#- Almost similar to spring cleaning. Whatever goes goes and whatever stays. Well. Stays if it benefits me or improve somehow

[dadbots]

Happy holidays / Yule / upcoming traditions. 🖤

[ernmark]

One Possible Read of The Green Knight

I say one possible, because this is the story as I understood it as I was watching the film. When I mentioned it to my partner, he didn't take that away. I'm not saying my take on it is right or wrong (I think it's hard to say that about most reads for a movie like this), but I submit it for your consideration.

(Spoilers and a fairly thorough plot summary under the cut)

(Holy moly this got long)

A brief caveat:

Caveat the First: I'm basing this off a pre-existing understanding of medieval stories, which don't necessarily follow the same narrative structures as modern ones. The world they lived in was weird, so sometimes weird shit just happened for no reason, often very conveniently. (If anything, I think this movie did less of that than existed in typical medieval stories.) They also heavily relied on archetypes rather than distinct characters with backstories, as well as a pre-established understanding of the story you're listening to. Like the puppet show that shows up in the story, the kids in the audience had already heard the story enough times that they could follow it without any actual words. On that note, I've also read a version of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

Caveat the Second: I immediately distrust anybody who talks about any story older than three centuries or so having an "original" version. There are some stories that have distinct authors, but often these stories were retold and rewritten to suit the tastes of their latest audience. So I refer to the version I read, not "the original". I take my reading of that story into my interpretation of what I saw. I'll note the details from the version I read where it's relevant.

The Story

We start with Gawain, King Arthur's nephew, waking up in a brothel with his sex worker lady friend. She sends him on his way back home to Camelot where his mother greets him and kindly asks him where he's been all night. Oh, off at Christmas Mass, naturally, is what he tells her. She counters that clearly he's been drinking all the communion wine, because she can smell it on his breath.

She tells him she's not feeling well, so he should go to the Christmas celebration without her and tell her all about it afterward.

[I don't recall hearing her name in the movie, but in the version I read, the Green Knight is sent by Morgana. Between his mother being described in dialogue as Arthur's sister and a known witch, I'm gonna run with that assumption and call her that.]

This is where my reading diverges: I take all of this as being almost entirely Morgana's story. And from her perspective, it's kind of hilarious. Because this isn't the story of Gawain's journey into Manhood, but of a very frustrated mother's attempts to save her beloved (if disappointing) son.

While Gawain is partying with the sickly King Arthur and the knights of the Round Table, Morgana joins three of her fellow witches and they enact a spell, summoning the Green Knight and a very specifically worded challenge. The Green Knight presents a game: any one person in attendance may injure him and get his badass axe as a prize, but in a year exactly he'll have to go to the Green Knight's chapel and allow the Green Knight to return the exact same blow to him.

Arthur says he wants to do it, but acknowledges he's too sickly to do so. Gawain, already embarrassed once at this party, jumps up and volunteers to be his champion. And when he steps into the ring with the Green Knight, he cuts off his opponent's head. He'd think that was the end of it, but the Green Knight just picks up his severed head, reminds him of the deal to bring the axe back and let himself get beheaded in a year, and leaves.

[In the version I read, this was a ploy on Morgana's part just to freak out Guinevere. Seriously, that was the entirety of it. Just fucking with her rival/sister-in-law.]

In the movie, I got the vibe that Gawain was never meant to be in the line of fire. I suspect that either Arthur or one of his knights was meant to be the Green Knight's opponent, who would die after a year to get his affairs in order. Given that Gawain was Arthur's next-of-kin, that would have given him plenty of time to pass the crown to Morgana's beloved son. Unfortunately, Gawain stepping up messed up her whole plan.

During the intervening year, we see Morgana and the other witches working together to weave the Girdle of Invulnerability. As the name suggests, it's laden with magic to protect him from all harm and all blows from anyone. So long as he wears it, she explains, he'll make it home in one piece.

[In the version I read, the girdle is given to him by another woman later on at a weirdly convenient time. More on that later.]

Gawain barely makes it out when he asks directions from a young man looting the corpses on a recent battlefield. Being the idiot that he is, Gawain takes the young man's directions straight into a trap, where the young man and several other bandits are lying in wait. Despite his mother's assurances that he's invulnerable, he stands down immediately, allowing the bandits to take the Green Knight's axe, his Magic Girdle, all his money, all his supplies, etc.

During all this, three things happen: first, we see A Fox. Second, when the bandit takes the axe he goes all weird and runs off on the horse, forcing the other bandits to chase after him and leaving Gawain unobserved. Third, we get a weird vision of the future where Gawain remains where he is, tied up, until he rots away and he's left nothing but a skeleton.

My read is that The Fox is either Morgana or one of the other witches shapeshifted to keep an eye on him (alternatively, the fox is Reynard or a similar magical creature employed by them for the same purpose.) The Fox then enchants the bandit into running off with the Girdle and the Axe, leaving Gawain relatively safe. And when he fails to do anything with this spectacular opportunity, the Fox gives him the vision of what's gonna happen to him if he just waits around to be rescued.

Prompted to action, Gawain manages to free himself and continues his quest on foot. Eventually he comes across an abandoned manor. Inside, he meets a ghost who asks him to retrieve her severed head, which was thrown into the nearby spring. After some hemming and hawing, he does. When he returns to the surface with the woman's skull, the ghost is gone, but the Fox is watching him.

My take is that the ghost disappeared. They do that. The Fox, being sent to watch him, saw him actually step up and do a brave and selfless thing for once. This is what cements to the Fox that Gawain isn't a perennial fuckup, he's able to grow and mature if he's given the chance.

Gawain returns the skull to the rest of the ghost's skeleton, and he's rewarded by regaining his lost axe. (The axe placed there by the Fox, who took it from the enchanted bandit.)

So this is great, right? Gawain's fuck-upery has been cured and he's doing the responsible thing. Yay, right?

Except he's a fuckup who spends more time drinking and hanging out in brothels than doing Knightly stuff, so he doesn't know basics. Like how to start a fire or get food. Offscreen, Morgana must have been bashing her head into a wall, because her beloved son is going to get himself killed.

The Fox appears to him, and after his initial attempt to drive it off, Gawain lets it stay with him. From this point forward it stays by his side, not-so-subtly giving him directions and keeping him generally safe.

Later we meet some giants, because sometimes there are just giants. We don't question these things in Arthurian fantasy. Gawain asks them to give him a ride to his destination, but when one agrees to help him, he freaks out at the last second and refuses. The Fox speaks to the giant, quite possibly apologizing for its very rude human friend, and the giants go on their way without him.

Gawain is most of the way there by now, but it's late December in Wales, he's super cold and hasn't eaten anything but trippy mushrooms, he can't build a fire, he's been walking for days. He collapses, but the Fox urges him to go a little further and leads him to another manor house. Fortunately for him, this manor has living people in it, who clean him up, put him in a warm bed, and give him food.

We get a dreamy scene where he's being tended by his mother before he wakes up in the care of the manor. My read on it was that this manor and the people in it were sent directly by Morgana to save him. I don't think the manor was even there ten seconds before he collapsed the first time. Because Morgana loves her son, but he is REALLY bad at this.

Notably, it seems that the only people here are the Lord and Lady of the manor, as well as a blind old woman who seems to be the lady's maidservant and/or mother? Hard to tell.

Some flirting happens between Gawain and the Lord and Lady. The Lord of the manor explains that conveniently, Gawain's destination is only one day's walk away and he's several days early, so why not take some time to rest and gather his strength. The Lady shows off her library and her fancy daguerreotype-like mechanism, etc. The Lord suggests another game (mirroring the game presented by the Green Knight) : the Lord will go hunting the next day and give Gawain whatever he catches. Gawain will in return give the Lord whatever he gains throughout the day.

[In the version I read, this happens over the course of three days. Each day the Lord leaves, the Lady tries to seduce Gawain but he refuses, only accepting a kiss from her on the first two days; when the Lord returns with a hunted animal each day, Gawain gives him the kiss that the Lady gave him. On the third day, the Lady also gives Gawain a previously-unmentioned enchanted Girdle of Invincibility, which he neglects to pass along to the Lord, opting just to kiss him instead.]

In the movie, this is condensed into only one day. Gawain wakes up with the Lady creepily watching him sleep, wearing the Girdle of Invincibility that Morgana made for him. She invites him into bed and offers him the Girdle, reminding him that it can render him invincible. The scene gets a bit weird after that-- sex acts of some sort ensue, and the Lady walks away, leaving Gawain with post-coital shame and the Girdle.

Upset, Gawain grabs his stuff and makes to leave. Along the way he runs into the Lord in the middle of his hunt, and he declares that he's going to meet the Green Knight a day early. Citing their game, the Lord presents Gawain with The Fox (who is alive despite having been caught by a hunter, hmmm) and requests Gawain's "winnings" in return-- which he claims by stealing a kiss. I dunno about you, but it seemed to me that Gawain was Into It, at least before he remembers to be freaked out and runs off.

He's nearly at the place where he's to meet the Green Knight when the fox stops him. Now it starts talking, its voice shifting from masculine to feminine. It tells him that he's done a great job, and he can turn back right now and go home and nobody will know but the two of them. He doesn't have to go through with this. But Gawain, determined to fulfil his quest, drives the Fox off once again and goes the last bit alone.

Here he meets the Green Knight in the ruins of an old chapel, though because he's early the Green Knight is little more than a statue, awake but unmoving until the appointed Christmas Day. All the while Gawain just has to sit there and stew in the knowledge that he's gonna die. Finally the Green Knight stirs, asks Gawain if he's ready to die, and readies the axe that Gawain returned to him.

Throughout this, the light hits the Green Knight differently, making him look an awful lot like the Lord of the manor. After Gawain flinches away from the axe the first time, he speaks gently to him, almost tenderly.

[In the version I read, the Green Knight and the Lord of the manor are the same person, and the Lord/Knight is aware of Gawain's magic Girdle, because this was all an elaborate ruse. Because of Gawain's invincibility, the Green Knight only scratches his neck, permanently scarring him as punishment for lying about it and cheating in both their games, but doesn't hold it against him. Gawain then returns to Camelot and they keep the Girdle at the round table as a symbol that all of them have their failings.]

In the movie, Gawain flinches one more time. We then get a second very lengthy vision of an alternate future: Gawain flees the Green Knight and returns home, where he's welcomed back without external consequences. However, he's haunted by his own cowardice, giving up a difficult love in favor of living up to expectation, only to lose everything in the end anyway. His life following the cowardly route was longer, but it wasn't a better life.

He stops the Green Knight one last time, only to remove the Girdle and set it aside before declaring himself ready. The Green Knight is genuinely pleased by this, and he leans in and simply traces a finger over Gawain's throat, before happily saying. "Off with your head."

The movie ends there. Whether the Green Knight leaves him alive or kills him is up for interpretation. But even if the Green Knight wasn't on Morgana's payroll, I feel like he's way too fond of Gawain to do him real harm at this point.

And so Gawain has grown up-- he's brave, he's honorable, he's learned to keep his word and face the consequences of his actions. And Morgana, after some major struggles and a lot of called-in favors, has managed to keep her son from dying on his quest. Victory all around.

There's also an after-credits scene: just a little girl playing with Arthur/Gawain's crown. Notably, this little girl is neither of the children Gawain had in his vision of the cowardly future, so I interpreted it as a new future with a new child with potential all their own.

But that's just my take.

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

Sardines, or Professor Vargas is an Asshole

Another fic from someone who’s only half-read everything. Told in second person, starring a female Yuu.

Content warnings for coarse language, kidnapping, sexual harassment along the lines of Vargas being similar to Gaston, and being deeply, direly self indulgent.

As always, please let me know if you enjoyed it, I live and breathe for positive feedback.

You do not like Professor Vargas, and the feeling is mutual.

It wasn't like the almost amiable vitriol between you and Schonheit, which, while having its ups and downs, was usually at a level of shooting a few insults at each other in between whatever dorm prefect business had you talking to each other, and parting ways with a hair flip on his part and a rude hand guesture on yours. And hell, the other teachers seemed almost fond of you. Trein appreciated you passion for history, even if annoyed at your preference for layman-oriented literature, and would let you sound off about whatever strange bit of lore you'd recently found out, and even once down and listened very patiently as you tried to explain who Emperor Norton was before he said you needed to leave so he could mark papers. Crewel and you had reached an uneasy truce where he did not call you a puppy, and you did not start going "what happens when these go together" in potions class every time he called you that in protest. (You may be a bitch, but he certainly isn't allowed to imply it, even in the most roundabout of ways.)

But Vargas. Vargas hates your soft belly, your unwillingness to push yourself to the point of exhaustion, and most of all, he really, really hates that you're a girl that won't throw herself at his feet. You were trundling along at a swift walking pace on a broom, a mere few feet off the ground, when he stopped yelling at your classmates to pick on you instead.

"Too weak to do better than that?"

"I'm not magic. That I can do this at all is impressive." You're pointedly looking ahead, not looking at him jogging up beside you.

"You can go higher!"

"Professor," you say with barely contained irritation, "I am a beginner, and would much rather have the basics down before I attempt to turn myself into a fine paté from a hundred feet up."

He snorted. "Ashengrotto goes high; you can too."

"Azul's damn near in tears by the time he comes down because he didn't even have legs before a few years ago. He's not a good example."

Vargas, being a wretched asshole who should not be allowed to teach, instead tipped the end of your broom up. Only the broom shot into the air, you merely went ass-over-teakettle onto the grass, and stayed there because if you got up you would attempt to bite his nose clean off.

"Such poor balance! But I can fix that with some private lessons!" Oh, Christ. "You come by here after dark, I know all about teaching a girl how to ride -”

At that, you kicked him in the shin, and while he started back in pain, you shot up and started walking off the field, vibrating with the strength of your disgust.

"You can't hit a teacher! You'll regret this you stupid-" And you've picked up to a jog, because fuck if you were going to listen to that piece of shit try and pick up one of his own fucking students, what the actual fuck.

~*~*~*~

You relayed this whole mess across the supper table, afterwards, and your host was just as grossed out as you were.

"Keep an eye out next class," Azul said to you. "He holds a grudge."

"First hand knowledge?”

His silence was telling.

"You think I could get an exemption? Or like, permission to do a treadmill when everyone's out on a broom?"

"Who do you think you have to ask about all fitness-related things?" Azul had a faraway look that recalled war films. "It's not going to work.”

"What if I start skipping class?"

He gave you a look that could wither an evergreen. "Don't you dare, or he'll start picking on me again."

You shrugged. "Aight. I got three days to figure out what to do, then. You got any ideas?”

He folded his hands and rested his head upon them. "What would you pay?"

"No."

"Come on."

"What do I even have that you want?"

"I can think of a few things. The wave in your hair, or the gleam off your teeth."

"Because you need more curl to your hair."

"Someone might want to contract me for them."

"No. I got three days, Azul, we don't have to resort to your contracts.”

As it turned out, you did not have three days.

~*~*~*~

The next day's gym class was a motley bunch. Idia couldn't miss any more gym days this month, Lilia was doing his stretches, Floyd was... being Floyd, resulting in everyone who wasn't Rook giving him a wide berth, and Leona appeared to be skipping class and was therefore not present for the upcoming bullshit.

"Sorry I'm late!" Cater jogged in, cheery as sunshine though the clouds, and Idia rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't strain. "Laps today?"

"Vargas said we're doing Capture the Flag. Dunno how the teams'll go." Lilia was doing something complicated with his hands as he stretched his arms. "Kingscholar's absent, so they'll be uneven. And," he thumbed over at Rook, who was looking into the forest with the coiled intensity of a greyhound waiting for the rabbit to spring, "he's got an advantage, he knows the woods best."

"Yeah, but I've got unlimited data and a GPS." Cater patted his chest with a smile, the outline if his phone visibly through a pocket.

"Can't count on that for everything."

"Alright students!" yelled Vargas, strolling out of the woods with a bruise purpling one cheek. "Capture the Flag today. Use your brooms to navigate the forest, grab the flag, whoever brings it back gets the flag as a prize."

"It's in the forest, hanging from a pole in a clearing, you cannot miss it! All in white, too..." The professor brought up a little screen, showing off a live feed of his flag.

The flag, of course, was you, trussed up with rope and you legs hanging freely, still in last night's sleep shirt. Your voice came out, tinny from the speakers: "I did not consent to this, asshole."

The students were torn between looking at Vargas in shock, looking at the phone in shock, and muttering between themselves.

"Don't forget to have all the fun you want with the flag before you bring it back to me! When else will you get the chance?"

This just had everyone looking at each other with shifty-eyed suspicion.

"Every man for himself! Go get your prize!"

~*~*~*~

Vargas couldn't rig worth a damn. You're twenty feet in the air with just one rope suspending you, tied at the base with a simple knot. Everything hurt from chafing, you were cold, and you couldn't help but worry over what the hell was going to happen, depending on who found you. Vil still hadn't forgiven you for projecting a gorefest of a film across the walls of Pomefiore, so he might leave you to rot or use the situation to put a particularly vicious curse on you. Idia would probably drop dead of exhaustion after reaching you, leaving you both stuck. Floyd, well. As much as you enjoyed his company, it was like hand feeding a pet tiger; eventually he'll decide your hands tastes better, it's just a matter of when. You're running the numbers on most likely scenarios based on who shows up, when some twigs snap by the meadow's edge and you look towards a small "Hi."

Little ears! Little hands! Little all over, and looking up at you with curiousity as his tail swished. Chen'ya? No, no, other Ch- name. "Cheka! Hi, sweetie, honey, baby, can you get me down?" You'd already been here an hour and your hands were nothing but tingles.

"... Okay! Why're you up there?"

"Bad man," you say as he starts to tug at the rope. "You got it?"

He shook his head. "It's hard."

"Can you go get help, honey? Bring them back to get me down?"

He nodded. This was a big boy job, he could do it. "I'll get Uncle Leona."

Please don't, you thought to yourself, but instead said "Okay, please be quick, Cheka."

He started off towards the school, and you could have sworn he vanished before he actually hit the treeline.

~*~*~*~

He was only gone for a few minutes before you realized that you were starting to move. Turns out Cheka, despite being so small, had pulled enough at the rope before he left that the knot was unraveling.

"Oh shi-" is as far as you got before you're in freefall, and you yelped as you hit the ground feet first, wheezing. Fuck. You can barely move to survey the damage, because a certain asshole had put your hands behind your back, and every move made your ankles wail in pain. The only saving grace was that the ground was soft.

At least someone had landed by you, looking you up and down.

"... Hi, Yuu."

"... Hi, Lil."

Lilia pointed up. "You're supposed to be up there."

"Vargas was too busy trying to get upskirts to secure a fucking knot, apparently." You wince as he worked at the ropes. "My feet?"

"On the right way." You gritted your teeth and hissed as he prodded at them. "Both badly sprained, left worse than right. You're not walking out of here."

"Figured." You sat up and held your arms out. "Come on, old man, you're stronger than you look."

He was, but was too small to leverage you correctly.

"Can't you fly?"

"Yes," He said as he tried to balance you on the broom. 

"Then carry me.”

"You want me to drop you?"

"Nope."

"Do we just wait for the others?"

As if on cue, you heard distant yelling and what was maybe an explosion.  

"Yeah." Lil brightened, and snapped his fingers. "I saw a place, hold on."

Said place was either a nice treehouse or an okay deer blind, wide enough in the floor that you could lay flat out as he surveyed the damage. "This should be a good place."

"What the hell is going on out there?”

"Everyone's looking for you." Lil's settled crosslegged, with an amused smile. "Vargas said you're the prize, so everyone's trying to get here first. Isn't it good I found you? Who knows what they're planning."

You set your arm over your eyes and sighed. "Brave words from someone who's broken into my room more than once."

He shrugged. "You need looking after."

"De-organizing my things isn't looking after, you damned goblin."

He bristled. "I'm not a goblin."

"What is a goblin, Lilia."

"Small little fae who like to cause trouble."

"Exactly."

You couldn't see it, but you could feel the eye-roll.

~*~*~*~

It was five minutes at the most after that before Rook climbed in the door, looking so fresh-faced and joyful to see you it made you want to swat him. "Bonjour, my Trickster! You're living up to your name, hidden away!"

"Salut, Rook." You squinted at him. "You have first aid anything?"

"Hm," He said, prodding at your calf. "I have water, but these need wrapped."

"Give." Lilia took a sip of water before passing it to you. "The uniform denim won't tear easily-”

"Oh, we use this."

"Oh no you do not," You said as you tugged the hem of your sleep shirt from his hand. "No one here gets to see my underwear."

"I don't care about your panties, I care about this," he said as he brushed an ankle, making you jerk back. "It'll get worse if they aren't wrapped. There is fabric to spare.”

You huffed before you told him not to mention it to Vil, and between him and Lilia, you had two wrapped ankles and a dangerously short hemline. At least you'd actually put underwear on before Vargas decided to kidnap you, otherwise this would be a whole other level of distressing.

~*~*~*~

"You have a phone?"

Lilia pulled his from a hidden pocket. "You want to play Sweetie Scrunch?"

"No," You say as you take it from him and start flipping through his contacts. "I'm calling help."

It took him a whole three seconds before he realized who help was. "... Nope, nope, you're not getting Malleus involved, he will eat Vargas alive, we are not causing an international incident."

"Would you rather he find out after? And he knows how to heal." You'd already texted him a brief explanation one handed, the other keeping Lilia away.

"She is not wrong, monsieur... And it would be a delight to see him raise hell."

"See?" You gave Lilia a smile that would be very sweet if it wasn't full of the devil. "C'est bon."

~*~*~*~

Mal hurtled through the window so fast it was a miracle he didn't go clean through the far wall, before he was on top of you, fussing over his precious Child of Man.

"Mal, I am fine, please fix my -"

"Dreadful, simply dreadful." He was already working a prickly green light around your bruises. "And he did that, too?" he growled as he guestured to your ragged hemline."

"No, we did that to wrap my ankles. As much as I'd love to see it, we do not need to turn Vargas into - Mal. Mal. Put your clothing back-" He'd already managed to wrap you up in his green-trimmed uniform coat. "You don't have to do that."

"Yes I do." He already had you cradled in his lap, both arms around you in a vice grip. "You won't heal immediately, I must keep you safe until then.”

Lilia raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. You were about to ask, before a dreadful wheezing started up from outside, and familiar pale hands had the bottom of the doorframe in a vice grip. "Help."

"Shit, Idia! Get him in here before he falls!"

~*~*~*~

Idia looked downright grey in your arms as you tried to get him to drink some water. For someone who had the physical fortitude of an overboiled noodle, he'd pushed himself to his limits looking for you, and then some.

"You're okay? Full health?" Idia sounded horribly raspy, and you fussed over his scrapes as you picked half-charred twigs from his hair. He was too tired to protest you holding onto him in much the same manner Malleus was holding onto you.

"Bout three-quarters. Fifty before Mal got here." Idia's eyes flicked to just behind your left ear before he shrank back.

You turned your head around, and Mal gave you his sweetest you're-my-best-friend smile. You looked back at Idia, who was attempting to shrink into something microscopic, and then back at Mal.

"Play nice. He's my friend too." 

Mal turned his face as innocent as he could muster. "Whatever do you mean, my friend?"

"You know what I mean."

"I do not." He wasn't looking at your face anymore.

"Yes you do. And he's you're friend too-"

Idia raised one hand tentatively. "We only play Dragon-Kun with each other."

You guestured down at Idia, still looking at Mal, looking anywhere but you. "You love your Dragon-kun. And maybe," you say as you nudge Malleus's cheek, "If you made more friends than me, you wouldn't have to be jealous when I have other friends?"

Mal's pupils were so narrow as to be barely visible when he glanced out of the corner of his eye at you, but he nodded, and mumbled a very quiet apology as Idia faintly relaxed.

"Impressive. I haven't been able to do that in years."

"That's because you're his dad."

"Do you think anyone else will show up, my Trickster? It's getting cramped in here."

You looked around and considered. "I mean, probably."

~*~*~*~

"Sevens?"

"Go fish."

"And that's when they added a dance emote, but it cause a glitch so the top half of your body started to spin around while the bottom half went normally, which would be okay, but if you collide with a wall then you clip about a mile above the ground and die from fall damage, and when they went to fix that -"

There were eight people in the treehouse, and no room for more. Mal had you in his lap in a corner. Idia was gesticulating wildly as he talked about what you were sure was this universe's version of Fallout 76, tucked against you at an angle. Floyd insisted on you using his lap as a footrest while he, Lilia and Cater played card games with an ancient deck Lilia had produced from another pocket. (You were not certain that Floyd's guesture was innocent, since he kept poking at your toes until you said you'd take them away if he didn't stop.) Rook was skipping this round to keep an eye out the window. There was maybe a half foot total of floor showing. Despite the magic fired and fists swung earlier, as soon as everyone had realized that no one was running to your rescue simply to perform their own indignities, everyone had relaxed.

Overall, it was very cozy, and as long as you could keep Idia talking instead of realizing he was crammed in a tiny room with a whole bunch of people, you could stay here quite comfortably for ages. Your ankles were currently only sore, with twinges of more, no one was at each other's throats, and as long as no one else fucked shit up, you could wait out Vargas, go home, and think about how in the hell you can report a teacher at this school for harassment.

"Trouble's coming."

Ah, shit.

Trouble, unfortunately, had figured out where they were due to the cluster of broomsticks at the base of the tree, flew to the window, and started spewing bullshit.

"What are you all doing? You abandoned the game," and here he guestured towards you, "and didn't come back with the prize. None of you would know what to do with a girl if she begged you!"

What a piece of shit, and he couldn't even read a room with eight sets of eyes glaring murder at him. He was still talking, but you weren't paying attention. Instead, you drained the last of the water, wiped your mouth on your arm, and took a deep breath.

"Get his ass."

~*~*~*~

Everyone scattered after that, not ready to deal with the consequences of ganging up on their teacher, even if he thoroughly deserved it. Everything will be dealt with tomorrow, when you can put weight on your legs without your knees buckling. Mal was walking you out of the woods personally in a princess carry, when he stopped in place.

"See, she's down, you didn't have to bug me."

You'd completely forgotten that Cheka had gone to bug Leona for help. "It's been hours."

He ignored that. "Draconia. What would your grandma say?"

"Mal-"

"I would hope she would be proud of my helping a friend." He held his head high, and brushed by Leona without another word.

"Bye!"

"Bye Cheka." You waved back at Cheka before the two lions were out of sight.

~*~*~*~

"Mal, you know you could just take me to my dorm, right?"

"Someone should keep an eye on you until you are fully healed," he said as he pulled out a pair of silk pajamas.

"Which you could do at my dorm, instead of." You guestured to the hangings on his bed. "Here."

"It's far more comfortable here than your dorm."

"I'm not kicking you out of your bed, Mal."

"You're not in a state to argue." He set the pajamas beside you, before turning to face the wall.

"About that."

He did not move a muscle.

"I'm surprised you didn't just heal them outright."

Silence.

"I know perfectly well that you can. So why didn't you?"

He still said nothing.

"Be that way, Malleus. But you know that's not okay." You flung the remains of your shirt at him, managing to catch it on one horn. "If you want me to stay over, just say that instead of conspiring to keep me dependent for an evening."

He turned, pulling the cloth from his horns, before his eyes nearly popped from his head and he hurriedly turned back to the wall. "I... am not used to this."

"Neither am I. We're going to have to have a little talk about boundaries and healthy friendships. You can turn around now."

He did, you patted the side of his bed, and he joined you.

"How do you want to do this, Mal."

"I do not."

"Tough titty, said the kitty."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I know I'm the first real friend you've had. I've been on both ends of that. You know what happens when you cling real fucking hard to your friend, and try to isolate them because you don't wanna share?"

His face was a practiced mask of emotionlessness. "What is that?"

"They suffocate, and draw away because the intensity is way too much. And then no one's happy."

Mal frowned, but said nothing.

"I do want to be your friend. I like you. You're funny, you're deeply sincere, and you're still the same person I knew when I just called you Horned Boy. But I will cut this off if you try to isolate me. I do not want to, but I will have to. If you can't play nice with others, you don't get to play with me at all."

He's so clearly trying to hide his distress and irritation, but he could not help a sigh. "You are not wrong, Child of Man. And..." He looked away. "You won't live forever. Or be here forever, at that."

"I will not. You won't either, but like, you'll outlive me. Eggs in one basket, and all. Another reason to attempt to make more friends."

"Hm." He stretched out beside you, staring at the ceiling. "With who should I start? My reputation precedes me."

"Well," you smiled, "If I've learned one thing, forced proximity does wonders with forcing Idia to like you, and he's already somewhat used to you."

He smiled at the ceiling. "I do like him."

"Me too. You'd like his little brother."

"The creation?”

"Yeah. Look, I'll network for you with other people. And I'll make sure to invite you places."

"A promise?"

"Of course. Now, are you going to take me home, or put up with the rumours of keeping me in your room all night after beating up Vargas to get at me?"

"... Oh dear."

"Yeah."

After a moment, "... I am alright with the rumours."

You snorted. "You could just ask for a sleepover next time. Don't wait for an injury."

"I will ask."

"Make sure Sebek doesn't eat me in the morning."

"I would like to see him try." He gripped your closest hand and squeezed it.

"Me too."

You lay there a few moments, scary lonely dragon boy and strange lonely human kid, hand in hand.

"Do you have any tales from your home you could tell me?"

"Mostly ones you already kind of know."

"I would still like to hear."

Even a dragon wants a bedtime story, it seems.

[boxoftheskyking]

Something Good, Part Eighteen

Today has been a Bad Day, so here have some feelings.

In which a decision is made

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen

--

Lan Wangji wakes him up before five.

“Nooo, Lan Zhan, have pity,” Wei Wuxian whines, covering his face with the pillow.

Lan Wangji pauses in dressing and sits next to him, removing the pillow. “Would you like Wen Qing to take the children again today?”

“Ugh, no, that defeats the whole point.”

Lan Wangji yanks the covers off of Wei Wuxian, who yelps.

“But Lan Zhan, growing children need their sleep. Let them sleep. It’s better for their temperament. Surely waking up so early every day is the reason your uncle is the way he is. Come on, kiss me some more before we get up.”

Lan Wangji thinks for a second, then leans in. Wei Wuxian makes sure the kiss isn’t the quick peck he intended, wrapping as many limbs as possible around him. 

“My uncle was right about you,” Lan Wangji murmurs into his ear. Wei Wuxian shoves him off.

“Ew! What?”

“You are a problem.” Satisfied, and looking far too smug, Lan Wangji continues dressing.

Wei Wuxian sighs and finds his clothes on the ground. Pulling up his trousers, he feels something in his pocket.

“Ooh, my bun!” It’s cold, but still tasty, so he munches as he gets himself together. He’s got half the bun shoved in his mouth and is tying up his hair with both hands when he notices Lan Wangji watching him. “What?” he tries to say, but it mostly comes out “Mmpf?”

Lan Wangji says nothing, just wrinkles his nose.

Wei Wuxian swallows a giant mouthful. “Too good for pocket buns, are you, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji does not dignify that with a response.

“It’s too late.” Wei Wuxian cackles around the next bite. “You already love me.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t sound particularly happy about it.

Life is almost back to normal in the Cloud Recesses—no one else seems to have noticed the massive shift in the universe that has taken place. Wei Wuxian would like to stay and watch Lan Wangji teach, but he’s hardly been helpful for the past few days so he helps with repairs and deep cleaning the guest quarters. 

It’s not a punishment. It’s honest work. It’s annoying, just because he knows Wen Chao is responsible, but helping Wang Xiaolu scrub the floors and rigging a way to air out the soiled mattress makes him happy. These are his friends, and helping them could never be shameful. Sure, maybe he used to create clever spells and melodies to control bodies, call down thunder, but this is still creative. There are new ways to clean, domestic tasks that could be faster, more efficient, more fun. In fact, if he’s no longer a prisoner, then perhaps he can create some useful talismans. He could teach the other servants.

“Uh, Wei Ying,” one of the younger servants says, teetering under the weight of the mattress.

“Sorry, Chen Shu! I was just thinking.” He puts the idea to the back of his mind and turns back to work.

Lan Wangji and Wen Qing join the disciples for dinner, which is cause for much delight from the children. It’s incredibly difficult for Wei Wuxian. Wen Qing keeps giving him significant eyebrow raises and half-smiles, and he can’t knock her soup into her lap because he must set an example for the children. Lan Wangji is listening to Lan Sizhui tell him a very repetitive story about a frog he saw, and the combination of his patient attention and his broth-wet lips, red and ready and unbelievably distracting, is tying Wei Wuxian in knots.

Wen Qing pokes his arm with her spoon. Get ahold of yourself, she mouths at him.

He means to mouth back Fuck you, but Ouyang Zizhen has a question for him about how long silkworms live, so he has to settle for a glare.

Perhaps Lan Wangji’s glare will rub off on him.

After the children are put to bed, he and Lan Wangji walk down to the Cold Spring.

“I will not marry Wen Qing,” Lan Wangji says, like it’s nothing, like he’s commenting on the weather, and Wei Wuxian runs into a tree branch.

“What?”

“Obviously, I cannot marry her.”

“Are you insane?”

Lan Wangji looks confused. “I love you. I cannot marry someone else knowing that you are the one I love.”

“Lan Zhan, what does love have to do with anything? You didn’t love her before and you were still ready to marry her! What’s changed?”

“It is dishonest. Before, I loved you but never thought it could happen—”

“It still can’t happen! Lan Zhan, my dear, I adore you, but you can’t marry me.”

Lan Wangji gets that look that says he’s digging in his heels.

“I don’t need to marry you. But it would be dishonorable to marry Wen Qing.”

Wei Wuxian groans in frustration. “You can’t betray her! Lan Zhan, there is about to be a war. This is bigger than us three fools, and if you don’t marry Wen Qing then she’ll have no protection. She’ll have no option but to go back to Qishan or go rogue, and any alliance between the Wen sect and Lan sect will be compromised. Not to mention Wen Ning. Look, this marriage might not protect everyone from Wen Ruohan, but if you go back on your word then you are asking for Cloud Recesses to be the first attack. Please, I know what it’s like to watch my home burn. Do not underestimate them.”

Lan Wangji stays quiet for a long time, looking out over the water. “I cannot be her husband,” he says, finally.

Wei Wuxian leans against his side. “You don’t need to be her husband. You just need to, you know, be her husband.”

Lan Wangji gives him an exasperated look out of the corner of his eye.

“You know what I mean. Look, just marry her, and then we’ll cross whatever bridge comes next. And if you need an heir, a blood heir for whatever reason, then we’ll figure it out. The three of us.”

“Do you love her?” Lan Wangji asks, not looking at him.

“Of course I do. She’s the dearest friend I’ve ever had.”

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean. I’m thinking.” He plucks a leaf and spins it between his fingers. “Maybe, in a world where I never met you. Where none of this had happened. And where Jiang Cheng wasn’t smitten with her, of course. Maybe in that world I’d love her the way I love you. But in this world—we’re too similar. And we know each other far too well. What’s romance without a bit of mystery, eh?”

“Please do not tease me.”

Wei Wuxian tucks his arm around Lan Wangji’s waist. “I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. I’m just trying to be honest. My life is better for knowing her, and yours will be too. I am loyal to her. Devoted. I will not stand by and watch her hurt.”

“Neither will I.”

“Well, that’s that then. And who knows what will happen. The three of us together, Lan Zhan? The cultivation world won’t know what hit it.”

Lan Wangji leans farther into him, just a bit closer than is proper, and it feels like acceptance. “Are you saying burn it all down?”

“What would you do if I did?”

“Hmm.” The water rushes, the wind picks up the ends of Lan Wangji’s hair, brushing it against Wei Wuxian’s cheek. “I would agree.”

“Really?”

“The world that took so much from you, that hurt you, hurt Jiang Wanyin. That forces women into marriages to stay alive. Wen Qing, my mother. Jiang Yanli. The world that turns honest people into puppets, pulled apart by wicked men with power for their amusement, for their pride. That world doesn’t deserve to stand.”

“So.”

“Burn it all down.”

Wei Wuxian smiles. “It’s going to burn anyway. Whatever we do, the fire has started, it’s just waiting to spread.”

“So we let it?”

“We can’t stop it. No, our job is harder than that. We have to build what comes next.”

“Is that pride, Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian laughs. Yes, says the voice. “You know, I was about to ask the same thing. Maybe. Probably. But you know what?”

“Hmm.”

“Someone’s got to do it, so it might as well be us. And if we go wrong, the little ones will burn us down when it’s their time.”

“Yes, the little ones.”

Wei Wuxian grins, letting the leaf go. “Plant them in the ground. Let ‘em grow.”

“Hmm.”

“You like that. I can see you smiling.”

“I do like that.”

The sun goes down, the reds and oranges dancing off the water like the reflection of flames.

Part Nineteen

[trashi-bee]

Night Shift

Pairing: Young Sub! Joe Elliott x Sassy! Reader

Warnings: 18+ (smut!), light hair pulling, light choking, reader is kinda rude asf towards joe 🤪

Lil Summary: Joe’s your new coworker and things haven’t been going so smoothly, after causing you a considerable amount of stress you finally voice your irritation, which he responds to extremely well.

Requested Tags: @satchie666 @white-lightning-625

Special thanks to @thewritingdoll for forcing me 🔫 to write for the first time in DECADES (bc I never finish anything ☺️)

If you don’t think it’s trash lemme know 💖 I probably won’t add this onto my masterlist until I get my new laptop lol I hate posting on mobile tumblr,, the formatting just makes no sense to me 🥺

——

Working night shift had its perks. The hastle of dealing with the general public was reduced and the atmosphere was a lot more lax. For a while you had a pretty good thing going, being the only employee willing, or needed, to come in at such bleak hours.

Unfortunately, your boss had convinced himself you were in dire need of a workmate in case an incident were to occur, which wouldn’t have been so bad, had the person he hired been anybody else.

Joe was incapable… Really easy on the eyes, but unable to learn even the simplest of tasks. You’d considered having him fired, but couldn’t bring yourself to lodge a complaint. Sure, he’s a little daft, but having him parade into work with a pair of form fitting jeans stretched across his tight figure was almost enough to make up for it, almost.

The undeniable sound of glass shattering detaches you from your salacious thoughts, irritation immediately bubbling throughout your body. Not even an hour into tonight's shift and he’s already managed to turn your mood sour. Dragging your feet across the floor in a huff, you push your way through aisles of snacks and refreshments, stopping to exhale before you enter the room labeled ‘employees only’. The scene you’re met with would have been comical, had similar instances not happened several other times before. With a look of vapid confusion evident on his face, he looks down towards the floor, eyes laid upon the fragments strewn around his feet. The coffee, freshly brewed, had splattered across numerous tiles and up his taut, denim pants.

“Uuhhh, I don’t know how it slipped-”, disorderly grabbing a handful of the nearest napkins, he drops to his knees, further soaking his jeans with the caffeinated beverage while haphazardly mopping up the mess he had created. You’ve made an effort to tightly pinch the bridge of your nose to cease your escalating rage, preventing a full-on outburst. Plastering a forged smile upon your face, you finally gain enough composure to speak, “I’m almost impressed by how clumsy you are”. Looking into your eyes through stray strands of brunette hair, he flashes a vacuous smile, “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I promise I’ll do better… just having a hard time concentrating lately”.

Squinting your eyes in confusion, you’re bewildered by his confession, what exactly did that mean? Pushing all thoughts of perplexity to the side, you chalk it up to nothing, perhaps he was having a difficult time adjusting to night shift. Now feeling somewhat guilty for your attitude towards him, you lower onto your knees to help, carefully picking up rouge pieces of sharp glass.

After a considerable amount of time and effort, the mess is almost entirely taken care of, albeit a few sticky patches here and there. Caught up in cleaning the room around you, you’ve almost forgotten about your uncoordinated coworkers tarnished attire. Wringing out the bottom of his pants, he still manages to hold a delighted smile, as if nothing could ruin his cheerful mood. Maybe he wasn’t as terrible as you were leading him on to be, as you find your cold demeanour now warming up to his rapturous personality.

Simply watching him move was a spectacle of its own. The way he carried himself was .. klutzy, like he was unsure of his next move, allowing his body to haphazardly lead the way. Looking once more in your direction, he flips his hair to prevent it from further blocking his vision, leaving it to cascade down the side of his face. Straightening his frame and leaning against the nearest countertop, he stops to speak, putting on a tone that, if you weren’t mistaken, was slightly apprehensive “hey uh... I know we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but I’ve been wondering-”, his body seemed to tense with each syllable that crossed his lips, feet unable to stay perfectly grounded. Just as he was about to finish his wavering sentence, his hand slightly slides forward, his large paw knocking a new slew of objects onto the floor.

You watch in vexation as he fumbles once more, like a bull in a china shop, unaware of his lanky stature. As soon as he’d begun to redeem himself, he’d managed to piss you off further. Neither of you had moved, he awaited carefully to gauge your emotions, eyes darting from the broken mug that decorated the floor and your face, now painted with a blank expression. No longer did you possess the patience to babysit a man your own age, every single instance of irritation he’s caused you now bubbling directly to the surface, irritability extremely evident in your voice “Can you do anything right?”.

Scratching the nape of his neck, he goes to shrug, “hey no need to be so-“ stopping him mid-sentence , you interrupt whatever thought he had conjured and thought appropriate to spill from his unoccupied skull, “I’ll speak to you in whatever manner I please, and if you have any ounce of intelligence, you’ll shut up to listen”. Quiet for once, his mouth stays firmly closed for what seems like the first time since you’ve met him. Proud of standing your ground, you begin once more, pushing your limits, “since it’s obvious there’s not a single thought floating through that pretty little head o’ yours, I’ll make this simple, I’m tired of your constant mistakes- it’s not cute, I’m not impressed, and you’re gonna start listening to my instructions or I’ll have you fired”, nibbling on his bottom lip and focusing on every word you speak, he eagerly shakes his head in agreeance, too scared to respond with any other notion.

“Now, I can tell you’ve never had to put on your big boy pants and put any effort into a single task, so this is gonna be rough, but I’m sure if you try really, really hard, you’ll be able to function somewhat decently, ya?”, conjuring up a smile that was sarcastically sweet, you finish, clasping your hands together to signify you’ve made your point. It wasn’t until the red hot rage within you had started to disperse with the end of your speech that you began to notice one unreasonably large elephant in the room; the crotch of his jeans now tighter than usual, a large protrusion begging to spring free from its confines.

Your first reaction was to scoff, you couldn’t believe he’d gotten off on your tangent, excited by your frustration and cruel words. Thoroughly eyeing up his bulge, you slowly trace your sight up to his reddening cheeks, “that’s the type of stuff you’re into?”.

Finally speaking up, his voice seems shakier than ever, shy and wavering, “well uh- fuck, it’s not my fault you look so damn good when you’re mad”, hyper-aware of the confession he begins to jumble his words, “well, I mean you always look good but- oh god I’m sorry I know I shouldn’t speak to you like this-“

Stepping forward and lifting your hand to the bottom half of his face, you cover the entirety of his mouth, “shut up”, using your other hand to trace lines on his stomach, he retracts, surprised by your touch. With a devious look on your face, you provide him with a proposition, “Do you want me to touch you?”. Since you’ve removed his ability to consent verbally, you await a nonverbal cue, one he provides before you’re able to finish your sentence, an undeniable yes given to you via enthusiastic nod.

Laughing at his eagerness to continue, you taunt him, sliding your northernmost hand into his dense locks and pulling on the strands. The hand once dancing on his abdomen now applying pressure on his clothed member. A string of whimpers already begin to fall from his plump lips, he reacts as if he’s barely been touched before. “You’re so..sensitive, does nobody touch you besides yourself?”, looking into your eyes with heavy lids, he begins to grind into your hand, keen for more friction “nobodies ever touched me quite like this”.

Shaking your head, you pull at his hair once more, lavishing in the power you have over him in this moment. “Really? surprised you haven’t been put in your place sooner, guess somebody had to do it”, outlining his rock solid cock with your hand, you begin a rhythm of running your fingers along his covered shaft, moving up and down his length again and again. A few small droplets of sweat begin to form on his skin, the pleasure he was so eager to receive now turning bitter sweet. Huffing out a sigh and continuing to rock his hips with the motion of your wrist, he pleads “can you please touch it, like- really touch it”.

Increasing the pace you’ve set on the outside of his jeans, you get extremely close to his face, so close that he goes in for a kiss, but you make sure to reject it. “I really don’t think you deserve that”.

Grasping the countertop to his side, he clamps down in frustration, looking to prevent himself from going off the deep end, allowing you to break him so easily. “I promise I’ll do anything you want, really I do”, finally releasing your grip on his hair, you move your hand onto his neck, lightly applying pressure and running your thumb along his jugular. “Baby boy, I’m certain you’d do anything I want no matter what”.

The new pet name seems to excite him further, as he’s now reduced himself to a mewling, needy little toy, giving into your cruel pleasure, twitching and jerking with your every touch. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he sharply inhales, as if he was taken by surprise, “fuck, please don’t y/n”.

Applying much more pressure on his neck, you giggle, breaking him was so easy, and something you’re certain you’ll continue on future occasions. “Let it go, baby”, his orgasm was coming on fast and strong, you could tell from the way he squirmed beneath your unrelenting touch.

With one final thrust against your hand he trembles, a sweet sob leaving his mouth, making you aware that he’d actually came from nothing more than clothed petting. A small wet patch had formed on his crotch, physical evidence that he’d climaxed in his pants.

Standing up straight and composing yourself, you run your hands down your body to rid your attire of any wrinkles or imperfections. You’d been away from the front of the store for so long, you’re certain somebody must’ve been awaiting service and you didn’t want to look disheveled in front of a customer. Turning on your heels, you glance back at him before exiting to attend to your duties, “change the pants, clean up the mess you’ve made and meet me out front when you’re ready to learn”.

[razorblade180]

Friction

[Lasting Embers spoilers, #razor writes has the full story!]

Time is a strange thing. For over a decade Yujin let anger build inside her and now, nothing. It’s been four months since Yang had left again on the same mission but this time she was okay with it. Yeah she was a little worried, but also hopeful. Maybe it was because of her mother’s journal, or the fact Tenzen was there to comfort her through everything. Yujin was stricken with a terrible fever just a few days after their parents left because of all the pent up stress and he had been by her bedside religiously. Now it was her turn to support him.

The two of them stood in front of his house. Apparently he had forgotten something whenever he grabbed some of his belongings for her home. He claimed it wasn’t anything major but Yujin knew the truth. He hadn’t been inside this place since the day Ren and Nora left. What child would want to willingly go to an empty home? Yujin always had Jaune so the experience was more tolerable in certain ways. Still, it was easy to empathize.

Yujin:So...you wanna open the door, or should I?

Tenzen:Jin I told you, I’m fine. You didn’t have to come along you know. Traveling back to Vale just wasn’t something I was in a rush to do.

Yujin:Call it whatever you Sherbet Top, I don’t care if you try putting on a tough guy act. There was no chance I was going to stay home while you did this. So, who’s gonna open it?

Tenzen:You don’t even have-

Yujin pulled out a key and winked. Of course Nora gave her a key! Nora was basically mom number three, right after Raven of course. Tenzen pulled out his key out of some kind of sense of obligation; opened the door and walked in first.

Everything was still in place. For some odd reason Tenzen wasn’t expecting it to be. He wasn’t sure why. Tenzen continued to stand quietly and simply stare into his vacant home unt the shock of something touching his right hand snapped him out of his trance

Yujin had taken the liberty of placing her hand in his. She didn’t look at him, or say anything. She simply held his hand and looked around as well. Yujin gently rubbed her thumb across his knuckles as a sign of comfort and Tenzen couldn’t help but take his attention off of his home and take time to stare at the short girl who’s face trying to remain as casual as possible about it.

Tenzen:Keep this up and I’m gonna fall head over heels for you.

Yujin:*red* Shut up and go get Ren’s knife.

Tenzen:How do you know that’s what we’re here for?

Yujin:I pay attention to you Tenzen, always. I found it a bit odd that I hadn’t seen it since you started living with us. I didn’t want to pry about it though. You gonna tell me how it got left behind?

Tenzen:I was swept up in emotion. You know how it goes.

Yujin:Embarrassingly so. Do you remember where it is?

Tenzen:I do. I can do this part on my own though. Now I know you might miss me when I let your hand go…

Yujin:I can’t stand you sometimes.

Tenzen:Yeah okay.

He lets go and makes his way upstairs. Yujin found it rather annoying that she did in fact miss the warmth of his hand the moment they separated.

Why is he right about everything? She thought, visibly flustered. Yujin went ahead and decided to take a seat on the couch where she waited, and waited, and waited…

Yujin ended up waiting for at least five minutes before she got up and slowly went up the stairs.

Did he misremember? No, that’s not like him. It was a good thing Yujin knew this place like the back of her hand. She poked her head around the corner of Tenzen’s room and saw him standing with the knife.

He was...looking at it? Reminiscing was more like it. Tenzen’s eyes held a familiar sorrow that Yujin had more than she cared to count. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get closer right? Yujin had already gotten this far. A few more steps would be nothing.

Tenzen heard the Yujin’s footsteps come into the room and the creaking of springs. He turned his head to her sitting on the edge of his bed. The girl patted a spot next to her, inviting him to sit. Tenzen accepted the invite and continued studying the blade his father gave him as a way of passing on the torch. Just in case there wouldn’t be time to do it later. The knife has seen a lot. Ren thought it was only right to give the momentum to him as a memento.

Tenzen:......I didn’t forget this here.

Yujin:Figured as much. No way you would, not something like this.

Tenzen:Taking it, it made things feel a little too real. Too permanent.

Yujin:I know the feeling. Looking at that journal sometimes makes me a little anxious. The unknown is a scary thing. Even so, I’m hopeful. Wanna know why?

Tenzen:I’m all ears.

Yujin:My mother loves me with every fiber of her being. Your parents love you just as much. It’s that kind of love that makes them strong, what makes us stronger. They want to be back here just as badly as we want them to be, so how could I not be hopeful?

Tenzen:Does it really boil down to something as simple as that, wanting it badly enough?

Yujin:You’re the one who goes to dance competitions. Tenzen, you took on cult members and held them off for the sake of your mother. That’s insane!

Looking back at it made Tenzen realize how crazy that was. He might’ve been outmatched, he was definitely outnumbered! Luck was definitely on his side that day but what Yujin said had merit. He pushed himself for his mom’s sake and he got results. Maybe it was that simple sometimes. He looked at the knife one more time and smiled.

Tenzen:Look at you, given me life advice and stuff.

Yujin:I learned from the best. You talk a lot.

Tenzen:Okay pot, you’re talking to the kettle right now. I think...I’ll give this knife back whenever he returns. I’m sure there’s some special way he wants this cleaned. He can show me how to do it, mom too.

Yujin:That’s the spirit! You’re not you without that smile of yours. Don’t ever lose that smile. It’s...part of your charm.

Tenzen:I could say the same about you. So if I heard you correctly Ms. Xiao Long…

Yujin:Oh here we go….

Tenzen:Are you trying to tell me that I give you strength? Is it possible you love me with every fiber of your being?

He raised his eyebrow at her playfully. It was a good thing Yujin was already red. She was beginning to think cheering him up wasn’t worth this assault.

Yujin:Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Of course you make me stronger. I mean look at all the patience I have for this conversation.

Tenzen:Yeah you really hothead, glad I can help!

Yujin:That’s not what I- I mean you’re really- screw you, wise guy. Twisting my words.

Tenzen:Hehehe well if it means anything, you definitely give me strength.

Yujin could feel her heart skip a beat. Tenzen took hold of her hand again and smiled gently. Not just with his lips, but his eyes. Those annoyingly perfect magenta eyes that stared into her sky blue. His entire body leaned forward just a bit before pulling back, almost teasingly so. Yujin bit her bottom lip and couldn’t stop herself from leaning forward.

“I thought we had an agreement about all this? Focus on entrance exams and life.” She said, a bit of frustration and pleading in her voice.

“So why are you leaning forward?” He grinned as the girl shot a look at him that made him smirk. Damn that charming smile.

“Gods, you are so...so…” Yujin lost her train of thought. It was basically a habit when she was around Tenzen. She gave up on speaking all together and let her body give into the lean, pressing her lips against his.

It had no reason to feel as good as it did. Tenzen leaned a little as well to add more force behind the mutual exchange before they both separated. Now their faces matched, each in a state of blush that they found adorable on one another. The kiss must’ve lasted only a couple seconds but it felt perfect; yet that perfection apparently wasn’t enough for the two of them. Yujin found herself raising her arms up and around Tenzen’s neck while he grabbed her by the waist, pulling each other back in for more. It’s like those rules she made for the two of them never existed. Not that she was complaining about it right now.

What was this, their fourth kiss in total? Yujin’s mind couldn’t quite remember in the moment but this one felt very different. It didn’t happen by surprise or right in the midst of sorrow. They were just…kissing. A lot actually. Yujin started of as the main aggressor in terms of force but Tenzen wasn’t too far behind. The intervals between kisses were short. Yujin couldn’t make heads or tales of this moment. The way he held her, the tiny lip bites that she didn’t know were intentional but was hoping he’d do again, the way he looked at her. She had never seen that look before. Was she giving a similar one?

Why does this feel so….unique? So much more? Wait, is he…?

Yujin’s heart began racing. The haze of their make out session cleared just for a moment when she felt Tenzen’s cold fingers slide slightly up her shirt. A whirlwind of feelings and realizations hit her like a Goliath in that moment.

Oh he’s- we’re both…!? Wait, I didn’t think…!!!

“Yujin” her name slipped out of his mouth barely above a whisper and with a rasp that almost sent her mind spinning again. Tenzen closed his eyes for another kiss when suddenly he felt Yujin grab his arm and jerked him back suddenly. The poor boy was startled beyond belief and his eyes flew open to see his friend’s face entirely red. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights and that instantly made him worried.

Tenzen:H-Hey...did I do something wrong?

Yujin:No! It’s just well uh, I’m not...ready for all of.... you know?

Her words took a moment to process, then it finally hit him. What they had been doing, what he almost did! Tenzen’s face went from red to white. He had gotten lost in the most. He let out a surprised gasp and instantly became frazzled like his mother does in awkward situations.

Tenzen:Yujin I- holy crap! I’m so stupid! Of course you’re startled, one thing led to another and I just- I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable! I’m so sor-

Yujin:No no no! Please, don’t be. It’s actually really, extremely flattering…

Holy crap I almost had sex. I almost had sex with Tenzen! No, scratch that. Tenzen wanted to have sex with me! Yujin, of all people! My childhood crush really wanted that! No wonder things felt different, he, we were both… damn. If I hadn’t spoken up then he’d probably be- focus Yujin! Mind out of the gutter! Breath…

Yujin shook her head to dispel her lewd thoughts and looked back at Tenzen. His face was slightly red again and he looked at patiently, he was probably getting his own head in order. It was jarring to believe he was looking at her with desire just seconds ago. Yujin wasn’t expecting this at all! That kissing was unexpected, holding hands was her personal goal today! How’d things get so far so fast. No way was she prepared, even if a side of her was very accepting of the idea.

Yujin:Listen I’m just not...ready for that kind of stuff yet. Sorry if I might’ve led you on or-

Tenzen:If I’m not allowed to apologize then neither are you. Don’t worry about it. I guess I should’ve followed your rules huh?

Yujin:Trust me we were both feeling that moment.

Tenzen:Yeah the horny teen thing really hit like a tank just now.

Yujin:You don’t have to say the word!

Tenzen:What, horny? Everyone feels it. Well mostly everyone. No shame in it.

Yujin:It’s still a weird word. So…

Tenzen:We’re cool Jin. No harm, no foul.

That would’ve been more convincing if Yujin didn’t see him casually trying to fix his pants. Her might’ve created a new shade of red. Not only did she never believe that she could turn Tenzen on, but she blue balled him! Why didn’t she wait on the couch like he asked!?

Gods I hate and love this day all at once.

Tenzen caught her trying not to look and chose not to let anymore spur of the moment decisions have time to happen. He stood up from his bed and did his best to fix his clothes.

Tenzen:Welp, I guess it’s time to head back!

Yujin:Umm you sure? I feel bad knowing you’re walking around uncomfortable. Given your “situation”

Tenzen:It’ll go away. Guys deal with this more often than you’d think. Besides, won’t you be walking around in a similar “situation?”

Yujin:*red* Tenzen I can only take so much embarrassment. Please be nice to me right now! My heart might literally explode.

Tenzen:Can I say at least one more thing?

Yujin:.. Make it count.

Tenzen:I’ll wait until you’re ready, if that’s something you want?

What the-that’s so fucking fair, why did he make it count!? Why doesn’t Tenzen ever miss! Yujin would be screaming into his pillow right now if he wasn’t around. If she said then he’d probably do it, but that’s fair and she knew it. Tenzen is a flirt, she blames internet stardom for that mainly. He’s also been one to openly go for things and simply...jump. No need for him to adjust his pace for her.

Yujin:Dummy, do what feels right for you. Beacon is gonna have a lot of people that will catch your attention. I’m not gonna hold you back. We’re not even dating.

Tenzen:So are you actually going to answer my question?

Yujin:I just- look, don’t let me stop you from having a good time and getting things out of your system. No need to wait for me to play catch up. But umm… the day that I am ready, I mean if you aren’t taken by then-

Tenzen:Deal, I’ll be your first.

With that simple and totally juvenile promise, Yujin’s heart had hit its peak.

Yujin:Can we please go home now before my dad starts assuming things? At this point I guess it’s not technically assuming anymore.

Tenzen:I’m just waiting on you.

He reached his hand out to her and she took it without question. Yujin wished she could turn off her brain for the rest of the day after this. But hey, at least he is smiling again. That’s all that mattered. Anything else could wait. After all, they had time.

xxxx

Jaune:You two are home later than I thought. Everything okay?

Tenzen:Yep, got dad’s knife. I think I’m going to take a nap. There’s something I want to think about. Bye Mr.Arc. See ya Jin.

The idea of what he might be going to his room to do assaulted Yujin like a sneak attack. Now he’s just teasing her and it was terrible.

Jaune:You okay sweetheart?

Yujin:....

Jaune:Yujin?

Yujin:.. I’m gonna take a shower. It’s hot outside. I love you.

Jaune:O...kay?

Jaune watched his daughter go up the stairs exhausted. He thought about prying but had connected enough dots of possible teen conversations and actions that might’ve taken place, particularly the few strands of orange hair that was on her clothes. Oh well. They didn’t smell, his daughter walked normally, and Tenzen would’ve come clean if he had done the unthinkable. That’s just the kind he is.

Probably kissing and awkward talks. Good for them. Can’t wait to tell the others when they get back.

[dadzawa-adopt-dabi]

secret baby ch13

(im so sorry for the wait! thank you for the patience! i really didnt mean to leave anything this long without a update.)

The hospital always brings back bad memories. Memories of being stuck lying to the nurses as they ask him where bruises and burns come from. He remembers a specialist being hired to heal his old scars from training and how frustrated the nurse had been when Dabi had told him the lie of the month. It's different now, he knows that and reminds himself to relax. Kiyoko will pick up on his distress and start fussing if he lets himself stew too long. The past is the past and while he can’t change it he can ensure Kiyoko won’t fear hospitals or grow up like he did.

“Dabi urameshi?” the receptionist calls for him and he raises his hand. He can’t follow after her right away but does his best to be quick when putting Kiyoko back in her brightly colored stroller and shoving her toy back into the diaper bag hanging off the handle. Kiyoko whimpers at the loss of her toy but since Dabi can’t run around after it when she decides to throw it he trades it for a pacifier.

Everyone else has a significant other with them in the waiting room. This visit isn’t for Kiyoko and Dabi hadn’t wanted to ask his babysitter to watch her again this early in the morning. It's just a checkup, his heat should be coming soon and he needs his scent patches refilled. Just a quick visit but it makes him feel lonely, knowing everyone else has someone else to rely on and that enji has wrecked something as simple as a checkup for him.

“Thank you for waiting” he mumbles and pushes Kiyoko through the door the receptionist is still holding open. Hawks and his ridiculous habit of holding open the club door or his apartment door spring to mind. Particularly his habit of bowing with a mischievous grin on his face as he did so. He must be feeling really sentimental today, every little thing seems to be tripping him up. Maybe it’s just the stress.

“It’s not a problem.” Maybe it's just Dabi but the smile on her face and the chirp in her voice feel strained. It’s not like he can help that he’s dealing with a baby on his own or that hero’s are all pieces of shit.

He needs more sleep if he’s going to be this irritable. He would give anything for just one night without waking up from nightmares. Kiyoko mostly sleeps throughout the night thankfully so he hasn’t had to calm her down as well as himself as he checks locks and searches the house for a flare of red. He steps into the room his receptionist gestures to and checks to make sure Kiyoko hasn’t lost her pacifier yet.

“Hello, I'll be your doctor for today, I understand that you're looking at a general checkup as well as a prescription?” she doesn't peer at Kiyoko in her stroller, Dabi having slammed the hood on it down when she walked into the room.

“For heats and for scent blockers.” it's going to be a little bit of a stretch to afford both prescriptions but he still has his ‘maid’ business going. He had resisted calling it a maid service at first, preferring home cleaning or something similar. But it really was just a maid service.

“Oh you won’t need suppressants for awhile” she let out a small laugh but stopped when Dabi didn’t join her. Her face quickly morphing into something more troubled. “Your file said that you gave birth to a healthy little girl about 6 months ago right?”

Dabi mirrors her frown and nods. That’s why the suppressants were so important right now. Every 8 months most omega’s went into heat. Some of course went through it more often and others less but Dabi’s had always been hard to track. Coming and going as they pleased with no pattern.

“Your body won’t enter heat for a while. Has no one explained this to you yet?” she questions gently while trying to get Dabi to hold eye contact with her.

“Not really I guess. I’ve never had a regular cycle and I wasn’t allowed birth control when I lived with my parents.” he stares at the shadow of Kiyoko in her stroller. If he had been on birth control he wouldn’t have had her. He doesn't regret becoming pregnant or running away with her but he wishes he had been on birth control all the same. He’s heard it could make his heats less painful but enji had believed he would start sleeping around and Rei hadn’t stood up for him.

“Birth control can help with that. It can also make heats less intense or painful if you experience either of those symptoms.” she sat down at her desk in the corner and swiveled her chair so she was facing him. “For now unless you have someone you feel comfortable leaving your baby with you won’t have to worry about it.”

“I have a babysitter I usually leave her with. Her other father isn’t in the picture and neither are my parents.” He feels like he should know this already, should know enough about his body to not request medication he won’t need at the very least.

“Your babysitter won't count. They would have to be family or like family in order for your insticts to calm down and for your cycle to restart.” a little plastic block on her waist goes off and after quickly checking it she shuts it off and puts it in a drawer.

“Wasn’t that important?” Dabi raises an eyebrow slightly amused.

“This is more important right now.” she waves it off. Like she truly believes that whatever caused her beeper to go off can wait. “Suppressants are more expensive than most people realize and you don’t need them right now.”

“Because I had Kiyoko?” His voice comes out quiet and unsure. He never had these kinds of talks about suppressants or children with his mother. By the time he had realized he needed someone to talk to it they hadn’t been getting along. He had been angry and bitter that she was still with enji. Then he had started going out and soon enough he was pregnant.

“Well yes and no. Omega’s have their own built in heat suppressant system. It's still mostly a mystery as to how our bodies do it but until you have some form of packbonds your body won’t send you into heat. Sometimes if a young omega frequently takes care of younger siblings or relatives their cycles will become irregular due to their ‘inner omega’ as we will call it, deciding that they are a primary caretaker and putting heats on the backburner. There is a bit of a tradeoff the longer you go without one and that is just that the first heat when you do go through it will be more intense than normal. Something that can be balanced out with birth control.”

Dabi spends an hour and a half asking any question he can think of to the doctor, eventually she gives him some websites to visit and has to end the appointment. She has other patients to see still and Dabi has taken up enough of her time. He leaves with the prescription for scent blocker pills and less frustration than he started out the appointment with. She also prescribed him soem light sleeping medication to help him sleep through the night. Kiyoko has almost always slept through the night and being such a light sleeper he has no worries about not waking up if she needs him.

At least now he won’t have to worry about going into heat on top of everything else. Now he just has to wait for Giran to give him a call and keep his own business afloat in the meantime. He just needed a little help, he can still raise Kiyoko on his own.

Dabi doesn't get his first job from giran right away like he half expects. He spends the first few days on edge until he realizes that it won’t do any good to stress out over. Focusing on Kiyoko helps him push the constant anxiety away. His home cleaning business eats up whatever time Kiyoko doesn't. He’s determined not to raise Kiyoko completely on crime. There is no telling how often he would get a job from Giran or if he will always be paid as fast as the last time. The biggest change Dabi can make right away is being pickier with his clients, dropping anyone who has been judgemental and anyone that has ever given him the creeps. Kiyoko no longer has to stay with his sitter, he is able to take her with him again, and it takes a lot of his tension away from him. He hadn't known exactly how much denying his instincts to keep her close had been weighing on him until he could obey them. His remaining clients are mostly people who just don’t have time to do the work themselves or the elderly are left. Combined with being able to actually sleep through the night he feels almost like he did when he was spending nights with Hawks. He feels almost like everything will turn out okay. It's strange after the months of worry and stress but Dabi embraces the change as best as can.

Kiyoko distracts him from his thoughts by reaching for her favorite toy that is just out of her reach where she is lying on a tummy time mat. She’s also taken to knocking anything she doesn't like away from her. Making a mess with food and toys constantly. She’s still on formula for the most part but he was given the okay at her 6th month checkup to let her start trying solid food.

“Yay! Good girl Kiyoko! You're getting so big!” Dabi cheers his daughter on as he eats his lunch while she turns herself over, still trying to reach the toy. Her wings flutter quickly and help her finish turning over. Dabi has the sinking feeling that she will eventually be able to fly with them.

 Kiyoko fakes a small cry at Dabi, wanting to be off the mat and be held instead. Being on the tummy - time mat makes her upset because it puts her dad being out of her sight. There’s no tears in her eyes when Dabi gives in and picks her up a few minutes later. It's hard to leave her on the mat when she cries.

“Crying for just any old reason? Uncle Natsou would call you a faker.  Uncle Shouto would probably just pick you up when I wasn’t looking.” He was still doing his best to include his family in her life even if she might never meet them. Talking about his siblings and referring to them as “Uncle” or “Aunt”.

The sound of coins jingling comes from his phone while Dabi is in the middle of bringing his fork back up to his mouth. It’s a notification sound he set for giran’s texts, the only person in his contacts that has a set ringtone. All other notifications come through set to a default tone. He flips his phone open and sets aside his food for the moment, appetite lost.

 ‘I'm Sorry to have your first job be on short notice but i need a message delivered to the manager of the auto dealership at the following location as soon as you can get there. Tonight preferably. Stop by the cafe to pick up the message.’ There is a large dollar amount at the end of the text. Dabi does a double take at the amount, that’s more than he was supposed to be getting paid per job. Another text is quick to follow, providing an explanation for the extra pay.  ‘for the extra trouble Sugar. Let me know when it gets done.’ 

Dabi winces at the pet name again but sends a simple ‘K’ back to Giran. The less he says the better. He texts his babysitter for the first time in over 2 weeks. Then starts going through his anxiety induced ritual of pacing the apartment and applying his scent blocker while he waits for her response. 

His sitter texts back when Kiyoko only has about five more minutes on the mat. He decides that's just enough time for him to check the windows and locks one last time. With everything secure he picks Kiyoko up and starts purring as he grabs her go bag, walking her down the hall.

“Dabi? It’s early, what do you want a babysitter for at this hour?” his babysitter grouches as they open the door still in their pajamas. It's actually almost noon but Dabi ignores both the time and her rudeness. He needs to stay on her good side so she will continue watching Kiyoko.

“I had something come up and I can't take Kiyoko with me.” He adjusts her bag as they think about it. “I know I usually give you more of a notice but i really have to go. I’ll pay you time and a half.” he tempts. Normally he would never offer but with the extra ay from Giran he can manage it this once.

“Do you know how long you are going to be gone?” they ask with a sigh as they hold out their hand for Kiyoko’s bag.

“I’m not sure but I’ll text you when i know more. I’ll be back by her bedtime at the very least.” Dabi gives Kiyoko a kiss on the head goodbye before handing her over. He waits until he’s a block away before he texts Giran that he is on his way.

@ruelukas22 @mostladylikeladythateverladied @xxsnowchildxx @i-like-to-shruggy

[general-du-vallon]

[Found this in my docs, it was gonna be part of a longer thing but I’m never going to finish it now and it kinda stands on it’s own. Mostly. Just imagine the rest :) the opening makes it sound like it’s gonna be an adventure but it’s not really, when have I ever written PLOT lol. WARNINGS: canon typical violence, injury, blood.]

Where to begin...

Three months ago. General du Vallon went missing three months ago, dragged off a battlefield somewhere. Brujon saw him hauled away but was too far away to do anything, the general too far ahead, their retreat too thorough, the general left, somehow, behind when they ran from the Spanish guns. They hadn’t won that fight and when the air cleared and they reached their previous position and the day quieted, the general was gone. The Spanish took plenty of prisoners, it wasn’t unusual. The Queen’s Musketeers had been deployed more than once to aid a covert rescue, spring a man who knew too much, sneak in behind while the army roared at the front gates as a distraction.

The apparatus of French Intelligence gathering had clunked and creaked into service and for a while the search for the general was all anyone spoke of. Court was full of it, the general being a favourite for his stories and his wife being friend to the queen, his daughter delighting them all. The streets had been full of it for the adventure and the thrill and he’d been the hero many times, enough that talk of his capture and the search for him turned quickly to ‘I heard about a time when…’ and ‘do you think he really…’ and ‘did you hear about that mission in…’. The Red Guard had been full of it, snide remarks about ‘once a musketeer always a musketeer’ veiling respect. The Musketeers had spoken of little else. 

But then, a month ago, Cardinal Mazarin had got word from his spies that General du Vallon was either dead or turned traitor. That had been quickly silenced, but along with that any talk of the general at all was silenced.

“It’s going to be okay, general.”

Porthos hears Athos’s hoarse, exhausted voice, calm and sure. It’s going to be okay, you know that right? Yeah, Porthos knows. His arm across Athos’s shoulders, he knows. Despite the blood and the pounding in his head from what he’s lost and the pounding of the guns, the earth tearing up around them as they run, as Athos drags him. He knows. God, they had better be alright to make this pain worth it. He runs the last bit, roaring and throwing his weight so Athos falls behind cover, too. So he’s over Athos as earth and shrapnel and who knows what falls out of the sky to strike him. Where is d’Artagnan? He doesn’t know. But they are going to be alright, everything will be okay. 

“General.”

“Don’t need the general’s input, Ath, come on. He’ll just tell us to send in our men to be slaughtered like they’re cattle.”

“General.”

“Eh?”

“General du Vallon.”

Porthos raises his head, weary, sweat and blood obscuring his view, and meets Brujon’s worried gaze. 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice wrecked. “I know. What is it?”

“We’re in France, sir.”

“I’ve done this before,” Porthos mutters, letting his head rest against his breast again, some musketeer’s jacket around him that isn’t his own familiar leather. “Other end of it hurt less.”

He sighs and gathers his strength. And the jacket - it’s not his, but it is quite nice. Much newer than his. He might keep this. If he bleeds on it enough he’s sure he can make a case for it belonging to him. Blood relative. Something like that. He rests his cheek against his shoulder and closes his eyes and bleeds into the leather.

They said...

The Queen’s Musketeers garrison is always busy. They have a royal family to protect; a very young king and a regent who is arguably more Spanish than French. There is always something to protect them from. The garrison is also always busy because while it’s the Red Guard's duty to police the streets of Paris, they are no better under Cardinal Mazarin than ever before, which means there’s always plenty of messes to mop up. And plenty of duels for young men to throw themselves into in the name of defending many honours. Madam d’Artagnan always has a lot to say on the matter of fighting. and the cadets especially always put on a good show of sheepishness, but… well. 

When push comes to shove, most of them are there because they like the fight. Musketeers don’t die easily but they rarely live long unless they retire, either. Or get married, which is currently the furore of the week; monsieur Lefébure is to be married, and his brothers-in-arms are giving him a good send off. He is to be married and to take up a small position at court riding on his family’s name and the title his father passed to him. One pre-marital ritual is to fight a last fight with every man in the garrison. He has almost reached the end of them, just two cadets lined up and they’ll be dispatched easily. 

“Monsieur!” Madam d’Artagnan says, hurrying under the arches, pushing through to where the captain is leaning on a table, idly cleaning a pistol, watching Lefébure fight with a critical eye. The musketeers part to let Madam d’Artagnan through and the captain straightens, putting his hat on and accepting the scroll she presses into his hands. “Message from the gate. Is it…?”

Madam d’Artagnan has her breath held, the men can feel it. They lean in closer, also waiting for whatever news this is, catching her mood. The captain frowns and madam d’Artagnan loses her patience and snatches the missive back, eyes running over it. She lets out an exclamation and runs for the arch again. 

“Constance! You don’t need - wait!” the captain calls. 

Some of the men move half-heartedly to stop her, to catch her and bring her back. Some, who have been on the sharp end of her temper, decidedly do not. And some, who have sparred with her, take a definite step back away from her as she whirls away, hair and dresses flying. She comes running back within moments and there’s a scuffle and confusion as people try to get out of her way again. Lefébure shifts to stand at Gonteut’s shoulder. 

“What is this?” Gonteut whispers. 

“Something to do with Brujon’s mission,” Lefébure whispers back. “He’s the only one who’s out at the moment, everything else is within the city. He is the only one who might’ve sent word from the gate.”

“What was his mission?” Gonteut asks. 

There’s similar whispers and mutters around the courtyard as Madam d’Artagnan grabs the captain’s hand and drags him toward the arch. There’s a clatter of hooves as they reach half-way and five horses come through, lead by Brayer. Brujon is right behind and he’s out of the saddle before they stop and running to the next horse. The courtyard goes silent, trying to work out who the man is, bent across the saddle, falling with a groan but steadied by Brujon shoving, gripping his thigh. It forces him to stay seated until Brayer can dismount and join him, Varlet rushing to the other side to try and help and Roux hurrying toward the captain. Captain d’Artagnan ignores Roux and pushes Varlet aside, looking upwards. He says something and the man’s head bobs, shifting, his body slouching, turning toward the captain. There’s a moment of stillness, then a groan. 

“Let go, Brujon,” the captain says, and he slows the man’s descent as he slides from the horse into his arms, d’Artagnan laughing. 

“We’ve done this before, captain,” the man says. 

“I remember it being easier last time,” d’Artagnan says, arms around the man. 

“Porthos,” Madam d’Artagnan says, shaking off whatever had her rooted, pushing through to her husband and taking the stranger into her arms instead. 

“‘Porthos’?” Lefébure murmurs, and he can hear that stirring through the rest of them, too. “It’s the general.”

“Fuck,” Gonteut says. 

Which just about sums it up, really. No one spoke of him anymore. After Mazarin shut down the search, everyone accepted that the general was dead. Except Brujon, returning to Paris, shouting and roaring at captain d’Artagnan until the captain dragged him away and then rushing headlong around the city and then vanishing himself, only to return as if cowed, a week ago, tail between his legs, begging for a position at the garrison until he was commissioned at the front again. In all this time Madam and Mademoiselle du Vallon were seen coming and going at the Louvre and at the garrison, sometimes with Minister d’Herblay, sometimes alone. And then they’d been wearing black and the Musketeers had decided amongst themselves that their general was indeed dead, and they had lit their candles in church and sent up their prayers and mourned him. 

But here he is, caked in mud and blood and dirt, wearing what must be Roux’s jacket (none of the other’s would be a fit for his broad shoulders and it isn’t his own uniform, they all know his fleur-de-lys, decorated with the bull, entwined with intricate patterning and thick lines). As they all watch he sags in Madam d’Artagnan’s arms with another groan and a soft sigh, his head tipping back. They move forward as one to catch him but he’s already safe- Madam d’Artagnan is strong and she keeps him upright and they all know that strength, have all been held together by those hands. She rouses him and then drags his arm across her shoulders, holding him tight, glaring around at them when they don’t move out of the way. 

The captain is already rushing around them to the door, and then they’re gone, Brujon on their heels. Roux, Varlet and Brayer are all still in the courtyard and everyone closes around them, clamouring for the story. None of them will speak, however, and soon beg patience for rest and food; they will not be giving answers tonight. Not until their captain gives them leave to. Roux turns, just before ducking into the hall. 

“He is everything the stories suggest, and more,” he says, voice hoarse with tiredness. “He was shot in the course of saving us.”

They had suspected as much, or similar, and as Roux vanishes inside they break away into groups to discuss it. It is many hours before they remember that Lefébure is leaving them in two days time, and that two days is not nearly enough to get all the necessary drinking in. They bustle out to the taverns and inns and set about getting drunk. They avoid trouble, for once, though: their captain and Madam d’Artagnan are busy tonight. 

And then…

Constance watches as d’Artagnan paces, talking, gesticulating, and then she watches his retreating back as he goes for a physician. Brujon is sat at the table with a glass of water, he’s told d’Artagnan enough for now. He’s watching Porthos as Constance carefully pulls away layers of dirty cloth, baring his skin, looking for holes. She finds the wound low in his side, almost his hip. She feels for bone, but he seems to be mostly intact. She checks for the ball, instead finds there’s an exit wound. He’s been stitched already, messy, sloppy, thick stitches. 

“You did this?” she asks Brujon, putting her disapproval into her tone. Roux has a much steadier hand and Brayer has neater stitches. 

“The others were busy,” Brujon says, between gritted teeth. “Our general threw them off the boat into the sea.”

“Did he now?” Constance says, smiling, wetting a cloth and starting the process of cleaning Porthos. She’s done this before. His eyes open, glassy with exhaustion, pain, maybe fever. He smiles back at her. “Pushing people into the sea, eh?”

“My lips still taste of salt,” Porthos murmurs. “I’m keeping this jacket. Tell them?”

“General du Vallon is keeping Roux’s jacket,” Constance tells Brujon, who shrugs. “Why did he push them in?”

“We were being shot at,” Brujon says. “They swam for it. Would’ve pushed me in, too, left himself there to be captured again, but I shot them before he could. Got a ball right in the side of their boat and we watched them sink.”

“Did they drown?” Constance asks. Brujon shrugs. 

“Doubt it,” Porthos says, catching her hand and taking the cloth from her. 

“What are you gonna do with that?” she snaps, taking it back, slapping his hands away. “Lie still.”

“They were taking me somewhere else,” Porthos says, vaguely. “By boat. Then Brujon came for me.”

“Of course,” Brujon says. “I haven’t got a commission if you’re dead, sir. Or if you’re stripped of your position for turning traitor.”

“I do speak very good Spanish,” Porthos says. “Where is Aramis?”

“If Charles went to the palace for a physician, which he probably has, I assume the minister will return with him,” Constance says. “Your wife is not in Paris, however. The queen is at the hunting lodge again and Elodie went to petition her, hoping to get more resources for our search for you.”

“And Marie?” Porthos asks. 

“We sent her to Athos and Sylvie,” Constance says. “I will send word that you have meandered back quite safe.”

“I better go make sure Roux and the others don’t spread too many rumours,” Brujon says. “And make sure that they don’t tell too many tall tales about you, sir. You already have quite enough glory for one lifetime.”

Porthos struggles up onto his elbow to refute that, but Brujon is gone. Constance shoves and Porthos falls back against the bed with a groan. 

“Constance, I would prefer much more glory, there’s lots more room for praise, I can take a lot more than I have got,” Porthos says. His lips twitch. 

“Would you stop?” Constance scolds. 

Porthos grumbles but lies still for her until he’s clean and naked but for his underthings. She contemplates his hair, wondering if that could wait, but he’s already sitting up and tipping his head back, eyes closed. She sits in behind him and uses the last of the clean water, working it through Porthos’s hair, undoing his curls and getting it as clean as she can before twisting his hair back into its patterns to protect it, tying a bandana around it. 

“You’ll have to do this properly when you’re not half dead,” she says. 

“Sylvie will do it, when Athos comes,” Porthos says. “It’s fine for now.”

“Will you rest?” 

“I need to talk to… ‘Charles’,” Porthos says, rumbling with laughter as if d’Artagnan’s first name is a joke only he understands. 

Constance goes to fetch him wine and to tell Roux that his jacket is not going to be returned. She explains that it is too soaked with blood and then re-explains that Porthos is a stubborn cuss and will quite probably fight Roux for it if Roux tries to claim it back. Roux laughs and Constance has to explain that, no, Porthos really will fight him, and Roux goes quiet before hurriedly gifting the jacket. Charles arrives back, Aramis slipping past him into Porthos’s room as he comes across to her. 

“He is alright?” d’Artagnan asks. 

“He will be,” she says, settling. They watch the courtyard together, Roux hurrying away, someone on watch, a few people playing cards. Mostly quiet, now. “They’re all in the taverns, telling stories about him.”

“He’ll like that,” d’Artagnan says. 

“Mm. We got him back,” Constance says. 

“Right! Always will. This is a better ending, than the last time we dragged a general out of the Spanish prisons.”

“No bloody Rochefort, may he rot in peace,” she says. “Come on; work to do, captain.”

“Even coming half dead he brings me work,” d’Artagnan grumbles, leading the way back inside.

[abigailnussbaum]

Legends of Tomorrow, Season 5

I was going to write weekly reviews of this season, and then with one thing and another ended up dropping it in the spring (hey, remember when there was so much weekly TV that you couldn’t keep up with all your shows? Wonder how long it’ll be before that happens again). I caught up with the entire season this weekend, and honestly, that feels like a better standpoint from which to write about it - I think if I’d stuck with weekly reviews, I would have ended up saying the same thing week after week.

A couple of years ago, Emily VanDerWerff suggested that there is a standard lifecycle for high-concept, large ensemble, off-the-wall genre shows: 

Season 1: still figuring this whole thing out 

Season 2: now we’re cooking with oil 

Season 3: we can do anything! 

Season 4: whoops, no, we’ve gotten a bit over our skis here 

Season 5: ??? 

Legends, I think, encapsulates this progression to a T. The show’s second and third seasons were some of the best and most exciting genre storytelling on television, but last year was a bit of a mess. That’s not entirely the writers’ fault - Nick Zano’s limited availability due to family obligations forced them to beef up the Time Bureau’s role in the season, and their desire to keep Maisie Richardson-Sellers on board even after Amaya’s story had wrapped up led them to create a character, Charlie, who had no real reason for being on the Waverider. But a lot of it was self-inflicted. The cast was too unwieldy, the Time Bureau story seemed designed to expose the thin spots in the show’s self-presentation as irreverent but fundamentally compassionate (it certainly didn’t help that the decision to rewrite Nate Sr. into a good guy was made almost at the last minute, requiring the entirely unconvincing argument that forcing magical creatures to perform in a circus act is somehow morally superior to forcing them to be secret agents), and some of the character choices felt entirely parachuted in (Zari/Nate, anyone?).

Season five, therefore, had a lot of clean up work to do, while also demonstrating that the Legends formula had more life in it than just those two transcendent early seasons. And while this is undeniably a more successful, more enjoyable season than the one preceding it (which also does a great deal to address some of the show’s structural issues, chiefly the overlarge cast), I also can’t help but notice that instead of finding new places for the show to go, what the fifth season delivers instead is a hodgepodge of story elements from seasons two and three. So we’ve got a mystical object that can rewrite reality (The Loom of Fate vs. season two′s The Spear of Destiny); a token hunt across time and space in which the Legends face off against the estranged relatives of one of their members (the totems in season three vs. the search for the pieces of the loom, Amaya’s evil granddaughter vs. Charlie’s evil sisters); a late season loss that forces our characters into a nightmarish alternate reality in which they don’t even remember who they are (the Legion of Evil rewriting the Legends’ lives to make them ordinary and unsatisfying vs. being stuck in TV shows in a world run by the Fates); which comes about because of a betrayal by a member of the team (Charlie in season five, Mick in season two) whose eventual return to the fold enables to Legends to win in the end. There’s even an abandoned, abused girl who has turned evil, and has to be won back to the side of good through the offer of true companionship and understanding (Nora Darhk vs. Astra Logue).

This isn’t exactly a bad thing - a lot of these storytelling beats cut to the very core of what Legends is and what makes it work, so it’s not necessarily wrong for the show to repeat them. And even if the basic structure is the same, Legends just keeps getting more adventurous in how it delivers that structure. I’ve already written about how well done the season’s mockumentary episode was, and the same can be said for the 80s slasher movie riff, the Mr. Rogers parody, and of course, “The One Where We’re Trapped on TV”. Like the multiple universe episode in season four, these are things the show couldn’t have done when it was just a few seasons old, and they’re proof that whatever other issues it has, Legends is constantly pushing the envelope in terms of the kind of tropes and genres it can graft onto a superhero template. That said, there’s a very real possibility that this is all the show will ever be - a standard story template, enlivened by increasingly gonzo riffs on existing tropes.

Some more thoughts on where the season worked and where it didn’t below.

THE GOOD:

I really hated the decision to make Nora a fairy godmother in season four, not least because it felt like yet another way of infantilizing her (it certainly didn’t help that it was a choice she was forced into, and that she spent the remainder of the season catering to the every whim of Gary, a character I still have very mixed feelings towards). But season five really reclaims that choice. Having Nora embrace the fairy godmother life as a way of both helping children and working through her own issues makes a lot of sense, and the character feels happier and more confident than we’ve ever seen her (certainly a step up from how gloomy she was last season). I even like the wardrobe change - once the fairy godmother dress was ditched except for specific occasions, having Nora dress all in teal is a nice touch, and certainly an improvement over her rather boring season four wardrobe. I still think Legends missed a lot in how it handled Nora last season (I will never stop being annoyed that she and Sara didn’t develop a deeper friendship, given how similar their life trajectories have been), but this was a good way of righting the ship, even in a very limited timeframe.

I already mentioned this in the episode review, but watching the rest of the season really cemented my admiration for how quickly the show embeds Behrad into the crew, and makes it feel as if he’s always been there. That’s all the more impressive given that Behrad doesn’t really get an arc in season five. Most of that storytelling energy goes to establish Zari 2.0, and Behrad is, of course, absent for much of the latter half of the season. And yet he feels almost instantly like a fully-rounded character who is integral to the show, so much so that you’re heartbroken by his death (and convinced that it will be rolled back, even though Zari could easily take over his superpower). That’s really excellent work by both the writers and Shayan Sobhian.

I was a bit nervous when Zari 2.0 was introduced, because replacing a heroic, cool-girl-coded, nobly self-sacrificing character with a version of herself who is extremely femme-coded and obsessed with things like fashion and social media is the sort of move that is ripe for easy misogynistic point-scoring in the guise of feminism - of course the Zari who is good with machines and eats donuts is superior to the one who has a perfume line and spends hours in the bathroom every morning! But the show very quickly established that Zari, though certainly not without her flaws, is awesome in any guise, and it did so without trying to change her into “our” Zari, eventually even establishing that they are two completely different people, each with a right to exist (though not simultaneously, unfortunately). I get why the show didn’t keep both Zaris around - it would be asking a lot of Tala Ashe to play two characters, much of the time against herself, not to mention a production nightmare - but I appreciate that it didn’t decide that Zari 2.0 was the lesser version. (Also a nice touch: Behrad, though obviously fond of Zari 1.0, doesn’t think of her as “his” sister, even though to us she’s the “real” version of the character.)

Similarly, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when Ava moved to the Waverider full time - obviously, it would be an improvement on her playing a tinpot fascist at the Time Bureau while the show pretended that this wouldn’t really bother Sara, but at the same time Sara and Ava are both so similar in their functions and abilities that I worried they’d step on each other’s shoes. Instead, the show leaned into their differences and made the season about Ava finding her place as captain of the Waverider, a role she fills in very different ways than Sara while still doing a good job at it. It also allowed her to expand her point of view a little - bonding with Zari 2.0, or reaching out to Astra, both things that would have been outside of her comfort zone in the past. Obviously, this is setup for Ava taking over as captain in season six now that Sara has been abducted (though I hope not for very long - Legends isn’t Legends without Sara), but good on the show for taking the time to bring Ava to a point where she’s ready for this, and in a different way from Sara.

And speaking of looking ahead, the show takes the wise step of thinning out its cast. Personally, I would have kept Ray, Nora, and Mona and written off Constantine and Nate (and possibly also Gary), but either way, it’s good that the writers realized their cast was getting unwieldy. I was concerned, for example, that the show figuring out what to do with Charlie and giving her an elaborate backstory was a sign that she would stay on, but instead she leaves once that story is resolved. And I think that in an earlier season, Astra would have been positioned to stay on the Waverider after the end of the season, but instead she’s clearly a one-off character, who goes off to live her own life once the show has brought her story to a satisfying conclusion. (This also, however, means that Legends has written off two black women in a single season, not to mention Mona, and in fact has only one WOC main character remaining; I hope that’s something season six addresses.)

THE BAD:

I realize that I am very much in the minority on this, but I’m sorry: John Constantine does not belong on Legends of Tomorrow, and certainly not as a main character. Season five feels, in fact, like a perfect demonstration of this simple truth. The early parts of the season feel like two different shows, the Legends show and the Constantine show, that happen to have some points of intersection and shared characters. And even once those storylines converge, it’s notable how John’s quest for the Loom of Fate very quickly becomes Astra’s quest for it, and then Charlie’s, and how they both feel more grounded in that story and more affected by it than he was. What it comes down to, once again, is that John Constantine is a character who can’t change, and putting him on a show that is all about change and growth can’t help but feel unsatisfying for both the character and the show. Season five tries to suggest that change is possible for him - he finally comes clean with Astra and make a real apology to her; he admits that his pursuit of magic has cost him relationships and a chance at happiness; he reaches out to his friends when he thinks his life is about to end; he even quits smoking. But the character just doesn’t have that much give in it. To be John Constantine, he has to be the cynical, arrogant, self-destructive fuck-up we’ve always known. On a show like Legends of Tomorrow, that can work in small doses, but not as the main character that Constantine has been positioned as.

Though I’m glad that the show figured out something to do with Charlie before writing her off, the similarities between her story and Mick’s can’t help but shed a light on how poorly thought out this character has been, and how much her season five story is parachuted in. When Mick betrays the team at the end of season two, it’s barely a season after they’d put him off the ship for being perennially untrustworthy, leading to him becoming their nemesis. They only take him back out of pity for the decades of torture he suffered, and sympathy for the loss of his only friend, Captain Cold. His betrayal is a direct outcome of those cracks in the relationship - he does it because he wants to live in a world where he hasn’t been hurt or hurt others, and where his friend is still alive. When he changes his mind at the end of the season, it’s a culmination of two seasons of character growth, the realization that holding on to the pain in his life is worth it if it means he gets to keep the friendships he formed on the Waverider, and to continue to grow as a person - as expressed by his choice to put Snart back in his timeline, where he will become a better person (and eventually inspire Mick to do the same) but will also die. Charlie’s very similar storyline just doesn’t have this kind of depth. Neither her heel turn nor her face turn feel particularly earned, and a lot of that has to do with the fact that it took the writers so long to figure out who this character even was.

For a season of Legends, this was an awfully heteronormative stretch of episodes. Sure, Sara and Ava are still center stage, and that’s fantastic. But every other romantic relationship in the season, and there are quite a few of them, is a straight one. You might blame this on the fact that season five is a housecleaning season, wrapping up dangling storylines like Ray/Nora or Nate/Zari. But even the new characters like Behrad or Lita express only opposite-sex attraction (I guess Astra never demonstrates a preference). I mean, if you give John Constantine two different love interests in a single season and they’re both women, surely something has gone terribly wrong?

And speaking of John Constantine’s love interests, is putting him together with Zari meant to make the old her’s romance with Nate look organic and true to the characters in comparison? Because I can’t think of another reason for it. Do not want.

THE UGLY:

Words cannot express how much I hate the Damien Darhk episode. Not all of it, obviously - the Mr. Rogers riff, as I said, is pretty good (and pays off handsomely later in the season), and pretty much all the Ray/Nora stuff, especially the moment where she realizes she’s not going to lie to her father about the man she loves and the life she’s chosen, are golden. But it is simply mind-boggling that after two seasons in which Nora was firmly established as the survivor of a lifetime of abuse, Legends takes an entire hour to not only rehabilitate Damien, but pretend that he was always a loving father who just made some mistakes. For crying out loud, the man fed his daughter to a demon in order to gain power for himself. It was always an interesting wrinkle in his character that he clearly saw himself as a loving, protective parent, and was even capable of some level of self-sacrifice on Nora’s behalf, but I had assumed that the show realized this was at least partly a self-serving lie. To discover that we’re actually meant to think that one act of sacrifice cancels out a lifetime of abuse is nauseating. I wanted Nora to stand up to her father, but as a victim calling out her abuser, not a loving daughter trying to renegotiate a relationship with an overprotective parent. It certainly doesn’t help that the episode features inexplicably popular wedding story tropes, such as the groom asking the bride’s father for permission to marry her, or the father trying to keep the couple from physical intimacy before the wedding, which are gross in any context but especially so here. I suppose in the end it’s all worth it to be rid of Damien once and for all, but I was squirming with discomfort and rage throughout the entire episode.

[shineonmalcolmbright]

Shine On, Bright: Chapter Sixteen

Table of Contents

Present

“Hey. . .Did you watch your sister’s interview last night?”

Dani both reaches out while pulling back to ask the question. Reaching out as if to comfort a person, but that’s strange and wrong. She pulls back because again, strange, wrong, and they’re in the workplace. Either way, she fidgets with her own hands waiting for Malcolm to respond.

Emotional triggers really do work in mysterious ways.

There are the obvious suspects and any mention of the Whitlys is at the top of them for Malcolm. But it’s been only a few minutes since arrival that he’s felt so many ups and downs, ups and downs, ups and downs, and now it’s back at down, heading further down. Malcolm attempts to banish thoughts of his mom breaking his TV screen, not wanting to bring it up because somebody like Dani might point out at how little the rich care about the loss of objects.

Dani’s waiting for an answer, but. . .

Malcolm’s back at the Overlook Hotel, the ground full of snow and somehow police officers out front. Each cop car made its way to the building with chains on their tires and their hands hanging out on weapons. Martin being walked off with the help of Gil though Gil has seen much better days than in that final moment.

Even after such a long pause of such silence, Malcolm walks forward remaining in the present rather than falling out of time again. He turns as he enters the room letting Dani know, “U-Uh, my TV’s on the fritz, so. . .”

Some indistinguishable words follow up his response. It’s hard to make them out as he attempts to remind himself again and again. Don’t fall out of time. Don’t fall out of time. Don’t fall out of time. Dani follows him at least into the hotel room without little comment on the obvious pure awkwardness. Before Martin left the Overlook, even with blood on all their hands he tried to make sure, he tried so hard to make sure that. . .

The past is the past.

Malcolm faces the hotel room because facing the hotel room also means facing Gil. As emotional triggers are hidden all throughout the day, every single day of the week, every single day of the year, there are also ways to tackle them, combat them, defend yourself against them. Don’t fall out of time.

Gil gets it. He doesn’t smile or acknowledge this, just nods to him.

“Wh-Why are we keeping. . .this under wraps?” Malcolm announces, once again clinging to the present.

As if the two never commune with just their thoughts, Gil replies for Malcolm and everybody to hear. Reeling them all into the present and away from whatever might knock them right on out of the hotel room. Haunted memories. Christmas pastries. Whatever else it may be.

“The victim is high profile,” Gil pauses. He’s in the middle of the room looking at a single person slumped over on the couch. There’s blood splatter and numbers put out defining all the important features of a crime scene. “This one’s close to home.”

JT and Dani take a stance, already in the know. JT focuses on Gil as Dani looks off either away from Malcolm or at those photographing the scene. It wouldn’t take much to know what her thoughts are yet Malcolm moves straight past her and this thought of his. It has to be the fact they’re inside a hotel that’s digging into him. There’s anxiety all balled up in his stomach, more like a porcupine there. One wrong move around the room, he’d strike a sore spot, hurting himself, distracting himself.

This one’s close to home is such a loaded statement. It could mean. . .it could mean a lot. There’s lots of things that hit too close to home. Hotel murder. Martin. Malcolm does his best to float across the room avoiding the one wrong move with anxiety bristles moving closer and closer to his heart, to his lungs, already still stuck in his thoughts.

Even with Gil looking at the scene, he’s looking at the victim on the couch as Malcolm stalls by a bed looking at a woman who is lying there, her shoes are still on. Stilettos. She’s wearing a short black dress. It’s too cold out. He moves past her thought, not taking in any more observations then what he can notice at a glance. It’s not time for a Sherlock scan.

Instead, he walks to the couch looking at the victim there. Once the couch had been all white, but it’s stained all crimson. Funny how red is a color to match the holidays. He’s wearing a suit, his tie even looks alright, firearm in hand.

This one’s close to home.

High profile.

Even with anxiety full-on ready to spring out, Malcolm jerks forward using a black nitrile glove to push back the side of the victim’s blazer considering Gil’s words deeply: This one’s close to home. A police badge waits, right out on the side of the victim’s belt. Ok, ok, ok. Malcolm stares at it not wanting to move too fast again like before. Instead, he straightens his back without looking up. Ok, ok, ok.

Looking down, Malcolm comments on the now obvious, “He’s a cop.” Ok, ok, ok. . .there is something about cop killers that hurts people. Not a regular murder, but here though? Here though, with a quick sweep, more amateur than Sherlock, something’s not right, something’s not adding up, something is off. But what? What could it be? What is it?

“Ian Turner, chief of detectives,” Gil continues. “Room’s under his name.”

And Malcolm looks over to Gil, hosting some bad posture as he continues to somewhat lean forward. There’s memories passing up, all throughout the room between Gil, JT, and Dani. Moments, snapshots, it’s almost as if there’s a collage of faded polaroid pictures right in front of Malcolm, all of them of Ian Turner, chief of detectives, this one’s close to home.

“You knew him?” Malcolm says to Gil but really to everybody because for two reasons it’s obvious, but everybody mainly knows the one obvious reason. Chief of detectives. Not the collection of snapshots he’s collecting without wanting to collect them.

Dani offers up an answer. “He was a three-star. Everybody did.” Everybody but JT and those photographing the scene look to Dani. She looks back and forth between Gil and Malcolm then offers up more information. “Turner worked his way up the ranks. 42 years of service.”

Not a single snapshot defines who Ian Turner was though. They’re moments in passing, a person who’s fleeting.

JT speaks up, “His record, so squeaky clean that he got into a few fights with dirty cops on the way up. Some people got no patience for doing things by the book.”

Snapshots upon snapshots. It’s getting too loud in the room.

Dani looks annoyed but only because she thinks about some of those who don't like doing things by the book. Although Malcolm finds a snapshot of himself, from them both meeting at the start. It’s like he’s trapped in some past as a polaroid, as well. As people continue to photograph the scene, they click, click, click away at their own memories and thoughts of the day.

Malcolm closes his eyes letting the dizziness pass. It’s weighing his brain down, forget them, block them, prevent it, and the snapshots are gone leaving him alone with-leaving him alone with the victim on the bed. Those sheets once white are stained crimson as well, it happens with violence. Blood splattered across them. She wears a series of gold bracelets on both her arms.

“Mm, this is no ‘by the book’ exit,” Malcolm seems to mutter to himself but he means it for the world to hear and looks up at Gil, Dani, and JT. Rather than keep on keeping on about the first victim, he moves closer to the bed. The victim there, her one foot is hanging off the edge of the bed. “Who’s the woman?”

Dani ends up moving a little closer, tilting her head to the side, somewhat looking at the woman on the bed and Malcolm. “Emily Hayes, 26. She had a misdemeanor for sex work.” Dani points at her with each of her fingers. And goes, “We’re thinking murder.” Her hand turns to point at Ian Turner. “Suicide.”

Hotels. They’re full of such bad stories. It’s incredible that more aren’t haunted. Then again, they all are. Even where they stand there are ghosts shimmering in corners and hallways, keeping right out of sight without an interest in harming a person. Malcolm shakes his head. A weight has been lifted as he fights to block people’s thoughts from reaching him and also fights staying in the present.

There once was a woman who stayed at the Overlook Hotel with her seven children. She stayed there until the day they died, which happened on the same day. The articles about her and them were deep down inside the bowels of the hotel. Malcolm pieced through them choking on dust trying to get a grasp on history. . .

Malcolm continues to stare at the woman on the bed, Emma. . .no, Emily Hayes, 26, a sex worker, and something isn’t right.

“I’m not seeing that,” Malcolm finds a response.

There’s no telling how much time he waited to speak between Dani saying something and slipping out of the main timeline for a second. And yet for no reason at all. Emotional triggers, they work in mysterious ways.

“I’m-I’m not seeing that.”

Malcolm leans so far forward his nose almost touches the bed, close to her fingers, he’s looking at her arms, she’s lying out there and. . . something isn’t right.

Bright. . . even though Gil doesn’t speak out loud, his voice stays at a whisper.

Malcolm peers back up at them. “No defensive wounds.”

The thought is getting louder, louder than any of them, and all their snapshots. Something isn’t right.

“And why would Chief Squeaky-Clean wear his badge to meet with a sex worker?”

Malcolm fires a quick glance off at Ian Turner before focusing on Gil and only Gil as if it’s just him and Gil in the room.

With Gil staying silent, in his thoughts and out loud, Malcolm continues, “I take it Turner had no history of abuse or violence. Why now?”

Dani sighs, distracting Malcolm. It’s not just him and Gil, but JT and her are standing there. He makes eye contact with her. “Turner obviously had a secret.” It’s annoyance that paints her letters as she pulls them together, her arms are folded as JT stands there in a similar way but pursues his lips taking in the scene. “He was seeing a sex worker.”

Rather than keeping her arms all crossed, Dani uses her one hand as she keeps on speaking. It’s less annoyance, but instead, the casual desire to just go home, she wants to be home but also she’s just there offering up the rest of her hypothesis to the scene.

“Maybe Emily threatened to turn him in. He shoots her, takes his own life out of guilt.”

Something’s not right. Malcolm almost snorts as if some joke was just said. At least Gill cuts in warning him off such a reaction with one curt Bright.

Malcolm just smiles and moves over toward Ian Turner as somebody else is working on the scene and blurts, “Are you finish with the murder weapon?”

Bright. . .

The firearm is handed right off to Malcolm and Gil is so close to saying something, so close to saying something out loud that is as he watches this exchange. Malcolm is already there holding the gun and is ready to start with his rambling.

“The suicide you’re describing is the result of deep shame,” Malcolm starts with his come back.

He’s wearing a glove but might as well not be with the way he’s talking with both his hands. He’s somewhat swinging the gun around as he stands between both victims, he points the gun down towards the bed as he points at Ian Turner.

“Turner killed a woman in cold blood. . .” Still, he’s chatting away with the gun like it’s not murder on the conversation but whatever they watched game they watched last night. “. . .and violated everything he ever stood for.”

Briiiight. . . Gil makes another attempt coming real close to just closing his eyes to not watch Malcolm return to his saunter/amble in the middle of an active crime scene.

Malcolm points the weapon at the bed still as he continues, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “He should have looked at her there on the bed, adrenaline fading, guilt building. . .”

Malcolm stares down at her, Emily, she’s on the blood splattered bed and he stares down the barrel of the gun. The word guilt still hangs around as he watches her. There’s nothing left of her for the world of the building, no faint memory of what happened to scrape up. Nothing to leap back into her final moment but there’s just guilt hanging out and around her.

“Must have felt this growing weight on his chest.”

Even though Malcolm’s hanging onto the gun, he uses it to touch his chest thinking of the guilt, the heavy guilt weighing the moment down. He daps himself with the murder weapon about three times while JT and Dani hold back any comments.

Gil, not so much, he adds another, Bright, like that’ll stop him.

Malcolm’s hanging too tight to the idea of guilt though. It’s somewhere there, maybe it’s just him. Something he thought about. Something he did. Martin told him that they are so much alike and. . .no, not that. He hugs the gun to his chest still trying to think, think through this moment. Ok. Something isn’t right.

“Like a burden, he couldn’t lift. This was his only escape. . .” Malcolm points the gun up, caught in a past that isn’t even the past. It’s not him and it’s not like there are ghosts left behind letting him relieve a moment of whatever happened there. “. . .Suicide. . .”

I think we’ve had enough of this, Bright, Gil makes another attempt. Put the gun down.

But Malcolm lets Gil’s thoughts bounce off himself and onto the floor as he turns around admitting for real out loud, “But something’s not quite right.”

JT groans and shakes his head, “Looks that way.”

This also bounces off. It’s just Malcolm, only Malcolm, it’s him that’s not right but it’s not him they’re talking about or him they’re not supposed to be talking about. Instead, there is something else that isn’t right, something isn’t right. Malcolm’s holding tight to the gun as if it’ll fade from sight leaving behind whatever they can scrounge up.

“He wouldn’t have been looking at the victim. . .” Malcolm’s so close to Ian Turner again, his fingers embracing his gun, but maybe not his gun. A murder weapon, yes. But who’s, right? Malcolm makes eye contact with Ian, not that Ian returns this eye contact. The dead don’t see. The dead don’t talk, sometimes they do, but not here and not now. Guilt, guilt’s a powerful thing and if it were, if it were guilt then that means. . .that would mean. . . “He would turn away out of shame. . .”

Malcolm continues to stare right at Ian not noticing but knowing the gun faces him. He points the weapon at himself, not guilt, something other than guilt. It was only ever Malcolm’s guilt permeating at the scene. Malcolm cocks the weapon like he’ll pull the trigger on himself as he watches Ian.

MALCOLM! Gil shouts at the same time Dani says “HEY!”

Out loud, Gil panics pointing at Malcolm. “Bright! Put the gun down, now!”

Malcolm sighs, he rolls his eyes before turning around looking at the three. “It’s not. . .” He looks at the weapon in his hand only to chuckle about it. “Wait, it is.” Gotta get rid of this, gotta put it down. He hums some sort of nonsense while going. “Oooooooh. . .sorry. . .” Yet he’s the only one laughing about it. Gil’s so mad, he can see it and feel it. Like it was an honest mistake. Somebody lunges across the room taking the murder weapon from Malcolm as he continues to hum his Ooooooooooh losing it.

And Gil glares at him, huffing. “Do you have any idea how stupid that was?”

As if it’s not because let’s be real, yeah stupid but more important. Malcolm goes on, “Turner didn’t kill himself, there was a third person. Both victims were dressed, Emily had just arrived. Perhaps Turned used the deadbolt on the door to hold it open to let Emily get in so the killer wouldn’t need a key to get in if he acted fast.” Malcolm looks past Gil, Dani, and JT at the door trying to keep on piecing this together. No guilt. Something else. “He came in. . .” Malcolm continues meaning the killer and paints the scene he imagines, “He came in, hit Turner, took his gun and shot Emily.”

You really don’t think that was stupid?

“This wasn’t a murder-suicide. . .” Malcolm needs to get to the point anyway, finish up here, everybody’s ready to leave anyway and he doesn’t need the guilt of this hotel weighing him down and into the ground. “It was a double homicide.”

Both JT and Dani wriggle trying to think through what this will mean but Gil shoots a smirk in Malcolm’s direction nodding this off but let’s him know, Prove it.

[yoyo-inspace]

HDM HOLIDAY EXCHANGE GIFT

A little bit late, ran into some troubles yesterday, but here it is! I was prompted with soft protective Dadsriel and this is what came to mind - it might not be particularly soft, and it's only reluctantly protective - and Asriel isn't even referred to as a Dad even once! 

Hm. I still hope I managed to hit some of the right notes to fill this prompt.

This has not been beta'd, or edited a lot, so all mistakes are mine.

For @anxiouss-princess on tumblr. I hope you enjoy! :) 

@hdmholidayexchange - thanks for a fun exchange!

Can also be found here on AO3. 

Rotlaust Tre Fell

Summary:  A storm hits Oxfordshire that makes the forest shudder and that whips the rivers into a frenzy. It’s not a night to be outside. 

Of course, that's exactly where Lyra finds herself.

Title from the Wardruna song - translates to Rootless Tree Fell.

--

Lyra is eight years old when she gets caught out in the storm. 

It’s springtime, but instead of budding flowers and birds coming back from the south, the arrival of spring is accompanied by one of the worst storms Oxfordshire has seen in years. It won’t flood, or so they say, but the residents of Oxford and its surroundings still tie down their belongings and huddle together inside as the rain starts beating viciously against rooftops and window panes. The wind makes the trees creak to the point of branches breaking off, and it whips the rivers into a frenzy. It’s not a night to be outside. 

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Pan hisses, hidden as he is beneath Lyra’s far too thin spring jacket, which is already soaked through. He’s in the form of a dormouse, and his paws are clutching Lyra’s shirt, as if to make sure he doesn’t get blown away. Lyra doesn’t reply to his chastising because she doesn’t want to hear it. Also, it’ll hardly help. 

She really had been planning to be back by nightfall. The wind hadn’t picked up until the evening anyway, so how was she supposed to have known? It isn’t like she wants to be here. She’d much rather be huddling in front of the fire at Jordan, or already beneath the blankets in her bed. Instead she’s huddling in the hole left by an uprooted tree, the roots still gnarly and bent above her. It was the best shelter she’d been able to find. She’s muddy and wet, and she’s certain she’ll get a beating once she returns to the college for ruining her dress. In her opinion, they clearly should have given her a dress that’s more durable. She can’t see why she should be blamed for that. 

“It was a stupid bet,” Pan comments again, though she can hardly hear him over the sound of the wind. However, she knows to what he’s referring. A bet with the townie children, about who could find the first spring berries. 

“There en’t any berries out here anyway, and if there was, they’d be blown away by now,” Lyra mutters and wraps her arms tighter around herself. She’d wanted to stay out looking for longer than all the rest, but once the storm had surprised them, she hadn’t been able to find her way back. Then she’d been sliding down a hill and now here she was, hiding until it was over. In comparison, one of Mrs Lonsdale’s harsh baths didn’t sound too bad. 

“-ra!” 

Both their heads snap up, though Pan hears it clearer than Lyra. “Was that someone calling, or was it the wind?” 

They both listen, and for a moment they’re almost convinced that they were tricked by the noise of the storm, which is still raging around them. 

“Lyra!” 

Pan perks up, enough so that his head is above her collar. There’s no mistaking it. “That’s-”

“Thorold!” Lyra shouts as loud as she can, going as far as to stand up from her little muddy alcove, even if the rain gives her hair another whipping. The hole is deep enough to reach to her chest, but it gives little cover once she’s standing up. She isn’t even sure her voice carries over the howling of the wind. What her uncle’s servant is doing out here she has no idea. She didn’t even know Lord Asriel was expected. Had he arrived while she was out in the woods, looking for berries? Another reason to consider the whole expedition a failure if she’d missed him. She shouts again. It’s impossible to see anything, and if she’s not mistaken the wind has picked up. The trees creak worryingly all around her. 

“Sir, over there!” 

She can’t even make out which direction the voice is coming from. Maybe if she squints and puts her hand above her eyes she can make out figures- or no, those might just have been trees- 

There’s more creaking and suddenly someone appears from the side, jumping down into the hole with her, and hands underneath her arms as she’s not very gently shoved out of the hole with a shriek. Pantalaimon turns into an ermine under her jacket to have a better grip. 

“Idiot child!” 

That’s certainly her uncle, and he’s climbing out after her, faster than she can really register. She can’t imagine why he sounds so angry, other than the fact that she can’t imagine anyone being too happy having to go out in a storm like this. But she thought she hadn’t done too badly! She’d even found cover, all on her own, instead of wandering around the forest, which she’s heard you’re not supposed to do when lost.

She was about to explain all this - rain in her mouth be damned - but she doesn’t get much further than a half aborted ‘uncle’ before he grabs her again. 

“Watch out!” 

There’s a loud creaking, and then Asriel is throwing them both to the side, his arms around Lyra as they roll away. Lyra has no idea what happened, but the noise she hears, a loud thump and creak next to them, is at least loud enough to pierce the roaring of the storm. Her back is against the ground, her face tucked into Lord Asriel’s shoulder as his hand cradles her neck for a moment longer. There’s a strange stillness there, in his arms, and she feels impossibly small. Or maybe it’s just the fact that she’s being protected from the rain.

The next thing she knows, Asriel’s getting up and yanking her up with him. It hurts, and she can hear Stelmaria growl as he speaks again. “What the devil possessed you to hide out there?” 

Lyra can’t understand what he means at first. There’s a tone in his voice that she hasn’t heard before, and while his face is hard to see with all the rain, she can’t be imagining that look. It’s not just anger. He’s worried. Despite the situation, and the way she’s started to shiver - or maybe she had been all along - that warms her a little. He never worries. 

Then she catches up with what he’s talking about, and she turns to the hole in the ground which she’d made her temporary shelter. Except the hole is gone, and somehow, the tree that had been lying so kindly to its side, offering her a place to rest, has snapped upright again, as if closing a trap. Lyra stares at the roots digging into the ground where she’d been not a minute earlier. That could have been me, she realises. Buried beneath those roots, and if not pierced by them, then certainly crushed or worse - locked inside a hole in the ground and no one would have heard her. 

Suddenly the shivering catches up with her legs and she can’t quite stand on them, but this time she doesn’t fall to her knees, but is instead hoisted up in Asriel’s arms as he huddles her close. She didn’t noticed growing so cold. 

“Thorold, run ahead and tell them to prepare a hot bath for her,” she hears her uncle say, though he hardly has to shout to be heard over the wind. His voice is already loud enough, and that’s somewhat comforting. The storm is clearly no match for him.

--

Lyra is unsure how she manages it, with the storm thundering overhead, but she falls asleep somewhere before they reach Jordan, and she’s quite groggy as Asriel hands her over to a fussing Mrs. Lonsdale, who immediately sets about stripping off her clothes and getting her into a hot bath, which feels scalding before she grows used to it. At least that did plenty to wake her up, but by then her uncle is already gone. Not that she expected him to stay around bathing her. Mrs. Lonsdale was clearly there for that, scrubbing mud from all over her while prattling on about how irresponsible Lyra is. 

Lyra herself is quiet, though more contemplative than grumpy, and Pan sits on the edge of the bath in the form of a sparrow, just as silent. 

After the bath is done, she’s dressed in her nightclothes, and some warm socks that she’s quite sure are not meant for a child. She’s given another blanket to wrap around her shoulders and then she’s led to one of the guest rooms and sat down in front of the fire. A cup of hot tea is placed in her hands, and she even manages to mumble a thank you to Mrs. Lonsdale, who just scoffs and makes her way out. Lyra sips her tea in silence. If she’s not mistaken, there’s a little bit of honey in it. She never gets honey in her tea. 

Neither she nor Pan have the time to contemplate where they’ve been brought, or take in the presence of large suitcases in the corner of the room clearly marking it as inhabited, before the door opens again. She’s expecting Mrs. Lonsdale, or perhaps the Master come to give her another lecture, but it’s Lord Asriel she sees in the doorway. While he’s hardly in his pyjamas - she’s not even sure she could imagine him in one - he still has a similar blanket to hers wrapped around his shoulders. Lyra wonders if he too were forced into a hot bath, though she doubt Thorold cleaned him off with the same ferocity as Mrs. Lonsdale did for her. There’s silence as he looks at her, and then her uncle turns to the corridor. 

“Thank you, Thorold, you can rest for the night.”

She hears a muffled ‘sir’, and then Asriel enters the room and closes the door, letting out a sigh that’s more tired than any she’s ever heard from him. He doesn’t look at Lyra again but goes to pour himself a glass of- well, something. Lyra isn’t quite sure what, but it’s something the adults drink. Particularly “in trying times” Bernie Johansen, the pastry cook, had told her once, and then he’d laughed when she asked if it was some kind of medicine. Whatever it is, Asriel takes a large sip out of it before he looks back to her. 

“As much as those scholars try to teach you, I suppose outdoor survival courses wouldn’t be their first priority. With how wild you are, perhaps it should be,” he says, and Lyra isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be an insult or a compliment. 

Asriel picks out a book from a rucksack he’s placed on the floor. To her surprise, he then comes over to her in front of the fire and sits down next to her. It’s strange, she thinks, to be on such an even level with him. She hasn’t seen him in at least sixth months, and this wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined their reunion going, but it’s still nice. Her eyes dart over to Stelmaria, who’s settling with closed eyes by the side of the fire. She doesn’t look all that wet from the rain, but Lyra knows that Pantalaimon is cold, with the way he’s wrapped around her shoulders as an ermine again, and so she imagines the snow leopard must be too, despite that thick fur. 

“Lyra, are you listening?” 

Her uncle has her attention again as she looks up at him, clasping her cup of tea with both hands and taking a sip. Her eyes are wide and he looks tired. He’s always ferocious or determined. She doesn’t know if she’s ever seen him tired before. She nods, and he sighs. 

“Good. Now, you know very well that you’re not supposed to go far away from the college,” he starts, and there's an exasperated tone in his voice that makes it clear that he believes it to be an inevitability that she will anyway. Usually he’d have given her a scolding. Lyra hides her grin behind her cup, though with the look he gives her, she can tell she wasn’t successful. “But if you’re determined to be a disobedient wild cat of a child, then at least you could do so without risking your life. You can read, yes?”

A strange question, and Lyra has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. She tends to go quiet in the presence of her uncle, but right now it’s a little bit of a relief, to not have to speak. He seems to be able to get her meaning anyway, because of course she can read. If only to be able to read his postcards.

“Excellent,” he continues and places the book he picked out before in front of them. To Lyra’s surprise, it’s a notebook - a very nice one, in leather. And it’s completely empty. There’s a pen in his hand. “Then let’s make sure there are no repeats of today’s stupid mistake, shall we?”

What follows is the strangest lecture Lyra’s ever received. Lord Asriel is the one writing and drawing, though he shows it to her as he goes about it. He teaches her about how to find her way if she’s lost in the woods - look for the direction of anthills - how to leave trails that won’t be destroyed easily, what marks to leave. He also teaches her about what berries she can and can’t eat, which mushrooms she shouldn’t touch and what snakes are venomous. Lyra doesn’t think she’ll go out into the woods any time soon - the image of being crushed underground is still haunting her - but if she ever did, she’d be a lot more prepared for it. 

Somewhere halfway into his speech about how to find the nearest source of water, Lyra nods off, though she’s tried her very best to stay awake. When she wakes up again, briefly, it’s as Lord Asriel puts her down in her bed. She tries to say goodnight, but she’s not sure if she manages before falling back asleep, Pan curled up next to her. 

--

The next morning she wakes up, and she feels unusually warm. Glancing around her, she notes that this is because she has double the amount of blankets than usual. It’s with certain surprise she realises that her uncle must have given her his. The thought makes her smile, but not as much as when she turns to her nightstand and spots the leather-bound notebook lying there. She reaches out and grabs it, opening the first page, the one before all Asriel’s notes about woodland survival. 

To Lyra. So that she’ll live to reach the age of nine, for which this was a birthday present. Regards, Asriel.

It’s short, but more personal than she’s used to, and Lyra grins wider than she remembers doing in weeks. 

Later, she finds out that Lord Asriel already took the train to London early that morning. While that does fill her with some disappointment, it’s not as harsh as it usually is when he leaves without saying goodbye. She stays inside the whole day, the scholars having given her the day off, and she spends it reading through her uncle’s notes and looking at the quick sketches of leaves and mushrooms. When the time comes to sleep again, she clutches the book to her chest, as if she can soak up the words into her skin. 

“We’ll show him, Pan,” she says and Pan glances up, a sleepy house cat curled up next to her on the bed.

“Show him what?”

“I’ll make it all the way to age ten. By that time, I wager I’ll be an expert, and he’ll have to move on to teaching me about surviving in the North, where there en’t no anthills. After that, he’s sure to bring us with him next time he leaves, don’t you think?” 

Pan mumbles something vaguely pessimistic and Lyra ignores him, as per usual. She falls asleep clutching her notebook and imagines going on a grand adventure in the North, where there’s less mud, and certainly no uprooted trees out to kill her. Besides, if there were, her uncle would surely be there to save her. Lyra, however, is determined to not let that happen. Next time, she’ll make him proud by saving herself.

[seatights5-blog]

The particular Subtle Symphony of this Winery

Anyone who has proved helpful in a winery with regard to any length of period learns there is certainly one audio, more than any other, that will is quickly, pump-stoppingly, drop-what-you-are-doing, alarming: the sound of fresh falling on typically the floor. That has a certain timbre, a splash noise that conjures up every one of the disasters one has seen around wineries. I've read it a hundred times and it by no means ends to make me prevent and raise my scalp similar to a gazelle mid-feed. Being unfaithful moments out of eight it's not shout about – a good bucket overflowing with water or perhaps a harness left slightly wide open – nonetheless those aren't the particular images that spring immediately to mind. I've curved some sort of corner to discover a reservoir being filled with white juice by the bottom valve, but the user (in this specific case the winemaker) acquired left the other control device (known generally as often the racking valve – normally a good meter or thus higher than its comparable version – open). Juice was initially pouring out of often the sphincter muscle, onto the terrain, and down the drain. Related reports: The Less likely Making regarding a Winemaker Crediting this Winemaker Where it can Owing Accountants Calling the particular Shots at Wineries Little water prior to crash Tanks staying overfilled have a stormy dash sound as their attributes work with wine that in that case drops off their own reduced circumference and on top of the floor. Overflowing juice tubs, stuffed as presses seriously set out to exert some strain in the grapes inside, overflow by having an almost unstoppable chute. I wish to to say these people make a waterfall audio nevertheless I think which is just the impression that they give. That they splash, these people splash like all drink and wine that gets the floor. Heard a good splashing sound throughout a new winery that lasts longer when compared with three seconds and you head out to check out. Winemakers are accustomed to using their noses in addition to their eye (and their own palate) in a vineyard – it matches the career. If you don't aroma a new reductive ferment (one when the yeast is not necessarily totally happy) from the particular top of the aquarium, it won't be extended before a person leave often the vineyard flooring to smell this. Its not necessary some sort of winemaking course to know that if anyone see a spread-out enamel of crimson on the ground, some red wines has gone astray. Nonetheless sounds? If the minute regarding opening your container could be the pop of the cork or the scratch regarding a screwcap, used by reverential silence as well as the glug of the pour, then the winery is the some other section of this. Often the vineyard is full of sounds. It is relentless. The idea can be (during harvest) high in volume. Many wineries rely on products, on motive power, cooling systems and on compressed weather. Air flow compressors make the hell of any noise : I've also worked within a new vineyard where the compressed air has been created by way of a diesel powered engine unit – the kind utilized for roadworks. Air-conditioning units are inaudible generally, but stand up close and they create a noisy rumble. Cooling down The very best Wine Valets to Travel Your chosen Bottles are quiet yet the pumps that press the coolant all around often the winery make some sort of unremitting hum. Bag presses blow up and decompress with the lots of noise – in addition to they likewise click, faucet, whirr, complain and grumble as they rotate. A few have alarms that will appear every time they may be on the verge of rotate. Forklifts beep, whirr and clatter. Penis pumps sound, whinge and rattle. Grape trucks rumble together with pule pipe yaup and dump berries with a huge thump and even sprinkle. Hydraulic receival bins (where trucks and trailers eliminate the grapes) now have a low-frequency whine; his or her augers a new drone; this crusher-destemmer can produce some sort of variety of noises ~ a good relentless metronomic clang will be a sign something will be not right, for case – although commonly audio like a large slip drier would if that were removed of almost any external cladding and geared-up to move double the swiftness. A must water pump (in case you hadn't recognized, we're following the vineyard through the production method of most traditional wineries) is typically a good silent element of kit in comparison with it has the stablemates – it will emit a fairly higer pitched whine should you tune in hard – but since these kinds of, any noise from using it, possibly be that the suck-slosh sound of it running dried up and also the chug of that working hard, is actually cause for alarm. Filling a new fermenter for red wine beverages usually begins with a new thump-bang-spatter because grape have to hits the ground of typically the tank and primarily information outwards. As the tank is filling, it is definitely, reasonably speaking, a muted event. But a little is often a signal the must collection (winery grape/wine hoses plus hoses are known as "lines" – the term "hose" is usually reserved for water – features pushed itself out of the tank with the force of the have to coming out of it and even has decided to expell it has the contents on to the ground. This can and will do come about. The sound involving dripping solution is rarely a good register a winery. © BFL | The sound of leaking liquid is seldom a great sign in a vineyard. Tends to make me wanna yell And from now on would be a good time for you to talk regarding shouting. In most instances, this involves screaming "stop often the pump". In a huge winery, this is certainly generally a new forlorn endeavor and this witness must proceed along with hurry (but definitely not excessive haste) to the agent in question. In small jobs, this cry commonly has got the desired effect : every person hits the stop-button nearby to them. Or perhaps sometimes typically the noise regarding whatever possesses happened is definitely enough – as in the particular case of me personally going down through a ladder ditch in some scaffolding – plus the closest to person shouts "are anyone ok? inch, despite certainly not seeing precisely what had transpired. I keep in mind one occasion as soon as, midway through rolling some sort of fermenter cover through the vineyard a associate shouted "Guys! " This was adopted by another, louder "GUYS! " (a second holler is a surefire signal something is amiss). Most of us all went to find the dog wrestling with a new tank control device the deal with had connected around together with popped opened. He was initially saturated in fermenting Sauvignon Blanc. But shouts happen to be like sounds – mostly, you know when it's an disaster, or if something went wrong. My spouse and i can't explain that, nonetheless you get an head for this. Like a Bucher 150 push losing front door seal at 2 pub. I probably should make clear this so you get often the full picture. The Bucher 150 is the somewhat common cylindrical bladder click. It is essentially a stainless steel tube divided down this middle by a large bag. Guiding the tote goes often the compressed surroundings that is used to squash the bag from the grapes (which are with lack of of the bag) and the drink functions off down about seven drainage channels into the hit tray. There are also a pair of doors on this fruit area of the particular press. They allow it to be emptied and permit people to climb in clean it. The doors happen to be about half the size of some sort of regular door. They fall, and so are sealed pneumatically versus the outside the press. This press runs, at the upper level, with a tension of 2 bar, or 200kPa, or 29lbs for each square inch. I is not going to go ahead to how and even so why this took place (it had been operator miscalculation ~ to a qualification: the heart and soul was that in the event you flicked concerning automatic together with guide method in the previous models, you always risked shedding door seal) yet, via my desk, now there got a double-BOOM, some sort of whoosh like a fly plane all of a sudden appearing cost, put into practice, events later, by means of what sounded like rain on the tin roof (it was actually half-dried Pinot Gris skins falling from the sky). I searched on the lab technical assistant, this lab technical viewed with me, and that we ran outside. This is a bit about sounds so We won't describe the landscape. Be adequate to say that will weeks in the future, when the idea rained, we'd even now come across Pinot Gris cases forthcoming out of the guttering using the rainwater. Not most sounds are usually bad nevertheless – many are happy. The particular rhythmic slosh of a great irrigator wetting the hat of fermenting Cabernet or perhaps Merlot; often the squelch, are terrible, fizz regarding plunging a fermenting limitation of Pinot Noir; the beeping of timers in the research laboratory; the scrape of a new stirrer in a gun barrel involving Chardonnay; the scream of "standby", the reply associated with "standing by", in addition to the "stop" of topping a tank. Days of homemade wine and Boses And then there is certainly the stereo. Almost all of my personal European vintages have been completed in relative silence as long as music went. In quite a few wineries we may well include a portable radio, nonetheless mostly generally there wasn't songs. When Anyone that Loves Wine Ought To be able to Study This received to help the SouthernHemisphere, even though, the first vintage surprise was initially seeing two audio system the size of banano boxes hanging from the eaves, overlooking the push area. The music streamed out there as we performed, from start to evening, red and white, we all listened to everything. Together with I adored it : I still do. In most of the New Globe wineries I have worked well in, we have seen a audio system in each work area (barrel hall, vineyard, lab). Some, though, get it very seriously. Central Otago winemaker Dean Shaw presides over reputedly the best stereo system in the location together with a huge repository that goes into terabytes. They has rules although. You need to play an album inside their entirety, for illustration. In addition to Rage Against This Machine is definitely banned. Because, undoubtedly for the majority of wineries (once everyone's Spotify has recently been exhausted), the radio gets the particular fall-back, there are songs I actually powerfully keep company with vintages. Sedona by Houndmouth is old-fashioned 2015. This year, it will be Run Crazy by means of Brand-new Zealand team Racing. As I write, this can be late in the evening. Just about Great Wine and Good Mood offers curbside pickup is quiet spend less typically the hiss outside involving compressed air bleeding by itself from the process together with my post-rock COMPACT DISK playing on the clinical stereo. In a few days the essential contraindications silence will certainly return and even, to always be honest, I'm definitely not totally looking forward to it.

[jsyndra]

Answer: Chapter 6.

She was getting better.

It had been a few weeks now, and Irelia had been on the mend. She really did not mind staying in The Celestial Fortress, but she hated staying in bed all day. This was far from what she was used to, she loved to move. Her life was dancing, training, fighting, and everything in between. It seemed that the only thing she had to keep her entertained while she healed was her own captor, silly as it sounded.

Irelia did not know if it was some sort of Stockholm syndrome, but she genuinely began to enjoy Syndra's company. They had spent quite some time together, Syndra often sharing her books to pass the time. She had also been healing faster thanks to Syndra, the mage had been practicing new healing spells on Irelia recently and admittedly... It was not turning out terrible. Now, there were a few mishaps, but mostly it had been working out well.

They could only do so much in a day, though. The lighter magic of the healing spells seemed to tire Syndra, something Irelia has yet to get the other to admit. It was odd that they drained her so much, her darker magic did not seem to have that sort of effect on her. Despite Syndra getting better with it, today was no different and eventually the spells had tired her.

Syndra would use her healing magic for as long as she could to ease Irelia and help her heal, then abruptly stop when she has had enough. She would excuse herself, wandering off to wherever she goes after the magic exhausts her. Irelia assumed that Syndra would go off to take a nap, rest herself. But there was an underlying curiosity in where exactly it is Syndra does go.

When Syndra wandered off this time, Irelia felt motivated to follow her. She had been feeling quite good lately, and she was confident she could walk longer distances. So, shortly after Syndra left, Irelia followed. She took quiet steps behind Syndra, making sure to keep her distance. The other would lead her through the halls of the fortress, and soon outside of the large building.

The first thing that caught Irelia's eyes were the beginnings of a garden, one that clashed with the otherwise dark atmosphere of The Celestial Fortress. So, Syndra enjoyed gardening? She really was not expecting that, but it was certainly a cute thought. Maybe Irelia could help her with it sometime... Or not. She shook the thought from her head, perhaps she was thinking too boldly.

Syndra soon treaded into the nearby forest, albeit a fairly small one. She began to weave through the trees, which proved difficult for Irelia to do so with her injuries. But Irelia was far from a quitter, and she was able to make it through. Not necessarily quietly, but as silently as she could. Syndra, at the very least, did not seem to notice.

The trees lead them into a small field, one that sat close to the edge of the island. As Syndra stopped in this field, Irelia hid behind one of the trees of the forest. What was she doing? Then she saw something she had not ever thought to have seen, Syndra removing her headdress. Well, removing so to speak. The headdress seemingly retracted into the gem in the center, allowing platinum tresses to fall forth.

She watched Syndra push them behind her ear, the only oddity now sat the small horns on her head. Oh. Those were real. Irelia thought them always to be simply part of the headdress, but it seemed whatever corruption Syndra had ran deeply. She did, however, note that they had shrunk since Irelia's initial interaction with the woman.

Syndra knelt down in front of something, Irelia needing to move her head a touch more out from where she hid to catch sight of what it was. A grave. Syndra's hands were placed in her lap, clutching against the fabric of her clothing. Who...?

Her train of thought was stopped as she noted Syndra's gaze fixed on her, and she ducked behind the tree once more in hopes that she did not see her. A foolish thought, it seemed clear she was caught. She worried of the consequences, even after spending weeks with Syndra she was still worried about agitating the woman.

"I know you are there." Syndra called out, standing up now. "I know you've been following me. Come out, Lia."

That nickname was new, it rolled off Syndra's tongue almost affectionately in how she said it. Irelia soon stepped out from the tree she had been hidden behind, her face that of a mouse caught by a cat. But Syndra did not seem particularly angry, in fact, it was the calmest Irelia had ever seen her.

By then Syndra looked almost completely human, no corruption apart from the paled skin (albeit that may be due to lack of sunlight). Darkened and sharp fingers now looked... Normal. The horns seemed to have receded completely over the time Syndra had spent by the grave, as well. Irelia stepped forward, Syndra's appearance was almost welcoming now.

"You forget how closely connected I am to this island, I could feel you following me." Syndra stated, her voice almost teasing. She turned her back to the grave, her attention now on Irelia. "Did you need something? Or were you simply curious?"

Irelia paused at the inquiries, before the briefest smile graced her lips; Syndra really was beginning to grow on her. More than she would like to admit. "Curiosity." Irelia answered, tucking a strand of obsidian behind her ear as the wind blew. "It gets boring in that room all day, you know."

"Mm. Yes, I suppose it would." Syndra commented, crossing her arms below her chest. She could have caught Irelia earlier, before the other saw her do this. But she allowed Irelia to follow her all the way here regardless, it was almost like she wanted her to find this place. Syndra realized how vulnerable that made her look, and she truly could not say why she wished to share this experience with her 'prisoner'.

There was a moment of silence, and a question on the tip of Irelia's tongue. Who's grave was it? She didn't wish to ask, such things are personal. Irelia knew well how personal it was to visit someones grave, she did so often with those she has lost. It seemed Syndra visited the grave often, as well. It looked pristine, and the other clearly planted flowers around it; similar to those in the garden.

She would not ask, and fortunately, Syndra soon broke the awkward silence.

"I was going to visit the hot springs, you may join if you wish." Syndra offered, knowing it has been some time since Irelia bathed. She had been bedridden, now that she was able to move it was a good opportunity to clean up. It was not a personal request either, really. Most of the springs in Ionia used for bathing were shared.

"Is it really that bad?" Irelia jested to lighten the mood, hand to her chest in feigned offense. "It has only been three weeks, you know." She added, and it earned a chuckle from Syndra. "Yes, I would not mind taking you up on that offer." She then answered, giving a nod of her head. A bath sounded really good, actually.

"Very well." Syndra responded, walking past Irelia and beckoning her to follow. "Come with me." She added as she began to lead the way.

At this point, Irelia was quite tired. She had certainly made progress in her healing, but Syndra had her on the brink of death and even with the magic she knew she was not fully healed. She would tough it out, however, assuming that the springs were not too far. She did so slowly, and she noted Syndra was not particularly patient in waiting for her to catch up. Oh well. As soon as they had hit a pathway, it was fairly easy to figure out where to go even if she had lost Syndra.

By the time Irelia had actually caught up, Syndra had already been undressing. The dancer was not shy to nudity, Ionia was fairly open to it to begin with but being in the war certainly helped. But when she saw Syndra, she almost instinctively peered away. It was... Different? She was not sure why, but it just was.

"You've finally caught up then, hm?" Syndra spoke, standing at the edge of the springs. She was nude now, untying her hair from the ponytail it had been in; it fell almost down to her ankles. The scene itself was quite nice, the water clean and a very small water fall fed into it. It was heated by the magic in the center of the island, making the water glow lightly in magic.

Irelia chose to undress at the other end of the springs, finding it awkward to do so too close to Syndra. They had spent so much time together, but it seemed... Invasive, still. Everything about it seemed too personal, despite knowing that Syndra did not see it as such. Irelia did not know why she felt that way about it, but she did; so she kept her distance.

By the time Irelia was undressed and stepping into the springs, Syndra had already entered. "You could have walked a bit slower, you know." Irelia would jest in response, slipping herself fully into the water. Oh yes, this is exactly what she needed right now. The heat of the springs tingled against her skin, the magic evident in it made it almost more pleasant.

"I wait for no one, dear. You should know that about me." Syndra retorted, finding it strange to talk to Irelia from opposite sides of the springs. But, if that's what Irelia wanted... No, this was silly. To Syndra's side, she had natural oils and mixtures she made herself to bathe with. She took them in her hands, carrying them over to Irelia's side of the springs.

A touch closer, but still not too close.

"You will be needing these, yes? Besides it is odd talking to you from so far away." Syndra stated bluntly, it seemed only logical. She usually was alone in these springs, so she only had one set of oils to use. She offered them to Irelia, taking a bit of the body wash into her own hand before doing so.

"Ah, well, yes. Thank you, Syn." Irelia tested out the nickname, finding it only fair after the 'Lia' from earlier. It did not get much of a response from Syndra, but that was good. It meant she could use it, right?

She tried not to be too bothered by Syndra's proximity, but she caught herself watching Syndra wash herself more than once. Her skin was pale, it seemed the beginnings of tattoos were upon her skin as well. Irelia hadn't noticed them before, floral in design. They were quite pretty, Syndra herself was... Well, actually, quite pretty. Surprisingly so. Was that a weird thing to think? No, Irelia would think nothing of it.

Irelia caught herself staring too much, fortunately unnoticed by Syndra. She averted her gaze, instead choosing to focus on washing herself. She took a bit of the body wash into her hands, and despite her injuries, she was able to get most of her body cleaned. Anywhere easier to reach, anyways. As soon as she got to the more difficult regions, she began to struggle. A frustrated and pained groan escaped her lips, one that caused Syndra to turn her hear.

"Are you okay?" Syndra questioned, and if you listened closely, you could even hear a worried tone in her words. "Um. Do you need help...?" Came the next questioned, feeling quite obligatory to offer her help.

Irelia wanted to deny the help, the thought of Syndra touching her making her more embarrassed than she cared to admit. But she was struggling, and the help would be... Really nice. "If you don't mind." Irelia answered, voice a touch quieter as she felt a warm sensation on her cheeks.

"Alright, turn around." Syndra responded, finding the action fairly nonchalant. She had gotten most of that embarrassment out of her way when she had bandaged Irelia, and truth be told, it was almost more comfortable now that Syndra was used to her company. And if Syndra were to be completely honest, she enjoyed the thought of touching the other now. Not necessarily sexually but... Just to be close to her; Irelia made her feel far less, well, alone.

Irelia nodded at the command, turning her back to Syndra. She gathered her hair in her hands, pulling it over her shoulder to allow Syndra full access of her back. Soon she felt warm hands touch her back, and even if she expected it, she still flinched slightly. It was a peculiar touch, Syndra's magic seemed to radiate from her skin and caused a tingling sensation against Irelia's own. It was pleasant, Irelia would admit, terribly so.

Syndra continued to carefully run the bodywash along Irelia's skin, gentle in her touch as to not hurt the woman with her injuries. "Would you like me to do your hair, as well?" Syndra questioned, finishing with Irelia's back and shoulders. "Since I am already here, anyways." She then teased, but truthfully she was simply enjoying the contact with Irelia and did not wish it to end so soon.

"...Only if you let me do yours, as well." Irelia responded, not knowing what came over her with the offer. It just felt... Obligatory to return the favor. She would not admit it was because deep down, she enjoyed the contact just as much. "I mean. It seems only fair." She added, covering her trail.

"Hm. Perhaps." Syndra answered, already gathering the oils for Irelia's hair. "...Only if you do not touch the back of my head, okay?" Was her one request, beginning to caress the wash along Irelia's long obsidian strands. "Your hair is dry." She commented, fingers undoing the knots of Irelia's hair. "You should take better care of it."

Ah, that felt good. The gesture, not the comment. Syndra's words kind of stung, but it was fair. She did not have too much time to take care of herself, certainly not when the land was plagued with war. It was no surprise her hair suffered for it a bit, but that was fine. She did not mind. However, Irelia would admit, she was enjoying her time away from it all and being able to be pampered like this.

It took quite some time due to the length of Irelia's hair but Syndra finally finished, staring at her handiwork. Yes, that looked quite good. Clean, it practically shined already. "Done." She mused quietly to herself, proud of her handiwork. She soon moved back, already beginning to do her own hair.

Irelia turned back to face Syndra, offended by what she saw. "Hey! I said I would do that." Irelia spoke, causing Syndra to freeze her actions.

"I thought you were kidding." Syndra admitted, eying Irelia curiously. "You were, weren't you?"

Irelia laughed at that, standing now in the springs and moving to where Syndra stood. "No, not at all." She answered, taking Syndra by the shoulders and urging her to sit down. "Quite serious, in fact." She noted, stealing some of the oils Syndra had used to wash her own hair. She began to rub it into her hands, and reached forward.

Hesitant at first, but Irelia over came that anxiety quickly. She ran her fingers softly through Syndra's hair, slowly and surely running down the front of the long platinum tresses. Hovering over Syndra like this, face to face; it felt so intimate. She tried not to catch Syndra's gaze, but those lavender hues were impossible not to look at; certainly not when they stared directly at her.

Syndra could feel her heartrate rise, but from the close proximity and the way Irelia touched her hair. It was easier to be the one touching Irelia, but to be touched like this... It was incredibly new. The way Irelia touched her so warmly, softly... It was a touch that Syndra did not know, but suddenly she craved. She kept her gaze on Irelia, almost expectantly. She wanted nothing more than for Irelia to continue.

When Irelia's gaze met that of Syndra's own, it was locked. Those lavender hues were almost hypnotic, a storm within them yet they still they possessed a certain softness when they watched Irelia. It was welcoming, too much so. It caused Irelia to moved closer, as if demanding her to slip into Syndra's lap with a leg at either side of the other's hips.

Her fingers continued to move through Syndra's hair, pretending like she was still intent on cleaning the other. It was getting harder to do so, especially when she felt that familiar touch upon her hips. This time Irelia noted how almost affectionately the magic sparked against her, and that was all it took to give into instinct.

Irelia soon leaned forward, tilting her head to the side and closing her eyes as she pressed her lips against Syndra's own. There was immediate regret in her thoughts, but that was ceased the second she felt Syndra's lips move against her own almost invitingly. Even her lips held her magic within them, Irelia feeling a literal spark against Syndra's lips as they kissed.

Syndra did not know how hungry she was for this affection until she was given it, and she quickly took the lead in the kiss. Her fingers sunk greedily against Irelia's skin, and she pushed herself up and closer to the other woman. She was quick to deepen the kiss, tongue begging entry against Irelia's bottom lip; it was quickly granted.

Irelia's tongue met Syndra's own, feeling no need to battle its way passed the other's lips as opposed to just allowing it home inside her own mouth. It danced against Syndra's own, and when feeling those fingers dig into her hips, Irelia could not help but elicit a sound from her throat they she did not even know she could make. A blush tinted her cheeks completely now, but she could not help but want more.

It lasted for what seemed like several hours, but was likely just a few minutes. It ended with a soft bite against Irelia's bottom lip, Syndra pulling it lightly with her teeth as she retreated back to catch her breath. As she leaned back lavender hues stared at Irelia, and was met with the equally intense gaze of Irelia's own azure orbs. Their eyes pleaded with one another, but the sudden shock of the situation made Syndra pull back.

Withdrawing her hands, and clearing her throat, Syndra spoke. "We... Should probably go back inside. It will get dark soon." She stated, and could tell Irelia agreed as she felt the weight lift from her lap.

"Ah, yes. It is beginning to get a bit cold, isn't it?" Irelia laughed awkwardly, still catching her breath a bit as she stood once more. Syndra had, quite literally, stolen her breath away. Well, that was what O-ma had always said her first kiss should be like but... She did not quite imagine it like this, not with Syndra as her first at least.

Syndra was the first one out of the water, offering her hand to help Irelia out as well. She did not know why, it just felt like she should. As Irelia took it, she knew she was right. She let go once they were both out of the water, and gathered the nearby towels, offering Irelia one of them. She soon took her own and wrapped it around her form, then leaning down to collect her clothes.

Irelia could have used help with her own, but it felt... Awkward to ask. A silence had filled the air that neither wanted to acknowledge or break, and Irelia did not want to be the one to do so. Still, the towel proved to be a challenge, wrapping it around her back was something she very clearly could not do. She soon felt a hand take it from her, doing it for her without question. Irelia was glad for that, but admittedly still a touch embarrassed.

Irelia took the hand that had helped her, holding it between her own. Syndra's touch was oddly warm, she noted, she expected someone so pale to be cold. She soon intertwined her fingers with Syndra's own, and found the gesture to be incredibly pleasant. She kept them intertwined, taking the lead this time; making sure Syndra did not run ahead of her again.

And so, hand-in-hand, they returned to Syndra's fortress. An odd, yet welcomed, warmth in their chests. Irelia cannot say she regretted following after Syndra that day, in fact, she was incredibly glad she had.

[fernwehbookworm]

Knight of Kandor- Chapter 12

My entire body hurt. The chain mail and plate chaffed against the still open wounds of my back and stomach. Three days of travel on foot wore at me. I decided to finally stop in a small town to stay in an Inn instead of on the side of the road. It is a small two-story building. The entrance leads to a low ceiling tavern that is filled with towns folks drinking after a hard day of labor. The room quiets a little at my entrance, no doubt very few strangers passed through such an out of the way town. I was taking an indirect route to the border just in case the queen decided to have me killed anyway.

I place a couple copper coins on the bar to get the attention of the portly man behind it. He is carefully cleaning it, no doubt having spent most his life in this place and proud of what he built. He eyes me as he wraps up his conversation with the man across from him before making his way to me at the end.

"What can I get for you son?" I almost roll my eyes, I guess I was not quite Kara yet. It was safer to be a man while alone so I do not correct him.

"A room and a hot meal. Just for the night."

"What brings you here? Most people don't travel so far from the Queen's road."

"Moving."

"You don't look like someone moving."

"I am starting over." The man gives me a knowing look.

"Ahh, some pretty lady broke your heart." A faint smile plays on my lips.

"You could say that." He looks confused at my wistful smile but it was almost a joke to me. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen broke my heart and all because I was born a woman instead of a man.

"Very well lad. Would you like to eat here or in your room?" I consider that. I wanted to drink too to ease the constant throb of my entire body.

"Here is fine. But can someone take my pack to my room? I have been traveling hard for days."

"Boy! Here!" He hollers.

"First door on the right."

A boy around the age of eight or nine scampers up from somewhere. I hand the boy the heavy pack that he staggers under. Before he scampers off I grab his arm and slip a coin into the boys pocket. I put my finger to my lips to quite him. No doubt the man would take it if he knew. The boy scampers up the stairs to the second floor. When I turn back to the bar I see a large mug of ale and a plate of steaming food. I carry it to a corner watch the room. I get a few stares but no one tries to talk to me, thankfully. When my first mug is empty I wave for a refill and tuck into the food. Roasted lamb, mashed potatoes, and a gravy that made my mouth water. The man obviously took great pride in everything he owned. I guess small towns meant that this was one of the only places to eat and drink.

The second ale goes down faster than the first and finally, the constant ache begins to fade. I wave for a third. A lyre player plays in the corner for coin, the notes just barely making it over the din of conversation. A couple serving girls expertly weave through the crowd. A third mug of ale appears in front of me with a smiling face. I almost bite my tongue off to keep from saying Lena's name. The girl has dark hair just like hers, but that is where the similarities end. Her eyes are dark, face a little more round and scared hands of a working girl.

"Hello," she says almost nervously.

"Good evening." I focus on her hair, it frames her face just like Lena's. It is just as long and shines in the faint candlelight.

"Where do you come from, stranger?" My drunken mind barks a laugh before I can stop it.

"Nowhere really. Its been a long time since I called somewhere home." I see interest spark in her eyes. She gets up from the bench across from me and sits in the small space next to me, forcing me to slide over a bit. She sits so close that only my plate mail separates our skin.

"Sounds lonely." Her eyes fixate on mine and in the near darkness of the room I can almost pretend they are Lena's.

"It wasn't for a brief time. Now I am alone again." The girl leans in closer. This was a mistake.

"Brief is better than nothing." Her breath hits my lips as she sighs out the words.

He lips meet mine sloppily, not with the elegance of Lena's. Still, I pretend. I pretend the hair I wrap in my fingers is hers. The hands pressed to my neck are hers. Somehow she pulls me from the bench and through the crowd. We go up the stairs and stop outside my room. The girl presses me against the wall and meets my lips again. Suddenly how this would play out explodes into my mind. I was not the mysterious man she thought I was. And this was not Lena. I pull away.

"I'm sorry. I can't"

"Whoever she is she still has your heart." I smile a small smile and trail my fingers down her cheek.

"She never thought to give it back, and I left before she could."

The girl places one more kiss on my lips before disappearing down the steps. I enter my room and wedge the only chair under the handle since it lacked a bolt. I strip naked and attempt to find a comfortable way to sleep, avoiding my back and stomach.

After a few hours of a deep sleep that only a bed can provide, I rise before the sun. Dressing again, I leave a gold coin on the bedside table. More than enough for the room and food, but my coins would be no good once I reached the border. Cadmium had different coins and neither country accepted that of the other. Border towns filled with black markets usually did, melting and forging new coins for whatever direction they needed them. I quietly leave through the empty tavern and walk through the town before the half-light of approaching dawn.

My feet find the path south. Each step carrying me further from Kandor, from Lena. Each day began to blur together. I avoided towns after my mistake in the tavern. Camping, hunting, walking, repeat. I thought of trying to buy a horse but my heart wouldn't let me. I hoped Comet was happy. Hopefully, he would forget about me soon.

It took twice as long to make it to the borderlands as it did to get to Kandor on the horse. Nearly a month had passed and I could feel the cold coming. Days were shortening and leaves on trees were turning colors. I was walking through one of the ramshackle towns built in the ruins of civilization. I carried a small doe over my shoulders, hoping to trade it for Cadmium coins. Dust from fires long since gone swirled at my feet and through the burnt out streets. I followed the pillar of smoke to a man who was selling meat. After much back and forth we settled on a small purse of coins, mostly copper, but some silver was thrown in. He also threw in some cured meat for my travels. As dusk began to fall I tucked my self into the corner of a shell of a hut, sword hilt gripped firmly in my hand. I fell into a shallow sleep, my ears ever listening to approaching sounds.

When the scuffling comes I jump to my feet, sword already out. But someone drops on me from above. I can only glimpse the multiple figures standing over me before something heavy hits my head, knocking me unconscious. When I come to, I have been gagged and bound, stripped to my underclothes and bounce in the back of a wagon. I try to sit up but a boot comes down on my chest. Out of the shadows of the dark covered wagon comes a crooked grin and a foul little man.

"Easy there, pretty lady. You were hard to track. Can't have you getting away again. No doubt the Banished Hero of Argo will get us some good coin." He laughs a greasy laugh.

Suddenly I roll over, the man falls to his face as his leg is taken out from under him. In a swift move, I bunch my legs to my chest then use all my effort to throw them to the ground and my torso upwards. Hoping on my bound legs  to the back I can almost see the ground falling away behind the moving cart. A club hits my stomach and I fall to the side, I almost throw up against my gag.

"Not so fast." A large man looms over me, then kicks my stomach for good measure.

The two drag me back into the back of the wagon and bind my hands to my feet, completely hobbling my movements. The two watch me from the corners of their eyes as they settle in a safe distance from me, both now armed. I resign, too tired of fighting, and try to lose consciousness, thankfully my wounds had at least scabbed over. I knew we were headed south, the temperature already rising despite the night.

I woke up in the near darkness. My entire body was sore from bumping along the cart. My head throbbed from where the men knocked me out. My armor was no doubt already sold for gold. Sweat made the dust of the stone floor cling to my skin. Why was Cadmium so hot? I try to push up off the floor but my hands were still bound by the rough ropes behind my back. They must have rebound me and put me here while I was still unconscious. I think I was taking too many blows to the head. I roll over and sit up.

"Look, boys, there's a new lady in the pit." Comes a deep greasy voice.

"Careful, the last lady down here killed three of us." A smaller, weaselly voice.

I blink and my eyes begin to adjust to the half-light pouring in from above. It really was a pit, stone walls rose all the way up, at least ten times what a man could jump. Surprisingly it was clean for the most part. Four other men sat on the other side of the near-perfect circle. One stands and begins to walk towards me. He was a large man, scars covered his face and seemed to spread down his entire torso. At least what I could see through the tattered undershirt that he wore. Quickly I tuck my knees to my chest and roll backward, in the same motion, I bring my arms underneath me. I spring to my feet with my arms now in front of me. The man laughs.

"Oh, she's got some moves. Let's see how well she plays." The shock of she being used pierced into me and reminded me of everything I had lost.

The man pulls a knife from the waistband of the nearly ruined paints. It glints in the faint moonlight. I crouch slightly to be ready. Take down the biggest and the rest would fall in line, a lesson I had to learn early growing up among soldiers. He charged at me and I let him. The fight was quick, he went for my head and I ducked, ramming both my fists into his charging torso. It knocked the wind from him and he staggered backward. Unfortunately, he still held on to the knife. As his one arm pinwheeled to balance himself, I grabbed the wrist of his knife hand and twisted. The move was awkward with my hands still bound but it wrenched his shoulder and caused the scarred man to twist with it.

I jump and manage to wrap my legs around his neck, using his own arm to balance myself. With the extra weight, the man falls backward, my own back hits the ground hard but the knife is still in control. My tightening legs caught off his air. While he struggles to breathe I run the ropes binding my hands against the sharp blade. They part with little effort and I take the blade from him with even less. Once freed, I roll backward and spring to my feet. Before the man can stand I am back on his chest, knife pressed under his chin. I press just hard enough to see a small drop of blood run against the steel.

"Can we be done now. I have had a hard few days. Or would someone else like to try?" I direct the last part to the other men who had half risen. They seemed to think better and sit back down.

"Now where am I?" I question the man under me.

"The Pit." I roll my eyes.

"Obviously. But where is that?"

"The heart of Cadmium. Daxam, the capital city." My blood runs cold. I was deep in enemy territory.

"What is the purpose of the Pit?" I ask, still keeping the knife firmly to the man's throat.

"To contain the most dangerous fighters, well those who are not willingly participating."

"Fighters? For what?"

"The fighting pits. Damn, are you thick? Do you know nothing?"

"I am Kryptonian. We have no such thing as this." The man actually rolls his eyes with a knife to his throat.

"Well then know this, you fight to survive. They will come for us in the morning. Get ready for the rest of your hellish life. The last girl didn't come back after her first week. Can I have my knife back?"

"No, I think I'll keep it. After all, you were irresponsible enough to lose it."

The night is long. In the morning, food rains down on us. Partially rotten fruit, stale bread, and several water skins. Quickly I scoop up my own skin, an apple in good condition and a loaf. I brandish the knife to keep the others back. The men quarrel over what little is left before settling down. I tuck the knife in my boot and pull the pant leg over the hilt. Luckily my captors let me keep that much. The light shift rubs against the still healing scars on my back, the lashes had cut deep but at least I was able to keep my life. The pain brings Lena's face to my mind's eye, the hurt and betrayal written all over it. She may not have given the order, but she did not stop it. Still, my heart yearned to return to her side and protect her.

Before the sun is too high in the sky, shadows appear over the hole. I look up to find the opening ringed with archers, bows drawn taught. A rope ladder is lowered over the edge, the men line up at it and begin to climb one at a time. I get in line last, right behind the scared man.

"What is happening?" I ask him.

"The fighting pits are opening soon. We go or get used as a quiver." He nods to all the arrows knocked on bow strings.

"Whats your name?" I ask him, suddenly feeling a need to have someone know mine in case I don't make it back.

"Benjamin  Krull." We step forward, clearly only allowed to climb when the person ahead reaches the top.

"Ka...Kara." I almost said Kal, but I won't be needing his name anymore.

"How did you get here?" I asked.

"I tried to assassinate the Prince when his armies burned my village, my wife and I were trapped inside, somehow I lived and she died."

"Oh, I am sorry. My parents died in much the same way, but no one knows whose side it was. We lived in a border village." Benjamin grunts.

"How did you get here?" He asks after a few minutes. I almost laugh.

"That is a longer story. Let's just say I lied to the crown, was lashed, banished, captured, then sold." He actually turns to me and raises what I would assume is an eyebrow but it was long since gone, replaced by scars.

"Damn. Well, you might just survive this then."

And I did. The fighting rings were loud as people jeered and hawked and cheered. Men and women alike placed bets on the winners of each fight. Most of the fighters were there willingly. They got a little bit of profit and food and beds to sleep in at the end of the day. Prisoners did not. From what I could tell, each ring was separate, linked only by underground tunnels where armed guards shuffled us through. Each fight left me bruised and battered. At some point, the wounds on my back reopened. Thankfully I was allowed to have that bandaged.

According to Benjamin, they did not want me to get an infection and die. Prisoners were their most profitable income in the fights. That's why every day while we fought they cleaned out the pit and made sure our wounds were taken care of, well the major ones that did not actually kill us. At the end of the day, we were herded back to the hole in the ground where they kept us. I collapsed and dug up the water skin a had buried this morning, finishing it after a long draft. I push my back against the cool stone of the walls and sleep on my side.

Sometime during the night, I hear soft footsteps that bring my mind to conciseness. A hand is placed by my side and another gently lifts my pant leg. I move like a snake, pulling the knife from my sleeve and jamming it into the hand next to me, pinning it to the ground. My other hand quickly covers the mouth of the man leaning over me to muffle his scream. It is still loud but hopefully won't draw the attention of the guards most likely standing above us.

"Did you think me so foolish not to keep the knife at the ready?" I ask Benjamin. He makes a sound that is neither a yes or a no. Slowly I pull the knife from his hand. Blood flows out of the hole as he cradles it to his chest.

"I have killed more men then I can count, all of them much larger than you. Do not test me again." Benjamin retreats to the other side of the hole, cursing the entire way.

The next morning brought the same routine, food rained down, several small scuffles from the men, then the ladder. I was the last to climb. When I get to the top, the archers had already departed. I stand alone in a walled off courtyard with an armed guard. Something glints in his eye and immediately I am on edge. my fight or flight instincts battle each other while I stand motionless.

"Now what I want to know is how such a pretty girl ended up in such a dirty, dirty place." The man saunters toward me. He is much bigger than I originally thought. My eyes are level with his plain chest plate and he is probably as wide as two of me. This was a man who got what he wanted by sheer force. He lifts a hand and draws a finger down my jawline, instinctively I turn away.

"I could help get you out of here, my beautiful girl. I just need a small favor." He steps even closer. I can feel his manhood pressed against my stomach, already hardening. I swallow.

"Actually I rather like it here. Free food and water, I put those men in their place, and I get to hear crowds calling my name."

"Oh, I can get you all the food you would like, a bed to sleep in, and I could be calling your name." He leans down and whispers in my ear. My flesh prickles at the implications. My hands reach up and grab the top edge of his mail, right at the neck.

"How about.." I trail off as he looks into my eyes.

Suddenly I jerk him forward as I bring my head towards him. The man's nose collides with the top of my head and then I push him staggering back. Blood rushes out of the now clearly broken nose.

"Bitch!" He yells and draws his sword. I draw my own dagger, not that it would be much help. He charges toward me with a wild swing.

Suddenly the man lays sprawled at my feet, I look up at the figure that was standing again, having just tripped the man in his mad charge. Whoever they are, they are shrouded in all black. They walk over and give the man a kick to the head, knocking the dazed man unconscious.

"Thank you... whoever you are," I say to the hooded figure.

"Come with me." says a distinctly feminine voice.

"Who are you?" I ask still unsure even though the women just saved me. She turns back and lowers the hood. Dark red hair is cut short, perfectly framing the sharp features.

"Alexandria Danvers. But you can call me Alex." She disappears in a shadowed doorway, forcing me to follow if I want more answers.

[codykkge024]

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[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #164: To Fall By Treachery!

October, 1977

Oh hey look!

Whirlwind, Living Laser, and Power Man Not That One! Apparently the theme of this iteration of the Lethal Legion is The Worst.

Then again, the previous version was run by Grim Reaper. So maybe every version of the Lethal Legion is just terrible.

What even qualifies these guys to be the Lethal Legion? Sure, two of them were in the previous incarnation but I don’t think Grim Reaper okayed any franchising. The man is very particular about intellectual property.

Not much to say about the cover. A cool enough battle scene with the Lethal Legion kicking the Avengers’ collective asses. Except for the POV person.

Maybe the Avengers would be doing better if Hank Pym had stayed Ant-Man. Because lets be honest: Ant-Man? Kicks ass. Yellowjacket? Largely ineffectual.

Anyway, lets begin.

WITH FANSERVICE.

He’s single, ladies and gentlemen.

Anyway again, with a filler the previous issue, the Avengers have finally gotten some quiet days to relax, heal, and clean up from the previous several catastrophes.

Now the Avengers can finally look into what is even the deal with Wonder Man. He was raised as a zombie due to the Grim Reaper’s scheming but regained his own memories somehow. During the Grim Reaper’s attack, Wonder Man revealed that he wasn’t quiet human anymore, with eyes that crackled with energy. Ultron’s encephalo-ray had only a temporary effect on him due to this.

So whats the deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal??

Well. He’s become a creature of living energy. His cells are like miniature fusion reactors more than living tissue. Even though his body seems to simulate normal life-signs and functions, he has a totally unique physiology (for now).

He probably wasn’t even dead those years he was dead! Confusing, I know. But perhaps it would be better to say that he was dormant and... metamorphosing. Like a beautiful ionic butterfly.

These answers come from a scientific huddle between Tony Stark, Beast, Black Panther, Yellowjacket, and Alice the lady biochemist.

Her last name is apparently Nugent and she becomes Doctor Spectrum at some point. The things one learns when one just wants to know if a character has a last name.

Anyway, Beast was part of this scientific mosh-pit but he cuts out early, feeling superfluous. Why would Tony Stark even call in a lady bio-chemist? Doesn’t he know that Beast worked in a bio-lab and also is currently insecure about his usefulness to the team?

Doesn’t help that because Beast was too busy making jokes, Black Panther got to all the best exposition before he could.

So basically Beast is feeling underappreciated and useless.

This kind of goes back a ways. Not only has Beast felt useless on the team due to being knocked out or kidnapped or whatever so many times, he also feels like everyone is judging him by his cover and forgetting what he can do. Told to carry heavy things. Yelled at for joking. Disregarded when actual science stuff happens.

Things have gotten so bad he actually misses Patsy, where before he seemed to resent her presence.

I miss Patsy too.

Anyway, can anything break Beast out of this funk? Maybe a dozen hot dogs with mustard.

Except no. The cart guy runs when he sees a blue gorilla man in a trenchcoat very politely attempting to engage in commerce.

WILL NOTHING BREAK BEAST OUT OF HIS- wait what’s happening.

A mob of women has spontaneously manifested to fangirl over Beast. Just clamoring and trying to touch his fur and he has the biggest shit eating grin.

I guess these girls don’t hate and fear mutants. Although its my theory that the Marvel universe is just full of furries because Tigra faced a very similar response in issue #215 when she was on the Avengers roster.

People in the Marvel U just love people with a full-body fur coat.

And are rudely handsy and slut shamey. For shame, the Marvel public.

ANYWAY. Believe it or not, Beast getting his esteem back via effusive female appreciation actually ties into the plot.

A mysterious monocle man with an N ring drives by the growing crowd and hopes that Beast doesn’t recognize him. OH IF ONLY HE DIDN’T HAVE TO DRIVE HIMSELF LIKE SOME KIND OF PROLE.

But, yeah, no, Galactus could run by and Beast wouldn’t notice it right now. You’re good, monocle guy. Well, not morally. You know what I mean.

Monocle man heads to the docks to meet up with... POWER MAN (no not that one).

But the original. The cheap knockoff version of Wonder Man. Eric Josten. He who did a crime and destroyed the Avengers just because he was smitten with Enchantress. And then quit crime because she abandoned him. And then recrimed because Black Widow told him to. And also was in the first Lethal Legion even though there were no morally dubious ladies to tell him to. That Power Man.

Wanna know something hilarious? Between then and now, Luke Cage beat the shit out of Josten for possession of the Power Man name. And Luke Cage doesn’t even really like the name. Perhaps beating up Eric Josten was reward enough.

Eric Josten doesn’t like being reminded that he lost his own, uninspired name and hucks a crate weighing tons at Mysterious Monocle Man, or Count Nefaria for short.

Count Nefaria would be dead and this story would be a lot shorter had he not been smart enough to hide behind a hologram.

He offers to increase Josten’s power should he agree to be in his employ and dang but Josten is impressed by this dude not getting crushed by a crate. He’s in.

Count Nefaria sets him his first task: breaking two others out of prison. We can guess who because they are on the cover.

SEVERAL DAYS LATER, the Whizzer is relevant to this book again.

He’s listening to the news, as old people are wont to do, and not being retired very well. For example, he reads about a prison break and wonders if the Avengers will need help corralling the escapees. And hears about a bank robbery that the police are helpless to stop and immediately springs into action, getting into costume and racing towards the door.

And nearly kills Scarlet Witch.

She was coming to visit his old man self because at this point, he’s still her dad. And to avoid running over her, he slams himself into a wall. ... I know people prefer Magneto as the twins’ dad but are we absolutely sure that this man isn’t Quicksilver’s dad?

Anyway, Wanda starts yelling at him for almost dying again. Whats he doing risking having another heart attack and going out to fight bank robbers? You’re retired, the Whizzer! Tony Stark gave you a nice, undisclosed job and you have a nice home and at least one child who visits! Relax and enjoy your retirement!

And then she steals the bank robbery all for herself.

Also, we finally get the retcon for that time Scarlet Witch flew with Wanda wishing she still had that experimental flying belt she was testing for Stark. Everyone get that? EXPERIMENTAL FLYING BELT. But it didn’t work so we’ll never see it again.

Plot hole filled.

At the bank robbery, the obvious suspects are bank robbering. Living Laser, Whirlwind, and Villain Formerly Known As Power Man. But they are bank robbering on Count Nefaria’s orders.

Hmm... why would a richie rich hire supervillains to rob a bank? Or drive his own car?

But no time to wonder about that. This is an Avengers book so lets see some Avengers. Lets see some Avengers entering the scene by smacking Living Laser in the face with a shield.

Because if there’s one constant its that Living Laser definitely deserves to get hit in the face with a shield.

Although. I’m not sure whats wrong with Hank Pym here. He’s all standing not shrunk but telling Cap he’ll totally shrink on command but why wouldn’t he already be shrunk? Wasp is already shrunk. She knows where its at.

So this is a fight.

Power Man charges forward and WHAM!s Cap before he can get his shield back.

Weirdly, Cap doesn’t recognize him. Despite Power Man embarrassing the kooky quartet and being the impetus behind Cap rage-quitting the team like a Hawkeye.

... So maybe that’s why he doesn’t recognize him. On purpose.

Apparently Hank did finish those power-ups to his and Jan’s powerset he promised to do before he got amnesia because he and Wasp are faster than ever.

Nearby, Black Panther squares up against Whirlwind because... ...? I guess he probably has the best reflexes on the team. Or maybe they have a grudge match because of that one time they fought in a garage.

Anyway, Whirlwind puts the spin cycle on Black Panther.

Geez. Its like when a cat grabs the pull cord for a ceiling fan.

Cap breaks off to catch him which loses the Avengers the advantage since Living Laser is able to recover.

Remember, he once took over a South American country. He was a big deal in his intro issues and a significantly less of a big deal anytime else.

Free of distractions and standing in front of the Perez store, Living Laser prepares to atomize both Cap and the Panther when suddenly Scarlet Witch enters the fight and is MVP again.

I’m digging that she’s consistently so competent recently.

She causes a water main to break, geysering Living Laser up into the air, and causing thousands in property damage that Tony Stark will probably have to pay for.

Huh. Its not clear whether this is her upgraded control of nature powerset or the probability manipulation one. It could go either way.

With Scarlet Witch evening and perhaps bamboozling the odds, Power Man convinces the other two that its time to go. Living Laser melts the street into tar to slow the Avengers’ pursuit.

So the Avengers don’t even bother. Cap decides its too risky for Yellowjacket and Wasp to pursue alone. There will be another chance to get those goofs.

In the meantime, he reflects that the team has been falling short of its rep lately. A subject which he has a lot of bitter, unspoken words about.

Meanwhile, in a secret laboratory, Nefaria has wind blowing his cape indoors. Perhaps small vents set near the floor.

Anyway, there are some scientists. And they are working on something called Project N because of course Count Nefaria would have a Project N.

These scientists were in Nefaria’s employ when last he showed up and tried to blackmail the world with a Doomsmith Command System because the obvious step up from weirdly squeamish Not-Mafia leader was Obvious Bond Villain.

He was stopped by the X-Men but Thunderbird died stupidly and pointlessly, punching a jet to death.

The scientists quit when Nefaria couldn’t pay them, having gone bankrupt on his Obvious Bond Villain scheme but now he has bank robbery money to get them their back pay so they’ll finish the project for him.

One of the scientists even helped design the machine Zemo used to create Wonder Man and later Power Man.

And speaking of Power Man, those three idiots Nefaria duped into working for him are the ideal subjects for the project.

DUN DUN DUN?

Oh and once the Lethal Legion has exhausted their usefulness and Nefaria has sent them off to their doom, he will enjoy “dismissing” the scientists. A phrasing that none of them decide is at all ominous nor do they draw a connection between themselves and the other lackies that Nefaria just said he was going to get rid of.

I mean, look at this. Look at how the lettering changes for that line. He is definitely going to kill them and is only being slightly subtle about it.

Whats that thing about the difference between Intelligence and Wisdom as DnD concepts again?

Meanwhile upstairs, the Lethal Legion squabble. Because most villains dislike each other. I think its a matter of big personalities.

For example, Living Laser is complaining that bank robbing is beneath him. And fair enough. His MO tends to lean more towards pointless destruction and coups. Whirlwind doesn’t like to work for anyone else. Plus, this mansion is dusty and there are no servants so Whirldwind correctly deduces that Nefaria has gone broke and is using the three of them to steal him some quick, easy cash.

But Power Man believes that Nefaria is going to boost their powers and doesn’t think the other two should be so high and mighty when he had to break them out of jail.

Before this verbal spat can escalate, Nefaria calls them down to the lab to totally increase their powers swearsies.

The next day, the Avengers sit around and gossip.

Even though Iron Man is the Avengers Chairman he’s been awfully absent lately. Sure, his employer (how did anyone ever fall for this?) Tony Stark has been having troubles but that’s no excuse! The Avengers need their leader in this trying time!

And Captain America intends to discuss that very subject! Once they have quorum. DEMOCRACY!

Beast finally shows up and brings them up to quorum. He’s been missing for two days but hey, bright side, he’s in a lot better mood.

Captain America: “Beast! Where have you been for the past two days?”

Beast: “Well... I promised Barb, Sue, Melanie and Paty I wouldn’t tell -- but it was a gas!”

Has Beast just come back from an orgy? He’s gone for two days, in the company of several women who presumably were the ones who were groping him on the street, and he smugly insinuates that he’s not going to kiss and tell.

(Fun? Fact: Paty is a reference to Paty Greer, a Marvel artist and Head of Production. That’s, uh, an interesting way to cameo a coworker.)

I can’t believe that this is where Beast’s insecurity plotline was heading. Or rather, I could because I’ve read these issues before, but if I hadn’t I can’t believe that this is where Beast’s insecurity plotline was heading.

I’m not even mad.

Oh anyway suddenly a car is thrown in through the window.

The Lethal Legion have returned for a rematch.

Cap tells the Avengers to hang back until they can be sure that the injured Wasp is okay then they can attack as a group. TEAM WORK, y’know?

But Power Man inadvertently activates Wonder Man’s McFly button by calling the Avengers cowards for not immediately leaping at people who threw a car at them.

I mean, he couldn’t have known that Wonder Man has been dealing with a fear of death, not eased by learning he didn’t even actually die the first time.

Actually, that’s what has Wonder Man so nettled in this particular instance. Power Man went through the same process he did but he didn’t pay the same price Wonder Man did. He didn’t die. He didn’t become some inhuman (but not Inhuman) thing. So fuck you Power Man, you can’t be as strong as Wonder Man because you haven’t earned-

WHUMP!

Yeah. Wonder Man that wasn’t the most brilliant move right there.

Of course, one setback and Wonder Man’s confidence shatters and he’s hesitating in battle again. Of course freezing up in the midst of three supervillains is REALLY ILL-ADVISED.

So despite Cap’s tactical plan going to blork he figures heck with it, charge anyway.

And having draped an unconscious Wasp over his arm and declared that medically there’s nothing more he can do for her, Yellowjacket leaves her and joins in. Also, calls dibs on Power Man. Because that’s how superheroics work.

Usually superheroes also stop crimes instead of waiting for people to attack them at home but the Avengers flipped the script.

Beast leaps at Whirlwind and clings to his back. And manages to hold on despite the spin cycle! Good job Beast!

But then Power Man just peels him right off Whirlwind and punches him into the horizon. If this comic weren’t a coward, he would have made the Team Rocket twinkle.

At least now he’ll be air dried after running through the wash.

Power Man then goes looking to finish off Wonder Man. Professional rivalry or some such? But Yellowjacket intercepts him because he’s got Dibs. And he also enhanced his supersuit by integrating his disruptor gun into the suit powered by his shoulder wing vibrations.

See, now the giant shoulder wings aren’t completely pointless!

Actually, I think he uses them to fly? But I like to think it was mostly ornamentation. Like some nice rims on your car? Because the Yellowjacket suit was originally designed when Hank was going through a chemical induced disassociative middle life crisis episode?

But So Last Season strikes so soon and while Yellowjacket’s disruptor blast hurts Power Man when he thought nothing could hurt him, it isn’t enough to stop him.

It is enough to make him really peeved so now Yellowjacket goes crush, okay? And next, Luke Cage!

And then Power Man’s muscles go all rubbery and he falls over with the slab he was hoisting falling on top of him.

Wonder Man is a bit bummed. He should have been able to take him out from the start. What kind of hero was he that he couldn’t beat up everything forever the first try?

The Avengers really need a therapist on staff. I think being able to talk to someone about these things would help instead of just bottling it up. Or Wonder Man can do what Beast did to improve his esteem.

Anyway, Living Laser and Whirlwind also find themselves with superpower performance problems and Black Panther and Scarlet Witch take them out easily.

Black Panther is not afraid of flipping off a gift horse though and claims that he totally could have beaten Living Laser either way. I mean, probably. That’s his function as a hero in these books. To win, either way, eventually.

And more of Scarlet Witch’s power confusion. I don’t think hurling a bench at someone is really tapping into natural power but also what probability are you altering so a bench just launches itself across a street?

Seconds later, Beast shows up. That is an amazing rate of speed. He was tossed into the horizon! He really booked!

Anyway, despite what Black Panther said earlier, now he’s saying they were cheated of their victory against the Lethal Legion. The Lethal Legion were someone’s dupe and sent them here to be defeated. And beating up villains gift-wrapped for you doesn’t count as a win in Black Panther’s book, no sir.

Perhaps things change later but this kind of cements these thing villains as goofuses. Power Man was already there, having lost his name to Luke Cage. Living Laser was pretty much there too. Despite stealing the Serpent Crown, his second big outing against the Avengers left him an afterthought to his stolen superpowered tyke bomb. And Whirlwind got shot in the nipple once by Yellowjacket. So, okay, maybe they were always goofuses. But this cemented it by making them patsies too.

Oh and the Avengers don’t have to wait long for the other shoe to drop as a giant shock wave makes a sine wave out of the street, tossing the Avengers hither and yon.

BU-THOOM!

The non-secret mastermind of this whole thing shows his face. Again. To the Avengers. We’ve seen him before in this issue and they’ve seen him before a LOOOOOOOONG time ago, back when he believed in the silliest of plans and not personally murdering people.

And like an RPG boss or a pokemon, Nefaria has evolved into a stronger form: EVIL SUPERMAN.

I mean, we’ll get into it more later but basically evil Superman. One of Marvel’s many.

I like his cape askew. Its distinctive but also ludicrously pretentious. That and the giant N on the belt makes this pretty peak Nefaria.

Oh and he’s totally going to kill the Avengers. Yeah. He no longer has qualms about dirtying his hands. With murder blood.

I’ll have further Nefaria thoughts at the end of this story.

Next time: EVIL SUPERMAN