#Steele Shadows Mercenaries 2

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Her Renegade by Amanda McKinney

Steele Shadows Mercenaries #2

Dark, gritty, and compelling ~ could not put this book down and stayed up till 1:30 to read the last page before turning off the light last night ~ Great addition to the series!

What I liked:

* Justin Montgomery: Ex-Navy SEAL, mercenary, strong, lethal, intelligent, physically and emotionally scarred, willing to do what it takes to accomplish his mission, lost a lot, moral compass not always in line with yours and mine, attracted to his target and unsure why…

* Sophia Banks: beautiful, brilliant, survivor of abuse, difficult backstory, abandonment issues, trust issues, more than she appears to be, begins to see her situation in a new light after meeting Justin

* The prologue and first chapter that set the stage for the story

* The plot, pacing, setting, and writing

* That distrust that both Justin and Sophia had for one another – in spite of their chemistry

* The handling of the relationship developing between the main characters

* The way Aleks’s storyline was woven in

* That it was easy to hate the bad guys and wish to see them receive commensurate justice-retribution for their actions

* That the darker scenes were not flinched away from

* The surprises, twists, and turns that I didn’t see coming

* All of it really except…

What I didn’t like:

* Who and what I was meant not to like

* Knowing that the abuse Sophia and Aleks experienced happens all too often

* Wondering how often governments really do some of the things that happened in this story

Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series? Definitely!

Thank you to the author for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

BLURB

The bestselling and award-winning Steele Shadows series continues in this new Protector Romance spin-off series, packed with page-turning mystery, steamy angst, exotic locations, and four dangerously attractive mercenaries.

His mission is clear: Find Sophia Banks and interrogate her — in any way necessary— to obtain the information he needs.

But when Justin finds the battered and bruised brunette in a one-room cabin hidden deep in the snowy mountains of the Alaskan wilderness, he quickly realizes things are not as clear-cut as they seem.

Her Renegade is a dark and intense romantic thriller about secrets, danger, and forbidden love - and what one man is willing to risk to save a woman he can’t have.

[hutahuta]

I SAW PAVIA AND STARTED SPRINTING, THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE

Maybe some headcannons about a protective Pavia? I mean, being a mercenary probably has gotten him some (read as a lot) of enemies, especially considering he’s good at his job! So it wouldn’t be a surprise if his partner got targeted as a way of getting to him. Obviously, Pavia’s not gonna let that happen, not by a long shot. Maybe hurt/comfort in a way? And gender neutral if it’s okay!

P.AGE OO.2 — 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐌 & NOBILITY : 交 ✦ ⏱

thank you for requesting, i hope you like this <333 ( •̀∀•́ )ﾗ✧ !

Unfortunately for him, Pavia bore the scars of a life that was etched by loss and fleeting connections. No human ever got as close as you did with him, so it was important to protect such things. Yes?

His heart encased in solid steel and armour, found solace in the comfort of your arms. Yes, this man was laid back most of the time, but under that thick smile of purity and hearty laughs, he wanted to keep you forever as his own.

Embellished in jewels and tied and restrained for himself. Guarded by his sole bonds of his canine family, he couldn't possibly think of letting you be exposed to the outside danger out there.

Every beat of his heart echoed with the lingering memories of his past separations. His bond broken with his family and his scarred nature of a relationship broken down with his aunt. He doesn't know how to handle such things, he wasn't taught proper coping mechanisms.

You, vulnerable to attacks, not necessarily naive but still innocent as a feather; are more susceptible to violence catered by Pavia's enemies surrounding him on a day-to-day basis..

And—,, the thought maliciously stabs him every single time. To see you lying in your own warm, pool of blood. He hated the sight, and vowed to always keep you with him, safe and sound even if it meant his own skin will be torn apart. Pavia, originally, had nothing left to lose. He had nothing to go down with. His legacy was scarred with the torment of his past. His family had no connections with him whatsoever, and he planned to keep it that way.

This fear, an indelible mark left by the merciless hands of fate, propelled Pavia to assume the role of a vigilant guardian. He shielded his beloved with unwavering determination, an impassable fortress erected to defy the encroaching shadows of abandonment.

Skeletal hands trace the outline of your jawline towards the base of your neck, leaving lingering touches that'll never fade away for months to come. You'll always remember how he told you.

` Non allontanarti troppo dal mio cammino.. Amore. `

Which meant, ' Don't stray too far from my path, love. ' His hands firmly gripped your waist, leaving soft kisses that marked the vow of his undying love for you.

He shudders to think of your figure being manhandled by someone who would bruise such tender skin of yours, to discard your love and treat you like nothing but a used rug. You're nothing of the sort, to him.

Precious diamonds and jewels like you need to be treasured, kept under someone's eyes like Pavia's. Right?

It's conflicting, to say the least. You'd wonder why he's so protective when it's mixed with such a lazed stare. A laid-back figure who offers you juice and drinks at parties and festivals. But he isn't stupid enough to let you wander too far. Just think what could happen-

Someone kidnaps you, holds you for ransom? Knowing Pavia, he's smart enough to go along with such plans then storm into the area himself and take you back. Leaving only the echoes of men screaming, bodies thudding against the floor as they get a bullet launched into their skulls.

That won't happen though, right? He's not stupid enough to let you go like that..

Pavia struggles to keep himself from being too overprotective to the point you feel suffocated, to being too laid-back that it makes him seem uncaring and unloving. He wants to let you go do your own thing, after all.. that's why he loves you, right? That's why he fell in love with you.

But it pains him to think that now you've officially established something deep with him, he could be at fault for your uneasy, incoming death. You're at heavy risk if you step too close to the edge of his outside perimeter.. That's why-

You stay with him. Right beside him.

Excuse him when he pulls you closer by his waist when near enormous crowds and traffic during festivities.

Don't mind his behaviour as he trails a hand down your thigh to subtly mark to others that you have not one, not two, not even three, but a whole family of dogs watching over your guard.

You have eyes on you 24/7. Don't forget that. Now you're with him, it's important you try to manage your way through this skilfully with the intent to have the best possible outcome with your protective little man.

Safe to say, he won't let anything bad happen as I stated previously. Just as long as you follow the rules he gave. It's his way of trying to tell you that he has boundaries and he wants you to stick with him almost every time both of you are out.

His protective stance wasn’t fueled by dominance but rather by a desperation to defy the cruel whims of destiny, to safeguard the one person who illuminated the shadows of his tumultuous existence. In their presence, Pavia found a fragile haven, one he fiercely guarded against the specter of loss that loomed ominously over his turbulent life.

As you know, despite Pavia’s instinctive urge to shield you, he wrestled with the awareness that his protective demeanor might eventually suffocate the relationship. To counterbalance his guarded nature, Pavia embarked on a path of intentional vulnerability, striving to open up the vault of his emotions..

He tends to be honest with you then and there, but often finds himself leading the conversation into something else more uplifting. All in his worries that you might see him as him trying to justify his actions, which is possibly why he cannot exactly open up fully. That, and he just can't help but talk about other stuff mid-sentence. Learning more about you, your boundaries, your silly interests is just.. more of a reason to keep you safe.

He doesn't know communication skills all that well. But he takes it on after you, so guide him properly and heal those scars that may linger for a life time.

But if you stick around, he's sure to let go of the tension on his shoulders a few times and enjoy quality time with you without the doubt you'd potentially get harmed in the process of your relationship. <3

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Two chapters in less than twenty-four hours. I literally haven't done this in a decade. Send help. Wheezing. May have thrown my back out. In need of life support.

Anyways here we gooooooo

Hearing Problems

LA!Mihawk x AFAB!OC

Previous Chapter Link

Next Chapter Link

Chapter 2: A Battle of Wits

Tags: Slow-burn, Enemies to Lovers, eventually NSFW, uh, if I think of more I'll add them or something

Trigger Warnings: None for this chapter

Wordcount: 2.2k

Summary:

After having her sloop sunk by the Buggy Pirates and losing most of her worldly possessions in the process, the normally solitary mercenary Karimi Lionne finds herself teaming up with the rag-tag little crew that is the Strawhat Pirates to defeat them. She bonds with them far more quickly than she bargained for, and that quickly turns into a problem for the Kiku Kiku no Mi devil fruit user when she learns of Nami's plans to leave them high and dry, and Zoro issues a challenge at Baratie that he very likely won't live long enough to regret.

Karimi did her best to steel her resolve despite the blood rushing in her ears as she lay there.

Lay there on the docks outside the seafaring restaurant, her strength zapped by the salt water, completely defenseless as Dracule Mihawk towered over her, his arms crossed, observing her with an unreadable expression and indecipherable tone to his question that still echoed in her ears.

Devil fruit, then, is it?

It wasn't too big of a surpise that he had figured it out that quickly. No, the surprise was his very presence there on the docks. That he had bothered to seek her out and ask her.

She finally expelled the breath trapped within her lungs in a slow sigh, closing her eyes again, feigning an aloof facade as well as she could.

"No idea what you're referring to," she said, as levelly as she could. She could hear a slight edge in her tone, but that was fine. That was to be expected. At least she had found the will to speak.

"There's really no use playing coy, dear. Though I am curious..." he said slowly, "what might lead a devil fruit user to intentionally dampen their own power."

"I don't think that's really any of your business," she said, mimicking his drawling lilt. "I am trying to drink myself into a stupor before morning and your presence is not helping the endeavor. So, if you would..." She lifted a hand and made a shooing motion. "Kindly fuck off."

Mihawk quirked an eyebrow, wondering whether every member of the strawhat's crew were insolent fools. Roronoa Zoro's challenge had been one thing—now this girl, this child, was mocking him to his face, attempting to shoo him off like a stray dog begging for scraps.

For a moment, he was completely speechless, feeling oddly as if he had taken a brief step out of reality.

Then he stepped slowly forward, stopping a few inches behind the crown of her tattered brown hat, and crouched down, casting a shadow across her much smaller form.

"You know who I am." It wasn't a question—apart from her abilities, which she still had yet to confirm or deny, he had seen the flicker of recognition in her eyes back on the deck of the restaurant. "Do you have a death wish, little one?"

She cracked open her eyes, meeting his gaze.

"If I say yes will you make it quick and painless?" Then she rolled them and shut them again. "Forgive me if I don't have much respect for glorified political puppets."

She was either too brave for her own good, out of her mind, or legitimately suicidal—and yet there was something intriguing about her complete lack of concern for the fact that he could easily push her right off the edge of the dock with the heel of his boot and watch her devil fruit abilities sink her like a brick to the bottom of the East Blue. There was a clear edge to her voice that told him she was well aware of that fact, and yet she carried on with her contemptuous sarcasm as if she didn't have a care in the world.

It was almost entertaining—a game of wit and intimidation that no one had played so readily or boldly against the warlord in years. He lowered a hand a flicked a few strands of her dark green hair away from her forehead, noting how she briefly tensed at his touch, very briefly; how her breath caught in her throat for a fleeting moment before returning to normal.

"You are in a rather...precarious position," he said lightly, "to be behaving with such impudence, little bird." She shivered when his knuckles brushed lightly down her neck. "As I said, I'm merely curious about the ability you demonstrated earlier. I can't say I'm particularly accustomed to having my mind invaded."

He watched her grit her teeth and abruptly sit up straight on the dock, swiping up the unmarked wine bottle sitting next to her and taking a swig.

"Oh, avast, sir!" she said in a particularly dramatic tone, "—and allow me a moment to wave a sad goodbye to the last fuck I had left to give as it drifts away on yonder tides."

His eyebrows furrowed as she lifted a hand and waved out at the vast expanse of the darkened sea. "Also." She tilted her head back, her eyes locking onto his.

"Call me little bird again and I will find where you sleep, cut off your balls, and feed them to you."

And with her threat hanging in the air between them, her voice slightly slurred, she tilted the bottle back again and took a couple large gulps. His eyes shifted briefly to the pair of daggers hanging at either side of her belt, passing over their ornate, slightly yellowed ivory handles, either antiques or impressive replicas.

Oh, but this was growing more entertaining by the second. Half-drunk and spouting off honest to god threats now—he honestly wasn't sure what to do with her. Mihawk straightened back out, circling slowly around the green-haired enigma, like a predator sizing up his prey.

"If you answer my questions, I will leave you be to drink yourself into an early grave, little bird." He watched as she heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes and glaring out toward the horizon, lit dimly by the crescent moon hanging in the sky overhead.

"Counter-offer," she said flatly.

Everyone else aboard the Going Merry seemed have completely lost every iota of intelligence they might have once possessed—Karimi figured she might as well join the questionable decisions club.

"Let the idiot swordsman live, and I'll work for you. Free of charge. For a year."

For a moment he was silent. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, his eyes scanning over her as she sat there at the docks with her feet in the water, her head swimming more and more with every gulp of wine she downed and her face flushed beneath her freckles from the alcohol. Weighing her offer.

"And what would I want with a little bird flitting around after me for an entire year?"

The smug amusement was perfectly clear in his tone, and Karimi had expected it. Standing at five foot two, weighing in at perhaps eight or nine stone soaking wet, the twenty-four year old knew she didn't come across as much of a threat—but she shared the same stature with her grandmother, who had racked up a bounty of over two billion Berries in her heyday.

"Six years experience in covert mercenary work," she said, holding up one finger. She held up another. "An underling to send off on World Government errands that aren't worth your time." She held up a third finger, picking her head up and rolling her eyes up to meet his. It was fairly clear that he wasn't going to kill her on the spot—between that knowledge, the buzz from the cheap wine and expensive rum she had consumed earlier, and her utter exhaustion and present physical weakness from prolonged contact with ocean water, she was quickly growing less concerned. "I can literally hear the thoughts of everyone within a fifty foot radius at all times. Well..." She gestured toward her feet in the water, lifting her wine. "Not now, but usually."

She took a swig, set the bottle down, and laid back on the cool, damp wood of the dock again, closing her eyes and tucking a hand behind her neck.

"Play with your swords all you want, there's no weapon more dangerous than information."

"You're rather quick to leave your crew behind," he said said slowly. "That speaks very little to any loyalty you could offer."

"We're not even really a crew," she sighed. Karimi raised a hand to her face, rubbing at her eyes and shaking her head. "Zoro would tell you that just as quickly as Luffy would tell you that he's his first mate. So would Nami, but she'll be gone just after sunrise if she has any say. That's going to be enough of a blow. But Zoro *dies*, that's going to shatter Luffy." Another swig of wine, another sigh. "Poor kid's got rocks for brains but he's got a good heart. Just wants the whole world to drop everything and follow their dreams."

"An idealistic idiot and a suicidal swordsman."

Karimi gave a snort of laughter—that hit the nail on the head. "And a pathological liar that can't even tell himself the truth, and a girl so desperate to save her home that she distances herself and steals from the only people who have shown her genuine compassion in over a decade."

"It sounds like they're already falling apart from within." Karimi shrugged a shoulder. "So why, then," he said, clear skepticism dawning in his tone, "would a Marine Vice Admiral call me out here to take care of it?"

A Marine Vice Admiral.

Karimi didn't even bother trying to contain her smirk—even with her devil fruit abilities supressed, she knew exactly what that meant. She knew it alone from the attack that Garp had led on the Going Merry, and didn't even bother opening her eyes as she responded in a mocking tone.

"Well, I except Garp the Fist didn't want to see his grandbaby grow up to be a filthy pirate." No—she did crack one eye, to watch the subtle shift in the pirate warlord's expression. The slow lowering of his brows. The miniscule twitch in a muscle between the corner of his lips and his nose.

Registering that he had been sent out of his way to deal with a petty family dispute.

"My offer stands." She lifted her bottle as if in toast. "You let Roronoa Zoro live, you'll have one year free from dealing with this sort of bullshit, courtesy of yours truly."

Agreeing to her offer felt like it would be an admission of defeat. Whether the battle was one of blades or wits, it was rare—if ever—that Mihawk conceded defeat. The entertainment, the fun of this exchange had drained the moment she laid her claim that Garp was using him as a mediator to capture and deliver his grandson to him.

Once more he crouched down, at the girl's side this time, his eyes glued to hers.

"And for what reason should I believe you?" he said quietly, searching her eyes for any sign of deceit, of treachery.

Yet all he found in their emerald green depths was amusement. That paired with the noncommittal shrug of her shoulders served only to infuriate him more.

"You have no reason to believe me," she said, her tone just as smug as her smirk. "But I wouldn't want to work for anyone that would trust the word of a Marine over a fellow pirate, anyway."

Her eyes slipped shut again, as if the deal was already done, in a manner that suggested it was already set in stone.

In a way that made his blood boil.

The girl drew in a sharp breath when his hand wrapped around her chin, her eyes snapping open to meet his gaze as the pads of his fingers pressed into her wine-flushed cheeks, her breath catching for more than just a brief moment this time. She didn't breathe at all as he leaned down, his face barely an inch from hers, her eyes wide as saucers.

So she did fear death. That was something.

"I will consider your offer, little bird," he said lightly.

Karimi swallowed, watching his eyes flicker away from hers for a moment, toward her slightly parted lips.

"And you will have your answer after my duel with your swordsman friend."

He loosened his grip the slightest bit.

Shifted his hand, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip.

"Whether it be in the form of his continued heartbeat or his bloodied corpse."

And with that he released her and straightened himself out to stand over her. With one last sharp glance down toward her, he strode away down the docks.

Karimi didn't turn her head to watch his departure, simply staring straight up at the stars dotting the inky black expanse over her head as she drew in a slow, shaky breath. Normally silence was a comfort to her, but right now, with nothing but her own troubled thoughts slowly cresting from a murmur to a chaotic jumble of inane chatter somewhere between her ears, it wasn't.

And when she closed her eyes to sigh, to try to calm herself, all she could see plastered to the back of ger eyelids were his own sharp, yellow irises.

Next Chapter Link again for your convenience

[cinebration]

Demonic Shadow (Geralt of Rivia x Reader) [Request]

Sorry in advance if you don't accept requests.

But… Here is my request. It is addressed to Geralt of Rivia with an Umbra Witch. I don't know if you know the Bayonetta games or some concept (a few days ago I found out that many people don't know the games).

Back in context, the newly trained Umbra Witch and her demons at her service are sent to the world of The Witcher, thanks to her training she gets a mercenary job and due to her height (Umbra witches are 2 meters and a little more) people don't mess with her on top of her reputation for controlling beasts.

And she meets Geralt when he accidentally mistakes one of her demons and thinks he wanted to attack her.

If possible, it is better that she does not have a flirtatious personality, since Umbra witches are actually very traditional, and only those who are already experienced and who have been away from their domains for a long time are the daring ones. This is more like a little data.

Thank you very much for reading and goodbye.—Requested by anon

Warnings: blood, violence

Gif Source: lamberts

Geralt froze, the sudden silence in the forest a louder cry of alarm than even the shriek of a human in peril. Roach slowed to a stop, chuffing uneasily as Geralt stilled in the saddle, sharp Witcher senses attuned to any disturbance. In the chill winter air, both his and the horse’s breath plumed in white clouds before them.

SNAP!

Geralt slipped off Roach and shooed her away, steel sword sliding free of its sheath. On near-silent footsteps through the snow, he took cover behind a tree, turning east toward the direction of the snapped branch.

The forest waited with bated breath.

SNAP!

Followed by the soft crunch of snow underfoot, not twenty paces off to Geralt’s left.

The wolf-head pendant vibrated against his chest.

Magic.

The Witcher’s mind raced. The presence of magic meant a much harder fight than he was prepared to have. The injuries he had sustained a few days before while fighting the drowned dead were only mostly healed, and he was embarrassingly fatigued after two days of hard travel. Roach had already moved off, distancing herself from Geralt—and taking his elixirs with her.

Teeth grinding in dismay, Geralt peered around the rough bark of the tree, trying to glimpse the source of magic.

A figure moved briefly through the trees.

Stilling once more, Geralt shifted his stance, muscles coiling for an attack. Edging around the tree, he strained to glimpse the figure once more.

The winter sun sliced sharply through the loose canopy of trees. A shadow slinked toward another tree, extending outrageously tall against the disturbed snow behind it. Geralt managed to keep his heartbeat calm.

The shadow looked like a demon.

Geralt sped through his options. Demons were from other planes of existence, meaning they often followed their own rules in Geralt’s world. The shadow was nothing like Geralt had ever seen. Without specific knowledge of the beast, the Witcher was working in the dark as to how to banish it back to its realm.

To his right, Roach whinnied in alarm and pranced away, the whites of her eyes flashing against her bay skin.

Fuck, Geralt thought, and he slid around the tree, sprinting toward the shadow as Roach cried out again in distress, shying away from whatever approached her.

The shadow’s twisted jaw opened in a soundless snarl.

Geralt flew past the tree blocking his view of the creature, snow kicking up in his wake, sword angled for a strong strike.

A towering woman in strange, tight-fitting garb, your face obscured but for bright, sharp eyes, spun to meet him, strange devices wielded in both hands.

Geralt hesitated.

BOOM!

Pain slammed into Geralt’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.

BOOM!

The impact sent him onto his back, the wind knocked out of his lungs. Molten fire poured through his chest, muddying his senses. The hilt of his sword still weighed heavy in his rough palm, but he struggled to grasp it.

He gasped for air.

You slid into his field of vision. You stood above him like one of the trees, taller even than the Witcher. The object in one of your hands issued a thin wisp of smoke.

“I see this place is filled with savages,” you murmured, a hint of disappointment coloring your voice. “I had expected more of a challenge.”

An inhuman voice answered you in a language of gravelly, distorted sounds.

“Yes, I know. It’s early yet.”

Sighing, you peered down at Geralt’s pain-contorted features. Lips peeling back from his teeth in a snarl, he growled, “What are you?”

You hesitated, eyes narrowing a fraction, before answering, “A witch.”

“You are…no witch.”

The inhuman voice grated against Geralt’s ears.

Nodding, you replied to the Witcher, “Your opinion means nothing to me.”

You strode over him, disappearing from his view. Geralt craned his head, forced himself to roll onto one shoulder to watch you. Pain poured fresh fire through him.

Roach galloped away, her fear palpable, the smell of her sweat tangible on the chill air.

Geralt’s blood spilled onto the white snow.

You headed for the horizon. Your demonic shadow followed.

[freyasilverbough]

The Cave Bear and the White Wolf - First Meeting

Notes: I kinda wrote myself into a corner lmao so I’m going back to Act 1 in my wip. I also restarted Freya’s run because I wanted more Act 2 screens and the other one is honor. Also I realized that I started this story at a weird spot in the game so I just wanted to fix that. Will write more as this playthrough progresses, and as always feedback and suggestions are more than welcome.

Cw for blood, canon typical violence, mention of a severed head.

Halsin dodged as yet another stone came flying at his face. He’d been locked in this cage for days, with no food, trapped in his ursine form lest the goblins learned just who they had taken prisoner. The Archdruid of the Emerald Grove would make a fine trophy for these savages and their leaders.

He came to this place in pursuit of whispers that these “Absolute” cultists had found a way to navigate his life’s greatest regret. The shadow curse that had gripped the region surrounding Reithwin in Shar’s wicked talons for over a century. The curse that had taken his oldest friend captive.

Perhaps he’d been too hasty, joining with the human Aradin and his band. They had turned tail and abandoned him the second things went awry. He supposed an Archdruid should have known better than to trust a mercenary. Halsin had always done his best to see the good in others, no matter how many times it stabbed him in the back - sometimes literally. In all his long life, such an outlook had only truly benefitted him a handful of times, and yet his foolish optimism prevailed each time.

He hardly registered the group of strangers that marched straight up to the goblins throwing stones at him. A tiefling woman, blazing like the sun, her flaming sword strapped across her back. A smaller man with mousy brown hair, his earring marking him as one of Mystra’s wizards. A pale elf of equal stature to the other man, confidence and amusement radiating off of him, daggers sheathed at his sides and a bow slung over his shoulder. They were led by a woman with silver braids and a commanding aura, even with her relaxed swagger. She wore a circlet across her forehead that marked her as a follower of Selûne, with piercings lining her pointed ears to match, but the designation ended there. Her armor was granite-hued steel, not like the other Selûnites he’d come across over the centuries. They typically preferred to reflect their goddess with hues of blue, silver, and white, and rarely did they don a full suit of armor. Few of them were warriors, but he had seen a few paladins among the druids and Harpers he fought with a hundred years before. Rare, but not unheard of.

The woman crossed her arms over her chest and cocked a hip. She assessed the situation there with a discerning glare before her eyes landed on him, still in bear form, and he noticed that her eyes were the purest sapphire blue. Her gaze bore right through his fur, as if she could see into his very soul.

“What in all the sweet hells do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her tone commanding respect and authority. Odd, that she would take the time to aid a bear in a cage. Most soldiers found the creatures of nature to be beneath them, or simply unworthy of their time.

“We’re juicin’ him up,” the goblin encouraging his assault by the children said. “Boss is thinkin’ of servin’ him to the worgs.” She chuckled, as if it was all a joke to her. Knowing the ways of goblins, it likely was a joke to her.

The silver-haired woman glared at her, before flicking her ocean eyes to the bear once more. “Enough. You’re done here.” The other two men at her back shifted nervously, as if wanting to avoid a brawl, while the tiefling woman seemed to flare brighter in anticipation.

“We don’t have time for this,” the male elf whispered to the warrior. “We shouldn’t even be here.”

“Then leave,” the woman whirled to him with a glare that Halsin had no doubt could cut glass. “See what the fuck I care.” She turned her piercing glower back to the goblins. “Let him go,” she demanded.

Convinced that he now had at least one ally against the mob of goblins that held him captive, Halsin lowered his hackles and growled. A low, menacing sound deep from his chest, one that made the goblins cower in fear. The silver-haired woman only seemed to stand taller while her companions eyed him warily. He slammed into the bars of his cage, knocking the gate down with such force it crushed the goblin female that joked about his impending demise. The woman leading the adventurers drew the longsword she previously kept sheathed across her back, but rather than striking him down, she turned on his foes.

She slammed the pommel into the heads of the goblin children as they ran past her to alert the rest of the camp, knocking them unconscious, while the male elf fired arrows at the goblins that had moved against them across the room. Each arrowhead struck true. The wizard lobbed balls of fire while the flaming tiefling woman sprinted to those leftover with an insane cackle. The silver haired woman calmly strode to the other cage, where the worgs were kept. She pulled the lever to open the door and began her battle with the beasts while her friends fought the goblins in the room. Every swipe of their claws was dodged or blocked with practiced skill, and Halsin ran to her as she battled two against one. He reached her left flank as one of the worgs bit at her while she was occupied with the other. Halsin let out a loud roar as his own maw closed around the worg’s throat.

The warrior woman shoved her sword through her enemy’s throat as the others finished with the goblins, and Halsin shed his wildshape for the first time in days. He stumbled just a bit as he adjusted to standing on two legs. The armored woman before him quirked an amused eyebrow as her companions rejoined them and started at the bear-turned-elf.

“Pardon the viscera,” he chuckled. “One should cherish all of nature’s bounty, but goblin guts are quite far down the list. You aided a bear without knowing if it would savage you? A true friend of nature, or perhaps a lunatic.”

“Who’s to say I’m not both?” The soldier said, amusement lacing her tone.

“Either way, I owe thanks. I am the druid Halsin.”

“Pleasure. I’m called Freya,” the woman said. Freya. A strong name, not one he often heard in this region. Apt, he thought, as he stared down at her. In this form, she was eye level with his chest. The shortest of her companions, but she somehow stood the tallest of them all. Something about her seemed familiar, he couldn’t put his finger on it. He knew he’d remember someone like her if they met before, her hair alone was a distinguishing feature, but he couldn’t place her.

“I’ve been to your grove,” Freya continued, disrupting his thoughts. “You should know your second in command was planning to undertake the Rite of Thorns and force the refugees out. I’m told you would disapprove of such extremes.” She eyed him carefully, as if determining whether what she’d heard about him was true. Indeed, he should have known Kagha would do something like this the instant she was handed the power of a First Druid. He silently cursed himself once more as the implications of his absence settled over him.

“Kagha…I will deal with her when I can.” Something flashed behind Freya’s eye as he spoke, something unnatural, something he’d only seen recently, when walking with Nettie…”I sense, Freya, that you have a problem you need my help with.”

“What problem?” Freya crossed her arms over her chest again and widened her stance, but Halsin meant her no harm. She had just saved him from certain death, after all.

He held up his palm, golden light pouring out of him. Halsin called upon the Oak Father as he reached into her mind with his magic. Freya stiffened, and Halsin confirmed his suspicions as he felt the presence he was looking for. He jerked his hand back as something in her mind bit him.

“That problem. Oak Father preserve you, child, you’re infected aren’t you?” His concern leaked into his tone, and his features. He was never adept at concealing his emotions, and he truly did feel sorry for the woman. She was doomed to ceremorphosis, yet she showed no signs of turning. Something was different, she didn’t bow to this “Absolute” like the other so-called True Souls did. Indeed, he sensed she didn’t bow to much of anything at all.

“I don’t need your pity, druid. Only a cure,” she snapped.

“I studied these parasites up close. I’m sorry to say, I can’t cure you, but I have the next best thing. I know where these tadpoles originate. I overheard the cultists say that they’re sending the infected to Moonrise Towers, and I’ll bet that’s where you’ll find your cure.”

“No.” Her refusal came as swift and hard as a hammer on an anvil as her fury darkened her features.

“It’s either Moonrise, or certain ceremorphosis. I’m sure of it,” Halsin kept his tone level. He had his own reasons for wanting to return to that land, but he couldn’t go alone. For the time being, their goals aligned. These adventurers needed to reach Moonrise to cure their parasites, and he needed to restore the balance there. He was so close, and yet frustratingly far.

“We’ll find another way,” she stated plainly, steel determination radiating from her like its own aura. She turned to leave, but the wizard caught her arm. A brave man, Halsin mused, for Freya looked at him like she’d run him through for daring to touch her.

“It’s worth hearing the druid out,” the human murmured to her. “What if there is no other way? We’ve come this far already, let’s not abandon the one lead we have so quickly.”

“I, personally, don’t find the idea of transforming into a tentacled monster very appetizing, my dear. To each their own, of course, but I’ll have to take the druid’s side.” The white haired elf placed a relaxed hand on his hip as he spoke.

“We face certain death if we travel there,” Freya growled. She knew of the curse, then.

“We face certain death if we don’t,” the elf shot back.

She shook the wizard off of her bicep and turned back to face Halsin. He raised his eyebrows at her and held his breath in anticipation of her verdict.

“You know what awaits us in that place, I assume?” She leveled the question at the druid with no shortage of malice.

“I do,” Halsin kept his tone flat, deciding that it was not the time to reveal his intentions with regards to the curse. “I’ve long sought to return to Moonrise, but I cannot leave here until I put everything right. I’ve no right to ask more of you, but these butchers threatened my grove. If I could ask your aid once more, I’d be free to join you on your journey to Moonrise.”

“What would you have me do?”

“There are three leaders here, eliminate them and nature will restore itself. I need you to kill the drow Minthara, the hobgoblin Dror Ragzlin, and that perversion of a priestess Gut.” Freya relaxed at his deliverance of her new mission. He gathered she held no qualms about killing, he only hoped that her violence focused on the malevolent.

“Leave it to me.”

—-----

Freya returned to him in record time, bloodied and bruised and almost singing with after-battle adrenaline. She carried the head of the hobgoblin by the hair in one hand, blood soaked sword in the other. The warrior tossed the severed head at Halsin’s feet as she approached and wiped the blade of her sword on her elbow.

“The camp is clear. You’re free to go.” Her tone was flat and dismissive as Halsin realized she meant she had cleansed this place of all its inhabitants. He raised his eyebrows at her once more in question, waiting for further explanation.

“The beasts desecrated a temple of Selûne. I purged the rot,” she remarked with a shrug.

“Who managed to hit you?” He blurted, noticing the splotch of purple that bloomed on her cheekbone under all the blood.

“Drow.” She turned on her heel as the wizard started murmuring an incantation, violet light swirling around his arms. A portal opened before the party, and she stepped through it without a care in the world. The fiery tiefling simply laughed before she followed, then the other elf. The wizard looked over his shoulder with an apologetic look.

“I’ll meet you there,” Halsin told him. The human nodded, then bounded through his portal as it closed.

Leaving Halsin to wonder about the strange warrior woman that had just catapulted into his life.

[toggle1-mrfipp]

Opera Omnia Burst Theme 4/?

In the first three posts I covered all the songs that were used for characters tht were able to receive their respective BTs, as well as put up my own suggestions for ones that had not gotten them. The rest of these posts will be more or less self-indulgence on my part as I list characters that could have gotten into the game, as well as songs that might have been used for them.

Final Fantasy I Matoya: Matoya's Cave

Final Fantasy II Gordon: Dungeon Josef: Escape! Ricard Highwind: Ancient Castle

Final Fantasy III Sara Altney: Jinn, the Fire Cid Haze: Sailing Enterprise Aria Bennet: Aria, Maiden of the Water Doga: Let Me Know the Truth Unnei: Let Me Know the Truth (Remake) Luneth: Boss 2 (Remake) Arc: Dungeon (Remake) Refia: Battle 1 (Remake) Ingus: Forbidden Land Eureka

Final Fantasy IV Tellah: Tower of Zot Cid Pollendina: Hey, Cid! Zemus: Final Battle (Pixel Remaster) Scarmiglione: Battle with the Four Fiends (Pixel Remaster) Cagnazzo: Battle with the Four Fiends (Dissidia) Barbariccia: Battle with the Four Fiends (FFXIV) Luca: Dancing Calcabrina Harley: Edward's Harp Gekkou: Battle 1 (Pixel Remaster) Izayoi: Mount Ordeals Tsukinowa: Into the Darkness (Pixel Remaster) Zangetsu: Battle 2 (Pixel Remaster) Maenad: The Eidolons Shackled

Final Fantasy V Ghido: Library of the Ancients Boko: Go, Boko Go! Enuo: The Decisive Battle Final Fantasy VI Umaro: Umaro's Theme Gogo: Gogo's Theme Banon: The Returners Ultros: Grand Finale Ghost: Phantom Train

Final Fantasy VII Red XIII: Red XIII's Theme Tseng: Shinra's Full Scale Assault Elena: Hurry Up! Hojo: J-E-N-O-V-A Loz: Beyond the Wasteland Yazoo: Battle in the Forgotten City Genesis Rhapsody: The SOLDIER Way Nero the Sable: Fight Tune: Messenger of the Dark Rosso the Crimson: Fight Tune: Crimson Impact Azul the Cerulean: Fight Tune: Killing One Another Elfe: Theme of Elfe Roche: Ignition Flame

Final Fantasy VIII Ward Zabac: Silence and Motion Kiros Seagill: Ride On Edea Kramer: FITHOS LUSEC WECOS VINOSEC Adel: Lunatic Pandora

Final Fantasy IX: Blank: Vamo'alla Flamenco Marcus: Sword of Fury Lani: Battle 1 Mikoto: Bran Bal, The Soulless Village Black Waltz No 3: Battle 2 Thorn and Zorn: Jesters of the Moon Garland: Master of Time

Final Fantasy X Rikku: Start or YRP, Fight No. 1 depending how her kit is built Gunner Yuna: YRP, Fight No. 3 Yunalesca: Challenge Leblanc: Let Me Blow You A Kiss Logos: Infiltration! Leblanc's Hideout! Ormi: Anything Goes For Leblanc! Baralai: New Yevon Gippal: Machima Faction Nooj: Youth League Lenne: 1000 Words (FFX2 Mix) Shuyin: Their Resting Place

Final Fantasy XI Zeid: Fury Volker: Battle Theme Star Sibyl: Heaven's Tower Semih Lafihna: Battle 2 Ajido-Marujido: Battle in the Dungeon 2 Trion I d'Oraguille: Battle in the Dungeon Curilla V Mercu: Ronfaure Maat: Tough Battle Shadow Lord: Awakening Aldo: Battle 3 Gilgamesh: Battle in the Dungeon 3 Ulmia: Onslaught Tenzen: Isle of the Gods Naja Salaheem: Mercenaries' Delight Luzaf: Black Coffin Razfhad: Hellriders Cait Sith: On This Blade Lady Lilith: Goddess Divine Larzos: Kindred Cry Morimor: Steel Sings, Blades Dance Teodor: Monstrosity Balamor: Clouds Over Ulbuka

Previous Entry Next Entry

[iphoenixrising]

DickTim Week 2021: Day 5 Winged!Talon Tim au

So. another dual prompt and I really regret nothing about this one tbh. I took tomorrow’s Talon and today’s Wings and made a Winged!Talon!Tim fic. Of course, I talked to the wonderful babes on Capes & Coffee about a what if combination and this just, whew. Careful, it might break your heart a little, but damn if it isn’t an interesting idea.

Not beta read, so don't be a hater :D

Previous Talon!Tim universe posts: The initial idea, Babe and I talking it out, Talon Training Ask, Ra’s vs the Court, Talon and Ra’s, Talon and Ra’s take 2, Talon and Shiva short.

**

Watching B take on the new and improved Talon is really the entertainment of the year.

Once upon a time it had taken all of them plus more to take down as much of the Court of Owls as humanly possible. Of course, like rats, the Bats knew there would be no way to get the entire Court or all the Talons, not when the upper echelons of Gotham had spent the better part of 200 years creating, storing, training, and obtaining more.

Politicians were investigated, corrupt cops removed, and criminals burrowed underground once word of what the capes did to save the day got passed around.

For the first time in years, crime in Gotham was at an all time low.

But, as the coin flip dictates, nothing good lasts forever. Trouble is always brewing below the surface to eventually rise to the top and try to take over.

Case in point:

The Bats of Gotham have come up against a new threat wearing the signature Talon armor, and the call goes out to all available capes for help taking on the undead mercenary before another crime family ends up in the Obituaries rather than Blackgate.

The fact the Court is still up and running after the Batfamily took them down in a fiery blaze that ended with all their Talons gone, Sensei exposed, and most the ruling families imprisoned or poisoned by Lincoln March, is like a kick to the abdomen after they closed that particular book. Worse, with a new Talon soldier is sighted running around Gotham, another circus kid has been kidnapped and turned into the right hand of the Court of Owls. Dick, with his absolute survivors guilt, is the one to make going after the Talon and whoever is still behind the scenes a top priority.

Which is how they find themselves in the middle of Knight’s Stadium facing down a Talon that is too short to be March. Red Hood, Nightwing, Robin, Batgirl, and Black Bat pretty much got their asses handed to them in the first twelve minutes. Pretty hard to understand until you take into account the new and improved Talon facing them now is terrifying in a completely different way than most undead assassins are.

He knows them.

He knows them in ways that lets him fight fast and furious with vicious accuracy, striking at weaknesses few of the vigilantes of Gotham realized they even had.

He isn't as big as Lincoln or even Cobb, not nearly as old. He hasn't been kept in cryostasis waiting for the next generation to need his skills. He doesn't have creaks in his joints from being put on deep freeze too many times.

This one is silent and efficient, obviously trained in multiple types of martial arts, is highly proficient with or without the standard Talon knives, is a master tactician, counters the majority of their moves with alarming consistency–

and the fucking Talon has wings.

Honest-to-God wings.

Everyone had assumed the metal monstrosities on his back were weapons of some kind, but the glint of steel in the streetlight flash a warning before the lumps moved in an arch, extending far out past his shoulder blades, slicing into Red Hood’s body suit with a razor-sharp edge, shredding the armor like paper.

It’s not enough he’s got weapons obviously made specifically for his skill set, it’s not enough he’s an assassin and doesn’t hold to the same standards of non-lethal combat, it’s not enough that he can use his wings to fly or to fight like he’s using another limb to kick the shit out of them, and it’s not enough that he effortlessly counters so many of their attacks that he has to have some kind of inside information on all of them and their fighting styles.

The knives are definitely a thing when the Talon can throw them hard enough to penetrate parts of their suits in between armored plating, which further drives the theory that this is a person they’ve dealt with before. Intimately. Few people in the world know how their suits are made. Even more, few people know particulars enough when their suits are constantly reconstructed.

The only thing on their side that tipped the scales in their favor–

–the Batman.

The wings threw him off his game, obviously, but not enough to stop B from holding his own with swift and merciless force.

It's like watching a dance of fast and furious fists, blades in Talon's hands glinting deadly in the night, finding B's suit over and over and over until he's made it to blood and bone. He takes every hit the Batman can dish out, head snapping back, left, and right with the volley of jaw-breaking blows and bone-shattering kicks.

None of it gives the Talon pause. When a move makes him drop a blade, another is already in hand, cutting into their body suits, wings flipping out to defend or distract, sweeping moves and well coordinated attacks.

The unnatural appendages are like another arm, another leg, an extension working on the same central nervous system, regardless as to how the Court managed to make it happen.

A jump kick off a trash can is a lucky shot as a wing catches B in the ribs hard enough to knock him into the wall of Mike's Famous Hotdogs. The only thing saving the Dark Knight from a concussion or permanent brain damage is the plating in his cowl.

It gives the Talon enough time to make a final bid for a battered Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin struggling to their feet again, eyes for their fallen mentor.

Before he can lunge forward to start the attack yet again, the Talon just stops, pauses like he’s stuck or something, and in the span of a breath, both wings extend fully, flap powerfully once to propel him up into the Gotham night.

O tries her best to track his flight through the city, but no one’s arms are working well enough to toss a tracker on him.

She loses him over Cape Carmine, slams her palms against her system in frustration, makes sure she gets as much footage from the confrontation as possible.

After some sleep and a whole lot of bandages and ice packs, the Bat family meets in the Cave to watch the footage, breakdown the Talon’s fighting style, his weaponry, and make theories on his identity.

O helps out with readings she has of electronic pulses she managed to capture coming from the armor over his wings. She thinks she might be able to use it to track him if they can get close enough for her equipment to ping the signal again.

B makes a trip to Arkham since Freeze apparently hasn’t stopped producing the formula used to put Talons in cryostasis.

It’s not until Gotham’s power grid has a massive surge that O and the Bats can pinpoint a possible location, all of them invested in one hell of a fight to get the last rats still scurrying in the underground.

The plan of attack comes together smoothly once they’ve scoped out the location, seen the shady activity, and together, they make one hell of a plan.

**

And because, you know, Gotham, it is completely normal for the Court of Owl's headquarters to have a skylight.

Natch.

For this one, they've got Batgirl and Black Bat, Red Hood and Robin, Nightwing and B, a real family affair.

O's quiet voice over comms leading them through the maze of traps and empty rooms, abandoned libraries and spooky ball rooms. The laboratory isn't the most horrific they've all ever seen (because the Joker's summer place is literally the stuff of nightmares), but a few of them do gag on the smell alone.

The plan, however, goes horribly awry when the clear sounds of tormented screaming echoes from right under their reinforced bootheels.

Black Bat's fists clench hard, her breathing wheezes out when the tone, the utter agony goes right through her.

A shudder slides up Robin's spine as all of them turn toward the noise.

Without a flicker or a word, the Batman moves, strafing in the shadows toward the sound. He can't assume it's an innocent civilian with something the Court wants, but he's betting on the fact that scream will lead them to whoever is running the show.

The medieval room has bars and reinforced locks, implements hanging on the wall. The cement brick is stained rust colored with old blood, the vestiges of training, and the awful realization they've found another hidden niche in the city that always existed right under their noses is punctuated with the abrupt drop in temperature, with the sudden charge in the air, with the zzzzcrack snapping beyond the door, replaced with a muted buzzing Robin can feel in his back teeth.

B is already on his way to the roof, Batgirl down through the floor vent while Nightwing picks the locks with fast precision, knocking the tumblers around.

Robin and Red Hood stay close to the reinforced door, balancing on the balls of their feet, katana and .45s at the ready.

Black Bat takes the high road, ceiling tiles giving way under her Bat-a-rang. She gives a sharp nod before she's up and gone.

"All right. Ready?" Nightwing stands, cracks his neck, flips his escrimas in both hands, works his shoulders to prepare for the strain of each blow he plans to give.

"Ya betcha ass," Hood murmurs low, a cut figure with both guns at his sides, gloved fingers on the trigger guard.

"Don't disappoint," Robin snarls, "either of you."

"Nice pep talk, squirt," Nightwing snickers.

"Tt, back up your mouth with action."

"Better shuddap, Demon. Golden Boy ain't fuckin' 'round. Neither is the Bat. We get one more chance a' this asshole. We ain't gonna blow it again, ya feel me?"

"Finally, something we agree on, Hood."

"Other than N's shitty mullet?"

Nightwing swiftly glares at them both over his shoulder, unconsciously putting himself front and center of the trio, ready to be the first in once they get the signal.

– which is the sound of the glass raining down from the heavens.

Three booted feet kick the door hard enough to take it off the hinges, lying against the faded stains like a fallen body.

First step in the room is the complete opposite to what they'd all been expecting.

The two Owl masks aren't the usual, but a perversion of the originals, crudely drawn yawning mouths complete with fangs dripping blood.

But.

The boy on his knees, arms in a binder holding the appendages hostage at a painful angle, is dripping the real thing. Rivulets down his chest and where his back is partially visible. Some from the base of the wings going into the back of his shoulder blades where the skin is torn and raw.

The bar gag shoved in his mouth doesn't take away from the splatters on his chin, the bruising on his face, the swollen eye. But it's his wings that makes the Bats falter from the initial rushing attack.

His wings are without the armor, are bound straight up above his restrained body with hooks grotesquely puncturing through the downy softness, desecrating the beauty with blood and gore. The angle makes the pull to his back where the wings are part of him just another agony on top of atrocity.

"Fuck," from the first Owl mask, and a swift move frees the Talon's bound arms, the appendages flopping uselessly to the floor, only his trapped, tortured wings keeping him up on his knees.

The second Owl shoves the first back, "let him take care of them. Let's get out of here!"

The first Owl snarls out something low and foreign, the phrases rolling off his tongue.

The words lock into place, and the Talon's head snaps up, snarling around the gag in his mouth.

When his face is finally, finally visible, the protectors of Gotham are frozen in their tracks.

Familiar violet-blue eyes, too-long blue-black hair, cut jawline and pointed nose. Tiny scar on his right cheek from the time he caught Ra's al Ghul's ring across the face.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," is barely heard through the Red Hood's synths and in no way fully expresses his utter horror at what these dirty motherfuckers have done.

Robin wretches, bile burning the back of his throat once those eyes swing up to the masked parody of the Owls and his bare upper body is visible through the blood and sweat on his chest, when the scars peeking through on his collar bones form a half-visible Y-incision, when the coloring of the bared wings now makes sense (robin's wings, Damian Wayne thinks with his heart beating pitter patter fast, and his stomach in knots, they put robin's wings on him...).

And the hurt, agonized noise coming out of Nightwing's chest is the only noise he can make when those dimmed, dazed eyes swing from the Owls back to the vigilantes frozen in their spots, when there's no spark of joy or fondness or stubbornness he's so used to seeing staring him down.

The errant thought, the first instinct, is the only humane way to deal with this new Talon is to put him down for good wars with the man behind the mask that only wants to reach out, wants to pull the Talon into his body and curve over, to scream at the injustice of it all, to rail at himself for not even suspecting.

Another switch flipped and the hooks release his wings, blood splattering on top the old stains.

"Get them! Don't fuck it up this time or you won't get another chance," the second Owl shoves the Talon's injured shoulder in the direction of the horrified vigilantes.

They don't even bother to take the gag out of his mouth before setting him on his target.

A flap of wings, and the Talon is on his feet again, swaying only slightly. He's in the boots and pants from earlier, the rest of his uniform tossed carelessly behind him by his tormentors. A sweep of his feet and the knives glint in bare palms, a whisper of a sound.

The curved, clawed blade glints in the overhead light when the Talon raises it and cuts the strap of the bar gag in his bloody mouth, turns his head to spit it out without looking away from the vigilantes.

The Batman, grim and stoic in the face of this surprising turn of events, gives the barest nod. From her hiding spot behind the complex machinery, Black Bat takes off after the running Owl members, leaving the rest of the family to deal with their former third Robin.

The wings flinchingly flare out and their former bird hunches over, ready for the attack.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait,” the Red Hood removes the helmet, leaves the domino underneath. He keeps one hand out in peace, slowly dipping down to put his helmet on the ground. “Is us, Tim. Timmy. Baby Bird. Is us. Yer family. Gotta lookit us, yeah?”

For the first time, the Talon speaks, “who’s Tim?”

And then he lunges.

**

The fight happens very differently this time.

The former power behind the punches is obviously dulled with the Talon’s identity reveal. He doesn’t hold back, is utterly ruthless with his attacks. He takes out B’s right knee, puts Hood down on the stained floor, knocks Robin into the wall with crushing force, and slams Batgirl’s head off the operating table.

He stands over Nightwing, wicked blade in hand and robin’s wings spread wide. He takes a knee, the sharp edge right above N’s adam’s apple, staring down impassively into the whiteouts.

“Timmy,” N spits blood, grunting when one knee pins his arm down. “Timmy, please. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I love you and I’m sorry they did this to you.”

Those eyes don’t change in the slightest. “You should not have tried to oppose the Owls.”

“We beat them once,” Nightwing gasps, “and you helped us, Baby Bird. You were with us then, don’t you remember.”

“I was nothing before the Court perfected me,” the Talon replies emotionlessly.

“You were perfect before they ever touched you.”

“No,” and the Talon leans down, puts them a breath away. “The only thing you and those others do is put the criminals back in prison, back in Arkham for them to escape again, for them to kill and destroy over and over again. Like this, I can stop them permanently.”

“Oh Timmy,” and behind the whiteouts, Nightwing’s eyes spill over, his vision wavery. “Timmy–”

“Don’t call me that. Stop calling me that.”

“You know me, you know us. You have to remember–”

“Lies. All of it lies!”

Nightwing’s chest stutters, his fist clenching, “it’s not. None of it is. Not even this–”

And he’s fast enough to grab the back of the Talon’s neck, to lean up enough against the blade pressed against his throat, can bring their mouths together, can kiss him like he’s dying and the Talon is the only thing that can save him.

It’s sloppy and awkward because the Talon doesn’t know what’s happening, gasps against the vigilante’s mouth. The tongue sliding over his, the muffled moan in his mouth sparks something in the back of his brain where the Court of Owls could never touch.

When Nightwing pulls back, stares up at wide violet-blue eyes, when the blade falls away to clatter against the block, when the Talon’s mouth trembles and tears fill his eyes, when his wings flutter and falter, fold in on them both, when his voice goes hoarse with, “D-Dick?” Nightwing throws both arms around his waist and holds on.

[loominggaia]

Can you give a list of links to all of drifters hollows resides origin storys?

Itchy has a full origin story (plus 2 sequels!). They are: Dirty Animal, Sugar and Shine, and Coins for Clowns.

Tomato's origin story is included in Dirty Animal linked above, while Cinnamon's origin story is in Sugar and Shine.

Dr. Che's origin is briefly explored in the beginning of Love Poison.

Lilian's origin story is Ghoul Beneath the Guise. Her story is continued over the course of Monster by Moonlight, Good Job, Eat Your Heart Out, and Pig Bait.

The rest of the non-mercenary villagers don't have full origin stories yet, but I would like to write them at some point in the future. These aren't exactly origin stories, but here are some villager arcs:

Philippa first appears in Unbreakable and her story is continued in For Good Health and Love Poison.

Connor is first introduced in Lost and Found. His story continues in Blue Boy and Hereditary.

Tojum makes her first appearance in Body-Hopping and her story is continued in small bits throughout the whole series, most notably Fungicide, For Good Health, and Love Poison.

Morbus first appears in Coins for Clowns and her story continues throughout the whole series, most notably Fungicide, Supply and Demand, and Love Poison.

Zacry first appears in As Nature Intended.

As for the Freelance Good Guys...

Evan: Monster by Moonlight + Bellyaching

Lukas: The Perfect Shot

Glenvar: Flopper and the Whopper

Alaine: Chains of Melody

Jeimos: The Shadow Sector + Call Me Jeimos

Isaac: Either Lost Scriptures or Trial of Titans, both are valid.

Linde: Steel Knuckle Squad: The Student

Balthazaar: Steel Knuckle Squad: The Felon

Skel: Steel Knuckle Squad: The Slave + Blue Dress

Javaan: Steel Knuckle Squad: The Urchin

Elska: To Fight the Fog

Mr. Ocean: Ocean Returns to the Sea + Clutchmates

Zeffer: He doesn't have a full origin story, but he makes his first appearance in Monster by Moonlight, then his saga continues in The Aldfog Mystery, Eat Your Heart Out, and Pig Bait.

Hope that helps!

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

[buildmeafairytale]

Female reader x Male Drider

Finished my request from @acreepqueen​, let me know if you guys like it, I have some ideas for a (possibly NSFW) part 2.  Constructive feedback is always welcome :)  

Edit: Part 2 - NSFW

When father gave you news of your new guard, you were initially thrilled. While you were not his first born, you were still anxious as royal kidnappings had been becoming all the more common. Your father figured a full time guard would be a good solution for you, as well as your sisters. He was also increasing his ranks a bit, keeping a few more guards full time. 

“Oh, I hope mine’s handsome,” you admitted, giggling to your older sisters. The eldest huffed at you, fondly, and informed you that the guards weren’t being paid to be eye candy.

“Do you never think of romance Priscilla? Let our sister fantasize about her guard, Vivie isn’t hurting anyone,” your other sister chimed in, Anna always one to come to your defense. 

Truthfully, you had been rather sheltered when it came to boys. Everyone seems to think princesses would be overrun with suitors but that has never been the case with you. Being the youngest of three girls, you held the least amount of political power and were less sought after due to this. Your eldest sister didn’t care much for the suitors at her feet however, more content to learn how she was to run the kingdom in the future.

You spent the days leading up to your guard’s arrival picturing all different ideas of what he would look like. Maybe he would be an orc, with arms that could be mistaken for tree trunks and a voice like gravel, or maybe a minotaur with soft fur that you would be tempted to run your hands through. You knew whoever he was, he would be large and strong, and more than likely something much more powerful than human. You sigh, succumbing to your romantic daydreams.

You are sitting on the window sill in your bedroom attempting - and failing -  to knit a blanket when you spot the caravan approaching. With rapt attention you try to make out the shapes and guess what one of them will be your guard. You see a few strong looking humans among the ranks, a female dark elf dressed handsomely in military garb, a few orcs who look to be mercenaries, and a rather daunting looking minotaur leading the way. 

Before you could analyze the rest of the crowd, though, a spider dropped down from the top of the window into your lap. A shrill sound left you lips and you shot out of your seat, heartbeat racing, and batted the spider away. Spiders always scared you, and while you wouldn’t kill the poor thing, you certainly didn’t want it anywhere near you. Still shaking, you made your way down the tower your bedroom was in, looking to find one of the staff members to remove the spider. Not an unusual occurrence for you, and as soon as one of the butlers spotted you coming towards him distressed, he simply grabbed a dustpan and followed you back up to your room.

The staff were quite used to your arachnophobia and most were very kind and accommodating about it. Seeing as most had been here since you were a baby, they felt mostly like extended family. Almost everyone in the castle knew your fear, except for your father. You were his youngest, and he still tended to treat you like a little girl; you knew letting him know about this fear would not aid in your endeavor to be treated your age. 

Suffice to say, this backfired greatly: said backfiring manifesting itself in the guard your father personally appointed to you. 

You come down into the dining hall dressed nicely and your hair tied back; you want to make a good impression on whoever will be your guardian. You had a tendency to wander about, and with the lack of responsibilities you had politically you found yourself often roaming the grounds around the castle. If you wanted to keep these freedoms you would have to learn to be sneaky - not much of a strong suit of yours - or get your guard to like you and tolerate your exploration. 

When you make it to the dining hall, you spot your sisters already seated with who must be their new guards. Priscilla is sitting with the pretty dark elf, and Anna with the minotaur. The other presence in the room makes you stop in your tracks. 

A drider. They are built much like centaurs, with their upper bodies being mostly human looking and their bottom half being that of something else. In the case of a drider, that something else is a spider. This particular drider is incredibly tall, with what look to be small pointed pincers on the side of his mouth. His skin in a grayish blue, his body nothing but hard corded muscle. He looks at you with two large eyes that are entirely black with silver speckles, reminiscent of stars in the night sky. He also has several smaller eyes under and over the larger ones. The lower half of his body sends chills down your spine. Right before his body changes, he has an extra set of arms. Underneath that are his many legs, smooth and sharply bent black that remind you of the scariest spiders that haunt your nightmares. This is your guard. 

Your breath hitches and your hands start to sweat. You do your best to turn your grimace into a polite smile. 

This is a person, not a spider. He is a person who is here to protect me, and you will not let him know how scary you find him. 

You try to calm your nerves and convince yourself to relax as much as possible, trying to avoid offending your guard. Your sisters are eyeing you, trying to gauge your reaction. With pitying looks directed your way, they know how hard this will be for you. 

“Hello, I’m Vivie. You must be my guard?” Your voice comes out higher than normal, and cracks. You hold your shaking hand out for him, but he does not reach for it. With a friendly smile he responds, bowing his head.

“Yes, Princess. My name is Rhavor and I will be guarding you. It is a pleasure to meet you, your highness.” His voice is like velvet, helping to calm your nerves a bit. Your hand lowers and you give a nervous smile.

“Likewise, Rhavor.”

Saving you from what is turning into a bit of an awkward silence, your father comes in and everyone is seated, Rhavor across from you. He does not use a chair, only tucks his long legs under himself and settles in, a sight that you found equally adorable and stomach churning.

Adorable? When have I ever thought anything a spider did was less than horrifying?

Your father is ecstatic with his guard choices, and seems to feel safer and more at ease with more men loyal to him milling about. Conversation flows easily for the rest of the table; your sisters help keep your mind off of your guard and help you avoid embarrassing yourself. Sitting down you do a bit better at speaking to Rhavor since his bottom half is obscured by the table. 

Your father briefs everyone about what is expected, the dark elf going on about rotations and such. One of the rooms below yours in the tower is being converted into a bedroom for Rhavor, so he can be close when you sleep. A twenty four hour guard is worth nothing if he is not able to rest as well, you suppose.

There is no time to slowly adjust to Rhavor’s presence, as the first thing you are met with in the morning is him standing outside his door in the tower awaiting your arrival. Still bleary eyed from sleep, the start you give at his presence was unrestrained. With red cheeks you tell him good morning, and the two of you start your day. 

After a breakfast that was quite nerve racking for you, Rhavor asks about your schedule and things you like to do. You are thankful for him leading the conversation, and glad he does not seem deterred by your short answers. 

“I hope you do not feel as though you will need to change your schedule because of my presence, I assure you I will be of no disturbance to you, princess.” He seems so kind, it really is a pity he makes you so nervous. 

“In that case, I think I will be headed to the gardens, then.” You stop yourself before inviting him to tag along, knowing that he will anyway. You float around the gardens, stopping to chat with some of the staff tending to things. You make your way to your favorite spot in the garden, a gazebo your father had made for you after you read of one in one of your romance novels. It is covered in pink, gauzy drapes and holds flowers and cushions all over the floor. It is your favorite hide away, a place you always feel most comfortable. It is here, with Rhavor facing away from you standing at the entrance, eyes trained ahead, that you let yourself take a good look at him. 

You start with his legs, all eight of them long and powerful. They’re all sharp angles, and connect to his thick thorax, peppered with thin hairs. The black of it transitions into the blue-grey of his skin. His torso is covered in elegant steel armor with black stones near the neck, and his weapon stands next to him, a long scythe with a black blade. His face is angular, his larger eyes are framed by some of the most beautiful eyelashes you have ever seen, and a long black braid flows down his back. You shake your head, clearing those thoughts away. You avert your eyes and go back to your reading. 

The days go by and you continue to make small talk with Rhavor, your constant shadow. You become less scared of him as well, the nerves you feel in his presence feeling more like butterflies in your stomach rather than a pit in it. You even start to make him tea and insist he sits with you more, instead of just always standing guard at the door of whatever room you are in. You include him in more of your daily activities, and he starts to feel like more of an over-armored companion that a guard.

Sitting in the gazebo, you are once again trying to knit yourself a blanket. While you could just ask your father for another, you want to know how to do things for yourself. Being a princess is no excuse to not have any skills, and there is something so satisfying about making something. However, it’s the third time you’ve had to start over and it just looks like a pile of knots is sitting in your lap. You hear Rhavor stifling in his laughter, and your head shoots up, a playful glare on your face.

“You think you could do much better then?” you tease at him, not expecting his response. 

“Well, yes,” he lets out a huff of laughter, “I’m a drider, I could make you a blanket with my eyes closed. It’s as natural as spinning a web for me,” He scuttles closer, and sits down across from you on the nest of blankets and cushions. “Would you like me to show you, princess?” The teasing inflection in his voice causes your face to heat up, and you nod to avoid your voice cracking. 

You hand him the knotted yarn and he works in silence, deftly rolling it all back up into a ball for you. The sight of your large, imposing drider guard rolling up pink yarn for you makes your heart skip a beat, and you wonder how you were so scared of him. 

“Okay, watch me and you follow.” He passes you back the yarn, your hands brushing his.

“What are you going to use though?” You had only brought one ball of yarn, after all.

“Uh-my silk. Hopefully that doesn’t bother you, princess?” 

“Oh, no, not at all.” It was a very spidery thing for him to do, so you hoped it wouldn’t bother you. That being said, when he lifted his two smaller front legs and a bit of silk came out of an opening located where a human navel was, you found it rather cute. He spun the thin string into a thicker consistency, and told you to follow his lead.

“Um, it’s a bit hard to follow like this, I’m going to sit next to you.” You sat down closer so you could follow his actions, so close you brushed against one of his legs. Your heart sped up, but you concentrated at the task at hand. He was truthful about his level of skill, and he was also a great teacher. Soon enough you had the hang of it, and were almost a quarter way done with your blanket. 

“Thank you!” you beamed up at him, excited to show your sisters. 

“Oh, of course your highness. You are a quick learner, it made my job very easy.” He smiled down, polite as always. 

“I have to admit, your silk is quite lovely,” you compliment, running your hands over his finished work. He sputters at your compliment, his cheeks turning a darker purple. Was your compliment inappropriate, you wonder?

You bring your blanket to dinner to show everyone. Your father, sisters, and yourself sit at a smaller table slightly elevated, while long tables with benches are aligned in rows for the staff and guard. When your father took the throne he made this change, stating that anyone who was living under the same roof and worked so hard for the kingdom should eat together as well. You gush about the blanket and how Rhavor taught you, and you see Anna smirking at you. 

“What?” you ask, confused about this look.

“Nothing, just seems someone is growing fond of their guard after all.” she speaks into your ear, delighted in the wide eyed look you give back to her. You seek out Rhavor in the crowd, afraid he heard her but knowing that is in no way possible. When you spot him, he is already looking at you. You smile at him, and turn back to Anna.

“So what if I am?”  you turn back to your dinner, permanent smile gracing your features. 

The following days are filled with storms, and you have been spending the majority of your time going back and forth from the library to your bedroom. You also managed to make it to the market before the storms, and found yourself with more yarn. It’s astonishing how much more you can bring home when you have a four handed drider to help you carry things. You decided to make blankets as gifts for your family and friends before winter. As you are planning the colors for your father's blanket and Rhavor is reading in a chair by the fire, a spider falls down and lands on your hand. It crawls along your wrist and you scream, frantically shaking it off of you. Rhavor is next to you before you can blink, focused on any threat.

“What is it? Princess what is wrong?” His voice is deeper and more serious than you are used to, and when you point to the spider that had fallen on the blanket with a trembling hand, Rhavor’s brow furrows. He looks back at you and your panicked form, and picks the spider up and brings it out of your room, promptly returning. 

“Well that rather explains things then, doesn’t it? No wonder I make you so nervous, bit of an arachnophobe are you?” 

You nod at Rhavor, eyes downcast and shame coloring your cheeks. 

“No need to be shy about it princess, I understand that my looks can be rather horrific, especially to one as sweet as yourself. I’m sure you're much more used to pretty noble boys coming around than those who look like me,” he teased lightly, but you could sense the underlying insecurity in his voice.

“That isn’t it at all! Rhavor, you are my friend and I very much enjoy having you around, please don’t doubt that, really. And you aren’t horrific, I think you’re quite the opposite. I’ve just always been scared of spiders and well,” you motion to his lower body. “I’m just nervous but I’m getting better about it, and it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with my silly phobia.” You plead with him, your eyes starting to get teary. 

You felt horrible. He is your friend and you made him feel ugy, which wasn’t the case at all. Anyone with eyes could see how beautiful he was, drider or not. Over the past few weeks spent with him, the nerves you experienced in his presence seemed less about the fact that he was a drider and more about the feelings you felt growing for him. 

“And it’s Vivie, not princess. Even dad wonders why you call me that still.” you scoff at him, turning away so he can no longer see your tear rimmed eyes. He spoke softly now, weary of your feelings.

“I did not wish to upset you Vivie, that is the last thing I ever want to do. I am your guard and -” you abruptly cut him off, spinning on your feet.

“You are my friend.” 

“Are all of your friends employees of your father?” he inquired, trying to make a point he was beneath you. This is not how you took this statement, however. 

You inhaled sharply, and the tears finally spilled over. His words cut deeply, many implying over the years that people only befriend you since your father is a king. This also proved to be true on many occasions, making you weary of people and their intentions. 

“I didn’t realize you were only doing the job my father paid you for. I’m sorry I mistook that for your friendship. As you’ve probably realized, I don’t have very many.”  Your lower lip was quivering and you were sniffling, unable to stop yourselves. You have always worn your heart on your sleeve, and hiding your emotions didn’t come easily. 

Seeing your face and hearing how you took his statement, Rhavor felt all the air leave his body at once. He started towards you, and took a step back, wringing his lower pair of hands. 

“Vivie, that is not what I meant, please. I am only trying to point out that you are a princess and I am the man who is in charge of keeping you safe. I am not worthy of your friendship or kindness, but it amazes me that you give it so freely.” These words softly left his lips, and he finally came a bit closer. 

“You have my friendship, princess, do not doubt that. You have my friendship, my loyalty, and so much more of me than I ever intended to give,” he spoke softly, his hand coming up as if to rest on your face, but he does not touch you. You lean your cheek into his palm, closing the distance. 

“What else do I have of yours, then?” you inquire softly, gazing up at his starry eyes. 

“My heart, Vivie, should you ever require such a silly thing” His thumb runs over your cheek, wiping away your tears. 

“I don’t think it’s silly at all,” you whisper back.  

“No?” he asks

“No,” you reply, your breaths mingling now. 

You lean up, closing the final gap between you two. Your lips brush against his, the kiss wet from your tears. Your cheeks brush against his pointed mouthparts, now making you shiver not in fear but delight. He releases a deep, wounded sound, and pulls you in closer to him. Being able to pull those noises from a creature like himself makes you feel powerful, and a thrill surges through you. Your hands run down his muscular shoulders, landing on his biceps. You feel them tighten beneath your touch, and a mewl escapes your mouth. His hands caress your face, and his lower hands are around your waist, pressing you against the length of him. 

He pulls away, his breath coming out heavy. A smile graces his features, matching the grin on yours. Your fear of spiders may not be gone, and may never go away completely, but your fear of this drider is a different story. 

[grigori77]

Summer 2021′s Movies - My Top Ten Favourite Films (Part 2)

The Top Ten:

10.  WEREWOLVES WITHIN – definitely one of the year’s biggest cinematic surprises so far, this darkly comic supernatural murder mystery from indie horror director Josh Ruben (Scare Me) is based on a video game, but you’d never know it – this bears so little resemblance to the original Ubisoft title that it’s a wonder anyone even bothered to make the connection, but even so, this is now notable for officially being the highest rated video game adaptation in Rotten Tomatoes history, with a Certified Fresh rating of 86%. Certainly it deserves that distinction, but there’s so much more to the film – this is an absolute blood-splattered joy, the title telling you everything you need to know about the story but belying the film’s pure, quirky genius.  Veep’s Sam Richardson is forest ranger Finn Wheeler, a gentle and socially awkward soul who arrives at his new post in the remote small town of Beaverton to discover the few, uniformly weird residents are divided over the oil pipeline proposition of forceful and abrasive businessman Sam Parker (The Hunt’s Wayne Duvall).  As he tries to fit in and find his feet, investigating the disappearance of a local dog while bonding with local mail carrier Cecily Moore (Other Space and This Is Us’ Milana Vayntrub), the discovery of a horribly mutilated human body leads to a standoff between the townsfolk and an enforced lockdown in the town’s ramshackle hotel as they try to work out who amongst them is the “werewolf” they suspect is responsible.  This is frequently hilarious, the offbeat script from appropriately named Mishna Wolff (I’m Down) dropping some absolutely zingers and crafting some enjoyably weird encounters and unexpected twists, while the uniformly excellent cast do much of the heavy-lifting to bring their rich, thoroughly oddball characters to vivid life – Richardson is thoroughly cuddly throughout, while Duvall is pleasingly loathsome, Casual’s Michaela Watkins is pleasingly grating as Trisha, flaky housewife to unrepentant local horn-dog Pete Anderton (Orange is the New Black’s Michael Chernus), and Cheyenne Jackson (American Horror Story) and Harry Guillen (best known, OF COURSE, as Guillermo in the TV version of What We Do In the Shadows) make an enjoyably spiky double-act as liberal gay couple Devon and Joaquim Wolfson; in the end, though, the film is roundly stolen by Vayntrub, who invests Cecily with a bubbly sweetness and snarky sass that makes it absolutely impossible to not fall completely in love with her (gods know I did).  This is a deeply funny film, packed with proper belly-laughs from start to finish, but like all the best horror comedies it takes its horror elements seriously, delivering some enjoyably effective scares and juicy gore, while the werewolf itself, when finally revealed, is realised through some top-notch prosthetics.  Altogether this was a most welcome under-the-radar surprise for the summer, and SO MUCH MORE than just an unusually great video game adaptation …

9.  THE TOMORROW WAR – although cinemas finally reopened in the UK in early summer, the bite of the COVID lockdown backlog was still very much in effect this blockbuster season, with several studios preferring to hedge their bets and wait for later release dates. Others turned to streaming services, including Paramount, who happily lined up a few heavyweight titles to open on major platforms in lieu of the big screen.  One of the biggest was this intended sci-fi action horror tentpole, meant to give Chris Pratt another potential franchise on top of Guardians of the Galaxy and Jurassic World, which instead dropped in early July on Amazon Prime.  So, was it worth staying in on a Saturday night instead of heading out for something on the BIG screen?  Mostly yes, although it’s mainly a trashy, guilty pleasure big budget B-picture charm that makes this such a worthwhile experience – the film’s biggest influences are clearly Independence Day and Starship Troopers, two admirably clunky blockbusters that DEFINED prioritising big spectacle and overblown theatrics over intelligent writing and realistic storytelling.  It doesn’t help that the premise is pure bunk – in 2022, a wormhole opens from thirty years in the future, and a plea for help is sent back with a bunch of very young future soldiers.  Seems Earth will become overrun by an unstoppable swarm of nasty alien critters called Whitespikes in 25 years, and the desperate human counteroffensive have no choice but to bring soldiers from our present into the future to help them fight back and save the humanity from imminent extinction.  Less than a year later, the world’s standing armies have been decimated and a worldwide draft has been implemented, with normal everyday adults being sent through for a seven day tour from which very few return.  Pratt plays biology teacher and former Green Beret Dan Forrester, one of the latest batch of draftees to be sent into the future along with a selection of chefs, soccer moms and other average joes – his own training and experience serves him better than most when the shit hits the fan, but it soon becomes clear that he’s just as out of his depth as everyone else as the sheer enormity of the threat is revealed.  But when he becomes entangled with a desperate research outfit led by Muri (Chuck’s Yvonne Strahovski) who seem to be on the verge of a potential world-changing scientific breakthrough, Dan realises there just might be a slender hope for humanity after all … this is every bit as over-the-top gung-ho bonkers as it sounds, and just as much fun.  Director Chris McKay may still be pretty fresh (with only The Lego Batman Movie under his belt to date), but he shows a lot of talent and potential for big budget blockbuster filmmaking here, delivering with guts and bravado on some major action sequences (a fraught ticking-clock SAR operation through a war-torn Miami is the film’s undeniable highlight, but a desperate battle to escape a blazing oil rig also really impresses), as well as handling some impressively complex visual effects work and wrangling some quality performances from his cast (altogether it bodes well for his future, which includes Nightwing and Johnny Quest as future projects).  Chris Pratt can do this kind of stuff in his sleep – Dan is his classic fallible and self-deprecating but ultimately solid and kind-hearted action hero fare, effortlessly likeable and easy to root for – and his supporting cast are equally solid, Strahovsky going toe-to-toe with him in the action sequences while also creating a rewardingly complex smart-woman/badass combo in Muri, while the other real standouts include Sam Richardson (Veep, Werewolves Within) and Edwin Hodge (The Purge movies) as fellow draftees Charlie and Dorian, the former a scared-out-of-his-mind tech geek while the latter is a seriously hardcore veteran serving his THIRD TOUR, and the ever brilliant J.K. Simmonds as Dan’s emotionally scarred estranged Vietnam-vet father, Jim.  Sure, it’s derivative as hell and thoroughly predictable (with more than one big twist you can see coming a mile away), but the pace is brisk, the atmosphere pregnant with a palpable doomed urgency, and the creatures themselves are a genuinely convincing world-ending threat, the design team and visual effects wizards creating genuine nightmare fuel in the feral and unrelenting Whitespikes.  Altogether this WAS an ideal way to spend a comfy Saturday night in, but I think it could have been JUST AS GOOD for a Saturday night OUT at the Pictures …

8.  ARMY OF THE DEAD – another high profile release that went straight to streaming was this genuine monster hit for Netflix from one of this century’s undeniable heavyweight action cinema masters, the indomitable Zack Snyder, who kicked off his career with an audience-dividing (but, as far as I’m concerned, ultimately MASSIVELY successful) remake of George Romero’s immortal Dawn of the Dead, and has finally returned to zombie horror after close to two decades away.  The end result is, undeniably, the biggest cinematic guilty pleasure of the entire summer, a bona fide outbreak horror EPIC in spite of its tightly focused story – Dave Bautista plays mercenary Scott Ward, leader a badass squad of soldiers of fortune who were among the few to escape a deadly outbreak of a zombie virus in the city of Las Vegas, enlisted to break into the vault of one of the Strip’s casinos by owner Bly Tanaka (a fantastically game turn from Hiroyuki Sanada) and rescue $200 million still locked away inside.  So what’s the catch?  Vegas remains ground zero for the outbreak, walled off from the outside world but still heavily infested within, and in less than three days the US military intends to sterilise the site with a tactical nuke.  Simple premise, down and dirty, trashy flick, right?  Wrong – Snyder has never believed in doing things small, having brought us unapologetically BIG cinema with the likes of 300, Watchmen, Man of Steel and, most notably, his version of Justice League, so this is another MASSIVE undertaking, every scene shot for maximum thrills or emotional impact, each set-piece executed with his characteristic militaristic precision and explosive predilection (a harrowing fight for survival against a freshly-awakened zombie horde in tightly packed casino corridors is the film’s undeniable highlight), and the gauzy, dreamlike cinematography gives even simple scenes an intriguing and evocative edge that really does make you feel like you’re watching something BIG.  The characters all feel larger-than-life too – Bautista can seem somewhat cartoonish at times, and this role definitely plays that as a strength, making Scott a rock-hard alpha male in the classic Hollywood mould, but he’s such a great actor that of course he’s able to invest the character with real rewarding complexity beneath the surface; Ana de la Reguera (Eastbound & Down) and Nora Arnezeder (Zoo, Mozart in the Jungle), meanwhile, both bring a healthy dose of oestrogen-fuelled badassery to proceedings as, respectively, Scott’s regular second-in-command, Maria Cruz, and Lilly the Coyote, Power’s Omari Hardwick and Matthias Schweighofer (You Are Wanted) make for a fun odd-couple double act as circular-saw-wielding merc Vanderohe and Dieter, the nervous, nerdy German safecracker brought in to crack the vault, and Fear the Walking Dead’s Garrett Dillahunt channels spectacular scumbag energy as Tanaka’s sleazy former casino boss Martin, while latecomer Tig Notaro (Star Trek Discovery) effortlessly rises above her last-minute-casting controversy to deliver brilliantly as sassy and acerbic chopper pilot Peters.  I think it goes without saying that Snyder can do this in his sleep, but he definitely wasn’t napping here – he pulled out all the stops on this one, delivering a thrilling, darkly comic and endearingly CRACKERS zombie flick that not only compares favourably to his own Dawn but is, undeniably, his best film for AGES.  Netflix certainly seem to be pleased with the results – a spinoff prequel, Army of Thieves, starring Dieter in another heist thriller, is set to drop in October, with an animated series following in the Spring, and there’s already rumours of a sequel in development.  I’m certainly up for more …

7.  BLACK WIDOW – no major blockbuster property was hit harder by COVID than the MCU, which saw its ENTIRE SLATE for 2020 delayed for over a year in the face of Marvel Studios bowing to the inevitability of the Pandemic and unwilling to sacrifice those all-important box-office receipts by just sending their films straight to streaming.  The most frustrating part for hardcore fans of the series was the delay of a standalone film that was already criminally overdue – the solo headlining vehicle of founding Avenger and bona fide female superhero ICON Natasha Romanoff, aka the Black Widow.  Equally frustratingly, then, this film seems set to be overshadowed by real life controversy as star and producer Scarlett Johansson goes head-to-head with Disney in civil court over their breach-of-contract after they hedged their bets by releasing the film simultaneously in cinemas and on their own streaming platform, which has led to poor box office as many of the film’s potential audience chose to watch it at home instead of risk movie theatres with the virus still very much remaining a threat (and Disney have clearly reacted AGAIN, now backtracking on their release policy by instigating a new 45-day cinematic exclusivity window on all their big releases for the immediate future). But what of the film itself?  Well Black Widow is an interesting piece of work, director Cate Shortland (Berlin Syndrome) and screenwriter Eric Pearson (Thor: Ragnarok) delivering a decidedly stripped-back, lean and intellectual beast that bears greater resemblance to the more cerebral work of the Russo Brothers on their Captain America films than the more classically bombastic likes of Iron Man, Thor or the Avengers flicks, concentrating on story and characters over action and spectacle as we wind back the clock to before the events of Infinity War and Endgame, when Romanoff was on the run after Civil War, hunted by the government-appointed forces of US Secretary of State “Thunderbolt” Ross (William Hurt) after violating the Sokovia Accords.  Then a mysterious delivery throws her back into the fray as she finds herself targeted by a mysterious assassin, forcing her to team up with her estranged “sister” Yelena Belova (Midsommar’s Florence Pugh), another Black Widow who’s just gone rogue from the same Red Room Natasha escaped years ago, armed with a McGuffin capable of foiling a dastardly plot for world domination.  The reluctant duo need help in this endeavour though, enlisting the aid of their former “parents”, veteran Widow and scientist Melina Vostokoff (Rachel Weisz) and Alexie Shostakov (Stranger Things’ David Harbour), aka the Red Guardian, a Russian super-soldier intended to be their counterpart to Captain America, who’s been languishing in a Siberian gulag for the last twenty years. After the Earth-shaking, universe-changing events of recent MCU events, this film certainly feels like a much more self-contained, modest affair, playing for much smaller stakes, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less worthy of our attention – this is as precision-crafted as anything we’ve seen from Marvel so far, but it also feels like a refreshing change of pace after all those enormous cosmic shenanigans, while the script is as tight as a drum, propelling a taut, suspense-filled thriller that certainly doesn’t scrimp on the action front.  Sure, the set-pieces are very much in service of the story here, but they’re still the pre-requisite MCU rollercoaster rides, a selection of breathless chases and bone-crunching fights that really do play to the strengths of one of our favourite Avengers, but this is definitely one of those films where the real fireworks come when the film focuses on the characters – Johansson is so comfortable with her character she’s basically BECOME Natasha Romanoff, kickass and ruthless and complex and sassy and still just desperate for a family (though she hides it well throughout the film), while Weisz delivers one of her best performances in years as a peerless professional who keeps her emotions tightly reigned in but slowly comes to realise that she was never more happy than when she was pretending to be a simple mother, and Ray Winstone does a genuinely fantastic job of taking a character who could have been one of the MCU’s most disappointingly bland villains, General Dreykov, master of the Red Room, and investing him with enough oily charisma and intense presence to craft something truly memorable (frustratingly, the same cannot be said for the film’s supposed main physical threat, Taskmaster, who performs well in their frustratingly brief appearances but ultimately gets Darth Maul levels of short service).  The true scene-stealers in the film, however, are Alexie and Yelena – Harbour’s clearly having the time of his life hamming it up as a self-important, puffed-up peacock of a superhero who never got his shot and is clearly (rightly) decidedly bitter about it, preferring to relive the life he SHOULD have had instead of remembering the good in the one he got; Pugh, meanwhile, is THE BEST THING IN THE WHOLE MOVIE, easily matching Johanssen scene-for-scene in the action stakes but frequently out-performing her when it comes to acting, investing Yelena with a sweet naivety and innocence and a certain amount of quirky geekiness that makes for one of the year’s most endearing female protagonists (certainly one who, if the character goes the way I think she will, is thoroughly capable of carrying the torch for the foreseeable future).  In the end this is definitely one of the LEAST typical, by-the-numbers MCU films to date, and by delivering something a little different I think they’ve given us just the kind of leftfield swerve the series needs right now.  It’s certainly one of their most fascinating and rewarding films so far, and since it seems to be Johansson’s final tour of duty as the Black Widow, it’s also a most fitting farewell indeed.

6.  WRATH OF MAN – Guy Ritchie’s latest (regarded by many as a triumphant return to form, which I consider unfair since I don’t think he ever went away, especially after 2020’s spectacular The Gentlemen) is BY FAR his darkest film – let’s get this clear from the start.  Anyone who knows his work knows that Ritchie consistently maintains a near flawless balance and humour and seriousness in his films that gives them a welcome quirkiness that is one of his most distinctive trademarks, so for him to suddenly deliver a film which takes itself SO SERIOUSLY is one hell of a departure.  This is a film which almost REVELS in its darkness – Ritchie’s always loved bathing in man’s baser instincts, but Wrath of Man almost makes a kind of twisted VIRTUE out of wallowing in the genuine evils that men are capable of inflicting on each other.  The film certainly kicks off as it means to go on – In a tour-de-force single-shot opening, we watch a daring armoured car robbery on the streets of Los Angeles that goes horrifically wrong, an event which will have devastating consequences in the future.  Five months later, Fortico Security hires taciturn Brit Patrick Hill (Jason Statham) to work as a guard in one of their trucks, and on his first run he single-handedly foils another attempted robbery with genuinely uncanny combat skills. The company is thrilled, amazed by the sheer ability of their new hire, but Hill’s new colleagues are more concerned, wondering exactly what they’ve let themselves in for.  After a second foiled robbery, it becomes clear that Hill’s reputation has grown, but fellow guard Haiden (Holt McCallany), aka “Bullet”, begins to suspect there might be something darker going on … Ritchie is firing on all cylinders here, delivering a PERFECT slow-burn suspense thriller which plays its cards close to its chest and cranks up its piano wire tension with artful skill as it builds to a devastating, knuckle-whitening explosive heist that acts as a cathartic release for everything that’s built up over the past hour and a half.  In typical Ritchie style the narrative is non-linear, the story unfolding in four distinct parts told from clearly differentiated points of view, allowing the clues to be revealed at a trickle that effortlessly draws the viewer in as they fall deeper down the rabbit hole, leading to a harrowing but strangely poignant denouement which is perfectly in tune with everything that’s come before. It’s an immense pleasure finally getting to see Statham working with Ritchie again, and I don’t think he’s ever been better than he is here – he's always been a brilliantly understated actor, but there’s SO MUCH going on under Hill’s supposedly impenetrable calm that every little peek beneath the armour is a REVELATION; McCallany, meanwhile, has landed his best role since his short but VERY sweet supporting turn in Fight Club, seemingly likeable and fallible as the kind of easy-going co-worker anyone in the service industry would be THRILLED to have, but giving Bullet far more going on under the surface, while there are uniformly excellent performances from a top-shelf ensemble supporting cast which includes Josh Hartnett, Jeffrey Donovan (Burn Notice, Sicario), Andy Garcia, Laz Alonso (The Boys), Eddie Marsan, Niamh Algar (Raised By Wolves) and Darrell D’Silva (Informer, Domina), and a particularly edgy and intense turn from Scott Eastwood.  This is one of THE BEST thrillers of the year, by far, a masterpiece of mood, pace and plot that ensnares the viewer from its gripping opening and hooks them right up to the close, a triumph of the genre and EASILY Guy Ritchie’s best film since Snatch.  Regardless of whether or not it’s a RETURN to form, we can only hope he continues to deliver fare THIS GOOD in the future …

5.  FEAR STREET (PARTS 1-3) – Netflix have gotten increasingly ambitious with their original filmmaking over the years, and some of this years’ offerings have reached new heights of epic intention.  Their most exciting release of the summer was this adaptation of popular children’s horror author R.L. Stine’s popular book series, a truly gargantuan undertaking as the filmmakers set out to create an entire TRILOGY of films which were then released over three consecutive weekends.  Interestingly, these films are most definitely NOT for kids – this is proper, no-holds-barred supernatural slasher horror, delivering highly calibrated shocks and precision jump scares, a pervading atmosphere of insidious dread and a series of inventively gruesome kills.  The story revolves around two neighbouring small towns which have had vastly different fortunes over more than three centuries of existence – while the residents of Sunnyvale are unusually successful, living idyllic lives in peace and prosperity, luck has always been against the people of Shadyside, who languish in impoverishment, crime and misfortune, while the town has become known as the Murder Capital of the USA due to frequent spree killings.  Some attribute this to the supposed curse of a local urban legend, Sarah Fier, who became known as the Fier Witch after her execution for witchcraft in 1668, but others dismiss this as simple superstition.  Part 1 is set in 1994, as the latest outbreak of serial mayhem begins in Shadyside, dragging a small group of local teens – Deena Johnson (She Never Died’s Kiana Madeira) and Samantha Fraser (Olivia Scott Welch), a young lesbian couple going through a difficult breakup, Deena’s little brother Josh (The Haunted Hathaways’ Benjamin Flores Jr.), a nerdy history geek who spends most of his time playing video games or frequenting violent crime-buff online chatrooms, and their delinquent friends Simon (Eight Grade’s Fred Hechinger) and Kate (Julia Rehwald) – into the age-old ghostly conspiracy as they find themselves besieged by indestructible undead serial killers from the town’s past, reasoning that the only way they can escape with their lives is to solve the mystery and bring the Fier Witch some much needed closure.  Part 2, meanwhile, flashes back to a previous outbreak in 1977, in which local sisters Ziggy (Stranger Things’ Sadie Sink) and Cindy Berman (Emily Rudd), together with future Sunnyvale sheriff Nick Goode (Ted Sutherland) were among the kids hunted by said killers during a summer camp “colour war”.  As for Part 3, that goes all the way back to 1668 to tell the story of what REALLY happened to Sarah Fier, before wrapping up events in 1994, culminating in a terrifying, adrenaline-fuelled showdown in the Shadyside Mall.  Throughout, the youthful cast are EXCEPTIONAL, Madeira, Welch, Flores Jr., Sink and Rudd particularly impressing, while there are equally strong turns from Ashley Zuckerman (The Code, Designated Survivor) and Community’s Gillian Jacobs as the grown-up versions of two key ’77 kids, and a fun cameo from Maya Hawke in Part 1.  This is most definitely retro horror in the Stranger Things mould, perfectly executed period detail bringing fun nostalgic flavour to all three of the timelines while the peerless direction from Leigh Janiak (Honeymoon) and wire-tight, sharp-witted screenplays from Janiak, Kyle Killen (Lone Star, The Beaver), Phil Graziadel, Zak Olkewicz and Kate Trefry strike a perfect balance between knowing dark humour and knife-edged terror, as well as weaving an intriguingly complex narrative web that pulls the viewer in but never loses them to overcomplication.  The design, meanwhile, is evocative, the cinematography (from Stanger Things’ Caleb Heymann) is daring and magnificently moody, and the killers and other supernatural elements of the film are handled with skill through largely physical effects.  This is definitely not a standard, by-the-numbers slasher property, paying strong homage to the sub-genre’s rules but frequently subverting them with expert skill, and it’s as much fun as it is frightening.  Give us some more like this please, Netflix!

4.  THE SPARKS BROTHERS – those who’ve been following my reviews for a while will known that while I do sometimes shout about documentary films, they tend to show up in my runners-up lists – it’s a great rarity for one to land in one of my top tens.  This lovingly crafted deep-dive homage to cult band Sparks, from self-confessed rabid fanboy Edgar Wright (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, Scott Pilgrim), is something VERY SPECIAL INDEED, then … there’s a vague possibility some of you may have heard the name before, and many of you will know at least one or two of their biggest hits without knowing it was them (their greatest hit of all time, This Town Ain’t Big Enough for the Both of Us, immediately springs to mind), but unless you’re REALLY serious about music it’s quite likely you have no idea who they are, namely two brothers from California, Russell and Ronald Mael, who formed a very sophisticated pop-rock band in the late 60s and then never really went away, having moments of fame but mostly working away in the background and influencing some of the greatest bands and musical artists that followed them, even if many never even knew where that influence originally came from. Wright’s film is an engrossing joy from start to finish (despite clocking in at two hours and twenty minutes), following their eclectic career from obscure inception as Halfnelson, through their first real big break with third album Kimono My Place, subsequent success and then fall from popularity in the mid-70s, through several subsequent revitalisations, all the way up to the present day with their long-awaited cinematic breakthrough, revolutionary musical feature Annette – throughout Wright keeps the tone light and the pace breezy, allowing a strong and endearing sense of irreverence to rule the day as fans, friends and the brothers themselves offer up fun anecdotes and wax lyrical about what is frequently a larger-than-life tragicomic soap opera, utilising fun, crappy animation and idiosyncratic stock footage inserts alongside talking-head interviews that were made with a decidedly tongue-in-cheek style – Mike Myers good-naturedly rants about how we can see his “damned mole” while 80s New Romantic icons Nick Rhodes and John Taylor, while shot together, are each individually labelled as “Duran”.  Ron and Russ themselves, meanwhile, are clearly having huge fun, gently ribbing each other and dropping some fun deadpan zingers throughout proceedings, easily playing to the band’s strong, idiosyncratic sense of hyper-intelligent humour, while the aforementioned celebrity talking-heads are just three amongst a whole wealth of famous faces that may surprise you – there’s even an appearance by Neil Gaiman, guys!  Altogether this is 2+ hours of bright and breezy fun chock full of great music and fascinating information, and even hardcore Sparks fans are likely to learn more than a little over the course of the film, while for those who have never heard of Sparks before it’s a FANTASTIC introduction to one of the greatest ever bands that you’ve never heard of.  With luck there might even be more than a few new fans before the year is out …

3.  GUNPOWDER MILKSHAKE – Netflix’ BEST offering of the summer was this surprise hit from Israeli writer-director Navot Papushado (Rabies, Big Bad Wolves), a heavily stylised black comedy action thriller that passes the Bechdel Test with FLYING COLOURS.  Playing like a female-centric John Wick, it follows ice-cold, on-top-of-her-game assassin Sam (Karen Gillan) as her latest assignment has some unfortunate side effects, leading her to take on a reparation job to retrieve some missing cash for the local branch of the Irish Mob.  The only catch is that a group of thugs have kidnapped the original thief’s little girl, 12 year-old Emily (My Spy’s Chloe Coleman), and Sam, in an uncharacteristic moment of sympathy, decides to intervene, only for the money to be accidentally destroyed in the process.  Now she’s got the Mob and her own employers coming after her, and she not only has to save her own skin but also Emily’s, leading her to seek help from the one person she thought she might never see again – her mother, Scarlet (Lena Headey), a master assassin in her own right who’s been hiding from the Mob herself for years.  The plot may be simple but at times also a little over-the-top, but the film is never anything less than a pure, unadulterated pleasure, populated with fascinating, living and breathing characters of real complexity and nuance, while the script (co-written by relative newcomer Ehud Lavski) is tightly-reined and bursting with zingers.  Most importantly, though, Papushado really delivers on the action front – these are some of the best set-pieces I’ve seen this year, Gillan, her co-stars and the various stunt-performers acquitting themselves admirably in a series of spectacular fights, gun battles and a particularly imaginative car chase that would be the envy of many larger, more expensive productions.  Gillan and Coleman have a sweet, awkward chemistry, the MCU star particularly impressing in a subtly nuanced performance that also plays beautifully against Headey’s own tightly controlled turn, while there is awesome support from Angela Bassett, Michelle Yeoh and Carla Gugino as Sam’s adoptive aunts Anna May, Florence and Madeleine, a trio of “librarians” who run a fine side-line in illicit weaponry and are capable of unleashing some spectacular violence of their own; the film’s antagonists, on the other hand, are exclusively masculine – the mighty Ralph Inneson is quietly ruthless as Irish boss Jim McAlester, while The Terror’s Adam Nagaitis is considerably more mercurial as his mad dog nephew Virgil, and Paul Giamatti is the stately calm at the centre of the storm as Sam’s employer Nathan, the closest thing she has to a father.  There’s so much to enjoy in this movie, not just the wonderful characters and amazing action but also the singularly engrossing and idiosyncratic style, deeply affecting themes of the bonds of found family and the healing power of forgiveness, and a rewarding through-line of strong women triumphing against the brutalities of toxic masculinity.  I love this film, and I invite you to try it out, cuz I’m sure you will too.

2.  THE SUICIDE SQUAD – the most fun I’ve had at the cinema so far this year is the long-awaited (thanks a bunch, COVID) redress of another frustrating imbalance from the decidedly hit and miss DCEU superhero franchise, in which Guardians of the Galaxy writer-director James Gunn has finally delivered a PROPER Suicide Squad movie after David Ayer’s painfully compromised first stab at the property back in 2016.  That movie was enjoyable enough and had some great moments, but ultimately it was a clunky mess, and while some of the characters were done (quite) well, others were painfully botched, even ruined entirely.  Thankfully Warner Bros. clearly learned their lesson, giving Gunn free reign to do whatever he wanted, and the end result is about as close to perfect as the DCEU has come to date.  Once again the peerless Viola Davis plays US government official Amanda Waller, head of ARGUS and the undisputable most evil bitch in all the DC Universe, who presides over the metahuman prisoners of the notorious supermax Belle Reve Prison, cherry-picking inmates for her pet project Taskforce X, the titular Suicide Squad sent out to handle the kind of jobs nobody else wants, in exchange for years off their sentences but controlled by explosive implants injected into the base of their skulls.  Their latest mission sees another motley crew of D-bags dispatched to the fictional South African island nation of Corto Maltese to infiltrate Jotunheim, a former Nazi facility in which a dangerous extra-terrestrial entity that’s being developed into a fearful bioweapon, with orders to destroy the project in order to keep it out of the hands of a hostile anti-American regime which has taken control of the island through a violent coup.  Where the first Squad felt like a clumsily-arranged selection of stereotypes with a few genuinely promising characters unsuccessfully moulded into a decidedly forced found family, this new batch are convincingly organic – they may be dysfunctional and they’re all almost universally definitely BAD GUYS, but they WORK, the relationship dynamics that form between them feeling genuinely earned.  Gunn has already proven himself a master of putting a bunch of A-holes together and forging them into band of “heroes”, and he’s certainly pulled the job off again here, dredging the bottom of the DC Rogues Gallery for its most ridiculous Z-listers and somehow managing to make them compelling.  Sure, returning Squad-member Harley Quinn (the incomparable Margot Robbie, magnificent as ever) has already become a fully-realised character thanks to Birds of Prey, so there wasn’t much heavy-lifting to be done here, but Gunn genuinely seems to GET the character, so our favourite pixie-esque Agent of Chaos is an unbridled and thoroughly unpredictable joy here, while fellow veteran Colonel Rick Flagg (a particularly muscular and thoroughly game Joel Kinnaman) has this time received a much needed makeover, Gunn promoting him from being the first film’s sketchily-drawn “Captain Exposition” and turning him into a fully-ledged, well-thought-out human being with all the requisite baggage, including a newfound sense of humour; the newcomers, meanwhile, are a thoroughly fascinating bunch – reluctant “leader” Bloodsport/Robert DuBois (a typically robust and playful Idris Elba), unapologetic douchebag Peacemaker/Christopher Smith (probably the best performance I’ve EVER seen John Cena deliver), and socially awkward and seriously hard-done-by nerd (and by far the most idiotic DC villain of all time) the Polka-Dot Man/Abner Krill (a genuinely heart-breaking hangdog performance from Ant-Man’s David Dastmalchian); meanwhile there’s a fine trio of villainous turns from the film’s resident Big Bads, with Juan Diego Botta (Good Behaviour) and Joaquin Cosio (Quantum of Solace, Narcos: Mexico) making strong impressions as newly-installed dictator Silvio Luna and his corrupt right hand-man General Suarez, although both are EASILY eclipsed by the typically brilliant Peter Capaldi as louche and quietly deranged supervillain The Thinker/Gaius Greives (although the film’s ULTIMATE threat turns out to be something a whole lot bigger and more exotic). The film is ROUNDLY STOLEN, however, by a truly adorable double act (or TRIPLE act, if you want to get technical) – Daniella Melchior makes her breakthrough here in fine style as sweet, principled and kind-hearted narcoleptic second-generation supervillain Ratcatcher II/Cleo Cazo, who has the weird ability to control rats (and who has a pet rat named Sebastian who frequently steals scenes all on his own), while a particular fan-favourite B-lister makes his big screen debut here in the form of King Shark/Nanaue, a barely sentient anthropomorphic Great White “shark god” with an insatiable appetite for flesh and a naturally quizzical nature who was brilliantly mo-capped by Steve Agee (The Sarah Silverman Project, who also plays Waller’s hyperactive assistant John Economos) but then artfully completed with an ingenious vocal turn from Sylvester Stallone. James Gunn has crafted an absolute MASTERPIECE here, EASILY the best film he’s made to date, a riotous cavalcade of exquisitely observed and perfectly delivered dark humour and expertly wrangled narrative chaos that has great fun playing with the narrative flow, injects countless spot-on in-jokes and irreverent but utterly essential throwaway sight-gags, and totally endears us to this glorious gang of utter morons right from the start (in which Gunn delivers what has to be one of the most skilful deep-fakes in cinematic history).  Sure, there’s also plenty of action, and it’s executed with the kind of consummate skill we’ve now come to expect from Gunn (the absolute highlight is a wonderfully bonkers sequence in which Harley expertly rescues herself from captivity), but like everything else it’s predominantly played for laughs, and there’s no getting away from the fact that this film is an absolute RIOT.  By far the funniest thing I’ve seen so far this year, and if I’m honest this is the best of the DCEU offerings to date, too (for me, only the exceptional Birds of Prey can compare) – if Warner Bros. have any sense they’ll give Gunn more to do VERY SOON …

1.  A QUIET PLACE, PART II – while UK cinemas finally reopened in early May, I was determined that my first trip back to the Big Screen for 2021 was gonna be something SPECIAL, and indeed I already knew what that was going to be. Thankfully I was not disappointed by my choice – 2018’s A Quiet Place was MY VERY FAVOURITE horror movie of the 2010s, an undeniable masterclass in suspense and sustained screen terror wrapped around a refreshingly original killer concept, and I was among the many fans hoping we’d see more in the future, especially after the film’s teasingly open ending.  Against the odds (or perhaps not), writer-director/co-star John Krasinski has pulled off the seemingly impossible task of not only following up that high-wire act, but genuinely EQUALLING it in levels of quality – picking up RIGHT where the first film left off (at least after an AMAZING scene-setting opening in which we’re treated to the events of Day 1 of the downfall of humanity), rejoining the remnants of the Abbott family as they’re forced by circumstances to up-sticks from their idyllic farmhouse home and strike out into the outside world once more, painfully aware at all times that they must maintain perfect silence to avoid the ravenous attentions of the lethal blind alien beasties that now sit at the top of the food chain.  Circumstances quickly become dire, however, and embattled mother Evelyn (Emily Blunt) is forced to ally herself with estranged family friend Emmett (Cillian Murphy), now a haunted, desperate vagrant eking out a perilous existence in an abandoned factory, in order to safeguard the future of her children Regan (Millicent Simmonds), Marcus (Noah Jupe) and their newborn baby brother.  Regan, however, discovers evidence of more survivors, and with her newfound weapon against the aliens she recklessly decides to set off on her own in the hopes of aiding them before it’s too late … it may only be his second major blockbuster as a director, but Krasinski has once again proven he’s a true heavyweight talent, effortlessly carving out fresh ground in this already magnificently well-realised dystopian universe while also playing magnificently to the established strengths of what came before, delivering another peerless thrill-ride of unbearable tension and knuckle-whitening terror.  The central principle of utilising sound at a very strict premium is once again strictly adhered to here, available sources of dialogue once again exploited with consummate skill while sound design and score (another moody triumph from Marco Beltrami) again become THE MOST IMPORTANT aspects of the whole production. The ruined world is once again realised beautifully throughout, most notably in the nightmarish environment of a wrecked commuter train, and Krasinski cranks up the tension before unleashing it in merciless explosions in a selection of harrowing encounters which guaranteed to leave viewers in a puddle of sweat.  The director mostly stays behind the camera this time round, but he does (obviously) put in an appearance in the opening flashback as the late Lee Abbott, making a potent impression which leaves a haunting absence that’s keenly felt throughout the remainder of the film, while Blunt continues to display mother lion ferocity as she fights to keep her children safe and Jupe plays crippling fear magnificently but is now starting to show a hidden spine of steel as Marcus finally starts to find his courage; the film once again belongs, however, to Simmonds, the young deaf actress once and for all proving she’s a genuine star in the making as she invests Regan with fierce wilfulness and stubborn determination that remains unshakeable even in the face of unspeakable horrors, and the relationship she develops with Emmett, reluctant as it may be, provides a strong new emotional focus for the story, Murphy bringing an attractive wounded humanity to his role as a man who’s lost anything and is being forced to learn to care for something again.  This is another triumph of the genre AND the artform in general, a masterpiece of atmosphere, performance and storytelling which builds magnificently on the skilful foundations laid by the first film, as well as setting things up perfectly for a third instalment which is all but certain to follow.  I definitely can’t wait.

[g0dspeeed]

Unconditional Positive Regard, 2

Adam Smasher is very used to getting his way.

Until he doesn’t.

=========================================

De-escalation

 Adam Smasher is very used to getting his way.

Does he always get his way?

Majority of the time, yes, and primarily through intimidation. Intimidation was almost like a personality trait to Adam, the line blurring from who he was authentically and the stone-cold bravado he put out for the rest of the world to see. He utilized tried and true premeditated tactics such as calculated threats, blackmail, ransom, disrupting personal space, ignoring the spoken and unspoken rules of modern society, and frankly not giving a shit about what other people thought. Then again, said tactics occurred unconsciously, too. His physical presence alone made for a great argument. The man stands well over six feet tall, perhaps leaning more towards the seven-foot range, with broad shoulders and a deadly gaze to boot. Adam’s copper red eyes could give a look so menacing that other Arasaka operatives submitted to his authority without question.

And he loved this. He truly enjoyed wielding such power, to walk into a room and have an air of dominance over every stranger that stood before him. Made things simple. Never there to make friends, to play nice, to compromise. The only thing he sought out to do in these god-awful meetings that Arasaka forced him to attend was comply with the given, short-term objectives to a tee. Going the extra mile was only an option to Adam if it benefitted him. Or if it made the job easier, but that stopped if it meant kissing any asses that didn’t have a direct link to his eddie account.

Intimidation was effective on mostly everyone that Adam Smasher worked with or unfortunately encountered in his line of work.

Then there were the others. The ones that didn’t get the message or simply chose to make regrettable decisions. To get in the way. To make Adam’s job harder. Those were the people that required more intention on Adam’s part.

And Adam was every bit intentional with those who refused to submit.

The city appeared calm on the morning of his meeting. Wellsprings was the destination and Adam arranged the AV so he would arrive onsite early. The ride in the AV was short, but allotted Adam time to observe the Night City skyline as sun beams cut through its shadow like knives, gold and sharp and warming the streets below. Like his hometown, Night City had no concept of sleep, its population below teeming towards their next meal, deal, job in a sort of lively frenzy.

Adam himself felt tired. He still required sleep like any functioning being, experiencing a downtime where his senses and sensors went offline, and his brain, his still very organic brain, unwound and processed all that he experienced that day. Unfortunately for him, his brain didn’t want to unwind the night before, too excited about the job, too curious at what Arasaka needed an outside opinion on, and having too many questions unanswered.

What made this job so special?

Why would Arasaka seek out the opinion of someone in Night City rather than in Japan?

What made this third party so important?

Who were they?

Why them?

Why did their opinion have so much weight?

Most of all Adam wondered why he even bothered to care. The image and reputation that Adam had worked so hard to cultivate this past century should have emboldened him with steel-clad confidence in himself and his abilities. Should have. Why the anxiety? True, Arasaka was being oddly theatrical in their deliverance, but if Adam were honest with himself, he would acknowledge that he allowed a dangerous feeling to creep inside, a feeling that’s lethality pushed him to put his life at risk more than anything else: hope.

“Approaching LZ, sir.”

The flat voice of the AV’s pilot pulled Adam out of his mental reverie.

Surveying the area, he felt his suspicion rise. The AV was lowering at the top of a multi-leveled parking garage that connected to a moderately large, white building. The glass windows were polarized with a shade of gold, giving no indication as to what occurred behind them. Adam also noticed a lack of sign or company name, save for a white emblem that looked like the image of a lighted torch. Clean and shimmering, the emblem rested on the building’s corner, as if it were a true, living flame.

As the AV pulled away, Adam headed near the large elevator that sat on the opposite side of his landing zone. Gravel crunched beneath him, the annoying sound adding to his already agitated mood. Just as he approached the control panel, the elevator doors opened with a faint hiss.

Out stepped a fit, middle-aged man with dark, neatly combed hair, navy slacks, and a trim, button-up shirt. The man was occupied with rolling up the shirt’s sleeves, revealing a variety of tattoos on each bicep. Adam noticed a large NUSA script standing out amongst the rest. The man’s face illuminated with a white smile when their eyes met.

“Good morning, Mr. Smasher,” he greeted, his voice deep and rich. “I apologize for any waiting that we might have caused you.”

Adam grunted as he sidestepped the man to enter the elevator. He didn’t have to duck his head, an odd experience for him.

The stranger seemed unaffected by Adam’s response, maintaining a polite smile and joining him in the elevator. As the doors closed, he stepped forward and pressed one of the buttons.

“When we arrive to the office, we request that you place all weapons-”

“No.”

A pause.

The man resumed.

“-in our reservoir and deactivate any and all combat cyberware.”

“Out of the question.”

Adam turned to face him. The smile had faded, but much to Adam’s chagrin there was a hint of amusement in the man’s hazel eyes.

“I know that our policy opposes your own,” he stated. “But it is a requirement of this office.”

The elevator slowed.

“Are you the third party in the contract?” Adam asked lowly.

“I am not,” answered the man.

The doors opened as they arrived to their floor.

“Then you are of no use to me,” said Adam.

Walking into the space, his brows furrowed. He had arrived at an open lobby that was full of soft chairs and with tall windows aligning the walls. There was a gentle scent in the air, something floral that added to the relaxing ambiance of the floor. Some art was on the walls as well, but what distracted Adam was the sight of a single set of large, double doors.

No one was there other than Adam and the man who continued to speak to him.

“Welcome to Torch. This is our Services floor.”

Again, the man received a cold reply as Adam ignored him and approached the large doors. Giving the doors a firm tug, they didn’t budge from the frame. He tried again, this time with more effort, and became agitated when they failed to give.

“This building prohibits the presence of any and all firearms, as well as combat cyberware,” stated the man, his tone informative and light.

Turning to glower at the man, Adam saw that he was gesturing to a unit in the wall.

“We have reservoirs on each floor, calibrated with genetic security software to guarantee that only you can have access to them. We do not sell or use any of the collected data. It is strictly for security. Not even our own staff can touch your things without your consent, Mr. Smasher.”

Adam stalked towards the man with heavy, deliberate steps.

“Open the door,” he commanded.

“I cannot-”

A hard, mechanical hand reached out to grip the man’s throat.

“Open the door,” repeated Adam. The man’s struggling body was lifted from the tiled floor with ease. “Or I will break you,” added the merc in a whisper.

The stranger struggled in his grasp, attempting and failing to loosen Adam’s hold with his own cybernetic fingers.

“Open the fucking door,” Adam commanded again, his anger growing with each passing moment.

“I-It won’t open,” gasped the man. “Not until I see you put your weapons in the reservoir.”

The lump in his throat bobbed against Adam’s palm.

“Think I give a damn about your policies and protocol?” he rumbled. “I can just pop off your fucking head clean off your shoulders, then I’ll rip open those doors myself-”

“A-And she still won’t see you.”

Adam blinked in confusion. The man had no fear in his voice. No, the opposite. Bold. Certain. His whole demeanor was solid, his eyes never breaking away from that of the mercenary.

“She won’t see you,” repeated the man. “She’s not one for intimidation. N-Never will be.”

With a new blaze of anger, Adam lifted the man higher. The man gasped heavily as the grip became tighter on his air way, his face reddening into a deep scarlet.

Behind them, the doors burst open.

“Mr. Smasher!” yelled a voice. A woman’s voice. “Put him down!”

His head turned in the direction of the sound, his anger near the tipping point of rage.

Standing in the doorway was a woman. She stood before a group of other women, all afraid, their eyes wide and trembling fingers touching lips. One of the fearful women looked to be attempting to pull the other back, but with no luck. She stood firm in a white, form-fitting dress, the garment hiding most of her olive skin and hugging her curves beautifully. Her hair was dark and fell in waves at her shoulders and down her back. Oddly enough she was barefoot, revealing a blood red polish on her toes that matched her fingernails. Simple gold jewelry complimented her complexion.

The woman’s face, though attractive, wore a look of pure admonishment.

“Are you the one hired by Arasaka?” called back the mercenary, his voice still strained.

“Put him down,” repeated the woman. “Now.”

“Answer my question-”

“Not until you put down Dr. Estrada.”

Their eyes locked. Gold like her jewelry, they burned intensely with a heat that Adam could practically feel. His own resolve faltered at her ultimatum, mostly because he wasn’t used to anyone, let alone a woman, making one.

The man’s body dropped loudly to the tile.

To Adam’s surprise, the woman immediately relaxed. Gone was the fire in her eyes and features. Posture eased. She then entered the lobby. The women behind her silently panicked, their mouths agape at seeing her walk past Adam, bare feet padding across the tile, to attend to the fallen man. The man had recovered after a brief coughing fit and was sitting up with a grin. He accepted her offered hand.

“So all of this,” she said calmly, directing the man to the doorway. “Is because of our weapons policy?”

“Are you the one hired by Arasaka?”

His tone was more level, matching hers. The anger was long forgotten.

“I am,” she replied.  “Will you be able to make our appointment or should we reschedule?”

Adam frowned at the question.

Without saying a word, he began walking towards the doors. Her frame stiffened. In a stride she stood between Adam and the opening.

“You want to keep our appointment,” she acknowledged. “Please put your weapons in our reservoir and deactivate any and all combat cyberware.”

And like a switch, his fury returned ten-fold.

“I’m not going to go by your bullshit policies!” he yelled. “We’re meeting today! Stop wasting my fucking time and let’s get this shit over with!”

Pulse raced in his body, so strongly that he swore they could hear it. The doctor stood behind the woman, eyes shifting between her and Adam nervously. He saw how the man’s hands tightened into fists, as if ready to intervene at any moment. The other women were frozen in fear.

What did these fucking people not understand?

Adam was here to do a job.

He didn’t have to abide by whatever policies they were giving him.

It wasn’t going to happen.

All appeared terrified and concerned.

All except for her.

That woman with the dark hair and powerful, golden eyes remained by her place at the doorway, her focus on Adam and staring directly at him as if he hadn’t just yelled at her. If she was afraid of Adam, she sure didn’t show it.

A moment passed before he got a response.

Her voice was touched with a new softness, her face gentle.

“I hear you,” she said. “You are strongly against what we’re asking of you, Adam, and we’re asking a lot. This is our policy. It is important that our clients feel safe here. If depositing your weapons and turning off your cyberware is not acceptable to you, that’s fine, but it is our expectation. You can do what we ask and retrieve your things when our meeting is over or we can reschedule when you’re ready.”

Dark eyes blinked in confusion. No doubt his anger remained, but at hearing her words, the calmness in her voice, he found it oddly abated. Only slightly, but abated nonetheless.

He swallowed.

“Out of the question,” Adam answered lowly.

As if expecting his response, the woman simply nodded.

“Okay,” she said, that damn smile once more spreading across her full lips. “That’s your choice. The elevator can take you to the floor that Dr. Estrada met you at. Please reach out to our office so we can reschedule.”

Before he could muster up a response, the woman quietly closed the doors.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

2 and 27 nanakikoooooo

2 (Royal AU) & 27 (Sick/Injured) | Nanahiko

//

Different fantasy AU than the one where Toshinori is the One who Would be King, but definitely still fantasy AU. The Dread God Usurper is just a hoity-toity title for AFO. And for the reader’s information, Sorahiko and Nana are in an arranged marriage, yet had never met before this night.

//

Their flight from the castle was only successful because no one had expected the heiress to co-opt an escape with the visiting mercenary. Of course, it was also likely because the guardsmen were distracted by the undead, surfacing from the earth, under the thrall of the Dread God Usurper.

Somehow, this was not Shimura Nana’s top priority.

“Hey,” she said sharply, jostling the mercenary’s head from where it had dipped onto her shoulder. Nana had commandeered the man’s horse, so she had the reins, but as she couldn’t just leave him, he had sat behind her and (presumably) guarded their backs. Nevertheless, Nana wasn’t about to show gratitude like that.

He murmured something in return, groggy. Nana discerned the words ‘arrow’ and ‘hurts.’

“I’m sorry, you’ve been shot by an arrow?”

“Hn,” he answered, and Nana felt his weight suddenly shift sideways. She hastily reached backwards in an attempt to prop him up; chancing a glance backwards, Nana saw a broken arrow shaft sticking out of his shoulder.

She shrieked.

“Quiet,” said the man. Fortunately for him, the garbled plea was comprehensible enough that Nana managed to put a lid on it and prevent them from being thrown.

“How long has that been there?” Nana demanded, and turned her attention to scouring their surroundings for any safe haven.

The castle was the center of the capital, a sprawling city that boasted zero walls, a rigorously-maintained waterworks and sewage system, and more roads than the city patrol knew how to deal with. The Shimuras’ lax approach to securing the heart of their kingdom was a character flaw, only balanced by the fact that Shimuras were rarely holding court, instead choosing to personally tend to the borders.

One positive consequence of a roaming royal-in-disguise: every innkeeper did their utmost to present their businesses well, and at a bargain price, in the hopes that they would have the repeat honor of hosting royalty.

Another positive consequence: there were many, many inns.

Some of which would not be averse to bloodied men. Or women in bloodied dresses.

“Milady,” the man slurred, and Nana startled at how close the rumble was to her ear. “Wha’s happenin’?”

“Did you forget the past hour?” she asked, incredulous. She spotted several men, still merry (because who, who could have fled from the castle yet and alert the capital that it had fallen besides her and her companion?) and drunk, slipping out of a door spilling warm yellow light.

Nana nudged the horse over to the establishment’s small set of stables, wrinkling her nose at the smell. By the grace of the gods, she thought in relief, seeing several vacancies.

“Okay, down we go,” she said, and she watched the man sluggishly brace himself against her and slide off his horse. Once both of his feet were planted on the ground, Nana followed suit.

“Don’t run off with my horse.”

“I have absolutely no plans to do that,” Nana lied, and coaxed the man to release his grip on the saddle. He made a wounded noise when pushed away, but did nothing to stop Nana from stabling the horse.

Did nothing but stare, Nana corrected herself, freezing in the act of pulling out her coin-purse from between her breasts.

“What,” she said defensively.

“What?”

And then he tipped forward. Nana caught him, grunted at the weight, and resigned herself to lugging him inside. Though the innkeeper was cleaning up the messes of his previous customers, she was swift to pass the chore off to a maid and speak with Nana.

“Do you need a healer, m’lady?” she asked, wiping her hands on a rag.

“A room first,” Nana decided. She readjusted the arm slung over her shoulders and winced at the pitiful whimper. “Hot water and clean rags too, please. Anything you can spare for bandages. I’ll pay for the expenses.”

“Alright.” Blissfully, no questions were asked. After giving additional instructions to the maid, she fetched an oil lamp and said, “Follow me.”

Nana dragged her companion up a flight of stairs, until the innkeeper opened the first door to their left, holding it open and allowing them to step over the threshold. It was a cramped space, minimally furnished. Nana nearly tripped upon seeing the single bed.

“Need two?” asked the innkeeper.

“Ah,” said Nana. She plunged past her hesitation; the Usurper was infamous for his Hunts, and anything Nana could do to cover her tracks would be beneficial. Leaning in conspiratorially, Nana whispered, “The single is fine. It’s just that, he’s a rather large man, isn’t he?”

That earned her a grin. “A large man’s a large target.”

“As we unfortunately learned,” she agreed. The innkeeper waited for Nana to deposit the man onto the bed, face-first, and then exchanged a handful of coin for the key and light. “I’ll take a plate of dinner as well, please.”

“Any for him?”

“If he wants to eat, he’ll have to wake up first.”

Nana saw the woman out, and finally turned her attention to the man. He was tall, sturdily-built, with awfully soft-looking silver hair and a prominently-curved nose. And he was blearily awake, watching her through half-lidded eyes, the pale irises barely catching the yellow light.

“Did you want something to eat?” she asked, approaching the bed and surveying the damage.

“Something to drink,” he said hoarsely. “How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad.”

He laughed into the pillow, and it was humorless and despairing. It eventually petered out into a low curse, then an unsteady statement. “This… was not how I wanted to be meeting you for the first time.”

Nana blinked. “I didn’t realize I was expecting you.”

“Oh. That’s a comfort.”

“You can’t stop there,” she said, poking his uninjured shoulder. “Who are you to me, mercenary?”

“‘Mercenary’?” the man echoed in disbelief. “No, I’m - ” His breath hitched. There was a shadow at the door; Nana leapt up to retrieve the basin of hot water and rags (and an unasked for knife), and ushered the girl away. She didn’t want an audience for this next part.

“You’re…?” Nana encouraged. She set the supplies on the floor.

“Sorahiko. Sorahiko from the Yamanashi Kingdom. I was here because - because - ”

“Prince Sorahiko,” she corrected, reeling just a little bit. Nana recognized the name, even if she couldn’t quite place the degree of importance. Was he a valuable trading partner? An ally? “You’re the Torino scion!”

“Soon to be deceased,” he muttered.

“Aw, don’t be like that.”

“I have an arrow sticking out of my shoulder, and I don’t think even a warrior-queen is trained in the healing arts,” Sorahiko snarked. The burst of sarcasm faltered. “Did you really not recognize me?”

Nana, though feeling guilty about the earlier plan to rob him of his horse and supplies, was not about to be guilt-tripped by a sad small voice. “I hadn’t paired faces to names yet,” she said, defensive. “That’s usually a thing that happens after the coronation.”

“It really isn’t,” he told her.

“Well, I guess we’ll never know, considering what’s happened.” Nana exhaled sharply, then steeled herself. “That was the Usurper back there, did you notice?”

“Hard not to.” Sorahiko stirred, winced, and dug his face into the pillow. His words came out muffled: “He’s supposed to be a folktale boogeyman for bullies. What’s he doing, coming for your throne?”

“I’m glad you asked. Can you keep a secret?”

They breathed in silence for several seconds, the tension thick. Then, Sorahiko snorted and turned his head; Nana saw his profile outlined against the pillow, the wry curve of his smile.

“Dead men tell no tales. That’s how the adage goes.”

“You’re not dead yet,” she said, exasperated, and tapped into the power of One for All for strength (to hold Sorahiko down), for grace (to remove the arrow with as little damage possible), and for mercy (to heal the wound). Sorahiko cried out, one hand clawing at the sheets by his face, the other flailing backwards in an attempt to dissuade her.

Nana held on. The affair took less than a minute, and by the end of it, Sorahiko’s entire frame trembled with the aftershocks, and Nana’s skin felt tingly, charged with static electricity. She tossed the arrow shaft aside and picked up the knife.

Perhaps it had been meant for surgery.

She used it to slice his shirt in half. Mutely, Nana waited for Sorahiko to process what the hell just happened, and wiped away the crusted blood. She pressed hard against healed flesh, distantly registering his warmth.

“Oh,” Sorahiko breathed into the bed.

Nana eased up on the pressure. “I don’t know why the Usurper wants my power,” she admitted. “But he’s not supposed to have it.”

Slowly, he sat up. Trying to look regal, Nana assumed, although that was difficult with his shirt in pieces and that - that awestruck expression.

“So?” she asked nervously.

“Let me help you,” said Sorahiko. “He can’t have known we’ve made contact. Come to Yamanashi with me, and let me help you figure out what you need to do.”

She stared at him. “What if - what if it takes forever?”

“Then it takes forever.” A new kind of determination surfaced on his face, and Nana was taken aback at the fluttery feeling in her stomach. “Even if Yamanashi proves unsafe, and you need to run from kingdom to kingdom, just let me go with you. Whatever your task is, it’ll be easier with two.”

“You’ll have to rough it.”

Sorahiko snorted. “I’m not some spoiled whelp, drowning in ruffles and lace. Queen Shimura - ”

“Call me Nana,” she replied, faint, and extended her hand. He mirrored her; they clasped each other’s forearms instinctively, and Nana’s mouth curved into a slight smile that he returned. “I hope you’re not shy, Prince Torino.”

“Call me Sorahiko,” he shot back.

[no1canbreakyou]

Shadow's role in a Pirate verse entirely depends on who's running the Navy.

If it's something like the GUN, then he's an officer who hunts bloodthirsty pirates.

If the Navy is controlled by Eggman or some other similar minded individual, then Shadow is either a privateer or a straight up pirate, except his course isn't bloodthirsty. He sails the seas to help people, especially shipwreck survivors.

In both cases, he had been a shipwreck survivor himself, and it had been an absolutely terrifying experience. He lost his sister in the incident, and swore that he'd avenge her.

Case 1) he becomes a commodore in the navy and he hunts down pirates of all kinds, hanging them at the gallows or straight up steel slaughter.

He eventually begins grappling with this identity when he meets pirates who don't suck, one of them being Sonic, who might be enjoying all the freedom and rum and adventure, but he's also not ruthless and is always there to lend a hand. He bests Shadow in combat, and the Commodore rethinks his goals.

He has two choices, which both have different ends:

1) remain in the service of the Navy and continue to hunt pirates, but also work with honest sailors when necessary.

2) become a pirate himself, but with nobler goals in mind.

There's also the privateer option, a navy funded mercenary. It's up to him what he decides.

[u-jin]

PART I: Headcanons

           1 // It feels as if light, the very thing he bends and morphs, pulls away from him as he descends into the city like a plague, a wraith spreading and sinking into every foul piece of land and chunk of flesh he can tear at. Or perhaps, instead, he wills it away, the flashes in his direction revealing walls painted red, misery falling endlessly in his trail. He hides from his shame, protects himself while devouring others. This is not what he set out to do, but it’s what he has to in order to survive, the mental box he’s pushed himself into, the model son he was raised to be designed in bullets and knife wounds. Self care makes the mind kill it’s darlings, his favorite parts of humanity and empathy pushed underwater until they stopped gasping for air leaving only the parts of him that can survive, only the parts that can persevere -- and so his teeth are sharper, so his fingernails become weapons, his face never wet with tears but instead soaked in blood.

Why else would they call him a monster?

          2 // At night his muscles twitch and ache in sync with the pain in his chest, stood in his bathroom mirror with smudged glamour and horrid eyes – humanity, and disdain for his humanity. Who is this person in the reflection? Weak, and caked with dirt, hideous, with weighted skin under dull eyes that look pitifully vengeful? At night he stalks the streets and devours prey to avoid the man he shares his living space with, the one who glares at him through the framed glass in his bathroom, the sleepless beast that feels everything he ignores, drunk and full of nightmares, regurgitating all the buried demons so that he can work and spit and jeer and kill. The man who cowers under sheets and stares at blinking clocks is human, disgustingly so, and he rots and rots until he hunts again. He does not cry, but seethes, and then he pulls himself together, all intoxicated and wild, the character, the jester, the mercenary. He plants his hands on the cold porcelain edges of his sink, locks eyes with the reflection he sees, and laughs as if mad.           3 // Why create something beautiful just for the sake of making it monstrous? Innocence and childhood not even things of memory, only blood over blood over blood -- family is not something he covets, not anymore, not since he stopped wearing pull ups and claimed his first life. Not since he’s tasted blood. Now the memory of his parents is tinged sour, the idea of family nothing but another invisible chain around his neck, the weight suffocating, the subject too sore

 Most things are easy to bury, but the banging coming from the trunk sounds so much louder when you know who’s inside.

PART ii: Sample Paragraph: TW // gore, blood, mutilation (vague)

MILLIONS SQUARE was awash with neons and precious metals; silvers, blood, gold, filth, and decay lining the streets of the wealthy and the robbed -- the poor man’s gamble poured out onto sleek cobblestone with the clicking of expensive shoes or scabbed, barefoot soles. Then comes Ujin in poor taste; sharpened and faded nails adorned like small knives, loaded guns and all black clothes, but so damn pretty. He’s giddy with it, pupil’s thin like slits and iris’ melted red and savory. He comes hungering for a thrill, starving and ready to pick flesh from between his teeth. Who else can gamble in his place? Who can tear into holy wounds and sinner’s pockets more steadily then the executioner, more bloodthirsty than man? He’s made of one part desire and two parts insanity, a mere shadow of a person, indistinguishable; a patron saint of switchblade fights. Where he walks tendrils follow, where he hovers cities fall, men die, like Death himself with silver-dressed fingers and throat.

The cards are laid out on the table one by one and he watches with sly, sharpened eyes, wisps licking under the table, stretched like elongated shadows around the other patron’s feet. Do they see it yet? His poker face is that of a smile, always stationary and wide like the cat that caught the canary, teeth bright and shining luminescent, glowing in the dark. He doesn’t know what it’s like to lose, because even missteps on his way to victory end with his hands and pockets full; it’s because he’s a cheater -- filthy and unstoppable, a liar for sport. His fingers roll chips back and forth, back and forth, eyes finding the other players, the sweat of their brows, the shifting of their pupils. The mounted lights feel brighter, burning hot as if center stage, their cards suddenly feel like a worse hand, or perhaps, a better one -- no... a trick of the light. 

Two folds and a flush, a look of indignation and he breaks out into laugh, deep and crackling in his core. He will continue to win until he grows bored, until fists fly and the casino breaks out in security, until batons are swung and blood spatters the floors and ceilings of such flashy poverty. He will continue to win until there’s no one left to play, until his pockets overflow with plastic coins that he doesn’t exchange for currency, clicking and jangling, sliding between fingers and clattering to the concrete. Ujin stuffs himself full on the feeling of victory, gorges on the other’s suffering and the widened eyes of desperate men starving for just a taste of what he holds in spades. For now he soaks in the gasps and the furrowed brows of lesser men, the feeling of a meal for their families or a safe ride home from this church of agony caught tight in his gluttonous grasp.

His hands slam onto the velvet of the poker table, body leaning heavily with a joker’s grin and a jester’s laugh, teeth sharpened and stained the color of bloomed roses he says, “Again.”

Then he’s walking the streets at night, his gun adorned on his pointer finger, spinning carelessly as he explores the furthest gutters with a name burning a hole in his pocket. Impetuous as he walks among the poisonous field of the city’s most vibrant flora, it’s most tempting and dangerous wildlife in the form of Renegades and rogues, all vying for the most useless of all things: survival.

Divinity is not something that welcomes them, the afterlife not promising the demons and devilmen any reprieve -- as if this hell on Earth could be any better, as if it could be worse. A Machivellian thief, a pessimist of a killer -- perhaps he’s doing them a mercy. A horrible thought. If he plagued himself with the idea that he was sending scattered filth to a quick and painless “better place” he isn’t sure he’d be able to bear picking up a gun again -- a knife, however…

His steps halt, head turned, curious. He hears shuffling in the depths of the alleyway, “Hiding?” He’s made of heat, of pumping blood and a slow simmering pot, a maelstrom devouring, destroying only for the sake of destruction. His spine is bent, hunched, as if he’s hiding as well, “I’m good at games.” It comes sharp and low, almost a dark playfulness buried in it. Black hair hangs long enough in front of his forehead that it shadows his eyes, the usual thinness of his pupils blown large as if euphoric. Power, what he coveted in spades, spilled forth from those full pockets as a man shakes and trembles behind mountains of trash. Familiar are the Greek Gods to what mercy looks like from a devil, what kindness means when received from a wooden horse, a face that appears both warm and friendly, handsome and charming, but cracks in two with the hunger of his posture, the shape of a spine that is not merely human, cracking open to something disgusting, something terrifying, falling out and bleeding onto itself -- it’s an illusion, of course, something of his design, a mutation created to be seen by only one person at a time.

                                        AND WHAT AN ILLUSION IT IS.

He makes himself something he is not, he makes himself an evolving mass, a thing of nightmares because no freedom from pain is quick, not from him. If he’s a monster then this city is hell, this city is what grows and breeds things like himself. He wants to see the man suffer, but as he grows more horrid still his vision goes dark, his trigger hand grows hungry, and just as he reaches his peak (fifty feet tall, open wounds cracking into voids of gore and featureless faces, he’s greeted with a scream of terror) he sees black and the sound of a bullet rings loudly.

For a moment, the world is bright, flashing near blinding behind his eyes and when it clears there’s nothing, the darkness too dense, his eyes not yet adjusted to the depth of this blackness. Luckily he doesn’t need light to see it, the image seared into the backs of his eyelids, the makeshift image of the empty sockets, the stickiness of a liquified brain seeping out of a cracked skull, pouring damp and harsh against the pavement. He makes his own gore, manifests the warm feeling of adrenaline. His hands don’t shake anymore, but his fingers clutch tighter to the gun, the cocked trigger and the feel of steel in his hands. He doesn’t linger long, the silence following the bullet broken only by a whistled tune, the first movement he makes the pursing of lips, eyes blindly staring down at what is surely a mangled body, before he turns, the gun slowly beginning to revolve around his pointer finger once again.

From the end of an alleyway, an onlooker sees the disappearing silhouette of what can only be a man; the only thing clearly visible is the embroidered symbol glowing bright red on the back of his jacket; a cat with it’s teeth sunk into the throat of a snake.

[multiverseforger]

Chris Powell was the teenage son of Mike Powell, a cop, and Grace Powell, a District Attorney. Following his younger twin brothers, Jon and Jason, to the abandoned amusement park across from his home, Chris discovered his father taking a bribe from mob boss Phillipe Bazin.[5][6]

While trying to escape with his brothers from Bazin's henchmen, Chris discovered an amulet that transposed him into the Darkhawk armor. When his father disappeared after Chris saw him, he swore to use the Darkhawk armor as an "edge against crime". Darkhawk's powers included a force blast which emanated from the amulet on his chest, a force shield from the same amulet, a claw cable which could serve as both a Wolverine-like claw, and a grapple cable, glider wings and later flight capability, enhanced vision and strength, and an image underneath the Darkhawk helmet which served to frighten and distract his enemies.[citation needed]

He often teamed up with Spider-Man. As a sometime member of the New Warriors, he befriended Speedball, Nova, and later, Turbo.[citation needed] During his tenure as a crime fighter, he was often trying to rescue his father, mother, or other family members.[citation needed]

He developed quite a roster of enemies: he would fight villains such as Hobgoblin and Tombstone, who were seeking to take his amulet, with the latter succeeding. He was extremely weakened and even dying from having the amulet removed, but still able to use all of his powers except for turning back into human form to heal. Once he retrieved the amulet he was able to put it back in his chest and fully heal. Darkhawk had 2 separate encounters with Venom, who felt that Chris was good natured and held back whereas Darkhawk was greatly opposed to Venom's ideals and way of handling crime, and swore to bring him to justice, despite Venom offering to be his ally. Lodestone: a magnetically-powered villain developed by Bazin, was often pitted against Darkhawk. He also fought against some who would later ally with him, such as Portal, a teleporting mutant who killed another Darkhawk and stole parts of his armor, Savage Steel, which had been created by the secret police cabal that Chris' dad had been a member of, and Damek, a mercenary sent from the future to kill Darkhawk.[citation needed]

Chris learned that his armor was actually an autonomously existing android armor, one of five commissioned by an alien mob lord named Dargin Bokk, being held in a sentient spaceship, Ocsh, in Null Space. When Chris grasped the amulet, it actually caused his body to switch places with that of the Darkhawk body, although his mind remained in control of the 'replacement' body.[citation needed]

After helping them several times, Darkhawk was brought aboard the Avengers West Coast as a reserve member, but saw little action with them after becoming a member, because they were dissolved shortly thereafter. Nonetheless, he did at least start a lasting friendship with Spider-Woman.[citation needed]

Darkhawk 2.0

Later, Chris and Darkhawk actually split into two separate entities, with the armor being updated into the "2.0" form, as it was informally known. This advanced form of armor gave Darkhawk new powers, such as the ability to form a force shield encasing his body, an actual "Hawk" construct (a gigantic force-field shaped like a hawk), and the ability to summon weapons from Osch. Darkhawk 2.0 and Chris re-merged, with the prospect of no longer needing to use the amulet in order to switch bodies.[citation needed]

Loners

Chris joined a self-help group of ex-teenage-super-heroes, the Loners, who admitted to being addicted to their powers. Members included: Turbo, Green Goblin IV (Phil Urich), Ricochet, Lightspeed and later Spider-Woman III (Mattie Franklin). The group was hired by a mysterious benefactor, later revealed to be Rick Jones, to track down the Runaways in Los Angeles.

Powell displayed trouble controlling his anger in his Darkhawk persona, leading to a short skirmish with Turbo. Dismayed with himself, Powell admitted to his teammates that he suffered a nervous breakdown.[7] Powell decided to never turn into Darkhawk again, but this decision did not last long, as shortly thereafter the group battled the notorious Avengers villain, Ultron. Darkhawk delivered the final blow, using a darkforce blast at point blank range to blow Ultron to pieces.[8]

The Loners continued their meetings and Chris was drawn back into heroics by Spider-Woman and made an enemy of MGH manufacturers who had abused Mattie Franklin and the woman running them as well as Nekra, a woman who was getting rich by selling her bodily fluids to them. Chris then got his Darkhawk amulet stolen from him temporarily by an unbalanced Phil Urich but was able to regain it with help from the group.[9]

Secret Invasion

Having registered with the government, Darkhawk was assigned to the position of security chief at Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S.. During the Skrull invasion, he worked alongside his old teammate Nova against the Deviant Skrulls.[10]

Fraternity of Raptors

The being known as Talon came to Earth, and offered to teach Chris how to control his amulet. They went to the Negative Zone to fight Annihilus. There, Chris bonded fully with his amulet. This allowed him to learn that the Fraternity of Raptors that Talon represented was evil and that the Fraternity had created the amulets. Evilhawk had been a hallucination caused by his mind, which had been unable to process all the information the Amulet gave him. The Raptor, known as Razor, took over Chris' body and assassinated Lilandra.[citation needed]

Later he fought Gyre another member of the Fraternity of Raptors that had been recruited as a pawn of the Sphinx. Darkhawk, Nova, Black Bolt, Mr. Fantastic and Namorita defeated the Sphinx and his pawns. Darkhawk was able to separate Gyre from his Kree host by using the same technique Talon used to separate Chris from Darkhawk and bring back Razor.[citation needed]

Avengers Arena

Arcade kidnapped Chris and fifteen teenage heroes and brought them to Murderworld, a secluded island where no one could find them, and forced them to fight each other to the death, and only the last man standing within thirty days would be allowed to leave.[11] One night, he was attacked and had his amulet removed, leaving his fate unknown.[12] His amulet would get passed around by others locked in Murderworld.[13]

Chris was later shown in a coma-like state in a strange tank along with the deceased heroes, where Arcade appeared to be healing him. Waking up, he located Arcade and knocked him out. He later reclaimed his amulet and was among the survivors of the battle.[14]

Marvel Legacy

Powell eventually resurfaced back in New York, set to marry a new fiancée by the name of Miranda Cruz. With whom he'd shared all of his exploits while piloting the sentient automaton known Darkhawk. Nowadays his Amulet has become inert, not so much as even changing when he focuses his thoughts on becoming his alter ego again; but lately has been suffering from nightmares of the Tree of Shadows every time he slept. Following in his father's footsteps, he eventually became an officer of the law at the NYPD. Taking to the same beat Micheal Powell used to back when he was one of the police, he reminisced about how his father would listen to people and remember their names while trying to keep the peace on the streets.

Trying to be the every bit as big a man and a better cop than he was by holding the values he once thought Mike stood for before, Chris found out his father was a corrupt cop. All the while ruminating on whether the world needed him as Christopher Powell, police officer or as the cybernetic hero he once was. While on patrol, dispatch sent out notice of a disturbance at Wonderland Amusement Park, where he first found the Raptor Amulet.

While investigating the derelict establishment, Powell was approached by two shady cops right near the area where he first became Darkhawk. Officer Hal Fingeroth and Sergeant Harold Conrad came to Powell offering certain opportunities while on the force which Chris quickly denied, when the latter opted to be a bit more forceful in his persuasion; Conrad was quickly eviscerated by members of the Fraternity of Raptors who were after the young officer's depowered amulet. Canorus and Aceptar created the odd circumstances which led to Christopher retracing his origin as a superhero in order to kill him and take what they believed was theirs by right, but the former raptor didn't go without a fight; discovering that these new raptors were in actuality just armored Shi'ar thugs given how easily Aceptar was stunned by a shock baton.

Though Christopher was eventually subdued by Canorus and his gem taken from him. Canorus was able to activate it again with a damaged Razor taking his place, whom nearly beat Powell's other would be assassin to death until Chris got his attention. The badly broken android grabbed hold of Powell and ported him to a portion of the Datasong he called the "Perch," where memories of previous host pilots were stored within a Raptor's own motherboard.

Razor, now calling itself Darkhawk after the recombinant persona imprinted on itself due to their shared escapades as a hero. Chris learned from his other half that a whole new Fraternity has sprung up in the wake of Novas' decimation, eager to bring the universe to heel under their thrall and had been searching for a means of acquiring the Raptor androids from the Null Space void to cement their dominance. Horrified by this development the now empathetic Razor sought to defy this mandate by said cabal of zealot pretenders by escaping his pod and severing his link to the Tree of Shadows, which was the reason why Powell couldn't become Darkhawk anymore. Severing his brethren's connection to their amulets earned Raptor their ire, however. They nearly hunted it down and executed until he was summoned to Earth by Canorus. Seeing the opportunity to heal itself, and hoping to enlist aid in stopping the renegade Raptor sect, Darkhawk sought union with Chris Powell once again in order to recover and grow in power.

Seeing as the whole of the universe was at stake, including his own homeworld in the long run. Chris knew in spite of his misgivings about space travel and the new life he has on Earth, that since his android had grown a conscience since the War of Kings. That he could not just sit by and pretend what effects the galaxy has no consequences for everybody involved, himself included. Donning the name Darkhawk once more, he took to the skies after blasting the other raptor back to his enclave in space before taking off, wondering how Miranda will react to the change of pace.[15]

Infinity Countdown

After learning from Richard Rider that the Fraternity of Raptors were after the Infinity Stones, Chris wanted to find a way to stop them, but he was stuck on Earth. He was later attacked by the bounty hunter Death's Head who was hired by the Raptors to capture Chris and bring him back to them alive. After learning that Death's Head had a spaceship, Chris was able to convince Death's Head to take him to the Raptors. After saying goodbye to Miranda, Chris and Death's Head traveled to where Death's Head was to meet the Raptors, the planet Arcturus IV; however, the Raptors betrayed Death's Head and destroyed his ship. Chris survived the ship's destruction and confronted the Raptors, but he was quickly overwhelmed by their numbers.

Chris' Darkhawk Amulet was removed from his body by the Raptors' leader Gyre and used in a ceremony to transform Richard Rider's brother Robbie Rider into the being called Dark Darkhawk by fusing him with Ratha'kon, a being supposedly more powerful than the Phoenix Force. The Raptors then left a dying Chris where he was set off to destroy Earth. As Chris dragged himself across the ground, he encountered his other half Razor who revealed to him the origins of the Tree of Shadows and of the first Raptor. After some coaxing from Razor, Chris tapped into his hidden strength and emerged with a new Darkhawk body after fully fusing his mind with the armor. Chris then flew after the Raptors to stop them.[16]

Chris battled the Raptors with help from Death's Head and Nova Prime. Nova made it difficult to fight Dark Darkhawk as he preferred to reason with his brother Robbie than fight him. Dark Darkhawk then shockingly turned on Gyre and destroyed him while stating that he would bring order to the universe, not Gyre. The Raptors were eventually stopped when Death's Head rigged the power core of the Kree ship the Raptors stole to explode. Only Dark Starhawk survived the explosion, though stunned, allowing Chris to reclaim his Darkhawk Amulet. Dark Starhawk then disappeared in a flash of light after striking his Nega-Bands together. Grieving over the loss of Robbie, Nova angrily told Chris to stay on Earth or he would have him locked up. After Chris returned to Earth, he decided stay out of space for a while. Later that night, he was met by Sleepwalker while he dreamed, telling him that the influence of the Infinity Stones threatened the Mindscape and that the only way he could protect it was to become a Sleepwalker.[17]

Young Again

Darkhawk attended Thanos' funeral along with prominent cosmic figures where it was revealed that Thanos had transferred his mind into a new body. However, the Black Order came and stole Thanos' corpse, while opening a rip in space in order to trap them.[18] While trapped there, Darkhawk's atoms began to break apart, affecting his link to the suit. After being captured by the Universal Church of Truth from a possible future, Chris found out that his body was merged with the armor and that he had become younger than when he first found the amulet.[19] Under the control of the Church, Darkhawk and the other prisoners attacked the Guardians of the Galaxy, but Rocket Raccoon was able to free them from the Church's control and sent the church back to their timeline.[20]

After the Void was leading the forces of the Cancerverse into invading the Negative Zone, Darkhawk was among the heroes summoned by Mister Fantastic using his Dimensional Anchor in order to defeat the Scourge. Once the Silver Surfer managed to merge Bob Reynolds with Void back, Nova sacrificed himself in order to defeat the Scourge, ending the threat.[21]

Powers and Abilities

Power Grid [24]Intelligence 2Strength4 Speed*5  3Durability4 Energy Projection*6  3Fighting Skills 2* Armor Transformations

Abilities

Skilled Combatant: Chris is skilled in Kendo and an unidentified branch of Karate.[citation needed]

Strength level

25+ Tons.[15]

Paraphernalia

Equipment

Darkhawk Amulet:

Consciousness Transfer: Chris can transfer his consciousness into the Darkhawk's alien android while at the same time, switch the robotic body's place with that of his own body wherever he is at any time.[citation needed]

Darkhawk Android: The Darkhawk Armor is advanced Shi'ar technology meshed with magic, allowing the host numerous superhuman capabilities:

Superhuman Strength: The Armor allows Chris to lift in the excess of 25+ tons. Able to knock out Venom.[citation needed]

Superhuman Speed

Superhuman Durability: Darkhawk is superhumanly durable; he is capable of shrugging off physical impacts, energy blasts, and most artillery fire.

Superhuman Agility

Superhuman Reflexes

Armament Conjuration: The Android can summon weapons from the extra-dimensional expanse from whence they came, or manifest desired munitions from its own body at will.[citation needed]

Flight: The retractable glider wings under his arms allow him to glide on air currents. Darkhawk can also fly at speeds that let him fly from New York to California in only a matter of hours. After the Darkhawk armor attained a new form, Chris is able to fly interstellar distances.[22]

Self Repair: Even major injuries to his Darkhawk body can be repaired by switching back to his human form.[citation needed]

Superhuman Vision: Darkhawk has telescopic and infra-red vision. He can see through most camouflage.[citation needed]

Force Field: Chris can utilize a circular wafer-thin force field.[citation needed]

Concussion Blasts: He can fire blasts of destructive dark energy from the amulet on his chest.[citation needed]

Mode Shifting: Talons can morph their bodies into a host of augmentative forms. Becoming transparent, doubling body armor, projecting greater weaponry, etc.[citation needed]

Formerly *Avengers Identicard

Transportation

Formerly Avengers Quinjet

Trivia

Darkhawk's armor and appearance has been a continued source of debate amongst Marvel "True-Believers." After his series was canceled, his new appearances often reverted back to the original Darkhawk armor. As of his Loners appearances, he is in "DH 1.0" form, although he had appeared a few times as DH 2.0 prior to this.[citation needed]

It has been a misunderstanding amongst many readers and fans of Darkhawk that he was aware of his status as a hero within the Marvel 2099 universe, in which he is known as "The Powell," one of the "most powerful, and feared, heroes in the universe." This wasn't Earth-928 (or Marvel 2099), it was a similar cyberpunk dystopia world within Chronopolis. This was resolved by DeFalco himself within the letter columns in one of the final issues of the ongoing series.[citation needed]

Links and References

185 Appearances of Christopher Powell (Earth-616)

15 Minor Appearances of Christopher Powell (Earth-616)

Media Christopher Powell (Earth-616) was Mentioned in

123 Images featuring Christopher Powell (Earth-616)

13 Quotations by or about Christopher Powell (Earth-616)

Character Gallery: Christopher Powell (Earth-616) 

Christopher Powell (Earth-616) on Wikipedia.org 

Darkhawk Zone: The Ultimate Darkhawk Fansite

Darkhawk @ New Warriors Continuity Conundrum

New Warriors Message Board

Recommended Readings

Darkhawk #1-50 (March 1991, April 1995)

Darkhawk Annual #1-3 (1992, 1994)

New Warriors #14, 22-25, 47-51

New Warriors Annual #3

Avengers West Coast #93-95

Runaways Vol 2 #1-6

Marvel Team-Up #15-18, 25 (2005)

Loners #1-6 (2007)

Nova (vol. 4) #17-#19 (November 2008, January 2009)

War of Kings: Darkhawk #1 and #2 (February 2009 and March 2009)

War of Kings: Ascension #1-4 (April 2009, July 2009)

Discover and Discuss

Search this site for: Christopher Powell (Earth-616)

Footnotes

↑ Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe A-Z #3

↑ 2.02.1 The Loners #1

↑ Avengers Vol 3 #2

↑ Darkhawk Annual #3

↑ Darkhawk #1

↑ Amazing Spider-Man #353

↑ Runaways Vol 2 #1-3

↑ Runaways Vol 2 #6

↑ The Loners Vol 1-6

↑ Nova #17-18

↑ Avengers Arena #1

↑ Avengers Arena #3

↑ Avengers Arena #4

↑ Avengers Arena #18

↑ 15.015.1 Darkhawk #51

↑ Infinity Countdown: Darkhawk #1-3

↑ Infinity Countdown: Darkhawk #4

↑ Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 5 #1

↑ Guardians of the Galaxy Annual Vol 3 #1

↑ Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 5 #11-12

↑ Annihilation - Scourge Omega #1

↑ Infinity Countdown: Darkhawk #3

↑ Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe A-Z #3

↑ Darkhawk #51, Trading Card Variant

ARTICLE INFORMATION

Top Contributors





Categories

Other Languages

Community content is available under CC-BY-SA unless otherwise noted.

[modernagesomniari]

Fic - Measuring the Veil Part 2

There’s a second part, yes there is.  In which we catch up with Mihris, who is basically an unfortunate event sponge.

This is part two of Measuring the Veil, which you can read here (Parts 1 and 2 both posted on AO3 so far).  It is part of the Mala Suledin Nadas series but can definitely stand alone.  

*************

Early Solavellan, canon-typical violence

~3900 words

*************

The fadebolt took the Dalish woman directly in her chest and she staggered to the ground, curling in on herself as clouds of eerie green light suffused her body.  The wraith had circled round a broken archway and taken advantage of her focus on the shade to catch her unawares. Despite his obvious disdain, Solas’ reaction was lightning quick and Eli’s ears popped as the air around the fallen figure pooled like someone had dropped a stone in a still pond.  The clouds around the woman faded, although she flinched like someone had struck her.  Eli herself flung out her hand towards the wraith and watched the flames erupt in its body, sending it howling towards the cliff.  The shade, it’s prey now tripled, turned towards them and then back to the Dalish woman, clearly unsure of where to go next.  A bolt from Bianca ripped a hole in its fleshy chest and lodged itself with a metallic clang in the soft stone of the ruins behind it and Eli had just enough time to grin in elation at their friends’ arrival before Cassandra was launching herself over the rise of the hill.  Her shield slammed into the shade’s gormless face hard enough to rock it back against the stone and it fell limp to the floor.  Eli set the ground and stone violently on fire before Cassandra got too close to it, then turned to the wraith.  Tender already from her flames, she caught the moment of its death as Varric sent another bolt, hard and unflinching, deep into where its face should be, helped to it by Solas’ having frozen Eli’s fire inside it.  It screamed, tearing at where the arrow was lodged unnaturally where its face should be, consumed a moment later by what remained of Eli’s fire.

“Herald!”

Cassandra’s shout came after a loud grunt of pain and Eli turned to see her down on one knee, tendrils of electricity grounding down her body to her feet.  The shade was struggling up and so was the Dalish woman, her face tensed in a grimace of pain and rage as she laboriously raised her staff to strike Cassandra again.

“Atish’an, lethallan!  We are not your enemy!” Eli cried, reaching up to pull her hood down off her head.  The woman looked over, startled by hearing her language, and Eli noted how the sun glinted in pale green eyes, watching her take in the tattoos on Eli’s face.  “She is with me - she will not hurt you!”

The shade’s dying call had them both looking over to Cassandra, who stood from dealing the killing blow and turned straight back to the woman.

“Are there any more?”

Sympathy clenched in Eli’s gut as the woman said nothing, her body tense and ready for flight.  It hadn’t been long since she herself had looked at Cassandra that way, too.

“I do not think there are more, Seeker.” Solas said from beside her.  “Certainly none that I can sense.”

Eli relaxed, hopping over the last of the boulders and onto the soft grass where the woman lay.

“Are you hurt?”

“She is a templar.”

“No, she is not.  I know she looks like one.  She’s with me.”

“She called you ‘Herald’.”

Eli watched her push herself to sitting and then to standing, leaning heavily on her staff, nerves blooming in her stomach. When the woman, younger than Eli had first thought, turned her pale eyes on her again she almost felt like squirming, shame rising to bloom in her cheeks.

“Yes.  She did.”

“As in ‘Herald of Andraste’?  I have heard that one of our own has been given such a name by the shemlen.”

“Yes.  That is me.  I am Ellana, of Clan Lavellan.”

“Andaran atish’an, then.  I will admit, I wasn’t expecting to find another of Dalish blood here.  My name is Mihris.”

Eli smiled, the nerves dissipating.  Mihris had a lilt to her voice she had missed dearly, for all that Solas had a similar hint to his own accent.  She spared her companions a glance, but they seemed content to hold back.  When Eli looked back around, Mihris caught her eye.  “I have attacked one of your acquaintances then?”

“Well, yes you did.”

“You consider her such?”

“I consider her a friend, actually.  Despite how we disagree sometimes.”

That brought the young woman’s eyebrows up as well as Cassandra’s.

“Well, shemlen.  I hope you can accept my apologies.  You look very like a templar like that.”

“I am not a templar, though I do not contest the confusion.  I am also aware that you are quite right to be wary of templars, mage as you are.  Particularly now.  Your apology is accepted.”

Mihris bowed her head and turned back to Eli.  Whatever regret she apparently had for Cassandra had already dissipated.

“I see by your weapons you come ready for battle - perhaps we find a common enemy in these demons?”

Eli lifted her staff behind her and began to strap it to her harness.

“Are you fighting the demons on your own?”

Mihris made a disgusted noise.

“There is little use fighting demons when there will always be more and I have no way to close the rifts…”

She trailed off, head cocked at Eli, who nodded.  “Amazing.  Regardless, I’ve heard of elven artefacts that measure the veil - finding them could help predict where they may form, I thought.  There is supposed to be one nearby, but I wasn’t expecting so many demons.”

Eli laughed a little, ignoring Solas’ pointed look.

“Actually that’s why we’re here as well - my friend Solas has also heard of these artefacts.”

Mihris glanced over at him and something uncomfortable shifted across her face before she turned back.

“Oh.  Well I believe one to be just inside these ruins.  Could you help me reach it?”

“We can reach it together - if it works we think there may be more of them we can use.”

“And we’re pretty damn good at killing demons, so definitely able to help you there.”

Mihris looked over at Varric, her beautiful eyes opening a little in wonder as she leant close to Eli, voice a whisper.

“Is that a dwarf from Orzammar, or….”

Eli laughed again, but pointedly raised her voice so Varric could hear them.

“Varric is from Kirkwall, lethallan.  You should hear him complain when we take him anywhere near a cave.”

“Hey, not all dwarves like the feeling of tonnes of rock over their head.  That’s just common sense.  Varric Tethras, by the way.  A pleasure.”

Eli let them introduce themselves, oddly tense.  Only perhaps not so oddly, given what she suspected about Solas’ views.  It did not help that Mihris’ greeting to him was as terse as his curt nod in reply.  Wonderful.

They took a few moments to take some water and pat themselves down after the fight with the mercenaries, although it was clear Varric’s shirt and coat were utterly ruined, a fact he was happy to point out, loudly.  Solas kept separate, sipping at his canteen and watching Mihris warily.  She also seemed glad for the break and came to sit, obviously and easily, next to Eli.  For a moment Eli just revelled in the smell of halla leather and elfroot, of slightly sweat-tinged ironbark armour and the natural, earthy tang in the air that was Mihris’ magic.  It was almost too much, too brief and sharp a picture of home when she had resigned herself to not seeing or feeling it again for a very long time.  It wasn’t easy, being away from her Clan.  Curious, she asked Mihris where hers was and watched her grow suddenly nervous, looking away from her.

“I was…am…First of Clan Virnhen.”

“Virnhen?  Didn’t one of your hunters win at archery at the last Arlathvhen?”

The joy and recognition Eli hoped for didn’t come, only the slightest flinch.

“I don’t really…hunting has never been something that interested me.  Anyway, I was away on business for my Clan out here and saw the great tear in the Veil.  I had learned about these artefacts before and certainly know more about the veil than any shemlen, so I thought I’d try to help, that’s all.”

“Ma harel, dal’en.”

Solas’ voice was quiet, but there was a note of steel to it that reminded Eli forcefully of Keeper Ista when she was disapproving of something Eli had done.  Mihris’ head jerked up at him, shock on her face before something ugly crossed over it like a shadow and she bowed her head, closing her eyes.  Eli took in the suddenly hunched shoulders, the lines across the young woman’s face and gently put an arm around her.  Mihris drew her body into herself for one more moment before letting it go, her voice barely a whisper.

“They were all killed. By…by a demon our Keeper was foolish enough to summon.”

She got up and there was rage in her face where there had been grief before.  “I am all that remains of Clan Virnehn.  I was searching for a Clan to take me in when the Breach appeared.  I just want to help!”

She was humiliated, this much was obvious.  That her humiliation was transforming to rage so quickly set off old warnings in Eli’s memory, all with Keeper Ista’s voice.  She knew Cassandra would have noted the pulses of magic at Mihris’ clenched fists, just barely contained from bursting into her element of choice in her anger.  So she stood, remaining slow and calm, gently placing her hands on Mihris’ shoulders, though she kept their bodies apart.

“I am so sorry, Mihris.  Truly I am.  I know what it is to have a Clan, the idea of losing it is almost too much to bear.”

“And yet here you are, with shemlen and a new Clan.” Mihris spat, pulling away.  “I did not ask for your sympathy, Ellana.  I did, however, ask for your help in finding something that will set this right.  If the shemlen cannot clear up their own mess, then perhaps it is up to the People to do so.”

Eli didn’t argue with her and held up her hand to stop Cassandra from where she had taken breath to speak.  This was neither the time nor the place.

“And we will help, Mihris.  Do not be angry with us.  Come, you said it was this way?”

Mihris looked at her a little guiltily as she caught up with her, but Eli just smiled and shrugged.  She hadn’t really expected another Clan to be nearby, but it hurt her to see what losing one could do to someone.  Keeper Ista would be proud of her, putting her own pain to one side to be wary for a mage pushed a little too close to the edge.  She could feel no corruption there, but she had found the woman fighting demons and only hoped that the folly of Virnehn’s Keeper (Thalrinn?  Thelhen?  June’s wooden codpiece but she’d alway been awful with names) was keeping Mihris well away from summoning demons of her own.

They walked together in a slightly stilted silence.  Eli didn’t want to contemplate what looks were passing between Varric and Cassandra.  Wanted to contemplate even less Solas’ thoughts.  

The path wound between broken pieces of arches, walls - there was even what looked like an old gargoyle worn with age to almost nothing.  She wished she had time to sit and sketch them, despite her extremely dubious art skills. Perhaps she could get Solas to draw them for her once they’d found the artefact.

“Thank you for accompanying me, Ellana.” Mihris suddenly said beside her, quietly.  Eli reached between them and took her hand, holding on gently as the woman tensed and then decided to relax, threading their fingers together to give Eli’s hand a tentative squeeze before letting it go.  The pain of loss was still very raw then, to be so averse to simple physical affection.  Still, the squeeze suggested she wanted out of this pain, perhaps even saw a path to that end.  Eli hoped so.

The trail ended in a short bend that led through two arches that were still standing.  It made Eli smile, gently trailing a hand up the loose stones and letting the dust coat her palm.  She loved old things.  The path led to what had clearly been an entrance into some kind of structure built into the cliff, but something had caused either the cliff above or the building in front of it to collapse, rendering the entrance useless.  They approached it gingerly, but it seemed like the cliff was safe.

“That’s going to be a pain in the ass to lift out, that boulder’s larger than Cassandra.”

Cassandra kicked Varric gently in response.  He was right, though - unless they could find some way to move the rubble they had come here for nothing.  Eli had occasionally been known to try and move things like this with magic, but she didn’t know if she could manage something of this size.  Mihris, kicking the stone with barely contained frustration, had clearly come to the same conclusion, snarling a little and turning back to them.  

“All this is for naught if we don’t shift this now.  A focus of magical energies should be able to move the stones.”  To Eli’s surprise, she then turned to Solas, something hard and arrogant in the curl of her lip.  “You, flat-ear - can you manage it?”

The slur shocked Eli enough to still her for a moment, shame and rage buzzing down her arms to the tips of her fingertips in readiness for the fight to come.

Only there wasn’t one.  To her relief and dismay all in one, Solas said nothing but came forward gently and raised his hands, blue tendrils of flame caressing his arms before reaching out to the stones like a lover, wrapping around them and gently lifting them.  It was only when they had settled that Eli realised that he had formed them back to their original position as the main archway of the entrance.  It looked effortless, like it had cost him nothing.  Rage settled her mouth into a hard line and she was about to turn to Mihris when Solas’ hand reached for his staff behind him.

“Demons.”

Cassandra darted forward, sword drawn, the minimum amount of time possible with Solas standing unprotected.  The rest of them followed, Varric and Mihris tucking into the corners of the rectangular entrance-hall whilst Eli and Solas flanked the door.  The shade and its wraiths were thin and papery in comparison to those they had found outside.  What with Mihris’ additional bursts of lightning, harsh and unforgiving, they were felled quickly and without too much problem.  Eli breathed to calm herself and then turned to Mihris, who had already started forward.  She stood in front of her, butt of her staff on the ground, making it clear she was not about to move.  Irritation flickered over Mihris’ face and Eli leant close so she could almost feel the young woman’s breath on her cheeks.

“What are you….”

“We do not use that term in my Clan, Mihris.” Eli said, her voice low and strong.  “We believe it gives those who are not of the Dalish the impression that we think they are lesser than we are simply because of their choices.  Which we do not.  I am not here to question the tradition of your Clan, that is not my place.  But you are not with your Clan here.  And I will not hear it spoken in my presence again.  Are we clear?”

Mihris’ eyes had gone wide, the slanted sunlight casting her face in strange shadows.  She was frozen for a moment, eyes darting to where Eli assumed Solas was and then back to her.  Then she nodded. Eli nodded once in return and then turned away, walking away from the light and into the gloom at the back of the hallway.  She had to pass Solas to do so and could see him watching her, could imagine the affronted downward curve of his eyebrows so clearly in her mind that she put out a hand to stop him the second she saw his chest lift in breath to speak.  “I know.  You did not ask me to protect your honour.  If it makes you feel better, think of it as a philosophical difference between two foolish Dalish, nothing to do with you at all.”

He didn’t move as she passed him, heading for a large metal chest at the back and setting down her staff next to it as she crouched to try and heave it open.  Anything to keep herself busy at this moment, the silence from behind her was deafening.

“That is not what I was going to say.”

His voice was quiet and close.

“Well what were you going to say, then?”

“I…am unsure, now.  Have you found anything of interest?”

She closed the lid with a clang.

“Not really.”

She stood and cast her eyes around.  There were two empty entryways leading to stairs into the darkness of the ruin, nothing more.  Whatever statue had welcomed in visitors was long worn, so far gone she had no idea what it had once tried to be.  It was often such in these places.  Feeling something tickling at the back of her mind where her magic lay, she looked around again, feeling drawn to a metal lantern hung on the wall next to the arch that led to one of the staircases.  There was something cold about it and strangely familiar.

“Solas?”

“Yes?”

“That lantern.  It feels a little like that one that you found near the first base camp out of Haven.”

“Oh?”

He came over and studied it for a moment before looking at her, slightly surprised.  “You are correct, it is of the same category of object.  Although this is far older.  You could try to light it with a normal flame and it never would.”

There was something in his face that told Eli there was more and she played to it, glad to be doing something other than fighting with her own kind.

“But….”

He took the bait.  Of course he did.

“But a magical fire may do it.”

“Can you light it?”

“I think perhaps that should be your honour.”

“I don’t know how.  Let me watch you?”

“Hm.  Very well.  Come.”

She pulled closer to him, just by his left shoulder.

“Which bit of you should I watch?”

She felt him hesitate slightly as he raised his arm and could have sworn she saw a brief flash of a smile on his shadowed face.

“…my hand.”

Oh.  So he did remember last night then.  She watched him raise his arm, his fingers curling and rotating like he was gently scooping up the fire from a pool.  She felt the tendrils of it echo up to his shoulder, merging with whatever magic he held and returning back to the lantern, laden with the essence of him intense enough she could almost feel it through the cotton of her shirt.  A beautiful, cool blue flame leapt from the base, burning bright and fierce.  It was entrancing and she beamed up at him in delight, a small smile on his face as he looked down at her.

“That is not ordinary fire.” Varric pointed out helpfully from behind them.  Solas rolled his eyes.

“I have not seen it before outside of the Fade, though I have heard of it.  It is called veilfire - a sort of sympathetic magic.  A memory of flame in this world that burns where the Veil is thin.”

Eli idly wondered if he would mind her telling him she could listen him talk about magic for a whole day at a time.  He probably would.  Mihris was coming up to the fire, reaching out with her hand.

“Does it burn like normal fire?  It does not feel hot.”

“No,” Solas replied, gently lifting his hand to stop hers without looking at her.  “And neither would you feel the burn until it is too late.”

He turned to look at Eli and she suddenly felt strangely proud, like when she and Darrel had been competing for Keeper Ista’s favour as young students.  “Veilfire does not obey normal laws, but now that it is kindled, it can be manipulated.  Take it.”

“What?  How?”

“Open yourself to the memory it holds.  Take it.”

The persuasive whisper of his voice made her grin in excitement and she reached out to the flame, doing as he suggested.  With a small gasp of surprise she felt the fire respond and her hand naturally begin to curl around something unseen.  Letting the fire lead her, she found herself grasping what came into being as some kind of torch, the veilfire burning bright from the top of it like she’d held a normal torch up to a standard flame.  Strange carvings and markings curled from her fingers to the flame and back again, some not-quite real metal holding the veilfire in a basin at the top.

“It remembers being lit like this,” she asked, slightly breathlessly, “So now it can be?”

“Precisely.  Technically any one of us could do it, though the technique needed is now more often associated with a mage.”

“So what - we’re taking the magic fire with us now?” Varric asked.  Eli grinned at him.

“Oh yes.” she replied, turning back to Solas.  “Although, I feel you are probably the one who will know best where it needs to be.”

He nodded and reached out to where she held the torch.  If her skin tingled from where their fingers brushed over one another, then that was clearly just another side effect of the magic.  If he caught her eye as he drew the torch gently away from her, well that just meant he had noticed this definitely magical side effect, too.

“Which way?” Cassandra asked, ever practical.

They all looked to Mihris, who sneered a little and looked pointedly at Solas.

“It seems your friend here has more knowledge of these places than I.”

Eli forced a laugh, trying to make it sound empathetic as she smiled.

“Do not fret, Mihris.  Solas tends to know a lot more than we do about most things to do with magic and the Fade.  One gets used to it.”

Mihris’ face softened slightly and by the time she turned again to Solas Eli was relatively sure she was genuinely asking his opinion, even if only for politeness.  That is all she required, for now.  Solas, rather pointedly if Eli was any judge, cleared his throat.

“I cannot claim knowledge of every elven ruin, but if I am correct then this is quite a standard layout.  The two paths should converge at a lower hallway.”

“So it does not matter?  I suggest this way then.” Cassandra said, striding forward to aim for the steps next to the lantern, ensuring she got there before Eli could go down first herself.  They had had words about this after the last ruin they had explored where Eli had gaily trotted down a darkened staircase into the rather surprised arms of a hardened mercenary.  Apparently Cassandra had deemed this behaviour ‘rash’ and ‘unwise’.  Eli had attempted to disagree until Sera had started doing impressions of the noise Eli had made when attempting to extricate herself from said hardened mercenary.  Fine.