless kid alive. It’s not easy, let me tell you.”

Peter hit Tony with a pillow, and the episode rolled on.

“Tell me, Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?”

A flare of protectiveness for his Peter-stand in flared in Tony’s chest. 

He shifted Peter a little closer, as if protecting his kid would protect the one on the screen as well. 

He decided all at once that he didn’t like Arthur. He didn’t like him even a little bit.

“He’s an asshole.”

Peter seemed unperturbed. He played with the cuff of Tony’s shirt lazily, eyes tracking the scene. “People can change, Mister Stark. You did, didn’t you?” The kid smiled his special, unburdened smile. “Give him a chance.”

It occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, he hated Arthur because the prince reminded him of an outdated version of himself.

Young, brazen, self-centered, cruel. Blind to the ways his actions could hurt and maim and kill. Following doggedly in the over-sized footsteps his father left. Driven by false arrogance, one-size-fits-all ideals, and overwhelming bitterness on his tongue.

He sighed. “Sure, kid. I’ll give Prince Asshole a chance.”

As it turned out, his forced sympathy for Arthur his deadbeat dad was a lot harder to hold onto than he thought it might be.

This Merlin character really knew how to look like a kicked puppy.

“I’m not a monster, am I?”

“Don’t ever think that.”

Tony tightened his grip around Peter’s back at the same moment the teenager shifted to cling tighter.

He wanted to tell the kid that Gaius was right, and that Prince Asshole was wrong. He wanted to tell him that Merlin wasn’t a monster. That nobody could help who they were, and that it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of.

He wanted to tell Peter that he wasn’t a monster, a freak, a mistake. He wanted to make sure he knew that Tony would tear down anyone who said otherwise.

Instead, he just smoothed a hand through Peter’s bangs and hoped he could feel it through the solidity of their half-embrace.

“If you can’t tell me, no one can.”

The first season fell away along with the daylight.

He watched Merlin, who he had to repetitively remind himself was not Peter, stumble through a million different mistakes. He watched him drink some poison (stupid), harbor some fugitive child right under the Evil King’s nose (stupid), and offer up his life in exchange for Prince Asshole’s (stupidstupidstupid).

It felt like every turn the character took made him want to smash his head into the nearest wall. Repetitively.

(On the other hand, Prince Asshole was slowly, and painfully, growing on him. Not that he was ready to admit that to Peter, of course.)

The final episode of the season faded into credits, and Tony wordlessly flicked off the TV.

“Hey.” The kid’s protest might have held more weight if his eyes weren’t closed and the words weren’t soft with sleepiness. “One more.”

Tony made sure to keep his voice low and soothing, carding his fingers through the kid’s mess of curls. “You won’t even concentrate on it.”

“Will too.”

“Oh?” He turned the screen back on, slyly lowering the volume and hitting play on the next episode. “Okay then, buddy. Whatever you say.”

Peter’s breaths had evened out before the opening sequence could finish.

That night, Tony decided that sleeping on the couch was way underrated.

There wasn’t even a question of what they’d be doing the next morning. He sent Peter wordlessly to shower, ordered a couple of pizzas, and hit play the moment that the kid was re-situated on the couch, wet curls soaking into the front of his t-shirt.

At some point in the middle of the season, during an episode about a witchfinder, he let out an involuntary groan.

It was almost like this kid didn’t want to keep his magic a secret. At the very least, it seemed like he jumped at nearly every opportunity to reveal himself.

Peter flickered his eyes away from the screen and gave Tony a questioning look. “What?”

He rolled his eyes. “Merlin’s about as good at keeping his secret as you are at keeping yours.”

“That’s not true!” Peter’s glare just made him look younger. Tony nearly laughed at the way his face scrunched up. “Barely anybody knows I’m Spider-Man!”

“I figured it out, kid.”

“You’re you-”

“Ned.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know he was-”

“MJ.”

“She’s terrifyingly observant-”

“May.”

“She walked in on me!”

“Sure thing, kiddo.” Tony ruffled his hair playfully. “Why don’t you just shout it from the rooftops, huh? Might be a little more efficient, that way.”

Peter blinked, then huffed, physically turning away from Tony and fixing his eyes back on the screen. It was a clear dismissal, despite the fact that didn’t move away from the warmth of his mentor’s side.

The second season’s finale went to credits, and Peter stalled Tony’s hand before he could switch off the TV.

“C’mon, Mister Stark! We could totally watch the next season! It’ll only take, like, a few more hours.”

“Your idea of ‘a few more hours’ is actually about 8 hours, kiddo.”

“And?”

“You need sleep.”

“We’ve stayed up later in the lab.”

“On accident.”

“So?”

He tried his best to mimic May’s I am an adult and you will listen to me voice. “No, Peter.”

He kid blinked up at him imploringly. “Please.”

(The third season was good.)

They watched the two part series finale on Tuesday morning. 

And, frankly, Tony wasn’t sure what he’d expected. But it sure as hell wasn’t… that.

“Just, just, just… just hold me. Please.”

Peter curled himself around Tony with a little whine. He rubbed the kid’s back comfortingly, gaze still transfixed on the screen. “No. He’s not supposed to die, Mister Stark. He’s supposed to live. He’s-He’s the Once and Future King. What about Albion? What about Merlin?”

He wondered if he could sue the BBC for making his kid cry.

“There’s something I want to say…”

“You’re not going to say goodbye.”

“No. Merlin. Everything you’ve done. I know now. For me, for Camelot. For the kingdom you helped me build…”

“You’d have done it without me.”

“Maybe. I want to say… something I’ve never said to you before. Thank you.”

He watched the character die with a weird feeling in his chest.

He’d never been one for sentiment in general, and certainly not for fictional characters. But… something about Merlin and Arthur had made him think of Peter and himself.

Peter’s voice was small. “Merlin would’ve trade places with him.”

Tony’s answer came so quickly that it surprised him. “Arthur would never want him to.”

You ever try trading places with me, kid, and I’ll kill you my damn self.

“But what’s the point?” There were undercurrents to Peter’s tone that told Tony they weren’t just talking about the show anymore. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one drawing parallels. “If I were Merlin, I’d rather die than live without Arthur.”

He tried not to hear the implicit I’d rather die than live without you in the kid’s words.

“Someone always dies first, kiddo. That’s just life.”

Peter buried his face into Tony’s shirt, sniffling a little. “Yeah, well, I don’t like it.”

He set a gentle hand on the back of his head, shielding him from the screen, the daylight, the world.

“I don’t like this ending, either.”

Tony took a deep breath, focusing on the way his ribs pressed into Peter’s at the apex. “If it makes you feel any better, kiddo, neither do I.”

He’d pondered his death a lot. Once, he’d thought towards it with a perverted sense of lust. 

But Pepper, Rhodey, Peter had changed that. Now, he just felt a peaceful acceptance. He wouldn’t go rushing to his grave but, when the time came, he couldn’t see himself reeling against it, either.

But for the first time, he thought about Peter.

If everything went the way it naturally should, he would die long before the kid.

He’d get to die, and Peter would have to keep living.

His parents’ deaths still left a hollow ache in his chest. He missed his mother with every single breath.

Is that what he’d be doing to Peter, when he died? Leaving him damaged irreparably? Dooming him to a life of sewing up his tattered grief?

He swallowed, hard, and shook his head.

Peter would be okay, because he’d prepare Peter. He’d give him everything he needed to do more than just survive once he and May were both gone.

He was going to make sure Peter thrived.

And he’d do everything he could not to leave the kid like Arthur left Merlin, or like his mother left him. Not violently, not suddenly, not in the heart of some blood-stained tragedy.

He’d linger, if he could. He’d grow old (something he used to shudder at the thought of). He’d give the kid’s kids too much sugar and poke him with his cane and complain about the technology Peter would incorporate into his newest invention to shroud the pride.

As he watched the final credits role over the dark screen, Tony Stark decided that he hated tragedies.

He also decided that he wouldn’t let his own life become one.

[psifitopia]

help please?  whump fic

Could I get some feedback on the fic I’m writing for MacGyver May?  It’s Mac whump, where Murdoc does the comforting.  No non-con.   If you want a link to everything I’ve written on this, I’ll send it to you, but what follows is just the part where Murdoc shows up and what has happened so far after that.   General feedback is welcome, but I need to know if the emotional tensions I’m trying for are coming through or if it’s too clincal? Flat?  idk  lol  Thank you for any help! :D

Someone unexpected was coming.  Murdoc had woken up in a hotel room.  Along with some warm clothes, including a heavy, leather jacket, someone had left a letter, giving him directions to this place and the keys to a truck.  Supposedly, the person was interested in helping Murdoc destroy the Phoenix Foundation and had promised he would find something of interest here.  Well, Murdoc was certainly intrigued.  He had parked a few yards back from his destination and was stealthily making the rest of the trip on foot.  Fortunately, his supposed benefactor had left him a gun and some bullets.  Murdoc had thoroughly inspected both, taking the gun apart and cleaning it, before deciding it was safe to use.  

Hearing the roar of a truck approaching, Murdoc disappeared into the shadows of the surrounding trees, waiting until the truck was gone, before moving ahead.  He approached his destination from the side, noticing movement in the back.  Murdoc crept around, watching as a man shoveled dirt into a grave.  Gregory.  Murdoc recognized him from his own past, doing jobs for the Organization.  Gregory's task was about half done. Weirdly, a hollow tube was sticking up from the site.  Noticing the cross, Murdoc crept around to read what it said:  Angus MacGyver. Laid to rest November 24th, 2019.

Without thinking, Murdoc aimed and fired his gun, killing Gregory instantly. Murdoc ran forward.  Surely the tube was for breathing?  The thought that MacGyver was already dead was...unacceptable.  Murdoc ignored his own racing heart, telling himself it was just from exertion.  Grabbing the shovel, he began removing the dirt from the grave, working furiously.  He forced himself not to think or examine his own motives.  He'd get his boyscout out and come up with excuses later.  After a couple of feet, the shovel hit something softer than dirt and a cry of pain could be heard clearly.  Tossing the shovel away, Murdoc began clawing the dirt out with his bare hands.  

The cry of pain echoed through Murdoc's mind in an alarming way, as he worked, the icy soil tearing at his fingers.  The closest comparison he could find for the sensation was the way he felt, whenever Cassian was crying.  Not fitting at <i>all</i>, he told himself, scornfully.  

With enough dirt cleared, MacGyver struggled into a sitting position, taking deep, gulping breaths from the tube.  Murdoc drew a knife, then cut away the tape holding the tube in place and the ties around his feet and hands.  Uneasily, Murdoc took in MacGyver's state.  The boyscout was nearly naked and shivering violently.  Even through the light layer of dirt on MacGyver, Murdoc could see his injuries, the dirt, mixed with blood, clinging to the cuts.  Fierce anger and protectiveness welled up in him.  No!  Not protectiveness, <i>possessiveness</i>, Murdoc told himself angrily, but he didn't listen, not even to himself.  

Murdoc froze, eyes wide, when MacGyver's gaze focused on him.

"Murdoc?" MacGyver asked, confused, almost not believing it.

He was too cold, tired, and wounded to hide his vulnerability.  He gazed at his nemesis and trembled, waiting for whatever would come, shoving away the part of him that wanted to hope.  Murdoc just nodded slightly at him, a strange expression blazing in his dark eyes.  He looked...alarmed?  MacGyver winced, as icy water started falling on him, the sky opening up and delivering sheets of sleet on their heads.  Murdoc gave an angry hiss, launching to his feet.  Too weak to fight, MacGyver wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to control his shaking.  To his surprise, Murdoc scooped MacGyver up into his arms, holding him close.  They made it to the door in just a few strides of Murdoc's long legs.

Fortunately, Gregory and Mason had left the door unlocked.  Murdoc got it open and carried MacGyver inside, like a groom carrying his bride over a threshold.  The thought made MacGyver giggle hysterically.  

"Don't you lose it on me, Boyscout," Murdoc said, fuming.  "You're going to explain what's going on to me!"

MacGyver nodded, though he wanted to tell Murdoc he didn't know.  What did Murdoc have to do with any of this?  Shouldn't he already know, himself?  The questions became unimportant, as Murdoc found the bathroom and set MacGyver on the sink.  Murdoc grabbed the box of handi-wipes sitting on the back of the toilet and began cleaning away the dirt that clung to MacGyver.  MacGyver cried out in pain, surprised, when Murdoc stopped for a moment or two, before continuing.

"I know, Boyscout, but we have to get you warmed up and those cuts and burns tended," Murdoc said, grimly.  "Just take it easy."  

MacGyver nodded, too confused to be worried, as Murdoc cleaned him.  Once that was done, Murdoc grabbed a towel from the rack and dried MacGyver's hair.  MacGyver let him, his thoughts rolling around.  Why?  Why was Murdoc helping him?  How had the assassin even <i>found</i> him?   MacGyver wasn't as surprised as he wanted to be, that Murdoc had managed to escape.  It was kind of his thing, really.  MacGyver tried not to be touched by the care he was receiving.  He couldn't afford that.  

"I'm not thinking clearly," MacGyver told Murdoc, the words trying to twist his tongue into knots.

He was fairly certain it was a stupid thing to say, anyway.

"You're in no condition to be thinking," Murdoc said, dryly, going through the medicine cabinet, then the drawers on the side of the sink.  "Just...worry about it later."

Murdoc found a thermometer and popped it into MacGyver's mouth, then continued rummaging. He managed to find antibiotic ointment, dressing, and bandage tape.  The thermometer went off and Murdoc took it out, studying the reading, with a grimace.  

"Ninety-five point nine," Murdoc announced.  "You are on the verge of hypothermia."

"Fun," MacGyver replied.  "Explains the exhaustion, shivering, nausea..."

"Shut up, Boyscout," Murdoc advised.

He liberally slathered MacGyver's burns and wounds with the ointment, then bandaged them.  MacGyver gave a sigh, still shaking from cold.  He sneezed, the sound almost startling him into falling off the sink.  Murdoc chuckled, catching him.

"Easy, Angus.  You're gonna end up with a fever, if we don't get you warm, soon.  Stay right here.  I'm going to find you some clothes."

MacGyver considered obeying.  He felt weak and disoriented.  But, breathing deeply, he caught the faint scent of wood smoke.  Stumbling and catching at the walls for balance, he followed it and found himself in a cozy living room with a blazing fire roaring in the fireplace.  Had Murdoc had time to do that?  Or was it Gregory?  Would he have doused the fire, before leaving?  Or, had he left?  Shivering, MacGyver sat as close to the fire as he could stand, staring into the flames and listening to the crackling of the wood.  Something glinted and caught his eye.  A sliver of glass was at the edge of the fire, surrounded by black plastic.  

His cell phone.  His cell phone was in the fire.  It must have been there for a while, he mused.  It was almost all gone, melted away.

"MACGYVER!" Murdoc shouted from the bathroom.

MacGyver started, then blinked.  Wow.  The man certainly had a good set of lungs.  He ignored the note of concern in the man's voice.  MacGyver was probably just imagining it, anyway.  He took a breath.

"Here!" he called, the sound coming out weakly and inducing a coughing fit.  

Murdoc strode into the room, his face set into hard lines.  His expression softened a bit when he spotted MacGyver and the fire.  He held up MacGyver's leather coat, which was on top of a pile of MacGyver's clothes.

"Looky what I found, Boyscout.  Your ridiculous jacket!  Come on, get dressed," Murdoc ordered, dropping the clothes beside MacGyver.  

Nodding, MacGyver reached for his pants, but his fingers weren't cooperating.  It took him a try or two, before managing to snag the pants and draw them closer.  Once he had them, he sat, looking at them, feeling clumsy.  He looked up, when Murdoc sighed.  Reaching out, he took the pants back and grabbed MacGyver's foot.  MacGyver peered owlishly at his own extremity, wondering what Murdoc wanted with it.  Murdoc drew the foot into the pants' leg, then grabbed the other one, repeating the move.  MacGyver picked at the bunched up cloth around his knee, making Murdoc laugh.  He slipped MacGyver's feet into his socks, then stood.

"Can you stand on your own?" Murdoc asked.

"I don't know," MacGyver answered mildly, making no move to find out, too tired to care.

"Well, then," Murdoc said dryly, putting his hands under MacGyver's armpits and lifting him to his feet.  

"You're strong," MacGyver told him, blinking.  

"Yes, I am," Murdoc agreed, somewhere between amused and alarmed.  

The cold was definitely getting to his boyscout's magnificent brain.  Murdoc lifted MacGyver's hands up above his shoulders.

"Keep those there," he ordered.

MacGyver obeyed, head tilted in curiosity.  Murdoc slipped MacGyver's sweater over his head, placing his hands into the sleeves and tugging them into place.  

"There.  Now, you're all cozy and ready for bed," Murdoc said, cheerfully.

"Bed?  It's not dark out.  I haven't even had lunch!"

"I'm going to get some food together, while you take a nap and warm up."

"I'm thirsty," MacGyver complained.  

"I'll bring you some broth."

Murdoc led MacGyver into a bedroom, maneuvering him into the middle of a king-sized bed.  He started to drape the blankets over MacGyver, but the boyscout began thrashing, shoving the blankets away.  

"Stop it, Angus.  You need to get warm."

"No!  I don't want them."

"Tough," Murdoc said ruthlessly, shoving MacGyver back.

"Murdoc, please!" MacGyver begged, his breath coming in heavy gasps.  "Shoot me first."

"Beg your pardon?" Murdoc asked, warily.

"Don't bury me alive.  Please."

Murdoc froze, the blankets still in his hands.  Well.  Hell.  Okay, he supposed that made sense, sort of, psychologically.

"Okay," Murdoc soothed.  "We'll find a way, without the blankets.  Lay down and I'll see what I can find."  

"Okay," MacGyver agreed, laying down.

Well, great.  Now what?  Murdoc fumed.  He ought to just strip down and use his own body heat to warm MacGyver up, but...he really did need to get them both something to eat.  He looked around, opening the bedroom closet.  Inside was a microfiber bathrobe, obviously meant for someone taller and heftier than MacGyver.  He also found a heavy, wool beanie.

"All right, these should do, in place of blankets.  Stand up and put these on."  

MacGyver struggled to his feet, wrestling with the clothes.  Murdoc disappeared for a couple of minutes, coming back with a large mug of broth.  Thoroughly layered, MacGyver drank the broth, then laid down on top of the blankets, curling in on himself.  Whatever Murdoc did next, MacGyver planned on sleeping right through it.   He fell into a blessedly dreamless, healing sleep.  

MacGyver drifted reluctantly awake, as his stomach protested being empty.  Groaning, he forced himself to sit up, rubbing at his eyes.  A warm, pungent smell that hadn't been there before drifted into the bedroom.  His stomach rumbled hungrily, as MacGyver breathed in the scent.  He wasn't sure what he was smelling, though he thought he detected carrots.  He just knew he wanted some.  MacGyver followed his nose, making his way to the kitchen and dining area.  

Murdoc sat in a chair at the heavy, wooden table, placing a spoonful of stew into his mouth.  Looking about, MacGyver spotted a large pot, being kept warm on the stove.  

"Help yourself, Angus," Murdoc invited.  "I didn't drag you out of that hole just to poison you."  

"Guess not," MacGyver agreed, roughly, going over to the stove and spooning stew into the bowl left out for him.  "How did you escape?"

"I didn't.  I was kidnapped," Murdoc claimed, amused.

"I beg your pardon?" MacGyver asked, confused.  "What does that even mean?"

"It means, my evening meal was drugged.  I fell asleep in my cell and woke up in a hotel room.  Someone left me a letter, directing me here."

"Mason," MacGyver clarified, bitterly.  "It had to be him, but why?  What does he want with you?"  

"I don't know.  Apparently, he thought I'd find your death of interest."  

"I was kind of under that impression myself."

"Oh, c'mon, MacGyver.  I'm not going to kill my best bud!" Murdoc claimed, boldly.

Somehow, he didn't think MacGyver was going to believe any future threats against his life, not that Murdoc didn't intend to still make them.   He had to have some fun!  

[ghostmartyr]

"and give her fucking themes a chance to actually fucking matter to the fucking plot you fucking fucked up story" thank you for being a constant voice of reason in this fucking fandom i'm never Not going to be mad about historia's story playing out beautifully and then having it all be undone. sometimes it feels like the CD skipped and reset all the progress in the story so we have to learn, AGAIN, that freedom is good and raising kids to serve you and your ideals is BAD, etc etc

Technically I left the fandom my home is the void.

(To no one’s surprise, this got angry. I should maybe consider shutting up about this, but as you can see by the number of times I use the word “fuck” in the quoted material, I have lost the self-control battle here many times.)

The part of it I always come back to when I’ve made the mistake of thinking about it and getting angry all over again is that if we learn that lesson again this arc, what we’ve really learned is that nothing that happens to these characters matters.

If their arcs can be undone by a time skip, there is zero reason to believe that any of what happens to them will stick. The entire Reiss cavern debacle is this exact thing, of Historia telling tradition to go fuck itself because it’s not a tradition worth keeping. That’s the watered down version, but for crying out loud, Historia’s whole damn arc leads to her changing the world.

Not because of any noble reason. Because she doesn’t want to die. She wants to stay herself, and for that she obliterates centuries of children eating each other. She’s her family’s bastard child who refuses to take part in what’s kept them broken for so long.

Yes, let’s have that character be shoved back into the cycle off-screen. Let’s have the girl who grows up unloved and unwanted, who breaks her family’s curse because she finally feels in her bones how wrong it is, go along with a plan to curse another child.

Historia being. fucking Historia enough to snap out a yes to cutting her life short if it saves the world does not bother me. The girl is a dumbass Gryffindor; it takes up until she’s taking her first step off the bridge to realize oh hey, maybe this is actually bad. She’s not an Idiot Hero, but try telling that to some of her decisions.

But her whole arc, as it is introduced and as Ymir’s soaks in, is about how if fate’s fucking you over this badly, maybe consider telling it to go fuck itself and use your own good qualities to carve out something better.

Nine seconds later we’re scrubbing that lesson off because the stakes have clearly changed.

Same story, only bigger. Now that it’s bigger the rules are different. Let’s have one page of Historia not looking miserable to remind everyone how the story’s shooting her directly back to being miserable.

There is no point to this. The one person who knows what it’s like to be seen as a curse and a tool, turning another child into a curse and a tool? After her entire character denouement is about picking up unwanted orphans and treating them as people?

Forget every single other part of this:

If things are as written, Historia has consented to selling away a child’s future. Several more generations, actually. She’s consented to passing on that feeling Frieda has when the weight of the world crushes her and she’s collapsed in tears in between a fence and her baby sister.

The torture that Frieda goes through is not the driving force of Historia’s resolution to give a damn about her life, but it’s something she knows just as keenly as her own pain, and it helps guide her speech to Eren. Her raison d'être comes from her entire family’s exploitation at their own hands.

There are ways to have characters become everything they hate. Those stories can even be interesting and very well done.

Interesting and well written ways do not include the literary equivalent of a character checking the Yes box on becoming everything their arc says they never want to be. Historia has like. Twenty pages where she’s drawn in between her arc’s conclusion and 107. Six of them have her saying anything, and four of those six are her reacting to Ymir’s letter and telling EMA she sure is golly chuffed to see how they aren’t permanently scarred.

Then 107 happens.

You can’t hit the undo button on a character’s arc that efficiently and still pretend like anything they go through has a lasting impact. Ymir’s choice to turn herself in is cut from the same contrived cloth, with every single new thing we find out about the world only making her decision somehow looking worse in addition to the character mutilation thing.

There’s a lot to what’s going on that skeeves the ever-loving fuck out of me. In the realm of squick, this is where my brain will never willingly live.

But it’s the complete bastardization of Historia’s arc that pisses me off.

Would the stupid kid agree to die in thirteen years five seconds after hearing that’s an option?

Yes, she’s a fucking idiot. All the growth in the world won’t ever undo that.

Would the stupid kid agree to have a child so its child, and its child after that, could eat their parent to become a tool of war?

…

“Everything That My Personal Arc Stands Against, I choose you!”

Thank you, I’m so glad we sat through all your parental and existential angst to have land you in a place that would come much closer to making sense if those pages had never been written. Brava.

-takes a very deep breath-

And that’s why I’m still clinging to hope that things aren’t as they seem. Because this story has always cared about character. When something doesn’t make sense, it’s because something is missing, not because the story didn’t care.

In theory.

Historia’s thing is the strongest test to that theory since Ymir’s thing, and as loud as I am about the latter, that hasn’t actually been resolved yet either.

Paradis agreeing to use children to fuel their survival is the kind of permanent marker stain that is hard to go back on, but it’s also nearly impossible to move forward with, because it would mean that Our Heroes’ one truly heroic trait is bunk.

They are the ones meant to break the damaging cycles, no matter the personal cost.

This is where they’ve chosen perpetuating them to escape personal cost.

Hence my growing opinion that they can all go ahead and die if this is where they’re at. If they’re growing more of these cycles, they’re just another villain, and I’d rather watch them all be wiped out while they’re still trying to be heroic and failing than what comes if they keep up with this.

So.

I’d like to think the story isn’t really doing this.

That it is threatening this, and driving itself deep into the muck, but will ultimately call out the illusion of this much darkness as an illusion.

I really don’t want to read a story where it goes, “our themes matter! …unless we don’t think the plot progresses the way we want when we let them matter.”

Character should determine story, or story should determine character. Pick one, but they shouldn’t ever be at war. If a character’s arc is about telling fate to go fuck itself, but fate fucks them, you can’t expect the audience to buy it when any other character fights fate–but for real this time!!1!

Hell this makes me so frustrated.

I really, really would like to believe it will turn out fine, because you legitimately could not write something that flew more in the face of everything Historia’s grown into, and despite this story’s eccentricities, its character work is some of the best I’ve ever seen.

Eren’s out murdering children and making Mikasa cry, and it’s a given that something more is behind it.

Historia’s pregnancy breaks essential themes of the entire story, but yeah, it is totally what it looks like.

(inb4 it’s not what it looks like but somehow manages to be even worse because that’s the kind of bloody trail it’s been)

I don’t mean to keep beating this horse, because I’m guessing most everyone is sick of me losing my temper about it by now, but it drives me up the wall. I obviously have a personal interest in Historia’s arc, but I like the manga, and part of the appeal of Historia’s arc is how it is singing directly to the beauty that’s to be found in the cruel world instead of bowing to that cruelty.

Now one of the voices of that appears to be on bended knee and just. pleeeeease be a ploy. Please don’t turn into one of those series where I have to get out MS Paint and draw a bad graph about where a really great story gave up on itself.

Honestly, one of my dearest hopes is that I’m going to feel like a massive idiot for getting this worked up over this because it’s all going to be fine.

Time will tell, I guess.

For the time being…

-twitch-

[gabbalot]

Another ask meme 👀

So I was tagged by the one and only @merriemelodie who has a knack for making me feel valid on the worst of days, and also who I NEED TO COME UP WITH A SWEET NICKNAME FOR???❤️

The rules are: Post the rules, answer 11 questions, make up 11 new questions, and tag 11 people.

(Or just break the rules like I do. I tag the same people every time I do these so I’ll give everyone a break. If you want to, but don’t feel obligated: @plsetski, @zestyfiretruck, @stregina, @dednout, @vityanikiforova. For everyone else, I’m just being shy but if you see this and want to do it, CONSIDER YOURSELF TAGGED BY ME! And @ me in your response.)

My questions for people are:

If you could, would you choose to download your consciousness into an artificial simulation of life, where nothing really bad ever happens, and all the good things that you want from life happen in a believable way? Or would you rather live your life as it is now? Why?

If you could pick anything to do for your career, without having to worry about money, what would you do?

If you had to describe yourself with a Wikipedia article, or an article from The Onion, what would it be? 

What is your favorite gif/meme??

If you could say anything to your younger self, what would you say? Would you say anything at all?

If humanoid androids became normalized and easily-accessible in the future, would you choose one as a companion? If no, why not? If yes, who would you like them to be based on?

What is the weirdest thing someone has every told you they like about you?

Which would you choose, and why: Bring your favorite character(s) to life? Or transport yourself into their world?

If you had to become immortal, what age would you choose to “die” and remain forever, and why?

What are your thoughts on Pluto? Is it a planet? or just a rock?

What is one thing you wouldn’t trade for $1,000,000 (or equivalent in your currency)?

And here are my long-ass answers for Melodieee:

Q1. Have any unpopular opinions? Now’s the time to say them. It doesn’t matter what they’re about; whether or not you think people will care about them, or if it’ll change people’s perceptions of you. Just let ‘em fly.

a:- Okay so…I don’t…really like Autumn…and it might…MAYBE..be my least favorite season…?? ? (I’m sorry, I know). I feel like this is particularly offensive coming from me, since I’m currently living in New England, which is well-known for having the most beautiful foliage during Autumn. But there’s only so much pumpkin spice and scarves I can indulge in before I have to face the reality that The Darkness™ is coming. Funny enough, I don’t have much of an aversion to Winter. (That’s a lie.) (I can’t manage during late February - March). (I barely make it to the end of Winter every year). All in all, this article pretty much summarizes my exacts feelings towards Autumn. Beware though, ~* 🚫 Autumn-lovers DON’T Interact! 🚫 *~, you will be enraged. ☕️🐸

Q2. Do you cling to summer, or are you typically more than excited for autumn? (Or do you not have a strong opinion either way?)

a:- Wellll I guess I sorta addressed this in the first answer? Hahaha. Aha. H a. (I still feel bad about it). But I suppose I don’t really cling to summer, because I have this icky tendency to…spoil good things before they are ready to be ruined??? Like “Ahhh, well am I going to feel bad eventually? Might as well get started on that right now!!”. Feeling Bad is the only thing I don’t procrastinate, lmao. But yeah, I don’t cling to summer (I mourn its death prematurely), and I don’t get excited for Autumn, I just do my best not to feel Too bad overall. I definitely don’t cry, because I Am A Big Kid Now.

Q3. What’s something that you’ve been wanting to tell somebody, but haven’t been able/felt ready to? (Of course, if you’re still not comfortable saying it in a public post, then you definitely shouldn’t feel obligated to do it. This is just for fun. ♥)

a:- The funniest thing is that a lot of the things that leave my mouth nowadays are things that I haven’t been ready to say. But I’ve been lucky enough not to word-vomit anything that’s been truly detrimental to my mental well-being. I’m also lucky to have a few amazing people in my life that I’m able to be quite vulnerable with. 

Q4. What would the soundtrack for the film of your life look like? (FOR THOSE WILLING TO TAKE IT UP A NOTCH: if you were to write a Broadway musical about your life, what would some of the songs be titled/be about?)

a:- Let’s see if I can be as dramatic as possible. In terms of a movie soundtrack, I definitely think that the opening scene would be to Tame Impala’s Let It Happen. Once things calm down and fall back into the natural rhythym of grey, expect to enjoy tunes from Radiohead, in particular their track Daydreaming, which plays on repeat in my dissociative head on a regular. When things get desolate, we enjoy The Postal Service’s This Place Is a Prison. When they’re comedic (see: manic), we’re jamming to some Manfred Mann’s Earth Band!! If I could be selfish, I would find my Big Love and/or purpose, and the soundtrack would lighten up with sounds from Coldplay and Active Child. Also, because I am quietly just as dramatic as our favorite witch Georgi Popovich, a few of my Broadway musical song titles include “Sometimes Fireworks Are Silent”, “I’m Sorry For A LOT Of Things, But This Isn’t One Of Them”, “Some Of Us Taste Colors”, “Tequila (TEQUILA)”, and of course “2D Drawings Are As Strong A Medicine As Any”, which has a b-track “Music Is Morphine (Which is Also a Poison)”.

Q5. What’s a poem, story, or song lyric that you think about often? What about it captivates you?

a:- I’ll give you an entire song full of lyrics: The song Bloodstream, which is so aptly named for how deeply I feel it whenever I listen to it. It epitomizes the concept of soulmates for me, which I don’t believe is always a “happy-go-lucky” scenario, sometimes soulmates are just that - a split of your soul, a piece of you in another body, no sparkles and lovehearts, just another self in another form whose destiny is entwined with your own. As someone who isn’t sure they believe in soulmates irl, here’s why the song strikes me - The vocals are a bit eerie, and ever-so-slightly tired. It must be exhausting searching for a missing half. The recurring piano chords in the verses of the song make it feel a little bit like a memory. I imagine that’s what Deja Vu sounds like, which I find to be fitting when you think about all the subtle instances that have connected your life with someone else’s without you even noticing, but sometimes you just feel it. Then comes the chorus, more profound in its intensity, and all of a sudden it’s the realization hitting you like “Ahh, yes. This is the one I can’t live without. I see it now”. And then there’s the bridge, the melody changing again, acting as a flashlight as you wade through the murkiness of Doubt and Uncertainty, and leading you finally to the door of Acceptance. And once you’ve accepted it, and really digested the fact that you aren’t alone, you just float along - adrift but comfortable, because you realize that you aren’t drowning like you thought you would, or like you’ve been all this time. (That was cryptic AF, what does All That even mean??). Idk. I just feel the song deeply and I’m not really sure how to express why. 🎭

Q6. If you had to epitomize yourself with a Wikipedia article title, what would it be?

a:-I think may be Learned Helplessness.

Q7. What do you daydream about?

a:- I have two persistent daydreams lately. One is to lay in a meadow and just rest in a shady spot with the sun’s warmth peeking through the foliage, probably for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t mind being stuck in a time loop if it meant existing somewhere like this or this. I actually have this one saved as my desktop wallpaper at work. I stare at it throughout the day and it brings me peace. The second daydream is imagining what it would be like to go out and get roaring drunk with Yuuri and Pichit. Like…can you imagine the shenanigans??

Q8. What’s your go-to character/kart/track in Mario Kart? (ANY ITERATION)

a:-Toad…..and raiNBOW ROAD BINCH!!! FIGHT ME. #ChaoticEvil

Q9. What’s something people would be surprised to learn about you?

a:- IRL? People would be shocked that I’m pan/bi. Literally no one knows. Friends and family respect that I consider myself asexual, or at least non-sexual, but no one actually knows that I’m not straight. I have hinted on occasion, but growing up in one of the most homophobic and heteronormative societies means that if people haven’t seen you date anything but cis-gendered men (even if it was only for 6 months when you were 14 years old??) then it means you’re straight. Straight until proven otherwise (and simultaneously shunned by extended family for being The Gay Cousin™ ).

Q10. If you could name a crayon/nail polish color, what would it be, and what would the color be?

a:- Tbh, I’m the least creative when it comes to these things, so most likely it would be some sort of holographic sparkly fluorescent pink color, and the name would be “Trophy Husband” (because it reminds me of Victor).

Q11. What’s a question you wish I would’ve asked? ASK/ANSWER IT HERE.

a:- AHHHH THE PRESSURE idk IDK. Ummmmm how about “What do you like most about following me?”. And the answer would be that your tags and writing in general just hit me right in the feels, every. damn. time. Your sense of humor is also A+, it’s never mean-spirited, and you just generally provide a safe space for me to exist comfortably at the end of each day. You’re also incredibly observant, and I feel like I’m a slightly bigger and more important speck in this universe because of you. Thank you for being here ❤️.

THE END.

[bardqueenofgallifrey]

Charlie and Miss Quill (Favourite Relationship, for Class Appreciation Week: Day Five)

Oh man. Oh man. *screeches into the void*

Will I ever be able to convey how much I love these two? Not just individually but their whole bizarre relationship and how damn fascinating it is?

My boy. My wife. I adore them both so much. I just want to give them both all the hugs they could ever want. Because goddamn do both of them really need some hugs. 

(I’ll try to avoid too much overlap between this and my Charlie post for Day Four but some might be necessary. I’ll also probably overuse the word ‘fascinating’ but it’s the best I’ve got.)

Now, these two. This relationship is one of the most unique things I’ve ever seen on television.

You know something has a fantastic complexity when it’s impossible to label it.

It’s not a friendship. It’s about as far from a romance (*snort*) as it is physically possible to get. It’s not even really a rivalry, or a hero/villain thing. (The only label you could possibly get away with is ‘a slave and her master’, but that is grossly oversimplifying the entire situation and doesn’t remotely do either of them justice.)

Let’s talk about how we first meet them. Charlie is clueless but sweet. Quill is the super awful but hilarious teacher.

And then we see Charlie come home, to a quietly crying Quill (!), see that they live together, and get the first idea that something unconventional is going on.

(”What’s the matter? Why are you upset?” He asks, without any measure of concern. “The real question is why aren’t you? All the time, at every waking moment?” Okay, so some kind of emotional baggage here. But not something either seems to further broach, at least, not in regards to asking for/offering comfort.)

Plus, then there’s the whole casual conversation about killing students. You know. Just everyday chatting between a boy and his physics teacher who he lives with, with a gun that is very obviously far too high tech.

And then we get the whole thing with April. Back to initial conclusion. Charlie GOOD. Quill BAD. And finally, after that, we get the explanation. Aliens, from another world, and from conflicting races(/species??). 

Except, that’s where the explanation gets interesting. Because the ones we get are both completely biased.

“…leading terrorist.” - “Freedom fighter.”

“They mismanaged their economy and grew resentful of our success.” - “The Rhodia ate up all the planets resources, including those of the Quill, and then they were surprised when we objected.”

“We tried to help you!” - “By making us so dependent that we could never recover.”

This, along with the ‘slavery/punishment’ thing that had already come up in their first scene alone together, sets the precedent for the interesting relationship that their relationship has with the audience. 

Which is, that we never get an objective view of it. We’re presented with his perspective and hers. After that, we have to draw our own conclusions. 

(Yes, this is going to go into the whole “what really happened on Rhodia? who was really in the wrong?” thing, but only because I think getting to the truth of that is essential before looking at their relationship, or else your view is going to be skewed to whoever you automatically favour. And yes, anyone who knows me knows which one is my fave, but I promise that I’m doing my absolute best here to work with facts and not opinion. I’m not villainising anyone here, I adore them both. Besides, I welcome debate on all of this, so long as it’s civilised!)

Now, it seems easy and logical to side to with Charlie - after all, we can see he’s certainly the more moral of the two - and yet, it’s not that simple. More moral isn’t the same as being right. Quill later describes her people as being ‘oppressed for centuries’. And hell, looking at our own world today, what’s the one thing we know? 

People in power twist the truth. (*cough* Trump’s alternative facts *cough*). Those being oppressed don’t tend to be lying. They just want to be free.

So, that makes it a bit trickier, doesn’t it? As the series go on, Charlie’s refusal to even consider that Quill’s situation might be slavery, amongst other smaller things (see ep 4), indicates that he is stubbornly set on believing in the goodness of his people and culture, even when others around him are trying to gently point out that this belief might be flawed.

There’s no doubt Quill did some awful things. Her actions should never be excused. But, “a riot is the voice of the unheard” (MLK Jr), and episode 7 confirms that her army really was fighting out of desperation after centuries of oppression.

“Do you know how oppressed Quill have been for centuries?! We died, and died again, and where were you?”

Look at her face. This moment is too emotional to be fake or embellished (also, in this moment, she has no reason to lie or exaggerate). So, the Quill were as oppressed as she claims. This is one of the only parts of their story not up for debate. This is a fact. 

So, with the more evidence the show gives us, we do see that it’s likely that Quill’s account of what happened on Rhodia is the more accurate of the two. (Still not objective, but more accurate, and the best we’ll get for now.)

So: Quill is right but not in the right (because, you know, she killed people, and has killed at least one innocent person since, albeit only to save herself). 

Meanwhile, Charlie is wrong, but not in the wrong. It’s pretty obvious that Charlie genuinely believed his people were good and not mistreating the Quill. 

Whether or not this is a belief that spread across his whole people is impossible to know. If so, firstly, yikes, but it’s fairly plausible when you consider “I would have tried to be a fair leader” and “a wish is the same as an action”. It seems likely (and this is going into headcanon/opinion territory, not fact) that the Rhodia were not oppressing the Quill deliberately, and because they were intending/wishing to be fair rulers, as far as they were concerned, they were - meanwhile the Quill are like “are you fucking blind?”

(The alternative is just that Charlie’s parents and government were secretly really fucking shady/way more explicitly racist than Charlie. It’s an intriguing possibility, given that Charlie is 100% a good bean who was just fed a lot of “we’re so great and just!” propaganda, but like I said, trying not to villainise anybody here! You can pick whichever one you want to believe - or better yet, hit up my inbox and give me your take on the Rhodia and their morality, I’m always up for some civilised discussion/theorising/debate!) 

ANYWAY. Back to Charlie and Quill’s relationship. I didn’t mean to get so “Rhodia vs Quill” but I just think that trying to understand what happened as best we possibly can is important for looking at their relationship. 

Now, their individual portrayals on the show is really interesting. 

Quill is initially not really shown as a sympathetic character - though within the first episode, we get enough to show that, yes, she does have as much of an angsty backstory as Charlie, and yes, she does have feelings. She’s just still, you know, kind of awful. Across the series we get more tidbits - the Inspector incident showing how desperately lonely she is, this then being reinforced by her half-wanting to join the kids in their celebration at the end of episode 3 but instead walking away, and then in episode 5 we really see her walls come down:

*holds armful of kittens* So, will this be enough to make her feel better? No? Damn. *showers her with kittens and hugs anyway*

The thing about Quill is that she tries to act tough, and cold. She is closed off, but that’s as far as it goes. Because when it comes down to it, she feels things SO deeply. Not only that, she actually doesn’t have much of an emotional filter. Her rage, her devastation, they burst out of her because she simply can’t stop it. 

Episode 5 highlights her belief in what she did on Rhodia. It points out that the arn were never given to Rhodians, only Quill (reinforcing before the confirmation in ep 7 that yes, the oppression of the Quill was very much a real thing), and has Quill saying that everything she ever did was for her people, the people she is shown to care about so deeply that she is weeping for them and shouting at the people refusing to acknowledge her very real pain. 

From that scene onwards, she’s more or less given the same treatment the kids are in terms of sympathetic portrayal - while not losing the fact that she is of course still far more morally grey than all of them except Charlie, and still has a generally hostile disposition. 

Now, Charlie is meanwhile always painted as the more sympathetic character out of him and Quill. Obviously. And, it’s fair. He’s a lovely boy and has a good heart. Look at his precious face. 

*pats him on the head fondly* *gives him a Polish puppy to snuggle* 

He’s a good boy (puppy joke not intended, sorry), there’s just some grey morality and very rose tinted beliefs in there. But the latter certainly isn’t his fault. The way he clings to them and refuses to hear other sides of it maybe is, but hey, if all your people/family were dead, you wouldn’t want to hear that maybe they weren’t as great as you thought they were. You’d want to hang onto your belief that they were good people who never did anything wrong. 

The reason his relationship with Quill is so interesting is because it’s completely different to every single one of his other ones. Charlie is super sweet, right? He cares about people even if he’s just met them, right? Yes. 

Unless… Quill is somehow involved. Then his empathy is gone, his fucks are out the window, and she can be in tears in front of him screaming about watching all of her people die (something he himself also experienced) and he just… doesn’t care. He calls her heartless. 

This has so many fascinating connotations, but the only logical conclusion is that he just doesn’t see Quill as a person in the same way that he does everyone else. Whether this is due to her status as a criminal/murder/terrorist or her being a Quill, is up for debate. But given his “you are heartless, like all Quill” line, I think it’s a solid combination of the two. Whether it’s an implicit or explicit prejudice he has, it’s also hard to know, but I tend to think implicit just because it’s hard to imagine him consciously deciding that a whole race of people are bad. Plus, his ignorance on it comes across a lot like: “What do you mean? I’m not racist, I have black friends! would have tried to be a fair ruler!” It’s something he’s been conditioned to think, just like everything else. 

Now, add that to Quill’s (frankly, understandable) hatred for her enslaver - who, to be fair, wasn’t technically the one that enslaved her, but you know what I mean - who is also the only person left she can blame for the oppression of her people and the general downturn of her whole life, and…

Well.

That’s a cocktail of fun. By which I mean, a lot of complex and mostly negative emotions flying around one house. 

They are a pair who for all intents and purposes can’t stand each other, yet circumstances have forced them together and will not let them part. THIS IS GOLDEN WRITING RIGHT HERE. SERIOUSLY. 

Let’s have a look at this scene from What She Does Next Will Astound You. It’s honestly incredible, I wish we could have gotten it in the show, but at the same time, Charlie’s internal thoughts here are so great and couldn’t have been conveyed on screen, so maybe it was for the best. 

(Context for anyone who needs it: extraneous circumstances = Quill can temporarily use a gun, and now she has one trained on Charlie.) 

*screaming into the void again*

TLDR; Him sort of thinking they’d bonded while all the while suspecting she would kill him at first opportunity (pretty sure this is set before she knows the Cabinet isn’t empty, for the record), and feeling a weird sense of relief when he turns out to be right? His chosen last words being ‘fuck you’? Her not even intending to kill him but just wanting him to apologise because goddamn doesn’t she deserve at least that from him? Him talking about not wanting her, reinforcing just how stuck they are with each other? 

I love it. I love them. This whole relationship is so complicated and tumultuous and fucking fascinating. 

They have a shared sorrow, a shared tragedy, and yet through all this time together never comfort each other through it (like Quill and Ballon so readily do). And it’s just because they’re just too damn different. A prince and a soldier. A Rhodian and a Quill. The world they mourn was two completely different places, to them. For Charlie it was a place of solace. For Quill, it was a battlefield, a place that had looked down on her, from the moment she was born. They remember each other’s loved ones but only as enemies. 

They have completely different worldviews. Charlie’s is all very ‘civilised’, and all about learning. Quill believe in fighting - for them living and fighting are more or less the same thing (which is what makes the punishment of the arn slavery so particularly cruel, actually, which begs the question, were all Rhodia oblivious to this crucial cultural difference, or was it deliberate? @ Charlie’s parents: *squints*). 

Case in point: 

“I believe life tries to kill you from the moment you are born, and the only proper response is to fight back at every moment!”

“You tried to kill me in the nest!” - “All Quill sisters do that, it’s how we know the survivors are strong.” 

“How about that fight? Matron’s rules - no mercy.” 

No wonder Quill and Charlie never get along, or ever really feel for each other except for in the finale, or in Quill’s sympathy for Charlie’s love for Matteusz in ep 5. How can you sympathise with someone you don’t understand?!

Favourite little moments between them (to briefly lighten things up):

“By the way, Matteusz lives with us now.” - “Whatever!” (her lack of fucks gets me every time, after all, she’s already got one teenager making her life hell, what more is another, politer one going to do?)

That whole scene from What She Does Next Will Astound You

That bit where Quill teases him about locking him in the classroom despite April having a key/acts like a total little shit just because she can, because it’s the only way she can fight back against him

The part in Joyride where he keeps trying to make her look at something on an iPad and she laments that she can’t smack him over the head with it

When she and Tanya walk in on Charlie and Matteusz snogging in the weird creepy house in The Stone House 

The finale, meanwhile, gave us some really interesting little things with them. Firstly, Charlie’s rather surprising care for Quill at the beginning, and not wanting to physically restrain her. I have to wonder if maybe during those six days, his belief in his rightness was shaken, if seeing that Quill had gotten the arn out (which they both knew was so incredibly likely to kill her), that she had truly been that miserable and therefore that desperate in order to decide it was worth trying, made him wonder. 

Yay, development!

(He then later goes back to assuming he needs to possibly take her down once she’s awake, but hey, that’s fair! He knows she has a lot of reasons to want him dead, and he knows probably even less of her general morality than we do - he has no idea who she might be okay with hurting now that she can.) 

Then you have this great moment. 

“They’ll come for me.”

“I’ll stop them.”

It’s so simple. They fall into an alliance with such an ease, that it’s in a way immensely frustrating that it’s taken them this long. Of course they’ve been opposing each other up until this point, but goddamn it’s satisfying to see them finally on the same page, finally fighting for the same thing. 

(And, you know, maybe Charlie and the audience realises that Quill was… kind of right about the Shadowkin the whole time? She told him that the Shadowkin would keeping coming and only kill more people if he didn’t wipe them out, and they did. If he’d listened to her in episode 5, Tanya wouldn’t be an orphan and Ram would still have a dad. Just saying. This shit was unavoidable, and Vivian and Varun could have survived it.)

And then. Oh boy. And then - she saves him. 

Is this, maybe, the moment we see Quill realise she actually doesn’t want Charlie to die? (I adore it, I need more of their relationship, NOW.)

She looks at him, realises what is about to happen, and saves him. Her reasons for doing so are tricky to pinpoint, though, without much content left afterwards. All we really have to go on is:

“No, you have to live. You have to live with the sacrifice.” 

By saving him, she accomplishes two things. She gets to have him still be alive. She gets to not become the last survivor of her planet, the only one who can remember it even if they remember it very differently. To not lose the person she might have spent months despising but has also shared many a moment of ‘wtf humans’ with. And? She also gets to watch him suffer, after he and his people caused her to suffer. 

Basically, she gets to have her cake and eat it too.  

And now, I’m just so damn intrigued about where they are going to go from here. Will Charlie resent her for saving him? Will he eventually thank her? Will he ask her to kill him, because he truly wanted to die? Would she, if he really begged? 

Will Charlie finally concede that yes, it was slavery and it was wrong? Will Quill realise it also kinda wasn’t Charlie’s fault? 

THIS IS WHY I NEED SEASON 2 OKAY THERE IS SO MUCH POTENTIAL, THESE TWO COULD BE SUCH A GREAT TEAM, HECK THEY COULD EVEN END UP CARING ABOUT EACH OTHER AND THINK ABOUT HOW CUTE THAT WOULD BE AND WHAT GREAT DEVELOPMENT WE COULD SEE

Ahem. Calm again. 

Seriously. Consider Charlie and Quill being really awkward around each other post-finale. Not sure where they stand any more. Slowly sometimes talking about the serious stuff, trying to understand the other’s POV. Apologies, concessions, until one day one of them saves the other’s life on an instinct, in a panic. And they realise that suddenly they mean something to each other. 

Just consider the potential. These two and this relationship is the show’s unique element, it’s strongest point, what sets it apart from just being “a high school has an alien problem”. 

So, in summary, they’re complicated and wonderful and I love them so so much because the writing of this show isn’t perfect but almost everything around their relationship is.

I didn’t mean for this to get so long-winded but understanding their past is important for understanding their present, and also I just really love them a lot, okay? 

[deadspaceaus]

Deadspace - Interview with Chris  - Afterlife Zine

https://www.facebook.com/afterlifezine/

DEADSPACE INTERVIEW

By Ricardo Rengifo

"THE WAY I VIEW THE WORLD IS LIKE A MASSIVE CANVAS"

What's the meaning of a Deadspace? A place where you find solace or a place where chaos rules supreme but you still feel that tranquility to come back over and over again to that "place", the first time I heard this band it was spellbinding and epic at the same time, layers and layers of sounds painting the perfect picture, envisioning this band is like looking into a glass mirror and you will see the beast of what Deadspace is made of, Afterlife caught up with Chris Gebauer to find out what's inside his mind and how much Deadspace means for him.

Through the bleak moments and the madness that goes in between or viceversa, how deep you get involved within yourself to make Deadspace an entity upon others?

Deadspace for me has always been deeply personal. An emotional, almost spiritual beast in which I have allowed myself to absolutely lose control as a human being. For me it is the child within. Angry, tortured, disobedient but pure. Then the other members came into the picture. I think it’s ridiculous to say that they draw the exact same purpose from the energy that is Deadspace. In saying that, I don’t believe anyone will every understand it like I do because the inner workings reflect differently to people closely involved. But I can certainly say I 100% feel like the energy burns infinitely harder when we’re together as a unit. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why… but it is a feeling I live for every day.

This is what we offer to our fans and loved one. This is a haven where you will not be judged or cast away for your lunacy. We consider it so that every Deadspace show is a surreal experience for all involved.

Can you describe the first time you fell in love with music?

Well that depends on what aspect of music we’re talking about. But here is a theory I have previously held value to, encompassing the idea of growth.

From a very young age I was always fascinated with how a good song would reflect on an entire room of people and fuel an ambience. This was the first step for me, falling in love with how music could make you feel.

Then as a more dissociative being, I became obsessed with the ability to disappear into music and to feel nothing. It was like a drug. I could put on a record and just disappear for as long as I needed. This is most likely where my love for post rock and severely heroin influenced stuff NIN stemmed from.

Then I hit my teens and I got angry. I wanted to see people willing to destroy themselves for art. For some obscure reason I really put emphasis on this (and still do). I wanted to see Manson kick in speakers, I wanted to see Reznor fuck his keyboard and smash shit with hammers and the idea of people like Kvarforth and Carlsson covering stages in blood was neurotically exciting.

You take these 3 moods and then you apply them to a day of Melbourne weather. All 3 feelings, about 5 times a day. It’s a mess, music has become the only thing that drives me insane and keeps me together at the same time.

In your formative years as a musician can you name a record or records that shaped your musical direction and why?

First of all, I’d encourage the idea of perhaps the ‘formative’ years still being in progress. Some albums that have seriously influences me as an artist are:

Marilyn Manson - Mechanical Animals: This record blue me out because it had an overwhelming sadness to it while still being heavy and the vocal delivery feels very honest.

Nine Inch Nails - The Fragile: This record just speaks for itself.

Placebo - Without You I’m Nothing: I just don’t know another vocalist doing anything even close to Molko in so many aspects. I love the version of the title track on this with Bowie also. Beautiful. Anything Placebo is in my favourites.

Jeff Buckley - Grace: My all time favourite favourite record. Jeff was, in my opinion, one of the greatest souls that ever lived and his voice will forever be untouchable.

That’s just me, the other guys have their own tastes but this is my personal standpoint.

As an artist and performer how important it is for you to give your audience an endless memory by them saying "that was intense"?

Absolutely imperative although it’s not a challenge at all, it’s a given. Majority of shows we play, it takes me about 15 minutes to remember how to breathe after. Everyone gives it everything they’ve got and I think that’s the beauty about being on stage. We’re all 100% emotionally invested in each others crafts and we could be on a stage we’ve never been on before and it feels like home.

I was blown away by the violent way you can crate music but at the same time there is beautiful moments in there, how important is to have band members that share your same point of views in a musical way?

I think not as such same points of view, but members with eclectic and unique points of view, working together towards the same idea. The light and dark shades are reflective to life in general and I’d say these things being clear in our music is a reflexion of honesty. Honesty with ourselves, each other and our music/audience.

What is your thought in the current music business, how much effort a band have to put into to be heard and to have some sort of success?

Well you’re not going to put together anything like what we’re doing and earn a living off it in this country. The business side of things has always taken a backseat with us. In saying that, it’s important to a certain extent but we’re definitely (at this point anyway) travelling around, making friends and building up a strong/loyal community in which we would like to share this experience with.

With anything, success if all conjecture. It’s a self established goal and the idea of succeeding in regards to your personal values. So in my opinion, we are successful. This is enough for me right now.

Your last release "Gravity" in my opinion is an opus, it feels like a life journey, how much input did everyone contributed to make this record a master of it's own?

Gravity was really just a little concept I was playing with at the time. I really wanted to get something strong out as a unit with our solid lineup. The concept is really quite observational and brutal in nature. Basically summing up the idea of birth, life, death and rebirth as transitional inevitabilities. The character takes form of a narrator, living inside a soul that is enduring and learning such fate. All members came together to create the piece. Whether it be shared duties recording piano parts or just handling their own instruments parts. Finally, Nish mixed and mastered the fucker, which was a massive learning curve for everybody I’d say. We’re all growing into the strongest versions of ourselves.

Chris your lyrics are just something that a lot of people can relate too, what makes you write such as strong and dark but at the same time meaningful, what sort of message are you trying to deliver?

I’ve always been a person that values truth and honesty over diplomacy. I just say it how it is and try not to fabricate complexity by adding superfluous vocabulary. The idea of my lyrics is to stimulate the senses. Either in a visual way or a nostalgic feeling that makes you feel alive. That’s for this record anyway. Truth be told, It all gets spat out on a piece of paper without any thought. Then when I wake up in a different mind state, I refine it so it still makes sense. Sometimes you’re feeling something so passionately that the actual words hold no meaning and need a second look.

Who were your main inspirations to write and put lyrics together?

I’ve always written, even as a child. I guess it’s always been something that nobody could ever take away from me and thusly has been a gift I’ve held dear for some time. To be frank, as many inspirational people as their are out there. My writing is on its own journey. I don’t want to say things other people have already said, no matter how amazing the sentiment may be. I’m very good at disturbing people’s beliefs and thoughts, not deliberately, but I love the idea of everything I’ve ever ‘known’ to be turned upside down. I’m also very bad at being certain about things. I’m not a logical person and the idea of certainty/stability bore me beyond belief.

The last song on Gravity has that spoken word at the end of the song and the part that strike me the most was when the narrator said "if you have any possessions, give it all away" what is the message you are trying to send across?

Well the whole idea of Rebirth was to throw a curveball. Birth, Life, Death - these things are certain. Rebirth is a concept dreamed up by humans, for humans. This is the shit that keeps life interesting. A lot of people don’t recognise this either that it’s actually the uncertainty that keeps their minds and souls alive. So who better than Alan Watts and his own words of wisdom to add the element of conjecture and ‘certainty in uncertainty’.

“Don’t cling to things”, don’t hold on to what you know or what you think you have, it’s going to change and one day go away.

But please note: with Gravity is was never intended to be a solid message for people. It’s just food for thought. It’s a personal reflection and I’m not by any means saying ‘live your life like this’. It’s just insight into where I was at that point in time.

Let's deviate a bit from the music side and let's talk about your views about society in general, is this a better world to live in?

Better than what? It’s the only world we have. It’s full of pain, suffering, joy, love, loss…

The way I view the world is like a massive canvas. There’s paint everywhere but not all aspects of the peace are going to be the colours or shapes that you can relate to. I’m not entirely sure whether I see it like this because I’m a coward and need to take a back seat or if it’s just my place in society to think like this. As far as I can tell I’m not hurting anybody and hopefully actually bringing a few people up (lets not kid ourselves though).

This being said, everybody has their own struggles. A lot of mine are internal and health based. I have a good family, a house I’m welcome in, I’ve travelled extensively. These inner issues provide me with some challenges but they also make me get up every day and want to do something with it. I think for someone with a different genetic make up, the challenges would be elsewhere, inviting them to see the world in a different light.

Also apart from creating music you love photography, how much inner peace you found when you see something that you want to capture and show it to the world?

It just depends where I am at a certain point in time. Sometimes the beauty is just too fucking beautiful to capture in any generic forms of art. If I didn’t have to work I would definitely live behind my camera by day and in a studio writing music at night. This would be incredible but for now I view the day job as earning my keep so I can continue to explore.

Would you "compromise" and make your music more accessible so it can be heard by a bigger audience or this is something that has never crossed your mind?

Not deliberately. But I don’t really see us as a severely underground or inaccessible band. Most of the inspiration comes from melody and the rhythmic aspects are not necessarily difficult to digest. We build our audience by emotionally connecting with them. And that’s what we’ll continue to do through our music and lives in general. The sounds will only change to facilitate getting out how we feel within the foundation of our musical integrity.

The balance between all your records are very different but still keeping the Deadspace sound, would it be major changes for the next record?

Exactly what I was saying before. Nish has grown as a producer, we’ve all grown as musicians. My voice is more of a reflection of where I am right now. We have new ideas on tones, new ideas on what is ‘us’ in general. The production on our split is a lot cleaner, the low end has been handled in a much more experienced way. I also tracked my vocals in a studio with a producer, mainly as a confidence boost as they are very defined compared to beforehand.

Thanks Chris for your answers, final question, what do you expect from 2017 and onwards?

I expect the world to keep orbiting the sun. I expect people to be people. Some will be born, some will die. One man will drink alone every night until he shoots himself, another with start a multi million dollar company and live on materialistic happiness until he loses a house in a divorce.

For us, I expect that we keep doing what we’re doing. Making noise, meeting amazing people, playing amazing shows and expanding our handprint on the world bit by bit.

Gravity is out now on Deadspace bandcamp

www.deadspacecollective.bandcamp.com www.deadspace.com.au