#it’s somehow both overwrought AND boring

[zjofierose]

this episode of picard is making me want to light my tv on fire jfc

[anghraine]

I caught up with my re-watch of the second episode of Rings of Power! The episodes are long and have a lot going on, but it was fun and enjoyable—more than the first, actually, since it wasn't trying as hard to introduce everything and could breathe more.

I really liked the beginning with Galadriel in the sea, staring up at the stars before she starts swimming. Very apropos.

I thought Nori et al's stuff would be kind of tedious (I've never been super into hobbits or proto-hobbits), but tbh I find everything about it delightful to watch.

Arondir and Bronwyn are maybe the prettiest onscreen pairing I've ever witnessed. Their little theme/motif is also really nice and not overwrought the way the music sometimes got in the first episode. It suits my sense of their story being a bit like marginalia that doesn't exactly fit into the grand sweeping main narrative of Middle-earth, but is getting some spotlight anyway.

And now we've got Celebrimbor for real, with warning bells all over him! (Not literally.) I appreciate that almost the first thing he does is mention Fëanor, and he and Elrond immediately dive into a conversation about the Silmarils and craftsmanship, and Elrond seems deeply ambivalent off the bat. Him saying "So much beauty, and so much pain" about them/Fëanor's craftsmanship while wearing a feathery outfit that is hard not to associate with Elwing is ... yeah. You'd know, Elrond.

Celebrimbor's slightly snarky explanation that he asked for a massive team to build his tower forge thing and Gil-galad "has sent me you, instead" kind of worked for me? Robert Aramayo doesn't look anything like my idea of Elrond but I love his difficult-to-pin-down yet determinedly pleasant performance of Elrond's emotions and mannerisms. I also like Celebrimbor's robes.

And, oh man, seeing Khazad-dûm in its heyday? HELL, YEAH. The music is doing some of the lifting but mostly it's just fucking awesome to see. The show is clearly lingering on it with a lot of love and attention, which it's really nice to see the dwarves getting.

I liked getting references to Aulë from the dwarves (no, it's not what dwarves would ordinarily call him, but it's a reasonable concession to comprehensibility for people who aren't, well, us). During the whole challenge thing, Elrond is referred to as an Elf over and over and over, which I'm kind of :\ about as a firm proponent of Half-Elves Are Not Men or Elves, No Matter What Ultimate Fate They Chose. Elrond seems pretty uncomfortable with it (though that may be more about his relationship with Durin), but also does more or less accept it as a descriptor.

Nori was still trying to figure out the Stranger, which somehow is not boring, and meanwhile her father's ankle breaks or sprains or something as part of festival preparations. The Harfoots collectively treat this as a huge deal and are asking if he'll be able to migrate, which is not exactly framed as super ominous, but definitely seems significant and at least somewhat ominous. Nori is clearly pretty freaked out.

The first part of the episode is sadly a bit sparse on my girl Galadriel (though she got so much attention in the first episode that it's understandable), but we got back to her, still swimming. It'd be a bit unbelievably impressive from other people, but I can believe it for her. She sees the raft of survivors before we do, which I liked as a little detail.

The raft is really spiky, appropriately enough for a raft with Sauron on it. It's kind of hilarious that almost his first line is "Looks can be deceiving." No shit, lmao.

The survivors+"Halbrand" and Galadriel have this brief and slightly weird interchange about Corsairs, which strikes me as an odd reference both geographically and in the time period we're in.

Then there's a SEA WYRM that shows up out of basically nowhere and causes havoc resulting in the deaths of everyone except Sauron Halbrand and Galadriel. A coincidence, I'm sure.

Then we cut back to Elrond and Durin, and finally find out why Durin is so mad at Elrond. It turns out that Elrond basically ignored his existence for 20 years while he was doing ... things, and Elrond didn't even realize it'd been so much time because a couple decades is nbd to him. Angst and other difficulties around different lifespans = one of my most favorite fantasy tropes, so I'm onboard for this particular drama.

It's a little surprising that Elrond of all people would make this mistake, but then again, Elros himself lived so long that 20 years would have been a tiny fraction of his own lifetime, too. (Now I want lifespan angst or anxiety or something with Elros being the one who's "welp, it's really been that long?")

Anyway, I enjoyed how serious and fraught the whole discussion is and then the cut to comedy when Elrond arrives to apologize to Durin's wife, Disa. IDK, I didn't feel it was undercutting Durin as a character or his feelings, even while poking a bit of fun at his sulkiness—e.g., when Disa enthusiastically tells Elrond to make himself comfortable, and Durin is like, "But not too comfortable."

I love Disa's appearance, by and large. The patterning on her outfit is so cool and different. She's generally a delightful character, and I appreciate that while there's an element of calculation to what Elrond is doing, he seems genuinely interested in her and her work. The narrative itself feels really interested in the dwarves and their culture at this point, and I just enjoyed that a lot.

Meanwhile, back to Galadriel and Halbrand/Sauron. It's still really funny to me that there was so much indignation over Eminem Sauron being insufficiently hot, and then actual Sauron turned out to be this currently bedraggled but very conventionally attractive guy.

I like his little head tilt as he's ostensibly figuring out what's going on and his little "You're a deserter, aren't you?" As if he doesn't know who Galadriel is, hah.

When he says "My people have no king," it feels like a pretty blatant call-back to Boromir in Jackson's FOTR, but of course it's inverted, ultimately. Halbrand is a shadow Aragorn, not a shadow Boromir, and is himself (supposedly) the king he's rejecting. I'm not going to go on too much about it because I have a whole post about it here.

Anyway, Galadriel condescending to Sauron is kind of delightful. Sure, she's mistaken in assuming he's mortal. But everyone should condescend to Sauron, actually!

Back to Bronwyn, who is a bit more interesting in this episode, she actually makes it home and tries to convince her village that something is very wrong, but no one believes her. They seem kind of ridiculously stupid, tbh? Maybe not ridiculously—I can believe they would actually respond that way (I lived in the shadow of Mt St Helens for years, I know very well that historically sometimes that's the response to clear warnings of disaster). But come on, people.

Then there's Arondir in the horrifying claustrophobic tunnels with the glimpses of horrific claws. It is very successfully claustrophobic, especially when MICE start running all over him as they're trying to escape. Agh, the special hell. Then he emerges in a pool of water, only the water is super gross also, and he's focusing on the bubbles of something pursuing him only to get grabbed by a different claw monster.

We don't see him again for the entire rest of the episode and that's alarming!

I was taking little notes while I was watching, but at this point that got interrupted and I ended up watching the rest of the episode with other people and didn't take notes. But general thoughts:

Durin's final change of heart wrt Elrond and decision to take Elrond's offer to his father was a bit oddly offscreen, and it's kind of needlessly mysterious about what advantage the dwarves have over the Elves, but the show has already given us enough through both exposition and the behavior of the characters that it's not hard to buy.

Sauron saving Galadriel with Finrod's dagger is like. Hmm. Well. Yeah, that's a lot. I really like the scene of their raft in the storm—not much actually happens apart from it looking cool, but it did look really cool! And I love the imagery of Sauron desperately trying not to be drowned by the wrath of the sea, aka what will actually happen to him! :)))

I love how mysterious the Stranger is and basically everything that Nori and Poppy choose to be. Things like Poppy's "I don't speak firefly!" just work much better for my personal sense of humor than ... like, dwarf-tossing.

Theo's whole deal with the sword is ... menacing in a way where we know enough to know something is Very Wrong and related to Sauron, but not really what's going on with it. And the thing Bronwyn and Theo fought and killed was super freaky. I liked the abrupt cut to Bronwyn showing the decapitated head to the stupid villagers and them being like, "hmm. okay, guess we're moving now."

Aaaand Galadriel and "Halbrand" have been discovered!

[alliluyevas]

the only AITA posts that are 100 percent not fake are the ones that are about somehow both overwrought and deeply boring high school drama clearly written by teenagers who can’t spell or format paragraphs.

[meggie-stardust]

Top 5 Steter fics to rec

(I will also accept Stargent or Stetopher!)

This is such a hard ask... Ok, I want to go deep. No offense to anyone in the fandom, but I get tired of seeing the same fics rec'd over and over, even when they are wonderful. So, I'm going to try to pull some I haven't seen making the rounds as often.

In no particular order:

Keep On the Sunny Side by GiggleSnortBangDead: It's like a Tarantino revenge flick, but worse. It's all a little cliche but, hey, they gotta kill Kate Argent.

This has way more than just Steter, and whole bunch of warnings (so read at your own risk)... but man this fic (and it's sequel) are just what I love about the Steter dynamic.

Too Many War Wounds, But Not Enough Wars by neglectedtuesday: The Nematon is dying. The once bountiful tree is withering, a husk of it’s former glory. It’s skeletal, shrunken and wilted and no one knows how to fix it. It’s supposed to be the height of summer but you wouldn’t know it. The Nematon isn’t the only tree that’s falling apart. Peter folds his arms. His eyes narrow as Jennifer, the emissary from Kali’s pack, tries to communicate with the sentient tree. She’s waving her arms around and chanting but so far all she’s managed to do is look like a complete imbecile. She’s the sixth emissary in as many months and still the tree decays.

This is nearly my ideal Steter fic. It hits a lot of the intrigue I liked about the show, and explores things I wanted to see actually happen, and has an amazing Steter dynamic at the same time (and it has sequel that is basically the same story but from Stiles' perspective)

Sweeter Than Gingerbread by taylorpotato The saying goes that lovers who commit suicide together start their next life as twins. Perhaps that's why Stiles and Ally feel the way they do about each other.

OK the first warning is that this is Stiles/Allison/Peter and Stiles and Allison are twins, and if that is not your jam, fair enough, but oh man, I love this one. It has the tag twisted and fluffy, and that is accurate.

An echo in the void by Canis_chimera (Canis_cosmos) Canon diverges between s03 and s04.

Stiles isn't the same after the Nogitsune, a danger to his family and friends. Pieces of the void fox still permeate him, his thoughts winding down paths scored by that other consciousness. He left Beacon Hills to start a new life, alone by choice, alone by necessity. Alone.

Six years of relative stability later, two werewolves bring it all crashing down.

This is another one that is both Steter and Sterek (with a sequel being Steterek), but this has such hot Steter moments, I just couldn't keep it off my list. I discovered this fic as they were posting the last few chapters of the sequel and so I got to indulge all at once.

Better the Devil You Know by dracoismytrashson (JGogoboots) "I’m not that fucking naive. Believe me, I have no illusions about who you are. I just… everything is terrible, and I want to feel like I did that night… with you."

Somehow, saying it out loud makes everything click into place. Maybe, in all the overwrought complication that is Peter and his past and the way it fits into Stiles’ life, this simple thing can still be true. Maybe sometimes it’s just nice to dive into distraction, and we can’t always choose who or what that distraction is. Maybe the distraction chooses us.

Or: the one where Stiles sleeps with Peter instead of Malia, making both of their lives a bit more complicated.

I am not just saying this because I have wormed my way into being friends with @punchedbymarkesmith but this is one of the best Steter fics I've ever read, and it rejuvenated me when I had been finding myself a little bored with the direction some of the other fics around this time were taking...

Again, I tried to steer away from the ones that are rec'd on every steter list, even tho I love so many of those fics. A few honorable mentions because they seem to be abandoned WIPs:

Memento Mori by HDHale To save Stiles being stuck at home, isolated all summer, and stewing on his recent possession and the deaths he’d caused, he agreed to the unexpected offer of joining Chris Argent for a retreat in France.

What good Peter’s exile would do, Stiles was clueless.

(This one is Stetopher)

The Foul Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart by Hexandecimal “Stiles. Did I just watch you sell that man a hex-bag full of crushed caffeine pills and rocks from our own parking lot?”

“I threw in some sage too.”

-

Stiles may have lost his job and his place as Alan's Mastery student, but at least his former teacher had the decency to set up an introduction to Peter Hale, werewolf and necromancer.

It looked like Stiles wasn't as done forming impossible infatuations on his teachers as he thought.

(At least this time he's legal.)

[janekfan]

ooooh..... difficult anniversary and/or you’re not human anymore bingo prompts for jarchivist obliteration?

AAAA This took so long! I am SO SORRY!!! <3 <3 <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31123295

Jon was used to hurting.

Used to hiding.

Which is why he didn’t notice. Didn’t understand what was happening to him and more importantly why.

A panic attack here. A bad day there. A cold, maybe? Until the scars on his skin from the worms and the corkscrew and the scratching woke one day as though they were fresh and new. His skin crawled, the slightest touch filled him with revulsion and, lord, he had to keep it together because Martin would almost certainly overreact and Jon hated, hated to be the source of his worry.

So he would ignore it as usual.

Whatever it was would pass. And he could avoid being the center of attention for this thing that was out of their control. He’d read the Lord of the Rings. He knew about the less romantic side of anniversaries. What was one more thing for him to overcome?

It didn’t stop them from hurting like the day they were drawn on his body and while the rents in his skin looked the same as they ever did, he nearly bloodied himself after a particularly wretched nightmare with his frenzied clawing.

And it passed. The burning, bleeding, boring sensations disappeared and Martin hadn’t suspected a thing. Okay, that was a lie. But he seemed mollified enough when Jon wrote it off as a tough week at university.

“I’m just tired, habibi.” He forced himself to reach for Martin’s hands, sighing in gusty relief when everything was normal and allowing himself to get wrapped up in warm arms.

The mark left behind by the Distortion ached deep and throbbing and somehow also elsewhere. It was a phantom pain traveling the myriad corridors of his veins, his arteries, his nerves and when he couldn’t rid himself of it in any conventional way, he waited. It would pass. It would. Just like the last one. This was just pain. He knew pain. Was fast friends with it by now and this was nothing like his worst days.

“Jon-darling?”

“Mm?” He was flipping through the pages in a book, not too fast, not too slow, not really reading anything, trying to pretend that everything was normal when his foot cramped up like he’d been bitten. He was practiced now in not looking; there wouldn’t be anything there anyway. His skin might as well have been a great big door and the only way through to the other side didn’t involve knocking.

“You look pale.” Ah. Well. Pain like this would do that to a man.

“Just a little sore today, love.” It wasn’t a lie. Jon set the book aside, not bothering to mark whatever random page he’d landed on, and threaded their fingers together.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into carrying the shopping.”

“What are you talking about? I always help carry the shopping.” Despite his chronic conditions, Jon pulled his own weight.

No, stop. Of course you do and you have nothing to prove, especially not to Martin of all people.

“You’ve been run down.”

“I have not!” Martin fixed him with a stern look and he cowed under his scrutiny. “Perhaps a bit, but you know how these things go.”

“I do. And I can’t help but feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me.” Here it was. Martin’s overture, his olive branch. His invitation to come clean and tell the truth and avoid his wrath when he found out later. But Jon never was a quick learner of these social lessons.

“I’m fine, hayati.” Jon soothed, tipping Martin into his newly throbbing shoulder. “I’m fine.”

The next three hit him like a lorry, nearly as hard as they had a year ago and nearly all at once.

His burn scar, just like the worm scars, felt blistered as badly as the day he’d taken Jude’s hand, and he shook violently at the onset of it, thankful he was squirreled away in his office at the University and not crying into Martin’s shirt even if that’s where he’d prefer to be but Martin hates burns.

Hates how they look, how twisted and ugly they become when they scar.

Burns made him upset. Burns made him sick.

He hates them. Hates them. And while Jon was reasonably sure Martin would never turn him away when he was hurting like this, the fluttering undercurrent chanting what if wouldn’t leave him be.

So Instead he sniffled away in the dark, wrist pressed between his knees in a vain attempt to stop the shaking while he tried to remember how to breathe.

It was dark when he slipped into bed beside Martin, dead asleep after a run of night shifts. For a frantic moment Jon wanted to shake him awake, beg for reasurances, for relief, but it would ruin this. Martin looked so peaceful, face relaxed in repose, cheek soft when Jon pressed his trembling lips there.

“Jon... ?” Washing out on a swirling tide his voice was fuzzy, thick with exhaustion, and the hand that brushed the small of his back lingered only for the time it took for him to drift back under. No. He’d wrought enough damage here. Better for Martin to rest without worry. He shouldn’t have to deal with Jon and his problems. Especially when they would be arriving like clockwork for the rest of his life. Jon pressed himself against Martin’s warmth, trying to soak it up, stop the shivering. How could he be so frozen when his whole right arm was engulfed in flame? Silent, he let the tears come, closing his eyes against a burgeoning dizziness he knew would only grow worse.

Be quiet. Just be quiet. Don’t disturb him, you mustn’t. You’ve nothing else to give except more burdens that aren’t his to carry.

The ceiling was spinning so fast above him; lights, cast shadows, cabinets whirling, reeling, spiraling so much he’d be sick with it any minute. The vibrations from Martin’s pounding footsteps resonated through the whole of him, pulsing, in time with his uneven battering pulse.

He barely remembered the actual fall, just the terrifying sensation of being weightless and the fear welling in his throat like coagulated ink. Forever. He’d be falling forever. Nothing to hold. To grab. To slow. To Know.

Endless.

His scream wrenched away from him in the rushing winds filling up his ears, stealing his voice, his breath. No one could hear him in this place. Martin would never know what happened. That Jon was eaten up by the sky. Surrounded infinitely on all sides by a sea of simultaneous nonexistence and brutal presence. Jon’s awareness whittled down only to the pull of gravity in all the wrong directions.

“Jon!” A bleary shape manifested above him, blocking out the worst of it. Hands, gentle, probing, searching subconsciously for breaks, contusions, his training winning out over the panic Jon could just make out in the set of his mouth. Fingers ran soft through his curls, seeking out any swellings and Jon winced when he found one. Must’ve struck his head on the way down. Those cool hands settled, cupping his face, and twin thumbs brushed over his cheeks. “You’re warm, love.” A murmur, almost to himself as Martin puzzled.

“B’bit of, of vertigo, s’all.” Uncoordinated, Jon’s arm struck out as he tried to reach for him and landed on his wrist. “Tryin’...nnh.” He gripped Martin like a lifeline, slamming his eyes shut against the need to be ill.

“You’ve clocked yourself.” Fair enough. “But I think you’re alright. Think you can move?” With no other option than to speak lest he set it all swirling again, Jon whimpered. “Okay.” With one more pass through his hair Martin stepped away and soon enough had Jon settled as best he could on the tile, tucked beneath a blanket with a cold pack pressed to the back of his neck. Relief came gradually and Martin’s unasked questions lingered on the edges of their companionable silence. “Better?”

“Mm.” Despite the hard surface applied to every pressure point, Jon was falling asleep cocooned in the safety of Martin’s soothing company.

He wouldn’t be able to keep this up

Martin teased him mercilessly about the loss of his voice and Jon let him have it if it kept him from noticing how sore his throat really was. He wanted to tell him that it was Daisy’s mark, to cry and come clean and beg Martin to stay.

But that wouldn’t be fair. Jon had to be a whole person in this relationship and stop relying on Martin to pick up the slack. He would figure this out. He’d prove his past didn’t control him.

After he could get out of bed.

And here was what he’d strived to avoid. Finally laid low.

“I worry, Jon. You know that.” That was the problem. Martin was already going to be late to work from all his fussing. With the scrap of voice he’d gained back he protested in a hoarse whisper, syllables squeaking past what felt like a shredded voice box and listened to Martin call in again. He had to be better than this but he was overwrought, dangling at the end of a very frayed rope. This marked a sharp decline and Jon was sure it hadn’t escaped Martin’s notice that they were coming up on the date he’d more or less died. He could barely rouse himself in the mornings for school, drifting through lessons and relying more on his TA than he’d like. More than once he’d splurged on a cab, not sure if he’d make it on the tube and Martin’s fretting and worry and distress only made Jon more secure in his conviction. If it was this bad already, how bad would it become if he knew the reason it was all happening? They were supposed to be free of this. Jon wasn’t supposed to keep doing this to Martin.

Melanie’s scar throbbed, chipping away at any scant reserve he had left and ruthless with its aim. It was worse than Daisy’s even though he could understand both motivations. Daisy was putting down a monster. Mel was striking out at someone trying to help, driving home with the scalpel that no good deed goes unpunished. Rationally, he knew he’d deserved it. Too bad it didn’t dull the sting of it all really.

“Darling? Sweetheart?” Jon forced his eyes open, gasping when it sent the dark room to pirouetting, his stomach to churning, staging a mutiny against the scant meal he’d forced on himself not too long ago. Anything he’d gained in their short reprieve had long melted away under the stress. “I’m here, what’s wrong, love?”

“Nnothing…” he regretted the word as soon as it passed his lips.

“You’ve a fever so high it woke me. That’s not nothing, Jon.” Mercifully, he gave him a moment to gather his thoughts, catalogue how much more of this he could take before it broke him. Burned hand shaking, Jon clenched his fist which didn’t help the pain rocketing through his arm and into his heart, but steadied him.

“Jus’a, a bit of a flare up.” Those sometimes came with fevers.

“Oh, love. Why didn’t you say?”

Because it was a lie. Because I didn’t want you to worry. Because I never want to see you upset over me. Because I’m not worth it. Because if it’s always going to be like this--

“Din’t want you to, to…” The cramping agony slurred his voice badly, stringing syllables together with an uncooperative tongue was too much effort. “Nngh.” Dazed and groggy, Jon shut his eyes tightly, trying to focus on Martin’s soothing touch stroking over his face. Like a coward, Jon let sleep rescue him from the truth.

It was the flesh that gave him away.

Woke him screaming; hot and twisting in agony with Jared’s phantom fingers dug into his rib cage. More fingers clamped onto his shoulders, shaking him, a distorted voice calling, shouting his name over and over and over.

“Jon!” Martin was little more than a blur, obscured by tears, and Jon’s panic was reflected straight back at him. “Where does it hurt?”

“Wha…?”

“Where, habibi? Left, right? Please, Jon.”

“Not...not. S’not--” He couldn’t get the words to come, to admit after so long what he’d kept poorly hidden.

“Not what?” Frustration bled sideways into his words and Martin gripped him harder as though he might tear the answers out of him.

“Real.” It burst from him in a raw, somehow soft explosion. It wasn’t. Not really. The wounds were long healed over.

“Looks plenty real from here, Jon.” He batted away questing fingers.

“No. No.” There was no way he’d be able to explain through this piercing agony, the literal holes invisible in his skin.

“It’s the fears, isn’t it? Your marks, your scars.” Martin already knew judging by the disquiet in his tone. This was merely confirmation.

“Yes.” He sobbed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There was hurt in his voice, sadness and betrayal, alongside the ire.

“I thought, I thought--” Jon couldn’t breathe, panic and pain stealing the very air from his lungs. This was only going to get worse. After all they’d done, he’d done--how was he still a monster?

“Shh, shhh, thought what, love?” Martin held him carefully, mindful of all the ways Jon hurt, ticking off fears and scars on mental fingers, trying to figure out how long he’d been hiding it. How long he’d been suffering alone.

“Supposed to be, god, supposed to be safe, free of this.” He was trembling now, with chills or anxiety or both, gasping for every sip of oxygen and swallowing seawater for his trouble. “Can’t, what if--?” Choking himself off, Jon strangled. Martin stayed silent, rocking them both gently, back, forth, soft, slow, calm, calm, calm, and when Jon finally spoke again had to strain to hear him over the echo of a hammering heart beat. “Every year?”

Every year.

He couldn’t Breathe.

Everything was close. So close, too close, and he was crushed under the implications.

“Jon?” Now he was heaving for it, fast and deep, and while Martin could feel the strain it was to breathe he knew it wouldn’t be long before Jon lost consciousness altogether. “Hey, hey, listen, hayati, slow down, sloow down.” Jon’s entire body lifted when Martin inhaled, and again, and again, until he picked up the thread and made more than a half decent attempt. “Okay, there you are, you’re doing so well, sweetheart. So well.” Time passed in measured breaths, so much so that Martin had begun to think Jon had fallen asleep when:

“You’ll leave.”

Soft and shattered. All the fear that he’d piled onto the pain flowing out of him, a dam burst and broken.

“I won’t.” Jon’s movements were hard-won but he managed to shift himself enough to face him. His expression was firm.

“You, you can’t be stuck taking care of an i’invalid again, Martin. I won’t. I won’t have it.”

“Ah. You won’t have it.” Martin scoffed. “And what about me? When do I get a choice?” Jon, eyes wide and dark with exhaustion and pain, looked at him as though he’d grown a second head, perhaps a third.

Or like Martin was a predator and Jon was prey, cornered and hurting.

“You shouldn’t want this.” Me. “This, this burden. This trap!”

“You’re not some sort of trap!” Martin could see the moment Jon decided to change tactics, to try and convince him otherwise, win the game. Too bad for Jon that Martin knew him better than he knew himself.

“You want this don’t you?” He sneered, so convinced, and while once upon a time it would have made Martin wilt and retreat, now he was familiar with Jon’s lashing out. Sorry, Jon. “I won’t be another reason for you to martyr yourself.”

“And I won’t be scared off by your nasty attitude.” Softening, he reached for Jon’s trembling hands, running his thumbs methodically over the backs of them. “I won’t. Together. Right?”

“Martin.” His name broke open on a sob. “I don’t. I don’t want this for you.”

“Tough.” Smothered, Jon’s next words died in his throat, a fledgling bird crushed before it could take flight. “You don’t get to choose for me, even to protect me.”

“Every year--”

“We don’t know that. Not yet.” Martin eased him down. “You aren’t a burden. You aren’t trapping me here.” He kissed away the tears, the hopelessness, even as Jon shook his head nigh delirious.

“I am, I am.”

“No, love. What you are is worn out and hurting.” Martin teased out Jon’s tangled curls, stroking his fingers through them and watching him relax as much as he could at the moment. “What you’re going to do is let me take care of things. Of you, Jon.”

“Don’deserve you.” Fresh tears welled in half lidded brown eyes, slipped into the fly aways at his temples when they closed. “Never have.” Martin stood, pressing lips to his hot brow, intending to gather up anything he thought might help.

“We’ll talk when you’re feeling better.” Jon nodded and Martin turned to leave, stopping when he found himself caught by quaking fingers tangled in his sleeve.

“I, I love you.” Contrite, whispered and awaiting rejection. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, darling.” Martin leaned down, thumbing away new tears. “I know, I know and I love you too.” He stole one more shivering kiss. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

[ranma-rewatch]

Episode 8: School is a Battlefield! Ranma vs. Ryoga

Well, howdy there. I’m up to episode 8 of Ranma 1/2, the second episode of the introductory arc for the best boy in anime history, Ryoga Hibiki. Last episode gave us a general idea of who he is, but it’s this one where we’ll get to see him and Ranma actually fight, as the title gives away. I’ve said it before, but I absolutely adore titles like this. One time I was writing a fanfic for this series, and I won’t lie, making up similar styled titles for chapters was one of the best parts. So, excited to watch it, next paragraph I’ll have done just that!

That...was kind of disappointing. I was really looking forward to this episode, and while there was a ton of stuff I really enjoyed about it, there was a lot I did not care for in the slightest. But before I talk more about that, I’ll do my recap.

Though there is a bit of an issue there, too. About half or more of this episode is Ranma and Ryoga fighting. I’m recapping the episode to you in a text-based format, so going blow-by-blow to describe every move of the fight would be pretty boring, I’d imagine, even if a lot of what happens is actually really great and ties together well. But on the other end of the spectrum, a lot of the plot momentum in the story is carried by the ebb and flow of the fight scene, so just glossing over it wouldn’t work either. I’m going to try for a middle path, but I apologize if I don’t stick that landing.

The episode starts at Furinkan High School, in the middle of the night, as the school’s Chemistry Club is secretly meeting to put their finishing touches on an...explosive mine? Which then blows up? I’d love to tell you this makes sense later...but it does not.

We cut from there to Ryoga, who is dramatically monoguing about how badly he wants to kill Ranma. NEXT SCENE. At the Tendo Household, Ranma and Akane are discussing again why Ryoga wants to beat Ranma up so badly. He’s still confused, since he was sure it was because of the bread. Speaking of Ryoga, Kasumi shows up to deliver a letter that arrived from Ranma, from his rival. It’s a letter of challenge, but the date on it was the day before. Ranma doesn’t think that’s a problem though, considering Ryoga’s relationship with timeliness. To accentuate that point, we get a small scene of Ryoga misunderstanding someone’s directions and going the wrong way, again.

The next day, in what looks to be between classes or during lunch or something, one of Akane’s friends comments on how long her hair has grown out. Akane notes in narration that it’s “finally” longer than Kasumi’s, to really connect the dots we see she’s thinking of Dr. Tofu. But there’s no time for that, Ryoga is back again! In the sports field! While sports are going on! He gets knocked out by a stray ball, but in no time Ranma is down there to fight him, and most of the school has gone down to watch.

Nabiki and her henchwomen, which she has apparently, smell an opportunity, and organize a betting ring on the fight. There’s some brief banter between Ranma and Ryoga, during which it’s revealed it’s actually been a month since the last episode and Ryoga ended up on Okinawa while lost (meaning he’s now been to all four of Japan’s main islands), but then the fight finally begins. Ryoga starts by mainly using his umbrella, and Ranma sticks to dodging.

From there, we get a few audience cutaways. It turns out everyone put their money on Ranma, so Nabiki realizes she’ll need to do something to make sure Ranma loses and she doesn’t lose a ton of money on the bets. The Chemistry Club shows up, and they realize that if Ranma dies, they’ll have a chance to...do something to Akane they never clarify, but is implied to be somehow taking ownership of her. Yeah.

Back to the fight, Ryoga tosses his umbrella at Ranma as a distraction, then pulls out a length of wire and throws a handcuff onto Ranma’s wrist. Now they’re chained at the hand, so they’ll have to fight close quarters, which favors Ryoga more. The umbrella ended up landing near the audience, and some of them try to lift it, only to realize it weighs an incredible amount. Even Akane, who is quite strong, can barely lift in less than a foot off the ground. Realizing that Ryoga’s been carrying this monster of a weapon with one hand this whole time, seemingly with no difficulties, Akane tries to warn Ranma that his opponent is far stronger than he seems.

We cut from there to a student running to see Kuno, and let him know Ranma is fighting some really strong guy who seems to be around Ranma’s level. Kuno claims he is “meditating”, which turns out to just be looking at posters of Ranma in his cursed form and Akane while trying to decide if he likes one more than the other.

Ranma finally decides to take this fight seriously, and uses Ryoga’s trick to his advantage by tangling Ryoga into being grappled, with only one hand to use and Ranma sitting on his back. It’s a great move, but Ryoga is in fact so strong that, with one hand, he can throw both of them dozens of feet into the air, where they start fighting mid-air. That was a miscalculation on Ryoga’s part though, as Ranma is basically built for air juggling.

They end up outside the initial fighting area, right where the Chemistry Club hid a bunch of their explosive mines. They don’t blow up as they’re stepped on though, and after several gags they end up trying to beat up Ranma by jumping out with mallets...right as the fighters dart away for somewhere else, setting off their mines and blowing themselves up. And that was the last anyone heard of them. I guess they’re actually dead. It’s canon now.

Nabiki runs after Ranma and Ryoga as they leave the school entirely for their fight. They’re just on some random street of the city now, and the handcuff tether broke as they left the filler characters behind. Nabiki approaches Ryoga as they’re fighting, offering him what she claims to be a steroid, but is actually just some vitamin pills. Ryoga takes them anyway, and with that plus Nabiki’s thorough encouragement, he acts as though he’s suddenly far stronger. Thanks, Placebo Effect! In fact, he lefts a cement telephone pole out of the ground and uses it as a melee weapon. Amazing.

Ryoga chases Ranma through the city and into the zoo, where some animals are let out from the carnage of their battle. By this point, Ryoga is getting tired of Ranma running away all the time, and says he’s acting like a girl. That hits Ranma’s Berserk Button, and he starts fighting back, breaking the weaponized piece of public property and several other things just as the other students start arriving to keep watching the fight.

The only problem is that A) Ranma broke a water fountain, making it spray water everywhere; B) Ryoga dodged the water using his umbrella, but Ranma got splashed and his curse activated; C) Ranma’s favorite shirt was slashed in the chest area earlier, meaning now parts of his breasts are showing. Ryoga is confused for a second, and Ranma actually gets really emotional, making it clear how much he hates his curse, how much of a struggle living with it is. From Akane’s face in the background, she finds it a bit overwrought. Kuno also briefly shows up to leap at Ranma, only to be taken out with a kick.

If Ranma thought the reveal of his curse and his explanation of how bad it makes him feel would make Ryoga take it easy on him, he thought wrong. In fact, Ryoga seems even more angry now, pissed off at the idea that looking so attractive could be a genuine problem. (Some fuel for you Ranma/Ryoga shippers out there.) Ryoga reveals a new trick. Apparently he has a bunch of bandanas, and he can throw them as sharp boomerangs? Okay.

Worried about him, Akane tries to help Ranma get out of there, sure he wouldn’t be able to win in his cursed form, only for Ranma to have to protect her, picking her up into his arms to run away to get some room away from their assailant. They then have a brief moment of realizing how close they just were, and each struggling with whether to go into why they’re upset at the other or say something about their cute moment. They both decide to go with the former. Oh, and there’s a brief cutaway scene of some zoo person trying to catch an animal, seeing Mr. Saotome come out of a store in his cursed form, and assuming he’s an escaped animal too.

While Ranma and Akane argue in a tree, or as Ryoga accurately calls it, “flirting”, he cuts down the tree using his best, which can apparently become tense and really sharp? Anyway, he’s on the attack again, and in the heat of the moment Ranma says a very bad thing, insinuating that he doesn’t like Akane. She slaps him, absolutely done with him. After all, she’s been worried about him, tried to help him, and in response he’s gotten angry and insulted her. Ranma tries to recover, going after her, but she dramatically turns around to say she is done caring about what he thinks...right as one of Ryoga’s sharp weapons falls from the sky, cutting off a large chunk of her hair mid-turn.

That’s the end of the episode! It was a lot, but it also wasn’t. Hmm...where to start, where to start...should I begin with what I didn’t like, or what I did? I think I’ll actually get the rougher parts out of the way first, so then I can relish talking about what I enjoyed.

There are no two ways about it: this fight, which I had remembered so fondly over the years, is full of filler material. To no one’s surprise, the Chemistry Club are anime-only characters, and unlike other such new elements from later in the series, which I enjoy to certain extents, these characters are nothing. Actually, nothing would have been better. They add no stakes, nothing worthwhile at all, they break up the fight in the process, and what we see of their characters is genuinely despicable, even worse than Kuno. It is left vague exactly what they want Akane for, but it’s left open to interpretation enough that it could be anything from getting her to join as their only girl club member, to being their shared sexual object. If you think I’m reaching for that, please, watch the episode. These are the inceliest incels who ever inceled, and they kind of scare me.

They’re not the only rancid fat in this episode. Kuno did not need to be here. At first, I was happy to see we’d get a little bit of him during this story, but his first scene was just a boring repeat of an already becoming stale joke (Hahaha isn’t it funny that he’s in love with two people at the same time?) and his second scene lasts for about four seconds and is a dull moment in the middle of an emotional scene for Ranma. Genma’s cutaway scenes aren’t as bad, but they’re not really good either. They’re the most neutral.

Of all the side-stories going on here, the only one I actually liked was Nabiki’s. It affected the plot a little, it was in-character for her while driving further to show how money-obsessed she is, she got some anime-only henchwomen out of it (Kikuko and Ryonami for those who care), and I never felt like it was hurting the fight itself. I get that a lot of these other elements of the episode were there for comic relief, but in my opinion it was bad comic relief. It undercut what the other parts of the episode were trying to do, not accentuating them like they should have, and they were just unappetizing. My last complaint would just be a lot of the opening scenes, which were basically mini-recaps about who Ryoga is and what he’s like, didn’t really feel needed.

All of that out of the way, allow me to now gush over what I love about this episode. This fight isn’t the best Ranma vs. Ryoga fight in the series (In fact, I don’t think it would make my Top 3. Yes, if you haven’t seen this show, they really do fight that many times over the course of it.) But it is still a pretty good fight with lots of memorable moments. Ryoga is the first opponent to actually test Ranma’s strength in any real ways, and there are some really killer bits of action here, such as the grappling, the mid-air fighting, and the telephone pole weapon.

What makes this more than just a cool looking fight are the emotional aspects to it. On Ranma’s side, he doesn’t really care about fighting Ryoga, up until his pride is hurt by Ryoga’s comments. For the first time, it’s Ranma getting mad, and from that we get to see how Ranma feels about his situation. That draws out some hints to the mystery behind why Ryoga is angry as well, if you’re paying attention to the clues. (I couldn’t think of anywhere else to mention this, but I am still reeling from how often Ryoga this early in the series relied on weird weapons. Where does he get them? I am quite glad (if I remember correctly) that they phased that part of him out with time.)

On Akane’s end, in addition to another case of Ranma saying the wrong thing to really hurt their attempts to connect with one another, we also learn more about her hair. While a little clumsy, early on it’s made clear, without being outright stated, that the reason Akane wears her hair long, and has been actively growing it out, is so she looks more like Kasumi, hoping to catch Dr. Tofu’s eye. Thus, when the episode ends with that hair being accidentally rendered far shorter, we know that means something to her.

I’d also say this episode does a good job of getting us further into the idea of a status quo developing. After all, it’s apparently been another month of Ranma living with the Tendo’s now, and the school at large seems to be settling into what Ranma brings to them with his presence. They’re not stunned by someone showing up to fight Ranma, they’re chasing after them to watch it. Only other thing to note is, in addition to Nabiki’s minions, Akane’s best friends finally appeared, Yuka and Sayuri. I actually wasn’t sure at first, since Yuka’s hair is a lot shorter than will be her norm later on, but I did confirm that they are in fact her equivalents to Ranma’s Hiroshi and Daisuke. They get even less characterization than those guys do, but they’re a nice addition to the growing cast regardless.

I still have a few characters who have shown up that I haven’t done a spotlight on, but none of them really featured in this episode, so I decided to do my first repeat. That’s right, we’re talking about Ranma again, and because I’ve already discussed his voice actors and actresses, I won’t need to go over them again, except to say I still love his Japanese voice actor for his uncursed state, but find his actress in that language to not quite work for me.

So, it’s been a little while since the first episode, and we’ve gotten to see Ranma a little more. Since this was an action-heavy episode, I think I’ll start with talking more about his fighting style. I said in that first episode that Ranma is fast, and he is. So far, he’s spent most of his fights dodging his opponent, rather than attacking them, and when he does it’s sometimes with such speed that they don’t even see it happening. It’s the very fact he’s more defensive that is occasionally shown to annoy Akane, and you can see it having another layer to it: Ranma would much rather avoid things he doesn’t like, rather than face them head-on.

But he’s not just quick, he’s quick-witted. To match his meticulous mobility, Ranma thinks on his feet, always looking for ways to outmaneuver or outsmart his opponents. We can see from how easily he lifts Ryoga’s umbrella, even in his cursed form, at the end of this episode that Ranma is also very strong, but he doesn’t rely on that strength, he uses his brain instead. Personally, I’ve always thought that was evidence that, at least with Ryoga of all people, he would probably lose a straight-up strength vs strength fight, but I’m not sure if that’s ever openly stated. Still, I also don’t see Ranma lifting telephone poles out of the ground.

In terms of his personality, I’d argue that through the episodes thus far, Ranma has shown to be a complex protagonist. On the surface layer, he’s a fairly abrasive person. He enjoys nettling people, at least those he knows are easy to rile up, and frequently says the worst possible thing to someone without realizing the damage his comment will do.

But there’s also more to him than that. Whether he wants to admit it or not, and he clearly doesn’t want to, Ranma does care for Akane. He does go out of his way to try and comfort her, cheer her up when she’s down, give her advice with her problems. When she might be in danger, Ranma runs in to help, and is upset that she’d endanger herself during his fight with Ryoga. In other words, Ranma is a tsundere, leaning fairly heavily on the tsun side.

One other important piece of who he is that we’ve gotten only hints of here or there so far is his pride and how it relates to his masculinity. Ranma is a very proud person, and he’s clearly not a fan of people taking him lightly or treating him in a way he doesn’t like. That includes being treated as though he was a girl, because he isn’t.

That is honestly understandable. Sometimes, completely outside of Ranma’s control, his physical body changes into something he doesn’t feel comfortable with. When he’s in his cursed form, people see him and treat him differently, and he keeps trying to assert his masculinity, to no avail. Ryoga gets Ranma angry by saying he was acting like a “girl”, completely unaware of the curse at the time. As I’ve said before, I think this actually relates quite well to the transgender experience, in these cases specifcally gender dysphoria and midgendering. I can’t remember how much we’ve seen of it up to now, but Ranma’s rejection of femininity in any way, something he does to try and preserve his masculine pride, often leads to him acting rude or even misogynistic to others. It’s an interesting part of his character, but I do feel the need to say right now that I absolutely hate the stereotype with trans men where some people claim they act misogynistic to try and be more masculine. Like, I know some people do it, but using that brush on all trans men is just wrong and transphobic, no thank you.

Welp, that certainly was an episode. Even after going into all the really interesting and good parts of this episode, I am still left with a bad taste in my mouth. By no means did the bad outweigh the good, but the fact the worst parts of the episode were frequently interspersed among the best parts of it broke up the pacing in a bad way for me. It’s still in the top half of the episodes so far, as I’d put it between episodes 6 and 4. The current ranking is now:

Episode 7: Enter Ryoga, the Eternal ‘Lost Boy’

Episode 2: School is No Place for Horsing Around

Episode 6: Akane's Lost Love... These Things Happen, You Know

Episode 8: School is a Battlefield! Ranma vs. Ryoga

Episode 4: Ranma and...Ranma? If It’s Not One Thing, It’s Another

Episode 5: Love Me to the Bone! The Compound Fracture of Akane's Heart

Episode 1: Here’s Ranma

Episode 3: A Sudden Storm of Love

This storyline isn’t over just yet though! Next week, we’ll be looking at the fallout of Akane’s impromptu haircut in episode 9, “True Confessions! A Girl's Hair is Her Life!”. See you all then!

[chrysalispen]

lycoris (minor divergence AU, 5.0 spoilers)

in response to the prompt “what if Hythlodaeus had accepted the title of emet-selch, and the WoL instead met Hades?”

I wrote this in three days (mostly while heavily drugged LMAO) so it’s not.... my best work ever but I like it for what it is. Fic is beneath the cut.

=======================

Nestled within a seemingly fathomless expanse amidst the fringes of the western seas, the Tempest is not exactly what one would call a comforting locale. Its depths are rife with sailor's tales: stories of sirens and storms and ships called to their deaths, even in the days before the Flood brought deadlier creatures to Kholusia's shores.

For a creature like Emet-Selch, a man relegated to furthering his god's work within the myriad hidden places of the Source and its reflections for long years, it will do.

Of course, his choice of abode upon the First is not wholly based upon sentimentality. Sometimes he fancies he has all but forgotten what it is like for the touch of light not to sting his skin; he can bear it when he must but sees little point in deliberately exposing himself to discomfort.

Amber eyes track the rippling ribbons of refracted light that shimmer several fulms overhead, fingers of stark white softened into a glow by the water like knives dulled from use. It is just enough that the seafloor wherein he has rebuilt his most abiding memory does not lie completely shrouded in the darkness of the trench. By its dim illumination does Emet-Selch study the skyline he has built with the critical lens of a master sculptor, seeking any perceived flaws and carefully setting any misgivings aside. For better or worse, the die is cast and his choices made. This final act of creation: completed.

It wants now only for a single soul to darken its doorsteps.

~*~

She is glad to have parted ways with the others briefly, even for investigation's sake.

Although not inclined to lie by nature, she is nonetheless quite aware that her condition has deteriorated farther than any of the other Scions are like to have realized. The corona of light that had flickered at the periphery of her vision has all but overtaken her sight. Blinding white and gold accompanies the pain in her stiffening limbs which has been a constant companion since awakening in the Crystarium.

She pushes herself to a sitting position, then with a supreme act of will regains her feet. Her stance wobbles- perilously close to overcorrecting- but with time and care she is able to keep her balance, and in short order, the Warrior of Darkness finds herself once more stumbling down the vast and near-empty paved streets of an alien city: a city populated only with a single man’s memories of the dead. It is a lonely, lonely path. But that loneliness carries, in itself, a sort of bleak comfort.

Wandering up and down the paved streets of Amaurot’s neat, gridlike layout- or at least the bits that fit into the ocean trench with such suspicious seamlessness- she does not realize her feet have carried her off the beaten path until a bone-deep fatigue gives her cause to grip the cool metal of a fancifully wrought archway for support.

There is, to her surprise, still beauty to be found in this place upon further inspection. The public park she has stumbled upon is a welcome sight and a well-appointed affair at that. Mazes of green painstakingly curated and compelled into obeisance, framing the abstraction of metal sculpture. Flowers of every conceivable color, tall and comfortable-looking trees planted for shade as well as aesthetic.

For the first time since they had rounded the continental shelf and glimpsed the tall spires rising like bony fingers from the darkest depths of the ocean trench, the Warrior feels calm. Something about this place imparts a certain measure of serenity. There is a particular sort of love that has gone into its recreation, a love that is very nearly tangible.

And, somehow, also very familiar.

Fingers trailing through hawthorn and salvia- and a good dozen varieties of flowers her eyes have never seen, on the Source or elsewhere- she meanders in an aimless amble, plagued not only by the Light leaking into her vision but also the feeling that she is searching for something indefinable.

The massive tree in the center of the park brings her to a halt.

There is no other of its kind to be seen anywhere nearby. It stands aloof from the other greenery, silent and ancient and proud--its boughs bent, upon closer inspection, with the weight of many years--much like a certain Ascian of her acquaintance. The Warrior of Darkness finds herself drawn to it in a way that defies understanding.

Gently she reaches for the tree and places one palm upon its enormous trunk. Caresses the roughness of its bark with her fingertips--

-----Mortal agony warps its way through her bones and the sound of fracturing glass rings in her ears as the Light surges.

Biting back a cry of agony she convulses around it, crumpling to the ground, head in her twitching hands as the pain becomes her world. Amaurot fades, distant and unimportant, into her periphery, and upon her tongue, she tastes copper and ozone.

No no no no, not here, not now, not like this--

*I beg your pardon? That’s my tree.*

The resonant chime of the ancients’ tongue, edged with just the slightest hint of annoyance, pierces the cacophony of ravenous hunger and the spasms of her limbs so thoroughly that she… is distracted.

The pain fades and her vision, nearly white, is almost clear.

The figure is as indistinct as all the others -- tall, translucent, almost intimidating -- but something about this one is different. The other shades she has encountered acknowledged her only in the broadest of senses, treating her more as an interruption to the tasks they were set, rather like watching worker mammets forced to move aside an obstacle.

No, this shade seems more present than the others somehow. She can feel something more substantial behind the black holes of the mask peering down at her- something, that is, beyond initial surprise and a sort of mild, rather tolerant annoyance.

“It’s a very large tree,” she manages a weak smile and pats a bottom-sized dip in the root system at her side. “I think there should be plenty of room for both of us.”

The shade tilts its chin to one side, almost like a bird. She fancies she can feel the weight of a stare upon her, silently judging her appearance alongside her words-- but at length, it sits, albeit with abrupt movements that lack the artless grace she had observed among the other figures.

For a long time, they do not speak but simply accept each other’s company with varying degrees of amiability. The Warrior looks out upon the streets beyond the hedges and watches the blurred outlines of the city's shades going about what she can only assume would have once been their daily business, although a keen eye would note that there is not much change in their behavior over time. They are in a perpetual loop of the same discussions, the same paths, the same tasks, over and over.

At length, she hears the soft chiming once more, the words unfolding within her mind in the same instant. Terribly polite of Emet-Selch, she thinks with a hysterical sort of good humor, to at least provide a means of translating his people’s speech.

*So, you've come from out of time - apropos, all things considered. I don’t believe I’ve seen you before,* the shade muses. *...Not in this form, at least.*

The statement is as confusing as it is disarming.

“This… form?” she echoes, but her only answer is another question.

*You’ve come to see Emet-Selch, I take it?*

She tenses. That is all the answer that seems to be necessary.

*Ah.* With a noise that seems to translate as a laboring sigh, the shade’s cowled head comes to rest against the tree trunk. *Your timing is unfortunate. The city is deep in preparations to face the Doom. You’ll be lucky to see him before all is said and done.*

“So I’ve heard.” There is no change in what she can see of the giant’s expression, but she can sense that it was the expected response. “...If I may ask, how did you know I was here to see Emet-Selch?”

*Oh, come now, you needn’t worry about me,* the shade shrugs. *I’m not really here, you know. Well, I’m here but I’m not -present,- as it were. Nor are any of these others.*

“Are you... I mean, you’re not a spirit, are you?”

*Am I to assume you mean a wandering soul? Certainly not. We’re all just memories; naught of real substance, I’m afraid.* An amused titter as the shade stretches, catlike, before rolling its head towards her. *This is an Amaurot upon which the Doom has yet to descend- if it ever does.*

She leans forward and wraps her arms about her knees, hugging them to her chest. The only person - so to speak - in the entire city that actually seems capable of a real conversation and she has no real idea what to ask.

Might as well start with the pleasantries. “What’s your name?”

The black sockets of the mask seem to bore through her flesh and straight into her soul, and although it should make no difference she feels strangely exposed. *...Asking the important questions at last, are we? You can call me Hades. Don’t bother asking any of these others; they’d not be able to give an answer at all.*

“None of the others can really talk about anything beyond superficial matters,” she agreed. “Though I’m curious as to what makes you different. You certainly look the same as they do.”

*Knowing Emet-Selch, he likely had me on the mind while he was creating this overwrought simulacrum of his.* One large hand lifts in a lazy, flippant, and startlingly familiar wave before tucking itself behind Hades’ head. *He always was tediously sentimental. Although I suppose I should be flattered.*

“I’m not sure I follow.”

*Doubtless he thought I would see through the illusion--my sight pales in comparison to his, mind you. But he would know that. We were good friends once, he and I.* A familiar, rueful half-smile tilts the shade's lips. *Although I am no less ephemeral than anything else he’s summoned from his memory. I assume he told you what happened?*

“After a fashion, yes.” She plucks at a blade of grass. “He spoke of a calamity, and how the brightest of his number - yours, that is - came together to summon Zodiark.”

*Not the most accurate summary, in truth, but I suppose it will suffice,* Hades sniffs.

The Warrior listens, with all of the patience for which she is so famous upon the Source, as he speaks. The burning pain of the Light is almost nonexistent in this odd man's presence, and that alone is sweet comfort.

Emet-Selch must have thought highly of this Hades. He is wholly unlike the kind and gentle giants seeming content to drift through empty streets, unaware of the fate that awaits them; he recounts the Ascian’s lecture with an air that could be generously termed sardonic: brusque and laden with quipped observations about how ‘tiresome’ the other man could be, yet in a way that makes obvious their long years of acquaintance. Affection lies just beneath his exasperation, and she finds herself warming to Hades quickly, sour as he seems.

He is blunt-tongued and eccentric, but still kind in his way. She cannot help but like him.

*Needless to say, there were those who didn’t take kindly to the suggestion that we ought to continue sacrificing souls to Zodiark’s appetites, and felt that we ought to make our peace with the new lives we’d created. They summoned Hydaelyn to counter Him. So for the first time in anyone’s memory, we were divided on our course of action---*

“And you fought,” she says, sadly. Sorrow burns in her breast for this man and his fellows, a gentle people who had never known strife if Emet-Selch were to be believed. “He told me.”

*Then you know how it ends.* Hades’ smile fades, and though she half-expects another testy remark, there is none forthcoming. The shade's head shakes slowly, side to side. *So he continues to labor in Zodiark’s name, then.*

“Not for any lack of attempts to thwart him, I assure you.”

*Don't apologize. I should hardly expect otherwise. He’s an obstinate ass,* Hades says flatly, *and that’s only one of his many flaws. Though I imagine it serves him well in this regard-- if none other.*

Despite herself, she laughs.

“I would say it doesn’t even begin to describe him. You can’t imagine-- well, no, I guess you can if you knew him well. Although…”

*Although...?*

She stares at her hands, only able to see a blinding white outline, and does not answer. She does not trust herself to answer.

Sometimes I see a glimpse of a kinder, gentler man, beneath it all. And now- now I find myself mourning the loss of a person I never knew.

If he senses her hesitation, he gives no outward indication of it.

*I’m sure he still intends to carry out his plan.* His eyes might be hidden in the depths of that mask, but she doesn’t need to see them. There is a certain degree of sorrow in his words, blunt as they are. *Mind you, he can commit all manner of cruelties when it suits him to do so now, but he was very different once. Friendly. Compassionate. Very willing to admit his mistakes and seek counsel where warranted. He would take the burdens of other souls upon his own shoulders without a second thought if he felt his aid necessary. Occasionally I found him infuriating, but always he had the purest of intentions.* Each word falls upon her ears with a heavier weight. Hades sighs. *This is a terrible burden he has chosen for himself, make no mistake- and it is all the worse for knowing his temperament is so ill-suited to carry it.*

The quality of the filtered light through the water has changed - the color, the angle, albeit only slightly. It is one of the few ways anyone has in Norvrandt of tracking the time. Evening has fallen.

As if realizing it himself, Hades seems to stir from a sort of reverie, as though their chat is a dream and she is the shade.

*It’s starting to get very late, you know,* he says, rather briskly. *Shouldn’t you be off to get your permit? I’m certain he’s waiting on you.*

“I… yes. Yes, of course.”

Slowly and carefully the Warrior stands, bracing her weight against the tree. It is a nigh-herculean effort to regain her footing; she is desperate to lie down somewhere and try to sleep, but sleep despite her exhausted state has brought neither rest nor peace. The Light lurks just beneath her mortal shell, a predator waiting for its prey to falter.

Time is shorter than she had hoped it would be.

Still, she smiles.

“Thank you for speaking with me, Hades.”

That impatient flip of a wave again, and now she is quite certain she has seen Emet-Selch make that precise gesture a time or two. *If answering your questions assures me a peaceful nap, count me happy to oblige.*

She has almost made it on her slow, staggering feet to the hedgerow when Hades’ voice chimes once more at her back.

*Before you go---there is one more thing. One… minor thing.*

The sadness underscoring his words gives her pause. She turns around.

Hades is not lazing beneath the tree with his back propped against its trunk as she had left him. He too is standing. The giant's gait lists to one side beneath the heavy boughs, and he seems to be looking at something beyond her.

*Who... is that standing next to you?*

She blinks. A glance backwards and to her left shows Ardbert, watching but still keeping a discreet and carefully polite distance, waiting for her to finish her rest and catch up with him. “I... that’s...”

*...Never mind. I suppose it hardly matters, does it? ‘Tis a soul, if a faint impression of one--and the same shade as your own.* That birdlike tilt of the chin. *The color of it… I would know it anywhere. And so, I imagine, would he.*

Her gaze sharpens. The note of longing in the shade’s voice is unmistakable.

*Well, don’t let me keep you.*

His arms fold into the sleeves of his robe, and there is something soft there in the slackened bow of his lips, something that makes her breath catch. They curve upwards, in the faintest and most self-deprecating of smiles. It is the expression of a man that has any number of things to say, and no time to say them.

In the end, he says nothing, and the moment passes. She turns away.

She is met with Ardbert’s stare of open confusion upon reaching the elaborate masonry of the park walkway. “Who were you talking to?”

“Oh, I--”

There is nothing and no one under the tree. It stands a lone sentinel in the center of its clearing just as before, quiet and undisturbed.

The Warrior of Darkness exhales.

“Just an old friend,” she says.

[hoodoo12]

Familial Ties (And How To Break Them) 4/14

Still technically NSFW in this chapter.  Fighting, new demons to meet, breaking the mood. ~

The ominous, heavy feeling in his gut grew, the popped like a balloon. That was not good.

Fuck polite. Beetlejuice slammed open the door to find an empty bedroom, old papers strewn across the bed and on the floor. He almost called out again, but there was only one place she could be: the en suite.

He rushed there, three big steps getting him to its door. He pulled up short at the scene in the small space: Her on the floor, looking nauseous and scared, and him standing before her, pompous and predatory as ever. Immediately he bristled.

"You!" Beetlejuice spat, a red tint flooding the roots of his hair. "Get the fuck away from her!"

He'd have stepped in between them if there'd been room. As much rage that swept over him, he couldn't help turn some attention to the woman on the floor.

"Pate, baby, what did you do?" he asked.

Pate and the strange man looming over her both turned to face the door as Beetlejuice stormed into the room. There was a definite recognition on his face when he laid eyes on the newcomer, and Pate took the momentary distraction to raise herself into a kneeling position, her arms trembling but supporting her weight. Beej's question tore at her insides. What had she done?

"I . . . I couldn't help it," she rasped, her voice coming out raw and scratchy after expelling the other from her own throat.

She hated how pitiful she sounded, how insufficient an explanation it was but it was the truth. It was as though she had been piloted by remote control, and she turned stricken eyes on the demon standing before her.

He was examining his fingernails with a devilish grin that was nothing like the impish smiles she'd already grown accustomed to from Beetlejuice. He caught her eye and the grin widened dangerously.

"Oh, a clever breather? How novel. Yes, I may have lent a helping hand, but I couldn't have done it without you. That curiosity of yours is bound to get you into trouble, wouldn't you agree, Lawrence?"

Beetlejuice lifted his lip at the use of the hated name, but all that information made everything clearer.

"Back the fuck off, Rigel," he growled, and grabbed Pate by her upper arm, hauling her to her feet, ignoring her cry of surprise, away from the taller demon.

He'd much prefer to get her out of here, but not keeping an eye on the newcomer was a bad idea.

"Pate, did he touch you? Did he take anything from you? Ask for blood or a kiss?" he asked, trying to quell both the anger and fear brewing in him.

Alarmed, not just by the unexpected touch and forceful grip but by the realization that Beetlejuice was a great deal stronger than he looked, Pate gratefully hunkered behind him while he continued to glare heatedly at the other demon--Rigel? Was that his name? Shaking all over now, her fingers grasped the fabric of his jacket as Beej's queries momentarily made her overwrought mind go blank.

Shaking her head hard, willing the numbing white noise to abate so she could think, Pate responded, "No, I don't think so. He . . . he came out of me. Jesus fuck, he crawled out of my mouth!"

He locked eyes with the taller, smirking demon.

"Yeah, baby, he does that. It's his own personal fucking kink."

Rigel smirked again, and wiped his own mouth with a thumb, as though he'd been the one to go through the process. Beetlejuice risked a glance away, at Pate.

"I need you to get back to Fuch's book and find that passage again," he muttered, quietly, urgently. "You have to send him away, you have to get him out of here--"

Pate jumped and gasped, her attention focused so intently on Rigel that it startled her when Beetlejuice turned to her with whispered instructions.

Her eyes were on the other as she released her death-grip on the back of Beej's jacket and began slowly inching back toward the bedroom, Rigel regarding her with his head cocked slightly to the side as though he were observing a fascinating animal in a zoo. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Pate spun and made to dash for the book still lying on her bed only to run directly into a shape blocking the doorway.

She had a face full of waistcoat in deep blue brocade, her gaze traveling up the svelte chest to meet burning red eyes and a smile that was a twisted facsimile of courteous. With a choked off scream she backed hastily away until she met Beetlejuice's back once again, looking round to see that he was still squaring up to Rigel standing demurely in her bathroom with his hands clasped loosely at his back.

Facing forward again, Pate couldn't deny that Rigel was also barring the bathroom door.

"How uncivil," Rigel simpered, tutting as if disappointed. "Showing a guest the door when I've only just arrived? Didn't your mother teach you better?"

This? Clones? Really?

Internally, Beetlejuice groaned. He'd been so ecstatic to be free, and now he had to deal with this?! If he had any sense at all, he'd leave her to her misery.

But as his mother often reminded him, sense wasn't his strong point. Without taking his eyes off the demon who'd taught him this little trick in the first place, he conjured up two doppelgangers of his own that immediately grabbed Rigel's double from behind.

Pate blinked, wondering if maybe she'd hit her head because there were suddenly two additional Beetlejuices on either side of Rigel's double in the doorway, twisting his arms between them. Or at least, they bore a passing resemblance to Beetlejuice; the striped suits, the green hair, though his had turned an angry, fiery red.

"Get the book!" Beetlejuice growled, spurring her to action.

The Beetlejuice clones hustled the secondary Rigel out of her path and Pate sprinted for the bed, practically launching herself onto the mattress and letting out a relieved breath when she felt her hands close around the text block left open and forgotten in the covers.

Rising onto her knees she tried to pull it to her only to meet resistance. Looking up, Pate found herself face to face with Rigel, his long slender hands grasping the other end of the open block. He winked and blew a kiss at her that produced sulfuric sparks like a firework.

He wasn't the only demonic prick who could move like that. Beetlejuice stepped through the ether to Pate's side, leaving his two clones to deal with Rigel's one while he assisted her.

Rigel might have height on his side, but that wasn't everything.

Shadowy tentacles filled the air, some wrapping themselves around Pate's arms and hands to support her grip, others latching onto the book.

Rigel threw his head back and roared.

"Learn something new about disgraced family members every day!" he crowed. "You've been hiding things from us, Lawrence! Were tentacles what your father used to get passed all those teeth mom has in her dried up, dusty cunt?"

If Rigel thought talking smack about their mother was going to break him, he had another thing coming. Beetlejuice put his full weight into tugging that book away, and to his horror, the only thing that gave way was the old cracked spine.

When it broke, Pate stumbled backwards into him. She was immediately caught and embraced by the shadows, and Rigel hissed in frustration at only half a prize.

"Better be careful, little breather, little bleeder," the taller demon addressed Pate. "He's not had the chance to fuck a breather for a while, I'd guess, so be careful. Those tentacles could tear you in two if he gets too excited. He'd only last about twenty five seconds, however, so you may be safe enough."

With another smirk and blown kiss to the both of them, Rigel flicked a glance at his twin, and they were both gone.

The tendrils of writhing shadow were a bit of a shock in what had quickly turned into a night full of shocks, and Pate hadn't been able to suppress the cry of alarm when they coiled around her wrists and over her arms, grasping the book. They had substance to them despite their spectral appearance, but they didn't hurt her. In fact, as Beetlejuice stepped up at her side, they seemed to be helping. At least until the text block tore in two, littering the comforter with loose pages and sending her sprawling back against Beej's chest. The squirming tentacles absorbed her, curling around her in a way that might be protective. Though Rigel's spiteful comment about them tearing her apart did make her eye them with a bit more trepidation.

With no fanfare and another mocking smirk, the demon disappeared. Pate's heart was hammering, gradually slowing now that the danger appeared to have passed, and her mind was a whirling tempest of questions and fears and bits and pieces gleaned from Rigel and Beetlejuice's banter. She hazarded a glance over her shoulder and saw him, wreathed in the undulating shadows and also somehow their epicenter. Of all the words and thoughts swirling in her skull, only two managed to make it to her mouth:

"Holy fuck . . ."

"Nothin' holy about him, sugar," Beetlejuice corrected.

With a thought, he sent his clones away, and although it was nice to have her wrapped in so many extra appendages, the tentacles disappeared too. She'd been through a lot already, and an in-depth discussion of them wasn't high on his list. He turned her on her heel to face him.

"You okay, baby?" he asked in concern, keeping her to him with two normal-ish arms. "He didn't hurt you? You didn't get hurt when you fell?"

In fact, her knees were aching and she must've whammed her elbow on something at some point because it was sore as well. But just at the moment, with his arms around her, holding her against him while his hands searched for hurts to soothe, she was much more aware of the return of the squirming eels in her stomach and the warmth creeping into her face.

'Seriously?' she thought, irate at her body's treachery. 'After everything that just happened, this is how you respond?!'

Pate huffed a shaky laugh.

"I think so," she answered finally. "Thank you, for . . . before."

He gave her a cursory search and didn't try to linger on her hip or small of her back or under her arm near her boob too much. Her thanks was nice, as was her heat and the fact she was still more dressed for bed than anything else in that shirt that kept sliding over one shoulder. Plus she hadn't pushed him away . . .

"You're welcome, babydoll," he told her quietly. It was easy and natural to tilt his head and lean forward to brush his lips against hers.

Her mouth opened slightly and a tiny gasp escaped her at the soft press of his lips to her own. He pulled back just a bit, like he was giving her an out if she wanted it. Wide eyes searched his face for a beat, looking for... she didn't even know for sure. Surprising even herself, Pate raised up on the balls of her feet to kiss him more firmly, her hands coming to rest against his chest to steady herself.

Her reaction, her pressing more insistently into a real kiss surprised and delighted him. His hands automatically slipped to her waist and held more tightly, making her shirt rise up. His left hand eased backwards and his fingertips found the silky fabric of her panties, and even more gently, slipped under the elastic of them.

Speaking of rising up, the front of his trousers got a bit more constricted too; he discreetly shifted so his boner didn't advertise itself right against her belly.

Carefully, because of his fangs, he deepened the kiss.

Pate sighed through her nose at the feel of his hands finding her waist and squeezing her against him. There was still the rational corner of her brain wagging at her that this was not the time, but the adrenaline rush was still going and it just felt so damn good.

A thrill jolted down her spine when his chilly, nimble fingers found the waistband of her underwear, dipping ever-so-slightly further south. Her own hands were drifting over his chest, sliding just past the lapels of his jacket and gliding down his suspenders to curl around the tops of his hips. His lips were cold but soft, softer than she would have thought to expect, and she opened her mouth against the gentle probing of his tongue, her fingertips pressing harder into his sides.

He hummed his approval deep in his chest of her hands exploring and the taste of her mouth. His tongue lapped hers, and he smiled through the kiss. She was so warm and so sweet, and he nudged her bodily backwards towards the bed, fully intending on easing her back onto it.

When was the last time she had wanted someone this much? When was the last time someone had wanted her this much? Pate couldn't even remember, feeling Beetlejuice's smiling lips against hers, allowing him to shuffle her backward on her toes until the backs of her knees met the edge of the mattress.

Her hands slid quickly around his middle under his jacket, gripping at the small of his back as though to keep herself from falling. But she didn't fall, Beetlejuice was still holding her and it felt like her heart was going to hammer its way out of her ribcage. Shit, was she really doing this?

As Beetlejuice maneuvered them strategically towards her bed, she felt the bulge in his pants for a moment before he adjusted himself, a flood of heat gushing through her and settling in the pit of her stomach.

There was a bump as the back of her knees met the mattress, and Beetlejuice used that to leverage her down. When she was flat on her back, he stayed between her thighs but pulled away a little to look at her spread before him: her hair mussed, bright spots of color on her cheeks, her lips parted and shiny from the kiss they'd just shared.

Although he couldn't get a good impression of her tits, hidden by the damn shirt, the hem of it had written up enough that he finally saw her satin panties were peach colored, and between her legs the color was darker because of the pubic hair under them.

He licked his lips as he took her in, and two fingers slipped up her bare leg, towards that dark thatch.

"Jesus you're beautiful," he murmured.

Pate ducked her head, smiling at the words but too bashful to look him in the eye as he said them. She hummed her pleasure as his clever fingers trailed up her leg, angling toward the apex of her thighs. Her eyes fluttered shut, reveling in the soft tickle that made her pulse thump in her ears and her chest and her pussy as she nibbled on her swollen lower lip. But it wasn't enough contact, she wanted more, needed more of him.

Raising herself on one elbow she reached down and stopped his hand before it reached its destination, curling her fingers around his and looking up at him through her lashes.

"C'mere," she said. "Please?"

The curious and slightly put out expression that crossed his face when she stopped his ministrations vanished at once, replaced with that broad grin that she wanted so very badly to kiss.

"Sure thing, babydoll," he said, his voice low, rumbling in his chest as he braced himself with an arm on either side of her hips and crawled into bed after her, settling partly beside and partly on top of her.

Humming contently, Pate hooked one leg around his as he leaned in to press his lips to hers again, mouthing at her lower lip until he pulled it gently between his teeth. She moaned against him, threading her fingers through the hair at the back of his head to hold him close. Her brain was a fog of pleasure and lust, but that damned little voice of reason was still warbling away at the back of her mind.

'This is not like you!' it insisted. 'What the hell are you doing?! Did you forget that there's a demon on the loose? Did you forget what he did to you?'

Actually up until that moment she had forgotten, or at least pushed it to the furthest corners of her mind. Rigel had done something to her, that strange headache, watching her limbs move without giving them instructions. Beetlejuice broke off kissing her and buried his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder where her nightshirt had slid down. Lost in thought, she raised a hand to cup his cheek. Rigel had manipulated her into getting what he wanted . . . What if . . . ?

It felt as if a bucket of ice water had dumped into her stomach, chilling her to the bone and making her shiver. Beej must have felt it too because he chuckled, diving back in to continue sucking tiny bruises into her skin.

Grasping his shoulder Pate eased him back until their eyes met. "Beej, this isn't . . . You're not . . . are you?"

"Eh?" he said, confused.

It'd all been so hot, pressing her down into the mattress, the heat of her so pleasant, the taste of her skin . . . his cock ached from being trapped behind constricting fabric. He was half ready to strip away all clothing from the two of them and settle more properly between her thighs, when she stuttered out that awkward half sentence. He looked up at her with narrowed eyes.

She was blushing again, not just from arousal this time, just from feeling like such an idiot. There had been nothing so far that might indicate he was puppeting her the way Rigel had; no pain or discomfort, no involuntary actions. Everything she had done since deciding to kiss him properly she had done of her own free will. And now she may have gone and ruined everything.

"Sorry," she said, unable to bear looking at him as she tried to explain. "I'm sorry, I just started thinking about... about him and how he used me and I started to wonder if . . ."

She trailed off, ashamed.

It took him a second for him to catch up, because his dick was still leading the way and truthfully, it was more one-track determination than anything else. When Pate stopped all proceedings and the atmosphere dropped about twenty degrees, however, it didn't take a genius to figure everything out.  Her sudden worry also dumped ice down his back.

"What? You were thinking about that asshole Rigel and how he used you to get free, and now you think I'm using you too?!" he asked.

It hurt worse than he expected, and he couldn't keep that completely out of his voice.

Pate winced at his completely justified outrage, and she didn't miss the pained tinge to his tone either.

Cursing herself she scooted out from under him and sat up to face him instead, desperate to reach out and touch him in some way, to show him that no, she didn't think that in the slightest. She hesitated, her hand stalling halfway between them before she withdrew it, fisting it in her lap.

"No!" she assured him, shaking her head to emphasize her point. "No, Beej, I don't think you'd do that. I just . . . got a little lost in my brain, I guess. I got scared! You're nothing like that guy!"

Her rejection--the articulation that she worried he was puppeteering her to get laid, and now the fact that she'd been perfectly fine touching him just twenty seconds ago and now couldn't? Wouldn't?--instantly flooded him with the worst of his memories, fears, and thoughts. All the shit his mother put him through making sure he knew he was worthless; fucking Rigel and how he was everything everyone wanted; all the times the short asshole version got called instead of him, reinforcing his second-place-is-first-loser place in the world . . . it all came crashing back on him.  How dare he even fathom that a breather--a pretty breather, no less!--would want him? What a joke.

Beetlejuice wilted.

He backed away from Pate. More like threw himself backward, to be honest. He worked hard not to let any tears fall. He didn't want to blow the lie that demons didn't cry. Instead, he took on an icy tone that he hoped would hide his true emotions.

"I'd like to say I'm nothing like my half-brother," he told her sharply, "and some of that's true. I'm not going to possess you just to fuck you. But I am a demon, breather, and don't forget that. Cockteasing a demon doesn't typically end well."

There was a painful clench in her chest, constricting her heart and making it difficult to breathe that had nothing to do with any supernatural force. Pate swallowed the lump in her throat, watching his face crumble, knowing it was her fault. She gasped softly, surprised by his speed when he all but launched himself away from her, as if he couldn't stand to be close to her any more and if he didn't who was she to blame him? God, she wanted so much to go to him, to wrap her arms around him.

His frigid warning sent a tiny spike of fear shuddering through her, but she dismissed it at once.

"I know you wouldn't," she agreed with him. "I was wrong, Beej, and I'm so, so sorry. All of this . . ."

She paused, looking from him to the scattered pages still lying at the foot of her bed. "All of this is my fault but I promise I'm gonna figure out a way to fix it!"

He turned his attention to the papers and the half Fuch's book they had left, since he managed to fuck that up beyond belief too. It was easier to look at the destroyed book than her anyway, because her shirt was still too short, and only another inch or so would give him a fine view of the satin-covered pussy he'd have loved to put his mouth on.

He ignored her apology because lies hurt.

"Fine," he said, after she'd made her statement about the book. His voice cracked a tiny bit, but he powered through it. "That sounds like a task a demon can agree to. Fix the book. Is that what you'll ask of me, summoner?"

Pate frowned, upset that she'd upset him, wracking her brains for some way to make it up to him but coming up short. His question, still frosty and clipped enough to make her sink in on herself, did make her think, though: would repairing the book be enough? She shuffled off the bed and collected the strewn leaves and the cover boards, carrying them to him.

"Would that work? If we fix the book? Would that trap him again?"

The quick and easy way she'd shifted gears, didn't press the larger issue at hand, and her obvious dismissal of him stung.

"Opening Herr Fuch's book didn't release Rigel, and repairing it alone won't send him back," he told her primly. "You'll need the proper incantation to do that."

She wanted a demon who could help her repair a fucking book that should've been burned hundreds of years ago? Okay. He could do that. He could be professional, just like mom always wanted. Maybe when all of this was over he'd have proven something to her at least. He decided he'd also need some privacy once, maybe twice a day, because working closely with Pate was going to be more difficult now that he'd been between her legs.

Pate sighed, flipping idly through the handful of pages.

"I should've figured it wouldn't be that easy," she admitted. "Do you know the incantation? I said . . . something before he showed up. At least I think I did . . ."

She frowned deeply, trying to remember, but a lot of what had transpired while under Rigel's influence was hazy in her mind at best. Mostly she just wanted to take him by the hand and drag him back to the bed, but if his demeanor were any indication, such overtures would not be appreciated or reciprocated at the moment.

Beetlejuice watched her page through the half ruined book and swallowed hard. He'd rather have those fingers on him. She'd made her distrust clear, however.

"No, I don't know it, and even if I did, me saying it wouldn't work. It'll be in there somewhere. Fuchs was meticulous about that sort of thing," he told her quietly. He felt a little hollow inside.

His voice sounded so dead, so despondent, so at odds with the boisterous and flirtatious manner she'd been so taken by. A terrible ache was crushing her heart, clawing its way up her throat, burning in her eyes, made all the worse by the knowledge that she had only herself to blame.

Pate fell silent and looked up at him, his eyes looking anywhere but at her. To hell with her own uncertainty or guilt or whatever else, before another thing happened she was going to show him that she did care about him. If he wanted to push her away, then so be it but she had to at least try.

Without another word she slung the book onto the bed and stepped into him, sliding her arms beneath his jacket to grasp at his shoulder blades, burying her face against his chest.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled against him, the words muffled and throaty as she swallowed around another hard lump in her throat. "I hurt you and I'm sorry. You don't have to forgive me, but please believe me."

Instantly he tensed. This was a trick, he'd been fooled before, he'd been fucking stupid before--!

But she smelled so nice and her embrace was strong and she'd just put her entire face into his chest. He should be strong, he should channel his inner cold demon that he'd been told so often was proper unless he was manipulating someone . . . but instead his arms came up awkwardly around her until he could relax enough to make it more natural. He couldn't quite make a flirty or dirty joke out of it. He just liked her standing so close.

When she felt his arms come around her Pate let out a sound, somewhere between a sob and a gasp. Just like that, whatever dam had been holding everything back since Beetlejuice had first appeared out of the ether finally gave way and a veritable flood of emotion burst from her. Fear and excitement and desire and horror, all jumbled together in a confusing and overwhelming tide that threatened to swallow her whole.

Her shoulders shook with the effort of keeping it in, clinging to Beetlejuice like he was the only thing keeping her from being swept away.

"I'm so so sorry," she croaked again, but it didn't matter how many times she said it, it might never be enough.

She kept repeating she was sorry and she was trembling and she was squeezing him so tightly he'd have trouble drawing a breath if he needed to breathe. He knew that sort of pain.

So despite the quick, unexpected turn of events, thinking he was going to get lucky, then being rejected, then this, whatever this was --and jesus, had it only been twenty-ish minutes since Rigel had left?!--Beetlejuice held her and even dared to press a kiss into her hair.

He did not make any further physical advances and he willed his cock to stay the fuck down, boy. If Pate was worried she'd be possessed, then anything further that happened between them would have to be initiated by her, he vowed to himself.

She finally managed to even out her breathing, a little embarrassed to note that she'd left tear stains on the front of his shirt. But then again there were so many assorted stains and discolorations maybe he wouldn't notice.

She smiled and sighed when his lips pressed softly into her hair and it almost felt like maybe things had returned to . . . well, definitely not normal, but it was nice, just holding each other like this.

"Shit," she breathed, turning her head to one side. "I don't know that I've ever fucked up so badly so many times in less than 24 hours. Might've set some kind of record."

He winced a little, because he was one of those fuck ups, but since she wasn't looking directly at him, she probably hadn't noticed it.

"Oh, you'd be surprised," he assured her, thinking over some of his own misadventures. That was neither here nor there, at the moment. And as nice as it was to have her just standing against him, he pulled back a little to look down at her. "You look exhausted. Why don't you try to get some more sleep?"

Pate whined internally as he gently dislodged her, tipping her head back to look him in the eye.

"Yeah, I am," she admitted with a weak laugh.

She debated for a moment, sheepishly asking if he'd like to join her, wanting him close while she drifted off. But she was also terrified by the idea of making things worse again after just barely managing to salvage them by the skin of her teeth. Pate sighed again and took a step back, smoothing out the wrinkles she'd made in his shirt front, needlessly straightening his tie.

"What about you? I can make up the couch for you or . . . ?"

The bit of clothing adjustment she did gave him a ridiculous feeling of warmth. Was he really that needy and touch-starved? Yes, of fucking course he was! It was on the tip of his tongue that he didn't need sleep, per se, but the idea of having someone do something like that for him, of just making sure he'd be comfortable, made him nod and grin like a fool.

Pate gave him a nod and a smile and rounded the foot of the bed to her closet to retrieve an extra blanket or two, grabbing a pillow off her bed. She draped a sheet over the seat of the sectional, tucking it into the cushions so it wouldn't slide out from under him. Fluffing the pillow between her hands, she laid it at one end and the quilt at the other.

"Anything else you need?" she asked, clasping her hands together in front of her to keep her fingers from fidgeting.

Even more on the tip of his tongue was "I need you, baby," but he beat that down with a stick. Instead, he gave her an awkward half-shrug, half-shake of his head.

Satisfied, sort of at least, Pate started back towards her bedroom intending to leave him to it. She stopped short when she drew level with him, practically able to feel his eyes tracking her, and looked up at him. The fluttering/squirming sensation resurged in her stomach but she didn't want to risk another mistake.

She wanted to do something, quickly before she talked herself out of it, reaching out a hand to the center of his chest to balance herself as she raised once more on tiptoe to press a soft, chaste kiss to his face, landing between his cheek and the corner of his mouth.

"Good night," she murmured, all but scurrying away before the blush on her face became too evident.

He couldn't prevent a quiet moan from escaping him at the warmth of her hand on his chest and the peck of a kiss. Gods he was pathetically needy. He tracked her as she hurried away, separating them by a room and a door. When she was gone, he sat on the couch she'd done up for him, wrapped the quilt around himself, and tried not to think about things too much.

Pate lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling while her mind worked feverishly to process all that had transpired. On top of having all this new information to turn over in her head, the heat that had risen to her face and sunk to her crotch had not yet dissipated. Her thighs squeezed together under the sheets but it wasn't quite enough. Had it really only been a short while ago that Beetlejuice had been in this bed with her? And just look at how marvelously she'd shot herself in the foot on that.

Even more pressing, though perhaps she had tried to avoid even thinking about it because it felt so beyond her, was Rigel. He had escaped with part of Fuchs's book because of her.

After a length of time that seemed very brief and interminable at the same time, Pate gave up on sleep. Her mind was too busy, too loud. She shucked her nightshirt for a thin cotton hoodie and a pair of pajama pants, retrieving her laptop and the remnants of the book. Not wanting to disturb Beetlejuice in the living room, she kept her light off and worked off the glow of the laptop screen.

⁂

The quilt didn't warm him; breathers never remembered that a blanket only trapped their own body heat and he had very little. But he kept it tucked around himself because it smelled like her. Beetlejuice drifted, not sleeping, but only partially aware as well. He was brought back around, a little, by soft noises from Pate's bedroom. Feet shuffling on the floor. The faintest squeal of a drawer being opened.

Curious but not wanting to disturb her, he got up, padded to outside her door, and sat beside it, pressing the side of his head to it, still cocooned in the quilt.

tbc

[pretzcl]

— after the storm

summary: i’ve had this question for a really long time. why do good girls like bad guys? 

pairing: badboy!jaemin x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k 

genre: dash of angst, a scoop of fluff and egg. just egg. 

a/n: it’s not my best work, it’s essentially a collage of fics i wrote last year and glued into one google doc. bon appetit

Jaemin’s crosses his arms over his chiselled chest. His back leant against the nose of his shoe-polished black car, parked under a carport. Straightening up once his gang of hollering buffoons encircle around him. 

Na Jaemin. Whispers follow him and the pack of howling morons he walks with, down the corridors, exuding an air of confidence and carelessness. Leaving a trail of distraught girls on a path of shattered hearts and missed calls. No matter how many broken hearts, lines of girls melt under his piercing stare and his self-assured grin. Most, intrigued by the mysteriousness in the dark pools of his eyes behind his tousled brown hair, a prize to be won. Few despised the taunts in his arrogant half smirk, a cliche.

Currently, you identify yourself as the latter. Hair whipping back as you set a path ablaze with a burning desire to give the jerk a piece of your mind. People in the midst of your march blended in a mass of grey figures. Finally, you come to an abrupt stop behind the pack.

“Jaemin!” you shout, demanding to be heard amongst the handful of jackasses. One by one they turn to face you like turning over a deck of cards. The King of Hearts very last.

His eyes glint devilishly as he stares you up and down. You have to consciously uncurl your fingers twitching by your side, deeply resisting the delicious urge to slap the smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“Hey princess,” he huskily greets you. The frustration boiling inside of you fumes in hot vapours off your body at the pet name.

Begrudgingly, you choose to ignore it and focus on the primary source of your anger towards him.

“Quit the act, Jaemin. Where the hell were you?” you interrogate, narrowing your eyes only on him and not his friends who were clearly enjoying themselves.

“Why?” he muses, in perhaps the most innocent questioning tone he could muster. “Did you miss me... princess?” he rolls the last word of his tongue before his face curls smugly.

“Do you think this is funny? I waited for 3 hours for you at the library. 3 hours! I don’t need to help you. I’m not the one failing here so you could have the integrity to at least, show up,” you vent, too overwrought to care if you were embarrassing him in front of his friends. You didn’t know if his friends knew if he went to tutoring but currently you couldn’t care less as a fiery heats up your face. 

He stands there totally unresponsive to your words. Though his jaw clenches and his eyes darkly narrowed down at your form. You refuse to shrivel under his gaze. Fixed in your stance in front of him, you continue to wait for an apology or even a pathetic excuse. Anything! You’re not a doormat. And you certainly are not a princess. But nothing emits from the silence and you decide to break it when you scoff, “Forget it.” Desperately fighting back the tears brimming at your lashes as the frustration is trying to release itself from within you.

Not sparing him a single glance, you turn on the back of your heel and trudge into the waning glumness. To where that might be, you don’t know. But you know you need to get away. You drown the sniggers and jeers echoing each step you make with a pair of earphones. The lofty melody hums softly through your ears while you disappear into the smudges of charcoal.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

The pitter patter of droplets against the stone pavement drones through your body like the chatter of a full classroom. An unanticipated flash of an ivory streak triggers the rolls of ominous thunder and quickened steps along the path. The matted, wool of darkened greys hovers over you, ushering you to scurry albeit, your feet were tentative, wary of the slick pavements wet with murky puddles.

“Y/N!” a voice from behind you competed against the waging war taking place in the sky. In a confused daze, you turn around. But you wish you hadn’t acted so hastily upon recognising the owner of the booming voice.

He approaches you in a strut almost, like an off-duty male model, totally unaffected by the icy daggers flying through the harsh winds. A hand wrapped around the ornate handle to an umbrella while the other hand is tucked cooly in his ripped black jeans.

“Where’s your umbrella?” he asks while stretching his hand so the ornate handle clasped in his hands is between both of you. “Hmm?” he lowers down to meet you at eye level waiting for a response.  

“I forgot it,” you murmur, focusing your stare on the slick, darkened concrete. Aggravated by the teasing tone on the tip of his tongue but ultimately choosing to bite on your own tongue. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be sheltered from the drizzles of rain boring mercilessly down on the street.

“So you’re saying Miss perfect grades forgot her own umbrella on a day like this?” he snickers through as smirk stretched along his lips as taunting as the tone of his voice.

Halting in your steps, a glower deepens on your face. “I was in a rush this morning,” you clip.

“I was just teasing you don’t have to take everything so personally,” he scoffs. Frustration boils inside your stomach when you caught his eyeball roll from the corner of your eye.

Your hand curls into a clenched fist and you have to actively release the tight grip as you breathe out, “I don’t want to endure your teasing my whole way home.”

“What’s your problem today? Did you fail a test or something?” he sniggers.

“You know exactly what my problem is,” you spit looking him directly in the cold dark abyss that so many fell for. Any amusement dancing in his brown hues is flooded by the sharp coldness pouring into his eyes. The unreadable expression etches across his face as he snaps his focus to street onward after shoving the umbrella in your hand.

“Whatever,” is the last thing he says before disappearing into the lifeless, blurs.

You stood alone, shivering as the rain teems upon the umbrella wobbling in your grip. A mixture of disbelief and resentment fires up in your chest at the coldness cemented in his narrow glare before he stormed off.

“Unbelievable. He has no right to be pissed off at me,” you scoff to yourself, kicking the back of your heel into the pavement. Resuming your trudge in the midst of the gloominess devouring the day.

Somehow, the fury of anger washes away in the rhythmic beats of the raindrops. Each drop of rainfall, a clear beat upon the black fabric before they cascade from the rim like a waterfall. The trance of rain from under the umbrella blows out any fire lit up on a match set in your chest.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Near a busy intersection, cars rushing past with wipers in full wings, you gasp. A blank white surges over your paralysed body and bleary vision. It feels like your frozen in time until a firm grip pulls you back and turns you around, earphones slipping from nooks of your ears, in one swift movement. Your eyes widen registering the panting boy standing in front of you.

“What are you thinking you were going to get hit by a car!” Jaemin barks at you while roughly shaking you by your shoulders. A rambunctious series of car horns quickly followed and you can only assume it translates to what Jaemin had yelled at you for. You only blankly blink up at him as your mind tries to rapidly rewind to you approaching the intersection.

“You know for a smart girl you’re really stupid,” he sighs hanging his head low.

“Jaemi-”

“Promise me you won’t do something like that again,” his words maybe scolding though his voice wispy and soft like angel wings. He searches into your eyes and for the first time, you notice his damp, bangs obscuring his large, brown eyes shroud the kindness they possess.

“I promise,” you mumble feeling breathless at your heart beating erratically.

“I’m sorry for leaving you by yourself and for not coming to tutor lesson today,” he mutters at the ground. Voice is hoarse as he pants a whirlwind of heavy breaths intermitted by a few stifled coughs. You stood dumbfounded hopelessly watching the exhausted boy and scanning how his hair becomes one with his face, wetly draping over his sharp bone structures. Shifting your gaze to the street behind him you struggle to fight the twitching feeling of wonder resounding from within you.

“Jaemin, did you run all the way up the street to save me?” you softly ask. No longer harbouring any anger or frustration from earlier today. Your fingers with a mind of their own sweep a sodden lock from his forehead revealing those big brown orbs and you gently tilt his chin up.

“Maybe,” he says in an even softer tone.  Something totally unfamiliar uncurls itself in enormous wave engulfing over you and you crash your lips onto his. Bursting the droplets on the plush of his lips. Jaemin's hand rested below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as you pull back afraid of losing yourself in him. Your lips brushing against each other as your breaths mingle. “Y/N,” he whispers slowly, prolonging each letter as if to savour them. And in this very moment, your senses wisp away and you can no longer think straight. Never before has your name ever felt so mystifying. Not caring if the water soaks through to chill your skin, your hands run down his spine, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you two. So close you could feel the beating of his heart against your chest and you lose yourself to him.

[tragedybunny]

The Blade’s Edge - A League of Legends Fanfiction - Chapter 14

Happy Valentine's Day! I have been pushing myself to get this chapter out on the day of love! As always your playlist song:

Like A Prayer

❤TragedyBunny❤

They had a simple arrangement. She was the weapon to be used on his enemies. Things get more complicated when emotions bleed into what should simple. Now the two of them find themselves on the precipice of something that was entirely unexpected.

Thunk. The dagger hits the target, perfectly dead center. I’m hanging upside down from a ceiling rafter, throwing at targets scattered around the room, concentrating despite the dizziness starting to make my head spin. Behind me, I hear the whine of the opening door. None of the servants would dare interrupt me, not even Gwen. “Kitten, are you still not talking to me?”

I listen to his steps as he draws closer to me. I glance to my right and let a dagger fly in his direction. It buries itself in the wall next to him, he doesn’t flinch. “I’ll take that as yes.” We both know that I wasn’t actually aiming at him. He sighs, now the negotiating starts. “How about we go to the theatre tonight and then to that little cafe you like so much?” 

I throw a blade at another target and ignore him. I want to see what concessions he’s willing to make. “I’ll buy you something shiny.” Hmm, there are a few pieces at the jeweler’s that I’ve had my eye on.

I throw again, another perfect hit. “Fine, do whatever you want to do with the blasted garden.” He almost sounds pained saying it.  I feel a smile tug at the corner of my lips, I hadn’t expected to get exactly what I wanted. That’s what the whole argument had been about, he’d been staunchly against the expense. 

“All of the above.” I sit up onto the beam and drop down next to him. I almost let out a gasp when I get a good look at him, he looks so very tired and worn. He’d left before the sun was even up this morning. I’d barely fallen asleep after chasing a target most of the night when I’d felt him stir beside me. There’s been growing unrest in the south, sparking bands of rebels to spring up and need to be put down. I feel a bit guilty for all the theatrics just now. I lean up and brush my lips against his while wrapping my arms around his neck. “Darling, we don’t have to go out.” 

I watch his eyes stray to the now faded handprint on my wrist. The past couple of months since that terrible night he’s been overly indulgent, giving into nearly every request or whim of mine. It’s bittersweet, I no longer believe what we have means nothing to him, but he still will not tell me otherwise. Is it pride, fear, or am I imagining things? He leans his cheek on the top of my head. “No, it’s fine.” 

The way I’m pressed against his chest I can hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, strong and reassuring. “I'll leave it up to you.” I feel his arms tighten around me. I’m tempted to say more, but it’d make him cross if I fussed over him. 

When we first started going to the theatre we were the subject of extreme interest. Those same whispers that followed us at the Solstice revels consumed the theatre crowd. Winter was fading away and we were falling back into a routine after what happened, he found me idly sketching and stated he was bored and we should go out. I told him he never wanted to go out, which earned an annoyed huff. I’d had to kiss away his irritation before he’d let me agree to his suggestion. It became a bit of a regular occurrence as spring arrived full force, the two of us, ensconced in his private box, bantering and debating in hushed whispers, trying to keep as quiet as possible. As if anyone would actually admonish the Grand General for not keeping quiet at the theatre. 

“You really are spoiling me.” I twirl and show off the latest of his gifts, black lace and tulle, voluminous skirt yet somehow very revealing. 

“I would say it’s worth it.” His gaze roves over me appreciatively before his hands close around my hips and he pulls me close. “You’re stunning.” The way his voice drops low and he whispers those words in my ear, I can almost feel my cheeks going crimson. I hate it when he does that. 

“We will be late if you continue this.”  I hesitate for a moment, we could just stay home. Eventually, I pull myself from his grasp and climb into the waiting carriage. “You may further compliment me when we return.” 

It’s opening night for some unheard of playwright who’s managed to get the backing of a noble family. These productions that buy their way into a theatre are usually vanity pieces for their patrons and almost always end in spectacular disaster. Tonight is no exception, an overwrought affair based on an old myth, with glaringly obvious current parallels. “Really? Comparing me to Mordekaiser. I’m not sure if I should be insulted or flattered.” 

“I would say flattered, but the dialogue is so insipid I’m going to go with insulted.” I make a mock gagging noise. 

“We could just leave. That would cause a bit of a stir, walk out right now.”

“Tempting but whoever bankrolled this would probably think that was a victory. Oh, I know, let’s ask to meet the author. I heard he’s here. That will terrify him.” 

“That is evil. How do I sleep next to you at night?” He puts his arm through my mine, bringing us closer. 

“I always assumed very lightly.” I lean my head on his shoulder, relishing the moment.

He laughs in that subdued manner that’s typical for him, control to him is everything, and then squeezes my hand ever so slightly. I’ve come to know that gesture for what it is, his way of asking for affection, even if it is more proof of that constant need for control. I tilt my head up and brush my lips against his cheek anyway, I’ll not deny him. “I’m glad we came out tonight.” I’m taken aback at the unexpected honesty. I return my head to his shoulder and feel him ever so lightly kiss the top of my head.

“Me too.” Some intuition grips me and I realize there’s something he’s not telling me. I can feel the tension in his body as I lean against him. Between that and the tiredness lingering in his eyes, I’m troubled. 

I don’t really pay attention to the remainder of the theatrical debacle playing out before us, instead, we whisper back and forth and exchange soft kisses when we run out of words. When the whole dreadful thing has finally concluded neither of us is invested in our malicious scheme from earlier. We attempt to slip out of the theatre quickly before any of the high society crowd can attempt to small talk to us. “Madame Katarina, Grand General!” Coming around a corner into an open foyer we almost run down the owner of the cultured, smooth voice. 

“Rowan!” We stop short and I lean in to give them a quick peck on the cheek. “What a wonderful surprise.” I hear Jericho very quietly huff behind me, he knows why I'm so elated at the coincidence.

“Am I missing something?” They clearly sense the opposing forces at work here.

I met Rowan at a gallery show for Alrich about a month ago, we ended up deep in conversation and kept in touch after. It was only after our first meeting that I realized they were, in fact, the newly elected Head of the Mage’s Council. Jericho referred to it as quite a fortuitous connection, always politics with him.  “Since you asked, there’s a small favor I need to beg of you.” Gardens don’t really grow in normal Noxian soil, you either import it or have it enchanted or better yet, both. “Could you recommend the best green mage of your acquaintance?” I give deep emphasis to best, the cost isn’t a concern. 

“Planning to play in your garden a bit?” They give me a wry smile, they’ve heard my ambitions on this subject before. “I’ll see to it as soon as possible my dear. I hope you'll forgive my haste but I'm late to an engagement." He inclines his head politely to Jericho. "Grand General,  always an honor, Sir. And do stop by sometime, the both of you, I owe you a tour.”

“We’ll look forward to it.” We kiss cheeks again, Jericho returns their nod, and they fade into the now pressing crowd. 

Pushing through to the exit we finally find ourselves out in the mild spring night. I take his arm as we walk the short distance from the theatre to the cafe. “What’s troubling you, and don’t tell me nothing, I know better.”

“You are spending too much time with me. I had planned on having a discussion with you shortly. But first, other pressing matters. You are aware there is an intelligence briefing tomorrow, correct?” 

“Yes.” This again, I keep my tone purposefully terse. 

“And you know what time it is set to begin at?” I nod silently. “Then don’t be late again. Veera already thinks your position should be rescinded, stop giving her excuses. And please actually try to be in uniform.”

“She’s never going to like my being there anyway.” This is really the last thing I want to talk about. 

“I’d imagine that has something to do with you breaking her nose up north.” His tone is flat. 

I pull away from him to gesture wildly. “You know what she said! How was I supposed to know she was Intelligence.” 

“You could’ve not let her bait you like that. However, she’s your Superior and you will have to deal with her for now.”

“Until I’m promoted. That’s what you’re planning on, isn’t it?” Thinking of fucking Veera and High Command has me silently seething. I didn’t even want this position in Intelligence, it was regretfully forced on me as soon as I became Guild Commander. “Remember when she had the nerve to ask if I could even read High Noxian like I’m some sort of uneducated child. The Grand Whore apparently can't understand our official language."

He surprisingly chuckles quietly. “You spent a whole meeting only speaking to her in Old Noxian. It was quite impressive actually, I didn’t even know you spoke it.” Now he finds it amusing, he was irritated at the time. 

“I suppose it’s typical. People usually think killing is all I’m good for.” With that thought, melancholy starts to bleed into my rage. I trudge on in silence but he catches up and takes my arm again. He doesn’t speak though, giving me a moment until we reach our destination on the edge of an open plaza. There are a few cafes scattered amongst the now darkened shops that remain open for the crowds coming from the theatres, opera house, and galleries, but there’s one in particular I favor. 

We’d started coming here shortly after we began having theatre nights. I’d frequented it before on my own, but one night we’d both needed sobering up and weren’t ready to go home. There had been a painfully boring diplomatic dinner that had impelled us both to decimate our host’s wine cellar. Well, impelled me anyway, I may have drug him along with it. It makes me smile a little to think of myself being a bad influence on the Grand General. We’d scared the owner Tavi, a Shuriman immigrant, half to death. He had no idea what to do with Jericho seated at one of his outdoor tables, sipping coffee with his mistress. He has since thankfully calmed down a bit when we show up. 

We find our usual table, tucked into a darker corner of the veranda, affording us at least some privacy, as Jericho prefers. Sahar, one of Tavi’s daughters brings out coffee with a polite greeting before we even ask. They always have the best Shuriman brew here. You can tell by the number of Tavi’s fellow immigrants clustered inside, looking for a taste of home. Moments later Sahar reappears with a smile and one of Tavi’s famous flaky crusted pastries. “I saved one just for you, Madame, I know you are fond of them.” She’s a flatterer, but that’s what I pay for. 

“Many thanks, Sahar. ” The scent of strawberries and roasted nuts wafts up to me and as soon as she’s out of sight I ravenously stuff a large forkful in my mouth. 

Jericho smirks at me from across the table. “If only I knew before that all it took to mollify you was a decent pastry.” 

I feign being indignant “It’s the strawberries, they’re my favorite, and someone wouldn’t let me have them all winter.” 

“No, he said stop spending a fortune on them when they have to be imported.” He pretends to be stern with me. 

I play the brat and pout. “You were mean about it and I didn’t get any.”

“My poor Kitten, that must have been torture. Although I know full well you had Cress buying them and hiding the cost. How many bottles of wine did it cost me for you to bribe him?” He sits back looking triumphant, he’s won our little back and forth.”

“No fair, you always know everything.” I blow him a kiss and finish enjoying my pastry. With the last bite dispatched I turn my attention back to what’s bothering him. The silence that’s stretched between us seems to be alive with whatever it is, it’s heavy and oppressive, erasing the pleasantness of a few moments ago.  “So.”

“I suppose I owe you that discussion about what’s been on my mind.” I nod, hoping to just get it over with. My every sense is telling me to dread his words. “You know there’s been unrest in the south. Thus far the forces sent have failed to stamp it out entirely.” He pauses and once again tension fills the space between us. “I intend to go settle it myself.”

My heart freezes, I forget to breathe. He’s going to war. Part of me cries out to beg him not to, but that’s not the Noxian way and he’d despise it. Instead, I steady myself and bury that impulse. “Do you want me to go with?” That would be acceptable, I could make myself of use, like in the North.

He shakes his head. Of course, he won’t want it construed that he needs to take his little pet everywhere with him. “No, but the situation has given me much to consider and there is something I need to ask of you.” Another moment of terrible silence. I stare down at the cup in my hands that I hadn’t realized I was clutching tightly. Will he just get this over with? “It occurs to me I could use someone to watch over my interests while I’m away. Not with official power, of course, but to keep my allegiances strong and prevent my enemies from growing too bold.”

“And?” I urge him on, gesturing impatiently. 

“I would want you to have the respect due to you while acting on my behalf. And I’d like to make it clear in that case that anyone acting against you is acting against me as well.” I take a sip of coffee, completely lost. “All this is to say, I think we should get married.” 

A raspy cough escapes me as I choke on my coffee. “What!?”

“You and I, we should get married.” He says a bit more slowly as if it somehow makes it any less absurd. 

“Honestly, I’m a little surprised you’re even bothering to ask and not just ordering.” The shock leaves me defensive and lashing out. Get married, be his wife, this is lunacy.

Now he’s the one who turns his eyes away and contemplates his cup. “Fair enough. Although I would argue things have changed over time.” He reaches out to take my hand, thumb running along my knuckles. His voice drops into that soft tone that always persuades me to his point. “You would agree, right?”

Damn him for being charming. “I suppose they have a bit.” I give his hand a soft squeeze. 

“You have to admit it is a solid notion. I know Darius can be depended upon and Argos is very capable but has not been in his position long.  And soon enough we’ll have a new Commander of the Capitol Guard.” 

“I didn’t realize she was finally retiring.” I interrupt. 

“Not quite.” The insinuation is unmistakable. “I’ll need you to see to it personally. Back to the point, I’ll get what I need while I’m gone and if I should not return, you’ll be a very wealthy widow.” 

I roll my eyes at that last bit. “Don’t be ridiculous, something’s far more likely to befall me than you.”

He looks up brows furrowed. “Don’t say that.”

“Can I think about this whole thing?” I’m at a loss. All my work to accept the way things are between us, and he wants to complicate it all over again. 

“If you insist, my Warbands have been summoned though, and I plan to leave within the week.” Why am I the last to know about this whole thing? “Keep in mind, we can always get divorced if you find it disagreeable. In fact, since you have no assets of your own, I’m technically the only one at risk.”

It’s such a clerical way of looking at it, just what I’d expect from him. I almost wish it hurt, but I’m too used to how he is. So instead I simply rise and stretch. “I’m ready to go home.” I start walking away before he’s even out of his seat. 

“Right.” He leaves some coin on the table and hurries to catch up with me. I feel the weight of his coat drop around my shoulders and inhale the scent of him that clings to it, leather and parchment and that cologne he pretends he doesn’t wear. “There’s a chill in the air.” There’s not but it’s an unusually soft gesture so I let his little lie slide.

“Still trying to persuade me?” I slow my pace a bit so that we fall into step with each other. 

“Perhaps.” He takes my hand. “Is it working?” I only roll my eyes at him again, this time with a smile though. 

Thankfully he lets the subject drop the rest of the way home. Once Gwen has helped me out of my dress, I slip on my robe and take a precious few moments to think while running a brush through my hair. How can I even begin to contemplate marrying him? It’s absolutely absurd, and he’s arranged it all with the same cool detachment of ordering his soldiers into formation. And yet he asked, admitting when he did that things are not as they once were between us. With that admission comes the stinging awareness that for whatever his reason, he’d rather it remain unacknowledged. As usual, I’m expected to obey his wishes and follow along with his silence. But isn’t that what I’ve accepted time and again?

Nothing is clarified by the time I slip next door to find him hunched over his desk, pen in hand. “Are you seriously working right now?”

He puts a hand up. “I’ll only be a moment.” 

I stalk over and drop myself into his lap, he doesn’t get to propose to me and then spend the rest of the night obsessing over the Empire. “No.” He tries to write around me. “I want your attention.” 

I lean in and kiss his jaw just where it meets his neck, he shudders. My lips travel upward, I nip and pull his earlobe between my teeth, sucking for a moment. He gasps, pen clattering down onto the desk. “You are insistent on making a nuisance of yourself, aren’t you?” He wraps his hands around my hips.

“If that’s what it takes to get what I want.” I can feel that tension in him again and I’m reminded of the reason for his proposal. There must be some concern about this rebellion within High Command if he’s going to take on the task himself. He still hasn’t rooted out the conspiracy he knows is working in the shadows, no doubt that weighs on him as well. I kiss his neck and let my teeth graze it, he digs his fingers into my hips and thrusts lightly against me. I feel the heat of desire build inside me. “You’re so tense though, let me take care of you.”

I push his hands away and slide down to the floor between his legs. I trace my fingers along the growing bulge in his pants, causing more small noises from him, before opening them. He sighs when I grasp him and work my hand up and down his length. I feel his fingers dig into my shoulders when I run my tongue over his head and take him into my mouth. His hand grips my hair, pushing me forward, urging me to take all of him. Tongue pressed against him, lips tight, I move up and down, listening to his soft moans. When he can no longer stand my deliberately slow pace, he holds me still and drives into me, relentlessly using me. 

I hear his rapid breathing and know he’s taken himself close to the edge. I break away, clambering back into his lap, straddling his hips. I let my robe fall to the floor and lean down for a rough kiss, my hand once again wrapped around his cock. “Don’t tease me.” He growls. 

“Never.” Wet and aching for him, I impale myself on him and moan as his hips buck up to meet me. Again I start slow, rocking my hips against him, taking him as deep as possible. His hands hold me loosely, a sign he's given over control to me.  “You feel so good inside me.” I quicken, moving with urgency, breath coming rapidly, feeling the bliss of being filled with him. I feel myself tighten around him,  pleasure exploding inside me, crying out as I’m spent. I’m pliant as a moment later he pulls me down roughly, taking back that control, and finishing with a few deep thrusts. 

I lean my head onto his shoulder, suddenly exhausted, and feel his arms wrap around me. He means so much to me, will I lose him if I don’t do what he asks? Will he find someone else to play the part? I’m out of choices again it would seem. “You’re right, it’s a good idea.”

I leave it at that and wait for him to respond. “Look me in the eyes and tell me yes, if that’s your answer, Kat.” 

I oblige and sit up, staring into those unyielding dark pools. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” I brush my lips lightly against his to seal my promise. 

[comicteaparty]

January 29th-February 4th, 2020 Reader Favorites Archive

The archive for the Reader Favorites chat that occurred from January 29th, 2020 to February 4th, 2020.  The chat focused on the following question:

Which genre is your favorite for webcomics and which is your least favorite? Why is that?

carcarchu

Romance is without a doubt my favourite genre although i do have a particular soft spot for historical series too (and if it combines the 2 that's a dream come true ). as for my least favourite i guess sci-fi, i'm really not a fan of having to remember a ton of world building details and the backstories of some sci-fi series feel like reading a textbook sometimes. also comedy can be really hit or miss for me if the sense of humour used in the comic doesn't do it for me

Capitania do Azar

Honestly I'll read petty much anything if I'm having fun, not necessarily a genre-related issue. I think nice, interesting stories can be crafted in any genres. That being said, fantasy is usually not my jam and I really like Sci-fi

Kabocha

When it comes to webcomics, I'll read a lot of stuff! But I think Fantasy and Drama have a soft spot in my heart for some reason! I really enjoy it when a creator seems to be having fun (or is aware) of how hammy their drama can be -- and fantasy can be chock full of it! (And as an aside, I love the heck outta romance when done well! A lot of webcomics that classify themselves as romances tend to be more Drama than Romance, mostly bc they don't follow the genre conventions of romance, and instead stick to a more dramatic-oriented plot structure... it's intriguing.) Anyway! I think my least favorite these days is slice of life and gaming comics. A lot of it gets really weird and overwrought and I just... I dunno, there's gotta be a draw. Gaming comics just aren't very fun to read, esp as I've gotten older. A lot of it feels like "hey here's this pop culture reference this small-ish in group gets! how funny! hahaha" or punching down, and... I dunno, I don't have a lot of time to keep on top of memes for games I don't/can't play.

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

I love fantasy and sci-fi, mostly because I'm a world-building nut. I want to get lost in a new place when I read. This also extends towards historical comics, but those are pretty rare. I won't lie though, I definitely fact-check historical comics when I read them, because I want to know how much I can trust the accuracy of the setting. I also tend to enjoy romance if done well, and especially when blended with other genres. IMO, romances can be kinda samey by themselves, so there needs to be some other plot outside of the characters' relationship for me to stay invested. As for least favorite genres... Definitely comedy and slice-of-life. As someone who regularly watches stand-up, I don't typically find comedy comics very funny most of the time, especially relatable gag-a-day types. As for slice-of-life, it often seems... boring to me. I mean, I might just be mentally unable to process the nuances or something, but what actually happens in slice-of-lifes? That being said, there are always exceptions to these preferences, because I have been completely turned off from certain fantasy comics, for example, and there are definitely comedies that I have enjoyed thoroughly. In the end, all that really matters is if a specific comic suits my tastes/quality expectations, genre tossed aside

Ash🦀

When it comes to webcomics, animal stories and fantasy are definitely my favorites. I like getting lost in a world, I don’t want to stay in my own if I’m trying to escape. Oh, also, and actually being able to read emotions. On animals, because the style and emotion often have to be pushed so much, it’s way easier on me to be able to parse expressions on an animal than a human. Might just be my autistic brain tho /shrug Also, sci fi, heavy dose of “sci” in there. If I feel like I’m learning something it makes it so much more fun. My least favorite genres are romance and historical. To be honest, I find historical pieces rely so much on the politics and the talking and the human nuance I don’t much understand in the first place that I end up getting bored or confused or both. And romance is... well, my mom constantly had hallmark movies on, so I’ve kind of grown to hate the romance genre as a whole tbh. If it’s a side piece in a fantasy, fine, okay. Too often they’re unbelievable and the couple just doesn’t have any chemistry, and I just end up not buying it, so I’d like to yeet it to the side as much as possible in most cases. Now, there are some that are exceptions, here, but they are few and far between. Somehow, LGBTA+ romance just blows past this hangup, however. I dunno, it’s easier for me to care then, it feels newer, and... well, frankly, a good deal of the time they’re written better, I dunno. So, they’re the exception to the rule.

Kabocha

Hard agree on the LGBTA+ romance -- but also other marginalized groups tend to be more thoughtful in romance and tropes they use! While there's a general sort of... uh, set of expectations as far as plot and the happily-ever-after/happy-for-now ending, it's honestly really just sort of nice to see creators be mindful about what they're making, and write stuff that isn't just the same sort of nonsense that gets marketed in the mainstream. ...Now this is making me think about how much I would love to see Courtney Milan or Alyssa Cole's works translated into comics... If they could do Pride and Prejudice, someone pls give me A Princess in Theory (Sorry, I'm... a little bit of an aficionado for the genre, particularly in romance novels)

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

I was never able to get into ANY romance until I started reading some LGBTQ+ ones. I never liked the genre before then, but I think it was just because I couldn’t identify with / care about all the cishet couple represented. Once I was reading a romance I actually could connect with, it was completely different. It’s still not a genre I like to read very often because it’s so trope-heavy, though.

keii4ii

I feel like romance gets pigeonholed into a specific (and admittedly prevalent/highly visible) type, kinda like how "fantasy" was pigeonholed as Tolkienish fantasy for years and years until recently.

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

As for what genres I do like, definitely fantasy. I especially like dark stories with lots of nuance, twisty plots, and some surreality. I like both high and urban fantasy, though as I get older, I lean more towards the latter. There’s someone really fascinating to me about mixing modern tech with magic and the supernatural. My least favourite (apart from most romance) is probably newspaper-style webcomics. I’m just not into that into punchline-a-strip or art art that has a Saturday-morning-cartoon feel. Not that it’s bad in any way, and I actually do have a few exceptions of comics in that style that I DO like, but it’s just not really my thing. I also can’t really get into political comics or war stories.

@keii4ii Yeah, it definitely does! And it becomes frustrating to try and find Something Different within the genre when the vast majority of it is using the same tropes and set up. I think that’s also why I’ve started leaning more towards urban fantasy as I’ve aged because a lot of high fantasy was becoming ‘more of the same’.

(says someone who creates a Tolkein-esque high fantasy comic )

keii4ii

You can still tell great stories within those prevalent types. Just gotta be mindful about choosing tropes/archetypes because they work for the story, as opposed to just going with them mindlessly. But that's not really extra work; that mindfulness is important no matter what kind of a story you're writing, IMO!

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

I also say I don’t get into punchline-a-strip comedy and yet have TWO comics in that genre, so I’m kind of a hypocrite.

Oh yes, definitely! I do try to avoid or even subvert some of those very common tropes, though I’m sure I don’t always succeed! Some tropes can be very effective, just not when every story feels like you’ve read this a hundred times before with minor variation.

Kabocha

Honestly, that's one of the great things about self pub and webcomics -- you can get SO many more unique voices without the gatekeepers that traditionally held genres and markets back. Like, y'all might not have heard, but back years and years ago, Borders had someone working there at the corporate level that helped stock genre fiction -- but basically segregated POC authors from the genres that they were actually writing in. Which was a load of crap. (And that's not even getting into issues with queer media and fiction being stocked in stores or even published.) So basically in stores you'd see for a while, kind of the samey sort of stuff that you find in genre fiction -- and I think webcomics helps kind of... break out of those same sorts of expectations for various genres? It's kind of nice on the whole.

FeatheryJustice

Favourite genre of comics: Comedy and Action. If I could find Jackie Chan action and humour combo in a comic I would love the hell out of it. Least favourite: Slice of Life of the drama variety and romance variety. I dont mind if it is slice of life with action or slice of life informative because I am reading for more. If it is a romance between just two high schoolers doing nothing then I get bored. If it is two high schoolers in a slice of life but it focuses on them working on an animation together giving us animation information I would be okay with that.

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Lol, as someone who makes a fantasy series that plays with the amnesia trope like it went out of style (spoilers, it did), I totally agree that fantasy and romance can be very tropey.

kzuich

I like comedy and slice-of-life. Occasionally I like drama, but only if it's mixed with comedy. Or black comedy. (Seeing a recurring theme here? xD)

Or drama. With comedy sprinkled in.

I don't know why but I've always felt webcomics were really great for comedy. Some of the funniest stuff I've read was a webcomic. Dunno why. Least favorite genre? I don't really have one. I'll read anything but those are the genres I actually -like-.

DanitheCarutor

I'll read just about anything. I love stuff with some kind of surrealistic or abstract quality to it, like Weaker Sides (https://www.weakersides.com/), Seluda (https://tapas.io/series/seluda) and Hookteeth (https://hookteethcomic.com/). I also really enjoy stuff that is sad, or deals with heavy themes due to the feeling of catharsis they give me. Sun Rising (https://tapas.io/series/Sun-Rising), Rescue Me (https://tapas.io/series/Rescue-Me) and The Dogs on the Railroad (https://tapas.io/series/The-Dogs-on-the-Railroad) come to mind. It's nice to experience difficult emotions in a controlled environment. If I had to be genre specific I would have to say my favorite is the very elusive horror genre. Love me some spoopy shit and pretty much everything else that comes with it, no matter how cheesy it gets! It sucks that horror is so hard to find in webcomics, at least for me.

Least favorite genres? Gag-a-day, slice of life and romance. I have a lot of trouble getting into comedy comics that aren't story driven, so I don't usually read gag-a-days or autobios. I will read the latter two since most of the time they're good things to read when you don't want to turn your brain off for a bit, but all three genres are honestly really boring for me. When it comes to character centric stuff I really want something like a deep character study, although I haven't had luck finding stuff like that. Romance specifically, I have a hate/I don't mind relationship with. Romantic intimacy has always been super gross to me, I hate seeing people kissing on each other in movies due to an issue with how nasty the human mouth is, and the sound makes me sick to my stomach. With comics it's easier to digest, the characters are just drawings so I don't mind seeing them get all buckwild, but it's still not my most favorite. There are occasions where I can't even read a comic due to genre vs. setting. For example (and I'm am not saying this comic is bad, I mean it has over 100k subs) A Matter of Life and Death (https://tapas.io/series/A-Matter-of-Life-and-Death). I really love the art in this comic, the setting, some of the characters and the little bits of lore I saw. But it's a slice of life-esque romantic type of comic, so the world building for this extremely creative looking setting is kinda put on the back burner for intimate scenes between the MCs. Again, this doesn't make it bad. I personally turned out not to be the target demographic because I wanted 'A' and the creator wanted 'B'. Maybe I'll give this one another glance someday to see where the story has gone, I admittedly haven't read it in a couple years so the story might have developed.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

My fave is anything that deals in heavy lore-- most that fit the bill are usually fictional like fantasy and sci-fi, but there are always exceptions that play with some good world building outside those genres! I love to read comics that i can get lost in and want to almost research the world created-- as long as that element is balanced in a story, im usually up for anything! That being said however, my least favourite is the gag strips and strictly comedy. I haven't yet found any that have really made me read page after page since my first looksee with comedy comics (sassy creed and that super smash bros one come to mind so quite a while ago) but I'm sure if i was more diligent in searching through the genre I could find something for myself!

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

I love history and sci-fi. I have a hard time getting into fiction and I like stories with a firm connection to something real in the world

kayotics

I’m a fan of fantasy stories, and I like romance sometimes as well. I don’t mind gag-a-day strips but I don’t really follow any, mostly since I’m looking for a little more meat in my story. Despite how much crossover sci-fi and fantasy have, I’m not big into sci-fi. If a story engages me in that genre, I’ll still read it, but it’s not a genre I search through. I also don’t read war comics. I have a hard no on superheroes as well, I’m just tired of them.

renieplayerone

I love anything thats a mix of SciFi and history or some other genre (its why i love blade runner, scifi film noir). Weaving history into scifi is a challenge but man does it make for really cool aesthetics and moral questions

RebelVampire

My favorite genre for webcomics is probably a tie between fantasy and sci-fi. Not only do I just personally love world-building heavy material, but I also just think webcomics is a medium well-suited to them. I kind of don't feel things like live action do those genres justice. However, webcomics have a lot of artistic freedom so art style, differing art effects, etc. can all come into play to create awe, whimsy, and a bunch of other emotions that just capture a feeling of wonder that I expect from those generes. As for least favorite genre, definitely serialized comedy - which by this I mean comics that have a story along with the comedy. For me I just...don't find a lot of them funny. A lot of the humor is a bit too trope-y for my liking or imitating comedy without really understanding why the comedy worked in the original source. So for me the jokes just rarely land even if I can appreciate the effort that went into the comics. That being said, there's always exceptions. Like http://sgkdr.webcomic.ws/ is a comic I would've initially passed just based on genre, but when i read it the humor was/is actually really smart and really creative. Just the same, there's plenty of fantasy and sci-fi comics I don't like, though this usually comes down to story execution even if I think the art is pretty to look at.

BadSprite

My favorite genres for comics are action, comedy, drama and slice of life. I'm particularly a fan of slice of life stories that take place in some fantastical world, because the nuances of the setting makes the mundane so much more interesting. Also action comedies are my jam. One of my faves being: http://paranatural.net/. I personally love how comedy is integrated into action scenes to capture the frantic nature of the situations. My least favorite genre are probably romance, it's not that I have anything against it. I just feel like there's an oversaturation of them and there's very few that brings something new to the table. Most of them feel too same-y for me.

eli [a winged tale]

It really depends on my mood~ my bookmarks are all over the place. If I really enjoy the art and the characters, I usually stay for the story. My usual go-to is fantasy, sci-fi or slice of life! I recently got into romance but I’m a bit choosey about it. I definitely echo @Kabocha ‘s statement about exploring different voices and subversion of tropes. Always eager to read tighter storylines and those that take risks in diversity. Least favourite same as @FeatherNotes(Krispy) really! Sometimes it’s funny (love strange planet) but I won’t be binging it

MJ Massey

My favorite genres of comics are fantasy, action/adventure, and romance. Especially if all three are together in one delicious package. I'll read pretty much anything but it's gotta be well paced and well written to keep me coming back

Javi

My favorite genres are action, comedy, fantasy, sci-fi, slice of life and adventure. Also anything with animal characters in it I'm already invested in it but that's just my furry brain talking (edited)

AntiBunny

I would say a broad term of adventure. Be it scifi, fantasy, road trip, or superntural I love a good adventure comic full of interesting characters and locations.

[carrietrekkie]

Crossroads - Part II

Save in my arms.

Hey!

First, thank you all for your fb, likes and reblogs. I´m so happy your still following my story!

Now it gets a little romantic, a lot of comfort and fluff in this part. Chris helps Cathrin to get through some hard hours, in his very own way. (Part 2/3)

Part I - I´ll never wanted to do that.

Please leave me a little fb, if you don´t mind!

Tag: @bold-brave-courageous @allthetrek @reeselivesforeverinmyheart 

The skin regenerator hummed softly, did its work and the cut on my upper arm disappeared. "Any other wounds?" Pollard looked at me. "Um." I narrowed my eyes for a moment, then shook my head. "Blue spots sure, but no, nothing serious." "And the other thing?" The doctor lowered the tricorder. "Alright." I waved off. "Really." I knew she didn´t believe me, but she was fine with my answer, for now. "That was good work with Tyler's shoulder." She put a hand on my arm, then smiled and left. "Thanks." I looked to the left, where Tyler had just been taken care of by a nurse. I watched her until she finished her work and left.

"How are you?" "I already felt better." He grinned slightly. "But also significantly worse." "I know that." Somehow, I wrestled with a grin, then I looked at my hands. I had washed them and I knew it was impossible, but I still had the feeling of them being stuck with blood. "It's getting better, believe me." Tyler tore me out of my thoughts. "Don´t be mad at me if I'm not necessarily inclined to believe you." Before we could go on, Captain Pike entered the infirmary, relieved to smile at us, then stepped between our chairs. "I had expected worse when we caught your distress call. Nice to see that you are doing well. " "Thank you Sir." Tyler nodded, I did the same, but said nothing. "What happened? That should be a short reconnaissance flight. " "A few Klingons thwarted us, they had something known as blood fever." "Will you clear me up?" Pike crossed his arms. "It's a viral disease that destroys the nerves, which leads to inevitable death after a brief period of madness and aggression." Tyler sighed. "It only rarely breaks out, but if." "Understand." "In darker times warriors have often been willfully infected with it, the result." "I can imagine it vividly." I swallowed, I had listened to this all in silence. I knew that Tyler was doing this only so broadly because he wanted to cheer me up, but it didn´t help. I felt like I started to panic, my brain bombarded me in an endless loop with the seconds in which I had to do something that I had not imagined in my darkest dreams. I heard Tyler shouting, myself screaming and the horrible growl of my opponent before collapsing in front of me with an equally horrible rattle. "Cathrin."

I winced when Captain Pike spoke to me. Quickly I blinked and wiped my face, I didn´t realize how I started to cry. Both men looked at me and I couldn´t bear any of these looks, so I jumped up and ran. Just out here, somewhere else, where I could crawl into a dark hole and wait until the darkness had completely swallowed me up. ++++ Pike turned to Tyler, but he anticipated the question he wanted to ask. "She had to shoot the Klingon who attacked me." He hung his head. "I was unconscious, otherwise I wouldn´t have allowed it." "Shit." He looked at the door, then Ash again. "Can I leave you alone?" "Yes, of course, I´m okay." Then Pike also ran and hoped that he would reach her as soon as possible.

****

 I ran into Linus with full force, he catches me and starred at me with his big black eyes. "I'm sorry." I felt the air go away as the crew members standing by us looked at us. "Really, was not an intention." I turned away from him and refrained from running again, but my fear, panic and disgust for myself continued to drive me through the corridors. "Hey Cathrin." I spun around as Tilly approached me. As soon as her eyes fell on my face, the smile died on hers. "What's happening?" "Not Silvia." I raised my hands, I didn´t want her to speak to me. "Leave me." Then I ran again and left her standing there, stunned. Only a few seconds later, the captain ran into her arms. "Tilly did you see Cathrin?" He was already looking around. "She took this way, sir!" She pointed in the direction I had disappeared. "What's going on?" "I don��t know yet." Then, more to himself then to Tilly. “But I fear nothing good.” I kept walking, the crew's looks and shouts behind me, and it happened, what had to happen. At some point I lost my bearings and ended up in a dead end by one of the viewing windows. I clapped my hands over my mouth as I felt how a scream crept up my throat. I didn´t want anyone to hear me, just didn´t really help. I could hear the echo from my voice and couldn´t believe that this sound belongs to me.  

Footsteps caught my ear and as I looked up I could see Pike approaching me. I didn´t want him to see me like that but I was unable to move. Meanwhile, my breath was only flat and hectic, the running around just had not helped and sooner or later I would run out of air. Even now, stars flashed in front of my eyes. "Cathrin!" He didn´t run any more, but came quickly to me, then grabbed me by my shoulders.

"Breathe in!" He looked hard in my eyes, but it didn´t help, I gasped more and more, my nerves were completely overwrought, I couldn´t think straight and now my stomach began to rebel. I choked, but managed not to vomit in front of him, but the illusion that he had missed that, I didn´t gave in.

"Come on." He grabbed my arm and after I still didn´t knew where I was, I had no idea how long it took him to lead me through a door and close it behind us. Again I choked and this time, I wouldn´t be able to hold it. "In there." He pushed me gently but firmly towards a bathroom and I collapsed just in time in front of a toilet. How long I crouched there, I don´t remember. All I could do was feel how with each further vomiting, everything in me cramped more and the dark hole in me grew bigger and bigger and stifled every clear thought in the bud. At some point I was so exhausted that I could barely stand on my knees. That's when I felt the first time, how he gently stroking my back. A towel pushed into my field of view. My fingers were shaking so hard that I could hardly reach it, but I didn´t want to give myself the nakedness that he would help me with this. Everything starts to hurt already, and I needed my last bit of strength, to stop myself from breaking down. I wiped my mouth, then closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, my gaze fell on the blood that still sticks on my uniform. So I tried my best to get rid of the jacket, but I couldn´t even reach for the zipper. Immediately that caused a new wave of panic shoot through my body and I started hyperventilating again. All at once I felt like I was suffocating. Again, my body rebelled as if trying to push my thoughts repel. But it wouldn´t succeed this time either.

 I felt Pike grabbing at me, ripping open the collar of the uniform together with its zipper and pulling the jacket off my arms just as fast and hard. He threw it out of the bathroom, then pushed me against the wall and dropped to his knees in front of me. His blue eyes bored into mine green. "You must try to calm down."

He also began to take off his jacket, sat down in front of me, pulled me astride his lap and wrapped his arms around me. He held me so tight that I could barely breathe, but strangely enough, it calmed me down, albeit infinitely slowly. Had my brain worked, I would have guessed that he was doing exactly what to do in such a situation. Body contact and pressure, no matter how awkward that would look.

"Breathe slowly." I heard his voice right next to my ear. "Try adjusting to my rhythm." I nodded hectically. I closed my eyes and held my breath for a moment, then adjusted my breath to his. My chest felt tight, every time I breathed it burned my lungs, but part of me imagined that it helped. "Relax." "I cannot." Tears came to my eyes again, they burned like fire on my skin, but I couldn´t stop crying. "You must." He tightened his arms around my torso. "Otherwise I'll have to take you to the sick bay." That had the opposite effect he hoped for, I felt as I tensed again. "I didn´t say I would do it."

"I shot him." Only now did I manage to put my arms around his shoulders to hold on tight. "You saved Tyler's life." He released his grip a little, carefully began to stroke my back. He had to feel that my muscles were still cramped up. I did, it felt like I was turning to stone. "That doesn´t undo it, but it will help you." "But." "No buts. Both of you would be dead or worse if you had not. " I began to shiver, my body eliminated the adrenaline that it couldn´t use anymore, and apparently had no desire to help my brain continue to crack. Carefully, he slid his hand behind my back, and I flinched when I felt his touch on my skin, it hit me completely unexpectedly, but just as quickly he pulled it back.

"You're freezing cold." He released his grip enough for him to look at me. I couldn´t see it, but I could not look particularly good. "Your lips are already turning blue." "If you say that." It struggled every fiber of my body as he loosened his grip, somehow managed to push me with a fluid motion off its lap, while rising from the ground. "Computer increase room temperature by three degrees.” Pike went through the room and turned on the water of the tub, set a temperature and left the room briefly. Trembling, I slid against the wall, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. That was not a good idea, immediately the events of the last hour flashed in my mind. I gasped sharply as I felt a hand on my shoulder and someone shook me softly.

"Don´t fall back again." "Captain?" I blinked at him, apparently my brain had trouble understanding what was real and what was memory. My eyes darted past him. "You have a bathtub?" "It also has to have one or the other advantage when you're the captain,." He smiled slightly at me, then he reached under my arms and pulled me from the floor. I did my best to help at least a little, but that couldn´t be much, and I felt him holding me. "Sit down."

 "Okay." He placed me on the edge of the tub and I already felt the warmth of the water under me. "You'll undress now and lay in there." I somehow managed to throw a look at him, which in the beginning expressed what shot through the small part of my brain that was not spinning. "I'm waiting outside, no worries, I'm not looking." He grinned at me broadly, even making me smile a little.

"I picked some things out for you." He pointed to the small armchair in the corner. "Not very fancy, but it will do. On the sink is still a fresh toothbrush and I'm sorry, I have only my shower gel here.” "Never mind." I blinked tiredly. "I like how you smell." Why the hell did I say that? "Excuse me." His answer was a smile, then he crouched down in front of me. "I'm outside when you need me." Then he grabbed my hands, squeezed them briefly, got up, and went outside. As soon as he had left the room, the previously transparent glass surfaces became milky and opaque and I was alone.  I took a deep breath, then struggled up from the tub and headed for the sink. The sight in the mirror was pure horror. My eyes were fire-red, deep circles underneath, and the runny and smeared mascara didn´t make it any better. I was pale and when I raised my hand, it was still shaking. I turned on the tap, threw a load of water in my face and then began to brush my teeth. That was really necessary, as soon as I spit out, at least the strange feeling disappeared on my tongue. I slowly undressed and tried to pile up my cloth in a way, that didn´t look quite desperate.

It was a weird feeling to stand naked in his bathroom, so I hurried to get into the tub. The hot water tingling on my skin, but almost instantaneously my cramped muscles relaxed and with a comforting sigh I sank into the light foam. It really smelt like him and I felt how that relaxed me too, more than I wanted to admit at that moment. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and dived. The feeling of the water around me finally drove the cold out of my body, pulling away dirt and grime, and I fancied that some of it fell away when I reappeared. For a few minutes I just allowed myself to lie there and either close my eyes or look at the picture on the wall opposite. It simulated the warp plow, maybe it was also a projection of our current speed. "Is everything alright with you?" I turned my head to the side. I could see he was sitting on the floor in front of the bathroom, his back against the glass wall by the door. "Yes, thank you, all right." I smiled slightly. "Does that calm you?" "What exactly?" He turned his head slightly. "The picture on the wall." I looked at the stars. "Sometimes." He sounded tired too. I had no idea what time it was. It could be in the middle of the night. "It helps to think. This is something that doesn´t change, no matter how bad all is, the stars don´t care. " "Nice thought." I ran my hand through the last bit of foam on the water. "Don´t try to fall asleep. Otherwise I have to fish you out of the tub. " I pinched my lips, I don´t know how he found that thought, but I found it somehow exciting.

"Have I been in here for a long time?" "Maybe an hour or so." I couldn´t see him grinning, but I was sure he did. "What?" I sat up jerkily, a wave of water sloshing over the edge. "Oh crap!" "This is a spaceship, not a sailing ship." "Very funny." I looked around for a towel. "Um, where are?" "On your left." "Thanks!"

I found them where he said so I pulled my legs up, got up, and carefully climbed out of the tub. I wrapped myself in the warm towel and began to dry myself with another one. I stood briefly under the sound shower and let the ultrasonic waves blow the remaining drops of water from my body and my hair. I slipped into my underwear, then grabbed the things he had put out for me. It was a pajama pants that was, of course, too long and too wide and a t-shirt. I grinned when I saw that it was one with an Enterprise logo. I tied a knot in the side of the shirt, then pulled the strap on so tight that I wouldn´t lose it and left the bathroom.

 Pike was still sitting on the floor in front of it, a book in his hand, which he lowered as I opened the door. He looked up and smiled at me, I gave it back. "That looks much better." "Well, how to take it." I watched him get up off the floor, then tugged at the shirt. "Homesick?" "Sometimes." He raised his eyebrows. "I didn´t have anything else left." He also wore a pair of pajama pants, a T-shirt, his hair was a bit messy and he looked tired. "You?" "Sometimes." I smiled as well, then wrapped my arms around my upper body. I was tired too and started to feel cold again. "I should go to sleep." I pointed toward the bathroom. "Would you mind if I pick it up tomorrow?"

"You shouldn´t be alone tonight." He looked at me, and under other circumstances, that look would have softened my knees, but I was more likely to run away. "Don´t worry, I will not bite." He stroked my arm. "But it would be better, you stay. If you were in sick bay, Dr. Pollard will not let you go either." I nodded, though I didn´t really know what to think of it.

"Do you want to eat something?" "No, I'm not hungry." I stifled a yawn. "I just want to sleep." "That's the easy part." Pike ranged me his hand. I hesitated for a moment, then grabbed it and let him lead me to his bed. That was a strange feeling, I couldn´t describe it exactly. "Left or right?" He pulled another blanket out of the closet. "Anyway." I looked around uncertainly. "As you like more." He laughed slightly, then folded the blanket over the bed and sat on it. "What time is it at all?" I looked at him as he yawned a little and I had to smile. He had no idea how incredibly cute he looked at that moment and, terribly the reason for it, I couldn´t imagine anything better than to snuggle up to him and hope that I would sleep all night.

"Something between 23.00 and 24.00." "I'll keep you from sleeping." I remembered that I was no longer a teenager, but an adult woman, well, at least halfway, so I walked over to the other side of the bed and slipped under the blanket he'd brought me. "Just a little bit." He dropped back, rolled over and then faced me. I slid closer to him, feeling trembling again and he was warm.

"Thanks Chris." I put my hand briefly on his arm and he winced. "Sorry, I never have cold hands." I rubbed my fingers together. "Cold is an understatement." He grinned at me. “Come here."

I hesitated for a moment, but then the shivering triumphed over my timidity, and I slid closer to him, letting him put his arm around me, pulling me towards, so I could only lay my head on his chest. He threw the blanket over us and put his other arm around me. I closed my eyes and snuggled up against him. He was warm, smelled incredibly good, and he radiated a calm that caught me immediately and soothed more than any pill could have done. I still shivered, but I noticed how it got less.

"Better?" "Yes, much better." That he smiled broadly as I said that, I couldn´t see. I pushed a little closer to him, no way I would go out of here and if that damn spaceship exploded. "Tell me something about you." He started stroking my arm. "What do you want to know?" "Mmh." The sound made his chest vibrate. "Where have you always wanted to go?" I didn´t have to think about it for long. "I always wanted to visit Hawaii. All islands, preferably forever. The sea, the sun, the beach. "I sighed a little. "I always imagined what it would be like to live on an island." I had to laugh a little. "For me that was unbelievably far away, tens of thousands of miles and far too expensive." I put my hand over his heart and could feel it beating under my fingers.

"What about you? Where does it attract someone when you can fly to the stars? "He laughed a little, then slipped his fingers between mine, he sighed slightly. "Home. To the city where I was born. Mojave, in Arizona. "His chest was rising and falling evenly, along with the rhythm of his heart, the warmth of his body and the sound of his voice that enveloped me and carried me away. "When the nights are clear, you can see the Milky Way." "The picture in your ready room." I was almost asleep, yet the photo with the falling stars came to my mind. "Did you take that by yourself?"

 "Yes." He also sounded tired. "It's been a couple of years since I was there, it was in the middle of the night when I took this picture, the next day the Enterprise mission started." "You have not been home for five years?" "I hope I can do it when this mission comes to an end." "Mmh, sounds good." It was rude, but I kept on lulling myself to sleep.

Everything on me wanted to sleep, even if a part of me would have preferred nothing more than to listen on to him, but it was just hopelessly inferior. I closed my fingers around his and fell asleep.

 *****

"Cathrin?"

Chris looked away as he felt her breathing steadier and more and more relaxed. He raised his hand, brushed her hair back a little and saw that she had fallen asleep. Despite the tension of the last few hours, she now seemed to feel better.

She looked peaceful, a light smile on her lips, her hand still clutching his, one leg slightly on his and he could feel that she was slowly getting warmer. It was this moment, along with so many others recently, that he had to admit that he felt more for her and the thought that she might disappear as suddenly as she did into his life, took his breath away for a moment, but it vanished as she jerked in his arms, wiping that feeling aside. She made a sound that sounded like a little purr, then took a deep breath and he couldn´t help but smile. Chris got the idea that this was exactly what he had been missing in the last few years. That someone was there when he fell asleep and still was at his side when he woke up. Who stood behind him and still went their own way. Be there no matter how hard life and duty would be. Leaning slightly to Cathrin, he breathed a kiss on her head, then allowed himself to fall into the feeling that he was flowing through him.

That's it, he was sure. It was in every single one of her looks, in the little touches, in the gestures they shared. This feeling and everything that could become of it, he wanted. Forever. After a few minutes he fell asleep and slept better than he had in years.

Masterlist

[setepenre-set]

Operation: Angler Fish (part 3)

Megamind/Roxanne, K+ rating, pre-movie AU

Minion encourages Megamind to give their damsel in distress an unusual present for her birthday.

AO3 | FFN 

(links disabled so that this will show up in the tumblr search tool. I will reblog this momentarily with the links; look for it in the notes.)

"Really? Now?"

Roxanne, tied extremely loosely in her customary kidnapping chair, sees, in the viewscreen over Megamind's shoulder, Metro Man is still sitting on his white couch, a plate of nachos balanced on his lap.

"Come on, man," he says, "the game's on!"

"Well, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your busy day of couch-potato-ing, Metro Man," Megamind says, "but evil does not follow a sportsball shed-u-al."

"—really?" Roxanne can't help but interject. "Funny, how there's never an evil plot while there's a baseball game on. What a coincidence that the evil schedule always happens to be clear when the Metro City Wolverines are playing."

Megamind glances over his shoulder at her, barely suppressing the smile she can see threatening at the corners of his mouth.

"I have no idea what you mean, Miss Ritchi," he says.

"Can't it wait? Wayne says. "I mean—"

"Hey!" Roxanne says, a little sharply, "I could be in mortal danger, here!"

"Dire peril!" Megamind adds.

"Desperate straits!"

"Terrible jeopardy!"

"My very life at risk!"

"Ugh, come on," he says, "why do we have to go through this same silly charade again?"

Megamind's spine straightens.

"Silly charade?" he says, voice stiff, and Roxanne can tell by the set of his shoulders that he's genuinely offended.

Wayne, though, either doesn't notice or maybe doesn't care. He picks up a chip and takes a bite.

"Yeah," he says, mouth full, gesturing with the half-eaten chip. "Roxy's been kidnapped, I'm gonna stop you; we've been playing through this our entire lives. Why do you keep trying? Face it, little buddy." He pops the rest of the chip into his mouth. "I'm invulnerable. You're never gonna beat me."

Megamind's hands ball into fists at his sides. In the viewscreen, Metro Man eats another nacho with a bored, complacent air.

"You know," Megamind says, "what your problem is, Metro Man?”

"Besides you?"

"You think that you're above everyone else," Megamind says, "that the rest of the world is beneath you. You spend all of your time up on cloud nine, looking down on the rest of us. Well, you are about to be brought down to earth, Metro Man. Brought down by your one true weakness...Roxanne Ritchi!”

Megamind’s eyes flick over to meet hers as he says her name, a wicked smile playing around the edges of his mouth and Roxanne takes a sharp breath.

(Your one true weakness, Roxanne Ritchi, and it sounds so much like Megamind’s standard evil monologue, but it’s not—Megamind isn’t threatening her, isn’t even really playing at threatening her.

He’s threatening Metro Man with her.

Not a pawn, not a damsel in distress—a weapon, a partner.)

Wayne sighs a deeply put-upon sigh.

"Okay," he says, "okay okay okay—let's get this over with."

The air around him blurs as he starts up his superspeed, and then he disappears from the viewscreen. Megamind presses a button, making the screen go dark, and then he whirls around, cape billowing, eyes shining with anticipation.

“We are warmed up and ready to go, Sir!” Minion calls, and Megamind rubs his hands together in glee.

"Places!" he cries, for no apparent reason, since they're all already in their places, her in her kidnapping chair, Minion at the console in the corner, him at the viewscreen. "Places; places; places!”

"Bowg!"

"Bowg bowg bowg!"

"Bowg bowg!"

The brainbots seem to find Megamind's excitement contagious; Roxanne watches as Megamind runs around in a little circle, brainbot cloud spinning around him, before he ends up in exactly the same position as he started.

And—

—and—

—god, he’s so—so—

And maybe she should—maybe she should laugh, or at least want to laugh, but something that is definitely not laughter catches in her throat, beneath her sternum and what she wants, what she really, truly wants is—

Megamind glances over and meets her gaze, and his grin fades into a look of puzzled bemusement. He tilts his head, a question implied in the gesture, and Roxanne opens her mouth to say—to say—

She’s not sure what she intends to say, but it definitely starts with Megamind, and there’s a please in there somewhere, and whatever it is has her heart fluttering in her chest, a trapped bird in her ribcage and Megamind’s brows draw together in something that looks like concern, and he takes a step towards her and—

Metro Man bursts through the roof.

He comes through just where they expected, landing in the one conveniently clear spot which just so happens to have a spotlight on it which glints off of his hair and shiny white teeth.

He straightens up and strikes a heroic pose while the dust is still settling, hands on his hips, expression more sternly determined than threatening.

"Megamind," he says, "you—"

"Now!" Megamind and Roxanne shout at the same moment, and Minion's big robotic hand slams down on the console button.

And the gun, the big showy one which seemed so clearly to be pointed at Roxanne, goes off, shooting backwards.

The gravity beam itself is invisible to the naked eye, so Roxanne can't actually see it. She sees the moment it hits Metro Man, though, because he gets a very surprised look on his face and then promptly falls over, collapsing in a way that reminds Roxanne of Saturday morning cartoons, Wiley Coyote flattened abruptly by a falling anvil.

"Urgle," Metro Man says, and—

—completely fails to move at all.

Metro Man doesn’t get up.

He makes a strangled noise and Megamind can see his muscles straining, but—

He doesn’t get up.

(a trick it has to be a trick of some kind; there’s no possible way—)

Metro Man’s eyes bulge, his features contorting into an expression of shock—an expression so ridiculous that it has to be genuine, because there is no way Wayne would ever make his face look like that on purpose.

“Gnngh,” Metro Man says, and Megamind hears himself make a choked kind of noise, a spasmodic, half-smothered laugh that edges much closer to overwrought hysteria than evil exaltation.

(villainous plot after villainous plot, but he never expected any of them to really work, never expected them to succeed—)

Megamind looks up from Metro Man, still lying on the floor, to Roxanne, sitting in her kidnapping chair. Her lips are slightly parted, and her eyes, when they raise from the fallen Metro Man to meet Megamind’s gaze, are very wide.

"Oh look," Minion says, tone mild, clearly the only one here who actually expected this to really work. "We did it.”

“We…did it,” Roxanne says.

"...we did it?" Megamind repeats, clutching the edges of his cape in what feels like a vain attempt to hold reality itself together.

“We did it!" Roxanne crows, leaping up from her chair. She gives her wrists and ankles an impatient wriggle and the ropes fall away. “Ha! I was right! Didn’t I tell you, Megamind? Didn't I tell you his powers work off of antigravity?”

“Brilliant,” Megamind says, unable to keep himself from moving towards her, unable to keep himself from holding out his arms to her, all of his rationality drowned in the radiance of her, “Brilliant; you’re brilliant, Roxanne!”

She laughs, loud and jubilant and somehow wild, her eyes shining, and runs to meet him, feet barely seeming to touch the ground, triumph carrying her like Winged Victory into his arms.

Megamind catches her and sweeps her the rest of the way off her feet, whirling her around in a circle while they both laugh, until, dizzy and off-balance with spinning and with how glorious she is, he has to stop.

“—worked, did you see—”

“—absolutely genius—”

"Tell me, Megamind,” Roxanne demands, leaning against him, her arms around his neck, "tell me you couldn't have done it without me.”

The room is still spinning around them, as if the two of them are in the eye of a hurricane or a cyclone, and Megamind’s breath catches—catches at the command in her voice and at the nearness of her.

"Never," Megamind says, breathless with awe. "I could never have done it without you, Roxanne; I tried for years, and you! The very first time—"

“—help,” Metro Man says, voice very flattened.

"Oh, shut up, Wayne," Roxanne says, not even turning her head to look at Metro Man, her eyes still fixed on Megamind’s own, and Megamind’s heart absolutely thrills.

“—dying—" Metro Man says.

"No, you're not; you're fine," Roxanne says, rolling her eyes and still not looking over at him, still not looking away from Megamind. "It's literally just gravity, Wayne; normal people feel like this all the time."

Metro Man makes a pained, disbelieving kind of noise and Roxanne makes a sound of deep annoyance and turns her head at last to look at the fallen hero.

(her arms still around Megamind’s neck, his arms around her waist, her body pressed against his, and Megamind thinks that perhaps the room is never going to stop spinning, that he’s never going to be able to catch his balance again.)

She shifts her balance, leaning even more fully into him, and Megamind stops breathing.

"Roxy—why?" Metro Man gasps out. "Betrayed—"

Roxanne’s eyes narrow and her arms slip from around Megamind’s neck as she turns to Metro Man. She regards him for a long moment, long enough for Metro Man to falter into silence.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she stalks over to Metro Man, her spine straight and her shoulders set.

(a cape, Megamind thinks disjointedly, she needs a cape; it should trail out behind her, red like fresh blood or black like shadows or dark blue like deceptively deep water)

She stops directly in front of Wayne and looks down her nose and him, then smiles like slow-working poison.

“Wayne," she says sweetly, "when's my birthday?"

Wayne gives her a look of deep bafflement.

"And how many times," Roxanne continues, still in that same tone of honeyed venom, ”how many times have I asked you to stop calling me Roxy?"

Wayne's mouth opens and closes a few times.

“That’s—that’s it?” he manages at last, “That’s—what kind of a reason is that!?”

He sounds not just utterly flabbergasted, but actually offended, and Roxanne’s eyes and mouth harden, her chin going up, and evil gods, but Megamind wishes she were wearing her crown.

“You,” she says, lip curling with contempt, “are confusing the symptoms with the disease, Wayne.”

He blinks at her blankly.

“…disease?” he says. “What disease?”

Roxanne makes a noise of extreme annoyance.

“The disease is a metaphor, Wayne!” she says.

“Oh. Uh. For what?” he asks.

“For your personality!”

“Wh—I have a great personality!”

“No!” Roxanne says. “No, you don’t! You are, in fact, a giant dick! People just tell you that you have a great personality because you’re rich and superpowered and they think you’re attractive!”

“That! That is not true!”

Metro Man looks beseechingly at Megamind, as if expecting some kind of support from him.

“That’s not true…right?” he says.

“Uhhh,” Megamind says, trying to think of a tactful way to exit this conversation.

“Oh!” Minion says, with a note of barely-detectable malice in his cheerful, helpful tone. “Like you were saying yesterday—it’s lucky that he’s all muscle and beef, elsewise no one would want to date him at all!”

“Minion!” Megamind hisses, and Minion gives him a look of limpid innocence from his suit’s aquatic headpiece.

“Sir?”

“I have a great personality,” Metro Man says sullenly.

Roxanne gives a comprehensive snort of disbelief and Metro Man glares at her.

“Oh, right,” he says, “like you’re any better! I’d rather be muscle and beef than—than—needles and complaining!”

“Minion,” Roxanne says, casual, conversational, strolling around Metro Man.

“Yes, Ma’am?” Minion asks, and pretends not to see the way Megamind’s head whips around to stare at him, and then at Roxanne in turn.

(ma’am? since when does Minion call Roxanne—)

“You remember that higher setting I said we should put on the gravity beam?”

“—there’s a higher setting?” Megamind asks. “Since when is there a higher setting?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Minion says, ignoring Megamind’s question and radiating as much pure innocence as it is possible for a fish to radiate.

“Use it,” Roxanne says.

“You got it, Ma’am!”

“WHAT?!” Metro Man shouts, and then makes an undignified shriek of pain as Minion twists the dial.

Roxanne signals to Minion to lower the setting again—signals to  him with Megamind’s own private strictly-for-use-with-the-henchfish setting-lowering signal, which she is not supposed to know about! And which Minion is definitely not supposed to accept from people other than Megamind, and this was not part of the plan, never part of the plan, and—

“—no—” Metro Man chokes out.

Roxanne—Roxanne laughs, not a performatively evil laugh, but a real, wickedly-amused one, and Megamind gulps and has to stumble back to grab for the edge of the console when his knees threaten to buckle.

"Rox—anne," Metro Man says. "—not too late—turn back—side of good—help—"

“Help?” Roxanne says, voice rich with amusement. “What happened to I’m invulnerable? What happened to you’re never going to beat me?”

Metro Man makes a garbled noise and Roxanne laughs again.

Around Megamind, the shoal of brainbots are silent, hovering in the air, each of their eyepieces and attention fixed on Roxanne, each one of them as absolutely riveted by her as Megamind himself.

“You've lost, Metro Man," Roxanne says, voice soft.

She glances over at Megamind then, and smiles at him, slow and—and what he can’t help but think of as seductive and Megamind’s grip on the edge of the console is definitely the only thing keeping him on his feet right now.

"Say it,” she purrs, still looking at Megamind. “Say that you’ve lost.”

"—Roxy—"

“Minion,” Roxanne says. “The next setting again.”

"—no!" Wayne shouts, and then shrieks in as Minion twists the dial.

After a moment, Roxanne signals to Minion to turn the setting back down.

“Say. It.”

“I’ve—I’ve—lost,” Metro Man gasps out.

"And you're done," Roxanne says, beginning to circle him again, like a cat playing with a cornered mouse, "aren't you, Metro Man. This city—Metrocity...is ours."

She glances over at Megamind and he can’t remember how to breathe, can’t remember how to stand up properly, can barely manage to stop himself from falling to his knees.

When she smirks at him, Megamind promptly loses the battle with the last of his dignity and slides down the console and onto the floor.

Roxanne blinks at him, surprise and confusion and a little concern in her expression, and she takes half a step towards him before she checks herself. Out of the corner of his eye, Megamind sees Metro Man’s gaze moving back and forth between him and Roxanne, terrified and confused.

“I—yeah,” Metro Man says. “It’s, uh. It’s—yours.”

Roxanne’s head snaps back around and she pins him in place with a glare.

"Say that you'll never interfere with us again," she demands.

"I—I—yeah, sure, what—whatever you say—"

"Swear it!”

Her voice rings out, loud and snapping, and Megamind understands with a jolt that she was still toying with Metro Man earlier, because this, now, this is Roxanne being serious.

(Metrocity is ours and never interfere with us again, and she doesn’t realize, does she; she doesn’t realize she’s talking like—like—)

"I swear!” Metro Man says, sweat standing out on his brick-red face in beads, “I swear! Jeez—“

Roxanne bares her teeth, hands clenching into fists.

“I don’t think you’re taking me seriously, Metro Man,” she hisses, tone well beyond dangerous.

“I—”

“Hit him again, Minion.”

“NO!”

Minion does, and Metro Man thrashes, screeching before Minion once again turns the setting back down at Roxanne’s signalled command.

“Swear that you’ll never try to harm us again!”

“I—swear!”.

“That you’ll never try to convince anyone else to do it either!”

“Yes! Yes!”

“That you’ll never even attempt to work as any kind of hero ever again!”

“Yes! God—please—”

Roxanne holds up a hand as if she’s about to signal to Minion to turn up the dial again, and Metro Man sobs.

For a long moment, she stands looking down at him, hand half-upraised, and then she slowly lowers her hand.

"Release him, Minion."

"...Are you sure, Ma’am?" Minion asks, tone almost disappointed.

Roxanne whirls back around—really, she needs a cape—and Metro Man's eyes widen again in terror.

There is an indrawn breath kind of pause, and then—

“Oh, once more for old time's sake, Minion!”

Metro Man screams as Minion twists the dial.

“—all right, all right!” Roxanne says after a few moments of screaming. “Really, though, Minion, you can let him go now.”

Minion, sharp-toothed grin wide, presses the button and Metro Man sags in relief.

“—how—how could you?” he asks Roxanne, voice somewhere between tragedy and accusation. “You—you—what is so funny!?” he demands, as Roxanne and Minion and Megamind all exchange a look and then burst out laughing together.

“Oh, that was so much fun!” Megamind says, still sitting on the floor, giggling.

“I told you it would be!” Roxanne cackles.

“Fun!?” Wayne says, outraged. “Fun!? You—you tortured me! You—”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” Roxanne says, rolling her eyes. “I told you, it’s just gravity, Wayne. Earth standard gravity! Normal people feel like that all the time!”

“People that are used to it!” Wayne protests. “Besides, the—the higher—the higher—the higher setting—stop laughing at me!”

“There—there isn’t—any higher setting!” Megamind says, holding his sides.

“That—that was just—just a placebo dial!” Roxanne gasps out, tears in her eyes from laughing so much.

"Bu—wh—agah?" Metro Man splutters.

Megamind and Roxanne, who have at last managed to mostly stop laughing, look at him and then glance at each other again, which sets them both off again into peals of laughter.

Wayne looks between the two of them, and then draws himself up stiffly, offended dignity and muscle cramps.

“I,” he announces to the room at large, “am going home.”

“Good, good,” Minion says, mostly managing to smother his own mirth as he expertly herds Metro Man out, the brainbots following in their wake. “That’s, uh, that’s good. Why don't I call you a cab."

…to be continued.

notes: 

Only one more birthday celebration update left to go! I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter.

When Megamind thinks of Roxanne as like 'Winged Victory', he's referencing Nike, the Greek goddess of victory / Victoria, the equivalent Roman goddess. Nike/Victoria were generally portrayed as having wings. Nike was generally associated with victory in athletic games, while Victoria was associated with victory over death and victory in war.

Thank you to my own Victoria, @displacerghost, for betaing this, and for helping me so much with the style and tone for this. <3

[shirtlesssammy]

The Story: an analysis of Supernatural 13x20

A story takes at least two people. One to tell the story and the other to listen. This episode features Gabriel telling Sam and Dean a story about his origin, and about his current quest for revenge. There are many layers of stories built into this episode. Let's talk about these, and about Gabriel's role in Supernatural as a Trickster.

Vol I. Kill Bill Fantasy

The skeleton of the episode's plot, plus the inspiration for some of the scenes, are hinged on a simple revenge narrative portrayed in Kill Bill. In Kill Bill, the wronged bride drafts a hit list and seeks revenge with some badass swordplay. On a basic level, we get that from Gabriel: he was betrayed, he suffered, he created a cartoonish kill list, and he's out for revenge (complete with stylish blades). 

This is all very fun both visually and audibly, kicky music covering our heroes as they scheme and fight. It would be easy to just hang out in the realm of light fun and not go any further.

Except...

It's always more fun to go further.

Vol II. The Listener

Gabriel has two primary audience members in this episode: Sam and Dean. Sam's the believer. He can be the bridge, work the deal. Sam backs the revenge plot, and professes to believe Gabriel's vow to help them afterward. Dean plays the role of skeptic. He's unenthused about Gabriel's revenge plot (and offers graceless grunting) and questions his story. “Wait, didn't you say there were porn stars?”

Didn't you say there were porn stars...

I feel ridiculous getting hung up on this line, yet I believe this line is the key to how the story takes on its own life within the mind of the listener. Gabriel tells the story of four friends playing a card game, which suddenly populates with female and male partiers after Dean questions him. Perhaps Gabriel elaborated on his story with the specifics. But we're just as likely to be seeing what's in Dean's head when we see these scenes – particularly with the closeups of Dean clearly lost in his own imagination. (The implications for bisexual Dean do not escape me nor much of Tumblr.) Memory and subjectivity always obfuscate meaning when it comes to stories. Whose vision of the story are we seeing? Gabriel is unreliable. He tricks the Winchesters repeatedly, waving one story in their face while another entirely different one proceeds beneath the surface.

Vol III. Purple Nurples

So memory and subjectivity aren't new issues with Gabriel. Recall, if you will, the Trickster's (Gabriel) first appearance on Supernatural in 2x15 Tall Tales. In that episode Dean and Sam tangle with each other over different versions of what happened. Gabriel succeeds in driving a wedge between the brothers by helping them to construct their own stories about a few loose facts. He's a master manipulator. In this episode he calls back to the apocalypse – which was fueled by a prophecy, a story. This has clear emotional weight for the Winchesters and can draw them in and cause them to empathize just as surely as his simple story of revenge. For the viewers, we're treated to army men standing over a map in the AU which I hope made everyone think of the army man stuck in the Impala, which gets called out specifically in Swan Song. (Or am I the only one who gets emotional about little army man toys now?)

The story Gabriel tells the Winchesters is too obvious to question entirely, but still convoluted enough to seem legit. Meanwhile in the AU, the army men on the map Michael leaves behind tells a story of abandonment and safety to Jack and the other fighters, while another story (Kevin's attack) churns below the surface.

Vol IV. Super Dupes

As audience members we play our part from week to week, filling in scenes with headcanon and interpretation. I'm unsure what story to believe right now. The superficial, straightforward story is that Gabriel got his revenge and now his slate is clean to help the Winchesters. But I'm hung up on the last thing he said to Sam.

“I'm a whole new guy.”

Gabriel says this to Sam in the light of day, outside of the dreamlike realms of the Ophidian hotel or the Winchesters' lusciously grim motel room. This could be taken in a few ways. The primary story layer leads us to conclude that Gabriel has concluded his revenge plot and is ready to help the Winchesters.

Secondary layers are more nebulous, however. I'm looking at earlier lines, which discuss image and identity. Loki said that he gave Gabriel his face, and taught him to “be me.” Elsewhere in the episode, Gabriel insists that he wants his pretty face to be the last thing Loki or his children see. When Gabriel confronts and kills Loki, it looks and feels like he's confronting himself. How fascinating is this?!! If Gabriel is indeed just wearing Loki's face, has he incorporated that into his identity? Or is there something more going on? Is this all a metaphor for defeating his past? Or are there splinters of Loki which live on in Gabriel? Did Loki give Gabe more than just his face and an affinity for suckers? (pun totally intended) Perhaps we’re simply meant to realize that Gabriel is not a “whole new guy” but wounded by his past in a way that revenge can’t heal. 

Vol V. Mountain Caves

We were very taken by the Winchesters' hotel room. It's gorgeous – complicated and dark, a riot of patterns and textures and materials. It's a Loki tribute room, with coins in the dividers and earthy browns set against blacks and metals as cold as mountain stone.

And then we jump to Gabe's story about his hideaway which is bright and beautiful, full of pure white and color.

Later, the hallways of the hotel are grim and grimy, like the tunneled walls of a cave.

But Loki's palatial room is exactly as we imagined it – bright and clean again and somehow more “real” than the overwrought interiors from before. Later they emerge from the Ophidian Hotel (“Ophidian” means snake – which is associated with Loki) and talk in a boring, sunlit parking lot, like they're standing just outside of a dream. This scene by the hotel seems to be the most “real” complete with parking signs and traffic in the background. The visuals alone add weight to the veracity of Gabe's statement: “I'm a whole new guy.” It’s almost as though, by leaving the Winchester’s Loki hotel room behind, and the Loki-heavy Ophidian hotel behind, Gabriel is shedding the last vestiges of Loki from him.

And yet...

And yet...

Stories are tricky and both listeners and storytellers see through filtered lenses. I'm still not sure what to think in the end. Are we all “super dupes” and Gabriel’s morphing into a new shape for his next trick?  Or do we believe Gabe's reformation now (which I think the visual narrative tends to encourage)? What do you think?

Tagging @postmodernmulticoloredcloak @trisscar368 @bluestar86 @amwritingmeta and others? 

[greater-than-the-sword]

Ship of Theseus by V. M. Straka... by J.J. Abrams My rating: 2 of 5 stars I have to start by giving credit where credit is due. This is a really cool idea. The concept of two college students meeting and falling in love over their margin-notes in a classic, which they pass back and forth, is something that's never been done, which makes it interesting. The problem is when you try to read it as a book. I went into this knowing it was likely to be a lot of work. So in order to give it a fair shake, I wanted to start in the most sensible way possible: reading the text of V.M. Straka's Ship of Theseus, skipping the foreword, skipping the margin notes, and skipping the inserts. The result was bizarre and incomprehensible. It was nearly unreadable. It was as though an antique film noir had a baby with a thesaurus. Every sentence was overwrought and overadorned, as though the author had heard some Charles Dickens quotes once and got an idea of what classic literature was supposed to sound like. A modern second rate thriller has got made over in that pompous style, which is still incomplete because it leaves many modern mannerisms in the text. This leaves the book neither old-fashioned or modern, but somehow the worst of both worlds. Verdict: Unbearably pretentious and incredibly boring. I am sure there are some people out there who enjoy it for the margin notes, and more power to you, but I couldn't even get to that stage of reading. EDIT: other astute reviewers have noted that part of the dissonance of this book is that it absolutely does not bear the level of analysis to which the margin notes subject it. I thoroughly agree. View all my reviews

[amwilburn]

Lion King (2019)

Lion King (2019)

Ever since Disney started doing live action remakes, this is one I'd been looking forward to. Maleficent kicked things off with a clever re-telling of the classic tale from the antagonist's point of view, followed by a straight up but charming note-for-note re-telling of Cinderella, then a re-imagined, exciting Jungle Book, culminating with the sky-high potential of Beauty and the Beast (which was beatifully executed, except for the catastrophically bad decision to insisit on Emma Watson singing her own songs).

I thought, probably as Disney execs did, that the visonary Favreau did such a good job with Jungle Book, this should be a no brainer. But this film is truly a case of "just because we can do something, doesn't mean we should".

Where to begin? Other than the inimitable James Earl Jones, John Oliver's pretty good take on Rowan Atkinson's Zsazu, & Chiwetel Ejiofor doing a decently menacing Scar, the only one who brought any joy to their character was Seth Rogan. The film was a joyless, emotionless waste of time.

They somehow made a 100 minute film feel an hour too long. It felt indulgent and overwrought; for example when Rafiki discovers Simba is alive, the scene should've taken 10 seconds. Instead we were treated to a 5 minute long journey on Simba's fur making the long journey back to Pride Rock, including the tuft of fur getting eaten mid journey, then pooped back out to continue its trek. Wish I were kidding, but I'm not.

And with the indulgent bloating of this film, they overused Hans Zimmer's once-beloved score.

In addition to overly bloating the film, in a cartoon it's easier to tell characters apart; make one lion's mane black, with a more orange tone to the fur; make one cub more yellow. Disney also used to incorporate an actor's likeness into their animated counterparts; Matthew Broderick's adult Simba was readily distinguishable from JEJ's Mufasa because they used their respective actor's features. But in going for photo realism, they lost sight of being able differentiate characters *and* being able to discern their emotions.

I couldn't tell one lioness from another, or one hyena from the next: in the original you could visually tell which was Whoopi's hyena vs Cheech's in a still frame. Not possible on this one, and we both stopped caring about half an hour in.

Additionally, while they strived for photo realism in the renders, the animation would sometimes give away what you're looking at isn't real.

Also were some of the recastings necessary? Yes John Oliver was actually good, but could Rowan Atkinson not have reprised his role? Except for the unexpectedly good singing, Eichner's Timon was painfully over the top, making me wonder why Nathan Lane wasn't asked.

The original gave me 'the feels' back in '94, and it still holds up. Perhaps one measure they should use on any more live action remakes: did the original hold up? If not, go ahead and try something new. If it does hold up, and you have nothing to add, don't bother.

They should not have bothered.

YMMV: I found many of the performances acceptable (and of course James Earl Jones is always gold) but with only Zazu, Timon & Pumba, from the cast providing any real joy. The Mrs also liked T&P the best, but she had already been bored out of her mind 10 minutes in.

Better than Wrinkle in Time (2018) but that's a low, low bar. None of the magic of the original. 4.8/10, D.

Favreau usually delivers, but this is the 2nd time he's failed to (after Iron Man 2)

3D: I assumed that since the film is pretty much entirely CGI, the 3d would be great. This was partially true; in brightly lit scenes, characters really popped out. In the darker scenes (including the climactic fight), everything looked pretty flat. Also, like a lot of Marvel films, if the background is blurred out, it all gets assigned to the same plane of depth.

3D score (Cinema) 8.0/10

The 3d is often great, with incredibly detailed and realistic visuals, but falls flat in dark or blurred background scenes... which unfortunately includes the climactic battle.