#the revenge cycle the man with no heart at home in the darkness who always wins because he has nothing to lose the sally driving home alone

[wajb]

i understand why you felt the barry finale was underwhelming but i also think that's the best the show could be. it was never gonna go out in a blaze of glory or a suicide bomb they were always selfish and afraid to die and barry wasn't redeemable, or maybe he could have been, and maybe he was to most, oh god oh fuck

[bonefall]

what do you of "the man who sold the world" for fallenleaf? friend is getting me into nirvana and i cant do anything without thinking of the Beasts

Hmm... honestly? I think it fits other characters much better!

Man Who Sold The World always reads to me as like... a dangerous character, could be a demon, could be an evil parent, could be a more literal villain in some kind of story, who has unambiguously gotten its ass kicked and banished. In its defeat, it realizes that it can turn it around; by trying to convince one of their Victims to join them.

And succeeding.

(and it's why Nirvana's version is my favorite, Cobain's voice is just the right amount of hoarse that makes me feel like the Victim Character has lost a lot of sleep over it. Vulnerable and open to the offer of the Villain, possibly on the brink of desperation in their own life. It has that sort of angsty-young-adult madness that makes choosing bad decisions sooo much easier. Bowie's and Ure's versions are also fantastic, but imo they're a lot more dreamlike, like the victim is being more entranced than convinced!)

The song isn't about breaking out of that cycle. It's about "laughing and shaking his hand," returning home almost unaware of any change. But over many years, in tiny little ways that add up into even bigger ones, slowly the Victim becomes another man who sold the world.

They doesn't even realize when they died alone along their quest, just that it must have been long, long ago.

Some of that fits Fallenleaf, but it's not quite the same vibe. She killed Ashfur in revenge. She sought out Sol and took his deal for power, and tried to kill her own brother. She subjugated an entire Ancient Lake society-- and the only thing she can really blame Sol for is how it got bored of her and kicked her out of her own body.

Those were things she did. And they're things she lives with. Trickery was less a part of it than she might have wanted to believe at some point in her long, guilty life.

NATURALLY I'm inspired by Cheecat's really great animation they made with Brambleclaw and Tigerstar, and I think it fits Tigerstar to a T, but who I always think of is Hawkfrost.

Especially in BB, where RiverClan raised him to lean into his legacy. Not Clanborn, from a young age he had to work twice as hard, prove that he and his sister were "worth" keeping around, told that they were only protected by that diluted Tigerkin blood that trickles through their veins and that Tigerstar was an ideal to live up to...

Only the thinnest veneers of, "Be what he was, without his flaws" to hold him back from fully adopting everything his father ever stood for. A father he never met, who hurt his mother, who killed and traumatized countless clanmates.

And then Hawkfrost sees him. The song kicks in. "I thought you died alone, a long long time ago."

"Not me. I never lost control." It means that those "flaws," they weren't so bad. "You're face to face with the man who sold the world" and I can teach you the value of that.

He leaves that exchange feeling warm. "I laughed and shook his hand." He goes through the destruction of the forest (looking for form), the great journey (and land), and eventually finds himself in all the conflicts of TNP. No one knows at what point he stopped being the noble young warrior who stood up for Reedpaw against his tormenters, or when wanting to protect his sister became abuse and belittling.

But at some point, he died alone, long before his heart stopped beating on that stake.

He ends up in the Dark Forest with his father, preparing for the change that's coming in OotS, but not by the end of the song. At the end of the song his father has successfully dragged him down to his level, singing the same tune, trying to pretend that his dad getting him pointlessly shish-kebabed for a petty personal dispute wasn't a critical L to the chest.

[trondopeacekeeper]

//I wrote this today, trying to give some context on what happened to Trondo on Earth -I had to justify his absence in these three years LOL - based on some rp interactions I had three years ago (I miss the muns so much) and some of my own headcanons which will be inside the Stranger in a Strange Land verse of him. Of course, not everything was so bad or shitty since he met very wonderful people too... But trauma is trauma and he had to endure bad shit.

Special kudos to @monster-or-man since those experiments Trondo had to suffer came from an rp we had together!

TW are: mention of torture, gore and in general dark, war and angst related themes!//

-----

In a room partially lit by fluorescent lights that flickered ominously in the darkness, he was trapped. The torture machines and devices, with their electrical hums and screeches, intensified the promise of pain that had become his constant companion. Tubes of cold, hard metal pierced his scales while the open, fetid scars on his body testified to the inhumane experiments to which he had been subjected. His body, sunken and stripped, rested on a cold metal stretcher. A prison for his soul.

Exhausted and destroyed in ways he had never experienced before. The endless tests, the devastating electrical shocks that were fired directly onto his nociceptors, had destroyed his body and his mind. The horror and cruelty he had witnessed and suffered had transformed his being into something monstrous, a perversely distorted reflection of his own power.

And then, with a reality collapsing before his eyes, the vision of a man arose, of that race of creatures who had been his tormentors. The humans, with their faces and their eyes that had seen and done everything he had suffered. Guilt and anger consumed him, an emotion that had become a force that dragged him towards revenge.

Then came the break, the lonely nights of utter desperation. Everyone was looking for him. Some in promises of alliance and others in the hope of destroying him. Oh, for all the Dragon Ancestors... What the hell was going on on that planet? Since when were those futile creatures called humans capable of such atrocities? He had known the meaning of war: Fighting with honor separated them from barbarism. There, on Earth, he had been unaware of that premise for a long time.

And then, another vision. He fought alongside several humans in a dry, desert land that always reminded him of his old Homeland, of his old Paradise. Wide kilometers of forgotten sand, a place devastated by senseless wars and in which he curiously felt at home. Those inhabitants had accepted him as he was, without fear and without resentment. The whistles of the bombs before they exploded along with the screams of his dead and mutilated companions accompanied the days he had left there. Death, blood, death and flight. Thus in a cycle that never seemed to end.

With a start, Trondo woke up very agitated and breathing hard. It took several seconds to recognize his own room, his mind still in those wars on Earth. A dream, that was all, another of his horrible, recurring nightmares. Heavily, the Assassin got up from his bed to approach the mirror and look at himself there... The figure reflected there was the one of a tired dragon, whose chest showed bullet scars which ran down to his abdomen. His arms still had the marks on his muscles. Trondo ran a finger over them, feeling nothing at the tip of his scales and too deep in his heart. Sigh. These could not be wounds carried with pride. Three years on a miserable Earth had taught him to value things more there in the Dragon Realms... To accept things he never imagined he would do.

The sun was setting on a horizon outlined by the canyons in the distance. Trondo had slept all day, something totally new and unexpected.

Everything was calm... For the moment.

[qqueenofhades]

A prompt - 5 times Leia and/or Luke reminded Obi-Wan of their parents and one time they definitely did not.

She is so very much like Anakin that it stops his heart.

Barely five minutes after they meet for the first time -- well, not the first first time, he was there when she was born, held her in his arms as a slick and squalling infant as Padmé breathed the name Leia and then did not breathe again -- she's already backtalking him, questioning his judgment, running him on a merry chase, calling him old, leaping headlong into danger, irritatingly fond of her small droid sidekick, and otherwise confirming every one of Obi-Wan's worst fears that no matter ten whole years of Bail and Breha Organa's best efforts, the Skywalker blood is too strong to ever be tamped down. It should terrify him -- and make no mistake, it does. He's constantly second-guessing his decision to leave Tatooine, especially after the horrifyingly close shave that Owen already had with the Inquisitor, and give up his silent, solitary penance in watching over Luke from afar. He doesn't want to love Leia. His heart is already too old and scabby and far too thoroughly broken. It does not, or so Obi-Wan thinks, have room. It simply cannot stand doing it all again.

(Of course, as is always the case when it comes to the Skywalkers and Obi-Wan Kenobi, he's wrong, and totally helpless. He will love her whether he wants to or not, and it's just easier to give in and accept it.)

Then almost as fast, as they're scrambling to flee Daiyu, he sees Padmé in her: the stubborness, the strength, the willingness to take the lead and boss around men two or three or four times her senior. Obi-Wan does not want to count how many years older than her he is; it is many, and he feels every one of them. He cannot look at Leia and not see his own ghosts. It's an unfair burden to put on the shoulders of a small girl, but when has any of this been fair?

When the stormtroopers almost catch them in a lie on Mapuzo, when Obi-Wan -- despite all his protestations and warnings to her, is the one to slip up and call her Leia, not Luma -- when he tells her that he sometimes looks at her and sees her mother's face, it is no word of a lie. Especially not when he's seeing Anakin in that same desert, a hallucination or a dream or whatever it was, some twisted dark mirror of the man who used to be the other half of Obi-Wan's soul.

(And despite all the damage and char, the darkness and the damnation and the evil, he still is. He still is.)

(Leia Organa is Anakin Skywalker's daughter through and through, and so of course there was nothing Obi-Wan Kenobi could ever do but love her as if she was his own flesh and blood.)

Later, when they're safe and the adventure is over and Leia is back home on Alderaan with her parents, Obi-Wan returns the repaired Lola and tells the girl about Anakin and Padmé, as much as he can. She deserves to know more, she deserves the world, but he has to keep her safe, and he can only hope that he will get the chance to tell her. There is still so much left to do. There are still so many promises that he desperately yearns to keep.

When Obi-Wan is back on Tatooine, when he meets Luke face-to-face for the very first time, he sees Anakin's sandy-blond hair and Padmé's determined kindness, after Reva couldn't bring herself to kill this boy even when she was drowning in revenge, and his scarred old heart breaks again, just a little. But this time, it's not so much like searing agony. It is not ending and devastation and heartbreak and horror.

This time -- this time, at so very long last -- it feels like hope.

"Hello there," Ben Kenobi says to Luke Skywalker, and so, at long last, the cycle begins again.

Years and years later, beyond time and space, beyond life and death, in the luminous eternal netherworld of the Force, where Obi-Wan has existed ever since he gave himself up to the red blaze of Vader's lightsaber, where he has stayed to guide Luke from the beyond, where he has waited and waited -- at last, at last, his patience is rewarded, and his suffering, and his sacrifice, when --

"Hello, Master," Anakin Skywalker says -- Anakin, not Vader. His voice is husky and strange and echoing, but his crooked smile is just the same as Obi-Wan remembers, and oh, it burns brighter than the heart of an exploding star. "It's been a long time."

(Obi-Wan says nothing, just then. Obi-Wan could not possibly.)

"Luke saved me, you know," Anakin says softly, as they stand just beyond the warm brightness of the Ewoks' camp with Yoda perched contentedly on the fence between them, and watch Luke and Leia and Han and Wedge and Chewbacca and Lando all celebrate the demise of the second Death Star, and the desperate, delicate certainty that now, after so many long years and so many broken dreams, the galaxy will be free. "He did what I couldn't. He wasn't like me after all."

"No," Obi-Wan says back, just as softly, and their ghostly voices are lost in the echo and burst and brightness of the fireworks that are going off across the galaxy tonight, celebrating the Emperor's death -- even if very few of them know who truly killed him, who rose at long last from the ashes of Vader, and flew. "He was."

[calpalirwin]

Happiness in Misery

Summary: Amidst the torture that is the Winter Soldier program, Bucky finds solace in another recruit’s company.

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: Everybody say thank you to @jessalyn-jpeg​ for beta-reading/crying over this with me

And away, and away we go!

__

A light clunked on loudly overhead, so bright I had to squint in order to see anything at all. “New recruits to train. C’mon,” was the gruff instruction, followed by the sound of metal clicking and the door of my cell swinging open. “Now!”

Silently I followed the guard through the corridors, knowing better than to ask any questions. Instead I wondered what type of recruits they had gathered this time. And whether or not any of them would survive the process. Useless wondering as I already knew the answer. The recruits were going to be a ragtag round up of hopeful prospects: people who put up a fight when being captured. And they might pass today’s training, but the serum would kill roughly half. And the others would die eventually when they proved to be noncompliant and dangerous. Leaving me to train a new batch of recruits, and the cycle would spin on. Exhausting work, but my compliance meant I lived another day. And I’d survived too much to die in captivity.

The large gymnasium training area had about twenty hopefuls lined up along the back wall, guards scattered strategically throughout the room. But it wasn’t the guards I gave my attention to. Some of the recruitments had more fear in their eyes, some with more fire, but all with the identical cold expression. All but one. A young woman at the end of the line had her lips pulled back in a snarl. The fire in her eyes burned brightly as we locked stares, a low rumble in her throat. Her stature felt too small to bear the weight of such intimidation she was projecting, but I liked it all the same. She reminded me of someone I felt I had known before: a small man with an unwillingness to give up. The details were blurry, and I wasn’t sure if the memory was even real. But it gave me hope nonetheless. Hope that almost caused me to smile at her.

I took up my mark in the middle of the room, standing at attention, waiting for the order to be given. Twenty versus one? This would be a breeze.

A whistle blew, but nobody moved, the twenty people looking around in confusion. “Fight!” came the verbal order.

With hesitance, a few people walked my way, fists raised. Punches thrown half-heartedly were easily blocked as I stayed on the defensive. Only defend until they get the serum. You can take the blows, they can’t, and if you accidentally kill another potential… I suppressed the shiver, refusing to let myself go down that path.

Punches and kicks came with less hesitance. Stronger as the expectation of what to do settled in their minds. Grunts of effort filled the room, along with the occasional scream of agony as a fist collided with metal instead of flesh.

I blocked, ducked, and dodged, receiving a couple of well-placed hits, but I stayed on my feet, my body barely moving from my original mark.

Five minutes ticked by, then ten, each prolonged minute resulting in more recruits sitting down in exhaustion. As fifteen minutes neared, three people were still trying to fight me. But they were getting wiser about it. They started working as a team.

Two of them advanced. The distraction. I defended the advances, scanning around for the third, knowing they were coming but unable to locate them as the other two kept giving me their all. Then, something, or rather someone, came crashing full force into my side, my feet squeaking against the wooden floor at the unexpected hit.

I thought that was it. The one sneak attack just outside of my peripheral. But no. Again, the body slammed into me, the ear-piercing squeak from my boots sliding on the wood emitting around the room again. Then a third attempt that finally knocked me unsteady.

My hand flew out to break my fall, but the body came at me again, full on tackling me to the ground. And because flinging them off, even in defense, would result in trouble for me, I had no choice but to let it happen.

My back hit the ground, the person landing on top of my chest. With a yell, they started hailing punches down on me, their knees driving into my sides. I raised my arms over my face, and tucked my legs, rolling out from under them.

They fell off of me in a huff, and I knew they weren’t ready to give up. Unfortunately for them, I was the quicker one to my feet. Gently, I pressed one of my boots on their chest, getting a good look at the opponent who’d managed to do what many have failed to do. The young woman, her snarl still in place, the growl still in her throat.

She gripped my ankle, trying to push my foot off her. When that didn’t work, she switched to hitting my foot as hard as she could, yelling all the while.

In a simple, but swift motion, I lifted my foot off of her, then pulled her up by the front of her shirt, setting her on her feet. I flickered my gaze over to a guard who nodded, before blowing a whistle.

Knowing they didn’t care for, need, or want my input, I turned to head back to my cell, certain I would see the young woman again very soon.

~~~

“Do you talk at all?” a voice asked me as a tray slammed down across the table from me.

I raised my eyebrows in silent question as the young woman from earlier sat down across from me, fork poised over her dinner as she studied me. Waiting for an answer I never gave.

Each of us took a bite of food, chewing while we studied the other. “Well?” she asked with an impatient eye roll. “Do you not speak English? Hello?” She waved a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Robot Arm. Anyone home?”

“It’s James,” I stated, flatly.

Her eyes flashed in delight. “He speaks!” she marveled. “So… what’s the deal with this place?”

“That’s confidential. You’ll learn on a need to know basis. If you’re lucky.”

“If I’m lucky? Uh-oh. Don’t like the sound of that…”

“Just do as you’re told.”

“Mmm… Is that what you were doing earlier by not fighting back? Doing as you were told?”

“You don’t want to fight me.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“Yes, I do. You want to survive. And I’m telling you the best way to do that is to follow orders, and keep your mouth shut!” My words were harsh, but I needed her to understand. And I feared I’d already said more than I was ever supposed to.

~~~

The screams of those deemed worthy of moving on to Phase Two sounded through the halls the next morning. Tortured screams of agony as the serum changed them on a molecular level, setting every nerve ending on fire. Panicked screams as it took with some, and wiped out others, no one sure of which category they fell into until it was too late. The burning was otherworldly, but from experience, you wanted the burn. The burn meant you were alive. A test of survival in the cruelest of manners.

The screams lasted all day. The cafeteria held faces covered in haunted exhaustion or sheer terror of the fate that still awaited some. In their faces, I scanned for hers, feeling my heart drop when I couldn’t find her.

“You could have warned me,” her voice said, heavy with exhaustion as she joined me across the table.

I let out my breath in a sigh of relief. “How are you feeling?”

“A lot better than them, that’s for sure,” she said, raising a finger to gesture at the screams still echoing throughout the compound.

I nodded, keeping my thought of how she looked better too to myself. She now had a fighter’s body to match her fighter’s spirit, no longer the fragile thing she’d been yesterday.

“You don’t say a lot do you, James?”

“No.”

“Woooow,” she deadpanned.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not sure what your deal is, but I’m not the person you want to make friends with. In fact, I’m about to become your worst nightmare.”

She waved her hands sarcastically. “Oooo, I’m so scared, James. What makes you think I want to be friends with someone who hasn’t even asked me my name yet anyways?”

“It’s not important.”

“Riddle me this. How is it important for you to go out of your way to look for me, and be relieved that I seem to be okay, but that importance doesn’t cross over into knowing my name?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but she cut me off.

“And don’t bother with some line about how you weren’t looking for me, or care if I’m okay, because we both know that’s a lie. We don’t know each other all that well, but I know damn well that you aren’t asking the others if they’re okay, or looking around worriedly for them. So what gives, James?”

“I care because you’re proving you have what it takes to survive. But learning your name, or anything about you for that matter, is a useless waste of time because unless you listen to what I told you about following orders and keeping your mouth shut, you won’t survive.”

“And why do you care if I survive, or not?”

“Because you remind me of something I think I used to know.”

“Did that person survive? Or am I your sick attempt at a second chance?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if he was real, or if I made him up.”

“Damn, that’s dark…”

I shrugged. “Just try not to hate me too much when I get my revenge for you knocking me on my ass the other day.”

Her eyes sparkled playfully. “Oh really? You gonna fight back this time?”

“I’m allowed to now.”

~~~

It took a few days for her to learn what I meant. Phase Three happened at a slower pace. Instead of a group fight where I couldn’t do much besides play defensive, Phase Three meant individual hand-to-hand combat. And I wasn’t allowed to hold back.

For them to run their proper tests, and to make sure I was always in top form, Phase Three was spread out over a week, with a fight occurring once a day. But, I knew well enough now that if Phase Three was only a week, it meant that only seven had survived the serum of Phase Two.

I fought her on day four.

Much like the first day, she had a snarl on her lips and fire in her eyes. And she wasted no time in figuring out her newfound strength as she attacked.

Her blows landed harder and with more accuracy as I blocked, waiting for the break I knew was coming to launch my own offensive against her.

My first swing connected with her stomach, and when she hunched, I hit her in the jaw, taking a small pleasure in the way her eyes widened in surprise.

Back and forth we went in a choreographed dance of exchanging hits, the serum putting her on an even playing field with me. And while I had more training, she still had that unwillingness to quit, making us more even-matched than most recruits I’d fought with.

With no one yielding, the guards ordered us apart after a half hour, both of us bloody and bruised, but still with more than enough energy and sheer willpower to keep going.

“If it wasn’t for your fancy arm, I would’ve had you,” she tried to joke later at dinner.

“No you wouldn’t have,” I smirked. “You’re gonna need a lot more training to take me down.”

“I’ve done it once, I can do it again.”

“It took you four tries, and two other people distracting me. And I wasn’t allowed to fight back,” I reminded her. “So keep gloating over that victory, cuz it’s the only one you’re gonna get with me.”

“That’s what you think. But, I think it’s time you learned the name of the girl who’s gonna take you down.”

My eyes went wide. “No, don’t!” I rushed to stop her.

“Y/N,” she said anyway.

“God damn you…”

“Oh, relax. I know your name. What’s the big deal?”

“If you have to ask, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

~~~

Names, along with any personal details, meant attachments. Attachments meant caring. And caring meant getting hurt. And as much as being alone sucked, getting hurt sucked a lot more. Physical pain I was growing accustomed to. But emotional pain? A risk I avoided at all costs.

Thankfully, stubborn streak aside, Y/N appeared to take my advice to heart. When the remaining six of her recruitment class started dropping, I knew she had her suspicions that she wanted to talk with me about. But she didn’t voice them until the evening she walked into the cafeteria and it was just her and me.

“What the hell is this place, James?” she asked me in a whisper. “And I swear if you tell me that’s confidential information, I will bash your head into the table until I see brain matter.”

I snorted at her threat as I glanced around. “The name changes depending on who you ask. The Super Soldier Project. The Winter Soldier Program. The Americans called it Operation Rebirth.”

“Operation Rebirth? That’s what made that Captain America guy. Are you saying we’re him?”

“Yes, and no. America had their version. And Hydra has theirs.”

“Who’s Hydra?”

“We are.”

“And the serum?”

“Made you a super soldier. And Hydra’s going to either make you the perfect obedient soldier. Or they’ll get rid of you.”

“Is that what happened to everyone else? They got…” She slid her thumb across her throat.

I nodded. “If the serum doesn’t kill you, Hydra will.”

“Hasn’t killed you,” she pointed out.

“That’s because I play by their rules.”

“So that’s why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you don’t talk much. And why you’re short with me when you do. It’s a defense mechanism. A useful one, but a defense mechanism all the same.”

“Congratulations, you cracked the code,” I deadpanned, before reaching for the cookie on my tray and handing it to her, “Wanna cookie for being so smart?”

“How about you teach me how to become one of the survivors like you instead?” she asked, taking the small dessert from me anyway.

~~~

Although missions and training were tense under Hydra’s zero tolerance for error expectations, having Y/N around almost made it bearable. Something about misery loving company.

Under Hydra’s eye we became the perfect unit. The compliant assassins. And after the exceptionally tough days, it was nice to have someone to seek comfort in. Gentle reassurances that we’d survive after nightmares plagued our sleep, or after we helped bandage up each other’s wounds in the infirmary after a mission mishap.

Knowing that we weren’t alone in our hellish existence was enough to keep us from going completely mad.

Right up until a mission went wrong. Or maybe it went right.

Y/N was fighting with a red-haired woman, my own focus fully locked on the blonde man with the shield that he kept trying to hurl at my face. A wild swing sent my mask scattering to the ground and when I locked gazes with the man, he paused. Confusion and concern replaced the fighting exertion previously painted on his face. His eyebrows furrowed together. “Bucky?” he asked slowly.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” I asked in equal confusion. Memories of a blonde man similar to the one in front of me flashed through my head in a rapid succession. Memories I never knew were real or not. But as I stared at the man and he continued to stare at me, part of me wondered if maybe the memories were real. More than that, I wanted them to be real. Or at least, I think I wanted them to be real.

An explosion went off, and someone was tugging me forcefully away as the man ducked for cover. “James!” Y/N hissed in my ear as we made a break for it. “What the hell was that?!”

“I- I don’t know,” I told her. “I-I think I know him. Knew him.”

“Well you better forget real fast,” she said, her voice a low warning.

“I know…” I replied, internally wincing at what I knew was coming for having hesitation during a mission.

~~~

I wasn’t sure which was worse. My own painful interrogation session, or listening to hers across the hall, her screams of “No! I don’t know anything! I swear!” filled with more terror than I ever knew a scream could hold.

Leave her alone! I wanted to scream at them. She’s telling the truth! It’s me! It’s my fault! But all I could do was answer their questions as vaguely as I could. I don’t know how the man recognized me. I don’t know if I know him. I was just following orders, I don’t know what happened, but it won’t happen again. I won’t hesitate, they could trust me.

And then try not to scream so loudly myself as electricity shot throughout my body.

~~~

Her face bore the same scratch marks as mine, her eyes holding the same skittish fear, body flinching at every excessively loud sound. My fingers itched to reach out to her. To have the pads of my thumbs soothe the ache in the abrasions, and catch the tears threatening to spill down her face. To allow us each, for even the briefest moment, the chance at vulnerability and weakness. But I swallowed thickly, and with it the urge, forcing my face to remain blank and void. Not in here, James, not in here.

“James…” her voice croaked across the table at me, her eyes even struggling to meet mine.

Quickly I pressed a finger to my lips, scanning around the cafeteria. “Shh. Not here.”

“Hurts, James.”

“I know.”

“Worse than training.”

“I know.”

We ate what we could stomach before slinking off to the barracks. Now that the serum was proving to be working more often than not, we’d gotten a small upgrade. No longer trapped in a cell by myself, I now had an entire barrack to myself. Technically there was a no fraternization rule, but it mostly applied to the new recruits that continued to come in droves, leaving Y/N and I with the closest thing to real privacy we could get in a place like this.

“They didn’t believe me,” she said, taking a seat on one of the bunks. “They know how close you and I are, so they think I knew the man too.”

“I’m sorry…” I said, the bunk creaking as I sat next to her.

“Why did that man think he knew you? And why did he call you Bucky?”

“Do you remember back when we met I said that you reminded me of someone I think I used to know?” I asked in lieu of answering.

“Was that him?”

“I think so… I- Everything about my past life before Hydra is a messy blur. That’s part of the training. Making you forget. Making you unsure of what little you do remember. But if he knew me, then that means that those memories I have are real. And if he’s still around…” I didn’t dare finish my thought. Didn’t dare let myself go down the path of hoping that I could turn the clock backwards. Get my life back. It was useless because I knew better than by now to think there was any chance of getting out of Hydra alive. And it was utterly selfish as I locked gazes with Y/N and she nodded sadly in understanding what I left unsaid.

“If he’s from your past, and he’s still around, that means you have hope,” she voiced it anyway.

“Yeah…”

“Take your chance, James.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not? If you have a chance to get your life back, why not take it?”

“Because.”

“Because why?!” she snapped, angry that I appeared to be stupid enough to not risk everything to get the hell out of here.

“Because they’ll kill you! They’ll think you had a hand in it, and they’ll kill you for it! And I’ve worked too damn hard to keep you alive, so you’re not dying because of me, understand?!” matching her anger at her not understanding that I couldn’t leave her behind. That I didn’t want to leave her behind.

“Coward,” she spat in my face.

I rose to my feet, towering over her. “Coward?! I’m the reason you’re still alive, but I’m the coward for wanting to keep you that way?!”

“Yes!” she shouted, glaring up at me as she stabbed a finger into my chest. “You trained me. Not them. So do it! Take your chance! And let them try to kill me. But something tells me that they won’t want to do that.”

“Oh, and why’s that?”

“Because I’m stronger than them for one. And for two, it would be a stupid waste for them to lose not one, but two super soldiers.”

“That’s a stupid gamble.”

“Take your chance, James, and we’re both free.”

“Both of us can’t get free at the same time.”

“I know. So just come back for me, okay? Take your chance. Then come back. Be my hope, like this man is yours. And we can handle whatever comes after that.”

She spoke with such certainty that I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that getting out would be worth whatever potential consequences would surely follow. I wanted hope. And what really were the consequences? We both already knew what Hydra was capable of. We already lived in a situation that was worse than death. A life lived constantly on edge, wary of every move we made. So maybe it really wasn’t that stupid of a gamble after all. “Okay,” I promised. “Okay.”

~~~

It turned out that getting free meant a lot of isolation, which I was already used to, so it wasn’t that much of an adjustment. Well, isolation within reason I should say. I had to stay low, off the radar. But I wasn’t alone. I had the blonde man. Steve. His name was Steve. And we’d been close friends before. And he helped me make sense of the muddled memories of my past, like slowly putting together a puzzle where all the pieces were one color, impossible to differentiate one from the other. And he had his friends, the Avengers they called themselves. And they helped me too where they could, breaking down the mental blocks Hydra had instilled in me.

But the fear lingered. Not so much that Hydra would eliminate me once they found me. If they found me. But fear for Y/N. Fear for what she had to suffer through for the cost of my freedom. Fear that I wouldn’t be able to hold up my end of the promise of being her hope of getting out. A fear that ate away at me every day I was cooped up in the Avengers headquarters.

And then, one morning a newspaper was slammed down in front of me. “What is this?” Steve asked, his tone somehow both demanding and soft.

I looked down at the article. A headline about a recent attack on the UN. A grainy black and white photo of the building in flames, and a blurred image of a person slinking away amongst the chaos. But even though the person was blurred, I could make out what they were wearing because I’d worn it myself for so many years. 

For a moment, panic made my chest tighten. Had I? No… I couldn’t have… Could I? No. No, it had to be her. There was no way it could have been me.

“Buck,” Steve prompted, his arms crossed as he waited for an answer.

“I- I don’t know. I didn’t do it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, I know you didn’t do it. But word on the street is that it's related to Hydra.”

“Okay,” I said, not sure what kind of answer he was looking for.

He sighed. “There’s only so much we know about Hydra. But you…”

There it was. The reason he was bringing this to my attention. Not to accuse me. But so that I would provide the much needed intel as the resident Hydra expert. Unfortunately, I didn’t have an answer he was going to like. “They never told us anything. They gave us the target, and we carried out the mission. Ready to comply…” I clicked my tongue in my cheek with disdain, shuddering at the bad taste that the last three words left in my mouth.

He pointed a finger at the blurred person. “But do you know how many others like you are out there? How many are under Hydra’s control?”

“Just me and her. They keep trying to make more. Waves and waves of people. But nobody lasts long. They kept me out of necessity. They kept her because I trained her to be a necessity as well.”

“So bringing her down is…”

“Not an option unless you involve me.”

“But if we get her, we get Hydra.”

“Yes. But trust me, you can’t get her without me. She won’t let you, for one thing. And for another, I won’t let you.” Unless I was the one standing in front of her, she’d kill anyone in her path because that’s what she'd been trained to do. It’s what kept her useful to them. And hell, even if it was me standing in front of me only guaranteed that I’d be on the receiving end of her skills. But I had the advantage of knowing her moves before she made them. After all, they were my moves.

“No,” he shook his head. “No. You tell us everything we need to know about how to bring her in, but you’re not on this mission, Buck. We’re not risking having you near Hydra.”

“Then you don’t have a mission.”

“This isn’t the time for threats, Buck. This is serious.”

“I’m not threatening you. I’m telling you the facts. If I am not on that mission with you, she will treat you like a target for her own protection against Hydra. And you do not want to be a target. Bring me on the mission. We get her. We take down Hydra. It’s that simple.”

He sighed, his face contorting in deep concern and worry. “It’s a huge risk… you being near Hydra.”

“It is,” I agreed. No point in disputing the obvious. “But here’s the thing. Hydra taught me how to do a lot of things undetected.”

He sighed again. “I’m not sure how well I like this plan. But I’m gonna trust you on this. We all are.”

~~~

“If you find her, tell me,” I directed with authority. “Nobody engages with her, but me. Understood?”

There were nods and murmurs of agreement. The memory of fighting me was still fresh in their minds, none of them were overly eager to engage with another super soldier of my caliber again if they didn’t have to. And Y/N wouldn’t hesitate like I had. I’d be lucky if she pulled her punches, but I wasn’t counting on it. She didn’t know we were coming. And she couldn’t give Hydra the slightest inkling that she was pulling a fast one on them once I located her. It was a delicate balance of using the skills Hydra had drilled into me against them.

Perhaps lucky for all of us, they didn’t really know what or who to look for, whereas I did.

I noticed the shadow well before anyone else, slinking away to catch her off guard. I crept quietly up behind her, and as I reached out to grab her, she whirled around, a knife burying into my side. I hissed through my teeth, not having expected that at all, and pulled the blade free, letting it clatter to the ground as we locked gazes, her eyes wide as she took me in.

I nodded in answer at the question she didn’t dare ask, pressing a finger to my lips.

Her eyes flickered to the small bloom of blood that was darkening my shirt, and when she raised her eyes again to meet mine, I thought she might look apologetic. But all she did was smile sinisterly at me.

Alright, game on, I thought. “Initiate plan,” I spoke into my earpiece, as I dodged the punch she delivered my way.

The plan was a diversion so Y/N could disappear with me under Hydra’s radar, preferably before we had to actually hurt the other, current knife wound aside.

It was like deja vu of our first meeting, her attacking and me playing defense. The only difference this time was that when her blows did land, the hit was rather painful, especially when she targeted her hits to my weakened side.

I took it all in stride, blocking and dodging the best I could against her as I waited for the diversion I knew was coming.

When the building went pitch black, I struck out, knocking her own comm system out of her ear and stomping on it forcefully, listening to the crunch of it under my boot. “Move!” I barked, grabbing her arm.

I dragged her along for a few steps before she found her footing, her stride matching mine quickly as we made our escape. I knew she wanted to say something, but I shook my head sharply. There were still risks that Hydra was listening somehow, even if I’d broken the main way of connection to her.

Through a tangled maze of hallways, I navigated our way through the dark to the getaway car, the van doors pulling open welcoming us. I shoved her in ahead of me, sparing a glance behind before I jumped in after her.

Aside from the sound of us catching our breath, the van was silent as the driver peeled out, and headed back to headquarters.

Then, as reality settled in that the mission had gone off exactly as planned, Y/N threw herself across the bench seat, crashing into me.

“Ow…” I wheezed, as she held me in a vice grip hug.

She immediately let go, sliding across the seat away from me. “James…” she said, her voice a tremble of a whisper.

I nodded, opening my arms for her to fall back into. “It’s over,” I soothed, relishing in the feeling of holding her against me. “It’s all over. We’re safe.”

“Oh, James,” she wept, her fingers softly grazing over my injured side.

“Shh, don’t worry about that. It’s over. We’re safe. I’ve got you.”

~~~

I wish I could say that getting Y/N out of Hydra meant that all our problems went away. But that wasn’t the case. Because what came with the fallout of bringing down Hydra was having to figure out what to do with not one, but two super assassins with a crime record a mile wide. Words of “pardons” and “life-sentences” were thrown around. There was also the concern that even though Hydra had been brought down, that they could resurface in the future, and would go to any length to recapture what they had lost. And they could do it too. They caught me twice before, and her once. How hard could it be to do it again?

It was very much the conundrum of winning the battle while the larger war still raged on. And when they started the circle of fighting over options for the millionth time in an hour, I snapped.

My hands slammed down on the table in the conference room, startling everyone. “Shut up!” I hissed. “Shut up with your pardons, or ideas of serving time! Shut up with your Hydra worries! Just shut up!”

“Buck-” Steve started.

“No!” I thundered, rising to my feet. “The only people who can protect me and Y/N, are me and Y/N! We know what it takes to survive Hydra! So just… Don’t worry about her and me. I got it covered.”

“Buck-” Steve tried again.

“No,” I shook my head. “Look, I’m grateful for all the help. But we’re not a problem you guys need to solve.”

“Well,” Tony cleared his throat matter-of-factly. “Most of us live in the facility here. Accommodations. Easy to track each other down when we need to. Security.”

I smiled wryly at the man. He was as egotistical as his father had been, but he was a man of action over words, and wasn’t big on emotions, which was something I could both respect and relate to. No sense in being sentimental about things that didn’t require sentiment. Words of thanks were on my tongue, when a scream echoed through the building.

While they all looked around at each other with more startled expressions, wondering who had screamed and from where, I took off at a run.

I burst into the room she was in, finding her curled up as tight as she could be, eyes frantic as she cowered in the corner of the room. “Y/N…” I said softly, feeling my heart crack in my chest. Electricity shooting through my body was less painful than seeing her scared, because I knew how hard she always fought to not let that part of her show. As much as I liked to think she’d survived everything because I’d been there to ensure it, that was only half of the truth. She’d set the world on fire before daring to admit that she was scared. And this now made it the third time I’d seen her this terrified, and all I wanted was to set the world on fire for her. Make everyone pay for any ounce of hurt she’d ever endured.

“James?” A broken sob of uncertainty.

I nodded, taking a slow step forward. “It’s me. I’m here.”

“Where are we?”

“With the Avengers.”

“No more Hydra?”

“No more Hydra.”

Her lower lip trembled, a rogue tear sliding down her face. “You came back?”

I smiled, taking quicker and longer strides now across the room, closing the distance between us. Always too much distance. “I promised you I would,” I said, sitting down next to her.

“You don’t know how hard it was without you… What they did when they realized you were gone…” Her breathing sped up as the tears spilled faster.

“Shh,” I soothed, pulling her into my arms, much like I had in the drive over here. “Nobody’s ever gonna hurt us again, okay? I’ll keep you safe. Always. We’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”

We sat like that for a while, me rubbing at her back as she calmed down and slowly relaxed her body against mine. And then I felt laughter bubbling up in my chest, and before I could stop it, both of our bodies started shaking with the force of my laughter. “What are you laughing about?” she asked with her own giggle.

“I just-” I wheezed, fighting to get the words out as I tried to stop laughing. “It’s just…” I took a large intake of breath to steady myself. “Oh, man… Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to be able to do this?” I asked, meaning me holding her, but I didn’t wait for an answer, the words spilling from my lips. “I- I was alone for so long. I got used to not caring about people, and not being cared about. Used to turning off that emotional part of me. But every time I tried to push you away, you pushed back even harder. And… God… you ruined me. You absolutely ruined me.”

“You don’t sound that angry about it,” she said, her fingers resting gently against my chest that heaved with each half chuckle of breath I took.

“I’m not. You’re the first person I cared about after Steve. You were the only person I cared about when I was the worst version of myself. And I- The lengths I would go through to make sure you’re safe. The lengths I have gone through, and will always go through for you… I just… You mean a lot to me, and I hope you know that even if I don’t always have the words to say it directly.”

“I love you too, James.”

__

Tag List

@cxddlyash @stanofalotofthings @philthepegacorn @youngblood199456 @binxiboo @creator-appreciator @felixtok @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @jessalyn-jpeg @lilyoflower @mychemicalimagines @rougese7en @milea @partiesandblurrypolaroids @summerdaughter

[faintingheroine]

I've been enjoying your character write-ups about Wuthering Heights, and I wanted to ask you what you thought of the fan theory that Heathcliff is Mr. Earnshaw's illegitimate son. The theory goes that he had a mistress in Liverpool who died, so he brought the resulting child home with him out of guilt or altruism. If Hindley figured it out, it would explain his determination to keep Heathcliff and Catherine apart. What do you think?

Sorry for taking weeks to answer this. I knew that this was going to be long so I was waiting for an opportune time to write it.

Sorry to possibly disappoint you, but I really dislike this theory, and here are some of the reasons why:

1) The whole story of Wuthering Heights is Heathcliff taking revenge on the power structures that separated him from Catherine. Catherine and Heathcliff were separated because Catherine was the daughter of a propertied man and the potential wife of an another while Heathcliff was a nobody with nothing. Heathcliff takes the properties of both Catherine’s father and her husband, thus taking revenge on the forces that separated them. If the primary cause of their separation was incest and not any sociological or economic reason then the whole plot of Wuthering Heights is meaningless. Incest factor will always be more important than social class. If this theory were true, Heathcliff wouldn’t be unable to be with Catherine because he didn’t own Thrushcross Grange, it would be because he was her brother, so it would be meaningless for him to own Thrushcross Grange as a way of revenge.

2) I’ve talked about this before, but I like the anonymity of Heathcliff. He could be anyone from anywhere. If he were the bastard child of Mr. Earnshaw this would just be a story of a sibling rivalry. The poignancy of Heathcliff being named after a dead Earnshaw kid or him relegating the status of Hareton Earnshaw whose name is written on the door of Wuthering Heights to that of himself would be gone.

3) Nobody in the story really perceives Heathcliff and Catherine as brother and sister. Sure, they grew up together so their love will always carry a pseudo-incestous tone for the reader. But nobody in the story is concerned about that. Nelly says to Catherine: “As soon as you become Mrs. Linton, he loses friend, and love, and all!” She immediately perceives that Heathcliff could see Catherine as his love. Catherine imagines herself as “Catherine Heathcliff” as a teenager. Joseph complains to Hindley that Catherine is hanging out with boys, “boys” being Heathcliff and Edgar. Everyone sees Heathcliff as a potential partner of Catherine. The only instance of Heathcliff being perceived as Catherine’s brother is Edgar telling Catherine after Heathcliff’s return that: “The whole household need not witness the sight of (her) welcoming a runaway servant as a brother.” But then he immediately becomes jealous when he sees how affectionate Catherine and Heathcliff are with each other.

4) Mr. Earnshaw adopting Heathcliff is not unusual enough to warrant an explanation for me. Sure it is unusual. But Mr. Earnshaw is impulsive enough, authoritarian enough, eccentric enough, religious enough and kind enough that I can see him adopting a random starving boy for charity and then spoiling and loving him to take revenge on his family who were opposed to him adopting the child. This man is Catherine Earnshaw’s father.

(It’s also important to remember that Earnshaws are upper middle class farmers with a couple of servants, not an aristocratic or even a particularly genteel family living in a stately house. If Mr. Linton brought a street urchin to his house I would be more suspicious).

5) Mr. Earnshaw initially perceives Heathcliff with a morbid curiosity. He says that they “must e’en take it as a gift of God; though it’s as dark almost as if it came from the devil”. It’s like he is talking about a supernatural creature or an alien, not about a person with whose mother he had sex.

6) This does not really prove anything either way, but there is not a proof in the novel that Mr. Earnshaw went to Liverpool regularly. This might be the first time he went in a decade, he might go there every two months.

7) There isn’t really any proof that Heathcliff is one of the Earnshaws. Yes, this is a Victorian novel, but I think there would still be more subtle hints that this is the case if this were the author’s intention.

8) There’s too much emphasis on Heathcliff’s foreignness. This would be overkill if he is already a perpetual outcast and unsuitable for Catherine as a bastard child and her brother.

(Heathcliff also apparently doesn’t know English when he first arrives at Wuthering Heights. Wouldn’t he learn it from his mother if she were Mr. Earnshaw’s mistress?)

9) I don’t think that Hindley has a noble reason to keep Heathcliff and Catherine apart. He wants revenge on him because his father preferred him. He is the one who starts the cycle of vengeance. (Though of course I argued that Mr. Earnshaw himself had possible vengeful motives in preferring Heathcliff).

10) One of my favorite aspects of Wuthering Heights is the symmetry of the Earnshaw-Linton family tree. At first both the Earnshaws and the Lintons have a son and a daughter each. The Earnshaw daughter and the Linton son marry each other. The Earnshaw son and the Linton daughter marry nobodies Frances and Heathcliff. Earnshaw-Linton pairing has a daughter. The other two pairings have a son each. Earnshaw-Linton daughter marries both of her cousins in succession. Here’s a beautiful family tree done by @misskittygrimm that illustrates this perfect symmetry:

If Heathcliff were Earnshaw’s son, this symmetry would be gone. Catherine and Linton would be cousins from both sides. The perfect symmetry would be gone.

11) Wuthering Heights is a novel that is utterly uninterested in sexual sin. In an another novel Catherine would be an adulterous wife getting what is coming to her. Here she wills her death because she betrayed herself, her own heart. There is no implication of a sexual relationship between Heathcliff and Catherine after her marriage.

It would be banal to have the root cause of all this tragedy be adultery. It’s far more interesting and in keeping with the story’s spirit that the two families went to ruin because Mr. Earnshaw played the Good Samaritan. The failure of duty and charity.

Conclusion: There’s no concrete, absolute proof against this theory, but there is nothing for it either. And it totally goes against the story’s characterization, themes and general spirit.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Chizuru Town - Killer Instinct

Yoooo, the MC has killed people before Cassell.

“Shouldn’t we hurry?” Even though it was clear that something serious was happening in this Chizuru town, Chu Zihang was only walking ‘somewhat briskly.’ not even a jog. You strolled with him, lightly petting the cat who was nestled tight in your arms. The air was still warm with early summer. The two of you looked like a boyfriend and girlfriend out for a stroll at night and wouldn’t have turned any heads. Were it not for the circumstances it might have been romantic. But your heart held no room for any sort of romantic feelings at the moment. You just wanted to feel safe.

“We need to save our energy. And I wanted to ask you. What’s your connection to the Lenin?”

You glance up at him. “I guess I do owe you an explanation don’t I?”

“Not really. Truthfully, I'm just curious. It pertains to the mission, but only Caesar needs to know. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” His voice was quiet.

As you continue to walk, you suddenly notice that the sky seems brighter than normal. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness of the power outage in Chizuru, the stars had started to become visible in greater and greater numbers. Perhaps in an hour or so, the sky would start to appear like the one over your old home.

“Looking back, it was truly a dreadful place where I came from. But it was home. It was beautiful in a lot of ways. Life was hard, but that made any level of joy and happiness so secret and special.” Smiling faces float into your vision, one by one, like an old photo album.

“The Lenin came by to resupply the port every Christmas. We always looked forward to it.” Your steps slow to a crawl. “It’s just as Chisei said to you. The Lenin made a stop in a nameless port in Siberia after which it took the dragon from the port and the port was burned. That was the last time I saw the Lenin, until today.”

“Why was the port burned?”

“It wasn’t… just that the port was burned, Zihang. It was bombed. There were people shooting at us from helicopters.” You couldn’t keep the tremble out of your voice.

“The scarring then… you were shot. Was that when it happened?”

“Huh?”

“When you were hurt. I saw the scars. It looked like you were hit by a high powered weapon. A wound that should have been fatal.”

“I wasn’t the only one shot that day… just the only one that survived.” You drop your face to fight the rising sorrow.

“The port wasn’t just burned then. It was specifically to kill the people there. Is that what you’re saying?”

You nod.

“Then I understand Caesar’s words to you much better then. It’s not just the fact of revenge… you’re a witness, MC. You have to live to tell the story. Don’t be so reckless with your life.” Chu Zihang said.

“Senpai, are you caring for me?” You say. “Hmm… what would Little Dragon Lady have to say about that?”

Zihang’s back straightened a little and you flinched internally. But then he relaxes. “I’m not sure if she’s the jealous type. You’re probably fine. After this mission is over, what will you do?”

“Assuming I’m still alive? I honestly… don’t know. I haven’t thought that far.”

“Understandable.” He suddenly stopped walking. A building was being surrounded by cars and motorcycles and from the rumble of the streets nearby, more were on the way. Vans blocked the windows of the first floor and men were making an effort to roll up the security door keeping them from the entrance.

“This way.”

“Is that the Internet Cafe?” You whisper as you’re ushered through the shadows and into a nearby alley. “I thought it was safe!”

He didn’t answer. He was watching people get out of the car with pistols and automatic weapons.

“On my signal… three… two … one…” He darts out of the alley way and sprints behind the people, approaching the building, hiding behind the backs of those in the rear. You follow as quickly as you can into the alley right beside the building. Sure enough there was a side entrance.

Zihang slices off the padlock holding the door closed and it swings open. But no one was guarding here. He motions you inside and you follow him into a narrow corridor. There was no light at all but the moon reflected off the rippling vinyl tile and the shining metal shelving. This seemed to be a storage and maintenance area. Zihang was moving silently and rapidly, not giving you any more instructions. He suddenly paused. There was a vending machine. It was off but Zihang could see what was inside. Clean packaged panties. 

He pointed the sword at the glass and carved a near perfect circle with the tip. Your jaw drops. Was Zihang seriously this sort of pervert? The circle falls from the glass with a quiet tap. And he reached inside. “Here put these on.”

You’re stunned. How could he have known you weren’t wearing … your eyes widen. “You peeked?”

“I couldn’t help seeing when you kicked.” He tossed you the package.

With anyone else you would want to slap their face, and you scowled as you caught the package. “Can’t believe you.”

“It’s not like anything I haven’t seen before. Like I said, I saw your scars.”

“Stop talking!” You hiss. “And turn around. I’m not putting them on in front of you!”

Chu Zihang immediately turns around as you take off your shoes and set the cat down.  Kitty darts under the vending machine as soon as he’s on the floor. Your embarrassment isn’t warranted. It wasn’t his fault but still, you can’t believe he saw that! But when you’ve got one leg in, he starts to run without another word, down the hallway, leaving you behind! You rush to finish dressing and slip your shoes back on. When you get to the end of the hallway, you’re suddenly blinded by bright headlights. The intense glare stung your eyes, but not before you caught the dark silhouette of the person standing in front of the car.

You blinked rapidly to clear your vision. There he was standing, in a leather jacket. That broad back. That blond hair. Your heart leaps in your throat. Caesar! He was alive!

But before you can even call out to him, another shadow darted past him.

Your eyes had just adjusted to the brights of the car only for those lights to immediately go dark. The car's front end crashed to the ground, cut cleanly from the rest of the car. You were blinded by the lights and now you’re blinded by their after image. As you’re trying to blink that away, you hear the crash of metal blade on metal blade and then a sharp sounding gunshot! The sparks hit the car and ignited the fuel lines and once again the space was lit up this time by firelight!

Caesar was engaged in a furious battle with an assailant that was taking advantage of the rapid cycling of light and dark. He was moving quickly, parrying every attack. Caesar couldn’t slow down, flinch or make any mistakes. He was pinned.

Without a doubt, this was the elite fighter of this gang, meant to slow Caesar down. The lobby of the cafe was filled with people with guns but they were all watching this man attack Caesar, like it was some sort of ballet performance. 

No one had noticed MC.

You crouch low, like a panther stalking in the dark, prowling around the chairs that were propped up on tables. You reach the man at the very end of the wall closest to you. His eyes were fixed on the fight. The speed of the two combatants was similar and their strength was almost equal. It was now a competition of swordmanship and endurance. Who could be perfect the longest. It was quite the nailbiter. 

You leap up and wrap your legs around the unsuspecting young man’s waist and your arms around the man’s throat. By compressing the arteries in his neck, he’s unconscious in a mere second! Then you grab his gun. You immediately point the barrel of the gun up towards the ceiling and fire it at the sprinkler system! The combo of the smoke and the damage to the nozzle sets off the entire system and soon everything and everyone is drenched in the heaviest down pour they’ve ever experienced! The fire on the car goes out and the hall is full of shouting. They’re waving their guns and looking for the target! Caesar dove behind a thick heavy wood receptionist counter and you take the gun and follow him in the dark and wet confusion.

"Is it necessary to fight even now? Stop when you recognize me, okay?" Chu Zihang yelled. 

"Damn, how can I be sure it's you? I can't see clearly! It wasn’t like I was practicing. If I stopped you would take my head off!" Caesar yelled. 

"Internal conflicts will be resolved when we escape! Unity! Unity!" Lu Mingfei also yelled. 

“Caesar! You’re okay! I’m so glad you’re okay!” You didn’t care what they were going on about. Your voice brought Caesar around to look at you. His smile was bright but then he looked appalled. He quickly took off his jacket and covered over your white button down that was soaked with sprinkler water and rendered completely transparent. Chu Zihang had given you a pair of panties but not a bra.

“Zihang! I thought I could trust you to take care of her and you’re letting her walk around like an exhibitionist!”

Lu Mingfei’s face was completely flushed. “I didn’t see! I didn’t see!”

“We have more important things to think about! Duck!” Caesar grabbed the back of your neck and forced you to the floor.

It would have been nice for everyone happily to come back from the dead, but there was no time for pleasantries and hugs ...... they heard the sound of short-barreled shotguns being loaded in droves. 

The sound of gunfire was deafening, and the barrage of bullets came overwhelmingly.

"MP7! Lie down!" Caesar yelled. 

Caesar knew the power of such rounds all too well. two seconds after he pulled you and Lu Mingfei down, dense bullet holes appeared in the wall opposite you. The MP7 penetrated the wood and still had energy to pierce the wall. 

"You can't look at them as ordinary punks, they're here to kill us!" Chu Zihang lay on the ground, not daring to look up. "Very well prepared!" 

“Don’t compliment them, Zihang!” You scream. 

All you can think is that the people from Black Swan Bay had come back. They’ve come back to kill you. They’ve realized you’re a witness to Black Swan Bay and they’re here for you! You have a gun in your hands and you can fire back, but it was nothing compared to this level of pressure. They were cheering and reloading, confident in their win. You look up at Caesar. He was wearing a dangerous smile. The wood was turned to splinters but the marble countertop was still intact. He casually tipped the marble counter so it laid more on its edge.

 The boys screamed with excitement, but the screams were soon replaced by screams of pain as the dense lead bullets bounced off the marble countertop, then bounced off the floor and ceiling, covering the boys from the front, above, left and right. 

Ancient chanting echoed in the darkness, as if ancient bells roared. 

The air instantly heated up and the light was almost like a sunrise. The wall of crimson pushed past to cover the boys. The temperature around them rose to five or six hundred degrees in an instant. The boys felt as if they were staying in the sun. The hot air entered their bodies and could even burn their tracheas! 

The black shadow stood where the crimson wall was born, black and red arcs of light flowing over the circular transparent interface around him. 

The Spirit of Speech- Royal Fire, at the most conservative way to explode with instant heat, not enough that it would kill. The gangsters thought they were unarmed, and they were indeed unarmed, but Chu Zihang himself was a Vulcan cannon! 

The high temperature quickly fell back, Caesar stepped on the blazing ground to pick up the short-barreled shotguns and bullet belts dropped by the mob. You hurry over to join him, looking like a child wearing his jacket. “Caesar… I’m so glad…” You were instantly reminded why you needed to stand behind him. While you were perfectly fine on your own, with just a shrug of his shoulders, Caesar had managed to get back at a room full of gloating loonies.

“Save your words.” He waved a hand. “We have to keep moving.” He kept his voice gentle but every muscle in his body was still taut. “Nice shooting by the way. I’ll put that in my report. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Die?” You respond immediately with a cheeky grin.

Your answer stops him short and he regards you again with an intense stare. “Remind me to invite you to the Student Union when all this is over. Though I’m sure I won’t forget.”

The boys were badly burned on the surface of their bodies, and now the adrenaline was useless. They were rolling on the ground in pain, and Lu Mingfei rushed over to stomp on these little bastards. The youngest of these guys may only be 16 or 17 years old. The oldest is only in his early twenties, but human life in their eyes is not something that needs to be taken seriously, the problem is that they really chose the wrong opponent. 

More importantly, they were too young to know who you were. They couldn’t be assassins targeting you over Black Swan.

“The high heels are really good for kicking people when they're down.” You quip with a little bit of irritation. Lu Mingfei had no clue how ridiculous he looked in that tight dress and heels kicking a guy with second degree burns. You seriously wonder how in the world he ever got on this team being so completely honorless? You wonder if you should tell Caesar what you know about his feelings toward his fiancee and then you realize that its likely that Caesar already knew and just didn’t care. It’s not like Lu Mingfei was any competition.

“Look down on me all you want. Hmph.” Mingfei shot back. “I’d said I’d stomp them and I won't’ be breaking that promise!”

You’re both interrupted by the roar of motorcycle engines coming closer and closer until the noise makes it impossible to hear! Bright headlights shone into the room and the black motorcycle veered around the broken car. The rider was holding a sword in the air. He opened his mouth and shouted a loud cry then dropped the sword forward.

The roar of the bikes was like the roar of the helicopters over Black Swan Bay. It’s not that you weren’t afraid. It’s just that experience told you that running in this situation was pointless. They’d just catch up with you and shoot you in the back. The only way to escape was to kill your opponent first. You didn’t think of yourself as a killer. Experience had taught you there was no other option.

You lift the gun into your other hand and aim directly at the closest motorcycle rushing at you. He was holding a knife, leering at you but his confidence burst at the sight of the gun in your hand. You aimed it right at the center of the forehead but then the wheel of his motorcycle exploded and the young man went flying off. You pull the trigger but the shot misses completely.

“MC!” Caesar snarls. "Don't clash with the madman! Retreat back the way we came!” 

When you catch up to him, he pulls the gun out of your hands. “If you want to criticize Mingfei, don’t use guns against knife wielders.”

“He was on a motorcycle!” Of all people, you thought Caesar would understand. They were nearly killed just now and he was already resorting to gentle tactics?

“Don’t question me.” He wrapped the rifle’s band around his shoulders. “You’re not getting this back. Let’s go!”

“You’re too stunned to speak. You had imagined that Caesar of all people would understand a true life and death struggle. It seemed only weeks ago that your friends’ blood was being soaked into the snow and you were not going to survive unless the enemy died. You stood next to Renata who wielded the automatic machine gun and mowed down a helicopter, killing those inside.

You have to do this to protect the ones you love.

Caesar, the one who understood so much about you, didn’t understand this.

[concussions-and-clues]

Dream Game Challenge... Nancy Drew: Dead on Target

for @nancydrewnetwork​ ‘s Dream Game Challenge!

Plot Synopsis:

Just nicely home from her latest adventure Nancy receives a phone call from the enigmatic Gray Man, the leader of the shadowy Network. The Gray Man informs her that both of the Hardy Boys have been hospitalized due to a car bomb planted in their vehicle. An information leak is suspected at the Network and as such the Gray Man would like Nancy to investigate the incident in Bayport and bring the culprits to justice!

Characters:

Brian Conrad:  Voted most likely to need a good lawyer, Brian Conrad is a bully that has been hassling the Hardy’s since grade school. Rich and snooty Brian is irked by the Hardy’s because of all the positive attention they get… could he do something to try and ruin their squeaky-clean appearance, after all he was at the First National Bank at the time of the bombing (because Brian Conrad is always there).

Callie Shaw: Born and raised in the farm land just outside of Bayport, Callie Shaw has just recently moved into town with her cousin. An intelligent young woman, Callie works at the First National Bank. Still gaining friends, Callie is fond of the Hardy’s since they are some of the only people in town that ‘speak’ her first language: American Sign Language. Callie doesn’t let her lack of hearing stop her from living life to the fullest and rumour is that she may have a crush on a certain tall, dark, and handsome Hardy!

Oscar Smuff: Oscar Smuff dreams big of being a police detective one day. Unfortunately, he has not yet been able to pass the training; however, he hopes that working as a security guard for the First National Bank will give him the experiences he needs to be successful. He was the first responder to the car bomb and hopes that how he acted will help him when he next applies for the police force.

Chet Morton: The Hardy Boys best friend, confidant, and often co-conspirator, Chet Morton is one of the few civilian people who knows that the Hardy’s are spies! Chet’s passions in life are his hobbies and his Queen, a bright yellow jalopy that he fixes enthusiastically if not effectively. Despite being a star football player and power lifter, Chet still often gets bullied by Brian Conrad.

Iola Morton: Iola Morton is the younger sister of Chet and Joe Hardy’s long time (and according to Frank long suffering) girlfriend. Currently Iola is working as a barista at the Meet Locker, saving enough money to fulfill her passion and study Chemistry at MIT when she graduates high school. More introverted than her brother, she has recently been taken under the wing of Callie Shaw and the two are becoming fast friends.

Dr. Carrini: Dr. Carrini is flagged by the Network as a possible agent of the terrorist group the Assassins. Suspicion was raised when he was tangentially tied to a series of missing children cases a decade previously, but nothing could be proven. Currently his is working in Our Lady of Mercy Hospital… is it possible he planted the bomb so that he may have the Hardy brothers under his care, or under his knife?

Ripley Lansing: Another person of interest flagged by the Network, Ripley was found to be blackmailing and threatening contestants on a reality TV show where the Hardys had gone undercover. Money and an influential mother meant that she didn’t serve any jail time; however, her public image was ruined. She knew Frank and Joe as Frank Dooley and Joe Carr, respectively, and now that she is here in Bayport she might be seeking revenge having realized they were the ones who ratted her out to the police.

Fenton Hardy: Fenton Hardy is an ex-NYPD detective and the Hardy Boys father. After his retirement from the NYPD Fenton co-founded the Network (formerly American Teens Against Crime) with the mysterious Gray Man. Currently, Fenton keeps his work for the Network secret by working as a private detective. As is obvious, when it comes to detective work, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!

Laura Hardy: Laura Hardy is Frank and Joe’s mother and the heart of the Hardy family. However, Laura doesn’t just use her heart, with a doctorate in Library Sciences Laura is currently working at the Phillip J. Roscoe Community College as their head research librarian. She doesn’t explicitly know about the Network but with her eye for detail it is unlikely that she doesn’t suspect something about what her sons are up to!

Frank & Joe Hardy: Nancy’s long time friend and teen detective contemporaries. They are currently under hospital orders due to being injured in a car bombing. Smart and intelligent the brothers are no strangers to injury but this seems like something more. Just like it would be for Nancy, narrowing down the suspect list for this crime is going to be challenging…

Spud: Chet Morton’s pooch Spud is a very good boy, well most of the time… Spud tends to follow his nose which makes him an excellent tracker although he has ended up in the Morton trash can one too many times.

Phone Friends:

Bess Marvin & George Fayne: Bess is in the process of fixing up her car for the winter. She is getting George’s help although this time it is George who is on the back foot and keeps messing stuff up for Bess.

Ned Nickerson: Since the game takes place at the beginning of December Ned is studying like crazy for his final exams. Being only three hours away from Bayport at Emerson, Ned is constantly debating about putting down the books and visiting his injured friends and Nancy in Bayport.

Vijay Patel: The Network’s tech guy, Vijay is the Q to Frank and Joe’s James Bond. Recruited by the Network when he was 17 he has built a lot of the infrastructure that the Network uses and is upset that a mole may have penetrated his system. An affable young man, Vijay is fond of the Hardys and is willing to do anything within his power to help Nancy find the culprit.

Locations:

First National Bank:

The location of the bombing. One of the oldest remaining buildings in Bayport. It is rumoured that there are tunnels and secret passages throughout the building, the remnants of a meticulously planned 1832 bank robbery.

Phillip J. Roscoe Community College: A school where there can be big fish in a little pond. Most Bayport students make the leap to the larger pond of New York to peruse their post-secondary needs; however, the Phillip J. Roscoe Community College is carving a name out for itself as an excellent research institution.

Our Lady of Mercy Hospital: The hospital where the Hardy’s are currently being housed. It is shiny and clean, smelling of carbolic cleaning agents, like almost every hospital in the world. What is not like most other hospitals is that it was converted from a school into a hospital during WWII since Bayport was one of the first ports when coming back across the Atlantic. Quickly refurbished, there are strange dead end hallways and the possibility of a room long since forgotten being every wall.

The Meet Locker:  A great little coffee shop with a really dumb name, according to the local teenagers. Often just referred to as the Locker, the Meet Locker, is a regular hangout for local teens with its comfy seats, highly caffeinated products, and cheap prices!

The Hardy Forensics Lab: Located in the barn in the Hardy’s backyard, the forensics lab is used equally by the Hardy Boys and Fenton Hardy in their respective cases. Stocked with forensic tools bought second hand from various police stations around the country, the Hardy’s have enough tech to make the Gil Grissoms and Horatio Caines of the world jealous.

Where People Are:

First National Bank (Callie Shaw)

Outside Bank/ security office (Oscar Smuff)

Hospital (Frank and Joe Hardy)

College Library (Laura Hardy)

Forensics Lab (Fenton Hardy)

Meet Locker (Iola Morton)

Meet Locker (Ripley Lansing)

Nurses station in Hospital (Dr. Carrini)

Gym at College (Brian Conrad)

Parking Lot Outside Gym (Chet Morton)

Puzzles:

Find the appropriate clothing to investigate (i.e. going undercover, wearing warm clothing when outside, etc)

Foot Print Matching

Fingerprint matching

Codes and ciphers (i.e. Frank and Joe’s notes and Network communications will all be coded)

Chemical Testing

Ink Chromatography

Using Spud to search for explosive device

Helping Chet fix the Queen

Learn ASL to better communicate with Callie Shaw

Help Iola serve people at the Meet Locker

Types of Codes/ Ciphers I’d Like to Use:

Scytales

Caesar shift

ASCII

Atbash

Binary

Braille

Columnar Cipher

Dice Cipher

Digraph Cipher

Dorabella Cipher

Keyboard Code

Morse Code

Pigpen Cipher

The Grid Code

Vigenere Cipher

Element Abbreviations

Game Features:

Day/ Night Cycle

Read through all previous books at the research library

Multiple Mysteries (i.e. who is the Gray Man, why were certain people at the crime scene, etc)

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Treat Your S(h)elf: The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker

We’re going to survive - our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams - and in their worst nightmares too.

- Pat Barker, The Silence of the Girls

“It’s always hard on women, when a city falls.” Briseis, former princess of the Trojan city of Lyrnessus, has been Achilles’s slave for several months when someone she knew in her old life says these words. From the ancient world to our modern world there is this ugly and unspoken line of rape as a weapon of war. History is replete with examples. In the 20th-century where Nazis raped Jewish women despite soldiers' concerns with "race defilement" and raped countless women in their path as they invaded the Soviet Union and then in Berlin 1945 Russians in turn went on a brutal raping spree to punish the Germans. In the bloody Balkan wars in the 1990s, Serbian forces tortured and summarily executed scores of Muslims and Croats. In the Iraq war and the many conflicts in Africa in the 21st Century, rape is systemically used to subdue a defeated enemy. History shows the ugly truth that women’s bodies have always been viewed as the spoils of conflicts waged primarily by men.

The issue of rape in war is something that has always sat uncomfortably with me ever since I did my stint as an army combat helicopter pilot in Afghanistan. From my high vantage point I felt a detachment from the electronic battlefield - for everything was viscerally seen from my helmeted eye patch visor lens and not the naked eye. I couldn’t look people in the eye as as soldier on for patrol would have. The fear and sweat is the same but the risk is different. Soldiers on patrol or on a mission risk the constant threat of ambush, sustained attack under mortar or fire fights as well as the ever present danger of being blown up by an IED by accident. Pilots risk being coming under attack too by being ambushed by RPG rocket fire or coming under fire from below. Worse, was to think if you got hit and you had to bail and you were all alone, survival and evasion from capture becomes fearfully paramount. Of course they train you for this until it hopefully becomes muscle memory in how to survive and take evasive action from being captured and resisting as long as you could under interrogation. But as a female pilot the unspoken fear that dare not speak its name was ever present: the fear of rape.

I’m not sure my brother officers - no matter how sincere and well intentioned they were because we were all fiercely protective of one another - really understood what the word ‘rape’ means for a woman. Indeed a male friend and ex-army colleague said to me in jest don’t ever kid a man about kicking him in the balls because it’s one thing every man can imagine feeling but would find it hard to explain the excruciating pain when a man does get his balls bashed in. I don’t think the two ‘experiences’ are the same obviously but I understand how hard it is to articulate what it might feel like. I never really allowed myself to be consumed by the fear of what might happen if I ever got shot down and was captured but instead I made sure to focus on my job. It never really became pressing issue for me throughout my time in on the battlefield. I was lucky I got out in one piece despite a few close scrapes along the way.

I did hear awful and terrible stories from my oldest brother who served in the Iraq War of the raping of Kurdish women by Iraqi forces. It sickened him and left him hollow the the things he witnessed first hand. Through the charitable work of ex-veterans I have come across refugee woman who shared their harrowing stories of how they were violently and systematically raped as war booty and as primal assertion of victor dominance and control.

I was thinking about all these things as I read Pat Barker’s novel about one of the most famous wars of all, telling the story of the siege of Troy from the point of view of the local Trojan women taken by the Greek forces. It’s The Iliad as seen through the eyes of 19-year-old Briseis, the Queen of Lyrnessus who’s taken as Achilles’s “bed-girl”, his “prize of honour” for mass slaughter.

Barker’s not the first to turn to the classics for inspiration. It’s popular practice these days. Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fire and Michael Hughes’ Country, for example, transpose classical stories onto contemporary settings.  The Silence of the Girls is yet another much welcomed book to offer a fresh perspective on Homeric women, following Madeleine Miller’s brilliant Circe. But while Miller’s reinvention of literature’s first witch brilliantly evoked a world of ancient magic in retelling The Odyssey from the witch’s point of view, not that of the warrior she waylays on his journey home, Barker’s story has its feet very firmly on the ground. Yes, the gods are still there – you can’t tell the story of the Trojan wars without them, after all. The gods remain mostly off stage but they are present in the background, magically restoring the mutilated dead body of Hector. The sea goddess Thetis, Achilles’ mother, is a briny, frightening presence, as are the dark shore and the waves by which the whole horrible story takes place. Apollo still sends a plague, Achilles is the son of a sea goddess who brings him divinely forged armour and Hector’s body is magically restored to freshness after being pulled behind Achilles’s chariot.

But what really stands out are not heavenly allusions but the dirt and filth and disease and sheer brutal physicality of the Greek army marauding everything that stands in their way to Troy - there’s no magic here to ease the pain and trauma of rape or murder or even to help exact revenge. And while Achilles’ divine mother makes an appearance, and Apollo is beckoned by Briseis to bring about a plague, the gods remain on the peripheries of this story. If Circe, which chronicles the life of its titular character, is very much about the gods and their egos, then The Silence of the Girls, however, is very much about humans, their egos and their wars - both personal and political.

In all this Barker gives female characters such as Circe and Briseis the voice they’ve traditionally been denied, readers glean a different version of events behind the Trojan War epic myth. “Great Achilles. Brilliant Achilles, shining Achilles, godlike Achilles…How the epithets pile up,” Briseis begins. “We never called him any of those things; we called him ‘the butcher’.”

In The Iliad, a poem about the terrible destruction caused by male aggression, the bodies and pretty faces of women are the objects through which men struggle with each other for status. The women are not entirely silent, and goddesses always have plenty to say, but mortal women speak primarily to lament. They grieve for their dead sons, dead fathers, dead husbands and dead protectors; for the city of Troy, soon to fall, and for their own freedom, taken by the victors of war. Andromache pleads with her Trojan husband Hector not to leave her and their infant son to go back to fight Achilles. She has already endured the sack of her home city by Achilles, and seen the slaughter of her father and seven brothers, and the enslavement of her mother. If Hector dies, their child will be hurled from the city walls, Troy will fall and Andromache will be made the concubine of the son of her husband’s killer. Hector knows this, but he insists that his own need to avoid social humiliation as a battle-shirker trumps it all: “I would be ashamed before the Trojan men and women,” he says. He hopes only to be dead before he has to hear her screams.

Barker’s absorbing prose puts the experience of women like Andromache at the heart of the story: the women who survive in slavery when men destroy their cities and kill their fathers, brothers and children. The central character is Briseis, the woman awarded to Achilles, the greatest Greek fighter, after his army sacks one of the towns neighbouring Troy. Agamemnon, the most powerful, although not the bravest, of the Greek warriors – a character whose downright nastiness comes across beautifully in Barker’s telling – has lost his own most recent female acquisition and seizes Briseis from Achilles. Achilles’ vengeful rage against Agamemnon and his own comrades, and the subsequent vast death toll of the Greeks and Trojans, is the central theme of The Iliad.

Homer’s poem ends by foreshadowing the fall of Troy in the death of its greatest fighter, Hector. Barker’s novel begins with the fall of another town: Lyrnessus, Briseis’ home, destroyed by Achilles and his men. We then see that the fall of a city is the end of a story only for the male warriors: some leave triumphant and others lie there dead. For the women, it is the start of new horrors.

Barker’s subject has long been gender relations during conflict, along with the machinations of trauma and memory, so she’s in her element here. Her blood-drenched battle scenes are up there with the best of them, and she shows a keen understanding of the “never-ending cycle of hatred and revenge” fuelling the violence. Her focus, however, is that which takes place off the battlefield, inflicted on the women in the “rape camps.”

Barker keeps the main bones of the Homeric poem in place, supplementing Homer at the end of the story with Euripides. His heartbreaking play The Trojan Women is, like Barker’s novel, a version of the story that shifts our attention from the angry, destructive, quick-footed, short-lived boys to the raped, enslaved, widowed women, who watch their city burn and, if they are lucky, get a moment to bury their slaughtered children and grandchildren before they are taken far away.

One of Barker’s most tear-jerking sequences is lifted straight from Euripides: the teenage daughter of Priam and Hecuba is gagged and killed as a “sacrifice” on the dead Achilles’ tomb, and then Hecuba is presented with the tiny corpse of her dead grandson, a toddler with his skull cracked open. The girl’s gagged mouth and the child’s gaping brains conjure a gruesome twinned image for the silenced voices that should tell of the horror and pity suffered by the victims of war.

For most of Barker’s novel, Briseis is the first-person narrator, but in the final part, the narrative is intercut with third-person chapters told from the point of view of Achilles. We never get as close to Achilles as we do to Briseis, but he is a compelling figure in his fascinating combination of brutality and civility. Like Siegfried Sassoon in Barker’s 1991 novel Regeneration, this Achilles has the soul of a poet as well as of a killer and hunter: he is a man whose physical courage and compulsion to fight sit uneasily with his clear, articulate awareness of the futility of war.

But Achilles, however fascinating he may be, is not then at the centre of this story. Still, the novel does provide a moving, thought-provoking version of what is perhaps the most famous moment of The Iliad: when the old king Priam makes his way, alone and unarmed, through the enemy camp, to plead with Achilles to give back the mutilated body of his son, Hector. Barker twice quotes Priam’s Homeric words to Achilles: “I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son.” Barker lets us feel the pathos and pity of this moment, as well as the pathos of all the many young men who die violent deaths far from home. We glimpse, too, Achilles’ alienation from his own “terrible, man-killing hands”, which have caused so many deaths.

Briseis has a powerful riposte to Priam’s words, weighing this unique encounter between men against the myriad unremembered horrors suffered by women in war. “I do what countless women before me have been forced to do. I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers.”

Reduced to objects, they’re catalysts for conflict – Barker’s Helen inspires ribaldry not worship, “The eyes, the hair, the tits, the lips/ That launched a thousand battleships...” chant the soldiers – blamed for inciting hatred between men. Or they’re regarded as the victor’s spoils, claimed along with cattle and gold.

Briseis is both. Taken as a slave, Achilles and Agamemnon then feud over her: “It doesn’t belong to him; he hasn’t earnt it,” fumes the former. Men - Greek and Trojan alike – are afforded the privilege of vocalising their pain and loss, while women have to repress their suffering. “Silence becomes a woman,” they’re told, even when they’re free.

No longer an issue of decorum, now it’s about staying alive. “I do what no man before me has ever done, I kiss the hands of the man who killed my son,” declares Priam when he prostrates himself before Achilles begging for Hector’s body. “And I do what countless women before me have been forced to do, Briseis thinks bitterly, “I spread my legs for the man who killed my husband and my brothers.”

Barker has a very clear feminist message about the struggle for women to extricate themselves from male-dominated narratives. In the hands of a lesser writer, it could have felt preachy and woke but she masterfully avoids that. The attempt to provide Briseis with a happy ending is thin, and sometimes the female characters’ legitimate outrage seems a bit predictable, as when we hear Helen thinking: “I’m here. Me. A person, not just an object to be looked at and fought over.”

The novel has some annoying anachronisms, such as a “weekend market” (there were no weekends in antiquity), and a reference to “half a crown”, as if we were in the same period as Barker’s first world war novels. One wonders if any woman in archaic Greece, even a former queen, would have quite the self-assurance of Barker’s Briseis. But, of course, there is no way to be sure: no words from women in this period survive but Barker is surely right to paint them as thoughtful, diverse, rounded human beings, whose humanity hardly ever dawns on their captors, owners and husbands. This central historical insight feels entirely truthful.

Barker has a quasi-Homeric gift for similes: “that shining moment, when the din of battle fades and your body’s a rod connecting earth and sky”, or Achilles’ friend Patroclus dying, “thrashing like a fish in a pool that’s drying out”. There is a Homeric simplicity and drive in some of the sentences: “Blood, shit and brains – and there he is, the son of Peleus, half beast, half god, driving on to glory.” She is Homeric, too, in her attentiveness to what happens between people, and to the details of the physical world: the food, the wine, the clothes, the noise and the feel of skin, blood, bones, crackling wounds and screams. Barker, like Homer, understands grief and loss, and sees how alone people can be even when they are crying together. Loneliness in community is one of the major themes of this book, as it is of The Iliad.

Angry, thoughtful, sad, deeply humane and compulsively readable, The Silence of the Girls shows that Barker is a writer at the peak of her literary powers. You sense her only priority is to enlarge the story that we all know and she adds to it magnificently.

I have always enjoyed reading Pat Barker especially her enviable experience of writing about military life in her earlier novels and here in this book it shines through in the depiction of the Greek forces. The men are dehumanised by the wars they have created. This is primarily a book about what war does to women, but Barker examines what it does to men too. I was disturbed by the magnificently poignant final section which can’t help but make you reflect on the cultural underpinnings of male aggression, the women throughout history who have been told, by men, to forget their trauma. When Briseis is told to forget her past life, she immediately knows it is exactly what she must not, can not do: “So there was my duty laid out in front of me, as simple and clear as bowl of water: Remember.”

Briseis knows no one will want to record the reality of what went on during the war: “they won’t want the brutal reality of conquest and slavery. They won’t want to be told about the massacres of men and boys, the enslavement of women and girls. They won’t want to know we were living in a rape camp. No, they’ll go for something altogether softer. A love story, perhaps?” But even so, Briseis, for all that she must bear, understands eventually that the women will leave behind a legacy, though not in the same vocal, violent way the men will.

“We’re going to survive,” she says, “our songs, our stories. They’ll never be able to forget us. Decades after the last man who fought at Troy is dead, their sons will remember the songs their Trojan mothers sang to them. We’ll be in their dreams - and in their worst nightmares too.”

I felt disconcerted reading this and also very moved. As much as I love the Classics and firmly believe in it providing the foundational building blocks of our Western civilisation I also have to pause and remind myself that heroic behaviour, something the greatest of the Greeks are known for, isn’t anything admirable when viewed from the lens of the women they abuse. Heroism can be tainted by the dark side of one’s nature. However pure one soldier’s sacrifice for another can be, so there is the bestial side of us where the chains of civilised moral behaviour are unshackled and left to satiate our primal instinct for cruelty, conflict, and domination. Indeed what Barker does is be a much needed corrective because just as you think her perspective of the Greek heroes may be softening, she pulls back to remind you of Odysseus tossing Hector’s baby from the battlements, or Achilles’s casual butchery. “It’s the girls I remember most,” Briseis says. This then is a story about the very real cost of wars waged by men: “the brutal reality of conquest and slavery”.

In seeing a legend differently, Barker makes us rethink who gets to write history but also to remind us of our tainted human condition. There is no god in the machine to sort out most violent conflicts and situations with a thunderbolt here. There are only mortals, with all their flaws and ferocity and foolishness. And we all have to live with that but not I hope in silence.

[momentsofweakness]

Broken Hearts

Rated: Teen

Warnings: guns, violence, suicide, implied child abuse

Fandom: The Untamed

Characters: Lan Xichen, Jin Guangyao, cameo by Jiang Cheng

Pairings: XiYao (about the same level as you get in the source material, really, but Zhu Zanjin said they’re soulmates and that’s all that matters)

Summary: Some souls, when they came back, fought tooth and nail to change what had happened before. Other lives ended up more or less following the same path, over and over.

Reincarnation AU: Xichen tries to save A-Yao again and again and again. But they always end up in the same place.

Additional notes and warnings under the cut.

Additional notes: So, I didn’t have enough time or inclination to go into all the worldbuilding details like I would have liked to do. But basically in this AU if you don’t reach immortality through cultivation your soul just starts going through reincarnation cycles, more or less forever. LWJ and WWX became immortal, because there was no power in the universe that wanted to decide who died first the second time around so they just… didn’t. Also, I don��t mention any additional lives for the juniors, so lets say they all reached immortality through the power of love and friendship.

Xichen always remembers his past lives. He starts gaining memories as a teenager and by the time he’s an adult he remembers everything and takes up the quest to search for his friends. The rest of the characters don’t remember their past lives every time. Sometimes they do, but sometimes they just live and die like everyone else. Jin Guangyao usually starts remembering after meeting Xichen for the first time in each life. (Xichen noticed this at one point and tried to stay away from him, but they were somehow always brought together anyway.)

Now my note is almost as long as the fic. Oops.

Extended warning (with spoilers): There is nothing graphic depicted in this fic, everything is more or less implied. But to be clear the suicide occurs when Jin Guangyao points a gun at a police officer knowing that he will be shot and killed for it. (This is usually referred to as ‘suicide by cop’.) The child abuse is really ‘blink and you’ll miss it’, in a paragraph where Xichen is thinking about the different ways that Jin Guangyao has been hurt throughout his lifetimes.

———————————————————————————————————–

Broken Hearts - Prompt #19

Some souls, when they came back, fought tooth and nail to change what had happened before.

The first time Lan Xichen found Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan they were living on a mountain in what is now Thailand, with a house full of orphaned children. (It had taken nearly twenty years for Wei Wuxian to find a way to painstakingly piece together a shattered soul, so that the two of them could finally be released from the world and move on.)

They were happy there, in a way they had never been allowed in their first life, and when Song Lan had escorted Xichen off their mountain he had asked him not to look for them again. “I don’t know where our lives will lead in the future, but I want nothing to do with… that life. Not ever again.”

Xichen had kept his promise and never looked for them in all the time since.

Xichen had found all of them, at one point or another. Sometimes it was harder. Sometimes their souls went far away and it wasn’t easy to track them down. But he always tried.

He had found Nei Mingjue in almost every life, and so too had found Huaisang. They were always brothers. Always.

That didn’t happen with the others. Jiang Cheng wasn’t always a part of Yanli’s family. Sometimes he was a neighbor, sometimes a coworker, sometimes he didn’t know her at all. Xichen ached for him in those lives, for the loss Jiang Cheng felt that he didn’t even understand.

But Mingjue and Huaisang seemed to have a soul deep connection that always brought them back to each other. Xichen likes to think that it is the universe’s way of making up for tearing them apart in the first place.

He also ususally found Jin Zixuan and would attempt to send him Yanli’s way, if she hadn’t already found someone else. (Several times the person she had found was Mingjue, and Xichen wondered what their world would have looked like if that had happened in their first life. Once it had been Wen Qing, and that made sense too. Jiang Cheng, the poor thing, only ever got as far as being gently rejected by the Wen doctor, but he always tried in the lives where they knew each other.)

Other lives ended up more or less following the same path, over and over.

Xichen never looked for Jin Guangshan but sometimes he found people he wasn’t looking for and the Jin sect leader was one he had crossed paths with more times than he liked.

It had taken several lifetimes worth of self control to not strangle Jin Guangshan the first time he met him. In every life the man always found his way to power and he always found a way to abuse that power. He was also always murdered, oftentimes by his own children. Xichen is fairly certain the man had never lived a long and happy life and in his pettiest of thoughts he was glad of that.

The Sunshot Campaign had been the fault of Wen Ruohan and the corruption of the Yin Iron, but everything that came after… that was Jin Guangshan’s doing, and it all started the day he had his disciple kick his own son down the steps of Jinlintai.

Xichen had spent a hundred lifetimes wondering what their first life could have been, if Jin Guangshan had not been able to break his son.

And that was it, wasn’t it? That breaking.

There was a fundamental part of A-Yao that, once broken, could never be repaired.

His father had done it the first time, shattering that part of him at the bottom of golden steps, and in every life after there had been another.

Other father’s with cruel hands and empty hearts, lovers that promised him the world then stripped it all away with malice and violence. Sometimes the breaking came when he was very young, too many times left orphaned on the streets, that need for survival building up before he ever felt love - strangling out the parts of him that were soft and kind, like an ivy choking the life from an ancient tree.

Once he had been stolen from his home when he was just a child. Xichen had found him, too many years later, a terrible, broken thing. (It had taken centuries to wipe the blood of that lifetime off his hands; the blood he had spilled in order to find him and the blood he had spilled in revenge after he was found.)

But, somehow, he was always always broken. Xichen had tried so many different ways - so many different lifetimes - but he never got there in time.

He never got to A-Yao before he broke and once he broke Xichen could never put him back together again.

So they always ended up here, like this, just like the first time.

“Die with me, Er-ge.”

The gun in A-Yao’s hand trembled, but did not waiver, pointed at Xichen’s heart.

I never thought to hurt you, he had said, so many lifetimes ago. And Xichen believed him. He had known in that moment that - despite all the lies, despite all the deaths A-Yao had caused, despite all the horror that had been done by him or for him - that what the two of them had between them… that was real.

The love they had was real, the time they spent together for all those years was real. Xichen believes that he has seen the true heart of the man standing in front of him now. Perhaps he is the only one who ever has.

Xichen steps forward and A-Yao steps back, his hand still shaking. There are sirens far off in the distance - Xichen’s squad searching for him even though he told them not to - but A-Yao’s eyes do not leave his.

He takes another step and so does A-Yao, but this time the other man’s back hits the wall and he has nowhere else to go.

Another step. “Stop,” A-Yao demands, his voice broken; angry and afraid and full of sorrow.

Another step. “I’ll kill you, I swear I will.” The sirens are getting louder.

A final step and Xichen feels the barrel of the gun push against his chest, just below his heart. His hand comes up slowly and his fingers press against A-Yao’s wrist.

“I will,” Xichen whispers. He feels the thud of his own heart against his ribs, sees the tears finally fall from A-Yao’s eyes and leave wet trails down his pale skin. “I will die with you.”

Brakes squealing. Car doors slam. Feet pounding on the pavement. 

Xichen’s fingers slide around A-Yao’s wrist and hold him tight. Let me die with you.

The door at the other end of the warehouse bursts open and Xichen’s squad rushes through.

A-Yao finally looks away, looks to the people bearing down on them. It had been hot in the temple, despite the storm. It is cold here, surrounded by concrete walls and empty space, and A-Yao shivers.

Xichen’s hand on his wrist tightens, forcing his attention away from the other officers who are surrounding them, shouting, their own guns raised.

Let me die with you. Xichen wants to beg. Wants to get down on his knees and beg A-Yao not to leave him alone again. Not again. He can’t take it anymore. A hundred lifetimes and they always ended up here.

But he doesn’t. His knees do not bend, his mouth stays closed. His hand tightens, tightens, holding on as long as he can. It would bruise A-Yao’s thin, fragile wrist if there was time. But there isn’t. Xichen knows how this ends.

The officers around them barely move, they are afraid for their captain, but one of them is young and eager and his finger looks ready to pull the trigger.

“Don’t.” Xichen begs, but he is not asking his junior. He is asking the man in front of him whose pulse beats like a hummingbird’s wings under Xichen’s fingertips. But they both know how this goes.

A-Yao’s eyes are on Xichen’s, those same dark eyes that had captured him heart and soul a hundred lifetimes ago, and he smiles, that sad broken smile that breaks Xichen’s heart again and again. His hand moves, the barrel of his gun sliding away from Xichen’s chest - I never thought to hurt you - and when it points to the youngest of their squad shots ring out, the sound filling the empty spaces all around them.

Twenty minutes later Xichen - in this life he is Li Qiang, only child, first in his class, youngest in their precinct to be promoted to police captain - sits on the steps outside the warehouse as the coroner arrives and the investigation team takes over.

Zhang Jie, who long ago was named Jiang Cheng and who in this life had never remembered that first one, sits beside him. “Why didn’t you try and stop him?”

Xichen knows he will be asked this question over and over in the following days. He will lie and tell them how he thought that he might be able to reason with him; how he hoped he could save him.

Lan’s do not lie but Xichen has not been a Lan for a very long time.

The only other choice is the truth and he cannot tell them that.

Because I wanted to die with him.

Xichen pats Jiang Cheng on the shoulder before standing up. “Your cousin’s son is graduating soon, right?”

The other man looks at him as if he’s gone a little crazy. That’s alright. Xichen knows that look well. “Yes. Yes, next month. He’s graduating a year early. He’s starting university in the fall.”

Xichen nods and heads in the direction of his squad car. “I’d like to send him a gift.”

“Oh, okay. Captain… are you alright?”

Xichen doesn’t bother answering. That is also a question he’ll get a lot in the next few days, weeks, months.

As he drives away leaving A-Yao’s body behind again and again and again he thinks about next time and wonders how long he’ll have to wait.

[crypticalwitch]

Dr. Hide, The Mechanisms, and a New friend.

The story of Dr. Marie Hide, Her small crew, and how they all met. The Story of my Mechsona crew.

Warnings-death, Poison, ask to tag.

Dr. Marie Hide was raised on stories of the Mechanisms. She would sit and listen to her great grandmother telling tales of a Man of copper singing tales of the past, tales of a man with a heart of metal being passed a baby and panicking, of Women with Wings or Minds of metal. 

She fell in love with the tales from the stars,and no matter how many times she was told to stay planetside for her own safely, she would look to the stars, the old warped disks her Great Grandma left her playing. The singers voice haunting as they told their one man audience the tales of Gunpowder Tim and Ashes O’Reilly. 

So, it wasn't much a surprise to herself or her family when she became an Engineer, and a Doctor, and a Pilot. and She headed off to the stars, gathering her own tales to be told. 

And then she found it. A very old file, something that took months upon months to update and break through all the passwords and safeguards to get at whatever was hiding in the file. and boy was it something.

A very old file, full of things written and made by the Mechanisms, Not the ones who her Great Grandma told her about, the ones whose voices filled Dr. Hide’s speakers when she was alone in the engine room, but the real ones. The immortals from all over the stars who played deadly pranks and who held a mini war over something called an Octo Kitten. Whatever the hell that was. All written by Dr. Carmilla and Raphaella La Cognizi.

But the most exciting thing, was the blueprints and instructions for Mechanization, Immortality developed by the Doctor.

It wasn't a hard decision for Her to make. She already couldn't walk, what was the worst thing that could happen. But first, she would need someone to do the procedure, since she really didn't want to be conceness for her legs to be cut off and guts scooped out.

So she built Jekyll. It was programed with hundreds of medical procedures, as well as what they’d need to do the whole mechanization process, if lacking in preprogrammed personality. 

So waking up with the ability to walk was interesting, and the first thing she got to do with her new skill was clumsy run and steal a ship with her unemoting companion.

The pair wandered, gathering more stories of their own, both ones they were involved in, and not always in their little junker ship, nicknamed “Borealis”.

Borealis tended to break down, stutter and never quiet be as safe as it should, but for a new immortal and her Robot companion, whose personality was only just starting to develop. It was home, if barely big enough.

When they landed on Pistil, Dr. Hide had only planned to make a fuel stop, until she heard from one of the local merchants that a warlord was making quick work of the planet, maybe she had extended her stay for a few....years, much to jekyll’s chagrin.

and She really wasn't expecting to find someone with her legs injured beyond belief. She was face down in the dirt, long grey-blue hair splayed out in long loose curls, her legs down to bone and blood.  

so Hide brought her back to the makeshift lab. Patching up the mysterious woman was easy enough, however, waiting for her to return to the waking world was a nightmare.

When she did, she cried, scared and alone. Now, the good Doctor is not really savvy with emotions, so having a panicking, sobbing, stranger on her table, was not her ideal situation. To make everything so much better, Jekyll had just walked in, and stood staring with its lack of eyes.

“Jek, now is not a good time.” She had hissed, rubbing the back of the woman.

“The Police are here.” It had said.

“fucking hell.” Dr. Hide had shoo’d the police away, who simply wanted to know who lived at the house. When she had returned, the woman had calmed down, and was wiping her tears away with a cloth given to her by jekyll.

She had introduced herself as Carcei Wisteria, the teamaid of Emperor Ivalace. Dr. Hide didn’t quite know what that meant, but was happy enough to support her.

Carcie was on her way to get a very specific flower to make tea with. something that would be VERY HARD WITHOUT HER FEET. So Hide offered her help, Pulling out her old wheelchair and offering her help carrying the flowers and seeds back to her home.

Carcie had (Reluctantly) accepted her offer, and the pair took a three month journey to find these flowers, a gorgeous plant nicknamed “Selene's Prayer”.  

For months after meeting and befriending the woman, someone Hide quickly grew to admire for her silver tongue and for her sharp mind, Hide would not know why Carcie wanted Selene’s Prayer, until one night, late in Pistil’s seasonal cycle, when plants dried and what chill that constituted Pistil’s winters was just beginning to set in, gathered over warm tea and surrounded by the smell of drying earth and burning silverwood, Carcie wove her tale.

Carcie Wisteria had been born Carcie Forsythia, and had trained under a noble of Dandil, the once name of the kingdom before it became territory of Peat. She had quickly became a gift to the Empress, Magnola, and even quicker became her High Teamaid, a position of high honour and status.

Magnola was apparently fond of Carcie, and often took her to peace talks and trade negotiations. Which is how she met them, a otherworldly seeming person who chose their name as Odyssey Velium.

Odyssey was tall, dark, freckled, with short dark red hair and smoky violet eyes that shone like a sunset. They was a similarly high ranked dressmaid to the former Emperor of Peat, a kindly older man by the name of Prairifire and one of Dandil’s strongest Allies. Carcie fell in love near instantly, and apparently Odyssey felt the same way, and the pair began a whirlwind relationship over letters. 

The years went on, the pair only seeing each other in person when Empress Magnola and Emperor Prairifire met up for tea, their love affair remained a secret. until one of the more Enterprising Teamaids discovered Carcie’s letters from Odyssey, and outed her relationship to both rulers. 

The pair believed themselves to only had a few hours together before their verdict handed out and they would be separated. 

and they were given their rulers blessings to be wed.

Odyssey was gifted to Magnola as a dressmaid, and they were engaged, choosing their family name to be Wisteria.

A few months passed, the kingdoms Alliship stronger than ever, before Emperor Prairifire died,and his War mongering son took the throne, and a new treaty needed to be written up.

Carcie just happen to be late to the Congress, her maids having made a near unrecoverable mistake with the petals, and she arrived just in time to see her Queen, her court, and her never to be partner slaughtered.

As was customary, she was taken as a prize, and made to serve her loves killer the same tea she would to her queen, as he took over the land she loved.

The petals of Selene’s Prayer, it turns out, were a horrific paralysis agent, as well as a hallucinogen. and a strong one. When mixed with the right Poisons, it would lead to a painful and terrifying death. One Carcie intended to give to the entire court as she watched.

Hide had only one thing to say after that.

“after the revenge, what will you do?“

“Probably be put to death, why?”

“wanna join my semi-immortal band of space pirates exploring the galaxy?” When Carcie said nothing, Hide continued, “i could just replace your feet with a mechanism like my lower body and Bam! Unkillable!”

“your kidding.”

“nope!” To demonstrate, Hide put a knife through her hand, and then showed the skin kniting itself back together.

“holy shit your not kidding?” Carcie puffed up “WHY DIDN'T YOU DO THAT WHEN WE FIRST MET!”

“DO YOU WANT BE STUCK LIVING WITH SOMEONE WHO DIDN'T ASK TO BE IMMORTAL AND IS ANGRY WITH YOU FOR ETERNITY? I'D FEEL SO GUILTY! plus it kinda hurts for a few weeks after”

the pair laughed.

“Mari,” Carcie said, 

“Oh wow, using my first name! this is serious.”

“Mari.” Carice narrowed her eyes, “I want you to promise me something if i go through with this.”

“ok?”

“Promise me we’ll steal a bigger ship than Borealis after my revenge.”

“HELL YES!” Hide laughed, “so when is this going down?”

“Tomorrow.” Carice said,carefulling sipping her tea as Hide suddenly choked,

“TOMORROW SHIT I GOTTA GET A GOOD SEAT!” Hide threw a hug around Carcies shoulders, “Can't wait to see your magnum opus of vengeance, if Jekyll asks i'm following my family's footsteps!”  

“see ya Hide!”

 Sunrise came, and Carcie got to work. She dismissed her Teamaids for the day (”you’ve all worked so hard lately, and you deserve a break!”), and set to work brewing her poison. 

When the court downed the tea, the poison took quick. The paralysis only took hold of a few but the hallucinations were strong and maddening and within hours, the branches of the meeting hall were covered in madness and gore and horror. And standing in the middle, survivors would later say, stood Carcie, her mourning veil cloaking hazel eyes that had long hardened to earth and moss.

and dropping from an over head branch, was Hide, casting impressed eyes over her work.

“Were grabbing more of those seeds right?”

“mhm.”

“were taking all of your seeds aren't we?” 

“and the dry flowers.”

“sounds good!”

----------

WOO! That was fun! 

If you have any questions about my Crew, please ask! My ask box is open and Id love to gush or expand on the universe. also ask me to tag

[aion-rsa]

Vikings Season 6 Part Two Review (Spoiler-Free)

https://ift.tt/38xWVjR

This Vikings season 6 part two review is based on all 10 episodes and contains no spoilers.

Vikings has always been Ragnar Lothbrok’s (Travis Fimmel) story. First, we witnessed the rise of the man himself from farmer to visionary to earl to king to legend. Post-Ragnar, the show became an exploration of how Ragnar’s legend suffused and inhabited his sons, and the consequences of its interpretation upon enemies, frenemies, kith, kin and Kings the world over. And, now, the saga comes to an end with the second half of Vikings swansong sixth season, ten episodes that drip with all the blood, battles, tears, seers, fears, and philosophy you’ve come to expect from the History Channel’s flagship show (though this season will premiere on Amazon).    

It’s tough to write a spoiler-free review of a show like Vikings, especially here at the show’s conclusion where it won’t be surprising to learn that the blood flows like wine. Who lives, who dies? Who returns, who stays away? Even acknowledging the presence or absence of a surprise within a certain context could constitute a massive spoiler. As a consequence, much of this review will read like the ravings of the show’s very own seer, a web of insinuations and mystical mumbo jumbo designed only to make sense once the prophecy has been made flesh. 

Early in the season, Gunnhild (Ragga Ragnars) remarks: “Perhaps the Golden Age of the Vikings is gone.” This is a perfect distillation of the thematic ground covered by this half season. Here we have the fall of an empire, the erosion and sometimes amputation of the old ways, and the savage geo-surgery of a flailing world in flux. Absolute power corrupts absolutely; only the truly mad would seek to be king. The battle between paganism and Christianity, always at the forefront of the series, reaches its culmination here, and the episodes are awash with rich religious imagery and symbolism. There is also an answer, of sorts, to the question of which of Ragnar’s sons best embodies and encapsulates his legacy. Each of them carries a chunk of their father distilled within them: Ivar (Alex Høgh Andersen), his wrath, his thirst to conquer; Bjorn (Alexander Ludwig), his galvanizing spirit, his authority, his legend; Hvitserk (Marco Ilsø) , his pain, confusion and predilection for self-destruction; and Ubbe (Jordan Patrick Smith), his sense of adventure, his vision. Series creator and showrunner Michael Hirst knows that you come to these final episodes laden with ideas and expectations surrounding this philosophical set-to, and does a sterling job subverting or confirming them. His skill is in making the surprising seem inevitable, and the inevitable seem surprising.

Most of the Vikings’ world is bathed in blue and grey, an endless twilight of death and despair. Within these grim parameters the direction and cinematography never fails to evoke the beautiful, misty emptiness of the world: the howling of the wind on desolate hills; silence, smooth and dark, stretching towards the pale horizon. There are lots of sweeping aerial shots, which cast you, the audience, as Gods looking down on the action from above. The emotional distance this creates, especially above battlefields, reinforces the absurdity and futility of the bloodshed, something we’ve been encouraged to feel in every season, but never moreso than now. 

The season is front-loaded with some thrilling sequences (including a suitably chilling use of CGI), and at least one moment that will make the hairs stand up on your neck, and hot tears fall from your eyes. The mechanisms of plot necessarily predominate in the early episodes, as machination piles upon machination, twist upon turn, and the pieces of the tragedies and double-dealings to come are moved into place upon fate’s great chess-board: a broken Bjorn has tough choices to consider following his people’s defeat at the hands of the Rus; Ubbe embarks on a westward quest in search of the promised land; Ivar and Hvitserk continue their uneasy alliance with each other within the fraught principality of the maladjusted, half-mad Oleg (Danila Koslovsky). 

An accusation often leveled at Vikings is that it became a lesser show once divorced from Ragnar’s immediate orbit; that when he died, so too did the interest of many of the audience, who never quite took to his sons with the same level of enthusiasm. I can understand the hole that Ragnar’s exit left in the hearts of fans. He was a compelling, larger-than-life character, channeled with great charisma and presence by Travis Fimmel. But although this series is ostensibly about Ragnar, the story is also far, far bigger than him, a point this final season doesn’t fail to ram home. In fact, it’s the whole point.  Besides, the performances of Alexander Ludwig, Jordan Patrick Smith, Marco Ilsø, and Alex Høgh Andersen have always been uniformly excellent, generating more than enough presence, individually and collectively, to carry the show in Ragnar’s name. 

If there is a mote of truth in the accusation it’s probably attributable, in part at least, to the challenges of satisfying such a sprawling ensemble. One of the beneficial things about the show having shed so many characters over the past few seasons is that the sons now have proper time to grow, develop and, ultimately, crystallize. In particular Hvitserk, who was always the sketchiest and most ill-defined of the brothers, finally coalesces into something greater than the sum of his parts. Even his unhealthy attachment to Ivar begins to make sense, and comes to play an instrumental part in much of what makes the final stretch work so well. 

Ivar himself has always been a joy to watch – surely one of the greatest small-screen monsters – but occasionally he could be one-note, albeit largely thanks to his predilection for painting himself into a corner and then having to fight his way out again. Ivar’s relationship with, and to, the young Rus heir Igor (Oran Glynn O’Donovan) helps to humanize him, allowing him to recreate the better aspects of his own relationship with Ragnar, this time sans grand, King-busting plan. Ivar even demonstrates, from time to time, something approaching humility, which can’t be easy for a self-proclaimed God. Plus there’s a moment between Ivar and Katia (Alicia Agneson) that’ll have you punching the air in triumph, and then thinking strangely of yourself for having fist pumped such a thing. 

Read more

TV

Why Vikings Is Ending

By Michael Ahr

Once the heavy gears of plot have cranked into place, the season dips into ennui, as characters drift, break down and take stock. This can make the season a slog to get through, especially if you’re binge-watching; like mainlining misery directly into your blood-stream. Even knowing that this was undoubtedly a deliberate structural choice – to make you feel the characters’ helplessness, heartache, angst and boredom; to understand what drives them to do what they do when Gods and men fall silent – you’re unlikely to emerge from the middle-to-end section brimming with vim and good cheer. Here, another central question is tackled: is there any escape from the seemingly endless cycle of death, destruction and revenge in which Viking society finds itself mired? What hope have Ragnar’s sons of escape when Ragnar himself, the most vocal advocate for a new way of doing things, ultimately perpetuated the cycle by posthumously siccing his sons on his enemies? 

The final act makes everything worthwhile. Think of the middle act like purgatory before Heaven (or should that be Valhalla)? While not every storyline feels like it has an equal place and weight in the pay-off – the latter sections in Kattegat, especially, feel perfunctory and will probably struggle to elicit much interest – most of the series’ overarching narrative and thematic threads come together perfectly in the end, giving a deeply satisfying sense of simultaneous closure and open-endedness.   

There are many surface similarities between Vikings and Game of Thrones, in terms of their stock-in-trade themes, settings, cast-counts, body-counts and bundles of R-rated violence. Where they differ significantly is in Vikings sticking the landing, and not just with the final episode – which is beautiful, elegiac and haunting – but over and throughout the whole final half of the season (give or take a few minor missteps).

Game of Thrones’ once stellar reputation will perhaps forever be sullied by an ending, and a final season that many felt was flat, rushed and cack-handed. This is not the fate that will befall Vikings, which, although it never attained critical, commercial or pop-culture success on anything like the same scale as Game of Thrones, now joins the pantheon of shows whose exemplary endings have cemented their legacies. Vikings can hold its head high among such luminaries as Rectify, The Affair, The Deuce, The Wire, The Sopranos (divisive as its ending proved), The Shield and Breaking Bad (pre El Camino, at least), having offered up a finale that is so resonant, dream-like, and profound that it serves retroactively to render all of the good things about the series better, and wash away any and all misgivings and doubts. It’s a gorgeous ending that will stick in your soul for a long time.

Bon voyage, Vikings. It’s been emotional.   

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post Vikings Season 6 Part Two Review (Spoiler-Free) appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3aPIISv

[astromechs]

anything that’s worth my love (is worth the fight)

idk, oneshot, character/relationship study thing, who knows. also i didn’t reread the bendis issues about the cancerverse before i wrote this, so i took some liberties and fuck bendis canon anyway

also on ao3!

i.

Peter Quill is a strange guy.

It’s not the most profound assessment, but it’s about the best that Rich has, even after almost three months of working with him. Just by looking at him, you’d think that he’d be one of those painfully serious guys out of an old movie, dark, brooding, and mysterious. But over time, it becomes clear that, in a lot of ways, he’s the opposite; he seems to come to life more and more by the day, a ghost of a smile here, something like a bad joke there, a lot of offhand comments that seemingly come out of nowhere but somehow prove to be completely relevant.

Rich finds that his eyes have developed a tendency to linger on Peter for probably longer than they should, as if just staring will somehow get him closer to figuring the guy out.

That’s it. Nothing more to it than that.

There’s no real reason that he’s continuing to watch as Peter walks away, and—

“Richard.” He’s still not used to the voice that’s now a part of him, yet he can't imagine life without it, either, somehow. (It’s not entirely a bad thing; he’ll take his comforts where he can get them, even if said comforts have an annoying habit of always waking him up in the middle of a few precious hours of sleep.) “I have found that your heart rate increases by an average of twelve percent whenever you are in the proximity of Peter Quill. I am analyzing — ”

“Shut up, Worldmind,” he cuts in flatly, but the words don’t leave his mind for weeks afterward.

ii.

Worldmind had calculated this plan’s probability of success to sit somewhere at approximately four percent, but Rich had thought that had been generous.

Direct assault has pretty much never been an option against the Annihilation Wave up to this point; this whole thing has been a game of finding the best time to evacuate civilians, and then retreat. He’d like for that to not be true, sure, because, well, maybe he hadn’t paid as much attention as he should have in his high school history classes, but he’s pretty sure no one has ever won a war purely through retreats. Even so, though, the fact is that even in the best case scenario of the United Front not running on basically a skeleton crew of troops, they’d still be massively overpowered, outgunned, and everything else.

But Peter had been right; something had to change to turn the tide, and this had been their best opportunity to strike. The crazy son of a schlag had just decided to do it himself before anyone else could argue.

That’s the long and short of how Rich had gotten here, crouched on the ground next to a second-in-command who had also just given them the biggest advantage they’ve had in months by putting himself in the blast radius of a well-placed bomb. And said second-in-command is still in one piece, somehow; a little worse for the wear, judging by the way he favors his right side as he tries to lift his body into a sitting position, but nothing that won’t see a full recovery.

There are about a million things on Rich’s mind, but each one gets away at light speed before he can grab on, and all he’s left with is a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that hasn’t managed to disappear. He swallows down the dryness in his throat, and when he opens his mouth to speak, all that comes out is:

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe.” Peter shrugs in response, and after a moment, he actually smirks through the blood trickling from his bottom lip. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

There’s a part of Rich that’s definitely pissed, but the rest of him can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

(And, okay, he can’t lie; he probably would’ve done the same thing.)

Peter Quill may, truly, be the craziest man he’s ever met in his life, but there’s a possibility that they could win this whole damn war because of him.

iii.

They’ve managed to gain some ground, but Krelar still falls.

It’s a brutal loss, probably the most brutal in a whole war full of them; a hidden horde of the Wave had decimated thousands of civilians before they could even retreat, and those who’d been left of the United Front had barely made it off the planet themselves. They’re all shaken, deeply, and Rich had ordered everyone to tend to their wounds and get some sleep before reconvening at the end of the night cycle.

An order he knows he won’t follow himself.

He tries, though, for a time, tries to lie back on his pillow in his quarters and shut his eyes; he can go without rest longer than most, but even with the entire Nova Force inside him, he’s still pushing his limits. But when he does, he sees Kree falling on all sides, hears their screams as they do. He sees Xandar dying around him, just as he has in his mind’s eye. Death, just death, and even with all this power, he’s always helpless to do nothing but watch it happen….

His feet hit the floor, wander the corridors aimlessly, until they end up at the door of Peter’s quarters.

It opens before he can even knock.

They stand there for a time in silence, Peter looking as lost and haunted as he feels. There’s nothing to say, anyway; no platitudes will bring the planet back, gallows humor can only go so far, and with both of those options gone, well. That’s it.

Except —

Peter leans in and presses his mouth to Rich’s, and Rich doesn’t take the time to think about what’s happening, instead pulling Peter’s body as close to his as possible. They stumble through the doorway like this, a tangle of lips and hands searching for some kind of solid reassurance.

It doesn’t make anything better, because there’s nothing that can, but by the time Rich wakes up after managing a couple of hours of sleep, head resting on Peter’s bare chest and the rhythmic thud of a heartbeat in his ear, he thinks he can stand on solid enough ground to take a next step.

iv.

“Let me buy you a beer” had turned into three over the past hour, with a fourth probably soon to come, and while Rich feels guilty about it on some level, Peter continues to insist. It’s returning the favor, he says, for the tip about Knowhere, which has proven to be a pretty good base for his team, some hiccups aside. And:

“You look like you need it more than I do.”

After the — week, month, six months, year? — he’s had, he can’t really find it in him to argue.

Starlin’s has most of its usual clientele this evening, the loud, violent crowd that sees at least three bar fights broken up before it’s forced to disperse. A few broken bottles fly past their table at various points through this, but they’re otherwise left alone; being a war hero commands some respect in certain ways.

“I went back,” Rich finds himself saying a time after the bar quiets down, swirling the mug in his hand absently. “To Earth, I mean. First time since everything went down.”

Peter turns in his seat, attention fully focused on him, something like concern in his eyes (both human, no cybernetics anywhere, which is still taking some getting used to). He doesn’t say anything, and Rich takes that as his cue to continue.

“It was like…” He trails off, and it takes him a moment to commit to a train of thought. “No one even cared. The universe as we know it was almost gone, and all anyone could think about was fighting among themselves. This whole damn galactic war happening right above their heads, and nothing even changed for them.”

It all has a bitter taste coming out of his mouth, more than he’d actually intended it to, but he can’t deny that now that it’s out there, he feels like a massive weight has been taken off of his chest. He feels — better, somehow.

“But.” Rich drains the rest of the contents his mug after a beat. “Home is home, you know.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, and Rich thinks it sounds a little distant. “Home is home.” He reaches a hand toward one of Rich’s, gives it a brief squeeze before letting go.

Maybe it’s the fourth beer he’s now starting, but Rich has a wild thought that right here, right now, he could feel more at home than he has anywhere in a long time.

v.

It’s so quiet that the sound of Rich’s own breathing pounds in his ears. For a reality where life has supposedly won, it seems awfully dead; visibility stretches for miles on end, and as far as he can tell, there isn’t a single sign of movement anywhere. Worldmind’s report from his helmet’s scanners chime in at the thought, but confirm what he already knew.

He peels off his helmet, because everything’s getting too stuffy. He thinks it shouldn’t surprise him that that doesn’t provide any kind of relief.

Next to him, Peter kicks the Cosmic Cube on the ground, and it clinks against an outcropping of rock.

“Thing’s dead,” he says, voice still breathless from their last seemingly never-ending encounter with the Revengers, from dying and being resurrected repeatedly. (Turns out, that kind of thing can take a toll. Who knew.) “Next time they come back, we’re gonna get our asses kicked even worse.”

Rich’s eyes drop to the ground, drift over to the Cube and stay there as something starts to occur to him. It’d had one shot, sure, and they’d already blown it, but what if a source of massive power could charge it again? What if — “Maybe not.”

He’s trapped here, probably forever; it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out. He accepts it, too, because he’d known his choices when he’d followed Peter in here, and if he could do everything all over again, he wouldn’t change any of them. Robbie, his mom and dad, every single being on countless worlds are safe. That’s what matters.

But before that door is shut for good, he can open another. One he himself can’t walk through, because someone has to hold it; it’s the only way.

Peter deserves so much more than being stuck here in a barren wasteland, fighting and dying and coming back to life again, and again, and again. He deserves a chance to live in the universe that he’d helped to save. And Rich can give him that; it’s the least he owes him. For everything.

He bends down to gently lift the Cosmic Cube with the tips of his fingers.

“Rich — ?” It seems to dawn on Peter before he can even finish the question, and out of the corner of his eye, Rich can see Peter’s widen in horror. “Rich, wait.”

He closes his eyes and concentrates, tuning out the screams and everything else around him.

“Rich!”

Nova Force rips through his cells, and it feels almost warm.

[fantomcomics]

What’s Out This Week? 12/18

Looking for something out-of-this-world to do on Thursday night? Come watch Toxic Avenger with us in the store!

Gung Ho #1 - Benjamin Von Eckartsberg and Thomas von Kummant

In the near future, the "White Plague" has almost completely decimated humanity, and civilization is only a sweet memory. Europe as a whole has become a danger zone, where survival is only possible within towns or fortified villages.  Enter orphaned brothers Zach and Archer Goodwoody, troublemaking teens who have just arrived at Fort Apache, and about to learn the hard rules of integration into the colony. Outside the walls lies a hostile and deadly environment, but inside is also a dangerous place, as the boys are about to find out. Benjamin von Eckartsberg and Thomas von Kummant deliver a creative and visual tour de force with jaw-dropping artwork that will transport you to a brand new post-apocalyptic world where the tension is palpable, and the wrong move will get you killed... or worse.

Klaus and the Life & Times of Joe Christmas #1 - Grant Morrison & Dan Mora

In the tradition of Grant Morrison's 2001 New X-Men Annual , BOOM! Studios presents a widescreen comic that catalogs the life and times of one Joe Christmas. Abandoned as a baby, Joe Christmas is taken in by Klaus. In this holiday calendar-inspired comic, experience 25 all new short stories of Klaus teaming up with Joe Christmas over the years!

The Low, Low Woods #1 (of 6) - Carmen Maria Machado & Dani

Shudder-To-Think, PA, has been on fire for years. The coal mines beneath it are long since abandoned. The woods are full of rabbits with human eyes, a deer woman who stalks hungry girls, and swaths of skinless men. And the people in Shudder-to-Think? Well, they're not doing so well either. When El and Octavia wake up in a movie theater with no memory of the last few hours of their lives, the two teenage dirtbags begin a surreal and terrifying journey to discover the truth about the strange town that they call home.

The Old Guard: Force Multiplied #1 (of 5) - Greg Rucka and  Leandro Fernandez

Andromache of Scythia and her band of soldiers are back in this second story chronicling the battles and burdens of their dubious immortality. Nile's addition to the team has given them new purpose and new direction, but when you've got 6,000 years of history at your back, the past is always ready to return-with a vengeance.

Project X-Mas #1 - Mark Millar and Top Secret

MARK MILLAR and Netflix have teamed up to give you the perfect Christmas gift-the sequel to one of the most beloved Millarworld projects since the dawn of time. The twist is that you don't know what it is, and like all good gifts, you're in for a nice surprise when you open the delivery boxes on December 18th. Can you guess what Santa's going to bring you??

Read Only Memories #1 (of 4) - Sina Grace and Stefano Simeone

Based on the hit game 2064: Read Only Memories, enter a cyberpunk universe like you've never seen it before!

Santa Cruz, California. A beach town just 50 miles from Neo-San Francisco. Lexi Rivers, former detective with the Neo-San Francisco Police Department, has left the big city lights behind in favor of opening her own agency. Valentine's Day. A time for celebrating love-or finding it. When a robot's human lover goes missing, Lexi will be faced with a case unlike any she's tackled yet, one which just might show her that not all is as it seems in this pleasant beach-side community...

Revenge Of The Cosmic Ghost Rider #1 (of 5) - Dennis "Hopeless" Hallum, Donny Cates, Scott Hepburn, and Geoff Shaw

Cosmic Ghost Rider is back, baby! But with a reputation like his, it's only a matter of time before the law catches up to the future Frank Castle and tries to put him in chains - too bad for the law, chains are Castle's weapons of choice these days. Now in an intergalactic prison, the Rider is going to turn his cage into an all-out cage match! Who's going to be the last alien standing?!

Skulldigger & Skeleton Boy #1 (of 6) - Jeff Lemire and Tonci Zonjic

Spiral City finds itself trapped in a vicious cycle of crime, corruption, and violence. With the heart of the city at stake, a vigilante rises in Skulldigger. However, when the nefarious Grimjim escapes from prison, will Skulldigger and his ward, Skeleton Boy, be enough to save Spiral City?

Star Wars: The Rise Of Kylo Ren #1 (of 4) - Charles Soule and Will Sliney

Young Ben Solo is legendary Jedi Luke Skywalker's most promising pupil. As the son of Rebel Alliance heroes Leia Organa and Han Solo, as well as Luke's own nephew, Ben has the potential to be a great force for light in the galaxy. But the Skywalker legacy casts a long shadow, the currents of the dark side run deep, and Darth Vader's blood runs in Ben's veins. Voices call from both his past and his future, telling him who he must be. He will shatter, he will be reforged, his destiny will be revealed. Snoke awaits. The Knights of Ren await. Ben Solo's path to his true self begins here.  

Tales From Harrow County: Death’s Choir #1 - Cullen Bunn and Naomi Franquiz

Ten years have passed since Emmy exited Harrow County, leaving her close friend Bernice as steward of the supernatural home. But World War II is in full swing, taking Harrow's young men and leaving the community more vulnerable than ever-and when a ghostly choir heralds the resurrection of the dead, Bernice must find a solution before the town is overrun.

The Visitor #1 (of 6) - Paul Levitz and Mj Kim

Unstoppable. Untraceable. Unkillable. This is how he changes the world... Who is the Visitor? Why are the leaders of the world terrified of him? And will they live long enough to find out?

Wonder Woman: Dead Earth #1 (of 4) - Daniel Warren Johnson

The celebrated creator of Murder Falcon and Extremity and artist of The Ghost Fleet, Daniel Warren Johnson brings bold sci-fi chops to his DC debut with a harrowing vision of Wonder Woman unlike anything you've ever seen. Princess Diana of Themyscira left paradise to save Man's World from itself. When Wonder Woman awakens from a centuries-long sleep to discover the Earth reduced to a nuclear wasteland, she knows she failed. Trapped alone in a grim future, Diana must protect the last human city from titanic monsters while uncovering its secret of this dead Earth-and how she may be responsible for it.

Star Wars: Empire Ascendant #1 - Charles Soule and Caspar Wijngaard

DESTINED FOR HOTH! •  Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia Organa and smuggler Han Solo have have struck blow after winning blow against the Empire. The Rebels are digging in their defenses on the remote ice world of Hoth but how long will they truly be safe from their many enemies? •  Darth Vader will stop at nothing to crush the rebels but his efforts to locate their new base have been in vain. Will the dark side of the Force guide him to the missing rebels and to young Skywalker or mire the dark lord in the conflicts of his past? •  Despite a life riddled with treachery and destruction,  Doctor Aphra has found a family (of sorts). Former Imperial inspector Magna Tolvan and Aphra's young ward Vulaada will have to face the struggles of a life of rebellion...while Aphra reckons with her legacy.   •  Former Imperial loyalist turned cyborg bounty hunter BEILERT VALANCE is taking on a dangerous new mission. And the lives of the entire Rebellion-including his old buddy HAN SOLO's-are at stake should he fail!

This week’s bursting with amazing titles, so whatcha picking out, Fantomites?  

[myherorp]

THE QUIRK DATABASE HAS BEEN UPDATED !

incoming information on vigilante, selene.

get to know them !

faceclaim: jeon jeongguk

name: min jiho

vigilante name: selene

gender & pronouns: cis male, he/him

age: 22

reputation: selene - a name borrowed from the goddess of the moon, the vigilante is never seen under the sun. wearing a black mask to conceal his identity, not much is known about him. selene operates by his own devices, his affiliation a mystery. he spends his nights on the hunt for information on buried civilian incidents, from villains to heroes, no target of selene’s is ruled out. rumor has it, selene is the vigilante seoul needs, protecting the ignored of society. others insist that selene is the failed byproduct of the pro hero system, another unregulated danger to seoul.

the quirk !

quirk name: lunar cycle

quirk description: able to use moon energy by the phases of the moon.

abilities: 

lunar energy blasts - jiho is able to create balls of lunar energy, manifesting in pale, grey light - that he can use to launch, as part of a melee attack, or as a way of transportation.

lunar bolts - bolts similar to lightning emit from his hands, stronger near the full moon.

light manipulation - jiho can manipulate light from the moon, with a range of uses from lighting a path to temporarily blinding an opponent.

by the water - jiho is most in tune with his quirk near the full moon, especially so if he is near a body of water. he is able to manipulate water during the time of the full moon, an ability that greatly drains his energy when used.

weaknesses: 

burn out - if jiho utilizes his abilities past the bandwidth that the current phase of the moon allows, he experiences an intense burn out from the inside out. when this happens, jiho is bedridden for a day or two.

nighttime - jiho can only activate his quirk at nighttime, when the moon is out in the sky. during the daytime, jiho cannot utilize his quirk at all.

phases of the moon - his quirk allows full bandwidth of power near a full moon, while being incredibly weak around a new moon.

fatigue - after using his quirk, jiho is in desperate need of rest, especially when using his quirk for a long period of time. in the day after using his quirk, time is often reserved for conserving his energy.

the history !

triggers: death

i. min jiho had always been afraid of the dark.

the day he was born, the moon had been full. the brightest it had ever been, his mother always said.

his mother called him a child of the night. the moon’s son.

his mother knew she would always raise her son with gentle words and tender touches, a woman with legend and spirits coursing through her. rather than practicality, she rested her fate upon the universe. a single mother, with stars in her eyes and no plan for the future, min jiho was brought into a world without regulations.

his mother adored giving life to entities, as she puts it, the owner of a quaint little flower shop on the corner of one of seoul’s bustling districts. jiho’s very first memory of her is fuzzy, but he can make out watching her sing to her audience of flowers. he found out later, that was his mother’s quirk, a woman with the healing voice to nurture plants. jiho always thought it was the coolest thing.

his mother was his very best friend. she made sure nothing would ever come to harm him.

he only ever felt scared in the dark.

ii. jiho always felt safer under the moonlight.

at five years, he woke his mother up, right in the middle of the night, insisting they go outside and look at the sky. a night of watching the clouds roll by quickly morphed to his mother laughing in delight at the pale, grey lights dancing on his palms.

“jiho, you’ve been blessed by the moon!”

from then on, his childhood was characterized by getting to know his quirk. every day, he and his mother would tend to the flower shop. they would paint, sing, dance. and each night, they would chip away at the curiosities of the moon.

iii. they never spoke about jiho’s father.

the man was a goddamn mystery to jiho. when it clicked for him, watching kids on his block run home to their fathers, he asked his mother.

“where’s my dad? is he lost?”

“no, petal,” she replied easily, a somberness young jiho could have never picked up on. “he’s done great things. you should be proud of him.”

iv. great things meant he died saving others.

his father was a hero, he learned at twelve. a hero with the undeniable power to move mountains, one that selflessly pioneered for the public safety of seoul. his strength was unmatched, until he pushed it too far.

jiho learned from an old newspaper in the school library that his father died in a building fire. he saved a family, but passed away before reinforcements could arrive.

jiho vows then, that he would do good. he would do what his father did and save people.

he wanted to be a hero.

v. thirteen meant jiho fully handled the money in their family of two.

his mother hated it. pieces of paper that dictated whether she could eat or not. naturally, jiho had to be the sensible one. when his mother began to skip meals in favor of keeping their flower shop open, jiho took on odd jobs after school to afford it all.

he told her he was out playing with friends. she knew he was lying.

vi. his very first u.y blazer was his pride and joy.

he was going to be a hero! there’s only so much classes could do for a student whose quirk only comes alive at night, but jiho was determined.

he had stars in his eyes watching pro heroes, entranced with the thought of being someone people can lean on.

the blazer eventually grew too small for him. he cried on the walk home at the prospect of having to scrape enough cash for a new one. by the time he arrived home, he wore a big smile and spoke about the imagined highlights of his day.

instead of being teased by his classmates, he told her he was praised for his diligence.

it was just easier.

vii. he should have picked up the cake on his eighteenth birthday.

things had been going relatively well. the flower shop had been flourishing, his mother’s light never ceased to dim and he was nearly finished with school. everything was going well.

jiho insisted he didn’t need a cake, just another thing to eat up at their expenses. his mother refused with every bit of stubbornness.

“today is your day, my love, and we’re celebrating it.”

viii. his mother never did return.

after the first thirty minutes, jiho assumed the bakery was backed up. it happened, from time to time, although his mother left far after peak hours.

an hour passed. jiho began to console himself. things were fine. everything was fine. perhaps the busses were slow? that had to be it.

two hours. panic drove him to hastily close up the shop, panic encouraged him to run through the streets. panic began to suffocate him upon hearing the wails of distant sirens.

ix. brain dead upon impact.

the doctors told him, this happened, rarely, from time to time. in the scuffle of a pro hero reacting to a crime, unfortunately civilians could easily get hurt. his mother was simply at the wrong place, at the horrifically wrong time. the details of the attack were brushed away, just another terribly sad occurrence.

his mother wasn’t the first to fall victim to an accident at the hands of a hero. maybe if he was there, he could have stopped it. he could have saved her. 

he was numb.

her body is here,  but she’s gone.

x. all jiho had left was himself.

the flower shop fell into his hands, the never ending flow of hospital bills weighed upon his shoulders. school wasn’t something he cared enough for. he dropped out of u.y a week after the accident.

resentment was a funny thing. it flourished in empty hearts.

twenty two now, the new routine has long been cemented. during the day, jiho runs the flower shop with a warm smile. selene came to be in the nightfall. selene wanted answers. for his mother. for those who fell for heros to rise.

selene isn’t scared of the dark. 

selene craves the taste of revenge.

selene fights for the forgotten. 

the personality !

jiho tends to be more soft spoken than most, one to listen and observe rather than run his mouth. jiho is much more comfortable in places where he can collect his thoughts on his own time.

jiho has built wall upon wall to outside eyes, wanting to be perceived as the typical flower shop keeper. nothing more, nothing less. he sees no reason for trusting anybody, having learned that no one is exactly who they say they are.

he keeps the few he loves incredibly close, often overprotective to a certain degree, which can be attributed to the unexpected loss he’s experienced in his past. once he adores someone, a rare happening, he would sacrifice anything for their safety and well being.

he has an affinity for astrology, finding solace in the stars when nothing makes sense in real life.

behind his carefully crafted persona, jiho is quite tender hearted. empathetic to a fault and endlessly ambitious, jiho has elaborate dreams of the future that he wouldn’t dare share with anyone else.

quietly cunning, jiho sports a sharp tongue reserved for loved ones for during the day, and for his enemies when night falls. selene, quite literally his alter ego, is confidence personified. slick, sly, cocky, selene is a silent threat to his targets, with no concept of good or evil.

[moregelato]

hi i wrote some short stories lmao (reupload whoops)

Alright so this is like my billionth time reuploading this cause tumblr sucks (for legal reasons that’s a joke please don’t take down my account) but here are some short stories I wrote because I dared myself to.

So I had challenged myself to write three contrasting stories and not only did I finish them within, like, a week, I was also very proud of how they turned out, so here they are.

There are three in total; the first one, Life, is a horror story that has some graphic gore and blood mentions and descriptions, so tw for that. The second one, All That Matters, is a love story between two women who’s names and kinda the story is based off of (but no depressing parts). The third one, Better Circumstances, is a comedic script that does contain some swearing and some implied torture so, again, tw.

Also I may or may not have written these in order to show I can write for a maybe writing job for Mark lmao so @markiplier if you are reading these please enjoy and hire me whoops

The stories will begin below the cut, so please enjoy these!

LIFE

The woman’s hand instinctively tensed up at the sound of footsteps around the corner. Chills climbed up her arm and down her spine at the feeling of the cement floor creating divots in her fingernails. The broken edges met the skin of her palm, digging into the tender flesh. Pieces of glass and stone remained embedded in the skin, the salty sweat dripping into her wounds making her nerves set aflame. The pain would make her muscles stiffen, her jagged fingernails digging deep into her swollen palm, and the cycle would repeat. She could feel her heartbeat pulsing throughout her, struggling to keep her exhausted body awake. She watched in a sick, hysterical kind of fascination as her breath clouded in front of her each time she felt safe enough to relax, and would hitch when her wounds would come in contact with the uneven stone ground. She felt as if she was under water, every movement enough effort to spike her heart rate. Her eyes flicked to her left and she could hear its movement, a wet sliding noise that was so loud she could hardly think. She blinked and the popping noise sounded like a bullet went off next to her ear, the sound nigh deafening. The footsteps approached the wall she was leaning against, and despite her body’s begging, she stopped breathing. Tears built up in her dry eyes when the ragged breathing moved towards her ear, its warmth a burning contrast to the sub temperatures of the room. Her lungs burned and screamed, the need for oxygen consuming her as black slowly clouded her vision, like ink bleeding onto a piece of paper. The thing that had been chasing her looked to its right, its gaze landing dangerously close, when a sound picked up by both creatures caught its attention. It shot up, the cold being welcomed like a blanket, and its footsteps scratched against the cement, slowly drifting further away.

She heaved in a breath, the clouds slowly coming into focus as the growing darkness slowly dissipated. Her less injured hand pressed against the smooth walls, the cold metal biting into her cuts. A silent hiss escaped her lips as the skin both stuck to the metal and slipped from the warm blood flowing from her wounds. She managed to upright herself, layers of her palm ripping off when she tried to detach it. She let herself have some relief, a dry groan of pain at the burning feeling. When she was fully standing, she looked at her throbbing leg, the numbness from her adrenaline rush slowly wearing off. A large chunk was missing from her calf, the muscle burnt and dropping like slabs of meat, the bone exposed with tiny cracks littering it. Veins and nerves were poking out, camouflaged with the strings of her ripped jeans. The streaks of blood that chased after her glowed with each flicker of the overhead lights. Deciding that dying of blood loss would be quicker than hypothermia, the woman haltingly removed her layers and winced as the fabric caught onto the glass in her palms. Her thinnest jacket was placed on the ground as she redressed, each jacket returned another glimmer of hope. A small portion of fabric from each sleeve was torn off and wrapped around her shredded palms, ignoring the debris making a home in her right hand.

The jacket was quickly tied around her wounded calf, but was drenched in her blood after a few seconds. It was the only warmth she had felt in the past three days. Her stomach had stopped growling before the first day ended, after the thing chasing her had nearly ripped it out, and her throat learned to accept the blood from her cracking lips after the second. But the sleep deprivation was slowly getting to her head. She saw large platters of food and water laying on a large dining table that would vanish in her hands the moment she touched them. She saw injured animals littering the ground crying out but would drop through the floor when she ran to them. She saw people in all white watching her throughout the maze who turned a corner and disappeared as if they were never there. Every time she tried to lay down and rest, every time she let her guard down, the Creature Never Seen’s footsteps would pound in her head and send her running, whether it was really there or not.

She no longer cared about escaping. Her only goal was to survive.

She moved her leg forward, pressing her weight on it and testing the pressure she could handle. She hissed out a swear as a debilitating tearing sensation clawed up her leg. She shifted her weight onto her left one and hobbled into a more sturdy standing position. Her newly bandaged hands gave her less traction on the steel walls but more protection from it. As she took a tentative hop forward, her hand slipped and she unconsciously put her right foot forward to keep balance. A scream shoved its way out of her the same time another, familiar voice could be heard yelling out. The sound caused a ringing in her ear and her vision tilted, trying to convince herself it wasn’t true. She let the small tears fall down her face, desperate for any kind of liquid other than the blood she’d been surviving on for the past seventy hours. The scream, that had been cut short into a disgustingly wet gurgling, sounded as if it was just around the corner. Her hand wrapped around the side of the sleek metal and pulled herself around.

Her brother lay at the end of the hall, the lights burning long enough to illuminate the gaping hole in his chest. The flesh and muscle had all been blasted inward, with shrapnel and parts of his shattered ribs sticking into his barely inflating lungs. His heart struggled to keep its host alive, and half of his intestines were laying over his thighs. The two made eye contact and he let out a cough, blood leaking from his mouth and punctured lungs.

The woman staggered to him, her eyes burning from the tears that wouldn’t fall. She swung herself around and sat by his left side, watching the boys head loll to where she sat. He blinked slowly at her, attempting to give his sister a comforting smile. More of the thick liquid climbed from his stuttering heart up his throat as he cracked out, “Mom’s gonna kill me.”

A pained laugh escaped her lips. “I won’t let her.” Her voice, croaky with unuse, was startlingly thick and wet. She pressed her palm to her cheeks, wiping away the tears that weren’t there.

“I… I shouldn’t’ve gone out,” he slurred. “Mom told me… she said it wasn’t safe.” His eyes drooped halfway, what was left of his stomach tensing in an effort to keep him upright.

“Hey hey hey, it isn’t your fault. You were just being a dumb kid.” The boy laughed, but was quickly hushed by his sister. “Shh, don’t laugh.” Her eyes unwillingly looked to her brothers chest, and he watched as a look of horror and anguish washed over her face.

She continued to stare at his wound. “I can’t even… feel it,” he struggled. Her body gave up on its own survival to share her tears with her brother. “Like yousaid… Iwas just bein a dumb...kid.”

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, snot and tears running down her face. She wiped at her tears and brokenly smiled at him. “I should’ve been paying attention to you. Mom told me to watch you but I was being so dumb and I just, looked away for one second and you disappeared.” She gasped, hearing the strange clicking of the Creature Never Seen. “Why’d you leave the house, man?” The question went unanswered and she pounded her fist into her forehead. “I should’ve been paying attention, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

He had startled at his sisters action, his nose running as he silently wept. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice broken. “It’s notyour fault. I thoughtI heard somethin an’ I wanted to help y’guys.” His one arm lifted, revealing their dad’s sawed-off twenty gauge shotgun. The boy smiled, revealing bloodstained teeth. “I shot at thething, Bee. Isaw it… it bleeds.” He tossed the shotgun to his other side, somehow managing to catch it in his weak arm and placing it next to him. “Go kill that sonofabitch.”

“Language,” she quipped, picking up the gun. It had two shells left. “Didn’t dad fully load this before he left?” He had the dignity to look a little embarrassed, but the happiness from seeing some color back in his face was ruined by the amount of struggle his heart was in to produce said color. “You always were a terrible shot.” She pushed herself off the ground, ignoring the pins and needles shooting up her leg at its slightest movement. She spared one last glance to her brother, finding strength in the determined look ripping its way through his agonized face.

She staggered away from her brother, refusing to look back in fear of seeing him already dead. There was no way in hell he was surviving his wounds, in fact it was a miracle he was still alive when she got to him, but she needed to give him hope. She needed to get revenge, if not for her, for him. She heard distinct scraping footprints of the Creature Never Seen directly before her. The moment the Creature turned the corner to the hall she stood at, the every-flickering lights went out. The only hint the Creature was still with her were the two burning eyes that seemed to peer into her very soul. She shakily lifted her shotgun and adjusted her stance, finding her entire left leg soaked in warmth but unable to feel any pain. The gun’s wood felt odd against her wrapped hands, the glass pressing deeper into her cuts. She couldn’t care less. She had to avenge her brother, and would gladly die trying.

The Creature moved forward, it’s eyes slowly losing their glow. It pointed its gaze to her leg and it made a twisted noise that sent chills down her spine. A noise sounded from the Creature, one that was all too familiar, one that haunted her every waking moment, and she felt a blast of wind brush past her left hip. It had somehow swung at her from several yards away, changing her perception of the Creature’s size into something beyond any nightmare she’s ever had. She took a fearful step forward and the Creature attacked again, this time it landed on the same spot it had originally taken a chunk from her calf. The shrapnel embedded itself into her bone and the exposed nerves were cut and ripped, causing enough pain to bring her to her knees. She let out an ear splitting scream and aimed her gun, not thinking twice as she pulled the trigger. Still burning in rage, she cocked the gun and aimed it again, emptying both shells into the Creature.

The lights flashed on. The fluorescent white blinded the woman. The gun clattered at her side. A wet gasp sounded from the Creature. Her blinks echoed in her head. Her gaze adjusted to the light. Her heart clenched and shock ate through her stomach. Her brother stood before her, his chest burst open and intestines pouring down to his knees. He looked at his sister in fear. Blood sputtered from his lips and he sank to his knees. She couldn’t move.

“Why’d you leave the house,” she found herself repeating. She turned to where her brother had been laying minutes ago, only to see the air occupying it. Her eyes widened in realization, the back of her eyes burning as she looked back to her brother. “Mom told you it wasn’t safe.” She took a step forward, freezing as her brother’s lungs stopped moving, the clouds that had been rapidly forming stuttering in fear. “I should’ve been paying attention.” Her voice was distant, struggling to force its way past the lump forming. “I’m so sorry. It’s… all my fault.” The light in her brother’s eyes dimmed, and as his head slumped over, she knew he was dead. “Oh god,” she spluttered, tears struggling to make themselves known. She wanted to tell him she thought he was an animal, that she hadn’t slept and was hallucinating, that she had only meant to scare him, but they were all lies. She knew what she was doing, she saw a figure and fired to kill.

She shot up, hands tugging at her hair. She revelled in the sharp pain as she pulled chunks out, some hair removing a layer of scalp. “IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?!” She screamed to the ceiling, to someone, anyone. “WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!” Tears were flowing freely now, needing to know the truth.

“CONFESS.”

The response elicited something within her. She began to sob, all the realization and guilt and pain hitting her at once. “I thought he was a thief.” She heaved forward in time with her sobs, feeling bile climbing up her throat as the sharp metallic smell of her brothers blood wafted through the air. “I shot him, I meant to kill him.” Her body ached and new blood broke free from her makeshift bandages, coating her skin in her sins. “I killed him,” she whispered between sobs. As she rocked back and forth and howl, she began to chant, “I killed him. I killed him, I killed him, I killed him I killed him I killed him I KILLED HIM I KILLED HIM I KILLED HIM-”

“GOOD.”

Her chanting didn’t stop until two men in white appeared though a hidden doorway in the wall. “I thought… I thought you were fake.” They said nothing as they grabbed her under the arm, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. They dragged her through the door and into a blindingly white room, every machine and monitor pristine and perfectly placed. She was placed and strapped tightly into a chair, with one of the men cleaning the blood trail that led into the room. A woman in a white suit approached her, shining a light into her eyes with no remorse before deeming her fit. She stood up and faced the small gaggle of men in business suits, plastering on a charming smile.

“As you can see, this experimental treatment has had a very high success rate. Subject 100 here is our lucky star. She’s proven that this treatment can be used to get those,” the woman in white bent over and tapped the criminal on the cheek, “ extra stubborn criminals to confess. The narcotics we administer cause them to forget the last 48 hours and allow them to survive in harsh conditions with little nutrients for elongated periods of time.”

“Ms. Beathen, wouldn’t this be considered torture? Afterall, this one is missing a chunk out of her leg and no one seems to have treated it. And, as you mentioned, you drugged her nonconsensually.” Ms. Beathen took an understanding breathe and stood up to her full height.

“We were worried about the morals of this whole thing when we first started. But, these are dangerous criminals, you must remember. I don’t believe Subject 52 thinking about morals and consensual drugging landed him with us.” Uncomfortable murmuring spread to the small group. “However, all injuries sustained during their crimes are treated beforehand to ensure it doesn’t get infected. And we find the more details we add, the more emotionally invested they become, the more likely they are to confess.” Audio from the room she had spent what felt like years in began to play, and the woman cringed deeper into the chair to avoid her sobbing admission. “So far, one hundred out of the one hundred federal criminals sent to us have confessed to their crimes and been punished accordingly. Speaking of which, Mr. Adilet, would you do the honors?”

One of the men in white stepped forward with a glimmer in his eyes like a child on Christmas. She thrashed and cried as he spoke, but he never paused his speech. “Bela Tuwile, you have been found guilty of the murder of thirteen-year-old Clay Tuwile, and have been sentenced to life in federal prison.” As the men in suits left, the could hear Bela’s sobs echoing through the halls, but their steps never faltered.

———————————————————————————————————

ALL THAT MATTERS

Judith Capehart was the sun. She brought pain; to look at her would risk yourself going blind, and few could handle the heat. Her eyes, two bright flares, shot and burned at anyone who strayed to close. Her hair was a solar prominence, looping down from her scalp in thick gold waves. Her skin had a permanent red tinge to it, littered with sunspots that burned to the touch. Her temper grew as she aged, from the mild light of a red dwarf to the raging fire of a blue supergiant. People liked her in theory, for she brought life to the world and gave warmth at a distance, but when they learned her truth, when she lashed out and never cooled off, they preferred to stay away. And yet, despite their love of a false version of her, she was always truthful with people.

Rosemary Moncella was the moon. She brought illumination; to look at her would bring clarity the dark, but few accepted the cold. Her eyes, large dark craters, were deep and inviting to those who looked closely. Her hair was the bright moonlight, flowing in small black and white rays. Her skin was deep as the night sky with stars creating portions of light. Her mood was like the tide, constantly fluctuating from destructive, crashing ocean waves to the tranquil, serene sea. People looked to her for guidance in their darkest times, always dependent on her light and annoyed when she herself was in a dark place. And yet, despite her seeming openness, she was never fully honest.

The sun and the moon were never meant to convene. But eclipses happen, as do once in a lifetime meetings.

No one remembered when the two first met, but everyone remembers when they began to change. Judith no longer burned in anger, but still shone as bright. It still was a peril to look directly at her, but only in fear of her smile blinding instead of her heat. Rosemary was no longer as cold, but still provided clarity. It was a danger to see her with the sun, but only to people who preferred her light. The two had illuminated the others features, both good and bad. And they found that they were in perfect harmony.

The moon shone brightly at the sun as she burned a beautiful red, speaking of a Leonid meteor storm that only happened once a year, and that her parents were finally allowing her to see it by herself, and maybe if she would like to come too?

“Midnight, huh? Just the two of us, watching the stars? Sounds pretty romantic if you ask me.” Judith blushed harder and spluttered, the heat infecting the moons chill. “I’m joking,” she laughed, the sound as calming as the sea. “I’d love to come. My mom’s out of town, so I can stay out as long as you want.”

Judith forced out a laugh, ignoring the connotations of the shorter girls words. “Perfect. I’ll, uh, I’ll meet you there?” She watched Rosemary’s glow dim just a smidge, her smile dropping than forcing itself back up like crashing waves.

“I’ll meet you there.”

The sun was in new territory. It was dark, and cold, and she was terrified. She was used to the blinding light, the warmth of the sky, but also the loneliness, and the glares from the others. Yet here she was, basking in the cool of the night, in the moonlight of her friend. She wasn’t even looking at the meteor shower, instead more fascinated in their reflection in the moon's eyes. They illuminated her skin, wishing to imitate the streaks in her dark hair.

Judith couldn’t handle the silence. “To be honest,” she started, the words like a tongue of flame escaping her mouth. The moon turned to her, brighter than any star above. “I just wanted an excuse to go stargazing with you.”

If the moon’s smile grew, the sun didn’t mention it. If the sun grew hot, the moon didn’t laugh. And if the two shared a kiss that night, it’s none of your concern.

High school came and went, and with the years the sun and moon began to drift away. Different plans, different hopes, different dreams. Rosemary had moved out of state for college, giving the sun a searing reminder of her love before leaving. The moon had disappeared, leaving a supernova in its wake. Judith burned hotter than ever before, setting fire to her surroundings. No one was safe from her anger, so they learned to keep their distance in fear of their safety.

It was now a lunar eclipse. The world had torn the two apart, leaving the moon in the dark and the sun unable to help her. After they separated, they tried to get on with their lives. Judith befriended clouds, who smothered her anger and dimmed her warmth. Rosemary befriended stars, who outshined her light and dulled her beauty. And yet, they refused to leave the other's mind, constantly orbiting their thoughts and circling their heads, always there but never meeting.

Years passed. The moon dated other satellites, but none lit her up as much as Judith. The sun dated other stars, but none cooled her off as much as Rosemary. They never gave up on the other, keeping an optimistic, unrealistic hope that the universe would push these two, always so close yet so far, back to where they were meant to be. Together.

And there had been many close encounters. Partial eclipses happen fairly often, as do the amount of times Judith and Rosemary almost met eyes, almost bumped into each other, almost sat on the same bench. Eventually, even the Universe grew tired of their never intersecting orbit. So, it was decided that a total eclipse would come early this year.

Judith hadn’t been expecting to see any familiar faces at the coffee shop. The clouds she befriended had decided the snuff her out like a small candle, controlling who she saw and where she went. The older, less popular coffee shop where she used to go (it was Rosemary’s favorite) was off limits, so she was forced to walk an extra four blocks to Starbucks. She despised the walk. She was cold, she was angry, but above all she was lost. Until the doors before her swung open and the moon had stepped forward, just managing to not run into her.

The moon began to ramble off apologies, not yet recognizing the sun before her. Judith could feel a small heat flicker in her chest, growing bigger and bigger as Rosemary trailed off. When the moon whispered her name, eyes glistening with tears and voice shrouded in disbelief, she felt the light within her squeeze and then burst, recreating the sun that had burned within her years ago.

“Oh my god, Judith. It’s really you, isn’t it?” A star-covered hand reached up and pressed gently against Judith’s forearm before dragging gently down, never breaking eye contact. Her hand reached Judith’s and grasped it, interlacing their fingers.

“Yeah, Rose. It’s me,” she smiled, huffing out a laugh. A throat cleared from behind her and the two quickly broke contact, apologizing and moving out of the doorway. They had released hands and, not knowing what to do with hers, Judith scratched the back of her head and gestured to the moon. “You, uh, you grew… taller.”

Rosemary gave a soft chuckle and Judith felt a flare of heat reach her face. “And you’re no smoother than you were in high school.” Embarrassment flashed through the sun and killed her warmth, an awkward sound leaving her lips. The moon reached out and tucked a ray behind her ear, lingering her touch at her cheek. “You’re just as cute though.”

“Y’know, this might, uh, this might sound weird but… I kept hoping we’d see each other again. Ever since senior year. I, uh,” she paused, noticing the odd look the moon was giving her. “I actually went to the coffee shop a few streets down, cause I remember you said it was your favorite. I always found it kinda weird we never bumped into each other.”

For once, it was the moon who blushed, a mix of dark red and pink rushing over her cheeks. The realization she made her blush made Judith smile. “It’s not weird, Jude. I actually find it kinda sweet.” A look of understanding crossed her deep eyes and she huffed in amusement. “I think I know why you never saw me there.”

“Why’s that?”

“Every morning I went to that food stand Eggslut,” a splutter of laughter left them both, tranquil chucking from Rosemary and sharp cackling from Judith, “all cause I remember how hard you laughed when you first saw it. You said that you’d go there every day once you graduated.”

A pause. Neither of them knew what to say. They had been searching for the other for years, and they had only met in the middle today. Judith wasn’t about to let her get away. “Well, if you’re free, wanna head over there now?” A look of surprise crossed her features, but she nodded nonetheless.

They shared a smile, glowing at the other. Judith scratched her scalp and offered Rosemary her hand, who took it without hesitation. They had walked a bit in silence before the moon filled the space between them. “I take back what I said earlier, by the way. That was pretty smooth.”

“Was it actually?”

“No, it was pretty terrible.”

And so the two began their dance around the cosmos, visiting planets and stars with intertwined hearts. Their light flooded every place they went, people needing to shade their view from their glow. Judith shone past the clouds, no longer letting them control where she went and who she went with. Rosemary drowned out the stars, finally believing she deserved to light up the night sky too. There were times when their anger would control them, Judith lashing out and Rosemary closing off. They would never last long, both realizing what they had done and grasping tight onto their love, not ready to let this end. They were together at last, and they planned to keep it that way.

Faster than the speed of sound, November approached. Nearly twenty years since their first trip into the galaxy, and nearly ten months since their transcendence. The two had been driving up to the cliffs near their house, the moon watching the usual nervous twitching from Judith. Rosemary noticed the familiar burning of the sun, the heat coming off in waves as she talked of the meteor shower happening that night. The moon’s crescent smile lit up the car  as she recognized the name of the phenomena.

“Recreating our first date, are we?” The moon watched amused as the sun stutter, frantically grabbing for an answer.

“Wha- I, no, I’d- I don’t know- yeah, I am,” she settled, listening to the beautiful laughter of the woman beside her. “Okay, okay, I get it. I just thought it’d, y’know, be romantic and stuff…” She trailed off, parking the car and crossing her arms.

The moon gave her a smile so full of love it nearly blinded the sun, and Rosemary left the car before opening the door for Judith. “It is romantic, Jude. I was just teasing you.” Judith huffed but accepted the extended hand. She grabbed the blanket from her trunk, as black as the night sky with stars trapped within it, and walked Rosemary to the edge of the cliff.

“Wow,” the moon gasped, looking up to the stars that seemed to glow just for her. “This view is… wow.”

“Look who’s speechless now.”

“Oh, shut up and get over here.”

Judith barked out a laugh and sat beside her moon, hand nervously reaching for her pocket. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words burned in her mouth as a meteor sailed across the sky, followed by another. She stopped short, watching Rosemary’s eyes fill with the galaxy above, and her heart filled with more love than she thought was possible.

“Thank you for bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” Rosemary whispered, leaning her head against her sun’s shoulder. Judith’s eyes never looked to the sky as she agreed, wrapping her arm around her moon. And if the ring in her pocket remained unopened for the night, and if Judith decided that no diamond could compare to Rosemary’s eyes at night, then it isn’t important. What is important is that in that moment, right then, they had each other. And that’s all that matters.

———————————————————————————————————

BETTER CIRCUMSTANCES

DARK ROOM - MIDDAY - INTERIOR

LUCAS, a police officer, is slumped over in a dark room, unconscious. Slowly, he begins to wake up, wincing at the pinching in his neck and the throbbing on the back of his head. None of those prompt him to move his arms, for some reason. Only when the corner of his eye starts to itch does he try to lift his arm.

Only for him to realize they, along with his legs, are tied to a chair

LUCAS

Wuh? What the fuck?

Lucas pulls at his arms. The rope is a little loose, enough for his arm to move back a forth a bit, but not enough to escape. He pulls harder, pressing his shoulder to his ear as if that’ll help. It doesn’t. He then moves to his legs, kicking at them. The rope stays strong but his chair leans back a bit. He kicks a little too hard and his chair falls backwards. At this exact moment, COLE, his kidnapper, steps into the room, the open door letting light inside

COLE

Well well well, look who finally decided to-

Cole stops talking. He sees the cop he kidnapped laying on the floor with a look of complete defeat on his face. Cole blinks

COLE (CONT.)

-wake up.

Cole blindly swats for the door, not wanting to look away from the strange scene before him. He finally finds it and slams the door shut, effectively cutting off the only source of light

LUCAS

Where the hell am I?

Cole has to snort. Lucas sounded so serious and tried to sound like he had some kind of power in the situation, as if he hadn’t completely lost all hope in humanity. Cole walks over to where Lucas is lying and stands over him, bending at his hips to stare him dead in the eyes

COLE

Somewhere none of your little police buddies will find you.

Lucas laughs, trying to sound intimidating

LUCAS

Oh, I doubt that.

Cole cocks his head. He finds Lucas’ confidence amusing

LUCAS (CONT.)

Y’know, I bet my partner’s hot on your tail right now.

Cole laughs softly, then suddenly pulls a knife out of his belt loop. He brings the blade up to Lucas’ face, who still doesn’t realize he needs to stop talking

COLE

Don’t sound so optimistic, officer. No one’s gonna find you, not unless I want them to.

Lucas knows he’s in deep shit at this point, sweating buckets. One wrong move and he loses an ear, but will that stop him from being a smartass? Absolutely not

COLE (CONT.)

Now, you’re going to tell me everything I want to know.

The tip of the blade moves to the center of his forehead and, in a fit of stupidity, Lucas raises his head in intimidation

LUCAS

Or else what.

A glob of spit lands on Cole’s chin. Both men find this disgusting

COLE

Oh, you don’t want to know what I have in store for you-

A voice calls out from the hallway near the room. They both know this voice

RICH

Hello? Anybody home?

Lucas’ head shoots up, the blade moving just in time for him to not lose an eye, and Cole whirls around, facing the closed door

COLE

Well shit.

He starts to bite his thumb, knowing how much shit he’ll be in when his roommate sees the guy in the room. However, Lucas smiles wickedly

LUCAS

I fucking told you, didn’t I.

Cole stops, his thumb thanking every god that he was stopped before it could start bleeding. He faces Lucas, confusion very clear on his face. This wasn’t how the afternoon was supposed to turn out

COLE

Wait, what-

But before Cole can stop him, Lucas is tilting his head as far as he can and screaming:

LUCAS

I’M HERE! I’M IN HERE!

Cole starts to shush Lucas. He knows it’s useless, but it’s the sentiment that counts. The door kicks open, and RICH stands in doorway in all his glory. He’s still stumbling a bit from kicking the door down, but slowly regaining his balance. Lucas laughs, trying to see his partner

LUCAS (CONT.)

Oh you dumb sonofabitch, I never been happier to-

He stops short, seeing his partner standing in the doorway. In a pair of boxers. And a loose college t-shirt. Holding a bowl of cereal

LUCAS (CONT.)

What the fuck.

Rich has the audacity to look embarrassed, his spoon stuck halfway to his mouth. He looks to Cole, kneeling over Lucas, who was tied to a chair, holding a knife loosely at his throat. He connects two dots that aren’t there and coughs in discomfort

RICH

Um, am I… interrupting something, or…

Cole is the first to stand, being the only one who can, tipping Lucas’ chair to the side in the progress. He drops his knife, ignoring the scared scream from Lucas, and forces a fake smile

COLE

Rich, what are you doing? You said you’d be back at seven.

Rich spoons another bunch of Fruit Loops into his mouth before talking, knowing fully well how uncomfortable the other two find it

RICH

Well, uh, Lucas over there wasn’t updating us on the whole car chase thing, so I assumed he caught the guy and I decided to go home. I guess, uh, well I guess that wasn’t the case.

Rich dunks his spoon back in his bowl and peers around Cole, then waves to Lucas

RICH (CONT.)

Hi Lucas.

Lucas and Cole share an unbelieving look before turning back to Rich. The two are completely lost, simultaneously saying:

COLE                                                LUCAS

Wait, Rich, you know                        Rich, who the fuck  this guy?                                 is this?    

Rich looks at his two friends, chuckling nervously at their twin expressions of irritation. He knew the two would get along just fine, he just wished they’d met in better circumstances

RICH

Um, well, heh, this is awkward. Uh, Cole, this is my partner Lucas. Lucas, this is Cole, my roommate.

Everyone blinks. No one knows how to respond, least of all Rich

LUCAS

How the fuck are you so calm?! You’re roommate fucking kidnapped me you dumbass! He’s a criminal!

Cole and Rich exchange looks. Cole shoots him a warning look, his jaw tensed and eyebrows raised to his forehead. Lucas ducks his head, looking as if he was sorry, before scratching at the nape of his neck. Boy was he in trouble

RICH

Yeah, yeah, I uh, I know.

LUCAS

...What?

COLE

Rich, I swear to all that is holy...

RICH

Uh...

Rich looks to Cole, regrets it immediately, then decides looking at Lucas will incur less wrath

RICH (CONT.)

Well, when I first moved in, he flipped out when he saw my badge and tried to shoot me. Heh, it was kinda funny looking back.

He risks an amused glance at Cole, who’s glare would probably make him spontaneously combust if he really wanted. He decides to avoid Cole as he explains himself

RICH (CONT.)

It was a dumb little pact thingy. I promised him and his friends a few freebies, he makes sure I get protection from his friends. Good times, weren’t they Cole?

He takes a step to Cole, who in turn shoved him into the hallway. Rich’s cereal spills on the ground and he lets out a weak ‘no’. The door slams shut leaving Lucas in the pitch black room, wondering how the hell he ended up captured by that complete dumbass. He feels something with his hand and smiles

RICH AND COLE’S KITCHEN - MIDDAY - INTERIOR

Cole paces around the kitchen across from the door, having grabbed one of the many large knives and gesturing wildly with it as he scolds Rich. The man in question is sweating enough to fill a bathtub, distracting himself by staring sadly at his spilled Fruit Loops

COLE

I can’t fucking believe you dude! You know what this means for me, right? What it means for us?

The knife points between him and Rich multiple times. Rich shakes his head and subtly takes a step backwards, putting more space between him and his knife wielding friend

COLE (CONT.)

If this shit gets out, we’re both going to jail, and I can’t go to fucking jail.

He breathes, scratching his head with the hilt of the knife, and a soft worried noise escape Rich

COLE (CONT.)

Well, it’s decided. I gotta kill the fucker.

Rich blinks

RICH

Um, what the fuck Cole.

COLE

Dude, it’s all your fault I gotta kill him.

RICH

How the fuck is it my fault?!

COLE

You told him about me you shithead!

Cole stabs the knife into the table, an undignified squeak coming from Rich as he jumps three feet in the air. Rich will deny this until the day he dies. No one hears the crashing glass

COLE (CONT.)

If you just kept your dumbass mouth shut, we wouldn’t be in this situation, would we? But no, you just gotta keep blabbing, don’t ya!

Rich hangs his head, realizing that yeah, it kinda was his fault. Cole takes a breath, calming down, and seeing that yeah, he overreacted a lot. He grabs Rich’s shoulders apologetically, however the hell that works

COLE (CONT.)

Hey man, I’m sorry. I guess I kinda blew things outta proportion, didn’t I.

The two laugh and Rich nods. He raises his head and looks Cole dead in the eye. Uh oh, he’s scheming something

RICH

Uh, maybe instead of killing him right away, we could, y’know, fucking, talk to him like a normal human being. Explain what this whole thing is. Maybe he’ll understand and not turn us in?

Cole smiles softly at Rich’s dumb optimism. He sighs and opens his mouth to argue, but Rich was staring at him with those damn puppy eyes and fuck. Rich lets out a disappointed sigh when Cole doesn’t speak, and Cole couldn’t stand it. He breaks

COLE

Okay! Fine! I won’t kill him yet! Let’s talk to him.

Rich brightens immediately, and Cole realizes he’s been played

COLE (CONT.)

Oh you manipulative bastard. I’m still taking my knife with me.

Rich laughs as Cole takes a moment, struggling to pull the knife out of the counter top. He approaches the door and grabs the doorknob

RICH

Yeah yeah, okay, just try not to scare him too much, I actually-

He pauses, looking into the now fully lit room. The curtain covering the windows are ripped off, illuminating the empty chair and cut ropes, with a small trail of blood leading down the floor and to the shattered glass

RICH (CONT.)

Like this guy...

Cole runs to the window, angrier than Rich has ever seen him. He’s almost literally fuming

COLE

The fucker’s trying to steal my car.

Cole swings his knife brandishing hand, pushing past Rich

COLE (CONT.)

That’s it, I’m gonna kill him and no one’s fucking stopping me.

Rich goes completely into the room, seeing the empty chair that’s lying on its side. It’s left armrest is covered with blood drops and cut marks. He walks through the rest of the room, nearly slipping on a few wet spots. Rich stops at the back, the window broken open with a nice breeze blowing into the room. He looks down, seeing Lucas lying on the ground next to Cole’s car, his left leg twisted at an odd angle. Cole is standing over him and Rich doesn’t think he can keep watching

LUCAS

Hey man, I-I’m sorry.

Lucas is cut off by a wet slice. Rich looks away, pressing his fingers to his temples and he walks out of the room. He reaches the counter where he placed his jacket earlier and pulls out a piece of paper. Rich grabs one of the pens on the counter and marks off the fourth of twenty spaces, each labelled “Get Out Of Jail Free.”

RICH

Goddammit Cole, that’s the fourth guy this month.