#you know from being called a moronic failure when i was struggling back in first term

[mishkakagehishka]

My stomach hasn't stopped turrrrrning sbbsbsbssnsnsn

[cc-tinslebee]

Okay, so, about a month ago, my brain just conjured up probably the most random au possible: Legally Blonde Adam Banks/banksway au.

Believe me, it's as chaotic as it sounds, but lowkey, I'm kind of in love with it.

Adam never joins the Ducks because there aren't any Ducks to join. Bombay never had to do community service with District Five so there was no one to realise that Adam was on the wrong team all along. He continues to play for the Hawks and, eventually, the Eden Hall Warriors, never getting the chance to become the well-rounded individual we know him as because he's never known anything other than his rich privilege and the "win at all costs" mentality. He ends up going to college on a hockey scholarship and not straight to the NHL or the AHL (shocking, I know). While he's unsure of his major and where his life is heading, he finds solace in the fraternity he joins, which, by some sheer twist of fate, Jesse and Guy have also miraculously joined.

And his life is perfect for a while. He's the star player on yet another school's hockey team, all of his fraternity brothers adore him (though, it took a bit for Jesse to warm up to him), and his secret, not-really-official thing with his former teammate is going swimmingly. (Not to slander my boy, but I was picturing Larson for the role of Warner, purely because the alternative seems to be Rick Riley and that's kind of an unsettling image-- though, maybe that's the point?)

But then his secret boyfriend breaks up with him because, with his high aspirations in life, he needs to be "more serious." And dating Adam Banks, a guy in a stereotypical fraternity who only really knows hockey, in 2001 isn't exactly the white-picket-fence life he's looking for if he's going to be a politician.

And since this non-Duck Adam clearly doesn't have the braincells that canon Adam does, in his devastation, he decides it's a brilliant idea to prove that he is serious by applying to Harvard Law. His parents try to talk him out of it, since they want him to pursue his dreams of hockey, but being a lawyer is a respectable career so they can't exactly argue with him.

He gets accepted thanks to Jesse, Guy, and the rest of his fraternity helping him study for the LSAT and keeping him on track. He's trying his darndest when he gets to Harvard, but (despite his struggle not being as significant as Elle Woods'), not a lot of people take him seriously as an aspiring lawyer, considering him a meathead jock who only got in because of daddy's money.

And that's about the time he meets Linda, who he vaguely remembers from his time at Eden Hall. What he doesn't remember is her being so competitive, because she's deliberately beating him at every turn, just trying (and kind of succeeding) at making him look like a fool. To make matters worse, all of the sudden, she's engaged to his ex-boyfriend, who is very adamant about never telling anyone that he and Adam were more than friends (because, you know, early 2000s homophobia and such).

But things get a little brighter for Adam when he meets Charlie, an undergrad teacher's assistant who gives him all sorts of advice about surviving the school. He introduces him to Professor Bombay, who Charlie claims is the only reason he survived his first year and quickly becomes Adam's favourite teacher, and Charlie's childhood friend Connie, who aspires to be a state senator one day. Charlie's charismatic and even if he's not the most well-liked person at Harvard, Adam feels a weight lifted off his shoulders once he becomes friends with him and Connie. Things become a little easier.

Just before he and Charlie start getting really close, Adam meets Casey at a local diner on a day he's feeling particularly upset and alone, and the two start bonding almost immediately. (He bullshits his way into scaring an ex-husband of hers with legal repercussions he has no idea about and she basically adopts him in return.) It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to realise that it's not just a coincidence that Casey and Charlie share the same last name, which results in poor Adam feeling extremely embarrassed for not connecting the dots sooner while Charlie's having the time of his life teasing him for it. Eventually, when the dust of that settles, Charlie and Adam join forces to set Casey and Bombay up, their schemes borderline ridiculous at times, but they'rere not exactly failing.

And after realising he isn't the Warriors moron she thought he was for going on five years, Linda starts warming up to Adam, which is surprisingly nice? She figures out on her own that there used to be something between him and her fiancé, and is more understanding of Adam than she is mad. Linda actually spills to him the lengths Adam's ex had to go through to actually get into Harvard, aligning more with the rumours about Adam's acceptance being bought than having the aptitude for the law that Linda and Adam share. (This may be me saying Linda and Adam friendship rights, what of it-- /lh)

To make things all the better, Bombay chooses Adam, Linda, Connie, Charlie, and Adam's ex to be on his legal team for a murder case he's responsible for (and while he knows about Adam and Charlie's ploys to hook him up with Charlie's mom, they're his favourites, so he doesn't say anything).

And this is just so much better than anything he had before. After all the initial unpleasantness, Linda and Connie become some of the most genuine friends he's ever had. He misses Guy and Jesse, of course, and he'd never take them for granted, but back when he was with them at the fraternity, a part of him was still being as superficial as he had been in middle and high school. Being authentic for once in his life is liberating.

And Charlie's just about the most considerate person Adam's ever met. Adam doesn't even mind when Charlie teases him over his absurd and juvenile insults because he's just this source of light for Adam, supporting him and always pushing him to be the best version of himself. His ex hardly even exists when Charlie's around because his energy is just so contagious that Adam starts falling for him long before he even realises it. (And when Jesse and Guy come to visit, there's a moment where it all clicks and the four of them realise their history together, however brief. I strongly maintain that they'd be that Starkid meme: "Fucking Hawks? We hated you guys!" "We hated ourselves!" But it does make Adam realise how much better off he would've been if he had Charlie and his team when he was little instead of the Hawks, and it just further makes him understand that people like Larson and Rick Riley just aren't worth it.)

But there's also another revelation Adam goes through. Between helping Casey, his rigorous studies, and his position working with/for Bombay, something just clicks for Adam. He likes being able to help people, fighting for the good guys who may not have the resources they need to be properly defended. Practicing law calls to him in the same way hockey did; it's the feeling of knowing this is what he's meant to do. He still loves hockey, he always will, but it helps him finally grasp that there's a world for him outside of it; when hockey ends for him, there's something equally as rewarding that he can pursue, which was something he never thought he would have.

I haven't a single coherent thought about this au past that point except for these little inklings of an ending--

There's absolutely no SA scene like the movie had; Bombay's just Adam and Charlie's favourite teacher and those are his boys, so he's going to make sure they succeed as if his life depends on it.

With that said, Bombay believes in them both enough to let them finish the case because with their joined determination/stubbornness (and Adam's in with the defendant), Adam and Charlie are a force to be reckoned with and he knows it.

After a handful of comedic failures, they do end up succeeding at their attempts to set Casey and Bombay up, and they start living together sometime during the kids' Junior year :) (All I'm asking is for one (1) story with a Casey/Gordon endgame-- I just think they're neat--)

Linda dumps her fiancé (as she should) and goes on to live her best wlw life as a successful lawyer. (If I'm not mistaken, Linda's actress actually is a lawyer, which is a pretty cool fun fact!!)

Adam and Linda's ex gets the Warner ending because, man, screw that guy /lh (rip to Larson if this is him, I'm sure you'll get a nice endgame in some other universe, king)

Honorary mention for Connie, who was going long distance with Guy this entire time to everyone but Jesse's shock, and they get their Game Changers endgame of State Senator Connie Moreau and stay-at-home dad Guy Germaine with their seven -- sorry, three -- children :)

Adam's an absolute bundle of nerves after graduation, which definitely concerns Charlie. So, when he asks if he's okay, Adam starts nervously monologuing about their time together until he runs out of breath. He ends it by proposing to him, and Charlie smiles so surely at him when he says yes. They both become damn good public defenders and stay engaged until the point they can legally get married, but they're practically husbands long before that happens.

Also, if I did my math right (which I should’ve, it’s my entire basis for my Share Your Address series), the Ducks’ would have the same graduating class year as Elle Woods anyway (2004), which is pretty neat!

Thank you once again for listening to me ramble :)

[lloydskywalkers]

hey idk if you’re doing requests but if you are can you give us the fluffy kai and lloyd sibling content we deserve?? like ummm maybe kai helping lloyd to do homework or something even tho they don’t go to school lmao 😂 i just need something pure :)

i am so very behind on replies but!! in my defense, i started a response for this, got about 10K words in, then realized i needed to give it an actual structure. this is not the 10K words one, but it is, technically, fluffy Kai and Lloyd sibling content? i hope it’s something along the lines of what you wanted :’D

Lloyd decides he wants his ear pierced at three forty-five in the debatable hours of the morning, which isn’t the oddest thing Lloyd has ever decided he desires at that time. But it isn’t usual, either, so Kai decides he probably does, at least, need to ask what brought this on as he begins superheating the edge of the needle so neither of them end up with tetanus, or something.

He’s a responsible brother, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to tell Lloyd no. That would require Kai pretending his own piercing never existed, which is impossible, since Lloyd was the one to help him out back when it got infected and Kai almost lost his entire upper ear.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Lloyd rolls his eyes. “You were just being a baby about it.”

“Oh yeah?” Kai shoots back. “Look who’s talking. I haven’t even touched your ear yet and you’re already wincing.”

“You’re taking forever,” Lloyd says testily. “Why can’t you just pierce it already?”

“Excuse me for trying to make it look good,” Kai says. “But if you really want an off-center piercing, be my guest.”

“No, no, make it look good,” Lloyd protests, straightening where he’s sitting across the bedroom floor from Kai.

Fortunately, they’re in the monastery tonight, otherwise they’d be crammed into the bathroom, or wherever else in the Bounty they wouldn’t wake everyone up. They’ve stashed away in Lloyd’s room, since he’s the furthest from Zane and therefore the least likely to be caught, if something goes wrong. Not that anything’s going to go wrong, of course, but you can never be sure, with them.

“Where’d you want it, again?” Kai asks, as he squints at the tiny earring stud they scavenged from Nya’s bag. He figures she’d support this as a worthy cause enough not to mind. Hopefully.

“On the right side?” Lloyd drums his fingers on the edge of his knee, a bit anxiously. “I sleep on my left more often, so yeah, the right. Just — just the normal ear piercing, for now.”

“For now, huh,” Kai mutters, carefully measuring out rubbing alcohol over the earring, before deciding to drown it in the bottle, for good measure.

“Well, I might decide I want another,” Lloyd crosses his arms. He winces. “Unless Sensei or the others kill me for this, first.”

“Lloyd, if piercing your ear is the worst thing you ever do as a teen, I’ll give you all the piercings you want myself,” Kai says. “And if anybody gives you trouble about it, just make some snarky comment, like, ah—”

“An earring is better to be stabbed with than a knife?”

“…FSM’s sake,” Kai sighs, staring at the bottle of rubbing alcohol and briefly entertaining how it’d taste. “Sure. Why not.”

Lloyd doesn’t look entirely reassured, even with his fun little jokes. “It is better than being stabbed with a knife, right?” he asks. “Like, I can do knife-stab pain, but I was kinda hoping it wouldn’t hurt that bad, you know…?”

Kai rolls his eyes. “It’ll hardly hurt at all,” he assures him, as he reaches for the little cotton balls and soaking one in alcohol. “I promise. You’re a ninja. With the pain tolerance you have, you’re probably not even gonna feel it.”

“Uh-huh, if you say — hey!” Lloyd flinches back from his hand, eyes wide in betrayal.

“Would you relax, it’s just the alcohol,” Kai frowns, going for his ear with the cotton ball again.

Lloyd makes a face, but lets him dab the alcohol on this time. “It’s cold,” he complains.

“Keep whining about it and we’re going back to the clip-on earring plan.”

“No, no, I want them pierced,” Lloyd says quickly. Kai smothers a laugh at how he attempts to appear relaxed, swiping the cotton ball over his earlobe once more for good measure. Satisfied that Lloyd, at least, won’t suffer any immediate crippling infections, Kai grabs for the needle they’re using, soaking the tip in alcohol.

“You…you know what you’re doing, right?” Lloyd asks, suddenly apprehensive now that the needle’s come into play.

“Of course I do, who do you think I am?” Kai says. “I pierced Nya’s ears when she was younger. I would’ve pierced Jay’s the first week we met, but he chickened out last minute.”

Lloyd presses his lips together, hiding a laugh. “If you’d come up to me with a needle the first week we met, I probably would’ve booked it, too.”

“I wasn’t bad,” Kai huffs, kneeing him in the side.

Lloyd runs a hand through his hair, spiking the edges up as he scowls, pitching his voice deeper. “I’m gonna be the green ninja, and none of you losers better get in the way—”

“I never said that!” Kai exclaims, swatting Lloyd across the head as he cackles. “You watch it, or I might slip up with the needle.”

“Sounds like something a green gi-stealer would say.”

“You’re such a brat,” Kai grumbles, hiding the heat rising in his cheeks by busying himself with the earring packaging. “I never sounded like that. And you’re one to talk, with that squeaky little evil laugh you used to do.”

“Alright, I’m dropping it, I’m dropping it,” Lloyd says hastily, his teasing faltering at the threat of turning the tables.

Kai smirks, shaking his head. “Alright,” he says, flexing his wrist once. “I’m gonna ice your ear so it’s numb, then do the actual piercing. You want a count down?”

“Surprise me,” Lloyd says, his hands fisting anxiously in the edges of his sweatshirt.

“Sure thing,” Kai nods absently. “So,” he starts conversationally, as he presses the ice to the back of Lloyd’s ear. “What did bring this on? And don’t give me the teen rebellion thing — seriously, this time.”

Lloyd hesitates, then sighs. He bites his lip, his eyes staring somewhere beyond the ceiling. “I dunno,” he mutters. “I just remembered, the other day, that I’d thought they were super cool as a kid.”

Kai stifles the urge to remind him that he’s still a kid, and continues to listen instead, nodding at him to go on.

Lloyd makes a face. “I don’t know. The mission today was — it was dumb, and I didn’t like how I felt afterwards, so I guess I wanted to do something stupid.”

“Ah,” Kai exhales quietly. He’d had a feeling it was about the mission, but he couldn’t be sure. It hadn’t even been that bad, on the whole, but the sound of Cole’s head cracking against the floor was enough to escalate it right into terrible territory.

Kai’s still thanking his stars that Cole’s got such a thick head. Concussions aren’t fun, even when they do have the chance to treat them immediately.

“I just…I thought maybe it’d be nice to mess up on purpose, for once,” Lloyd continues, his voice quiet. “When I wasn’t trying not to.”

Kai’s frown deepens at that one, his hand hovering where he’s caught the edge of Lloyd’s ear, his thumb pressed against the end of the needle. His sudden concerns over Lloyd’s potentially earring-destroying, Oni/dragon blood are swept away by the plaintively depressing tone Lloyd’s using. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, hesitating.  

He understands the sentiment, of course — probably too well to really put into words. Kai’s not exactly a stranger to messing up. He’s definitely not a stranger to beating yourself up after you mess up, either. He also understands, too well, how it can all build up sometimes — the constant fear of failure, the pressure not to mess up.

Sometimes you’re just struck with the irrational desire to mess up on purpose out of pure spite. Kai gets that. And Lloyd’s at least rational enough to pick something that won’t hurt anyone, and is more likely to get a laugh out of them all, if anything. Kai tries not to roll his eyes fondly.

Plus, Kai would be lying if he said it doesn’t warm his heart that Lloyd’s come to him for it. Which he should, of course, Kai’d better have first dibs on Lloyd’s first piercing, but still. The sentiment, and all.

“Well,” Kai finally says, realizing he’s left Lloyd hanging. “I don’t know about messing up, because this looks pretty rad. But it was definitely your call, so remember to tell Sensei that when he sees it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Lloyd takes a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “Okay, I’m ready. Stab my ear, Kai.”

“I already did, moron. Did you miss what I just said?”

Lloyd’s eyes pop open, and he blinks. “Huh? For real?”

“Told you,” Kai snorts. “Ninja pain tolerance. Ear piercing’s got nothing on Cole when he scores a hit on you in practice.”

Lloyd’s frozen for a moment, then he scurries over to the mirror, brushing his lengthening hair away so he can get a proper look at it. Kai hovers behind him, suddenly slightly anxious.

“Do you, um, do you like it? You can always take it out, if you don’t. It’ll close over on its own, and you can like, get an actual professional to do it—”

“Shut up, Kai, I love it,” Lloyd beams, tracing his finger over the little silver stud. “I look cool.”

Kai lets out a tiny breath of relief, smirking in satisfaction instead. “As close to cool as you can get, beansprout.”

“Whatever,” Lloyd rolls his eyes, before returning to admiring himself in the mirror. “You’re just jealous I have a super cool piercing, and you don’t.”

“Hey, I gave you that piercing,” Kai scowls. “Just wait until my ear finally heals, I’ll show you cool.”

“Gee, yeah, I can’t wait to see what cheap skull earring you infect yourself with this time.”

“Alright buddy, you’re toeing it dangerously close to the line,” Kai grabs Lloyd in a headlock, digging his knuckles into Lloyd’s thick hair as he yelps, struggling to pull himself free.

“Ow, hey, Kai, watch my ear—”

“Little jerk,” Kai finally releases him with a huff.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me forever,” Lloyd replies, making a face as he brushes his hair back into place.

“Plenty of time to watch you make more mistakes, then,” Kai replies, easily.

Lloyd briefly tenses up, his expression working. Kai slings an arm around his shoulder, briefly squeezing.

“It wasn’t your fault, Lloyd,” he says, gently. “Cole’s gonna tell you the same thing, ten times over.”

“Y-yeah, okay,” Lloyd murmurs, staring at the rug. “I got it.”

Kai eyes him for a brief moment, then shakes his head, carefully flicking the edge of his ear. “This, however? Is definitely your fault. So don’t go selling me out when Sensei bites your head off for it.”

“I’m not a sellout,” Lloyd huffs. “This’ll be nothing. Wait ’til you see what he says about my tattoo, that’ll be the real meltdown.”

Kai barks a laugh out at that, sweeping the cotton balls back into the bag. He then pauses, Lloyd’s word choice hitting him.

“Hey, what do you mean, your tattoo.”

“Oh, would you look at the time—”

“Lloyd, I swear to FSM, if you went and got a tattoo without me—”

[holydragon2808]

Thoughts On Dragon Age II after Replaying (Massive Spoilers)

Hello fellow DA fans! It's been quite some time since I last posted anything here on Tumblr. Hope everyone has been safe during all of the world's craziness. Figured I'd post something to let people know I'm still alive.

Anyway, DA2 was first released back in 2011. I was 20-21 years old at the time. Back then, while I still acknowledged the lack of genuine player agency with Hawke (in comparison to the Warden before them), I did belong in the camp of people believing that people went way overboard with the DA2 critiques regarding those complaints, at least back then.

Now though? After replaying the game again a decade or so later, and also in light of the Inquisitor and DAI, I now personally believe that Hawke's story stands out as (overall), all the more unbalanced in comparison to both the Warden and Inquisitor.

Massive Spoilers for the franchise abound beyond this point. Last warning.

Despite a lot of the old critiques leveled at DA2, it isn't a 100% terrible experience, and despite the oncoming rant, I do love the game overall.

Even though I've personally always thought that DA2 story was centered around tragedy a bit TOO much, in light of the growing franchise and the directional tone of the other protagonists thus far, it unfortunately stands out even more to me, and not in a good way.

A shame really because DA2 could have been a better and interesting contrast to DAO in tone and direction had it been more balanced with meaningful successes and failures for Hawke as a character rather than veering too far over into angst and tragedy.

For example, in DAO, your Warden character is railroaded into success against the Blight no matter what. Regardless of the origin, regardless of what sort of allies you acquire, no matter if you live or die in the end or which warden gets the final blow, you succeed.

This sort of narrative framing gave the writers a much easier way to balance genuine tragedy and success throughout the journey without veering too far in one direction or the other, and also without making nearly everything the player does seem like an exercise in futility.

In other words, there were failures and successes more properly balanced throughout, from experiencing meaningful failures and heartache during the chosen origin stories, to failure at Ostagar, to having more balance with the party members and their struggles (they weren't too boring or too dysfunctional), romances that stood out as a light for the Warden amidst all the fighting and death and their massive burden, to succeeding with building the army to take on the Darkspawn, to potential personal sacrifice to save the world and so on.

The option to play a more tragic, angsty or "evil" character who alienates everyone around them and then ultimately dies in the end is there too. The point is that the game largely gave the player the reins and let THEM decide what sort of story they were interested in shaping within the confines of the narrative railroading.

This balance just isn't there with DA2 as the player progresses. Hawke is railroaded into failure in almost every way from start to finish, whether in their personal life or with the massive political struggles in Kirkwall.

I'm sure most people would have been fine with the main plot between the mages/Templars spiraling out of their control in the end (thanks Anders), the Qunari rampaging no matter what, and even the Hawke family being forcefully separated as the story progressed.

However, to me some of the railroaded bleak tragedy should have been offset by Hawke (and by extension the player) at least having the OPTION of being able to keep their family alive.

I'm fine with the tragedy of losing the whole family being ONE POSSIBLE option in the game, but when this tragedy along with the main plot failures, the dysfunctional party members that are too problematic to help ease Hawke's burdens (in fact, they all add to Hawke's worries, which if Inquisition shows anything, that it finally takes its toll on Hawke) is THE ONE AND ONLY OPTION in light of everything else wrong in Kirkwall, then that's a potential writing issue and could potentially alienate the player more than make them care about anything that happens and wonder why they aren't given the option to just nope out and leave Kirkwall to its fate.

Tragedy can be fine, don't get me wrong, but not everyone wants to role play a COMPLETE AND UTTER tragedy from start to finish with no option to deviate in any way from that narrative. Options in the way people progress (especially where people can break the story down and see the holes in the narrative where it COULD have possible but just wasn't allowed), should be presented in a ROLE PLAYING game.

I personally find it more realistic and relatable when a character experiences a nice blend of both MEANINGFUL success and failure. However, the writers seemed intent on railroading Hawke into just being at the mercy of the main plot with little to no agency.

In stark contrast to DAO, planning for the entire story in DA2 (or just in an RPG period) to end in failure no matter the player choices is already a bold enough risk on its own. It can definitely work with the proper balance of both positive and negative experiences along the way though in both the political and personal aspects of the player characters life, to keep the player actively engaged in a way that doesn't leave them thinking that their presence in the story amounts to little more than the equivalent of holding a book and simply turning the page rather than actively doing something.

But combining an already planned bleak ending with a very corrupt setting where the leaders on all sides are either completely moronic or passive, party members where the majority of them have too many burdens of their own to give Hawke a genuine sense of a reprieve from the madness even if romancing one of them (except for Varric, Aveline, and Bethany, if alive, everyone else is either a whiner or dysfunctional. It's very telling that Hawke's PET DOG gets more no strings attached visits from the party members than Hawke does. Just saying), railroading Hawke to lose the majority of their family in some way, AND having what little success and influence Hawke DOES acquire to come back and bite them in the ass in the end (Hawke struck it rich and became Champion of Kirkwall?! Awesome!.....right up until its revealed the red lyrium idol they found in the deep roads played a part in screwing up everything), then at that point, a serious argument can be made that the writers veered far too heavily into tragic overdone melodrama for some people.

How cool would it have been to be able to leave the game with "Well, okay, I couldn't do anything about the corruption in Kirkwall or the mage/Templar tensions spiraling out of control, but at least my whole family is alive and well"? There could have even been an achievement/trophy for this very outcome called "The pride of the Hawkes" or something.

Just one possible example of how the railroaded political failures could have been offset by giving Hawke, (and by extension the player), the OPTION for personal success in a more meaningful way. The option for extreme tragedy with some or even all of the Hawkes dying can still be there of course for people who want that degree of angst, but again having multiple OPTIONS is more likely to accommodate more people and their preferred play styles or stories, and thus, give more reasons to play the game multiple times.

As it stands now, sure, Hawke can save the life of one sibling, but they're still railroaded into losing one of them before the prologue is over, the other is either killed by the Blight or forced from their side in act 1 because the game said so, and the mother is forced to die in the most shock value induced way possible (nevermind not even being able to warn Leandra in act one or follow up on this quest until it's too late in act two or the guards and Templars being forcefully incompetent for this to play out like the writers want).

Those have just been my thoughts as of late. Some people argue that in a way, this is the entire point of the game. That sometimes only REALLY crappy choices exist and there may not be a third option. I agree with that to a point.

But "there might not be" and "there NEVER is" an option for an ideal third way are two very different things and IMO, DA2 suffered in veering far too heavily in the direction of the latter, often being too focused on heartbreak and shock value (looking at you "All That Remains") to really work as well as it could have.

Anyway, these are just my thoughts a decade later. Make no mistake, I still love DA2 for what it is, love the general concept and idea of DA2, just not the execution. It's just sad to me that this game could have been so much better with more development time, more options to shape Hawke's story on a more personal level (whether with an ideal outcome of everyone in the family living, or a semi tragic one where some can die depending on choices, or everyone dying), and not being railroaded into tragedy to nearly nigh ridiculous levels to the point where a giant spider nightmare residing in the Fade in a whole other game mocks Hawke for their "failure is the only option" status.

And just to further clarify my point here, true, Kirkwall was a ticking time bomb with or without Hawke being there. They made the tensions between the two factions apparent as far back as DAO. A Mage/Templar war was all but inevitable, as was Anders eventually losing himself to Justice/Vengeance and after exhausting all peaceful options, finally doing the unthinkable and "forcing everyone to choose a side". That part was fine. And it makes sense for this part of the story to remain static and unchanged no matter what (as I said before, the issue isn't necessarily that DA2 had a planned tragic ending or was framed as a set story within a story).

The issue is that, at the end of the day, regardless of whether this is framed as a recounting of events already played out, Bioware still chose to present this part of the story to the world as an RPG, not a novel. It's just too easy to pick apart the current execution of the narrative and find too many holes and inconsistencies, far too easy to see that Bioware wanted tragedy and completely railroaded the player into it regardless of whether or not it made sense to do so at times. Part of it is definitely that it was rushed, but not all of it.

" Genuine inevitable tragedy" (example: the mage/Templar rebellion) and "railroaded and just never given the option to question/change anything because the game/developers said so but still forcefully insisting and trying to frame it as an inevitable tragedy" are two very different things (outright confirming in Act 1 that the remains of the serial killer's vicitms did indeed belong to one of the missing women (Ninette's wedding ring) and he gave them white lilies but conveniently never given the option to bring any of this up to the guards/Templars or pursue the quest or warn Leandra until it's far too late). Leandra's death isn't the only example of this problem, but it definitely is one of the most prominent and IMO, takes away from the intended story of a good woman who met a bad end with their oldest son/daughter being unable to prevent it when the game failed to let them (and by extension the player) truly try.

DA2 could have been a great contrast to DAO. Rather than having the influence to shape the fate of the world like the Warden and succeed in their goal, they could have compromised in DA2 with having the fallout of the Kirkwall Chantry destruction and the rebellion still happening no matter what (i.e. Hawke "failing" to stop any of the madness and still ultimately forced to flee Kirkwall in the end after finally dragging the Amell line back into prominence) but still given the player the option to save their immediate family members across the story if certain choices were made throughout. I'm sure most people would have been fine with a more "bittersweet" option being presented for Hawke, (and by extension the player) in the game, especially where again, one can pick apart the narrative and see where it could have been an option, but just wasn't allowed for no other reason than seemingly because of the "True art is angsty" trope.

Bioware could still have their own canon (similarly to how Alistair is shown to be king in their canon no matter what as an example) of the ultimate tragedy if they wanted, but again, DA2 is still an RPG where players expect to have more meaningful choices reflected in how they progress, even with an inescapable darker and downer ending.

Complete and utter tragedy is fine, but I just don't think it was the best decision to have it as THE ONLY option in an RPG.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 35

💖first time reader click here💖

Reader and Eddie going on their mission. They're all morons, okay? Some canon-typical violence, bad guys being bad guys. You guys can see that I treat the fighting plot points as total crack, right?

Eddie Brock was pissed, at the Avengers mostly - for not telling him of my accident - but also at me, for the fact that I didn't call him sooner. Venom had taken over at some point, eager to participate in my plan - and it I was being honest, my uncle's space boo was the one I had relied on to participate in the mayhem that was to be caused to finally let my family breathe in peace.

The Avengers wore various expressions of guilt when an angry Eddie stormed the tower, berating them for not getting into contact with him when I was in danger. Venom growled at them, too, just the right amount of teeth and drool for Tony to quickly usher me out to 'take a walk, have some fun, build a snowman' with uncle Eddie and Venom. It was almost too easy, too predictable. The guilt that reared it's ugly head was stomped down by me and two glasses of whiskey in Eddie's rented Airbnb as I went into the fine details of my plan.

Both I and Eddie were equally surprised when Venom dropped their sarcastic, angsty teenager attitude and approached the topic with maturity, giving valuable input. The goth space goo was much, much smarter than their first impressions showed. I belatedly remembered their remark about being an apex predator species... Scary.

The plan was pretty simple.

Eddie was a professional investigative reporter and an unregistered mutant, his files being hidden so deeply due to the alien nature of the symbiote that it was unlikely that underground gangs would have any idea as to who he truly was. His involvement with SHIELD was buried under so much red tape, even Coulson himself had very little idea about Eddie's body-mate.

My uncle would sniff around the mutant underworld, just enough to catch a whiff of the mercenary's whereabouts. It should be enough if he was as famous as Natasha claimed him to be. And if it wasn't enough... I'd be bait. I doubt that the merc knew the box has been retrieved and secured; every now and then, I still caught chatter about the SHIELD agents trailing me catching a person sent to monitor me. They weren't even trying to hide that hard.

I had my suspicions SHIELD was indirectly using me as bait, too, and both Eddie and Venom were inclined to agree with the notion. Over beers and ridiculous amount of chocolate cake, a third side of the operation Baby Thief had been formed. SHIELD played their own game, the Avengers and SI threw a ridiculous amount of resources on their own and then there was me and Eddie, two halves of a whole idiot.

For once, the plan didn't go south immediately off the bat. Eddie and Venom got the information - there was a lot of uproar in the mutant community, rumours about an artifact that would let them assume their rightful place in the world, pushing the pesky humans off their pedestal. I definitely supported mutant rights - but the common notion that violence was necessary to achieve the recognition of said rights didn't sit well with me at all. Eddie agreed with me, his own curiousity pushing him to dig deeper into the situation.

My uncle could be a brilliant investigative reporter with the proper motivation and his significant other at the side. I could never tire of Venom's stories: each and every time they saved Eddie from making a clown out of himself was remembered, documented and brought up at the quickest available opportunity. I haven't laughed so hard in months.

The positives of our plan? We got a hot trail and enough information to know about the mercenary's whereabouts. We possessed the manpower needed to off him in record time, Venom eagerly offering his digestive system for our convenience.

The negatives? We'd need to bring me. Apparently there was a hefty bounty on my pretty little head and the merc himself had given up trying to chase me, hiring a bunch of muscle to do the legwork for him instead. The mercenary, a man who went by the nickname Cadre, was an ex-shield agent, who knew enough to successfully avoid the organisation following hot on his heels.

And neither SHIELD, nor Tony nor Eddie knew who had ordered the retrieval of the artifact. The mysterious person had deep pockets: all of the men were supplied with high grade weaponry and the mutants participating in the missions had equipment specifically tailored to their powers.

Perhaps, I wasn't as clever as I wanted myself to be. There was something big and ugly brewing and the bounty on my head was just the tip of the iceberg. But what was done, was done, and Venom was looking forward to a hefty meal and we set the date of Eddie "kidnapping" me in a few days time.

I hoped I'd make it home for Christmas.

The biggest surprise was that nobody suspected anything. Not even Natasha's watchful eye and inherent knowledge of shit about to be stirred - somehow, Nat always just knew those things - had revealed itself and that's how I knew it was absolutely necessary for me to be successful. There was no room for failure. In the day before my planned trip to Cadre's lair, I forced the team into a movie night and took extra time with everybody, seeing as even the most cheerful people - Thor and Wanda - walked around with sullen faces for most of the time. Perhaps, deep down, I knew that chances of my plan going awry were pretty damn high.

It felt like I was leaving for war. And perhaps, I was. The nervous, anxious energy increased as the hour X drew closer and I couldn't hide it anymore. My insomnia wore Tony's face: I could see his disappointment as clear as day, but I figured he'd forgive me for the betrayal eventually. Every single thing I hid from my newfound family made me feel a traitor. Unfortunately, there was simply no other option.

That afternoon, Eddie picked me up from the tower and drove me to one of the hideouts that belonged to Cabre. He'd tied my hands together and blindfolded me, all for show of course, whilst Venom briefly connected with my body to induce a drowsy state of mind. I didn't actually mind to be drugged and was way more wary of the symbiote's effects on my body but the space pudding extended his tentacles so quickly, I barely had the time to even swear at them.

To my (and their) surprise, it wasn't as bad as we thought it would be. In my hazy state, I briefly head Venom growl that I could be a decent short-term host if something would to happen with Eddie; I did not know how that information made me feel but did not disregard it completely. I was out of my depth on this one yet marched on towards the danger with grim determination.

"Here's the girl," Eddie's voice penetrated through the curtain of chemicals that Venom had dosed me with; I was tossed none too gently on what felt like a mattress, the landing haphazard but not painful. Venom must've dulled my pain receptors, too. "Where's our money?"

I was unceremoniously groped, my face examined by a man with ice-cold hands. Whatever he found, he deemed it satisfactory. "I'm impressed," He whistled. "We've been trying to get her for months. Care to share how you achieved this?" The strange man sounded suspicious.

"WE HAVE OUR OWN TRICKS," Venom's deep voice filled out the room like thick smoke and I just knew that the man who had been groping me was twitching in discomfort. "SO?"

"Alright, alright," The man mumbled, voice unsteady. My drowsiness slowly began to recede and I finally could focus my eyes somewhat; Eddie was partially obscured by the writhing, onyx mass of his symbiote and the man was dialing up the phone, speaking in a rapid-fire dialect I did not know. "Cabre will be here in an hour. Care for a beer?" Just like that, the man was obviously attempting to placate Eddie.

"HOT CHOCOLATE," Venom announced flatly and I had to struggle to hold back my laughter at the image of a seven feet tall tentacle monster sipping hot cocoa from a tiny porcelain cup. My nerves had me feeling ten types of way, as usual, and props to Ven making me unable to speak. I would have already killed myself by running my mouth ten times over.

The hour passed by with me floating in my mindsphere, Eddie loudly playing Candy Crush on his phone and Venom consuming ridiculous amounts of hot chocolate. It was absurd and the eerie calm was beginning to make me suspicious; I had expected... More. Threatening thugs with guns, experiments, blood tests and physical violence. Instead, the man who met with Eddie was sitting with a vacant, bored expression as he practiced card tricks in the corner furthest away from Venom.

Finally, a knock on the door forced all of us to pay attention to the newcomer. It was a tall, massively built man in his early forties. His face was covered in scars, narrow red lines that looked like small cuts; one of his eyes was completely black while the other was blue. He looked like the man at the coffee shop but at the same time, nothing like him at all.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," His voice was low and quiet. If not for the heavyweight weapon hanging over his shoulder, I would have considered him to be one of those men who only look threatening but actually are gentle giants. With steps too quiet for a man his size, he approached me, crouching down to look me in the face. "Hello, child. I've been looking for you for a long time. It's a shame we had to meet this way," He removed the strands of hair sticking to my face. For all purposes, his touch could have been considered fatherly. "Richard, bring the money." With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the man who was babysitting me and Eddie and he promptly disappeared behind the steel door.

"Hello," Eddie briefly shook his hands with Cabre after the merc left me alone. I noted Venom had disappeared into the reporter's body completely. "We are Venom," Eddie introduced himself (they introduced themselves?).

"Cabre," The Merc watched my honorary uncle with a sharp eye, taking note of Eddie's lack of weapons, his worn clothes and the shaggy hair, the bags under his eyes. "Tell me, Venom, what do you know of this child?"

"Not much," Eddie shrugged, convincingly. "Just that the Avengers picked her up for some reason and locked her up in Stark's tower. We're guessing she didn't like it much 'cuz she kept sneaking out and trying to shake off the tail. Had to go through quite a few SHIELD agents to get to her," Just like we agreed, Eddie spoke with slight disdain towards Tony and SHIELD, making sure to let Cabre believe he was on the mutants' side. "We just need the money, man. Not many people will hire us," To top it up, Eddie spread his arms, showing his skin ripple and move on it's own prominently under his ratty t-shirt. Atta boy!

Cabre appeared to have bought the lie, chuffing sympathetically, before pulling out a tablet and typing on it. "Well, not for long. My superiors have found an artifact that, if unlocked properly, will render most of the technology suppressing mutant powers useless. They won't be able to get rid of us that easily anymore."

Eddie nodded eagerly, for all purposes appearing to be ecstatic about the news. "Yeah, heard some rumors here and there. Well, you and your superiors know where to find me. I could always go with some extra cash," He scratched his head, carefully watching Cabre's fingers dance on the keyboard. "What's the kid got to do with it anyway? Seems like an ordinary spoiled brat to me," Eddie threw me a look, blinking twice. The fatigue and wariness, courtesy of Venom, had begun to recede quite some time ago; with Eddie's signal, I knew the shitshow was about to start very soon.

Eddie was smart, however, finding out the bits of information SHIELD hadn't bothered to disclose to me. The residue that the cursed box had left in me was removed, so I could not understand why SHIELD was still guarding me. There had to have been another reason, a reason that neither of us knew for sure.

Cabre paused his typing. "We've been watching her for years. She's a genius. We were hoping she could help us solve a few problems..." The merc paused to rub the bridge of his nose. "We tried to get her to come willingly but her parents forbade her from it. My superiors suggested to use the artifact but something malfunctioned." For all purposes, Cabre was looking apologetic. "I am not overly fond of kidnapping children but some things just need to be done." With that, the man turned around, landing his eyes on me. "Glad to see you're up and about." Something about his smile was unnatural, forced, malicious.

"Charmed to meet you," I sat up, dazed and confused about the turn of events. The things he was saying, they didn't add up. I hadn't received any requests for my participation in ANY kind of project, illlegal or not. No scholarships, no internship offers. Something was very, very wrong.

As soon as Cabre's back was turned, Venom enveloped Eddie, turning themselves into the seven feet tall outer space monstrosity I had seen on the first day. Their combined form was terrifying - but Cabre's fingers merely twitched at the rapid change of the situation as he took slow steps towards me. "Hmm," His voice still quiet, he once again crouched in front of me. "You fought us off once but we are many. There is nowhere to run, child," Cabre's eyes began to darken, his speech turning flat.

I recognized the speech pattern, recalled the expressionless, vacant face that stared at me. Cabre was infected with the Legion from the cursed box; I hadn't prepared for that, hadn't even regarded that, thinking the little epic speech the demon had given me was a mere intimidation tactic. Fear bloomed within me, opening it's jaws like a hungry Venus flytrap but I refused to succumb to it, clenching my fists against the waves of paralyzing terror.

Venom made a confused growling noise behind me, extending a tentacle to push Cabre away; with a sickeningly wet splat, their whole form collided with the opposite wall, sliding down it like a puddle of misshapen goop. "MORSEL, GET OUT." The symbiote growled, reforming itself back.

"Silence, beast!" Cabre shrieked, unstrapping his weapon and aiming it at Venom. No bullets came out as he pressed the trigger but my ear started ringing, eyes watering as the whole form of the symbiote began to morph and ripple. Pained groans and whines came from them. A sonic gun?

"Screw you, man," I attempted to draw Cabre's attention to myself by kicking out a leg towards the gun, disrupting his arm briefly. Things were going to shit faster than a party full of teenagers and alcohol. "Fuck you, listen, FUCK YOU!" I knew antagonizing people was my best skill and that's what I did, figuring the time needed for Venom to reassemble themself could be acquired if Cabre was pissed off enough at me.

The backhand hurt, not going to lie. I saw stars from that one sloppy hit the possessed merc delivered to my face. The adrenaline rush allowed me to stay somewhat coherent and just like that time when I was trapped in my nightmares, I dove for Cabre, winding myself around him as both of us landed on the floor in a heap of limbs.

Despite my best hopes, Venom remained a puddle of black on the floor. I saw something shiny attach itself to Eddie's chest; apparently that something prevented them from combining into one again. My smaller size proved to be a great advantage; I remembered Venom's words about being a suitable short-term host and with a shriek, I placed my palm into the nearest piece of symbiote I could reach, my vision being obscured by blackness a second later.

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[stab-the-son-of-a]

And We’re Live

“This ought to be fun.”

The man, the being, the figure, doesn’t introduce himself, of course not. He needs no introductions, not because he’s notable or particularly renowned, but because he refuses to. You may call him the announcer, capital and article optional, as that’s what he is, and all he will be. 

The Announcer adjusts the display on the screen for the optimal viewing experience. On it is a dim, possibly damp even, basement, with a small crowd of people huddled inside. Three is company, but four is a crowd, and this collection of people is certainly a crowd crammed inside. 

Three men, one woman, but only one of the men stands. He’s one of the only ones who can, as one man is clearly too weak to, and the other, the older man, has a broken leg. The woman could stand, but her faint wavering even while sitting down belies the fact her balance is not yet restored from the head injury that left a streak of blood dried in her hair.

“You recognize these, don’t you?” The Announcer asks. He asks you, in fact. You can’t recall the color of his eyes, the tone of his skin, or anything, though you can recognize his attentions on you even through the screen. “Yes. You. It’s been some time since you’ve last seen or heard from them, but I’m sure you remember.” 

The Announcer smiles. It appears, a flash of expression, but you can’t remember the emotion behind it or recognize any other feature of his before he fades away in your mind again to nothing more than a vehicle of your entertainment. He knows this. He is not the star. Your gaze slips back toward the more interesting people. Thom nods off, cradled against Dale’s side opposite to Jaden, and Summer is half hidden behind Dale’s bulk. Half, because her focus, even as fuzzy as the concussion leaves her, never wavers from Jaden. Focus, and wariness.

“When last you saw the unfortunate guests of the Pierce couple, they were not enjoying their stay. I’d wager they enjoy it less and less as the days pass. How long?” The Announcer laughs. It’s as unremarkable, and unmemorable as the rest of him. He answers his own question. “Long enough, let us say. Such trivial matters don’t lessen your enjoyment of the main event, does it?”

You feel like maybe the announcer winks, inviting you in on some inside joke or exclusive club.

On the screen, Jaden Pierce towers over a floor-bound Dale Gibson, an ugly smirk on his features, and dangles a water bottle in front of them. 

The Announcer speaks a final time. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your show, my whump aficionados.”

Jaden slowly uncaps the bottle, the seal crackling being the loudest thing in the room. Preening under the cumulative weight of his captives’ stares, he asks, “Aw did you guys want any? There’s only one bottle and really it’s like, unsanitary as hell and super nasty to share so. Take your pick, babes, which of you is desperate enough to earn it?”

“Go to hell you bastard,” Summer croaks. Clearing her throat, she glares, as if that would cow him. Instead, it seems to encourage him, a smirk growing on his face.

Jaden rolls his eyes at the display. “Ooooh I’m so scared.”

“Please. You can’t mess with this like you have our food,” Dale reasons. “We can’t last as long without water. I’ll- I won’t eat. Just please, they need water.”

“Pretty sure you’re showing every sign of dehydration too, so why aren’t you arguing for more water for all of you?” Jaden shifts the bottle to hold it in the crook of his arm before he crouches down and cups Dale’s chin, forcing their gazes to meet. “Oh that didn’t occur to you, did it? Look at those eyes. Anyone ever tell you that you got eyes that tell a story?”

Dale doesn’t justify that with a response, setting his jaw and silently returning Jaden’s curious stare with a furious glower. 

“Get your disgusting hands off him,” Summer snarls. Jaden’s attention flickers to her, and Dale immediately moves to reach out for Jaden’s face, cupping his cheek and bringing their gazes together once more. Or at least, it did, but surprise has Jaden jerking back from the contact, eyes wide and jaw clenched. Unsure of what to do with his hand, or if his impulsive action just ruined any hope of good will from their captor, Dale slowly withdraws his hand back to cover Summer from Jaden’s potential retribution. 

After a few more tense moments, he seems to find whatever he was looking for, or come to some sort of decision.

“Jesus H Christ but you’re boring these days,” Jaden grumbles half-heartedly, but he does shove Dale back. The older man tips, just barely catching himself from dragging an semi-conscious Thom to the floor with him. Noticing the fact Thom barely reacted to the motion, the young man stands back up and takes a few curious steps to the side, an odd expression on his face as he studies his collection from a new angle, and especially the branded man. “So… Uh. What’s up with Thommy boy? He seems a little... not poggers.”

“You branded him,” Dale points out evenly, forcing his panic down. “He needs proper medical attention.” 

“Well, yeah, he got branded sure, but Sunshine there looks right as rain after her little Jack and Jill impression down the stairs, and she didn’t even need anything. So why hasn’t he gotten over it yet?”

“He’s starving,” Dale explains, right as Summer snarls, “Are you really that dumb?”

That’s the perfectly wrong thing to say, as Jaden flips- his eyes dark and hateful, lips twisted into a sneer, focus entirely on her now. Dale flinches back on instinct, free arm extending to block Jaden’s path to Summer. Dale knows, Summer knows, Jaden knows, that it won’t do anything concrete to stop him, but the younger man still does not advance.

Silence descends on the room, heavy and oppressive like the midday heat leaching into the basement.

Though Dale pushes her back, bodily places himself between Jaden and his two charges, Summer continues. “How could you be this... stupid? I can see your report card now. ‘Dear Mr. and Mrs. Moron, look into McDonald’s applications’.”

Emboldened by the silence, and undeterred by the way Dale whispers for her to stop, Summer adds, “Now I know we’re going to go free. You’re going to forget something so fucking simple and get yourself in trouble. And the whole world will forget all about you, you miserable mistake of a human being.”

At the almost petulant look on Jaden’s face, Summer bursts into short, sharp laughter. “I can’t be the first to point out you’re a failure! You’re going to ruin your worthless life-”

“Be quiet,” Jaden orders. Growls. His grip on the water bottle has the plastic bloating and deforming, the flimsy packaging crinkling. “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you. Do not test me.”

“You’re too incompentent to make me do anything, idiot,” Summer fires back.

“Fucking BITCH!” His shriek ends with an abrupt and solid crack.

Dale hurries to gather Summer in his arms, to check her neck and her head. A heavy, purple bruise blooms on her face and jaw even as the swelling shuts her eye. “Come on, Summer, come on,” he whispers, “just open your eyes and look at me.”

Thankfully, despite the lurid color, she is only a little unsteady and dazed and forces her clumsy arms to prop herself up properly. Swallowing a furious sob, Summer screams at Jaden’s retreating back, “You’re fucking pathetic!”

-

Three hours later, Lab Coat Lady entered the basement, flanked by Jaden bearing that damned pistol. When Dale tried to get his attention, Jaden silently raised the gun to the center of the older man’s forehead. Only when Dale slumped and allowed the woman in pink access to Thom, even as his heartbeat climbed ever faster and higher in his throat, did Jaden lower his threat. 

Sluggish and flushed with fever, Thom struggled to cooperate as the woman ordered, except for her last demand- to remain still- as she readied to pour a faint yellow liquid down his throat. She glanced up at Dale, then Summer. Quietly, she offered little explanation (“Hydrocodone”) before tipping it back, and, when Thom realized what had hit the back of his throat, she expertly covered his mouth and nose and held his jaw shut. 

Dale watched it all, feeling like Judas.

Only after his motions slowed and his eyelids drooped did the woman in pink release her hold enough to settle him onto his back. 

From there, she debrided his burn, slathered a generous amount of antiseptic cream, and bandaged the wound with a silvery material, all under Dale’s watchful eye. 

The woman approached Summer next- and again, as soon as either she or Dale moved, Jaden leveled the gun at Thom’s head. Both captives froze, a single, too long moment of realization that despite this effort, he might still decide to blast a bullet into Thom’s skull; blissfully unaware, Thom dozed in a drugged haze. 

He kept the gun trained on Thom the whole time the lab coat lady attended to Summer’s head injury, cleaning out blood from the wound and her hair. Summer, even if only for a moment, leaned into the rhythmic sensation of fingers gently carding through the freshly detangled locks. After that was settled, the pink coated woman checked her pupils and eye tracking, and apparently gave her a clean enough bill of health. Her carving on her lower stomach received the same treatment Thom’s branding had. 

The silence began to itch, like a week without a shower, and Dale clenched his fists as best as his broken wrists allowed. He just wished someone would speak and explain this abrupt change. Was it because of what Summer said? Had they gotten through to him somehow?

Dale stared at Jaden, expecting him to say something, make some sort of joke or verbalize his threat or name what they owed for this kindness. Jaden acted like Dale didn’t exist at all. It was unnerving, the same way it was unnerving to see teachers outside school hours, or parents when they were children- someone with a previous persona acting entirely differently from what one could expect of them. Unexpected was never a good sign when it came to Jaden. 

“On your back,” Lab Coat Lady directed him, pushing him back, powerless, helpless in everyway. He couldn’t defend himself on a good day, let alone stuck supine. He couldn’t even fight back as she pushed down on his chest and drew his hands away from his body. “Cooperate. Things will go smoother.”

They did. His wrists were rebandaged, and his leg braced. That simple act alone brought tears to his eyes, both from the metal pressing against the swollen flesh, and the relief of loose bone finally finding stability. Again, he tried to find Jaden’s gaze, to lock eyes and try to understand, but the man didn’t glance in his direction at all, though he had to feel the weight of his stare. 

Wiping her hands down with sanitizer again, the pungently clean smell permeating the poorly ventilated basement, Lab Coat Lady pulled out three prescription bottles. Haphazardly, Boomer, Thom1, T2, and a sun were written on the bottle lids in sharpie. The lids themselves had timers on them, presumably counting down to the next doses. Next to emerge from the bag was four more water bottles. Just as silent as Jaden had been the whole time, the pair left the basement and latched the door behind them.

“What the hell was that?” Summer whispered after a few minutes. 

“I don’t know,” Dale admitted, struggling to sit back up, even as Summer reached over and helped him to change positions. His gaze dragged back to the locked door, and his mind to the man who had walked out. He didn’t know that man at all. He hadn’t considered that sort of behavior in Jaden’s abilities. His palms began to sweat and shake as he checked the bottles left behind. 

Thom’s was more hydrocodone and an antibiotic. The instructions were clearly detailed on the side of the bottle. The same for Summer’s, another antibiotic. Dale had been… not prescribed, but given, pain relief. Tylenol-3, codeine. The bottles were light, and almost more full of air than medicine, but they contained an unimaginably heavy question within: Why.

[hyperions-strap]

for the abo prompts?: rhys and jack have been trying for a baby for a while. nothing seems to be working until one morning jack wakes up with his scent different and sweeter, and as it turns out, rhys is prolly a little too into the pregnant jack smell.

✨💞 Done and posted over on AO3 💞✨

Feel free to send any more prompt ideas 💘

-

Jack lets his head hang like dead weight, trying to enjoy the feeling of Rhys' knot swollen inside him. His body is aching, only the sweet bliss of endorphins from his alpha knot relieves the pain. They've been having sex every available moment, it's only just starting to become tiresome and more of a chore than a pleasure. Jack always feels content afterwards, when Rhys is practically ready to pass out, and they just stay together, quiet, enjoying the release of their bonded pheromones wrapping around them both like a blanket. 

It's more enjoyable for Jack when he's laying on his back, of course, but they've tried that dozens of times, they wanted to test other positions. Admittedly, appreciating how thick Rhys' knot is works best when he's sat up straight, riding him. 

He rests his hands on Rhys shoulders, watching the younger man's chest slowly rise and fall with each steady breath. He doesn't even notice the touch of Rhys' flesh hand against his hip - not until there's an accompanied voice to match.

"Jack," his voice is barely even a whisper. It's wrecked from exhaustion, cracking under the weight of itself, but still manages to be  quintessentially Rhys' at its core. Jack lifts his eyes to look at the younger man. His heart flutters when he sees him smiling. "How you feeling?" 

There's a sorrowful silence for a mere second, before Jack exhales the heaviness cluttering his chest. "I'm fine, kiddo. How's your dick feeling?" He does his best to act normal, but the withering corners of his smile are more of a give away than he realises. Rhys extends a hand to stroke his cheek - the cold metal is surprisingly soothing against Jack's bare cheek, nice against the rough edges of his scar.

"It'll happen, Jack. These things just take time for some people."

Rhys' optimism is warming. It does surprisingly help Jack feel less broken, but it can't work miracles. They've been trying for months to get pregnant, but to no luck. They've seen doctors, fertility specialists, voodoo witches, and hippie love gurus claiming to know the secrets to a bountiful fertile bond, but nothing. There's nothing wrong with either of them, they're both perfectly fertile, everything is in working order, it's just a lack of lady luck, so to speak. Jack doesn't want to admit it, but having no success is beginning to weigh in his self worth more than he appreciates. He's never been a lovey dovey, family oriented, domestic omega, but something about starting a family with Rhys feels unexplainably right. He'd say it's destiny, but that's too cheesy for his liking.

Why couldn't they make a baby then? It seemed like child's play, any moron with a knot and an above average IQ could make it happen, but inexplicably Rhys and Jack couldn't. They'd synced their ruts and heats, they'd used fertility enhancements, they tried every old wives tale as far back as they went, but it seemed like fate had other plans. After a while, the frustration began to infuriate Jack. He wanted this so bad - to give Rhys the family he deserves. It's the one thing he can't threaten or bargain his way into getting! His status as an omega hasn't bothered him since he was a teenager, but now he can't help but resent himself. 

He's lucky to be bonded with the most level-headed, docile alpha known to man. Jack could easily put down any knucklehead that pushed him too much, it didn't matter if they were an alpha or not, but having someone with patience and understanding certainly helped Jack's blood pressure. Sure, stereotypes about alphas and omegas weren't inherently true - Jack and Rhys were proof of that - but Jack couldn't deny when his hormones and pheromones for their heaviest and clouded his judgement, he certainly appreciated the loving embrace of an alpha that adored him no matter what.

After a while, Rhys' knot begins to go down, and Jack, with about as much grace as an oversized gorilla, pops off his lap and flops down beside him on the bed. His eyes shut the second his back meets the mattress. A hand rests against his flat stomach, playing with the coarse hairs covering his skin. Jack peers down to see Rhys watching him, content to do so forever.

"I should probably elevate my hips or some shit, right?" Jack teases, lifting said area and holding himself in position with his hands propped against the small of his back. "Keeps the baby goo inside or whatever."

Rhys grimaces, shaking his head. "Don't call it 'baby goo', that's disgusting."

"True though."

"It's cum - just call it cum!"

Jack laughs. He lets the lower half of his body fall back down, bouncing slightly against the springs. Rhys goes back to mindlessly playing with his belly hair, twirling it, sweeping it one way, enjoying how it feels. Jack tries to ignore the pestering voices crawling out of their hiding holes, telling him he's worthless, that all his accomplishments have been for nothing if he can't have a baby with Rhys. They tell him he deserves this, for all the bad he's done, for being a dictator, for being so selfish most of his adult life.

Rhys can see the wheels turning in Jack's head. The older man thinks he's subtle, but he's as easy to read as a kid's book. He rolls on to his front and crawls up to rest on Jack's chest, pouting playfully, walking his fingers up his biceps. Jack smiles softly.

"It'll happen." He says quietly, but it does little to reassure Jack. Rather, it makes him frown.

"What if it doesn't, huh? Will you be okay without a brat to take care off?"

"You're really convincing me you want this to begin with when you call it a brat." He laughs, but Jack rolls his eyes and turns away. It's harder on him, Rhys knows - it's always the way with omegas, but when your partner is hell-bent on denying old fashioned stereotypes associated with his status, it likely will result in deep seated repression, only to finally show itself in abrupt murderous rampages. Getting Jack to admit he even wanted kids to begin with had been a tedious trial, and it hurts him to know he opened a wound he can't heal.

Rhys takes Jack's face in both his hands and kisses him tenderly, drawing out the passion so it sinks in deep with Jack. He loves him more than words could ever begin to convey, even on his worst days, and he hates to know he can't immediately make things better with the flip of a switch. 

"It," he kisses him again, "will," and again, "happen. I know it will." Rhys says on the end of a heavy breath, kissing him one more time for longer. Jack moans softly, his hand looping round to hold Rhys' waist.

"Will you be okay if it doesn't?" Jack sounds so fragile, maybe even a little scared. Rhys looks at him shocked before kissing his forehead.

"If we've still got each other, that's all that matters, okay?"

Jack accepts it for now, just so he can settle in for the night and get some sleep. It won't keep him happy forever. The inevitable self loathing will come back, stronger, but all he can do is keep going. He doesn't think Rhys is lying either - he probably will be okay with just Jack if they never have kids, but it's still scary to imagine a world where Jack's better half leaves him because he was some kind of detective omega. He puts his arms around Rhys and does his best to think of good things. Against all his instincts, he even says a soft prayer to himself, hoping for good news.

-

A few weeks go by with no change. They still fuck like rabbits and research any new fertility treatments available, but it's boring routine at that point. Eventually Jack suggests they think realistically about giving up, which Rhys fights him on and insists they just need to stay positive, but the older man gets serious fast. It's easy to assume Jack's just being his usual aggressive self, dominating the conversation, belittling Rhys to feel like a tough guy, but the truth is he can't handle feeling like a failure much longer. Waking up, taking tests, seeing no change, it's starting to seriously break his heart. 

One morning however, when Rhys had to spend an all nighter at the office, Jack wakes up with what feels like a groggy hangover. Everything is just slightly discombobulated, his limbs feeling heavier than usual, and his eyes take a lot longer to adjust before he can confidently sit up without getting dizzy. He's not sure why he feels so peculiar - he hasn't been drunk in God knows how many months - but he's too tired to really ponder it. He rubs his eyes tirelessly with the balls of his palm, followed by stretching his arms out wide above his head until he hears a distinct crack from his back. 

He thinks about getting himself breakfast, but the comforting heat of his bed is too intoxicating. He wants to snuggle down again, bury himself under his duvet and sleep away his day without a care in the world. Thankfully, just as his stomach begins to rumble, he hears the front door echo, and Rhys' tired voice call up to him. 

"Before you collapse in bed, do me a favour and make some French toast, will ya, pumpkin?" Jack yells out. He grins victoriously when he hears Rhys groan in response. The sound of cutlery clinking together is like music to Jack's ears. 

When Rhys looks shattered when he walks into the bedroom with Jack's food. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, along with his shirt untucked and left scruffy after popping a few buttons, and his eyes struggle to keep themselves open. When the plate is in Jack's hands, he haphazardly clambers out of his suit pants and collapses with a thud into the bed beside Jack, face first in the pillows.

Jack eats his toast, staring at Rhys, amused by the sight of his wonderful alpha disheveled. It takes a few minutes before Rhys moves again, lazily sitting up and running a hand through his hair. The only sound between them is Jack's crunching.

Then Rhys frowns. He turns sharply to face the older man, staring at him quizzically. When Jack catches him he pauses mid bite.

"Wha-?" He mumbles past the toast in his mouth before taking a bite and swallowing. Rhys flares his nostrils and sniffs the air loudly, to Jack's dismay. "What's the deal, cupcake? You're being a freakin' weirdo!"

"Something smells good…" Is all Rhys can say before he's feverishly sniffing the air again. Jack rolls his eyes.

"I'm eating French toast, it's probably that."

Rhys shakes his head. "No, this is different...it's kind of sweet."

"French toast can be sweet--"

"It's not French toast, Jack!" Rhys snatches the plate from his hands to put in the bedside table. Without warning he grabs Jack possessively and sticks his nose flat against the crook of Jack's neck, scenting along their bonding point. It causes the older man to shudder, a sudden spike of heat rushing through his veins and lighting every muscle he has aflame. Rhys inhales deeply up and down his neck repeatedly. It's really sweet - almost sickenly so, but not so much Rhys would want to pull away. It's like a familiar smell, homely, that makes him want more and more so he can unlock a treasured secret. He inhales more, as if even possible.

Jack starts to feel wavy. Rhys' own alpha pheromones begin to fill the air, possessing Jack, gently rocking him into a tranquil trance. He's fully aware of what's happening, but his body is lighter than he remembers it being. It's a safe feeling, an uncontrollable peace that happens when Rhys is blissfully possessive. He moves his arm to touch Rhys' face, wanting to stroke his cheek and maybe try persuade him into a kiss if he's coherent enough to do so. He gets as far as Rhys shoulder before the younger man takes his hand in his own.

Then Rhys licks Jack's sensitive skin, and moans like he's experienced food for the first time after being starved. He licks again, then nips him softly, stopping when Jack starts purring a little too sensually. It takes a lot to pull himself away, but when he does he immediately knows the answers to all his questions. He takes Jack's face in his hands and kisses him excitedly, knocking Jack out of his state.

"You're pregnant!" Rhys cheerfully yells, bombarding Jack with congratulatory kisses. The older man mumbles in confusion, eventually able to detain Rhys from his wild excitement to actually understand what's happening. He stares at Rhys, his eyes wide like dinner bowls.

"Run that by me again, kitten?" He asks urgently, and Rhys obliges, taking his hands in his own.

"Your smell, Jack, it's different! It's us, it's a mix, and it's the most amazing smell I've ever smelled in my entire life!"

Jack is still visibly confused though, baffled by the frantic happiness his partner displays. He lets the words sink in for a moment, then moves to get out of bed, pacing the spot. He thinks about the impossibility, how it's a cruel prank, or a trick, or maybe even a dream. Is there a smell? The French toast still smells pretty good, he doesn't want to say it's him in case it's just his own gluttony tricking him.

Then Rhys pounces out of bed and nuzzles into his neck again, sniffing in short bursts before inhaling deeply again. Jack's legs go tingly, and he has to catch himself against the wall before he falls in a slump. He can feel Rhys' cock tenting his boxers, pushing up against him eagerly. 

"Kid, slow your roll," Jack manages to get out, pushing Rhys off him so he can see his face, still lit up like a Christmas tree. "I'm still catching up. What's that nose of yours trying to tell me?"

Rhys composes himself best he can. He takes Jack's hands in his own and pulls them to his chest. His heart is beating like a jackhammer, fearing it might burst any second. Jack can't fault him, his is about the same if Rhys is really about to confirm what he thinks he is.

"It worked, Jack. You're pregnant."

The words carry such weight to them, Jack's embarrassed to say he actually tears up. It's a surprise to Rhys, he hadn't expected the older man to shed a tear for just about anything, but there he is, waterfalls falling down his cheeks despite his best efforts to stop. Jack frowns despite them, says it's Rhys' fault for inducing some omega hormone in him, but it doesn't ruin the moment. Rhys pulls him in for a long, loving hug and squeezes tight. He takes joy in nuzzling his nose into his neck again, scenting what he's now sure is their offspring, snug and protected inside Jack. It's the sweetest smell he'll ever know, he's sure. 

They book a doctor's appointment to make sure it's all true, and sure enough it's confirmed. Jack gets a scan and they see their pea sized baby on a blurry black and white monitor. It's almost surreal, Jack's convinced he's still dreaming hours after the appointment. It doesn't fully register until he's back home standing in the kitchen, and Rhys has his arms wrapped around his middle. His hands are placed gently over where their child will grow. It makes both their hearts flutter to think about.

When Jack feels an airy fuzziness coming over himself again, he groans, trying to knock Rhys off. "Stop scenting me, for God's sake, or I won't be able to stand the next 9 freakin' months!"

Rhys chuckles. He kisses their bonding spot softly and leans over his shoulder slightly. "It's a really good smell though, Jack."

"Well what do you expect, it's me you're talking about. I produce only the best."

"Yeah," Rhys spins Jack around so they're facing one another and holds him in his arms. He can't help the huge, dopey grin lifting the entirety of his face. "You really do."

[whisker-biscuit]

In the Name of Science: Chapter 1

Fandom: Sonic Movie (2020)

Rating: T for unethical experimentation, implied violence and gore, and implied torture

Summary: Tom and Maddie didn’t make it in time to rescue Sonic from Robotnik. Hopefully it’s not too late to save him now. Unfortunately, hope is hard to come by in the labs of the mad doctor himself.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Ivo Robotnik, M.D. Log 1 

Preliminary report: Subject is 3’3”, 14.1 lbs., male. Age and maturity unknown. Vaguely resembles four-toed hedgehog from outward appearance and obvious anatomy. Fur and quill are primarily cobalt blue, with chest and stomach fur light coral peach. Blood sample taken, analysis tbc. Note: internal anatomy to be examined at later date, due to blunt trauma and related injuries.

At 23:30 MST during transportation, subject’s heart ceased regular palpitations. Resuscitation was administered and subject was revived successfully. No other heart or organ irregularities occurred, and subject was transferred to personal laboratory at 1:56 MST for examination. About to conduct preliminary quill count and inspection at time of report.

Subject has yet to regain consciousness since initial containment.

End log

…….

Sonic comes to on a metal table, his face smashed against cold steel and his limbs stretched above and below him, cuffed together. He groans as the aches and pains from the fight with Eggman catches up all at once, and his body’s current position certainly isn’t helping. The hedgehog rubs his cheek against the metal, using the cold to try and ground himself so he can figure out how bad his situation is.

He doesn’t remember much beyond trying to escape at the top of the pyramid. There was heat at his back, and then everything hurt even more than it does now. So that must mean….

Something starts touching his quills. He stiffens.

“H-Hey, who’s there? What do you want?”

There’s no response, and whatever is messing with his quills moves down to their base, meeting fur and skin. Sonic gasps as the same freezing sensation from the table runs along his back. A weird high-pitched whirring fills the air as it goes along. Oh, it’s a robot doing that.

He struggles to turn his head to get a better look at this thing, but he can’t move more than a few inches. The robot continues to probe at his quills, seemingly oblivious to his response, and no matter how Sonic tries to twist and turn, nothing changes at all.

After what feels like an eternity, the robot pulls away and makes a sudden loud clicking sound. It startles the hedgehog into a jolt that he immediately regrets. His body protests, loudly.

“Quill count: 5933.”

“What?” He asks through gritted teeth, waiting for the pounding pain to go away.

The robot doesn’t reply, but then it starts poking at his fur again. Two fingers – are they fingers? Sonic hopes they’re fingers – find a longer quill and pinch at its base. He realizes what’s going to happen right before it does.

“Don’t-!”

It pulls. He sucks in a breath, closing his eyes as the quill is ripped out of his back. He’s no stranger to this sensation, but that doesn’t mean he’s okay with it happening. The robot finds another quill. Sonic flinches and rubs his cheek against the cold.

“Quill count: 5928,” the unfeeling thing announces to nothing once it’s done. It withdraws from the hedgehog who is currently trying to stay calm, holding the stolen quills and moving to some place Sonic still can’t see.

Tired, hurting, and now conflicted between angry and panicked, the teen decides to take a risk.

“Hey Eggman, I know you can hear me! Come out where I can see you! I know you’re scared of people who can kick your butt, but this is ridiculous!”

He yells it out with as much bravado as he can manage, and later he’ll say he was pretty proud of himself for keeping his voice steady. Then he listens, and waits.

For a long while he stays alone in that room, with only the robot doing whatever it’s doing to his quills. But eventually there’s the whoosh of an automatic door opening somewhere behind his left side. Sonic turns his head that way just in time for a long black coat to take up his entire view.

“Finally awake, I see.” The man says, and it’s hard to tell whether he’s pleased or annoyed by this fact. “You’ve been unconscious for nearly 8 hours.”

Sonic’s eyes trail up slowly, meeting the maniacally-gleeful face of his captor. He swallows, and it takes a few moments to find his voice again.

“D-Dang, that long? Must have been quite the beauty rest. How about you let me go so I can look myself in the mirror and tell you if it worked?”

“Just as chatty and full of hot air as your moronic human guardian. I should have expected that, which I did. Nothing ever gets past me, little alien.” 

The hedgehog falters. For a single second. “Oh yeah? Better get used to failure then, Eggman. I’ve gotten past you so many times already that I’ve lost count.”

Robotnik takes hold of his ear and twists. Sonic’s mouth clamps shut to keep the whine under his tongue, but he never takes his wide eyes off the scientist.

“Here’s how it’s going to go, hedgehog – which is what you most closely resemble in physical structure and biology, despite the incredibly irrational discrepancies.” 

He leans in to speak directly against the teen’s caught ear. 

“I’m going to do whatever I want to you, however I want, whenever I want, and the only words I want coming out of your mouth unless stated otherwise are ‘yes Doctor,’ ‘no Doctor,’ or ‘thank you Doctor.’ Do you understand?”

Sonic takes slow, shallowed breaths as he listens, and he steels himself before offering a nickname he’s only heard Donut Lord say twice ever.

“Sure thing, Dr. Douche.”

The hand on his ear pulls so hard that he thinks it’s going to come off. He chokes back a watery whimper when Robotnik forces his head up off the table.

“Pain receptors and nerve endings appear to be fully functional, although I can’t say the same for your auditory processing.”

“Ow, ow ow…” The teen’s hands clench into fists as his head is held back and kept there. He doesn’t dare close his eyes, watching Robotnik like he might rip his ear off entirely the moment he stops staring.

Finally, the man releases him, and Sonic’s head hits the table with a thunk. He winces at the painful contact to his chin. 

“Ow-uh, easy on the face! We can’t all look this good naturally, c’mon.”

The doctor stands up straight without acknowledging him. “Agent Stone.”

“Yes, Doctor?”

The hedgehog is startled by the assistant’s voice coming somewhere behind Robotnik; he had no idea the guy was even there.

“Set up my recording equipment pronto. Now that the subject is awake and responding in a…semi-intelligent manner, I do believe it’s time to get information firsthand.”

“Of course sir, right away.” Agent Stone’s voice is already fading as he leaves the room. The sound of equipment being shuffled starts up distantly.

Robotnik’s gloved hand returns to Sonic’s head and he flinches, but this time the touch is light and almost examining. He rubs his thumb and forefinger on either side of the teen’s ear, then trails down to run along the fur on top of his head. Sonic realizes with no small amount of disgust that he’s being petted, like what Tom does with Ozzie.

“Hey, quit it, I’m not a dog!” He tries to pull his head away to no avail.

“Those are the first scientifically correct words you’ve said thus far,” the scientist says quietly. “Although it’s such a low bar. Honestly, I thought that hick cop babysitter of yours was the least sapient lifeform on this planet until you opened your mouth for the first time.”

Sonic bristles. “Don’t talk about him like that. You don’t know anything.”

“Ah, I suppose you’re right. I shouldn’t pigeonhole you in the same category as that knuckle-dragger. You are so much more remarkable than that. A peak product of evolution. Well…physically, at least, but it isn’t so difficult to train animals.”

The hand hasn’t stopped petting him. Sonic feels a sick pit in his stomach, and it’s not just from the betraying urge to lean into the touch.

“If you think I’m going to roll over and do what you want, you’re wrong. I’ll get out of here somehow and then you’re going to regret it.”

“That’s the spirit I like to see! Makes the end result so much more satisfying when I’ve broken it.” Robotnik tilts his head to meet the teen’s anxious glare head-on. Then he half turns away to call out. “Stone! Are you finished yet, or do we need to set aside another eternity?”

“All set and ready to go, sir!” Comes the response from the other room. “The holding pen is prepped and secure as well!”

“Excellent, finally. It’s so hard to find decent human help these days.” 

He presses a few buttons on his left glove. A pair of floating egg-like robots appear and connect to Sonic’s restraints, releasing him from the table and lifting him up between them. The hedgehog tries futilely to kick out or make them drop him. Robotnik leads the way towards the other room, not giving his captive a second glance.

“Now the time for pointless chit-chat is over! Time for proper scientific observation!”

All Sonic can do is struggle as he’s carried away.

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A/N: I thought Robotnik would be really hard to characterize, but I'm having an easier time with him than expected. Maybe it's cause Sonic is the one fighting me at every turn heh. Also, remember how in the movie Sonic supposedly stopped breathing and then got revived from his powers and friendship? Yeah, me too :)

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!

Prologue

Chapter 2

[queenbirbs]

the way home | Ch. 4 | Edward x MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x MC

Word count: 2,308

Warnings: language, violence, violence against women

Read from the beginning or continue on Read on AO3

Tag list: @writinghereandthere |  @not-sewell

------

By the next week, they’ve sailed across most of the northern Caribbean. 

Their crew hits a couple merchant ships and capsizes a few galleons. Captain Delaney is pleased when they manage to sink a frigate off the coast of New Providence, having some long-standing feud with the Royal Navy. Elena considers them to be kindred spirits in that regard. Attacking a royal vessel outright, though, paints a proverbial target on their back. 

They anchor inside a cove on St. Fisher, a hole-in-the-wall port among the long string of islands in the Bahamas. Delaney sends the crew off in a jolly boat to retrieve supplies before trying for Cuba to hide out amongst the Spanish. 

“He’s a moron for attacking them on their own turf,” Robert grumbles as they make their way through the town’s pastel-colored buildings. 

Elena, too busy scanning the shoppers in the market, hums her agreement. The stall up ahead sells gaudy-looking trinkets that catch the sunlight as they swing in the ocean breeze. She wishes she could send one to her sister, somehow. 

The cannonfire comes with no warning. 

Discordant blasts echo across the port again and again and again with not a single pause. Thick, billowing clouds of smoke rise over the palm trees, darkening the blue sky. While everyone rushes deeper into town, Elena and Robert race towards the cove, slicing through the flora and fauna that block their path. Seconds before they reach the flat stretch of sand, he seizes her elbow and covers her mouth, just in time to muffle her cry at the scene before them.

Little Death is keeled over, resting on its starboard side as flames consume what remains above the waterline. Delaney is nowhere to be found. The crew who made it to shore in time lay sprawled across the beach. The whites of their skulls gleam amongst the blood and brain matter coating the sand around them, each shot execution-style. 

“Their jolly boat’s missin’!” a navy officer calls out. “Search the island!” 

“Shit. Fuck. Shit.” 

“C’mon,” Robert growls as he swings her around and guides her back up their makeshift path. “We may not know this island, but--”

At the sound of men pushing down the path from town, he picks her up and bodily moves her into the forest’s thick foliage. 

“What the hell are you--”

“Shut up!” he hisses, shoving her down into the cover of wide-leafed bush. “Stay here.”

“What’s your plan then, to offer yourself up on a platter?!” Elena grabs his coat and holds tight, preventing him from moving off. “That’s the stupidest--”

“I can distract them, give you enough time to circle back and find a better place to hide. They’ll shove off with me, then another ship’ll come by soon and need an extra hand.” 

The sound of a pistol being cocked interrupts their hushed argument. In their crouched position, they both glance up to see swatches of dark blue uniforms peeking through the trees ahead. 

“Come on out, now, the both of ye!” one of the sailors taunts. 

Robert’s expression shutters as he rises to his feet and steps out onto the path. 

“If it isn’t Robert Cutter himself!” the officer crows. “Performed quite the disappearing act on us a few years back. Looks like fate caught up with you, though, hmm?”

“Looks like,” he mocks. Two of the lackeys grab hold of each arm; he bites back a grunt when the officer punches him in the stomach. 

“And where’s yer lady friend?” one of the sailors asks. “Come on out, miss. Don’t be shy!” 

Realizing that staying hidden is a hopeless tactic, Elena makes her way out of cover. Three of the men whistle at her, while the officer leers at her with something akin to delight. 

“I shoulda known the two of you would be mixed-up in this. Sinking a crown vessel, that’s child’s play for you two. Murdering a governor and an admiral is more yer style, idn’t it?” 

As one of the sailors strips her of her weapons, Elena glares at the officer. Though she can’t recall his name, he’s one of the men who stormed the beach while defending the Admiral.   

“We’re innocent of both those crimes,” she says. “Though I don’t expect you’ll believe me.” 

His shoulders shake with a sardonic chuckle. 

“No, I’m afraid not. Yer a pirate -- you only know how to do two things with that mouth of yers. The first is lying and the second is su--”

Elena grabs him by the shoulder and headbutts him. The officer caterwauls and clutches his nose. Blood trickles down his chin and drips onto his uniform in fat, red splotches. She hides her wince as Robert laughs long and hard, ignoring the sailors’ orders to shut up. “You bitch! I saw you make off with the Admiral. You dragged him inside that temple and sacrificed him to Satan himself!” 

“She’s a witch?” one of the sailors asks.

“I thought she were a pirate,” another mutters.

“I’m not a witch,” Elena scoffs. “And, for the last time, I didn’t kill your admiral.” 

“I don’t care what you are!” The officer yanks a handkerchief from his coat and dabs it against his nose. “Right now, yer a means to an end. We’ve heard all about the bounty on yer head. We’ll use you to draw Mortemer out. Besides, what’s better than catching one pirate?”

“Two pirates!” one of the sailors cackles. 

“Well, technically,” Robert says, “you’ve already got two of us here--”    

“Oh, shut up, Cutter!” the officer spits. “Take them down to the beach, men.”

The bickering around her fades to an annoying buzz as she trudges along the path. If they do manage to get word to Edward, she knows there’s no force that will stop him from coming after her. That he would be walking straight into a trap would cross his mind, and then he would do it anyway. Elena can’t fault him for it, because she would do the same. And, if it weren’t for the high probability of being executed, she would go along with it. But she doesn’t want their long-awaited reunion to be side-by-side at the gallows.

She comes to a sudden stop. The caravan of men behind her scowl and curse.

“What’re you doin’? Keep movin’!”

She digs her boots into the sand, lurching when the sailor beside her shoves her hard. Turning to catch Robert’s eye, she snatches the sailor’s pistol from his holster and takes aim. 

“Run.” 

Robert yanks free as she fires. The sailor shouts and grabs his bleeding arm, falling back when the other two come rushing forward. She twirls the pistol in her grip and smacks it upside another’s head, using the momentum to shove him into the bushes. The third man tackles her from the side and they crash down onto the sand. Struggling for control, Elena manages to work her leg underneath his massive form and lands a solid kick between his legs. The officer rushes over just as the man rolls off, clutching his injured pride. 

“Restrain her, you fucking--” he cuts off his own order with a sharp cry. He collapses onto his ass, clutching his leg as blood soaks his white breeches. “She-- she shot me! Get that pistol from her, you idiots!” 

A massive weight crushes her from behind and shoves her down onto her stomach. The sailor she shot slams his fist into her side, knocking the wind out of her. Elena gasps for air, choking on bits of sand. He plucks the pistol from her loosened grip with ease. 

“Hold her down,” the officer demands. “She’ll be less trouble if she’s unconscious.” 

Fear pounds through her chest when the sailor’s hand seizes a chunk of her hair and yanks her up. The last thing she sees is the pistol coming down. 

Underneath him, her body goes limp. He waits a few more seconds before pulling a length of rope from his pocket. After tying her up with a decent-enough knot, he sits up to assess his arm and check on his crew. 

“Oi,” he grumbles as he glances down the path, “where’d Cutter go?”

------

The brig’s interior becomes a familiar sight by the second day. 

That’s how long Elena thinks she’s been down here. The solitary porthole above her head is caked with too much filth to let any proper light in. So, she calculates the hours by the sorry excuses for meals that they bring her. A few crumbs of hardtack and bits of dried mystery meat make up most of her diet. 

Waking up on a cell floor with her hands and feet bound wasn’t an enjoyable moment. If she could rate it, she’d give it a solid zero out of ten. Especially when that immediate rush of panic ebbed to allow a fresh wave to roll over her: she was being carted along to be killed. 

The one plus side of her new accomodations, though, is the cold wall of the hull. It’s as good as any cold compress against her injured body. What she wouldn’t give for one of those ibuprofens she stowed away in her duffel bag -- the bag that’s buried on the outskirts of town on Santo Domingo. 

She hopes that Robert was able to escape. She hopes that he was able to get word to Edward not to come after her. She hopes that when Edward inevitably ignores the warning and comes anyway, she manages to intercept him herself. What’s that old saying about if wishes were horses? 

Footsteps on the stairs tear Elena from her woolgathering. The slow, measured pace of them tells her who it is before he shows his face. 

“How’s the leg?” she asks when the officer steps in front of her cell door. 

Officer Horowitz levels a grimace at her, his lips turning inward with disgust. He drops the wooden plate in his hand and kicks it underneath the door with his good leg; the meager contents spill across the dirty planks. Elena glances down at her dinner and back up at him. “I’m giving your presentation a one out of five stars on Yelp.” 

“That nonsense yer spouting has gotten old,” he spats. “It’s a good thing, then, that we’re about to anchor. You and yer pirate captain’ll be dancin’ in the gallows soon enough.”

She bites back that daunting feeling of failure and settles back against the wall with a shrug. 

“Sounds like I don’t have much time, then. I guess I should come clean with my sins and all that.”

“I haven’t the slightest interest in hearing about yer--”

“Really?” She tilts her head and studies him. “You don’t want to know what I did with the Admiral?” 

Horowitz bristles at the name, but shakes his head. 

“I don’t want to hear the gristly details of yer sick, ritualistic--” 

“For the last time,” Elena says with a dramatic sigh, “I didn’t kill him. I opened up a hole in the universe, and I put him in it.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“It’s not, really. It was as easy as tying your shoe. If you know how to do that, of course. I don’t like to presume.”

Crossing his arms across his chest, he scoffs. 

“Then where is he?” 

“I sent him to his worst nightmare: a place with no one to listen to him. There’s this remote island in the south Atlantic Ocean, about twelve-hundred miles from Argentina. Sorta like The Cask of Amontillado -- which you’ll sadly never get to read, it’s a great story -- but on forty square miles of uninhabited land. And without chaining him up or burning him alive.”

“You marooned him,” he surmises.  

“Marooning him implies that I gave him some food and a gun. But I didn’t. The island won’t be discovered until 1767. The Spanish explorers name it Isla de Aislamiento -- that means ‘Isolation Island.’ Upon arrival, they’ll find the oddest thing: a human skeleton, wearing what appears to be a British naval uniform and a few medals.”

“I don’t believe a word you say.” Clenching his hands along the cell door, he sneers at her. “Yer a filthy, goddamned liar. How are you to know the future?”

“I read about it.” 

Which is the truth, but Elena knows how little that will matter. After teaming up with Robert upon her first arrival back to her time, she found herself curious about Admiral Cochrane’s fate. After coming across a man with an identical rank and surname, she worried that she’d made a mistake and sent him farther into the future, that maybe he’d managed to escape and make something of himself. But the portrait of the other Admiral Cochrane, famed for losing the Battle of New Orleans, resembled nothing of the man she’d dealt with. 

Eventually, one of Robert’s many contacts sent her the diary entry of a Spanish explorer that detailed their unusual discovery. They left the corpse where it lay and pilfered the medals to melt down and mash into coins. The entry was as good as any death certificate. 

Judging by the look of disgust on his face, Horowitz doesn’t seem to find her explanation all that funny. 

“I knew you were a witch the first time I saw you. No matter how you spin it, I know that you killed the Admiral. Watching you two hang will be the highlight of my year.” 

He spits at her through the door and turns to go. Elena waits for the sound of his uneven footfalls to fade before she slumps back against the wall. Despite the heavy weight on her shoulders, she can’t help the small sliver of joy at knowing Edward is near. Horowitz had all but confirmed it, with his gleeful chatter about them hanging together. 

She just has to make sure that part doesn’t come to pass. 

------

References:

A few Uncharted ones, but they’re all very minuscule. Think of them like the hidden pictures puzzles in those Highlight Magazines they always had in waiting rooms when you were a kid.

[popculturebuffet]

Ducktales Reboot Reviews: The Dangerous Chemistry of Gandra Dee!

Fenton faces some of his greatest challenges yet: Gizmoduck’s soaring popularity and the possiblity of amour...  oh and the return of his arch enemy but that’s a standard tuesday for a superhero. It’s a Date, don’t let him trick you noooo, under the cut. 

I have to admit something first: I WAS going to cover the other two fentoncentric episodes before I got to this one, as a build up to this weekends episode. The problem though was I realized that this week’s episode is, via word of god, going to cover WHY Gyro hates Fenton , and thus I really can’t dig into Gyro’s behavior in both eps, especially Who Is Gizmoduck? where despite his rational fears of having funding cut, he’s still an uttershithead to fenton and I feel it’d be better served if I waited a little and did the ep sometime after saturday.  So with that bit of expostion you probably didn’t need out of the way: Dangerous Chemistry! This one is a personal faviorite of mine, to the point that when I was bored a week or two ago I watched this one just for fun, and probably will again. That’s not why i’m reviewing it: even if I hadn’t I would rewatch it and planned to for the ones I was going to review, it’s just dumb luck. And part of that is Fenton is one of my faviortes: Lin Manuel Miranda really brings his a game to the character, and the crew really fleshed him out, making him a really likeable, fun, and relatable awkward dork. Another reason is one that should be obvious if you saw my comics reviews when I in vain tried to review each dawn of x comic on a weekly basis before throwing up my hands at the sheer volume: I fucking love super heroes, and Who is Gizmoduck and this very episode are very good superhero stories that still fit well into the ducktales universe, as is the darkwing debut “The Duck Knight Returns!”. And finally the episode also has Huey in a major role and I love my red boy. So with all that stuff out of the way I can dive into the ep itself.  This one, as you probably know but I do like me my context, takes place in the second half of season. While Fenton did show up earlier for fellow instant classic “The 87 Cent Solution!”, he’s otherwise been absent this season. My honest theroy is, rather than Lin being busy, which while he sure as hell is he still squeezes the show in, it’s more a simple fact that season 2 is pretty damn stuffed: looking back at the episode count almost EVERY ONE ties into one of the major arcs of the season (Della’s journey home/struggle to fit into her kids life/ the moonvasion, glomgold’s bet with scrooge and louie inc), and those that don’t either bring in major new characters like the Cablleros or Drake, or touch on previous arcs: Last Christmas! touching on Dewey missing his mom while she’s still missing. Lena’s episodes bringing her back to the world of the living/introducing her sister, and then resolving her fear of magica for now and revealing where Magica’s been, and this ep checking in on fenton. There was just a LOT to do and get through, and Gandra was really the only time sesntive thing Fenton wise they had to absolutley do this season. So while it sucks, I do understand why they did it this way,  I do see why and hold no ill will over it.  And to the crew’s credit they used the fact Fenton had been absent cleverly and had a valid reason why we hadn’t seen him outside of one breif apperance: he’s busy. Simple as that. He’s been superheroing all this time: when we catch up with him he’s outright called burnt out by a c-list weather villian who looks like dr.doofnschmritz but lacks his awkward charm. He even uses the same pun twice. It’s also logical: his literal JOB is to be a superhero, it’s what he’s paid for, and given Duckberg seems ground zero for lunatics, it’s only natural ther’es a bakers dozens with techno gimmicks and costumes floating around trying to beat him up. He’s naturally exausted and i’ts made worse by two factors: His alter ego being all over the news, so even when h’es off work he can’t escape work, and being unable to do science.  And both are clever delimas: a lot of the usual superhero issues are non existant for fenton: while he’s bad at hiding his identity, the only person he really has to hide from is his mom, who we later learn at the end of the season already knows and has come around to it. His job isn’t in remote jeapordy because Gizmoduck IS the job, while he still has full acess to a lab to do the science work he’s always wanted. But he’s starting to see the price for doing the right thing: He’s spent so much time as Gizmoduck.. Fenton has nothing of his own. No time to do science, only two friends, and as a result is exausted and burnt out and yearning for a break.  So thankfully he’s taking one, and in another use of “time has moved on a bit because we didn’t have time for Fenton this season” he and Huey have gone from superhero and biggest fan to best friends. But I let it slide, partly because again the season is overstuffed dand i’ll likelky delve into that more when I get to this seasons arcs at some point, and mainly beause the two have a great dynamic: Huey is supportive, just wants his friend to be okay, and meshes with fenton perfectly: Their both big nerds who people tend ot ignore who get overly excited about science. But Hueys more openly confident while Fenton clearly lacks it at times. It’s a nice eb and flow I hope to see more of. 

HE and Huey are hanging out to do science and stuff, with webby tagging along because why not, and I absolutly love the gag of gizmoduck passing by, Webby not noticing at all and only finding out Fenton and Gizmoduck are the same person because Huey makes a rather big deal abotu the fact Gizmoduck just passed by and Webby is really smart and likes solving shit.  So we quickly get the rest of our setup: At the elctronics store, Fenton has a meet cute (which the juinor woodchuck guidebook of course has an entry on. ) with Gandra Dee, played by guest acress Jameela Jamil, better known from the good place and being the only one to point out “hey emil hirsch beat the shit out of the woman what the fuck” when quinten Tarantino cast him in the otherwise amazing film “Once Upon a Time In Hollywood”, who does a great job here. The two have some romantic tension as she calls fenton a suit and what not, he fires back he is good at sceincing and they schedule what may or may not be a date... with Fenton unaware that Gandra is a spy hired by mark beaks to get the gizmoduck passowrd and use her nanites merged with gizmotech to boost his strength. As you do.  The resulting episode is really damn good: Starting in the obvious place, Fenton and Gandra have a reall good dynamic: besides the obvious oppsoites attract thing: the modernized nerutoic nerd and the rebllious scientest there’s the nice contrast in who they work for: Sure Fenton works for a billionare who DOES use some of his and gyro’s work for fairly self serving things (and I didn't realize the universal solvant was a rosa thing first time around, I learned it between viewings, but it’s a nice mythology gag), but it’s been shown as far back as the pilot that’s he’s more than willing ot help all of duckberg, even if it makes a profit. WHy WOULD he stop gyro or fenton’s research for any reason? He funnels a ton of money into them simply beause he knows for every dozen failures something useful will come out of it and at most simply wants more treasure hunting gear, stuff both can whip up easily and for Fenton to spend most of his time as defender of the city, something Fenton wanted anyway. He’s a good boss... while the billionares Gandra’s working with, Bradford as we learned later and beaks in this episode.. are self serving scumbags who only want innovation for world domination and personal validation. By refusing to have ties with or trust anybody or put in the legwork to find an employer who would give her mostly freedom, she wants complete freedomf or her work in exchange for taking money from truly awful people. She’s no freer than fenton is and her hypcoricy is obvious, without making the character terrible in any way. As the kingpin once said in spiderman the animated series “the best strings are invisble”. While Gandra is well aware of who she’s working for she refuses to see the irony or the possible harm in her actions , and it’ll be intresting to see where her charcter goes from ehre.  As for Beaks, he’s a FAR better threat here than in the past episodes: I didn’t MIND him being a joke villian, though I was horribly disapointed, and he will likely be super dated eventually... but here it finds a nice ballance: While he’s still a whiny manchild, the breaking into the lab sequence is utterly delightful and shows that he’s NOT harmless. He’s at his best, like glomgold, when he’s either off to the side comedic relief, or a mixture of genuinely threatining and utterly moronic. His drinking 80 pounds of senstive chemicals turns him into the hulk and the resulting fight scnees are great, as is his confusion upon taking huey and webby hostage “I have your kids.. I think.. I don’t know how this family works” and his cries of “whose the looser now coach dad” are both funny and offerd our first peak into why he’s so screwed up. And his defeat while rediculous is clever, using his love of fame and his phone against him. Overall a much better showing than the past that so far has kept up into season 3: even if his plan backfired there and was for goofy reasons, it was here too, it only fell apart because he hired someone who hated him and underestiamated how much he’d pissed off graves last time. 

As for Fenton himself, the episod eis a great showcase, besides the before issues his manuvering around both the obvious date the kids set up for him (more on that in a second), and his genuine chemsitry and contrast with gandra are a delight.. as his his dad’s lesuire suit. On top of that the scenes wher ehe chews gandra out are a great bit of acting from Lin manuel Miranda, the hurt and fury in his voice coming through great.  To finish it out Huey is a delight this episode, showing himself to be a suprisingly good romantic for his age, serously violet won the lottery with this one, and while overenthsastic, i’ts still sweet and his friendship with fenton is genuinely heartwarming, as is what has to be the best line of the episode besides the beaks one above Huey: Fenton’s going to be devistated! Webby: (Annoyed) Or kidnapped by spies! Huey: (Dead serious) TWO BAD THINGS COULD HAPPENS! It’s a sweet dyanmic overall and the cherry on top of an utterly fantastic episode. Hopefully the momentum keeps up going into saturday. Until then, later days. Speaking of which.. WHY ISN’T THE WEEKENDERS ON DISNEY PLUS. God I shouldn’t be able to keep thinking of shows that are missing. Anyways, once again later days.  P.S. I almost forgot Launchpads great bit listing off all his exes and confriming that he’s probably bi. It was great. 

[knit-wear-it]

Abnormal Psychology II

Joan Leland’s Two Greatest Disappointments

PhD student!Crane, Undergrad!Harley, Narrator!Joan Leland / Writing exercise to help me work through backstories. Which includes rewriting the first part of this. Because it was terrible.

Read Abnormal Psychology I Here

**Reminder: Harley killed her college boyfriend.

Abnormal Psychology II

2. Joan Leland's Two Greatest Failures

Eight years before Harley meets the Joker.

Joan Leland had been teaching Psychology at Gotham University for over twenty-five years, the tenured head of the department for nearly ten. During those years, she’d seen many precocious PhD candidates, but few of them stood out like Jonathan Crane.

She first met Jonathan when he was twenty-two years old, freshly graduated from a southern university known for its football team rather than its academics. With a bachelor’s in clinical psychology, and a minor in chemistry, his grades had been excellent, and his tutors called him ‘brilliant’ in their referrals. He was an obvious choice for an interview. 

The young man Joan met had been caustic, bordering on rude, and she immediately suspected he was either on the spectrum or suffering some other mental health ailment. That wasn’t a mark against him - so many students of psychology were drawn to the field because of their own struggles. But Crane had a unique interest - obsession if the intensity in his pale eyes was any indication - in fear that hinted at PTSD more than intellectual curiosity. Still, despite Joan’s reservations, Crane was invited to join that year’s group of post-graduate students.

He hadn’t fit in, making numerous enemies amongst his cohort, fellow twenty-somethings who submitted complaints about his rudeness and inflexibility. Then there were Crane’s complaints - of which there had been many - accusing his peers of being lazy and holding him back. In the end, Crane spent the collaborative early years of his PhD working alone. 

It was in Crane’s third year that Joan became well acquainted with him. As head of the department, she had the final say in allocating budgets to research projects. Predictably, Jonathan believed his doctorate thesis to be of paramount importance above his fellow graduate students, and he spent an increasing amount of time lobbying Joan for more money, and issuing empty threats about going to the dean if she didn’t agree. 

“Twenty-thousand dollars?” Joan asked warily, raising her eyebrows at Crane over the top of the proposal he’d just handed her. He was a skinny, pale young man at twenty-five, with an untidy flop of black hair and striking pale blue eyes. His clothes were always neat and tidy, his preference for gray slacks, black oxfords, and ties beneath wool vests separating him from his peers, who tended towards more childish versions of professional dressing. He might have been handsome if it weren’t for the way he carried himself - arrogant, impatient, full of disdain.  

Joan felt sorry for him. 

“I require a larger pool of test subjects,” Crane explained stiffly, his top lip curling. “The volunteers aren’t good enough.”

“Why aren’t they enough?” Joan frowned as she removed her spectacles. “Your peers have no problem with the volunteers.”

Crane closed his eyes and inhaled sharply like he was rallying his patience, or maybe he found being asked to explain himself deeply offensive. 

“I require a certain kind of subject,” he forced a bitter smile that made Joan’s eyes widen. “I need to vet them myself. It’s essential to my research.”

“I understand, Jonathan,” Joan offered him a sympathetic smile and set his proposal aside. “I’m afraid twenty-thousand is out of the question. I may be able to free up five for you.”

“Ten,” Crane insisted sourly. “Dr Leland, I’m sure you’re aware that it would be generous to call the department’s psychopharmacology resources lacking.”

“I’m sorry, Jonathan, this isn’t a negotiation,” Joan sighed as she got to her feet, adjusting her pastel suit jacket. “You’ll have to make do with five-thousand. Now, please excuse me, I have a meeting.” 

She gestured to the door when an idea occurred to her - perhaps a creative solution. Crane isolated himself from his peers, and he never spoke about friends or family. He was missing empathy in his life, with no one to care for, and no one to show him compassion in return.

“Actually,” Joan’s smile brightened. “Have you thought about signing up for the free therapy program the student union set up?”

Crane’s pale eyes widened incredulously. 

“Dr Leland… are you suggesting I need therapy?” he demanded indignantly.

“Well, no,” Joan admitted, though it was abundantly clear Crane needed to talk to someone about his past. “You are a licensed therapist, Jonathan. I’m suggesting you volunteer your time to help these students. It would be good for you to practice outside of your research.”

Crane squinted at her owlishly for a moment, then quite abruptly, he snorted out a laugh.

“I don’t think so,” he said smugly. “Children with eating disorders don’t interest me.”

“Most of them are there for depression or anxiety, or trauma they need to work through,” Joan pointed out, feeling a swell of pity for him. “Psychology isn’t just research and test subjects. We’re here to help people too.”

“Mm,” he sneered, disagreeing but apparently not feeling the need to make his case. He wasn’t holding himself back because he held an unpopular opinion - Joan had heard plenty of complaints about his outright disdain for patient welfare. But this time it seemed he didn’t feel it was an argument worth having. An argument that was beneath him as he found so many things to be. 

“How are you finding the lectures?” Joan asked hesitantly, shouldering her bag as she followed him out of her office. 

“Most of them are morons,” he shot her a withering look that could have stripped paint off the wall. “I’ll also be lobbying the dean to remove the teaching requirement for students in their fourth year,” he informed Joan crisply. “Some of us have more important work to be doing.”

Then he turned on his heel and stomped down the hallway without a word of farewell. 

Joan sighed, feeling another surge of pity for Jonathan Crane as she locked her office door and headed in the opposite direction. 

Gotham University’s campus was covered in snow, a treat for students returning from their Christmas breaks. Joan smiled at colleagues and a few students she knew or recognized as she walked toward the student union building, struggling with the question of how she might help Jonathan Crane.

The student union was a modern building painted yellow and red, and it hadn’t aged well since it was constructed in the late seventies. Joan took the lift to the third floor, where she’d been given a small office to assess the students assigned to her. Four or five other members of staff from the psychology department volunteered their free time there too, with patients dolled out to them in a kind of raffle. Students wanting therapy would be added to a waitlist and scheduled with whoever was available whenever they were available. It wasn’t ideal but it was better than nothing. 

“Hi, Dr Leland,” the volunteer behind a receptionist’s desk greeted Joan brightly, handing her a file. 

“Hi Sarah,” Joan smiled back at her. “How is everything?”

“It’s pretty dead,” Sarah observed affably. “I guess the kids are feeling pretty good after the break. No finals to stress them out.”

“Sure,” Joan agreed politely, inwardly thinking that many of these young people would likely be in need of more therapy after the holidays, not less. “Who am I seeing today?” she opened the file, her eyes widening when she found a police report inside. 

“Ah, she’s kind of a special case,” Sarah sighed. “Her boyfriend was Guy Kopski, you know, the boy who committed suicide before the holidays?” She cringed, which made Joan frown, deeming a cringe to be a particularly inappropriate response from someone working closely with students requiring support and compassion. “Anyway, the financial aid office insisted she either take time off from school or get some form of therapy. She’s waiting in your office.”

“The FA office is involved? That seems heavy-handed,” Joan mused, scanning the police report before she turned the page. “Oh,” she nodded, understanding. 

Harleen Quinzel was on a full-ride scholarship, and she was an orphan. The financial aid office wanted to make sure their investment paid off. 

Sad stories were something you got used to working in psychology. It was important to empathize with your patients, and that never got easier or less painful, but the longer you did the job, the more you accepted those stories as part of life. Joan would never feel numb toward the people she helped, but their stories did become less shocking to her. Including Guy Kopski’s violent suicide.

To jump off a building, one truly had to want to die.  

Joan knocked on her office door before pushing it open, her lips curving into a patient smile, which came naturally to her after years and years of listening to sad stories. 

“Harleen?” she asked the girl waiting for her, keeping her voice soft. 

Harleen Quinzel sat at one end of a pale green corduroy couch, looking out the window. She had long, honey blonde hair that fell in soft, messy waves around her shoulders, and she wore the typical GU-girl winter uniform of leggings, a collegiate sweatshirt, and snow boots. She turned her head when Joan said her name, her sober expression inspiring an almost painful pang of sympathy in Joan. Harleen looked strained and pale, her blue eyes overly-large like she’d lost a lot of weight quickly, with bruise-like smudges beneath. It had been about three weeks since Guy Kopski’s suicide, and Joan realized that Harleen probably hadn’t had anyone to talk to about how she was feeling in that span of time. 

In fact, if she had no family to speak of, she would have spent most of that time alone in Gotham while her friends went back to their family’s homes.

“Dr Leland,” Harleen greeted Joan warily. 

Joan lowered herself onto the other end of the couch; she should have taken the chair, but Harleen was so… alone, it seemed more natural to sit beside her. To be closer to her.

“I’ve been filled in about Guy and the financial aid office,” Joan explained kindly while Harleen nodded. “This may be a very general way to open, but would you like to tell me how you’re feeling today?”

Harleen took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, her eyes on one of the many ferns populating the room. 

“Numb,” she said eventually, not looking away from the fern. “Like it didn’t happen.”

 “Acceptance is the final stage of grief,” Joan replied kindly. “It’s only been three weeks. It makes sense that you haven’t fully processed Guy's death.”

“No,” Harleen caught Joan’s eye. Her eyes were glacial, like an icy arctic sea. “I’ve accepted that he’s gone,” she said softly. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it.”

“There isn’t one way you should feel about it,” Joan said patiently. “It’s not about what you decide you should feel - you’ll feel whatever you feel. That’s one of the things we’re here to talk about so you can understand and cope with those feelings.”

“I know that. I meant I don’t know what I’m feeling, or if I’m even feeling anything at all,” Harleen explained, her gaze shifting back to the fern. She blinked at it a few times, her face placid as she searched her feelings, trying to understand them. “It’s like it didn’t happen to me, but someone else…” she murmured to herself.

Joan was about to jump in, not wanting to push her too hard in the first five minutes when Harleen spoke up again. 

“Everyone knows green is a soothing color,” she observed, running her hand over the corduroy couch cushion. “Doesn’t it seem a little patronizing to use it so liberally?”

“I’m not sure everyone knows that,” Joan offered her a wry smile. “You’re a psych major, aren’t you?”

“You’re the head of the psychology department, aren’t you?” Harleen countered tartly, imitating Joan’s tone perfectly. Then she shifted back into moroseness, almost more intensely than she had been before, and she took a deep breath like she was bracing herself. 

Joan felt a startling thread of dread roll through her gut - some sixth sense waving a flag that there was something wrong with this young woman. The way she flipped on a dime, from depressed to… whatever that was, and back again. It made Joan wonder if there wasn’t something ingenuine about her grief.

But, Joan reminded herself, there was nothing wrong with anyone. No matter what their pathology, no matter what their circumstances. There was a diagnosis to contend with, but no human being could be wrong. 

Aside from, perhaps, some of the most vicious psychopaths.

What made a person human if not empathy? 

“I’m hoping to get into the PhD program after I graduate,” Harleen said, giving Joan a hopeful smile that looked forced. 

“That’s wonderful,” Joan beamed at her, shrugging off her unease. “There’s pretty stiff competition, but you’ve certainly got the grades for it. What are you interested in?”

Harleen licked her lips, eyeing the fern thoughtfully as she considered Joan’s question. Or, perhaps she was considering how to answer Joan’s question. The longer the silence stretched on, the more Joan came to feel she was trying to craft an answer for Joan’s sake, rather than telling the truth. But that was ludicrous, there was nothing she could say that Joan would judge her for. 

Then Harleen looked at Joan, and there was a faint gleam in her eyes, something dark that sent an uneasy shiver rolling over Joan’s shoulders. 

“Psychopaths,” Harleen announced grimly, the word seeming to hang in the air between them. “I want to understand the way they feel,” she added, sounding more subdued.  

Joan raised her eyebrows. Psychopaths were frequent favorites for the younger students, no doubt because they were one of the more exciting pathologies. Not to mention the many movies featuring glamorized versions of them - Hannibal Lector, Patrick Batement, Frank Booth, and nearly every other villain created by Hollywood. 

But there was something… certain about Harleen's words. 

Something personal. 

“Psychopaths don’t feel very much,” Joan pointed out cautiously, watching Harleen turn her attention to the corduroy couch, stroking the ribbed fabric slowly. “They have almost zero emotional intelligence. Everything they do is driven by impulse, trying to feed the pleasure center of their brain for immediate gratification.”

“Really?” Harleen frowned as she looked up at Joan. “All of them?”

“Generally speaking,” Joan said hesitantly, holding Harleen’s gaze, which was intense and made her feel somehow… exposed. 

Harleen sighed and looked down at the pale green couch cushion.

“I wonder if psychopaths find green soothing,” she mused, sounding genuinely curious.

That brought a smile to Joan’s lips. Curiosity was one of her most prized qualities in a student.

After that first meeting, Joan met Harleen every other week for the rest of the semester, getting to know her sad story and her curious mind. There was something about her that made Joan feel protective of her, almost like she owed it to Harleen to give her what she needed to succeed. 

There was also something about Harleen that reminded Joan of Jonathan Crane. Something a shade too ambitious, something a fraction too disinterested in the people around her. They both had sad stories, but while Jonathan’s seemed to drag him down, Harleen seemed to exist separately from hers, as if none of it had really happened to her.

Joan was dismayed but not surprised when the world found out what Jonathan Crane turned Arkham Asylum into. His fear toxin, torturing his patients, working with the mob, the Scarecrow moniker, all of it seemed like an inevitable conclusion.  

But she could have never predicted how Harleen’s story panned out. 

Joan had always worried about the way Harleen monitored herself in front of other people. Over the years that followed their first meeting, she could never understand why her most talented student felt the need to hide her thoughts and feelings, and there was always something decidedly… clenched about how she carried herself. As if there was a weight on her shoulders she couldn’t shake off, something constantly holding her back from being herself, something she was constantly fighting against. 

It wasn’t until the world was introduced to Harley Quinn that Joan understood what that something was.

And all it had taken was the Joker to unlock it.

A/N: Again, just a little writing exercise with some throwbacks to the Harlequin, but nothing revolutionary or spoilery.

Now time to write what I’m supposed to be writing...

[malcolmwhitly-bright]

Longing for Things Out of Reach

Chapter Two

No one wants to be friends with the cripple. 

It’s not completely true. His classmates could not care less about any of the many tools he needs to get around. His speech impediment isn’t that bad anymore and no one notices it except him. He’s pretty ‘ok’ in his classmates’ books. Everyone knows his story, every news station in America gave him his five minutes of fame for turning his father in. His lack of friends has nothing to do with him physically and everything to do with him mentally. 

“What do you want me to do, Jessica?”

Malcolm pretends like he can’t hear Gil and his mother arguing in the doorway. They blame one another for his failures but even Malcolm knows it’s all his fault. He’s slower than normal, more than taking his time as he walks to the steps. He doesn’t want to face Gil, doesn’t want to talk about another horrible week at school like next week will be any different. 

“Jackie said she’s making burritos,” Ainsley tells him. She’s hot on his heels and he’s expressed several times her doing so makes him feel self-conscious about the way he walks. She remembers this when he catches his foot on the carpet and curses angrily. “Sorry, Mal.”

Malcolm closes his eyes, breathing through his nose for ten seconds before opening them again. His voice is calm, his frustration melting away. “It’s not your fault, I-I wasn’t watching.” With more concentration, he manages to get his left leg over the carpet even if it means he leans heavily into the crutch at his side. 

Ainsley watches him falter at the top of the steps. The task is daunting. “Why don’t you move your bedroom downstairs,” she whispers, still worried her words will set him off like a ticking bomb. “No one would think any less of you.” It seemed to be a debate held monthly in their home. Staved off for when Malcolm had one of his severely worse days. Her mother would comfort him as best she can and asks if he’d like her to call Gil. That together they can move his things to the first-floor bedroom. 

His cold blue eyes find her and she can see he’s not mad. He shakes his head with a knowing smirk,” I would.” He takes the first step, leaning between the railing and the crutch. What he means is that he knows that his family would come at the drop of a hat to help move his room downstairs but he would feel awful if he moves it. It’s… It’s like being a kid again before his father was sent away. He’s a broken child all over again. 

“Hey my little G-man,” Gil rustles Malcolm’s hair and steps away from Jessica to take Malcolm’s overnight bag. Malcolm forces a smile for Jackie who waves at him from where Ainsley is now engaging her in conversation. “How was this week?”

Malcolm trusts his mother has already told the Lieutenant that he missed Tuesday and Wednesday. He forced himself out of bed Tuesday only to fall in the shower like a complete moron when his hip locked up and he was hit with such blinding pain in his knees that he had to army crawl out. He could live without the embarrassment of telling Gil that his mother had found him completely naked on the bathroom floor. 

He decides to smile through it, “I fell down the stairs yesterday morning but I aced my calc test.” He leaves out that he was home alone and that it took him ten minutes to find the strength to pull himself upright. His therapist calls this his ‘protective dome’. That only because it’s nicer to give deflections a different name. She doesn’t like his protective dome and he knows it’s because it’s not as protective as he likes to pretend it is. Lying to the people who care about him isn’t helpful for them or for him. 

“That’s one less fall than last week,” Ainsley supplies in their silence. She always wants him to appease the ground between Malcolm and others. She’ll smooth over his frustrated comments towards Gil or his mother. She’ll even brush off his mean comments. He doesn’t deserve it. 

He doesn’t deserve a lot of things. 

“Come on kid,” Gil sighs at Malcolm’s full plate. Malcolm hadn’t even bothered to pick up his fork. Jackie sends him a look from the kitchen, it’s a warning. Gil isn’t in a good mood and Malcolm’s disinterest in life is not going to make it better. “You’re not gonna eat your food? Have you eaten at all today?”

Protective Dome. Don’t tell him more than what he needs to know. 

Malcolm shrugs his shoulders, “... had a granola bar.” He can remember the day his life changed forever. One phone call. He wishes he’d never made the phone call. He didn’t save the woman in the basement with him so there was no point. He wishes… He wishes he would have died in that basement, in the teal room. 

There would be no crutches, canes, or wheelchairs. There would be no mornings where he’s too weak to stand or in too much pain to think. There’d be nothing. He’d be dead. Maybe he would have grown weaker, died in his sleep. Things probably would have escalated and it would be a slow, painful death but it would be a death. That’s more than he has now.

But he didn’t die. Gil saved him. 

Malcolm remembers that night perfectly. The way his father seemed warmer than normal as they made their way down the stairs. He can feel the gurney digging into his back and the needle piercing his flesh. The clouds over his eyes and in his skin. 

He can remember the banging as the cops filled the house. His mother and Ainsley’s crying as they realized they were looking for Martin. Better than anything else, he remembers Gil. Warm, strong arms that lifted him from the gurney, a soothing voice through the shouts and cries of the madness around. 

Gil. 

Gil with his spicy cologne.

Gil with his bear hugs and goatee.

“I’m sorry,” Malcolm whispers, his eyes falling just short of where Gil’s are. “I… I-” he doesn’t know. There’s no good excuse for his behavior. A heavy hand finds his shoulder and Malcolm looks up to find Gil smiling down at him. 

Gil squeezes his shoulder and says nothing as he pulls the plate away. Jackie smiles at him from the kitchen and Malcolm bows his head. His therapist had suggested that perhaps his fear was misplaced. That he needs to stop worrying about freaking his family out and worry more about what’s freaking him out.

More importantly, what led to his attempt. 

He can’t remember most of it, his therapist explained that sort of thing can happen when a person is traumatized. It’s the way the brain protects itself. Too bad it didn’t happen to the first ten years of his life, then maybe he wouldn’t have a suicide attempt to remember. His therapist hadn’t found that quip as clever as he did. 

He remembers waking in the hospital and the way they looked at him. The way they’re still looking at him now, almost a week later. 

He meets Jackie’s eyes, those intuitive blue eyes. Just like his. She brushes past Gil as they switch positions. She settles into the kitchen chair closests to him and his hand in hers. “Is this okay?” She means a hundred things, he knows. That was Jackie, clever. He nods and she runs her finger over the bandage on his wrist. It covers the angry red skin. “What were you thinking?” He understands... She’s not here to criticize his choices. “I’m not your mother, Malcolm.” She wants to understand.

He shakes his head like he can’t fathom an answer. Her eyes don’t move away and her thumb on his pulse makes him tremble with vulnerability. “I’m-” his voice is a rasp of nerves as he looks at her for any indication that he doesn’t have to go on. “I’m not- I’m not normal.” His protective dome of careful half truths be damned.

They both know it’s bigger than that. He knows, right now, as he thinks back to climbing into that too warm water. The way it settled on his chest like the night he found the woman. The razor felt like the needle slipping into his veins and his knees wobbled and his head was fuzzy. 

She squeezes his fingers, shaking her head. “You’re seeing it all wrong,” she whispers, hand coming to the side of his head. “Think about the things you can do, the things you can control.” She looks over her shoulder, “if you’re so awful, why does your baby sister think you hung the moon and named stars?” She strokes his cheek, “who cares about normal. I like you better the way you are, dark humor and loud laugh.” She scoots closer, bringing their heads to touch. “You make life worth living, you silly boy.”

He struggles to keep his tears at bay, smiling and laughing oddly as a tear falls down his cheek. Jackie brushes it away and presses her warm palm to his cheek. He looks at her, lower lip trembling. “It-” he hasn’t talked about it. None of them have, not really. “It hurt,” he whispers. “It hurt so much.” She presses her lips to his forehead, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. The weight across his shoulders suddenly doesn’t feel as heavy, his heart light. 

She unwraps him and he’s suddenly too cool without her right there beside him. Two fingers press under his chin and he lifts his head, smiling when he looks up to Jackie. She smiles with a wink but says nothing, Malcolm already knows. He’s a fighter. He’s smart. He’s the boy who gets knocked down and who gets back up and with love he’s learning to take his time. 

“Eat,” Jackie fills the empty space where his plate had been with a peeled orange. She’s not leaving it up for debate. Gil watches him out of the corner of his eye but Jackie doesn’t. Normally, he might venture to say something about Gil’s attention but after everything he’s put the poor man through he doesn’t have the heart.

Ainsley runs into the kitchen stopping when she realizes Gil can hear her. She smiles sheepishly and grins at him. They’re not supposed to run through the house, a problem mostly at Gil and Jackie’s because Ainsley gets so excited about being at their house.

“What is it, Ains?” Gil raises an eyebrow and puts a hand on her shoulder, stopping her twisting as she stands in place. His smile is soft as he regards her. It’s only been two weeks since he saw them and yet he missed them both unspeakably. It was weird, the house and station and the back of his car without one of them. No Malcolm to get picky over what station the radio played on or Ainsley to give him those sad little pouty eyes when he says no to stopping for sweets. 

She smiles, “I wanna play checkers. Will you play with me?” She can see his hesitation and pulls his hand off her shoulder, squeezing his fingers. “Please, Gil? Please?”

He caves, like always, and lets her pull him to the living room. 

Jackie watches the exchange with a smile, “he’s missed having you two around.” Malcolm knows she’s speaking to him but prefers placing another orange slice on his tongue so he doesn't have to engage in discussing exactly why it is they haven’t been over. “I have too.” 

It comes back to him, it always does. 

Ainsley can’t have horse riding lessons because Jessica doesn’t like missing Malcolm’s physical therapy. 

Gil missed two weeks from work because Malcolm decided to slit-

Right. He’s not supposed to think like that. Ainsley can’t have horse riding lessons because she’s already balancing ballet and school. Gil missed time because Malcolm was in the hospital and the station wrote it off because they know the relationship. 

Malcolm clears his throat, “she’s talked about it all week.” He can faintly remember on Tuesday when she crawled into his bed with him. Their mother had sent her up with a heated blanket and Ainsley had tucked it around the two of them before settling into his side. She had talked his ear off but hearing her excitement helped with some of the pain. 

“And you?” Jackie is the only person that pushes him to express his emotions. She tilts her head and watches him. Gil and Jessica always comment that when Malcolm and Jackie tilt their heads they look exactly alike. That heavy intuitive gaze in their blue eyes. 

Malcolm nods, “it’s…” He doesn’t want to say home but… This house is home more than his own could ever be. “It’s good to be home,” he looks down and realizes he’s finished the orange. His stomach rumbles, reminding him just how little he’s eating as of late.

Jackie smiles at the sound and she hands him a plate. This one has two sliced strawberries, half a banana, and another orange. He starts this one with a little more fever, smiling when the orange drips down his chin. She smiles too, “I love you, bright boy.” She rustles his hair.

He looks up at her and he knows she means it. He bites into a strawberry and smiles when he finds it to be sweet. He’ll spend his whole life wondering how it is that her love seeped into everything she made, even the fruits she cuts. “I love you too, Jackie.”

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

“Get behind me, I’ll deal with this.” with our fav general Zelgius? u deserve a big protective sweetheart for your birthday uwu

Pairing: Zelgius x reader

Description: Being the emotional mess you are, you decided an impromptu dash through the forest near Castle Askr would do you some good. Of course, knowing your luck, it doesn’t.

Prompt: “Get behind me, I’ll deal with this” 

Rating: sfw

Word Count: 1980

Notes: Me, getting to these prompts that say “happy birthday” a month later: hhh thank u enjoy ur content;;; I always end up writing so much for Zelgius, this ended up being longer than I thought it would!

Dumb, and dumber; that would be your head and your heart. Named so, because your heart decided as much as you loved Zelgius, he would never love you back, and your mind because after agreeing with your heart, it sent you out on your own, rushing into the forest outside of castle Askr without so much of anything to protect you.

Which, would have been fine any other day really, it was generally a safe place around here due to the number of heroes in the area at any given time, but you weren’t the only moron out today it seemed. A small group of bandits had set up in the forest, apparently preparing to try and sneak into the castle; of course, had they done so they would have been easily captured and dealt with, but since you had just waltzed into their little camp they now had a bartering piece.

“I’ll bet they’ll pay a pretty penny to have their precious little Summoner back, huh?” You had somehow manged to stop crying once being captured and ended up being rather annoyed. You had been tied up and sat, rather uncomfortably in the middle of the three of them. You could only really keep an eye on one of the, due to how you were sat but at least this one seemed to be the leader of them.

“I hate to break it to you, but you know how unlikely that is?” You sighed. “This whole area is constantly patrolled by heroes-- and someone is going to notice I’m gone, really soon.”

“I’m sure they can be convinced,” you were dragged up by your chin, and met to face the grinning face of the leader. You leaned back, both because you wanted to be as far from him as possible and because you were positive his breath would smell disgusting. “After all, sending you back in one piece is a pretty good argument.” Your eyes widened a moment but you simply scowl at him.

“Go ahead-- hurt me if you want. You won’t kill me, after all, I’m just too valuable to you.” You had a moment to hold your victorious smirk before the leader growled and threw you unceremoniously to the ground.

“We’ll see about that Summoner.” He and his buddies were the ones left laughing as you struggled to right yourself without the use of your hands. You huffed, finally righted, and frowned.

“You don’t even have a plan, do you?” You eyed your left and right, seeing either of his lackeys behind you. “You’ve had me for nearly an hour now and you’ve done nothing?” You scoffed.

“Yeah, boss… you never did tell us the plan.” The one to your left sounded a little concerned.

“Mind filling us in?” Righty didn’t seem too pleased either.

“The Summoner, obviously!” The man gestured to you in anger. “You heard them say it, someone’s bound to come looking. That’s where we make our stand.”

“So you’re just going to wait here, hoping someone stumbles upon us?” You huffed. “No one knows where we are, that could take hours, even if they started looking now.” You frowned as the boss only seemed to get angrier as Righty spoke again.

“Ya know, the Summoner is making a hell of a lot more sense than you are.” You smirked a little. “We have her, why not use her as bait? Speed things up a bit.” Your smirk dropped as you watched the leader ponder this, hand stroking his tattered beard.

“Alright, fine, have it your way.” He was still frowning at the thought of having his authority challenged. “We’ll head to the forest's edge and wait. When you see one of you’re precious heroes, call them over-- and we’ll jump out to negotiate.” It was honestly one of the dumbest plans ever, but you supposed between the three of them they were only sharing two brain cells.

“Up with you then,” Lefty quite literally managed to pull you up to your feet and push you forward, guiding you as Righty and the leader argued back and forth. Soon enough, you had reached the forest's edge. The foliage was thick enough that you couldn’t see in, but the rest of you could out just fine. Sure enough, someone had come looking for you; you had mixed feelings about it, though, because on one hand, Zelgius could easily take care of a couple of stupid brigands, but one the other hand, he was the reason you had drove yourself into the reach of these three in the first place.

“...I’m not sure I like this look of this one.” Lefty frowned.

“No trust me, he’s very important around here,” You lied. “He would never risk getting me hurt” You added.

“Get moving,” You were shoved forward, hands still tied, and sighed.

“Zelgius!” You called out to him, and his green eyes quickly met your form. “Hey, get over here really quick? There’s um...” You looked behind you, blatantly, and the three just shrugged. “I need to tell you something important.” You sighed. Zelgius was no fool, and he knew something was up. He quickly jogged to cover the distance between you. The closer he got, the more things seemed off. You were frowning, and gesturing with your eyes behind you. Not only that, your hands were obviously tied behind you.

“Is… everything alright?” Things obviously weren’t, he could see shadows behind you, but he had to act with a certain level of caution less something happens to you.

“Oh, I’m just peachy,” You frowned, casually stepping towards Zelgius before you could be pulled back to the tree line. “Listen, there are three idiots back there, mind helping me out?” Zelgius had to hold back his laugh at your pure gall; even in a bad situation, you had your humor.

“Hey wait a second!” A hand reached out to pull you back, but Zelgius was quicker, pulling you towards his chest protectively.

“Get behind me, I’ll take care of this” Zelgius had already brandished Aldonite, hold it out in front of him as you moved behind him as he asked.

“Gladly,” You were smirking again. “There’s three of them, but they’re not the brightest bunch so it should be easy,” Obviously angered by your words, the familiar figures of your captors appeared from the foliage and attacked. Two went for Zelgius, and the third made a dash for you. Zelgius was prepared for this, and was able to block the two with Aldonite and pull you to his chest with the other. You were impressed by his maneuverability but the three of them weren’t done yet. They didn’t seem to have much battle practice you noticed, their attacks were unplanned and haphazard at best.

“There’s not much reason to their fighting, but if you take out their leader the other two might lose their will to fight,” They may be easy foes, but he was still outnumbered and trying to protect you; the least you could do was act on your feet and try to find him an advantage in this fight. “Besides,” You added, raising your voice significantly to gain their attention. “He’s too weak to take you on his own, so he needs others to fight his battles for him!” Just as you had hoped, this had angered the leader as you had prior, and made the other two hesitant to attack. Zelgius was easily able to attack the man first, and knock him down, Aldonite ready to pierce his flesh.

“I ought to kill you for capturing _____,” You wiggled in your restraints as if to say ‘yeah you really fucked up’ but you held your tongue, for once. “But spilling your blood would be a waste.” He lifted Aldonite, but scoffed. “Leave this place, and never return-- or next time I won’t go easy.” Between your remarks, and Zelgius’s glare and overall intimidating composure, the three brigands cursing you and quickly fleeing. After watching a minute, to make sure they really did disappear into the forest, Zelguis turned to you, concern obvious on his features.

“Mind untying me now?” You asked sheepishly.

“How did this happen?” Zelgius withheld a sigh, but you could hear it in the tone of his voice as he worked on untying the ugly knot keeping you bound.

“I went wandering in the forest, alone. I was… a little upset, so I had my guard down.” You didn’t bother to hold in your own sigh, gazing over the expanse of trees. “I’m okay now, and I apologize for being so foolish.” Zelgius has successfully freed your hands, and you brought them to your chest to rub your wrists while turning to face him. “Thanks for all that, though.”

“They didn’t hurt you in any way?” He was scanning your body, looking for any excuse to follow those idiots and let loose the rage that was quietly burning inside him.

“Not much, I got pushed around a little but I’ll survive.” You smiled up at him and he decided, in that moment, you were more important.

“...What had you running off in the forest so late anyway?” You had hardly noticed, but dusk was quickly approaching. Had Zelgius not turned up when he did, you could have had to spend the night with those men.

“Ah… it was nothing, don’t worry.” You shook your head. “Just, some perceived failures on my own part, and a moment of weakness.” You were frowning, and still refusing to meet his intense gaze. “Like I said though, I’m better now. I’m… more curious why you were out here so late, actually.” You sneaked a look his way, and noticed now, he looked just as uncomfortable as you.

“I...” He stopped, unsure what to say. “I heard word that you had left the castle… looking upset. I, suppose I was worried.” His words even surprised him, but he had nothing to offer you but the truth.

“Worried? You echoed, fully meeting his gaze once more. “I suppose that’s a good thing, then.” You cracked a smile and Zelgius did as well. Your heartbeat was picking up, and just from hearing that you had to reconsider your stance on the whole ‘Zelgius could never love me thing’. Anything seemed possible at that moment. “Let’s return to the castle, Zelgius. It’s been a pretty eventful day for me.” You laughed, and he nodded in agreement.

“If you’ll allow it,” The two of you had begun walking back. Zelgius looked ahead, but you glanced his way as he spoke. “I’d like the chance to better protect you; today feels like a failing on my part.”

“Oh Zelgius, I told you, I was just emotional and impulsive.” You laughed. “How could you have known I would do that when even I didn’t?” You countered. “I promise, you’re already doing much more than you need to.”

“Still,” He paused before the stairs the led to the door with you, and you turned to face him. “I want to do more because… knowing you’re safe brings me peace.” Yes, you really would have to reevaluate just how you thought Zelgius felt for you; here, in the dying light, with the evening sun crowning his figure, you could swear you saw the whispers of the words ‘I love you on his lips’. But it was just as fleeting as the daylight.

“I… suppose I can allow that.” You had to fight to find your voice in all that emotion. “Because… having you protect me makes me very happy as well.” He nodded, a small smile on his face. The rest of the walk up the castle steps were silent, the both of you left to your thoughts. You were smiling like an idiot, though, thinking that maybe, just maybe, you had a shot with the Black Knight himself.

[blackhakumen]

Fanfic #23: New Life? (Danganronpa AU)

Fuyuhiko messed up badly. Just when he was finally able to turn his life around, he somehow found some way to screw it up for him.

After the love of his life, Peko, found out that he was going to school night this entire time, the silver hair beauty was so disappointed of Fuyuhiko not only for not being fully honestly with her on why he would come home late everynight, but also for keeping this a secret for this long. So when she told him that they should take some time apart from each other for awhile, it easily devastated the Baby Gangster's heart to the point where he actually left the school, silently calling it quits.

A few days later after that certain events, Fuyuhiko begins to work at a new job at a Christian like Fast Food Restaurant, dressing up in a chicken costume just to gain more customers. Things was going somewhat normal for Fuyuhiko...that is until he saw two familiar ladies stepped out of the car that day.

Mahiru: (Stepped out of car with a guilty and worried expression) Oh Fuyu....

Fuyuhiko: ('Sigh' God damnit, not these two again...)

Hiyoko: Is this really what you want to do for the rest of your life?!

Fuyuhiko: (Walking away) Tch. Whatever. It's time for my break anyways....

Mahiru: (Pleading) Fuyuhiko, please don't go! We need to talk.

Fuyuhiko: (Livid) You know, you two have some fucking nerve coming over here. Let me guess, you gonna boast about how much of a fucking loser I am now?

Hiyoko: (Offended) Of course not, you dumbass!! We want to apologise!!!

Fuyuhiko: Apologise?

Mahiru: Look, it won't be too long. I promise.

Fuyuhiko: Alright fine. You have 30 seconds and counting to speak. Go.

Mahiru: Umm...okay look, when we were in high school together, I was kind of...sort of jealous of you.

Fuyuhiko: (Unimpressed) Now you got 25 seconds left now.

Mahiru: All i ever had in that place was grades and photography. You, on the other hand, were a....Yakuza! You had so many friends and followers that....I-I couldn't help but to feel jealous...

Fuyuhiko: (Still Unimpressed) 20.

Hiyoko: (Screamed) You were a complete jackass back in the day, okay?! You never talk to any of us in class, you were always hanging out with Peko almost everyday, and whenever we see you, you look like you were looking down on all of us! Like you never wanted to be friends with any of us in the first place!!

Fuyuhiko: Before I go on my break, I just wanted to say that's just fucking sad, you two. I know that I've may have been an ass to you guys back then, but I actually tried to talk to you guys even when I started this whole night school thing. And every time, you'd give me the cold shoulder. Hell, I even wanted to catch up with you guys someday too....fuck it, why are you even telling me this, anyways?

Mahiru: (Tearing up) Because we felt completely awful for doing this to you. We started the school business to help people, not ruin them.

Hiyoko: (Frowns Sadly) Yeah...and when we had our revenge the other night, we just felt terrible doing that in the first place...So that's why we came here. To talk to you.

Akane: (Walks out of the car) Plus, I told them that I wouldn't hesitate to kick their asses if they didn't come here and apologize.

Mahiru: (Blushes in embarrassment) I-It's true...she did told us that... R-right, Hiyoko.

Hiyoko: (Nodding her heading repeatedly in fear)

Fuyuhiko: ('Heavy Sigh') Alright. You know what, you guys, I really appreciate the whole After School Special Moment here, but trust me when I say that I'm okay. I am where I'm supposed to be.

Akane: (Raising her eyebrows) Your destiny is to work at a Fast Food Joint next to a strip club?

Fuyuhiko: Yes, Akane. This is my destiny. If I stay here at the same time, I could smell Coco butter and chicken at the same time. Now, I don't know about y'all, but that's a win-win for me.

Akane: Fuyu, listen-

Fuyuhiko: Ain't no 'Fuyu listen', Akane! You, of all people, knew I wouldn't pass that test, so don't stand here and act like it's a different story! (Points at Mahiru and Hiyoko) And don't you two act like you don't want to finally say that I'm stupid moron.

Mahiru: (Frowns) Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu, you are not a stupid moron.

Fuyuhiko: No really. Go ahead and say it! I'll be fine! Come on, Hiyoko, you're always welcome to tell me how much of a failure I am now. I can take it!

Hiyoko: (Tearing up) No....no I don't want to, Fuyuhiko. Cause that's not true!

Fuyuhiko: Might as well be...

Akane: (Had Enough) Fuyuhiko. You are a lot of things, bro. A gangster, a liar, you're a small boi.

Hiyoko: And loud. Don't forget loud.

Akane: Yeah, you can be loud too. But you are NOT a moron! You never have and you never will be. Now this chicken suit you have on right now, is dumb as hell if you ask me.

Fuyuhiko: (Offended while pulling out his Cross necklace) I rebuke you! You hear me?! REBUKE! (Walking away) You know what, fuck this. I'm going back to work-

Akane: (Livid while grabbing Fuyuhiko by the collar trying to take of thr costume) LIKE HELL YOU ARE!! If you don't take that suit off and take that test?!

Fuyuhiko: (Struggling to get Akane's hand of his suit) Get the hell off me, Akane!!

Mahiru: (Trying to calm down Akane) Akane, no! L-let's just use our words okay?

Akane: (Takes out her belt) Oh trust me, Mahiru, we are passed using words now!

Fuyuhiko: (Surprised) What the hell?!

Hiyoko: Oh my God, she has a belt!!

Over the past two minutes, Akane begins to swatting Fuyuhiko with a belt while trying get him to take off the chicken costume at the same time. Fuyuhiko on the other hand, tries to runaway from Akane in circles with very little prevail. Mahiru and Hiyoko decided that it would be best to let their two friends work this out and walk in the restaurant to get something to eat.

After everything was calmed down...

Akane: (Huffing and puffing) Now listen to me, Fuyu!

Fuyuhiko: Alright!

Akane: Are you going to listen to me?

Fuyuhiko: Yes. I will. I promise. Just put the fucking belt down will ya?!

Akane: ('Sigh') You have worked too hard to get this far. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let my best friend give up like this!!

Fuyuhiko: (Surprised at what Akane told me) You... really think of me as your best friend?

Akane: Of course I do, Fuyu. Hell, you're like a brother to me, man. Ever since we first met too. Now....either you come back to Hope Peaks and take the test with us and win your girl back or I'mma keep tenderizing your ass. The chose is yours.

Fuyuhiko: ....................Alright.

Akane: Hmm?

Fuyuhiko: I'll go back to Academy with you guys. God damnit, you were right, Akane. I shouldn't give up like this. I want to have a future. I want to have it with the woman I love!......But I can't really do that if I'm gonna keep wearing a chicken suit for the rest of my life, huh?

Akane: (Smiles Softly while pulling Fuyuhiko in a tight hug) I'm proud of you, Fuyu. I really am. I know it's going to be difficult and all, but I know you'll ace that thing. I believe in you.

Fuyuhiko: (Smiles Softly) Thanks, sis.

Akane: (Blushes in embarrassment) Also...sorry for smacking you with a belt like that.

Fuyuhiko: (Chuckles) Nah, it's fine. I needed that if I'm being honest...

Akane: You know I never gave up on you right?

Fuyuhiko: I do now. Sorry for doubting you before...

Akane: Don't worry about it. Now c'mon, there's two ladies in there who needs to talk to you.

Fuyuhiko: Yeah... let's go.

@thewildwilds

@keyenuta

@miki-13

[ratretro]

The Heart Beats Chapter 4 - Scars

Title: The Heart Beats

Pairing: NaLu

Summary: Soulmate AU mashup - Red Strings. Forgotten Dreams. Colors of Gray. Marked Skin. Unfamiliar Names. Soulmates have different meanings for everyone, and Lucy struggles to find the courage to take her next step forward. Will she finally claim her future or will feelings go left unsaid?

Rating: M – sort of??? probably??????

None of these characters are owned by me, they are all owned by the wonderful Hiro Mashima!

A/N:

Alright everyone! We’ve got our winners! So, after tallying votes from my asks, dms, and on FF (ao3 had no comments) we came to these results. For NaLu: the midnight video call (honestly truly this was a super close race) and for Jerza: Coffee Shop. Based on the winning options for the ships we won’t be meeting Wendy this chapter! However, we will meet her  in ch 5 or 6 so no worries haha also the midnight video call option is just good okay

FF.net - AO3

   Natsu Dragneel was, by all intents and purposes, an idiot. He wracked his brain for answers on why he would put his name as ‘Hot Stuff’ in her phone. Oh man, she was going to think he was a moron. Shit, he just might be.

   “Troubles with the blonde?” Jellal gave him a knowing pat on the shoulder and Natsu briefly wondered if the man was doing alright. He’d JUST moved back to his hometown and all.

   “The blonde’s name is Lucy and Natsu looooves her,” Juvia called from across the empty cafe. He was after closing but the trio still had business to take care of and that took precedence over his idiocy with a girl he definitely did NOT love. He loved his soulmate. Though, sometimes that worked for and against him. Today, it was against him because damn it all the girl was amazing. She was selfless and caring.

   He could inconvenience her a million times and she’d forgive him each and every one. But Lucy. Lucy was real. He could touch her, hear her voice, watch her nose scrunch up when she took a sip of a drink much too bitter. Today, it worked against him.

   “I don’t like ‘er, Juvia. She’s not my soulmate.” He threw the rag down on the countertop with an annoyed grunt.

   Jellal, in his infinite wisdom, assumed Natsu was one of the ‘following the crowd’ types and made the first of many mistakes.

   “So? Why should that matter?” the darker-haired blunette’s voice rang into the silence and Natsu, dear Natsu, exploded.

   “Huh!? What do ya mean why!? ‘Cause I love her and I can’t stand liking someone who isn’t her!”

   “Have you guys met before?” because surely after a week of working at the shop Jellal would have met her by now. But he’d only ever seen the blo-- ‘Lucy’ here to visit the pinkette.

   “N-no, we haven’t.” the pinkette’s head hung low and he expected the same thing he always got: then go see her instead of raging.

   “Are you dating?” this was a different line of questioning then he was used to. So, Natsu, for once, listened.

   “No?” Jellal spoke calmly even in the face of Natsu’s disdain. Natsu, himself, was beginning to question Jellal’s motive at this point.

   “Then do as you please. See who you end up liking the most. Although, you should probably meet your soulmate if--”

   “I KNOW.” an aggravated yowl left the pinkette’s throat and that was enough for Jellal to know it was a subject to drop. And so he continued to sweep and they worked in awkward silence until the cafe was closed for the night. They even had the ‘closed for emergency’ sign outside so patrons knew they’d be closed for a few days.

   The trio had business to attend to after all. Business that had nothing to do with his love life.

----------------------

   The dinging of her phone was what woke her in the dead of night. The blonde fumbled and smacked at her phone in an attempt to decline the call but much to her chagrin she tapped the answer button instead.

   “Hey, Lucy.” Natsu’s voice was soft and barely audible from her bedside table and it took her a moment to register who was speaking.

   “Natsu?” her voice was groggy and at first the pinkette wasn’t sure what Lucy had even said. Meanwhile, the blonde herself was struggling to focus on the bright lit up screen where the vague shape of her barista was. Half-asleep and barely functioning, she waited for a response.

   “Look at the screen.” Lucy had barely heard what he said. Which wasn’t surprising since she still hadn’t lifted the phone from her table.

   “Don’t wanna.” a grumbled response that Natsu understood. Sort of.

   “Luuuuce.” he groaned while the haze of the blonde’s waking mind began to clear.

   “Fiiiiiiine,” she grumbled. The pinkette watched as her face came to view. Well, a dark outline of her face barely illuminated from the light of the phone.

   “You realize it’s...” she glanced to the upper right, “12:37 AM. Right?”

   “Yeah,” he said it like a statement but his voice was becoming strained, almost as if he was hurt.

   “I just felt the need to talk to ya is all. Not sure why.” more strained vocals from the pinkette. He looked to be in a dimly lit location. She could hear cars passing by and even the sound of a microwave going off in the distance.

   “What about? Are you okay?” she didn’t think he was but she was already expecting his lie.

   “I’m fine. Nothin’ to worry about, Luce.” it seemed that the nickname would be sticking unless she rejected it but honestly it felt right. It felt like a personal connection to him. She liked that.

   “Ya sure?” she grumbled, a mixture of tired and irritation at being woken if nothing was wrong.

   “Where are you anyway?” now THAT was a question he’d hoped she wouldn’t ask.

   “I’m on my balcony.” Technically speaking, he was on a balcony – it just wasn’t his.

   “Uh huh. Sure. Are you sure you’re okay?” Her bed creaked as she shifted to an upright position to continue talking to him.

   “I am. Uh--” the sound of a fight broke out in the background and Natsu cursed before the call abruptly ended. Lucy was left with a bright screen reading ‘Call Ended’ and several questions. Luckily, these could easily be answered with her visit to the shop tomorrow. Still, she worried about him. She considered calling him back to see if he was okay but quickly dismissed the thought.

Besides, she’d see him tomorrow anyway.

---------------------

   Natsu laid in his bed, cut to hell, and internally thanked the fact that Lucy hadn’t called him back. That failure of a mission was just one of their many mistakes but he’d made the biggest blunder. He’d gotten hurt; bad. Wendy had spent the entire night attempting to keep the wound from scarring but in the end, she hadn’t been able to. He’d needed several stitches.

   He’d also been ignoring the inked messages on his forearm filled with panic, worry and God knew what else. Of course, she’d seen it. It would scar, badly, which would cause it to stay on her as well. Forever, it would never leave. Now, Natsu himself wouldn’t care about a measly scar but he wasn’t a girl. Girls care about things like that.

   Maybe once he was out of recovery and cleared for active duty again he could talk to Juvia about it. Still, that bitch Briar would pay the next time he saw her. Though, the pinkette couldn’t say it was a total bust. They’d finally gotten information that they could turn into the police which would finally end their job. Plus, the mob syndicate, Avatar would go down in ashes. He couldn’t have them anywhere near Lucy or his soulmate which meant they couldn’t be rifling around in this city.

   “We got ‘em right, gramps?” he questioned the small, elder man who was sitting on the dresser across from his bed.

   “We got ‘em. But. I hate that you disobeyed a direct order AND got yourself injured.” his voice was booming for an old man and Natsu had to admit: he was scared.

   “You leave me with no choice.”

   “Gramps, no. Anything but that.” Natsu’s voice was exasperated.

   “You’re grounded. For an entire week, you won’t leave the apartment and you WON’T be working at the shop either.” Now, Natsu wasn’t worried about funds. Most of his bills were paid by Fairy Tail including his rent. However, being forced away from the shop bothered him. He wouldn’t see Lucy or her friends. And he even liked her friends. Except for Gray. Everyone but him.

   “Graaaaamps,” he whined

------------------------

   Lucy tapped her pen on the table in anger. She’d heard nothing from Natsu or her soulmate in nearly four days. Lucy was pissed, which wasn’t exactly a first for her, at her soulmate. It wasn’t about the scarring left on her abdomen. This was about her worry. She cared for him; missed him. But he’d gotten seriously injured and dropped off the face of the earth.

   Lucy didn’t want to ask the question that was on her mind and it seemed like the redhead didn't either.

   “Ah! May I get another winterberry tea? The color is quite refreshing.” Erza’s voice snapped her out of her stupor causing her to watch the exchange closely. She recognized the blunette male from the week prior when she and Natsu had given each other their numbers.

   “You think so too? I love the color. It has to be my favorite. It’s a scarlet color, just like your hair.” the pair were smiling at each other with tinted red cheeks and the blonde nearly cooed at the two. The scene felt like sweet tea on her tongue; strong and full of diabetes. Meanwhile, her soulmate gets cut up and just disappears.

   The blunette returned to the counter where Juvia, her second-favorite barista, began showing the male the ropes of making Erza’s favorite drink of the week. It’d surely change by next week but Lucy wasn’t one to judge on picky taste. She’d refused to drink a cappuccino made by anyone other than Natsu so she was getting her caffeine via the unlikely source of Earl Grey. It barely took the edge off. Still, somehow she was still steadfast on the pinkette making her drink.

   She was also stubbornly waiting for his call. Pale fingers caressed her abdomen where the ragged mark of an ‘X’ now laid upon her skin.

   First, her soulmate. Now, Natsu. Hives broke out across her skin as worry fell over her.

   “Luce! It’s been a while, huh?”

   And truly it hadn’t been.

A/N:

NEXT CHAPTER:

Gruvia. We get some Gruvia.

So next is choosing what scenes you want for each couple next:

NaLu: Balcony Scene or THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED

and

Gajevy: Lucy meets the bae or Kiss in the rain

Gruvia doesn’t get a choice because I have a dream sequence coming for them. Small reminder this is mainly nalu so i’m trying to keep it mainly about them.

I LOOK FORWARD TO NEXT CHAPTER WITH YOU ALL.

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

For Better or Worse (Four)

Part One Part Two Part Three

*tags:  @everyjourneylove @somewhereinimagination @this-kitty-has-claws@veganeddie @life-is-righteous @sdavid09 @aidanturnersass@decadentenemyturtle @leah-halliwell92 @k-youre-a-fantasy @lotte142 @fountainsofsilver @jotink78 @raindancer2004@annice21 @the-butterfly21 @supermoonpanda @emrfangirl@imaneternalflamebb@maniczebra83 @why-pace-why @-waythe- @lidda @ara-toa-min @meanlilbean@sherala007 @jvail2011 *

Not much had changed in the week since your nuptials. Dwalin still refused to look at you, speak to you, or really even acknowledge your existence. After your confrontation outside the forge, a tension had grown between you; a bridge slowly crumbling which seemed irreparable. The only thing that had changed was that he had found the stomach to share a bed with you.

You had thought, at first, that it was progress. That somewhere in his thick skull he had finally processed your mutual predicament. Yet, you had once more been mistaken. He slept with his back to you, as far from you as he could lay, nearly upon the edge of the mattress. Often when you woke up, he was already gone and you were as alone as you had ever been.

Over the days, ashamed of your failure to draw your husband into your marriage, you had avoided your mother. You had avoided most as you hid in your workshop, bent over wood or stone as you crafted your anger with hammer, chisel, and nail. If your mother were to corner you and ask after the state of things, you weren’t so sure you could lie to her. You were overflowing with resent and didn’t know how much longer you could repress it.

Another day and another project. You shaped the aquiline nose of the king and could have sneered at his likeness as it came clearer. Dwalin’s closest friend reminded you of him and it made you want to smash the bust with your hammer. You recalled how your husband had worked over his forge, sweaty and determined, expert in his movements. You had admired him if but for a moment.

Dis had commissioned the piece weeks ago and you had fallen behind in your work. As of late, she had begun to pester you and so you urged yourself out of your procrastination. Besides, she had warned that she would be visiting that day and you needed any sort of progress to appease her with. You broke of the tip of Thorin’s nose, perfectly refining his profile as you sat back to admire your skill.

It was coming along. Unlike some things.

You stood to stretch your legs, sat on the short stool for hours. Your shoulders were stiff from hunching over and moving awkwardly to catch the light. You reached your arms over your head until they felt looser and turned just as a knock came at your door. You called for whoever it was to come in as you groaned and pulled out the pail in which you carried your lunch. It was easier to stay hidden in your little nook.

It was Dis, as you had expected. Her dark hair streaked with silver and her blue eyes shining with their usual cheer. From one angle she resembled her younger son and in another, the elder. Her joy nearly made you sick. You pulled out the parcel of biscuits you had packed and chewed on one as the dowager stepped up to the bust of her brother without greeting.

“Hmm,” She had one hand on her chin as she examined it, “It does have his nose…so far. Not much else,” She grazed a finger down the bridge of his nose, “Try to get the right amount of contempt in his eyes when you get to them.”

Dis laughed but you failed to catch her joke in your turmoil. You just couldn’t stop thinking about your damned husband and his idiocy. You were cursed! How could you have been so foolish as to agree to marry such an ox?

“Y/N,” She neared with concern, “You sure you’re alright?”

“Fine,” You mumbled into another biscuit.

“Hmm,” She looked you over sharply, “I see Dwalin’s gotten you into his whole cookie fetish.”

“What?” You nearly choked on your mouthful.

“Oh, he loves them…a little too much,” She said matter-of-factly, “I’m surprised he doesn’t have more of a paunch, if I’m honest.”

“I…” You sighed and tossed aside the biscuit, your hunger suddenly gone, “…wouldn’t know.”

“Right,” She nodded as if figuring out a puzzle, “I think I know what’s going on…marriage is tough, at first, but you’ll get use to it.”

“Sure,” You scoffed and sat on your stool once more, “I’ll trade you Dwalin for widowhood.”

“Don’t say that,” She reprimanded as she pulled up the chair you kept hand for consultations, “What’s he gone and done?”

“Nothing, that’s the problem,” You didn’t know why you were telling her but it was preferable to unloading your troubles to your mother, “He won’t even look at me…I can’t imagine he’ll ever touch me. I should’ve known. I’ve seen enough mirrors to know even he couldn’t bear me.”

“Hey, don’t you be so harsh, you’re as fine a dam as the Mountain has seen. I only wish my hair was still as rich as yours. You can barely notice the grey in yours,” She reached out and touched one of your braids, “It’s not you,” She shook her head; a swan lying to a crow, “It’s Dwalin, he’s always been painfully obtuse.”

“So obtuse that a dam in not but her shift isn’t an invitation?”

“Try wearing less,” She shrugged, “Or at least try being more straightforward.”

“Do you suggest I hold him down?” You pursed your lips as you examined the bust in front of you.

“You might just have to, and not because he’s unwilling,” She said, “Trust me, he’s just a moron. I should know. That dwarf never does anything he doesn’t want to so there is a reason he agreed to marry you.”

“What do I do then?” You asked desperately; this could be your last chance.

“How busy are you today?” Her blue eyes flared with cunning as she smirked at you. You prayed she knew Dwalin as well as she claimed to.

Dis was a fool to think this would work. So were you for going along with her ruse. She had left not long ago and not long after you heard the arrival of another. You could hear Dwalin stoking the hearth as he did every night and you looked in the mirror with horror. Mahal, you looked ridiculous.

The camisole was nearly too short to cover your bottom, the slit in the side doing nothing for coverage. Your breasts were barely contained above the lace trim and the deep scarlet almost matched the blush spreading across your cheeks and chest. Your hair was loose, not a single braid, and if it weren’t for the grey, you might have even thought it was pretty.

You heard the familiar creak of the rickety chair and steadied your breath as you pressed yourself against the door. You listened to the silence, waiting for more than a grunt or groan. Nothing. You gripped the handle, your hand trembling and willed yourself to open the door. Finally, you found the strength to carry through and you stepped out into the bed chamber, eyes closed.

When you opened them, you found Dwalin in his chair, distracted by a blade he had begun to whet across a small stone. You neared him, your footsteps not so silent that he wouldn’t hear, but he didn’t look up. You stopped before him, waiting for him to respond, but he continued to ignore you. You held back an exasperated sigh and tapped his shoulder.

“Dwalin,” He nodded and you snarled, “Would you look at me?”

“What?” He finally raised his head and his eyes bulged. He lost hold of his knife and stone and gripped the arms of the chair tightly. He began to blabber but you couldn’t tell if he was taken aback in a good or bad way. “Y/N…I, uh,” He stood, careful not to get to close, “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” You spluttered, “I’m trying to be your wife!”

“I…uh, you look, uh…” He gaped as he struggled for words and you stomped angrily at his speechlessness. He couldn’t even find words to lie to you.

“Forget it!” You turned and shoved a chair out of your way as you stormed towards the door. You didn’t understand why he was such a jerk. He had married you of his own will, so why had he yet to act like it.

You pushed into the corridor, slamming the door as you did and marched up the stone, the air cool against your bare legs. You would have cared about your lack of clothing if it wasn’t for the anger seething within you.