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anagentinwriting · 4 years

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Lifeline - Part 5

Summary: (First Responders!AU) Moving to Los Angeles and living with your brother, Thor, was never part of your plan nor was being a 9-1-1 dispatcher, but plans change when you are faced with your own emergencies. In your case, it was leaving behind a relationship that wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. Will this be the fresh start you were hoping for or will your past find a way to catch up with you?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Odinson!Sister Reader

Word Count: 4500+

Warnings: Language, drinking, angst, fluff

Lifeline Masterlist / Main Masterlist

After a week of taking call after call, it was nice to get together with the girls. It wasn’t going to be a late-night, but after last weeks rough call, you just wanted to get out of your head and blow off some steam with Nat and Carol at Happy’s Hydrant.

The Hydrant was the place to be tonight. You couldn't remember it ever being this busy, but it was a Friday night. There were always women hoping to get with a man in uniform and men hoping to get lucky with a badass woman first responder. For some, it worked like a charm, but for others, while they had to work a little harder to get some action.

You leaned against your pool cue, watching Nat lineup her stick to the corner pocket with Carol observing from the side, sipping on her beer. Nat took the shot but missed the pocket, forcing a smirk across your lips. Nat stood up straight, rolling her eyes at you.

“Can’t win them all,” you teased, eyeing the table to find your next shot.

Billards was your bar game. When you were attending New York University, you worked at a bar and hustled to make a few extra bucks. Guys would often undermine you at first, but you weren’t afraid to show them what you could do.

“Hey, sweet thing, you like playing pool,” a guy said behind you as you leaned over to take a shot.

“It seems that way, doesn’t it,” you replied, rolling your eyes. He placed a hand on your lower back, making you tense up and let out a sharp breath. You stood up straight and turned around to face him. He was standing closer to you than you expected, and you could smell the overconsumption of alcohol on his breath.

“I’ll bring the balls if you bring your rack.” He bit his lip, his eyes drifting to your chest.

“You sure you have the balls to handle me because that line was fucking terrible.”

“Do you want to find out?”

“No.”

“Come on, girl.” He stepped even closer to you, making the back of your thighs hit the pool table. He placed his hands on your hips, and you froze in place. Your heart pounded, feeling every nerve in your body firing, telling you to run, but your mind filled with fear. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to get away from those thoughts, but deep down, you knew one wrong move or smartass remark would make things worse.

“Can you...Can you please get your hands off of me,” you gulped, letting out a shaky breath.

“What’s that sweetheart?”

“Get your hands off of her asshole. She’s not interested,” Nat's voice hit your ears, and you felt the weight in front of you disappear.

“Yeah, take a walk prick,” Carol shouted beside you. You opened your eyes to see the asshole retreating away, letting out a relieved breath. “How you holding up, girl?”

You shrugged. “I’ll be fine. Sorry, I kind of froze up there.”

“Don’t apologize, dude was an asshole. You’re still trying to find yourself and get your confidence back,” Carol replied, patting you on the shoulder. “You’ll find it, and when you do, we’ll be right there with you.” You nodded, crossing your arms across your chest. “If you’re interested, Val teaches a self-defense class, well it’s more of a boxing class at Jabari Tribe Training Center. We could even go with you,” Carol offered, earning a nod from Nat.

“I’ll think about it.” You shrugged, staring at the floor.

“You know what, girls, this calls for shots,” Nat commented. “I’ll be back.” She disappeared to the bar, being greeted by a few guys offering to buy her the shots.

“Hey, YN.” You peeked up at Carol before your eyes drifted back to the floor. “Promise me you won’t let that asshole ruin your night.”

“I promise.”

“Good. And not all guys are like him; some are just drunk assholes who think just because they wear a uniform, every woman wants to sleep with them when really they aren’t interested,” She sighed, staring at you. “How about we start another game then?”

“Um...yeah, let’s do it.”

______

“YN, why can’t you let me win for once?” Carol whined, leaning against her pool cue.

“Practice more, and then maybe you'll have a chance,” you smirked, feeling better after a couple of shots and another beer later.

You lined up to sink the number 8 ball in the corner pocket when someone out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. You gulped, turning your head in their direction to find Fireman Rogers. “You’re sort of ruining my concentration with your staring.”

“Didn’t know I had that effect on you.”

You scoffed, taking the shot and missing the pocket. “That’s on you.” You didn’t miss the slight nod from him and the ever-growing grin appearing on Carol’s face, watching the two of you interact.

“Ouch!” He held a hand over his heart, smirking at you.

You watched Carol sink one of her three remaining stripes into the pocket but failed to get the other two in. You nodded to yourself, setting yourself up to get the number 8 ball in the same corner pocket. Shooting a quick glare towards Steve, he held up his hands, trying to hide his smile by taking a sip of his beer. You hit the white ball, sending it right towards the number 8 ball, sinking it into the corner pocket.

“Well...that’s game. Rogers, you’re up. Time for you to take on the champ.” Carol walked over to him, forcing the pool cue to his chest until he grabbed it, and she shot you a quick wink over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

“Smooth,” you whispered under your breath.

“What was that?” Steve questioned, leaning a little closer to you.

“Bring it, Rogers.”

_______

With one last hit, the number 8 ball sunk into the center pocket. “And with that, the champ remains the champ. Good game though, you weren’t...bad.”

“Not bad, huh? Maybe you caught me on an off day.”

“Will save the rematch for another day then.” You put the pool cue back on the wall and went to your usual table, taking a seat on one of the high stools. You take a sip of your beer, noticing Steve taking the chair across from you.

“How did you get so good at pool?”

“I worked at a bar in college and got really good at it. Even hustled a few people to get some extra cash.”

“Did they deserve it?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Of course,” you smirked, taking a sip of your drink. Your eyes traveled around the bar, spotting your brother with a group of ladies. It still baffled you how he could finagle himself into any group, whether it was to make friends or take someone home. In this incident, it looked to be taking someone home. Thor wrapped his arm around one of the ladies and headed out the door. “Well, I’m in no rush to get home now.”

“Why is that?”

“My brother just walked out the door with his latest conquest.” His eyes traveled to the door. “Now in the morning, I will have to make small talk with her, and poor Darryl is gonna have to hear them…” you shake your head, not finishing the sentence. “Good thing I got him noise-canceling headphones.”

“Good thing.”

“How are you liking the 107 so far?”

“It’s...” Steve started only to be interrupted by Sam.

“Okay, so Thor just left with the woman I was hitting on all night. Can’t your brother give another brother a chance,” Sam added, taking a swig of his beer.

“That’s my brother for…”

“Steve, I heard you just got your ass handed to you in pool. Way to go, girl.” Bucky held up his hand, and you high-fived him. “Steve’s good. He always kicks my ass.”

“Well, that’s because you suck at it,” Sam added.

“Well, at least I can get a woman to go home with me.”

“That’s cold.”

“You can’t get every woman to go with you,” Nat added, taking the stool next to yours.

“Wanna bet.” Bucky licked his lips, earning a scoff from Nat. “Listen here, everyone. I am about to share Mr. Barnes Fling Tips 401. That’s right, this is senior college level, no freshman 101.” He takes a drink of his beer. “First: Get the lovely woman’s attention; catch her eye at the bar, smile at her, send her a drink, whatever you need to do to get her to notice you. Number two: once she notices you, disappear for a little while to see if she looks for you. Then, when she least expects it, go over to her and introduce yourself. Then, this is where the real flirting happens; smirk at her, put a hand on her thigh, bite your lip, any of the telltale signs you’re interested. Then finally, she will take your hand, and that’s when you take her home. We both have meaningless sex and then move on. We both get exactly what we wanted.”

“You’re terrible.” Nat rolled her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Says the female version of me,” he smirked.

“You wish, because then maybe, just maybe, I would give you the time of day and sleep with you. But, you’re not worth it. I don’t think I could ever sink low enough to sleep with you.”

“Ouch, doll, ouch.” He held his hand over his heart, feigning hurt in his eyes.

“I would feel bad, but we both know you don’t have a heart when it comes to women.”

“One right after another. You’re on fire, Red.”

“I don’t have time for this. Come on, YN, let's go get another drink.” Nat grabbed your hand and pulled you to the bar with her.

“Is it just me, or was that a whole lotta sexual tension right there?” Sam asked Steve as soon as Bucky stormed off.

“I would say so,” Steve nodded in agreement.

________

You classified yourself as a people watcher, and you always found it interesting to watch people interact with one another. You'd often see the people looking to hookup. A bachelorette party with an overly flirty bride to be who may or may not make a mistake tonight. Those people who came out to drink for fun; those that drink because they have a problem; the new parents that needed to get out of the house, or the couple still getting to know one another. You never met any of these people in your life, but you couldn’t help but create their life story.

It was like the couple sitting close together in the booth to your right. They were falling for each, whether they planned it or not. It was easy to tell with the way they looked at each other. You felt that way once, too. The feeling that you and him were the only two in a crowded room. You thought it was love, but looking back, maybe it was something different. Something toxic, like a poisonous gas entering the air without you knowing, and sooner or later, you're gasping, trying to find the last bit of oxygen. But, it’s no use because you’re trapped, and every breath you take only makes you weaker and unable to move, and eventually, it ends up taking everything from you.

“Hi, again.” Steve takes a seat on the stool next to you at the bar, pulling you out of your head. “Everyone keeps leaving me, and I didn’t want to look like that loser in the bar sitting by himself.”

“So you came over to join me? Who was sitting by herself looking like a loser?”

“Yeah, but now we can be losers together,” he chuckled, making you smirk.

“Speak for yourself,” you chuckled, picking at the label on the beer bottle.“You and Bucky became fast friends.”

“Yeah, well, we have known each other since we were kids.”

“Wait, you grew up here?” You turned your heads towards him, narrowing your eyes at him.

“No in Brooklyn. Brooklyn, New York.”

“Get out--” you hit him on the arm “--I used to live in Brooklyn.”

“Really? Small world,” he smiled, leaning in a little closer to you to hear you better over the music playing on the jukebox. “What made you move out here?”

“Story for another time,” you pointed the tip of your beer bottle at him.

He nodded, “So why a 9-1-1 dispatcher?”

“You’re full of questions, aren’t you, Steve?”

He shrugged with a small chuckle. “A few.”

“Did you get dragged out tonight, too?” You asked, taking a sip of your beer.

“What makes you think that?”

“Think it was so our friends could get a little action.” Your eyes traveled around the bar to see Bucky leaving with a redhead, and Nat had her hand on a guy's bicep with a flirty expression on her face. You had no idea where Carol went, and Sam must’ve left after realizing his luck ran out. Poor guy.

“So it would seem,” he smirked, glancing around the room.

You felt your phone vibrate, and you glanced down, seeing a message from Nat.

Nat: Heading out! Hope you can find a way home ;)

YN: Yeah, it’s called an Uber

Nat: (rolling eyes emoji)

“And with that, my ride just left.” You locked your phone, sliding it back into your pocket.

“Yeah, my ride left about five minutes ago.” Steve sighed, staring at his beer bottle. “What do you say about getting out of here?”

You glanced at him underneath your eyelashes. “I hope you know you're not getting in my pants.”

“Oh, I know, I didn’t mean it like that, but maybe another time,” he winked, forcing you to crack a smile.

“Smooth, Rogers. Smooth,” you commented. “And here I thought you were a goody-to-shoes.”

“Most people do, but I am far from it.”

“I am seeing that now,” you chuckled, swallowing the little bit left in your drink. He nodded, glancing around the bar. “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“To get out of here?”

“I didn’t mean…” His head snapped to you with raised eyebrows.

“I know, another time,” you teased, seeing the corner of his mouth turn up. “Are you coming because your half-full beer says otherwise?”

He looked at it, then back over at you. Something in his blue eyes shifted from playful to curious in a matter of seconds. “Let's blow this popsicle stand,” Steve smirked, downing the rest of his drink.

“Easy there, don’t want to have to carry you out of here,” you commented as he reached behind him and slipped on his jacket.

“Haha.”

You felt the chill in the air as soon as you walked out the front door of the bar. It felt like fall was just around the corner, and it only brought goosebumps to your skin.

“How far is home?” Steve asked.

“About thirty blocks north, but you don’t have to walk with me. I just figured you didn’t want to look like a loser sitting at the bar by yourself.”

“Thanks, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t mind. I have nothing waiting for me at home, and this way, you have some company.”

“Or do you just not want me to get mugged or something?”

“Maybe that too,” he chuckled, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. “So you live with your brother? Why don’t you have your own place?”

“I’ve been looking, and I did find one I love. The only problem is I don’t know what to say to Thor.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand.” He added. “It will probably be hard for him at first, but it’s always hard to start over,” Steve mumbled like he knew from his own experience.

“Yeah, but you haven’t experienced softie Thor.”

“Softie Thor?”

“Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but he still sleeps with his baby blanket. He calls it Mjolnir, and it has all kinds of different hammers and tools on it. He says he doesn’t have it anymore, but the last time I saw it, it was hiding under his pillow.”

“Really?” he smiled, shaking his head. “The big guy. Yay, tall--” he gestured with his hand “--blonde hair, god-like deep voice girls fall for, and he still sleeps with a blankety?” You nodded. “Yeah, I can say I have never seen that side of him.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

You rubbed your upper arms, hoping to keep the chill at bay but having little to no success. You always seemed to forget to grab a jacket before going out. “Why did you transfer to LA from Brooklyn?”

“Now, look who is full of questions?”

“Call me curious.” You shrugged, catching his eye before his return back to the ground.

“Fine, but then you have to answer one of my questions.” You nodded. “Okay, well, I transferred because I needed a new start after some bad stuff went down.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Trying to pull a fast one on me. I like it, but my turn.” You let out an annoyed sigh. “What did you do when you lived in Brooklyn?”

“Fair question." You nodded. "I was an ER nurse. It was both stressful and satisfying at the same time. On the one hand, I didn’t know what was going to come through the doors, but on the other hand, bringing someone back on the brink of dying gave me a rush. I can’t even explain the feeling; I loved my job.”

“Then, why leave?”

“I needed a fresh start.” You glanced over at him, and he nodded, biting his lip. “Looks like we left for the same reason.”

“Maybe this is fate's way of telling us we both deserve a second chance.”

“If you believe in that sort of thing,” You shivered, running your hands over your arms to get them to warm up.

“Here.” Steve started pulling off his worn-out brown leather jacket and offering it to you.

“No, you keep it. I don’t want you to get cold.”

“Don’t worry about me? I’m like a body heater.”

“Fine, but if you get cold, you better tell me.” You slipped it on, feeling the warmth envelop you. His scent on his jacket made your insides twist. You pulled it tight around you, feeling your body warm up in an instant.

“I will,” he smiled, putting his hands in his pants pockets, shrugging.

You walked in silence for a block or so when you stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for the walking figure to appear. “What was it like growing up in Brooklyn with Bucky?”

He chuckled. “Well, it’s a funny story actually because it all started in grade school.” He glanced at you as if asking if he wanted to hear it. “I was drawing on the playground one day at recess. And at the time, I was a sickly little kid, and my mom told me I couldn’t play sports because I had a lot of health problems when I was younger before I became this.” He gestured to himself, making you roll your eyes. “Anyways, I was drawing, and these bullies came over and stood in my light and poured water over my notebook…”

“Those assholes.”

“Yeah, right,” he chuckled, scratching the back of his head. The crosswalk person appeared, and they started walking again. “I was never one to back down from a fight, so I stood up to him. He pushed me, and I fell, but I got back up and tried to push him, but ended up getting pushed down again, this time landing in a mud puddle. Then, Bucky came over, and straight-up punched this dude in the face. I think we were six at the time.”

“Oh my god, are you kidding?” Your mouth dropped over, and you covered it with your hand.

“Wish I was. Bucky told him to pick on someone his own size and sent him crying. After that, we became pretty good friends.”

“Do you still have the never run from a fight mentality?” You eyed him over and noticed him keeping a close eye on you.

“Yeah, I just don’t like bullies.” He shrugged as comfortable silence fell between the two of you once again. “You said you needed a fresh start. What were you running from?” You stared hard at the ground, biting your lip, not sure if you wanted to lay it all out for him. “Question for another time. How about a counter-question,” he hummed, thinking it over as you watched him mull over what to ask next. “How was it growing up with Thor?”

“Thor and I were never close growing up, which is crazy considering I live with him now. He was my older brother, he had his friends he always hung out with, and I was the younger sister. What older sibling wants to hang out with their younger sibling unless their parents ask them to? We got along, but I grew up being close with our adopted brother Loki. When Thor graduated from high school, he tried college but found it wasn’t for him, and then one day decided to move to LA and become a firefighter. After he moved, I didn’t talk to him much. Loki and I stayed in Brooklyn, I got my nursing degree, and he went into Broadway production. We were a scattered out set of siblings, living on two different coasts.”

“If you and Thor were never close, why move here and live with him?”

“I knew he would help me find myself again.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Thor was the brother that wasn’t afraid to make a fool of himself to get me to laugh or feel better. He could get things off my mind when I needed to, plus he’s easy to talk to. Loki’s more of the conservative brother that has a plan and can be a diva at times. I love them both, but I knew starting here would be the fresh start I needed.” You shrugged in his jacket. “I think you owe me at least three extra questions.”

“Depends what you qualify as a question.”

“Oh, is that how it’s gonna be, wise guy.” You pushed him on the arm. “My turn to ask, let’s see, hmmm.” You tapped your chin with your finger. “How did you and my brother bond so fast?”

“I don’t know. It’s what you have to do in this job, trust your team. Besides, like you said, your brother is easy to get along with after you get past his ego.”

“He does have a big ego,” you nodded with a chuckle.

“What’s the hardest part about being a 911 dispatcher?”

“Really? Already asking a question. I think you still owe me a couple, but I’ll oblige.” You took in a deep breath and let it out, thinking it over. “When the caller hangs up, and you never know what the outcome is. Like, am I making a difference, am I helping? Being a nurse, I knew the outcome because I was there for everything, but here, all you can do is send help. I could look at the records and see what happened, but what if it’s not the outcome I hoped for.” You stared at the ground in front of you. “It’s almost like never finding out an ending to a movie or a book. I want to know what happened, but maybe it’s better left not knowing. After they hang up, sometimes you don’t get time to process it because there is another caller with another emergency.”

“I get it. Sometimes what we do can be a horror movie. It can give us nightmares if you can’t save someone or can’t get there in time,” Steve’s voice drifted off. “You can play it over in your head to figure out what you could’ve done differently, but sometimes the ending you wanted to happen was never going to happen.” He stared wide-eyed at the ground before glancing your way. There was something different in his eyes, like a nightmare he never quite escaped. “And you’re right, it’s one call after another with little to no recovery time in between.”

“But, then you get those calls where everything goes right, and it makes everything you’re doing worth it.” You shot him a warm smile, earning a nod from him.

“Have to say I agree with that.”

Both of you remained silent for a couple of blocks. These careers were tough to talk about. Everyone called you heroes, but sometimes it was hard to feel like a hero.

“Why did you want to be a fireman?”

“Simple, I like helping people, but like any job, it takes a toll.” He shrugged, glancing at you. “When your adrenaline is pumping, and every nerve in your body is firing. There is pressure put on us, and we never know how things will turn out, but we have to assure those we are trying to save that they are going to be okay. It’s like in a moment's notice we have to drop everything because we are the only help that is coming, and we have to try and save them from what could be the worst moment in their life.”

“It’s almost like you rehearsed that. Did you...did you rehearse that?” You joked, forcing him to crack a smile.

“Shut up, so what if I did.” He nudged your side, making you laugh out loud. It was a real laugh, the kind you haven’t had in a long time. It wasn’t a simple chuckle or a forced giggle, but for the first time in a long time, it sounded happy. Maybe, this is what Bruce was talking about when he told you to talk to someone. Weirdly enough, you did feel lighter, like some of the weight was lifted off your shoulders with this one conversation.

You came to a stop in front of a cozy little townhouse Thor and Darryl rented. It wasn’t huge. It was a two-bedroom home that an elderly couple raised their little girl, Hope, in. You only met Hank Pym and Janet van Dyne a few times, but they were a lovely couple that decided to rent out that home and retire next to the ocean.

“This is me.” You waved your hand at the house and started pulling off Steve’s jacket when he stopped you.

“Hold on to it for me. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

“Awful sure of yourself, what makes you think I want to see you again?”

“A guy can hope, can’t he. If it helps, my jacket looks a hell of a lot better on you.”

“It’s helping,” you breathed a smirk, pulling the jacket around you. “Goodnight, Steve. Thanks for the talk and the walk home.”

“Glad I could help. Have a nice night, YN,” he waved, watching you walk up the steps and use your keys to unlock the door. You opened the door and turned around to find him waiting for you to safely get inside.

“I want you to know, I am still holding you to answer one question,” you added, opening the door wider.

“Look forward to answering it,” he smiled as you walked in and shut the door behind you.

______

AN: Thanks for reading Part 5! This is probably a chapter you all have been waiting for...more Steve action! Haha! What did you think of the round of twenty questions?! We got a little bit more backstory on her, and a little more about Steve. He left to get a new start, too, any theories as to why?! I mean, I know, but I'm curious where your heads are at! Also, I don't know much about billiards/pool rules, it's basically what I have learned through watching people play it, so if it’s totally off my bad! Again, thanks for reading, reblogs, likes, and comments always welcome!

161 notes · View notes

majimemegoro · 3 years

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just finished watching a playthrough of saejima's hunting storyline and i get why you like okudera so much now. he's a pretty minor character in the eyes of the game's main storyline but damn, he's genuinely really compelling, alongside the entire hunting storyline...i really fuckin like this dude now. anyways, i wanted to ask, do you know of a timeline or anything of his backstory? cause its. a little confusing for me to understand

WE CAUGHT ONE LADS

jokes aside I'm so glad you watched, so glad you liked it, and so glad you took the time to let me know. for anyone else who wants the chance to discover the joy of MR OKUDERA, whether or not you have a ps4 or steam, you can do that here.

as for the backstory timeline... buckle up, because it's convoluted as heck. We learn about the events of 9 years ago partially through the false story of the villagers and partially from okudera (whose tell-all story at the end is also, I think, a bit cagey and perhaps deliberately vague). these in-text obstacles to determining The Truth are exacerbated by the fact that the remastered version has at least one egregious translation error, and hence the possibility of other errors.

But I've spent a LOT of time trying to figure out the timeline. like a stupid amount of time. and while i still plan to do a serious methodical review of the story and determine the possibilities once and for all, I'll take this as an opportunity to lay out what I currently figure is probably the case.

disclaimers: y5 spoilers for the okudera/hunting storyline follow. i also havent systematically reviewed the evidence before posting, so it's possible that there will be errors. if anyone notices them, PLEASE point them out! meanwhile I will do my best to specify what is fact and what is interpretation: events I am 99-100% sure of, and are stated more or less explicitly in the text, will go in normal text, while I'll put my own filling-in-the-blanks and original notes in [square brackets]. I have some pretty detailed personal headcanons to do with these events, but I will NOT bring them up. Here I promise I will only bring up speculation that has a textual basis and is strictly necessary to fill in the gaps of the accounts given by mr okudera and the other vilalgers.

I will refer from now on to mr okduera as Sato, and to og okudera as okudera.

~10 years ago

the upcoming changes to hunting regulations are announced, and a hunting boom begins on the mountain [this could be more than 10 years ago]

sato breaks out of Abashiri, either crashes or abandons his snowmobile, and is saved by okudera

[Nishina recovers the snowmobile at some point]

okudera teaches sato how to hunt "as I (sato) was losing hope of living"

meanwhile the natural balance on the mountain is decaying due to overhunting, and bears are becoming vicious

~9 years ago, 6 months after sato's arrival in the village

yama-oroshi, the giant-size bear, is first spotted and starts causing trouble

~9 years ago

during a blizzard, okudera goes out after yama-oroshi. [the villagers give conflicting accounts of his intentions. i think sakurai says okudera wanted to help them, while nishina says he was after money. unclear whether sakurai is telling his honest opinion or a cover story]

sato goes around begging the villagers for food with "hat in hand" and is given some by mrs nishina [note that he apparently didn't have any, even though, if you accept this timeline, yama-oroshi hadn't yet attacked the village and destroyed its food stores. mrs nishina tells the story of okduera begging, and she doesnt specify when it happens, but i think it was probably here? not sure though.]

sato follows okudera into the mountain, intending to kill him

sato finds okudera; okudera reveals that he already knew sato was planning to kills him, and tells him that it's okay to carry out his mission

sato decides not to kill okudera

Okudera is attacked by Yama-oroshi. Sato passes out. [was he attacked???]

[okudera fights off yama-oroshi alone, defending the unconscious sato and succeeding in driving the bear away]

However okudera is grievously injured

Sato awakens on bloody snow. [presumably the site of the original attack, though its not for sure.] the dying okudera holds his hand and tells him to take his name and continue living in order to atone for both of their crimes.

[at some point here okudera presumably dies. it is possible that sato buries him at this time, but perhaps more likely that sato immediately follows yama-oroshi, who is headed towards the village, presumably having been driven in that direction during the fight against sato. saving the village from a demon bear would seem like a good way to begin atoning for a life of crime.]

Yama-oroshi attacks the village, ruining buildings and eating/destroying all of the food stored up for the winter, including the buried food

(still 9 years ago, but after this the order of events gets really fuzzy. the remaining events may shift slightly in order, depending on one's stance on the next bullet)

sato saves the village somehow [this bit is really vague. possibly this comment is referring to ways in which sato helped revitalize the matagi principles of conservation and mutual aid in the village. but I think it is more likely that he did something more concrete, namely, luring yama-oroshi away from the village. otherwise why did Yama-oroshi leave before killing anyone? someone did something, I think, and I think it was sato.]

[sato reports to the villagers that okudera ("sato") is missing - probably NOT that he is dead. the villagers then presumably report this to the police, since sato cannot be seen by the police, who would surely recognize and escapee from Abashiri.] [Note that sakurai tells saejima that sato (mr okduera) went into the mountain after og okudera BECAUSE og okudera was already missing, but I don't think this makes sense unless it's part of the fake cover story. it's also possible that sato told the villagers okudera was missing & he was following him for that reason, since he wouldnt have admitted he was planning to kill him...]

[some of] the villagers realize or suspect that sato/”okudera” is the escaped convict. [because they would know WHEN sato showed up, and when the escape occurred, and they would know that the bigger guy who disappeared had been with them for too long to be the escapee]

the villagers decide to protect sato (”okudera”) by secretly following him on the mountain, and by shunning him so that they have an excuse for not knowing him well and hence not reporting his identity to the police.

[it seems that Sato never admits to the villagers that he knew okudera died. OR the villagers pretend not to believe that okudera is dead?? which is weird since youd think after almost a decade, “went missing on the mountain during a blizzard” would entail “presumed dead”... but i digress]

the village spends the rest of the winter and perhaps longer on the “brink of starvation”

at some point the new hunting regulations go into effect.

and that's the events of 9-10 years ago, as near as I can figure them.

Thoughts? questions? me too !!! please speak up, and thanks for the ask, comrade.

here is a user badge for you:

#okudera #sato kiyoshi #meta #yakuza 5 #frozen roar #frozen roar spoilers #y5 #memecomradeoriginal #majimeta #whew that was a lot #edited and hopefully somewhat complete now...

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wasteland-photography · 3 years

Note

I’ve recently taken up fallout 4 based photography after getting inspired by your blog.

However, I’ve noticed that my photos experience a notice dip in sharpness and quality if I edit them (such as to make more centred). I suspect it’s probably a compression issue but wondering if you’ve encountered similar problems

Hey, thanks for the ask! I'm absolutely delighted to hear that someone was inspired by my work, and I would love to see it sometime if you'd ever like to send it my way.

Unfortunately, just about any time you alter or save an image in a JPEG format (the default for Steam screenshots), there will be some compression. Most websites such as facebook, instagram, and tumblr also tend to compress their images upon upload as well, which can be pretty frustrating at times.

If you're doing any heavy editing or screenarchery, here are some of my personal recommendations:

Avoid saving or altering the same image multiple times - instead make each save a new file, such as "screenshot-2, screenshot-3", ect. This will also allow you to compare different versions, or revert back to an older version if necessary.

Saving the image as a PNG, rather than a JPEG - this will result in less compression. However, the downside is that the file size will be pretty big, so it will take longer to upload, and can sometimes take longer to load on slower computers.

If you are doing anything to alter the original size of the image such as zooming or cropping: I highly recommend trying to keep the image the same aspect ratio. Or at least try to stick to one of the more common aspect ratios (such as 16:9, 4:3, ect). This seems to reduce some of the quality issues when uploading to a website.

If you still want to use JPEG, I recommend using Photoshop (which is fairly easy to acquire a legitimate copy of, recommend using a VPN just in case) and choosing the "High" quality option when prompted. I personally use around 8, and haven't seen any noticeable drops in quality.

Bumping up the in-game shadow/lighting quality or using an ENB can also be useful, as it can help "soften" some of the sharper edges, and reduce pixellation.

I also rely on a lot on in-game mods such as iHUD, which will allow you to hide or toggle menu elements such as the compass when not in use, and reduce the need to crop or edit many images almost entirely.

As stated previously however, any kind of alteration will still affect the image quality in some way. For that reason, recently I have been trying to avoid zooming or cropping my images almost entirely, and have mostly been relying on Photoshop to remove any unnecessary or distracting elements. But I know that's not an option for everybody.

Anyway, sorry for the text wall, but I hope this helps! Note that I am only speaking from personal experience, and am hardly a professional. So if there's anyone out there who knows more about photography than me, feel free to correct me or add to this post.

#i apologize for the super late response #apparently tumblr decided not to notify me of this message #faq #anon asks #asks #2021 #wasteland-photography #film workshop

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lilachope-archive · 3 years

Text

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

tagged by: Nobodeh :v

tagging: whoever wants to do this

My muse is:

canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated

Ehh, it's kinda weird. She's an au version of a canon character, but still 'mostly' follows the canon of the source material

Is your character popular in the fandom?

YES / NO / IDK.

Going by the games, anime and such; I would say yes

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?

YES / NO / IDK.

I would be lying if I said no

Is your character considered strong in the fandom?

YES / NO / IDK.

It depends on who you ask, not gonna go into power levels cause fuck that shit

Are they underrated?

YES / NO / IDK.

Actually I've heard people say that Trunks is overrated in some cases.

Were they relevant for the main story?

YES / NO / SORT OF

Yeah, for like two arcs to my knowledge

Were they relevant for the main character?

YES / NO / IDK

I mean, Goku would still be dead if he wasn't given the heart medicine. Hell, I'd almost go as far as to say that Trunks is the real hero of the series (granted Bulma was the one who made the medicine, but still.. someone had to deliver it )

Are they widely known in their world?

YES / NO. / SORT OF

Ehh, I wouldn't widely, but still well known to an extent.

How’s their reputation?

GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL

Not sure how to answer this, but it depends on who you ask I guess

How strictly do you follow canon?

YES / NO / SORT OF

Well I try to follow as much as I can, which is maybe at least 90 percent with a bit of my shit sprinkled in

SELL YOUR MUSE!

For the low, low price of 99999999999999 zeni, you can have your very own princess trunks!! :D... oh sorry, that's not what you meant.

Uhmm, I got nothing except for the typical she nice and stuff :/

Now the OPPOSITE list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).

She's a female version of a male character, which makes her an automatic repellent and unable to be 'simped' over

What inspired you to rp your muse?

Fanworks. Fanart, doujins and fanfics. Plus it helps that I like Trunks as a character, so there's that.

What keeps your inspiration going?

Rewatching clips or watching gameplay videos of any of the DB games tend to help.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Do you think you give your character justice?

YES / NO /SORT OF

I mean, I try to not stray too far from her canon counterpart in terms of personality, so I think I'm doing a good enough job. Better that how I was doing when I first played her back in 2015

Do you frequently write headcanons?

YES / NO / SORT OF

I used to make short little headcanons pretty often, but then I ran out of steam xD

Do you sometimes write drabbles?

YES / NO.

It's very rare that I do nowadays, mainly because I tend to never have anything to write about

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day?

YES / NO / SORT OF

Not often, but it does happen

Are you confident in your portrayal?

YES / NO /SORT OF

I wouldn't still be playing her if I wasn't

Are you confident in your writing?

YES / NO / SORT OF

I'll admit that I'm not the best writer, but I do think I'm decent enough to get by

Are you a sensitive person?

YES / NO

I can't say that I am, I don't get bent out of shape over the most minute things so take that as you see fit

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?

YES / NO

If the criticism involves changing something about my character that's a core part of her, then yeah no they can go somewhere else with that shit. I made my character the way she is for a reason and I'm not going change her to fit someone else's preference

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?

Oh yes, absolutely! I'm always eager to answer questions about her

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?

I don't see any point in telling me cause I ain't changing shit whether someone likes it or not.

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?

I kinda don't give a shit. They can find another Trunks roleplayer whose fits their preference and not bother me about it

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?

k bye felicia. Block button exist for a reason, use it and leave me alone

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?

I don't mind as long as it's not in a rude arse way. just a simple 'hey, you spelled this wrong' will do

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?

Pretty much. I even consider myself dull on occasion because of how chill and quiet I am most of the time. As long as you don't come to me with stupid shit, we're good.

#tinkering time; dash games #boy this took a while to write =u=;;#outofmirai;

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planetesastraea · 4 years

Text

On the tip of his fingers

Geraskier, Modern AU - Mature - 6 277 words - Warnings: none

First meetings, himbo Geralt, bisexual Geralt (even if he’s just finding out), bottom Geralt (that too), top Jaskier, first time, handjobs, banter, praise kink, consent kink

Betaed by Micaela Dawn: she’s a wonderful artist and beta, check out her work!

Read on AO3

The bar was oddly crowded for a Wednesday night and Geralt was trying his best to not look as out of place as he felt. He had to be there, were Yen's words. And once Triss and Sabrina heard he was trying to get out of the team’s celebratory night out, his fate had been sealed.

"You deserve this too," Yen had said. “You’ve been working your ass off as much as we’ve all been and you deserve to blow off some steam.”

“I can blow off some steam at home.”

“Playing Skittles-stake Gwent with our teenage daughter doesn’t count. Also you promised you’d spend more time with the team outside of work-”

“I actually never agreed to that,”

“-so you’re coming.”

And so here he was, wearing one of his black button down shirts and a comfortable pair of jeans with an empty beer bottle in his hand, making casual conversation over the slightly too-loud music and praying to the highest powers that the girls wouldn’t try to get him to dance. Triss and Yen had met him in front of the bar to make sure he wouldn’t turn away once he had a look inside the place. As soon as he had been close enough, Triss had reached a hand out to his collar, making a tsk sound.

“What are we going to do with you, hm?”, she had whispered to herself as she had opened the top two buttons of his shirt and pulled his collar a little wider.

“Hey, be gentle,” Yen had cut in softly. “At least he lost the tie.”

They had cackled in unison as he rolled his eyes, yet unable to fake annoyance as a smile drew itself on his lips. With one of the women clinging to each of his arms, the three of them comfortably slid together as they walked into the place.

He liked being around them. Over the years things had been several levels of complicated and then some, but the three of them had found their pace eventually. Triss and Yen liked to mock him and he liked to act dumber than he actually was- well, most of the time. His social skills still didn’t reach that high.

As it turned out, you could learn a lot about people by staying at the office several nights in a row working a gigantic case, taking turns on who would get to doze off for twelve minutes on the couch and who was to blame for the soy sauce on page 86 of the Claremont contract. And damn did Triss and Yen know him well. Which was why they had dutifully waited for him outside the bar. Claiming he looked for them but gave up because of how packed the place was would definitely have been among his top three excuses to go back home and relieve Eskel of his Uncle duties. (Both he and Ciri would have been terribly disappointed and that was about 75% of the reasons why he had made it to the party).

They had been here for a couple of hours now, had done a good amount of talking and heard some more-than-other alright bands take to the stage. One of the junior associates further away from him called “Hey, here’s Sabrina!!” and Geralt turned towards the sound of Sabrina’s voice going “You guys are not going to believe this!” when something, or, well, someone, slammed right into him.

“Owww, holy shit I’m so sorry, you alright?”

The man was carrying two pints that had probably been full to the brim before he collided with Geralt. Luckily most of what spilled had hit the floor (he didn't need a repeat of the 2017 "Wet-Shirt Contest Winner" from when a sink pipe had blown up in the men's room. Lambert had walked in, taken a thousand pictures and emailed memes to the whole floor for weeks).

Geralt’s shoes had been fairly sticky with booze already so it wasn't much trouble.

“I’m fine,” he said and that’s when he noticed the other man had come to a full stop, eyes locked on him intently, lips slightly parted. The eyeliner around his eyes was a bit smeared and Geralt recognized him as one of the singers from earlier.

“That you are,” he murmured in a low tone, almost to himself. Geralt blinked.

“Yes. I am,” he said back louder in hope to maybe clear out the odd look on the other man’s face. Just because he was tall, well-built and, well, apparently, somewhat broody, people expected him to get pissed at the slightest things.

“I’m Julian," the guy said and Geralt smiled politely, unsure why the stranger would introduce himself.

“Geralt,” he replied at the same time Julian went “But you can call me Jaskier!” and then “I’m sorry, what was that?”

It was like his words were running faster than his thoughts.

“Geralt. My name is Geralt,” he repeated.

“Oh. Nice to meet you, Geralt.” Jaskier’s lips rose to one side and he tilted his head slightly. Geralt was way more used to people trying to avoid looking at him, he had his unusual colored eyes to thank for that. They were easily disturbing and while people didn't always show discomfort, they at least showed restraint. Jaskier didn't have an ounce of it and Geralt had absolutely no idea what to do with that.

“Can I get you another drink?” Jaskier blurted out.

“Mine was already empty. That’s your drink on the floor,” Geralt replied as the other man chuckled, eyes looking down briefly.

“Right,” he raised his eyes and licked his lips. “Offer still stands. Can I get you another drink?”

“Hm,” Geralt said, his well-known wording skills kicking in. “My friends are-” he turned around thinking he’d find Anica and Tiff where he had left them only to realise they had disappeared among the crowd. In the far back he recognized Triss and Yen dancing on a table like nothing in the world could stop them and any back-up plan he was about to use evaporated.

Jaskier raised his eyebrows, eyes twinkling. Give other people a chance, Yen’s voice said in Geralt's head and the line of his shoulders softened. Jaskier’s eyes hadn’t moved from him for even a second. Maybe it wasn’t that bad.

“Sure,” Geralt aimed for a neutral tone but sounded nervous even to his own ears. The other man’s smile widened.

They found two empty stools that felt oddly closer than those in Geralt’s bars usually were - but then again most of Geralt’s bars were hotel lobbies on work trips or the kind where he could take a whole bottle for himself and sit in a corner where no one would dare bother him. (He hadn't been in one of those in a while. He didn’t miss it.)

Jaskier set an ale in front of him and Geralt faintly wondered who it was originally destined for.

“So what are you doing here tonight? I’ve never seen you around,” Jaskier started.

“Celebrating,” he said, in a voice that hardly sounded celebratory.

“Is it your birthday?”

“No,” he replied, vaguely gesturing to his group of friends who were lost to the crowd, “with colleagues. We closed in on a deal."

"What kind of business do you work in?" The other man seemed way more interested in learning about Geralt than actually drinking the ale. Geralt shrugged, a wordless version of his usual ‘hm’.

“All of them. We're a law firm.”

“Oh! Well, congrats by the way!" Jaskier said and then leaned in and using a secretive tone he added, "I mean, you didn’t help a dangerous criminal get away with it, did you?”

Geralt grimaced and prepared himself to lose Jaskier’s interest in his job entirely.

“Not that kind of lawyers.”

“What kind, then?”

“Corporate.”

To his surprise, Jaskier kept nodding.

“So what was the deal about? Please tell me you’re the kind of firm on David’s side and not on Goliath's.”

“It’s rarely as straightforward as that,” Geralt mused and took a drink of his ale.

Jaskier hummed softly.

“What was this one anyway?”

“I can’t disclose any details,” he hedged and Jaskier chuckled.

“Oh, you can’t disclose any details, can you?” he leaned again, this time his arm and shoulder pressing against Geralt's.

“No, I can’t,” Geralt articulated again to make sure Jaskier would hear him. Music rarely ever left anyone’s hearing intact after a few years, maybe that was why the man kept leaning closer.

“Anything I’ll hear about on the news?”

“The local ones, maybe.”

“Well aren't you a man of mystery.” Their shoulders bumped again. Geralt didn't remember at which point he had rolled up his sleeves but his forearms felt oddly comfortable being that close to someone else's skin. It had been a while since he had even given thought to someone else's skin.

There was still a band playing on the stage out of his sight, a crowd surrounding them, people all along the bar calling for the bartender’s attention, noises and lights everywhere and yet, somehow, in the ocean of stimuli, his attention was focused on Jaskier.

"Maybe I should take your number then?" Jaskier said, wriggling an eyebrow. "As legal counsel. For when law enforcement catches up with me."

“What would they catch you for?” he asked, willing to take the bait.

“Oh, there’s quite the list,” Jaskier said. “I’m afraid I have a rather criminal past. There’s the illegal bus riding, parking in client-only spots,” he counted on his fingers, adding each theatrically. “I once shook a vending machine to get my chocolate bar and got a second one I didn’t pay for.”

“Hmm. I think you might get away with those,” Geralt answered, taking a drink from his pint.

“Well I guess all is left is the case of indecent exposure.”

The man had a nonchalant demeanor about him but his eyes were focused on Geralt and definitely didn't miss the way he almost choked on the ale. Geralt only then realised how much of Jaskier’s chest was visible. He registered vaguely how he’d never had an interest in other people’s collar bones before and realised he had forgotten where they were going with this.

"Hmm,” he cleared his throat, trying to look unbothered. “Like I said, not my area of expertise."

He saw Jaskier lick his lips and something in his eyes reminded him of the decisive moment that came with all his negotiations.

"How about we get out of here and you show me your area of expertise?"

"What?" He couldn’t have heard that right. Jaskier’s eyes softened and his hand hovered over his bare forearm.

"I'm saying I want to take you home.” There was a beat and Geralt swallowed, the taste of ale still on his lips. His conversations with other people definitely didn’t go like that. The peak of panic might have been obvious on his face because Jaskier’s fingers touched his wrist and he spoke into his ear. "I'm making a move on you, Geralt,” he said kindly, “and I don’t know if you’re too polite to decline or if I’m being too subtle-” he pulled back to look at him and his face was so fucking close. “Which, honestly, would be a first! So... What do you think?”

What did he think? His mind was an uninhabited fish tank. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a light flicker. He blinked again, looking at Jaskier’s lips. His brain whispered pretty, and right then, because life always loved fucking with him, the lights and the music went out.

There was a deafening silence for a moment when everyone held their breath and then lights as bright as day came on. The crowd booed. "Oh for fuck's sake, it's the third time this month," Jaskier grumbled. “Sorry my dear but duty calls!”

He stepped down from his stool only to hoist himself up onto the bar. "Not to worry, gentlepeople!" he called out like he was standing on a stage rather than a drink-sticky counter. "The lights will go down and the music back on again as soon as our beloved Essi, Mistress of the house, puts that freaking generator back on! And in the meantime, if you would please allow this humble bard to entertain you,” he took a dramatic bow and rose up again. “Someone please toss me a folk guitar; drinks are on me!"

The crowd cheered and Jaskier got down behind the bar as one of the crew members passed over the guitar. He went off in a cheery song some people started singing along to, bathing in the crowd's energy like he breathed that very element.

Something funny and complicated was happening in Geralt's chest when a hand gently grabbed his arm.

"Come on, let's go!" Yen. "It was getting boring anyway!"

Geralt squinted at her.

"You were dancing on a table,"

"Yeah, exactly!"

It didn’t make the slightest sense but most of his conversations with Yen ended with her radiating with knowledge and him feeling stupid anyway.

"I was talking with someone," he said and instantly felt like a small child very proud to say he made a friend.

"You were what?" her voice pitched up and Geralt could tell she was a bit on the tipsy side. "Where are they?"

He looked around and back towards the other side of the bar where Jaskier was singing and playing among the crowd, flawlessly winking and flirting with every person around.

"You're right,” his voice sounded strained even to his own ears and he had to blame it on the sleepless nights. “Let's go."

It had been two weeks since they had secured the Jackdows contract and Geralt was still deep in paperwork. He'd taken yet another two-hour video call with Alveaenerle and he was starting to think that maybe Triss was right and the woman was mostly dealing with him for his looks rather than for the sake of legal liaison.

He heard the elevator doors open and checked the clock. It wouldn’t be the first time he had worked through the whole night, only noticing at 4am when the janitor came in that he had forgotten to go home. Since then, he had promised Ciri he would try to get decent amounts of sleep while she was away at Yen’s and he didn’t like breaking his promises.

When he looked through the glass wall of his shared office, however, he didn’t see the janitor. Instead, and he checked twice in case it might have been a case of insomnia-induced hallucination, Jaskier was standing in the hall. He seemed hesitant, looking right and left for any indication that he was in the right place until he saw Geralt through the office’s glass walls.

They blinked at each other, seemingly unable to move until Jaskier slowly raised a hand and waved. Geralt kicked himself and walked out of his office.

“Hey,” Jaskier said, looking a bit sheepish. "Remember me?"

“What are you doing here?” Geralt asked, straightforward as ever.

“Uh,” Jaskier said. “The security guy let me in. He must have thought I was a delivery boy or something. I uh, I got your favourite,” he raised a hand holding a paper bag that Geralt had been too distracted to notice. “From across the street? Oh! Your friend Tiff was at the bar. She said you were still at work so I thought you’d like to have dinner maybe? And like, not with me, necessarily, just, you gotta eat right?” His words were starting to run together, and Geralt didn’t see any end in sight. “And so I figured, the place across the street, they had to know your favourite. ‘Big lawyer man with long white hair’ doesn't fit many of their clients' profiles. Anyway, dinner. For you. I could stay too, if you want, I mean I am simply starving-” he emphasized the word and then looked panicked again. “Wait, was that a yes, by the way? You know who I am, right? Otherwise this is going to get so awkward-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted.

“Yes!" He beamed. "That's me. Jaskier."

“I’m still not sure what you’re doing here.”

Jaskier froze for a moment, losing his shine. “We didn’t get to finish that conversation the other night. I thought that maybe...” Balancing his weight from a feet to another, he looked younger in the office light. He didn't finish his sentence, and looked like he was waiting for Geralt to respond.

“I’m working.”

“Right.”

“I’m at work,” Geralt gestured back at his office.

“Yeah, I know, I just thought- I- You're right, this was a stupid idea. Invasive, even. God what am I doing-” he took a frantic step backwards, and then thrust out the paper bag in some sort of peace offering. “Well, you should have this anyway, I mean- you have to eat, right? I said that already. Did I say that already?” He put the paper bag down on the closest cubicle desk then started walking backwards. “Sorry for,” he gestured vaguely, “showing up like that. Uh. It won’t happen again.”

Jaskier turned around, starting towards the elevators with his hand rubbing the back of his neck, and Geralt thought he heard him swearing under his breath something that sounded very much like ‘such a fucking idiot’.

An uneasy feeling filled Geralt’s chest as he watched Jaskier walk away. He didn’t know what he was doing and he didn’t know what he wanted or why he wanted anything but he knew he didn't want this.

“Jaskier,” he called and felt so very glad no one else was working late on his floor.

“Yeah?” Jaskier turned back instantly, his face lit up by a beacon of hope.

“Do you… Do you do this often?” he asked hesitantly and felt stupid about it as soon as he heard himself. There was a beat of Jaskier looking around at the empty place before he walked back towards Geralt slowly.

“Chasing down a guy I talked to for thirty minutes because I just can’t fucking stop thinking about him? No. No, I don’t. First time, actually.”

Geralt watched the musician, noting the soft, hopeful smile forming at the corner of his lips, the closing and opening of his hands at his sides, and the way the office light was reflecting in Jaskier’s eyes.

“Twenty minutes? I need to wrap something up. Then I’m free. For dinner.” Geralt amended.

Jaskier let go of the breath he had been holding and a full smile slowly graced his face again.

“Sure. Take your time. We can heat up the food at my place.”

If twenty minutes had been a promise, Geralt would have broken it. Ten minutes later, he was done with work for the day and on his way to Jaskier’s.

“So which one are you?" Jaskier asked, leaning over his kitchen counter after discarding the take-away wrappings. "VGB or Morhen?”

“Neither,”

“Oh. I thought you were.”

“Disappointed?”

Jaskier chuckled. “No. Well, a bit, I mean," he raised a shoulder lazily and faked disappointment, "I thought you were one of those big-shot lawyers.”

“I am. I’m just not a name partner.”

"So you're a regular partner then?"

“Just barely."

"Is that a thing?"

"Hmm." Geralt took a whole second to think about it and found himself oddly relaxed with answering the question. “I have a daughter.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s voice was oddly tight.

“Yen and I have a deal. She leads the boat on the job side, excels and enjoys herself in the career she’s always wanted and worked so hard for. I pull the hours she needs me to but our focus is our daughter.”

“You and Yen.”

“Yes.”

"Wait, like Triss's dancing on tables Yenna?" Jaskier’s eyes were widening in realisation.

"Yes."

"Is she Morhen?"

Geralt shook his head. "Vengerberg."

"And she’s your ex."

"Yes."

“Are you still-”

“Friends, yes.”

Jaskier nodded slowly and seemed to be thinking about something. He put his glass away and leaned against the counter, closer to Geralt. “Do you know what you’re doing here, Geralt?” he asked so low it was almost a whisper.

Geralt couldn’t help but cast a look at his lips. “Not really.”

Jaskier slowly slipped his hand up Geralt’s forearm and the hair at the back of his neck rose.

“I was thinking maybe I could kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

Geralt found himself suddenly very much too out of breath to answer.

"Geralt?"

"Yes."

"Yes, as in you're still with me or yes-"

"Both." Geralt interrupted before he had the chance to change his mind.

Jaskier looked surprised for a second then stood up on his toes to close the small space that was left between them. He pressed his lips against Geralt's; chaste and dry and sweet. When was the last time Geralt had been kissed like that? With care?

Jaskier's lips moved with his and Geralt felt the tip of the other man’s tongue against his lower lip, asking for permission. He granted it without question.

"Geralt?"

Geralt kissed him again and couldn't help the sigh that escaped when Jaskier's teeth grazed against his lips.

"Hmm?"

They shared another kiss.

"Couch?"

And another.

"Sure."

They parted only for the short time it took Jaskier to walk around the kitchen island. He led Geralt to the couch, pushing him slightly backwards to make the man sit so he could straddle his lap. Jaskier’s hips were thinner than those of Geralt’s usual partners. His shoulders were larger, his back more muscled, his arms- his whole body was fucking delightful and yet so very different, so very new.

"Jask?"

A kiss.

"Yeah?" It was more of a sigh of pleasure against his lips than a whisper.

"Remember when you asked-" Fuck, it was good. "About my-"

"Sorry, do you need me to stop?"

Something rumbled in Geralt’s chest, his voice almost a growl.

"No."

His hand found the back of Jaskier's neck and they sort of crashed again into each other. They kissed and kissed again and Geralt just didn't want to stop but things had to be said.

"Expertise," he finally managed.

"What?" Jaskier let go of his mouth and came back again for a peck before he sat back on his ankles to look at Geralt. His lips were red, his hair in disarray, his hand still hot on the side of Geralt’s neck. Geralt was fucked.

"Expertise," Geralt said, sitting up a bit straighter, settling his hands on Jaskier’s hips. "The other night. You asked about my area of expertise."

"Uh. Right."

Jaskier had a look on his face like someone had just interrupted his hot make-out session to talk about corporate law. Geralt would know, that had happened to him more times than he would admit.

"This isn't it."

"What?" Jaskier looked bewildered. His face was an open book of unguarded emotions and it made Geralt want to kiss him even more.

"My area of expertise. This isn’t it."

"Oh." Jaskier answered, distracted by a strand of hair that fell over Geralt's eyes. He plucked the strand up between deft fingers and tucked it behind Geralt’s ear. Then he blinked and backtracked. "Wait, kissing?"

"Men," Geralt said. "Men aren't my areas of expertise."

"Oh,” Jaskier said. His hand was suspended in the air behind Geralt’s ear. “Okay, you- Oh. Okay.” he whispered again, his hand dropping down to Geralt’s shoulder.

Geralt wasn't sure why Jaskier was the one blushing.

Sexual orientation had never really been a topic of conversation for Geralt growing up. Emotions were already a complex enough subject to tackle, anything that went further than caring for his brothers was not recommended. Exploration was limited. As a young man, he had gone for what society told him were the easiest ways to get sexual release when he needed it (women) and then his life tangled with Yen's and other partners faded out from the realm of his interests. When Ciri had entered their life, his very own life had taken a whole new meaning. There was little that mattered except making his daughter happy. His own personal relationships were more of an afterthought.

"Well," Jaskier started again. "We don't have to- I mean it's okay. It's good. It's all good, darling. Do you- Do you need a breather? Do you- do you even want to be here?"

"I followed you willingly, didn't I?" Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow. Jaskier chuckled.

“It’s just- What if I mess up and deter you from ever enjoying another penis ever again?" he exaggerated, the dramatic flair evident in every line of his body. Geralt snorted.

"Hey! I have a duty to the penis community and I take it very seriously," Jaskier continued as if Geralt hadn’t brushed the thought off.

"The penis community," Geralt repeated, fake awe dripping in his voice.

"The penis kingdom, actually."

"The penis continent." Geraly offered, helpfully.

"Oh, that reminds me, talking about dicks: Nilfgaard, yay or nay?"

"Argh, shut up," he grabbed Jaskier's face unceremoniously and Jaskier laughed in the kiss. His hand brushed Geralt’s cheek and everything about him seemed to slow down. Jaskier broke apart from him, a smile still on his lips, and looked at Geralt steadily like any doubt and hesitation were forgotten.

"Just tell me what you like, darling,” he said.

"I like kissing you.”

"That’s a good start," he replied and granted Geralt’s request.

Jaskier lay his hands on Geralt’s shoulders and the muscles melted under the soft weight of them. He raised onto his knees and pushed Geralt back into the couch. Jaskier was slightly taller kneeling over him, and Geralt found something delightful in having to look up at someone.

Jaskier leaned in and caught Geralt’s lips between his. His kisses were softer, slower, deeper than a minute before. Like he was taking his time to enjoy every second, to make Geralt enjoy every second. One of Geralt’s hands moved from his hip to his lower back, inviting him closer, and Jaskier slid his hands around Geralt’s neck, arching slightly into the touch. There was an intimacy about it that Geralt hadn’t expected nor experienced in a long time.

Jaskier pressed his forehead against his at every breath, his hands caressing Geralt’s cheeks, sliding into Geralt’s hair, slowly making him shiver.

Jaskier’s arms were distracting. The shirt he’d been wearing on that evening at the bar hadn't given away any clue as to the gems that were hidden underneath those sleeves. There was something feral lying deep in Geralt’s belly that was definitely ready to be manhandled.

Geralt found himself sliding his hand under Jaskier’s shirt, feeling the hot skin under his fingers, tracing the muscles along his spine.

Jaskier quickly got the message and took his shirt off between breathless kisses. He started tugging at the buttons of Geralt's shirt while Geralt’s hands made themselves at home on every inch of skin they could find. He felt goosebumps form on Jaskier’s skin and used the distraction to start laying kisses on his neck, licking and sucking the skin and taking note of the softest noises Jaskier made. The tip of his fingers slid down the hairs of Jaskier’s chest as he nibbled the man’s collarbone, and found one of his nipples on the way. Geralt caressed it tentatively and felt the shiver that went through Jaskier’s whole body when he did. Jaskier’s fingers pulled abruptly at his shirt.

“Oh god, take your goddamn shirt off, please!” The request was more of a thready gasp than an actual sentence. Geralt laughed at his enthusiasm and finished unbuttoning his shirt.

“Is this okay?” Jaskier asked as he slid the shirt off Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt hummed approvingly and raised his arms when Jaskier grabbed his undershirt. They kept kissing until he felt Jaskier’s hands slowing down, tensing slightly against his chest until they were barely just touching him. He saw the look on Jaskier’s face when he parted from him and realised why he had stopped. Jaskier’s eyes were fixated on his torso, fingers hovering over one of his many scars.

“I can put the shirt back on if you want,” he offered and Jaskier’s eyes jumped back to his face.

“What? No, darling, no,” he rushed and grabbed Geralt’s face kindly, kissing him again. “I was just surprised. Is this okay? Can I- can I touch you?”

“Yeah. Of course you can,” he kissed Jaskier softly. “They haven’t hurt in a long time.”

“Can I ask- I know this isn’t the best of times but-" he bit his lip with hesitation. "Did someone do this to you?”

“Not one person in particular,” Geralt shrugged it off.

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s brow furrowed.

“Don’t worry about it,” he brushed his nose against Jaskier’s. “It’s in the past.”

"Okay," Jaskier whispered and then, trying to lighten the mood he added, "was it, like, your secret service past?"

"I am not at liberty to say."

Jaskier snorted.

“Just tell me you’re not in a fight club.”

“In a what?” Geralt asked, frowning.

“A fight club.”

“I don’t know what that is,” he said, seemingly clueless.

“You know, a fi- oh, you ass!” Jaskier yelped, slapping him lightly on the pec and Geralt laughed, grabbing the back of Jaskier's thighs right below his bottom to make him slip even further into his lap.

“How would you like to take care of my ass?”

Jaskier almost choked on his own breath and turned an even deeper shade of red.

"Are you- do you mean literally?"

"I'm not a blushing virgin, Jaskier,” Geralt said matter-of-factly.

"I know, I just mean- well if you've never- I mean are you sure you want to? With me?"

It was a sensible question but Geralt didn't want to think about it for too long. Thinking would mean trying to make sense of things -feelings, desires. It would lead to labelling and wanting to belong and- he just hated words. Words had a tendency to make things real and unmovable. Actions were so, so much better.

"You're the one who knows what he's doing, here,” Geralt said. “I'd rather it be you doing the work."

"Uh," Jaskier said thoughtfully. He probably had a PhD in literature or something based on the improbable number of books and manuscripts lying around in his flat. Geralt had even seen a couple ones in the cereal cupboard which was apparently where Jaskier’s glasses went.

"Alright then. Just. Tell me if something is not working for you, alright?"

"I will. Now can we get back to business?"

"To defeat-"

"If you start singing right now I am getting out of here," he grabbed a handful of the musician’s ass.

"Oi!!" Jaskier complained in the fakest way possible. "Wait, hold on, does that mean you've seen Disney movies- what's your favourite one?"

Geralt raised yet another very serious eyebrow.

"Do you often discuss topics that make people think about their kids when they're trying to bed you-"

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry," Jaskier laughed and hid his face in Geralt's neck, full of shame. "How much do you hate me right now?" he muffled.

"Hmm," Geralt pondered, slowly sliding his fingers up Jaskier's spine. "You should probably find a way to make me forget about it."

"Hmm," Jaskier imitated, kissing the side of Geralt's neck and slowly making his way up to the man’s ear. "What if I took your pants off?" he whispered.

"Could be a start," Geralt admitted.

"What if we moved to my bed?"

"I was beginning to wonder if you had one of those."

"I can still fuck you over the kitchen counter if you're disappointed."

Geralt’s pupils dilated as he pictured himself bent over the piece of furniture, holding onto whatever he could while Jaskier pounded him restlessly.

"Bed. Now."

Geralt only got a quick look at the room (more books, more notebooks, cord instruments of all sorts and sizes) before Jaskier grabbed him by the belt and pushed him onto the bed. He followed quickly, straddling him and kissing him senseless until Geralt’s head hit the mattress.

"Can I t-" Jaskier started and Geralt tried to sit up, cutting him off with a kiss. He reached for his own belt, planning on taking his trousers off before Jaskier pressed against his shoulders and made him lie down again. He slid his fingers between Geralt’s, caressing his knuckles softly.

"Oh please, give me the honor."

Geralt almost growled with impatience and reached a hand out between Jaskier's legs, palming him through his jeans.

"Oh sweet Edith Eleanor Diana Poulton, you are not playing."

He got Geralt’s belt out of the way and undid his trousers. Geralt’s underwear followed halfway when Jaskier took the trousers off, leaving his ass bare on the sheets and the hem of his briefs so low on his hips it was practically at the base of his cock. He tried taking his briefs off entirely, feeling silly and oddly vulnerable being halfway undressed but Jaskier batted his hands off and kissed him again. He slid a hand through Geralt’s pubic hair and slowly, incredibly slowly, down, and after what felt like a thousand years, finally closed his hand around Geralt’s cock and pulled.

Geralt pushed the back of his head into the mattress and closed his eyes as if he was at risk of losing sight if he left them open. Jaskier kissed him through the first moan of pleasure and quickly was all over him. Jaskier was kissing and licking and touching and stroking and Geralt was having quite a hard time trying to do much more than let his hand grab onto Jaskier’s hair and do his best not to sound too desperate. He was absolutely failing.

“Is this good, darling?” Jaskier whispered, kissing his neck up to his jaw and softly biting the skin there as his hand kept stroking him.

"Hmm," was all Geralt could manage and he felt Jaskier smile against his skin.

"Tell me?"

"Ah,” Geralt’s hands were moving somewhat erratically, trying to hold onto any part of Jaskier that would make him feel anchored and not as if he was going to lose his mind before he got the man’s socks off. “Yes."

"You're so good darling,” Jaskier’s kindness, Geralt vaguely decided, was fucking obscene. “You're doing so good."

Geralt felt himself blush, having no idea how any blood could flow to his face since he was pretty sure all of it was rushing to his dick. He wasn't going to last long at this rate.

"I want- I want to touch you too."

Jaskier let him open his jeans and moaned into his mouth when Geralt finally got his hand into his underwear.

“Jaskier,” he warned and Jaskier slowed down the working of his own hands.

“You alright, love?” he whispered, voice broken with pleasure.

Instead of an answer, Geralt sat up and pulled Jaskier's trousers to get his point across. Jaskier took his hands off him - the loss was fucking unbearable - to finally get rid of all remaining items of clothing and pressed himself against Geralt again, his hand on his neck. Geralt immediately got his arms around his middle to cradle him closer. Jaskier rocked slightly against him, their cocks pressing against each other and Geralt couldn't help but get a hand on both of them.

"Show me?" he croaked hoarsely and silently prayed that Jaskier wouldn’t make him beg for it because he definitely would. Instead Jaskier joined their hands together and guided him, pressing on Geralt's fingers to make him hold his cock tighter, moaning when Geralt's wrist angled exactly how he liked it.

"Oh god, yes. You're so good to me, love," he moaned.

It felt like forever and it felt like a blink. They rocked and they kissed and they moaned and Jaskier kept breathing sweet nonsense into his neck, praises into his ear, about how good he was and how good he felt and how well Jaskier would take care of him and how much he wanted to make him moan through the night but in the end, what got him over the edge was Jaskier digging his fingers onto the soft flesh of his ass, sliding in to brush against Geralt’s hole, and absolutely, definitely had nothing to do with Jaskier crying out, “Oh love, you’re beautiful!”

Geralt lost a few seconds or maybe a minute or five over which Jaskier had apparently come all over his stomach too. Jaskier was catching his breath, lying with his forehead against Geralt’s chest, trying his best not to lay all his weight over him. Geralt found the back of Jaskier’s neck, his fingers going up through his hair and drawing a comfortable groan from him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pushing on his arm to lie a few centimeters away, his head propped over Geralt’s shoulder, their legs still intertwined together. Jaskier’s arm stretched over Geralt’s middle and the tingly waves of left-over pleasure washed over them both with every breath, content tiredness slowly taking over.

A few minutes later Geralt extracted himself from Jaskier’s grasp, not without some difficulty, and convinced himself to clean up. Washing his hands in front of the bathroom mirror, Geralt looked back at Jaskier’s face hovering over his shoulder as Jaskier pressed his chest against his back. Eyes closed, Jaskier asked: “D’you want to stay?”

Vaguely wondering about the last time he felt as comfortable as this with someone and then pushing the thought away, Geralt’s eyes lowered, looking at Jaskier’s arms settled around his body.

He felt Jaskier’s lips move into a loopy smile against his skin when he answered:

“Hmm.”

#geraskier #geraskier fic #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my writing #no warnings #geralt of rivia is a little dense and jaskier is very very pretty #mine: geraskier #mine: no warning #mine: himbo geralt #mine: modern au #mine: mature #mine: of fingers tongues and toes series

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years

Text

The Last Night Part XVI

(A/N at the end)

Parts I-XV:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

When Cordelia was just a small girl, her father would play a game with her. Cordelia would run as fast as she could in the yellow shoes her mother just bought her, her arms stretched out from her sides flapping like a featherless bird, towards her father squatting on the ground a few feet away from her. When she’d be nearly to him, she’d leap from the ground with a faith only a child could muster into his waiting hands where he would toss her over his head in the air. There was this moment, when she would be suspended in the air just before momentum died and gravity’s pull dragged her back down, that everything went quiet around her. Everything went still. When all she could see was the horizon in front of her and her father’s embrace below. And she’d come falling back down to earth. A laughing star with a red tail and bright yellow shoes.

The moment Cordelia’s eyes felled upon James, she felt the weightless suspense of being hugged by the wind just before it released her back to the ground, except no awaiting arms were there to catch her and she came hurtling to the ground.

He looked so handsome— when he ever didn’t, she wasn’t sure— with his dark curls pushed back away from his face and the lingering smile on his lips. He wore gear up to his neck, black except for the silver buckles of his vest strapped across his lower abdomen and the red scarf around his neck. The hilts of his throwing knives glistened in the warm light coming through the window and from the ball-shaped orbs that hung from chains above him, flickering with burning witchlights. The words she’d be rehearsing to herself since the moment she woke up seemed to evaporate like steam from tea out of her mind.

Thankfully, words were no longer necessary as Matthew crossed the threshold of the foray into the sitting room, past James whose his eyes never managed to leave hers, as he said, “You’re awake. Splendid. Things have been awfully dull without your joyful presence.” Matthew grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed a light kiss to both of her cheeks before reaching around her and patting Lucie on the head earning himself a shove into the couch. “Where have you been all morning?” Matthew directed at Lucie.

“That is my business,” said Lucie, smoothing her hair, “and mine alone. Where have you lot been?”

Matthew waved a hand down his body clad in black gear except his was stitched with gold thread that matched the color of his hair. He rested his knee high boots on the coffee table rattling the tray of tea and biscuits, bits of mud flecked off onto the glass. “We were out at the theater enjoying a matinee…”

While their banter continued on, James stumbled towards Cordelia. His foot catching the footstool; his eyes surprisingly never leaving hers.

Cordelia stifled a laugh and stepped forwards away from the window to meet him in the center of the room.

“You look,” he swallowed and his hand raised, paused, before he ran it through his own hair, “you look better.”

“Better?” Cordelia ran her hands over the fabric of her skirt. “Well, I should hope so. A few days in a magically induced coma does wonders for ones complexion.”

“I shall no longer be calling you Daisy then,” he said.

Her eyebrows jumped. “No?”

“No,” smiled James. “Perhaps I shall call you Sleeping Beauty.”

“Perhaps you should not,” said Cordelia appalled, having read the French classic in her youth and despising the damsel for being insolent enough to touch the spinning wheel and then not being able to manage herself out of the sleep she put herself in. “I am not a damsel to be woken with a kiss.”

No, no, she was the prince riding on the mount and climbing the scaffold and fighting the evil that existed in the world.

The corner of James’s mouth lifted in a sad smile. “No,” he said, leaning forward so only she could hear him. “You never did require anyone’s rescuing.”

The memory of ice cream dripping down her hand, the warmth of the sun on her cheeks, and the excitement of their joined rebellion only moments ago; along with the way that James was looking at her now, like she wasn’t quite real, sent a warmth through Cordelia.

“Will you be staying in London?” he asked, folding his hands behind his back. “Or will you be leaving for Alicante soon?”

“Staying,” said Lucie from behind her, abandoning her raillery with Matthew to join in their conversation, much to James’s chagrin which he failed to hide from his face. “For sometime, at least until we can recover her memories from the shadow realm.”

“Recover her memories?” asked Matthew, a biscuit crumbling over the front of his gear. “Has she lost them?”

Cordelia slid a glare in Lucie’s direction. Lucie raised her shoulders innocently. “Was I not supposed to say anything? They would have found out eventually.”

“Charles is requesting that we remain in London until my memories of the events return in the case that it provides them with information about Belial,” she said to both boys. “Also, he wants us to remain close in case he attempts an attack on us again.”

“Interesting,” mused Matthew.

“Yes,” said James, his eyes wandered over Cordelia. “How did you lose your memories?”

“No, not that,” said Matthew as he stood and came to stand beside James. “My brother actually did the right thing for once. I find that interesting. Where is Christopher? It seems we may have jumped into another dimension without the help of the book.”

Ignoring Matthew, James waited for Cordelia’s reply. “I’m not sure,” she said. “The last thing I remember is getting into the carriage with Alastair after I left… after talking with you.”

A muscle moved in James’s jaw and for the first time, he looked away from Cordelia and down at his boots. A fine, ebony curl fell in his face.

“What book?” demanded Lucie.

Matthew’s pale eyebrows jumped as he glanced at James. “It would appear as if my impeccable sense of humor has found me in trouble yet again.”

“I’d suggest keeping your mouth shut,” sighed James. “But I fear the words would be wasted and the attempt futile.”

“What book?” Both girls asked.

“Keep your voice down,” said Matthew, glancing over his shoulder, across the room where the door to the dining room led, and then suspiciously at Church curled up on the chair beside the fire. “There are ears everywhere.”

Lucie placed her hands on her hips. “What are you four up to? Tell me. Tell me now or I’ll tell Mam and Pa that you’re keeping secrets behind their back.”

James glared at his sister as he used to do when they were children and Lucie desperately wanted him to be the villain in her live production of her latest playwright or novella. He seemed to be contemplating if Lucie’s threat was legitimate or a bluff. Cordelia knew the truth, Lucie would never purposefully sabotage her brother, but rather learn of his secrets on her own if he wouldn’t reveal them freely. However, scaring the information out of him was a much easier and faster tactic.

James exhaled and whipped his scarf off his shoulders, casually tossing it on the couch. “If you must know, we are in search of a book that will help us locate portals into other realms.” He glanced at Cordelia. “As well as something that may help us learn how to kill Belial.”

“Portals?” Lucie glanced between Matthew and James. “Like the one at the cemetery?”

“Yes,” said James while Matthew nodded enthusiastically.

“Why not just use the portal at the cemetery then?” asked Lucie.

“Because that would be far to easy and nothing in our lives are ever that simple,” said Matthew.

“Portals can move or vanish,” explained James. “They don’t stay in one place for long and they’re incredibly difficult to track.”

“The closest one could be in the dreaded Americas,” said Matthew with a look of distaste.

“We also don’t fully understand how they work just yet,” said James. “We don’t know what realm we would be stepping into, we don’t know what exists in those realms, and we don’t know how to return to this one.”

Cordelia, who remained quiet through their confession, asked, “Where is this book?”

James turned to her and she felt her bleeding heart quicken in response. “We’ve called upon Magnus Bane. We’re awaiting his response.”

“Called upon?” asked Lucie. “He’s one of Mam and Pa’s dearest friends. He spent the holidays with us when we were children. Why not just knock on his door if you needed help.”

“Matthew didn’t want to seem rude,” said James.

“The warlock has blue smoke coming out of his fingertips,” said Matthew in distress. “He is a legend. You simply do not waltz up to a legend’s front door and demand a look in his library. I’ve heard of him turning people into toads for much less.”

“Also,” said James, shaking his head at Matthew. “We need to come up with a version of the truth that won’t have him running to our parents about our plans.”

“You need a lie?” asked Cordelia.

“‘A version of the truth’ he said,” cried Matthew. “We cannot lie to a high warlock. He’ll see right through us like cheap cotton.”

“Use me,” said Cordelia. The three of them looked to her with drawn eyebrows and still looks. “I heard Charles talking to Jem about possible ways of retrieving my memories and Magnus’s name came up, briefly, before Charles denied the help of a warlock even on such pressing matters. We could go to his flat and ask for assistance searching through my mind. James can ask to go into the library while he waits and search for the book. Magnus won’t think anything of it since James loves books.”

The perturbed looks did not evaporate once she was finished. Lucie turned her back to Cordelia, her eyes locked on her feet.

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Matthew, the first to speak. “That’s not a bad idea at all. A much better idea than Christopher’s, who suggested one of us poison ourselves and seek an antidote from him.”

“That was your idea,” said James and stepped towards Cordelia. With the distance between them shortened, Cordelia could see the faint dusting of freckles across his cheekbones. The air carried the smell of him towards her: sandalwood, the leather of his gear, and old books. It was enough to make her sway. “Are you sure, Cordelia? You’ve not been awake for twenty four hours yet. Shouldn’t your mind have time to heal?”

Jem had mentioned something to Charles about it being dangerous to reach into Cordelia’s mind while she healed and that she should have a few weeks to recover to see if the memories returned on their own without intervention. When Charles didn’t accept his warning, Jem offered the name Magnus Bane knowing that Charles would bristle. It worked. Charles agreed to wait until Cordelia’s mind had time to heal before the Silent Brothers would go prodding through her memories in search of something she, herself, could not see.

But she wanted to be of assistance to her friends now. And if she was being absolutely honest, she wanted vengeance. He’d nearly killed Alastair and herself. He did kill their carriage driver and a dear friend of the Herondale’s. Belial kidnapped her in order to gain access to James and she would not allow it to happen again.

“James is right,” said Lucie. “It’s not safe. You should rest and gain your strength. We’ll find another way to retrieve the book.”

“There’s no time,” she said. “Besides, who knows if waiting will draw the memories out or shut them in tighter. I think the earliest we gain access to them the better.”

Lucie offered her a tight smile and inhaled. “Excellent,” she said, but her tone suggested otherwise. “We’ll wait for Magnus to return with an invitation and then we’ll go.”

“Go?” The four of them turned to find Tessa standing in the foray with Will, Alastair, and Sona behind her. Her eyes danced between them. “Go where exactly?”

(A/N: Here it is guys! Thank you for waiting an extra couple of days. I had a birthday party for my nephew this weekend and it was just kind of a rough week in general, but Sunday I was able to mostly write. It’s a lot of dialogue, but it’s fun dialogue. I hope you guys enjoy it.)

#the shadowhunter chronicles #chain of gold #james x cordelia #jordelia #jordelia fanfiction #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #lucie herondale #Matthew Fairchild

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seraphinitegames · 5 years

Text

The Wayhaven Chronicles—Update 27/Mar/2020

Blimey, what a week! It was a seriously full one :D

I steamed ahead on Book Three planning and am seriously so eager and excited to start getting writing in April! I managed to figure out which scenes go in the final plans, but a lot of the scenes left will either go for other books or become Unseen Scenes on Patreon!

Planning had to be put on hold for a couple of days though as I got the copyedit version back from Hosted Games. I spent a couple of days just focusing on that, adding in any edits, testing, and checking through other edits to ensure Book Two stays on vision.

So I sent that back yesterday and that's pretty much completely my side of things done now (as far as I'm aware, anyway, lol)!

For Creek Edge, I'm still on the MC sprite customisation. I knew this would be seriously heavy part of this game to work on, but I hope it will be worth it!

I'm still working on thinking how to code it all in so it runs smoothly. I think it might have to be a couple of pages of character customisation and not just all on one screen. There's just too much to fit on one screen, at least for my somewhat limited coding skills. I'll ask my readers what they think of it though, in case it's just too much or feels overwhelming.

So yeah, I'm super pumped for getting into the starts of Book Three writing soon and get some proper movement on the sprite for Creek Edge!

Hope you all have a wonderful and safe weekend! <3

#The Wayhaven Chronicles #The Curse of Creek Edge #update #progress report #Book Two #Book Three #interactive fiction

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nitewrighter · 4 years

Note

Hey :) i kinda miss your prefall Gency fic... Do you think you can write some more ? Take care ♥

I’m still thinking about the canonical existence of Overwatch Propaganda Cartoons that we saw in that preview of Hero of Numbani.

...can you tell I watched old GI Joe opening theme songs specifically for this fic?

Also credit goes to @apocryphist for coming up with “underhand” which really should be the only name for villains in the Overwatch universe.

-----

Genji drummed his fingers on the conference room table as he rested his chin in his other hand. Mercy sat to his left, nonchalantly tapping out some correspondence on her tablet as they waited. On his other side, Tracer was bouncing her knee with her fingers interlaced on the table in front of her, doing her best to at least put forward the semblance of a strike team leader despite her fidgeting. Winston sat stiffly next to her, apparently trying to scroll through lab results on his own tablet but clearly too nervous to stay focused. It was a bright and slightly breezy afternoon in Zurich, and normally Genji would have been gracefully slashing his way through the training grounds at this time, but instead they were all here.

“I can’t stand it when they don’t say what the meetings are about,” mumbled Winston.

“It’s probably a top secret mission!” said Tracer.

“’Secret?’” said Winston, sounding even more nervous, “I’m... I’m not exactly good at ‘secret.’”

“Is it unrealistic to hope we got more intel from Doomfist?” said Genji, glancing at Mercy.

“I wish,” huffed Mercy, “But from what debriefings I could get my hands on, he hasn’t given us anything useful.”

“How is that possible?” said Genji, “After all the internal damage he did to Talon’s internal power structure, shouldn’t they be scrambling without him? Shouldn’t there be a power vacuum?”

“I don’t know any more than you do...” said Winston, readjusting his glasses.

“Honestly I thought you’d know more about it, what with the Blackwatch stuff,” said Tracer.

“Still benched,” said Genji, folding his arms.

“Officially,” said Mercy with a slight side-eye.

Genji gave her an amused “Hmph,” before saying, “Either way, Reyes pushed me out of the loop now that I’m on your strike team... not that I paid that much attention to the loop befo---”

The door opened and everyone perked up at the sight of Jack Morrison and Sojourn walking into the room. Jack seemed uneasy, but honestly Mercy couldn’t really recall the last time he seemed at ease.

“Okay, before we start, I want all of you to keep an open mind with this,” he said, looking across all of them.

“...Very encouraging, Strike Commander,” said Sojourn, with slightly sardonic amusement. She put her hands on her hips and turned to face Tracer’s strike team, “As you all know, when you’re recruited into Overwatch, you sign a waiver allowing us to use your image in... all sorts of stuff. Press releases, scientific publications, training videos for new recruits---”

“Posters,” said Mercy, already skeptical.

“Posters, too,” said Sojourn with a smile, “However, back during Omnic Crisis Reconstruction, we were using the images of heroes for a lot more.”

“Heroes?” Genji repeated quietly as Sojourn produced a remote control from the pocket of her jacket and hit a button. The venetian blinds tilted to shut out the sunlight and the lights of the room dimmed as the wallscreen lit up behind Sojourn. The screen lit up in bright colors and red and yellow explosions as a trumpeting fanfare started playing. Tracer’s face lit up as a young cartoon version of Jack Morrison appeared on the screen, pumping his fist in the air.

“The world needs heroes!” said the cartoon Jack Morrison, “Are you with us?”

Genji glanced at Jack who was very clearly cringing at his cartoon self.

“Oh yes!” said Tracer, her eyes bright, “It’s been years since I’ve watched this! You guys know the song, right?” she said looking at her teammates, “..No?”

The theme song was already playing, and Tracer was singing along with it eagerly.

There’s no need to fear

Overwatch is here!

Saving all we hold dear!

Mercy made a ‘I really hope this meeting isn’t going the way I think it’s going,’ face at Genji and Genji suppressed a chuckle, but Tracer seemed absolutely thrilled and even Winston was humming along with the theme song. The theme song kept playing and even introduced different members of the old Overwatch Strike team. One of the animators clearly had fun lavishing a lot of attention on Ana Amari’s hair whipping around from the force of an explosion behind her. A still-blonde cartoon Reinhardt brawled fist-to-fist with some kind of black and neon green robot. Cartoon Morrison jumped a motorcycle off of an aircraft carrier with cartoon Reyes wielding a missile launcher in the sidecar. Torbjörn and Liao were working side by side in a lab before the camera panned out to reveal they were in a bright blue tank-like vehicle Genji safely assumed was entirely made up to sell toys, firing off RPG’s with even more explosions. Sojourn chuckled watching her cartoon self fire two submachine guns at black and neon green helicopters while parachuting out of an exploding jet. There was, all in all, a frankly ridiculous amount of explosions. It finally ended with one last massive explosion and fanfare and cartoon versions of Sojourn and the entire original strike team all pumping their fists in the air with Morrison in the center.

Sojourn hit another button on her remote, the wall screen blipped off, the venetian blinds opened and the lights came on, leaving everyone sitting at the conference table blankly.

“Ahh! Still just as good as when I was a kid!” said Tracer, excitedly.

“Now, I know what you’re going to say--” Morrison started.

“Propaganda,” said Mercy, “You want to put us in propaganda.”

“You’re already in propaganda,” said Sojourn, flatly.

“This is propaganda aimed at children!” said Mercy.

“Do you know how young Talon is recruiting?” said Sojourn.

“That doesn’t mean we should stoop to their level!” said Mercy.

“Wars aren’t just won by strategy and firepower, they’re also won by ideology, by public support,” Winston suggested.

Mercy remembered something Moira said and it sent a shiver down her spine.

The true struggle is for the superiority of ideas.

“Thank you, Winston,” said Jack, “It’s not necessarily about convincing them to join, it’s about convincing people that we have their best interests in mind. Which...” Jack gestured, “We do.”

“Those bad guys didn’t look like Talon,” said Genji.

“Oh, it wasn’t Talon!” said Tracer excitedly, before dropping into a dramatic narrator voice, “Underhand is a Ruthless Criminal Organization determined to rule the world!”

“Uh--Underhand?” said Winston. Jack said nothing but somehow managed to look more dead inside.

“...Overwatch and Underhand...” Mercy repeated incredulously.

“So--we’re going to be in a cartoon?” said Genji. For some reason, his armor seemed to feel tighter, pinching, constricting around him.

“Well, we did some polling after the Doomfist fight and ran some algorithms through a handful of popular forums and social media,” Sojourn explained, “It turns out you’re all very popular with the younger crowd. Winston and Tracer pull the biggest numbers, but you, Genji, are incredibly popular with boys aged 6 to 14.”

“I...I am?” said Genji.

“Shining armor,” said Mercy, smiling at him, and steam vented from his shoulders.

“And Mercy has a death-grip on the ‘Girls aged 3 to 11′ demographic,” said Sojourn.

“So... more girls are getting into STEM?” said Mercy.

“I’m.. not sure about that, but they seem to really like the fact that you’re pretty and you can fly,” said Sojourn, flipping through the report on her own tablet.

Mercy’s face dropped and she shook her head. She pursed her lips and thought for a few moments. “I’m not sure about this...”

“If we’re all over the news already, it could help to put stuff out there that gives us more control over our image,” said Winston, he scratched the side of his head, “It... would be nice to show people I’m more than just a gorilla...”

“Genji?” said Mercy, looking over at him. Genji was running his thumb over the knuckles of his prosthetic hand and he seemed to snap out of some particularly stressful train of thought.

“Oh...um... well... it would give you a chance to talk more about Overwatch as a peacekeeping organization?” said Genji, “And if you’re talking about it to children...”

“They might be less inclined to carry on the conflicts of previous generations!” said Mercy, her eyes brightening.

“Like we said, ideologies,” said Jack.

Mercy inhaled thoughtfully. “If--if we’re going to do this, I want my likeness used responsibly. I don’t want to advocate for violence in any form.”

“...yeah I figured you’d say that,” said Jack.

“And, even if we’re going through fictional conflicts, I don’t want it... glamorized and sensationalized like the old cartoon. We don’t need all those explosions---”

“You did pull Genji out of that explosion a few weeks ago though,” said Tracer.

“Well that’s different--! That’s--!” Mercy huffed, “I think we should push more of Overwatch’s scientific and humanitarian efforts. Show that making the world a better place is more complicated than just.. shooting at bad guys.”

“We could have a science corner!” Winston chimed in, “’Winston’s Science Corner!’”

“Ooh! And maybe I should say something about friendship and teamwork at the end!” said Tracer.

Genji was shrinking a little where he was sitting, unconsciously sliding his wrist plate back and forth.

“What do you think? Edu-tainment?” said Sojourn, glancing back at Jack.

“Could go over easier than a purely fictionalized narrative,” murmured Jack.

“Aw, I wanna fight Underhand, though!” said Tracer.

“Well in any case, you can expect more correspondence from our PR department as we move forward in this project,” said Sojourn.

“You might not be fighting Talon in some far-flung corner of the world, but make no mistake: this is an important part of the fight,” said Jack.

“And who knows,” said Sojourn as an assistant hurried in with a cardboard box and set it on the conference table, “You could end up some kid’s best friend.”

Tracer and her strike team all stood up from their seats to look into the box.

“Oh commander...!” Tracer looked about to burst with excitement as she reached into the box and pulled out an action figure of herself, “I love it!” She turned over the action figure in her hands and saw a button on the back. She pressed it.

“Cheers love! The Cavalry’s here!” said the Tracer action figure.

“That’s my line!” said Tracer, delighted.

“It’s quite a stunning likeness,” said Winston, taking his own action figure out of the box. He pressed a button on the back of his action figure.

“Primal Punch!” declared the Winston action figure and Winston chuckled.

Mercy took both the Genji and the Mercy action figures out of the box and chuckled a little.

“Yours is so pretty, Doc! They even got the wings!” said Tracer as Mercy fiddled around with the action figure’s wings.

“Yes, ‘pretty and flies’ indeed.’ I might be more inclined if she comes with a lab coat accessory,” said Mercy, giving a skeptical glance to her action figure’s bust size. She pressed a button between her action figure’s wings and scoffed a little as the action figure said, “Heroes never die!”

She held Genji’s action figure out to him and he hesitantly took it. “What do you think?”

Genji turned the action figure over in his hand and looked at the button on the back. He pressed it, but the figure said nothing.

“Oh we um... didn’t really have a ‘catchphrase’ for you yet,” said Sojourn as Genji gingerly ran the finger of his prosthetic hand up the blade of the action figure’s sword clasped in his little plastic hand, “We were hoping you could put in a word for it. These are just mock-ups, really.”

You’re incredibly popular with boys age 6 to 14...

Genji moved the arm of the action figure up and down, the figure striking downward with its sword, and he thought of young boys playing with this miniature him. Running with the action figure clutched in little hands with white knuckles, playing out battles, having the action figure swing its sword at all those foes, imitating his own swordsmanship, fighting their brothers with sticks, punching each other, kicking each other---

“No,” Genji said on reflex.

“What?” said Sojourn, glancing up from Tracer chattering about her own action figure.

“I--I said no. I shouldn’t have an action figure. I shouldn’t be in the show,” said Genji. His voice was tight.

“Genji...” Mercy started.

“...is it about how you look?” said Sojourn, “Because Genji, I can tell you, seeing people like us on the screen means the world to kids with prosthetics---”

“No--” Genji was stammering, “It’s not about that, it’s--”

“Genji, you’re a part of the team,” Tracer tried to reassure him, “It wouldn’t be the same without you--”

“Children shouldn’t want to be like me!” Genji blurted out, and there was a small plasticky snap. Genji glanced down and saw that he had unthinkingly broken the arm off of his own action figure. The entire room had gone silent, staring at him. He set both the action figure and its broken-off arm on the table and exhaled. “I’m-- I need to think about it,” he said, pushing up from the table and walking briskly out of the room.

“Genji, wait--” said Mercy, standing up. Her eyes flicked to the broken Genji action figure on the table and she picked it up, tucking both the figure and the broken off arm in the pocket of her lab coat. The door slid shut behind Genji but she quickly walked after him, leaving Morrison, Sojourn, Tracer, and Winston alone in the room. A long quiet pause passed between the four of them.

“Maybe just web shorts?” said Winston, “Just.. um... just the science corner?”

“Winston--” Tracer huffed.

“Right--sorry,” said Winston.

“...well, they did keep an open mind,” said Jack, “Mostly.”

“Don’t make me break out your action figure, Jack,” said Sojourn.

----

It was a known fact that if you broke visual contact on Genji, you had a pretty low probability of finding him again unless he wanted to be found. Still Mercy spent more of the remainder of the afternoon looking for him than she was readily willing to admit. The fact that he was able to disappear from the hallway that quickly made her assume he had taken the window (very mature, by the way, Genji, she thought with an eye roll) but she checked all of his usual spots and even went to his room before finally huffing and returning to her lab.

It was about 11 at night when the door slid open.

“Genji, we’re beholden to the UN. I know that was an uncomfortable situation, but... there are still protocols,” said Mercy, not even looking up from her screen.

“I know,” his cybernetically reverberative voice hummed from the other side of the room.

“I don’t know how... informally Reyes maintained his meetings, but we can’t--” Mercy looked up from her screen and read his posture and expression. Her shoulders slumped. She pushed up from her desk and walked across the lab over to him.

“I’m sorry, I know. I just shut down,” said Genji as she closed the distance between them, “I don’t even know where it came from, ever since I joined Tracer’s strike team, I thought I’ve been getting better but--” he cut himself off as she hugged him. He stood there for a few seconds before returning the embrace. A part of him wanted to take his faceplate off, breathe in the smell of her hair and the smell of coffee on her, but he tamped that down. They had embraced before, after Gérard Lacroix’s death, and had broken out of it, both of them muttering about it being inappropriate and messy, but after missions together on Tracer’s strike team, there was no such shame in taking comfort in each other like this. She loosened the hug slightly to look at him.

“What you said... about you and children...” she trailed off.

“I...” Genji sighed, “I’m an assassin.”

“You’re an agent,” said Mercy.

“Whose skills all come from the fact that he was raised to be an assassin,” said Genji, “What I went through as a child---I don’t want another child to go through it. And I don’t want children to think that’s what they want because it’s not.”

“They won’t have to,” said Mercy, putting her hands on his shoulders, “The Shimada Clan’s practically collapsed! You get to decide who you are, not them! You get to choose what you do with your skills,” one of her hands trailed down his arm and clasped his organic hand, “And you choose good. You’ve been choosing to do good.”

“...kids shouldn’t want to be like me when I don’t even know what the hell I am,” muttered Genji.

Mercy gave a helpless chuckle, “Join the club. ‘Mercy’ is easier to be than Angela. People listen to ‘Mercy,’ except not really, because she’s just pretty and she flies and at the end of the day, she’s just a bloody idea, so no one actually listens to her because she’s not real---” she caught herself, “God, they’re really going to turn us into cartoon characters, aren’t they?” she said, pushing her bangs back from her face, “As if things weren’t already weird enough.”

“Cyborg ninja. Angel doctor. Time traveler. Gorilla from the moon. It really makes no difference at this point,” said Genji with a shrug, looking over her shoulder, he noticed a small figure on her desk. “Is that---?” he broke out of the embrace and walked over to the desk to see his action figure standing there. The arm had been glued back on, the seam of the break barely visible. He picked up the action figure. “You fixed me? It--It-- I mean it. You fixed it?” he said glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Well I couldn’t just leave you like that,” said Mercy, chuckling a little.

“’You’ve rescued me again, Doctor Ziegler!’” said Genji, making the action figure bob with his words. They both snickered. “Maybe that can be my catchphrase,” said Genji, a smirk in his voice.

“Absolutely not,” said Mercy, giggling.

#gency

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nossbean · 4 years

Note

Ooh Hot Chocolate for the WIP meme, if you please :)

hee! I’m going to cheat possibly and combine this and Hot Chocolate II XD This sprung from asking a friend for a prompt for a writing warm-up last winter, hence the season appropriate: hot chocolate! Neither of these have any plot: my first go at the prompt is the start of a deleted scene from the Pacific Rim AU fic I did, with Jaime waking up before Brienne on his first morning in Tarth. Buuut it didn’t really have anywhere to go; I like it, but it petered out at just under 500 words. The second one is book canon, set in the future where Brienne and Jaime are visiting Sansa in the North with their kidlets. It has... genuinely no plot! This fic says: How did any of them survive? How did they get to where they are, post-war? Who knows! Who cares! They’re happy and healthy and mostly whole and that’s what matters! I do like it, for some slice of life fluff and I did come close to posting it -- I think it lived as a draft on AO3 before reaching that month limit to when AO3 deletes drafts, and indeed, reading it back now, I’m pretty sure I’d made some edits to the ao3 version to how Brienne in particular acts at the end. I’m not sure I’ll return to it, but in case it might bring some warm feelings as is, here’s the version I have:

Winterfell is under several feet of snow when they arrive. It is, at least, something to distract the children. Jo and Gall immediately fall all over themselves, tangled with Sansa’s Robb. Arya appears from only the Gods know where, and throws a loosely-packed snowball with infuriating accuracy at Jaime’s face. It collapses on impact, filling his nose and his beard, and somehow managing to sneak under the neck of his clothes to chill his chest, and with a growl, he launches himself into the mix.

He isn’t sure how much time passes, but he’s kneeled now in front of Gall, helping Jo and Robb pack snow around his legs to make him into a snowman. He has no idea where Arya’s gone, which is worrying, but he suspects Arya won’t disturb him when he’s playing with his children. Jo is in charge, one hand on her hip, the other pointing imperiously as she orders Jaime and Robb to work faster, bury her brother more efficiently, and Jaime delays long enough to cause her to frown severely at him, a downward pout to her mouth that he knows mirrors his own when he’s doing his best to goad Brienne, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever loved their daughter more. Of course, the thought is one which crosses his mind by the minute; with a glance to Gall, who is shimmying with excitement, sending the packed snow tumbling in small clumps, and his heart is full. He is so lucky. He remembers, every day.

“Fa-ther,” Jo says, and Jaime says quickly, “My apologies, Lady Joanna,” pretending at being demure when she nods regally, and redoubles his efforts.

His gold hand is surprisingly useful for the task, comparatively. That is, until Gall looks over Jaime’s shoulder and starts giggling, covering his mouth in a motion reminiscent of his mother. It’s enough warning, and Jaime collapses sideways onto his arse, just as Brienne drops an armful of snow where he’d been kneeled. It lands, now, on his calves and feet, and Jaime scowls, looking up at his wife. Her eyes are bright over her cold-kissed-red cheeks, broken teeth peeking from the wonderful curve of her smile, and Jaime curses his age as he struggles to scramble to his feet to tackle her into a nearby snowdrift.

Brienne gives him the time, though, kind, foolish woman that she is. She laughs up at him as they fall, the children hollering behind them, and Jaime wonders that he ever lived without the warm song in his chest brought on by the sound of her laughter. Once they’re collapsed, surrounded by snow, he squirms to prop himself up beside her, and promptly sets about stealing her scarf.

“You’ve made me cold, wife.”

“I haven’t,” she says, setting her jaw and tugging back on her scarf. “You should have dressed more warmly.”

“I didn’t expect such a chilly welcome,” he says, and Brienne groans and rolls her eyes. Jaime grins, then persists dramatically, “I also did not anticipate being attacked by our hosts upon arrival.”

“Last time we were here, Arya pushed you into the watering trough within minutes.”

“What’s your point?”

“That you bloody well should have anticipated it.”

“I have learned that in life, it is possible to mature,” he tells her with exaggerated sobriety. “And I had hoped that Arya might —”

“That Arya might what?” Arya says behind him. Brienne looks past his shoulder and starts snickering.

“Oh,” he murmurs. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“No,” Brienne says, tone what passes for sing-song with Brienne, and he almost doesn’t hate when the cold water soaks his head and slips under his various layers to spread wet patches across his undershirt. He definitely doesn’t hate when Brienne splutters furiously as he shakes his head, spraying her and Arya, who he hear skips back with an outraged yelp.

Mostly he soaks Brienne though. She deserves it for her betrayal.

After they escape to their quarters to change — and have a quick tumble, for the sake of warming his blood, he had declared, and Brienne had murmured shut up against his mouth, her fingers already on the ties of his breeches— one of Sansa’s handmaidens leads them to Sansa’s solar.

Sansa smiles as she embraces Brienne and nods to Jaime. She is still a little shadowed, but each time they visit, she seems a little brighter, a little less guarded and distant. She gestures for them to sit, and says, “Ser Jaime, I think this may please you.”

“I will be honest with you, Lady Sansa,” he says, settling beside Brienne and leaning back in his chair to stretch his legs out in front of him. “Little has pleased me of Stark hospitality thus far.”

Brienne shoots him a look, but he sees as the turn to Sansa’s smile becomes more true, the way her eyes flicker mischief. She says, with the barest sardonic emphasis, “I’m terribly sorry for the nature of your welcome. I will speak with my sister.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he replies, matching her tone.

“Perhaps this will make it up to you,” she says, and stands. She moves to the sideboard where mugs of something steaming wait. “We had an envoy from Dorne recently,” she says, lifting the tray and carrying it over. “They gifted us with this drink concoction. It is surprisingly suitable for snowy winters, given it came from warm climes.”

Jaime reaches out for a mug, passes it to Brienne, before taking one for himself. He sniffs dubiously at the steam rising from the brown mixture: it smells sweet, and rich, and dark, somehow. His mouth waters from the scent alone and he spares a passing thought that of course something so obviously luxuriant is a Dornish beverage before he raises the mug to sip.

The thick liquid spreads warm through his mouth, coating his tongue, and he hears Brienne offer a startled moan beside him. Rarely has he ever tasted something which matches its scent, but this drink — the sweetness fills his mouth, offset by a slight bitterness. It’s delicious. And yes, warming. It spreads heat down his chest, settling comfortingly in his belly. He drinks again, settling into the coziness it brings.

“So?” Sansa asks. Jaime opens his eyes and tips his head up to meet her gaze, looking down on him archly through the steam of another mug still on the platter. “Are we forgiven?”

For the sake of his wife, he ought to make this easy. But there’s a glint in Sansa’s eyes that he’s keen to tease out. So he shrugs insouciantly and says, “That depends.”

“On?” Sansa says evenly.

“How generous you are with your remaining stores.”

“Ah. That may depend on how keen you are to maintain truce with my sister. Really, this was a gift to her.”

“Mmm,” Jaime says thoughtfully. He looks to Brienne. “Are we prepared for war with the North?”

Under normal circumstance, Jaime would laugh at the serious look on his lady wife’s face despite how transparently absurd he is being, but Jaime has a facade to maintain. So when Brienne says firmly, “No,” Jaime sighs dramatically and turns back to Sansa.

“It seems we have reached an impasse, and it falls to me to be the bigger person.” He ignores Brienne’s disbelieving snort — will extract recompense later that this is what breaks her stern exterior — and nods graciously to Sansa. “All is forgiven.”

#thank you!#it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined #askbox #writing meme #humble fic offerings

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thanksjro · 4 years

Text

More Than Meets the Eye #12- Gay Rights: the Movie

Finally finished with our franchise obligations! Let’s get back to the main story.

Those are some ominous ellipses. Almost like something bad is going to happen!

Let’s take a look at Cover A for this issue.

When this was released to the general public, alongside the synopsis that stated the Lost Lighters were going to run into a group of Decepticons, a lot of people thought we’d be seeing them meet the Scavengers. This isn’t the case, and that’s not Fulcrum. It’s some other K-Con, one that has purple in his color scheme.

Our story opens up with a narrative framing device:

Welcome to “Before & After”, one of the more ambitious issues of MTMTE in terms of storytelling. Roberts really likes bouncing between scenes and POVs, and he’s really indulging that here.

Rodimus and crew have loaded up on one of the Lost Light’s scouting ships to check in on a planet called Temptoria. Whirl’s leading all the guys in the front in a war cry that wouldn’t be out of place in Hollywood’s version of the Vietnam war, while Brawn demonstrates how to not properly handle a gun. Rodimus tries to explain what exactly they’ll be doing, but no one’s listening, feeding off of the chaotic energy. The back seat isn’t quite as rowdy.

Oh, Ambulon’s here? That’s got to be awkward. And Perceptor’s looking mighty cross about having to pick up a gun again. Isn’t he supposed to be retired from being a science sniper?

Rodimus finally gets everyone to settle down long enough to explain the situation, though not without a little jargon mixup.

Basically, Ultra Magnus went down to Temptoria while the “Shadowplay” story was being told, and found out that the organic populace had been enslaved by a group of Decepticons, and, more importantly, the sovereign agreement that the planet had with Cybertron’s been violated. Also, these guys might have been the one’s who kidnapped the Circle of Light. You remember those guys, right? The guys who were supposed to be in the 2012 Annual, but they weren’t, and Drift got really mad about it.

Rodimus wraps up the briefing with a “’Til all are one!” And we cut over to see what Swerve and Tailgate are up to. Tailgate seems to be a little nervous, not the type to enjoy waiting, but Swerve seems to be doing just fine. Why is that, exactly?

Even if Rung’s still a steamed side dish of a vegetable, he’s still here, in a way. And good on Swerve for not assuming Tailgate can visualize in the same way he can. Aphantasia is more common than one might think.

Escapism is an interesting way of dealing with your problems, but I don’t know enough about wartime psychiatry to know if this is something that would actually be considered a viable solution or not.

Oh, now that I’ve said it, I’ve got the research itch.

Later, later.

Anyway, Tailgate gives it a spin, and his happy place is surprisingly domestic for such a seasoned professional.

Pipes, it’s a clear glass, it’s not hiding anything from you.

Speaking of Pipes, he’s seated next to Hound, as they discuss what happened to Red Alert. Or, rather, the cover story that’s been fed to the rest of the crew by Rodimus, which is that the engine room pretty much attacked him. This is how ghost stories get started.

Trailcutter’s gotten some guns installed in his legs, because he’s a hypocrite.

Over with Chromedome and Rewind, there’s trouble in paradise, as they’re having a lovers’ spat. Chromedome’s giving Rewind the silent treatment, and Rewind’s having none of it. What exactly are they fighting about? We don’t get to know about that yet, but it’s digging up other issues, like Chromedome going back on his promise to stop injecting. The only thing keeping this from becoming a total meltdown is Whirl can-canning through the door to kidnap Rewind, so he can film Whirl getting in the zone before the fight. Whirl’s having a great time. This is probably the first time they’ve gotten to fight something since the Lost Light took off, and he’s all about it.

Rewind’s dragged away, and Chromedome just lets it happen, because he’s feeling cross. It’s good to take a moment to cool off, but I’m not quite sure this was the best time or way for it to happen.

Meanwhile, on the Temptorian surface, Blip the Decepticon, who is likely the dirtiest son of a gun we’ve run into so far, is asked to take a look at the monitor by a guy who sounds exactly like Megatron. It doesn’t particularly matter which Megatron, because comics are not an audio-based medium, so you can pick whichever one you like best. What’s on the monitor does not please Blip in the slightest.

I feel like maybe having guys who don’t turn into flying machines jump out of the bottom of the shuttlecraft isn’t the greatest tactical thinking, but I’m sure everything will be okay. Brawn’s got a gun, maybe he’ll figure out how to rocket-jump before he hits terminal velocity.

Then the narrative jumps to after the fight, as the ship flies away from the scene, and Chromedome isn’t happy. It’s for a different reason than earlier, though.

Man, Pipes just can’t win, can he?

Ambulon remembers that he is, in fact, a medical professional, and starts working on Rewind, while Chromedome tries to ask Swerve just what the hell happened. Swerve’s having his own issues, however.

I’d nearly forgotten they had skeletons.

On the production side of this issue, we’ve got two artists: there’s our usual guy, Alex Milne on the “Before” sections, and Brandon Cahill on the “After”. Cahill’s other Transformers work includes The Transformers (2009) and the sister series to MTMTE, Robots in Disguise. Outside of the franchise, he’s worked on several Marvel pieces, including writing Sable & Fortune and Legion of Monsters. Unlike a lot of the alternate artists we’ve seen for the series, Cahill won’t be a one-and-done; we’ll see his art again in Dark Cybertron, Season 2 of MTMTE, and even Lost Light.

Getting back to the story, we’ve jumped back to the point in the battle where everyone’s hit the ground and are just wailing on each other. Tailgate and Swerve watch the chaos unfold, as Ultra Magnus more or less takes on a platoon of Decepticons.

Drift’s having a great time, as he Naruto runs through the enemy, slashing as he goes with a big ol’ smile on his face. He stabs a guy in the back of the head who was trying to grapple with Rodimus, thus interrupting the little dialogue they had going on. Rodimus is vaguely upset that his moment was cut short.

In the “After”, the shuttle’s landed back on the Lost Light, and Chromedome rushes out with Rewind in his arms to find First Aid with a motorized stretcher. He was hoping for Ratchet- he wants only the best for his shnookums. As they run Rewind down to the medibay, Chromedome starts listing off his allergies- which include ultraviolet light, something we know reveals mnemosurgery scars. This is a holdover from a dropped plot point I’ll cover at a later time; as it stands in the canon narrative, Rewind’s just got an allergy to the friggin’ sun.

Back at the shuttle, Tailgate starts dragging Cyclonus down the gangplank. Oh, hell. You know it’s a bad situation when the guy who literally couldn’t die for six million years is out of commission.

Spoke and Lockstock are a bit of a gag- they always manage to get their asses kicked, but everyone on the ship really likes them. They will never be seen on-panel, and have no character designs.

Over in the medibay, history is being made.

Esteemed members of the jury, I present to you: canon gay robots. The first in a long line of them. This is the starting point of the queer community being handed the Transformers franchise on a silver platter.

Up to this point, Roberts hadn’t gotten any further than implied attraction and affection between robots, in either his fanworks or professional credits. Pretty heavy-handed implication in some cases-

-but implication nonetheless. Here is the first, honest-to-god direct confirmation of two male-coded robots in love.

In love and space-married and recognized by the authority in power, in a comic written in 2012, as a part of a major franchise owned by a massive American company, three years before same-sex marriage would be legalized on a federal level.

As part of the story, it’s great. Within the context of the time during which it was published, it’s a whole other level. This wasn’t just good writing, it was important.

Let me part the kimono a little here, with some personal backstory- I grew up in Buttfuck Nowhere, NC, and went to a high school that was so homogeneous, they were threatening to bus students in after I graduated. I didn’t know what a gay person even was until I was 12. “Lesbian” was used as an insult, and it was one I was subjected to because I had cut my hair short in middle school and wore cargo shorts on occasion. It was something I really pushed against, because that’s how a lot of people react to being forcibly given a label.

Not the best environment for a little queer kid, clearly.

It wasn’t until well after I’d gone to college that I really started understanding who I was. Hell, I’m still figuring some things out, but at least I’m getting somewhere.

I remember reading this for the first time in 2015- yes, I got into the comics sort of late- and then having to reread it. I needed a moment just to process what had happened. As a person who had only recently come to terms with their sexuality at the time, it was kind of mind-blowing to have that sort of representation, especially since I was also watching Transformers Prime at around the same time. Talk about the duality of man, am I right?

These days, there’s a lot more representation in many different forms of media. Things are getting better. Which, y’know, yay! I’m glad. I just can’t help but wonder if things would have been a little different if this sort of representation had been available earlier on.

Anyway, so yes, Chromedome’s got a difficult choice to make for Rewind- either let his body try to sort itself out, or let First Aid break out the clamps and try to jumpstart him. Rewind’s got a relatively rare spark type, but luckily Chromedome’s the same type. Looks like everything’s coming up roses for our boys!

Tailgate and Cyclonus aren’t getting nearly as good a break.

My god, he’s filled with grape soda!

Back in the “Before”, things are getting a little silly.

Chromedome, what POSSIBLE tactical advantage could you be gaining from riding the giant, fire-breathing robot dinosaur? This is why they threw you in Kimia, isn’t it? Because you’re a dumbass.

While this bullshit is happening, Rewind and Tailgate are stacked on top of each other to look through a window, because I guess that’s just how things turn out when the resident couple on the ship is upset with one another. Rewind’s found something, but it isn’t the Circle of Light. Rather, it seems the Decepticons are dabbling in Pink Alchemy- a rather inefficient process that allows organic creatures to be turned into energon for consumption.

The good guy thing to do would be to save all the organics, but there’s a bit of a problem- the door is wired to a massive bomb. Good thing Tailgate was in Bomb Disposal, and is just generally an impressive and well-established dude. He gets to work.

Getting back to a point I made during Chaos Theory, Whirl can’t make a fist. Punching himself in the face is probably more akin to slashing it.

Tailgate’s got a weird approach to bombs, taking the time to teach Rewind how to do it, by way of student-led learning. They decide to poke a hole in the bottom of the bomb to drain all the explosive fluid out, which Tailgate does with little robot tears streaming down his face. Fear is a great motivator.

Oof, not a “Domey” in sight. That’s how you know things are rough.

Outside of this little scene, Whirl and Cyclonus are handling Decepticons. Whirl’s got a hold on that guy who’s voiced by Frank Welker, and we get a nice shot of his sad cat face before Whirl turns his head into a memory.

Swerve- who is also here- asks Whirl to loan him a gun.

GODDAMMIT SWERVE.

Not a single one of you bastards know proper gun safety! Between all the severe depression and reckless weapon-handling, I genuinely have no idea how the hell are any of you are still alive.

In the “After”, Chromedome’s just finished jumpstarting Rewind, and it’ll take a bit to see if it worked, so he’s left alone with his thoughts.

Just kidding, Tailgate’s come over to check in. Seems like Cyclonus is gonna pull through, something Chromedome’s not terribly thrilled about. Chromedome’s still miffed about the whole Kimia thing.

We finally learn why Chromedome and Rewind were fighting; it was because Rewind, as a walking historical database, has been deemed too important to die, and can opt out of any fight he choose to, but he doesn’t, thereby putting himself in harm’s way unnecessarily. Maybe he just worries about you when you go out there on the battlefield alone, Chromedome, you ever think of that? Maybe he doesn’t want to wonder when his husband will return home from the war.

Tailgate asks about all the little vials that are scattered around Rewind’s hospital bed, and we get a little Cybertronian tradition thrown at us.

The vials are filled with innermost energon, the stuff that surrounds the spark casing and never changes, no matter how much you modify or upgrade your body. Leaving a little of the stuff for someone in an offering signifies that you care very much for that person. Chromedome can’t give Rewind any, because he was “born dry”, but I think being space-married to the guy more than makes up for it.

Tailgate asks how the two of them met, and unlike in issue #6, Chromedome is feeling vulnerable enough to indulge the question this time.

But first we need to establish that Chromedome is insanely insecure.

So, Rewind is fucking old. He’s older than the Cybertronian civil war, he’s older than the calendar system, and he’s old enough to have been affected by Functionist society’s categorization system. Due to being a memory stick- something that there were millions of back in the day- Ratioism dictated that Rewind as an individual was worth very little, and made him and his like into slaves. Because he was a slave, he needed a master, and that master was none other than Dominus Ambus, also known as Cybertron’s Mech of the Year for 40,000 consecutive years.

Even on Cybertron, there’s a weird stigma about breastfeeding.

Rewind and Dominus quickly became friends, because that’s just the sort of guy Rewind is, and it made Dominus realize that maybe these slaves Cybertron had been working to death were sentient creatures worthy of respect too. He even developed a test to prove that all the slave classes were on the same level of functionality as everyone else.

On their quest to find a cure for the horrible disease Cybercrosis, Rewind and Dominus fucked off into space, on a wild goose chase to try and find Luna 1, the Cybertronian moon that just disappeared one day. Weird, that. They didn’t find it, and by the time they’d come back home, the war was well underway. They immediately became Autobots, and that was it for a while.

Then we move on to how Chromedome and Rewind met, and boy is it a doozy.

Chromedome had decided he wanted to kill himself, so he moseyed on over to the nearest relinquishment clinic- they did assisted suicides instead of body-swaps at this point- to do the deed. He was sitting in the waiting room, when he heard someone screaming. He wandered into the back to find Rewind weeping over a coffin, and he thought to himself “Maybe I don’t need to die after all” as he offered his future conjunx a shoulder to cry on.

What a fucking dark start to a relationship.

Rewind wasn’t upset about anyone who was dead though, but rather missing- Dominus had disappeared into thin air months ago, and Rewind was getting desperate to find him, looking in more and more awful places in the hope of recovering what he’d lost.

As it turns out, he’s still doing that. The reason the two of them are on the Lost Light is because Rewind needs to find Dominus- alive or dead, it doesn’t seem to particularly matter at this point. That’s why he buys snuff films in dark alleys.

See, Tailgate gets it.

Guys, bad news.

Chromedome’s spark is too weak to jumpstart Rewind. Unless they find another compatible donor, Rewind’s gonna be in big trouble. There’s nothing to do but wait.

Later, in their room, Chromedome is sitting on the floor and very much not following doctor’s orders to get some sleep. Someone on the opposite side of the door he’s leaning up against starts talking to him. Chromedome doesn’t seem to want to hear any of it, until he does.

Given who the basement dweller is, this probably won’t turn out so hot.

Chromedome gets a call from the medibay, and fortunately the universe has decided to play nice this go around, because someone came forward as a match.

But it’s not like Whirl cares about anyone, right? Not in the slightest, nuh-uh, not him!

While Chromedome gives Whirl what is probably an uncomfortably long hug, and they both most likely ignore the fact that Chromedome would be actively suicidal without Rewind, Tailgate’s off in the corner, having taken his hand off and begun pouring cartoon toxic waste into a vial. It’s actually his innermost energon. Boy’s making an offering, but it isn’t to Rewind.

It’s to this ungrateful fuck.

Cyclonus stalks away from Tailgate’s kindness, until he’s stopped by witnessing the power of love.

Everyone likes Rewind, and these displays of affection seems to have reminded Cyclonus that he’s horrifically lonely. Feeling some remorse over his actions- not that he’ll ever admit it out loud- he goes back to help Tailgate pick up the pieces of the vial he broke.

Wrapping up our story, we go back to the “Before”, right before the bomb is set to go off. Whirl and Cyclonus have more or less taken care of the Decepticons, Whirl suggests they set aside their differences and agree to stop trying to murder each other, in a surprising show of reason and, perhaps, self-preservation. Cyclonus doesn’t seem to agree with the idea.

I genuinely think that’s the most he’s said all series up to this point.

Rewind calls the two idiots over for help, because Tailgate’s about to pull a self-sacrifice to get this bomb emptied, and he just isn’t listening to reason. Cyclonus assists.

Once Tailgate’s been fastball-specialed out of the room, Whirl decides to get back to being a bastard, and locks Cyclonus and Rewind in with the bomb with 10 seconds left on the clock. Ah, so the donation was out of guilt, I see. Still a form of caring, in its own way.

With no way to escape, all Cyclonus can do is attempt to shield Rewind with his body as the bomb goes off.

That’s the end of the issue but it’s the middle of the story, and despite what Cyclonus says, dynamics are changing. Slowly, but surely, things are shifting. He’s headed for a lot of character development, and he’ll be kicking and screaming the whole way.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #issue 12 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #comic script writing

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