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reidandweep · 4 years

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No Better Outcome

Spencer Reid x Reader (female)

A/N- I had a request for a Spencer imagine where the reader was held at gun point by the unsub and Spencer had to talk them down. I said it would be finished last week and posted, but to be honest, I hated how it was so I re-wrote the whole thing. I ca’t remember who requested it either.

Word Count- 2336 words

Warnings- Angst, Fluff, mentions of guns and murder.

“What do we know about this guy?”

Y/N glanced at Reid as she continued to drive to their destination. The team had been called to Baltimore on a case the morning before. Four couples had been found brutally murdered in their homes; located across the city. The team had quickly learnt that all the couples were newly engaged and had very healthy, happy relationships.

“Landon Reeves, aged 24. Garcia looked into each of the couples lives and found that Landon works at the local auto repair shop. Each of the males have visited the shop in the past three months, all complaining about the same problem with their cars; faulty breaks. Landon was the one that handled all the bookings.”

Y/N nodded her head as Reid spoke, taking in the information.

“So, we’ve got a 24-year-old, Caucasian, male who has fixed all four male victims’ vehicles in the last 90 days, which they all coincidentally needed the same job doing. Sounds like to me; Landon might have had his eye on them before they entered the shop. There’s too much coincidence between the couples for him not to have.”

Pulling up to a red light, Y/N turned her head to look at Spencer.

“The murders looked disorganised but were actually very meticulous. All the women were mutilated in the bathroom, but their bodies were tucked into the beds. They were covered and their arms crossed; showing signs of remorse. But the male victims were splayed and left out for all to be seen. He hid the women’s modesty and treated the men like animals.”

Honking drew Y/N from her thought process. Swivelling her body to face the wheel once more, she continued to drive.

Spencer comprehended Y/N’s words.

“Maybe he lost a fiancée or girlfriend? Left him for someone else or even cheated.”

Spencer shook his head.

“Usually, if an unsub targets woman that remind him of an unfaithful partner, the attack towards them would be messy, violent, and have shown forms of sexual assault. This hasn’t occurred here. The women were shot clean through the heart. No signs of sexual assault or torture. Garcia already looked into any past relationships of Landon’s. No spousal deaths or even any signs of a partner from his social media. Ever.”

Y/N pulled up on the curb outside their desired location. They had already checked to see if Landon was at work before they travelled to his home. Speaking to his co-workers at the garage, they were more than sure he was their unsub.

“Well, let’s go do our job Dr Reid. All we can do is question for now.”

Spencer chuckled as Y/N opened the SUV door, sliding out and adjusting her appearance; making sure her gun was secure in her holster. Shaking his head, Spencer stepped out and walked to her side.

Walking side by side as they walked up the steps of the house, the pair stopped at the door; Y/N stepped forward and knocked on the wood.

They waited for any sign of an answer. Spencer looked through the window to see a figure walking towards the door.

The pair stood straight as Landon opened the door.

“Landon Reeves?”

“Speaking?”

Y/N glanced at Spencer as he spoke.

“I’m Dr Spencer Reid and this is SSA Y/F/N Y/L/N. Were from the FBI. We just wanted to ask you some questions.

Landon begun to shift uncomfortably in his stance.

“About what?”

Y/N stepped slightly as she spoke, noticing the increased edge of his tone of voice.

“We just want to ask about a few of your customers. Of course, only if it isn’t a waste of your time.”

Landon stood silently for a while before he allowed them into the house.

Insisting Y/N to go first Spencer kept his eye on Landon, just in case he tried to run for it as they walked inside. He didn’t.

Shutting the door behind Spencer, Landon ushered them into the living room; offering them to take a seat on his sofa.

He gave of waves of discomfort. Fidgeting with his hands, biting his lip, and avoiding eye contact. He was guilty of something. But murder? Y/N wasn’t how sure. Something would have had to make him snap.

Y/N allowed Spencer to take the lead in questioning as she discreetly surveyed the room.

“Mr Reeves, on a weekly basis, how many customers do you have come into the workshop?”

Landon shrugged his shoulders.

“It depends. Some weeks are better than others.”

Spencer nodded his head.

“On average, according to the week, how many cars do you repair which the fault concerns the brakes?”

Landon shuffled in his chair as he uncrossed and re-crossed his arms.

“Only about one or two. We mostly get broken taillight or problem with the exhaust.”

Y/N’s eyes caught the pictures on the fireplace as she pretended to write down Landon’s answers. She knew Spencer would remember what he said word for word, so she had no worry but to focus on surveying the area for any information that could help.

Above the mantel piece sat an array of pictures showing Landon with multiple different people. Pulling out her phone, Y/N texted Garcia requesting details on Landon’s family. Not more than two minutes later, she got a reply.

From the information Garcia found, it seemed Landon had a good family. No problems concerning abuse, abandonment, gambling, nothing. But the description of the family didn’t coincide with two pictures. Landon and his family were all brunette. But he had two pictures on the mantle of him and a young blonde woman; who looked eerily like the victims.

“What does me fixing a few brakes and taillights have to do with the FBI?”

Y/N looked up at Landon at the sound of his agitated question.

Spencer went to answer his question, but before he could, Y/N interrupted the young genius.

“How long have you and your girlfriend been together? You’re a very cute couple.”

Landon looked in the direction that Y/N was pointing. His body became tense for a short moment; his hands clenching in fists. Spencer noticed the change in his demeanour.

“She’s not my girlfriend. We’re just best friends.”

Y/N nodded her head.

“What’s her name?”

Landon licked his lips as his nerves spiked.

“Celeste.”

“Well, I think you and Celeste would make a cute couple. You should ask her out?”

Y/N walked to stand slightly closer to Landon to gage his reaction.

Landon continued to tense up as Y/N carried on talking and walking closer.

“Or is she already taken? Because she looks an awful lot like three women who have been murdered in the following months. All whom were customers of yours.”

Spencer went to step forward.

“Y/N-“

“Does she not call you back anymore Landon? Cancels your plans? Or doesn’t even bother to make them herself?”

“Shut up.”

Y/N took another step closer.

“Is it because she doesn’t love you back?”

Before another step could be taken, Landon suddenly pulled a gun out from the cushion of his sofa, pointing it towards Y/N.

Spencer quickly drew his gun, aiming it at Landon. He could tell by the look on Y/N’s face that she knew he had a gun the whole time.

“Landon put the gun down.”

Through his earpiece, her heard Hotch’s voice.

“Reid, we’re on our way. Y/N’s mobile is called through to Garcia. We can hear everything, so stay calm.”

Spencer kept his focus on Landon in front of him.

“Landon put the gun down and we can talk, okay? She didn’t mean what she said.”

“Yes, she did!”

Y/N flinched at the sudden raised voice from the unsub. She knew the risk when she began to ask him questions. But there had been lives lost, and she did not want to walk away from this suspect, and another life be taken. She would risk herself always. Spencer knew this and he hated that she would always risk herself to save everyone else.

Spencer glanced at Y/N as he saw her flinch. Looking back at Landon, he saw the boys hand shaking. Keeping his own arm locked and in position, Spencer tried to defuse the situation.

“I know how it feel. To be love someone for so long and so deeply that it rips you apart to know they don’t feel the same way back.”

Landon looked away from Y/N and towards Spencer; tears of frustration falling down his face.

“But just because they don’t love you back the same way doesn’t mean they don’t care.”

Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from Spencer as he spoke.

Landon shook his head, the gun shaking in his grasp, as he repositions it in his sweaty grip.

“She was the best thing about this place. Everyone said we were meant to be together. Everyone! But she left with him. Moved to a whole different fucking state after knowing him for 2 months. We’ve known each other for 14 years. I’ve loved her for 14 years and she left me for someone she’s known for 2 months!”

Reid licked his lips, preparing himself for what he was about to say. He knew this could change things between him and Y/N, but he couldn’t risk the thought of her getting hurt. Or even worse, dying.

“I was 25 when I met her. I’ve been in love with her for over ten years. Watching her with other men, listening to her date stories, being there to help mend her broken heart, and so much more. We’ve been side by side nearly every day. Spending holidays together and birthdays, even when we didn’t need to. I thought for a while she liked me back. But I couldn’t put her through all the issues and problems that I come with.”

Y/N looked at Spencer in disbelief.

“I knew I loved her approximately four months after I had known her. I accepted she didn’t love me back after two years of hoping that she did.”

Spencer to a cautious step towards Landon; watching as the boy’s grip on the gun loosened as he recognised himself in Spencer’s story.

“But I would rather have her in my life every day, in any other way, than to not have her there at all. Because I would miss having someone to watch Doctor Who with when we both can’t sleep. I would miss the lunch trips to the food trucks when work was quiet. I would miss the good morning texts and goodnight messages. I would miss so much that I get in a friendship, that I wouldn’t in strangers of unreciprocated feelings.”

Spencer took another step forward.

“You choose, Landon. But, if you drop your weapon, and let us take you in, Celeste will still see you as her best friend; who she loves dearly.”

Landon looked at Spencer with tears streaming down his cheeks; his lower lip wobbling. Slowly, he lowered his gun, letting Spencer take it from his hands.

Passing the gun behind him, Spencer focused on cuffing Landon as Y/N quietly stepped forward and grabbed the gun.

Just as he clicked the cuffs shut, the rest of the team walked through the door.

Hotch and Luke moved to take Landon from Spencer, as JJ and Tara moved to consult Y/N. Checking her over for any injuries, the women asked if she was okay. Y/N reassured the pair, but she could not waver her stare from Spencer as he watched Landon be escorted out and into the police vehicle.

Sensing the looming conversation, the team all walked outside, leaving Y/N and Spencer in the house alone.

Silence befell upon them.

Y/N walked towards Spencer, placing a hand on his shoulder as she spoke.

“Spencer I”

Spencer swivelled around in her grip.

Before Y/N could say anymore, Spencer pulled Y/N into a tight embrace. Quickly interlocking her arms around his neck, the pair basked in each other’s presence. Spencer was the first to pull apart.

“Never put yourself in a situation like that again. You realised he had a weapon and still antagonised him. What would you have done if he had fired? What do you think I would…”

Before Spencer could finish berating Y/N, she grabbed his face between her hands and pulled his lips against her own. Moving her hands to tangle into his hair, Y/N pushed her body flush against Spencer, gasping as his hands instantly moved to grip her hips. Pulling her impossibly closer, Spencer’s mouth moved against Y/N’s feverishly.

The pair slowly pulled apart as they both filled their lungs back with air. Spencer couldn’t help but blush under Y/N’s gaze.

Y/N giggled at the rising pink in his cheeks. Placing a quick peck on his lips, Y/N looked Spencer in the eyes.

“I love you Spence. I have for a really long time. That’s why those other guys never worked out because I was trying to get over you, and I couldn’t.”

Spencer couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss her again.

Once again pulling apart, Spencer rested his head against her own, and allowed for the smile to take over his face.

“I love you too. But please stop putting your life in danger.”

Y/N leaned back and laughed at Spencer’s words.

Glancing out the window, she could see the team almost ready to leave. Y/N pulled herself from Spencer’s embrace.

“Unfortunately, with the job we have, that’s one promise I can’t make.”

Spencer rolled his eyes with a smirk.

Y/N placed her hand in Spencer’s, interlocking the digits.

“Come on, Dr Reid. We got a case to officially close.”

The pair walked out the house hand in hand, as they walked towards their team. Giving Spencer’s hand a squeeze, she let his hand go and she continued to speak to Hotch and Luke, about the details of what occurred.

Spencer stood by her side, listening to her words and interjected when needed. While it wasn’t the exact outcome they expected the case to end with, it sure could not have ended any better.

A/N- I hope you enjoy. I have a few ideas that I’m going to write. One in particular is going to be a more personal one so stay tuned.

Taglist- @danielleslegacy

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #Matthew Gray Gubler #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagines

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

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icarus fell, and blood stained the ground

i'm back!! (but not really—the new school year literally starts in an hour and it will be back to my pathological dependence on academic validation. at least i can say i've technically published another fic before summer break ends)

anyway, here's the fic in response to part 1 of sumayyah's post. i published a companion poem for this some time ago. as per usual, i gave up on proofreading so hopefully any mistakes don't detract from the story. also, i hope the formatting and jumping back and forth between italics makes sense—let me know if it doesn't, though it might be easier to read on ao3 (it should go up on there by 4pm PST because school)

warnings: murder, major character death (may potentially be classified as suicide-by-proxy, depending on your interpretation), guns, canon typical violence, slight gore at the end, mentioned substances

word count: 1.9k words

The damned man thought of everything, Jessica thought as she scowled at the damned folder that sat innocuously on the large mahogany desk.

The desk that would soon be cleared, all traces of the previous owner gone.

She lifted a shaky hand and brushed it through her hair, shuddering at its greasy and unkempt state that hinted at the state she had been in recently. Weary to the bone, she forced herself to sit back up and grab her phone, dialing the number that was written on the sticky note placed on the inside cover of the folder. It didn’t surprise her to hear an unfamiliar female voice answer the phone with a “Ms. Brooks?”

He had thought of everything, after all.

Really, the only thing she was surprised at was the sheer extent of his connections—but thinking back to her phone calls with Haley back when he was still practicing law, the talks about extravagant offers from top corporations and firms, she really wasn’t surprised. Thus, it made sense that her call to the top law firm in the state would be answered within two dial tones and by someone who already knew who she was.

And within minutes of talking with the woman who introduced herself as Ms. Stevens, Jessica became even more aware of just how prepared her brother-in-law had been before he walked to his dea—

Not an in-law anymore—her brother. He had long since earned that designation, that spot in her broken family, no matter how much self-flagellation he put himself through in regards to her sister’s murder and no matter how much abuse her father hurled at him in the years before the man who once viewed him as a son succumbed to dementia.

Hours later, despite having already reached her limit twenty minutes into the call, she finally hung up the phone with only funeral arrangements as an immediate concern. Slowly, she stood up from the chair and mechanically made her way into the tiny bathroom that had once been a familiar sight, when her nephew was still a child—

She forced her mind away from that minefield; she wasn’t willing to spend another sleepless night thinking about what had gone down in the past month, what had happened a week ago in that apartment, what her nephew was doing and thinking in the cell that only seemed to become colder and crueler the more she thought about it.

How many prisons had he visited? How many interrogation rooms, holding cells, general population cells, max security cells, death row cells? Did he ever get used to it? Could he allow himself to get used to it, to forget that these people are also human no matter the crimes they’ve committed?

A careful hand fell onto Jessica’s shoulder, and she shuddered under the warmth that seeped into her body, a warmth that had been lacking from her life for a long time now. She turned to see Morgan staring back at her, concerned.

“You didn’t pick up your phone,” he explained neutrally, flicking his eyes towards her phone—and sure enough, there were ten missed calls, each from a member of the team. She looked back up but avoided his concerned gaze only to latch onto her reflection in the mirror and internally winced at her haggard appearance.

“Did you—“ she coughed, clearing her throat, “have you figured out what happened?” Morgan’s unspoken question about her well-being went unanswered, and she continued to avoid looking at him.

She watched the man shake his head through the mirror, unsurprised and once again cursing her brother for his incessant habit of playing his cards close to his chest, especially when it came to personal issues.

How else is—was—he one of the best at poker in the bureau, often even beating Reid?

“He hasn’t talked, either,” Morgan informed her quietly, saving her the pain of asking the question herself. “Forensics is still struggling to put together a cohesive picture. To be honest, I doubt we’ll ever find out what actually happened in that apartment.” He shook his head, frustrated at the man he considered his brother.

If either of them bothered to ask, they would have found that both were truthfully unsurprised at this outcome, given what they only recently learned about the factors and circumstances that led to it. The few established facts about this case in addition to speculation based on systematically organized notes left in an even more meticulously organized folder painted a clear enough picture of the events preceding the fall.

But it wasn’t really an accidental, flailing fall.

In all truthfulness, he didn’t fight it.

Icarus let himself fall to his death in an attempt to compensate for his hubris, to suffer the consequences of his mistakes, and it was both a cowardly attempt to escape the hellish burns caused by the boiling, melting wax and a selfless attempt to teach posterity to avoid ending up like him.

Jessica remembered the warmth of Morgan’s embrace when he ignored all protocol and took it upon himself to inform her of what had transpired in the past two months, regardless of the still-ongoing investigation. It didn’t do much to soothe the cold that had threatened to swallow her whole as she listened to the details in silent horror.

He had sat her down in her apartment, the one she had taken care of her ailing father in before he finally died and the one she couldn’t bear to move out of for all of the memories that had been formed inside—with her father on his good days, with her brother, with her nephew

“A week ago, we were invited by MPD to consult on a series of killings that happened over the course of a month. We had an eye on the situation since the second murder, and there were two more victims in the span of a week before we were finally called in,” he began quietly.

He had suspicions as to what was happening by the time the team was invited in on the case at the personal request of the MPD chief. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had come across this profile before, but there were simply too many puzzle pieces with matching edges for the connections to be brushed off as a coincidence.

“Based on the rate at which bodies were popping up, we anticipated another one within two days of us being called in, but the killer had gone suspiciously silent. We went through crime scenes, forensic reports, and things weren’t adding up.”

"It’s a local case and we’ve coordinated with MPD multiple times, they know the drill. I’d like to take a personal look as well, the brass has been all up in my business about this case given its proximity to the Hill."

That’s what he said to the team regarding him suddenly taking the initiative to go to the crime scenes despite his responsibilities—it had been a while since he last went out to crime scenes, often taking care of the office politics and coordinating the investigation back at whatever precinct or office the team had taken over.

“There were odd inconsistencies, missing pieces of evidence… There was evidence to show that the killer was an amateur, but ultimately the profile we ended up building was nowhere near as detailed as we hoped it could be—but it ultimately went a long way in helping us figure out what was really happening.”

Old case files going missing from his home office, growing interest in his job, sudden mood swings happening long after the worst of puberty, increased isolation, dropping grades…

Absentee fathers of Georgetown students being stabbed and shot to death as if the killer was unsure about what to do, an innocuous Jack-in-the-Box takeout bag sitting near the last three bodies…

Numerous signs, and yet it was the outwardly irrelevant piece of trash, perhaps a sign of the killer’s gluttony—a sick joke that only he could have recognized—that led him to put all of the horrifying pieces together. It’s been over a decade, and yet the memories of that damned day remained as clear as ever, dogging his every footstep. Nightmares in which the worst happens still often visit him in his sleep, sometimes even combined with the effects of Peter Lewis’s drug concoction, effects lingering even after all these years.

“Somehow, we completely missed the fact that he fit the victimology. Maybe it was because of his efforts to distract us… If we had put it together earlier we might have been able to figure it out much earlier, and maybe everything could have turned out differently.”

Only after intensive counseling and careful editing of his case reports was he allowed to continue in the bureau after Lewis and his targeted attacks, and yet he knew he was still being watched. It was with that thought in mind that he made a decision on how to handle the situation. Either way, his life would be irrevocably changed, and there would be casualties alongside him.

All he had to do was figure out how to minimize them.

“He never came in that morning; Reid was the first to notice the lights off in the office. We were headed towards his apartment complex as soon as we saw a cleared-out office with a retirement letter being the only thing left on the desk. All of the pictures, trinkets, law books, messy stacks of paperwork—gone.”

A retirement letter for formality's sake, one copy emailed directly to the director and one printed on his desk, to simplify some things for the bureau and to ensure that Jessica and his son get his pension should the worst happen. All of his decisions, meticulously recorded and justified, except for this last one to protect the team from the consequences of his choice. All of his notes, all of the claimed evidence, carefully stored in the file box he left next to the retirement letter back in the office. Favors accumulated since law school called in, contacts throughout the local justice system ready to step in and deal with the fallout.

All of this, an attempt to compensate for the mistakes he’s made over the years and his hubris, to protect the remnants of his family and the team.

Morgan couldn’t finish telling Jessica what had happened, voice somehow caught in his throat and refusing to cooperate. He simply shook his head, and she folded in on herself, the weight of the last week too much for her to hold up. Slowly, he pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back but not doing much more to soothe her.

This is a wound that wouldn’t ever heal.

The story ends like this:

Icarus burned, and Aaron Hotchner said nothing as the hand that held the gun against his temple shook with uncertainty. Everything he wanted to say was written—one might call him a coward, but writing had always been so much easier for him—and he knew that he would be the final casualty, that the killings would stop after tonight.

Icarus fell, and Aaron Hotchner was flung sideways, the unyielding bullet from his gun fired by his own son shredding the brain that thought had of everything but the emotional and psychological effects his final decision would have on his family and friends.

Daedalus grieved over his son’s crumpled form, and Jack Hotchner would be found with his father’s dead body in his shaking arms as he stared blankly at sights unseen to the team, who had come hours too late.

Blood stained the ground, seeping into the cracks and crevices of grasping fingers, and nothing would ever be the same.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #bau #jessica brooks #jack hotchner #tw character death #tw guns #tw violence #tw murder #tw death #just to cover my bases #tw substances #tw drugs #tw gore

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years

Text

Summer Nights: Part 1

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x Overweight/Plus size Female identifying Reader

Series: Summer Nights

Warning: Fred’s death, the series will mention issues such as guilt, grief, etc.

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff (formerly imaginesofeveryfandom) aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Summary/Request: You’d always had brief glimpses of Charlie Weasley throughout your life, but despite your closeness with the rest of the Weasley family and your friendship with the Weasley Twins, you had never officially met. Until Charlie Weasley decided to take the summer off from his work as a Dragon Keeper at the Romanian Reserve and come back home, to the Burrow, that is.

Notes: Gif is my own, using my art of Charlie Weasley which you can find on my art blog @artisticwarnug here. If you use please make sure you credit me and my art blog properly, that the ownership is clear as it is my own art and I would hate for it to be unclear that I made it <3 x

Reader was a Hufflepuff in school but it probably won’t be mentioned that much!

Prologue

After the war you’d found it harder and harder to spend long periods of time with your family. Not only were you working and living within a magical world that they were not a part of, but they didn’t know of the war or understand the true trauma of the experience for you and most of the wizarding community. You’d lost one of your best friends...Fred wasn’t coming back and your family had no idea that any of it even occurred. You’d seen your own friend alive one minute, and dead the next. Nothing could quite compare to the feeling, like choking on your own breath. Like drowning.

As a result you not only lived with the Weasley’s, Molly protesting whenever you tried to pay her money (you had Bill help you put some into their vault anyway, feeling the need to give them something for their kindness), but spent most of your holidays there as well, rarely returning home for Christmas, Easter, or the summer time. As much as you loved your family you struggled to be around them and they didn’t understand you either.

In your grief you’d found that helping others made it easier, or at least helped you forget the feelings of guilt and grief that sat so heavy in your stomach. Helping George get back on his feet, helping Lee get his enthusiasm back, helping Mrs Weasley with dinner and around the house, helping everyone just seemed to make it easier to handle. That and working relatively long hours as a healer at St. Mungo’s often took your mind off of the war and what had been lost. You often chose to hide your feelings from the war behind Hufflepuff cheer. But, sometimes you wished someone would notice. You didn’t blame them for not, everyone had their own problems, your remaining best friends most of all. Grief and running a business took much attention.

You woke up that Saturday morning fully aware that you should get out of bed, but that you didn’t want to. It wasn’t a particularly important Saturday, no plans had been made, no work to be done, no visitors expected. Yet, it would turn out to be a Saturday that completely changed your whole life.

Since moving into the Burrow, 2 years prior, you had been staying in Fred and George’s old room, seeing as George lived above the Flat. You had spent the first few weeks simply making sure the room was safe, the twins had left many pranks around their room, but also all sorts of potion ingredients. You’d packed everything up and taken it to the Flat...It had been hard, going through all their childhood things with George. Hard for you, but harder for George. Years on and George was doing better, but you knew he still didn’t feel complete, like something was missing. But he slept better, stopped having nightmares, and generally seemed to have some of his old cheer back. It helped that Angelina was there for him as well. He was moving on and growing happier each day.

The few things that you had been given by the Weasley family included clothes. At first it had been odd, being given some of Bill or Charlie or George’s old clothes to wear to bed or around the house. But, that had gone away quite quickly considering the oversized quidditch jerseys, jumpers, and shirts, were incredibly comfortable. Bill’s fit most snug, being a plump woman, with wide hips and a stomach, and Bill being one of the lankier of the Weasley’s. George and Charlie’s clothes fit much larger on you, however, seeing as they were some of the broader, stockier Weasley’s. It still surprised you that Charlie had been a seeker and not a beater.

The night previous you’d gone to bed in Charlie’s old quidditch jersey and a pair of pajama trousers with little snitches on, that had previously belonged to George. The trousers were much too long on you, covering your feet, and the Jersey while it clung to your hips was loose in every other aspect. It was a pairing that you enjoyed simply for its comfort. It was not something the Weasley’s even blinked at or questioned, after all you’d been gifted the clothes and had been wearing them for the last few years. So you hadn’t really thought twice, as you stumbled out of bed, feet hitting the powder stained floor, about going to breakfast as you were.

You yawned loudly, covering your mouth with your hand, as you walked into the kitchen, not really taking in which Weasley’s were at the table, being much too tired to do so.

“Morning” You sighed out as you grabbed a plate and collected your breakfast, Mrs Weasley having already placed dishes of eggs, toast, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, and sausages out on the dining table.

“Good morning, dear!” Mrs Weasley called back, followed by a variety of familiar Weasley voices, and one that you did not recognise, that gave you pause.

You wouldn’t say you were mortified to look up from your breakfast and realise that Charlie Weasley, the very attractive Charlie Weasley, was sitting in front of you, with an amused half smile and a raised eyebrow. But, you certainly were mildly embarrassed, simply because you were not exactly dressed for introductions and you were almost certain that you had a million knots in your hair.

“Uh, hello...” You wave awkwardly, a little stinted, with an embarrassed smile.

“Hello, love. I see mum finally gave away my jersey” You’re certain that Charlie is trying not to laugh, although you don’t feel hurt by this fact. Much like the rest of the Weasley’s Charlie comes across as laughing with you rather than at you.

“I can...you can have it back, I...”

“It’s alright, looks better on you than it does on me. Might be a tad small for me now actually.” You relax at his easy going manner about it. You were sure it would be a little weird for the second oldest Weasley to finally meet someone while said someone was wearing his clothes. But, apparently not.

“Y/N, right? I don’t think we’ve properly met?”

It had been two years since you’d last seen Charlie Weasley, that had been at Fred’s funeral and you’d not really taken much notice of him at the time. You had been, naturally, more concerned with and consumed by your own grief and the proceedings before you.

You’d forgotten how handsome Charlie was. With broad shoulders and deep red hair, pulled back into a ponytail. Charlie was by far the most freckled of the Weasley’s with dense freckles across his face and sharp jaw, down his neck, and over his arms. The last time you’d seen Charlie he’d been dressed in a full suit, covered head to toe, the time before that he’d been a teenager, now you realised that he had a tattoo that you had never previously seen. It was a beautiful tattoo, a welsh green on his neck that twisted its head and puffed smoke from its nostrils.

“We haven’t, just crossed paths, here and there. Surprising, really.”

“Considering you are not only friends with my brothers...” he pauses just a moment, before correcting himself, “brother, and have been living here, yeah, just a little surprising. Hufflepuff, right?”

“Yeah, managed to make Head Girl in the end, much to...much to Fred and George’s delight.” It was still odd wanting to mention them both, but realising that one of them wasn’t around anymore. But, it was true, Fred and George had teased you for weeks, over the fact that you, best friend to the biggest pranksters at Hogwarts, managed to make Head Girl. “Are you still working at the reserve in Romania?”

“Yeah, thought I'd be head keeper by now...but...”

“Bad boss?”

“He’s not bad, but we don’t see eye to eye when it comes to the dragons.” You raise an eyebrow, curious for him to continue. You’d never really been especially good at Care of Magical Creatures but that didn’t mean it wasn’t fascinating to you. “He wants to commercialise the reserve, make it a place people can come visit rather than a place for us to keep the dragons from the Muggles. Daft really, dragons’ll sooner eat a bunch of tourists than sit pretty for them.”

“The reserves aren’t supposed to be tourist attractions though...why would...surely that’s dangerous and also not exactly fair on the dragons?”

“Oh, it’s definitely dangerous, it takes multiple keepers to restrain a dragon and the dragons aren’t exactly in cages on the reserve like a muggle zoo. Luckily he hasn’t gone through with the idea...yet.” He frowns in a way that tells you he suspects it’ll happen anyway and his tone suggests irritation with the situation. You’re sure for someone who loves dragons so much and wants them to be kept away from muggles and left to their own devices, it must be terribly frustrating.

There’s a beat of silence as you continue eating. You feel a little awkward, although that certainly isn’t Charlie’s fault. It’s made worse by the sensation of Mrs Weasley’s eyes on the two of you. You were more than aware that Mrs Weasley’s one goal in life since the war had been to marry off each of her children, you included in that. Ginny had since been dating Harry, Ron was with Hermione, George was with Angelina, Bill was already married and Percy...you weren’t sure about Percy. But, that left Charlie as the oldest single Weasley child, and yourself...still not dating much to Molly’s dismay. She was constantly asking you if you’d met anyone lately.

“You’re a healer right?”

“At St. Mungo’s, on the Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites, although I'm often dragged away if someone's had a few too many hexes that have interacted poorly.”

“Ever had any dragon bites?”

“Once, a Peruvian Vipertooth, lady was in a right state for a while. Came out the other end though.”

“Nasty bites, aggressive little buggers. You’d probably have a field day on the reserve the amount of bites and burns we have each day.” At that Charlie lifted his own arms to show an array of burn scars and old bite marks. Some had healed well, others less so.

You pointed at one, “Looks like you avoided seeing the healer.” You raise an eyebrow and make the face you learnt from Madam Pomphrey, the one that explicitly says you disapprove of avoiding proper medical care. You’d spent a great deal of time with Poppy not just because of the twins but also because she’d helped you prepare for your healer training.

He lets out a slightly nervous laugh and looks away from you, red rushing up his neck in traditional Weasley fashion at being caught, “Didn’t want to bother anyone, it wasn’t serious. No need to worry, love.” You grab his arm and pull it closer to get a closer look. Trying to ignore the fact he had very strong forearms and incredibly warm skin.

Working on the Serious Bites Ward meant that you had a good eye for bite marks and what might have made them. Some dragons had very distinct bite marks. A Peruvian Viper Tooth had a different set of teeth to a Hungarian Horntail for instance.

“Ukranian Ironbelly, right? Young one, by the looks of it.”

“Just a baby really, got a bit over excited is all. Hurt like a bludger to the head though.”

“You should always see the reserve healer, you know? You could get a serious infection from a bite like this.” You let go of his arm and lean back in your chair, arms crossed, fixing him with the same look again.

“I would if our healer was as nice as you. He’s got the personality of a fire crab who’s had its tail yanked.” You try not to take the compliment as more than it is.

“Grumpy and explosive?” You knew a few healers like that. They didn’t exactly have the best bedside manner and it made many a witch or wizard reluctant to seek treatment.

“Exactly. Augustus Pye still working on the ward? He tried to give dad stitches that time...”

“Yes...” You sigh, it wasn’t that Augustus was a horrible person to work with so to speak, but you’d had a few awkward encounters with him when you’d first started working on the ward.

“You don’t sound happy about that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the man...he just...it's a very small ward you see and he may have...there were a few times where...”

“He asked her out on a date and she said no and embarrassed the poor bastard.” George’s voice comes from behind you with a laugh, before he takes the seat besides you. You’d been flattered, really you had, but, Augustus wasn’t someone you were particularly attracted to. Not physically, nor intellectually nor in regard to his personality. He was nice...but that was just it. You hadn’t expected to go into work and be asked on a date, either, it had been all a bit of a shock really...you hadn’t gotten a great deal of romantic attention in school. Being a big girl meant that boys were more inclined to tease you than date you. Not that you were upset about that, teenage boys were the worst.

“Thank you, George. I obviously couldn’t disclose that myself.” You roll your eyes

“I still don’t know how you did it, you’re far too nice to say no to anyone.”

“I...” You look at all the curious eyes watching you, feeling a wave of genuine embarrassment as you realise you’re going to have to tell them the truth...that you’d really struggled to say no and had instead, “told him I was already seeing someone, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings!” You protest as George lets out a loud laugh next to you.

“It’s not funny, George! I was very flattered but...I didn’t want to tell him he was just...meh! How do you let someone down nicely? At least this way he thinks it's because i’m already taken not because I find him lacklustre!”

“Just say it. You don’t find him attractive, you don’t want him to ravage you in the store room, it’s not that hard. You do know you’re an adult and not thirteen, right?”

You let out an unhappy moan as you let your face fall into your hands at George’s teasing.

“George Weasley!” You hear Molly scold him about talking about private matters such as ‘ravaging’ and teasing you so much, before turning her attention to you. “It’s okay not to like someone, dear, you don’t have to lie to save someone else’s feelings. Although, it would have been lovely for you to go on a date...it’s been a while, dear.”

“Mum.” Charlie gave his mother a look which you knew too well, many of the Weasley children had given their mother that exact same look whenever she tried to encourage them to find a date. It was a relief to have someone else tell her to leave well enough alone. You loved Mrs Weasley dearly, but you’d rather date someone you wanted to rather than date someone simply to please her.

“Oh, alright. Charlie, I need you and Ron to degnome the garden, you too George since you’re here. Y/N, dear, could you water the vegetables in the garden today?”

“Of course, Molly.” You’d long since learnt not to call her Mrs Weasley to her face. Molly hated any of her ‘adopted children’ calling her Mrs Weasley, Harry and Hermione still hadn’t quite gotten out of the habit yet though. Much to Molly’s dismay.

After much more teasing from George and a shy goodbye to Charlie, you rushed up the stairs to get ready for the day. A day that might very well end with Charlie Weasley being the death of you, death by embarrassment that is.

#summer nights #reader insert #readerinsert #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasleyxreader #charlie weasley/reader #charlie weasley / reader #harry potter #harry potter reader insert #plus size reader #overweight reader #female reader

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border-spam · 4 years

Note

did you find a point to the whole Carnivora part of the story other than 'Tannis Siren! Haha remember Angel? She's Angel!'? Because that was. Easily. The worst part of the entire main quest line. It was so boring, enemies didn't spawn in the areas that part took place in, the reason why (and the method in which) Tannis was taken was so lazy - and the bosses! All that time and effort for a Pen and Teller reference? The entire arc felt like useless filler.

Oh boy, here we go.

Carnivora alongside Balex, Genevive, Typhon DeLeon and the remains of Leda’s character, did not belong in Borderlands 3 as it was released. They belonged in a different version of the game to what we ended up with.

Yes I sound insane, but hear me out, this isn’t coming from nowhere -

There are multiple chunks of BL3 that in essence, are great ideas. Typhon would be a great idea if he had been handled right. Balex? Great fun. Ice T voicing a robot nav, yes please. CARNIVORA? Roaming fortress streaming live sacrifices in the name of the God Twins while monitoring viewer count and media reach, managed entirely by Tinks? Holy shit. Slap me up. YES.

Problem is, it has nowhere to fit in BL3. None of them do.

In fact, almost any content you saw in early trailers? Think back on where you ended up seeing it in BL3. Did it.. fit? Was it part of the same tone as the chapter before or after it? Did it make literally any sense? No, even if it WAS fun, even if it was enjoyable.. it had no actual point in BL3, and this is an issue that repeats itself over, and over, and over, and etc.

Aurelia being advertised next to Hammerlock and Winny. The Twins displayed as surrounded by rabid cultists instead of isolated images we never interact with or see in contact with their own followers. The B team being on Sanc, Carnivora used in early marketing, Ice T announcing being in BL3 earlier than anyone would have expected, there are a million little oddities in the content we were advertised and where it actually ended up ingame, if at all.

I could point out how often this happens, how many complete and utter fuck ups there were shoehorning in content that was from earlier game plot versions into the release story when it had absolutely no way to work, but lets stick with Carnivora for now. Essay under the cut. /dab

Right, so lets break down WHY Carnivora exists in BL3, shall we.

The twins kidnap Tannis by teleportation, and proceed to imply they are torturing her. (We don’t know she is a Siren at the time but they apparently do this without ever coming close enough to her to find out she’s one either, meaning they never touched her or took her jacket off. This is joke tier bullshit. This is .. this.. my god. Anyway.)

Tannis is now begging for rescue because owwie. She is being held on the twin’s roaming media fortress and going to be killed live on stream, so uh.. we better go save her quickly. This is cool! I like this. Can’t wait to see the zone it’s in! Oh. There is literally nothing. Carnivora has been placed in a completely empty, massive zone. When you see this happen in indie games, you still notice how badly handled it was. When you see this happen in a AAA title? Something has gone very wrong. This is shoe-horned in content in an unfinished area, and the more you stop and think about what even the fucking point was of it driving slowly around this vast empty space while you waste 20 minutes of your life slowing it down, you realise how much of a rush job this whole chapter was.

You enter Carnivora. It’s great. Penn is constantly talking, PENN! Penn. Brilliant. The interior is a bit weird though, it’s not nearly as busy as it should be... but it’s got a Tink orgy-zone. That’s VERY Borderlands. That’s the most Borderlands shit BL3 has shown you so far, but you can’t enjoy it because the whole time, Tannis is being tortured. She’s letting you know this by the way. She’s constantly telling you how she’s about to die. She’s helpless and we have to save her, so we move on with a sense of genuine urgency.

Penn is really pushing things like viewer count, stream stability? You might already be noticing how off that feels. This isn’t part of the game you’re playing. It was definitely part of the early pre- release marketing though, the Twins were EXTREMELY media heavy back then, however, past the HBC in the actual game release? The social media God-Hood aspect of the COV completely disintegrates, but not here. Not in Carnivora. The main characters in Carnivora act like that’s still a factor of huge importance in the game.. it’s not. And you might then start to realise you’re listening to dialogue that sounds like it’s not part of this game version... this was recorded for a different story.

We fight our way to the boss we’ve seen in trailers. It’s exciting. We were promised this and now we are going to get it. It still feels.. weird though, nothing quite matches the previous chapter. We aren’t really sure HOW Tannis got here or what the twins really did to her, but hey, surely we will find out eh? Lets kill the boss and... Oh... she’s a Siren.

Tannis is a Siren now, for some totally illogical reason that makes absolutely no sense in the context of the hours we’ve just spent in this machine. She was a Siren the whole time. She could have.. revealed this and left whenever she wanted. So what the fuck was the point? It had no effect on the story! There was no actual tangible response from outside the Raiders to Tannis revealing herself, so where was the threat and gravity for the action in the first place?

And that moment cements why Carnivora absolutely was not designed as being part of this version of BL3, it was older content from a different story, that had a famous person’s voice recordings and way too interesting a premise to waste, so they shoehorned it into Tannis’s big reveal despite that same plot moment meaning Carnivora and the entire time we spent in it had no. fucking. point.

What are we meant to believe here, that she didn’t want to show the public she was a Siren? That she risked OUR lives and let herself be tortured because of how important keeping this secret was.. but then said screw it lol and changed her mind AFTER we save her?

Apply this thought process to Balex and Genevive.

Apply this thought process to how the Twins were handled.

Apply this thought process to what we got of the B team, or how shafted poor Aurelia was, or Typhon in general, and you start seeing the same mistakes over, and over...

Great content from an earlier version of a story that wasn’t used, pushed into plot gaps it did not fit into, just so it wouldn't be wasted.

Painful.

Asks are Open!

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #tannis #aurelia #lilith #hammerlock #carnivora #calypso twins #troy calypso #tyreen calypso #critique

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

[CN] Kiro’s Original Intention Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date (and Season 2) which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Knowing the basics of Season 2 is necessary to understand what’s going on in this date. Do read this post if you don’t know anything about it!

Parallel World Dates Collection: Gavin // Shaw // Victor

Check out @skyholders‘ translation of Lucien’s date here!

“When popular star Kiro returned to the country yesterday, there were hints of a new collaboration?”

The name “Kiro” has taken over several hot topics. Kiro received a short and sudden interview at the airport, attracting countless discussions and guesses.

Reporter: I heard you signed a contract with a well-known music company in the period before this. Is your return to the country due to any special plans?

Kiro: There’s nothing special. I could be returning just to take my guitar?

Reporter: ...we know you’ve taken on the role of a lead singer and are about to embark on a world tour. There must be some special reason for you to return to the country, right?

Kiro: For this, it’s better to ask my agent.

Kiro smiles and pushes a bespectacled uncle in front of the camera. He playfully sticks out his head from behind the uncle, and pats his shoulder.

Kiro: I’m leaving it to you.

Once the words are out of his mouth, he runs off.

My phone screen displays a photo of Kiro’s smiling face as he turns back. His golden hair plates his entire body in a generously brilliant and blazing splendour.

I brush his face gently with my fingertips, my heart feeling heavy.

Like a raging wave, unspeakable longing and sadness knead together, fiercely slapping onto the shore.

Kiro has returned to Loveland City.

However, this meeting doesn’t give me much time to feel low.

Dad is standing in front of the projector in the conference room, orderly explaining the upcoming work arrangement for the company.

Dad: ...these are all the materials on Kiro. Everyone, please confirm the content on hand, and ensure that we are all on the same page. We’ve recently signed a contract with Kiro’s company. Kiro has received his Admission Letter and will continue pursuing his studies in the music academy. After he finishes his world tour, he will officially sign the contract to return to the country and develop. The contract this time is the very beginning of the collaboration, to work with Kiro’s upcoming tour. All departments have to make preparations. That’s all.

After the meeting is dismissed, Dad sits at my side.

Dad: Suddenly calling you back from school - am I giving you too much stress?

MC: I’m just a little surprised. I never thought the company... that Dad would make such an arrangement.

Dad: This isn’t just Dad’s arrangement. You’ll know the specifics next time.

Dad pauses. When he speaks again, his tone seems to have a certain depth to it. I blink, making secret guesses in my heart.

This means... it could be Black Swan’s arrangement.

Dad: You once told Dad you wanted to be an outstanding producer. Of course, I’ll support my daughter in doing what she wants. This time, I’m just letting you get used to the tasks. Don’t be too nervous. Dad can’t bear to let you to dive into work so quickly!

MC: Hahaha, thank you Dad! I’ll learn seriously! I definitely wouldn’t cause trouble for everyone.

Dad: The contract for the collaboration will happen three days later, so we can do some preparations before that.

After greeting my father, I walk out of the building and turn back to look at it. With complex emotions, I head towards the convenience store.

The world proceeds forward slowly, but there are some differences from back then.

In my memory, Black Swan used B.S. Entertainment to lead public opinion. In an accident arising from multiple causes, it was replaced by my company.

As a similar media body, Dad has been expanding the company’s scope of influence since several years ago.

In a way, we’ve already met Black Swan’s requirements and purposes.

From some imperceptible moment, the entire world has moved towards a familiar yet unknown future.

However, there are coincidences that are either heaven’s tricks, or destiny.

This time, my father’s sufficiently powerful company has replaced B.S. Entertainment, and has become Kiro’s future home.

Without realising it, I’ve walked into that small convenience store.

I stand in front of the shelves, staring dazedly at the final bag of chips.

I think about that person’s “warning” --

“Your unintentional actions may lead to irretrievable consequences.”

As though I’m deep in a black swamp, I’m trapped in place. My lips are sealed, and I sink into the darkness.

After a long time, I pat my face fiercely with both hands, letting out a hard breath.

MC: This time, I’ll be the one searching for you...

When I reach out for the bag of chips, a beautiful and slender hand appears in front of me - we’ve grabbed the same bag of potato chips.

I turn my head, and the person beside me turns to look at me as well.

He is standing against the light, and a smile brims in his eyes. He gives the bag of chips a gentle tug, pulling me a step closer to him in the process.

It’s as though he’s pulling me, who’s continuously sinking.

A heavy feeling rising up from my chest and up my throat. I blink hard and clench my teeth. Even then, I can’t stop the redness in my eyes.

MC: Kiiii... mmph!

Kiro suddenly covers my mouth with his hand and glances around.

His smiling eyes tell me that he’s not angry at all about my rudeness.

Kiro: Shhh... I don’t want to get noticed.

I nod.

Our little scene seems to have drawn attention, so we squat down in hiding.

We crouch together next to the shelf, shoulders nearly touching. Looking at the bag of chips in my hands, I suddenly laugh.

Kiro: You’ve smiled.

MC: Hm?

Kiro: You looked like you were going to cry just now. I even thought I frightened you!

MC: How can that be? I... I was just too excited. I didn’t think the big celebrity I saw on the screen would appear in front of me. Now, we’re squatting here like little kids in kindergarten.

Everything is too similar to how we once met. The words involuntarily leave my lips. It’s as though in front of him, no matter how many times the scene repeats, I’m still the me of back then.

Kiro: If I were still in kindergarten, I definitely wouldn’t let you have the last bag of chips.

I turn around and find Kiro looking at the chips in my hand, seemingly not willing to give up.

A breeze enters the convenience store, lifting strands of his golden hair. Eighteen-year-old Kiro is beside me, looking as though he’s emitting light.

MC: The Kiro now is already a mature Kiro!

Kiro: You’re right.

Even though I said that, Kiro still looks unwilling. His eyes are crinkled, and his mouth slants to a side.

I look at him and think of a time long ago. Making a silent prayer that this bag of chips contains the Batman AR card, I tear the bag open slowly.

MC: It’s a Batman AR card!!

Kiro: Eh, how are you even more excited than I am.

MC: Haha.

There’s a twinge in my heart, and I'm unsure if it’s longing or sadness. I try to shoot Kiro a smile, though it probably doesn't look good.

MC: This is for you.

Kiro takes the card and smiles, his eyes becoming even brighter.

Kiro: How did you know that I'm collecting these?

MC: ...I-I guessed it! Because...

Kiro: Because I look like the type who would collect these?

MC: Yes yes yes, that’s it.

Kiro: And I also look like I’m just missing this card?

MC: ...y-yes, I guess?

Kiro: Mm! I think so too!

Those blue eyes are filled with smiles, not containing a shred of impurity or suspicion. I release a relieved sigh in my heart.

Kiro: But... I think we’ve forgotten to pay.

MC: Ah, you’re right. So sorry, ma’am. I’ll buy ten bags later! Sorry!

Kiro: Sorry!

We look at each other and burst out laughing.

This time, our eighteen-year-old selves still share this tiny secret.

After walking out of the convenience store, I suddenly wonder why Kiro has appeared here and at this point of time.

Kiro looks towards my father’s company and starts whistling playfully.

Kiro: So this is [-MC’s company name-].

His tone is light, not carrying the same anticipation he has on his face.

Kiro: Are you an employee of this company too?

MC: ...

The light of spring is in his bright eyes. Kiro looks at me quietly. This simple question seems to have a meaning behind it.

MC: I am. I just learnt that you’d be coming to the company after three days to sign the contract. But I came here to buy some things for myself...

Kiro: I see.

His eyes crinkle, as though accepting my explanation.

MC: You’re here to take a look beforehand?

Kiro: Actually...

Just as Kiro starts speaking, my phone suddenly rings. Kiro smiles and signals for me to answer the phone first, then takes a few steps away.

MC: Hello? Dad?

Dad: It’s a little sudden, but come to the conference room in 15 minutes to prepare. The collaboration contract with Kiro has been brought forward to today.

On the other end of the line, I can hear faint sounds of various departments busily preparing for the various contract-related issues.

Their conversations reveal the importance of the contract which is about to commence.

Once this collaboration succeeds, it will herald a new phase of the company’s future development in the aspect of acting.

??: Kiro hasn’t reached the office...

Father: Savin, don’t worry. MC, I’ll hang up now. Hurry back soon.

MC: All right.

MC: [to Kiro] You brought the contract signing forward to today?

Seeing that I’ve put down the phone, Kiro stuffs both hands into his pocket and bounces over to me.

Kiro: Something cropped up, so I communicated it to the company. I hope I didn’t cause trouble for everyone.

He retrieves a pair of sunglasses from his pocket, putting them on confidently.

Thinking about something, he tugs his sunglasses downwards lightly, revealing his smiling blue eyes.

Kiro: I tend to get lost easily. Could you show me the way?

MC: Isn’t it just in front?!

Kiro: A person who lacks a sense of direction wouldn’t be able to find the entrance even if the building is right in front of him.

He squints. Tickled by his odd logic, I burst into laughter, then give him a mock bow.

MC: Follow me then, big celebrity.

Kiro puts his sunglasses on properly, then does a thumbs-up gesture contentedly.

They reach the office, and Kiro apologises for the trouble caused

He looks over the contract meticulously and voices his opinions on certain terms, providing suggestions on how they can be mutually beneficial

He signs the contract and the employees leave the conference room

MC is surprised at how anti-climatic the whole thing was, and in her distracted state, forgets to change the settings on the photocopier (which is set to printing small cards)

As a result, the photocopying machine only prints Kiro’s signature on an A4 sheet

Kiro: Is that gentleman your father?

MC: Mm.

Kiro: I see... doesn’t that make you my future boss?

MC: Eh?!

I’m momentarily startled by his words, my brain slowing down and my eyes blinking continuously.

Tickled by my expression, Kiro smiles and crinkles his eyes.

Kiro: Am I wrong?

His tone is sincere, and embeds within it a sort of curiosity and probing.

I lower my head, looking at that sheet of invalid A4 paper, and lift my head with a deep sigh.

MC: You’re not wrong. It’s just that... I’m still very lacking right now. I’m not outstanding enough, and there are many things I can’t do. But I won’t stop here. I’ll make you believe that joining this company is something to be proud of.

I’ll continue running along this path that you’re shining on, and be like you, to become the light.

Kiro’s eyes slowly grow darker. I instinctively tighten my grip on my pen, but am unable to avert my eyes from his.

These seconds of silence feel like I’m being examined. Gradually, he lifts the corners of his lips.

Kiro: Will you be participating in my upcoming world tour?

MC: Probably not... I’m a newbie, so Savin should be going with you.

Kiro: Shall we practice then?

MC: Practice?

Saying this, Kiro leans forward. With a blink, he places his hand on the back of mine.

Kiro: Practice for when you become my future boss.

The sweet scent of the young man brushes the tip of my nose, reminiscent of a person secretly pouring melted hot chocolate into the cup of someone he likes.

He grins and tightens his grip on my hand. On the right side of the invalid A4 sheet, he writes his name crookedly.

Kiro: Your turn.

MC: ...I can really do that?

Kiro: I already said that this is a rehearsal for our future.

MC: But your hand...

Kiro: Hm?

My ears feel warm. Kiro’s eyes flash with the light of a prankster, waiting for me to finish.

His hand remains on the back of mine. He doesn’t exert any force. It feels like a catkin fluttering gently in my heart - ticklish, and can be flicked away with a light touch.

But I can’t bear to.

MC: Nothing!

My face is flushed. With his hand over mine, I leave a crooked “MC” on the left side.

These two names are left on the invalid A4 paper - like a starting point of a certain dream.

Kiro takes up the A4 sheet. Turning his palm, he entwines my fingers with his.

Kiro: We’ve made an agreement. I’ll definitely stand on a higher platform, and let even more people see Kiro, and hear Kiro’s songs. I’ll make the name “Kiro” appear in every corner of the world.

Gorgeous spots of light appear behind the young man, like the most brilliant and pure parts of youth. Still, they can’t compare to the brilliant light in his eyes.

My heart is beating rapidly, and it feels as though a piping heat is coursing through my bloodstream. A faint heat grows where our fingertips meet.

MC: Mm, we have an agreement. I’ll also keep learn learning, and will use my strength and abilities to better develop this company. In the future, this company will be one that’s worthy to collaborate with the “International Superstar” Kiro.

Kiro: Can I do it?

Kiro tilts his head, the glinting light in his eyes wavering slightly. It’s as though a tiny bit of doubt has appeared from its depths.

MC: Do you think I can do it?

Kiro: I think you can.

MC: Then you’ll naturally have no problem either!

I feel his shallow breaths on my fingertips. He leans his head lightly on our entwined hands.

Kiro: Our agreement is complete. If one of us doesn’t reach our goal, there’ll be a punishment.

MC: I won’t give you that chance!

Light soaks in through the window and covers our fingers. Kiro hops down from the table and gently lifts me to my feet, pulling me into the sunlit area.

Just as he did countless times before.

Kiro: Before the future arrives, please guide me. Miss Chips.

While MC is driving Kiro home, he suddenly asks:

Kiro: Is Miss Chips also from Black Swan?

Kiro pipes up, his eyes not leaving the screen of his laptop. There is a smile on his lips, but it looks like a natural-looking mask.

His casual-sounding question startles me. Although it’s a surprise that he would be so upfront about this, my fingers on the steering wheel tighten.

The green light makes its countdown, and I slow down, stopping before the zebra crossing.

MC: I’m not. Although... I might be in the future. I don’t want to lie to you.

Kiro: Is that so.

His tone is light, as though he isn’t paying attention. As though it could be swallowed up by a flower blowing in the spring breeze.

MC: Also, do you... remember what happened when you were young?

Kiro: Bits and pieces. I don’t remember much.

My heart grows heavy. Does Kiro not remember what happened in the orphanage?

MC: I... have something that I definitely have to do. No matter how difficult it is, I have to accomplish it. There’s also someone I want to meet. I’ve waited a very, very long time. It’s been so long that I’m about to give up. But once I think about how he’s working hard in some corner of the world, I’m filled with motivation.

I turn my head and meet Kiro’s eyes. His eyes are filled with an incomprehensible emotion.

MC: I want to protect him, and want... to meet him again. No matter what misunderstandings this path would bring, I’ll continue walking bravely.

Kiro blinks his eyes slowly, and finally reveals an unobstructed smile.

Kiro: Miss Chips, you’ll definitely have no problem.

After Kiro returns home, the smile he kept up in front of the girl finally collapses in a second.

In the pitch black living room, the sunlight outside the window has been kept outside by a thick and heavy curtain.

He clenches his teeth and sits in front of the laptop, the continuously dancing search results on the screen making him cast his eyes downwards.

Kiro: ...still no results.

In the end, he drags himself to the sofa, his pale face almost transparent under the glow of the screen.

A stubbornness appears on his lips, and dots of sweat appear on his forehead, as though he’s enduring a great agony.

Kiro: At least... it’s only acting up now.

At this moment, a call from a foreign number appears on his phone.

Kiro: It’s me.

??: You finally picked up.

Kiro: Tell me the results directly.

??: The test results and your predictions are almost the same.

Kiro: Mm.

Darkness has swallowed his face, but his eyes are flashing with light. Even though the world has plunged into a deep darkness, there’s still a scorching, blooming light.

Kiro: Let’s meet then.

He throws his phone aside, a look of self-deprecation on his face. Even though he’s curled up, he can’t suppress his trembling. The colour of an abyss is in his eyes.

Kiro: [groaning]

The young man’s painful groans resound in the dark, and black markings appear on his arm.

The hands supporting the young man’s body allow him to look at the other corner, into the mirror in the darkness.

The hair of the person in the mirror has gradually faded into a silvery grey, and there is a dazzling golden light in his originally blue eyes--

Overlapping with the image in his mind.

Kiro: ...I, command you--

The young man’s soft voice lingers in the dark.

🌸 MOMENTS 🌸

Kiro’s Post: Now that I think about it, did I sign an unfair contract back then?

MC: Is it the fastest contract you’ve signed in your life?

Kiro: It’s also the most important contract in my life ^_^

Kiro’s Post: Now that I think about it, did I sign an unfair contract back then?

MC: Written in black and white - behave and call me boss~

Kiro: As compared to “boss”, I’ve always preferred “Miss Chips” as a form of address.

Kiro’s Post: Now that I think about it, did I sign an unfair contract back then?

MC: Did I treat you badly?!

Kiro: Does this mean you’re going to treat me to potato chips next time?

Phone call: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc kiro

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bottlesandcats · 4 years

Text

Pardon My 15x20 Rant

I woke up this morning with Thoughts, so time for a ranty post. Be prepared this is going to read more like word vomit than anything, but I just wanted to get my thoughts down on paper. No one may even read this bc I don’t have a lot of followers but it feels good to just get this off my chest and out into the Universe. Warning, there is a gratuitous use of caps.

So....I see so many fans on Twitter saying how beautiful and perfect that ending was and, I have to say, I’m truly bewildered by that.

Even if you aren’t a Destiel fan, I’m not sure how you could’ve found that ending to be remotely satisfying. See list of non Destiel-related reasons below (bc I’m trying to see this from the perspective of someone who isn’t in that part of the fandom):

1. The MOW was crap; wtf was with the Halloween masks? When have we ever seen that with vamps? The dumbest shit I’ve seen.

They trotted out some extra from season 1 like it’s supposed to be some fun little Easter egg. Why are we supposed to give a shit about her? I didn’t even remember her with the flashback. Who are you, again? NM, I DON’T CARE. It also honestly made no sense to feature a MOW episode after everything that just happened, it wasn’t necessary. It was clearly just a means to an end to get Dean killed.

2. They shoved some random family, for Sam, into the last ten minutes of the episode. Sam’s kid is named Dean? OF COURSE HE IS. And that whole father-son montage was so clunky and awkward, I would’ve been more convinced if you told me Sam actually just wandered into some anonymous woman’s backyard and started playing ball with her kid.

We’ve seen how emotionally invested Sam gets in his relationships and we’ve had such beautiful moments: Sam/Jess, Sam/Madison, (even Sam/Ruby), and of course Sam/Eileen. And now we are supposed to care about Anonymous Brunette Woman #4? GTFO. I’ve seen some people saying they couldn’t get Shoshanna bc of COVID, but give us something to indicate it was Eileen. Have Sam sign something to her from across the yard; IT’S THAT SIMPLE. But no, not one single mention of her in either 19 or 20, after Sam nearly broke when he lost her in 18.

I couldn’t even feel happy for him bc I had 0 emotional investment in this life of his. And it was all just rushed through so we could get to the “good part” where Sam dies and is reunited with Dean in Heaven.

Also small note, what happened to Dean’s dog???

3. The wardrobe department really needs to reconsider some of their life choices. I’ve seen tufts of cat hair in the corners of my house that would’ve made a better wig than that rag they threw on Jared’s head. It was so ridiculous, I started thinking this was going to wind up being some big gag like The Mystery Spot” and The Trickster was going to pop out.

And why did Jim Beaver’s beard look like they spray-painted cotton balls brown and glued them to his face? It was honestly distracting.

4. After 15 years, and FINALLY achieving freedom and happiness, Dean gets taken down by a rebar and a Vamp-mime. The only way I could justify this to myself was that, now that they are no longer God’s puppets he’s not bending the rules for them and they don’t have that death-defying luck on their side now. But even that is weak. After all his fighting, sacrificing, and wanting nothing more than to chill on a beach with Sam and Cas, this is what he gets. This was a show about defying destiny, THAT WAS THE WHOLE PLOT OF S15.

Dean always said he figured it was his destiny to die bloody, and that’s exactly why he shouldn’t have gone out this way. STORY ARC, WHAT’S THAT? Cas told Dean, when he first met him, that good things do happen. So basically, the only way Dean could get his happiness was to die? What a heart-warming message.

5. Dean’s lack of emotion over the loss of Cas was the most OOC I think I’ve ever seen from him. Dean DOES NOT accept the deaths of those he loves in any way. He does not cope, he does not move on, he does not happily eat a bunch of pie. We’ve seen how Dean has handled Cas’s death in the past. It’s...not good, and it only became more unhealthy as the show progressed, with the last time (before 18) having Dean literally killing himself. Even in 15x19, we still got that desperate heartache from him with Dean demanding that Chuck bring Cas back. We also saw him sleeping amongst a pile of empty liquor bottles, which is very on-character for him. But in 15x20, he’s the one telling Sam they need to move on and keep living (oops) over a giant tray of pie slices at a county fair. Even Sam feels off. One minute he’s all “I’m sad about Cas and Jack” and the next he’s putting a pie in Dean’s face and is like “I feel better now!” You’ve got a direct in with God!Jack now, and we know from 15x19 that God can pull beings out of The Empty bc he did it with Lucifer! THAT WAS YOUR IN, YOU IDIOTS. You ask Chuck to bring back Cas, but not the one to whom he was a father to?????????

6. Even if you weren’t a Destiel shipper, you should still be disappointed in the noticeable absence of Castiel, especially since he was left with such a cliffhanger of character development and was mentioned multiple times in episodes 19 and 20. He was a pivotal part of the show for 11 years. Even if you take out the Destiel stuff, the boys have called him their brother numerous times. Dean’s call him his best friend. Wouldn’t his ideal Heaven have his best friend in it?

7. I’m not going to rail on the scene between the brothers while Dean is dying. I didn’t really get Wincest vibes from it, though I never put much stock into that side of the fandom anyway. My one issue is this was the “love confession” moment they gave us. Dean dying in a barn and telling Sam he loves his baby brother. *SNORE*

8. The big reunion moment we were hoping for? They wasted it on Dean’s car. A FUCKING CAR. Yes, I get the Impala is important to the story, but come the fuck on. NO CHICK FLICK MOMENTS. MUCH BRO.

All-in-all the whole ending felt like 1 step forward, and 15 years back. After all the character development and story arcs, it’s like they just threw it all out the window. Nothing changed. Everyone was back to where they started: Cas working for God, Dean being a good soldier and dying bloody doing the only thing he knows how to do, Sam being left to pick up the pieces with some distorted version of an apple pie life where he was basically just living to die so he could be with Dean again. I felt like the lesson was that the only way you get what you want is to die. It was gross. It was a disservice to the actors, the characters, and the fans. I can’t begin to even see this as fan-service bc I’d love to know who the TPTB thought they were serving with this garbage. And honestly, I don’t think they knew either. I feel like they were so worried about pissing off all the different subsets of the fandom that they went as safe as they could. *slow claps* Way to go, guys, really groundbreaking stuff.

At the end of the day though, it’s my fault for being disappointed. I shouldn’t have expected so much of a show that had mostly cis white men working behind the scenes. A show that’s killed almost every female character who stepped up to the plate (also, POC anyone? Nahhh). A show that took their one real LGBTQ character (also female), killed her and left her body in a bathtub (FRIDGING IS FUN) for absolutely no good reason. A show that, at the end of the day, is just a show about a couple bros who kill monsters, on the CW, and the CW is hardly the go-to place for real boundary-pushing content. A show that has managed to drop the ball at almost every opportunity though we, as a fandom, have continued to lower the bar for them.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me 100 times?

So with all that being said...

Peace out bitches.

#spn finale reaction #meta i guess?#spn spoilers #15x20 #word vomit #supernatural #long post #dean wincherster #sam winchester #castiel

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mistraliprincess · 4 years

Text

Ghouls and Ghosts of Kaigan III

She can hear the hatch behind her hiss shut, then the door to the cockpit hiss similarly as it opens with the pilot rushing through calling her name. All becoming muffled behind a ringing in her ears, her heart pounding, and more coughing retching through her throat. Accompanied by blood in it’s wake, the sight of which she hears make her pilot stand to rush back to the cockpit, but she lets go of her Tanto and the torch to grab his ankle before he can, earning his attention.

Kneeling down and leaning close, the man calls her name again, softer in his tone, trying to be calmer. Letting go of his ankle, she slides her hand down to point at the bundle of cloak and scarf slung around her arm. “F-... Fragile... keep safe... deliver... home...” Then pointing to her weapon before “Sheathe... now... please...”

Hearing him confirm his understanding of her warning and request, the pilot shifts to gingerly pick the blade from the floor of the ship. A quick glance over her form allowing him to find the sheathe in question, where he placed the blade and pushes it in. Making to ease the scarf sling from around her arm after, and pick up the bundled item, flinching a second before he can with the tingling sensation that even just getting near it gives him.

Pushing through and picking the object up, he carries it over to a panel on the wall beside the door to the cockpit. Opening to a compartment with straps available to secure precious cargo, and sets it within. Using two straps, one horizontal, one vertical, to secure it in place before closing the panel again and stepping back through the doorway. The engines roaring to life just after, and her scroll beeping as the call ends a second later.

Muffled words from beyond the door just barely able to be understood make clear to her that he’s trying to make contact with a hospital in Mistral to alert them of her situation. Sadly not being able to connect, much to their annoyance, for what feels to Kemuri like an hour of flight, but in reality isn’t much more than five minutes. Finally connecting with a cheer as she hears it ringing, the ringing itself being the sound that echoes in her mind as she closes her eyes and drifts off.

Finding herself greeted by a void, dark, cold, unwelcoming, a hum of some mechanical kind, muffled voices, beeping. There’s nothing around her, unable to even see her own hands when it feels like she lifts them where she should be able to see. Not flesh, nor Aura, there’s nothing to greet her at all. She’s just stuck, adrift, alone, scared even.

“To ̸be̡ r̸edu̕ced̸ t͡o̵ ́t͠h̀i̧s̢ ͠st͡a͏t́e ̡f͠r͢òm̵ one f̴ig̡ht͢ ̨w҉i̷t̀h̡ a t͞h̸reat ́fro҉m m̶y̴ ti̡m͜e? W̡a̡rr̶iors͟ ͘t̶he͡śe ̸d͢a̶ys r͝éal̨ļy aren'҉t͢ wh̷at t̕h̕ey ̕us̡eḑ t͟o͠ ͘be.”

A familiar voice, one she disliked, but the only clear thing among the darkness and the muffled sounds. Still, it replaces some of the lonesome feeling, and her fear, with disdain and unrest realizing she’d be doomed to have to listen to him. She couldn’t even find her voice to speak back, to berate him for being nothing more than a bother and a passenger in her body who hadn’t helped her one bit since he arrived.

“Ḑon't̨ ̢ge͢t͜ m͘ad̛ at ͡me҉, yoų gơt ̕mad at m͠e̷ ͏fo̸r̡ ͢tąk͝i͜ng͘ ͝co͢n̶t͞ro҉ļ and ͢ge̡tt̀ing̷ you i̕n͞to̕ tha̢t͟ m̨ess̷ w͜h́e͝n y͝o̴ư ha͘d no c̸l͏u͘e ͘h̸ow͟ ́i̴n͝ ̢t́hé firs̷t̸ place.”

So he seemed to be able to understand her thoughts and feelings at the very least. Good, she couldn’t vocalize her issues but thankfully wouldn’t need to given the situation. It was a very slight relief among everything else she was feeling that such was the case. Though even still his voice alone was bothersome, but she’d have to deal with it. If he continued to talk, anyway.

He must’ve been able to understand what she wanted again, as she didn’t hear the thing begin to speak again. Not even a chuckle, as was usual for him. Either way, she was glad he shut up for once when she wanted it. Gave her a little hope they were starting to find some remote sense of common ground or understanding. Though it made her wonder what might be the cause for such, especially with how hostile it had seemed to be ever since it began sharing her body.

The muffled beeping that she heard echoing through the abyss disturbs her thought as it grows louder around her. Bit by bit becoming all encompassing and almost deafening at a point. Yet it was not alone, a line of light in the distance, thin and wide, but ever so slowly approaching. Or... was it opening? It’s shift was so slight that she couldn’t tell what was going on, but she began seeing shadows moving. Voices greeting her ears and starting to become clearer like the beeping before.

One in particular catching her attention, a familiar Woman, it took a moment for her to think of it and piece everything together, but it was Harley. Why was Harley on the shuttle? She wasn’t there when she got back on it, it was just her and the pilot. Or... was she even still on the shuttle? The last thing that beeped that she heard was her Scroll as the pilot ended the call they had between them. That was much too low in terms of the tone for this though...

“Please, sir, tell me what her condition was when she came in, I’m the only thing close to family that she has left, I deserve to know.”

A sigh leaves another voice, deeper, masculine, unfamiliar.

“Miss Nara, Kemuri was unconscious when she came in. From what we could tell, it was due to blood loss and exhaustion. Multiple open wounds across her body, though her clothing was somehow undamaged, When we got her out of her combat gear, we fou-”

The voice faded out, muffled again as it went on, she couldn’t understand it for a while. The line of light too fading away once more and the constant beep growing quiet. A second of panic entered her fearing that she may be lost to the void once more, but she would be relieved to find such wouldn’t be the case. Before too long, the light came back, a little wider this time, and with color to the shadows, even if it was slight. Seeing something that looked a dark orange to the left, and what appeared to be grey to the right.

“- a small amount of what turns out to be a rather vast store of Aura she can maintain, but she still had some. None of us can figure why she’s so heavily damaged despite that. In the scan, we also found that, for some reason, the ends of her hair just had no Aura covering them whatsoever. From what we can tell, it’s like it’s been cut off from the rest of her in terms of what her Aura can protect, and heal. Something similar was initially the case with the end of her horn, but over the past twenty four hours that seemed to return on it’s own. We aren’t sure what it means, but we’re assuming her hair won’t be growing back, at least not for a while.”

A pause, neither speaking, but she can hear a shaky breath being taken by the Woman. Even more so, she could feel something, warmth, almost like a hand. It seemed like it was trying to hold her own, but she couldn’t see or feel her own hand. Couldn’t feel anything move when she thought to reciprocate the grip either. But the rough texture to the fingers she could feel, it was familiar to her like Harley’s voice. Gotin, her smithy, partner, friend. Even with the lack of feeling of her own self, that she could feel his touch and presence was a comfort.

Another sigh, the unknown voice again, grumbling something under his breath even.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you about this, but there was something else we found when we scanned her Aura. The way Scrolls can tra-”

It all dimmed and faded again, drifting away from her despite how badly she tried to keep close to it. A need to see and hear those close to her filling her among the crushing darkness and driving her to try and find it again. Just seconds, like before, and it came back slowly.

“- her Scroll is still tracking her Aura just fine, but we noticed another signature in our readings. One almost entirely different from her own, save for one brief pattern. No one has any idea what it could mean, but the best guess we have is, honestly, the wildest one that someone just blurted out, and it’s that there’s some other Aura sharing her body. We’ve never seen or even heard of anything even remotely similar to this, and we’ve no clue how, or what it could mean for her, but so far they both seem stable within her. Though we’ve changed the settings for her Scroll’s Aura tracker to be able to keep both monitored in the future.”

“And what’s the reasoning for the oxygen line?” Gotin’s voice, calm as can be despite a slight shake behind it.

“When we got her in, she was barely breathing, and there was blood in her mouth and throat. There aren’t any internal wounds, but from what we found with some tests and x-rays, her lungs were lightly torn, and burned. With what we know of her Semblance, we figure it’s due to overuse of it, a rapid shifting of what different ways she used it that were the cause for the damage. Her Father had a similar issue after a mission, and when he recounted what happened, he had cycled through different ‘Branches’ of their Semblance, as he called it, without doing the proper breathing to ease out of one and into another. Her breathing improved after we gave treatment, but we gave her the line to ensure she gets enough while she’s out.”

It sounds painful, actually reminds her of the pain she was in at the end of her mission. Of each wound she suffered, the pain her Semblance reliance caused her, how utterly tired she was even. It just bothered her that she couldn’t feel any of it right now. She just felt nothing, and it actually began worrying her. With what was being said, she was sleep in a hospital, but with that the case, was she actually going to ever wake? She was close to it, wasn’t she? seeing these vague shapes and colors, hearing their voices, she had to be.

All of it fading away yet again scares her more with the thought she may not actually awaken. She was conflicted though, remembering how this went the past few times. It all came back each time, so far at least, so it should again. Which it did, much slower than the times before, however, only letting her catch a few sounds and words before things came clear enough.

“With how damaged she is, the regenerative properties the blood in her family seems to have, and how the secondary Aura is affecting her recovery, we feel like she should be waking up in a day or two, and that her body should recover enough that she can be discharged by the end of the week. We do, however, recommend that she does not take up any hunts for at least a month after discharge, and that she not do anything strenuous like moving furniture, running, training, etcetera. At least for another month after that. Anything done too early will risk damaging her lungs again, even with how much they may have recovered by then, and the damage they suffered will be effecting her during her recovery. Likely frequent coughing, soreness when swallowing certain foods, more trouble breathing than usual when active, things like that. And Mr. Amachi, please keep her away from your forge, the smoke will be more dangerous while she’s recovering.”

“We’ll make sure she keeps away from the forge, Doctor, thank you.”

“I’ll give you two some time with her before visiting hours end. If either of you wish to stay with her through the night, you can pay the five lien for a visitor pass at the front desk, but otherwise you’ll have to leave by then, and can come back tomorrow. We’ll be giving her the best care we can throughout the night.”

Silence falls again after, hearing both Harley and Gotin take deep breaths a moment after before the light fades again and the sounds go quiet. The void returning, this time for much, much longer. Though to such a length she’s unable to tell how long before anything else happens again. The shapes and colors among the light this time even clearer, but still blurred, and the light dimmer now than before.

“I’ll figure something out before you wake up, Kemuri... I may not be there when you do, but just know I’m working on something for you if I’m not by your side when you first open your eyes...”

Gotin’s voice, soft, shaking slightly more than before, and much less calm. His hand again, tightening around her own from what she could feel, but still unable to reciprocate any. Wanting so badly to show him some sign she was still there, still aware of things around her. To make her appreciation of his presence known and tell him she’ll be fine, at least, she thought she would be... she had to be.

It actually hurt a little to feel his hand leave her, to hear his footsteps growing distant, leaving her with the beep of the monitor to lull her consciousness to rest once more. Letting it happen this time, however, and not feeling the fear that she did when it first took hold. This she welcomed, knew it would lead to her recovery over time. At the very least she wanted to wake up sooner than later, let people know she would be okay.

It would just take time, something she had in spades right now.

#Kemuri Fujiki #Story Post #Ghouls and Ghosts of Kaigan #Harley Nara #Gotin Amachi #Grento Fujiki

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sexywookieesquadron · 4 years

Text

Origins: Mey-Gon

Hey all, we’re finally ready to start sharing our OCs! This is the first chapter of OC Mey-Gon Niek’s backstory, created and written by Megan. We hope you enjoy and follow along as we introduce the rest squad and their wild adventures!

Word count: 1421

Chapter 4/9

Summary: How does a famous, wealthy party girl end up joining forces with a controversial paramilitary group like the Resistance?

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

xxx

28 ABY, Corvis Minor IV

Even though her staff had arrived ahead of her to clean things up a bit before her personal tour, Mey-Gon was still appalled by the state of the village. Buildings were charred and crumbled, debris strewn everywhere, and weary citizens were sitting alongside the main road in filthy clothes and bloody bandages. It wasn’t the first time she’d witnessed a scene like this, and judging by the long list of applications for aid, it wouldn’t be the last time either.

It had taken a little while to get her charity, the Galactic Initiative for Dedicated Entertainers, up and running; but it had paid off perfectly. According to her manager, her brand was stronger than ever. After her carefully publicized appearance at the first disaster site, the donations had come rolling in, other celebrities had jumped on board, and all old connections to Leia, daughter of Darth Vader, were overlooked. After nearly a year, Mey-Gon had made stops at suffering communities all over the Mid and Outer Rims to get her image taken for the holos before heading back to Haidoral Prime and letting her team do the actual relief work. She had seen towns wiped out by everything from natural disasters to animal attacks to pirate raids; but the most common cause of devastation anymore was the ex-Imperial group called the First Order. According to the briefing packet she had viewed on the hyperspace jump over, this new case on Corvis Minor IV was just another example in the trend. It had been a mining town that found themselves suddenly being robbed and nearly destroyed by the First Order’s forces.

One of the publicists that always toured the sites with her stopped suddenly and handed her a G.I.D.E.-branded canteen of water from his prop bag, “Here, this one.”

Mey-Gon followed his pointing finger to where a woman was sitting on the side of the road with her back against the wall of a blown out building. The woman didn’t even notice the approach of the well-dressed stranger until Mey-Gon had knelt down in front of her and was holding out the canteen; and even then, she didn’t move.

“Hey,” Mey-Gon said softly with an encouraging smile, “You’re safe now.”

She was shocked by the deeply haunted look in the eyes that now rose to meet hers, “They took everything.”

“The First Order?” Mey-Gon guessed.

“Their faceless devils. Their stormtroopers ,” she said the word as if it had tried to strangle her on its way out.

Mey-Gon placed a comforting hand on the woman’s arm. She had seen holos of the new First Order stormtroopers and it had given her chills. Even though she had viewed actual Imperial stormtrooper armor in a museum before and even acted in countless scenes with stunt people in stormtrooper costumes, there was nothing like seeing a true soldier of evil in action. She couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like to be personally terrorized by them.

“But you are safe now,” she said again.

She could hear the hum of the camera drone circling them for a good holo shot, so she tried once more to hand the woman the canteen. This time she took it and cautiously tilted it up for a drink.

Mey-Gon smiled encouragingly, then stood up to continue her walk through the town. She glanced at the publicist’s bag of props and noticed a couple stuffed banthas in case they came across any children, but so far she hadn’t seen any. It was possible there just hadn’t been any in a working town like this, but she had a sick feeling that the real explanation matched one of the more sinister rumors he had heard about First Order attacks.

Her next stop was obvious when she approached the tallest structure in town and saw the man waiting in front of it. He was sitting in a hover chair and his legs were cocooned in a bacta wrap that bore her organization’s logo.

“The mayor,” her publicist whispered.

This man was more lucid than the woman in the street had been, and he held out a hand to Mey-Gon as she approached, “Miss Niek, thank you so much for coming. After what we’ve been through, to see your team show up with all the medicine and construction…” He trailed off sadly.

“The G.I.D.E. is at your service now, sir,” she assured him, “We’ll bring in whatever it takes to rebuild your town and get the people back on their feet again.”

He only managed a hint of a hopeful expression before it cracked and his eyes filled with wavering moisture, “How can we recover from this? We lost so much: the ore, the equipment, the younglings…”

So it was true. Mey-Gon tilted her head back and lifted her eyes to keep her own tears from spilling over. As she blinked away the emotion, she found herself focusing on a shattered window above them and squinted in confusion. Inside the window were the tattered remains of a First Order flag, still pinned at the corners from where it had been displayed.

“What is that?” she whispered.

The mayor didn’t even have to look up to know what she was talking about, and he hung his head in shame, “When they showed up out of nowhere and took over operations, there was nothing we could do-”

“I thought it was a sudden attack,” she frowned.

He shook his head, eyes glazing over, “They occupied the town for weeks, transporting away all our ore and giving speeches about a galaxy ruled by order and justice. We thought that maybe if we cooperated, showed that we supported their vision...maybe they would spare us as an ally.” He clenched his jaw, “But in the end, they still took everything we had and razed the whole town.”

“I don’t understand,” Mey-Gon furrowed her brow in frustration, “If this was going on for weeks, why didn’t you call for help from the New Republic Defense Fleet?”

“We did,” he said immediately, then his lip twisted up into a sarcastic smile, “They denied our request, said the First Order was a minor local issue.”

For a moment, she was appalled, but then she realized that this response wasn’t a surprise at all. She didn’t follow politics very closely, but the one thing she did know was that the First Order was a bigger threat than the New Republic was willing to admit. She had seen evidence of that with her own eyes. She also knew this was the very reason that Leia had gone rogue to form her own military group.

Leaning in closer to the mayor, she lowered her voice, “Why didn’t you contact the Resistance?”

He recoiled in shock, yet managed to keep his voice to a harsh whisper as well, “The Resistance? But they’re extremists!”

Mey-Gon pressed her lips together to prevent her from arguing further and stood up straight again, transforming her expression back to the sympathetic one that looked good in the holos, “Well, whether your people choose to rebuild or relocate, the G.I.D.E. is here to help. My staff will be by to discuss everything with you soon.”

The rest of her visit did very little to assuage her heartbreak and frustration, and she found herself still bothered as she sunk into the soft nerf leather seat at the helm of her personal light corvette. The glow of hyperspace shifted and danced as it warped itself around her wide transparisteel viewport, and she couldn’t help but think about all the worlds and souls which that light represented.

Were there really so many beings willing to just roll over and embrace their own subjugation by tyrants? But that was already proven. History had shown how pliable the galaxy had become whenever power changed hands, which it had multiple times over the course of just the past century alone. If the First Order ever did grow bold enough to rise up and overthrow the New Republic, most of the galaxy would probably just accept it. There were so few beings like Leia, who were willing to fight back. Mey-Gon realized sadly that she was no fighter either; but she would continue to resist the First Order in her own way, even if that just meant cleaning up after them, one devastated town at a time.

#star wars #star wars oc #star wars ocs #my writing #mey-gon niek #star wars fan fiction

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efrmellifer · 4 years

Text

Acta Diurna

“Deep breath for me,” the midwife cooed. “Now hold it.”

Etien held her breath, biting her lip to keep air stilled in her lungs.

“Good,” came the soothing voice. “Excellent. And let the breath out.”

Now Etien exhaled, settling back against her pillows again. “Did it sound good?”

“It did! I heard multiple heartbeats, but they were so closely synchronized that I couldn’t count how many exactly. However, if you were having triplets or more, I think you’d be more overtly carrying at this point.”

“So twins?” Aymeric asked, finding his voice and looking up at the midwife from where he was sitting.

“That would be my best guess, though be ready for a surprise when the delivery day comes.”

Etien cleared her throat softly. “And am I still free to travel for some time?”

“For now,” the midwife replied, the way she dragged it out signaling that there was a caveat coming. “Though anything risky should be probably be cut out now, rather than any later.”

“So no Diadem,” Aymeric murmured, coming to Etien’s side and taking her hand. “I’m sorry, dearest.”

Though her expression betrayed that she was put out, she just shrugged. “It was bound to happen eventually.”

“Speaking of eventualities…” The midwife looked between the two of them. “I’d say you have about a moon left before you’ll need to be on bed rest. Light bed rest, to begin with. Walking around the forums occasionally would be good for you, I think. But staying close to home and seated or lying down primarily is the goal. As you progress, we’ll see how things settle and if you’ll need to be under stricter rules, but you’re strong and you seem healthy. So I think you should be all right.”

Etien smiled, her nose crinkling a little bit with the gesture.

Aymeric watched tiredness starting to seep into Etien’s expression, and hurried to get things wrapped up. “Thank you very much, I’rixa,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound like he was trying to usher her out. “Is there anything else we need to keep in mind at the present moment?”

“You both need to get enough sleep. You look tired, ser. She may be undergoing the physical process, but you’re experiencing a lot of change, too. Moreover, you can’t take care of her if you’re exhausted.”

“True,” he conceded. “Wonderful, thank you again. I can show you out.”

“I’ll be back in another moon and a half,” she reminded them both, then followed Aymeric out the door and down the hall.

When he returned, he sighed, leaning against the door frame.

Etien was rubbing her temple.

“Have you a headache again?”

As she turned her head, she dropped her hand back to the covers on the bed. “No. I don’t, fortunately.” She shook her head. Then she sighed. “We need to tell the Scions.” It came out in the same tone as any other groan she’d offer up when she had to do something she didn’t want to.

“Ah. That we do. I must admit, I’m surprised they didn’t find out from the Alliance.”

Etien had gone back to rubbing her head in a vain attempt to self-soothe, but she stopped abruptly. “Gods, you don’t think they did, do you? It is odd that they haven’t asked after me—”

“I have never taken Merlwyb for a blabbermouth, nor Raubahn and the Sultana. Kan-E-Senna, I would imagine, has only told the leadership of the Adders, since you cannot do Serpent errands either.”

“I would never speak ill of the Alliance leaders, but that certainly is a lot of trust to place in them.”

Aymeric looked at Etien and remained silent for perhaps a beat too long as he thought. “Etien. The same as you wouldn’t speak against the Alliance, I won’t speak against the Scions. That being said, I do think that if they had caught even a whiff of what’s been going on, they would have marched right into the manor and been interrogating you as if you had returned from Garlemald.”

Etien coughed.

“Well. You know what I mean,” Aymeric corrected, looking away. “Fury help me, the midwife was right. I do need more sleep.”

With a silent grin, Etien patted the open side of the mattress next to her.

“I slept the day away last time I had a day off. And you were much more capable of taking care of yourself back then.”

“I’m still capable of taking care of myself!” She couldn’t help but sound just a touch indignant. Though if pressed, even she wouldn’t have been able to explain why. It wasn’t like she wanted to force herself into not relying on Aymeric, especially when he was offering himself to be relied upon.

“I—that was a poor choice of words, and not what I meant.” He admitted. “What I had been trying to say was, the last time I had a day off like this, where Lucia took over for me so I could be with you and do with the hours what I willed, I was entirely selfish and slept. But now, it would be better if I were to give you the attention you may require, and for that, I would need to stay awake.”

“All right, darling, but I am asking you to get into bed with me. You don’t need to do anything but lie down.”

“And how many times have I heard that?”

Etien clicked her tongue. “This, and I still invite you into bed.”

He settled under the covers when she lifted them for him, and curled himself around her immediately, head near her belly and arms around her hips.

“I find it strange how slow the change is, and yet one day, it will all be unmissable.”

“And it’s not even your body,” she replied. “It certainly is weird.” She blinked slowly, her drowsiness becoming apparent again. “What are we going to tell the Scions?”

“Perhaps the same words we gave Estinien.”

“Hardly seems fair to Estinien,” Etien mused, letting her arm settle around Aymeric’s shoulders. “We’ve taken him for a lover. He should have something so momentous to himself, don’t you think?”

“I do; you raise an excellent point.”Aymeric thought. “As of this moment, what do you want to say to them?”

“Well. Something to the tune of ‘While the road does go ever onward, and I know I cannot—and so I will not—refuse to walk it, I have taken a detour. I am to be a mother, and so I’ll need time, while the kits develop and after they’re born, to hang up the mantle of Warrior of Light. I can’t bear the weight of the star on my back and the weight of my children on my hips.’”

“Well said. How do you propose to tell them this, o will-worker of the star?”

She huffed. “Sounds too much like Minfilia. And I do not want to be compared to her. Though maybe that’s harsh.” She shook her head to clear it. “Regardless. A letter is all wrong. And using the linkpearl is laughable. Nothing for it. I’ll have to go to the Rising Stones and speak to them in person.”

“Dear-heart, please don’t go to Mor Dhona. Think of it—the gloom. The wildlife. Everyone and their brother seeking an adventurer. It’s too dangerous for you right now.”

“What else can I do?” she asked, sounding resigned but genuinely pleading for his guidance.

Aymeric sighed. “I’ll write a letter. In it, I will ask for one of them. They can choose whom to send.”

“Oh Aymeric, do you think that will go well?”

“How could it go poorly? They know and admire you.”

“If they send Alphinaud, he’ll lose his head, Alisaie might just get angry that I’m letting her win, Urianger will load me down with tomes about pregnancy and cross-bred infants, Y’shtola will laugh me all the way out to Falcon’s Nest, and Thancred will be Thancred.”

“What about Tataru?”

“Oh. She’d tut and pat my hand and start sending food over. Maybe shed a tear about how it was only yesterday she made my bridal gown and now she’ll need to make baby clothing.”

“Do you want me send for Tataru specifically?”

Etien was silent for a long time. “No, but I will write her a personal letter about all this.”

When they received word that one of the Scions was on their way, they’d held their breath waiting.

But when the Scion envoy arrived on the Borel doorstep, Etien realized they had forgotten one important variable.

G’raha Tia.

G’raha couldn’t deny that he was a little hesitant as he followed the servant down the hall to the sitting room. He’d seen Etien seated here once or twice when he’d peeked in on the Source before (and once, caught her in a nap), but it was odd to now be sitting there with her.

Fighting alongside his hero when she needed his help was one thing. Resting himself in a chair in her sitting room was a whole different matter. It was like he was seated on a live wire, not quite comfortable, even in a plush, well-built chair.

But the room wasn’t really the issue—it could have been part of any Ishgardian noble’s house. It was the still shockingly young woman seated within it opposite that was unsettling him slightly.

He had never noticed how young Etien still looked. But then, it made sense, didn’t it? She was only 25 now, her 26th nameday coming up in the next moon of Halone. Just after Starlight and Heavensturn.

He knew all this by rote, of course. The Tale of Etien: Left home at 19, adventured in the three city-states for nearly three years, ended the Dragonsong War in Ishgard, liberated Ala Mhigo and Doma, and then… well, he knew all about what came after that. He’d lived through the last year with her.

He hadn’t gotten to properly celebrate her nameday when he would have had the chance, while she was on the First. Because she hadn’t been. She’d slipped home for Starlight, and then stayed. A little hiccup in the time running parallel had her only gone for a week on the First, though she’d spent three on the Source. But G’raha couldn’t then and couldn’t now find it in himself to be upset that she’d gone home to celebrate.

But all that was in the past now. Marked indelibly on time’s surface, and immutable. They’d all come home, and he was in hers, completely too quiet as she looked at him.

“Hello, G’raha?”

She looked well, and he commented as much.

“Thank you. I suppose I should be grateful I still have my appearance, when it’s been a rough last handful of years.” She laughed. “Anyroad. Do you know why you’re here?”

“The Lord Commander—er, Lord Speaker?—Ser Aymeric sent a letter saying that you and he required the attendance of one Scion of the Seventh Dawn to receive and bear a message back to the others at the Rising Stones. Etien, is everything all right with you?”

“I am healthy and happy. But whether the message you take back following that is good news, well, that is where our opinions may diverge about all things being well.”

G’raha tipped his head, ears bobbing with the motion. “How could any news be bad news, if you’re doing well? I don’t think any of us could blame you for wanting a break. Even the most devoted of the rest of us have had days we put our feet up and called for tea to be brought.”

As he said that, a pot of tea was indeed brought, placed next to Etien alongside a dish laden down with a croissant split down the middle, one half smeared with a nut paste and the other with fruit preserves.

“A bit late and light for a lunch, isn’t it?” he asked.

She laughed. “Oh, I had my lunch. This is so I can keep my energy up. And the tea—rooibos tea, if you were wondering—is for the soothing sensation of the warmth. Not to mention, it’s a habit I would be hard-pressed to kick, so we modify it that I may still indulge safely.”

G’raha laughed at the formality of her diction. “You sound like you’ve become quite the noblewoman in the, I’d say, close to four moons you’ve spent here again?”

She snorted. “In my defense, I was quoting Whitecape.”

“A capable chirurgeon.”

“Very much so.” Etien sighed, crossing her legs at the ankles in front of her. “But we didn’t call you here to talk about the head chirurgeon, or to pick apart my changing speech patterns.”

“I didn’t mean to--”

“Shh, put it out of your mind. I was only teasing. In any case, this break will be longer than just a day spent reading in bed. I’m about to be under medical supervision while I stay in Ishgard. I don’t need a vacation; I’m taking maternity leave.”

“But you’re the Warrior of Light!”

He watched something darken in her expression, looking much the way clouds passing in front of the sun did.

“G’raha, I ask this with all the love in my heart. Are you aware that I’m a real person?”

“I—what? Aye, I do. My referencing the stories was not because I thought they were in any way made up—”

“No, that’s the problem. You heard the stories, all that time ago, before we met and all that. You read Edmont’s memoirs, didn’t you?”

“I did!”

“So you knew, the day you met me outside the Sentinels, what was waiting for me. Knew already how I was going to bleed and spit and cry, and—I don’t think I wanted you to warn me, that’s not what I’m saying. You know that for all I’ve done on Hydaelyn’s pillar with the star on my shoulders that I’m just a scared little girl?”

“You never seemed that way to me. You’ve always been able to rise to the occasion, always been a hero. My hero.”

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you you had me afraid that I was about to be very much alone, my companions frozen in a sleeping deathlessness, you dragged me away from my husband mere weeks after our wedding, and you almost got me killed by Zenos so you could have me help the First. Not to mention edging on a Lightwarden when I got there.”

“Oh,” G’raha murmured, seeing the way Etien clutched her handkerchief, the way her tail flicked on the seat, next to her leg.

“I can’t imagine how you managed to do that,” she said, quiet suddenly. “How you never—” her jaw clenched, then relaxed, “—never asked any questions. No, that makes sense now.”

He reached out, and she let him lay his hand on hers.

But she ignored it, and kept talking. “Mine has never been to question, unfortunately. Which you know, having heard the tales of me. You’ve always known me, always been one step ahead of me even as you threw yourself to the foreign country of the past. Knew everything about me before I got to discover it about myself. So you didn’t need to ask anything. Not even if I was willing to help you.” She looked up at him, blinking placidly. It was eerie, how she was usually so animated—had always been—but now she was quiet, movements and voice understated as she explicated. “It’s disappointing. That and painful, that your respect for me would go deeper than the average Eorzean’s, because you knew the whole story root to leaf, and yet you couldn’t help acting just like them. Making me your first and last idea to solve any problem, because I would never fail, not when it all hung in the balance. I had to transcend this body—its pain, its hunger, its exhaustion—because Hydaelyn entrusted me with this curse of a blessing.”

G’raha’s ears had long past gone flat, now utterly downturned. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t going to give me the ages of nineteen to twenty-five back.” She sighed. “That’s cruel, I apologize. Do the books—not Edmont’s, he was busy telling everyone of the Etien he knew and was living with—do they tell of my grief? That I had finally grasped freedom from my life in the Shroud, to be beholden to the needs of the city-states and the agenda of the Scions? That when I was coming into my own as a woman and a weapon, I was accused of crimes far beyond my most sinister thoughts? That I was shuffled from ushering in fragile peace to being the wedge of war for liberation so quickly I— no, they wouldn’t, would they? They tell of my actions, not my feelings.” She laughed. “Or there would be tomes solely dedicated to me and Aymeric.”

G’raha resolved to show her such tomes—they did exist—another time. But for now, she seemed to be running out of steam.

“I wish you’d asked, G’raha. Asked me what being me was like, when we gathered Aethersand. Asked me if I would join you on the First. I would have told you anything you wanted to know. I would have said yes. Instead, you commanded me because you’d made a giant of a terrified girl who hadn’t been living for herself for six years.”

“And I can only offer my deepest apologies,” he responded, trying to abandon the tone he’d always struck as the Exarch. He realized now that he would never fully divorce himself from that position, to her mind. The damage had been done, the bridge burned. They could only step across the charred remains together.

Etien sighed, closing her eyes, then gave him a smile as she opened them. “I can’t say ‘it’s all right,’ but I accept your apology. Someone needed to do the things I had to do, and I choose not to fault you for ensuring I did them.”

“You… choose not to?”

“If I resented everyone who had ever put pressure on me to be The Warrior of Light and not a living, feeling being, I would be holding a grudge against at least half of Eorzea.”

“Fair enough,” he mumbled, ears drooping again.

“Now, I digressed very far afield from my point. I asked you that not to question your belief in me or the stories you heard. The heart of it is that I’d like to have a family, and frankly, every chance I didn’t take before now was risking never being able to. Whether that was because I died or was rendered incapable of having children. Unfit to parent, I mean, above all.”

“Right.”

“So, do you think you and the others can make like the residents of the First and be Warriors of Light for a while, until I can come back? I’m not turning my back on Eorzea. I’m just doing what I haven’t in six years—living my life.”

“I can tell the Scions. You’re in a delicate state and can’t leave Ishgard.”

“Do you think they’ll deduce your meaning?”

“What kind of delicate state could someone like you be in, other than that?”

Etien laughed. “A fair point. Come, I can walk you out.”

The flood of letters from everyone came soon after that.

Tataru’s, full of the well wishes Etien had known were coming (had really hoped for, and kept returning to, between all the other letters that had much more flustered tones).

Alphinaud’s and Alisaie’s, jammed into one envelope, where Alphinaud started fretting from afar and Alisaie demanded to be an aunt.

Urianger’s, packed to the gills with advice—as Etien had expected—though a good amount of it was much more useful than anticipated. Y’shtola’s, Thancred’s, F’lhaminn’s, Mother Miounne’s, for the gods’ sake, all were just as she’d thought they would be, though there was one surprise, delivered by falcon, apparently.

“Congratulations and wishes of continued good health to mother, father, and baby (babies?). Hopefully the parcel of clothing arrives equally safely to this letter. We did not want to burden the falcon unnecessarily with both deliveries at once. We hope to hear from you soon! With love from Doma, Rin and Hien.”

Etien smiled wide as she read that one. Though as she folded it back up, she was startled by a shout in the streets, a darkening of the sky, and the low thud and rumble of a landing dragon.

She glanced out the window just in time to see a red eye peering in.

Etien stepped outside, eager to greet her Dravanian visitor.

“Vidofnir!”

“Ah, my friend, how long it hath been since I have gotten to speak with thee. A Scion did come unto me bearing news of thy return, and thy subsequent confinement to the city?”

She nodded. “For my health, and the health of my children,” she gestured vaguely toward her abdomen, “I have to stay close to home. The Forelands might be a bit too risky for me, even.”

“A shame. I would have liked to celebrate with thee, had the chance arisen.”

Etien smiled, tilting her head back to meet Vidofnir’s eyes. “And we will! After the kits are born. Then, we can celebrate twice as many occasions.”

“Ah. ‘Tis good to see thee in such high spirits about the matter. I feared the worst when I received word.”

“I appreciate your concern.”

“I know not what succor I can offer thee in these times, but know that if thou hast need of me, thy call is all I require.”

Etien bowed without thinking. “I will certainly keep you in my mind and heart.”

“Then I wish thee well until we meet again, Warrior of Warriors.”

She waved as Vidofnir took to the skies again, the dragon miraculously lifting off the stones even with so little room between one building and another to flap.

And then she returned inside, neither dressed for the cold wind blowing down the street, nor prepared in any other way to remain outdoors.

It had been a long few days. She was going to nap, and get back to the letters later. If, Fury willing, Aymeric would help her sort through them and formulate appropriate responses, that was.

And while she had the time, early though it may have been, she wanted to think of names.

#should this have the ship tag?#I certainly don't know #but haha the news broke (at least to certain groups)#3750 words. I ask you #also if details about bed rest are off feel free to let me know! all I know is what my mom told me of when she was having me

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blurry-fics · 5 years

Text

Chapter Fifteen

Where Did We Go | Series Masterlist

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 1982

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this one! :) (picture credit to jenna on twitter)

You woke up before Tyler the next morning. He had flipped onto his stomach sometime during the middle of the night so his face was now pressed up into the pillow, smushing his cheek up. One of his arms was outstretched, so that his fingers were just barely brushing against your forearm. You took a moment to admire him resting until a pang of sadness shot through your chest. Although you two had slept in the same bed the night before, you knew that the issues between you two were far from resolved.

You quietly got out of bed and crept towards the door, not wanting to wake Tyler. Your plan was to make a nice breakfast for the two of you as a sort of peace offering and then the two of you could talk things out while you ate. After spending some time thinking about the entire situation yesterday, you finally felt like your head was clearer and you could say the things you needed to say, as well as apologize for the expectations you had placed on him.

You turned the radio on to a low volume before you started to gather ingredients to make some french toast for you and Tyler. The familiar feeling of loneliness was beginning to creep in, but you reminded yourself that Tyler was only upstairs asleep, not out at meetings for the millionth time that week. He had gone to bed at a reasonable time last night, so it wouldn’t be long before he joined you downstairs. If you were lucky, he might even be up before you finished cooking.

Tyler did eventually wake up and come downstairs, right as you were cooking the last few pieces of french toast. His hair was still a ruffled mess from sleeping, but he had taken the time to throw on a t-shirt over his sweatpants. It was loose enough that you could just see his chest tattoo peeking out above the collar. He rubbed at his eyes as he shuffled over and took a seat in one of the stools.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” he mumbled. His voice was still hoarse from sleep.

“How did you sleep?”

“No nightmares.”

“That’s good.”

Tyler nodded slowly.

“Um, so I was thinking that we could talk through everything that happened yesterday while we eat breakfast,” you said, nervously pushing the piece of french toast around the pan. “There’s a lot of things that I need to say.”

“Me too.”

A chill ran down your spine, nearly making you shiver. Your mind was already preparing you for the worst.

“You can start serving yourself. I’ll join you at the table in a second.”

Tyler stood up and grabbed two plates from the cabinet, leaving one to the side for you. He piled his plate up with french toast and fruit, grabbed a Red Bull from the fridge, and walked off to the dining room. You cooked the rest of the french toast as quickly as you could, eager to have a conversation with him so that you could soothe some of your anxieties. Or at least, that’s what you hoped would happen.

The only thing Tyler had done by the time you joined him at the table was popped open his Red Bull and taken a couple sips. You had tried on multiple occasions to get him to stop drinking energy drinks with breakfast, but he was insistent that it was no different than having coffee. It was a losing battle.

“Where do you want to start?” Tyler asked. You barely even had time to pick up your fork.

“Um, well, I guess I want to start by apologizing for the things that I said yesterday. You were right, I was being selfish and I shouldn’t have implied that you don’t care about me, because I know that you do. It had just been a long day and I was frustrated and I said a lot of things that I didn’t mean.”

You sat frozen in place, waiting for whatever Tyler was going to say. This was the moment that you had been dreading.

“I’m sorry too. I got defensive instead of listening to what you had to say and that wasn’t fair to do. It’s not my place to tell you that what you’re feeling is wrong just because it’s hard for me to hear.”

You almost started crying because you were so relieved to hear that Tyler was sorry too. The night before, you had managed to convince yourself that this was finally the end of your relationship. It was by far one of the hardest nights of your life, especially since you didn’t have Tyler there to comfort you.

“I just hope you know that I do recognize how hard you are trying to make time for me and I need to be more appreciative of that. You’re dealing with a lot right now and while I try to be as supportive as I can, I know I fall short sometimes.”

Tyler nodded, “I do think that’s something that you could work on, but I also think that I need to work on spending time with you and not talking about the band the entire time, either. And I could definitely be better about multitasking when I am working. I have a bad habit of getting too focused on what I’m doing.”

“I agree.”

Tyler smiled and reached an arm out across the table. You placed your hand in his and squeezed.

“Also, I want to apologize for saying I wish things were like when we were 21 again. Yes, I do miss those days when we were kids sometimes, but we aren’t kids anymore. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in that and I forget to appreciate all the things that we get to do together now as adults. I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve done, Ty, and I’m incredibly happy with the place that we’re at now, not where we were five years ago.”

“Me too.”

“So are we ok?”

“Yes, and I think we both have some things that we plan to work on,” Tyler said.

“Definitely,” you nodded. “I still feel really bad about how I acted.”

“You don’t need to, Y/N. We were both tired and frustrated and acted out of emotion, but we’ve talked through it and figured out what to do from here on out.”

“I just…” It was hard to talk around the lump forming in your throat. “I’m terrified of losing you.”

Your breaths started to get shaky and uneven as you fought back tears. Tyler took notice of this and immediately stood up so that he could join you on the other side of the table. He pulled over a chair so that he could sit and pull you into his chest. The contact helped your body relax a little.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said. “Especially not just because of one argument. You mean the world to me, Y/N, and I’m not going to give you up that easily. We get in fights sometimes, that’s just how life goes, but it never changes how I feel about you.”

“Promise?” you mumbled into his shoulder.

Tyler gently pushed you away. You were hurt at first, until you realized he was holding his pinky out towards you. A smile slowly spread across your face as you linked your pinky with his.

“I promise.”

He leaned forward and gently kissed you. The worry quickly began to melt away as you realized that nothing between you and Tyler had changed.

“A double promise,” you smiled.

“Exactly,” he said, matching your smile. “I love you, Y/N. I mean it.”

“I love you too.”

Tyler gently wiped away a tear that had slipped down your cheek with his thumb.

“Are you feeling ok?”

You nodded, “I’m ok now.”

“Good.”

Tyler gave you another quick kiss before getting up and sitting back down in his original spot at the table. Most of his food had still yet to be eaten because of the discussion you two had. Maybe having a serious conversation during a meal hadn’t been your best idea.

“This is really yummy,” Tyler said as he cut off another bite-sized piece of food. “Thank you for making breakfast.”

“Your welcome,” you smiled. “It’s my grandma’s recipe, my mom used to make it for Carter and I all the time when we were kids. I would make it more often, but we’re usually so busy that it’s not worth the time and effort to make.”

“Maybe that’s something we should make more time for too: having a proper breakfast,” he laughed.

“That’s probably not such a bad idea. It’s better than you having Red Bull and cereal every morning, at least.”

“Hey, Red Bull and cereal is a delicious tour breakfast.”

“Maybe when you were 23! I swear your diet hasn’t changed since we were in high school.”

“Why should it? It worked for me then and it works for me now.”

You shook your head, knowing this was a losing battle. “Ok, Ty.”

“Oh, hey, speaking of tour.”

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted to give you the rundown for this next week before we leave.”

“Ok.”

In the midst of everything that had been happening over the last week, you had almost forgotten that there was only a week left until it would be starting again. Thankfully, this time you would be able to join him now that Carter and Marenna’s wedding was over and your schedule was cleared up. You were looking forward to it.

“I have a few things that I need to finish up either tonight or tomorrow, then there’s a meeting on Monday. It’s supposed to be the last one, but I have a feeling they’ll end up scheduling one final one on Tuesday. They gave us Wednesday off, which will probably end up being our packing day. Poor Josh has to fly home Tuesday night and then come back the next day so that he can pack up his stuff. Then, of course, Thursday and Friday are rehearsals in the morning and Saturday is our last free day,” Tyler smiled before popping another piece of french toast into his mouth. “Oh, and I managed to get all of our siblings, and their spouses, together for a last dinner together on Friday before we leave.”

“You did?” you asked. Leaving your family behind had always been one of the hardest parts of tour for you and Tyler.

“Yep. We have a reservation at that one restaurant we really like.”

“That’s amazing. Thank you, Ty.”

“Of course.”

He dramatically blew you a kiss from across the table, making you laugh.

“Also, do you think you would be able to give me a haircut on Monday after my meeting?” he smiled sweetly.

“Yeah, we can do that. It’s getting pretty long.”

“I know, look at it curling on the ends.” He picked up a small section of his hair and then let it fall back down.

“You’re not going to shave it all off, are you?”

“Not yet. Probably later in the tour.”

You sighed, but decided not to fight him on it. It was another battle that you could just never seem to win.

“Let’s try and make the most of this last week before tour, what do you say?” he asked.

“I say I’m in.”

The two of you fist bumped and then sat back in your chairs. You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you thought about the adorable idiot that you had grown to love. It was a huge relief to know that nothing had changed between the two of you, despite your argument. At this point, it didn’t seem like there was anything that could come between the two of you.

You hoped that never changed.

* * * * *

Taglist

@tylersheavydirtysoul @faceofcontvsions @ohprettyweeper @shaytwentyonep @tyler-josephs-floof @angelicopioid @topownsmyheart @harishaanne @addictwithaheavydirtycheetah @somethingboutyou1 @boiled-onionrings @heythereitm3 @gaysludge @breadbinishigh @5secondsofmoxley @patdsinner33 @littlerachelbee @royal-avengers

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scarletfern · 5 years

Text

Cold Walks & Late Night Talks

After being left on a dead-end road in the middle of a forest in Russia, the team desperately attempts to locate their safehouse during a blizzard. Also, team-as-a-family vibes and a bit of Kurt convincing Patterson to get some rest instead of trying to work 24 hours a day.

For @holidayblindspot day 29

—

“Are you sure this is the right way?!” Reade yelled, fighting to be heard over the roar of the wind.

Patterson ducked behind Kurt, using his body as a shield from the wind so that she could check the directions. “That’s what it says!”

Two days prior, they had received Intel that Rich was being held in a Russian blacksite and, with some help from Ice Cream, had immediately begun to plan his rescue.

Early that morning, they had touched down on a private airstrip in Siberia to meet up with one of Ice Cream’s contacts, who they had been told would drop them off at a safehouse.

Instead, he had stopped his car at the end of a dead-end road, gotten out, and begun to pull their gear out of the trunk, stacking it neatly on the roadside. He then motioned for them to get out of the car and, after exchanging puzzled glances amongst themselves, the team complied.

“Cabin’s a short walk through those woods,” he had told them, gesturing vaguely into the taiga. “Vlad will meet you there in the morning and get you to the compound where your friend is.” He turned away, clearly intending to leave.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Tasha had demanded.

He looked at her as if she’d gone crazy. “No.”

“Which way do we go?”

“Oh! I almost forgot.” He went around to the other side of the car and retrieved a tablet from the glove compartment. After tapping at the screen for a few minutes, he handed it to Patterson.

“This is where we are now,” he said, pointing to a set of coordinates on the screen. “And this,” he paused before pointing to the second set of coordinates “is where you are going. Good luck.” And then he'd driven away, leaving the five of them standing in the snow in front of a sprawling pine forest that seemed to stretch on forever.

After mumbling some calculations to herself for several minutes, Patterson spoke up. “Guys? We have a problem.” She turned the screen around then, showing them the coordinates. “This is eight miles away.”

They were halfway through mile five when the blizzard hit.

—

Violent gusts of wind brought the snow down in sheets, leaving it nearly impossible to navigate. The trees shielded them partly. It wasn't much, but it was enough to allow them to keep going. Clinging tightly to each other, desperate not to lose anyone in the whiteout, they pressed on.

A few miles later, Patterson brought them to an abrupt halt. “Stop walking. These are the coordinates.”

“But there’s nothing here.”

“What do we do now?”

A mind numbing cold settled over them as they stood together, shivering. If they stayed out here any longer, they would freeze to death.

Suddenly, the wind shifted, enabling them to make out the barely visible silhouette of the cabin up ahead.

They moved as fast as they could, clearing the distance in record time. Hurriedly, they cleared away the snow that had piled up against the door and entered, snow and ice falling off them in clumps.

It was such a relief to be out of the wind that, at first, they didn’t notice how cold it was inside.

Kurt found a light switch and flipped it back and forth. “No electricity.”

There was a fireplace, though, and firewood.

“Nice place,” Reade commented, deadpan, the beam of his flashlight darting around the living room, which appeared to be devoid of furniture.

A cursory search through the other rooms proved the rest of the cabin to be just as unfurnished as the living room. Thankfully, they also found sleeping bags and plenty of extra blankets stacked in a closet.

Soon, they were all huddled together by a roaring fire, the freezing conditions outside almost forgotten.

After they had all warmed up, only one issue remained.

“Whose turn is it to cook again?”

Tasha immediately pointed at Reade.

“What do you want me to do? Roast some marshmallows?” he asked, tossing a pillow at her.

“I saw some MREs in the kitchen,” Jane said with a shrug. “We don’t need electricity to make those.”

Upon his return, Reade teased “Tasha, it’s your favorite.”

“Nooo,” Tasha and Patterson groaned in sync as he held up five packets of Mexican style chicken stew.

—

Later that night, Kurt woke up. Something wasn’t right... Someone was missing. Someone other than Rich.

He listened carefully.

A noise was coming from the kitchen.

Typing.

Patterson.

She had taken Rich's absence harder than any of them, working day and night to find a way to get him back. When they had received word on his location, she had gone into overdrive, outlining multiple backup plans, crossing every t and dotting every i, refusing to rest until they had a foolproof rescue plan.

Careful not to wake anyone up, he untangled himself from Jane’s grip and tucked the blankets back over her before getting to his feet and heading away from the others, towards the sound. The loss of the heat off the fire hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Patterson.”

She jumped. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “You've been over that plan,” he paused for emphasis, eyebrows raised, “a million times.”

“I- I know, but we can't screw this up. We don't have the wiggle room for mistakes. One chance. That's all we've got.”

He sat down on the floor beside her.

“You’ve done everything you can do for now. And we will get him out. Tomorrow. Now get some sleep, okay?”

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. “I will. Later.”

They both knew that ‘later’ meant either ‘going another twenty-four hours without sleep’ or ‘working until passing out from exhaustion.’

Kurt wasn't going to settle for that.

“If you won't stop working yet, at least come back to the fire. It's too cold in here. You aren't going to wake them up. They're dead to the world.”

And back by the fire, listening to the others snoring?

She was asleep in five minutes.

Kurt closed her laptop, tossed a blanket over her, and went back to his sleeping bag beside Jane, who barely stirred at his return, just rolled over and promptly draped herself across his torso.

He looked around at his team once more. Now they were just minus one.

And, with any luck, by this time tomorrow, they’d be minus zero.

#blindspot #blindspot fanfic #scarletfern writes #blindspot*

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annoyinglyjovialbird · 4 years

Text

Voltron: Next Generation

Dangerous Clashes: III

Word Count: 3245

AN: A little longer chapter today since its my birthday. Thanks!

Whether it was smart or dumb, the guards delivered the armor to Kova's makeshift cell. She spent a few minutes looking it over, then started working. The bodysuit was like a second skin, completely different than the street clothes she wore before.

The tech on the suit was older than anything she had ever seen, but that was the privilege of attending the intergalactic hub on Earth. We mean the Garrison if you're lost.

She was attempting to use a paperclip as a pair of pliers on the location tracker when the door reopened. Ezrid, or Vhix, stood in the doorframe. Kova spared him a glance before returning to her work.

"Are you not going to say anything?" Vhix asked, crossing his arms behind his back.

"Should I?" Kova glanced at him again, noting the scowl that crossed his face.

"You should be grateful for everything we've given you." He hissed. "Most prisoners rot in the cells below, never seeing their home planets again."

"Ooh, how scary." Kova mocked him. "I should be grateful for being put in a janitor's closet. That's rich."

"What are you doing to the suit?" Vhix asked, noticing her position. He was about to cross the boundary. He was about to trigger the explosion before she was ready.

"NO!" She yelled. "Stay away from me!" Vhix stepped back, shocked at being yelled at. "I don't want you anywhere near me!" Vhix found his voice, fixing his dark blue cape.

"Aren't you overreacting, Kyla?" He smiled, talking in the tone you would talk to most children with. She stood up from her place on the floor to at least be eye-level with him.

"I'm not the one our parents chased across the galaxy." She cocked her head. "Am I overreacting?" Vhix had no words. He only looked on with wide eyes. Almost like he didn't know what her parents had done. Without another word the door closed, leaving Kova alone once again.

She had to finish the suit.

Right. Now.

——————

"Cake, cover me!" Caleb yelled over the intercoms.

"You got it!" Cake yelled back, moving his controls. The Coeus had taken another hit. This time, there was a small platoon of ships striking. The Red and Yellow Lions were deployed, against Shiro's orders. The Lions were taking heavy hits, but at least there was no attention at the Coeus.

The Red Lion was zipping past the cruisers, all their shots missing. The Red Lion was fighting its pilot, but Caleb was having none of it. The Yellow Lion, as the densest lion material-wise, was ramming into the cruisers head-on.

Liz and Kenny were readying the Coeus for defense, while Allie cowered in a corner. She would have to come out eventually, but for now, she was staying put.

The Yellow Lion zoomed past the cruisers, either ramming itself through them or leaving them alone for later pickings.

A communication link request was sent to the Coeus, which Liz immediately refused without looking at it. She glanced at Allie, who was covering her pointy ears with her hands, hoping to silence the gunfire.

"Can you guys stop playing and knock them out already?" Liz yelled over the intercom to the boys, who weren't quick to respond. The Red Lion was drawing fire towards the enemy ships while Cake used their distraction and fear to ram them down. In the end, all but one of the ships were destroyed.

Seeing the last cruiser fly away, the Red and Yellow lions released a deafening roar and returned to the Coeus. The Coeus had activated their particle barrier and it would be up for the next few hours until it deactivated itself.

"Now that that's taken care of," Caleb said. The screen on the bridge appeared, showing the paladins inside their respective lions. "What's next?"

"We're going to have to double-check every point we travel to if we're going to make another jump."

"Ugh, seriously?" Cake complained. "That will take way longer than whatever we were doing before!"

"Well, its the only thing we've got right now." Liz was at the head of the bridge, Kova's place, typing away. Kova's console, as it turned out, was the only console with complete access to all files and consoles onboard.

"Griffin's right," Caleb spoke, leading the Red Lion to fly underneath the Coeus. "If we want to avoid another encounter like that, we're going to have to be more careful."

"But that will take ages!" Cake groaned, rolling his eyes.

"It's better than not doing anything," Caleb said.

"Right, 'cause we're still looking for Kova while trying to keep the Coeus intact." Neither Liz nor Caleb were amused by Cake's comment. "Easy enough."

"Speaking of Kova, Griffin, how are we doing?"

"The tracking is still activated, and it shows we're about one full jump away from reaching her." Liz looked away from the camera and console for a minute, staring at something off-screen. She turned back with a sigh. "I have to take care of something now, but all systems are stable and shield will deactivate in a few hours. Until then, just hang on tight." The connection between the Coeus and the Red and Yellow Paladins was cut, and Cake and Caleb were now left alone with only each other to talk to.

Where do we even begin with these two? Cake and Caleb were on different teams since they started as cadets at the Garrison. Kova and Caleb had similar leadership tactics, but they weren't on the same level. Caleb was maybe a few months behind Kova's level of understanding. At nine years old, she repaired a major issue on the Achlys. An issue the top engineers couldn't figure out. Kova was the only thing Caleb and Cake had in common. Beyond that, there was nothing. Cake was half-Balmeran. Caleb was completely human. Cake was raised by his biological parents. Caleb was adopted by the Shiroganes at three years old. Cake lived on Earth after ten years old. Caleb hadn't even been to space.

"This might seem like a weird question, and you don't have to answer," Cake began. Caleb raised an eyebrow. "But didn't Keith have a dog?"

"I, uh, don't know, actually," Caleb said. "Dad and Uncle Lance used to stories, but I don't know if they ever mentioned pets."

"Really? I could've sworn my dad mentioned a dog."

"Huh." Caleb sat back in his chair. If there was a dog, why wasn't it ever mentioned again? "Maybe we could ask Keith about it."

"Maybe." Cake agreed. "Hey, uh, where are you?"

"Under." /Please say it/, Caleb thought. Kova always switched her words and Cyrus copied her. No one did it.

"Under /where/?" Caleb erupted in laughter, while Cake looked around confused. /Then/ he realized the joke.

"Ha ha, okay, very funny, Caleb." Cake said sarcastically.

Onboard the Coeus, Keith and Shiro were sequestered away in Shiro's office. While Caleb and Cake disobeyed orders, Shiro was getting Keith up to speed on everything they had been doing.

"The Fire of Purification was terminated as a threat years ago." Shiro had activated a holoscreen, showing the progression board the team had been working on. They were at the beginning of the current threats when Keith spoke. "I killed Sendak!"

"I know." Shiro took a seat across the desk from Keith. "It seems that some of their former members resurfaced with a vengeance, and began recruiting."

"The Fire of Purification wanted to wipe out every species in the universe if it meant conserving the Galra."

"And that mission changed with the times." Shiro leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "The Fire we're fighting today was led by a half-Galra and is currently being led by a different one."

"The one that might've taken your daughter." Shiro's eyes widened a little, shock written on his face. As quickly as it came, it left.

"Yes. Her status is the reason for the bounty on her head."

"She's half-Galra?"

"Yes, but that's not the only thing." Shiro turned off the holoscreen progression and removed it from his desk. Taking out the tablet Kova had given him when they began this crazy journey, Shiro logged into the Garrison's database. "The students have given her the nickname 'Jax'." Shiro turned the tablet to show Keith the screen. A picture of Kova was on it. Her eyes were like steel, and her features were cut from stone. Her uniform jacket was crisp, and her hair was pulled away from her face in a bun. That was all that could be seen. Shiro turned the screen away from Keith and swiped to view the next picture. It was Kova's log. Her entire school history was there for the men to see.

"Why do they call her that?"

"Her teachers would call her a jack of all trades, then it became Jack. To be fair, most instructors thought she was a boy when they heard about her capabilities. Eventually, the student body would call Jack, then Jax. It stuck."

"Teachers? Instructors? Like, she had multiple people teaching her?" Keith was astounded. Even he didn't require that much instruction, and he was considered the best pilot of his generation.

"Programming, engineering, piloting, was offered private instruction with Commander Holt but declined, and still had time to spend with Lance and our family. Before we left Earth, she was being scouted as an instructor by other schools."

"With someone like that," Keith began.

"She could win wars if she stood on the front lines." Shiro finished Keith's sentence. "Caleb is capable of it, too, but he isn't as hyper detailed as Kova."

"So the Fire wants your daughter, Kova, on their side?"

"More than anything." Keith sat back in his chair, staring into the void. Shiro turned off and put away the tablet while Keith contemplated everything.

"What are we waiting for, then?" Keith said, standing from his chair. A hand rested on his hip with an iconic smile on his face. "Let's get her back."

—————

"C'mon, c'mon!" Kova muttered under her breath. "Change color, you stupid light!" She stood on the dirty mattress in the furthest corner of the room. The garbage bag that held her street clothes was propped against the wall closest to the emergency toilet. The dark gray armor fit Kova almost perfectly, but if she wasn't careful, there could be an opening. Her hair was tied in a braided bun at the back of her head, her helmet screen open. She was trying to change the color of the insignia on her chest plate, but for whatever reason, it didn't. The top of the insignia was blue and the bottom was the original purple.

The sewer was emptying, and her window of opportunity was going with it. Let's all say it now: NO ONE CARES ABOUT THE COLOR OF YOUR STUPID LIGHT!

Heavy footsteps rang through the room. The metal grate was horrible like that. The steps became heavier, the metal groaned louder, and Kova's heart raced faster as they approached her room.

"Screw this!" She finally exclaimed, throwing the paperclip aside, grabbed her plastic bag, and stood at the mouth of the gaping hole. The footsteps had stopped just outside her door. Indistinguishable words were being exchanged between the guards and the newcomer, but Kova wouldn't be around to see it. First went the bag, making a disgusting brown splash on the sewer walls. It was carried only a few feet from the weak current before coming to a standstill. Activating her helmet screen to completely cover her face, Kova took a deep breath.

May Allura give her strength.

She jumped feet first into the hole. The brown, maybe green liquid splashed under her feet, but there was no time to consider what it could or couldn't be. As soon as her boots made contact with the bottom of the pipe, Kova ran, grabbing the plastic bag on the way.

In her now empty room, the door opened to reveal the maniac himself with his second-in-command in tow.

"Where is she?" Yorak asked, staring at the empty room.

"Let me see," Vhix said, pushing past Yorak into the room. His step into the room triggered the boxes of yeast the guards had brought Kova to fall into the buckets of peroxide and dish soap at their feet. As the yeast fell into the buckets, the white foam quickly overfilled the buckets, spilling onto the floor. The metal grate didn't allow the foam to stay very long, but the results were worth it. Vhix was quickly overwhelmed by the foam, slipping on the metal grate. Yorak was fuming, his expression dark. He turned his stone-cold eyes to the guard at his right. The guard, for what it's worth, was rusting their armor at the glare.

"Search the ship," Yorak growled, whipping his head to meet the stare of the second guard. "If she isn't found, it's your lives." Vhix had somehow stood and walked away from the foam. Thankfully for him, yeast doesn't stain. The guards ran down the hallways like their lives depended on it, because they did.

"I told you we should have kept her in a prison cell," Vhix muttered, trailing foam. Yorak sighed, staring at the mess Kova had caused.

"If we did, she would've discovered our plans before she was ready." Yorak stalked away from the room, heading for the bridge. Vhix strode after him, still trailing foam.

"She isn't going to switch sides so easily." Vhix shook his shoulders, then aggressively shook his cape. "She's been taught to be a paragon of power."

"As am I." Yorak turned to meet Vhix's eyes. Vhix was one of few to meet the stone-cold gaze of the Emperor and not shake in fear. The others were either dead or changed.

Down below, Kova ran, drifted, and jumped over pipes, large lumps of something, and tight corners. She simply followed the current. Kova's sloshed steps grew faster as voices grew louder overhead. The desire to live was starting to become her. Out of some misfortune, there was no exit to the sewer. At least, no exit she could use. The water escape through a small vent at the bottom of a wall.

Kova looked up at the metal grate, searching for a means of escape. Another hole was torn into the metal grate directly above the sewer. Another emergency toilet. Tossing her bag through the hole, Kova jumped to grab hold of the edge. The sharp, torn metal pierced her skin through the bodysuit, but it did not break.

She was in yet another janitor's closet, but it was worth it. If the map on the wall is correct, she's about ten feet from the closest exit.

Activating the helmet's shade, Kova walked straight for the doors that led to her freedom. The door opened up, four armed soldiers running past her without a glance in her direction. Quick as can be, she slipped through the doors.

The room was a loading bay, stocked with wooden crates and small cruisers. If she could hotwire one, it would make her escape all the better.

"Hey! You!" A voice yelled from above Kova's head. It didn't sound like either Yorak or Vhix, so at least she was safe. "What are you doing here? This ward is restricted to—" Kova turned to face the man yelling at her. He noticed the blue on Kova's insignia. The light is pretty hard to miss. The man yelling at her stared at the faceless armored soldier with surprise, then anger. "Hey! I found the runaway!"

With a salute, Kova booked it to the doors. The man, completely caught off-guard, panicked, climbed the railing, and jumped to the floor twenty feet below. He didn't chase after her. At least, not immediately.

Three armor-clad soldiers marched in, holding their weapons up. Kova had made it to the wall on the other, the door that should lead outside. One of the soldiers had fired on her, hitting the door three feet from Kova's head. She ignored it, searching for the control switch. It required a password to open it. Another blast was fired, only inches from her face.

Kova turned to see the firing squad. They wouldn't kill her. Of course, they wouldn't. That's a death wish waiting to happen. Yorak and Vhix still want her alive.

One of the soldiers aimed at the wall next to Kova, hoping to ricochet a blast to knock her out without completely damaging her. The soldier's stance wavered, the gun along with it. Kova held her hands up in surrender, but the soldiers made no moves to apprehend her. Not until they were sure they wouldn't be attacked. The soldier's finger was prepared to pull the trigger. It wouldn't take much, just a little push.

The entire ship took a blow, and everyone took a fall. Kova held onto the frame of the door closest to the control panel. She connected her armpiece to the control panel, uploaded her code, and the door opened. As the oxygen was being sucked into the nothingness of space, some of the lighter boxes were being thrown out as well. Kova hoped it was food so they could slow down their pursuit. As the suction pulled everything, Kova braced herself and threw herself out into the nothingness.

Curled into a small ball, she spun until she wasn't sure which way was up and down. Is there even an up and down in space? Kova had been pulled so far away from the ship, she could see what had caused the blast.

The Coeus had come to the rescue, firing heavy blasts to the side of the enemy ship. A particle barrier had been activated, glowing orange. Two figures were dancing in front of the barrier. It took Kova a tick to realize they weren't just any figures. It was the Lions.

Red sped past the entire length of the enemy ship, firing on the windows of their bridge. Yellow was clawing the side Red had left unscathed. Escape pods began to leave the ship, and Red noticed. It took after them, preparing to fire again when a small blast hit their snout. Red turned its head to look for the culprit.

Kova fired again. She was so glad the arm piece had a laser, or she would have been a goner.

Red was hit again between the eyes. Forgetting its original prey, it flew towards the source of the blasts.

As Red got closer, Kova hung onto her bag for dear life. She was floating into nothingness. She didn't want to be like Keith! Lost for ten years until the new generation of Voltron came to find her. They haven't even formed Voltron!

Red stopped before Kova, staring at her figure. What was wrong? Didn't he recognize her? Then she remembered she still had the shade on. Deactivating it, she stared at Red again. Red opened its mouth, and Kova floated into it. The depressurization left Kova lying on the bottom of Red's mouth staring at the top of it. Eventually, she stood and joined Caleb in the pilot seat. He was updating the Coeus on the mission.

Kova placed a hand on his shoulder, to which Caleb lay his own over it. They shared a look, and Caleb turned Red around to return to the Coeus. Kova slept in Red's cockpit until the barrier deactivated a few hours later.

#voltron: next generation #keith kogane #takashi shirogane #igf coeus #yorak #vhix #fire of purification #kovalia shirogane #caleb shirogane #red lion #yellow lion #voltron galra #voltron altean

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little-lee-stories · 4 years

Note

Hello! Sorry to bother you but I was wondering where or how to start getting into the protest thing, I’m a small child and idk how this stuff works but what those officers did was BEYOND disgusting and I wanna help protest! So if you have any info you could give me that’d be awesome and I’d really appreciate it! I love your blog btw ^^

Hi! You’re not a bother at all! But I did see from an ask you sent thetickleeraven that you are 13, and I would highly recommend that if you do go to any protests, you do so with someone you trust over the age of 18. Your enthusiasm for activism is wonderful, but a minor is still a minor, and that comes with a host of issues - parental consent is probably needed or you could be forcefully taken from the protest and brought back home by the police. People around you could be accused of kidnapping or other unsightly activities done to a minor (even if they didn’t do it, anti groups and cops will take any advantage they can get, and we’ve already seen them assume guns in the hands of people that literally had empty hands so) and therefore arrested for crimes they didn’t actually commit. Plus, protest or no protest, the streets aren’t safe for unaccompanied minors.

But! If you do have a trusted adult in your life willing to go with you, here are some minor-specific tips: Stay With Your Adult. If approached by a cop, or even by anyone you don’t trust, coordinate beforehand to have the adult respond for you so that it is clear a) you are not being forced, and b) you are with an adult who is taking charge of your actions and wellbeing during the peaceful protest. Have responses prepared in advance to leading questions that would try to make you “admit” you’re in an unsafe position, as this could again cause the adults around you to be accused of and arrested for fabricated crimes. Unfortunately, I would say that if you can’t go with an adult, don’t go: the danger to both yourself and the movement is too high.

Do Not act out, no matter what anyone else at the protest is doing. If your accompanying adult does something dangerous - such as threatening the police with violence, committing vandalism, etc - DIP. Get out of there, because that person is not concerned for your wellbeing and may well drag you down a road that can get you hurt by or in trouble with the police. In general, despite protesting you want to stay on the good side of the law - don’t give the police any reason to react to what you’re doing. Chanting, marching, things of that nature are fine, but don’t spit in the face of a cop - that’s assault right there. The more peaceful the protest, the less chance of the police being able to justifiably threaten and be violent towards the protesters. If you’re unsure of what to do, stick to something more passive, such as simply repeating “black lives matter,” rather than letting your anger and disgust get the better of you.

Now that you’ve got general conduct down, let’s talk about supplies: food and water, definitely, as protests almost always involve walking multiple miles. Don’t be afraid to stop when you’ve reached your physical limit; no one will be mad. General first aid supplies (personally I would bring a literal first aid kit, but also I’m a safety nut, ha) and protest-specific supplies like a water bottle with baking soda (3 teaspoons of baking soda to every 8 ounces of water, well shaken) for flushing out your eyes in case of tear gas. Response to rubber bullets unfortunately depend on where they are, but it seems cops are mostly aiming for the face so - facial wounds bleed a lot, and that can be scary, but they usually aren’t as bad as they appear. I suggest watching a wound care first aid video before going to a protest and using that to make sure you have what you need to do things like stop bleeding and treat superficial face cuts. IF it can be done safely and without causing more damage, remove any particles in the wound before disinfecting to prevent infection due to foreign objects; if not, leave it to a professional or someone with more experience. With how young you are, I’d honestly say not to mess with much more than a nose bleed on your own. I don’t doubt your ability, but there will be more experienced people around that you can help by fetching water or giving your spare first aid supplies - always follow the lead of the most experienced person when giving aid. If they say back off, back off. If they tell you to put pressure on something for them, do that.

Dressing for the occasion - you want to wear clothes that cover as much of you as possible, with no logos or identifying features. Preferably all black clothes if you can. Use clothing to cover identifying features - a mask on your face, a beanie over your hair, cover any tattoos or piercings. Wear goggles to prevent the effects of tear gas as much as possible, with the added bonus of obscuring your eyes. As my friend likes to say, no face = no case. If they don’t know who you are, you can’t get in trouble regardless of what you do, especially as a minor. Do not use blue shoelaces - they imply that you have either killed or are planning to kill a cop. Do use appropriate footwear, protective boots would be great if you have them.

Last but not least, your “in case of emergency” plan. Hopefully you won’t need it since you’ll be with an adult, but just to be on the safe side I’ll add it in. First of all, make sure you have a safe, secure ride to and from the protest. You do NOT want to be stuck in the area once the protesters leave, as that makes it more likely for you to be singled out, identified, or followed by police. Have a back up if need be. If you have an iPhone, use the Medical ID feature under health in the settings to set up not only information on any illnesses or medications you may have, but also to list emergency contact information so it can be accessed without having to unlock your phone (picture below)

Hitting emergency in the bottom left corner will take you to the emergency call screen, with a Medical ID button at the bottom left again that will display all the info I just mentioned. From there a person can just click one of your emergency contacts to call them.

In addition, there is this feature:

This will let someone automatically call the local emergency services AND send a message to your emergency contacts giving them your location and letting them know you had to contact emergency services. When you’ve got this set up, make sure to tell the people around you at the protest that if anything happens and you can’t do it yourself, you need them to either use your phone to contact emergency services as shown above or to call one of you contacts on the emergency screen. DO NOT have these numbers readily visible on your person, as the media has often made a point of recording the numbers and allowing the audience to use the knowledge to abuse the contacts without regard for your or their safety.

Make sure you know where you’re going, who you’re with, and what to do if you get separated before you even step out of the street. Have a game plan, and stick to it the best of your ability. I would suggest not being directly in the front, back, or outer sides of the protest until you reach adulthood - the likelihood of you being hurt is far greater in those areas, and those people on the side are the ones most likely to branch off in order to do harmful or illegal activities.

Phew, sorry that was so long! I think that’s the best I can give you. Good luck, and if you have any more questions, or just want to talk, I’ve got my asks and my pms open for you! Good luck and stay safe 💕

Edit - I just realized I didn’t mention how to find a protest! Social media is the best place to hear about local protests; personally I recommend Facebook because it “schedules” events with when, where, and sometimes how many people are attending (remember the Area 51 raid? That started as a Facebook event, and see how many people responded to that?). Find a protest you want to/feel safe as you can attending, and start planning (supplies, emergency contacts, transport) from there! I would find something that gives you a few days notice to get your things together.

#black lives matter

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cosmonaughty · 5 years

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I recently re-watched Season 1 of Fargo FX and, as is the case with every great show or movie, there were things I noticed that I had missed in earlier viewings. A few of these had to do with the portrayal of hospitals in film, which is another small obsession of mine, so I thought that I would take the time to combine these two interests and talk about the way that Fargo FX depicts hospitals. I will be mentioning the inaccuracies in this portrayal and the way that the liberties that are taken advance the plot and enhance the mood of certain scenes. By pointing out these inaccuracies, I am not trying to criticize the show or its writers, I’m just using my specific experiences to talk at length about something I love.

(Also, this post will contain big ol’ spoilers for Season 1 of Fargo FX, so go watch it if you haven’t yet and then come back.)

There are a few scenes that I wanted to discuss here, and I will bring them up chronologically. In episode 5, Lester is rushed to the hospital in an ambulance with what appears to be sepsis resulting from a shotgun pellet lodged in his hand. In the following episode, he sneaks out of the hospital to frame his brother for his wife’s murder. He does this by switching beds with his roommate, whose face is bandaged. As far as accuracy goes, it pretty much goes without saying that this concept is pretty farfetched, but I’ll run down the issues here anyway.

It’s never really clear to me what injuries require intensive care in this show (more on that later), but I will say that Lester recovers from sepsis in what must be record time. When I had more or less the same thing, my body essentially held down its own power button and restarted everything. I was in the ICU for multiple days, though I’m not sure how many because I wasn’t lucid the entire time, and I was pumped full of fluids and antibiotics, as well as hooked up to multiple tubes and wires.

Lester, however, is in excellent condition pretty much as soon as the source of his infection is removed, despite having been delirious, vomiting, sweating, shivering, and all that other fun stuff only the night before. His room seems to be on the general ward and the only thing hooked up to him is an IV, which appears to be dispensing saline and nothing else.

He is also under the care of what may be the least competent nurse I’ve ever seen in any show. Nurse Farber comes in to transport Lester’s roommate to radiology, but if she had checked his bracelet, she would have realized she was transporting the wrong patient. She also moves the entire hospital bed, rather than moving the patient to a gurney or a wheelchair, as has been my experience in the past (those beds are portable, but they’re very heavy and unwieldy).

However, these aren’t “mistakes”. They are deliberate choices that serve to move the plot along. We can’t put the story on hold so that Lester has a couple of weeks to recover and gain his strength back, so that process needs to be hurried along for the sake of the plot. If the nurse had checked his bracelet, his plan would have been foiled and, again, the plot would not be able to progress. If she had moved him to a wheelchair or gurney, he wouldn’t have been able to smuggle a change of clothes with him. So, these choices don’t arise from the writers’ ignorance of hospital procedure, they just need to bend some aspects of reality to advance the plot.

I would also like to point out some things this scene gets right about the hospital (based on my experience).

This room layout is pretty accurate. I like the little details like the plastic cup + bendy straw that everyone always has on their bedside table (even if you can lift a cup to your mouth, a bendy straw is required. It’s like an unwritten rule). I like the detail that the windows don’t open and I really appreciate that they didn’t have Lester pull out his IV like every renegade tv character seems to do. Instead, he simply disconnects the port from the tube so that he can move around, which I’m sure is more difficult than he makes it look but it’s leaps and bounds better than the old rip-em-out technique that I seem to see all the time.

I also like that the nurse uses the pain scale, which is pretty standard but I get a kick out of it. And, believe it or not, I have actually been deposited in the hall and left alone by nurses while waiting for imaging, which is how Lester manages to escape in the first place. Personally, I’ve never made it out the front door, but I haven’t tried that hard.

Now that we’ve talked about how the writers take liberties to advance the plot, let’s look at how similar inaccuracies can be used enhance the mood of a scene. If you want to see me get emotional (you sadist), get me talking about episode 7. In this episode, Molly, having been hospitalized after an emergency splenectomy, makes a trip from her room on the general ward to question Mr. Wrench, who is in custody in the ICU after having been shot twice by her (it’s not clear where he was shot, but he indicates his upper right chest, so somewhere in that area). He uses a white board to ask about his partner (Mr. Numbers) and Molly confirms that he is dead. She makes an attempt to connect with him and asks for his help in finding Lorne Malvo, but he shuts her out by refusing to look at her and she leaves. Later, in episode 8, Malvo shows up to taunt Wrench about having killed his partner, as well as to commend him for coming closer to killing him than anyone else had in the past. He gives Wrench the handcuff key and leaves.

Like I said earlier, it’s not clear what requires intensive care in this show, since Mr. Wrench doesn’t appear to be any worse off physically than Molly is (or than Lester was earlier). He does have more stuff attached to him, which is…good(?), but let’s talk about this ICU room:

This looks nothing like any ICU room I’ve ever stayed in. For one thing, in my experience the bed has always been facing the door, not inward to the rest of the room. I assume this is to make it easier to provide emergency care, which is the function of just about everything in the ICU. For this same reason, there’s very little privacy; the doors are usually clear glass and people come in and out all the time (nobody checks on patients in this show).

As I mentioned above, he has more “gear” (no, that’s not the correct term, but just be glad I didn’t call it “swag”) than either Molly or Lester, but far less than I would expect to see. There are maybe two bags on that IV pole, so probably saline and morphine (no blood/plasma/antibiotics/other medications). He’s got a heart monitor and a pulse oximeter, but no oxygen or bp monitor. Whether I like it or not, I’m always given oxygen in the ICU (which I tend to remove as soon as possible, apologies to my nurses) and if he was shot in the chest, he might actually need it. I’m also not convinced that heart monitor is working, since it doesn’t fluctuate at all when Malvo shows up in episode 8. ALSO: that bed rail should be up; I don’t care if he is handcuffed in place, that looks like a fall risk to me. Who is running this place?

(I’m also kinda jealous, because I’ve never been in an ICU room with this much natural light.)

As I mentioned before, there is specific intent behind these omissions and changes. For one thing, if there were several different machines and wires and lines and the like, the shot would be really busy and it would be distracting, both visually and auditorily, as hospital equipment tends to beep and beep and beep and beep.

Additionally, the shots are very clean, which effectively communicates a sterile environment to the audience; the natural light from the window compliments the Season 1 aesthetic really well and it also contributes somewhat to the coldness of the scenes in this room.

Speaking of which, this is as good a time as ever to bring up something I only consciously noticed very recently. Let’s go back to episode 7 and take a look at the difference between his room and Molly’s.

It’s very subtle, but the light above her bed is a warmer tone; her bedding is also comprised of warmer, lighter tones. Additionally, there’s some framed artwork on the wall, and most importantly she is surrounded by people (and flowers) in every shot.

Even in reverse shots of her, the frame contains color and warm tones. Contrast this with a similar OTS shot of Wrench in his hospital room. The temperature of the scene is a lot colder and the frame surrounding him is empty, which is excellent shorthand to communicate loneliness and alienation.

His room also has some kind of mesh over the window, the practical purpose of which (if there is one) eludes me. As I mentioned earlier, hospital windows don’t open, something the writers are obviously aware of, and I’ve personally never been in a hospital room that had a grate or bars over the windows. Regardless of its practical purpose, this is another detail that contributes to the theme of isolation that is present in the design of these scenes. Being in the hospital can be a lonely, alienating experience, which is something I feel is communicated really well here.

These are subtle decisions that make a huge impact on the mood of the scene. I’m gonna be real with you right now, Mr. Wrench is my favorite character and this scene breaks my heart every time I see it. A good deal of that is owed to the quality of the show’s writing and the amazing talent of Russell Harvard and Allison Tolman, but it is always fun to see how my emotions are being relentlessly manipulated by the cinematographer as well. Good job, you guys.

I want to conclude with a proposed alternative to the staging of that last scene.

As you can see here, this scene is set during the day, with daylight clearly visible from the window. However, imagine how the emotional intensity might be different if the scene was set at night.

In my experience, nighttime in the hospital can be the most difficult, emotionally speaking, and it’s something I’ve even come to dread as a patient. For the most part, visitors have to go home, the room is dark but the lights are on in the hall and the nurses’ station. You can’t sleep because you’re uncomfortable and people keep coming in to take vitals and blood, and overall it’s very lonely.

So, imagine this scene exactly as it is played out in Season 1, but now instead of a closed off room with daylight coming through the window, the lights in the room are dimmed, it’s night outside (maybe street lights are visible through the window, but not too much). There is a soft glow coming from the heart monitor. Molly is sitting beside the bed with her back to the open door rather than the window. In the background the lights are on in the hall, you can see hospital staff going about their routine in the background. His life is falling apart in this scene, but it’s business as usual for everyone else. Even Molly, as sympathetic as she is, is just doing her job here.

I’m not saying that this staging would have been better, but it would have had a different emotional intensity. I like to see how the environment of the hospital could be used to enhance the mood of a scene, rather than simply act as a back drop because hospitals are deeply personal places, but can be so alienating at the same time. That said, I think that the way they used the environment to impart that sense of loneliness was excellent, and I support the decision to omit certain specifics that might compromise the mood or the flow of the plot.

Oh, and, if you still haven’t done it: go watch Fargo FX.

#fargo fx #fargo season 1 #lester nygaard #lorne malvo #mr wrench #molly solverson

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