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spenciegoob · 4 years

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Pathetic and Tragic

Summary: It’s been years since the BAU has tried to catch this unsub, so when Spencer figures out where she is, why did he feel the need to go alone?

Pairing: Spencer x Fem Unsub!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: mentions of murder/blood, slight bondage, hair pulling, choking, gagging, oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, slight degradation

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: Hi! This is for a contest by @spenciebabie and I’ve chosen the one-shot prompt why don't you make me?

Masterlist

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The case was never supposed to last this long. Spencer knew that, Hell, the whole BAU knew that. A woman with ties to the highest degree of one of the most infamous organized crime families should have been the FBI’s top priority, and for a very long time, she was.

Then the case got complicated, and while Spencer’s mind clouded with an unbearable lust for a woman that would take his life with zero hesitation, the team lost one of their greatest players.

It was tragic in every sense of the word, the way Spencer’s mind replayed their first interaction, his lips feeling her breath on him after all this time, and the bullet that always rested in his bag.

He felt pathetic in that moment, letting her take control of his morals with her vice like grip on his mind, body and soul.

“FBI, freeze. Don’t move.” Finally, the BAU had found who they were looking for since her first appearance on their radar 8 months ago. More importantly, Spencer caught her trying to flee a scene she had no business being at. She looked so out of place, the blood and gore that laid a trail to her small, almost fragile figure making Spencer believe for a split second that she couldn’t have possibly done this.

But time moves quickly, and the second fleeted when she turned around to flash a wicked smile his way.

And Spencer Reid was the one who froze instead.

“Doctor,” she greeted with the utmost of poise and delicacy. “I do believe I have a job to do, so I’m sorry to inform you that I cannot follow your request at this time.”

She was taunting him, and Spencer would fall into that trap again and again if it meant her eyes remained on his.

But this was a criminal, a murderer, a sociopath, and he will not lose his footing this time. Not even for a flawless god-like woman.

“Y/N Y/L/N, you’re under arrest for the murder of Tristen Kepler, Michael Gerdinski and Harold Bennet.” Spencer’s voice was slowly losing its confidence as her face turned from one of pure hilarity to confusion.

“Is that all? You might be missing a few names.” She was proud of her work, it was insufferable. Spencer’s anger level was slowly rising, and if she continued to dance circles around his mind, the task at hand being forgotten, it was going to get dangerously high.

“You won’t shoot me, Dr. Reid,” she continued as she took a step towards him, the grip on his gun tightened.

“How do you know?” Spencer’s voice shook with the same uncertainty as his finger shaking over the trigger. She was right, he wasn’t going to shoot her, but Spencer couldn’t confirm the thoughts of a narcissist.

“Because,” another step. “I’m unarmed, and you, Spencer Reid,” another step. “Are a man of morals and righteousness, and justice.” She spit the last word with so much venom that the story behind her rage could have been the world’s most tragic villain arc.

The whole case was quite tragic.

“Don’t take another step.” Spencer was easily a foot taller than her, and with one scan could tell he weighed twice as much as her, but she still found a way to make his blood run cold with both fear and excitement.

“Or what?”

Spencer could’ve sworn he only blinked and she was directly in front of him, but that wasn’t entirely the truth. She had laid a fog over his mind, taking away his intelligence and peeling back every layer of his mind so only the thought of lowering his weapon in favor of getting on her good side remained.

She was challenging him to do something, but instead of the snake charmer charming the snake, she charmed him.

Spencer must have been hallucinating on the high of being closer to her now, but he could’ve sworn the crime scene they were in was starting to grow the same vines in the Garden of Eden, because there she stood handing Spencer an apple.

Like Eve, Spencer took it.

The second his gun lowered slightly, she pounced. She had him disarmed and on his back before he had time to process the feeling of her skin on his. If the impact to the ground didn’t knock the wind out of Spencer, her close proximity would.

She had a heel digging into his wrist closest to his gun that was only inches away, taunting him for his pathetic lust. Slowly, she bent down, entering the fog, black smoke mixing with his innocent, white cloud to create a gray that he wouldn’t dare call dull.

“I’m sorry it has to be like this, Spencer. Truly, I am.” Her eyes left his to scan his face before she reached over to his gun. The thought crossed his mind that she was going to kill him, but would that be so bad when he was breathing the same air as her?

She emptied the chamber into her hands, only leaving one bullet. He walked this road before, he knew his chances.

“One bullet, one chance.” She spun the chamber before slamming it back in place. “God, I really hope you live.”

For a split second, they shared a gaze clouded with desire for the other. Spencer let his mind fade into what her lips would feel like against his, or how her body would tremble under his. She had control now, but he knew from the way her eyes begged, even just for one second, she wanted him to flip the roles and take her right there. He would’ve too if it wasn’t for the cool metal that pressed against the side of his head.

Click!

An empty threat, yet she still smirked. “Today’s your lucky day, Doctor.”

She looked up to where a single headlight shone through the window above them, her hair trickling down to brush against Spencer’s neck, and he sighed at the small contact. It was pathetic, really.

“That’s my ride. See you around.” With that, she winked and ran off towards her getaway. Spencer laid there, taking in shallow breaths that escaped him during their interaction.

She had been stalling him, and he fell for it.

Spencer still carried around that bullet as a reminder. A reminder that he needs to catch her, she was too dangerous, and anything less than her being imprisoned for life wasn’t good enough.

It was also a reminder of how he felt when she was with him, over him, dominating him. Spencer never felt that helpless, that pathetic, that hungry for someone, and he wasn’t ready to let that go quite yet.

There was no new case that came in this week, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep that nagging feeling at bay when it came to her this case. They needed to shut it, Spencer needed to shut it, because maybe, just maybe, he could sleep better at night knowing he won.

“Delivery for Dr. Spencer Reid,” a voice called from the entrance of the bullpen. Spencer’s head shot around, finding a very harmless looking intern holding a small package in his hand looking around.

Cutting the kid some slack, he made his way over. “I’m Dr. Reid.” The kid smiled before handing him the little cardboard box. It fit in the palm of his hand, and was completely blank except for the small drawing of a snake on the top.

His blood ran cold, and his lungs forgot how to breath, just like they did a year ago.

A year ago today.

Spencer didn’t wait any longer, ripping the box open despite the strong glue that held it shut with its secrets.

Oh Spencer, hasn’t anyone told you not to open Pandora’s box?

The bullet inside rattled around the small container, one of the bullets that belonged to Spencer before she took them for her trophies.

She may have not killed Spencer, but she definitely took something more than just bullets with her that night.

He knew where she was, and she wanted him to.

Spencer could’ve told his team, hell, he was going to need the backup, so what stopped him from doing so as he raced for the crime scene that has since been cleared and reopened for the public to ignore the ‘No Trespassing’ sign?

Lust, lust is what stopped him, and it was pathetic.

Pathetic and tragic.

She knew he arrived, even if he turned the lights of the SUV off before pulling up the small warehouse. The air around her grew heavier with anticipation as she waited for Spencer to enter the room, no doubt waiting for the element of surprise.

She almost missed his light footsteps approaching her from behind.

“You’ve changed,” she called out. Spencer froze again, just like he had the first time. Was this pathetic enough?

“So have you,” his voice was calm, not caring for tiptoeing anymore. She was right, Spencer had changed, and now he took very little chances with instability.

“Yet here we are, repeating the same cycle as last year.” She turned to face him, and if she was less of a professional, she would have let her hunger for Spencer shine through. He had definitely changed, his hair was longer now, but still beautifully curly and framing his face, the one that was sharper, stubble on his cheeks.

Spencer was a man now, one she wanted to strip down to nothing both physically and emotionally.

“That’s not entirely true,” he shot back with a sense of cockiness to his tone, cockiness she had no patience for. “I’m not letting you go this time.”

She snorted, actually snorted in his face. “You cannot be serious. You think I would lead you to me just to turn myself in?”

“You’re coming with me, whether you want to or not.” There was no room for argument, but she had other plans. She saw the lust in his eyes a year ago, and though time passed, that passion when he was looking at her still hasn’t faded. She just needed to push his buttons a little bit.

“Why don’t you make me?” It was the final straw, the last drop of water before the dam broke, and Spencer made no effort to stop himself from taking her head in his hands and smashing their lips together in both anger and desire.

She moaned against his mouth, wrapping her hands around his neck to find their place in his hair. Spencer had other plans, because he grabbed both of her wrists before turning her around and bending her over the metal table behind them.

“Listen, Princess,” Spencer whispered into her ear, his lips grazing the shell as he bent his whole body over her to press her further. The cool metal was digging into her hips, but she couldn’t complain when it also meant she felt Spencer’s hard erection on her backside. “I’m going to fucking ruin you, and then I’m going to take you in where you’ll rot in prison for the rest of your life. Do you understand?”

“Only one of us is getting ruined today, and it’s not me.” Apparently, that was not the answer Spencer wanted, because he grabbed a fistful of her hair to pull her back against his chest, making her gasp and squirm against his strong frame.

“Watch the attitude,” he growled out before reaching down with his other hand to unbutton her black jeans. “Now let’s try that again. Do you understand me?”

She only responded in a whimper as Spencer’s hands reached inside both her pants and panties to run his fingers through her slick folds.

“Use your words, Princess.” She tried to grind down on his fingers, but Spencer was quick to remove them from her pants. Bringing his hand up to her neck, he wrapped it around before squeezing lightly. “Answer me.”

“Y-yes, I understand. Just please, Spencer.” She never would have thought that the awestruck doctor she wooed a year ago would be so rough with her, and the surprise just added to her need for him.

“Please what, Princess?” Spencer taunted.

“Just do something,” she barked back, immediately regretting her decision when he let go of her neck to push her by her head back onto the table with more force than necessary.

When she heard the click of his handcuffs, she started her relentless squirming. “What the hell, Spencer? I thought you were going to fucking do something!”

“Who said I wasn't?” He asked before completely ripping her pants down her legs, the cool air hitting her bare pussy, causing a shiver to run up her spine.

So this was the game Spencer’s playing.

“God, you’re already so fucking wet, Princess. Wanna taste you.” He gave her no time to register his words because Spencer dropped to his knees and licked a strip up and then down her folds, flicking her clit before taking in completely in his mouth.

Her mewls and groans bounced off the concrete walls around them, only urging Spencer on more. He suckled softly on her clit before flicking it back and forth repeatedly with his tongue at an incomprehensible pace. The knot in her stomach was forming, and at this rate, it was going to unravel fast.

“Spe-Spence I.. I’m g-gonna” Spencer brought his fingers up to her core, replacing his tongue with two slender digits.

“Do it, Princess. Come for me.” He pinched her clit roughly, and that was the final push over the edge, her moans loud consisting of incoherent curses and his name.

When she started to come down from her high, Spencer stood straight up again and started unbuckling his belt. She started to squirm and push back into him at his slow movements.

“I know you’re probably enjoying watching me struggle, but if you could please hurry the fuck up,” she said as she lifted part of her upper body to turn and look at him. She never got a good look, because Spencer reached out and slammed her back down before pushing all of himself into her waiting cunt.

She yelled out at the sensation, Spencer groaning before saying, “What did I tell you about that fucking attitude?”

He set a brutal pace, giving her barely any time to adjust before pulling out so just the tip remained, and then slamming into her with a rough, animalistic force.

“Ah, ah, ah, Sp- Spenc-” He grabbed her by the hair again, using it as leverage to pull her back onto his cock, making her scream out again.

“Shut up,” Spencer groaned out, annunciating each word with a thrust while he reached forward to shove two fingers into her mouth. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

She moaned around his fingers, causing him to press down on her tongue, gagging her. Spencer could feel the way she started to clench around him.

“You gonna cum, Princess? That’s it, cum with me.” Spencer’s thrusts grew sloppier as they both ran towards their orgasm together.

When they both finally reached their high, Spencer could’ve sworn he saw stars, his cock twitching in her pulsing warmth, milking him of everything. For a split second, their bodies had become one.

But time moves quickly, and the second fleeted when his actions caught up to him, and he ripped himself from her.

She was still shaking and trying to catch her breath when he undid the handcuffs that were burning her wrists. Confusion spread through her as she used her arms that still felt like jelly to push herself up off the table.

“Why... why’d you uncuff me?” Spencer looked up through his eyelashes at her from where he was redoing his belt, his face unreadable.

“Get dressed. I can’t arrest you half naked.” He looked away from her with a blush on his face as she bent down to pull her pants back up. When she looked back up at him from where he was trying to see from his peripherals if she was dressed again, she caught a glimpse of the man she met a year ago.

“That’s not the reason, Doctor. If you have a question, ask it.”

“Why’d you stop?” Spencer finally turned to face her, catching the surprise on her face before it morphed into that same wicked smile that rendered him helpless last time.

“Would you have come if I kept killing?” He didn’t have to think about his answer, it was the reason he was hoping was true.

“No.” She slowly stalked over to him, but this time she didn’t flip him on his back. Instead, she cupped his cheek, and he didn't hesitate to nuzzle into her palm.

“I still have 4 bullets,” she said softly. They locked eyes again, but this time, the lust they indulged in melted down to a mutual understanding.

“I’ll see you next year, Doctor.” With that, she walked around him, shutting the door with a slam on the way out, leaving Spencer staring at the silver with no attempt to chase after her.

Pathetic and tragic.

____

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thesevro · 4 years

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world caving in / itadori y.

itadori yuji x reader angst

word count: 788 words

how would yuji face your death? yes i did wake up and choose violence today. you’re welcome, hoe.

➞

I SHOULD BE old enough to understand that there is nothing I can do.

But how am I supposed to sit and watch as the only girl I have ever loved bleeds out all of her loveliness?

She dies in my arms. Her blood is warm on my hands. I try to push the life back inside her. Try to hold her together by the red wound that smiles on her stomach. I've seen too many dead. Too many friends go. She cannot become one of them.

But she's bleeding so much. It all slips through my fingers. Pools at her back and drips through her shirt. Spills from her mouth. Her breaths are a beating to her lungs. I rip my shirt off and press it to her wounded stomach. But the cloth soaks through immediately. There is nothing I can replace it with.

Her eyes do not open. They closed when the patchwork of a curse stabbed through her stomach with a blade made of skin. It was so sharp. It opened her with one slash of the curse's arm, and I had to watch as the first seconds of the last moments of her life began.

My world caves in when I see that she's stopped breathing. She leaves me without a goodbye. Her death a loud silence. The girl I love leaves me to pick up so many of my pieces. The unmoving stillness of her cold body is what breaks me open. I cry into her chest.

Her body is all that remains of the lovely girl I would kiss to sleep. The lovely girl who would stumble through the kitchen trying to make pancakes. The lovely girl who taught me how to trust, to believe that I was never alone.

I beat a fist into the floor. Each breath I take is agony through the vise in my chest. I do not want to breathe. I close my eyes as I press my forehead to hers. I whisper for her to come back. Beg. She is so still, so small in the hands of death.

Something glints through the thick paint of her blood. I reach for it. Searching for the threshold of sanity.

It is the necklace I latched to her neck on that one New Year's Eve. We had watched the fireworks together, then. A quiet sob punches through my throat as I realize I will never see her smile the way she did on that night.

Of course she wore it to battle. As she always has. It is hard for me to understand why I will never see it on her again.

It takes Nanami, Fushiguro, and Gojo to wrench me away from her. I do not hear my screams. But they haunt the dreams of the rest, and for once, I cannot be sorry for that.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I should be old enough to understand that she's never coming back. But sometimes my body forgets. Sometimes I wake in the morning to head over to her old dorm room and instead see Nobara there, crying into the smell of (Y/N)'s unused sheets. I always join her. Always end up breaking further than I can be fixed.

Every time I look at my hands, I see her blood caked beneath my fingernails. Sometimes she is all I think of. All I see. And I know that it is always a lie whenever I hear her voice in the halls, or at night when I am alone. It is only my mind trying to delude me.

I should be old enough to understand that this is how life is supposed to go. You lose those you love, or they lose you.

But I have had to watch. Every single time I have had to watch as one by one someone stole the lives of the people I love most. Every single time I have had to hold my cherished person to my chest and tell them everything was going to be alright. And every single time I have wondered why I am always the only one left alive. The one left alone.

I am only a liar in a broken body. A broken mind. A broken soul.

Without her, it is a way of life I do not mind following. So I hold these people to my chest. Cradle their heads as they bleed. Lie to them, assure them that they will be okay. That everything will be okay.

I wish she had heard me when I told her the same thing. If only I'd said the words sooner. Maybe then she could have died in peace.

Now she only haunts me.

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fireemblemtcg · 3 years

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“The Cipher Frontier!” Issue 58: “Cipher Will Never Die!”

"The Cipher Frontier! With Emma, Shade, Yuzu, Randal, Alice, Val, Niamh & Poe" was a regular column on the Fire Emblem Cipher website which summarized upcoming news concerning Cipher and other Fire Emblem materials. It was presented by the eight mascot characters. The following is a full translation of the 58th and final issue of the column, which was originally published on 31 March 2021.

More Fire Emblem Cipher translations!

Hello, everybody!!!!!!!!

It's been over five years since Cipher launched - and, for that matter, The Cipher Frontier! itself...

And today... we bring you the last one!

Sniff... So this is really it...

Aye, it certainly is a bitter occasion.

With the moment upon us, I find myself overcome with emotion. Yet at the same time, I cannot help but sorely wish that this day had never come at all.

Well, it... It doesn't bother m-m-me... Not... one...

BWAAAAAAAAAAAH! I C-C-CAN'T TAKE THIS!

E-easy, milady! You swore before we began that you would not cry!

I, too, owe very, very much to all of you, so... I am very sad.

Where there is a beginning, so too shall there be an end... It is an inevitability.

Still, one might argue that as long as there are still decks to play with and opponents to challenge... Cipher may be played for eternity. So think not on this as the end, for this is but a milestone of life.

Sniff... So this isn't farewell?

Not in the least! All of our players can still continue to get together to play Cipher. So as sad as you might be now to see the game end, the feeling won't last! And I, for one, would like to close out our final day with a smile.

To that end, I propose that we all share some parting words. You first, Emma!

Alrighty! Well, I've been here since the beginning, but... Back then, I was an absolute noob, wasn't I? I didn't have the faintest idea what a "Tea See Gee" even was!

But then I learned so much from Shade, and I presented news, participated in Tryout and Gathering events, and watched Live Broadcasts - and all of that gave me the chance to grow so much.

And then as the days went by, we got to meet Yuzu and Randal, Alice and Valjean, and Niamh and Poe, and we all always had a riot of a time playing Cipher together... It's all been like something out of a dream!

Lastly, I just want to say thank you...

To all of you who've been reading our column to date, thank you tho thuch!

Ha! Is that a slip of the tongue I hear?

Why, I do believe it was... And of all the words to flub, at that.

H-heh heh heh! I guess I am still just a kid after all... But mark my words, I'll be working even harder to become a mature, full-fledged knight! Okay, let's try this again... Thank you all!

Well, I'm next! I was primarily tasked with hosting this column and presenting news.

But the work introduced me to more and more friends, and to a constant stream of announcements that were news to me myself... To lose it is like I've also lost my reason to exist, but at least I am left with fond memories of it all.

My desire to convey the appeal of Cipher to others hasn't wavered in the slightest, but... this is the last time it will ever happen here. Alas. Still, I will always be rooting for all of you, even if we don't see each other.

There will always be a bond between us - always. Remember that whenever you play Cipher and see our cards. On this, you have my word! This has been Shade, shepherd of wayward lambs, saying farewell!

Alright, then. You're next, Yuzu!

...

Huh? Yuzu! What's gotten into you? Would you just get out here?

Er, forgive me. When everybody's gaze turned upon me, I could not help but immediately seek shelter...

Oh, yeah. You never did like public speaking, did you, Yuzu?

Of course! We had a devil of a time convincing you to come out at all for your very first column.

E-enough! That was many years ago: a d-d-difficulty that I have long since moved past!

Hrr-hrr-hrr... heh-HEM! L-l-let us, er, begin anew.

I am Yuzu. My contribution to this column was to introduce cards that afforded new styles of play... only to let a haze of utter passion promptly consume me and hence spend my every waking hour crafting decks from them and trialling them in matches.

You always were one to cry, "I must test these cards at once!" and throw yourself into obsessive research.

As such, I have acquired an eye for strategy, forged in the fires of Cipher, to incorporate into my prior mastery of the martial arts - and with that, at long last, I have come to an understanding of the very heart of warcraft.

Further, as a consequence I may declare with confidence that, should I ever find my brother, I shall be able to hold my head high for all that I have grown in his absence. For that, you have my most heartfelt gratitude. So end my parting words!

Thank you, Yuzu. Right, it's your turn, Randal!

Huh? Oh, right then!

I've got a motto: always take your games deathly serious, and always make your own fun on the job… And, well, this has been my chance to prove those words true.

I mean yeah, I'm a wanderer at heart; I might've stuck around a bit too long... but that's just because this was all a hell of a lot of fun.

Oh, I agree... It was a HELL of a lot of fun!

GAH! It's... It's you!

Well, well. We have a stranger among us!

Pah! "Stranger," indeed. This hair, this face, this ribbon... None of this ring a bell?

Eh? Do you... do you mean Randal?

Indeed! I am...

...His son, no? It is nice to meet you!

OI!

What are you on about?! I AM Randal, just from the past - younger than the one you know!

It's happening again! The exact same argument!

This really must be the end, if HE'S here...

This is how you treat me? I have to hear that the last column is happening at the eleventh hour and make a mad dash to make it in time?! Bloody hell...

What is this? A being under the thrall of the Boundless Chaos? How intriguing. I must conduct a thorough examination at once...

H-hey! What are you doing, Niamh?! You look deathly serious... Oi, that's enough! Stay back! I... I've got a sword!

Well, er, I'm just about all out of time, but I just want to say it was a hoot being on the Frontier. Hope I see you all again someday. Adios!

He vanished?! Still more intriguing...

Sigh... What a pain in the arse, if I do say so myself. Although... I must admit, we do agree on one thing: I'd also be glad to see you all again.

This might be one farewell, but here's hoping we cross paths once more! And if we do, hey, why not play a match with this old fart? And that's all she wrote from ol' Randal!

Thank you. Next, let's hear from Alice and Valjean!

Heh heh! At last! Shall we, Val?

Yes, milady.

The two of us made our debut circa Series 10, and ever since that day, the Frontier never failed to be a most thrilling time. Would you agree, Val?

Yes, milady.

My objective in making this journey was simple: to experience much in my travels, such that I might someday return home and become a great ruler indeed. But instead, I first became a most superior, most brilliant Cipher player! Utterly invincible! Favored by fortune! And whatnot. Didn't I, Val?

Yes, milady.

I remember... that every time a Cipher release day came, I would be up all night from their eve, crafting decks and playing matches with the others. Oh, it was such fun! Wasn't it, Val?

...Yes, mi... mi... milady! Sniff...

V-Val?! What is the matter with you?

I am most moved. That my most capricious liegelady could at last find in Cipher such an engaging hobby, such good company, and such a source of training - and that she could grow so greatly as a woman.

Val...

We have been truly blessed to have had all of this: all of you, who welcomed us so warmly into the Frontier fold, and all of the Cipher players out in the world. I wish to offer you my gratitude for everything.

To be honest... I have something to say on that matter myself. Thank you, truly, for everything. I will never, ever, ever, EVER forget even a single day that we spent here together!

Nor shall I!

...Having said that, milady, I fear that you are still yet unready for the throne! From today onward, we must redouble your original leadership training efforts! I fully intend to prepare for you an intensive study regimen.

I-I-I beg your pardon?! You will not speak to me so! If I see even a single incorrect mark, you would do well to prepare yourself, for I will work you to the very bone for the rest of your days!

By all means, do it. But be prepared, for I have a lifetime's worth of admonishments at the ready.

Heh... Best of luck to the two of you!

Your turn, Niamh!

I was present from the 37th column onward... To be precise, it was in the "Love and Bonds Special Talk CD" audio drama that came as a set with an artbook, sold at Comiket 93.

My inquiry and research into the miscellaneous phenomena of this world, and the Boundless Chaos in particular, shall continue, but...

...

Well?! Don't tell me that's all you have to say!

...No. To me, my inquiry into Cipher represented the introducton of a new, major challenge into my life. Cipher decks... Gameplay... Which solution is correct, and which is optimal... As yet, I still have found no answers. As such, it is vital that going forward, I collaborate with a broad sample of Cipher players and find an answer...

So what you're saying is, you enjoyed playing Cipher with everyone, and you're gonna keep playing forever!

That, er... Ahem! That's pretty much it.

Cryptic remarks if I ever heard them, but certainly Niamh-ish.

Right, let's keep this going with Poe!

Only a year and a half has passed since I was welcomed to this column, and sadly, in the end our association has been brief. But I was able to have a very fulfilling time with you.

Attending that Winter Comiket thing with all of you, playing the "Recite and Play: Heroes Iroha" card game being sold there... They were very happy days.

And in all of that, I have always been monitoring Niamh...

...

Hee hee... You have been a good girl here, have you not? I do nothing to good girls.

If one of you becomes wicked, at that time I shall... Heh... Heh heh heh heh heh...

So, I pray that we never have an unpleasant reunion, and end my speech. Thank you. This has been Poe!

Heh... Let's keep that warning in mind.

...With that, have all of us spoken?

Tsk tsk... We aren't actually finished just yet! Since this is our last column, allow me to call upon a special guest!

...A guest? Wait, you don't mean...

Ta-daaaaa! Here he is!

Hello, everyone! I am Kawade, the producer of Fire Emblem Cipher.

K-K-KawadeP!

My, what a surprise!

The publication of the final Frontier coincides with, at last, the end-of-March termination of event support for Cipher. So I thought I would share a message for all of our readers and Cipher players.

If you count from when Cipher was first announced, roughly six years have passed. That's a long time, yet it's just flown by... These have been very busy years, but also wonderful ones, absolutely full of memories and events.

In that time we've constantly taken on new challenges - not just the production of Cipher itself, but Twitter content, live broadcasts, and staging events all around Japan.

And through all of that, we've had the chance to meet so many fans of Fire Emblem and Cipher... That was not only the most fun part of all, but a part that made us happy.

Although, we were unfortunately unable to hold any of our planned events for our final year, and for that I am truly sorry to all of you.

Still, we staff stuck with it to the very end, and as a result were able to complete Cipher as a fantastic game that can be played for years and years to come. For that, we are proud of ourselves.

It was thanks to all of you, who kept on supporting us, that we could continue our work to this standard all the way to the final series. I am overcome with gratitude to you all!

Production might have come to an end, but Fire Emblem Cipher will never die! It would make me happy if, every now and then, you might bring your cards out and play with them. Thank you all, truly, for everything!

And that concludes KawadeP's remarks!

Whew!

That, I believe, is everything that we wished to share.

Aye, I've got nothing to add.

So I suppose this is it: the end of the Cipher Frontier's long run.

Er... Shade? Can I say one last thing?

Hm? What is it, Emma?

Thank you for taking the lead in hosting this last one... And thank you so much for all the things you've taught me!

(Emma...)

H-hey! That's enough of that! You're about to make me cry, and that wouldn't be ending this day with a smile, would it?

Heh. I guess not!

So hey, let's give them one last, enthusiastic That Thing before Shade bursts into tears!

Very well, then. That Thing it is! This has been The Cipher Frontier!

With Emma...

Shade...

Yuzu...

Randal...

Alice...

Val...

Niamh...

...and Poe.

Now, then...

Let's do it, everyone!

One...

Two...

CIPHER!!!!!!!!

THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING, EVERYBODY!!!!!!!!

...

FIRE EMBLEM CIPHER The Cipher Frontier! With Emma, Shade, Yuzu, Randal, Alice, Val, Niamh & Poe

Emma Emma continues to train in order to become a full-fledged pegasus knight. Her tireless Cipher training also continues, but she has yet to show much improvement at the game.

Shade Veteran mage that she is, Shade continues to teach the next generation. Many seeking to become almighty Cipher players have come to her, only to struggle bitterly under her tutelage - yet at the same time, to Emma and the others, she remains a nurturing guiding hand.

Yuzu Yuzu embarked on a journey of martial training, all the while following whispers of her brother's whereabouts... although evidently, she does return from her travels from time to time, bearing souvenirs, to partake in Cipher matches with all of her friends.

Randal Randal made a truly once-in-a-lifetime wager, only to go into hiding thereafter. Some rumors attest that he won, and that with that windfall he secured for himself a carefree life of quiet leisure in some southern land - others, that he met with a catastrophic loss, and was hence forced into labor in someplace.

Alice Alice's travels continue, as she seeks all the experience that she needs to become a true leader. Although at first she struggled, she grew to thoroughly enjoy it, and so she will persist in her journey without ever taking a break to return home... Or so she tells herself, at least.

Valjean Valjean continues to travel all across the land with his liegelady. Witnessing Alice grow ever stronger and wiser by the day, he cannot help but feel conflicting feelings of joy and loneliness beneath the privacy of his helm.

Niamh Even as she continues in her pursuit of wisdom, Niamh silently carries out research into Cipher. Her seminal monograph, "A Compendium of Cipher Decks," is over 100 volumes in length, and by all accounts is still in print to this day.

Poe Poe vanished in her hunt for evil, and her whereabouts remain unknown. However, according to the afterword of "A Compendium of Cipher Decks," she and Niamh have since fought to the death on many an occasion.

The End...???

#fire emblem #the cipher frontier!

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thearvariblues · 4 years

Text

Too Much of Damn Peace

“I just want some damn peace!”

“Well here’s your peace!”

The bottle smashes on the ground and Geralt growls. Jaskier is almost about to apologize – he really shouldn’t have broken the bloody thing, he didn’t even want to, he was just angry and Geralt was shouting…

But then the wind rises and Jaskier feels an invisible force close around his throat, a horrible pressure…

He doubles over and clutches his throat.

“Geralt!” he hears himself croak, instinctively reaching for the Witcher.

It hurts, it hurts so fucking much…

And then something snaps. The pain goes away, but something is missing. Something is wrong. Horribly, terrifyingly wrong.

“Jaskier?”

He doesn’t know what is wrong until he opens his mouth and tries to say something… and nothing comes out.

His eyes go wide and he gestures at his throat, opening and closing his mouth a few times, hoping that Geralt will understand. And he does.

“Oh,” the Witcher mutters. “Fuck.”

Yes, Jaskier thinks. That sums it up quite nicely.

They find a healer, and with his help, they find a mage, Yennefer. She is currently holding an orgy when they do, and if the circumstances were different, Jaskier would absolutely join in, but he’s not in the mood tonight. Maybe when she heals him, though…

“There’s nothing I can do,” the mage says. “His voice is gone.”

Jaskier’s lips are halfway through “excuse me?!” when his brain catches up. He shuts his mouth and looks at Geralt.

“What do you mean nothing?” Geralt frowns.

“I mean,” the mage sighs, “that even though his injury is magical in its nature, there is no magical way to remove it. Well, except for the force that inflicted it in the first place.”

“The djinn,” Geralt nods. “Yes, that could…”

Jaskier points at his throat and shakes his head.

“But he can’t make his last wish if he can’t speak,” Geralt says.

“That’s the problem, yes,” Yennefer says, unconcerned.

“So what should we do?”

“I don’t know. Try the true love’s kiss?” she smirks.

Jaskier snorts.

“I don’t think so,” Geralt mutters. “Well, thank you, I suppose. We’ll be on our way.”

“Wait. Maybe I could… think of something,” she says, smiling a little. “If you stayed for the night. Give me some time and I–”

“I don’t think so,” Geralt shakes his head. “Come on, Jaskier. We’ll find a tavern to sleep in.”

It’s not hard for Jaskier to come to terms with losing his voice. The reason is simple – he doesn’t believe he lost it for good. Not for one second. He trusts his friend, he just knows Geralt will find a way to make Jaskier able speak again, no matter the cost. This whole affair is just a tiny bump on the road, a minor inconvenience that will go away within a few days.

Or weeks.

Maybe… Maybe months.

As the days pass, it becomes harder and harder not to stop believing, but Jaskier is an eternal optimist and he’d rather die than lose hope. He clings to it, just as much as he clings to the Witcher himself. He doesn’t have much of a choice, really. A mute bard can hardly take care of himself, can he?

“It’s my fault,” the Witcher mutters one evening, weeks after the incident, as they sit by the fire in their camp. “I should have… protected you.”

Jaskier reaches for his notebook, scribbles a single word in it and shows it to Geralt.

“Bollocks,” Geralt reads out loud and smirks. “As you wish. But you know it’s true.”

Jaskier turns the notebook back to himself and scribbles another word.

“Bollocks,” Geralt says. “But the letters are bigger.”

Jaskier shrugs.

“We really need to find a better way to communicate,” Geralt mutters. “It takes you too damn long to write what you want to say, and then you get all impatient and your writing becomes illegible.”

Jaskier opens his mouth, clutches his chest and gasps, clearly offended.

“You know, there’s a… sign language the deaf people use, right?” Geralt asks, biting his lower lip.

Jaskier nods.

“I just thought… I know we’re both hoping we can somehow bring your voice back, but until then…”

Jaskier sighs and starts writing.

“I know a guy,” Geralt reads. “Did you sleep with his sister, though? Mother?”

Jaskier shakes his head, writes a single word and shows his notebook to Geralt.

“Him. Oh,” Geralt blinks. “And you think he would be… willing to help?”

Jaskier nods.

“Right. Where can we find him?”

They go to Jaskier’s ex-lover. They learn a few things about sign language, Jaskier fucks the guy and they leave in a bit of a hurry with a stack of books that are technically not quite theirs.

Geralt tries to pretend to be mad, but Jaskier sees right through him. As he always does.

They hide in a small town for a few days and Geralt takes a few easy contracts while Jaskier buries himself in the borrowed (well, stolen) books.

“Did you learn anything new today?” Geralt smiles as he enters their shared room, already tugging at the straps of his bloody armor to take it off.

Jaskier beams and lifts his hands.

“Something that isn’t swearing or asking for sex,” Geralt specifies.

Jaskier frowns and lets his hands fall down.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Geralt chuckles. “You should really try to learn something useful, Jask.”

Jaskier makes a brief gesture.

“Okay, I understood this one. And it’s not a nice thing to say, you know?”

This time, there is a whole series of gestures.

“That’s just more swearing, isn’t it?”

Jaskier nods.

“Would you… Would you like to learn… together?” Geralt offers.

Jaskier blinks before nodding again, more slowly this time.

“Fine. Pass me a fucking book that does not contain new swearwords…”

The weeks, as Jaskier was afraid, turn to months, and his voice still doesn’t come back. He desperately tries to hold onto his hope, but he’s starting to feel like he’s grasping at straws. If there was anything to be done, surely Geralt would have done it already?

Maybe… Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try the true love’s kiss route – the only problem is, it would also require Geralt’s assistance. And Jaskier isn’t ready to try and explain that.

And perhaps it’s for the best, he concludes. Because Geralt seems much better off without Jaskier’s voice bothering him all the time. He’s been smiling more lately. And talking more. Almost as if he tries to compensate for the silence left by Jaskier’s muteness. He tells Jaskier stories about his adventures before the two of them met, his childhood at Kaer Morhen, his brothers. It’s more than he’s ever told the bard, more than Jaskier could ever ask for.

And Jaskier finds that he would be willing to listen the Witcher’s deep voice for the rest of his life.

“You’re coming with me to Kaer Morhen this winter,” Geralt announces one day, as winter draws closer and closer.

Jaskier raises his eyebrows and makes a gesture.

“Because I can’t leave you alone when you’re like this,” Geralt says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole world. “You can’t earn money singing in taverns, you can’t even teach at Oxenfurt as you usually do during winters.”

Jaskier signs furiously.

“I’m not saying you’re useless,” Geralt sighs. “I’m just saying… It’s gonna be hard for you to make a living this winter without your fucking voice.”

Jaskier signs again.

“Don’t be stupid, you’re not gonna freeze to death in Kaer Morhen. Lose a few toes, perhaps…”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide and he makes a few more gestures.

“No, of course it’s not funny,” Geralt chuckles. “Well. Maybe a little…”

Nevertheless, Jaskier joins Geralt on his way to Kaer Morhen before the winter comes. Not because Geralt was right and Jaskier is finished as a lecturer and a bard, just because he’s been waiting for years for this invitation and he’s not going to ruin his chance by being offended. He just wants to spend a few contractless months with Geralt and meet his famous brothers – and if he needs to sacrifice his toes to do that, then so be it.

And maybe, just maybe, he will be able to convince Geralt to cuddle with him a little… Just to warm him up, of course. Nothing more.

He would never dare asking for more…

“It’s just typical, isn’t it?” Geralt’s brother Lambert snorts one evening and stuffs a piece of meat into his mouth. “You keep promising to bring the bard for the winter… And when you finally do, he’s fucking mute.”

“Lambert,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier smirks and makes a sign that’s pretty understandable even for the younger Witcher.

“Honestly,” Eskel shrugs, “I was also looking forward to hearing the songs you’ve kept praising for years.”

Jaskier blinks and signs at Geralt.

“Yeah,” Geralt mutters and his cheeks absolutely don’t go slightly pink. “Praising. Don’t make too much of it.”

Jaskier gestures.

“Well… Yes, I guess you could still at least play.”

Jaskier grins, jumps to his feet and promptly disappears. When he comes back, he’s holding his lute and Geralt can’t hide his smile.

Jaskier sits down, impossibly close, winks at Geralt and starts to play a song that the Witcher knows almost too well, because it’s been following him ever since he met Jaskier all those years ago. That’s why he finds himself quietly humming the melody. And that’s probably why, as the chorus comes, he starts to sing.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher, O’ Valley of Plenty…”

He opens his eyes to see Jaskier smiling wider than Geralt’s ever seen him, and he can almost feel his heart melt. Jaskier looks so beautiful like this, and Geralt wants…

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, almost inaudibly over the sound of the lute, and then he reaches out, grabs the back of Jaskier’s neck and kisses him, long and deep. He hears Vesemir’s sigh, Eskel’s laugh and Lambert’s disgusted groan, but he doesn’t care. He’s wanted to do this for so, so long…

When he pulls away, Jaskier is staring at him with his blue eyes wide with shock. He opens his mouth, realizes it’s futile and closes it again.

And Geralt… Geralt just can’t take it. He jumps to his feet. He runs away from the room.

He hears the footsteps that immediately start to follow him, of course, but he just cannot face Jaskier right now.

But then a hand closes around his arm and yanks him around, much stronger than he would ever expect.

This time, there’s pure fury in Jaskier’s gaze as the bard starts to gesture wildly.

“Gods, will you just slow down?” Geralt groans. “I don’t understand half the things you’re trying to say!”

Jaskier huffs and starts again, more slowly this time.

“No. Wait. No,” Geralt says a few moments later. “I don’t think you’re not enough.”

Jaskier frowns and his hands start moving again.

“I… You don’t get it, do you? I feel like it’s my fault. This… Injury of yours.”

A simple gesture.

“Why? Why? Because you were with me when it happened and I couldn’t stop it. Because I can’t find a way to cure it. Because I know I wanted some damn peace but this is… Too much of damn peace.”

Jaskier shrugs and signs a single sentence.

“What do I want?” he blinks. “I… I just want you to have your voice back.”

A sudden gust of wind billows their clothes and hair and Jaskier, to Geralt’s horror, clutches his throat and gasps for breath.

“No,” Geralt mutters and grabs the bard’s arms to support him. “No, no, no, please, not again…”

The wind stops just as abruptly as it started and Jaskier meets the Witcher’s gaze. His lower lip is trembling.

“Geralt,” he croaks weakly.

“Jaskier?” Geralt whispers, unable to believe what’s happening. “What…”

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier says. “What the everloving fuck… So it was your fault, you asshole!”

“W-what?” Geralt blinks.

“You were the one with the wishes, you dick! You wished for some peace, and you got it! You wished I had my voice back, and you got it! It means that it was never me, it was you! And it means you could have brought my voice back months ago! And it means… Fuck, it means Valdo Marx is still alive, isn’t he? Damn it. But oh, it feels so good to be able to talk again. It feels awesome. Oh, dear. I’m never shutting up again, ever. I’m gonna talk and sing and… Yes, sing! Toss a coin to your Witcher, O’ Valley of–”

But he does shut up when Geralt presses a kiss against his lips.

Geralt hums quietly against Jaskier’s skin, burying his face into the bard’s shoulder.

“Jaskier,” he sighs, but there is no reply. He lifts his head and looks at the bard. “Jaskier?”

“Mhm?” Jaskier smiles. “Oh, sorry, dear. I got lost in my own head, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all right,” Geralt mutters, letting his head fall back down. “I guess it’s gonna take a while before I stop getting nervous when you suddenly go silent.”

“Understandable, I guess,” Jaskier chuckles. “You do realize that you’ve wasted two wishes on me, right?”

“If this is where it got me, I don’t care.”

“Also understandable.”

“Asshole.”

“I know, I know,” Jaskier laughs. “So… What’s your last wish gonna be?”

Geralt closes his eyes and breathes in Jaskier’s scent.

“I wish you were as immortal as me,” he whispers and braces himself against another gust of wind… Which doesn’t come.

“Hm,” Jaskier hums. “Oh, right. Remember two months ago when we got lost in the woods and we didn’t have anything to eat and you said I wish I had a few apples for Roach at least and then I, a humble bard, suddenly saw a fucking apple tree that you, the mighty Witcher, somehow completely and totally missed?”

“So… Your voice was my last wish,” Geralt sighs. “Well, at least it wasn’t wasted.”

“It’s a shame, though. I’d really, really like to spend the rest of your life with you, darling.”

Geralt smiles and places a kiss right next to Jaskier’s nipple.

“I guess we’re just gonna have to enjoy the time we have left, right?”

“Oh?” Jaskier laughs. “You have anything in mind?”

“I might have an idea or two…”

Their lips meet.

Somewhere above them, a djinn takes something similar to a deep breath… And grants the Witcher his fourth wish.

#the witcher #jaskier/geralt #geralt/jaskier #geraskier #angst with comfort #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #my fics

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eurhyic · 4 years

Text

Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship

Over the years, I have been apart of many, many fandoms. Each of those fandoms has had its flaws, and each has had its strengths. However, I feel that it is important to not only focus on the amazingly good stuff but also acknowledge the not-so-good stuff. In the Good Omens fandom, there is an overwhelming amount of good fandom stuff, but I also feel that there are some misunderstood things that we believe as a fandom. And there is no bigger misunderstanding that I’ve seen than of Aziraphale and Crowley themselves.

There have been having endless debates on twitter that are completely pointless in my opinion. I feel that these arguments start because people interpret Aziraphale, Crowley, and their relationship in completely different ways, and today, I just simply wanted to come on here and reinstate what is canon and what is sort of… changed or twisted… in fics and fandom.

Just as a disclaimer, I don’t actually care what you do. If you want to write fics with soft and insecure Crowley or Aziraphale comforting a crying Crowley after the Apocalypse, go ahead. This is the internet and I can’t stop you from creating. Hell, I would love to see some of those tropes! I simply want to remind everyone what is actually canon for my own wellbeing. Just to say quickly, I will specifically be referring to the TV adaptation of Good Omens in this analysis(?). If you don’t care to read this or you think you won’t be able to hold back from commenting something rude, you are completely free to click away right now. I am not responsible for your reactions to this post and I will not appreciate someone attacking me because I call Crowley an asshole. Don’t leave rude messages on the internet when no one is asking for them. Grow up.

Now, back to the matter at hand.

Aziraphale and Crowley both suffer so so much throughout the entire story. They overcome so much, together and on their own. However, I feel that their characters have been warped in some ways. I am simply here to reinstate in everyone’s minds that these things do exist and are canon.

What I came here to say is that people in the Good Omens fandom seem to forget that Aziraphale is a literal victim of abuse and that Crowley isn’t actually a “good person”.

I would first like to discuss the brainwashing and abuse that Aziraphale has had to go through on the regular when he associated with Heaven.

Aziraphale is led to believe that anything that he does is wrong and should be second-guessed. We are meant to understand this even in the first scene we see him. He is worried about getting reprimanded by his superiors for giving his sword to Adam and Eve, and when Crowley comes up on the wall, he teases Aziraphale, all of which fly right over his head. Aziraphale just simply cannot stop thinking about what he did, and from my interpretation, I assume that his body language and nervous responses, him stuttering and looking up and wringing his hands together, means that. But then when Crowley gives him a sarcastic compliment, not even a real one, we see Aziraphale so relieved that at least someone thinks the way he does. He is so relieved he doesn’t even pick up the ever-present sarcasm.

Later, throughout history especially, we see Aziraphale relishing in his time on earth. If we go by the scenes when Aziraphale and Crowley go to head office in around the early 2010s and we assume that Aziraphale has been going for regular check-ups unlike his Radio and Book counterparts, then we get more insight into his official relationship with Heaven.

I’m just going to say this now because I don’t wish to drag this post out. Gabriel is an abuser.

Gabriel brainwashes Aziraphale and puts him down constantly. It isn’t him just telling Aziraphale that he needs to "lose the gut", it's the canonical way that he tells Aziraphale that his ideas aren't worth anything and that he’ll fail at anything he tries (we see this when Aziraphale tries to report on the antichrist). Or telling Aziraphale just how he should feel about a situation (we see this in the deleted bookshop scene).

If Aziraphale is constantly and constantly hearing these things, it makes sense that he would be scared and insecure of anything that he would see as “stepping out of line”. He wants to be good. Aziraphale is a rule follower at his core, and the way that he is constantly put down hurts over so long.

The only way that Aziraphale is able to rebel in his own little way, is through Crowley and his spending time on earth.

The earth is something that he genuinely loves. It is a comfort to him throughout his nervousness and his situation with Heaven. And Crowley is the same. Crowley is associated with the earth to Aziraphale, and because of that, he simply cannot not love Crowley. Completely and wholeheartedly.

I have seen quite a few people saying that every time Aziraphale cut Crowley off, or “bit back” (ex. Saint James, the bandstand, and final breakup in front of the bookshop), is selfish. I think that is so far from the truth. He does all that to protect Crowley.

Aziraphale does so much for Crowley throughout their time together. While Crowley is jumping for opportunities to be with Aziraphale, Aziraphale is the one that takes a step back to see what the consequences could be (ex. the Globe).

I can assume that the main reason he does this is because he is afraid that something will happen to both himself and Crowley. Even in the Saint James and the Globe scenes, he is frantically looking around and at one point, softly utters that “…they [Hell] won’t just be angry, they’ll destroy you”.

After the Apocalypse, these habits would still be hard to break. He would hardly be in the mental state to comfort Crowley. He will still be looking around and making sure he isn’t being watched for ages. Not because a part of him thinks that Heaven is going to come for himself and Crowley, but because it has been wired into him to practice those behaviors over millennia.

Aziraphale acts like a victim of abuse, constantly overthinking every scenario and decidedly going with the one that he believes will have the least amount of repercussions.

Crowley on the other hand doesn’t.

I just want to start off by saying that Crowley is a bad person. He is a complete asshole. He is mean, and while he is meant to be likable, he is still a literal demon.

Yes, he is “just a little bit, a good person”, but the keyword is right there. “A little bit”.

Throughout the show we see Crowley doing terrible things. Now, he isn’t the type of person to think that genocide is a good idea, etc. Most demons, canonically don’t have an imagination. Crowley is the only one we know of who does, and even he admits that some of the things that the humans think up could never be thought up by a demon.

He mentions this in the book and in the first episode where he states “..the humans beat me to it”.

But besides that, I feel that so much of that fandom forget that he actually does not give a single shit about humans.

Yes, he thinks that humanity and their inventions are so fun and nifty, but I feel that so many people in the fandom forget that he isn’t nice to others and that he’s only nice to Aziraphale.

He gives people guns to kill each other in episode two, he hypnotizes Sister Mary a few minutes later, and he genuinely goes out of his way to make people’s lives harder just for funsies.

He is even mean to Aziraphale on multiple occasions. He asks Aziraphale to kill a child. And while he does so much good for Aziraphale too, stopping time for him, driving through fucking fire for him, and everything in between, he still is a nuisance to Aziraphale.

Crowley isn’t a good person, he is a demon. He is meant to be like that. He is from Hell and he knows what he’s dealing with — to an extent. Crowley has been treated terribly, but the worst we see from his ‘employers' are vague threats and raised voices, and while that could be a form of abuse, it isn’t exactly what Aziraphale has had to go through over his years with Heaven.

However, throughout all of this, one thing that I think mostly everyone can agree on is that Aziraphale and Crowley know these things about the other, and they’re still completely in love with each other. Their relationship is the first relationship in the world alongside Adam and Eve, and I just feel that it’s so wonderful how that is portrayed through the wonderful little love story that we have.

#i am tired #I wrote this at 2am last night and I am posting it #for some reason #listen #I probably explained this all terribly #but ya know #i don't want to bother my beta reader with it lol #please i love them so fucking much #and please ask if you have literally any questions just pls don't be mean to me lol #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow

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daisylincs · 4 years

Text

Today is, officially, the last day of 2020 - so it's literally just in time that I'm getting to @aosrecweek's amazing challenge. But that does go to show the nature of this crazy year a little bit, right? Time has just been INSANE, and I honestly cannot believe it's so close to over.

That said, I want to put it out there that everyone - absolutely everyone - who created something in this mad year, is a SUPERHERO. Like. We could have hidden away in dark corners, curled into little balls, and lost touch with our creativity entirely - but instead, we made some of the most fantastic content I have ever seen. And, excuse the language, but that is fucking amazing, of each and every single one of us. We're bloody INCREDIBLE, you guys. We really are.

Now, the rules of this challenge dictate that I've got to start with some of my own things, then repeat with the same number of creations by other people. So I'm going to do that, and I apologise for the sheer length (and self-plug-iness) of what is about to follow - but, bloody incredible, remember? I really mean that. 💜💜💜

My Own:

you could call me babe for the weekend - 19k of Spideychelle being oblivious, mutually pining IDIOTS while being snowed in. And, you know, fake dating. (This thing was SO MUCH FUN to write and though, yeah, it got completely out of control, as evidenced by the 19k, I still really love it.)

'tis the damn season - my first attempt at writing a multi-chap, and, yeah, it only has one chapter as of now, but I really love said chapter. Basically, it's Daisy and Mackelena being friends, and honestly just the BEST friends - I adore the style I managed to achieve in this thing. Plus, the Skimmons I have planned up next is going to be da bomb.

the closest thing - Philindaisy plus fake family. Also; amusement parks. And for a fangirl like me - well, it was pretty much a dream come true to write!

oh valley of plenty - in this fic, I basically told myself, so AoS won't give us Huntingbird in the finale? Fine. I'll just do it myself then - in the fluffiest way possible. And that's exactly what I did - making them, and their kids, be best friends in Perthshire.

maybe life should be about more - a very angsty Skimmons and Daisy-centric AU, focusing on the internalised homophobia Daisy has experienced through her life, and shaking it off (and eventually, y'know, getting together with Jemma.)

and it's dark in a cold december (but i've got you to keep me warm) - Fitzsimmons just make such a supreme pairing for hurt/comfort, what with how insanely well they understand each other and care about each other, so I'm really glad for the Fitzsimmons Secret Santa giving me the chance to write this! Basically, this follows our science duo through a stressful mission on Christmas Eve (so yes, it's a mission fic!!) and realising that the two of them can do anything together.

july second - ahhh, one of my personal favourites to write! Daisy birthday surprise fluff will always be top-notch for me, especially for all the team-as-family fluff you can add in, especially especially that this is set in Staticquake times! Also, it's from Hunter's point of view, which will forever be the most insanely fun thing to write, I do think.

i just wanna be with you - man, I'm such a big royal fan, so getting the chance to write a modern royalty AU for my OTP was nothing short of amazing!! This is Princess Daisy and her fiancée Lincoln Campbell at their official engagement interview

see the line where the skye meets the sea - shameless season 1 bby Bus Kids fluff, featuring movie nights, singalongs and... so much fluff your teeth will rot. Also I'm really freaking proud of the pun in the title okay

'cause all that you are is all that i'll ever need - Huntingbird waking up together fluff (because, fight me, Huntingbird in their sweet moments is one of the sweetest things you will ever get to read or write.) This is also my, fluffy, take on the origin of the Franny's Saloon keychain.

we love you, we love you (and we hope you love we too) - aha, my first polyship fic! Also my first try at some actually fancy HTML formatting (forever thanks to Kat for explaining.) Both of these things combined to form a fic that even I think is ridiculously fluffy and funny, and kinda amazing, at that.

and man I don't know where the time goes (but it sure goes fast like that) - Another Bus Kids movie night fic, but this one set post-season 7, and reflecting on how far they've come. A little bit more hurt/comfort-y than it's pure fluff prequel, but still super fluffy and soft. And, of course, with a happy ending.

she shares my dreams, i hope that someday, i'll share her home - snowy Fitzsimmons fluff, complete with them falling in love at the Winter Olympics, as you do.

then you walked in and my heart went boom - 16k of Dekesy for the wife, and remarkable for that, because literally a month ago from this, I hated Dekesy with my entire soul. Then I started reading Kat's fics, and, well, fell in love with them... so much so that I wrote sixteen thousand words of enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, bed sharing holiday fluff for them.

a love like that - a Fitzsimmons Cinderella AU, featuring my two favourite science babies, in true science bby style, falling in love over science and how stupid the whole courting thing is. Also, Daisy makes a brief appearance, and she's the freaking best.

ever after - ah, probably the one single fic I'm proudest of. A post-season 7 Daisy character study focusing on her emotional rollercoaster re: losing her family/things never being the same again, which just achieves... an emotional level that I have never managed to replicate again. I was full-on sobbing while writing it, and, guys, it also part-holds the Closest To Making Kat Cry prize.

blue - Daisy character study spanning snapshots of seven seasons, and before - but tied together by something blue in every moment. Researching for this, and finding all the blue moments, was very interesting, and immensely satisfying, especially since all the moments where a little bit of blue was present actually combine to chronicle Daisy's journey on the show remarkably well.

who is that girl I see - the one time I decided to write straight angst, and straight angst with no happy ending. Melinda May post-Bahrain, folks.

take my hand, take my whole life too - aww, the first thing I wrote that I really and truly loved. A Staticquake and Fitzsimmons Actors AU, featuring a proposal on set and INCREDIBLE amounts of fluff and softness.

hold out your hand, 'cause friends will be friends - the wife's favourite, and, as second fics go, pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. It's a Soulmates AU for Staticquake and Mackelena, with the focus being on DaisyMack friendship, and lots of denial, angst, and guilt about finding their soulmates. (They figure it out eventually, don't worry - it's me, of course I made them happy.)

Fitzsimmons + Fake Dating moodboard - Fake dating will always be FAB, and picturing it out in a moodboard - especially for my clueless bby best friends in love - was the best, and super satisfying.

Staticquake + Orange moodboard - One of the cooler ideas I had for Trick or Treat (which I still have not finished, heaven help me) was to make a series of moodboards for my OTP plus different colours. This orange one is just so light, and cheerful, and happy, and honestly I kinda adore it.

This Philindaisy + Family Moodboard - making moodboards can be insanely frustrating when you just can't find the photo that fits exactly right. With this one, however, I found all the pics I needed pretty insanely fast, and, better, the whole thing just worked, and really nicely so, too.

This Bus Kids + Baking Cookies moodboard - there's absolutely NO faults to be found with tiny, adorable Skye, Fitz and Jemma concocting choc chip cookies - but I'm actually doing a tiny cheat here, because, cute as my moodboard here is, the accompanying fic by my love @eowima is the SWEETEST and best thing you could ever wish for!!!

This Daisy Johnson Appreciation Week Photoset - Day 3 of Daisy Johnson Appreciation Week focused on an emotion, and I picked confidence and power, because honestly, it's nothing short of amazing how confident and powerful our gorgeous girl has become.

This Daisy Johnson Appreciation Week Photoset - One of the times I wish I could gif, because this quote about struggling though never giving up just suits Daisy perfectly. The photos I found are cool, though, and I mean, it's Daisy, so that's already absolutely fabulous.

Other People's:

I managed to find twenty-six of my own things that I liked enough to put up there (because, yes, I'm that big a dork, 26 things for me being 26 is the way to go :D) Anyway, now that gives me the amazing chance to spotlight twenty-six of my favourite creations by my FANTASTIC mutuals! 😍

To start, my wife - Kat said I couldn't put everything she's ever written on here, so, ugh, I guess I'll just do my top five then. *grumbling* Everything by Kat is on here in spirit, though!!

Chasing Cars (even after the story ends) by @aleksandrachaev - the epic Dekesy roadtrip AU and incredible Daisy character study itself, which, I do believe, finishes today!! Words aren't enough to describe how freaking AMAZING this thing is, or how spectacularly well characterised. Just: if you haven't read this yet, you are missing out. You will laugh, you will groan, you will want to wrap Daisy in a very tight hug, and you will probably cry, too. This fic just has it all, really!

there goes the maddest man this town has ever seen by @aleksandrachaev - the post-season 7 Deke-crashes-the-Framework-Zoom-call fic I didn't know I needed (but spent the next two weeks rereading every single night.) It is absolutely INCREDIBLE, with all the Deke & Team feels we missed in the final outro scene, and honestly just the most fantastic writing. I cannot recommend it enough!

To Box It Up And Start Again (everything must go) by @aleksandrachaev - bloody hell, this BROKE me. Deke never really got to say goodbye in canon, but Kat gave him the chance to do it here. And, my freaking GOODNESS, she made it so incredibly bittersweet and heart-shattering. 10/10

i am a leaf on the wind by @aleksandrachaev - a little bit of a stretched-out, reflective moment in the season 7 finale. As Daisy lingers on the edge of death, she reflects on all the lives she could have had - and, man, what a study in bittersweetness!! This entire fic is utterly incredible, and something I think all Daisy fans should read.

Falling Into Place by @aleksandrachaev - here's a tiny cheat from me (sorry, babes, lmao) because technically this isn't one fic, but a series of three. Way too amazing to miss out on, though!! Set mid-season 7, this has the Chronicoms go after a young Mary Sue Poots to kill Quake before she can become a problem for them. They stop the Chronicoms, yes, but not without a TREMENDOUS dose of feels and hurt/comfort. There's also a wonderful little dose of Dekesy friendship, and then an adult adoption (!!) that honestly made my entire day to read. Actually, that's true for the entire series - I really canNOT yell about it enough!!

destroyer of worlds by @bobbimorseisbisexual - a study in incredible parallels between Jiaying's daughters. Utterly breathtakingly done, this will give you ALL the feels for this small and complex Inhuman family.

Muscle Memory by @robotgort and @bobbimorseisbisexual - a Huntingbird!! Bones!! AU!! And also a collaboration between two of the most fabulous Huntingbird authors in the fandom - honestly, what more can you ask for?! This will make you laugh, and gasp, and wince, and keep you guessing at each new plot twist (and also screaming at your screen for Hunter and Bobbi to get their acts together and TALK ABOUT IT.) In short: it's completely and utterly amazing, and I cannot, cannot recommend it enough!!

You Belong Among the Wildflowers by @libbyweasley - a freaking incredible Scis & Spies Regency AU! I only just started reading, but I was hooked all the way through, especially on the way Libby writes all four characters' complex relationships (and their attraction, and their history!) Everything about it is just completely stunning, and I for one cannot WAIT for these beautiful idiots to figure out they all belong together.

Family Snapshot by @tomatobookworm - if it's family fluff you're after, especially Staticquake family fluff, look no further! This tremendously soft and utterly amazing fic follows a day in the lives of a pregnant Daisy and her husband Lincoln, and their not-so-little family of Inhumans, both adopted and biological. There's also shopping with Grandma May, lots of feels, lots of shippiness, and just AMAZINGNESS all the way through!!

Best Day Ever by @loved-the-stars-too-fondly - Jemma and Daisy want to adopt a pet, and make a very special trip to Wisconsin to do it. Also, whether he knows who he is or not, Jemma has an important question to ask Cal - and just, AHHHH, everything about this is utterly stunning! For starters, Aubrey's writing is FANTASTIC, and the scene she sets is absolutely beautiful, and so very bittersweet. I was actually misting up a little with happy tears towards the end of this - really, I cannot recommend this enough, to any Skimmons fan.

so why don't we go somewhere only we know by @loved-the-stars-too-fondly - more Skimmons (platonic this time, though), more hurt/comfort, and, yes, again, more absolutely INCREDIBLE writing. This one is canon compliant, following a shaken Jemma struggling to sleep after Maveth, and how Daisy finds a way to help her out. Incredibly sweet, tender and BEAUTIFULLY written, this one was an instant favourite the moment I read it!

Unspoken by @anxiouslynumbme - a birthday fic for yours truly, and, honestly, one of the most STUNNING Staticquake introspectives I've read. It follows Daisy and Lincoln in a beautifully tender missing moment in season 3, with them both realising their feelings, and just... AHHHHHHHH, everything about it is utterly incredible!! I cannot, cannot recommend this gem of a fic enough

the thing about water droplets and ruffled hair by @que-mint-tea - here's another fic that proves, once and for all, how good Kat's Dekesy is, because it managed to convert T to write some Dekesy smut. And, oh my GOSH, what Dekesy smut - so goshdarn angsty, but so FANTASTICALLY characterised and written that it leaves you more than a little breathless, and gaping at your screen. The first chapter initially left us on the most HORRIFIC cliffhanger, but then T fixed it, and it's just... this thing is really a whole new level of emotional writing, raw and gripping and intensely perfect for both of these characters. My haw still drops whenever I think of this thing, and how utterly AMAZING it was, so yeah. Fic rec!!!

beautiful stranger, there you are by @justanalto - I do believe I still owe Serena a long and very gushy comment on this thing, because, MAN, does it ever deserve that!! Pipsy and fake dating, with the most HILARIOUSLY incredible writing, plot and characterisation, and honestly just a giddy "askhdfkhsfh" whenever I think back to how much I enjoyed it. Yup, it was that good.

Jumping to conclusions by @eowima - a very special one, because it marks my love Océane's first venture into writing AoS fic! It's an AU of 1x06 (the Fitzsimmons episode of s1) where Fitz does actually jump out of the plane to save Jemma. Realisations of feelings, and some of the most genuinely FANTASTIC Fitz characterisation I've read in a while, follow - and, yup, I was shouting at my screen for them just to get together already. Amazing stuff, really!!

Look into your eyes and the sky's the limit by @eowima - okay, this. This. Another gift for me, and one that I will probably treasure forEVER, because it is just?? so?? utterly?? perfect?? Just for starters, the title is a Hamilton reference - and then the theme of Hamilton references continues into the fic itself, I'm delighted to say. There's also the most BEAUTIFUL, playful Skimmons friendship, and teasing, and then of course the bet about who can make out with their crush first... Staticquake & Fitzsimmons perfection. And all rendered in Océane's delightful, best-thing-ever-to-read writing!! I'm going into a giddy keyboard smash just THINKING about this, so yeah, cannot recommend it enough.

lullabies and clear blue skies by @springmagpies and @bobbimorseisbisexual - okay, I never thought I'd catch myself shipping FitzBobbi, let alone shipping it this hard, but... wow. Maggie and Al teamed up to completely blow me away, and MELT MY WHOLE ENTIRE HEART with the sheer cuteness of this!! It features Fitz, Bobbi and adopting two daughters, and it's just the most tender, beautiful development through that little family - I love it so, so much.

We made all the wrong choices by @browneyedgenius - the winner of the AoS Angst War 2020, how could I not include this one? It is such a well-deserved win, though, whoa - I was sobbing, full-on sobbing, at least twice while reading. It follows the season 5 team through the events of the time-loop, after they failed to save the world - and, oh my gosh, it ripped my heart right out of my chest, but beautifully so. Everything about this fic just hits so hard, and it's written so well - yeah, really a most AMAZINGLY deserved win, for an utterly SHATTERINGLY incredible fic.

I threw stones at the stars (but the whole sky fell) by @nazezdha321 - this is Z showing us all how to write a backstory for a minor character, and write it so well that everyone's hearts break all over again when she dies. This one is about Victoria Hand, and it builds a stirring and profound childhood for her, also making her rise through the ranks of SHIELD and just her entire character mean so much more. Really, fic-wise, this is goals, and I take my hat off to you, Z, 1000%, for writing it.

in which the universe is put together by @besidemethewholedamntime - Rebecca's emotional writing, particularly Fitzsimmons' emotions, is incomparable, and she proves it all over again in this fic. If follows Fitz and Jemma before, after and during the bloodwork, and I just... wow, honestly. The emotion!! And the characterisation!! Absolutely stunning, and honestly all I could wish for in a we-had-time fic.

Agents of SHIELD Season 8 by @egumal - THIS. This, this, this, oh my gosh - as fix-it fics go, this has to be the most spectacular one I have ever read. What it does is find a way - a potentially canon compliant way, too - to bring back Lincoln Campbell, and reunite Staticquake. Basically: just about as season 7 finishes, the Astro Ambassadors get an unexpected visitor from another timeline, who asks them to come help out against Hive. Case in point, Daisy meets her lost love again (... but he has no idea who she is) and also has to relive the Fallen Agent drama. It all gets even more complicated when Kora restores Lincoln's memories, and Daisy meets the full team Deke has assembled around him in the 33 years (for him) that they've been apart... in short, this is one of the most thorough, well-written and downright SHOCKING plot-twist-wise fics that you will ever read, and honestly, saying "I can't recommend it enough" is an understatement. This thing is thd BEST, plain and simple!

Black Roses aren't real (but you and I are) by @ohwriteiforgot - ahhhh, a fic that will always have an incredibly special place in my heart, because it introduced me to one of my best fandom friends. The main focus is on Clintasha, it's true, but it's also a crossover with AoS in the sense that Clint was adopted by Coulson and May. Also, Daisy is his little sister, and their bond is gold. Also - there's Staticquake!! And flower shops!! And rivals to friends to lovers!! All I'm going to say is, what more can you ask for?!

A book to shield my story by @maybebrilliant - Staticquake High School AU, ahhhhhhhh!! There are only two chapters out so far, but the way this is shaping up is making my DAY - with Daisy as the new girl who meets Lincoln and his group of friends, and, though her foster parents are absolutely shit, starts to find actual happiness in a school for the first time in her life. Also - THE REFERENCES. Guys. I'm crazy for those, and in this book, so are my favourite dorks, Daisy and Lincoln - and let me tell you, it's nothing short of the best thing ever.

This AoS Finale Gif Edit by @heysteverogers - AoS really has been the most INCREDIBLE journey through the years, but what's really made it special is the company - and that's summed up perfectly in this gorgeous gifset. Also, the graphics on this are just, ahhhh, stunning - I'm in awe, and I've spent very long periods of time just looking at this thing in a state of heart-eyes.

This AoS Finale Gif Edit by @jemannesimms - combining Auld Lang Syne and the final scenes of my favourite show was a raw emotional - but utterly brilliant experience - for me. It's just so absolutely beautiful, and perfectly suited to the team, and their goodbyes!! Breathtaking editing work here, too.

This Daisy as Peter Parker and May as Tony Stark moodboard by @agentsofcomedyandchaos - ahhhh, a crossover of two of my favourite fandoms!! And what a lovely one, too - the colour scheme, quotes, and just the whole FEEL of this is absolutely genius, and I am guilty of being inspired by way too many fic ideas by it. Stunning stuff!!

And... whoa, that was long, but I really do feel that we deserve a bit of a proper pat on the back after creating such magical content in such a messed up year. So that's the note I'm going to leave you with for 2020, my friends: hell-year or no, look at the absolute beauty we were still able to create!! We really are freaking amazing, guys.

#aos best of 2020 #fic rec #massive fic rec list #and honestly; WHAT a list!!#despite this utter hellstorm of a year #we as a fandom have still been nothing short of INCREDIBLE #and honestly; I am SO proud of us #💜💜💜

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westerhos · 4 years

Text

Our Story: Chapter 6

[December 24th, 1998]

There is something to be said for the peculiar hour of the blue-morning, when a hospital beeps into quiet life. Death rattles behind drawn curtains, expletives are spat over set bones, and shots are taken in the thigh. It is not like Jamie’s Grampian refuge, which springs forth naturally from the earth. Instead, Boston GH scars the landscape, numbing loneliness through morphine drips and the tug of sheer necessity.

It is during this gradual reawakening that Claire hides in a closet, imagines the pink, wet sacs of her lungs contract and expand. She counts her breaths to release the night’s chaos, still lodged deep in her throat.

During the wild evening hours, Claire sees only what exists outside her body. Such an easy thing to do as a doctor, this sudden corporeal separation—a leap into the procedural dance, a temporary loss of oneself to the staunching of blood and the sewing of sutures.

But eventually the window of calm arrives, and the wall of dissociation begins to crumble. Claire, in her closet sanctuary, returns to her body once more, the sight of her arms and her hands like four old friends reacquainted.

Claire hunkers down between two shelves, and relief travels from foot to torso, settling somewhere inside her gut. As always, she has brought her medical bag—a gift from her husband, CER embossed in golden filigree—and rummages through it. As always, she finds the folder and flicks it open, seeking the page that is stowed inside. She is forever tethered to its final sentence, which launches a fresh rip of longing straight to her chest.

And as always, she goes back to the beginning, following the words. Fingers like greedy sponges, text absorbing into skin.

NEW YORK CITY, 11:30AM - The diner hushes when the bell tinkles, announcing the arrival of literary darling James Fraser. He is a giant in more ways than one: six-feet tall, wide-set shoulders, and a critically-acclaimed author with legions of fans. But for all his inches and his clout, Fraser is blissfully unaware of the eyes on his back. When he sits opposite me and shakes my hand, I, like the rest of the world, find him to be impulsively likable.

Sporting one month’s growth of beard and a wrinkled v-neck, it doesn’t take long for Fraser’s roguish charm to earn a complimentary meal. He is quick to thank the waitress, and for not the first time, one has to wonder how the man could possibly be single. Surely his good looks, his talent, and Reformed Bad Boy reputation draws the ladies in?

Point proven: Our waitress lingers, hungry for Fraser’s attention, but he closes his menu after ordering a glass of lemonade. (An odd choice, but then our writing heroes are full of idiosyncrasies, aren’t they?) I almost leap to console the girl, that poor thing, as she runs a self-conscious hand down her apron.

Alas, one gets the impression that it isn’t pickiness keeping Fraser romantically unattached. Nor is it misogyny or closeted homosexuality (despite what those tabloid vipers spit). James Fraser simply enjoys his place in the lonely hearts club—and is perfectly content to stay there, sipping ice-cold lemonade.

Frank’s ring glides across the lines, pauses over “single”. Such a different life, so removed from Claire’s, though here it thrums beneath her hands. Suddenly, her head grows heavier, weighted by the chain draped around her neck. Jamie’s thistle ring dangles there, cold as death. Forever tucked inside her shirts, a secret between her breasts. (Frank lets her wear it, just as she lets him wear his stained button-downs, other women smiling from the collars.)

Fraser’s second and latest novel, Two Centuries in Purgatory, released just last month to stellar reviews. Hailed as a “modern classic” by The New York Times (and truly, it is), Purgatory has found a comfortable seat at the top of the bestseller lists, and shows no signs of losing momentum. Now touring the U.S., Fraser seems nonplussed by the bustle of the Big Apple, his eighth time to our concrete jungle (“I’ve a parade of publisher meetings and interviews tomorrow,” he grumbles). Though he’s a longtime resident of both Edinburgh and Glasgow, he says no city feels like home nowadays. “Where is home then?” I ask him, and in traditional Fraser fashion, he deadpans: “Lost.”

For all his fame and glory, there is something decidedly melancholy about James Fraser. But of course, we all know why. We’ve read his books, haven’t we? We know his story.

Gillian Edgars: Are you enjoying your lemonade, Mr. Fraser?

James Fraser: Aye, verra much so. Lemonade in Scotland doesna taste like this.

GE: Mmmm, exploring the pleasures of America. I like it. Now, shall we begin? Let’s start with Two Centuries in Purgatory.

Claire brings the page a few inches closer. This is not the first time she has read the article, its edges worn to yellowing curls.

A familiar anger sinks its claws into her side as this reproduction of Jamie staggers into a flickering half-life. Gillian Edgars thinks she knows the man behind the book jacket. The entire world, for that matter, believes they can claim the bold-faced names on their hardbacks.

But, Claire seethes, do these people know that Jamie smiles in his sleep? That he’s prone to seasicknesses, could not wink at the waitress even if he tried? No. Only Claire knows these smaller, intimate truths—but still, they are not enough. Jamie is no longer only hers, but a communal being disseminated and shared amongst millions. Strangers have molded her Jamie into something new, into hollow casts of their false impressions.

Without warning, the closet door swings open and Joe Abnernathy leans in. “Knew I’d find you in here,” he says, but he draws up short. His smile falters when he sees Claire on the ground. Falters further still when he reads the headline, "Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero," on the page and on her face.

“Lady Jane, why do you do this to yourself? We’re working, I know, but can’t you try to be merry? It’s officially Christmas Eve!”

Joe kneels down, and levels his gaze with hers—the gentle but silent disappointment of an older brother. Claire holds firm when he pries the clipping from her grasp, the paper snagging the skin of her palm. It glides over and up, a shallow curve that splits into fine, shining rubies. A jeweled J, just at the base of her thumb.

Claire presses the wound to her teeth, tastes the heady, metallic taste of herself. (Later, she will trace the cut with reverence, grateful to be marred, at the very least, by a shade of Jamie.)

Joe tsks and reaches for a shelf, bringing back the first aid kit.

“Perks of hiding in a hospital supply closet. Bandages, everywhere. Take this.”

“It’s fine, Joe,” Claire assures him but accepts the bandaid anyways. “I’m fine—just a bad day and a scratch. See? No significant blood loss.”

“Thought I’d witnessed the first fatal paper cut,” Joe says, but then continues, more softly, “LJ, I thought you’d given this up. That Frank made you promise you’d stop.”

“He did,” Claire replies. “And I did too, for a while.”

Her stomach turns as the memory resurfaces: her husband, feeding the shredder a feast of papers. The machine’s tight-lipped and fanged smile destroying Claire’s collection of articles, her glimpses of Jamie. Frank had held her as the teeth had chewed, tightened his grip when she repeated his words back to him, “Time to leave the past behind.” And afterwards, once the the bin had emptied into the trash, Frank had dragged the bag of shreds to the curb. Claire had looked on, standing in the doorway, a soldier’s wife already in mourning.

(That evening, she almost snuck outside to piece the words together, for old habits die hard and a planet will always yearn for her sun. But then Frank’s arm had risen in the darkness, flopped sleepily across her waist. The weight of it had held her there, and so she’d stayed, picturing the night creatures stealing Jamie away, piece by piece.)

“I just…wanted to see what people were saying. About his new book.” She sighs. “I know I’m being ridiculous. It’s just that…”

“He’s everywhere, isn't he? In the papers, on TV. Saw they’re making a Lifetime adaptation of A Blade of Grass. Jesus.”

Claire nods. “Steering clear of that one.” (But she won’t, of course. Claire will want to see herself and Jamie on that screen, their better, manufactured selves broadcasted in technicolor.)

“You’re really gonna let me down like that, Lady Jane? I thought we’d drink cheap Scotch, put the movie on mute, and invent the dialogue ourselves. Next weekend, the two of us. Drunk and vengeful. Whaddya say?”

“A hard pass, Joe. We’ll be in Oxford for the holidays, anyways. Visiting Frank’s family.”

“Well, la-di-dah. I’ll be on this side of Atlantic throwing popcorn at my TV.” Joe leaps to his feet when his pager beeps. As he walks out the door, his hand flies to his coat pocket and he withdraws a shabby paperback. “Before I forget—a Christmas gift, for the Lady. If you’re gonna scramble your brain with nonsense, let it be Tessa’s ‘membrane of innocence’. Not ‘Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero.’”

Claire laughs and flips through The Impetuous Pirate, inhaling its smell of antiseptic and mildew and the vestiges of long-ago fingerprints. A Harlequin, taken from the hospital waiting room. “Aye aye, captain. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay here in Davy Jones’ Locker for a while longer.”

Joe nods, consoling, before he turns to answer an intern's cries for help.

Alone again, Claire tucks The Impetuous Pirate inside her bag, picks up the discarded article from the floor. For the first time, she notices its publication date, October 20th, was her 31st birthday. She cannot remember the details of the occasion—Did Frank take her to a concert, or to a movie? Buy her flowers or chocolates?—and yet a foreign scene plays so clearly in her mind. It is something cut from the script of her life, the stagehand’s hook pulling her to the wings before she has a chance to speak. Cast in the closet’s dim spotlight, it unfolds as the playact that could have been but never was:

Jamie, in the New York diner, drinking lemonade. Condensation like dew drops, rolling down the pitcher. A young girl in Gillian Edgars’ place, singing a high soprano. And Claire, beside her, blowing out candles in a single huff.

As she slices the birthday cake, this almost-Claire nicks her finger on the knife’s blade. “Kiss to make it better!” the young girl cries, and Jamie does, his lips are on the sting, and then Claire’s mouth. He tastes of citrus, of yellow and sunshine, a marigold paradise in a city of dying autumn leaves. “Does it still hurt, Sassenach?” he asks her. “Not anymore,” she says. And when the little girl giggles, watching them, it is something sacred. She licks the frosting from the candles. “So what’d you wish for, Mama?” she asks, not knowing that, in a moments like these, there is no need for wishes.

Claire’s pager rings, rearranging her memories. Now she remembers her 31st birthday—and knows it did not happen in that diner. On that day, there was no little girl; no citrus kisses in a molting New York.

Instead, Frank had taken Claire to the opera house, a drawn-out affair they had both fidgeted through. Back at home, he had led her to the bedroom and its king-sized bed, had slipped off her dress while she kept her chain on. “Talk to me,” he’d panted, silver thistles against her chest. And when she came, it was not Frank’s body that drew her cries. It was not Frank’s name that rose from her lips.

Claire scans the article, skipping again to the final paragraphs. Here lies the line she reads over and over, the very reason she shells $15 for subscriptions and scavenges in bins for scraps. Anything to discover some evidence of herself, some proof that she still lives in the peripheries of Jamie’s life. And whenever she finds it, it pours into her and lingers, like wine.

GE: Your debut was quite impressive—an instant bestseller, an Oprah Book Club pick, an upcoming TV movie. I’m sure you’ve been asked this before…but allow me to be a hack for just one moment. Let me ask the nosy questions. Let me pry.

JF: I dinna have a fear of rats [SMILES]. Get on wi’ it then.

GE: I appreciate it, Mr. Fraser, I do [LAUGHS]. The protagonist’s struggles in A Blade of Grass—the financial woes, the criminal record, the years of solitude—they seem to mirror your own. Is it accurate to say that the book is autobiographical?

“Randall?” a voice calls from outside the closet. “Randall, are you in there? Mr. Duncan in Room #18 needs to be—”

“Prepped for surgery, I know!” Claire finishes. Her voice is shrill, rising with her goosebumps as she nears the interview’s end. “I’ll be out in a second, Dr. Hildegarde!”

JF: In some respects, aye, A Blade of Grass is autobiographical. Mind, I made a lot of it up myself. Embellished a few things.

GE: Oh yes, certainly. But even without your embellishments, your life does make for such an interesting tale. In a way, your struggles are what made you a literary sensation. But still, I do wonder—do you regret any of it? The gamble, the money, the arrest?

JF: [LAUGHS QUIETLY] I thank ye for the compliment, Ms. Edgars, but I hope my sins are no’ responsible for the book’s success. And for the record, they were largely exaggerated by the press.

GE: Ah, right. We rats are despicable creatures, always desperate for crumbs. But they never fill the belly, not really.

JF: Have ye tried poetry before, Ms. Edgars? You’ve a knack for it [LOOKS AWAY]. But nay, it isna the crimes themselves that I regret most. Whether they were exaggerated or no.

GE: Really? There’s something else [LEANS FORWARD]? Will you tell me then, your life’s biggest regret? Or will you keep me and your readers in the dark, forever wondering what keeps our beloved James Fraser up at night?

Now Claire closes her hand into a fist, forces herself to bleed out from that thin, half-mooned J. She imagines Jamie’s face, inscrutable to Gillian Edgars, but fixed in an expression that she, and only she, can read. And if Claire had been there on that October afternoon, sitting in the diner’s vinyl booth, she would have understood. Would’ve known already what Jamie regretted most, what he would and could not say aloud. For within this precious, final line—their spoken and unspoken wishes:

JF: My biggest regret? I let the story end early.

(JF: I should have loved her better—God! I should have loved her better.)

_______

I have very few comments about this one, but I will say A) Jamie’s POV comes much more naturally to me—probably because I, like Jamie, love Claire so frickin’ much—so writing this was like pulling teeth. And B) As I was writing this chapter, I knew it was time to bring Jamie and Claire back together. Even I was rooting for them to reunite.

I love Joe and Claire’s friendship, and I wish I’d shown more of it in this fic (although what’s here I think fits pretty naturally). And I have to say...I love Geillis—or the idea of her: witchy, feminist, and confident—a whole lot, despite her Voyager crimes. Here, she is my Outlander version of Harry Potter’s Rita Skeeter, and I could write an entire fic from her voice any day.

#outlander #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #myfic #i am so bad at dialogue!!!!!

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carrottuan93 · 4 years

Text

Haven’t met you yet | Mark

Masterlist (3/4) | part1 - part2 - part4

Starring: MK x You

Tags: Mark Tuan, Fluff, Destiny, Waiting, Christmas, Bookworm, Nerd, Love, Fate

Total WC: 2194

You nearly puked your guts out to the sight of Jackson sticking to Eunhee and hugging her like forever has been robbed from them. You failed to confide to your best friend about what happened to you in the last 24 hours. So as not to spoil their couple time together, you chose to not disturb them and just mingle with all the kids in the sweet treats section. You love kids so much you play Santa and distributed macarons to each one of them. As expected, most of your close friends and guests brought their own boyfriends, if not, their own husbands and it was a nice show to witness, with sarcasm aside. Thanks to Jackson’s little cousins, they keep you entertained with their bubbly personality.

“One with the kids, sure you’re missing the party in the adult section, no?” The sight of a guy clad in a formal white dress shirt, tucked in a black denim pants partnered with a classic chuck taylor, and a gray winter coat, welcomed your eyes. Guys who dress fashionably is such a head turner for you.

“Actually, they keep me company so I’m having fun to be honest.” You replied, feeling all the weird sensation cascading across your spine. You feel a bit nauseous whenever guys approach you. You don’t know if you even want to be with a guy right now, after your embarrassing experience last night.

“My cousins here are a bunch of nuisance, you’ll get tired of them soon.” He picked one matcha macaron from the aisle and took a bite of it. You observed his expression. A smile crept up to his face and you caught sight of Eunhee in a distant, gossiping to Jackson that you’re having a moment with his cousin. You certainly know that they’re mentally pairing you up already and you are growing nervous about the plans that they are possibly plotting behind your back.

“You like it? I bought them all the way from a café near my workplace that sells classic macarons just like the original ones from Paris.” He nodded in approval as you watch him took another piece, this time it’s strawberry. That’s your favorite flavor among the rest and you can really tell that the sweet tooth runs on Jackson’s bloodline by how his cousins, from the little chubby ones and the grown up beside you, munch on your favorite treat.

“I never really eat macarons, but you introduced me into it. You deserve a recognition, uhm?” He lifted his hand for a handshake. He doesn’t know your name yet so you took his hand and introduced yourself right away.

“It’s Y/n, Eunhee’s best friend. Thank you for the recognition by the way. Well, you come here with a date?” You’re mentally tiptoeing above the thin ice. It’s better to assume that this cute guy over here is already taken, I mean with his looks, he's totally a charmer, you thought to yourself.

“I didn’t bring anyone with me, so I assume you also come along on your own, no?” Green light. Okay, you need to calm down. This isn’t like any of your past blind dates but first meetups are usually nerve wracking and scary so you played the innocent heroine that you are and chose to just go with the flow seeing how Eunhee and Jackson are staring at you maliciously from Mark’s back, you know they were able to receive the death notes you are sending them via telepathy.

“That explains it.” It’s not that you had a thing with cute guys, but maybe you just discovered it right now. You can tell he’s a decent one, a cool and random Asian-American import from the west and maybe if you’re an ice cream, you already turned into liquid by the way he stares at you.

“I don’t know anything about you yet, but would you trust a complete stranger to celebrate your Christmas eve with? If you’re up for it, we’ll leave this party right away because I can tell that you’re going to get sick from all these couples outnumbering us.” Have you been a good girl this year? You didn’t include this guy on your Christmas list but Santa rewarded you without even asking for it.

“I’m putting my trust on you knowing that Jackson is a good guy so does his cousin. I'll sue him and he’ll answer for the damages and fines in case you failed to bring me back in good shape.” You both let out a hefty chuckle earning glares from your best friend and her boyfriend. You’ve decided to pursue your spontaneous trip with Mark and the next thing you know you’re already closing the front door upon your exit even before the two of them could react to your great and grand escape.

----

He took you on a ride away from the busy and bustling streets of Seoul. You're thrilled to find out that he actually brought you to Namsan Tower, the highest peak in the city. You're awed expression cannot suffice the picturesque panoramic scenery of Seoul unfolding in front of your very eyes when you entered the observatory on the top most floor. You were unable to talk all of a sudden and your heart is brimming with unexplained strings of emotion as you kept on taking pictures and videos of the breathtaking place that sent your eyes into a food coma.

"I only went to N tower once, or maybe twice but that was during the day and I have no idea that this is how it looks at night. It's a miss, nobody will be able to witness this scene on a Christmas eve the way we're seeing it right now." You forgot about your shameful episodes of last night's happenings and your worries disappeared in just an instant.

"I kind of paid for tonight's reservation when I arrived here in Korea a week ago, with the hopes of spending Christmas only to myself. Consider yourself lucky, you've managed to join me on this one-time event. Heck, the price I paid for is totally worth it. Come here and try this." He urged you to look on the telescope, and to your surprise, you're taking in every aspect of the city in a bird's eye perspective. Everything you look at is really stunning. Like you never really imagined that perfection exists for real until tonight and you're experiencing it with a random guy whom you've only met an hour ago. Your eyes met his and you wished you aren't redder than a rotten tomato for looking like a lost deer caught on a headlight.

"The view here is really pretty.” He gave you a smile, too charming for your own consumption.

“It really is.” He’s even prettier than the view. You can only sense your guy-o-meter raising for Mark. Good lord, is this a sign? Your mind is now ready to tick the ideal guy boxes on your list.

“We shouldn't keep this New York style pizza from waiting while it is hot.” He chuckled, like the cute kid that he is. There is something with his unique laugh that you really don’t mind hearing at all. Is he older than me? Please, I don’t want to date someone younger than me.

“Okay, sure kid.” You followed him as he sat on the ground in a dimly lit room radiating a romantic atmosphere under the starry and chilly skies of Seoul. This is not a date, but a friendly escape out of boredom planned by two single hearts on a Christmas eve. As if you’re two partners in crime, sitting on one of the highest skyscrapers in town, while sharing a box of pizza. It’s just that you aren’t Bonnie and neither he is your Clyde but you're loving the idea of him as someone whom you can rely on.

“I’m older than you, silly.” The sight of a wine bottle behind him caught your attention and wondered where it came from. He noticed you eyeing the prize so he did the honor and poured you a glass of wine while you’re devouring your slice of pizza. You never imagined that eating pizza is too romantic and one for the books.

“Any proof that you’re actually above 25? Cause you really look young. With that face, you can qualify for a student discount on public transports and still save money for your commute.” You want to make sure that he’s at least 5 years older than you. You prefer dating someone older than you because they always say that a guy's maturity is a year delayed for his age.

“Trust me, I just know. I’m old enough to buy a house and enter into casinos, I guess.” He gave you a wink and you felt a gush of strong wind blew your senses away. He’s totally a Romeo and you took a swig of wine while observing him secretly.

“So you’re a gambler? I might have been spending my time with some kind of a mafia leader and still have no clue about it.” He’s laughing at it again. I might have a talent with making cute guys laugh and that’s an asset I only discovered right now.

“What, no! But my dad is a big spender in casinos. My duty is to look out for him and take him home before he could even bet our fortune with his leisure. I could always hear him say ‘It has gotta be all or nothing’. He’s born for taking risks and maybe I got that gene from him that’s why.” He stretched his legs and sat like he’s on a photoshoot. He’s not a model but he can beat the professional ones even without the need for screening.

“What’s the biggest risk you’ve taken in your life so far?” You folded your legs as you watch him wonder with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He poured a glass for himself and you noticed that he used the same glass that you drink on.

“I believe we’re taking risks everyday in our lives. The only difference is the distance of our leap towards taking or not taking chances at all. Like when you’re playing a game, everything starts with equal opportunities. It’s a race to the witch mountain. The first one to gamble takes it all. You gotta be the predator of every tournament and you gotta be the last one standing in a survival of the fittest. If you’re brave enough to take the earliest start, you can use that advantage to ace your end game. It’s all about timing and investing. Win or lose streak. There is no such thing as a grey area when it comes to taking risks. You don’t get to tie with anybody. Either you’ll win or lose. You just have to trust your instincts and roll your dice like everyday is your last day on earth. If I go for something, I go all in. No half-baked decisions. Because my father taught me that risks equates to rewards and I’m all up for the extremes of both worlds. That’s the one thing I’m best at. I know how to play the game nice and fair because I know how to measure the corners of a square and even the distance around the circle which is not visible to the naked eye. After all, he considers me as his lucky charm. That explains my presence to his endless casino nights. And he hardly ever loses if I’m with him. Sure, Pops are probably waiting for me at our doorstep in LA right now. Too bad, his son is on the other side of the world, taking his own risk of a lifetime.” You left with no words to say. He’s too deep, a food for the soul. Guys like him are the ones that can be displayed in museums. He’s a delicate art and nobody should be allowed to touch him but the curator. And you’d want to take that role.

“What if you lose? If you go all in and you lose everything all at once? Have you experienced it already?” you asked, admiring the tiny mole sitting under his left eye. You decided to take your second glass of wine.

“The best thing about losing is that you’ve tried. I don’t take failures as an excuse for not trying again and taking another risk the next day. If I lose, so what? That only means you’re brave because you grow stronger with every fall that you take. Like a bamboo tree, it only bends but it doesn’t break. Life is all about swimming against the current of uncertainties and finding yourself floating on top of your insecurities.” As if he’s summarizing all the lessons in life, you’d always want to go for the front seat. He’s a walking self-help book, and maybe Mark Manson’s book of ‘the subtle art of not giving a fuck’ would have to sit longer in my shelf for the meantime. I got a risk-taker author Mark, right here and I got nothing to worry about.

#marktuan #got7 #ahgase #mark #mark tuan #got7 mark #got7 marktuan #got7 fanfic #got7 fluff #got7 imagines #fluff #kpop #kpop fluff #fanfic #boyfriend #got7 jackson #jackson #got7jackson

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therovingstar · 4 years

Text

Like a Spark of the Wick

Summary: “Fire is a being of the Father, the Sun. One who walks its path is one who dares to walk at His side, fearful of neither danger nor death. It is a title given to those believed to be exceptionally brave.”

Then she shrugs. “Or exceedingly stupid.” Her gaze on him narrows slightly, and she smiles again, the amusement this time clear as day on her pretty face. “Sometimes both.”

An enlightening conversation by candlelight, on the eve of revolution. Hien/f!WoL, pre-relationship, friendship, humor, hurt/comfort.

CW: Alcohol/drinking/inebriation.

Also available on AO3. Link through my blog.

She does not drink. Two half-filled ochoko out of six emptied flasks of sake, and it is no wonder that she is the only one of them still sitting with perfect poise; even Yugiri succumbed somewhat to her own thrice-refilled cup, unable as she was to resist her lord’s affable insistence. She has since escaped topside, both to clear her head and maintain her vigilance over the Fierce. Gosetsu is a long-lost cause; three out of their six bottles were his alone, and he hoarded them jealously, one downed in time with each impassioned speech until he had little else to say but half-muttered ramblings that reminded Hien distinctly of his age. “Old men should be careful in their cups,” he japed, knowing his mentor would take it as a challenge. Which he did, and met it by grabbing the mostly-filled remainder of a fourth bottle and swallowing as if it were water from a stream and not, in fact, some of their best, boldest bold, kept hidden in cellars buried right under the Empire’s nose, one of a hundred small, dogged defiances. Hien himself has only consumed spirits of similar strength on the Steppe; and he admits, the Xaela’s may have been a touch stronger.

Regardless, all of them have been feeling the effects, save one. He surreptitiously chances a glance out of the corner of his eye, curious to see if it still holds true.

Or not surreptitiously at all. Perhaps he is actually deeper in his own cups than he thought, because suddenly, the Warrior of the West – as his people have apparently taken to calling her – is meeting his gaze, one eyebrow lifted. “Yes?” she asks plainly. Hien smiles.

“Merely wondering if you are enjoying the fruits of our labor.” He grabs one of the porcelain bottles from where they rest at the center of their small table near their only immediate source of light: a single, simple candle. “Would you like more?” he offers, noting the mostly-full ochoko cradled in her palm, its pale coloring a fetching match to the scales marking the back of her deep brown hand.

Odzaya eyes the bottle, blank-faced but for a lightly-raised brow. Then, with a modest upturn of her hand and head, she half empties her cup, the wine slowly disappearing past her lips. “Sure,” she answers after a subtle out-blow of breath, and sets the saucer down near him.

Hien grins as he pours for her. “A smart move, if I may say so. This brew in particular is quite strong.” As if in agreement, Gosetsu lets out a loud, rumbling snore. Odzaya’s mouth quirks upward.

“It is good,” she compliments, as she daintily retakes the cup into her hands. And makes no motion to drink it.

“Do such spirits exist in the west?” he asks, pouring another round for himself. Odzaya shrugs.

“I am not the one to ask. I tend to avoid most of them.”

As he guessed. Hien grins. “You are one to keeps her wits about her, then?” She makes a noncommittal noise in reply, though her smile teases upward a little more.

“Preferably.”

“Well,” he begins, and lifts his ochoko as he leans forward, “on behalf of my people, let me say that I am beyond flattered that our brew is appealing to your palate,” he says. “And on behalf of myself, that my khagun feels comfortable enough in my presence to allow her keen wits a respite.”

Indeed, if they even are. They certainly do not seem to be as Odzaya huffs something that sounds like a laugh and raises her cup in tandem, only to down another half and no more. She has had how many now? Three in total, over the course of nearly as many bells. As many as Yugiri, technically, who is also not a drinker. Being of somewhat similar build, one would think she would have begun feeling the effects at least somewhat.

And yet, after another subtle sigh, the Raen woman maintains impeccable composure, resting her chin in her other hand and eyeing the top of Gosetsu’s head where it weighs down their table, almost too close to the candle’s lit wick. “Is he comatose?” she asks abruptly, and shoots him a questioning look. Hien pauses in his observations to chuckle.

“‘Twould be a relief if he were; perhaps then he could receive proper rest, and stop obsessing so much over past regrets and so-called failings.” They will kill him more surely than any enemy blade. Hien leans back on his stool, contemplative, the creak of the wood echoing throughout the cavern. “Tis why I suggested we indulge, and egged him on to continue by inviting you and Yugiri to join us. He drinks more readily when with company. And, coincidentally, the more he drinks, the better he sleeps.” He grins at her lifted brow. “An unorthodox strategy and one I rarely employ, at the least for the sake of his liver, but one that has served me well in the past.”

Her eyebrow drops only minimally; the healer in her, perhaps, taking concern despite his attempt at assurance. Then she smiles again, as if amused. “You are rather unorthodox,” she muses aloud, her quiet tone suggesting it is almost to herself.

“Am I?” he asks, tilting his head in genuine inquiry, only to quickly right it as his equilibrium begins to falter. Odzaya looks at him, seeming as if to ponder, before she continues.

“The name you were given on the Steppe. ‘Fire Walker’. It is an acknowledgment, a marker delineating your penchant for the unexpected.”

“Is that what it means?” Honestly, he never took the time to truly consider, beyond simply assuming it to be at least mildly insulting in some way. So that was its meaning, then.

Odzaya nods once in confirmation. “Fire is a being of the Father, the Sun. One who walks its path is one who dares to walk at His side, fearful of neither danger nor death. It is a title given to those believed to be exceptionally brave.”

Then she shrugs. “Or exceedingly stupid.” Her gaze on him narrows slightly, and she smiles again, the amusement this time clear as day on her pretty face. “Sometimes both.”

Hien gives thanks to the Kami for the sake that is currently running through his veins; it means there is none left in his mouth, and therefore none being spewed across the table as he blinks, and then nearly loses himself to laughter. He also gives thanks for his stool; it allows for purchase, however precarious, as his balance tilts again, dizzyingly, and he threatens to tumble to the floor in his fit. He still seems likely to fall, truthfully, at least until Odzaya saves him and his dignity by way of her own (amazingly non-drunken) reflexes. Hien startles quiet at the heat of her hand, like a brand, suddenly clutched to his bare shoulder, angling him back into his seat, the other hovering over his mouth, poised, no doubt, to shut his trap and prevent him from disturbing their comrades (always thinking of the small things, he observes, recalling the sight of her expertly rearranging the Leveilleur twins’ slumbering forms so as to avoid discomfort come the morn). When he follows the path of her arm, he finds her standing, both eyebrows lifted above a wide, intensely red-eyed gaze.

And then, suddenly, she is the one succumbing to laughter, a bright, rasping thing that he can only describe in his state as mildly enchanting, even subdued as it is. Those eyes crinkle at their corners, teeth gleaming oh-so-briefly from between wide, full lips. Her palm solidifies even more on his shoulder as she presses down slightly, ensuring he won’t topple again, before she finally steps back. “See?” she says, still clearly amused. “Fire Walker.”

Hien grins. “Mayhaps there is some truth to it.”

Odzaya huffs another near-silent laugh. “Mayhaps,” she echoes, and goes to return to her chair, swaying ever-so-slightly. Her tail periodically shifts as she goes, like the rudder on a rocking boat.

Aha. Hien’s smile widens at the sight, though he tries to school his expression as she sinks back onto her own stool, another of those mellow sighs coming out as she does. When their eyes meet once more, she blinks slowly.

“I am not drunk,” she says, as if she has read his thoughts.

“Of course not,” he agrees, grinning again, tickled in a way he blames on the wine. “Merely weary, I would guess. Mayhaps it is time you retired?” Lack of windows notwithstanding, he suspects morning is not terribly far off. They should all be turning in, and yet...he looks down at his ochoko.

Odzaya once more leans on the table, her chin coming to rest upon her upturned palm. She eyes him, and he gets the distinct impression she is reading his mind once more. “You plan to continue?” She drops her gaze briefly to indicate the remaining flasks near Gosetsu’s head. “Alone?”

She caught the phrasing of his suggestion, then. Hien casually shrugs one shoulder. “For a time.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “Really?”

Hien chuckles. “Worried about my liver now, are you, friend?”

“Wondering if you are planning to become so inebriated that you will not remember issuing the order to destroy your own home on the morrow.”

The Warrior of Light could be a blunt one; he noted it some time ago, watching her dealings with her Scions, as well as the Xaela. The way she carried herself – modestly, almost conservatively – belied a tongue that could, at a moment’s notice, move with surprising impunity.

He likes it, and responds by smiling easily. “Would you judge me?” he asks, finding himself curious.

Odzaya lifts her own shoulder, looking down at the table. “I cannot. The Steppe tribes are largely nomadic, as you know; most of us have no concept of a permanent home beyond the land itself. Even in Eorzea, I tend not to settle in one place too long.” She pauses, her mouth pursed, as if weighing her tongue and the words upon it. “I do, however,” she continues, quietly, “understand ties, the connections one can make to a place, and the difficulty in seeing those ties undone, by whatever means.” She pauses, then looks at him. “I imagine it would be worse, having to undo them yourself.”

Aye, could speak with impunity. But never seemed to forgo care.

Hien remains silent for a time, thinking on her words, before he meets her gaze. “May I confide in you for an indulgent moment, my friend?” he asks softly.

Those red eyes widen slightly, but eventually, Odzaya nods. Almost imperceptibly shifts, as well, as if to show he has her attention. His smile deepens.

“I do not mourn Doma Castle,” he admits. “It was my home, yes, for all of my six and twenty years, and because of that, it has indisputable sentimental value. It is the home of my ancestors; every square inch has a story, every room an entire history, and I spent my growing years being told them all by my parents and tutors.” He chuckles. “I never cared for them much, truth be told. They were fascinating and inspiring tales, to be sure, but only that: tales. Read back far enough, and your great-grandsire becomes more a figure of ancient legend, rather than someone whose lap you once sat in, though apparently I did. No, I much preferred seeing the history being made by my father and mother, who I could see and touch. That, and daydreaming about the lines I would add to our storied annals.”

Odzaya smiles slightly. “A high-flier, then.” Hien laughs.

“Quite so! And rather doggedly, if the frustrations of my teachers were anything to go by. However much I truly enjoyed the literary pursuit of knowledge, I still preferred a bokken in my hand over a book.” By now, the wine is well enough into his system to feel less like a hindrance burning through his veins and more like a soother warming him from the inside out, eliminating the cavern’s cool draft. He sighs and sinks further into his chair, his gaze finding the high stone ceiling. “I would dream of chasing the Empire back across our borders, of returning home victorious at my father and fellow samurai’s sides. I would dream of inheriting the throne and continuing my parents’ legacy, and implementing policies to make our people’s lives easier; of marrying and raising children – more than one, mind you, as I always wanted siblings to play with, but never received any – and giving them a history to take pride in, stories to inspire them.”

So many dreams, locked away in that palace, and hardly just his own. He counts them among the stalactites piercing down from that cavernous ceiling, substitutes for the stars he cannot see.

“Losing the past will hurt, aye. The books, the scrolls, the paintings, the tales. But it is the future of that place, my future, the future I imagined, for which I truly mourn.” He sighs again, and knows it is bittersweet. “Twas a foundation for much I wished to build, that castle; it will be hard to be without it, however worth its loss, a hundred times over, my people’s futures are.”

Silence reigns for what feels like an age, exposed as his heart and mind now are, alcohol still thrumming through his blood like a pulse. Somehow, though, with the Warrior of the West, of all people, on the receiving end, it feels freeing to speak his innermost thoughts. Mayhaps because not too long ago, their roles were reversed, and she, in the midst of dealing with what seemed an impossible choice, shared her sentiments with him under an endless, star-studded sky.

The closest thing to the stars here is the single candle lighting the edges of his vision, the stalactites with their tips gleaming with hints of dew and precious minerals. The prince in him wishes he could have at least provided a better venue for his selfishness, something more stimulating – and, dare he say, a touch more intimate – than an underground cavern filled with beleaguered, fitfully-sleeping soldiers.

“Rebuild it, then,” he hears suddenly, and Hien looks down to see Odzaya’s craned neck as she stares up at those same stalactites. Her gaze is half-lidded, her lashes fluttering when she blinks, as if she fights to keep her eyes open. Still, her voice rings quiet but clear in his ears. “The land will still be there, will it not?” she asks. “And so will the potential. And even if not, there is nothing stopping you from building something entirely new, perhaps even better, than what was there before.”

Would it be so simple a thing to do? he wonders. Of course not, and yet she makes it sound so, as if she speaks from the very knowledge she declared she did not have. He recalls her previous words, about undone ties; remembers the blanket she lovingly placed around the twins’ shoulders, and how the look in her eye was the same she had when Cirina first recognized and ran for her in Reunion’s square. “Is that what you’ve done in Eorzea, then?” he asks, just as quiet. “Settled a new land, with a new tribe to call your own?”

Odzaya huffs, just a lazy breath gusting past her lips. “In a way, I suppose. But…” She pauses, then shifts slightly, the creak of the stool almost startling in the silence. “It is what I am trying to do here, too. Rebuild that which I undid, hopefully into something better.”

Then she snorts, her tone turned half-cynical, such a contrast to the soft look in her eye when she angles the candlelit line of her neck to look at him. “Or mayhaps I am merely like you,” she says, smirking. “Another Fire Walker.”

No, she does not make it sound simple, Hien thinks, rendered momentarily speechless in the wake of her admittance. She merely makes it sound possible. A subtle power entirely separate from her ability to move the earth and control the stars; the kind of power that, in the right hands, can move minds, strengthen hearts. And build nations.

Quite the woman, this Warrior of the West.

“If you are,” he says, grinning and feeling just a little awed, as if he is seeing the stars, after all, in a place wholly unexpected, “I will consider it the highest of compliments to be called thus.”

Odzaya’s eyes narrow in amusement, two glowing shards of an ember ignited by the wick. “I would not,” she says bluntly, and Hien cannot resist another hearty guffaw.

The little sake left remains untouched, after that. He is drunk already, after all, and keenly feeling the effects as the world gently spins around him, threatening at any moment to turn upside down. Every noise is a distant, muffled thing: the creak of a chair, the murmur of idle conversation, Gosetsu’s snores, as well as the quiet breath expelling from Odzaya as he watches her ever-so-slowly succumb to slumber. It surprises him, at first; on their journey across the Steppe, her eyes were always the last to slip shut, and the first to open in the pre-dawn. A habit born of a turbulent past, or simply a quirk? Regardless, now she is utterly still, draped over the table as she is, a comical mirror image of Gosetsu’s still-slumbering form. The single candle gilds her horns and the scales adorning her face gold, heats the soft ropes of her hair purple to pink. Strangely enough, her eyes are also slit the barest bit open – as if she fought slumber only for it to sneak past her defenses – the thinnest sliver of limbal red showing past her dark lids, like the sun just beginning to peek out from the horizon.

Mayhaps it is too presumptuous, given what awaits us on the morrow, he thinks, fighting his own daze as he watches the gentle in and out of her breath, but if the spirits of fortune dare to smile upon us, I would invite you to return here one day, when I can give you my due best of a proper royal’s welcome. That, and show you what I and mine have built with the courage you have given us.

He briefly contemplates leaving once more, to ensure that she – and Gosetsu – are not disturbed, before ultimately settling into place. She has kept steady vigilance near from the moment they met; he can do so for one remainder of a night. In the ensuing silence, his gaze once more on the stars he cannot see, it comes to him again: the deliberate loss of his past, as well as the future it will bring.

“Fire Walker,” he murmurs to himself, and smiles.

A fitting title, after all. And one he will wear proudly.

#hien rijin #odzaya malaguld #hien x wol #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #otp: starry-eyed #storytime #legit forgot i wrote this #pleasant surprise that it was mostly finished and i like it lol #this is probably when hien's crush started #and odzaya decided 'ok maybe this dude's cool'#'at the very least he makes me laugh'#anyway i ficced!#and now off to work

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365days365movies · 4 years

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February 27, 2021: Love Actually (Part 2)

In case you hadn’t noticed by now...this movie is a lot.

I won’t dwell, and I’ll get back into All Around, but just trust me...this is a bit too much. All I know is that they packed way too much in this film, which is also somehow too long? It’s a lot, yeah? OK, first part of the Recap is right here, let’s get into the second half before I lose my nerve.

Recap (2/2)

So, good news is, Rodrigo and Sarah start dancing at the party, then start to hook up at her place! But the sad news (not bad, just sad) is that it’s interrupted by calls from her brother, Michael (Michael Fitzgerald), a very mentally ill man who lives in an asylum. Their love affair is cut short, and Sarah visits him the next day, where he lashes out at her and claims the nurses are trying to kill him, before being subdued. YIKES. Fuckin’s whiplash.

A little more sadness, as Karen’s convinced that Harry’s fallen out of love with her, having seen how he interacted with the attractive Mia at the party. That’s going to cause some friction, I’m sure. This is folllowed by Mia’s flirtations the following afternoon, which are once again accepted by Harry with no words to the contrary. He also calls her as he’s out, and he appears to be giving into the flirtation, rather than denying them. And as he’s meeting Karen for shopping! Dammit, Harry.

At the store, he buys a necklace for Mia from jewelry salesman Rufus (Rowan Atkinson!). Rufus asks is Harry wants the necklace gift-wrapped, and he agrees. And Rufus...Rufus is the best gift-wrapper of all time. Seriously, the man is a fucking ARTIST. His attention to detail is astonishing, and I love him. Harry doesn’t, as it’s taking way to long. YOU CANNOT RUSH PERFECTION, HARRY! But, yeah, it’s taking too long, and Karen shows up. Harry abandons the necklace, and poor devoted Rufus.

One week until Christmas, as holiday shenanigans take place with everybody! Jamie’s learning Portuguese for Aurélia. Colin (yeah, remember him?) is headed to America, while his roommate Tony is back to work at the film set, where Judy and Jack are being stand-ins for a myriad of sex positions, and Jack asks Judy on a date, which she accepts! A very cute couple, all things considered. They go out on a date on Christmas Eve, and the two kiss on the doorstep. They are legitimately adorable.

Colin arrives at a bar in the United States, and as soon as he orders a beer, his accent IMMEDIATELY draws the attention of Stacey, Jeannie, and Carol-Anne (Ivana Miličević, January Jones, and Elisha Cuthbert). And...IT FUCKING WORKED? These girls are all immediately into him, and invite him to stay with them at their place. However, they only have a small bed, and no couch. Not to mention the fourth girl, Harriet. But he bites the bullet, and accepts the invitation. And once he gets there, the sex proceeds in shadow. I cannot believe it worked, and it’s kind of hilarious.

Meanwhile, the jig is up for Harry. He did indeed get the necklace, and Karen finds it in his pocket before Christmas, assuming that it’s for her. However, when Christmas comes, Harry gives her a Joni Mitchell CD instead, and she realizes that the necklace was for Mia. Which is...shattering. Karen’s extremely hurt by this, fucking understandably.

Christmas Eve! Billy Mack’s song, despite the odds being completely against him, has reached the number one spot on the charts. He appears to be quite happy at a party celebrating him, although his manager appear slightly less so. Wonder why. Jamie, meanwhile, heads to the airport, quite on impulse. Wonder why.

Karl bids Sarah a good night and a Merry Christmas, and she cries when she realizes that their chance of getting together again is shot. Damn. She goes to visit her brother, and I gotta say - she’s a very loving sister. And then...well, it’s the scene. The most famous scene in the movie. You know the one.

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And here’s the thing about this scene: is it superficially romantic? Yeah, sure, I guess. And it’s true that Mark doesn’t actually expect anything to come from this, but...this is still an AMAZINGLY shitty thing to do to someone in a committed relationship that involves your friend. Because it could potentially sabotage their relationship. I mean, maybe she’d be tempted to kiss you in a brief moment of infidelity that initially seems romantic, but is kinda fucked up when you really think about it.

Yeah, yeah, LITERALLY JUST LIKE THAT

OK, after that terrible idea, Bill shows up by surprise at his manager Joe’s place, and notes that he could be going to a big party at this point, but Christmas is a time to spend with his family and loved ones, and that the closest thing to that is, in fact, his manager, who is in fact the love of his life. Not sure if that’s necessarily romantic, but that is still sweet. Anyway, they get drunk and watch porn together. Yup.

David, meanwhile, gets a bevy of Christmas cards, one of which comes from Natalie. She apologizes for the kiss situation, and refers to herself as “Your Natalie”. Time to get in the fuckin’ car, David. He drives down to her neighborhood, and goes from door-to-door until he finds Natalie’s place. Her and her entire family are headed to a school concert, and David offers to give her and her little brother a lift there.

On the way there, the two begin to admit their feelings for one another, and Natlie notes that the President forced herself on her, but nothing else happened. While he’s reluctant about the whole affair, she brings him into the concert backstage. As he enters, he runs into his sister Katie, who’s glad to see him, and is clearly holding back tears because of the Harry situation. Judy and Jack are also there, as well as Daniel and Sam (who’s in the concert).

The kids’ concert takes place, and its headed by a solo from Sam’s crush, Joanna (Olivia Olson), who...WAIT, OLIVIA OLSON? As in...

...Huh. Of all the members of this ensemble cast, she’s the one I least expected! But OK! As expected, she’s an excellent singer, and headlines a rendition of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas”. Which seems mildly inappropriate for a kid’s concert, but whatever, sure. She points at various people when saying “is you” in the song, but never at Sam, who’s on the drums. Oof. Sorry, buddy.

The song ends, and the curtain drops, and...

Well, uh...shit. I ean, I’m happy for them both, but David’s officially FUCKED at this point. However, the crowd seems to receive it very well, and that’s lucky. The night ends, and everyone disbands for the night. Harry and Karen are amongst them, and Karen confronts him. She asks what would he do if he were in her position, revealing her knowledge about the necklace. And it’s...affecting, goddamn. He’s made a fool of himself and of her, and she’s struggling.

Daniel congratulates Sam about his performance, but notes that it didn’t work Still, Daniel encourages him to tell Joanna his feelings for her, and he goes to get his things first. Daniel bumps into Carol (Claudia Schiffer), and there’s a connection. Daniel and Sam go to speak with Joanna, but they’re on their way to the airport. They run to meet her there, like in a terrible romance movie. Wait -

At the airport, Daniel and Sam are too late, but decide to make a run for it while Rufus (KING OF GIFT WRAPPERS) is holding up the attendant while looking for his boarding pass. Sam bolts, unnoticed, and Rufus walks away, giving Daniel a knowing look as he passes by, LIKE A KING. Sam bolts through the metal detectors, as the post-9/11 airport attendants RIGHTFULLY FREAK OUT ABOUT THIS WHOLE SITUATION. However, they’re once again distracted by Billy Mack on TV and he catches up to Joanna before being taken away by the fuzz. However, she gives him a kiss on the cheek, and Sam and Daniel hug. Supportive father-son relationship is sweet.

Jamie goes to find Aurélia in Portugal, and the entire village ends up following him until getting to the restaurant were he works, and proposes to her in INSANELY broken Portuguese, which is hilarious. And she accepts...IN ENGLISH! Which is saccharine as fuck...but also sweet.

We cut to a month later, and everybody’s at the airport for the Epilogue. And we’re gonna do this...well, bit by bit.

Billy Mack and Joe: Career’s going well, and a comeback is imminent. Not in a romantic relationship, but still extremely close friends...I think.

Juliet, Peter, and Mark: Juliet and Peter are still together; Mark is still single, seemingly. They meet up with...

Jamie and Aurélia: Coming to England for the first time together, and still in love.

Daniel and Sam: Went to see Joanna at the airport, and Daniel is now dating Carol, which is nice!

Harry and Karen: Oof, icy. They definitely don’t appear to be on good terms, and we never learn why Harry’s been away, but yeah. Not looking good for their relationship, understandably.

Jack and Judy: Married! FUCK YEAH! Adorable. They run into...

Colin and Tony: Colin’s back, and he’s brought back Harriet (Shannon Elizabeth) and her sister Carla (Denise Richards), who IMMEDIATELY takes a liking to Tony and they make out at the gate. Can’t believe that Colin was right, goddamn.

David and Natalie: David’s back from a visit somewhere overseas, and he and Natalie happily reunite right in front of the press, and it’s sweet.

And we’re full-circle, as countless people at the airport reunite in loving embraces. And, I gotta say...it is sweet, but you ever been to a crowded airport around Christmastime? Dude, I’ve been to JFK around that time period, and lemme tell you, it’s less happy reunions, and more pissed-off TSA, lost luggage, stressed out EVERYBODY, and Cinnabon. That last one’s not a complaint...I just really want Cinnabon.

Mmmmmmmm...OH RIGHT, THAT’S All Around (AKA Love Actually). This has been...a lot. BUT, I’ll get into the whole thing in the Review! See you there!

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fanfic-phoenix · 4 years

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Merry Christmas, Mr Holmes!

Read on AO3

If my dear Holmes thought to look from his chemistry table to my writing desk and ask which narrative I have chosen to record today, I have no doubt that I would - quite quickly - find my pen confiscated and my scrawlings confined to the deepest centre of the fire currently engaged in a losing battle against the winter weather on the other side of the room. Fortunately for us, however, Holmes is not - has never been - in the habit of reading these little accounts of our adventures until they are already published. Unless, of course, I present them to him ahead of time for consultation or clarification.

(This is not, I must stress, a common occurrence. I have no wish to hear my romanticism and truly, dear boy, some most grievous exaggerations so thoroughly lampooned.)

I am confident, therefore, that it shall survive to reach the desk of my publisher at The Strand.

The year was 1881. The year, as some readers may recall, that I began my acquaintanceship with Holmes, and we investigated the mystery committed to the written word as A Study in Scarlet.

It was now December. A thick blanket of snow had enveloped the rooftops and streets of our fair city, falling in swirling flurries that, while perfectly pretty to look at, had trapped me inside for quite some time. I did not dare venture out onto the icy pavements, and the dreadful chill had seeped deep into my bones. I judged it altogether too treacherous for my still-temperamental wounds.

Holmes, to my immense surprise and, I confess, immense pleasure, had noticed my discomfort immediately. He did not speak of it; instead, he piled blankets onto my armchair whenever he thought I wouldn’t notice, play-acting ignorance when I looked at him askance, likely assuming I would suspect Mrs Hudson. I elected to let it be, not wishing to embarrass him, even as I treasured this first glance of the great heart he concealed behind his great mind.

He, himself, seemed to enjoy the season far more, scurrying about the flat like a veritable whirlwind, bundled in slippers and two dressing gowns, even as his fingers reddened and stiffened in the cold. I had expected him to fall into one of his black moods, given the lack of problems brought to him for investigation, but instead, he exhibited the same all-consuming energy I had thought only existed when he was on the scent. He left and returned to Baker Street at odd hours but, when I politely enquired as to whether he had found a case, after all, he explained that he was only running some errands.

“Nothing for you to worry about, old boy,” he said with a jovial smile, and so I endeavoured to put it out of my mind.

It was only as we inched closer to the day itself that I came to realise the cause of this…

Well.

One cannot really call it giddiness - to do so would, I fear, be rather uncharitable. It was far too restrained, far too refined, to be referred to with such a childish term. It was certainly, however, a great, almost overwhelming, excitement. A bright thrum of vitality that lit him from the inside outwards, ‘til it shone out from his grey eyes like a candle. Truthfully, I am almost ashamed of how long it took me to realise. I can only blame the cold weather for dulling my senses, and even that is a rather dubious excuse. However, as 221B acquired in quick succession a wreath, bountiful holly, and a huge pile of cards (from former clients, he told me) that Holmes took infinite pains in trying to arrange around his desk and room, I did catch on.

“Holmes,” I started, only to lose my nerve and beat a hasty retreat to the pages of my well-thumbed novel. It seemed ridiculous to admit aloud that I had never considered him the kind of man to celebrate such a holiday when I had known him for so short a time - even if it did sometimes seem as if we had known each other for far longer.

He looked up from the card he was writing. I would discover, years later, that this was the annual card to his brother Mycroft, who never responded and, indeed, always seemed slightly irritated by the display of sentiment, much to my dear friend’s amusement. (I never did learn whether the annoyance was genuine or, as I somewhat suspected, simply Mycroft’s secret way of entertaining his younger brother.)

In a moment, he knew what I had been about to say and chuckled softly. I felt myself flush.

“Ah, my dear Watson,” he said, not in the least offended, which was a great relief. “I admit, I am not exactly fond of celebrations. Parties and dinners, for example, are not at all to my taste-” he wrinkled his nose, here, and I choked on a laugh- “and the holiday the criminals of London appear determined to take is most certainly irritating, though, no doubt, it is to the greater good. However, I have always been rather fond of Christmas. After all…”

He trailed into silence and never revealed what was after all. I gather he was about to make some mention of his parents or childhood, which he rarely does - and, at that point, had never done. I moved quickly on.

“I am only glad to see you happy, my friend,” I told him, and it was most certainly the truth. I had only seen, by that time, one or two instances of those dreadful black moods that can fall upon him like a stormcloud, and already I had learned to hate them. Already, I had resolved never to leave him alone in them, lest he resort to the cocaine or, as I feared most, seek a more permanent end to his misery. He protested only once against that decision, weakly, and when I reiterated my intentions, I saw the relief in his eyes.

(Thank God, the moods come less these days. Thank God, his suffering is much reduced.)

Christmas Eve dawned and, as I spent the day attempting to write the first - or was it second? - draft of our first adventure with limited success and unending frustration, Holmes spent much of it out and about, though he did pop in every so often to glance over my shoulder and offer his opinions, most of them exasperated and exasperating, though tempered with a small smile.

(Perhaps I had exaggerated too much Holmes’ propensity for criticism. As you shall see, dear reader, though he does love a good grumble, he has always ultimately been supportive.)

(And he reads every single one. Without fail.)

The evening drew in, and Holmes looked me over with glee in his eyes as I hobbled over to my armchair, settling myself in with yet another mysterious blanket added to my already substantial nest. I had intended to go to bed rather earlier, craving the comfort of thick covers and a warming-pan, but something in Holmes’ air stopped me ascending the stairs and, as he smiled, I was glad for it.

“My dear fellow,” he said - almost chirped, in fact. “Will you be prevailed upon to share yet another late night with me?”

“Of course, Holmes,” said I.

He expressed his gratitude heartily, though I was sure he hadn’t had any doubts as to my answer when he asked. I was, however, most curious about his purpose. However excitable he was, and however lacking his common knowledge appeared, I was not deluded into thinking he wished to wait up for Father Christmas, though the image most certainly amused me.

He did not explain on his own accord - of course, he never does, even now - so I was compelled to ask, “Why? Are you expecting trouble?”

“By no means,” he said, a little distracted as he flitted from his chair to the window, peering through the curtains onto white London streets. “But your company is always welcome and our visitors, I believe, have become very fond of you, very quickly.”

He flashed me a small, fond look, and I do not think I flatter myself to presume that his visitors were not the only ones.

“Who are they, then?” I asked, leaning forward a little in my seat, resting upon my stick. (I was not, and am not, in the habit of using my stick indoors, but those first few winters were hard, and sometimes one must bow to the inevitable.)

Holmes practically beamed, squeezing his hands together as he hurried from his perch on the sill to his desk, grabbing a purse and sack which he concealed behind his chair, before throwing himself into the seat. “A surprise,” he announced, voice low like a secret, “or, so they think. But I, dear Watson, have a surprise for them!”

Then, schooling his face into a frown, he arranged himself into his typical position for a good brood, his pipe firmly between his teeth. If I had not just borne witness to his joy, I should have judged him to be in the grip of some tremendous fit of pique.

I quirked an eyebrow at him and he flapped his hand at me, shushing me even as his eyes flashed with mischief. I consented to hold my tongue and he settled back into his seat, sending a long stream of smoke into the air and staring disconsolately at the ceiling.

The door burst open with nary a knock in warning, admitting a rabble of noisy, boisterous boys. I recognised them at once: Holmes’ Baker Street Irregulars, who fell into an unruly kind of order behind Wiggins. Holmes sighed thunderously, a plume of smoke following, and plucked the pipe from his lips. His pale hand fell lazily towards the carpet as he turned his head, oh so slowly, to face them. “Wiggins,” he said sternly, with just a hint of exhaustion. “Have I not warned you about disturbing my landlady?”

Wiggins looked anxiously. I shrugged, attempting a reassuring smile.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Mr ‘olmes,” he said, ducking his chin.

Holmes always did his level best to spare people the brunt of his tempers, and most especially the Irregulars - “They’re just boys!” he told me one evening. “They’re too young for that kind of bile.” - but they still knew something of the irritability that could precede the worst of his depression. Wiggins’ nervousness was well justified.

“We just thought,” he continued, gesturing to the rest of the boys, many of whom had started to shift anxiously, “that we’d come wi’ the blessings o’ the season an’ such, seeing how it’s Christmas, sir.”

“Is that so?” Holmes’ brow furrowed magnificently. He has the remarkable ability to evoke the memory of the most terrifying professor any boy has ever encountered. One cannot help but quail beneath his piercing gaze, even if one is unaware of the strength of his equally remarkable right hook.

“Yessir,” Wiggins went on valiantly. “Point o’ fact, sir, some of the young’uns brought some cards for you.” He held up the offering: a brown paper parcel, tied up in string, placed cautiously onto the nearby table.

Alas! Poor Holmes! Great actor he may be, but he could hardly be expected to maintain the pretence in the face of such sentiment. A poorer job I have never seen of him before or since. The terrible scowl dissolved into the picture of utter shock - silvery eyes wide, dark brows high, sharp jaw lax - before he lept up, smiling tremulously.

“Oh,” he said softly, “my dear boys.” We could see him fight desperately for control over himself as he gripped every sticky hand tight and shook it well. He swallowed tightly. “My dear boys, you are invaluable, positively wonderful, and most very welcome here, even if we do vex Mrs Hudson so.”

The boys grinned back at him. Wiggins caught my eye and smirked in a way that said he knew I’d been in on it, but that he forgave me. Luckily for Wiggins, he was such a cheerful, reliable, decent lad that I’d forgive him his impertinence in return.

“You must forgive me,” Holmes said. “I thought to have a little fun with you - play Scrooge, you see - but you caught me by surprise, and I find myself impatient.”

“Impatient, sir?”

He clapped his hands together in a rhapsody of joy. His hands were never still in those days, when we were young and unsure and he was always so terribly nervous, though he hid it well. He was constant in his fidgeting, his examining, his twitching and grabbing, his peeling of plasters and scratching at acid scars. It mellowed, somewhat, after his return - or rather, after the nightmares faded. Sometimes I wonder if, even then, he was, consciously or not, aware of the spider that lurked in the shadows, and that it frightened him.

Or perhaps it was only the insecurity of youth.

He presented the sack first, lifting it with the deceptive strength of his wiry arms, and from it, he pressed into each pair of grubby hands a perfectly round orange. Then, as they thanked him, he grinned brightly and darted away towards the purse, and handed them all a shiny shilling to match.

“There,” he said, satisfied as if he had solved a triple locked-door murder. (Perhaps I will, one day, be able to commit that singular case to paper.) “That is a decent present, is it not? I thought to buy some nuts, too, but I feared they might go cold before you arrived - and, besides, I am not sure there are enough in London to feed you all!” He laughed - one sharp, bright chuckle - at his own joke, and they laughed along with him. “Would you care for some tea, instead? I am sure we can ask Mrs Hudson for some - she would forgive your presence, I think. It is Christmas after all.”

The boys shook their heads decidedly.

“No?” He flicked me a look, no doubt aware that nearly all the boys were more than a little frightened of our dear landlady and her broom. “Well, you may at least stay and warm yourselves a while. The fire is hot enough, I trust.”

Wiggins surveyed his ranks and nodded. “Thanks, sir,” he said. “‘S mighty cold out there.”

The boys assembled themselves on the rug before the hearth, huddling close to the fire, and Holmes watched them a little longer, observed by no one but myself, the lines of concentration that so often aged him softening slightly.

Then he shook himself and took up the package of cards they had brought, walking over to my side. He sat awkwardly on the arm of my seat - “Forgive the intrusion, Watson.” - as he unwrapped them carefully. He removed each by turn, holding them where I could see them, too, without straining my shoulder to reach or taxing my leg to stand, so we could look them over together. (Once again, I was touched by his care.)

Each card was hand-drawn, bright and colourful, with messages carefully written in various levels of legibility - though, perhaps, as a doctor, I have little room to talk. Some were addressed only to Holmes, whilst some included a missive for myself, also. And, from one brave lad, a quick note for Mrs Hudson, which Holmes pointed out delightedly. We came too soon to the end of the pile and he returned them to the paper. I knew they would soon find pride of place around the flat and later, no doubt, a place in his fantastic filing system.

I expected him to move, then. It couldn’t have been comfortable for him, sitting as he was on such a narrow surface. But, to my surprise, he instead let out a quiet sigh, and I felt his arm come around my shoulders. I almost jumped - he is not a man typically given to physical affection, and ‘til that moment, we had never exchanged more than a particularly enthusiastic handshake, save that first meeting where he dragged me over to his work station by my coat sleeve, an incident he later confessed to being rather embarrassed over.

I peered up at his pale face; he looked not at me or the boys, but the window. His throat had started to bob once more and his eyes were shining, though he did not allow himself to cry.

Cautiously, I reached up and patted his hand that lay on my uninjured shoulder. He startled, ever so slightly, but smiled at me.

“Are they not extraordinary, Watson?”

I saw once more the shimmer in his eyes. “They most certainly are.”

“I could not afford to give them a decent gift in previous years,” he admitted quietly, the slightest of shadows falling over him. “It was poor reward for their service, I think. I can only hope this redeems it.”

His uncertainty was dreadful to see, and I tripped over myself to alleviate it, giving his fingers a quick squeeze. “My dear Holmes, I assure you, you have treated them wonderfully. No one can doubt your regard for them.”

The shadows lingered a touch longer before he pulled me to his side in a brief, slightly awkward, greatly impulsive embrace, after which he bounded immediately off in the direction of his violin. I watched, slightly stunned, as he ran his hands over the strings, almost a caress, and struck up the first notes of We Wish You Merry Christmas. The Irregulars let out a riotous cry and joined in with a burst of song, young Simpson standing to conduct them to peals of laughter.

He ran through what must have been his whole repertoire of Christmas songs, and when he was done they begged for more, so he played them all again. Occasionally, if the song was not too complex, he would sing too, a pleasant baritone providing lilting harmonies. My voice is nothing remarkable - it is a little hoarse and gruff - but they would not be satisfied until I joined in, so I began quietly and was soon swept up with them, tapping a light beat into the floor with my stick.

I felt Holmes’ eyes on me as I sang and laughed with the children. He was smiling - for a moment, I thought he was simply transported away by the music as he so often was, before I caught his gaze flying over my wounds and the unnatural thinness brought on by my illness. I realised for the first time that my sudden collapses into ill health - especially following that first case - had frightened Holmes more than he let on. I realised how much he wanted me to be well, and happy, and singing.

I realised for the first time that Holmes was - honestly, despite his greatness and my shortcomings - my friend.

I cannot say how long our little concert went on, but by the time the boys were sent on their way home, darkness had fallen, broken only by the gas lamps and the glow of stars shining down. Holmes extracted from each of them a promise to be careful as they went.

They giggled at him, rolling their eyes even as they nodded dutifully, a few even throwing in a salute and “sir-yes-sir!”. He swatted at them, fairly chasing them out the door, curmudgeon to the end, but we all saw the gleam of mirth in his eyes. They called out cheerfully as they went.

“Merry Christmas, Mr Holmes! Merry Christmas, Dr Watson!” And that one brave lad again: “Merry Christmas, Mrs Hudson!”

My companion was in high spirits for the dregs of the evening, humming as he poured us each a brandy before bed. He offered me his arm up the stairs, waving off with ease any embarrassment on my part (“Come now, Watson, there’s no shame in a little help!”) before retreating to his own room with the intention - for once! - of true sleep.

Christmas morning we were greeted with a wonderful breakfast from Mrs Hudson, which we insisted she stay and share. She fussed a little about propriety before consenting. She ate well, joining in our chatter and - when Holmes showed it to her, laughing silently in that singular way of his - we saw that she smiled at the card from the young Irregular, though she tutted a little at the presumption.

“I have tried,” he said with a theatrical sigh, “to explain to the boys that they need not fear you unless they neglect to wash before they come in. Alas! It is in vain. They remain perfectly terrified.”

“Likely following your example,” I put in, a little slyly, remembering the panic that followed Holmes’ last failed experiment and the burn upon the table.

Holmes gasped at me, thoroughly and comically betrayed, and Mrs Hudson threw back her head with a great laugh. “As they should, sirs!” she cackled. “As they should!”

She left, still smiling, with the empty tray, though not before stoking the fire with a little tut that we shouldn’t let it get so low. Holmes retreated to his room with a last huff but returned before I had a chance to worry that I had really offended him, clutching a small package and being altogether too exuberant to be angry.

“Here,” he said, thrusting it towards me so quickly he almost smacked me with it. He blushed, looking down abashed, but I only laughed, easing myself out of the chair to take it, a little gingerly.

I looked it over for a moment, wondering if I might employ his methods to guess - or, since he detests the word, deduce - what it was.

Unfortunately, all I could gather was that he was rather impatient to see my reaction. I unwrapped it quickly, snickering at him.

Nestled within was a fine silver fountain pen, embossed with my initials.

“Holmes,” I said, before my breath caught in my throat. I ran my fingers over the cursive letters. “Thank you.”

“It is nothing,” he said, but I caught his pleased look before it was hidden away. “I only thought that if you insist upon writing that dratted tale of yours, you might at least have a decent pen to do it with.”

(If any amongst the readership is interested, it is still, after all these years, that very decent pen with which I write these dratted tales of mine.)

“Now,” I said, hobbling over to my desk where his gift was waiting. He followed, saving me the trip back, and I pressed a parcel into his hands. “There you are, my friend.”

My gift to Holmes had been long agonised over, especially as I, foreseeing the difficulties of the December weather, decided to purchase it early. I had known him for less than a year and, though I suspected that I already knew him better than most, and was certain that the reverse was true, I had no clue what to get him.

I thought first of a new pipe, or perhaps some tobacco, but no. They seemed so impersonal!

Perhaps a dressing gown? Lord knew it would get some use. But he already had two good ones, his first- and second-best, plus a third for emergencies. Perhaps he had even more that I was yet to see! (For the record: yes, he did.)

For a while, I considered some of those sensation novels he read so voraciously, before I realised that I had no way of knowing which he had read already, nor which he’d be interested in. I similarly dismissed the idea of providing something for his experiments. Though I had some scientific knowledge courtesy of my profession, it was not as specialised as his, and the likelihood was that I would choose wrongly.

If I had known him better, I would have worried far less, as I would have known that, despite his great powers of deduction and reasoning, he never fails to be taken aback by a present. (It is a strange thing, I think, for one so confident in every other aspect of life to be so completely uncertain of others’ regard for him.)

I did not, however, know him better. Therefore, I did the best I could. I procured for him a mystery. I trawled pawn shops and secondhand curiosity stores for things I knew he would like well enough for their own sakes, but with the added charm of wear and tear from which he could deduce the habits of their previous owners.

He opened it, and his face brightened like the Christmas tree I am certain we only narrowly avoided by virtue of 221B being a touch too small for it.

“My dear Watson,” he said, after a long silence where he studied each item intently, his face inscrutable. “No one has ever cared to know me so well as you. My friend-” His fingers tightened their hold on the package and he held it closer to his chest. “I cannot express to you my gratitude.”

I did not think he thanked me only for the gift.

“It was no trouble,” I told him. “Indeed, it is my honour to know you, and to count you amongst my friends.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came to hand. He swallowed convulsively, still as a statue, before he placed aside the box and tore off his dressing gown in a flurry of activity, hurrying to the coat stand.

“If the cold does not trouble you too badly, Watson,” he managed, tugging on his hat, “would you care to join me on a walk?”

I stood as quickly as I could grabbing my coat stick. “Of course, Holmes,” I smiled and, as he studiously avoided my eyes and linked his arm with mine, we strolled out together into the fine Christmas morning.

Writing this account I came to wonder, how on earth did Holmes get the money for those gifts? We were by no means paupers in those days but, equally, we were in no way well off. I had no practice, merely my army pension, and Holmes’ reputation did not stretch far beyond his own circles and word-of-mouth. I wonder…

Holmes has retired from the chemistry table to his armchair in front of the fire since I began writing. About half an hour ago, his head slipped back and he started to snore quietly, but he has woken since then, blushing and busying himself with his newspaper, sneaking a look at yours truly to see whether I noticed.

“Holmes,” I ask him, then hesitate, wondering whether it might be rather impertinent. Then I brush the thought aside. We are no longer young men, after all, and by this point have known each other for at least a decade longer than we did not. We are not easily offended by one another. Besides, I am certain we have asked each other far worse over the years. “That first Christmas at Baker Street, how did you afford the presents? For the children and I?”

“Ah.” There is a little twitch in his hands - he has a touch of arthritis, now, that makes his joints swell, but it has not affected his violin playing thus far - before he looks at me. “You have observed, of course, Watson, that I have… A certain flair for the dramatic.”

“Certainly I have,” I say with a laugh, for there is no doubt that he is rather understating the fact.

“Yes, well,” he continues with a little sniff. “You will also remember that I was a good deal out and about in those weeks preceding the day itself, whilst you were laid up.”

“Yes, I do.”

He nods. He is stalling, I’m sure. Whatever it was, it embarrasses him still. A flicker of derision, directed inwards, flies over his face before he sighs grandly. “I was a fortune teller, Watson.”

I almost choke. “I beg your pardon?”

Holmes rolls his eyes, twisting over the arm of his chair to better glare at me. “I masqueraded on the streets as a fortune teller. The costume was in one of my safehouses - I forget which one. Each day I would change there into an elderly woman, then take to the busiest streets near the markets and purport to read people’s palms. There lives I could easily deduce, and for their futures, I merely discerned what they wanted most to hear and told them that.”

“Perfectly inspired,” I tell him, holding back a chuckle I am sure will serve only to rile him.

He huffs disbelievingly at me, but I catch him holding back a smirk before he settles himself back into his seat. Foolish man - his spine pops loudly as he uncoils himself, and I see him wince. “It was not,” he says, squirming a little, “the only time I used my abilities in such base ways. When we struggled for rent, it was not unknown for me to become a fortune teller or street magician - I found it paid better than the violin.”

A hot flush of shame overcomes me. “My dear Holmes, if you had told me-”

“You could have done nothing but pawn more of your belongings - do not think I did not notice! - and I would have no more of that. No,” he flutters his hand dismissively, “my way was best, I think, and if it embarrasses me, it is only because my poor wounded pride over-inflated itself. But at least, for the sake of my poor pride, I did not resort to seeking Brother Mycroft’s assistance, so it really wasn’t all that bad.”

“If you say so,” I say dubiously.

“Indeed I do,” he says sternly, and then stands. He cannot spring from his seat like the old days, but he does a far better impression of it than I do.

He heads to his desk and retrieves a package, placing it beneath the Christmas tree that takes up a good corner of the room. His knees creak ominously as he stands - I look over to check on him, but he is fine. In fact, he is most certainly smirking.

“And if you were wondering, Watson, you have my blessing to publish the story of that first Christmas.” He catches my disbelieving look: “Come now, I am retired! I don’t need the reputation of being a machine any longer. It matters not to the bees, after all.”

I huff, and he chortles. No doubt the question gave me away - or perhaps I looked at the tree or holly at just the wrong moment. No doubt if I sit too long he will launch into the explanation. Therefore, I reach into my own drawer and take out my own wrapped box. I move slowly to place it beneath the tree, and Holmes’ eyes light up at the thought of the mystery within.

#merry christmas!#my writing #acd holmes #sherlock holmes #dr watson #bill wiggins #baker street irregulars #mrs hudson #I actually wrote the first draft of this so quickly #it consumed me #it's been through 5 drafts #but I'm pretty happy with it now

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fallout4holmes · 5 years

Text

Journal 57

Valentine woke me before dawn. “Bad news, Holmes.”

I sat up and saw the Minuteman standing behind him. She saluted briefly, “Sorry to wake you, sir, but it’s urgent.”

I thought I recognized her, “Proceed… Nash, wasn’t it?”

“Yessir,” she smiled at my recollection before somberly stating, “there’s been trouble in Sanctuary.”

She had my undivided attention, “Explain.”

“A squad of Brotherhood camped out in Concord without us knowing. They sent a soldier into Sanctuary for recon, but he was discovered by one of those robots Sturges has been working on. Fight broke out, Minutemen joined the fray, no Brotherhood survivors. Colonel Garvey thinks they didn’t have a chance to send a distress signal. According to the orders present on one of them, they were to wait for Maxson’s signal to attack.”

“He has his people in position,” I sighed, irritated. “We’re out of time."

"The hell we are," Valentine huffed. "There's still a maniac out there setting psychotic robots loose on the Commonwealth, and the Minutemen aren't gonna just stand by and let the Brotherhood walk all over them. We finish the job we started, and take what comes."

"You're right," I jumped up and started getting ready to leave, an urgent energy I hadn't felt in too long surging through me. "Find Ada and wake Cait, we'll breakfast on the road. We haven't a moment to lose."

We hurried north, reaching Goodneighbor a few hours after sundown. Cait requested we stop for a moment so that she could speak with Hancock. I agreed; I also wanted to speak with Goodneighbor's mayor, especially considering the war's imminent arrival.

We found him in his office, as expected. Unexpectedly, he was in the middle of a heated discussion with a visitor.

"Bad enough Diamond City isn’t doing anything, why don't—“

“What am I supposed to do, Piper, huh? Brotherhood come for us, let ’em, we’re ready to defend our walls, but if I lead a crew against a skyscraper full of soldiers, how do you think that’s gonna end?”

“We could use Zhao’s missiles or—“

“I ain’t convinced that submarine’s really going to be able to strike all the way out here, assuming it’s even still there. Ain’t willing to risk my people’s blood on it, that’s for sure.”

Piper groaned, frustrated, “Fine, sit here if you want, but I have to do something, there has to be some way I can help. Blue’s in Jamaica Plain last I heard, maybe I can find him.” She turned and saw us coming up the stairs. To my surprise, her gaze went straight to one of my companions rather than me. “Cait!”

Hancock rushed to the doorway to see for himself. "Well," he grinned, "Welcome back."

Cait was suddenly withdrawn, another stunning development, "Hey."

“You ok?” Piper asked.

“Fine,” Cait shrugged, “Never better, actually. Uh. Thanks, for worryin’.” She huffed and regained her usual confidence, “We can talk an' all later, but Holmes has business with ya, Hancock.”

“Why do I get the feeling this business ain’t the fun kind,” Hancock said with a swagger, “despite what the outfit suggests?”

“Maxson will give the order to attack soon," I said, "possibly in a few days, possibly in a few minutes.”

“C’mon, you ain’t gonna be in character this time? I’m disappointed, Shroud.”

I ignored him. “Did I overhear mention of a submarine?”

“There’s a Chinese sub in the bay,” Piper explained. “It’s been stuck there since the War. The Captain turned ghoul, been living there ever since.”

“We helped get him seaworthy, and for payment we get a single shot of his missiles,” Hancock said.

“You sure you two ain’t been sharin’ a bad batch of somethin’?” Cait asked.

“You know Piper won’t touch chems,” Hancock scoffed.

"I have an idea for how those missiles would be extremely useful," I said.

"Ask me like the Shroud," Hancock broadly smiled, "and we'll see what we can do."

We continued our trip north, this time in the company of Piper. Hancock didn't want to leave his town on the eve of war, and I didn't attempt to convince him otherwise. Cait and Piper continued on toward the airport while Valentine, Ada, and I went to the RobCo Sales & Service Center, where Ada reported the Mechanist’s lair was hidden.

"A robot-building villain hiding out in a run down robot shop?" Valentine commented as we stepped inside and saw a showroom for RobCo-brand terminals, most of which were long destroyed.

"I doubt this was ever simply a shop," I said.

"You mean because the Mechanist had to get the robobrains from somewhere, and they sure weren't selling those to the public?" Valentine asked as he went behind the service desk.

"We should look in the garage and see if there's any indication of a hidden entrance."

"Laser tripwire behind the 'employees only' door seems a good place to start."

I hurried over, Ada following. After disabling the tripwire, we passed through the corridor to a basement area with a blastproof door, a strange device to the side of it.

“Allow me, sirs,” Ada approached the door and activated the M-SAT device Sturges had installed from Jezebel’s plans.

The door opened, and we entered the underground facility.

What we found was the remains of a nightmare. Criminals housed in cells were later operated upon to remove their brains, which were then wiped of memories and run through a series of tests before being mounted to any number of devices. Many brains were still preserved, thus providing the Mechanist with necessary material without needing new subjects. According to the terminals, not all of the memory wipes were successful. Minds that woke, panicked in the dark, were destroyed. One transcript showed a psychopath unconcerned with his new lack of body and firm conviction that every scientist in the facility would be killed was seen as a prime candidate for a tactical team. Even before the War, there were indications of the robobrains misinterpreting orders, the flexibility of the human mind rewiring itself to fit what it thinks is the more efficient option. This place was the perfect example of the military and their scientists being so focused on whether or not they could accomplish their goal, they never stopped to wonder if they should. Then at some point this Mechanist found the facility, and picked up where they left off.

I don’t want to dwell on what we saw down there. I noticed a decontamination corridor as we entered, leading to an elevator with an access terminal requiring voice authorization. Imagining we had no choice, we fought our way past a variety of robots guarding the facility until I was fortunate enough to find holotapes recorded by the supervisor of each department. I hoped that these would be enough to trigger the vocal recognition and unlock the elevator. I was correct.

The elevator took us to a control room with computer banks all along the walls, each terminal manned by a small robobrain that rapidly typed orders to run the facility. The room was filled with the noise of terminal keys clacking, and there in the middle stood a figure in the costume of a comic book character - The Mechanist.

“Well, hell, Shroud, you were right,” Valentine muttered.

“Impossible!” The Mechanist declared as we were spotted, “I control all points of access to this room!”

“You underestimated me,” I said. “The Silver Shroud is no common criminal.”

The Mechanist was confused, “The Silver Shroud?” Confusion turned to disdain, and furthered my suspicion of the Mechanist’s mental instability, “I cannot believe someone so respected, so honorable, would come here and destroy my robots. Your reign of terror ends here, Shroud!”

I had to think quickly, “The Shroud, as always, walks the path of justice. It is you who has fallen, Mechanist.”

“Lies, Shroud! Lies! The Commonwealth has suffered more than its fair share of injustices because of you.”

“The Silver Shroud is no villain. The only guilty here are you and your relentless automatons.”

“My bots would never violate their protocol!”

Valentine had had enough. “Those bots are killing innocent people!”

“My friends were simple traders,” Ada said. “All dead at the hands of your robots.”

The Mechanist was shaken, “No. The robots are programmed to protect. Their subroutines are clean: observe, evaluate, and react accordingly.”

“They're misinterpreting orders,” I tried to explain. “Your own robobrain said as much. They're saving people by killing them.”

“Saving by... killing? I don't believe you. They can't alter their programming. They're programmed to save people, not kill them. And the data! They were always reporting hostiles killed and lives... saved.” The Mechanist paused in a moment of horrible realization. “No, it's... the logic... it's there... I can see it now. I was hoping it was the robobrains, an issue with their memory wipes... but you're right. Their primary directive was flawed.”

“Memory wipes?” Valentine asked.

The Mechanist nodded, “Yes. The human brain has a way of… rewiring itself. If not properly maintained, it can… corrupt.”

"Corrupt?! That's the understatement of the year.”

I tried to keep the Mechanist focused on the truth, “A serious flaw, and a dangerous one at that.”

“It is,” the Mechanist agreed, “but the process is thorough. They're wiped after each mission. They're... I found it's best to not let them recall what they've been through.”

Ada spoke, “The introduction of a human brain creates too many unknown variables. You can’t claim to know them all.”

“There's probably a reason these robots weren't in mass production,” Valentine muttered.

We had gotten through, but the Mechanist was still in denial. “I… I need to think. I took every precaution…”

“You know we are telling you the truth,” I said. “Your robots are dangerous. They had to be stopped.”

The Mechanist shook his head in disgrace, “... the hero unknowingly became the villain. I wanted to help the Commonwealth… and robots are all I know. I found this place and figured I could do my part. I accept full responsibility. I can’t take back what I’ve done or even atone for it… but this doesn’t have to end in violence.”

I was relieved to hear it. I gave the Shroud one final moment; “Though your action initially appeared felonious, your intent was not. Seek redemption, Mechanist. You have much to atone for.”

With a sigh of relief, the Mechanist declared, “Done. Consider it done. And you won't regret this, I promise. None of the Commonwealth will.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said, and removed the hat. “Permit me to introduce myself properly. I am Sherlock Holmes, of Valentine’s Detective Agency, and General of the Minutemen. This is my partner Nick Valentine, and our friend Ada.”

The Mechanist, with great trepidation, carefully removed the mask to reveal a young woman. “I’m Isabel. Isabel Cruz.”

“Can I ask why the Mechanist get-up?” Valentine gently asked.

She shifted uncomfortably. “I’m… not good with people. The Mechanist gave me a way to put myself out there without really being out there at all. I grew up on a settlement, I’ve seen how good people struggle against raiders and super mutants. I never wanted to be counted among them. But all my technical knowledge, all of these resources, and I still failed. I only ever wanted to make the Commonwealth a safer place.” She held out a holotape, “Here. Take this. It's the password to the mainframe. Use the password to shut down the security. After that, the base is yours.”

“On the contrary, Ms. Cruz, I think you should stay,” I said.

“What?”

“You want to help the Commonwealth? Work for me as a resource for the Minutemen, and you will have a chance to do just that.”

She was stunned. “The Minutemen? You… you want me to build robots for your army?”

“Units to support troops will be extremely helpful, but primarily I thought you could put your efforts to good use creating defenders for settlements.”

“There are still many rogue robots roaming the Commonwealth,” Ada pointed out. “The Minutemen will need all the help they can get, especially once this war is over.”

Ms. Cruz nervously nodded. “I’ll… I’ll try my best. Maybe I can fix some of the damage I’ve done.”

The facility's security was disabled, and Ms. Cruz gave us a proper tour of her assembly line and her capabilities. She is a nervous young woman, now guilt-ridden, but with determination and drive. I promised she would hear from my Chief Engineer soon.

Ada asked to speak with me. "While not wholly unexpected, that outcome was not the one I believed to have the highest probability."

No, it certainly wasn't. "Are you disappointed I let her live?"

She sounded concerned, "I do have conflicting outlooks, but I trust your judgment. The guilt of her actions is a punishment in itself."

"You don't quite believe that," I observed.

"I do trust your judgement, but yes, I also have doubts concerning Isabel's… potential. She could use a companion she didn't build herself."

"Are you volunteering?"

"Yes, sir. The mission was a success; the Commonwealth doesn't have to fear the Mechanist any longer. I would like to stay and make sure it never does again. She will also need help working for the Minutemen, and I will assist however I can."

"I think that's an excellent idea, Ada. For now, I wonder if we might be able to convince the newly reformed Mechanist to provide a few scrapbots for our use?"

#fallout 4 #fan fiction #nick valentine #the mechanist #the minutemen #sherlock holmes #crossover

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shoujocentral · 5 years

Text

Symphogear G- Sequelitis Strikes Again...

So, after watching the first season of Symphogear, finishing it in three days, and being hooked in an instant, naturally I was pumped to get to the next season to see what they would do with the plot, what new characters we'd get to see, how the old characters would be expanded upon, and how much more awesome the fights would get. And... would it be too harsh to say that it basically failed on most of that criteria?

Okay, yeah it would. But still, the reason this review took so long to come out is because I found this season to be a chore to get through. I still had a lot of fun, don't get me wrong, but it was a far cry from the excitement and investment I experienced in the first season. Where exactly did Symphogear G go wrong? Well, let's dive into that now.

Once again, this review will be spoiler-free for any who haven't seen the show yet.

Plot:

What is Senshi Zesshou Symphogear G about?

After the events of the first season, Hibiki, Tsubasa and Chris along with the DRS are working with the esteemed Dr. Ver to preserve Solomon's Cane, a device that Finé used to summon Noise. However, it is soon revealed that the doctor is evil, and working with a terrorist organization known as Federal Institutes of Sacrist (FIS), and with Solomon's Cane in their possession, they now have control of the Noise.

On top of that, three new Symphogear users appear, only they are working on the side of FIS. The leaders of the three, Maria Cadenzavna Eve, claims to be the new reincarnation of Finé's soul, and she also possesses a dark version of Gungnir, Hibiki's Symphogear. With such a formidable ally, FIS demands that the world's governments relinquish all control to them, lest they unleash the Noise upon them in an all-out assault.

How will our heroes stop this new global threat? And why are a group of Gear users working for the enemy?

At first, I thought the plot had a lot of intrigue and potential. While the first episode didn't grab me by the balls like Season 1 Episode 1 did, I was still interested to learn about the villainous Gear users and how the enemy's nefarious schemes would unfold. Unfortunately, if I could describe the execution of said plot in a single word, it would be "unbalanced."

Basically, the first half of G had great character and plot setup, but I found the fights somewhat lacking. Then, by episode 8, the fights had returned to their usual epicness and badassery, but the plot and characters had taken a turn for the worst.

Whereas Season 1 felt like it was continuous building and building with each episode, stuff just... happens in Symphogear G. Characters motivations are set up, but either forgotten or completely changed halfway through the show. It honestly felt like the writers were making G's story up as they went along.

The issues I had with Season 1's story are present here as well, in that the villain's motivation is incredibly confusing and not made 100% clear until the last couple of episodes. FIS's main goal is to save humanity from the Moon, which will soon crash into the Earth due to the damage it endured from Finé. However, they go about this by... killing people? I understand innocent bloodshed is necessary in most evil "save the world" schemes, but is this really the best way to convince the rest of the world that you're here to help?

Either I'm just really dumb, or Symphogear just isn't very good at explaining things.

Another thing that bothered me about this season was the usage of Swan Songs. In Symphogear G, there's not one, but TWO methods that allow Gear users to sing their Swan Songs without dying. "Tension? Consequences? WhAt ThE hElL aRe ThOsE?!"

However, the worst part about this confused and structurally unbalanced plot is how it affects the character development.

Characters:

I'm going to cover the three lead characters and Miku very briefly (cause there honestly isn't much to talk about) so we can discuss the new characters in more detail.

Remember how I praised Hibiki in Season 1 for being a flat character done right? Well, in G, the writers attempted to give Hibiki somewhat of an arc by having the villains call her a "hypocrite." At first, I was intrigued as to what they meant by this. Then, there was a point where Hibiki went Berserk again, and I figured "Oh, they mean that because she can't control her Gear, she's a danger to the people she's trying to protect!" Nope. Once Hibiki returns to normal, she never goes Berserk again, and her plot becomes about her dealing with the Gungnir fragments slowly killing her from the inside. Soooo... why is she a hypocrite again? An excellent question! ...that's never answered. Weak.

I wasn't the biggest fan of Tsubasa in Season 1, finding her over-the-top EDGE a bit too much for my taste. However, I will give credit that she at least had an arc. In G, she does absolutely nothing. She has no arc, no motivation, and contributes nothing to the plot (thankfully her strict, yet compassionate personality is left untouched). I initially thought she would have some conflict with Maria, given that the two had a bit of a standoff in Episode 1, with Tsubasa angry at Maria for possessing Kanade's Gear. Much like Hibiki's Berserk Mode, though, this conflict was never expanded upon or brought up again, relegating Tsubasa to a glorified background character.

Chris was my favorite character in Season 1, with her fiery tsundere personality and redemption arc. But much like Tsubasa, she suffered the fate of being pushed to the sidelines. Chris started out in a tough spot, transferring into Hibiki and Tsubasa's school and bearing little to no social skills. This new environment throws her for a loop, especially when a group of her classmates try to befriend her. I interpreted this as Chris not only struggling with social anxiety due to her hatred of people in Season 1, but also still harboring some guilt over her actions and not feeling worthy of friendship or care whatsoever. Okay, fair enough.

Well guess what else the writers forgot about?! 🤪

And alas, let's talk about Miku...... Oh my sweet little angel, what have they done to you??? Miku was the heart and soul of Season 1; she was Hibiki's emotional support; her Sun that warmed her whenever she felt dark. In G, she's just useless. The writers, like Hibiki, try to give her an arc (that doesn't start till episode 6...) where she wants to protect Hibiki from the Gungnir killing her. The way the writers execute this promising arc, however, is nothing short of insulting. Long story short, she fails to protect Hibiki in any single way. Instead, Hibiki ends up being the one still protecting her. Good job, Symphogear G.

With all that out of the way, I can FINALLY move onto something more positive. While I may not like what G did with the protagonists, the same cannot be said for the villains. These people are what made this season enjoyable to me.

Maria Candenzavna Eve

Maria is objectively the best character of the season. I really don't see how anyone could argue otherwise. She has a gut-wrenching backstory, a clearly defined motivation, and every action she takes, while not always the most logical, makes sense to how she is feeling at the time.

Maria's sister, Serena, who was also a Gear user, used her Swan Song to save FIS from an out-of-control experiment. Immediately following this, the scientists berated the deceased Serena for destroying something they had put so much work in. Maria was enraged by the idea that they would do this to someone, a child nonetheless, who had just sacrificed her life for them. However, instead of retaliating and seeking revenge on FIS for this, Maria dedicates her actions to protecting human lives so that Serena's sacrifice wouldn't be in vain. And unlike the rest of FIS, she actually goes out of her way to avoid killing anyone! Of course, she eventually learns the hard way that saving everyone may be an impossibility...

Also, she gets one of the most adrenaline-pumping and yet emotional fights, accompanied by her kickass battle song, which is probably my favorite of the entire series now.

Kirika Akatsuki

Hot-blooded, cheerful, and insistent on ending every sentence with "I say!" Kirika is nothing short of a joy to watch. She's a welcome entry in the villain faction, which desperately needed someone lighthearted to counteract the dead sister angst. Of course, this doesn't mean she's is without her own conflicts.

Kirika's main drive is, aside from saving the innocent, protecting her girlfriend best friend Shirabe. She's constantly trying to cheer her up cold-hearted friend and remind her that what they're doing is the right thing. However, this protective instinct leads to a discovery that changes her for the worst, and the rest of the show is her tragic and slow descent into madness, leading to a heartbreaking scene in the final battle that left me going "damn, they went there."

Kirika's Gear is cool enough, but not my favorite. It's mostly just a scthye and boomerangs, making it not much different from Tsubasa's Gear. Or at least, her Gear isn't as impressive as our next antagonist...

Shirabe Tsukuyomi

Cold, distant, but ruthless in combat (beware the quite ones), Shirabe is a great foil to her lover friend Kirika, or "Kiri-chan" as she likes to call her. One could say that Shirabe is an emotionless husk, but as the story plays out we learn that, like most tsunderes, this is merely a mask to hide how much she cares for the people around her. She harbors a deep respect and admiration for Maria and an unbreakable bond with Kirika.

Shirabe bears a strong resentment towards Hibiki, being the one to drill home the fact that she's a "hypocrite" (for reasons I'm still not hugely clear on...). She believes that FIS is the only hope humanity has for survival. Of course, once her idol, Maria, starts to lose sight of this goal, Shirabe becomes conflicted, and starts to question which side is right. I love it when villains don't know which path to take. Such delicious angst! 😬

As much as I love Chris' Gear, Shirabe's may just be my new favorite. Her pigtails transform into mechanical arms with sawblades! She can spawn a giant sawblade to ride around on like a giant wheel! She can turn into a giant robot with sawblades for arms! Y'know, I'm starting to think I like saw-based weapons...

Professor Nastassja

My only complaint about this character is that no one ever made fun of her name.

Prof. Nastassja, or "Mom" as Maria, Kirika and Shirabe call her, is the serious, straightforward thinking mastermind of FIS's operations. She was there when Serena died in front of Maria, and after seeing her determination to protect people, she decided to push Maria towards their ultimate goal of "saving" mankind from the Moon crashing. Thankfully, this woman actually has a head on her shoulders, and comes to realize that killing people probably isn't the best way to save them (who'da thunk?) and thus sets out on a path of redemption. Damn, what's with villains this season realizing that they might be wrong? I love it!

Of course, on the deep end of the villains spectrum, we have the only one who doesn't realize the error of his ways...

Dr. Ver

Just a sample of the many amazing faces this guys makes.

Everyone loves a good psychopath. And oh boy, does this guy really underline the "psycho" part of that word. Constantly laughing manically, making theatrical gestures, spawning Noise with an itchy trigger finger, and declaring loud and proud that HE is the hero of this story. I could watch him for hours.

While Dr. Ver's motivation does stem from FIS's overly convoluted plot, he makes it very clear that he has his own agenda. He may claim he strives for the salvation of humanity, but his actions say otherwise. And that's why he's so great. He doesn't have a complex backstory or a redemption arc. He's just evil through and through and he loves every minute of it. As Alfred once said to Bruce Wayne: "Some men just want to watch the world burn." 😈

Alright, that's all the new characters out of the way. Time to move onto my favorite section before I wrap things up...

Yuri:

The yuri content this season was, like the rest of it, a mixed bag. The best way I can sum it up is that it took one giant leap forward, and another giant leap back.

First and foremost, our star couple of the show: HibiMiku. Or they would be the star of the show if they had more screentime. Yeah, G really did this couple dirty. They don't even hold a conversation together until Episode 6! And then they throw in the whole conflict of Miko wanting to protect Hibiki. I guess the writers were relying on the sentiment they'd built on HibiMiku from the last season, but I feel like the two could've have at least TALKED about Miku not wanting Hibiki to fight before throwing her into the action. There was one scene twowards the end with the two of them that really got me in the feels, but it was hardly enough to make up for the whole lot of nothing we got from the rest of the season.

Second, we have the two that ultimately saved the yuri content in G: KiriShira. They look good together? Check. Complimenting personalities? Check. Emotional support? Check. Each character has their own motivation and arc outside of their relationship? Check. These two are not only absolutely adorable together, but unlike HibiMiku, which is more implied (even though there shouldn't be any doubt they're dating), KiriShira actually gets a love confession! I haven't seen that in a magical girl show since Sailor Moon Crystal when Hotaru confessed to Chibi-Usa! I'll have to see more of these two before I can say for sure, but I might actually prefer KiriShira to HibiMiku at this point. Gonna have to see how the rest of the series plays out!

Conclusion:

Symphogear G is a considerable step down from Season 1 in my opinion. While I absolutely adore the antagonists and love (MOST) of the yuri content we got, the story and protagonists just didn't do it for me this time around, which is a shame considering how much I liked them in Season 1. The fight scenes in the first couple of episodes were less than impressive, which had me nervous, but they thankfully stepped up towards the end, delivering one hell of a climactic finale.

Also, I'm not gonna lie, the final episode got me choked up.

I may have been to hard on this season when I started this review. Despite my numerous issues, I still enjoyed myself throughout and I am looking forward to the next season. I sincerely hope my issues with the plot and protagonists are rectified because I do love this series. What's done well in G is really good, but what fails in G really fails. Oh well, not every season of a franchise can be a masterpiece. I'm just praying that it's all uphill from here. 🙏

Rating: 6/10

Hope you all enjoyed! I'll see you in my review of Symphogear GX, my fellow yuri lovers! ❤️😊❤️

#symphogear #senki zesshou symphogear #yuri #yuri anime #shoujo ai #hibiki tachibana #miku kohinata #tsubasa kazanari #chris yukine #maria cadenzavna eve #kirika akatsuki #shirabe tsukuyomi #hibiki x miku #hibimiku #kirika x shirabe #kirishira

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kingdomofthelogos · 5 years

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The Pursuit of Hope & Liberty

The concepts of liberty and hope are often missing in modern dialogue. Our culture is far more concerned with talking about suffering and drawing attention to issues than it is liberating people from such places of chaos. Part of this is because powerful people have built their public influence on their ability to point at problems. They do nothing more than point at problems for two reasons: they would lose their relevance if the problems went away; also, this is because they have no power to address the true problems that affect the world. Sin is the root cause fallen creation, and sin runs deeper than what can be easily seen. If people are to ever find true hope and liberty, then it must come from God in the form of cleansing sin, for it is the curse of sin that causes our eternal souls to rot and our world to perpetually move down the chaotic line of entropy. Thankfully, Christ Jesus came that we might find true hope and liberty.

True liberty means that you are free from that which is destroying your eternal soul. When Jesus heals a paralytic He first forgives the man of his sins, and it was necessary to do so if Jesus was to bring liberty to this man. Being paralyzed is tragic, but it pales in comparison to the eternal decay of the soul caused by sin. All of our bodies will experience problems if we live long enough, but such illnesses can only harm the body. It is sin which will endure long after the body is gone. Therefore, if Jesus is a merciful God desiring to liberate people then He must free the man from sin. This cleansing is something only God can do, and Jesus desires that we have liberty and hope.

Sadly, there are many who reject the eternal hope and liberty that is found in the Gospel. As we discuss the hope found in the Gospel, I want us use three stories in Matthew chapters 8 and 9 as reference points. The first is when Jesus cleanses a leper, the second is when Jesus casts out demons, and the third is when Jesus heals a paralytic.

Matthew 8:1-4

8:1 When Jesus had come down from the mountain, great crowds followed him; 2 and there was a leper who came to him and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, if you choose, you can make me clean.” 3 He stretched out his hand and touched him, saying, “I do choose. Be made clean!” Immediately his leprosy was cleansed. 4 Then Jesus said to him, “See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer the gift that Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.” (NRSV)

Suffering is intrinsic to life in fallen world, but we were not designed to be creatures of suffering. God did not design us to be creatures of suffering. This was not meant to be our story, and it was not meant to such a profound part of life that the entirety of our lives were shaped around our unique sufferings.

When this man comes to Jesus, he is making a profound question. He is asking something very personal to himself, as well as speaking for every one of God’s creatures who has hit the moment in life where the suffering is too great to bear. He comes before his Lord and makes this statement, “if you desire it, you have the power to make be clean.” The text contains two prominent words in Greek, “thelles” and “dunasai.” Thelles means to wish, to desire, and to want something. Dunasai has the same root as our word for dynamite, and it means that you have the power to make something happen.

When this creature comes before his Lord, he states the truth of reality: If the Lord desires to cleanse this man, He has the power to do so. In this moment Jesus liberates the man with a simple response saying “I desire it,” or in the Greek it is the single word “Thelo.” God wishes that we have liberty.

The man is then sent on his way to make the sacrifice, and to start a new life freed from leprosy. Jesus does not spend his time talking about how someone needs to bring justice to the lepers; instead, he does something no man can do and liberates the man, this precious creature, from its miserable prison and sets free to live a new life that is not defined by leprosy.

Matthew 8:28-34

8:28 When he came to the other side, to the country of the Gadarenes, two demoniacs coming out of the tombs met him. They were so fierce that no one could pass that way. 29 Suddenly they shouted, “What have you to do with us, Son of God? Have you come here to torment us before the time?” 30 Now a large herd of swine was feeding at some distance from them. 31 The demons begged him, “If you cast us out, send us into the herd of swine.” 32 And he said to them, “Go!” So they came out and entered the swine; and suddenly, the whole herd rushed down the steep bank into the sea and perished in the water. 33 The swineherds ran off, and on going into the town, they told the whole story about what had happened to the demoniacs. 34 Then the whole town came out to meet Jesus; and when they saw him, they begged him to leave their neighborhood. (NRSV)

In this story Jesus does not consult the persons whom the demons possessed. However, that does not mean that he does not care for them. These creatures are in such a horrific state that they do not really have any control over what they say or do. There is literally something else inside of them taking control over their body. This is not how humans were designed to live. God designed people in His image, that they would have will, and the ability to make choices of their own volition. Even though these people are not able to voice their pain, Jesus knows what is best for them, even better than they do. God knows what we need better than any of us. Our lives are far more complicated than we are able to analyze them, but God, who looks at us with omnipresence, knows our every need.

For whatever reason, the townspeople in this text do not want the hope and liberty offered by Jesus. They would much rather have demoniacs in the cemetery. Jesus casts out the demons, and the townspeople want to cast out Jesus. The come to Jesus begging Him to leave.

There are many people in our world who don’t want righteous transformation to come into their town. They don’t want people to actually liberated from their suffering. It is more convenient for them to pretend their designs for society know how society should look rather than God’s. The truth is this: God knows what we need, and only God can fix the problems of sin.

God did not design people to be possessed by forces that shut down their minds and make them hideous monsters. Only God can liberate people, and any solution we have for oppression in our world must begin by submitting to God’s authority to forgive sin and realize that all people, including both the oppressor and oppressed, are sinners in need of cleansing. All hope and liberty must begin with the repentance of sin and holy transformation into what God designed us to be, not what we want to be. Without this basis, any solution is doomed to failure.

Whenever we do not start with this premise, we find that we are townspeople begging Jesus to leave, because we think we know what is best for society. This is what a society without God looks like. It has some people oppressed, and some living more comfortably, and those who live comfortably beg the power of hope and liberty to leave. They beg the hope and liberty of Jesus to leave because they think they know better.

Matthew 9:2-7

9:2 And just then some people were carrying a paralyzed man lying on a bed. When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, “Take heart, son; your sins are forgiven.” 3 Then some of the scribes said to themselves, “This man is blaspheming.” 4 But Jesus, perceiving their thoughts, said, “Why do you think evil in your hearts? 5 For which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Stand up and walk’? 6 But so that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins,” the then said to the paralytic, “Stand up, take your bed and go to your home.” 7 And he stood up and went to his home. (NRSV)

Creation was not meant to be a place of suffering. The fall happened as a result of people deciding they could do better at determining good and evil than God. Pastor Amanda Sparrow, presented a very intriguing angle to the story of Adam and Eve. It was not that God did not want humanity to have any knowledge of good and evil, but that God wanted to sit with them in the cool of the day and teach them of as they matured. When they consumed the fruit bearing the knowledge of good and evil, they broke away from God’s design.

Whenever people think they know what is good better than God, they are setting the world up for suffering. No matter how good they believe their intentions to be, if their actions do not line up with the will of God, then they will add suffering to the world. Now, one of the beautiful ironies of history is that sometimes God’s will is carried by people in spite of their own intentions, for such was the case with Jonah.

The scribes in this text think they have a solid grasp on good and evil. Yet, God the Son is standing before them giving liberty to a man and they think it is blasphemy. In spite of their best intentions, the scribes had wildly misdiagnosed the situation. Moreover, the scribes are so absorbed in their understandings of good and evil that they cannot even comprehend the liberty being given to this man. The scribes, with their highly educated understanding of religious law, cannot comprehend liberty. It is worth emphasizing that their education is not in any generic notion of law, but in the religious law. The very people considered to be experts on morality could not discern freedom from blasphemy.

God did not design people to be paralytics; furthermore, the all-seeing eyes of God know that there is a curse even worse than paralysis: this is the curse of sin. Jesus is teaching the crowd an important lesson in this moment. If people are to find real liberty, than it must start with their soul. No matter where people were at when they met Jesus, they must have their sins forgiven and find the holy transformation that comes from God. No single man, collection of men, or any human institution in the world can provide the liberty that Christ Jesus can, for none possess the power and authority needed to do so.

An Absence of Hope & Liberty

Part of the reason that liberty and hope are missing in modern dialogue is that the driving forces in our culture have figured out that it is not easy to elevate people out of suffering. Our culture has taken notice of the fact there are differences between people, and the sufferings people endure in life seem to be too great for some people to overcome. People who believe they have good intentions look at the sufferings in our world, and decide the only reasonable solution is to level the playing field and try to make it so that all people experience the same outcomes in life. The problem with this is that people are not God, governments are not God, and if people do not willing submit to the cleansing of their sins then the only possible way to level the playing field is to reduce us down to our most carnal nature of suffering and sin. To restate this more compactly, since no person possesses the power to raise people up, our culture has determined that must do what stick together in the desperate moments of life.

Sadly, the unspoken conclusion of this sort of culture is that it remains in desperation. This is a culture without the Gospel, and it is a culture without hope and liberty, two things which necessarily must come from God. Hope and liberty must come from a power and authority greater than our own, and it must be arbitrated from a viewpoint free of human limitation.

God did not design us to be creatures of suffering. We were not designed to be creatures who identified ourselves by our sufferings and desires. God wants us to have liberty as creatures created in His image. There is no liberty without the law, as Charlton Heston says after receiving the Ten Commandments. This is not obvious to people who think that they know better than God on how to deal with good and evil.

One of the things that God wants to liberate us from is bondage to our own will and our own desire. This does not mean that we become mindless hulls, like the people possessed by demons in Matthew 8, but that we have our minds transformed away from the corrupting thoughts of sin and towards the righteous state for which they were originally meant. Sin corrupts us, and often people engage in activities that they resent. Sin blinds us from clarity.

Imagine if I were to open up a book and start reading the technical details of certain items design. Say I have something with 13 keys, 14 springs, 12 pads, 5 rings, 26 studs, some wood, cork, and glue. If you have no context, nothing to tell you what the words mean, you would likely find yourself overwhelmed very quickly. However, if I start by saying I have the technical details of a clarinet, this might all make a bit more sense. But even saying that may throw people off, because some people are unfamiliar with clarinets and others who are familiar with clarinets would say “you don’t have enough parts” because they assumed I was talking about a modern clarinet and not an old albert system clarinet. All of this turns into a mess quite quickly. Some don’t know where to start, and others know enough to criticize the details for not being sufficient. In any case, if one does not have clarification as to what they are dealing with, the situation can be very difficult. Having clarity does not make you a mindless drone, having clarity allows you to see the larger picture.

God tells us who we are, what His creation is, and how we are to live. All people are capable of missing the mark if they do not begin with God. Some are too smart to see the big picture, because they think they know better. Others might be so wrapped up in their desires, or their sufferings to see the big picture, but in the end it does not matter, because we are all sinners in need of cleansing.

Jesus does not intend for us to stay imprisoned by the sufferings of life. Rather, He came to us as one who was fully God and fully human to teach us how to live and to liberate us from the curse of sin. The curse of sin is eternal, and it is the root of all other problems. Governmental laws do not stop sin, they only give a means for adjudicating those who have broken criminal code. The only antidote to sin is the cleansing power of Christ Jesus.

#Sermon #Nazarene #Christian #Pastor #Holiness #Church of the Nazarene #Jesus #Liberty #Hope #Freedom #Salvation #Faith #Prayer #agatha christie

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puckinginsane · 6 years

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Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Tyler Seguin Christmas one shot

When my boss told me I would have to be in Minneapolis for 3 days of meetings just a few days before Christmas I thought he was joking. I literally laughed right in his face until I actually saw his face and noticed he wasn’t laughing along. No, this was serious. We actually had to travel to Minnesota during the busiest travel days of the year to take in some meetings. He wasn’t happy about it either but there was nothing we could do to get out of it. Sales managers from around the country had been called in for these sets of emergency meetings. Nobody was happy but we sucked it up and made the best of it.

The company put us all up in cabins to feel like it was more like a vacation than a sales trip but it just turned out to be more frustrating than anything. The wifi was spotty, the bed was uncomfortable, and the water pressure in the shower sucked. I tried my best to stay positive but it wasn’t easy. I am so glad to finally be leaving this place and going home for the holidays. I can’t wait to see my family. It seems like as each year goes by I see them less and less but at least we always have Christmas together. I look forward to it. I love my family.

I have been getting weather advisory alerts on my phone all morning about a blizzard coming so I’m worried that my flight is going to be delayed or worse. I have to check out and get to the airport before it’s too late. When I get into the lodge I notice there is nobody else around. This can’t be a good thing. It’s Christmas Eve and there’s no one to be seen. I walk to the front desk and wait for the clerk to come out of the office to help me. Just as I check out I start getting more alerts on my phone. I step away from the front desk to check them. My flight is cancelled. All of the flights are cancelled.

No, no, no this cannot be happening. I can’t be stranded here. I walk back to the front desk. “I don’t suppose you have any open cabins,” I say to the clerk, knowing full well the answer is going to be no.

“No sorry, miss, we are all booked up. It is the holidays after all,” he replies.

“I know. I figured I’d try.” I grab my suitcase and walk over to one of the couches and sit down. There has got to be a way for me to get out of here. I look around on my phone to see if there is any other way to get out of Minnesota. The whole state is shut down. There is no way out at this point. I’m going to have to call my mom and let her know I won’t be home for Christmas. The phone rings a few times before my mom answers. “Hey, mom, it looks like I’m going to be stuck here in Minneapolis.”

“Oh no, sweetie, is everything ok?” she asks.

“It looks like a blizzard shut down the entire state. I haven’t been outside so I don’t know how bad it is.”

“Yeah, I’m watching on the weather channel right now. It does not look good.”

“This is what I get for taking an extra day to relax. Now I’ll never leave,” I complain.

“Do you have a place to stay?” she asks.

“No. And I don’t think I’ll be able to find a place either. All of the cabins here are booked. I guess I’ll just have to wait it out here in the lodge.”

“I’m sorry, that has to be rough. We will see you once you get home. Stay warm and stay safe.”

“Thanks, mom, I’ll keep you updated. Love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie.” My mom and I hang up and I stand up and walk to the window and push the curtains aside to see just how bad this blizzard is. The snow is coming down really hard and it looks pretty windy. There seems to already be a significant amount of snow accumulated on the ground. It did not look like this a few hours ago. I get a few more notifications on my phone. A state of emergency is in effect as well as a curfew. It just keeps getting worse. If I’m going to possibly find a place that has an opening, even if it’s a crappy motel, I am going to have to leave now.

I pick up my suitcase and start making my way across the lobby. “I don’t care what they say, I’m getting out of here,” I mutter to myself.

“I wouldn’t go out there if I were you,” I hear someone say to me as I walk passed them. I turn around to say something to them about minding their own business but when I see who it is my heart practically jumps in my throat. It’s Tyler Seguin from the Dallas Stars. I have such a big crush on him. I forgot that they had a game here last night. “It’s really bad out there.”

“I’m not getting stuck in this lodge. I need to see if I can find a place to stay.” I continue to walk towards the doors.

Tyler stands up and follows after me. “It’s pretty dangerous out there.”

I turn my head to look at him as I continue to walk. “I appreciate your concern but I’m leaving.”

He shakes his head at me. “You’re so stubborn.”

I roll my eyes and ignore his last comment as I open the doors and step outside. I’m immediately hit in the face with the brisk air and snow hitting my face. I push on through to where my rental car is parked. It’s hard to even tell where the car begins and ends. Everything looks like a blanket of white. I begin trying to dig my car out with my hands but as I dig in the snow more snow just fills in. It’s no use. I am really stuck here. Even if I did manage to dig my car out it’s not like I would really be able to get anywhere quickly. It looks like they have stopped trying to plow the roads. Everything is shut down.

I turn around to walk back into the lodge and Tyler is standing in the doorway leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest with a smile on his face. He chuckles as I walk passed him. “Well that was entertaining,” he says as he follows behind me as I walk to one of the couches. I sit down and he sits down on the couch across from me. Is this really happening right now? The one time I have Tyler Seguin all to myself and I am in such a bad mood. “It looks like we’re stranded together.”

“Yeah, it looks that way,” I say as I start sending texts to my friends letting them know my situation.

“What were you here for?” he asks.

“I was here for work. I was supposed to leave yesterday but I stayed an extra day to relax. I guess that was a mistake.”

“Same here. I stayed an extra day to get some last minute Christmas shopping done before going back home. My whole family is at my house right now and I’m here.”

“I can’t believe we are the only two idiots that got stranded.”

“I’m not an idiot. Speak for yourself.” He smiles a cheesy grin. “I’m Tyler, by the way.”

“I’m Amy.” I don’t know if I should tell him I know who he is. It could make things awkward. We are doing fine without him knowing I am a big fan of his.

“It’s nice to meet you, Amy. This isn’t how you thought you would spend your Christmas Eve I’m sure.”

“No definitely not.”

“What were your plans?” he asks as he leans his elbow on the armrest and rests his head on the palm of his hand and looks at me for my answer.

“I was going to go to my aunt’s house where my whole family always gathers. I haven’t seen them all year. I was really looking forward to seeing them.”

“That sucks. I don’t see my family much either. I was looking forward to some home cooked meals and spending a few days with them.”

The wind is so fast outside that you can hear the gusts outside the window. “It’s really coming down out there,” I say. I don’t know what else to talk about.

“I wonder if we’ll lose power. We may have to use body heat for warmth.” He smiles a big, toothy smile.

“Or sit by the fire,” I say as I point to the roaring fireplace across the room.

“Yeah but that’s not as fun.”

I can’t believe he’s flirting with me. Maybe he’s just overly friendly. I know he’s a pretty outgoing guy. I feel my cheeks getting warm from blushing but I try to play it cool. I shake my head as I fight a smile. “You’re terrible.”

He laughs. “So, Amy, where are you from?”

“New Jersey. You?” If I’m going to pretend I don’t know who he is I might as well go all in.

“Originally from the Toronto area. Living in Dallas now.”

“Oh a Canadian, eh?” I tease.

“Wow. You just did that.”

“I did.”

“I’ll remember that.”

I just smile. I’m thankful to be stranded with him. He’s making this enjoyable, well, as enjoyable as it can be. He’s kept my mind off the fact that I won’t be seeing my family at all this year. I can’t stop thinking about the fact that it’s Tyler Seguin and I am so calm about it. He seems really comfortable around me which makes me feel comfortable to be myself around him. I keep checking the satellite on my phone to see if there are any signs of this letting up but it looks like it’s going to be going on for a while.

There are no TVs in the lodge. There is a huge fireplace at the back of the room with chairs and couches scattered throughout. There is a coffee and hot chocolate bar off to the side of the front desk but not much for food, just little snacks. The lodge has high ceilings and it looks like an over sized, fancier version of a log cabin. They pride themselves on giving you an outdoor experience with a touch of luxury. I don’t even want to know how much staying here cost my company.

I look up from my phone to see Tyler watching me. I wonder how long he’s been staring. I have been so focused on what’s been going on on my phone that I hadn’t looked up in at least 5 minutes. I feel myself blushing again. He makes me so nervous although I think I have been doing a good job of hiding it. “Hi,” I say with half of a smile.

“Are you telling your boyfriend you’re stuck with some guy? Don’t tell him about the body heat thing.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I know it’s hard to believe that all of this is single but it’s true.”

He laughs. “You’re funny.”

“Thanks.” I’m so embarrassed but I’m trying so hard not to look away. My cheeks and ears feel like they’re on fire. It’s probably obvious to him that I’m a blushing, nervous mess. I work in sales so usually I am self confident but this is Tyler Seguin. He makes me feel like a puddle of mush when he looks at me and now he’s complimenting me. I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve had a crush on him for years and I’m just trying to keep myself together.

“You’re welcome.” He sits back on the couch and scratches the side of his face before crossing his arms over his chest. “It would be nice if they had a TV in here.”

“I have my laptop but I was having problems with the wifi. I’m sure the weather isn’t helping.” I don’t want to turn my laptop on anyway. Tyler is my desktop image and it would ruin everything if he saw that.

“We will just have to find other ways to entertain ourselves.”

I don’t even know what to say to that. He looks pleased with himself, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He’s saying these things on purpose. I can’t even imagine how pink my cheeks are now. I get a text from my brother and open it. He sent me a selfie saying he wishes I were there. My brother and I are always sending selfies back and forth to one another. I want to take one and send it but Tyler is watching me. I know he likes taking selfies so I should just take one and not worry what he thinks. I hold my phone out in front of me and take a smiling selfie and send it off to my brother. I put my phone down on my lap and Tyler is smiling at me with his eyebrows raised. “My brother and I send selfies back and forth to each other,” I explain.

“That was cute,” he replies.

“I, uh, wow, thanks,” I nervously say as I look down at my lap. If it were possible to turn purple I’m sure that’s what color my cheeks would be at this point. Tyler Seguin just said I was cute. It’s a Christmas miracle.

“Why do I make you so nervous?” he asks, “your cheeks are so red.”

Like he doesn’t know the answer to that question. He has to know he’s attractive. I can’t be the first girl to melt into a puddle on the floor in front of him no matter how hard I try to fight it. “It’s hot in here. I need some fresh air.”

I stand up and walk outside. I take a deep breath and look up into the sky and let the snowflakes hit my face. My cheeks cool off with the touch of each individual snowflake touching my skin. It’s refreshing. Thump. I feel a snowball hit me square in the middle of my back. I turn around to see Tyler standing about 15 feet away with the biggest smile on his face. He starts cracking up as soon as we make eye contact. “I can’t believe I actually hit you!” he exclaims.

“Oh, you’re so gonna get it!” I yell as I start to run towards him. He starts to run away but I manage to catch up to him. I could pick up some snow and throw it back at him but instead I leap off of the ground and tackle him into a snowbank.

He opens his mouth wide, shocked that I just had the balls to tackle him. I’m a little surprised myself. “It’s like that now, is it?” he asks. I stand up and hold my hands out to pull him up. He holds onto my hands but instead of standing up he pulls me down and pushes me into the snow. “This isn’t over.”

“Cold! So cold!” I screech as the snow hits the skin on my back because my shirt rode up a little bit. He leans down towards me and his face is just inches from mine. Holy shit, is he going to kiss me? It seems like he’s going to kiss me. What the hell do I do if he kisses me? Will I even be able to kiss him back? I look at his lips and then into his eyes and back down at his lips. He smirks a little before closing his eyes, I close mine too anticipating his kiss. Instead of a kiss I get a handful of snow in my face. I wipe the snow as he laughs at me.

“You so thought I was going to kiss you,” he teases.

“You’re such a jerk!” I shout. That is so wrong on so many levels. I really was hoping he was going to kiss me. Now I just feel like a fool.

He continues to laugh at me. He holds his hands out. “Come on, for real, I’ll help you up. It’s too cold to be in the snow for this long.”

I grab a handful of snow and at the same time with my other hand I grab the waistband of his jeans. I pull them out just slightly and shove the snow down his pants. “Holy shit!” he shrieks as he grabs at the snow I left there and pulls it out. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“You have no idea who you’re messing with,” I reply. I’m pretty proud of myself for coming up with that and following up. I just put my hand down Tyler Seguin’s pants. Oh my god.

Tyler holds his hands out for me one more time and this time I take them and he pulls me up and off of my butt. I brush myself off. I am soaked and so is he. We walk back inside dripping with melting snow. “We should sit by the fire to dry off,” he suggests.

“Yeah,” I agree.

We walk over to the couch that sits in front of the fireplace and sit down next to each other. The heat of the fire feels so good on my freezing cold skin. Now it’s just a matter of drying off. I still can’t believe I had the balls to put my hand down Tyler’s pants and he doesn’t seem to be mad about it. He still wants to sit next to me so that’s a good sign. He looks at me and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you did that. That took guts,” he says.

“Yeah I kinda can’t believe I did that either to be honest.”

“It was impressive.”

“That’s one way to describe it, I guess.”

“I deserved it.”

“Oh yeah, you definitely did.”

The crackling of the fire can be heard as both of us sit in silence as we continue to warm up and dry off. I was so mad I was going to be missing Christmas with my family but I get to spend it with Tyler instead. Not a bad trade off at all. We are sitting so close that our legs are touching. He hasn’t moved over and I am sure as hell not moving. I still can’t believe he was so close to my face. What if I went for it and kissed him thinking that’s what he was going to do? I would have made a fool of myself. Thankfully I usually wait for the guy to make the first move or I would have embarrassed myself even more than I already did. He knows I wanted him to kiss me. I closed my eyes like an idiot.

“I’m sorry I made you think I was going to kiss you. That wasn’t right,” he says after a few minutes of silence.

“It’s ok. I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself anyway,” I reply.

“Oh you mean you wouldn’t have stuck your hand down my pants? I guess it’s good that I didn’t then.” He looks at me and smirks. He’s such a flirt. I can’t handle it. “Oh, there goes those pink cheeks again.”

“Look who’s talking. Yours are just as pink,” I retort.

He looks away. I think I actually made him embarrassed. I get another selfie text from my brother. “You should send him one with the both of us in it,” Tyler says as he peeks over my shoulder.

“Hey! Nosey.” I put my hand over my screen.

He puts his arm around my shoulders. “Come on. You take one then I’ll take one on mine.”

“Ok.” I put the camera on and hold it out in front of us. He leans his head against mine and we both smile. I take the picture and send it to my brother.

“My turn.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and holds it out in front of us. Once again he leans his head against mine and takes the picture. “I don’t have a brother to send it to. I’ll just post it on Instagram. Is that ok?”

“Yeah, sure, it’s fine with me.” I have to act like it’s no big deal but I know that it is. He has hundreds of thousands of people who follow him and they’re all going to see it. This is crazy. He still has his arm around me as he types with his other hand on his phone. I’m starting to feel a bit too comfortable sitting here with him like this. I have to get up and walk around or something. I’m about to fall asleep. It’s been a stressful few days and I haven’t gotten much sleep. “I think I’m going to walk around the room or something. I’m starting to get sleepy.”

“You could use me as a pillow if you want. I don’t mind.”

“Are you serious?” I ask. There’s no way I can take him up on his offer.

“Yeah. Why not?” he replies.

“I don’t know,” I warily say.

“I’ll make up your mind for you.” He puts his hand on the side of my head and pulls it down onto his shoulder. “Sleep. I’ll wake you if anything exciting happens.”

How am I supposed to fall asleep when I have my head on Tyler Seguin’s shoulder? Why is he being so nice to me? I should stop questioning it and just take time to enjoy it. I take a deep breath. This just feels nice. I want to be stubborn and not sleep but my eyes are growing heavier and heavier and it’s beginning to be almost impossible to keep them open. I close my eyes and feel his head resting on mine before I fall asleep.

I feel Tyler shifting next to me and I wake up. I groan a little bit as I open my eyes. I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping but I need to stand up and walk around. “How long was I sleeping?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. I fell asleep too. Sorry I woke you up. My arm was falling asleep.”

“It’s ok. I have to get up. My butt hurts.”

He laughs. “No comment.”

“That’s a first.”

“I figured I’d spare you this time.”

I stand up and stretch. “Why start now?”

“Smart ass.”

“I’m going to walk around a bit. Sitting in one place is killing me.”

The lodge isn’t entirely big but it’s enough where I can walk around and get the blood flowing through my legs again. I notice Tyler going over to the coffee bar to make himself some coffee. I take my phone out of my pocket and notice it has gotten pretty late. I guess I slept longer than I thought I did. It’s almost midnight already. Soon it’ll be Christmas day and it doesn’t look like the snow has let up at all. It just keeps accumulating and accumulating.

I look over at Tyler who is sitting back on the couch in front of the fireplace with his coffee cup in his hand. He is sitting there just looking into the fireplace. He’s so cute. It’s just a few minutes away from Christmas and I feel like I need to find something to give to Tyler as a present, even if it’s just a joke. I think it would be so cute if I went over there with a present for him. I’m sure it would cheer both of us up and he would get a big kick out of it. There’s just not much around here to go with. I wish I had something in my suitcase but I didn’t have time to do any kind of shopping while I was here. There has got to be something I can find to give him.

I don’t want him to see me sneaking around and looking for stuff so I have to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t see what I’m doing. It looks like he’s deep in thought over there by the fireplace so I don’t think I have to worry about him. I walk past a few tables with vases with fresh flowers in them. I guess I could give him some flowers. I don’t see anything else in this place that I could give him so it’s going to have to be flowers. I grab one of the vases off of the table and pick out a single flower from it before putting it back down on the table. For some reason this is so amusing to me. I’m about to give Tyler Seguin a flower for Christmas.

I walk over to Tyler holding the flower behind my back. I sit down next to him and he looks at me. “It’s officially Christmas,” I say, “I got you something.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” I pull the flower out from behind my back and he starts laughing as soon as he sees it. He takes it from me. “Sorry, it’s all I could find.”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” He smells the flower before putting it down on the little table next to his arm of the couch. “Wow it actually smells really good.”

“I picked it just for you.”

“You are just the best.”

“I try.”

“I got you something too,” he says as he starts reaching into his pocket.

“You did?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah,” he replies with a smile. He takes his hand out of his pocket and holds it over my head and I look up to see that he’s holding mistletoe. I look him in the eyes with my mouth hanging open. “Looks like you got some mistletoe over your head. Do you know what that means?”

I shake my head yes. “Yeah. I know.”

He scrunches his nose up. “I guess I have to kiss you now.”

“Those are the rules.”

He puts his hand on the back of my head and leans in to kiss me. His lips are soft and it’s a sweet kiss. He kisses my lips a few times before I get the courage up to kiss him back and I feel him smile before he starts kissing me some more. It’s slow and sweet and so amazing. I don’t think either of us want to stop. I kiss his bottom lip a few times before we slowly pull away from each other. “Merry Christmas, Amy.”

“Merry Christmas, Tyler.”

#fan fiction #hockey fan fiction #tyler seguin #puckingwrites

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