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alectoperdita · 2 years

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Strike (Kaijou Horizon Forbidden West Fusion Ficlet)

Fandoms: Yu-Gi-Oh! x Horizon Forbidden West Rated: T Pairing: Tenakth!Katsuya/Quen!Seto Warnings: None, not really spoilers per se, but you’ll be mightily confused if you haven’t finished the game because this takes place on the eve of the main quest event, Singularity Word Count: 1,789

Now archived on AO3

Special thanks to @sheepnamedpig for indulging me and talking about this fusion for the better part of a week. 💜 Unfortunately for the rest of you, that meant I was inspired enough to churn out this ficlet. I just really needed to get this out of my system!

Some general notes: I decided to go with Katsuya here since that’s sounds like more of a Tenakth name than Jounouchi. The other reason being that most tribes, generally reflecting human settlements at that level of technology, don’t have family names. Kaiba does, though. He has his family name and his given name. In a feudal/imperial system, the nobility are more likely to form family/clan systems, especially when it comes to cadet branches of royalty. Also since the Quen have knowledge of the Old Ones, they might also follow a family-given name convention because of that.

-----

What awoke Seto was not the usual bird song or the sound of soldiers changing shifts. The disturbance came from somewhere much closer, within arm's reach of his bedding. Seto had always been a light sleeper, even before his paranoid caretakers drilled the risk of subterfuge into his education. Despite the darkness, the intruder moved without tripping, light-footed and nearly silent between Seto's furnishing.

Slowly, one of Seto's hands inched under his pillow for his dagger. He kept his breathing slow and steady as his fingers closed around the decorated hilt. When the intruder finally approached his bedside, he struck, throwing aside the covers, grappling the person with his long legs and arms before flipping them to pin them to the bed. The sharp angles of armor dug into Seto's thighs, threatening to rip through his thin sleep pants. Snarling, Seto jabbed the sharp end of his blade, made from a repurposed Clawstrider claw, against his would-be attacker's jugular, barely short of breaking skin.

"Wait, Kaiba, it's me!" the body beneath him wheezed quietly, probably afraid that speaking any louder would result in a slit throat.

It wasn't the voice, as familiar as it was, that jolted Seto out of his alarmed fog. No, it was the spot of violet-tinted light hovering next to the intruder's temple, which illuminated his golden hair and red and black face-paint against the dark of the night. It came from a Focus.

"Katsuya?" he growled, no longer murderous but still as angry as before. "What in the name of the Ancestors are you doing sneaking up on me?"

"I'm here to talk. You gonna let me up or what?" asked the Tenakth evenly.

Seto dug his fingers harder into the bare bicep he'd captured. Flinching, Katsuya hissed through gritted teeth. He was so warm to the touch. Something Seto did his best to ignore as he settled back on his haunches, withdrawing his weapon only by a fraction. "I'm undecided. Maybe you need a lesson so you never try something this inadvisable again?"

This time, Seto was the one who startled when the other man seized his wrist and twisted. Not enough to break it or hurt Seto, but certainly enough that he felt a dull ache in his joint. The calloused fingers pressed against his skin were blazing hot.

"Quit playing around, Seto. I don't got all night."

To cover up how his skin now tingled or how the use of his given name raised goosebumps, Seto harrumphed and rolled off the other man. He quickly sheathed his dagger and slipped it under his pillow again. Katsuya was conspicuously unarmed. And even if he wasn't, he wouldn't hurt Seto. Not at this point. The other man's dark form shifted among the shadows. The light from his Focus levitated into the air as he sat up. After another moment of consideration, Seto reached over and turned on the nearby lantern, bathing the bed in its soft yellow glow.

A smile flickered across Katsuya's lips as soon as their eyes met. Their gazes held for but a moment before Katsuya's focus dipped low, noticeably lingering on Seto's bare torso.

Fighting a shiver, Seto crossed his arms over his chest and asked, "How did you get this far without alerting guards?"

Katsuya chortled faintly. He pulled his feet in to sit cross-legged, propping his elbow on one knee before pressing a painted cheek to his palm. His smile grew and his eyes twinkled mischievously as he replied, "Been picking up a few tricks from Aloy here and there. So don't be too hard on your people in the morning."

Seto wrinkled his nose. The Living Ancestor, of course.

The mirth quickly bled from Katsuya's face, though. Seto couldn't help the corresponding drop in his own stomach. It wasn't hard to sense the undercurrent of anxiety or the tension in Katsuya's stiff shoulders. Not to mention the risk that the Tenakth had taken sneaking into camp under the cover of night when he was already welcomed to waltz in through the entrance at any time.

"What's so important that it couldn't wait until morning?" he asked. His words came out far softer than he'd intended.

"I have to meet Aloy and the others at the rendezvous point in the morning." Katsuya inhaled sharply before looking Seto dead in the eye. "We're taking the fight to those Far Zenith nutcases."

Seto froze. Ice water trawled through his veins. Neither Alva nor Katsuya had shied away from briefing him about the Far Zenith threat. Not that he would've allowed either to get away with sugarcoating the truth. As the leader of the expedition, he couldn't afford to be ignorant of the threats against himself and his people.

"And you came here to what? Ask for my help? Ask for troops?" asked Seto.

Katsuya shook his head. "Nah, I... I wanted to see you one more time. Just in case."

Not unlike the time a charging Scrounger nearly bowled him over, the air was ripped painfully from his lungs. It left him a touch light-headed. "In case what?" snapped Seto. "Never speak of a battle as if it's lost before it's fought. I expected better of you. Wait here, let me get Isono. We'll—"

He rose from the bed, but a powerful grip seized his elbow and yanked him down again. Before he could try again, Katsuya cornered him, planting a hand on either side of his lap and invading his space. Seto's heart leapt into his throat when he realized how close they were with Katsuya's face hovering a hair's breadth away.

"Throwing more bodies at the problem isn't going to help. We have a plan—"

"Really? Because it sounds to me like you're planning on dying," Seto hissed. His heart hammered against his rib cage with the force of a Thunderjaw's booming steps.

"By the Ten, please shut up. Lemme say my bit before I lose my nerve!" Katsuya slapped a hand over his own mouth after realizing he'd raised his voice.

For better or for worse, that wasn't loud enough to draw the attention of Seto's guards. After another steadying breath, he jutted his chin and ordered, "Then say it. Don't be mealymouthed."

"I'm not planning on dying tomorrow. But I'm not gonna lie. I'm nervous. Based on how Aloy and Beta describe them, the Zenith are like nothing I've ever fought. Like no machine I've ever had to deal with. And after what happened with Varl—"

Katsuya's gaze dropped. Seto did not follow his lead. He kept his eyes locked on the Tenakth's expressive face, as if he was trying to commit it to memory. He jolted, though, when he felt fingertips brush against his hand. It took every ounce of willpower to look down then. Especially when Katsuya's fingers encircled his wrist.

"There aren't any guarantees. Not when it comes to stuff like this," Katsuya continued gently. "And I don't wanna have regrets in case—in case I don't see you again, Seto."

Seto was pretty sure he'd stopped breathing when Katsuya unclenched his hand from the bedding and unfurled his fist. Something small and wooden into his newly exposed palm before Katsuya curled his hand closed before finally retreating. One by one, Seto peeled away a finger to reveal a small Strike piece. Like clockwork, Katsuya had been bringing him new pieces since he first introduced the game to Seto.

The Slaughterspine he'd recently received sat not far away, occupying a place of prominence on Seto's writing desk, from which he reviewed the camp logistics and reports from Diviners and patrols about new discoveries in the surrounding area. It was a masterpiece of a carving, embellished with metal harvested from the actual machine. It was also huge, but unwieldy as a playing piece.

This latest one? Seto rubbed his thumb pad against the wood's coarse texture. The workmanship was clumsier than the rest of the pieces in Seto's now sizeable collection. Its most eye-catching feature was the crimson orb affixed as the piece's head.

"It's a Redeye Watcher," Katsuya confirmed his guess. "I made this one myself. It's not much, but maybe you'll remember me the next time you look at it."

"Kats—"

He lifted his head in time, ready to scold the other man for his fatalism again. But the words became ensnared between the press of their mouths. For a beat, Seto's heart faltered before restarting at double speed. Katsuya's lips were soft but chapped. They didn't taste much of anything, just heat and flesh, when Katsuya threaded his hand through Seto's hair and deepened the kiss. There was nothing left for Seto to do other than shut his eyes and clench his fist around the Watcher. Until its metallic edges and several splinters dug into his palm. A stinging pain to combat the sweet intoxication of their not-embrace.

When Katsuya broke the kiss, he didn't pull away. He simply laid his forehead against Seto's and breathed, soft but thready. His fingers continued to play with the ends of Seto's hair. In return, Seto stared into the other man's dark brown eyes, so full of life and vigor that his heart ached.

"I—You—" Katsuya started, then lapsed into silence. "Seto—"

He didn't want to hear it. Katsuya had shown he could run his mouth from sunrise to sunset, saying nothing of consequence. Without releasing the Strike piece, Seto cupped the other man's cheek and crushed their lips together again. Teeth and tongues came into play this time, simultaneously stealing both of their breaths. Affection and desire—Seto admittedly had little experience in this regard. But from the way Katsuya trembled, he might not be anymore experienced. Despite that, Seto couldn't ask for more than this—Katsuya's firm weight, his sure, calloused hands, and his eager mouth.

"You'll come back," Seto murmured when they broke for air. His chest heaved.

Katsuya laughed, bringing back a portion of that jovial attitude that Seto had grown used to. He canted his head and brushed his nose across Seto's cheekbone. "Is that an order? I don't take orders from you, Quen."

"You'll come back," he repeated, doubling down on his conviction. Katsuya had proven a stubborn thorn in his side since he first washed up on the shores of Tenakth territory. Why should that change now?

The Tenakth made no promise, though. Certainly none that he could keep with confidence. Instead, he pressed his one last feather-light kiss to Seto's temple. As quietly as he came, he slipped out of the lodge. A chill immediately swept in to fill the vacancy of his departure. A cooling spot in the rumpled bedding and a beginner's attempt at woodcarving were Seto's only companions for the rest of the long night.

#yugioh #puppyshipping #violetshipping #kaijou #joukai #my fanfiction #let Jou woo Kaiba with Strike pieces!!!#I'm sorry to everyone who know fuck all of what's going on here #write the niche crossover your heart desires <3 #I barely held back from Jou calling Kaiba 'Ceo'#why write the preceding slow burn when i can skip toward the end where they kiss?

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valdomarx · 4 years

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Because of your latest game edit, and since it is--was?--tender Tuesday, something where Lambert throws quen over Geralt? Maybe it's the first time he's ever done it? If you want, I mean. Otherwise feel free to ignore this, but thank you anyway for the wonderful game edit!

The Battle of Kaer Morhen isn’t the first time Lambert saves Geralt’s life. Not that Geralt would ever admit it.

The first time had been decades ago, when they were barely out of training, setting out on the Path for the first time.

There’s a nest of griffins near a small town: not just a single beast, but a mating pair aggressively protecting their recently laid eggs. Geralt calls for aid from his Wolf brothers, and it’s Lambert who answers. Lambert insults him, mocks him, then grudgingly agrees to join him on the hunt.

Now Geralt is facing down the male griffin, the smaller of the pair, already weakened by several heavy blows. He’s lining up a shot with his crossbow, and when Lambert places a hand on his shoulder he shakes it off, annoyed at the distraction.

“Get down, moron!” Lambert snaps, pushing him forcefully to his knees and casting Quen around them both mere moments before the second griffin’s claws clash into the shield. Sparks fly as the sign absorbs the impact that would have ripped through Geralt’s armor, and he’s back on his feet and fighting in moments.

They manage to kill the pair in the end, though Lambert of course tries to take all the credit.

Geralt’s silver blade cuts through one drowner after another, barely more than an annoyance to him. He moves automatically, mindlessly, ready to be done with this swamp and its infestation.

“Watch out, you dumb fuck!” Lambert yells, and there’s rush of air past Geralt’s ears as Lambert casts Aard. The hideous and dangerous water hag, the one Geralt hadn’t noticed bearing down on him, is thrown back into the swamp with the force of a gale.

He shakes himself, gives Lambert a quick nod of thanks, and turns back to his task, attentive this time.

Chaos all around: not only one enormous basilisk but also a troop of cockatrices pouring out of the nearby caves and attacking from the air.

Geralt picks his spot, downs a Golden Oriole potion, and readies himself for the onslaught. If he must stand alone, he will fight with everything he has.

A twang echoes from behind him as a crossbow bolt lets fly, then a stream of fire barrels into the basilisk. Glancing around, he’s somehow not surprised to see Lambert approaching, one hand raised to cast Igni, the other gripping his crossbow.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun, pretty boy,” Lambert calls, smirking as usual.

“Mutant filth!” the Priest of the Eternal Fire screams. “Your stench is not welcome here, your hideous visage unwanted! My knights will teach you to foul the clean air of Redania with your repulsive presence.”

A flurry of movement, and the arcing sword of the lead knight which had been slicing toward his head is intercepted and pushed aside with a hiss of steel. Holding the intercepting blade is Lambert, showing his teeth in an expression which is most definitely not a smile.

“The only person who’s allowed to talk to him like that is me,” Lambert spits, kicking the knight away and charging the priest, swinging his sword into the man’s knee and then jabbing upward, using the pommel to land a vicious blow to his jaw.

The priest falls, blood spraying across the grass, and the knights scatter.

By the time the Wild Hunt arrives at the gates of the Kaer Morhen keep, Geralt is already slowing, fatigue draining even his considerable reserves of energy. He beats back wave after wave of warriors and hounds, Lambert at his side.

This time, when he feels Lambert’s hand on his shoulder he goes to his knees without hesitation. He hears Lambert’s grunt of effort as he throws Quen around both of them, the air painted a glowing gold as fire rains down, bouncing harmlessly off the shield.

For a single moment, the sounds of battle fade until all that remains is the panting of Lambert’s breath and the firmness of his grip on his shoulder. Here, within this bubble of protection, the air is cool and still. Geralt breathes, centres himself, and sets his hollering mind to calm.

He weariness lifts. He is ready for battle once more. Close beside him, Lambert nods, understanding without the need for words. They raise their swords as one and dive back into the fray.

#geralt x lambert #the witcher #the witcher 3 #lambert #lookoutrogue #my writing #they are in love ok #and that's the that on that #george replies

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eldritcharchive · 4 years

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battle cries, dear

Read on AO3 | @bamf-jaskier‘s Witchertober 2020 Day 9 - Destiny

"Come on, Mordred, just put me on the roster?" Beorn is not begging, but he's close. Mordred's been put in charge of a team the trainers are sending out to deal with the wyvern sealing sheep (and at least one goat, according to councilor Eskel's last count) from the farmlands of Kaer Morhen.

"Why are you so set on this, B?" Mordred asks, exasperation leaking into his tone. The Wolf pup cornered Mordred in the library, and he desperately needed to visit with one of the mages (Ashwood, if he was being honest he preferred talking to Ashwood) in order to get help preparing potion for the trip. It wouldn't be far, so they wouldn't need much. Yet, he's still here, because, despite Beorn's diminutive size, the idiot was fast (and Mordred is fond of him).

Beorn huffs. "Because for one, it never hurts to have extra people on a hunt like this, and witcher code or whatever doesn't prohibit traveling in groups," he says, sounding bored with his own explanation. "And two, there are no Wolves in your team and three -" he leans forward for emphasis "- you know the only reason they excluded me from consideration because of my size. I passed the trials, Mordred, I'm a full-fledged Witcher just like you and they treat me like a fucking initiate."

"There is a Wolf on the team," Mordred says with a sigh, "we're bringing Oskar."

"Good. He'll vouch for me then."

"Freya's blessed ass, Beorn." Mordred sees an opening and twists away from his friend, walking briskly towards the main hall. Beorn soon falls in step next to him, and Mordred growls. "Fine! Fine. Just meet us at the stables in two hours." They stop in the main hall and Beorn's face lights up. "If you're late, we're leaving without you."

---

Initiates crowd around the hunting group as they gather at the stables - many of them haven't seen teams of witchers prepare for hunts and the elders are still used to the old days when witchers walked their Paths alone. Mordred spends time checking over their potion supply before addressing each member of the team.

"Wynona, did you bring explosive bolts?"

A young, lithe Viper Witcher stood slightly apart from the group with her arms crossed over her chest. Her lip curled from a large bite scar, the partners of which danced up the left side of her face. “Letho took a huge supply with him down to Aedirn,” she said, scowling. “Arms master said we can’t spare any for right now. Cactus helped me make some grapeshot to compensate.”

“How many grenades?”

“About ten.”

“It’ll have to do,” Mordred says, picking at the ragged scar on his forehead.

“We’ve got some split bolts,” called Liam, one of the taller boys, standing next to his twin brother, Gavin. The only difference between the two were the scars down their arms - Gavin sported bite marks from various necrophages; Liam, slashes and gouges from aerial beasts. (They wore Cat armor that exposed their forearms to help people identify them.) “Gav picked some up on his way back from Kovir.”

Mordred nods, “Anything else? We’ve got enough Swallow - more than enough, you know how Amma is with prep work.” A series of good-natured groans echo out from the group. “Hearing none, we gotta do a roll-call and then head out. Wynona, Liam, and Gavin are here, obviously. Drummond?”

“Here.” Drummond, a Manticore of considerable bulk and height, crouches near the initiates as he finishes pulling on his leather gauntlets and checking the various pouches strapped to his armor.

“Oskar? Beorn?”

“Both here, Dred!” Os calls as Beron finishes securing a section of chainmail over Os’ right thigh. Of the crew, the two Wolves have a more haphazard collection of gear - their swords are fine, but lack the pommels standard to their school. Both boys have linen and leather armor, well-cared for and hand patched in places. The Wolves still prized self-sufficiency, and their yearlings tended to purchase or patch their gear on the Path, rather than returning to a Witcher outpost for repair.

Mordred sighs - he’d hoped maybe Os would talk some sense into Beorn. Still, they were here, and that’s what mattered. “Cel?” He calls out. The Griffin (sporting traditional light-Griffin School plate over linen armor), waved their hand.

“Can we get on with it,” Wynona hissed. “We’re wasting time.”

“Look, if you want to explain to Papa Vesemir why we didn’t turn in a roster before leaving, be my guest,” Modred responds, looking over his list and making notes. He rolls up his list and looks over the crowd of initiates. “Alright, littles, you have training with councilman Eskel in fifteen and best get to the training grounds now.”

Most of the initiates scatter, though Mordred stops Friedrik and hands him the note. Friedrick nods, bouncing on the balls of his feet and sprints off toward the keep to deliver the roster to the keep’s Porter. The team followed Mordred toward the eastern gate, and Drummond went over the plan.

“The wyvern has been spotted east of here, near a ruined watchtower at the other end of the Pond,” he starts, falling into step behind Mordred and allowing the others to circle around him. “It’s likely to have its nest somewhere in that area, perhaps even in the ruins. Plan is Wynona hits the nest with grapeshot -”

“Damn straight.”

“- Liam and Gavin will find high ground and use their scattershot to ground the thing,” Drummond continues. “Beorn and Os, you’re on the ground near the nest as Wynona’s backup, while Mordred and I focus on drawing its attention.” The manticore absently cracks his knuckles. “Not saying this’ll be easy - lots of points of failure. But it should be routine, yeah?”

Os groans. “Don’t fucking jinx it, Drummond.” Liam and Gavin burst into laughter (fucking, Cats) and clap Os on the back.

“Come on, Os, we have Beorn,” Gavin says with a toothy grin. “A whole extra witcher for a wyvern small enough that the trainers considered sending initiates with us to watch. We’re going to be fine.”

---

Wynona doesn’t get up immediately after crashing into the treeline; the wyvern, The Killer, tossed her from her perch at the tower toward the forest. Os and Beorn are pinned by a younger wyvern - the Killer’s hatchling, and likely the wyvern seen at the keep - and can only watch as she sails through the air and crashes through the branches. The grapeshot ignites the nest (Wynona managed to plant two grenades before the Killer spotted her), but the rest of the bombs explode from the shock of hitting the ground. The Wolves have no idea if their Viper comrade is still alive.

The Killer screams above them, taking flight and circling over the field - Beorn manages to clip the young wyvern in the wing with aard and sending it spinning toward Os, who sinks his sword into its neck. The hatchling screams, the Killer screams, and Os yanks his sword forward, neatly severing its head from its neck. His sword slips free of the wyvern and he and Beorn sprint toward the tree line; crossbow bolts tear through the Killer’s wings, knocking it out of the air as it whirls back toward the Wolves. It crashes somewhere behind them as they sprint toward Wynona - she stumbles through the treeline, bleeding from a gash in her leg.

The next few things happen incredibly quickly - the Killer hauls itself into the air, low enough to threaten Mordred and Drummond with her claws; Beorn hears the Killer scream and pick up speed toward Wynona; two more sets of crossbow bolts screech through the air, slashing new cuts into the Killer’s wings; Mordred sprints toward Wynona but Beorn gets there first and lunges, attempting to cast Quen, but he doesn’t quite get the sign off in time. Beorn shoves Wynona out of the way and the Killer snatches Beorn off the ground, claws puncturing his armor.

Beorn screams.

Mordred knocks the Killer out of the sky with a well-cast Aard; the claw holding Beorn relaxes, dragging along his torso as the wyvern falls. Beorn hits the ground hard some distance behind the wyvern with a sickening crack that echoes in the ears of his friends.

Beorn loses track of his senses, the world turning to mush around him - he thinks he hears Drummond shouting, and the sound tastes like copper and heat and his own screaming. The world goes dark, but he feels Wynona’s knees thunk into the grass next to him and the burn of Full Moon on his lips.

---

When the hunting team arrives, the pup they’re carrying is sobbing, delirious with pain. He’s babbling, the words largely lost in the tide of pain, blood, and tears. Elder witchers, yearlings and initiates flood the courtyard, and Drummond and Mordred lower Beorn onto a stretcher. Disconnected syllables continue to trip out over Beorn’s lips, but among them, Os manages to pick out a refrain.

"Amma. Get Amma, please. I want Amma."

Os sprints off toward the gardens, darting through the crowd at speed, barely dodging past people as he runs. The courtyard and artisan stalls give way to the gardens suddenly, as if they were portal-ed in from elsewhere. (In a way, they were - herbs were gathered in the wilds before Ashwood arrived at the keep.) Councilman Ashwood - their Amma - is crouched in the middle of the garden, scratching notes into a small notebook.

“Amma!” Os yells, unaware of the slip - none of them ever call Ashwood ‘Amma’ to his face. Still, Ashwood’s attention snaps upward; “It’s Beorn, please, he needs you!” Ashwood’s eyes widen; he snatches a bag from one of the collection tables, jogging toward the young Wolf.

“Where is he?” Ashwood asks, and Os turns heel, Ashwood not far behind. The return trip takes time - Ashwood is not a Witcher, and even at a dead sprint cannot match Os in speed. But he tries, and he skids to a stop in the courtyard, his chest heaving from the effort; the air is so thick with the scent of blood that it fills Ashwood’s lungs and mouth and he can nearly taste it. He swallows around his gag reflex - now is not the time to lose his stomach - and wades through the throng of people around Beorn.

“Please, give the boy some space,” Ashwood says firmly, barely louder than his normal speaking voice (the benefit of working with Witchers). Initiates and instructors alike move back, and Ashwood kneels next to Beorn. The boy - he could be called a boy, despite his twenty-four summers, because of Ashwood’s agelessness and the slowed aging of Witchers - has pulled at his hastily bandaged wounds, blood oozing from the deep gashes in his torso. Beorn babbled uselessly, and Ashwood takes his hand and gently brushes Beorn’s hair away from his face. “I’m here Beorn,” Ashwood murmurs, pushing a light healing spell into Beorn’s skin as he tries to comfort the young Witcher.

"Amma, Amma please, it hurts,” Beorn sobs, looking at Ashwood with hazy eyes.

"Shh, I know just stay still, we'll see what we can do about this, okay?" Ashwood looks up scanning the crowd. “Who did the field dressing?”

“I did, sir,” Wynona says, stepping forward. “I gave him a dose of Swallow and a dose of Full Moon, to treat any internal injuries, but the surface wounds…”

“You did an excellent job,” Ashwood says, holding up a hand. He makes eye contact with Mordred and Drummond in turn. “We need to get Beorn inside, to the infirmary,” he says, voice even and calm, “lift the stretcher gently and do your best not to jostle him. Keep him level.” The boys nod and gently lift Beorn off the ground. When Ashwood stands, Os hovers at his side, staying with him as they drift toward the keep.

“Amma, is he going to be okay?" Os murmurs, tentative and shy and almost too quietly for Ashwood to hear, but the name, ‘Amma’, sticks in his gut. He is Amma - Beorn had been calling for him, specifically. He wonders, distantly, why they named him that.

"We'll do what we can, Os,” Ashwood says, “Let's get inside where I can treat him better. The nickname can come later, right now he has one of his Witchers to treat. He and Os follow Mordred and Drummond closely, with a parade of yearling Witchers behind them. Instructors swarmed the initiates, moving the children back to the training grounds.

Ashwood hurls out a burst of magic as soon as they enter the keep - two birds erupt from green smoke swirling out of his hand and go screeching off in different directions. All activity in the keep stops; with no noise to distract from their frantic procession, it’s only a matter of time before people drifted over to watch them pass. Ashwood made eye contact with an instructor he recognized - Coën, of the Griffin School - and jerked his head toward the crowd.

“Okay, get back to your duties,” Coën yells through the crowd. “Stop fucking gawking!” Spectators danced away from the scene and parted as Triss made her way toward the infirmary door; she held the door open for Mordred and Drummond before tying back her loose, ginger curls and setting up a table of medical supplies.

“What do we need?” she asks, not bothering to look at Ashwood as he helps ease Beorn onto a bed. They’ve done this before, many times, with many Witchers.

“Catgut, sterilized needles,” Ashwood says. “Mordred, Drummond, you can go - make sure the rest of the yearlings know we’re doing everything we can.” The Bear and Manticore nod and leave the room, looking numb from the shock of things. Witchers are expected to die on the path, but not this young. Not on something that was supposed to be routine. Ashwood turned to Os - “I need you to go get us a few buckets of water, okay, Oskar?”

“Okay.”

“Warm, clean water. Not from the springs. You understand?” Beorn groans, rapidly losing the strength to even cry, pulling Ashwood’s attention away from the other Wolf.

“Yes, Amma,” Os says with a firm nod. He’s gone by the time Ashwood turns back to Triss, who pulls up a seat on the other side of the bed. She hands Ashwood a pair of scissors, and they begin the grim work of removing Beorn’s armor and cleaning his wounds.

---

Vesemir arrives with Os, both carrying buckets of water. Ashwood and Triss are bloodied; Triss has a smear of blood across the coral brown skin on her cheek, obscuring her normally bright freckles. Ashwood is stitching up smaller wounds on Beorn’s chest, murmuring words of comfort as he works desperately to save the young Wolf.

“Amma… I can’t…” Beorn moans, fresh tears slipping down his face. Ashwood presses a warm hand against his neck, willing strength into Beorn’s failing body.

"Hush, pup,” Vesemir says, gently placing the requested water near the supply table. “Your Amma is doing his best, you need to be still." He turns to Triss and Ashwood, "Would this be easier if he was put under with Axii to keep him still?"

The mages share a look before Ashwood reluctantly nods. Vesemir makes the sign and presses it toward the injured Witcher. “Sleep,” he says, and Beorn is gone.

They send Os out for additional bandages and Vesemir gets to work grinding up celandine blooms and willow bark, mixing the herbs with water. Triss uses the mixture to gently wash Beorn’s deeper wounds as Ashwood works.

“When Os gets back with bandages, can you soak them in this mix?” Ashwood asks Vesemir.

“Of course,” he says, holding his hands out. “Is there anything else?”

“Prayer may not be out of the question,” Triss murmurs. “He’s feverish and in shock. Even if we get everything closed…”

“It’s going to take a lot of patience and magic to keep Beorn alive,” Ashwood finishes, a nearly imperceptible frown tugging at his lips. Vesemir lets out a ragged sigh.

“Prayer is not my forte,” he admits, “but I will help however I can.”

---

It's early in the morning by the time they finish packing, stitching, and bandaging up Beorn. Vesemir took Os away hours ago and Triss takes her leave when she and Ashwood have dumped the last of the bloodied water buckets, leaving Ashwood alone in a chair by Beorn's bedside. Someone needs to stay, in case he wakes up. They agreed on shifts, but Ashwood knows he's not likely to leave the infirmary until Beorn does.

He sags a little in his chair staring up at the ceiling. Os has seen twenty-one summers; Beorn, twenty-four. Mordred is the oldest Bear of the yearlings, and he’s only seen twenty-seven summers. Aiden left home when he was five-years-old. They're children. Ashwood squeezes his eyes shut against the tears that threaten to fall, but he knows it's a lost cause as a ragged sob rips out of his chest.

Amma, please, it hurts...!

They’d called him Amma - "A sort of version of Mama," Os told him, "because you're... you know... you and you take care of us."

Ashwood hadn't known what to say to that. He wonders, vaguely, when it started, but that wonder was snatched away by the sheer fucking injustice of it all. No one, none of the men (and the handful of women and others) who lived here deserved to be in that much pain. And yet Witchers had, for centuries, thrown themselves at monster after monster to protect folk that hate them. And hate them still. A fury burns in Ashwood's chest alongside his terror and sadness and he thinks he might kill the next person to insult the witchers to his face.

Beorn's breath hitches, his face momentarily twisted in pain - Ashwood watches him carefully, but he remains asleep. Ashwood takes his hand gently and traces the scars there - so many for one so young. Then again, was Ash any better? He'd inflicted his own wounds many a time by the time he turned four-and-twenty. Some days he felt like he might inflict many more.

"I just heard.” Ashwood starts when he hears Lambert at the door. “Is he...?" He's trying to be calm about it but he's rattled and angry and anxious and it's hard to keep your voice down and have it be gentle at the same time so he picks one and hopes the other one makes it through by force of will. It mostly comes through as a growl.

Ashwood looks up - there's no hiding tears that are sad and righteously angry. He lets out a shaky breath. "He's ah... Beorn's gonna be okay. Os and the others got him to the keep and then came and got me just in time," he says, trying not to look like an utter mess. "They're kids, Lamb," he mumbles into his hands.

Lambert finds a chair next to Ashwood and sits down, running a hand through his ginger hair - the beeswax pomade hadn’t held up well in his rush from repairing the walls. “What happened?” He asks. “They just told me he came in covered in blood.”

“He went out with the team of yearlings sent out to take care of the wyvern,” Ashwood says, eyes dark. “Coën got me the details - according to Mordred, the wyvern had a hatchling. Beorn was caught up in its claws trying to protect Wynona. He wasn’t able to cast Quen in time.” The mage sags again, leaning gently against Lambert’s side. “He was nearly incoherent when they got him here…”

“They’re just fucking kids,” Lambert mutters. “They’re kids, Ashwood, and we break ‘em down and build ‘em back up into Witchers and throw them out into a world that hates them. And the instructors don’t know shit about the yearlings. They just see a grown Witcher and assume they can handle the shit Geralt and I do.”

They sit in silence for a while, twin fires of rage and love burning down to their cinders. Because Lambert’s right - they’re practically children, despite their bluster and bravado. They have Lambert in their corner, obviously, but they have Ashwood now, too. And he’d do his best to keep them safe, to take care of them, make sure they knew someone on this fucked up Continent gave a damn about them. That, at least, he could do.

#original witchers #baby witchers #lambert #coen #oc: ashwood #vesemir #triss #wyvern #canon typical violence #blood and injury #hurt/comfort #sort of #found family #non-related parental figure #ashwood is a mom at heart he loves his kids #lambert is a reluctant dad #witchertober2020 #gideon writes

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witcheringways · 3 years

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Love that we have a possibility to learn more about you through the asks! I'd like to read your answers to 4 (maybe you read my tags?), 16 (what are your favs?), 17 and 18~

I did see your tags! I was hoping you would Toss an Ask so it’s wonderful to hear from you! 4. Did I kill the Cat School Witcher or let him live?: I have played "Where the Cat and Wolf Play” both ways but the last few times, I’ve spared him. On the one hand, vengeance can be sweet and Gaetan is a challenge as he knows Geralt’s tricks and it’s a satisfying fight. Considering how Gaetan went overkill in slaughtering the entire village, it may even seem like justice especially if you skip the dialogue fast. But if you let the Cat explain why he spares the girl, he becomes more humanized when talking about how she reminded him of his sister who had by then died of old age.

As he’s a Cat school Witcher, it seems plausible that Geralt might not be as willing to show mercy considering the treachery of the Cats in their plot against the Wolf School which resulted in many deaths on both sides years before, as well as the fact that Cats are often willing to take on less ethical contracts and assassinations. On the other hand, I can see how Geralt might spare him because its a fair statement that he’s not one to judge the actions of another Witcher considering he’s got his own regrets as the Butcher of Blaviken. Depending on Geralt’s actions in TW2 and possible alliance with Letho in TW3, there’s actually quite a a lot of considerations to make in this one quest. So... it’s ultimately complicated but if you do spare Gaetan, you also get a nifty sword and either way, you can help little Millie so there’s another possible happy ending.

16. Favorite Mods: This might be a long list... I tend to switch up mods often but there are a few that never get turned off. Autoloot (stupid popups be gone!), Jump in Shallow Water, Glowing Eyes, and Indestructible Items are always on. I get annoyed having to fix gear all the time and although that may break immersion for some, it works for me. I *don’t* use Fast travel Anywhere, 9000 Weight, No Fall Damage (use the roll button or get good at the jumping/climbing timing, FFS!) because then the game is just too darn easy. I avoid mods that change combat and game mechanics because they tend to get glitchy or don’t play well with other mods; it’s always those ones that have given me trouble.

Most mods I use are strictly cosmetic. 4k retexture with Striga scars for Geralt, El’s Custom Complexions for the ladies (the Geralt version is lovely but he’s almost tooooo pretty), and lately Perverse Appearance are all ones that I highly recommend. HD Rework Project is an absolute must if your computer can handle it and Immersive Lighting is also a great choice to spice up the weather and lighting. If you ever have questions about mods I use in images, please do ask because I have pretty good memory for such things and will happily send links. 17. If I could change one thing...: Well, I don’t enjoy Gwent because I’d rather be out questing but I do miss dice poker from the previous games which is far more lore friendlier game in the Witcher universe anyways. Also the ability to drop Triss in the fountain at the Vegelbud Estate when she gets a bit too drunk & touchy...Sorry, but I just want to get back to Yen, lol. More time with my fellow Wolf School Witchers and a longer storyline in Kaer Morhen besides the battle would also be content I’d have enjoyed although the drunk shenanigans in “No Place Like Home” are probably some of the funniest in the game. It’s hard to choose just one...

18. Combat style: When I first started playing, I didn’t pay as much attention and hacked away with all fast attacks and heavy quen/igni but as I’ve played more I really enjoy the dance of graceful pirouettes. Using parry and dodge effectively makes the combat much richer instead of slamming the roll button constantly and losing stamina in heavy armor. Deflecting arrows is not only lore friendly but extremely satisfying instead of relying on armor glyphs to do the same trick. Alchemy is your best friend if you have the patience to track down all the recipes and time your attacks and it surprises me when other players say they never bother with it... potions and bombs can be the best tools in Witcher’s arsenal! (I do miss the throwing daggers from TW2.) I use my signs of course, but heavy sign builds take away some of the challenge and are ultimately way overpowered. For Mutations, I usually stick to Euphoria, Metamorphosis or Bloodbath. Piercing Cold is fun but it makes Geralt’s hair glitch and fly off about 3 feet from his body so while hilarious, I don’t bother with it.

Anyways, thank you for the Ask! It’s so much fun to talk about my love of Witcher with you! :)

#toss an ask to your Witcher #hagebutt #thank you!

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whatifitscool · 4 years

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Recapping the brief history of the TNT Championship – Promoting new talent or securing the legacy of Cody Rhodes?

by Tim

For the month of April 2020, AEW held another tournament in their debut year to determine who would go to the finals at the Double or Nothing PPV for the newly announced TNT Championship. Unfortunately, COVID-19 had affected promotions worldwide and forced AEW to tape multiple episodes without a live crowd, including the entirety of this tournament. Despite this, AEW still delivered their quality product and viewers were treated weekly to the joy that is professional wrestling. Demonstrating that they are the leader of the wrestling industry, AEW were the first to use their own talent to make up for the lack of crowds; a move that has since been imitated by WWE.

A mid-card title on the level of highly coveted championships like the Intercontinental Championship would potentially offer newer stars the possibilities of further exposure in AEW while simultaneously developing the competitiveness of their burgeoning mid-card. Has the introduction of the championship been a success? Has it given opportunities to younger talent? Or has it only been a showcase for Cody Rhodes?

The tournament brought together significant names in the AEW ranks who had graced our screens or were in matches on PPVs but up until that point, they had not been considered as being realistic contenders to any of AEW's then-current championships. The only exception to have competed for the AEW World Championship was Cody. Sammy Guevara, Darby Allin and Kip Sabian are dynamic additions to the AEW line up and each have considerable followings due to their efforts in the independent scene. The other competitors included veterans Dustin Rhodes, Shawn Spears, new signee Colt Cabana and perhaps the most exciting of this year's signings - Lance Archer.

Prior to the tournament taking place, Cody was forced to relinquish his ability to challenge for the AEW heavyweight title due to interference from MJF. Though this was resolved in a serviceable match, Cody would quickly meet his next challenges – firstly with the arrival of Jake Roberts. When introduced to the Dynamite faithful, Jake would deliver a cutting and scintillating promo to announce that he had a client. The man is truly a gift with words and his role as harbinger prior to the arrival of Lance Archer was inspired. Archer's introduction was as a part of the crowd with Manager Roberts. They didn't introduce him by way of a sneak attack a la Moxley (though this was amazing), Jake Hager or Proud and Powerful, to name a few. What has been consistently great about AEW's feuds is how varied they are. Where Cody has been concerned, there's almost always been a slow burn build with teases of betrayal and trials to endure, culminating with an eventual confrontation – with the way his feuds have been presented, Cody has been positioned as the baby face of the company.

Regarding the path of the eventual finalists, viewers would see Cody in a competitive match-up against Darby Allin however the weak transition from Cody taking a Coffin Drop into what looked like an attempt at a crucifix pin hurt the quality of that match's finish. A more interesting match in Cody's path to the TNT Championship final was against the reliable Shawn Spears who kicked out at the 2-count after taking two successive Cross-Rhodes finishers, only allowing his shoulders to stay on the mat for the 3-count while he was held in the Figure Four. Storyline-wise, it teased that perhaps Cody's Cross-Rhodes wasn't as effective.

Enter Lance Archer. Despite his matches going for more than 10 minutes each, the build-up of the Murderhawk as a monster was nothing short of convincing. In his match against Colt Cabana, he laughed off strikes, delivered a pounce that sent the not-diminutive Cabana across the ring before eventually carrying him from the top turnbuckle and delivering a thunderous Blackout. In his match against Dustin Rhodes, he would showcase an impressive arsenal that included power and acrobatic moves while also teasing the ineffectiveness of the Cross-Rhodes when he kicked out at 1. QT would offer to throw in the towel on Dustin's behalf before Cody would come in to offer the same, only to watch as his brother was forced unconscious by the EBD Claw.

Is Cody a fan of Rocky 4? Many have probably drawn comparisons between this feud and Stallone's classic with Cody and Dustin filling the roles of Rocky and Apollo, respectively. Especially when Cody didn’t throw in the towel and watched while his brother fell. Arguments could be made that Archer filled the role of the towering Ivan Drago, albeit with a more sadistic side as he relentlessly taunted and tormented the younger Rhodes in the lead-up to their confrontation.

Rocky 4 comparisons aside, another highlight in this feud was the meeting between their managers. Arn Anderson would memorably say to Jake Roberts, “I want you to be real limber when I Spinebuster your ass and shove your head where the sun don’t shine.” Fantastic!

With the emotional stakes raised along with the motivation to avenge his brother, the showdown was set for Double or Nothing where Cody and Archer would collide in the final to decide who would be crowned the inaugural TNT Champion. Fitting for his monster-status, Archer entered the arena by choke slamming some poor soul while accompanied by Jake Roberts. Cody entered, accompanied as always by the Head Coach of the Nightmare Family, Arn Anderson. They convincingly played this as a tough bout for Cody. Suiting his in-ring persona as the baby face, he was on the receiving end of a lot of punishment. Almost shortly after the first bell rang, Archer hit him with a Blackout. Notable highlights included when Cody pulled out the DDT on Archer. Archer later responded with a Spinebuster. Great bits of fan service for new and old fans alike. But when all was said and done, Cody won after hitting Archer with two consecutive Cross Rhodes.

It was a David vs Goliath (Rocky vs Drago) bout and although I’ve read some criticism that the match was too long for Archer, I do enjoy lengthier paced battles. The length of the match was suitable because they needed the time to tell the story, to show a physical bout, to continue selling that Archer was a believable monster and Cody had to demonstrate his resilience in order to overcome adversity and capture a championship. And when the dust settled, AEW moved on to the next storyline, which set up one of the most interesting schedules for a wrestler I’ve ever seen.

The Fighting Champion

Addressing the viewer, Cody delivered another in a line of charismatic promos drawing parallels between himself and Tom Brady and how he was never the first call. Holding up four fingers, he declared that he would turn a pace and cut a schedule like no wrestler before and issue an open challenge. Cody would like to retire by the time he’s 40 and with the pace he was talking, I couldn’t help but think of a repeated phrase in Hamilton, “why do you write like you’re running out of time”. Cody’s going through matches and maybe even storylines like he’s “running out of time.”

I’ve seen Cody deliver a promo live when he attended a show in Australia. A show he couldn’t participate in due to an injury. A show he didn’t have to attend. But he came down anyway and the audience was appreciative of him showing up. He is passionate and genuine about his love for the business and after his promo about the TNT Championship Open Challenge, I was keen to see him show – together with AEW’s roster – what they could offer bell to bell. This was not going to be shenanigans on the level of a certain 24/7 championship.

The first challenger for Cody’s TNT Championship would be Jungle Boy. This made sense based on his impressive performance against MJF at Double or Nothing. The match up was not overly long and allowed both competitors a chance to show off their skills. MJF would also factor into this match slightly when he was seen mouthing off to Jungle Boy, jealous that Jungle Boy got a title shot before he did. Cody would show colour in the match and the two later crashed through a table, leaving Arn’s jaw on the floor. Including Arn’s facial expressions in the broadcast adds to the presentation of these matches as they either tell a story or echo the audience’s reactions. Cody would win this match in 10:11 after he dropped Jungle Boy with a Cross Rhodes, spiking him somewhat in the process. Though Jungle Boy was unsuccessful, it showcased the young man’s potential. Please give him a solid singles run soon and pick up on his feud with MJF. These two clearly worked so well with each other and there’s further matches to explore with their natural chemistry.

In an interesting match-up, Private Party tag-team member Mark Quen would receive the opportunity to challenge next. Prior to AEW, I hadn’t seen anything Mark Quen had done but this kept things fresh by giving him a singles opportunity. In their debut year, AEW undoubtedly have reels upon reels of highlights and I think Quen delivering an amazing 450 splash onto Cody on the ring platform should be one of them. In the closing minutes, they also delivered a crisp reversal when Quen went for a shooting star press that was caught by Cody who immediately applied an ankle lock. Beautiful work from both and Quen would be forced to submit in 11:43. Cody had overpowered yet another competitor but allowed them some time to shine. No sooner had the show of sportsmanship ended that Jake Hager would appear, entering the ring and eventually putting hands on Arn, backing him into the corner. He would then toss Cody and powerslam him before Private Party and Matt Hardy would save him. The Inner Circle sans Jericho would also show up to help. Once the referees broke this up, Cody got on the mic and said, “Jake, I think I know what you’re asking. You want a TNT title match at Fyter? Is that what you want? You got it!” A very quick progression from the match that just finished and the announcement of their upcoming clash overshadowed the next match in Cody’s march to Fyter Fest.

That booking all but guaranteed that the next person to challenge Cody would lose. Prior to their introduction, Arn noted that the next person to challenge was checked out by him and he was someone that Cody could take it to and hone his skills. Side observation: Again, is Cody or the writers’ fans of the Rocky series? I couldn’t help but draw parallels between Arn Anderson and trainer Mickey Goldmill in Rocky 3 who was handpicking talent for the champ to fight.

This lead to the then-hottest free agent’s introduction to AEW. And it was a very organic introduction to Absolute Ricky Starks. The former NWA World Television Champion has been broke but as he declared, he has work ethic and grit and he was ready to go the distance. May I say that Ricky Starks has awesome ring entrance music? It’s so good!

During their match, a story was still being told. While AEW was demonstrating that they’d opened their doors to competitors from any promotion, there were multiple cuts to Jake Hager intently watching the match to study Cody’s moves, developing the next feud. Starks would prove a nimble and savvy competitor, scouting and preventing a Cross Rhodes attempt as well as preventing a moonsault and hitting a superplex. After they traded several pins, Cody would eventually hit a thunderous Cross Rhodes to win the match at 08:34. Though this was the shortest of Cody’s TNT title defences, Starks was enjoyable to watch. He was so impressive that he was offered a contract with AEW shortly after the conclusion of their match.

At Fyter Fest, Cody and Hager would collide in a match where there was an answer for almost every single one of Cody’s moves with the MMA specialist countering most submissions as well. No Cross Rhodes was landed during this match. I also liked Excalibur calling out the Vader Bomb with Jericho then correcting him and saying that it is the Hager Bomb. Hader Bomb? Cody also hit a beautifully delayed springboard cutter. In the closing minutes Cody would crawl to the ropes while held in an ankle lock, being slapped silly by Catalina in the process. Arn would run interference with the referee while Dustin sprinted out to engage Hager. Hager fought him off. Hager would eventually hit Cody with the uranage and apply a choke but Cody would use his weight to keep Hager’s shoulders pinned to the mat for the 3 count at 14:15. A creative way to finish, seeing Cody retain while protecting Hager as the (mostly) undefeated MMA monster that he is.

The Arrogant Champion

Storyline-wise, Cody’s character was being painted as somewhat invincible with his ability to overcome any opponent and on the 15/07/2020 episode, the signs of the overconfident champion began to creep in. This was evident in his aggressive start against Sonny Kiss and the arrogance was on display when he opted to do a set of push-ups in the ring instead of keeping his head in the game. Cody would lose control of the match and Arn would chew him out by saying, “Get your head out of your ass!” There was another great shot of an Arn reaction, wincing as he saw Sonny Kiss deliver a huge axe kick into Cody’s back. Cody missed a lot of his offence because Sonny had him scouted. This was most evident when Sonny countered out of a Cross Rhodes to deliver one of his own. Arn would later breathe a visible sigh of relief when Cody kicked out of a 450.

Not even an Alabama Slam on the entrance platform, superplex or cross face could put Sonny Kiss away and Cody’s frustration showed, arguing with referee Aubrey Edwards, yelling out after each near fall, hitting more vicious attacks and even taking the top turnbuckle cover off. After getting slapped around by Sonny, Cody eventually hit a furious Cross Rhodes to end the bout in 10:44. Despite the unsportsmanlike conduct during the match, Rhodes still had time for a hug at the end and raised Sonny Kiss’ arm in respect. A courageous effort from the Concrete Rose whose tag team with Joey Janela needs more exposure on the main show.

The following night, Eddie Kingston would make his way out to challenge for the title, delivering an incendiary promo befitting the Mad King. He is a magnetic personality and an amazing addition to AEW. During his captivating promo, he not only threatened Arn but was successful in goading Cody into a no-DQ match and there was nothing technical in what transpired next. This was presented as a brawl with Kingston bringing the aggression, at one point hitting Cody with his own weight belt. Cody was shredded by chops, rocked by body shots before he eventually got his own back, delivering a back body drop on Kingston onto the exposed concrete floor. There was a great shot where Kingston maintained eye contact with the camera while delivering two clubbing blows across Cody’s face while he was on the ropes. Perhaps showing that he is willing to sacrifice his body during this lengthy storyline as champion, Cody was on the receiving end of a power bomb onto thumbtacks. The man does not back away from showing colour or taking painful bumps. Towards the end of the match, he went back to the Figure Four to take advantage of Kingston’s compromised knee. He was slapped in the face during this attempt, slapped Kingston back in return and locked in the Figure Four forcing Kingston to tap at 11:21. Cody was victorious once more and despite the loss, Kingston was not fully vanquished as we have seen in recent weeks on Dynamite, with his sights now set on Moxley.

I initially didn’t know what to think of Warhorse as a competitor as I’d never seen him before. In fact, the first time I saw his match against Cody on 12/08/2020, I felt underwhelmed. I could see the story here where Cody’s offence had been scouted and going back to the well too many times to get the figure four locked in. On a recent re-watch of the match, I enjoyed it a lot more. Again, I don’t know much about Warhorse but I do hope he gets to come back as he is a dynamic and rocking personality. Cody as the overconfident and arrogant champion did something early on when he backed Warhorse into the corner and during the break up, he condescendingly tapped him on the chest – shades of Okada. Arn would encourage him by saying, “Don’t let your anger get in the way of your talent.” But again being the overconfident champ, Cody did the push-ups, pissing Arn right off. I noticed that a lot of the time Cody was on the attack, it was during the picture-in-picture segment – isn’t this usually reserved for heels? Is the arrogance going to give way to an eventual heel turn or was it just there to set him up for the fall?

I mentioned the “going back to the well” and in fact, the first figure four attempt was reversed by Warhorse. The second was reversed into an inside cradle. Warhorse also saw through the sunset flip and reversed that into a pin attempt. Third time was the charm and although Warhorse held onto Cody’s leg to prevent the hold from being applied, Cody would eventually lock it in and Warhorse would tap at 10:32. Because this was a guest spot and not the beginning of a contract for Warhorse, Dark Order unceremoniously kicked him out of the ring at the end. Cody would be knocked down and while Arn Anderson was preparing to fight them off, this lead to the introduction of Matt Cardona. He would deliver his Radio Silence finisher to them and it would lead to a brief reunion between these friends.

Scorpio Sky’s challenge for the title involved walking past Cody, looking at the title and looking back at Cody before nodding. No words exchanged. It was cool. It’s great that he has been freed up from the huge tag team division and has moved near-seamlessly into singles competition. He is a star already and AEW really needs to give him a solid push as a champion and this could have been the beginning of that.

Unfortunately the only memorable things from this match involved Cody embracing more douchebag tendencies like having an overflowing entourage, being announced as the “Prince of Pro Wrestling”, blowing a kiss to disapproving fans and having a lot of his offence during the picture-in-picture. Though it started as an evenly matched bout between the two, any excitement for what could happen was dulled because of how lacking this match was. There was no threat that Sky could capture the championship and it wasn’t a fair representation of what they are usually capable of. During the match, Schiavone would make the points that the work on the ribs, defending the title nearly every week and being EVP of AEW all added up to trouble for Cody. He again overcame the challenger, dropping Scorpio Sky with his second Cross Rhodes at 11:46. Sky wouldn’t accept Cody’s hand to pick him up afterwards. The tease that the two were upset with one another after the match was drowned out almost immediately by Mr Brodie Lee’s video message announcing his intention to challenge next.

“Tick tock, Cody. Time’s up!”

The Fall?

Up to this point, Cody had demonstrated his resilience. He was the first TNT Champion after overcoming the intimidating Murderhawk. He issued the open challenge and fought off all comers, turning the pace and cutting the schedule he promised. His baby face tendencies slowly changed to arrogance and being full of himself. I personally dig the push ups gag. It was a subtle detail but it slightly recalled his excellent heel work in NJPW and ROH.

After the introductions (including the “Prince of Pro Wrestling” moniker), Cody tried to get in an offensive flurry but was quickly overpowered by Mr Brodie Lee. His hubris would lead to his time being up at 3:10 on 13/08/2020 and Cody lost his TNT title.

If Arn’s face could tell the story, it’d say that this was the night when everything came crashing down. But it didn’t stop there – Cody was being stretchered out and the Dark Order brought him back to continue their assault. Arn was taken out. Cody was hit over the head with the bag containing the smashed up former TNT Title. Dustin and QT had already been disposed of. Not even Brandi was spared as Anna Jay choked her out on the entrance ramp. The Nightmare Family was dismantled in one fell swoop with the nightmarish image of the entire Dark Order standing over them. It felt like Bane had waited for his opportunity for the Batman to be weakened before taking him out in a quick and decisive victory.

Mr Brodie Lee – seen in so many of the impressive Dark Order promos, menacing in the well-articulated manner in which he spoke, the exalted one who didn’t suffer fools – finally delivered on all of the threats and squashed Cody like a jobber. This should have been the beginning of the Dark Order’s era.

Yet they were defeated by the combination of Dustin, QT, Matt Cardona and Scorpio Sky at All Out. And even though his first title defence on 09/09/2020 against Dustin was a success, taunting Cody at home via the camera by saying, “Come home, Cody!” he had one other successful title defence against Freshly Squeezed Orange Cassidy on 23/09/2020. On the same night, Cody returned to AEW after Cassidy’s defeat and fought off the Dark Order singlehandedly. Sporting black hair and a black suit, I couldn’t help but think of the return of Superman (black suit) even though he looked more like Bruce Wayne. Furious, Lee would challenge Cody to the dog collar match, which he subsequently accepted the following week.

I’ll get this out of the way first. I have never seen a dog collar match. The commentary did raise that the Roddy Piper vs Greg the Hammer Valentine dog collar match is still talked about to this day so I’ve made a note to seek it out one of these days. But I digress. What transpired on 07/10/2020 was crazy! It had everything. The story of Cody seeking to gain his self-respect and his title back. Commentary hyping up that Cody gained 14 lbs prior to this match to prepare himself for Lee. The nefarious villain Mr Brodie Lee. It had comedy in the form of Alex Silver getting clocked twice. They showed colour with Cody first getting cut up after a DDT and Lee following later in the match. There was a huge package piledriver through a table next to the ring. Cody would also hit his moonsault off the top rope. The drama was created when Lee kicked out of the Cross Rhodes at the 1 count. The attacks utilising the dog collar and chain combo were creative. I’ve never seen Cody use the Final Cut move but it was great in story as he was pulling out all the stops. The combination of wrapping the chain around the mouth, eyes and face of Lee followed by the Cross Rhodes would finally put Lee out for the 3 count and Cody won at 20:26. This match qualified as one of the best matches that Cody (and Mr Brodie Lee) had delivered in AEW. It is memorable in so many ways.

But I find that I’m somewhat torn about this title match. After months of anticipation and prior to his debut in AEW, Mr Brodie Lee was revealed to the Exalted One of the Dark Order. He quickly went into contention for the AEW heavyweight championship at Double or Nothing before he was choked out by Moxley. Though he was killed off as a threat to Moxley and he has left that picture for the time being, it seemed fitting that he’d be the best choice to take out Cody and bring in a new era as the TNT champion. His devastating squashing of Cody in their first match was awesome to see because it finally switched things up and Cody didn’t overcome yet another giant. And because he was such a monster, why would he have difficulties in taking on Dustin and to an extent, Orange Cassidy? With Mr Lee holding onto the title for just under 2 months, it feels like an opportunity wasted for more fun with the Dark Order and if they could have made his title reign a little longer, Cody’s clawing back to the TNT Championship picture would’ve felt more earned. It felt like outside of AEW, Cody needed a break and Brodie Lee was simply the transitional champion while waiting for him to return.

What’s next?

Has the TNT Championship been a success in shining the spotlight on AEW’s burgeoning mid-card? To a great extent, yes. With Cody being a natural and experienced talent in the ring, he was one of the best to act as the conduit to give opportunities to talents like Jungle Boy or to give, up until that point, traditionally tag team competitors like Mark Quen and Scorpio Sky a storyline chance for gold. The TNT Championship also attracted independent talents like Ricky Starks and Warhorse. It also introduced Eddie Kingston and showed Sonny Kiss’ competitiveness – two of my favourite matches in Cody’s list of defences of the title. My only complaint would be that the quality of those matches didn’t match the ones on PPV against people with more experience and exposure due to having worked in either NJPW or WWE.

Has it given the newer stars more opportunities to shine though? That’s where it gets murkier. While Jungle Boy and Quen were the first two challengers, they’ve mostly been returned to tag team work, which is a shame. Especially so in Jungle Boy’s case who, in time, I think will have a number of instant classic matches with MJF. I can see those two perfecting their in-ring styles and creating a series of matches on the level of Steamboat vs Flair.

Sonny Kiss and Jake Hager have also been relegated to mostly tag team duties. Sky appears to be trapped on AEW Dark where he’s in a feud against Shawn Spears. I feel that Sky should stay on Dynamite so he gets more opportunities; he was the first man to pin Le Champion so they should have been pushing him hard. Starks is gifted on the mic and his rivalry with Darby Allin could yield some great results if they give them time to work. Sadly, Warhorse hasn’t come back to show why he rules ass.

While Archer, Lee and Kingston have been or are currently in the heavyweight picture, this is to be expected based on their reliability and bankability as stars.

Though the TNT Championship has given newer stars some opportunities, it’s largely been a storyline device centred on Cody as a champion. Fun Rocky influences aside, it’s been good to see the character work from him on a near weekly basis. As we’ve seen, he’s been a fighting champion, an arrogant champion and set up a classic scenario where his pride lead to his downfall and as the hero, he had to rise up and overcome the villain. He has mused that it is romantic that he can’t challenge for the heavyweight title but with his intention to move to the heavyweight division, it could be nearing time on him closing this chapter to let the newer stars fight it out for the title. His gains have been mentioned more than once on Dynamite and given that he had a 20-minute time limit draw with Orange Cassidy on 14/10/2020, it makes sense that their rematch could be where Cody will drop the belt to Cassidy who is red hot right now and transition to the next challenge.

I have to say that I’ve appreciated this approach to the title as a storyline device instead of a monthly or quarterly feud (e.g. where one challenger is the perpetual thorn in the side of the champion until they get a title shot at the next PPV). I’ve just recapped almost 5 months of a championship mostly focused around one wrestler. While newer talents have gotten some more exposure on TV, this has also served as a great introduction to a new title. It might also be the crowning achievement in Cody’s legacy as he was the first holder of this title reminding people that you don’t have to be the first call to make something of yourself. It’s an underdog story and the choices in who he tangled with also showed that these talents may not have been the first call either but they certainly have the skills to be in AEW and on a show that regularly beats WWE’s NXT in the ratings every Wednesday.

Will people remember Cody’s reign as the inaugural champion (and third)? It’s a case of we’ll have to wait and see. But if you appreciate underdog hero stories (with shades of Rocky thrown in), then maybe you will be remembering the beginnings of the TNT Championship fondly in coming years and what it has done in developing the stars of tomorrow. I can’t wait to see what Year 2 of AEW brings us.

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fideidefenswhore · 2 years

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Consideration for the Princess Mary is thought to have been one of Jane's uppermost [concerns] as she moved into her role as consort, but whether it was simply political or indeed sincere is another question. She apparently approached the subject with Henry just prior to Anne's arrest: 'Mistress Semel [...] suggested that the princess should be placed in her former position; and the king told her she was a fool, and ought to solicit the advancement of the children they would have between them, and not any others. She replied that in asking for the restoration of the Princess she conceived she was seeking the rest and tranquility of the king, herself, her future children and the whole realm; for, without that, neither [Charles V] nor [the English] people would ever be content.' Her concern for Mary may [well] have been genuine, but her timing was impeccable. She safely voiced her concern surrounded by her family and friends at court who opposed the Boleyns. What is interesting in this exchange is the speculation of Jane's motives, combined with the king's reaction: he defined the role he expected her to fit into, in this case, he gave clear indication that she should concern herself with the business of the children she would have with him, not any other. Politics aside, she was expected to produce an heir and focus her attention on the dynastic issue of her future family. At the very least, Henry had convinced himself that there would be children between them and sought to remove her from any central political role to that of consort and mother. Jane was a hope for the future, but Henry set out immediately placing a definition on where her concerns should be and what his expectations obviously were.

Jane, The Quene (Pamela M. Gross)

#the 'them and not any others' would suggest he already had a firmly set mind for how the near-future parliamentary succession act was #going to shape out #also. there wasn't a coup against edward vi. so it would seem she was ; actually; wrong (something not brought up much)#(at least in regards to her future children; that is)#and. frankly. in regards to charles v as well. charles v made an alliance with henry without that. henry well had the measure of that.#(one kind of wonders if her own source for that was chapuys himself. or one of his points of connection/ sources at court thirdhand )#although if his reign had been longer #...who is to say. maybe there would have been one backed by mary. but i think the idea of mary is that she honored henry viii's final #succession act/ will too much to have ever done that (which...eh. she did and she didn't. she certainly didn't wed with parliament's #consent. so)#nor keep her status unchanged re: legitimacy #i don't really believe in weir's theory but the confidence of 'the children they would have between them'... hm. maybe they had consummated #the relationship before marriage? because it almost sounds like he believes on is on its way #*1 #i've outlined that for one of my fics just bcus i think it's more fictionally interesting. whocan really know #i know a lot is made of how so many of his marriages ended (for obvious reasons) but man is this not a particularly romantic beginning #and i don't even mean anne's arrest (altho . clearly that too)#but already calling her a 'fool' ? damn. maybe she had already accepted the proposal or maybe he was letting her know in no unsubtle terms #that he could always make another choice...since officially the betrothal date isn't until may 20 #could do without the woobification of this marriage tbh! hirst and weir i am looking at you's

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ayittey1 · 4 years

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The Role of Women In Traditional African Societies

One area where the traditional societies were well advanced than their Western counterparts was in the area of women’s rights. Women in non-Western traditional societies were long “liberated” before those in the West. In fact, the Western feminist movement drew a lot of inspiration from the role women played in traditional Iroquois society. According to Jacobsen (2009),

An aspect of Native American life that alternately intrigued, perplexed, and sometimes alarmed European and European-American observers, most of whom were male, during the 17th and 18th centuries, was the influential role of women. In many cases they hold pivotal positions in Native political systems. Iroquois women, for example, nominate men to positions of leadership and can “dehorn,” or impeach, them for misconduct. Women often have veto power over men’s plans for war. In a matrilineal society — and nearly all the confederacies that bordered the colonies were matrilineal — women owned all household goods except the men’s clothes, weapons, and hunting implements. They also were the primary conduits of culture from generation to generation.

The role of women in Iroquois society inspired some of the most influential advocates of modern feminism in the United States. The Iroquois example figures importantly in a seminal book in what Sally R. Wagner calls “the first wave of feminism,” Matilda Joslyn Gage’s Woman, Church, and State (1893). In that book, Gage acknowledges, according to Wagner’s research, that “the modern world [is] indebted [to the Iroquois] for its first conception of inherent rights, natural equality of condition, and the establishment of a civilized government upon this basis.”

Gage was one of the 19th century’s three most influential American feminists, with Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony. Gage herself was admitted to the Iroquois Council of Matrons and was adopted into the Wolf Clan, with the name Karonienhawi, “she who holds [up] the sky.” (Jacobsen, 2009).

It is not just in the Iroquois nation that women held important political positions. As we have shown above, most traditional societies have Clan or Queen Mothers with the power to appoint and depose a chief. Her role is to scold, reprimand and rebuke an erring chief since a bad chief brings shame to the royal family. If the chief continues in his errant ways, the Queen Mother has the power to recall and depose the chief.

In other traditional; systems, women even played a more visible political role:

· Women ruled the Mongol Empire (Weatherford, 2005).

· Quen Nzinga of the Mbundu people of Angola put up a ferocious resistance against Portuguese colonial rule (http://www.blackpast.org/?q=gah/queen-nzinga-1583-1663).

· The kings of Dahomey were assisted by a cabinet which consisted of the migan (prime minister); the meu (finance minister) created by Tegbesu; yovo-gan (viceroy of Whydah); the to-no-num (the chief eunuch and minister in charge of protocol); the tokpo (minister of agriculture); the agan (general of the army); and the adjaho (minister of the king's palace and the chief of police). The most interesting and unique feature of the cabinet was that each of these posts had a female counterpart who complemented him but reported independently to the king (Ayittey, 2006: 243).

· During his reign, Gezo increased the number of the full-time soldiers from about 5,000 in 1840 to 12,000 by 1845. This army consisted not only of men but also of women, the famous Amazons `devoted to the person of the king and valorous in war.' This unique female section was created and organized by Gezo and consisted of 2,500 female soldiers divided into three brigades. Commanders of this army were also top cabinet ministers in charge of the central government thus enhancing the position of the army in decision making (Boahen, 1986; p.86).

· In the Yoruba Kingdom (Nigeria) in early times it was not necessarily a male who was chosen as ruler, and the traditions of Oyo, Sabe, Ondo, and Ilesa record the reigns of female oba (kings) (Smith, 1969: 13).

· In Asante, the British captured and exiled the king to Sierra Leone in January 1897. But to the Asante, it was the golden stool, not the king, was the symbol and soul of their nation. When the British made a vain attempt to capture the golden stool in April 1900, they met a stiff and humiliating defeat at the hands of an Asante woman, Yaa Asantewa, the Queen Mother of Edweso. Though this rebellion was finally crushed, the British never gained possession of the golden stool. Of course, British historians rarely mention this defeat, much less at the hands of a woman!

Needless to say, there were bad women rulers too. One was Dode Akabi, whose accession to power constituted the first major female figure in Gá, and indeed Gold Coast. But in her long reign, 1610-1635, she cast aside the practice of rule by consensus and issued a series of brutal decrees which displeased her people. She was f killed after she had ordered her subjects to sink a well at a place called Akabikenke (Ayittey, 2006: 232)

Women In The Traditional Economic System

With the exception of Islamic countries in the Middle East, women also played a much more visible and important role in the traditional economy – especially in agriculture and market trading. Most traditional societies practice sexual division of labor. In early times, activities considered dangerous and physically strenuous such as waging wars, hunting, fishing, manufacturing (cloth weaving, pottery, leatherworks, iron smelting, sculpturing, etc) and building were male occupations. Food cultivation and processing were traditionally reserved for women. Since the family's entire needs could not be produced on the farm, a surplus was necessary to exchange for those items. It was only natural that trade in foodstuffs and vending came to be handled by women and for market governance to lie in their hands. Indeed in many localities, market rules were generally laid down and enforced by "Market Queens", usually selected from the women traders.

Women still play this role today since agriculture continues to account for a higher share of the Gross Domestic Product (GDP) of developing countries. For example, three out of four Africans are engaged in agriculture, with women making the most significant contribution. They perform “some 90 percent of the work of food processing, 80 percent of food storage tasks, 90 percent of hoeing and weeding, and 60 percent of harvesting and marketing, besides load carrying and transport services” (FAO, 1985, Chapter 7).[i] Rural markets and trade are also largely handled by women. Local farm produce ‑ either cash crops or food crops ‑ are marketed at the local market, almost invariably by women.

In West Africa, for example, market activity has been dominated by women for centuries:

· In 1879, Governor Rowe of Sierra Leone expressed his admiration of these women: “The genius of the Sierra Leone people is commercial; from babyhood the Aku girl is a trader, and as she grows up she carries her small wares wherever she can go with safety. The further she goes from the European trading depots the better is her market” (White, 1987; p.27).

· The market in every Ga town is run entirely by women. No trading, except that initiated by foreigners is ever carried on by men...Many of the women are very shrewd and ingenious in their trading. One day when good catches of fish were coming in I saw a woman, who had no fishing men‑folk, exchange a bowlful of fried akpiti cakes for a panful of fresh fish, and then hastily sell the fish to a `stranger' who was trying to make up a load to take away. The sale of the fish brought her three shillings and four pence. The sale of the cakes would have brought her one and sixpence. The materials out of which she made the cakes probably cost less than sixpence (Field, 1940: 64).

· The market place among the Akan of Ghana is largely a woman's world. Except for the small percentage of traders who are men, the processes of trade are said to be mysteries to men. Men often seem uncomfortable in the market; they prefer to send a woman or a child to make purchases for them, and avoid entering it if possible. For women, the market place is not only a place of business but of leisure as well. Sales are sometimes slow and women chat and josh with each other” (McCall, 1962).

· In South Dahomey, commercial gains are a woman's own property and she spends her money free of all control...Trade gives to women a partial economic independence and if their business is profitable they might even be able to lend some money ‑ a few thousand francs ‑ to their husbands against their future crops (Tardits and Tardits, 1962).

The object in trading was to make a profit. The Yoruba women "trade for profit, bargaining with both the producer and the consumer in order to obtain as large a margin of profit as possible" (Bascom, 1984; p.26). And profits made from trading were kept by the women in almost all of the West African countries.

Though the amount of profit was often small by today’s standards, many women traders were able to accumulate enough for a variety of purposes: to reinvest and expand their trading activities, to cover domestic and personal expenses since spouses have to keep the house in good condition, to replace old cooking utensils, to buy their own clothes and to educate their children. The case of Abi Jones was earlier cited where profits from her trading were used to educate her sons. Indeed, many of the post‑colonial leaders of Africa were similarly educated ‑ with funds accumulated from trading profits.

Another important use of trade profits was the financing of political activity. As Herskovits and Harwitz (1964) put it: "Support for the nationalist movements that were the instruments of political independence came in considerable measure from the donations of the market women" (p.7).

To start trading, women often looked to their husbands for support or borrowed from the extended family pot. For example,

As soon as he is married the Ga husband is expected to set his wife up in trade (`ewo le dzra' ‑ he puts her in the market). It is part of every woman's normal occupation to engage in some sort of trade and every reasonable husband is expected to start her off...When she is unlucky in her trading and loses her capital her husband is expected to set her up again, but if she loses her capital three times she is a bad manager and he has no further obligation in the matter (Field, 1940:55).

Market trading generally made African women economically independent. Chatting at the market place also provided an important social release for pent‑up emotions. Of course, today, much of this market activity has spilled over into the informal sector, where women still play an important role in food-related activities, such as, food vending by the roadside.

[i] Perhaps this gender characteristic explains why Africa’s agriculture revolution never materialized. In many countries, it was crafted with the help of Western agricultural experts who tended to prescribe “mechanization” with the importation of male-driven agricultural machinery.

References Ayittey, George B.N. (2006) Indigenous African Institutions. Dobbs Ferry, NY: Transnational Publishers.

Bascom, William (1984). The Yoruba Of Southwestern Nigeria. Prospect Heights: Waveland Press, Inc.

Boahen, A.A. (1986). Topics in West African History. New York: Longman.

Bohannan, Paul and George Dalton eds. (1962). Markets In Africa. Evanston: Northwestern University Press.

Field, M. J. (1940). Social Organization of the Ga People. Accra: Government of the Gold Coast Printing

Herskovits, M.J. and Harwitz, M. eds. (1964). Economic Transition In Africa. Evanston: Northwestern University Press.

Jacobsen, E. (2009) The Iroquois Constitutionhttps://ca01001129.schoolwires.net/cms/lib7/ca01001129/centricity/domain/221/the_iroquois_constitution.pdf

Johansen, Bruce E. (1990). “Native American Societies and the Evolution of Democracy in

America, 1600-1800,” Ethnohistory, Vol. 37, No. 3 (Summer, 1990): pp. 279-290.

______________ “Native American Ideas of Governance and U.S. Constitution

http://www.america.gov/st/peopleplace-english/2009/June/20090617110824wrybakcuh0.5986096.html

McCall, Daniel F. (1962). "The Koforidua Market," in Bohannan and Dalton, eds. (1962).

Smith, Robert S. (1969). Kingdoms of The Yoruba. London: Methuen & Co. Ltd

Tardits Claudine and Claude (1962). "Traditional Market Economy in South Dahomey" in Bohannan and Dalton (1962).

Weatherford, Jack (1989). Indian Givers: How the Indians of the Americas transformed the World. New York: Ballantine, 1989.

_______"The Women Who Ruled the Mongol Empire", Globalist Document - Global History, June 20, 2005

White, E. Frances (1987). Sierra Leone's Settler Women Traders. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.

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from-the-clouds · 5 years

Text

Everything You’ve Come to Expect III - Quentin Beck/Reader

Part I | Part II | Masterlist

Summary: A former employee of Stark Industries hides in solitude from her past, until she is forced to confront it years later. After all the time away, she realizes still hasn’t recovered from her heartbreak.

Words: 3k

A/N: These two love to argue. And I love to write them arguing. But it definitely wasn’t always that way. And Quentin may have a soft spot for a certain someone…. (I also watched Prisoners for the first time this weekend and holy shit, now I have all kinds of inspiration to maybe even write for that). I hope you enjoy, I realize my characterization of Quentin might be off, but my interpretation of him is a little more forgiving than most...let me know what you think!

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In their years apart, Quentin’s plan had become more ambitious than she remembered. The consideration for human lives had dwindled. There was no longer a voice of reason, he’d lost his conscious, his morals had slipped. And no one had tried to stop him. His colleagues were fueled only by their bitterness.

Quentin had been honest, which she appreciated. And while she wanted, more than anything, to be disgusted by what he’d become, she wasn’t. It felt wrong. She knew that she should be outraged, but she couldn’t bring herself to be.

Y/N went about her day, as independently as she possibly could. She cooked an easy dinner, and was surprised when Quentin joined her at her breakfast nook for the meal.

Quentin had to be smart enough not to expect small talk while they ate, but even so, she felt obliged to reluctantly put aside the book she had been reading to glower at him across the table. It wasn’t until he spoke up that she even realized she was doing it, lost in thought.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

Snapped out of her thoughts, she met his inquisitive blue eyes, so piercing. He could see through her like no one else could. It had terrified her when they first met, and she sometimes wondered if that was why she’d grown to love him in the first place. It was easier to succumb to the vulnerability, the blissfulness of trust, than it was to resist him. Why not open up?

“I’m disappointed in you,” she said flatly.

Quentin’s expression twisted briefly into a nefarious thing, before he corrected himself. They had already had some variation of this conversation several times. But there was still conflict that had to be resolved. Quentin was desperate, he had no options, and she’d only seen him this defeated once before. He knew, just as she did, that he had no one else, nowhere else to go. So he’d have to listen, she just wondered when he’d finally hear her..

“You’ve already made that very obvious,” was all Quentin said, but he set down his fork, wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin, and crossed his arms as he sat back. There was something very domestic about the way he looked in the flannel shirt she’d let him borrow, sitting at the small table, visibly upset, like they were arguing about the electric bill and not about the lives of thousands of people he’d put at risk. “I won’t be here long, I’ll figure out what I need to do next and I’ll leave you alone.”

“That’s the issue,” she leaned forward. “You’re oblivious to what you’ve done wrong. You’re only here because you’ve failed. You’re looking for another way to make this work, when you’ve already tried and it’s gotten you nowhere,” the angry bite that slipped into her tone towards the end hadn’t been intentional.

Quentin’s hand clenched into a fist. “Thanks for reminding me.”

It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. But deep within her, she was dismal. Was she really trying to convince him that what he’d done was wrong? Or was she just trying to prove to herself that he was capable of the kindness she swore she’d known. Somehow, the thought that she could love such an unfeeling, remorseless man sent buckshot through her stomach. Her voice lowered. “You know, not everything is about revenge.”

Quentin’s expression remained neutral, but his fist loosened, flattened so his palm was flush against the tabletop. “What was I supposed to do?”

Carefully, she mulled over her next words. “I know you think that you’re supposed to leave this legacy. Couldn’t you have just lived your life, found another way to be happy?”

“I’m not a simple man, Y/N,” he crossed his arms. “I wasn’t going to roll over and get a fucking job at a university.”

She flinched at his words, a brief flash of a memory, her head bent over her kitchen table grading lab reports while Quentin worked in the office down the hall from her until the early hours of the morning. The sacrifices she’d made for him had only led to their demise. Her next words bubbled up in time with her anger and were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I’m sure that would have been enough for you if you weren’t still hung up on meeting your parents expectations.”

Quentin moved to stand from the table, his chair screeching across the hardwood floor. He moved swiftly, but she was faster, anticipating his actions. “No.” she said firmly, her palm facing him. “I’m the one who’s leaving.”

Her heel squeaked against the floor, and she turned without sparing him a second glance. She heard Quentin call her name, once, twice, and it wasn’t until she was at the door pulling on her socks and shoes that he somehow wedged himself between her and the doorway. Instead of backing away, she stepped forward, her chest pressed against his. It was a mistake. He was warm, solid, so real in front of her that her anger sputtered out briefly before firing back at full force.“How the fuck did you find me here, anyways, Quentin? Hm?”

“It’d be better if you didn’t know,” Quentin’s eyes searched hers, and her brain was so clouded by her emotions she couldn’t tell if he was even being sincere.

“Give me a fucking break,” she hissed.

“Fine,” he snorted, voice raising. “You want to know the truth?”

Her silence was all the encouragement he needed. “I’ve known you’ve been here for years,” he confessed. “And fuck, it wasn’t easy to find you. You’re smart. I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“Wh-Why?” she stuttered. Her nails, which she hadn’t realized had gotten long, dug so hard into the palms of her hands that she thought they might draw blood. But she was trying desperately to hold back the outburst threatening to emerge. But what she felt was no longer rage….it was something worse.

“You wanted to be alone,” he said. “But I had to know that you were okay.”

“I’m not this monster you’ve convinced yourself I am,” Quentin continued. “And I’m not a good man,” he added. Her eyes bore into his, she could have sworn there was something welling in his own. “I know that. But for you, I’ve always tried.”

Quentin’s hand had lifted, his thumb grazing along her upper arm, goosebumps trailing in their wake. Why would it have been so easy to lean forward against his chest and let out the choked sobs she was holding back? Maybe it was his proximity, or maybe it was because she’d somehow wanted this all along. She knew better.

Staggering backwards, she put as much distance between them as she needed, and Quentin’s hand fell to his side. She could still feel where he’d touched her, like it was singed onto her skin.

“Try for your own sake, not for me.”

Quentin stared at her, lost, hopeless. She thought of all the things he was capable of, good and bad, and wondered why he’d wasted so much time creating a catastrophe. He was a man of extremes, and hadn’t been able to find in the gray area where he’d turned wrong. She wondered if he ever would.

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The apartment was dim, dark, which was strange considering that Quentin had told her he would be leaving work early. She almost expected to find him in the kitchen, preparing an original recipe that would no doubt be inedible -- Quentin was one of the most intelligent, innovative people she’d ever met, but an irredeemably terrible cook. Instead, the kitchen was vacant, as was the rest of their shared home. And it was quiet, too. Maybe he’d fallen asleep.

Heading down the hallway to their bedroom, she paused when she noticed a sliver of light peeking out from underneath the door to Quentin’s office. She knocked once, and heard no response, so she figured he may have left the light on. For her own sake, she cracked the door open with the intention of flicking it off.

What she saw on the other side of the door left her speechless.

Quentin’s office had been destroyed. At first, she thought someone might have broken in -- there was no way Quentin would allow the normally meticulously-organized space to ever look this way. Books were strewn about the floor, some of them with pages torn. Awards and relics that usually decorated his shelves had been toppled over. His desk had been wiped clean of his papers, prototypes, and experimental technology. A large glass mirror that sat in the corner of the room was cracked and shattered.

It was only when she looked in it’s reflection did she see Quentin sitting next to the door. Obscured by the fissures in the glass, his form was split into several distorted images.

Curled in an upright fetal position, his back against a bookshelf, staring into space, she had to check twice to be sure it was really him. One of his hands was curled loosely around the neck of a half-empty bottle of scotch. His hair hung in his eyes, his jawline prominent from the clench of his teeth, evident even underneath his light stubble.

Y/N shut the door behind herself and stepped towards him, careful to avoid the debris.

“Quen,” she murmured softly, he hadn’t so much as shifted his eyes towards her since she walked in the room. Before she could kneel down next to him she smelt the booze. Briefly, she wondered how much of the bottle was gone before he’d started drinking, or if he’d done the damage all by himself in one sitting.

“Quentin,” she said his name again, firmly this time, and his head snapped up, his eyes darting towards her once, wide with whites flashing like a rabid animal, spooked. It was almost as if she’d woken him from a trance.

“Hey,” he said, a forced smile making its way on his visage. Still, he didn’t turn his head to afford her any eye contact.

“What’s going on?” she asked wearily. She’d seen him angry before, and while he’d never directed it at her, it was quite a fearsome thing to witness. There was no telling where his head was at, especially considering that she’d never seen him capable of the destruction that surrounded them.

Quentin didn’t answer right away, his brows furrowed together and his mouth turned down at the corners. “Stark fired me,” his said, eventually, flatly.

“What?” Her first reaction was shock. Surprise. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Quentin had been one of Tony’s most valued workers, and on his own, renowned as one of the greater tech innovators of this decade. All the biggest names in the industry had approached him with jobs at one point or another. But working for SI had been his dream career. They’d offered him the creative freedom and funds to pursue his own projects, the only tradeoff was the rights to anything he’d created. That hadn’t concerned him.

“He’s using my tech for self-therapy,” he said, voice void of any emotion. “And he fired me. It’s over.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, carefully pushing his hair out of his eyes. In the few months before he planned to unveil his tech, he barely had been taking care of himself, and hadn’t found time for a haircut. He had let it grow long, slicking it back from his face.

She intercepted the bottle of alcohol as he lifted it to his lips, catching a glimpse of raw, bloodied knuckles as she pried it out of his hand. He offered little-to-no resistance. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

He shook his head. “I worked so hard, I sacrificed so much for this. He said I was unstable. But he could never understand. It was my life’s work, and now it belongs to him, and I have nothing-” Quentin’s voice cracked with the last word, his jaw clenching in frustration along with his fists.

Y/N didn’t answer. She sat the bottle on her opposite side and pulled him into her arms. Quentin leaned forward, a shattered, broken man, and buried his face in her neck. What did you say to the person you loved when they lost everything? She didn’t know.

“Goddamnit,” he mumbled, she felt damp eyes press into the exposed skin of her shoulder. “Fuck.” Her lips grazed his forehead. His hands tightened desperately around her, like she was the last piece of his life that remained.

In her experience with him, Quentin didn’t cry. He never had. And she wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to his frustration as he lost his composure. She heard him take in a shaky breath, felt hot tears stain her shirt. His large hand fisted the fabric that covered her waist, pulling her even closer.

Y/N lost track of time. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, her hands wandering, carding through his hair, massaging the stiff muscles in his neck and shoulders. Quentin was not one to seek comfort, she knew he preferred to suffer alone. It terrified her. She’d never seen him so helpless. Hell, he was the one who usually consoled her when she came home weepy after a bad day at work. This was rock bottom. He was utterly lost. And she knew there wasn’t anything she could do to help him.

Pulling away finally, she held his face in her hands, carefully swiped away his tears. His piercing blue eyes were bloodshot and puffy, void of their steady, determined fix. “Come on, we’re getting out out of here,” she said sternly. “How about you take a shower, I’ll make you some tea, and we can talk some more.”

Quentin nodded, and she helped him up from the floor. He leaned on her heavily, unsteady and warm from the Scotch, and they made their way to their bedroom, where he sat on the edge of the bed as she ran the water and handed him a fresh towel from the linen closet.

Once he was in the shower, she made her way down the hallway, shutting off the lights to his office and closing the door. She’d worry about the mess later, but didn’t think he needed the reminder in case he came down the hallway anytime soon. Pulling a box of cinnamon spice tea out of their cupboard, she waited for the water to heat up and put her head in her hands.

The question of her own future at SI was now hanging over her head. Quentin had been nothing but a dedicated, focused, and hard-working employee. Even before they’d started dating, there’d been nights she’d had to drag him out of his lab when she’d found him asleep, sitting upright at his desk. So why would Tony turn on him so quickly? It seemed so unlike him. And how long would it be until he turned on her? Did she even have a future at the place she had come to consider her second home? It wasn’t hard to see why Quentin was so devastated.

The teakettle began to whine and she quickly turned off the burner, prepping two mugs of cinnamon spice tea, turning down the lights and heading back to their bedroom.

The lights were off an Quentin was already in bed, under the covers, his breathing light and regular, the towel from his shower discarded on the floor next to his side of the mattress. She thought maybe he’d fallen asleep, but when she carefully placed the mug on his bedside table, he stirred, rolling onto his back and looking up at her hazily.

“Are you going to leave me?” he asked, a lost, terrified child in his eyes.

“What?” she asked incredulously, the question knocking her off guard. “Why would you ask me that?” she tilted her head.

“I always thought I was good enough,” he said. “But here I am. Maybe my dad was right. Maybe I’m not.”

There had been obvious evidence of Quentin’s initial anger….but that was something she could handle. This….this was something else entirely. She didn’t recognize the man in front of her, a tornado of self-doubt and desolation. Burning inside of her was something she didn’t recognize….rage, hatred, as she watched him pick himself apart. And she knew exactly who was responsible for it.

“That’s not going to happen,” she sat down next to him, and his eyes followed her. Y/N tried her hardest to keep her own emotions from bubbling over, opting instead for some dry humor. “My standards are already too high.”

The faint hint of a smile, a real smile, played at the corner of Quentin’s mouth.

“I understand you have a lot to worry about. But me leaving is not one of them.” Y/N smirked. Quentin pulled her closer, chuckling gently, one hand pulling back the covers to make room, and she curled up next to him, despite the fact that she was still fully dressed in her work clothes. Settling in close, she propped her head on her elbow to look down at him. His hair was still damp from the shower, a few stray droplets of water clung to his bare chest, and she felt a familiar flutter in her stomach as she took in his form, illuminated by the light peeking through the slats of their curtains.

“Thanks, honey.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” she wrinkled her nose playfully, splaying her palm in the middle of his chest.

Quentin’s hand rose to clasp around hers as the smile faded from his face, replaced once more by the dead stare he’d had when she’d first found him that evening. This time, however, it wasn’t so forlorn. His fingers toyed with the ornate band on her ring finger, like he was checking to make sure it was still there.

“What am I gonna do?” he asked after a long beat of silence.

“You’ll figure it out,” she murmured softly, and when he finally stopped fiddling with the ring he’d bought her, she lifted her hand to trace along his cheekbone. “You’re good at that.”

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