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kylorengarbagedump · 4 years ago

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Defy Your Authority: Chapter 4

Read on AO3. Part 3 here. Part 5 here.

Summary: David Rose voice: Oh, my god!

Words: 3200

Warnings: dude

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: First: Thank you to @bastila-ren and @elmidol for their beta-kindness.

I'M ALIVE. I got super burned out at my job, took 5 weeks of FMLA, got incredibly depressed, but now I'm back! Very thankfully, my COVID symptoms were extremely mild. Thank you very very much for your well-wishes and your concerns.

I wish I could express enough apology for my lack of activity, but hopefully uploading a chapter is thanks enough. You all have been so supportive and kind to me. I am SO thankful and appreciative of everything y'all offer me!

(as a side note: I know some people do not like dude, that it throws them out. I am very sorry, but in the politest way possible: I am not going to stop using it. I like it too much.)

I also hope you enjoyed the chapter! God I wonder what's going to happen next chapter. I just don't know.

Love you all so much <3

“Piece of shit.”

Growling, you tugged out another panel from the silencer’s dash. At this point, about a dozen slats of buttons boxed you into the pilot’s seat, crowding you in the cockpit. All of them looked flawless upon inspection, and this new one was no exception. Wires were attached and the circuits were complete, every switch was grounded. You’d gone over a handful of systems already, trapped in this cockpit for hours. The silencer’s refusal to function made no sense. There had to be something you were missing.

The memory of smoke and flames licked at the perimeter of your mind. Yeah, there was a lot you were missing.

Pain burrowed, opened a well in your chest, and you shook your head, rubbing your tired face. There wasn’t time to think about anything else. Sitting forward, you started reattaching the panels to the console. You needed to focus on this. Even though the answer to where you’d go and what you would do once you were finished remained nebulous. Even though you were now apparently unknown and unloved by almost everyone in the universe, including the one man you’d waited on for months.

You caught a sigh in your chest, exhaling into your palms, shutting out the urge to cry. Crying right now was a waste of time. You still had about fifty systems to check, and you’d only read through about half of Kylo’s post-flight novella. Swallowing, you grabbed your datapad from the seat and flipped to the report, forcing yourself through the urge to skim.

It wasn’t like you weren’t interested. Normally this sort of thing was like a buffet for your freakish little brain. But you kept tasting embers on your tongue. Kept seeing your crew--completely unarmed, helpless fuel outpost workers--drowning in destruction. Kept hearing Hux’s voice: Multiple Resistance fighters… Heat gripped your neck, clogged your throat. Multiple fighters for a tiny station. Multiple fighters against three soft, fleshy bodies.

The First Order was not your creed; just your employer. The machine of war had always been an inconvenience to the prestige of working on elite starfighters. You knew that the loss of three cogs was nothing to that machine. In the past, it’d been nothing to you too. But you’d never eaten meals or laughed with or supported those lost cogs when they’d cried. This loss wasn’t just to war. This loss was horrifically and uniquely yours.

“Stop.” You shook your head, tossing your datapad back on the seat. You’d finish putting the console back together, then you’d figure out what to do next.

Jaw tight, you grabbed another panel, and your grip slipped. The sharp edge sliced your palm where the wood had lanced you earlier.

“Fuck!” You dropped it and clutched your hand, seething while you tried to squeeze away the agony. Everything from your fingers to your wrist throbbed, and your chin quaked, tears burning your sight. “Fuck! Fuck!” Snarling, you kicked the panels at your feet. “Fuck!”

The thin cut felt like a sobbing gash. You tore off your jacket and wrapped the sleeve around your palm, wincing when you tightened it to the wound.

“Stupid fucking panels!” you growled, kicking the panels again. “Stupid fucking ship, stupid fucking Kylo, stupid fucking Resistance!” The final kick dented a panel, popped off a shiny button. “Gods!”

You covered your face in your jacket and screamed until your throat crackled, until your lungs were dry. Head spinning, you drew in a breath and screamed again, stomping the floor until dizziness dropped you into the pilot’s chair. Warmth glowed at your cheeks, leaked down your back. Tremors rippled to your toes as you took in a long, steadying breath, exhaling in reluctant relief.

You considered sitting there forever. But it only took two seconds for you to remember how Kylo also sat in this chair thinking of and dealing with everything that wasn’t you before you grunted and climbed out of the cockpit.

The rest of the hangar seemed wholly unconcerned or otherwise ignorant to your tantrum. Wiping your eyes, you hopped to the ground, wagging off the lingering fury in your limbs. Maybe you just needed a walk. You cleared your throat and kept your hand clutched to your chest, the whispering ache pulsing in rhythm with your heart.

In all the hours you’d been in the cockpit, the Steadfast had continued to orbit Orinda. Xi-class shuttles whirled beyond the hangar entrance--probably staffed with crew collecting reconnaissance from whatever the Resistance left behind from the attack. Your feet carried you to the fuzzy blue edge of the magnetic shield’s barrier, meters from vacant space. A quiet hum resonated from its perimeter through your soles.

You gazed into the galaxy. Orinda was a glimmering grain of sand, adrift in the celestial trenches. A fuel outpost turned graveyard. An acceptable casualty of the Resistance. Another home where you couldn’t return. That whispering ache rumbled to a hiss and cast itself over your skin, raking it over with misery, with exhaustion. Your chin quivered. The only place you could think to sleep was the silencer. Eyes falling to the floor, you turned back to the hangar.

“My quarters.”

You squealed and jumped, clapping your hands to your chest. Feet away stood Kylo Ren.

“Shit!” you said, exhaling in relief. “How the hell do you do that?” When he said nothing, you continued, “Like, sneak up on me like that.”

“You’re not perceptive.”

You frowned. “Okay, well…” He wasn’t wrong. You sighed, shrugged. “Anyway.”

Kylo stepped forward, assessing you in your tank top, scrutinizing the tourniquet you’d made of your jacket. “Your hand.”

“It’s fine,” you said, holding it behind your back. “Your quarters?”

His stare lingered on your exposed shoulders, on your neck. “Stay,” he said. “Until the silencer is repaired.”

“That could be as early as next cycle.”

“Given your skill, yes.”

It was difficult to look in his direction. Every worn nerve screamed for his touch. “And then what?”

“You’ll depart to another station.”

You tried to flush the pain from your voice. “So,” you said, “you want me to stay with you through, like, one cycle, and then leave.” You looked to the ceiling in faux-consideration. “Cool. I think I’ll pass.”

Kylo’s eye twitched. He moved closer, tone icy. “You have nowhere to sleep,” he said. “I…” He paused. His tongue rolled in his mouth. “You mean to tell me you prefer the silencer.”

“Well,” you replied, “I’ve never fucked the silencer. I never told the silencer how I felt about it. The silencer has never treated me like a stranger who just walked off the plains of Lothal.” You tapped your chin. “So, yeah, I prefer the silencer.”

He grit his teeth. “You’re no stranger.”

“Sure could’ve fooled me!” A couple of heads turned in your direction.

“Quiet,” he hissed. “It apparently takes very little for you to be fooled.”

“Excuse me?” you replied. “Run that by me again, Supreme Leader?”

“Now your hearing fails you.”

“This is great.” You offered a false smile. “This conversation is going really well.”

Kylo snarled, shoulders bunching with restraint. “You speak this way and then question why you’re unwelcome,” he replied. “Deaf and foolish.”

“Oh!” A frustrated laugh escaped. “Okay, then. Talk to you later, Your Excellency. I need a nap before I keep trying to fix your dumbass ship.”

Shaking your head, you folded your arms over your chest and stormed past him, anger blurring your vision. Stupid fucking asshole--

You made it three steps before a warm leather glove grabbed your shoulder, and you stalled, goosebumps shooting to your hands. Kylo spun you, your face inches from his, your breath fleeing and forgetting to return. His lips trembled, his jaw tightened, his gaze boring into you before it met the floor, seeking to stare anywhere else. The pressure of his fingers was firm, then floating. And then he swallowed, grip crushing your shoulder, his eyes finding you again.

No one else in the hangar would’ve known, looking at him. But this Kylo Ren was familiar to you.

This Kylo Ren was terrified.

“I don’t…” His voice was a feather in the air. “You are…” He averted his attention, stiffening. “You have a home.”

Your chest swelled. Water stung your eyes. “I do?”

“Yes,” he replied, utterly sincere. “But not here. Not now.”

Hairline fractures crept into your heart.

“Kylo.” Your composure cracked. All of you wanted to melt, to disintegrate into his being and know each word trapped on his tongue. There was a reason you could not find him, that he would not unfold himself to you. “Please. Why do you want me gone so badly?”

His lips parted, as if he were about to speak--and he paused. He drew in a breath through his nose. “Complications,” he replied. “Factors you do not understand.”

You stepped closer, throat tight. His breath brushed your nose. “Tell me, then.”

Kylo huffed, shifting on his feet--and his face froze. His limbs locked, muscles taut. His gaze widened, fixated on something over your shoulder. Air leaked from him, like time was slowing to a close. You blinked, looked behind you. But nothing was there.

Frowning, you cleared your throat. “Kylo?” He didn’t even acknowledge you. “You’re really just going to leave it like that?”

His pupils were pinpricks.

It wasn’t like you were heartless. You knew that he was attempting wasn’t easy. But what you were feeling wasn’t a sail on a skiff either. You didn’t just deserve more. You needed it.

“Okay,” you said, backing out of his hold. “This was nice. But I have a TIE fighter to repair. So.” He didn’t respond. Didn’t even move. “Whatever.”

You turned--Kylo’s focus flicked to you. His mouth dropped, like there were words he wanted to and couldn’t speak. Instead, he remained silent, fury simmering in his gaze while you pivoted away. You didn’t say anything either. You didn’t think you had to.

When you arrived at the silencer, you clambered into the cockpit, like it was a hole you could hide in until he disappeared. Shame, stubbornness, or surrender--you imagined one of these was responsible for why he didn’t pursue you, but you didn’t care. This ship repair would be your parting gift to him, and you could take off, probably spending the rest of your life wondering how you’d managed to fuck up your affair with the galaxy’s most ineligible bachelor.

Loose panels still swarmed the pilot’s chair. You sighed and put on your jacket, settling in and throwing your feet on the dash. Your hand thumped with irritation as you closed your eyes.

Just a couple of hours. That’s all you needed. Then you’d keep working like the foolish little--

Clank.

You yelped, flinching in your seat.

Clank.

Heart fluttering, you scanned the cockpit before realizing the noise came from outside the ship.

Clank.

It was behind you. Someone was messing with the refuel port. Or the solar lines. You couldn’t tell. Grumbling, you scrambled out of the chair and hoisted yourself up the escape. If they were fucking up this stupid ship even further--

Clankclankclank.

“Hey!” You popped your head free. “Will you...”

For a split second, you’d thought Kylo had decided to rip the solar line access open and tear into his own power supply. But then your vision focused. The man crouched over the ship was a different intimidating masked man dressed only in black. Your stomach twisted. It was the one from the Buzzard. The one who’d shoulder-checked you.

“Kuruk.”

His head whipped in your direction, the talons of his predator’s gaze gouging your chest. He pulled his hands free of the solar lines, his gloves greasy with reactant.

“Lieutenant.”

Previously you’d thought absolutely no one but Hux could spit that word with that degree of acidity. But if Hux spat it like acid, then Kuruk hocked it--dragged it up through his throat and sputtered it like necrotic phlegm.

You crawled onto the dorsal plane with the coordinated majesty of a blurrg, trying not to heave and ruin any level of authority you might have tricked him into thinking you maintained. When you’d made it to both feet, you straightened, as if you did this all the time, and moved toward him.

“What are you doing?”

“Repairing a starfighter.”

You snorted. “Really,” you replied. “Tearing out a power supply is repairing?”

Kuruk jerked his arm, wrenching free another line, spewing collector dust into the air. “Closer to repairing than sleeping in the cockpit.”

Heat rushed your spine, swathed your neck. “Yeah, well…” You examined him, watching as he cocked his head to avoid the blinders attached to his helmet. “At least I can see properly when I work on a ship.”

“Magnification’s built into the visor.”

More heat, this time crackling in your cheeks, drying your tongue. “Look,” you said, “this is my job. I don’t need amateurs screwing it up for me.”

He paused, turned his gaze on you again. “Amateurs?”

You shrugged. “In comparison, yeah, probably.”

Kuruk leaned on his heels, wiping his gloves on his jacket. “I don’t think so.”

“Uh, I do.” This man looked like a weapon. Not an engineer. “What experience do you have?”

“It’s called the Night Buzzard,” he replied. “You might be familiar with it.”

You paused, brow raising. “You…” It was impossible to restrain your laughter. But he didn’t move. “You’re kidding. Right? That’s a joke.”

Kuruk’s hands tensed.

“Dude, that ship’s the ugliest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” you replied. “Did you modify it with a boiled chokeroot?”

His head tilted. He rose to stand, so controlled he looked to be fighting gravity. “I can do more work with a boiled chokeroot than you can do with an entire Star Destroyer’s worth of resources,” he drawled. “Lieu. Tenant.”

The hair on your nape stuck straight, your pulse leapt to the ceiling. But the knowledge that Kylo was within thinking distance abated your fear.

“Might wanna get one then.” You grinned. “You’re not making much progress here without it.”

He stared, filthy fingers furling into fists--and then relaxed, the tension sloughing like reactor slime from his frame. Silent, he returned to a squat, rending more lines from their channels. For some reason, a tiny, irreverent part of you was disappointed.

No, that was a lie. You knew why you were disappointed. But this man wasn’t the one you wanted to be taunting into a wild sexual rage. Exhaling, you crossed your arms.

“It’s still my job,” you said.

“And I’ve been told that once it’s done, you’ll be gone.”

“What?” You gawked. “What the fuck? You, too? I didn’t even do anything to you!”

“Debatable.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re mad because your Master didn’t want you to disrespect an officer.”

“No.” Kuruk’s attention snapped to you. “You’re loud.”

Blood drained from your face. “I’m…”

Moments blinked in your memory like a holodrama. Like how you’d spent the entire time aboard the Buzzard thinking about Kylo slamming you against the dashboard and breaking your pussy open. How you’d mentally undressed him, verbally taunted him, physically ached for him. How you’d blazed with hatred for him and stoked it with longing. And how you’d just noted that you were desperate to wind him into a state of frenzied lust so he’d wreck you entirely.

“Oh, fuck.” You glanced at the hangar’s entrance and wondered how quickly you could hurl yourself into the vacuum of space. Speaking of hurling… “Oh, fuck.”

You couldn’t spare Kuruk another glance. With shaking hands, you fumbled your way to the ground, steadying yourself on your weakening knees. There was no way you were going to spend another minute on this ship trying to fix a starfighter while getting thought-eavesdropped by multiple men, one of whom seemed hell-bent on doing your job for you anyway.

All you needed to do was find General Hux and get him to reassign you to another station. You’d figure the rest out later when you had time to process your myriad of losses and crippling rejection. You held your breath the entire trek to the command center, only releasing when the doors opened and you spied Hux at the head of the room, briefing someone on something you didn’t care about.

Wiping your forehead, you trudged over to him. Hux’s gaze darted between you and the other officer, his brow furrowing as you approached.

“A moment,” he said to the man. “Can I help you, Lieutenant?”

Yeah, it definitely sounded worse out of Kuruk’s mouth. “Can I get a new station? I, uh, I need a new station.” The officer peered at you in horror. You coughed, standing at attention. “General. Requesting a new assignment, sir.”

Hux’s lips pursed, his eyes narrowed. “The silencer is already repaired?”

“Uh, no. No, sir, it’s not.” You stared at your shoes. “Still requesting a new assignment. I believe my work here is complete.”

A pause hung in the air. Hux observed you like you were a recently apprehended criminal. He sighed.

“Dismissed, Captain.” He waited for the man to depart before turning to you. “What do you mean, your work here is complete?”

It was hard to find the appropriate words. “I mean. Uh. Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“No.”

You groaned. “Okay.” A long breath, flooding your lungs with air. “Well. My services are no longer required. My presence is redundant. I cannot return to Orinda. I’m requesting another station.” You exhaled. “Sir.”

Hux’s pink face pinched together. “Something happened with Ren.”

Warmth flushed your neck. “Uh, no--”

“Lieutenant,” he said, like the words were thorns on his tongue, “I unfortunately believe your insight and skill may still be of use to the First Order.”

“Sir?”

“The TIE project has been approved. You may be just the person to manage it.”

You balked. “Oh, I don’t know if that’s a good idea--”

“No?” Sharp green eyes pierced you into silence. “I thought you might leap at the opportunity, considering how cruelly the Resistance slaughtered your staff.”

Your heart clenched, your chest speared with pain. Better TIE units wouldn’t save them. But you could at least ensure their loss wouldn’t be in vain. Though you’d never supervised an undertaking of that scale before, the excitement of a challenge glittered in the distance. Glittered, then dimmed under a brooding, Kylo Ren-shaped shadow.

“Well…”

Hux glanced away, gazing through the thick panes of transparisteel, as if offering you any more praise would blind him. “Go to the Supreme Leader. Inform him of my plans.” He offered a slight shrug. “If he disagrees, then so be it. We’ll find you a new station.” The thought was left unfinished--he seemed very confident Kylo would not disagree.

Too bad you disagreed with him. “Yes, sir,” you replied. “I understand. Where might I find the Supreme Leader?”

Hux frowned. “Am I his keeper, Lieutenant?”

A brief, blissful image of your fist connecting with his chin flashed through your mind. You shook it away.

“No,” you said. “No, sir. I’ll find him. Thank you.”

He nodded. “Dismissed.”

Shooting him a glare, you pivoted on your heel, marching out of the command center. All you needed to do was find where Kylo Ren might be by searching the entirety of this huge Star Destroyer. That would be easy.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren #defy your authority #fya2 #fanfiction problems #GOLLY-GEE WILLIKERS

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hmslusitania · 3 years ago

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i'm not sure that it was just me, but what I meant when i said buck might not be there for 5(b?) i did NOT mean because he was chasing taylor. but if it happens and chim and maddie come back and him and taylor keep disintegrating then what. also, what happened to the job offer theory? i think it's still something

No, I was making that post before the promo for Wrapped In Red came out, and I was concocting some sort of episode timeline where Buck was away for the beginning and madney came back, and then he was in the promo for calls so whatever I was thinking won't come to pass (as with all my predictions this season so far)

But god. Fuck. Someone hire Taylor somewhere Else so she leaves us tbh.

And honestly, normally I'd be like "and someone else cast MW in a thing" but mostly I just...wish her a speedy career change.

#this is MEAN I know #I don't care enough not to #the ghost ship answers questions #em 🏹#anti taylor kelly #anti megan west #911 spoilers

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utilitycaster · 3 years ago

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So, to keep dunking on Pathfinder/3.5e and also for lack of a better term...indie, looser systems, I do have a handful of reasons why the systems themselves don't sound like things I'm into but more generally the reason I keep making cheap jokes is because the way people sell these systems is so antithetical to what I want out of TTRPGs. Which doesn't mean they're not good, or that they're not right for other people! But god...you are not superior for liking something other than D&D 5e, you are just a person who isn't into that particular experience and if you want to get people to play other games...learn to fucking sell it.

The crunch of pathfinder has some appeal, because I do love math and rules, but it always feels like the arguments go like this.

"I can't figure out how DCs in 5e get set!"

"well, the DM sets it based on a rough estimate of difficulty, using their brain; the DM's Guide gives a scale broken down by 5-point increments that you can use."

"What? You mean I, an inveterate metagamer cannot find it by adding up 8 numbers based on the weather, my class, my feats, active spells, and the migration patterns of nearby birds in a process that brings the narrative to a screeching halt?"

Or else it goes like this (this is a literal screenshot from a reply on a shitpost I made about paladin archetypes):

Well, in 5e you are allowed to ride things without being good at dex on the grounds that the average normal person in a pre-industrial society would probably be able to sit on a horse (animal handling is also an option). You can play a halfling paladin by playing a halfling whose class is paladin, and if you cast summon steed a reasonable DM will allow you to flavor said steed as a celestial wardog. You do not need special abilities to...turn around? in 5e? damn you lived like this? and sure, you can have a spear or lance as your weapon. I guess charging doesn't do much in 5e (the charger feat exists but isn't amazing) but like, you could do it.

Like, seriously, so many posts are like "I don't see a ruleset for how I can confirm I was able to drink my coffee without dropping it on the floor? 5e seems bad" and in general 3.5e/Pathfinder appear to treat your character as a Sim or something, where if the ladder disappears from the pool you're just like "guess I'll die" [note: I haven't played either 3.5e, Pathfinder, nor the Sims but like. I'm right.] And if you want to play this that's fine! Crunch can be very fun! but god it's unnecessary and it seems like there are too many rules for the sake of just like, having rules.

Moving on to the looser systems, the "just a d100" or "just a d6" ones that "foster more RP": so many of these "foster more RP" by having systems that actively corral the conversation, or PC emotions, instead of just...letting people talk. I actually find things like Monsterhearts "turn someone on" mechanic or the sanity mechanics in Call of Cthulhu really off-putting! I'd rather be allowed to respond to things genuinely, in character.

"But M," you say "that's kind of the point of Call of Cthulhu, the sanity slippage." And you know what? You're absolutely right! Because that is where my point is leading:

The TTRPG game you pick should be mostly based on the kind of story you want to tell, and anyone who ignores that in their considerations can themselves be ignored.

I happen to enjoy Dungeons & Dragons because I enjoy that particular form of fantasy in a quasi-early renaissance* setting, and I would, perchance, like to explore a dungeon and maybe even fight a dragon. I do not want to be dealing with horrors beyond comprehension**, except in the sense that I'd like to smite/disintegrate/viciously mock them. I do not want to pretend I am in high school again, under literally any circumstances, even if I can hex people. I like fantasy combat because I am both simmering with incandescent range basically always and yet I cannot typically act on it*** and I'd like to be able to save the world through hitting things with a sweet-ass sword or casting. Hyping up a system because it lacks combat is absolutely the wrong tack with me.

And if you don't like that it's fine! But I have yet to see someone actually make an argument, to me specifically, for a different system, that actually accounted for even a whiff of my own personal preference and honestly at this point the damage, while not irreversible, is pretty severe; my attitude towards anyone trying to steer me from D&D 5e is pretty cynical.****

*look I will pick many battles on any hills wagering that ultimately I will only die on one and this is on the list. Anyway if printed books are available and gunpowder has reached your vaguely European-in-flavor society? It's Renaissance.

**always thought this quote was from Lovecraft but it's from Tesla, objectively a much better dude despite a shitty dude using his name to sell cars.

***Yes. I am an eldest daughter. Why do you ask.

****This is also the root cause of why I adamantly refuse to watch either Titanic or Finding Nemo.

#did u know: caring about people's motivations is helpful in motivating them #kids i have to be honest with you: the wizard breakdown tracker was a great rambly writing outlet I no longer have #i should maybe channel this into actually writing fanfic? or I can drink weird gin & lemonades and write this.

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hansoulo · 4 years ago

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thread count

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Reader (gender neutral, no Y/N)

Warnings: liek… cursing? mentions of nightmares. bed sharing. the works.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: posting this at noon bc im tired of staring at it in my drafts 🤡also i recognize that star wars decided glass is called transparisteel but given that it’s a stupid ass decision i’ve elected to ignore it. enjoyyyyy :)

“No.”

“Mando-”

“No.”

You let out a frustrated groan, your rucksack dropping to the floor with a heavy thud as you flopped back onto the bed. The one, single bed.

“It’s too late to go anywhere else, alright? We’re basically stuck here. Let’s just make the best of it, okay?” He grunted at this, still standing at the doorway gripping his disintegrator rifle. “Drop the ‘tude, tin can. Could be worse,” you mumbled as you reached to wipe a hand over your face, sinking into the soft sheets.

It was kinda nice, actually. You couldn’t remember the last time you slept on a real mattress, with real pillows and blankets that didn’t feel like sandpaper. The inn owner was sweet, a wizened old woman who’d only smiled when you asked if there were any rooms available. Just the one, she had said. Down the hall.

This was ridiculous.

The Mandalorian stepped forward, closing the door with a large hand on the rusted knob. The room was small and sparsely furnished, but it was a far cry from your usual, less than ideal sleeping arrangements, so you relished in the feeling of the pillows beneath your back before propping yourself up on one elbow, eyelids already drooping as you watched him. He looked… awkward. If you had any more energy, you’d probably laugh. “I could- ” he cleared his throat, setting the rifle against the wall, “I could sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoffed as you reached down to pull off your boots, throwing them haphazardly into a corner. You’d helped him with the occasional bounty for years, and known him for longer than that. You could share a fucking bed. Besides, it’s not like anyone else was around to see. Minus the baby of course, but it (he? she?) didn’t really count, right? It was already sleeping. “It’ll be fine.”

“No, I’m going to just-”

“Mando,” you glared, standing up. “If you sleep on the floor, you’re gonna be even more of an ass tomorrow morning. Just do us all a favor,” you waved a hand towards the baby in its pod, “and get over yourself, alright?” You reached down to the hem of your top, tugging it above your head before you heard him make a low, distorted sound - probably a cough, but the modulator made those kinds of things hard to tell. Left in your undershirt, you crouched down to stuff the fabric - dusty and soiled from a day of travel - back in your bag. “What?”

He shifted on his feet, his helmet ducking slightly at the sight of your exposed skin. “Oh c’mon,” you groaned, your expression teasing. “You stabbed a guy with a serving fork yesterday, Mando. I don’t think this could be any worse.” If you could see underneath his helmet, you’d be willing to bet he was blushing. Funny, how that worked. How he worked.

The bedsprings creaked underneath your weight as you laid down again, pulling the blankets out from their tucked corners. The window on the other side of the room lay open, bringing in a chill that had you drawing the covers tighter around your shoulders. “Could you close the window?” you whispered, tracking the glint of beskar through half-closed eyes as he complied with your request. His armor reflected orange light - dim and flickering from a small lamp hung beside the door - before it was snuffed out by a gloved hand. You let out a quiet thanks, not bothering to fight the exhaustion dragging at your mind as he stood above you. “I’m going to sleep,” you mumbled, turning on your side to face the wall. “Do what you want.”

⫸ ——-– ⫷

Flat, white light crackled across your vision and you opened your eyes with a groan. You could hear rain beating against the windowpane, glass rattling with every new roar of thunder in a way that had goosebumps erupting across your arms. It was dark outside, inky and fogged over save for the few flashes of lightning that cast the room in sharp relief. You didn’t really mind the storm - you usually liked them - but something about the way it sounded had you on edge. It was a bitter kind of rain, unrelenting and loud and really, really cold. Bracing yourself on your hands, you lifted your head, only to knock it against the edge of something metal. “Ow what the fu-” Oh. Oh.

He hadn’t been next to you before - no, you would’ve remembered if he had - but now... now he was. Next to you. And he… had a hand on your hip and- and you were still facing away from him but you squirmed, feeling the weight of his arm on your waist, heavy and slack. No gloves. No vambrace. No pauldron. Just… the helmet. No shit, bantha-brains. The Mandalorian let out a breath, the sound low and seeping syrup in your bones. Was he still asleep? Maybe you should- “Stop moving,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.

“Sorry,” you whispered, your words thick with sleep. “M’just cold.” It was a half-truth. You were cold, but the fact that you were pressed up against one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy probably didn’t help either. Neither did the fingers digging into your hip. Or the arm tucked underneath your neck. Or the hand attached to said arm that was skimming across your collarbone, seemingly unaware that it was touching anything at all. He drew you in closer and you could feel his legs slotted into yours, your toes brushing the bare skin of an ankle (that didn’t belong to you) before your scattered thoughts were forced elsewhere.

“Then why’d you take off your shirt?” he mumbled. The rain pounded a rhythm in your head, lulling you down and allowing yourself to sink back into his arms. You didn’t really want to think about tomorrow morning. If things would be weird. There was a chance neither of you would remember this when you woke up, though, so it’s not like it mattered. Even if you did - if he did - you knew it was all business.

“Hm?” you said, tucking your chin and scooting back slightly. Your back met the hard planes of his chest, his skin hot and thrumming even underneath the thick material of his shirt. The man was like a fucking space heater. Ha. Space heater. Funny. You were funny. And tired. And- wait did he ask you something?

“Why take off your shirt if you’re cold?” he repeated. The last word trailed off as a palm moved across the expanse of your stomach, his thumb rubbing circles across the raised seam of your undershirt and burning the skin beneath.

“I wasn’t cold then,” you huffed, reaching a hand over his and guiding it below the thin fabric until it rested still on your sternum. A better version of you, more awake and with more critical thinking skills - with the power of thought in general - would probably kick you for using the Mandalorian like a fucking hot water bottle, but that didn’t really matter. You were cold - and exhausted and laying on a bed that was very, very comfortable - and he was warm. You couldn’t really be expected to take any responsibility for this. “Plus, the shirt was dirty,” you added, only dimly registering how your fingers laced with his, tracing battered, scar-shiny knuckles in your half-sleep. He hummed and leaned forward, the metal of his helmet rounding smooth against your hair.

“You’re thinking too loud,” he said, his breathing falling back into tandem with yours as you felt your eyes fluttering shut. “Go to sleep.”

⫸ ——-– ⫷

“Mando, wake up. Wake up, please.” Your voice was tremulous as you shook his shoulder, stretched over tight with desperation and knocking against the walls of the room. Your plea bounced back hollow, a high, unrelenting tone that made your ears ring. Everything was caving in on itself, crumbling slow and then all at once in a way that had the sweat on your temples icing over. You weren’t a child anymore. You shouldn’t have nightmares. “Please.”

He sat up quickly, a hand bolting out to the blaster tucked underneath his pillow and aiming steady at the enemy that had yet to show itself. “Is someone there?” he asked, graveled over but still frighteningly alert. A light sleeper, you supposed.

You shook your head, wet tracks crackling on your cheeks as you spoke. “No, no one. It’s fine.” He relaxed at this, setting the blaster down at his side. His palms were dry when they came up to your face, slightly calloused but still soft as they traced over the rolling tears.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” you whispered, meeting the dark slit of his visor before ducking your head. “It’s nothing, I-” you sniffed, swallowing the air that was caught in your throat. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Hey,” he called out, hesitant and a bit unsure. “You okay?” You nodded, closing your eyes in an attempt to clear your vision before opening them a few moments later. The Mandalorian only stared, his helmet tilting with a cock of his head.

“Just nightmares,” you said when he remained quiet. “But they aren’t normally this bad.” The remains of a sob fragmented beneath your ribs, bubbling up in a wet cough that burned your throat. His hands came to rest at your back, flat and steady against your spine until your breathing evened. “I’m sorry,” you repeated after a few minutes.

The Mandalorian let out a quiet noise, gruff and a bit pained-sounding. “It’s okay,” he said, his fingertips pressing softly into your shoulder blades. You could only just hear him through the storm outside. “I get them too.”

You faced the beskar, gaze searching for the eyes you knew were looking at you and finding nothing but darkness. It was enough, though. To know he was looking. “You do?”

“Every night.” A beat passed before you hiccuped again, swiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s still late,” the Mandalorian whispered, his hands gentle as they reached around your shoulders. You let him pull the covers over you, feeling his words soak into your back. “Let’s just go to bed.”

permanent: @ah-callie @itzagoodthing @spookypym @opheliaelysia @watsonwise @damndamer0n @amarvelousmandalorian @bunnyart-blog @agirllovespasta @pascalispedro @pascalplease @coffeencontemplation @chelsfic @lesqui @javierpenaspinkshirt @symbiont13 @glowingpena @squidlywiddly87 @1zashreena1 @hiscyarika @lostingoogletranslate @keeper0fthestars @bobafvtt @halfwaythereroyal @starwarsiscooliguess @huliabitch

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #sw fanfiction #the mandalorian oneshot #din djarin oneshot

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eponymous-rose · 5 years ago

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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E96 (February 25, 2020)

Tonight’s guests are Taliesin Jaffe and Liam O’Brien!

Announcements: The Chicago live show and C2E2 are imminent! The live show will be on Thursday night, but an hour earlier than usual, at 6 PM Pacific/8 PM Central! Liam will be at the live show, but unfortunately has to leave C2E2 early and won’t be able to make it on Sunday. On Friday, the first behind-the-scenes video for The Legend of Vox Machina animated series was posted on YouTube, introducing the writing team!

Episode 96: Family Shatters

Stats for this week’s episode! Of the 16 times Caleb has cast Teleportation Circle, the M9 have remembered to contact someone prior to their arrival 7 times. Of those 7 times, they were successful at contacting someone at the location only 3. Taliesin: “We’re playing this game like Skyrim, we’re just going through people’s houses breaking pottery.” Caduceus got the straw hat that he gave to Clarabelle in episode 31, about 188 in-game days ago. There were 17 cow-related puns. Dani: “Is that above or below average for a Critical Role episode?”

“Clay was kind of built relatively quickly. I didn’t give Matt a ton to play with. I gave him the order in which they left, I gave him Clay’s attitude and his impression of his family members, which was usually just one sentence, and some basic idea of what their power set might be if they had one. I always thought of him as, from a family perspective, of what would have happened to Percy if nothing went wrong.” He was happy to be the one to run the family business and just hang around at home and run the shrine. “I think the rest of the kids’ wanderlust probably put them at odds quite a bit.” He liked being able to play that conflict and show what Caduceus was like when he was annoyed. Cad took after his father, the girls generally wanted to leave, and Colton is “just sort of a doofus.”

Caleb was an only child, so seeing this many kids was a lot. “They clearly had their grudges and their different dynamics with each other, but that’s normal, for sure. Caleb’s very unfamiliar with it.” He also keeps looking at Nott and thinking about how everything he’s doing is about wanting to rebuild his family, whereas Nott is so conflicted about going back to hers. “He doesn’t understand it, but he doesn’t want to push it” or judge her for it. “I thought I had a really defined direction at the start of the campaign, but my seven best friends have knocked it silly.”

What’s keeping Cad with the Nein? “Caduceus is not ready to go home at all. He’s not done with his walkabout. He feels like he wants to see a bit more. He feels he has an intense debt to pay. He feels he has a mission to see everybody else through, at the very least. Or at least he’s telling himself that. So he’s saved his home, or at least he thinks he’s saved his home, and his family’s all right, so now it’s debts that must be paid. He’s not somebody who thinks you can just get off the bus.”

“Caleb was going to ask [the hag] about the ability to travel backward through time, not really believing that she could do that, but was still like, show me what you’ve got.” Even if she’d said it, he would have thought she was a liar. “Probably would’ve offered to kill the M9″ in exchange, then would’ve turned around to hit her with a surprise Disintegrate. Liam notes repeatedly that nothing could possibly have been as cool as what Laura wound up doing.

On the Nein not worrying about places Cad considered sacred ground, Caduceus “is fine with conflict. He doesn’t even really have to have conflict, he could assert himself if he were so inclined. It’s that he’s aware that there are limits to what these people can do. It’s very much the philosophy of ‘children and drunks can do no wrong’.” He’s picking his battles.

Was there a defining moment where Caleb started seeing the Nein as family? No single moment. “It’s like love by a thousand cuts.” Liam notes that he’s still not sure how Caleb would react if he suddenly had the means to carry out his plans. “He’s got the recovering-addict mentality.”

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Pumat! (CriticalHitical, photo by Minniemooncos on Twitter)

Taliesin notes that Caduceus is definitely feeling more connected to the group. “If anything, Caduceus is really embracing his role as the spiritual guide to the group. He feels like he really has a lot to offer from that perspective of being the roving therapist. Or at least, he thinks he’s a roving therapist.” Liam notes that Cad is the most mysterious of the group to Caleb. “He’s the most religious character I’ve ever played, too. He’s fun! He really came together very nicely.”

On Caleb being more lighthearted on occasion: “He’s been out of practice being a human being for a long time.” The Nein’s brand of ridiculousness is rubbing off on him.

Why hasn’t Cad been pranking the Nein? “They don’t treat him poorly in that way yet. Siblings, man. I have quite a few siblings, and there is an energy. It’s the same way like when you’re around your parents, you revert to a 15-year-old.” Same with siblings. “There’s just something-- just the urge to torture them is so overpowering.” The moment he got the whistle, he knew exactly what he was going to do with it. Liam was reminded of Taliesin’s real-life siblings while watching these interactions in the game.

On Caleb’s laying on compliments for the Traveler: “The thing about time travel is it’s so implausible. It’s so implausible that I could see us finishing this campaign and Caleb will still have it in the back of his head for the rest of his life. But maybe Artagan could help with that. He certainly sees the potential in Artagan, and it was a balance between wanting to support everything Jester has devoted her life to, so it just felt like everyone was ready to write it off. Life is often like this, life isn’t what you thought it would be, it is what it is. Let’s not damn this yet, let’s feel it out. And if I can use this situation to possibly eradicate ultimate evil, that’s a win.”

Cad found it tough to have family and friends in the same room and play both roles. “I don’t know how much it came across that he was trying to keep them, not necessarily separated, but ‘family, guys, guys, family, ANYWAY.’” He did want to get his family on their way as quickly as possible. Cad is the equivalent of his early 20s, so something like 85-120 years old for a firbolg.

Liam is asked about the conversation between Caleb and Yasha on watch several episodes ago. "You know what one of the best parts of that scene that played out was, is about 20 minutes or 30 minutes before that happened, I texted Ashley at the table and said, ‘Want to take watch? I have nothing planned, it could be fun.’” He wasn’t expecting it to go that far. “I think he had such an extreme reaction because he felt that he had done a good job of hiding things, and he was suddenly worried that he was transparent, that everyone had been able to read him this whole time when he’d thought that he was-- well, he’s a little in love with Jester Lavorre, and has been for a while, uselessly in love with her. The waltz was probably a little pebble. And in that moment-- this doesn’t play out verbally too much in the show, but he just was worried that this thing that he’s never going to admit to because it’s useless, she’s finding herself, and has her whole life ahead of her, and has other people around her who care about her and are a whole lot better for her than he is. And he’s aware of the way those two [Fjord and Beau] feel as well. It’s just there in the background fucking up his shit. It’s really just a problem. Big fucking problem.”

Fan art of the week: a gorgeous Clay family portrait! (by Teaweltzer on Twitter)

On Clay being absent for the renewal of his home: “I don’t think his arc’s ending off-screen. I think his arc ends when he comes home to see what’s become of it.”

Is Caleb worried about Beau since the confrontation with her father? “Of course he is. She’s ignoring all the advice that she gave him. He doesn’t like to see her that hard on herself when she’s so competent and probably the backbone of the group. It’s the most judgey Caleb’s been of anybody, really, but he’s very aware of the pain of family and personal stuff. She knows her, and even though he broke his shit in half, he could still see the dynamic in the room when we visited his family, so he feels for her. We need you and we love you and we will miss you, you don’t fucking get to go.”

Each of the temples has a secondary god; what was the Blooming Grove’s other god? “The Blooming Grove is for the Archeart because it is a gift of beauty. It’s the Allhammer, the Changebringer, and the Archeart. It’s kind of a powerplay from the Wildmother, in my opinion. They’re all three based off of very specific types of funereal practices that are common throughout the world.”

Caleb saw giving over the transformation spell to Essek as a returning of one of his many favors. “Caleb likes Essek a lot. They’re like two highly gifted kids at school together. And, you know, he’s quirkily charming and handsome. There’s just no reason not to, in his mind. Outside of the M9, he’s probably the only person that Caleb would see as a friend that he’s made. Everyone else is just sort of scenery around the M9.”

What’s next for Cad? “It’s a little bit of finding himself, or at least finishing himself would be the way to put it.” (cue snickering from off-camera) “He’s also vaguely aware of some of the things that are going to possibly emotionally damage the party on the horizon, and he wants to be ready to deal with, in vague order, whatever’s going to happen to Jester, and then whatever’s going to happen to Fjord, and then whatever’s going to happen to Nott, and Yasha, and Caleb. He doesn’t know how to deal with what Beau’s going through. It’s the one thing he has no experience of, because he has no experience with that family dynamic. When he met people with that family dynamic, it was always at the end of it.”

Some fans sent in death whistles. Brian encourages Taliesin to play one on the plane.

The hat for Calliope was a last-minute thought. The flute could also have gone for Colton, depending on “who I could sneak up on”.

Caleb took a symbol of the Archeart from the Labenda Swamp. “I think it was familiar to me. I think I might have either correctly or mistakenly thought it reminded me of the woman who helped Caleb in the Sanatorium.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

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daredevile · 5 years ago

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A Second Here Another Gone

Summary: Blinded by the sweet raptures of a new relationship, Bucky lowers his guard around you - unaware of the real reason you found him.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, mentions of blood, bit of violence and one swear word

A/N: Hey! I know it’s been over two months since I posted something and I’m sorry! I was working on so many oneshots and never finished one until now. But, I promise I will try to update somewhat regularly from now on! Anyway, this one’s for Ayesha’s [ @browngirlmagic ] writing challenge and my prompt was ‘Echo’. Please reblog if you like it! :)

An angry crimson. A so-called scarlet elixir of the living trickles from its hearth beneath as if screaming a symbol of horror and impending doom. It surrenders with grace and elegance - a droplet of fresh blood tainting pristine white floors, smearing the Parthenon of life and death with an intensity of wrath and violence and -

"Hey." The sombre tone in his voice draws you into his weary stature. It looks worse than he'd assured over the phone. Raging clusters of purple and blue spread across his arms, broken lip, black eye, his jaw cast a scarlet tint. Not to mention the slight limp he'd tried masking from your stares.

"Thanks for coming so fast. Would've driven myself but..." He motions to the cast around his right arm, a light pink dusting over his cheeks. A nurse approaches him with a sympathetic expression, repeating a list of instructions and medication requirements for a quick recovery. Though you know Bucky's not following a word she's saying - she must've realised it too - giving you a moment for any questions before returning to her station.

The conversation in the car is non-existent, only a couple of instinctive glances towards the rear-view mirror to gauge each other's emotions. Soft tunes twirl in the background, Bucky lowers the volume with a grunt as his muscles sting with the movement. A sigh escapes from his lips, he angles himself towards your concentrated form but, you refuse to meet his gaze.

"Y'know it's not as bad as it looks. Should've seen the other guy." He says with a constrained laugh. An honest attempt to relieve the tensed wind and the crease between your eyebrows, alas, it fails its purpose. He sinks back into the cushioned seat, lingering his eyes over the neon streaks of passing vehicles.

The road seems never-ending, both sides merely converging at a distant imaginary point ahead. The traffic dissolves and scatters into several busy paths as Bucky directs you through far too many left and right turns before arriving at a rather calm and vacant neighbourhood.

Once the engines lull back into a soft purr, you open the passenger door and gently grasp his arms as he lifts himself from the seat. He releases a breath in relief, thankful your silence is replaced by concern. The two flights of stairs is another journey on its own, exchanging mumbles of apologies and groans, even the close proximity of him curves past your thoughts.

Bucky stumbles into his apartment, careful to avoid the loose floorboard right at the entrance - pushing a horrible reminder to the back of his mind - and you follow his footing. A chuckle from him pulls your attention, determined he's capable on his own, he leans away from your hold, mentioning something about taking a shower before retreating into the furthest room.

His house is spotless, every single object kept in a place for swift and efficient access. Somehow he'd made a rather confined area appear more spacious. You notice how foreign and hostile he maintained his home - a supposed personal bubble. His belongings danced around the hazy line between bare essentials and other items. Almost as if he was caught in the process of moving in or ready to move out within a matter of minutes.

A sharp buzz from your phone stops you from observing the rest of the apartment. Without sparing a glimpse at the caller, you swipe the green button. An instant thrust of shouting greets you, attacking your senses with great vigour. And it's patience, you've learned, an offensive strategy to appease the monster into a human you could better tolerate.

"I need time." It's not forceful, however, lacking a timbre of the usual intensity your words uphold. The shouting continues, each syllable seething with fury, demanding more answers while your fist clenches at the vulgar threats he hurls from the other end.

"I need more time."

There's dead silence on both ends. And for a second, you believe that he's accepted the command. As fast as it'd ignited, the little spark of surprise disintegrates when his deep laughter is all that's pounding in your ears.

"You're here!" Bucky says, grinning as he spots you in the balcony, "Thought you left me alone."

His sudden appearance turns your blood cold and you can feel the precise second your heart trips over a beat, shoving the phone back into your pocket. His smile drops, immediately regretting how he entered as soon as he saw the pained expression written all over your features. He sighs when your eyes witness the red wounds and scars - some more jarring than others - scattered across his body.

"Look, I know this isn't a good impression. I don't want you to see me like this, trust me, I wouldn't have called if I had - " A pause. Hesitant as he swallows back the words. "Anyone else."

"I'm sorry, Bucky. This is all just... difficult." He nods, fumbling with the loose bandage tied to his other arm. A smile tugs on your lips at his frustration, you grab the free end and wrap it securely around the wound.

"Could you maybe stay? I mean... if you want to." He struggles to suppress a grin when you look up at his eyes. It's hope that lingers behind them.

"Of course."

But the side where you slept is cold and empty when he wakes up.

---

O N E W E E K E A R L I E R

The restaurant was crowded, located right at the heart of the city, overlooking several busy streets that seemed to sink under all the hustle and bustle. The world appeared an innocent umber through the dark hue of your sunglasses, shielding yourself from unwanted enemies. Or so you thought.

Time. Time was precious and no amount of glancing at your watch appeared to have quickened the circular orbit of the dials. But this time, you were unsure - caught between the dichotomous chasm of want and need - a feeling that unsettled you to the core.

"Hope you don't mind, darling." A deep voice came from behind, the drinks spilt over the glasses as he slammed his hand on the table. The elderly couple sitting to your left flinched at his abrupt action. A fake smile was enough to have satisfied them, he returned to face your blank expression.

"So tell me, does it usually take this long or are you fucking him?" It was almost a growl that promptly simmered to a smirk when a waitress passed by, unaware of the evil she'd encountered.

"He'll figure it out, I'm being careful." You said, oblivious to the scorching hot liquid piercing your taste buds. Any shard of fun and pleasure that had emerged from his features earlier crumbled at that very second, he leaned closer and you saw the strain on his face when his jaw clenched. Rumlow was not one to adjust and compensate. You learned that the hard way.

"Listen l/n, I saved you from Volkov 'cause you'd be useful someday. And now you owe me. Gave you a week to do the job, it's been two and I still got nothing. And you know I don't like waiting. Get me the information and finish him or should I remind you what's at stake here."

His voice was dangerously low as if cautious of people overhearing but, you knew it would take mere seconds for the scene to resemble a massacre. Yet, he was right. Your past record highlighted the speed and efficiency of completing assignments - just one hit then delivered to the client and you walked away richer. No hesitation. Unfortunately, this time it was Bucky who had a price on his head and had obtained confidential information.

A folder was thrown at your direction, containing photographs of innocents at different viewpoints through what was unmistakably sniper scopes. Rumlow mimicked the sound of a gun cocking before standing up. He bent down to whisper in your ear, laughing while he pressed a brief kiss to your cheek and walked into the sea of people. His last words were all that you breathed.

Barnes or your family.

---

Bucky sidesteps the soldier-like stance of a grumpy looking man, clearing his throat to alleviate the embarrassment of breaking under his penetrating stare. He didn't know what the guy's problem was, Bucky ignores the annoyed tsk that's clearly targetted at him. On any other occasion, a meaningless interaction with strangers would've flown over his head. But, today he's confused. Scared, even.

Less than two weeks ago, he'd encountered and been drawn to an enigma. Strong yet intricately pieced together. Delicate yet resilient. He just couldn't figure it out. After all, he thought everything became normal once he'd spoken and apologised last night. Expecting to be woken up by sunshine and ruffled sheets from a good sleep and you sleeping soundly, but you were gone without a word - and he just doesn't understand.

And now, here he is, shuffling through busy routes to follow a briskly walking figure who's intrigued him for half an hour. They seem to have no destination, simply taking sharp turns and descending into valleys of crowds and streetside markets. In a hurry, Bucky thinks. He picks up his pace, there seem to be fewer people in this area. It's darker and easily hidden between the lanes of houses.

He turns the corner and realises there are no other paths. A dead-end. The figure spins around, eyes flitting around the narrow path. He panics and begins to retreat, but the all-too-familiar cock of the gun stills his movements. Nothing. No moment in his entire life scared him more than the person standing a few steps away -

It's you.

He freezes when your finger curls around the trigger and the innocence in your eyes dissolve. Every single instinct in his body is telling him to run. But he can't. He wants to know more, to know why. And he realises you're thinking the same when your hand begins to tremble.

"Whose orders?"

It's a tone he's never heard before. Cold and detached. A machine programmed to do one's bidding with no second thoughts. He raises both hands, swallowing the agonising feeling latching onto his throat as your grip tightens.

"Don't lie to me, Barnes. Who ordered you to kill me?"

There's no choice. His heart is clawing the insides of his chest, waiting to be free. A whisper is all it takes to conquer your feelings.

"Volkov."

Bucky knows the moment his name is released into the strangling air between you, the gun falters. He sees the rapid and minute shift of your eyes, composing all the information together until -

Your voice staggers, pleading almost. "They have my family, Bucky. He'll kill them if you don't tell me where Volkov is. Rumlow - "

Bucky stops listening. Rumlow, a name he'd left behind, buried within the depths of conscience along with Hydra. He understands your assignment, a simple extract and kill. What Volkov had promised in exchange for your life - Steve's whereabouts - seemed too good to be true, maybe a possible reality in a utopian world. But, this is his life and it's not paradise. He takes a few steps until his hands hover over your gun, angling it towards his heart.

"Then save them."

He whispers the location and you try to zone out, lose control so you don't hear his words. It's too late, two snipers emerge from buildings on command, both taking positions on either side of where you're standing. The chill that runs down Bucky's spine doesn't go unnoticed as he spots the red skull badge on their sleeves. Rumlow knew you wouldn't kill him.

Bucky nudges your chin with the tips of his fingers, reaching into his jacket, he slips his gun into your hands. No words are spoken but you know what has to be done.

Taking a much-needed breath, you pull the trigger at him, not witnessing the wine coloured liquid spreading across his chest instead, taking cover before shooting one of the snipers lurking near a thin pillar. The other one begins firing near the car you are ducking behind. You sprint into his blind spot and kill him with a shot to his head.

Without wasting another second, you spot Bucky clutching his chest in pain. It takes a frozen second for you to dial 911, shaking with dread before Rumlow sends any more of his men and the chances of Bucky surviving vanish. A concerned voice replies to your incohesive string of words, you're barely making sense, the nurse ends the call ensuring 'they're on the way'. Bucky grabs your hand amongst the turmoil, light-headed and pale from the blood seeping through his clothes.

"This isn't goodbye."

And you run.

---

E I G H T M O N T H S L A T E R

Even after weeks of desperately searching for him, he was nowhere to be found. You'd gone back to the hospital, the nurse gave you a distressed glance, saying he hadn't mentioned anywhere in particular. That he was gone once discharged.

You didn't give up though - he'd sacrificed himself for your family in a sheer heartbeat. Bucky was the wind to your storm - a second here another gone. He was mysterious beneath the layers of kindness and affection, tender yet deep like the lyrics of a love song - words you've yet to discover, only hoping you weren't wrong.

A few of your old confidantes were able to carry out under-the-ground operations in exchange for Bucky's location: Edinburgh.

Under the chilly winter winds, you walk along the snow-freckled pavement. Sitting at a dark wooden bench inspecting calming patterns of skate lines etched across the river's icy surface, puffs of crisp air revealing themselves as you sigh.

"I was right."

His voice beckons a long-awaited smile on your face. Sharp blue eyes gazing at a few younger skaters wobbling while they glide along. You begin to stammer out an apology, but he shakes his head, still not meeting your eyes.

"You had no choice."

"Did you find him?" You ask eagerly as he takes a seat next to you.

"Pulled a few strings with some old contacts." Bucky turns to face you, a genuine smile he hadn't felt in ages tugs his lips. He takes your gloved hand in his, entangling his fingers with yours with a dazed look washing over his features.

"He's here."

#ayesha1kwritingchallenge #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky angst #bucky fluff #winter soldier #marvel #mcu

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skybird13 · 5 years ago

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My Thoughts on Clover’s Introductory Scenes in RWBY vol. 7

Ask and ye shall receive.

@fairgame-is-endgame actually requested that I go off on another long-ass ramble about Clover Ebi. (Okay, full honesty, I don’t know if he was actually expecting another massive post but... it’s happening anyway. Such is life 😉 ). Rambling about Clover and Qrow has been my favorite thing to do since they came on screen together so how could I possibly say no? As the title states, I’ll be focusing primarily on Clover’s introductory scenes back in volume 7 chapter 1, the narrative decisions made by CRWBY in framing and animating those scenes, and whatever other little tidbits I can coax out in the process.

But first, a quick shoutout to @lady-branwen who made an awesome post about these same scenes a few weeks ago I think? You can check it out here and you should definitely check it out. It’s fantastic and we touch on a lot of the same things.

[vol. 7 spoilers ahead]

Also, this thing is freakishly long so I’m going to put it under a cut. Happy reading y’all!

The Lead-In

I was going to start this post off with the first glimpses we get of Clover Ebi’s character, but I think the moments leading up to his arrival are pretty damn important to this analysis, so let’s take a look at how this whole thing is set up.

The events just before teams RWBY, JNOR, and Qrow are captured by the Ace Ops is one completely focused on the “kids” (Ruby in particular) and their reunion with Penny. Qrow is there but he’s mostly uninvolved in the whole thing, hanging in the background.

The scene shifts focus on to Qrow a little when we get to see his actual reaction to Penny’s return, but he’s still being portrayed in the context of something that doesn’t have a whole lot to do with him personally:

That’s not the best still shot of his somewhat goofy smile but he’s clearly very happy for Ruby and pleased overall with how things are going in Mantle so far. He says something to the effect of Penny’s arrival is a surprise “but not unwelcome. I was honestly expecting things to go a lot rougher.” That line right there is a pretty classic narrative device to signal to the audience that some type of shit is about to go down. The fact that it is said by Qrow himself is pretty significant. This interaction could have been played out by Weiss, Blake, and Yang, and it would have accomplished that same tip-off, foreshadowing effect. Instead, through his delivery of the line, the narrative focus is very subtly shifted to Qrow. This accomplishes a few things:

1) It reminds us of Qrow’s Semblance and his base-level expectations for just about anything in his life (as if any of us could forget, but this is relevant to a point I’m going to make later).

2) It transitions Qrow from background to foreground in a narrative sense. Again, Penny’s arrival had very little to do with him personally. He didn’t know her, never interacted with her, and probably would have only heard about her from Ruby (or potentially James, though considering the nature of their relationship in vol 3, I find that highly unlikely). Thus, this shift offers the audience another clue: whatever is about to happen, it will have a lot to do with Qrow specifically.

3) It establishes the grounds for the subversion of expectations. Point #1 ties into this. Because we are reminded of Qrow’s Semblance and his own personal expectations, we are fully set up to believe that whatever is going to happen next is going to be bad. We expect this because he expects this, and because we have been conditioned to expect the worst when it comes to Qrow. CRWBY absolutely leans against, plays with, and then subverts those expectations entirely, which I will get into when Clover actually shows up.

4) Closely related to #3 is the fact that it brings out a line of tension surrounding Qrow specifically. What that tension is going to be as of this moment, we have no idea, but we know that it’s going to be closely tied to (if not revolve entirely around) Qrow himself.

5) Because of the shift in focus, it smooths the way for what happens next.

Narrative Focus Shifts Fully to Qrow

This scene right here is where the narrative shift to Qrow reaches completion. The line delivery right before this, which is the last thing said before they are captured, functions as a sort of transitional phase. It does bring Qrow back into the forefront but doesn’t put him center stage. This scene, however, does do that.

Now, from a character’s perspective (i.e. the incoming Ace Ops), if you’re going to make an arrest on a large group of people, subduing the most dangerous member of the group first is probably the best way to go. We can see in this shot where Qrow is standing in relation to the others:

Qrow is by far the most physically imposing and the oldest of the group, which sort of makes him the de facto leader, at least from outward appearances. He’s not out of reach or significantly distanced from any of the kids. The sensible thing would have been to take him out first and then deal with teams RWBY and JNOR. Instead, we get these progressive shots of team JNOR being targeted followed closely by team RWBY.

Then there is a pause in the action. Qrow is left standing alone, as depicted in the header image above, weapon drawn, ready to fight. This pause, like everything else in these scenes, operates on a couple of different levels:

1) It gives the audience a chance to absorb what’s happening and sets up the Ace Ops to enter the scene. We know from the relatively “gentle” nature of the take-down that whatever is happening, while not ideal, probably isn’t going to be as bad as we (and Qrow) would normally expect. Salem’s agents sure as hell aren’t going to try to capture them all with some fancy bolas; they would just kill them all on sight, with the exception of Ruby. It’s also not Grimm. So the subversion of our expectations starts here.

2) It also functions to completely divert any errant scraps of our attention onto Qrow. Again, the narrative shift is completed in this shot.

3) It reinforces the fact that the following events are going to have a lot to do with Qrow personally. He’s alone in the frame here, the sole center of narrative focus and attention.

4) Again, this focus paves the way for what happens next.

The Arrival of the Ace Ops and Clover Ebi

With our focus fully resting on Qrow now, he is able to function as the lens through which the audience is meant to experience the next sequence of events. We’re with him when he gets snared. We’re with him when he hits the ground. And we’re with him when the camera pans out to show the kids around him and the arrival of the Ace Ops behind him.

Here is where things get fun.

The first glimpse of the Ace Ops is another massive step in the subversion of expectations. They’re about the furthest thing from threatening that we can probably get while still maintaining some level of weight in the scene. They’re uninformed, which is typically not a bad thing (it lets the audience know that they’re likely some sort of official Atlas patrol force) and their postures are not aggressive in the slightest. It’s made pretty clear that we’re not meant to be overly concerned with them, which means that the tension of our main cast being in any sort of danger disintegrates almost instantaneously.

So where does the tension go, you may ask?

To the dramatic entrance of Clover Ebi, of course! More specifically, it goes to the fact that while all of the other Ace Ops are introduced as a group, Clover is deliberately and carefully singled out, just as Qrow was singled out in the scenes directly preceding this.

Remember that Qrow is supposed to be the lens for the audience in this whole sequence. Now take a look at the way that Clover’s damn boot is framed. Remind you of anything?

(This man and his whole portrayal by CRWBY is so deliciously extra, I swear.)

From the very beginning, the scenes between Qrow and Clover are framed in such a way that, even when not spatially close to one another, they are still depicted as being together. Connected. And it all starts with the hilariously deliberate placement of that damn boot.

Now, I’m not saying this is where the romantic tension begins (that comes in chapter 3). It’s a little hard to introduce it when Qrow is tied up on the ground and all we have is some footwear from Clover (unless you’re that kind of person, in which case... god’s speed to you). But it does set it up to come into play later in the volume.

The fact that we don’t get to see Clover directly is also pretty significant and, once again, this decision does more than one thing for the story.

1) As I stated, Clover is singled out. This is accomplished not only by his delayed entrance into the scene and the fact that he enters from the complete opposite direction of his team, but also because we don’t get to see him right away. You know who sees him first? Qrow. And because we’re meant to experience the scene through Qrow, our attention and curiosity are immediately piqued because we’re being denied something that he already has: a view of Clover.

2) It kicks up dramatic tension, which at this point I’m pretty sure is almost a necessity to Clover the way oxygen is for the rest of us, but on a narrative level it really works out. Despite the fact that everyone has just been apprehended, in these moments of Clover’s appearance and Qrow’s reaction, the Teams and the Ace Ops are 100% in the background. The narrative focus at this point has not only shifted but has completely inverted from the norm, putting full focus on these two characters as opposed to Ruby or any of the others or even the group as a whole. This is, by the way, the nature of nearly all of Qrow’s and Clover’s scenes together, no matter how brief. CRWBY bookends them out (usually through key visual cues, such as the not-quite-over-the-shoulder thing), lingers exclusively on them for a time, and then shifts right back into the main narrative structure. This is not something that can be achieved accidentally.

3) It really does this amazing thing where the focus is bounced around between Clover and Qrow until we realize that we’re supposed to be focusing on them together. We get Qrow in this shot and Clover’s entrance as a sort of disruption. Literally, the man walks into Qrow’s shot the way he walks into his life, and we the audience are meant to feel the impact of this.

4) It answers the question put into our minds during the post-Penny build-up to these scenes: if the next events after Penny’s departure are going to revolve around Qrow in some way, how? What exactly is the big impact going to be? Clover’s entrance, and particularly the way it was handled by CRWBY, gives us that answer. It’s not the things that are happening or anyone in the scene behind Qrow. The significant missing part of the equation is Clover himself.

5) Continues to subvert expectations. Remember waaaay up there where I said that the subtle reminder of Qrow’s Semblance and his typical mindset was important? Well, here would be why. I’m not sure what I was expecting on my first viewing of this episode, honestly. But that nudge at Qrow’s Semblance amped up my nerves a little and I’m pretty sure that was entirely on purpose. At first we the audience see the arrest as a potential side-effect of Qrow’s Semblance (again, we’ve been conditioned to accept this correlation). But the fact that it’s Clover we’re meant to focus on, and not the arrest itself, takes that off the table. This scene isn’t about Qrow’s Semblance screwing him over again. It’s about this particular man being introduced into his life.

Clover’s Full Introduction

That right there is the second glimpse we get of Clover. Again... THE FRAMING!!!!! But I’ve said enough about that in this and other posts, so I’ll go into some other details that get laid out in the following interaction.

First of all, Clover walks right up to Qrow (completely bypassing Ruby, which I’ll get to in a second), further cementing the fact that we are meant to be focused on him through Qrow as a lens. If you have doubts, look at where Qrow’s focus is. We get a little more of Clover in this shot and, honestly, I don’t know if it was intentional or not, but I find the fact that we get a glimpse of Clover’s long coat (something that directly echoes Qrow’s own coattails/cape) at least worthy of note. Especially in light of the next shot that shows us just a little more:

*cough* Framing *cough* (Seriously. This might be a drinking game next volume where I fully expect them to get some more screentime together.)

The lucky rabbit’s foot offers a pretty significant clue to who exactly is standing in front of Qrow. It’s this slow piecemealing out of Clover’s appearance that leads me to believe that the shot where we can see his coat wasn’t 100% by chance.

This shot also totally removes all others from the scene, thereby keeping them in the background and Clover and Qrow in the narrative foreground.

And then, finally:

In the previous shot, Qrow tries to offer some explanation that he hopes will get him out of the bolas and off the ground: “Hey, pal, I’m a licensed Huntsman. Just helped save everyone?”

And this right here is the shot we are given in direct response: Clover Ebi in all his glory. Lucky rabbit’s foot, four-leaf clover on his chest, horseshoe... everything that we would pretty much identify as the antithesis of Qrow’s character.

Now. I will fully and completely admit that there are a large number of ways CRWBY could have taken this whole scene and everything that comes after. He and Qrow were clearly framed together in the shots leading up to this, but as of this moment, it could have just as easily leaned towards a rivalry rather than a romance. Clover could have done any number of things that would have established him as an ass-hole that we all would have hated right along with Qrow. But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t gloat or give off any malicious vibes. The guy is cocky and at ease, but that’s part of what we all love about him.

Also worth noting is the fact that this is the first look he gives Qrow. This is the established baseline right before he bends down to pick up Harbinger. He’s not hostile or off-putting or smug (at least not overly so). He’s professional with a healthy dash of confidence and a hell of a lot of presence.

We’re still with Qrow here, obviously, and the steep angle of this shot makes it clear: we are meant to see Clover Ebi the way Qrow does at this moment. Inherent in this perspective is the line of tension that we are meant to be following. (A quick clarification: the word ‘tension’ here carries no negative connotations. I’m talking about narrative tension, the forward movement of a story, the thing that makes the audience perk up and go “Oh? What’s this?” And I would say these scenes accomplish that extraordinarily well.)

The Harbinger Moment

*cough cough* FraMInG!!!!!!! *cough cough*

Funny story. This particular shot where Clover picks up Harbinger is the one I was actually asked to comment on. But as no scene exists in a vacuum, I think the analysis for this relies heavily on everything I’ve already said. It’s all about the build-up, the already established framing, the line of tension that we are meant to be following (namely, who is this guy going to be to Qrow?), and the way that Clover again enters the scene as a sort of disruption into Qrow’s space.

Now, if Clover had done any of those things I mentioned above (gloated, smirked in a hostile way, sneered, etc.) that’s all it would have taken for this disruption to be coded as negative. Setting them up as rivals would have literally been that simple. But because he didn’t we’re left in an area of... comfortable curiosity, is the phrase I’m gonna go with. The first disruptive entrance into Qrow’s scene (with the boot) introduces Clover as a character, and the second (this one) makes sure to let us know that, while CRWBY isn’t making it entirely clear what exactly these two are going to be to each other just yet, their relationship is going to be far more nuanced than the obvious antagonistic crap they could have gone with.

As far as the event itself (Clover picking up Harbinger), this is absolutely meant to resonate on an emotional level with the audience. We watch this unfold, again with Qrow as our lens, and knowing what he has been through with that weapon, we know what it probably means to have another person handle it. Clover does so respectfully and carefully and without comment. Also notice that while Clover seems to be ambidextrous for the most part, he wields his own weapon almost exclusively with his left hand, which is the same hand he picks up Harbinger with. If anyone wants to get into deep psychoanalysis of the implications behind that, I will love you forever, but if you don’t I’ll probably circle back to it at some point XD

Worthy of note here too, though I’m not entirely certain what to make of it just yet, is the fact that Clover’s armband is fully visible in this shot. And we all know how CRWBY loves their armbands.

Choices

And that pretty much wraps up the extent of the interactions between Clover and Qrow in this scene. This shot above just illustrates something @lady-branwen pointed out, which I find incredibly funny.

Upon entering the scene, Clover has two obvious options as to who he approaches first. Even if he comes down from a roof, he is either approaching from the front (top of the image), in which case he had to bypass Ruby (and the relic!) entirely to reach Qrow. Or he comes from that side street off to the left side of the image, in which case he is probably equidistant from Qrow and Ruby (and the relic! which he knows about!) and still chooses to approach Qrow first.

Intent, people. None of it is accidental.

Bonus:

The remainder of the scene does a pretty fantastic job of shifting the focus to Clover and establishing who he is. He’s charming, professional, a people person, and definitely lawful good. All of this further draws out that line of narrative tension between him and Qrow, leaves us wondering where exactly this is going to go, and perfectly sets us up for all of their scenes after this.

#fair game #fairgame #lucky charms #luckbirds #qrover #qrowver #qrow branwen #clover ebi #rwby7 #rwby #is this my longest one?#it feels like it #holy crap #passes out

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laiqart · 5 years ago

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The Untamed vs MDZS Anime: Which is better?

Going to japan now. Currently in the plane. The in flight tv is broken. So... ive been watching mdzs on youtube!

Hot damn the animation is beautiful. Every frame is a work of art. How the hell. Its so beautiful. I mean they use 3D a lot for the backgrounds and boats but its still gorgeous and not too jarring. The lighting is so realistic, scenery too. All the fighting choreography is beautiful. The way the swords swing in the air looks so fluid, and when swords clash its in flashes of light the color of their sword. Such a tasteful yet stylistic choice. Everyone's, esp wwx, hair is so flowy, so detailed every strand sways in the wind. The waves reflect light and move smoothly. How the hell did they do that. How. I was thinking of doing those screencap redraw thingy with the scene when wwx whacks lwj's boat. (they also emphasised how far lwj's boat was sinking into the water, which makes it more convincing how wwx can deduce that theres something underneath vs the live action where lwj's boat looked normal..) it was damn beautiful. The thing is, the point of these redraws is that the animation looks simple, so the redraw would enhance the scene. But for mdzs, everything is already in peak quality, redrawing it will only look worse. Its like writing fanfiction of books. The original writing is so damn beautiful, fan fiction ends up being such a stark difference that the reader cant help but compare the 2.

Drama, as everyone says, shows better facial expressions due to the live actors, so emotions hit harder. But anime def LOOKs way better in all action scenes. Angles that follow the characters are used to emphasise scale between enemy and chracters, and all the movements feel so dynamic, and i love how when they use talisman spell thingies they got a circle of light in an intricate pattern thats super beautiful. In the drama, its just a piece of paper.

However, i prefer drama's lwj. Maybe cos wyb looks so young, its more believable when he freaks out over the adult book that wwx gives him in the library scene. In the anime, he looks 20+-30+. Its a bit hard to believe that he'd be worried over that. Idk theres a kind of innocence and naivety that leads to the stubborn refusal to express emotion that young lwj is plagued with that we have in the untamed (was this intentional on wyb's part or is it because the teenage lwj wig made his eyes look floaty, so he seems more like a teenager and naive, less experienced as a cultivator vs lwj 13 years later? Dk but it works!). In the anime, he looks like an adult thats calm and level headed already from the get-go. Idk maybe i just havent watched enough (only seen up til the water demons in caiyi town). In both anime and drama, everyone and i mean EVERYONE besides the fricking babies looks the same 13/16 years later. It doesn't feel like time has passed at all. I wish they would have maybe a change in costume, or hairstyle in the anime. The drama at least changes their costumes a little and neatens the hairstyle of jiang cheng and lwj to indicate maturity.

Btw i love that in the anime for the water demons section they had wwx and jc casually chatting (though its a blatant cornetto ad which is fricking weird. How can there be frozen treats back in those days), then wwx beautifully catapulting himself onto a boat and rowing away showing the unique and romantic af mode of transport in caiyi town, then smoothly transitioning to the lan bros on the bridge right above them with lwj asking why lxc decided to bring them along. Its just tying together so many scenes, quickening the plot along and yet doing it so naturally and seamlessly compared with the novel and drama.

Though i like that the drama involved wn and wq and have wwx save wn, and makes way more sense why wn would want to risk his life to help wwx recover his parents fricking corpse illegally right under the nose of wen chao and wen zhuliu.

The anime removed the entire mystery plot of a yan and the fairy goddess statue and thats honestly the best best best choice to make. In the drama, it was one of the worse sections ever cos i didnt understand who all these random ass characters were (it was one of the first mysteries in the drama) and yet it didnt go into detail like they did in the novel, so not only did i not know what was going on, i also didnt give a single shit about the characters. When i saw that they completely did away with the random passer bys who screwed around with the fairy statue, i was thoroughly impressed.

I liked that the drama let nhs have his own trouble making moments tho, like having him sneak a live bird into class. It makes it more convincing that wwx would be friends with him because they both have a mischievous side that they can both appreciate in each other. In the anime, nhs just looks like a loser nerd thats weak in swordplay and does wwx's homework for him, without a will of his own. It doesnt make sense why wwx would keep him around. Then again, maybe itll make the reveal that nhs is a conniving mastermind more impactful for the anime, oh well only time will tell.

I liked that lxc and lwj look similar in the anime. Its more convincing when people call them the twin jades of the lan clan. In the drama, they hardly looked like brothers. Lxc looks more like lwj's mentor or teacher rather than an older brother. In the anime, they look more siblingy.

I miss drama wen ning. I rmb when he looked so fierce and terrifying in his first appearance. I was legit intimidated. Oh how hes changed! Hes so fluffy now. In the anime hes equally menacing. His fight scene with the statue goddess was so beautiful. Doesnt it take a long time to animate the chains moving so fluidly yet dynamically yet somehow looks like it can disintegrate rock in an instant? The lighting on it too, how it reflected the fire of the forest around them. Have i mentioned how beautiful having that fight scene at night was? It was dark and ominous looking, yet the fire cast an epic looking light over the scene with warm orange glows. And the animators had that fiery light reflected in anything they could find: eyes, chains, swords.

Ooh but jiang cheng's whip looked prettier in the drama than in the anime, which is kind of weird given they were both cgi-ed. Somehow the lighting of the whip in the drama was brighter, looked more like real lightning vs the whip in the anime looking a little dull, like they colored it then added a gray filter. This is kinda bizarre given the laughably bad effects of the effects for everything else in the drama. Visuals for non human things is not the drama's strong suit, so it makes u wonder what happened for the anime whip. Maybe in the dark, the lightning would have to look hella bright and reflect on the surroundings (tedious to color) more so than in the day, hence why it looked worse in anime vs drama. Oh well.

As for lan sizhui, its weird that his voice is so deep in the anime (and audio drama!). Ive always seen him as a kiddo thanks to the live action, so hearing him sound mature is kinda off-putting. He sounds like a leader, and gives off lwj vibes vs in the live action where he gives a goody two shoes studious nerd vibe, whos just trying his best. Maybe this is better, he feels way more like a lwj-raised child(serious and business-like) which makes more sense. Live action lsz feels like a wwx(optimistic and intelligent) AND lwj(well-behaved and sensible)-raised child. Anime lsz looks like hes got his shit together. Jinling is fairly similar in both, maybe less prideful in the anime (in live action theres the scene where im pretty sure he indirectly kills one of his men by wishing for the fairy goddess statue to come to life. That was a hella asshole move. This was omitted in the anime.) Jingyi in the anime somehow looks snarkier. Maybe cos he straight up duels with jinling and kicks him down a dark cave. Ive been wondering why all the tumblr posts depict ljy as this sassy ass short tempered kid when he was quite tame (though sassy by lan standards) in the live action. Now i know.

The costumes for the drama is better, more detailed though thats expected i guess. I just love that they have little white gusu lan clan uniforms that wwx jc and friendos are required to wear. Its so cute and such a cool detail. In anime, theyre all in their usual garb, and they just look like random people who decided to turn up at lan qirens class. In the drama, it looks more like a school that they have to attend for half a year and it feels characteristic that gusu lan clan would require their students to have a uniform, given their incredibly strict regime type. It also serves to separate the happy carefree school days from all the other tragic af events in wwx's life. His costume starts out white showing innocence and purity of his naiive teenage years who had yet to experience hardship and still feels invincible as a youth. After school, he wears dark blue, as he goes on an adventure with lanzhan and experience how important the yin iron is (gives up the joking light hearted nature as a teenager by realizing the gravity of situation if the wen clan gets their hands on it) and maybe that hes not truly part of the jiang clan who wears purple. Then his costume eventually becomes black as he experiences his first life and death situation that he isnt sure he can handle. That child like assurance that "oh the seniors will let me off" or "im sure jiang fengmian will come to my rescue" gets demolished when he undergoes cruel indoctrination at the wen clans. This visual development may be a bit on the nose, but personally i love subtle representations.

Overall, the anime does do a better of job of explaining the world's mechanics, which is quite important. The drama is quite faithful to the book, at times even more so than the anime, so it irks me that this is the one thing they decide to skim on. The god damn premise, the first thing the audience needs: why the hell is wwx alive again and what is mo xuanyu doing?? I guess the drama thought that it explains itself but it doesnt really. It was really confusing. The anime, though somehow faster than the drama, still has the time to properly explain mxy. A technique ive noticed is that they do exposition during the fight scenes, which is so ingenius. Its visually appealing, as always, so its not boring, the viewers gets to understand whats going on AND it gives the sense that the characters are so skilled that they carry causal conversations while fighting supposedly weak enemies like zombies and water ghosts, which is accurate seeing how wwx and lwj and friends are supposed to be one of the most powerful cultivators.

TL;DR both are good lol

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #lan zhan #lan jingyi #lan xichen #lan wangji #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #lan sizhui #wei ying #jin ling #analysis #rant #thoughts #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mo xuanyu

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yellowsugarwords · 6 years ago

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Walking Dead Game FanFiction - “Why Don’t We Kiss?”

Title: Why Don’t We Kiss? Characters: Clementine, Mitch Summary: Mitch and Clementine learn one night that neither of them have been kissed. To help each other out, they kiss each other and realize they have feelings for one another. Author's Note: This is actually so cute I’m so happy with this one :) Requested By: ebimanami support me with ko-fi ♡ ---------♥️♥️��️----------

The apocalypse killed a lot more than people. Clementine learned that the hard way.

Since AJ came along, Clementine’s childhood had long since passed. Any childlike wonder had been rapidly abandoned. When taking care of a child alone at 11, any opportunity to act like a kid had to be surrendered. She was tending to a kid. She didn’t have time to be one.

Her trust disintegrated, even within the people she’d been by the side of for years. You never knew when someone, someone you loved and trusted, would throw you under the bus for their own chance at survival.

But it also killed Clementine’s dreams — the opportunity to develop naturally, to be happy, to experience what normal teens got to. To graduate elementary school, to write her first final, to fail her first final. To have her first drink at a house party and break her first bone from playing sports on the playground. It had all been ripped away from her.

On nights when Clementine pondered, she normally sat on Ericson’s front steps, staring off through the front gates, wondering what laid out there.

Even when she wasn’t on watch duty, Clementine rarely went to bed at the same time as everyone else at Ericson. Sleeping was a challenge, especially since Delta’s threat was made known. Often times, Clementine put AJ to bed, waited until he fell asleep, then slipped out. She didn’t want to worry the child, but also wanted to ensure he was actually going to sleep. The last thing she needed was an overly-tired AJ during the day when they had chores to do.

Chores. AJ spent his days doing nothing but chores. His childhood had been robbed from him too.

The thought caused Clementine’s brows to cave. Sure, she could sit around and feel sorry for herself - she had been doing it for 8 years — but AJ? She felt bad because he didn’t feel bad. He didn’t know about the world before. He didn’t know about what he was missing. He thought this was life.

Clementine groaned and stood, stretching her arms and her legs. The more she sat and felt sorry for herself, the less sleep she would get. Seeing as tomorrow was wood chopping and hauling day, she couldn’t spare the energy.

“Hey,”

Clementine tensed with her arms overhead — the exact opposite of what she was trying to do — and froze. The voice felt oddly far away, too far to be recognizable. She glanced around, but finding nothing she was ready to chock it up to having little sleep.

“Clem. Watch tower.”

Turning, finally given a location, she spotted the figure. She couldn’t make out a face seeing as they were too far away, but she began to trot closer. Then, standing at the base of the ladder, she spotted Mitch’s head peek over.

“You’re up late,” he scoffed.

Clem smirked and crossed her arms. “I could say the same to you.”

“I’m up late with a purpose. You’re just up late.”

Clem rolled her eyes, knowing full well he couldn't see them, and started to climb. Without offering a lick of debate, Mitch stepped back and waited.

Groaning as she hit the top, Clementine brushed off her knees and stood. “How late are you up here?”

“Until 6.”

Clementine’s eyes widened. “What? Nobody’s coming to switch out at 3?”

Mitch shrugged. “It was supposed to be Aasim, but apparently he needs his ‘beauty sleep.’”

Clementine smirked. Mitch’s disgust at the notion brought her some joy. “So, you offered to take his shift for him?”

Mitch nodded, leaning over the railing, his gaze sweeping the dark woods. “Yeah. I knew he wasn’t going to work the shift anyway, and I sure as shit wasn’t about to let the post be empty for 3 hours.”

Clem raised a brow. She’d always had a lot of respect for Mitch and the way he handled responsibility, but especially how he handled it now. “You don’t mind the lack of sleep?”

“I don’t sleep anyway,” he scoffed.

Clementine remained silent, as if hoping he was going to elaborate on that point. When he didn’t, she leaned against the railing too. “By choice? Or,” she carried out the ‘r,’ hoping to make it sound playful.

Mitch didn’t react. “I can’t stay asleep.” He hesitated. Clem watched as he shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t want to sleep.”

Strangely, Clementine felt a rush of calm at the statement, despite it being over Mitch’s discomfort. But their discomfort was shared — she wasn’t alone in her struggle. In their world, Clem believed everyone would eventually have sleep issues. It was hard to find enough peace to sleep — your most vulnerable and trusting form — when you were constantly surrounded by people waiting to betray you. To stab you in the back — figuratively or literally.

“You too?” The words left her lips in a rush before her brain could tell her to stop. Her heart was pushing the words out, begging her to voice them, praying for her to confide in someone.

Mitch turned, his cold stare meeting hers and softening — like ice under first glimpse of sun. “You too?” He questioned back.

Classic Mitch. A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would be too simple. It would be giving up some power he had. Clementine smirked, not enjoying the topic of conversation, but enjoying Mitch’s presence. “It’s been happening for years, but more so since I got here.”

Clementine could sense a faint flicker in his brow. Discontent, possibly. “That long?”

She nodded, her gaze shifting to the forest. She could feel the night breeze whisk past her ears, chilling them. It brought a wave of reality to her before she got lost in her own head.

“What about?”

“Hm?” Clem asked, not tearing her gaze from the trees.

“What are you losing sleep about?” He clarified, his stare also locked dead ahead. Clementine didn’t need to turn to know he wasn’t looking at her. “It’s always something. We don’t lose sleep over nothing.”

Dang, it really was happening to him. If it wasn’t, he wouldn’t know that.

Clementine cleared her throat. “It’s stupid.”

Mitch said nothing. Clem knew that was his weird way of saying “If it’s bugging you, it’s not” but Mitch always struggled with vocalizing things like that. Soft things.

“I think about my future.”

Mitch scoffed. “Future?” He said it as if it was a joke. A punchline. “What future?”

“That’s exactly what I think about,” she claimed, turning and casting a smirk. It held a shadow of offence, but Mitch didn’t care.

“Alright,” Mitch scoffed, leaning against the railing, his back facing the woods. Clementine wanted to scold him on how that was the exactly opposite of what he was supposed to be doing, but by that logic he would kick her off. Frankly, she didn’t want to end their conversation yet. So, she crossed her arms, leaned deeper into the railing, and said nothing.

“Go on.” Mitch prompted.

She wanted to raise a brow, but didn’t. “I think about the future I missed out on by being here.”

“Here?”

“Apocalypse here,” she said. “Not here here. Not Ericson here.”

Mitch hummed in understanding.

Clementine hesitated, debated if she should say what sat on the tip of her tongue, then caved. “We didn't get to be normal.”

Mitch snorted. “I mean, everyone here wouldn’t ever be normal. Apocalypse or not.”

Clem stayed silent for a moment. Mitch could tell she was being serious and eased off. “I mean,” Clem scoffed, turning so her back also faced the woods. “We didn’t get to go to prom. Or graduate. Or move out for the first time. We didn’t get to do any of the things we should’ve been able to do.”

Mitch remained still. “I never thought of it like that.”

“That isn’t what keeps you up?”

“No,” he said softly. “That’s about keeping everyone safe.” Clementine’s shoulder loosened, drinking in the sorrow in his stance. “Specifically Willy,” he continued. “But everyone.”

Clementine sighed, closing her eyes, facing the school building. “You shouldn’t need to worry about that.” She sighed. “Not when you’re still a kid.”

“Then what should we be worrying about?”

Clem smirked. Sometimes, Mitch’s playfulness and inability to take a lot seriously paid off. “I don’t know,” she hushed, facing him. “We should be thinking about high school graduation. Prom. Applying for schools.”

“As if I would ever go to college.”

Clem snorted. Mitch smirked.

“Fine,” Clem scoffed. “Then we’d be thinking about dates for proms. Suits and dresses. What colour corsage we wanted.”

“That sounds lame.”

“Dates for prom?”

“No, getting a corsage.” Mitch scoffed. “Sounds stupid.”

“It’s French and it’s formal.”

“Stupid.”

Clem rolled her eyes, arms crossing. “You’re telling me you never think about how you didn’t get to ask out a prom date?”

“No,” Mitch scoffed. “Never.” Clem raised a brow. Mitch didn’t look at her.

“What about asking a girl out in general?” Clem pushed. “Or getting your first girlfriend? Or your first kiss? Unless you’ve already had it.”

Mitch didn’t say anything.

Clem’s jaw dropped. “You haven’t,”

Mitch scoffed, whipping around to face the trees again. Maybe if he buried his stare into darkness Clem wouldn’t see how embarrassed he looked. “Shut up, you said it yourself. We didn’t get chances to do stuff like that.”

Silence hung over them, and Mitch couldn’t tell if it was guilty or not. Clementine couldn’t tell if it was angry of not.

“I haven’t had my first one either.”

Mitch turned to the side, slapping a hand to his hip. “So, then are you done making fun of me?”

Clem smirked. “Maybe.”

Mitch smirked back and returned to watching. Yet again, silence.

“We could change that.” Clementine’s voice sounded different this time, and turning to face her Mitch could see why. Everything about her stance had changed — her posture, the weak sagging of her shoulders, the way her eyes met his as if glancing through a curtain. She seemed shy.

“We could?”

Clementine stood patiently, waiting for him to connect the dots. When he didn’t, her hands slapping impatiently to her sides. “We could kiss each other, Mitch. That’s what I’m suggesting.”

God, boys were dumb. Maybe getting her first kiss wasn’t worth it.

Mitch’s body jolted, as if the concept of kissing Clementine had genuinely never crossed his mind. Having it presented it to him made him flustered. Genuinely flustered. A version of Mitch Clementine had never seen before. It made her smile, but she fought back her bubbling giggle.

“Are you being serious?” His voice was squeaky. It was crazy adorable, but Clementine would never tell him that.

“Yes,” she said through a sigh, flopping her hands again. “Why not? Then we can both say we’ve been kissed. We can act like normal teenagers.”

As weird as the idea was, Mitch didn’t mind it. Besides, out of all the girls he could be kissing, he didn’t mind it being Clementine. She was bad-ass, and strong, and assertive. He already admired her. She wasn’t a bad choice.

In fact, he would even say she was a great choice.

“Alright,” he finally sighed, standing upright. “Let’s do it.”

Mitch was expecting it to be awkward and flustered, like he remembered seeing in those corny teenage romance movies his sisters loved to watch. Where the two blush, and giggle, and impishly kiss each other before melting into little puddles.

Instead, Clementine closed the gap between them, cupped his cheeks, and planted her lips to his.

She had force, but was still soft. The firm way she held his face and the right way she leaned against his chest was strong, powerful, but nothing like the gentle way her lips hugged his.

So, he snaked his arms around her and tugged her closer.

It felt good. Right. Like Clementine was perfectly made for the notch in his chest and the crook in his neck — the perfect contrast to everything he was.

And then, they snapped away.

Their grips held for a new moments longer, Clementine’s hands still brushing his face and Mitch’s arms still locked around her hips. Their faces were red, and warm, and tinted with buried affection creeping to the surface.

Then, Mitch cracked a toothy grin. “Does that make this our prom?”

Clementine, for the first time since nightfall, laughed. Heartily, and happily, and with her whole body. “I guess you can say that.”

Mitch smiled.

He knew he would. ---------♥️♥️♥️----------

89 notes · View notes

mrslittletall · 5 years ago

Text

Title: A Storm is coming (Chapter 13) Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Chosen Undead/Dragon Slayer Ornstein, Big Hat Logan Word Count: 4.703 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603610/chapters/47875039 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/186256442489/title-a-storm-is-coming-chapter-12

Summary: Ornstein and Tempest go back into the archives, but a plan has to be formed before they can challenge the pale drake. Maybe they can find some hints in the giant library?

(Author's note: My apologies for the wait on this chapter. I needed to write out some Bloodborne stuff and finish one of my other WIPs but now I was able to dive back into this and we are even going back into the action.

Maybe we get this first lord soul soon ^^)

Ornstein found Tempest waiting in front of the cathedral, dressed in the black leather set he already had worn earlier in the kitchen, topped with a gargoyle's helmet, a silver knight straight sword in his right hand and a knight's shield in his left.

“We trained so that you wouldn't have to rely on a shield.”, Ornstein scolded him, a frown on his forehead.

“I know.”, Tempest said. “I just... I feel a little more secure with it?”

“As long as it doesn't slow us down.” Ornstein had to admit, with the myriads of archers in the archives, a shield would be nice. Especially because the little storm didn't exactly wore armour that would secure peak protection of any sharp projectiles coming his way.

“Let's go.”, Ornstein sighed. He wanted to get this over with. Hopefully the training would expose itself as fruitful and they were out of this place before the sun got dropped and replaced with the moon.

Before they set off, Ornstein noticed that the two giant sentinels normally guarding the front gate of the cathedral were gone.

“Huh, seems like my training already paid off.”, he murmured.

“These guys!”, Tempest suddenly blurted out. “They look far more intimidating than they are. They are big, but slow. After training with you their movements felt like someone cast a slowing spell on them.”

“Good, that means you will help me getting rid of the ones guarding the way to the archives.”, Ornstein said.

“Oh, darn! I forgot they were more of them!”, Tempest shoulders hung low.

“Let's... let's just go.”, Ornstein scratched one spike of his helmet, hand clutched around his spear which was standing loosely on the gorund.

The both of them walked in silence until they came to their usual training grounds, where Tempest excused himself to use the bonfire. Ornstein also heard him chat with the dark moon knightess. She apparently told him a few details about Seath. Nothing special. She certainly left out the more juicy details.

“Please excuse the wait.”, Tempest came running back to Ornstein with a smile on his face. Damn, it was that cute smile. That one that was half a grin and half joyful. Ornstein quickly jerked his head around and was very interested in the cobblestone instead.

“Shouldn't you be more nervous?”, he asked.

“I am nervous! We are going to fight a dragon! But at the same time, I am sure everything will turn out alright, because I am with you.”

That hit right into Ornstein's heart. How could this little Undead put so much trust into him after that sparse time they had spent together? “That.. that hasn't something to do with you or such.”, he said, head high, prideful. He had to show that he was a lion. He was the dragon slayer, not some babysitter. “I simply follow Gwyndolin's orders.”

“Yes, right.”, Tempest said, unsheathing his sword as they walked towards the building which contained the statue of Smough.

… Lately Ornstein hadn't thought much about Smough, but laying his eyes on this statue, the feelings rushed back to him and he just stood there, eyes locked on it, trying to fight the urging tears back.

“Um, Ornstein, a little help?”

Ornstein groaned as he saw that the little storm had managed to get picked up by the scruff of the neck by one of the sentinel's halberd: “How have you managed that, idiot?!”

“I thought you would help!”, he cried as Ornstein already rushed in to take care of the giant sentinel who had Tempest on his weapon. Once he dissipated, Tempest murmured: “Oh no, that is not good...” before falling right into Ornstein's arm.

“Th.. thanks for catching me.”, he said, his face seemed to be heated, with a slight red on his cheeks.

“I.. I just caught you because you were practically falling into my arms... that means nothing.”, Ornstein said, putting the Undead on the ground. Damn, his own face felt flushed too.

“Careful, the other one!”, Tempest shouted and rolled out of the way just in time before the halberd crashed on the ground.

“Take care of it yourself.”, Ornstein ordered. “I took care of the other one.”

“Alright!”, Tempest took his sword in both hands, circled the sentinel and hacked away at it until it collapsed and disintegrated into the magic it existed of. Now only the sentinel in front of the archives was left and was no match for their combined power.

“Do we need to take care of the boars a second time, too?”, Tempest asked.

“I don't think so. These aren't illusions or hollows. They probably have been the last ones in Lordran.”, Ornstein replied.

And, in fact, the boars were gone so that Ornstein and Tempest had a very uneventful trip through the hallways, where Tempest sat down at the bonfire. “At least getting here was a breeze.”, he murmured.

“Yes, but the real challenge begins now.”, Ornstein said. “So, what things don't we do once in there?”

“Not going through any fog gates without asking first.”

“Good, what else?”

“Not storming off on my own.”

“Perfect.”

Ornstein was more than satisfied and stood up. Soon, the little storm followed him as he stepped on the elevator.

“So, when we are up there, we lure the melee fighters to the platform and then I rush forward and take care of the archers.”, Ornstein explained, earning a little nod of Tempest.

That plan worked flawlessly and while Tempest was busy fending off the crystal hollows on the elevator, Ornstein took care of the archers without effort before returning to the small Undead and help him dispatch the last foe.

As they wandered to the doorway leading into the library, Ornstein heard the very distinct sound of a soul arrow and quickly hid behind the wall. The little storm however, wasn't that quick and got quite a hit on his right arm.

“Ow.”, he hissed and nestled for his estus flask to heal the damage. “Ornstein, what are we doing?”

Ornstein peaked into the room. That the channeler was back was baffling for him. They weren't Undead. Just how many loyal channelers had Seath left?

“There are crystal hollows left and right. When we want to get rid of the channeler, they will surely sneak up. However, see this large book cases? When each of us takes care of the crystal hollows behind them, the magic can't come through and once we are done dispatching them, one of us can take care of the archers behind the channeler while the other takes care of him.”

“Can I fight the channeler..? I am pretty sure once I have faced one of them and.. I just want to try.”, Tempest asked.

“You sure about this, little storm?”, Ornstein grinned. What had happened to the scaredy cat the first time they had been here? Tempest nodded to him.

“Very well then, let's go. I'll go right, you'll go left.”

Ornstein didn't wait for Tempest to acknowledge his words and took care of his portion of crystal hollows right away, all while he heard the sounds of soul arrows hitting the book shelves. Luckily, the channelers Seath still had with him didn't seem to be of the brightest sort. Once Ornstein had managed to to take care of his batch of hollows, he cowered behind the shelf and waited for Tempest.

He could hear the clanking of a sword on crystal, the sound of a club hitting a shield and some mild cussing as Tempest seemed to make his way through his batch of hollows. Soon after, he came in sight, taking a sip out of his estus flask.

“Ready?”, Ornstein signed with his fingers and Tempest nodded. Ornstein made sure to get rid of the archers as Tempest approached the channeler.

After Ornstein had zigzagged between all of the archers on the stairs to make sure that no arrows would come Tempest way, he leaned against the railing and watched the battle of the channeler and the little storm. Clumsy like always, but at least the rolls of the small Undead managed to actually avoid any damage and soon after he drove his sword deep into the channelers back, blood splattering on the ground.

“I did it!”, he cheered, bending down to pick up the trident of the channeler. “Oh look, he left his weapon.”

“Don't waste time with this, you are not a sorcerer.”, Ornstein complained.

“Ornstein! You could have helped me!”, Tempest shouted as he saw how casual the dragon slayer was leaning against the wall.

“Why, weren't you eager to fight him all by yourself?”, Ornstein scoffed. “You are lucky he didn't teleport away! Probably thought you were easier to take down than me!”

Grumbling, Tempest walked up the stairs, trident still in his hands. “So you are telling me, you were helping just by standing around?”

“Yes.”, Ornstein couldn't help but grin under his helmet.

Now that a majority of the crystal hollows had been taken care off and the rest of them were patrolling around the landings, soon the both of them stood in front of the fog gate.

“I think I can hear him breathing...”, Tempest murmured, an ear pressed against the fog gate.

“The first time you were in there, did you notice anything?”, Ornstein asked.

“No. It was too quick. There were crystals on the ground and then I died.”

“Crystals... I know that Seath experimented a lot. I wonder if he used to try and replace his scales with something?”

“Now that you mention it, I could get a glimpse at him and I think I indeed saw some crystals sprouting out of his body.”

“It's probably safe to say that Seath has done something to his body to secure that he can't get hurt. Before we haven't found out what it is, we shouldn't face him.”

“How shall we find this out?”

“We are in the archives.”

Tempest felt a drop of sweat form on his forehead upon the realization of Ornstein's words: “There must be millions of books here!”

“Not millions, but thousands indeed. Searching through them would indeed be too much. For now, I suggest we go back and search for anything that can help us. Maybe Seath left some notes for us to find.”

Tempest silently followed Ornstein back into the large library room.

“So, where do we start?”, Ornstein asked.

“How about we check left and right the stairs we used to get to the elevator?”, Tempest suggested.

“Sounds good, let's go.”

On their way, Ornstein scanned the book shelves, but he couldn't find anything worthwhile. Seath probably wouldn't just file his personal notes next to the usual books. When they would be able to find some secret stash of books, a place were Seath stored all that knowledge he had collected during the centuries...

“Hey, look, there's a chest!”, Tempest called and rushed over, flipping it open.

Upon seeing this, Ornstein cleared his throat: “What are we doing when we see chests?”

Tempest shrank in fear and took a step back, but approached the chest again when it didn't spawn teeth. “...Checking if it is a mimic.”, he answered.

“You were lucky this wasn't one.”, Ornstein said and came nearer to look at the contents of the chest. Tempest was holding a twinkling titanite.

“Hm, that certainly strengthen the theory that Seath uses crystals.”, Ornstein said. “Twinkling Titanite was pretty important for the silver knights too, their weapons could only be reinforced with it. You should hold onto that, you surely can use it for your sword.”

“Guess I have to pay Andre a visit after we are done.”, Tempest pocketed the item.

“Andre?”

“A blacksmith in the Undead Parish.”

Ah, another Undead probably. For the Undead, having weapons in top condition was very important, so a blacksmith would probably swim in souls when they opened up shop in Lordran.

“There doesn't seem to be anymore here. Let's check the other side.”, Tempest rushed forward. Ornstein calmly followed him. His walking speed was more than enough to keep up with the little storm.

“Hey, I see another chest!”, Tempest called and rushed over to it only to get hit by a crystal hollow that came out of a small alcove.

“Ow!”, he shouted, swinging his sword blindly. “Where did you come from?”

Ornstein didn't rush to come over and dispatched the second crystal hollow, who came from the balcony, in one hit.

“That's why we don't rush.”, he said, leaning against the wall. Tempest's eyes were fixated on something else.

“There's something lying there!”, he rushed outside and came back with another twinkling titanite in his hand. “Huh, Seath really liked this things. They are everywhere.”

“It's safe to say he experimented with it. Why do you think all the hollows in here are crystallized?”

“Makes sense, yeah.”, Tempest focused his attention on the two crystal hollows guarding the chest. He glanced at Ornstein. Sighing, the lion knight rushed forward with him and took care of one of the crystal hollows.

“Now.”, Tempest said, taking a sip of his estus after his own foe was down. “Now I check, if it is a mimic.” With that, Tempest gave the chest a heavy kick.

“No, you idiot! Use your weapon!”, Ornstein shouted, but it was already too late, the mimic had gotten Tempest's leg and eagerly chewed on it.

“Ornstein, help!”, the little Undead screamed and Ornstein abandoned his spear to put both hands under Tempest's shoulder and pull the idiot out of the iron grip. As Ornstein did his best to not let get Tempest eaten, the little storm wildly swung around his sword, getting quite a few hits on the mimic until it had enough and spew him out.

With the force Ornstein had used to pull Tempest, that meant that the both of them were practically falling on the ground, Tempest on top of him.

“Th.. thank you...”, Tempest said. Ornstein could see how red his face was. Damn, his own face felt as red as the one of the little storm.

“I.. I just need you with both legs, that's all.”, Ornstein said, head to the side, not having the courage to look the small Undead in the eyes.

“I, uh, better heal this wound.”, Tempest said, getting up and limping away a few steps before taking a sip of his Estus. Ornstein was half aware that there was quite a bit of blood on his armour, where Tempest had landed.

It was a good thing that the Undead could heal themselves easily like this. Still, this must have been hurt.

“What about the mimic?”, Ornstein asked, but his question was answered as he saw the mimic dissipating and leaving the item behind it had stored. He went to pick it up.

“A crystal shield.”, he said, tossing it to Tempest. “I think we surely are on to something.”

Tempest didn't react fast enough to catch the shield and dropped it. He quickly bent down to pick it up.

“So now what? Shall we search for books about crystals?”

“...I am more interested in the experiments Seath had planned. We should head back to the prison tower.”

“Ugh.”, Tempest didn't seem to be too keen about this. “I don't want to see this tentacle thingies again.”

“The what?”

“There were these strange creatures, like half snake, half squid? Disgusting.”

“Sounds like something Seath would do. Let's see if we can find the way back to the tower.”

The next hour was spent trying to find the way through the giant library, dealing with the various crystal hollows, a lot of them archers, and two more channelers on the way. They also managed to pick up another twinkling titanite and a crystal sorcery on the way. After a short while the both of them already had enough of this place.

“I swear, when I got one more arrow stuck into me, I'll scream.”, Tempest said after removing one of said errors and taking a sip of his estus, frowning as he saw how little of the orange liquid was left.

“At least you can heal yourself.”, Ornstein said.

“Yes, but you are wearing full body armour.”

“That doesn't mean that the arrows can't get stuck in the joints.”

“You are still more protected than me.”

“Why don't you just block the arrows with that shield of yours?”

“Oh yes, I would do that, when I could actually see where these things are coming from!”

Shrugging, Ornstein wandered farther: “Hm, just were was this balcony that led to the tower again... I knew that I completely missed it the first time...”

“Hey, there is a balcony, maybe it's there!”, Tempest pointed into a room with his sword and then promptly was struck with another arrow.

Ornstein winced as the small Undead cried out an ear piercing scream in his anger, rushing into the room. A few sounds of fireballs thrown at a crystal later Tempest returned.

“This room leads down, you said the balcony to the tower led up.”

Ornstein reached over wordlessly and pulled the arrow out of Tempest, who hissed in pain, sipping his estus. “Well, that was it with healing.”

“Just put this shield of yours to good use.”, Ornstein said, slightly annoyed. “Let's search for the right way.”

A few rotating stair cases and two dead channelers later, Ornstein finally walked past the balcony he had searched. “I swear, this door looks super inconspicuous.”, he murmured, scratching his lion helmet. “Let's go, little storm.”

Said little storm, looking more than battered up, followed Ornstein and said, with his hands thrown in the air: “By the gods, finally. Up there is a bonfire! I really need this right now!”

On the way up, a couple of more crystal hollows stood in their way which were quickly dispatched by Ornstein's spear. Then, they stood in front of the massive door.

Which had been brutally blasted open and sadly squeaked in its hinges. “Oh right.”, Ornstein scraped the ground with his foot.

“At least it saved me searching for the key.”, Tempest grinned.

A few dead snake soldiers later they sat in the cell Tempest apparently had been locked into where the small Undead eagerly filled up his estus flask at the bonfire.

“I saw them at Sen's Fortress.”, he said, pointing at the snake soldiers. “Why are they here too?”

“Seath's creations.”, Ornstein answered. “He simply gave a few of them out for Lord Gwyn to use and he decided to use them in Sen's Fortress. This place was usually a training ground for the silver knights. And to be honest, little storm, I have no clue how you survived this place.”

“I didn't survive it, I made it through it.”, Tempest said. “I died a dozen times or more in there. It was a bit better once I made it out in the open. Even though fire suddenly rained from the skies. And then... I ran into one of the Astora elite knights.”

“Hm? I am pretty sure Lord Gwyn never had any Astora elite knights in his army.”

“No no no, that's not what I meant, this was an Undead like me, but hollow. I think. He attacked right away with a bow. And when I got close enough he had this super fast rapier. I actually died to him. And even worse, I missed the bonfire up there the first time so I had to cross the fortress another time!”

“Yes, it is pretty hidden.”, Ornstein grinned under his helmet. The silver knights didn't had the ability came back. Anyone who couldn't run the gauntlet hadn't been cut out to be a silver knight.

Although, this place probably had become worse over the centuries.

“Well, I managed to find the bonfire the second time. Sometimes little notes appear on the ground and they helped me find it.”

“Ah yes, the orange soapstone. Someone of another time left a note for you to find.” Time in Lordran was convoluted and some special stones were able to exist through this convolution. As the little orange notes. Even Ornstein was able to lay them down, but without an army to lead there was no need to anymore.

“And then I went back to this guy. I died a few more times, but eventually I managed to overcome him and when I picked up his rapier, I recognized it. This was Ricard, the Undead Prince. It is said that he set out on his journey ages ago! Running into such a legend felt...special.”

“I don't have a clue who you are talking about. I don't give much about human heroes or legends.”

“Of course not, you are a legend yourself. Anyway, behind him there were a few chests, one contained a ring and one contained this.”

Tempest produced a bottle with a shining liquid. Ornstein recognized it at once.

“A divine blessing... They have become rare nowadays. Actually, when you fought us, Smough and I were running out of them. Only one left... I left it in his grave.”

“...Take it, Ornstein. I can heal up with my estus, but you can't. I am sure you can put it to good use.” Tempest practically shoved the item into Ornstein's hand.

Ornstein eyed it for a few seconds, before shoving it back. “No, you take it. I can take care of myself. When I see how fast your estus depletes, you are the better choice to hold onto it.”

Tempest stared from the divine blessing to Ornstein to the divine blessing again. “But...”, he started.

“You said you were following my orders.”, Ornstein threatened. Tempest winced and quickly stored the item back in his belongings.

“Now then, we have rested enough. We should move on.”, Ornstein stood up, using his spear for support.

Tempest followed him: “Hm, when I was the first time here, there was this spooky tune playing, but I couldn't hear anything this time.” He went to glance over the side of the landing they were one: “Probably a good thing, it made these tentacle thingies wild the last time.”

Ornstein followed Tempest to look down too: “I guess this machine down there made the sound. Well, it seems we can descend freely now that it is off.”

On their way down, Ornstein noticed the various cell doors: “Do you have a key to open them?”

“Yes.”, Tempest pulled a key out of his pocket. “But I don't think we would find anything there. I only see Crystal Hollows.” He poked one of them with his sword during the bars which promptly made the hollow groan and crash against the bars, making Tempest jump back. “Definitely prefer to not open them.”

“Hollowed out prisoners are indeed of no help.”, Ornstein said, glancing in every cell they came along their way down. Once they were at the bottom, Tempest pointed at an opening in the wall.

“There they are! The tentacle thingies!”, he exclaimed. “Ew, all of them are at one place.”

“...Let's just get this over with. I see a rather large cell behind them. Maybe we can find something in there.”, Ornstein readied his spears.

For a few minutes the sound of lighting and thrown fireballs were heard as the two worked themselves through the creatures. After they were done, Tempest sipped on his estus (he had been grabbed once) and then bend down to pick something up.

“Miracles.”, he said upon inspecting them.

“Let me see this.”, Ornstein came nearer to take a look and gasped. “Seath, that bastard... I always assumed that he had been the one to abduct Princess Gwynevere's maidens. This is proof!”

“What are you talking about?”, Tempest asked, confusion in his eyes.

“These miracles are granted by Lady Gwynevere herself. Bountiful Sunlight and Soothing Sunlight. Healing miracles that were often used by her or her maidens. But some of her maidens disappeared one day. We never could find them and now I know why, when they turned into this..”

Ornstein pointed at the burned and shocked mass of bodies in front of them. Tempest, however, didn't seem too listen. Instead, he had turned to the cell, shouting: “Logan?! You here?!”

Orstein turned around to listen in as a male voice answered: “Hello again. What a chance meeting this is!”

The voice belonged to an Undead sorcerer with a comical big hat. That wasn't his business. Probably someone Tempest had met on his travels through Lordran.

“Why is it that I always seem to find you behind bars?”, Tempest chuckled.

That Logan guy smiled sadly: “Alas, I am imprisoned once again. I don't suppose you could stage me a getaway? I surely hope it isn't our fate to always meet when I am behind bars.”

“Aw, come on, Logan, this place simply is dangerous. I myself needed help to get here.”, he pointed at Ornstein.

“Oh, are you having a new companion?”, Logan asked. Tempest had an awkward smile on his face.

“That is... kind of a long story. I am sure we can safe this for a later time.”

This Logan guy didn't seem to recognize him. Ah well, Ornstein was more a legend among the knights and not a legend among the sorcerers.

“So, my dear friend, do you have a key that could help me out? The Archives, such a storehouse of knowledge. So close, but just out of reach! The thought offends me so, I could simply die! As a student of the arts, you understand me, yes?”, Logan said.

“Hm, I have found a key, maybe it works here.”, Tempest presented the cell key and tried to get it into the lock. “It doesn't work.”, he noticed sadly. “Please don't die, Logan, I am sure we will find a way to get you out of here.”

“You Undead can't die anyway.”, Ornstein interfered and felt both gazes of the Undeads on him, shrinking a little, quickly changing the subject. “Hey, um, Logan was your name?”, he started. “You said that you wanted to research the archives? Have you seen anything interesting, like a book or notes, before you got caught?” It was a blind guess, but the best Ornstein had. The sorcerer surely hadn't been snatched away and dragged to the archives before he entered them.

“Hmmmm... yes, indeed. I have seen a place worth investigating, but before I could set a foot into there myself, I was found and captured. A library next to the large room, there was a hollow archer and a ladder led down to it.”

“Wait a moment! I have seen this place!”, Tempest exclaimed, both hands clutching his gargoyle helmet. “You remember the archer I took out because I was done with getting struck with arrows? That room matches the description.”

“Very well then, let's go there and see if we can find something.”, Ornstein turned around.

“If you find a key, would you be so kind to come back and stage my getaway?”, Logan asked. Tempest turned around and gave him an “Of course.” with a smile. Ornstein only hmphed.

“Maybe I should open up the cells now, the key could be there...”, Tempest muse.

“Why should a cell key be in another cell? That doesn't make any sense.”, Ornstein grumbled. “Let's just search this library out. We are on a mission. Should we find the key by chance, we can go and free him.”

Tempest nodded slowly: “Well, alright...” Next chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/187216779749/title-a-storm-is-coming-chapter-14-fandom-dark

#dark souls #fanfiction #dragon slayer ornstein #chosen undead #oc tempest #big hat logan #orndead #littlewritesstuff

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thegoldenembers · 6 years ago

Text

Questionable Veracity.

Darkness.

That’s all there was left.

After the last leaf fell, and the wind swept the scent of fresh air and dew away, there was just darkness in her mind.

Lanelle sat curled up in a ball halfway off the ragged old cot on the floor, her head buried into her knees. ‘What’s going on..? Why is this happening?’ The thoughts made her tremble as they echoed the small voice of a child.

“Father? Mother?” The girl stood paralyzed in fear, watching the two Elezens’ faces drop their confidence and smiles. They looked to each other and their eyes both searched with a panic for the little girl standing behind a broken column.

“You fools… You honestly think I want your drivels of peace?! I thrive off your fear!” The over looming demon cackled as it stepped forward. The Elezen man stepped forward, matching the confrontational stance the voidsent took.

“Katia, take Lanelle and leave this place.” The man said sternly, but the woman shook her head and raised her hand to the catalyst in his hand.

“You know I can’t do that; you need me to help funnel whatever aether I can to try and pacify that beast.” But her voice was small, even if her face smirked.

The demon snarled and bore its fangs, dripping with blood. “I should expect that you’d insult me so…” The crystal wrapped in leather and soldered with various colored metals gave a small hum, casting a white light about the area. The man held it in front of him, with his wife standing beside him, her hand atop his. “And yet you still think I’d fall prey to your games?!” He boomed, and began yelling in his voidtongue different incantations.

Using a free hand, the man waved open the book he had beside him, and with a flick across the page, began scribbling glyphs and writings in the air with the loose ink drawn from the book. It let out a piercing roar, and the girl hiding behind the column put her hands to her ears and closed her eyes. As the voidsent lunged forward, the man thrust his arm forward, casting light in a beam toward the monster. But it finished its spell, and with a burst of dark aether, slammed head on into the beam of light. The collision sent sharp concentrations of aether throughout the room, exploding into the stone surfaces and crumbling anything it touched.

The little girl was left cowering under a slab of a broken wall, leaning just up against the column she had been hiding behind. Once the dust settled, and the lights and glows faded, whimpers and sniffles echoed through the room. Shards of concrete pressed deep into her palms as the girl crawled out and looked around.

“Mother..?” The small voice called out, the streams of tears cleaning trails of dust from her cheeks. She stepped carefully around larger pieces of rubble, and her face dropped noticing the shimmering glow of crystalline sand. “Fath—” Her voice was lost, seeing the remnants and piercing red eyes staring right at her. Groaning turned into shrieks of anguish as the demon writhed in pain. It was as if its body was disintegrating right in front of the girl’s feet.

With a loud scream, the demon lunged itself with a last effort at the girl, and the lingering dark aether seeped through her skin and crawled its way through her body. Shrill cries and weeping did not slow the voidsent’s possession of the small child, and finally, once her skin stopped crawling, she fell to the cold ground beneath her.

Frozen from the sight of this, Lanelle could hardly blink. Her face was cool from the tears that stained the floorboards, and she couldn’t move a single muscle in her body. ‘It can’t be…’ Her thoughts finally came to. “It isn’t true..!” She said out loud, but the room had no answer. Her burning eyes darted to the door, and she stared for some time. “What have you done?!” She yelled, her voice aching from not having spoken so loud in many years.

Suddenly she heard the cackling very clearly from the door. The moment the voidsent’s voice reached her, her head began pounding. As if her mind was on fire, Lanelle cried out and tried to stand, but stumbled quickly over a stack of books. Her body crashed into a nearby bookshelf, and the almost-dead weight sent it toppling over, causing dust to take flight throughout the room. Books clattered about, falling across the room and on top of the Elezen’s head and shoulders. Her cries soon turned into sobbing as the voice rang clear in her head.

“Foolish girl… You think that silly dream is actually reality?”

The burning continued. The sobbing grew louder. ‘Reality…?’

“Reality, child… Look again.” Friend cackled once more. Her eyes shot open.

The same room. The same column. The same air…

The same two Elezen standing before her.

Facing her.

Their eyes with the same determination, same catalyst held up… Staring right at her.

Right at her…

The light began to glow, and the man waved open the book beside him. The glyphs appeared and took form. Their eyes locked. She couldn’t breathe the moment the light grew brighter. As the beam began to manifest and shoot its way over to her, Lanelle screamed in terror. Dark aether burst forth from her, piercing the beam of light directly through the man and woman. When she opened her eyes, the dust remained, and there in the shadows a new set of eyes stared back at her.

They looked as if… they were smiling. Those bright red eyes…

“What have you done..?” The voice cooed, with an echoing chuckle.

“I—..” Lanelle stuttered, her body trembling.

“Those fools, thinking they could harm you…” The voice soothed, and the girl gasped at what felt like a hand caressing her shoulder. “They hated you, didn’t they..?”

“No..!”

“Oh, yes. Why else would they turn on you like that?” This seemed all too entertaining for that dark voice. “But you did.. beautifully, child…”

Lanelle fell to her knees, but she continued to feel the icy ‘touch’, drawing back and forth across her shoulders. “I.. I did that..?” Her eyes scanned the floor. She could have sworn the glimmering sand turned red before her very eyes, and she rubbed them furiously.

“Why, of course! Who else but you? They envied your talent… as does everyone. Why do you think those stares come your way..? They see you as a threat…” The voice said matter-of-factly. She remembered all those years with the arcanist’s guild. Every peer, every teacher… they all avoided her, all glared her way, all looked at her as if she were an abomination. Her thoughts instantly flashed to the two Miqo’te in Limsa, their faces angry, and the Au’ra’s light aether sent a shiver down her spine. “They all look at you the same. They’ll hunt you down… Which is why you need me..” The Elezen could hardly breathe. “They deserve to suffer… they all must suffer. Every last one of them.”

“What should I do..?” Her voice scratched out, feeling as if she was going to be sick.

With a small laugh and a tighter grip, the voice whispered. “You know what you must do…”

Darkness.

The dust finally settled across new surfaces, and the Elezen’s body lay sprawled across broken shelving and toppled books. Her eyes were frozen open, and her breathing unstable. Her shoulders still felt cool as she remained motionless for what might have been moments, minutes… hours.

It was quiet.

Finally, with a pained gasp, Lanelle pushed herself to sit up. Labored breathing lasted throughout her struggle to find her feet, and she near fell over a second time trying to regain her balance. The blood rushed through her legs, sending spikes and needles across the girl’s body.

Lanelle stood there in the dark, examining the sad scene around her. This place was now broken… or was it always this way?

A momentary vision of a wood thrush flew through her mind, and instantly her heart dropped.

‘No…’

Her eyes fixated on a turned over bottle of ink, spilled across the floorboard. Inhaling deeply, Lanelle turned over books and splintered wood to find a quill, and snatched at a loose paper on the ground. Throwing herself to the floor, she slammed the paper down and scratched mercilessly at the ink on the ground to try and quench her quill.

“There is… no.. hope…” She scribbled, then quickly folded the page into three parts. Lanelle grabbed at the lantern nearby and slammed it against the ground, causing a small slab of glass to pierce her hand. She pulled out the candle and igniting the flame, she waited with shaking hands for the wax to melt. Drops of blood swirled with the candle wax as it fell onto the folded page. With no stamp nearby, she pressed her thumb into the burning wax to seal it.

With the letter in hand, the Elezen stumbled to her feet. Snatching the blanket out from under the toppled shelves, she tore at the fabric and wrapped it tightly around her injured hand, and made her way toward the door.

Her trembling hand froze at the handle. The hisses from right outside the door grew impatient. Inhaling deeply, she bit down on her lip hard and swung open the door, instantly feeling a heaviness overcome her. Slamming the door, she barred it shut and ran fast toward the Aftcastle.

Lanelle’s feet slowed to a normal pace and she tried to lower her heart rate as she approached the Maelstrom Command. Seeing the Storm Commander standing at her post, the girl gulped and held the letter out for the Miqo’te.

“For Eanrin.” She stated quietly. As soon as the letter left her hand, Lanelle turned and dashed off toward the Airship Landing. She had to leave… she had to go as far away from this citystate as possible…

Reaching the airship ticketer, she barely spoke proper words in between her heavy breathing.

“How.. how much to Ishgard?”

#The Golden Embers #Lanelle Lumiea #Eanrin Farthestshore

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yastaghr · 6 years ago

Text

Dusty Boxes

Characters: Alphys, Frisk, Undyne, Papyrus, Sans

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route - "I want to stay with you.", Medical Experimentation, Medical Trauma, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), POV Multiple

Ao3: Here

Summary: Frisk and their friends help Alphys dig through some old boxes at the lab.(Not a good summary, sorry)

Alphys stared at the boxes and boxes of old reports and notebooks. The dust spinning in the air was sickening - whether it was the remains of the dead or the decayed paper of centuries of scientific progress, the horror was the same. How had she never noticed this door before?

All of this data - what if it held the answers she needed to stabilize the Amalgamates? What if it contained records of someone else doing the exact same experiment? How stupid would that be, hurting so many monsters and their families when just reading one of these files would have told her what to expect?

A small hand tugged at her sleeve, pulling her out of it. Frisk looked up at her through their brand new glasses, beautiful red eyes filled with concern.

“I’m okay...thanks, F-f-frisk,” Alphys looked around the room again, this time taking in the massive heap of collapsed boxes shoved in a corner, the flickering fluorescent lights, the receding walls. Sorting through this chaotic excuse for a filing system would take ages.

“Actually...do you, um, think we could c-c-call Undyne? There’s a l-l-lot of boxes.”

Frisk shot her a thumbs up, then signed out a question. Alphys’ lips moved as she tried to work it out. Some of Frisk’s symbols were very different from Monster Hands. Everyone was learning to translate, but sometimes it was tough.

“you w-w-want to call the...bone...broth- oh. Oh! Yes, they’ll be, um, helpful? Papyrus is very o-o-organized and Sans...yeah. That’s a really g-g-good idea, Frisk!”

The human smiled at her. They pulled their phone out of their pocket and started fiddling.. As they worked, Alphys wandered further into the ancient store room. She started mapping, in her mind at least, the relative age of various files. Some of the writing looked absolutely archaic! There didn’t seem to be much of a chronological ordering. Decaying cardboard leaned against colorful plastic. Maybe it was by subject?

Alphys’ thoughts trailed away as she paced through the caked dust, her friend's boisterous voices crackling through the cell’s speakers and disturbing the long quiet of the room.

Papyrus surveyed the neat columns of stacked paperwork in the hall before him. With his expert advice the unorganised files were being transformed into a neat chronology! Of course, his brother’s suggestion of sorting by handwriting and quantity of dust was of some help. Without the direction of the Great Papyrus, however, they would never have gotten this far!

“PAPYRUS! This one’s full of loopy dotted stuff. We got a place for that?”

He thrust his sternum proudly towards his friend, “INDEED! LOOPY DOTS ARE IN AISLE 3, ROW J!”

Thanks!” Undyne set off into the piles, “By the way, have you seen your brother lately? Alphys saw him disappear into the unlit mountains almost an hour ago and hasn’t seen him since.”

Papyrus patted his mandible thoughtfully, “NOW THAT YOU MENTION IT, NO! MY LAZY BROTHER HAS PROBABLY FALLEN ASLEEP AGAIN. I SHALL GO FETCH HIM IMMEDIATELY!”

Undye looked at him oddly, “You do realise he can’t help falling asleep like that? Punk’s got some kind of a medical thing. Frisk told me.”

Papyrus smiled brightly, “I KNOW! HE’S ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THAT, BUT I KNOW HE CAN DO BETTER! AT THE VERY LEAST HE COULD FALL ASLEEP WHERE I CAN SEE HIM. THEN I CAN GIVE HIM A BLANKET SO HE DOESN’T GET COLD!”

His best friend tilted her head, “I thought you said skeletons couldn’t get cold.”

“WE CAN’T! BUT THAT’S WHAT ALL THE MOVIES SAY YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DO.”

She grinned, “Gotcha. So what are you waiting around here for? GO FIND THAT LAZY BROTHER AND WRAP HIM IN THE WARMEST BLANKET YOU CAN FIND!”

Papyrus saluted, “YES UNDYNE!”

He dove through the doorway into the cavern of paperwork, clearing Frisk’s approaching head by only a few inches.

When Papyrus found Sans he was sitting in a circle of scribbled paperwork. Three empty boxes were stacked behind him. One of their pet blasters hovered next to him, a pink lantern with cat ears on it dangling from its jaws.

“SANS WHAT ARE YOU DOING? ALPHYS SPECIFICALLY TOLD US TO LEAVE THE PAPERWORK IN THE BOXES UNTIL EVERYTHING HAD BEEN SORTED!”

His brother jumped, dropping a set of grainy images messily around him.

“wha- uh, hey bro. i know, just...” his skull rotated to avoid Papyrus’ gaze, “it’s my file, bro. never got to read it fully.”

Papyrus collapsed his knees into a messy tailor’s seat just beyond the ring of documents.

“OH,” his voice was plastic and crispy black slacks, “ANYTHING INTERESTING?”

Sans shrugged, “not really. no notes yet, just the figures. 20 mg of dried patience here, tibia cracked after 3.82 centimeters of separation there. ‘bout what you’d expect, really.”

Papyrus fiddled with his left glove, “I’M SORRY.”

Sans patted his patella awkwardly, “hey, what’d i say about apologizing for him? s’not your fault.”

Papyrus’ roving sockets stalled on one of the clearer pictures. A much smaller Sans stared blankly at the camera with one working eye. The other was stuffed with red-stained gauze and had fresh cracks around the edges. His jaw was wired to his skull in three places, and anyone who knew how skeletons healed could see the wires were already half-covered in new bone.

“I SHOULD HAVE NOTICED SOONER. HE WAS ALWAYS SO COLD, AND HE NEVER ANSWERED MY QUESTIONS. HE-”

Fragile, unevenly bleached arms wrapped around him.

“naw, bro,” Sans’ voice was a cracked whisper vibrating into his collarbone, “you’re perfect. suspicion isn’t in your nature - how could i blame you for thinking your dad was perfect? you saved me, you taught me how to eat and talk and trust other monsters. i’d never have survived without as cool a guy as you taking care of me. i love you so much bro, you’ve got no idea.”

Papyrus wailed into his brother’s hoodie, “BUT HE HURT YOU SO MUCH!”

“yeah. but you taught me how to love. besides, if frisk can forgive us for trying to take their soul to break the barrier, i can forgive you for taking so long to open that door. maybe i can even forgive him - after all, he didn’t realise his experiment had developed a soul.”

Papyrus gave in and let the tears fall. His little brother just hugged him, scarred frame radiating so much love and forgiveness that it was a wonder the humans on the other side of the world couldn’t feel it.

Alphys was snout deep in one of the dusty files when Frisk tapped her on the shoulder. She dropped the file, papers flying everywhere, and sneezed. A puff of dust disturbed the thick air.

“Sorry, sorry,” she turned to the young human, “Did you, um, want something?”

Frisk signed. Alphys’ lips moved as she worked it out.

“You found a file that has weird writing in it?” Frisk nodded, “What kind of writing?”

Frisk signed that the script looked like weird symbols.

“Oh. Okay. Do you want m-m-me to take a look?”

Frisk nodded again. Alphys got to her feet, casting a forlorn look at the scattered papers. Before she could open her mouth to ask, Frisk had already bent down to pick them up. Alphys joined them. They soon had the papers back in order and tucked safely away in the file. This accomplished, they set out.

“Alright, what am I looking at?”

Papyrus wrung his gloves under the pressure of Undyne’s one eye. Sans had only made him promise not to tell anyone about things, right? So obviously it was okay to bring the former Captain of the Royal Guard into the stacks of paper and point her at the right box. Obviously. His gut was just going to have to sit there and stop complaining.

Anyway, he hadn’t said anything to Undyne. He’d just...let her follow him. That was it. It wasn’t his fault if Undyne chose to follow him, was it?

Suddenly she snorted, “Snrk. Pap, really? You made me a puzzle again?”

Well no, he hadn’t, but that was fine. If Undyne thought this was a puzzle, he could play along. Sans always encouraged him to enjoy his puzzles. Papyrus suspected it had something to do with all of the tests they’d had Sans do back then. Some part of him still thought that doing good on tests was important, and that it meant safety. Making Papyrus safe was very important to him, and that was rather touching…

Or it could just be that Sans wanted him to be happy. Puzzles made him happy. Therefore Sans liked it when he did puzzles because they made him happy.

Something like that, anyway. No matter what, Sans would be happy that he was doing a puzzle. Therefore he could let Undyne think this was a puzzle. In fact, it was, in a way. Just not a puzzle with a very happy solution.

One yellow eye surveyed the area, “Okay. I see...boxes. Lots of boxes. Am I supposed to move them?”

Papyrus shook his head. She gave him a look.

“Can’t you just tell me? This is STUPID!”

Papyrus shook his head. If he told her he’d be breaking the promise to Sans.

“FINE! OKAY!” Her voice dropped in volume to something more normal, “Is the puzzle in a box?”

He nodded.

“Which one?”

He scuffed his boot pointedly. She stared at him. He scuffed it again, louder this time. She looked down.

“Oh.”

She turned around and stomped over to the right pile of boxes.

“These?”

He nodded. She snatched up the top box and plopped it on the ground. He winced as she tore it open with about 250,000% more force than necessary. The box disintegrated under the strain, spraying photos, folders, and binders all over the floor.

She looked at him guiltily, “Sorry, Pap. I ruined it, didn’t I?”

He shook his head. No, as much as it pained him to see that amount of unnecessary mess, it really didn’t matter whether or not the box survived. He doubted it would have done so after she saw the reports, anyway.

Her brows furrowed, and she looked back down at the mess. Then she groaned.

“A reading puzzle? Ugh, I hate those.”

Papyrus couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye. He heard the thud as she dropped to the ground, then paper rustled.

Silence filled the dusty cavern of dead paper as Undyne read. The flipping of pages was the only interruption. That and the grumbling of an annoyed fish monster, but that hardly registered. The sound followed Undyne to a lot of places - he wasn’t even sure she was always moving her mouth to make it. It could just be background noise, like the music Frisk had signed to them about.

A longer than usual period of silence drew his attention. Papyrus turned.

Undyne was rereading the same page over and over again. Her hands were trembling, her arms tense with barely restrained fury. She reread it again. It wasn’t changing. Not even the former Captain of the Royal Guard could wish this away.

“Papyrus.”

Her voice was low and deadly.

“Please tell me this is a really bad joke.”

He shook his head. Her voice went on, wheedling.

“A prank? Did your brother put you up to this?”

He shook his head.

“Please don’t tell me this really happened.”

Papyrus nodded with a decisive finality drenched in grief.

Her head turned back to the sheet. She read it again, slower now. Then her fists clenched and it tore in two.

Her voice was calm, in an odd sort of way. Not happy. It was just calm. For Undyne, that was a lot more terrifying that spears.

“You know, it’s weird. I don’t want to believe this, and yet...there’s a lot of stuff that fits.”

She rolled her shoulders, loosening every muscle in such a way that she would be ready to fight. He knew that move well.

“Where are the freaks?”

He shrugged.

“You don’t know?”

He nodded.

“AND YOU’RE OKAY WITH THIS?!!!”

Papyrus faced her fully. She gulped.

“Sorry. I know you...I just...HOW THE HECK CAN YOU FEEL SAFE, NOT KNOWING WHERE THEY ARE?!! HOW CAN SANS?!!”

“how can i what?”

Both Undyne and Papyrus managed to flinch and spin at exactly the same time in exactly the same movement. Sans had peered around the edge of the boxes, a stack of binders in his arms. He looked between their guilty faces and the broken box.

“oh.”

Undyne clearly wasn’t as prepared to handle the blank expression as Papyrus was. She crumpled away, gulping. He just walked, slowly, over to his brother and took the box. Sans’ arms didn’t move. None of him did.

Undyne blurted out, “HE DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING! I WAS JUST-” Her voice dropped into a whisper as Sans’ eye lights returned, “I was just following him. I thought it was a puzzle he made me.”

Sans arms slowly lowered to his sides. He was still tense as a wire and NOT LOOKING at Papyrus. Papyrus tried to ignore the little bubble of unhappiness that was forminging in his SOUL. Sans didn’t know it, but this would help, he was sure of it.

Undyne muttered a curse, barely audible under her breath, and then said, “Sorry.”

The look in her eye and the face Sans turned on her made Papyrus glad. She wanted to help Sans, just like he’d thought. And while he didn’t believe it entirely, Sans actually looked as if he might accept that she would try.

It was nice to know he’d been right.

Alphys tried to allay her guilt by saying that it wasn’t really spying. They were in here to sort through the mess, after all, and just because some of the papers were in the same box didn’t mean they belonged there. A part of her brain objected that that step was supposed to come later. She hastily buried that thought.

Anyway, Frisk had asked her to read this file, so stopping now would be rude. It was dry stuff, just experiment notes on well-known substances. Albeit rather large amounts of said substances, but still.

The next section made her pause. It mentioned DT, and that was her specialty after all, but...but the way the author talked about it made it sound, if not commonplace, then at least familiar to the scientifically inclined. That couldn’t be right - it had taken her ages to identify the compound. It couldn’t be common...could it?

She read on, appalled at the tremendous quantity of DT that seemed to have been wasted on a fruitless experiment. The author only seemed to have been testing how much physical DT it took to form a stable mass. Why anyone would be interested in that-

The next paragraph stopped her dead. The author described a surgical procedure in which said mass was implanted into a living socket.

“Wha- who w-w-would...why…”

Her voice trailed off. The file referenced the subject as C0-M1-C5-ANS. Something about that serial number was familiar to her, but what-

“whatcha doin there, alph.”

She started, flinging the file into the air. Once more papers scattered around the dusty floor. A skeletal hand picked them up. It was attached to a dark-socketed skull.

“huh. interesting reading material. where’d you find this?”

Alphys tried to speak but could only squeak. Annoyed, she made the sign monsters had universally accepted as meaning ‘FRISK’.

“ah. shoulda expected that. our little human loves to stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The skeleton bent down and started slowly gathering papers. It looked as though he was lingering over each and every one.

“and i suppose it’s too much to believe that you didn’t read these.” She nodded her head glumly. Sans sighed and asked, “which one had you got to?”

“I...I w-w-was...DT. In a mass. And they w-w-were, um, surgeryintosomeone’seyesocket. Yeah.”

Alphys couldn’t make out Sans’ expression as he demanded, “what did you think of it?”

Her jaw gaped. What kind of a question was that?

“It’s horrible? Not j-j-just the surgery, I mean, the science is b-b-bad. DT is dangerous. Why would anyone t-t-try to make a ball of it? Well, I did, but not that big! It’s just a w-w-waste. And there’s NO WAY I’d try to imp-p-plant it in someone. Even if they, um, consented? And I d-d-don’t think th-”

“they didn’t,” He interrupted her, “no, they never asked. they didn’t think i was a mons-fudge.”

She’d have to buff the snout scales above her mouth tonight. Her claws were leaving scratches all over them. Her knees felt weak, too.

“Th-th-they di- di-”

“hey, alph, easy! breathe with me. come on, iiiiiiiiin. ouuuuuut. alphys, listen to me, alph. please. iiiiiiin. ouuuuut. iiiiiiiiiiin. ouuuuuut. iiii-oh. your hugging me. okay. hi alph.”

She wailed, “SAAANSSS!”

“yeah, alph?”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?”

She felt him try to shrug. He calmly answered, “didn’t think it was that important. i don’t have a whole lot of memories from back then. when pap found me, well, i wasn’t really sans before that. i was just a bunch of pain and confusion. and i didn’t really know you that well until recently,” he got a glimpse of her face and rushed, “it’s not anything wrong you did, or because you are a scientist or anything. just...i don’t like talking about it. only paps knew, before today.”

Alphys blotted off her tears in his hoodie. Then “D-d-did you ever, um, talk with anyone else?”

He shook his head, “no. just pap. he’s so cool, you know? he got me out of that place and took me in. he taught me everything. how to talk, how to eat real food, how to walk comfortably, how to read. the first book i ever read aloud to him was fluffy bunny. he had some physics textbooks that i’ve memorised. maybe i can go to college once we’re settled up on the surface.”

She smiled weakly, “That would be n-n-nice. We could, um, go to classes togeth-th-ther? I’m such a mess. Undyne wants to study human history. The real history. ‘Cause I lied to her. About anime.”

“hey, don’t beat yourself up,” he tried to comfort her, “people make stupid decisions, and once you’ve made a choice it’s hard to change your mind. you owned up to it. she forgave you. that’s enough.”

“Why do you alw-w-ways come up with stuff like that? After everything you’ve been through?” She asked.

Sans shrugged, “pap read a lot of books. psychology stuff. maybe you can help me convince him to go for a degree?”

She nodded, quick little motions that had her head spinning - or maybe that was the shock. Probably the shock. It was definitely the shock that made her ask, “Um...which eye?”

He blinked at her, clearly trying to remember what she meant. Then his face grew a little bit sadder as he lifted his hand and tapped under his right eye. He said, “this one. i can’t see out of it at all now. the mass didn’t do anything except make me bleed when i get hurt. i guess i can ask frisk if there are any tricks to getting it to stop. it doesn’t want to coagulate, so i keep bleeding for days. it sucks.”

“I have, um, I mean, I m-m-might know a few tricks. Bratty has hemophilia, which means her blood doesn’t c-c-clot either. I used to help her with her bandages. I could, um...show you?”

He nodded, “that would be nice.”

Frisk hadn’t meant to start a landslide. They’d been trying to get one of the boxes that was just a little bit too high up for them to reach. They couldn’t see the boxes on top of it. When they’d finally gotten it loose, the entire pile shifted. It collapsed on top of them. There wasn’t a whole lot of it, but unfortunately, it was paper. Paper was heavy. Not heavy enough to hurt them, but heavy enough to pin them down. Now they’d have to wait for someone to come rescue them.

“hey, human. i don’t have to ask if you got the memo, do i?”

Frisk turned their head. Sans was standing a few feet away and grinning at them. They stuck their tongue out at him. It was the only reasonable response.

He chuckled and said, “hey. why don’t i lend you a hand? i’m pretty sure pap wouldn’t like having a pancake for a friend.”

Frisk nodded as best they could. He came over. The pile around them lit up blue while his left eye turned blue and yellow. Frisk felt the heap lift off of them. They wriggled out from underneath. Sans let the pile sag back onto the ground. Frisk jumped up and hugged him.

Sans hugged them back, saying, “heh. don’t let that paperwork bog you down, kid.”

They stepped back and signed their thanks.

He said, “don’t mention it. hey, while your here, can i ask you something?”

They knocked on the air twice.

He closed his eyes and said, “alphys showed me something. she said you’d found it. what i want to know is this,” Sans opened his eyes. The sockets were dark. Frisk shivered. He continued, “what were you doing with my file?”

Frisk gulped and signed quickly. They’d been trying to find Papyrus and Undyne to ask where to put a box when they’d seen Undyne tear apart a box with her bare hands. The files had scattered everywhere, and one had gotten forgotten in the cleanup. They’d taken it and seen the weird writing. They’d been curious. They asked Alphys to look at it. They were sorry if they’d done something bad.

Sans sighed. His sockets closed. When they opened, his eye lights were back. He said, “it’s okay, kid. i’m not mad. i’m just...a lot has happened today,” he breathed in deeply, then asked, “do you still want to know what’s inside it?”

Frisk nodded.

“okay,” he said, “it’s not exactly kid friendly, but i can summarize. some very bad scientists took one of the dead humans and made a little skeleton. they did it so they could run some painful experiments. but somewhere along the way the skeleton developed a soul. one of the bad scientists had a real son. he found the hurt skele. he took the skele home and taught him how to be a monster. the bad scientists went away, and the two skeletons were happy together.”

Frisk’s eyes watered. That was horrible! Their imagination was filling the gaps in with really, really bad things. And Sans had lived through that? They jumped back over and hugged him tight. If they had their way, they’d never let go.

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0bsidian5ire · 6 years ago

Text

Accelerate the Fall

Summary: For the people of Eorzea, the Rising is a time to remember all that changed with the 7th Umbral Calamity.

For Summoner Kharagal Mierqid, it's a time to celebrate Bahamut's escape from Dalamud. Preferably without freaking everyone else out. Fortunately, she's got good friends and knows of a great place to let loose.

Originally posted here.

"You sure you don't want to watch the first showing of this year's The Rising with us, Kharagal?" Carmen asked as she finished changing into something flashier than her usual ninja leathers. For the huyr, that was yet another set of ninja leathers that were a brilliant shade of Rouges' Guild green.

Kharagal glanced up from where she was trying to diagram out all the different versions of Bio III in an effort to keep busy and grimaced to herself. "Not really." She played with one of her horn-rings and looked out the window at the Lominsan sunset. The color reminder her of Teraflare. "It's not the same for me as it is for you guys. I shouldn't spoil it for you."

"Because you where still in the Nhaama Desert?" Carmen opened the door to the rest of the house and looked back at Kharagal. "You know nobody thinks less of you for not being here while the Calamity happened."

"Yeah, I know." Kharagal rested her head against the wall behind her. All she had seen of the Calamity was that one night, Dalamud ceased to rise and months later, a wave of aether had swept across the desert. It would be much easier for her if that was really all it was. Her aether unconsciously shifted around to match itself more closely to the Dreadwyrm's, reminding her of why that wasn't the real reason she didn't want to watch The Rising. "Attunement's a little too close I think." It wasn't quite the truth, but it was close enough.

Carmen's eyes narrowed. "And you think that'll make a difference tonight?"

Kharagal nodded. "Normally it's okay that there's a lot of bleed, but I've never felt him this happy since we sent the Warring Triad on to the Lifestream. Not to mention that the rest of the eikons aren't all that talkative at the moment, so I'm not getting a break from him either."

Carmen was about to say something when Alex walked in behind her. The elezen glanced at his wife and arced an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

She gave Kharagal a pointed look. "Nothing major. It's just that Kharagal thinks Bahamut's being too pushy."

Kharagal glared at Carmen and decided not to correct her. "Instead of remembering what it's like to be stuck in Dalamud for five millennia like normal, I'm remembering how good it feels to break out of Dalamud." Kharagal's eyes met Alex's and saw nothing but understanding there. "I don't want to remember how horrible it was for everyone one else. Not yet, not when all I can think about is how it finally gave us a chance to send him on."

Alex gave her a searching look and nodded. "Kharagal, it's fine. Breaking out is always messy." By this time, his blue eyes glowed gold and the familiar blood-red aura writhed around him. "You want to have fun blasting stuff to pieces with Demi-Bahamut on the anniversary of the Calamity? Go do it. You'll feel better afterwards."

"And after that, go get some sleep. No wonder you haven't been sleeping well all week." Carmen waved and followed Alex out of the room. Kharagal let out the breath she'd been holding. It still surprised her when her surrogate family members didn't just accept that it was normal for her to hear voices in her head, but encouraged her to go along with them when possible.

After sunset, Kharagal teleported to Northern Thanalan and made for Dalamud's Talons to enter Dalamud. The Alliance had sealed up all the currently known entrances to the caverns beneath Carteneau, but there was nothing they could to do to divert the atherial flow that led from the internment hulks to the Talons. Provided one was a master at manipulating aether, the hulks were essentially a short, if subtle, teleport away.

She emerged from the flow on the internment hulk where Nael van Darnus had been fought. The air was thick with Bahamut's aether and Kharagal automatically went into Dreadwrym Trance without even thinking about it. She eyed one of the remaining holotransmiters and let Deathflare tunnel though it. Take that Nael. The sight of melting Allagan architecture was one of the most satisfying things Kharagal had seen all day. In the back of her head, she felt Sophia's pleasure at the deserved destruction and Sephirot's wry irony at her and Nael's respective roles in relation to the Dreadwrym. It was the first emotion she'd felt from the other eikons in a while. Kharagal still wasn't as deep into Dalamud as she wanted to be. "'Tania!" she called out and sent a pulse of aether out.

With a roar, Twintania rose out of the depths of Dalamud and nearly crashed onto the hulk. "Channeler!" the dragon shouted, "You are coming below?"

"Yes!" Kharagal walked over and climbed onto Twintania's back. "The lowest hulk is nearly gone. We finish with it today."

"Good!" Twintania took off and plummeted onto the lowest hulk. The aether emitter had been broken off it and the decking around the control console was pock-marked with Twister indents and Conflagration footprints. Twintania had been busy.

Kharagal inspected the joint where the internment hulk me Dalamud's inner shell. As melted as it was from repeated Liquid Hells, the metal still held. She summoned Demi-Bahamut who gleefully punctured the metal with multiple casts of Ahk Morn. It still held. "No magic I can normally form breaks it. I assume you're trying more then Liquid Hell?."

"I am testing everything I know on it and they are not working." Twintania told her. "Megaflare might do it."

"I still can't cast that one," Kharagal grumbled. "Teraflare it is." She leaned back against the control console and began pulling on the aether around her. Demi-Bahamut coiled around her and rested his head on her shoulder. "At least here the aether isn't a problem."

Twintania curled up against a bulkhead across from Kharagal and narrowed her eyes at Kharagal. "You are still getting visions when you cast it."

"Yeah." A memory of Dalamud crumbling around her accompanied the influx of aether. "Right now, I'm seeing it even when I'm not trying to channel him at all. Hydaelyn is back where she was she was when Dalamud fell and I can still sense all the aethertrails of the fall." Kharagal looked over at where Bahamut had been reforming. "I'm even annoyed other people don't think it's a good thing he finally got out."

"And now you know why mortals can't understand us!" Twintania laughed.

"I suppose that's why Tiamat hates me." Kharagal shivered as an image of Tiamat, unbound, gazing up at her in horror was scrawled against her mind's eye. She scratched Demi-Bahamut's tail. "She tells me to never come back to the Delta Quadrant until my aether stops trying to take the shape of an abomination." Kharagal rolled her eyes. "Never mind that at the time, I was facing an Ascian and had better things to worry about then what my own aether would be like afterwards."

"You are not going back to her."

"Tiamat?" Kharagal snorted. "No, not when I have the rest of Azys Lla to explore. Besides, I know how Nidhogg is when he's angry. I am not going though that again." Her pull on aether tapered off and Demi-Bahamut looped though the air over Kharagal. "Well, that should be good enough."

"Do you want to cast it from my back?" Twintania shook herself and got to her feet.

"Yes," Kharagal laughed as she climbed on Twintania. Last time, the section of decking she'd been on had given way beneath her. Twintania flew right over the joint and hovered there.

Kharagal took all the aether she'd absorbed from Dalamud and pulled it into the Dreadwrym Trance she was already in. Usually she could only cast Teraflare when she was desperate enough to pull from the hidden aether reserves every mage had, but Dalamud was saturated with Dreadwrym aether. Absorbing it as her own was almost like drinking from an never-ending vial of Max-Ether; the hardest part was stopping. As the force of the trance expanded, the parts of Kharagal's aetherial aura that didn't match her body became more visible. The usual crown of dragon horns and Allagan augments were first, followed by the massive set of double-jointed wings. Aether-claw tipped fingers traced out the geometry of Teraflare and Kharagal forced a monstrous quantity of aether into it. The geometry split the aether into a trillion lines and diffracted them across the joint and parts of the internment hulk.

Metal shrieked and the joint disintegrated. The internment hulk began bleeding fire and crashed further down into Dalamud. Ceruleum leaked down the wall, aiming for the fire-wreathed hulk. They met in an explosion of superheated metal and unstable aether. Twintania roared in approval and flew out of the blast zone, Demi-Bahamut close behind her. In her head, Kharagal felt Bahamut's pleasured aether lick over her in contentment. I am never tempering thou, mortal, not even if the Echo is lost, Bahamut rumbled. Thou desirest the power to break the chains others cast, with little regard for the cost! It is a waste to change a longing that resonates with mine own so well.

My favorite place for you is the Lifestream, Kharagal shot back.

A place I am free to go where I want; for now it is freedom enough! Bahamut's aether licked down the parts of Kharagal's aura that mimicked his before sleepily coiling around her in the back of her head. It would have been more terrifying if Kharagal hadn't seen dragons in Anyx Trine do the same thing with their dragonets. It also was not the first time Bahamut had decided she was more useful to him untempered.

Twintania landed on the same internment hulk Kharagal had warped in on, jolting Kharagal out of her thoughts. "This feels good," the dragon laughed. "I do not want to wait long until the rest are gone."

"You still want to leave with me then?" Kharagal asked as she climbed off Twintania.

"Perhaps. You say the world is changed from what I knew. I will think on it." Twintania launched into the air and divebombed back into the depths of Dalamud.

Hopefully it is changed enough for you, Kharagal thought to herself before casting herself into the atherial flow.

The teleport back to Dalamud's Talons was easier then the teleport into Dalamud. What made up for it was the sudden loss of a Teraflare-powered Dreadwrym Trance and Demi-Bahamut. Kharagal's aether collapsed back into what served as its non-attuned shape and Kharagal leaned against a talon of aether and yawned. For once there was no agitated need to go do something, except sleep, which rarely came these days. A mental check on Bahamut revealed he was still coiled around her and for once not paying attention to anything in particular.

Kharagal smiled to herself and teleported to the house in Mist she and her siblings shared. She burst out laughing when it turned out nobody else was home. It looked like she would finally be getting a fuller night's sleep then everyone else would.

Author's Notes: Based on the headcanon that tuning your aether to a eikon's doesn't just give you knowledge of how to cast their techniques, but also the memories of when those techniques were cast. Which for Teraflare is well... yeah...

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #fanfiction #ffxiv bahamut #twintania #dalamud #warrior of light #oc #theorycrafting #summoner #awkward summoner moments

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