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venus-haze · 1 year ago

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You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.

Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.

When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.

You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.

To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.

Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.

“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”

“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.

“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”

“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”

“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!”

Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”

You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd.

When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor.

SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week

The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too.

When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you.

“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“

“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.

“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”

He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room.

He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.

“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”

You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”

He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”

So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.

He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.

You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.

“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.

He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.

“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”

“Home.”

With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set.

“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.

You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in.

The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.

“Which one was your room again?” he asked.

You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.

An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.

“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”

You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.

“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”

“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“

He tsked. “Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“

He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”

You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back.

A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #the boys x reader #the boys x you #the boys tv #the boys amazon #homelander #homelander the boys #the boys

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juuuulez · 1 year ago

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Some headcanons about Carl's dick looks like and how he is masturbating, what he likes most? very smutty you don't have to ;)

Jerking Off Headcanons.

UM I got carried away with this but also it was sooooo much fun!!!!

please send more of this stuff to my inbox because i am currently like a feral cat….

NSFW under the cut, all characters depicted are 18+, MDNI.

It’s slightly above average in length, but slender. Curved upwards a little at the tip.

He doesn’t masturbate often, given that he’s so busy. Usually, getting home results in immediately passing out, sometimes Carl doesn’t even get his clothes off before he’s out like a light.

But the ongoing war only causes his frustrations to grow, and he’d become snappy and restless. Those peaceful sleeps transitioned into hours of tossing and turning, as Carl felt like a ball of energy that just couldn’t be suppressed.

Months ago, when raiding a library for children’s books to give to Judith, he remembered peaking around the more… adult section. It was purely out of curiosity. He’d flickered through a magazine, but scrunched his nose at the crude images of women. Their lithe physic and pampered appearances wouldn’t hold up in this world, therefore he felt unable to be attracted to them.

But in that same library, in the more evocative section, something else caught his eye… a comic, which was certainly more his speed. It contained a female heroine who had been captured by the villain, her well-built frame and perfectly sculpted muscles restrained by ropes and other… questionable contraptions.

It was lewd and dirty, which caused quite a shock, but Carl couldn’t tear his eyes away. So, he brought the scandalous comic back with him, and threw it deep at the bottom of his sock drawer.

Now was probably the time above all to relieve some frustrations, so Carl dragged himself of bed to retrieve the almost forgotten about article.

He found that he enjoyed the tension, the build up. Laying back in bed, flipping through the pages. When it begun to heat up, he’d palm himself over his boxers, squeezing just enough to feel himself slowly hardening under his hand.

Only when the erotica progressed, with the heroine being tortured in more ways than one, did Carl pull out his cock. He started with slow, leisurely strokes, only ghosting his palm over the hot skin. All that pent up energy built and built until he was able to rub himself faster, squeezing slightly on the upstrokes.

As he got closer, he’d focus on the tip, mercilessly pressing his palm to the reddened skin, the slide only getting easier as he collected up the precum to slide back down his aching dick.

Flipping to a particular steamy page sent him over the edge, narrowly avoiding making any sound by moaning brazenly into the back of his hand, fighting to keep his eyes open and on the evocative image as strings of cum landed on his stomach and bedsheets.

It was the best relief he’d felt in his life, and knew that this would quickly become a new staple within his daily routine.

Lazily, Carl cleans himself up with an old shirt, though has the decency to wash it himself the next morning to avoid any awkward conversations.

Now, he can’t go without rubbing one out. If not every day, then two days at the most. It keeps him sharp, focused, and cool especially within battle against Saviours or walkers.

And of course, he made a trip back to that library, stashing away a few more instillations for his personal collection.

#carl grimes x reader #carl grimes #carl grimes x you

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orionsangel86 · 2 years ago

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So, if you don't mind, I was thinking about that asshole who was rude on your Thessaly post by insisting that Morpheus is meant to be a bad person. I'm curious if you could expand on why you think he's not. I keep going back and forth on my own rereads, especially since the Thessaly relationship and The Kindly Ones writing seem to try and push in a "he IS a bad person" direction. I can't tell if my arguments that "he's just flawed and mentally ill" are fangirl goggles or legit interpretation.

Hey! I don't mind. So when I first got that comment, initially I thought the response was genuine, because it's been a while since anyone has responded to one of my posts in a bad faith way. I frantically tried to wrap my brain around the idea that I had missed something somewhere and that I was supposed to view Morpheus as a "bad person" because even after The Kindly Ones that has never been my interpretation. I then realised the response was just a bad faith troll from an asshole and felt relief that I wasn't wrong.

But I suppose it's all up to interpretation.

The issue is really with what you consider makes a person inherently good or inherently bad. It reminds me of that line in Good Omens:

“It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people.”

Because I genuinely think this line has inspired a LOT of Neil Gaiman's characters, whether human or not.

I also get a bit wary nowadays when certain sections of fandoms start labelling characters, especially protagonists as "bad" because that causes a slipperly slope into accusations of "if you like this character YOU PERSONALLY are a BAD PERSON" (Example: OFMD fandom and the forever bizarre reaction to the character of Izzy Hands).

Dream is not bad. He is not good either. He is entirely neutral. He may occassionally do things that may be considered bad, depending on your perspective, but he also does a lot of good things as well. How do we weigh him on a scale of judgement? Are we to act as his judge and jury for every decision he makes in the comics? I suppose we could do, if we wished to, such is the fun of analysis, but I think the end result would again depend on the perspective and morals of the individual reader.

But I will at least give my own interpretation. I'm putting on my Anubis hat and weighing Dream's heart against my trusty feather. Let's see how he does. Under a cut as its long.

I personally think that for a character to be labelled as "bad" their actions and motivations must cause harm, whether to individuals or larger groups, without them showing any care or concern for those they hurt, in their pursuit to achieve their goals.

For example, Lucifer in The Sandman is still a "bad" character even though there is a LOT of "Sympathy for the Devil" type of perspective in The Sandman. Ultimately Lucifer is still selfishly motivated. He doesn't care about the souls or creatures that reside in Hell, and he certainly doesn't care about humanity. When he kicks everyone out of Hell in Season of Mists it causes havoc on Earth, and leads to the death of at least one child that we know of. It is implied that he does far more damage than is explicitly shown.

Thessaly, as previously mentioned, is definitely a bad character. She is entirely motivated by her own selfishness. She doesn't give a shit who she hurts, or the damage she causes in her persuit for revenge in Game of You. She is cruel and malicious and yes, also a TERF. She does not show any empathy or consideration for any character at any point, and honestly, even her little speech in The Wake comes across as crocodile tears.

Desire is a more complex character but still falls on the "bad" side of the scale because Desire also shows very little regard for others when playing their games or implementing their schemes. Desire is going to do whatever they want regardless of who might get hurt because like Thessaly, Desire doesn't give a fuck about your feelings. Desire is cruel. This is stated textually. Desire's motivations are also usually selfish. The only time I found Desire remotely redeemable was in Overture. Desire saved the universe. Though it is made clear that the only reason they saved the universe was because they wanted to keep living in it. It's worth noting that even though Desire is very much "bad" I absolutely adore them and consider them one of my favourite Sandman characters.

Now to Dream. Unlike the above mentioned characters, Dream's motivations are rarely selfish. Even in The Kindly Ones, I believe even if you interpret the whole thing as Dream's own elaborate suicide plan (which is only one limited interpretation) I don't believe he ever meant for as many people to get hurt as they did, it's just that he found himself in an impossible situation where things escalated to a point of no return. Also, since most casualties were Dream's creations, arguably he probably assumed that either he, or his successor, would simply recreate them once the situation was back under control.

Dream is a lawful neutral character. He has his rules and he must abide by them because "I contain the entire collective unconscious, without my rules it would consume me. Humanity would be consumed." (I know this is Netflix!Dream talking but I'm still gonna use it cos its such a good line).

The big difference between Dream and the above characters, is simple. Dream cares. He cares about everyone. He cares about literally everyone - the entire collective unconscious of the universe and he is so bursting to the brim with care and love for them that he is buckling under the weight of all that care. It is what is destroying him and it is WHY he is so depressed and so susceptable to making bad decisions on a small scale.

Every motivation of Dream's is for the greater good. When he sees what John Dee did with his ruby, he is almost crippled by the guilt of it. He blames himself for giving the ruby so much power that it could corrupt a mortal that much. He is easily swayed by Constantine to give Rachel a peaceful death, even though at first he doesn't think about it, it's not like he laughs it off and walks away - like any of the above mentioned characters would do. He listens to Constantine and agrees to show that compassion.

When he realises he once again has to kill a Vortex - something that is part of his duty as Dream of the Endless, something that is very much carved in stone as one of his rules, he still hesitates, even though he knew what happened last time and all the pain he suffered because of it. A fundamentally bad character who does not care would not have hesitated in killing Rose Walker.

In Brief Lives, whilst his initial motivations were selfish, he realised that his trip with Delirium to find Destruction was causing harm to others. When he realised that people were dying because of their quest, he put an end to it. He hurt Delirium in doing so, unintentionally, but his reasons for stopping weren't because he was bored, or because he had given up on finding Thessaly, it was because people were getting hurt and he didn't want to be responsible for that anymore.

When you look at Dream's actions on a wider scale, he is a good character. It is only on a more personal level that his flaws start to show through.

Where Dream's behaviour gets bad, it is usually because he has been hurt, and when he is hurt, he acts like a petty child throwing a tantrum. It is when his cruel side comes out, and its when he is most like Desire.

Nada is the most obvious casualty of this side of Dream. She rejected him, he threw a tantrum, and condemned her to Hell for hurting him.

Calliope tells Dream that she believed the "old you would have left me here to rot." We don't know how true this is, even in the comics, but the idea that there once was a version of Dream who might have discovered his ex wife was being frequently raped and abused whilst imprisoned and bound to evil mortal men and refused to help her simply because she left him is horrifying, but as I said, we don't know if it is or ever was true.

Ultimately, on the small scale, all it takes is for someone to tell Dream that he is in the wrong for him to relent and accept his misgivings. Constantine called him out on Rachel, so he did what he was asked to do. Calliope didn't even HAVE to ask for him to free her in the comics, he just showed up and saved her without question. When Death told him what he did to Nada was "shitty", he immediately put plans in place to make it right, even though doing so was risky and put him and the Dreaming in danger.

Even the situation with Orpheus, whilst seemingly harsh on Dream's side, his son told him to his face "you are no longer my father" and so Dream, hurt and with wounded pride, walked away from his son and refused to look back - but he still arranged for the priests to take care of him.

His choice of Thessaly as a lover is messed up, but he was messed up at the time. My view as mentioned in my previous post is that she was a rebound. They make it clear in the comic that he never approved of her murderous ways (and I have no doubt that he would also dissaprove of her transphobia, even if not mentioned explicitly).

In The Kindly Ones I don't view the situation as Dream being a bad person. I view it as everyone else being bad. Dream is caught in a huge cloud of depression and shitty circumstance and he is unable to free himself from that situation, and even when others can sense his desperation and pain, no one actually helps him. Dream's biggest flaw in The Kindly Ones, in my opinion, is not asking for help.

Because he is prideful, because even after all he has been through, he could not shake off that pride. It went full circle, he was back in his glass cage refusing to ask for help. Only this time, the glass cage was his realm, his subjects, his role as Dream of the Endless, and he could not change himself enough to free himself without making the drastic worst case decision.

My hatred of The Kindly Ones as a story, is not because I think it does a disservice to Dream, but because it does a disservice to every other character involved. By the end of that particular story, I hated every character who WASN'T Dream. Because I desperately wanted one of them, ANY of them, to actually help him. To see past his stubborn pride and hold him in their arms and shake him until he saw sense. Because the message in that story seemed to me to be that people are inherently selfish and so wrapped up in their own lives that they won't help you when you need it most. That there isn't even a point in asking for help. So what's the point?

But then I am fully aware that my feelings are complicated and partly projecting onto the characters and the story and well, that's all not really relevant to the point of this post except to ask you all to take my opinion with a grain of salt.

So back to your original question. I don't think Dream is a bad person. He is flawed, he is a character who when pushed to the limit will do drastic stupid things, but then wouldn't we all if pushed to our absolute limit? He is extremely depressed and buckling under the weight of the collective unconscious. All that unchecked emotion carried within him, and it is literally killing him.

So when weighing his heart against the feather of judgement, I think I can forgive him some bad behaviour towards some ex lovers in the grand scheme of all he has done. As flawed characters go, he's hardly the worst, and the feather is still heavier than his heart.

#The Sandman #Dream of the endless #sandman meta #sandman comic spoilers #morpheus #The Kindly Ones #sandman analysis #asks

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danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years ago

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could you do the anxious tics prompt with fo3 and new vegas companions? sorry, i think i’ve asked you to add characters a lot but i just really love your writing ^^”

FO3 and FONV Romanced! Companions react to Lone's/Six's Anxiety Tics

Here you are, my love. Please never feel bad about requesting more people! It's honestly what I live for, and I loooooove making content for the FO3 and NV folks, since I feel like there's a lot less written about them in general 😊

So thank you so much for the ask!

Here is the prompt with FO4 Companions!

FO3

Butch:

The flash of large red-framed letters had caught Butch’s attention as the pair stood waiting to speak to Doc Church outside his clinic in Megaton. “Whatcha got there, babe?” he had asked, before realizing that it was, in fact, exactly what he had thought. Lone blushed as they looked up at him, hiding behind the pages of their comic book. “You really kept that? After all these years?” They had nodded to him, explaining that it was a sort of security blanket for them, that they could always count on reading the same story, seeing the same happy ending each time they looked between the pages, each time they felt uncertainty or stress, they could count on Grognak to see them through it. He grinned whenever he saw them with it, often curling up beside them, or leaning his head on their shoulder to try and read along with them. In these cases, Lone had to read the pages slower than they normally would, reading the same comic book over and over for the last 10 years means you can skim through it pretty quickly, but they don’t really seem to mind. Now they get to watch as this person that they care so much for enjoys the comic book they relied on and adored for so long.

Charon:

The ghoul was curious about Lone’s tendency to nap directly after dealing with stressful situations, but he decided not to voice any inquiries. His companion would explain themself if they wanted him to know more. One day, they did. Lone had thanked him for always looking after them while they rested off their anxiety, and mentioned that it was something they couldn’t help. Charon had nodded at them, acknowledging their gratitude, before his blue eyes had narrowed in his effort to process the rest of what they had said. It seemed strange to him, sleeping off nerves... Wouldn’t that make it more difficult to sleep? He decided that the logic of it didn’t really matter, whatever it was that caused it, he would look after his partner as they took the time to rest. Soon enough, they would beckon for him to join them, leaning against his shoulder or laying their head in his lap as he kept watch over them. A scarred hand would come to run softly through their hair, or graze lightly over their arm as they dreamed away their anxieties alongside their watchful partner.

Clover:

Lone wasn't quite sure why, but it seemed to them that Clover was always so handsy whenever they became anxious. They had to admit, they didn't necessarily mind it, but she always seemed to get frisky at the most inopportune times. Meanwhile, Clover just can't seem to figure out why Lone is always casting hints her way in the middle of stressful situations. She gets it, she totally is picking up what Lone is putting down every time they draw their bottom lip between their teeth and gnaw away so suggestively, but do they really have to do that right now?! Once Clover finds out it's just Lone's way of coping with their anxiety, she feels sort of foolish… but that doesn't stop her from getting a little turned on whenever Lone does it, even though the timing is usually inconvenient for both of them. But after the trouble and stress has passed, Lone will certainly need to blow off some steam, right? If that’s the case, Clover is more than ready for it.

Cross:

Cross often noticed when Lone had trouble focusing, she tends not to miss a thing, especially when it comes to her Lone. When she sees her partner struggling to keep their attention trained on the person speaking to them, she usually will step in and ask if the person can speak to her companion again at a later time. Her direct and clear way of speaking is a relief for Lone when they are experiencing tension, as their listening becomes almost ineffective when they are being spoken to during times of high stress or anxiety. Paladin Cross understands this, and pays particular attention to speak slowly and with great care in these times. Due to her affinity for speaking this way normally, she and Lone tend to never have issues with communication; which evidently, tends to keep Lone from becoming anxious when they’re around their partner.

Fawkes:

Within his first couple weeks of traveling alongside Lone, the mutant noticed their need to constantly snack. When he decided to inquire about it, and they hesitantly explained their habit to stress eat, he wasn’t sure he understood it, but he knew that he had his own ways of dealing with his nerves, which came in the form of wringing his hands whenever he became anxious. So, if this is how Lone deals with it, he will accept it without question. It wasn’t until one fateful day, when Lone had realized they were completely out of snacking material and they were on the brink of a breakdown, that they realized Fawkes had taken their words to heart, as he reached out a large hand, filled to the brim with an assortment of their favorite snacks from one of his pockets. All this time they thought he only kept ammunition in there, turns out, their partner always had a well-stocked stash of their anxiety-repellent hidden away for cases just like these. They smiled coyly as they took a box of snack cakes, and a tin of crisps, settling down beside Fawkes as he lightly ran his hand up and down their back as they leaned into him, their breathing already beginning to return to normal with each passing moment.

Jericho:

The ex-raider always thought it was a little annoying, the way his companion would stutter at him every time something got dicey, or when they had to deal with some sort of verbal confrontation. It was painful to watch, and when he brought it up to them, and they stuttered back an embarrassed response, he realized it was well out of their control. It would still bug him, and he might make an off-handed comment about it every once in a while, but the more he saw that those comments weren’t funny to his partner, the more they glared at him as he laughed at his own rude jokes, he decided he should refrain from such talk. Lone hadn’t developed a thick skin like most wastelanders he was used to, and certainly not like most raiders; and he would have to constantly remind himself of that. After his realization, he wouldn’t say a word about their stutter again, and God help anyone who did. You mention his partner’s stutter, you’ll probably have one too by the time he’s done with you. If you still even have a tongue, that is.

FONV:

Arcade:

The doctor almost flinched at the feeling of Six’s fingers wrapping around his thumb the first time they did it, but he managed to keep his composure and simply utter a sarcastic comment in response to their sudden action. But when their stress passed, and they explained that it was a tic of theirs that they had trouble controlling, he immediately understood. Not only was he a doctor (so you know, he has pretty extensive knowledge regarding things of this nature) but he’s also had his own lovely tangles with anxiety in the past, and can’t really blame Six for their habit (despite the fact that he has absolutely no tics of his own to deal with). However, his understanding of it doesn’t mean he isn’t going to make some sort of humorous comment on the action whenever it occurs. At Six’s annoyed expression he says that he is simply trying to lighten the mood a bit, maybe distract them with his humorous musings. Six thinks he must not have a clue that he exercises his own coping mechanism (ahem, sarcasm) whenever their gesture makes him uncomfortable, so they end up trying to keep themself from grasping onto his thumb to the best of their abilities. But, to be honest, they’re relieved when Arcade begins reaching over his hand to them in times of stress, his eyes avoiding theirs, and his comments going unuttered, but his thumb extending outward to allow easy access nonetheless. This gesture usually results in a kiss on the cheek for the doctor when his partner has gotten through their bout of stress.

Boone:

He had noticed it when he first met the courier, the way they couldn't look him in the eye. Boone hadn't been sure if it was just him, considering his constant need to wear sunglasses and his somewhat stoic demeanor, or if it was the way they were with everyone, but either way, he didn’t mind in the slightest. When he found that it was a result of their anxiety, he simply nodded to them in understanding, and the pair went on their way. The sniper honestly wasn’t big on direct eye contact himself, another boon of wearing sunglasses was being able to keep your eyes trained wherever you liked, and so people tended not to notice his own habit of avoiding eye contact with them. He threw the idea out to Six one night, and soon enough the pair wore matching sunglasses nearly all the time. And though, as he said, he didn’t mind Six’s habit one bit, the knowledge that they only looked people in the eye when they felt completely comfortable and at ease with them made it all the more special when they did decide to look into his eyes when the pair was talking, or sharing a tender moment. In those little instances, Boone liked to study the details of his partner’s eyes, committing their warm and vibrant glow to memory, paying distinct attention to their unique shape, and the way their pupils dilated as they gazed back at him. He only wondered if they noticed his eyes doing the same in return as he took in the details of the one he loved.

Cass:

The caravaner always tends to offer some form of alcohol to Six whenever she sees their leg shaking in such a way. Cass is familiar with the side effects of withdrawal when she sees them, and she'll try to help her partner to the nearest drink as soon as she can. When Six finally asks her about why it is that she offers alcohol to them when they’re feeling stressed, mentioning that it maaaaaay not be the most healthy coping mechanism for anxiety, she is a bit confused. They were anxious!? Strange, she only tends to shake like that when she hasn't had a drink in a while. With the knowledge that it’s a nervous tic of theirs, Cass uses it to her advantage to better tell when her partner needs to take a load off, or blow off some steam. At the sight of their leg thrumming away, she’ll give their thigh a pat to get their attention, and then ask if there’s anything she can do to help them. As luck would have it, a stiff drink does tend to give Six the time to calm their nerves, so that trend isn’t completely abandoned once Cass has found out the truth about Six’s habit.

Raul:

"What's the matter, boss? Can’t find the right word? Lo siento, mi corazón, English isn't my best language, but I can try and help if you want." Raul is… confused at first. Whenever Six snaps their fingers, he can't seem to figure out if they're trying to find the right word to say, or if they happen to be looking for something, maybe they're trying to keep time, or make a beat? Maybe they’re counting something, trying to remember a phrase? Once they tell him it’s just a nervous tic they have, Raul looks a little embarrassed at the fact that he didn’t assume this earlier on. The ghoul tries not to pay much attention to his partner’s habit, since he knows it must make them a little self conscious when people point it out, but sometimes he can't help but snap along, trying to make a little song to go along with their own improvised rhythm. When Six does finally notice his contribution, Raul just likes to wink at them in response, flashing a playful little smile as they blush in embarrassment at the fact that he caught them doing their nervous tic.

Veronica:

When Veronica noticed that her partner had pierced ears, she was ecstatic. Ecstatic, and jealous. She always wanted to pierce her ears, to find or make her own pretty little earrings to decorate herself with, but alas, ear piercings were certainly not within the limits of Brotherhood dress and decorum. Given her interest in them, it’s no surprise that she noticed the way Six twisted the backs between their fingers, twiddling the bits of jewelry absent-mindedly whenever they became stressed or nervous. Often times, Veronica would reach a hand out to gently pry their fingers from their earring, pulling their hand to her lips so she could give it a small kiss before bringing it to settle somewhere else, to keep them from damaging the little bits of jewelry in their ears that she envied so much.

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wasabito · 4 years ago

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welcome home | satoru gojo x reader

this was supposed to be a big fic but it’s been a month and i haven’t been able to get back in the groove of continuing, so here’s a little drabble for ya!

words: ~900

tags: implied long distance relationships, suggestive dialogue

synopsis: they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but you’ve only seemed to grow more annoyed.

Trips to Tokyo were always a guilty pleasure, one you often looked forward to on the few weekends a year you spared just to come down.

Sendai was nice, of course, and the cost of living was certainly cheaper than your hometown, but there was something special about being back in your old stomping grounds that made you feel at ease again. You missed plenty about this city, the sights, the atmosphere, but most importantly, the people.

Well, one person in particular.

The weight of his gaze rested on you long before you ever caught sight of his lanky form maneuvering through the crowds.

Even though the bus station was swarmed with people, it took only a moment to spot him, especially given his height. He towered over most in a way that was near comical, if not a little spectacular, parading his carefree attitude like a badge of honor. One might not tell at first glance that Satoru Gojo was arguably the strongest shaman of his generation. But your sensitivity to cursed energy always made it hard to ignore the undercurrent of power held deliberately behind his self-imposed handicap.

You sucked your teeth lightly, irked, while observing his loose gait and careless smile. Both were rather telling of how unconcerned he was. His lips curved upwards as he held your glare, blue eyes glinting behind a simple pair of tinted designer shades.

“Yo! Long time, no see.”

“Don’t even give me that,” you dusted yourself off as you stood from the bench. “You’re late by twenty minutes.”

As annoyed as you were, you couldn’t help but feel a smidgen of relief. Gojo, for what it was worth, seemed okay. Healthy, and as happy as one could be considering the last time you’d seen him. You stifled the urge to check over him like a mother hen. Wondering whether he’d been eating properly or getting enough rest wasn’t at all in your job description. You kept your hands clenched at your side.

“Now, now darling, what’s with the frown? We’ve still got an entire day ahead of us, right?”

You raised a brow at him, both arms now crossed over your chest. “I wanted to beat the afternoon rush, ya dummy. But it’s a moot point now.”

“Don’t worry.” Satoru leaned forward, casually invading your personal space. “I’ll make it up to you, angel, I promise.”

He was close enough for you to smell the all too sweet scent on his breath, likely from a piece of candy he’d eaten on the way. His words made your stomach flutter with anticipation, knowing that he always made good on his promises. Satoru never said anything he didn't fully intend to carry out. You could trust that much, and because of it, you were like a moth fluttering towards his flame. Resisting him was a battle in itself.

“Tease.” You accused sharply under your breath.

But he merely laughed at your remark, leaning back finally, only to tap your nose with the tip of his finger. “And you’re adorable~”

You slipped an arm around his, scoffing to hide the tiny smile dancing on your lips. “Flattery will only get you so far Gojo-sensei.” You mocked.

Satoru tugged you close to his side, until you were pressed comfortably against him, steps falling in tandem with your own as you both continued down the block.

For once, there wasn’t a play of cat and mouse, where the two of you danced around your feelings for one another in some awkward display of modesty. Modesty, on your part, at least. He was far from modest, always ready and eager to let you know just how attracted he was to you.

Gojo had been pleasantly surprised to hear you’d be back in town and that you wanted him to join you while you shopped. Thankfully he had the day free before he’d be due in Osaka.

Before then, he’d enjoy his time with you as much as he could.

“So, where to first? There’s a cake shop—”

“Nuh-uh. I’m not spending the entire day catering to your demonic sweet tooth like last time.” You said with a groan.

Gojo snickered, “What ever are you talking about?” Running a hand through the hair at his nape, he realized he’d need to touch up his undercut soon.

“Don’t play dumb!” You yanked on his arm until he was forced to see you eye-level. “Honestly, I’m starting to think that sweet tooth of yours is the result of a curse, in which case, whoever’s responsible got you good.”

What was intended to be a scathing remark had very little effect, in fact, Gojo seemed even more amused. He laughed at you outright, earning a few curious glances from bystanders.

“Ah, I’ve missed this.” He truly had.

You were the little bit of normalcy he craved, the only “ordinary” thing to fit so perfectly into his life—it was good to have you at his side. Gojo placed a hand on your hip, fingers grazing a sliver of skin underneath your blouse.

“Say, you think we might be getting into a little something later, after dinner tonight?”

You knew very well what his tone implied.

Rolling your eyes, you averted your gaze from him, mumbling out a hurried, “Duh, do you really have to ask?” but there was no mistaking the flutter in your heart or the heat in your cheeks.

thank you for reading! the likes and reblogs are much appreciated you guys ♥️

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #not showing up in tags #yeah 🥴

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klonoadreams · 3 years ago

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Metamorphosis

Chapter 1: Circumstance

A/N Okay, this is my first time ever really posting any of my works on tumblr. This is also for convenience sake, before I eventually move these chapters onto AO3 and FFN.

IN THE MEANTIME, understand that there is a shit ton of worldbuilding and headcanons at work here, most of which involves a huge difference between shinobi life and civilian life. So if something seems off, then understand that it is a likely result of that.

We also got a bunch of OCs incoming, so if you hate OCs, I wouldn’t recommend this story (this is a warning I give nowadays, after someone gave me shit for it). With that said, read on!!

(do tell me if there’s anything in particular that you’d like me to put warnings in. I’ve never had anyone talk to me about it, in the past six years this fic has existed, but I don’t mind starting now - just let me know what)

(let me know what you think in my inbox)

…

Aburame Shinjiro is someone who has never held interest in romance nor sex. It’s something that his clan has never questioned him for—why would they? How he lives his life is entirely up to him. The most they can do is support him, as they have done since his birth.

His friends, however, felt differently—not out of malice, but rather, out of ignorance. It’s why Shinjiro still considers them his friends. After all, friends can sometimes be idiots—especially when they’ve been around civilians for most of their life. Sooner or later, his words will finally reach them, and they can all laugh it off.

In the meantime, Shinjiro decides to humor his friends in whatever form of celebration that they want to throw him, as soon as it comes to their attention that he’s been promoted to Jounin. He is by no means the first of their graduating class to reach Jounin. He is, however, the first in his team to do so, at the age of seventeen.

Anything can happen at this rate, and it just so happens that Uzuki Tsukiya and Gekkō Shō have decided that an appropriate celebration for their dear teammate is to drag him to the most popular brothel in the Red Light District.

“Ah.” Shinjiro can’t say that he isn’t impressed, especially with what he sees. There is a first time for everything, and more likely than not, this will be the last time he will ever set foot in a place such as this, so he indulges in his curiosities. Not helping are his friends, who only enable him throughout the trivial conversations they have between drinks.

One thing leads to another, and before Shinjiro knows it, he is waking up the next morning with a massive hangover. There is a sense of apathy that he feels towards the loss of his virginity. It never really meant much to him before, and even now, it still means nothing as he processes last night’s events.

It was…fun?

Well, it was certainly something. It’s not completely terrible, though it’s not anything that Shinjiro would ever actively seek out again. He looks towards his companion from last night—a young woman with long, green hair and fair skin. She is looking at herself in a mirror, preparing herself for yet another day of work.

She is completely uninterested in Shinjiro, as he is her. Yellow eyes shift towards him, framed by thick eyelashes. She is undeniably pretty, with a voice that is just as lovely. Even though she tells him to leave, the way she says it sounds almost like a song.

“I do not think we will be seeing each other again.” All things considered, this is a one-time fling.

“It is regretful—though, it would be for the best, as I doubt you can afford me for another night.” She laughs to herself, hiding her mouth behind her kimono’s sleeve. “I hope you enjoyed your time with Monaka.”

Monaka—he’s heard that name before, coming from the mouths of people he’d sometimes pass. It’s the name of a high-ranking oiran—a tayuu—that had caught the eyes of many. She is of impressive fame, and he’s somehow spent the night with her.

Undoubtedly, his friends will be congratulating him for the feat, alongside the fact that he is no longer a virgin. And yet, as he leaves the brothel and makes his way back to his clan’s compound, he finds that he still does not care at all about anything.

Yes, he was always certain that he never had an interest in sex, though this most certainly confirms it. Nothing is wrong with him—this is just who he is. And Shinjiro has never felt so comfortable, knowing that this part of himself will never change.

He accepts the apologies that he receives from his friends, who have since realized the error of their ways.

“We should have never pushed you…” Shō averts his gaze.

“We should have been better friends.” Tsukiya is full of remorse for the way he has treated his friend.

“Then start now.” Shinjiro does not hide the smile that forms on his lips. “Show me how you can be better.”

His friends can be idiots, yes—but they are not terrible people. He knows they can do better, which is why he gives them this second chance.

“Shinjiro!!” they wail, in a manner that almost seems comical, were it not for the way they grab his hands. He can feel their resolve—can see how much he means to them, through the tears they shed out of relief.

Yes, things could have gone better…but Shinjiro is okay with this. He appreciates the better understanding he now has with his friends. It’s why he nearly forgets about his evening with that high-ranking courtesan.

And then one late evening in the winter, during New Year’s Eve, Shinjiro finds his past fling has left him with an infant in his arms.

…

Motherhood was always something that Monaka had kept in the back of her head. It’s why she kept calm, even when her birth control had failed, and her stomach started to grow. She could no longer see any clients—not while she considered her options.

But she didn’t mind—it gave her enough time to think, as she continued to watch over the kamuro, and aid the hikikomi with their training. Often, it brought her back to the time she was once like them.

She’s come so far, since the day her parents had sold her off to this brothel. Through hard work and perseverance, she became an oiran that was admired and love by many people. It’s a good life—certainly better than the one she had before she was sold.

Her parents had sold her to give her a better chance at life, but Monaka never forgets the way she was left behind. Never forgets the spite that fuels the way she keeps moving forward…

Yes, she’ll certainly become a better parent than them.

“Monaka will keep you.” That is the decision that Monaka made that day.

She does not regret it—not even when she has complications giving birth. She still doesn’t know who the father is, but that doesn’t stop her from holding the crying newborn close to her chest.

She breastfeeds her child, and then lulls it to sleep with a gentle song. The medic-nin makes a comment, but Monaka is too busy ignoring them. Shinobi are the least deserving of her attention, when there are people far more important than them.

Ahhh…Monaka’s baby is so very pretty, with yellow eyes that are exactly like hers. No doubt, this child will grow up to be quite the beauty.

“Maybe you’ll even surpass me.” Monaka has her doubts, but it’s still a thought she considers anyways. It’s fun thinking about the future, when there is so much that can be done with all the money that she’s earned over the years. She will miss this brothel very much.

No doubt, everyone else will miss her as well. So many fans of hers will cry when they hear that she’s left…

“How tragic.” All things must eventually come to an end, and Monaka feels like she’s had a good run. Maybe now, she’ll finally have a husband… “Yes…a husband…”

Obviously, he’ll have to be just as pretty and rich as she is. It’s only fair, if he wishes to spend the rest of his life with her. Only the best for her child (and Monaka, of course).

And then the medic-nin mentions her baby’s developed chakra coils.

“Ah.” The revelation drags Monaka back to reality in the harshest of ways. After all, most babies aren’t supposed to have developed chakra coils—not unless one of their parents is a shinobi. And Monaka is not a shinobi… “So it’s the father’s fault.”

The father is at fault for this mess.

“Tch.” Monaka absolutely loathes shinobi. Certainly, they make for great clients, with the money they earn from missions. But outside of work, Monaka can barely even tolerate medic-nin. And knowing that this child she had given birth is one of them—or will be, with the appropriate training…

Well, she can’t have that, now can she?

The future is uncertain, though that doesn’t change the fact that this child has already been tainted. Knowing this, is it really worth it for Monaka to give up everything she had worked for, just to care for a child like this?

Monaka thinks long, and hard about it as she grows more and more repulsed by the tiny body that she holds in her arms.

“Is it possible to find the father?” Monaka wishes to know, so that she can make her next decision.

“It shouldn’t be too difficult, if that’s what you’re asking,” so says the medic-nin. “Is something wrong?”

There is something off about the look in Monaka’s eyes. It stays there as she hands over the infant to the medic-nin. When asked again, if something is wrong, all that comes out of Monaka’s mouth is, “I don’t want it.”

She averts her gaze afterwards, refusing to say any more than that. She doesn’t want to think about it. To think about the mistake that she had almost made—the regrets she almost forced upon herself.

“Maybe next time,” Monaka thinks to herself as the medic-nin walks out of the room.

…

It takes a while for the shock to wear off. All things considered, Shinjiro thinks he is handling this discovery a lot better than expected. It’s unpredictable, yes—but accidents happen.

It’s just that this accident made him a father.

“A father…” He isn’t against the idea of being one, though he feels that his circumstances could be a lot better than this. Of course, the same could certainly be said about his (his?) child. “Mine…?”

Does he want this child?

His own mother had wanted him and his younger brother, unlike the person who had given birth to this child.

“I am not her…” But he doesn’t have to take care of this child either—he has options, too. There are plenty of relatives that he has who are willing to care for another child, in place of him. He doesn’t have to say goodbye, but he also doesn’t have to accept this responsibility either. “Is that what I want?”

Shinjiro does not know, so he continues to stare at the sleeping infant that he holds in his arms. He doesn’t hate this—doesn’t hate the way this feels. Just what is this feeling that won’t leave him?

It’s been stirring deep inside of him, from the very moment he had accepted his (hishishis) child. This child…

“I made this…” the thought finds its way into Shinjiro’s mind, as he traces his finger around a tiny hand. A small gasp leaves his mouth when that tiny hand suddenly wraps itself around his index finger. Slowly, a pair of yellow eyes open up, blinking a few times as Shinjiro continues to stare. “I made this…”

He says it out loud that time, finally recognizing what he had been feeling this entire time.

It’s pride.

Unlike the mother of his child, Shinjiro wants this child—this little girl with yellow eyes and black hair. He wants the responsibilities that come with raising a child, even if it’s at the cost of his own career. It won’t be easy, but Shinjiro has never been one to give up so easily.

And when his daughter starts wailing at the top of her lungs (likely out of hunger), Shinjiro holds her close to his chest. He murmurs comforting words to her, as that familiar sensation prickles his skin.

“There, there, Shiki—Otou-san is here.” Shinjiro smiles tenderly at his daughter, who is no longer nameless. It’s saddening to know about her circumstances—the way it had brought her to him… But he won’t let that get in the way of his parenting.

Shinjiro doesn’t do romance…but he can still love. And he has so much love to give to this child.

…

Shiki…

That’s what he called her.

“Is that my name?” It seems like it, from the way this man keeps repeating it. It’s hard not to cry right now, when this body still doesn’t feel like hers.

The confusion has yet to leave her, feeling so disoriented, amongst other things.

Terrified.

Lost.

Helpless.

The last few hours have been one mind-boggling mess after another. She wouldn’t be surprised if the entire experience left her traumatized—coming out of that woman was not fun.

Speaking of that woman…where is she?

Mama??

Was that her mother? That woman had been so loving to her, comforting her through the fear that overwhelmed her. It’s terrifying, being thrust into a world of cold brightness, after being enveloped in comforting darkness for so long.

The way her body reacted to pure instinct, not even allowing her full control of it…

Even now, it still acts on instinct—the way her mouth latches onto the bottle that’s brought to her lips. It’s a different experience altogether, though her body doesn’t care as much as her mind does. Food is food, and her body will take whatever it can get.

Her vision isn’t the best, but it’s enough that she can make out the features of the man that bottle-feeds her.

Man?

Well, it’s definitely not that woman. That woman was beautiful—or at least she thought she looked beautiful. The vision of a newborn isn’t the best, but what she was able to see…well, it was certainly something.

Not to say that this man isn’t handsome. It’s more that his face is obscured by dark lenses. The best she can make out is a smile on his face. He doesn’t sing, like that woman had. Doesn’t…have the same beauty that left her so awestricken.

Regardless, he still makes her feel so warm and safe, as she hears other voices around him speak. She doesn’t understand a thing that they are saying, but she can feel her skin starting to tingle.

It feels weird…

“…Shiki…”

Ah—there’s that name again.

My name?

Yes…this is her name.

I’m Shiki.

And Shiki is her.

This is her new life.

Her second chance…

Hey…

Did that woman ever call her anything?

The question lingers in the back of Shiki’s head, filling her head with more and more thoughts as she questions her surroundings. She knows next to nothing about her situation.

It still feels unreal…

And it’s so difficult to stay awake, when she feels so warm and safe…

So she falls asleep, to the soft humming that comes from the man she can only assume is her father.

…

The next time Shiki wakes up, her head is so much clearer. She fully understands just how baffling her situation has become. One day, she was just a typical college girl, struggling to make it through the school year with some money and good grades. And then…

And then…

Darkness.

There was nothing but darkness.

It was scary, but…in time, it became comforting. It helped that there was a voice around to talk to her. She never understood what it was telling her, but…that didn’t matter.

It made her feel safe. And sometimes…sometimes—she heard music and singing.

Now…

Now, all Shiki can hear is the soft breathing that comes from the person sleeping right next to her. She can barely move, with how bundled up she is in blankets. She opens her mouth, letting out a small yawn.

Sleep is imminent.

Despite her confusion, she still feels so safe, due to the way that man has treated her. He’s been nothing but kind to her, like that woman had been… Except unlike her, he gave her a name.

She still has so many questions…so, so many of them. But slowly, she finds herself easing into the fact that she has been given a second chance at life. She knows nothing about the way her first life had come to an end, but she does not care.

How it happened does not matter.

What matters is that it did happened. And knowing that, makes her feel sad about the life that she left behind.

“Shiki…” But then he calls out to her, in that soft voice of his. She feels fingers gently brushing her hair, her body carefully being pressed closer to his. She can hear his heartbeat—it’s a lot different from that woman’s.

But it still makes her feel so safe. It lulls her to sleep, taking her attention off the prickling sensation in her limbs.

…

The sensation continues, well into the next morning. It causes Shiki to become quite fussy, flailing her tiny limbs around as her father dresses her in white clothes. He is patient with her, despite how much trouble she gives him.

His patience never wavers, even when she suddenly spits up her food. He just wipes her mouth and continues to talk to her in such a comforting tone.

Soon, Shiki finds herself being passed from person to person, in a room filled with a multitude of people. She hears her name being spoken, in the string of words that leave their mouths. She doesn’t know exactly what it is that they are saying to her, but the meaning still reaches her anyways.

These people are happy to see her.

Happy that she exists.

Happy to welcome her into this family…

Her father holds himself quite differently now, when she is returned to his arms. His smile is far more visible on his face. She can actually make out the blush on his pale skin…

He calls out to her again. “Shiki…”

She lets out a yawn, feeling far too tired from the experience. So far, so good—the only thing she doesn’t like about her new life are the diapers…

But that’s a problem best left for another hour. Despite the setback, she still considers this better than college. No responsibilities for her just yet—all she has to do is continue living.

That’s all.

Though, as she grows more and more comfortable in her father’s arms, her thoughts begin to wander. Just where is that woman?

Mama?

Why isn’t she here?

Shiki doesn’t know…and she certainly doesn’t know why her body feels so prickly. It’s not uncomfortable—just there. It keeps her mind from drifting, keeping her tethered to reality. It’s annoying, but…not too terrible.

As things are right now, it’s fine.

This is fine.

…

The days that go by are such a blur, and yet…

Despite this…

Shinjiro can still remember every day, in such vivid detail. The way he spends every little moment with this tiny bundle of joy.

“I made this,” he tells his teammates, on the day he introduces Shiki to them.

“You most certainly did,” says Sho, who never thought Shinjiro was the type to say something like that.

Hell, he looks damn proud of it, too. Just what happened to his stalwart companion, who had intimidated so many with his presence?

“Well, she certainly has her mother’s eyes.” Tsukiya feels a shiver go down his spine when those yellow eyes suddenly focus on him. “Everything else is all you.”

From the way such a tiny infant can still inflict such worrying fear with just a mere gaze.

“Speaking of her mother—where is she?” Shō notices the oiran’s glaring absence. He has a few guesses of where she could be, but he wants to hear it from Shinjiro first.

There is a slight pause.

Slowly, Shinjiro brings Shiki closer to his chest. He considers his words carefully, before bluntly responding, “She did not want her.”

There is no better way to say it.

Not while he still feels the sting of rejection. She doesn’t know any better, but one day…

One day…

She will, and those feelings he experiences in place of her…

Well, it’ll likely feel even worse for her.

“I guess it’s a good thing that she takes mostly after you, then…” There isn’t much that Tsukiya can see, while Shiki is nestled comfortably in her carrier. But what he can make out are features that are very much Shinjiro’s.

Pale skin, with such dark hair…

Even with the features that she does manage to share with that oiran—none of it matters, while she is in Shinjiro’s care.

“I am so sorry…” Shō bows apologetically to Shinjiro, the guilt practically eating away at his heart. “I didn’t mean to bring up such a—I’ll shut up.”

Shinjiro shakes his head. “It is fine. Shiki has me.”

They have each other.

“I thought you didn’t do love?” Tsukiya scratches the back of his head, still inexperienced to the various paths of life that a person can walk.

“I said I did not do romance—I never said anything about love.” Shinjiro sure has a lot of it toward his daughter, who is currently sucking on her thumb. “Love comes in many forms. You two should know better than to limit it to just romance.”

“I suppose that there is still a lot we don’t understand,” Shō admits, knowing fully well of the faults that he still has. It’s hard to shake off some of the things that he and Tsukiya have learned, during their time at the orphanage. “It’s hard enough learning how to love someone.”

Taking so many risks, despite the short lives they have as shinobi.

“Isn’t it frightening?” Shō asks. “Having a child?”

How many more risks are there?

“Hmm…” Shinjiro does not know how to answer that question just yet.

“Well…at least he’s not like Yūhi-san.” Tsukiya heaves out a sigh at the mere thought of that child. “I hear his daughter, Kurenai, is turning one this year.”

“Oh man—you’re only a few years older than him…!” It’s finally starting to sink in for Shō. And yet, he still can’t believe it—even though the evidence is right there, in front of his face. “You are seriously the last person I ever expected to be a father.”

“Who decided that it was appropriate to celebrate my Jounin promotion by going to a brothel?” Shinjiro eyes his teammates suspiciously. Had it not for that night, then Shiki wouldn’t be here, in this carrier that he had chosen so carefully out of a catalogue.

“Yeah, you got us there…” Tsukiya pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry about that, by the way—we should have just listened to you.”

“You…really deserve better friends…” Shō shifts awkwardly under Shinjiro’s gaze.

“I have you.” Shinjiro has not changed his stance. “You two who are so willing to learn from your mistakes…”

It took them time, but here they are—doing much, much better, in the nine months that have since passed.

“I am glad to have you around—more than that…” More than that—Shinjiro stops for a moment to smile at Shiki. She’s staring at him again… “More than anything else…I have you two to thank, for giving me Shiki. These circumstances could have been better, but I would not trade it for anything else…”

If Shinjiro was ever given a second chance to relive his life, he’d still allow for these events to happen. All so that he could continue holding Shiki so close to his chest…

“Thank you,” he says, with smile that almost leaves Tsukiya and Shō breathless.

It takes a few minutes for the two to recover, with how fast their hearts were beating within their chests. Every so often, they forget just how handsome Shinjiro is…

“Say…” Shō swallows hard. “What are you going to tell her, when she’s old enough to ask?”

It’s a simple enough question—one that he asks out of concern. It’s better to think about it now, instead of waiting until the very last minute.

“I might have to lie…” Shinjiro has certainly considered that option… “I doubt I will be able to, though…”

But he also knows better than to keep such important information from his own child. She deserves to know the truth…

He just hopes she doesn’t ask so soon.

“Shiki-chan is the bastard child of an oiran…” Tsukiya knows just how difficult such a life could be, having been one himself. At least now, he can hide behind his rank as a Chuunin. “Gossip spreads like wildfire here…”

It’s even worse, amongst civilians. The way that title hangs over one’s head, no matter how much distance was put against it…

“What will you do?” Shō bites his lip.

“I will do everything to ensure that Shiki grows up without any problems…” Happiness is essential for his daughter, Shinjiro thinks to himself. “The Aburame clan does not discriminate. Whether it is heritage or background—family is family. That is all that matters.”

Their clan has gone through too much to ever regress to such beliefs, held by civilians and some clans.

“Shiki is really lucky to have you for a father.” Shō pats Shinjiro on the back. “So…how is she doing with the, you know…”

Shinjiro stares at Shō for a minute before nodding his head. “We are still observing her for any negative reactions. Usually, members of the Aburame clan are introduced to kikaichū at birth. Shiki is…an exception.”

“I still can’t get over the fact you’re covered in bugs—how does it even feel?” Tsukiya looks questioningly at Shinjiro. It is a question that he had asked countless times, despite already knowing the answer. Shinjiro suspects that he was just checking to see if he is keeping any more information to himself—which isn’t too far off from the truth.

Shinjiro likes his privacy, as did most of members of his clan. If he wishes to be open, then he’ll do so, when he feels most comfortable. It’s just that this topic in particular, isn’t one that he likes to discuss.

“It is a sensation that one grows accustomed to over the years,” Shinjiro explains for the umpteenth time. “Though, I would be lying if I said it did not bother me for the first two to three years of my life…”

Shinjiro hopes that won’t be the case for his daughter. She deserves to have a better experience than him—one that she can actually talk about and not be so ambiguous about.

“Is that why Shiki looks about ready to cry?” Shō suddenly says, nearly seconds away from losing his composure.

As if on cue, Shiki starts wailing at the top of her lungs. She squirms in the carrier, as if trying to escape its confines.

“There, there…” Shinjiro does his best to calm her.

Tsukiya and Shō have known him long enough to understand that there is more to his impressive stature, and intimidating appearance. And yet, despite this, they still have a hard time processing the sight of him acting like a completely different person towards his daughter. It’s so surreal, yet…oddly endearing.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for parenthood…” Tsukiya murmurs.

Shō only nods his head in agreement.

…

Shiki knows next to nothing about Japanese, beyond words she would often hear, watching undubbed anime and Japanese dramas. Despite this, she is still able to pick out words, here and there—even at her current age of not even a week old. The conversation between her father and his friends isn’t any different.

Initially, she thought it was just a coincidence to hear the names Yūhi and Kurenai thrown around. Maybe her father and his friends were fans of Naruto. It sure explained their hitai-ate…

But then the word, “Jounin,” was thrown around and Shiki started to grow a little concerned. And again, maybe they’re just hardcore Naruto fans… It certainly happens.

And then she immediately fixated on the term, “oiran.”

When the fuck was she born?!

The only oiran around should be reenactors, preserving a cultural heritage. And these guys certainly weren’t talking about that. Not with the way her name was mentioned in that very same sentence!

“Why did they even—oh…” Is that…is that who her mother is? Well…that explains her absence. Of course, there could be other reasons, and Shiki is trying her best to remain optimistic…

But it’s difficult, when there is too much going on for her to remain calm. Not helping is when she suddenly hears her father say something about the Aburame.

Why is he talking about Naruto again?

Hey…

“Where am I?” The question alone makes her blood turn cold. The prickling sensation in her body returns with a vengeance, and when Shiki heard her father mention the term, “kikaichū”—the pieces fall into place so easily, that it’s actually horrifying.

There is absolutely no fucking way that it was all just a coincidence. Shiki had been many things in her past life. Slow, she most definitely was and still is, but when she connected the dots, she connected the fucking dots.

The dark eyewear her father and relatives all wore. The hitai-ate her father and his friends wore—hell, if her crappy memory served her well, she recalled some of her relatives were wearing hitai-ate as well. And then there’s the prickling sensation that she felt on a daily basis. Something is completely off about her.

She suspected it a few days, but this only confirms that something is definitely wrong with her. And knowing—just knowing where the source of that sensation was coming from…

“Oh fuck…” Right now, with each breath that she takes, Shiki has thousands of tiny insects crawling inside and outside of her body.

Kikaichū, a species of small, beetle-like insects that are bred and utilized exclusively by the Aburame clan—a clan that is known to offer their newborn children to kikaichū, allowing the insects to nest and breed within them, thus creating a life of symbiosis between symbiont and host. It’s a clan that is supposed to be fictional, and yet…

And yet.

Here Shiki is, possessing enough evidence to confirm that fiction has since become fact.

This is her new reality.

She is a living, breathing example of an Aburame who has recently gone through the process of becoming a host for a species of insects that fed on her chakra… That was also supposed to be fictional—but isn’t, because Shiki is no longer has any right to say what is fact, and what is fiction. Not since the exact moment that she realized she was reborn into the world of Naruto.

Shiki’s immediate reaction is to cry. And honestly, it’s all she can really do, because her vocal cords aren’t exactly developed enough to allow her to curse up a storm. And her brain didn’t have the capacity to handle the wave of emotions that she is currently experiencing.

Oh boy, does her brain enjoy that.

Shiki doesn’t cry too long, as a result of her father’s soothing presence. He knows exactly how to calm her down, and with how tired out she is from all that thinking and emotional duress… Well, it’s not that much of a surprise that she soon fell asleep.

Obviously, she’ll have to deal with full reality of her existence.

But that is something best left for another day.

#klonoa writes #metamorphosis (fanfic)#naruto #naruto oc #self insert #fanfiction #aburame shiki #it's been six fucking years #how's it going y'all

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archonanqi · 4 years ago

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fragile as dust / 6

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---

6. to dream

When you woke up the next morning, the sky was still dark through the curtains. You’d slept well again, although it was soured once more by the rising panic in your throat as you woke up. Reluctantly clambering from under the warm covers, you tiptoed to the door, cracking it open a little and peering outside.

Zhongli was not in the living room. You couldn’t tell if the resulting rush of emotions were from relief or disappointment. Was he still asleep? It was hard to imagine him sleeping — hard to imagine him ever vulnerable. You emerged from the room and noticed a note pinned to the door.

In the most elegant scrawl that you’d seen in your life, it read:

“I am on my morning walk. I have left you a spare robe and towels under the sink, should you decide to take a bath. I will return as quickly as possible.”

At the bottom, inked in a scarlet name seal, was his name, and the characters “Wangsheng” — rebirth, whatever that entailed. Somehow, you weren’t even a little surprised that he had a fancy name seal stamp and used it to sign off memo notes with.

You scurried to the bathroom, taking longer than you would have liked to admit to figure out how to turn on the water — even his tap was vastly fancier than the one behind Wenqi Souvenirs that you tended to use sometimes. The water warmed almost immediately against the palm of your hand, filling the bathroom with hot steam. While letting the tub fill, you wandered over to the sink and opened the cupboard under it. As Zhongli’s note promised, there was a pristine white towel, and a neatly folded-up black robe.

Shaking it out, you marveled at how beautiful it was — it was clearly intended for a much taller man, yet it seemed like it might fit you. A golden trim ran down the edges of the black fabric, and the cloth itself seemed to glow under the dim light. Most strikingly, the material was astounding — it was the softest thing you’d ever touched. You buried your face into it, and oh—

It smelled heavenly, of faint flora, warm spice and the soil after a light spring shower.

It smelled like Zhongli.

Before realizing it, you’d taken a deep breath with your nose pressed against the fabric. And another, and another. You didn’t understand it, but even though you had never known any of these things, the scent reminded you of stability, concord, and peace.

The sound of running water brought you back out of your reverie. The tub was close to overflowing, and you rushed to go turn off the tap, the robe now forgotten over the sink.

You peeled off the dress that was beginning to feel like an extension of your skin, and lowered your body into the water. The hot water made your skin prickle, but it seemed to drag the fatigue, exhaustion and anxiety right out of your marrow.

If Zhongli permitted it, you decided, you were going to have a bath every day.

As the heat soothed you in places that you didn’t even know had muscle, you glanced down at your body. The dirt and grime had come off into the swirling water, revealing yellow-purple bruises. You’d always known you were unsightly, a skinny bag of skin and bones and grime, but next to Zhongli—

You hadn’t stopped thinking about what he’d said last night. Letting the water reach the top of your lips as you sank down, you wondered to yourself if you could believe him. Could you begin to believe that Zhongli had no intentions of hurting you, using you? You wanted to, certainly, but…

“Hansi?” You froze at the sound of Zhongli calling your name from outside the door. Quickly, all of your prior thoughts forgotten, you leapt out of the tub, wincing as you sloshed water everywhere.

“I’m here!” you yelled back, haphazardly wrapping the towel around your hair, slipping into the fancy robe and running for the door. You stumbled into the hallway and immediately bumped into Zhongli — literally, although for a moment it felt like a brick wall you’d just bounced off of. You knew at once that under those three layers of clothing, he was nothing but muscle.

Before you could land on your bottom and ruin his impression of you even more, Zhongli reached out and caught your shoulders, holding your body upright. His hands were rough and strong, but his grip against your skin was gentle, as always. Briefly, you wondered why his hands were so weathered — surely a nobleman like him has never had to work a day in his life.

“Thank you for the robe,”, you scrambled to break the heavy silence, neglecting to mention just how many whiffs of it (of him) you had taken in the past hour alone. You felt your cheeks flush at the very thought. “It’s very comfortable.”

Tilting his head, Zhongli considered you for a moment. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, “I presume that you found my note, then?”

Looking up into his golden eyes, you nodded too quickly. “Yes, Mr. Zhongli. You have excellent penmanship—“ you trailed off, realizing too late the hole that you had dug yourself and fell headfirst into. Shit.

Zhongli raised a brow, staring at you — through you. “So it seems that, contrary to your assertion yesterday,” he observed, “you can read, after all.”

A dozen possible excuses ran through your head, but his gaze demanded the truth. This was a reminder, you told yourself, a much-needed reminder that he was not your friend, that any familiarity or comfort you’d found in him was strictly your imagination — that he had played you like a gu’zheng and now that he had caught you in a lie—

“I— I’m sorry. I-I was— I was afraid—“ you began to stammer, but he raised his hand to stop you.

“It is my hope, of course, that there are no lies between us,” Zhongli said, his gaze peering into the deepest recesses of your soul. For a chilling moment, you were sure that he knew about the Geo Vision pulsing away at the bottom of your bedside table.

There’s logically no way he could know, you told yourself to calm your frayed nerves. He hadn’t even entered your room since you’d arrived. No way he knows.

“However, given the circumstances, I know that that’s not always possible.” Zhongli continued, glancing at his upturned palm, then back at you. “You can tell me the story behind your ability to read, and your reason for hiding it from me, when you decide you are ready.”

“Oh,” you exhaled softly. Surprisingly (thankfully), your brain had ceased its habit of stumbling over ‘what?’s each time Zhongli bewildered you with his tolerance. “I— I am truly sorry for lying to you, Mr. Zhongli.”

If you got a single Mora for every second Zhongli stared at you so intently that it felt like he was dredging out every thought, word, and secret from your head, you’d be able to afford a house of your own by now.

“I can understand,” he finally said, an unreadable look on his face, “that certain situations sometimes leave us with no choice but the untruth. Now, are you feeling well enough for a trip to the harbor? As lovely as you look in my old robe, Hansi, we really must get you some of your own clothes.”

---

On the way to the harbor, all you could think of was how he had called you lovely.

---

If you hadn’t already been convinced that Zhongli was absolutely loaded, watching him shop would have sealed that deal.

“I’ll take it,” he said, for the third time that morning. You bowed your head to hide a grimace. Always haggle the price down to at least half of what was initially given when shopping in Liyue — even you knew that.

“Come now boss, surely someone as distinguished as you can tell that this vase is an authentic relic from the ancient civilization of Guili—“ The shopkeeper blinked. “Wait, you’ll take it?”

“Yes.”

“For forty thousand Mora?” Even the shopkeeper looked bewildered, eyes comically wide. You wondered for a brief moment if you should stop Zhongli from the most blatant scam you’d ever seen. Quickly, you shook yourself free of those stupid thoughts; who were you to tell him what to do with his seemingly infinite supply of wealth?

“That was the agreed upon price, was it not?” Zhongli said, picking up the vase with a practiced gloved hand. “Invoice it to Wangsheng funeral parlor, please.”

There it was again, Wangsheng. That’s where you knew it from. The funeral parlor passed down to the generational head of the wealthy Hu family. You wondered what connections Zhongli had with one of the most powerful families of Liyue. Even having lived with him for three days, he had stayed as much a mystery as the moment you laid eyes on him in that teahouse.

As Zhongli spoke to the merchant — no doubt being conned into buying a second vase at twice the price now that the merchant knew of his financial status — you glanced around the store. It seemed to have a little of everything, even dusty weapons on a rack in the back corner. It reminded you that although you’d been kept safe so far, the peace would not last. Not for someone like you.

Something glittering on one of the racks caught your eye. It was a necklace, its silver chain appended with a beautiful blue charm, catching the sunbeams in an iridescent bloom. You glanced at Zhongli — oh Archons, was that a third vase he was looking at? — before inching a little closer to look at the necklace. It wasn’t just a charm, you realized — the blue gemstone had been shaped into an intricate blossom. The handiwork it must have taken to carve something so detailed, so gorgeous—

“What a beautiful necklace,” Zhongli mused from behind you, making you jump. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to how surprisingly silently a man as tall as him could move. “Noctilucuous Jade of this clarity must have been incredibly difficult to find.”

“Like the ones from the Mingyun Mines,” you recalled from his lecture the previous day.

“Exactly. Very good,” Zhongli nodded, his voice unmistakably pleased. Your pride soared at his simple praise. “Do you want this necklace, Hansi?”

You blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I noticed you looking at it. Would you like me to buy it for you?”

“Oh,” you stammered, “I couldn’t possibly— someone like me—“

“Please,” Zhongli raised a hand, “let there be only truth between us today.”

You did want it, so badly that it ached. A year ago, you wouldn’t have been let anywhere near the door of a shop carrying such expensive and fancy wares. You wouldn’t have dared to steal something this precious, wouldn’t have been able to sell it to the shady folk who fenced your stolen goods. A year ago, you wouldn’t have even dreamed of ever owning something so beautiful. Certainly wouldn’t have dreamed of accepting such an expensive gift from a stranger, not when you knew the price there would be to pay.

Yet in Zhongli’s eyes (they were the exact shade of mora, you noticed absently), there was nothing but earnestness.

“I do,” you breathed.

It was dangerous that you had begun to let yourself dream.

“Excuse me. I’ll take this as well,” Without a second thought, Zhongli beckoned to the shop’s owner.

“What a good eye you have, boss,“ you could see the gears grinding in the man’s head. “That’s uh... a necklace made from the finest Noctilucuous Jade in the nations. Carved in the image of… of a silk flower, the symbol of luxury. It would make a suitable gift for your partner.”

You felt your eyes go wide, but Zhongli barely blinked. “You are correct about the quality of the jade, but this is a glaze lily.”

“I beg your pardon, boss?”

Touching the necklace lightly, Zhongli turned his gaze to the shopkeeper, and you delighted in watching him squirm — good to know that it wasn’t just you affected by that heavy stare. “This necklace was carved in the image of not a silk flower, but a glaze lily. How much?”

After a good bit of stammering to try and save face, the shop owner rattled off a price too high for you to even comprehend. Even if you had pooled all the Mora you had ever scrounged together in your life, you wouldn’t have been able to afford it — not in seven lifetimes. But you were reeling over something else.

Partner? And Zhongli hadn’t even taken offense to being compared to someone like you, someone who didn’t have a Mora to her name, didn’t even own the clothes on her back.

“No need to wrap it,” Zhongli said, and you realized that he had already bought it. Bought it for you. He gestured towards the necklace, still hanging there — but now yours, yours. “I trust that you would like to wear it now?”

He was talking to you, waiting for your answer. Throat dry and words failing you, you just nodded quickly. You fumbled with its clasp, carefully at first, then desperately. Your nails, bitten to the quick and ragged from digging, were useless in your endeavors. Amidst your futile efforts, you heard the shopkeeper hurry away to help another customer.

After what seemed like years, Zhongli offered you an open palm. “Allow me.”

“Oh,” you whispered, face burning as you handed the jewelry to him. “Yes. Please.”

He took it, deftly clicking it open. “May I?” It took you a moment to understand what he was asking. Without barely a thought, you inched closer, baring your neck to him so that he could put it on for you.

Zhongli leaned in — close enough to touch, close enough to kiss — and his fingers brushed the back of your neck. It was all you could do to not shiver. You could smell him, that warm scent promising that you might one day know what peace felt like.

The seconds dragged on — one, two, three — before he finally pulled away, leaving the necklace cool against the flush of your skin. You let out a breath you didn’t notice you were holding.

“There,” Zhongli said, a faint smile on his lips. “Lovely.”

---

By noon, it looked like even Zhongli might start buckling under the weight of all the items he had bought.

You’d come away with clothes for occasions you could not even begin to fathom: four bathrobes — silk from the Cuijie mountains — shoes, house slippers, boots — premium leather from the grasslands of Fontaine — every day clothes, formal clothes, round-collar gowns, court robes — what the fuck are court robes? — and cloth trousers, among other things.

With every purchase, you expected (anticipated?) the same degree of intimacy of when he put the necklace on you, but each time you were relieved (disappointed?) when he did not. Quickly, the rest of the morning became a routine mantra of: “Is this to your liking?” and “Mr Zhongli, it’s beautiful, but I know nothing of clothing, if you think it to be fitting—“ and “I’ll take it”s.

It was only when your stomach let out a mournful rumble that you realized how high in the sky the sun had climbed. You prayed that Zhongli did not hear, but of course, your luck had to run out sometime.

“My, look at the time,” he said, and you could tell he was trying to hide a smile. “Let’s have an early lunch, shall we? It would be remiss of me to bring you to Liyue Harbor without stopping at the best restaurant in the city.”

“Yes, Mr. Zhongli.”

As you walked, you braced yourself for what sort of restaurant could garner such high praise from an individual like Zhongli. You wished that you had put on one of the fancier clothes that Zhongli had bought you after all, before coming to a stop in front of a small eatery. Despite its position on the main commerce street, it looked wholly unremarkable, with its peeling paint, faded wooden countertop and old tables.

Zhongli seated himself at one of them, and beckoned for you to join him. As you hurried to comply, you saw the girl manning the window wave excitedly and hurry over. She was young, dark hair pulled into two buns. At her waist hung a small stuffed bear and bells that jingled with her every animated gesture. “Mr. Zhongli!” She called, balancing two teacups and a teapot on a tray above her head precariously. “Welcome back! Did you manage to take care of your urgent business from the other day?”

“Yes, it went well,” Zhongli answered, and you were surprised to hear a soft fondness in his voice. “Is your father not in today, Xiangling?”

“Nossir, he’s gathering herbs in Qingce Village!” The girl named Xiangling frowned, “you know, he doesn’t know when to stop. I worry about him sometimes. His knee’s been acting up again.”

“I see. I’ll be sure to bring some caoyào bandages from Bubu Pharmacy by sometime this week.” Zhongli promised with dignified resolve. “They work wonders on the bones—“

Next to your table, two young men seemed to be having a heated discussion. One of them, with hair the pale blue of a summer sky, gestured furiously at his dish, while the other one — his dark blue hair a stark contrast to the first boy’s — clutched his side and laughed.

You wondered idly what it would be like to have friends like that. You wouldn’t know what to say, even if the two boys had approached you at that moment. There was no place for friendship in the ratway alleys of Liyue, and the few times you had tried to initiate one had ended poorly at best, violently at worst.

“Hello? Earth to pretty lady!” Xiangling waved a hand in front of your face, jolting you out of your reverie. “Do you know what you want to order?”

You glanced at Zhongli for help, then had to look away when that overwhelming golden gaze met yours solidly as always. “Do you have any recommendations, Mr. Zhongli?” You asked — if the past day had taught you anything, it was that he always did.

“Certainly,” he began, taking a deep breath — the only hint of the reckoning to come , “there’s the Black-Back Perch Stew. It’s Monday, which means that the restaurant has just purchased fresh shipment of seafood from the docks, making this a fine choice above all the other items on the menu. However, it’s also worth noting that the Adeptus’ Temptation also contains seafood, in fact, crabs, which are caught on the shores of Guyun and...“

After the eighth dish, he paused to take a breath, and you took the opportunity to carefully tell him that you had caught maybe half of that, and regardless, you had no clue which to choose, still.

“We’ll have all of them,” Zhongli decided with an air of finality. Somehow, you had expected that. Xiangling nodded knowingly, as though this was a common occurrence.

“Should I put this one on the Wangsheng Parlor’s tab, again, Mr. Zhongli?”

“No,” Zhongli said, and you were surprised to see a small, wry smile on his face. “Please put this one on the tab of Tartaglia of the Fatui.”

“Of the Fatui?” Xiangling’s lips, curved into an “o”, expressed the same shock you felt. The elite military force of Snezhnaya — that Fatui? To what extent did Zhongli’s connections run?

“Yes. Please collect the payment at the Northland Bank — just mention my name, and that it was for a meal. We have an… open-ended contract of sorts.”

“Alrighty!” Xiangling had already bounced back from her surprise, and you wondered where in that tiny frame she was storing that boundless energy. “I’ll have your orders coming right up!”

---

The silence that followed Xiangling’s departure dragged on for a few painful seconds. You studied the tea leaves in your cup intently, feeling Zhongli’s gaze rending you through.

“Now then,” he started, bringing his teacup slowly to his lips, “have you had a good day today, Hansi?”

“Yes, si—“ You stopped yourself. “Yes, Mr. Zhongli.” Another silence followed, one that you desperately needed to fill. “I cannot thank you enough for your generosity in buying me so many things. I will work hard to ensure I can begin to deserve them.”

Zhongli placed the cup back down with an audible clack. “Nonsense. You already do.” You were startled at the hard edge of his voice, but it quickly reverted to its normal tranquility. “Besides, I haven’t spent a single Mora of my own today. You have the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor to thank for your bounty.”

That reminded you to ask. “May I ask, what is Mr. Zhongli’s connection with the famed Wangsheng Parlor?”

“Why, I work for them. As a consultant,” Zhongli said.

Oh. Of all the jobs your imagination had appended upon him since your meeting — assassin, mafia boss, black market dealer, eldest son and heir to a long lost clan of wealth and nobility, to name a few — this was somehow the most surprising.

“As a funeral consultant, Mr. Zhongli?” Surely this was just a side job for him, a hobby? But what a morbid one it was!

“Not quite. Although I do offer the odd advice on mortal— er, on normal funerals when it’s needed of me.” Zhongli took a long sip of tea, as though carefully considering his next words. “I specialize in the traditional arts of the Rite of Parting. The sending-off of the divine.”

“Like, Archons?” You whispered.

“Like the Adepti,” he corrected gently. “Although in Liyue’s case, yes, Archon and Adepti were one and the same.”

Was he talking about Rex Lapis? You shuddered at the thought of Rex Lapis ever needing a funeral. All those books you’d read about him, tales of his valiant stands and brutal fights. Surely nothing in the mortal realm today could even touch him.

“How do you know how to carry out the Adepti’s Rites, Mr. Zhongli?” You wondered aloud. Silly — the man literally had a library in the upper floor of his home; of course there would be a ritual book or two in his possession. Yet his answer took long to come, and surprised you.

“I have a good memory,” he said, with a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Though I did have to get a little help with the most recent Rite of Parting. It’s been a long time since there’s been the need for a ritual so grand.”

Recent? Had an adepti died recently? The only news you’d managed to hear in the past few months had come from the lips of drunken guards, and not even half of it had been coherent. You opened your mouth to ask, but was shut up quickly by the most mouth-watering scent you’d ever been graced with in your life.

“It looks like our food is here,” Zhongli gestured to Xiangling, who was running at full speed towards your table, this time with two steaming trays balanced on her head. “I certainly hope you’ve got an appetite today as well.”

---

You were proud to be able to say that you ate at a human-esque pace this time, stopping at the first hint of fullness. You would not have a repeat of the embarrassment of last night.

“This is sho good,” you finally said, between your last few bites. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Xiangling’s cooking never disappoints,” Zhongli agreed. “Shall we head home, now?”

“What, before spending Wangsheng Funeral Parlor into bankruptcy?” you teased carefully, and you were pleased to earn a hearty chuckle from Zhongli.

---

Lying in bed that night, you admitted the answer to your question from that morning — you did believe Zhongli. You were beginning to let yourself grow complacent, to trust, to hope — you would be lying to yourself if you said otherwise.

You’d also be lying to yourself if you didn’t acknowledge how stupid, how hideously dangerous that sort of thinking was for someone like you. While you were no longer as sure as you were that Zhongli was trying to take advantage of you, you were far from out of the lion’s den. What would Zhongli do if he found out about the Geo Vision in your drawers? When he figured out you had been lying to him, that Rex Lapis had granted you the same powers as he did him? When he figured out what you were planning to use your Vision to do?

If Zhongli turned out to be like the others… You could scarcely even bear the thought.

Gripped with a sudden, ugly rage, you pushed back the covers and quietly crept to the bedside drawer. Under the scrolls and paintings, your Vision pulsed its soft golden glow. You brushed gently against the gem, feeling your fingertips tingle with the power of the Archons, of the power of Rex Lapis. Against your skin, your new necklace felt hot. For the first time since you were born, you felt strong.

霸王. Bawang.

That’s all you knew of the name of the organization that had dragged you through hell — a passing remark from a drunken guard. That’s all you needed to know to find them again. The surge of calm, then of power, that you felt through your veins scared you a little. What was the extent of your Vision’s abilities? Best not to find out in the middle of your bedroom.

Reluctantly, you put the Vision back into the drawer, watching it glow proudly against the dark. You shut the drawer tight. shutting it tight.

You hadn’t forgotten. You’d never forget, for as long as you lived, the faces of every man who banged on the bars of your cell just to watch you jump. You hadn’t been brave or strong enough to fight back, then. But you would be. You would be. And the second you were, you’d go back and kill them all, every single one. Raze it all to the ground.

If Zhongli got in your way, you told yourself, you would not hesitate.

#zhongli #zhongli fanfiction #zhongli x reader #genshin #genshin fanfiction #genshin zhongli #zhongli fanfic #genshin fanfic #fragile as dust #my writing #anqi writes

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blushing-starker · 4 years ago

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don't expect that line I previously mentioned because I'm chaotic and forgot about @starkerfestivals amazing omegaverse week since it goes hand in hand with finals and my brain only fit one of these events in my mental planner

Today's theme is heat/rut and it's slightly nff, has some sexual teasing but nothing too explicit. I'd rate this teen, is all I'm saying. I apologize for any writing mistakes, I'm finishing this at 11pm before collapsing in my bed.

Tagging @vaguekiwi cuz I mentioned this to her today

Needy little alpha

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

Tony wakes up to a purring alpha throwing himself on top of his defenseless body with the force of a freight train driven by a drunk man on drugs. Peter's been told a thousand times before how yes, he may be as heavy as a goddamn feather, but it still aches when that super strength plops down and refuses to let the victim's lungs function adequately. But his boyfriend is a sadist who loves cuddles and making Tony suffer.

"No."

"You love my cuddles," it's true, they bring him pain and purple bruises everywhere but there's nothing quite as soothing as a content alpha kneading like a kitten at his chest, " and you know it. "

"Uh, that's false. Never said I love cuddles. I tolerate your octopus habits, there's a difference." Peter leans back with a pout and teary eyes, wobbles that God forsaken bottom lip like he always does whenever Tony denies the kid something and presents a challenge.

Nimble fingers slide up into, unfortunately, silver hair and nonononono that's unfair. He snarls, tries to infuse the air with as many displeased pheromones as possible so Peter can take a hint when nails scratch right above his nape and Tony's done. Unravels at this hobgoblin's feet and he's half way sure his soul goes out in a huff as little circles are pressed into the exact spot that causes him so much neck pain.

Peter unashamedly preens when Tony melts into their bed and starts pawing at him for more cuddles. "Say you love my cuddles and I won't leave the bed for an hour. Throw in a kiss and I'll rub your back."

He hates(loves) this kid. Hates(loves) how he sing songs as soon as the situation doesn't favour the actually responsible adult in the relationship. Hates(loves) the way Peter never misses the places that leave him sinking into fluffy pillows. Hates how, oh that's nice.

There are tiny kisses littered on a chest glowing blue, small indentations from teasing lips pressed into spread arms and cold hands.

"Ruts gotten you needy, huh, little alpha?" Not that this one was any different from all the other ruts they've shared since dating. Tony secretly adores Peter like this, extra affectionate the minute his shyness and fear of outside criticism is washed away, replaced with the need to shower his omega in love and attention. Yes, Peter has his heart 365 days of the year. Yes, he'd die for his tiny spiderling no matter what.

But this is just really nice, ok? Previous lovers were rarely alphas so this ritual of gluing their bodies together when rut came was an added benefit to being with Peter. That and the hormones he let out while happy soothed Tony to no end.

Peter nips at his finger, still a bit too early on for him to accept the nicknames. He blushes though, a pale pink highlighting a face much more lovely than the cherubs painted on the cathedrals of Rome. Jesus, he's whipped and all they've done is cuddle.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

"I love your cuddles. Cherish them. Want them every day for the rest of my life. But I love you, my needy little alpha with a fantastic," there's a pillow smashed against his face.

"If you say dick, I'm climbing down to wrestle Bucky and I won't let Karen record it for your spank bank. " Oh, that's a low blow.

He relaxes, let's Peter sink into him with a startled yelp, rolls them over, sits on the kid's lap and clamps his knees around a trim waist. Peter may be Spider-Man, but he's Tony Stark and Tony Stark doesn't lose in bed.

Well. Not unless he wants to.

"You do that and you can say hello to your toy, the one I know is stashed in your old room under the bed in a comic book box, because that'll be the only thing helping you out when the rut really hits." Will Tony suffer immensely if that happens? Yes. He's a sucker for a needy Peter being ridiculously horny and possessive. Thing is, you don't threaten a man's spank bank. No sir. Everything else is fair play. His carefully organized folders of viewing material are not to be messed with.

Peter's blush is on full blast, spreads over a long neck and absolutely delicious, no. Be strong, Tony.

"You know about the toy?" It's a squeak, normal voice rocketing upwards thanks to the position Tony's ass is in and the knowledge that his secret is out. Which wasn't even a secret to begin with anyway because Tony is in love with the only genius not smart enough to erase his browser history in the lab's computer. Which Tony uses. Routinely. Every day.

"Know about it? I've seen it. You left it out once, all used up on your bed while you were showering. You remember that, don't you? We had sex in the bathroom that day. Bruised my back and everything?"

Peter furrows his brow, works a plush lip and no, look away, Tony, look away. The kid is sin and indulgence and heaven and no.

"Oh. Oh." Whenever he thinks his boy can't go any redder, Peter busts out a new shade of pink.

"Yup. So. I'm pretty sure this is what you wanted in the first place. Maybe it wasn't your intention," he stresses when Peter's already launching up and nearly throwing him off in an attempt to reassure Tony that wasn't his purpose with the cuddles, "but you certainly wouldn't have minded this outcome. And by this outcome I mean my incredible ass on top of that fantastic dick."

Peter tries to suffocate with a pillow held over his face.

"You've got two choices, kid. You threatened the spank bank. The teasing is fine, you know I love when my pretty kitty shows his claws," a hand slaps his arm, makes him grin, " But threatening such an integral part of my mental stability? Wrong move, Queens. You aren't getting any until tonight, not even so much as a French kiss will be given. Unless you let me bite a mark on that amazing neck and don't push me away when I nuzzle you in front of the team. "

Well. Now he's definitely being thrown off of Peter's lap.

He lands on the other side of the bed with a groan, is assaulted by a whining Peter intent on receiving something to further postpone the urge for sex that's sure to hit him soon enough.

An alpha, Tony's learned, will usually be very cuddly and affectionate the first few days of a rut week. Then the possessive, protective side will slowly emerge. Nests of pillows, couch cushions, blankets and favorite pieces of clothing appear on the fourth sunrise. The next morning comes with the need for relief, for intimacy and a marathon of sex that'll leave any supersoldier exhausted by the end of it. The resulting days offer comfort, an aftercare of sorts, where the alpha and their partner show a soft affection similar to the beginning. Nests are utilized and bodies soothed. It lasts, at most, a week and the majority of the population only has to take slightly increased portions of food.

That's for people without the metabolism of four grown men.

Peter needs sex, as much as possible, so the itch for urgent intimacy doesn't result in Tony tackled to the floor of the lab in the middle of an experiment every day of the week. It's like giving him nicotine patches instead of a cigarette.

So now he's whimpering, tugging on Tony's clothes just a little too hard if the ripping sound is any indication.

"...sorry, Tony..."

"It's fine, I've got more. I'm not letting this go though. The teams' seen us fuck against a wall, their opinion and respect, your worth, didn't change. So come on. Just one little mark. One. And Bucky nuzzles Steve and Sam all the time. Hell, Pepper sometimes nuzzles me when I'm stressed out. Please, baby? "

There it was; Tony's secret weapon. Peter blushed like a virgin on a wedding night whenever he used pet names, but the genius knows his boyfriend enjoys the familiarity and subtle intimacy. Felt reassured that they were a romantic couple and not a mentor fucking his protege.

The kid nibbles at his neck, wraps gangly limbs around a body that's always been his to take comfort in. "Just one mark? And light, I mean it, Tony, light nuzzling in front of the team. For today. Then I can get what I want?"

He snorts, can't fully comprehend how the universe paired him up with someone so intent on making Tony's joints ache and creak. "Yeah, we can have sex later, Mr Charming. Subtle as brick, that Spider-Man. Let's go get you cleaned up, make sure that rut has a hard time getting my boy under the weather."

He goes to get up. He leans forward. He cannot, in fact, leave the bed.

Peter bites with a bit more pressure, drops his hips down harder and Jesus Christ, they're never seeing the light of the kitchen if his boyfriend can't wait til it's dark.

"Or..."

"I'm an old man, I need protein before you go jumping tired bones that have to spend two hours updating your suit." Ok, so maybe he's slightly bitter and annoyed at not having enough stamina (or refractory period, for that matter) to keep up with a repressed teenage superhuman. It's not his fault Pepper keeps bringing Krispy Kreme donuts to the office meetings.

It'd be rude not to eat with the others anyway.

"You don't have to do anything." Ah, it's one of those ruts.

Tony softens, smoothes a hand down a back that could hold a plank under a five story building with ease, kisses a heated cheek.

"Needy little alpha." It's his turn to whisper and nuzzle against soft skin.

"Kind, not so little omega?" Tony laughs, presses their lips together so Peter can see what's it like to taste a smile radiating with joy and love. Slowly clicks the button on the nearest nightstand; unless someone is dying , it'll just be the two of them in the room.

(There was an incident once. Groot may have been traumatized by a situation involving superstrength, webs and the Ironette costume Tony only adored when it adorned Peter's body.)

"I do so love my needy little alpha needing me, don't I?"

His boyfriend blinks, grins at Tony as if he's just hung the moon and stars for his spiderling and ok, a little sex early in the morning isn't that bad.

"You love my cuddles too."

"Shut up and kiss me, Queens. I'm not getting any-"

They don't talk about anything too important after that.

----------

A little sex early in the morning actually is that bad when you miss a meeting with the U.N and show up smelling like sex, infatuation and, oddly enough, strawberry.

Rocket doesn't stop teasing for months.

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veryvincible · 4 years ago

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Hey! 👋🏼 I was looking at Tonys panel with Carol and his AA panels. It got me thinking how can a person like Tony .. who is an atheist, a believer of science and a confident engineer rely on AA which has a religious foundation (the 12 steps) and place so power on God. I know secular AA have different takes on it and encourage a personal definition of God as any higher power the person may choose. But doesn’t that defeat Tonys belief? Because I don’t think he believes in a higher power regardless if it’s a deity or not.

This is a wonderful question. There’s a lot of nuance to the answer, in my opinion, because I think there are some things called into question here that Tony (very realistically) treats with a lot of complexity.

Firstly, Tony’s atheism is kind of... I don’t want to say it’s up in the air, because at this point, I think it’s kind of made its place in canon and fanon both. But, most likely as a result of the times in which he was created, he has been shown in canon (at least in the early stages of his life) to follow some sort of organized religion. This is from Iron Man Vol. 1 #164, and it’s... not strong evidence for him being a spiritual man, as most people who call themselves “not that religious” tend to be religious by way of traditions, but. You know. It is what it is.

Of course, we could dismiss this as yet another thing that early canon imposed on a character who wouldn’t be like that at this point in time, but I think it brings up interesting beats in the way Tony’s character has progressed over the years.

Considering him as someone who may have been raised as traditionally religious makes sense in the context of defining events, as well, given that we watch him pray the Lord’s prayer in #14 of Iron Man Vol. 4, one of his Civil War tie-ins.

Given the proximity to the alcohol (and the point he’s at in the timeline, here), one could also easily assume that even if he had no religious background, the very presence of the Lord’s prayer in AA meetings could have formed a connection in his head between this “worship” and sobriety-- at the very least, enough of one that the prayer strengthens the effectiveness of his willpower. It seems the little push he needs to pour a drink down the drain is borderline Pavlovian.

There’s actually a lot of religious imagery in Tony comics in general. He’s a man with a suit facing conundrums of cosmic proportions. It’s difficult for him to keep rationale exclusively within the range of earthly probabilities.

Point is, his atheism doesn’t come from his disbelief in a higher power. It’s quite the contrary, actually. His atheism comes from a belief that there’s no single entity that could claim the title of God, that any being willing to try has, just by being, already forfeited the title.

Which is a fair assessment to make, given that he’s fought many people claiming to be Gods, and they’ve all bled. He’s also watched people worship Gods that turned out to not... really be Gods, whether they were otherworldly beings, his buddy Thor, or, uh, himself. The idea of him, at least. In space.

Because of course that happened.

But Tony actually does have a higher power to give himself up to in these meetings. In Civil War II #1, he very explicitly states it:

“I respect the future. I believe in the future. I worship at its feet.”

“The Future” to him is something he can affect, certainly, but he’s aware of just how massive it is, just how massive all of time is compared to the few decades he’ll spend on earth. This is his higher power, his cosmic deity of choice.

It can’t bleed. It can’t falter. It’s inevitable.

And this mindset is... pretty in line with everything else he’s done. He’s referred to himself as a “necessary monster.” He’s implied many times over that he thinks he’s rotten and potentially dangerous, but he’s also intelligent and capable and he wants to do the right thing, even if he doesn’t always know what that is.

If you’ve ever been in a religious environment, you’ll probably recognize his mindset going into any problem: there’s always a solution, always information he’s missing, always a “right choice” he’s looking for with a domino effect that’ll be as favorable as possible for future generations. He trusts in the future the way people trust in God, with an awareness that he’ll never have all the pieces to make sense of everything, but he can have enough information to act. And he must act, or else his worth, his right to be alive, even, is at stake.

So, needless to say, he’s not praying to a mainstream God. But religious imagery isn’t and has never been off-putting to him, and though he certainly could seek out unreligious (is that a word?) alternatives to AA, I find it hard to believe that he would, given just how influential his higher power of choice is as it guides him through life. He puts everything at stake for it, going so far as to make choices that will destroy not only himself, but also his relationships with his loved ones if it means he’s doing what he perceives to be the right thing.

Secondly, even if he were a man who had no belief in any form of higher power, not even a stand-in for it, AA still might not be something he’d discard in favor of an alternative.

Religion serves as a guide. Most often, it has “do”s and “do not”s, certain beliefs it supports, and a kind of... basic explanation of what human life is and how it should be treated. One of the more common threads among most religions that I’m aware of (I am not an expert in religious studies; please don’t @ me) is the idea that human life is generally sacred, and as such, people should treat each other with respect. Yes, some texts can contradict this, but the general rule is “be nice to each other!” when you really look at the basics of what people are trying to teach. At its core, religion is linked to what we as humans already tend to for the sake of survival: compassion.

As such, though we might not always identify with religion as a concept, it’s not difficult to identify with some religious morals and teachings. Some people take to certain teachings better than others-- it’s super case-by-case-- but if you’re stuck in a religious environment listening to some preaching or anything, there’s probably going to be something you can relate to, and some way you can morph and adopt the message. This isn’t, like, all-encompassing, by the way. Of course there are some things that atheists and religious folk will never be able to relate to within each other, but.

You get what I mean.

I’m an atheist myself. I spent a chunk of my schooling at a religious institution. At best, there were messages that affected me deeply (as they were hard-hitting even when I stripped them of the God-worshipping aspects). At worst, I had to grit my teeth through some assignments, though I felt mostly indifferent (if slightly resentful at times, more out of frustration with the closed-mindedness of the administration than with the concept of religion itself). My experience isn’t universal, of course-- some people in my shoes were more frustrated and angry than I was, and I can see why. But my point is, being an atheist in and of itself (even one as strict as Tony) doesn’t render religious imagery useless.

For example, if you happen to pass by a pastor preaching about struggles with guilt, you might not identify with the sentiment of “Give your worries to God and know He’ll take care of you.” However, you could identify with the sentiment of, “Those little things, those side effects of decisions you’ve made? They’re here. Those decisions have been made. You’re allowed to swallow past the reality of what it is that’s passed and move on. You’re allowed to let go of it, so long as you’re better today than you were yesterday.”

It’s especially easy to do this if you’re listening to or being exposed to content from a religion you’re already familiar with; in Tony’s case, if we assume he was a Christian at one point or was raised with Christian ideals (not unbelievable in the slightest, given his circumstances and upbringing), then he wouldn’t have to do a lot of heavy lifting in order to get to “core messages” of certain Christian teachings that he could still identify with. Couple that with the higher power mentioned before, and... it’s not hard to see what might be appealing to him about AA, and it’s not hard to see why it was so effective at sticking in his mind all the way through his darkest periods in life.

Now comes the less healthy part.

There’s also an aspect of self-flagellation to it that I feel Tony might identify with on a deeper level. We’ve seen him hate himself openly, and we know how he regards himself. Even if he managed to find himself in a courthouse-like environment where the religious undertones were more about judgment than recovery, I don’t know that that would necessarily... push him away? He’s already told himself there’s something rotting and evil at his core many times over. He’s already committed himself to a lifestyle of atonement and progress, punishing himself when he fails to accomplish things no human reasonably could and barely praising himself when he doesn’t fail. Do I think these kinds of meetings would be totally sustainable for him, given that he clearly needs to feel pride or relief on some level for conquering his demons? No, not really, but. I don’t think he’d abandon them straight away.

Besides, every healing environment he’s been shown in has been more on the welcoming, open side, even if we only get to see a bare bones interpretation of AA (with deeper exploration happening more with Tony’s response to it, or his and Carol’s responses to each other) in canon. He’s in a good place with it, and it’s very nice to see.

Tl;dr: Again, great question. At the end of the day, I think the combination of self-loathing, his desire for progress, and his conceptualization of “the future” as his higher power makes AA a good fit for him despite his lack of a belief in "God” as an entity.

#cassks #religion #alcohol tw #the day has come where my quasi-religious background has become useful #if there are parts of this that are illegible... that is my bad #i have. a killer headache right now #and i hurt all over #but thank you for the ask it was very nice

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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 4 years ago

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The Goonies: The Characters

No matter how good a story is, how great the cinematography, or how subversive the genre-usage, a movie cannot stand without use of characters.

Characters are perhaps the most vital element of any story ever told. An interesting plot helps a movie greatly, but without a use of compelling characters, it falls flat on an audience who doesn’t care about the well-being of the people pushing the story forward. Viewers need flawed, interesting people, moving the story and trying to overcome conflict, in order for a movie to feel satisfying.

Or, they can have a bunch of bickering children stumbling and screaming their way through caves, led by Head Goonie: Michael “Mikey” Walsh.

Only Sane Man Mikey is the glue of the group, bringing the Goonies together in an adventure, instead of just a bunch of kids hanging out in someone’s living room. He’s got the initiative, he’s the Determinator, and the Leader, and also, surprisingly, the Heart, in a rare combination. He’s the one jumping at the call, the Kid Hero armed with the Rousing Speeches in his desperate attempt to save the Goondocks. It would have been easy to make Mikey the most boring of the bunch, but he’s not, if anything, he’s the most interesting. He’s certainly the most inspiring.

Mikey is the driving force of the entire story. Despite the fact that he was reluctant to let his friends in the attic in the first place, once he’s there, he’s instantly pushing for his end goal. As much as Data is the inventor of the group, when you get right down to it, Mikey is probably the smartest of the bunch. It’s Mikey who figures out where they need to go, Mikey who leads the Goonies through the tunnels, Mikey who convinces them to persevere, to not ride up Troy’s bucket, to leave Willy’s private stash alone.

He’s dedicated to the point of almost insanity at times, judging from how Brand has to pull him back from going back after the treasure when the cave collapses. He’s also very interested in One-Eyed Willy himself, and acts like he knows him, or understands him, anyway.

“One-Eyed Willy. Hello. I’m Mike Walsh, you’ve been expecting me. Haven’t you? Well, I made it. I beat you. I got here in once piece. So far. So, that’s why they call you One-Eyed Willy. One-Eyed Willy. We had a lot in common, huh, Willy? You know something Willy? You were the first Goonie.”

Apparently, Mikey sees a little bit of himself in this pirate, perhaps as a fellow leader or adventurer, or even a fellow outsider.

Like I said, Mikey could have been the blandest character in the bunch: just filling in as ‘the leader’ of the group, but instead, he’s as quirky as they come.

Despite the fact that this is an ensemble film, with every character sharing about the same amount of screentime, Mikey is clearly the protagonist, no questions asked. He is the character with the goal here, and as much as it benefits everyone else, it’s clearly his mission, his quest. The others are just along for the ride. Mikey is the character the audience is meant to identify with the most: he gets the most insightful dialogue and we as viewers identify more strongly with him as a character.

Although he’s one of the last characters introduced to the audience, it’s very clear right away who the story is about based simply on the Protagonist Problem: basically, do they have one? And while it’s clear that the other Goonies aren’t happy about moving away, none of them are taking it as hard as Mikey is. He is, immediately, the character with a Problem, and he’s also the only one to jump at a solution.

He’s the idealist. He’s cool under pressure (for the most part). He easily takes charge, despite his tamer personality in comparison with the others, even over the older kids, and he’s nice to boot. His goals are easily defined, he’s active, going after his goals and overcoming obstacles, he seems to be the perfect protagonist, if it wasn’t for one thing…

Mikey never really changes.

Sure, he throws away his inhaler by the end, which could be interpreted as symbolic of development, but honestly, Mikey is very much the same kid at the end of the film that he was at the beginning. Same personality, same worldview…even the same goals, which is another big protagonist no-no.

Most great protagonists have goals that change from beginning to end of the film, as a sign of their own developing character, but Mikey never does. Instead, he ends the film getting exactly what he initially set out to get: enough money to save the Goondocks. Sure, he has the relatively minor goal along the way of ‘staying alive’, but in the grand scheme of narrative stakes, to Mikey, clearly the treasure is all that matters.

The question is…is this a bad thing?

Well…no.

The thing is, Mikey is only one in a group of seven main characters, and while some of them have more screen time than others, when you come down to it, that’s a lot of characters to balance, meaning a lot of dialogue split up, and a lot of audience focus divided. In other words: Mikey doesn’t get development because he doesn’t have time. There’s just too much going on for the audience to stack character growth on top of it.

While there’s not nearly enough time from a script perspective, there’s also just no time from a linear perspective, either.

The story of The Goonies takes place around, give or take, a day, and while there are a few stories where development is done over that time, (Such as 12 Angry Men, actually) the fact is, twenty four hours is a really short period of time to change who you are as a person, or even change your goals. It’s very difficult to cram in the story, the characters, and everything else in such a short time span, and heap a deep, meaningful character arc on top of it. There’s just no time.

So, does that damage the film?

Not really. Like I said in the genre article, The Goonies is a roller-coaster adventure of a film, without much in breaks. There’s a lot going on all at the same time, and honestly, in order to keep the pace up, it’s for the betterment of the film that they didn’t try to cram Mikey’s character development within.

To be fair, it’s not as though he doesn’t change at all. But he changes about as much as the rest of the cast do, in very similar ways: kind of like his brother.

Brandon “Brand” Walsh fills out the other side of the sibling dynamic between himself and Mikey, the older brother who gets annoyed with him, but is also supposed to be taking care of him. As much as he starts out the film looking like he’s at least trying to be an Aloof Big Brother, when the chips are down, his Big Brother Instinct comes out, protecting Mikey from actual danger. Beginning the film as somewhat of a Butt-Monkey, ending up Hoisted by his Own Petard in the form of his exercise equipment, at first, Brand looks like he’s not really going to be terribly involved in Mikey’s Goonie adventure.

In the end, though, Brand turns out to be One of the Kids. But for careful viewers, that’s not really a surprise.

Even Brand’s first scene, where he interacts with Mikey, it’s pretty clear that although there’s a bickering dynamic between them, there’s also sympathy and affection. Brand knows that Mikey doesn’t want to leave, he understands and he tells him so. He hugs him and brings him inside when Mr. Perkins comes by with the papers to sign over the house. And sure, Brand bullies him a little and shoves him around and Mikey repays the favor by tying him to a chair with his own exercise equipment and running off, but that’s typical sibling stuff, as anyone with siblings can tell you.

Although Brand does initially try to ‘take charge’ and occasionally gives the marching orders, in the end, he leaves most of the leading to Mikey, which is a little strange. Once or twice he takes over, and is the most protective of the group, but while he may do most of the ‘planning’ here, he lets Mikey’s goals and priorities take center stage for a while.

Brand’s other chief ‘item of note’ concerning characterization is, of course, his relationship with Andy.

It’s mentioned fairly early on into the film that Brand is supposed to go out with her, and we see her once or twice, but it isn’t until she and Stef show up to check on Brand that we get to see any of that relationship. It’s sweet enough, aside from them constantly choosing the wrong time and place to attempt a first kiss, with Brand taking a side-role of protector for Andy specifically, again, showcasing that defensive side that comes in handy for the rest of the group from time to time.

But there’s more to the Goonies than the Walsh kids.

Probably the most recognizable of the characters from The Goonies is Lawrence “Chunk” Cohen.

Chunk has most of the most memorable lines and scenes in the film, elevating himself in pop culture beyond simply the ‘Fat Comic Relief’ and klutzy, cowardly character that the movie seems to be pigeonholing him into at first. See, even though Mikey’s the one with the goal and character arc concerning the treasure, Chunk’s character arc revolves around the Fratellis.

Of all the Goonies, Chunk is the first one to get involved in the story. He is the first character we see indirectly interact with the villains of the story, when he spots the car chase, and by the end of the film, he is the character that has interacted with them the most, being drug around, interrogated, and locked up by them as a result of being left behind by the rest. Fittingly, his arc has very little to do with One Eyed Willy, and everything to do with the criminal family that he happens to fall into, to the point where they’re almost his arch-nemeses instead of the rest of the Goonies.

While an initial viewing could give viewers a very basic impression of Chunk as just the ‘token fat kid’ of the group, the fact is, he is one of the only characters who gets any real growth.

Chunk is established almost right away as the Boy Who Cried Wolf, a teller of tall-tales that have rendered him completely unbelievable to his friends and the local police force. By the time he has an actual story to tell, nobody around him is ready to buy it, and honestly, it’s hard to blame them. Some of his stories do sound ridiculous, and even the one that he’s telling now about the Fratellis would be hard to believe, if the audience didn’t know for certain that he was telling the truth. Of course, although he is able to feel vindicated when the Goonies discover he’s telling the truth, his tendencies to exaggerate backfire on him spectacularly when the police don’t believe he’s in trouble, and he’s left on his own.

Well, not quite on his own, but more on that in a minute.

Chunk primarily holds up the B-plot of the film on the villain’s side, arriving at the end to play hero and bail the rest of the Goonies out, proving to them, and then the rest of the authorities at the end, that this time, he was right, and proving his bravery after an entire film of attempting to chicken out. But as impressive as his last-minute heroism is, Chunk isn’t in this alone.

Despite being separated from the group fairly early on, sparing them from his complaints, hunger, and clumsiness, Chunk finds another ally in Sloth, the Fratellis’ brother, and befriends him, forming the ‘Brains’ to Sloth’s brawn, coming in to save the day and even adopting him at the end of the film.

Chunk is the most memorable Goonie, not just for the Hawaiian shirt and plaid-pants combo that he’s rocking, but because he has a lot of very memorable and iconic scenes, possessing a pretty unforgettable (and loud!) personality and an arc: from zero to hero, when nobody, not even his fellow Goonies, expected it, complaining through the entire early adventure, and overall displaying an overwhelming desire to Not Be Here, making it all the more impressive when he goes after them with Sloth to rescue them.

But there’s more to the Goonies than just the leader and the breakout role.

Clark “Mouth” Devereaux is not the easiest kid to get along with. A Deadpan Snarker Jerk with a Heart of Gold, Mouth is the member of the cast with potentially the most Meaningful Name: he never shuts up. A classic case of ‘With Friends Like These…’, Mouth comes across like the most antagonistic character in the film other than the actual villains at times, abrasive and loud, bullying the rest of the group and picking fights with Stef.

Unfortunately, Mouth’s…mouth, can get him into trouble. Quite often, in fact, like when he can’t let well enough alone and ends up getting threatened with having his tongue cut out.

With that said, though, Mouth does have his uses, and they’re not all to do with smuggling treasure in his most distinctive trait.

Fittingly, language is where he comes in handy: he’s the only one who can read (and speak) Spanish, leaving him as the obvious choice to translate the map, and also to translate the Walsh’s housekeeper’s exclamations that the treasure is not entirely lost. Without him, the treasure hunt is impossible.

Mouth may want the treasure as badly as the rest of them do, but he is far less idealistic than Mikey is about it. He’s the last of the kids to believe Mikey in the beginning, and while it can be chalked up to his overall personality, there is a dash or two of Hidden Depths implied about him, notably in the wishing-well sequence:

“Yeah, but you know what? This one, this one right here. This was my dream, my wish. And it didn’t come true. So I’m taking it back. I’m taking them all back.”

Armed with a comb and occasionally appearing as though he’s deliberately striking a pose in order to look cool, Mouth is actually one of the first to start falling apart when their lives are in danger, crying and panicking with the best of them. (Again, he’s only thirteen.)

Despite having the loudest personality, Mouth is content to let Mikey lead the group, hanging back and picking on all of them, but by no means not one of them.

There is, of course, one more thing of note about Mouth as a character, and that is his dynamic with Stef. The pair carry a belligerent tension, bickering and snapping at each other throughout most of the film before demonstrating genuine affection towards each other (with a deleted scene referenced involving Stef promising to keep Mouth alive when they get pushed off the plank). It’s a hint at something going on between them for sure, but it’s also a fairly good example of Mouth’s relationships with everybody: he’s a lot more bark than bite, irritating and loud for sure, but a loyal friend who’s more than ready to help you look for treasure, even if he doesn’t 100% believe in it at first.

Like the rest, he doesn’t change a whole lot from beginning to end, with the adventure perhaps simply knocking some of his cockiness away and even leaving him a little nicer, but again, just like Mikey, it’s hard to say: this is all over the course of one, very exciting day. More on that later, though.

After all, Mouth’s hardly the last Goonie of the bunch.

Richard “Data” Wang is the inventor of all things Awesome but Impractical, falling somewhere between Bungled Inventor and Gadgeteer Genius. The Smart Guy, Data is good with his Homemade Inventions for sure, but there’s a bit more to him than that.

While the other Goonies (especially Chunk and Mouth) can best be remembered for being annoying or clumsy, or dropping things, or talking too much or too loudly, or setting off booby traps, Data is actually pretty even-keel. He’s excitable, and he really doesn’t want to move to Detroit, but overall, he’s fairly content to be the least talkative Goonie, letting his Dynamic Entries speak for themselves.

He’s a smart kid, and he actually is the only one who one-ups the Fratellis at any time, using his inventions to trip them up and hurt them, after the same inventions saved his life earlier. Data certainly does have a flair for the dramatic (best seen when telling Mikey that he won’t be taken alive) and is an energetic kid, proving himself as reckless as the rest, but he has a good head on his shoulders. He’s the one who discovers the counterfeit machine, and it’s fairly safe to say that without him and his Slick Shoes, the Goonies probably wouldn’t have made it out alive.

Like the others, Data doesn’t change much – in fact, he probably changes the least. This could be due to the fact that again, this is all over the course of roughly 24 hours, but it’s also possibly just a side-effect of being the most even-keeled of the bunch: he’s quieter, and therefore, we hear less from him, meaning we see less of his flaws. Still though, Data’s a solid character, hugely entertaining, likeable, and memorable.

Now for the other outliers:

Andrea “Andy” Carmichael begins the story as first The Cheerleader and Dude Magnet, and then The Load. Clearly not used to this style of Goonie Adventure, Andy kind of becomes a Hysterical Woman throughout a good portion of the journey, needing to be comforted a few times in order to keep her head. It’s hard to blame her: between the skeletons, the guns, and getting locked in a tunnel is pretty frightening, but Andy doesn’t do a whole lot (especially early on, during her Heroic BSoD) and manages to not retain much of a personality throughout most of the film, chiefly appearing at first to serve as a token female character and to be in love with Brand.

But there is more to her than that.

Even early on, Andy demonstrates a little more backbone when she elbows Troy in the lip and ditches him to go find Brand, and although she initially just follows the Goonies to hang out with Brand (and then to escape the Fratellis), she ends up becoming one of them when she makes the choice to stay instead of riding up the wishing well, sending up his letterman jacket instead. It’s a big step for her, a demonstration of her true alliances (a deleted scene was to include her being sworn in as an official Goonie at this point, actually), and sets her up for the rest of the film as being more ready and willing to actively participate in the adventure.

Near the end, Andy has to come through to save everyone, as she’s the only one who can play the piano even a little bit, and it falls on her to play the bone organ in order to get them away from the Fratellis and towards the treasure.

Andy actually has some more growth than a few of the others: she steadies out and truly does change, becoming a true Goonie by the end of the film, proving herself more capable than when she began. Although she doesn’t seem to have a stake in the treasure, she’s just as determined by the end to get it, and celebrates with the rest of them by the end.

In a way, she shares that with the other Goonie outlier: Stef.

Stephanie “Stef” Steinbrenner doesn’t really seem to serve a whole lot of purpose within the story besides being another girl Goonie so there isn’t just one. She’s a friend of Andy’s, the Tomboy to her Girly Girl, who splits off to join her to find Brand and then ends up swept along with the rest of the adventure, and there doesn’t seem to be much more to her than that. She’s a Sarcastic Devotee, who feels Surrounded by Idiots: she trades snark with the best of them and tends to feel (rightfully so) that the people she’s around aren’t exactly geniuses. She’s loyal though, and sticks by Andy and the other Goonies until the end, proving just as determined to get to the treasure and get out alive as the others.

Stef serves as a reality check, another cynic who’s just as frightened as the rest of them, like Andy, without a stake in the final treasure, and while she’s never officially branded a Goonie, the implication by the end is clear. She sort of takes on a belligerent ‘big sister’ role throughout most of the film, and although she doesn’t have much of an arc, she is entertaining to watch, which honestly sums up the entire cast pretty well.

The characters of The Goonies do not exactly ‘grow’. There are small things: Andy’s growing courage, Chunk being finally right, Mikey’s growth as a leader, Data’s inventions being useful, Mouth taking some of his snarky edge off, and Brand being a better big brother, but honestly, these are very minor things in the grand scheme of the story.

The characters in The Goonies are not deep, whether it’s the actual Goonies themselves or the villainous Fratellis, who are mostly characterized by striking a balance between being comedic and being a genuine threat. There are no huge life-lessons being learned by these people, and they aren’t really doing a lot of growing so much as they are running for their lives.

In a film that is essentially a ‘roller coaster’, The Goonies is not designed to have seven major characters with fulfilling character arcs: like I said before, there’s simply no time. It’d bog the story down for each character to have a moment of growth, to change significantly from beginning to end. In this case, the best thing about the characters is actually their consistency from beginning to end: there’s little change, and as a result, the audience never has to recalibrate to something else going on within the story.

In other films, this would be a huge problem.

A feature-length film where there is no discernible character change is typically not a good call, but in this case, it works for multiple reasons. The story is too fast paced and focused on too much to allow for consistent breaks in plot that allow for character moments, and with the extremely short timespan, a big change would actually come across as forced and unrealistic. The characters are children forced into a tight spot, where their chief concern is their own lives. There simply isn’t the option open for development.

However, where the film lacks on ‘growth’ of characters, it makes up for in everything else.

The chief purpose of a character is to be there for the audience to like, to be invested in. There are actually plenty of films where characters don’t change a lot, classic movies that are well-liked because the characters, although unchanging, are hugely entertaining and interesting. Films like Back to the Future or Ferris Bueller’s Day Off don’t suffer from characters who don’t do any changing due to the fact that the main characters are fun to watch and have the audience’s attention and interest.

Which is just what The Goonies does.

Everyone can find a Goonie to relate to: the leaders, the loudmouths, the geniuses, the attention-seekers, everyone has a place here, and even adults who have hopefully grown out of some of the more immature kid-like behavior, there’s still the glimmer of familiarity in these kids. Like I mentioned before, we relate to these kids, and we want to see them win.

The Goonies as a story is designed to have simple, relatable characters for the audience to remember, and if that’s the goal, then it works perfectly. There are no deep characters with complex motivations here, and that’s a good thing: it fits the tone of the film consistently and coherently. Every character here is likeable in some way, memorable, for sure, and sticks with an audience enough that the audience wants to stick with them too, and wants them to succeed.

In the end, the characters of The Goonies make you care about them, make you root for them. They carry the story and do it all in a way that’s plenty of fun to watch, and when it comes down to it: that’s exactly what characters should do.

Whether you like or hate them, a character is there to make you care, and The Goonies certainly do their job. They leave a strong impact, and as a result, we remember these characters and their quirks long after the movie is over for a reason.

Join me next time where we’ll be looking at the 80s cultural impact on the creation of The Goonies. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope to see you in the next article.

#The Goonies #The Goonies 1985 #80s #1985 #Film #Movies #PG #Adventure #Comedy #Family #Sean Astin #Josh Brolin #Jeff Cohen #Corey Feldman #Kerri Green #Martha Plimpton #Ke Huy Quan #Richard Donner

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scoutception · 4 years ago

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Robotics;Notes Elite review

Robotics;Notes, the third visual novel in the Science Adventure series, is by far the most unfortunate entry in the series. Not only is it the follow up to Steins;Gate, one of the most acclaimed and popular visual novels ever released, something that even extends to its anime adaptation, but it had to wait until 2020, 8 years after its release in 2012, to be translated into English, well after every other main entry in the series besides Chaos;Head, with its anime adaptation being the only way to experience it beforehand, and while said anime is a decent watch in its own right, it definitely accentuates the source material’s problems, while adding several more. Needless to say, Robotics;Notes had a lot of things going against it when it was finally released, most of which weren’t even its own fault, and it can definitely come off as an underwhelming entry just from that. However, today, we’ll be putting aside all those external factors and take a fair look at the VN itself, and how it holds up on its own. The version I played was the Steam version, using the Committee of Zero patch, a fan made patch that, among other things, fixes many issues with the translation, and is absolutely the recommended way to experience the VN.

Kaito Yashio is a student of Chuo Tanegashima High, and one of the two members of its Robotics Research Club. The president of the club, Akiho Senomiya, Kaito’s friend since childhood, and little sister of the club’s founder, Misaki Senomiya, is completely committed to completing GunBuild-1, a lifesize recreation of the titular mecha from the extremely popular anime Gunvarrel, and a project the club has been working on since its creation. Unfortunately for Akiho, everything seems determined to see her efforts be in vain. The club gets no funding, and is seen as a laughingstock among the students, its advisor, Mitsuhiko “Mitchie” Nagafukada, is completely irresponsible and rarely does anything of help, and Kaito is completely apathetic to anything that isn’t KillBallad, a mobile fighting game he’s determined to become the top player in the world in. While the club soon manages to gain three new members, namely Subaru Hidaka, an expert in robotics whose knowledge far surpasses Akiho’s, Junna Daitoku, a former member of the karate club, and Kona Furugoori, aka Frau Koujiro, the teenage creator of KillBallad, their personalities are just as difficult: Subaru sees the project as a lost cause, and refuses to help with it without a compromise, Junna is painfully shy and has a fear of robots, and Frau is a complete shut in and social mess, being completely perverted and mostly talking in outdated slang, which keeps most people from even understanding her. Despite all this, Akiho’s unrelenting passion for mechas, and desire to step out of her sister’s shadow, compel her to continue on.

Meanwhile, Kaito one day encounters Airi, an AI that exists within the augmented reality app IRUO, along with a strange AR annotation called the Kimijima Report, authored by Airi’s deceased creator, Kou Kimijima. Within it are warnings of a grand conspiracy that aims to devastate humanity, the details of which are contained in similar reports hidden all over Tanegashima, locked behind “flags” that must be cleared before they become visible. Though at first skeptical, it soon becomes clear to Kaito that the reports contain a disturbing amount of truths, and that he’s become involved in something far larger, and far more dangerous, than he bargained for.

I’ll say it now, the story’s focus on both of these plotlines causes a number of noticeable issues, mainly due to feeling very disconnected from each other. While all of the main cast except Airi are heavily involved in the Robotics Club plot, only Kaito, Airi, and to a much lesser extent Frau are involved in the Kimijima Report plot, in comparison to, say, Steins;Gate and Chaos;Child, which tied its whole cast into their stories much better. In addition, the majority of the focus is on the club, and though always interesting, the reports tend to go rather uneventfully as well. Due to this, the story can feel very slow and meandering if you don’t know just what you’re getting into, much more so than the other entries in the series, which can definitely make it seem unappealing. Additionally, the story is much less standalone than most SciAdv VNs, where the references are often minor. Here, there are some rather significant references to Chaos;Head and, to a lesser extent, Steins;Gate, to the point of outright spoilers in a few cases, meaning going through those beforehand is heavily recommended, which is especially annoying when Chaos;Head still has no official translation, and only a fan translation for the incomplete PC version.

Despite all of this, both plotlines are actually quite compelling, once you get used to the game’s pacing. Robotics;Notes’ biggest strength is its absolutely great cast of characters. Everyone in the main cast is very likeable, distinctive, and well developed across the story, and have good dynamics with each other, with Kaito and Akiho’s interactions being some of the biggest highlights of the game, with the end result making everyone feel significant in their own ways, and truly feeling like a unified group, something Chaos;Head and even Steins;Gate struggled with at times. Kaito, who initially comes off as a very motivationless character, has a good amount of backstory and a constant, if subtle, arc throughout the game that makes him properly fleshed out. Subaru, who’d normally just be the token other guy, is a prominent and likeable character in his own right, having a very important role in Gunbuild’s construction, while Frau, who initially just comes off as comic relief, has many great moments throughout the story, with her focus chapter in particular being one of the best in the game. Even Airi has quite a bit more to her than it may seem. The cast is definitely a worthy successor to the cast of Steins;Gate, even more so than Chaos;Child’s, I would say.

The cast also heavily ties into one of the main themes of the game, namely dreams, the harsh difficulties and compromises one faces in pursuing their dreams, and how losing one can change a person. All of them face this, with varying amounts of focus, and it’s a theme furthered with the prominence of robots throughout the game, both the idealized kind found in mecha anime, and the real, practical robots of the real world. There’s an almost exhaustive amount of detail put into the construction and function of real robots, which makes for some interesting, if sometimes long winded, discussions throughout the game, in true SciAdv fashion.

While the story is mainly told through Kaito’s perspective, it switches fairly often to other characters, most often Akiho. While the rest of the series except for Steins;Gate does this as well, it’s notable here for giving almost every character, even the supporting cast, at least one scene from their perspective, often focused on their own personal dilemmas, or flashbacks involving Misaki. These perspective switches make a nice change of pace, and definitely help flesh out the characters even further. On the subject of the supporting cast, while most other entries either have supporting casts that are very inconsequential, such as in Chaos;Child, or almost nonexistent, such as in Steins;Gate, Robotics;Notes, on the other hand, has a much more prominent and fleshed out supporting cast. From Mizuki Irei, the harsh and snarky convenience store employee, and info broker to Kaito, to Tetsuharu Fujita, the grumpy but fair “Robot Doctor”, to Mitchie, the horribly unreliable, yet entertaining club advisor, they certainly leave much more of a mark than usual. The most interesting of all, though, is a 20 year old Nae Tennouji, originally a very minor character in Steins;Gate. She has an almost surprising amount of prominence throughout the game, and even has her own ending, if a very short one.

Compared to most other entries in the series, Robotics;Notes definitely carries a much lighter tone. Tanegashima makes for a very relaxed setting, and as mentioned, there aren’t quite as many big events as one might expect. The characters are generally pretty lighthearted in personality as well, up to Kaito not being nearly as unlikeable to start off as other SciAdv protagonists. However, the tone works quite well, and helps slowly endear the characters to you even early on. And while it’s not quite as messed up as, say, Chaos;Head, it’s got more than a few disturbing elements and scenes of its own. Ultimately, it has the same “feel” as the rest of the series, and when it wants to be intense, suspenseful, sad, or whatever else, it absolutely works, especially from chapter 7 onward.

As far as “gameplay” goes, there’s a surprisingly large amount of interactivity available. At most moments during the story, Kaito can pull out his tablet and access its various apps. Most prominently, there’s Twipo, an obvious lawyer friendly version of Twitter, where Kaito can look at tweets from the Robotics Club, its associates, and even random accounts commenting on current events, with Kaito having the option to reply to those of the Robotics Club. There’s also IRUO, the augmented reality app, which lets the player look around the area and scan geotags, which contain small profiles for characters, or details for locations or objects. IRUO is also used along with a map app to search for the Kimijima Reports, letting you travel to various different locations on Tanegashima to search. It’s a neat concept, but the icons for the reports are so small, and so many locations tend to be available at one time, that finding them can often just be annoying. There’s also, of all things, the otherwise story reliant KillBallad matches, where you have to successfully input a string of buttons, the length of which varies depending on the opponent’s skill, within a time limit in order to win. Most of the time it doesn’t matter, but there are achievements and even story sequences reliant on winning or losing certain matches. All in all, these make for nice occasional changes of pace, but it’s still a visual novel in the end.

Visually, Robotics;Notes is actually quite impressive. As can be seen in the screenshots, instead of sprites, 3D character models are used instead in normal scenes, and having played Virtue’s Last Reward and Zero Time Dilemma well before this, I was more than a bit wary of them before release. Thankfully, compared to the cheap models of those two games, they’re much, much better. They’re actually very expressive, and have some great animations that give each character a lot of life. The backgrounds are also quite well done, and Tanegashima definitely makes for a unique and atmospheric setting. As usual for visual novels, there’s also CGs throughout the game, done in a different, but still appealing and well drawn style. Finally, in one of the biggest additions to Elite compared to the original version, occasionally, clips from the anime adaptation is used, mostly to better demonstrate details that were only narration originally, as far as I can tell. This blend of 3D models, CGs, and animation is a bit bizarre at first, but it works surprisingly well, and makes for one of the most visually appealing entries in the series.

As far as sound goes, Takeshi Abo is once again the composer, and once again puts out a very good soundtrack, which further captures and enhances the atmosphere. The soundtrack in general is definitely much lighter and peaceful than usual, but actually has more tracks than most of the SciAdv soundtracks, allowing it to cover many other moods as well. From the very relaxed Winds of Tangegashima, to the mysterious Uchugaoka Park, to the nostalgic Memories with Big Sis, and especially the beautiful title screen theme, Robotics Notes -2nd theme-, there’s a lot of great songs to be found. The voice acting is also very good, and the characters wouldn’t work nearly as well without it, with Ryohei Kimura as Kaito, Yoshino Nanjo as Akiho, Kaori Nazuka as Frau, and Sora Tokui as Junna especially sticking out to me.

It’s worth noting that Robotics;Notes is on the longer side when it comes to SciAdv, much like Chaos;Child. It’s hardly Fate/Stay Night, but it’ll take some time to get through. It also has a very, very weird and annoying ending system. Whereas in other titles, endings are, just that, actual endings you can diverge into somewhere in the story, Robotics;Notes’ endings are actually just regular chapters that are part of the main story, which just happen to focus on different parts of the cast. The divergence happens in chapter 5, and depends on your replies to said characters on Twipo in both that chapter and the preceding one, with you instead going to the short Nae ending if you don’t fulfill the requirements for any of them. While Steins;Gate had a similar system, and was annoying in of itself, Robotics;Notes takes it to another level by making all but the Nae ending mandatory, though said ending has some points that make it worth seeing regardless, and occurring in a specific chronological order, despite allowing you to get the endings nonlinearly, meaning you could accidentally skip from chapter 5 to chapter 8. The system overall is just unneeded, and following a guide, such as the one by the aforementioned Committee of Zero, is highly recommended.

In the end, would I recommend Robotics;Notes? To a SciAdv fan, absolutely. To someone who isn’t, well, I already explained the problems there. I can’t say its one of my favorites among the series, but by itself, it’s still something I enjoyed a lot. Despite the issues it does have, its very well done cast, visuals, sound, and overall story make it a memorable and emotional experience in its own right. Now, with yet another long VN review out of the way, I anxiously await the Committee of Zero patch for Robotics;Notes DaSH, to finally finish off my SciAdv journey, for the foreseeable future, at least. Till next time. -Scout

#visual novel #game review #long post #steins;gate #steins gate #robotics;notes #5pb

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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The Three Caballeros Ride Again Review!: And Ladies (Ride of the Three Caballeros)

Saludos Amigos! I’m back with yet another comics review! And we’re back on The Ride of the Three Cablleros! Thanks again to WeirdKev27 for commissioning this retrospective. It’s going to get pricey and I greatly appreciate it. PREVIOUSLY ON RIDE OF THE THREE CABLLEROS

In short.. a bunch of short segments of varying quality, a very thirsty Donald hitting on ladies, the first appearance of Panchito and some very good music. A fun time was had by all. Along with a LOT OF drugs by the Disney Animators. The film wasn’t a huge success, but out of the 6 package films, it was a fan faviorite alongside the Mr. Toad and Ichabod movie, and thus was rereleased quite a bit, as well as being one of the first of this era to end up on VHS due to it’s cult popularity. As for Panchito and Jose they’d get plenty of success overseas, with both getting solo series in their respective home countries, Jose himself having just resumed having comics again this year, and being rightfully massive characters. But despite being a hit with fans across the world.. in the US... they were pretty much shoved in the Disney Vault for a few decades. Jose would show up on the Wonderful World of Disney, in it’s various forms, three times after the Three Caballeros while Panchito just vanished aside from reuses of the Three Caballeros footage. Their careers in the US just sorta vanished for a few decades. But as suddenly as they vanished, our boys returned triumphantly. Naturally being the most used out of the duo, Jose would show up for the first time in decades during Mickey Mouseworks, a show full of new late 90′s produced Mickey Mouse shorts, all but two of which would end up being recycled for the much more popular and well loved House of Mouse, which would feature the triumphant return of the Cabs to animation after so long away. We’ll get to that next time, as just a year before the Cabs had already reunited in the pages of Walt Disney’s Comics and Stories in one of Don Rosa’s best loved tales. The Ride of The Three Caballeros was something Don Rosa had wanted to do since he got the job writing Duck Comics in the first place. As he explained in the back of the complete library edition named after this tale, Uncle Keno isn’t the biggest fan of the Donald Theatrical shorts. Having experienced the Carl Barks comics first, and having built his career around them later, he just wasn’t a fan of the goofier, angrier, less nuanced theatrical short Donald, often feeling like he was an entirely different character from the one he loved. And.. honestly he’s not wrong. Both were built for entirely different kinds of comedy: While both did slapstick, Slapstick, along with standard comedy shenanigans, was the main weapon in Shorts Donald’s comedic arsenal. Barksian Donald, while not immune to slapstick, was more like a well built sitcom character: Multi layered, sympathetic when he needs to be, but still having tons of faults to be exploited for laughs and to play off other characters. As a result while I like Donald in the shorts I do prefer Barks version of him, and the shorts Barks did are usually the best of both worlds, combining Donald’s everyman schtick with his slapstick schtick. Of course later cartoons would pick one or the other or combine both, but I do get his point and at the time he wrote this story the only cartoon show starring Donald was.. Quack Pack.. which I can only imagine his reaction to seeing that train wreck.

But as you can probably guess there was one exception and it was The Three Caballeros. Don genuinely enjoys the beautiful music and the wonderful chemistry the three have. So after a trip to Mexico gave him the perfect setting and the fire in his belly to finally do it, he finally wrote the story. And since they weren’t Barksian characters and hadn’t had any other apperances in decade, Don also took a dive into their comics. Since Jose was more of a fancifial freeloader in his comics, Don decided to ignore this characterization and go with his own based on the film: A latin playboy and lounge singer. And i’m okay with him doing that, as unlike say with Marvel and DC when they destroy a character, Disney characters are both more fluid continuity wise and his is still rooted in a version of the character, and he’s fully accepting and apologetic that some fans hate him for this. Also for some damn reason they redesigned Jose at some point in his Brazil to look like this:

This is far from the dumbest comic book costume change i’ve seen, but it’s certainly one of the most lame, as his original outfit is dapper, stylish and fits the Brazilian version of him well. And it’s not like you CAN’T update the classic Disney characters with modern appearances. Quack Pack, which has somehow come up twice in this review, did so great with Donald and Daisy, giving them new clothes and a haircut in Daisy’s case but both still look great. Same with Goofy for Goof Troop who just wore a dad sweater and bow tie, which puts him in the small but significant club of “Bow Tie Wearing Characters who have defined my life” with Opus the Penguin and the 11th Doctor. You can update a classic character’s’s appearance without coming off like...

Which given Jose’s outfit there is horrifyingly similar, says something. Anyways, Rosa had more use for Panchito’s stories, which had him as a cowboy protecting small towns with the help of his trusty steed Senor Martinez. Rosa loved both aspects and thus used them here, with Martinez getting a makeover to fit Rosa’s style better. Rosa is also the one to popularize Panchito’s last name, having found it on a scrap of research, not realizing the character’s last name was not at all widespread and thus giving him a canon one that has stuck to this day, and sighing in relief when he finally got conformation from another fan this name was indeed something Disney had used after loosing his research scrap. So with the two boys characters set, a plot set up and a whole sequence planned we’ll talk about on the way “The Three Caballeros Ride Again!” was born. How good is it? Well join me under the cut and i’ll tell you.

We open in Mexico, specifically near the Barranca Del Cobre, aka The “Copper Canyon” of the Sierra Madre, a natural land formation simlar to the Grand Canyon that Don Rosa saw during his trip and thought would make a great setting. While larger than the Grand Canyon, Rosa figures in his notes it simply isn’t as popular because it’s more isolated than the Grand Canyon and that, combined with it having trees inside distracting from it’s rugged beauty, makes it much harder to build a tourist industry around. The four are headed to El Divisadero, because this comic is determined to kill me with it’s difficult to spell names apparently, where Huey, Dewey or Louie spouts off for no particular reason about the currently being built Chihuahua El Pacifico Railway. Seriously the boys might as well be the security guard from Wayne’s World in this comic, their role for most of their brief page time is just to set up stuff for later. I mean i’m fine with setting up your setting but there are better ways than just spouting off tons of exposition apropos of nothing.

Donald has driven the boys here for a Woodchuck Jamboree. I did actually look into Jamborees, as before this it only had ever come up in one of my favorite movies of all time, Moonrise Kingdom, and mentioned occasionally in the Ducktales Reboot. Jamboree was first used for a worldwide scouting Jamboree but has gone on to mean a huge gathering of scouts, with the Boy Scouts of America having one every four years, so odds are it’s just a big yearly or quarter yearly thing for the woodchucks. Still it would be nice to see a big gathering like this in the series, especially since several of our cast are involved in them, including the possible power trio of Huey, Violet and Boyd, and Della and Launchpad could easily be slotted into the plot as seen in this season’s premiere.. as could Dewey and Louie if they really want to since according to Frank their members.. they just aren’t nearly as invested as their brother, and thus don’t do Woodchuck stuff unless he drags them into it, as seen with “Day of the Only Child” in the series itself. It does make sense: Dewey doesn’t have the survival instinct or patience for camping, and Louie hates effort, the out doors, and doing things for anything but profit. Scouting is all of that. So the boys have driven all this way for the Mexican Jamboree, as they’ve been carefully raising their tarantula Tara, and the Tarantula Breeding Badge is only given out in Mexico, which is plausible: Different branches of a worldwide organization would have different awards and what not in different countries. And Tarantula’s are also native to mexico so that makes sense.. and I want you to apricate that I’m afraid of spiders, not cartoony ones, for instance, this is adorable.

Galvantula4Life. But real life ones or realistic looking ones? Yeah no fuck that. So I had to go to the Wikipedia entry and see several horrifying looking sizeable spiders for this one tiny fact. Your welcome. Tara ends up on Donald’s face with the boys assuming Donald is sad to see her go instead of you know FUCKING TERRIFIED A GIANT SPIDER IS ON HIS FACE. This gag does not work.. but probably because as I said i’m afraid of spiders and this is my nightmare, you little sociopaths.

The boys however worry about what Donald will do for the weekend as they prepare to board the bus to the Jamboree... why it’s meeting in an out of the way town like this I have no idea, but i’d guess plot convince. They realize he has no friends, which Donald shrugs off, and they REALLY shouldn’t say to his face, but ruminate on it once he leaves to do whatever after vaguely talking about friends he had in the past.

I like this scene even though it annoys me a bit: Ilike it because it does set up how Donald really DOSEN’T have any friends in the comics. It’s part of WHY Rosa was drawn to the Cabs: Their one of the few equal relationships donald’s ever had, people who treat him as a partner, in both sense probably, a friend, a true amigo. As the boys point out Scrooge is a monster to him in the comics, paying him 30 cents an hour which I actually put into an inflation calculator to get an accurate read on how little that was by 2020 standards.. and it’s 3 dollars an hour. Hence why I call him a monster, why that bit hasn’t aged well, and why Rosa REALLY, REALLY should’ve retired it. It dosen’t help reading that knowing Disney largely treated Rosa the same way is cringe inducing at best, if not for any fault of his own. It being cringe inducing for an employer horribly mistreating and underpaying his employees though is his fault, he’s a grown ass man, even in the 90′s this had to be a problem, be better.

And yes i’m being hard on Don Rosa but just like with the comics thing, I simply expect better from the man given just how much respect I have for the guy. His art is gorgeous, his research is immaculate, his knowledge of old films is wonderful and his love for them so infectious i’m tempted to seek the ones he’s mentioned in notes out. He’s a truly wonderful guy and one of my faviorite comic writers.. but I have to treat him fairly like I do ANY of my idols. Just to prove that, I love Grant Morrison, especially his run on New X-Men, but a lot of it hasn’t aged well including some of the language and the entire subplot with Emma manipulating Scott into having an affair when he wasn’t in the best mental place and she knew that and was acting as his therapist, and treating that as a regular affair REALLY doesn’t play well nor should it have. I love Al Ewing, with all my heart and soul, but his run on Ultimates, while having some great worldbuilding and a spectacular cast, ultimately wasn’t very good after the first arc. Not terrible but not good. John Aliison, of Scary Go Round and Giant Days fame, while impressive has had plenty of stories I just didn’t like for various reasons and will probably get into some day and some parts of his stories haven’t aged well. It’s the hard but necessary part of being a critic: You have to be objective and see all the parts of a creator’s creation, not just the ones you like and call them out when they screw up. To me being a fan isn’t about just blindly loving something, it’s about knowing WHY you love it and being willing to call out faults while still thoroughly enjoying the work. There’s a fine line between being blindly loyal to someone, which has created Zach Snyder's awful cult of personality that I hate so much, and being an overly critical shithead and I hope I’m straddling that line.

Back on the scene after that filibuster they point out Gladstone, who himself is a monster to me for how he doesn’t lift a finger to help his nephews or cousin, and constnatly flaunts his luck to Donald, and is a bit more than teasing especially since he tried to, you know, steal your house once boys. That’s canon.. that’s a barks story so it’s canon here. You.. You remember that right? He tried to steal your house. And we will be getting to that one next month, just you wait. Finally the Daisy part that annoys me slightly. The boys being sexist.. was sadly the style at the time this story is set, the 1950′s, and thus plays better for me than it does in Ducktales, as their just little boys and don’t know better. Them assuming Girlfriends aren’t like having friends, while accurate though does bother me a bit, but only because the way this story treats Donald’s relationship is PRETTTTTYYYY bad and this sets that up. But we’ll get to that. Thankfully this foreshadowing of terrors to come is quickly forgotten as we get a GENUINELY great two panels of Donald lamenting his lack of friends. It just works really well, selling his loneliness and how isolated he truly feels without any, which while I have friends I can relate to as I only really hang out with on regularly.

This is what I was talking about. While I will point out Rosa’s flaws.. their truly outweighed but his artistic mastery. In just three panels he really has a truly emotional and heartrending scene, and just that one close up among them is all we need to get the true depths of Donald’s loneliness. I can be hard on the guy, but it’s because he’s one of the best there is, best there was, and best there ever will be and thus I hold him to a high standard. But with that we transition to...

Or rather first his boss at the hotel, whose pissed his headliner has skipped out on him again to woo a lady, and while he plans to fire the guy, only isn’t throttling him because he figures one of his “Senorita’s” boyfriends will do that for him. And while I do like Jose as a playboy i’m not really fond of him trying to have sex with someone in a relationship, as it puts both him and the person he’s having an affair with in a really bad light. It does fit the character, I just don’t have to like it. As for this particular Senorita, it turns out her boyfriend is a notorious Bandito and is thankfully out of town. So yes, Jose is essentially acting out Come A Little Bit Closer by Jay and the Americans.

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Naturally just like the song, said Bad Man returns, Alfonso “Gold Hat” Bedoya, a machete wielding baddie who while understandably pissed about another man making time with his girlfriend, is less understandably about to murder Jose. Though unlike the song, Alfonso’s Lady, rather than help Jose, encourages her boyfriend to murder him and clearly has a fetish for cheating on her boyfriend with various men and watching as he kills him which.. Jesus. This is why while I don’t LIKE the idea of Jose hitting on women in a relationship it does work here, as he’s still not nearly as bad as either of these two, so it evens out. Jose escapes with his umbrella but crashes.. right into the back of Donald’s car. Rosa, Alfonso’s lady, encourages him to murder both of them for funsies, and being a brutal thug, Alfonso obliges and shoots at the car. And since, to quote the duck himself, Donald doesn’t like being killed “Even a little”, he books it out of there.

Alfonso doesn’t peruse them though. He’s on the trail of a treasure hunter who has a map to the lost town of Tayopa, which contains untold silver, but before he can do that he has important buisness to get to.

I fucking love that gag and that Rosa snuck more adult gags in there knowing plenty of Duck Fans, such as myself, are grown men, women and others who can handle this sort of thing, while still slippnig it past the kids.

Donald, once the fear’s worn off a bit, starts to wonder WHY he’s running when he’s not the one who pissed off the guy, and ignores Jose’s good point about the fact Alfonso really dosen’t seem like a guy who sees nuance.. until Donald sees a wanted poster for Alphonoso and keeps driving. He eventually gets far enough away to feel safe.. and confront the guy who got him into this mess.

Now kiss. While sadly, they do not, we do get a lovely warm reunion between old pals. Rosa keeps their past vauge as, correctly, he pointed out in his authors notes that the Cabs movie really had no plot, accurate, so instead just vaguely alluded to Donald having known the two in his pre-daisy and boys past and likely had similar adventures to the movie, but adapted more for Rosa’s barksian universe. Jose explains he often finds himself cash poor and thus hits the road to drum up some money, and Mexico is a great place for that as it has plenty of tourist money.

Though as Jose talks about their past we get the most uncomfortable running gag of the story.

While Donald’s paranoia here is played for laughs.. it just.. isn’t all that funny that Donald’s relationship with Daisy in the Rosa canon is apparently sooooo deeply unhealthy that just HEARING about him having a romantic past before him, as Rosa confirmed this was pre-daisy in his notes, causes Donald to panic and worry she actually somehow heard this. It just isn’t funny.. it speaks of MASSIVE relationship issues and some form of domestic abuse on Rosa!Daisy’s part. It’s stuff like this why there’s only a handful of Donsy relationships I like: Her treating him like shit is reduced to a punchline, instead of being used for character growth. It’s also why I’m deeply dreading covering “Legend of the Three Cablleros” at the end of this retrospective. I just don’t like when Disney media treats Daisy expecting too much of Donald or being hyper jealous of him as hilarious and while I take this more as the story not ageing well rather than barks fault, as since then Domestic Abuse against Males has become a more widely known and talked about issue, it still doesn’t’t make it plesant. It just makes this not entirely his fault. Just like it’s not Stan Lee’s fault this panel is both deeply hilarious and uses a now kinda racist term.

I named an entire youtube channel after that.. we all have our regrets. I also bring it up since currently Harry’s become terrifying villain Kindred... and thus the current big bad of an entire Spider-Man run and the being hopefully bringing one more day into the light and hopefully leading to it’s undoing.. once had a goofy mustache he genuinely referred to a “Fu Manchu Face Fuzz” that for all we know he regrew under the mask.

Donald fondly remembers the old days of being a badass adventuring team and decides, screw it, let’s go show that Gold Hatted Paloka whose boss.. but being Donald ends up driving them into The Copper Canyon instead. Our heroes end up lost in the canyon and , fitting for Donald get shot at. I can only imagine his thoughts right now.

Their mysterious attacker threatens them.. before revealing himself to be Panchito, whose glad to see his friends having mistook them for Alfonso. Turns out HE’S the mysterious treasure hunter Alfonoso was after, to no one’s surprise. We get another deeply unfunny “Daisy’s only a thousand miles away gag” as the boys reminisce and get introduced to Panchito’s horse, Senior Martniez. He also tells the boy about his map.. but how he’s hit a snag as the lost town where the silver, from a silver mine.. is now buried under pounds of volcanic rock, a volcano having erupted. This is artistic license as Don Rosa admits there aren’t any known volcano’s in Mexico, but that they also still haven’t found that missing town, so this was his explanation. All is not lost as Donald’s globetrotting with Scrooge meant he knows his history.. and thus spots an old mission which, at the time, were used by preists as cover for secret mines. Donald naturally bungles his way in and we get the much better running gag of the Cabs thinking Donald did something amazing when he really just wondered into slapstick. They end up down the shaft, with Jose deciding Donald can’t do all the work, and finding a secret entrance under a sanctum sanctorum.. a religious thing I have no idea what it ii s but is clearly where Dr. Strange got the name. Regardless they find some old kegs filled with pure silver. As Panchito puts it:

And he did ideed. In a nice moment that shows off his character, Panchito has no hesitation for sharing the wealth: He wouldn’t of got this far without his friends, and he wont get the Silver cashed in without their help. He also fires off his guns in celebration.. forgetting their in a cave, a gag I genuinely like.

After some off screen loading and hoisting, the boys are slowly on their way out of the canyon, with Donald’s Car and Senor Martinez pulling the cart with the silver together. With some downtime the three talk about what they’ll spend the money on.

About what you’d expect. A big beautiful music venue

For Jose, and a nice ranch to retire at for Panchito. Both despite being wondering souls would love a simple place to call home, in their own personal styles. While they are BIG goals, their also likeable and understandable ones: Jose just wants to stop having to do all these tours and carouse and party and perform at home. Be his own boss, and live his own dreams instead of working for whoever will put up for him. Panchito just wants to retire from being a wondering hero to a peaceful life of farming, an honest reward he well earned. And Donald?

This is easily one of my faviorite moment’s of Rosa’s, one that really cuts to comic donald’s character: Sure he can be lazy, a trickster, hot tempered, and overconfident.. it’s why we love him.. but at the end of the day he genuinely loves those boys and their his first prority and I can see why the reboot took that trait and made it his defining one. They may annoy and frustrate them and he may pull a switch on them, 50′s after all.. but he loves his boys and knows they’ll do great one day and despite his spendthrift ways when given big money.. their all he can think about. Sure Donald probably has his own personal dreams, but instead of going big and retiring he’d probably just take only a small sliver of that money to open a humble hot dog stand or something, so he could have something of his own to provide them, while still giving most of the money to their college. Scrooge is who we all want to be.. Donald is who we are at our core: Flawed people who just want to do our best. It’s why I love the guy so much. The boys rest in the small town of El Divisadero, which like the town we started in is a real place, though both are much smaller, even as of 2000 when Rosa made his visit, so he had to embelish slightly. THey stop at a local watering hole only to find Alphonso. While Jose is naturally worried, Gold Hat has moved on to Panchito and wants to know why he’s here. However Donald thinking quickly says he’s part of their nightclub act, and we get a rousing version of the three cablleros, which when reading this I synched up to the song. I won’t put it here, as it’s too big for tumblr and it really works more as a whole, but needless to say, it’s the highlight of the comic. While Rosa did have doubts about putting a musical number in a comic, and it’s often trickey, he makes it work with the energy, vibrance and number of gags, that compensate for the music not being there. There’s tons of great gags, from Donald getting thrown out window, to the stone faced crowd who only cheers when Alphonso ends the number by whacking the three with one of their own guitars. Alphonso quickly realizes what’s goin on, finds the silver, and then hyjacks the train. The boys take off after him in the car, as Donald triumphantly states “The Three Cablleros Ride Again!”. The three head after Alphonzo, who finds them when trying to release the other cars to increase speed, and then shoots at them. It seems hopeless... until donald gets launched into the air, into a cactus then back into Alphonzo knocking his guns out in a great bit of slapstick. The Conductor, likely not knowing about the others or not carring, detaches the cars though, so our heroes and villian are now sent rocketing through the world’s most dangerous railway. Which, as you’d probably already figured out, is very real and what inspirited rosa to use this setting and thus indeed wind through dangerous mountainsides and over thin cliffs like a real life Donkey Kong Country level. Eduardo still has his machete though and easily beats Jose’s umbrella, but some more Donald slapstick and him apologizing to daisy about the senioritis as he wishes her goodbye seriously GET SOME COUPLE’S COUNSELING IF THAT EXISTS IN THE 50′S. It puls his sombrero down over his head, and with jose’s umbrella top landing on it, carries him off where he ends up in a lazy asshole sheirff’s jail for a gag. The boys however continue going back.. and the railway is unfinished at this time in history and while they save the silver, their fucked. But Donald has a plan, running to the back of the cars to get his car, and while it has trouble starting, Panchito throws some chilie’s in the tank to get it moving again. The boys find the silver.. but when one barrel spills they find out it’s not actual liquid silver.. but quicksilver, which was used for silver refinment. So while i’ts shiny, and toxic so of course Jose sticks his hand in before knowing what it is, it’s worthless. Probably. The boys.. all have a nice laugh over it. I love this moment. Sure the boys lost their dreams.. but like Scrooge, the three belivie theirs always another rainbow. What matters is the journey they had and the reunion that restored their friendship. Donald also muses the boys are smart enough to get their own scholarships anyway, so it’s no big loss.. but he does have to get back to Disvadero as the jamboree ends tonight and Jose agrees as he now needs a job again. The owner balks, understandably since Jose missed a performance to get laid and then disappeared overnight.. but the Hotel Owner is visiting so as long as he can provide a big act he’s good, and while Jose is worried as he already gave them his best, the boys naturally pitch in to be the cablleros once more. After all

So we close on Huey, Dewey and Louie returning, still worrying about donald, when they find him on stage. We then end on a truly heartwarming and great last few panels.

Final Thoughts: What else can I say? This story is beautifully drawn, as usual for Rosa, well paced, fun and really fleshes the Cabs out from the movie. It has a warm, fun adventurous tone and it’s nice to see Donald in the lead since Rosa usually did Scrooge stories and thus Donald was the justifiably surly sidekick instead of the main man> here he’s in the spotlight and gets to show just what he’s made of, while still being the hilarious mess we all know and love. The story honors the original film well, while forging it’s own path and is beautifully built into history. My only real complaints are the nephews being annoying, Alphonso’s somewhat overwrought accent, and of course the daisy gags.. but it’s all HEAVILY outweighed by one of Rosa’s finest hours and easy enough to ignore. Check this out if you can. It’s a classic for a reason.

If you liked this review, you can commission your own by messaging me on here or at my discord technicolormuk#655 for five dollars a comic story or animation episode. Whenever the ride resumes next, we’ll coming on down to the house of mouse to see the boys return to the screen. In the meantime keep an eye on this space for regular Ducktales reviews every Monday, including once this run ends as I intend to start playing catchup, loud house reviews whenever, my tom retrospective that’s returning soon, and my retrospective on the Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck, with chapter 2 of that also coming soon. Until then, there’s always another rainbow.

#the three caballeros #jose carioca #panchito pistoles #donald duck #don rosa #ride of the three caballeros #the three caballeros ride again #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #daisy duck #mexico #comics #reviews #elmo keep

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randomfandomimagine · 5 years ago

Text

The Ballad Of Y/N Part 2 (Jaskier x Reader)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier

Fandom: The Witcher

Categories: Reader Insert, Female!Reader, Pining

Warnings: Slight violence, injury and blood

Word Count: 7,7k words

Summary: After what happened in the mountains, Y/N is conflicted and must make a decision about Geralt and, especially, Jaskier.

Notes: This ended up being more focused on Jaskier, but I love the result as well. Enjoy part 2, I definitely did writing it. And thanks so much for all the feedback and support for the imagine :)

Links: AO3

THIS IS PART 2, READ PART 1 FIRST!

The harrowing sight of fire. A big cloud of smoke floating in the air. The smell of ashes of what used to be whole. Everything is now empty. Incomplete. Broken.

Embers came over to me, burning my skin and hurting me. My shirt caught fire, bringing a sharp pain to my stomach and my side.

“Y/N!” I awoke to meet with Jaskier’s face. His furrowed brows arched when our eyes met. “Wake up, it’s morning”

Slightly disoriented still, I looked around. The sun was slowly rising in the horizon, bringing warmth to where we were as its rays filtrated through the leaves. It was a much smaller forest than the one we had previously rested in, but the similarity with it made me uneasy.

“We need to continue” Geralt’s deep voice made itself heard in the silence.

Jaskier patted my shoulder and stood up, walking to stand next to the witcher and his horse. I scowled at the thought of my missing horse, and even grimaced when I tried to pull myself up.

The fire from the dream had carried on to real life, as the wound still burned in my torso. I looked down and remembered it was slowly closing, definitely leaving a scar. I sighed in resignation and walked after Geralt. Jaskier had been leaning his shoulder against a thick tree trunk, but easily went after me.

The quietness didn’t last longer while we walked.

“Slept well, Y/N?” He asked me, gently nudging me.

I noticed Geralt looking over his shoulder to us. He paused, letting go of Roach’s reins and turning to me.

“How’s your wound?” His deep voice put an end to Jaskier’s chatter.

I just shrugged, not wanting to bring attention to it. At least I hadn’t bled through the bandages, which was enough for now.

“Say, lady Y/N” Jaskier said to me, and he was grinning when I faced him. “Where are you going now?”

I rolled my eyes tiredly, thinking that for a poet he wasn’t always the most tactful. I didn’t reply to him, and just continued walking. Geralt emulated me, walking alongside Roach as we returned to the path.

Behind me I heard the sound of Jaskier’s lute as he absently played a tune. Its catchy yet soft tone filled the silence between us.

“Well?” He insisted, realizing he wasn’t getting an answer.

As all response, I looked at him over my shoulder. Displeased with my reaction, he made a comical face that nearly made me laugh. I couldn’t tell if it was deliberate, but I contained my chuckle in any case.

For a brief moment, the music stopped yet continued after a small sigh from the bard. He then began mumbling lyrics as he was apparently composing a song on the spot.

“Actually” Geralt said over the improvised music. “We need to know where we’re headed”

The witcher wasn’t looking at me, merely tilting his head in my direction. He was right, we needed a destination. I thought for a moment and resigned myself to the most obvious choice.

“I… suppose we should go to the nearest town” I clutched my side, realizing I wouldn’t be able to travel on foot all that long. They didn’t have to know, but I was planning on resting wherever we found an inn.

Geralt nodded his head, not replying to me. He then looked up ahead and caressed Roach’s neck.

“Blessed be the witcher” Jaskier suddenly sang in a dramatic voice, slightly elongating the syllables. “He can get in”

I quickly turned around and scrunched my nose at him in mockery.

“He’s not annoying me” I sang in the same tune, teasing the bard.

Much to my surprise, he suddenly stopped everything as his mouth fell wide open. Weren’t it because the lute hung from his torso, it would have dropped to the ground.

“You have a wonderful singing voice” Jaskier said with quite a silly grin. Not bothered at all, he instead appeared to be smitten.

I hesitated for a moment, secretly flustered at his adoring look. However, I quickly recovered and shrugged one shoulder.

“Do I? What an incredible discovery” Smirking as I glanced at him, I nodded towards Jaskier. “Keep playing, at least your singing voice isn’t as annoying as your chatter”

Geralt let out what sounded a lot like a chuckle. I knew our travelling companion hadn’t heard him, though, so I didn’t point it out.

At my petition, he continued playing his lute and lowly singing as he made up lyrics that he mumbled too low to hear. Despite the silence setting again aside from the music, the quietness was somewhat calm and comfortable.

A sudden thought popped up in my head, too curious about what the future might bring. If I had been affected by a dragon’s attack, who knew what else might endanger us next? But someone did know, and he was standing right before me.

“Can I ask you a question, Geralt?” I suddenly piped up, earning a surprised glance from him.

“Ask…”

“What other creatures are out there? I mean, what tales can you tell me about dangerous creatures I should be wary of?”

He tilted his head to the side in a resigned gesture, but just as he was opening his mouth, Geralt was interrupted.

“Excuse me, I am the bard!” Jaskier exclaimed, clearly offended. If I didn’t know any better, I could have thought he was… jealous. “Why are you not asking me?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know a common story-teller knew more about creatures than a witcher”

“Hm” Geralt amusedly hummed, glancing back at me and pretending Jaskier wasn’t there as the bard pouted at us.

“There’s the striga, kikimora, drowner, djinn…” Before he could continue listing creatures whose names didn’t sound friendly at all, he was interrupted once again.

“Ah, the djinn” Jaskier sighed, looking up to the sky with absent eyes. “Brings back memories”

“Did you get three wishes?” I asked him, turning to him in curiosity.

“Not… exactly” He quickened his pace a bit to catch up to us.

“If only I could have a djinn…” I couldn’t help but to say, daydreaming about the possibilities. I could right many wrongs and undo many tragedies.

“Be careful what you wish for” The two said at the same time, exchanging an eloquent glance. I stared at them in awe, but sensing those memories were quite tumultuous, I decided to change the subject.

“What can you tell me about, uh… strigas?” I asked Geralt, whose yellowish eyes landed on me.

“They are under a curse” He began to say, continuing to lead the way to our destination.

Returning to his music, Jaskier played his lute and sang while I listened to Geralt’s tale.

Just as I was considering risking my own safety to hold on to Roach out of pure exhaustion, we arrived to a town.

“Thank goodness…” I muttered under my breath at the sight.

Geralt had gotten tired of telling me stories, but Jaskier had barely stopped fiddling with his lute. It was refreshing to put an end to his singing for a bit, and to finally rest.

Needing some sort of relief, I leaned against a tree. At least that way I didn’t have to support my full weight.

The witcher got down from his horse and tied it to a close by post when we passed the entrance of the small town. He then turned to us, pointing a gloved finger at Jaskier.

“Stay here” As he lowered his hand, he nodded towards a nearby tavern. “I will ask where the closest inn is”

The second after, his eyes landed on me. I wondered if I appeared to be feeble and sick again. I certainly wasn’t feeling my best, but I was still injured and tired from all the walking. We had been fortunate that we weren’t too far from civilization.

If Geralt was thinking about my condition, he didn’t show it. Instead, he took a step back.

“We’ll come with you!” Jaskier suggested, smiling cheerfully and already making to move.

“No, wait here” Without a word, he faced his back to us. “Stay out of trouble”

I gawked at him, knowing he was more likely to get in trouble in there than us.

“Common folk don’t like witchers” I began, despite not really wanting to walk not even one more step. “Geralt, we should-“

“Exactly” Was his simple reply as he walked away from us.

“Don’t tell me you actually care about us!” Jaskier exclaimed so he was sure to be heard.

Geralt completely ignored him and carried on. I truly hoped they weren’t hostile towards him in that tavern. Jaskier had commented on how the witcher was treated as Geralt told me about their adventures.

“Well then” My remaining companion leaned a hand on the tree I was against. “Seems it’s just us now, we can chat for a bit”

“Of course” I tiredly plopped down on the ground, regretting it a little when my landing wasn’t exactly graceful. But I refused to rub my sore bum in front of Jaskier. “You never seem to run out of conversation”

He smirked and stared for a moment as he towered over me. His playful expression changed, however, and he crouched down to be at eye level with me.

“Are you feeling alright?” Jaskier’s hand fell on my knee. “Did Geralt move too quickly? Perhaps we should have maintained a slower pace”

I chuckled, secretly endeared by his concern. My hand rested over his, right over the bruises on his knuckles that he got for punching a man intent on attacking me when my back was turned to him. I nodded to comfort him.

“I’m fine” I leaned my head back on the tree. “Just tired”

“That witcher…” A playful smile appeared on his lips, spreading to his blue eyes as he watched me. “I’ll have a word with him”

“Good luck with that, Jaskier” I patted his hand before letting go of it. His glance fell over the place where my hand used to be over his.

“Tell me, my lady” The corner of his lips curved up further, now mischievously, at the nickname. “Where to from here?”

I hadn’t realized I would have to make my mind up again so soon. Averting my gaze in deep thought, I asked myself that very question. I really didn’t know. I felt completely lost.

“I suppose I could stay with you until we part ways…” He suddenly frowned at my words. “Actually, I… I think I would like to start again… Somewhere new, somewhere big with lots of people”

My eyes absently glanced around, seeing the too peaceful environment. After what happened, I knew deep within me that I would need the busy life of a big city. Certainly bigger than this little town.

“Oh…” Jaskier solely nodded. “I see”

The sudden sadness in his eyes made my heart falter. I enjoyed their company, but I couldn’t be with them always. I needed to be on my own, depending only on myself.

I opened my mouth to add a few encouraging words, but a loud sound stopped me. The both of us got startled and gazed over to the tavern, where the noise came from. Soon after, the door was violently swung open and a burly figure appeared.

Geralt was being jeered by the people, who threw things at him and called him names. Mutant, atrocity. Monster.

“I can’t believe it” Jaskier muttered between grit teeth, standing to his feet.

A group was gathering around the tavern to see why the commotion started. As soon as they spotted the witcher, the newcomers circled around him and joined the assault on him.

I wasn’t as spry as the bard at the moment, so I tiredly leaned on the tree to stand up and reunite with them. Jaskier was shouting at everyone, defending Geralt. The witcher didn’t seem surprised nor bothered by their treatment, merely resigned.

“Leave him alone, you dimwitted fools!” The bard was telling them, earning a tired glance from his friend. It seemed to silently tell him not to bother.

Someone pushed Jaskier, who retaliated in offence. I clicked my tongue, annoyed to put up with their hateful behavior, and did my best to hurry their way to intervene.

Geralt was shaking his head, but continued walking away from the tavern. Jaskier wasn’t content with his apparent indifference, and insisted on lecturing them. Chaos unleashed as everyone started shouting and hitting. The bard covered his head as things were being thrown and I started panicking.

I turned around, feeling out of breath at how wrong everything could go. There was no sight of Geralt. Facing Jaskier again, I faltered when I realized he had been struck and was now bleeding from a cut on his cheek.

Trying to make my way to him, I pushed through the crowd. Just as I was about to reach him, I gasped when they hit him in the head.

“Jaskier!” He fell limply to the ground, landing with a heavy thud.

My heart was racing wildly. He wasn’t moving. I hurried to check on him, but didn’t get to. A heavy blow landed on my own head, and my knees buckled as the pain and blackness engulfed me like an old friend.

Everything hurt. It took me a few seconds to understand why my side felt like it was on fire, until I remembered my wound. The distant yet unforgettable sensation of a blade piercing my skin made me feel like it all happened so long ago. Even if it occurred merely one day ago.

“Y/N?” Despite the hushed tone, the sudden voice was strident to my ears and gave me a headache. I frowned and moved my head trying to get away from the hurtful sound.

A force gently shook my shoulder as that someone called me again. Wait, I recognized that voice…

“Y/N” Making an effort to slowly open my eyes, I was received with a worried Jaskier. His expression relaxed when his blue eyes met mine.

I groaned when I remembered the commotion outside the tavern. The shouting and fighting. Objects flying and hitting us. Being knocked out. Now it made sense why my head hurt so terribly and the blood seemed to throb in my temples.

“Are you alright?” The bard was kneeling down, not moving as he watched me carefully.

I noticed his eyes lowering down to my abdomen. Following their direction, I could see blood seeping through my bandages and clothes. I sighed tiredly.

I didn’t reply, though, too disoriented to form a coherent sentence. Instead I looked around to find myself in a small dirty cell.

“What happened?” I managed to put together, even if my voice was hoarse.

“They threw us in here, said we were ‘disturbing the order’ if you can believe it” Jaskier huffed in outrage. “They took my lute…”

“Remind me to thank them later” I forced myself to say, making him laugh a little.

My tired body complained when I tried to sit up, hence I ended up lying down again. Jaskier knitted his eyebrows together at the sight and offered me a hand. It was tiring to even reach out to take it.

“Up you go!” He encouraged me as he pulled at me, grunting in effort.

Once I was sitting up, I heaved a sigh. At least my mind felt a bit clearer already.

I looked up to him, holding the back of my head and feeling a bump there. He also had dry blood on his face, a sight that made me wince.

“Where’s Geralt?”

“Wish I knew, but I think he left”

Jaskier was now pacing, but I urged him to get closer with a hand gesture. He fidgeted around and rushed over when he noticed my petition, taking me by the arm. I stood to my feet with his help. As soon as I was up, however, I separated myself from him.

My headache was slowly but surely subsiding. Taking a few deep breaths after I was hit with a head rush, I then turned to the bard.

“Maybe Geralt thought we had the common sense to run away”

Jaskier seemed confused at my statement, and I curiously awaited his reply.

“He thought wrong” Was what he came up with, reluctantly pulling a smile out of me.

He relaxed his tense shoulders when I chuckled, but then stared. To divert the attention off me, I reached out a hand towards his face.

“Those townspeople are barbaric” Just as my finger was about to brush against the cut on his cheek, I pulled away. “I… saw them knocking you out too”

Jaskier blinked several times and cleared his throat before showing me a smirk.

“Where you worried about me, my lady Y/N?”

“No, and if you ever call me that again it will be me knocking you out with a fist to your face”

“Hold on, are you blushing?!”

Frustrated that he found my behavior so oddly endearing, I faced my back to him and went to lean on the closest wall. I was truly tired, even if the blow to the head had luckily been fleeting with its pain.

“What are we going to do now?” I spoke over my shoulder, still not facing him.

The bard paused for a moment before replying. I heard him lowly laughing to himself before regaining his composure. He would never forget my brief moment of bashfulness, would he? I blamed my possibly concussed state and my sore wound.

He threw his arms up in uncertainty and they slapped back against his thighs. That was his whole answer. I heaved a sigh, repressing a grunt when the slight movement brought a pang to my side.

“Great…”

“I’m sure we’ll think of-“

Jaskier was cut off by a distant sound that startled us both. We exchanged a preoccupied glance. The sound of fighting brought hope to our hearts to escape our predicament, but it also worried us that things might not get better, but worse.

“Uh…” He abruptly broke the tense silence. “What… What was that?”

“Geralt, perhaps…?” I replied, squeezing my arm against my stomach.

Jaskier stared at me and raised an eyebrow. He tilted his head, nearly in doubt.

The two of us jolted up in startle with a loud bang that felt closer than the previous commotion. The bard frowned and anxiously moved closer to me, so much so that our sides ended up gracing against each other.

The door at the end of the corridor opened, and so a figure dressed in all black appeared.

“Geralt!” Jaskier breathed out, taking a step towards the witcher. “Am I glad to see you, old friend”

It truly was a welcome sight as he approached us, as strong and determined as ever.

“Stand aside” Geralt gestured for us to move, and so we did as he asked, pressing ourselves against the lateral wall.

As soon as the path was clear, he held his hand up and a wave of power blasted through the big door with bars. It fell down with a very loud metallic noise and landed where we were standing just mere seconds ago.

“Excellent!” Jaskier jumped over the fallen door and went to reunite with Geralt.

The witcher’s yellowish eyes fell over him before turning to me. I felt inhibited with his close scrutiny and hurried to exit that dreaded place. My headache was nearly gone, but the feebleness that accompanied it lingered.

“Are you hurt?” Geralt asked me, causing Jaskier to turn to me again.

“Yes” I rolled my eyes, limping my way out of the cell and bearing a sarcastic grin. “But then again, I was hurt before those lovely folks went crazy over nothing”

“Where were you, by the way?” Asked Jaskier, but Geralt deadpanned. It occurred to me that he had fled the scene, but... what was he going to do otherwise, kill everyone there that opposed him?

The bard retrieved his steps to be by my side, holding his hand up. I didn’t take it even as it continued to hover in the air.

“There’s no time for that, hurry” Geralt replied in a flat voice.

“I’m going as fast as I can” I closed my hand in a fist when I noticed, but was adamant in getting out on my own.

“Let me bloody help you!” Jaskier went to wrap an arm around my waist, but I quickened my pace before he could. “Y/N, we need to get out of here!”

“For once, Jaskier is right” The witcher’s words baffled us both, but it was what he did next that made me speechless.

“Ah!” I couldn’t help but to yelp when he swept me up over his shoulder and carried me without breaking a sweat. “Put me down!”

“That will do it” Jaskier muttered under his breath, jogging to leave our undeserved imprisonment.

“Put me down, Geralt” I hit my fists against his back, but it was so sturdy that I doubted he felt it at all. “Witcher, I swear…!”

“You are injured, even more than before” As he walked, mindlessly carrying me on his shoulder, he seemed completely unfazed by the whole situation. “We don’t have time for your stubbornness”

Knowing I had no other option but to be carried off there, I crossed my arms and seethed in silence.

I still didn’t say anything when Geralt finally put me down. He only did when we were outside of that town and at a safe distance from those people that hated witchers.

The two of them didn’t seem bothered by what had just happened. Jaskier was even feverishly writing on a piece of paper he had taken out of his pocket. The inspiration of his lifetime, apparently.

Waiting for Geralt to perhaps apologize, I stared at him expectantly.

“You’re welcome” The witcher told me, unperturbed by my sharp glare. He just eyed me.

Stomping my feet, I walked up ahead, leading the way even without truly knowing where we were headed.

“I think I prefer her being mouthy than being quiet” Jaskier mumbled, and grimaced when I glared over my shoulder to him.

Shaking my head, I merely continued walking. I was so frustrated. Until they walked into my life, I was fine. Everything was calm. I had never been injured, thrown into jail or challenged in such way.

Instead of dwelling on such negative emotions, I attempted to take deep breaths and distract my mind from it. Hence, I focused on my surroundings. We had made it to quite a beautiful meadow, separated by a dusty path in the middle that contrasted with the greenness around us.

“I didn’t hear you say thank you” Geralt’s voice sounded deeper than usual. If it was deliberate, I couldn’t tell. In any case, I wasn’t intimidated by it, nor him.

“Thank you?” A sarcastic chuckle escaped my lips as I turned my whole body to face him. “Don’t pretend you’re any better than me, witcher”

“What do you mean?” He replied, still calm and collected.

“You pretend to be a lone wolf and be annoyed at our mere existence” A dangerous look flashed on his eyes when I pushed my hand against his shoulder. “Why did you come back for us then? Why do you let us come with you if it isn’t because you care about us?”

“I could ask you the same question, Y/N” Geralt walked closer to me, but I defiantly held his gaze. Even with that contained rage in it and a vein popping up in his forehead.

“Alright, alright” Jaskier patted Geralt’s shoulder and tugged at my arm to put some distance between us. “We’re all friends here, calm down!”

I pressed on, but the bard pulled at me until I was forced to glance away. Reluctantly heeding his request, we took a step back and dropped the subject. It truly wasn’t worth it, and I knew that. I just couldn’t let him get away with it. Even if he was right, and I didn’t… even if I liked them and… I... Well... If Geralt thought he knew me was because he was just like me anyway.

“I know what might cheer you up!” The bard piped up in a cheerful tone that clashed with the tense atmosphere. “I’ll fetch you a beautiful flower! All ladies love flowers, right? Everyone does, anyway. What’s there not to like?”

We were forced to share a glance when we noticed Jaskier going into the meadow where the flowers and weeds reached up to his hips. I had a bad feeling about him blindly wandering there.

“Jaskier” Geralt simply called him, still not moving from the spot.

“It will be just a moment!” The bard brushed him off, focused on picking up flowers.

If I weren’t so vexed still, I would smile at how silly yet endearing he was being. However, all my resentment faded anyway when I spotted a shadow amongst the tall weed.

“Did something just move in there?” I uttered, throwing my hand to my dagger and walking closer to Jaskier.

“It did” Geralt said too, running over to him. “Jaskier!!”

Annoyed by the interruption, the bard turned around to us. Seeing our panic, he looked behind him again just as a beast mildly resembling a wolf left its hiding place. Jaskier exclaimed in surprise and fear and threw himself away from it, trying to meet us.

Geralt unsheathed his sword and attacked the beast so quickly that I was barely able to follow his movements. I was left behind, still slower, while the two of them faced the danger.

“Geralt!” Even if I knew he was the most capable out of all of us, I couldn’t help but to worry. Just like I did back on the mountain. This time I didn’t regret jumping into action either, even with the reminder of that moment in the form of a wound in my stomach.

The witcher looked to us, being distracted for a moment as he shouted at us to run away. It was just long enough for that beast to lunge at him. When Geralt was down, it went back to Jaskier, I assumed that for being the one to disturb its tranquility.

I wasn’t fast enough to get to it before it reached him, and Jaskier exclaimed under its weight. The beast let out a shriek when I threw myself to it and sunk my dagger on its back. That seemed to bring its attention away from my friend, but made me its target as a result. It casted its claw against me, and I instinctively shielded my face with an arm, feeling it tearing my sensitive skin and making it burn. I held up my dagger again and was about to try and fight back when Geralt came to help.

The witcher kicked the beast off me, away from Jaskier as well, and struggled with it. The bard immediately dragged himself towards me, and it was a relief to see him still in one piece. The both of us breathed heavily, turning our attention to Geralt when we ensured the other was alright.

Beast and witcher continued to struggle, but soon a sword sunk into the animal’s flesh and it perished with a last cry. The sudden silence after the chaos made me aware of the ringing in my ears and the sound of my heartbeat resonating within me.

I nearly got startled when Geralt violently turned to us. His eyes appeared to be darker than usual. I shivered.

We must have presented a terrible state, lying there in the ground, shaking and gasping. He closed in the distance between us as he saved his sword on its place behind his back.

“It got you both” Was all he said, pointing at Jaskier’s chest. “Next time don’t be so reckless”

When he looked down to himself, seeing the front of his shirt shred to pieces and filled with blood, the bard’s face went several shades paler.

“Oh, gods! Was it venomous?” He helplessly looked from Geralt to me. “Am I dying? Am I?!”

“No!” The witcher said in exasperation to his panic.

“You’re fine, you big baby” I grumbled, making a titanic effort to sink a knee to the ground and pull myself up from that position.

Geralt helped Jaskier up and patted his shoulder once the bard was to his feet.

“What was that?” He choked out, gulping as he caught his breath.

“A warg” The witcher threw a glance to the beast’s body. “A rare breed of wolf”

Restlessness settled on my stomach at the strange feeling in the air, so I opened my mouth to say something. Noticing this, Geralt’s stern glance fell over me.

“Don’t do that again” He took my wrist with an iron grasp, making me realize I still clutched my dagger stained with crimson.

“What, save Jaskier?” I complained, annoyed by his accusatory tone.

“My job” Geralt pushed my hand away with disdain. His voice was deep and dangerous again. “You’re lucky this is steel”

I stared at my blade and thought about what he had just said. In reality, I hadn’t known anything about that beast. I would have lost my time if it weren’t vulnerable to my weapon, and then I could be dead. As a witcher, he did know the creature’s vulnerabilities and how to fight it. I had been too impulsive. Still, I only wanted to save my friends! Well, my… companions. My travelling companions. No matter what, I didn’t regret it still.

“Y/N” Jaskier shook my shoulder, since I was immersed in my thoughts. “Your arm...”

Blinking in an attempt to focus on what he was telling me, I glanced at him. It took a few seconds to assimilate what he said to me. I paused to save my weapon and then followed his gaze to see what he was talking about.

“Perfect, just perfect!” A nasty looking scratch now covered the outside of my forearm, profusely bleeding. At least it wasn’t as deep. Besides, as I peered at Jaskier I remembered he was hurt too.

“We’re matching” He forced out a smile as he pointed from the claw marks on his chest to the ones I presented.

With that simple and stupid comment, all my anxiety seemed to vanish. It was so foolish and unexpected that I found myself smiling. I took a deep breath when I realized I had been holding it in.

“Here” Geralt called us, seemingly telling us to remember he was there with us.

Roach was now walking alongside him, and I assumed he had gone looking for his horse. That was a loyal horse, patiently waiting for him like that.

Jaskier clutched his injured chest as he dragged his feet to walk over to Geralt. I followed after him just as the witcher, along with the horse, distanced himself from the path.

“We should rest and treat those wounds” He didn’t look at us as he pointed to a patch of grass that we were supposed to wait for him in.

“W-Where are you going?” Jaskier asked, confused that he was walking away.

“To get some wood and light a fire” Geralt muttered, not stopping. “It will be night soon”

“Is there a problem?” Even if things were slightly tense between us still, I felt the need to ask.

“Yes” Finally, the witcher halted. After a few seconds of hesitance, he faced us. “I don’t want to be around you two when you are like this”

“Like what?” Jaskier put a hand on his hip, watching him in defiance.

Geralt didn’t answer, just sunk his hand on his pocket and tossed something to him. The bard managed to catch it and observed the bandages in his hands. That done, the witcher continued on his way to search for some firewood.

When I tore my glance away from his burly figure, I met with Jaskier’s eyes intently focused on me. A sudden heat had arrived to my cheeks, making me blush. He only smiled at me.

“Come on” He said, moving to the exact spot the witcher pointed to before. “I’ll bandage that arm up”

While I followed after him, I glued my eyes to the ground. With the corner of my eye I saw him sitting by a big boulder and occupied the space next to him. As soon as we were sitting together, he carefully took my arm in his hands.

I observed Jaskier as he tightly but gently wrapped the bandage around my bloody arm. His warm hands were soft and I felt butterflies in my stomach when his fingers squeezed lightly as his other hand handled the bandage.

“Um…” I was honestly so rattled by his tender cares that I needed to say something. “What do you think he was talking about?”

He lifted his head, staring at me for a moment. A sweet smile occupied his lips as he lightly tilted his head. I had to purse my lips not to smile myself at the cute gesture.

“I don’t know” He said, however. I wished I could read his thoughts.

“Maybe he’s still mad at me” Thinking back, I shouldn’t have talked to him like that. I was just... angry and frustrated.

Jaskier chuckled in amusement, like I had just said something funny.

“No offence, Y/N, but you started it”

“He implied I couldn’t do it myself and carried me against my will!”

“Geralt saved you back there, you were bleeding and…” He stopped covering my arm to look into my eyes, knitting his brow. “Why does it bother you so much?”

“Because I thought I would be brave!”

When I realized what I just said, it was too late. I was irritable, unwell and exhausted. The intense activity of these days had proved too much for me to handle, especially since I kept bottling everything up.

Feeling his eyes on me that refused to move, I dared to look up at Jaskier. His expression of confusion turned to sadness at my words. I mentally cursed myself for saying it out loud. For saying it in front of him. For feeling hot tears in my eyes.

“And you aren’t?” His voice was soft and low as a whisper.

I didn’t reply right away. It felt like the lump in my throat wouldn’t let me speak, but I did. Might as well continue what I started. Besides, I couldn’t bear to see that sympathetic glint in his blue eyes.

“No, I’m terrified all the time” I averted my eyes when my voice trembled.

Jaskier was quiet for several seconds. His eyes wouldn’t leave me, and I mentally begged him to continue bandaging my arm instead.

“And despite it all, you’re still here” Almost like he heard my thoughts, his hands slowly returned to their task. “Afraid or not”

“Well, I don’t want to be afraid” Because he was taking too long, I moved my arm and tried to do it myself. “And I don’t want to show it”

Much to my dismay, Jaskier’s hands didn’t let me go. Even if carefully, he tugged at me to return my arm to its previous position.

“How is that helping?”

I rolled my eyes and heaved a big sigh. Even then, breathing was still a bit difficult. Everything had changed so much in so little time…

“Now that I know your secret…” He made a pause as he finished with my arm and gingerly patted it with a flourish. “I’m not going to like you any less”

Jaskier lifted a hand, moving my hair out of my face and leaving something over my ear. Utterly astonished, I reached out to touch it and find that he had managed to get a flower from the meadow after all.

Forgetting all bashfulness to avoid eye contact, I threw him an astonished glance. Jaskier only smirked a bit, despite the gesture’s tender nature. I couldn’t tell what exactly he meant by that. Or rather, I wasn’t sure. Nor did I want to make the wrong assumptions and get both our hearts broken.

After spending the night in that meadow, taking turns to ensure we wouldn’t be attacked again, we continued on our way. We had treated all our wounds and I had changed my bandages, which was an improvement on my mood. The arrival of a brand new day seemed to bring hope and a fresh start with it.

A sense of normality returned to our group. Jaskier alternated between writing down some lyrics and talking to Geralt. The other in return resigned himself to bearing the bard’s endless prattle.

I had blocked out the sound of their voices and footsteps, paying mind to the many thoughts in my head. For that very reason, I had not opened my mouth ever since we left the meadow.

Save for a few small glances, neither of them commented on it. I appreciated that they gave me time and space to think things over as I fell behind.

We would soon arrive to the city, and I had expressed my wish to stay there while they carried on to new adventures. I had promised myself to start anew in another city, somewhere big with lots of opportunities. Somewhere I could create a new routine.

Jaskier’s soft chuckle and Geralt’s amused noise, snippets of their conversation, brought me out of my thoughts for a brief moment. I might never see them again if we drifted away once there. Thinking to myself, I knew I would miss them. They were my friends after all.

In such short period of time I had grown accustomed to the sound of Jaskier’s pleasant voice. His jokes, comments and playful nicknames. To Geralt’s reluctant and exasperated protection as well as his annoyed grunts and his amused hums. Even Roach, I would miss.

Did I really want to leave all that for a monotonous existence that I had already experienced all my life? Would I really be able to abandon them after all we had been through? The thought of never being with them again broke my heart.

My mouth tasted bitter, and I knew exactly how to fix it.

“Geralt” I spoke up, surprising even myself after hours of quietness.

There was a clear resignation in his demeanor when he turned at the sound of his name.

“What is it?” The dangerous warning tone was present on his voice once more.

I could feel Jaskier’s eyes on me, quickly drifting to Geralt as he anxiously witnessed the scene. I showed a conciliatory smile that hopefully expressed I didn’t mean any harm.

“I shouldn’t have said all those things” The moment felt extremely awkward and so I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “It was uncalled for... You were helping me after all”

He might not have expected that, because I received no response at first. Behind him, Jaskier nudged him with a smile and Geralt reluctantly nodded.

“I might have been wrong to say what I did too” He spoke with some reluctance, but established eye contact. His were light and serene as he nodded.

When I thought he wouldn’t address the subject again, the corner of his lips curved up. I smiled back warmly.

“Wonderful” Jaskier clapped at our reconciliation. “Now we can enter Temeria as friends”

I rolled my eyes and teased him with just a glance. He solely smirked in retaliation. Taking a bow with flourish in my direction and a wink, Jaskier turned to Geralt again and kept talking about whatever he was boring him with.

The city was in sight now, and my nerves made my fingers tingle as we continued walking. It was closer and closer with each passing second. With every single step. I had to make a decision, stay there forever or continue with Geralt and Jaskier. Remain alone and safe or accompanied but vulnerable?

Everything felt slightly overwhelming as I forced myself to keep walking. My legs carried me in silence for what it felt like hours.

As we passed the frontier into the city’s territory, the world seemed to evolve before my very eyes. There was movement anywhere I looked, new faces and places, new opportunities.

“Y/N” Jaskier was suddenly next to me, grinning widely. “Have I ever told you about what Geralt did in Temeria the time he-“

He must have noticed my absent-mindedness and interrupted himself. When I took a look at him, that frown and sad expression had returned.

“Oh, right” His cheery tone had dropped as well. “This is where we part ways, isn’t it?”

I thought that we could travel together for a little longer. Just until I found a stable place where I could find my new home in Temeria. Nonetheless, they seemed to have business to take care of. Creatures to hunt, people to save, stories to tell and songs to sing.

Jaskier hesitated and so Geralt approached me first. Before doing anything, he took a few seconds and sighed. His hand then heavily fell on my shoulder.

“Goodbye, Y/N” He simply said to me, patting my back now. “Try to stay alive”

“You too, witcher” I grinned as we stared at each other, silently expressing what we wanted to say without needing any words. I considered hugging him, but didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

He was about to turn around, but showed me a smile. A genuine wide smile that nearly felt out of place in his expression yet was heartwarming to see.

“Uh…” Jaskier briefly motioned to Geralt, who nodded and gave us a moment. The bard then offered me something with a blank expression. “I want you to have this”

Watching him closer, I recognized the badly hidden sadness of the moment. Despite it all, his hand was firm as our fingers brushed together. I hardly even glanced at the paper I took from him.

His neat handwriting covered most of it. The text was composed of short lines, making me wonder whether it was a poem or a song.

“What’s this?”

“Your song. I mean… my song for you”

“You actually wrote me a song, you sap?”

We both chuckled, but I felt warm and giddy at the gift. My fingers tightly held on to the paper as I cradled it against my chest. Something so simple, yet it felt like a treasure.

There was a long pause. The uncertainty of how to say goodbye to him was harrowing. He hesitated too, but resolved to do nothing more. It would only make our farewell more heartbreaking.

“Take care, Y/N” Despite having known him for only two days, I was aware of the fact that such serious tone was rare. And unbearable to me.

“Y-You too” I forced myself to say, nearly being unable to speak up.

Jaskier nodded and turned around, achingly slowly. Geralt waved at me one last time and walked with his friend. With my friend. They were both my friends.

Finding it impossible to watch them leave, I lowered my glance to the paper in my hands. A sudden melody, unhurried and romantic, played in my head. Nearly like he had put it there himself. The familiar sound of his voice accompanied it as I read the lyrics.

‘Tis the ballad of Y/N

As beautiful as fierce

Oh, valiant lovely Y/N

Soul of a warrior and heart of steel

My lovely lady Y/N

Oh how she makes me feel

Just with the beginning, I smiled widely. That warmth in my heart felt too wonderful to abandon. Despite everything that happened, I couldn’t leave them like that. I had never met anyone like them, I never had real friends. They had already found a special place in my heart, how could I deny that?

“Wait!” I loudly exclaimed, earning the attention of not only them, but of startled people around as well. But I didn’t mind them, only my friends.

The unlikely pair turned around to me. Geralt stood there patiently and nearly expectant. Jaskier seemed hopeful and excited like a puppy. I laughed under my breath and ran to them.

“You and your stupid songs, bard” I told the latter, shoving the paper against his chest.

“Does that mean you’ll stay?” His hand went for the paper, but it landed over mine. He didn’t retrieve it.

“Who will make sure you don’t annoy Geralt to death?”

“Hm” The aforesaid humored me, watching our every move.

“Let’s go, troubadour” I took his other hand in mine and began walking with him.

“Ohohoho!” He exclaimed, squeezing my palm against his. “Do you see this, Geralt? Geralt!”

The witcher let out one of his annoyed grunts and rolled his eyes. I didn’t have to be a mage to know he already grumbled about it in his mind.

“Geralt, look at this! She’s holding my hand”

I giggled and shoved him a little, deep down endeared by his excitement. I stopped laughing, however, when Jaskier leaned in and kissed me in the cheek. It greatly flustered me, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing it.

“If you’re going to do it, do it right” I tilted his head to face me again and smacked my lips against his. “You coward”

The kiss was too short and light. Hopefully, though, many more would follow it.

Jaskier gaped at the air and gawked at me, still not letting go of my hand. The rare sight of a speechless bard was delightful once more. He squeaked and pointed at me, blushing at my bluntness.

“Go ahead, pretend like I’m not here” Geralt said a few meters from us, not stopping his walking.

I grinned and tugged at Jaskier’s hand as he recovered. And to think that I could have missed out on that. While he regained his ability to speak, I took a deep breath. I felt a little lighter now.

Jaskier began going on about the countless adventures that awaited us. He wildly gestured, not letting go of my hand, as he excitedly rambled on. Geralt completely ignored him, but I smiled.

The wound on my stomach sent a pang to my torso, yet I didn’t mind it. It would surely leave a scar, still it would heal. Especially knowing Geralt and Jaskier were there to help me on my recovery.

I WROTE A SERIES BASED ON THIS, CALLED SOUL OF A WARRIOR, CHECK IT OUT! ;)

Tag list: @kingniazx / @greensadmoon / @they-call-me-thewildrose / @aviankin / @jasper-the-stan / @v3nusc3 / @kisabellar / @breezyfails / @iwannaendme5 / @squirrel-saloli / @saveatruckrideoptimusprime / @ultracolorfulnerdcollection / @creativemayhems / @bands-messed-me-up / @pantrashtic / @buckyness-intensifies / @kylosdankdealer / @angelias134 / @team-wang-puppy / @btsxtrbl / @szhead31 / @drunkonbuckybarnes // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, let me know!! // Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

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wordsablaze · 4 years ago

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9~ i’ve been in denial

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it’s the last thing he does…

A/N: this was meant to be angsty but it’s festive season n all so here’s the most fluff we can get rn <3

@random-nerd-3 @betaray-jones @w-s-kibela @in-love-with-writing002 @screaming-flapjacks @blueboobutterfly @havenoffandoms @lasaga666

previous chapter

“Hey, Jaskier?” Eskel asks as they reach their room.

Jaskier hums, perching on the edge of the bed and all but peeling his boots off, making a face at the way his feet free themselves with a soft squelching noise.

“Why haven’t you changed clothes yet?” Eskel continues, not exactly sure what he’d been expecting but definitely not having expected the way Jaskier freezes, his pulse spiking.

It’s almost alarming how quickly Jaskier manages to turn his panic into a grin. “I’ve been reliably informed that this blue really brings out my eyes and I don’t see any reason not to flaunt that. Certainly helps with bargaining for another drink, you know?”

“No, I don’t,” Eskel replies slowly.

Jaskier laughs brightly, too brightly. “Well, yes, I suppose witchers don’t often have to rely on their sense of fashion for coin, what with the whole monster-hunting business and-”

“Jas.”

“-the twin swords you all seem to carry. I mean really, they’re very intimidating to most people and while they may be useful, they’re not exactly in style. At least you’ve got a splash of colour rather than-”

“Jaskier.”

“-just black, not that there’s anything wrong with black but it does often give the impression you’re dressed for a funeral and that’s a pretty morbid picture to paint for yourself! Unless it’s Valdo Marx’s funeral, which would truly be a momentous occasion if you ask-”

“Jaskier!”

The bard flinches.

Eskel exhales softly, trying his best to cause any kind of panic. “I’m not mad, I’m just… I’m just worried. You almost drowned in those clothes and you’re gonna make yourself ill if you don’t wear something clean and dry.”

A small smile blooms on Jaskier’s face but he shakes his head anyway. “I- uhm, I… I don’t have anything else… with me.”

It’s not that Eskel hadn’t already guessed that, at least deep down, but it hurts to hear the confession anyway. “Then you should borrow something of mine,” he says before he can change his mind about his decision.

Jaskier’s eyes widen as he looks towards Eskel like he’s just offered up the moon itself. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I’m sure,” Eskel confirms before gesturing to where his bags are in the corner of the room. “You can just, uh, choose something you like. I’m afraid I don’t have bright colours but I do own more than funeral clothes.”

This time Jaskier’s laugh is genuine and he wastes no time in making his way over to the bags, carefully shuffling things around inside one before pulling out a black shirt that has long since faded into a soft, dark blue. The breeches he finds are just a shade darker but they match enough for him to look good when Eskel turns around again. Really good. In fact, he looks so good that Eskel suddenly understands what that woman from his last contract had been talking about when she’d said seeing her wife in her clothes was a truly magical experience.

“That bad?” Jaskier asks, half-laughing but clearly not very amused if the sour scent of worry is anything to go by.

Eskel shakes his head, forgetting how to use words for a second. “No, no. Not bad at all, it’s just… I didn’t think my clothes could ever look so good.”

And he’s not even lying. He is surprised that his ordinary clothes can seem so fashionable even if that’s probably a result of Jaskier generally being Jaskier and he’s even more surprised to realise that, even though they’re clearly big for him, they don’t just comically hang off him - Geralt certainly hadn’t mentioned that his- that the bard is built so well.

The red that floods Jaskier’s face most definitely does not match his new outfit but Eskel thinks it looks stunning all the same. Not that he says that aloud, no, he’s taken to biting his tongue so he doesn’t say anything else stupid and scare off his favourite bard.

“I think I’m going to use the stars as an excuse to sleep again. Could you-” he bites his lip for a moment, “-uhm, that is, could you try and be back here for when I wake up?”

Eskel frowns, letting go of his tongue. “Back here?”

Jaskier exhales softly, shakily. “Or not. I mean, of course you must not be tired again since witchers don’t need as much sleep anyway but I- you mentioned travelling on together?”

Ah, so they’re not over the doubt yet.

“Are you losing your memory, bardling, or do you still remember what we discussed at the table earlier?” Eskel asks, trying his best to sound like he’s teasing instead of insulting.

Jaskier’s eyebrows furrow as he bites his lip and Eskel simply waits, smiling softly when Jaskier’s eyes eventually widen and his scent softens into hope and relief. “When you said you’d choose me?”

Nodding, Eskel gestures to the bed. “I meant it, and now I’ve chosen to forget my bedroll again.”

With a pointed glance at Eskel’s bags by his feet, Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Is that your attempt at flirting me into bed, darling?

Really not having predicted that kind of response, Eskel’s mind decides to stop functioning for a moment. He would be embarrassed but the way Jaskier laughs makes him reconsider his urge to flee and just shrug instead. Neither of them say anything else as they settle under the blanket again but a soft gasp escapes Eskel when Jaskier curls around him bit by bit until they’re almost entirely pressed together from Eskel’s chin resting on Jaskier’s head to their feet locked around one another’s. It’s the closest Eskel has ever been with anyone outside of Kaer Morhen’s cold winters spent huddled in front of the hearth and he can’t stop the smile that takes over his face.

“Promise you won’t leave while I’m asleep?” Jaskier asks sleepily.

“I promise I’ll be here when you wake up,” Eskel confirms, wanting not for the first and probably not the last time to literally knock some remorseful sense into Geralt’s thick skull.

“Thank you,” Jaskier mumbles just before he drifts off, most likely missing the way Eskel quietly confesses that it’s his pleasure.

He doesn’t sleep for even a second, he doesn’t need to after all the sleeping they’ve done in the past few days, but he does let himself relax and true to his word, he doesn’t move a muscle until Jaskier stirs again.

“Hello there,” Jaskier yawns, grinning up at him before he rolls out of Eskel’s arms and stretches his limbs as if he were a cat.

Eskel hums, returning the bard’s smile. “How do you feel?”

He already knows that Jaskier will feel better, it’s obvious that he would after sleeping off the siren-induced exhaustion, but it only feels right to ask. Besides, Jaskier’s eyes light up when he does and the warmth of his happiness fuels Eskel’s own.

“Like I could survive a lightning strike,” Jaskier replies theatrically, and Eskel can’t stop the snort that escapes him. Thankfully, Jaskier only rolls his eyes. “Well alright, if you want it in simple terms then I suppose I feel great, much better, well-rested, all of those plain descriptions.”

“What’s wrong with being plain?” Eskel asks, turning onto his side and resting his head on one palm just in time to see Jaskier glare at him like an overly passionate professor would at a hopelessly dispassionate student.

“I have never been plain a day in my life and I certainly do not intend to start now! Do you know how many ways there are to describe waking up, Eskel? I could list them for hours and still not be finished! And not to mention that after you have what may very well be one of the best nights of sleep you’ve had in years- no, decades, that you really cannot be satisfied with anything even close to a prosaically plain answer!”

Jaskier looks ready to fight someone to prove his point but all Eskel can focus on is that someone would want to poetically declare a night with him one of the best nights of sleep they’ve had in not even years but decades. He’d be lying if he said that, minus the sleeping part, he doesn't feel the exact same way.

“Eskel, are you even listening to me?” Jaskier whines, poking his cheek.

He blinks, bringing his attention back to Jaskier with a genuine smile. “I think I get your point, though I’m no bard and will have to make do with being plain.”

Jaskier scoffs. “You, plain? I think not. Have you even looked in a mirror recently?”

While Eskel is busy trying to recall the last time he’d looked in a river and wondering if catching his reflection in his ale counts, Jaskier springs off the bed with a nervous laugh. “I um, I didn’t mean any offence by that, truly, I was just…”

“I don’t own a mirror,” Eskel says, politely overlooking how worried Jaskier seems to look for some reason and the way he’s anxiously rubbing his fingertips together the way he tends to do when he’s expecting the worst.

“Then we’ll be needing a trip to the market,” Jaskier replies easily, the tension in his expression melting into both amusement and disbelief. Eskel doesn’t usually like going to the market on account of the not quite subtle stares and not quite hushed whispers, but he might be looking forward to it this time.

“Right now?” Eskel asks, which prompts Jaskier to remember he’s still wearing Eskel’s borrowed clothes and flush red again; Jaskier points an accusing finger at him but dissolves into laughter before he can say anything, laughing for so long that Eskel wonders if he’s gone mad. Finally, he shakes his head and pulls on his doublet, the lighter blue somehow working well with the rest of the outfit.

Eskel stays still, watching as Jaskier weaves his fingers through his hair so it sweeps to one side and pulls on his boots before picking up his lute and winking. “Might be useful to gather a little extra coin first. There’ll be food waiting for you if you decide you want to listen to more of my singing.”

As if there’s even the slightest possibility that he wouldn’t.

Still, Jaskier’s footsteps have long since faded when Eskel finally sits up and wonders how he so quickly went from leaving at the first hint of dawn to waiting for a bard to buy him a mirror. Not that he’s complaining, he might have a mean poker face but even he couldn’t pretend that finding a plateful of food waiting for him on a quiet corner table doesn’t warm his heart.

He doesn’t know what the song is about this time but it sounds lovely all the same, although not quite as lovely as the bright smile Jaskier sends his way when he notices him. He has all of three seconds to wonder what the mischievous look in those bright blue eyes is about before Jaskier starts singing about the rose of the wolves - about him - again, which leads to everyone raising their tankards at him even if they’re only half-awake.

“You don’t have to sing about me every time I enter the room,” Eskel tells him as he finishes up.

Jaskier shrugs, making sure his now-cased lute is balanced safely before slumping into the seat opposite him in yet another confusing but endearing show of priorities. “It’s the least I can do.”

No, it’s really not.

“I appreciate it,” Eskel says warmly, not sure he’d win in trying to convince Jaskier that he’s done far more than is expected of anyone for witchers, whether or not he’d initially meant to. Another day, perhaps.

“The markets will open soon, are you ready?” Jaskier asks once they near the end of their meals.

Eskel raises an eyebrow as if to remind Jaskier that witchers are known to always be ready for anything. Jaskier offers him a sheepish grin. “Yes, yes, I know you all have enhanced everything and all but what I meant is, do you want to go right now?”

He finishes his drink before replying. “Lead the way, bardling.”

Jaskier grins so widely that Eskel is afraid his face may crack. But all that happens is Jaskier practically inhales whatever is left of his food before rising to his feet and slinging the lute case over his shoulder. He’d ask why Jaskier is taking his lute with him but he knows the question would be thrown right back at him regarding the twin swords on his back so he doesn’t say anything, merely gesturing for Jaskier to lead the way and trying not to make it obvious how momentarily overwhelming he finds the subsequent scent of joy.

“I am going to find you the best mirror, darling, I swear!” Jaskier declares happily, and Eskel doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s probably never going to actually use such an object.

almost 22k and they're only just barely flirting, send help- no but really, i can’t believe the year is ending before any of my wips, oops :p

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

#jaskel #jaskier x eskel #jaskier #eskel #hurt jaskier #soft eskel #slow burn #getting together #fluff and angst #gratuitous use of nicknames #i'm sorry but it's just cute #hurt comfort #idiots in love #flirting #who even uses tumblr tags properly idk #anyway yeah we love to see a lil bit of progess :)#my writing #tmypicta

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the-irish-mayhem · 4 years ago

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This is a series of short, unrelated vignettes/oneshots that was supposed to be posted for Fosterson Week a year or two ago and I finally got around to finishing it. Enjoy!

5 Universes In Which Jane Is Worthy and 1 Where She Isn’t

Read on AO3

On the top ten list of bad ideas she’s ever had, this is so, so, so bad the number one spot doesn’t even seem adequate. The guy who thought he was Thor clearly got caught trying to get her stuff back, and so she is so screwed unless she goes in herself. God, why did she go along with this again? He’d claimed he’d fly out once he got what he was looking for (which, god , again, why had she kind of believed him?)

Her feet crunch quietly against the hard-packed sand leading to the hole in the plastic tarping making up the walls of the facility that Thor had kicked a guy through, and she, without nearly as much hesitation as she should probably feel, hops in.

The place isn’t huge, and it doesn’t take long for Jane to find the main room.

Thor had helpfully drawn nearly everyone in security away from where her equipment is stowed, next to a… hammer in the dirt. Literally, they built this entire site around a hammer? What the hell , archaeologists never get this much funding and government attention. And what does her equipment have to do with it?

Jane shakes herself. She has a lot more important things to do instead of trying to puzzle out the weird and wild workings of shady government agencies. Things like capitalizing on their inattentiveness and getting her gear back.

She grabs her notebook first, stuffing it into her back pocket, and then trying to figure out how she’s going to cart out at least two hundred or so pounds of equipment.

“Hey!”

Jane nearly leaps out of her skin and turns, seeing a pair of security guards sprinting towards her from one of the halls.

“Shit,” she spits, and frantically looks around at her equipment. Lightest and hardest to replace… Radio spectrometer retrofitted for wormholes. Yep, that one. She scoops it up in her arms and takes off.

Even running as quickly as she can, the guards are still within arm’s length of her before she’s taken five steps.

Oh, they are not taking her work. Absolutely not. Erik isn’t here to hold her back this time.

She reaches an arm out, barely managing to hold onto her spectrometer as she grasps the handle of the hammer. Old or valuable, the thing is still a hammer, she can still swing at them with it.

A crack of thunder. A blinding flash of light. The feeling of grabbing a live-wire running through her body for a handful of terrifying seconds until the euphoria comes.

If she be worthy , she hears.

May she possess the power of Thor.

Oh, Jane thinks.

Oh, fuck .

“No, I don’t know what… That’s why I’m coming out here to… Look, all the issues with our readings at the site are originating from this one spot, so yeah, I’m going to go take a look,” Jane says into the phone.

“Who is it?” Darcy whispers. Their truck rumbles along a remote road in Norway leading to the coast, and the interference from their mystery site makes it so they don’t get any radio stations, so Darcy is starved for entertainment.

Jane covers the mouthpiece and whispers back, “Caplan. He’s--” she uncovers the mouthpiece. “No, there’s not any danger. You--no… No… Wait, but that time wasn’t actually my fault, so…”

“Being a dick again?”

Jane’s eyeroll is all the answer required. “Look, we’ll be ba-- in--” Jane makes an almost comical crackling noise in the back of her throat. “Wha-- interference from the-- thr-- breaking up--bye.” She hangs up without any further discussion.

Darcy contains a laugh. “You’re gonna pay for that later, you know.”

Jane rolls her eyes again. “Well, it’s my being at his facility that’s even getting him funding in the first place, so, you know.” She shrugs. “If he wants to fight me, I’m the one with more published papers and theories that changed the laws of physics.”

Darcy pumps a fist. “Fuck yeah.”

She waves a hand. “He’ll be fine. He’s pissed we took the Mule without asking.” Where they plan on going, there’s no vehicle access, so the ATV was their only recourse. “If he thinks I’ll be satisfied with this one spot fucking up my results over and over again, he’s got another thing coming. Speaking of which,” the device that rests in Jane’s lap begins to ping, “pull over here.”

“Woo, off-road time,” Darcy cheers, and follows Jane’s instructions.

Another hour of driving in the Mule later, they reach the geographic nexus that’s been screwing with their readings.

It’s a pretty spot, bright green grass running all the way to the edge of the cliff, where a sheer drop would land them in the ocean. Norway’s fjords are always breathtaking, and Darcy counts herself lucky yet again that she gets to visit places like this and get paid for it. All in all, a pretty rad job.

“Can you set up--”

“Magnetic perimeter and radiation scanners?” Darcy finishes. “Yeah.”

Darcy unloads the equipment from the back of the ATV as Jane approaches the nexus.

It looks like a storm is beginning to swirl overhead, and Darcy eyes it nervously. Without any cover, they are pretty much sitting ducks if any rain starts to fall, god forbid if lightning starts. Where the hell did all these thunderheads come from? This blew in awfully fast.

Jane crouches down and reaches for something on the ground. “Darcy, you should come look at this,” she calls out.

Quite suddenly, the hair on the back of Darcy’s neck stands straight up. The sensation is so strong and sudden that it literally causes her to gasp in shock.

“Jane--” she starts but she doesn’t get the chance to finish.

Faster than the blink of an eye, a massive bolt of lightning tears from the sky, slicing straight down to where Jane kneels.

Darcy barely has time to scream.

She is thrown backwards by the force of the lightning strike, and she thinks she hears a voice whisper before she hits the ground behind her.

If she be worthy.

When she looks up again, she knows she hears it.

A strange woman stands where Jane once was--massive, tall, blonde, with impressive armor and Mjolnir in her fist.

May she possess the power of Thor.

Fragile isn’t a word that could ever have been used to describe Jane Foster, but with her cheekbones hollowed out by weight loss, neck and wrists gone skinny and tendons standing out against her skin in sharp relief, fragile almost seems generous. A plastic band wraps around her wrist, stamped with her name, attending physician, allergies, and a barcode encoded with all her patient information.

She is tired, often, but with Darcy’s help still manages to go through her research and rough out an outline for her next paper she plans to publish.

Jane likes to plan, likes to say things like there’s a conference next September that this paper will do really well at, and Jane knows that Darcy is trying to hide her heartbreak at these statements. Darcy used to not hide anything from her, used to barely have the capacity, let alone the desire, but it’s strange the effect dying can have.

Her hospital room is outfitted with several whiteboards scribbled over with notes and formulae, the answers Jane constantly seeks waiting to be pried out of the clutches of the equations she can spend hours puzzling over. It’s a good use of her time, when she’s not--

Elsewhere.

Jane is careful to hide the hammer. It’s her secret legacy, her last hurrah, her hidden responsibility and duty--

Mjolnir is many things to her, but burdensome is certainly not one of them.

She swings her legs over the side of her bed, gripping her IV pole to help her stand. She walks over to the window, where the sunlight of the early afternoon has been shrouded over by storm clouds. She slides open her window, the cool wind of the storm washing over her face.

In the distance, she hears the rumble of thunder.

Jane Foster smiles.

His axe is buried in Thanos’s chest, and there’s a blinding moment of what feels like sour vengeance--so many have died already, and now the Mad Titan will perish for his crimes.

He presses the blade of Stormbreaker in further, for Loki, for Heimdall, for every one of his slaughtered people.

Then Thanos whispers, “You should’ve gone for the head.”

And he feels his heart drop.

And then, and suddenly as Thor himself had dropped from the sky, another streak of lightning blazes in from the east, and Thor can feel it-- Mjolnir .

But how?

He can’t even tell who is wielding it until the hammer smashes Thanos’s skull in, and the Mad Titan is finally felled. The Infinity Gauntlet drops, the stones unused, the universe saved.

The woman holding Mjolnir is tall, with shining armor that looks well-crafted, including a helmet that hides the upper half of her face. In spite of that, he can see her eyes.

Eyes he would know anywhere in the galaxy.

She looks almost as stunned as he is.

“Jane?”

The cell phone footage is grainy and difficult to make out. Shot by a civilian in Garching, Germany, the shaky video peeks at the action from behind a brick wall. A voice out of frame whispers, “Dude, I think it’s Thor!” and is quickly hushed by the one holding the camera. So at least two more witnesses to track down, Natasha thinks tiredly.

The observation, though, is rather striking in its accuracy. The figure has a red cape and flowing blonde hair, and displays a command of lightning that Natasha hasn’t seen since Thor more-or-less retired after their last showdown with Thanos.

The opponents are a small gaggle of aliens, impossible to fully make out but probably more scavengers who’d come to pick the bones of Thanos’s last battlefield. In the two years since the Snap, they’d been getting a steadier stream of extraterrestrial threats looking to take advantage of Earth’s vulnerability.

“How is it that we have holographic video technology widely available, but every civilian who has useful intel has a Nokia from 2004?” Natasha grumbles, squinting and trying again in vain to enhance the footage.

From her place next to her, Okoye chuckles. “I think we’ve demonstrated that we have the worst luck imaginable,” she jokes darkly.

The figure is still hard to make out aside from the gaudy cape and lightning. The electricity in the air made the audio on the video spotty at best, mostly static and a few loud bursts of accurate recordings of a fight, but mostly useless. Then a few video frames give them a clear view of the front of the figure.

“Pause,” Natasha says, sitting forward in her chair. “Go back three frames?” The computer obeys her voice command, ticking back to the moment when they had the best view.

Both Okoye and Natasha freeze as they take in the image.

There’s a shard of disappointment that goes through Natasha when she realizes, once and for all, that it definitely isn’t Thor. That disappointment turns swiftly into suspicion because she does not know this person, and they certainly have powers that would’ve landed them at the top of a SHIELD watchlist back in the day.

It’s a woman. She’s massive, arms and legs thick with muscle, and extensive armor that could be Asgardian make, but with the graininess of the video, it’s hard to tell. Her helmet covers almost her entire face, only exposing her mouth and jaw. Some sort of chainmail on her legs, perhaps, and a sleeve on her left arm. Her right arm is bare, and clutched in that hand--

“Mjolnir,” Natasha breathes.

“I thought it was destroyed,” Okoye says.

Natasha nods. “We all did.”

Despite the video quality, there’s no mistaking that hammer. Especially when Natasha resumes the video and the mysterious woman throws the hammer, and it returns to her hand moments later.

“We haven’t seen any new powered people since the Snap,” Okoye says, breaking the silence. “With our… situation being what it is,” she continues, tactfully calling the mess they’d made of the world a situation , “we should either ascertain if this woman is on our side, get her on our side, or terminate her as soon as possible.”

Natasha nods in quiet contemplation. They cannot afford to have a powered person running around the world unchecked, not with the way things are. They’re barely managing to hold it together as it is, and the Avengers are spread extremely thin. Not to mention their help is often rejected in an official capacity, a lionshare of the blame for what happened falling to the World’s Greatest Heroes who failed to save the world. It’s a PR nightmare, and there are many nights when Natasha wishes that she’d just been dusted along with the half of the world who didn’t make it.

But she didn’t. She’s still here, and someone needs to lead.

“Want me to track down Thor and ask him about her?” Okoye says. “Based on her strength from that video, she’s probably Asgardian.”

Natasha’s kneejerk reaction is to say no, that Thor can’t handle this, that he’s been in an almost constant state of inebriation and/or depression for the last two years and she won’t expose her friend to something that might be painful for him. Then her rational mind kicks in and she nods at Okoye. Thor is their best lead. “I’ll come with you.” (Then her vicious mind raises its hackles and says if she’s got to wade into the shit that is the post-Snap world, then Thor should have to get right into it with her.)

That night, the evening news features a story with the grainy footage Natasha could’ve sworn she’d managed to scrub from everywhere (but alas, she is no Vision.) The ticker at the bottom of the screen reads The New Thor: Who is she, and can we trust her?

***

They find him at a hightop table in a hole-in-the-wall bar in New Asgard, and if Natasha had been serving him, she probably would’ve cut him off at least four drinks ago, but the bartender doesn’t seem concerned with denying their monarch his alcoholic solace.

“Do I need to go get Brunnhilde?” Okoye whispers to Natasha.

Thor sways in his barstool, hands clasped around a large stein of beer, but seems coherent enough to answer their questions.

“Not yet.”

“Wha--?” Thor mumbles, eyes half-lidded. “What’re you saying?” His words are disturbingly slurred. Maybe getting Brunnhilde wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Natasha refocuses. “Have you watched the news recently?”

Thor snorts and takes a drink of beer. And doesn’t stop taking a drink of beer until the stein is half-empty. Natasha’s eyes widen when he lets out a loud belch.

“Apologies,” he says, not sounding apologetic, “but you’ll have to excuse me for not keeping up with current events.”

Okoye cuts in, “How about this current event?

She slides a set of photos out of a manila envelope, laying them down on the bar table. The paper sticks to the surface of the table.

Thor shakes his head once, as if trying to rein in the spinning the room is likely doing around him. He leans down and squints at the photos. “That--” He cocks his head. “That isn’t me.”

“No,” Okoye confirms. “It isn’t.”

“These photos were taken two days ago in Garching, Germany. Know of any Asgardians who settled there?”

Thor swallows, and doesn’t immediately answer. He raises his free hand not on his beer to the photos, and the tip of his middle finger drags over where Mjolnir is inked onto the paper. “I thought it was gone,” he mumbles.

“So did we,” Natasha says, tempted to reach out to him at the abject sadness in his voice.

Okoye slants a glance at Natasha. Focus , she seems to say with her eyes, before redirecting Thor, “Are there any Asgardians in Germany?”

“A few,” he says. “None that look like this woman.” He looks up at them. “Do you know how she found Mjolnir?”

It’s his most coherent question yet. Natasha shakes her head. “We just found out about her. She looks pretty confident with it, so maybe she’s been training somewhere.”

“I don’t underst--” Thor loses his battle with his balance and gravity and falls off his barstool. Natasha and Okoye both reach out to steady him, but he manages to catch himself before he hits the floor.

Natasha goes to Thor’s side, her heart falling quickly as she puts an arm around him. It’s hard to see Thor like this, especially knowing the kind of man he used to be. (Of all the people she thought would stick with her, after Clint and Steve left, she thought that Thor would be the one to stay. He’d fought through so much heartache, sided with them in New York against his own brother, protected the Earth from the Dark Elves after his mother’s murder, faced down Thanos even after his planet had been destroyed, and yet he’d always been ready to fight. It’s downright unnatural, utterly tragic to see him laid so low.)

Turning to Okoye, Natasha says, “Go get Brunnhilde.” Okoye doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Thor,” Natasha prompts, getting the man to look at her. His eyes look pained. She’s sure hers must reflect his. “You’ve gotta stop this.”

“Stop what?” he mumbles.

“You know what.” She hesitates before offering, “You could come back, you know. Join the Avengers again. I really could use the help, and you’ve got more experience leading than everyone else on the team combined.”

He’s already shaking his head. “No.” Clear, concise, and completely at odds with his drunkenness. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

His answering smile is sad. “I have nothing left to offer you.”

“Yes, you do,” Natasha answers softly, but based on his tone, this isn’t an argument she’s going to win. Not today, at least.

A beat passes. “You really didn’t know about Mjolnir?” she asks, one more time.

“I’m not worthy anymore,” he whispers. “Why would it call to me?”

Natasha doesn’t answer that. There’s a lot of layers there that she doesn’t think she’ll ever fully understand.

Okoye returns with Brunnhilde at her side. She says to Okoye, “You know, sometime you’re going to have to visit me when it’s not for the purposes of picking his sorry ass up off the floor.”

Okoye chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Brunnhilde proceeds to pick Thor up in a bridal carry, making Natasha stumble a bit when his weight is no longer against her. “Come on, your majesty,” she says, tone almost bored. “Let’s get you home.”

Natasha bites her tongue against all the questions she wants to ask.

How often do you do this for him?

How is everyone around here blind to what’s happening to him?

Where on earth is he getting enough alcohol to regularly get drunk?

Before she can even think of pursuing another line of questioning, she gets a call from Carol--she is needed urgently back at headquarters.

She sighs. The hunt for the new Thor will have to wait for now.

***

It’s only once Natasha and Okoye are on a quinjet and flying back to their base that Brunnhilde unceremoniously drops Thor on the ground.

He huffs, but quickly stands up and brushes himself off, perfectly sober. “Unnecessary.”

She glares at him. “How long are you going to keep this act up?” she demands. “Those are your friends .”

“Natasha is a friend,” Thor corrects, “Okoye thinks I’m a worthless drunk.”

Brunnhilde rolls her eyes. “Because she’s never known you as anything else.”

He grits his teeth. “It’s for the best.”

“That’s what you keep telling yourself, but they know about her. What’s your act doing to keep her safe now?”

The muscle in Thor’s jaw works furiously, but he calmly answers, “They don’t know her identity. They think she’s a rogue Asgardian.”

Brunnhilde bristles and brusquely pulls a folded manila envelope out of her back pocket. “Okoye gave these to me, said to ask you about them again when you sobered up.” She quickly opens the envelope and tears its contents out and holds them right in his face. The edges of the photo paper crease under the force of her fingers clenching down on them. “You see this? The better she gets, the more this is going to happen. And you know what’s eventually going to happen?” She jerks her head backwards. “Your friends are going to find her. She’s on a crash course, and then she will be a part of this. You can’t stop that. It was a fantasy to think you ever could.”

“I didn’t think I could keep her from it forever,” Thor replies evenly, and he wraps his fingers around Brunnhilde’s wrist and lowers the photos from his face so he can look her in the eye.

“Then why ?” she asks.

“Because she needs to be better than me,” he says, like a release of steam from a pot. “She needs to be better, and she’s not yet.”

Brunnhilde shakes her head. “I don’t know if you’re going to get a choice for much longer.

and the one time…

“Jane.”

His shoulder jumps under her head.

“Hm?”

“We’re almost there.”

“Oh,” she says groggily, and pushes herself off Thor’s shoulder. “Oops,” she says when she notices the spot of drool on his shirt. “Sorry.” The weird half-sleep that comes along with car rides is slow to depart, clawing at her eyelids until she reaches to her right, where a bottle of water sits.

After she downs half the bottle and truly wakes up, he gives her a soft smile, one that says he probably wasn’t far behind her in terms of falling asleep. “It’s no matter. I thought you’d want to be awake before we arrived.”

She stretches her hands over her head as much as the towncar’s roof allows, and a series of satisfying pops go down her spine. She grunts in satisfaction before saying, “I need to go over my speech one more time.”

“I’m fairly certain I could give it at this point with how many times I’ve heard it.”

“You’re a good person to practice with!”

“I’m only teasing,” he says. “And besides, this is hardly your first time doing this.”

“This still feels bigger, somehow.”

He makes a soft sound of agreement. Jane offers the water to him, which he accepts and drinks his fill before capping it and setting it aside.

Jane continues, “It’s one thing to get, you know, a big science award. Like, the last time I got the Nobel I felt almost old hat at it, you know?”

Thor gives her a look. “I recall you saying that you felt like you were going to throw up before you went onstage to give your speech.”

Jane flaps her hand at him. “Okay, sure I was nervous, but I was….used to the shape of it? This is a completely different type of thing.”

“Yes, excelling at heroics is something you usually leave to me.”

“Hey, I have plenty of behind the scenes heroics!”

“Of course, dear,” he says with a laugh, “but none of those behind the scenes heroics resulted in a singlehanded defeat of the Infinity Stones, handicapping Thanos’s plan, and saving untold lives.”

Jane tilts her head back onto the headrest, a smile spreading across her face. That day, that last fight that Strange predicted would end in only one way, would be permanently emblazoned in her memory as long as she lived. Thor had asked her to stay away from the battlefield, and initially, she’d agreed. She and Tony had been theorizing about the nature of the stones, and they hadn’t had time to parse out the quantum entanglement theories together before her thinking buddy had to jet off to try and save the universe.

It came to her like a lightning strike only minutes after the team had left for the last battle. She’d built a frequency jammer that would disrupt the quantum entanglement of the stones in thirty minutes flat, and then raced out of the Avengers compound like a bat out of hell. She’d just have to get within range of the stones, and they’d be rendered inert, their effects immediately reversed, and they’d just be ordinary stones, and then they could be destroyed.

And, incredibly, even though the science of it was shaky at best, and she’d had to improvise on the fly when some of the wiring on the jammer had shorted out, it worked.

The army from the past was gone, snapped back to their original chronological configuration; Natasha and Gamora were spat out of whatever pocket universe they’d been trapped in; and Tony hadn’t had to use his gauntlet, hadn’t had to sacrifice himself for the universe as she’d known he’d planned on.

(Dr. Strange had sputtered, shocked, saying that of the fourteen million six hundred and five futures he’d seen, he’d only seen one possible outcome where they won, and it wasn’t this.

Jane shrugged, breathless, dirty, bloody, and grinned. “I found number fourteen million six hundred and six .”)

“And all without a single power to her name aside from her intellect,” he finishes.

“I am pretty cool.”

“Both pretty and cool, much agreed.”

She lets her head fall to the side so she can look at him. His beard is long enough to be braided, and he’d done so this morning, and he’d taken care to braid some of his hair as well before pulling it back with a tie. He looked good. Great. Amazing, even.

She reached out her hand closest to him, trailing a finger along one of the braids in his beard. A streetlight from outside catches on her wedding ring just so.

After the Snap, she and Thor had drifted back together, partially out of shared grief and guilt, but had ultimately rediscovered why they’d worked together for years before the distance had become too much strain. They’d officially tied the knot a few years after Tony and Pepper had. (Steve had been Thor’s best man, and Darcy Jane’s maid of honor. Tony walked Jane down the aisle in Jane’s mother’s absence. Morgan had been their flower girl.)

She wonders if any of this would’ve happened if they hadn’t found each other again. If they hadn’t rekindled their love for each other in the horrible aftermath of the Snap, would she have been around to help? Would Tony have reached out to her with the time travel issue? Would he have invited her to collaborate on the quantum entanglement of the stones if she hadn’t re-integrated herself into the Avengers circle? She likes to think so--they were friends, at least somewhat, before the Snap (but their closeness now was only formed in those last five years of wounded peace.)

“What are you thinking about?” Thor asks, and mirrors her position so he can look at her.

“Just that I’m really glad I married you.” She nudges forward so she can kiss him. “Really, really glad.”

“I’m glad you married me, too,” he answers. “Not many women would have had the fortitude to put up with me for as long as you have.”

She grabs his hand and pulls it over to her lap. “How many people did Pepper say were going to be here?”

Thor shrugs. “Less than two thousand, but there is the webcast as well.”

“ God .”

He squeezes her hand. “Go through your speech once more. It’ll make you feel better.”

“I’d feel better if we could skip past the ceremony and go right to the drinking and partying portion of the evening.”

Thor laughed. “If only I were planning the evening, Jane Foster. Now start from the top.”

Jane laughs, and closes her eyes. With her husband’s hand in hers, his warmth a steady reassurance at her side, she recalls the words she’s memorized and feels her nervousness retreat as she begins to speak.

#fosterson #jane foster #thor #fosterson fic #my fic

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