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always-andromeda · 3 years ago

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i. sound of a love song | Joby Taylor x fem!Reader

Joby Taylor x fem!Reader

Word Count | 3,043

Summary | A washed up former lead singer, Joby Taylor finds himself drunk at a bar and listening to you, a singer who’s way too good for him.

Author’s Note | My first ever multi chapter fic is here! This piece is so self indulgent and I’m trying not to feel too bad about it because I crave this man so deeply. The Joby Taylor brain rot I have from working on this is not even funny! Also just adore the idea of Joby falling in love with a reader with Lana Del Rey vibes and trying to be totally chill about it the whole time.

Warnings | none! please let me know if I need to add anything!

Joby Taylor was a mess. The fact hit him as he shifted in his bar stool and rested his head on the bar. He hadn't showered in days and even he couldn't ignore it anymore. The pomade he liked to run through his hair almost every morning was starting to build up, making him look particularly greasy. The alcohol certainly didn't help his appearance either. His tolerance was high and he was determined to keep drinking until he was on the edge of blacking out. He wanted to stumble back to his hotel room and flop down on the lumpy, probably bedbug infested mattress and pass out. Or maybe he would just pass out on this bar. It was all the same to him.

He didn't mean for it to get like this. Being a rockstar wasn't just about drugs and sex and alcohol but it sure helped the days pass by. And Joby had always been one of the guys who said he could stop whenever he wanted. His friends would jeer at him as he got more and more fucked up. No one stopped him. So he figured he didn't have to. It made his touring days much more eventful. But he didn't have the rockstar excuse anymore. He was just some poor bastard rotting from the inside out, listening to droning live music in a shitty bar.

Hours earlier, the night crowd was rowdy enough that he didn't notice the music. But, as midnight came closer and the crowd had thinned out enough, the soft guitar had come through. He turned his head and fought to keep his eyes open. Through blurry vision he saw you. You were at the microphone, hips swaying to the music. Your cream colored dress fluttered back and forth at your knees. The peasant neckline showed your chest, breathing slowly as you waited for your cue to start singing. He thought you were pretty. But any sort of terrible thought he could've had snuffed themselves out once you began singing.

"Hey, what you doin'?" Not a lot

Shakin' and movin' at my local spot

Baby, don't ask me why, don't ask me why

Why, why, why, why, why, why, why

Your voice was equal parts sad and sultry. He wasn't used to the gentle sound. He didn't typically like that sound in the first place. But it paired well with his mood.

Lay, lady, lay

On that side of paradise

In the Tropic of Cancer

'Cause if I had my way

You would always stay

And I'd be your tiny dancer, honey

He could've sworn that you looked at him then. He thought he saw you wink at him too. He licked his lips and tried to pull them into a smirk. His head was spinning. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it down. You're too fucking drunk. He didn't want to begin to entertain the thought of you flirting with him. You were just doing your job. As long as the men in this bar thought you were singing to them, they'd stick around and buy more drinks. Pretty girls like you did well in these kinds of joints.

The man off to the side of the stage strumming on the guitar looked agitated, some of his chords hitting harder than they were meant to. Joby figured it was your boyfriend, just worked up seeing his girl making eyes at middle aged men. He chuckled at the thought. If he felt better about himself at the moment, he probably would've tried to flirt back. He would've pulled you into a shadowed corner after your performance and pressed his lips to your pretty neck. He would let his hands wander and get himself familiar with your figure underneath the flowing dress. But he was so tired he could barely piece together the words you were singing.

Joby lazily hummed along, missing most of the notes and not quite getting a hand of the tune. The song ended as his eyelids began to flutter closed. He heard light applause, some wolf whistles, and a male voice thanking the crowd on the microphone before soft rock continued to play through the bars speakers. He felt a tap on his shoulder and jolted awake. There you were, sitting next to him as though your form had simply materialized there like an angel.

"This is how an artist dies, hmm?" you said, swiping your tongue over the rich red lipstick on your lips.

He blinked a few times, trying to process the sentence, "Huh?"

"Joby Taylor...didn't think I'd get to see you again. Especially not this trashed." You had the stem of a maraschino cherry between your fingers. You plucked the cherry with your teeth and your wet lips wrapped around the fruit. The maneuver had him entranced. Wait, he shook his head a little, you'd seen him before? He scanned his mind, trying to place your face. Despite you now sitting next to him, your face was still a bit blurry.

"You don't even remember me, do you?" you sneered at him.

"Of course I do..." he trailed off. He wished he hadn't drank so much. His head was pulsating and nothing was clear. He didn't want to embarrass himself in front of someone as pretty as you. But who was he kidding? He smelled like complete shit and looked worse. He’d worn the same leather jacket he’d worn for years now, the stench of cigarette smoke pungent from years of smoke breaks. Sweat had dried to the hoodies underneath the leather from the nights he’d tossed and turned, trying to find sleep. You, with your styled hair and glittering eyes, were way too good for him.

"You're a terrible liar, Joby Taylor." you laughed lightly and wrapped your lips around a straw. You were drinking something clear and bubbly. Probably just a soda. Of course you weren't like him, taking a few shots before performing on tour. You were put together and presentable. Again, way out of his league.

He finally processed what you'd first said to him, "How does an artist die?" Were you trying to deliver some weird riddle? Now he knew he was way too drunk to figure that out.

You motioned towards his slouched body. "I'm watching an artist die right before my eyes."

He sighed heavily, "What makes you think I'm dead?" Shit, he wasn’t even convinced he was alive either. Not for a while, at least. He was just on autopilot.

You chuckled shyly, "I've seen you perform before. You really know how to turn it on for a crowd.”

"You seem to know so much about me and I don't even know who you are."

"You really don't remember me?"

Joby shook his head, hair falling over his eyes.

"Damn," your face fell, "I'm y/n l/n. We played at a couple festivals a few years ago. James and I are friends."

Joby grimaced as you mentioned the name of his old bandmate. James was a fucking snake. He stole his band. Took credit for all the work he had spent years putting into Snake Trouble. But you knew him. He was working to click the pieces together in his brain. He vaguely remembered your name; remembered you with flowers in your hair and heavy eye makeup. Your voice...that was what he recalled clearest. Your melodic sound echoing through a microphone. He remembered feeling held by the song you had sung.

When you said James name, you saw him wince. It must've been a sore spot for him. But you kept prodding, "I actually talked to him a little while ago. He said that he's out of a lead singer now. He said you quit."

"Well, James is a fucking liar because he kicked me out. I wouldn't have quit that band even if I was on my fucking deathbed." His speech was angry and slurred. His body was too worn out to express it but his face began to turn red.

"Oh, his loss, I guess." you shrugged.

With that, Joby felt bad. James wasn't that terrible. None of his bandmates were. They just didn't get it. They knew a little about Claire but they didn't know about the divorce or the custody battle with Ellen. Hell, he didn't think he'd ever told them he had been married in the first place. His marriage with Claire had only happened to appease her parents when she'd gotten pregnant. They'd gone to a courthouse, signed the papers, and that same night he was playing another show. Then he never talked about it again. In the years following the marriage, his vows had never really mattered. He still slept with other people and dated around. James and his other bandmates witnessed all of it. Hell, they encouraged it for a while. They were once his friends but over time he started to see them more as coworkers than anything.

They didn't get his sound, his ideas, his art. That was alright on its own, but they didn't have to be assholes about it. They didn't have to rub it in his face about how hard he had fallen. That didn't matter anymore though. James could take his stupid band and write his own stupid songs. He didn't care. He did care, though, that you seemed to think he was good enough. He sat up a bit straighter, raising his head from the bar. He stuck out his chin and managed a sleazy smirk.

You recognized the look plastered on his face. You'd seen him in a similar state after shows and at a handful of parties. It was more annoying than attractive. You couldn't help admitting you had a thing for guys like him. They had a type of sway and attitude that made your knees weak. Simultaneously, you despised his type, especially in your industry. If you had been blackout drunk at shows, flirting with fans, and passing out on random couches, you'd be a laughing stock. No one would want to work with you. Only an asshole like him could pull all of the shit he did and still pass off as a tortured male musician. But it all seemed to be catching up to him now.

You remembered seeing him on stage at a festival, years before. He had looked a lot more controlled even with the black eyeliner just starting to run down his face. The girls thought he was hot and he played into it well. He put all his energy into the music, flipping his dark hair and swiveling his hips. Your ears had been ringing from all the girls shrieking when he ran his hands down his chest seductively while performing. You had rolled your eyes. He was hot, but way too full of himself. And now he was next to you, looking more pathetic than he ever had.

"You sounded good up there." he tried a compliment of his own.

You lit up. Very rarely were you admired for your talents. And even though the praise came from him, it meant a great deal. Most of the time the men in these bars leered at your body. They'd offer to buy you drinks in return for the alluring performance. You always rejected them, not wanting to let yourself be vulnerable in any way. It made some of the men mad, of course, but you felt all the more comfortable keeping those walls between yourself and them.

"Well, I'm flattered. When do you think you'll get back up on a stage again?" You hated to keep talking about the music but it was the only subject you figured you could relate with him about. Besides, you really were wondering. James had told you the last time they'd performed as a band had been less than a month before. Joby's expulsion from the band left them to postpone the tour, scrambling to find a replacement. But if your observances of his performances said anything, you knew it wouldn't be easy to find someone that could live up to Joby's presence. He was the lead singer for a reason.

“I could just never get on one ever again. Who fucking cares. Who would listen anyways.”

He was fishing for some flattery. You weren’t about to feed into that bullshit.

“Maybe you’re right. There’s enough sad bastards writing about women who won’t fuck them anyways.” You smiled sarcastically before taking another sip from your straw. He glared at you, surprised at the biting remark. Yeah, his lyrics could get a little stale sometimes, but what else was there to write about? It’s not like his life has been filled with much else. Besides, who were you to be talking shit while you were up there, whoring yourself out to sell drinks?

He scoffed, “Oh, yeah, like I see you doing so much better up there, little Miss Lana Del Rey cover artist.”

Your blood ran cold. If that washed up asshole thought he could insult you like that, he had another thing coming. “At least I’m doing something. And at least I do it well. And I take my work seriously enough that I don’t show up wasted for it.” you spit back, crossing your legs and suddenly feeling indignant.

He fumbled for a bit, grasping at straws for some sort of retort. He couldn’t fault you on any of those points. He could call you any nasty name he wanted to but that didn’t change how shattered he felt inside. Music had been his whole life. But almost as soon as the band had taken off, he lost the spark. He’d had humble roots and a story to tell back then. Now he was a one trick pony. He was pretending that he didn't absolutely fucking despise the singles that gave his band a name; reciting lyrics that he’d written when he was younger and his writing was sharper. The substances hadn’t fried his brain and the touring hadn’t drained his spirits then. He was a joke. A nobody. A washed up relic of albums people listened to during their high school days. You are a dying artist.

“I’m sorry…” he shook his head, feeling like his brain was a water balloon ready to burst, “I’m really not myself right now. I think I better head out.” He stood from his barstool, hand braced on the bar top to steady his lumbering frame.

“Wait, where are you staying?” Your gaze on him softened and you placed a concerned hand on his leather clad arm.

“Uhhh…the Motel 6 across the street.”

“Oh, you’re not gonna walk back there like this, are you? You have someone who can take you, right?” You looked around, trying to see if there was some girl you'd missed before. Any time you'd seen him at a show, he always had some girl hanging off his arm. But Joby met you with silence. You’d known the answer before you could even finish speaking. Most of the people Joby considered his friends left him in the dust when he got kicked out of Snake Trouble. Of course he was drinking alone.

“Shit. Let me drive you back.” You insisted. You would hate yourself if he got hurt on the way back. Over years of going out drinking with friends, you had quickly designated yourself the sober one that would make sure everyone got home safe. Besides, you had a bit of a fondness for Joby. As much of an asshole as he was, you were drawn to the persona. Especially this rawness you’d never seen from him.

Joby nodded and mumbled an okay in your direction. When he started to walk, he stumbled over his own shoes, almost falling forward and smacking his already vibrating head on the bar. But you caught him just in time. You put one hand on his chest and one on his lower back to support him.

He almost felt ashamed when he leaned into your touch until your forehead was almost on his shoulder. He hadn’t been touched in a while. The depression falling over him made it impossible for him to want to engage in one of his favorite pastimes. Even when he was having sex, it wasn’t like this. It was a closeness with all of the intimacy removed; skin rubbing on skin without making a single spark. And while he could get off, it would never compare to truly being familiar with someone.

Your hands were soft and your voice was smooth as you whispered, “You alright?”

He nodded again, this time his breath seemed stuck in his throat. Be normal about this, will you? She’s just being nice. You need nice right now. But the breath stayed stuck as you grabbed his hand and led him out the door to your car. God, he was going to have the most insane headache the next morning.

The car ride was quiet until you turned on the radio, letting some random country music station play. When you finally pulled into the motel and helped him out of your car, he still felt that electric feeling on his spine where you’d touched him. He felt around his pockets and searched his wallet before realizing that his room keycard wasn’t with him. Mentally retracing his steps it hit him.

You saw his face go blank when he admitted, “I left my keycard in the room.” It would be too late to go to the front desk and ask for another. But you couldn’t just leave him. Not when it was this cold out. You were already shivering in your light dress.

You sighed, “Come on, let’s just go back to my place. We’ll come back in the morning and you can sort this out when you’re sober.” Joby couldn’t believe his luck that he managed to run into you, didn’t even remember your name, and insulted you, and yet you were willing to take him in for a night. You’d let him sleep on your couch and then he’d get to see you again in the morning. Sure, he probably wasn’t going to see you again after that, but it was something to him.

#danonation #paul dano #joby taylor x reader #joby taylor #for ellen #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

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winchesterxxi · 4 years ago

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A Human Wiretap (Poe Dameron x Reader)

GIF BY @captain-flint

Rating: G (General Audience)

Type: Fluff

Summary: While in Kijimi, Reader is shocked by the revelation of Poe having been a spice runner before becoming a Resistance pilot, unaware that he knows about her own secret

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: None

A/N: let the stream of Poe content commence

MASTERPOST | REQUEST HERE | KO-FI

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Kijimi was the last place you wanted to be right now. You had always known of this place to be infested with pirates and all the lawless beings of the galaxy, the country being practically a crime heaven.

The destination had been appointed as The Thieves' Quarter, the place you were told you could find Babu Frik, and to your unrest, your husband seemed to be able to navigate the streets of the foreign planet pretty well, occasionally stopping against a wall at any given corner, looking around for any threats.

“Are you sure you never came here?” you ask one time while leaning against his side on a cold brick wall, waiting for the safe sign.

“Not really.” He says looking over at the snowy empty street, before turning his head back at you for a split second “Coast’s clear, let’s go”

And just as he took the first step to round the corner, an armoured woman came into view pointing a blaster at Poe’s face.

Not even allowing a second to process another thought, you reach for your own blaster, pulling it from its holster and aiming it perfectly so that it was secured in the direction of the person’s head on both of your steady hands.

“Heard you were spotted at Monk’s Gate. Thought He’s not stupid enough to come back here.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Poe mumbles from his stance.

“Blaster off him. Now.” You warn from your spot, a scowl upon your face, ready to shoot, in case she dared to make another move.

“Zorii!” Poe exclaims in fake enthusiasm, before snapping his head quickly between the two of you. “She won’t ask twice, I would listen to her”

“You pull that trigger, you’re next, honey.” You assure her, readjusting your fingers as to place a stronger grip around the camera.

“She used a pet name, she’s serious.” Poe nods and nervously warns the woman whose weapon was now closer to his forehead, almost pressed against it.

“We’re only here to find Babu Frik, we don’t want no trouble.” You tell her cordially, expecting to explain your presence in the clearly unwelcoming planet and maybe have her help you. You eye the woman up and down, eyes scanning the shining golden armour, before settling on the deep black visor.

“Who are you?”

“Honey,” Poe speaks, being careful not to make any sudden moves that could make the woman pull the trigger “this is Zoriii. Zoriii, this Y/N, my wife.”

You are a little taken aback by the fact that they seem to know each other fairly well, given the assurance that Poe had just given you moments ago, that he’d never step foot on Kijimi.

Her helmet turns to you “Wife?” she scoffs “I guess there really is someone for everyone.”

“You have no idea.” he smirks, a momentary lapse, and you snap a look at him.

“I could pull this trigger right now.” She says, pushing the blaster harder against Poe’s head, and you take a step forward.

“You do that, my blaster is the last thing you’ll see in this life.” Sharp words leave your mouth, both you and Poe knowing damn well that you were badass enough to keep the promise.

“Babu only works with the crew. That’s not you anymore.” Zorii says, still talking to Poe, as if your presence and the one of your weapon aimed at her is non-existent.

“What do you mean crew?” you ask her, and for a moment, her attention is directed to you, before slowly tilting once again in your husband’s direction, whose hands were still up in the air in a surrendering feat.

“Oh your wife doesn’t know?” her voice, goes up an octave, clearly amused by whatever is about to unfold. Your eyes scan between the two of them waiting for some kind of explanation of whatever secret conversation was going on in front of you. “Funny he never mentioned it…”

“What is she talking about?” you question Poe but he gives himself no time to utter a word at you, just quickly waving his hand and facing Zorii.

“Zorii, married people are still allowed secrets- “ he tries but she is too quick to reveal the information you were dying to be delivered.

“Your husband was part of the Spice Runner Gang.”

You can’t stop your jaw from going slack at the revelation, not being able to form any coherent words and instead just moving your mouth like a fish out of water, dwelling on whether you felt hurt, angry or any other emotion of the rush that caught you in that moment.

Poe’s shoulders slump slightly and he bites his bottom lip, eyes closed in frustration. He then turns at you, hands still up, as you were still gripping the blaster, which was now pointed at him as he was walking towards you, cautious steps, one at a time.

“I can explain.”

“You were a smuggler? AND A SPICE RUNNER AT THAT?” You drop your blaster to your side, stepping towards him, your brain having decided on anger as the momentary emotion.

“Y/N-“

“In 2 years of marriage NOT ONCE did it occur to you to mention that!?” you yell the two middle words, incredulous at your husband’s secret, having spent your whole relationship that he had always been a resistance pilot, just like he had assured you.

“Oh, don’t act like I’m the only one with a secret here!” his hands drop to his side, and he is no longer trailing in front of you like a lost puppy looking for forgiveness but instead returns to his conflictual side, a defence mechanism, you’ve come to learn.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you scoff, genuinely clueless as to what he could be referring to. And definitely not expecting him to voice the secret you fought years to keep.

“I know you’re a Sywalker!” he says loudly, and its as if your spirit has left your body, the blood draining from your face, and for a moment you forget that breathing is a necessary bodily function.

“H… How do you…”

“The week before we got married I-…” he takes a deep breathe in, running a hand through his wild curls, now dusted with white snow. “I heard you and Leia.”

Poe was making his way to the X-Wing hangar when he stumbled across an ajar door from where he spotted your figure passing across it and disappearing multiple times.

It wasn’t until he stepped closer and leaned against the wall, that he got the full picture.

You were pacing back and forth in an empty resting room of The Radus, pattering your boots across the white floor as Leia sat by the window, looking at you in this impossible frenzy, fingers pressed against your mouth while the other hand rested on your hip.

Your motion comes to a halt in front of her, turning on your toes to face her.

“Should I tell him?”

“I think you should do what you think to be the right thing.” Leia answers her, reaching forward to grab your nervous hands in hers.

“We’re getting married next week, but I don’t think telling him would be any good…”

That’s when Poe’s heart sank to the bottom of his chest, tightening at the implication of your wedding and a number of awful possibilities running across his mind as to what you could be hiding from him.

“He’ll think…I don’t even know. I’ve spent more than half of my life hiding this and if he finds out… What if he thinks I’m a freak? And…And just leave me?”

Poe, from across the door, inches closer, curiosity getting the best of him and brows furrowing.

“Y/N, honey, Poe has been around plenty of force-sensitive people. I can assure you that my niece being one won’t scare him away.” Leia assures you while giving your hands a firm squeeze, and you let your head fall back, closing your eyes.

Wait, what? Poe was really trying to connect the dots at the amount of information that he had been bombed within this short amount of time.

“Not the daughter of Luke Skywalker.” You sigh.

“You knew?... All this time…” your eyes brim with tears.

Poe turns to Zorii who still stood behind him, the blaster having been lowered.

“Can you…give us a moment?”

“Who the hell do you think you are to be asking favours right now?” she snaps but Poe’s eyes plead at her for a single ounce of sympathy. “I’m staying right here.”

Poe turn around to face you, still very aware of the blaster pointed at the back of his head and he lowers his voice so that only the two of you can share the conversation.

“Honey…”

“You still married me?” you are looking down until you speak, watery and red eyes finding those of Poe who’s demeanour completely changes upon your question. He rushes to your front, gloved hands finding your upper arms, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “You knew I was lying to you and you still… you still…”

“Honey,” his hands slide up from your arms to your cheeks “Look at me. I love you. I know why you did it. I probably would’ve done the same. I’m not mad, never have been, never will be.”

You were fighting the urge to ramble on, but upon looking into your husband’s sincere eyes, you relaxed your whole body and he takes that as a cue to pull you in for a hug. With your face flush against his chest, you mumble an apology, fists tightening around the fabric of his cloak.

“I’m sorry… for snapping at you earlier. It was very hypocritical of me.”

Poe smiles against your forehead, before placing a tender kiss against its warm flesh.

“It’s okay, honey, I swear. At least…at least I think I owe you an explanation.” Poe takes a deep breath in “I… When I was a teen, still living on Yavin 4,… their ship crashed near my hometown and I just… I needed out of there, I wanted to be reckless. So I joined them.”

You pull your head away from his chest, craning it upwards.

“Zorri’s mom was… she was the leader of the Spice Runners and she had this plan of inviting other crime lords here to form alliances, but she really was just planning on killing them. Zorii offered to fight against her with me and take control of the Spice Runners but I was done. Honestly, I wanted a better life.”

“And you got it. Congratulations.” Zorii’s voice makes the two of you snap back at her, Poe’s hand rushing down to your side, grabbing your hand and stepping slightly in front of you. “You know, I’m still digging out of the hole you put me in when you left to join the Resistance.”

Her helmet then turns in your direction and you have no time to manoeuvre the blaster back to pointing at her, afraid that she’d shoot.

“You. You’ll do.” She says referring to you “A Skywalker. A bounty for her might just cover us.” She says and you frown at the word us until you find your peripheral vision starting to get dotted on the sides by equally armoured soldiers who you assumed to be Spice Runners.

“Djak’kankah” she commands.

“Don’t djak’kankah” Poe pleads, knowing the meaning of the word.

Just then, when you perceive that the smugglers are running in on you, you quickly snap up your blaster and take them all one by one with perfect aim, sliding your leg under Zorii’s feet and akeing her fall to the cold ground right in front of you, both of you pointing your blasters at each other.

“We could really use your help. Please.” You huff, trying to calm your beating heart from the adrenaline of the previous moment.

“Not that you care…But I think you’re okay.” She breathes through the helmet.

“I care.” You let a sly smile tint your lips, sliding your blaster back into its holster and offering the woman who just seconds ago was dead set on killing you your hand.

When she is hoisted back to her feet, she walks ahead of the both of you signalling for her to be followed but as she is about to pass Poe she throws him a few words.

“She’s a keeper.”

“Don’t I know that.” He smirks, turning back to see you walking to catch up to him. Before you can say anything, his gloved hand is already pressed against your cheek as he brings his lips down to crash against yours.

“I love you.”

“I love you.” You whisper against his lips “But I still need to-“

“You can tell me all about it tonight. While laying in bed. No rush.” He smiles assuringly at you and you swear if you didn’t have a mission at hands you would melt into his embrace for as long as the galaxy aloud you to.

“Let’s find that droidsmith.” You smile at him, before placing one quick kiss against his jaw and walking towards Zorii, leaving the former Spice Runner, current lovestruck Resistance Pilot, completely enamoured and stunned behind you.

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TAGLISTS

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POE DAMERON TAGLIST

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#A Human Wiretap #Poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fluff #star wars #return of the jedi #oscar isaac x reader

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thanksjro · 4 years ago

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Dark Cybertron Chapter 7: Simon Furman and His Lack of a Relationship with the Singular They

The Lost Light is still being attacked by Ammonites, like it has been for the last few issues. Hound’s taken over as acting field commander and is calling all the shots. Chromedome uses his stupid beefy arms to punch things. Trailcutter is screaming. Swerve’s got his My First Blaster™ strapped to the top of his alt, and saves Crosscut.

Crosscut is our toy tie-in character for this issue. He’s a senator, and drafts play scripts. Arguably one of the more interesting tie-in guys, at least in theory. In practice, all he’s doing is forgetting Swerve’s name, which isn’t going to help the guy with his through-the-floor self esteem.

Crosscut points out that Swerve’s communicator is flashing, and while he’s checking his voicemail, all the Ammonites seemingly vanish… at least, until the gang realizes that they’re instead heading for Metroplex.

Inside, it would appear that the Rod Pod Squad aren’t actually dead, though their ride is probably toast. Before everything went to hell, a wall slammed down from the ceiling, protecting everyone from being utterly destroyed. Skids has figured out what all the arrow graffiti is about, earning himself a BOMP from Getaway. Looks like the internal structure of Metroplex has been shifting, and that’s why they got the runaround last issue. Also, Whirl’s gone missing, but we don’t have time to worry about that, because Swerve just called back with some bad news: the admium flakes they saw earlier mean that Metroplex has an alchemical virus.

Don’t you look at me like that, I’m getting to the explanation.

Alchemical viruses turn the metal of the body into admium, a rare, incredibly soft metal that will break down very easily and also kill you. It’s pretty bad to have. Also, contagious. Fellas better get outta there, posthaste.

The Ammonites are also storming Metroplex, so that’s an additional issue. God, it just never stops, does it?

Over in the Dead Universe-

Is that a fortress of evil in the shape of Nova Prime’s head?

Is that a goddamned fortress-

Anyway, the center of Nova Prime’s universe is Kup, who was the guy who got oh-so-dramatically revealed at the end of the last issue. Unfortunately, Orion Pax also considers Kup to be very near and dear to his heart, and the whole “being turned into a space bridge” thing is going to be an issue.

This is the weirdest love triangle I’ve ever seen.

How the hell did Kup even get here? Well, in order to know that, you’ve have to had read Infestation, the bullshit zombie crossover comic miniseries that ran in 2011.

But I’m not going to do that.

Because I don’t want to.

After a bit of showboating, Nova Prime orders Nightbeat to take Team -Imus to their cell.

Over on Cybertron, Shockwave is getting real sick of Galvatron’s shit, but Galvatron is too busy posing dramatically to notice. Waspinator, Metalhawk, and Dreadwing float in the air. I’m not sure what they’re up to, but I’m sure it’s important. Jhiaxus shows up with a gaggle of goons, one of which seems to have forgotten his face in the jar by the door.

Galvatron gets shamed for tearing Megatron in half, since that sort of broke the space bridge in his torso, but he’s too busy being classist to care. Waspinator floats in the background. What are you doing back there, pal?

Shockwave orders Waspinator to carry Megatron to his quarters, but Galvatron’s decided that he’s going to be an asshole about everything today, even when he’s being helpful.

…Okay, Boomer.

Waspinator still ends up hauling Megatron’s ass away, and Shockwave and Jhiaxus have a little chat.

Back in the dead universe, Team -Imus are in their cell, as Nightbeat double-checks the locks or some shit, I dunno. They’re gonna get their sparks ripped out later in the day, so that the space bridge Kup’s got running in his torso finally has enough juice to actually friggin’ work.

Then Rodimus flashes his mystery hand at Nightbeat and makes him fall down. In order for the whole brainwashing thing to work, Nightbeat’s true nature had to be suppressed; however, whenever Rodimus shows off his mystery hand, it makes his brain kickstart back on, messing up the brainwashing.

Well, you know what, Cyclonus? That’s not my fucking fault. Blame Roberts and Barber. I certainly do.

ORION PLEASE.

We finally get a look at what Rodimus’ hand mystery is, and if you read Eugenesis, you might know where this is going. It would seem Nightbeat has not- which is for the best, really, given what happens to him in it- but he’s still a pretty smart cookie and can suss it out through the power of deductive reasoning. Here’s what he’s working with:

After a moment’s deliberation, he asks Rodimus, who he knows to be the captain of a ship, how many folks are riding around in the space yacht. Rodimus tells him 190, and shows off that he’s got his lipgloss on, and it would seem that Nightbeat’s a free man again. He lets everyone out of the cell, and they gear up to go pick up Kup. Orion Pax is confused as to what the hell just happened here, and Rodimus promises to explain why he’s carved a division problem into his palm once they aren’t in immediate danger.

Back on Cybertron, Galvatron and Waspinator are dragging Megatron’s halves towards Shockwave’s quarters, when Bumblebee pops out of nowhere with a gun and a mouth full of swears. He’s here for Megatron, and he’s not taking “no” for an answer. Galvatron thinks that this is super fucking funny, and tosses Megatron like an empty soda can into the wall so he can squash a bug.

It looks pretty grim for ol’ Bumblebee, but suddenly Galvatron realizes he left the oven on that Megatron’s gone missing.

Oh, there he is!

Megatron blasts Galvatron in the torso, then- in a surprisingly polite manner, at least for him- tells Bumblebee to grab his legs so they can get out of here. As the two of them traverse the burned-out husk that is Cybertron, Megatron decides to be a complete bastard, as he smiles at the idea of Starscream suffering. Like, dude, I know he kept you in weird hamster ball jail and spouted soliloquies in your general direction every single day you were there, but folks are dying right now.

Speaking of Starscream, he’s having a moment, as he sits on his knees and stares at the sky in abject horror while the world burns around him. Scoop comes by to yell at him for being a harbinger of death, and generally being a less than stellar leader, and Starscream halfway calls himself a dumpster fire.

Back inside Metroplex, the Rod Pod Squad are fortifying their defenses against the Ammonites, even though they really need to be getting the hell out of there before they get turned into talcum powder through the power of alchemy. Whirl shows back up, the Ammonite hanger-on in his grasp, and we get the skinny on why the hell the Ammonites are involved with this whole debacle anyway.

The answer is Shockwave.

The answer is always Shockwave.

Then the little dude explodes. It’s fine, they do that sometimes.

Before he went kablooey, little dude uttered the phrase, “if the dead are not enough.” We’ll get to what all that’s about later. Right now there are far more important things going on.

LIKE MOTHERFUCKING LADY ROBOTS.

But why is this such a big deal? Why is it that non-male coded robots who aren’t Arcee haven’t been seen up until this point? What’s up with that, huh?

Well, in order to understand IDW’s complicated relationship with gender, we’re going to have to do some digging into the history of Transformers as a franchise.

We’re going to have to talk about Simon Furman.

We're going to have to talk about Prime's Rib.

And we’re going to have to talk about Spotlight: Arcee.

Simon Furman wrote a lot of Transformers. You cannot get away from Simon Furman, because the man is so ingrained in the franchise. He was there for Marvel UK, he was there for the back half of Marvel US, he wrote for several other publication runs of Transformers, he worked on the Earth Wars mobile game-

-and, of course, IDW publishing.

Because Furman is so very well established and known in the industry, he gets the benefit of not being questioned on a lot of the calls he makes.

Which is a problem, because the man is a massive misogynist.

In 1989, Marvel UK #234 came out, containing the story entitled “Prime’s Rib!” in which the Autobots built Arcee in order to appease a group of strawmen feminists. Of course, one female Transformer isn’t enough for them, and they yell at poor Optimus Prime for trying his best. This is the point where Hot Rod is used as a writer avatar to try to smooth things over with the reader, because you see, the Transformers don’t even know what sexual dimorphism and gender identity even is, so of course they wouldn’t have female members of their race! Jazz is used for a breast joke. Arcee acts like a massive, stereotypical bitch the whole time, despite not having been written like that at all in the other issues. It’s a bad comic with hideous ideology leaking out of it, and I'm halfway sorry I read it, so I’ll just give you the essence of this nightmare.

Oh, those big, mean, scary feminists are bullying the robots for living their lives, huh Furman? Life is just so goddamned unfair when a woman exists in your fucking line of sight.

Furman has gone on record saying that he doesn’t see the point in including the concept of gender in a race of non-sexually reproducing robots. He sees them as “genderless.” Which, if that statement existed in a vacuum, I could perhaps see where he’s coming from.

But Simon Furman does not exist in a vacuum. He exists in a world where sexism exists, something that he’s willingly participated in.

Let me back up that little tidbit with a bit of a disclaimer: I’m not in any way an expert on gender. I didn’t study it in school, I’ve not read an obscene amount of pieces on the topic. I’m not even sure about it on a personal level.

Maybe some of y’all have noticed the whole other set of pronouns I slapped into the bio in the last month or so. It doesn’t really matter, 90% of people don’t read the FAQ/About, I know that, and then 95% of those people only read it once, and this has been a relatively new self-revelation.

BUT ANYWAY.

Let’s be… fair about this. 1989 was a while ago, a lot of research on the concept of gender has taken place, maybe he’s ch-

Oh, what’s that?

Misogyny?

Transphobia?

Transmisogyny?

Treating women as an aberration being forced on Transformers as a whole?

And the writing is clunky and overstuffed?

Well, that’s just fucking fantastic, Furman, thanks so much.

This was in 2008. Because Furman established that female Transformers weren’t something natural, but rather made, and forcibly at that, and nobody fucking smacked his little hands away from this terrible idea, AND nobody tried to fix it for years, there was a lack of gender diversity within IDW until 2014, with the release of Dark Cybertron Chapter 7. Because we waited six years to fix this nightmare, things couldn’t be done quite the way that Roberts had been hoping, in that he intended for our female robots to not have the whole… fembot build happening. IDW wanted them immediately clockable, because this was very clearly a problem that needed rectifying.

So, in short: because of boys’ club mentality and a lack of understanding of what gender means or why it’s important for roughly 50% of the world’s population to have representation in media, Nautica and Chromia are here now.

And despite the convoluted road they had to take, I love them very much.

#transformers #jro #dark cybertron #issue 7 #rid #exrid #issue 25 #maccadam #Hannzreads #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #text post #long post #comic script writing

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johannesviii · 4 years ago

Text

So I guess I’m hyperfixating on Death Stranding at the moment

And since I’ve finally finished the story after playing it for like 100 hours over the course of seven months or so I guess I have Opinions(tm) about things I didn’t like in the game

They’re eating at my brain so I’m gonna put them all in a single post to get them out of my system once and for all so I can enjoy the rest in peace

Spoilers, obviously

Hi welcome back to ‘Johannes is obsessing over yet another video game with horror elements in it’! I guess!!

Our latest entry in that category was Until Dawn but since UD can be played in like 6/7 hours and I spent 100 hours of my life on DS, as you can guess we’re talking about a full-blown hyperfixation, the kind that physically hurts because I can’t focus on anything else even after having finished the storyline

But it was super gradual. Again, seven months. I barely made any progress from December to May because I was only doing side-deliveries at the beginning of Chapter 3 instead of... you know... advancing the plot. It became an honest-to-god special interest about two months ago, then 6 days ago while playing chapter 10 it reached hyperfixation levels and now I am in PAIN

I hate my brain

Anyhow

At first I wanted to list the good and the bad hings in it but there’s too many good things to list them all in full, excruciatingly long details, so

Very Quick And Very Incomplete List Of Good Things That I Love

It’s a post-apo game based on travel, logistics, and good will, and it straight up goes AGAINST the whole ‘survival of the fittest’ trope that SO MANY post-apo things try to push!! YES

I insist but it’s built on helping each other and keeping everyone alive, seriously that is my shit right there!

The online community is wholesome?? People leave stuff everywhere, you never see anyone but people put little helpful signs and send you likes, and in my game we almost managed to repair all the roads together

There’s so many new & strange allergies and disabilities and phobias in this post-apo world and? nobody is trying to ““fix”“ anyone?? Like Heartman with his padded floor and his little box that brings him back to life constantly. He’s just... living like that. Nobody’s going “hey maybe you should get another heart operation buddy”

The hero and his phobia of being touched. I. Loved. That. The quiet scenes when he was just talking with Fragile, sitting next to her. In any other context this would just be two people sitting next to each other and talking but it always feels so soft and intimate everytime he allows another human being to just. be next to him. I love it. I love them

Everyone crying constantly because of chiral allergy!!

I loved all the important characters bar one (Bridget/Amelie)!

Why is this walking simulator so enjoyable why am I enjoying the fact that holding L2 + R2 while walking feels like holding your backpack and that you have to relax at times just like you’d have to if you were actually holding a backpack

Seriously. Why

The atmosphere was so great, the music was fantastic and the visuals were on point. A E S T H E T I C

The ghosts!! The giant Beached Things!!! Chiral crystals look! like! creepy hands reaching for the SKY!!

THE RAIN DESTROYS THINGS AND KILLS PEOPLE BY ACCELERATING TIME THIS IS SO COOL SHUT UP

Everytime the game got surreal it was electrifying

THE SURREAL WAR SCENES ON CLIFF’S BEACH

Everyone is using emojis

There’s guys addicted to delivering packages in that game and they’re trying to steal our stuff and we’re like “haha they’re dumb” but we’re basically addicted to delivering packages as the player. So yeah that was pretty fun

Terrorists thinking humanity isn’t going extinct fast enough and wanting to just rip the bandaid and speed things up. Simple but effective concept

People ask for SUPER VITAL ITEMS right next to completely trivial stuff and I’m LIVING for it. “Please fetch my toy dinosaur”. I feel you dude

The most isolated characters are like "LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THIS THING I LIKE" in your emails because they haven't had contact with other humans in years, it's super relatable

There’s a farm where people use the fact that Timefall rain accelerates time to grow food super quickly in one (1) Timefall and harvest everything just before it starts to die and I LOVE that detail of worldbuilding so much

YOU’RE FIGHTING BEACHED THINGS WITH YOUR OWN BODILY FLUIDS IT’S SO STUPID BUT ALSO SO COOL?? I love yeet-ing my own blood at eldritch entities

THE T W I S T S

All the fanservice (bar one detail that I’m gonna complain about later) is on dudes. This game reeeeeeally likes to show dudes naked or somewhat naked. Mostly the main character but this mocap also L O V E S Mads Mikkelsen and there’s a shit ton of homoerotic shots in there

I love Sam the antisocial papa wolf delivery man and if someone touches him or his baby again, I will cry

LOU. LOU LOU LOU PRECIOUS BABY I’D DIE FOR YOU. Wait I did

I love Fragile and how brave she is and how she keeps helping people even if most of them wrongly think she’s a terrorist and yes I will eat this cryptobiote thank you

I love soft science boi Heartman who keeps dying again and again and is a bit too much interested in bodily fluids

I love garbage man Higgs and how complex, funny and still somewhat tragic this memelord actually turned out to be in the end

Seriously I want to stop fixating on this character but you can’t give me YET ANOTHER character who wants to die but at the hands of someone else, that is unfair to do that right after my fixation on the new Doctor Who Master

So yeah Higgs is yet another character who makes me want to grab him by the lapels and shake him and yell WHY! ARE! YOU! LIKE! THIS! STOP! BEING! LIKE! THIS!!

Cliff broke all three of my feelings beautifully and in excruciatingly well-acted scenes that transcended the sometimes lackluster dialogue

John made me cry during That Scene

Mama your background was tragic and terrifying and you didn’t deserve any of this shit and I love you

Deadman was more funny than anything, really, but I still liked him even if he had no sense of personal space whatsoever and it clashed horribly with Sam’s phobias

The ending had some sad parts but was mostly positive, thank goodness

Now I’m gonna explain things I dislike and this looks long but it’s actually only 5 main things so I bolded them to avoid confusion

Things I really disliked (and could have been handled wayyyy better)

We all know it but Kojima isn’t a master of subtlety and some parts of the dialogue kept repeating the same informations again and again AND AGAIN and I was like “ok ok I get it”

The dialogue can be so bad at times seriously

Kojima is a bad writer there I said it

It was particularly annoying with Amelie/Bridget and the fact she’s a horrible person trying (and failing) to justify her actions wasn’t helping

Bridges protocols are incredibly intrusive. All of them. I know it’s framed as bad and Sam hates being spied on all the time and in the end he destroys the device that does that, but I wish someone else would openly criticise it in-game

I guess Deadman sort of did but still

Also I know the whole BB technology was Bridget’s idea, and since she’s the actual villain it’s framed as a twisted, evil thing during the ending, but I wish that had been framed like that much earlier ; a lot of Bridges employees just... seem to accept the idea that their employer is using premature babies and their dead mothers as useful, if disturbing, devices. They seem to justify it by “uh we stole that technology from terrorists” to try to cope with the idea but... yeah.

I mean, one of the points being made very early on is that Sam sees his BB as his child who must be protected at all costs instead of a detection device, but I really wish he wasn’t the only one to object to that thing

Again, the game DOES frame "using babies and their dead mothers as tools” as evil and twisted, I just wish it was given a lot more weight and way sooner

Now let’s talk about the Token Straight(tm) in this game

In any other kind of context it would be a joke! But Death Stranding literally has a Token Straight Guy!

I mean, there IS a few hetero couples among the Preppers. Not a lot, mind you. Like, there’s the Montaineer and his wife for instance. But they’re just there and it’s not what their side plot is about

No I’m talking about this piece of shit right there

This f█cking Junk Dealer guy complains the girl he loves is dead because of Bridges and emotionally blackmails us by sending us old holograms of her before her supposed death (somewhat disturbing holograms too because she looks... pretty young in them), then he sends us on what’s essentially a suicide mission in a BT infested zone, THEN when we give him proof she’s still alive and living in another bunker nearby, he won’t go there himself to check??

But SHE’s like “ok, bring me to him, then!”

He doesn’t deserve you, girl

I’ve already seen several people pointing out that carrying a woman as cargo on your back is... debatable at best and sexist at worst, but that part didn’t really bother me to be honest? She asked to be carried to him and it’s her choice. She was talking to us the entire way too, so that made things a lot less awkward. Also Sam has this phobia of being touched by other people so I bet carrying another human being on his back isn’t fun for him. It was also super stressful to do, to be honest.

And then there’s this EXTREMELY AWKWARD scene when they’re reunited and decide to get married, and thankfully Sam finds it just as awkward as we do because he’s standing super far away from the bunker in a “can’t they talk about this later - I’m right there” way. And I’m under the impression it was intended as cringy, in a “yeppp young people in love are Like That” sort of way, so I can accept that, to be honest. If you don’t take that scene seriously, it’s pretty fun in, again, a cringy sort of way

BUT

Then you receive more emails later and this piece of shit guy complains about her and he’s like “ugh WOMEN” or “marriage is the worst” and they end up divorced in record time and she goes back to her bunker

Which isn’t my problem with this subplot either, I promise I’m gonna explain myself eventually but this context is important. It’s okay to have characters who are pieces of shit like this guy who reeks of incel cologne. It’s alright. Not every character has to be a role-model. It’s good to have characters you can hate.

BUT THEN they get back together later to try to patch things up and you learn he was part of a gang who murdered her parents even though he protected her against the rest of the gang and that’s what I hated about that storyline. I guess if you squint it can be read as “this woman is making REALLY BAD life choices” but I read it as “he saved her so she owes him something, he can’t be entirely bad” and y i k e s this left such a bad taste in my mouth, good lord.

But yeah miss Chiral Artist you’re making really bad life choices please get away from this dude as soon as you can, thank you

Also don’t do this ‘sending Likes’ pose ever again, it was hilarious but also you made me use the word “cringy” several times in this paragraph even though I absolutely hate cringe culture, look what you made me do

Now I have to talk about a scene that was intentionally disturbing as hell but ONE (1) detail in it was disturbing for the wrong reasons

To be honest, I really don’t like the Metal Gear Solid games and one of the reasons is the rampant sexism in them so I... was kind of bracing myself for Death Stranding and expecting it to have at least SOME really bad fanservice with a woman at one point or another but to my surprise?? There was none? All the fanservice is on dudes??? Hello? I really liked that (well at some point Fragile takes a shower in our room but we see literally nothing except her shoulder and then Sam looks away)?? What a refreshing change

THAT BEING SAID

And if you played the game you know exactly what I’m about to talk about

Yep this is the part where Johannes complains about how the bomb flashback was shot

Ok so I guess I should also give some context in case someone is reading this but hasn’t played the game, but the deal with this scene is that our friend Fragile was betrayed by her colleague Higgs who used to be a porter but became a terrorist after meeting the “main“ villain of the game. First he secretly put a thermonuclear bomb in one of her deliveries so she’d nuke an entire city without even knowing it, and everyone after that thought she was a terrorist. And then he tried to do that shit A SECOND TIME, but she noticed and decided to toss the second nuke into a bottomless lake of tar. But he caught her just before she reached the lake and he decided to give her a sadistic choice, which was “teleport away and the bomb stays there and nukes the city, or carry it to the lake but only in your underwear under this rain that speeds up time and it will do enormous damage to your health and your body”

And of course being the hero she is, she decides to take the second option

And it’s an incredibly disturbing scene and it’s genuinely hard to watch

But it’s also the ONLY time a woman is in her underwear in this entire game and there’s A COUPLE of shots that were male-gaze-y at the beginning before she started to run and the really horrific part started.

So in a way I guess it could have been worse? way worse, even

But it still tarnishes an otherwise disturbing (and harrowing at times ; seriously I know I’m oversensitive but it was physically painful to watch) scene with unnecessary shots

We know Fragile had a young body before this happened, this isn’t the point of this scene, guys

Whoever decided to keep these shots (probably Kojima let’s face it), that is bad and you should feel bad

Idk how to do a visual transition for that next one because I do not want to screen that memo

So here’s a screenshot with a nice landscape instead

tw: acephobia

Now I have to talk about something I like the GENERAL IDEA of, but not how the IN-GAME MATERIAL ABOUT IT was written

Because I have to talk about that “asexual world” memo

First I have to say that I absolutely love the fact that a mainstream game openly says in-game “this future is full of asexual people" and?? it’s just that, it’s a part of this world. That’s just how things are. It’s normalised. I love it. For crying out loud this memo has the word demisexual in it. I can’t think of any other mainstream game that had this word in it so far.

It should have stopped there and let me enjoy that in peace but it didn’t

THE MEMO ITSELF WAS CLEARLY WRITTEN BY SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO HANDLE THESE CONCEPTS and there’s some really bad stuff there. I’d say it’s accidental acephobia but it’s still there. I’m not the best person to talk about this because I’m bi, but it still rubbed me the wrong way

The words this memo uses near the beginning are “"sexless lifestyle” among young people” and yikes, my dude. “Lifestyle”, uh? Really?

And then it goes on about how these new labels were already more and more common “among young people before the Death Stranding” and it also rubs me the wrong way, in a “wow young people and their weird labels lol” sort of queerphobic way?

However I’ve seen a post pointing out that the line “One theory posits that the Stranding accelerated the proliferation of these sexualities” was maybe a way of saying ‘yo asexuals are causing the end of the world’ but... I don’t see it, tbh? In the context of the game, society is extremely divided and a lot of people live in complete isolation and social norms have heavily shifted and it’s kind of normal that there’s queer people visible everywhere now, aces included obviously, because nobody’s bothering to hide it anymore. It’s a post-apocalyptic world! People are just being themselves! A lot of characters also seem to be bi/pan! They’re just vibing ok

At least that’s how I read that part, I can understand if someone had a problem with that bit but I didn’t

BUT! THAT’S NOT ALL because the memo concludes (I’m paraphrasing) “the birth rate has dropped, which might be a problem, but harassment and assault have also dropped, which is good, so idk it’s 50/50″ and. like. I get the intention. But it’s clumsy as hell and very bad. Please don’t confuse abuse of power and attraction. They don’t go hand in hand. Don’t do that. Please. And you know that aces can have kids if they want to, right. Come on. It’s 2020 my dude. This shit is harmful

Also. Like. It’s the end of the world in this game. People don’t want kids. It... has nothing to do with aces. Reality itself is crashing down. People are reluctant to have kids because reality.exe might f█cking crash down at any given moment!

Or a Beached Thing could VoidOut their city!

Or someone might send them a nuke, not naming names!!

Anyway!!!

It’s really badly written and whoever wrote it should educate themselves and maybe get an ace to re-read their stuff next time??

Again I’m not the right person to talk about acephobia and I bet an actual ace would have plenty more to say about this

Thankfully it’s a memo written in-game by a random Bridges councellor and NOT by any important character that we actually know

"I must preempt myself by admitting that I do not have any empirical data" yeah so, f█ck off maybe

So I’m just gonna call that guy “another piece of shit character” but it still doesn’t excuse the fact that the memo was written by someone who thought it was a good idea to put it in the game

Just let me enjoy my super queer post-apo world in peace and don’t write shit like that in your game thank you and goodbye

Minor stuff I also disliked but it wasn’t as awful

I get that Sam is upset at the end because Lou is dying but the way he said goodbye to Fragile broke my heart. It was abrupt and you KNOW he’s upset and wants to have nothing to do with Bridges anymore and that’s very understandable but it isn’t her fault

Seriously I want them to be friends again

I’m gonna pretend they’re friends again after Lou is saved and that Sam is a freelance porter again and sometimes their paths cross and they just talk together in the middle of nowhere and share cryptobiotes

The pacing is weird, there’s this deluge of plot in the beginning and the end but not much in the middle?

The BT boss fights could have been these epic Shadow of the Colossus showdowns but no, they were relatively standard boss fights. Wasted opportunity

The running on the Beach scene sdfghjhgfdsdfghjhgf that was... dumb

A lot of preppers are interesting in one way or another but some are just boring. Also I wish the design of their bunkers was more varied

Amelie/Bridget’s motivations are all over the place, both creating Bridges AND the Demens is... a lot? I know she both WANTS and DOESN’T want the actual, final end of the world to happen but that is a lot to take in and it’s all very confusing

Who the hell cares about ‘rebuilding America’ I just want to build a network where people can help each other

The ‘likes’ are fun but don’t make much sense

In conclusion

Death Stranding Good

Some stuff Bad

Some stuff Very Bad (but it’s just one memo out of 100+ memos, thank god)

I’m still hyperfixating

Send help

#death stranding #long post #eye contact tw #acephobia tw #from a minor unamed character but still it's there

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cantpickonefandoms · 4 years ago

Text

Gwent Week: Day #1: Beginning

Fanfiction.net says my story won’t be up for another 4-8 hours. Well fuck that.

Beginning

For Trent, the first day on Total Drama Island had been a memorable one. Sure, doing something like jumping off a cliff into shark infested waters was not something one would forget anytime soon, but for Trent, the first day on TDI had been memorable for other reasons. Moments like the first time he stood on the dock with his fellow campers, or waiting at the cliff while the other campers jumped stood out to Trent. 'Why?' you may ask, well, it can be narrowed down to one specific camper: Gwen.

Trent had no idea what he expected from the other teens that he would be meeting when he stepped onto the dock of Camp Wawanakwa, but it certainly wasn't this. He supposed the general lack happiness from everyone other than Chris could have been because of the practical joke the host had pulled on them, the supposed 'five-star resort' turning out to be a rundown summer camp was a bit of let down, but still, none of the *eight campers of the dock appeared to be particularly happy, especially the girl at the end of the dock, who was currently scowling while angrily ringing out her hair. Despite suddenly feeling a tad uncertain about his original thoughts that he was going be having fun on this reality show, Trent made his way to stand with the other campers. Trent found himself standing next to a goth, and the moment Trent laid eyes on her, he got a feeling, he wasn't sure how to describe it, but he knew that she intrigued him. As he stood next her, Trent flashed a smile at her, he got a scowl and a turned head in response, but Trent had a funny feeling that she had started smiling once she had turned away from him, and Trent knew without a doubt that he needed to get to know her.

The idea that Trent would jumping off a cliff into shark-infested waters was definitely intimidating, but Trent already had a plan to ensure that he would be jumping off the cliff, he would give it a running start, that would keep him from freezing up at the last moment. Once the Killer Bass had all either jumped, or had chickened out, the Screaming Gophers were up, and Chris has made the announcement that if the Screaming Gophers could top the Killer Bass' nine jumpers, then Chris would give them some carts to pull their crates on. "Nice! Ok, guys, whose up first?" Trent said, he hoped maintaining an optimistic attitude would encourage everyone to jump. Heather had originally refused to jump, but Leshawna rectified the situation by throwing Heather off the cliff, Leshawna had jumped after her, then Lindsay jumped, and then Gwen had volunteered to go after her.

Trent watched as the Goth looked over the cliff, eyeing her target, then he watched as her eyes widened slightly and she muttered "Oh... Wow." Trent guessed that this was the first time she had looked over the side of the cliff, he could sense that she was hesitating a little, he didn't think that she was going to chicken out, but he could sense that she was nervous, so Trent decided to head over to offer Gwen some encouragement and some advice. "You ok?" Trent asked as he came up to the Goth. "I'm fine." Gwen said as she turned to Trent, then she narrowed her eyes at him. "I am not chickening out." She said in a tone that implied that Trent had suggested it. Trent held up his hands against his chest. "I didn't think you were going to. You just seemed nervous, and nobody can blame for being nervous about doing this." He said as he gestured towards the cliff and the water below them. Gwen looked over the cliff again. "Yeah." She said as she eyed the water carefully. "If you're nervous then you could give yourself a running head start before you jump off, it'll keep you from freezing at the last second." Gwen looked Trent with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah?" Trent shrugged. "It's what I'm planning to do." He said simply. Gwen eyed him one last time before Trent watched as she backed up before running and then jumping right off the cliff. Trent watched Gwen fall right up until she landed in the inner circle in the water. Trent gave a sigh of relief as he saw that Gwen had landed safely in the water.

Once all the campers had either jumped or chickened out, Chris came to meet them on the beach and brought a change of clothes for every camper. Once everyone had put their everyday clothes on over their bathing suits (and everyone covered their eyes while Owen put his clothes on) Chris called the attention of both teams. "Congratulations to the Screaming Gophers for winning the first part of your challenge!" Trent joined his fellow Screaming Gophers in cheering their first victory. As the Screaming Gophers settled down, Chris continued talking. "As promised, here the pull carts you can use to carry your crates back to camp." "WHOO! AWESOME!" Owen cheered. Chris then turned to the Killer Bass. "And for the Killer Bass I have..." The Killer Bass team members perked their heads up, clearly hoping that Chris would throw them a bone. "Nothing. Have fun hauling those crates back to camp with your hands." Chris said with an evil chuckle, he then turned, ignoring the glares he was getting from the Killer Bass members, he then hopped onto his *four-wheeled bike. "See you all back at camp." Chris called as he drove off.

Owen easily got all four of the crates onto the pull carts all on his own. Once that was done Heather spoke up. "Alright people, let's get moving." With that, the Screaming Gophers grabbed the pull carts and started heading back to camp. Trent took one last look back at the Killer Bass, who were already struggling to move their crates, Trent felt a little bad for them, but he knew there wasn't much he could do about it. As they were walking, Trent noticed that nobody was talking, in fact, it felt a lot like an awkward silence to Trent. Trent frowned, he didn't want everyone to be silent the whole way back to camp, that wasn't much fun. Trent thought to himself for a bit, seeing if he could think of something he could talk about with his fellow teammates, or maybe something they could sing? Now that wasn't a bad idea, so Trent wracked his brain for a song they could sing, but the problem was that while Trent himself wasn't picky about what genre or song he preferred, he knew that probably couldn't be said for the others. No, he needed a song that didn't have a specific genre, something that was fun, and would entertain them until they got back to camp. A light bulb went off in Trent's head, he knew what to suggest. "Hey guys, who wants to sing Ninety-Nine Bottles of Pop?" Trent asked out loud. "Ugh, seriously? What are we, five-years old?" Heather sneered at him. "I don't think it's a bad idea." Trent turned his head to look at *Gwen, who was currently bringing up the rear of the Screaming Gophers, he smiled at her in appreciation, and she gave him a nod in acknowledgement. "I think that sounds like fun!" Owen said cheerfully. "It would only be until we get back to camp." Trent added. "Izzy likes that idea!" Izzy said with a manic grin. Several of the other Screaming Gophers also seconded Trent's idea. Trent turned to Heather with a raised eyebrow, Heather rolled her eyes at him. "Fine, whatever." She said begrudgingly

Eventually the day came to an end, the Screaming Gophers had won, and to celebrate their victory, the Screaming Gophers were hanging out in their hot tub having a grand time. Trent was relaxing in the hot tub and he was feeling good, winning on the first day of the competition definitely gave him a confidence boost. The last he had seen of Gwen, she had been leaning against the hot tub right behind him, he was hoping he would get a chance to talk to her, and he figured this was a good as a time as any, he turned around so he could talk to her but was met with a surprise- she wasn't there. Trent quickly scanned his surroundings, figuring Gwen might have started to talking to one of the other Screaming Gophers outside of the hot tub but she wasn't there, Gwen had left. Trent had frowned, he slightly disappointed, but then he realized something, if Gwen had gone off on her own and Trent found her and started talking to her, then he would be talking to her alone. With that thought in mind, Trent excused himself and climbed out of the hot tub. You know, Gwen might have left because she wanted to be alone. The logical part of Trent's brain thought. Well, if she tells me she wants to be along then I'll leave her alone. Trent thought to himself, and with that, he went looking for Gwen.

Trent found Gwen at the edge of the woods, she was leaning against a tree and was writing in what appeared to be a diary or a journal. Trent cleared his throat to make his presence known. Gwen looked up from her writing and saw him. "Oh, hey." She said. "Hey, listen if I'm interrupting you, and you want to be alone, that's ok, I can leave if-" "No, no." Gwen said reassuringly, she then gestured to the spot next to her on her right. "Sit." Trent smiled at her and sat down. "So, you came looking for me?" Gwen asked Trent curiously. "I noticed you weren't leaning against the hot tub anymore, so I decided to come look for you." Trent explained. "Oh." Gwen said, they were both quiet for a moment, before Gwen spoke again. "By the way, thanks for helping me jump off the cliff earlier." "Oh, don't mention it. I'm confident you would have jumped anyway, but I'm glad I could help." "Still, I'm glad you came and spoke to me." Suddenly, Trent remembered something. "Thanks for seconding my Ninety-Nine Bottles of Pop idea." "I wasn't the only one who backed you up on that." "But you were the first person who did." Trent's eyes widened as he saw the corners of Gwen's mouth turn slightly up. Gwen was smiling, now, this wasn't the first time Trent had seen Gwen smile that day, but it was the first she had smiled at something he said, and from what Trent had observed of her so far, Gwen wasn't someone who smiled very often. So, Trent took immense pride in the fact that he had ability to make her smile just by making a simple comment. Gwen suddenly yawned. "I think I'm going to head into the cabin and crash." Gwen said. "Yeah, I think I will too." Trent said as he stood up, and seeing that Gwen was still sitting, Trent decided to offer his hand to her. Gwen looked at his hand, and then at Trent, and then looked back at his hand. Just as Trent was thinking Gwen was going to shoot him down, she placed her hand in Trent's. Trent swore he felt heat rush through his arm from where Gwen's hand was placed in his, Trent tightened his hold on Gwen's hand and pulled her up. "Thanks." Gwen said as she brushed non-existent dirt off her skirt. "No problem." Trent said, and with that, Gwen turned and made her towards the girls' side of the Screaming Gopher cabin, and just before she entered, she turned, smiled, and waved at Trent. "'Night, Trent." Trent grinned and waved at her. "Goodnight, Gwen.

The End

#total drama #gwent week #td gwent #fanfiction

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haro-whumps · 5 years ago

Text

Box Boy Plurality: Reliable

CW: villain monologue, referenced dub/noncon, slavery, gag use, dehumanization, degradation, brainwashing, creepy + intimate whumper

Tag List: @thatsthewhump @whump-it @ashintheairlikesnow @fairybean101 @finder-of-rings @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @that-one-thespian @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @raigash @im-not-rare-im-rarr @spiffythespook @whumps-the-word @frnkieroismydaddy @whumpity--whump--whump @michelleswhumpyreblogs @jo-castle @newandfiguringitout @lumpofwhump @infested-with-bloodv2

Masterlist

02’s knees hurt very, very badly, but his back hurt worse. The dining room floor was unforgiving against the bruising on his knees, and having to hold still, muscles in his back taut despite how much they ached, served as a reminder to 02 of what his new owner had done. Had just finished doing, even though they were now acting like nothing had even happened. They sat at the table, the other pet, Soren, cozied up to their side, claiming most of their attention, the two of them eating something that smelled so good it made 02’s stomach burn and twist and cramp. He was, reluctantly, grateful, to Soren.

He’d saved him. He was continuing to save him, by draping himself so artfully over their shared owner, by feeding them careful bites and shifting attractively, every so often, just often enough to keep himself interesting.

02’s back was grateful, even if his brain had a hard time getting there. He was--still pissed. The pain didn’t help with the anger, any. The guilt didn’t temper the anger, either, knowing that he’d needed rescued, that he’d forced Soren into a position where he had to service their master like some television whore.

Fuck. Fuck! He hated this. Hated the pain. Hated how the floor kept going in and out of focus, his earlier exhaustion laughable compared to this. Hated knowing that the moment Soren stopped being captivating and pretty and sweet, their owner would turn back on 02 and the pain would start again. What would they do to him? Starvation seemed on the menu (ha), they were in a good position to just lift up their foot and stomp down on 02’s aching back, or maybe they’d just kick him in the side while they got up. They had some sort of fucking god complex, it could be that they wanted him to know just how far below them he was.

Exalted (and what the fuck? The arrogance!) murmured something into Soren’s ear, and Soren got up. 02 twitched, knowing that whatever was about to happen, it would start (resume) now, and he wouldn’t be able to stop it. And Soren cocksucking wouldn’t work twice. He felt his breath picking up.

“There, 02, see?” Exalted purred oh so fucking smugly from where they sat. “You kept your ugly little mouth shut, and you waited until Soren was done just like you’d been told, and now you get rewarded for your troubles. See how much nicer things are when you obey?” Their tone was saccharine, syrup-sweet, and 02’s teeth grit. Yeah right.

Except Soren set a plate down in front of 02, and he immediately began drooling, sealing his lips shut and swallowing hard. A trick? 02 glanced at his new owner (it made him woozy), waiting for the punchline.

Exalted grinned. “You behave so well for someone with such a bad attitude. Good boy, 02, you may eat now.”

02 lifted his shaking hand and Exalted tutted at him, making him flinch. “Did I say you could use your hands?”

Right. Right. Well, okay, not the worst thing he’d ever been forced to do; and this food was much more enticing. He bent down further (ouch) and bit into it like a dog with its foodbowl. He hated it. But it tasted so good, and he was hungry, and he needed the energy, and 02 didn’t know when his next meal would be. Mike hadn’t fed him much, but there was a routine, and he could carry on knowing Mike would simply beat him when he felt like it, nothing else. But Exalted, 02 gathered, was significantly more methodical. Much more like the Processors at the training facility. And with the Processors, the pain had never stopped.

His chin and nose and cheeks were messy, no precision when he ate like this. He could hear Exalted murmuring to Soren, and his returning, hesitant, “Yes Exalted”s and “I understand, Exalted”s. Was 02 just an example for Soren? A “Don’t act up or I’ll treat you like shit, too” before he started getting too out of line?

02 licked the plate clean, then ran his tongue along his mouth, chin, nose, everywhere he could stretch his tongue to reach. He lifted himself back up slowly, knees hurting, wondering what he should say, and if he even gave a fuck about what he should say. Probably something humiliating and grovelling like ‘thank you’ or some shit. Gee willickers Exalted, thanks for feeding me! Thanks for showing off the fact that you control every aspect of my life and not being a total and complete demon about it!

The hand in his hair made him flinch, his back searing with the spasm, moisture in the back of his throat getting sucked down the wrong way and choking him before he coughed. The pain came now, right?

“Easy, boy,” Exalted murmured, toying with 02’s hair as he tried to get his lungs working again. “So jumpy.”

“I wonder fucking why!” 02 shouted, and was immediately struck backside the head for his words. Dizzily, he swayed down close to the floor, back protesting the movement, knees stinging at the shifting pressure.

“Such a filthy mouth. But then again, you’re a filthy person.” Exalted stood up, Soren with them, and 02 bit down angry, frightened tears, his fatigue and the pain leaving him vulnerable to the traitorous habits of his own body. “We’ll need to fix all of that, and fortunately one of those will be remedied quicker than the other. Back down to the basement, come pet.”

02 tried to stand. He genuinely did. He made three attempts before Exalted simply ordered, “Crawl.”

It was humiliating. It was painful. 02 couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a mercy or not, and he hated that. He scooted down the stairs butt first like a goddamn toddler, embarrassed and exhausted, and bit back relieved tears when he finally got to the basement bathroom and saw thin wafts of steam coming from the shower Exalted had turned on. Not burning, not freezing.

“Soap and shampoo thoroughly,” Exalted ordered, Soren pressed up to their side with their arm around his waist, looking like a doll, an angel, some sort of forest deity all dressed in draping cream and white and gold. Worried. Pitying. “More than once, if you need to.”

02 bit down hard enough his teeth ground together. ‘Yes Exalted’ was the right answer, but he really wanted to tell them to fuck off again.

But he was so tired.

Ultimately, they didn’t wait for a response, simply strode past him with Soren trailing after them, sending 02 a final, nervous glance before shutting the door behind him.

The warm water felt so good. So stupidly, mercifully good. The Processors hadn’t let him have this; a gift for pets that kept their mouths shut. Mike hadn’t cared, but if 02 took too long he’d be punished for wasting hot water.

Exalted was wealthy, with a water heater the size of a tank in their utility room, and had specifically told 02 to wash twice.

He almost fell asleep, lying in the tub, warm water seeping into his skin and aching joints, dirt and blood sifting down, over, past him and into the drain. He let the spray lull him until he finally felt strong enough to stand, albeit on shaking legs, and he set to actually cleaning himself.

He guessed the fact that he’d been given hair-growth shampoo and conditioner made sense, given Soren and Exalted’s hair. Still weird though. He wondered, as he worked it to a lather, if he’d be able to read things much, now. Mike had let him. Made him, really, doing that stupid fucking job for him. Would Exalted care?

He’d keep his mouth shut about it until Exalted brought it up. And if Exalted didn’t bring it up, it was their own damn fault if they didn’t want him to. He’d read as much as he fucking wanted.

He didn’t know how much later it was when he finally felt, really and truly, all the way clean. He also didn’t give a rat’s ass. He was warm and clean and it felt nice, and everything out that door was going to be painful. He took his time drying off, and when he limped out the door he stumbled backwards, then down onto his ass. Exalted was right there, walking towards him with terrifying timing.

“Come on then, mutt,” Exalted said, staring down their nose, and there was Soren, right on their heels. “Put these on,” they said, tossing a pair of dark orange sweatpants at him. “Into your box.”

Soren watched Ren lock 02’s box anxiously. He’d never seen this side of Ren before. He honestly hadn’t believed they could be like this. When they turned back to him he stared up at their eyes anxiously, one hand on his collar and the other on his wrist.

“Easy, pet,” Ren shushed, caressing his cheek. He leaned into it, needing their comfort so badly. Everything with 02 was scary and new and unfamiliar but he knew this, knew the gentle touch of their palm and the way they soothed him down from his worries. “Just the bed for you. I won’t put you in a box, you’re not bad for me, easy Soren, you’re fine.”

Soren bit his lip.

“Oh, pet, what is it? What do you want to say?”

“Just, um. At my facility,” Soren started softly, eyes down, “they kennel trained us. It--It wouldn’t be a punishment for me, Exalted. I, like my box. It’s comforting.”

Ren was quiet a moment, and Soren risked a glance up. They seemed surprised. Then they smiled, and kissed Soren, and he kissed back because he needed this touch.

“What a good boy you are,” Ren praised, warming Soren. “Such a good boy for telling me. I had no idea you liked your box.”

“I, I like the bed too, Exalted,” Soren said eagerly. “I just, it wouldn’t be a punishment for me, I guess it would kind of be like a rare treat?” Soren hoped he was making sense.

“I understand.” Soren relaxed. “You’re so good for saying so. Would you like to sleep in it tonight? Maybe keep 02 company?”

Soren bit his lip and nodded. That sounded wonderful. A chance to talk, and the familiar safety of his box while everything else was being chaotic and confusing and scary. He let Ren lead him over and helped them move 02’s box to the ground, wincing a little when he heard 02 squeak, and then climbed into his own box, feeling his body settle the moment he laid down.

“Goodnight, my precious bird,” Ren said, muffled through the wood, and Soren smiled into the pitch blackness.

“Sleep well, Honored One.”

It wasn’t long after Ren left that 02 spoke. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Oh, I wasn’t lying. I really was kennel trained,” Soren assured, subtly shifting and feeling the close walls of his box, taking comfort in how little he could move. It was like being in a blanket burrito, only sorta better and very dark. “But we don’t have to talk; I know you’re tired.”

“I meant--everything. The cocksucking and for during dinner. Thank you, I guess, you didn’t have to, and I, fuck, appreciate it?”

Soren frowned, trying to think of what happened during dinner. Mostly he’d just desperately tried to ignore 02 and act like everything was normal, which had worked until they finished eating, and then he had to go get a plate for 02 and Ren had ignored him in favor of staring at 02, which they’d never done before! He touched his collar, reminding himself that this jealousy was absurd and dumb. Not to mention, Ren was being very harsh on 02, so Soren didn’t even have anything to be jealous of! More than anything, he should be worried about 02 (and he was, oh he was.)

“You’re welcome,” he said softly.

“Must be hard,” 02 said, “having a fucking freakshow like that for an owner.”

Soren felt rage flare up, replacing his confusion and anxiety. “Don’t call them that!” he snapped. “Ren is wonderful and treats me very well; you’re just a loudmouth!” That was--mean. That was rude, and Soren shouldn’t have said that. “You’ll see,” he tacked on, quieter, guilty, “they’re very kind. They’ll be kind to you, too, once you stop trying to fight them.”

“Shit, you actually believe that.”

Soren sighed and rolled onto his side, away from 02. “Of course I do. This is the first time I’ve ever seen them hurt anyone.” Soren hugged his arms and let the smothering blackness comfort him. “You’ll see. They’re reliable; soon enough you’ll believe them too.”

“I doubt it,” 02 said, quieter as well, now. “But thanks.”

Soren fell asleep with surprising ease. Given everything.

Ren listened to their pets talk, and spent a mild moment attempting to determine if Soren fell asleep first or not. Unable to see either of them, it was a coin toss, and no need to imagine up reasons to punish their new plaything when there would be plenty of real, solid reasons to do so, soon.

They pulled Soren from his box in the morning and kissed him, slow and sweet and much longer than they normally would. “Go shower and change, pet. You smell like old newspaper.”

Soren giggled with a “yes Exalted” before he rushed off, only glancing back once with a worried lip and look as Ren flipped the hatch on 02’s box. They helped him onto his feet, admiring the bruises they’d left, and turned his head this way and that, titillated by the glower he gave them.

“Since Soren is busy and I need to get dressed for the day, why don’t you go make breakfast for us, mm mutt?”

They watched his internal struggle, the little gears of his maggot brain churning slowly, but only briefly this time. Turned out he wasn’t interested in getting a repeat of last night this early in the morning. Ren went back up to their room, getting dressed and doing their hair and makeup just so before popping by Soren’s room and helping him with his jewelry. They entered the kitchen together, and 02 looked at Ren apprehensively.

They ate, they phoned their work to let them know that they’d be taking the day off, they let Soren feed 02, and then they took both their pets into the living room and pulled out one of the two nifty little tools they’d stowed in their skirt pocket, but kept it hidden in their palm just yet.

“Now, 02,” Ren started, seated on the couch with Soren leaning preciously against their side, 02 kneeling at their feet, “I’m going to teach you a lesson; it is up to you whether you would like help being good during this lesson.” Ren stretched the gag between their hands, like they were presenting him with a fine necklace and balancing it on their fingers for maximum appeal.

He was familiar with this tool. He very, very evidently hated it. His glare was nothing shy of delectable, and oh, they’d drool if it wasn’t unseemly. They let the moment drag out, staring with a faintly pleasant expression at the storming boy, Soren a warmth at their side. 02 said nothing, did nothing, but if he was playing the waiting game, his knees would ache long before Ren got bored.

Slowly, with clear evidence that it caused an immense blow to his stubborn pride, loathing radiating from him like a fire on a cold night, 02 lifted up on his knees, leaned forward, opened his mouth, and bit down on the center of the gag.

“Good boy,” Ren praised immediately, caressing his face as they fastened the straps and delighting in how he couldn’t stop himself from shivering at the kind touch, even as they gagged him. “See? You’re learning already.”

They pushed his shoulder gently and he sank back down onto his knees, and they wrapped an arm around Soren, tucking him into their side sweetly. “Now, 02. You are stubborn and you are vile, but those are only temporary afflictions, and you will be cured of them. I give you a week, maybe a week and a half before I have cleaned you of these deformities,” 02 made an offended noise, but given that he couldn’t talk, Ren kept going, “Maybe two if you’re really stubborn, and I have every intention of detailing to you, right now, exactly how that will happen.

“You see, 02, there are four factors to making a good slave: fear, obedience, stress, and loyalty.

“Fear is generated by pain, yes, but far more than that, fear is generated by inconsistency. A person can go through immense pain, but if that pain is consistent, reliably given, and tracked onto preconceived patterns, that person will adjust. Their mind will adapt, and the fear will simmer to a low boil, regardless of the intensity of pain. But place someone in a situation where nothing is patterned, nothing is sensible, and there is no consistency? They will be afraid no matter the pain or lack thereof. This is why Soren has been so frightened, since your arrival.” They smiled at Soren, nudging his chin up with their forefinger and softening at his nervous returning smile.

“You being here has thrown a wrench in our routine, and I’m behaving differently than he’s seen before. But worry not,” Ren said, their voice going low and soft as they spoke to Soren specifically, petting his hair out of his face, “You’ll adjust soon, my sweet.”

They turned their attention back to 02, who seemed befuddled, angry, frightened, but still attentive. Good. “Fear is what you currently have the most of. You are terrified of me, and it warps itself into anger, which is why you lash out the way you do.” Another noise of protest, but still, Ren didn’t care. “You are in a new environment, I am nothing like anyone or anything you have experienced before, you don’t know what to expect. Soon, you will. You will always have the memories of the pain that I can and will give you, so your fear will never truly disappear, but fear is best kept at a moderate level, middling of the four.

“Obedience is generated by fear and respect. This is why you behave physically, even though you mouth off. You do not respect me yet, because you are used to an owner who does not command respect. You only fear me, fear the Processors that you know you can be sent back to anytime your owner’s dissatisfaction creeps too high.” Both pets tensed at that, and Ren felt a giddy little shiver at it. “Obedience should be kept the highest of the four traits, but through a combination of moderate fear and high respect. It is obedience that lowers pain, causing a decrease in fear and stress, so there’s a positive cycle there.

“You are very obedient, which is good. It’ll keep you conscious long enough to learn how to keep your mouth shut. But over the next week or so, you will incrementally begin to take after Soren, who obeys me because he adores me, first and foremost, with the pain of the Processors a long-distant memory that barely factors anymore.

“Stress is generated by inconsistency, yes, but primarily it is generated by pain. Your body’s threshold can be expanded, but only by so much. People who are stressed make more mistakes, suffer from a higher number of physical afflictions that are more intense than in others, and their bodies do not process food or rest properly, and can directly increase acting out. Stress should be kept lowest of the four, as its presence has no particular benefits but many drawbacks.

“Stress and fear also directly impact each other, which one might assume since they are caused by the same factors. A rise in fear will be inevitably followed by stress, and an increase of stress will naturally be accompanied by heightened fear. However, stress is significantly easier to keep low, since pain only needs to happen with disobedience, but there will always be some inconsistencies in life, due to the fact that a lack of variety is terribly understimulating.

“Loyalty is generated through trust. Trust is generated by consistency and kindness, so we are once again presented with positive cycles. Loyalty should be kept moderately-high, not as important as obedience, but far more important than fear. You are still too new to understand that I am reliable, that I am trustworthy, but it is when I get this fact through your thick little skull that everything will fall into place for you.”

“In the coming days, I will hurt you, but it will be to fix you. I will hurt you when you disobey, every time you disobey, and only when you disobey. You will adjust, adapt, quicker than you believe yourself capable, than your fear currently allows you to believe. You will settle, and with the kindness that comes due to your newfound obedience you will feel your stress lessen and your opinion of me rise, leading to respect, trust, loyalty, and continued obedience.”

Ren gripped 02 by the chin with their free hand, making sure he was paying extra attention to this part. “And every time a change happens inside you, every step forward you make, every ounce of progress, you will remember this lesson, and you will know that I am right.”

They leaned back with satisfaction. “I only want a plaything, 02.” They smiled at him. “This doesn’t have to hurt.”

But it would.

#bbu #whump #box boy #villain monologue #slavery #slave whump #gag use #referenced noncon #dehumanization #brainwashing #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #codependent whumpee #multiple whumpees #ren #soren #02 #mine #writing

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gimmesumsuga · 5 years ago

Text

Sweeter than Sweet (82)

AO3 Link

Pairings: Jimin x reader, Yoongi x reader, Jimin x Yoongi, Namjoon x reader, Taehyung x reader, Jungkook x reader, Jin x reader.

Warnings: Angst, threat, violence and mild gore

Word count: 6.3

Previous / Next

“Sam?!” you shriek, immediately regretting your choice in both volume and pitch when your voice echoes loudly in the wide open space in which you’re held. It bounces back at you off of dirty white walls over and over and over, and you cringe with each and every echo. Given the predicament in which you've found yourself the last thing you want to do right now is draw any unwanted attention. Not until you’ve had a chance to speak to the girl sat bound to the chair beside yours, anyway.

Sam laughs through her nose; a breathy chuckle as she tosses her head back to throw her hair off of her face.

“Was wondering how long it was going to take you to wake up.” She twists her neck to face you, smiling wryly despite the way you gasp at the sight of her - at the angry red mark that stretches all the way across her left cheek.

“Jesus Christ,” you exclaim in hushed tones, “Are you ok?!” And blase as ever, Sam just shrugs her shoulders.

“Ah, I’m fine,” she says, completely dismissive of the finger marks that are lining her face. “You know I'm not exactly the type to come quietly.”

“I can imagine,” you say earnestly. Despite the seriousness of the situation, somehow the image of Sam kicking and screaming and flailing her fists still has a smile tugging at your lips, and you’d bet good money on her having given a good slap or two prior to the one she received in kind. You only wish you could’ve seen it, or that it’d proven enough to save her from being sat her next to you.

You glance around your surroundings again as Sam sighs, relieved that your earlier exclamation seems to have gone unheard.

“Who the fuck are these guys?”

“Hell if I know.” Sam shrugs again as she shifts on her seat, her wrists wriggling in their binds. They must be sore by now; your arms are beginning to ache already, bent as unnaturally as they are. “All I know is I was leaving yours and then suddenly I’m getting thrown in the back of some van, dragged in here, sat down, and told to stay put.” She laughs humourlessly, glancing down at her lap. “As if I could really go anywhere else.”

“And they haven’t said anything? Asked you anything?”

“Not a thing.” Your brows furrow in confusion, at a complete and utter loss as to why someone would go to the bother of kidnapping someone to not even make any demands. Will it be the same for you, you wonder? Or are they just biding their time?

“But why would they-” As if on cue, your words are interrupted by the metallic screech of a door opening somewhere over the other side of the room, somewhere out of sight. Heart pounding with a fresh surge of adrenaline you fall silent, and next to you, Sam does the same, quickly facing forward.

After all the surprises that you’ve faced today, you’d think you might be immune to any more than might follow. That’s not the case, though. Not when rounding the corner of a pallet of crates appears a face you recognise well - someone that if asked, you probably would’ve referred to as a friend.

“You’re awake,” Alex observes, his steps a casual saunter as he makes his way across the room with two other men in tow, all three dressed in black. “Good. I was worried that bump on the head might’ve been something more serious,” he says, though he looks anything but.

Truthfully, you don’t even remember hitting your head at all. You suppose it must’ve happened during your unexpected relocation; a reasonable explanation for the dull ache that’s been throbbing at the back of your skull ever since you opened your eyes.

He squats down in front of you, his head tilting to the side as he watches you watching him, amusement twisting his mouth.

“What’s going on?” you utter quietly, your brain struggling to come to terms with the fact your former colleague seems to have suddenly turned villain. Or so you assume.

“I guess this must all be pretty confusing, hm?”

It’s strange, really, knowing this man in front of you whilst yet not really knowing him at all. Alex’s voice is different. It’s lower. More assertive. His hair, too, has changed; the long flowing strands you’d so often seen him tucking back pulled up into a tight bun that makes the face that had once been so friendly look sharp and severe.

Alex continues to smile in the same sinister fashion, and as he reaches out to smartly tap the curl of his bent index finger to the underside of your chin, lifting your gaze, a sensation like cold water trickling down your spine makes you shudder.

“Poor little lamb,” he coos without a hint of the tenderness those words should carry. “So naive. So totally unaware of the world that lies outside your twisted little love nest.” You stare back at him blankly, gaze flicking back and forth between his crystal grey eyes in search of answers. Vaguely, you’re aware of Sam next to you telling someone to get the fuck off and the sound of her chair creaking as she thrashes with indignance.

“What do you want?” You’re pleased that you manage to keep your voice from shaking despite the anxiety that has your pressed palms sweating behind your back. Alex, however, seems disappointed by your lack of visible distress so far, sighing in what sounds like an awful lot like disappointment as he releases your chin and steps back, straightening to full height.

“To put it plainly,” he begins as he tucks one hand into his pants pocket, “I’ve got a bone to pick with your boyfriends.” With Jimin and Yoongi? Your family? What possible problem could he have with them? As far as you’re aware he’s never had anything more to do with them than brief small talk at the bar - and Yoongi isn’t exactly the chattiest of guys.

“And what’s that got to do with us?” Sam asks brusquely. You envy the way she doesn’t even flinch when Alex’s head turns sharply to fix her with a glare, clearing his throat before answering.

“Didn’t seem smart to go starting a fight on someone else’s home turf.” He turns his gaze back to you - nonchalant, casual - and the two men at his back exchange a look, smirking in a way that makes your gut roil with nerves. “What better way to lure them out than with their most prized possession, right?”

Alex smiles as realisation washes over you like an ice-cold tidal wave, dragging you under its surface and making it hard to catch your breath - to even breathe at all. You’re nothing more than bait; a worm wriggling at the end of a hook. That’s what’s going on here. He’s stolen you and brought you here to gain the advantage - to catch them panicked and off guard.

“But why ? And why’d you go dragging Sam into this?” you ask, unable to withhold the questions that are whirring round and round your brain.

“Her?” Alex scoffs with laughter as he glances at her, dismissive. “A case of mistaken identity, I’m afraid. An unfortunate mistake.” One of his lackeys shifts uncomfortably at the dirty look that’s thrown his way, averting his gaze as Sam bristles with indignation next to you. Anyone would think she’s taken insult at not being deemed worthy enough to steal.

“Then can’t you just let her go?” you plead, unconcerned with however your desperate you must look as you lean forward in your chair, pain shooting down each of your arms as they’re stretched even further. Alex is quick to rebuff you, shaking his head as he scratches at the stubble across his jaw, an expensive looking watch revealed as his sleeve pulls back.

“Don’t think so, not now. Two birds, one stone. Extra motivation and all that.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Plus she’s really made a nuisance of herself while she’s been here. Thanks to her, several of my guys barely have their balls intact.”

You hear Sam snicker and a glance to your left reveals just how pleased she looks with herself, smiling so hard she risks re-opening the split at the corner of her mouth.

“As for why?” Alex begins, “That goes back a little ways.”

“Ugh, here comes the monologue...” Sam grumbles, her words going either unheard or ignoring as he continues to speak over the top of her.

“See, when we were hired to take out your two pretty boys we were vastly underprepared. And yeah, ok, we managed to get some good shots in - do our fair share of damage - but it was nothing compared to what they did to us.” Alex fixes you in his gaze, eyes narrowing as he takes a step forward and leans in. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to recruit people in our line of work? Guys who’ve actually got a brain cell to go along with all the muscles?”

Unnerved by his close proximity, you lean back slightly into the wooden slats of the chair, swallowing thickly.

“And then when that Namjoon guy left, holy fuck, it got even worse!” he exclaims, making you jump when he suddenly slaps his knees and stands up straight, throwing his hands in the air. A quick look to your left shows Sam to be just as full of trepidation as you are, her throat bobbing as she wets her lips. “Your guys start working with the feds and now I can’t get shit done. They're bad for business, and it's about time someone put them down."

Movement captures your focus, and out of the corner of your eye, you note one of the men turning away from the group for a second or two as Alex continues to speak. The slender man raises a phone to his ear, murmuring too quietly for you to have a hope of hearing what’s being said.

"Besides, this is a public service we’re providing.” You quickly look away as the man finishes his phone call and turns back to the group, moving in close to Alex’s side. “I doubt the locals would be too happy if they knew their nice little town was infested with vampires ,” he spits the word like a slur, grimacing in distaste, and it’s only when his subordinate leans in to speak directly into his ear that Alex pauses his tirade, listening in intently.

Bad guys momentarily distracted, you glance at Sam, sure that your expression must be an almost perfect reflection of hers. Tense. Frightened. She mouths at you ‘what do we do?’ and you hate that all you can do is shrug in reply, as at a loss for what to do next as she is.

All you can hope is that if and when you surrogate family come and rescue you, they’ll realise this for the trap that it is and be adequately prepared. Surely you and Sam should be safe until then - if you’re the bait it makes no sense to harm you, right? At least… not in any significant way.

“Speak of the devil.” You jump in your seat as Alex suddenly claps his hands together, and when your head snaps back round to face him the smile you find waiting for you is one that’s entirely unsettling; wide as the jaws of a shark and with just as many teeth. Too busy enjoying the rapid darting of your eyes and nervous wetting of your lips, he doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he orders his men to ‘bring him in’ - a sentiment relayed via another short phone call by the man who originally passed on the message.

It takes a conscious effort to try and slow your breathing in the seconds that follow; soon light-headed from your panic-stricken panting. You desperately try to look past your captors towards the back of the room, unsure of who it is you’re even hoping to see. Is it Jimin? Is it Yoongi? Either way, the fact that Alex’s men seem to have already captured them can’t be a positive thing regardless of your longing to see a friendly face.

God, please let them be ok. Please let them be alright.

You hear heavy doors opening and slamming shut in a great jarring clash of metal, the room falling silent save the echoing footsteps that follow thereafter. Alongside each clean footfall, there’s an accompanying shuffle as though someone is dragging their feet - or rather, being dragged along - and the sense of unease in your stomach continues to grow with each pace that they draw nearer, ever closer to rounding the corner where you’ll finally be able to see.

Half pushed and half pulled into your line of sight, you softly utter his name as Namjoon comes into view. Flanked on either side, there’s a barrel of a gun pressed solidly into his ribs as he staggers forward in their grasp, growling deep when the shorter, unarmed man shoves into him from behind.

“Namjoon!” There’s no warmth in Alex’s greeting, no friendliness to be found in the smirk that twists his mouth as Namjoon is pushed to his knees in front of you all, thudding into the concrete. “Nice of you to join us.” The vampire totally ignores your presence, his focus solely on Alex as he lifts his head and fixes the man towering over him in an unforgiving stare.

“The pleasure’s all mine.” Namjoon’s reply is delivered through tightly gritted teeth, and his jaw clenches as his captor decides to nestle his gun right at the base of his neck, directly against his spine. “Obviously.” Alex chuckles, his head tilting to the side.

“I’m little surprised to see you,” he admits, and honestly Alex couldn’t have hit the nail better on the head if he’d have tried.

‘Surprise’ is a little bit of an understatement for how you’re feeling. Of all the vampires that could’ve appeared through that door, Namjoon was the last you’d have expected, and now he’s here in front of you, you can’t quite distinguish whether or not you’re glad about it. In the time in which you’ve known him, Namjoon’s been the root of your fears more often than the remedy. In fact, if anyone had asked you prior to him being knelt at your feet, you might’ve ventured a guess that he’d been involved in this plot too; one of Alex’s co-conspirators. It feels a little disconcerting, then, when you realise that instead of fright, it’s a sense of relief his appearance brings. Perhaps if he knows where you are then the others might, too.

Better the devil you know, right?

“I thought you were smarter than this,” Alex smirks, “Showing up here on your own. No backup, no plan.” He reaches out and takes hold of Namjoon’s sharp jawline, delight shining in his eyes as he inspects the vampire’s shabby appearance. “Looking like shit.”

You’re surprised Namjoon manages to restrain himself from biting Alex’s hand clean off with the way he’s glaring up at him, chest heaving with rage. It’s not even as though he’s restrained, and though you know Alex and his men will have no doubt armed themselves with silver in preparation for this, it still strikes you just how sure of himself the young man must be to risk manhandling Namjoon the way he is.

The vampire isn’t exactly putting up a fight, after all, so you can’t blame Alex being a tad over-confident. From the look of his clothes and the way he tripped and stumbled in, the untrained observer could be forgiven for thinking that Namjoon looks sickly - weak - but you know him better than to be so easily fooled.

Though his outward appearance may look worn, there’s a stark difference in Namjoon’s complexion now compared to the last time you saw him. Some of the colour has returned to his face, no longer so sunken or sallow, and where once before his eyes were flat and lifeless now they seem to shine with a fire that has your pulse thundering with anticipation of what he might do next. Like the master of deception he is, Namjoon is lulling them into a false sense of security. You’re sure of it.

A low, warning growl rumbles from his chest as he yanks his chin free of Alex’s grip, visibly seething as the human laughs and shakes his head in response, completely unphased.

“I guess even vampires aren’t immune when it comes to love’s foolishness, hm?” he goads, glancing at you with a fiendish grin, and for the first time since he entered the room, Namjoon’s gaze follows, meeting yours. It’s only for the most fleeting of moments but even that brief eye contact has you feeling as though you need to catch your breath, so full of complicated emotion that your lungs feel as though they’re full to the brim with it.

You can't deny the hate you feel for the awful things he's done, still frightened by his visage however grateful you might be to see it. He must’ve continued watching you after your encounter at the bar to know that you were in trouble, a thought that certainly doesn’t sit well with you at all, but... he’s still here. He came for you - put himself at risk - and you suppose that must count for something, regardless of whatever twisted reasoning might be behind it.

Alex approaches you; his slow, purposeful steps providing the distraction required to recapture Namjoon's attention and pull it away from you. Sharp, golden eyes narrow as he watches the young man close in on you, Namjoon's sharp jaw clenching.

"To have so many of them wrapped around your little finger," Alex muses softly, reaching out to you. Long fingers trace your cheek, your jaw, unfamiliar in their warmth, and you can hear a growl rumbling in Namjoon's chest so quiet it almost sounds like a cat's purr.

Without warning, Alex's thumb pushes past your lips and presses down against your tongue, roughly wrenching your jaw open despite your nonsensical squawks of protest and the thrashing of your head.

"This mouth must really be something special, huh?"

"Don't touch her!" Sam yells from beside you, her struggles rattling her chair as a scuffle simultaneously breaks out; Namjoon quickly forced back down to his knees by the hands of four men as he'd attempted to lunge, snarling and gnashing his teeth.

"Fuck you," Namjoon spits out as Alex laughs, amused by the display. He doesn't let up on the pressure against your tongue, tears of panic welling in your eyes as you struggle not to drool. "I should've killed you when I had the chance."

"You're right," Alex agrees. He pushes his thumb far enough back into your mouth to stimulate your gag reflex before swiftly removing it, smiling to himself as you wretch, tears spilling over and onto your cheeks. "You should've."

And it's then that you realise that the loathsome look on Namjoon's face is one you've seen before, back when the two of them had clashed before at the bar. Suddenly it's like everything clicks into place; Namjoon's animosity towards your coworker right from the offset and his warning that you weren't safe. He'd known who Alex was from the start. He'd seen this coming, weeks ago.

"You ok?" Sam whispers and you nod your bowed head, not wanting her to worry. There's a bad taste in your mouth and an ache in your throat, cheeks wet with the moisture that still clings to your eyelashes.

"What should we do with him?" You raise your head sharply, all your attention focused on the man who just spoke - the man whose gun remains pressed between Namjoon's shoulder blades.

"Put him down," Alex replies off-handedly, his back turned as though he's bored of you all. "It's not as though anyone will give a shit," he adds, and for the first time since you found yourself in this place anger courses through you. Like red hot fire it scorches through your veins, heart beating so hard you can feel it thudding in your temples.

How dare he so casually throw away a life like that? How dare he presume that there's no one left that would mourn him?

Your mouth opens, about to protest, but before you can speak Namjoon beats you to it. In the quiet of the room, he murmurs under his breath just loud enough to grab Alex's attention. He turns back, head tilted.

"Excuse me?" Alex enquires, stepping closer again. "You have some final words, is that it? Pearls of wisdom? Some last declaration of everlasting love?" Namjoon lifts his face from where he'd been busy glaring angrily at the floor, and as he looks up his change of expression has you frowning in confusion, bewildered by the smile that curls his lips.

"Just one thing," he replies. The silky softness of his voice seems loud in such a wide and empty room and in the pause that follows you unconsciously hold your breath, waiting to hear him speak again.

"Well?" Alex prompts, impatient, and Namjoon's smile grows when faced with such frustration, a devilish glimmer in his eyes as they land on you and his lips part, commanding you.

" Get down ."

Namjoon's yell is the trigger that sets off the explosion of sound that follows thereafter. Surrounded by angry shouts and ear-splitting bangs, your body seems to act purely on reflex, obeying Namjoon by ducking your head and screwing your eyes tight shut. Sam screams in fear next to you and it takes biting down on your lip so hard it splits to keep you from doing the same, your whole body trembling from the sudden adrenaline hit.

Metal doors slam and there's more banging, more shouting, and the chaos around you is ten times more frightening when you can't see what's going on so you open your eyes and then immediately wish you hadn't when you're greeted by the sight of one of Alex's men meeting his maker right before you; a demise made swift and brutal by the throwing knife that finds its mark in the side of his throat. You can't help the sound that tumbles out of you when he falls to his knees at your feet, eyes rolling back - a pathetic whimper of fright that no one else will be able to hear.

Another boom lifts your gaze from that macabre sight and now more bodies are pouring into the room, drawn by all the noise, and amongst them Jin and Jungkook and Jimin and oh god Jimin’s here and he -

A roar of rage and a flash of motion in front of you, bodies blurring together as one and it's not until they stop rolling across the filthy ground that you realise it's Alex and Namjoon - a flash of silver and teeth bared.

"HOSEOK!" Sam's yell turns your head just in time for you to see his boots hit the floor amongst the sound of gunfire, Yoongi landing next to him a mere second later with a grace unbefitting of the brutality surrounding them. There's a long knife clutched in each of his hands; weapons he's just about to use when Hoseok beats him to the punch and launches himself at the man who'd dared to approach them, neck broken and long dead before he's even hit the floor. Yours and Yoongi's eyes meet for just a second, long enough for yours to begin filling with tears. Relief and terror and love and all of it is just too much for you to even attempt to hold it back, the ache in your throat intensifying for every second longer that you look.

Hands on your hands jerk you back to reality, jumping in your seat one minute and then struggling the next, feet kicking out wildly until you realise the fingers brushing yours are cold, not warm, and a familiar voice whispers hurriedly into your ear.

"Noona, noona, it's ok," he promises and an unattractive sob escapes you when you feel Jungkook's lips brush fleetingly against your temple as he swiftly breaks you free of your bonds, snapping the thick rope like sewing thread. Next to you, Sam is being pulled to her feet, her newly freed hands clutching the thick harness straps running down either side of Hoseok’s chest.

“C’mon, let’s get you-” Alarm registers on Sam’s face as she turns to look at you, and just as Jungkook is wrapping one arm around your waist to lift you to your feet the two of you are suddenly knocked off balance, another body barrelling into Jungkook’s side. He goes sprawling backwards as you go the opposite way, your hands reaching out to brace your fall, palms grazing on the cold concrete. They take the brunt but you’re not quite able to save yourself in time to keep your head from smacking against the floor, and your vision spots and sparkles as you groan with the pain that explodes between your temples.

The room rages around you as you blink back the haze. You fight to remain conscious, forcing your head up only to be overcome with a wave of horrified nausea at the first thing you see; Namjoon just a few feet away, blood smeared around his mouth and dripping from his fingers. Alex is trapped beneath him, defeated, and your stomach roils at the sight of the rivulets of crimson pulsing from his torn open throat. It pools underneath him, staining his clothes and running into eyes that are still open wide and staring - unseeing.

Amongst the chaos Namjoon bends to drink, his eyes meeting yours as his mouth nears the source. The look of terror on your face has him pausing - hesitating in a way he never would’ve done before - but before you either one of you can say a word another loud and unfamiliar sound makes both your heads turn.

From across the other side of the room flames roar, the streams so vicious that you even you can feel their deadly heat from where you lay, sprawled across the floor. Both men and vampires are forced to dodge the flamethrower’s wide range as they continue to fight, and as the flames come closer and Namjoon springs to his feet, you soon follow - though you’re not nearly so graceful in motion. Your head swims as you stagger to your feet, head blindly turning this way and that in search of a friendly face to run towards but finding it hard to pick anyone out amongst the seemingly endless stream of Alex’s men that pour into the room.

They’re well prepared. Whether they carry a gun or a knife, each and every one is armed with silver and the knowledge of what it is they’re fighting - of their strengths and their weaknesses. Useful information, but you can tell that it scares them. You can see it in their eyes. Their attacks are frantic and uncoordinated having been caught off guard and without a leader to direct them, but that doesn’t make them any less lethal.

“Jimin!” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the noise and you spin on the spot to find him, eyes landing on him first and then quickly following his line of sight over to Jimin where he’s trapped on the far side of the room, surrounded by three of Alex’s men.

He’s fighting hard, his expression fierce, but it’s obvious he’s beginning to struggle as the two of them come at him with their long silver knives, blood already oozing from a defensive slash wound to his forearm. More worrying still is the third - a man with bright blonde hair stood back from the rest with a gun held out in front of him, the barrel swinging to and fro as he tries and fails to take aim whilst Jimin is still moving so fast.

Outnumbered, though, it won't take long until Jimin’s overwhelmed; pinned down and held in place to deliver a final, fatal blow. It's a thought that has your stomach in knots, the same desperate look on your face as the one Yoongi's wearing as his efforts to reach Jimin are thwarted by another of Alex's men. He's forced to stop - to fight - screaming out his frustration as his blade swings.

Helpless, your eyes sweep the room. None of the others seem to have noticed that Jimin’s in trouble, too preoccupied with defending themselves - or in Taehyung's case, revelling in the assault. Seeing him now, throwing himself onto the back of the man wielding the flamethrower and ripping his throat out with nothing but his teeth, you're perfectly able to imagine the menace Taehyung had confessed he once was.

A punch to his solar plexus catches Jimin off guard and knocks him off balance, crying out as his attacker takes advantage of his falter and slashes open his shoulder, the other aiming for his side. Injured, Jimin isn't quick enough to recover. They grab a hold of him as he staggers backward, clutching his ribs, and your stomach drops as they force him to expose his chest to the gun trained on him, arms pinned behind his back and a knife pressed to his throat.

As if sensing that these are his final moments, Jimin’s eyes find yours amongst the chaos. Helplessness isn't an expression you're used to seeing on Jimin’s face but he wears it well now, eyebrows furrowed and eyes pressing closed as he cries out in pain at the blow he receives to his already injured side.

It's not a conscious thought that has you suddenly rushing forward into the fray - no grand decision to suddenly be brave. It's nothing but instinct and adrenaline that drives you toward danger, only vaguely aware of Jimin shouting for you to stop as your fist closes around the barrel of the gun. You're unsuccessful at yanking it from his grasp but you're an effective distraction at the very least, yelling a war cry as you try to wrestle it out of his hands, any fear for your own safety long since gone.

You can smell his breath as the man screams at you; stale cigarette smoke that has yellowed the teeth he bares. His large fingers pry yours from the metal roughly, bending them till you're forced to let go, and he laughs as he lashes out and strikes you with it, the butt of the gun slamming into your jaw. Pain ricochetes through bone and takes your breath away, barely conscious enough to register just how much of a mistake you've made until you feel cold metal wedged against your ribs and your body goes rigid, an unfamiliar hand gripping your waist tight.

"Stupid bitch," he grunts as Jimin shouts your name. He's frantically trying to wrestle free of his captors in spite of the knife threatening to slice into his flesh. You close your eyes, unable to stand the sight of utter panic written on his face. You don't want your last look of him to be one so miserable as this.

The barrel of the gun jabs sharply between your ribs and makes you whimper; makes your legs feel so weak that they'd give out if it weren't for your pride.

If you're going to die, it sure as hell won't be on your knees.

If you're going to die… you wish you could tell them you love them one last time.

Bracing yourself, you clench your teeth and press your eyes shut even tighter as the gunman says something you refuse to give him the honour of hearing. You wish he’d just get on with it. You wish he’d -

Suddenly, you’re being grabbed - dragged - and when your eyes reflexively snap open it’s Jin’s face you see, the bridge of his nose purpled with bruises. He barely looks at you, though, too quick to toss you to the side and then launch himself at Alex’s men to spare you anything other than the most fleeting of touches to your cheek; a tender gesture in the midst of such violence.

It’s Yoongi’s arms that catch you - Yoongi’s arms that hold you back as you twist and turn, completely disorientated. You don’t even realise it’s him until he forcibly takes hold of your face and insists look at him, eye to eye, and it’s only then you realise how hard you’re breathing; how sopping wet your cheeks are.

“Jimin,” you choke out, barely able to speak for the fear that grips you, “Jimin, he-”

“He’s ok,” he coos, his thumbs dirty as they stroke back and forth along your cheeks, smearing black across your skin. “You’re ok. We’ve got you.” Yoongi tries to pull you into an embrace but you resist, unable to believe the words he keeps repeating without seeing it for yourself. With a thundering heart, you turn in the circle of his arms this and that and soon see that what he’s been trying to tell you is, in fact, true - it really does seem as though the tides are turning in your favour.

There are only small pockets of fighting left - loyal stragglers that haven’t yet fled that Namjoon and Taehyung are quickly taking care of with ruthless efficiency. There’s blood smeared around both their mouths and looking around you see that they aren’t the only ones that have taken advantage of this opportunity for a fresh meal. Jin’s busily draining what’s left of the man that had threatened your life and you watch with wonder as his bruises begin to fade before your eyes.

And Jimin…

Jimin’s safe. Although bleeding, he’s still conscious, and the room has quietened enough now that amongst the sounds of gluttonous feeding and Taehyung’s whoops of joy you can hear him groan as Jungkook helps him to his feet. Jimin looks to you, and though his hair’s stained with blood and his body looks near broken as he limps his way forward, you’re still able to summon a smile.

You’ve never felt relief like this before - never experienced such a swing between high and low in such short space of time. It has you dizzy. Euphoric.

“He needs to feed,” you tell Yoongi, so giddy that you’re almost giggling as you say the words. You slip out of his arms before he can protest, utterly blind to any danger that may remain as you rush forward, not noticing until too late the searching hand of one Jimin’s earlier attackers.

Clinging to consciousness, he reaches beyond the pool of blood in which he lays. His fingers close around his comrades gun and he lifts it, selects you as his target and takes aim.

If someone asked, you couldn’t say where exactly the bullet hit you. You couldn’t say you saw it coming, either, nor give an opinion on which was worse; bracing for death or having it take you by surprise.

The pain of it takes your breath away, gasping your inhale as you stagger back from the force of it. You can’t seem to inflate your lungs, your whole chest burning as you feel yourself falling, but even as you tip backwards Jimin’s face is the only thing that you can see. He catches you in his arms to cushion your fall and your hands - scrambling, shaking - clutch onto his shoulders as your mouth flails uselessly, silently pleading for help in gasping, gulping breaths.

You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe .

Your focus changes, wild eyes fixing on Yoongi and reaching for him - reaching but he can’t seem to see past the blood that’s dripping from his hands as he lifts them from your side, too shellshocked to speak let alone cry the way Jimin is doing. Knelt at your side he has the side of his face pressed to your chest, his ear left above your heart as his shoulders shake and heave. As if somehow if he can just focus on your heart he can somehow keep it beating.

Your fingers twitch with the want to run them through his hair but you can’t seem to feel them anymore. You’re heavy and weightless all at once, your vision fuzzy and fading around the edges, and somewhere in the distance, you can hear sorrowful sobs. Jungkook, you think. He’s calling for his noona and hearing it almost makes you smile in spite of everything - in spite of the ache inside your chest.

Jimin looks up - his face wet with tears and eyes red-rimmed - and it strikes you then how familiar his expression is. It’s exactly as he looked as he knelt over Yoongi before, in a situation almost identical to this, and you want more than anything to reach out to him and tell him that he’ll be ok. To run your fingertips along the face you so adore just one last time.

Yoongi will look after him. Give Jimin all the love you haven’t had the time to give.

They’ll look after each other, you know that for sure.

You feel your smile falter. It’s harder to open your eyes, now, and you feel Jimin shake you, hear him call out your name. His tears are dripping on your face and his mouth is on yours and you can feel them shaking but he’s slipping away.

He’s slipping further and further away from you and try as you might, you can’t summon the will to stay.

Are you leaving, or is he? You’re not sure any more.

A voice calls out into the darkness as it lures you in, but it’s not your name that you hear - nor is it Jimin’s or Yoongi’s; Jungkook’s or Jin’s. One word. Loud and clear as it’s repeated again and again.

The knell of a bell.

‘Hyung! Hyung! Hyung!’

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lukatheselkie · 4 years ago

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HMC - Movie Crossover

@hetaliamondaychallenge

I most definitely used a script for this, and that can be found here. I only did the story that’s being told. As much as I love the grandfather, the kid, and his mom, it just didn’t fit for what I had in mind. I also mostly went by the movie for actions, so some things are in different places than the script says.

None of the quotes or locations are mine/my ideas. Movie crossovers are hard when you’re a writer 😂 (Most) emotions and anything to do with Sweden’s glasses are my own interpretation of the moment.

Movie: The Princess Bride

Pairing: Nyo!Sweden/England

Warnings: Implied murder, kidnapping, swords, parental death talked about, mentioned scars, death threat, fencing. Please tell me if I missed any!

The name I’ve given to Nyo!Sweden is Sigrid.

The name I’ve given to Nyo!Belgium is Beau.

I will finish this, I just severely underestimated the amount of time this would take to write 😭 I wrote through my favorite scene, which ends at twenty-five minutes into an hour and thirty-eight minute movie (including end credits, so the content is a bit less than that. I’d say I got... about a third of the way through it? Maybe slightly less.)

Sigrid brushes her messy hair back from her face, making sure not to release her horse’s reins. She pushes her glasses up her nose and turns to Arthur, who’s standing in the doorway to the stable. “Farm Boy. Polish my horse’s saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning.” He watches her closely, speaking quietly.

“As you wish.” That was all he ever said to her. It both infuriated her, and made her curious.

Sigrid tosses down two large buckets nearby Arthur, who is chopping wood. “Farm Boy. Fill these with water.” She pauses, thinking briefly. “Please.” His expression stays aggravatingly neutral.

“As you wish.” She turns and starts to leave. He watches her longingly. Unexpectedly, she stops to look back at him. He manages to look away, but his heart is hammering with adrenaline.

Sigrid stares at him in surprise. When he says ‘as you wish’, he’s really saying ‘I love you.’ It’s a thought that amazes her.

Arthur comes into the kitchen with an armload of firewood. Sigrid’s heart flutters happily at seeing him. She had figured out she loved him back earlier that day. Oh! He’s leaving! “Farm Boy.” Her voice is smooth. “Fetch me that pitcher.” It almost comes out as a question. She could reach it if she wanted to, but keeping him close for just a moment longer is more important. He carefully reaches up and grabs it, handing it to her. They stare into each other’s eyes, standing very close. She can almost feel her heart in her throat. Does he know? He must know!

“As you wish.” He leaves without so much as a glance back at her.

Sigrid and Arthur kiss passionately. He has no money for marriage, so he has to leave to seek his fortune across the sea. The kiss turns into an embrace, and both of their hearts break a bit at the thought of him leaving. “I fear I’ll never see you again.” Arthur scoffs quietly.

“Of course you will.” There’s no doubt in his voice. It helps reassure her, but not much.

“But what if something happens to you?” It’s a serious concern that has her stomach knotted up a million different ways.

“Hear this now: I will come for you.” He sounds so confident.

“But how can you be sure?” Her anxiety is practically bubbling out of her now.

“This is true love. You think this happens every day?” He smiles at her. This gives her enough courage to smile back, and she throws her arms around him. They kiss once more, then it’s time for him to leave. It’s such a beautiful sunset for such a terrible evening.

Arthur doesn’t reach his destination. Sigrid clutches the letter addressed to her tightly. Its contents tell her about his ship being attacked by Dread Pirate Roberts, who never leaves anyone alive. She locks herself in her room, and doesn’t sleep or eat for days. “I’ll never love again,” she whispers emotionlessly to the empty room.

Five years later, the main square of Florin City is filled to capacity with people waiting to hear the announcement about Prince Mathias’ bride-to-be. Three people stand behind the prince; his parents, and Count Beau. Mathias raises his hands, and starts to speak. “My people… A month from now, our country will have its five-hundredth anniversary. On that sundown, I shall marry a lady who was once a commoner like yourselves,” he pauses for dramatic effect. “But perhaps you will not find her common now. Would you like to meet her?” There’s an overwhelming reaction that, yes, they want to meet her. On cue, she starts walking down the giant staircase leading to the crowd. Despite it being nearly impossible, the crowd collectively holds its breath. Sigrid comes into view, pushing her glasses up self consciously. “My people… The Princess Sigrid!” She quietly starts to move toward the people, heart hammering nervously. She’s never been good with people, especially in large crowds. They all suddenly kneel with no instruction, and tears come to her eyes. It’s all too much.

She doesn’t love the prince. She’s too empty for that. The law of the land gives him the right to choose his bride, but that doesn’t mean she has to care for him. As soon as she is able, she climbs atop her horse and rides into the woods. Despite his reassurance that she would grow to love him, the only joy she has is her daily ride. She rides until just before sundown, when she sees a group of men. “A word, my lady?” She brings her horse to a stop so she can help them. “We are but poor, lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby?”

“There is nothing nearby; not for miles.”

“Then there will be no one to hear you scream.” The largest of the men touches a nerve on her neck, and her forming scream is cut off before it can build.

Ivan, the giant, carries her to the sailboat at dusk. He nods at Antonio, who is finishing up getting the boat ready to sail. Lovino skillfully tears pieces of fabric from an army jacket, and tucks it into the princess’ horse’s saddle. “What is that you’re ripping?” Antonio questions. Without reacting, Lovino answers him.

“It’s fabric from the uniform of an Army officer of Guilder.”

“Who’s Guilder?” Comes Ivan’s voice, full of curiosity. Antonio points over the water.

“The country across the sea. The sworn enemy of Florin.” He slaps the horse’s rump. “Go!” As expected, the horse takes off. He ambles toward the boat. “Once the horse reaches the castle, the fabric will make the Prince suspect the Guilderians have abducted his love. When he finds her body dead on the Guilder frontier, his suspicions will be totally confirmed.”

“You never said anything about killing anyone.” Ivan stares at him.

“I've hired you to help me start a war. That's a prestigious line of work with a long and glorious tradition.” He places a hand on his hip as he speaks.

“I just don’t think it’s right, killing an innocent girl.” He shakes his head slightly. Lovino gets in his face, clearly angry.

“Am I going mad or did the word ‘think’ escape your lips? You were not hired for your brains, you hippopotamic land mass.”

“I agree with Ivan,” Antonio comments as he hops into the boat, pushing them off. Lovino’s rage grows by the second.

“Oh! The sot has spoken! What happens to her is not truly your concern—I will kill her—And remember this—never forget this—when I found you, you were so slobbering drunk you couldn't buy brandy! And you!” He turns on Ivan. “Friendless, brainless, helpless, hopeless! Do you want me to send you back to where you were? Unemployed in Greenland!” He glares at them for a long moment, then storms off. He doesn’t go far, since they’re on a ship. Antonio, who had gotten closer to Ivan after the insults, tries to relieve some of his stress.

“That Lovino, he can fuss.” Ivan looks thoughtful for a moment, repeating the word to himself.

“Fuss… Fuss… I think he likes to scream at us.”

“Probably he means no harm.”

“He’s really very short on… charm.” Antonio smiles at him.

“Oh, you’ve a great gift for rhyme.” Ivan smiles back.

“Yes, some of the time.”

“Enough of that!” Lovino cuts in.

“Ivan, are there rocks ahead?” Antonio’s voice is somewhat excited.

“If there are, we’ll all be dead.” He’s feeling much better now. Good.

“No more rhymes now, I mean it!” Lovino snaps at them.

“Anybody want a peanut?” Lovino half groans, half screams.

“We’ll reach the Cliffs by dawn,” Lovino declares to Antonio. The Spaniard nods, glancing back. “Why are you doing that?”

“Making sure nobody’s following us.”

“That would be inconceivable.”

“Despite what you think, you will be caught. And when you are, the Prince will see you all hanged.” Sigrid’s voice rings out. Lovino turns to give her a stern, cold look.

“Of all the necks on this boat, Highness, the one you should be worrying about is your own.” Antonio continues staring behind them. “Stop doing that. We can all relax, it's almost over-”

“You’re sure nobody’s following us?”

“As I told you, it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways, inconceivable. No one in Guilder knows what we've done. And no one in Florin could have gotten here so fast.” He pauses for a beat. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”

“No reason. It's only, I just happened to look behind us, and something is there.”

“What!?” They whirl around, staring behind them. It’s hard to see; the moon is behind clouds, leaving it nearly pitch black. The wind whistles, and the waves pond. It almost seems ominous. Antonio, Ivan, and Lovino all squint into the darkness. It becomes strangely eerie. Then, the moon comes out, revealing a black sailboat with a billowing black sail, far away. It’s getting closer though. “Probably some local fisherman out for a pleasure cruise. At night. Through eel-infested waters.” There’s a splash behind them; it’s Sigrid, who’s dived into the water and is frantically swimming away. “Go in, get after her!”

“I don’t swim,” from Antonio.

“I only dog paddle,” Ivan mentions, waving his hands in the air slightly as an example.

“Veer left. Left. Left!” Sigrid swims as fast and as silently as she can, hoping they don’t catch up to her. The wind stops, and the lack of it’s whistling allows a strange shrieking noise to make its way to her ears. She stops in fear, only moving to keep herself afloat. “Do you know what that sound is, Highness? Those are the Shrieking Eels—if you doubt me, just wait. They always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh.” She stays silent as the shrieking gets louder. “If you swim back now, I promise, no harm will come to you. I doubt you will get such an offer from the Eels.”

The sound gets louder, but she doesn’t make a sound. Something huge slithers behind her. She suppresses a shudder, but refuses to reply. She’s terrified, and blind—she left her glasses on the boat—but she knows going back will lead her to a fate just as bad, if not worse. One of the Eels starts circling her, and she minimalizes her strokes. They swim directly toward her, and she’s certain this is the end, she’s going to be eaten alive. A mouth opens, the Eel shrieking louder yet at her, and she’s about to be bitten, when an arm hits the Eel, easily knocking them out. The arm grabs her, lifting her back onto the boat. “Put her down! Just put her down!” Antonio points behind them again.

“I think he’s getting closer.” Lovino ties Sigrid’s hands together as he speaks.

“He’s no concern of ours. Sail on!” He looks back at Sigrid with a sneer. “I suppose you think you’re brave, don’t you?”

“Only compared to some.” She stares at him, showing no fear. Ivan places her glasses back on her face when Lovino withdraws from her. She thanks him quietly.

At dawn, they’re being closely trailed by the black sailboat. “Look! He's right on top of us. I wonder if he is using the same wind we are using?” Antonio inquires.

“Whoever he is, he’s too late!” Lovino points ahead of them. “See? The Cliffs of Insanity.” They’re incredibly tall, and they surge straight up from the water. Antonio navigates the boat in closer, but the black boat is coming toward them fast. “Hurry up! Move the thing! Um! That other thing! Move it!” He screams at Antonio, who manages to get them to the cliffs first, and they hurry off as Lovino speaks again. “We're safe—only Ivan is strong enough to go up our way—he'll have to sail around for hours 'til he finds a harbor.” Antonio places a harness on Ivan, and wraps straps around Sigrid and himself expertly. Lovino does his own, and they start up a rope, tied to a rock at the top, Ivan carrying all three of them.

A man in black hops off his boat, abandoning it without a second though, but Ivan is already a third of the way up. It seems impossible to catch up. Or, perhaps not. He climbs up the rope quickly, getting closer to the four. “He’s climbing the rope. And he’s gaining on us,” Antonio muses.

“Inconceivable!” Lovino pokes Ivan, who speeds up. The man in black comes closer and closer by the second. “Faster!” He screeches.

“You were supposed to be this colossus! You were this great, legendary thing! And yet he gains.”

“Well, I'm carrying three people. And he's got only himself.”

“I do not accept excuses!” He shakes his head. “I'm just going to have to find myself a new giant, that's all.”

“Don’t say that, Lovino. Please.” There’s pain in his voice. His arms slow a bit, as he’s getting tired. The man in black gains still.

“Did I make it clear that your job is at stake!?” A few tense moments pass, and he pulls them over the cliff edge. Lovino leaps off of him, pulling out a knife. He starts cutting at the rope, tied around a heavy rock. Antonio helps Sigrid to her feet, watching her push her glasses back into place when she’s standing. Ivan stands there, waiting for someone to tell him what to do. He glances at the ruins nearby; they remind him of Stonehenge, though he thinks they might have been a fort at one point. The man in black is very close now, but Lovino manages to cut the rope before he can make it to the top. It glides across the ground, toward the cliff edge, being dragged down by its own weight. Antonio, Ivan, and Sigrid stand by the edge, looking down at the man in black, clinging for his life on the jagged rocks. It becomes apparent he’s wearing a mask over his eyes.

“He has very good arms,” Ivan observes, talking to Antonio. He sounds impressed. Lovino turns toward them, stunned and outraged.

“He didn’t fall? Inconceivable!” Antonio looks at him.

“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” He glances back down. “My God! He’s climbing.”

“Whoever he is, he's obviously seen us with the Princess, and must therefore die.” He points his dagger at Ivan. “You, carry her.” He turns to Antonio. “We'll head straight for the Guilder frontier. Catch up when he's dead. If he falls, fine. If not, the sword.”

“I want to duel him left-handed.”

“You know what a hurry we’re in!”

“Well, it's the only way I can be satisfied. If I use my right—tch—over too quickly.” Lovino groans, walking briefly away from him.

“Oh, have it your way!”

“You be careful,” Ivan tells him, coming closer. “People in masks cannot be trusted.”

“I’m waiting!” Lovino calls. Ivan nods, and hurries after Lovino, carrying Sigrid. Antonio watches them until they disappear, then looks down at the man in black. He watches for a bit, then starts pacing, shaking his hands. He practices some of his fencing skills, and looks back at the man in black when that’s not enough to distract him. He’s not much closer to the top. He walks away, then comes back, impatient.

“Hello there.” The man in black glances up, grunting slightly. “Slow going?”

“Look, I don't mean to be rude, but this is not as easy as it looks. So I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't distract me.”

“Sorry.”

“Thank you.” Antonio steps away again, practices a few thrusts, then re-sheaths his sword, looking over the edge fervently. “I do not suppose you could speed things up?”

“If you're in such a hurry, you could lower a rope, or a tree branch, or find something useful to do.” He struggles a bit as he climbs, but there’s no question that he’ll make it to the top.

“I could do that. In fact, I've got some rope up here. But I do not think that you will accept my help, since I am only waiting around to kill you.”

“That does put a damper on our relationship.” He continues climbing, raising up a bit from a good hold.

“But I promise I will not kill you until you reach the top.”

“That’s very comforting. But I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait.”

“I hate waiting,” he grumbles out. “I could give you my word as a Spainard?”

“No good. I’ve known too many Spainyards.” He grunts as he searches around for another place to grab.

“You don’t know any way you’ll trust me?”

“Nothing comes to mind.” Antonio raises his right hand high, eyes glossing over, voice serious.

“I swear on the soul of my father, Domingo Montoya, you will reach the top alive.” Silence falls between them heavily. Then, barely above a whisper, the man in black speaks.

“Throw me the rope.” Antonio hurries to the large rock, untying the rope as fast as he can. He hears the man in black slip, but he knows he’s still there. He scrambles back to the edge and throws one end of the rope down to him. The man grabs hold of the rope, and Antonio pulls on it as hard as he can, walking steadily backwards. He watches the man in black come into view, and he pulls him to safety. “Thank you,” he huffs out, pulling his sword. Antonio holds up his hand.

“We’ll wait until you’re ready.”

“Again, thank you.” He sits atop the boulder the rope is tied around. He tugs off his long leather boots, tapping them to get the rocks out. There’s more than a few rocks, and most of them are big. He stares at them, amazed. Antonio notices he has gloves on; he stares at them.

“I do not mean to pry, but you don't by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?” The man in black looks up, obviously bewildered by the question.

“Do you always begin conversations this way?”

“My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man. He was a great sword maker, my father. And when the six-fingered man appeared and requested a special sword, my father took the job. He slaved a year before he was done.” His demeanor turns sorrowful. He offers the sword to the man in black, who examines it closely, clearly impressed.

“I have never seen its equal,” he declares as he hands it back, being cautious of the heartache looming around them.

“The six-fingered man returned and demanded it, but at one-tenth his promised price. My father refused. Without a word, the six-fingered man slashed him through the heart. I loved my father, so, naturally, challenged his murderer to a duel. ...I failed... The six-fingered man did leave me alive with the six-fingered sword, but he gave me these.” He gingerly touches two scars; one on each cheek. Solemnly, the man in black looks at him.

“How old were you?”

“I was eleven years old. When I was strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of fencing. So the next time we meet, I will not fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and say, ‘Hello, my name is Antonio Carriedo. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’” His voice is soft, almost a whisper. The air is heavy, but not completely oppressive.

“You’ve done nothing but study swordplay?” He shrugs lightly.

“More pursuit than study lately. You see, I cannot find him. It's been twenty years now. I am starting to lose confidence. I just work for Lovino to pay the bills. There's not a lot of money in revenge.”

“Well, I certainly hope you find him, someday.”

“You are ready, then?”

“Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair.” They rise, and walk toward the ruins.

“You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you.”

“You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die.” The man in black pulls his sword as he replies.

“Begin!” They fight far away from each other. Every time one goes in for a hit, the other counters perfectly. They begin to circle each other, moving about the ruins. They feint a few more times, then decide that’s enough teasing. Their swords clash, the gap between the noise shortening each time they strike. Antonio manages to run the man in black up a rocky hill. “You're using Bonetti's defense against me, ah?” He’s absolutely elated at that.

“I thought it fitting, considering the rocky terrain.”

“Naturally, you must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro.” His fighting style changes with his words.

“Naturally.” The man in black struggles with the shift, but only for a moment. “But I find Thibault cancels out Capo Ferro, don't you?” He jumps down from the hill, Antonio’s eyes following him.

“Unless the enemy has studied his Agrippa.” He hops off the perch, somersaulting over the man in black’s head, and lands facing him. “Which I have.” They swing and feint and glide gracefully over the rocky terrain, never once stumbling. One gains the upper hand over the other, but it isn’t long before it’s lost. They go back and forth like this, both obviously experts. Finally, the man in black is able to back Antonio toward the Cliffs of Insanity, closer and closer to his death with each step. “You are wonderful!” He’s awfully chipper, for someone so close to death.

“Thank you—I’ve worked hard to become so.” He forces Antonio closer to the edge by the second.

“I admit it—you are better than I am.” But he’s grinning.

“Then why are you smiling?” He’s a step, maybe two, from falling off the cliff.

“Because I know something you don’t know.”

“And what is that?”

“I am not left-handed.” He tosses the six-fingered sword into his right hand, and the battle shifts in his favour. The man in black desperately tries to keep him by the cliff’s edge, but it’s no use. He has to retreat. Antonio’s sword is merely a blur, it’s moving so fast. He backs the man in black up some stairs, and he stumbles backwards onto one. His sword strikes close, but it misses.

“You are amazing,” he concludes, finishing climbing the stairs.

“I ought to be after twenty years.” Antonio pins the man against a stone pillar. The top layer is forced off, over the cliff.

“There’s something I ought to tell you,” he grunts out, struggling against the sword.

“Tell me.” It comes out confidently.

“I am not left-handed either.” The man in black shoves him back, and makes a show of switching his sword into the other hand. Within a matter of seconds, the six-fingered sword is knocked out of his hands. Antonio retreats frantically, diving from the stairs to a moss-covered bar between an archway. He swings for a moment, then lands, grabbing his sword. The man in black flings his sword, and it sticks into the ground, exactly next to where Antonio landed. He jumps onto the bar, rotates around it, then lands next to his sword. He plucks it out of the ground effortlessly, striking a little pose.

“Who are you?”

“No one of consequence.”

“I must know.”

“Get used to disappointment.” Antonio shrugs a bit.

“Okay.” He starts the fight again, moving fast. They go back and forth, Antonio countering a slash he hadn’t been able to before, feeling proud of himself for remembering the man in black’s body language for that move. The sword is knocked out of his hand, arching through the air. He casually positions himself below it, and catches it flawlessly. He’s going to lose. He knows he is. He becomes desperate, fiercely swinging his sword at his competition. The man in black catches onto his desperation, and takes a moment to tease him. He swipes at Antonio’s hair, startling him enough to give him an opportunity to knock the six-fingered sword out of his hand. He stands helplessly for a second, then falls to his knees. “Kill me quickly.” There’s raw emotion in his voice. Fear, sorrow, regret...

“I would as soon destroy a stained glass window as an artist like yourself. However, since I can't have you following me either,” he knocks Antonio in the head with his sword handle, and he falls unconscious. “Please understand I hold you in the highest respect.” He runs over to his scabbard, picks it up, and runs after the Princess, Lovino, and Ivan.

#hetaliamondaychallenge #unfinished #but I will finish it #aph hetalia #The Princess Bride crossover #aph SuEng

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ketchupsupreme · 5 years ago

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Conversations with Dead Planets

Cassie

My name is Cassie.

The last name doesn't matter. Hadn't mattered for nearly three years. For three years, my friends and I had fought a secret war against the Yeerks, a parasitic alien race that took control of your body by entering through your ear and wrapping itself around your brain. They could be in anyone: your parents, your mailman, your teacher anyone. We called them Controllers. The only way we had been able to fight them was through Andalite technology that gave us the ability to morph into any animal we touched. I had been a dolphin, a horse, a orca. It was amazing. The battles… not so much. My friends and later the younger brother of the Andalite who gave us the power became the Animorphs.

The technology that gave us this power had been lost until a kid named David found the blue box. We gave David the ability to morph and he was one of us until he betrayed us and we had to take care of him. The morphing power was our only advantage against the Yeerks. That and the fact that until very recently they didn't know who we were. They had thought we were rogue Andalite bandits. When they found out that we were human, we had to get our families out. We were successful...except for Jake our leader. We had been too late to get his family out and his brother Tom, who had been a Controller since the very beginning, infested his own parents. None of the Yeerks had the ability to morph except for one: Visser One, the only Yeerk who had ever taken an Andalite host and with it the power to morph. Until now. Because of me.

In our most recent battle, in an effort to stop Jake (my sorta boyfriend) from killing his brother Tom I had allowed Tom to get away with the blue box. I don't know why, I just knew that I couldn't let Jake kill his own brother. After all that we had been through, the countless battles, the countless deaths, this last one seemed to monstrous for even us. I couldn't let Jake do it. So in order to stop him I had bit him while I was in my wolf morph, resulting in Jake hitting me across the face… as a tiger. With tiger sized paws.

I knew why he had done it. Surprise. Anger. Now he could barely look at me. In his eyes I was a traitor. I wasn't so sure, but I knew that I didn't want to be around him or any of the other Animorphs. When we got back to the free Hork-Bajir valley, I split off from the group, avoiding my best friend Rachel’s eyes as I headed for the tree line.

“Cassie!” I heard her yell as I ran further into the forest. As I ran, a certain picture floated to the top of my mind. I could feel my nails start getting thicker and longer as fur sprouted all around my body. Ax, our only actual Andalite member and the younger brother of the Andalite who had given us the morphing power, had told us that I was what the Andalites called an estreen, someone who could control how they morphed. When my friends morphed, it was not a pretty sight. Legs exploded out of them, eyeballs formed, beaks appeared on human faces. As the wolf whose DNA was apart of me rose out of my human body, near the end of it, I looked almost like one of those old Hollywood werewolves until the morph finished and I became a complete wolf.

I ran, pushing my legs to the extreme as I ran away, jumping over fallen trees, making hairpin turns as I let the wolf take me over. I reached the top of a hill, coming to a dead stop as I let the moon wash over me, feeling the cool wind blow through my fur.

Why had I done it? Why had I given Tom the morphing cube? With it, our only advantage was gone. If this fight had happened a few weeks earlier, we would have lost the cube before we ever created the Auxiliary Animorphs.

The Auxiliary Animorphs. Another one of my ideas. When our backs had been up against the wall, when we needed more warriors, more Animorphs, we had the dilemma of not knowing who was or wasn't a Controller. We couldn't recruit our parents. They had to be kids. Kids thay the Yeerks would never touch. Kids that the Yeerks believed to be powerless. That's when I had the idea: we would recruit disabled kids.

What was wrong with me? The Cassie that had entered this war would have never done this. When my father found out about this plan, he looked at me like I was a stranger, someone he didn't even recognize. To be completely honest? I wasn't so sure I recognized myself. I had done so many things in this war, killed so many people, all in the name of defending my planet. No one forced me to. No one held a gun against my head and told me I had to be an Animorph. That had been my choice. I had quit once, when I wasn't sure if I had killed a Hork-Bajir before or after Jake signaled the retreat. I could have ended it then. Been a normal girl again.

But then came Karen and Aftran. Aftran had been a Yeerk in the head of a little girl named Karen. She had found out our secret, and began stalking me. After a few days in the woods together, in exchange for Karen’s freedom, I agreed to morph a caterpillar permanently so long as Aftran never took another host again. See that's the drawback about morphing. If you stayed in the morph for more than two hours, you were stuck permanently. A nothlit. It had happened to Tobias, one of the members of our group, and it had happened to me.

Why wasn't I still in the body of a caterpillar though? Well according to Ax, since the caterpillar naturally morphed into a butterfly, it reset the morphing clock, allowing me to escape the blind fate of the caterpillar. I eventually saved Aftran from the Yeerks themselves, giving her the power to morph as long as she chose one morph and stayed in it forever. She was still out there, swimming in the ocean as a humpback whale.

She had finished her fight. I was still in it. As the Drode had once called me, I was Cassie, the Killer with a Conscious. What would I give if this stupid war had never happened, if my biggest problem in the world was still feeding the ducks their pills or wondering if Jake liked me back? I would give anything.

“Anything, you say?” a voice behind me drawled.

I turned around quickly, losing balance as my now human legs tangled around each other. When had I morphed back to human?

“Who’s there?” I called into the forest, trying to peer into the darkness with my weak, human eyes.

“It is I Cassie. Do you not recognize me Cassie the hypocrite? Never a killer… except for when she is.”

Immediately goosebumps popped up all over my skin. Only one being had ever called me that.

“The Drode,” I said calmly, my terror hidden beneath my calm exterior.

“Yes, it is I,” it said, bowing before me with a flourish. “My master, the great and powerful Crayak heard your wishes and sent me down here to grant it. Unlike that meddling twit, the Elimist, the great and powerful Crayak can grant you what you most truly desire.”

He began circling me, whispering to me all of my most secret desires.

“No more lies Cassie.”

“No more death Cassie.”

“No more wondering whether what you just did was right and wrong.”

“No more wondering whether Rachel will die in a future battle.”

“No more of Jake feeling like you betrayed him.”

My breathing was coming out rapid and shallow. Yes I wanted all of this. How many times had I woken up, a cold sweat covering my skin from the nightmares. From seeing Rachel, fierce, loyal, brave Rachel, devoured by Taxxons, not even in her human form. How many times had I lied to my parents and they never questioned it because to them I’m their sweet innocent Cassie. Or rather, I had been. Until very recently, I had lied to them almost every day for the past three years.

My father thought I was a monster. I didn’t know if any of the other Animorphs had told him it was my idea to recruit James and the other disabled children. When we had left for that mission though, he had stared at me as if I was a stranger, no longer the sweet innocent Cassie. That Cassie had died the first time we went to the Yeerk pool. When I had taken my first life. I had been just thirteen.

What if the Drode could do as Crayak promised? Change everything so this war never happened? So that Jake, a man trapped in the body of a sixteen year old boy, could grow up without the weight of the world hanging around his neck. Rachel would never have to feel as if we were using her to clean up our messes. David would have never happened. Marco would have grown up with his mother. Ax would still have his brother. Tobias--

Tobias. If the Yeerks never came to Earth, that would mean that Elfangor, Ax’s older brother and the one who gave us our powers and told us about the Yeerks, would have never come to Earth and he would have never met Loren, Tobias’ mother. Tobias would have never been born. I opened my mouth to protest. The Drode cut me off before one word even passed my lips.

“Do not worry, Saint Cassie. Your feathered friend will still be born. The all powerful Crayak will see to it that the deceased prince becomes a nothlit. Tobias will have a loving father and mother and never want for anything. He will never know hardship, never be afraid, never wonder why his mother left him. He will be happy.”

I almost cried. When he had been human, Tobias was trapped in between two homes that had made it clear he would not be missed if he disappeared. As a matter of fact, when he had become a nothlit, Neither his aunt or uncle cared very much. I don’t think they even put in a missing persons report. Didn’t Tobias deserve this?

“Why did Crayak send you to me,” I asked, my voice thick with emotion. “Why didn’t he go to Jake? I know he hates Jake, but Jake should be making this decision. Not me.”

The Drode smiled, his odd bird shaped head almost trembling with glee.

“Therein lies the catch, Horsewoman of the Apocalypse,” the Drode said, turning Marco’s one-off name for me into something cruel. “In order for Crayak to do this, Jake the Yeerk Killer must be sacrificed.”

The blood drained from my face. Jake wouldn’t be there. He would be dead. No. I would never let that happen. Jake was my-- I mean Jake was the one thing that made sense in this world. I lo--.

“And you must be the one to kill him.”

I turned on the Drode, my fist hurtling towards his face. Except that there was no fist. It was a paw, half morphed and quickly completing the transformation into full wolf.

“Before you say no Cassie the Hypocrite, let me show you something.”

The sky above me bloomed into images. I saw myself, my thirteen year old self, laughing, clinging onto Rachel’s arm as she dragged me across the mall, her eyes searching for the words “sale.”. Marco, funny Marco, pointing at me as his mother dragged him into their car, the words “tree-hugger” forming as his mom slammed the car door.

“He’ll be by tomorrow Cassie,” Eva laughed, her eyes kind and empty of the harsh truths that the former Visser One had left her with. “Thank you again for tutoring him!”

Another image, this one of Tobias and I, bloomed. We were camping, his father telling my father and us about planets far away. Planets that held giant bladed gentle creatures who peeled and ate bark. Of carnivorous worms that ate everything in sight. Finally, with a gentleness in his eyes, he told us of four legged beings who had four eyes and a blade at the end of their tail. “Gentle creatures,” he seemed to say. “Kind of uppity, but in a lovable way.” I was the only one who noticed the tear slip out of his eye.

“All of this could be real Cassie,” the Drode whispered in my ear. “You know what you have to do.” He waved his hand towards a dark spot in the clearing.

Jake appeared. He seemed confused at first, scanning the area. Then he saw me. His eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting in an ugly snarl.

“Cassie.”

<Get out of here Jake,> I said, my thought-speak filled with worry.

“Don’t worry. I don’t want to be anywhere near you,” he said, his voice filled with derision.

<Jake. Please. Get out of here.> I could not stop the fear from entering my voice.

He must have heard it because instantly his eyes softened, the boy general forgetting his current anger. For right now, he was my Jake again.

“Cassie? What’s wrong?” he said, his voice filled with concern.

“Casssssiiieeee… all of that can be yours. Just tear his throat out out. Don’t let him morph.” The Drode’s voice tangled all around me.

“Cassie,” Jake said again, this time dropping to the ground to be eye level with me. I could see the black stripes rippling across his features, his face bulging and eye color changing as he began morphing into the tiger I had seen him become so many times.His hand dropped as it became a paw. I felt that paw striking me across the face. His anger.

“One life for everyone else. A free galaxy. No more slaves. No more Yeerks. Just kill Jake Berenson and all of this can be yours.”

Suddenly Jake was human again, frozen aside from his eyes, which looked around, the panic settling in his eyes.

“KILL. HIM.”

Never. No matter what had happened between me and Jake, I could never kill him. I loved him. Nothing in this world was worth Jake’s life. Even if what the Drode promised was true, it came at too horrible a price. The price would be Jake’s life… and my humanity.

In an instant I turned on the Drode, my jaws aching for his throat. He disappeared, his laughter filling my ears as Jake also disappeared.

“Oh Cassie, too good for even her planet. One day soon you will wish for the great Crayak to offer you this again. When a friend falls in battle… you will wish for him. And he shall not appear. He will let you enjoy the spoils of your kindness.”

With a final laugh, his presence vanished. I demorphed, the cool winds rustling the trees. Nothing had changed. But Jake was still alive. And soon, this war would be over one way or another. As I stared at the sky above me, a Bug fighter flew across the crescent moon.

#animorphs #cassie #jake berenson #drode #crayak #andalite #yeerks

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xsparklingravenx · 5 years ago

Text

starvation

Title: starvation

Fandom: Code Vein

Characters: Louis, Yakumo, Davis, Rin, Coco

Rating: T

Word Count: 4,665

Summary: He’d doled out the limited alcohol to the others as best as he could. Coco refused the drink, but Davis and Murasame hadn’t, each with their own glass as he swallowed back one after the other. Louis, spoilsport that he was, was hiding away in his little cavern of books, his own drink left untouched on the table. He was lucky Yakumo had even given him that much; the two of them had hardly said two words to one another since they’d returned from their trip into the city, their argument from hours ago still hanging heavy in the atmosphere. Yakumo hadn’t forgotten that, even with the fog of alcohol clouding his mind.

Thanks to Louis’s inability to play anything other than good-cop, they were once again rationing, their already bare-bones supply of blood beads down to single digits.

AO3

The church reverberated with the sound of heavy, pounding music.

Yakumo could feel it in the vibrations of his bones, in the thumping in his chest that was from the song and not his own, BOR-infested heart. Another sip of aged brandy chased its way down his throat, and though the drink did nothing to satiate his sense of thirst, it burned a trail all the way to his stomach. He bounced his head to the heavy metal, the guitars screeching throughout the hallowed halls.

Though he’d lost count of how many drinks he’d had by now, it was enough to set his head on fire, enough to let him let down his guard and just do whatever he felt like.

He’d doled out the limited alcohol to the others as best as he could. Coco refused the drink, but Davis and Murasame hadn’t, each with their own glass as he swallowed back one after the other. Louis, spoilsport that he was, was hiding away in his little cavern of books, his own drink left untouched on the table. He was lucky Yakumo had even given him that much; the two of them had hardly said two words to one another since they’d returned from their trip into the city, their argument from hours ago still hanging heavy in the atmosphere. Yakumo hadn’t forgotten that, even with the fog of alcohol clouding his mind.

Thanks to Louis’s inability to play anything other than good-cop, they were once again rationing, their already bare-bones supply of blood beads down to single digits.

Trying to forget his own ridiculous thirst, Yakumo rocked his head back and forth in time with the music, the roar of it drowning out Murasame’s giggles as she tried to tell an inane story about Coco and this human she’d apparently met a couple of months back. Yakumo got up unsteadily, went over to the jukebox, and turned up the volume. If there was anything he didn’t want to hear about, it was humans, with their delicious blood and their delectable throats and—

He caught sight of Louis’ only visible eye glaring at him from over the brim of his book. Yakumo knew that look, knew that it meant Louis was at the edge of his tether, and turned the dial up a fraction more while maintaining eye-contact. The alcohol buzzing in his still-bloodstream told him it was a good idea, that Louis, over-bearing fool that he was, could do with being as frustrated as he was.

Louis’s fingers twitched at the sides of his book. He’d been fidgety all day, like someone was constantly sending electric bolts through him. Yakumo watched him bite the inner corner of his lip and smirked in victory.

“Woo, Yakumo!” cried Murasame, slurring her words despite the fact that she’d had half of her glass at most. “Let’s get this party started!”

“You gotcha,” he said, high-tailing it back to the bar with a spring in his admittedly not-all-that-stable step. He lifted his glass of half-drunk brandy and jumped up onto the bar with all the elegance of an ailing monkey. “Here, here, to all you beautiful bastards, except my good friend over there who keeps giving away our food. A toast, in your honour!”

He knocked back the glass there and then, taking delight in the resounding slap of Louis snapping his book shut. Davis sucked in air through his teeth, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly, while Coco rolled her eyes at the entire debacle. Murasame cheered, her whoops high pitched over the sound of the music, and in an instant she was jumping up onto the bar too. As he finished his drink, she smashed her glass into his before letting the music sweep her away.

The two of them rocked out the best they could on the small ledge of the countertop, violent and wild. He’d fought on dicier ground before, where chasms awaited to claim his life. Louis’s bar was hardly any danger in comparison.

“Get up here, Coco!” Yakumo extended a hand to her, and when she refused, he held it out to Davis instead. “C’mon, let’s let loose! It ain’t long ‘til we all turn Lost anyway, so we might as well enjoy ourselves while we can!”

The brandy had destroyed his filter, and his anger was manifesting in his antics. After spending an entire day holding it in, he was finally indulging in his fury in the only way he knew how—through petty acts and bitter jabs. Miguel had always said that he could be barbarous when he wanted, though usually it was directed at the people who used them, at psychotic assholes like Mido, like others that escaped his fragmented memories. Louis, he knew, didn’t deserve it, not really—they were friends, and friends were supposed to stand-by one another’s choices.

But damn it, they were all already starving and Louis was squandering their resources by trying to constantly save every lost soul they came across, like some kind of idiot-messiah. If Yakumo didn’t do something—anything—to let out his frustration, he’d turn Lost quicker than any of them could say ‘Queen’.

Davis denied his request to dance, so it ended up as it started, with Yakumo and Murasame head-banging to the music alone. Coco, perhaps sensing an incoming storm, announced that she was heading out to the sauna, and Yakumo, in the midst of a particularly intense moment of air-guitar, barely noticed her leave. He continued to clatter around the bar, making as much noise as he could, thumping about and singing badly out-of-time, all while Murasame leapt up and down in front of Davis, squealing all the while.

Caught up in the moment, in the music, in the absolute haze of all the brandy he’d consumed, Yakumo stopped paying attention to the world around him. All that mattered was the swaying of the world, the heavy thrum of the guitars, the drums. He could almost forget it all, his anger, his thirst, his circumstances. It had been an age since he’d been drunk properly, the alcohol all too scarce and his friends all scattered. If it had been up to him, this would have been under more favourable circumstances, and he’d have gotten Louis so wasted that he’d have finally been able to see what really hid behind his calm, proper exterior,

Instead, Louis only seemed determined to ruin his day even further.

The song was just reaching its fever-pitch—the absolute best part where the music totally exploded—when it suddenly cut off, throwing Yakumo off his tempo entirely. He snapped his head back up to see Louis standing by the jukebox, the cord hanging from his grasp, his expression resembling a Lost. His hair had moved ever so slightly, both his eyes visible now, and they were borderline glowing, bright red.

“Awww,” Mursame said. “I was having fun!”

“Enough,” Louis said quietly, fixing Yakumo with that heated stare. “If you’ve got a problem, I’d rather you speak up about it instead of blasting music so loud that none of us can think.”

He sounded like himself, all soft tones and carefully chosen words, but even drunk as Yakumo was, he could hear the icy waters beneath. Hopping off the bar, he staggered forwards, one finger pointing in an accusatory manner. “Oh, so now you wanna listen to me, Louis?”

His words were running into one another, diminishing their impact, but he was past caring. Louis stared him down as Yakumo ambled towards him, inhibited by the brandy and his own half-dormant frustration.

“I’m always listening to you, Yakumo,” Louis said.

“Are you?” Yakumo said, laughing around the words. “You sure weren’t when I told you to not give away those blood beads.”

It was dead quiet now. Neither Murasame nor Davis made a sound. The church didn’t so much as creak, and Louis didn’t reply immediately, giving Yakumo more ammunition. “You wanna make everyone in the world your friend, Louis? Wanna make nice with every wandering thrall? Cool, you do you, you go ahead and starve, but I dunno if you noticed, it’s not just about you here!”

Louis dropped the cable. “We had this argument earlier. Those revenants were starving, and we have enough—”

“Do we?” Yakumo asked. He wasn’t sobering up quickly enough, his voice not quite co-operating properly. “You think I don’t notice you not drinking when the rest of us are?”

Louis’s eyes flicked towards the drink he’d left untouched on the side. Yakumo’s brain caught up a few seconds later and he barked out a laugh. “No, not that. You idiot, you stupid, idiot, bastard—”

“You’re drunk.” Louis said.

“And you’re delusional!” Yakumo hissed. “Giving away each and every bead we find, and then skimping on your own just so your precious friends can drink. Not like it matters, when the last wandering thrall you went ahead and gave your stash to got himself killed anyway—”

The punch caught him off guard, his reactions slowed by the alcohol. Louis’s fist caught him in the jaw, and Murasame gasped as Davis flew out of his seat.

“Hey!” he snapped, his voice booming, but Yakumo wasn’t about to let Louis get away with it. Though the punch hadn’t been expected, Yakumo wasn’t a wallflower, he didn’t bend to slight pressure. He snatched Louis up by his waistcoat, his fingers gripping the material tight.

The difference in height and size between them made up for Yakumo’s clumsiness. Louis was light enough to haul around without much difficulty or skill, which was exactly his weakness in a fight. He relied on blitzing around the battlefield, keeping out of harm’s reach, but Yakumo had him now. He tossed Louis back easily, sending him stumbling hard into Davis’ motorbike.

“That was out of character, hitting me like that. You mad because I’m telling the truth?” Yakumo felt more clear-headed than before, his argument more grounded. He caught Louis by his clothes again, pulling him close in his anger. “Lashing out at me now because you know I’m right?”

Louis was so close that he could feel his breath on his face—and close enough that as he shifted, Yakumo saw the way black veins crept up his skin from the confines of his shirt, thin yet prominent. He let go of him in surprise, and Louis, despite knowing that he’d already seen, moved to adjust his clothing in defence.

Yakumo laughed incredulously. “You know, I thought your eyes were just angry, but now I know. You’re not furious, you’re just hungry.”

Louis hid the beginnings of frenzy so easily. His eyes were naturally red, or at least, they had been in the entire time Yakumo had known him. If he was teetering at the edge, if he was letting his revenant nature overtake him, he made it difficult to tell. Intentionally so or not, he hid from them all the time.

“I can deal with it,” Louis said. “Another day makes no difference to me. I was reading to take my mind off of the hunger, but you weren’t content to let me sit in peace.”

“God, you’re so selfish, you know that?” Yakumo couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, turning his back on him sharply. The world tilted a little around him, but he didn’t feel nearly as drunk as he had been. “You pretend to be oh-so-selfless, giving up all your precious beads to anyone who would ask, but you’re just as willing to let us suffer, aren’t you? And then you see us starving and you start skipping meals too, and we’re still suffering.”

“I made sure you all still had enough. I didn’t give away everything—”

“This isn’t even about my thirst anymore, or Murasame’s, or Davis’, or Coco’s!” Yakumo turned back to him, throwing his arms as if it would emphasise his point any further. “This is about you giving more than you’ve got, and us having to watch you push yourself to the brink of frenzy to compensate for it. Yeah, I fucking hate that I’m starving hungry and that could have been prevented, but do you think I like seeing you literally on the edge either? You’re a righteous, self-serving asshole who only cares about your own feelings. You’re not giving out beads because you actually care about those sorry sacks of shit out there, you’re giving them out so you can feel better about yourself!”

Silence once more. Louis narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Yakumo stalked right past him, grabbed the cord from where it had fallen, and jammed it back into the wall. The music blared out once more, and Yakumo went back to the bar, grabbing his nearly empty bottle of brandy. “Well, now that that’s settled, who’s ready to start this over?”

He’d just brought it to his lips, ready to just tip back the remainder, when Louis finally spoke up. “You’re right.”

Yakumo froze mid-motion, because despite the roar of the music, that sounded a lot like an admission of truth from Louis, and that couldn’t be right because Louis was rarely ever forthright with anything about himself. Yakumo had partnered up with him because Louis was intelligent and had a mission, but when he really thought about it, he knew hardly anything about him. Where he came from, if he had any family, what his story was, if he even had a surname—Yakumo knew none of it.

“What was that?” Yakumo asked, feeling Davis and Murasame’s eyes turn to him. “Did you say something, Louis?”

“I said,” Louis wrenched the cord from the wall again, his eyes flashing dangerously, “that you’re right.”

The music came to an abrupt stop, and Yakumo swore that he could see the frenzied veins creeping up Louis’s throat. His shoulders were shaking, made more obvious by the fact that he was trying to hide it. The cord clattered against the floor when he dropped it. “Every single revenant out there, you included, you’re all suffering from my mistake. I can’t even remember what it was, my head is so full of holes that I don’t even know what’s driving me half the time. Do you know I don’t even know his name? That thrall you mentioned? I don’t know his name.”

Kevin, Yakumo’s mind supplied, having heard Louis lament over him before—which death had stolen that memory from him? Their mission was rarely ever so simple, and the two of them had dispersed time and time again, but Louis always seemed so complete that Yakumo never questioned him.

He didn’t get a chance to give Louis the name, because he was off again, his hands in fists, his body trembling violently. “I did this. I ruined us all, and I don’t know how. It’s the only way I can make up for it, if I don’t help them, if I don’t make amends, then how can I ever live with myself? Answer me that, Yakumo, and if you can’t, then what right do you have to judge my choices?”

His voice got higher, quicker, more frenetic than Yakumo had ever heard him before. He’s losing himself, he thought sluggishly, but Davis acted faster than he could, grabbing Louis by his shoulders before he could lose control for real. Those veins were spiralling out of control, the frenzy brought on suddenly no doubt by the sudden emotional distress. He fought Davis’s hold, his hands finding his hair and gripping at the roots.

As Louis screamed, those veins spreading over his face, Yakumo felt the sound rattle through him, piercing and curdling and all-too-similar to the Lost.

“Someone get me a bead! Move it!” Davis ordered, and both Yakumo and Murasame went scrambling in search of one, the two of them finally sobered by the immediate crisis. His head was a mess, and he could barely put one thought in front of the other as he went rifling through Louis’s things, tossing aside history books and worn novels in search of his hidden rations, the ones he saved for when things got especially tight.

There were three beads sat in a small bag, and as he grabbed for them, he realised that Louis was calling out for someone as Davis fought to keep him from bolting, from rioting out of control. It was difficult to make out in his frantic yelling, but it sounded like a name, like he was shouting Karen over and over. There was no one by that name at the base, but Yakumo didn’t know enough about Louis to place the name. They’d all lost loved ones, some they remembered, some they didn’t. but Louis never spoke of anyone from his past.

Sometimes, Yakumo had found himself wondering if Louis even remembered anything at all from his human life. Now he knew that he did—and that included some mysterious happenstance where he’d apparently made some kind of horrific mistake. He grabbed the beads, all three to be safe, and dashed back to Davis, thrusting them at him as Louis writhed in his grip.

The smell of the blood furthered his lust for it, and it was as Yakumo passed the beads over that Louis went and sank his fangs into Davis’s arm. Davis ripped himself away instantly with a grunt, not giving Louis the chance to drink and lose himself to an incompatible blood code. The beads all dropped to the floor, and Yakumo launched himself at one, his brandy-inflicted double-vision making the task of grabbing it a lot harder than it seemed.

Murasame came to the rescue, somehow managing to snatch one up that had rolled towards her and tossing it to him. Yakumo barely caught it, and in the same movement he caught Louis around the waist, holding him with his back against his chest as he held the bead in front of his face.

“Eat!” Yakumo shouted, and Louis stopped pulling at his hair long enough to grab it, biting into the surprisingly soft surface of the tear-shaped bead. Yakumo breathed finally as Louis attacked the bead with the grace of a beast, entirely unlike himself.

He saw Davis quietly sheath a small dagger back into his government issued uniform, and knew instantly that he’d been considering something that Yakumo had briefly thought about. A quick death as a revenant would be kinder than an eternity wandering as an immortal Lost, but it hadn’t come to pass.

“You alright?” Yakumo asked, nodding towards his arm.

Davis nodded. “Nothing serious. It doesn’t even need serious regeneration. I’ve seen worse from catching myself on work tools.”

“That could have gone better,” Murasame said, retrieving the last two beads from where the had rolled. Yakumo finally loosened his grip on Louis, who went down on his knees as he continued to drain the bead dry. His attention was entirely on the blood, his eyes still that ravenous red, but the black veins were retreating.

Pressing a hand to his face, Yakumo winced. “This was on me. I screwed up, he was fine ‘til I pushed him.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Louis muttered, the empty bead falling from his grasp, hitting the floor with a thunk. “That display was…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my composure.”

“You’re back?”

“I think.” Louis winced, his hair falling in his face. He pushed the heel of his palm against his visible eye. “My head is killing me. Forget it, I just want to go to…I’m going to sleep.”

“Louis—” Murasame began.

“Later,” he said, getting to his feet. He was as unsteady as Yakumo had been earlier. He wanted to help, to stabilise him, but there was still friction between them and Yakumo was still furious, even more-so now he’d seen just how close Louis had been to the edge. “Thank you for helping me. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

Yakumo watched him go, his jaw clenched. “Damn him, acting like that didn’t just happen,” he said once Louis was out of earshot. “High and mighty ‘til the end…doesn’t he get it?”

“You both need to cool off,” Davis said. “Give it until morning. You’re friends, aren’t you? Things will work out.”

Yakumo looked over to Louis’s desk, where his drink still sat untouched, and heaved a sigh. “Whatever. If you’re heading off, I’m gonna stay up for a bit.”

“Drinking the rest of that?” Murasame said. “Is that such a good idea?”

“Not drinking,” Yakumo said, approaching the desk and picking up the book Louis had been trying to read before his patience had run out. One of his fiction books, a dragon embossed on the cover. “Just gonna try and chill out a little. Think a bit. You know.”

Davis and Murasame shared a look, but they relented and left too. In the end, it was just Yakumo and Louis’s books, the candles lending as much light as he needed. He took a seat in the chair and leant back, dropping the book back on the desk. Escapist fool, Yakumo thought, his head buzzing with the left-over energy from the frantic dash only minutes before.

He needed a break.

When the morning light woke Yakumo, he found himself wincing, all of it too bright for his aching eyes. His head was pounding like the music from the night before, and his stomach was doing unfortunate flips. All the stories made out vampirism to be some kind of miracle cure, there were never any hangovers for his fictional counterparts.

The reality was crueller; not only did he have to deal with the headaches, but he also had to deal with the fact that he was still thirsty, and no water would fix it.

He rubbed his temples and got up, the empty blood bead on the floor reminding him of the disaster of the night before. It had been half on him. Though Louis had pushed himself to the limit, Yakumo had dragged him over it with his goading. If they had lost him, he would have had himself partly to blame for it. It made him sick.

With a groan, he went staggering off towards the mirror, hoping to get a good look at the mess he’d made of himself. As he reached the centre point of the church, though, he sensed a presence to his left—and turning to face the balcony revealed that he wasn’t alone. Louis was sitting out there on one of the chairs, facing the Gaol of Mists, his hair still mussed from sleep, his arms crossed against his chest. His blood veil was draped across the back of the chair, silent and unassuming.

Yakumo sighed and went to retrieve his novel from the night before. He dropped it on the table in front of Louis, rubbing the back of his head with his other hand sheepishly as Louis peered up at him.

“This thing any good?” he asked. “I mean, before I wrecked your focus. You seemed pretty engrossed.”

Louis eyed the book, and then reached forward to pick it up. “I’ve read better, but it’s okay. Fantasy novels are rarely ever so fun to read anymore, unfortunately. I preferred them when I didn’t live their realities in my own life.”

“There are vampires in this one?”

“No, but there are draconic zombies, if that piques your interest.”

“Not really, never been much for reading books.” Yakumo paused, considering. “Comics though, they’re pretty good. Dunno if you’re too much of a stuck-up elitist to read something like that, but I’ve got a couple if you ever wanna look.”

Louis’s surprise was evident on his face. “I’ll read anything I can get my hands on. If you’d be willing to lend them to me, I’d be happy to take a look.”

“Sure,” Yakumo said, not sure what else to fill the silence with. The two of them stared out towards the mist, the quiet stretching on uncomfortably. The events of the night before were still thick in the air, tension so heavy that Yakumo could feel it weighing down on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry.”

They both said it at the exact same time, turning their heads towards one another in alarm. And then, they both began to laugh, quiet yet amused, shattering the silence entirely.

“You first,” Yakumo said.

“You were right,” Louis said, sitting forward in the chair. “Every single thing you said last night, it was all right. I was trying so hard to make up for everything I’ve done that I wasn’t thinking about your feelings, or anyone else’s. I thought that if I could deal with the consequences, that would be enough. But…we really are running low, aren’t we? And every time I make us go back out there to search for more, it puts us at risk.”

“It’s not that I have a problem with you sharing our stock,” Yakumo said, not wanting to be misunderstood entirely. “What I do have a problem with is you giving out literally everything to our last supplies. Who’s gonna help the poor lost revenants if you’ve gone Lost, Louis? Who’s gonna help you if we’re all shambling corpses?”

“I know you’re right,” Louis said, unable to meet his eyes. “I get so caught up in…in my own guilt, it becomes difficult to think clearly sometimes. I see someone suffering, so I want to help.”

“Then see when we’re suffering, and help us.” Yakumo said. “It doesn’t make sense to keep trying to fix something when you don’t even remember what you did. What if you’ve got it all wrong? I dunno what you think you did, but it might be you filling gaps with your own conjecture.”

Louis exhaled deeply, shaking his head. “No, I’m certain I know what I did.” He paused, then looked down at his hands. “That’s my apology, Yakumo. I truly am sorry.”

“Me too,” Yakumo said. “I was being an ass and I know it. You’re a friend and I don’t let friends get hurt. All that shit I said to you last night, I shouldn’t have said it, drunk or not. If you’d actually gone Lost, I don’t know what I would have done with myself. It would have been my fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself for my shortcomings, I was the one who skipped beads.”

“And I was the one who ran your time out on it.” Yakumo sighed. “Just accept the apology, okay? You weren’t the only one not thinking about how other people would feel. I was so caught up in my own anger that I didn’t consider what your opinion was.”

Louis stood up, retrieving his blood veil and pulling it over his shoulder. “Looks like we still have a lot to learn then, the both of us. I’ve never been all that good with other people’s feelings—but I want to change that. I know I can.” He walked away, looking over his shoulder all the while. “I was doing some thinking, and I’m certain I know where we can locate a spring. How about it? I was planning on going alone, but I could do with the company. You know as well as I do that I prefer a travelling party, especially one who draws as much enemy attention as you do.”

“Oh, so you want to use me as bait?” Yakumo said, smirking. Louis laughed, shaking his head. “I’m kidding, Louis. You’ve got me, so long as we’re keeping all the blood beads we find. I want a mega feast tonight, you got it?”

He clapped him over the back, his slighter frame shoved forward from the force—but it wasn’t hostile, like the night before. This was friendly, fun, Louis-and-Yakumo as they always were, fire-forged friends who had met in the darkness of Vein, who looked out for one another as they were supposed to.

Louis smiled finally, the subtle nod of his head enough. “You got it.”

#Code Vein #Louis (code vein)#Yakumo Shinonome #Louis Amamiya #My Writing #Do people even use tumblr for fic anymore?#idk check AO3 for authors notes

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the-magnus-archives-archiver · 5 years ago

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Anatomy Class

Case: 0161207

Name: Lionel Elliott Subject: A series of events that took place during his class, Introduction to Human Anatomy and Physiology, at King’s College, London, in early 2016. Date: July 12th, 2016 Recorded by: direct from Dr. Lionel Elliott, under the supervision of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

[Archivist (John): Apologies for the somewhat archaic—

Dr. Elliott: No need to worry, I understand. Some things you just can’t trust to computers. It’s like I always say about those robotic surgery machines. It’s just not the same. If I’m going to be operating on a man’s pancreas, I want to feel that pancreas. Fiddling with a joystick just won’t cut it. As it were.

Archivist: I didn’t think you still performed surgery?

Dr. Elliott: I keep up with the developments. And I remember the feel of a pancreas.

Archivist: Well... quite. Now, if you’d be so good as to—

Dr. Elliott: You know you have an infestation, don’t you?

Archivist: Excuse me? I’m not sure—

Dr. Elliott: Yes, little, grey, maggot things. I saw a few on the way in. Don’t recognise the species, but I’d say you need to get the exterminators in here. Gas the little blighters.

Archivist: You saw them? You weren’t bitten were you?

Dr. Elliott: Bitten? They’re worms. Still, I’ll admit I didn’t like the look of them. I reckon the sooner you get someone in to kill them dead, the better.

Archivist: We’ve tried, believe me. Now, shall we?

Dr. Elliott: Oh, certainly. Where do want me to start? The bones? The blood? The... uh... the fruit?

Archivist: Right from the beginning. One second. Statement of Dr. Lionel Elliott, regarding a series of events that took place during his class...

Dr. Elliott: Introduction to Human Anatomy and Physiology

Archivist: At King’s College, London, in early 2016. Statement recorded direct from subject 12th July 2016.

Statement begins.

Dr. Elliott: Now?

Archivist: Yes, just start from the beginning.]

Right. Well, I shouldn’t even have been teaching the class, really. As far as I knew, I wasn’t going to be needed for any teaching on the Biomedical Engineering course this year. I can’t say I was particularly upset. The Human Anatomy module is where a lot of the engineers discover just how messy the human body is, and while the human heart is a phenomenal piece of machinery in terms of design and function, most of the students would be more comfortable holding a transistor. Not to put too fine a point on it, I get tired of... squeamish students, and was glad that I could avoid it this year.

You can perhaps imagine, then, that I was not best pleased when Elena Bower, the admissions officer, emailed me last November to say that there had been a mistake, and I was needed to take a ‘spillover class’. Apparently the system had accepted more students for the course than there were places, and they were trying to organise an additional class for the seven who were unassigned. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, Anatomy class wasn’t until the second term, so surely this mistake should have emerged earlier, but Elena just kept saying she didn’t know, she just had seven students who needed tutorials. I won’t pretend I took the news gracefully. I have a lot of research due shortly and, well, you know academia – never enough hours in the day. Still, I was the only staff member both qualified to teach the class and technically free when it had to be scheduled. So I agreed, although that really makes it sound like I had more of a choice than I actually did.

I didn’t meet the students until the module started this January. I wasn’t responsible for any of the lectures, so the first time I saw them was in our initial class tutorial. They all sat there, all seven, staring at me, and I felt... oddly uncomfortable. There, there was nothing wrong with them, of course, nothing strange to see or to look at, just... well, this is going to sound stupid to say out loud, but I don’t remember what they look like. Any of them. I remember that each wore blue jeans and a white shirt, though they were all different makes and styles; I think one of the girls had a skirt, instead. I must have noticed that they were wearing the same outfits, but it didn’t strike me as odd. They all just looked so... normal. Unremarkable. I remember their names, though, from the register. They stuck with me – maybe because they were such an international group. There was Erika Mustermann, Jan Novak, Piotr and Pavel Petrov, who I think were brothers, maybe twins, John Doe, Fulan al-Fulani and Juan Pérez.

I greeted them when I entered the room, and was met with silence. Not a malicious or angry silence, just silence. I’ve never been self-conscious when teaching, but walking to my seat with those fourteen eyes just... watching me... it made ever so slightly uncomfortable. I got the oddest feeling they were judging my walk.

[NERVOUS LAUGH]

The class began, and we started going over some of the basics of anatomy and how the body works. They started to talk then, and some of my unease left me. I don’t remember exactly what was said, after doing it long enough most tutorials just kind of blur together a bit, but I recall being struck by just how basic some of their questions were. The composition of blood, where in the body the various organs sat, the sort of thing that anyone who’s done a science GCSE should know. I was almost tempted to ask where they went to school. At the time, I didn’t question the fact that they must have all gone to the same school.

Aside from that it was mostly normal, except... about halfway through the tutorial, we discussed the lungs and respiration. Inhalation, alveoli, et cetera. As I said, basic stuff, but I paused afterwards, just to have a think about where to go next, and I heard the sound of them breathing. That’s not abnormal, I know, but it seemed to fill the silence so suddenly, and all at once. I could... I could have sworn that I didn’t actually hear it before that moment. Like they’d only just then started breathing. [Nervous laugh] Which is, which is absurd, obviously. I was probably just listening out for it because we’d been discussing the lungs. Even so, it was disconcerting, and I don’t mind telling you that I breathed quite a sigh of relief myself when the tutorial was over and I could get out of there.

Now, I consider myself a conscientious worker, and in all my years at King’s I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve called in sick, but when the time came for the next tutorial with this class, I had to stay home with a migraine. It wasn’t a lie, exactly, the thought of sitting there for another two hours with those staring, placid eyes gave me such a spell of anxiety that my brain felt like it was being stabbed with a shard of ice. I did have to teach them eventually, of course. I couldn’t avoid it forever. Re-entering that room, though... All of them were sat in the exact same positions, in the exact same clothes, their breathing deliberate and almost pointed. When Erika Mustermann – or was it Jan Novak? – said ‘Good morning’, the others followed suit, one by one, and I had to fight the urge to run. It struck me then that, despite how diverse their names were, none of them seemed to have any noticeable accent. Not that it did anything to reassure me.

There was no-one else who could take the tutorials. Believe me, I did everything I could to try and find a replacement. Still, once I got used to their stares, their silence, and the fact that their questions were both specific and oddly basic – one of the Petrovs once asked me “How sharp are the knees meant to be” – I swear, it was just about tolerable. I’m a bit ashamed to admit it, but I came to terms with the fact that I didn’t care if they passed any exams, and that actually made the whole affair more manageable. I just did my best to stop caring.

And then came our first of two sessions in the dissection room. We were looking at the skeleton. I had been dreading this. Given exactly how creepy and unsettling the students were just sat in a classroom, the idea of what they could do when given access to human remains made me feel quite nauseous. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave them there alone, so I went.

It was even worse than I’d feared, seeing them stood there over the bits of cadaver. Their faces, normally so neutral, were alive with... what was it I saw? Excitement? Curiosity? Hunger? Whatever it was, it didn’t reach their eyes, still staring and blank. I went through the procedures with them and tried my best to keep the trembling out of my voice. When Fulan reached for a scalpel and started cutting into our samples, I felt faint.

I was trying to keep an eye on everyone, but the dissection tables were arranged in a semi-circle around the lab, and each time I turned to face one of the students, I began to hear this cracking sound from whichever tables I wasn’t looking at. Like a snapping bone, or a ribcage being forced open. I’d turn back and see nothing untoward, just John or Erika or Juan or whoever it was, looking at me quizzically over distinctly unbroken bones. But it kept happening. Whenever I wasn’t looking, I heard the crunch and the crack of bone. I couldn’t ask about it. I knew the dead-eyed, mute stare they’d give me if I did, and I just couldn’t face that.

Finally, I managed to position myself so that I could see what was happening behind me in the reflective edge of the metal table. It wasn’t much, but I could see a slightly warped image. It was Pavel, in this case. I saw him pick up a bone – a radius I believe, from the forearm. He held it up next to his own arm, and then there came that snapping, crunching noise. I swear I saw his arm distend itself, the skin shifting as something inside changed and rearranged, until it matched the length of bone he was holding up to it.

I tried not to react, not to make a noise at this mad impossibility that I saw. I couldn’t help it, though, and my legs gave out. I collapsed on the floor with a whimpering cry. None of them looked at me, none of them offered to help me up, none of them gave any reaction at all. I shut my eyes tight as that cracking sound began to come from every direction, as all seven of them began to change themselves. It went on for almost half an hour, until our allotted time in the lab ended. And then they left, walking past me, still sat helpless on the floor. As they did, each of them thanked me for the lesson as though nothing had happened. And I swear that every single one of them was taller than when they started.

I started taking more sick leave after that. I avoided their tutorials as often as possible, and when I did go we largely just sat there in silence until one of them asked a question about human anatomy, which I would reluctantly answer. I know I should have just abandoned them entirely. If they were going to complain to anyone they would have done it already. But even then I was worried my colleagues might notice, and I really didn’t want to get a reputation as some absentee tutor. It didn’t help that a colleague of mine, Dr Laura Gill, once expressed surprise on learning I’d been absent the day before, as apparently she’d passed by my teaching room and my anatomy class had just been sat there, waiting quietly. The thought of them politely filing into every tutorial, just sat there, blank and staring, whether I was there or not, just waiting... To be quite frank I think that bothered me almost more than being sat there with them.

Still, I managed to largely avoid them until the 21st of March, when they had their second lab dissection. Hearts. I’m not an idiot. I was well aware of the sort of sinister nonsense that was likely to happen if I went, but I also knew by now that they would attend whether or not I was there. And to leave them in the lab unsupervised would be the sort of thing that would get me actually fired from my position.

It was a rainy morning. I remember that, because I deliberately didn’t put up an umbrella. Something inside me was so dreading what was going to happen that the very act of opening umbrellas seemed pointless, as though my being dry couldn’t stop what was coming, then there was no reason not to get soaked. So I was dripping wet when I entered the lab, and my glasses had steamed up to the point where I could no longer see through them. When I wiped them clean, they revealed those seven blank faces, utterly unconcerned with my sodden state. Each had somehow got the heart laid out in from them on the dissection tray. I decided not to prolong it, and waved them to start.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I thought they’d descend into some sort of feeding frenzy, but they didn’t. They just began to dissect the hearts, as any other class would, occasionally asking me polite questions. I was so taken aback at how normal the whole situation seemed to be that it took me some time to actually answer them. I did, though, and the first hour of the class almost put me at least a little bit at ease. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Maybe they were doing weird things to their insides, but if it was the heart, then I couldn’t see it and I couldn’t hear it. And I’d long since decided with this class, that if I couldn’t see or hear it, I didn’t care.

Then Erika Mustermann held up her heart and looked at me. I began to get that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as she asked me “How does the heart pump blood?” I started to explain the biological mechanisms of the heart pumping, when she shook her head slowly and said, “What does it look like?” And then, when I didn’t answer, “Is it like this?”

The heart in her hand began to spasm. Not like the regular, rhythmic pulse of a heartbeat, but like a balloon being rapidly squeezed at one end. Bits of it swelled and stretched and distorted seemingly at random, and blood began to flow haphazardly from the ventricles, dripping down Erika’s forearm and dribbling onto the floor.

I stood there speechless, staring at this horrible miracle, from when behind her I see Fulan raise his heart, saying, “That’s not what it’s like.” And blood starts to gush from all over his heart in tiny geysers, shooting in every direction. Soon each of them is holding a heart up, each pumping and throbbing differently, blood leaking, spurting out of them in a different way, a different nightmare. They wanted me to tell them which was right.

[NERVOUS LAUGH]

I don’t know how long I stared before I finally raised my hand to point at Jan Novak, who seemed to have the closest to an accurate impression of a regular human heartbeat. Then I turned and walked out of the lab.

I spent the rest of the day sat in the staffroom, waiting for someone to come running in, screaming about the lab being full of blood. I expected questions I couldn’t answer and immediate termination. But nothing happened. No-one came. When I returned to the lab several hours later, there was no sign of any blood, except for the tiniest speck, dried into a tile crack in the corner. Unless that, that had been there before? I don’t know. My shoes were still speckled with blood, though, so I know I wasn’t hallucinating it. I checked with Dr. Gill, who confirmed that she could see the spots, though I neglected to tell her it was blood. I had no intention of inviting further questions.

I missed the next three tutorials. I just stayed at home. But something wouldn’t let me just simply let it go. Finally, I made a decision. I wanted to see where they lived. I felt like I needed to, for some reason. Needed to see if they existed outside of my class, outside of my mind. I asked Elena and, irregular as it was, she gave me the address. It didn’t surprise me to find out they all lived in the same place. A semi-detached house on Kingsland Road in Newham. I’m afraid I don’t remember the number, and the details have disappeared from the college systems.

The house itself was run down, as might have been expected, and I must have spent a good fifteen minutes just stood in front of it, waiting for the courage to approach. Finally, I knocked on the door. The wood was old and dry, and some flaked off under my knuckles. It opened immediately, and there stood Jan Novak. When she saw me, her mouth twisted into something I think was meant to be a smile.

“Hello,” she said, “have you come to give us more lessons? We would like to learn about the liver.” Her eyes locked onto my abdomen.

I was about to reply when a muffled scream of pain came from somewhere deep inside the house. It sounded ragged, like whoever was crying out had been gagged. I looked to Jan Novak, who showed no indication she had heard it, still staring at where I had taught her my liver would be. I ran, and she watched me go without moving.

I did call the police, but they just told me that the house was currently unoccupied, and they’d found no evidence that there had been anyone present. I took great pains never to see the class again. I avoided all tutorials, and simply waited until the end of term. I haven’t seen them since.

[Archivist: That’s it?

Dr. Elliott: Not quite. There was one other thing. When I went to the classroom shortly after what should have been their final tutorial, I found something on the desk. It was an apple. Next to it was a handwritten note that said “Thank you for teaching us the insides”. I burned the note, just in case.

Archivist: And the apple, did you... eat it?

Dr. Elliott: Do I look like an idiot? Of course not! I cut it in half, first, to check if it was... off.

Archivist: And?

Dr. Elliott: Human teeth. Inside were human teeth arranged in a smile. Here, I brought you the two halvesto see for yourselves.

Archivist: Oh good lord! That’s...

Dr. Elliott: Deeply unpleasant, yes. You can keep it, if you want. As proof.

Archivist: We do not want it. I’m afraid it isn’t really proof. Someone could have stuck those teeth in after the apple had been cut.

Dr. Elliott: [Somewhat distressed] You think I would do that?!

Archivist: I didn’t say you would, I just said it was enough of a possibility that I don’t think your... tooth apple has a place in our artefact storage. Also, it is technically medical waste.

Dr. Elliott: Fine. I’ll dispose of it myself. Now, is there anything else you want me?

Archivist: No, this should do. We’ll investigate and get back to you if we find anything.

Statement ends.]

Archivist Notes:

The first thing about this statement that makes me dubious is that it comes from a fellow academic. Historic and prestigious as the Magnus Institute is, there are still many within the sphere of higher education that do not grant it the respect it deserves, and some have been known to make false statements as ill-conceived jokes.

Another mark against the veracity of the statement is the names of the students. A quick Internet search reveals ‘Erika Mustermann’ as the official German placeholder name, similar to the English, well, the English name ‘John Doe’. The same is true the other names, ‘Juan Pérez’ is the generic name of choice in most Spanish speaking countries, ‘Fulan al-Fulani’ in the Middle East, et cetera. It seems strange to me that Dr. Elliott would fail to take note of this.

Still, Tim made contact with Elena Bower in the King’s administration office, and while she couldn’t find any actual records of them in the system, she does remember them being there, and confirms that she assigned them to Dr. Elliott last year. She could be in on it, of course, but Tim seems to believe her.

There’s also the matter of the teeth. I stand by my assessment that there is no evidence they were placed there by supernatural means, but it does seem an awfully long way to go for a bad joke. In the end we did send them off to a dental specialist, but they weren’t able to tell us much beyond the fact that they all seemed like healthy adult teeth, and most of them appeared to come from different people.

There’s not much more we can do to follow this up, without dedicating additional time we can’t afford. The only other lead was Sasha’s discovery that, early last year, Dr. Rashid Sadana took his own life. There’s no direct connection, except that he taught the Anatomy, Physiology and Pathology for Complementary Therapies course at St Mary’s University, and the only note found near the body simply read “NOT TO BE USED FOR TEACHING”.

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #MAG #MAG34 #MAG 34 #AnatomyClass #Anatomy Class #Statement #The Stranger

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slyreaderslibrary · 5 years ago

Text

Ch. 4 Cold Cases and Hot Leads

AO3: Here

Fanfiction.net: Here

Summary: Keeping a secret identity secret is normally hard enough but when you’re as beautiful as Minako Aino you’re bound to have all kinds of creeps and weirdo stalking your every move. Now there’s a cop hot on her trail and she’ll have to be quick on her feet if she’s to keep her identity on the DL. Just what is a gorgeous super-heroine to do?

Name: Koizumi, Keisuke

Birthdate: 19XX-09-23

Age: 27

Current Employer: TCPD

Educa—

Minako skimmed the profile page, growing bored when she didn't see anything of use. A quick search of the Tokyo City Police Department's open cases didn't show any results either. The only thing that stood out was a long standing open case to determine the source of the youma infestation. It seems someone in the department was convinced these were gross animal mutations due to some kind of unknown radiation but the case had been opened and had remained unsolved since her initial Sailor V days.

Man, did she wish Ami were here. Ami was so much better at these kind of things. Sadly, Ami was in Germany for a semester filling her brilliant brain with all kinds of facts and numbers. Minako also doubted her friend would be happy to have her study time interrupted for anything less than Senshi business. A lone cop—or even several—was hardly anything to bother her about, not when Minako had proven she could handle them at thirteen.

"That's it!"

Minako snapped her fingers and then pressed several buttons on the keypay. The screen shifted, going black as a dial tone rang out over the speakers and then flared to life as a beautiful, dark haired woman sitting behind a desk covered in papers appeared on the monitors with a smile wide on her face.

"Minako-chan!"

Minako grinned and flashed her trademark V.

"Guilty as charged!"

"It's been too long!" The woman leaned back in her seat and propped her Louis Vuittons on her desk corner. "What have you been up to?"

"Oh you know," Minako shrugged, "Catching bad guys, breaking hearts, the usual."

"You know, you could still come work for me and actually get paid for what you do."

"Natsuna-onee-san," Minako gasped, pressing her hand to her heart, "Can you imagine if it was discovered that Japan's number one star was working a second job? They'd question if my life was really as fabulous as it is, you know!"

Natsuna flashed a predatory smirk, dropping her feet to the floor and leaning forward. "Can you imagine what they would say if they knew Japan's sweetheart was the fabled Sailor V? You'd be the symbol of Japan! More famous than the Emperor!"

Minako scoffed and gave her friend a pointed look. "Sailor V hasn't been seen in years. There are new heroines now."

"Yes, and speculation on the web is that the two may be related." Minako raised a brow and Natsuna nodded in response. "Yes, some of the less frequented forums tend to focus on Sailor Venus in particular in that regard."

"And the precincts?"

"Precincts?" Natsuna frowned, "Why would the precincts be gossiping about your identities?"

"Why would a detective be casing out my school?"

"What?!" Natsuna jumped to her feet and ran off screen.

"Wakagi! My office! NOW!"

Natsuna reappeared.

"Minako-chan, I'll find out what I can and call you back." She pursed her lips, debating, then added, "I'm afraid it might take awhile. Since taking office, I'm not as in the loop with my subordinates as I was in my previous position, but I promise I will get them to back off. You have my word."

"Thanks onee-san. I owe you one."

The screen went black and Minako settled in to wait.

oOo

She was still there.

Two hours had come and gone and his suspect was still off playing arcade games. At least he hoped so. She had managed to sneak past him back at the school, he wouldn't put it past her to take an alternate way out of the arcade.

Keisuke drummed his fingers as he debated what to do. He could leave his post and get close enough for a visual, potentially risking detection, or he could stay where he was and wait, potentially allowing her trail to grow colder because she had slipped past him once again. He checked the time on his phone and frowned.

A chime reached his ears, one he recognized as the Crown's, and he snapped his gaze up in time to see Aino waving goodbye to the shopkeeper.

"Remember what I said about London!" Aino called over her shoulder. She dropped her hand as the door swung shut and glanced around the street for a moment.

Was she looking for him? It wasn't unheard of for a suspect to spot a tail and grow paranoid as time went by. However unlike previous suspects, Aino seemed unperturbed and in no hurry, standing there, idle, as she tapped her lips thoughtfully. He watched her glance down and say something to the cat curled around her feet. Odd, it appeared tame, if its behavior was any indicator, but he hadn't noticed the feline previously. Had it been with her earlier? And if the cat travelled with Aino often enough to walk unleashed, why hadn't he seen it before?

Aino finally settled on a destination and turned north and Keisuke rushed to follow, slipping past the railing bars and dropping to the pavement below. He did his best to follow unobserved but it was a task easier said than done. His suspect was distracted easily by displays in storefronts or carts selling wares along the street, and more than once he needed to duck or dive to prevent being spotted. After one such incident he had lost her altogether and it was only a lucky guess—as well as her golden hair sparkling amongst a sea of blacks and browns—that had put him on the chase once more. He was grateful she took the time to dye it but then remembered his own silver locks and decided he shouldn't assume.

Besides being easily distracted, she was also constantly talking. He wasn't sure if she had a bluetooth or if she was just talking at her cat, although she looked its way often enough that Keisuke had begun to accurately predict when to slip out of sight. The way the cat moved though...Keisuke could have sworn it was responding, and the longer he spent staring at it, the more he felt like he'd seen it before although he hadn't the slightest idea where.

Cats aside, he was more than a little relieved when residential buildings began to appear and Aino's pace began to slow. Maybe she lived with a friend and that was why he couldn't find her place of residence? Keisuke crossed the street, hoping to keep his distance and watched as his target sprinted up a steep set of steps leading to a local shrine without pausing her stride. He raised a brow, a little impressed despite himself, and then took out his notebook and noted the Shrine's name and location. Hikawa...why did that sound familiar?

Keisuke took out his phone and did a quick search, both eyebrows shooting up when he saw the results. He let out a low whistle and marked several articles and then opened his contacts. He found the name he was looking for and pressed the dial button.

"Hey, it's Koizumi." Keisuke paused and listened, "Yes, that one." He rolled his eyes as the other person said something else and glanced at the shrine steps. No blonde in sight. "I was wondering if we could meet," he glanced down at his watch. "Perhaps in an hour?" He turned away from the steps and started walking towards a nearby cafe.

"I want you to tell me what you know about the Hikawa Shrine."

oOo

"Reeeeeeeei!"

Minako snickered to herself as she watched her friend stiffen before turning around to greet her.

"Go home."

"Rei!" Minako gasped, skidding to a halt. "Is that anyway to treat a friend who came all this way to see you?"

The priestess ignored her and resumed sweeping while Minako huffed as dramatically as she could behind her. The thanks she got!

"Well fine," she crossed her arms and turned to leave, "I was going to ask if you needed help around here for the next few days but I can see where I'm not wanted."

"Jet setting around the world not enough to keep you busy these days?"

"Hardly," Artemis scoffed, appearing along the top of the stone wall. He jumped down from his perch to join them. "She's just trying to get in the law enforcement's good graces."

Rei nodded to Artemis in greeting and then turned her beautiful no-nonsense gaze to stare down Minako.

"Okay, I miiiiight have hoped hanging around here for a few days would get him off my case." Minako plucked Rei's broom from her hands and turned up the kitten eyes. "Please Rei? Aren't you always saying you could use the help?"

Rei rolled her eyes and snatched her broom back. "You cause more destruction than you help half the time." She crossed her arms and raised an expectant brow. "Why's he following you anyway?"

Minako shrugged, glancing around the courtyard to insure no one else was listening. She would have bet money that someone had been following her earlier but it seemed that was no longer the case.

"My source says some precinct got a bee up their bonnets and have reopened old youma case files in hopes of catching the perp of the more recent youma influx."

"What does that have to do with you?"

"I'm not quite sure." Minako rubbed her temples. Talking about cops always gave her such a headache! "While it makes sense that we'd cross their eye if youma are involved, I've never had police chase after my civilian identity before."

Rei looked at her sharply.

"You don't think they've learned who you are do you?"

Minako pursed her lips and then waved the idea away. "Nah. Natsuna would have said something. The closest anyone's gotten is guessing V and Venus are the same person and that doesn't take Ami's brains to figure out."

"A mystery in itself considering all that blonde hair you have," Rei smirked. She shook her head and handed Minako the broom. "Fine,you can help but no handling the temple artifacts. Last time you nearly broke a three hundred year old vase."

"Aye aye, capitaine!" Minako snapped to attention and gave a sharp salute but Rei was too busy walking away to appreciate it.

"Hey!" She dropped formation and hurried to catch up to her. "Hey wait!"

"Reeeeeeeei!"

#minako aino x kunzite #minako aino #sailor venus #kunzite #sailor moon #fanfiction #a relentless pursuit

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hunterguyveriv · 5 years ago

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Swamp Thing Season 1, episode 7 thoughts:

Today’s episode was just simply beautiful and sad between Alec and Abby in a way you could only expect it to end the way it did. It had so many lying implications between the 2, then one can realize besides the whole “Protagonist not wanting to lose the one he loves.”

Don’t get me wrong I’ve wanted a Swamp Thing & Abby Arcane live action done right since I saw “The Return of Swamp Thing” in 1989/1990. But I just love the whole dynamic being stretched nearly to a near-fatal breaking point.

Accepting Alec - My thoughts on this is just a jumbled mess; it hurts: Accepting Alec played a massive part in this episode. Unlike the Abby Arcanes of the past - The Alan Moore Saga, The Return of Swamp Thing, or the New-52, or even the cartoon mini-series - it has taken her longer to accept Alec as Swamp Thing. Even after she learned from Susie, it was Alec the only time they really touched was briefly when she was suffering from the Darkness-Hallucinogens, and when he showed her what happened to Shawna. It wasn’t until after he tried saving her the Alec Holland-Way failed and had to save her the Swamp Thing-Way that she finally seemed to accept him for what he was now, even though she still wants to find a way to revert him back to human.

I think the whole hallucination-power was a way to see what they truly wanted. He wanted to remain Alec for her and tried to give up the Swamp Thing persona, but came to the conclusion that if he did things the Alec Holland-Way, he was helpless. Abby also showed that she genuinely wanted Alec back to the way he was, but I am starting to think that was working against them. Think about it, in the previous he said he worried that accepting his new situation would take him further away from her, but they remained at least 10 feet apart from each other.

Except for the few instances of him touching her, they always seem to have had some distance between them. Even weary on letting the other touch each other. But yet after the pollen made him look like Alec to her, it seemed like they were more willing to be close to one another even touch each other. More so after he fought The Rot off in her body. Up until this time, part of their relationship seemed very superficial on Abby’s part, but one can also argue that it was also superficial on Alec’s side, to want to be seen as “The Charming Man she knew.”

Ugh… I gotta get off this bit, or I am going to keep going turning this into an essay and want to bash my head in trying to wrap my mind around these thoughts.

Abby’s Purpose: In all of Swamp Thing, except for the cartoon mini-series and the 90s Live Action series which I can't remember if she was in it or not, Abby Arcane has always been his heart - his humanity if you will. She was the only one in the Alan Moore saga to keep reminding him of his humanity. That it didn’t matter if he was a sentient plant being with Alec Holland’s consciousness, in her eyes, he WAS Alec Holland. In the New-52 even after he became Swamp Thing and she became sensitive to “The Rot” and showed that she had Rot-Powers, she still reminded him of his humanity.

When he has been at the lowest or darkest point in his life, she would always be there to help him.

So far even though it is a mere fraction of what she has done compared to her comic book counterparts, she does seem genuinely vested to be that support he so desperately needs. She like her comic counterparts, even though she had trouble seeing him as Alec up until last weeks episode - she has always reminded him that he is Alec Holland. (which for the most part to us the viewers we don’t know if he IS STILL Alec Holland like the New-52 Alec who was dying from his wounds in which the Green turned him into the Warrior-King Swamp Thing or a Sentient Entity of the Green with his consciousness). But even if we do learn what continuity they decide to use, she NEEDS to be there for him, regardless of him not wanting her in the swamps of Marais. I just hope with the series being unfortunately canceled (and not being picked up elsewhere by the looks of it so far) it is done in a proper manner that doesn’t make it campy or they kill Abby off. I do want to see her in grievous danger, in which Swampy and possibly Daniel come to her aid.

A little off topic I do hope to see that they go the Alan Moore route, one that scene is just so powerful in the comics. This because after Woodrue mind-fucks him at Sunderland’s corporation building and deals with Woodrue, he searches for the body and buries it cutting ties to “the person who was once Alec” and was so resistant against Abby calling him Alec for the longest time - till he said she could. But that being said there is another reason why I hope they go this route and explore whether Swamp Thing is Alec Holland or not. I am a Guyver fan, in which death is no big deal to Guyvers because they regenerate newer bodies after their control medals have been ripped out of their heads. They very haphazardly explored the whole “If a the Guyver regenerates a newer body, is the person that same person or a shell of that person with their memories?”

Living as Alec & Alec’s Helplessness?: I kind of liked the idea that even though he was still Swamp Thing, and appeared to Abby as Alec, I liked how they did it. After a recent second viewing of yesterday’s episode, I think they (producers and writers) meant it to be like a test to not just Abby (in seeing if she could genuinely accept Alec the way he is) but a test for Alec. Earlier I mentioned the Alec Holland-Way, I think even as Swamp Thing he really wanted to live life as Alec would have. He also tries to desperately save Abby as Alec would have against the Rot, until realizing it wasn’t going to work out.

Now some of you may be saying, “whoa there, that doesn’t mean he is helpless!” But in doing things, the Alec-Way also contributed to Abby getting attacked by that tendril. As Swamp Thing, he would have possibly been able to stop that thing from punching her in the first place. Which even though I say that, I kind of like the idea of Alec struggling with the tendril, because in the New-52 continuity. For those wondering it was established that he begins to lose his power in areas profoundly affected by the Rot. Trying to live as Alec would have possibly weakened his power even more, because as Avatar of the Green, even in Rot Infested areas he should have been able to get it off of her and rip it to shreds.

A return to The Return of Swamp Thing?: I have to admit I loved Alec and Abby in the swamp together walking through it like a couple in love (Someone PLEASE do a video of Swamp Thing/Alec and Abby to this song when the series is over- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFmisnHehtg. It would make us Swamp Thing/Abby Old-Timers with no music video making knowledge happy). It was very reminiscent of Dick Durock’s and Heather Locklear’s wandering the swamp to me, even heard their original theme in my head during their scenes.

Abby’s Darkness?: When Alec was desperately trying to save her, what if he merely prolonged something else in her? What if the Tendril was attempting to turn her into an Avatar of the Rot like she was in the New-52 saga? She mentioned “the darkness” in the euphoria of pain, and her skin tone and body started to appear like her new-52 counterpart. Now that being said, what if Alec using the green merely suppressed it? Because it is a possibility, he got a glimpse of the darkness of her own past when he took hallucinogenic-darkness away from her in episode 4. A crack theory I know, but I feel like that scene was supposed to mean something besides Abby getting attack and Swamp Thing dropping the Alec persona to save her.

These are all the thoughts that have been running through my head and have plagued me for the last 15 hours @.@ I’m tired, and I don’t want to hurt my brain anymore tonight.

That being said other great highlights of were Maria stealing the Sunderland Company from Avery. Wasn’t overly excited over Lucilia and Matt’s scenes, if anything they have earned what’s coming to them. I still like the dynamic of James Woodrue and Caroline, you can genuinely see that James is so flat out determined to save his wife which kind of mirrors Abby being so committed to saving Alec.

I do like the scene with Liz and Matt, however, mainly because, that in the Alan Moore Saga (which is like the holy grail of Swamp Thing lore) only 4 people knew of Alec being Swamp Thing before he was captured. Matt Cable, Abby Arcane-Cable, Liz Treymayne, and her husband. Thus far, it seems like the series is genuinely doing all of Swamp Thing (movies, comics, cartoons, series) true justice while forging itself as a new identity for the Avatar of the Green.

With Abby going back to Atlanta, I can't wait to see scenes of her with Adrienne Barbeux’s Doctor Palomar and Abby together in a scene. Will they make her first name Alice (as in Alice Cable from the 1982 movie) Will Adrienne get a scene with both Swampy and Abby as if to pass the torch on to this new generation of Swamp Thing stars? Will she give Abby some guidance on what to do with particular Swamp creatures (lol)?

But I still have questions!

Where is that Good Boy Garou?

What happened to Susie?

What happened to Margaux?

Anyway, I am finally done with this post. I am off to go listen to some Godzilla movies as I drift off to sleepy land.

#swamp thing #abby arcane #alec holland #season 1 episode 07

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