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ruckusfiddlesticks · 1 year ago

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"Ask me something about WoL/MSQ canon-specific Ruckus!"

Chi: Why did WoL!Ruckus start working with the Scions? Who was his first point of contact, what kind of relationship did he have with them and the work they were doing together?

That doesn't really deviate from canon much-

He ran into Thancred during his early Ul'dahn days, they had a very informational-exchangey relationship, strained by ARR!Thancred's casual skirt-chasing. Kinda put-off by his tendancy to turn up, conveniently, after most of the work is done.... but Thancred also witnesses Ruckus being absolutely devastated by the outcome of the Ifrit mission, and it's really after that point that he commits himself to the Scions fully and wholly, hoping to not repeat the failure with other primals. Everybody else in the Scions sees his victory over Ifrit as a hopeful victory, but Ruckus is deeply and personally wrecked by it.

As for other scion general 1st-impressions... he's charmed by Tataru's sing-songing front desk vibes from the absolute outset, mildly intimidated by team Yda & Papalymo both for being *more skilled* than him at the job's he's juggling at ARR's outset (Pugilist/Thaumaturge), and kinda indifferent about Y'shtola because he's still very obsessed with Astraea at this point, all her intellectual charm points are things he's already pining for in someone else.

Ruckus was reluctant at first, to venture down to Vesper Bay's Scion HQ, because of the negative impression he has with Lolorito's shipping empire- it took some reassurance for their non-affiliation with the monetarists to feel at home returning to the Waking Sands, and he was absolutely on board in immediately understanding Minfilia's post-2.0 position on relocating HQ to maintain neutrality.

Merry- 1. what are the biggest differences between wol ruckus and rp Ruckus?

WoL Ruckus is just more accustomed to rolling up his sleeves and getting Big Shit Done, but he’s helped by the powers of plot-steering direction, where RP Ruckus flounders a little for lack of focus.

RP ruckus is a lot more recreationally people-oriented, and definitely a bigger Trader and Merchant than fighter- I don’t think WoL Ruckus has half the culinarian re-rooting that’s been going on with RP Ruck, just not time and space to hone that.

RP Ruckus has the hometown guilt of not being around for Bowl of Embers, but WoL Ruckus bears the weight of killing Ifrit barefistedly but not actually saving his neighbors, which slaps an extra layer of unresolved disconnect/discomfort from Drybone on him. He’s also buried more allies in the Lichyard, and associates his hometown more heavily with failures and death.

He’s still very lighthearted/upbeat in tone, but sees that cheerful levity as more front-faced obligation sometimes than RP Ruckus does. RP Ruckus is working through interpersonal life in a way that’s more intimate and less broad strokes, he has a lot more insecurity about where his life is headed, but still enjoys the freedoms of being largely whim-blown.

Post-Shadowbringers WoL!Ruckus has moved on from waxing so nostalgic about his pre-calamital past... he's seen from Emet-Selch how putting loss of the past on a pedestal can come at the expense of hope for the future.

2. were the variants to meet, what would they admire each other for, and what would they dislike in each other?

I think lots of these were covered by question 1, but they’d envy each other respectively for feeling as though the other had their life more together- WoL Ruckus would envy RP variant his lackadaisical freelancing, but also impressed by his committment to the local legacy & Drybone's infrastructure...that's something that never truly crossed WoL Ruckus's mind.

Rp Ruck would be in awe of how many Tribes Canon!Ruck has forged progressive alliances with, and afraid Pakeke would be more impressed with his other-self. WoL!Ruckus is very consciously aware how many beast tribal peoples he’s slaughtered to broker that peace

3. what's auntie think of wol ruckus? how does their relationship change?

Auntie has absolutely piggybacked/cashed in on WoL!nephew’s fame by now! Youngest cousin is definitely guilty of selling his smallclothes. Eldest cousin is currently one of Tataru’s seamstresses.c

Their relationship has definitely been strained by Ul’dahn public opinion following The Banquet, but his cousins were absolutely the informants giving him pulse on the undercurrents of when to return to Ul’dah and which households were doubtful of rumors surrounding the coup.

Ruckus has a lot more pull with his auntie as the WoL, and tends to dislike the showstopping fuss that goes on at her Salon when he steps through the door (and suspects she strongly detests being the less Important person in the room, when he does).

But he’s both frustrated and amused by his living relatives, on the whole- Auntie just sees him as less of a wandering bum when there’s some titles and public recognition to back his adventuring.

Jun- Does wol ruckus multiclass? What are his canon jobs?

(I’m Omni 90; but I try to keep WoL Ruck in like with my gameplay style)

Ruckus does multiclass- the only jobs that aren’t truly canonical for him are DRK, RPR & DRG - although he was a lancer up to level 30!

He learned how to Tank mainly for lone fieldwork survivability (FATEs) and has never led the party through any canonical dungeon event- usually he’s a DPS, and Healer when he’s mentoring new adventurers (Sprout-care!)

In ARR he was a MNK/BLM, Post-Castrum he picked up Rogue and Red Mage which made the throughline into HW Era, where Machinist, which became his primary job. He thematically learned Sam & Ninja during Stormblood & pretty much dabbled around in all the others somewhere between. Endwalker patches & going forward into Dawntrail, he'll be a Bard main, though he regularly flexes between all ranged phys jobs.

- Who are some non-Scion NPCs he gets along with well? Who can’t he stand?

He quite likes the Company of Heroes trio of Brayflox, Shamani & Riol- feels a close kinship with them. Fond of the ‘buki bros, considers the Skysteel machinists & the Redbills crew mates, loves the rogues & thinks Oboro’s a stickinthemud.

The VanuVanu, Arkasodara & Vath are especially dear to him, so are the 789th Order Kobold lazeabouts & the Dwarves- the Brotherhood of Ash was a late late game extended hand of wary friendship. (He’s a Tribal completionist.) Wildly envious of Pipin Tarupin's classic prettyboy defender position, but really can’t hate him for it.

Ruckus has great difficulty with Fordola’s grudging help and desperately wants her to become overnight-friendlier. He considers Yuyuhase the worst piece of fucking trash nemesis. Probably still fights the urge to smirk when thinking about Teledji’s death. He thinly tolerates Hancock but considers him a huge sellout to the worst kinds of people.

- Are there any raid/trial questlines that are canon?

All raids and trials are canon for him, and the Weapons Trials in particular had him lay down Machinist’s kit for awhile and get better at Barding- he got a lot of a shit for...sloppily piloting of the G-Warrior, a very nail-biting go at Sapphire weapon. Cid has never been more disappointed in him.

Alexander is canon for both RP and WoL -lavored Ruckus, though the Bigwest Gobbieflock and Ironworks connections forged there were more significant for non-WoL Ruck overall!

- Are there details about Ruckus!Azem

Ruckus!Azem is a big ??? Mystery to me, though… he was proooooobably Bacchus until canon josses otherwise-inevitably

Prompt -Which death grieved him the most? Which death left the longest lasting impression on him? Which death, if any, left him with conflicted feelings?

The answer to all of these is the outcome of Level 20 MSQ.

Papalymo’s hold-the-line conscious sacrifice is also something met with gut levels of respect, and he quite regrets Ysayle’s lost opportunity to see a neo-Ishgardian dream realized.

He dwells a lot more on Haurchefant’s dying directive than the loss of Haurchefant, himself- I’ve got other WoLs who miss him a LOT more deeply/dearly.

Jim - Is WoL Ruckus all in about this adventurer/Warrior of life/hero of eorzea thing, or is he uncomfortable being put in this position? Basically, is this something he wants?

He's grown into taking it in stride as his role has expanded to intercontinental/national diplomacy, and sees himself as more of a hopeful rallying point to inspire other (more skilled) people to action than a warrior-hero himself. He sees the blessing of light as his calling to get out into the world and 're-attune' peoplegroups to one another, foster connections, and try his best to face problems head on when no one else can bring themselves to step up first.

He's definitely all-in for adventure, and the prospect of exploration somewhere new generally excites him. Sometimes the weight of responsibility feels a little misplaced, but he sees himself as having just enough edge over things capable of tempering to lend morale-bolstering support. Shadowbringers-era really glued a steady team around him in a new, comfortable way, and Ruckus tends to prefer operating as a 'We' as opposed to a 'Me', when it comes to Scion activity.

He also really likes to sneak away and try out something totally new in places where no one recognizes him, but that happens less and less these days.

Rinalle/Elyanni- Is there anything about this job that makes him happy in between all the *gestures* stuff?

Everything. The breadth of the journey, I think, is worth the struggle- If given the chance to trade places with his other self and let someone else take up his role…. I think he’d be heavily reluctant to give it up.

#ruckus fiddlesticks #some copypaste from twitter #Wol questions

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bauslut · 3 years ago

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ii. what makes a man?

pairing: aaron hotchner x rowan rivers

word count: 3.840k

warnings: canon typical violence -- blood, gore, mentions of murder, discussion of murder, discussion of weapons, cursing, trauma, dealing with trauma, death of children

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“here you are,” jj bore a kind smile as she slid a manila folder towards the brunette, “here’s your official welcome to the bau. i’m sorry it wasn’t on more.. positive terms.”

“oh,.it’s quite all right,” rowan’s eyes widened, “this is what we’re here--”

“she’s sitting in my spot,” rossi chuckled, “but i don’t mind.”

“are you sure?” rowan stammered, a rosy blush painting her cheeks, “i-i can get up and move--”

“don’t sweat it,” rossi nodded curtly, “there are plenty of open seats.”

“hey baby girl,” a wide, jovial, grin painted morgan’s lips as a woman entered the room, her blonde locks intricately woven into an up-do, “don’t you look delicious today?”

“as always,” the woman scrunched her nose, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, “how are you this morning baby-cakes?”

“hey there!” a chirp startled rowan, sounding from her left, “i’m emily, but around here, i’m referred to as prentiss.”

she was met with kind eyes, a warm mocha hue. they were bright, glimmering as they followed every minute movement as rowan studied her features. the woman was gorgeous without a doubt, with full lips and an oblong face. her hair was luscious, parted down the middle, styled into bouncy curls.

“hi,” rowan breathed, sticking out a hand, “i’m rowan riv--”

“i am afraid we do not have time for introductions,” a stern voice echoed through the space, “we are fbi agents, not kindergartners. we can have icebreakers or whatever it is you’re doing on the jet.”

rowan choked back a sharp retort as hotch strode towards a whiteboard, his spine straightened, chest puffed out slightly. sliding into her seat, her hands settled on the armrests, a puff of air exhaling from her lips. she was sandwiched between two seasoned agents, as morgan was munching on a bag of cookies on her left, prentiss sifting through papers to her right.

maybe if she just shut her mouth, she would blend in and he wouldn’t pay any sort of attention to her. which, wasn’t such a bad idea in the moment. the less he focused on her and berated her, the better.

“cookie?” morgan rattled the bag.

“not right now. thank you though,” rowan whispered, lips curving into a small smile.

“i’m about to begin discussing the case,” hotch shot rowan a glare, words barbed with venom, “so listen up.”

he pinned several images on the board, bile rising in rowan’s throat as her focus transitioned to the pictures. prentiss sucked in a shaky breath, while morgan muttered a strand of incoherent sentences.

the images progressively became more grotesque as they spanned across the board. mangled, beaten, and bloodied corpses were presented, the bile approaching the back of her mouth as she realized the age range.

the bodies were children, their jugulars slashed, lacerations and bruises littering their tiny frames.

“there has been a surge of murders in the rural farm town of homer, illinois. in the past week, there have been a total of five. all of the victims were children, with no specific physical attributes,” hotch cleared his throat, “however, all of them bear one aspect in common.”

“they’re all boys,” reid murmured, “from the images it appears as if they’re about ages eleven or twelve.”

“then they are pre-pubescent boys,” rowan’s voice was clear, pairs of eyes falling on her as she spoke, “i’ve seen something like this before, when i was working in columbus. we had a ring of traffickers who preferred this age range.”

“and?” morgan arched a brow, “why pre-pubescent boys?”

“hotch,” rowan nearly trembled as the supervisor’s cold gaze shifted on her, “i-if i may ask, were there any signs of assault or rape?”

“the severity of sexual assault varied on each victim.”

“you said that they have no physical attributes in common but looking at these photos,” reid shook his head slightly, “the brunettes are the only ones who have lacerations covering their entire bodies. the blondes, the only sign of violence demonstrated is the murder itself, the incision along the jugular.”

“could it be that our unsub has something against brunettes?” morgan inquired.

“potentially,” rowan blinked, scanning over the text, “it also says here in the autospies that the only boys who were sexually assaulted were the brunettes. i may be going on a whim here, but i think our unsub is lashing out on the brunettes for a reason. it could be power, dominance, you name it. perhaps the hair color is a stressor, or was the initial stressor. he might be reliving a traumatic event from his childhood.”

rossi whistled, “look at you, rivers. already building a profile and we’ve only met for five minutes.”

“sadly i’ve seen a lot of this before,” rowan let out a sigh, rustling through papers, “it also says here that the bodies were all found at homer lake forest preserve. i have a strong premonition that our unsub is male.”

“and what makes you say that?” hotch countered.

“by the way the bodies were handled,” rowan shrugged, “they were beaten, mutilated, and dragged through the woods. the amount of physical strength to do that is just an inherent trait males have."

“how were the bodies discovered?” jj bit her lip, a trace of fear glimmering in her icy blue depths.

“they were found by a new fisherman every morning around dawn, in the same location. they were located about half a mile from the entrance of the preserve,” hotch tossed the file onto the table, “our unsub is bold.”

“he wanted the bodies to be found,” rossi added, “he’s arrogant.”

“or he’s sloppy,” rowan remarked, “he’s devolving. he could be killing just on that need burning within him, with no remorse or any sort of emotion within him at all--”

“we need to get to homer as soon as possible,” hotch interrupted, glancing at his phone, “it’s ten o’clock in the morning. it’s only a matter of time before another body is found.”

“where’s the closest airport?” jj folded her arms across her chest.

“willard airport in champaign-urbana,” reid piped up, “other than that, the other closest one is in bloomington-normal.”

“and how do you know that?” morgan’s eyes widened.

“champaign-urbana is the home of the university of illinois,” reid swallowed thickly, “i’ve been there a few times. it’s an exceptional school for engineering, truly one of the greatest in the country--”

“all right, all right,” morgan stuck out a hand, “you answered my question.”

“wheels up in thirty,” hotch announced, plucking the file off the shiny wood.

rowan followed the others in suit, filing out of the space. trailing reid, she was the second last to leave the room, hotch right behind her, deep, smooth, voice filling her ears.

“i need to speak with you agent rivers.”

“yes?” she swiveled on her heel, facing the supervisor, folding her arms across her chest.

“i hope you’re aware that i do not tolerate any sort of childlike behavior. we’re not teenagers reuniting on the first day of class. i did not appreciate the interruptions in my conference room. you can socialize on your own time.”

“you’ve never once interrupted anything in your entire life? wow, you really must be mr. perfect. i mean look at you, all put together. i doubt you’ve even done anything wrong in your life you’re so per--”

“you realize you’re speaking to your boss with this tone, right?”

“i don’t fucking care,” tears brimmed rowan’s eyes, “this is my first day and it’s even worse than i could have ever imagined.”

“excuse me?”

“you’ve really made sure i’ve had a warm welcome to the bau, mr. perfect,” rowan scoffed, rolling her eyes, “it’s been an amazing first day, i’ll tell you that.”

for just a moment, hotch’s tough exterior cracked, a flicker of sympathy flashing in his gaze, “i’m sorry.”

“‘i’m sorry’?”

hotch paused, inhaling a deep breath, “i was going to write you up. however, i may have been a little too harsh on you. after all, this is your first day. strauss put in a good word for you, and i want to see your skill set out in the field. come on, we’re going to be left behind.”

******

“gotta love the midwest,” morgan placed his hands on his hips, chest rising and falling.

“you love it?” reid’s lips curled in disgust, “it smells like manure.”

“it smells like home,” rowan giggled, shouldering her way through the men, “c’mon, let’s go.”

“well she’s eager,” rossi chuckled, turning to hotch, “where are we setting up?”

“there’s the local p.d. in homer,” hotch slung his bag over his shoulder, “the station is only about four miles from the forest preserve.”

“i was doing some reading on the village of homer,” reid stated, “there’s only about one thousand people who live there. it’s such a tiny place, and as hotch mentioned, it’s only four miles from the preserve, surely the unsub lives there.”

“or he lives close to the lake,” rowan pointed out, “there are so many homes out there surrounding the lake in the countryside. with these rural communities, your neighbors could be a mile down the road, or miles away. it gives him the perfect opportunity to make frequent trips to the lake without being noticed.”

“you make a good point rivers,” hotch remarked, “we’ll have to keep that in mind when we investigate the lake and the surrounding woods.”

“this murder isn’t going to solve itself,” rossi cleared his throat, nodding his head towards the cluster of suvs, “we need to get to the police department and we’re losing time.”

stepping into the vehicle, rowan slid into the back seats, figuring that hotch would take the wheel, while rossi would sit shotgun. yet, curiosity buzzed in her mind as rossi took the wheel, while reid settled into the passenger seat.

“you’ve got to be shitting me,” she muttered as hotch thrust open the door, “rossi, are you usually the one who drives?”

“typically, no,” in the rearview mirror, rowan snorted when she noticed the shit-eating grin plastered on the agent’s face, “but i figured that you and hotch would love to get to know one another on the way there.”

“can i pick the station?” reid bounced in the seat, hands flying to the knobs and levers.

“pick something good, find an oldies station or something. maybe they’ll play back in black,” within seconds, the suburban was in motion, rossi revving the engine, “i plan on racing morgan, jj, and prentiss to the station. whoever loses has to buy dinner.”

“this is ridiculous,” hotch rolled his eyes, the vibration of his phone piquing rowan’s curiosity.

“by the way,” reid turned in his seat, facing hotch, “who’s been calling you so frequently today?”

“haley,” rowan tilted her head as the name spat from hotch’s mouth, “it’s not important.”

haley. from the sound of it, she was hotch’s significant other, girlfriend, fiancee, even a spouse, maybe. rowan’s eyes drifted downwards to his lap, where his hands rested on his knees. in the light, a golden band gleamed on his left ring finger.

so, hotch was married. he had a wife.

but there was something in his tone that was unsettling. were they fighting? having the typical lover’s quarrel? maybe that’s why hotch was so distant and cruel, he was constantly dealing with his marriage.

“so tell us a little about you, rowan,” rossi was far ahead of the other suburban, shades resting on the bridge of his nose, “i never got an icebreaker.”

rowan scoffed, fidgeting in the leather seat, “there’s not anything too riveting, i can spare you guys the details.”

in the corner of her eye, rowan felt his eyes pierce through her, digging deeps within the confines of her psyche. he was profiling her, desperate to get some sort of read. perhaps he was well aware of how uncomfortable she was by rossi’s query. the way her palms were slick against her pants, sweat prints clinging to the fabric. the way her cheeks were tainted pink, her jaw tightened, throat dry.

“didn’t you go to ohio state for undergrad?” reid licked his thumb, scouring through some novel or book.

“yeah,” she nodded, “i’m from a tiny town in ohio, called tiffin. i went to ohio state for an undergrad in psychology, along with a few minors in criminal justice, linguistics, spanish, so on. i stayed there for grad school since i loved the city, and the university. from there, the bureau picked me up from the academy, and i was thrown into the infamous case.”

“the child sex-trafficking bust,” hotch murmured, “i remember glancing over that in your file.”

“how long did that case go on?” rossi turned the radio dial, lowering the volume.

“longer than it should’ve been,” rowan brought a hand to her temple, a dull pain seeping into her skull, “hey, does anyone have ibuprofen?”

hotch’s eyes softened, concern painting his features, “i think i have some in my briefcase. hang on.”

rowan brought a bottle of water to her lips, sipping as hotch placed a couple of pills in her open palm. as he set them in her hand, skin grazed skin, her heart skipping a beat.

for someone as rough and callused as hotch, his hands were so utterly soft.

“thank you,” she whispered, “i appreciate it.”

“of course,” he murmured, “do you usually get frequent headaches?”

“yeah,” rowan admitted, a new wave of blush spreading, “i’m just prone to them i guess.”

“the humidity is also high today,” reid remarked, “and from the way the wind just picked up, along with the darkness of the clouds, i think it’s going to storm. your headache could be from the low pressure.”

“fantastic,” rowan threw her head back, squeezing her eyes shut, “you know reid, that’s kinda a myth.”

“actually research has been inconclusive.”

“how many did you take?” hotch nudged rowan, inflections of concern within his inquisition.

“six.”

“jesus christ,” rossi’s lips pursed, “are you trying to kill your liver?”

“we’ll see about that,” a giggle bubbled up in rowan’s throat.

as the suburban sailed down the interstate, her lashes fluttered, sleep threatening to pull her into its clutches. she blinked, rubbing soothing circles onto her temple, lips falling to a frown as a dull pain seeped into her forehead.

biting her lip, she fought back tears, inhaling a shaky breath. this was no place to show any weakness.

not with him around.

*****

“good afternoon, chief sellers. i’m supervisory special agent hotchner with the fbi,” hotch stated, his voice ringing with authority as he shook an officer’s hand, “and these are my colleagues.”

“thank god you’re here,” the officer’s voice was hoarse, wavering as he spoke, “it’s been a living nightmare these past few days.”

“i can only imagine,” jj murmured under her breath, “there’s someone out there killing little boys.”

“he looks so shaken up,” prentiss exhaled, folding her arms across her chest.

“we had most of the state p.d. flock out here once the second body was discovered,” chief sellers cleared his throat, his focus directed on hotch, “we’re all doing the best we can, but of course, as other duties call, we tend to be short-handed at times.”

“we’re going to do everything in our power to help,” rossi’s words were warm, brimmed with sincerity, “we’ll catch this guy, i promise.”

“and we’ll help you all in every way we can,” chief sellers nodded curtly, “anything you folks need, let us know.”

“should we start by heading out to the crime scene?” hotch inquired, “it might also be best to split some of us up.”

“of course,” chief sellers strode over to a pair of state officers, “these men will escort you to the scene. what else do you need?”

hotch’s eyes flickered over to his team, “i want morgan, reid, and rossi to go investigate the scene. prentiss and jj, would you speak with some of the locals? we need to gather as much information as possible in order to rule out anyone or gain essential details about our unsub.”

“what about me?” rowan coughed.

“you’re staying with me here at the station,” he commanded, “and you’re going to answer every phone call we get from garcia.”

“good luck newbie,” rowan rolled her eyes as morgan teased her, his breath hot against her ear.

“you might want to listen to morgan,” rossi shot her a wink, “you’re going to need it.”

“thanks,” the reply was a deadpan, the agent’s shoulders slumping as hotch approached her, “putting me on a short leash, are we?”

“you’re the one who understands the profile of our unsub the best,” he retorted, “and before you fire back with another verbal assault, think before you speak. this is your big girl job now. act like it.”

“don’t you think it’s interesting that the unsub stopped killing?” hotch murmured a few words of gratitude to an officer who handed him a coffee, cocking his head as he took a sip.

“do you think that there’s a reason behind that?”

“possibly,” rowan shrugged, denying the same styrofoam cup, “hey, where’s the closest gas station?”

“about half a mile away,” the officer replied coolly, “would you like a ride? a few of the guys and i are going to pick up pizzas for lunch.”

“i’m okay,” she paused, running a hand through her hair, “thank you, though.’

“you don’t like hot coffee?”

“i prefer iced,” the agent muttered, surveying the empty desks, “i assume they cleared some space for us?”

“indeed,” hotch huffed, “if your phone rings, assume it’s garcia.”

“i feel like i’m at columbus p.d. all over again,” the brunette slid into the seat, rolling a few inches as she plucked the file out of her briefcase.

“well this is nowhere near that,” hotch rolled his eyes, leaning against the wooden surface.

“well it sure feels like it,” his throat tightened as her eyes drifted upwards, locking with his, “it sure fucking feels like it. now, if you don’t mind, i’m going to look over the file.”

“would you like some company, agent rivers?”

“i’m sure you have ‘unit chief’ matters to tend to,” the words were barbed, hot and venomous as she spat them out, “hovering around your new recruit like she’s some child is quite ridiculous don’t you think?”

“i should have you turn in your badge right now.”

“you seem like you’re all bark and no bite. you scolded me only only hours ago about the conference room, threatening to write me up. that tough exterior of yours is only an act. or at least, i think it is. you’re not going to write me up until you have a valid reason to. also, like you claimed earlier, ‘strauss put in a good word for me.’ i know you won’t terminate me. plus, you just went through all of that paperwork to get me here. do you really want to go through all of that again?”

“you piss me off.”

“good,” she puckered her lips, “maybe you should chat about that with strauss hmm? she’d probably just tell you to suck it up and that i’m here to stay.”

hotch’s jaw clenched, prepared to retaliate, yet the vibration in his pocket distracted him momentarily, the shrill ringtone piercing through the air, “yes?”

biting her tongue, rowan glanced back at the file, bringing her hand to her cheek. part of her was wailing, screaming and kicking, fighting the urge to study those horrid images. but the other part was driven, adrenaline coursing through her veins, pumping into her body.

even the slightest detail that she hadn’t noticed initially would be immensely helpful to building the profile, piecing together who this deranged individual was. flipping through the photos, rowan’s eyes narrowed.

although the team held a short briefing before departing from headquarters, there was one minor aspect about the way the bodies were laying in the shrubbery. the boys were all on their backs, dried blood coating sliced flesh. not a single article of clothing framed their bodies, just the thin layer of briefs or boxers.

her heart lurched as one arm was pressed tightly against their sides, while the other was raised. right hands pointed upwards, three fingers: the index, middle, and ring. yet, the pinky connected with the thumb, almost as if the children were purposely holding up three fingers.

“garcia called with an update,” his voice floated into her ears, “with the bits and pieces fed to her from jj and prentiss, we still have a lot of ground to cover. are you up for a drive?”

“wait,” rowan held up a hand, “hotch, were you ever a member of the boy scouts?”

his brow furrowed, confusion settling across his features, “what?”

“just look,” she huffed, gesturing to the images, “look at the way the unsub left their bodies. it’s a clear message, almost like how he dumped the bodies in clear sight. his arrogance blinded him, goading him to taunt us. but little did he know i would see right through his bluff. i think he stopped the killing spree because he knew we’d be looking for him. it’s like he wants us to find him.”

leaning over, hotch’s chest hovered above her shoulder blade, a hand settling on the desk. the ghost of his badge hung over her cheek, a speck of white in her peripheral vision. a hum rose in his throat, “you’re onto something here. let me call garcia.”

“did i make a break in the case?”

“perhaps, but don’t let that get to your head,” the supervisor brought his phone to his ear, “hey, garcia, i need you to run something for me. how many boy scout troops are in champaign county?”

*****

“you up for some drinks tonight?” prentiss giggled, wrapping her jacket around her shoulders, “it’s all on me, especially since we should be celebrating your first case with the bau!”

“i’m fine,but thank you,” rowan beamed, “i still have a forty minute drive ahead of me. i shouldn’t stay out too late.”

“oh come on,” jj groaned, “we won’t be out for long. just a couple rounds.”

“pleaseeee?” garcia practically pranced over to rowan, jutting her bottom lip out, “we don’t know a single thing about you. hotch had you under his watch all day.”

“okay,” she exhaled, “a few drinks, and then i need to get to my apartment. i’ve barely finished unpacking so i’ll have to rummage for my towels and pajamas when i get back.”

“you have an apartment?” prentiss queried, “do you have a roommate or do you live alone? did you bring a boyfriend with you, by chance?”

rowan blinked, “uh, no. i live alone.”

“good thing you’re a fbi agent huh?” garcia winked, “c’mon, we know the perfect bar.”

“maybe we’ll get you loosened up and you can spill some secrets,” jj chuckled, the sound airy and light.

“sometimes,” rowan felt the corner of her lips tug into a wide grin, “sometimes i truly wonder what i’m getting myself into working with all these other profilers.”

*****

{feel free to ask for a tag or let me know what you think! :))}

tagging: @tempus-ut-luceant @daffodin @kleinbluu @inlovewithaaronhotchner @spencerreidsbitch @art-and-thoughts @criminallminds @ethade3

#hotch #hotchner #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #cm

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pallasperilous · 4 years ago

Text

Funny Bone

The other day Supernatural9917 threw out this meme as a cracky Halloween Dean/Cas prompt and I was SO MAD, because I then had to write it:

And so here it is. Goddammit.

Funny Bone

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761150 Words: 4930 Castiel/Dean Winchester Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Skeletons, Bad Pick-Up Lines, No Angels AU, Men of Letters Bunker, Mild Gore Mature (mentions of lewd acts, canon-typical violence, and some truly horrible pickup lines)

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland. It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

Discovering the bunker in the first place was a helluva surprise. The whole facility is legitimately batshit; Dead Guys of Letters knew how to live (and, apparently, die. All at once.).

But after plowing through a dozen rooms worth of priceless treasures and crusty boobytraps, even Sam was looking kinda full up on shock and awe.

“We can hit the basement tomorrow,” he said. There was a big smudge of dust across his nose and some cobwebs in his hair.

“Nuh uh,” Dean answered, kicking the door shut with the toe of his boot. “If there’s shit still kicking down there, we gotta clean it out before it cleans us out. It’s that or we’re sleepin’ in the car.”

“Ugh,” Sam said, as if twenty minutes ago he hadn’t been losing his mind over a rare book about werewolf hemorrhoids.

So discovering that the basement included a no-shit actual dungeon felt more like an unanticipated bonus, and stumbling across a skeleton while exploring it barely even registered. Skeletons and dungeons! They go together like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong.

It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor, inside a big circle of greasy black ash. It looked a little mildewy in in places. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland.

It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

“Welp,” Dean had said, holstering his gun and wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’re all clear. Let’s head back upstairs, salt the shit out of everything, and then we can pick up some groceries.”

“Do I get to buy a vegetable that doesn’t fit in a bun, or are we still in the refractory period?” Sam snarked from the corridor.

“I don’t see you cookin’, “ Dean started, shuffling back towards the hall, and that’s when the skeleton butted in.

“Are those astronaut pants?” it asked. “Because your ass is outta this world!”

Dean absolutely did not scream, but it’s possible there was a yelp.

He almost unloaded a clip into it – unclear what that would’ve possibly done, but it’s good to start with the simple, available solutions. Next he nabbed the lighter fluid off of Sam and dumped out half a pound of kosher salt as a chaser and set the fucker alight.

This does not have the intended effect.

“Baby, I’d like to put my meat on your grill,” the skeleton says, greenish flames dancing between its ribs, “because you’re hot, and I’m smokin’.” Then it sits up a little, just enough to shoot Dean some finger guns.

“What the fuck,” Dean says.

Sam makes a little evaluatory noise. “Sexually harassed by a skeleton,” he chuckles. “I think that’s a new one. Even for you. Is that a new one? I know a lot of strange shit went down in Purgatory.”

The skeleton perks up even more at that, grungy eye sockets sweeping up and down Dean’s body. “Are you a time traveler?” it asks. (Maybe he asks, because the voice is pretty deep and dude-ish, although possibly just on account of its vocal cords being leather shoelaces.)

“Wh…no, I’m not a time traveler,” Dean fibs. He’s more of a time trafficking victim, anyway. “Oh, wait, god,” he says. “Please don’t tell me you’re asking that because –“

“– I can see you in my future,” the skeleton finishes, eagerly, and Dean really wishes this thing had eyebrows so he could tell if they’re waggling.

“Yeah, okay. That’s enough for today,” Dean groans. “I need a drink.” He starts to back out of the room as a pre-emptive strike against Bones commenting on how he hates to see Dean leave, but loves to watch him go. Dean’s working on stumbling back again Sam’s left shoe when the skeleton pipes up one last time, this time with a husky, anxious edge.

“I realize that Purgatory isn’t accessible through a simple chronological shift,” it says, teeth chattering. “But it does require travel between modalities, and if you’re capable of that, I would very much like to speak with you again.”

Dean and Sam’s heads slowly swivel back towards the skeleton, like two little pizzas on the same Lazy Susan.

An hour later, they’re still in the dungeon, working on dousing the skeleton with every possible anti-bad-stuff solution they’ve got, just in case he’s a vampire skeleton or a ghoul skeleton or a witch skeleton or maybe just a wendigo that’s incredibly bad at its job. In between progress reports, he’s still hitting on Dean.

“Dude, don’t you have an off switch somewhere?” Dean asks him.

“Well, Dean, you certainly make me feel like a light switch,–“

“– because you turn me on,” all three of them say in unison.

The skeleton looks a little embarrassed, which is kind of impressive when you think about it. “You’ve…heard that one before?” he asks.

“I spend a lot of time in bars,” Dean deadpans. “Okay, sage is a no-go.”

Sam strikes a line off on the clipboard he found upstairs. “Is this part of a curse or something?” he asks, glancing up at Bones. “Like on top of being a sentient skeleton, you can only speak in horrible pickup lines?”

The skeleton shakes his head, which produces a sound Dean recognizes from his kneecaps on cold mornings. “No, the spellwork allows me to speak freely on most subjects; except who I am, or how to free me. But it’s helpful to use language modern humans can easily understand.”

“Huh. Well, in a way, it is Dean’s native tongue,” Sam says, smirking.

“You shut your face,” Dean hisses.

“When I first saw you, I lost my tongue. Can I try yours on for size?” Bones asks Dean.

“Buddy, I don’t know where you get your information from, but nobody actually talks that way,” Dean tells him. “Nobody sober, anyway. Who isn’t a virgin.”

The skeleton slumps. “I learned from my last visitor. He tried to release me on several occasions, but he either died or abandoned the project.”

Dean arches a brow. “The project being…you?”

“I would be very valuable under the right circumstances.” The skeleton shrugs and casually holds out an arm for Dean to scrape at with the demon blade. “He gave me lessons in modern vernacular as a way to pass our time together.”

“Sounds like a peach,” Dean says, before he can catch himself. “If you have a peach-related pickup line in there, man, you’d better just sit on it.”

“That’s what-“

“I will smash you with a hammer,” Dean barks.

The skeleton relents, but with obvious reluctance.

They call it quits before Kansas rolls up the sidewalk for the night and leaves them stranded with nothing but two Clif bars and a gross of septuagenarian cans of franks ’n beans. Bones shifts nervously when Dean leaves – “Which is better, pancakes or waffles?” he asks.

“Pancakes,” Dean says, with a sense of grim duty.

“Because I’d like to know what you’re making me for breakfast,” says Bones, his voice trailing off as Dean books it down the stony corridor.

By lunch the next day (bologna sandwiches, so sue him, he’ll make something good later) they’re pretty sure that Bones doesn’t pose any known, immediate threat – other than to Dean’s sanity – so they switch gears to springing him. Maybe he will be worth something, or maybe he’ll crumble into dust and Be Free, or maybe he’ll just stop being chained to the basement wall, in which case he can become their skeleton butler or something.

There are weird runes on the ankle cuff, so Sam snaps some quick photos and heads upstairs to feel up the library. This leaves Dean in the basement with Bones, some good old-fashioned power tools, and Bones’s ex-suitor’s gross sense of humor.

“You know I can understand you just fine when you’re talking normally,” Dean says. “You’re just reciting some prehistoric shit that idiots say to girls to get a pity-laugh, hoping it leads to a pity-fuck.”

“What’s a pity-fuck?” Bones asks, all mildewy innocence. Dean’s pretty sure the grunge in his eyeball sockets is dried eyeball.

“Pretty much what it says on the tin, my guy,” Dean answers, and reaches for the acetylene torch.

“Enochian,” Sam says, when Dean surfaces for another sandwich and possibly a beer. He’s really disappointed about the torch.

“Gesundheit?” Dean replies, around a mouthful of bologna. Like everything else here, the kitchen is pretty schwa, although the inside of the fridge required three exorcisms and half a jug of bleach.

Sam paws around the smelly old book in a way that makes Dean feel sorry for the girls Sam dated in high school. “The symbols on the cuff. I think they’re Enochian. It’s a fake celestial language made up by some sixteenth century con artists.”

Dean coughs up a bit of Wonder Bread. “I respect the hustle, but what’s it doing on an ankle cuff in a dungeon younger than Mickey Mouse?”

Sam frowns. “Well, it could be for show. But just because some nutbars made it up doesn’t mean it’s totally powerless. Maybe it does have some kind of…heavenly mojo.”

“Liwl probbem,” Dean observes, finishing off his sandwich. “Def nuh heggen.”

“Huh?”

Dean takes a swallow of beer. “I said: there’s no heaven.”

Sam shrugs. “We didn’t think there was a Purgatory, either.”

“Okay, but if we find out angels are real,” Dean snorts, “then Bones can fuck me in the ass.”

Sam reports his findings to Bones, who sits placidly on the back of his pelvis, carpals splayed out on his kneecaps. What’s even holding him together? Dean can see what’s left of his ligaments, but they look like petrified gas station jerky.

“Do you know what they mean?” Sam asks him, pointing at the sigils.

Bones’s jaw creaks open a little, then closes again, and then he shakes his skull (something rattles inside.) Finally he makes a little frustrated noise and replies – “Baby, are you a book? Because I’d like to check you out.”

“Hey!” says Dean. “Keep it in your pants, man, I’m right here.”

Sam squints. “I think…Dean, I think he’s trying to tell us something, but the spell on him means he can’t say it directly.”

Bones clenches his fists, releases them, clenches them again.

“Yeah. Keep him talking. Let’s see how close he can get.”

Clack clack clack.

“Uh,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Do I need to, like. Give you some kinda opening?” he asks Bones.

“Sweetheart, I’d like nothing better,” Bones answers, then clacks his knuckles on his brow with exasperation.

“Sorry, Christ. Hit me with your best shot, buddy. Dealer’s choice.”

Bones clears his…ghost throat? and tries: “Tell me, Dean…did it hurt?”

Dean blinks. “When I…fell from heaven?”

Sam claps his hands. “Fucking knew it. It is Enochian, and it does have something to do with this. I think he wants me to check the library for another book. Maybe there’s one misshelved or something that I can actually use to translate. Or I can Google around, maybe there’s a subreddit.”

Dean’s pretty sure Bones has never heard of a Google or a subreddit (for that matter, does Dean actually know what a subreddit is?), but it seems like there’s a glimmer of hope deep in those scum-holes.

Sam gets translations for a few of the words – “obedience” and something he’s fifty percent sure means “millstone” – but the rest is still gobbledygook, and he hasn’t come down with another update in hours. The dungeon is pretty roomy, but it’s not like there’s a foosball table or a cable TV pickup down there, so Dean and Bones wind up lying on the cold-ass ground, staring up into the dark reaches of the ceiling together and, like. Chatting.

Occasionally Bones goes quiet and Dean glances over at him. He really could just be a totally normal, completely dead dungeon skeleton. A good power washing and the right mounting hardware and he’d be ready for a high school biology classroom.

“So if these runes are a celestial thing, does that mean you’re some kinda demonic...thing?” Dean asks. “Cause I gotta say, you’re a much less of a douche than the demons I’ve met.” He snorts. “I know you probably can’t say.”

Bones sighs (how? With what lungs?). “The last person who tried to free me was a demon.” He shifts a little, maybe surprised that he can say this out loud. “It had been so long since somebody had spoken to me…I’m afraid I came close to actually enjoying his company. But he was no better than his kind usually are.”

“Don’t suppose you caught his name? Maybe Sam or me killed him for you already.”

“He called himself—no, I can’t say it.” He makes a sound resembling a harumph.

Then his skull creaks over to look at Dean. “Does your name start with ‘C’?” he says, very deliberately.

Dean is momentarily puzzled, but he works it out by the time Bones wincingly adds “…because I’ve got a D that wants to come behind you.”

There aren’t too many demons under the “C” tab in Dean’s blood-stained mental rolodex, and when he says the name out loud, Bones makes a sound like an entire set of dominos being thrown down a spiral staircase.

Crowley is pretty pissed, which is fun.

It’s nice that the dungeon floor already has a perfect trap on the floor; they don’t even have to hit up Ace Hardware for paint. A damp shop cloth and a little nail polish (Wet ’n Wild in “Red Red,” don’t leave home without it) brings it right up to working order.

“Why does it smell like a nail salon fucked a bloody wine cellar?” Crowley says, after he’s settled down a bit. He manifested right in the creepy torture chair (in the shackles, even! What service!) and he made some escape attempts followed by angry noises about rust stains. Now he’s recovered his dignity and has kicked back a bit, legs crossed, fingers steepled, oozing maximum levels of 2 cool 4 school.

“How do you know what a nail salon smells like?” Dean retorts.

“I get a monthly mani-pedi. There’s no shame in a little self-care, boys.” Crowley’s eyes trickle down to their feet. “Imagine what fungal horrors those work boots must conceal.” Then he squints, and looks up, finally taking in the whole room. “Could swear I’ve been here before. Little upscale for you, isn’t it? Did we splurge for a vacation rental?”

“Crowley, why don’t we roleplay Titanic?” Bones growls from the wall behind him, and Crowley’s face goes slack. “I’ll be the iceberg, and you can go down.”

Crowley swallows and slowly twists back, as far as the shackles let him. “Feathers, is that you? Well, as I live and breathe.”

“You do neither,” says Bones, with so much gravelly contempt that Dean suppresses a little shiver.

“Oh, I still breathe now and then, when the mood takes me. I’m a sentimentalist.” Crowley cranes his neck a little harder and squints into the dim. “Goodness, you’ve dropped some weight since we last spoke, haven’t you. Finally let go of all that pesky soft tissue?”

Bones tilts forward and kind of clatters onto hands and knees, then tipsily begins to rise up to standing. Dean’s a little concerned he’s gonna topple right over and they’re gonna spend the next two hours collecting him in a basket, but when he moves to help out, Bones waves him off. After a couple false starts he makes it up onto his feet bones and then shuffles out to the end of his chain, right under one of the overhead lights. He’s still a good couple feet off from Crowley, but Crowley looks like he wouldn’t mind a few extra acres.

Bones sways a little bit, just enough for Crowley to wince. “You didn’t come back.”

“I got busy.”

Sam shifts impatiently. “What is he?” he snaps, gesturing at Bones.

“Exceedingly dull,” Crowley says. “I should’ve guessed you were friends.”

Dean uncorks a fresh bottle of holy water.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Crowley amends, quickly. “And even if you did, you wouldn’t know what to do with him. It’d be like giving a laptop to a pair of howler monkeys.”

Dean puts his thumb over the mouth of the water bottle and holds it over Crowley’s head. “Try me.”

Crowley scoffs, rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what he is, since he’s useless as long as he’s chained up. And I wouldn’t have left him down here if I had a single clue how to smuggle him out. I haven’t even been in here since the Bay of Pigs; I’d worked a loophole in one of the defense spells here that let me in. When it broke down, I lost my exploit. Wasn’t worth the bother after that.”

Dean slides his thumb a millimeter north of a perfect seal, and a fat drop of water busts its ass open on Crowley’s forehead and sends up a thin line of steam. “Good thing I’ve got a limitless supply of bother,” Dean notes. “Sam, we still got those syringes in the trunk?”

Crowley snarls. “Go ahead and melt me like the cartoon shoe in Roger Rabbit, it’s not going magically make me come up with a solution.”

Bones grunts and rattles his leg chain. “Do you speak Spanish, Crowley? Because you look like the Juan for me.”

“Did I teach you that one? You absolute xylophone.” Crowley glances back at Dean. “Do your worst, Squirrel, I deserve it.”

Sam frowns. “He uses the lines to get around the spell’s speech restrictions. This is something about speaking languages…were you able translate the Enochian symbols on his cuff?”

Crowley blinks. “What symbols?”

After a whole lot of faffing around with mirrors and terrible cellphone photography, they confirm that Crowley can’t see the symbols at all.

“More demon-proofing. Clever little buggers, those Men of Letters,” Crowley sighs. “A real shame they were peeled and eaten like bananas.”

Finally Sam just hunkers down with a pencil and pad to transcribe the entire ankle cuff, and Dean awkwardly holds up Bones’s ankle, like he’s being sized for a glass slipper. When they shove the results in Crowley’s face, Dean watches his eyes dart along the words.

“Well, it’s your lucky day, boys. Along with the usual wankery, there are instructions on how to release the cuff. I can translate it,” he finally says, with an unusually low inflection of bullshit, “but I’ll thank you to release me, first.”

Dean is flummoxed. “What, you’re not gonna haggle for a cut of the profits or anything?”

“Activating the release mechanism will free him completely, and restore his…restore him. I’d rather be at a safe distance.” He glances back at Bones, looming in the shadows. “A continent or three should do the trick.”

“If it doesn’t work–“

“I’d be more worried about what happens if it does,” Crowley sighs. “But feel free to summon me back for tea and sympathy. Here, I’ll even give you my number. But please, no personal photography. I pity you enough as it is.”

Crowley finally smokes out, and Dean has a beer to celebrate while Sam looks over the list of what they need and Bones clatters his fingertips like castanets. The ingredients are (as always) larded with shit that’s exotic and expensive; Sam is looking crestfallen at some of the items. “I’ve heard of all of this, but I’ve only seen maybe half of it for sale anywhere.”

“Baby, are you a yard sale? Because you’ve got some serious junk in that trunk,” Bones monotones. He’s back to lying on the floor.

At least it’s getting easier to translate this shit. “They’ve got all the ingredients here somewhere,” Dean says. Sam looks skeptical. “C’mon, Sam, no way these dudes would use a lock when they didn’t have the key.”

The ensuing scavenger hunt takes a few pints of elbow grease, but at least by the end they’re both familiar with the Bunker’s floor plan, document filing system, and inventory records. They find virtually everything in-house, though they do end up driving to the nearest farm stand for some hen’s eggs and rosemary (and heirloom tomatoes, because they look bomb).

Dean christens – or maybe exorcises – the kitchen range with some red meat, and they fuel up with burgers before taking the plunge. Dean’s still licking the ketchup off his fingers when Bones pipes up one last time. “Can I ask you something?” he says.

Dean and Sam brace for impact.

Bones sighs. “That’s not the start of a pickup line. I genuinely have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why are you so intent on freeing me? You could have just left me down here. I’m not a threat this way. You only have Crowley’s word that you might profit - or suffer - from my release.”

Sam gives Dean a look; it’s the look that says I sure hope you have an answer, because I think this entire thing has been dumb as shit and half as necessary. It’s a look Sam uses pretty regularly.

“Uh. It’s the right thing to do? As far as I can tell, you haven’t hurt anybody or done anything else to deserve being down here. We went through all those records upstairs, and there’s no note that says ‘by the way, that skeleton downstairs eats babies for breakfast.’ This place is cool, but the dudes who built it were obviously shady as fuck.”

“I see.” Bones sounds a little disappointed.

Sam fake-coughs into his hand, and Dean sets down his paper napkin. “Also, you seem cool. Like, you’re easy to hang out with. Other than the stinky one-liners, and we’re gonna wean you off of those.”

Bones straightens himself out a little. “Thank you, Dean. You know, on a scale of one to ten, I’d rate you a nine.”

“Okay, okay. Why not a ten?”

Bones sets his chin on his knuckle bones with a tidy little clack. “Because I’m the one you’re missing.”

Dean groans, but he thinks the guy might be smiling, somewhere behind that skeletal grin.

By hour two, Sam’s pretty tuckered out from pulverizing a billion and three mummified dove livers while reciting nonsense syllables, and Dean’s right arm is about to fall off from holding up this giant silver swizzle stick that’s either a really weird short sword or a decorative javelin, but Bones has never looked perkier. He’s lying on a nice white bedsheet and looking fresh as a recently exhumed daisy.

“Okay,” Sam rasps. “Light the candle and we should be good to go. Any last words, Bones?”

“Are either of you religious?” He crosses his arm bones over each other.

“Fuck no,” Dean answers, before Sam gets a chance to launch into it.

Bones shakes his skull fondly. “You should reconsider. Because you’re the answer to my prayers.”

Dean makes a gagging noise and lights the candle.

What happens next (well, after the cuff pops open) is some of the freakiest shit that Dean has ever seen, and his Freaky CV is pretty fucking impressive, thanks. Bones tells them to avert their eyes, “just in case”, but he takes a peek between his fingers anyway, because he’s an idiot.

For a second Bones is just lying there, and Dean has a second of real disappointment that maybe he’s Moved On Past The Veil or something, but then he starts…foaming. It starts out kind of uniform and colorless, but then it really picks up speed and volume and starts to separate into swaths of distinct and horrible colors and textures. He closes his eyes again for a second to give his stomach a chance to reboot, and when he looks again the foam is gone, and instead there’s a whole lot of angry jelly trying to form into organs.

Just as the jelly is really getting its shit together and looking more like lungs and intestines and stuff, the heart-jelly pulses once and sends out a fistful of big squishy vines…veins? and a fat white worm of nerve scrambles down the spinal column and starts putting out franchises. This is followed by some disturbingly tasty-looking red sheets of muscle that swiftly sheathe over all the whole scene, and then the muscles start sweating out fat and cartilage and this is the point where Dean decides that looking away is actually definitely one hundred percent for the best. Even then, the sounds are tough to handle.

Kinda wild: he’s seen people taken apart, but watching one get put back together is somehow gnarlier. Well, if this guy is even a person. It’s a human skeleton, sure, but god knows even Mickey Rourke has one under there.

Finally everything seems to have quieted down.

“How you doin’ over there, Bones?” Dean asks, and dares to take a peek.

Bones is crouched down in front of them, fists balled up in the bedsheets (it’s a relief that the bedsheets didn’t get accidentally sucked into the muscle layer or something, like one of those surgeons who leaves a sponge behind). Dean sees white guy skin and some dark messy hair and gets the gist of a decent build.

The face slowly cranes upwards, and Dean is really truly ready for anything here; tusks, fangs, Klingon forehead ridges, gingivitis. Instead he gets a faceful of hot math teacher. Bones’s eyes are still closed, but he’s frowning like he’s mentally reviewing his strategy to explain the quadratic equation to a roomful of horny teens.

He slowly rises to standing (yikes! Naked! Dean is a Moderately Bad Man, so he glances, but just long enough to register “nice), uncurling slowly and carefully.

Then he’s all the way up. Bones squares his shoulders and straightens the last kink in his spine, and the frown resolves. Dean’s about to say something, when his eyes snap open, and this cold white light absolutely blasts out of them, and fuck, Crowley wasn’t kidding: this guy is definitely A Thing. The whole room flattens and distorts in the light. Shadows race up the walls like they’re looking for a way out, then snap together into the shape of enormous ragged wings, stretching thirty feet higher than the actual ceiling clearance.

Then the light dies down; the wings fade into regular-grade shadows. Instead of a terrifying unearthly avatar of Oh Shit, Dean’s looking at a buck naked thirty-something math teacher. Who happens to be an unearthly avatar of Oh Shit. And has nice eyes.

“My name is Castiel, angel of the Lord, Seraph of the First Shield,” the avatar says, in a piss-shakingly resonant version of Bones’s voice.

Then: “Do you speak English, Dean?”

“Yes?” Dean fumbles.

“So do I,” says Castiel, and smiles.

Then he makes finger-guns.

Castiel sticks around for a grand total of five minutes before he’s suddenly gone again, because angels are (a) real and they can (b) teleport? at (c) any moment because (d) fuck you, then he reappears six hours later (clothed) standing over Dean’s bed, having apparently forgotten that humans like to sleep; this time Dean does shoot him, but luckily he doesn’t seem to take it personally.

“I located Crowley,” Bo- Castiel says. The silver sword-javelin thing is sitting on the kitchen counter in front of him; apparently it’s an Angel Blade and it lives in Castiel’s coat sleeve and can vaporize demons. It doesn’t look like it has any Crowley on it, but maybe it’s self-cleaning.

“Did you kill him?” Dean asks, now that he’s semi-coherent and wrapped around a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

“Not this time,” Cas answers. “He did help, after all.”

“Sure,” says Dean.

“You don’t need to let me fuck you in the ass, either,” Castiel says, and Dean honks some coffee up the back of his nose.

“Oh,” he gasps. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. Didn’t realize you could hear that convo all the way down there.”

“Angels have excellent hearing. Mine wasn’t impacted by the spell.”

Dean can think of at least three very private moments Castiel almost definitely could hear every instant of, and longs for death. Or maybe not, since apparently this guy lives in Heaven and could hear him there, too. “Great. Good to know. Noted.”

“But…” Castiel looks wistful.

“What?” Dean nudges him. Dean Winchester: angel nudger.

Castiel frowns. “If I said…” he stops himself. “This is…what I want to say is very irregular, at least between angels and humans.”

“Jesus christ on a goddamn pogo stick, man. It’s three in the morning, some of us have a circadian rhythm and a limited lifespan. Say whatever it is you gotta say.”

Castiel looks up and drowns Dean in his swimming pool eyes, which Dean has learned belong to a radio ad salesman in Illinois, who Castiel possessed a few years back before jumping several decades into the past to run some errands and getting rope-a-doped by the Men of Letters and then warehoused in their basement; after they all spontaneously bought the farm, he just slowly ran out of the power reserves needed to keep his vessel from turning to mush and hey presto, talking skeleton.

Classic story, really.

“If I said you had a beautiful body, Dean,” Castiel says, solemnly, “Would you hold it against m-“

Dean doesn’t let him finish. {AO3 version}

#spn fanfic #destiel #deancas #profoundnet #prompt fic

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lazyliars · 4 years ago

Note

If you're still doing character breakdowns- Wilbur and/or Ghostbur? :)

How I feel about this character

c!Wilbur is my og favorite. The drug van stream was the first one I watched on the SMP, from Sapnap’s perspective, and was also my first introduction to Wilbur as a cc - needless to say, he won my heart IMMEDIATELY.

So. Wilbur is one of the most tragically misremembered characters in the entire cast. It’s honestly kind of a beautiful genius how skewed the narrative about him has become, considering how his story was entwined with a certain musical; he is literally now the “villain in their history.”

But early Wilbur wasn’t Burr - he was the Washington to Tommy’s Hamilton, the calming presence in a sea of uncertainty, and the voice of change in a status quo that didn’t favor him and his people.

Wilbur’s early values centered around Peace. While his first endeavors were an attempt at creating a drug empire, the speed at which things changed when Sapnap and Tubbo played cops and threatened him and Tommy was blinding - the character he played switched from a semi-corrupt drug dealer to a noble-minded leader in barely an hour, but progression was clear - the catalyst for change, for L’manberg, was a desire to make things fair for himself, and for Tommy.

He wasn’t a flawless leader even back then, not by any standards, but his men followed him because they believed in him, and they believed in what they were all creating together.

And the idea that they, a group of underdogs, could possibly challenge the ruling powers of the time? That they could challenge tyrants?

That was what Wilbur fostered. That was one of the founding principles of L’manberg.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

Sally the Salmon. Next question.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

I think that Wilbur and Eret’s relationship is criminally underrated. It’s hard to remember now, but pre-betrayal? Eret and Wilbur were friends. Eret was someone who Wilbur trusted to be responsible when he couldn’t trust the same the other, more immature members of L’manberg.

And listen, for the people who started watching later down the line, I’m sure that Eret is someone you probably know as being defined by his title as ‘traitor,’ but I cannot convey just how unbelievable it was at the time. Literally no one, NO ONE suspected Eret, it took everyone by surprise, cc and audience alike. Eret was L’manberg’s rock, one of it’s workhorses along with Tubbo, it’s cool, chilled out emotional support, one of it’s founders!

And Eret’s betrayal hit no one harder than it did Wilbur. The blame for allowing it to happen, the inability to fully trust another person with his burdens?

I truly believe that the betrayal dealt an early blow to the foundations of Wilbur’s mental health that he never truly recovered from, and which would ultimately be the flaw in the structure that caused everything to come falling down around him when the weight of the elections and exile was placed on him.

If Wilbur’s ability to trust had remained intact, I don’t think the Pogtopia arc would have played out in the dark way that it did. The clearest example of this is the button room, and Wilbur’s last(ish) words, echoing Eret’s: “It was never meant to be.”

(and none of this is fully on Eret’s shoulders, either. cc!Eret described their character as “one of the earliest victims of Dream’s manipulations” and beyond that, c!Wilbur is still ultimately the one responsible for his own actions, regardless of how he was hurt. But I do think that the way that Eret’s betrayal fractured Wilbur is an under appreciated moment for the both of them, as it is the core of Wilbur’s final arc and it fuels Eret’s desire for redemption, as they want to make up for the way that they damaged things.)

My unpopular opinion about this character

Ghostbur was a weak character up until his involvement in Doomsday.

There, I said it! I’m sorry!!!!

...This opinion comes mostly from my own wish at the time for Alivebur/Deadbur/whatever to, like, face up to his mistakes and failings, and how Ghostbur just was not there to do that. He was fundamentally not a continuation of the character I was invested in, and even as an individual character on his own I think that a lot of his additions to the story weren’t played out as strongly as they could’ve been.

I think a good portion of this is for meta reasons, as cc!Wilbur just wasn’t active on the SMP as much at that point, and had said as much was going to happen, I just personally wish he had done things differently/only gotten on the server to chill with people non-canonically.

And then that aaaaaaaall changed in the aftermath of Doomsday, my abhorred. Ghostbur is one of the highlights of that event, he pulls some of the most disparate narrative conflicts back together to create something coherent and utilizes his role as a very minor character to drastic advantage by displaying the cost of the “ends justify the means” mentality that was a “focal point” of the conflict, focal being used loosely here because the narrative was so all over the place that it’s difficult to pick out singular parts to focus on.

Since then Ghostbur has been a more platable character for me, as it gave him what I as a viewer personally consider necessary to fully enjoy and be drawn in by a character: a character motivation. Ghostbur wanted to be resurrected.

He’s fallen off again in terms of activety, and that goal has changed a little, but ultimately the character revelations that Doomsday gave us still make him a “good character” to me.

^^^The criticism here is all on a very subjective level, and I hope it goes without saying that it is truly just my opinion... my, unpopular opinion.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I will be real, I am such a fan of the Eldritch Wilbur theory/interpretation/whatever. Essentially, the idea that Wilbur will be revived and become a worldwide, existential threat due to having stewed in the vast emptiness of the afterlife.

Now, my initial reaction was very skeptical, as I am very interested in a Wilbur who comes back and regrets what he’s done, rebukes his own “villain arc” so to speak.

However, I am also enamored with the idea that the Afterlife changes you. That the time you spend there can warp you into a facsimile of yourself - if you stare into the void long enough, it will stare back.

I also think that there is a thematic draw to the idea of facing Wilbur as an antagonist again, especially for the OG L’manbergians. He is, in a lot of ways, their greatest failure.

I think what that means is different to each of them; To Tommy, he failed to save Wilbur from himself, to prove to him that it really wasn’t too late to take it back; To Tubbo, he failed to be Wilbur, to be president, to fit those shoes and make him proud. To Fundy, he failed to get what he wanted from his relationship with Wilbur, to find a time where the affection and love was going both ways; To Eret, well, It’s obvious.

So if Wilbur is coming back as an antagonist, I want those four to be the ones to fight him. I want them to prove him wrong. I want them to be better than him. I want them to reach out. I want them to tell him what he always needed to hear, and I need it to be true: “It was always meant to be.”

I want them to prove to Wilbur wrong, that he is right for this server; I need them to succeed this time, and save him.

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kuriboo · 4 years ago

Text

Revenge Return

Fandoms: Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's, Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS Words: 16,326 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Category: Multi Characters: Fudou Yuusei, Fujiki Yuusaku, Crow Hogan, Jack Atlas, Rua (Yu-Gi-Oh)Ruka (Yu-Gi-Oh), Martha (Yu-Gi-Oh) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, this takes place after 5ds ends and before vrains proper starts, Adoption, Post-Lost Incident, yusei meets yusaku when yusaku is 6, yusei ends up adopting yusaku, Established Relationship

Summary: Martha looked away again, towards the kids, before facing Yusei again. “His name’s Yusaku. They found a home, and got some of his things, but there was no one waiting for him. They couldn't find any family of his. He hasn’t opened up much to anyone, he’s still scared, and he wakes up in the middle of the night from nightmares. He hasn’t made any friends, doesn’t seem to want to. He's six years old.” “I don’t know them.” Yusaku told Martha after a couple offered to adopt him. “I don’t know them. If I don’t stay here with you, the only person I want to go with is Yusei. I don’t trust anyone else.” Some days, working hard in the lab, it was easier to forget when progress was slow and things didn’t work right. It was easy for him to get lost in the loneliness that crept up on him a lot of days. The apartment still felt empty with Yusei being the only person living here around 90% of the time. He tried not to think about it much. Dwelling on that could be very depressing, how much Yusei had missed having company here.

link to ao3 in the notes. excerpt included below

⁂

It was inevitable for the six of them to split up eventually. It was only natural for their lives to diverge.

That didn’t mean that they were no longer friends, that they no longer kept in contact.

But, after it all came to an end, Yusei found himself staying alone in New Domino City.

He’d gotten offers to join the pro circuit, and he could’ve done well, too. Yusei knew that. But he knew dueling wasn’t where his passion truly was. Dueling brought him together with his closest friends, yes. It helped him through his childhood, a means to an end, gave him hope in a world that denied him everything. And he didn’t dislike dueling, it was still fun to him. Maybe it became a bit much after saving the world more than once, too, but it wasn’t that he was burned out, either.

Other things simply called to Yusei more, especially now that the Crimson Dragon was no longer calling himself as well. Yusei had a lot of skill as a mechanic, and still kept up the jobs he’d do here and there. Science, too, drew him in. Dueling connected him to his friends, but science was one of the only connections he still shared with the family he’d never been able to truly meet. Science, dueling sciences, shaped his life in a different way. Plus, he’d promised to work to prevent the horrible future he’d been shown.

He’d still duel his friends anytime he saw them, of course, but Yusei had studied hard, and now worked as a scientist, and as a mechanic.

Though.

The other former Signers had left New Domino City. But they weren’t the only friends Yusei had no, either. Trudge was still here, and he kept in touch with Lazar, the new mayor. And, of course, there was Martha.

Martha was the closest thing to a mother Yusei had ever known. She’d done so much for him, and for Jack and Crow, and Yusei owed her everything. Crow helped Martha out a lot before he left the city, but he was gone now, pursuing his own path. In his absence, Yusei had begun to help fill that hole and help Martha out a little. He was no Crow, of course, but Martha was always happy to have him, and the kids liked him well enough.

Yusei went over to see Martha one day after work, intending to help with the kids like usual. But as he stepped in, Martha pulled him aside. To where the kids couldn’t hear them. She glanced over in the kids’ direction before she told him what was on her mind.

“There’s a new child,” she said. “He was brought here a few days ago.”

“You have enough room for them all?” he asked. Martha would never turn down a kid who needed her, he knew that. But there were already plenty of kids here, maybe she was worried about resources.

“Plenty,” she assured him. “But how much have you kept up with the news lately?”

Not much. Yusei kept himself fairly busy these days, he hadn’t had much time to keep up with the world. Martha scolded him for working himself too hard, but let him off easy; that wasn��t the point right now. Yusei suspected she’d get after him for it again before he left, though (and, later, he turned out to be right on that).

Martha quietly updated him on one of the latest news stories: the Lost Incident. Six children had all disappeared for a long time- too long for anyone, but especially children. They’d only been found recently, thanks to an anonymous tip.

“Most of the kids had families to go back to,” Martha explained. “One went to a different orphanage. He’d already lived there before all of this. But one of them had nowhere to go. They couldn’t find family, or anyone who’d been taking care of him.”

Yusei understood. The new kid Martha had taken in was one of those kids, one of those victims from the incident.

She looked away again, towards the kids, before facing Yusei again. “His name’s Yusaku. They found a home, and got some of his things, but there was no one waiting for him. He hasn’t opened up much to anyone, he’s still scared, and he wakes up in the middle of the night from nightmares. He hasn’t made any friends, doesn’t seem to want to.”

Yusei turned to glance towards the kids as well. He couldn’t see anyone he didn’t recognize; Yusaku must not have been in his line of sight.

“Part of it is because of dueling,” Martha went on. “They found a deck with his things, and gave it to him. He must’ve liked dueling once. But he wants nothing to do with it now. The other kids want to get him to duel, and that’s not helping things.”

“How old is he?” he asked.

“Six.”

He paused at that. Six. The kid was only six years old, and he’s already been through so much. With no one looking for him, waiting for him to come home, at the end of it. Yusei had grown up learning first-hand how cruel the world was, but that didn’t mean he had to like it, even now.

Who knew what actually happened to this kid while he was missing. Nobody actually knew; there were suspicions of a cover-up floating around, according to Martha. From what Martha described of his behavior, it couldn’t be good.

“I know I can trust you with him,” she said. “Which is why I need to ask you a favor. Yusaku needs to go to a therapy appointment tomorrow, I can’t leave the other kids alone.”

There was no hesitation. “I can do it, just tell me where to go.”

Normally, Yusei stayed to help Martha with anything he needed him for, and sometimes he played with and hung around with the kids, too, but otherwise he usually didn't stay long. Today, though, he stayed for a little while longer. He at least wanted to meet Yusaku first. Make sure Yusaku knew who he was. Yusei was no expert in child psychology nor in trauma, but Yusaku probably wouldn’t appreciate going anywhere with a stranger. Any kid probably wouldn’t feel safe doing that.

Yusaku was fairly easy to pick out. Yusei knew all the other kids here already anyway, but even though Yusaku was sitting in a corner, his blue (and pink) hair was hard to miss. Yusei walked over to him.

“Hey,” Yusei said quietly. He crouched down next to Yusaku. “My name’s Yusei.”

Yusaku stared at him.

“I used to live here when I was younger,” Yusei explained. “Martha took care of me a lot. She’s helped me out more times than I can count. You’re in a good place here, I promise.”

He could hear Martha grumble from across the room, something about ‘as if I don’t still take care of you now’ and ‘you boys are more trouble than you’re worth’. He smiled at that.

Yusaku was still staring at him. “What do you want?” he asked flatly.

“I’ll get to the point then.” Yusei’s smile wavered, but it persisted as he aimed it now at Yusaku. “You have an appointment tomorrow, and Martha wants me to take you to it. I wanted to make sure you’ve at least seen me before, know who I am, so you don’t feel like you’re going somewhere with a complete stranger. I’ll bring you back safe and sound, I promise.”

Yusaku studied his face. “I have an appointment tomorrow. Martha wants you to take me. Your name’s Yusei, she knows you.” He nodded. “Okay. I got it.”

At that, Yusaku looked away from him. Yusei stayed there for a few seconds longer, but Yusaku ignored him. He stood up. Well, Martha said Yusaku wasn’t opening up to anyone. He shouldn’t have expected much else.

Yusei didn’t leave right away. He helped Martha out, one of the kids asked to duel him… Up to when he did leave, Yusaku didn’t do or say much. But anytime Yusei glanced over, Yusaku was definitely watching him as well as everyone else around him.

He came back, as he promised, the next day.

Martha and Yusaku were waiting outside for him. Yusei carefully parked his motorcycle, took off his helmet, and got off from the motorcycle. He smiled down at Yusaku.

“You remember who I am, right?”

“You’re Yusei,” Yusaku answered immediately. “I have an appointment you’re taking me to.”

“It won’t take long, and Yusei will bring you back afterwards,” Martha assured Yusaku.

“We can take my motorcycle.” Yusei pointed back to his motorcycle. He’d attached a sidecar to it earlier, and a helmet that should fit Yusaku well sat inside; he’d kept it on hand and used it a few times for Leo and Luna, when they were both still in the city. (Even now, Yusei only drove around in his duel runner, and didn't own a car or any other kind of vehicle.) “Or if you don’t want to do that, we can walk. I don’t mind.” Motorcycles weren’t for everyone. Yusei understood perfectly if Yusaku didn’t like the noise or the speed, or just preferred walking. He'd made sure to arrive with enough time to reach their destination by walking; it wasn't very far from the orphanage.

But Yusaku shook his head. “Motorcycle.”

“Alright then.” Yusei put his own helmet on before helping Yusaku with his, and strapping him into the sidecar. They waved to Martha, and then drove off.

Yusei had complete control over his motorcycle at any speed. Of course that held true for high speeds. Turbo Duels made that level of control a necessity. But he could drive well at low speeds as well, an important skill outside of duels. Regular life had speed limits for safety reasons and all that, and Yusei made a habit of obeying the law these days. But he drove even slower than the limit now. Yusaku said he was fine in the motorcycle, but still, Yusei wanted to make sure the kid would be okay.

Either way, they made it to the appointment in plenty of time.

“I’ll wait right here until you’re done. I’m in no hurry, don’t feel like you have to rush out,” Yusei told him.

Yusaku nodded and went in for his appointment.

Yusei sat down in the waiting room. True to his word, he wasn’t going anywhere. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do anything, though. He took out his phone and opened up the former Signers’ group chat.

The Planeteers

Leo: if i'm gonna be a professional duelist it doesn't matter if i fail this science exam right

Luna: leo you realize most cities are powered by duel energy now right? that's kind of yusei's job

Luna: and if we want to prevent iliaster's future we need to keep an eye on duel energy

Luna: it's kinda important

Leo: it's not a duel science exam though! it's a physics exam! you know it's physics we're literally both studying for it right now

Luna: i'm studying for it at least, you're just trying to get out of it

Yusei: it's not like you guys have to worry much about the ener-d reactor i've got it covered, you two should just worry about school

Leo: yusei!!! i don't need to know physics to duel right

Yusei: you want to be a turbo duelist right

Yusei: physics is a big part of turbo dueling. how fast you can drive and duel at the same time. how fast you can take different turns. how different conditions change that if your path is icy or you're driving on dirt. or if you get launched in the air. trying to figure out all that while trying to get the first turn before your opponent, and trying to figure out how to win the duel, it helps a lot

Leo: oh yikes

Crow: i never think about any of that stuff and i win my turbo duels just fine

Luna: crow you're not helping

Yusei: you should at least try on the exam, leo. it doesn't have to be perfect as long as you try

Leo: can you help me study then??

Yusei: i'm a bit busy at the moment, sorry, helping martha

Yusei: maybe later

Yusei smiled. Distance, as well as different paths, meant nothing. They were still a team, still great friends, and that meant everything to him.

He was soon pulled out of his thoughts, as well as the conversation. The door from the waiting room to other parts of the building opened, and Yusaku stepped out. Yusei took care of all the end of appointment business. With that finished, the two of them went outside.

“How did it go?” Yusei secured Yusaku in the side car of his motorcycle.

Yusaku stared silently at him.

“It’s okay if it didn't go well,” Yusei told him. “It takes time for people to understand, and while they don’t, it might be harder for them to help. But I promise I’ll be here to take you to your next appointment, too. And I won’t leave you behind anywhere. We’ll do the best we can for you.”

Yusaku wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the ground.

Yusei didn’t understand, himself. He couldn’t, when he really had no idea what happened to this kid. But he found himself wanting to understand. Yusaku needed help, and Yusei hoped a time would come when Yusaku could make a friend.

He drove Yusaku back to the orphanage, helped Martha with meal preparation before he left, after Yusaku was back safe. Yusaku stuck to himself, ignored anyone who approached him.

Work was keeping Yusei busy, but he came back to the orphanage to take Yusaku to his next appointment.

And his next appointment.

Yusaku’s appointments remained a consistent, repetitive thing in both his and Yusei’s lives. Yusei, of course, didn’t mind that at all. Every time, Yusaku and Martha would be waiting for Yusei outside, Yusaku would want to ride in the motorcycle, Yusei would stay in the waiting room until the appointment finished, and Yusei would take Yusaku home.

These appointments were supposed to help Yusaku. In what way, Yusei couldn’t possibly know. He didn’t know what Yusaku was like before his entire life changed like this. All Yusei could hope was that Yusaku would be happier. For now, however, Yusaku continued to stick to himself, rarely talked to anyone, and he never smiled. There didn’t seem to be any improvement.

It wasn’t that Yusei thought Yusaku should be getting better faster. He was simply worried about him, as he had been since the day the two of them met.

Maybe therapy was just taking awhile to help Yusaku.

Or…maybe it wouldn’t be able to help him.

Yusei’s thoughts were spinning circles as the door in the waiting room opened, and Yusaku walked out. As Yusei took him back out to his motorcycle, he had an idea.

“It’s been rough for you, hasn’t it?” he asked. “And, honestly, I’m kind of hungry. You want to get food on our way back? My treat.”

Yusaku nodded.

“Do you want a burger? Or some chicken nuggets.”

“…Nuggets.”

Yusei pulled into the parking lot of McDomino’s, and took Yusaku in to order and get their food. They took their food back outside to eat in Yusei’s motorcycle, though. Yusei didn’t want the crowded fast food environment to cause more stress to Yusaku. As they sat down, Yusei gave Yusaku his Smile Meal, and began munching on his own chicken nuggets.

“…I told you I grew up in Martha’s orphanage,” Yusei said. “My parents died in an accident when I was very young. I lived in a part of New Domino that used to be really rough. Martha did her best to make sure we were never hungry, but I could even tell as a kid that food was hard to get. No one in our area was allowed to duel, no one was allowed to escape, and everyone was always looking for an excuse to give us trouble. I used to look around in junkyards for anything I could find. My friends and I tried to make a change, but one of us got arrested for it. He thought it was my fault he was arrested, and I blamed myself for it every day. He got really sick before I saw him again, and when I did, he hated me. He and I figured it out, though, and we’re friends again now.”

Yusaku stared at him.

“We were able to change things for the better eventually,” Yusei went on. “But a lot of people tried to stop us. Even if we weren’t actually allowed to duel, we did anyway. Somehow, we ended up in all these duels just to save the city, where if we lost it would…be bad.”

Yusaku continued staring at him.

“Life isn’t fair sometimes. I never should’ve had to deal with any of it while I was still so young. And whatever happened to you, you deserve better, too.” Yusei frowned. “It was hard. Still is. But… I never would’ve been able to get through it without any of my friends. Going through it together made it easier, and we stuck by it together through it all. No one should have to go through life alone. I hope you can find friends like that, too. Friends who understand you and who’ll help you no matter what.”

Yusaku didn’t say a word. But he never looked away from Yusei. Not as they finished eating, and not as they drove back to the orphanage.

No one could get a word out of Yusaku for the rest of that day. Yusei didn’t hear him speak until it was time for Yusaku’s next appointment.

“Want to walk.”

That wasn’t a problem. They hadn’t walked before, but Yusei always made sure that they had enough time to walk if Yusaku changed his mind. What concerned Yusei, what interested him, was why Yusaku changed his mind. But, he wasn’t going to get an answer from Yusaku by badgering him with questions. He might not get an answer at all.

“Alright, then. Let’s go.”

Yusaku grabbed Yusei’s pant-leg just to make sure they weren’t separated, and they set off in silence after that.

When Yusaku broke the silence himself, though, Yusei was surprised.

“Why are you here?”

Yusei was suddenly thrust back to his memory of their first meeting. Yusaku had asked a similar question then, trying to gauge his intentions. This question, Yusei assumed, probably went deeper then just why he was where he was in that moment. It was probably more along the lines of, ‘why are you still here now?’ ‘why do you keep coming back?’, or even, ‘why did you open up to me last time?’

“Everyone deserves to have someone in their corner. No one should have to be alone.” Yusei smiled down at Yusaku. “It took me a long time to truly appreciate what that meant, that it applied to me, too. I spent a long time trying to do things on my own just to keep other people safe, while insisting on helping the people around me when they struggled. Because of that, I…almost lost everything, a few times, and my friends were furious. We were stronger together than apart, all of us.” He paused to breathe, he should get to the point. “I was lucky. I always had someone at my side, someone watching my back, even when I didn’t want them there. I still needed them. I don’t know if you have or not. I don’t know what happened. Whatever it is, though, I want to make sure you don’t have to be alone. Even if it’s something small like this, if I can do something to help, you deserve that much.”

If he’d grown up alone, Yusei never would’ve made it this far, or never become the person he was today. He never could’ve helped unite New Domino, or defeat the Dark Signers, or take down Iliastor. He didn’t want to imagine what kind of person he’d be now, or where he would’ve ended up.

#tater writes #tater.txt #yugioh 5ds #yugioh vrains

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dianapocalypse · 4 years ago

Photo

Kieran Shepard - Character Profile

(Systems Alliance vector by Deviantart User Karlika)

I got extremely carried away so let’s go under the cut

this only goes thru about the halfway point of Mass Effect 2 right now because I’m still working thru the game! I’ll update it when I’m done with ME2 and after ME3 probably.

Pre-Mass Effect 1

Kieran Shepard was born on Earth and grew up in the slums of Chicago. She was shuffled around various foster and group homes for her childhood, and the only sense of stability she knew was in the gang she was recruited to at a young age, the Tenth Street Reds. She was part of the "Clubs" suit of the organization, specializing in hitting hard and fast. She was outfitted with her biotic amps by the gang to make her more effective in close quarters combat. She grew up very distrustful of law enforcement and authority in general.

After a job went south when she was 16 and she ended up tied up in a homicide, she was given the option by the courts to go to prison or go to an 'alternative education' school funded by the Systems Alliance. It was her first taste of structure outside of the gang life, and she adapted to it better than expected, eventually falling in line with the Alliance’s way of doing things despite her initial resistance to trusting the authority of a large military organization. Upon her graduation at 18, she joined the Alliance military. She served under Captain Anderson on the SSV Tokyo, and was one of the Alliance marines on leave when the Skyllian Blitz hit Elysium. Leading the charge to defend the colony and using her years of experience of fighting dirty and coordinating disparate people in the Tenth Street Reds, coupled with her military education, she and the colonists beat back the invaders and she was awarded the Star of Terra.

After this point, Kieran’s dedication to being the Perfect Alliance Soldier intensified; there were eyes on her now, and expectations to meet. The impostor syndrome began setting in. She fought back against it by overworking herself to be better than the best, taking even the slightest mistakes as evidence she was worthless and going to be discovered as the fraud she was. This only got worse when Captain Anderson hand picked her to be his XO on the SSV Normandy.

Kieran kept a fairly stiff outward appearance and did her best to emulate Captain Anderson, thinking this was what was expected of her. Despite this, she, Jenkins and Joker managed to develop a sibling-like banter while the Normandy was being prepped for its first mission.

Mass Effect 1

Eden Prime was her first mission officially having a command, Elysium having taken place before she was promoted. Losing Jenkins so quickly was terrifying, proof that she wasn’t fit to be here. But, no time for that, she carried out the mission, recruited Ashley, was sucked into the Beacon, etc. No one seemed to blame her for Jenkins’ death, which only served to make her feel more fraudulent. Like now that she had authority, there was also a lack of appropriate consequences. Her old disdain for authority tried to breach above the water, but she forced it back down. She found some solace in Kaidan’s logical, clinical way of explaining things, including Jenkins’ death; it helped the Subjective feel more Objective, and she came to trust his opinions.

The Council’s reaction to Saren was, as it is for all Shepards, infuriating. Again, her old reasons for distrusting authority had one more ‘point’ in their corner. Still, she did her best to stay in line, to be the Soldier she needed to be, and eventually to be the Spectre she needed to be. Losing Captain Anderson to politics, though, shook her. Before, she had at least someone higher than her on the food chain to turn to when she was in over her head. Now, she was on her own.

She came to lean more heavily on Kaidan’s advice during this time, and on Joker for levity. She didn’t take well to Garrus; his history as a cop and constant complaints that red tape kept him from getting justice done ‘his way’ smacked of crooked cops on Earth. Still, when they clashed, he tended to back down and consider what she said. She enjoyed Wrex’s company, though, his old war stories reminding her of the senior members of her gang on Earth. She also enjoyed her talks with Ashley and Tali, the former because of her candor-- Kieran could at least be sure Ash was always honest with her--and Tali because she was the only person on board who seemed as out of place as Kieran felt. Plus, Tali’s a delight, who wouldn’t like her? She was fairly ambivalent to Liara, not sure if she viewed her as more of an extension of her Prothean research as a person, and they had their fair share of awkward conversations, but there’s no malice there.

Kieran’s next Major Event takes place on the Citadel, when a member of the Tenth Street Reds tries to blackmail her into using her newfound power and influence to release one of their own from prison. In the time since she left, they became an even more outwardly xenophobic organization, which rubs her the wrong way. Doing her best to be a Model Soldier, she immediately reports him to C-Sec, leading to a confrontation. In the heat of the moment, Kieran panicks. Her past is a matter of public record, but she can’t have him dragging her thru the mud, spreading lies, hurting her reputation and the Alliance’s. Her position is too precarious. They’ll find out that she’s a fraud, even if he’s lying. She shoots him, intending it as a warning, but killing him on the spot instead. (I wrote more about this here when I played that part of the game!) The Turian cop is impressed. Kieran is horrified, both by her actions, and by the cop’s approval of her killing him in cold blood. She returns to the Normandy and throws up.

I’m fudging the canonical timeline a little bit here, but I think this event is what leads into Kaidan telling Kieran the story of how he killed the Turian ‘teacher’ on Jump Zero as a way of helping her contextualize what just happened. They Bond. The rest of the game unfolds without too many more Major Character Moments that are unique to Kieran versus All Shepards. Wrex survives Virmire, Ashley doesn’t. Ash becomes the second to die under her command, the first to die as the result of an explicit choice she made to save the man she has feelings for. The guilt threatens to rip her in half, but we have a galaxy to save, so she does. She manages to talk Saren into realizing he is indoctrinated, but it’s too late for him. She leaves the council to die on the Destiny Ascension, not willing to risk losing firepower to use against the Reaper, and is infuriated when the political spin on the story becomes that she was ‘protecting human interests over galactic ones’. She does not understand why the lives of three politicians should outweigh thousands of soldiers or millions of civilians on the Citadel, and she never will.

Having never trusted Udina, Kieran nominates Captain Anderson to lead the new council. She spends the ensuing months cleaning up pockets of geth resistance with the Normandy crew before getting spaced by the Collectors, as all Shepards do from time to time.

Mass Effect 2

Kieran wakes up in a Cerberus facility and is horrified. She ran into Cerberus plenty in Mass Effect 1, and her impression of them is bad to say the least. After fighting her way through the facility under siege and being horrified by Miranda’s actions killing Wilson, she heads to Freedom’s Progress, all the while trying to figure out a way to get out of this, even tho she suspects The Illusive Man’s statements that she’s free to do as she pleases to be lies. No one invests that much without expecting returns, or demanding them. Her only solace is in Joker, who at least seems not to have changed much, and Dr. Chakwas. She tries to communicate to Tali on Freedom’s Progress that she doesn’t want to be here, tries to get her to come along for the mission, but at least for now, she can’t. She goes to Captain Anderson on the Citadel to try to bring the mission to the Alliance, the Council, anything to get away from Cerberus, but he cannot help her. Her old crew is unavailable, Kaidan’s location is classified, she can’t get messages out to any of her old crew without risking Cerberus reading them and someone has to stop the Collectors.

Even though the two had never been close, she is elated to see Garrus on Omega, in as bad shape as he is. At least he’s a familiar face and someone who doesn’t trust Cerberus. She bonds with Zaeed for similar reasons to Wrex; she likes his old war stories and he reminds her of the people she grew up with. And, he doesn’t treat her any differently because of her status. She’s still guarded around Jacob and Miranda, she doesn’t trust EDI, and she immediately gives Jack access to all of Cerberus’s files. The two don’t exactly get along, but they at least have hating Cerberus and their colorful backgrounds in common. Grunt at least is easy to understand for her; prove you’re strong, and he’ll respect you. Good enough for now.

Horizon hits Kieran like a truck. Seeing the Collectors in action is traumatizing enough; then she sees Kaidan, who she’s been wanting to talk to since she woke up, who she hoped would understand that she’s trapped, and he lays into her for a situation she feels she cannot control. He says she betrayed the Alliance, betrayed him, wonders if their relationship meant anything to her. She’s stunned. Until this point, the fact that she was gone for two years never really felt real, never sunk in. But now it’s undeniable. It’s changed her, it’s changed the people she cares about, and she feels like she truly lost everything. Even after getting his follow up email (which I highly recommend listening to the voice actor read), Kieran’s mental health is in shambles. It’s not enough to undo her self doubt spiral. He thinks she’s a bad guy now? That she’s a traitor? Fine. No point in fighting it, then. (To be clear, I personally don’t blame Kaidan at all for Horizon, nor Shepard, it’s just a shit situation, but Kieran’s self esteem is SHOT)

Kieran starts getting reckless in the ensuing missions. She starts taking a lot more renegade actions, in a gameplay sense, things she would never have done when she was trying to be the Perfect Soldier. Now, everyone already thinks she’s out of control, and she falls back into old habits. If everyone already thinks you’re bad, it’s easier to just become what they say you are.

I’ve only done Miranda’s loyalty mission so far, and the first exception to her current downward spiral into Renegade is Niket. His logic reminds her of Kaidan, as does how Miranda describes their friendship; she tells Miranda not to shoot, has a brief moment of clarity that oh, yeah, killing someone you were friends with is traumatizing, probably. Don’t do that. She and Miranda bonded a bit over that mission, I think; she still doesn’t like Cerberus, but she likes Miranda, and I think that counts for a lot for her.

That’s as far as I am in the game at the moment! Her current attitudes to the rest of the crew are: Jacob she is indifferent to but respects his honesty; she doesn’t like or trust Mordin due to his treatment of the Krogan and the sense of racial superiority over the Krogan; she likes Kelly and the engineers fine; she has a respect for Jack even if Jack doesn’t like her; she likes Garrus more now that he’s not so into his “justice by any means necessary�� bit but we’ll see how his loyalty mission goes; she likes Kasumi; she is really glad to have Tali back, esp because she’s SO OUTWARDLY HOSTILE TO CERBERUS and it’s great; she likes Grunt and views Zaeed as kind of a fucked up father figure; she likes and trusts Chakwas and Joker; jury is still out on Thane but she at least can see he does his job well; and she CANNOT STAND SAMARA. Might end up going with Morinth on this playthru!

If you made it this far, holy shit, why???? Also thank you!!

#mass effect #mass effect legendary edition #commander shepard #femshep #kieran shepard tag #diana draws sometimes

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a-student-out-of-time · 4 years ago

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Twisted Sister Arc Review Part 1

Hi guys I’m the Anon who does the reviews around here…guess you could call me the Review Anon? Wonder what the lore behind me would be…anyway that doesn’t matter! Point is, I have an Arc to review and Jesus is this a big one. So big that A) I’m doing submissions (with permission from the Mod of course) and B) I’m splitting the review into 3 parts. Heavy Arcs are Heavy and a LOT of stuff happens here so let’s get right into it!

So, the parts of the Twisted Sister Arc are first the Massacre, second is the Mindwipe and third is the Prison Break. Last one doesn’t start with M but I’m not doing rhyming here, but that’s enough time wasting let’s get right into it~

Massacre

Easily the darkest part of the Arc but given the Arc is basically Kanade being a Slasher Killer here, what do you expect? While Danganronpa is a franchise about murder, and we had serial killers in it both canon and fanon the nature of the Killing Game means that a full-blooded mass killing akin to many slasher films hasn’t really occurred in the franchise before. This makes Kanade’s bloody rampage here even more disturbing, as while we have had mass killings before, see Mukuro’s rampage through Giboua Middle School in Killer Killer, those are established as backstory drops for the characters, we never actually see one being carried out in action. And going back to that massacre, Mukuro only did it because Junko thought her sister’s killer intent might have slipped and it’s to prove to her she is still a killer, but here Kanade is killing for cold blooded revenge. And she doesn’t just kill a bunch of randoms as she brutally murders Iroha, Peko, Akane, Nekomaru, Sonia and Kokoro very brutally and very effectively. I knew something was up given that the entire school went into lockdown and all the fighters from Class 77-B were geared to fight Kanade to the death, and Kanade is such a pansy of a fighter that Sonia beat the living shit out of here, and Syo was taken down by the QC, and we all know how terrifying Syo is. But once the bodies started to drop, I knew that the first time that Hajime would reset on purpose was coming up and there were so many questions. Who set Kanade up for this? Someone had to be helping her…. but who and why? Juu could have let her out but he couldn’t have supplied Kanade with her tools and intel (more on that later) so it has to be someone else.

Within the darkness of this timeline there is of course your heroes. There are those like Peko who got a lucky shot on Kanade which set a chain line of events leading to Kanade’s death, Mikako who made Kanade’s injuries worse and Kokoro who stabbed Kanade in the eye. But those small victories led to total loses as even if Peko didn’t die, she would be crippled for life and moreover she failed to protect her classmates from Kanade’s wrath, and Mikako lost her mother, just as she started to finally connect with her. You may have noticed that I haven’t mentioned two names yet, and that’s because they deserve their own paragraphs, I am of course referring to Nikei and Hibiki.

I’m gonna start with the next person who attacks Kanade and that is of course our Journalist boy here. To say this day has been terrible to him would be a massive understatement as one minute he is suffering an energy crash from downing one too many Red Bulls and having lewd thoughts, to running faster than if he happened to be in Mexico (Seriously, if you happen to be a journalist just don’t go to Mexico) to Hope’s Peak and thanks to Ankle Effects, arriving alongside Hajime to a bloodbath. There’s his constant refusal to accept that Iroha is killed, even though we as the audience knew that given Iroha tried to stop Kanade as soon as she arrived at Hope’s Peak and that Kanade was seen by Sonia and co chopping up security guards, the likelihood of her survival was next to none. This carries on from the conversation Nikei had with Yoruko in the previous Arc where he still believes he is dangerous and that he doesn’t see the other Voids as friends or equals, but rather he took the role as leader because he wanted to have power for once in his life, something he alluded to in the Void Theatre during Chapter 5. However, his reaction to Iroha’s unknown safety, and eventually the truth that Kanade really did butcher the poor painter, proves otherwise. While Nikei’s relationship with his fellow Voids canonically won’t get revealed until LINIQ decides to get around to doing the Onmake mode, in which one of the stories in that is going to be about Void pre Mikado- with someone, most likely Nikei, being the POV character, here the fact his first thoughts upon finding out his ‘little sister’ is dead is to disregard the no-killing rule and just beat Kanade to death, proves that he does care about his fellow Voids, but is in several layers of denial. Out of all the Voids, Nikei is easily the most guarded and paranoid of the lot, and while the others have loosened up around Hajime and co, Nikei still has a lot of inner demons he has to deal with before he could truly open up to the rest of the QC. And Kanade chopping his right hand off, doesn’t help matters though I do give Nikei credit that unlike in the OG timeline, where upon his right hand been blown up by his exploding gun, he just broke down crying, here, he tries to carry on the fight regardless, or he would have had the other person I need to talk about didn’t show up. This is pretty important to establish that while most of the Voids now are pretty far removed from their canon selves and are unlikely to regress back in that, Nikei is still closely tied with his bastard canon self and more work needs to be done for him to detach from that.

But moving on from someone who needs to get some work done, let’s move onto someone who has seen the natural conclusion of their character development, Hibiki! Ever since Hajime and Chiaki rescued Hibiki from her twisted sister (*rim shot*) back in July, she has been making a ton of progress, firstly coming to terms with what Kanade did and her true nature, developing friendly healthy relationships with Class 77-B, the QC and of course a romantic relationship with Hajime. It seemed kind of cliché for Hibiki to fall for Hajime but then again a) Danganronpa can be cliché at times and B) As a Danganronpa Protagonist Hajime cannot turn off his swag. Then there is her officially joining the QC, learning how to fight and being a complete and utter badarse and a caring lover when needed as she confronted Hajime back when he died the second time. We all knew it was only a matter of time when Hibiki had to confront her sister and when Kanade broke into the school, we saw fully, how much Hibiki has grown in the past 3 months. The old Hibiki would have curled up in a corner terrified, crying and probably going into the Puppet State. Here though, Hibiki’s FIRST THOUGHTS upon finding out that Kanade is more dangerous now is to done some armour and get some weapons, and face her sister head on with no hesitation. All without going into the Puppet State at least once, which probably means that its more or less gone now. Kanade tried to talk her sister out of fighting her, but Hikibi isn’t buying Kanade’s insurance anymore and a fight breaks out. If this ever gets animated or becomes a visual novel, I would love to see the Hibiki vs Kanade fight animated as its brilliant, its epic and it’s just so satisfying to see Kanade getting the living snot beaten out of her. You could argue that Nikei’s mauling of Kanade was like that but there, Nikei was more or less in grief due to Iroha’s death and the whole thing was as painful to watch as the final fight in Captain America: Civil War, not saying what because spoilers ahoy. Here though is a glorious battle, as Hibiki gets to deliver justice onto her demonic sister and it is SO SO satisfying, given that a reset happens shortly afterwards.

And sadly, with that, we come to easily the weakest part of not only this part of the arc, but the arc overall, Yasuke’s multiverse theory. It could be written better, and even the Mod agrees that the way it was presented shouldn’t have been the way it worse, that having Umeko throw some ideas at Hajime and him coming to the conclusion that they might have been living in a multiverse be better narrative then Yasuke be like ‘Oh hey I am suddenly an expert on Time Travel now’. It would make Hajime breaking his no kill rule that much more impactful as he doesn’t have the excuses of not only Nikei’s who was currently going through a mental breakdown, and in the current plot where Yasuke more or less planted the seed of doubt in Hajime’s mind. Yasuke still has a role to play in this arc but during the Massacre timeline, I feel like he could have been removed entirely from the plot and not only would it have made no difference, but then most readers wouldn’t be complaining about it as much as Yasuke being a general A-hole wouldn’t tick them off. I’m not saying ‘THIS IS AS BAD AS ONCOMING STORM’ as that Arc was just a giant clusterfuck of a mess, and aside from this one part, the arc is very strong overall, but I will give criticism when due. I’m not mentioning my thoughts on Yasuke as a whole here because he’s more relevant in other parts of the Arc. However, Hajime killing Kanade and himself at the same time is brilliant and seeing Kanade begging for her life as Hajime throws her out of the window is so satisfying given not only all the crap she has been dealing up until that point, but also because in SDAR2, she was 100% fulfilled with the events at that point and given it was HIBIKI who was begging for her life then, let’s just say karma is a bigger bitch then Kanade is.

And that concludes the Massacre part of the Arc as Hajime kills himself and Kanade at the same time and he goes back to just before Nikei started to have indecent thoughts. No time to look at the 3rd page of the national newspapers’ boy, we got a serial killer to stop! And with that I’m stopping here as the Massacre part is finished. But this review is far from over, this is just here because otherwise my, the Mod’s and everyone else’s brains won’t be able to process all of this. Stay tuned for part 2 when we cover Kanade’s capture, a scrum debate among the QC and a bold move by the Mod which I do wish will come up more! Until then, Adios! - Review Anon

//Part 1 of 3

//Finally get to submit these

#mod talks #a student out of time #submission #review-anon

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thoseindarkness · 4 years ago

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DtD News Nov 2020

Thank you to anyone who came back for this nonsense. For brevity I have an announcement that I want to make up front. I didn't have room for it last month so I pushed it back, but I can't anymore. I had to make one major revision to the published story. I want people to know about it.

This is the TLDR version. I tell a more in-depth story at the end.

ANNOUNCEMENT

The summary: I had a bad outline walking into writing Mistrust Goes Both Ways. I ran into a problem mid-story. Instead of stopping and taking the time I needed, I challenged myself to creatively solve my way out of my problems. I re-started with about half of what I'd written, published Mistrust Goes Both Ways, and restarting my outline with high hopes. I was proud of myself for rising to the challenge.

Despite my best efforts, it didn't work out. In the end, I had to scrap my outline. I was able to structure the end I was going for and spent the end of 2019 trying to link the first two stories to the ending I wanted. It wasn't working. Then TRoS. Then COVID. Here we are. In June, I started experimenting with scrapping Mistrust and restarting from Read Between.

Mistrust Goes Both Ways will not be part of the finished story when I'm done. I know some of you love it. I love it. I have no intention of taking it down. I might, for a short time, when I'm posting the final story. I'll let you know if that happens and it will go back up afterward. I don't have specifics as there's no point planning for it now.

For right now, nothing is changing on my AO3 account. Feel free to read and comment to your hearts content. I promise it will stay up forever to remind me that some mistakes are worth sharing with others. I learned good lessons from this mistake. It stays.

That being said I think I owe you an actual update on the progress of this story.

WHAT THE HELL I DID THIS MONTH

After my first update I needed to re-integrate with Reylo friends. Funnily enough, that pulled me into another fic. I've been working on that between following this election. Now that it's called I can get back to writing. I tried a couple of times since I voted on Oct 30th, but I knew it wasn't what I wanted to be thinking about.

Thankfully, I've also begun doing more social/political essays lately. I'm not sure what overall form or shape those may take and I haven't published any. Still, I was creative and I did plenty of writing. Interestingly, all this political focus is good for Deceive the Deceiver. Spinning and listening to conspiracy theories is a big part of weaving a world like this one. A great deal comes from my thoughts and perceptions of the real world.

WHERE DTD IS

As of right now I am in the process of first drafting the entire story with Read Between as the starting point. That is, every one of the short stories in the series. What I'm doing is somewhere between a history, an outline and random scene writing. All of these elements are currently strung together in one long, continuous, chronological, first draft. It's everything from the history before Read Between (which starts in the 1930's), all the way to the final scene of DtD.

I'm taking all the good ideas I've created in the last couple of years and re-organizing them into a first pass. It's the skeleton and some of the meat now. I'm slowly building out now that I have a blank-er slate. It's about choosing what works and what doesn't.

I call it accordion writing. It just gets bigger and bigger. This outline will later level up into the first full story drafts for each part. I've got so much history when I finish this I might… I'm getting ahead of myself. Don't want to give too many clues away.

Another interesting thing that's happened recently is I've started pulling bits of other fic ideas that I’m just not gonna finish. A big chuck of the history I stole from a modern/academia AU where Ben and Rey are history students specializing in the ancient Jedi religion. Another was a complication between characters came from a canon story where I wanted to paint the relationship with a new layer. We'll see if I can pull that off.

I spent a lot of time prior to this year focusing on the heroes but my villains hadn't gotten much love. Filling in the history has given me a chance to flesh out the villains. All their moves and countermoves, woven through the bits I already have, are spinning a pretty tapestry. Oh, the villains are so much fun to write!

This other fic came together in the same sort of accordion fashion and it's been fun working through the kinks in the process now that I've seen some of the weak points on a scale like DtD. I think I've mentioned, but this is a writing experiment for me and I'm most invested now in improving my process and clue-threading with DtD. This other fic is helping me test it on a smaller scale.

Not that this needs to get any longer, I'm just going to throw pretense out the window and go with complete vanity. If you don't give a wet shit about my life (and I don't blame you) you have reached the end of your journey. I hope to see you next month. If not, then I leave you with this parting:

May we meet again in our next fandom, through mutes and not as rival shippers.

The following is the ridiculous story of my ups and downs with Deceive the Deceiver. I figure if I explain to you how much I'm invested in this story some of you will stop worrying that I'm going to abandon it. Trust me. I'm not.

This tale stretches from NANOWRIMO 2018 and the prompt that started it, through the ups and downs of 2019 and 2020, to the writing of last month's letter. Buckle up. I love bumpy rides.

DtD: from NANO '17 to COVID-19

This story truly starts in December 2017 when I drenched the seat beneath me during Last Jedi. I'm a TLJ shipper. I got caught on the thirst train. It hit a time when writing was becoming a really big part of my life. I've been writing since I was a kid. I stopped for a while and came back to it. It's a long story. Ultimately, I'd started writing a lot a few years earlier. A mix of fic and originals but I was running into problems so I start reading a bunch of books to get better. TLJ lit the fires. NO joke TLJ came out on the 15th. I have pages of writing from the 20th.

2018 was Reylo year! I was already on Tumblr for my previous fandom (Batman comics). I found Reylo AU week which is in August. I submitted a story for that. It was the first fic I published for Reylo. Fast-forward August to November. I'm in the Writing Den on Discord and someone throws out this spy prompt. People start running with. Throwing ideas around. One of those was the snuggie in Mistrust! I have that conversation saved and story spots for each crazy thing they threw out. Finally, I said I'd do it!

Mind you, this is November 2nd. Nano has just started and the event is about "turning off your internal editor." This prompt consumed me. I was trying to keep up with SpaceWaffleHouseTM that first year. I did, btw. We both crested 100,000. It was my first Nano. Word count is not my problem. Organizing my crazy ambitious ideas is my problem. Some of that 100k was other stories, like Custard which I wrote half of in November and the other half Jan/Feb 2019. Most of it… probably 80k of it… was DtD.

Read Between the Lies is currently 33,710. I wrote at least 20k of that during that first Nano, as well as outlines and scenes for what I thought would be the starting point. I remember wanting to write Read Between to "get into their headspace" by writing their first meeting. I didn't think it would become a whole story. I was just going with it then. Any idea that came to mind.

I took December 2019 off for a few reasons. Some personal. Some burnout. I'm one of those people that can use writing to relieve stress, but I was so exhausted from that month-long writing sprint. By the last week I was dragging to get the final four or five thousand words to hit 100k.

Also, what I had by the end (no internal editor) was a bird nest of ideas that had too many beginnings, not enough middles, and endings to go around. I knew one thing right away: I knew I had more than one story. There were so many fun ideas. I figured, what the hell. I knew another thing right away: the prompt was at the end of the story. Like, the very end. Like, the last short story. Or the second to last short story, at the earliest. That hasn't changed. Ever. That's just where it ended up.

Between January and April of 2019 I touched DtD a few times. I kept coming back to it, reading through it, trying to untangle it. I made new notes on the stories. Expanded ideas. Tried to structure it. I figured out a bunch of good notes, but no real substance. The hardest thing was figuring out where to start! Did I:

(1) Start shortly before the prompt with Ben/Rey's relationship established and fill the story with the history?

(2) Start a lot earlier and build Ben/Rey's relationship from the beginning I'd written in Read Between?

If I'm being honest, Read Between was a lot better than I thought it would be and I didn't want to get rid of it. For a while I was thinking of publishing it last as a "prequel" if people liked the series.

Funny enough, the turning point happened May fourth weekend 2019…

In the week leading up, I was struggling through another story and decided to take a break for the weekend. I'd start writing again on Sunday when I met with my writing group. I met them through Nano. We used to meet at Panera. Now they meet on Discord. They mostly sprint though and I'm not a sprinter. I miss Panera. Anyway.

May 4th was a Sunday (look it up). I gave myself a writing break for the weekend and marathoned Star fucking Wars. It was nerd weekend. I was going to nerd out. I wore exclusively SW gear all weekend. I remember it well. It was the start of something fucking magical in my life.

Have I mentioned recently I really love this story. Trust me I will fucking finish it. Oh my god the demons won't leave until I do. Get them out of my head…

I had a pretty rockstar weekend. I believe the reason I skipped the PT that weekend was because I'd watched it the month before or so. Right after finishing the Clone Wars animated series (which is awesome and I strongly recommend both it and Rebels). I skipped them and SOLO.

Starting with R1, I went through in chronological order. I stopped at RotJ. I was with my family on Saturday and they were playing RotJ in the living room during the party. We talked about my marathon. My mom came over to my apartment after. We watched RoTJ properly. Then Force Awakens. It was too late by then to watch TLJ. I know I went straight to bed after my mom left on Saturday night.

Somewhere during or right after TFA I started thinking about Deceive the Deceiver. I don't remember what sparked it. I went to bed thinking about DtD. I know this with 100% certainty because I woke up thinking about again on Sunday and I thought it was quite odd.

I dream about this story in a way I have only dreamt about a precious few. Technicolor folks. It keeps me up at night.

I went to my writing group with (a) no plan for what to write, (b) a gordian knot that I had yet to untangle, (c) a sudden urge to re-read it. I opened my notes and read DtD through all our sprints. I read most of it during that writing session. We go about three hours.

That night I had Game of Thrones at my parent's. It was the (spoiler alert) episode where Arya kills the Night King. I remember because two minutes into the episode my brother's car broken down a few blocks from our apartment and we had to go help him. Derailed the whole night (this is foreshadowing).

Side note: I live with my younger brother and he's the best roommate I've ever had in my 35 years of life. Love you, Mo!

The episode was recording so we ran out. Had to leave the car in a parking lot. Someone had already helped him push it out of a puddle but my brother was soaked to mid-calf and the engine was shot. We dropped him off at home and I rode back to my Momma's crib to watch GoT. It was only the beginning of a wild night.

I went to bed late. I had to get up a few hours early to deal with the car before work started for either of us. I guess we were both hoping to avoid taking the day off. That wasn't going to happen. I drove home but I couldn't sleep. That crazy episode and the fact that my brain was already on fire with DtD.

I spent the wee hours finishing my re-read through the rough draft of Read Between the Lies. It saw my starting place. I started writing. I wrote through waiting in a parking lot, for the tow truck, in my car, at 6 am, with no sleep. I did a voice recording as I drove from the parking lot to the mechanic where the driver was taking my brother's car. I thought about it the whole way back. I sat on the sofa a wrote some more when we got home. I went to bed at 11 am and I'd written 10k more words for Read Between the Lies.

Somewhere between the chaos of May 5th and the official publish date on June 5th, Read Between got written. I know it didn't take too long. I remember sending it off to beta (by my amazing beta team on 1 & 2: Em, Jen, and Sai) and immediately pivoting to my outline. I slapped that together far too hastily and kept moving. I was going on holiday in the UK (I'm American and I'm ashamed) in early August so I planned on trying to publish Part 2 when I got back. At the very least I wanted it ready for beta.

Also some to admit, around the middle of 2019 I was fatigued with the fandom. We were hitting a lull. I was psyching myself up for the end and the exit. I was trying to clean house. I wanted to push out unfinished fics. To make them work. There was a lot of that mood from me in 2019. I was trying to make everything work. It's why Read Between came out, and that was a good thing. It's also why Mistrust came out, and that was a bad thing.

With that mentality looming, tough outline in hand, I started writing Mistrust before the end of May. I hit my snag sometime during the period I was publishing Read Between because by the time it was all done I knew I wasn't going to have a finished story by the time I left for London. I would figure it out when I got back. I picked up another project to distracted me from my problems for a little while. That is going to be an original if it's anything. One day…

At some point after I got back I started focusing heavily on problem solving. I had two stories already and a number of plot threads I had to resolve. I have heavy, heavy, heavy notes from September to December of 2019. Lots of possible ways to run this story. It sucks that a lot of that stuff isn't going to make it, but I'm recycling shit every day and I learned so much about the characters/story in that four month period. It really shaped the finished product in an important way.

This period is where I started to look at the bigger structure and how I was going to solve specific plot problems in each short story to bring the whole together. That focus on the different parts is important because it was the last thing on my mind when TRoS happened.

December 20th (the release date) is my birthday. My ass drove up to one of those Reylo-only screenings and I was surrounded by amazing people as I watched a movie that ruined my 35th birthday. Thankfully, I spent it in incomparable company. Thank you to all the hosts and super special thanks to Jen. Not only was she a DtD beta on both, she invited me. Thank you love! You are the reason I still remember that trip with joy.

Side note: I no longer hate TRoS. I've made my peace with it. I'm a far happier person now.

Needless to say, the only Reyloing I did in January of this year was venting frustration. Then I took a few weeks away from the fandom. I'd done my purging into the void. I knew other people still needed the space to vent but I had to get away. Once the toxin is out I couldn't let it back in.

What occurred starting in February of 2020 was a series of situations in which, every time I logged into Twitter I was faced with the kind of vitriol in the fandom that I don't need in my life. Some of it was still TRoS stuff, even as late as May. I'm not judging, I'm just saying, with the world on fire (literally), I didn't need it.

I don't think I have to explain why I've avoided social media like the plague since early this year. I live in America. If you heard anything about our recent President I don't have to explain any further what this year has been like. That has been par for course all over the world.

So here's my secret to happiness. I don't fux with the trolls. Do not engage. Sometimes that means radio silence. I'm breaking that silence because I want you to know 2020 has not destroyed DtD. It's only leveled shit up.

I have pretty much been working on this story consistently since March of this year. I go back and forth with reading, history, documentaries. I'm learning to wield many new weapons. They take time to settle in. DtD is the de-stressor I go to in between the real shit.

Sometime in June I was screwing around with the order of the parts. I had worked out the end but I was trying to bridge the gap between the ending I was certain I needed to get to and the two beginning stories I'd already published. I couldn't bridge the gap. It had been a year since I published Read Between and it wasn't working. Then I had an epiphany.

What if I got rid of Mistrust? Read Between is a pretty blank slate. I didn't want to re-write it and I still don't. I have no intention of getting rid of Part 1. I may clean it up and add some stuff at the very last minute, but it will be right before the new stuff drops as a pre-cursor to the flood of subsequent stories. I may add a few new clues or alter a scene or two, but I have plenty of room to move with it exactly the way it is.

What does that mean for Mistrust Goes Both Ways? To make a long story short, there was no good way for me to continue with what I'd published and still write the story in my head. I'm sure there are cool places to take the existing story, but that's not what I'm trying to do. In truth, I should have left 1 and not published 2 when I hit a snag. Lesson learned.

In June I basically threw Mistrust out and asked myself, "Now what?" I have months of great ideas rife for reshuffling and no restrictions on how to bridge the gap from 1 to the ending I wanted. But the end had shifted.

That brings us up to speed. The last thing I did before taking a much needed break was get through 90% of the history in my accordion outline/draft. I poured the foundation that was missing. I walked away in early October and let it set. I'm going to button up this other fic I'm working on and then go back to DtD and check the foundation I laid.

I'm very confident that not only will it hold, but that with fresh eyes and the fun side stories I've had the chance to lay to rest, I will finally be able to start building the finished products on top of it.

IN CONCLUSION

I'm still as excited as I've ever been for this story. It frustrates me all the time, but that means the medicine for my soul is working its magic. Change it painful, but pain is transformative. I've embrace changed. That ache is just a sign the muscles are getting stronger. Growing pains. As I learn to live with them in my family, my country, and my job, I find that life's lesson's often end up reflecting in every place in our life if we but open our eyes to look.

Growing pains exist in my writing process too. They are as transformative in this corner of my life as they are in every other. They have revealed as much about me as a person in my writing as they have in my politics. They have taught me how to compromise with my family as I learn to compromise with my characters. As I consider how people treat each other I am reminded that struggles in understanding our fictional counterparts may shine a light on our struggles to understand our truer selves.

Take care of yourselves. Once you've got that covered, if you can, take care of each other. Feel free to poke me and say hi. If not, until next month.

Fari.

#deceive the deceiver #reylo #reylo fanfic #reylo fan fiction #modern au #spy au #fan fic #fan fiction

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fullmetalscullyy · 5 years ago

Text

hawkeye’s return

summary: Hawkeye returns to Central after being stationed in Ishval, awaiting further reassignment. Havoc invited her out for a drink upon her return, only to see his old friend has changed.

additional tags: friendship, hurt/comfort, best friends, these two are best friends and you can pry that hc from my cold dead hands, ishval civil war, character study, pre-canon, hint of royai, hint of havolina

read on ao3 | rated: t | words: 4382

this has been sitting in my wips for over a year (it was originally for camp nano last year) and i finally found a plot for it that really caught me and wouldn't let go

kind of a character study of hawkeye from havoc's pov, post ishval

Jean Havoc was a tall man compared to his peers. He always felt like he towered over everyone else, which was a blessing in busier areas. He could always see over crowds and pinpoint an objective or the person he was looking for. In the busy bar in East City it was easy to see over the throng of people to spot the woman he was looking for.

He was excited. Jean grinned as he recognised the back of her head. He hadn’t seen her in almost a year. Riza had just got back from Ishval last week. She’d sought him out at headquarters, appearing as if from nowhere, and Jean had asked her if she’d like to go out for a drink that Friday night to catch up.

They’d become close friends in the Academy. Riza, Jean, and Rebecca were almost inseparable as they went through basic training. However, Riza had expressed an interest in fighting in the war and given her skills, their superiors had fast tracked her to the front lines, moving her from basic training to more Ishval-specific training. A week later, she was gone from East City, and Jean hadn’t heard from her until after she returned.

He’d tried writing. He wasn’t the best at letters, much to his mother’s chagrin. Jean always found he had no idea what to say and started rambling about something that held no significance, but he tried for his best friend. Given the reports it wasn’t pretty over there. Jean knew that would be the case, even without the reports. Even if Riza didn’t feel like writing back to him, Jean had hoped she’d at least receive them and read them. It would be a comfort from home, if anything.

He hadn’t received anything in return.

Always trying to look on the bright side of things, Jean had pushed down the uncertainty and uneasy feeling that had settled in his stomach after he spotted Riza sitting at the bar, her shoulders hunched as she nursed a drink in front of her.

“Riza,” he called, his voice carrying over the ruckus.

Her shoulders tensed and Jean’s smile wavered. Still, he pushed on forwards. Jean sat on the stool beside her, leaning his elbow on the bar top and his head upon his fist. He beamed at her. Despite her posture and her reaction, he really was excited to see Riza again. It shined through as he greeted her after almost a year apart.

“Hey,” he grinned. “Long time, no see!”

Riza spun in the bar stool and Jean took in her features. She looked… different. The first thing he managed to pick out was in her eyes. Riza looked exhausted. Had she been sleeping? She’d always had some trouble sleeping in the Academy but had never looked as worn down as she did now. Not only that, her eyes looked weary. Like they’d seen too much.

Jean swallowed, turning to face the bartender as he approached, asking for Jean’s order.

“Hello, Jean.”

He picked out how her voice wavered. Glancing back across to her, he noticed how her eyes turned downwards to stare at her drink. A whisky, Jean noted. It was a little early to be starting on the whisky, Jean thought, but Riza had always been able to hold her drink better than anyone he’d ever met. Her fingertips gripped the glass tightly, the ends of her nails turning white. Letting out a breath, Riza relaxed her shoulders as the beer was placed before Jean.

“How are you?” she asked. Riza was always more reserved of their trio, softer spoken, but was never afraid to speak up and laugh along loudly with him or Rebecca. When she asked her question, Jean had to strain to hear her. She was too quiet.

Jean shrugged. “I’m doing all right. Same old, same old. Got out the Academy, finally. It felt like I was never going to pass that final exam,” he stated dramatically. He wasn’t exactly the most studious person in the world, but when he put his mind to it, he could get it done. He didn’t pass with flying colours, but a pass was a pass in his book. He didn’t care about what grade he got. Plus, he’d more than excelled in his practical and firearms training. He was guaranteed to graduate just from them anyway.

The corners of Riza’s lips quirked up, and she turned her gaze to meet his again. She didn’t shy away this time.

“How did you do?” she asked.

“I passed. That’s all I needed to know,” he chuckled, knocking back his beer. “It was horrible though,” he grimaced.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Only having Rebecca to tutor my sorry ass was awful. She can be mean.”

Riza laughed this time, and it lightened the weight in Jean’s stomach. Her smile reached her eyes, just like old times.

With anyone else, he wouldn’t have studied them so hard for any changes, but this was different. This was Riza. One of his closest friends, who’d managed to drag his stupid ass through the paperwork of the Academy and get him a passing grade. This was the woman who’d stuck up for him and taken the blame for half the dumb things he’d done. He’d misfired at the range once – no one was hurt, and it was all downrange, but their instructor had been furious – and while Jean stood there panicking, Riza stepped in before him, announcing to their instructor that it was her. The Colonel liked Riza – and hated Jean for some unknown reason – so just scowled at her, berated her, stating he expected better from Riza Hawkeye. She was dismissed with nothing further. If it had been Jean, he’d be cleaning the toilets at the range with his own personal toothbrush for a month.

So, Jean was really worried for her wellbeing. He hadn’t known what would be coming back to him. He still didn’t. Physically, nothing was amiss. Mentally however… She was still an eighteen-year-old who’d been shipped off to war. That would take its toll on the strongest of minds – and Riza had the strongest in the world, Jean had always thought.

“I hope she wasn’t too tough on you,” Riza smiled, relaxing and becoming more comfortable the more they talked.

“Nah,” Jean waved Riza off. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“I’m sure,” she stated, a wry smile overtaking her face as she shot him a sideways look. Her smile hid behind her glass as she took a sip.

Jean coughed, feeling his face heating up. “Nothing happened.”

“Uh hu.” She didn’t believe him.

He was a terrible liar, Riza and Rebecca had always told him. And they were right.

“Okay, it did, but nothing much else has happened.”

“I knew it,” she grinned, eyes lighting up.

Jean scoffed and turned his gaze away while Riza laughed to herself, far too pleased about the progression of his and Rebecca’s relationship… Or whatever it was.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

“You were chasing after her for months. Finally plucked up the courage, huh?” Riza teased.

“More like I was hounded into it,” he grumbled, which earned an elbow in the ribs from Riza. It made him smile.

“Rebecca’s not like that,” she admonished.

Jean took another drink. “No, she’s not. She’s…” He could almost sigh, thinking about her.

“Aw,” Riza cooed.

Snapping out of it, Jean gave himself a shake. “Anyway, nothing much else has happened. We both got busy –”

Riza snorted and Jean glared at her for the insinuation.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Miss Hawkeye,” he scolded. “Our lives just got busy. Although,” he smirked. “Graduation night was last week and that was fun.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Shaking her head, Riza chuckled and smiled at him.

“I’m happy for you both. Truly, I am. Just make sure you don’t let her go.”

“I won’t, I promise. I know a good thing when I see it.”

The lapsed into silence and Jean watched Riza as she downed the last of her whisky, ordering another. He was happy. It was almost like old times.

“What?” she asked, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

“Nothing, it’s just… It’s good to see you again,” he smiled softly. “I missed you.”

As her drink was handed to her, she gripped it tight once more. “I missed you too. I missed being home.”

“Probably a dumb question, but you know me,” he winked, trying to lighten the dark mood that suddenly seemed to cling to her body completely. “But how are you doing?”

Her face dropped and that weight in Jean’s stomach went with her expression. His stomach tightened and he had the distinct feeling he’d ruined the happy moment they’d found themselves in.

“I’m… all right.”

It was a practised response. Jean could see right through it. Her shoulders had tensed and if she held her glass any tighter, Jean thought it might shatter from the pressure.

“Are you sure?” he probed. He wasn’t normally one to hover or push, but he was worried about her. He couldn’t help himself, not when she looked as stricken as she did.

Riza took a deep breath then let it out shakily, lifting the glass to her lips. She took a long gulp of the whisky before lowering it, her hands shaking. Jean was instantly alert. Maybe getting drinks wasn’t such a good idea.

“Not here,” she whispered. Jean leaned forward automatically to hear her. Once it registered, his heat thudded inside his chest. “Please.”

Glancing at her face, he noticed just how much she was pleading with him.

“All right,” he agreed. If it were him, he wouldn’t want to get into anything like fighting in a war in a busy bar in East City. But he wouldn’t let it go.

The rest of their night he’d brushed it off for the moment and tried to lighten the mood. Slowly, Riza had come back to him and they’d eventually had a good time. As she laughed, her head tipped back to her hair tumbled down her back, Jean grinned at her and almost forgot about the tight ball inside his stomach, symbolising his worry for his friend. Almost.

She’d received his letters. She stuttered, her face falling when she stated she couldn’t reply to him, but Jean quickly told her not to worry about it. From her tone, it sounded like she couldn’t bring herself to reply to him. He waved it off like it was no big deal, because it wasn’t. Jean reassured her he was just happy she’d received them. That was enough for him. It always had been.

“Thank you for tonight. I really needed it,” Riza added after letting out a long breath.

They were outside the barracks where Riza was staying. It was passed midnight so everywhere was dark. There was no one about to overhear them.

Jean nodded. “Anytime, Riza. You know that.”

Her smile wavered then her face crumpled. Alarmed, Jean froze. Then, a gasping sob reached his ears and he lunged for his friend. Her sorrow kicked him into action. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders in comfort as Riza covered her face with her hand.

“Come on,” he urged. “Let’s get you inside.”

“No,” Riza shook her head, extracting herself from his hold. “I’m all right, I…”

“You’re not,” Jean called her out.

“I am. Really, I am. I’ll be fine once I get some sleep.”

“I’m not leaving you like this,” Jean frowned. “Let’s get inside, then we can talk about it.”

That last part set off alarm bells inside her head, because her whole body tensed.

Jean wrapped his arm around her shoulders once more. Starting to walk, he hoped it was in the right direction. He wished he’d asked her where exactly she stayed and planned ahead, but that was never his forte. That was more Riza’s speciality after a night of drinking.

“Jean, really, it’s okay,” she whispered but didn’t fight him as they walked. Her hands clutched her purse in front of her, her head bowed forward.

“Still not leaving you,” he muttered. “Plus, you’ve helped me out more times than I can count. It’s about time I returned the favour.”

She was silent as they walked and Jean tried to clear his head, taking deep, cleansing breaths of the cool night air. He wished he hadn’t drunk so much.

“In here,” Riza directed, slowing and turning to angle her body towards her temporary accommodation. Her hands were shaking as she unlocked the door.

Jean stepped inside and noted how bare the place looked. The room looked like it had never been lived in. It was straight out the accommodation catalogue the military always passed out, but shouldn’t bother with, because all the bunks looked exactly the same.

“How long have you been back?” Jean asked as Riza locked the door behind her.

“Just over a week.”

Jean nodded, noting how there wasn’t even a moving box lying anywhere. She’d unpacked, yet her place was still bare. That wasn’t unusual for Riza, but at least at the Academy she’d had books lying around – both fictional and those she used to study. There was some character to her living space. Some indication that someone lived there. Now there was nothing. Jean couldn’t even see that photograph she’d always had next to her bed of the boy she’d grown up with.

Turning in place, Jean’s heart broke for his friend. She looked so uncertain in her own room. Her purse had been tossed on her bed, breaking the perfectly pulled tight sheet atop of it. Even that was still the military standard brown and moss green. Now, her hands were free to wring themselves together in front of her.

“What’s going on with you, Riza?” he asked.

She cringed. “Noth –”

“Bullshit,” Jean interrupted before she could even finish. Yes, Jean had never been one to press and invade in her personal life more than she wanted anyone too, but he would still call her out on her shit. She couldn’t lie to him. Not tonight.

“It…”

He held his breath, hoping and praying she’d continue. Jean just wanted her to be okay. He wanted his friend to be happy, but something told him that the war had ripped all of that from her. Regardless of what had happened over there, he’d still love her. He’d still support her and try to work through it because that’s what friends did. They both knew what they were signing up for when they joined the military.

Jean had struggled with it at first, but Riza had helped him through it, telling him that if an enemy was threatening all she held dear, she wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. He’d always marvelled at her strength and her resolve, vowing that he would always try and do his best to make her proud. Jean drew on her strength more than she would ever know.

Now, her own mind and her experiences were the enemy. Jean would sure as hell fight that with her and help her through it.

“It was horrible over there,” she whispered.

Jean relaxed, seeing that they would get somewhere with this. He stepped forward but stopped when he noticed the look on her face. Her gaze was cast off to the side while her hands became more frantic, wringing together.

“It wasn’t war. It was an extermination campaign.”

Jean swallowed. The military had kindly left that part out of all their news from the front.

“But they were good fighters. So good. That’s why they brought in the State Alchemists, to decimate them. I was drafted in as back up to protect them as a sniper.” Riza let out a loud shaky breath. “I… I killed people, while they were only trying to defend themselves.” She let out a sob, her face crumpling. “I hid in a tower and took lives to protect my own countrymen so they could slaughter innocents.”

Jean had his arms wrapped around her tightly in record time. He squeezed her against his body while Riza Hawkeye cried against his chest. That in itself was frightening. He’d never seen her cry before, however, Jean was glad. She was obviously comfortable enough to share it with him.

“You did what you had to do,” he murmured. He felt helpless. He couldn’t think of anything else to say that would make it better. There was nothing that would make it better. So, Jean just held her tightly.

“And… I saw him again.”

Jean instantly knew who she was talking about.

“How was he?”

“A State Alchemist. Flame Alchemy.”

Jean audibly swallowed. He’d never heard of that kind of alchemy before and had no idea where someone would acquire such a thing. Jean could only imagine the destruction one could cause with it.

“Yeah. I was so angry with him at first,” Riza admitted. Her hands gripped his jacket tighter. “I couldn’t believe what he was doing. That wasn’t the boy I grew up with. The boy I –” Her mouth snapped shut. Obviously, the drink was drawing more out of than she planned.

“You what?”

“Nothing,” she quickly replied.

“Riza, this isn’t going to work if you don’t let it all out,” he prompted.

It was silent for some time. Riza was obviously gearing herself up to admit her feelings, but Jean already knew she loved that boy she’d grown up with. It was clear as day in the way she spoke about him, which hadn’t been often. However, Riza didn’t keep childhood photos of just anyone by her bedside. She didn’t look at it fondly while he, Riza, and Rebecca were all sitting on her bed, drinking at night.

“That wasn’t the man I loved. I didn’t think he’d ever do such a thing, but he did.”

“And?” he prompted. “What happened after that?”

“But… The longer I spent over there, the more my eyes opened. The way the COs were talking about the Ishvalans… It didn’t take long to slot things into place and realise that it was an extermination campaign. Every order was designed that way. We were sent into villages that didn’t even house any fighters, but my superiors told me they were there. It was just woman and children.”

Jean felt like he might vomit.

“And… And then they congratulated me on my work.”

Jean swallowed his vomit.

“Yeah, exactly.”

Riza began to pull away from him, but Jean secured her in his arms once more.

“I… I don’t know what to say to make this better for you,” he whispered. “I really don’t. I’m not good with words, you know that. But we both understood what it was we were getting ourselves into when we signed up. I just didn’t expect to discover about the true harshness of it fresh out the Academy.”

“Welcome to the club,” she muttered.

“But I’m here for you, Riza. I’m not going to turn and run. We support each other. Me, you, and Rebecca. That’s what we do, and I’m not going to give up now.”

“You should,” she whispered against him. “I’m a monster.”

“I will be too, when I’m called up to fight. We all will be, in our own minds. Well, the soldiers that have a big enough conscience.”

Riza shuddered in his arms.

“So, what do you do now? How do you right your wrongs?”

Riza was silent once more. She seemed to be struggling with something.

“I don’t know if I should tell you this or not… But Major Mustang is planning on working his way up the ranks to Fuhrer. He wants to prevent another Ishval from happening again.”

“I’m in.”

Riza peeled her head up to squint at him.

“Really?”

“Of course.” Jean let go of her, bringing his hands to her shoulders. He softened his knees, so he was eye level with her. “I’ve got your back, Riza.”

Riza crushed him against her. Jean brought a hand to her back, rubbing circles on it.

“I don’t know what I would do without you right now,” she whispered.

“Oh, you’d be fine,” he waved her off. “You’re the super soldier, remember?” he quipped, calling back to their Academy days when Rebecca had joked Riza was some kind of super soldier because of how good she was at shooting.

“I don’t feel like one right now,” she murmured. “I feel dirty and ashamed.”

“That’s okay,” Jean reminded her gently. He placed his fingers underneath her chin, lifting her head so she was looking directly at him. “That means you’re human. Hell, you’re already plotting to overthrow the Fuhrer. That sounds pretty super soldier to me.”

It had managed to draw a laugh from her. A little one, but it was there. That was all Jean needed.

“You’re already trying to right your wrongs, Riza. That speaks volumes.”

“I hope so,” she muttered.

A loud yawn left her, and her eyes drooped. She looked physically and mentally exhausted. The dark circles underneath her eyes became more prominent in the low light of her room.

“You need sleep,” Jean commented.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t exactly come easily for me nowadays though.”

“Hop in,” Jean commanded, ushering her towards her bed.

“What?”

He flopped down before her, opening his arms.

Riza raised an eyebrow in question.

“I’m lying down now and I ain’t moving. So, you can choose, sleep on the floor or come join me.”

Sobering slightly, Riza shifted from foot to foot. Whatever debate she was having in her head, she gave in. kicking off her shoes, Riza climbed in beside him. Jean wrapped her tightly in her arms.

He didn’t know if what he said had gotten through to her. In the morning, he wasn’t sure if she’d remember it all. Jean hoped so, but he could never tell how drunk she was. Riza was always a damn pro at hiding it. Regardless, he would support her. They’d get through this together.

“You should probably go though,” Riza fretted, turning to face him in his arms. “It’s against the rules to have someone overnight –”

“I know,” he reminded her softly. “But it’s the weekend and I’m still not leaving you when you obviously need someone.”

“Jean,” she geared up to argue, but sounded so very tired.

“Fuck ‘em,” he muttered, pulling her tighter against his body. “This isn’t the first time it’s happened, and it won’t be a last. You went to war for them and got paid in dirt. I’ll tell them where to go if they come knocking,” he yawned, relaxing into her bed.

Riza was silent, but she curled against him.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his chest.

“Not a problem, Riza,” he mumbled. “You’re stuck with me anyway because I’m too drunk and too tired to make it back to my place.”

Riza snorted softly. “Is that the only reason you’re here?” she asked. “To get into a woman’s bed?”

Jean laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Oh yeah,” he grinned, eyes still closed. “Absolutely.”

Riza giggled against him, shifting so she was closer to his body.

It was just like old times.

“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this,” she whispered. “I want to do it on my own terms, if I choose to do it at all.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I… I think if I hadn’t drunk so much, I wouldn’t have broken down like that –”

“You’re allowed to let go without getting drunk, Riza.”

“I know,” she admitted. “It’s just… It’s hard.”

“Well I’m honoured you think so highly of me,” Jean yawned again, fighting sleep this time.

“And… I know I said I got your letters. I did. I kept them all but…”

“You couldn’t bring yourself to reply?” he guessed.

Riza shook her head. “I couldn’t bring myself to read them,” she admitted in a whisper.

“Why?” his brow furrowed.

“I don’t know, I… I just couldn’t.” Her shoulders curled further in on themselves.

“That’s okay. Take all the time you need,” he reassured her.

“I wanted to. I really did, but… I don’t know, I just couldn’t. It was like I didn’t deserve to.”

“How about we read through them together?” he offered. It would be embarrassing to read back on his pathetic ramblings, but he’d do it for her, if she needed it.

“I’d really like that.”

“They’re nothing special anyway,” he assured her. “I just wanted you to get something from home.” He yawned loudly once more.

“Get some sleep, Jean,” Riza murmured, but he heard the smile in her voice. “And thank you so much. You’ve been a big help.”

“Anytime,” he muttered tiredly.

“And I promise I won’t tell Rebecca about this either,” she snickered suddenly.

Jean cracked an eye open to look down at her. “If you do, I’ll tell your Major friend.”

“Fighting dirty, Jean Havoc?”

“Always,” he grinned.

Although he’d been drunk, true to his word, Jean Havoc never breathed a word of what they discussed that night. Despite the drink, he remembered every minute. It was one of the most profound nights of his and Riza’s friendship. It wasn’t one he was inclined to forget.

When Jean transferred to work underneath Mustang with Riza, he could pinpoint exactly what Riza meant when he saw them both together. They shared something so deep that Jean would never be able to understand, but that was okay. He played dumb to all that had happened in Ishval until the Lieutenant Colonel brought it up himself one night. He and Riza appeared to be similar, because he’d only confided in Jean and the rest of the boys after a night of drinking. Although inebriated, there was a burning fire in Mustang’s eyes as he shared his plans with them all, asking if they were in.

Jean meant it when he told Riza he’d tell the military where to go. He was more than ready to join the fight that had taken so much from one of his best friends.

He was in. He always would be.

#fmab fanfic #fmab fic #fma oneshot #hawkeye's return #emma writes

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naruhearts · 6 years ago

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14x13 First-Watch Thoughts: Dean Winchester, John Winchester and Destiel

Before I write a full proper review this weekend (and I plan to write a separate Sam post) (I’ll be missing other key details for sure) let me SCREAM about:

JOHN WINCHESTER FADING AWAY AT THE END OF THE EPISODE LIKE A GHOST INTO THE ETHER as the Winchesters said goodbye to him --> TPTB visually/narratively textualized his ghostly presence like we’ve seen in S13/S14 -- Ghost-Monster-Yeager-Michael epitomized figure. He loomed over Sam and Dean's lives (especially Dean's) as the core toxic remnant of their past that they internalized and which subsequently influenced them to live out their toxic life courses and crippled their healthy self-processes, yet John Winchester’s narrative cathartic (and redemptive) role was fulfilled during Season Who Am I 14.

DEAN: For the longest time I blamed Dad. I blamed Mom too. I was angry. [...] But to be honest I don't know who that Dean Winchester is [re: letting ‘some other poor sons of bitches’ take Sam and Dean’s place if they were normal].

DEAN: I'm good with who I am.

Dean ACTUALLY used his words and disclosed the sources of his trauma and parental neglect *screams* He self-introspected during the dishwashing scene in the kitchen -- the Heart and Home -- by precisely doing what we expected/hoped for him (and Sam) to do: reflecting on their current lives in response to 2003!John Winchester’s resurrection and determining what really holds true value and worth...what holds more fulfilling love and true heart’s desires than a pearl ever could --> Found Family. DEAN, recalling that life is short, accepted his current respective life with Cas and Jack and stressed the self-fulfilling importance of why their lives turned out as such. What they went through since Mary died in 1983 moulded them into who they are today. HE ACCEPTS WHO HE IS!! Dean accepts who Sam is. Sam and Dean, as grown men, become the optimum versions of themselves where their physical, emotional and mental suffering was, of course, undeserved, but also ultimate self-cathartic blessings in disguise: it contributed to their both their psychological resistance and individual journeys towards self-actualization as they create interpersonal bonds with others outside themselves. THEY LET GO.

JOHN: I'm so proud of you boys. I love you both...so much.

THE LONG-WANTED AND LONG-OVERDUE PRIDE AND VERBALIZED LOVE FROM A FATHER WHO ABUSED HIS SONS FOR YEARS. He finally told Sam and Dean that he loved them. He asked for forgiveness, and they freely chose to give it, additionally permitting themselves to embrace cathartic closure. Now THAT is how you transform trauma into your self-motivational strength!! In particular, we knew *points at all the extensive John vs Dean meta* that Dean yearned to hear those direct words from John. He yearned for years. For Dean to hear it spill out of John’s actual lips -- to hear John verbalize how much he loves Dean, how he’s proud of the man he has become -- after everything Dean has done for him -- is sheer meta fulfillment executed in the most emotive way. Instead of watching his son die without fostering altruism e.g. 2x01 In My Time of Dying, we see John watching his son LIVE and grow -- exercising his agency, formulating decisions for himself, and finally discovering SELF-WORTHINESS. SELF-LOVE. SELF-ACCEPTANCE. John also told Dean that he “never meant for this. I guess I hoped that eventually you'll get yourself a normal life. A peaceful life. A family.” Well--

Dean told John he does in fact have a family, topped off with the smile of utter happiness on his face.

He chose his own timeline in which Cas and Jack exist. He chose his Found Family.

It’s intriguing to note that, in the context of John hoping Dean would have “eventually” obtained a “normal life” -- a “family” -- for himself, if we go off SPN’s constantly-reiterated narrative differentiations between familial family (brothers) and intimate family (husbands, boyfriends, girlfriend) aka Love and...Love, the unsaid connotation of ROMANTIC family applies here, as @thetwistedwillow and I discussed. Sam is Dean’s family, but John isn’t referring to him.

John is referring to Dean getting himself an Apple Pie Life™ -- one that Dean initially tried with Lisa and Ben Braeden but couldn’t sustain; Dean seeking marital happiness outside The Life™ was NOT personally/characteristically feasible. It entailed burying vital truths about himself -- imprisoning his non-performativity -- as a broken man within a broad illusion of Want vs Need whom Lisa also tried and failed to fix...failed to make whole despite Dean once telling her that she comprised his happiness long ago.

Indeed, the present era of Season Cyclic 14 ushers in truth.

Dean has a family with “someone who understands The Life™.”

This aforementioned Life™ -- regardless of it being full of pain, horror, and death -- offers Dean joy, security, and new beginnings.

Cas and Jack, willingly choosing to incorporate themselves into The Life™, are the mirrors of freedom to Lisa and Ben’s jagged misfortunes.

They accept who Dean is wholeheartedly. They lend him purpose, zeal, and love -- buckets of love. They are aware of his faults. They encourage his strengths. They represent his faith and his hope.

(Cas, more than anyone, is indelibly aware of Dean’s capabilities.)

In terms of communication, Dean told his brother Sam that he loves him in 14x11 [for attempting to find another way re: Michael]. He directly told his mother Mary that he loves her in 12x22. Tonight he finally told his father John that he loves him, too. ALL the emotional honesty and transparency, my friends!!

Who else is left for Dean to say such significant words to? WE JUST DON’T KNOW!

- - - -

14x13 practically crossed off most of this + my entire SPN300 checklist!!!

- CHOSEN FAMILY VS FOUND FAMILY themes - S14 Dean encountering/hearing about the Castiel of Old—the Angel of the Lord who hasn’t yet built a trustful and ever-complex ten-year relationship with him - Sam finally rectifying and clarifying things with John as a grown man!! TPTB know what 14x13’s premise means for Mary Winchester and TFW’s characteristic arcs aka EMOTIONAL CHARACTER-DRIVEN NARRATIVES. They are facing their pasts and must subsequently introspect and FINALLY act upon their WANTS vs NEEDS. Bros (Dean the Emotional Hero of SPN in particular) may have wished John was alive, but is it worth losing Cas and Jack? - Is it worth losing the real Cas Dean knows? Worth replacing the angel who executed his own choice to Fall, embodied his newfound humanized principles and willingly became part of Dean’s life? - (And here the focal point of the Destiel-adjacent 14x13 narrative comes in) If John didn’t die, Dean’s life course progression towards self-actualization (with Cas as a key aspect of his psychological realizations; Dean and Cas as both each other’s offsets to healthy self-process) wouldn’t have happened. Losing Mary—losing John—ALLOWED Dean to, despite all the unfortunate circumstances, endure necessary pain in order to heal…to: A. release himself from the shackles of predeterminism, Brodependency, parental absenteeism, repression, toxic misemotionality, and trauma + eliminating the old perceptions of himself as a blunt tool: his father’s hammer and society’s hammer and B. embrace his reflection that he sees in the mirror of his identity - Is alive!John truly what Dean WANTS? What he NEEDS? Dean and Sam, confronted by personal ultimatum in terms of their individual relationships with John and the psychological states/growth stages his death left him in, must decide! - TL;DR character development - And, of course, proliferation of endgame Destiel in some way (not a BIG way yet, but building blocks) from this point onwards and subtext moving into its final pre-text phase as I hope/expect Dean to choose his reality with Cas

(I’m expanding on the last point in a bit!!)

I have LOTS of additional thoughts (tbh they’re all an incoherent jumble lol), but as of now I’d like to say that nothing else can surpass the heartwarming satisfaction that bloomed in my chest over the way Dabb and Glynn beautifully interweaved the narrative’s Family/Love/Forgiveness/Self themes into an episode full of amusing callbacks e.g. Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magical Menagerie (there were a LOT of easter eggs I tell you) and heavy-weighing characteristic ones e.g. Goodbye Stranger Destiel redux -- and oh my gosh, the Dean and Cas narrative callbacks we received tonight, where Dean couldn’t believe that OG Cas had NO recollection of him?!

I don’t know about you, but the romantic subtext smacked me in the face; the negative spaces and unsaid verbalizations were glaring. I was, quite frankly, thumping the table in excitement, because alongside the explicit and gorgeously done Lazarus Rising redux scene -- in a PIZZERIA no less *gestures at Cas = Pizza D/C bonding meta and romantic connotations* -- Sam and Dean confronting OG Cas depicted Dean and Cas' current relationship and dual growth reverting to zero in this AU.

It was a painful encapsulation of the unstable past vs healthy present.

Castiel the Angel of the Lord was non-humanized and never saved Dean from Hell. Emotional detachment and warrior-obedient violence resurfaced as his characteristic markers.

Dean, whom Cas -- from the point of first contact in realtime canon -- forged a profound bond with (the bond that proliferated into an intrinsically complex underlying romance narrative which worldwide audiences have been devoutly privy to) was struck by harrowing shock here, and TPTB took intentional liberties to visually fixate on Dean. Sam, on the other hand, reacted via wariness, and he was placed in the periphery -- blurred out to juxtapose their varied emotions of brother and husband; one of these is, as per usual, not like the other.

Dean realizes the integral role Cas currently holds in his life -- how far they’ve come together, in that the Goodbye Stranger parallel scene between him and Cas has him begging for Cas to stop -- to no avail -- and my heart lurched awfully when Cas made no move to do so. Dean fails in breaking his personal Naomi bred-reminiscent Soldier coding because we all know this certain iteration of Cas never freely chose Humanity.

He never Fell, never embodied the human principles of free will/autonomy and self-identity, never found kinship, and never fell in love with Dean.

Keeping the above in mind, when the real Cas comes back to the bunker after the ever-palpable and necessary self-catharsis that occurred during his absence, TPTB’s narrative brings the episode’s thematic premise of WANT vs NEED full circle as Mary, Sam, and Dean witness his entrance.

Sam and Mary are awed after the temporal fracture ordeal they just experienced, but there lies, once again, a certain cinematographic focus on (12x19-reminiscent) Dean.

We observe Dean’s onscreen expression of raw appreciation and self-conviction in that he has realized, amongst the throes of meta-laden cathartic self-acceptance, that everything he encountered since childhood -- the good, bad, in-between -- was worth it. This current canon reality is his heart’s deepest desire. He accepts it. He WANTS it.

For Dean Winchester, a life without Cas is no life at all.

RATING: 10/10

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ladykf-writes · 5 years ago

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Fanfic Writer Appreciation (and a little self love)

Sooooo, as talked about I wanted to do a little promo. I may not always be my favorite writer, but I try to be one of my cheerleaders. And well, if you’re here you obviously have some interest in what I’m up to.

SO! Here’s a list of my currently-published WIPs and some info about them, in the order that I’ve updated them, most recent to oldest.

Feel free to ask questions about any of them!

Dog Whistle (Ao3 || FFN) - started off as a prompt from @snackarey when I reblogged some Soulmate AUs. This one was a prompt for soulmates (Zack/Kunsel) who felt what each other felt - like pain. Needless to say, this went into a canon divergent AU where Kunsel felt some of what Zack was going through when Hojo got a hold of him after Nibelheim. And saved him, setting off an ever-increasing list of revolutionary consequences. It’s nearly 58K, and though I’m a little stuck I’m looking forward to seeing where it goes.

Dewprism: Journey to the [Relic] (Ao3 || FFN) - this actually has a lot more written than I’ve posted, I just got a little frustrated because well... the fandom is teeny tiny and there’s no real feedback. But! It’s an interesting piece. It’s a semi-novelization where I’m taking the old PS1 Classic from Squaresoft, Threads of Fate/Dewprism and merging the two storylines. Basically... you can’t play the game anymore unless you got it from the PSN for your PSP or... PS2, I think? Or emulate it, of course, you can do that. And I wanted to bring the experience to more people, because it’s got such a great story.

It’s Not a Game (Ao3 || FFN) - this is my Avengers/FF7 crossover, and funny story, it was actually born out of a comment back on my old Genesis RP blog about how Genesis would totally be Tony Stark’s favorite character if he played Crisis Core. It’s turned into a full blown fixit I have a type and I actually have like, 90% of the next chapter done, it just doesn’t feel quite right so I haven’t posted it. And am, of course, stuck. There’s a case of choice paralysis here; the premise is that, in the MCU, FF7 is a series like it is in our world, and Tony is a fan. So he goes to make a simulation to do a self-insert... only he somehow transports himself (and Bruce) to a dimension where it’s real. A “Stark-insert” someone called it; and it does use a lot of “Self-Insert” tropes, actually. There’s just so many ways it could go that I’m stuck on choosing exactly how to progress here.

Party of Five (Ao3 || FFN) - the MMO AU! This was actually originally a prompt @up-sideand-down got, that I got permission to take off with. It’s a modern AU AGSZC where they meet online playing this MMO I made up that’s based off of FF7 and modeled after a mashup of like, me studying WoW and my experiences playing SWTOR. I’ve actually got some ideas of where it’s going, I just got too caught up in technicalities and need to reroute it back to the relationships going on.

Welcome to FF7 (series link, Ao3) - this is me hashing out basically what I think went down pre-games. Most of it is headcanon, I cannot stress that enough. It’s based off of the little we know, of course, but there’s just so much we don’t that it’s mostly headcanon. Tons of OCs. It’s a whole series, and they overlap - different sections that follow different departments, mostly. The base story is Welcome to ShinRa (Ao3 || FFN) and that follows the man who will become President Shinra from back when they first discover mako energy. I’ve also got Welcome to the Science Department (Ao3 || FFN) which starts off with college students Gast and Grimoire and how they get drawn into the beginnings of what becomes ShinRa Electric.

And last but not least, honorable mention to Times of Change (Ao3) - this was actually a piece inspired by @deadcatwithaflamethrower‘s Re-Entry series. I desperately need to reread that before I can hope to continue this, but... one day. One day.... I don’t suggest reading it right now, my headcanons have changed and it needs an overhaul. But you’ll see eventually.

And now... the WIPs you haven’t seen. (Under a cut)

By fandom, just to keep things straight, but in no particular order otherwise.

Compilation of FF7

The Snowball Effect (Ao3 || FFN) ... sequel? continuation? - as one of the gift exchange presents I’ve just done this past month, it is definitely standalone as is, but if I ever figure out where I want to take it, I’ll continue that one. It was just far too much fun.

The Price of Freedom - the sequel to To Be Human, which... I’m looking forward to, but I really burnt myself out on TBH so it’s going to be longer than anticipated before I approach this one. TBH definitely stands on its own, but there were some loose ends left to tie up, so we’ll see how that goes. And when it goes, when I’m ready to approach that again. TBH needs some editing, too... lots of work there.

The Unnamed Pokemon/FF7 crossover that I’ve talked about for... a couple years now (yikes) but now actually have a plot for. It’s very interesting to me, putting Pokemon on Gaia, and seeing how that changes everything. Because like, they’d have presumably used Mew’s DNA since there’s no Jenova (I can’t see them using Deoxys, which would be the closer parallel) and since there’s no Chaos, Grimoire is still alive. Which means no extra Drama between Lucrecia and Vincent - and really, there shouldn’t be the stress between Vincent and Hojo over her being sick because Mew would theoretically be much more compatible with humans than Jenova was.

What I’m saying is Seph has three parents and at least one set of grandparents and a much more stable Sephiroth (and Genesis and Angeal, thanks to Lucrecia teaming up with Gillian) leads to some very interesting changes. Like deciding they don’t want to fight the Wutai war anymore. >_>

Hold My Flower - a timetravel fic featuring our one and only flowergirl, who has had enough of people messing up her planet and refuses to just... let it die. She is, unquestionably, a force of nature. No fragile flower to be found here, this is the gal you see in the OG who threatened a mob boss and meant it. Heaven help anyone who gets in her way. She’s going to save the world. Possibly in a Turk Suit, don’t look at me.

The Long Game - Reeve goes back in time, and holy crap this one is a monster I am truly intimidated by so it’s gonna take a while for me to get going on that. XD But basically, similar premise to the above - the world isn’t healing and someone has to do something, so Reeve is nominated due to his position in ShinRa and potential to... he’d say “influence” but let’s call a spade a spade - manipulate people and events to a more favorable outcome.

A third BIT fic is one that I started writing with my friend @askshivanulegacy back in... damn, somewhere between 2011-2013, before we switched to writing SWTOR fic together. It’s one where Zack is sent back in time, and the differences in him post-Hojo change things even before he can start deliberately changing anything. But I got permission to take and remake that, so I intend to, one day. It was Good Stuff. And you can never have too much timetravel.

Dragon Ball Z

So, this is an oooooold fandom of mine - the first fanfics I ever wrote (under a different name, no I’m not telling XD it was ten years ago) were for DBZ, and definitely the first ones I ever read, back in the days of dial up. And I read a couple interesting takes on Chichi/Vegeta fic... and I was talking with @vorpalgirl about it and said I’d love to try my hand at something with that one day. I think they have the potential to be a really great pair (don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the canon pairings but those two have a lot of potential) so... yeah someday I might dip my toes back into Z. It’s on the wishlist, as well as reviving and cleaning up an old unfinished work of mine. Someday~

Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time

Seven Years Lost - this one I’ve been debating a long time, and even did a little on! It’s basically how I rationalize what happens when Link pulls the Master Sword out and - well, spoilers but it’s a really old game so - when he comes out as a teenager and is immediately able to handle a nearly-adult body. It involves a dreamscape scenario where he communicates with his past incarnations and learns from them, and from sharing dreams with Zelda due to their bond.

Sailor Moon (manga/Crystal based)

Second Chances - I read a lot of SM fanfic back in the day, and my favorite ones were... more real? Like, there were more consequences to these 14 year old kids out there fighting for their lives and sometimes losing them. I’d like to tell a story through Minako/Venus’ eyes primarily, covering what that’s like, and then I also just really want a happy ending for the senshi/shittenou? So... yay canon divergence, lol. You guys know the deal by now. XD

Star Wars: Legends Era

United We Stand - SWTOR fanfic, baby! Basically, I’m just dying to see the eight classes cross over each other, and I will bend canon to do it. For anyone that’s played the original class story lines, there is some cross over but believe me when I say there were huge opportunities that were let drop by nature of the game. Just with the two Jedi stories alone... but that’s #spoilers for a not-as-old game so I’ll leave that be and only elaborate if asked.

(And do feel free to ask about any of these! I’d love to hash them out more.)

#writer ramble #rambles #ff7 #avengers #ff7/avengers #threads of fate #dewprism #star wars #pokemon #pokemon/ff7 #dbz #sailor moon #swtor

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sysig · 6 years ago

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My Case Against 1-5

aka Why Miles Edgeworth is the most important character in Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney (and it’s not just because he’s my favourite I swear)

*spoilers for Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney cases 1-1 through 1-5! *also opinions

Miles Edgeworth has the strongest character arc in Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney and using a backfilled case to undermine his character growth not only reduces his impact as a character but delegitimizes the entirety of the first game’s central plot progression. In this essay I will

Miles Edgeworth’s character arc is the strongest of the entire cast in PWAA. His maturation and closure from case 1-2 to 1-4 are the heart of the whole plot of the first game, showing his progression from cold and clever to vulnerable, and willing to listen even to his opponents. This progression is very important to the player’s attitude towards him, as well as his worth as a character, as if he were to always be one way, either cold and clever or vulnerable and more open-minded, he would be rendered a flat character. Not to mention, case 1-4 is arguably the most important case in the game, being the original climax, as well as finally showing all the events of the DL-6 case and Edgeworth’s childhood, furthering his characterization and lending more depth to him, Phoenix, and Larry. Having the events play out as they do, with accusations and uncovering a past that was repressed and hidden, to slimy dealings with the prosecution and blame pinned everywhere, at least Edgeworth didn’t do what everyone, even himself, had been convinced of. But wait, isn’t that a little familiar? Isn’t that very similar to the kind of thing Edgeworth has been accused of, and how Rise from the Ashes plays out? The finger is pointed at Edgeworth, not for murder perhaps, but incriminating nonetheless, and while the past doesn’t reach back as far, it still throws so much into question, the biggest one being: Did Edgeworth use unscrupulous methods, no matter to how willing he was to do so, to win his cases? This case says, well, yes, Edgeworth unwittingly used forged evidence and lays out how he did such a thing, but in the end paints him as having been a pawn for a power he had no control over, an unintentional offender. Do I believe that though? No way! Who was there in the first case against him when he intentionally went out of his way to tamper with a witness’ testimony! Who was there as he covered up for a real-life murderer and let me take the blame! Who was there while he twisted the truth to better suit his four year career as a prosecutor, or two if 1-5 is to be believed? It was me, I saw it all, I bear witness to Edgeworth being unlawful, intentionally, on purpose, knowingly! And you know what? That’s great. It strengthens his characterization more effectively than case 1-5 could ever hope to. Why? Well, in this essay I will...!

Cases 1-2 through 1-4 perfectly set up and foreshadow reopening and solving the DL-6 case; the new cast is small, the old cast is well-established, some evidence is even brought up again, and everything is very tightly written.

1-2 introduces Edgeworth and all his scummy back alley ways of dealing with unfortunate-for-him evidence and testimony, giving us, the player, reason to dislike him beyond just Being Bad - he’s actively making this case more difficult for us, and has us framed for murder! That bastard! His loss throws him into question, as it did for his mentor and adoptive father, von Karma, but unlike von Karma, Edgeworth’s heart was not hardened past the point of no return. This is reflected best in 1-3

1-3 starts with Edgeworth still gunning to win and making our lives more difficult, with Gumshoe still being on his side and making gathering evidence harder, which leads back to the impression of Edgeworth - if Gumshoe and Edgeworth are working together, and it’s making this case more difficult, it comes back to thinking Edgeworth is a bastard who’s just there to get in the way. But then he underhandedly helps you - refuses to object, presses witnesses, even the Judge seems skeptical of his position as prosecutor! He’s starting to shift, to change, to become more interested in the truth rather than keeping his winning streak alive

Finally 1-4 is where it all comes together. You see his mentor, his father figure, who trained Edgeworth to be just like him, to be unscrupulous and cold and always make sure to get the defendant declared guilty - von Karma. And wouldn’t you know it, Edgeworth of all people is now the one in the defendant’s chair, framed for murder and unwilling to talk, believing not only that von Karma can have him declared guilty, but that his is guilty. Protecting Phoenix from the truth that he’s been wrestling with for fifteen years, until it finally comes to a head -

Edgeworth is not a murderer, but he’s also not innocent. Not necessarily in 1-4, he’s declared Not Guilty, but in his life, he has done underhanded deeds and dirty dealings. He’s manipulative, cold, refuses help and refutes compelling arguments if they might be inconvenient for him. But he changes, before it’s too late. He becomes vulnerable, is willing to change, to listen, to admit defeat. If he ever got caught he’d surely go to jail, and in 1-2 I’d be tempted to say he got what was coming to him! But he’s not static. He’s dynamic. He learns, he grows, he becomes a better person. And he hates it, he feels so uncomfortable changing that part of himself, those “Unnecessary feelings.” But Phoenix was right - they are necessary, and they prove that Edgeworth has changed. You want evidence? He gives it to you himself, with his uncomfortable expressions and his stopped nightmares. He refuses to become the monster that raised him, stops beating himself up for something he never did, and admits the greatest defeat - he stops prosecuting. Not because he was found for forging evidence but rather because he was saved from anyone finding out now that he’d turned that page. Phoenix Wright saved him from callout culture.

So other than the obvious things about case 1-5, like the occasional typo (not great in a detail-driven story but nobody’s perfect) and some of the more particular puzzles (looking at you unstable jar), Rise from the Ashes has some more egregious problems, least of all being pacing and tone, and most of all being ruining continuity and the heart of the first four cases.

How it lifts from 1-4 aka Edgeworth’s sordid past & statute of limitations on opening a case (and repressed memories)

It’s cast number and amount of evidence as a climax vs. 1-3 & 1-4 (how 1-3 was a murder unrelated to any of the previously established characters and had a decently large cast but not /so/ large as to be confusing) and (1-4 as a climax works the smoothest because of the foreshadowing of the DL-6 since 1-2 and only introducing a few new characters to keep the characterization tight) plus (refusing to get rid of superfluous evidence despite having already done that in earlier cases)

Lack of/contradicting established continuity and canon (Edgeworth being Lana’s understudy, neglecting mention of von Karma except at the very end and only once; the Blue Badger being made “This year” i.e. 2017 when the plush already existed at least as far back as 2016, if not earlier; Rumours about Edgeworth forging evidence/any other back alley deals being thrown around when even he himself didn’t know about the forged evidence but did know about tampering with testimonies because he did those himself in case 1-2; bringing up Miranda Rights, evidence law, etc., when neither of them had been important to the plot before (internal continuity rather than real-world application)

It’s a badly written mystery (the way it pushes off the initial murder to the very end to make it seem like an afterthought, the way it intentionally redirects the chain of events many times (something like four times?), its “options” only leading to yes or no which really end up with either one or the other with just a strike (!) taken off (i.e. not clever writing); it just seems like it’s a gaslighty mess)

The Good (because there are good things, both objectively and subjectively)

Gant (his design, his theme, the idea he represents (being corruption in the police, blackmail & lies to achieve an end; well established just not well executed, especially taking pieces of evidence, one of which he planted, and intentionally hiding it from Lana instead of further implicating Ema i.e. Lana should’ve been aware of those pieces of ‘’evidence’’ so that it would seem even more like Ema would be implicated if they were real)

The screwdriver reveal (divorced from the context of everything else in the case, the image of Edgeworth truly being used to transport a corpse unwittingly is very well done. It’s in-character, well-revealed, and an interesting concept, especially towards Edgeworth, because of his baggage)

The question raised of corruption in the police force, and foils of Starr and Lana to Gumshoe and Edgeworth

The Bad (objectively bad things like pacing, logical jumpscares (edges toward subjective), hand-holding (like flashbacks to things that happened literally just before the last save), arguably tone shift)

Having this case be both an introduction to new gameplay elements, and the climax of the game i.e., the hardest level (the way things are introduced doesn’t mesh well with having to have the most difficult plot line/convoluted story/etc., because there’s no time to gradually tutorialize these elements without killing the pacing of the case, which it does anyway. It does both things wrong, amazing!)

The Ugly (subjective things, plot progression around and in relation to Edgeworth my favourite charater, sense of humour, using Ema as a replacement for Maya, introducing such a large cast with no foreshadowing (because they couldn’t help it is not an excuse - if you can’t write your plot and have it weave naturally into the pre-established story, maybe you should do a rewrite)

Edgeworth is not a static character and you’d know that if you played Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney. His characterization and character arc are the strongest of any other character in the game and writing as though he never did anything unscrupulous undoes the entirety of 1-2 through 1-4

Admittedly, this is neither a good nor a bad, it just is - Darke was convicted of a murder that he did not commit, and was put to death for murders that were never proven. Darke could be Not Guilty for all we, the player, know, and I think that’s maybe the most interesting thing in this case. Too bad it was sidelined for the rest of it

Backfilling as an art is something I’m very familiar with, and if I may toot my own horn, am fairly decent at. You see it all the time with fanfiction and other fanworks, backfilling is a very popular way of making sense or just filling in the time between canon events - fun speculative fiction for fiction. This case is one of the worst examples of backfilling I’ve ever seen. It explains nothing that wasn’t already established, it actively ignores canon, it introduces a dozen new characters that were previously unmentioned and makes them integral to the plots of the established characters, etc., etc. It makes it difficult to want to get to know them when they fall into the conventions of unskilled writers, no matter how earnest

#WPPW #Rise from the Ashes #Ace Attorney #PWAA #This is unbeta'd pls forgive any spelling/grammar/etc. errors #I hope all my points read well

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fromthedeskofelizabeththird · 6 years ago

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Hi, ur fics are great, i like it! Um i see u're taking the request so can i request a fic about Jumin was actually having an illness that he had been dealing with almost a year but he never told to anyone including his wife until she found the fact about it? Thank you! I hope u have a good day :D

I like the idea of this, since even though I do not personally head canon Jumin as having a long standing illness, the potential is very much there.

To be more specific, I used epilepsy in this fic, since many aspects of having epilepsy correlate to Jumin however unintentionally. E.g. people with epilepsy cannot drive under certain circumstances, they are very often prone to headaches, some have nutritionists to monitor progress with keto or paleo, both of which are used in some cases as an alternative or complimentary treatment to medication. Don’t get me started on how beautifully this would intertwine with his reluctance to let people in.

She took her eyes off him for only a moment.

The party hall was packed to the rafters and at minimum chaotic; guests to please and introductions to make and a near constant stream of empty wineglasses.

MC dreaded to think how long she had needed to pee, only that she took the opportunity the second it came-kissing Jumin on the cheek with a whisper that she would be back soon.

She all but sprinted to the nearest bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind her. She wished she had time to fix her makeup and squinted at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she washed her hands. Her lipstick needed redoing and her hair was starting to unravel. Even so, she dried her hands and rushed back out to the party with very little hesitation.

It had been busy when she left, filled with the roar of almost a hundred people chatting and laughing at once. It was silent when she got back, though, everyone deadly still and crowded in the center. Even the musicians had dropped their instruments and looked on in horror.

At first, somewhat naively, MC assumed one of the serving staff had dropped a plate or bottle and hurried through the crowds to see the problem.

Unfortunately, she never got that far. V had hold of her shoulders before she could break out of the crowd and make her way to the front.

“MC,” he said, expression grave. “Don’t look.”

“Don’t look? At what?”

She craned her neck over his shoulder, wondering what on earth could have happened to leave him so visibly upset.

“Where’s Jumin?”

Jumin would definitely know what had happened. V refused to answer, though, and immediately all kinds of terrible scenarios played out in her mind. Jumin taking down an armed gunman…Jumin taken hostage. She wrenched her arm away and ran back into the room, completely ignoring V’s calls for her to come back.

She didn’t know what she expected. Perhaps Jumin in a pool of blood; Jumin dead or worse. She didn’t know what to think when she actually got there. Jumin truly was on the ground, unconscious and surrounded by medics.

“Step back, ma’am,” said one of them, ushering her away before she could crouch down beside him.

“B-but…I’m his wife.”

MC couldn’t shake how small she felt, unable to do anything but stare at the bloodied froth at his lips.

“I’m his wife. What’s-what happened?”

V caught up to her then and reached for her hand. This time, when he pulled her away, she didn’t argue.

“What’s wrong with him?”

She peered over her coffee and over at V.

They had left the party to follow Jumin to the hospital, leaving the rest of the RFA to handle everything in their absence. She and V stayed silent in the car; MC afraid to ask what had happened and V too anxious about his friend to tell her.

She had been gone for only a few minutes. He looked fine before. She wondered if she had missed something in her haste to get away; some subtle hint that something wasn’t right.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the bluish hue of his lips- the same lips that kissed her and whispered goodnight.

“Is he going to be alright?”

V sighed, moving to take a sip of his coffee and changing his mind.

“There’s nothing wrong with him. He’ll be okay in a few days, all being well.”

MC knew there was more to it. There had to be. People didn’t pass out for no reason.

“I’m his wife,” she whispered. “If there’s anything I should know…”

She couldn’t help thinking that she should have known.

“MC,” said V, “there’s nothing you could have done.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Jumin was always in good health, always conscious of the right diet and how long he should spend in his personal gym. It didn’t make sense for something like this to happen to him.

“It started when he was younger,” said V, the reluctance in his voice all too apparent. “I don’t know when exactly, but he took pills in pre-school.”

“Pills? What for?”

MC had only ever seen him take aspirin for his headaches. Had he been hiding it from her? Had there always been bottles of medication in his apartment that she simply had not seen?

“For seizures,” said V. “He hasn’t had any for a while…they weaned him off his meds in high school.”

“Why didn’t he tell me? Why did…”

She fell silent, wishing she could stop thinking of his lifeless body. Deep down, she understood and that was the worst part. If she had an illness like that, she doubted she would tell anyone.

It did not ease her guilt, however. She hated herself even after the doctor reassured her he would be fine and let her into his room. He wasn’t pale anymore, but just as still.

“We’ll need to monitor him,” said the doctor, “but right now he’s just sleeping.”

MC sat down at the side of his bed and took his hand in hers, wishing she had never left him. She was sure she would never forgive herself for considering her makeup while all of this happened. She should have been at his side. She should have known him better. She wanted to ask him why he had kept it from her; why he still felt the need to protect himself after their wedding. Didn’t he trust her? Did he think she would leave? She had so many questions and even more apologies and rested her head on the bed covers to feel the heat of his body and reassure herself that he was still alive.

She wasn’t sure how long she waited, only that the twitching of his body sent her springing into action. She expected the worst, only to breathe a sigh of relief when he opened his eyes and glanced around the room.

They were in a hospital with the country’s finest doctors, all of whom had told her it was a breakout seizure and he would recover, yet on some level she had still worried that he would never open his eyes again.

“Darling,” she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it in hers, “darling I’m here, you’re going to be alright.”

He squinted at the bright lights of the room, curling up his fingers at her touch.

“Darling,” she said again, “I know why you didn’t tell me. I’m not angry.”

He glanced across at her and her blood ran cold. There was no hint of recognition in his eyes; no smile; no warmth.

“J-Jumin?”

He grimaced,dragging his hand from hers and resting it across his forehead.

“Jumin?”

He didn’t respond, though, instead closing his eyes and falling still once again.

He woke again some time later, the stroke of his fingers through her hair jump starting her into action. She sat up, watching as he glanced around the room.

“Wh...”

His voice was raspy, but unmistakably aimed at her. She reached for his hand, squeezing it between hers in fear of what he might say next. She didn’t know what she would do if he asked who she was, but steeled herself for it anyway.

“Where am I? Is this a hospital?”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Jumin,” she said. “Do...do you remember me?”

He raised an eyebrow, as if she had asked him something completely ridiculous.

“Of course,” he said. “How could I forget you?”

She knew he was probably sore, but she couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around him, burying her head in his chest and trying to hold back her tears.

“I’m so h-h-h-happy,” she said. “I thought...I thought I’d lost you forever.”

Later she would ask him why he hadn’t told her. Right then, though, it didn’t matter. She could hear his heartbeat and feel his fingers in her hair. He was okay, they were okay.

Everything else could come later.

#keykayla #mystic messenger #mysme #jumin han #han jumin #mysme jumin

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