#And by god am I trying to parse it all out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lakesbian · 1 year ago

Note

i have had like 10 friends rec worm to me but nobody’s given me a good like, gist of its vibe and what its abt because ‘its best blind’, could u please give a like brief summary and vibe check of it 😭 it’s so long i dont wanna try and invest that much time without knowing much abt it

so, worm is a 1.7 million word long webserial written in 2010. 1.7 million words seems like a lot, but it was also written over a relatively short period of time, which means the writing style is very easy to parse--the ideas aren't without complexity, but the language itself isn't intimidatingly dense. you can get through it at a very decent pace. i agree with your friends that there are vast portions of worm that hit best when you're unspoiled, but the thing is that worm is long enough that giving you the basic plot pitch is in no way spoilers for any of the things that i wouldn't want to see spoiled for someone. i'm actually kind of baffled they're not telling you Any Thing, because it is in my estimation one of the best books i've ever read, but it also Needs a briefing before you get into it for like five different reasons. which i will now provide. i swear to god this is brief by my standards it's just that i am very thorough

worm is a story about superheroes and supervillains, set in a world where superpowers are traumagenic--rather than appearing randomly or innately, some people gain powers after a traumatizing event happens to them. the protagonist is taylor hebert, a 15yo girl who has the power to control insects and desperately wants to be a superhero. and then accidentally finds herself scouted by a team of teenage villains instead. who's to say how she's going to react to all that!

one of the most compelling things about worm is that the superpowers in it serve as visceral, hyper-literal metaphors for the trauma and traumatized coping mechanisms of the characters with those powers. each power is incredibly specific and thematically relevant to the person who has it, and it's incredibly interesting and evocative. it feels so natural and well-done that it comes off like how superpowers are just meant to be written.

the fact that superpowers stem from trauma also means that worm is fundamentally a narrative about trauma. specifically, about traumatized teenagers and the relationships they form as they cling together while struggling through growing up traumatized & mutually coping with an increasingly intriguing, intense, and far-reaching escalating plot. worm's depictions of trauma + mental illness--including unpalatable trauma responses, including traumatized characters who are allowed to be complicated and nuanced and messy while still receiving narrative respect--are deeply real-feeling and impactful, and they're placed in the context of a well-spun + engaging story.

i really do have to stress how excellent the character writing is. worm is fully deserving of being as long as it is. over the course of 1.7 million words of character development, the average reader's reaction to the main characters goes from "sorta interesting" to "okay, i want to see where this goes" to "augh...really likable" to "i am now on hands and knees crying and these characters are going to stick around in my brain forever." wildbow has incredible talent for efficiently conveying complicated, real-feeling, and viscerally evocative characterization. many of the interlude chapters (chapters written from the perspective of different characters other than taylor) are so interesting, fleshed-out, and emotionally affecting that they make you wish you could read an entire novel about just the side character being featured. with that level of characterization for just the side cast, it's not surprising that taylor (& co) are genuinely just downright iconic. and i do not say that lightly--taylor is truly one of the best-written protagonists i've seen in anything. ever.

the other main pitch-point for worm is that it's a fascinating deconstruction/reconstruction/examination of the conceits of the superhero genre. it answers the question of--what would the world have to be like, for people with superpowers to act the way they do in classic cape media? and it does this well enough that it's interesting even if you have only a passing familiarity with cape media. i am not a big superhero media fan, but worm addresses virtually every aspect of cape media that was under the sun around 2010 in a way that's so interesting i still find it incredibly engaging. the approach it takes makes the narrative very accessible even to people who aren't usually cape media fans.

and speaking of the narrative: the end of the story is coherent and satisfying and deeply thematically resonant*. the way worm follows through on all of its main mysteries & plot threads is excellent. you don't have to worry about getting thru 1.7 million words and being dissatisfied by the author shitting the bed at the end, or anything like that. he does an amazing job of weaving together plot events in a way that makes each successive one feel rationally, thematically, and emotionally connected to what came before. there's really only one part where i feel the story stumbles a bit, but i think it was the best option he had for the narrative, and it's by no means a dealbreaker. it's in fact really impressive how cohesive and satisfying worm is for such a long webserial released over such a brief period of time.

*this is subjective ive seen some people who didnt love it but ive never seen anyone who downright Hated it who didnt also demonstrate egregious misunderstanding of literally everything worm is about. so thats a good sign

as for the downsides of worm/things that might put you off:

there is a very long list of trigger warnings for it. if you have any trigger warnings you want you should ask your friends to let you know about the relevant parts, because the fact that it's About Trauma (& about typical cape media circumstances presented very seriously) means that traumatic and violent things & their realistic aftermath are constantly happening and/or being discussed. i would not classify worm as needlessly dark or spiteful to the audience by any means, but it is intense and covers a lot of heavy topics. i do assume if your friends are all recommending it to you, they think none of the material would be too much for you, though!

worm was written in 2010 by a white cishet guy from canada. it's typical levels of 2010-era bigoted, it has a deeply lesbophobic stereotype character, it has some atrociously racist stereotype characters, the author really hates addicts, It's Got Blind Spots. i think worm is generally fully worth reading despite these, but very fair warning that it can get bad. i think what exacerbates this is that worm is generally extremely nuanced & sympathetic regarding ideas such as "crime is a result of systematic circumstance vs people just being inherently evil" and "mentally ill people who are traumatized in unpalatable ways are still deserving of fundamental respect as human beings" and so on and so forth, so it's extra noticeable and insufferable when you get to a topic the author has unexamined biases on and all that nuance drops out. the worst part is that a lot of this is most concentrated in the early arcs, so you have to get through them without being super attached to any of the characters yet. it is worth it though.

worm like. Does have a central straight relationship in it. and it's a very well written straight relationship for the most part and i like it quite a lot. but worm also passes the bechdel test with such flying colors that it enters 'unintentionally homoerotic' territory. which means a lot of people were shipping the main character ms taylor hebert with her female friends while the story was being released. which caused the author to get so mad he 1. posted a word of god to a forum loudly insisting that all of the girls are straight and 2. inserted a few deeply awkward and obvious and out of character scenes where he finds an excuse for the girls to more or less turn to the camera and go "i'm not gay, btw. this is platonic." This is fucking insufferable, and will piss you off immensely, but then you will get to any of the number of deeply emotionally affecting scenes between them, and at that point you will be too busy sniffling piteously and perhaps crytyping an analysis post on tumblr to be mad about all that other shit. also they're only a couple tiny portions out of an entire overall fantastic novel

overall: if those points don't sound like dealbreakers (i hope they aren't they're really massively outstripped by the amount of devastatingly good moments in worm, worm still has a thriving fandom over a decade later for a reason), you should absolutely give it a shot and see what you think. my final note is that you have to read up until the end of arc 8 to really see where what makes worm Worm kicks in, so aim for at least there to see how you feel about it if you're just thinking about dipping your toes in vs fully committing. i hope that was helpful and not too long :)

oh and don't go in the comments section on wordpress if you don't want spoilers. or anywhere else in the fandom at all. you will be spoiled. quite possibly for things you could not even have imagined were topics to be spoiled on.

#ask #wormblr #parahumans #ill tag it to save it so i can reference later. and maybe other people will find it helpful

356 notes · View notes

comfortless · 1 year ago

Note

God könig and his only worshipper who doesn't try to get him more followers cause she wants all of his attention on her

another strange vaguely Greek/Roman au?! ^^ (also to your other message: no worries!! being too nice would make me lazy!) this prompt is like a reversal of this and i am here for it!

content/warnings: suggestive, König may or may not have killed some guy no big deal..!

It isn’t as if he bestows great blessings upon you or grants your deepest, most guarded wishes…

It’s just that he’s lovely in all forms: the very apex of some marbelesque, masculine statue made flesh. Warm to the touch and so very real and alive that it was difficult to focus on worshiping him proper when your very being sang for him.

He’s probably only some great god of war, Ares, but without the long list of lovers and offspring - only you. There was nothing that he could do to benefit you much, just a humble citizen that had no need of taking up a weapon…

Yet he was so heart achingly beautiful with the docile look in his eyes, the contrast to his stature that bore the look of a proper hunter, you could not keep yourself from returning to him.

All of the other men in the city pale in comparison to the god you pray to, nestled up in the foothills where you make your trek day by day to speak… knowing that nightly he comes to you in dreams with little glimpses of futures or pasts: the things you can not comprehend yet those in Olympus could parse together with such ease.

As his only worshiper, you are never apart for long.

He descends that mountain each time to meet with you in green meadows with the gentlest look in his eyes.

He has no temple in which to pray to… but, you’ve made a temple of your own within yourself all for him. He knows it, knows well when you pray at your feet and he sheepishly orders you to stop that, stand, face him, and he would lend you his mighty weapon any day if you would just ask for him to use it.

Your god deserves and army of men to fight and scramble for his favor, a harem of women to tend to his needs… but the thought alone is enough to leave bitterness on your tongue.

You don’t want to share him, only savor the honeyed words and touches between the two of you, never muddy what is sacred with another’s prayers or offerings.

… Are yours not already enough?

You only find out that they most certainly are the day a suitor begins his arrogant courtship and… within that very hour he is no longer. A stray spear from the pit pierced right through him…? What a strange way to go out. You don’t even think to question it until you find yourself meandering through soft grass for your meeting with König.

He’s a warrior, too, he should know the intricacies of how a weapon that heavy might rise up on the wind just to strike some poor, silly man down before he could even take your hand and lie with you.

You tell him of this odd occurrence whilst you whittle away at a tiny carving of him with a paring knife, König sat just adjacent to you.

First, he tells you that a blade meant for herbs and vegetables is no good for wood. The dull blade is pried from your hands with ease and tossed aside into the foliage surrounding you both. No need for little idols when your god willingly comes down to grace you, anyhow…

Then, he tells you that… it isn’t fair for you to have eyes for any other. Is his presence not enough? Is he not stronger and more capable than any of your puny, mortal men? He could protect you, haul you up to Olympus and make you his bride, give you as many children as you want… Wouldn’t you like that more?

Your stare is so telling, hands shaking as you set the unfinished figure aside, and the words do not come, not when the look he gives you goes from adoring and sweet to near deadly in an instant. It’s the first time he’s offered to bless you with anything but bloodshed in your favor… a peculiar promise of love in return for your selfishness and gifts of milk and honey…

“I do not think I am worthy of that…” The words come tumbling, clumsy and weighty on your tongue. Could he detect the yearning there..? Surely he knew with the way he invaded your dreaming, and even now as his hand finds your shoulder to push you back down into the soft bed of the earth.

“You wish to make yourself worthy, little one..?”

You only nod, once, as your heart finds its way into your throat and your robe is torn away to flutter out with the wind.

#this is so short… apologies!#putting König in these scenarios is so fun but my well is running dry someone spare me a bucket…#^^’#they fuck or whatever do i need to type it this time.. (shaking like milk)

331 notes · View notes

dardinan-ingellvar · 5 days ago

Text

Scars and Revelations

The first night, after the gods fell, and Solas left willingly at Gale and Mythal's behest, Emmrich found himself able to truly explore Dardin'an's body for the first time. They'd shared a couple sweet, but quick couplings in the stone coffin in the Necropolis before that final fight, but they both had other things on their minds, and were more focused on the distraction and comfort of the other, so didn't really take the time to take in smaller details. But now, with no imminent threats of world-ending abominations looming overhead, they could do just that. And finally, Emmrich found the chance to ask about the strange scars on Dardin'an's body. They're heavily obscured by the paint they wear, but they're noticeably raised, so the shape is still there.

"Might I ask about your scars? The ones on your body in particular...They look like they must have come from a magic weapon, or...maybe a drake? They're clearly some kind of burns, but...they don't seem like a normal blaze...and the pattern of them...Like claw marks..." Emmrich can't help trying to parse it for himself, but it's clear he can't quite figure it out.

Dardin'an blushes as Emmrich's fingers caress each one, more trying to figure out what caused them than anything, but it is still gentle and intimate. "Yeah...I was...around fifteen? I never actually learned what happened exactly...I was in the city, just getting a few trinkets and things...Next thing I knew, there was a commotion in the market. I turned, and a rage demon had been let loose. Someone summoned it, but...no idea who. I was cocky, but I knew how to fight at least a little. I took it upon myself to try. A few other mages helped, or I'd have died for sure...I...remember it locked eyes with me, charged me....I tried to dodge, but I only remember claws and teeth in my skin I woke up a week later..."

Emmrich starts, a memory sparking in the back of his mind. "Wait...You were the child who fought a rage demon?! I was called in to heal them. It really was quite dire...I never actually heard if my efforts saved them. I actually assumed the worst when I'd gotten no updates after a few weeks. I never have forgotten the smell of burned...No...cooked flesh...and the sight...! It's one thing to see such damage on a proper adult, but on a child? I had nightmares for years...What I could have done...How I was at fault somehow..."

Dardin'an is dead silent, eyes blank for a few moments "You-...That was you? I was only told one of the professors came to my aid. I didn't really have a mind to ask which one. It didn't matter much to me at the time. I was alive, and just had to focus on learning to move again. They thought I was going to lose my right arm for a little while...But obviously, it's fine now..."

Emmrich winces "I'm glad you made it through...To think...It was you all this time..."

Dardin'an laughs "In all fairness, I was very early in my transition then...and I hadn't gotten much of my vitiligo. In fact...I think most of it was clawed and burned at the time. So, it makes sense you didn't catch on until now."

Emmrich sighs, half relieved, half horrified. "I suppose. I'm just glad to have that closure. Even more so, knowing I didn't lose you before I could find you...And your wounds were so extensive...I am amazed they healed so well! And they do suit you..."

Dardin'an eyes him "...I sense a 'but' coming..."

"...But..." Emmrich says with a small smirk "It does make me wonder...what about the scars on your face? Those weren't from that attack..."

Dardin'an shakes "No, they were from less interesting fights. Training mishaps mostly. Debris or the like from magic or knife work with rogues I sparred against. None were ever serious. But I was horrible with picking at the cross scar around my right eye. It's why that one stands out so badly."

Emmrich rubs his thumb over the cross scar, particularly the main X of it, under the eye. "And here I am without a scar to speak of, even with all we faced. You've lived such a storied life...While I don't envy the pain you've suffered to earn those scars, I do envy that you have stories like that to tell. Not that my life is uninteresting...But it does feel less...romantic and intriguing than yours. Even before your temporary departure from the Mourn Watch..."

Dardin'an chuckles and brushes his fingers over Emmrich's body, tracing his tattoos and nipple piercings "I don't think you have much reason to worry about a lack of romance or intrigue, Emm...You made your own. Better that than suffering what I did. My scars tell stories, but the suffering that led to most of them isn't worth it. If not for you, I likely would be dead now. I only have scars because of you. If not for your help, I would be back in a tomb far too soon. And now, you even have adventures under your belt. You don't need scars to tell those stories."

Emmrich sighs "I suppose you're right. I just hate that you've suffered so...and I've endured so little."

Dardin'an shakes their head with a sigh. "Emm, you lost your parents...I never knew mine...True, Varric was like a father to me, but....I only knew him for a couple years. I wasn't raised by him. I'll never know what you felt. And everything you went through with Hezenkoss? And..." They look off in the distance, seeming to know more than they let on. "...I'm sure you've dealt with more...You've gone through plenty of trials and suffering. So what if it wasn't physical? Scars exist deeper than flesh. You know that. Mental and emotional wounds count too."

Emmrich opens his mouth, as if to add to his painful memories, but stops himself. "I know...Thank you. I'm not sure if it's survivor's guilt, or if I truly have just romanticized survival against the odds to a...less than favorable point...Perhaps both. But I have always found scars especially attractive. Even envied them. But hearing you put it in this perspective has helped me rethink that. You're right. I have my own scars. They're just less visible."

Dardin'an chuckles "Exactly...Now...Tell me about your tattoos..."

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age: veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard #rook #my rook #dardin'an #dardin'an ingellvar #emmrich #emmrook #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #rook x emmrich

20 notes · View notes

standfucker · 1 year ago

Text

Engravings

inspired by the following comment on my last SH fic:

Couldn't stop thinking about it, which eventually led to this.

Characters: Sanji

Reader: GN, they/them

Word Count: 6.2k

CW: Hurt/Comfort, SH, SH scars, auditory hallucinations, PTSD, mental institution-related trauma. No shipping, ace-friendly

Summary: It’s Sanji. You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

AO3 Link

"I’m listening to everything / please, tell me everything"

Nothing’s happened.

The sea is calm, the sun is shining, and the breeze is strong. All in all, a great day for sailing.

Nothing’s happened…

No recent squabbles among the crew, no surprises from sea beasts, no battles with pirates or Marines.

There’s no reason to feel the way you do. No trigger or logic to it. But you feel it anyway.

It’s like there’s an invisible filter over everything. Nothing looks different. Things sound different, though. The sounds of the waves and wind, the snapping of sailcloth and rope, the din of the crew’s voices. All of it wavers, like someone has their hand on a universal volume dial, yanking it back and forth at random. Sometimes the sounds are piercingly loud, like they’re right next to your ears, making you resist the urge to cover them. Sometimes the sounds blend into the background of everything else in a low, dull hum–so distorted that you have to focus to parse what’s being said to you.

The sound issue is your second tip-off that you’re having that kind of day. The first is the sense that the Sunny feels too small. And, crushingly, overwhelmingly, it feels like your fault. Irrational, but you can’t shake it. Really, it’s stupid: On the outside, it just looks like you’re hanging out next to your crewmates, making idle conversation. Inwardly, there’s such a deep feeling of guilt for just being there that you’re ready to throw yourself overboard.

You try to cope. You really do. You make an effort, mentally talking yourself through it.

I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to exist.

You want to cry. You want to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. It doesn’t make sense, and there’s no cause you can identify. You feel like you’re going to throw up.

No one notices. How could they? Your mask is calm smiles and practiced eye contact, formed with easy jokes and interest in what the others say. Your mask is years in the making, thick with each layer you’ve added to seal in the cracks. It’s heavy and ugly, but it keeps you safe.

I am allowed to exist.

There’s no danger. You can’t explain why your fight-or-flight response is going off. There’s something wrong with you, and no one can see it because the problem is deep in the wiring. You can’t even see it. But you can feel it, and it feels so god-awful you don’t know how to endure it.

You feel yourself shaking from head to toe, so much so that it’s hard to keep your balance. But when you look down, your body is completely still. The noise around you blends together and buzzes like static, harsh on your ears. Then it gets louder.

I am allowed to exist.

You want to crawl in a hole and hide.

I am…

You excuse yourself–casually, collectedly–and head for the ship’s interior. You know what you’re going to do before you even start moving, like the decision’s already been made for you. A certainty that settles in your system, something to hold onto. The background noise grows even louder.

You stumble into the bathroom. As soon as you shut the door, all sound cuts out.

You can’t hear anything. Not even the sea, nor the creaking wood of the ship. The room shifts, draws away from you until you have tunnel vision. Your vision warps, then focuses on the cabinet above the sink until you can see nothing else. Just like before.

It’s been a few weeks since the last time.

The background noise slowly picks up, but it’s distant, like you’re hearing it coming from a different ship. You reach for the cabinet.

What are you doing?

You open the cabinet. It’s organized so each crewmate’s stuff is clustered together, with the common items at the bottom. Your gaze passes over your deodorant, your nail clippers, your toothbrush, and settles on your straight razor.

Aren’t you too old for this?

You take your razor. From the common items, you take a bottle of alcohol. You fold up some tissue paper.

What would the crew think?

It’s hard to ignore the thoughts. But like any bully, they usually go away if you don’t give them energy. Usually.

The razor’s weight in your hand is comforting. It shouldn’t be, but it is. You unfold it, wipe down the blade with some alcohol. Then you lift up your sleeve and slide it over your shoulder.

This stretch of sea has been balmy. With the pleasant weather, you’ve worn a t-shirt, the short sleeves going just less than halfway down your arm. Underneath them, high up on your shoulder, are the scars. Faint and healed, a few shades lighter than your skin tone. Noticeable in the light, but that’s why you don’t participate in the group baths.

The background noise gets louder again. You think you hear shouting, faintly, but that’s normal for the crew. It barely registers over your heartbeat.

Your heart is beating harder than before, dull thumps in your chest that seem to echo. Anticipating, ready.

Everything is going to be okay.

Finally. Finally. A hurt you can make sense of. Small, controlled. Yours.

There’s supposed to be a rush, you’ve heard. You don’t feel one. But there is a difference. The tunnel vision stops, the filter lifts. The world snaps back into place, the sound goes back to normal.

That’s when you really notice the shouting, no longer muffled by brain static. Something’s off. You focus. It doesn’t sound argumentative, like Zoro and Sanji. Nor is it playful, like Luffy or Franky’s might be. It’s startled and panicky, immediately grabbing your attention and making your adrenaline surge.

A second later, you hear an echoing BOOM, followed by an ear-splitting crunching of wood. It’s a sound you recognize, one you’ve heard before–a cannonball tearing into the ship.

You’re under attack.

For just a moment, you stare at your equipment, caught off guard. Then you pull yourself together–take your feelings and compartmentalize them for later dealing with–and tear out of the bathroom, dropping the tissue in the process. Your pistols are in their case, in the sleeping quarters. You need to get to them before you can join the fight…

The enemy pirates are strong–for a New World crew. Unfortunately for them, they’re completely outclassed by Luffy alone, much less the combined strength of the Straw Hats. Still, the numbers favor the enemy, and the battle is tiring enough to be distracting. Enough so that you forgot about what you were doing before it started. It’s only an hour into helping Franky patch up the ship, when you feel your shirt sleeve catch on your scabs, that you remember.

Then you realize you left your equipment out in the bathroom.

The razor. The alcohol. The bloody tissue paper.

Panic floods your system. You drop your tools and jump up as if electrocuted, all but flying to the bathroom. Has anyone used it since the fight?

Please no, please please please be wrong.

You kick the door open. It bangs harshly against the wall.

The equipment is gone. Your stomach sinks.

No no no no no.

You open the cabinet. Everything’s been returned to its place. Your straight razor has been folded and put away, as has the alcohol. The used tissue paper is gone. Not in the trash, either. Whoever it was must have discarded it in the toilet.

No no no no no!

Who?

Who was it? You run through the possibilities in your head. Zoro? No, he wouldn’t clean up after someone else’s mess. Neither would Nami. At least, not for free. And what about the rest of the crew?

Whoever it was, would they even know what they saw? Surely they’d just think you cut yourself shaving. That was the only explanation, right? Even if the patterns on the tissue paper were distinct, the stains shaped into blurry, beaded lines–unless they had done it before, there’s no way they’d know. Right?

This time, when you shiver, it’s for real, not just a figment of your imagination. What would happen if you were found out? At best you’d be kicked out of the crew. At worst…

I’ll get locked up again.

You feel ill. Dizzy and nauseated with the prospect. You try not to spiral, try to get a grip before panic can take hold. The best you can do is to close the door behind you, sit on the floor, and take deep breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’re there–minutes, hours–but you don’t get up until someone knocks on the door.

“You almost done?” Usopp calls from the other side.

Swallowing hard, you find your voice. “Yeah. Just a sec.”

Usopp doesn’t so much as give you a second glance when you pass him. It’s not him.

You’re hypervigilant the rest of the day, scrutinizing every action, every word from your crewmates. Nothing seems different, but that only makes you more paranoid.

Nami offers you a tangerine. The simple action sets off a cascade of racing thoughts: Is she trying to make you feel better? Because she knows? Did she tell anyone? Did she tell Chopper? Luffy?

Every interaction is like that–an innocuous action that makes you flip out internally.

Franky gives you a gift: A cute little wind-up frog toy, made from scrap metal. He says it's to thank you for helping with repairs. You scan his face, but he’s only grinning proudly. Not Franky, either.

Zoro invites you to drink with him. Brook plays a song you like. Robin hands you a book she’s just finished, saying it might suit your tastes. Nothing unusual, but enough to make you second guess everything. Each time, you cling to your mask, holding it so tightly to your face that you can barely breathe.

The next day, Sanji cooks your favorite meal for dinner. That wouldn’t be too weird, except you know for a fact that your favorite involves pricy ingredients that he prefers to save. You know this because he mentioned it, years ago, when he was teaching you how to make the dish.

You and Sanji had joined the Straw Hats at the same time. Two weeks before Luffy had shown up, you had tried and failed to dine-and-dash from Baratie. Zeff forced you to work to pay it off, plus an extra week to “teach you a lesson.” That was when you got to know Sanji. Unlike the rest of the chefs, he wasn’t mad at you for what you did. He even taught you some of the basics of cooking. As the only soft presence on the floating restaurant, you grew attached, and that feeling of reliance never really left since then. You were drawn to his air of confidence and self-assuredness, but mostly to the fact that he never hid who he was, even when who he was could be straight-up idiotic at times. But you still respected that about him.

You always liked to hang out around the cook, helping him prepare meals with what you learned at Baratie. You both fought well together, having each others’ backs in battle despite your different fighting styles. It was safe to say that he was your favorite crewmate, and though you weren’t sure what he thought of you, you viewed him as your closest friend.

So you really, really don’t want it to be Sanji.

You appraise his expression, his movement, his actions. It all seems normal, on the surface. And yet, it feels off somehow, but you can’t tell if that’s just the paranoia speaking.

“How is it?” Sanji inquires.

You stare for a second. It’s not a question he usually asks–he knows it’s your favorite and he knows you think it’s amazing. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but the smile doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“Delicious, as always,” you say. Your own smile lights up your face, the way you’ve carefully practiced. “What’s the occasion?”

He pauses, rubs the back of his neck. “No reason, really. I just thought that it’s been a while since we’ve had it.”

That evening, you’re alone at the port side of the ship, leaning against the railing and looking out at the night sea. Sometimes it helps with your racing thoughts. This time, it does nothing. Nothing keeps you from fixating on the situation. You feel like you’re hanging by a thread, like at any moment you’ll get kicked off the crew, and then your whole world will unravel. And it’s entirely your fault.

The questions won’t stop repeating themselves: Who was it? Did they know?

Behind you, someone clears their throat. You whirl around a bit too quickly and steady yourself with a hand on the railing. Sanji’s standing there with his hands in his pockets. Something about his posture sets alarm bells off in your head. He’s too stiff, trying too hard to appear composed.

“Hey, Y/n,” Sanji says gently, “can I talk to you about something?”

It’s Sanji.

You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

You gape at him for a moment, then collect yourself. The mask comes back on.

“Actually, I’m pretty tired. Gonna turn in for the night. Tomorrow, okay?” you dismiss, and go to walk past him.

“Wait a second, Y/n,” he reaches to grab your wrist, but you yank it away before he can.

“Don’t!” you snap, stepping back, then quickly correct yourself. “I mean–don’t surprise me like that! We’ll talk tomorrow. I really should sleep...”

Sanji frowns, hand slowly lowering, and you make a hasty retreat.

The rest of the week is torture. You’re constantly avoiding Sanji wherever possible. He doesn’t strike up conversation when the others are around, which only makes you more certain that he knows. You ensure that you’re never alone with him, and if he does approach you by himself, you make yourself scarce. It becomes harder and harder to hide that you’re avoiding him. The crew takes notice–it’s not difficult considering you and Sanji are normally close.

Zoro’s the first to say something.

“Oi, Y/n. Did you have a fight with the cook or something?” he asks bluntly.

“No, we didn’t,” you reply.

Zoro’s eyes narrow slightly. “Well, you’re both acting weird.”

Some of the others are looking your way, now. Anxiety sours your stomach. You hold your mask steady as he continues.

“You’ve been kind of flighty lately. And he’s oddly subdued,” Zoro says, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, since he’s finally quiet for once, but it’s annoying. Would you just talk to him?”

“Uh…yeah, sure thing.”

Obviously, you don’t talk to Sanji. You keep evading him at every turn, only growing more distressed with each passing day. You know you can’t dodge the issue forever, but the moment you stop is the moment you’ll get kicked off the crew or worse, and that thought makes you want to die.

But the Sunny is only so large, and eventually, Sanji manages to corner you one night at the bow of the ship. You have your back to the figurehead, throat dry as you face him. Brook is up in the crow’s nest, keeping watch. Everyone else is asleep. It’s just you two, and you know you’ve run out of luck.

“We need to talk, Y/n,” Sanji says firmly.

Your throat goes dry. “Now?”

“Right now. No more running,” he says, taking a few steps closer. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.”

There’s no getting out of it anymore. “...Alright.” you say. Your heart pounds harder, palms growing damp.

Sanji takes a long drag off his cigarette, then stubs it out–that’s when your adrenaline really spikes, when you know you’re in for it. He looks you in the eye.

“Should you have access to firearms?”

The question hits you like a brick, stunning you into wide-eyed silence. You open your mouth, then close it, unable to respond for a second.

“...What are you talking about?” you try.

“Given how you’ve been avoiding me,” he says coolly, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m–I’m not following.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Y/n!” he snaps, and you cringe. “Of everything you’re hiding, this is the one thing I’m going to find out. I’m not asking. You’re going to tell me or I’m going to tell Chopper. So answer me, right now: Are you safe around guns?”

You can’t take another step back, but you instinctively try anyway, your heel scraping the wood of the ship. But there’s nothing you can do. The mask crumbles, years and years of desperate crafting turning to dust in an instant.

“God, Sanji,” you respond, “what am I supposed to say to that?”

“The truth,” he says.

“And if you didn’t like my answer, what would you do? Take them away from me?”

“Yes.” His tone is unyielding, his eyes hard.

Yours start to sting at the corners. “And what after that? You’ll have me–” you bite your tongue to keep the tears from forming, “–you’ll have me kicked off the crew?”

“I never said that,” he says stiffly, “you don’t get it–”

“You don’t get it!” you bite back, voice rising. You lower it before continuing, “you don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re cutting.”

You flinch. The words sting. It’s not a pleasant sting this time. You turn your head, unable to look him in the eye.

“It’s just…” Sanji says, and there’s a touch of hurt in his voice, “after everything we’ve been through, I thought you trusted me.”

“I do,” you say automatically.

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

That stings even deeper. You shake your head. “I do, Sanji, but this is different.”

“Why?”

“It’s none of your business!” you bite. Bile rises in your throat at your venom; you hate being callous.

“My friend’s hurting themselves,” Sanji replies thinly, “that makes it my business.”

“That isn’t how this works!” you argue. “You don’t get to know everything about me just because you don’t like this!”

“Don’t I?”

“No!”

“You don’t feel safe with me.”

That one’s like a punch to the gut. You can’t tell what’s worse, the words themselves or the way he’s looking at you. That one hurts the most, because it’s true.

“...No,” you say after a moment, then steel yourself. “You’re right. I don’t. I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji, please.”

“Don’t you plead now,” Sanji says, his tone hardening. “Don’t you put me in this position, Y/n.”

“I don’t have a choice, Sanji. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji!”

“Why?!”

“Because last time I trusted someone with this, I lost everything!” you blurt out. “I was institutionalized, okay?! Locked up! Is that what you wanted to know? Are you satisfied now?”

Your words echo in the silence that follows. He stares, jaw dropped slightly. You’re shaking, for real this time, and the words pour from you like a dam unblocked.

“You don’t know how humiliating it is, Sanji, to have the strings on all your clothes cut off, to be given only felt tip pens to write with, to not have doors, to have a scheduled bed time. To have all your choices taken away.” Your vision blurs as you continue. “I couldn’t do anything. It was like a prison. The other patients didn’t give a shit. The staff definitely didn’t give a shit. And all the while, they drained me of all my savings, until I didn’t have a single berri to my name. Then they kicked me to the curb. The one who reported me didn’t want to be associated with a crazy person. Neither did the rest of my friends. I was homeless. I had no one and nothing! That’s why I fled my home island, and that’s why I tried to dine and dash at Baratie.”

Sanji looks taken aback. He blinks quickly, then stares down at the deck. “What would you have me do, then?”

“This is supposed to be private!” You cover your face, fighting back tears. “You need–you need to keep your mouth shut and mind your business! I don't want anyone’s ‘support.’ You were never supposed to know.” You take a shaky breath and lower your hands. “If you really care, you’ll keep it to yourself, you’ll forget what you saw, and if you tell anyone…I won’t stick around to make the same mistake twice.”

Despite what you say, you already know it’s too late. There’s no going back, and now that he knows, it’s only a matter of time until you’re left behind. You bite your tongue to keep from crying at the thought, but you have to bite harder this time. The tears keep threatening to spill anyway, until you’re tasting iron.

Sanji is quiet. He pulls out his cigarettes and lights one, not speaking until after he takes a drag. “…Do you regret joining the crew?”

“Joining the Straw Hats was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you say honestly. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“But you aren’t happy, are you?”

“Multiply something by zero and you get zero, right?” You look away, guilt eating at you. Experience tells you that no one wants to hear this. “I’m not trying to sound dramatic. I just… I don’t work right.”

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic.”

For some reason, that, more than anything else, breaks you. The first tears slip past your defense. You say nothing, lower lip trembling.

Sanji takes another slow drag of his cig and exhales away from your direction. “I don’t know how I missed it.”

“I do,” you say. “At the hospital, they…” the words die in your throat as the memories surge forward. “They…they…” You can’t finish, but tears begin streaming down your cheeks. You shake your head. “Let’s just say, after that, I learned not to ever give anything away. Never again.”

“They did something to you.”

You barely nod. Already you feel yourself slipping into a flashback, feel the nurses holding you down and the needle jabbing into your flesh.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji says, taking a step toward you, and then another, until he can reach out and gently touch your forearm. The touch brings you back, grounding you so that you’re back in the present. But the gentle action, and Sanji’s soft expression, only makes the tears flow faster, makes your nose run. You shrug.

“It must have been scary.”

Slowly, you nod again.

“Will you answer my question, Y/n? Please?” Sanji asks. “Please, I need to know you’re safe around guns. Will you at least tell me that much?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and wipe your face. When you answer, you look him in the eye so he knows you’re telling the truth. “Yeah. I’m… Yeah.”

Sanji sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank goodness. Okay. Can I ask you something else?” At your nod, he goes on. “How long have you been feeling like this? Before the hospital, I mean.”

“...Since I was young,” you sniff. “I’ve been ‘coping’ on and off for years.”

Sanji sticks his hands in his pockets. “Okay. Can I see?”

“What?” The question catches you so off-guard that you stop crying. “I’m–I’m sorry?”

“You’re not going to show Chopper, right?” Sanji says. “So–”

“You’re not gonna tell him?” you cut him off, surprised.

“I haven't decided yet,” he admits. “I don’t want to go against your wishes, Y/n. But I don’t know the extent of the damage. Just… Just, let me see?”

“No.” You’re shocked at his audacity. What’s he thinking? Of course you can’t do that.

“I won’t judge. I swear, I just want to know you’re okay,” Sanji says.

“You can say that, but…” you rub your arm. “Be real. You’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“It won’t change how I think of you.”

“It will!” you shout, then lower your voice. “It will, forever. There’s no going back once that line is crossed and you see me for what I really am.”

He frowns. “Which is?”

“A freak!”

Neither of you say anything for a moment. Then you shake your head again. “I’m sorry, Sanji. But a guy like you–strong, handsome, confident–you wouldn’t understand.”

Sanji gets a weird look on his face, one you’ve never seen in all the years you’ve sailed with him. He looks to the side, then down, then up. His drags on his cigarette become long and harsh, finishing it in three breaths. He lights another, making a face. Then he nods to himself, like he’s decided something.

“Okay,” Sanji says. “There’s something I want you to see.”

You frown. When Sanji puts his hands on the hem of his pants, you frown deeper. He pauses.

“Um. Just trust me, okay? I promise I’m not doing anything weird–just wait a sec.”

He slides down his pants, and you have no idea what’s going through his head until his pale upper thighs are exposed. Then, finally, you understand, and you cover your mouth in shock.

Both of his upper thighs are covered in a myriad of scars. There must be over a hundred, clustered just above where shorts would hide them. Most of them are big, inches long and criss-crossed with each other. A few are keloid scars, thick and raised above the skin.

Your stare could burn a hole through his flesh. Slowly, you look up at him. Sanji has a faint blush on his face, looking sheepish.

“Guys like me can be freaks too,” he says simply.

You’re in complete disbelief. You keep looking back from the scars to his face. It’s too much to process–where would you even begin? Sanji, of everyone on the crew–Sanji’s like you? Brave, unwavering, gallant Sanji? Of everyone? When you don’t respond, he speaks again.

“See, Y/n? You’re not alone.”

Tears sting the corners of your eyes again. You find your voice. “Yours are old.”

“Yeah. I got lucky. Had someone’s support.” Sanji smiles slightly, in a way that he only does when thinking of…

“Zeff?”

“Yeah. He eventually found out.” Sanji laughs nervously. “At first he freaked out. Thought I was using kitchen knives. After he calmed down, he told me…he told me he wouldn’t abandon me over that, because what kind of parent would that make him?” His expression wavers like he’s trying not to cry.

You, on the other hand, start crying again the moment you hear the word “abandoned.” You realize that’s precisely how you felt back then.

Sanji grabs your shoulders so you look up at him. “You’re not getting kicked off of the crew.”

“...I’m not?” you ask, voice small and pathetic.

“No. I promise.” Sanji squeezes your shoulders reassuringly. “No one else needs to know. But, Y/n, I’m not going to leave you to deal with this alone. So, will you show me?”

“...You won’t tell anyone?”

“I won’t. I swear on my honor. This stays between us.” He lowers his arms.

You bite your lip, sniffing. You shut your eyes, mustering up your courage, and nod. Sanji waits patiently as you breathe slowly to steady yourself. You hesitate before peeling back your sleeve, exposing your upper arm.

He’s quiet as he inspects the damage. Unlike his old scars, yours have yet to finish healing, still in the scabbing stage. A ladder of thin, dark red lines decorate your upper arm and shoulder. You look between your cuts and his scars. Yours aren’t as deep as what Sanji had done, which you feel weirdly ashamed about.

Sanji’s hand comes up, hovering over your cuts like he’s going to touch them, but then he rests it on your forearm instead. Despite the clear evidence that he won’t judge you, you’re still self-conscious, so you break the silence.

“The scabs catch on my sleeves,” you say awkwardly.

Sanji nods. “I had to bandage my thigh so it wouldn’t bleed through while I was working. It always felt so…”

“Stupid,” you both say. Then you both smile at the unexpected camaraderie.

“What’s really stupid is how long I went thinking I was the only one,” you say, “and all this time, you…” You gesture vaguely.

“Can you do something for me?” Sanji asks. “Whatever you’re using–I’m not going to take anything from you. But in exchange, I want you to talk to me. We can talk in the galley, when it’s just us two.”

“I don’t know how to talk about it.”

How could you, after what had been done to you? After everyone you used to trust turned their backs? Knowing that Sanji understood you couldn’t fix the mental scars left behind by others. You could try to rationalize it, but just thinking about discussing the past made your throat dry up.

“If I told you about mine first, would it make you more comfortable?” Sanji offers.

You balk. “You–you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind, if it means helping you.” Sanji says earnestly. “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge. How could I? We’re the same.”

Something broken inside you changes right then. Deep engravings fill with gold like broken pottery, sealing some of the cracks in your soul. Unmasked and exposed, Sanji sees into you, and he doesn’t waver or turn. He smiles, gently and softly and lovingly. Your eyes fill with fresh tears.

Sanji holds out his pinky finger. “Freaks?”

You smile from ear to ear, even as the tears start flowing again, and lock pinkies with him. “Freaks.”

So caught up in the moment are the two of you that neither one notices when Zoro appears until it’s too late.

He’s further down the deck, but standing right under one of the ship’s lights, so you can see him smile. “Hey, you guys are–” he starts, then notices Sanji’s pants. His smile instantly turns to a look of indignation, then rage. “What the hell?!”

Sanji scrambles to pull up his pants as Zoro charges.

“What the hell are you doing to Y/n, you creep?!” Zoro yells.

You hurriedly pull down your sleeve and move in front of Sanji, holding your arms up. “Wait a sec, Zoro!”

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” Sanji cries.

Zoro screeches to a halt right in front of you, but then stretches over your shoulder to snarl at Sanji. “You better have a good explanation for this, shitty cook!”

You grab Zoro’s arms to hold him back. Not that you could ever hope to overpower him, but you know he’s too brotherly toward you to push you out of the way. “Zoro!”

“What?” Zoro turns his focus on you, “what did he do? I’ll kick his ass for you, Y/n.”

“No, that’s–”

Sanji interjects, “I didn’t–”

“We were…”

Zoro relaxes somewhat, now frowning and looking at both of you weirdly. “What exactly were you guys doing?”

Really, being in the middle of the night, it’s not a good look. You and Sanji are both caught off guard. Fumbling hard, you both speak at once.

“I was looking at a fungal infection!” you say.

“They were removing a tick!” Sanji says at the same time.

Both of you glance at each other.

“Tick,” you correct.

“Fungal,” Sanji says.

Zoro blinks. “A fungal tick?”

You both just nod.

Zoro stares between you two, then relaxes. “Oh... Okay. Good of you to not wake Chopper.” He nods and turns, leaving the two of you to it.

So flooded with relief are you that it’s staggering. You mentally thank the stars that Zoro is a simple and straightforward type of guy.

You and Sanji watch Zoro walk away. Once he’s out of earshot, you both look at each other.

Then you both burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, clutching your chest.

Sanji wipes away a tear. “That was close, huh?”

The laughter dies down into giggles before you calm yourselves, grinning at each other. Then you’re both throwing your arms around the other in a tight embrace, squeezing like you’ve never been hugged before in your lives. You bury your face in Sanji’s chest, he rests his head on yours. Your fingers dig into the other’s clothing, soaking in the warmth and the comfort that you could only get from someone who truly understood. You stay like that for a few minutes, quiet, close, and held.

“Are you sure?” you whisper after a minute. “That you want to deal with this? With me? What if I never get better?”

“Nothing’s set in stone but the poneglyphs,” Sanji replies, running a hand over your head so you look up at him. “Our future hasn’t been determined.”

“Our future?”

“You and me and the rest of the crew. There’s still time to grow, and to change.” He holds the back of your head tenderly.

“When does that time run out?” you ask, uncertain.

“It doesn’t.” Sanji smiles down at you. “As long as we’re alive, there’s another chance. That opportunity is always there.”

You smile back, then press your face into his chest again. Sanji squeezes you tighter.

“Tomorrow,” you mumble into his shirt. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“I bet.”

“I never want to hide from you again.”

You feel Sanji kiss the top of your head. “And I never want to make you cry again.”

“I want to tell you everything.”

“I’ll listen.”

You both stay like that for a while longer, each second spent there healing something within yourselves.

It will take weeks to figure out how to talk about your troubles. When you’re up for it, you talk in the galley as Sanji cooks, you helping him out as usual with prep and cleanup. It’s even longer before Sanji learns everything. In the interim, you become the only Straw Hat to learn of Sanji’s past before he ever gets a wedding invite.

Like worn muscles rebuilding, like bone regrowing stronger, the scars you’ve revealed to each other, both physical and mental, strengthen your bond more than anything else ever could.

"let it out, let me in, take a hold of my hand / there's nothing like another soul that's been cut up the same" -Handwritten, The Gaslight Anthem

#one piece x reader #sanji x reader #reader insert #one piece imagines #zen writes

182 notes · View notes

reviewdiaries · 2 years ago

Text

Examining that Nancy x Ace scene from 4x01

It’s been far, far, far too long since we’ve had new Nancy Drew, but they still managed to make it worth the wait. Honestly that last scene is absolutely unhinged and I am here for it. But I wanted to take a minute to break it down (because that’s my jam) and make myself feral watching it approximately 8,000 times. Fair warning it gets long, more beneath the cut.

By the time we reach that final scene Ace is absolutely done. My boy has put himself through the wringer, both by thinking he isn’t enough and that’s why Nancy wouldn’t want him, and by then thinking he’s ruined everything by trying to kiss her. This is a guy who has spent just over two months without the support of one of his closest friends (see aforementioned trying to kiss) and thinking he’s ruined his chance with the woman he’s in love with. I think the power of realising Nancy’s been lying to him fuelled his mad run all the way from the Historical Society to Icarus Hall. Because when she opens the door and he’s panting trying to get the words out, sure some of that is down to the depth of the emotion he’s feeling, but a lot of that is the fact that he has forgotten he owns a car and has straight up run to talk to her.

And this is the most Ace we have seen Ace all episode. Every time we’ve seen him before this he’s been uncertain, unsure, completely knocked off his axis as though he has lost his true north. He’s tried to talk to Nancy, but this is Ace and he knows her, knows something isn’t right, particularly after the Lover’s Vigil when she says it’s her fault and she keeps leaning in and god he can feel it, feel something and then the glass is shattering and she’s gone. Again. Every bit of their interaction at the Vigil is instigated by her, the leaning in, the forehead touch.

Well, almost all of it. When he first catches her as she spins across the room towards him, there’s a split second where he’s steadying her without really putting his hands on her, unsure how he’ll be received, terrified to ruin it further, of crossing some unseen line.

And then the sheer need kicks in, the closeness of her after so long, and his hands tighten and pull her in towards him, just for a moment. Just a moment can’t hurt? Particularly when she’s looking at him like she’s drowning and he’s pulling her from the waves. And he can’t even finish his sentence when he glances down and sees the dress she’s wearing and it feels like there’s no one there but them. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel like sitting at home alone, it was after twenty four hours without being able to see her he had to find her.

@livelovecaliforniadreams (GIF Credit)

Ace is a smart boy, he can read between the lines, and Nancy has been avoiding him so long precisely because of this, because he knows her and will see the lie in her words - she can’t even make herself believe them, every time she says they can’t she leans in a little more. And this is the tipping point, the dominos start to fall into place as he parses through what she’s saying and what she’s doing. As the jar in her hand shatters and something about the sound of breaking glass hits too close to the memory of glass shattering once before that he’s been playing over and over and over again for weeks.

@bess-turani-marvin (GIF credit)

If they didn’t almost immediately rush out to deal with the undead he’d have remembered and gone back to that pile of broken glass earlier, but it’s hours after that he finally remembers and suddenly his compass rights itself. He doesn’t have the answers, he doesn’t understand it yet, but he knows then that he’s not wrong, and the certainty burns away that lingering doubt that’s been clouding his mind for too long and fuels that desperate run to Icarus Hall, to her, and to some answers.

He’s direct now, no more stepping around the point and trying not to scuff through lines he doesn’t see. No he trusts his instincts, and more importantly he trusts Nancy, and although everything she’s been saying has been no no no, the word she’s written screams yes, you, it’s you, you’re not in this alone.

You were lying. You do have feelings for me.

Eye contact, that slow walk in, he doesn’t know it all yet but he knows the most important thing, and he knows Nancy isn’t going to talk about it unless he pushes her in just the right way. But this is Ace, and he knows exactly how to get Nancy to talk. Don’t give her room to evade, push through the denials. Crowd into her space until she gives him the truth.

And he hands over that paper (that paper that Nancy folded oh so neatly in one crisp fold when she wrote his name (his name) but now is crumpled from being clenched so tightly in his fist as he ran there) and the sudden absence of that square of truth is enough to make his fingers flex on empty air as he fists his hand again, suddenly bereft of the solid proof he’s held to so tightly.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

He knows her handwriting, would know the sharp spike of her a’s and the slant of her e’s anywhere. He watched her protect that jar, try to cover up the pieces of it when she ran to clean up her hand, and now, as soon as she’s faced with the proof she can no longer meet his eye. Looks in his general direction, but evades his own stare knowing she cannot make the lie reach her eyes as she tries to deny it.

She walks away. He was expecting that. Given the amount of denial, of avoidance, of strangeness of the last two months, he didn’t expect her to admit it that quickly. So he follows her, he has time now, now he’s not worried about butting up against some unknown line he paces after her. Deliberate, unhurried, as he bats her feeble excuse away. And when she turns around he can see the defences crumbling, almost as though she wants him to keep pushing, keep asking, to unburden herself of this secret.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

She’s not saying anything, and that would normally unnerve him, but the pieces are finally slotting in together and he has a theory, an idea that he wants to test. The words spilling out of him as he finally takes those shattered pieces of glass and holds them up to the light. The barometer, that was weird, a coincidence (not that he believes in those anymore) but the jar as well? Now that’s almost a pattern. That’s something he can work with. You can see the smile just tracing the curve of his lip.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

He’s spent too long around Nancy and she’s rubbed off on him, and the tugging of a thread until he can see the whole picture, the tenacious worrying of a point until it makes sense, that’s him, but it’s also her, the two of them so intertwined now they’ve become a whole without ever realising it.

Both times I felt something and I know you felt it too.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

Nancy opens her mouth to protest as he makes his declaration but closes it again quickly as he states that he knows she felt it too. He steps in - proximity, he’s learning, is the key. And intent, and he has enough intent for the both of them now. He is careful, oh so careful, so aware of her, for any (true) demand that he stop, but the longing in her eyes is a real thing and as he steps in she moves in closer too.

It’s a hypothesis, it’s a test, it’s a god damn it please let him be right and understand this, and wrong and let him finally (finally) kiss her. He knows what’s going to happen (maybe not exactly, but the shape of it) but there’s still that desperate longing hope that maybe this time they’ll kiss, that this time he’ll feel the shape of her lips under his, that this time he’ll be able to sink his hands into her hair and pull her close without her jerking away with that terrified look in her eyes. We’ve not seen them have this moment yet. Every hallucination he kissed her neck, never her lips. In the other timeline this crucial breathless moment of wanting turning into reality was never shown, just the aftermath. This moment, this threshold is something sacred, something special, that’s why it is this moment of near touch, of almost, of finding the shape of the boundary of the curse that the warning springs from.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

But the torch glass shatters and the groan Ace lets loose, of frustration, of desperation, of want and need and longing is so nearly swallowed down as to be almost inaudible. Because he’s both got what he needed, what he wanted, and exactly the opposite. She is so close, and yet further than ever. And he would wait a hundred years for her, a thousand, but that doesn’t stop the desperate need whenever he’s close enough to touch her.

Nancy hears it though, just as clearly as she hears the glass breaking. For a moment she’s lost in the nearness of him, and she follows his movement back, desperate to remember the feel of his lips on her, lost in the memory of having done this a hundred times already. As she comes back to herself it crashes back in all the thousand reasons why they can’t, and she moves back, finally dragging her eyes to his - she owes him this much.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

He is still so close and the sadness is overflowing from her. She’s admitted her feelings to herself, to her dads, and now finally to Ace. Not in so many words, not out loud, but it’s there in the sharp spike of an a and the slant of her e. It’s in the way she leans into him like a flower searching for sunlight whenever they’re close. In the way she can’t take her eyes from him when he’s near. Struck over and over by the disjointed feel of knowing and not knowing. She knows what it feels like to run her hands through his hair, knows that he smiles in his sleep, knows the precise cadence of his stuttering breath as they kiss. And yet she also doesn’t. She is stuck in this isolated limbo and so so tired of the weight of the secret pressing her down into a defeated shell of herself. She can’t focus on anything, the overlay of the knowing and not knowing - that Ace will bring her all the world’s sorbet to make her smile, that he thinks the town loves her and he’s with them, the feel of his blood on her hands as the light vanishes from his eyes.

She’s grieving and not, and alone and not, and it all sounds so silly even now, even after all they’ve been through to say the words out loud to him.

@nancy-drew (GIF Credit)

Because we’re cursed.

It’s the sort of thing you read about in books, that happens in fairy tales. The prince and princess were cursed and true loves kiss wasn’t enough to break it. It’s enough instead to shatter glass and remind them of their place. Temperance still reminding Nancy that she controls the strings even now in death.

Ace takes a step away and the loss of his warmth is enough to break her already fragile heart further. But he doesn’t leave, and he doesn’t doubt, and for now, that will have to be enough.

#nancy drew #nancy drew cw #nancy drew meta #nancy drew analysis #nace #cw nancy drew #nancy drew 4x01 #nancy drew spoilers #nancy x ace #nancy drew 4.01 #nancy #ace [redacted]

163 notes · View notes

lwjsbedtime · 10 months ago

Text

🥕WIP Snippets🐇

🐉Dragonxian x Sacrificeji:

"Ah, but you are pretty," the man said, apropos of nothing. "Are dragon brides all so beautiful?"

Slow from the effects of the obedience spell cast upon him, LWJ spent several moments parsing the man's question. "…Bride?"

The man scratched his nose idly - likely a nervous habit. LWJ found it subtly charming, with the part of him still capable of thinking independently.

"Well, you are the dragon's bride, aren't you?" the man asked.

LWJ blinked, the words filtering through his mind like a stone dropping into mud. "…I am the dragon god's property," he agreed. "But Su Minshan will claim me."

For some reason, the stranger's face darkened at the mention of this obvious fact. LWJ also found that quite charming, though he couldn't quite say why. Everyone knew the ceremony was a farce. Su Minshan wanted Lan Wangji as his own, and the only way he'd a chance of claiming him was under the guise of it being the dragon lord's will.

"How can a priest think of stealing the gift meant for his god?" the man demanded, his brow furrowed in anger.

Lan Wangji stared at him openly. He wouldn't normally consider a disciple of the dragon temple attractive, but this new acolyte really was a handsome fellow. If he wasn't magically compelled to finish the walk to his doom, Lan Wangji might even stall a while to speak with him longer.

As it was, the obedience curse ensured he continued forward along the path set for him, even as he contemplated the merits of breaking away.

Until the man pulled on his sleeve, that is.

"Let's go," he said, trying to tug Lan Wangji away.

LWJ stood rooted to the spot, unable to follow him. "I cannot. The sacrifice-"

"Forget the sacrifice," the disciple said, a low rumble to his voice that LWJ found soothing as the roll of thunder. "You don't have to worry about that. You're mine regardless."

LWJ nodded in agreement, unable to find fault with the man's logic. He was right, after all: he didn't have anything to worry about.

"Mn. Yours."

He nodded a second time, satisfied that if he said something, it must be true. LWJ never lied, not even to himself.

The man grinned at his reply, and pulled LWJ into the circle of his arms in one swift movement.

"Close your eyes," he warned. "It can make you a bit nauseous, the first time."

LWJ blinked up at the disciple, thinking he was very presumptuous indeed to manhandle someone else's property, before he found himself acquiescing to the man's demands.

Closing his eyes, he lowered his head to rest upon the man's firm chest. The arms upon his shoulders snaked around his waist, and he couldn't help but exhale in relief as he was drawn into an even tighter embrace.

The stranger's hold was warm, and from where Lan Wangji's nose rested in the curve of his neck, smelled like the cold spring in June - when the weather was most fair, and you could see the sun reflected up from within its crystalline surface.

The remaining free piece of his mind panicked at the strange feeling of control that scent evoked in him, before the obedience spell washed his every lingering fear away.

The last thought he had before the world dropped out beneath him, was that he would like to stay right where he was, forever. From within the shadows, it felt like something else whispered back that he could.

#wangxian #wangxian fic #lan wangji #wei wuxian #mdzs au #dragonxian #dragon wei wuxian

39 notes · View notes

cdroloisms · 2 years ago

Text

fuck it. c!punz + c!dream manifesto bc what else am i going to do at university. study ? nahhh

the first thing i want to be clear about is that i like c!drunz. they’re a very important duo (they were explicitly paralleled with c!CLINGYDUO for god’s sake) and the point of this isn’t to diminish their importance to each other. i ALSO want to say that the point of this isn’t to be like, super aggressively /neg towards any one character (even tho i am, admittedly, a self-proclaimed c!drolo) or to demonize them. and finally, that this is just the way i see them, not necessarily the views of anyone else (though i’ve very much been inspired by talking to certain friends abt the Blorbos (tm) for obvious reasons.)

all of that out of the way, onto the c!dream and c!punzisms . i have no plan for this post it’s probably gonna be messy as fuck . but i think first and foremost it’s important to acknowledge that c!dream and c!punz, each are characters with their own goals. a lot of the finale is about c!dream’s side of this, especially in terms of how much he lost sight of what he actually wanted (and i still have to do a rewatch of the 3rd finale stream just to parse through ALL THE SHIT HE SAID bc jfc man . what.) and how a lot of what he wanted were a lot simpler than he allowed himself to realize.

but on the flip side of this, obviously, is c!punz. who also has his own motivations, and as is shown in the finale ... these motivations exist in a space that is . in a lot of ways. directly incompatible with what c!dream actually wants. c!punz is representative of The Plan. he calls the desires that c!dream and c!tommy share “simple-minded.” he wants to unlock the secrets of the universe just because he can.

(and it’s worth recognizing that c!dream’s initial reaction to the existence of supernatural powers beyond his understanding on the server was to freak the fuck out, to the point of the prison’s construction being EXPLICITLY as a result of said discovery. Does c!dream want to understand things in order to Fix Them? Certainly. but i would hardly characterize his initial response to the supenatural as being, uh, impassioned curiosity of the unknown, so to speak.)

c!punz has motivations that aren’t c!dream’s motivations. that’s ,, kind of the point of a lot of what was going on in that last finale stream! c!punz wants to Know Shit. he wants to elevate himself above simple-minded desires. he really,,, wasn’t convinced or swayed the same way dream was when tommy tried to get him to have a heart to heart, and actively discouraged him from continuing to talk about what he actually wanted. and again this isn’t to say that c!punz didn’t care or that he was trying to hurt c!dream or otherwise was trying to act in a way that was malicious towards him but all that still happened you know and speaks to a fundamental difference in the driving forces between these two characters. c!dream and c!punz are each characters with DESIRES and MOTIVES and they’re,, not always on the same page w/ regards to what said desires and motives actually are.

and, yk, it’s not to say that two characters with different motivations can’t work together or have a relationship that’s rendered completely impossible by their differing desires. but a lot of what defines c!dream and c!punz has a lot to do with c!punz As The Plan, which is significant when you consider how much of The Plan is about both outward and self-destruction for c!dream. this in itself doesn’t completely throw their relationship over a cliff, even if it’s a huge disparity that has a lot of implications when we consider how unaddressed it was by the characters until the last stream of the finale, where c!dream and c!punz are markedly NOT on the same page about what they want. but that kind of brings me to my other point of what’s...really important to c!drunz, at least to me. which is how it’s so often defined by inaction.

because, yeah, c!punz was always on c!dream’s side (except for that period of time in Pogtopia where he wasn’t, lol.) and yeah, c!punz was the one person he trusted with a lot of the details about his plan to Save The World and whatever. but also the separation between the two was so important that it was quite literally the cornerstone that ended up ensuring their joint survival; it was crucial post-staged finale that no one knew they were working together. c!punz started on c!dream’s side because he was a mercenary for hire. a degree of alienation has always been a part of their dynamic down to the finale, and is also an extremely IMPORTANT part of their dynamic if we consider c!dream’s silence to c!punz calling them friends.

i find the post-prison era to be most damning about this point in particular, but just look at staged finale in itself: one one hand, c!punz and c!dream were in on a plan to fool the entire server, which spoke a lot to the level of trust involved there. on the other hand, c!punz took a very active and physical role in literally locking c!dream up in his personal hell. c!ranboo took a more significant role after he was locked up than c!punz (which, like, again makes SENSE re. security. but. like. that absence still speaks volumes)--like c!punz as an enabler, c!punz as someone physically cut off from c!dream...that’s a pattern.

and again, when we look at the state of them after the prison, the absence is even more damning. c!punz specifically (even when considering c!dream’s obvious role in the planning) gets c!dream killed twice in staged finale and then you know, has him metaphorically killed when he’s put in the prison. and then AFTER the prison, we have three specific cases at the very least: c!punz’s signal in the scrapped lore is what ends with c!dream being trapped by both of his torturers, c!punz’s involvement in the Las Nevadas revenge plan nearly gets c!dream killed either by the slime army or if he was in c!purpled’s position at the top of that tower, and his running away from Las Nevadas is explicitly what allowed c!tommy to stalk him for weeks and end up breaking in and killing him. Not to mention how that ends up leading up to both of them getting trapped in the prison with a nuke about to come down over the server.

and obviously c!dream almost dying/literally dying in all of these post-prison scenarios isn’t Part Of The Plan or something that c!punz actually wants, right, but also...where was he? what did he do to prevent this from happening? c!dream was stalked for literal MONTHS after las nevadas and we see no mention of c!punz being around,,, at all? (we KNOW he wasn’t visibly around in any way considering c!tommy thought that c!punz was still on his side, even.) c!dream didn’t LEAVE the prison for weeks after LN and c!punz wasn’t around? this is with c!punz obviously knowing that c!dream was going to confront his TORTURER. and he wasn’t watching from the sidelines? like, forget c!tommy, c!sapnap found about c!dream’s place of residence IN JANUARY and was apparently still harassing him outside IN JUNE. people broke into that prison to threaten dream multiple times !! like ?

and god it’s not to say that c!punz didn’t care--his anger speaks for itself--but it’s important to acknowledge that that distance existed and was actively detrimental to c!dream’s safety. fuck, the ANGER in itself was detrimental to c!dream. c!punz’s defining characteristic according to the cc is his anger, when he’s not putting on a persona for the rest of the server,,, and this anger was doing c!dream no favors. we could see that in the finale. we could see that as he literally spent months upon months wasting away in the prison AFTER RECLAIMING THE KEYCARDS and apparently just spent all his fucking time in that place. we can see that when c!punz’s anger leads to c!dream confronting LN which ends up with him staying in the prison without moving for weeks on end, when c!punz’s anger leads to him reviving c!dream minutes after he dies in front of c!clingyduo which ends up leading to the events that prompt them to nuke the fucking server.

like, ultimately, c!dream and c!punz are characters that had each other and only each other in terms of people who knew the truth abt each other’s plans. they care about each other’s safety. they also have inherently incompatible individual motivations and were severely alienated from each other in ways that carried out throughout their relationship into the finale, and these differences are what defined finale c!dream and c!punz the way they ended up being. and yes, a lot of these decisions were exacerbated by the hostility of the environment they lived in and how being c!dream’s ally was a death sentence. yes, a lot of this has to do with the logical benefits of standing apart so that they could revive each other in case something went wrong. and yes, this has to do with c!dream’s being extremely fucking mentally ill and delusional from the beginning of when their partnership became more defined, after c!dream received the revive book, lost every other ally, and went on a paranoid spiral that ended up with him in pandora. but it’s the differences and the isolation that to me, make this pair in particular so compelling and IMPORTANT in canon.

#this is a mess but here. have the dr3 c!drunz manifesto #except it's super fucking scattered bc i was carrying like 3 different convos with friends at the same time #dreblr #c!dream #c!punz #c!stageduo #c!drunz #long post

193 notes · View notes

olessan · 4 months ago

Text

Very light Veilguard spoilers under the cut, up to meeting Bellara - my thoughts on one element of the writing (people reacting to circumstances) after watching the start of a playthrough:

So I can't play Veilguard for a while, am good with early-game and light spoilers, and therefore started watching a playthrough to see the opening few hours of the game.

There's one thread throughout the writing that's really stood out to me so far as a bit odd and it's very obvious when their elf rook meets Strife and Irelin and then Bellara.

Part of meeting Strife and Irelin.

Rook: But it didn't go as cleanly as we hoped. Solas got pulled into the Fade, and two somethings got pulled out. Or someones, I mean. Two of the Evanuris. Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. Irelin: Mythal'enaste... Strife: The elven gods of old. The Evanuris. Irelin: If they truly have returned... Strife: Then things just got a whole lot worse . Rook: (stern) So Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are loose. Which means what? Strife: You thought Solas was bad? He's a bit of a bastard, true. But next to them? Let's just say they weren't known for their kindness. Irelin: There's a reason Solas led a rebellion against the Evanuris. And a reason he imprisoned them. Strife: But now they've escaped... [conversation moves on]

Bellara's intro scene.

Rook: Our gods, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain? They've escaped from Fen'Harel's prison. And by all accounts, they want to destroy the world. Bellara: Oh. Yes. That is very much for the worse. Okay. Right. I need a second. Rook: (humorous) I've had a couple of days, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. Bellara: It does sort of explain a few things, though. [conversation moves on to the problem at hand]

Maybe it's just me, but it feels like everyone's under-reacting to the emerging crisis.

I can buy the rest of the gang not fully parsing the situation yet, such as Neve not believing Solas is An Actual Elven God™, and understand Strife and Irelin having reached acceptance of Solas being The™ Fen'Harel™ given they've had time to come to terms with that... But!!

The Evanuris prison has been ripped open! Solas opened the veil again (temporarily)! TWO OF THE EVANURIS ARE ROAMING THEDAS! Why is no one freaking out about this!?

Rook tells Strife and Irelin that literal Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain have escaped their ancient prisons and are on Thedas. Their reaction, fully familiar with the legends, is not "OH NO! FUQ! THIS IS A HORRIFIC EMERGENCY OF MYTHICAL PROPORTIONS!", it's "oh no, this is dangerous and inconvenient."

Especially with the comparison with Solas, it's the sort of reaction you'd expect from, I don't know, a new manager at your job making a decision everyone knows is going to backfire.

When Rook breaks the news to Bellara, she reacts the same way. It's not "HOLY SHIT! I'm glad I have skills I can apply to this to help! This is catastrophic!", it's "Oh, that sucks," and even considering the humour option, Rook is dismissing it the most out of everyone. It takes more than a couple of days with a concussion to come to terms with ancient gods returning.

"they escaped the prison they were in, and they want to destroy the world". Guys. Come on. Why are you calm about this? Where's the panic? Not even a sense of measured alarm?

Many people still consider the elven gods to be a myth, and not at all real. There have got to be several stages of horror and realisation that comes from learning about Solas, that Solas is The Dread Wolf™, and that he then went on to (accidentally, thanks Rook) release not only two of the Evanuris from their ancient captivity, but arguably the two worst ones: Captain Angry and Experiment Lady.

This is a common problem with games, and is in part due to the need to deliver the important parts of the narrative clearly, but I don't know, it just feels like they pass over these facts of their situation like this isn't quickly turning into a cataclysmic event.

They can be focused and on-task and still be thoroughly freaked out by it, but they don't come across that way. They're treating this like your average mercenary job or something.

It probably improves later on, but I would've expected their reactions to be a bit more energetic or dire, something like this:

Rook: But it didn't go as cleanly as we hoped. Solas got pulled into the Fade, and two somethings got pulled out. Or someones, I mean. Two of the Evanuris. Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. Irelin: Mythal'enaste! Strife: Are you certain it was them? Solas is bad enough, but even one of the other Evanuris would be disastrous. We can't waste time. Irelin: There's a reason Solas led a rebellion against the Evanuris. And a reason he imprisoned them. They could tear the world apart. Strife: If they've escaped... well, little is worse than that.

---

Rook: Our gods, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain? They've escaped from Fen'Harel's prison. And by all accounts, they want to destroy the world. Bellara: What?! How is that possible?! They've been imprisoned for thousands of years, how could they have gotten out? Rook: Solas let them out. Bellara: He what?! That might explain some things here, but... do you realise what this means? Thedas is doomed if we don't do something, not just Arlathan forest.

Side note, my planned elf, archaeology/history nerd Rook is so going to be Bellara's bestie.

#idk just a little bit of rambling bc I feel like there should be more urgency in this particular thing?#Like it's fine but it would help the narrative a LOT if everyone was a bit more panicked #dragon age #veilguard #veilguard spoilers #dragon age veilguard #ghilan'nain #elgar'nan #solas #fen'harel #bellara lutare #strife #irelin #olessan oration

12 notes · View notes

stephsageek · 5 months ago

Note

What projects do you have lined up right now?

I'm glad you asked! Irl, I'm a very busy girl, so there will be times when I can only spare an hour or two to brainstorm, outline, write, and edit. Tough with ADHD 😅 but I AM currently chipping away at "He Sleeps with the Fishes: The Hoffa Job," the latest installment of my ongoing Five x Lila AU. If you like action-packed comedy hijinks and have a love for history-- this is the series for you!

I'll post under the cut what I have written so far (there is no Five and Lila, but for readers worried about our intrepid FBI agents-- this will be a treat! It also features a sneak peak of the next story in the series, "A Killer From A World Filled with Killers: The Kennedy Job"):

Agent Bill Reynolds found himself blinking.

His vision was totally filled with a brilliant white light. The light was blinding, a physical, all-consuming thing. Kaleidoscopic prisms cascaded across his vision. For a brief delirious moment, he felt far from his body, an airy nothingness that made the light all that existed. He hung momentarily, suspended.

Jesus fucking Christ. Am I dead?

He couldn’t seem to move, too stunned to even try. He couldn’t hear anything, besides a persistent ringing in his ears, and a steady rhythmic noise, hidden underneath.

Bill could not seem to parse its origin. It seemed to come from all directions at once.

Slowly, the sound became clearer.

It was a voice, calling, over and over.

The word it kept repeating was garbled, a nonsensical bleating noise like the yelp of an animal.

It was like hearing a language you don’t understand, the tone conveying concern, but what it meant hung at the edges of his understanding, just out of reach.

Was it a siren? An alarm?

“—ill! Bill! Bill!”

Agent Bill Reynolds gasped as his blinked into the bright afternoon sunlight, no longer ‘dead,’ but lying suppine on the side of the road, just beside his damaged Federally issued vehicle, his young partner on his knees beside him, trying his best not to have a panic attack.

The noise was his name. The ringing was probably a concussion.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the light that burnt his retinas, melting his eyes into puddles of goo within his eye sockets.

“Bill! Bill, God damnit, answer me!”

Bill felt frantic movement beside him, the voice growing clearer and more familiar.

“Stevie?” he groans, realizing all at once that he cannot possibly be dead—being dead wouldn’t hurt so damn much.

Everything ached and Bill belatedly realized that his back was damp. He prayed it isn’t blood, but he doesn’t think it is. This feels cold and he knows the sickly warmth of his blood. He flexes his fingers into fists experimentally and comes away with blades of grass.

That’s good. If I can feel that it must mean I’m not paralyzed.

He tries flexing his toes for good measure and finds them responsive inside his shoes. Bill squeezes his eyes shut as a shadow falls over him. Even behind his eyelids, the added shade is a blessing.

“Yes! Jesus, I thought—”

Bill opens his eyes to find his partner’s face above him. Stevie is bleeding from his forehead, the streak of red running nearly into the corner of one of his eyes. His glasses are gone and Bill blinks as he realizes he’d never seen the kid without them before.

Bill groans as he tries to sit up. “Whoa! Wait—no! Y-you shouldn’t do that!” Stevie rambles, his hands hovering near him.

Bill puts a hand to his head and squeezes his eyes shut once more, trying desperately to will away the sudden feeling of vertigo and nausea.

“What—what the hell happened?” he hisses, his hand going to the back of his head to check for any blood. His head is throbbing, but his hand comes away clean.

“W-w-well, we-we crashed,” Stevie feebly explains, rubbing his neck and lowering his eyes like a chastised schoolboy.

“No shit, Stevie!” Bill snapped, the movement of turning to tell his partner off, making his neck strain. He winced and closed his eyes again. “The broad! What the hell happened with the broad!?” he barks, his eyes still held firmly shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Brooks swallows, nodding, because, yeah, that was a pretty dumb thing to say.

“S-sh-she must have used her cuffs—”

“—I remember that part,” Bill sighed. “That damn slippery bitch pulled one over on us. God damn, rookie mistake!” Bill growled. It was always risky when a perp was cuffed with their hands in front of them, but in the middle of a car chase, neither agent had much of a chance to re-cuff her. “Did you see what happened to her!?” he demanded.

He felt a slight pang of guilt as he watched Stevie flinch at his tone. Bill sagged as watched his partner tremble, likely still feeling the effects of the accident. Just behind Stevie’s tangled mess of blond hair, Bill could make out that the noise that he had originally mistaken for a siren, was, in fact, a siren—there was an ambulance pulling along the embankment they had landed in, followed by what looked like several unmarked cars.

Bill frowned at the black cars, a feeling of foreboding settling like a stone in his gut.

He didn’t recognize those cars, nor the men that exited them.

“W-we hit the e-embankment a-and that-that slowed us down enough that the crash wasn’t s-so bad!” Stevie stuttered out, momentarily distracting Bill from the sight of men in dark sun glasses, dark suits, and even darker expressions. “W-we hit the tree though. I-I opened my eyes and realized that s-sh-she was gone! B-but you were unconscious Bill!” Stevie implored, his voice growing more confident, his expression resolute. “I wasn’t about to go pursue an escaped assailant while my partner was injured! I had no idea if she was armed or not, but I highly suspect so, since I found our trunk opened and all of the items, we confiscated from her gone!”

Bill felt his eyebrows climb toward his hairline at the conviction in his young partner’s voice. Bill felt himself smile crookedly.

Just as he opened his mouth to praise the kid for his judgment and his sticking to his guns that said judgment was sound, a man’s voice cut through the air between them at the same time as several paramedics ran toward them, one of them a dark-skinned Asian woman shouting orders as she hurriedly began to pull things from her pockets.

“Gentlemen—”

“Sirs! I need you to stay where you are—!”

Bill tried to address both parties, but the man began to speak with an air of authority once again.

“—Special Agent Gregory Mahn,” the stranger thrust an ID toward Brooks and Reynold, both too stunned to react. The man had pale, almost sallow skin, his short hair graying at the temples. The other two men who followed him looked eerily similar, though each had a different hair color.

Bill felt himself growl deep in his chest, even as the paramedics fluttered around him and his partner, checking their vitals and shifting them to assess their injuries, giving them polite but direct commands.

“What exactly is the meaning of this Age—” Bill tried to question, only to be cut off.

“This operation is now under my personal jurisdiction, under an executive order by—”

“Like hell are you spooks coming into our operation—!” Bill roared only for one of the paramedics to sharply order him to remain still.

“My orders come from up top, gentlemen,” Mahn smirked, his smile revealing yellowed teeth. “There have been very concerning reports that this operation has gone wildly out of control. Not to mention that there has been word of extremely suspicious even—”

“This is horseshit! We are in the middle of a months long operation that could put some of the worst criminals within the Detroit Partnership behind—” Bill shouted, his face purpling in rage. An EMT yelped as her stethoscope was nearly knocked from her hands as Bill wildly gesticulated.

Brooks sputtered indignantly beside his partner, finally gathering enough courage to interject. “Y-yo-you can’t do this! This is an officially sanctioned operation in league with the Federal Bureau of Investigations special un—”

“I just spoke with your superiors Agent Reynolds and Brooks. You have been ordered to report to local headquarters in Detroit effective immediately.”

Both men stared, mouths hanging open.

Agent Mahn continued to simper before he reached into his trench coat pocket and produced something. “I just need you to take a look at this photograph, gentlemen.”

Brooks and Reynold squinted at the grainy black and white photo before them. It featured a man in a suit, carrying a briefcase in each hand. He appeared to be mid-stride, the blur indicating that he was walking quickly. He wore a suit and a hat. A woman with darker skin and a suit walked purposely beside him.

Brooks didn’t have to look beside him to see the color drawn from Stevie’s face. Bill swallowed.

“I believe these are the perpetrators you were pursuing, correct?” Mahn pushed, his expression unreadable behind his dark glasses that he had yet to remove.

Beside Mahn, another agent thrust another picture toward them.

Bill frowned.

The picture appeared to be another black-and-white photograph, taken of the same alley that had been the backdrop for the pair of strangers.

Only this one was of a young boy, complete with a schoolboy uniform. The boy was young, slight, and dark-haired.

The hell?

Bill opened his mouth to respond once he squinted at the photo. There was something familiar about the brick walls and surrounding buildings. Something that nagged at Bill's memory.

Bill’s eyes widen in sudden fierce realization.

This was the alley just outside the Texas School Book Depository.

It wasn't just a big case.

It was the big case.

He remembered it clearly as he had been assigned to gather any evidence that might have been left behind there. He remembers the exact spot where he’d found a discard casing from an Italian Carcano M91/38 bolt-action rifle that had fallen just beneath a dumpster.

“What the hell are you doing investigating this?!” he hissed, causing Brooks to blink at his tone.

“Bill…wha-what is—?” Brooks stuttered, his voice reedy.

Bill carried on as if his partner had said nothing.

“What do these two have and a kid got to do with the goddamn Kennedy assassination!?”

#thanks anon!#asks #tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #lila pitts #my fanfiction #tua fanfic #five x lila #five x lila fanfic #He Sleeps with the Fishes #jimmy hoffa #this chapter takes the story in a whole new direction guys

9 notes · View notes

pluckyredhead · 10 months ago

Text

I am still reading my way through the Fourth World! Last time I talked about all the stuff published in the 70s; now let's talk about the 80s.

Kirby:

New Gods #12: In 1984, DC reprinted Kirby's original New Gods run and threw in an extra issue (not to be confused with Gerry Conway's New Gods #12) so that Kirby could finish the story. This was partially DC being nice and trying to give an aging Kirby money, and partially not because they refused to let him produce the ending he wanted, which was Orion and Darkseid both dying. After a couple scrapped versions, we got this, in which Orion goes down in a hail of laser fire. It's a real bummer, but at least he's extremely homoerotic with his best buddy Lightray first? (Oh, they're getting a whole separate post, just you wait.)

The Hunger Dogs: This "graphic novel" (it's only 64 pages but back then that counted) came out a year later and was the "conclusion" to the Fourth World saga. Once again DC and Kirby butted heads because Kirby really wanted to kill everyone and DC was like "But our IP!!!" In the final version, only supporting characters Himon and Esak die, which is sad but not going to do any damage to DC's bottom line.

It turns out Orion is not dead despite being riddled with holes (there's an intriguing suggestion that he has some kind of healing ability because he possesses the Life Equation, which like everything else in this book is presented with zero context or explanation), which is great because it gives him an opportunity to be homoerotic with Lightray again, although he has also been given an Obligatory Heterosexual Love Interest, Himon's daughter Bekka.

Anyway this book is baffling. Highfather blows up New Genesis (everyone survives) to taunt Darkseid, who is overthrown by the downtrodden masses of Apokalips. There's some shouting about the dangers of technology and maybe some anti-Cold War rhetoric about stockpiling weapons, but it's all so hysterically overblown - Kirby at his most grandiose - that it's nearly impossible to parse beyond "war bad." I do appreciate that Orion is able to break free of his rage and death wish and just...leave Darkseid behind, but the fact that he's emotionally mature enough to do that now comes pretty much out of nowhere. The art is extremely powerful, at least.

My final thought is that Kirby clearly gleefully ignored everything Englehart, Conway, et al. did and I love that for him.

Super Powers: Darkseid fights the Justice League. This was a comic created to sell a toy line and you can really, really tell.

Post-Kirby:

Legends: I've read this before, but it's great. If you like pre-Flashpoint DC, you should definitely read this, which introduces Amanda Waller and the Suicide Squad, sets up the JLI, and brings Wonder Woman into the post-Crisis DCU. Neither Orion nor Scott are present but this (along with the Happyland issue of the original Forever People) really makes the case for why Glorious Godfrey is one of Kirby's best and scariest Fourth World creations. And I will never complain about John Byrne art.

Forever People (1988): Blecch. It's definitely arrogant to read something and think "I know for certain that Jack Kirby, a man I never met who died when I was a child, would have hated this" but like. I'm right. And it's obvious from the very first page.

Basically, at the end of Kirby's series, the FP were marooned on a random, idyllic planet somewhere with no hope of getting home, so they embraced it as their new, hopeful future. This catches up with them years later, with Serifan (the sweet young kid) drooling and raving alone in the woods, Vykin (the only Black character) dead (he gets better), and the rest of them...living in yuppie paradise? Apparently the planet they ended up on was populated (missing the point) with "primitive" people (racist) so they decided to use Mother Box to forcibly "evolve" the people (SO RACIST) and were able to create...modern-day America? Literally why would they even do that, they're from New Genesis. Mark is mayor and married with kids, and Big Bear and Beautiful Dreamer are married to each other with a baby on the way.

Anyway a nebulous villain/evil force called "the Dark" undoes everything which brings Vykin back to life but takes away Mark's wife and kids (she's alive but still "primitive" and the kids were never born) and Bear and Dreamer's unborn child, which means the only female protagonist spends the whole rest of the miniseries clutching her stomach and going "my baby!" I absolutely don't mean to make light of pregnancy loss but this doesn't feel like a story about a three-dimensional woman experiencing pregnancy loss. It feels like a story that reduces a woman to a) whether or not she's having a baby, which is the only thing she cares about and b) the central point on a vague love triangle with Mark and Bear. SIGH.

Meanwhile they all go to Earth for...some reason...and then Mark gets possessed by the Dark and is evil for a while but then they manage to summon Infinity Man and Mark isn't evil anymore. And it's bafflingly revealed that they're all from Earth in the first place from random different historical time periods and Highfather kidnapped them as babies. Okay???

The Forever People are perhaps Kirby's purest and most optimistic characters, and this cynical take on them actively angered me even though I don't actually care about them at all. I've also basically never cared for J. M. DeMatteis's writing outside of JLI, and I don't like Paris Cullins's art, so this book just had absolutely nothing going for it for me.

Cosmic Odyssey: I do not trust Jim Starlin with the New Gods since I know he's going to kill them all off in 2007. This is...fine, I guess? Starlin really does not like Orion, who he has slaughter a bunch of innocent, brainwashed Thanagarians, and also be deeply bigoted against Forager. Everything else is...fine? It's basically all action. The only character who has an emotional arc is John Stewart because this is the story where he fails to save Xanshi because he's being an overconfident moron, but the moral at the end of the comic is like "Get over it already" so...that happens. It's fine.

But man, that Mike Mignola artwork is worth the price of admission alone. That guy's great at drawing.

Mister Miracle Special: The plot of this is that Barda doesn't want Scott to be an escape artist anymore because it's too dangerous, even though a) she's a warrior of Apokalips and b) he's an active Justice League member and she seems fine with that. So okay.

Mister Miracle (1989): Okay, so the basic premise here - Scott and Barda try to adjust to normal life in the suburbs - is good. And it's a spiritual spinoff of JLI, which is of course one of my favorite books of all time. But this book is like...imagine someone screaming "Iiiiiiit's WACKY!" over your shoulder constantly while you're reading. That's what reading Mister Miracle (1989) is like. Highfather wears a tuxedo! Funky Flashman shows up a lot! Scott fights a giant alien noodle! Some of it is actually funny, but most of it is trying so hard to be funny that it's just exhausting.

There are some interesting character moments in there. Scott, Barda, and Orion all get to call Highfather out. Orion mentions wishing he was closer to Scott. There are hints at Scott's depression and suicidal tendencies, which I find really fascinating. But all of it is always immediately overshadowed by ZANINESS.

Anyway, I think we as DC fans deserve a do-over with a new Scott and Barda book about their lovingly domestic (kinky) life together on Earth that is funny but not desperately mugging for laughs in every panel. And I think it should be set in Vegas where Scott has a residency. Call me, DC!

New Gods (1989): This book was mostly written by Mark Evanier (a couple issues were by Starlin), who was one of Kirby's assistants back when he was originally creating the Fourth World, so you might think it would feel the closest to a continuation of Kirby's vision. Instead, I am making it Exhibit A in my argument for why a character should never be assigned to a writer who obviously fucking hates their guts.

I mean, I don't know that Evanier hates Orion. But boy does he write him like he does. Starlin's Orion (who again, we get a couple issues of here) is a monster, but Evanier's Orion is just an incompetent idiot, forever slamming himself against the brick wall of his inevitably becoming his father. Almost every single issue has at least one character, often multiple characters, bemoaning Orion's absolutely unproductive violence and inability to learn or comprehend basic concepts that should not be at all new to him after living most of his life on New Genesis (i.e. justice, mercy, compassion). Even fucking Kalibak is like "Wow, you're a useless idiot." Kalibak! The king of useless idiots!

The comic is so into hating on Orion that it hates on him when he's not actually doing anything bad; at one point he walks into a nuclear reaction that's melting down in a desperate attempt to stop it before it kills everyone, and Big Bear is like "Wow, he's just like his father." REALLY, BIG BEAR? Show me the comic where Darkseid risks his life to save thousands of strangers. I'll wait.

This series also features:

a hawkish, bloodthirsty New Genesis military leader who keeps trying to overthrow Highfather, which both seems to undercut the whole point of New Genesis as well as Orion's uniqueness as The Angry Guy;

an Earth woman with the worst gaydar in the universe repeatedly failing to fuck an increasingly uncomfortable Lightray;

but then Lightray falls in love with a dead woman he never met?;

also Orion gets a crush on a bug lady and learns to stop being racist against bugs (she's not impressed and good for her)

and Lightray and Orion parade around Earth in the WORST fashions of the late 80s/early 90s, which is about all this book has going for it.

Anyway it was bad and I'm glad I'm done with it. Next up: the 90s!

#fourth world #orion #lightray #mister miracle #scott free #barda free #meta

14 notes · View notes