#if I had to guess this is why most people see agent 4 as silly too. it’s the same effect taking place LOL | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bubbleteaimagines · 4 years ago

Text

just like you

bucky barnes oneshot

bucky x you

cursing, fluff

he had watched you from afar and found himself falling deeper and deeper each day.

in his mind, you were the definition of perfection.

gorgeous skin that shined in the sun light. eyes that lit up whenever you talk about your passions. lips that were so plump and so full, a perfect shape to fit with his.

to bucky, you were the definition of beautiful but sadly you would never know that.

ever since he had met you, bucky kept his thoughts to himself and never voiced how he felt, for fear of rejection.

it was silly, but in bucky’s mind he thought that you’d never like him, considering he did have a metal arm and all.

not to mention the fact that he was literally the winter soldier, so bucky figured that you’d run the minute he expressed his interests.

because of this, bucky kept his distance and often passed his fascination off for hostility.

in the compound, he usually avoided you at all costs and only spoke to you when necessary.

this caused you to be frustrated. in your mind you didn’t see it was bucky trying to protect you. you saw it as if he just straight up didn’t like you, which made you wonder what you had done to piss off the soldier.

you had barely talked to him and when you did he always tried to escape, pressing himself into a corner and avoiding your eyes at all means.

it was a little disheartening, to say the least. especially since he had sparked you interest the moment you met him, and you even had a little crush on the soldier.

but what did it matter? he obviously didn’t like you.

and today, you were dreading having to go into the training room and spare with him.

being an avenger meant that you often had to work out and practice on training for missions. this meant a lot of gym time, and it make it a little more organized than it was steve usually did a little ‘schedule’ and paired people up to train at certain times.

today, it was supposed to be you and bucky at 4:00 sharp.

to say that you were nervous would be an understatement, but more than anything you were excited. maybe after you’d trained together bucky would finally warm up to you. maybe you’d finally find the courage to tell him how you felt.

what that thought in mind, you quickly made your way to the training room, buzzing a little.

however, it seemed to die down as you heard bucky and steve arguing inside the facility.

they were talking in ‘hushed’ voice but you could still hear them. coming to a stop, you strained your ears and listened to what they were saying.

“—and i know we’re supposed to but i just can’t, steve,” bucky’s voice came first and you furrowed your eyebrows.

what was he talking about?

“—that’s ridiculous. i don’t see why you don’t want to train with her, buck. she’s not that bad,” steve’s voice gave you your answer. he was talking about you.

“— don’t think i know what? but still. just put me with someone else. anyone else,” bucky’s words felt like a stab to your heart.

blinking, you leaned away from the door as hot tears and anger began to grow inside of you.

What the actual hell was his problem, you thought. what did you ever do to make him hate you so much?

after all, you had barely even spoken with the guy! he hardley knew you but here he was practically begging steve to train someone else, and quote ‘anyone else.’

you let out a noise of anger, and furiously wiped your tears.

crossing your arms, you waited till they were done and steve finally came out of the room.

when he saw you, he gave you a sad and empathetic smile.

“sorry you had to hear that,” he sighed, and your shook your head.

“no, no. it’s fine,” you let out a breath and tried to calm yourself down before you marched in there.

“don’t take what he said too personally,” steve advised. “i’m sure he has his reasons.”

you scoffed. yeah. you bet he did, and you were about to find them out.

marching away from steve, you entered the training room.

upon hearing the noise from your footsteps, bucky looked up and his heart sunk at the angry expression on your face.

“so i heard that you don’t wanna train with me,” a frown was on your lips as you wasted no time confronting him. you figured it was about time you found out why he was so hostile towards you.

bucky frowned. “i didn’t mean it like that,” was the first thing he could think of. you scoffed.

“really?” you knew it was bullshit. “is that why you were practically begging steve to switch partners? because you didn’t mean it like that?” you mocked him.

“y/n please—” bucky tried but you held your hand up.

“no. you’ve never one to talk so let me,” you cut him off. “what the hell is your problem with me barnes? why do you dislike me so much you can barely even look at me?”

looking back, you came realize that he had always been like that. ever since you met him, he had seemed to hold some strong dislike towards you and you were tired of it.

“y/n, believe me, it’s not like i don’t like you,” bucky tried to explain without giving himself away that much. “it’s just—”

“it’s just that whenever i’m in the room you suddenly can’t stand to be there. it’s just that whenever i try to talk you or even look at you, you shut me out and want nothing to do with me. right? it’s just like that?” you said.

bucky stayed quiet. you scoffed.

“yeah. that’s what i thought,” you said sourly. suddenly, your anger began to fade and disappointment began to flood in.

“and to think that i ever had a crush on you,” you laughed to yourself, no longer caring if he knew. he apparently already hated you.

bucky’s head snapped up.

“what?” he turned so fast you thought he would’ve gotten whiplash. “what did you just say?”

was bucky dreaming or did you just admit you had a crush on him?

you scoffed. “i said ‘and to think i ever had a crush on you.’ but it’s obvious you don’t feel the same so what does it matter anymore?”

on, it mattered. it definitely mattered to bucky, who began to smile so big he was afraid his face would split.

“what are you smiling about, barnes?” you rolled your eyes at him. “how on earth does that make you happy.”

“because, y/n, i like you too,” bucky blurted it out before he could stop himself.

you paused.

“what?”

“i said ‘i like you too,’” bucky repeated and you shushed him.

“no, i heard you correctly,” you said, heart beginning to speed up, “but i— what?”

you were dumbfounded and bucky chuckled as a new warmth began to flow through him.

you liked him back.

“when did that happen, barnes?” you questioned, mouth slightly agape.

bucky shrugged. “around the time that I first met you, i guess,” He confessed. “i honestly thought, think, that you were the most gorgeous person i had ever seen.”

“oh my god!” the reality of the situation hit you. bucky didn’t hate you. he liked you.

“why the hell have you never said anything?” you asked him, shocked. he shrugged again.

“i dunno,” bucky looked down and played with his metal fingers. “i guess i just, i was afraid of being rejected,” he said. “i wasn’t too sure if you’d be thrilled if someone like me had a crush on you.”

you stared at him in shock. “bucky!” a small laugh escaped your lips and you shook your head. “what do you mean someone like you? How could i not like you?” you questioned. “have you seen yourself?”

a faint blush rose up on his face and bucky’s lips twitched. “chicks usually don’t dig the metal arm and the whole winter soldier thing,” He said. “i was keeping my distance in case you were one of them.”

“well i’m not,” you told him, a small smile on your face as you lifted your yoga pant. “how can i be?”

bucky’s eyes nearly grew three sizes as he spotted metal where your leg should be. the shiny material gleamed back at him, reminding him so much of his own and he gaped.

“what? you have a metal leg?” he asked, shocked. you nodded.

“yeah. a nasty run-in with a some HYDRA agents a few years back and now i’m sporting this bad boy,” you grinned proudly as you flexed your leg.

“wow. i had no idea,” bucky said, and suddenly he felt silly. “i feel like, so stupid right now,” he sighed.

how could he ever thought you wouldn’t accept him when you were just like him?

you grinned. “It’s alright, bucky,” you said, reaching out to take his metal arm. “you didn’t know.”

“man, i almost screwed myself over with you, worrying about this,” bucky realized and you laughed.

“yeah, you almost did,” you admitted, “but the important thing is that now you know i’m just like you.”

“just like me,” bucky repeated. and then he grinned.

“since we’ve already established our feelings for each other, does this mean i get to take you out on a date now?” he rose an eyebrow and your heart fluttered as you heard those well awaited words.

“yes. a thousand times yes, barnes,” you grinned.

BONUS

“so does this mean you two will have bionic kids or … ?” tony asked, and ducked as you threw a shoe at him.

“screw off, stark!”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes one shot

195 notes · View notes

maxwell-grant · 4 years ago

Note

OK, I know this will probably be painful, and I may be a bad mutual for asking but...would you be willing to identify what, in your opinion are the bottom five worst Shadow adaptations, and give a detailed breakdown of why they were so lousy?

Oh christ, okay. I don't think you're gonna get as much of a detailed breakdown for these compared to some of the others, because I take more issue with adaptations that do have good qualities but also big or deep problems to talk about.

For example, I can't include Garth Ennis's Shadow in this list because the comic has a lot of strong points to it, despite a deeply, deeply detestable take on The Shadow's character, where as the rest of the Dynamite run doesn't reach neither the lows or highs of his run. Likewise, Andy Helfer's run has a couple or a couple dozen moments every issue that make me want to tear something to shreds in frustration, but it's also at many points a really good comic with great art and some occasionally very inspired writing. Really, I'd just be repeating myself talking about what I hate in those.

But, fine, let's list some of the others.

I think I'm just gonna have to get the elephant in the room out of the way here, and address that I won't be including Si Spurrier's 2017 Dynamite mini in this list, and I think at least some of you might be angry it's not Number 1 by default. I'm doing this because I intend to one day really revisit it, think about it and it's reception and what it was trying to do, and talk about it on it's own, now that it's been 5 years and everyone has moved on and we can maybe talk about it without kneejerk hatred driving everyone nuts (your mileage may vary on how warranted it was).

I'm also not going to be talking about James Patterson's new novel, because I haven't read it. It seems to be considered a forgettable potboiler by mainstream critics and a resounding failure by everyone who likes the character whether they've read the book or not, and frankly I don't have it in me to learn what the fuzz was about anytime soon, I got my hands way too full as is.

And I won't be including the Batman x Shadow crossovers here, because again, they do have a lot of virtues that put them far ahead of some of the really worst Shadow media, and I've talked enough about how badly I think they mangled The Shadow, which is really the big problem I have with them (well, that and Tim Sale blatantly copying a Michael Kaluta cover, that was really shitty). I don't really hate them anymore, I just get tired and frustrated thinking about parts of them, I said my piece as is. Really, my frustration over this comic is what inspired me to start writing about The Shadow here, so I guess in a way I do owe it at least that much.

5: Archie Comics's Shadow

I think some of you might be wondering why this isn't ranked higher, but to be honest, I don't actually harbor any hatred towards this. I mean, I have to include it, but I find it kinda silly that some people even today actually care about the existence of this comic enough to hate it.

For fans back then? Oh yeah, obviously, but this dropped to such instantaneous backlash that it never really got to live past 6 issues. Really, everything wrong about it can be understood immediately from the covers, and I've actually read the comic in it's entirety to see if there was anything worth taking. I found only a couple of things of note but, no, this really is just a painfully mediocre superhero comic that happens to have a couple of Shadow names in it. If anything, it gets too much credit.

The actual contents of what it is are never going to justify it's reputation, but the existence of it and the disproportionate response to it is the funniest and most enduring legacy it could ever ask for. This whole comic is The Shadow's version of Spongebob's embarassing Christmas photo.

4: David Liss's The Shadow Now

This is another "The Shadow as an immortal in modern times" comic and I think you may have noticed the pattern with those by now. I may revisit this eventually and I do have some moments from it saved for reference, but overall: It sucks, and it doesn't even suck in a way that lets me talk much about it, it's a diet version of Chaykin's Shadow. If Archie's Shadow is a generic mediocre superhero comic wearing The Shadow's name, this is a generic crime story playing beats from movie. The Shadow is an asshole and not even a grandiose or sinister one, he just feels like a sleazy douche in a costume. The art is a 50/50 coin toss between appropriately moody and "Google images with a filter on them", I don't remember anything about the plot other than Khan had a bomb again and he had a daughter, and there were new versions of the agents and the Harry stand-in turned evil and Lamont shacked up with Margo's descendant which, uh, no. I don't really hate this but I really have nothing nice to say about this comic other than Colton Worley's art is nice sometimes. I can't really muster anything else to say here.

3: Invisible Avenger

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

ZZZZZZZZZZZZ

ZZZZZZZZZZ...

...uuh, wha-

Yeah, I remember nothing about this one other than it's painfully boring and nothing about it, nothing at all, works in the slightest and I drift off to sleep even now trying to give this a rewatch. To be honest pretty much every other Shadow serial not starred by Victor Jory sucks and I don't really have anything to say about them, this one is just the worst of the lot. I dearly wish there was a good Shadow tv series but, if it was going to be like this pilot? Good riddance.

2: Harlan Ellison's The New York Review of Bird

This isn't really a Shadow story as much as it's a Harlan Ellison story that happens to feature The Shadow, but man am I glad that Ellison's "Dragon Shadows" was canned, because holy shit what a goddamn nightmare Harlan Ellison writing The Shadow for real could have been, going purely by the one time he ever touched the character. New York Review of Bird is a purely farcical parody story that wears real, real thin even before "Uncle Kent" shows up, and we get to see in it what is by far the most detestable and irredeemable take on The Shadow ever put on print, and not even in a critique or deconstructive way or anything that could be remotely worth discussing.

I don't hold any particular affection for Harlan Ellison and his writing (despite liking some of it) and I've come to notice the major red flag that is finding someone who looks up to Harlan Ellison in any capacity as a person, and this story in particular really feels like Ellison aggressively trying to channel his jackass tendencies through every line, just him being nasty because he built a personal brand on being nasty. The only reason this isn't Number One is because it's a very short story that saw zero influence or reputation, and thus it only exists as a brief mention in The Shadow wiki, and a brief mention is all it really calls for.

1: Howard Chaykin's Blood & Judgment

I'm guessing most of you already knew this one was in the top spot before I started writing.

I would actually rather not write a big piece on Blood & Judgment, because I think (or at least I hope) it's influence on The Shadow has waned a lot over the years and I would prefer to draw it the least amount of attention possible, but if I HAVE to talk about this, I guess I'd rather just vomit this out of my circuits now instead of giving it it's own post.

I would prefer to use a less unpleasant image on my blog, but if I'm going to talk about this comic, there's no image to better convey it than this drawing of macho asshole Cranston holding a sexualized mannequin at gunpoint. By leaps and bounds, Blood & Judgment is the most misogynistic Shadow story I've ever read. It's ironic that Chaykin justified the rampant misogyny he gave The Shadow with the idea that this is just a man from the 30s would act like, when he admits in the same breath that he never even touched the stories, and he wrote a story more sexist and demeaning to it's female characters than anything, literally anything, written in the Shadow pulps. It's almost impressive even.

I'll paste some segments from Randy Raynaldo's review

In Flagg, he intended to present his own point of view on American society while keeping his work tongue in cheek and acessible. But this vision dimmed, and Flagg had become a vehicle by which Chaykin could play out fetishes and portray gratuitous and stylish violence.

In The Shadow, stripped of the political and social veneer which was supposed to make Flagg unique, Chaykin's sensibilities and excesses become disturbingly apparent. For all of his liberal posturing, Chaykin's work demonstrates zero difference from the same kind of mentality exploited and made popular by similarly violent popular culture icons like Dirty Harry and Death Wish.

More than half a dozen individuals are indiscriminately and violently murdered in the first issue. Although the victims are characters who played major roles in the myth of The Shadow, we feel little sympathy for them, even for those of us who knew these characters at the outset. Who dies is unimportant, it's how they die that is the fascination.

Chaykin uses sexual decadence as a means by which to establish villains, and undercuts this device by making the protagonists as promiscuous as the villains. For all of Chaykin's seemingly liberal leanings, he demonstrates very little sensitivity in his portrayal of women.

Because everything works on rules of three, this comic also follows the pattern with other works mentioned here, as this isn't Howard Chaykin writing The Shadow: it's The Shadow reimagined as a Howard Chaykin character. He looks and acts exactly like Reuben Flagg and the typical macho protagonist of Chaykin's other works, he's a cynical sleaze with an entirely new origin who half-assedly dons a garb to machine gun people, and I already wrote a separate piece on why the machineguns are kind of emblematic of everything wrong with this take.

I understand that Chaykin has, or used to have, a big following of sorts, and I've tried to wrap my head around this for years, but I genuinely still don't get why Shadow fans stomach this comic unless they happen to be Chaykin fans first and foremost, I really don't. Everything, fucking everything Shadow fans hate about modern depictions of the character can be traced right back to this. The parts that stuck and changed the character for the worse, like him being defined as an immortal, bloodthirsty warmonger who got all his skills and powers from a magic city in Tibet, or Lamont Cranston being a coward who fears and hates the Shadow, or his agents being expendable slaves, stuff that has been ingrained into the mythos through this and the Alec Baldwin movie and other comics, to the point that people now think of it as the norm, that it's the baseline of what The Shadow is, and I hate it, I genuinely fucking hate it,

I hate it so much that it's a big part of the reason why I created this blog and why I want so badly to get to write The Shadow, because I plainly couldn't stand not having ways to tell people that this is all wrong, that this is actively shooting down the character's odds for success, and that they are missing out on something really great, because the well has been tainted with garbage that won't go away and everytime I read the words Shambala in a Shadow comic, even an otherwise good or great one, I get just a wee bit cross.

The only semi-redeeming aspects I can think of for this comic is one or two cool moments, like when The Shadow hijacks a concert using his Devil's Whisper or when he tames dogs with a stare. Just breadcrumbs of "not garbage" amidst an ocean of anything but. I hate that talking about why I hate this comic in-length can almost feel like I'm still enticing people to check it out of curiosity, but if you wanna do that, fine, just know this: The worst part of Blood & Judgment, even if you don't care at all about what it did to The Shadow, is that it's boring.

It is a deeply boring comic. If you like Howard Chaykin to begin with, you'll probably like this okay (although even Chaykin fans told me that this is his weakest work and that even he seems to agree). If you don't, I plain don't see what you could get out of this.

The comic itself is just nothing. It's the comic book equivalent of a pre-schooler trying to get a reaction by swearing. It has nothing whatsoever other than half-assed attempts at shock value. The plot isn't there, the ideas are stale, the dialogue is needlessly oblique and comprised entirely of unfinished sentences, interrupted conversations and one-liners without build-up. The characters are all unlikable and uninteresting stooges with no personality, or joyless cartoons. There's no heart or emotion or logic, and it isn't even funny enough to succeed as just an outrageous exercise in 80s excess. There's nothing in here.

I get "why" it was popular enough at the time, a rising star creator penning a modern revival of an old character based on controversy that pissed off the old fans, it's an old story that still gets repeated today. But manufactured controversy is not a replacement for storytelling and it rarely ever exists to benefit the people who actually want to enjoy the stories, it only benefits those for the crude benefit of those who want to sell you something out of the controversy.

I guess they got their money's worth back then.

------------------------------------------------

Phew, okay, I did it, I finally vomited out a piece on Blood & Judgment and some others, allright, let's put this piece of negativity behind us now.

#replies tag #the shadow #pulp heroes #shadow comics #shadow films #dc comics

29 notes · View notes

lokislittlesigyn · 4 years ago

Text

// loki spoilers

This is basically a huge infodump on my thoughts about the first episode, because I doubt y’all want to sift through my trauma-ridden ramblings. I’ll make another post for the rest. This is just everything not related to the IW stuff/my reaction to that. It’s general thoughts, theories, musings.

1. When Loki gets first taken into the TVA. Is that Peggy Carter in the background? Others have suggested it might be. What would that mean??? Will we see the TVA fix the mess the Russos made with Steve/Peggy (not likely) or is it just a lookalike? Who knows..

2. A skrull at the main intake desk! Idk not super relevant just interesting!

3. I’m kind of glad they changed the... uncomfortable scene... with the robot burning his clothes off. He gets more time to react to seeing the machine itself, and he seems more shocked (”Now.. H-hang on just a minute.”) than angry (”Now hang on just a minute!”) i still feel.. horrible for him, i’m glad nobody Saw him and that the machine didn’t grab the clothes off, but still. Ehhh.. uncomfortable.

He is beautiful though, don’t get me wrong - I’d just prefer a shirtless Loki scene where he wants to be shirtless? let him do what he wants with his body?? he’s probably felt so out of control of his body, from being jotun to falling through space that any invasion of privacy like that hits extra deep...

That being said, I recognize the utility of the scene for the narrative - his lack of control, his literally being stripped of what he was before.

4. WHO IS THE MAN WITH THE CAT. What is his name. I love that he has a mug with his cat on it. But I want to know more. Who is he?

4.1 WHY DIDNT YOU LET LOKI PET THE CAT Please,,, I am begging you,,, let loki pet the cat and have something react kindly to him and purr all happily at his scratching behind their ears plea s e

5. The info sheet. Now this is just a little nitpicky tidbit, but in a previous promo they listed Loki’s height as 6′4 ft and weight as 525 lbs. This is taken directly from the comics if I’m not mistaken. However, in the actual show he’s listed as 6′2 (Tom’s height and Loki’s presumed height) but I don’t remember if his weight is the same. Is Loki 6′2? 6′4? please let me know i want to know how smol i am in comparison

6. His little aggressive shaking of the ticket at the guard makes me giggle each time.

7. The fact the turnstile hits so low on him reminds me,, I am short compared to him. Those things hit my stomach/waist. That one hit his legs. I am once again asking Loki to pick me up.

8. The cartoon with Miss Minutes introducing the TVA is wonderful, I love the art style especially. But it raises questions about Variants... I guess Variants can just, pop out of nowhere? Any action could be the wrong one? And then once you commit the wrong action you either get returned or pruned? Yikes??? And THIS ties into another thing later!

9. The trial scene. I have a hunch - a feeling, a suspicion. That one of three things may be true.

A. The Time-Keepers never actually existed. They’re fabricated, and now whoever runs the TVA is actually using the excuse of “The Time-Keepers decree it so!!!” to carry out whatever They think is right. The fact we haven’t seen the Time-Keepers makes me.. suspicious...

B. The Time-Keepers existed, but they have since passed on, however that may have happened. Now someone is doing the same as above, using the excuse of the Time-Keepers apparent dictations to run things.

C. The Time-Keepers do exist, and do run the timeline/TVA, but maybe they’re not infallible? Maybe the TVA info video is lying or incomplete in some way? Idk I just feel like, something about the TVA and how they run things has to be wrong. It has to? Something is off. Again, this will tie into another thought later...

I have no idea if any of these are actually true! But Loki’s questions of “Who’s in charge here? What do they do? What do you do?” punctuated by laughter leads me to believe he’s suspecting something too, or perhaps just trying to figure this mess out.

10. Seiðr/Magic. We see in this scene, Loki’s magic (”powers”) don’t work in the TVA. (and a quick side note, did he have to Flex like that? do you have to make me see Loki’s bare arms Flex like that? be still my heart. anyway please get that collar off of him and let him rest for five minutes) This makes me wonder.. Why isn’t Loki in his Jotun form? His pale skin and blue eyes are decided by magic, are they not? I suppose this is 2012, so perhaps Odin’s magic is keeping Loki looking like that. But if magic doesn’t work in the TVA, why would his spell reach so far? Clearly Loki’s magic isn’t what’s doing it. How is Loki not appearing as a Jotun? Is his Jotun form repressed - is pale skin his default now, rather than something hidden by magic? I need answers!

11. he sounds so scared about being “reset” please dont hurt him,,

12. cALLING LOKI A PUSSYCAT? (lokitty confirmed) I think Mobius was goading him (Mobius strikes me.. As extremely clever. He’s trying to push Loki’s buttons to see who he’s dealing with. At least, I hope so. Because if he really meant that “You were born to cause pain and suffering and death... All so that others can achieve the best versions of themselves.” and that line about killing Frigga??? No no no he is not guilty. He had no way of knowing what would happen. It wasn’t right to send Algrim up to Asgard (i think algrim wouldve found the way up anyway) but there was no intent to hurt Frigga. I really hope you’re trying to goad him, Mobius, because if you believe that I trust you much less. anyway i digress) but wow is he pushing Loki’s buttons a lot. I can’t... Blame him entirely, I understand he’s trying to make sure Loki’s on his side, maybe I’m just too soft for Loki idk. But some of that was very cruel to say. /:

12.1 AND ANOTHER THING ABOUT MOBIUS. That scene with the girl in the church?? Did that little girl kill the men? Is that young Sylvie? Or is she using an illusion to make herself look young and innocent? What’s going on!!!!

13. LOKI SNATCHING THE LITTLE TIME-TWISTER DEVICE AND STOWING IT IN HIS POCKET.... POCKET....... sorry sometimes i get so caught up about loki that i just say random words in between little noises and squeals,,, i am a silly thing

14. CASEY. CASEY??? That whole exchange is funny. Poor Loki, just trying to intimidate this guy so he can escape but - Casey doesn’t know what a fish is. to be fair.... thor doesn’t seem to know what a raccoon is... right?

15. That bit with the infinity stones is kind of funny until you realize

A. Natasha died for a paperweight

B. Tony died from paperweights

C. Loki was tortured for paperweights

D. Oh, and Gamora died for a paperweight too. And Vision. Need I go on?

Then it becomes less of exclusively “haha funny” and now it’s a mix of funny and pain and gosh, is that a good way to sum up being a Marvel/Loki fan sometimes...

16. Loki gazing at the timeline all “Is this the most powerful thing in the universe?” or something, i’m sorry i don’t remember exactly... made me think of a meme and i shall make it presently.

17. I love that Loki got to see examples of how his family loves him but the fact he’s all “I can’t go back.” really just breaks me. It’s like he can finally see they love him after all of this mess, and now he doesn’t have the chance. Please, please let him be happy. Give him some relief. This is the Loki that just came off finding out about being Jotun, falling from the Bifrost, encountering Thanos, attacking Earth, facing defeat, and now he’s being thrashed around in this wild place and has just found out he inadvertently caused Frigga’s death (he did not kill her: his actions, by mistake, lead to her murder, let me be very clear) AND Odin will die AND all the rest... And he wants to be with them.

18. Loki’s reaction to Thor suggesting the hug makes me soft. Please I want to hug this little mischief man so so so bad-

19. Skipping over the iw parts! That’s for another post because this one will be grossly long anyway.

20. “I don’t enjoy hurting people.” and “It's part of the illusion. It's the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear. A desperate play for control.” was all so, so validating. I’ve been trying to argue on Loki’s behalf for almost a solid decade. Seeing the show recognize that Loki’s not all just violence and hurting for “fun”, that he’s not unhinged and bloodthirsty.. Is so nice. It’s just so, so comforting. and it gives me hope for future episodes that they won’t go the route of “oh haha loki bullied and mistreated and stabbed thor for years!!! :)” loki cries during basically every fight with Thor and you want me to believe he stabs Thor for fun? absolutely not.

21. Theory.. Just another hunch.. So we know a fugitive variant, aka Loki, is running amok. Refer back to 8 and 9.C. What if the Time-Keepers never actually fixed the timeline into a single timeline? What if there are other timelines, and these different Loki variants have hopped over to the current one? Or, maybe the Time-Keepers did fix the timeline into a single one, and these Lokis are remnants from that huge time-war at the beginning? Time runs differently in relative spaces, they may have Just Left that war from their perspective!

I say Lokis and not Loki because we’re pretty sure there’s Female/Lady Loki, Old Man/King Loki, and possibly Young/Kid Loki. That’s at least three. From the peeks of Asgard and NYC we’ve seen from the trailers, I think we’re also getting an Asgardian King!Loki and Midgardian King/Vote!Loki. (unless our dearest variant is hopping into timelines and situating into them, but I doubt Mobius would let that happen..?) That’s five.

To further support this, keep in mind, I believe recently six (i think 6 regular and 6 rare...) different funko pops were announced for the series? I’m not sure if they’re in addition to the Loki and Mobius already released. If they are, there’s enough room for each Loki and maybe a TVA agent. One of the pops is supposed to have a buddy/companion I think? Maybe they’re making the cat guy into one, or maybe there’s something else (Throg, anyone?).

22. That is totally Lady Loki/Sylvie at the end by the way. Has to be. But why does she want the reset devices? Why did she snatch that TVA Hunter? Again, WHAT’S GOING ON

ANYWAY this was a very long post if you made it this far, I commend you.

#no proofread only post #long posts about loki #loki #loki series #loki spoilers #sigyn says WORDS #SPOILER HEAVY

35 notes · View notes

bluecloudious · 4 years ago

Text

Here's a little rant about Kits and Zanaz canon, cause I have quite a few thoughts that I dunno what else to do with and my head was aching really bad (and I wanted to get smth done), so I decided to share some of the ones that I've been debating for a while (It's pretty long, be warned):

The TL;DR is just the thought names, I guess.

Thought nr 1: They are 100 percent a couple, even in the first comic I posted of them.

I've been thinking about this a lot, whether they were just best friends who had crushes on one another, or if they were just straight up a thing and, yeah. They're just a couple and have been for a while. The written story is now the AU where Zani chickened out of confessing his feelings for so long that he finally was given a deadline. Comics are the canon and in that canon, they got together shortly after becoming agents. Zani occasionally flirts with other people, but that's just kinda a part of his personality and Kits has grown used to it. Their shipname is Kitzan.

Thought nr 2: Kits has no self-confidence.

In the meeting comic I tried to make it a bit noticeable how unhappy he is with himself, but even after transitioning, that fact has only slightly changed. He is his preferred gender now, but he still isn't confident at all about his looks, his voice or what he says, despite how much Zanaz tries to convince him that he's fine. The only thing Zanaz has managed to stop Kits from doing is actually being self-destructive aka Kits starved himself for a while (also hinted at in the comic). That's why he's way chunkier now- cause his body stopped trusting him and gained fat afterwards. All of this isn't really visible or audible in any of the comics, because Kits isn't vocal about it at all. Zanaz is the only person who really even knows it/cares about it. It's also the base for his mostly detail-less design compared to Zani- he's trying not to stick out.

Thought nr 3: They both have a body count

Yeah, they've both killed before, which, for the world they live in, isn't really surprising. It was all in self-defence, don't worry. The amount of rogue agents and grunts that decide to deviate in a violent way is a pretty big percent, so they've had to encounter quite a few of them. Zanaz' preferred weapon is of course the handgun/glock and is the more experienced/lethal of the two. Kits on the other hand is more proficient with knives, his main weapon being a shaving knife he got from Zani. He hasn't had to use it much, but the few times he has, we're pretty desperate. Zanaz also has a body count in the other sense too, but you could probably tell that much already.

Thought nr 4: I still do not think they'll have a happy ending

Sorry, but the happy ending Kits and Zanaz I drew are just a part of an AU as well. There is no malicious reason for why I think they'll die. They just happen to get the short end of the stick, just like most members of the A.A.H.W. We are talking about an agency that has at least three(four if you count that one incident with 2bdamned) very proficient people constantly killing staff. There are so many deaths that they have to use clones, for pete's sake! The amount of time they've already managed to be alive for is quite impressive (I imagine about 3 years).

Thought nr 5: Zanaz is even more protective of his inner feelings than Kits is

Even though Zanaz is very blunt and honest about most things, even some considered private info to most, he is not actually open about how he feels. He hides his negative emotions as much as he possibly can, even from Kits. (This was briefly explored in the written story, also.) The only reason Kits knows this, is because he's caught Zani crying to himself in less visited areas of their main facility, once or twice. Even then he wouldn't say what's wrong, that's how stubborn he is. All Kits could really do when this happened, was hug him and pat his head.

Fun facts that I didn't know how to categorize:

Zanaz is a dog person and Kits is a cat person. They combine to become bird people. (Yes, this is my excuse to draw dog boy Zani at some point.)

Zanaz' and Kits' personalities are based off myself. Of course in an amplified way, but yeah, I relate to them a lot. (Others have claimed to relate as well, which is most pleasant.)

They get their shade colors from RGB. Regular agents have red, Zanaz has green and Kits has blue.

I occasionally draw them during my free time! Most of those pictures I will not be posting to Tumblr, however. Some cause they're just kinda sketches that I don't really see a point in posting and others are just straight up not Tumblr appropriate.

Kits and Zanaz had not dated anyone before each other. Kits cause of insecurity and Zanaz because he didn't want any commitment. They are still very loyal to each other, tho.

The main song I listen to whenever I draw Zanaz is Left Boy- Security Check. Kits doesn't have a song that I listen to and get his vibe, but I am still looking.

Bit of a bonus tangent too:

I'm sorry that most of these are negative. The funni bois are, ya know, funny, and I tend not to make media about them that isn't funny, but I wanted to blabber about how I think they are when not performing a punchline.

When I design characters, I never only think about the positive personality traits. I tend to instead think about what the negatives are, so I can figure out, how they handle it. How they cope and how they've grown from their negative experiences/emotions enchants me.

I've said this before, Kits and Zanaz got created on a whim, basically unintentionally. But, I grew attached to the two idiot agents with different color shades. Thus, I wanted to know more about them.

I think, by now, I've figured them out for the most part. (Thankfully I don't have to give them any family or nothing, cause they're both clones.)

Also, their color scheme is final. If you've noticed, they're shades have changed shade over time. Zanaz' got brighter, while Kits' got darker. The suit color is a random shade every time, cause I just choose a dark shade of gray via slider. Hair color hasn't changed at all, as far as I know. Only Good Ending Zani has darker hair, cause he had it colored.

And, speaking of the Good Ending AU, I don't think I know what to do with the concept. I try to think more into it, but my brain blanks. If anyone wants to draw or write about it, I would be completely fine with it. Might even consider it canon, if none of it conflicts with the established canon. Good Ending AU takes place in the far future, after all.

But, yeah, I think that's it. I'm kinda honestly surprised if anyone actually reads all of this, lol. I hope you found my long-ass tangent about my two silly gay MadCom OCs interesting :)))

#Madness Combat #OC #Info #IT IS VERY LONG #most of it isn't funny haha #KitZan

28 notes · View notes

xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 4 years ago

Text

Mission of Mercy: Nine

“What’dya want?” Joe sighed as he answered the phone.

He’d been napping. It was Saturday and with no visitors incoming, it was the perfect day to curl up with a book. Except he hadn’t managed to read much before he crashed into sleep.

“Y/N and her boyfriend are on the TV,” Wildman rasped.

“What?” Joe snapped, instantly alert. If you were on the news, something had to be horribly wrong.

“Channel 4,” he rasped between bouts of cough. “HYDRA bust. Huge.”

The phone line went dead, but Joe hardly noticed as he struggled to change the channel, his hands shaking. He hated the news, hated it. He read the paper. He listened to the radio. But he hated news broadcasts.

Still. He couldn’t not look.

He needed to know. And when the Channel flickered to life, he muted the anchor. He didn’t care what that silly ass was saying. All he could see was you. Boots on the ground, dressed for work. All sleek black and armed.

Different than in his day.

And sure enough, not far from you, there was Bucky. And Sam. And a redhead that he’d never met. But he watched you. His sunshine. Take the gun from an enemy and toss it straight up, to where Bucky was perched on a car above you and clearly jammed or out of bullets.

“That’s my girl!” he shouted, “Get those fucking Nazi bastards!”

_________

“Y/N, Down!”

You dropped quickly and rolled out of the way without question when Sam shouted at you before pulling your knife from some goon’s eye. “Where the fuck is Stark?” you ask. The four of you were in danger of getting over run. Goons poured out of compound like termites from a toppled mound. They just kept coming.

“The Cavalry is coming, don’t you worry,” Tony said grunting with effort, “just as soon as I shut this down.”

“Somebody has to get me up to the gallery,” you pant. “I need a PA system. And quiet.”

“No,” Bucky said, throwing another jammed gun aside. “Jesus. 70 fucking years and these assholes still can’t make a decent gun.”

“What do you mean, No?” you challenge, emptying the spent cartridge and use the now useless gun as a club to whack a goon upside the head with before he had time to fire at Natasha.

“You can’t talk down a whole fucking squad,” Bucky growled.

“No, but I can create a lot of panic.”

“How much panic?” Steve asked, bouncing his shield off someone’s forehead.

“A lot,” you say, grinning.

“Sam-” Steve started.

“On it,” Sam said, heading up to clear the way.

“Hulk!” Steve yelled, “Take her up!”

And before Bucky had time to protest, you were being hauled up the wall.

___________

Bucky didn’t know who he was angrier at. His girl or his best friend. What the fuck he’d done in his life to have two people in his life with so little self-preservation instinct, he didn’t know.

Sure. It worked. You had managed to buy the time everyone needed for Stark to do whatever the fuck he was doing. And sure. You were fine. A little banged up but no more than anyone else. But. just the thought that you could have ended up in Hydra’s hands without him to protect you made him feel furious.

He took a deep breath and started the water in the shower. He knew he needed to talk to you. To tell you why he was pissed off. But.

He’d seen the way you flinched away from raised voices. And he knew first hand how much you hated people being mad at you… Not like it took him much to figure out WHY after sitting through the world’s most awkward and frustrating dinner with your mom. And he couldn’t, for the life of him figure out having a daughter. Having lost a son. And treating his only living child the way Carlie had treated you. Every aspect of your life was up for scrutiny. Every piece of you was wanting. Just a little bit. Just enough to make you want the approval you were never going to get. It had made him feel sick.

And it was enough to keep him in the shower. At least until he’d calmed down a little. At least enough not to yell. Or say anything without thinking.

He’d learned to be deliberate when he talked to you. To chose words carefully. Because you did. Even when you weren’t using your specific skills, you spoke intentionally. And Bucky could appreciate that. Sure. it meant that sometimes, you replied slowly. But. He could be sure that you told him, as clearly as possible, what you wanted to say. The unmeasured speech was reserved for specific things… like heckling. Or, Bucky imagined moments of passion.

If you spoke then at all.

___________

“Are you mad at me?”

Bucky shut the door to your room quietly and looked at where you were watching him over the back of the sofa.

“No,” he said honestly. “Not now that I’ve had time to think.”

“Bucky-”

“No just- Just listen, okay?” he said, crossing the room and perching so you could lay your head in his lap. “I shouldn’t have tried to stop you,” he murmured, stroking your hair. “You’re an agent. And you were making a call. I just- Y/N I was so afraid of what they’d do to you if they got a hold of you.”

You make a soft noise and Bucky rubs the back of your neck. “You’re prime fodder, Y/N. They want people with natural abilities. Things they can augment. You’re Hitler’s fucking wet dream. And even if I KNOW SHIELD would move heaven and earth to get you back…”

He stopped and sighed, “That doesn’t stop me from worrying. But I’m sorry. You- you were doing your job. And I treated you like you weren’t- that you didn’t know the risks.”

You pick your head up and look up at him, taking his hand and kissing it.

“I know how you can make it up to me,” you tell him, grinning

“Oh?” he asked, tweaking your nose gently.

“You can give me a cuddle,” you tell him, giving him the puppy dog eyes he still hadn’t learned to turn down.

“Such a slave driver,” he sighed, “Jesus Christ, woman.”

“Keep it up and I’ll make you kiss me too,” you say, grinning.

“Ugh,” he groaned, “Fine. I guess we can cuddle. But I draw the line at kissing. I don’t want anything to do with your boobs.”

#Bucky x reader #fluff #angst #Bucky Barnes #Tony Stark #Steve Rogers #Sam Wilson #flirting

30 notes · View notes

fanfoolishness · 4 years ago

Text

Interview with a Fic Writer

Tagged by @novantinuum, thank you!

How many works do you have on AO3?

242 works. The actual fuck??? Wow, me. Of course, this does span about 9 years, so I guess that's not that insane?

What’s your total word count on AO3

549,737! But that averages out to only 2271 words per story, haha. You got me! I think I have less than 10 fics that have more than 1 chapter. I love one-shots, what can I say?

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Oh, you want to get into this? All right. We'll get into this:

The X-Files, proto-fandom, ur-fandom, first OTP ever... yeah, 15-year-old me went. WILD. Many horrible Mulder/Scully stories, and some Doggett/Scully and character study stories as well. Mostly not very good, but with occasional flashes of decent writing. Really had a difficult time writing romantic feelings between 30+ year-olds given a) I did not date in high school and b) was 17 and not an emotionally stunted FBI agent.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - not a huge volume of stories, but definitely some very angsty Spuffy and Spike tales.

Harry Potter - just one published fic (Lupin grieving Sirius), and one with Snape and Harry having a heart to heart I could never quite get right.

Then came the dark times (vet school) where I was exhausted and hard at work for a few years and I thought, horribly, I might have outgrown fandom. Thank god for...

X-Men First Class and the undying love of Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr! I'd never fallen for a slash ship before but my god I fell hard for this one and wrote my first fandom smut and my first real AU (mutants with zombies) that I never finished.

Then.... let's see...

Quantum Leap drabbles!

Two Avatar the Last Airbender fics!

Agents of SHIELD fics, mostly focused on Coulson and FitzSimmons, and super angsty.

Bioshock Infinite sads (god I love writing the sad bad dad)!

And then the juggernauts of Mass Effect (my longest fic to date with 30 chapters!) and Dragon Age, which were endlessly productive and are still productive given the variety of different protagonists you can create, different choices, and different relationships to canon characters. I'm still working on a Hawke/Varric fic in the back of my mind here.

There's one random Gravity Falls fic (wish I could have got a little more obsessed with it, or gotten into it while it aired) of Stan sads, and one tiny Avengers ficlet of a sad Tony and Peter.

There's one Wheel of Time fic! Dammit I wanted Rand and Tam to reunite so much sooner than they did.

40-odd Steven Universe fics! So many SU fics!

One random Schitt's Creek fic of David and Patrick!

And finally, The Mandalorian, with 47 fics. Phew!!!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. The Invitation, The Mandalorian. Din Djarin finds himself in dreams that seem realer than real, reminding him of his loss, but he begins to find a sense of hope again. A promise is kept.

2. The Outstretched Hand, The Mandalorian. Din Djarin is a man of action, but sometimes, the quiet finds its way in. Din reckons with the aftermath of the events of Chapter 14, the Tragedy. (My very first Mando fic!)

3. Not the Sentimental Type, Steven Universe. Priyanka Maheswaran has long prided herself on keeping her emotions in check. But a mother's love can only grow, and sometimes it expands to people she never anticipated. Like the Universe boy.

4. Translation, The Mandalorian. Din Djarin was a man of few words, but many languages. Some might have thought the Child had no language at all. Din Djarin and the Child grow to understand each other.

5. Full Disclosure, Steven Universe. Just as the world begins to recover from Spinel's attack, Steven starts having nightmares. The more he ignores his fears, the worse they become, until he's left with no other choice but to ask for help. (My thoughts on what would drive Steven Universe Future, and I wasn't far off.)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I really try to! Even sometimes years later if I realize I've missed some. I appreciate each and every one, and have definitely made friendships through comments <3

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Oh, hell... I'm too lazy to link these but if anyone wants to read them let me know or find them on my AO3!

A Stopped Clock from Bioshock Infinite has Booker DeWitt ravaged by Korsakoff's amnesia from his long-standing alcoholism. Is Columbia real or imagined? Hard to say.

The Viscount's Way shows Varric Tethras having become his parent, and a cruel, hard viscount of Kirkwall.

Songs in the Key of Red shows how Cullen fared under the dark future in Redcliffe in DAI, and they write happy endings, don't they? shows what happened to Varric. Both horribly depressing in different ways!

Two by Two, Hands of Blue shows a not unexpected end to lyrium addiction :( Poor Cullen, he got a lot of angsty developments, didn't he?

Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever written?

Never really got into crossovers or AUs. Just... meh for me!

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No, I don't think so.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Charles/Erik, Shepard/Garrus, Shepard/Liara, Shepard/Tali, a mess of different f/f femShep drabbles, and most of my Dragon Age pairings have gotten sexytimes. On the other hand I helped start the NoRomo Mando tag for the Mandalorian to help find non-pairing Mandalorian content. Depends on the pairing and the fandom, for sure.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope, thank goodness!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I think so! There used to be a Spanish-language wiki linking to some of my old X-Files stories XD

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but friends and I definitely will beta each others' things to help with sticky points.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

ALL-TIME? Just, why? So many ships I loved in years past turned out to have pretty damn problematic elements I didn't see at the time, so it's hard to say... Mulder/Scully actually has a ton of issues, Buffy/Spike obviously has issues... so maybe Hawke/Varric (except not canon!) or Garrus/Shepard or Brosca/Alistair.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Still need to finish my Hawke/Varric fic for after Adamant! I have 3 chapters written that I haven't posted. Maybe posting them will help inspire me....

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and POV writing from different characters; I feel fantastic writing Steven and Greg, though totally at sea trying to write from Connie's POV, randomly. But I think my dialogue and emotional beats are what people tend to tune in for. When I do write romance, it's usually very sweet and silly and pulled from life. I also love writing nature scenes and settings to help establish mood. Mood and emotion and catharsis are my bread and butter, and I like my poetic prose.

What are your writing weaknesses?

What the hell is a long, well-thought-out plot? Like what even is that???? My longest fic with 30 chapters is basically "Shepard has PTSD and hangs out with her crew. They have some funerals." THAT'S IT. How the heck people actually come up with plot that ties into the lore of a fandom I genuinely have no idea and it's the biggest thing that's held me back from finishing original work. I can come up with a setting and characters and then trying to make them do stuff that's more than just talking to other characters and deepening their relationships with them... how the fuck???

I also definitely have 10-20 words that I am in constant danger of reusing like every other paragraph, LOL!

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don't speak any other languages so I always avoid it as much as possible. I've seen people describe sign differently in fics and picked one way to depict it that made sense to me for Grogu, but that's about it.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The X-Files, of course!

What’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Towards Another Day, the tale of how Cullen went from being a templar in Kirkwall to commander of the Inquisition, is definitely up there.

Reverberations is one of my rare multi-chaptered fics and one of my favorite for the catharsis at the end. It makes me tear up every time. 5 times Din and Grogu encounter the Dark Side, and one time they find the Light.

Either a world for the birds (Steven develops a closer relationship with his Uncle Andy, learning birdwatching along the way) or on the subject of rocks (Steven and Jasper finally reach a peace) might take the prize for favorite SU fic.

Tagging (if you’re super bored and would like a fun thing to do) fellow writers:

@lastwordbeforetheend, @runrundoyourstuff, @honestlyhufflepuff, @art3mys, and @fake-starwars-fan if you would like to play!

#fandom #writing #on writing #fanfiction #damn look at me go #memes

8 notes · View notes

dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Cassell Cynics: Part 5 (End...?)

OCs are @hectab ‘s . Dinnae Steal! :D that’s my job. :3c

Hana sprinted from Nathan’s dorm towards Guderian’s class room, full of desperation. She kicked off the silly heels Cassell forced her to wear and let the pavement pound through her bare feet. As she ran, she called the professor on her cell phone again and again, but he didn’t pick up. She imagined him teaching a class. She would disrupt it. She would get into trouble maybe she would be disciplined. But they were making a mistake! She had to get them to change their mind!

How come Fingel got to stay as rank F and Nathan was getting expelled as a Rank C? It wasn’t fair! Nathan had way more potential than Fingel and even if he didn’t do anything... why was his mental health not a concern to them? They were the ones who decided to keep him! This is partly their fault. But all Guderian regretted was not being able to refund his tuition!

She took the twenty stairs up to the main teaching hall in a single bound. Her dark ponytail flying behind her. The doors were already propped open but no one was in the halls. She kept running, expecting resistance. But finding none at all. In fact, all the lights were off as if the classes were finished for the semester.

She dialed Guderian’s number again and it rang and rang. She could hear it ringing in the classroom ahead of her. How could he just ignore her calls like this!

Hana burst through the double doors into a classroom that was empty and dark. The lights were out and the shades were drawn. The person standing at Guderian’s usual desk was Schneider! He was like a gargoyle in a dark trenchcoat. His sharp eyes glared from behind the half mask over his face. He was holding Guderian’s phone.

“You sent those texts?!” Hana gasped.

Strong arms seized Hana from either side of the doors and dragged her forward, pushing her into a chair in front of him. Hana was overtaken with confusion. “What’s happening? Where’s Professor Guderian?”

She looked up at either one of the people holding on to her. They were members of the Executive Board. Not students, full members! “What’s going on? Where’s Nathan?”

“You’re too late. He’s already in with Toyama. His brainwashing has commenced.” Schneider said smoothly, setting the phone down. “And you will not be allowed to interfere.”

---

Nathan kept his head up high as he faced the psychologist Dr. Toyama. “It was a nice run.” He grinned. “Wish it could have lasted.”

Toyama, dressed in his usual brown tailored suit raised his eyebrows in surprise as he took a seat across from him. “You’re the cheeriest patient I’ve had the pleasure of working with.”

“Really? I’m guessing that they either don’t know what you really do or ... they’re here against their will. I’m neither of those things. I would have preferred to let my tuition run out first but... hey I get it. I’m not supposed to be here so... here we are!”

“Do you really not feel the Blood Cry at all?” Toyama asked. He picked up an iPad and started writing with a stylus.

“What difference does it make? I’m C-ranked. I don’t qualify for College. You don’t ask students if they feel the Blood Cry if they fail the 3E do you? You just kick them out.”

Toyama smiled, his eyes kind and gentle. “But you didn’t fail the 3E.”

Nathan gave a nervous laugh, his arms crossing over his chest. He glanced around and his eyes fell on hidden cameras very quickly. “You people were the ones who told me I got a C-rank. That’s a fail by your own rules. Why are you suddenly saying I didn’t fail. Did someone falsify my records?”

“I’m required to be present during the 3E. So I remember you. You were nervous but I remember you had a glimmer of excitement in your eyes. You didn’t seem to doubt yourself going in. But after the test was over...”

Nathan interrupted. “The 3E sucks. There are people who have to go to the hospital after! You’re there so they don’t blow their brains out after seeing their visions.”

“It only ‘sucks’ if they actually resonate...” Toyama said coldly.

Toyama sat in silence for several seconds and watched Nathan start to sweat. He rubbed his hands on his pants then suddenly relaxed. “Oh! I have my book with me. I figured I’d go for uh...Jason Bourne. You know, a secret spy who was ‘decomissioned’ by a black government program.” He opened to the correct page and showed it to Toyama. “Give me that memory please.”

Toyama took the notebook from him. There were over a hundred different scenarios of different reasons to explain the lost year from an erased memory, each one getting more and more elaborate as the time went on. But Toyama flipped to the first page.

“Hey! Don’t just go flipping through all of it!” Two members of the discipline committee caught Nathan before he could snatch the book back and restrained him back into the chair.

Toyama read out loud. “August 12th... isn’t that the first day you enrolled? That’s also the first day you wanted to leave.”

Nathan glowered as he was being strapped to the chair with belt like attachments. “Why do you care? Fine, you know what? I quit! I quit and I drop out. I drop out right now!”

“You wanted to leave immediately after the 3E. You could have dropped out then but you didn’t....” Toyama closed the book. “But now you’re suddenly eager to go. What changed?”

“I wanted to enjoy my time here... But you won’t let me...” Nathan snarled.

“We won’t let you enjoy your time? You’ve been here a year and have done nothing but break the rules without consequences.” Toyama said.

“Stop. Just stop! You want me... out there. Fighting in this stupid war! That’s why I’m here. If you really thought I was useless you would have kicked me out! Right?”

“Who wants you fighting in the war against dragons..?” Toyama asked slowly.

Like quicksand, Nathan felt like the more he talked, the deeper he sank. “Do you not hear me! I said I quit! I quit!” He roared louder and louder. “You can’t keep me here!”

“You feel the Blood Cry more strongly than you admit. If I erase your mind the consequences could be disastrous.”

“Why are you stalling? What did she tell you?!” He pulled against the restraints.

“Why don’t you let us help you?”

“I don’t WANT your help!”

Toyama stared in wonder. It wasn’t that he was angry or frustrated. This man was terrified. “Why are you so scared of staying here?”

-----

His brainwashing was already in progress? Hana felt like the wind was knocked out of her.

"No! You have to stop it!” Maybe if she ran, she could make it! The sharp click of a gun was loud against her head when she tried to stand. Her eyes turned to the sound and she stared down the bottomless barrel of a pistol. “Are you going to shoot me? Why? What’s going on...” Her voice was shaking and betrayed.

Schneider expression was completely pitiless. He looked like the Phantom of the Opera as he set a stop watch on the desk. “You have 10 seconds to explain or our decision is final.”

“9...8...7...”

“I...” She stared at it, mind racing. “I promised him that I wouldn't say anything about what we talked about... Please he’s my only friend!”

“6...5...4...”

“He won’t survive out there, I know he won’t! Just let him stay! He never caused any trouble!”

“3...2...1..”

“He quit the test on purpose!”

The stop watch beeped and Schneider silenced it with a gloved finger. Hana was still out of breath from running and now she was panting from terror. “Please, just let him stay.”

“The test. You mean the 3E? No one ‘quits’ the 3E, but you said he did.” Schneider kept his frigid stare on her. “He’s not C-ranked and you know it. Why did you lie and say he was?”

“I don’t know if I lied.” Hana’s heart had never beat faster. “I don’t want to lie.”

“But you did.” Schneider raised a single scarred eyebrow. “Which makes this all the more remarkable.”

Schneider walked around the desk and sat down, resting his elbows on the desktop and twining his fingers in front of his face. “You’re a good student. One of the best. What are you doing, Hana?”

“I don’t have anyone else here. I think he’s a good guy. We can be friends. I just want you to leave him alone.” She said.

Schneider waved his hand slightly and the two Executive Board agents turned and left, closing the door.

“EVA!” He raised his voice suddenly. “I need you to remove yourself from this room for the next ten minutes.”

A female voice acknowledged from the PA system. “For the next 10 minutes, I will have no access to this classroom..”

Schneider kept his piercing pale eyes on her. “Everything you say from here on out will be strictly confidential unless you repeat it to others. If anyone asks me, I’ll never tell what you say here today.” She kept a guarded look so he added. “I have many, many secrets I never tell anyone, Hana. You can tell me.”

In their chat over dinner, Nathan had kept asking her if she was on his side and she was. She really was. She didn’t believe he was really high on drugs when he told her about the 3E exam, the vision he had of the dragons’ true nature. But the excuse that he was high when he said those things was too perfect to resist. It was a ‘get out of jail free card’. She had thought that all she had to say was he was high and she wouldn’t lie to the professors and they would go back to ignoring him. But now she found herself in even deeper trouble, facing down the head of the Executive Department. The most dangerous man on Earth! “You really promise you won’t tell anyone else?”

-----------------

“You risk your mental health if you continue on this path. It’s self destructive.” Toyama continued to try to reason with Nathan. “I just want to make sure you understand the great risk you’re taking and that your decision is not being made rashly.”

Nathan hung his head, as though he were being led to the gallows. "It’s not being made rashly. I know exactly what I’m doing. I know I could just... end up jumping off a bridge once my memories are gone. I’ve been preparing for it. Seeing what works. Marijuana helps a lot. But the problem is you build up a tolerance over time. Especially as a hybrid. Music, weed, regular sleep... it all helps take the edge off the Blood Cry. Alcohol makes it worse alone but with weed it’ll help you sleep.”

“You’ve been experimenting on yourself this whole time?” Toyama ran his fingers along his chin. “You really are serious. If that’s the case, you’re right that I can’t keep you. I just want to know why. Both professionally and personally. I’ve never met anyone like you in my entire career.”

Nathan kept his silence. He didn’t look at Toyama any more.

Toyama’s phone suddenly buzzed. “Excuse me.”

Nathan nodded without looking up.

Toyama stepped out. His voice sounded through the door. He was talking to someone for a very long time. The two disciplinary committee students were still there and he glanced up at one. “I’m sure you guys are curious too...?”

“Not really. I don’t care if you’re here or not.” The square jawed man looked down on him contemptuously. “Frankly, I wonder why they’re wasting time hesitating.”

Nathan laughed softly and looked down. So long as he insisted on leaving, they wouldn’t be able to hold him. This was the final push. No doubt they were trying to force him to stay for their own reasons. They knew he was hiding something precious and they didn’t want to let him go.

--------------------

Hana looked up at Schneider on the phone.

“Cancel his expulsion.” Schneider said simply.

A pause. Schneider asked. “Did he say why?”

Another longer pause and Schneider licked his lips. “Have you tried to dissuade him?”

Another pause. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

Schneider hung up. “Well, it appears your friend is determined to leave. Unless you could convince him to stay, Toyama has no choice but to wipe his mind. You said you’re his friend right? What do you think?” Schneider’s manner had completely changed. While he wasn’t a warm personality, that frigid atmosphere was gone.

“I don’t want him to go. I’m afraid at what might happen. But he doesn't believe in Cassell or the mission.”

“Toyama seems to feel nervous about wiping him as well but he has been unable to convince him to stay so far. Do you think you can?”

“Professor Schneider. When you look at me, do you think I could be someone who could actually kill a dragon given the opportunity? Please. Be honest.” Hana Sato asked.

The hiss of Schneider’s oxygen tank was audible in the silence, and it hissed 3 times before he finally answered. “When humans battle with dragons, our victory tends to be a pyrrhic victory.”

“What’s a pyrrhic victory?” She tilted her head.

Those light eyes sparkled and then softened into something akin to a great sadness. “A pyrrhic victory is when the cost of the victory is so great, it can be reasonably be called a defeat.”

Hana swallowed hard as another layer was peeled back and once again Nathan was revealed to be correct.

“Do you think the fight against dragons is unwinnable?” she asked.

“It’s not about winning or not winning.” Schneider said. “It’s about survival. If we don’t fight against the dragons, it will simply mean the certain end of all human society. If it is impossible, as he says, then I can understand why he would rather have no part of it. But I don’t share his hopelessness. I believe we can win. And even if it comes at the great cost of many lives, if it means the future of mankind, it will have been worth it.”

-------

Toyama returned to the room and shooed away the two disciplinary committee members. Once they were gone he said. “Your expulsion has been canceled.”

Nathan let out a short laugh, sadness filling him. Hana must have talked. He supposed he couldn’t expect Hana to sacrifice herself for him. They hardly knew each other after all. “Oh really? Are they changing my rank too?”

“No one has said anything about that. To change your rank you will need to retake the 3E. Are you still going to drop out?”

“Yeah. Go ahead and do it. Sign whatever paperwork. Go ahead. I’m ready.”

“Now why are you upset?”

Nathan turned his head away. “I’m not.”

“You are. You were happy to leave at first. Now that I’m letting you go, you look terribly sad. Close to tears even”

“I’m sad because I don’t have any weed. Once I’m out of here, just make sure to stash my marijuana in my backpack. I’ll smoke and feel alright.”

Toyama paused to give him one more chance to think of a way out and when nothing was forthcoming, he unstrapped Nathan from the chair, unbuckling the restraints. “You said Jason Bourne? There were a few more pleasant scenarios in there. The last one was a artist running from the dictator in Korea.”

“I have no artistic talent. I was just spitballing.”

“Witness protection program?”

“Seems to require a lot of staff.” Nathan massaged his wrists.

“Plane crash coma victim?”

“Make it car crash and I think we have a winner.”

“Alright.”

A knock at the door surprised both of them. Toyama went to answer it. “You are just in time. We were about to start.”

“Hana?” Nathan was surprised, delighted and then wary to see his soon to be former fellow student. “What are you doing here? Here to say goodbye after ratting me out?”

Hana stood taller than Toyama. Her face was serene when she looked at him. “No.” She said. “I’m leaving too.”

------

Hana sighed. Her mind was a jumbled mix of thoughts. Her first question was where am I? Nothing came to mind for a split second, only for the thought to pop up unbidden.

She was at Cassell. Cassell... how did she get here?

Another brief silence from her mind and then an image appeared unbidden. She had been on an escort assignment. Everything seemed normal until they were on their way back and got T-boned by someone who red light. She didn’t remember anything after that.

She opened her eyes to the white hospital room.

Toyama was sitting next to her bed. “How are you feeling, Hana?”

“I’m fine... Nathan... Where’s Nathan?” She sat up and was suddenly assaulted by dizziness.

“Nathan is fine.” Toyama said, reaching out to steady her. “He’s where he usually is. You remember right?”

She smiled gently. “Yes. I remember. On the bench... smoking.”

#Dragon Raja

4 notes · View notes

gimme-a-hand-scaevola · 4 years ago

Text

A review of the book The Rook by Daniel O’Malley that nobody ever asked for...

Ok so @chemcat92 recommended me this book and I listened to it on audiobook and I just... have a lot of thoughts. I haven’t read the sequel and I’m torn if I will. Having watched some AMVs of the show, it’s a hard pass. My review is going to be in three parts:

1. The plot

2. Wasted Potential - In General

3. Wasted Potential - Gestalt the Most Wasted Character Potential I’ve Read since Drizzt Do’Urden

Obviously spoilers under the cut.

Part 1: The Plot - i.e. I think Daniel discovered books four days before he started writing

Ok so... The plot of this book. It starts off STRONG I will give it that. Myfanwy Thomas wakes up in a rainy part surrounded by bodies wearing latex gloves and no memories. She soon discovers her previous self lost her memories but because she was organized and knew it was coming, she has eased new Myfanwy’s transition. She gets to choose to stay in her life through letters and then we get an easy way to give flashbacks. Anyway this part RULES.

Honestly, the book starts strong as hell. Myfanwy discovers she has supernatural powers over people’s nervous systems and is a trained bureaucrat for a supernatural wing of the government. This all runs sort of like a combination of Heroes and Harry Potter in the best way possible. And here is where we find the strongest part of the book: the superpowers.

We don’t have to look that far to find Heroes type shows or books where everyone has a special ability, so if you’re going to go that route, you’ve gotta bring it. And honestly, Daniel brings it. They powers are cool as hell, they’re inventive, they’re well bounded. I felt like I understood what people’s powers and limitations were. We were in a land with magic, but it never felt cheap. This is going to dovetail into my absolute RANT about Gestalt but give me a sec to get there.

Ok. So honestly I don’t even have any complaints until the third act. Act one gives us the set up, act two introduced the big bad the Grafters and so far so good. We’ve got good but elitist supernatural guys vs. bad but more egalitarian supernatural guys. We also know that it was someone in the supernatural org (it has a name but the name is so stupid I can’t spell it) that betrayed our protag and stole her memories and they’re still around and teamed up with the evil Grafters. Intrigue?? Don’t know who to trust???? Love it.

For some reason everyone is either old, or hot, or so inhuman it’s viscerally horrifying. Love this touch. Eleanor from the Good Place taught us that it’s totally free to imagine everyone in a story as super hot. And it is. So they’re all super hot. Love it. Good commitment, Daniel.

But then we get to Act three. So, this was a big swing on ol Danny’s part because a lot of the effect of this had to do with carrying out mystery. We’d built a lot of tension on the suspense Who Betrayed Myfanwy. So obviously it’s really important for me to be surprised or at least satisfied with who this is. (As an aside, I would have been ok with guessing correctly, I definitely don’t subscribe to surprise trumping cohesive plot). Ok. With that on paper... like... holy shit. What a stupid “reveal.”

So in part 1, like the first scene we get of old Myfanwy’s letters giving us context, she says that her apartment at work was inherited from a dude Conrad something that got promoted. And then she says it’s super badly decorated, and later we see it and this shit is straight out of Austin Powers, mirror over a round bed, The Whole Shebang. But she also says that this guy who otherwise is supposed to be very smooth and charismatic like... asks her about the decor.... every time they interact. Every Time They Interact. The second this was mentioned (WHICH IS AFTER WE KNOW SHE WAS BETRAYED) I'm like “oh ok so this guy bugged her room he’s the villain” and I only wasn’t sure because it was WAY too obvious.

But no. He’s the villain. He has a big reveal where he’s like “AND I BUGGED YOUR ROOM” and I'm like... well... yeah. Of course you did. But here’s the thing tho... Myfanwy’s like... WHOLE ASS JOB is planning covert ops. So... is she good at her job??? IS SHE????

But we also don’t actually show how characters are based on their actions, we are just told how they are. But we will circle back to that in the Gestalt part. That’s honestly the sum of my rant about the plot. It was nothing. It put all its eggs in the basket of the worst most boring reveal of all time. Daniel, I think you might just be boring.

Part 2: Wasted Potential - Everything but Gestalt who gets a special part to themselves.

The big sin of this book might just be too many good ideas. There’s a lot of characters, they all do cool stuff, but we have like 200 pages, so there wasn’t enough time to do anything with all these guys. I got lost about who was who like 80 times because they’re basically all sneaky hot magic guys. One of them smokes and is a soldier and he seems chill.

There’s a vampire and he gets a scene and a long intro that reads more like a wiki page. Like it was interesting but you would have lost NOTHING cutting him as a character except that he was cool. You never ever believe that he was the bad guy because it’s super well established in the Certified Back Story that he could give two shits about the politics of the humans. He’s there bc he’s an adorably young vampire who is very curious so his dad set him up as a powerful government agent as though it was enrolling him in a prep school. Love it, but again, we don’t.... need him around.

There’s a lady who can walk through dreams and I thought she was going to be important based on the fanfare of her introduction but then we forget about her basically entirely.

There’s a whole American wing that we also only see anything interesting about in side story. Basically the world building is really good. Like pretty superb to be honest. But it’s bracketing a story that is nothing so it makes even good characters seems really random. And that bring us to:

Part 3: My Darling, Gestalt. My Type. My Weakness. What a Sad Little Thing You Are (Also misogyny)

Alright... if the rest of this review wasn’t salty enough for you... let the salt begin. Gestalt. So named because of the word meaning larger than the sum of its parts. And so they were destined to be. And so they were most definitely not. So Gestalt’s whole thing is that they are one consciousness with four bodies. They can either control one body at a time and sort of shut the others down or they can control them all at once but that becomes harder if one of them requires more attention than another, like if one is in a fight.

Two twins (men), one fraternal brother, and a sister. If anyone is thinking “uhoh, only one girl, hmm can Daniel handle that? Seems like maybe some Smurfette style misogyny-lite is coming,” you would be wrong. Super wrong. Because it is not misogyny-lite. It’s aggressive Fight-Me-In-A-Perkins-Parking-Lot misogyny. So go fuck yourself, Dan.

Alright, so to number Gestalt’s sins.

1. Scrape off some of that intro mustard.

They’re introduced in the LONGEST fucking passage I’ve ever read telling me that this dude is hard to talk to and weird. Like, I’m in an urban fantasy book already, I'm all set. Also... bitch SHOW ME they’re weird. Like can I see some interactions that give me second hand embarrassment??? No. It is actually never uncomfortable to talk to Gestalt. I only know that because people are super fucking rude about them. But it is never earned. So I don’t feel sympathy when people are like “Oh noooo you have to spend a car ride with Gestalt? Ewwwww sorry.” I’m just like, “What’s your fucking problem? They seem fine.”

2. They’re supposed to be Bad At Planning but when??

Alright so there ARE times they’re bad at planning and we will GET TO THAT. But it’s only post-reveal like... what we are told during a monologue that they were dumb as shit. And that wasn’t even like not being good w/ details like it’s implied they are, it’s literally like doing dumb ass stuff. And it felt more like my bud Dan didn’t have a good handle on why stuff was dumb as rain than Gestalt being silly.

Also.... this is a stupid use of this sort of character. They’re dumb and bad at planning??? THEY’RE A JOINT CONSCIOUSNESS why would you waste that making them “Good at kicking ass.” ugh. Fine.

3. They get sidelined IMMEDIATELY

So a guy named Pumice Stone or Kettle or Lil boy Bad At This or something outs that Gestalt is working with the Grafters because he like.... wasn’t paying attention. It was boring. But anyway so they capture two of the bodies and then stop addressing Gestalt until the end. They have one weird scene where the protagonist like.... freaks them out but ok. Fine. Why is Gestalt so Yelly. Why are so many villains in this book yelly. Ew.

4. The REVEAL MONOLOGUE.

I know this is a long ass review already. But my Feelings Must be Heard. So in the end when Conrad surprises no one but “smart” Myfanwy that he was the bad guy, we also get a reveal from the surviving Gestalt bodies that:

a. There’s an incest baby

b. They’re afraid of death

c. They’re so phenomenally stupid I have lost all interest in them

So... this is where the misogyny comes in. I’ll note here that the only time we interact w/ Eliza, the special girl body, is when she takes a carried to Hogwarts the super secret magic school with Myfanwy and she doesn’t do anything except we get the internal note that she’s like... gained weight. This is the misogyny-lite we expect. (And no, Dan, you don't get any points bc a female character is the only pleased she got pudgy bc YOU wrote the female character so we’re all set there.)

And then we discover that the weird blonde (lol oh yeah they’re all hot blondes) baby that Conrad “Evil Austin Powers” British-Last-Name has with his weird wife is actually a Gestalt body that Eliza had after she boned down with her other body who is genetically a brother and consciously herself.

K. Ok. I have. Ok. Alright. Daniel. Ok.

SUBPART A: My Feelings about Gestalt: Oh Eliza, my darling, my dear, would that I could bring you Justice

So after Eliza is shot dead one of the interchangeable boy bodies of Gestalt yells at Myfanwy about how terrible that is bc it was the only body who could bear children so now THE HORROR they’ll die.

For god’s fucking sake Daniel O’Malley. What the fuck is your goddamn problem. You LITERALLY wrote a Smurfette Syndrome character who is only important because she can have babies. She is literally just there to be a baby-box. What the fuck. Get fucking wrecked. Thank GOD Starz cut your program and fuck the Aurealis Awards for giving you an award for this fucking book. But they’re a sci-fi award so this is probably super progressive for them. I was pleasantly annoyed by the basic nature of this book until this part. Now I am just done with your content. This was more overtly sexist that Supernatural. So... real swing and a miss.

ANYWAY FORTUNATELY this opens a whole new can of worms that I get to ruthlessly mock certified Basic Bitch Daniel O’Malley for.

SubPart 2: Gestalt Raises Interesting Philosophical Questions Daniel Isn’t Smart Enough to Address

So, remember, I would have cut this dude more slack if he didn’t do that to Eliza. Gestalt, to be honest, this whole review is dedicated to what you Could Have Been.

Interesting Questions or Comments We Could Have Asked:

Does having a baby being one of five of your bodies affect your consciousness? That thing doesn’t have object permanence? Is there like an intellectual cost to having another baby body? No, we don’t care. I think we just had there be a baby bc “Weird sister-sex” was as interesting as Daniel could get. Side Note: The obvious question of “lol haha lol is it incest or mAsTurBation is not going to be addressed here bc it is literally too boring to consider)

Does having a body who textually is said to have post-partum depression affect your joint consciousness? If not, why bring it up?? Bc she has “weird lady disease” is that why???

Are they....afraid of death????? Why didn’t you ever bring this up? Why have they showed only excitement at the prospect of very dangerous fights up to this point? Why are all four bodies in the field.

WHY ARE ALL FOUR BODIES IN THE FIELD. Ok so here is one of those points that is definitely stupid but stupid in a dumb as dirt way. If you were afraid to lose your baby-box body, why would you send her into battle?

Why didn’t they freeze a bunch of her eggs? In fact, why did she bear it at all? Why put your one female body that you only want for babies through that sort of danger? Canonically they all get paid an absurd amount and Gestalt is paid for each body, they can afford a surrogate.

Why let a weird dude who is at best contemptuous of you raise your baby body? Why wouldn’t you want to do that? Doesn’t that give him a huge amount of leverage over you?

Is the quality fo Gestalt’s form destined to decline if genetically they can only make more bodies by full genetic sibling offspring? Does that scare them? Again... does their physical brain affect their consciousness?

If so... maybe that would be a good reason for them to want to join up with the Grafters who are way ahead in genetic research and engineering.

ANYWAY Gestalt is sexist as shit and boring as hell and had SO MUCH WEIRD POTENTIAL.

In summary: It was definitely fun but Fuck you, Daniel O’Malley

#the rook #Daniel O'Malley #Myfanwy Thomas #Gestalt #Book review #the rook starz

8 notes · View notes

ikathemadhatter · 4 years ago

Note

For the meme, top 5 Death Note characters and why!

I’m sorry for the late reply, you know I had a hell of months but here ich back 💪 Characters aren’t really in order of preferences tho, but here we go:

1. L Lawliet

Rather predictable, he was my favorite character since I watched Death Note for the very first time.

What fascinated me back then (aka 2008) was the fact L character broke the canon detective type I’ve seen in movies and series for a long while. In a typical crime story, the detective is the good dude chasing after the evil criminal and bringing back order -swaying indeed the flag of justice. Following the reasoning of several characters, especially some in the Kira Task Force, L is Justice while Kira is the evil criminal. Apparently -but, in my brutal and honest opinion, I don’t believe L is the emblem of justice. He is represented as that but Death Note is also a story that talks about justice and shows how justice, a misleading concept created by imperfection itself (humanity), is a tool to justify your actions. Because let’s face it, L used his power and all his means to confine and torture two young people just to prove his suspects were true, he wouldn’t mind using people to achieve his goal aka catch Kira. He represents justice because he’s the three world's greatest detective because he solves the most difficult cases but haha this is his main hobby, his reason to live and he doesn’t exactly empathize with other characters. There are some panels where he shows feelings, I think he truly respects some agents of the Kira Task Force and didn’t want anyone to die, but at the same time the most of his actions weren’t righteous at all. At least this is my opinion but this is also why I love this character; last but not least, his quirkiness is unique and funny and another fact that tickled my interest is what is shown of his personality... I like to believe that his truer personality is what we see in the Yotsuba Arc, but I also think he is rather good at adjusting his personality to the task. I would see it coming from a person really able to lie and doing it with no regret.

2. Light Yagami

To be rather honest, I relate to this character for a variety of reasons and this is probably why it breaks my heart to see his decline in the second arc. I’ve read tons of mangas and watched tons of anime in my life, but he keeps being the best protagonist of a shonen manga in my opinion.

Might it be a controversial opinion or not, I don’t think Light is an evil character -especially he’s not a sociopath or a psychopath. Death Note’s plot marks perfectly how much the use of a simple tool like the notebook itself corrupts the soul no matter how good their intentions are; it’s a magic object, but most importantly it’s a tool that lets you kill someone by not effectively showing you’re committing murder. I think the human mind is affected in a different way if murder means washing your hands with blood, visually doing it, instead of simply writing down a name on a notebook and waiting for that person to die of a heart attack. This means I guess Light wouldn’t go that far if he has to actually kill people with his own hands; at the beginning of the manga he realizes what he did -killing people-, but he ‘recovered’ rather quickly from the shock because of two reasons:

- he didn’t physically kill them so his mind didn’t process the action of murder in that sense

- he found quickly a coping mechanism aka he rationalized the Death Note as a holy tool that would serve for a better purpose

Light is in fact a character with pure idealism. He killed most wanted criminals who actually deserved to die in order to make the world a better and safe place. Every one of us, at least once in our life, has thought a rather evil criminal should deserve to die -because we’re humans and our emotions may be harsh and strong even towards our similar. It’s within our nature. And so it was within Light’s nature, to naively believe that killing criminals the world would be better. He also did kill people coming in his way, yes, and he also knew that it was wrong to kill those innocent people meant to be a threat to him. Why did he do it anyway? Because at some point he knew he was a martyr, someone who had the responsibility to sacrifice for the sake of the whole world. He is more selfless than other characters I might say, rationally avoided any futile emotion that could hinder his actions and plans. I mean, try to think what it means to push back your emotions, to block out everything that makes you human in a sense. Someone else would have probably gone crazy... This is why I believe his last speech is much more a liberation like he’s spitting out everything he’s held back and carried alone on his shoulders for years. At some point you want people to understand your achievements, your ideals.

Light is indeed a controversial character, rather complex and there’s a lot you can tell about him. He did bad things, I know but... I admire his will, to be honest.

3. Naomi Misora

MY QUEEN. I still think her death is the most brutal one... And even if I understand why her character needed to leave the main plot, it would have been rather interesting to see her interacting with L and the Kira Task Force.

I thank the existence of Another Note, because we can form a better idea of her possible personality. She’s absolutely a strong woman, intuitive and her kind of reasoning follows L’s investigations somehow. It’s that kind of character who’s able to balance rationality and acumen, which makes her surely a good FBI agent; her only flaw, probably, but it’s also the reason I love her, it’s her empathy and ability to feel. It’s also true that in the Death Note she was veiled by the loss of her fiancee and she was too reckless at following Light, but it showed how fragile and human she could be.

Speaking of Another Note, I loved all those scenes where she follows B’s weird suggestions -like pretending to be a corpse or sitting in a crouch- because even she knows it might be stupid she’s also like ‘Okay let’s try’. Demonstration of a kind of open-mindedness.

4. Aizawa

I love the critical thinking process of this character. He never takes things for granted and let’s remember he even left the Kira Task Force because he didn’t agree with L’s me and methods. In the second arc, he suspects of Light, senses that something is off, and trusts his guts enough to make some researches on his own. He incarnated the typical detective character who really wants to bring back order and justice and probably his way to clash with L and Light’s way of thinking made me like this character. It wasn’t love at first sight, in fact, I appreciated him more reading the manga (which I read after watching the anime) but it’s a character you learn to respect.

5. Ryuk

Just look at him. At his design, at the weird way he twisted his body or when he goes crazy eating a delicious apple, at his stupid jokes and any silly moments... and you think he’s just a goofy character when bam! the least you expect he reminds you he’s a Shinigami, a very bored one, and as a Shinigami, his task is to write down some human being’s name. Light’s included -though in this case, he did say till the beginning he would be the one writing Light’s name when the moment would come.

What can I say? Look at him, he makes you laugh, he’s the Boogeyman, he’s goofy, he’s fucking scary.

In this list I should also add Beyond Birthday, but probably I like the idea I have of him. Anyway I love him we all know it bye haha-

#death note #kiranatrix #ikatalks #this is me talking too much #don't take what I say seriously it's just a quick intro of some aspects #dn characters are too complex and it's hard to say why exactly you love them #sorry for the late reply #catching back with asks

6 notes · View notes

plaidbooks · 5 years ago

Text

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 8

A/N: This starts with a little bit of fluffy cuteness, but don’t let that fool you! Jenkins coming in hot, and then it switches to angst. And it stays angst. So heads up, it’s gonna be angst for a bit haha.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: none, outside of feelings, oh, I guess minor character death that was mentioned in one line

Words: 6k+

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba (lemme know if you want to be tagged!)

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Saturday, May 2nd. 5:00am

Devon woke up at 5am sharp, as usual, even after being up over 24 hours the day before. She uncurled on the couch, stretching while standing, then went through her morning routine: exercise, shower, dress. She tried to be as quiet as possible, since Barba was still asleep, and she planned to let him sleep in a little, their deal from the previous night. Normally on weekends, he would stumble out of his room around 8am. Glancing at the clock, it was still early; only 6:30. Devon planned on making coffee to go with the breakfast, so she decided that 8am would be the safest time to start it. Until then, though, she’d work on the abandoned report from last night, while trying to ignore the thoughts that had stopped that report. Having those types of thoughts helped no one and was wildly unprofessional. So, she shoved her feelings away, focusing on the events from the past two days instead.

Time flew by and 8am came faster than she thought it would, with no signs of life from Barba’s room. She still got up from the couch, report done, and started the French press. While waiting for the water to heat up, she went to the FBI database, trying to check on the last 12 Aces in the city. She looked up from her laptop when she heard Barba’s door open; she didn’t even hear him shower, yet his hair was still damp from the spray. He was in nice slacks and a plain polo shirt; his “casual” attire, unlike his “weekend” suits. It was always a little treat seeing someone who was normally in expensive suits dressing in something…not as expensive. Casual. He still looked damn good, though.

“Good morning,” Devon chirped, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Coffee?”

“Please,” he grumbled. Even when he slept in, Rafael Barba was not a morning person. Devon grinned, pouring him a cup, and adding the appropriate amount of sugar that she knew he liked. She noticed, somewhere deep down, that she liked their almost…domestic tendencies. It made sense, with how much time they spent together, but it was still nice to have these little shared things. It was like his home was hers’, too. Which was comforting. And absolutely terrifying.

“Here you go,” she said, passing him the hot liquid. He gratefully took a deep pull, letting the caffeine waken him. He went to the fridge, pulling out an assortment of vegetables and a carton of eggs. He set about making breakfast, an omelet with sautéed vegies; Devon hovered in the kitchen, but her attention was on her laptop, still researching.

“So, what time were you up today?” Barba asked casually.

“Uh, 5am?” Devon replied.

Barba shot her a look. “I thought we agreed to sleep in today. Why were you up so early?”

“I—I’m always up at 5. I have an internal clock, wakes me up,” she explained.

“Everyday?”

“Correction, almost always. Sometimes I’m up at 4.”

Barba looked shocked first, then concerned. “We go to bed so late; why the hell do you wake up so early? And how the hell are you so perky in the morning?”

Devon thought about it. “I’ve been waking up before the sun for a while, now, couple years, actually. Guess it’s just habit.” She gave him a playful smile. “The perkiness is all me, baby.”

Barba ignored the joke, all serious. “Years? That cannot be healthy. Have you talked to anyone about this?”

Devon took a sip of coffee, swirled it in her mouth before swallowing. “After doing a UC, it’s mandatory to talk to a therapist. So yes, I did ‘talk to someone’ about it…. Especially because it seemed to start a week into that assignment.” Barba flipped the omelet he was making. It looked like he was going to question further, so Devon cut him off. “Yes, both my therapist and I believe that it’s from stress. I—I think I’m just…” she took a deep breath; saying it out loud was acknowledging it. But it was also good to get it out of her mind. “I’m just afraid; my brain needs to be on alert at all times. I know it sounds silly, but people like you—victims--deserve to have 24/7 protection, but I can only give you 20 at most. I’m a light sleeper; anyone breaking in and I’ll hear it. But I don’t think that’s really good enough; it leaves at least 4 hours where you’re open, exposed, especially with the fire escape in your room.” Barba took the omelet out of the pan, placing it skillfully on a plate, and passing it to Devon. She took it gratefully, blowing on it before taking a bite. It was delicious. Is there anything he can’t do?

Barba sighed as he went back to the pan, starting on his own food. “Devon, I know that no one wants to hear it, but you are human. No one, including you, can stay awake and alert 24/7. Hell, even 20/7 is insane. I’m glad that this whole mess is almost over.” He flinched inwardly as soon as the words left his mouth. And the look on Devon’s face was a punch to the gut; it was only there for a split second before she went back to a neutral expression. But he felt it, too; as much as he would like life to go back to normal, he really didn’t want to lose her, lose this. Not yet.

“It will be nice to sleep in my own bed again,” Devon joked, though her voice fell a little flat. She knew that it was inevitable; she’d have to leave him eventually, go on with her work and life. But she really, really, didn’t want to think about that. She was disappointed that he was already there in his thoughts, that he was wishing for it.

Barba finished cooking his own food, standing at the counter next to Devon. They ate in relative silence, besides complimenting each other on the food and coffee, and idly talking about heading to the park afterwards.

“Oh shit, I need to call Liv,” Devon said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. Olivia picked up on the second ring.

“Hey Dev, everything alright?” she asked.

Devon chuckled, shaking her head. “Of course. Just wanted to let you know that Barba and I were going to Central Park for a little. Get some fresh air after the mess from the past couple days.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? You don’t think that you’ll be sitting ducks?”

“There’s only 12 Aces left, and I think after what happened with Marco, we should be good.” Devon waited a moment before adding on, “I’ll be armed, we’ll be safe.”

Liv sighed. “For one thing, I forgot to text you last night; we caught 5 more Aces in a raid last night. So now the magic number is 7. And second, I’ll station some extra unis in the park, just to be sure. The remaining members may be getting desperate, since there’s not many left.”

“That’s good to know. I’ll let Barba know, and I’ll keep my eyes open,” Devon replied. She hung up, then, and relayed the information to Barba.

“Hm, SVU must be busy; Liv doesn’t normally forget to inform us like that,” he said.

Devon agreed. “We can always stop by later today, see what’s up.” Barba nodded.

They finished their food quickly, suddenly eager to get out into fresh air. Barba’s loft was only two blocks from Central Park, so it was a short walk there, but before they even hit the park, they were already more relaxed, basking in the warm, sunny day. There’s something about getting out of the house, even for a simple walk, that was refreshing. It seemed like the tension, the heaviness, from the last two days lifted, and they joked and laughed, conversation flowing easily. They made it to a trail that went by the water, and just enjoyed each other’s presence. They talked about nothing, really, just idle small talk. Devon did surreptitiously watch every person within eyesight; she saw at least 6 cops the first ten minutes there, two on bikes and the rest on foot. But no one looked suspicious, only suburban moms with their strollers, joggers, couples walking through the park. They wandered the trail for about an hour, slowly getting closer together, though neither of them noticed. It wasn’t until Devon’s hand brushed against his that they realized how close they were. They stopped walking, half turning to each other, Devon’s cheeks flushing, an apology on her tongue. Barba opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by a woman screaming.

Devon was a flurry of movement, embarrassment from the simple touch forgotten. Her first instinct was to shove Barba behind her, turning towards the noise. It took a moment for the woman’s words to process in her adrenaline-clogged brain.

“Help! He stole my purse!” she yelled, pointing. A man dressed like a burglar from a shitty movie, complete with loose jeans, a black hoodie with the hood pulled up, and dark sunglasses, was running on the path that Devon and Barba were currently on, a tan purse clutched in his hand. As the man tried to push passed them, Barba stuck out his leg. The man got caught on his foot and went down, slamming into the ground, glasses flying off his face.

“Great reflexes,” Devon said, jokingly, giving him a half-grin. She knelt down, grabbing his hands and pulling them behind his back. “Senior Special Agent Motely, FBI,” she informed the man. She grabbed the purse from his clutches and handed it to Barba.

“Did you doubt me?” Barba smirked back. He took the purse, looking towards the woman who had alerted them. She was on her way over, as well as the two bike cops. Barba handed over the purse, and Devon let the unis cuff the man. Devon noticed Barba’s hands were shaking; he must still be feeling anxious from the past couple days for this small action to affect him so.

“Come on,” Devon said, giving him a soft smile. She took Barba’s shaking hand, ignoring the jolt of electricity she felt from touching his burning skin, and led him away from the scene at a slow jog. She was hoping that a short jog would burn off the extra energy coursing through both of their veins. She led him out of the park and towards a small café across the street; one of her favorite spots.

“That was…surprisingly fun,” Barba chuckled, trying to catch his breath. Devon laughed with him; at least he had stopped shaking.

“Oh no, please stay as a lawyer. Don’t switch to cop,” Devon replied, feigning concern at his life choices.

“Why not? Afraid that I’d take your job?”

“No, but I think the power would go to your already inflated head.”

Barba scoffed as if offended. “Don’t lie; I’d outrank you in a week.”

“And there’s that ego I mentioned.” They chuckled, before a waitress came out to them. They both ordered a coffee—Devon got a pastry, too--and resigned to people watching while they waited for her to come back.

“To be honest, though, I am glad that we were able to help that woman out,” Devon said.

Barba agreed. “We got lucky that he ran towards the two people in the park that could help her.”

“That’s a little rude to the cops working in the park.”

Barba smirked. “But am I wrong?”

“Not at all,” she replied. Their coffee and food came just then, and they sat in silence, drinking and sharing the pastry. Devon broke the silence. “Today’s been really fun. I’m glad we decided to do this.”

“Me too. It’s nice getting out of the loft every now and again. To not worry about cases, files, rapes, murders, and traffickers.”

Devon nodded. “It does get…taxing, after a while. You have to find a balance in this line of work. It’s not always enough to just go home at the end of the day.”

Barba thought about what he wanted to say, how he wanted to say it. “I—I couldn’t imagine doing what you do. At least I get to go home at the end of the day. You just finished a three-year undercover op before this; you didn’t even get to go home. You didn’t get to talk to friends, hell you didn’t even have your own name. That sounds like a type of torture. And now, you still don’t get to go home.”

“At least I have some good company,” she smiled at him. She took a small bite of her pastry, then continued, “sometimes, it feels like torture. But you have to get so into your character, your fabricated life. You have to be invested in your fake job, fake friends, fake relationships. Sometimes, none of those things feel fake anymore. It’s just life…. I’ve learned that you need to have something, anything, that can pull you back to your real life.”

“What…what did you have?”

Devon’s cheeks turned red, though she tried to hide it by drinking her coffee. “You, uh, you got to promise me you will not tell a soul,” she said after putting her coffee down. She locked eyes with him. “I’m serious; no one must know of this, especially Olivia.”

Barba kept his face neutral, trying not to smile at how flustered Devon got, how cute she was when her face got all red like that. Was it really that bad? “Okay, I promise.”

Devon took a deep breath, let it out. Then she reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone. She popped the case off, pulling something out. In her hand was a small square of what looked like folded paper. She went about unfolding it, and Barba realized it wasn’t a piece of paper, but a photo. It was so worn, so creased, that it was obvious how often she had needed to look at it during her time undercover. Once unfolded, she handed it to Barba, looking away sheepishly, sipping at her coffee.

The picture was faded, even though it was timestamped as only four years ago. It was a snapshot of what looked like a fun night in a dark bar. Devon was on the left, wearing a plastic top hat that read “Happy New Year’s! 2010” and with a drink in hand. She looked like she was laughing in the picture. Hanging on her, arm wrapped around the people on either side of her, was Olivia. It looked like she was trying to have them hold her up, but her face showed that it wasn’t happening. The photographer must have gotten her mid-fall—her mouth was open in a comical “O” shape. Barba only knew the man on the right because Olivia had showed her pictures before; his name was Elliot Stabler, Liv’s old partner. He wore a hat matching Devon’s, and it looked like Olivia was taking him down with her. His mouth was open in surprise, though a smile tugged at the corners. It was a great picture of three friends enjoying the start of the new year. Barba hated that he felt a pang of loneliness and jealousy looking at it. He looked up from the picture to find Devon watching him, cheeks still red.

“That was the first time since my childhood that I had celebrated my birthday; that I even had friends to celebrate with,” Devon explained, taking the photo back and gazing at it lovingly.

“Your birthday is New Year’s Eve?”

“Day, actually,” she corrected. She took one last look, then folded it up, stuffing it back into the phone case, popping it back on and replacing it in her pocket.

Barba wasn’t quite sure what to say. He was glad she had people to celebrate with, but also felt sad that it took her so long to find that kind of acceptance in her life. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” he said softly. There was nothing else to say. He was touched that she had opened up to him, had shown him something so personal.

Like in the park, they were both so enraptured in their thoughts that they stopped paying attention to their surroundings, especially their body language. They both had the same, stupid grin on their faces, as they stared into each other’s eyes. Barba had his hand on the table between them, and Devon didn’t even realize that she had placed hers on top of it. They were slowly leaning closer to each other, lost in the depths of their eyes, the closeness that they felt. Thinking about how today was a perfect date, yet neither would admit to the other that it even was one; it was just a walk in the park between friends. Sharing an intimate secret between friends. Holding hands, sharing a pastry, leaning closer, heads tilting, eyes closing…as friends….

Devon’s phone started ringing loudly, and they both jumped back, ripping their hands off the table. Devon fished her phone back out of her pocket, heart beating wildly. What just happened?

Barba looked flushed and a little…disappointed, grabbing his coffee and taking a sip, adverting his eyes. Devon looked at her phone screen, seeing her boss’s name lighting up across it.

“Uh oh…” she mumbled before answering. “Motely.”

“Is there a reason that NYPD’s Internal Affairs just handed me a file on you shooting a man two days ago?” Jenkins asked. He wasn’t angry; he just sounded tired.

Shit. “Oh, I meant to call you about that, sir,” Devon replied, heart still pounding. Her mind was going a mile a minute, stuck between thoughts of shooting Marco, IAB, and almost, maybe, about to kiss a certain counselor who was still avoiding her eyes. “You see, it’s a long story….”

“Well, you’d better come in and explain it to me, then.”

Devon looked to Barba, sipping innocently at his coffee. How much coffee does he still have? “Uh, permission to bring a civilian?” He finally looked at her at that, brow furrowed.

Jenkins sighed; he knew better than to ask questions. “Granted. Get here. Now.” And with that, he hung up.

Devon slowly put her phone down. She looked deeply into Barba’s green eyes. “Ever wanted to go to the FBI Headquarters?”

FBI Headquarters

Saturday, May 2nd. 12:37pm

Devon led Barba into the elevator leading to her boss’s office, his visitor badge bouncing off his chest.

“This is not what I had planned today when we agreed on a day off,” he mumbled, the doors closing behind them. Devon smirked.

“Sorry about this. I could’ve left you with a detective, if you really wanted. Or you can go back to the lobby; one of the field agents can watch you.”

Barba scoffed. “I’m not a child for you to pass around.”

“Then stop complaining like one,” she replied. He glared at her, and she stuck her tongue out in response. The elevator doors dinged and opened, and Devon led him down the long hallway to Jenkins’s office.

“Come in,” he said before she even had a chance to knock. Barba gave her a look, eyebrows raised. She shrugged in a yeah, that’s normal way, then opened the door for him, following him in. Jenkins kept his office space neat, tidy; a desk with two monitors, a couple of full bookshelves, and a small conference table in the corner. Although he was the Assistant Director, in charge of multiple sectors of field agents, he still didn’t spend much time in his office, usually only resigning to the space at night or on weekends to do paperwork. Much like Olivia, he worked his way up from field agent, and his heart and mind were still out in the field. He had trouble sitting still for too long, and was often out of the office, running teams or even in the field himself as much as possible. Which was why everyone respected him, whether they liked him or not.

“Counselor,” Jenkins said in his deep voice, nodding to Barba, before turning back to Devon. “Motely, report.”

Devon took a deep breath, then filled him in on everything that had happened since the end of January, starting from the night she met Barba, to talking to Olivia, to accepting the 24/7 protection of the ADA. “I honestly didn’t think it would be this…extensive,” Devon finished, lacking a better word. It was true, though; she knew what 24/7 protection was like, but she had only ever done it for a weekend at most. Never for months at a time. And though she knew that there was the chance of it lasting longer than she thought, it was different talking about it and actually doing it.

“So, this shooting of Marco Sorrel was in defense of Mr. Barba here,” Jenkins replied, looking at the case file from IAB.

“Yes sir.”

“And this protection order is still in effect? That’s why you brought him here, I take it?”

“Yes sir.” Devon felt Barba tense next to her; she had almost forgot he was there. He had said nothing since coming into the office. He knew when to bite his tongue.

“For how much longer? I need my top agent back to work.”

That knocked the wind out of Devon’s sails. It was the confirmation that after this was over, she would be going right back to work for the FBI. She wasn’t surprised, but it did solidify her resolve; she could not have a relationship with Barba, regardless of their feelings. She basically already told him as much that one day they talked a little too loosely about relationships.

“To my knowledge, there’s only 7 more Aces active in the city. Once they’re arrested, and the hit on Barba is off, I’ll be cleared for work again, sir,” Devon informed him.

Jenkins smirked. “Only 7? Tell that SVU Sergeant that I’ll make sure it’s taken care of before the weekend is over. I want to see you here, bright and early, on Monday morning; there’s a sex-trafficking ring I need you in on.”

Devon felt her stomach drop, her world crumbling. But she kept her face neutral, her voice steady. “Y-yes sir,” she said. Hearing the dismissal in his voice, she turned, Barba following suit, and left the office.

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Saturday, May 2nd. 3:05pm

“So, are we going to talk about it?” Barba finally asked from the kitchen. They both had been silent leaving the Bureau, and even more distant on the ride back to Barba’s loft. They tried small talk, but it sizzled out after a couple words. They both resigned to doing their own thing; Devon researching on her laptop, Barba doing the dishes from breakfast.

“Talk about what?” Devon replied, but she knew. Of course, she did. But she wanted to hear him say it.

Barba sighed, turning off the water. He placed the last pan on the drying rack, drying his hands off before coming to stand in the doorway. “Let’s be adults about this. Please. You know what,” when Devon stayed silent, Barba continued, “about what happened, well, what almost happened at the café. About the fact that you’re going to be leaving soon. About…about where that leaves us.”

Devon’s heart fluttered when he said “us.” God, she wanted there to be an “us” so damn badly. But she couldn’t force herself to take that leap, to fully commit to him. How could she, when both of their schedules were so busy, so crazy? Jenkins said it himself; she was about to go right back into the field. She could be gone for months, years at a time. She could be hurt or worse. How could she possibly hurt Barba like that, put him through that?

“The café was a mistake,” she said as flatly as she could. She stared at his chest, not able to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, Rafael, but there isn’t an ‘us.’ This is a job, and once it’s over, I’m back to working with the Bureau.” Devon was glad that there were no tears in her eyes; her years of training, of becoming personas were coming in handy, even if her own heart was breaking at her words. She dared a glance into Barba’s face.

He was crestfallen, his face falling. He had been sure, was positive, that she had felt the same way about him. Especially when they brushed hands in the park, when they almost kissed in the café. It took him weeks and weeks to build up the courage to make a move, and when her hand had enveloped his at that table, he knew that that was his moment. Then that damned phone call happened. And then, that damned meeting with her boss! And now she was going to leave him, by tomorrow if her boss was correct. That’s why he had to tell her, he had to know if she had felt the same.

“I thought you said that we were friends. That you cared about me,” he said softly. God, he sounded desperate, pathetic, even to himself.

Devon’s eyes softened, if only for a moment. “You are, and I do. But Barbs, we can’t be any more than that. You know that, right?” Her resolve was shaking under his intense stare. She could see him caving in on himself, his shoulders slumping slightly, his head falling, knees bending. His whole body language just screamed defeated. And she was the one delivering the blows.

He took a deep breath, stiffening his spine, raising his head; the prosecutor heading into a losing battle. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be putting you in this kind of situation. Forget I mentioned it.” With that, he made his way down the hallway and into his room, closing his door softly behind him. Devon opened her mouth but couldn’t think of anything to say.

Great, she thought. There goes that friendship. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, though; it made things a little less awkward. And it made her leaving easier. Plus, it’d be just like one of her many one-night stands anyways. No attachments: just cut all ties when she left. And leave the broken pieces of her heart behind.

As if the timing couldn’t be more perfect, Devon got an incoming call, from Olivia.

“Motely,” she answered, trying to sound professional.

“Devon! Great news: all the Aces have been rounded up and delivered to the NYPD. Did you call in the Feds to help?” Olivia asked.

Devon smiled grimly. “No, but my boss did offer his assistance after getting IAB’s report.”

“Well, he certainly assisted. Also, I just got a report that said that an hour ago, the Aces in Rikers got in a fight with the 32nd street gang in the prison courtyard. Jorge Ramirez was killed in the scuffle,” Olivia paused, letting her words sink in. “To our knowledge, the hit on Barba has been called off; you can go home, now.”

Devon sat in silence, trying to figure out what the hell the bombardment of emotions she felt was; it was all too much, too quickly. “Devon? You there?” she heard Liv say.

“Yeah, yeah sorry, I’m here. That’s…that’s great news, Liv. I’ll be sure to tell Barbs; I’m sure he’ll be relieved.”

They talked for a few more minutes before Devon made an excuse to hang up, citing the fact that she needed to pack and go grocery shopping before heading home. She sighed heavily, rubbing her hands over her face, but she stood and started collecting her small number of possessions.

“It’s done, isn’t it?” a voice came from down the hallway. Devon stopped, but didn’t turn to look.

“Yes; all the Aces have been arrested. Plus, Ramirez was shanked in a prison fight, so the hit’s been called off,” she turned to look at the man now, “congratulations, Barbs. You’re no longer a marked man.”

The door to his bedroom was wide open and Barba was leaning casually against the doorframe. Well, as casually as he could; his body was tight with tension, as much as he tried to hide it, and if Devon looked closely, she could see a small red ring around his eyes. He gave a stiff nod, peeling himself off the doorframe and coming out into the living room. Devon finished packing her things, zipping up her grip and slinging it over her shoulder. She felt a slew of emotions run through her; she needed to get out of there, but she was rooted to the spot.

“When will I see you again?” Barba murmured. It was barely a whisper, so quiet that it was hard to tell if he actually said it, or if Devon imagined it.

She gave him a soft smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure we’ll end up working on a case together at some point…I do help SVU from time to time,” she replied quietly. He gave her another stiff nod, not trusting himself to speak. She no longer trusted her own voice, and turned away, unable to look at his face anymore. She felt tears spring to her eyes, and she blinked them away rapidly, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Devon made her way to the front door, unlocking it, opening it slowly.

“Wait,” Barba finally choked out. Devon froze at the door, one foot already in the hallway. She looked over her shoulder at him, eyes softening for a moment. His mouth opened and closed a couple times, but no sound came out.

She gave him a small smile. “Stay safe,” she whispered, and then she was gone.

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

Devon didn’t go straight home. It was still early in the evening; the sun still hadn’t set, and it was still warm out. She also didn’t call a cab; instead opting to simply wander the streets, the grip slung over her shoulder soon forgotten as her mind, too, began to wander. She made it a full block before the tears began to flow, slowly at first, but then soon falling freely. She let them, ignoring the stares from strangers she walked by. It was good to let it all out, especially here, outdoors, rather than in her own space. She did wander in the general direction of her apartment—she lived about a 30-minute walk from Barba’s loft—and she took her time, weaving in and out of the streets. Finally, with the sun setting, and her shoulder growing sore from the weight, she made her way home.

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

Apartment of Devon Motely

Saturday, May 2nd. 7:35pm

After her undercover op in California, Devon had the cleaners from the FBI clean her place so that it wasn’t dusty or gross. This was not the case with the past three months with Barba; the place had obviously not been inhabited. Dust covered every surface, there was a weird smell that wasn’t there before, and it was stuffy. Devon sighed, having no motivation to clean anything, emotionally drained. She looked at the clock and sighed again, realizing she hadn’t eaten anything besides breakfast and the little pastry at the café by the park, right before everything fell apart. She should eat, but she didn’t feel hungry. She didn’t really feel anything right now except for emptiness…a longing, and a loneliness that she hadn’t felt in years.

She went to her room and checked her bed, sniffing the sheets. They smelled musty, and she knew she couldn’t sleep in that. She stripped the sheets and threw them on the floor in the corner; that was a tomorrow problem. She went to her closet and pulled out her back-up sheets but couldn’t bring herself to make the bed. Instead, she threw them on the bed in a heap and made her way to the kitchen. Hungry or not, she should eat something, especially if she planned on drinking—and she did plan on drinking; maybe it would help lessen some of the emptiness, though she knew, deep down, that that was a load of crap.

First things first, she looked in her liquor cabinet, finding some cheap whiskey. Fingers crossed, she looked in her fridge and, hallelujah, she found an unopened bottle of Coca Cola. She quickly made herself a strong drink, then took another look in the fridge. No food to be found. She checked her pantry next. A couple cans of soup and some long-expired rice. She winced, remembering that she had been gone for over three years now; she really needed to go grocery shopping tomorrow.

Sighing, she grabbed a box of instant rice and opened it. It wasn’t fuzzy or discolored, so she presumed it was fine. The alcohol she was drinking would kill anything in it, anyways. While waiting for the water to boil, she unpacked her grip, throwing the clothes in a laundry bin, plugging in her laptop, and taking out her toiletries, to be replaced with new ones tomorrow. She went back to the kitchen, grabbed a notepad, and started making a list of foods. Once done, she had a thought, and went to her supply closet. After checking the small amount of cleaners she had, she added ones she needed to the list too. She was on autopilot, thoughts blank, afraid to stop moving. Actions kept her thoughts at bay. Speaking of moving, she realized that she could finally go back to the gym tomorrow morning, something that she thought she’d be excited for, but in this state, it was a dull thought. She dreaded the pain she’d be in tomorrow—her little morning routine wasn’t intense enough to replace a gym workout—but knew it would be worth it in the end.

Satisfied with her list, Devon took her food and drink, then sat in her living room. She didn’t like how the apartment didn’t seem…familiar, not in the way she was used to, or how his had felt. Even with her work, she had lived in this apartment for about seven years now, and it was always a welcome relief coming home. Now, it was like a piece was missing. Suddenly, the silence was pushing in on her, deafening her. She lunged for the TV remote, turned on whatever sports station she could find, and sat there, picking at her rice as the announcers were droning on about…the Mets. It didn’t really matter what was on, as long as there was continuous talking, hence, sports.

It didn’t take long, though, before the monotone voices seemed to tune out of her consciousness. Devon finished her food and drink, went back to the kitchen to dispose of her dishes, and brought the whiskey and coke back to the couch with her. She quickly lost count of drinks, thinking more and more about, well, everything that happened the past couple months. She remembered the first night she had met the ADA, before she knew who he was. She thought about how he didn’t want her help at first, how he had told Olivia that he didn’t need her. How she had made a deal with him that she’d never bother him again afterwards.

She thought about those first few weeks together, about how they were awkward around each other, learning about each other. She thought about how fascinated she was the first time she watched him in court, the pride and awe the first time he won a conviction. She remembered how his eyes lit up, how he set his jaw when he ran through his arguments with her in his office. She remembered how his green eyes conveyed concern when she got stabbed in the shoulder. She remembered his little smirk when he found something amusing. She wondered when she noticed all these little things about him.

She was shocked when she felt the tears on her cheeks, didn’t notice them pooling in her eyes. So, what if she loved him? It wasn’t going to work; she knew that! She had to move on with her life, let him move on, too. He deserved someone who could love him with their whole heart, who could be there for him when he needed them. She couldn’t be that person; she was always on call, and it was never a guarantee that see would come home at night.

Devon let out a loud sniffle, trying to control her emotions. It was final; she would forget about Rafael Barba. She would get a good night sleep, clean her apartment tomorrow, and then go back to work on Monday. And that was that. She finished her drink, wiped the tears out of her eyes, then went to her room. She saw the sheets clumped on her bed and let out a frustrated scream.

#everyone deserves love #edl #rafael barba x oc #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #everyone deserves love chapter 8 #edl ch 8 #fanfic #my writing #angst

12 notes · View notes

aleteia-ff · 5 years ago

Text

A Decade To Find You - 3

Also Read On: AO3 | FF.net

Thank you everyone for the support! Unfortunately, school started again, so this update came in a bit later, but I'm definitely finishing this story! My current expectation is that it will end at 5 chapters, perhaps 4. This one turned out a lot longer than I'd anticipated, hence me coming back from my earlier estimate of 3 chapters!

I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Astrid didn't think much of the guy she bumped into just after midnight on January 1, 2010. It was just a hasty apology, a quip and a lop-sided grin from his side. It wasn't supposed to be special.Hiccup felt the same way. That was, until he locked eyes with her again one year later. And the year after that. And the next.But somehow, their destinies only seemed to intertwine that one night a year... On New Year's Eve.

Hiccstrid, New Year’s Eve Fic. Spanning the entire past decade.

Chapter 3: New Year’s Eve 2016

December 31st, 2016

Life came with a lot of difficult choices. Hiccup knew that all too well. Batman, Superman, or simply admitting that the DCEU, especially after Suicide Squad, didn't quite hold a candle to the MCU? It was a shame, really. He'd always loved Batman, had reread many of his old comics since 2014, even saw the humour in George Clooney's Batnipples. But perhaps Justice League would prove everyone wrong in 2017. Hopefully.

At least it hadn't been difficult to choose between Team Cap and Team Iron Man. As much as he adored Spider-Man, his father's opinion was simply more important. And Steve Rogers was their guy.

He felt silly to be spending energy on those dilemmas, but after all the shit he'd been through, it was a breath of fresh air to be worried about stuff that was simple. To have his life on the rails, to no longer be forced to sort through his father's will and figure out how to handle all the insurance and ownership documents. He'd even felt comfortable enough to go and study abroad, having spent the best part of the last half year in Melbourne while Gobber, Snotlout and Uncle Spite took care of what was now his house.

Uncle Spite had told him that it was fine if Hiccup wanted to sell it, that he would find a trustworthy real estate agent who got him his money's worth. It would allow Hiccup to buy an apartment in Hopeless, closer to university, and leave Berk and all the painful memories there behind.

He'd seriously considered the change of scenery, because of course it was difficult to forget what had happened when so many people around him knew. Not just the small family that remained. But also Mrs. Ack from down the street, who kept bringing him leftovers, because his thin frame had led her to assume he wasn't feeding himself properly. The Bog family, who lived a few houses away and whose eldest daughter, Camicazi, frequently stole his garbage bags long and put them at the side of the street for the truck to pick up. Everyone knew what had happened to him, and wanted to do their utmost best to support him. He didn't need it, and had told them to stop several times, painfully elated and awkward, rubbing the back of his head so hard he was surprised he hadn't gone bald yet. But Berkians were stubborn, and persisted nevertheless.

And the more time he'd spent in Australia, the more he'd started to miss Berk. He didn't know what it was about the town that had been his family's home for seven generations. But the moment he'd set foot in it again after returning from the other side of the world, it had simply felt like home. And for now, he had no intention to leave.

He didn't know what it was, exactly. Tuffnut and Ruffnut weren't around much, their band now touring the country and only returning as a service to Gruffnut, who had given them the necessary spotlight by booking them last New Year's Eve - although the way the twins told the story, it was Gruffnut who owed them, not the other way around. Fishlegs was studying at the Hopeless Institute of Technology - the name of which was a HIT with students in exam weeks - like him, so Berk wasn't where they saw each other most. Hiccup had grown closer to Snotlout however, some of his cousin's obnoxiousness having faded after his father passed away. Or it was simply being channelled into the roles he played with Berk's local musical theatre company.

Still, Hiccup felt something was keeping him in Berk. He didn't mind it, not in the slightest, it felt good, like he'd finally found a fragment of inner peace. But he didn't know what it was exactly.

And he didn't have time to think about it, since a voice snapped him out of his tragically derailed train of thought.

"What's on the menu?"

He had only heard it one time before, seven years ago. Yet he recognised it immediately.

He turned his head, looking right into the beautiful blue eyes of the woman next to him. He had to look down at her now, unlike on the first day of 2010, but felt incredibly tiny nevertheless. He'd thought he'd blown it when she'd fled from him last year, having rejected her himself the year before that one. But here she was, smiling at him with a teasing smirk on her face and making the ground underneath his feet disappear, sending him into a free fall.

"Hey - uh - hey -" He laughed sheepishly when he finally remembered how to form words, rubbing the back of his head, and her grin only widened. "Hi," he concluded more sternly, as if it would miraculously make up for his earlier stammering.

She bit her lower lip, laughing still and making his insides contract because he'd thought she couldn't look cuter, a dark blue beanie pulled over her ears, but of course she kept surprising him. "Hey."

For all the times he'd imagined spending time with her, he now realised he'd put embarrassingly little effort into what exactly he would say to her when the stars finally aligned.

There were a million thing he could say, but now that he had the chance, he couldn't come up with anything. His eyes flicked back to the wooden stall in front of him, to the choice he'd been trying to make, and he finally realised that she had already asked him a question he still had to answer.

"All of this is on the menu," he told her, widely gesturing at the space in front of him, a holiday market stall selling all kinds of New Year's treats and drinks from around the world. "I don't even know half of it, but I figured I should try something."

"How about you let me pick?" she proposed. "And I'll pay for it too, in case it's horrible."

"Only if you have it with me," he smiled, her smirk contagious. "And let me buy you a drink in return."

"Deal," she nodded, instantly stepping forward to examine the shop's showcase, her brows furrowing as she focused. Occasionally, she made an adorable sound when she not-so-silently judged the different kinds of food, and Hiccup found himself staring at her, cherishing the moment.

Because she hadn't disappeared yet.

He quickly pretended to be studying the sign that listed the available drinks when she glanced over her shoulder, shooting him another smile.

"Glühwein?" he asked, his voice shooting up as if he'd gone straight back to puberty.

"Nah." She shook her head, looking away from a moment. "I don't drink." She paused before adding: "Not anymore."

"I can respect that," he nodded, thinking back to the times he'd seen her considerably less sober. Despite only catching a glimpse of her, he was sure just last year had been one of those. And he couldn't deny that while he respected anyone enough to let them make their own decisions, she hadn't looked as well as she'd done the years before. As if there had been a little less light in her otherwise bright eyes.

She pulled up an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, gesturing at his head. "Hangovers suck. Kills your brain too. And booze doesn't even always taste as good as people pretend it does."

"I'm glad you agree," she hummed.

"You make it sound like I'm special."

She took him in for a moment, as if she was seizing him up. "I guess you are. Most of my friends at university disagreed."

"Seems like you need better friends."

"Which is why I'm here." Her lips settled back into a smile. "And I think you still owe me a mug of hot chocolate."

He couldn't help but grin. "Sounds like a plan."

He ordered two mugs of hot chocolate with whipped cream on top while Hot Chocolate Girl - her name, he had to ask for her name - picked out a snack she liked. They walked away from the stall with what she laughingly informed him were called 'Dutch doughnuts' - huge balls of deep fried dough with raisins in them, covered in about a pound of powdered sugar.

He asked her if she wanted to sit down.

"Of course," was her simple answer.

They zigzagged through the crowd, her leading so he wouldn't lose sight of her - not again - until they reached one of the market's squares. He thanked the Gods Luktuk had gotten spiteful and had organised its own winter market this year. Meaning it was a lot less busy and that there were actually some free spots. He had already started to dread the prospect of having to go and sit back with Snotlout. Not that Snot wasn't good company, but from the corner of his eye he could easily see his cousin, already sufficiently drunk, draw Barney Stinson's hot-crazy scale in the air, challenging Fishlegs and the twins to determine where Hot Chocolate Girl would land.

So much for Snotlout losing some of his obnoxiousness.

They sat down across from each other at one of the wooden picnic tables, and for a moment, Hiccup felt himself caught in how unreal the situation felt. He had thought of this girl for years, imagined what she might be like, chased by the notion that seeing her every year on one specific day couldn't be a coincidence. And now he had the chance to confirm that suspicion.

He laughed at himself for his superstition. He had no idea if she even had the same ideas about him. But she chuckled, too, and their eyes met again.

"What's your name?" he asked, curling his fingers around his mug.

"Astrid. Astrid Hofferson." She - Astrid - slowly moved her spoon, mixing the cream into the hot chocolate. "You?"

He blinked, somewhere surprised that she didn't know it already. That he had forgotten that she knew as little about him as he did about her. "I'm -"

He was going to offer her the formal introduction he gave any stranger. But that didn't feel right.

"People call me Hiccup."

Astrid - such a pretty name - pulled up her eyebrow. "Hiccup?"

"It's a nickname," he shrugged. "People close to me have been calling me that for as long as I've known. I was quite small as a kid." He held out his hand next to the table, at the same height his hip would now be. "Dad called me a little Hiccup, and it stuck. First with my cousin, who was in the same class as me in elementary school… And you know how kids are."

"Assholes," she noted.

"Definitely."

She reached for her pocket, whisking out her phone. She bit her lower lip as she started to type. "Are you Hiccup on Facebook too?"

He gave her a sheepish grin. "No, I actually don't have Facebook. Nor Instagram. Or Snapchat."

"Whoa. What century did you come from?"

"I'm not much of a social media guy," he tried to explain. "Not a fan of Mark Zuckerberg getting his hands on all my data."

"Yeah, he is a bit of a creep," Astrid nodded. "Shame I can't go without Messenger."

"Call me old-fashioned, but I can give you my number instead," he proposed. "I do have WhatsApp."

She frowned. "Didn't Facebook buy WhatsApp like two years ago?"

"Just an introduction to how consistent my principles are," he quipped.

"At least you have some. I'm just a regular sell-out." She swiped around on her phone for a moment, before handing it to him. She had opened a new contact, the name already filled out.

"Fake Foot Guy?" he laughed.

"It's not much worse of a nickname than 'Hiccup'," she shot back.

She'd had a nickname for him too. "Can't argue with that."

He typed his number into her phone and handed it back to her, feeling awfully giddy at how easy it was to talk to her. Astrid tucked it back into her jeans, and pointed at the curious snack in front of her. "After you."

"Whoa, Astrid," he objected, putting his hands up in the air. "You picked it out."

"Fine, I'll be the brave one," she joked, and lifted the doughnut, making a toast with it. "Bon appetit."

She took a bite, looking pensive as she chewed calmly before finally publishing her verdict. "It's not too bad, actually."

Encouraged, he began to eat as well, taking a big bite to show he wasn't a coward.

"You're right, not as bad as it looks."

"You doubted me?"

"Not even for a second."

She shook her head at him, working the rest of the doughnut down with impressive speed. She propped her head up on her hand as she waited for him to finish, playfully cocking her head and tapping her fingers on the table while grinning to herself.

"Hey, at least I'm taking the time to enjoy my food," he defended himself.

"Oh, that's now why I'm laughing," Astrid grinned. "You just have some sugar on your face."

"Where?"

Astrid gestured to her own face, drawing a circle in the air. "Everywhere."

Way to make an impression, Haddock. He hastily grabbed his napkin, but when he looked back up he found Astrid leaning over the table, tentatively reaching out to him with hers.

He sat there, frozen when she carefully wiped the tip of his nose as if it was the most obvious, the most natural thing to do. With her so close, he could count the few freckles on her cheeks, her entire presence kissed by the sun in a way people in Berk so rarely were. His eyes fell to her soft, pink lips, slightly chapped by the cold, and he considered hooking his finger underneath her chin and finding out if she still tasted like sugar too. But he figured she always did.

It felt like it was supposed to. It felt right. As if he'd never done otherwise. As if he was lucky enough to get to gaze into her beautiful blue eyes every single day.

While the truth was that he hardly even knew her.

"What do you do?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Huh?" Astrid blinked, then looked at her hand, her eyebrows shooting up as if she hadn't realised it belonged to her. "I'm sorry -"

"No, don't be," he told her as she backed away, already missing the closeness and sheepishly cleaning the remaining sugar off his face to occupy himself. "I just meant, what do you do on, you know, other days than New Year's Eve?"

"Oh." She sat down, wiped off her hands and tucked some of her hair back behind her ear. "Mostly volunteer work, these days. Trying to help people where I can."

"That's great!"

"Yeah, it's very satisfying." Her voice trailed off, making him raise an eyebrow.

"Sounds like there's a 'but'."

She smiled slightly. "It's not exactly long-term. I need to find an actual job eventually so I can move out and become an actual adult."

"Any ideas on that yet?"

She shook her head. "That's the issue. I went to uni to become a doctor so I could help people, but it wasn't for me. So this past year, I've been trying to figure out what I want to do instead."

"I don't see how that's an issue."

"Because it's not the way it's supposed to go!" Astrid exclaimed. "I always thought gap years were a waste of time, and now here I am, doing exactly what I vouched I never would."

"Life hardly ever goes how it's supposed to," he shrugged, taking a sip. "And it doesn't seem to me like you're not doing anything."

She cocked her head at him. "What makes you so sure?"

Because I feel like I've known you all my life. "You don't seem like the kind of person to lie in bed watching Netflix all week."

"Of course not," she snorted.

"And you probably volunteer like ten, twenty hours a week…" he murmured, trying not to grin.

"Thirty. At least," she corrected him. "Fifty maybe, if there's a kickboxing tourney in town."

"Okay, public service announcement, don't pick a fight with Astrid," he quipped, painting the words in the air. "Although it's unlikely kicking your ass fits her schedule, because she works so godsdamned hard."

Astrid gave him a determined look. "I can always take time out of my day for special cases."

"Lucky me, people have been telling me I'm very special all my life," he mock-gaped. "What are the odds!"

"About the same as those of living in a town with one hundred thousand people, but nevertheless seeing the same person eight New Year's Eves in a row?"

He froze and looked at her, the way his blue eyes peered into his, searching for something. "You realised it too," he gaped, his voice suddenly a lot softer.

"Of course I did," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I may be a drop-out, but I'm not stupid."

"Didn't meant to imply you were, just…" he laughed at himself. "I thought I was the weird one."

"I don't think you're weird," Astrid reassured him. "Just a dork."

"Do you…" he started, his throat suddenly dry. "Do you think it's a coincidence?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

He was staring at her again, wondering if leaning across the table and kissing her would be an acceptable way of 'figuring it out'. If she would find it inappropriate, or if she would wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him back until their position inevitably became uncomfortable.

He could get up and walk to the other side of the table, sit down on the bench next to her and pull her into his lap, curl his arms around her and hold her until the clock hit midnight. So she wouldn't vanish, not this year. Ask her to come home with him, or meet him again tomorrow, because they had only barely talked and he already couldn't imagine never hearing her voice again. Because it had been enough to catch a hint of how she was brave, passionate, selfless, and smart. And he wanted to know everything else there was to learn about her.

He was snapped out of it by Astrid clearing her throat. "So what about you?"

He blinked profusely and sat back, not even realising he'd been leaning forward. "Huh?"

"What do you do?"

"Oh, I -" He took a deep breath, trying to push away the heat in his cheeks through sheer force of will. "I'm still studying. Trying to become an engineer."

"What kind?"

"For a long time, I wanted to do something with aviation," he elaborated, studying her face for a trace of boredom but finding her eyes opening up instead. "Like, my room is full of sketches of rockets, air planes, flight suits."

"Flight suits?"

"Yeah, you know, so people can fly themselves." He moved his arms, demonstrating the idea until she laughed and made him realise how stupid he made himself look. "It'd probably be a regulatory nightmare though, given that airports already aren't happy with people flying drones." He grinned. "So naturally, I got myself one for Christmas."

Astrid leaned forward, giving him a knowing look. "Does it fly yet?"

"No, but -" He continued, despite Astrid's chuckles. "That's only because I'm making some modifications."

"Sure," Astrid teased.

"It's true! Sticking to the basics takes all the fun out of it."

"Basic planes do sound a lot safer to me, you know," Astrid countered.

"Well, you're in luck, because that's what I was getting to," he explained. "I've loved planes all my life but recently, I've been giving a lot of thought to this thing. You know, what gave me my superhero name." He grinned, vaguely gesturing to his left foot. "The longer I live with it, the more ideas I get to improve it. So maybe I should do that instead." He shrugged. "Help people like me."

Astrid smiled softly. "I think that's a wonderful idea."

"Me too."

He could only smile back as a silence settled between them. It wasn't uncomfortable - on the contrary, he felt he could do this all day, simply look at her, the sounds of the busy market around them seemingly non-existent. Suppress the urge to reach out towards her, unwrap her delicate fingers from around her mug just so he could study them.

He felt like Tarzan - minus the dreadlocks, broad chest and any other kind of muscle definition - wanting to pull off just one of the gloves of his Jane. Not that she was his, of course, he barely knew her name, for years he had known nothing more than that her smile warmed his heart and that every moment they shared seemed to last forever. Besides, he was a 21st century man who didn't believe women to be his property in any way. In fact, he didn't mind a woman who looked like she could kick his ass instead.

But he cherished the thought of carefully taking her fingers in his, treat them delicately despite her obvious strength, and press their palms flat against each other. To get a sense of just how real she was, her warm skin against his, treat her as if she was the first woman he'd ever laid eyes on. Because in a weird way, it felt like it. Then again, everything about this was weird, but in a way that made his heart beat faster.

He could do it. Take her hand, wrap his fingers around it and simply hold them. He would settle for that, and not let her go for the rest of the night. Not even when the fireworks started. He wasn't concerned with those. He was just wondering if they would also go off in his head the moment he kissed her.

Or he could finally realise he was staring at her like a fool, way longer than any sane person would. He blinked profusely, and she cocked her head at him, clearly amused as she took another sip.

He cleared his throat, trying to come up with something smooth, or another topic, but he found himself speechless. "There's so much I want to ask you," he laughed, embarrassingly awkward. "But I can't think of anything."

"Really?" Astrid teased. "Nothing?"

How old are you? Do you prefer dogs or cats? Sushi: overpriced raw fish or actually quite okay? How do you feel about Brangelina getting divorced? Who is your favourite character in Friends? Will you think less of me if I admit I exercised almost every day last Summer, but that ninety-nine percent of that was walking around town catching Pok émon? What even is Brexit?

Do you feel like there 's something here too? Do you like me, even a little bit?

"I just don't know where to start," he shrugged.

"Perhaps you could Google it," she grinned, seemingly content with letting him drown.

"You know, there are actually lists for that," he pointed out, pulling another useless fact out of his repertoire. "Questions to ask on dates."

"Oh?"

He treasured the fact that she didn't ask whether this was a date. So he leapt again. "Yeah. Like a list of 36 questions that 'guarantee' two people will fall in love with each other."

She snorted. "Now that sounds like yak dung." He opened his mouth to agree, but she added: "So go ahead."

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a confused goldfish, not having expected to get this far. "I don't know them by heart…"

"You don't do this often?"

He liked the twinkle in her eyes, the way she consistently teased and challenged him. No, he loved that.

"But there was this one question that stuck with me, regardless," he continued. "If you were able to live to the age of ninety, and retain either the mind or the body of a thirty year-old for the last sixty years of your life…. Which one would you want?"

Astrid answered nearly instantly. "Body."

Well, if I had yours, that's what I'd pick too.

"And that's not to sound vain," she elaborated before he could comment. "It's not about that at all, but the thought of becoming so old that I can no longer move around on my own, that I'd need help to get everywhere, or that I simply don't have the energy to do the things I love anymore… I'd hate that. I would lose my independence, my freedom. I don't know what it's like to be thirty yet, of course, but if I got to live the next sixty years feeling like I do right now, but with more and more experience as time goes by, I'd sign up for that." She grinned. "And of course, not getting any wrinkles, or menopause, is an upside too."

"Not sounding vain, right?" he quipped, earning him a punch in his shoulder.

"I gave you a serious answer!"

"I know, I know!" He put his hands up in the air. "But hey, don't blame yourself for being gorgeous."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Hiccup…"

He liked the way she said his name. He hoped she would do it again. "Look, if you can't take a compliment, that's not my fault."

"Fine." She rolled her eyes. "You're not bad yourself either."

He tried not to bask in that comment, in the knowledge that she might like him, even a little bit. He did his best to wipe his grin off his face and continue where they left off. "But I get what you mean, I suppose. People say that you need three things to live a happy life." He counted on his fingers. "Time, energy, and money. If you're young, you have time and energy, but no money. When you're a proper working adult, you have energy and money, but no time. And once you've retired, you've finally got time and money, but no energy. So I don't think your choice is that strange at all. Let alone vain."

"Well, that's one way to get depressed," Astrid huffed.

He gave her a wry smile. "Leave it up to me to brighten the mood, I guess."

"No worries, it won't keep me up at night," Astrid shrugged. "So what about you? What would you pick? If you remembered the question, you probably thought about what you'd answer too."

"I did," he admitted, rubbing the back of his head. "It's… interesting, but I always thought the answer was obvious. Then you made some really good points, and -"

"And I'm interested in yourreasoning, not your backpedalling."

"Okay…" He shifted, pushing his bangs back. "I'd choose mind. I'd never thought about those things you mentioned, about the whole 'walking around with a walking frame' part of getting old. Especially with my leg and all." He vaguely gestured beneath the table. "Whenever I think about reaching those ages, my mind always goes to the documentaries, the news reports about people with dementia. Because I just find them so incredibly… scary."

Astrid nodded at him and he briefly chewed on his lower lip before he continued. "The thought of getting Alzheimer's, of digressing until you forget yourself and the people around you… I don't think it runs in my family, at least not the early version of it, as far as I know, but I know that doesn't make me immune and it's just -" He sighed. "I know we all die eventually, that's inevitable. But I wouldn't want to go like that."

"Me neither," Astrid softly said, glancing at her hands. "Can I still change my pick? No use in feeling fit if you don't remember what to do with it."

"Or we could team up," he joked, wanting her to smile again. "One preserved body, one preserved mind."

"Sounds like a plan," Astrid laughed. "When I'm old and senile, you just tell me what to do and I will carry you around when you can no longer walk yourself."

"Perfect!" he agreed, grinning. "Match made in heaven."

Astrid cocked her head, observing him as her lips settled back into a slight smile. "It'd seem that way."

Had they both just implied they'd still be in each other's life years from now? Was he reading too much into that? Into the way Astrid's eyes seemed to soften the longer she looked at him, in how he was struggling to remember the last time he'd felt both this excited and this at ease?

He should just ask her. Show that he wasn't afraid to step up and declare he liked her more than he should like anyone he'd talked to this shortly.

"Do you -"

He was interrupted by a loud crash, a shout coming from the other side of the square, the world suddenly larger than just the two of them. He twisted his head to see a guy with fiery red hair stumble backwards, reaching for his eye.

"Dagur!" Astrid jumped up, sprinting in the direction of the sound as the man - Dagur? - balled his fist.

And punched the guy Hiccup only now recognised as Snotlout right in his nose.

"Fuck," Hiccup muttered, rushing after Astrid.

Snotlout recoiled, grasping his nose, blood seeping out from between his fingers as he ran into Dagur shoulder first. Ruffnut and Tuffnut cheered as the two fell over, crashing into the bench Fishlegs had been sitting on until a second ago. What the Hel had they gotten themselves into?

Astrid reached them before Hiccup did, shouting in exasperation at the men rolling around on the ground. "What the fuck are you doing!?"

No one gave her nor the small crowd that had gathered the answer they were looking for. Astrid rolled her eyes, digging her nails into Dagur's leather jacket and pulling him off Snotlout with a show of strength that seemed to surprise Dagur too and left Snotlout on the ground, wide-eyed.

Dagur tried to rush back in, but Astrid yanked him back. "Nope, you're not ruining my night, not this year." She twisted his arm behind his back when he moved again, making him yelp. "You can go berserk in your own time!"

"It wasn't my fault!" Dagur sputtered, his left eye blue with something Hiccup didn't know was a bruise or a tattoo. "He hit me first!"

"You were asking for it!" Snotlout yelled, coughing as blood streamed into his mouth from his obviously broken nose.

"Nah." "Not really." The twins countered instantly, crossing their arms.

Hiccup rushed over to Snotlout as he got back up, and put his hands on his shoulders. "Whoah, Snot, calm down."

"Move over," Snotlout insisted. "Let me at him!"

"Dude, your nose's broken," he argued as calmly as he could, trying to use his height advantage to prevent Snot from moving.

"You know him?"

He looked back over his shoulder at a sceptical Astrid, her eyebrow pulled up, Dagur's efforts to squirm out of her hold futile. He didn't know whether to yell at Snotlout or simply stand there and be impressed with how well she handled guys two times her size. Make a bad and inappropriate joke about her handling him, sometime…

"My cousin," he shrugged, trying to make clear that he also didn't ask for this. Out of all the nights Snotlout had to be, well, Snotlout…

"Nice family you got there," Astrid snorted.

"Right back at you."

"Nope." Astrid shook her head. "Best friend's brother."

"Oh my Thor… You broke my nose!" Snotlout suddenly yelped, as if he'd only just realised it.

"Heh. You kind of sound like Hiccup, talking through your nose and all," Tuffnut commented.

"You gave me a black eye!" Dagur yelled.

"I'm gonna sue you!"

"Playing the lead role in a local production of Grease doesn't make you an American, Snot," Hiccup bit, trying to glance over Dagur's shoulder, where Astrid was trying to hold her grip. "Astrid -"

"Is there are doctor around!?" Snotlout whined.

"I hope so, cause you need one, to fix your head!" Dagur bellowed.

"Guys, fighting doesn't solve anything, please stop…" Fishlegs tried weakly.

Dagur surged forward with such force that the last thing Hiccup saw was Astrid tumbling backwards on the ground, right before Dagur collided with him and Snotlout. They landed in a pile of limbs, both real and fake, Hiccup's elbow landing right in Snotlout's stomach and Dagur's knee digging into his thigh. He cried out in pain, trying to push Dagur off him but ending up as the heavily abused third wheel, caught in the crossfire while neither Snotlout nor his assailant paid any actual attention to him.

"Alright, fine, then we'll try it this way."

His misery was interrupted by a few flashes of blond, followed by pained yelps from Dagur. Finally free, he sputtered and rolled off of Snotlout. He pushed himself up, glancing around to thank his saviour and finding Astrid next to him, perched up on Dagur, holding his arms behind his back as he was lying face down on the floor. Looking uncannily comfortable, as if she was doing this every day.

"We should probably get out of here before the cops get here," she casually remarked.

"If I didn't know better I'd think you were currently undercover," he grinned, distractingly offering Snotlout a not-so-helping hand while keeping his eyes on the most badass woman in the world. He was happy she wasn't with the police though. He didn't need the idea that she could end up like his father.

"You caught me," she laughed. "I'm trying to get a breakthrough in the curious case of cute guys who only appear on New Year's Eve."

He could feel his face change colour. Along with his hand when Snotlout gripped it, leaving it sticky with blood as his cousin hauled himself up.

"Geez, can no one hand him a tissue?" he asked, agitated. Ruffnut shrugged as if there was no other sensible option, zipped open her coat and tore off part of her shirt, handing it to Snotlout, who promptly pressed it to his nose.

"Astrid -"

"Oh Gods," Snotlout gasped, glancing at the piece of fabric and seeing how red it had gotten in mere seconds. "That's a lot of blood."

"- this is not how -"

"Am I dying?"

"- I thought this would go -"

"I'm definitely dying."

"- but thank you, and -"

"But I'm too young and handsome to die!"

"And I think you should get your charming cousin to the ER," Astrid smiled, softly patting Dagur's head when he struggled again.

"I'm sorry," Hiccup tried. So this was how it ended. His first true chance in seven years.

"I'll call you tomorrow," Astrid reassured him with yet another smile.

That phrase stayed with him as he told her goodbye, dragging Snotlout away from the crowd, the others following in his wake. It was echoing through his head when the clock hit midnight in the waiting room of the hospital and Snotlout lamented this being the worst New Year's ever, his complaints unheard because Hiccup himself simply disagreed. He was on cloud nine despite the hospital smell, despite having to explain to the twins that bringing booze into the ER to 'have a bit of a party after all' wasn't socially acceptable behaviour, despite being semi-traumatised by Fishlegs Googling every single medical condition a nosebleed could be a symptom of. No matter how often Hiccup pointed out that there was a direct correlation between the position of Snot's nose, the unstoppable force that had met it and the voluminous amount of blood.

Astrid's words were still with him when he woke up the following morning, feeling like he had a hangover despite not having drunk any alcohol. But in a good way. The best way. The kind that made him giddy and excited, anxiously glancing at his phone while he tried to go about his day.

And they didn't leave him until by the end of January, Astrid still hadn't called.

#a decade to find you #modern au #hiccstrid #hiccup #astrid #httyd #httyd fanficion #aleteia-writes #i love musical theatre snotlout #i love using all the references #it was a good refresher of 2016 to write this chapter #hiccup is such a drama queen #httyd fanfiction #fanfiction #nye #new year's eve

51 notes · View notes

radramblog · 4 years ago

Text

My commander decks, Pt. 2

I don’t like leaving these two-parters open for too long, so I’m gonna nip this one in the bud now.

Zada, Hedron Grinder- Mono-Red Storm/Tokens

My Zada deck came from having played a weird Red/Green Werewolves/Zada Aggro/Combo deck in Shadows over Innistrad standard, and then getting to come back to it some time later since a lot of those cards took a really long time to rotate out for some reason. The deck was, admittedly, kind of a pile, but it was huge fun and could just kill people out of nowhere. This commander deck, based on a very well-put-together list on tappedout, spawned from how much I ended up loving Zada, with her unique effect lending surprisingly well to an all-in combo deck.

This deck doesn’t come out of the box very often, and for pretty good reason. Not a lot of people appreciate getting combo’d off against, especially when it’s as loose and indeterminate as this deck is, and there is just so much math involved that even piloting it can become a pain. It’s incredibly powerful, being fragile in some ways but resilient in ways you wouldn’t expect. It’s actually probably the closest thing to a cEDH deck I have, though it would obviously stand no chance at an actually competitive table.

The deck, at this point, has deviated pretty heavily from the primer it was based on, both since I don’t want to buy overpriced cards that aren’t significant upgrades and because I have some jankier effects I wanted to play (also, because that list has been consistently updated and mine hasn’t). I’ve had it called a Goblins deck, and while there are a lot of Goblin cards in it (I mean, Goblin Matron is there), it actually kinda gets under my skin when people do that. It’s not a Goblin deck, Goblins just happen to be really good at making tokens! I don’t really like Goblins. (Zada is an exception.)

Basandra, Battle Seraph- Boros Forced Combat/Pillowfort

Basandra was one of four decks I built after I got really bored, hit Random 4 times on EDHRec, and designed four decks based on the results. While I did end up proxying up 2 of the others (Seizan Mono-B Group Sl/hug, DL Atarka Dragons/Panharmonicon), Basandra was the only one that resonated with me enough to want to build it for real. It represents to me the possibilities of Boros beyond just aggro and the handful of archetypes the colour pair has been crumbed over the years.

It also happens to be a pretty political deck. While the plan of making people fight each other instead of me is all well and good, in a perfect situation you’re still going to have one more opponent left to deal with. The deck is pretty light in ways to actually win the game, although having a Flying commander does help a little bit (See, she does do something!). With that said, I’ve played the deck enough times to have racked up a few wins, so it’s far from helpless, and the random hate pieces that are mostly in to keep people from going over my defences can just lock some decks out of the game. (If you’re a deck that loses to Aven Mindcensor then you deserve to lose to Aven Mindcensor, sorry)

I really enjoy the Thalia’s Lancers package. Tutors like this and like Mwonvuli Beast Tracker in the Radha deck are fun to build around, with the right combination of cards letting them turn into mini toolboxes. In this deck, the Lancers can find land, ramp, removal, pillowfort effects, card draw, making them extremely versatile. While I am generally opposed to tutors, Lancers get a pass.

O-Kagachi, Vengeful Kami- 5-Colour Spirit Tribal/Cast Triggers

This deck is stupid bad but it’s built around a bunch of silly cards that I love. The spirits of Kamigawa look and feel bizarre, but in an elegant way- they’re off in their own little world, doing whatever, while the rest of the game happens around them.

Unfortunately, most of them kinda suck. There’s a reason I didn’t build around Soulshift, and it’s not because I’d die to Rest in Peace.

This deck, therefore, is an eclectic collection of spirits, good and bad, with the stated goal of finding enough cost reduction to start loop-casting members of the -Onna cycle, generating value through “whenever you cast a Spirit or Arcane spell…” effects. Getting to this point, however, is it’s own endeavour. The deck is desperately in need of a rebuild, with way too high a curve and not enough ramp to support itself. The deck includes the entirety of the Myojin cycle, all 5 Dragon Spirits, and all 3 pieces of Iname- not to mention, most of the Spirits that actually have good effects are fairly mana-hungry themselves. Even the manabase is a bit silly, though I have gotten away with proxying fetches and shocks since the deck doesn’t need any help flopping.

When the deck does get going, though, it can get pretty out of hand. Literally, in fact-the deck can rip through people’s hands and occasionally lands, but the cards doing so are so expensive and bad that it feels more earned than just dropping Narset/Windfall or Armageddon. No-one can stay mad when they lose to Myojin of Infinite Rage, since the Myojin is the one with all the Rage. It can be resilient as well, with great recursion effects such as Karador and Iname, Life Aspect just happening to be Spirits. It’s still not good, but it’s something.

Gonti, Lord of Luxury- Mono-Black Theft/Control

Like Zada, Gonti spawned from a standard deck I enjoyed playing, in this case the Azor’s Gateway Mono-Black Control deck I piloted to surprising success for a long time. A fair few cards in the deck come directly from that list, including the incredibly water-damaged Torment of Hailfire and some of the weirdo one ofs like Tetzimoc and Liliana, Death’s Majesty. The deck is grindier than anything, with incremental draw being the name of the game and murdering opponent’s threats the subtitle. Gonti, in addition to being one of my favourite cards of all time, supports Mono-Black Control quite well, being able to grab answers to things that would normally be pretty difficult for mono-B to handle off of other people’s decks, or creating synergies where no-one expects them. As a result, while there’s not as many of this type of effect as many Gonti decks, there is still some amount of cards that let Gonti re-enter than most decks they helm, there’s still a fair few ways to do so.

Theft is not a particularly well-supported strategy, especially in Black, but it serves to add replayability and versatility to the deck. The deck doesn’t play a huge number of threats, and most of the ones that it does are those that add to the steady value train or that double as something else. I haven’t quite committed to putting Praetor’s Grasp in, but I’m thinking about it. I also opted not to add in the new hotness of Opposition Agent, because as it turns out that’s not the kind of magic I want to play, and with a full hand and frequent planeswalkers on the board I don’t really need to go out of my way to generate more hate.

Playing this deck does harken back to that old standard deck, thinking ahead about which cards I need to keep around to answer certain threats I guess are coming up, and getting unexpected surprises off the top of my opponent’s library to win in unexpected ways (I once Gonti’d a Radiant Destiny off of my opponent’s Vampire deck, realised between Gonti and a few Gifteds I had a pile of Aetherborn cooking, and beat them down with that). Control is far from my favourite deck archetype, but it’s nice to have the option there if I want it.

Hallar, the Firefletcher- Gruul Kicker

My Hallar deck was given to me as part of the EDH subreddit’s Secret Santa, the maybe only year it was ran, and it still shows some evidence of the budget limit that exchange carried. While I have done my best to improve on it and diversify it, there’s really only so much one can do with such a narrow commander.

With that said, it’s not like the deck is bad. Especially since the addition of more Kicker cards in Zendikar Rising, Hallar has more option to choose from, and they can get burning very quickly. From what I’ve seen, however, most Hallar decks build around cheap Kicker costs, trying to trigger their ability as many times as possible as quickly as possible. And while some of these cheaper cards are of course present in my list, I chose to instead play some of the other bigger kicker cards, along with more ramp, to help spread the attention away from Hallar as needed and to give the deck something to do if they start costing upwards of 10 mana. I’m not convinced this added resilience is the correct path, but it’s my path, and the deck performs admirably even faced against substantially more expensive lists.

With that, I have listed all of my current commander decks. While I have a few in the build process, maybe I should stop? Because 10 is likely enough. Either way, I hope you enjoyed reading about what and why these decks are, and I hope to see you on the other side of a table soon. (I won’t play Zada game one, promise.)

#ramble #edh #commander #mtg

1 note · View note

bruciecaboosie · 5 years ago

Note

1-15 for milo !!

oh man, i didn’t expect to get these many questions! but you got it :) (also, im gonna guess that you wanted 1 through 15)

1. how did you pick your oc’s name?

Firstly, I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too basic. In most media and stories, the main character has a very common name (Emma/Emily, Alex, Victoria, Samantha, etc.). Milo is a pretty common name, but not for females. So after going through many female names and not really liking them, I decided to try a traditionally male name and it just kinda stuck!

2. why is your oc problematic?

Honestly, I’m not entirely sure. I don’t really think of her as problematic, but if “problematic” means “biggest flaw”, I think it may be her issue with taking her mental health seriously. She may be aware of an issue with her mental health but doesn’t take a lot of measures to fix it. The most she might do is medication (because she doesn’t trust therapists due to her past). She just doesn’t think that her problems are as serious as others.

3. besides their main ship, who else do you think they would work well with?

Honestly, I think about either Thor or Sam. Her and Bruce have a sort of “opposites attract” scenario going on sometimes, but I feel like her and Thor are pretty similar. Outgoing, tall (both are 6′3 apparently), and curious. And her patience would come in handy with helping get used to Earth if we’re talking 2012-2015 Thor. As for Sam, I feel like she has a strange love for smart-asses. Many of her friends when she was a teenager and her friends from her time on the force were very snarky and she’s gotten used to it. She and Sam could swap stories and share music :)

4. what crossovers with other ocs have you talked about?

5. what’s a crossover with another oc that you’ve wanted to do, but haven’t officially discussed or planned?

I’m gonna answer both of these and say that I don’t plan on doing any oc crossovers anytime soon. I’m not very good a negotiating. If you mean if I have any other Marvel ocs I wanna add to the story, that’s a yes.

6. if your oc were to have superpowers, what would they be? if your oc has superpowers, what are they?

Pheromone Manipulation - the power to manipulate the pheromones of oneself or others.

Enhanced Strength - the power to possess strength beyond that of a normal member of the user's species.

Enhanced Stamina - the power to function for long periods of time without tiring or straining oneself.

Enhanced Durability - the power to sustain numerous blows of internal or external assaults.

Enhanced Agility - the ability to possess agility beyond that of peak human potential.

Enhanced Accuracy - the ability to achieve complete and utter accuracy on distant targets.

7. rank their compatibility with the marvel teams: avengers, guardians of the galaxy, agents of shield, defenders, runaways

Avengers: 8/10

GotG: 7/10

AoS, Defenders, & Runaways: Not entirely sure, I haven’t watched the shows.

8. alright, be honest—whether or not they get the chance to prove it, is your oc worthy?

No, sadly :(

9. which other mcu characters would your oc really get along with?

I’ve already talked about Thor and Sam. I’m also thinking maybe, Scott and Hill. Scott’s goofiness would be pretty endearing to her, and her and Hill have a little history together.

10. what’s your oc’s fight song? (e.g., immigrant song for thor, just a girl for carol)

Sex Bob-Omb - Threshold (Scott Pilgrim vs. The World Soundtrack)

Bell Biv Devoe - Poison

11. post a snippet of the next chapter of an oc’s fic!

Chicken noodle soup, bagels, and apple slices dipped in peanut butter. The perfect “sad snacks”, as Milo would call them.

She sat at the small table positioned in the middle of her kitchen silently eating, occasionally wiping away the tears that fell from her eyes. Her throat had swelled from the onslaught of tears and sadness that had overwhelmed her when she had woken up a while prior. Night terrors.

She had apparently been sleepwalking, since she was jolted awake from her slumber by unceremoniously slipping down the stairs.

(That’s honestly all I have for Chapter One at the moment and I’m honestly pretty ashamed. But I’m making progress.)

12. what was your oc like in high school?

Milo was a pretty good kid. Making sure she got her work done, asking questions, and socializing. She wasn’t really popular, but she made a pretty large group of friends pretty quickly. Sadly though a lot of people were pretty exploitative of her kindness and she didn’t get through third year pretty well.

13. what’s a secret about your oc that they would never admit? feel free to be as angsty or as silly as you’d like!

Milo’s scared of ghosts. She doesn’t know where the fear came from, but she just can’t handle ghost related horror movies or ghost stories. One time, she watched Paranormal Activity and she couldn’t sleep for a week or two.

14. your oc meets thanos. what’s their first move?

If she doesn’t know he’s evil or anything, she’d just be pretty confused. She might even ask him a few questions to see who she’s dealing with.

15. if your oc has a costume/were to have a costume, what does it/would it look like? what colors? cape or no cape?

I’ve actually posted about this before. I feel like her suit might change pretty often due to her own style preferences. She’d most likely use varying dark and bright colors, and not have any capes because of her fighting style.

#this took awhile to type #but im happy with my answers #milo weavers #clematis #marvel oc #oc #original character

2 notes · View notes

admiralty-xfd · 6 years ago

Text

Culmination

This is Chapter 4. To start at the beginning go here.

DEMARCATION I

(The End)

SCULLY

Diana Fowley.

Even the sound of her name feels disgusting in her mouth.

Scully is not an idiot. She knows where these feelings are coming from. She’s always been territorial of Mulder, whether she’s willing to admit it or not. The thought of him having had any kind of personal, romantic relationship with some other woman feels foreign to her. It’s a side of him she rarely has to see or even think about.

Phoebe Green leaps to her mind, the only other woman she’s ever had to imagine linked romantically to Fox Mulder, her Fox Mulder. At the time it felt nonsensical for her to imagine that kind of claim over him. They’d been through a lot together even then, but it was silly to think of him that way. They weren’t dating. They weren’t having sex. They weren’t anything other than friends, work partners. She convinced herself she was being ridiculous and pushed those feelings aside. After a few days Phoebe Green was gone, out of both of their lives, and Scully’s thoughts rarely drifted there again.

But there’s something new lurking deep inside her now. This time, it feels different. Her stomach is full of knots and she feels ill. She’s terrified of the feelings this other woman has stirred inside her. Diana Fowley has had Mulder in a way that feels deeply personal: they discovered the X Files together. When the Lone Gunmen informed her of this, it was like a punch to the gut. The quest Scully and Mulder are on had actually begun with this other woman and it feels almost like a betrayal.

Why hasn’t Mulder ever mentioned her before? Had they been as close as she is with him? Has he shared things with her that he hasn’t shared with Scully? What was their partnership like?

Scully isn’t typically a jealous person, but something about Diana Fowley brings it out in her. And this jealousy is forcing her to confront the feelings she has for Mulder more intensely. She isn’t in any way ready to deal with this right now.

The Gunmen hadn’t elaborated much, and she hadn’t really wanted them to. It was embarrassing enough having to go to them in the first place about this. She couldn’t ask Mulder because she felt she knew the answer and didn’t want to hear him say it. But the Gunmen had said enough for her to know what she needed to know about the exact nature of this past relationship; this past relationship that has exploded into their present. This past relationship that is threatening their future. She isn’t sure how real the threat is at the moment but she doesn’t want to find out.

The jealousy, however, is real. She doesn’t recognize herself. It’s not like her to be thinking these things. Things like:

Diana Fowley probably buys everything Mulder sells to her. She probably subscribes to every theory, agrees with every notion.

And:

I’ll bet he likes that. I’ll bet he eats that up. It’s been a while.

Also:

She calls him “Fox.” And he lets her. Ugh.

“You really don’t like her, do you? That other girl.”

The small voice comes from the other side of the motel room and it’s a statement, not a question. It startles her. Scully has been so deep in thought she’d forgotten she’s in a room with a mind reader. She doesn’t want to believe it’s even possible Gibson Praise can read minds but she knows he can. How else could this little boy know what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling?

She sighs. “I guess I can’t lie to you, can I, Gibson?”

“She doesn’t like you, either.”

Scully doesn’t need a mind-reader to tell her this.

“I know, you probably don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Hey, Gibson? Any way I can ask you to cut that out for a bit?”

He shakes his head no. “I’m sorry, Agent Scully, I really would if I could. Believe me.” He turns his attention back to the television and she considers letting it go, but something makes her keep talking.

“This is all very personal, and complicated, and… grown up. I know you’re a very smart kid, but you are still a kid.”

He rolls his eyes. “I may be a kid, but I’ve seen enough ‘Friends’ to know what’s going on with you three.”

They sit in silence. Well, what’s silence to Scully. To Gibson, everything must be louder than life. The elephant in the room is large and in charge, and now that it’s been mentioned it’s nearly impossible for her to think about anything else.

She wonders if Gibson has taught himself how to do this, like a fisherman, extracting whatever thoughts he’s interested in like some special kind of magnet. Or perhaps he’s not interested in any of this at all, and her feeble excuse for a love life is just another television channel he can’t shut off.

“You like ‘Friends?’” She desperately tries to change the subject, put something in her mind other than thoughts that will make both of them uncomfortable.

“Yeah, it’s pretty funny.” He sounds companionable enough but he won’t face her, still looking straight ahead at the TV. She wonders if this is a tactic he uses to shut out unwanted thoughts. Maybe he can’t hear her anymore.

Which is your favorite Friend?

“Chandler probably,” he replies to the question she didn’t ask, without missing a beat. Well, so much for that.

She smiles and thinks of Emily for a brief moment. This kid reminds Scully a little bit of her. A smart, sweet kid with an entire potential future ahead of him but no one looking out for his best interests. She wonders yet again about the inherent cruelty of the world, and why some kids are subjected to it in such a way.

“You have a kid?” His voice brings her out of her dark thoughts and for the first time she’s grateful for it.

“I… did. She died though, a few months ago. I don’t really like talking about it.”

He looks truly sorry. “I’m sorry. If I’m not looking at you, it can be hard for me to tell when people are just thinking and when they’re actually talking. Especially when they say what they mean. That doesn’t happen very much.”

She smiles, finding this all so fascinating. This child is so amazing. There’s so much to be learned from him.

Her thoughts soon uncontrollably wander back to Mulder and Diana Fowley. They should be back here by now. They’re certainly together somewhere.

The jealousy rears its ugly head again. She can’t help but wonder what they’re doing, if she’s got her claws back in him yet. Maybe he’s kissing her. Maybe they’re having sex.

Stop it, stop. STOP THINKING ABOUT THINGS.

“You know, Agent Mulder really likes you a lot,” Gibson offers out of nowhere, startling her out of her uncomfortable reverie.

“Thank you, Gibson,” she says in a voice that clearly tells him that’s enough.

She does still have a job to do. She’s responsible for protecting him. She knows how important he is; probably the most important discovery she’s ever made. She can’t help but marvel that in spite of everything the poor kid is dealing with, he’s still trying to be sweet to her.

This is so embarrassing, she thinks. And Gibson knows she’s embarrassed. He knows everything. He’s just a kid. What if he’s reading other thoughts? Very private thoughts involving her and Mulder without dumb old Diana Fowley. Or even fantasies about what he looks like underneath his suits and oh god stop this, please don’t think of something inappropriate, don’t don’t don’t

“Agent Scully?”

“...Yeah?”

“I’m going to the bathroom.” He gets up and walks out of her view.

Thanks, Gibson.

The bathroom door closes and she can only hope she’s alone again. She finds it peculiar that it isn’t until you’re having your every thought read by another person you realize how precious your own thoughts are to you.

Agent Mulder really likes you a lot.

Well, of course he does. They’re good friends. Gibson, with all his abilities, can’t understand the nuances of an adult relationship, especially one as complicated as theirs. For God’s sake, even she doesn’t understand the nuances of their relationship.

Whatever she may be telling herself not to feel, she and Mulder are both young, attractive people and they’re human. It hasn’t been easy to maintain professional boundaries, but she feels like they’ve had to. Their work is too important, and taking such a step would be a huge risk. There really is no other reason they haven’t crossed that line, even hastily, recklessly. God knows she’s wanted to.

She suddenly feels a strange sadness, almost like a loss, because obviously Mulder had taken that extra step with Diana Fowley. Knowing Fox Mulder would in fact go there with his partner has made her rethink a lot of things. First of all, no wonder she hears so many rumors circulating all the time about herself and Mulder. Secondly, if the failure of his relationship with his ex is the real reason he hasn’t taken that step with her, then Diana Fowley has robbed her of that as well. And here she is again, and she has some kind of inexplicable hold on him. A kind of hold Scully doesn’t.

She refuses to be some kind of third wheel in her own partnership. She doesn’t know how long she can hang around waiting for Diana Fowley to just go away. As possessive as she feels over Mulder, she has no real claim over him. Diana Fowley doesn’t either, though. In the end it’s going to be up to Mulder. He’s going to have to make a choice between the two of them: who he can really trust.

All she can do is hope he makes the right one.

She hears the toilet flush, the sink running, and Gibson re-enters the room. Grateful for his reprieve, she tries to focus her mind on something else as he picks up the remote and starts changing channels.

MULDER

He can’t move. He can barely think. His entire life’s work is gone, all of it gone.

In the midst of the of ash and smoke, he can almost smell along with it his own blood, sweat and tears. And Scully’s. And all the victims whose cases, already buried deep in the basement with the only two people who cared, will now certainly never see any explanation or justice.

He stands there motionless for a good minute before he is even aware Scully is holding onto him, her hand on his bicep, her cheek pressed into his chest. Neither of them can speak, there is nothing to say. He knows she feels the loss, too, though it’s possible she feels it more acutely through his own pain.

This is how they survive, the two of them. This is how they carry on. Pain seeping out of one, into the other. Their burdens shared, their losses perceived by each other.

It isn’t a death, but it may as well be. The intensity of his grief and frustration becomes enough to pull him out of his trancelike state and he looks down at Scully. He wraps his arms around her and they stand there together, surrounded by firefighters and curious onlookers and the red and blue lights from the emergency vehicles outside streaming through the smoke into their charred office like some vaporous American flag.

How ironic, this institution of justice and hope and truth reduced to ashes.

The firefighters are slowly exiting, one by one. AD Skinner comes over to the two of them and rests a hand on Mulder’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, glancing to Scully as well. Mulder believes he is. Skinner is probably the only other person in the building who truly understands how devastating this is to them.

“Let’s go, Mulder,” Scully says. “There’s nothing else to be done here.”

He nods and takes her hand, following her out of the office like a zombie. His mind races. Everything truly feels over now. He’d been too arrogant, too reckless in approaching the Attorney General about Gibson Praise. Gibson had disappeared and the only remaining witness, his attempted assassin, had been murdered. The cleanup that had taken place was swift and effective, executed according to plan. It became the perfect opportunity for the Justice Department to take a shot at him and Scully, at the X Files. He should have seen it all coming. He feels like a fool.

The fire was an obvious cover up if ever he saw one. He’s momentarily annoyed at its localization; how the arsonist made no effort to hide the fact that the X Files themselves were the target. Mulder knows more than anyone his work has been in danger for years, but they could have at least pretended it wasn’t such a clear cut attack against him. The hubris of that angers him even more.

Lost in his own thoughts he hasn’t realized Scully has driven him home. “Mulder.” She’s trying to get his attention. He feels dazed.

“Yeah.”

“We’re at your apartment.”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you want me to stay for a bit? Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m good. I’m okay.” He’s still just sitting there in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead.

“Are you… going to get out?”

“Out of what?”

She sighs, unbuckles her seat belt. “Come on, I’m taking you upstairs. You’re a mess.”

He somehow finds the presence of mind to open his car door and get out. He’s glad he didn’t have to ask her to stay, but he wants her there all the same.

He’s still walking slowly and distractedly behind her, so she uses her own key to let them inside. He heads straight to the couch and falls down over the armrest, face first, his feet dangling over the edge behind him. He hears Scully go into his kitchen and she returns with two beers. She pops off the caps and plops down next to his head, kicking her legs up onto his coffee table. She sighs deeply.

“What are we gonna do, Scully?”

She takes a sip of her beer and sets it on the table. “I don’t know, Mulder. We start again. We just start again.”

“There’s a zero percent chance they’ll keep the X Files open now. This fire was the final nail on the coffin. Nothing we say will change their minds.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Do you think it’s possible someone at the Bureau did this? I mean, they’ve been trying and failing to shut us down for years. Maybe someone finally just snapped.”

“I think so.”

“Who do you think did it?”

“Spender,” he says instantly. “No doubt in my mind it was that little fucker. I should have taken his threats more seriously.” He can’t stand the guy. Going around the Bureau, kissing everyone’s asses, covering his own to protect his reputation.

Working with the cancer man.

“I don’t know, Mulder,” she muses. “Arson? It honestly seems like he doesn’t have it in him.”

He thinks for a second, and realizes she’s probably right. He’s usually good at this profiling stuff, obviously, but his annoyance and frustration with Jeffrey “Weasel” Spender has gotten too personal.

“You’re probably right.”

“We should tell the arson investigators to keep their eyes peeled for cigarette butts, though,” she suggests. She rubs his back for a moment then taps his neck, indicating he should lift his head up. He flips onto his back and scoots over a bit, resting his head in her lap. She runs her fingers through his hair with one hand, her other hand across his chest and they sit together comfortably.

“I’m still in this with you, Mulder. This is a temporary setback, okay? We have to have faith that we will continue our work.”

Mulder thinks back to another time, an even darker time about a year ago, here in his apartment, alone. A time when his faith had also been tested. A time when Scully was edging towards death, all because of him and this work.

He’d felt so alone that night, so aggrieved, so desperately responsible for what had happened to her. He’d really wanted to die. He thought he deserved it. Everything felt meaningless. He believes to this day if that DoD agent hadn’t been spying on him and revealed himself that night, he would have pulled the trigger.

He almost can’t breathe when he thinks about what would have happened if he’d given up in that moment. Scully would have died. They both would be dead, and so would their quest.

Tonight feels different because she is here with him. He could be alone right now, feeling desperate and directionless and miserable by himself. But she chose to stay. His life isn’t so lonely anymore, and for the first time he truly appreciates that fact.

He takes her hand with both of his, holding it across his chest and lays there, her other hand absently stroking his hair, listening only to their own breaths, rising and falling in sync.

“As long as I’ve still got you, it’ll be fine,” he decides. He truly believes this.

DEMARCATION II

(Fight the Future)

SCULLY

Scully’s meeting with the Office of Professional Review had not gone well. Being forced to take a step back after getting so close to something big has become her lot in life.

AD Cassidy had not been impressed with the evidence she and Mulder had brought back from Dallas. Scully had trouble explaining its significance to a room full of directors in a way they could understand and be excited about in the same way she and Mulder could. Now they don’t have the means or permission to follow up, and with the trouble they’re in, they aren’t likely to get it.

Now, not only have they removed her as Mulder’s partner, they’re trying to remove her from his life entirely. They’re sending her clear across the country to another field office with little choice in the matter. She’s amazed at their ability to do so with a single pen stroke.

Her only other option would be to quit. Either way she loses him.

They’ll do what they can, she knows it. They will move forward, in whatever way they can. They always do.

She presses the elevator button and waits. The doors open and she’s greeted by a face she’d secretly hoped she would never have to see again.

Diana fucking Fowley.

She briefly considers waiting for the next elevator, but that kind of avoidance is beneath her, childish. She purses her lips together and steps in, pressing the ground floor button. “Agent Fowley,” she says politely. “Nice to see you’re back at work.”

“Thank you, it’s good to be back.”

She can feel Fowley’s eyes upon her, and instantly regrets not stopping in the bathroom to tidy herself up. She hasn’t even showered since they got back to DC and she looks like shit. Her appearance isn’t typically something that concerns her too much, and she hates feeling this way. She hates feeling inferior to the always well put together Diana Fowley.

Scully prays the elevator stops at another floor for another passenger to end this awkwardness but God isn’t listening today.

“How’s Agent Mulder?” Fowley asks.

Scully pauses, not sure what her angle is. “He’s fine.”

“I heard through the grapevine you two are getting reassigned. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Scully is silent, not knowing what to say. I’m sure you are.

“It’s probably for the best. From what he indicated, you two haven’t been seeing much progress.”

Scully bites her tongue and stares at the doors.

Open, open, open. Please.

Apparently, Diana Fowley isn’t fucking finished. “But it must be hard, disagreeing all the time. You both must feel such a relief to be free of that. To not feel… so held back.”

She can’t continue with the silent treatment, she doesn’t want to appear impertinent. “We make it work.” Scully speaks in the present tense because Mulder is her partner, regardless of what OPR or Diana Fowley has to say about it.

Fowley scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure you’ve got it all figured out. His passion, his drive. His mission. It’s all wonderful until you realize it’s not aligned with your own.”

She starts to feel sick, and wonders why the elevator ride never feels this long on any other day.

“Just be grateful it never went further than a work partnership. He’s tough to shake.”

Scully feels like she might actually throw up. How the hell does she know how far their relationship has gone? Every word is a dagger.

Mercifully, the elevator dings and the doors open.

“Goodbye, Agent Fowley,” Scully grits as she exits the elevator and heads through the lobby as quickly as reasonably possible towards the sweet relief of the sidewalk. She pushes the heavy door open and takes a deep breath.

She doesn’t care which direction she walks, she just has to get away from this building. Mulder had dropped her off directly from the airport and she’d planned to take a cab back to his place after the meeting, but now she doesn’t know what to do or where she should go.

How can one woman put her so off balance? Make her feel so small, so worthless? How can the words of someone she barely knows bring her down like this?

She’s suddenly questioning everything, everything she knows and trusts about Mulder, everything about their partnership, and for what? Why? Because of one woman who has had him in a way she never will.

Why did she have to take that elevator? She felt fine before she ran into her. She’d felt hopeful that something good might still come of all this.

You both must feel such relief to be free of that. Not… so held back.

Why did she say that? Had Mulder said something like that to her? It makes her ill to think they’d talked about her behind her back. What if she really is just an annoyance to him, in spite of everything he’s said? She knows he cares about her as a friend, and she’s never going to question that. But is he humoring her about their partnership? Do they even have a real partnership if he’s not being honest with her about her role within it?

She can’t change who she is to better suit his needs. She can’t become someone she isn’t, even for him. She feels inadequate, and completely powerless. Maybe it’s just her own fear and self doubt, but she’s inclined to believe what Diana Fowley is saying.

Of course he would feel that way. She’s been so stupid.

His passion, his drive. His mission. It’s all wonderful until you realize it’s not aligned with your own.

It’s taken her awhile to realize it but she knows she is passionate about this work. Maybe not for the same reasons as Mulder, but their goal is the same: uncovering the truth. What were Diana Fowley’s goals? What had she wanted that Mulder hadn’t wanted? What caused their breakup?

He’s tough to shake.

If she wasn’t sure before that Diana Fowley had ulterior motives regarding Mulder, she’s sure now. She wants to kick herself for not telling him how she felt before this woman came back into his life. It pains her to think that she might know Mulder even better than Scully does.

She knows what she has to do now. She slowly turns around and heads back towards the Hoover building for what she now knows will be one of the last times.

He’ll probably be secretly glad to be rid of her. She’s done nothing but hold him back.

MULDER

They’re splitting us up.

He knows it must be true. He and Scully have tugged at the FBI’s last remaining thread of patience, and they’ve finally had it. And just when they are finally onto something again, something big.

His thoughts return to their imprudent excursion to Dallas and what they’d discovered. They’d both seen so much, but only put the X Files in further danger of remaining closed forever. If only they had been able to turn up something concrete, something to help justify reopening them, they could get moving again. He feels so close now, closer than ever, but ever since their office went up in flames he’s been losing his resources one by one.

Now he’s about to lose his most valuable resource.

“Salt Lake City, Utah, transfer effective immediately.” Scully looks exhausted, depleted. Sad, really. She tells him she isn’t accepting the transfer, and that she’s resigned from the FBI.

“I need you on this, Scully.”

“You don’t need me, Mulder. You never have. I’ve only held you back.”

Her assertion takes him completely aback. Where the hell is this coming from? Does she really believe that after all they’ve been through? How can she not know how much he needs her?

She turns to go. He’s let her walk out on him in the past, but he’s not going to let her do it tonight. He walks after her.

“If you want to tell yourself that so you can quit with a clear conscience, you can, but you’re wrong.”

She whips around, looking angry, but mostly just defeated. “Why did they assign me to you in the first place, Mulder? To debunk your work, to reign you in, to shut you down.”

“But you saved me!” He can’t believe he has to tell her this. It’s felt so obvious to him for so long. It goes to the very core of why they are so good together. “As frustrating as it’s been sometimes, your goddamn strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times over.”

This is what he hasn’t been able to get across to her, because it would mean talking about Diana and all the reasons that partnership could never have worked the way he functions with Scully. He let Diana walk out on him for a hundred reasons but primarily because they could never have gotten to this place of honesty. Not like he can with Scully.

She knows it too, she knows it, and she’s still leaving him. Maybe Diana got to her, somehow. Maybe she can’t bring herself to admit to him that Diana has left her feeling weak and insufficient.

She couldn’t be more wrong.

“You kept me honest,” he tells her. He’s never been so honest with her before. Her eyes are filling with tears. She’s about to leave him, maybe forever, so he brings it home.

“You made me a whole person.”

She looks floored. She’s completely turned around now, facing him. He knows now she's needed to hear all of this, is desperate to hear it. He wonders if she’s always needed to. He’s hasn’t communicated this as well as he should have and it’s his own damn fault. He’s been so selfish for so long. She’s lost so much because of him and here she is, still seeking his approval. He feels so inadequate, so unworthy of her.

“I owe you everything, Scully, and you owe me nothing.”

It’s the truth. She could leave right now, and he’d never begrudge her that. He’d miss her endlessly, but he’d never deny her that choice, if she truly wanted it. He could never deny her anything.

“I don’t know if I want to do this alone,” he confesses. “I don’t even know if I can. And if I quit now, they win.”

He’s not sure what makes her give in, what makes her change her mind, or if she even has. She’s not one to be at a loss for words. But at this moment she can only collapse into him, resigned. She’s committed to him whether he can bring himself to believe it or not.

As he holds her close he feels something stir inside him that has lain dormant for five years. Dormant, yet vigilant. She kisses him on his forehead, a safe, tender gesture they’ve shared in the past. But he feels something inside him he hasn’t felt with her before: bravery. He wants more.

He takes her face in his hands, and makes her look at him. He looks into her eyes with new intent, something he hopes beyond hope she wants too.

She could walk out of his life at any moment. It’s now or never.

He’s not doing this to make her stay. He’s doing it because he can’t not do it anymore.

Their faces search each other’s and he draws closer and closer, slowly, the anticipation intoxicating. He knows it’s going to happen because she’s moving towards him too.

And just as he can feel her breath on his tongue she yelps and recoils.

At first he’s unsure of what happened. Did she change her mind? He was so sure it had felt right.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He wouldn’t want her to think he’d taken advantage.

“No,” she reassures him. “Something stung me.” She reaches back behind her neck and pulls the offending interloper from inside her collar.

A bee.

He wants to laugh at the irony. The bee is there because of him, and now it’s completely ruined his moment.

Goddamnit. Why is the universe making this so hard for them?

“It must have gotten in your shirt,” he says quietly, the disappointment still painfully present.

“Mulder? Something’s wrong.”

You’re goddamn right something’s wrong. We should be making out right now.

But she looks afraid. She starts to grab onto him for support, slowly sliding down to the floor. She’s listing off all her symptoms to him, ever the doctor. He tries to remember everything in case she’s unable to tell the paramedics… oh god, he has to call the ambulance.

He lays her down gently and runs back to his phone to report an agent down. When he returns, she appears almost completely incapacitated.

“Scully? Hey, Scully?” He holds her cheek and moves the hair from her face. “Don’t do this, come on. I’m getting you to a hospital.” He wraps his arms underneath her and hoists her up. She’s gone completely limp and this hold is not going to work. He turns her in his arms until he’s cradling her, lifts her up, and starts to head towards the elevator.

As he emerges from his building, he hears the sirens approaching. Thank god. The paramedics jump out of the ambulance and help Mulder place her onto a gurney.

“Scully, the paramedics are here. I’ll be right behind them, okay? I’m coming.”

He starts frantically telling the paramedics her symptoms and mentions the virus he’s certain has caused this. As he approaches the driver’s seat to ask which hospital they’re taking her to, everything goes black.

Thanks for reading! See you back here tomorrow for chapter five, or you can continue reading on A03.

#txf #the x files #msr #fanfic #msr fanfic #fanfiction #culmination #diana fucking fowley

77 notes · View notes