#I have not read any eco yet I desperately need to do that but I want to be in the right headspace because his books are pretty involved | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whump-town · 4 years

Text

Breathe In Breathe Out

Delayed Drowningc • Chemical Pneumonia • Oxygen Mask

He’s slept roughly four hours in the last two days. It occurs to him that today is Saturday and he’s got the weekend to catch up on that sleep. The thought washes over him like a calming wave and then a tight knot of shame forms in the back of his mind, a nasty voice sneering that he shouldn’t be so happy. His son is going to be gone the whole weekend. Jack’s going to enjoy being away from him.

The apartment is going to be empty.

Trudging through the living room, leaving the lights off, he manages to catch his shin on the stupid coffee table, knocking the remote onto the floor. “Fuck,” he curses, bending over to grab at his throbbing shin. His other hand rubs over the carpet, failing to find the remote where he’d managed to lose it onto the floor. With a roll of his eyes, he abandons the mission.

Finding that damn thing can wait to tell he’s had some sleep.

Standing, his knees give audible protest and he grunts at the pain spiking up his back. He’s old. Shaking his head, he rubs at his lower back, heading back to his room. He just needs to get some sleep.

Nose diving into the duvet, he doesn’t so much as kick his shoes off. Getting to sleep is easy, he’s out the second he curls into his side. He’ll have to remember to thank Jessica for turning on the heat. The dropping September temperature hadn’t been on his mind when he’d stumbled out the door four days previously.

But he comes home to a toasty apartment, a nice contrast to the fall chill in the air just outside his bedroom’s window.

Groggily, stomach aching with a strange vengeance, he wakes some hour or so later. Time is a concept his fuzzy mind can’t grasp. With hands that feel twice their size and a body that feels too heavy to be his own, he pushes himself upright. Fumbling, he tears off his clothes. Simply letting his suit jacket and pants land in a heap on the floor. The buttons make his head throb but it’s muscle memory to work them apart. By the time the final one snaps out of place, he lands back on the bed. Too tired to hold himself upright but at least his clothes aren’t trapping him in anymore.

It feels like he’s just closed his eyes when he wakes with a startle, his entire body trembling.

He rolls over onto his back, sweating lightly. He’s still bone-tired and when he turns his head to see the alarm clock on the nightstand he finds he can’t really see the numbers. Somewhere, on the floor, maybe, his phone vibrates where it’d fallen. His chest is tight, painfully so— his father had died of a heart attack not much older than he is now.

Is this how he’ll go?

Not with a bang?

He’d always expected to find himself looking down the barrel of a gun, as he had some many times before, and been unable to walk away. To crumble where he stood. Leaving his son and ex-sister-in-law to bury him in a closed casket. Forcing his team to carry him through the graveyard one last time.

But…

He’d always hoped someone would be there. So his last thought would be of his family and not… not this painful coil of fear.

Against his will, a tear falls down his face. He feels miserable. The back of his throat feels tight with nausea but he’s not sure he can stand. He wants so desperately for someone to come. He doesn’t care if it’s Dave with his frustrating muttered Italian or even JJ, who he knows would wrap the blanket at the end of his bed around his shoulders.

He misses them. Shivering and crying softly in his confusion, he wants so desperately for comfort. Eyes sliding shut against his will, the darkness and his anxiety overtaking him, he knows something is so desperately wrong but… he doesn’t know what.

Monday comes around without a hitch for the others.

In fact, for once, Emily Prentiss is ahead of schedule. She’s set to arrive at the office before JJ, not to toot her own horn or anything. When the elevator comes to a stop on the floor, she frowns. She’s used to the soft wafting smell of coffee greeting her and the lights up and down the hall being turned on.

But it’s seven in the morning and she supposes maybe Hotch isn’t here yet. He always makes coffee in the morning. By the time she normally gets there, he’s got all three coffee pots going and the bullpen slowly coming to life under his nurturing hand. The man’s got the green thumb equivalent of whatever paperwork and federal agents are to plants.

This morning, it seems he’s slacking in his watering of the plants.

JJ comes in ten minutes later, a bagel in one hand and a newspaper in the other. She’s scowling at the later, too busy to observe the too-quiet office and lack of Hotch going on. She does manage to stop her brisk walk the second time Emily calls out for her. “Yeah?” she shakes her head, she hasn’t had any coffee yet. “Emily,” she says shocked. “You’re here early.”

Emily nods her head, “I am.” Pointing up to Hotch’s dark office she deduces, “but Hotch isn’t.”

JJ glances up at the office and tries to stifle the immediate worry that consumes her. “Uh,” she shakes it away. “Jack gives Hotch some trouble on Monday mornings,” she rationalizes. Hotch had said something once about it but she’s just hoping, clinging to that idea. “Besides,” she adds, recalling this detail. “Sometimes they stop for a muffin or donuts. That’s probably just taking some time this morning.”

Right, both women think as they go their separate ways, that has to be it.

For esteemed members of the A team of the BAU, Reid and Morgan don’t notice Hotch’s absence until around lunchtime. Morgan realizes Hotch hasn’t been down to the bullpen for his second and third cup of coffee. Which he customary drinks leaning against one of their desks and arguing with Reid about whatever niche subject he’s devoted his time to this week. Morgan didn’t think that was something his day needed until…

“I forgot Hotch isn’t here to make any more coffee,” Reid complains. He’s standing in front of Emily’s desk, his mug in his hands. She gives him only a second of her time, looking him up and down and shaking her head. He’ll grumble all day about how she and Morgan treat him like a baby and then he’ll stand here and pout because Hotch didn’t make coffee.

Hotch has no personal obligation to make the coffee. They’re all adults who can make coffee.

Reid shuffles his weight between his left and right foot. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

Yeah, she feels like snapping, the thought has occurred to her. First of all, Dave can preach all day about how it’s good Hotch has taken the day off, but in the years she’s known Aaron Hotchner he’s done that once. Once. And even then he’d left them an objective— a damn warning!

“He’s fine, kid,” Morgan speaks up but he doesn’t look up from his file. A dead give away. He’d joked when he’d first noticed Hotch’s lights off but the light of his tone never met his eyes. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t said much of anything to any of them. Just sat and did his paperwork.

Derek Morgan never does paperwork.

Reid nods, glancing at Emily, but she’s lowered her head to her own paperwork. Okay, he thinks understands. With a nod, he goes back to the break room and makes his own coffee. Hotch will be back tomorrow, he convinces himself. It’ll all be fine… tomorrow. Hotch will make them coffee. Hotch will be here...

Tuesday comes with a southern downpour. The temperature drops dramatically and that chill follows it’s way into the building.

“He’s not here,” Reid greets Emily.

She’s running her fingers through her wet hair, glad that no one’s around to hear her cursing up a storm worse than the one blowing outside--- and by anyone, she means Hotch and his disappointed but not surprised frown. “What do you mean,” she grumbles, resigning herself to the fact that she wasted an hour in front of the mirror this morning getting her hair straight.

Reid watches her with a mix of awe and curiosity but answers none-the-less. “Hotch,” he says, motioning behind them to the dark office.

Emily’s fingers are caught in her hair, her arms twisting her damp hair back into a bun. “What,” she asks, having heard him but too surprised to say anything else. With the ease that comes from muscle memory, she snaps the hair tie around her messy excuse of a bun and discards her belongings on the floor. Headed for Hotch’s office.

Reid already knows what she’s going to find.

He’d come bearing the book he’d been telling Hotch about last week. The plan was to surprise Hotch with the hand translated version. Reid had read both the version in its original Russian and the translated English version. After finding it less than adequate, he’d translated it himself. Today, he was going to give it to Hotch.

Only Reid had thrown his boss’s office door open and taken the cold chill of the empty room like a punch to the gut. Anxiety bubbling its ugly head up at the familiar, usually comforting, scent of Hotch’s cologne but his general absence being… terrifying.

Seeing Emily react to the same anomaly, he’s glad this isn’t just some demonstration of his tendency to establish unhealthy attachments (it still kind of is but that’s not the point). The twist to her lips makes his heart rise to his throat and he shakily points to Hotch’s desk and the absence of any proof that Hotch might simply be elsewhere in the building.

“What are we doing, my loves?”

Garcia’s on her own mission.

It’s Tuesday, bright and early, and Hotch promised to revise and look into her eco-friendly idea about the jet and the paperwork. She’d given him an entire week to review it--- he could do it in a day but she knows he’s busy and stressed and she hates the idea of adding unnecessarily to that.

She’s been looking forward to today since last week. It seems as if she never really gets to hang out with her boss anymore and the thought has made her so sad. Contrary to what he might convince himself, her love for that grumpy man knows no bounds. Just because he’s not as darkly striking as Emily or whimsical like Dave doesn’t mean he doesn’t bring his own things to the table. She’s really excited to hear him grumble about Strauss in that humorous, sarcasm so dry it cracks way only he manages.

Seeing his empty office upsets her beyond words. He’s the dependable person she knows. He wouldn’t just… “He promised,” she says, not even attempting to hide the fear. “Hotch doesn’t break promises.”

Yeah, that’s what they were afraid of.

Hotch could never see the similarities within himself reflecting into his son. Even now, as they stare so blankly back at him, he doesn’t recognize it. That eerie calm— Haley had always said he was like still water. A danger you never know is there until it’s too late. He could never wrap his mind around figuring out if that was a compliment or not.

“I’ll come back after school,” Jack promises, the shaky undertone of his soft voice making Hotch’s chest tight. He’s afraid. Reasonably so. The poor kid goes away for a weekend with his cousins. He sets up a campfire with his grandparents. Listens to Aunt Jessica tell him about how his parents fell in love--- leaving out the bits about Aaron’s father and the way the entire town hated the idea of sweet little Haley Brookes getting with that troublemaker Aaron Hotchner.

He has so much fun and comes home to this...

Thinking about his father so young and his mother… for a moment he felt no different than the other kids.

But he’s always been too much like his father for that.

Jack thinks the world will fall apart if he’s not there to catch it. Just as it had this weekend.

Jessica prays she can teach Jack the lesson Haley could never convince Aaron of, he doesn’t have to save the world. “Come on, baby.” Jessica pats Jack’s shoulder, it’s breaking her heart to have to tear father and son apart. “We’ll be here around three, Aaron,” she promises.

Her words are lost to him. He’s watching them behind heavily lidded eyes. A nurse had said something about him not sleeping but Jessica had discouraged the idea of sedation. Aaron’s not sleeping for a reason and whatever that reason is, whatever he’s afraid of seeing, is worse than what’s going to happen if he keeps himself awake. They’d rejected her idea of intravenously giving him the medication he’d been prescribed to take as needed for his anxiety— so they have this unhappy medium.

Where Aaron doesn’t sleep but he’s not losing it either.

She presses a kiss to his sweaty forehead, “get some sleep, Aaron.” Pushing back some of his unruly hair from his face she can better see the sleepy eyes looking back at her. “I love you.”

Jack squirms uncomfortably. They’re pushing it for school. Another habit picked up of his fathers: the obsessive need to be places earlier than the required time. Jessica can forgive him easily for this but the teachers and the school have already expressed their understanding if Jack is late a few days.

Not that Jack can extend himself that same courtesy— yet, another habit of his father’s.

She squeezes Aaron’s hand one final time in goodbye and takes Jack’s, leading him from the room. There’s no benefit in sending him to school right now. He’s not paying attention in class, anxious to get back here and make sure Aaron hasn’t died without someone here to constantly remind him what he’s fighting for.

They share a similar fear that in that room by himself Aaron will allow the world to consume him and he’ll just stop fighting. He’ll just die and leave them both. And Jessica had hated him once upon a time but he’s really the only family she has too. She loves Jack to pieces but she has no desire to raise her sister and brother’s son.

She has no desire to bury Aaron. Not today, not tomorrow--- she’s done burying family.

All she can hope is that Aaron understands that.

He watches them leave. Jack glances back only once, today he doesn’t silently sob as they make their exit. Hotch’s heart thanks the small boy for that, he can’t handle his son’s tears. It hurts so much more to know that he’s the reason his little boy is so sad. That fear of losing Hotch hasn’t gone away in the years since his mother’s death. It won’t ever really go away.

Tuesday passes as slowly as Monday.

He doesn’t eat the breakfast they bring him. Just as he hadn’t eaten the dinner or the lunch they brought him yesterday. While most of the symptoms have died down, like the headache and vertigo, but the trouble breathing and nausea have not abated. Giving him a nasty aversion to the food that already looks unappealing.

He can’t remember much of what happened. After falling asleep to the sound of his phone frantically buzzing he hadn’t woken back up for hours. He has a distant memory of a man in grey—a firefighter— pulling him upright. His legs and body limp and the whole world shifting as he’s lifted and carried out of his bedroom.

He’d been one of the more severe cases. Exhausted from working for so long, he hadn’t so much as left the building for hours. Meaning while the rest of the building occupants went on about their days-- leaving for church or groceries or dinner plans-- he’d been left to succumb to the symptoms of carbon monoxide alone.

A boiler in the basement had some malfunction, one of the nurses had told him. Hotch didn’t really care how it happened or why, he just knew he was glad Jack was nowhere near any of this. Even if Jack being home meant things not escalating to this point. Hotch can take the tight feeling in his chest and the difficulty breathing over anything if it means keeping Jack safe… Jack’s all he has.

At least, Jack is all he thinks he has.

The nurse’s face spreads into the softest, happiest smile David Rossi thinks he’s seen in days. The woman, hardly twenty-five, beams and clasps her hands together in her excitement. “You’re here for Aaron?” She motions for them to follow her. “He’s a sweetheart,” she tells them. He really is. Aside from giving her a hard time about his pain level and eating, he’s been her best patient. Never once rude or anything but the picture of calm.

Well, he’s almost always the picture of calm…

“He’s had a bad day,” she explains simply, stopping in the doorway. She’d come in for what she was quickly learning to be her daily ritual of fighting with the man to eat something and found him sobbing. From there, the nerves he couldn’t control, lack of sleep, and anxiety going unchecked had bubbled into an anxiety attack. The end result—

Dave clears his throat, “is he okay?”

The nurse nods her head, “I stayed with him for a while. He’s just a little groggy. The doctor ordered some sedatives.” He hadn’t lasted long under their heavy influence and she’d checked in on him as many times as she could but he still wasn’t up yet.

Maybe with his friends here though…

“Thank you,” JJ says, reaching out and squeezing the other woman’s hand. There’s a sad smile on her lips as she says, “we can’t thank you enough for taking care of him.” JJ has to look away before the tears pooling in her eyes spill over. “He’s a very stubborn man but--but we love him dearly.”

The nurse nods her head, sympathetic tears threatening to fall. “He talked about you guys,” so much so she’s fairly certain she knows each of them far more than she should. JJ is the soft blonde, stronger than she knows and still gentle. There’s Dave whose hardened scowl had thrown her off but now she sees the curious brow Aaron had told her about. The stick and bones genius Doctor Reid hadn’t been a hard one to figure out, just like the bright and dazzlingly beautiful Penelope Garcia. Leaving only Emily Prentiss, dark and serious.

His family.

“But really,” she says, excusing herself with one last glance at her friend in the room. “He’ll be very pleased you’re here. He never said it but he missed you.”

Yeah, JJ smiles, that sounds about right.

They enter the room with a soft knock, as to not disturb him if he is sleeping.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

It takes hours. By the time that Aaron wakes up, Dave has already called and got the rest of them today and tomorrow off. Derek’s made two trips out for food-- lunch and then the snack that Reid was getting antsy about. Reid’s consumed three Poptarts and if not for Hotch’s eyes cracking open he’d be making for a fourth. However, Reid knows Hotch’s mood will flip like a switch and the last thing he needs is Hotch’s frustration being taken out on him.

“Ach,” Dave swats at Hotch’s hand. His fingers failing to form a strong enough grasp around the flimsy plastic fo the mask to pull it away from his face. However, the idea is in his head and Dave doesn’t want him to just find that strength. “Something tells me that’s not there for decorations,” Dave says, pulling Hotch’s hand down to his chest.

Hotch grumbles something, pale lips cashing in words that his lungs can’t check-out. Whatever is lost to his rasps or drowning by the mask is made up for by the eye-roll of angst he sends Dave. Which also loses it’s flavor when he starts hacking up a lung.

“Easy--”

Dave’s soft soothes go unheard and Morgan steps in, pulling Hotch up by his shoulders. There’s a split second where Hotch gags, the sudden movement causing intense nausea, but nothing comes up and he’s left coughing painfully into Morgan’s side. Needing the other man to keep him upright.

“You good,” Morgan asks. He’d picked up a soothing rub of Hotch’s back, moving his large palm in circles until the coughing died down. Until now, as Hotch just leans limply into his side.

Hotch nods, “thanks.”

Morgan doesn’t go far, he stays close enough to help Hotch lay back down. His dark brows furrowed as his eyes move over Hotch’s strained face. He’s in obvious discomfort and it bothers Morgan to see him like this. “How are you feeling,” Morgan pushes, fidgeting with the blankets bunched up around Hotch’s waist. “You cold?”

Hotch turns his head into the pillows, nodding.

Morgan pulls the blankets up and fixes the mask half pushed off Hotch’s face. He smiles when Hotch just scowls but submits to the movement. Morgan bites back whatever comment he might make about Hotch being particularly grumpy today. It’s hard to believe that you could miss something as simple as someone’s grumpy mumbling but at the thought of losing Hotch…

“You good,” Morgan asks, one of his hands on Hotch’s shoulder. “You need anything?”

Hotch’s glazed over eyes move over Morgan as if he’s uncertain if he’s really there. Hotch is still fairly under the influence of the sedative working its way through his system. So, his lazy, uncoordinated movement to dislodge the oxygen mask over his face is futile. “Itches,” he slurs, under his breath.

It’s easier than it should be for Dave to pin Hotch’s hands to his chest once again, just pushing his wrist down. Hotch grunts a little, giving only a little resistance to hold. “Aaron,” Dave chides. “The carbon monoxide in your blood is still elevated so you have to leave the mask alone.”

The doctor had told them that when Aaron was emitted he’d stopped breathing on his own. The percentage of carbon monoxide in his blood a 48%— one of the highest out of the patients brought in from the incident at the apartment complex. High enough to kill him, as it should have. As it still could.

They’d been assured, upon arrival, that he’s doing exceptionally well considering. But it will take time for his blood to return to normal as it will take time for him to recover. Which he will, recovery that is. He has to.

He always does.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #jennifer jareua #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #spencer reid #derek morgan #jack hotchner #whumptowninwhumptober #hotch whump

60 notes · View notes

nobodyfamousposts · 5 years

Text

Miraculous Ladybug/DC - Adoption AU

There seems to be a lot of Miraculous/DC crossover ideas, often with Adrien and/or Marinette getting adopted into the Batfamily.

Here is my take:

So it turns out that apparently Gabriel had family he tries to avoid and altogether pretends don’t exist.

And it turns out the family in question he’s particularly wanting to keep out of his life and away from his family is Harley Quinn.

To be fair, they weren’t close to begin with. Then there was the whole thing with Joker and her stint as a villain. After that, Gabriel cut off all contact and moved to Paris.

Harley gets why. She doesn’t like it, but she gets it. She’s made mistakes and is trying to do better. She understands if Gabriel isn’t feeling all that forgiving or willing to reconnect. And she is fine with that, really.

What she is NOT fine with is discovering Mr. No-fun lost his wife in mysterious circumstances and has responded by not only isolating himself, but his son as well. His son who is a genuinely sweet and wonderful kid, and deserves so much better than being kept trapped in a quiet and lonely old mansion every day.

So she does what any good aunt would do if they’re a psychologist who used to be an underling and abuse victim for a psychotic clown whom she’s recently escaped from, found herself a girlfriend, and is past the point of having kids of her own.

She steals Adrien.

Well, from the mansion at least. Only from there. Not wanting to take him away from what little social life he’s managed to make so far despite Gabriel’s best efforts, Harley has them all stay in Paris. She even buys a nice house in a good district with money that was totally not stolen from Gabriel on her way out *coughcough*. Once set up in the new home, she proceeds to take Adrien there where she can dote on him like proper family and give him some of that affection he’s been so desperate for.

The wax figure of Adrien has been left in his place in the mansion.

Gabriel has yet to notice.

As has anyone else. (They’ve had at least 3 photoshoots so far with just the wax figure.)

Ivy finds the whole thing questionable but comes to see that Adrien is a sweet boy with a desire to do good even if he doesn’t necessarily know how or the best way to do so. She decides she can “raise him right” and mold him into a proper young man who uses his resources to help the environment. So she starts having him do gardening with her.

Adrien is...actually okay with this whole setup. Plus he went from no mom to TWO moms! Who spend time with him! And are involved in his life! And let him see his friends! And he actually gets to leave the house without a bodyguard tailing his every move—which turns out to be because Ivy is able to use her plants to keep an eye on him in a much less obtrusive manner, but eh...details. He’s essentially not-so-reluctantly kidnapped. He COULD escape at any point. He’s Chat Noir after all. But even if he wasn’t, it wasn’t like Ivy and Harley were going out of their way to keep him locked up or anything. The worst they did was give him a curfew—which when comparing a few hours of free time with an expectation to return by a set time vs a set schedule with only one hour of free time maybe worked in somewhere, was hardly something he was going to fight.

The fact is that he’s doing well under their care. Harley shares his sense of humor. Pamela nurtures his creativity. He gets support and encouragement to be more assertive. They actually WANT to talk to him and hear about his day. They WANT to be affectionate with him and have dinners together. And he just soaks up their attention and affection like a sponge and responds in kind.

Under their care, Adrien changes a bit. He speaks out more and makes it known when he’s unhappy or uncomfortable with something. He does not let people just touch him when he’s uncomfortable. If anything, he’s doing more touching and initiating conversations without fear of appearances. Nino gets bro hugs. Kim gets bro hugs. All the guys in class get bro hugs. Marinette also gets bro hugs—though he doesn’t hug her for too long since she seems to overheat easily.

Adrien is really enjoying this.

Even better, his moms somehow get jobs in the area.

Pamela either becomes a biology teacher at the school or opens a nursery. If she does open a nursery, Marinette becomes a regular customer on principle. She and Ivy bond. They trade gardening tips. Marinette is surprisingly helpful in keeping pests away from her plants for reasons Ivy doesn’t quite know. All around, Paris suddenly starts becoming a bit more green…and without the eco-terrorism. It helps that Adrien’s social media starts featuring him planting trees and taking care of plants, which is encouraging other people to follow suit.

Harleen becomes a school counselor. At Adrien’s school. Where she takes full advantage of the opportunity to embarrass him in full “overly affectionate mom” mode. Adrien is too happy to be embarrassed. Anyone who actually ends up laughing at him comes to regret it when Harley picks apart their psychological issues.

The new moms evaluate his friends.

Nino passes. Flat out. He got akumatized trying to throw their boy a birthday party? He also arranged an impromptu house party for Adrien the one chance he got? YES. THIS is someone he needs in his life!

Alya gives them concern given her Lois Lane levels of getting into trouble mixed with sheer lack of self preservation. Her tendency to jump into matters and reveal things or trust things without thinking also has them concerned.

Chloe has potential, but needs a good few months of therapy as far as they’re concerned.

Lila is banned from coming within ten feet of Adrien. It would have been fifty, but Adrien refused to take a killer plant that big and risk anyone thinking it’s an akuma.

Marinette passes after they have a sit down talk with her to get to know her better. Harley notes her anxiety issues and helps her to be able to avoid panicking. Ivy likes Marinette’s energy, and her garden is impressive. She gives her approval of Marinette courting their son.

Marinette: Wait—what?

And because they’re actually good moms, they figure out fairly quickly that their new son is the leather-suited catboy running around protecting Paris.

Harley: HOW DO PEOPLE NOT KNOW THIS?!

Adrien: Magic?

They have a bit of difficulty for the next few fights with the rather overprotective mothers trying to interfere in akuma fights, causing more confusion than anything until Adrien asks them to stop. They don’t, of course, but they at least let him try to handle things.

All in all, they make for a nice little family.

But there’s only so much two moms can do. And with Gabriel pretty much not involved, they’re limited in options. So after a while, they decide that Adrien needs a good father figure.

Adrien: But I have a father...

Harley: I said a GOOD father figure.

But who to choose?

Bats? “Oh god, no! Why would you inflict that level of broodiness in our child?”

Joker? “Sure! The best way to teach him important life skills is to have someone to test them on as an example. Like the best weak points! And the effects of blood loss! And how to hide a body!” “We could just use Gabriel for that and save on travel time!”

Superman? “The world isn’t ready.”

They finally come to a decision.

Which is how Nightwing finds himself tied up and dragged off to Paris to be made part of this weird little makeshift family.

Pamela: Why him?

Harley: He got the killer Robin from ‘murdery’ to some semblance of being an actual semi-healthy child with only some violent tendencies. He’d make a good father figure!

Pamela: But wasn’t that an alternate timeline—

Harley: A GOOD father figure.

Pamela: ...fine.

Nightwing: Wait—what?

Naturally, he’s confused. He tries to contact Batman to let him know what’s going on and what Ivy and Harley are up to because they’re in Paris for some odd reason and they have a kid he’s pretty sure isn’t theirs. Batman, on the other hand, is more concerned with all the crazy magic shenanigans in Paris that the League somehow doesn't know about and can’t get any accurate information on. So he pretty much tells Nightwing to stay with them since he’s already there and they have room for him anyway so it’ll be easier.

Nightwing: I'm telling you, they've captured me, dragged me off to Paris, and they have this little house with a kid—

Batman: Good, then you have a place to stay while you investigate the anomalies in Paris.

Nightwing: Bruce, I don't think you're hearing me...

Adrien: (Just pats him on the arm sympathetically)

Harley: (Hugs Nightwing) Looks like we've got Batdaddy's approval! You're part of the family now!

Nightwing: I will do whatever you want. Just don't call him that again.

To be fair, it is Batman, so he probably knows Harley and Ivy aren’t an issue at this point, but still!

…At least he gets his own room…

Nightwing isn’t sure what to think. On the one hand, he knows he shouldn’t be encouraging this. On the other hand, Harley and Ivy aren’t actually doing anything bad. And if anything, taking care of the kid has been good for them. Plus the kid seems happy with them, at least. It’s...weird, certainly, but he goes along with it. (Read: He folds to the kitten eyes.)

Then he finds out said kid is a superhero in a city regularly attacked by a supervillain who transforms and controls people by manipulating their emotions—which the League somehow has not been aware of despite it happening in PARIS.

Needless to say, he isn’t pleased.

I'm just imaging Dick Grayson interacting with other adult figures in Paris. And really, just Dick's response to everything in Paris and how things are being handled.

"So...you're telling me no one has tried to track down where the magic butterflies are coming from?"

"Um..."

"The governmental body hasn't initiated any policies to try to prevent akumas?"

"Well..."

"Set up an alert and evacuation system so people know where to go or not go?"

“…”

“Do I want to know what you people actually do in case of an emergency?”

“Probably not.”

Much like Ivy and Harley, he gets a day job to help out. There are two potential options for him.

He becomes a teacher at the school and takes over running gym class, which he uses to keep the kids in shape, teach them self defense, and help them work out some of their tension and emotions through physical activities and a good listening ear. His interactions with the kids would be something to see. Even better for his interactions with Damocles and Bustier. Because no, the events of the Ladybug episode would NOT have happened if he was there.

Lila: (Sobs) Ow! Ow! The pain! How could Marinette do this to me?

Dick: I’m not seeing any injuries.

Lila: I don’t bruise easily. They just haven’t appeared yet.

Dick: Even so, there are no abrasions. No swelling. No indications of a broken bone or sprain. Not even any marks to show where you fell.

Lila: It’s internal!

Dick: Then you need to go to a hospital to be checked out and have the extent of your injuries noted.

Lila: I wouldn’t go that far—

Dick: And your mother will be contacted and told to meet us there.

Lila: Well—

Dick: And of course we’ll be holding off on any punishment until we have a list of your injuries and a thorough investigation is completed.

Lila: But—

Dick: And just to keep you safe, I’ll be staying with you the whole time. We wouldn’t want anymore “accidents”.

Lila: ….Dammit.

He joins the police force. Just for shenanigans in his interactions with Roger. Maybe helping the force to be more effective so they can actually HELP during akuma fights instead of simply serving as a temporary distraction.

Either way, he’s a positive role model for Adrien. The three of them working together help Adrien to maintain a positive and altogether healthier state. They give him more jokes and puns to work with—because that has long since been Nightwing’s area of expertise. They give him advice in wooing his lady love. They address the “just a friend” issue. They teach him self defense and helpful fighting techniques. They curb the “self-sacrificing” tendency he’s developed. They encourage him in his goals and self discovery now that he has the freedom to actually try.

Despite the weirdness of the situation, Adrien is actually happier than he has been in a long while.

Which is made ever more clear at a particular moment when he’s leaving for school one morning.

“Bye, Mom! Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!”

Harley sniffles and wipes a tear with a tissue she pulled out of her sleeve. “It feels like just yesterday that I stole him away from the mansion.”

“Then what does that make your kidnapping me?” Dick asked, sardonically. “This morning?”

“Don’t act like you’re not proud.” Ivy snarked.

Oh, he was. Immensely so. But of course he wasn’t going to admit it and give them the satisfaction.

2K notes · View notes

demauryss · 4 years

Photo

sail the wildest stretch; 1/6

Summary: Lucas is in a mess. His roommate is his ex-crush. He gets years worth of hairfall if he thinks a minute too long about his philosophy class. His penis-drawing talents are just out of the ordinary. And the cupid assigned to his case is a hair breadth short of committing his murder.

But it’s okay. As long as he has to worry about Eliott Demaury getting to murder him first.

or, cupid8776 has a lucas problem. lucas has an eliott problem. and they are not as unconnected as one might think they are.

enemies to lovers/matchmaking au.

ao3

chapter one: april thunders may blunders

(next)

Dear Lucallecoeur456,

I’m extremely disheartened to announce that your request filed under letter no 654lgb has been denied. According to my records, it is your tenth letter in the past five months which is getting rejected. Personally, I feel saddened as you’re the only person assigned to me who’s over eighteen and still hasn’t found a match. I’d be able to help you better if you consider the following points while writing to cupidint.com next time:

While forming the letter, please consider typing in a computer before you write it down by hand. Or just consider inscribing neatly. You’re the reason our Server turns into a whimpering mess when it transcribes Coup de Foudre - assuming it’s what you write because frankly, your handwriting is garbage – as Coup de Foutre.

Please refrain from using acronyms in your letter. Writing ‘brb’ every time you deviate from a thought does not make you look good. Especially when the abbreviated form has the same number of syllables as the original word. Even better, just totally refrain from straying from an original thought only to come back to it after five pages. Makes me feel like I’m walking through a maze as I’m reading your letter.

While we’re on the topic of refraining, also stop drawing pictures of dogs when you’re asked for what you’re looking for in a partner. I know they are cute, but they can really not be an ideal partner for you.

Consider saving your satirical remarks for the real life. Our Server isn’t smart enough to detect sarcasm and thinks you are being serious when you describe a trash can in the space specified for explaining your qualities.

If you would ponder over these suggestions then I believe I’ll be able to find you a match and it’ll make both mine and your life a lot easier.

Yours truly,

Cupid8776

(They/Them)

The day Yann gets his letter, it’s everywhere on the news. local loner boy, Lucas reads somewhere, having qualities worse than the loner boy from gossip girl has a match. There’s a post circulating on twitter which goes friendly neighbourhood pretty man is officially off the market. And another after reading which makes Lucas wants to wash his eyeballs with hydrochloric acid: hot, tall, model-like being ready to dick down some pink canoes. it’s a trip you’ll never forget!!!

It doesn’t help that Lucas suspects Basile’s fan-account for Timothee Chalamet to be behind half of these posts. Especially the last one. And it also doesn’t help that Yann’s latest letter is currently getting glued to the roof of their bunk bed, right where Lucas would sure be made to stare at it for the rest of his puny life in the lower bunk.

“You’re a fucking prick,” Lucas grits out as he smothers the liquid and ugly look to the back of Yann’s letter. His hands are slimy, and Yann’s fucking face is smiling at him from the small chair he’s perched on. “You don’t even have the fucking decency to do it yourself. Can’t believe I ever thought that I like you. Fucking unbelievable.”

Yann tuts, low and too sure of himself. His face is glowing. His eyes are crinkled. And he desperately needs a punch in one or both of these areas, “You’re being dramatic, you know that?” Yann gets up from the chair, a marker in his hands. If it were up to Lucas he would have used that same object to ruin Yann’s pretty pastel pink blanket. The asshole deserves that and even more. Muttering some more curses, Lucas goes back to the task at hand – pasting the paper in smooth cursive writing courtesy of Cupid5644 on the roof of his bunk bed. Yann looks towards him in the middle of drawing a tally across the four small lines marked on the cupboard above the handle. His face is glowing. He desperately needs a punch or kick to dull that fucking shine. “Besides you signed this up for yourself. So shut the fuck up.”

Lucas groans, resting his head against his pillow, the letter he just pasted staring down at him in all its glory. “This whole thing is ridiculous Yann,” Lucas starts, hands crossed on his chest, “I still believe it’s a world-government scam meant to lure people in for their assassination later. Like, can you believe even Sully from 231-9 has a match. There’s no way you can expect me to believe the System is genuine.”

Lucas looks over to Yann who’s now leaning against the cupboard, scrutinizing Lucas from afar, “Are you sure your reason for not trusting them has got to do with that and not with the fact that in the past three months, each one of your request has been rejected with no guarantee of you ever finding a match?”

“Fuck you, Yann,” Lucas scoffs, turning his back to Yann, his front to the wall. Let Yann believe whatever he wants. It doesn’t affect Lucas, nor does it have any ring of truth to it. Fucking douchebag. Let his match turn out to be some astrology-loving, Harry-Styles-listening, ravenclaw-ass-fanatic. She’ll leave Yann’s Scorpio ass in seconds.

He hears Yann’s footsteps before Lucas feels him crouching behind him, Yann’s finger poking the back of Lucas’s shoulders, “Hey now,” he sounds apologetic, Lucas will give him that, “Life isn’t all about that jazz; your match or partner or whatever. Don’t worry about it. At least you haven’t fallen for their scam yet.”

Lucas laughs as he turns to Yann. His face is glowing. Lucas has changed his mind. The former Yann might deserve a slap in the face with a brick but this Yann deserves all the Kit-Kats Lucas has stashed under his bed. Cupid8776 will have a field day if they found Lucas’s current train of thoughts. Shocking, Lucas can imagine the magnitude of their gasp, Lucallecoeur456 does have a heart after all. Who would have thought.

Lucas smiles at Yann as he extends his arm for him to take. “C’mon now. Basile will have both of our heads on a plate if we waste another second.” He gets up, stepping into his shoes as Yann walks out of their dorm. Something crunches under his foot – Lucas’s blunder; his newest message from Cupid8776. He had thought maybe Letter No 654lgb – lonely gay boy, for clarification – would finally tire them out. But apparently, that wasn’t the case.

Yann had laughed for ten minutes straight when he had read the letter. “Your cupid is going to commit mass murder one of these days. And I think you’re going to be the first.” Lucas had shook his head at Yann’s analogy; he isn’t that horrible. He sighs as he bunches the paper into a ball and bullseye’s it into the trash can – the one he’d described in his letter. Cupid8776 has a big storm coming next.

So here’s the thing in quite simple terms.

The world’s currently under the secret matching agency Cupid International. Before that it used to be SoulsBound, with the tagline where we find your soulmate for you. But then the name changed to Cupid Int. after getting involved in one too many scandals which Lucas remembers vividly; bold headlines on the front page of several newspapers: Soulmate leaves Soulmate for another, better Soulmate #SoulsBoundFails. And Soulmate doesn’t buy eco-friendly products. Puts the planet at risk #FixItSouls. And another, much dangerous and serious than the rest, which still gives Lucas nightmares to this day: Gryffindor finds out Soulmate is a Slytherin. Says even pet stones can tell they’re not compatible #FuckSoulsBound.

These outrages demanded an instant name change, so SoulsBound transformed to Cupid International; with a union of specially trained cupids from all over the world designated to find your potential match anywhere on the planet after you turn eighteen. The changes were justified and a long time coming, Lucas would say, as for him the term soulmate warranted a much deeper, not an ephemeral meaning; which couldn’t be forsaken for anything. But the soulmate that they suggested were anything but that.

And that’s what brings Lucas to the now: the thought that why people hassle so much for getting their letters to Cupid International as soon as they turn eighteen. Why instead of trying the conventional dating method - which has been getting much recognition as of late - they relied on some unknown person’s (or spirit? Who even were Cupids?) judging of whom they’d be compatible with. But then he guesses it has something to do with the fact that the conventional method is for people the Agency has dubbed hopeless – whose matches they still couldn’t find after years of research and rejection. Lucas is halfway turning into one of the people what with his letters of rejection piling up in the trash can.

But that’s not it. The Agency has more success than its scandals, which puts Lucas off. His grandparents met through the former SoulsBound. His neighbors that have been married for over forty years when he started university met through that. Yann’s parents met through that. Everyone he knows has some kind of emotional success story regarding SoulsBound/Cupid Int,.

And then his father had gone against the system and met his mother through the conventional dating method. Look where it had brought them now.

And here’s a thing in even simpler terms.

Lucas hates Cupid International with a passion which burns his sternum and makes his stomach coil in disgust. And it has nothing to do with the way he has told Yann how he thinks the whole System is a government scam. But it has everything to do with the way how Cupid8776 has denied all forty of Lucas’s letters sent in the past nine months of him being eighteen. It makes his heart boil in his blood when he thinks about how he’s turning nineteen in three months and he still has no fucking chance of ever being matched with someone. Which sucks because out of all the remaining 6,999,999,999 people in the world, there still isn’t someone with same interests as him.

Which is cool. Fine even. Lucas isn’t petty about it. And definitely an ass. No. He’s anything but an ass about it. Because you see. He keeps in contact with Cupid8776 when he’s not writing to them on the specified days of the week. He asks them about their health, their lives. If they have someone special in their life. If they took their dog to a walk. If they’re remembering to stay hydrated.

He makes sure to send in an email every week, even if all he gets in reply is a monotonous Dear Lucallecoeur456, I’d appreciate if you would stop sending me non-work related messages. This email is reserved for work queries only. I’d also appreciate if you would use the time you took in composing this message on your request letter as I’m sure it would be more useful than this. Yours truly, Cupid8776 (They/Them) every single time.

So that’s what he does every time, much to the cupid’s dismay. He spends more time drafting his grocery list than the letter. Spends more effort in drawing stick figures of his enemy than correcting mistakes in the letter. Takes more interest in Cupid8776’s private affairs than his own. And still complain every fucking time why he hasn’t found a match yet.

But like he said, it’s fine. He’s fine.

The first damper on Lucas’s already damped mood comes a little after one. When a pretty fucking important experiment is turned in incomplete. The second comes in the shape of a person. And it’s much significant than the other.

Lucas has just crawled out of a brutal microbiology lab, his clothes tattered, voice bruised from screaming at his group members who don’t even know how to work around a fucking microscope. One would disrupt the lens and the other would somehow mess with the resolution. And then Lucas would curse his life and begin the whole fucking experiment just for the thrill of it, really.

So it goes without saying that after seven unholy tries on the experiment, it had been left incomplete as they ran out of time. Unfinished experiments aside, Lucas was fucking exhausted. He could feel the tired in every cell of his body as he walked from the class to the cafe in the campus where he’d agreed to meet the boys. Now not only was he about to drop down any second, he was also fourteen minutes late.

“You’re so early, Lu,” Arthur drawls out, dull, “Couldn’t have come even earlier if tried.”

Lucas shakes his head and plops down loudly on the bar stool in between Arthur and Yann. He dumps all of his stuff on the ground, wincing as the muscles in his neck scream in protest. “I’m sorry,” Lucas sighs, reaching over Arthur to hit Basile on the back of his head who appears to be sleeping with his head resting on the curve formed by his arms which are folded on the counter. He jolts up, eyes wide, as he looks around the café with hand rubbing where Lucas hit him. “This fucker left me on my own in the lab. It was a nightmare, honestly.”

Arthur smiles his head as Basile pouts, “What was I to do, man? Daphne asked for my help, I couldn’t say no to her!”

Lucas shakes his head, looking over to Yann as he nudges his shoulder. Yann motions towards Basile, “But you don’t have a match, right? Where does Daphne come from in all of this?”

A proud smile takes over Basile’s features. Lucas finds it funny how the words Daphne and match in the same sentence makes the sadness and the sleep to literally dissipate from his face. “I know that, Yann. But to answer your second question, I sent an email to the cupid and he reassured me that I’d find a match in the next attempt so.” Basile shrugs like it’s no biggie, when to Lucas, in definitely is. “I’m hoping it is Daphne.”

“Here’s to fucking hoping,” Lucas’s attempt at muttering is intercepted by Yann, who looks at him weirdly. As if in a question. Lucas shrugs, no biggie. He also finds it funny how Basile’s cupid is replying to his emails reassuring him about the whole fucking ordeal, while Lucas’s cupid can’t be bothered for anything. Lucas gets this: Cupid8776 definitely has something against him.

They place their orders for their beverages: coffee for all of them except Lucas. He goes with cardamom tea. It’s when the café’s beginning to fill up with people getting freed from classes that Arthur speaks up. “But like, you haven’t met the person before right? What if they have the emotional range of a lentil?”

Out of the four of them, Arthur was the one who cared the least for the System, even less than Lucas did. He hasn’t sent a single request to Cupid International, saying he isn’t the one for dating or love. And Lucas respects all his choices. He looks up, affirmation on his tongue. But then his eyes fall over Arthur’s shoulder, in between the barricade of tired students blocking the door. And he thinks, he thinks – holy motherfu-

“Speaking of lentils,” He takes a sip of his tea, meeting the boys’ confused stares, “Here comes one, heads-up.”

And it’s just that – how Lucas spots him and a murky grey takes over his surroundings. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Something weird settles in his stomach as his friends look over to the ill lentil as a smile blooms across his ugly face. Fucking traitors.

“Eliott!” One of them shouts. It’s probably Basile. It’s definitely Basile with the way he’s waving his hands in the air. Lucas would have probably knocked them off of the face of the earth had it not been for Yann seizing him by placing both of his hands over Lucas’s shoulder. Lucas inhales deeply as Eliott walks over to their little settlement of barstools and idiots, a bounce in his step as he plays with the strap of the bag over his shoulder. Lucas looks anywhere but at him as he comes to stand next to Basile as he yells excitedly, “Good to see you here.”

“You too.”

Lucas just about murders Basile with nothing but his mind as Eliott’s shirt comes into his line of vision. And as Lucas looks up - goes against the well-being of his eyes - his eyes take a quick sweep of Eliott’s tall figure. Nothing out of the ordinary. He’s currently smiling warmly at Basile, then at Arthur. It’s when that his eyes fall on Lucas that the previous warmth in them is sucked out of them, like a vacuum, and they harden like stones as Eliott looks at him. And Lucas thinks he’s probably remembering the latest stick figure drawn on a piece of paper which Lucas had hit him with earlier as he was bent over an old, tattered book in the library.

“Have a seat, mate.” It’s Arthur. Double fucking traitor. Lucas should consider getting new friends. (But then, he thinks quite sadly, who would ever befriend him if not for these completely insufferable idiots?)

Lucas watches, stomach in knots and million things on his tongue, as Eliott’s face softens as he turns to Arthur. He smiles, “I have a class soon so I should get going.”

Basile murmurs something about it being a bummer. Arthur tells him that they’ll see him around. Lucas doesn’t know a bummer or what that is but he knows the look Eliott gives Lucas over his shoulder as he leaves – he knows the menace which is coiled in the white of his eyes, the absolute anger and disgust he’s reserved for Lucas comes pooling out in that instant, and Lucas almost washes away with it. Fucking pretentious asshole.

Lucas swallows his heart beating in his throat as Eliott disappears from his sight. Un-clenches his hands which have formed a fist without his knowledge. He turns on his stool, passes Yann a smile who’s been weirdly quiet during that encounter, watches as Basile’s contemplative face comes into his line of vision. And curses whoever put him in this situation: A Thinking Basile is not a Good Basile.

“Do you know apparently Eliott still hasn’t found a match either? Which is odd, since the guy’s a deity. I mean, just freaking look at him!”

Arthur side-eyes Lucas as he nods his head in agreement. Lucas should seriously consider getting new friends. The ones he currently have differ largely from on certain matters. And it fucking sucks that they know it too. “Yeah,” Arthur is saying, “he’s pretty. And nice too.”

‘Nice’ my fucking ass. Lucas shakes his head, finishes his cold tea in a second, and picks up his bag which he dumped to the floor. It is common knowledge that Eliott Demaury is good-looking. He’s the person everyone in their uni flocks up to. He’s also pretty fucking amazing at everything he does. Which only irks Lucas more. He gets up, adding onto Basile and Arthur’s conversation with a silent Yann in tow.

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom,” he speaks to no one in particular, not really expecting the three people to stop their oh-so-important conversation about Eliott Demaury to pay him any attention. Shaking his head, he runs through a crowd, past a sulking worker, stressed students and mahogany colored back door to an alley o sheltered light and soft breeze.

Lucas breathes in deeply. His bag makes a sound as it plops to the ground. Closing his eyes, he focuses on calming his heart down which is beating so erratically Lucas has trouble keeping his mind on one place. If he could just wrap his hands around that fucker’s ne-

“Fancy seeing you here,” Oh fucking hell. Lucas fires off every curse he could think of in his heart. There is an off feeling in his stomach as he opens his eyes to Eliott’s hooded figure sitting off to his right, a cigarette placed between his lips. Lucas has to look down to place the full expression on his face, and it thrills him a little. (The act of looking down at him, for once. Not the clever smile which is placed on his face.

“Well, how’s your day doing?”

“Oh, it’s you.” Lucas shrugs his shoulders like it isn’t taking a great deal out of him to plaster the absolute fake smile on his face. “I was wondering why suddenly all the clouds turned grey.”

Even though he’s standing five to six feet away, Lucas doesn’t miss the brie fall of Eliott’s smile. But it’s coming into place faster than Lucas has the chance to feel good about the whole ordeal. He watches, against his will, as Eliott takes a long drag of his cigarette, the end of the stick burns brighter in glowing red embers before he blows white puffs of smoke in the air. He’s just so –

Lucas bites down on his lip to prevent the stupid thoughts from slipping out. Eliott watches him with (feigned) interest.

“Ahh there he is,” Eliott straightens his back. Even though he’s sitting on the steps to the side and Lucas is standing, it still – somehow – feels as if Eliott’s looking down on him. “I was wondering where the meanie in you has wandered off to.”

He didn’t just call Lucas a meanie. What the fuck.

Lucas heaves in a sigh. Wills his heart to stop hammering. “You wouldn’t know a thing or two about that, now. Would you?”

Lucas notices the little shake of his head, the light which falls over his face making it look like it’s dropped the sneer which has now become a part of his features whenever he’s around Lucas. And Lucas should revel in the thought of getting Eliott to show his real colours, but it grates on him regardless.

Eliott rubs his thighs over his jeans. Lucas traces the motion with narrowed eyes. And when he speaks, it’s to a completely different wave.

“You know, when someone asks about your day, you reply and then ask the question back. It’s called having a conversation, you know?”

Lucas bites the inside of his cheek, words already spilling out before he has a chance to assess them, “And what part of me actually looks like I would want to have any conversation with you?” Just. Who does he think he is? Pretending to be nice and all that. It doesn’t mean Lucas would forget when yesterday he doused Lucas’s workplace in some sticky as hell material which ruined not only his assignments which he spread on the table but left a permanent damper on his mood.

There’s a tilt to Eliott’s lips, his eyes bright and every bit gauging Lucas with the way they’re trained on him. The structure in his chest gives a painful squeeze.

Lucas doesn’t like it. At all.

“I should have known,” Eliott says with an air of nonchalance that has Lucas’s insides firing up in anger and – “You’re not one to have a conversation with.”

“Glad to have that sorted, then.” Lucas decides for the same tone Eliott chose earlier. He turns on his heels. And with Eliott’s eyes digging holes in his back, he returns through the same door he came out of earlier.

So here’s another thing in the simplest of terms. Lucas isn’t fond of many things in his life. He hates the System, his philosophy professor, Sully from 231-9. But what he hates even more than all of these things is the fucking lentil Eliott Dick Demaury.

There’s a dull buzzing seeping into his bones as Lucas walks towards consciousness. His limbs are still heavy with sleep, his eyes glued shut as he pats around his pillow for the vibrating device around him. He picks the phone up around a yawn, voice groggy as if he hadn’t used it in years.

Well, he hasn’t used it in hours. So. There’s that.

“Hello?” He croaks out, snuggling his face into the pillow under his head.

“Lucas Lallemant! Why are you still sleeping?”

The voice, filtered through the static, still compels Lucas to bolt upright in the bed, eyes now opened wide as he rubs away the sleep with his hand. “Mama!” He wills his voice to sound as if a trail of drool hadn’t had been drying at the side of his mouth. “You’re still up!”

His mama chuckles a little, as Lucas is left to smile sheepishly. Her voice comes clear now, “I would have called you at crack of dawn and you would still have said the same thing. Besides, don’t you have to go to your shift in half an hour?”

Lucas frowns, and then gets out of the bed. He finds Yann gone, his bed properly made. That’s why Lucas was able to sleep that much, considering Yann has reserved a distinct hatred for Lucas’s sleep.

His limbs are heavy as he changes out of the moth-ridden (not exactly, but its appearance justifies the statement) shirt he slipped into before his nap. “How have you been, Mama?”

“Great,” his mother speaks on the other line. There’s a brightness to her voice which lessens as well as increases the cut of homesickness lodged inside the muscle of his heart. Lucas doesn’t let himself dwell on the sudden sadness which grips him. Instead he focuses on the smile he can hear in his mother’s flowery tone, “I’ve been spending a lot of time in the garden these days. You know the plants Willow got me? They flowered yesterday and they’re so beautiful Lucas!”

Lucas smiles as he picks up his bag lying by the door.

She hums on the other line. “And Dr. Noelle changed my medication. We’ve switched to lighter pills instead of those heavier ones that always made me drowsy and loopy. She said I’m doing better so no need for the heavy dosage.”

There’s something like relief travelling with the air he inhales right to his heart. The sun is bright as Lucas makes his way outside. “That’s good, Mama.”

His mother launches into details about stuff about her new medication like the schedule and the amount of pills she’s required to take each time. Lucas walks out of the campus, listening intently to his mother’s retelling of the shenanigans happening in the various clubs she has joined now that she doesn’t feel so drained anymore. Lucas tells her about his classes and life in return.

“Oh, yesterday in the cooking club, Nadine switched Hira’s container of salt with baking powder. It was quite fun to watch them two bickering afterwards. And there’s a betting pool going around the club about how much time they’re going to take before they get together.”

Lucas shakes his head, a smile pulling up on his face as he crosses the road, “Mama, you should help them sort out their differences instead of enjoying their fights!”

Lucas can hear her shaking her head. She continues, “We should, but it won’t be fun anymore. Besides, I do like some slow burn if I say so myself.”

“You’re spending too much time on the internet,” Lucas muses, “Next thing I know you’ll tell me that you’re reading fanfictions.”

His statement is met with silence. Suspicious silence. He has a minute to be terrified at the prospect before he’s breaking out in laughter, “What the fuck, Mama!”

“Language, Lucas!” She chides, but there’s a smile in her voice which grips Lucas’s heart. Even though he’s kind of wary about the stuff she must find on the web, Lucas knows she can fend for herself.

“Anyways,” she steers the conversation to another direction. Lucas goes with it. “You’re coming on Saturday, right?”

Lucas nods, “Yeah Mama. I’ll try to make it on Friday if the boys haven’t got something planned already.”

The store comes into view, so Lucas says his goodbye into the phone. “I need to go, Mama,” Lucas swallows down the bile which rises in his throat. He misses her so damn much. “I love you.”

“Love you too, honey.” The lines drops, and Lucas is let to chase away the sudden sadness he feels. For a minute, he stands there outside the store, his heart beating with a pang of homesickness. But then he forces air into his lungs, clears his mind, and goes inside the store.

The store is blissfully silent when Lucas enters through the door. There’s a faint smell of lavender still left from the candle Mika must have burnt earlier. Lucas drops his bag behind the counter before he picks up the various records and CD’s piled on the counter and places them in their racks. He starts making his way to the store room for the stuff which was shipped earlier. Might as well get a head-start if he’s early.

The store’s owned by Mika’s aunt, and Lucas works part-time here. It’s a vintage record store; the business is okay. He had earned a full scholarship in the university, but needed a job for the basic necessities in his life. Mika offered a job – and the wage was enough to pay off his expenditures. It is okay, better even. Except – except for the –

Lucas ends up walking face first into a rock-hard chest. His nose gets squished against a set of solid pectoral muscles, the cartilage singing with pain. There are hands grabbing his forearms; stale cigarettes and citrusy bubblegum taking up a better half of his brain. If it hadn’t been for the way the systems operating his reflexes have trained him to be repelled away as soon as the scent hits his nostrils, Lucas is a hundred percent sure he would have delivered a leg straight into the dick in front of him.

“Hey,” there’s an iciness which Lucas feels even though he’s overtaken by the pain in his nose. Lucas looks up, up; and here he is – the dick in all its ugly glory. Lucas tries not to fall on the spot.

“Lucas Lallemant is early? Am I dying or is it really happening?” Eliott cocks his head to one side, lips tilted up a fraction. Lucas smiles back sarcastically. What if he is late to almost everything in his life? That’s none of Eliott’s fucking business. Forcing the very delicious image of Eliott choking to death in his sleep to a dark corner of his brain, straightens his shoulders to stare at Eliott square in the eyes. He’s sad and he’s tired. So he doesn’t have any energy to deal with Eliott today, “Please crawl to whatever grimy hole you’ve crawled out of this time, Demaury.”

Footsteps follow his as he spots up the cardboard box holding the new records in the store room. Mika told him to stack them once he gets the time. He’s picking it up when the slime-covered asshat opens his mouth, “What are you doing?”

Lucas sighs, “Operating a spacecraft.” He moves towards the box, hearing Eliott’s footsteps falter behind him. “What does it look like?” Lucas picks up the box, but Eliott isn’t up to giving it a rest.

“Actually, leave it there. You’re on dusting duty today.”

The fuckin- “What?” Lucas turns on his feet. His stomach is doing weird somersaults. He crosses his arms across his chest and looks at Eliott, whose eyes are narrowed as if he’s examining Lucas. It’s like he’s plotting Lucas’s murder. And Lucas – he has a flashing thought. That would be the highlight of Eliott’s life, no?

He shakes himself into the present. And then gets the words out with great distaste. “Mika told me to stack them so.” He turns around once again, moving towards the box, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Lucas shakes it off quickly.

Eliott stands off to one side, his face in its perpetual state of frown around Lucas. “Mika left me in charge,” he says, leaning his wait on the door as he looks down at Lucas. He won’t be intimated. No.

Eliott’s eyes flick to the box Lucas has picked up as he turns around, heart and head set in determination despite the initial bout of anxiety and something else which still sings inside him somewhere. Eliott almost has a foot of height in Lucas, and if that isn’t enough to make Lucas flee to the mountains, there are parallel lines drawn on the skin his forehead. His eyes are green, the one which reminds Lucas of moss gathered on stones settled to the ocean bed. Solid. Firm. Steady. Lucas wants to reach out and slap that look off of his face. Preferably with a chair. He raises an eyebrow; a challenge.

Something like light flashes on Eliott’s face, giving Lucas a look into an annoyed feature before turning neutral again. Like the plants viewed from the askew perception of water floating above the surface, Eliott’s eyes turn infinitesimally greener. “You’ll dust off all the records in the A to M section. Or if you’d rather I tell Mika about the time you scratched one of his Stevie Wonders vinyl, I’m down with that too.”

There’s no wonder in the way the box previously in Lucas’s hands retains its original place. No. Definitely not him getting intimated by that giant goo of citrusy smelly being with his head too far up his head. Eliott’s face transforms into one of his ugly smirks; the one which is belittling and totally hateful towards Lucas. Lucas just about launches his self upon him.

“If we’ve figured that out,” Eliott straightens his body, his eyes have that weird sparkle that they always gain whenever they see Lucas miserable, which is just about every fuckin time Lucas comes in contact with Eliott. “I also would like if you could hurry up. We don’t have all day today.”

Lucas bunches his hands in fists to his sides as Eliott walks out, all pretentious and glad as he is to have the final word. He blesses Lucas with one final boastful look over his shoulder, the green now as bright as day.

It’s no biggie, Lucas thinks. He can easily refuse. There must be atleast a thousand records in the A to M section. Well, not a thousand but you get the gist. And Céline has been in Léon for the past week to attend her brother’s wedding. Which means the records wouldn’t have been dusted for years. Not only would Lucas have a stellar day cleaning them, but his terrible allergy would cause him immense pain. But the scratched vinyl and Mika’s wrath after knowing about it would cause him a direct ticket to his grave.

So with heavy steps and an equally heavy heart, Lucas stomps over to the racks holding the worn out records covered with dust. There’s something tingling in stomach. He swallows down the feeling, and pushes Eliott out of his mind. That fucking asshole. No wonder he hasn’t got a match.

He goes towards to the record player he persuaded Mika to get for the store. Eliott had brewed a shit storm when Mika had agreed. His ‘Music would be distracting’ was countered by Lucas’s ‘What kind of a music store would it be if it had no music playing?’ and in the end, Lucas had watched a brooding Eliott triumphantly as Mika brought in his uncle’s record player the next day. And so it beings him a great deal of joy as he places in a record in the player that Mika has given his permission to be played in the store.

The records in front of him glisten with the reason Lucas would be walking out of the store with his eyes on fire and respiratory track on a lock down. Elton John croons in the background as he takes out the sticky notes from his pocket (they come in handy when the situation is like this, okay?), tears off a note. Eliott doesn’t, thankfully, surprisingly, bother him once as he gets to work.

It’s to a violet and pink merging together that Lucas looks up to when he makes his way out of the store. Even though his eyes are stinging, and his throat feels like the surface of a cemented wall; all rough and scratchy with cheeks stained with the water his eyes won’t stop producing, Lucas still looks up as a bird takes flight into the setting sun, a silhouette of the fucking time and energy Lucas lost removing years’ worth of dust off of records and cursing the asshole parading the halls with a stick in his ass.

Lucas doesn’t know why Eliott has made it the mission of his life to make Lucas’s life hell. And he also doesn’t know why Eliott’s like warm, soft sunshine when faced with anyone other than Lucas. Hell, if Céline had been the one asked for the task, Eliott would have stepped right up as the fucking gentleman he is to offer to do it himself. And it is funny how once he’d spot Lucas, his face would twist like he’s sucking on a sour lemon or something. Lucas doesn’t get that. He can’t.

With a sigh heaved out of his super congested nose, Lucas starts walking back to his dorm, his bag slung over his shoulder. He had been thankful for Eliott’s absence as he was walking out. It gave him a chance to stick the drawing which he made onto the first page of some deep shit book Lucas knows Eliott keeps in the drawer of the counter. Eliott was nowhere to be found, and Lucas was left with the proof to reinforce his theory. He firmly believes that besides being a fucking dick, Eliott Demaury is also a ghost which keeps appearing out of the blue and then disappears as if it hadn’t been there before. And Lucas is quite okay with that. The role suits Eliott in more ways than one – but it’s also sad Lucas’s won’t be able to get the pleasure of murdering Eliott if he’s already dead.

A rain droplet falls from the darkening sky over Lucas’s head. It lands cold in the center, making Lucas quicken his pace as he rounds the final corner near the dormitory. Yann would already be there, and Lucas can pester him all night to get him some chicken soup.

He makes it to his room just as the rain starts pelting on the ground. Lucas kicks off his shoes as he enters the room. Yann’s hunched over the study table, half asleep from what it appears to him. It’s when a particularly loud sneeze bursts through Lucas that Yann looks up.

“You look like a vampire,” Yann snickers as he looks at him. Lucas doesn’t need to look in the mirror to see what mighty image he’d be painting with red eyes and pink nose and tear-stains on his cheeks. He drops his bag, takes off his wet clothes and jumps into the bed in his boxers. Muffling his face into the pillow he lets out a groans, “I hate that asshole so much.”

“Whom do you not hate?” There’s a smile in Yann’s voice. Lucas chooses to ignore it. He sighs, turning on his back and staring at the abomination he glued to the roof of his bed earlier.

“That’s not the point, Yann,” Lucas exhales, “He knows I have a dust allergy. But still he fucking blackmailed me into dusting the records. It’s like he was getting me back on something.”

“Well, you do keep making those drawing of him,” Yann stops just as Lucas sits up. He scoffs, “Whose side are you on Yann? I can’t believe he’s bewitched you too.”

Yann shakes his head. He looks like he’s regretting every of his decision which brought him here, to this second, with a Lucas with a quarter of his brain working. Fucking Eliott Demaury and his fucking charm. Lucas doesn’t get what’s so special about it.

“-and then I had to walk in the rain,” Lucas continues, sighing into his arm. There’s a light pitter patter which is reaching Lucas’s ears. Lucas would have been able to take in the sandy smell that must be wafting in the air if his nose hadn’t been so congested. It’s Eliott’s fault. All of it. “Fucking pretentious asshole,” Lucas mumbles.

Lucas turns his head. Yann has his contemplative face on, “Don’t take it the bad way Lu, but don’t you think you’re kind of hung up on him?”

Lucas sits up, shocked to his very core. With a gasp he splutters like a fish out of water, “I’m not!”

Lucas doesn’t know where Yann is getting these terrible thoughts. Lucas won’t fall a prey to that. Fuck. Yann doesn’t seem fazed. It’s like he’s done this every other day of his life. What, Lucas doesn’t know. “If you ask me, or Arthur, or Basile, it kind of seems that you are, Lucas. You bring him everywhere, you know? Even if the situation doesn’t call for it, you’ll somehow make it so it has something to do with Eliott. And I think that’s where your fault lies: You give him too much thought.”

And that is…..totally not wrong. Maybe partially, but – Lucas does bring him everywhere with him. And that’s totally on Lucas. It’s maybe the reason he’s so miserable half of the time. He gnaws at his bottom lip, then, as in afterthought, speaks, “Well, then, fuck the rain, I guess?”

Yann’s face lights up as a chuckle passes his lips, “You know what they say Lucas: April showers May flowers.”

Lucas looks at him from the corner of his eyes, “More like April thunders May blunders but whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

And like expected, Yann starts shaking his head, exhaling heavily. The sound makes Lucas grins and he looks up just as Yann clicks his tongue, “You’re a hassle, Lallemant.”

“What do you mean? I’m a delight to have around.”

Yann clocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed, “Listen, I know atleast one person who would greatly differ with your statement.”

Lucas sighs, plopping his head back on the pillow, “Yann, you and I both know that Eliott hates my guts, so.” He shrugs. It’s common knowledge now. And wasn’t Yann just lecturing him about giving Eliott to-

“I was talking about your cupid, actually,” Yann has a terrible looking thing crawling into the fibers of the cells constituting the skin Lucas so badly wants to punch right now. The corner of his lips hitch up a fraction before he gets up from his chair, slinging his leather jacket over his shoulder. “I’m gonna go out for a smoke,” Yann says, a smile crinkling his eyes, “You sit here and think about him, okay?”

He’s out the door in a second; the pillow Lucas throws at him landing on the ground after harshly colliding with the door.

Fucking assholes.

[email protected]

Dear applicants,

Requests for the new sessions have been opened. Kindly take out the prints of your forms from cupidint.com. Please make sure to send in your requests to your designated Cupid before Friday. Any and all requests received after the deadline will be rejected.

Yours truly, Cupids

Lucas stares at the bright flashing and too depressing email displayed on the computer screen. There’s a dull throbbing behind his left eyebrow, his eyes are burning, and Yann still hasn’t returned with the food Lucas messaged him to get for him a few minutes after his departure.

His eyes move from the screen severely damaging his brain to the ugly yellow form Lucas keeps stashed in case of emergencies. His pen rests on top of in a bit slanted. Lucas hates the very sight of this form; apart of tree wasted for nothing. He remembers the many papers like this he sent many times before, and still end with fucking disappointment. What or who is to say this time won’t be the same.

With a dejected sigh he picks up the pen and presses the clicker. Might as well sign up for another disappointment. It is as he starts reading What would you pick to describe yourself as? Please pick one of the choices and is in the process to bang his head against the table cover over the answers that his phone pings with a notification. He unlocks the device, squinting at the light flooding his burning eyes. His stomach coils in on itself.

Eliott D 💩

céline will be back on friday

so it’s your duty to dust the records till then

also, you draw terribly. thought i should let you know

Lucas stares at the words with a newfound hatred which now boils beneath his skin and rises up like a tide ready to consume all of him. But if that happens Lucas would so something extremely petty and stupid. Eliott won’t let him live, and besides, Lucas is above that. He turns his phone off, and with a bout of energy coming from somewhere inside him, underneath his sternum, he picks up the pen and, because he’s inspired, starts drawing penises everywhere there’s a blank for answers he’s supposed to write. The letter’s going to be rejected anyway; Lucas might as well go down with dignity.

This is it, Lucas thinks, when Cupid8776 finally gives up on him. Ha. Lucas would finally be free of their trap.

(And, because he’s inspired, he also takes a picture of the penis, lines them up with the various shots of the stick figures currently accumulating in his photo library, and sends them all to Eliott D (Poop Emoji). In response to his last message, Lucas provides: i don’t think i’m terrible. i’m getting better at drawing your portrait, see and presses send.)

Lucas folds the letter into an envelope and is on his way to mail it. And when Eliott replies back with a chain of messages including some very gruesome you are fucking annoying and extremely threatening crawl back to the whole YOU have come out of, psychopath somewhere between that, Lucas doesn’t feel any remorse.

Like he said, he’s above that.

#elu fic #skam france #stws #elu drabble #skam france fic #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #elu #penned #stws c

108 notes · View notes

gumnut-logic · 4 years

Text

The Fight (Bit 10)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5 | Bit 6 | Bit 7 | Bit 8 | Bit 9 | Bit 10

Gordon took over this one. I have no idea what is going on. This is complete blather with no direction at all. I give up ::throws hands up in the air and stalks off::

1126 words

-o-o-o-

She spoilt herself that night. A nice long bath, takeaway and a good book curled up in bed. She desperately needed to distract her mind from the expression on Rory’s face.

There were tears. A few for release, some of sorrow and a couple due to frustration at trying to work out how to help her student.

At one point she found herself searching the net regarding his father. What she found was minimal but far from encouraging.

She had to put it aside and leave it for work tomorrow.

As expected, neither boy was at school for several days. Alan handed in his work via email with a reassuring word that he would be back the following week and that his Grandma said his eye should be better within a fortnight.

Anna stared at the letters on the screen for a full minute wondering exactly where Alan was writing from. His and Gordon’s enrolment listed them as both residents of Kumeu.

Yet she knew IR was in the South Pacific somewhere. Rockets just didn’t fit in suburban backyards.

She had jogged past the house they claimed to own and it was nice enough. Perfect garden, a little bigger than average, neat and tidy. Alan did walk home after school and she had no doubt that was where he went. But she had never seen a guardian other than Scott since Mr Tracy’s passing. Maybe that was where their grandmother lived? Three days later while on her morning jog the sight of Kyrano standing in that perfect garden, eyes tracking her as she approached, gave her an answer...and the heebee-jeebies. She waved a little hesitantly and received a single nod in return.

His eyes tracked her until she could no longer see him.

So Alan stayed with Kyrano? She was so deep in thought she didn’t even see the person she collided with until she did.

“Oh, god, I am so sorry.” Neither of them had fallen, but she had hit hard.

Taking a step back she realised she had nearly bowled over Gordon Tracy.

“Hey, Ms K!”

“Gordon?” Her muscles sung with blood flow, her chest panting just enough to know she was getting the exercise level she needed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“Eh, my fault, too. Was thinking. How are you doing?”

A blink. “I’m good. How is Alan?”

“Sporting one hell of a shiner. He has documented it extensively.”

“Documented?”

“Well, there comes a time in a boy’s life where he earns his first shiner...”

“Gordon!”

“What?”

Her flat-eyed glare communicated enough. He had a lot of experience reading it.

“Hey, what did I do?”

“I can guess.”

He grinned with just enough mischief to know that he had probably convinced Alan that a black eye was a medal of honour or some such.

“You are incorrigible.”

That just made his grin widen. “Yeah. I am.”

He was wearing the ever predictable tracksuit and carrying a bag no doubt full of swimwear and accessories. “How goes the training?”

“Perfectly. Your excellent Aotearoa has world class training facilities just a few miles thataway and I am making extensive use of them.”

“So, you are staying here with Mr Kyrano?”

“Kyrano? Yeah, me, Tin and Allie hang together when Scott, Virg and Johnny are being all heroic. Kyrano puts up with us.” He frowned. “Have you met Kyrano? He’s not one for easy introduction.”

She could agree with that.

“Yes, he appeared at the school after the altercation between your brothers and Mr MacIntyre.”

Gordon grunted at that.

“How’s Virgil?”

“Making me glad I’m on this Island and not that one.”

Her query must have appeared on her face because he followed up that statement immediately. “Virgil hates being grounded and grounded he is. Which means he is a cranky ass. John’s had to come down to assist Scott and isn’t any happier. Scott’s worried about Virgil, Alan and now John as well because...” A frown. “...well, because he is John and not Virgil, I guess. But in any case, Tracy Island is cranky Island and I’m quite happy to be here, thank you very much.”

Blink. “So, Alan is on the Island.”

“Yep, leaving me and Tin to some blissful peace and quiet.” Gordon appeared very happy about that.

She had no idea who Tin was and she wasn’t going to ask.

“If you see any of them, give them my best. I’m looking forward to having Alan back in class.”

“Sure, will do. And same to you Ms K.” Gordon’s grin was truly an infectious thing.

“Thank you, Gordon.”

His grin just got wider as he turned to resume his walk towards that house. “Nice seeing you again.” He spun around and started walking backwards. She suddenly had waggly finger guns waving at her. “You know, don’t be a stranger. You were one of the cool ones.” A pause punctuated by distracted finger firearms. “You know what, you should ask Virg to show you some of his fireworks. That would help him out of his grump and add a whole new dimension to science class.”

She smiled. “We’ve already done that component for this year, Gordon. Alan showed me the recording of you running down the beach with your pants on fire.”

The finger guns froze. “He did?” He eyed her. “You or the whole class?”

Her smile split into a grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His flat eyed glare showed that she had managed to teach him at least something at some point. “I guess he still has one eye available.”

“Gordon.” His name was pure warning.

“I’m kidding.”

“You better be.”

“Hmph.”

She may have to email Alan a heads up.

“Okay then, invite Virg in to discuss the eco-internal combustion engine. The grease monkey would love it.” His eyes widened. “Or the theory of clockwork. Big bro is a secret steampunk. Give him some cogs and gears and he’ll play all day. All that engineering design stuff is his jam.”

“Because he’s an engineer?”

“Well, yeah, but mostly because he could do with a distraction.”

“He’s injured.”

“One broken rib.”

“Isn’t one enough?”

Gordon shrugged. “Not enough to stop him from driving everyone up the wall.”

“He was protecting your brother.”

“Of course he was. And now he is doing his best to convince Scott and everyone else that life is no longer worth living.”

“Gordon...”

“Hey, it’s only a suggestion. Get him out of our hair, give you a free demonstration. He even has a clockwork chicken.”

“A clockwork chicken?”

“Yeah, he said he needed something to cross the road.” Gordon’s grin was massive.

Anna just stared at him.

“What?” All grinning innocence.

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you.”

His grin just got wider.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Gordon Tracy #Anna Kent

48 notes · View notes

judgement-free-sideblog · 4 years

Text

Blood, tears and sea breeze

Warnings: ANGST, mental health issues, graphic depictions of violence, blood, cursing, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of sex, substance abuse.

Summary: The not so peaceful town of Broadchurch face dead again, while Alec Hardy continues his journey to redemption will this school teacher be the key to solve the mystery or just another victim of the ever watching evilness that seems to reside in the town.

Notes: My OC Derek Ramos is basically Anthony Ramos (Hamilton) I love him, he is cute and sexy and so freaking talented, and I frankly just wanted to write a story about him, but the In the Heights movie won't be happening any time soon, so I settled for this.

First Previous Next

Chapter 16: Inappropriate

Common sense and logical thinking, as Doctor Florence used to say when you were just a kid, whenever you felt ike you were losing control you needed to found the logical thing to do, and that would calm your anxiety before you have an episode, and usually it worked, most of the time anyway.

What was the logical thing to do now? None of the actions you have been taking the last weeks were logical, and common sense was urging you to stand up and run away from him, but the soft touch of his hands on the small of your back and the warm breath of his mouth were proving to be more calming than any rational thinking.

His lips felt soft on yours and maybe also scared, but he had no hesitation and you have seen the quiet need in his eyes, and you could almost cry since this was the first time in weeks since someone had kissed you, and sadly the first time in months since someone had that actual desire and need on his eyes before kissing you, he doubted for a second the moment you start returning the kiss with the hunger and longing for physical contact that had been denied to you; but he kept you close to him enough for you to feel his heart beating hard and fast on his chest, and you were desperate to know how would it feel under his shirt.

His touch became tighter on your waist and your body was moving on it's own trying to climb on his lap obeying some muscular memory on how familiar it felt, not like they were similar in any way, but he gave you the safe feeling He used to provoke on you, and you finally open your eyes... for a moment you were convinced that a pair of playful blue eyes will receive you with a cheeky grin, but instead there were those sad brown eyes darkened with desire, and logical thinking choose the worst possible moment to start working again.

You broke contact immediately, and felt a little hurt that he didn't tried to stop you when you muttered a little "I'm sorry" and run straight to his room closing thee door behind you and finally letting the tears consume you.

Jonathan's memory deserved better than this reckless and selfish behavior, and Detective Hardy deserved a free woman, free from all the horrors in your past, free from a dead fiance whom you still loved deeply, and free from all the problems you tended to cause. Also you were not entirely sure but it seems like he and Detective Miller had a thing going, and you would never get in between two people, it was a harmful and indecent thing to do specially to people who were as nice and considerate as them.

You could hear him pacing on the hallway outside the door and you wanted to get outside and tell him how much you really wanted to kiss him and maybe more, but you were broken at the moment and how bad idea it was, you wanted to tell him desperately how much you enjoyed kissing him, how his lips bring you back to life and how for a moment all the sadness disappeared, and how much you appreciate all the things he have done for you, and how you bring sadness and trouble to anyone around you so you have to walk away from him before you drag him to your darkness and ruin his life.

Because for god sake Y/N! Your mind told you once he stopped and turned off the light of the hallway, you were a fucking witness/ suspect on a murder case, his bloody career will be in the trash if someone knew that he did as much as looking at you as something more.

No, this was better, you could hide there at least until he left for work the next day and after that... well you will figure it out once the sun were up. You sitted on the bed trying to take Jonathan's disappointed and hurt face away from your thoughts, but two hours later when Daze entered the house you were still awake, ot wasn't until after 4:00 am that the fatigue defeated you and finally closed your eyes.

***

Olly Stevens was waiting outside Ashley Langford's La Boheme deli, holding a tray with two cups of coffee, and saw detective Harford approach him in civilian clothes she pointed to an empty table in the terrace and he followed her.

"Detective, you look as gorgeous as usual, may I offer you a coffee" He said again with exaggerate reverence but before the woman could roll her eyes at him a strong hand took the tray off his hand and gave Harford one of the drinks and took the other for him.

"Oh that's really considerate from you sir" a handsome man with short curly hair and sweet and compassionate eyes sitted next to Katie and offered him his hand. "I'm DC Ramos, you can call me Derek"

"Hi Detective, I'm Olly Stevens, I'm the Broadchurch Eco editor, how can I help you?" Harford smile to his inside since Stevens would act professionally now that other man was in the scene, I was completely ridiculous and insulting, but she had to admit that Ramos had potential and she secretly wanted to spend some more time with him.

"Did you found what I asked you?" She said once he put out a couple folders.

"It wasn't easy, I had to promise a janitor a two page story on how unfair their working conditions are" he said giving her what seemed to be photocopies of a C. Langford medical record.

"And they don't have unfair working conditions?" Harford asked.

"They do, but that doesn't sell newspapers" he said and have her a wink that was received by a dead glare. "Anyway here are the old newspapers you asked for" He said giving a voluminous binder that detective Ramos took. "Now what can you tell me about Jonathan Norbury's case, anything interesting?"

"Absolutely nothing, but we appreciate your collaboration, and once we have something that would sell newspapers you'll be the first to know" Detective Ramos said with a bright smile and Olly couldn't hide the disappointment on his face and after some more small talk he left them alone.

"Did you get the old records that I asked you?" She said once they were on her car.

"I did, they are not digital so is a lot of paperwork he said pointing at a voluminous box in the back "Is gonna take us forever Katie"

"Us? They are not paying us for this you know? I mean you don't have to be here" she said and his eyes went sad for a second and she feared he felt unwelcome when she was actually delighted that he wanted to help.

"Well I know that the files came from a shady reporter, I can't leave you alone now" He said hopefully and she put a serious face for a moment.

"Fine, but I can't take work home, my apartment is tiny and they are renovating the ceiling so is a lot of noise"

"Well you can come to my place, I mean if you want to" he said nervously, and she found him endearing.

"Sure, we can order take out if this gets too long" He smiled with that happiness that reach his eyes and gave her the address so they would start search on Charles Langford's past.

***

"I'm going to beat that bastard" Father Coats said loudly causing a few of the penitent in the church to look at the confession booth.

"Seal of confession father" You said and you could guess the way he was brushing his hair to the back of his head as he used to when he was nervous or angry, or in this case both.

"That only works if I didn't knew who you are" He said sarcastically, since he would have recognized your voice in any place.

"Well then pretend you don't, or better yet, talk to me as my friend" you said to him in the stubborn tone you knew drive him insane.

"If this was a talk among friends I could actually have a word with detective Hardy" He said and you rolled your eyes angry because he was right.

"Well then father, tell me if I'm burning in hell for being a loose woman" you said after a while.

"No more than him" He started and you knew he was joking, was that allowed? For him to make jokes in there? "I can only absolve you if you feel repented, but something tells me you don't, and if that is the case I think there is not such thing as a sin, is terribly inappropriate, and I'm sure if you choose to continue with this you would be jeopardizing Jonathan's murder investigation" He said after thinking throughly the situation.

"Well we wouldn't be the only ones misbehaving right?" You said and you could swear you felt the color rising to his face.

"We are not discussing my personal life here, and there is nothing happening there for your information" He said defensive, he finish with the confession and you follow him outside where Daze was helping some children arrange some flowers for the altar.

"It looks amazing Dasy" you said and she smiled, apparently she pretended to become a teacher eventually and she was searching for opportunities to be around children.

"Thanks Y/N my dad is coming to pick us, I text him we were here" she said and your plan to avoid him fall apart.

"DI Hardy" Father Coats said once he got inside the church.

"Paul" he said with a dry tone, he look sadder than usual and you felt guilty for it. "Are you ready?"

"Can I stay longer?"Dasy said and you wish she could read your mind so she won't left you alone with him, although you hope he would say no, but for your surprise he agreed.

You didn't have time to think when you were already walking towards his car, but before you get back to be reclusive in his room yo thought at least you owe him an explanation.

"Alec I..."

"Y/N I'm sorry..." you spoke at the same time and he immediately shut up when he heard his name on your lips, you haven't call him that yet, but he didn't seem mad. "Go ahead" he said and he stop walking next to the car.

"Can I drive?" You said after a moment and for all answer he gave you his keys and you climb on the driver's seat.

The drive was silent, but relaxing somehow, you had a place in mind to go, and you were sure he knew where were you going but he seemed uneasy once you start walking up towards Danny Latimer's cliff, your pants were now damp by the grass but you didn't care.

You finally reached the top and sited on the grass looking at the ocean, he looked at you concerned but eventually he sited next to you.

"What are you sorry for?" You said finally.

"Well my behavior last night was... " He started taking off guard by the question.

"Inappropriate?" You said remembering Paul words "Well is not like I didn't wanted you to kiss me" you said and you could see relief in his face, and suddenly it was clear, he wasn't mad with you for running away but with himself for making advances on you. "He proposed here you know?" You said fighting the tears and trying to search for the right words to explain yourself.

"Did he?" He said with a cautious tone.

"Yeah, he hated being outdoors, city boy you know?" You laughed remembering Jonathan tired face when you reached the top and he finally put down the picking basket on the floor, and the pain start pressuring your chest "He bring me here because he knew I love this place"

"It's quite nice" he said and offered you a handkerchief.

"Thanks" you took it and clean your eyes smearing some lipstick on the fabric. "I keep thinking about how manny weeks are until our wedding day" You said and he looked confused "I keep questioning me if things had been different... I want to believe that if things had been different I would have ask you your name in one of your appointments with Dr. Florence, and maybe... I don't know maybe I would have postponed my wedding because I was not sure anymore..." you said elaborating the childish dreams and ideas that you told yourself to justify your actions.

"I'm sure you wouldn't have postponed it" he said not understanding where you wanted to go with this.

"Or maybe I would have married him anyway and eventually I would have cheated him with you" You said bitterly "Not like what I did was much different"

"You didn't cheat on him" He said vehemently and he didn't need to elaborate because you could imagine that by now he must know more about Jonathan life than you.

"We hadn't have sex in months and I felt like he was repulsed by me in the end... I'm not justifying him, but that's the truth, I thought that it was wedding nerves, but I was to naive apparently, you must know of course if he cheated on me" you said.

"You know I can't discuss deatails of the case..."He said but that was all the confirmation you needed.

"I know that, and if he was it doesn't make right what I did, I was just not ready to have feelings for someone else so soon, and I feel like by having them I somehow love him less... I should be the one apologizing because I wanted you to kiss me and more..."

"You don't have to apologize, I shouldn't have act upon my feelings, but I'm glad you are not offended by them" he said and you gave him a small smile.

"Why would I? You are a handsome wonderful man, and if I'm honest I feel more free next to you than I have in the last five months of my life, I just wish that maybe the timing had been different"

"I would have asked you your name" he said after a while and you nodded, it was so peaceful up there. "Maybe several months after we met, maybe too late for anything to happen"

"Now what?" You asked standing up after him.

"We go back, and we pretend this didn't happen" he said, and you agreed, logical thinking "and maybe when this over..." he started with hope in his eyes.

"Alec, could you be honest with me?" He nodded as a response "Do you think I did it?"

"I don't" he said, it wasn't a emotional declaration, it was just a fact for him, he was completely sure you didn't do it.

You look straight into his eyes and evaluate the situation, he was right that was the logical, rational, and correct thing to do, but...

"I don't want to be too late" You said and you kissed him, waiting that maybe he would be rational and reject you, but he closed his arms around your back and kissed you with the same intensity of the night before or maybe more, both of you knew this was dangerous, reckless, irresponsible and completely inappropriate, but you couldn't care less.

Tag list:

@allonsymexgirl @laciesaito @tf18unipups @dazedkrosupreme @timey-wimey-lovi @coffees-and-constellations @ladyaziraphale @acid-gurkerl

53 notes · View notes

hydra-collector · 4 years

Text

Not Quite So Sudden

Pairings: Analogical

Characters: Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders

TW: suicide, climate change, self-deprecation, depression, self harm, blood (no death)

Words: 1,256

Summary: Logan feels bad for what he could have done, and makes the worst decision.

Note: Technically a two-chapter fic, but not going to separate them since the second is so short.

Boom.

Well, not exactly. Quite far off, actually. More like…

Oh well, we’ll be fi- proceeds to die.

But not quite that either. Maybe…

“We’re fine,” while starving, breathing pollution, and watching citizens live every day in panic.

Yeah.

And Logan had done nothing.

He’d had the chance. When he’d first gone to university, he’d chosen environmental science. He was going to join the fight against climate change as a scientist, a scientist who could do something. He’d been good at it, he’d been interested in it.

But no, his mental health was “degrading fast” and it was “too much” for him to keep going.

All words he’d said.

So he’d pursued music instead. Music was solace, music was easier than climate change. His friends had been supportive. His boyfriend, Virgil, had assured him that his mental health was worth it.

But yet, if he’d continued with environmental science, he wouldn’t be having that problem now. He could be doing things to fix global warming. Would’ve probably helped.

And here he was, sitting on his bed. Cello abandoned in the corner. Reading an article about how the world won’t last much longer. And a very recently sharpened kitchen knife on his arm.

Logan was smart. As a child he’d been classed as gifted and had moved far ahead in school. He could be the intelligent scientist fixing the problem. Reporting to this newspaper.

No, no, no, however. Instead he was here, torturing himself in multiple ways. A nice mentally degrading article and cuts were a good pair. He was just scared, scared of death and just knowing how real it was.

He should’ve been the name interviewed. Guess he wasn’t as smart as he thought if he was dumb enough to refuse to deal with the issue.

He could’ve quit the major and dealt with it another way. Shared information on Twitter. Researched about ways to help instead of not changing a single aspect of his life. Sure, it bothered him (a lot) and, as he’d said himself, if he wasn’t mentally stable enough to help much then he was doing all he could just thinking about it.

But wasn’t he mentally stable enough to do something?

There are things he could have done. Eaten better for the environment. Saved money to get a more eco-friendly car. Even mentioned it in conversations. It couldn’t have felt that bad to just do that.

And now he’s making other people suffer for his mental health.

Probably giving himself too much credit.

He knows what it’s like. What could one scientist do to fully stop and reverse climate change? He’d never be good enough. He’d never try hard enough. All he’d do is keep on worrying, keep on cutting, keep on being a useless bitch to society.

He didn’t have to be. He could go back, get his degree, try his best. It’d feel good to help, and with other people they could probably do it. Fix it.

But did he really want to?

In the few months of school he’d gone to with his environmental science major, he’d been miserable. He’d gone home to the apartment every day and sobbed. When he started dating Virgil, all he could do was weep into his chest. He didn’t really want to go back to that torture.

If it meant saving the world, though.

What was he thinking? He’d go back, Virgil would see how miserable he was, convince him to stop again, and then nothing would change.

He’d go back to this, but the article would be worse this time.

But then… there was another option.

Stop it. Stop being able to worry. Sure, everybody else would have to suffer through this, but isn’t it selfish anyway? And like he said, there wasn’t really any way to just fix it himself. He was worthless.

Another reason.

He was bleeding. And going to keep bleeding.

There you go, another reason.

He could think of more.

Logan opened Discord. Not doing this randomly and out of the blue. No, he needed Virgil.

Logan: virge, you know something

Anxiety™: ye?

This needs to be in his style. Professional.

Logan: The dead don’t worry.

Anxiety™: Lo what do you mean? Are u ok?

Logan: If I was one of them, I’d have nothing to worry about.

Virgil took a little to respond. God, this was scary.

Anxiety™: Logan, don’t. Its ok, just tell me what happened

Logan: It’s not okay, Virgil. I just didn’t want to surprise you. I’m going now.

Ironic, how he wanted this to avoid death. Guess he needed control.

Virgil called him. Logan picked up for hearing his boyfriend’s voice one last time.

“Logan, please.”

Virgil’s voice was shaking.

“I’m sorry.”

Now his was too.

“Logan, you’re not sorry because you’re not going to do anything. I’m coming over.”

Logan could hear traffic on the other side of the call. It would be about seven minutes before he got there from his dorm. At least he was too poor for them to live together.

“Lo, at least let me see you.”

He was sure to take the knife. He should do it now, then maybe he’d be able to die and see Virgil.

Wait a little. He needed to see him.

He rocked back and forth, back and forth in preparation. He wondered what it would be like.

Say something simple. Something quick.

It was a big, pretty kitchen knife held close to him.

“Virgil, I love you.”

“Logan, Logan, please, no,”

He felt bad for Virgil’s cries and sobs, but… there was nothing else he could do.

He stabbed himself in the gut.

Enough to bleed out a little after Virgil got there.

“Logan! Logan where are you?” Virgil’s pained screams rang out through Logan’s apartment. His movements were desperate, collapsing on the bed when he found Logan.

Why? Why’d he do it? Look at Virgil.

He hurt him.

“Logan, I-I’m gonna, gonna get help,” he said, scrambling for bandages in the bathroom and struggling with his phone.

Three quick bloops and bandages in his hand.

Guess this is why humans can multitask.

You’ve just attempted suicide and this is what you’re thinking?

Not all of what he’s thinking. He’s thinking about what just happened. At this point he was thinking about how this was a bad decision. And Virgil.

Virgil, looking sweet through his terror. Virgil wrapping his torso in bandages while on the phone with 911. Virgil with a prayer in his eyes that Logan would be alright.

Quietly, he managed a plead for Virgil. He wanted Virgil to hug him. Even if he died right now, Virgil was here to hold him. Death didn’t have to be chaotic like it sometimes is. Logan was lucky. He had the chance to die with his boyfriend, experiencing love rather than regret.

Luckily sirens weren’t the last thing he ever heard.

“L-Logan, I love you too.”

Light.

This must be heaven.

Then whose are the gorgeous purple eyes?

His weight shifted towards warmth. White sheets dressed his body. The fabric pressed against his shut eyes felt soft in a squishy, human kind of way. He hugged and shook, steadying himself to breathe. The fabric started humming a pained, yet hopeful tune.

“Hmm, hmm hmm, hmm hmm...”

It finally didn’t have to be real. It didn’t have to be fake. It just was. It was the present, and there was nothing he could, or wanted, to do but accept it. The heartbeat was no longer sudden.

“Lo-

You made it.”

#sanders sides #sanders side fic #logan sanders #virgil sanders #analogical #ts logan #ts virgil #tw suicide #tw self harm #tw blood #tw climate change #grays fics

18 notes · View notes

avaantares · 4 years

Text

FFVII:REMAKE - A Review

So I beat the game two weeks ago and started writing down my thoughts while they were fresh in my mind, but I didn’t post anything then because my one IRL friend who is also playing it hadn’t finished it yet and I didn’t want to risk posting anything spoiler-y. But the extra time has allowed me to play through the game again on Hard difficulty, which has allowed me to reconsider and elaborate on some of my thoughts. And frankly at this point I just need to dump my Very Big Opinions somewhere, so... here ya go.

I discuss visuals, gameplay, character and story below. I’ve tried to keep spoilers minimal up front, though obviously if you want to go into the game totally cold, don’t read this. All major spoilers are clearly tagged. All of it is below a cut to spare your dash.

Also, there are pretty pictures, because why not?

First, my background with this franchise: I played through the original FFVII multiple times; I’ve watched and rewatched Advent Children and Last Order, played Crisis Core, gave up on Dirge of Cerberus despite my deep love for Vincent Valentine (sorry, VV, but your game was just a mess), and lamented that Before Crisis wasn’t available in my country. I even played (and own!) Ehrgeiz, the obscure fighting game that featured the main cast. (Still bitter that they didn’t keep Miki Shinichirou as the voice of Sephiroth. He’s one of my faves.)

^ Ehrgeiz, a mediocre fighting game that forever endeared itself to me by including Turks!Vincent Valentine as a playable character. 💖

In short, I’ve been waiting for this game for DECADES.

So. Here we go. My thoughts on Final Fantasy VII: REMAKE.

The good:

The character models are very pretty. With individual pores, threads and scuffs visible, they’re so detailed that it’s almost impossible to reconcile them with the mouthless sprites from the original game – even more so than Advent Children (and dear goodness, that was over a decade ago now, wasn’t it?). Still, they’ve kept the costume details and absurd proportions largely intact (Barret’s fists are literally larger than Tifa’s entire head, yet somehow it works visually), so it’s not too much of a departure from the familiar.

They’ve kept the aesthetic. I was afraid the game would try to update the iconic world of Midgar, but by and large, it’s full of visually-arresting designs that preserve the gritty-industrial look and feel of the original.

Japanese version is included. BLESS YOU, Square Enix, for including the Japanese voices and character animations. Not only is it impossible for me to hear Cloud in anything other than Sakurai Takahiro’s voice, but the Japanese script is a bit nicer to the characters. I’m not really keen on the English dub… but more on that below.

They fixed the spelling of Aerith’s name. This may seem like a minor point, but considering it’s been 20 years and I’m still bitter that Devil May Cry still hasn’t corrected “Nelo Angelo,” it’s a small victory.

Improved combat. Admittedly, I wasn’t sold on the new combat system at first, but after playing through the game twice, I’ve come to really like it. It has a few rough edges and can get chaotic in some battles, but it does a decent job of blending the feel of an action game with turn-based strategy. The fact that you can switch to a more traditional turn-based system if you prefer is also nice. (I haven’t tried Classic mode yet, though.)

Weapon customization. The Skill Points system allows you to upgrade your loadout instead of acquiring new gear. The tutorial was somewhat lacking (I didn’t quite figure out the multiple-core-unlock thing right away), but I appreciated the ability to add materia slots or stat buffs rather than just cycling through a dozen swords that Cloud apparently keeps in his back pocket.

Background dialogue management. On the whole, the conversations as you run through town enhance the story without slogging down the gameplay; you don’t have to stop and talk to every single resident, because snatches of their conversation reach you (and your on-screen chatlog) as you pass. You can stop and listen for more detail if you want, or you can just keep moving. The extra worldbuilding is really nice.

The music. The orchestrated versions of the original themes are excellent (and some of those music cues gave me goosebumps… Did I spend way too many hours immersed in the original game? Probably). I can take or leave some of the collectible jukebox tunes, but the background music in general is good. (But did I earn that Disc Jockey trophy? Yes, yes I did.)

Supporting character development. Jessie, Biggs and Wedge actually have characters! And personalities! Clichéd ones, admittedly, but it’s an improvement over the original game killing them all off within the first few minutes. The game also does justice to the Turks, and actually surprised me with how much depth of character it gave Reno and Rude in particular (perhaps setting them up for a mini redemption arc so players forgive them for dropping a plate on tens of thousands of slum residents?). Their moments of concern for each other and (brief) crises of conscience made them more than the stock villains they were in the original game, more in line with their temporarily good-aligned characters in Advent Children. Tseng, likewise, was on point. However, I do have to qualify all this with one irate question: Where the heck is Elena?! Seems like the female characters are always getting left out… /sigh/

Improved plot devices. REMAKE cleans up some of the more questionable and outdated content from the original. As you likely already know from the demo, the new game somewhat exonerates the protagonists by having Shinra blow up their own mako reactor to turn public opinion against AVALANCHE (possibly because someone finally realized that it’s hard to sympathize with characters who are willing to melt down an entire reactor and kill a bunch of innocent civilians). AVALANCHE are still eco-terrorists, but they’re… terrorists with a conscience? I dunno, at least they feel bad when people die now… Likewise, the weird and uncomfortable Honey Bee Inn segment of the original game has been reborn as an amazing dance extravaganza. Less voyeurism/prostitution, more Vegas floor show (complete with minigame choreography) and makeover. The whole Don Corneo scenario is still hella creepy, but frankly, there’s nothing that can fix that.

Series references. Fans of the original will appreciate all the inside jokes and direct references to the original game and other franchise entries: One-off comments about Chocobo racing; a broken console in Wall Market that shoots at you; a framed picture of the original 32-bit Seventh Heaven; ads for Banora apple juice; side mentions of characters and plot devices from spinoff games; PHS communication… The game definitely pays tribute to its history. They even recreate the original loading screen and several of Cloud’s iconic poses/animations throughout the game:

The neutral:

Recycled gags. Look, I know Advent Children was the ultimate evolution of FFVII for a while, and admittedly, it did some things very well. The running gag with Rude’s sunglasses and the victory fanfare being used as a ringtone are some of the best moments in the film, in part because they were so unexpected. But as much as I enjoyed the repeated nods to AC in this game, they felt a little desperate, like there were no new jokes to insert so they had to double down on the ones they’d used the last time this franchise had a renaissance. (See Rude’s broken sunglasses, below.) And fitting into the series as a whole, it feels a little weird. Why is Rude’s ringtone the same as the clones’ from Advent Children? Does Barret really need to sing the victory fanfare over and over when he defeats an enemy? Is there supposed to be some history behind that song that was left out of the worldbuilding? It just feels too meta.

Arbitrary localization of names. I don’t really grasp why it was necessary to rename so many items and characters for the English market. Some changes make sense for localization (e.g. Whack-a-Box certainly works better for an American audience than Crash Box), but others seem arbitrary, like changing Aniyan Kunyan to Andrea Rhodea or Mugi to Oates (a play on the meaning of his name in Japanese, but... does it matter?). And then… well, I don’t want to spoil A Major Plot Element, but there’s another thing that changes names from one English word (in the Japanese track) to a different English word. Why? No idea. It doesn’t affect gameplay, and it’s not really a problem, but listening to the Japanese track, I found it jarring to have the subtitles contradict what I was hearing.

Underutilized characters. While the whole gamut of original FFVII characters make appearances, several of them aren’t used to full effect, or aren’t used at all to advance the story. Rufus Shinra’s bossfight is a decent challenge, but while his character was vital to both the original FFVII and Advent Children, his presence in this game is little more than a cameo. His fight could be cut or swapped out with any other boss, and it would have zero effect on the plot. Similarly, while Hojo is a key player in the full story (which this game doesn’t cover, since it’s only a fraction of the original timeline), he’s largely wasted here, except as a means of extending play time by making you wander through corridors and fight a bunch of monsters for “research.” (I have no idea what his motivation is; you’d think he’d be more interested in recapturing Aerith or Cloud, but instead he just... opens an elevator and lets them leave? after they beat up some midbosses.) Reeve Tuesti actually has a solid presence in this game, but since he’s ONLY ever active as himself, there’s no explanation for the random Cait Sith cameo in one scene (players new to the franchise probably have no idea why a random cartoon cat showed up for a few seconds and was never mentioned again). Obviously the plot arcs have to change when the game is covering only a few days’ time in a much longer story, and the major players need to be introduced at some point if they’re going to feature in later games in the series, but from a narrative standpoint, there are an awful lot of superfluous characters doing things for no reason in this installment.

The bad:

THE PADDING. Dear goodness, there is so much padding to make this a standalone game instead of just the first chapter of a longer adventure. I got really, really sick of running literally from one end of the map to the other on side quests – and that’s me, an avowed trophy hunter who spends hours scouring dark corners for collectible items in other games, saying that. So much of this game felt like time fill that didn’t really advance the story. It’s also full of unnecessary new characters with improbable Squeenix hair, like Roche the super-annoying motorcycle SOLDIER (below), or Leslie, Don Corneo’s doorman who somehow merits his own backstory and side quest. (Though in fairness, every FFVII sequel has added superfluous characters, with Crisis Core possibly being the worst offender.) But it just felt really drawn-out and bloated for a game of this generation. If this game had been as compact and tightly-written as the other games I typically play, it probably only would have taken me 15 hours to beat instead of 50. (I don’t actually know how many hours I spent on it the first time through, as I didn’t check the play clock before restarting on Hard difficulty. I do know it took me over 110 hours total to complete the game on both modes, though much of the second run was spent dying repeatedly on a handful of nasty fights. Hard mode removes items and MP replenishment, and if you run out of MP at any point during a chapter, you’re going to die. A lot.)

The pacing. Related to the above... the Midgar portion of the original game was just the setup for a larger story. It wasn’t meant to have its own complete dramatic arc so much as to introduce you to the world and the major players. Consequently, there are some really odd beats in this story, as well as a total lack of urgency in your mission. There are no natural places to slot in the side quests and minigames, so they’re shoehorned awkwardly between plot sequences. “Quick, our friend is in mortal peril and needs our help!” "Okay, cool, we’ll go rescue her after we spend ten hours running around town doing random errands for townspeople and playing games with the local kids.” Uh... what?

The graphics just aren’t as good as they should be. While the character models are gorgeous, there are a lot of low-res background textures and weird polygons that don’t quite match up with other components. Most egregious are the Shinra logos, which frequently get close-ups as part of the fixed camera work and, frankly, look like lossy JPEGs. (See image below, screencapped from a PS4 Pro. Those jagged edges on the logo are present throughout the entire game.) There are weird clipping errors and artifacted images and reflective surfaces that don’t reflect, making the game look more like something from the PS3 era than a 4K late-gen PS4 game. (And it’s not that we don’t have the technology: Uncharted 4 was released back in 2016, and the rendering of its vast world was twice as pretty. Devil May Cry 5, released in early 2019, has far more realistic textures and object interaction. Granted, those are different types of games with fewer NPCs to render, but I feel like there’s no excuse for a game this big to look this mediocre.)

The HUD could be better. The lower-corners concept is okay, though it took me a while to train my eyes to travel between both sides of the screen and track the fight action. But for a long time, I didn’t even notice the commands in the upper left corner of the screen, and after playing through the game twice I still have no idea what they say because I couldn’t focus on the tiny text long enough to read them while trying not to die in combat. (I just looked it up; apparently they’re combat control shortcuts? Huh, that would have been useful to know.) It wasn’t until my second time through that I realized there even WERE separate controls on screen during the motorcycle minigames; I had resorted to panicked button mashing to figure it out the first time through because there was no tutorial (you’re just dropped into the action) and, having ignored the small text for the previous hundred combats, I had no reason to look for on-screen instructions there. Not that it would have helped, since on many backgrounds the text in the upper left is really difficult to read (see below). It’s worth noting that I have better than 20/20 vision and played this game on a large TV screen and still had trouble reading some things; on a smaller TV, or for someone with less acute vision (like my sister, who is blind in one eye), I think even the basic menu controls would be difficult to see. While you can resize the font for subtitles, my cursory glance through the menu did not uncover an option to increase the size of the HUD.

Inter-fight menu mechanics. Specifically, the inability to save (or save loadout settings) between fights in a multi-part sequence. There are several back-to-back fights in which it is necessary to switch characters or change gear between bosses. The game treats them as one continuous fight, though it does allows you to access the equipment menu by holding square during key cutscenes. Which is good, if you only have one of a particular materia or accessory that you need to switch between characters, and in most cases when you die the game lets you restart just before your current fight instead of restarting the whole sequence -- also good, since some multi-stage bosses can easily take 20-30 minutes to beat, and if several of those are strung together in sequence, you’re in for a long play session to get past them. But since it’s treated as one fight, you can’t save between bosses (more than once, I had to leave my PS4 running in Rest Mode overnight and just hoped we didn’t have a power glitch), and if you happen to get killed and need to restart the fight, your loadouts reset. Which means if you’re, say, fighting the end boss on Hard difficulty and get killed in the first two minutes -- which happened to me a lot -- by the time you restart the fight, sit through the unskippable cutscene, access the menu and rearrange all the materia and accessories you need, you’re spending five or six minutes gearing up for two minutes of play, and then doing that over and over again every time you die. It gets really old.

The English dub script. *deep breath* Okay, look, I know I can be a bit elitist about translations, but I really do not like the English adaptation of this game. It makes Cloud come across as less socially-awkward and far more of a deliberate jerk, Aerith is mouthy and even swears (which is not accurate to her original character), and it downplays some of the symbolism that’s more obvious in the Japanese script. One quick example: When Aerith gives Cloud a flower, she says (in Japanese), “In the language of flowers, this means ‘reunion.’” It’s subbed/dubbed in English, “Lovers used to give these when they were reunited.” That’s a subtle difference, but since the concept of “reunion” is a freakin’ huge part of the FFVII plot, and since Sephiroth was on screen literally seconds before that line is delivered, my brain automatically went, “OMG REUNION!!!” while I’m guessing people listening in English only picked up on the romantic subtext. It’s a pretty minor thing, and of course translation is always a complex balancing act between literal meaning and local market understanding, but the English version just seemed to me to have a different vibe overall. (Unfortunately, the English subtitles are the same as the dub, so unless you can understand the Japanese audio you’re kind of stuck with that dialogue.)

[WARNING: SPOILERS BELOW THIS POINT]

- …And my #1 complaint about Final Fantasy VII: REMAKE is…

…it’s not actually a remake.

Sure, the game starts out the same way and covers a lot of the same events, but fundamentally, it’s a sequel, not a retelling. It’s evident from Cloud’s future-oriented visions throughout the game that something else is going on, and the ending MAKES NO SENSE if you don’t already know the story. Heck, even the rest of the game doesn’t really make sense if you don’t know the story -- Sephiroth’s presence is never explained; Zack isn’t even introduced, just shows up randomly at the end; Cloud’s flashbacks of Tifa and her dead father in Nibelheim are left as a complete mystery (and since she evidently remembers the burning of her town, judging by her dialogue outside Aerith’s house, why doesn’t she even react when Sephiroth shows up?).

The core elements of the plot – the Feelers (Whispers) preserving a specific fate; the three entities from the future (whose weapon types just happen to correspond to certain named characters) defending their timeline; the return of post-Advent Children Sephiroth (the only time we’ve seen him in human form with one black wing), who has inhabited the Lifestream since his death and promised that he would never truly disappear, who in the end appeals to Cloud directly for an alliance rather than attempting to control him, because he knows now that Cloud is strong enough to defy the Reunion instinct; the change in the outcome of story events in which Biggs (and, unconfirmed as to which timeline he’s actually in, but quite possibly Zack) now survives his intended death -- all point toward Sephiroth trying to manipulate destiny into an alternate outcome in which he is victorious, and using this naive version of Cloud to facilitate it. That means this game is taking place in an alternate or splinter universe, created at some point after the events of the original Final Fantasy VII, and possibly even after the events of Advent Children.

All of that is fine from an overall continuing-story perspective – it opens up a lot of interesting possibilities, like the fact that Aerith might survive now that Cloud has seen prescient flashes of her death (among other events), and there are opportunities for more story twists and changes from what players might expect. But touting this as a remake of the original game has the potential to confuse players who are new to the franchise. FFVII was groundbreaking back in 1997, and it defined JRPGs for an entire generation of Western gamers. But that was more than two decades ago, and a lot of current gamers weren’t even born then, so while they’ve probably heard of the classic game, they aren’t necessarily steeped in its lore. FFVII:R relies heavily on prior knowledge of the series to carry its twist ending, so it largely fails as a standalone game.

Also, speaking as a longtime fan of the franchise… I honestly found the ending rather lackluster. It was a twist, of sorts, but not the sort of shocking, mind-bending revelation that made the first game so iconic. Granted, it’s hard to follow an act like revealing that your protagonist’s entire identity is a lie, not to mention killing off one of your main characters a third of the way into the story! But when the surprise ending is just, Surprise! We’re going to change things up a bit this time around so you aren’t entirely sure what’s coming! Also, here’s a gratuitous Sephiroth fight because everyone expects that, even though it doesn’t serve the main story at all nor resolve any conflicts previously established within this game! it smacks of Different for the sake of Being Different, not for the sake of a really amazing storyline they’re hiding up their sleeve. It’s a bit of a let-down, and I find that I... just... don’t really care that much. Which, for someone who’s been a fan of the series for nearly a quarter of a century, means there’s a Big Freaking Problem somewhere. If you’re not keeping the attention of your die-hard fans, how do you hope to build a fanbase of players new to the franchise?

Given the pacing and story issues inherent in this game, I’m not convinced that the following game(s) in the franchise are going to be structured any better. Considering the amount of pure side-quest padding they did in Midgar, I have no idea how they’ll maintain that same tone on something the scale of the World Map portion of the original game, unless they just completely eliminate things like Fort Condor and the submarine and the spaceship side quests. I have a feeling the Gold Saucer is going to be reduced to a Jessie flashback, a Chocobo race (probably to win a key item), and a battle arena run like the coliseum in Wall Market in this game. If they include all the story elements and side characters from the original, this series is going to be a dozen games long.

Still, on the whole this game was enjoyable, and I’m glad I played it. It wasn’t as good as I’d hoped, but they haven’t completely killed off my interest, so I’ll probably continue with the series whenever the next game comes out. Though I’m not really sure if the higher-priced edition I pre-ordered was worth the extra money, so I may wait and see how the next game is shaping up before deciding which version to get...

But if they don’t give me a really pretty (playable) Vincent Valentine in the next installment, I may riot. I do have priorities.

#final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii: remake #ff7:r #final fantasy 7: remake #ff7 remake #video games #long post #review

9 notes · View notes

rhabakoli · 5 years

Text

Infinite White - 12

Previous chapters here

not beta read, as always. (anyone volunteering?)

Taglist: @dreamwritesimagines @i-am-always-famished @marauderskeeper @superwolfchild-fan @m00nlightdelights @cgn-99 @alicedopey @alwaysadreamingoptimist @atlas-of-the-world @finnickfoxes @rmwest9

After Alvin finally gave up - not without flipping them off - Fenja grabbed Ragnar's hand and pulled him along, out of the hall and into the stairwell. It was quiet there, not a single soul in sight.

“Okay, what the fuck?” She whirled around, hand on her hips and raised an eyebrow at her friend.

“What's gotten into you?!”

Ragnar’s expression was grim, determined, and maybe a little bit pouty. “I don't know what you mean.”, he answered. Definitely pouty, he sounded like a boy who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I am talking about the shit show in there, and you basically going all Wolfie McWerewolf on Alvin!”

Now it was Ragnar who was raising an eyebrow. “You telling me you like the guy? Want me to go get him then? So you can pity the fool?”

His mood had swung back to venomous and angry so fast, Fenja thought she'd get whiplash.

“What?” She was clueless, about the whole situation. “Did you even hear what I was saying? I'd rather lick the bottom of your shoe, than enjoy the company of a guy who thinks a boyfriend could make decisions for me.”

Ragnar took a step forward, caging her against the wall, face just in front of hers. “Why are you defending him then?”

“I am not!” Fenja let out a groan, then a sigh. Fighting him on this wouldn't help, he wasn't even listening to what she said.

“I don't want you to get into trouble, idiot.”, she whispered into the space between them. Ragnar didn't react, he just kept watching her face. So she watched him back, observing his posture, how he was tense all over, the look on his face she couldn't find the right name for. Maybe it was a bit of frustration, anger, desperation?

She raised her hands, took hold of his face and stroked her thumbs over his cheekbones. “What is going on, Rags?”

Hearing her use his nickname for the first time, had him deflate. His shoulders relaxed, his hands weren't pressed to the wall anymore, his arms bend, as he blew air through his nose and leaned his forehead against her shoulder. “I don't know.”

Fenja's hands wandered to his neck, one went up into his hair, the other remained. Her nails were scratching his scalp lightly, sending shivers down his back, forcing him to relax, rest more of his weight against her.

“It's okay. We'll file it under 'bad day’ and be done with it.” She pressed a kiss to the side of his head, just above his ear, and pulled him close, an arm now wrapped around his middle, never stopping her head scratches. Ragnar, despite towering over her, never had been more comfortable, more at home. He turned his head, pressed his face against her neck and brought down his arms, hands gripping her waist.

His breathing wasn't as even and deep as it could have been, so Fenja started to talk to him, talk about that day in the zoo, where her parents fought over what stuffed animal to get her. In the end, she went home with double the amount sane parents would have approved of.

Warm puffs of air tickled her skin, a particular deep breath here and there, the soft strands of hair under her fingertips made her wonder if he really did steal Aslaugs conditioner, or if she was just forgetful. Ragnar was coming back to himself, conscious about his behaviour and so embarrassed. He pressed his face harder against her neck, his nose dragging over her skin as he burrowed in. He never wanted to look at her again. He behaved like a crazed animal, a complete lunatic. A jealous monkey. “I'm so sorry.”

It was muffled, barely audible, but she felt it against her skin, felt the vibrations going through his chest.

She patted his back, gently grabbed his hair and pulled slightly, making him raise his head reluctantly.

“You okay now? Can we go back to your sister?”

His hands flexed against her sides, telling her how indecisive he actually was.

“We can also stay here a bit longer, Ingrid will call if she needs anything, but I'm sure she's fine, being surrounded by a bunch of fellow intellectuals.”

Her voice was soft, a teasing lilt to it, her hands a comforting weight on his skin.

“But how about we sit down, you're twice my height, Rags, holding you up is a two woman job, at least.”

He let himself be lead over to the stairs, his mind going through the last couple hours, trying to pinpoint where and when he lost it.

“Stop thinking.”, Her voice came from behind. Fenja had sat down behind him, bracketing him with her legs and rubbed her hands over his shoulder blades, up and up until she could drag the back of her nails over his scalp again.

“I'm sorry, Fenja.”

“I know.”

“I don't know what exactly happened there.”

“That I know too.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“I know you are.”

He turned, one large hand wrapped around her calf, the other scratching his stubbled cheek. “I guess, I went a bit overprotective there.”

Fenja grinned, nodded and pulled his ear lobe. “I know, it won't change anything, but, man. You read don't have to be protective over me, Ragnar.”

Oh, yes. Yes, he definitely had to be. She was so precious, so valuable, not only to him, but to so many people, he couldn't let anything ever happen to her. Some day, he'd tell her. For now, he just nodded. “I know. I didn't think.”

Fenja smiled at him, kissed his head and resumed the coddling.

“Mom.” Queenie looked up at her youngest, who was standing in the door to her office. “Hi, sweetie! How was the presentation?” “It was awesome. And thanks for not telling the others. I’d probably have puked from nervousness, if you all had sat in the crowd.” “Of course. but, so you know, your father hired a camera guy, who filmed the whole thing.” “You’re kidding.” “No, child, I am not.” “Oh hell no.” Ingrid was petrified. She had been filmed. On stage. Hell to the no. “I’m afraid so.” her mother waved her over and pulled her close by her side. “I’ll make sure no one ever gets to see it, love.” “Thanks, mom.” Then she remembered why she even came to her in the first place. “Mom, uhm, we have a problem.” “Why? What happened?” Her voice was concerned, as was her face. She immediately went through a million solutions for a problem she didn’t even know yet. “Your son happened. He turned into dad.” Ingrid sat down in one of the comfy arm chairs. “You remember that guy you met during dinner once? The one who was in love with you back in High school?” “Oh no.” “Oh yes.” “So, he knows?” “No, he’s kinda overwhelmed and doesn’t know where to put his feelings.” “He really is like his father, wow.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. “Okay, thank you, love. We don’t want to lose Fenja, no?” “I like my future sister-in-law very much, I’d like to keep her.”, Ingrid shrugged nonchalantly. “Are they here?” Ingrid nodded, pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “In the living room. She’s cuddling the dog, and Rags is absolutely trying to not pine.” She grinned at her mother’s eye rolling. “Sometimes I think he’d be better off, if he was all me.” “Yeah, I bet.”

Fenja was on the phone with Maeve, walking down the pier - freaking rich people - and told her about Ragnars little freak out. “I’m telling you, you’ll kiss before summer.” “Only when hell freezes over, bitch.” “Uh hu. Sure. Anyway. How was Ingrid?”

“We need to talk about your son.” When he looked up, his eyes fell upon his wife, standing in his office, hands on her hips and staring him down with those beautiful eyes of hers. “You mean our son.” “No, not when he’s behaving like a wild, mad boar trying to mark his territory and just barely managing not to piss on his girl.” Both his eyebrows climbed up to his hairline. “He’s what?” “Apparently he has your jealous behaviour. Has better self control though.” “He hasn’t.” “No, he has.” “How do we know?” “He almost attacked a guy at Ingrids convention. He looked at Fenja too long, ir with the wrong mimic, could be anything with you Ragnarssons.” “He has you genes as well, love.” “So?” Ivar grinned. “My sweet, sweet wife. You do remember blackmailing my Eco Professor so he’d move Arna into another course?” Her face was blank, void of any emotion, as she shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Sure you don’t.” Ivar reached out, wanting her to come over to him. She did, leaned her butt against the edge of his desk and crossed her arms on front of her chest. Ivar rolled his chair closer, curled his hands around her knees, his fingertips tickling the back of them, slowly stroking up her thighs, increasing the pressure. He also leaned in and pressed a kiss to her belly. “I always liked your jealous side, wifey.” “It’s not healthy for Ragnar to be like that. He needs to know how bad it can get.” She raised a hand, ran her fingers through his hair and watched him closely. He nodded, pressed his head against her hand, like a cat demanding scratches. “I will. I promise.”

Ragnar was face down on his bed, when his father walked in, knuckles knocking on the door. “You got a minute?” “Mhhm.” “I heard about your little slip-up.” The deep groan and muffled “Just kill me please” coming from his son made him laugh. “No, I don’t think we need to pull such disastrous measures.” He sat next to him, hand on his back. “C’mon, we need to talk.” Ragnar turned his head, glanced at his dad with one eye and - wow, he reminded Ivar of himself when he was young and in love for the first time. “I know it was stupid and impulsive. I don’t know what happened. I just know I wanted to bash whats-his-name’s face in.” “Now you know how I felt the first, I don’t know, six months of your mums and my relationship.” Now, that got his son’s attention. “What do you mean?” “Son, I’ve done some humongously stupid shit, believe me, I know how you felt right then. And trust me, it gets that much worse.” He cleared his throat, sat straighter. “Did your mum ever tell you about that one time I almost destroyed everything we ever built?” Ragnar was clueless, shaking his head. “I heard something, I believed it, and accused her of cheating and some other stuff. It’s like a dark version of tunnel vision, you can’t get out that easily. Neither of us want that kind of thing to happen to you, ever.” “Mom would never cheat on you!” “I know, I know. That’s what I am saying. You have my temper, when it comes to the people you love. We need to learn how to control it, how to ignore that hot, all-consuming pit in us. That’s the only way to ever have a healthy relationship.” Ivar scratched his cheek. “I also doubt Fenja would put up with even half the shit your mother put up with.” “I think your marriage contract might have played some part in that, no?” Ivar smacked his cheeky son over the head and pointed a threatening finger at him. “We pretend it didn’t.” He became serious again. “Son, you know we love you, we want to help you as much as we can. Come to us when you’re overwhelmed and don’t know how to deal.” Ragnar nodded, face somber. “Good. Also, think about why you reacted that strongly to a guy talking to Fenja. And then finally tell her, boy.” He leaned over, pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead and then got up. At the door, he turned around and winked at him. “Tell us how it went.”

The Ivarsson kids and Fenja were strewn throughout the Library, Fenja and Ragnar on the loveseat, her feet in his lap as she hung her upper body backwards over the armrest to pet Bear. “That looks mightily uncomfortable.” “I am not though.” “Are you sure?” “Absolutely.” Ragnar was listening to her conversation with his sister, while he watched her arch and bend, and tried not to groan out loud. The convention definitely was a hit to the head, and the conversation with his father definitely had helped him get his head on right. But now he couldn’t not think about her, think about having his hands on her at all times, about…. “Ragnar!” He flinched, looked up at his sister. “What?” “You okay there?” “Yeah. I’m fine.” Ingrid squinted at him. “Sure. Okay. Aslaug was just talking about her date with that guy from her Uni.” “Yeah, and I also said I’d never see him again and I’ll let our parents arrange a marriage for me.” “You don’t mean that.” “Oh, but I do. Did work out amazingly with theirs, didn’t it?” That made Fenja shoot up, her back making the most painful noises, but she ignored it in favour of gaping at her friends. “Excuse me, what did you just say?” All three of them turned to her, then threw each other looks. “Oh. Right. She doesn’t know.” Fenja scooted closer to Ragnar, her knees now bend over his legs, and he couldn’t resist putting a hand on them. “Yeah, their marriage was arranged. Mom was, what, 20?” Aslaug nodded. “Something like that. Dad wasn’t much older. Their parents wanted their empires to merge, but in a way that was more intimate than a simple business thing. Their children were just the right thing to use for that.” “Oh, come on, you make it sound like they were forced into it.”, Ingrid protested. “Well, they were!” “I can’t imagine either of your parents get forced into anything, to be honest.”, Fenja interrupted, getting their attention again. “They weren’t.” Now all their eyes were on Ragnar. He shrugged, the palm of his hand rubbing over Fenja’s knee. “Mom told the story at least a hundred times. Was my favourite bedtime story when I was a cheeky wee lad, apparently.” Fenja ignored the ‘cheeky wee lad’, instead she scooted even closer, clasped her hands under her chin and looked up at him with wide eyes, expecting to get the story out of him. Her heels were pressing into his thigh, effectively trapping him. “So? What’s the story?” “Dad had seen her around, on campus. They went to the same university. And it seems, he had a little mishap when he first saw her. He completely froze up, and he hasn’t said a word against that marriage since then.” “Wow.”, Ingrid said. “The way you tell a story is amazing. Terrific, so detailed.” “Oh, fuck off.”, he laughed. “But, is there a contract? Can they get divorced?” “Yes.” Fenja wasn’t finished yet though. “Is there a paragraph about where to live? How they have to run the company?” She gasped. “Oh my god, were you all included in that contract?!” Aslaug promptly choked on air, Ingrid blinked at her, trying to follow her train of thought. And Ragnar just started laughing, head thrown back and face happy. “No, love, no. We were just a lucky byproduct. Our grandparents weren’t that cruel.” “Wait, but, either of your uncles could have ended up in your dad’s place?” “Theoretically. But our parents were closest in age, so it fit.” Fenja didn’t catch the sweet name he called her, but his sisters definitely did. They were throwing each other looks, Ingrid clasped a hand over Aslaug’s arm, nails caught in her sweater. There was some internal screaming going on - both, because Ragnar was spaz enough to call her love, and also because Fenja was the most oblivious person ever. “So, they were in love?” “They still are, thank you very much.” “They are not seeing other people then?” Ragnar snorted, looked at his sisters. “Could you imagine either of them with someone else?” “Dad would probably run that man’s life.” “He would.” Ragnar had to think about what his father told him, how he felt when Alvin just looked at Fenja that way. “That man wouldn’t survive.” Fenja looked around, from sibling to sibling, then observed Ragnar closely. “If he’s anything like you, then I can imagine that very well.” “Yeah. Sorry bout that.” She just nodded, deep in thought. Then her brows furrowed, her eyes went all squinty. “Did you just call me ‘love’?”

#Infinite White #IW #FOH #faint of heart #Faint of Heart Au #Vikings #ivars kids #ivar x oc #Ragnar x oc #slow burn #best friends to lovers #jealousy #a dreamwritesimagines production

32 notes · View notes

danielxrk · 5 years

Photo

✞ THINK YOU KNOW ME? * KILL IT { rap }

he's glad he ended the first half of the day's auditions on guitar; it leaves him in a better mood to face the others during the break, and all things considered, he's happy with how the day has gone so far. he thinks he did well enough at talking through his interview, and that he showed a good side of himself in the special skills portion, it's just the singing portion that he finds questionable. it's not even that he thinks he did poorly, it's just that he doesn't know, he detached so much from this plane of reality during it. he didn't think about his notes; he got lost in what the song meant to him, and thoughts he thought he subdued, clearly not finished with him yet. yet thanks to the guitar, he wasn't worried about it. he could hope it all came off as genuine emotion (which it really was) and that it sold the performance where his vocal talent couldn't.

he practically tackles kenta in a half-hug once he spots him and woojin in the hallway, easily throwing an arm around kenta’s shoulders, and he grins at woojin, too. "you made it," he says, potentially interpreted as not believing it or knowing they would all along. "just a little bit left." he's sure they did better than he did last year, knowing them, and this much is a reminder to himself, too, but for now, he'll enjoy these 20 minutes before they're separated again. he doesn't talk much, in favor of letting kenta babble about whatever he sees fit, and he just listens; he's always been better at that than talking anyway, and the smile that lingers on his face the entire time is genuine. kenta seems excited, unless this is all just nerves. daniel isn't sure which, but he hopes it's the former, and accepts it as such. he also accepts any of the food kenta offers him, and surprisingly isn't hurt to find out sungwoon made a lunch box for kenta and not him. it seems a little petty, but that also seems very sungwoon, and he probably deserved that much up until yesterday; maybe he still does.

in between each of them respectively checking their phones (though does woojin ever really stop checking his phone?) kenta asks how it went for him, and it's funny, because daniel just read the message from sungwoon in the empty enigma group chat asking the same. "it was good!" he chirps, and it's not like that was a lie. "singing portion was..." how does he describe it? "weird?" he chuckles, almost nervous. "not bad, but i think i got too into it. i don't really remember it, like i blocked it all out or something." at least partially true. daniel remembers how he felt during it, though; it's just that he doesn't want to think about it. when he returns to his phone to message back the group chat, he’s met with the incredibly rare, once-in-a-blue-moon woojin message in the empty enigma chat daniel was pretty sure he permanently had on mute. still, he messages similar to what he said back to the group chat: i don't know, it was weird. the interview was fine but do you ever sing and feel like you get transported to another dimension? i finished and was like what

the time passes too quickly, and he knows he'll miss the company of his friends as soon as he's back in that practice room alone. in the moments before then, he slips in another quick hug for kenta and pats woojin on the back, for once not fearing how he'll react. daniel can handle a little annoyance for how proud he is of them.

once he's corralled back into the room of vocalists, he sees kenta's messages in the empty enigma group chat and sends his own: sungwoon hyung, why didn't you make me lunch too? 😢

he follows it up with a quick addition of just kidding! you've done well, everyone. let's finish this

the air has changed since the last time he was in the room, like someone took a vacuum and sucked the energy right out of it. if these vocalists are anything like he was last year, they're not nearly as confident in their other skills, or they may not have prepared anything at all. if the camera were to pan over faces now, there would be some with color drained, some with anxiety in their eyes, and then daniel: peculiarly composed.

it's not that he's really confident in his rapping. his singing is still probably better, given his experience. daniel has only been rapping for no more than three months now, a new avenue of music opened up to him thanks to trc's triple threat challenge. he's been practicing ever since, venturing into hip hop music, and into bands that feature rapping, too, and picking up as much as he can. it's something he keeps mostly to himself, still not comfortable sharing it with anyone else; it's a little embarrassing, something like a guilty pleasure, but that was how empty enigma started out for him, too.

it's just that he feels like he might have an edge here. his rapping isn't so bad-- especially not as bad as it was last year when he stumbled through super bass as his improvised second skill, because at least he knew the words. now, he's well-practiced, and knows he can surpass the voices in this room that are solely vocals, even if it's only this time. well, maybe knows is too generous. he thinks he can. he believes it, and doesn't let his thoughts wander enough to doubt it.

his name seems to come more quickly now. maybe its just that his comfort level has shifted, or maybe the contestants ahead of him have much shorter performances this time around-- likely a mixture of both. either way, he only feels the familiar dip of dread in his stomach a pinch, but ultimately at peace. he might even be a little excited after not rapping for anyone else since his triple threat challenge performance.

the rap he's set to perform is one he found during his delve into the "art of rapping," a side project of a frontman in a band, so he thinks it's fitting for him. the lyrics feel relevant too, and that always helps. his rap is short, an optimistic attempt at quality over quantity, and he doesn't have a backtrack, figuring it's better to let his voice fend for itself than potentially fall out of rhythm with an instrumental. all of that aside, he's prepared something he's surprisingly actually confident in. they give him the signal, and he pulls his hood up over his head to give himself a little extra boost of the right attitude.

no one knows who i am to flip over this gameboard i spit and grind my teeth every day asleep or awake

maybe it isn't true. everyone he performs this in front of might know him from the mgas, and if this makes it to a tv screen, it may reach others that know him from the same, or from empty enigma. he's not a total unknown, but it feels like the truth, too. even with all of this, he still has some mystery-- now more than ever, like a card up his sleeve, still not entirely revealed even now. nobody here knows who he really is. (daniel himself is still figuring that one out. maybe they'll find the answer together.)

i squeeze my own neck, i’m lazy i pick what i want i step on it and like a beagle, i bark

truthfully, these are the lyrics he understands the least. in retrospect, he could've tried his hand at an original rap to flex is lyric writing again, but he's not that confident in it-- especially not confident enough to apply it to rap. he thinks he gets the point, though: it's hard work, and it's desperation, and it's a hunger to prove yourself and be known. daniel feels that too at his core, and it makes it easier to portray, even in an area he's new to.

this is where the original song picks up-- where he has to be intentional not to trip over his own words-- but he's practiced this the most of anything, because he knew it was what he needed the most help in and because it was the most fun (aside from guitar, old faithful as it were.)

wrote these words all night till i heard the birds chirping, playing the trainee secrete! adrenaline ready! with blood sweat

he didn't write these words in particular, but he's known his fair share of sacrificing sleep to write songs in recent months, not out of necessity, but desire. maybe there was some necessity in it too, like a need to pour thoughts and emotions out on a page, freeing them from where they lurked and swirled in his mind-- that release, that freedom, that productivity. daniel never knew his feelings could be useful for something before he started writing songs.

he's not a trainee either-- still doesn't know if he wants to be one --but he knows how to work hard. he knows the feeling of stage lighting and pounding music and the cheer of a crowd, however humble, and he knows the teamwork it takes to make it happen.

the frustration of the criticism he received last season-- of the criticism he received from himself, and knowing it was all justified. he remembers reading one comment in particular that suggested he didn't work as hard as his teammates, and perhaps that stuck with him the most. in the end, he believed even that was true, and it lit a fire in him to not let anyone down any longer, and to be better for this season, leading up to today. he channels all of it into the final lines

i knocked on this frustration all night i can stretch out my back and say, think you know me? kill it

the original doesn't end here, but they aren't lyrics daniel can apply to himself, nor are they ones he'd feel well re-writing, so it is where his audition ends. the silence of the room afterwards is strange, and he can almost feel an echo of his voice moments prior-- an eco of the entire rest of the day. he bows, a bit belatedly, and says, "thank you," voice scratchy, and he clears his throat. it lacks his typical brightness this time, intensity still wearing off, and he lingers a little longer than he should, like there's something more to say or to do.

in the end, he can't think of anything, and sees himself out, a bit awkwardly, though the smile finds itself to his face soon after. he's finished, and today was so much better than the day like it last year, and it's not even over yet. he collides with kenta and woojin, and slings his arms over both of their shoulders, unfamiliar afterglow of a successful audition rendering him entirely carefree.

✉ ⊰🌞 funky lil thots 🌞⊱ ✉ 🙏 🙏 🙏

#rkmga5audition5 #rkkenta #rkxsungwoon #rkpwj #rkmga5 #;solo #;adrenalineready #;ee #( * yes that is the empty enigma gc #i'm emo actually #that was a wild ride but daniel and i had so much fun!!#here's to more??? prayer emojis intensify )

2 notes · View notes

densiland · 6 years

Text

A Line in the Sand (9x23) and Ninguna Salida (9x24) - DensiLand: Analysis of all things Deeks & Kensi

A Line in the Sand (9x23) and Ninguna Salida (9x24) – The one(s)... where everything is broken

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, a DensiLand Analysis returns! (And thanks as always to ncislosangelesfan.com for all the screencaps!)

Even I can’t believe it’s been 4.5 seasons(!) since I wrote & posted one of these. It’s a testament to 1) how burnout I was from the incredibly long “The Frozen Lake” (5x10) effort and 2) how life can change.

Before we jump into the episode, I want to express my gratitude to the entire cast, crew, etc. for creating these incredible episodes, episodes that have been sorely missed in regard to their quality, entertainment, storytelling, conflict, action, and so much more. It made me remember everything I loved about this show and characters.

So why these episodes & this post now? This all stems from our incredible @wikideeks team and our reviewer Karen. I was so excited to share my comments on these episodes on her review post. I found I couldn’t stop writing! It grew far beyond what was appropriate for a simply “comment” and I immediately felt that pull to write this post - almost exactly the same feeling that drove me to start this blog in the first place! Just know it’s not as chronological and detailed as my previous posts grew to be, as they had gotten out of control. (Plus, I wanted the most important stuff IMHO at the end!)

Preparing for the episodes - In seeing who was writing & directing these, I was excited! Then I thought, "Oh no, Military! What is he going to do to them this time?!" Like others said, where has THIS pair of episodes been all season?! THIS is the quality you get from people who have "institutional memory", who have been there from the start and can pull from the mountain of backstory. What an epic reminder of what this show has been and still can be. The rest of this I'll break into categories & characters.

HANDICAMS - Like someone else said, it was too erratic this time. Were they different cameras or the operators running? It was too jarring. Callen's pursuit with no music, which I'm sure was a purposeful choice, didn't just feel like NOT their show, but also not a professional network show at all. Weird.

(Simply because this photo should be posted.)

2 HOURS! - It was a glorious NCISLA movie that so many of us have longed for! Definitely worth it. Quality from top to bottom!

MOSELEY - Let’s just get this out of the way, as I don't want to spend much time on her. Initially, I expected they were pulling a "Granger" - hate him at first and then grow to love him. Nope. Not even an inkling. This character &/or actress (???) were consistently abhorrent. (It probably even made some of us apologize for the times we were angry with Hetty.) Not only does Moseley (thus Ms. Long) need to go based on all of this character's out of line words and actions, but I also hope it's done in a spectacular way. No slinking out silently to raise her kid. No, this is deserving of a public shaming from the entire team and epic firing by Hetty (in her most bad-ass fashion)! Deeks and the rest of the team deserve to be avenged. (Can you tell I’ve gotten pulled into the Marvel Universe since my last post?)

HIDOKO - As to not be forgotten, even though we didn’t “see” her Hidoko deserves mention. Good actress, interesting character. But it really depends on what TPTB might have in store for her if I’m invested in having her back. She's probably alive, but either way I'm ok. (But if she's dead did it have to be in such a graphic way?!)

ISSUE OF CHARACTER - I loved the continued thread of "character", as like Karen, I immediately had a flashback to Deeks & Sam's conversation over the chess game on the stakeout. Seriously, how do you question Callen's character? (Even Callen wonders this...)

SAM - They kept making such an issue of his continuous bleeding and I don't think it was just due to his slowing down/not keeping up with this case. It feels like there will be something more with this. It's no surprise he wanted to go after the kid, based on his own, and I like how he acknowledged the entire team was in this together. I'm curious why Moseley didn't snap at him the way she did Deeks.

FIRED - Yeh, that happened. (See the Surf Log over at wikiDeeks - tough to keep so short, thus this here!) I think we’ve all been waiting for a season or so for this too happen. Whether it was from Granger losing patience, LAPD pulling another stunt, or who knows what else, this had been foreshadowed for quite awhile However, the reason for this was outrageous, as there was no real basis other than Moseley pitching a hissy fit. (Reign it in Gayle!) Yet, like Deeks I was still utterly shocked.

For a moment. For some reason knowing Hetty was still there gave me confidence and peace that the decision would be reversed. Eventually. (And yes, a rascal indeed!)

Also, I don’t get why no one else on the team defended Deeks. That was disappointing. This was a very different reaction than when Callen turned in his badge.

Can we also appreciate this Tyra Banks-like “Smeyes” (pronounced Smize) from Deeks/ECO? Knowing he can testify against her (& with Kensi as a witness) is all we need as faith that he’ll be back.

BROKEN TEAM/PLANE SCENE - Skipping ahead, (don’t worry I’ll come back to “The Garage”) I actually loved the plane scene, of seeing them all at odds with each other as 1) it's something that rarely happens, especially at the same time and 2) creates the intrigue of how they come back together.

(Thoughts about Silent Kensi are ahead!)

(Who else shouted & did a fist pump when they saw Deeks emerging from the car? What? Oh that was just me? I bet if you’re reading this you did too!)

Yet, based on what had happened, sadly there was no way this was a happy reunion. If anything, it just ramped up. The tension in that fuselage was combustible!

Call me a “raging optimist” (like my BFF does about me with my honors students, even though that’s the opposite from my natural default), as it applies here. Even when I see it with my own eyes faith springs eternal when considering Densi. They’ve invested too much for too long for it to be otherwise.

This single utterance, “I’m still your partner. At least one last time.” Ouch! A punch right in the feels! The bittersweetness of this possibly being their last mission together.... NO. Absolutely not. I am not having it! So let’s unpackage this:

His words might initially just sound like carrying out his responsibility (even though he’s technically fired) of being Kensi’s partner, of “having her back”. It’s so much more. I know you Deeks; I’ve got your number! It’s simply be a pained cover for his unwillingness to leave Kensi.

He used the word “partner”. We all know how much that term actually carries, and it’s far beyond their work pairing, even if that was the jab he was taking. The other word holding a lot of weight here is “last”. Is this Deeks drawing a line in the sand (stay with me) specifically to get Kensi to see how serious he is and to force her to consider “their” finality? If so, this is a risky move in knowing how Kensi can’t be forced into anything.

Speaking of...

THE GARAGE SCENE

DENSI - That scene. Those actors. This is the brilliance that brought me (& probably you!) to them. I know so many people are just longing for the "happily ever after". In the long run yes. Yet if you know anything about me (from this blog), I'm a fan of the long-run, the journey, of overcoming obstacles. I've become accustomed to having the minority viewpoint on this.

Some comment they thought Densi was already past this topic. While yes, it's been a regular subject, I don't recall (like Deeks) there being any firm conclusion. Perhaps people aligned the engagement with agreement regarding kids and “getting out”, when that's clearly not the case. What they showed us were each of them being at absolute odds/opposite ends of a spectrum with each other. When in order for them to be together is a compromised (not like Kensi referred) negotiated middle ground. A happy medium if you will. I understand having kids does tend to be an absolute; however, the when, where, how, etc. are fluid.

DEEKS - Dear Lord, when Deeks uttered, "I don't think we should be getting married." - the tormented look on ECO's face CRUSHED me. (BRILLIANT & BRAVO!) Deeks has only recently made firm moves & plans to get out. (Kensi has never been one to make personal choices quickly.) The events earlier in this case and season have seemed to only escalate this. To me, it feels like anxiety & fear are pushing Deeks to get them out "before it's too late". (Although the “knocked up” comment was wrong in so many ways.)

He’s now become desperate & pleeding. ECO gives us a Deeks who is coming undone, even beyond his post-torture recovery - & it’s beautifully vulnerable.

This may feel smothering to Kensi who isn't YET there. (He's always been ahead of her with their 'ship.) As always he was willing to work through it before he’s pulled away. Still, he gives us hope: HE GETS TO THE PLANE. He gets to her.

KENSI - Yes, I left her for last, because again if you know anything about me, Kensi's my girl, a character I can relate to in too many ways. So here's my defense of Kensi.

First, it's too easy to project onto her in the garage as she says very little in the middle of the discussion. Silence it tough to interpret accurately without infusing your own beliefs. Second, that silent characteristic is pure Kensi. She withdrew, just as she has so many times before. Here, huge kudos to DR, as she isn’t able to rely on words, but instead must carefully express non-verbally to convey Kensi’s thoughts & feelings.

Some might be angry that Kensi hasn't "evolved" past this, but in unexpected situations we naturally gravitate back to what we know, what is customary to us. Kensi simply reverted to her natural default. She was struggling to handle everything Deeks was putting on her in that moment and I believe was working to try to get a grasp on the warring thoughts racing through her mind.

Third, someone else commented that maybe she has for some reason learned she can't have kids. Intriguing, but a stretch in my mind. As if this was true I'd suspect she'd feel driven to tell Deeks. Why? Out of fear he would leave her and she had to know, had to get it over with. I prefer to read this as fear that maybe she won't get pregnant; that this would make her feel like a failure to herself and Deeks. She (&/or he) would feel so ashamed then THAT will make them fall apart. She's trying to get in front of a potential future situation that might not even be reality - at least as far as we factually know at this point.

She's silently screaming, as her very worst fear is coming true: She believes he's leaving her. While Deeks' initial words might lead to that thought, that's not really what he's saying. (And he says that!) He needs (they both do) to work through this topic before they get married.

Kensi's turning to go back to the job, yelling at him about her job, of who she is, is "just" her reverting back to what is known, solid, and safe - her job. Her job that won't change. Her job that won't betray her. The one thing that's always been there for her to escape to. Something that makes her feel proud, satisfied, and fulfilled. A job that very rarely puts personal, feeling demands on her.

Finally, let's not forget in the field she screams at him, "We stay together." While it might have been in the heat of the mission, those words extend far beyond their professional partnership - just as Deeks’ final lines in the plane. This is the fight in Kensi, the grit of doing whatever is necessary, even if it's painful to get to resolution. (Think of how much time & effort she put into tracking down her father's killer.) And just as Deeks got to her in the plane, she didn’t get on the chopper; she stayed with Deeks.

Yes, she’s angry. But is she really angry at Deeks? Maybe on the surface. But it’s just as likely she’s frustrated with herself of not being able to find a way to get out/to see beyond this job, of not having worked this out solidly with Deeks before this point, of having walked away from him earlier. We know an angry, fighting Kensi isn’t going to let anything get in her way; the struggle is perhaps her biggest obstacle is herself. Yet she’s able to break out, even if it’s verbal lashing demanding that she & Deeks stay together on the ground. This shows us she's not willing to really walk away or lose Deeks.

For all the times their ‘ship has “appeared” more one-sided, of Deeks being the one chasing after Kensi, here we get the opposite. (We’ve seen it before, but more quietly & casually, like when she was trying to see him after the torture, when he was in jail, even when he’d been shot & in the hospital.) Her single line is all the hope I needed. (Hope from Kensi Blye, who woulda thunk?!)

ONE LINGERING ASPECT - There's one thing I am struggling to come to terms with. Kensi has seen Deeks having been tortured, of temporarily walking away from the job once. We know he somewhat came back to NCIS because of her, but did she think it would be that simple? That all of these near-misses would have no impact on him? (Remember Nate said the trauma is physically & psychologically cumulative.) That he's made of the same steel that she is? That he would simply bounce back (again)? She lives like she's bulletproof even though she's already been proved otherwise (coma). If it could happen to her, wouldn't the same hold true for Deeks? Does this not also scare her?

Seems strange, especially for a daughter who lost her own father at a pretty early age. How has she not considered that for her own future and that of a potential child/children? As someone who experienced this loss myself, I personally would work to avoid that at all costs.

CLIFFHANGER - I actually like this, not knowing what's going to happen. Of course that's maybe because this show has trained me to expect a positive outcome (eventually). There are so many potential permutations and combinations of outcomes to consider and keep us invested over the summer - something that's been sorely lacking the past couple of years. So I say, "BRAVO!"

Finally, as fate would have it, today my daily lunchtime Dove Dark Chocolate wrapper contained, "Keep them guessing." As Deeks would reply, "Done."

-------------------------------- P.S. As for all the swirling rumors of ECO leaving fully or partially, until he says, who truly knows. While I personally subscribe to an “all in or all out” mentality, the man has to live his life. Yes, he has a family to support (which is easier with a full-time gig), but it also has to be a life well-lived. We all have dreams and aspirations, work to avoid stress and boredom - celebrities included. For him to go into a recurring role, would be disappointing and lessen both the show and Densi. I would never be happy for us to lose Deeks. (The only support I’ll put here is for DR & Kensi; she was here before Deeks and is a complex and compelling independent character in her own right. She doesn’t need Deeks or any other man to be a significant individual character.) ECO & Deeks leaving completely would be devastating, something I personally refuse to consider.

#NCIS Los Angeles #ncis la #NCIS: Los Angeles #NCIS: LA #NCIS:LA #densiland #densi #deeks #Marty Deeks #kensi blye #deeks x kensi #Eric Christian Olsen #Daniela Ruah

36 notes · View notes

justowrite · 7 years

Text

Late Night Stories(11)

genre(s): angst

summary:

words: 1400(ish)

warnings: cursing, violence, death, blood

a/n: I feel like Natalie from Community Channel everytime I say I'll try to publish more. I have to accept that I suck. It's not like I don't try, it's just that when I have time to write my brain it's too tired to think anything decent...not an excuse but you know to avoid feeling too horrible...

Anyway, I hope you don't hate me too much and you are enjoying the story! :D Thank you so so so much for reading and the lovely the comments!PS: this story is close to ending. <3

AO3

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

***

Crack.

At first, I don't know if the shattering sound it's just in my head or if it's really happening. Until Baz hugs me and throws me to the floor. I don't notice the broken pieces next to us but the blood on my hand. Baz picks my face up. I see him talking. I see him move his mouth. Although, I can't hear him over the ring on my ears.

I look up and the first thing I see it's Agatha running. I want to go after before but I can't get up. I turn around and there's a growing puddle of blood beside Ebb's unconscious body. My eyes stay just on her for a second. I look up before settling them on the man on his knees next to her. He stops moving his lips and stares backs at me. He stands up and his eyes move away from mine to Baz next to me. It takes me a moment before I can recognize him. To understand what just happened. Finally, I can hear Baz calling my name as I start to get up. I don't think I'm breathing, I don't feel air going through my lungs. Instead, I only recognize the taste of smoke in my mouth, with a touch of a bitter flavor of the tears running my cheeks until they fall into my mouth. I can only focus on his madding eyes through the blurriness of mine. He stops in front of me, just before reaching Baz.

"Sim-"

"No..." I stop him before he can even start.

"I'm doing this for you," He gives a smile like he doesn't understand what I mean yet.

"Then stop." I clench my teeth, in an attempt to stop the sobbing from coming.

He reaches for my cheek, I take a step back and lift the sword. He doesn't step away instead he gets closer again. My sword shakes, I can't do it. He cups my cheek in his hand, it feels wet. "You are broken Simon," He whispers to me, "I want to fix you, I need power, I need magic..."

I grab his shirt with my bloody hand. "You can have it. Take it. I don't want it." I cry to him, "Have mine."

"I'll fix it, my son. You are free of this horrible responsibility upon you." He promises.

When I look up to his eyes, there's realization. I let go of the air I was holding, let go of his shirt, let go of the sword. The sound of it falling eco around the room. I fall on my knees before crying out. "It's...over..." I declare feeling my chest lighter between sobs, "Finally..." I look to my knees as the tears start to create a puddle.

He grabs my shoulder and presses it. My magic flows in a way it has never done before. I can let go. "I'll-"

"Bend over backwards!" I hear a shout before I do. "Hit the floor!" Penny yells again, but it doesn't work because the Mage is already on the floor. "Head over hills!" The spell pushes him away from me. It gives her enough space to walk over to me. Infront of me. She is still pointing her ring to the Mage. But he is not moving anymore.

"Penny?" What...? What are you doing?" My voice breaks, unlike hers. Every spell came out steady, strong even if her eyes were tearing up.

"What are you doing Snow?" I turn to Baz, he is standing up now. His voice is angry, desperate and a million other things I can't describe. He clenches his hurt arm harder.

"But..." I try to think a comeback, an idea, something to say. Maybe there's something I can say or do but my head is only tornado of words and incomplete ideas.

"He was going to kill you." Penny finally puts down her hand, she keeps her hand on a fist.

I turn to the Mage on the other side of the room. The tears roll faster on my cheeks like there's no end. Baz kneels next to me and hugs me. "It's okay love...everything is going to be okay..."

"I..I..." I gasp for air, "... can't...not...not any...anymore..."

"It's going to be-"

"No!" I cry loudly, "It's...too...much..." The flow I felt before hasn't stopped. "I think...I...I going...to expode..." I clench my fist and close my eyes as hard as I can.

"Simon?" I hear Baz's voice covered in worry.

There's a voice I don't recognize in my head. Yelling. Pushing me to the edge. I don't understand what it's saying. It's calling for something, someone, me perhaps. Until it get's too loud. Until I can't hold the magic anymore.

I open my eyes; behind Baz a figure stands, looking down to their own hands.

"Who...who are you?"

It's a kid.

Baz lets go of me and turns around. He and Penny gasp but don't say anything.

The kid looks up and smile. "I'm what's left after you."

Finally, his features click in my mind. He is too thin, too short, too young.

"Why do you look like that?" I mumble, frowning at the boy.

"Because I come from you I guess." His mature expressions don't fit his body or pre-teen voice.

"What?" I start standing up. My legs shake but I don't give up.

"You thought all that magic was yours?" He mocked.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" I take a step forward in his direction.

"Oh please get angry," He licks his lips, formed into a smile. His lips are chipped and fry. "Feed me more. Maybe I'll grow like you." He changes his stare to look at the red ball I used to play too many years ago in his hands. I clench my teeth. "Maybe I can change again."

"Stop mocking me! Show your face coward!" Baz stops me from coming close to him.

I turn to Baz, "I don't think he is lying Snow." He looks at me dead serious. "I think he...he-"

"This is the first time he has a physical form, isn't it?" Penny finishes the sentence.

"The attacks weren't to kill you," Baz looks down, frowning, "...it was to make you explode."

He stops throwing the ball in the air. "You sure are quick." He smiles pleased.

Anger makes my blood boil. My fingertips start to tingle on magic again. Thoughts start to get tangled.

"Snow." I ignore him. My eyes are on the Humdrum but Baz pulls me forcing me to turn to him. "That's what he wants, Snow."

"And what else can I do?" I pull away as the smoke around me gets denser.

The Humdrum laughs, "Yeah, what else can you do?" I blink; before I can react his hand is on Penny's shoulder. Her yell jumps all over the room, she falls on her knees. There's a small moment where her eyes connect with mine. A small moment before consciousness leaves her eyes. Just before her head hits the floor. Before I run next to kneel next to her. He looks down at her body. "I've never done that with a mage before, you know? What an interesting result!"

"What did you do to her?!" I yell between my teeth, hugging her cold body.

"Mmm..." he seems to stop to think, "I gave a little bit of my nothing, I guess you could say. I just pushed it. I guess she didn't like it." The enjoyment of his voice makes me want to puke.

I hug Penny's body harder. I hold on to her because I want her to be okay. Then there's that the flow of her magic again. I turn to her face. I let go again, just like before. I try to leave behind the anger, to just let the magic go through. Until her body is warmer, until I hear her gasp, until her magic well is full again.

"What did you do?" The Humdrum says finally changing his smile. He doesn't sound in any way worried though, rather curious. "That was a lot...more effective..." He almost sounds impressed.

"Simon? Is that you?" We turned to the voice. My stomach drops.

"Certainly Simon is a better name the Insidious Humdrum..." He rolls his eyes annoyed.

The Mage looks back and forth on between the boy and me. "The..the...Humdrum?"

"Who comes up with this names?" He looks down to me. Is he really talking to me?

"I need to...Simon I need to..." Baz get's in the Mage's way before he get's to me. "Don't you understand Simon can't defeat him?!" There's a tone of desperation hanging in his voice that makes me want to give up. Until I turn back to the Humdrum.

I noticed his smile, his stare on Baz, the way he licked his lips just before extending his hand.

#simon snow #snowbaz #carryonsimon #carry on #snowbaz fic #snowbaz fanfiction #baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #Penelope Bunce #agatha wellbelove #carry on fanfiction

19 notes · View notes

snughuz · 4 years

Text

Piers Morgan article copied. No pictures

PIERS MORGAN: Meghan and Harry's nauseating two-hour Oprah whine-athon was a disgraceful diatribe of cynical race-baiting propaganda designed to damage the Queen as her husband lies in hospital - and destroy the Monarchy

By PIERS MORGAN FOR MAILONLINE

PUBLISHED: 07:33 EST, 8 March 2021 | UPDATED: 07:47 EST, 8 March 2021

Sickening.

Shameful.

Self-pitying.

Salacious.

Scandalous.

Sanctimonious.

Spectacularly self-serving.

Those were just my initial thoughts after ten minutes of the Oprah whine-athon with Meghan and Harry, and while restricting myself to only using words beginning with the letter 's'.

By the time I'd finished the whole two-hour orgy of pious, self-indulgent, score-settling twaddle, the steam was erupting out of my ears like an exploding geyser, and my lexicon of rageful epithets extended to the full range of the alphabet.

Never have I watched a more repulsively disingenuous interview.

Nor one more horrendously hypocritical or contradictory.

Here we had the Duke and Duchess of Privacy flinging out the filthy family laundry for the delectation of tens of millions of people all over the world, whilst simultaneously bleating about press intrusion.

They moaned about the terrible pain of their royal titles but were also outraged their son Archie wasn't allowed to be a Prince.

They told of their constant trauma from nasty newspaper stories, but repeatedly insisted they never read any of them.

They claimed they were forced to sign gazillion-dollar deals with Netflix and Spotify because Prince Charles cut off their allowance, despite Harry inheriting millions from his late mother Princess Diana and having his entire life bankrolled by the Royal Family.

And so, it went nauseatingly on.

In the middle of a pandemic that has already taken over 2.5 million lives, a staggeringly rich and entitled couple living in a $14 million sun-kissed California mansion wanted us all to know that THEY are the real victims around here.

Meghan even compared her former life living in a palace to the crippling freedom-robbing existence of coronavirus lockdowns, which must have sounded so empathetic to large families living at the top of tower blocks with three kids they're trying to home-school and no job to pay for food.

'I couldn't even meet my friends for lunch!' wailed the Duchess of Delusion, who flew to New York for a $500,000 baby shower with all her new-found celebrity pals, then flew back to London like any good eco-warrior on George Clooney's carbon footprint guzzling private jet.

But amid all the relatively trivial gossipy stuff emerged some incredibly damaging bombshells deliberately detonated to do maximum damage to the British Royal Family and the Monarchy.

First, Meghan claimed to have been left suicidal by the pressure of being a Princess and had her requests for help rejected by the cold, heartless Palace.

We weren't told who did the rejecting, or why she couldn't seek her own therapy or treatment if that's what she felt she needed. After all, her husband has spent years talking about mental health and has close connections with all the major mental health charities.

Instead, we're left to believe the Palace spurned a pregnant suicidal woman in her hour of desperate need.

But that wasn't even the most explosive revelation.

No, that came when Meghan told Oprah that a member of the Royal Family had queried what colour her baby would be during a conversation with Harry.

In fact, she said there were several conversations, whereas he said there was only one.

But neither of them would name the offending Royal.

Harry said he would never reveal the name.

So, we're now left to view all the Royals as racists.

Nor were we given any details of exactly what was said, or in what context it was said.

Would an older senior Royal innocently asking Harry what skin colour his baby might have, given that Meghan's mother is black and her father white, constitute racism?

It would if there was any derogatory tone to the question, or any suggestion that it would be a problem how dark the child's skin was. But we don't know the answers to those vital questions, because having let off the racism bomb, the Sussexes won't say any more.

I find that cowardly.

And the racism charge got worse.

Meghan followed up by asserting, without providing any evidence, that the Royal Family decided to change the rules specifically to prevent her son Archie from being a Prince, because of his skin colour.

Again, no name was given for the appalling racist at the Palace responsible for such a disgusting discriminatory decision.

But, as Meghan and Harry both know, the only person who has final say over titles is the Queen.

So, in making this astonishing unproven claim, they're effectively branding Her Majesty, Harry's grandmother, a racist.

It's hard to think of a more disgraceful slur to make against a woman who has devoted her whole life to the service of her country and the Commonwealth.

The Queen is not a racist and has never been a racist.

To even suggest that she might be is disgusting.

But to do so at a time when her 99-year-old husband Prince Philip has spent the past few weeks lying seriously ill in hospital is worse than that, it's contemptible.

Nothing that Meghan Markle said in this interview surprised me.

From the moment Oprah announced her scoop, I predicted to anyone who asked me that Meghan would aggressively play the mental health and race cards to deflect from any criticism of herself and her own behaviour or accountability.

I also cynically suspect it's the reason why she chose to do such a sensational interview when she's five months pregnant. Why would any woman do that after suffering a miscarriage last year, knowing the obvious controversy, media attention, and stress it would provoke? The answer, I fear, is that she thought the pregnancy would afford her another layer of protection against the inevitable furore and criticism that would result from her trashing the Royal Family.

Having had personal experience, on a very small scale, of Meghan Markle's ruthlessness when dispensing of anyone in her life that's ceased to be of use to her, it was no great shock to see her lighting a gigantic bonfire that will surely cause irreparable damage to her husband's family.

After all, she's torched all her own family, along with her ex-husband and most of her old friends.

This was the acting performance of her life, with every word, every facial expression carefully planned and choreographed.

In fact, it it's not late, someone should nominate it for the Oscars.

I mean, this is a woman who was photographed on the railings of Buckingham Palace as a starry-eyed teenager but now wants us to believe she knew nothing about the Royals and never once Googled her handsome Prince when they met.

Given these are both obvious lies, why should we believe anything that comes out of her mouth?

'Nobody told me how to curtsy or sing the British national anthem,' wailed a 39-year-old woman, married to someone who can probably help with both.

But make no mistake, this interview will be a triumph for Meghan in America. Her narrative of a poor, vulnerable, unsuspecting bi-racial woman thrown to the wolves by a white, racist Royal Family and racist British press is already being heralded as 'courageous' and 'brave' and 'iconic' across the United States.

She's got exactly what she wants: her homeland feeling sorry for her.

And woe betide anyone who criticises Meghan, for you will be instantly lambasted as a 'racist bully' towards a woman who stands accused of subjecting her own young female Palace staff to horrendous bullying.

But what about Prince Harry, and his own homeland of Great Britain?

How on earth could he allow his wife to take down his family like this on TV, and attack and belittle the very institution held so dear by his grandmother?

He even let her chuck his brother William's wife Kate - a woman who has never once said a bad word about Meghan in public - under the bus by saying she made her cry in a row over kids' wedding dresses.

That 'space', which is how Harry framed his current fractured relationship with William, will now be the size of 1000 Grand Canyons.

And then Harry gleefully joined in the Sopranos-style whacking too, revealing incredibly intimate secrets about his father Prince Charles of the type that he would scream in fury over if they'd been revealed by the tabloid press.

He claimed Charles stopped taking his calls last January after he and Meghan quit their country and the Royal Family and cut off his massive financial allowance too. And Harry's still furious with his Dad, apparently, for letting him down.

Yet, what has Charles done wrong exactly, other than try to deal with his headstrong younger son's constant self-pitying hunger for drama?

He bankrolled Harry and Meghan for years, and even stepped in to walk her down the aisle when her father pulled out after suffering a heart attack and was disowned by his daughter (where were Oprah 'nothing's off limits' Winfrey questions about that?) - yet they now pay him back with this open back-stabbing treachery.

Harry disloyally says Charles and William are 'trapped' in the institution of the Monarchy because they are the heirs to the throne.

'They don't get to leave, and I have huge compassion for that,' he claimed.

Oh please.

He and Meghan bang on endlessly about their compassion yet show the complete opposite to their own families.

If Charles or William wanted to leave, they could do exactly what Harry's done, and what Edward VIII did when he abdicated the throne.

Any royal can 'leave'.

But only Edward and Harry actually did it, both coincidentally after falling in love with American women.

The only difference is that Edward and Wallis Simpson never spoke badly in public about the Royal Family or trashed the Monarchy.

Within hours of the Oprah interview airing, the hashtag #AbolishTheMonarchy was trending on Twitter.

That's the effect that Meghan and Harry's accusations have had with their shockingly poisonous allegations.

Ms Markle won't care about the damage she's done to an institution she clearly reviles.

But Harry should.

The fact he's so willingly taken part in such a despicable public attack on the Royal Family – HIS family - and the Monarchy is utterly shameful.

And to have caused so much extra hurt to his 94-year-old grandmother the Queen at a time when her husband lies seriously ill in hospital, is just appalling.

When it comes to mental health and having a heart, it appears Meghan and Harry only care about themselves.

Share or comment on this article: PIERS MORGAN: Meghan and Harry's nauseating two-hour Oprah whine-athon was a disgraceful diatribe.

1 note · View note

wearesuchstuff1 · 7 years

Text

With the Comma After ‘Dearest’

Five times Jyn and Cassian have to use technology to communicate and one time they don’t.

Read on AO3

Thank you thank you to the amazing @rxbxlcaptain for being the best beta ever. Love you!!

The transmission signal is received at exactly 0900. Of course he’s on time. Jyn doubts the end of the galaxy would stop Cassian Andor from reporting in on time. One of the droid opens the link and Cassian’s voice is projected through the War Room.

“Captain Cassian Andor, reporting. Line secure.”

Jyn tries to ignore the way the tightness in her chest releases just a bit when she hears Cassian’s voice.

“Acknowledged,” General Draven answers. “How goes it, Captain?”

Cassian has been gone three weeks, under cover with Kay in an Imperial mining facility on Kellux. Communication has been spotty at best, but a report had been scheduled when Jyn returned from her latest mission. They needed to talk.

“Well, sir. My cover is secure and I believe the intel will prove valuable.”

Again Jyn does her best to ignore her relief.

Draven’s eyes slid to Jyn. “Sergeant Erso has just returned from her mission to Nal Hutta. She has a report we’d like you to hear.”

There was quiet for a moment, then Cassian’s voice returned. Jyn reminded herself that she was imagining the slight change in his voice. Cassian’s voice wouldn’t change for her. Besides, after the fight they’d had before she left, she doubted he wanted to talk much to her, anyway.

“Sergeant Erso?”

He hadn’t wanted her to go on the mission. After the relocation to Hoth he had been watching her, as if waiting for something. It wasn’t until Jyn volunteered for her first solo assignment that she found out why.

“This is an important mission, one that needs to be completed,” he had yelled at her in the middle of one of the newly constructed Eco Base corridors after she had chased him out of the War Room demanding to know why he had argued against her. The soldiers passing hardly looked up. They were probably so used to Solo and the Princess screaming at each other in the hallways that it didn’t faze them anymore. “Mothma promised you your freedom, so if you’re going to leave just go, don’t pretend like you’re taking a mission just to escape. I know you’re going to leave. But don’t kirff over the Rebellion while you’re doing it.”

All Jyn could do was stare in shock at Cassian’s retreating back. She hadn't seen him since.

“You’ve completed your mission, then?”

Jyn straightens her back, even though Cassian can’t see her. “Yes, Captain. While on Nal Hutta I learned that the Empire is sending an Imperial convoy to inspect the progress on Kellux. I don’t know who will be on it, but it will be some important brass. And possibly someone who knows of you as Willix.”

“Understood.” Cassian’s voice is hard, determined. Jyn realizes suddenly that she hates not being able to see him. She can read him so much better when she can see his eyes. “General Draven, what are my orders, sir?”

“We’re going to have to pull you, Captain. The intel isn’t worth the loss of an alias.”

As Cassian and Draven discuss his imminent return to base Jyn closes her eyes. Cassian was coming home. They had parted on bad terms and Jyn doesn’t know how things will be when he gets back - and of course he’ll bring that infernal droid back with him - but Jyn can’t help the breath that escapes her. He is coming back alive, and sooner than she had thought. She wishes that thought didn’t make her quite as happy as it does.

“Sergeant Erso’s mission was a success?” Cassian asks, and Draven glances at her.

“Yes. The intel is good.”

“Good,” Cassian’s voice seems oddly strained and Jyn wonders for a moment what he is getting at.

“And there were no,” he pauses for half a second, as if trying to find the right word, “complications?”

The tiniest smile touches Jyn’s lips. At one point, not so long ago, she would have believed Cassian was asking if she had betrayed them. But even without seeing his eyes she can hear the concern he is trying so hard to hide.

“It went off without a hitch,” she tells him, hoping her smile doesn’t color her voice too much. “Hopefully my next assignment will be a bit more fun.”

She can see the way Draven’s lips purse but she doesn’t particularly care. Cassian’s voice is notably less strained when he signs off and she has the feeling that when he gets back in a few days they will be alright after all. She buries the voice deep inside her that wishes they could be something more than alright.

Cassian does his best to hide his smile when Jyn’s face appears on his ship’s screens. She has a new cut above one eye but otherwise she seems fine, and the creases between her eyebrows relax a bit when she sees him. Or maybe he is imagining things.

“Sergeant,” he greets her, not really knowing what else to say. It’s good to see her. Last time they were together they only had a day’s overlap on base, just enough time for him to apologize for doubting her. He knows now that she’s not going to run.

This is the first time they’ve had to coordinate on separate missions. The bounty hunter she’d been tailing for the past ten days had lead her right into the N’zoth system, the same system in which Cassian’s contact is waiting with news. Command had agreed it was best for them to coordinate directly, in case the two incidents were related.

“Fancy meeting you here, Captain. How’s life?”

This time Cassian doesn’t try to hide his smile. “Hardly proper procedure, Sargent Erso.”

Even through the monitor he can see the glint in Jyn’s eyes. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” Jyn has never been one for proper procedures. “But really, Cassian,” she asks, her voice growing serious, “how are you?”

“Fine,” he tells her, hoping the monitor will hide how his pulse races at even just the sight of her. “All the better for seeing a familiar face.”

Jyn nods her understanding.

Jyn’s image stutters, static flying across the screen, then suddenly disappears all together. Concern floods through Cassian as he fiddles with the monitor, hoping desperately that the interference is a malfunction in his tech, not some danger Jyn has run into.

“Jyn? Jyn?”

After a moment her image flickers back – eyes focused, hands gripping the controls, face set – then disappears again. The connection is lost, then reestablished and Cassian scans the dark sky outside his ship, searching desperately for Jyn’s ship, despite knowing they’re not close enough for him to be able to see her.

Suddenly the image flickers back on screen. Jyn’s face is calm and as she sits back in her seat her eyes find her monitor again.

“Sorry about that. Asteroids. Damn nuisance.”

Cassian lets about a breath. Jyn seems to catch his relief because the smallest to smiles touches her lips. She stays quiet for another moment, watching him, and for a second. Cassian feels that when he looks into her eyes the sky’s the limit. He wonders if Jyn is ever pulled in by his eyes the way he is by hers. As soon as the thought appears he pushes it away - he doubts Jyn could ever feel so helpless.

“So what does your contact know?” she asks, breaking the silence that had stretched across space and time.

“I’m not sure, yet,” he admits, clearing his throat. “All I got is that they need to meet with me, that they have news. What about you? Do you know what Denov is doing in the N’zoth system?”

“Nope.” Jyn shrugs and brushes a fallen strand of hair out of her face. “I’ve got a feeling he’s headed to Pa’aal. The labor camps there contacted him a few days ago, but I couldn’t hear what they discussed. Guess I’ll find out.”

Doing his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut Cassian nods and listens as Jyn goes through some of the things she has discovered that might prove useful. Of course they wouldn’t be heading to the same planet. The N’zoth system was large - nine planets and many moons. The likelihood of them actually seeing each other had been slim. He had allowed himself to hope, though.

“Will you be alright?” he asks suddenly. She hadn’t told him much about Wobani, but the memories she had shared with him – images of chains, meal rations so small it was a mercy she had lasted as long as she had, and a cellmate who promised every morning she would be dead by nightfall – stayed with him. Those few memories had been shared late at night on missions, when she had wandered from her bunk with nightmares, like sleep, still lingering in her eyes, and plopped down next to him in the cockpit. He hardly slept, anyway, and they would sit in silence until she began speaking. He had yet to tell her that her quiet words in the dark had done wonders to keep his own nightmares at bay.

It seems she knows where his mind has gone because her beautiful green eyes darken for a moment. “Yes. I’ll be fine.” There is a pause between them, then she asks, “How’s Kay?”

Cassian almost laughs at how her eyes brighten at the question. She has never loved the droid, but he knows, better than most, that on a long mission any taste of the familiar is a welcome thing.

“He’s fine. He’s powered down right now, or I’m sure he’d have something less than appropriate to say.”

Cassian tries to hide his surprise when Jyn tips her head back and laughs. Really laughs. “I’m sure he would. You hear anything from Bodhi or Baze and Chirrut?”

Cassian shakes his head. “Not for a month or so. Last time I saw them we were all getting drunk in the canteen.” Jyn nods at the memory and quickly – if only to banish the worry that as entered her eyes – Cassian adds, “I’m sure they’re fine, though. We’d have heard if they weren’t.” They both know it’s a lie but accept it regardless. What more can they do?

“When will you be home?” Cassian tries to ignore the joy he feels at the quiet way Jyn says the word ‘home’.

“Shouldn’t be long, now. A week at most. You?”

Jyn shrugs. “I have yet to be informed.” Her lips tighten - a sure sign she doesn’t like her answer.

A beeping noise is heard over the monitor and Jyn glances off screen.

“I’m approaching Pa’aal. I’m going to have to sign off before I get any closer and they detect my transmission. I’ll try to contact you again if it looks like our missions are actually related.”

Cassian nods, knowing this moment was coming and wishing it didn’t have to nonetheless. “I’ll do the same. I’ll see you soon,” he promises, knowing such a guarantee is not within his power to make. He makes it anyway. If only making it will help it come true.

Jyn nods. Her mouth is set, and Cassian doesn’t think he’s imagining the sadness in the deep greed of her eyes. “Stay safe, Cassian,” she tells him.

“You too, Jyn.”

He wishes he could say more. He wishes he could see her face to face, could hold her in his arms until she could feel every unsaid emotion radiating from his core. But his screen goes black and he is left alone with his reflection and a powered down droid, longing for the day the both he and Jyn will be home again. He prays to the Force it will be soon.

Jyn clutches her knees to her chest, her hands still shaking as she tries to push the nightmare from her mind. Sweat beads at her hairline and she concentrates for a moment on slowing her breathing.

It had been about Cassian. Again. He had died. Again. And she hadn’t been able to save him. Again.

A whimper escapes her into the dark of her bunk and despite how tiny the Echo Base living quarters are she suddenly feels as if the blackness and loneliness stretches on for eternity. She fumbles for the lamp and with a gentle whirl of its generator the room is bathed in soft light.

Sometimes, after dreams like this, Jyn would seek out Cassian in the control room or hanger or wherever he happened to be at the time. He was always quiet when she found him after a dream, but he listened and when his gentle hand found hers she would allow herself to lean into him, allow him to wrap her up in his arms, and allow his simple presence - the sheer fact that her was there, alive and with her - to comfort her.

Tonight could not be one of those nights. Jyn hasn’t seen Cassina since just after her first solo mission almost two months ago. Cassian is on Edan II, working with the Alliance stronghold there to establish more effective intel gathering within the region. It is a relatively safe and easy mission, but the blood that fills Jyn’s nightmares seems to seep into the edges of her mind until even the glow of her lamp cannot push away the images of Cassian’s lifeless body. Death, it seems, doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints.

With hardly a thought Jyn shoves back the blankets of her bunk - shivering as the frigid Hoth air, only slightly tempered by the heating generators, bites into her skin - and pads softly to the table. She grabs the hand held holo projector sitting next to her datapad and quickly slips back into the warmth of her bed.

She doubts Cassian will pick up but she has to try. She knows she won’t be able to breathe properly until she sees his face again and knows that he is safe, and since Edan II is Alliance controlled, the hologram transmission is safe to use. She enters the coordinance and waits, each flash of the small blue light on the side of the projector making her breath hitch a little more.

She almost sobs in relief when the light turns green and Cassian’s image flickers into her room. His eyes are worried and serious but Jyn thinks once again how beautiful they are. She is too tired and upset to reprimand herself for the thought.

“Jyn?”

“Cassian.” The tremor in her voice only serves to increase his alarm.

“What is it, Jyn? What’s happened?”

She takes a breath. She doesn’t want to frighten him. “Nothing. Nothing, we’re fine. We’re all fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

His eyes soften a bit and his shoulders relax. “It’s alright. What’s going on?”

Jyn curses herself for the tears that well in her eyes at his concern. Nightmares had plagued her long before she met Cassian. Her mother’s death, her father’s capture, and Saw’s missions had haunted her sleep for longer than she cared to remember. That was nothing new.

What is new is Cassian. And Bodhi and Chirrut and Baze. And even Captain Solo, the Princess, and the Skywalker boy. And, although she’d never admit this to anyone, sometimes even Kay. Their blood floods her dreams and their deaths - and the countless other deaths she has caused, either by her own hands or orders given - dance their way through her mind. Her subconscious creates a nightly torture of regret, fear, and loss.

And what is new is Cassian. The way he looks at her when she comes to him in the night. The way he loops an arm over her shoulders and pulls her into him. The way his heartbeat calms her and the way his eyes tell her that he understands - understands the nights when sleep seems more frightening than any Imperial torture could ever be and understands that sometimes it’s easier to sit side by side with someone you trust, waiting for the first watery rays of light to touch the frozen world, then even think about sleeping again. It terrifies her that he understands and it terrifies her that he cares. She isn’t used to anyone caring, and as much as she finds herself seeking his comfort she finds herself equally afraid of it, in case the day comes - as it has always come before - when she will lose that comfort. She dreads the day she will have to face the nightmares alone again, knowing how much worse it will be having known Cassian’s presence.

“Jyn?” Cassian’s soft voice brings her back to herself, reminds her that while that day might come, it is not this day. With a shock she realizes that her relief far outweighs her fear.

“Was it another nightmare?”

She nods mutely, blinking away the tears that still threaten to spill onto her cheeks. She can only hope the dim light and blue hologram tint hids them from Cassian.

“Your parents again?” he asks and Jyn shakes her head. The first time she had told him about the dreams that replayed her parents deaths on an endless loop, with Jyn forever powerless to stop it, guilt had consumed Cassian’s gaze. He hadn’t killed her father, for which - despite what she had said on the flight away from Eadu - she would eternally be grateful, but he had pulled her away from his body and she knew the memory still haunted Cassian, just as it did her.

“Scarif,” she told him quietly and she could see him nod. It was a horror they had shared, and in the dark Cassian sometimes whispered of his own memories to her.

“We’re all alright, Jyn. You know that. You’re alright.”

Tears choke Jyn’s throat and she swipes at her eyes quickly before nodding again. “Yes. I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Cassian murmurs. “Don’t ever be sorry.”

“I just... I had to be sure.” She takes a breath. “I had to know you were alright.”

She lets the words tumble out before her better judgment can stop her. She had told him of her dreams, but his leading role in them had gone unspoken. She often wondered if he knew. He has dreams too, after all, but she would never have believed he could fear for her - care for her - as much as she finds herself caring for him.

And yet some nights, as they sit together in the dark, he grips her hand with such need, holds her close with such desperation, she can’t help but wonder if hers is not the only fear that goes unspoken.

He watches her now with soft sadness. “I’m fine, Jyn. And I’ll be home in a few days.”

The tightness in her chest releases a bit at his words and for a while they just talk, their quiet voices filling the emptiness and driving away the fear. He tells her of his mission, as much as he can, and of how he, Kay, and Bodhi have been able to help the local population and she tells him about the tricks she and Baze have been playing on young Luke Skywalker. It’s nice to be on base with Baze and Chirrut again and Cassian seems glad to hear the news from home.

“I should let you go. I’m sure you have meetings and whatnot to get to,” Jyn says, sometime around 0400 on Eco Base. She can hear a few of the personnel, those with early morning shifts, beginning to stir.

Confusion crosses Cassian’s face for a moment before understanding seems to dawn. “Oh, I’m not at Edan Base any more. I guess they didn’t tell you. Bodhi, Kay, and I transferred to Southview Village a few days ago to sure up things here before I leave.”

Since it is an Alliance controlled planet with an active Rebel base, Jyn knows a little of Edan II. She has never been there, but she has seen a few maps of it, enough, at least, to know that Southview Village is practically on the other side of the planet from Edan Base. Which means...

“Wait, then what time is it there?”

Cassian looked a little sheepish as he glanced away from the hologram, presumably at a chrono. “Umm, about 0500, I guess.” He must see her look of horror because he quickly adds, “My body hasn’t adjusted yet, though, so it’s fine.”

Jyn hopes the semi darkness hides the color she can’t seem to stop from bleeding into her cheeks at unknowingly keeping Cassian up all night, despite what he said. She pushes away the tiny swell of happiness - or whatever it was that made her feel so warm inside - at the thought that he was willing to stay up with her while on a mission. She shouldn’t care, she reminds herself. She shouldn’t have needed him in the first place.

“You should go,” she tells him. She wishes she could carve out of her the part of her that whimpers in protest at her words. They both knew it was coming. Why should it matter?

Cassian nods, but before the communication is ended his eyes find hers again. “Everything will be alright. I’ll see you soon, Jyn.”

His promise is meant as a comfort. She knows it is. And despite the uncertainties of war and the knowledge that no promise Cassian can make will have any guarantee of being kept, she does finds comfort in his words. She carries the comfort with her long after the hologram has been shut off and she is left on her own again.

“I’m just saying, I think it’s more than just the hot food and shower you’re excited for, Captain,” Bodhi teases as they walk together down the ramp of the transport ship and into the familiar bustle - and cold - of the Eco Base landing bay. Cassian does his best not to roll his eyes at Bodhi.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m always excited to be home.”

“I think the pilot is right,” Kay intones helpfully as he clanks along behind them. “You did seem particularly happy to hear that Sergeant Erso would be on base. You almost smiled.”

“He did smile, Kay. He just tried to hide it. Badly.” Cassian scowls at Bodhi, who only laughs at his captain's displeasure. It had been a long flight, and while Edan II had been a relatively uneventful mission, Cassian knows his crew needs to wind down and let off some steam. Cassian doesn’t want to deny them their fun, but he also doesn’t want to let on how close to home they have hit. He is excited for the showers and the hot food, of course, but his mind keeps straying back to Jyn. He shouldn’t let it, but every time it does a smile pulls at his lips.

“The conquering heroes return,” calls a voice that, to Cassian’s momentary disappointment, is not Jyn’s. Chirrut and Baze appear out of the currents of people and welcome Cassian and Bodhi home with smiles. Cassian does his best not to look around for Jyn too much, but seems to fail.

“She’s not here, Cassian,” Baze tells him. He tries to keep his face blank but Baze just gives his a slap on the back Cassian assumes is meant to be sympathetic. “Jyn’s flight was moved up. She left a few hours ago.”

Cassian can feel his heart sink but it is Bodhi who groans in disappointment. In answer to Chirrut’s sightless question Bodhi just shrugs. “Cassian isn’t the only one who misses her.”

“I don’t miss her,” Kay announces. “I don’t miss anyone. Besides, it seems like a waste of time to me.”

Cassian sighs. Jyn is gone and he doesn’t know when she will be back or if he will even be on base when she does return. This is war, he reminds himself. This has always been his life. And yet somehow it hadn’t bothered him until he met Jyn. If he could have he would be angry at her for making him feel this way. But he couldn’t be angry with her. Not really. Not for this.

“Of course it does, Kay,” he tells the droid. Kay wouldn’t understand. This emotion was far to complicated to hardwire into any droids’ circuits.

*****

Dravin’s debriefing had gone on for much longer than Cassian would have liked. After delivering the rundown of their mission Cassian had been asked to sit through a tactical meeting discussing an imminent strike on one of the Imperial starships. He wondered if that was where Jyn had been sent. No one said, and he didn’t dare ask.

He had seen Chirrut, Baze, and Bodhi briefly in the mess but he had slipped out early. He had gotten his food but wasn't in the mood for chat.

His room is just as he had left it, with one exception. He notices it as he drops his pack onto the small table in the corner of his room: a datapad laying on his bed, its screen dark and innocent looking. Hesitantly Cassian crosses to the bed and scoops up the device, clicking the power button before he can think about what Kay would say the statistical likelihood of this being a trap was. The display flashes to life and the text of a message filters across the screen. Worry morphs into other, much more difficult to identify, emotions as Cassian reads the words.

Cassian,

They’re sending me out early, of course. They couldn’t wait five kirffing hours. Typical. Baze and Chirrut will tell you I’m gone, so I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Stupid, I guess. I should just erase this now and leave. You’ll never know I was here.

I hope your mission went well. Draven won’t tell me anything except that you’ll be back soon after I leave. He didn’t sound that worried, so I guess I shouldn’t be either. Not that I’m worried about you. I just know that if you die I’ll have to deal with Kay, and I think we’d kill each other within a week. So you’d better not be dead. It’d be a real pain in the ass if you were.

Skywalker and Solo have got me on this stupid mission. I’m flying with Shara, so at least I won’t be stuck on the Falcon with Solo. They’re not even taking me anywhere interesting. But someone’s got to do it, right? Might as well be me.

I don’t know why I’m writing this, really. Just that I’ll be gone by the time you get back and so I won’t be able to tell you any of this myself. This will have to do, I guess. It’s the best we’ve got. There are other things, things I want to tell you myself. In person. But it’ll keep. Always does.

Anyway, I hope you’re not dead. Please don’t be dead. I’ll be home soon.

Jyn

Cassian sits for a long time - datapad in his lap, emotions twisting their way through his heart - marveling at Jyn’s ability to use so many words to say both everything and nothing at all.

It has been a week since Cassian returned to base to find Jyn’s datapad lying on his bed. He has yet to be assigned a new mission, but there is always plenty to do around the base - meetings to attend, recruits to train, reports to write.

This morning Princess Leia had asked Cassian to sit in on a meeting with Mon Mothma, which is how he finds himself in the War Room when the distress signal is received.

“The signal is being sent from Lieutenant Bey’s ship,” C-3PO informs them as the beeping fills the room. Cassian’s heart freezes at the words. Jyn is on Shara Bey’s ship.

“That’s not right.” Draven’s eyes are dark with confusion and worry. “Bey and Erso aren’t meant to get back for another three days.”

C-3PO’s R2 counterpart beeps and whirls. “Nevertheless, sir, R2-D2 is correct. It is Lieutenant Bey’s ship. We are receiving an incoming transmission.”

In a moment Jyn’s voice, tight and controlled, fills the War Room. “Command, this is Sergeant Erso. We’ve had some trouble. Ship’s busted but I think I can get her down.” Princess Leia’s eyes meet Cassian’s from across the room and he can see his own fear reflected in them. Jyn shouldn’t be flying the ship.

“Jyn, what happened?” Cassian demands, protocol be damned.

“Got separated from Solo and Skywalker. We weren’t followed but I need a med team standing by. We’re coming in fast. Very fast. I don’t -” Jyn’s words cut out, then there is nothing but static.

“What happened?” Leia turns an accusing look towards the droids.

“I don’t know, your highness. The signal just -” But Cassian doesn’t hear the rest of the droids explanation. He is already out the door, running towards the landing bay.

The usual chaos reigns in the hanger as Cassian pushes his way past pilots and mechanics.

“Cassian!” Bodhi’s voice stops him and he turns towards the four figures hurrying towards him.

“Chirrut just said we had to come,” Baze explains, glancing at Chirrut. “Told us to contact Kes Dameron and get him down here. What’s going on?”

Cassian shakes his head. “It’s Jyn. I don’t-“ but he is cut off by a shout - “Everyone look out!” - followed by a wave of people running to get out of the way of the ship that is more falling rather than gliding towards a landing.

Jyn’s transport ship bounces twice, skidding across the icy rock of the Hoth hangar floor, before it slides to a stop, dented and battered, spewing smoke. “Oh dear,” is Kay’s only comment before Cassian is once again running, despite his friends’ shouts of protest, towards the downed ship.

Emergency droids and personnel are beginning to descend, but Cassian ignores them. The black smoke increases tenfold as the door to the ship slides open and for one horrifying moment everything is still. Then two figures emerge from the smoke.

Shara’s arm is draped over Jyn’s shoulder. She is clearly unconscious, feet dragging uselessly, blood dripping down her thigh, and Jyn coughs the smoke out of her lungs as she stumbles down the ship’s ramp. The sight of her paralyzes Cassian for a moment, relief and worry washing over him in equal measure.

A medical team has arrived. Kes Demeron must have gotten Chirrut’s message because he is suddenly there, demanding to see his wife. Baze practically has to restrain him from attacking the medical officers. But it is Jyn Cassian is fixated on, and in an instant he finds himself again and snaps back into motion. Jyn has just managed to hand Shara off to them when Cassian reaches her.

“Jyn!” She turns to the sound of his voice.

“Cassian!” He grabs her shoulders, needing to touch her, needing to feel her, solid and alive, under his fingers.

“Jyn, what happened? Are you alright?”

“We got the intel, but our contact must have turned on us. Shara got shot and Han and Luke had a tail, so we separated so that I could get Shara back, but our ship was attacked and we-” Another fit of coughing cuts her off and he steadies her, her body shaking under his hands.

“Easy, easy,” he murmurs to her, then turns to look for the med team, all of whom seem to be focused on Shara at the moment. “Hey, medic!” he shouts.

Jyn gripped his forearm and Cassian snaps his attention back to her. She struggles to drag in air but her eyes find his. “Cassian, it’s alright. I just - I don’t -” She stumbles, and in a moment her eyes glaze over, then flutter closed, and she drops. Cassian catches her, dropping to his knees with Jyn cradled in his arms, terror - and not the smoke still filling the hanger - choking off the air in his lungs.

“Jyn? Jyn!” He shakes her slightly but her eyes remain closed, body limp. Only now does he realize that his hand - which up until a minute ago had been clutched around Jyn’s shoulder - is covered in her blood.

The med team is there in an instant. He only hears fragments of what they say to him - “... someone grab the oxygen ...” “... get her in a bacta tank...” - but when they pull Jyn away from him and onto a hovering stretcher it takes all of Cassian’s willpower - as well as a Chirrut’s gentle hand on his shoulder - to loosen his grip and allow Jyn out of his arms.

“Nice to see you up and about, kid.” Han slides into a seat opposite from Jyn at her table in the mess, pointedly ignoring Princess Leia, who sits on the other side of Chirrut and Baze, chatting animatedly - perhaps a bit too animatedly - with Luke. There had been yet another infamous screaming match in one of the corridors this morning. Jyn was personally amazed that their shouting had yet to set off an avalanche in this frozen wasteland.

“Nice to be about,” Jyn admits, rolling a shoulder a bit to test the stab wound she had returned home with. She is pleased to find it doesn’t even twinge. “Glad you two got back safe.”

Han leans back in his seat, his smug look almost masking the way his eyes flick to Leia to see if she’s listening. “Well, you know. Nothing the Falcon couldn’t take care of.” Chewie, who was just joining them, punctuates Han’s statement with a cry of - what Jyn assumes is - agreement. “Where’s your boyfriend? Heard he was pretty worried after your fainting stunt.”

Jyn chokes into her caf at the smuggler's words. “My what?” She knows who he means, of course. Baze had told her - a little too happily for her taste - about how Cassian had stayed with her for the first hours in medbay after she had landed - if that word could even be used - in the Echo Base hangar. He had told her right after she woke up in medical, and she worries that in her hazy state she hadn’t been able to hide the smile that had tugged at her lips at the thought. The smile was quickly lost, however, when Chirrut informed her that Cassian, Bodhi, and Kay had already been sent out to hunt down the informant who had turned on the Alliance and silence them before any other information could be leaked. Jyn knows they will be back soon, but that doesn’t stop her disappointment.

Before she can even recover from the sensation of inhaling steaming hot caf, Baze pipes up. “Oh, Captain Andor’s off on a mission. He should be back any time, though.”

The look Jyn sends the two men is freezing even by Hoth standards. Everyone, including Chirrut, laughs.

“Well I’m glad you find this amusing, Captain Solo. Because I was laughing this morning when C-3PO informed me that today’s little discussion between you and the princess marks 16 such public discussions this month. And now, Bodhi owes me 50 credits.” The look of incredulous horror - mixed, perhaps, with a bit of pride - at the idea of his friends placing bets on him and the princess lightens Jyn’s mood considerably. Bodhi had gotten drunk enough one night to admit to that Han had a sizable wager going with Chewie concerning who would kiss the other first, Jyn or Cassian, so she figures fair is fair.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Jyn says, standing abruptly, tray in hand. “I’m going to go see how Shara is feeling. Kes was with her all night and he needs a break.”

Jyn can’t help but smile as she heads out of the mess and into the corridors of Eco Base. The small family she has managed to find for herself during her time with the Alliance is more than she had ever hoped for, more than she had ever thought she deserved. Chirrut and Baze have practically adopted her as their child; Bodhi is the brother she had never had; she has grown close to Han, Luke, and Leia; and even Kay has his place in her heart. And Cassian.... She has no words for what Cassian is to her. But after all they have been through, after all their time together - finding comfort and security in each other - and after all their time apart - hurried transmissions in the day and quiet hologram conversations in the night - maybe she wants a word for what Cassian is to her. And maybe it is time to let him know that.

Jyn is stopped by the beep of her 2-MAL personal comlink. Confused she presses the receiver, expecting to hear Draven’s voice or maybe an angry Solo trying to get back at her for her wager. Instead the voice that crackles to life is unmistakably Bodhi’s.

“Jyn. We’re home.”

She can all but see the grin on Bodhi’s face, and her own lips turn up in joy as she quickly turns in the direction of the landing bay. She doesn’t think - doesn’t let herself think - as she skirts around rebels and droids, bushing her way through the ever present bustle of the base. She sees Cassian’s U-wing as soon as she gets into the hanger. Kay is there, unloading a few crates, and Bodhi seems to be inspecting a new dent on the side of the hold. She doesn’t care, though, because Cassian is there, real and right in front of her, and when she calls his name he turns and the smile that flashes across his face makes his eyes glow and her heart melt.

Life as a rebel soldier is hectic and uncertain. Jyn knows this better than most. She knows that anytime she sees Cassian, or any of her friends, it could be her last. Knowing this, she clings to any chance they get to talk, even if it’s just a relayed transmission or even a note written hastily before departing for a new mission. The two of them must take what they get. But as grateful as she is for the technology that can keep them in touch, not even a hologram can come anywhere close to the feeling of being there, with him, in the same room, breathing the same air.

Life as a rebel soldier is hectic and uncertain. Jyn knows this better than most. As Rebels they don't have much. Energy is rationed, food is in short supply, and on Hoth a blanket is worth more than credits. But there are other things they don’t have much of. Assurance, safety, and security are luxuries not usually afforded to people in Jyn and Cassian’s positions. Jyn doesn’t as for much. And when it comes to Cassian she knows that as long as he comes home at the end of the day, that would be enough.

Life as a rebel soldier is hectic and uncertain. Jyn knows this better than most. Which is why, when she reaches Cassian and finds herself pulled into his arms she leans up on her toes and kisses him, Han and his wager be damned.

She can feel Cassian’s surprise, but in a moment his arms are around her and his mouth melts into hers and suddenly nothing matters, not Bodhi’s cheers, not Kay’s confusion and dismay, and not the distant, disgruntled wails of a Wookie who has just lost a bet.

AO3

Unfortunately I do not own Star Wars!

231 notes · View notes

evenstevensranked · 7 years

Text

#37: Season 2, Episode 11 - “Wild Child”

Louis jeopardizes Eileen's campaign for Secretary of State by being a general lunatic on television and must deal with the repercussions of his actions. Elsewhere, Nelson wants to learn how to fight and goes to Donnie for help.

This one opens with the most bizarre shots of Louis "riding a bike" in front of an obvious green screen. It's actually pretty great. Again, it's one of those moments like the fake dummy, or the surfing green screen. You automatically know that it's not meant to be taken seriously. I mean, if Louis meditating on the bike crisscross applesauce isn't an indication that the scene is not intended to be realistic, then I don't know what is. Shia’s genuine laughter at the absurdity of the whole thing is also great.

He’s thinking “what is my life”

The scene is used in contrast to the rest of the Stevens family meeting with Eileen’s new image consultant for her Secretary of State campaign. They’re clearly concerned about Louis’ whereabouts and that he’s missing out on some important information. Steve is all “I can’t believe he’s not here yet” and Ren sarcastically says “Yeah, you know.. It’s not like him. He’s usually so considerate” — which hard cuts to Louis screaming “OUTTA MUH WAY!!!” as he zooms past pedestrians with zero regard. Incredible. He even steals a corndog away from the stoner extra Lefkwitz. I’ll never understand Disney’s obsession with corndogs. I feel like they talk about them so much.

Louis shows up late to the meeting with vegetables growing out of his hair, claiming it’s his science fair project. He also says it could be Eileen’s platform: “End world hunger,” which is a great visual. Imagine if we all walked around with food growing out of our heads. The consultant says “Please, tell me this is the wacky next-door neighbor” and in that moment I so wish that Louis was for the family’s sake. He would be the wacky next-door neighbor if this show was about anyone else on their block. This is definitely a sign of Louis becoming more and more outlandish, though. Growing a farm on his head...... like… come on. One thing I’d like to point out is that Christy always makes the actual best facial expressions when reacting to Louis’ craziness.

Meme central right there.

This whole scene has a lot of those unflattering close up shots that we saw in Surf’s Up. Both episodes were directed by Paul Hoen. I seriously wonder why he apparently likes those angles so much. It definitely adds to the quirky vibe of the show, but still, I’m not entirely sure it fits. It’s a little distracting to me, almost overkill.

Fast forward to the next day. Eileen is officially announcing her candidacy on the Sacramento Morning News with none other than reporter Cynthia Mills. The image consultant dresses them in the most ridiculous “All American” getups and I have no idea how this guy possibly has a career in image consulting.

Is this Even Stevens or Leave It To Beaver? (Steve holding that spatula gets me every time.)

Of course, Louis is missing yet again. This time he has yet to make an appearance because he hates the outfit he has to wear. It is… pretty cringy considering the character of Louis Stevens. This is definitely something he’d never wear in a million years.

Did Eileen make him clean his room just in case? lol Because it looks immaculate in comparison to the tornado of clothes and junk we usually see.

Donnie literally has to carry him downstairs and Louis shouts “PUT ME DOWN, CRAB GOOSE!” which I’m assuming is an ad-lib. Where does Shia come up with this stuff?! Honestly! God bless him. Cynthia asks him “Is something wrong, little guy?” and all hell breaks loose. This is probably one of Louis’ greatest meltdowns, though. It really made me want to rank this episode way higher. It's absolutely insane! But as great as it is, you kinda get annoyed at the fact he can't even control himself long enough to not embarrass his mother on television like that. He legit destroys the living room and breaks Cynthia’s baby toe. But lines like "I am not a little guy, and these are not my pants" and "I'M NOT SHORTY PANTS KID" make it all worth it. It’s another scene that I just have to embed.

youtube

Larry Beale gives Ren a hard time about the fiasco at school later. He actually throws some solid shade by saying “What a circus! What is your mom running for? The ring master? ‘Cause I just wanted to know.” But, Nelson decides to step up and say “Hey, Snarky! For a guy with a tiny brain, you got a big mouth.” He proceeds to get stuffed in a locker. This is what motivates him to learn how to fight. But, we’ll get to that later.

Ren knows that some drama is about to go down.

Eileen, Steve and Donnie are at home watching the news report in horror. Cynthia brought Eileen’s opponent on for an interview and of course they seem like saints in comparison to Eileen’s segment — which basically should’ve started off with “Hi. I’m Louis Stevens, welcome to Jackass!” They desperately change the channel, only to find that the story has been picked up by literally every major news outlet. My personal favorite report:

“The Crazy Child” lol.

Louis comes downstairs and seemingly has no idea why they could possibly be upset with him. Eileen starts to feel like everything is her fault since she’s the one who hired the consultant. And Louis just… AGREES WITH HER! He puts it all on her shoulders and takes no responsibility. “Ma, you’re a good kid. You are. You messed up, but it happens… right?” Eileen puts him in his place and explains how much damage control she has to do because of him. This scene makes me so mad. Ugh. Louuuuisssss. He tries to reassure her, saying it’s yesterday’s news. When suddenly Cynthia and a news crew bust through their kitchen window hoping for “The Wild Child” to go berserk again.

Now Louis finally starts to show genuine remorse, which is always nice and adds that endearing quality to the character. He confides in Ren letting her know that he wants to be the kind of kid who makes his parents proud. I love this. Louis decides he wants to win the science fair to specifically impress Eileen. Ren encourages him by saying she knows him better than anyone and if he sets his mind to something, he’ll do a great job. This is so true.

We see Louis working on his new, elaborate project for the science fair — The “Eco-Bot 3000.” He’s not exactly sure what it does yet, though. Ren is impressed and tells Eileen that he’s been working day in and day out on the project and that she should really go to the fair. The only issue is that Eileen scheduled her damage control press conference for the same day.

So, yeah. Nelson wants to learn how to fight and enlists Donnie’s help. Donnie knows the kid doesn’t stand a chance, so he teaches him some bogus ancient pinky finger trick he dubs “Ka-Ting.” That poking someone in a certain spot will reduce them to a pile of jelly on the floor. Okay. Nelson falls for it though and thinks he’s suddenly become some sort of blackbelt. He starts intimidating kids at school with his pinkies. How embarrassing. Let’s just wrap this subplot up now, shall we? Ren finds out about what Donnie did, so she tricks Nelson into thinking he’s too powerful and needs to put his pinkies away for good. He falls for that, as well. What a gullible guy. The end, lol. It’s an underwhelming subplot and feels like a total waste of time.

One of the craziest things ever happens at Eileen’s press conference. Cynthia asks her "Is there any truth to the rumor you have sent him off to a desert work camp?" Holy crap. Did the writers just predict the freaking future?!

I wonder if Shia was already confirmed for Holes and they wrote that in as a little joke?! This episode aired in 2001. The movie was released in early 2003, so it obviously must’ve filmed in 2002. It’s a possibility! Suddenly the entire movie has become a spin-off/Even Stevens AU fanfiction of Louis being sent off to camp for terrible behavior. Let’s be real, though… He WOULD become the leader of the D-Tent pack. Holes will forever be a Louis Stevens at Camp Greenlake story now. Well.. minus the whole “no-good-dirty-rotten-pig stealin’-great great grandfather” mumbo jumbo. And the fact that his name is Stanley Yelnats. Annnnd has a completely different life story. Just forget that. Anyway, I just thought this bit was borderline eerie!! haha. It’s too coincidental.

Cut to the science fair. The "Eco-Bot 3000” ended up being an automatic recycling machine and can/bottle crusher. HE'S SO TALENTED!!! I swear to god. If there was ever an Even Stevens reboot, Louis needs to have a job in engineering and do stand up comedy on the side or something. Wow.

Eileen ditches the press conference to be a good mother and support Louis at the fair. Everything is great and amazing and he wins first place! Until he demonstrates how it works to Cynthia Mills and the news crew and accidentally has it crush a full carton of milk — which explodes everywhere and the system runs haywire. There was a crap ton of milk in there. How did he not feel that when he lifted the carton??? He’s smart enough to create this machine from scratch but too dumb to realize the carton is full of milk?! Logic. The Eco-Bot pretty much becomes an extension of Louis’ personality we saw earlier, and terrorizes the fair. And… that’s it.

Look how proud he was, though… :(

This one doesn't have much of a definitive ending. Or maybe it does, but it's just not very satisfying because Louis still basically loses in the end. The thing he worked so hard on ultimately goes wrong for him… on live TV… again. I don't like that. It always leaves me feeling upset and a little empty, tbh. But a memorable moment like the Shorty Pants freakout, and seeing Louis genuinely want to be a better kid redeem it for me. I couldn’t care less about this Nelson subplot, though.

Thanks for reading! And side note: Today is actually Shia’s 31st birthday!! Aww. Time flies. Go wish the king himself a good one.

Twitter | Facebook | Instagram

#rank #even stevens #shia labeouf #louis stevens #louis plot #ren stevens #nelson minkler #eileen stevens #cynthia mills #season 2 #disney channel #old disney #nostalgia #tv show #tv review #holes 2003 #comedy #louis the engineer

5 notes · View notes