#i feel like we have only just scratched the surface of her Strike Back character at the end of ep8

[whirlybirbs]

               (   another gif by @unearthlydust​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours. 

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

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“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  ��

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

                                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it��s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.  

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

                                                      ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦  

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both  wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

[theggning]

I'd love to hear some of your thoughts on Curie, if you have any.

Sure thing! Apologies in advance if I get any of this wrong, I don't personally hang out much with Curie so I had to do a bit of brushing up on her.

Curie's key role in the meta is another facet of the theme of "what makes a person a person." She single-handedly displays the differences between robots and synths and through her we get a lot of what we know about the nature of synths and how it feels for her to become one.

But before Curie becomes a synth, she's another example of a rather unique robot. She starts off quite sophisticated and unusually intelligent-- though unlike Codsworth, her unique personality and knowledge were programmed into her, not developed over time. The Vault 81 scientists loaded into her all of the great academic works they had on hand (she lists Kant, Einstein, Born, Darwin, Curie, Faraday, Turing, and Braun) along with her initial capabilities as a medic and a doctor. Also unlike Codsworth, she hasn't become accustomed to the wasteland, nor traumatized by it-- nor does she even have the capability. Curie has spent the past 210 years trapped in the secret section of Vault 81, and since the deaths of the scientists, she has been completely isolated from human contact. Thus, she is incredibly booksmart, while being... quite unprepared for the horrors that greet her in the wasteland outside.

My favorite description I've ever seen of Curie is "a doctor coming to the slow, horrified realization that nobody washes their hands." She has a picture of the world in her mind that's dictated by science, math, logic, reason, and ethics-- and as a still, quite basic robot, she's baffled when reality doesn't match up to this. Just like Sole, she emerges in a world that resembles what she knows and yet is completely strange and oftentimes very hostile-- she's just doing this with the capabilities of a robot reconciling observations against what was literally programmed into her.

I think there's a fandom tendency to infantilize Curie to some degree, or to play up her naivety to the point of farce. But Curie isn't clueless, or stupid. In addition to her scientific knowledge, she has a very firm set of morals and ethics and will speak up or push back if she feels the Sole Survivor is behaving poorly. She is one of the "good" companions who approves of kind acts, and she is a pacifist, if she can help it. She's philanthropic, but also more scientifically-minded than the other "good" companions-- notably, her approvals all lean in favor of helping scientists and supporting the advancement of knowledge. She supports the Minutemen and the Railroad-- but also the Brotherhood of Steel, since their knowledge and preservation of technology strike her as more important than their feelings on synths. She is pro-synth and disapproves of the enslavement or mistreatment of synths, but when the Institute is destroyed, she chiefly expresses sorrow for how much knowledge was lost. She disapproves of Dr. Chambers' cruelty, but dislikes it if you kill her-- cutting short any contributions to science she could have made. Curie is kind, but she's also ambitious, logical, and values "big picture" scientific advancement.

Really, if there was any companion besides X6-88 who could fit an Institute mindset, it's Curie. She has more compassion for people than anyone in the Institute does, but it's interesting to compare her logical, pragmatic beliefs to the faction that has taken them and twisted them to evil purposes. (Am I saying that Curie would make a terrifying villain if she were to slip too far down that road of logic and pragmatism? Maybe I am...)

This pragmatism extends to her desires to become a synth. Curie comes up with the idea mainly because she feels her scientific ambitions cannot be reached unless she feels inspiration, which she's not capable of as a robot. She insists that her new body will allow her to do good for humanity, and to her, this justifies any ethical problems around transferring her into the braindead G5-19 (Curie doesn't understand Glory's hesitation to let her friend's body be used in this way-- because as a robot, she's literally incapable of empathizing with her.) It's only after Curie opens her eyes in her new body that we understand what a stark difference it is, and how many new and frightening things she's feeling for the first time-- emotions, wayward thoughts, urges to breathe and eat and sleep-- hell, fear is a new concept for her. Her robotic brain worked in numbers and data and programming, and all of a sudden she's capable of all these other things that could never be replicated by data. Curie's transition clearly illustrates the difference between a robotic brain and a synth brain- a human brain, for all intents and purposes.

(I've always thought it takes a special kind of dingus to travel with and befriend and even romance Curie and yet still proclaim that synths are "just machines." You'll see PLENTY of them, but boy oh boy, that's quite a load of cognitive dissonance going on there. Or creep, depending on the argument.)

Which leads me to one of the hot-button topics when it comes to Curie: the romance. While Curie's romance does fall under the umbrella of the "Born Sexy Yesterday" trope, I think this aspect of it is a bit overblown. Like I said, there's a real tendency in fandom to infantilize Curie, or make her seem more clueless pwecious uwu cinnamon roll than she really is. But the difference between Curie and most of your standard issue Born Sexy Yesterday waifs is that Curie isn't helpless, nor childlike, nor incapable of standing up for herself. She's both extremely intelligent and fully confident in her morals and beliefs. She asks for the Sole Survivor's support with her emotional transition because she already trusts them as her friend, not because she has no one else or can't handle it on her own. From early on in her affinity convos, Curie expresses attraction to the Sole Survivor, and approaches learning about these new feelings with the same enthusiasm and curiosity that she does everything else. It's her attraction, not begun by the Sole Survivor manipulating her or tricking her into it. I feel like a lot of surface-level descriptions of the romance disregard Curie's agency, as though she's a bubble-headed innocent who's completely vulnerable and clueless about the mere prospects of attraction, romance, or sex.

Now, that said... did Curie have to transfer into the body of a conventionally attractive woman for her plot to work? No. Does her romance scratch the itch for people who like Born Sexy Yesterday? Yeah, probably. Is she designed to be Prime Waifu Material*? Undoubtedly. Is it my cup of tea? Nah. But different strokes for different folks**. I don't think Curie's romance is inherently bad or anyone should feel bad for enjoying it, or her as a character. She's extremely intelligent, cute, and wholesome, and if that's your type, then embrace her!

* Like oh my god, this is video games, Curie's entire character and romance could have been done so much worse.

** And seriously, I'm not about to judge someone for falling in love with the cute waifu-bait romance when I'm over here lusting over Strong Flawed Sad Tragic Himbo Whom I Can Save With My Love.

It ain't like they didn't cater to my tastes, too.

[ask-the-riders]

Liar, Liar

Another flashback sorta thing that I decided to write as a way to explore some different relationship dynamics :P

There's some recently introduced characters (Cobalt and Diamondback), one you already know and love (Othni), and an older one that I decided to revive (Valence), because why not

I'm gonna include some trigger warnings for a little blood, super light gore (if you wanna even call it that), some violence, and implied past abuse

"Does she know, Val?"

Valence ran a hand over his skull and let out a deep sigh, his magenta swirled eye lights constricted in fear as he paced around his living room. Avoiding looking at his companion as much as possible, he sputtered, "I-I don't think so. I wasn't being careless again, I swear!" Leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs, the demon arched a single brow, "For our sake, I hope you're telling the truth." He paused, vanishing into thin air and making the skeleton yelp and nearly stumble backwards as he reappeared, blocking his path. Backing Valence into a corner and making sure all possible escape routes were blocked, the demon leaned closer, his vibrant blue eyes becoming brighter as he lowered his voice, "For your sake, I hope you're telling me the truth. If you're lying to me again, I'll find out." 

The skeleton stared at him with wide, fearful eyes, his breathing momentarily coming to a halt. Remembering the last time the demon had caught him telling a lie, he nodded, hoping to convey that he understood. Feeling satisfied, the demon hummed, taking a step back as he continued watching his host. It was a while ago that the two of them had made that contract, and while they did occasionally bicker, they were normally on the same wavelength with one another. Val's gaze flickered back toward his kitchen, and as he lowered it to the tile floor, he took in the red liquid that had begun pooling in the spaces between the individual tiles. Part of an arm laid on the floor in the middle of the puddle, and a shape resembling a handprint stained his shirt, the bright crimson a stark contrast against the cream colored fabric. He had another mess to clean up now, and this time, he hadn't even been the one that'd made it.

Turning his back to the demon, he let out a deep breath and slipped into the kitchen, squatting in front of the sink and opening a set of wooden drawers, digging through various cleaning supplies. His companion quietly followed him, completely uncaring as he stepped in the pool of blood and crossed the kitchen, leaving behind a short trail of footprints. Seeing that Othni was, once again, trying to aggravate him, Val frowned, his brow bones becoming knit, "Do you mind? I'm trying to clean here." The demon stole a glance in his direction, a wide, almost manic smile slowly stretching across his face and putting his unnaturally sharp teeth on display, "Oh, I'm not in your way, am I? How rude of me." 

Val let out a soft, irritated growl in response, and Othni snorted in amusement, shaking his head. As Val returned to trying to ignore him, he dragged his clawed fingers over the surface of the kitchen table, leaving deep scratches in the wood. Hearing the sound, the skeleton finally shifted his attention back to Othni, immediately scowling as he took notice of the damage that was being done to his table. Careful not to step in the blood, he gave Othni a light shove and hissed, "Stop it, Othni. Can't you see that this is pointless? We made that deal in order to help each other, and you decide to damage my belongings because I'm not paying attention to you?" Othni arched an eyebrow again, quietly daring the skeleton to keep talking. With his mind clouded by anger and frustration, Val did just that, practically sneering at Othni, "You're no better than a spoiled child, I swear." 

An image flickered in Othni's mind of a middle aged human with dark, curly locks, scowling at him and shouting words that he couldn't quite make out. As the human lifted a hand and prepared to strike him, Othni's locks of hair that resembled the rounded ears of a big cat laid back flat against his head and he was on Val in an instant, one hand immediately seeking out his neck vertebrae. Feeling himself be lifted up off of the ground and slammed into a wall hard enough to cause a small crack to form in the back of his head, Valence let out a pained and startled yelp, instinctively trying to free himself from Othni's grip. The demon's eyes burned into him as he moved closer, only inches away from Val's face as he growled lowly, "Shut your mouth before I shut it for you, monster. If you even so much as think about speaking to me like that again, I'll-"

He was cut off as someone knocked on his front door and called out, "Hey Bandersnatch, are you in there?" Almost as quickly as he'd lifted Val up off of the floor, the demon set him down again and released his neck. His expression had completely shifted, no longer holding even a trace of anger, and he offered another sharp toothed grin to Val, tilting his head and murmuring, "Answer it, Valence. Go see what he wants." The skeleton hesitated, and then upon seeing that Othni had become docile again, he darted to a coat rack, nearly tearing a jacket off of it's peg and tugging it on, zipping it up just enough to hide the handprint that stained his shirt. The demon continued watching him, slinking back into the shadows as Valence made a beeline for the front door and answered it.

Making a face at the other male skeleton that stared back at him, he cleared his throat, "Oh. Hello there, Cobalt. How can I help you?" The skeleton in question eyed him for a moment, "Where were you a couple nights ago, at about this time?" Val blinked in confusion, "...I was here, preparing a dish for Banquet. Why do you care about my whereabouts all of a sudden?" Cobalt's gaze hardened and he stuffed a hand into one of his pockets, "No, you weren't. Try again." Val stared at him, clearly at a loss, "Would you just speak plainly, please? I have a lot on my mind and the last thing I want to do is play this stupid guessing game with you." The shorter of the two continued to watch him, his expression turning suspicious, "Fine. According to Glo, she bumped into you at the store. Said you had a big bag of cat food in your arms, which is odd, even for you. Considering that you don't have any cats, and all." 

Valence was frozen for a moment, having been caught off guard. Processing what the other had just said, he regarded him with clear disbelief, "So you think I'm lying about where I was? How do you know Glo wasn't the one lying? Don't tell me that you believe every word that leaves her mouth." Cobalt was unphased, pressing on just as confidently as before, "I take everything she says with a grain of salt. When she does lie, it's usually in a joking manner over something small and unimportant. Seeing you at the store would be a little too random for her to lie about, I think. You, however..." The guard paused, leaning a bit closer and inhaling deeply, "You could lie through your teeth, right here and now, simply for the hell of it. And then there's that disgusting stench you bring everywhere with you." 

The taller skeleton furrowed his brow bones, "Since you're so keen on sniffing me like some kind of dog, tell me, Cobalt. What stench do I have, hm? These clothes just came out of the dryer, and I took a shower as soon as I got home a little while ago." Cobalt frowned, narrowing his sockets at the other monster, "You reek of death... To be a little more specific, in case you don't understand that, there's always the faint scent of human blood wafting off of you. Sometimes when you start acting even weirder than normal, there's this gross, rotten fruit kind of smell there, too. Care to explain why you smell like blood?" Valence raised a single brow bone, "I stopped by that new meat place in town and picked up some beef. The butcher was a human, so maybe he cut himself or something while he was working." The guard scowled at him, his tone gaining a much sharper edge than before, "Wrong again. That's a monster shop, run only by monsters, not by humans. And also, cow blood is completely different from human blood. I've smelled both before, and they're really easy to tell apart." 

Valence unconsciously took a step back, his gaze darkening as he smirked, his own tone becoming malicious, "Because you've killed countless humans in the war, I know. Did you keep track of how many potentially innocent lives you took, or were you running solely off of mindless bloodlust?" Cobalt was momentarily taken aback, glancing away from Val, "...If it was up to me, I wouldn't have killed any of them. That's not the kind of guy I am." Valence shook his head, choosing to mock the soldier, "Oh, I know. The big bad, evil princess of darkness made you do it, didn't she? How truly awful of her. Does Chimera know what you've done?" Upon hearing his friend's name, Cobalt squared his shoulders and made a sound in confirmation, "Yeah, she knows. I make it a point not to keep secrets from her." 

The taller skeleton reached out, his grin condescending as he patted Cobalt's head and cooed, "Awe, how thoughtful of you. I'm glad you're so open with her!" Cobalt growled and slapped his hand away, glaring up at him. As the scent of rotting fruit began to waft out of the house, he hissed, "Listen, Val. You might've gone on a few dates with her, and yeah, she likes you, but I want you to stay away from her. I want you to stay away, and I want you gone." Valence smirked again, "And what'll you do if I stay? Are you going to run that blade of yours through my body and kill me like you did to those humans?" Cobalt faltered, and when words failed him, he summoned his sword and drew it, trying to maintain at least the appearance of being confident, "If that's what it takes to keep you away from Chimera, then yeah, I will. Something about you is off, and every time you're around, all the red flags immediately go up. I don't trust you, not even a little bit. I wouldn't trust you to take care of another person, let alone Chimera. She deserves so much better than lying, manipulative, scheming bastards like you." 

Another unseen person made a sound in agreement, "For once, I believe you're right. She does deserve better." Val jerked in surprise, momentarily freezing as a set of glowing green eyes peered at him from the shadows under a tree that sat in his yard. As the demon in the shadows presented himself, he crossed his arms over his chest, calmly approaching the two skeletons. As he drew nearer and nearer, Cobalt made a face, noticing the way the scent of rotting fruit began to rapidly fade away. Recognizing the demon almost immediately, Val scoffed, "Oh, please. The social reject is trying to tell me to stay away from Chimera now, too? Listen, buddy. This has nothing to do with you. It'd be in your best interest if you minded your own business." Diamondback tilted his head, "On the contrary, this has everything to do with me. You can either be a good little brat and get lost, or I'll have to teach you how to listen better. Which will it be?" Valence let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eye lights, "I'm not going anywhere, ok Gramps? This is my house, and this is where I live. Nothing is gonna change that. Not when I've already settled in so well." Without warning, Diamondback warped through the space between them, backing Val further into his house.

As Val tried to slam his front door shut, one of the demon's hands caught it and he hummed, "Please don't make this difficult. I'm really not in the mood to be doing this right now." Struggling with the door and quickly noticing how much stronger the demon was than him, Valence panicked and snapped, "Then why bother?! Just go home already!" Diamondback's body warped beneath the door easily in the form of a shadow, and before Val had any time to process what was happening, a hand gripped the front of his shirt, forcibly dragging him closer. Making sure to expose his fangs as he spoke, Diamondback hissed, "I don't appreciate you taking that tone with me, Valence. Bark one more order at me, and I'll be taking your jaw. Now, you already heard me when I told you to leave, correct?" 

The skeleton nodded, and Diamondback continued, "Good. I have another thing I'd like you to do for me, if you'd be so kind." Val nodded his head, his voice much softer than he would've liked, "Y-Yeah, sure. What is it?" Diamondback's bored, slightly annoyed expression shifted, a knowing look in his eyes as he offered Val a small smirk, flashing his fangs at him again, "Tell Othni that he's not very good at hiding. Even if I can't see him, I can smell him, and he smells like shit."

[loosescrewslefty]

Miraculous Ladybug- Fixing the Powers

I’ve been very much bothered by the way that the writing team for Miraculous Ladybug has been handling powers for a long time now. It might not be as frustrating or offensive as how they sometimes treat the characters and their relationships, but it BOTHERS me. Because it doesn’t make sense that Adults are more powerful than kids just by the grace of being an adult if the magic comes from a kwami and the jewelry and as such the age of the wearer shouldn’t matter as much. And objectively speaking, there as several ‘minor’ miraculouses that seem WAY more powerful than the two that are supposed to be the most coveted, the Ladybug and Chat Noir miraculouses. Also both the addition of the potions AND the distinctions given to some of the miraculouses/kwamis (Such as Pollen being the ‘Kwami of Subjugation’) are just... ODD. So a while back I sat down and charted out a way to ‘fix’ the powers in Miraculous Ladybug, much like I’ve seen others fix plots and characters.

More Clearly based on Yin/Yang, Wu Xing, and the Zodiacs

I can’t tell you how much it annoys me that Astruc clearly chose these Chinese motifs for the aesthetic, and didn’t bother researching or properly applying any of the theology attached to them to his show. Ladybug and Chat Noir SHOULD be equal, and balance one another out, but they’re not. Instead, Ladybug gets way more power and importance than Chat Noir does. And the Wu Xing Cycle is an important one too, because that’s nature holding itself in check. 

The Wu Xing has four different cycles attached to it; the Creation Cycle, the Destruction Cycle, the Insult Cycle, and the Controlling Cycle. It could have been interesting to lean into this, so that pairing two miraculous heroes together can lead to new powers being unlocked, depending on the two in question, and that if a  Hawkmoth happens, there are two heroes other than Ladybug and Chat who’d be able to step up and confront him.

New Stations/Distinctions for the Kwamis

It bothers me that the distinctions chosen for the Kwami feel extremely random, and don’t fit together at all. Nooroo is “Generosity”, Trixx is “Deception”, Pollen is “Subjugation”, Wayzz is “Protection”, and Duusuu is “Emotion.” Like, on their own these are fine. But none of them really relate to one another in a way that makes sense, which the Wu Xing SHOULD. As much as it annoys me, I can sorta understand why it would be a bad idea to attach the specific elements themselves to each Miraculous, because then people will expect the powers of that miraculous to relate to that element, which is very limiting. The Wu Xing is about much more than just nature and the elements. It’s also used to reference the passing of time, physical parts of the body, emotions, cardinal directions and so much more. 

But I still feel that the Distinctions for each Kwami and their powers should be presented in a what where it makes sense to see them relating to one another. One way I’ve suggested for people to do this is to include Ladybug and Chat in the consideration and base each of the Kwamis off of one of the Seven Chakras. But another way I like much better is to consider the kwamis in relation to what area their abilities will affect. For Example; Fox- Mind (Wood) Bee- Energy (Fire) Turtle- Body (Earth) Peacock- Soul (Metal) Butterfly- Heart (Water)

These are things you can tell at a glance relate to one another, without limiting the kwamis too much to being one trick ponies. And speaking of limits...

Limits are based on internal balance, not age

In an effort to make the sage figure that is supposed to be Fu NOT look like he has sand for brains and decided it’d be a good idea to give his chosen heroes a massive handicap against the villain right out of the gate, we’re going to change up the limiter for the Miraculouses. Rather than being based on age, the thing that determines how well you use a miraculous is your affiliation with the element/distinction that the Miraculous represents. Let’s use Kim as an example here. He’s very energetic and driven, so he’d have a great time with either the Bee or the Turtle, but give him the Peacock, the Butterfly, or the Fox, and things will get a hell of a lot harder for him. On the exact flip side, Juleka would be great with the Peacock, Butterfly, or Fox, but would struggle with the Bee or the Turtle.

Having the powers draw off of being able to synchronize with that power/ability due to personality makes sense, and is more true to the concepts that Miraculous Ladybug is trying to present than claiming that it’s because of age. And the beauty of this is that people can grow and change at any point in their life, which means that they can learn and change and miraculouses that they once struggled with can become easier for them to use while ones they once used easily can slip from their grasp if they begin to neglect that aspect of themselves.

More Clear and Understandable Power Pyramid

This is one of the things that bothers me MOST about how they’ve been handling the powers. We’re supposed to see Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculouses as the be all/end all, but many of the zodiac miraculouses seem much more powerful than them, and even the Peacock and Butterfly can create opponents that are more than a match for the Lucky Duo. Not to mention the fact that, as I said before, the Lucky Duo itself is imbalanced due to Ladybug getting all the power in their relationship. So the best way to fix that?

Power Pyramid.

By this, I mean that instead of all miraculouses just getting one power and calling it a day, it makes more sense to present the powers as an almost ‘trickle’ effect. To start off, Zodiacs get defined by a single element and whichever side of Yin/Yang they fall on, and get their power based on that. For example, the Dragon. That is a Yang/Earth (Body) Personality, who uses the elements in an aggressive way. Meanwhile, Snake is a Yin/Fire (Energy), so they require someone who comes across as passive, but is actually patient and knows to wait for the precise moment to strike.

Next level up from the Zodiac Miraculouses, we have the Wu Xing/Elemental Miraculouses. Rather than just one power, each Wu Xing Miraculous should get two, one based on it’s “Yin” Abilities, and one for it’s “Yang.” the way I broke it down when I was working this out for examples went like so;

Trixx

Fox Powers/Mind

Yang- Mirage 

Creates an illusion of the user’s choosing.

Yin- Outfox

Gives the user the ability to convince the victim that anything they’re saying is true.

Pollen

Bee Powers/Energy

Yang- Nectar

Ability to heal injuries and cure illnesses (not as strong as Miraculous Cure)

Yin- Sting

Causes temporary paralysis

Wayzz

Turtle Powers/Body

Yang- Shell-ture

Creates an impenetrable shield

Yin- Withdraw

Teleportation ability that allows the user to put people and object of their desire in a pocket dimension of their own making for protection.

Duusu

Peacock Powers/Soul

Yang- Good Spirits

Creates a golem/familiar of sorts that is bonded to a certain person or object and protects them at all costs.

Yin- Soul Search

Allows the user to leave their body and enter another persons to take control of their actions and peer into their memories.

Nooroo

Butterfly Powers/Heart

Yang- Metamorphosis

Creates heroes to fight alongside the user

Yin- Butterfly Effect

Allows a brief glimpse into the future

And then after the Elements, at the top of the Pyramid we have Ladybug and Chat Noir, who get a whopping FIVE power each, but can only access those powers when they are in tune with that aspect of themselves, much like using the lesser miraculouses. For Example, Marinette’s Ladybug Can easily do the Mind, Energy, and Heart powers, but has a much, MUCH harder time with the Soul one, because she tends to read people at face value rather than trying to see beneath the surface. Adrien’s Chat Noir is excellent with the Body and Energy powers, but struggles much more with Mind (linked to one’s creativity) and Heart (Based on people’s abilities to connect with others, something Adrien struggles with after being home schooled his entire life) My idea for the Ladybug and Chat Noir powers look like this;

Tikki

Ladybug Powers:

Positive Heart- (Healing) 

Miraculous Ladybug/Miraculous Cure

Heals all wounds, restores everything to its proper state

Positive Mind- (Inspiration) 

Lucky Charm

Grants Ladybug an object to help her win

Positive Energy- (Creating) 

Wish Come True

Allows Ladybug to will into existence something of her own choosing

Positive Body- (Protecting) 

Elytron

Allows Ladybug to recreate both her own suit and the suits of her allies to help them fight (space suits, ice skating form, underwater suits, ect)

Positive Soul- (Life) 

Red Thread

Ladybug has a limited ability to communicate with plants and animals, extending some of her power to them. Also works on humans, if the person trusts Ladybug enough to basically let her see into their very soul.

Plagg

Chat Noir Powers:

Negative Heart- (Toxicity) 

Cat Scratch

Curses the victim with a lingering sickness that can only be healed by Ladybug.

Negative Mind- (Madness) 

Cheshire Cat

Causes temporary insanity, which varies from victim to victim.

Negative Energy- (Destruction) 

Cataclysm

Destroys anything the user touches.

Negative Body- (Weakness) 

Catatonic 

Puts the victim to sleep.

Negative Soul- (Death) 

Catacomb

Allows the user to see, touch and summon spirits/ghosts

And that’s the basic breakdown of how I feel the powers of the ML universe SHOULD be handled instead. Feel free to comment with thoughts and inputs of your own and ask questions if any of this doesn’t make sense! ^^

[softkuna]

Sukuna || Interview || Fic - oc

Part 1

Content   ║  Punk!Sukuna x oc. There is a reader version here.

Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer.

Count      ║ 2,626 K

Consider ║ Original Character. Swearing. Female Pronouns.

Creator   ║ I swear this will go somewhere, I just enjoy the set up too much. So this is the version with the oc that I have. Her first name is Koyori. I have tagged this so that if you dislike ocs, you can read the other version. But! If you like ocs, hopefully you’ll like her ;v;. I did research on punk fashion, culture, and all which was really interesting. I knew some stuff about it before, but it’s really rich! I hope it’s not too information dense for you guys. Either way, Punk!Sukuna is now my comfort au and writing him is an absolute delight!!

Sukuna had a lazy grin as he lounged back into a modern cream sofa. His arm stretched across the back of it, ankle crossed over his knee. Eyes staggered from the two cameras set up to the woman talking with some other chick. One held a small stack of papers, the other was grandly gesturing. He breathed out a short-stop breath, wishing they wouldn’t waste his time with bickering. Annoying as it was, it left a thick self-satisfactory lather over his ego.

  “-didn’t you say the band?”

  “Yeah, but this is better.”

  “Sure… but what happens if-“

  Quite frankly, he hated most press and avoided it, so to just have him in the hot seat was a double-edged blade. They didn’t get the whole band, but they did have The King himself. Whatever publicity he thrived off of were live shows, signings, fancams, tangible and real-time events. Interviews were a complete and utter waste of his time. He did a couple in the beginning, but found them pointless, callous even. They all asked the same shit. So, him coming alone was absolutely a note to pin to the fridge, even if it were a passive-aggressive post-it note.

  His head turned to the two going back and forth. It wasn’t until the third minute ticked by that Sukuna felt the flashpoint of his blood plummet, “Yo! We doing this or what? You’re wasting my time here, Eros.”

  Koyori whipped her head to the man with an indignant, “Excuse me?”

  ��Eros. Known for being reckless and unreliable? Like your scheduling.” He leaned forward, elbow on knee and chin in palm. The aura of shit-eatery exponentially growing, “You’re not excused, sorry, not sorry Princess.”

  “I think you have the wrong God,” She quipped as she dusted off the front of her outfit. It was a smart look and an intentional one for an interview with a punk rocker. What would strike the best complement than a khaki academic outfit? It consisted of a white high collared button up, sleeves billowing before cinching at her wrists. The blouse was stuffed into high-waisted, cuffed khaki chinos, pleated at the center of each pant leg. Over top, a gray woolen sweater vest. Accessories included various silver rings, a black ribbon to tie under the folded collar, and small silver studs as earrings. Makeup remained that done-up natural with brow, liner, and mascara. Hair had been swept into something similar to a faux 1920’s bob, pulled loosely back. The overall silhouette made the perfect contrast.

  Sukuna wanted to peg her as your average superficial fashion bitch, he really did. Even at the concert, she dressed smartly despite the pathetic look on she wore on face. It wasn’t until afterwards when he saw the burn in her eyes, that he craved for her to prove him wrong.

  Black flats clacked as she approached her own seat, a matching armchair to the couch. Koyori held a certain command once she walked in, instructing him on where to be, which camera to look at, and what the introduction would be. He listened, admiring how her small frame moved to and fro, fixing up last minute edits on a paper, chattering with who he assumed to be a videographer. It was a whole production. One that was hers. The set itself was practically out of a home décor magazine. It was a general space used across the publisher, but she was born to be there. Deserved to be there. Her calculated glee and deliberate positioning of each member made him feel as though he were looking through a mirror.

  The interview process began.

  Koyori sat professionally, legs crossed and leaning on the arm of her chair closest to Sukuna. He was unmoving, that slit to his lip curling upwards as the cameras began. She introduced the blog, the channel, her social media handles. With a smile, she introduced herself, “I’m Yama Koyori, and to join me in this special is lead singer of Two Face, the King of Curses – Sukuna.”

  The camera panned to his lazy wave, “Yo.” He looked to her, she looked to him and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of interest. Maybe the man was meant for cameras after all.

  “After looking more into the punk scene, there’s a pretty interesting history behind it. Revolution, social discourse, poverty, violence, and unity. As someone in the scene, can you talk a little bit about what you know of the background?”

  Sukuna drank in her voice, smooth and warm like the steady strum of a bass guitar. For a moment, he wondered if she sang. He quirked a brow, “Sounds like you didn’t research enough to summarize it yourself,” Eyes flickered to her features, watching as slight annoyance crinkled onto her nose then smoothed, “Let me learn you, Daisy. Starting back from rock in the 50’s, take that, strip it, build it with shit you find in the backyard…” His wrist rolled as his harmonious voice sang on, lacking even a single stutter as he summarized the movement top to bottom, inside and out, “…So, people would make their own records, sell them in plastic bags, they’d scan and reprint photos to make their own ‘zines. Shit was hard to distribute without tech…”

  Much of his dissertation, Koyori hadn’t even found on her own deep dive into the culture. Sure, the anarchist and nihilistic ideologies were well known to pretty much anyone who would listen, but the deep history and connection between communities was far beyond the surface scratched into.

  “There’s a crowd of sub-genres now. Fuck ‘punk is dead’ what even is that bull shit?” Sukuna scoffed, jerking his chiseled chin to the side, “Only thing that’s dead here is – ironically – peoples drive to change.”

  His interviewer sat in silence for a moment, mind spinning. He spoke in the way a well-educated University professor gave a dissertation to his peers, dripping in confidence from his storm of information. He was articulate despite the fowl language, even including a tie in to modern perception. Excitement curled into the recess of her mind. In a delightful turn of events, expectation and reality didn’t match up.

  Koyori leaned forward slightly folding her hands over the arm of the chair, “That was comprehensive. Thanks!” She chuckled, causing the man before her to freeze and thaw with a nod. She continued, “With all of this mention of D.I.Y. culture in punk, let’s talk about Vivienne Westwood.”

  Sukuna kept his attention to her profile as she spoke to the camera, catching himself in the glow of her enthusiasm, “On Kings Road in England, she kickstarted the fashion movement into gear. Now, many would think that with a style such as this, it would’ve been hand-me-downs, pins, self-stitching, but contrary to this belief, many of the clothes in her store were expensive. Knock offs circulated, and seeing as much of it did have that hand-done finishing touch, many decided to take tailoring to their own hands…” Not that this was a competition, but Koyori found herself trying to prove his ‘research’ comment wrong. Her ability to scour and exhaust her resources of fashion history is the furnace that kept her going and Koyori would make it well known that she was not to be challenged.

  The approaching lurch of a stalemate stuck to the walls of the vocalist’s stomach. Something he didn’t think he’d feel for a while. Small stuff over here may not’ve known all there was about the cultural history, but he could feel the crashing wave of fascination washing over him as she spoke. Sure, some of it he knew. Some of it he naturally garnered from stylistic preference and others he learned for marketing, however there was just a certain target she aimed for with such precision that he bled a newfound admiration.

  Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer. As practiced, “I ans-“

  “You’ve answered it already, yeah, I know. I saw the interview,” Koyori’s head tilted to the side, pleasant smile hinting at her trick, “but enlighten me for a second about how your natural style transitioned to what it is on stage. We’ll put up some of the photos taken from last night here,” her hand gestured to some empty space, “You basically turned chiaroscuro and made it a performance. It’s obvious in how each member contrasted with themselves and the stage.”

  The chick didn’t even know who he was a week ago, yet somehow watched every interview since the start? An answer tumbled from the tongue readily, “Punk is like a renaissance of music. Like I said before, it tore down the foundations of what was before and built something new out of it.” The words were succinct, but as Koyori’s pretty lashes bat, he was goaded into continuing, “Contrast is important. I like art. I like plays. Just ‘cause it’s punk doesn’t mean I can’t have it look aesthetic? Or is that a word only snobby fashion journalists can use now?”

  “Hm. Change ‘journalist’ to ‘vocalist’ and you’re a word away from meeting the requirement,” It was a sour candy treat traded for his lemon warhead.  

  “Ouch. Miss Blog-Spot here has some sass,” His large frame leaned further into the armrest, cheek resting on that fist.

  “Mister Eight-Track here is some a–“

  The videographer clapped his hands, “We have sponsors, you know. We can at least censor him.”

  It was Sukuna’s time to laugh a loud, hyena-like cackle. A large hand smacked his leather-clad knee. Koyori scrunched her nose again, biting back her tongue from childishly jutting out at him.

  As soon as the videographer clapped his hands again, she recollected herself, shuffled her papers, and continued on, “From what it looks like, you took a mixture of old and new high-trend brands and added a touch to them to keep with theme. Even now, you’re wearing a Real McCoy with cone spikes embedded. Is that custom made? McCoy isn’t cheap.”

  Part of him hated her keen eye, but reveled in her raw talent all the same. “I’m not going to bull shit you and say I dumpster dive for my clothes. I like high quality things. What’s the point in making money if I can’t spend it? What’s a bigger ‘fuck you’ than having your version of a top-brand item being worth more than the original?” With a proud glint in his eye, he rolled the jacket off, sure to make a grand display of strong, bare arms as he did so. The muscle tank he wore was similar to the concert before, white with a pocket, neckline was stretched and worn. It hung over the dense muscle of his shoulders and chest. Sukuna could feel the trail of her eyes on him. His chest puffed from her approval. He threw the jacket over his knee, flipping the leather inside out to show where the studs had been placed, “See this? Did it myself.”

  Manicured fingers touched the inside of the jacket, thumbing the connecting points that the studs were pressed in by and sealed. The work was immaculate. Sukuna leaned back, canines gleaming as he saw her mouth move in a silent ‘wow’. He picked the front of his tank top, snapping it up and allowing it to billow back to his body, “Embroidered this, too.”

  He waited for her comment, her praise. Why? Like he needed some two-bit Vanderbilt bitch’s validation. He chalked it up to being praised by a master of the craft. He hadn’t been prepared for her to take the fabric between her fingers and rub it, concentrated brows cinched like a corset. Well-toned abs flinched in response to her delicacy, but she didn’t notice.

  The embroidery was messy and chaotic, but it was obviously intentionally. The way the needlework was so clean, barely leaving a hole from the pull of the exceptionally soft fabric. It wasn’t floral like in the concert, but abstract stitching created crosses and streaks here and there, using the composition of the fabric as like it were a canvas. Experimentalist. It was like touching the work of Westwood herself.

  God, she hated how perfect it was. It squeezed her heart to know that he was so effortlessly multi-talented. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers once more, attention being stolen by his baritone voice. She could practically hear the treble in it, “Ey Princess, you think it’s okay to just touch me?” His breath caught under the arrogant teasing of his words. Not from the words themselves. Couldn’t care less about that. What choked him up was whatever resplendent emotion flared from them when she peered up to him.

  “Let me check the tag.”

  “What?”

  The blogger leaned back, cheekily snapping the shirt as she did so. “Your shirt, can I check the tag? I want to see what its made out of. Also sorry.”

  Sukuna blinked twice, mouth stupidly hanging open before he leaned forward, “I’ll allow it.”

  He may have tinnitus, but he wasn’t deaf enough yet to miss the mocking ‘I’ll allow it,’ muttered under her breath. He wanted to laugh, but for the second time, the graze of chilled fingertips along his skin shut him up. Along the back of his neck, she fiddled to flip the collar and tug it. Her eyes squinted and a hum escaped her throat. Sometimes she wished she could read upside down. That’s when she sat on the back on the sofa and leaned closer, pulling the shirt to better read the small print. If Sukuna were a cat, he’d lean his head into her. The thought physically bothered him.

  “I knew it. It’s American Pima. Thanks for letting me check.”

  He missed the shiver her touch gave him as she sat back into her chair.

  “While I have more questions for you, this video’s gotten pretty long already, so we’ll have to cut it a bit short here,” She gave a closing statement, motioning for her guest to do the same. With a thanks, the cameras were cut.

  While the editor and videographer chatted together, Koyori leaned heavily into the back of her chair, poised posture slipping into something more comfortable. Long lashes slid closed and a heavy drag of breath lifted her chest. Sukuna’s eyes trailed along her form, contemplating Eros once more.

  She exhaled sharply, “I do appreciate you coming on stage. It’s disgusting how talented you are.” She laughed, cracking an eye open to meet his, “I prepped a lot of questions thinking you’d be short with me. It’s a shame I only got to ask a few.”

  He was surprised himself. It was more than just her talent to make him talk - she may have been the first to see him as an opportunity rather than a commodity. ‘Yami Koyori would be the first and last reporter to see me as a meal’ was the thought he had going into this interview. He had every single intention to shut down her buffet, make it apparent that he was not to be dined on by a single soul. Yet, If his dish were ‘opportunity’, hers would be ‘intrigue’. He wanted to devour it, to know its palette and identify its spices. It was a compulsory urge to order, just to see why he craved it in the first place.

  “Film the next few concerts. Backstage.”

tags: @lovesakusa​

[xb-squaredx]

Please Don’t Sleep on Hades

2020’s…been a real year, huh? At a time when in-person gatherings aren’t much of a thing and people have to stay in, video games are suddenly a pretty attractive option. That said, few games have really grabbed me this year; in a roundabout way, 2020’s been a year of reruns, as I go through a lot of games I’ve already played or games that are just yesterday’s news (but new to me!). However, in the nick of time, the folks at Supergiant Games delivered unto us their latest title, Hades. While they’ve been working on this game for years, with it hitting Early Access on Steam back in 2018, the full version of Hades finally hit Steam, the Epic Game Store and made the leap to consoles with the Switch, which is where I picked it up. It has been a WHILE since I’ve had a game grab me so strongly so early on, and I’ve been hearing this game’s praises for years now already, so allow me to happily state why I think Hades is worthy of the hype and is a fantastic game I’d easily recommend!

DADDY ISSUES

OK, so first things first…you don’t actually play as Hades in this game, but rather his son Zagreus. Ol’ Zag has had it with his father, and tries to literally fight his way out of hell to reach the surface, and no matter what his old man puts in his way, Zagreus (and the player) will meet the challenge. And probably die, but hey, that’s OK! In the underworld, death is more of an inconvenience than anything else, so after taking a moment to dust himself off, Zagreus will head out for another attempt. For as long as it takes.

Hades is a rogue-like, meaning it’s a game based around randomization and adaptation. On any given “run” of the game, the level layouts, enemies present and the variety of power-ups Zagreus can find will be left to chance, with the player challenged to amass the best build they can to eventually break out of hell and reach the human world and if you die…start from scratch. That said, Hades is among the ever-growing sub-genre of rogue-lites, in that there IS some permanent progression, which takes a bit of a sting out of dying, but more on that later. Now, most games of this type aren’t really big on story. They have a premise that’s little more than an excuse to play. Splunkey wants you to explore a cave, The Binding of Isaac sees you escaping a basement and in Enter the Gungeon you uh…e-enter the gun—you get the point! But what separates Hades from most rogue-likes/lites is that there actually IS a very interesting story that unfolds as you play.

There’s more to Zag’s desire to get to the surface than just getting away from his father, though their strained relationship certainly doesn’t help matters, and over the course of your many, MANY escape attempts, players learn of the rather screwed-up nature of Zagreus’ family of deities, though any mythology nut could tell you to expect that. Hades has an incredibly charismatic cast, superb voice acting across the board, and some real sharp writing that really got me wanting to meet anyone and everyone and learn more about this world. You’re likely to run into Hypnos first, who always has a “tip” ready for you when you meet your end to a given enemy or hazard, or the fabled hero Achilles, who acts as a mentor to Zagreus. There’s Dusa, the adorably frazzled flying gorgon head who acts as the House of Hades’ maid, and of course…Megaera, of the Furies.

She serves as the first proper boss in the game, and will be a pretty sizable challenge for most players, but as you eventually overcome her again and again, she and Zagreus end up attempting to reconnect with each other, and her recurring fights become an excuse to flirt and test each other. I may as well say too that it’s easy to fall in love with the characters in this game because…I-I mean, just look at them! This game is a bisexual’s paradise, that’s all I’ll say.

A bit of a fun fact, but Zagreus’ voice actor, Darren Korb, is also a composer at Supergiant, so he’s a man of many talents, since Hades has a killer score. From the laid-back tunes at the House of Hades where you can unwind and recharge after a botched run, to the pulse-pounding boss theme, there’s some GREAT music on display here. And that’s before you meet Orpheus and Eurydice, two characters with amazing singing voices that, if you play your cards right, might start singing together. The game’s visuals, meanwhile, aren’t a slouch either. While the level layouts are randomized, everything manages to look well-crafted, each region of the underworld having their own distinct look and feel. The fiery pits of Asphodel end up juxtaposing well with the paradise that is Elysium. Now, character models are generally less-detailed since the camera stays zoomed out to give players a good view of the action, but the portraits for the various characters more than make up for it with their distinct, detailed designs. A-And I’m not just saying that because everyone’s hot! Now, admittedly you might take a look at Zag and think he’s nothing but an edgelord and the game itself might be taking itself too seriously, but in reality, Hades strikes a pretty good balance, and definitely carries a sense of humor. Characters love to snark at each other, the various Shades chilling in the House of Hades’ lounge have some funny conversations you can listen in on and all told, the game only gets serious when appropriate. Really, I have no real complaints with the game on a presentation level; it’s all aces so far, and thankfully the game-y part follows suit!

LIVE.DIE. REPEAT.

Hades is best described as a dungeon-crawler. You have an isometric view as you move about, avoiding hazards and fighting off enemies as you climb each chamber on your way to the surface. Defeat every enemy in a chamber and get a reward. Sounds simple enough until you factor in all of the various permutations of events; Hades aims to make sure no two runs are alike, with different enemies, power-ups and challenges awaiting you. All of this is doled out slowly, as with each subsequent playthrough you begin to have more of the game unraveled. First and foremost, Zagreus can gain various Boons from the other Olympian Gods, who are sympathetic to his plight and lend him some power if he makes contact with them. Each God has their own twist on the abilities they grant Zagreus. They can all increase his stats in some way, or affect either his dash ability or his Cast, a projectile attack. For Zeus, naturally, all of Zagreus’ moves will gain an electric effect, whereas Artemis focuses more on upping Zag’s critical hit chance. Dionysus, the God of Wine, grants you the “hangover” status effect, allowing your attacks to uh…make enemies drunk? Sure! You’ll be given a random selection of three Boons to pick from, of varying rarities. Over the course of a run, you might try to nab as many Boons from the same God as possible, or vary it up and see which abilities synchronize together. At times, you might even be granted a Duo Boon, where two Gods decide to combine their power for a special ability that plays to both of their strengths. Still, at other times, you might be forced into a Trial of the Gods, where you must choose one God’s Boon over the other, with the snubbed God lashing out afterwards. Hey, just because they’re Gods, doesn’t mean they’re nice. Of course, you’ve also got a variety of health and weapon upgrades too. In fact, let’s gush about the weapons for a second, shall we?

At the time of writing, Hades has six weapons to play with. You start with a sword, which is the all-rounder of the set, but as you gain keys to unlock more weapons, you can start to really experiment. The bow and rail cannon serve as ranged options with different approaches, while the spear is the melee weapon with the best range at the cost of pure power. The shield grants you absolute defense at the cost of range, while the gauntlets let you unleash your fisticuffs on underworld scum, though leave you with limited ranged attacks. Each weapon has specific Boons and weapon upgrades you can find as well, some of which can radically alter how a weapon works. The rail cannon, for example, fires a lot faster than the bow, but this is balanced by needing to manually reload…unless you get a weapon upgrade that gives you unlimited ammo with the only catch being that you can only do burst fire. Adding to this, players eventually unlock hidden Aspects of weapons, morphing them into different forms which can also influence their moveset. Change the shield to the Aspect of Zeus, and when you throw your shield Captain America style, it stays out and continually spins, dealing tons of damage over time and effectively forcing enemies to get sliced to bits if they want to get near you. I didn’t expect this game to have half this many weapons or to have them balanced so well. Really, just like anything else, weapons are another tool you can poke and prod and experiment with until you get a truly killer collection of Boons and upgrades that let you just demolish anything in your way. It’s very satisfying when you finally clear a run with a great build…though depending on the RNG, you WILL get some crummy builds, but that’s the nature of the rogue-like!

It’s likely that a bad build (or really, just getting hit with a new boss or enemy you aren’t prepared for) will lead to a death, but as already established, death isn’t really that much of an inconvenience in the underworld. Zagreus just spawns back at home and is free to immediately try to escape again, but this brief reprieve lets you chat up whoever happens to be around, give them gifts, advance some side-quests, pet your dog Cerberus and practice with weapons and such before you’re ready to go at it again. It’s after a run that you also get to spend a lot of the spoils of your escape attempts. While you lose Boons and weapon upgrades and the like upon death, there’s a LOT of various items you keep with you that have plenty of uses. Darkness shards are used for permanent skills that can be applied to Zagreus, like Death’s Defiance, which grants Zagreus another life upon dying, which can eventually be upgraded to give him THREE extra lives, just as an example. Precious gems can be used to fund a variety of cosmetic changes to the House of Hades. Just because Zagreus doesn’t want to live there anymore, doesn’t mean he can’t at least make it look good! Nectar can be gifted to other characters to improve your relationships with them, with bottles of Ambrosia being required later on, while special keys can be used to unlock weapons, more upgrades for your Darkness shards, or just used as a secondary currency for trade. There’s really a LOT of different items to mess around with, though admittedly if you’re the type to want to max out EVERYTHING you’ll be in it for the long haul, as there is not only a LOT of stuff to upgrade and purchase, but the random nature of things means rewards are never a guarantee. Though it’s worth noting the game’s totally beatable without going nuts with completion. Which I guess leads me to the biggest compliment I can give this game: even after “beating” it, I still can’t stop playing, and there’s plenty of reason to keep going.

REPLAYS AND REWARDS

So, full disclosure, I’ve gotten Zagreus to the surface. Several times, actually. But I haven’t quite “beaten” the game yet. In fact, at the risk of sounding pretentious, it is as if the true game begins after you’ve beaten it once. Without getting into specifics, let’s just say the game gives you a very good in-story reason to keep playing, and you won’t reach credits without several completed runs under your belt. And even then, there’s still stuff to do. I’m almost 30 hours into Hades and I’ve barely scratched the surface honestly. Every major character has their own sidequest you can undergo, but it can be slow goings when it comes to advancing them. Trying out all the weapons and boons and different combinations will easily take dozens of hours to fully experience, though the game has a handy in-game list of what you’ve done and haven’t done, as well as in-game achievements with tangible rewards that will spur you on. I was admittedly surprised at how dense of a game Hades can be. A successful run will likely take you somewhere between a half-hour to an hour, which is pretty devious. Just long enough to stay engaging throughout, and short enough that I can keep convincing myself that I have time for “one more run” and then suddenly several hours have gone by. Strangest thing.

Something that’s become a bit of a staple of Supergiant’s work is customizable difficulty, various modifiers you can flip on to make the game harder if you so desire, which in Hades takes the form of the Pact of Punishment. After a successful run, you can turn on a given pact to spice things up for subsequent runs. Maybe enemies do a bit more damage, or you give yourself a super strict time limit to clear a run. You can give enemies armor that makes them sturdier, or jack up the in-game shop’s prices. You can even be forced to give up Boons in order to advance past certain doors! Probably the most impressive Pact is Extreme Measures, which ends up greatly affecting the boss fights in the game…trust me when I say you won’t be ready for them the first time you flip that on. Activating a given pact increases a “heat gauge” that, should it reach a given level, will end up granting you various special items to help with fully upgrading and unlocking stuff. Of course, with each successful run completed with a given Pact activated, you’ll have to raise the heat more and more in order to keep getting these upgrade materials so be prepared. You can also still gain these materials (albeit at a much slower rate) playing through the game normally though, and there’s really no penalty for choosing NOT to activate a given pact. On the flip side of things, there’s also a God Mode you can toggle on that makes Zagreus a little stronger with each death, which can help those that want to see more of the story but are struggling with the game. Have your God Cake and eat it too!

All and all, this game just delivers on every level and I’ve been devouring it since release whenever I have a spare minute. You can see that Supergiant is taking all the lessons they learned from each previous game and combined it to make what is easily their best game yet. I don’t throw around words like “masterpiece” lightly, but Hades is just such a slam dunk that I’m sorely tempted to call it just that. I mean, if you hate rogue-likes, I’m not sure if Hades will really push you over the edge admittedly? You get way more rewards retained after death than just about any other rogue-like I’ve played, but if you’re the type that hates having to constantly adapt and not being able to memorize what’s coming, I can see this not working for you. But for me at least, I’ve had an absolute blast with the game and the only issue I really have with it is a small nitpick at best. When it comes to getting to know various characters, you can talk to them and give them Nectar or Ambrosia as a gift right? But what happens if they don’t show up on a given run? Or what if they DO show up, but they’re locked into a conversation with someone else? That means you can’t really advance anything with them until a given dice roll pities you. MEGAERA I THINK YOU’RE COOL, PLEASE JUST TALK TO M—oh sorry, don’t know where that came from… So yeah, that’s the nittiest of picks.

I adore this game’s cast, the voice work and music is excellent to the ear, the combat is engaging, the gameplay loop is addicting…need I say more? I mean, I’ve said almost 3000 words, but to really sum it up…I highly recommend Hades and I hope you don’t pass it up if you’re even remotely interested. You can find it on Steam, the Epic store and Switch as of right now, and I don’t think you could go wrong with any version.

Blood and darkness await you.

-B

[transitverse]

Eggshells: Chapter 9

WORDS: 2011 CHAPTERS: 9/9 CHARACTERS: Aubrey, Kaveh CONTENT WARNINGS: None

Soundtrack: Great No One - The Beths

Aubrey ends up staying with you for six weeks. You do swing by her apartment briefly, once, just to make sure everything's still in order (as best as she left it) and nobody's wrecked the place (they haven't). It feels weird, the day she packs all her stuff up for good, knowing as you drive her home that she won't be going back with you. You'll miss having her around.

Her absence has not made her room any less of a trash hole. While Aubrey seems happy to be back in her own space, dumping her bag by the bed and flopping onto the mattress, you find yourself eyeing the stacks of empty food packaging, the discarded clothing strewn across the floor, the fact that her bed is  still  just a mattress on the bare ground. Not a lot you can do about that last one, but you can certainly help with the first two.

"We should clean this place up a little." You're already picking up a bunch of plastic bottles, scanning the room for a bin only to grimace when you open it and find it already jammed full. You'd put money on her not having emptied it since she moved in. "Okay, so, from the top, then. You've got garbage bags, right?"

You look back at Aubrey, who's eyeing you from her spot on the bed.

"You don't have to help me clean."

"No, but I want to. Aubrey, this place is kind of a tip.” She looks no less convinced. “Trust me. This is how you get a rat problem. And you'll feel better being in a tidy room."

She stares at you a few seconds more, but then sighs, accepting--as she's come to so often--that you're talking sense. "Okay. Sure. They're in the drawer, there, on the end."

She's got a lot of trash, but thankfully, by virtue of her eating habits, it’s not gross to have to deal with. You swap the old bag out, and clearing away what's left around the room only takes a matter of minutes. Clothes come next, and it's almost as easy. She doesn't have a laundry basket, but she doesn’t  really  have a lot of clothes, either; it all fits into a single garbage bag, ready to haul downstairs. With that done, all that's left is the actual cleaning. The place is  lived-in , and there's some grime that you're never going to be able to scrub away, but you can fix the dust and cobwebs and some of the surface-level dirt.

Or, you could, if Aubrey had any cleaning supplies.

She’s uncertain where to even begin, when you have her in the home supplies aisle at the nearest supermarket; admittedly, you expect the rows upon rows of neon bottles with their flashy labels would be daunting to face for someone who grew up in a dysfunctional household where these things weren't a priority. You walk her through the basic necessities, arm yourselves, and head back home to tackle your prime objective.

Cleaning one single, relatively small room with minimal furnishings is a manageable task, at least. A vacuum would be great, but you do an okay job with a good old-fashioned broom and dust catchers. The bathroom takes a little more work, and you almost freak out about Aubrey giving herself chemical burns until she points out the obvious. Still, it’s a big improvement all-round. Aubrey is flagging by the end of it, but you can’t blame her; she’s not done anything remotely strenuous for the entire time she’s been with you.

“I think it’s time to eat,” you announce, propping the broom up against the nearest wall. (Note to self: get her some hooks or something to hang this stuff on.) “God, you know what? I would kill for some ramen right now.”

“I thought you didn’t like that stuff.”

“Wh--Oh, no, no, like, real ramen. Good ramen,” you laugh. “I mean, you can jazz up the instant stuff in a pinch, but if you want  good  ramen, you make it from scratch.” You glance over your shoulder at her unused kitchen, then back at Aubrey. “Okay, we should go get that laundry out, but if I run out and get the ingredients, can I whip something up here?”

“Sure. Can I come with you?”

“What, like I’d leave you waiting around on your own? Yeah, of course. C’mon.”

***

A visit to the dingy basement laundry room and another quick sweep around the supermarket later, and you’re back in the apartment, dumping your shopping haul down on the counter and poking around in the cupboards for the necessary cooking equipment. Fortunately, Aubrey does have a few pots and pans, and a small set of knives and other utensils, so you put some water on to boil and get to work.

“Can I help?”

You glance up at Aubrey, hovering a few feet away.

“Sure. Here.” You scoot on over towards the stove and hand her the knife you were about to start chopping up spring onions with. “If you wanna start chopping these up--pretty small--and then you can do the chillies and the onion.”

“Like--” She makes the first cut at the base, then hovers the knife uncertainly a little further up the stalk. “Like this?”

“Yeah, that’s good.”

It’s like the affirmation flips a switch. While you’re busy slinging oil into a pan and mixing the broth, Aubrey chops away with a deftness you didn’t expect from someone with so little experience in a kitchen. An added benefit of her sharp reflexes, maybe. Or perhaps those cybernetics offer her more control over her fine motor skills. Either way, you soon forget about it, too busy focusing on seasoning the indistinct slab of vat-grown beef you drop into the pan to sear and adding the noodles to the broth.

It’s cramped, with the two of you operating in a kitchen space half the size of the one back at your apartment, but you manage, explaining along the way all the little tricks you know to jazz up instant noodles with cheaper ingredients, should the mood ever strike her. Aubrey nicks herself, once, but it’s worse for the knife than it is for her finger.

Eventually, you’re all done, plated up, and just overseeing Aubrey as she peels the shells away from the boiled eggs and carefully slices them in half.

“Wait, wait,” you stop her, as she moves to drop the first egg into the bowl. “One half of each in each bowl.”

“Why?”

You… laugh, because you realise nobody’s ever actually asked you about this habit before, and now you feel a little bit silly.

“It’s just a thing my mom used to do. She said it was good luck to share them, something like that.”

Aubrey scrunches her face up. “Why?”

“I don’t know! She just did. C’mon, just do it. I’m hungry.”

Aubrey still looks unconvinced, but she obliges and splits both eggs between the bowls. And with that, you’re all done; you carefully carry the fruits of your labour to the coffee table, seated on pillows in lieu of chairs.

“Well, this turned out to be a pretty good day, huh?” You’re already spearing a chunk of meat on your fork, jamming some greens on the end and trying (unsuccessfully) to catch some noodles to top it off as you lift it up out of the bowl.

“Yeah. It was.” Aubrey smiles, even though she’s pushing her meal around in the bowl like she doesn’t really know where to start with it. Eventually, she goes for the egg. She nearly drips the yolk down herself and you have to try really hard not to laugh, lest you choke on your own mouthful.

“Good?” you ask, once you’ve swallowed and are no longer at risk of aspirating. “Or, I mean--as good as it can be for you, I guess.”

“No, it’s… yeah. It’s good.” She nods and wipes some of the stray yolk off her lip. “It smells amazing.”

“I’ll take that.” You chuckle,  without  almost dying, this time. “This is almost, like, a housewarming. A couple months late, but close enough. Are you gonna, y’know, get some more furniture in here?”

“I don’t know. I guess I should, now.” Aubrey slowly, methodically twirls a bundle of noodles around her fork. “I just didn’t think it mattered yet, because I wouldn’t be, like--having guests, or anything.”

You pause, for a moment, and watch her while you process how sad that actually sounds.

“Well, if you ever need anyone to do any heavy lifting, you know who to call,” you reply, once you’ve recovered, flashing her a grin. “If you ever need… anything, actually, you should let me know. I’m not a miracle-worker, but I’ll always see what I can do.”

She glances back up at you again, covering her mouth with the back of her hand in an attempt not to lose the mouthful of noodles she’s working through.

"You don't have to do that for me."

"No. But I want to." You look at her, pointedly, from across the table. "You don't have to do everything in life alone. You're allowed to ask for help."

Aubrey just nods and pushes her food around in her bowl again. Your first instinct is to push the matter, but your second is to drop it. She heard you the first time. She knows what you said. She'll process it at her own pace.

"Are you still gonna come and see me?" she asks, after a minute, glancing up at you.

"What?  Of course. " If you were within arm's reach you'd be tempted to ruffle her hair. "Just, y'know, drop me a line, or I'll see when I'm free after work, or if I have a day off. We can… I don't know. We can do whatever you want." You can see a faint smile tugging at her lips.

"Yeah. Okay."

You chat idly over the rest of dinner, and as you do the dishes together. It really drives home how domestic the pair of you have gotten, and so rapidly. You almost don’t want to leave, even as you’re standing in the doorway for her to see you out.

“Look after yourself, okay?” You move to hug her, and only barely resist the urge to pick her right up off the ground. “You know how to reach me, if you need anything.”

“Yeah.” The way she looks up at you as you separate--she’s a changed woman from the ragged, exhausted bundle of nerves you took home from the hospital just weeks ago. “And you’ll come and see me soon, right?

“I will, if I can. I’ll try my best. I promise. And if I can’t, I’ll see you when you have your physical.”

“Yeah. Okay.” She nods, looks down, looks up again. “Thank you. For… everything. Letting me stay with you, and taking me to all these appointments, and--the cleaning, and--”

“Hey, hey. C’mon.” She’s tearing up as you reach out to rub her shoulder. “It’s okay. I just… wanted to help. I’m glad I could.” Aubrey just wraps her arms around your waist and shoves herself up against your side. You have to hug her back. You can’t  not.

You might be getting a little teary yourself.

You separate for good, this time, as she finally peels herself off of you and steps back over the threshold, into the apartment.

“Sorry. I just--”

“It’s okay. Go on, go enjoy being back in your own place. I’ll see you soon, alright?"

“Okay. Yeah. See you soon.”

“Bye, Aubrey. Have a good night.”

“Bye.”

You hear the door squeak on its hinges and then click shut as you turn away. You make your way back down through the building (via the stairs; you do not  trust that elevator), and cross the parking lot back to your car.

It’s been a crazy month. You never expected that such an innocuous offer would have landed you here.

But, ultimately?

You’re glad it did.

She’s a good kid.

She’ll be alright.

[365days365movies]

February 6, 2021: Romeo + Juliet (1996)

From the top!

Two households, both alike in dignity In Fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross’d lover take their life; Whose misadventured, piteous overthrows Do, with their death, bury their parents’ strife The fearful passage of the death-mark’d love, And the continuance of their parents’ rage Which, but their children’s end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage; The which, if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strike to mend.

I mean, c’mon. It’s Shakespeare, I practically had to.

Which is why it may come as a surprise to hear that I think this play is overrated, far too overexposed, and honestly stars two of the most obnoxiously immature protagonists that Shakespeare ever wrote. Which is not to say that I don’t like it, but it is to say that it isn’t my favorite. Which one is my favorite, you ask? Eh, I vacillate between a few, but I might get into it, we’ll see.

Weirdly fitting, though, since this film is directed by a director who also isn’t my favorite. Can’t say I have a definitive favorite director either, but Baz Luhrmann ain’t it. To be fair, I haven’t seen Moulin Rouge (probably should, huh?), but his turn on The Great Gatsby...wasn’t my favorite, I’ll just leave it at that.

And while we’re into it, lemme just address Romeo and Juliet adaptations on film real quick. To be completely transparent, before today...I’ve only seen one adaptation of the play: Franco Zeffirelli’s excellent 1968 turn on it, and it’s a fantastic adaptation at that. Sone of you, however, may now be realizing that, if I’ve only seen one adaptation of the play...there’s an extremely glaring omission to my film repertoire.

Yeaaaaaaaaah...we’ll get there, I promise.

But, of course, the adaptations only scratch the surface of this plays influence. See, the whole point of the rivalry between the Montagues and the Capulets is that it’s SO OLD, that nobody truly remembers why it started in the first place. Because of that, other romance films have sought to supply a reason for that rivalry.

In other words, the two protagonists destined to fall in love often come from two backgrounds, if not families, that class. And, yes, only ONE FILM that I’ve watched this month doesn’t do that. Dirty Dancing and The Notebook make their “ancient grudge” class-based; low-class vs. upper-class. Even You’ve Got Mail makes it about money, although that one’s a little more of a stretch. In any case, versions of this trope have lasted for centuries, and it’s...maybe poisoned romantic cinema? I mean, there’s a reason they all seem similar. They’re all taking from a classic. And, yeah, more of them than you’d think use this formula. I mean...

Hell, if you think about it, both of them are technically dead by the end.

Anyway, jumping right smack dab into the ‘90s, where teen heartthrob of the decade, Leo DiCaprio himself, is cast to play the titular teen boy, and sort-of popular at the time Claire Danes is cast as the titular teen girl. Put them together, and you have a hatred that will last for centuries. Because yeah, they HATED each other apparently. Let’s watch! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

...Look, here’s a quick recap of a story that EVERYBODY KNOWS.

Two families hate each other, and each has a teenage kid; a boy named Romeo and a girl named Juliet. They see each other at a party, they IMMEDIATELY get those teenage hormones a flowing and fall in love at first sight. They talk a few times, then decide to get married. Romeo’s friends say, “Dude, her family’s all dicks,” and Romeo says “naw, dude, she’s hawt,” They hook up, and they get secret-married. But, since they can’t be together in life, and since Juliet’s supposed to marry a whole other dude, Juliet runs to the priest and says, “hey, fake my death real quick?” He gives her a potion, she pretends to be dead, Romeo finds out (after one of his friends is killed by Juliet’s cousin), and runs to her side. Dude then ACTUALLY kills himself with poison, only for Juliet to wake up, see his dead body, and then kill HERSELF with a KNIFE, and then the families find out, and the Prince comes by and just says, “Goddamn, you guys are dicks. So much so that you killed your kids, congrats.” And that’s the end.

Yeah. Two hours of play and movie (nice touch, by the way, Luhrman) compressed into a paragraph. And yet...I’m still gonna recap this movie. Glutton for punishment, I guess. And with that said...

It all starts with a newscaster, speaking the lines of the Prologue in the guise of a newscast, which is...very neat, actually! That’s followed by...Pete Postlethwaite saying the whole thing over again, backed by a hell of a lot of fast cut editing.

...Oh God, it’s a Luhrmann movie. I forgot. Also, uh...really trying to stretch out that runtime to make that 2-hour mark, huh, Bazzie? I admire that you’re trying to stick to that “two hour-stage” quote from the Prologue, really I do...but you had to repeat the Prologue TWICE to do that?

As the lines flash on screen, we’re also introduced to out major players, whom I’ll just introduce as they come up. After a little montage of the movie to come, and a confirmation that the ancient grudge has broken out into a gang war on the streets of Verona Beach (clever), we jump in the car of a few Montagues: Sampson (Jaime Kennedy), Benvolio (Dash Mihok), and Gregory (Zak Orth).

At a gas station, they meet some Capulets, specifically Abra (Vincent Laresca) and a few others. After some thumb-biting, they all draw their swords. Which are guns that have sword written on them. Well, that’s just silly.

This standoff is interrupted by the arrival of another Capulet: Tybalt (John Leguizamo). This, of course, leads to a swordfight (ugh), during which all players are, just...REAL dramatic with their movements, holy shit. In the process, Sampson’s shot (or...stabbed, I dunno), and the gas station explodes.

It’s war in the streets now, as Tybalt and Benvolio are eventually intercepted by Captain Prince (Vondie Curtis-Hall), the chief of police for Verona Beach. He reads out his rage upon the heads of the families. For the Montagues, these heads are Ted (Brian Dennehy) and Caroline (Christina Pickles); and for the Capulets, they’re Fulgencio (Paul Sorvino) and Gloria (Diane Venora). Is...is the grudge taking place because one of them is named “Ted,” and the other is FUCKING “FULGENCIO”? Because that’s one hell of a dichotomy.

Captain Prince lets them all off with a warning (I mean, no, they should ALL be arrested), and Caroline and Ted question the whereabouts of their melodramatic emo son. That son is, of course, Romeo (Leonardo DiCaprio), who laments poetically about how fucked up his family is.

Hanging out at a decrepit carnival (because of course he is), he’s soon found by Benvolio, and he laments on the lack of love between their two families. They bond over talk of women, and decide to secretly go to a party held by the Capulets that night to check out some girls.

Meanwhile, Fulgencio is speaking about this whole mess to Dave Paris (Paul Rudd). D...Dave? Really? We’re keepin’ fuckin’ Benvolio and Balthasar, but we had to name Paris DAVE? Guys, a little consistency with the name shit, PLEASE! Anyway, Dave (uuuuugh) is the governor’s son, and very wealthy, while also being a suitor for Fulgencio’s daughter.

That daughter is, of course, Juliet (Claire Danes), who’s being attended by her vain mother and kindly Nurse (Miriam Margoyles). As her mother’s preparing for the party, she talks up Paris as a suitor, although Juliet doesn’t seem SUPER into it. And s the Nurse tells her to “seek happy nights to happy days,” we go to Sycamore Grove, and to another party.

And this is where we meet my favorite character (everybody’s favorite character, let’s be honest): Mercutio (Harold Perrineau). Mercutio has been invited to the Capulet’s party, and invites Romeo to come along, in disguise. In the process, he gives one of the play’s most famous monologues: Queen Mab’s Speech. It’s truncated here, ad to be frank, Perrineau’s performance is a bit...over the top. But, it ends up to be fairly effective.

Also, Queen Mab is ecstasy. Yeah, that kinda dulled by enthusiasm for the whole enterprise, I ain’t gonna lie. But Romeo lies with Queen La, and they head to the Capulet’s party. And we’re about to hit PEAK LUHRMANN, people.

Look, I’m lame, I’ve never really done drugs, ecstasy included...but it FEELS like I’ve taken something now. And Romeo’s now trying to sober-up a bit. He dunks his head into a sink in the bathroom, and looks at a tropical aquarium that’s in there. And through that aquarium...

However, Juliet’s quickly spirited away by Nurse, and brought to dance with Dave. Romeo, meanwhile, gives his “Did my heart love till now” speech, and DOESN’T SAY THAT SHE DOTH TEACH THE TORCHES TO BURN BRIGHT??? Seriously, the beginning of that speech is completely deleted. That line, in and of itself, should’ve been left in.

Anyway, Romeo and Juliet speak, and the teenagers kiss...a lot. And yeah, they do kiss in this scene in the ply, but not that much. Immediately afterwards, they discover their family alliances, and Romeo and Mercutio flee the party. Romeo heads back soon after, and, well...you know the line. But soft...

This movie...LOVES water, huh? We see both Romeo and Juliet from underwater at separate points, they see each other for the first time through an aquarium, they’re making out in a pool right now. I mean, I’m sure there’s some symbolism to that, but I’m not sure what it is yet.

Anyway, the two starcross’d lover come just short of crossing stars, and they IMMEDIATELY get engaged to marry.

After a bit of ‘90s music whiplash, we meet Father Laurence (Pete Postlethwaite), a botany-loving priest, and soon-to-be ally to the young couple. Romeo asks Laurence to wed them, despite the fact that Romeo actually was in love with a woman named Rosaline. But, yeah, she’s one of the unseen casualties of this play, only sometimes making it into adaptations. As Romeo speaks to the Priest, I think this is a great time to mention that there is a FUCKTON of Jesus and Christian imagery in this movie. Water and Jesus, goddamn.

The Priest agrees, believing that a marriage between the two could bring peace to Verona Beach at last. We also get a bunch of quick edits showing various parts of the Luhrmann Shakespeare Cinematic Universe, all backed by a choir boy singing “When Doves Cry.” This is an...unusual movie.

It also seems that Tybalt has issued a challenge against Romeo, which Mercutio and Benvolio muse upon. They meet with Romeo on the beach, and as they hang around, their revelry is interrupted by the arrival of the Nurse. She gives him a warning not to fuck with Juliet’s heart, which he says that he won’t, as they’re planning on marrying. She appears to approve, but Mercutio seems not to. Definitely going with a more superficially mercurial take on the character, which fits. But that’ll be more apparent later.

Nurse goes to Juliet, and...OK, is she supposed to be Italian or Hispanic? Because I feel like I’m supposed to be mildly offended, but I don’t even know what she’s going for here. Anyway, the wedding time approaches, and the two get wed in secret. But on the beach, Tybalt has come to go after Romeo. Romeo tries to make amends, even giving up his “sword” to him, much to Mercutio’s anger. Which, uh...he’s not gonna stand for.

And, of course, Mercutio’s fatally stabbed while defending Romeo’s honor. He lays A PLAGUE O’ BOTH THEIR HOUSES, and dies. Romeo’s PISSED, and immediately goes to kill Tybalt. That leads to Romeo’s banishment, although they consummate their marriage before he takes off. Also, Juliet KNOWS that he KILLED HER COUSIN...but it’s Leo, I guess, and...hormones.

Romeo’s banished and goes to Mantua, AKA a trailer park in the middle of the desert. Juliet, meanwhile, is commanded by her father to marry Paris, although she REALLY isn’t into it now! She goes to Laurence and, yeah, threatens to kill him AND herself if he doesn’t have an idea. Hormones, man. They’ll fuck you UP.

Laurence’s solution, of course, is to have Juliet pretend to have killed herself by drinking a potion. No idea why he comes up with this idea, or has the skill to make the potion, but some questions aren’t meant to be asked or answered. He also says to that he’ll send a litter to Romeo, to let him know what the deal is.

Juliet pretends to kill herself, and it interred with her relatives. Meanwhile, Romeo’s cousin Balthasar (Jesse Bradford) comes by the desert, having just gone to Juliet’s funeral, and tells him that Juliet’s dead. And since Romeo never got the goddamn letter, he’s decided, “Well! Guess I’m gonna kill myself.”

He gets some poison, then goes to Juliet’s tomb, which is...decked in neon crosses. I mean, it looks nice, even it’s very, uh...over the top. Goddamn.

And, at this point, you know how this goes. Romeo drinks the poison and dies, Juliet wakes up JUST after, then kills herself as well, and the parents of both parties arrive to see them both dead, along with the Prince, who says “Y’ALL ARE DICKS,” and bounces.

That’s Luhrman’s Romeo + Juliet. And it’s a movie. Yeah, that I’ll give you. What did I think? What rating does it get? Well...I’ll elucidate in the Review.

[har-rison-s]

heaven: 16

nothing lasts forever

request/plot: Stan x Reader where they were together back in Derry and kind of forgot about each other after moving away but they always had a void in their lives. And then when Stan is just about to do it after Mikes call his phone rings and it’s you and you’re crying after just getting off the phone with Mike to come to Derry. You both end up going back and seeing each other at the restaurant and you guys just catch up after all these years that passed and old feelings come back.

A/N: Hi! Part sixteen already. Whew, last one was quite long, wasn’t it? It’s one of my best works ever, I think. Has me feeling so many emotions, and quite strongly, idk. Welp, here goes one of the last chapters. I still haven’t decided how many more chapters there will be, but I just know this Heaven is nearing its end. I hope you all like how this turns out. I’m still a bit conflicted between a few characters and plot points of the ending, like I have a few versions of the ending in mind, and I wanna execute all and none of them at the same time. If I decide on this one ending that’s the most strong out of all of them, I hope y’all won’t kill me. I just finished rewatching the 1990 mini-series. Damn, that’s messy. The dialogues, the special effects… Don’t even get me started on the acting. Anyways, happy quarantine reading! Love you lots <3

warnings: long as always hahahah, wounds, blood, food, nothing else

word count: 3.7k

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Gif credit goes to owner, which isn't me! (Also, it's raining in the gif but idc! Y'all know it's morning and sunny as hell in Derry, Maine rn!)

“Could we have six menus and a first-aid kit?” Richie Tozier asks the young waitress who has approached their miserable-looking table. Her eyebrows raise and she scans the eight adults to see why they would need a first aid kit—not that it’s any of her business—and she screams, coming across Eddie’s bleeding side. The Losers flinch at the high pitch of her scream.

“You need to get to the hospital!” She says, tears streaming down her face. Now this one’s quite emotional for six o’clock in the morning, the Losers think in unison and exchange looks between themselves, finding it imposible to say any words at the current moment. 

“I promise, he’s fine.” Richie tells the girl, looking at her through his thick glasses.

“It’s just a scratch.” Eddie says non-chalantly, and the waitress thinks to herself that these really are a bunch of crazy people, as she presumed when they walked inside the diner. “Besides, I’m a doctor. Could you please bring the menus and a.... uh, a first-aid kit?” He squints and tries his best at a smile at the crying waitress. 

She gathers herself, wipes her tears and smiles as wide as up to her ears. “Right away.” She says in a squeaky voice and leaves their table. The Losers exchange looks between themselves once again, overwhelmed by the events of the night and by the heavily emotional waitress that they have to deal with. They huddle closer together to one another in their red-and-white leather seated booth. 

The place smells of freshly cooked food, coffee and cigarettes. Oh, they’ll all definitely have coffee. A mood and energy booster, that’s for sure, that’s what they need. Though none of them are sure they even have such a thing as a ‘mood’, or ever will. This morning they’re certainly not in any kind of mood. To be completely honest, the Losers feel quite hollow. They feel completed, and they feel a lot of love and pride, but they feel empty inside, as if there’s a hole in their chests and it keeps getting more hollow. 

Stanley’s head rests on Y/N’s shoulder, his hair fallen against her delicate neck. She runs her fingers slowly through his semi-dry curls. Only the roots have dried, and slowly the draught moves further through his jet black strands, taking its time. Stanley places his hand over Y/N’s in his lap, their fingers intertwining seconds after. She lays a kiss on his forehead, and he closes his eyes. You can be at peace.

Y/N looks onto Eddie and Richie, both anxiously waiting for that requested first-aid kit. But they look more peaceful than ever before and Y/N thinks, they all must look that way. Richie’s arm has fallen with natural force around Eddie’s shoulders, and Eddie holds that slack hand in his own, creating a lock of security around himself. Richie’s other hand is drumming against the marbled surface of the table, and he looks at Bev and Ben across the table.

They’re talking to themselves abotu something so quietly that no one can hear them. Their foreheads are pressed together and they’re playing with each other’s hands softly, playfully. Bev’s crimson locks touch Ben’s cheek ever so softly and he closes his eyes. January embers. He opens his eyes again and looks strongly into Bev’s. My heart burns there, too.

Bill tries not to watch them too strikingly. But it’s hard, his first supposed crush and love sitting at the other end of the table with his best friend, completely in their own world, completely in love. It’s hard for his heart, to be precise. His mind knows better. You know better, Bill, you have a wife that you love and, now that you think of it, looks a lot like Bev here. And Beverly’s happy. So are the rest of your friends. You’ll go home and you’ll be happy, too. Back home with Audra, her movies, your novels and their shitty endings. 

Maybe I don’t want to go home, he finds himself thinking. And he’s a bit surprised by that thought. Hmm. What does that mean? Maybe I could live in Derry, spend the rest of my days here, watching as the town, hopefully, evolves, changes. Maybe he can live with Mike now. Bill looks over at his friend. Mike’s smiling, smiling for his friends and his own self, but he’s not looking at them. Mike is probably gonna stay, isn’t he? So what’s so bad about me staying here, and with him? 

Actually Bill doesn’t even wanna think about going back what’s been, for the last thirteen years, considered home. The thought of it makes him sick, for some reason. Maybe he’s not yet ready to think about it all, think about the possibility of going back to England and telling Audra they’re moving to Derry. Yeah, she is not gonna like it at all. And he’s not gonna like that she won’t like it. The thought of it makes him sick, as already said. 

“Here are your menus and the kit.” The waitress has returned, and she doesn’t look shabby anymore. She lays out the menus on the table with her delicate, seemingly teenage hands, and puts the first-aid kit on the table in front of Eddie. 

“Thanks so much.” Eddie speaks his thanks the loudest, and the young girl leaves again. Eddie immediately opens the red box and searches for disinfectant and bandages. He finds a bottle of Equate antiseptic and hands it to Richie, continuing his search for cotton gauze and pads, assuming he won’t find plasters as big as he needs in here. 

Richie unscrews the antiseptic and lifts up Eddie’s shirt. Jeez Louise, it’s a bloodbath. Eddie’s started to bleed onto the seat. Y/N sees their desperate situation and hands the box of tissues on the windowsill to Richie. But Richie gives them to Mike, so he can help clean the wound while Richie cleans it with wipes Eddie’s found in the box. 

“You’re losing a shit ton of blood, dude, you feeling okay?” Richie asks Eddie, carefully cleaning the scrape in his side. Eddie winces here and there, and even draws back when it really stings. 

“I’m fine.” Eddie replies in that same non-chalant voice he’s used for the past half hour. “It’s not that much, anyway.” Richie shakes his head at that statement. They’re almost done with cleaning the skin and wound. The blood still flows, though. 

“We’re going to the hospital later.” Richie states in a soft, commanding voice. Eddie doesn’t really pay mind to Richie’s words, having trouble connecting to thoughts about the next five minutes. He’s gathered some bandages from all that he could find in the kit. Then Eddie looks down at his left side and groans.

“Looks like something took a bite out of me.” He states, looking at the obvious strike in his skin and a bit further than that. There’s other layers visible already, a darker red than his skin. Muscle, that is, and he can see some blood vessels too. Oh, dear God, he’s going to faint. The blood flow is not stopping. 

“Be thankful it didn’t.” Richie reminds him. Eddie takes some medical wool and gives it to Richie. He puts it, as softly as he can, directly into the wound after it’s disinfected, to hopefully stop the blood drip for at least a while. Eddie winces, and his face scrunches so much he feels tears squirting out at the corners of his eyes. That is not a nice feeling at all. 

Mike presses his hand on the wool to keep it there while Richie gets bandages from Eddie. He puts the biggest plasters at the top and bottom of the wound, securing the wool, and Mike lets go. Then Eddie adds more wool, puts tissues and bandages over it, and Richie helps him secure it all with gauze. Quite messy, but for the time until they’re in the hospital, this will have to last. Richie cleans up the blood around their make-shift work place and puts Eddie’s shirt back down. They throw the tissues in a trash can under their table—wow, they have that kind of thing here?—and lean against the sofa, both tired, more tired than before.

“No staph infections in our lifetime.” Richie states between yawns. The ones who were there, in the back alley where the two holy words were spoken first, laugh. But Mike and Bev only share looks of confusion. Richie lays a kiss atop of Eddie’s head and embraces him back in his arms. Now they have time to look at what the menu’s offering.

Y/N opens the menu in front of her and Stanley so they can both read it at once. Stanley sighs. “I don’t have my glasses.” He mewls. The words printed on the laminated paper are blurry to him, and he realises his obstacles are either back at the  hotel or lost in the over-flown sewers or the underground lair. He blinks his eyes twice, but he still can’t read anything except for Derry Diner Menu, which are much larger and in bold. 

Y/N tilts her head to rest on his. “Breakfast. Pancakes - ones with caramel, ones with chocolate, ones with bacon and cheese, ones with berries and fruit, ones with ice cream…” She reads out loud. “Country breakfast - ham, eggs, fries, baked beans. Eggs Benedict, Lobster Benedict, Irish Benedict, Eggs Florentine, waffles, steak & eggs.” She sighs. “Anything strike your fancy?”

Stanley shrugs. “Keep reading.” He says, and feels his eyelids and chest heavy. Her voice is so sweet and soothing. Y/N nods.

“Breakfast burrito, mac and cheese, mac and cheese with lobster,” she widens her eyes, “chili, chicken pot pie… turkey, roast beef sandwhiches… sea food, side orders…” she flips through the menu, which requires to move the arm that’s around Stanley. And she finds that his body is limp against hers. She worriedly looks down. 

His breath passes through his slightly parted lips, his eyes are closed and his face is completely relaxed. He’s asleep. Y/N almost laughs into his face, but she turns away and suppresses her giggles. Her friends look at her. “He’s fallen asleep.” She tells them in a whisper, pointing down at Stanley. They nod and most of them smile. No wonder. They feel like doing the same, and they’re actually on the verge, if they weren’t concentrating on reading the menu and hoping for coffee soon. 

Y/N stops her giggling fit and looks down at the menu again. What do I want, what do I want… “What are you guys gonna order?” She asks her friends. 

“Probably pancakes.” Comes from Bev, who’s decided for both her and Ben.

“Us too.” Mike informs. “Bacon?” He asks.

“Berries.” Ben responds. 

“We’re gonna get that country breakfast or whatever.” Richie says. “To get proper fat, you know, grow into Eddie’s mom.” He explains further and everyone giggles, even Eddie himself. 

Y/N hums. “I’ve got no idea. I want everything, but it just won’t fit.” She states and Bill chuckles. “I know what to order for Stanley, but myself…”

“Take the same and stop working your brain.” Mike suggests. Y/N looks at him.

“It’s worked enough for the past hours.” Bill supports his argument. Her eyes shift to Bill, and then she looks down at the menu again, a smile on her face now. 

“I guess it’s just that easy now.” She admits and closes the menu, putting it on the table instead. Making decisions really is that easy now. She leans back into the seat, Stanley’s body moving with hers. He gets more comfortable while sleeping, his face nuzzling into her neck, tickling her a bit, and his arms going around her, securing themselves together at her waist. Y/N smiles and hugs him back, resting her cheek on his curls. She closes her eyes. 

“What will you have?” Bill asks her and she opens an eye to look at him, her own eyelids feeling sort of heavy now. “Before you join him.” He whispers, smiling. She smiles back.

“Love you, Bill.” She tells him sincerely. “Eggs Benedict for us both.” She says and Bill nods. “And coffee, too. Both black, but two sugars in Stanley’s.” She’s surprised herself that she still knows how he likes his coffee, or which breakfast option he’d always choose. It’s like it’s basic knowledge now, something that’s imprinted in her mind and feels like it’s been that way since she can remember. She closes her eyes again and lets her exhaustion take over. She wants to rest, just for a little bit, just lay with Stanley for a while.

She did join him in sleeping for a while. Bill wakes her up when the food and coffees have arrive, starting to tickle her, Ben doing the same to Stanley. The two adults jolt awake, eyes wide and confused, and make their friends laugh. 

“Morning, sleepyheads.” Richie nods to them with a smile. Stanley nods right back and Y/N and he both right themselves, sitting up straight. Y/N moves her hair behind her ear and Stanley flattens his shirt. They look down at the fresh food in front of them, though their vision and look on their environement is still hazy from the good-as-hell nap they just woke up from. 

“Bone, apple, tit, was it?” Richie suggests as a toast for the Losers’ diner breakfast. Everyone laughs once more, but they clink their coffee cups together, repeating Richie’s ridiculous words and they laugh again, harder this time. Languages have never been Richie’s strongest side. 

They all drink coffee in unison and regain some amount energy at that, then delve into their steaming breakfast which fill their noses up to the maximum with utterly irresistible aromas. Richie, like the beast he is, devours half of his plate in the first few minutes while everyone else devours their food bit by bit. But everyone is so endorsed in eating that they don’t pay mind to their friends, for the time they’re eating they even forget they’re with their friends, lest someone else entirely. Food is very good right now. Heavenly, if you might.

When they’re done, they all slump into their seats, letting out groans of content and holding their bellies. “For a diner, that was really good.” Bill says. Y/N laughs. Bill, Eddie, Stanley, Ben—cross that, all of them, except herself and Mike, have grown used to dining at fancy restaurants where it costs to even reserve a table, grown used to making great mega-dishes at home for themselves. They’ve grown used to business events with crazy dinners and a wide range of appetisers. Champagne, wine, whiskey of the highest classes. So this is entirely out of their usual menu, and Bill is, of course, taking it like a snob. Hence Y/N laughed. 

She and Mike have not lived the life their friends have. Not that it’s bad lives they’ve been living upto this point, just different, way different from most of the Losers Club. Y/N hasn’t become a famous writer, architect or fashion designer, neither has Mike. So for one, their daily routine differs, and two, their eating habits differ from their friends’. Diner food may be the lowest of them all, considered so by the highest class of society, but Y/N can safely admit that she likes diner food and doesn’t mind having it once in a while. And what can Mike have in this shithole town, anyway, other than make-believe restaurant meals, takeout and diners? Neither of them mind eating here now or any other time. 

“I want more.” Y/N manages to croak out, and everyone laughs. “Anyone up for a sundae split?”

“Ugh, we’re really gonna get fat.” Eddie sighs. 

“Haystack’s gonna have a come-back!” Richie announces and changes his face into an excited expression. But he still makes his friends laugh, including Ben himself. His laughter rumbles deep and low like a bear’s roar.

“I’ll have a sundae split with you, Y/N/N.” Beverly says, then. Y/N smiles at her. 

“Anyone up for a Diet Coke and salad?” Mike asks now, and they all laugh again. Richie joins the girls for a sundae split, and the rest agree with Mike’s offer. 

“Wait, wasn’t Y/N working in a diner for a while? In, like, high school?” Eddie asks now, as they wait for the waitress, and he looks at Y/N. She looks at him, tired and full from the eggs, but nods. 

“I was.” She confirms. “Not this one, though, the one in the center of town.” She leans towards the table to sit proper and rests her elbows on the surface. She crosses her arms and puts her chin on top of them. “After Bowers and Cockstetter were… out of the picture, I had the freedom to work in the skirt the diner required me to.” She recalls. Those boys were always onto her and Beverly, while they were still alive, which made it hard for them to ever wear something remotely feminine. They always got some sort of cat-calls, and groping was the worst of what would come from them. “Jesus…” 

“What scumbags they were.” Beverly joins in, also leaning against the table. She moves her hair out of her face, and looks to Y/N, but Ben’s worried gaze catches her eye instead. She turns to him. He only reaches for her hand with his own. I’m here now. 

“You working in a diner was the best thing, Y/N.” Richie says, putting emphasis on ‘best’. She looks at him now and smiles, remembering how stoked they all were for free food and the food that she actually made. Mostly deserts. Stanley’s arm makes its way around her waist. She leans closer to him. “I mean, the birthday parties there were amazing. Nothing could top them.”

“Wow, Rich, even college and work parties?” Mike asks, and they both chuckle.

“You bet your fur, Mikey,” Richie says, patting his friend’s shoulder. He looks reminiscent for a second, his head hangs down, and then he tries to put it into words, “you know, I think—I think because childhood, and teenage years, were the best part of my life. I mean, I’m forty now, so I’m old enough to say shit like that, you know, but… It’s true. I know that I thought it then and I know it now—those were the best parties of my life.” He admits and looks around at his friends. “Because—because I was still young, and because it was the best childhood, I think, any kid could wish for. Even counting in all the shame, the fear, and IT. And because I was with you guys.” 

A silence falls upon the Losers Club. But they smile at Richie, and at each other, realising that’s true. Those were the best years of their lives, and actually, taking the horrible parts, the best childhood any child could wish for. The best friends anyone could wish for to spend that childhood and those confusing, difficult teenage years with. Without each other, they wouldn’t be the same, and they wouldn’t be as strong and as full of love and, perhaps, belief. 

“You know…” Stanley starts to say, they look at him, “nothing lasts forever.” He states, shaking his head with a dreamy look in his eyes. Nothing does seem to last forever, that is true. But he has a feeling of differing in opinion with his own statement. Nothing lasts forever—the monster they thought had lived under Derry forever, eaten its kids and other residents, cast a spell on the adults and the whole air of Derry, is now dead. So that doesn’t last forever. The promise they made—it is fulfilled now, meaning it won’t last forever, either. It lasted as long as needed to unite them all again. But this… what they have…

“Except for friendship.” Y/N says, looking at him. “And love.” Yes, friendship and love. Those will last forever. The love they have for each other will outlive all their future deaths, all their future kids’ deaths, and their kids’ deaths. This love, and this bond, it will last forever. It will always be somewhere in the predicted long life of the Earth and humanity. It will fly with the wind, blossom in flowers and rosy cheeks, it will swim with the ocean and breathe with the air. Always.

“And love.” Eddie says it with Y/N in unison. They smile at each other. Love. What a wonderful thing. It might as well be a living creature, like fear was. Only much stronger.

“Desire.” Ben suggests. Beverly closes her eyes and leans her head on his shoulder. I know, Ben. But we’re here now. All the desire pent up in teenage and adult years seems much lighter now. For Beverly, Ben and for Richie and Eddie, too. And for Stanley and Y/N. All their desire towards each other has finally been released, even if the door to it is only open in a narrow slit now. Desire might as well live in all eight of them, desire for each other, desire to meet each other again, desire to have that unbreakable friendship again. Desire for that lived in their hearts all these empty years, it was unknown and mysterious, a feeling they could not guess. Now it’s known, and out in the open, nothing to hide from each other. Or anyone else, for that matter. They’re proud.

The Losers Club fall silent, but comfortably so. They’re finally in a comfortable state with themselves and each other, and with the world around them. Strange, vile and ignorant as it may be, the world is truly amazing, though, and much bigger than they all thought. Brought them together that one summer, made a bond that will last forever. They’ve got a lot to thank it for. But they’ve also got every reason to kick the world in the butt and other places. 

For now, they’ll let it slide. For now, they’re only focused on being in the diner, getting desert and then showering. Most importantly, for now, they’ve got each other, safe and healthy, and that’s all they need. That will do. 

“Anything else you’d like to order?”

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[organabanana]

Four things Esti kept secret, and one she couldn’t | Ronit/Esti

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Disobedience (2017) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Underage Relationships: Ronit Krushka/Esti Kuperman, Ronit Krushka & Esti Kuperman Characters: Ronit Krushka, Esti Kuperman Additional Tags: Femslash February, Femslash February 2020, Pre-Canon, baby gays doing baby gay things Series: Part 3 of Femslash February 2020 Summary:

Just like it says in the tin: five little snippets of Esti and Ronit's relationship before Ronit left.

[ao3 link]

"What do you think?"

Ronit walked out of the bathroom stall and stuck her hands in the pockets of her trousers.

Her trousers.

Where had Ronit even found a pair of trousers, anyway? Esti looked around as if she was expecting one of their parents to suddenly pop up from behind a column and start screaming at them.

"Esti," Ronit said in that tone she used that sometimes felt like a very heavy blanket had been draped over Esti to make her feel calm and safe, "nobody knows us here."

And Esti knew Ronit was right, of course. They were far away from home, in one of their Underground Adventures (Ronit's idea, always) where they moved from one line to the next at random until they felt free. Until they could breathe.

"So?" Ronit tried again, and this time she turned around so Esti could take a proper look. "What do you think?"

The trousers were a bit big for Ronit. They were baggy and a little long even if she'd rolled them up at the ankles to keep them from dragging on the floor. They didn't fit right at all. And yet...

"They suit you," Esti finally declared, voice thoughtful and head tilted as she considered the picture in front of her, "even if they're not quite your size."

Ronit beamed at her best friend, clearly delighted with her assessment, and Esti wondered if maybe Ronit hadn't been asking just about the trousers after all.

"Dovid gave them to me. Well- he doesn't know I'm wearing them, of course, he thinks I've donated them." Ronit looked moderately guilty for the lie, but after a second of silent consideration she shrugged it off. "I suppose in a way I have donated them. Just... to myself."

Esti let out a quiet chuckle, even if she shook her head out of some kind of need to let it be known she didn't exactly approve of this whole thing. And yet...

"Let me see again," she heard herself say, cheeks tingling with what she knew was the beginning of a blush, "stick your hands in your pockets like before."

Because there had been something about that pose. And when Ronit smirked and stood like before, slouching slightly like taking off her heavy long skirt had relaxed every muscle in her body, Esti couldn't look away.

Suddenly the trousers looked like they'd been made for Ronit. Or maybe Ronit had been made for trousers instead. Ronit had always been beautiful, but now she was... was she handsome? Esti licked her lips, unable to find a word to pin to the feeling warming her up from the inside out.

"Do you really like them?"

Esti nodded, even if the more she looked, the more she realized she didn't like the trousers after all. She liked how they looked on Ronit. Not because they fit perfectly, like the ones Dovid or Aaron or any other boy wore day in and day out. She liked that they didn't fit quite right, because Ronit wasn't Dovid or Aaron or any other boy. She was Ronit, and she was a girl.

That was what she liked.

But Esti never said that out loud.

***

"Look what I've found."

They were sitting on Esti's bed, even if they should've been asleep already. Their parents didn't mind sleepovers. Esti knew they loved that she was so close with the Rav's daughter. Of course, her parents didn't know Ronit's sleeping bag had never been used, because the girls much preferred to share Esti's bed. Esti didn't know exactly why they'd have a problem with that, really - there was nothing inappropriate about two girl friends sharing a bed - but something told her they would very much oppose it if they knew.

There was something that felt a bit like danger lurking right under the surface every time Esti climbed into bed next to Ronit and felt her best friend's warm body beside her.

And that same sense of danger - or maybe it was excitement? - tingled up her spine as she looked at the object Ronit was currently showing her.

Esti knew what it was. A CD player, small and round, with its earphones dangling on the end of a long black wire. She'd seen plenty of them during their Underground Adventures, but she'd never used one.

Obviously. Why would she? Music like that was forbidden, after all.

"You've found it?" Esti asked with a hint of doubt in her voice. The same doubt showing in the way she cocked one of her eyebrows. "Really?"

Ronit shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Esti supposed it didn't. It was forbidden either way.

And maybe that's why she hesitated before reaching for it and placing a single fingertip on its smooth metallic surface. She was almost surprised when no lightning came from above to smite her right then and there.

"Has it got a CD inside?"

Ronit nodded, white teeth catching her bottom lip as if she was struggling to contain an excited grin. And truth be told, she likely was doing just that.

When she held one of the earphones out for her to take, Esti shook her head. It was one thing to see it and allow it to be in her room. But to actually use it...

"What are you afraid of?"

Ronit's question was simple enough, and yet Esti found herself unable to find a decent answer. What was she afraid of?

She didn't know. So she figured there was no reason for her to say no, after all.

"Ready?" Ronit could barely hide her excitement once they were each wearing one headphone and she pressed play.

It was a slow melody. Unsurprisingly, Esti didn't know it at all. But after a few seconds, she decided she liked it. It was nice. Warm, somehow. It made her want to...

"Dance with me," Ronit said, jolting Esti out of her thoughts like that lightning that didn't strike when she broke the rules earlier. By the time Esti fully processed what her best friend had just said, Ronit was already on her feet, one hand extended towards Esti as she kicked her sleeping bag out of the way.

"I don't know how to dance, Ronit. You don't know how to dance."

"I've seen people dance,"  Ronit said, holding Esti's hand and tugging lightly until she was also on her feet, "we can figure it out."

It was very hard to argue with Ronit Krushka when she had made up her mind about something. And clearly, she'd made up her mind about this.

"I'll be the man," she said, and Esti could've sworn Ronit's voice sounded a little lower than normal, "so you just have to follow my lead. Okay?"

Esti nodded, feeling a little like she'd lost all her words somewhere between the moment when she stood up and the second she felt Ronit's hand pressing against the small of her back.

"A bit closer," Ronit's voice was barely above a whisper, so quiet Esti was surprised she could hear it over the beating of her heart. She let Ronit's hand guide her closer and closer, until there was only a sliver of hair between their bodies. And then, even though Ronit didn't tell her to, she took another step forward.

She could feel the warmth of Ronit's skin even through their nightshirts.

"Ready?" Another whisper, and Esti nodded once again. Ronit led them as they swayed slowly to the beat of whatever song they were listening to. Esti didn't care. All she cared about was Ronit, and her warmth, and how solid she felt against her. How her breathing seemed to be a bit shallower than normal, and what it felt like when Ronit's blunt fingernails gently scratched against her back.

They'd been dancing for three and a half songs when she felt Ronit's hand move in a different way. Softly, almost hesitantly. Ronit never hesitated, but she did right then, for just a second, before her fingertip slowly traced a heart on the small of Esti's back.

She never told Ronit she'd noticed what she'd drawn.

***

Ronit was leaning against their tree, eyes closed as the sun hit her face and made her look like something out of a painting. It was early Spring, still chilly enough outside for both of them to be wearing coats over their sensible dresses. Lighter coats, though. Not quite the heavy affairs from mid-winter that made Esti feel like she was lugging an entire bed spread around.

Esti loved that early Spring sunshine in an almost protective sort of way. It felt so fragile and small, never quite strong enough to actually warm you up properly, but still there. Bright in a very different way from the warm sunlight from later on in the year.

"I thought you wanted to go over your notes before the test," Ronit said without opening her eyes, voice a little lazy like it always was in their early morning walks to school. She'd never been a morning person, but she still woke up a half hour earlier than she had to just to walk with Esti. Esti thought about that quite a lot.

"I did. I do. I have them right here," Esti waved the cards in the air, as if that would somehow make the many History facts written on them fall off and enter her brain.

"And yet you're staring at me like a little creep."

Esti felt her cheeks flush. She'd been caught, hadn't she? She just didn't know how, when Ronit's eyes had been closed the whole time. Still, there was really no need to call her a creep.

"You're so unpleasant in the morning. I should stop talking to you before lunch time."

"You could never. You'd miss me far too much."

Deep down, Esti knew Ronit was right. Just the thought of going a day without seeing Ronit was enough to make something twist uncomfortably in her chest, to the point where she simply refused to even entertain the idea at all. It'd never happen, anyway. She wouldn't allow it.

"I'm sorry I called you a little creep," Ronit said after a few moments in silence, and when Esti looked at her she saw her friend's eyes were no longer closed, "I didn't sleep well last night."

Esti no longer cared about her exam, or the facts in the cards. All she cared about was the hint of something very close to sadness she swore she saw in Ronit's eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing, I swear!" Ronit reached for Esti's hand and gave it a squeeze, as if that would make Esti believe her. "I was just up thinking until late, that's all."

Ronit didn't let go of her hand, and Esti didn't pull away. Instead, she found herself taking a slow step forward, as if Ronit in that early Spring light was a star she couldn't help but gravitate towards.

They'd had this conversation before, with some very minor variations. Ronit would say she'd been worried or preoccupied or thinking about something, and Esti would read the rest right there in hazel eyes. Because it was obvious, wasn't it, the thing that was keeping Ronit up at night. The very same thing that wouldn't let Esti look her mother in the eye after spending time with Ronit, even if nothing happened. And nothing ever happened. They made sure of that by never discussing it out loud.

Esti and Ronit could have entire conversations in complete silence. They'd speak in class and at Temple and right in front of their parents without saying a word. Who needed those? It was all right there in looks and slight brushes of hands and even in the empty spaces between the words they did say.

And that was enough. That was safe. Like a wall of bulletproof glass between and around them.

"What were you thinking about?"

Esti's voice was so quiet it may as well have been a whisper, and yet she could've sworn the sound of that safety glass shattering was loud enough to be heard all the way back in her house.

And Ronit heard it, too. Her eyes rounded and she straightened her back, no longer leaning against their tree.

"What?"

"Last night, when you couldn't sleep," Esti let the pad of her thumb brush over Ronit's knuckles, "what were you thinking about?"

Ronit looked down at their hands for a moment before she met Esti's eyes again.

"You."

Esti felt the air in her lungs disappear as if her heart needed the extra room in her chest. It wasn't beating. Not quite. It was throwing itself against her rib cage like it needed to be set free.

And maybe it did.

Ronit was waiting for an answer. A comment, a reaction, something. And Esti had so many things she could say to free up even more space for her heart.

She could've said she thought of Ronit at night, too, and the way she felt kept her up for hours past her bedtime.

She could've said the reason she couldn't look her mother in the eye were the things she wished would happen, even if they never do.

Never did.

Because Esti didn't say any of those things out loud. Instead, she held on to Ronit's hand a little tighter and leaned in until her lips brushed against her best friend's.

The only reason Esti was sure it wasn't all a dream was that in her dreams, it was always Ronit kissing her. But once that first step was taken, who did what and in what order seemed to stop mattering altogether.

Esti had never kissed anyone before, and she didn't need to to know Ronit was the only person she ever wanted to kiss. Ronit's hands were the only ones she wanted in her hair, Ronit's body was the only one she wanted to feel pressed against her own, and Ronit's teeth were the only ones she wanted nipping at her bottom lip.

She decided, right then and there, that she didn't ever want to have another first kiss.

She just never said it out loud.

***

They hadn't even bothered pulling Ronit's sleeping bag out of its case.

It would have felt silly at that point.

And Esti knew they had been right. The Rav, the scriptures, her parents, the well-meaning elders who sometimes handed out free advice for young women just like Esti. They had all been right, because now Esti knew it was true: the first sin was the hardest.

After that - once that line had been crossed - nothing ever felt the same. What had seemed unthinkable was suddenly not quite that big a deal after all. A mountain became a step. And the scariest part of it all was Esti wasn't sure where it had all started.

What had been that first sin? The one that started the snowball effect that had landed her on her back in her bed, nightshirt up around her waist and a hand pressed over her mouth to keep herself quiet while Ronit moved between her thighs?

She didn't know.

She didn't care.

What she felt for Ronit was wrong, but true. Ending up right there in that moment, feeling Ronit's fingers inside her while Ronit's taste still lingered on her lips and tongue felt inevitable. Of course they'd end up like that, as together as two people could possibly be. There had never really been any other options. Not really.

Ronit's fingers hooked inside her, and Esti's back arched off the mattress, the quietest hint of a whine just barely making it past the hand against her mouth.

"Shhh," Ronit whispered, muffling a giggle against Esti's inner thigh, "you'll get us caught."

"Don't stop."

"Never."

And Esti let her eyes flutter closed, as hearing that was a relief and not just further proof that she was going to keep sinning. Over and over again. Straying further and further away from what was right.

But Esti didn't care.

Not when Ronit's mouth joined her fingers between Esti's thighs and Esti felt the first waves of pleasure crashing against her. Not when her fingers fisted in Ronit's hair to keep her right there as Esti struggled to keep herself quiet and her lungs breathing through it all. Not when she was absolutely sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that that was Heaven, right there.

And as long as she had that, she didn't need the one everyone else kept talking about.

But she never would've dared say that out loud.

***

Ronit looked pale as a ghost, hazel eyes wide in a panicked look Esti had never seen in her life. Her cheeks were flushed from the effort of running from her own house to Esti's, her chest heaving with the effort of trying to catch her breath.

Esti was so shocked she couldn't even ask what was happening. All she could do was stare.

"They know."

"What? Who?"

"They know, Esti."

She took a step back, one of her hands feeling around for something to hold on to just to give her a sense of reality after the world had been knocked off-center. Her fingers gripped the edge of a nearby table as if it was the only thing keeping her feet on the floor.

Ronit was still talking. About someone seeing them and telling the Rav. About her parents being at Ronit’s house right then, and the three of them talking about how to fix it. Fix them. She talked about running away. About savings, and cameras that could be sold. About plane tickets.

"Together?"

Esti heard the word as if it'd come from someone else instead of out of her own lips. It was small, just like Esti felt. A little desperate. A lot scared.

"Of course," Ronit looked like the mere question was unthinkable, like there had never been any other option, "always."

Esti felt herself nod.

"Hey," Ronit said, stepping close enough to hold Esti's hand in her own, and then close enough to press a lingering kiss to her temple. She didn't say anything, but it was all right there in her eyes for Esti to see when she pulled back. They'd never really needed many words.

The silence stretched for a few moments, just enough for all those unspoken things to wrap around Esti's heart and get it beating properly once again.

"Pack a bag," Ronit finally said, taking a step back and popping the bubble she'd created around them just seconds before, "we'll meet at our tree in fifteen minutes."

"Okay," she felt like she was slowly regaining control of herself. Like she could think again, finally. Like she could wrap her head around what was happening.

They weren't a secret anymore. And they were running away.

Together.

"Okay," she repeated, a little more solid this time. They were going to be okay. And Ronit nodded, because she didn't need Esti to say it out loud to know exactly what she meant.

But as she watched Ronit walk towards the door, Esti suddenly felt like they'd left enough things unsaid.

Some things just had to be said out loud.

"Ronit," she called out, and the look in Ronit's eyes made her feel like she'd never been more right in her life, "I love you."

Out loud.

Ronit nodded just once, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her lips. She was too scared for anything more, Esti knew.

"Fifteen minutes," Ronit finally said right before she left, and Esti knew she meant she loved her, too.

And after tonight, they wouldn't have to keep anything secret anymore.

[vannahfanfics]

Live Like You Were Dying

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Oboro Shirakumo, Shota Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada, Nemuri Kayama

Oboro scrunched up his face happily as he sipped at his juice box, enjoying the sweet taste of apple juice bursting on his tongue. It was the perfect thing to wash down the rice and beef he’d just inhaled for lunch. He popped his lips off the straw with a satiated hum, wobbling his head in tandem with clicking his heels. His shoes scraped against the concrete roof— a sound grating enough to awaken the napping boy beside him. 

“You’re awfully chipper ,” Shota grunted from within the confines of his yellow sleeping bag. Before Oboro could answer, Hizashi perked up from Shota’s other side, emerald eyes gleaming behind his shades. 

“Why not be? It’s a beaaaaaaautiful day!” As Hizashi stretched out the word with a delighted trill, Shota scowled dourly and burrowed further into his sleeping bag. The plastic-like fabric crinkled with each of his irritated movements. Hizashi only laughed good-naturedly as the boy zipped up the sleeping bag from the inside, clearly displaying his opinion on the “beaaaaaaautiful day.” 

Unlike his grumpy compatriot, Oboro was very inclined to agree that the weather was dandy indeed. He basked in the warm sun streaming down from the cloudless sky above, rolling his shoulders as it heated the fabric of his school uniform. Birdsong drifted up from the trees and bushes flanking the school building, and occasionally the breeze rustled the leaves, filling the air with a pleasant symphony. Oboro could never understand how Shota could snooze away such a balmy afternoon, but sure enough, his snores joined the melody wafting over the rooftop. 

The snores turned into a startled “snooork?!” as the door to the roof violently flung open. The metallic clang resounded through the air, prompting Shota to open the sleeping bag up part of the way to glare out. Nemuri came flouncing over, skirt swishing around her supple thighs with every sashay of her hips. A confident smirk decorated his lipstick-coated lips as she struck a saucy pose before them. 

“Hey, boys <3” 

Shota grunted disinterestedly and tunneled back into the depths of his sleeping bag. Nemuri’s millionaire smile vanished into a surly pout. She turned to Oboro expectantly, who did not disappoint. 

“Hey, Nemuri. What’s up?” 

“I am glad you asked!” Nemuri beamed, the white flash of her teeth returning with vigor. She flipped her midnight-blue hair over her shoulder as her eyes grew lidded with paramountcy. “I want to formally invite you all to attend a meteor shower viewing this evening.” 

“Pass,” came the dispassionate groan from the sleeping bag. Scowling, Hizashi whapped the shiny yellow surface. Shota popped his head out with an indignant glower, to which the blond just raised his eyebrows admonishingly. Shota’s eyes slowly drifted to Nemuri, who had put on her best pleading expression. She even batted her eyes and pressed the tip of her index finger to her slightly parted lip in a look of pure demure. 

“Please, Sho~?” 

“Come on, Shota!” Oboro pressed. He tucked his legs criss-cross and gripped his shins, beaming brightly at his friend. “It’ll be fun. What else do you have to do— sleep?” 

Shota gave him a look saying that was exactly what he had in mind for the evening. However, he silently deliberated Nemuri’s invitation and finally released a long sigh of relent. 

“Fine.” 

“Yay!” Nemuri squealed, throwing her hands into the air excitedly. Hizashi and Nemuri soon became involved in an avid conversation about meteor showers’ romantic aspects, with Shota grumbling within his sleeping bag over his soured nap. Oboro resumed sipping at his apple juice, blue eyes beholding the azure sky and envisioning it instead as an inky black canvas studded with glittering stars. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Oboro released a small “hup!” as he hopped down from his cloud. Nemuri had decided that the school roof was the optimal place to view the meteor shower, so he had used his Quirk to float them over the chain-link fence that ringed the area. As his feet met the solid ground, he turned to offer a hand to Nemuri, who flashed him a sultry smile. 

“Oh, what a gentleman,” she cooed lasciviously. Much used to Nemuri’s flirtations, he only winked at her and helped her slip down from the fluffy cloud. Shota and Hizashi dropped down on either side of her, blinking to adjust to the gloom shrouding them. The light from the nearby lampposts only dimly illuminated the rooftop, casting them in grey shadow. 

Nemuri skipped over to their favorite roosting spot, untying her jacket from around her waist to drape it over the concrete before primly sitting down. Shota shambled over to slide down the wall, legs stuck out and his hands buried into his hoodie pockets. Hizashi opted to stand, leaning against the wall with an earbud stuck in his ear; Oboro could hear the muted tones of his rock music emanating from the one dangling down by his collarbone. Oboro squatted down near the chain-link fence, head craned to behold the indigo-black sky gleaming brilliantly above the campus. 

The stars twinkled like diamonds, splashed across the sky like a thick streak of white paint. A few wisps of gray clouds drifted lazily like canoes across a mirror-smooth lake. In a stroke of luck, the meteor shower fell on the night of the new moon. Thus, the stars were relegated to a solo performance— and they didn’t fall short, bathing the world in a soft white glow. However, they didn’t have to perform alone for very long. 

“There it is!” Oboro gasped as a single streak of light slashed across the sky. It looked like someone scored a pencil across the heavens, etching it into white radiance. After the first once fizzled into nothingness, the sky illuminated with several more, and within seconds, dozens of meteors were raining to earth. The small meteors gave their last breath as they burned away in the atmosphere, crying their death in a burst of luminescence. 

Oboro found it both captivating and haunting. As he watched the meteors shoot across the sky, he marveled at how easily something could just blip out of existence. A flash of light, one final chance to make your imprint on the earth, and then— nothing. You fade into oblivion, a passing memory slowly dwindling with time. 

How sobering. 

He peered over his shoulder to his three friends. Nemuri’s sky blue eyes reflected the showering lights, making them twinkle like galaxies of their own; her face was drawn in reverence that he’d never seen before as she beheld the natural phenomena. Shota suppressed his awe better, but Oboro could see his appreciation by the way his jaw set and the gleam in his eyes. Hizashi was even stunned into silence, a thoughtful look on his face and one hand still held up from where he had taken out his other earbud. 

Oboro could tell just by the atmosphere that an intense rumination had pervaded their usually animated group. Maybe they were all thinking the same thing, or perhaps they were all thinking different things. Oboro wasn’t a mind-reader. Nor did it matter— some things were better left unspoken. 

He didn’t want to fade into nothingness like those meteors. Sure, he hoped he’d live a long, fulfilling life— but sometimes things don’t work out how you think it will. If the worst became him, he didn’t want to fade into obscurity, relegating to the dark parts of his friends’ minds that they only looked upon in melancholy. 

Luckily, oddly-beget optimism was Oboro’s specialty. 

“Let’s make a wish!” he grinned suddenly. His friends jerked, startled out of their quiet contemplation by his loud cry. Nemuri’s eyes fluttered as she regarded him curiously, and then she smiled broadly. 

“Oh, what a nice idea! Me first, me first!” she cried, holding out her hand as if flagging down a teacher. She cleared her throat professionally before declaring purposefully, “I want to dominate the hero world with my ultimate sexy style! I will bring both men and women on their knees before me! Mwahahaha!” 

Shota looked like he wanted to die. Hizashi appeared elated, and Oboro gave Nemuri a smile somewhere between supportive and concerned. 

“That’s… a nice way to put it, Nemuri,” the blue-haired boy offered placatingly. Nemuri seemed quite pleased with herself, tucking her chin into the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. “What about you, ‘Zashi?” 

“I wanna bring my tunes to the whole world, baby! Spread the love through the power of music, yeeaaaaaah!” he crowed, striking a flashy pose. He yelped when Shota punched him in the calf, making his leg buckle a bit. “Oww! Whydja do that, huh?” 

“You’re too loud. You’ll get us caught; we’re not supposed to be up here,” Shota sniffed matter-of-factly. Hizashi stuck out his tongue mockingly before peevishly crossing his arms. When Nemuri prompted him, his eyes widened slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “A good nap would be nice.” 

“Be serious, Shota!” Hizashi whined. The grouchy boy huffed and tipped his head to the side to give his wish some actual thought. 

“I guess becoming an underground hero would be nice,” he shrugged after a moment. 

“Now that’s more like it!” Hizashi praised with a pump of his fist. Oboro smirked at the teeny little smile that appeared on Shota’s lips. “All right, Oboro? What do you wish for?” 

Oboro smiled, looking back up at the splendorous display illuminating the heavens above. 

“Me? Well… I just wish that we all remember times like this forever.” 

A silence descended between them. When Oboro looked back over his shoulder, they were all gawking at him. 

“Whoa, dude. That’s heavy,” Hizashi whistled. Oboro laughed and threaded his fingers through his cotton candy-blue hair, feeling a little self-conscious at how surprised they were. He blushed a little and gave them a sheepish smile. 

“What? A guy can’t get a little sentimental every now and then?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood he’d inadvertently heavied. He smiled lopsidedly, scratching his cheek. “I was just thinking…. You never know which day is your last, right? We gotta make the most out of life, ya know?” 

“Hmm… I see what you mean,” Nemuri hummed appraisingly. Oboro relaxed, glad the heat was off him a little. He glanced up at the sky; the meteor shower was dwindling, fewer streaks lighting the sky with each passing second. “Yeah,” Nemuri said brightly after a second. “A wish to live every day to its fullest… I love it!” 

“Me too, me too!” Hizashi agreed energetically and punched the air a few times. 

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Shota shrugged with a wry smirk. Oboro preened a little, his smile widening as he watched the last of the falling meteors proclaim their final moments to all those watching. 

Oboro made a promise that night to live like those meteors— screaming his presence to the world for as long as he was there, imprinting his being on all those who would listen, and bring joy and smiles to as many people as he could. If he lived like that, enjoying each and every day, then maybe even if the worst befell him, he would leave some kind of mark in people’s memories. 

Live like you were dying, and then, could you really have any regrets?

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Silver In The Sea (Julian Devorak! Pirate x Mermaid! Reader)

Summary: A year into his travels at sea, Julian Devorak is faced with the highs and lows of sailing across the southern sea; facing the dangers that come with it. As a physician, he is given many opportunities to live out the days in surviving for himself - especially against many things that want him dead.

Notes: I will try to get the character of Julian as best as I can. Mentions of blood, injury, near-drowning experiences. Julian likes to talk his way out of everything, nearly costing him to lose his tongue.

SUPPORT ME ON A03, MY USERNAME THE SAME AS HERE!!

1  -  2  -  3  -  4

Silver In The Sea Prologue (Storms Swell)

The winds howled and blew with defiance, the chaos that swirled and twisted the world around it into its grasp; on set for destruction. 

A storm bigger than the ones ever seen across the southern sea had set its course for havoc, creating an off-balance for all those that were in its way.

Screams and shouts for lack of order could barely be heard through the commotion and screams of the sea's revenge, and Julian's ears rang like bells playing its heavy toll in his mind. 

He had heard those bells before, setting off the unknown memories of hearing the mark for dread: a dead monarch, a city under siege, he had been there for many.

Through the eye of the storm, the rain slashed and cut through men like they were fishes ready for gutting, and Julian had never seen such a storm so bad in the time he had been sailing for new adventures. 

Eliana's Song - named after one of the old King's daughters aeons ago- was a highly treasured and hefty vessel; with high sails and large a hull wider than any of the other spice ships he had seen. 

She was a mighty vessel, able to block off attacks and last through years without being destroyed from the weather, but Julian thought that the Gods must've been joking and acting cruelly for this day to finally see to both to bring it down. They were being under attack by both weather and men from another ship; looking to steal and kill and sink her to a watery grave.

How shameful. Julian thought, ducking as a collision from the pirate's cannon caved into the right side of the ship. I was wanting to see this beauty come back into port in the near summer.

"Devorak, you're needed." The quartermaster spoke over the screams that definitely told him that someone was injured: a man screaming more than just bloody murder. Julian didn't need to reply, stepping out with one weary look into the open as he ran with his supplies into the firing range. 

The rain poured and nearly sent him flying to the ground, but he managed to plant himself in time to miss a rumble from the bowels of the vessel, sending over men to the floor.

"Hold on, old friend, stay with us." Julian's voice was borderline on calm for the entire situation, kneeled before the man as the rain-soaked and washed the injurer's blood away. 

He didn't know why he was all so positive in this situation, he was risking his life for a man who already had his right foot blown off, laying in his own blood and those of his crew.

He had seen many deaths before, many during a crisis like this: failing to save another's life when he thought so little of his own. It made him wonder why he was so selfless, for being an unlicensed doctor was there to help others.

Following procedures like clockwork, Julian shut the man up with some cloth that he had ripped from his shirt, stuffing it in his mouth as he tried to concentrate over the sounds of other dying men and cannons flying in all directions. 

He assessed his wound, using as much cloth to stop the bleeding, blood already seeping in through it and staining his gloved hands.

The smell of ash was strong in the air, and Julian had grown used to the smell of bodies around him but never was a smell so foul as a body caught on fire. 

He looked over, the shouts of his name being called around him-- no- screaming at him to get on with helping another with lesser injuries. "He's a dead man." He had heard so often, he could know when it would be said.

Julian looked to the man as he was slowly succumbing to blood loss, and he moved on, sending a silent prayer to him as he crawled hands and knees through blood, guts and corpses. There was no time to pray for the dead, not like this. He thought.

"Sir, there are men needing help down in the gallery, shall I attend to them?" Julian leaned into a fallen piece of the mass, leant with the First Mate. 

"They'll be dead before the sun even rises Devorak. Stay on deck and above. I'm not going to lose an idiot of a doctor like you. The Gods may be cruel, but they will be crueller if they take you with them."

Julian would've laughed at the comment, or perhaps compliment, laughter yet mirthless in the situation. "When this is over, I'll buy you a drink, how does that sound Doctor? Just to laugh and say we survived a shipwreck and pirate onslaught."

"A pint of salty bitters will suffice me, Sir." Julian had missed the taste of it, trying to remember when he had had it last. At 2 am in a pub during his time training. All there was on board was salty crackers and warmed rum lying in the sun, and that didn't serve him to satisfaction at all. 

"Gods you may outrun your damn mouth, but one would have to be a half-wit to know of your skills." Praised the quartermaster, an unknown conviction and feeling to know what to mean of it.

A crash from the far end of the ship caught their attention, smoke rising as Julian thought the deck was beginning to feel unbelievably hot. 

"Water is coming in from the hull Sir!" The physician heard from who knew where, as the vessel groaned with the knowledge of its end. 

"Then let's give the fuckers a fight then! Do not cease fire!"

The sky cracked with a fire above and Julian saw how much it lit up the entire dark sky. A flash of the neighbouring vessel attacking them, smoke filling his lungs as well as sea salt. 

He wasn't believing he was dying today, oh no-- Eliana's Song was a strong one, and she wouldn't go down without a fight. Another crash and a churn of something came from both ends, and Julian groaned with it. "Sir, most of our cannons have been destroyed or sunken!"

"Prepare to evacuate ship! She's a goner, gentlemen. Prepare the dinghy."

Rain and sea salt scratched at the side of Julian's face, as he blinked back the saltiness from his grey eye. He wasn't crying - the last time he believed he cried was when he was saying farewell to Pasha, and she had cried an ocean for him that day. So much so that he had cried with her in their embrace goodbye as she begged him not to leave:

"Don't leave me Ilya, please."

Only the Gods knew how long ago he had seen her last: way when he was setting off to begin a career as a doctor in Prakra when he was saying goodbye to his humble town of Nevivon. 

They had both been young, too young to know of the consequences to life and what trauma would be followed. She had been young but would she recognised him now? Smiling brightly as he made his way back to port and hug and cry when they saw each other? 

He had forgotten of the past life he once lived, where he lived with Pasha and they were both happy. But Julian wanted more to life and he wished to not look back, or else he would become lost. 

A smiling younger sister is who I want to see again. He thought glumly, as the carnage continued to ensue around him. I'm not going to die today, not until I see her, or else I've failed her and me.

He toppled over abruptly when another cannonball hit the middle, a spray of bodies flying from the drastic hit as more things caught on fire. 

Men were evacuating, some hoping that the sea would save them as they jumped overboard. There was a deafening cry from all around him, and Julian wished he had been smarter than to risk his life jumping overboard too.

He could hear his name being shouted at from those around him, those calling him for his aid, others screeching for him to get his dramatic hind off the now-sinking ship. He was useless to both he thought, standing to his height as he looked around with one of his good eyes.

The final strike from either the lightning or from the ramming ship was enough to cease the vessel's journey to beneath the waves, as she cracked merely in two if those could witness it from afar. 

Her entire vessel shook, sending men over the rails as they were trying to get as many on the dinghy as possible. If Julian was to survive this, he was not thinking in Hell he would be surrounded by other men on a small crowded boat.

Even looking down, the waters were blackened, as if Hell was awaiting for every crew member and himself. He hesitated for a second before the ground split just below his feet.  

An opening of an opportunity arose and Julian took it, leaping down as the gap grew larger and larger, water swelling into the cracks as men fell and burned. The fall was long and Julian could hear those of the crashing waves waiting to meet him as he landed, the cold taking over his body when it hit him.

He crashed beneath the waves in a frantic crawl, kicking and pushing as all he could see beneath the waves was darkness and sinking bodies. 

There was debris falling in, large pieces of wood that he had to be careful of as he finally breached the surface, gasping as if it had been his first intake of breath in a long time.

Men are dying up there, and here I am, being a coward, not dying beside them. He thought, trying to attempt to swim as he watched in horror, the dingy that was coming down with the ropes caught fire, toppling those inside backwards as they fell into the water, crashing and not resurfacing. 

He gulped wiping at his brow as he looked around him. A sea for a group of innocent men, not ready to die in the graveyard of water below.

"Oh gods, the mast! Watch out!" Julian gaped in horror as he stared up into the sky, the largest mast was caught alit with everything else, titling so closed off as the flames caught it to tilt. 

The dread was something that made Julian Devorak's body kick into overdrive, scrambling to kick at all his long limbs as the mast grew exponentially closer and closer as it fell like a lead weight.

The doctor made a descent under, trying to pull his long body down and down as far as he could get himself to go, his head looking up to see just in time the massive piece to come crashing with a roar in the sea, sinking quicker than Julian could expect.

A piece snagged onto the corner of his shirt, and Julian would've groaned in the discomfort and pain when a long slash came to the back his lower back, his shirt ripping as he struggled to release himself. 

No, I will not die. His mind was in two parts, tugging at his conscious as he was growing desperately short of breath the longer he was down there. His mind always went back to a smiling Pasha, awaiting him to see him, but her smile dropping quicker when there was no sign of him getting off.

He finally released himself from the piece of broken wood, his lungs feeling as if they had caught fire as he tiredly carried his body to the surface. His eye stung with salt, his throat burning as he spluttered and coughed. 

"Anyone alive! Help me! Can anyone hear me?" His voice called over the water as the dying sounds of men quietened. Eliana's Song cried a final woeful tune as she began to sink beneath the black waves.

Julian gritted his teeth, kicking as he grabbed a piece of debris to use as a float, his hand going back and past the open skin, grunting in surprise as to what when he pulled back was blood stained on his fingers. 

Oh, Gods. He barely panicked, but seeing himself injured gravely was one that made him think to what could be in the water awaiting him with an empty tomb for himself.

The sea was known for sharks and sometimes krakens- men were always creative in thinking of tales of the large creatures that could pull ships over and under. Sea dragons that belonged more in the northern sea, with breath colder than hot, able to freeze over a vessel on the spot. 

It wasn't the krakens or the sea dragons that worried him- he had heard story after story told to him and he grew almost bored from them.

He looked down and surrounding him, and the black water had a reddish tint to it, staining his open and cut shirt as he tried to stay awake even when he knew he wasn't tried in that way. 

He eventually decided it was better to try and see how far possibly he could've been from land, but there was no islands nor anything but open dark water surrounding him, the sky with litters of stars pouring in in his sight. 

He blinked slowly, just staring up into the night sky with no thoughts coming to mind than to just make it out alive. Julian was desperately floating, his head pounding with an unknown headache that was appearing. He blamed it on the rum that night before the attack.

His head bobbing up and down in the water, as he thought maybe it was better to see whether he should let go. He was leagues away from land, with possible injuries that could get infected without proper treatment. He smiled a pained smile, chuckling at how worthless he felt in this moment. 

Pasha... I'm sorry. He succumbed, his head falling beneath the waves as he sunk and sunk and sunk.

He waited for his death, blinking with red eyes in the water as he thought of how his sister would find out of the news, her reaction and whether she would mourn like how he would believe or not she would for him.

Movement caught him to turn, through the shadowy and onyx abyss, something silver flashed in his peripheral vision. So sharks did exist, excellent. He would've laughed at that moment as he was finding it harder and harder to breathe. Be gentle to me, and don't ruin my face to recognition, so they can at least bury me in a marked grave.

He shut his eye, blinking in and out of consciousness, and that night, Julian Devorak thought he had died. What awaited him in a dream-like euphoric state was a hangman that awaited with a noose in its grip. 

"Traitor, murderer, and you call yourself a doctor. You practise and play roulette with other's lives instead of helping them."

He was swallowed into death's gullet, ravens and crows with humanoid features awaiting him, like the clawed and scratched at his flesh, screaming for him to die. "Awaits your truth worthy doctor. A special place in Hell for you."

He was burned, cut apart and eaten limb by limb as he watched, but he thought of it all as a worthy punishment. All for the crimes and tests that he failed in succeeding. All those lives, men who deserved a better chance at surviving. He was given chance after chance to help someone, and only did he get one out of a thousand casualties that lived.

When he had awoken, he wasn't in some seventh Hell, nor some version of it as punishment. He wasn't even in the sea anyone, drowning slowly as he waited to be feasted on by sharks. 

He had awoken to a blinding light in his eye, causing him to grow in confusion and pain; a headache worse than any of the hangovers he had experienced before. He adjusted to the pain, questions tumbling through his head to make him question how the hell he ended up out of the water and was not in fact dead.

Was this some afterlife or reality he knew of already? He couldn't decide, even when everything he touched felt so real. There was warm sand beneath him, burning his flesh pink and stinging his back, almost forgetting about the wound that seemed so real. 

There was pain everywhere in his body, and when he stretched to prop himself up, he found himself surrounded by a white beach, water and tropic trees surrounding in the middle.

He had found himself onto an island, but wait? It had seemed that he was miles out from land, and unless he was loopy from blood loss or he had managed to swim unconscious, there was no believing he had managed to do this whilst badly injured.

They won't believe this story when I tell them this in pubs. He groaned silently, the clear blue water stretched and never-ending, nothing there for him to see. If I manage to make it back.

Standing up took longer than he expected, his legs were congealed like jelly, replacing his bones with paper as he crashed into the sand below on his first step. His entire body feels like it was on fire; drenched in flames that he couldn't get out from. 

Tired grunts and moans came the back of Julian's throat, a moment to press his hand to the wound on his back. From the feel of it, it didn't seem too deep, but it was longer than he expected, managing to get him from all the way around just to the beginning of the band of his trousers.

When he pulled his hand back, his fingers were slick with fresh blood.

I've survived sieges and attacks, seen more dead than those alive. I've lived with pirates who threatened me with my own life and head. He told himself. A little blood will not kill me. 

But he had to begin healing said wound, or else it could worsen and bring his health to something more life-threatening. Staggering halfway as best as he could on his feet then crawling, Julian dragged himself through the sand towards the edge of the water, clear and cold it felt as if it was cleansing his soul.

Step by step, he took it slow, knowing already of the even further pain he would feel once the water got to waist depth. But he thought of the outcome if he didn't as he lowered himself as the saltwater met the wound.

No amount of pain could amount to what he was experiencing, and now he understood what his patients felt when they were in pain. He barked out a laugh, airy as he hissed through his teeth. 

For some reason, the pain made him think to Asra; the magician he knew from the years working in medicine before going off to explore. He would call me some sadistic bastard for liking the pain so much. He huffed, trying to shake his head away from the thought.

A splash came from behind him, as Julian wadded through the water to turn, looking outward towards the deep end. The water grew murkier from what he could see, and he didn't know what was possible out there watching. 

Another splash came, and he squinted, a flash of clear silver slithered like a snake through the abyss of the water, not even that far from him.

He never got out of the sea as quick as that ever before. 

For his wound, he tried to find simple things, for there were no balms to put into the wounds, but the saltwater had helped in cleaning it out thoroughly. He ended up gathering wet seaweed and wrapping it heavily around his entire waist.

By the time Julian walked back to the shore, his clothes were soaked, heavy and clung to him and the sun was setting low on the horizon. He would have to make a fire quickly before he caught a chill. 

Looking for sticks and materials to start a fire was harder than he realised, and he rethought his career ideas in becoming a survivalist rather than a doctor. Stripping out of his cold clothes, he set up camp not too far from the water, starved from food and lack of water, he sat by the fire, rethinking his choices.

He would think there would be barely a few ships that would be passing through, but he could only hope there would be another spice ship that could pick him up and take him somewhere. And anywhere for it didn't matter where he went.

The cold had settled into his bone, a primal hunger for food had made him think he was going to begin to lose his mind, so he decided to try and calm himself, thinking of a nice cup of black coffee and a plate lobster claws.... hmmm. How his stomach rumbled for that luxury.

He laid outstretched like he had gotten shot, lying on his side as he stared idly into the dying flames. The same sound of something popping its head out of breaching the water came from not too far from him, making him shoot up more abruptly when he remembered the pain in his back. 

A gurgle came from the water plopping and swishing, and he caught the same coloured silver fish's (?) tail turning over in the shallow sand bed to return to the depths of the water. It could've been a shark for all he knew, circling for him and waiting.

Whatever that thing was, it looked big, and Julian's mouth watered at the thought of eating a large silver shark or swordfish to feast on. Next time, you'll get it, and you'll regret dealing with Julian Devorak. He promised himself.

He went to sleep that evening sprawled on his side, blinking in and out of sleep as he finally came to stare out just into the shore, before he heavily shut his eye, missing the creature's head bob up and dive back out of sight, its tail silver and long, flickering out and disappearing.

-

Hope you liked this new project. I only just got really into The Arcana game on apps and I LOVE IT so much! Especially Julian. 

[ask-de-writer]

DARING DO and the ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 20 of 21

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Daring Do

and the Adventure of the X'ibian Vase!

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

And

Carmen Pondiego

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

© 2015 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 08/26/15

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge.  I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.  

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

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The party began to descend the causeway, Daring Do in the lead.  She carefully sifted chalk powder on trap trigger stones in both causeway and the wall.  Tyranny, seeing that Robber had out a large knife, did not even try to touch any of them.

They reached the stone platform at the bottom of the causeway without further incident.  If you do not count the three small trickles of blood on Tyranny’s coat where Robber poked him with the knife as incidents, that is.

Unappologetic, Robber just said, “I thought that he was starting to put a hoof where he should not.

“It looks like an easy walk to the place where we can begin uncovering the tomb door.  That makes me suspect that it is not safe at all.”

Sang He nodded agreement.  “You alone of your compatriots, Mister Robber, appear to have learned some wisdom.  You are correct.  That easy appearing patch of sand between here and the tomb of Im Farst is quite dangerous.

“Doctor Do is preparing to take to the air to scout whether the sand lions that we know are here can be coped with.”

As Daring Do was stripping away her pack, saddle bags and anything else that might slow or interfere with her flight, Tyranny snorted, “Sand lions!  Those are a myth!  They have never been documented by any reputable scientific authority.”

Sang He and the rest of her herd ignored him, while efficiently readying their rifles.  They began to aim them out over the seemingly empty sand.  Daring Do lifted off to the flutter of strong wings.

Moderately high up, she circled, scrutinizing the sand below.  She stooped into a dive, like a striking hawk!  She hit the sand, bunched and leaped high, wings driving for all that they were worth!

Only a few meters from her striking point, the sand erupted in a fury of raking claws, snapping fangs and a leaping blotched tan and white monster.  Daring Do was up, out of its reach ~ barely!

As Daring Do swept up and about, the now revealed sand lion kept pace beneath her.  Robber commented sarcastically, “That looks like a real myth to me!  At least as real as the Heart of Discord.”

Gaining on the pursuing beast, Daring Do dived again!  Her thump as she hit this time drew, not one, but three of the hidden monsters!  Soon she was leading a ravening pack away from the causeway and the expedition.

Tyranny tried to self-importantly bustle out onto the now “safe” sands.

Bullets blasted past him!  The sand lion that did not follow Daring Do was ripped by flying lead!  It emitted an unearthly roaring scream as it collapsed in a pool of its own gore.  The thirsty sand soaked up its gore as the beast died, half out of the sand that hid it from sight.

Jeremy, a smoking rifle of his own in hoof, was hugging a dromedary.  “That was wonderful shooting, Shu!  You took out its spine right through its open mouth!”

Shu was returning the hug, delighting in his praise.

Tyranny saw the hug and curled a lip.  “Can’t you stop disgusting us by your perversion?”

Soree and the entire herd all froze.  As one, they turned their backs on him.  Shocked, Tyranny saw that Robber had joined them and Ovethrow was refusing to meet his eye.

Shu, still holding Jeremy, observed, “I must offer my apologies to the dung beetles.  That unworthy creature has not earned their august company.”

Sang He, turned to Tyranny, rifle lowered to aim directly at him.  All of the others followed suit. Jeremy, standing beside Sehang Shu, had his rifle aimed too. Soree pulled her talwar and even Robber had his knife aimed at him.

Sang He demanded, “Precede us across the sands or die here and now.”

Quaking with fear, Tyranny asked, “What if there is another one like that?”

Sang He half lidded her eyes and replied, “Then we will kill it.  If it kills you first or not is of no importance at all.  GO!”

The rest followed Tyranny at a small distance as they made their way across the sands.  The passage was made without any further problem beyond maintaining footing in the slippery sands.

They were climbing onto the outcrops of sandstone that shielded the ruins of the ancient complex.  Jeremy’s rifle barked once.  The sand lion that was up in the rocks a bit above them tumbled down to flop in a blotched heap of tan and whitish fur at their hooves.

There was a flurry of wings as Daring Do landed among the party.  She paused to examine the kill at close range.  She shifted the massive head and examined the structure of the jaws and fangs.  “Soree, dear.  I need good sketches of this.  See how these fangs are set in the jaws?  See how these ears work to keep the sand out while it is below the surface?  We need this documented very carefully.”

Soree began to make many sketches of the dead beast.

Daring Do turned her attention to the stones ahead of them and smiled.  Taking Jeremy by the hoof, she pointed.  “See that, Jeremy?  It was made to look natural but it is not at all!  We are at the outskirts of the tomb complex!”

The others fell back and let their acknowledged expert check out the way ahead.  Daring Do led the way, her wings slightly raised.  A short ways into a defile, they were faced with fallen rubble partly covering an ancient lintel over what appeared to be a door.

Standing in the small defile, Daring Do took out a paper and compared the time worn characters carved on the lintel piece to what she had.  Nodding in deep thought, she began to back out with the greatest care.

Tyranny demanded, “What is the hold up?  All that we have to do is pry and dig out those fallen rocks and force the door!”

Kanya Ama put a hoof over her eyes in frustration as she suggested, “Eater of dung beetle leavings, please go and jump about on the sand.  We would like to see if those mythical sand lions have returned.”

Sehang Shu condescendingly offered, “If Doctor Do is getting away from there, one may presume an excellent reason.  This could be trapped, a false entrance, or both.  Please tell us where your brain was buried when it died.  We need a latrine.”

Robber joined in the general chuckle.  Tyranny fumed.

Daring Do, out of the slot, commented, “Note this place well, Soree.  I want your best sketches.  We will return here later.  This is where the tomb’s workforce was interred.  The stones here are not trapped.  They were merely meant to be sure that any who survived the drug could not escape.”  

Sang He and the rest of the herd bowed their heads in respect.

After the moment of silence, Sang He suggested, “So, shall we search around on this bluff to find the true Auspicious South where the entrance most likely is?”

Daring Do nodded.  “Yes, my friend.  That is what we must do.”

As the party worked their way through a maze of broken and fallen stone, it was the sharp eyes of Kanya Ama who spotted it.  ��Look!  Up there! They must have had some sort of bridge that was removed after the doors were sealed.”

She was pointing up.  There was a ledge with barely visible stone works to its back.  Daring Do spread her wings and flew up near to it, verifying that it was indeed the place that they were searching for.

She landed in a jubilant mood.  “That is it!  We have the true entrance to the tomb!  Thanks, Kanya Ama!”  Daring Do hugged the big dromedary.

Using Jeremy’s grapnels and ropes, it did not take long to rig a rope ladder up to the ledge.  Tyranny watched, mouth agape, as the clumsy seeming dromedaries swarmed up the ladder without effort.  Jeremy and Soree followed, showing an agility that he had never imagined.  Robber and Overthrow worked their way up without undue problems, though they were clearly not comfortable with the task.

Tyranny began his climb.  He struggled to find his footing on the loose, dangling ropes of the ladder.  Several times he missed with a hoof and had to feel about to get secure.  Looking down, he froze.  

His terrified screams caused the others to put their heads over the ledge to watch.  Sang He observed, “It is obstructing our ladder!  Perhaps if we shake the ladder, the bug will come loose so that we can use it.”

Sehang Shu pointed out, “The splatter of its fluids could contaminate the site.  Since we are being paid a share of the value estimate, that could lower our income!”

There was a flurry of other, similar commentary, punctuated by laughter.  It was the laughter that reached Tyranny.  Gritting his teeth against his fear, he struggled and fought his way to the top.

Now he could see what the others already had.  The tomb entrance was carved with a female Draconequis as one pillar of the doorway and a dromedary was the other. The Dromedary’s  bearing was so noble that even Tyranny could feel it. Together, they upheld what could only be a representation of the sky itself.

Soree, ignoring all of the byplay, was working on careful sketches both of the whole and detail copies of various portions.

Seeing the unguarded doors of the tomb proper, Tyranny began to stride confidently forward to push them open.  The realization that ALL of the others were silently taking cover stopped him!

As he turned to say, “What are you afraid of?” a missile shot past him, just barely scratching the skin of his neck!  The missile did not clatter on the stone below.  It silently vanished when it failed of its target.  That, more than the trap itself caused Tyranny to stop in wide eyed shock.

Sehang Shu called derisively, “I told you, OUR MAGIC WORKS!  Please go toward the doors again!  We have a betting pool on how many traps you will trigger before you are killed!”

Shaken, he backed away from the deadly doors.

The others emerged from their cover.  Sehang Shu set up the portable stove and began to fix rice and dried vegetables for Jeremy, Soree and Daring Do.  She called quietly, “Mister Robber, would you care for a portion too?  You have earned my respect and may share our camp if you wish.”

Robber paused, bowed deeply and asked, “What of the rest of your herd?  What do they say?”

Sang He spoke for the rest, giving him a bow of equals, “The affront was to Sehang Shu.  If she has forgiven you so far as to share with you, then so shall we.”

Robber then returned her bow, replying, “It would be my honor to share food with you.  I have little to offer in return, only a single ration of cheese that dried out and has crumbled to small lumps.  The dried bread crusts that we had, Tyranny abandoned somewhere along the way.”

Sehang Shu invited, “Share what you may.  The cheese will rehydrate along with the rice and vegetables.  It will add an excellent flavor for my dear and his friends.”

Without further comment, Robber handed over the small packet of crumbled cheese.

Robber was surprised when Daring Do and Jeremy moved aside to make room for him.

Jeremy, studying the doors, asked Daring Do, “How many traps have you spotted so far?  I count six.”

Robber stared at the innocent seeming doors and shook his head.  “I am glad that your group is here.  Tyranny would have got us all killed before we ever got this far.  I can’t even see the one that shot the missile at Tyranny and I know that it is there.”

Sehang Shu nodded, “They are difficult to detect.  Doctor Do’s class, Temple and Tomb Guardians 406, is a great help.  We took it by Magic Net after assisting her with the Darkling’s Tomb and the area survey.  Our ancestors were very ingenious.”

Daring Do nodded acknowledgment.  “They were indeed, Sehang Shu.  Jeremy, there are in fact six.  You spotted them all. There is one for each of the cardinal points of the ancient X'ibian compass.

“At least these are not as dangerous as the ancient Rune Work of Baratted the Goat during the Nightmare Wars.  Those are deadly.”

Jeremy shuddered.  “I know.  Circle Lake and Crescent Lake in central Equestria were his work.  They are each just over thirty kilometers across.”

Sehang Shu interrupted.  Smiling, she announced, “The meal is ready!  Mister Robber, your cheese addition smells good!  Thank you!”  She began to serve out four bowls, one for each of the ponies and the horse before her.  Smiling happily, she served Jeremy his bowl first.

Daring Do smiled as she watched Jeremy get his bowl from Sehang Shu.  She and Soree were next.  Robber waited to last and took his bowl with a bow of thanks.

As Robber sat to eat, Tyranny stomped over and demanded, “You have to share that with …”  His demand was silenced by a meaty thud!  Sehang Shu pulled her leg back calmly from the hard strike that took Tyranny off his hooves and sent him tumbling to a wall.  Robber, eyes wide, bowed to her, “I thank you, Sehang Shu.  He was carrying our dried crusts and other rations.  He left them somewhere on the way.  He has no right to any of your food.  I have no right either but that of your invitation.”

Sehang Shu nodded.  “That is so, Mister Robber.  We have a saying that goes, he who casts away what he has, has no right to what others may have.”

Daring Do was looking at the whole problem of the door traps.  Suddenly she smiled.  Taking out a piece of paper, she sketched a few things and made quick notes.  Jeremy realized that her quick notes were in ancient X'ibian!

She showed her notes to Sang He.  The dromedary’s eyes flew open in surprise.  “Of course!  There are six cardinal points to the ancient compass.  They all meet at the center!”

As swiftly as their luncheon was done, Kanya Ama began to creep forward on her belly. It was amazing how close to the ground so large a being as she could get.  

Sang He and Daring Do were coaching her, “A bit to the left!  Not quite so much!  There!  Perfect!  Now raise the target!”

Kanya Ama hesitated before raising a cut out on a stick. Robber giggled.  The cut out was a quite good likeness of Tyranny’s silhouette.  It was suddenly shredded as a stabbing blade trap, a missile trap, a falling stone, a swinging weight, a slashing blade and a pit opening all triggered at once!

Kanya Ama was laying in the only spot not struck, slashed, smashed or dropped!  All of the ancient traps slammed into each other and fell into the pit.  Seconds later, the pit closed.

With a groan like the weight of millennia was holding them back, the tomb doors yawned wide.  There, exposed to the light of day for the first time in three thousand years, was a long corridor leading downward into the depths of the burial complex.

Tyranny started for the opening.  The multiple clacks of rifles behind him being cocked and safeties released stopped him.

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[katehuntington]

Title: All I Want - part two Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Pairing: Dean x Reader Series summary: Sam and Dean come across an object that could be the solution to Michael. The Pearl of Baozhu grants the beholder’s deepest desire. Once Dean focuses on his wish, the archangel remains caged in his mind however. Instead his former girlfriend Y/N shows up, who was killed in 2010 in Detroit, by no other than Lucifer himself. Summary part two: After another horrific nightmare, Dean joins his brother in search for an answer to take down Michael. They strike gold when they find the Baozhu, but Dean’s wish doesn’t ban the Archangel from his mind. Instead he reunites with the one person he never thought he’d see again. Warnings part two: NSFW, 18+ only. Spoilers season 14 episode 13. Angst, fluff-ish. Nightmares, descriptions of flashbacks, mentions of major character death, anxiety, grieving over lost loved one, swearing, alcohol consumption. All the tears. Word Count: 4019 words Author’s note: Part two of a multi part miniseries, based on the 300th episode “Lebanon”. Prepare for major angst, heartwarming reunions and heartbreaking goodbyes. Beta’d by the lovely @kittenofdoomage​ and @coffee-obsessed-writer​, thank you so much for your feedback!

All I Want Masterlist

February 7th, 2019 Lebanon, Kansas

    A rigid gasp for air ends Dean’s tormenting dream. He bolts up in bed, sheets and yesterday’s clothes clinging to the cold sweat that covers every square inch of his skin. His heart is racing as if he just ran up ten flights of stairs, shivers wrecking his body. Eyes wide open he stares at the opposite wall, trying to calm himself by focusing on his breathing. It’s not real, Dean. Not yet. Not now.

    The splitting headache that has haunted him ever since he locked Michael in that coolcell far in the back of his mind, pushes itself to the front, pounding behind his eyes in the rhythm of the archangel’s fists on the door. The hunter breathes in deeply and exhales, letting the air flow from his lips. He’s not in the box, he’s not drowning like he was a second ago, and although he knows it is written in Billie’s book that this will be how he will meet his end, he has to hold on to the present. Dean sighs and closes his eyes. I’m in control.

    A knock on furnished wood draws his gaze towards his bedroom door, finding the tall silhouet of his brother, carefully pushing it open. Faint yellow light from the hallway reaches into room number eleven, illuminating only one side of Sam’s face, but it’s enough for Dean to make out the worried expression in his features.    “Did I wake you?” Sam asks hesitantly.     But the oldest of the Winchester brothers shakes his head, rubs his eyes and glances aside at his alarm clock. Not even 3 ‘o clock, so that gives him… two and a half hours of sleep? If you can call back to back nightmares sleep, anyway. Then Dean notices the scratches on the wall next to his bed, traces of crimson in the concrete. When he checks his right hand, he finds his fingertips bloody, his nails scraped away to the flesh.

    The hunter shifts his gaze back to Sam, who honestly doesn’t look like his night was any better.     “What are you doing up?”, he wonders.     “Cataloging Bart Kemp’s stuff. Thought I might find something that could help us out. He owned a ton of occult objects,” Sam asserts.     “Need a hand?” Dean shifts, flopping his legs over the side.     Sam frowns at that. Dean who wants to catalog hundreds of ancient items? That’s a new one.     “Sure you don’t wanna get some rest?” Sam returns doubtfully, watching how his brother straps on his boots.     “Nah, I’m good. Can’t sleep anyway.” He gets up and runs his fingers through his hair, smoothening it out.

    Avoiding his little brother’s concern, he pushes himself past Sam in the doorway, awkward unspoken words hovering between then. He can feel the tall hunter’s eyes, fixed to unravel what Dean is desperately trying to hide. Endless nights of terror as Michael wreaks havoc in his mind. Reliving the worst moments of his life and experiencing the new definition of hell that is yet to come. Trapped in the Ma’lak Box, screaming for help, for his brother, for Y/N, as he tries to crawl his way out while the water seeps in.

    As Dean enters the library with Sam on his tail, he grabs yesterday’s half a bottle of Jack Daniels from the table, unscrews the cap and takes a swig. His eyes roam over the collection of curse boxes, books and scattered notes, again ignoring the look his brother is throwing him. He has never shied away from liquor, but these days he fills more whiskey tumblers than coffee mugs. Self-medicating, he keeps telling himself. Anything to shut the tremors down.     “So, what we got?” he wonders, trying to steer the attention away.     “Dean...”     “Don’t.”

    With an agitated sigh the oldest of the two sits down, dismissing his brother’s attempt to start the conversation that he’s been trying to avoid for weeks. But for a short second, his mask wears thin. It confirms the worries that keep Sam up at night as well. Suddenly his brother seems older than forty, the age that the hunter miraculously reached last month. He’s much older when you count the decades he spent in Hell. Add the losses he suffered, the pain he’s been through, sleepless nights and tainted dreams; he’s an old soul, tired and worn. Keeping the Archangel on lock down is becoming more difficult with each day. Especially now that Michael is trying to break him by using the woman Dean lost his heart to.     “I heard you,” Sam admits. “I’m pretty sure the entire bunker did.”     Dean rolls his eyes slightly before looking away, opening his mouth to fire a second warning. But then Sam drops the bomb.     “I heard you call out for Y/N, too.”

    Y/N. The name of the woman Dean loved more than he ever thought he would be capable of, especially after all the horror he bared witness to. The name that’s never mentioned, not because she’s not worth to remember, but because even after all those years, he’s still afraid that touching that subject will wreck him the same way her death did.

    His heart starts to physically hurt as pressure on his chest builds. Struggling to hide the discomfort from showing, Dean has another swig of whiskey. He can’t prevent his jaw from clenching as he swallows down the alcohol, allowing the strong after burn to distract him. He could blow up on Sam, remind him of the fact that last time when he brought her up, Dean threatened to break his little brother’s nose if he ever would speak of her again. But Dean doesn’t counter. He’s too tired to fight Sammy, too.     “What do you want me to say, Sam?”     Sam spreads out his arms and lets them fall against his side, despondency in his stance.     “Anything!” he exclaims, his voice a little higher and a little louder than he anticipated. “Dean, I know nightmares come with the job, but this isn’t normal. Not even for us.”

    “Of course it’s not normal, Sam! Having a fucking Archangel trapped in my head ain’t a typical day at the office either! Who do you think is causing these dreams, huh?” Dean snaps, looking Sam in the eye for the first time that night. Then he takes a breath and collects himself. Stop being an ass, Dean. Sammy’s just worried.     “Michael is pulling out all the stops to crush me before we pin him down. Keeping me quiet by giving me what I wanted didn’t work, so now he’s doing the opposite,” he continues, much calmer now. “During the day I can handle him, but at night…”

    Mixed feelings cause the hunter to pause. He doesn’t want to burden his little brother with the weight that comes with the knowledge. He’s troubled enough as it is, frantically trying to find another way to expel Michael and lock him away where he can’t hurt anyone else. Another option, a scenario that doesn’t include his big brother on the bottom of the ocean in the Malak’ Box. But God, Dean needs an outlet.     “So this is his new approach? He shows you your darkest days?” Sam assumes, frowning empathetically.     Dean averts his eyes back to the bottle, his fingers around the glass body.     “On the big screen,” he confesses. “I’m not just watching, though.”     “What you mean?”     The younger Winchester has taken a seat, leaning his elbows on the rosewood surface as he leans over the table.     “I’m not a witness,” Dean begins to explain. “Sometimes I’m under water, like I’m in the Box already. Other times I experience memories I wish I could forget, exactly the way it went down. It… It feels real. I’m there, in the moment, but I can’t stop it. I can’t change what I did or didn’t do.”

    Sam runs his hand through his dark hair, feeling terrible that his big brother is forced to endure this every time he closes his eyes. His mind floats back to the moment earlier tonight, when Dean’s screams reached his hearing. His own name echoed through the hallways, but the chilling cry when he called out for her, will stay with him for a much longer time.     “Dean, Y/N’s death was not your fault,” Sam tries to assure him.     But Dean disagrees, shaking his head as he leans back in his seat. “I was supposed to protect her. She shouldn’t have been there with me, Sam.”     “She was our back up.”     “Yeah, and it got her killed.”

    Dean swallows down another slug of Jack Daniels and sniffs when he lowers the bottle, having downed almost a quarter of it’s content already. He bites his bottom lip hard, tempted to draw blood as he thinks about that day in Detroit. He remembers the argument they had before entering the apartment building where Lucifer held up. She refused to let the brothers go in by themselves, claiming that they needed a third man in case the plan went south and there was no one to finalize the mission. She didn’t just wanted to be there for them, she wanted to be there for him. He was about to lose his little brother forever, and she wanted to catch him before he fell to his knees. Dean allowed it reluctantly, and minutes later her skull was crushed against the concrete, bringing her short but meaningful life to a screeching halt.

    He was supposed to have her back that night. She was his girl. His girl he failed to save. And it’s not just Y/N who haunts him, because the son of God was right. His father, the Harvelles, Ash, Bobby, Pamela, Charlie, Kevin… The list goes on. All perished either because they gave their life for the Winchesters, or because they got caught in the crossfire. That’s on him. Every loved one he ever lost lost, they are all casualties he blames himself for. He doesn’t need an Archangel to remind him of his wrongs.

    Dean rises to his feet and pushes his chair back, its legs drawing such a loud screech from the smooth furnished floor, that Sam startles. Both were lost in thought for a moment, until the oldest of the two snaps out of it and decides that it’s time to get to work.     “Let’s not dwell on the fact that Michael is making my time in Hell look like Disney World. As long as I’m still sane, I much rather spend my night finding a way to end him.” He frowns at his little brother, his mask back on. “What do we got?”         The younger Winchester gathers his thoughts and shifts some notes aside.     “Well, uh - amongst all this there are a few artifacts that could be interesting. One of them is called the Pearl of Baozhu. It’s one of the eight ancient Chinese treasures.”     “What does it do?” Dean wonders.     “It grants wishes. Technically it’s supposed to give you ‘what your truly heart desires’.”     Hopeful Sam looks up to the hunter at the head of the table, who shrugs and seems to consider it.     “That would be Michael out of my head,” he concludes.     “Exactly.”     Dean takes a look around at the stack of boxes.     “So you’re telling me that the answer to our problems is sittin’ somewhere in this pile of shit?”     “Better start digging,” Sam suggests, pushing a box in his direction.

    Serenity lingers in the bunker in the early hours of a new day. The table lamps spread their light over the surface underneath, their rays warm and gentle for tired eyes. Dean is surrounded by several boxes and books, going through a journal while leaning back in his chair and with his ankles crossed, somewhat more relaxed now that he contributes to something useful. He’s nursing his whiskey, kept busy in search for a clue in order to find the Pearl. It’s a few minutes past five in the morning, when Sam opens his third box of the night and reveals a small bag, the silk fabric tied together with a yellow cord. Curiously Sam takes it out and loosens the tie, unfolding a little red cushion, on which a perfect round shape rests.     “Dean.”         “Hm?”     His brother doesn’t look up immediately, biting the end of pen as he scans through Bart Kemp’s notes.     “I think this is it,” Sam states, looking down at the tiny object that could be the solution to everything.      Now he does captures Dean’s attention, his green eyes darting up from sloppy handwriting to the little white ball.     “That’s the Pearl?” he checks, for some reason expecting something so powerful to be bigger.         Sam nods, hope pulling at the corner of his mouth. Intrigued Dean rises to his feet and circles the table, his eyes fixed on the powerful artifact.     “Let’s do it.”     “Are you sure you don’t want to call Mom, or wait for Cas?”, his brother suggests, somewhat anxiously.     “No,” Dean dismisses, taking the unfolded red cushion in both hands gingerly.  ‘If this mojo works like you say; great. If not; why get their hopes up?”

    Sam holds his brother’s gaze for a moment, wondering if that’s all there is to Dean’s eagerness, or that the real reason why he’s jumping the gun, is his desperation for expelling the Archangel from the Alcatraz that is his mind. Deciding that this is not the time to test that theory, he agrees.     “Okay, so…” Dean reaches for the Baozhu, not sure if he can touch it without consequence. “What do I do?”     “I don’t know.” The younger brother shrugs hesitantly. “I… I guess you hold the pearl and concentrates on what your heart desires?”     “Michael out of my head.”      The man holding the Pearl imprints the sentence into his brain, while Sam shoots his sibling a short glare, as if just stated the obvious.     “Got it,” Dean reassures, just a little too quickly.

    To Sammy it might seem cut and dry, but the man who is about to make a wish isn’t so sure. He could think of a list of things he would want differently. What would the world look like if the Yellow Eyed Demon hadn’t come after his family? If all evil would disappear from the face of the earth, just like that? Would Mom have raised her sons to have a normal childhood? Would his father still be around? Would Cas have descended from Heaven? Would Dean’s path crossed Y/N’s? Would she be alive?

    Dean regains his focus, picks up the little white ball from the cushion and holds it between his thumb and his index finger. Michael out of my head. That’s all he needs to keep in mind. Right now, that is all he wants. Before he rolls the Baozhu into the palm of his hand, the brothers exchange one last look, but then Dean encloses his fingers around the tiny treasure with such great power, and shuts his eyes. With furrowed brow Dean concentrates.

    It only takes a few seconds before an eerie electric static reaches his hearing, triggering him to look up. The wall lamps in the library flicker violently, until the power shortage causes the back up generators to start running. All secondary equipment is switched off and the emergency lights come on, draping the Winchesters in a red gleam. Sam observes his surroundings allerted, his eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness. Cautiously the men try to pick up on even the slightest movement or sound, their senses heightened, driven by instinct.

    Then they hear footsteps. Sam pulls his gun from behind his waistband in a split second, aiming at the central War room. His brother isn’t as quick on the draw, though, a hint of familiarity in the way the boots sound on the marble floors slowing him down.     “Dean? Sam?”

    Right there and then, Dean’s heart stops. He knows that voice, he’d recognize it anywhere. Soft and clear, just like he remembers, just like he dreamed. Shell shocked he stares down at the other room, where a silhouette appears from around the corner. Now he inhales sharply, wide eyes fixed on the figure approaching. No way… It can’t be.

    The power switches back on, the ominous red emergency rays replaced with warm bright light. It reveals Dean’s careful suspicion and it knocks the air out of his lungs. He must be dreaming again. That, or he’s having a hallucination. It wouldn’t be far fetched, sleep deprivation and alcohol consumption considered. But when he steals a glance at Sam, he sees the same shocked expression while his brother slowly lowers his gun.     “Y/N?” he stammers.

    She walks up the steps and halts under the arched entrance to the library, a little out of breath after her run down the hallways of this immense place. She glances from one Winchester brother to the other, her wild eyes leaving Dean for a second as she looks around at the impressive library. She doesn’t recognize the place, but despite the brick walls and lack of windows, it feels welcoming and safe. Wait, is that a telescope?     “What in the Hell? Where the fuck are we?” she wonders, returning her gaze to Sam. “And what happened to you guys? You both look like you aged a decade overnight.”

    Sam lets the air flow from his lips with a short huff, not sure if she’s trying to be funny or doesn’t have a clue what is going on. It’s so unmistakably her, though. The wit, the way she lights the room, a carelessness in her stroll as she enters the library. This is, without a shadow of a doubt, his friend, the closest he ever had to a sister. He can’t take his eyes off her, and he’s not the only one. It doesn’t go unnoticed, because Y/N bounces her focus between the boys, frowning at the evident shock on their faces.

    “W- why are you looking at me like that?” Uncomfortably she rubs her arm, her gaze now fixed on Dean.

    Unable to answer, he dumbfoundedly stares, his mouth agape. A mix of disbelief and astonishment has the hunter frozen on the spot, something that rarely ever happens to him. In his nightmares the Ma’lek Box would slowly fill up, until he drowned. In reality it’s his emotions that overflow the walls of his mind, the waterline rising until it reaches his eyes. Mystic green shimmers, his vision fogging, but he still sees her. He still sees the woman he lost, yet never stopped loving.

    Finally he’s able to move, stepping forward tentatively. With each step, Dean gets a little braver and closes the gap between them. When she’s at arm’s length, he stops, frantic eyes darting to take in every feature he never wants to forget. Afraid to burst the bubble, he slowly lifts his hand to her face. What if he touches her and she turns out to be nothing more than a mirage? An apparition of his hopes and dreams, crumbling to dust once he gets too close? Michael has played these kind of mind games before and it wrecked the broken hunter every time his fairytale world fell apart. But like he has done all those times, he reaches for her anyway, because what if this time, it is real?

    His fingertips brush her soft skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Overcome by both love and fear that speak from his watering eyes, she returns a worried gaze. Not daring to speak, she keeps looking at Dean as he cups her face, brushing a messy strand away with his thumb. It’s clear as day that the connection moves the person who has such an important part in her life.

    Feeling her under his touch, being able to connect with her when he thought he would never be able to again, it’s too much. He swallows down the lump that creeps up his throat, tears threatening to breach the walls. She’s here. Fuck, she’s really here.

    Dean takes a final step towards the woman of his dreams while he pulls her in and, without wasting another second, he does what he has been longing for ever since her shattering death. He presses his lips to hers, kissing her with everything he has. For a short second he feels her tense against him, but then she slips her hands around his forearms and she answers him, melting into the kiss. The man who regained what he had lost can’t help the tremble in his breath, can’t stop the teardrops from rolling down his cheek. He doesn’t care about showing vulnerability, because finally… finally he got her back.

    They part and she opens her beautiful eyes, confounded by his actions. A small yet genuine smile forms, breaking the shimmering paths of sorrow that came down his cheeks. Then the hunter pulls her in a tight hug, burying his face in her hair. Her heart beats against his chest rapidly and he can smell the shampoo she always used, feel the warmth she’s radiating. Memories roll into shore and the tough hunter holds back a sob. Noticing his distress, Y/N folds her arms around his back, giving him a squeeze that calms him down like only she could. God, does this feel good. She came back to him. It’s then and there that me makes himself a promise. I’m never gonna let this go.

    “Dean, you’re scaring me,” Y/N whimpers after a while.     The older Winchester brother snaps out of it and loosens his grip on her, distancing himself from her slightly, now that he realizes he lost track of time for a moment. He struggles to man up and shoots her another reassuring smile, not wanting to upset her.     “I’m sorry,” he utters, his voice raw and on the verge of breaking. “It’s just… It’s really good to see you after all this time.”     Puzzled she looks at him, not sure what he means by that.     “What are you talking about? I saw you last night.”

    Dean narrows his eyes at her in confusion. She saw him last night? How is that even possible? She’s been gone for nine years!     “What day is it?”     It’s Sam who asks, drawing both their attention. Y/N looks aside, then averts her eyes as she thinks. Monday, or is it Tuesday? As a hunter, there is no routine. Nights last long and days fly by, blending together endlessly. She forgets what part of the week it is all the time, nothing new there. Home Depot was closed when she went out to pick up a few errands yesterday; that makes it Sunday. Which makes today...     “Monday,” she decides.     Sam motions her to continue.     “Monday, October 20th,” she adds. “2008.”

    Stunned both boys look at her, the youngest of the brothers letting out a sigh now that his suspicion has been confirmed.     “Y/N, it’s 2019,” Dean informs, his voice soft to cushion the blow.     She cocks her head back at him, staring into his green eyes. Then she chuckles, shaking her head.     She scoffs. “No, c’mon, guys. That’s… that’s insane.”     But when both men keep a straight face that doesn’t in the slightest suggest that this is a joke, the grin on her lips fades. Unable to grasp what is happening, she takes a step back.

    “How?” She questions firmly after a long silence, an uneasiness oozing through her veins.     “I think we - uh…” Sam stammers, not sure if he believes it himself. “I think we summoned you.”     Large eyes bore into him, then shift back to Dean, who watches empathetically how she struggles to process the information. Her gaze drifts off to nothing in particular, going over their words. This isn’t happening. This is fucking insane. Last week they wrapped up a hunt in Pennsylvania during Oktoberfest that involved a shapeshifter with a fetish for old school monster movies. That was enough crazy for one week, if you ask her. And now they are telling her that she was fast forwarded eleven years in time?     “You boys better tell me what the fuck is going on,” she demands. “Right now.”

Holy shit! That was a ride, wasn’t it? Stay tuned for part 3, I hope to finish it soon. Meanwhile, don’t hesitate to let me know what you think so far!

Read part three here

‘All I Want’ tags: 

@awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @justkending @the-is13 @wildsageleon

[nadziejastar]

Isa Was Very Sweet (My Theory About the WINNER Stick)

“From where I stood, the only thing you drew was a big L on your forehead for ‘Loser,’ ‘Lame,’ ‘Laughable’…What did you expect?” Isa said with a roll of his eyes. Ven was feeling the same way.

“Wha—? Isn’t this the part where ya cheer me up or somethin’? ‘You’re just havin’ a bad day,’ or…‘That’s what you get for pullin’ your punches!’ Some friend,” Lea whined, turning toward him.

“Oh, you mean I was supposed to lie,” Isa retorted.

The two of them seemed to be enjoying themselves. Ven was just a tad jealous.

I hate that Isa’s personality seemed to be so misunderstood just because he had a sarcastic sense of humor. Instead of recognizing that he was just playing around, he was apparently seen by much of the fandom as simply a mini Saïx who is cold-hearted and callous toward his friend. I’ve seen people really judge him negatively all because of this one scene. But I think there was evidence in the story that this scene in particular was going to get a twist so that we saw how sweet of a character Isa really was.

“Finally! We got ’em all!” Sora’s Keyblade descended upon the last Dusk.

He heard someone applauding.

“All in a day’s work!” He couldn’t help striking a pose as he turned. But instead of an awestruck spectator, he found someone from the organization.

“Impressive.” Saïx kept on clapping dryly as he strode closer to the trio, who were still poised to fight.

“What do you want?!” Sora demanded.

Saïx paused to speak deliberately. “Have you seen a man named Axel? I believe he’s here somewhere…”

I think Lea did praise Isa and applaud him when he got better at fighting (Fight fight fight). But I think in this specific scene, Saïx was remembering Isa praising Lea. I would bet that Isa was clapping for him in the past, too. 

“You did amazing, Xion,” said Roxas. “You deserve a little something extra.”

“Extra…?” Xion echoed in surprise.

“Yeah. I know a good spot. But first, the icing on the cake.” He gave her a grin. “Wait right here.”

And this praise was connected to the WINNER stick. I think it was probably Isa who first told Lea that sea-salt ice cream was his reward for doing such a good job and I have a theory for exactly how that happened.

“Your performance was quite forced,” Saïx muttered, noticing Axel’s gazing at him.

“What is this about?” asked Axel, cracking his neck.

“I’m not all that impressed.”

Sensing an incoming lecture, Axel started walking away. “Well, I’m off to Agrabah. I’ll be back.” His figure vanished into a corridor.

I think Isa praising Lea was what Saïx was referring to when he said Axel’s “performance” wasn’t impressive on Day 96. He was referring to how Isa used to be impressed with Lea and wanted to give him a reward. But Saïx isn’t impressed.

“I checked that place out yesterday, and that Heartless looked pretty darn tough. I reckon it might be impossible for him to get that thing on his own, hmm ~”

“Are you trying to tell me to let them go together?” asked Saïx in a disagreeable tone.

“I’ll go to Agrabah. Then there’s no problem, right?” Axel’s voice was a little deeper.

“Can you really defeat the Heartless in Agrabah?”

“It’ll be fine. I’m tough, you know.”

“But, you can’t collect its—”

“I’ll just keep the thing in check for now,” Axel interrupted.

That’s why Axel was so sad on Day 96. Saïx was tarnishing one of his most precious memories of Isa acting very sweet and cute. I think Lea saved Isa from a bad situation similar to the one with Roxas and Xion. Lea might have taken on a really strong Heartless for him. Isa was really worried that he’d never see Lea again. 

It’s possible that this is the last time I’ll see Saïx, Axel thought, as he looked at Saïx, who was sitting down, from behind. 

“We’ve known each other for a pretty long time, haven’t we?”

Ignoring Axel’s words, Saïx continued typing on the keyboard.

“Say something. Have you even thought that maybe I can’t erase Roxas?” Axel said, in a playful tone, and Saïx finally looked up. “It’ll be all right. Cause I’m tough.” 

“Saying stupid things,” said Saïx, smiling for just a second at Axel, puffing out his chest.

It was a very precious memory, which is why it was what Axel chose to say to Saïx thinking it might be the last thing he ever said to him.

Just then, Roxas could hear clapping coming from somewhere.

“Yo! Roxas. You haven’t changed! Fight fight fiiight!”

Roxas turned, and standing there was… Axel.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Axel walked casually towards him. “What’s the matter? You look kind of dazed there,” grinned Axel, and he laughed, just like always.

“…They said all the members who went to Castle Oblivion got annihilated…”

Axel stuck out his chest. “Well, I’m pretty tough.”

But something feels off, thought Roxas. Besides, Axel isn’t as strong as he says he is—I think.

“You had me worried,” he admitted.

I think Axel was thinking about that specific situation on Day 71 when he got back from Castle Oblivion. It’s why he didn’t want to report in right away and why he was annoyed that Saïx had no words of appreciation for him. Axel also was upset that Saïx didn’t seem like he was worried about him.

“All I did was find a place to send everyone who was getting in the way.”

And yet, Axel couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his response. “Well, nice to know where I stand.”

He said it with a grin, but the hint of a frown tugged at the scar between Saïx’s brows. Apparently, the joke wasn’t very funny. “You made it back in one piece, didn’t you?”

Were you worried I wouldn’t? Axel almost said, but he didn’t want to deal with putting him in an even fouler mood. Disgust and rage seemed to linger closest to the surface of Saïx’s memories.

Lea survived but he probably got his butt whooped in the process. Afterwards, he was puffing out his chest, acting like it was no big deal. Isa knew Lea was putting on a performance to show off for him. But he wanted to make Lea happy. So he started clapping for him and praising him, telling him how impressive he was because he knew Lea would like it. Lea probably knew Isa was laying it on thick for him and they both were having a lot of fun.

“These Heartless here are the last, I think.”

“Xion, fight fight fight~” Axel clapped, as she turned around.

“What are you doing?”

“What am I doing… I’m praising your hard work.”

“You’re weird,” said Xion, laughing.

Just then, Axel suddenly felt like Xion’s face had blurred, and he rubbed his eyes.

“Is something wrong, Axel?”

“Nah…” For a second, the Xion I saw there had the face of… Naminé.

This dialogue takes place on Day 117 which was about special Nobodies. Xigbar made fun of Demyx for being useless right before Saïx assigned Axel and Xion their mission. Axel was clapping for Xion and praising her. And Axel saw Xion as Naminé as soon as he did. It definitely indicates that he was remembering something in that moment. 

“Sounds like you earned yourself the treat,” said Axel.

Not wasting any more time, Roxas dug in. Axel pocketed the stick from his own ice cream.

Axel and Xion specifically discussed their memories after the mission. Axel seemed sad and said his memories never did him any good. Xion pocketed her shell and Axel pocketed his ice cream stick. Maybe he got a WINNER that day. I think he probably did, but he never told Roxas about it. It just made him sad.

Axel: That’s one of the things that makes the Organization members special. Unlike lesser Nobodies, we remember who we were.

When Axel mentioned that the organization were special Nobodies it was on Day 95 ~Nobodies~. They were special because they remembered their past. This was brought up while they were discussing how Demyx was not really good at fighting and kinda useless. Axel was pretty defensive of him. He said his memories were just baggage here, too. 

Saïx: Axel aside, it would break our hearts to hear something happened to you.

Donald: Hearts? You don't have any hearts!

Saïx: True, we don’t have hearts. But we remember what it was like. That’s what makes us special.

When Saïx mentioned special Nobodies in KH2, he was applauding Sora after he finished off a group of Heartless. Right after Saïx got done clapping, he said he remembered what having a heart was like. In the manga, Saïx got very upset when Sora said he couldn’t be worried because he had no heart.

When I’m smiled at with such a happy look… I feel uncomfortable.

“Maybe Xion wouldn’t have been able to make her Keyblade come back, if it weren’t for you, Axel,” Roxas added.

“Thank you, Axel,” they said, in unison.

This is why… this feeling is so hazy. Scratching his head unconsciously, Axel looked away from the two of them.

“Then how about a sea salt ice cream?” Axel asked, his back still turned.

“Huh?” Roxas asked.

This was Axel compromising, grudgingly. Don’t think I can take any more of those thank-yous.

“Then we call it even,” replied Axel. Roxas and Xion looked at each other.

I think Lea did something dangerous for Isa. Then Isa probably wanted to find a way to show his appreciation for Lea. Axel couldn’t stand Roxas and Xion thanking him because it made him remember how much Saïx had changed.

Xigbar, standing and watching their exchange with his arms folded, opened his mouth. “You’ve been working really well lately haven’t you, Poppet.”

“…Thank you,” Xion replied in a small voice.

“Thank you? Why do you have to say thanks?

“Well, you were praising me, weren’t you? Was I wrong?”

“Haha… Yeah, I guess you could see it like that.” He pressed his hand to his mouth and snickered.

“Did I say something funny?”

“No, no. You’re fine.”

Xion looked up at Xigbar, anxiously. Beside them, Saïx didn’t show any notable reaction. He just watched.

This scene is from Day 119, a few days later. This day was about how important things are a weakness. Xigbar was making fun of Saïx and I think it involved the memory Axel had when he was fighting with Xion. Lea probably wondered why Isa had to thank him when they were friends. Friends help each other when they’re in trouble. Xigbar apparently saw this memory and thought it was hilarious. The thought of Xigbar knowing that Lea and Isa had a cute little thing for each other really amuses me. After this scene, Saïx hated Xion and constantly berated her and called her a failure.

“Huh? Why am I a slap on the wrist?” Roxas asked.

“Well, they know how much I hate babysitting.” Axel let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Gee, thanks,” huffed Roxas.

“Sheesh. Would it kill them to give me a day off? I’m exhausted,” Axel whined. “Look at these bags under my eyes. I need my beauty sleep.”

In the novel and the game, Axel made a point of complaining that he wasn’t allowed to rest for even a day after coming back from Castle Oblivion. 

Axel: Didn't take 'em long to give me more work. Where's my vacation? Sheesh.

And he said this on Day 150, the day after he returned from Castle Oblivion the second time.

Axel barely slept a wink thanks to all the thoughts turning in his head. He scowled at the throbbing pain in his temples. These sleep deprivation headaches were awful.

Rather than going back to sleep and getting a lecture, he went to the Grey Area before anyone else and claimed the sofa to keep thinking.

The Organization tried to annihilate either Roxas or Xion. I’m thinking about what I should do, what I want to do. I want to know a way to save both Roxas and Xion. I want to respect both their wishes. I wondered all night whether there’s really and truly no way to do that—and, of course, I couldn’t find the answer. 

He was constantly sleep-deprived as he tried to find a way to save Roxas and Xion while still respecting their wishes.

“Get up.”

“Just five more minutes…,” Axel mumbled.

“No. Get up—now.” The voice was distinctly annoyed.

Axel relented and opened his eyes. “What are you even doing in here?”

Saïx was standing next to his bed, as irritated as one might have guessed from his voice. Axel hadn’t been so rudely awakened since before turning into a Nobody.

In the manga, Saïx decided to show his appreciation by telling Axel to take a nice long rest after coming back from Castle Oblivion (though it was just talk). I’m sure all of this was referring to a specific event in their past.

Every time he tried to wake up, all Axel could think was how badly he wanted to go back to sleep—although he was getting enough rest. He just wished he could have a day to himself and do nothing but sleep. It was probably some remnant of his human memories.

Axel’s sleep deprivation was a pretty big thing and definitely dated back to his human days. Apparently, all Lea wished for back then was a day all to himself to do nothing but sleep.

“Al said he wouldn’t rely on magic, right? I want to fix it for him, but you gotta respect your friend’s wishes.”

“Your friend’s… wishes…” 

So, even if you mean for something to be for your friend’s sake, their wishes are still more important?

I think that was probably what Axel was thinking about on Day 75, which was a few days after he returned from Castle Oblivion. I think Isa was so grateful to Lea that he wanted to grant him his wish. Lea would have a whole day to himself where he could do nothing but rest. Isa would handle himself.

“That Genie person seemed very worried about that Al person. And then he said that you have to respect your friend’s wishes. I guess you can’t just jump in and do everything for them, even if you want to.” Xion bit her ice cream, swinging her feet.

Axel leaned his head to one side. “Your friend’s wishes, huh…”

It feels like I have heard that before, a long time ago, when I was human.

Lea was really worried if Isa would be okay on his own and probably refused. But Isa insisted and urged him to respect his wishes. He really wanted to thank Lea and let him get a day off to sleep. Lea worked so hard and worried so much for his sake, after all. So, Lea reluctantly did what Isa asked.

“Did you think of a way?” Roxas asked, happily. Beside him, Xion stayed silent, face hidden in her hood.

“Roxas, you should just do your best.”

When Axel suggested that Roxas work twice as hard for Xion’s sake, he referred to it as “doing your best” I think Lea “did his best” for Isa a lot.

“It’s okay—go! I’ll catch up.”

Naminé nodded and jumped into the gateway.

“So you’re trying to play the hero now, too?” Saïx said flatly, staring hard at Axel.

I think Lea played the hero for Isa.

“Hmph. I don’t have time for these games.” Darkness welled from a rift behind Saïx. “Do your best to help your dear hero.”

I think Isa also tried to “do his best” to show his appreciation for Lea by letting him have a day off.

“Understood, sir,” Saïx replied, and Xemnas disappeared.

“…Well, do your best. The best a kid without a heart can do, anyway,” said Xigbar, and he too disappeared.

And I think that is probably what got him Norted. Xigbar finds the whole situation amusing.

Axel let out a long-suffering sigh. “Well, I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. Sleep. And then maybe have a catnap and a snooze after that.”

“Isn’t that what you usually do anyway?”

I don’t really get what he means.

“Usually, I’m making do with how much I get.”

He really wants to sleep that much?

“What are you gonna do, Xion?”

Axel yawned again through Roxas’s question. “If anyone cares, I was just getting back to bed.”

“Wh—? Oh. Okay.” Roxas nodded uncertainly as Axel sauntered off without another word. 

How can he be that sleepy…?

Day 117 is when Axel and Xion had their mission together. Then the very next day is the vacation, “Lazy Day” where Axel’s sleep deprivation was brought up.

“Does going to sleep count?”

“What?! Axel, you wasted your whole day?”

“Hey, I needed the rest! I work hard on the job, unlike some people.”

“It’s not our fault you get tired so quick,” Xion shot back, and the three of them cracked up together.

Axel said he works very hard, so he deserved to rest on his day off. He got to sleep all day, just like he wanted to do as a human, and just like he would have done if Saïx had shown him appreciation after Castle Oblivion.

“You’re getting there, aren’t you. Okay, since you worked really hard today, you get a reward,” said Axel, and he started walking.

And sea-salt ice cream is a reward for working very hard. 

Roxas: That still doesn't explain what love is... Is love fighting to protect what's most important to you? Where does its power come from?

Axel: Hey, here comes the hard worker.

A perfect reward for someone like Lea.

“Don’t go doing stupid things while I’m gone, you hear?”

“Hey, we so wouldn’t,” Xion replied.

“I wonder now… can I really trust you guys?”

“You’re terrible!” Xion protested. Finding something funny about the situation, Roxas huffed.

“Hey, what are you laughing about, Roxas… hee hee,” Xion laughed. Axel couldn’t help but laugh along.

Right after Axel finished telling Roxas and Xion about his dark secrets, he warned them not to bungle anything while he was gone at Castle Oblivion. But Xion did. She was getting berated for failing her mission as soon as Axel came back. 

“…You’re so irresponsible…,” Axel grumbled, his steps faltering under the weight of the girl—the puppet—hoisted over his shoulder. While he was hardly unscathed himself, she appeared completely unconscious.

When Axel at last staggered into the castle, his legs buckled beneath him, and Xion tumbled from his arms as he fainted.

I think Isa probably also bungled things on the day he let Lea rest. Kinda like how Aladdin was really struggling to cope without Genie. But he refused to ask for help.

Genie: Yep! Until Carpet and I took off on a well deserved vacation. What you might call a mini world tour. But we got to worrying about how Al was doing...so we figured we'd pop back in to check up on him.

Roxas: Why were you worried? Is there something to worry about?

Genie: Well, sure! It's only natural to worry about your friends. I worried about how things were going with Jasmine, how the city was holding up... And once I get something on my mind, I can't knock it out--tried everything: dynamite, sledgehammers, tweezers...

Xion: Well, I don't know about anybody named Al, but... The city's in rough shape. They've been fixing it up.

Roxas: Right, they keep getting hit by sandstorms.

Genie: What!? Why do these things always happen the minute I leave town!?

Aladdin’s wish was for for Genie to be free and to just be able to enjoy his vacation. But Genie couldn’t enjoy his vacation until he was free of worry.

Genie: Well, anyway... I'm glad to see Al's doing all right. Now I can enjoy the rest of my vacation free of worries!

Aladdin and Genie are used as the perfect example of best friends due to their mutual concern for each other. Axel was always looking out for Roxas and Xion in 358/2 Days. 

Roxas: Just feels strange, that's all. Usually, I do all the worrying over you. I don't think it's ever been the other way around before.

Xion: Well, for your information... I worry about you all the time, Roxas.

Roxas: I'm glad you're back, Xion. I just wish Axel didn't have to be so rough with you.

But he didn’t have anyone looking out for him. This is why I think he was so nostalgic for the past. I think Axel was specifically thinking about the WINNER stick on Day 118. Roxas mentioned it in his diary and Axel was looking at his ice cream stick in the manga, too. And this was the day Axel wrote in his report how Saïx had changed and that he missed what was gone.

“That’s true, but… if you go on like this, you’ll collapse.”

“I said I’m fine, Jasmine. We don’t know when the next storm will come. We have to rebuild the city before the next sand storm comes.”

I think Lea was worried about Isa and went to go check on him, and sure enough something bad happened.

“Xion!” he called, after gently putting her down, but Xion didn’t react.

I was careless. I don’t have a clear answer as to why Xion collapses so often in the first place. Why was she allowed to go on a mission in this condition? The thoughts floated up along with regret.

Lea probably saved him. But he was probably asleep for a while like Xion was. 

“Don’t push yourself too hard. Our mission is to put down a giant Heartless—Looks like a pretty tough Heartless, yanno,” said Axel, scratching his head.

“Since we’re in Twilight Town, we can eat as soon as we’re done, can’t we,” said Xion, chasing after him.

“Yeah, that’s true, but… Don’t be careless,” Axel warned their backs as he followed behind.

“Axel is such a worry-wart, isn’t he.”

“Worry-wart—Maybe that’s cause you two worry me far too much.”

Isa probably collapsed. He fought with everything he had to allow Lea a chance to rest. This might be the origin of his berserk state. He wasn’t filled with rage or anything. He was motivated by love. He was trying so hard to protect Lea and used up all his strength. 

“He worries too much. Thinks he has to help Sora do everything…” Axel grimaced in irritation.

“But, Axel, aren’t you the one worrying about Riku and Sora?” Naminé giggled softly.

“Me, worry? You think I need to be worried about those two?” He stretched backward and rocked the chair back and forth, like a restless child.

Lea was very scared and blamed himself after what happened to Isa. The whole situation traumatized him. At first Axel brushed off Roxas whenever he was worried about Xion. But after Day 193 he always told them not to push themselves too hard or to take it easy. When Isa woke up, he felt bad. He just wanted to show his appreciation for Lea, but all he did was scare him to death and cause more work for him. He felt like a failure.

“Well, Roxas—why do the three of us eat ice cream together every day in that place?”

“….Huh?” I don’t really get what he’s trying to say.

“I have no use in doing that either, do I? If you think about it, it’s troublesome, right? Do you want me to tell you?”

Roxas looked at Axel, and waited for his answer.

“It’s because we are best friends.”

Lea might have said that Isa didn’t need to do anything “useful” to show his appreciation. He just liked spending time with him and that was all he wanted as thanks. 

“Oh, c’mon, it’s not that funny!” Axel scolded. They paused, looked at each other, and giggled again.

“I don’t know why I put up with this…”

“But, I mean…it just didn’t sound like you, Axel.” Xion could barely hold in laughter long enough to get the words out.

A wish that they could always be together—was longing for the impossible. But at least they could always remember one another.

That was what he really wished for. Even more than sleep. So, Isa gave Lea the WINNER stick as his reward. It was a promise that they’d eat ice cream and spend time together in the future, which is why it meant so much to Axel. He was remembering all of this on Day 193. Isa must have known how distraught Lea was back then. Axel was very hurt by Saïx knowingly making him relive that situation. That’s why he told Roxas and Xion that they were his best friends while they were worried about Xion. 

I don’t really know what ‘reward’ actually means, but I think it’s definitely a special thing, like ‘Winner’. And so, when Axel comes back, I’ll give him the ‘Winner’ as a ‘reward’.

Xion, eating ice cream beside him, swung her feet.

“You two are really close, aren’t you?” she said.

Sea-salt ice cream was a reward for hard work or doing a good job. It was always brought up whenever Axel left or came back from Castle Oblivion. And going to Castle Oblivion was always a job assigned to him by Saïx.

“Well… it is winning after all, so it has to be something good, right?”

“Something good…?” Roxas asked.

“Hee hee hee…,” Xion laughed. Roxas and Axel looked at her. “The two of you are close, aren’t you?” she said, and then she looked out at the setting sun. “Such a pretty sunset…”

The WINNER stick was obviously special to Axel long before Roxas gave it to him. Axel was lying when he said he’d never seen one on Day 352. He knew exactly what it was for.

“…Was it okay to have said that?”

“What do you mean?”

Axel’s tone is a little lower than usual. “I mean… you and Saïx are usually pretty close, aren’t you?”

“Close, whatever. You’re the one who went and flared up in the first place.”

“Yeah, but…” It feels like some sort of mistake, for there to be a distance between Axel and Saïx like the one Saïx has between Xion and I.

The reason he lied about it is probably because it was a very painful subject, involving his most precious memories of the past. He wanted to keep things lighthearted for Roxas and Xion’s sake.

“We have not confirmed what happened to any spare cloaks in the possession of the members who were stationed at Castle Oblivion. Axel will also be looking into that.”

“Axel this, Axel that… you two are quite the pals, aren’t you? Wonder what you two whisper about,” Xigbar shot, jiggling his crossed leg.

“Now you’ve mentioned it, I wonder the same about you.” At Saïx’s words, the atmosphere froze over.

Xigbar mentioned how close Axel and Saïx were during the meeting on Day 119, right after Axel left for Castle Oblivion again. After that meeting Xigbar praised Xion in front of Saïx, while snickering.

Roxas: But I've heard him say he wasn't cut out for combat. I guess everybody in the Organization is good at different things.

Axel: That's right. Everybody's unique.

Xion: Even Nobodies? Don't you need a heart to be unique?

Axel: Oh, I think we have other things that set us apart. Like our pasts.

Xion: What past?

Roxas: You remember stuff from before?

Axel: That's one of the things that makes the Organization members special. Unlike lesser Nobodies, we remember who we were.

I think Lea saved Isa then bragged about being tough. Isa gave Lea his reward by giving him the WINNER stick after screwing up Lea’s vacation. He felt bad that he wasn’t good at fighting and failed.

“Don’t you remember? I acted like a zombie.” Axel stared at him as if trying to figure something out and then grinned. “Right, that first week you could barely form a sentence. But come on, you’re still kind of a zombie.”

“Oh, thanks!” Roxas huffed, and they laughed.

“Hey, Roxas…”

“Hmm?”

“Bet you don’t know why the sun sets red.” He eyed Roxas mischievously. “You see, light is made up of lots of colors. And out of all those colors, red is the one that travels the farthest.” He finished with a boastful grin.

Roxas laughed. “Why do you look so smug about it?” He shoved him, and Axel gave another little laugh.

I think Lea gave Isa his reward some time later when he was “broken” and then suddenly spoke, telling Lea why the sunset was red. He was proud of himself. Everyone is good at different things. Lea was good at fighting. Isa was knowledgeable about stuff. Lea was so happy Isa still had his unique personality, he wanted to reward him. If they were in Twilight Town at the time, maybe Lea actually used the WINNER stick Isa gave him to get him the ice cream. Then they watched the sunset. Essentially, the WINNER stick is the equivalent of the wooden sword that Terra gave to Ventus.

[bloodline-rpg]

Congratulations, Mak! We have accepted your application for your OC Eden Talbott (FC Summer Bishil). Please create a new blog (not a sideblog) for your character and send us the link via ask box as soon as you can. Welcome to Bloodline!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name/Alias: Mak

Age: 26

Preferred pronouns: she/her

Timezone: CST

Level of activity (don’t give your activity a number value, please describe how active you will be as best as possible): I will be available in the evenings on weekdays and whenever I can on weekends, also factoring in plans I’ve made with friends

CHARACTER DETAILS

Character’s Name: Eden Talbott

Desired FC: Summer Bishil

Character’s Age: 33

Character’s Species: Werewolf

Character’s Sexuality: Lesbian

CHARACTER BIOGRAPHY

Eden has been a member of the Devereaux Pack since birth, raised to be a strong and dependable soldier alongside the likes of the Falcos and the Irvings. The Talbotts were unlike the other two families, however, in that they were painfully aware of the fact that their existence was truly a curse. Eden knew from a young age that witches were the cause of their furry existence, that it was a punishment and not a gift, and that being kept under the whip of the Devereauxs was something to resent, not be grateful for. Jakob Talbott, Eden’s father, had no qualms about making his opinion known in the pack, but at a time when the Falcos and Irvings were firmly under the heel of the witches’ boot he dare not do so as openly as he once may have. Talbotts, he always said, were quiet survivors. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open, only whisper truths at night around crackling fires, and the Talbotts would survive their slavers. It was with this knowledge that Eden trained, working harder to maintain strength and close bonds to give herself more ammunition if the moment ever came to strike back. When Keely Irving was gunned down protecting an Original witch and that witch dared run from the scene, Eden was livid. Wolf lives were meaningless to those they protected, simply cattle for the slaughter. It was not long after that when Jakob took it upon himself to tell Elias Irving the truth, that his sister had died for nothing, that there would always be meaningless death if these witch tyrants were to be obeyed. A rage sparked in Elias then, a rage that gave Eden a unique opportunity: everyone in the pack loved Elias Irving. If Elias wanted to change how things were, were to become Alpha and demand respect from the witches, Eden could prop him up and fuel his fire. Her hopes were dashed when Derrick Falco, good little witch puppy that he was, became the Alpha in Elias’ place. In response to this change, Eden did what Talbotts have always done best – kept her mouth shut and her eyes and ears open. There would be another opportunity, especially with all of the witches brought together at the Manor. Everything was slowly falling into one place, literally, and Eden only had to begin pulling at the tenuous threads that held the pack together. After all, why wouldn’t the new, young, impressionable wolves trust her? And the more of them she could bring to the cause, the easier it would be to topple Derrick’s throne.

CHARACTER PERSONALITY

Eden is first and foremost a strategist. She is simmering with anger and resentment towards the witches, but she is not quick to let that come to the surface. As much of a firebrand as Elias can be, Eden has to be the soothing balm to come after if they are going to succeed. On the surface Eden is calm and collected, a tenured wolf with more control than most, but at the end of the day, Eden is looking out for her own best interest. Perhaps that means manipulating younger wolves, pressing on the raw nerves of their emotions laid bare for her to pluck. Perhaps that means putting on a smile and opening her arms to any wolf that feels wronged or slighted, giving them a sense of purpose. Through it all, Eden is calculating with a resolve like iron and whatever closeness you think you may have with her… well, good luck finding out if it’s genuine.

PLOTS AND POLITICS

Eden loathes the Devereauxs, particularly Brigid, and wants nothing more than to see them feel the kind of pain the wolves are put through on a daily basis. They don’t know, they could never understand, and their entitlement makes Eden want to scratch off her fur.

Eden is loyal to Elias and his gang simply because it’s the best means to an end. She will be a strong shoulder for Elias, a confidante, someone pulling the strings behind the scenes to help ensure his victory, but at the first sign that something may be going wrong or she has put herself in danger, Eden would just as soon leave him for dead – or anyone else.

Eden believes that Derrick is terribly naive and too soft to be a true Alpha. She will give him just enough respect to not be out of line, but she does not see how he can possibly believe what he says and also have the best interest of the pack in mind. Her mind could be changed on this, but it would take a hell of a lot of convincing.

At the end of the day, Eden wants respect and freedom. She does not necessarily think that all witches are unforgivable because she knows how a bond would benefit herself greatly, but she does not want to be a lowly guard dog for the rest of her life. She wants to be treated like an equal, respected for the power she possesses and what she can offer, and therefore would be open to differing alliances based on what would benefit her the most.