#just sudden and raw and without fanfare | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phantomrose96 · 5 years ago

Text

Backfire

tw: description of injuries

...

Sometimes, crime happened quietly.

Sometimes it was a man in business attire entering a sleepy, small-town bank with a gun holstered at his hip.

Sometimes it was a few calm words requesting the cash from the vault with a cold barrel of steel tickling the teller’s neck.

Sometimes danger manifested only in bloodlust, and a sense of dread could take a room hostage with no fanfare at all.

This was the case as an ashen-faced citizen toed her way quietly out of the bank, heart in her throat, vision creeping gray at the edges, processing what she’d seen. The gun. The man. The hostages beneath the table. So quiet, so unremarkable, so lacking in the cacophony most villains brought with them that she almost hadn’t believed what she’d seen.

She thought to scream for help, but the image in her mind dazed her, subdued her. How had she walked out unscathed? How had he not pursued her? He’d seen her, those cold gray eyes flitting to hers for a single second when the bell chimed overhead. She’d seen him, his sweep of peppered hair catching the sunlight, his burgundy suit perfectly fitting on a tall frame. He should have killed her. She should be dead. How had she just walked back out?

The same tinkle of bells pelted out behind her. So gentle, and so non-threatening on a warm day of late May. But the sound dizzied her. She flinched, spun, a full-body shiver racking down her spine. The man in the burgundy suit stepped out. Unassuming, with just a simple briefcase in hand, he could pass for any other normal citizen were it not for the bevel at the hip of his suit where the gun was holstered. He looked at her briefly. His eyes locked hers, and she did not dare to breathe.

The man in the burgundy suit walked on.

“Ma’am�� Ma’am?”

A hand touched her shoulder. She jumped.

“O-oh, sorry about that Ma’am! But are you okay? You look pale.”

It was a boy. A boy was speaking to her. She saw him now – half a head shorter than her, staring up at her from beneath a mop of curly plain hair that was tinted a deep forest green in the sunlight. His face was round and boyish, freckled, and he was dressed head-to-toe in a jumpsuit fortified with gauntlets, and leg braces, and a utility belt.

“…Hero?” she asked.

“Oh! Well uh, provisional hero, actually, um, I’m still in training! I’m a student. Deku. Is my name. You can call me Deku. My classmates and I are on patrol right now for training but. Um. You. Are you alright?”

She processed little of what he said. Her mouth moved slowly, numb.

“The bank,” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“…was robbed. The bank.”

She raised a trembling hand, index finger outstretched, targeted to the building behind her. It basked, seemingly untouched, in the warm sunlight. No destruction, no panic, just a bright white façade with the vault emptied out from the inside. “The man in the business suit. Him. He robbed it” And steadily her arm swung, until the line from her finger pinned the back of the burgundy man shrinking to a nondescript figure on the horizon. “Had a gun. He had a gun.”

And the alarm bells sounded behind her.

Wailing sirens. Strobing lights. Like the brief pause in the world had ended. Reality resumed at full speed, full volume, smashing through her chest. Erupting a gasp from her lungs. Snapping her to her senses.

That’s when her knees gave out. The green-suited boy caught her. From the corner of her eye, she saw two more costumed children race after the man with the briefcase.

“It’s okay, Ma’am. It’s alright! We’ll handle this. Did he use his quirk? What power did he have? What did you see?” The boy – Deku - asked her.

She shook her head. “No quirk. No power. Just a gun. All I saw. Just a gun.”

“Did you see anything else?”

“No.”

“Okay. Okay, thank you. That’s very helpful! We’ll handle this.” He steadied her, and pulled his arms away. Thin glowing veins of light like spiderwebs spread across his body. “Get somewhere safe, Ma’am. The pros will be here soon.”

In a flash, he was gone.

…

“What’d you find out?” Todoroki asked, sidelong, as Deku raced in to match his stride. Bakugou flanked him on the other side, all three of them maintaining a safe 50 feet of distance behind the briefcase man, who’d broken into a run from the moment the alarm sounded.

“He didn’t use a quirk to rob the teller. Just a gun. So I’ve got no intel on his quirk. We should be cautious. His quirk could be anything.”

The man took a sharp right, off the main road. The towncenter street ebbed away behind them, trees and greenery punctuating the sides of the roadway as the residential area bloomed ahead.

“Or his quirk could be nothing,” Todoroki offered. “It’s unusual for a villain to rob a bank without using one. If we’re lucky, he might be quirkless.”

“Or it could not matter,” Bakugou interjected. He upped his pace, arms spread behind him with a few sparks flash-igniting along his palms. “Street’s empty here, and I’m not giving him the chance to attack first. Stay back while I blast this fucker!”

“We should wait for the pros!” Deku yelled. “If we just tail him—”

“If we just tail him. WEAK! I’m taking him down first. You two try to keep up!” Bakugou announced, voice cracking as he shouted over the flash-ignition of his gloves. A blast of heat washed over Deku, and Deku shielded his own eyes as Bakugou rocketed off ahead of him, instantly closing the gap to the fleeing suspect. 30 feet, 20, 10.

The suspect spun, meeting Bakugou’s eyes for a single second.

Several things happened in the next moment. The lock in Bakugou’s elbows, which kept his arms pointed straight behind him as propulsion, faltered. And he faltered like a helicopter faulters when one of its blades is taken out. His body gave a spasmodic jolt, teetering, veering. This came with a strangled eruption of noise from Bakugou’s throat, wet and choking. His arms curled. His gauntlets extinguished. And Bakugou crashed. Gracelessly, violently smashing to the asphalt below, his momentum still carried him forward, so that Bakugou’s body tumbled and skidded until slamming to a halt against the curb.

“Kacchan!” Deku felt his heart jump to his throat. He jerked forward. Todoroki swung one stiff arm out to stop him. “What was that? What did he do??”

“No idea,” Todoroki answered. And he swept his right arm out wider now, a cascade of blooming ice wrapping down the sidewalk and heading off the villain ahead, who’d tried just briefly to take off running once more. The villain halted, nearly tripping on his own feet, a split-second shy of colliding with Todoroki’s wall of ice.

Todoroki stopped, as did Deku, whose focus was divided between Bakugou’s crumpled form and the enemy ahead. Spasms still racked Bakugou’s body – alive, conscious – but he was not getting up. The lack of information terrified Deku the most, because he hadn’t even seen how the villain had struck Bakugou, let alone what it had done to him.

“Don’t get too close until we know what he can do,” Todoroki said.

“I know. I know, but,” Deku muttered in response, eyes still flitting to Bakugou. “Kacchan’s in danger. We can’t leave him there. If you distract the villain, just for a moment, I’ll grab Kacchan. I’m fast. I can do it in an instant. If you just cover me.”

Todoroki said nothing. He only nodded, and took one step forward, and ignited a pyre of flame crawling down his left arm. “Be fast. Before he blinks.”

Deku bounced from his spot. He covered that distance between him and Bakugou in a single bound. He wasted no time hoisting Bakugou around the middle, and spinning on heel, and bounding back to Todoroki’s side. Over in a moment, done in an instant, too fast for even the flit of the villain’s eyes, who’d been well distracted by the swell of fire along Todoroki’s left side.

Deku set Bakugou down gently, but he did not dare remove his hand from him.

“Are you hurt?” Todoroki asked.

“No. Nothing. He didn’t touch me.”

“How’s Bakugou?”

“I can’t tell. I don’t want to drop my guard.”

“Then take him and run. I’ll cover you.”

“No. I won’t abandon you here.”

“It’s fine.” With his words, Todoroki curled his right wrist up. Ice braided up and out, a single rail that slammed the villain’s arm and pinned it, solidified, against the wall of ice Todoroki had already erected. “I can keep my distance. Send the pros this way. I can hold him.”

Deku’s instincts screamed against him, swamped him with the guilt at the idea of leaving Todoroki to fight this battle alone. But Bakugou’s silent crumpled figure worried him more. The fact that Bakugou hadn’t so much as protested once – either against Deku saving him or Todoroki suggesting they escape – worried Deku more than he could properly explain.

“Alright. …Alright. I’ll be back. And with pros. This won’t be like Stain. I promise,” Deku said. For the first time, he let his sight fully stray from the villain. His eyes dropped to Bakugou instead, who was too curled in on himself to properly assess with a single glance. Beyond the tears and scrapes in his costume from slamming into the asphalt, Deku couldn’t see anything visibly wrong.

Deku bent down, and he wrapped one arm around Bakugou once more, and he cranked the power of One For All running through his bones just a bit higher. From 8% up to 10%. Because this was real. Because he needed to be fast, for Todoroki’s sake.

Deku’s feet never made it off the ground. He felt it like a crack in the pressure of the air, a sudden, distinct, discrete switch in the atmosphere that bled hot into his bones. He heard the choking wet inhale from Todoroki, and did not even need to look to confirm the horror in his gut.

Deku looked anyway. Eyes flitting in an instant to his right, he watched Todoroki jolt as though someone had taken a bat to the back of his knees. The wet keening inhale from Todoroki turned to a rasp, a burst of raw noise from his throat, and the wrapping flames along his left arm went out. In an instant, the smell on the wind turned terrible, and Todoroki buckled into the gravel.

“Todoroki?”

Deku crouched, his power ebbing down away from the 10% he couldn’t sustain. He did not dare release Bakugou, though now he tugged rightward in an attempt to hover over Todoroki too. Deku’s free hand hung suspended in the air. He did not set it down on Todoroki. It was perhaps his only weapon right now. Deku could not spare even the instant it would take to assess what had happened to Todoroki. He kept his eyes now on the villain, too heated and terrified to risk diverting his attention for even a microsecond.

Panic leaked through Deku’s very bones. He couldn’t carry both Bakugou and Todoroki and expect to escape. Stain. Iida. Todoroki. All too familiar.

“Get up,” Deku whispered. “Get up, please.” He wasn’t speaking to Bakugou or Todoroki in particular. It was to either of them. Both of them.

Neither responded in words. Not so much as a note of rage from Bakugou. That alone was bad, enough to heighten the fear already thrumming through his chest.

What could he do? Could he risk turning his back on the villain? Could he even spare a moment to figure out how wounded the other two were? Presently, Deku did not feel like he could look away. Because If the villain dropped him too, they stood no chance.

How long until the pros would get here?

“What happened? What happened??” Deku asked, short of breath. “What did he use?? What did he do?? Please. Todoroki. Kacchan. What did he do?”

Some noise came from Todoroki, but nothing that formed coherent words. A whistling from his throat too pained to wrap into words. Quick glances told Deku nothing. Todoroki had curled in on himself, too hidden to evaluate for damage.

“Yoo-hoo! Young man!” The villain. Deku bolted upright, vision latched firmly to the man up against the ice wall. His gray eyes met Deku’s, and peppery hair slicked with sweat clung in curls to his forehead. “You seem strong and strapping, and it appears my route home has been blocked by this ice, as has my wrist. Think you could knock it down for me? I’d very much like to be on my way.”

“And why would I help you?!” Deku shouted. “Look what you—"

“If you help me out, I promise to let your friends live.”

“…What did you do? What happened to them? What’s your quirk?!” Deku continued. He rose now, tall on legs he did not fully trust to support him, and he took a single uncertain step forward. His body blocked Bakugou and Todoroki behind him. Deku held himself up as a human shield between them and the villain whose quirk could incapacitate without so much as a single touch.

“Oh my quirk is really quite useless in today’s society, I don’t think you should fret! I do reiterate that I would love to have this ice wall removed though. I hear sirens in the distance.”

“T…Tell me… Tell me your quirk.”

“Certainly, if you break this ice wall.”

Deku stood, frozen, indecision rooting him to the spot, heart pounding in his throat. The villain had the advantage. The villain had information he didn’t. The villain had knowledge of how to drop Todoroki and Bakugou in a single moment, and that – the fact that it was those two specifically – cowed Deku more than he wanted to admit.

Something knocked his left ankle.

Deku broke eye contact with the villain, eyes shooting to his side. He blinked, and looked truly at what had tapped his ankle, pulling his thoughts back together.

Bakugou’s gauntlet.

Bakugou, face down in the gravel still, had craned his neck far enough for his eyes to lock with Deku. Pitifully, he knocked his gauntlet against Deku’s ankle once more.

“…Off,” Bakugou wheezed out between labored breaths.

“Off?” Deku asked.

“Get it off,” Bakugou keened, and the traces of bravado did nothing to hide the agony of his words.

“Oh. O-okay.” With one more glance thrown to the villain to ensure he hadn’t moved, Deku crouched fully to Bakugou’s side. When he grabbed the gauntlet, Bakugou hissed. When he pulled, Bakugou yowled.

“It’s stuck,” Deku said. “Why is it stuck?”

He traced his hands down the length of the gauntlet, to where the edges of the gloves met skin. Deku turned Bakugou’s arm over, eyes trained to the inner forearm, and felt his stomach twist into knots.

“It’s melted,” Deku mouthed. But those words weren’t quite right, and Deku understood that the longer he looked. The gauntlet and the gloves hadn’t melted – it was Bakugou’s own skin that had melted to them. Deku looked more closely to where glove met flesh. The exposed skin beneath the glove was welted red and bubbled, peeled raw with flays of dead white skin curling back and away toward his elbow. Tissue, down nearly to tendon, was exposed beneath and it leaked beads of fluid that gave Bakugou’s whole wound a thick greasy shine.

Deku had never seen a burn victim in real life, but he understood well enough what he was looking at. It was the wounding pattern of someone who’d been gripping a live grenade, burned so deep and so thoroughly that Bakugou could scarcely form words.

“Kacchan.” Deku had nothing else to say.

“He seems pretty badly burned,” the villain tossed out. His voice was sing-song, nonchalant. “At least, that’s my assessment from the smell wafting over here.”

“Fire… is it a fire quirk? Did you burn him?” Deku asked, but something didn’t sit right in his chest. This wasn’t like Todoroki’s fire quirk. Deku had seen no flames from the villain. He’d seen nothing.

“…Run.”

Deku’s head snapped down to his right, tilting back, following the noise. It was Todoroki who had spoken. Still on the ground, with his right hand clawing into the gravel, Todoroki stared up at Deku with desperate eyes. “Run. Get the pros. Just run.”

“No.”

“Run!”

“No!”

“Before he gets you too!”

“N—” Deku stopped short, his whole body spinning toward Todoroki. He had a chance finally to see the damage, to look Todoroki over properly, now that Todoroki had unfurled himself. The whole length of Todoroki’s left arm – no, his whole left side – had been seared down to a greasy red. In his panic earlier, Deku hadn’t registered the smell of singed fabric, of burnt flesh. The burn pattern was hauntingly uniform up and down the whole length of Todoroki’s left arm, along shoulder and neck and cheek and creeping up to the corner of his eye. Strands from the fabric of his uniform were woven into the burns, like tree roots through mucky soil, finding purchase in the subcutaneous tissue.

Burned as well. Burned as well... The villain had gotten him just as he’d gotten Bakugou. Deku wondered if he had only seconds left. Or if perhaps the villain had abstained from attacking him since Deku seemed to be his last hope at breaking through the ice wall.

“I’m losing patience with you, boy. I’ll do the same to you as I did to your friends if you don’t help me.”

Ice wall…. Made of ice.

“Do… what? Are you going to burn me too?”

“Oh, perhaps.”

“I think that would be hard… since you don’t have a fire quirk.” Deku steadied his breath. He found his voice. He pinned his eyes on the villain. “If you did, you could have melted yourself free.”

The villain said nothing. Deku swallowed dryly. A thought stung in the back of his mind, a seed of ice that spread cool and tingling through his body. A hope. A hunch. A prayer, maybe.

“I think, actually, you have no idea if you can attack me,” Deku continued. The wailing sirens bled louder behind him. “The threats you’re making right now. You’re bluffing.”

“Oh, you sound so confident, young man. Are you so confident that you’re willing to end up like those two on the ground?”

“…Yes, actually,” Deku answered. And he pulled a smile to his face, a small and wavering on, still shaken by his bout of panic, but it was one he held. “Because I’ve already ended up like them.”

“I don’t think you understand what you’re up against.”

“They’re burned. They’re really badly burned. But.. they burned themselves, didn’t they? Kacchan’s palms. Todoroki’s left side. You didn’t attack them. You made them attack themselves. Your quirk cancels out a person’s bodily immunity to their own quirk, doesn’t it?”

A silence. An emptiness filled the space between them. Only the sound of the swelling sirens from far behind filled the gap. The villain offered only a simple smile, which curled wider and brighter than Deku’s. He barked a laugh, delighted.

“Oh, you’re a smart boy,” the villain answered. “It’s a useless quirk in day to day life. But it’s brilliant against heroes. I really love seeing how they crumble when they get a taste of their own medicine.” The man cocked his head. “And I’ll bet you’re thinking how smart you are right now – you’ll just not use your quirk against me, right? I’m already pinned. You’ve practically won.” His unrestrained hand snaked to his belt in an instant, and with a flash of sun glinting along steel, he unholstered the gun from his side. “Which is why I carry this. So choose. Use your quirk and incapacitate yourself. Choose not to use it, and die by my gun. Or free me. It’s your choice. But I’m only giving you five seconds to make it.”

Five

“I’m choosing D – none of the above,” Deku answered.

Four

“Final answer?”

Three

Sirens keened closer. The slam and tumble of footsteps approaching. Deku breathed deep, and let the power thrumming through his bones dial up.

Two

“Yeah, final answer.”

One.

“Well then, sorry about this.” The villain cocked his gun, and set his pointer finger to the trigger.

Zero.

Deku kicked off from his spot in the road, light erupting in spider veins through his body. He pulled one arm back and cocked it. When he released it, it with power fine-tuned to 20% of his limit. Knuckle connected with jaw, and cracked the villain’s head sideways, and tumbled the gun from his grasp, and snuffed his consciousness with the ugly, calculated pop of his neck.

…

The pros hit the scene hardly 30 seconds later – two local heroes flanked with four sidekicks bursting through the bushes and trampling a few unfortunate flower beds as they slammed into a fight that had already ended.

They halted. A murmur rumbled through the pros, with one mouthing just audibly “Is that Backfire?” The words set the whole group of heroes on instant high alert, shooting like an electric current through each of them. One hero stepped forward, swinging a heavy hand out.

“Get back from him, kid! If that’s Backfire you don’t want to—” the hero, a burly man with cannons in his palms who Deku recognized as the Pro Hero Fodder, trailed off as he looked closely, drinking in the scene. The villain, Backfire, was slumped unconscious against the ice wall, pinned by his wrist. Deku breathed heavily, still sparking off a few vestigial traces of energy from the fight.

“I think… he got him.” The next pro, a woman with an acid-like sheen along her skin, stepped cautiously forward. Deku recognized her as well – Pro Hero Medusa. “A kid took down Backfire?”

“Oh… oh shit, look, Medusa. Over there. On the ground.”

“Oh sh—Quaker, call an ambulance!”

Deku’s ears were ringing. His senses had not caught up with him, not since connecting the final punch, not since the adrenaline spike ebbed to a near-sedative afterglow. He blinked, trying to come back to himself.

Fodder’s hands came down on Deku’s shoulders, snapping him back to reality.

“Kid, you okay?”

“Huh?” Deku blinked. “Yeah. But they’re—Kacchan and Todoroki! They’re both—”

“My sidekick’s calling an ambulance. We’re on it already. Don’t worry. He’s also got a first aid kit on him too. It’s okay now. You’re okay.”

Deku nodded. “Are they going to be okay?”

“They’re going to be okay.”

“The villain’s quirk. It canceled out their quirk immunity—”

“—We know. Trust us, we know.” Fodder looked up, giving Backfire’s slumped body a once-over glance, a grimace crossing his face. “This guy has hospitalized more heroes in this area than we—no, forget it, how did you do it? How’d you take him down?”

Deku looked at his own hand. He saw the image of it broken and busted a dozen times over. And yet here it was, completely intact, utterly uninjured. He flexed it, to be sure.

“It was simple. Really simple actually.”

Deku pulled his glove off. The skin beneath was completely undamaged, the last traces of Full Cowling fading away in the aftermath.

“It’s like… Kacchan’s palms don’t burn. And neither does Todoroki’s left side… Because they’re compatible with their quirks. Without that, neither of them would ever be able to use their quirks… But I’m incompatible to start.”

Fodder looked Deku over properly for the first time since arriving on scene, eyes squinting just a fraction. “Incompatible? Are you… I recognize you from the U.A. Sports Festival, that was you, wasn’t it? The kid who broke all his bones?” Fodder looked over his shoulder. “Shit… and those two are the First and Second Place winners, aren’t they? My office tried to scout Todorok—never mind. Never mind. What do you mean, kid? What were you saying.”

Deku pulled himself out of Fodder’s grip. He felt his own senses returning. He pulled in a few deep breaths to ground himself, and offered a simple, cordial smile.

“I mean, I was just lucky, I suppose. Backfire’s quirk didn’t work on me. Because I have no immunity to my quirk to start. I’ve injured myself plenty of times with it. So many times that I was risking permanent injury if I didn’t stop. So I learned to stop. All the training I’ve done has been to restrain my quirk enough to keep its power within my body’s limits. Backfire couldn’t have hurt me if he tried. I was… really just lucky.”

Deku stepped around Fodder. “I’m going… I want to wait with Kacchan and Todoroki. For the ambulance. Please. If I can.”

Fodder nodded, and he watched the boy go, sinking into his own thoughts. The fact that Backfire had been captured still had not caught up to him. Disbelief. And relief. After so many incidents of pro heroes near-fatally damaged by their own quirk, after so many gruesome scenes he’d arrived at. It was nigh unconscionable to accept that a single kid had taken him down.

Images of the U.A. Sports Festival flashed in his mind, the manic bloody broken desperation of that boy. And Fodder’s initial disbelief started to wane. Maybe this boy – this Izuku Midoriya of Class 1-A – couldn’t be classified as just some kid.

He’d seen heroes contemplate retirement after a brush with Backfire. The post traumatic fear of using their own quirk overwhelmed some of them, from just a single instance of damaging themselves beyond their control with it. Whatever this boy’s training had looked like, it had meant throwing himself headlong into his own destruction as many times as necessary to teach himself restraint.

He was fighting with exactly the handicap that Backfire inflicted on others, and still functioned at the level of someone who was nearly pro.

The boy had claimed he was “lucky”. Fodder watched him crouch down beside his friends, nudged back by the paramedics who’d just arrived on scene, watched him offer a smile and words that Fodder could not hear while the blond boy yelled back something unintelligible, which for unclear reasons brought a relieved smile to Midoriya’s face.

Fodder understand only a fraction of the whole picture, but from what he’d witnessed, he knew it was something well beyond luck that burned in that boy.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #-kicks this here and runs-#oh some tags to be safe:#injury //#violence //#gore //#(sorta)

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years ago

Text

whose brow is laid in thorn (chapter two)

Huge thanks as always to my lovely friends @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian

Please reblog and use this link to leave a comment on the chapter over at ao3!

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Caleb has to figure out where he fits in the prince's life, all while grappling with memories and emotions he's supposed to have forgotten...

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Caleb had been warned how hard it would be.

Things were the same but they weren’t. He knew the people they passed in the walkways by nothing but their footfalls but couldn’t recall their names. He knew the way through the endless corridors but had forgotten where they would end. He could place the smells of old paper, cool stone, dust on gold, oak and the rich smells from the kitchen, but he couldn’t connect them to memories.

He was home but he wasn’t.

Every moment spoke of a different piece of himself that had been clipped away, different parts of his brain that had been worked free and thrown out, a patchwork blanket of missing pieces. Every other step deeper into the castle brought another ghost to the edges of his vision, but none that he could fully bring into focus and confront directly. The place was the same but he was different and it was knowing that which hurt the most.

Except it didn’t hurt. Because it wasn’t allowed to hurt.

Caleb closed his eyes as a whip cracked in the back of his mind.

But if it wasn’t allowed to hurt, what other words were there to describe how it felt to have the prince’s eyes on him? They had gone straight from the audience chamber to the open court that would take up the majority of the day, his highness seeming completely unsure what else to do. So now Caleb stood behind his gilded seat, a smaller, more subtle version of the king’s expansive throne, and watched as the prince heard not a word of anyone around him.

And watched as the courtiers stared at and whispered about him. The wayward companion returned to the prince’s side with no warning, no fanfare, rekindling all the rumours that had surrounded his swift departure from the palace. Caleb had been warned there would be attention, something that made him uncomfortable as a Volstruker, but he would have to endure it and repeat the same story, that he’d been away under specialised training to better protect the future king.

He was to consider it a further punishment for his past failures.

The court passed without incident, the room was clear of any threat save the angry muttering that accompanied any decisions the king made that were taken poorly by the supplicants. Which did happen to be most of them. It was quickly cured by the guardsmen inching closer, some needing to clear a few inches of steel from their scabbards to silence the dissent. Caleb didn’t so much as twitch. Some jobs were for common guardsmen, some were for Volstruker.

So it passed without incident. But it did pass. And that left him alone with the prince again.

As the throne room cleared, Caleb felt the king’s blue eyes settle on him and quickly dart away again. Nor could he look at his son for very long. It was as if Caleb’s presence was a rotten tooth, drawing their attention against both of their wills, reopening that old ache between them. Reminding them of ten years ago.

He remembered his highness sobbing, holding the blankets up to his chin, trembling beneath them. Caleb meanwhile has nothing to cover himself with, not even his own hands, with his arm in Sorah’s cruelly hard grip. Molly begs her not to hurt him, rages at her to release him, pleads to his father in between sobs but Babenon turns his back and tells Sorah in tones of cold iron to take Caleb to the dungeons and inform Ikithon. Molly lurches, at his father or for Caleb, it is hard to say, but a sudden back hand sends him crumbling to the torn bedclothes and Caleb doesn’t even get to see Molly’s face one last time before the door to the bedchamber slams closed.

A whip crack lanced painfully across the memory, ending it sharply. Caleb shook himself, digging his fingernails into his palm for some focus and followed his highness out of the side door into the royal family’s private apartments.

Here the hangings were much less severe, the carpets softer and torches a much more mellow gold. Here the tapestries didn’t depict bloody victories in war, they were scenes of beautiful Xorhasian wilderness, and accompanied by royal portraits where they were actually allowed to smile. Music echoed from somewhere, Queen Marion always had a spell ready in her chambers that she could call upon when the mood took her. He had resummoned it a few times, at his prince’s request, when he was younger.

Of course, he was bound to do all his highness asked of him.

The prince paused at a junction between hallways, shoulders tight, not turning. His voice was awkward, wavering, like it could snap at any moment.

“Jester...she’d prepared a welcome home party for you. All of our friends, Beau and Yasha, Fjord and Cad...Veth. They were going to surprise you. Do you...do you remember them?”

The breath in Caleb’s throat seemed to freeze. He remembered a laugh that always makes him feel like he belongs, hugs given freely that he at first tenses up to but then begins to accept and then to need. Snarky, smirking eyes, blows traded back and forth in the practise yard and out of it, the feeling he’d been so unfamiliar with but then realises it for what it is- having a sibling. A kind, low voice, light teasing, at first worrying that they were competing for Mollymauk’s affection but then quickly realising how wrong he is, glad to see her there every day. The smell of salt, tales of far off places he’d never seen but wanted to, a crooked smile that sparks an embarrassing crush in him early on, before he even dares hope that Molly’s heart might be heading in the same direction as his own. The smell of wet earth, soft fur, strange turns of phrase that make him smile, somehow effortlessly soothing the anxiety he always feels around medicine.

And Veth. Gods, Veth. The first face he sees when he arrives at the castle, still raw and terrified though he can’t show it. A gentle voice and kind eyes, clever hands. Sweetness when he needs it most. A piece of Blumenthal in this strange land, when he thought it had all been ripped away from him. The gods somehow deciding he deserved another chance at having a mother, after everything he’d-

The whip crack again, the throb of agony, the sharp inhalation. He managed not to stagger but clearly couldn’t control his face as well. The prince’s eyes grew tight in profile, the side of his mouth he could see turned down in something that, of not outright grief, was still in the same family.

“I’ll take you straight to my chambers. You can take some time to yourself and I...I’ll explain things to them,” he murmured.

And when it turned to full blown grief, Caleb would know the prince had given up on him completely. There would be no returning to what they had ten years ago.

Which was the idea. Of course.

“As you say, your highness,” Caleb nodded stiffly, feeling a spark of relief with guilt on it’s heels. He quashed them both swiftly.

The prince’s bedchamber brought more memories he had to fight off, both good and bad. Keeping one half at bay while trying to bring the other close to be the salt in his wound, his painful reminder, was hard enough that for a moment he didn’t realise his highness was even speaking to him.

Of course the castle’s decor couldn’t be changed at its core, the black, almost obsidian stone would stand long after any of them were gone. But somehow, as the prince stood in the centre of his chambers, he’d managed to make himself fit. The hangings were all the plum purples and bright golds that he loved, his jewellery hung on racks on the expansive dressing table, a stick of incense burned on the windowsill to fill the space with scents of amber and musk. His many swords were hanging from the walls, each hilt and scabbard more elaborate and jewel encrusted than the last, moon and star charts done on black vellum were stuck up around the window so he could look out and know what he was seeing. The light was warm, low and inviting.

And there were books. Not many but a few, one on the table open by the bedside, a few piled on the dressing table, one on the windowsill.

Caleb remembered, his prince, his Mollymauk, smiling across the table from him, confessing in a gentle voice that he’d never liked reading until he met Caleb and oh gods, Caleb fell in love so hard and so fast. He remembered mouthing the words along with Molly, watching his lips form the words, watching his brow wrinkle as he concentrated and did what so many tutors had told him he’d never be able to do just because Caleb had taken the time to teach him with some gentleness. He remembered Mollymauk excitedly recounting plots and characters to him, hands moving in the air to form the twists in the tales he enjoyed so much. And he remembered having to pull a book out of Molly’s hands to kiss him...

It was worse this time, the crack and snap in his head. It was getting worse every time. He was supposed to be better than this.

“Caleb?” the prince’s voice was full of panic, “Caleb, what hurts?”

There were hands on him, holding his arms tightly, and when he managed to open his eyes, the prince’s face was inches from his own. He could smell his perfume, he could see the red rims around the eyes where he’d wept, the edges of his tattoos. He felt every inch of worry and care in his prince’s eyes and he remembered, he remembered.

Caleb wrenched backwards out of the prince’s grip to the snap of a whip, so hard and fast that his back hit the far wall and a dull ache went up his spine. He heard a pained moan from the other man, looked up in time to see him retract his hands as quickly as if they’d been burned.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the adornments in his horns ringing softly as he trembled, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.”

“It is not for you to apologise, your highness,” Caleb’s words were level, even as he panted and broke out in a sweat just from standing upright, “The fault is mine. The training I underwent may take some time to fully sink in but I assure you, I am cured of the madness that possessed me as a child. I am...I am ready to be your Volstruker. Wholly and completely.”

He had thought that would please the prince but found himself feeling no disappointment when it didn’t. His highness only gave a shaky sigh, pressed his fingertips to his temples and closed his eyes tight.

“I...I need you to know I’m not angry with you, Caleb,” he said after a long few moments of silence, “This is not your fault, none of it. And I will do everything I can to help you. It may just take me some time to work out what helps and what...what hurts.”

“Help me?” Caleb didn’t understand, “Your highness, I have been helped. My master and the other members of my order removed any trace of the degeneracy that poisoned me.”

“That made you love me,” the prince added, his voice twisted by pain as his eyes opened and fixed on Caleb’s face.

He swallowed hard, his training’s words suddenly difficult to bring forth, “It is not my role to...that is not my purpose. My purpose is to protect you, your highness. To serve you, to see you take the throne. To die for you.”

“You used to live for me, Caleb,” his prince whispered sorrowfully.

His mouth opened, his jaw worked soundlessly. He tried to summon the proper response, the words he’d been taught but he didn’t understand why his throat was closing to them.

Finally, he simply said, “My eyes were opened.”

The fight went out of the prince, his shoulders slumped and his eyes turned away, “I think I need to...rest. I will go speak to my friends and then turn in. I suggest you do the same.”

The sun had barely cleared it’s noon position but Caleb knew better than to question the prince. He was, of course, long past the age where his days were filled with lessons and tutors and instructors, he could do what he wished with his hours now.

He had grown into a fine heir these past ten years. And now Caleb was here to see him become a great king.

“As you wish, your highness. If I may ask, are my chambers still where they were when I left?”

“Your chambers?” the prince blinked at him uncomprehendingly, “You...you haven’t used those since you were ten. You always…”

This time, he was strong enough to fight the memories off. He did not think of a handful of cold, lonely nights in his own sparse, stone room that were peppered with nightmares. He did not think of the one night where Mollymauk- the prince- took his hand as he was about to retire and confessed shyly that he could hear him crying out in the night, that he had nightmares sometimes too since he’d had to move out of his mama’s apartments, and asked if he would like to share his bed instead. So they could be there for each other. He did not think of years and years worth of another warm body in silk sheets beside him, arms around him when the nightmares came, though much more infrequently. He did not think of the blankets pulled up over his head so he and his best friend could whisper and giggle and gossip until the dawn. And he did not think of shy glances, blushes that began to rise on his face for reasons he wasn’t sure of yet, he did not think of hundreds of nights that were spent in perfect innocence until they weren’t.

He did not think of the first and last time they made love in that bed, on Mollymauk’s eighteenth birthday, thinking they had made themselves their own little world within its silken hangings, a world where they could have everything they wanted even if everyone else said no.

Caleb did not think of any of it. He felt the pinch of someone else’s satisfaction.

“It is my place, your highness,” he said simply.

The prince swallowed hard and lifted a limp hand to indicate the door Caleb remembered, concealed behind a tapestry and a veil of magic to hide its existence from any potential thieves or assassins coming to threaten his charge.

“Many thanks,” Caleb dipped into a low bow, “Please call on me should you require anything.”

He had little memories of the room itself but there was a strong sense of familiarity to it, he’d slept on spare stone bunks like this at the Volstruker training grounds and the Soltryce Academy as a very young boy. It reminded him again who he was and what he was here to do, as he set down his small bag of belongings and hung his knives up on the wall rack, alongside his belt of magical ingredients.

He was here to protect the prince. And now he was cured, that was precisely what he intended to do.

The next weeks were difficult, it would be impossible for Caleb to admit otherwise, though he did all he could to not show it on his face.

It was rather like being at a funeral where he was the corpse.

It was impossible to avoid the prince’s friends. Not when they consisted of the princess, the master at arms, a captain in the royal fleet, the palace healer and the head of the household staff. And when one was second only to himself in hours spent at the prince’s side. They didn’t spend time as a group, like they would as children, and Caleb knew with a strong guilty kind of sadness that it was because of him, the ghost at the feast. But the prince had dealings with them all, of course, and in these stiff, awkward times they would glance at Caleb helplessly, like he was a drowning man just off shore and they had no idea how to save him.

They would eventually realise that he didn’t require it. They would. Jester’s eyes would stop spilling over every time she came to see her brother, Beau would stop nearly snapping her staff to splinters as she watched him spar alone while the prince trained at blades, Caduceus would stop murmuring prayers at his back. And Veth...well, Veth was avoiding him altogether.

Caleb expected it to grow easier over time, that was what he’d been told. That the memories which assaulted him and tried to drag him away from his purpose would fade over time, as he grew used to their temptations and overcoming them. And if asked, he would insist, stone faced, that they were.

They were just also growing more frequent.

He did expect to be asked. His master was in the castle, though they didn’t see each other much in the fast running currents of royal life. Currents that the prince did his level best to steer away from the former archmage, not difficult to do when his master spent nearly all his days in the lab he’d constructed in one of the far towers. That certainly hadn’t changed in the intervening ten years, something that Caleb found himself rather glad of, though he quickly admonished himself for that. He just couldn’t have those harsh, yellow eyes on him, whether it was from across the main hall at a banquet or in the close council chambers whenever his master was called on, without remembering that his most shameful, weakest moments were stored behind them.

But Caleb wasn’t fool enough to think that just because he so rarely saw his master, he wasn’t under scrutiny. More times than he wanted to think about, he felt Sorah’s blank, empty gaze on him and he would feel the throb of an old bruise on the top of his arm, one he didn’t think would fade with time.

Not that he didn’t deserve it. Of course.

Every day became much the same. He would wake before the prince, usually after a night of difficult dreams, and spend the intervening time going through his war mage’s books, storing several powerful spells that would best serve him in protecting the prince that day. Ones to turn back dangerous beasts if they were going hunting, ones to effortlessly memorise any information if there was to be a council meeting, ones to walk on water if they were going sailing. And always the usual ones, for driving back poisons, quickening his reflexes, allowing him to pass unnoticed.

He’d always excelled at the magical side of his calling, right from when he was young, only really needing to work hard at the pure weapon aspect of it. Which was why, once his spells were stored, he would spend the rest of the pre dawn hours practising with his knives in his room, using spells to summon ghostly foes to fight against.

By the time he had killed hundreds of times over, it would be a simple matter of washing in cold water, dressing in his uniform and slipping into the prince’s bed chamber to be ready for when he awoke.

The rest of the day would depend on the prince’s schedule. It would seem the duties of a crown prince had piled up somewhat in the space of ten years, there was very little free time to be found in their days. Public events, councils, open courts, banquets and hunts and expeditions held by courtiers wishing to curry favour, they would often be part of the king’s retinue or else dispatched to stand in his place for all those invitations he didn’t have the time to answer but couldn’t afford to ignore. It would seem the king was keeping his heir close, quite deliberately putting him on display.

And Caleb could all too easily read the effect that was having on the prince. Though he kept on a carefully constructed mask of joviality and charm, helped by all the silks and low cut samites and dripping gemstones, Caleb saw him in his moments out of the performance too.

He saw how he’d shift uncomfortably at some of his father’s decisions in the open court, how his shoulders would tense when the king would dismiss the diplomats from other kingdoms with words sharper and more offensive than necessary. He felt the waves of distrust coming off the prince when one of the king’s financiers would wave away any questions he asked about the state of royal coffers. He heard the tense exchanges between him and King Babenon, in hallways and anterooms and side chambers, when they could be certain they were heard only by their Volstruker, conversations that ended in angry curses from both father and son, neither of them happy when the prince inevitably flinched first.

Sometimes it was enough that Caleb would hear the echoed crack of a fierce backhanded slap, a decade old now. Judging by the prince and king’s expressions at the end of these tense, clipped exchanges, he didn’t think he was the only one to hear it.

And he took note of how the prince would steal snatches of time alone where he could, purposefully wandering away from the group on a hunt to take a moment’s breath of silent forest air from the tree’s edge or stepping right up to the end of the jetty as they’d load off the royal barge so he could close his eyes and hear nothing but the crash of the waves for just a minute. These moments would always be fleeting but Caleb got the sense that they were all that got the prince through the day.

And once or twice, Caleb would feel those red eyes on him as if he was going to reach out to him, to share his momentary peace with him, but it would only ever be a few seconds before he remembered and the eyes would flit away, to focus again on whatever the prince was looking at out in the wilderness.

The days were much the same. But they weren’t getting any easier.

Caleb thought that with a bitter touch of frustration that he’d admonished himself for before it was even fully formed. The door to his chamber closed with its usual hiss of reforming magic, closing him off from the prince if not from the gulf between them. He disrobed quickly, letting the heavy, black material pool on the floor without much care. The runes woven into the fabric repelled stains and creases about as well as they repelled the points of knives and antagonistic spells.

Once down to his undershorts, he allowed himself a selfish moment just to sit and feel the full weight of things, sinking down onto his, honestly, hideously uncomfortable bed. The only thing preventing him from cracking under that same weight every day was telling himself that it would get better. That he’d get stronger, better, that he’d shake off the weaknesses he’d been cursed with.

But each day was exactly like the other, the same memories trying to drag him to places he wasn’t allowed to go, the same sad eyes on him from his former friends who wanted him to be a person he wasn’t allowed to be.

And the prince, his sad, lonely, frightened prince, hiding everything behind a mask.

Caleb wasn’t sure how many more days like this he could take.

He cleaned his weaponry to take his mind off things, neatly labelling and shelving his host of fears and anxieties and closing the doors on them through the easy, regular pass of the whetstone over the blades of one knife after the other. It was mindless and repetitive, giving him some kind of reprieve, even if sleep was and would remain a long way off. Sometimes it was better for him to just skip it entirely, to just let his brain switch off like this until the new day began. Certainly some of the dreams he’d been having lately made him very anxious to limit the amount of time he was at their mercy.

Volstruker don’t need sleep the same way mortal men do, he told himself though it didn’t really sound like his voice in his mind, because we are not mortal men. We are more and we are less. We are beings of magic. Does magic need sleep? Does magic need jealousy, hate, does magic need love, Caleb Widogast? Because if you would like to argue that point then get up off the floor, cease that pathetic crying and make your case for the Volstruker inviting this weakness into our ranks. No? I thought not. Then do your best to remember your manhood and remember the vows you made in exchange for your life, what little value it has.

Or are you not one of us?

Caleb’s grip on the knife hilt tightened, his knuckles white.

The candle was a few inches shorter than it had been before. There was a growing pool of pale wax threatening to gutter it, to drown it within itself, giving Caleb an odd sense of kinship with the thing. When he managed to unclench his fist from around his knife and push back his hair, he found himself sweating slightly, his shoulders hitching with breaths deeper than they had any right to be. To his shame, his cheeks were wet and it was all he could do to hold back further sobs.

Are you not one of us?

The sobs hadn’t ceased and a bitter fury at himself rose in his chest. Until he realised the sounds weren’t his own. They were coming from behind the door that separated his and the prince’s chambers.

Instincts flared to life with an audible crackle. Caleb swept up the knife he’d been holding, lurching to grab the next closest one that was at its fullest, most wicked sharpness. Not even needing to speak aloud, he let his magic run down each of them like hot lava, igniting the poison in one and the ghostly flame on the other. He didn’t pause for his cloak or to raise any kind of shield spell. There wasn’t time for such luxuries when something was threatening his prince.

He chose stealth over an all out assault, he was no Eadwulf and knew his strengths. But it was hard, so hard, when another sob found it’s way from his prince’s throat to his ears, when images of him being hurt, being threatened surged up like vomit, consuming him with a kind of bloodlust and fury he knew he was supposed to feel as a war mage but had never been able to truly summon. Only when someone hurt Mollymauk.

But as he slipped through the magical barrier between their rooms, feeling it’s power stick to his skin like a veil of honey, and sank into the room’s thick shadows, he could see no assailant. His mind flicked through other possibilities- invisible wraiths, malicious dreamwalkers, a deadly poison only not taking hold- but after a few seconds lurking in the dark, like a snake, he could sense no kind of murderous presence, visible or invisible, flesh or magic.

Only his prince, curled in on himself in the middle of his expansive bed, the sheets wrapped tight around him like strangling bonds. Only his soft sobs, his face contorted in misery as his chest rose and fell harshly, his eyes tight shut. Instantly, he recognised it for what it was.

Caleb didn’t think. He didn’t allow himself to question his choice, to filter it through other people’s voices. He just let his knives drop to the carpet, where they made twin, muffled thuds, and moved swiftly to his prince’s side, sitting on the edge of the bed. He leaned over and gently pushed the hair back from his damp forehead, shushing him as softly as the whisper of a candle flame. A split second’s thought and the candles closest to the bed leapt to life, cutting through the thick black of the night and bathing them in warm gold. So he could see with perfect clarity as Mollymauk’s eyes opened slowly, at first seeing only whatever had been terrifying him, but then gradually focusing and letting the nightmare turn to smoke.

“It’s alright, Mollymauk,” Caleb murmured, hand still cupping his face, “It was just a bad dream.”

“Caleb…” Molly’s voice was weak and raspy with hours of sleep, he tried to rise, “You’re okay. Thank the gods, I saw...I heard…”

He shook himself, deliberately breathing slowly and deeply. He’d taught Caleb the same trick, years ago, for when he began to panic.

“You’re right. It was just a bad dream.”

He sighed then, leaning into Caleb’s touch, bringing one hand up to settle over the wizard’s and twin their fingers together. His lips pursed slightly, turned to the scarred fingers he held so tightly…

And then they both realised when they were.

The two of them froze, guilt leaping onto both faces, frantic apologies rising to both lips. But neither quite managed to give them voice, seeing their expression mirrored back at them.

“Your highness…” Caleb spoke first, shakily, unable to make his hand withdraw.

“You...you called me Mollymauk just now,” his prince- the prince- breathed, hope dawning in his tired eyes.

Gods, anything but that. Anything but hope. Caleb knew exactly how hope could be turned into the most painful weapon, a poison you’d gladly gulp down only to have it burn worse than anything.

“I...I wasn’t thinking,” he confessed, “I only wanted to help you, when I saw you in such distress…”

The prince sighed, shoulders slumping. He let go of Caleb’s hand, hugging his knees to his chest and suddenly looking all of his mere twenty eight years and not very much like a crown prince at all. Was ten years really as great a distance as all that? Hadn’t they just been boys, when Caleb had last blinked?

“I won’t put you through any more pain, Caleb, I swear that to you,” he told his knees, unable to lift his head until the moment he whispered, “But...is there any hope for us? Is there anything of the man I loved left in you?”

Yes, a bruised and broken and bleeding part of Caleb groaned, straining towards the touch of that warm skin again. But there was also the crack of the whip, echoing through the dark spaces. And from here, the voice sounded so, so small and frail in comparison.

“I am yours,” he finally said, voice low, “Here, as I am now, I can be yours, my prince. The man I was, he was taken away from you and always would have been. They would never have let us be. But now…any life with you in it is better than one without.”

That was the truth at least. Close enough to the right words that there was no sound of any whip crack.

“A life where your mind is not your own,” there was bitterness in his prince’s voice, “A life where you can be hurt at one vile man’s whims. A life where you can’t be yourself and live as you will.”

Caleb met his prince’s eyes, “A life not so dissimilar from yours?”

His mouth fell open and Caleb winced, certain for a moment that he’d overstepped himself, that he was about to feel a fury worthy of Babenon’s heir. But then a rueful sigh escaped and his prince only sat back against the headboard, eyes sad.

“I suppose it isn’t...but that does not make it right. And it does not mean I’m giving up on you, Caleb.”

He did not trust himself to answer right away. Carefully, carefully, like dodging traps that would spring if he moved too fast, finding the right balance between what he wanted to say and what he was permitted to say.

“You never did, my prince.”

That made him smile, a tired smile but a true one, no mask between them. Each of them knew the other was telling the truth. It felt good, being truthful.

“Would you permit me to stay here for the rest of the night, your highness? I don’t feel right leaving you alone, if you were to have another nightmare I want to be here for you,” Caleb asked gently.

The prince’s lip curled up on one side, “Here? In my bed?”

“It’s the best place for me to protect you, your highness,” Caleb nodded firmly, face straight though something inside him thrilled.

“Very well,” he chuckled, sinking back down into the expanse of the feather mattress, resting back into the same curled ball he’d always slept in, “Goodnight, Caleb.”

“Sleep well, Mollymauk,” he replied, voice soft, unable to parse the feelings that rose up in him when his words sent the prince to sleep with a smile on his face. For now, he just allowed himself to enjoy them. He was allowed to take pride in his work after all.

Volstruker did not need sleep the way mortal men did. And that night, as Caleb spent the long, dark hours watching as his prince slept peacefully, untouched by any more nightmares, he was so glad of that fact.

#widomauk #royal au #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #tw: physical abuse #angst #please reblog and leave a comment!

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bagels-and-seagulls · 5 years ago

Note

can you continue the prompt where matteo told david that the pill he sells are for him

part one + bad boy matteo

-when matteo is sixteen, he walks out of his class in the middle of a spanish test to promptly throw up into one the of trashcans that’s sitting in the hallway as he stretches his collar thinking about how he can’t breathe, the he hasn’t been able to in weeks, that he’s never been able to get oxygens down into his lungs ever at all. his teacher follows after him and rubs her palm soothingly in circles on his spine as she whispers things to him that don’t really make sense to matteo at all, not that it really mattered that it did. have you ever had a panic attack, matteo? she asks with a small, pinched smile when he finally straightens himself out and gets a breath down his throat, and he responds that he doesn’t know what that means.

-he gets sent to the nurse, and he tells her that he doesn’t know why he’s there, that he’s fine now, perfectly fine. and the nurse just shakes her head as she writes down the name and address of a doctor and tells him to make an appointment.

-he doesn’t. he’s fine.

-after the second time that mama has been hospitalized in five months, matteo spends hours screaming into his pillow until it’s raw and dry and forces him to stop all on its own and then spends four days sleeping on and off, ignoring school, and calls, and texts, and the knocks on the door. jonas bullies his way into the apartment on the fifth day and tells matteo that he’s worried, that this isn’t normal, that he needs to get help because he can’t keep watching his friend go on like this, that it’s killing him.

-when he’s seventeen, matteo digs out that little piece of paper the nurse gave him and makes an appointment with a doctor that has her office in the same building as mama’s. he tries not to think too much about that fact because he knows he won’t go if he does.

-he forces himself into the appointment with a doctor who keeps her hair flowing down around her shoulders and she patiently smiles at matteo over the desk as he awkwardly introduces himself. and matteo sits there and tells her that he doesn’t sleep too well most days, and that he gets sad sometimes, and that there are times when his heart starts beating so fast that he thinks it’s going to beat right out of his rib cage, and that he’ll get real angry, for no reason, none at all, but then he just gets tired. and he tries to answer her questions after she asks him, slow and careful, even though it makes him feel like he’s being cut right open down the middle and looked at with a microscope and flashlight. he goes home with a couple of prescriptions and detailed notes about when and how to take them.

-he goes through three anti-depressants in the span of a year and it makes him feel like this was all a waste of time, that it wasn’t helping him at all, that there was no hope for him. and his doctor tells him to just give it a little more time, that these things don’t happen overnight, that they take months to atually start working the way their supposed it, and that they’ll figure it out if matteo just keeps trying.

-one night, in the middle of a party, matteo takes some valium over in the corner of the kitchen because the music is just a little bit too loud and the people a little too close, and it was making his clothes feel like they were getting smaller and smaller and the room hotter and hotter. he takes it, hoping that no one is paying him no mind, that no one sees, and when he turns around, someone must have because a girl walks up to him with a polite and overbearing smile and asks if he was willing to share at all. and he learns in the middle of that party that people are willing to pay a pretty little penny for these sorts of things.

-matteo starts a steady business selling adderall and valium by the time he’s even thinking about university, grateful to have enough money to put food on his plate more than two weeks in a row. he has extra scripts that he gets from a doctor who doesn’t care too much about what matteo is actually telling him, too busy wanting him to get out of his chair as quick as he can that he’s willing to write whatever prescription matteo rattles off to him saying he needs it. he still goes to his real doctor though. he goes and tells her the truth, the whole truth, and he always keeps those pills tucked away for him first and only because after a couple of years together, he thinks that she might actually get him, if only enough to help him.

-when he’s nineteen, he meets a boy that takes his breath away in a way that doesn’t feel bad, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell him what’s really going on in his skull, to show him the bottles he has tucked away behind his bathroom mirror next to the colorful bottles that hans got for him to make them all a little easier to swallow. so he keeps it to himself, keeps it so long that he almost forgets he was keeping a secret at all.

-when matteo’s nineteen, he has a breakdown in the middle of a party because some guy touched his arm in a way that made something ugly and mean wake up in the middle of matteo’s chest, and he feels like the biggest idiot, the biggest loser in the whole world, as he’s panicking right on the curb in the middle of the street over some guy who touched his shoulder the wrong way, just trying to calm himself down as david is watching, his concern and his worry written into the way that his hands shake. and when they go home later that night, matteo still doesn’t know what to say, what to tell him, so he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t explain as david looks after him, waiting for some answer, some explanation, because matteo is too chickenshit to take him into the bathroom to rip the mirror back, saying, i’m fucked up, a boy with a broken heart and a broken head, and i hope this doesn’t ruin everything, doesn’t scare you away. i hope you’ll sit with me in the morning over coffee and hold my hand after i take my pills. but as he’s sitting there, not being able to do anything except puff on joint after joint, he never finds the energy to do any of that.

-i take valium, matteo whispers when it’s still early and his lips are feeling a little loose from the previous night, and it doesn’t feel too scary saying this when the sun isn’t up. for panic attacks, he adds, and i take a thing for focus, and for the sadness, and another one if i take the valium and still feel like i’m suffocating. and david hums as his face is tucked into matteo’s shoulder as he’s rubbing circles into matteo’s stomach with the back of his knuckles. i hope you don’t think it’s weird, matteo admits. no, no, baby, david says, it’s not weird. and matteo hums, my therapist’s name is cindy. she’s nice. david kisses the knobby part of his shoulder as he reels him in closer, that’s good, baby. that’s good.

-matteo takes his pills in the bathroom each morning with the door closed because even though david knows, the idea of him watching the way that matteo opens each bottle and knocks a pill out into the poorly painted cermic treasure chest that hans made him before knocking them back all at once makes his palm start to sweat and his neck start to itch. so he never shows him. instead, he locks the door.

-he gets sick one day, sick as a dog, and can’t get out of bed at all without feeling like he’s going to spill he’s insides right out onto the carpet as soon as he stands up. and david’s worried, like he always is, and looking after him the best he can, bringing him soap and tea and checking his forehead for a fever like the good little bedside nurse he is. i need my pills, matteo mutters out at one point and tries to push himself up. no, no, stay right there, david says and goes to push him back down, i’ll get whatever you need. and matteo looks at him for a minute because he really doesn’t want david to, doesn’t want to see him come back with the bottles in his hands. it’s okay, matteo says, and david just pushes him back down again. bathroom mirror? he asks and pushes the hair off of matteo’s forehead as he smiles at him gently, and matteo swallows thickly and nods, feeling like his tongue was too heavy in his mouth all of a sudden. and david disappears and comes back just as quick with every bottle that had matteo’s name printed on the side of it, and matteo just stares at them for a minute, where they’ve all tumbled into his lap after he dropped them there. okay? david asks as he sits on the bed next to him. i- uh, and matteo shakes his head because it sounds stupid even to him. hey, what is it? david asks, resting his hand on matteo’s arm and ducking down to meet his eye. i need the- need the chest thing, matteo whispers, feeling like a fool. okay, david says easily with no fanfare and kisses his cheek before he goes and retrieves that for matteo, too. matteo goes through his morning routine, dumping the pills he needs into the little chest, taking them all at once, and tries not to think about david looking at him, watching him. do you want more tea? david asks when he’s done, and for some reason, it makes matteo relieved.

#two angsty things in a row for these boys #i'll give them fluff next round #davenzi #davenzi fic #my writing #bad boy matteo

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l0velyang3l · 5 years ago

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Yowane Haku x Reader “A Wonderful Night With You”

here’s my first fanfic in over two years! I’m not really a god writer so pls be kind to me ;m;

The eerie buzz of fluorescent lights permeated the desolate atmosphere of the 7-11; after all 2am isn’t necessarily rush hour. But, as a massive otaku and night owl; you required some refueling. This new season won’t watch itself now will it? Absentmindedly you plopped your mediocre feast into the basket. Super spicy ramen, canned coffee, a matcha bun, konpeito, and dried squid weren’t necessarily healthy, but they were delicious in their own right. Your eyes drifted towards the alcohol section. You shrugged, mumbling “fuck it” as you strode over.

In your all nighter stupor however you failed to not bump into the other occupant of the section. The woman stumbled back, nearly dropping the massive bottle of sake she clutched. “Ah crap! I’m sorry miss, you okay?” You bowed, looking down in embarrassment.

“Eh, to be honest if you didn’t bump into me I would’ve knocked you to the ground! Don’t sweat it.” The woman chuckled, smiling sweetly. You glanced up, feeling relieved. But suddenly this woman looked a bit… Familiar. That cool calm smile, beautiful crimson eyes, that suave voice.. Oh my god it’s Yowane Haku!

“Holy hell you’re Yowane Haku!” Haku chuckled again, twiddling with her long strands of white hair.

“I am! I take it you’ve heard me sing on Nico Nico?” You nodded vehemently.

“I really like your work actually! It stands out so much in the vast sea of utau and vocaloid idols out there, its so sophisticated!”

“Eh you really think so? You’re far too sweet, I’m not used to the fanfare. I have to ask, what’s your name?”

“(y/n)! Although it’s not too important haha!”

“It definitely is.”She looked down at your basket, pointing curiously. “Are you one of those people who live streams eating?” You puffed up defiantly.

“No I am not into mukbangs! This is just how I refuel during the night when I..” Your face turned beet red, you nearly just told your favorite singer that you’re an otaku! “Hang out.” “That was a close one.” You thought to yourself.

“Ah it’s okay, I’m just teasing! I do the same thing when I binge anime.” You nearly choked.

“YOU’RE AN OTAKU??” You blurted excitedly. She nodded proudly.

“Yup! Neru chan teases me for it but there’s just something that draws me in about it. Maybe it's escapism?”

“You and Neru chan are friends?” Haku nodded, the look in her eyes growing softer. That made your heart practically explode. She was even more breathtaking in person.

“Yes, for a long time now actually! She was big on Nico Nico before I really got serious about it, she’s one of my ‘biggest fans’ I suppose. We actually went drinking recently together, she really is something special..” Haku seemed to slip out of reality for a second, her expression faltered. An eerie loneliness struck you.

“She’s this famous upcoming idol, why do I feel like I’ve uncovered a secret sadness?” You snapped out of your thoughts. “Haku san, forgive me if this is too forward.. But what are you up to tonight?” She wiggled the gargantuan bottle of sake, grinning mischievously.

“Finishing this big thing! And.. Probably watching some shoujo anime until dawn.”

“Want company? It just so happens that my tv is pretty large and is super nice, plus I’ll buy you snacks!” Her eyes widened, pink dusting her cheeks. “I-If that’s too weird, I totally understand!” She shook her head, grabbing a basket.

“Eh?! N-Not at all, drinking’s better with company right?” You nodded, grabbing a couple cans of Sapporo from the cooler.

“You’re absolutely right.”

The sudden reality of your situation slammed down full force, your heart rate nearly tripling once you two entered your living room. Yowane Haku, a singer you’ve admired since her debut, is drinking with you. Not just at a bar, but in the comfort of your own home. She was so much more gorgeous and charming than you could imagine. The second you tow walked in, Haku screwed off the cap on her sake. You looked at her in awe as she took a long swig. She exhaled, clanking the bottle on the coffee table. “Ah!~ If I’d known better I would’ve gotten two bottles ehehe..” She glanced over at you, quickly becoming embarrassed. “Ah I’m so sorry, are.. You sure you want to hang out? I kind of drink a lot.. Is that bad?”

You smiled, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Of course I want to hang out! There’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now.” You were taken aback by your own words, biting your lip nervously. “The only bad thing about you drinking a bunch is the hangover you’ll have tomorrow.” You chuckled, plopping the snacks on the table, careful to avoid disturbing the ⅙ scale figure displayed on it. Haku seemed surprised by your actions, her eyes seemed to glimmer with relief.

“Thank you (y/n)..” She watched your actions closely, seeming to enjoy your company more and more. An indescribable calm washed over her, not entirely due to the sake. You flipped through AnimeHoudai, landing on Akkun to Kanojo.

“You ever seen this show?” Haku sipped some sake, shaking her head no.

“No, what’s it about?” She mumbled,in between sips. God could she get any cuter? This was such a relaxed, casual side of Haku that you never imagined seeing. Every second felt golden with her.

“W-well it’s about this couple right? The guy’s a total tsundere and bullies his girlfriend who’s this innocent angel. It’s super cute and really funny, it’s unique seeing such a brutally tsundere guy in a shoujo series honestly.” Haku giggled, wiping a droplet of booze off her bottom lip.

“The guy sounds like Neru, I’ve noticed anytime she gets.. Flirty with a girl she’s a total tsundere, too bad she scares them off after relentlessly bullying them!” You cracked open your sapporo, sitting beside her on the couch.

“Not gonna lie, I could totally see Neru being a tsundere.” Haku snickered.

“I wonder why~” Haku gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “Ah I didn’t mean that in a mean way I promise! She’s very kind and gentle, please don’t get a bad impression of her!” You patted her back.

“Haku, you’re literally one of the least malicious people I’ve met; you’re totally fine! I promise.” She looked up at you, your reassurance truly meant a lot to her. You met her gaze, her soft doe eyes entrancing you. Your heart pounded, the sudden intimacy of the situation becoming palpable.

“Hey, (y/n) kun?” She whispered. You gulped. She inched closer to you, your faces mere centimeters apart.

“Yes Haku san?”

“I know this is probably a silly question.. But, why do you like my songs? I mean, all the other utaus are so impressive, especially when compared to vocaloids.. Why do you prefer mine?”

“Because they aren’t run of the mill sappy pop songs, they’re full of so much emotion! There’s so much passion put into each one! They connect to me on a level other utaus and vocaloids just… don’t. Sure Miku is cool and I won’t lie to you and say I’m not a fan of other singers, but none of them compare to yours. They’re ballads of raw emotion, that’s why your songs are so close to my heart.” You placed a shaky hand on her cheek, setting your nervousness aside. “I’m really happy I met you Haku san, not just because you’re a great musician, but I think you’re a great person too.” Her mouth fell agape, she couldn’t even begin to process what you had just said to her. It was as if an angel descended from heaven, cleansing her of any worries. She placed her hand over yours, closing her eyes. Your touch was intoxicating.

“(y/n) kun, I’m happy I met you too.. More than you can imagine really.” She grabbed your wrist, pulling your arm around her waist. She snuggled against your chest, your heartbeat drumming loudly into her ear. A chill ran up your spine, awkwardly you wrapped both arms around her. In response, she tucked an arm behind your back, drawing you closer. “But, I think Akkun to Kanojo sounds fun.”

“Y-yeah I think so too!” You pressed play, then grabbed your sapporo. Cracking it open, you took a couple sips. The earthy brew warmed you up, making you even more cozy. The two of you began bingng the series, grazing on snacks and copiously drinking. Two beers quickly disappeared, along with a bottle of sake. It became apparent over time that drunkenly watching anime with the girl of your dreams was literally the best thing ever.

“Ah, (y/n) kun you have something on your lip! Lemme get that for youuu~” Without warning Haku kissed you, the taste of sake staining her lips. No matter how much alcohol you consumed, this caught you completely off guard. She wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you closer. Her large bust pressed against you, making your mind grow foggy. You kissed back, wrapping your arms around her waist. The kiss deepened, instinctively you nibbled on her lip. She squeaked in surprise, her drunken confidence slipping away. She crawled up into your lap, your hands raking over her petite back. She pulled her lips away, her face flushed. You placed your hands on her hips, looking up at her lovingly.

“(y/n) kun?”

“Yes Haku san?” She paused, tilting up your chin. She inched her lips closer to yours once again.

“Is this what love feels like? This pounding feeling in my chest, the warmth and happiness… Do you feel it too?” You nodded.

“I feel it too Haku san.. I felt this way even before I met you.” She kissed your forehead.

“I’m so happy (y/n) kun, I’ve never had this with someone before. Isn’t that embarrassing?” She looked at you, clearly ashamed.

“No, not at all. It only makes this more special.”

“Is it too soon to.. You know..”

“I love you too Haku san.” She smiled, hugging you tightly.

“I love you, (y/n) kun.” Wordlessly the two of you drifted into a peaceful slumber. The warmth of being in each other’s arms was indescribably comforting, Yowane Haku’s soft skin against yours, her flowing hair draped across you two, her gentle breathing, every last bit of it was bliss. This was definitely the start of something wonderful.

#fanfic #fanfiction #self insert #x reader #vocaloid x reader #utau x reader #utauloid #yowane haku #this is how haku and i met eek #i love her sm #fictional other #f/o #anime #manga #anime fanfiction

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abundantchewtoys · 6 years ago

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HS Epi Meat p1&2 reaction

So, time to start reading the next part of the epilogues! For us, that means the first page(s) after the prologue.

I'd rather keep the Candy part for last, in case Blaperile was right and it's more 'fleshed out' than I would've thought personally.

I wonder then if in the Meat part, John immediately leaves after his meal? Or maybe the farewells to his other friends just merit a mention, not dialoguelogs of their own.

---

Heheh, so the Meat or Candy option is the only thing currently on the Homestuck Epilogues log page, no pages underneath it. I do wonder if there will be a, heh, Epilogue, at the end, posted next week or so.

And, the same option is on the 3rd page of the prologue. I do like that the choice is represented with images. That might indicate that a sparse few more images will be used throughout the rest of the epilogues. For Homestuck to have been such a visual medium, it wouldn't have felt entirely right for the epilogues to stick to solely a text format.

---

Meat Epilogue 1, page 1: Pfff, so that's actually the title of this subdivision the epilogues then, hahah.

... Okay, that is a way too visual description of John eating raw meat. It's a good thing I have just had a light breakfast. :P

"Some of the blood has coagulated on the surface of the plate. You grab it from Calliope and lick it clean. She watches you—calm, placid, alien. Roxy has leaned forward to scrutinize your slovenly feasting, her eyes wide and intense. You stare back at them with your hands coated in unctuous organic matter and flecks of seared skin. The blood on your hands is so thin that it’s like oily Kool-Aid pooling in your palm." And then John became a cherub. :P I suppose John digging into a meal is a sight for everyone.

"> Think, suddenly, about all the many horrible crimes committed by Lord English." Of course, he has the taste for blood now. :P Sudden resolve is sudden.

"> You know what you must do.

JOHN: i know what i must do." Influensive narration, was influensive narration? :mspa:

Blaperile has a good point, maybe this same exchange happens in the Candy route. I mean, I know there's going to be a detailed description of John eating candy there, but maybe this exact two lines happen there too.

"Roxy pulls back and takes a deep breath. It’s a very thin breath, and her bottom lip quivers a bit when she sucks it in. She looks disappointed, though you could be misreading her, as usual." I suppose Roxy is mainly sad that he'll leave them. It could be she was hoping to reconnect with him as well. Maybe she was even hoping they were in the non-canon route, despite John's choice of lunch.

I wonder whether she'll really stay behind though. I've said it before, 23-year-old John, going back to rouse 16-year-old versions of his friends? It's a bittersweet idea.

"No one says anything for some time. A pleasant breeze rolls down from the hills. In the distance, the bell tower chimes twice. You notice that a group of carapacians have stopped to stare at you with beady-eyed fascination. The front of your shirt is stained with dark, slimy patches from the meat. Christ, why did you have to eat that meat like such a slob?

JOHN: so, is that it? JOHN: should i, uh... get going? CALLIOPE: if this is yoUr decision, then yes. CALLIOPE: there’s no time to lose, if the choice yoU have made is"

At first I thought the carapaces were aware of the gravity of the situation, then I thought they were indeed just fixed on his slobbering, but now... They might be instinctually aware of his importance. Though, table manners were never something I thought John really had much of, he still really dug into his meal, didn't he?

And as for his next move, seems time is of the essence. Well, he is going to take up arms against a Lord of the same aspect.

"Calliope closes up the picnic basket and stands. Roxy follows, taking Calliope’s hand in hers again." So... are his other friends perhaps nearby, or is this it?

"> Say goodbye?

JOHN: ok then.

JOHN: umm...

JOHN: thanks for inviting me to this picnic.

JOHN: guess i’ll see you both... when i get back?" Damn, him asking is another mark in favor of him not being able to return, and everyone of his friends being in the know about this.

I really hope he can go back though, he's already switched between versions of his friends once before.

... Okay, the belch caught me off guard too. It would've been funny if the others had reacted to it, but as it stands... It's just awkward.

"You hesitate a few awkward moments too long. When you go to hug them, they’ve already turned away, leaving you standing in the middle of the park alone with your arms half-raised, cupping the air. It’s so pathetic that the eavesdropping carapacians finally scurry away, overwhelmed by their secondhand embarrassment. You didn’t even know they could get embarrassed.

You drop your arms and sigh. Time to get on with it." Okay, that's as anti-climactic as it gets, and it seems more and more as if his friends were keeping something from him. Even now that he made his choice. He deserved to know the truth, no matter how harsh it was.

"Before you leave, you fly back home and take one last look around Salamander Village. You breathe in the clean, crisp air, listen to the pipes chime, soak up the unfiltered sunlight. You then head inside for a wipe down, since it feels like you’ve been making face-down snow angels on the floor of an ill-kept slaughterhouse. You head to your bathroom and wash all the meat off your face. But somehow you still don’t feel that clean. An invisible layer of oil seems to cling to almost every square inch of your body no matter how hard you scrub." At least he took the time to say goodbye to his home of the last few years. As for how he was feeling, I suppose some part of him understands he'll disconnect from his friends through what he choose to do here. Either because he'll have had all those new adventures without them, or because he'll just never be able to return here.

... Some victory state THIS turned out to be.

"You go to your bedroom desk and dig out some stationery.

> Write: “dear roxy,”

You’ve never written a note so quickly, or with such clarity of heart and mind. When you’re done, you write nine more." Aww, letters for all his human and troll friends on Earth C. Guess Calliope & the sprites are just not that close to his heart? (... Wait, no, 10 in total, so Calliope was probably included.) ... He might just not be remembering to say goodbye of his Nannasprite in the moment. Or maybe, some of the B2 kids or Kanaya were left out, that's also possible.

"You leave ten envelopes on your bed, arranged in a tidy circle with the names of your ten closest friends written on them. Then, with absolutely no fanfare, you leave all of them and this idyllic world you’ve created behind and zap yourself back into canon." One of the least most fanfaric moments in the story...

---

==>

"DAVE: bro" ... Wait what??? Did he just zap himself back in time in front of Dave???

... Or did he zap to where Dave lives - wait, no, he entered canon, the last page said.

Blaperile has a good point, maybe we'll get to see the other children respond to his letter? ... Or maybe even respond to the fact that he left all the same, since only Roxy, Calliope, Rose & Dirk seemed to be in the loop here.

"In the heart of the Troll Kingdom’s capital city, Dave and Karkat are sitting on their couch with a foot and a half of space between them. It’s a typically picturesque day outside, but Karkat has the curtains drawn shut all the way. This is part of their compromise living situation: Dave puts up with the trollish non-euclidean architecture and bizarre social mores, and Karkat has adjusted his diurnal schedule to, in theory, see the sun." Oh, so it IS the Earth C Dave (and Karkat!) ... Have they just had a small argument, that they're so far apart? :P HEheh, it does feel good to get a little more expo on their situation. ... I do wonder how we would have to designate what we learn about them here. It's probably still all going to be vague, but with John having zapped back to canon, this timeline has become validated again. So it's truth component should be restored, but then again, it's outside of canon. Bluh, MY3KT mantra, I should just enjoy this for what it is.

"DAVE: bro you have got to check this out

Karkat is leaning forward, munching on chocolate-coated beetles and totally absorbed in what he’s watching. The glow from the television highlights the dark bags under his eyes. " Pfff, troll candy, hahah. ... Is Dave surfing on his smartphone and pestering Karkat while he's trying to bingewatch something? ... That is just so perfect.

... I swear, if one of the carapaces filmed John's belch and put it on YouTube, or whatever...

"Dave reaches out and, very gently, pokes Karkat in the cheek. Karkat flinches out of his full-body slouch." You do not disturb Couch Patato Karkat. :P

"KARKAT: NOT NOW DAVE. JAKE’S ASS IS ON TV AGAIN.DAVE: stop ogling jakes ass this is important" I KNOW this probably means Jake did something adventurous again, but... Yeah, Karkat being starstruck by a John-lookalike with a black hole for a red quadrant is just so fitting. Also, pfff, that was also one of the captions of the snaps in the Credits, "Jake's ass is on tv again".

"Dave casts a weary look towards the TV, where Jake English is shamelessly exhibiting what is definitely his best feature in front of a live studio audience. This is a regular highlight of his and Dirk’s hit television show, RUMBLE IN DA PUMPKIN PATCH" ... Okay never mind, Jake either consciously or not has taken to stardom like a thirsty vagrant in the desert. ... Pumpkin Path, pfff, it didn't immediately connect, but that's Jake & Dirk's ship name! It's also a shoutout to Rumble in the Jungle, of course.

"a schizophrenic cross-section of rap battle and robot wrestling that Rose once described as “an exploitative, almost Dada-esque clusterfuck of circumlocutory pretension and sweaty, homoerotic astriction.”" ... Pffff, the rap battle part is more Dirk's shtick though.

"KARKAT: IT’S ALL IN THE WAY IT’S BEING PROGRAMMED BY THE STATION.KARKAT: IT TOOK ME A WHILE TO NOTICE, BECAUSE IT’S NOT LIKE I MAKE IT A POINT OF STAYING GLUED TO THIS PHONY TELEVISED HUMAN GLADIATOR GARBAGE.KARKAT: IT’S SOFT AS FUCK. THEY BARELY EVEN TRY TO MAKE IT SEEM REAL. DAVE, I CONSIDER MYSELF A COSMOPOLITAN INDIVIDUAL. A MAN OF LEARNING? BUT AS A NATIVE ALTERNIAN, I’M ACTUALLY FUCKING OFFENDED BY THIS INSULTING DISPLAY OF NAMBY PAMBY PAGEANTRY." So, is Karkat one of the people that is valiantly against wrestling as a form of entertainment, because it's "fake fighting"? :P Or is he offended by the rap battles as a lesser form of slam poetry? XD

"KARKAT: ANYWAY, THE MORE I WATCH, I CAN’T HELP BUT NOTICE THE CAMERA’S LECHEROUS FIXATION ON THIS BOY’S VOLUPTUOUS POSTERIOR.KARKAT: CAN’T SAY I BLAME THEM, I GUESS??? AT LEAST IT SHOWS THEY KNOW EXACTLY WHAT’S PAYING THE FUCKING BILLS, BECAUSE IT SURE AS HELL ISN’T THE QUALITY OF THE SLAM POETRY." PFFFFF, I knew it.

"DAVE: ok who gives a shit about thatDAVE: although it pleases me to hear you taking note of the economics of this broadcast since it is apropos to the topic at hand but more on that later" Wait wut? :P Hah, Dave is still busy with "the economy", that's so sweet, both as a continuation of SBaHJ and the LOHACSE. Also, that's the second time the topic of the economy is broached in the epilogue!

So, we're actually seeing some things of normal life on Earth C despite this not being the Candy route. Weird, though Blaperile has a point these pages might be mirrored there with different endings. As for the poll, hahah, yeah I do suppose more people may have chose the Meat route initially, lame as it might be named.

... You know what'd it be funny? If the meat route turns out to be a red herring and the candy route was always the 'right' choice some how. It would be doubly funny, seeing has how the Candy route is visualized by the Spiral Sucker, which you could have taken to mean it's a dud. But a RED meat as the red herring? :P :P :P

"KARKAT: APROPOS TO FUCKING WHAT?KARKAT: I DON’T HAVE TIME TO “SCOPE THE LATEST MEME,” DAVE. YOU ARE COMING PERILOUSLY CLOSE TO CUTTING INTO MY IMPORTANT LEISURE TIME AS IT IS.DAVE: leisure timeDAVE: this is all you ever do all dayDAVE: also its not a meme its much more important" Great to see they haven't become lovey dovey in their old age. :P

"KARKAT: OH, EXCUSE ME, HOT SHOT. BUT WHAT POSSIBLY COULD BE MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE LATEST MEME?KARKAT: THAT WAS A JOKE, FYI. NOW LEAVE.DAVE: jane is running for presidentKARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK?" ... Well that came out of nowhere. :D I would be a lot less wary if it had been Jade or Rose. Since there's still that connection to )(IC in Jane. Then again, she's level-headed enough to not be corrupted by power, or so I can only hope.

"Dave scoots a foot and a half closer so that they can both read the news on his phone. Karkat tips his head to the side to get a better view, until it bumps against Dave’s shoulder." And the shippers (or rather, the fans of the pair) went wild!

"DAVE: got the announcement right hereKARKAT: YOU MEAN PRESIDENT OF EARTH?DAVE: yeahKARKAT: WHY THE FUCK WOULD SHE WANT TO DO THAT?DAVE: i dunno crocker is just an ambitious woman i guessKARKAT: THIS SOUNDS FUCKING AWFUL.DAVE: oh it is" I'm suddenly getting a sense as if, in John's absence, the whole victory state might be in jeapordy. Does it have something to do with the fact that, canonically, Earth C has to end up hosting the cherubs?

"DAVE: it absolutely isDAVE: also likeDAVE: dont tell her i said this butDAVE: i think shes basically a fascistKARKAT: WHY WOULD I TELL HER YOU SAID THAT?KARKAT: WHEN THE FUCK WAS THE LAST TIME EITHER OF US HAD FUCK ALL TO DO WITH *JANE*DAVE: no i knowDAVE: just like, a figure of speech i guessDAVE: oh also shes a fucking xenophobeKARKAT: OF COURSE SHE’S A XENOPHOBE!" ... Is this the same Jane Crocker that was good enough friends with Calliope and all? Okay, true, like John she of all people took the least best to all the aliens and science and magic their life ended up being filled with after playing Sburb. Just wondering how much of this is Karkat and Dave overreacting for the hells of it, is all.

"KARKAT: DAVE, I DON’T KNOW IF YOU’VE NOTICED, BUTKARKAT: A LOT OF HUMANS ARE???DAVE: yeah ive noticed" Okay, victory state or not, I'm in for some more in-depth exposition on "how humans are still humans even on a planet filled with aliens from Day 1", and other tales about Earth C.

That takes me back to the troll separatist group that kidnapped Jane in the (non-canon?) snaps posted on the Official Homestuck channel.

"KARKAT: ALSO, WHAT THE FUCK DOES SHE EVEN MEAN SHE’S “RUNNING”KARKAT: WHAT A COMPLETE LOAD OF SHIT?KARKAT: SHE’S A GOD. WHICH ONE OF THE TOADYING IDIOTS ON THIS PLANET WOULD DARE TO RUN AGAINST HER.KARKAT: SHE’S GOING TO WIN IN A LANDSLIDE, ASSUMING SHE DOESN’T JUST WALTZ INTO OFFICE UNCONTESTED.DAVE: yeah i dont disagreeDAVE: which is why we have to stop her" Jane going mad with power, what a nice little thing from canon to become relevant again. :P Only this time no braincontrolling robotics are involved, I suppose.

---

As we stopped reading after this part, I've had some time to theorize.

What if this scene takes place in Earth C's past, and on the way back to canon, what John did first was to jump back to this moment, and punch Jane in the face? :P And then he zaps his friends out with him into canon, they do their thing, and zap back before the current version of John noticed they were gone? He isolated himself, after all, probably didn't even follow the news.

It would mean that the "victory state" was something the kids still had to earn after going through the door, even though it was outside of canon already. But it'll probably not go this way, I'm saddened to say.

Part of me wants the candy chapters parallel this route, in the characters shown per chapter, but then I would've liked being able to switch paths somewhere inbetween to compare and spot the differences.

"DAVE: which is why we have to stop herKARKAT: HUH?KARKAT: DAVE, WHAT EXACTLY ARE YOU SAYING?KARKAT: ARE YOU TELLING ME *YOU’RE* GOING TO RUN AGAINST JANE?" ... Okay, imagine the hilarity ensuing of Dave being President of the Earth. The campaign buttons (merch for FFBF, in any case!), the comparison to B2 Dave ascending the White House in a more literal way... But it would also be funny if Dave proposes Barack Obama. Not THE Barack Obama of course, just a member of a long line of people named that way, going back to a baby they cloned when populating this Earth. All named Barack Obama. :P

"Karkat’s laughter is uproarious, incredulous. He reaches for another beetle as his guffaws subside, and eats it in a manner he hopes will convey his casual contempt for Dave’s insinuation." Okay, I genuinely adore we now get to see Karkat's non-verbal reactions. They're as spiteful as his tirades, god bless.

"KARKAT: ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW *RICH* SHE IS?DAVE: dude were all rich" Oh, yeah, I guess the riches they accumulated in the session are still a thing? Also, maybe Dave has gone the way of B2 Dave and makes a killing producing jpeg items at negative costs.

"DAVE: we like invented the fucking economyKARKAT: WELL, YEAHKARKAT: BUT NOT LIKEKARKAT: *CROCKER* RICHDAVE: anyway noDAVE: im not runningDAVE: you are" Ahahah, I didn't figure he'd do that! My idea was Karkat might take the initiative himself, since he still half believes in his own leadership qualities, I would think. But after seeing his response I didn't think that would happen, but now Dave wants to push him (and be his running mate?). Ah yes, I can just picture the debates between Jane and Karkat, that'd be so rich, her pushing all his buttons and him *thoughtfully* laying all her flaws to bear.

... Blaperile pointed out Echidna had said Karkat would still have a role in the new universe, guess it might actually be coming to this!

"DAVE: youre the ideal opponent to take her down and tbh just what this planet needs" Not the president this planet deserves, but the one it needs right now. Get it? Because Karkat's a Knight. :P

"KARKAT: I’M NOT A LEADER. I WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE ONE.KARKAT: JANE PROBABLY IS. ALTHOUGH TO BE FAIR, I’M AGREEING WITH YOU, SHE’S A COMPLETE ASSHOLE." Ah yes, of course, I see how it is. John should run for president. :P I know, I know, one small problem there. Hey, maybe that's something for the candy route!

Blaperile has a good point, Karkat's good at having people co-operate that would otherwise be at each other's throat. That's just basic world leadership skills. :P

"DAVE: you were meant to be a leader and youd be a good oneDAVE: just not the kind of leader you always thought youd be" I'm all here for supportive Dave, but I'd really like to see his arguments. They might be a little tainted, being so close to Karkat.

"DAVE: not a bellicose conquering dickhead who commands “fear and respect”" So, I'm not saying this is a comment on a certain contemporary world leader, but. But.

"DAVE: just a guy who is cool and nice and actually cares about stuff and everyone loves them for that reason" He could take an example by John on how to be a good palhoncho!

"KARKAT: PEOPLE DON’T LOVE ME!!!DAVE: youre breaking my heart dude" Confirmed. :P

"DAVE: it still amazes me how little awareness you genuinely seem to have of how insanely popular you are on this planetDAVE: its fucking adorable" Cool, so it's not like the planet has popular gods and less popular ones, then, awww.

"KARKAT: YOU’RE WRONG! ALL I SEE IS JAKE ON TV! AND JANE IN THE NEWS STORIES ABOUT HER STUPID BUSINESS, AND DIRK DOING WHATEVER... FUCKED UP SHIT HE’S DOING WITH HIS CELEBRITY PRESENCE??" Maybe Karkat's looking in the wrong places, maybe his fans are all on the internet! It's just that he's too much of a couch potato to take note, and maybe he even took a leave of absence from setting foot on social media & forums & the like, since he's aware how easily provoked he is?

"KARKAT: I SEE YOUR MUG A LOT TOO, MR. FUCKING POLITICAL PUPPET MASTER." I know Dave's face is literally on a mug on FFBF, so this is super funny.

"DAVE: you only see famous humans on tv because you just avoid all troll kingdom channels deliberately" Huh, so he's kind of fled the influence of troll culture, maybe he's had his fill of caste-oriented drama series, quadrantic romance and the like?

"Karkat hesitates, then slouches back into the couch cushions, restoring the customary foot and a half of space he and Dave usually keep between them except when watching horror movies, eating chips, or talking about the top six hundred stupid things Karkat saw earlier that day because he made his intrepid annual decision to go outside." So Karkat not being touchy is an informed skill more than anything, then. :P It seems it's only the truth half of the time.

"KARKAT: MAYBE I DON’T ACTUALLY LIKE BEING FAMOUS?" All the attention and the accompanying social responsability probably gets to him, I see where he's coming from.

"DAVE: well what better way to acquaint yourself with democracy than to take a crack at high office yourself" Oh yes, throw baby Karkles right into the deep end, why don't you.

"DAVE: dude seriously you would absolutely kill it with the troll voting blockDAVE: the entire kingdom would vote for youDAVE: theyd go ballistic if they heard a troll actually had the guts to run against jane, let alone one of their heroes" I do wonder what the votership division looks like, and whether gerrymandering is at play by giving the kingdoms equal votes despite disparities in population sizes, and stuff.

"DAVE: shes going to be a fucking disaster for the economy" Won't someone PLEASE think of the economy? :P Of course, a business person taking charge politically? That never ends well, or does it?

"DAVE: its about obama

Very slowly, Karkat raises his right palm and forcefully unites it with his own face." Dave's personal hero. And unlike John's, untainted in recent history. In fact, I'm kind of surprised Dave never made an Obamatop computing device. From Karkat's reaction, I'm guessing this is old hat to him by now.

"FREESTYLE OBAMA FAN FICTION" Truly, it is a shame this will never be shown in-comic, presumably.

Although I would really much like a Paradox Space story centered around it. :P

"KARKAT: DON’T YOU ALREADY HAVE A BASIS FOR KNOWING HOW HIS PRESIDENCY WOULD HAVE GONE?" I suppose he thinks B2 Obama doesn't count, because of his and Rose's alternate selves being around as well as Condesce, influencing the events on the planet to various degrees of subtlety?

"DAVE: i just dont like to think much about that time lineDAVE: it doesnt really feel like itsDAVE: canon?" PFffff, to him, no it wouldn't, since it's not his native timeline. And to us, the readers, it took a very outlandish turn after 2011.

"DAVE: the one i belonged to that i used to imagine had a real futureDAVE: that didnt involve meteors or a fish dictator or the american political landscape turning into a nightmarish daily jokeDAVE: i still wonder what could have beenDAVE: if the O man coulda saved us all" It's a good thing just imagining things doesn't spawn a new timeline, or Dave would've created one right there. ... Wait, that's actually our timeline he's thinking about, crap. Don't stop imagining it, Dave!

"DAVE: but instead he died probablyDAVE: or maybe not... maybe there was like an escape hatch in the white house that led to his own secret presidential session of sburbDAVE: what if hes just chillin there now" ... Together with the Nick of Time? :D

"DAVE: what if he died for our sins or somethingKARKAT: HMM! SOUNDS FUCKING MEANINGLESS." That's rich, coming from the Sufferer's second coming.

"DAVE: but i mean what if likeDAVE: he could be reborn" Ah, so they DIDN'T clone him. Yet.

Or, maybe this leads up to Dave figuratively seeing Karkat as the second coming of Obama, that's also possible.

"KARKAT: YES, WE’VE BEEN OVER YOUR OBAMA GOD TIER HEADCANONS TOO." What'd that be though. The Gent of Peace? (In a little wordplay on fedoraFreak's imagined god tier title.)

"DAVE: you could be the great president he never got the chance to beDAVE: you could give the people hope and shitDAVE: you could inspire trolls everywhereDAVE: or really all nonhuman kingdomsDAVE: show them anybody could be a presidentDAVE: not just an endless parade of rich humans who think they all know whats best for everybody" So... I guess President of Earth is a real title in this universe, not something Jane just came up with. And it seems, unsurprisingly, only a certain type gets elected. Some things never change, do they?

Karkat taking it up for the little guy would have nice parallels with WV rising up. And, points to Blaperile, also parallels with Obama proper, as the first black president.

"KARKAT: DAVE, I’M PRETTY SURE ANYONE *COULD* BE PRESIDENT?KARKAT: IT’S ALWAYS SEEMED TO ME THAT HUMANS JUST SEEM TO BE MORE NATURALLY AMBITIOUS, AND THAT’S WHY THE POWER STRUCTURES TOOK THE SHAPE THEY DID THE LAST FEW MILLENNIA.KARKAT: I MEAN, I DON’T CLAIM TO BE AN EXPERT ON XENOPSYCHOLOGY, BUT FOR SOME REASON I STRUGGLE TO IMAGINE A FUCKING SALAMANDER GETTING THE GUMPTION TO THROW HIS CRUMPLED HAT INTO THE RING FOR THE PRESIDENCY OF EARTH.KARKAT: OR THE CARAPACIANS FOR THAT MATTER?" Well, to be frank, the trolls are all rather ambitious by nature, so if only humans got elected until now, something must be off. I'll concede his point on the other species, even if he's only true speaking generally. I think that Viceroy Bubbles von Salamancer, or WV, if they had been around, would absolutely have run for president.

"DAVE: karkat dont stereotypeDAVE: remember the mayorDAVE: remember how at one point a long time ago he raised an army and rebelled against an evil king" Awww, he remembers. WV probably told that story on the meteor. I do wonder how WV & PM are remembered in the stories by the carapaces. They deserve the same worship as the kids, in their own way.

"KARKAT: OH YEAHKARKAT: SOMEHOW I ALWAYS FORGET HE DID THAT.KARKAT: KIND OF MIND BOGGLING, REALLY.KARKAT: HOLY SHIT, I MISS THE MAYOR.DAVE: me too

Dave and Karkat both observe a moment of silence" Aww, his trials are not forgotten, if not always remembered. Good to see. And yes, small minds, great achievements - you shouldn't discount the other races just for their general demeanour!

Into this reverent silence, Dave says:DAVE: i think he would be totally in favor of my idea btw" Blasphemy, Dave, blashemy, no respect. Although, WV would've been rather supportive, I guess.

"DAVE: he loved democracyKARKAT: NO SHIT, HE WAS A FUCKING MAYOR." True, he hated self-serving kings but would probably have supported the idea of an elected head of state.

"DAVE: i mean forget all the lizards and chess guys for a secondDAVE: just imagine the good you could do for the troll kingdomDAVE: you would do a much better job of speaking to the injustices trolls face than jane wouldKARKAT: WHAT INJUSTICESDAVE: dude pleaseDAVE: where to even beginDAVE: i know earth c has generally been a pretty chill place to live but theres been some shit going on that is legit creepy" Oh boy, now we get to the meat of the issue. (Heh.) I do wonder if some events from the snaps are going to get addressed, like the existence of a royalist troll underground. It would only exist if there were subjects troll were not happy about.

It's jarring though, that a supposedly peaceful "end-game reward" world could be this fucked up under the surface.

"DAVE: all this “population regulation” bullshit thats been going on since we basically set up civilization and peaced out to the futureDAVE: when you think about its long term consequences its been fuckin weirdDAVE: like the government being responsible for troll reproduction through cloning" Hmm, so did they decide not to reinstate the drones? I guess the whole "contribute or die" mentality had to go, but simply relying on cloning to provide the material for the matriorb seems... off? Especially if the cloning isn't done with Sburb machine, genetic defects could pop up this way.

"DAVE: like it makes sense on paper at first, no mother grub, gotta keep the race going and expand the population for a good while and get the numbers upDAVE: until kanaya gets here and hatches the grub and then i guess a system of “natural reproduction” can take over in theory but" Oh, so... That was the system they used until the kids arrived, a state-regulated form of reproduction. Kind of totalitarian, but then, trolls take that shit easier than other races.

And yeah, the only grub around is the one from the matriorb Roxy materialized, that's... A very risky thing, makes me think of eggs and baskets. Couldn't they have cloned the grub by now, now the kids have been here several years?

"i guess were supposed to think its all fixed rightDAVE: back to Trolls As Usual or somethingDAVE: but do you really think the human kingdom is going to just sit back and let the troll race proliferate wildly all over earthDAVE: turn it into another alternian empireDAVE: folks know the historyDAVE: they know about the condesce and all the violence and the hemospectrum and shit" I'm here for Dave as Troll Ally, but I like that he isn't just blindly defending the trolls, he knows what the humans might've been thinking, fearing what could happen.

But that's a worst case scenario, and while you should prepare for it, you should still hope for better, and it seems the humans haven't been doing so.

"KARKAT: DAVE, I KNOW ALL THIS.KARKAT: IN FACT, *YOU* KNOW ALL OF THIS BECAUSE YOU’VE HEARD ME SAY IT TO KANAYA A THOUSAND TIMES." So... Karkat is way more politically inclined than he's making [strike](out with)[/strike] himself out to be.

"DAVE: you think a crocker administration is really going to go through with plans to deregulate troll breeding?DAVE: she knows exactly what her base wantsDAVE: i can already see the dog whistles in this press release she isnt gonna do shit" Wow, from Dave's perspective Jane really isn't a hero any longer. What kind of behaviour did she even display after they arrived in the future, that he honestly believes she's a fascist xenophone???

"DAVE: and really manDAVE: if nothing else and i truly mean NOTHINGDAVE: pleaseDAVE: for the love of christDAVE: think of the economy" PFfffffff. It's funny how, in being so liberal-minded, Dave is still very focused on safeguarding the economy. :P I know, I know, it's more a meme to him that anything else, I suppose, but still.

"DAVE: jane has this reputation for being awesome at business but imo she actually just sucksDAVE: she doesnt seem to be even remotely aware how much shes leveraged her status as a god to become a bigshot trillionaireDAVE: i think she thinks its all pure business acumen but i think she doesnt really know what shes doingDAVE: fuckers left and right just be tripping all day long to give her money hand over fistDAVE: of course shes gonna milk her biz cred for all its worth in this election" ... This is just one big Trump allegory, ain't it? Oh, I don't doubt Jane might be overestimating herself in some ways, but she's also not a complete idiot. This has more to do with out-of-comic events than in-comic ones, probably.

"DAVE: shes probably a much better politician than a businesswoman actually she is likeDAVE: sinister as fuck? i meanDAVE: she hides it well dont get me wrongDAVE: also she isnt too hard on the eyes which wont hurt her chances one bitDAVE: but shes going to be BRUTAL on their pocketbooks just you wait" I was wondering what ever happened to Dave's physical attraction to Jane, it hasn't waivered I see, he's just seen parts of her personality he doesn't like.

"DAVE: she doesnt know the nuances of sound comprehensive fiscal policy like i doDAVE: my skills are fucking legendaryDAVE: i manipulated the stock market to assume control of the literal majority of all currency on the planet once" If he's talking about the LOHACSE, it was a much smaller planet and he had help from an all-seeing eye in the form of Terezi. Also, time travel.

"DAVE: granted the economy was run by lobotomized reptiles but stillDAVE: wait that was speciesist sorry" Heheh, I like Dave recognizing when he's almost a hypocrite, it's a show of character.

"DAVE: ok if shit goes sideways i guess we arent gonna see like raggedy turtles and pauper chess men standing in bread lines or anythingDAVE: thats just the nature of alchemy-based post-scarcity economies the depressions tend to be pretty mild" Oooh, cool, so the economy is basically still only there for show, mostly, people won't be bereft of essentials, that's good to know. Also good to know is that alchemy is still around. I wonder if it was reinvented in the 5000 years since the creation of the planet? Or reverse engineered from Sburb machines?

"DAVE: she sucks and shouldnt be president the end" I'm starting to get the idea Dave might be having black romantic upflares with regard to Jane. It's starting to read like how John would talk about Terezi.

"DAVE: just please tell me youll do thisDAVE: do it for the trolls do it for the economy do it for the mayorDAVE: but most of allDAVE: (sniff)

Dave wipes an invisible tear from beneath the rim of his sunglasses.DAVE: do it for obama" Pff, and here I was thinking he would drop the pretense of not being serious for just a bit, hahah. Guess Bro's way of ironically telling the truth is still hard-baked into him.

"KARKAT: I DO CARE ABOUT YOU.

Dave smiles." Awwww, I love that he can cause that reaction. Not sure if it was 1-pixel smile or something bigger, but I also like how the sentence describing Dave smiling is just two words, in a sort of verbal callback to the tiny, 1-pixel smile.

"KARKAT: SOKARKAT: I’LL DO IT.KARKAT: WHY NOT.DAVE: nice!" W00t, Karkat for president! He'd be absolutely brutal in debates, yet smart enough to delegate the stuff he doesn't know about to other people, I think.

"outrageous flair for subversive anti establishment messaging and propaganda" Dave's not yet shown that skill himself, but he knows about his B2 self, so I guess it counts.

"your charisma and likability and shitKARKAT: YEAH.KARKAT: YOU MIGHT BE RIGHT...KARKAT: I’M PRETTY SURE I CAN FAKE THOSE THINGS WELL ENOUGH." Chalk one up for Karkat being self aware.

"DAVE: oh alsoDAVE: your weirdly sincere humilityKARKAT: I PREFER THE TERM “SELF LOATHING” ACTUALLY." ... or this. XD Well, if it gets the job done, loathing & humility can be equalized.

"Jake is rambling out a truly dire piece of slam poetry that involves—with zero hint of irony—the terms batty-fang and mad as hops." Okay, so Jake was doing the rapping himself too. Guess his vocabulary hasn't expanded much.

"Dave’s “least psychologically revealing SBaHJ strip.”" ... I do wonder what that could be, I really do. "i haz the car", maybe?

"Karkat sighs and rubs the space between his horns." I read it wa--as the bridge of his nose at first, since I thought he's exasperated at Jake here, but maybe I'm wrong and he's just pensive.

"it’s been a long time since he’s properly used a sword." ... and how long since he did so improperly? *eyebrows*

"DAVE: inspire themDAVE: i dont think you need any fancy speeches to do that youll be a natural" Hmm, I dunno Dave, he used to do speeches all the time. It got results even if they were not well received. :P

"Dave scribble political ambitions directly into the shittiest paint program on his OS." He wrote an MSPaint JPEG clone for just the occasion, didn't he?

"DAVE: time to talk some strategyDAVE: we need to rally as much high profile support to our cause as we canDAVE: but there are some uhDAVE: “lines of loyalty” to figure outKARKAT: WHAT?DAVE: i mean which of our friends are going to side with us and which ones will side with janeDAVE: pretty much all of us are famous and popular all over earth to some degreeDAVE: some of us more so with certain kingdoms than othersDAVE: so some key endorsements going either way could swing the whole election" Wow, Dave, you're a natural campaign leader, good thinking! But, with John gone, that'd leave an uneven number of the gods for voting! Who'll have the swing vote then, Calliope?

Huh, Dave seems to think Roxy would be neutral, I wonder why? Maybe because Calliope is enamoured with trolls, and yet Jane is a good friend of them both.

"DAVE: as for jade...KARKAT: ... " Oh boy. Something happened. I thought Jade was simply out, but... Did they have a falling out over something? Something Roxy & John didn't know about?

Or is this another psyche?

Although, there might have been something else, maybe Jade has grown closer to Jane on Earth C, they are related after all.

"DAVE: uhDAVE: i think its fair to say shes going to be on our sideKARKAT: YEAHDAVE: maybe a little too much so" Pffff, hah, okay.

... You can take this to mean as "Jade is Team Karkat/Dave all the way" or "Jade will defend her husbands like the feral beast she partially is". I wonder if we'll get some more insight in the troubles it has brought the two Knights, sharing a house with a furry cosplayer. :D

"DAVE: i think we gotta sort out likeDAVE: a hierarchical approach to campaign strategyDAVE: keep it organized and disciplined with roles well definedDAVE: not let things get too murky with uhDAVE: personal shit?KARKAT: I THINK WE’RE ON THE SAME PAGE HERE, DAVE." So they don't want to fall in the trappings of favoritism. Or maybe they just know Jade doesn't have it in her run, politics and campaigning in a serious manner. She might get bored.

"DAVE: uh lets see who elseKARKAT: EGBERT?" Oh boy. The bomb has dropped. Let's see if Dave knows something about what John is going to go up to.

It's starting to look like John leaving will have dire consequences in Earth C as well. Seems we already have a B plot, and not it hasn't even been one page.

"DAVE: john should be easy to convince but im not sure how much of a factor hell be in this campaignDAVE: have no idea how long hell be away on this “mission” rose mentionedKARKAT: WHAT? WHAT MISSION?" Oooooh, cool! So at least Dave was informed, I'm glad. It doesn't seem likely anymore that John can't return, now that we've established this scene is taking place in the present.

"DAVE: dunno shes been hella cagey about itDAVE: swore me to secrecy until the right time whenever that is" Pretty sure Rose just meant the right time to be "whenever you flap your mouth about it to Karkat". :P

"DAVE: anyway his endorsement would go a long way in swinging the consort kingdom" Points again in the direction that the Candy route will be equally long as the Meat route, huh.

"DAVE: swinging them our way should help a lot but it wont be enough to decide the whole thingDAVE: consorts overwhelm the other kingdoms in sheer numbers but due to unscrupulous gerrymandering, all kinds of fucked up voter suppression policies and some electoral “counterbalancing” measures to account for their ridiculous population growth rate their voting power per capita is kind of patheticDAVE: also its hard to drive turnout" So, it seems democracy only goes so far in securing an equal voting system, even in paradise. :/ And, I continue to be impressed by Dave's political knowledge, good going Dave!

"DAVE: this may come as a shock but legions of easily distracted low information amphibians primarily concerned with eating bugs and farming god damned mushrooms arent the most politically motivated demographic" Yay, the mushrooms are still a thing!

"DAVE: so to get them out to the polls well need to get them REALLY excited" Give them a rumpled hat, that'll work.

"DAVE: jake is a huge wild card hereDAVE: im sure his endorsement would be completely up for grabs" Oh, so I guess he and Jane never really talked things out...

"DAVE: he could go any way including just getting turned off by the whole thing and staying “apolitical”" Sounds about right, yeah, he just wants to be left alone in most things.

"DAVE: jake is the only one of us whos wildly popular in all four kingdoms" The English charisma, the doom of quadrants everywhere.

"DAVE: theres no way she doesnt understand the political stakes" There's a higher than zero chance Jake could just change his vote every hour depending on his mood. Try following that in the exit polls...

"KARKAT: SO...KARKAT: IT ALL COMES DOWN TO THE JAKESTAKES THEN.DAVE: pretty muchDAVE: the jakestakes 2.0KARKAT: WHATKARKAT: THERE WAS A 1.0?KARKAT: WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?DAVE: oh thats likeDAVE: a whole storyKARKAT: IS THIS GOING TO BE ANOTHER ANECDOTE ABOUT THE JAKE SQUAD I WON’T CARE ABOUT AND DON’T WANT TO FUCKING HEAR?DAVE: that sounds like the exact kind of opinion youd have about it so yeah" I'm guessing the Jake Squad is Karkat's affective nickname for the B2 kids. And yes, 1.0 was probably everyone vying for Jake's affection pre-entry.

"DAVE: hmmDAVE: shit hold upKARKAT: WHAT?" Maybe there's already a spot on for Jake supporting Jane. Seems like she'd have one prepared to show, shrewd businesswoman and all.

"DAVE: dirks calling meKARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE WANT?DAVE: idk he just calls me out of the blue from time to time to talk shitDAVE: usually about nothing whatsoever" Oh, will Dave meet up with Dirk, like how John went from Rose to Roxy?

"DAVE: hell probably joke about how he needs me to cut off his headKARKAT: HUH???DAVE: its a running gag hes been running into the ground for yearsDAVE: motherfucker is dedicated to his memes ill give him that" Well, we are talking about the same dude who not just beats a dead horse, he poaches it. And it's not like it's unwarranted, it's one short of a pattern with Dirk.

"KARKAT: YOU DON’T THINK HE’S TRYING TO DO SOME...KARKAT: RECONNAISSANCE WORK HERE?KARKAT: LIKE, INTEL GATHERING?" While that would be up to snuff for Dirk, I would wager he'd feel his "bro" and his kin to be off limits. Then again, he can be cold when he needs to be.

"DAVE: ok well i missed the call while we were bullshitting about itDAVE: but yeah ill just call him back now

Dave hits the callback button. On the television, Dirk’s phone begins ringing." ... He was calling live or what? While on television? But they didn't notice him calling Dave on the screen before.

I would put it on the autoresponder but Arquiusprite is AWOL.

"The whole show has stopped so that Dirk can take this call. The camera zooms in on where he’s casually lying on the mat, bruised and a little bit bloody. In the background, Jake strikes an attractive, cocked-hip pose. He’s spinning a revolver around on one finger, affecting an aura of attractive indifference, but the look he’s shooting his sparring partner is caught halfway between confused and exasperated." Dirk took to being a god of unrelentless power like a fish to water. Meanwhile, Jake is miffed his fisticuffs are being momentarily paused.

"DIRK: Got your sword handy?" Ooohhhh. If their show is like a wrestling show, then this is the "heel" calling in back up taking on the "face", right? Dave's going to be a little rusty, though, since the narration said... ... Wait, using it for fake fighting isn't like using the sword properly, is it? PFfff.

"DAVE: alwaysDIRK: Good. See, I’m in sort a bind here.DIRK: And I’m afraid there’s only one way out.KARKAT: OK, I’M FUCKING LEAVING." You succeeded in getting Karkat to leave the couch, Dave, mission accomplished.

---

I really liked seeing Karkat and Dave interact, and I liked that it wasn't just fluff or zany disputes. Seems like there's a story to unfold in Earth C.

I suppose that on Meat 3, the perspective'll switch, but maybe it'll be a Dirk/Dave interaction.

That, or before that happens, we'll get the first "in-canon" page with John.

I had wondered today whether we should check if Homestuck itself was updated, with new pages for John's arrival back in canon. Half-serious I was, but lemme just check the Homestuck log. ... Okay, no. :P

#homestuck #homestuck epilogues #homestuck meat #upd8 #reaction #spoiler alert #john egbert #karkat vantas #dave strider #homestuck liveblog

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thecomicsnexus · 6 years ago

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UNCANNY X-MEN #107-108 OCTOBER-DECEMBER 1977 BY CHRIS CLAREMONT, DAVE COCKRUM, DAN GREEN, JOHN BYRNE AND TERRY AUSTIN

SYNOPSIS (FROM MARVEL WIKIA)

After being transported through a star-gate by Phoenix, the X-Men find themselves on an ancient planet that is home to the M'Kraan Crystal, surrounded by several members of the Shi’ar Legion of Super-Heroes Imperial Guard serving the evil Emperor D’Ken. When Cyclops announces that they are there for Lilandra, an enormous battle commences between the two sides. Despite the number of Imperial Guardsmen, the two teams are evenly matched.

When Lilandra is saved from The Soul Drinker unleashed on her by D’Ken, she reveals that he plans to use the M’Kraan Crystal to gain power absolute and that is why she escaped to Earth, having learned of Professor Xavier when he used his mental powers to thwart an alien invasion by the Z'Nox. The tide of the battle is turned by the arrival of the Starjammers, a group of interstellar pirates who aid the X-Men against the Guardsmen. Jean mind-probes their leader Corsair, and is shocked to learn what she finds there, finding it impossible to consider.

Suddenly the M’Kraan Crystal powers up and reality for a fraction of a second ceases to exist. On Earth Peter Corbeau warns the Fantastic Four that should the cosmic blinks continue, the universe will die.

With Emperor D'Ken threatening to destroy the universe by trying to utilize the power of the M'Kraan Crystal, the X-Men and the Starjammers compare notes and come to the conclusion when the specific stars come into alignment the crystal will become available to D'Ken. While on Earth, Peter Corbeau connects with President Carter, the Avengers, and the Fantastic Four and tells them some grim news: some strange force is threatening to destroy the universe. Most affected by this is the Wasp, who feels helpless when faced with a crisis even Earth's mightiest heroes cannot stop.

Back on the M'Kraan world, the X-Men approach the crystal and are confronted by its defender, a small being named Jahf. Jahf warns them that he will defend the crystal to his death, and if he is destroyed a being twice as powerful would appear to defend the crystal next. Wolverine mocks the small android and finds himself knocked high into the atmosphere, only saved by the quick thinking of the Starjammer's robot Waldo who teleports Wolverine aboard the ship. Soon Jahf is upon the X-Men and the Starjammers, easily thrashing them with his superior strength. When brute force doesn't work, the X-Men pool their abilities to fight the creature. Storm clouds Jahf in a pea-soup fog allowing Banshee to get close enough to unleash the full fury of his sonic scream. While he manages to destroy Jahf, he strains his vocal chords so raw he can barely talk.

The two teams don't get a moments reprieve, however, they are attacked by the second guardian of the crystal, a giant robot named Modt. During the fight, Raza finds Emperor D'Ken and tosses the despot into the M'Kraan Crystal, causing D'Ken and both groups to be transported within. There they find themselves in a large abandoned city. In the middle a sphere of pure light that Phoenix finds herself drawn to. Upon touching it, everyone present is struck by a bolt of energy that awakens in their mind their greatest fears. Jean manages to shake off the effects on herself, and when Cyclops goes berserk as a result of his illusions she knocks him out. Seeing the sphere being to crack, she channels the full power of her Phoenix powers to it and learns that it is a keeping the birth of a neutron universe at bay, and should the barrier break the universe as they know it would be destroyed to make way for this new universe.

Phoenix attempts to use her powers to repair the damage, however it is not enough as she needs additional life forces to help repair the damage. With only Storm and Corsair free from the sphere's influence, she convinces both to give a portion of their life forces, revealing to Corsair that she knows that he is Christopher Summers. As Jean repairs the damage, Corsair realizes that Cyclops is his long lost son Scott and goes to the unconscious man's side. However, Cyclops never wakes up to learn the truth, as soon as Jean repairs the damage she transports all the X-Men back home through the warp gate that brought them to the crystal.

There they find Professor X, Misty Knight and the Greys waiting and are confronted by Firelord, who explains that he has no quarrel with them anymore after Xavier explained how he was manipulated by Erik the Red. Following after the X-Men is Empress Lilandra, who's coming burns out the warp gate keeping her on Earth. She explains to Charles and the X-Men that while her brother was driven insane by the M'Kraan Crystal she is now the ruler of the Shi'Ar, however there must be time to sort out the red tape to have her rightful place put on the Shi'Ar throne, and until then she is staying on Earth.

CONTEXT

Dave Cockrum was an integral part of the All-New X-Men. Together with Len Wein (and I believe the help of Roy Thomas), they created all the new x-men. The costume designs are pretty much his. And this is what Dave Cockrum enjoyed the most in life, designing and creating characters. These are some quotes from an interview done by Jon B. Cooke:

CBA: Mike Friedrich told me a story that back in 1972 you had an idea for an international team book that eventually turned into the new X-Men. Is that true?

Dave: It wasn't my idea. Roy brought up the idea that he wanted to do a new X-Men book but he was talking about approaching it as "Mutant Blackhawks." That was Roy's suggestion when he took us to a fancy restaurant, telling us to order whatever we wanted—he had a hamburger. That was Roy's proposal: He wanted them international and to operate out of a secret base. Part of the rationale, as I understand it, was that Marvel was looking for foreign markets. And then, ultimately, we picked a bunch of nationalities whose countries weren't liable to buy the book! It never wound up fitting that proposal anyway.

CBA: After that, how long did you work on the proposal?

Dave: I had gone home and started designing some characters, but for some reason, there was a pause in the development, and they just hung fire for months. When it came back, Mike Friedrich wasn't involved any more but Len Wein was. I had drawn up a number of characters: The original black female in the group was to have been called The Black Cat. She had Storm's costume but without the cape, and a cat-like haircut with tufts for ears. Her power was that she could turn into a humanoid cat or a tabby. She wore a collar with a bell on it. When we came back to the project, after the hiatus, all of a sudden all of these other female cat characters had sprung up—Tigra, The Cat, Pantha—so I figured that we'd better overhaul this one! She wound up getting white hair, the cape, and becoming Storm.

CBA: Where did Nightcrawler come from?

Dave: When I was still a fan and in the Navy, my first wife and I were living on Guam in a house in the boonies (which was infested with roaches and rats). There was a terrible storm going on overhead, we had no lights, it was noisy and loud and raining like hell with thunder and lightning. To keep ourselves occupied and keeping ourselves from being scared to death, we sat around making up characters. We made up this duo, a guy I called the Intruder (a cross between the Punisher and Batman, with a chrome skull and black jumpsuit) and his demon sidekick, Nightcrawler. The original concept was a lot different in that Nightcrawler would howl at the moon, run up the sides of buildings and do all kinds of weird sh*t. He really was a demon who had screwed up on a mission from hell and, rather than go back and face punishment, he hung around up here with this do-gooder. So he was considerably overhauled when he wound up in the X-Men.

CBA: What input did you have with Colossus?

Dave: I drew him up and brought him in, saying, "Here's Colossus, our muscle guy." Len came up with the civilian name and origin. So it was my visual. Storm was pretty much the same, though when I wanted to put the white hair on her, everybody said that she'd wind up looking like somebody's grandmother. I said, "Trust me."

CBA: Was Thunderbird your character?

Dave: Yes. When I brought in the first design, everybody said, "He looks like an Air Force pilot!" I had this strange helmet on him that was an Indian design but nobody liked it, so I went back and re-did it.

CBA: So you stayed with the book for two years?

Dave: I stayed through to #107. I couldn't stay with it because I was on staff by that time—my job was to design covers—and I just couldn't handle it anymore. I was tired and I gave it up. Later on, they asked me to do that Marvel Fanfare with the X-Men in the Savage Land and it was fun! I called up Chris and said, "This is really fun! If Byrne ever wants to leave the book, give me another chance at it." And Byrne left the book that following Monday. That was a weird juxtaposition! So I got the book back and I was enthusiastic again. It was fun for a long time.

The only reason I left the book the second time was because I had previously put in a proposal for The Futurians. It sat on Jim Shooter's desk for about a year, and he finally said, "Yeah, you can do this if you want." I was in some doubt whether I should quit the X-Men and do that but I really wanted to do it. Chris and Louise Simonson, the editor, talked me into giving up the X-Men because they thought I was more enthused about The Futurians. That was probably the biggest mistake of my life! That was about the time they started paying the royalties and reprint money. It takes nine months after an issue goes on sale before you get a royalty check so I hadn't received one yet by the time I quit the X-Men. When the first one came it was $2000 right out of the air! I thought, "Geez!" And it got better, and from what I heard, people like Jim Lee were making $40,000 a month on royalties. (That's why they could afford to go off and start Image.) If I had known about that kind of money coming in—even the $2000 a month—you couldn't have pried me off that book with a crowbar. The Futurians was never that successful.

CBA: Did you get to meet Jack Kirby?

Dave: Only once or twice. I had a run-in with him of sorts when I was designing covers. I would normally sketch out a rough and attach a logo to it, and send it out to the artist who was supposed to do it. They were doing "What If Jane Foster had the hammer of Thor?" and they wanted Kirby to do the cover for that. Well, me being me with the peculiar twist of mind that I sometimes have, the logo I put on said, "What if Thor wore a bra?" I sent it out and Jack and Mrs. Kirby were totally scandalized, sent it back, and refused to have anything to do with it. The powers-that-be demanded, "What are you doing to Kirby?! You've pissed off Jack Kirby!" I said, "But, but, but..." and they wound up having the cover done by John Buscema.

There was another time when I was working with Stan on the Fantastic Four cartoon. For whatever reason, they couldn't use the Human Torch, so I had the task of designing Herbie the Robot. I thought the whole notion of replacing the Torch with a robot was so lame, all I would come up with were stupid ideas: One of them looked like a trash can on wheels with a "4" on it, another was a lamp on wheels with a "4" on it. After a half-dozen of these, Stan says, "You know, you're really hard to work with!" And he called up Jack and had him do it.

So we know the reason for his departure may not have been caused by the impossibility of the this team to deliver on time, but because it was too much (it may still be that though). So who can replace Dave Cockrum on X-Men?

With Byrne there, a man known for being prolific (and high quality at being that), the title didn’t get monthly right away. So I am not sure what was the defining factor for Byrne being in this title, but I can tell you this... THE REST IS HISTORY!

REVIEW

So now to the issues in question. I have been explaining before how much I didn’t enjoy Cockrum as interior artist. His last issue, though... is very good. I don’t know if it is the experience with the characters, the Legion of Super-heroes rip-off or what... but he was on fire in that issue. Sure, Colossal Boy rip-off is the most obvious thing even on the cover... but Wolverine takes down Timberwolf rip-off and puts on his costume.

As for the last issue of this saga... what happened to Claremont all of a sudden? I noticed he liked to write funny, but he is a poet all of a sudden. And Byrne really elevates his writing. John Byrne is not the kind of person that usually just does his job (sometimes he just draws for the fun of it, though), so I can imagine that the X-Men as we know them wouldn’t be possible without the collaboration of these two legends.

With this classic issues I feel tempted to see the art with the originals, and the re-colored (usually for digital) versions. The Batman digital comics were recolored in an awful way so I usually try to avoid those... but this run... I don’t know. The coloring would probably get in the way of Terry Austin’s inks.

Welcome to the X-men, folks!

I give these issues a score of 8

#dave cockrum #danny crespi #annette kawecki #phoenix saga #bronze age #marvel comics #comics #review #1977 #uncanny x-men #x-men #phoenix #john byrne #dark phoenix

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stunudo · 7 years ago

Text

Infiltrated: Part 3

I couldn’t find this gif while searching the Tumblr-loaded ones, but it is watermarked. Thanks to @spencerhellareid for the sly Hotch side-eye. xoxo

Featuring: Hotch x Female Reader/ Foyet x Female Reader

Setting: Season 4

A/N: I got an unsub fmk-type ask. So this came from that. This is going to be darker than any other series I have done. Hope you guys like it! The reader character has a name because she is protecting her identity. xoxo Stu

Warnings: Moral repugnancy and general unsub behavior. Also smut.

Series

Your name: submit What is this?

George had left the morning after the tenderizer with little fanfare. He relished in your wincing steps as you saw him to the door.

“Alright, Y/N, I’ve got some things in the works, but look out for a meet up in a week or two.” George watched you process the instructions, ensuring you were worried just enough to make his leaving a loss.

“If you need anything you know where to find me,” You held his gaze.

“Y/N, please, I don’t need anything.” George laughed in your face. “Ditch the burner, I’ll get you a new one.”

“Anything else?” You shifted with your hands in your back pockets, the skin still warm through your jeans. He didn’t say anything, but grabbed your chin, holding it centimeters from his face. He watched your eyes focus, listened to your breath hitch and became satisfied with his effect. He turned to walk away.

“Be safe.”

He didn’t even look back, but you could hear his guffaw bounce around the solemness of the drab apartment hallway.

A week after the midnight phone call, you finally crossed paths with the BAU again, in the flesh. Your team had been in the field on cycling twelve hour surveillance shifts, leaving your hours of mindless desk duties to be done at unlikely times. It was seven in the evening and you passed the sand-eyed profilers stepping onto the elevator.

“Going up?” Agent Morgan held the door for you and you gave him an appreciative tight lipped smile.

“How’s it going Turner?” Prentiss asked as she peered around Reid and Rossi.

“Have they developed an IV caffeine drip yet?” You joked, glancing over your shoulder to Hotch in the corner.

“Actually, Neonatalogists give Cafcit intravenously to premature infants to treat apnea.” Dr. Reid pointed out.

“So, can I get an adult dose then?” You asked.

“Oh, I’m not a prescribing doctor.” Reid grimaced at you. “But, it is just a different form of NoDoz.”

“Ah, well, I know that one well enough, it got me through my sophomore year of college.” Prentiss chuckled.

Their floor dinged and you leaned back to let them pass. You wondered what kind of horrors they had left behind their latest jet ride. Hotch was the last one on the elevator and something pushed you in his direction.

“Hey--” You caught his gaze and a witty smirk brought a sudden warmth to your cheeks. You bit back the pinching in your cheeks, “You got a minute? I want to go over something with you upstairs.”

He nodded, “Hey guys, I’ll meet you at dinner?” He called back out to his team. Rossi’s concerned stare bore into you as the metal doors closed. The atmosphere of the elevator had reached the summit of a roller coaster, your stomach fell as the doors parted on your floor. You nodded down the hall, leading Hotch through an unmarked door.

“Turner, what’s this about?” Hotch didn’t flinch at the surroundings. He seemed to think you had brought him here for discretion and not true privacy. You couldn’t exactly say why you were doing this, but slowly your body pulled you closer to him. He had a spicy aftershave that lingered on his collar. He froze at your proximity, but the lack of verbal explanation needed no follow up once your breath ghosted over his neck. His hand came out to clutch at your waist, protectively. You took in a ragged breath and knelt in front of him.

You found his belt as he let his shoulders fall against the storeroom door. Despite the looming stress of his last case and your waiting busy work, he responded quickly and impressively. His thighs were muscular and his butt clenched nicely beneath your finger nails as you took his cock into your mouth. He groaned a deep and pained sound; it had been awhile since he had such attention.

“Easy there,” Hotch gasped, stroking your hair from your eyes. You looked up at him, waiting for further instructions. His face was darkening with need and you improvised when he couldn’t form words. You built a steady yet lavish pace, swirling your tongue over his head with every few dips. You were getting incredibly hot knowing how wrong this was and how very much you enjoyed doing it anyway. This was not planned on, something that had gotten you into trouble in the past. Fuck the rules.

You hummed against Hotch’s length and puckered with the vacuum you had created, driving him further along.

“Oh Christ!” Hotch groaned, his knees bending as he added to your rhythm, he finally felt comfortable taking what he wanted. You enjoyed his pleasure more than you thought and his head fell back as he came down your throat. You finished draining him quickly, his hands fumbling with your hair and shoulders, unsure yet gracious.

You stood, as he put himself away. You leaned in before he could say anything.

“You don’t have to say anything, Aaron. This is doesn’t have to mean anything. This was--,” You locked on to his dark eyes, a smug smile creeping up your lips. “This was fun. Just friends. Releasing tension.”

He grabbed your upper arm before you could slip back into the hallway, his hot breath coating your ear. “I pay my debts, Y/N.” He never used your first name, it was almost a threat.

“And I collect on mine.” You replied, leaving the promise of future rendezvous heavy on the air.

Hotch hadn’t sent you confused or suggestive texts, like most guys would have. He simply carried on working the case as you continued to consult whenever your unit could spare you. There was a big case in the works and your team was in the field or scrounging for leads with criminal informants day and night. You had learned what the phrase ‘dead on your feet’ truly meant. You gave up your night time shifts of tailing profilers at random. They were rarely in Virginia as it was and sleep had grown scarce.

When you dreamt you were always running, the air stolen from your lungs. You would pass indistinct people from your past as if you were running the Boston Marathon. But they weren’t cheering you on, they were mocking you. Hemmings was about ten paces ahead of you, smirking over his boulder of a shoulder. Then George’s voice was in your ear and the whole scene froze.

He was behind you, but off somewhere else there was an interrogation going on. Hotch’s voice was low and level and you didn’t want to hear what he had to say or the responses of his unsub. You knew who he was talking to, but you didn’t want to see their face. Suddenly your skin would burn and you would wake up.

You saw him waiting at the bakery down the street from your apartment while you went for a morning run. The bruising had lessened enough that you could run outside without drawing attention to yourself. It was a pain sparring in the gym, but the longer pants and baggy shirts kept your teammates none the wiser. When he had warned you it would be two weeks, in reality he had made it three. You knew better than to approach him outright, so you circled back on a usual path of yours.

He was sitting on a bench in a park, some place much too common for someone with such darkness inside him. He seemed unimpressed with the birds as he tossed day old bread at the hordes of flying rats. You stopped to stretch with the aid of his bench. You knew you looked appealing in your running shorts, cat calls were a hazard of the hobby. Having him appraise you felt intimate, like he was stroking you with one of his blades instead of just undressing you with his eyes.

“Everything pan out?” You asked, not making eye contact.

“It’s fine. How’s Boy Blue and his team of misfits?” George pelted a chunk of crust across the sidewalk to a massive goose.

“Overworked. They haven’t been home longer than two days since, we, since last time.”

“Since I fucked you raw?” George clicked his tongue and leaned back. He wore aviator sunglasses and a mean grimace. “Yeah, well, times ticking on Hotch’s clock, Y/N. Your new phone is in your car’s glove box. I’ll text you the details when we can, catch up.”

He stormed off as you held your knee to your chest, keeping your focus at a ninety degree angle from his departure. If you were being tailed, the two minute conversation could have only been seen from the way you had come. He was too calculated to be caught shooting the breeze. And you were too much of an exhibitionist to stop stretching as he walked away. You took a longer loop than normal to burn off your anticipation about his cryptic hints.

After a shower and a Hungry Man’s instant dinner, you strolled down to your car in the apartment building’s underground lot. On your passenger’s seat was an elegant shopping tote with a note inside. ‘FOR NEXT TIME’ in scrawled capitol letters. Inside the bag were leather straps, some bits of lace that may have been lingerie if there was more fabric and an empty knife sheath.

You almost forgot the real reason you came outside. You popped the latch on the dashboard. Inside, there was a black plastic bag with a prepaid cell phone and a pack of gum. He liked to keep the purchases less noticeable by putting multiple things on the receipt. You grabbed the bags and headed back inside. The phone hummed to life as you climbed the steps.

There were six text messages of incoherence before a date and time. It was the night before your next day off, sonofabitch was really keeping tabs on you. After two more messages with no discernible importance he gave you a location. He wanted to meet at the train station. What the hell was he doing?

“What the fuck Hemmings?!”

The rookie was late on the shift change and you had only an hour to get to the rendezvous spot to meet George. The newest agent on your team was a lot of things, but tardy was not usually one of them. You tried to keep your breathing regulated as the clock on the dashboard of the surveillance van ticked another minute. He was thirteen minutes late. Fifteen and you would have to check in with Headquarters, something could be wrong. But you weren’t that optimistic.

Your partner’s shift was over four hours later so that changeover wasn’t done in expected patterns. He just shrugged when it was seventeen after, you huffed and called into your Unit for a back up.

“This is Turner, Hemmings is a no show for his shift, is there a contingency in place?”

“Hang on Turner, let me talk to the Chief,” your SSA put you on hold. Great. The smuggling ring you were staking out was quiet and it was the middle of the day, what was keeping the idiot?! “Alright, Hemmings called in and said he is en route, sit tight.”

“Well, can I take the last twenty minutes out of his ass at least?” You were never late, it was one of your very few rules.

“Be my guest, but film it will ya? I want to keep that for posterity’s sake.”

“Maybe next time, when I don’t have somewhere to be,” you mumbled.

“Alright, check out when you can. Thanks.”

“Ten-four.” You gave an unnecessary sign off and proverbially sat on your hands.

Hemmings banged on the backdoor at precisely twenty four minutes after he was originally supposed to. You checked out of your detail and made your way across town to headquarters to get your personal vehicle as all Bureau issued cars were low-jacked. The extra trip was fraying your nerves at both ends. Better to be safe than sorry.

You hopped into the elevator and headed to your floor, it opened on six. Suddenly you were faced with a concerned looking Hotch talking to an annoyed Chief Strauss, you weren’t really in the mood to eavesdrop, but someone had called the elevator. “Going up?”

Hotch and Strauss both stared at you like an insect before their faces retracted.

“Keep me posted, Aaron.” Chief Strauss cut him off, stepping in beside you. She was back to a blank slate before you could ask her what floor she needed, but she said seven was fine. Sure lady, whatever that meant.

The doors closed on Hotch’s apologetic bafflement.

@a-unique-girls-heaven @gummiishark @rottendaisies @sunnygubler @lovebodymindstuff @archaic-zugswang @darkheartednerdwithglasses @mikri-oneiropola @princesswagger14 @justwinchesterme96 @profiler-in-training @kennybud @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @conversations-with-you-61065 @dontshootmespence @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown @cynbx @cherry-loves-fanfic @hotchnerfuckmeup @illegalcerebral @omallieallie @creativecody16 @kandii395 @tiny-potato-lives

#Criminal Minds #Hotch #Foyet #Hotch smut #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #case fic #Hotch x Reader #Foyet x Reader #CM #CM Fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #Aaron Hotchner #George Foyet #reader x unsub

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blisserial · 7 years ago

Text

Nine

Ross's Troop crossed the River Ann with more fanfare that my younger self expected. The king's soldiers spat and threw clods of mud as we pushed the cart over that limestone span but once we were past the arch and through the gate, I had to duck to avoid a different barrage of flowers and coin and, somewhat shockingly, wads of raw bread dough.

"Spice cookies," Ross laughed, bowing again and again to the gathered crowd. "To honor the gods' troubadours. Their crust tastes of salt but their innards are thick with rush wine. Eat."

Gingerly, I rescued a cookie from the old mule's path, brushed away grass and grit, and took a bite. The salt made me grimace and gag but the sudden burst of warm liquor slid down my throat like honey. The sky seemed to brighten and the cheers of our eager audience grew to a roar.

Will, the tattooed mummer, glanced across the mule's muzzle at me and laughed. "Be wary, Bliss. One cookie will warm your heart, two will knock you flat." I noticed he had gathered a number of the doughy balls himself.

I spent my first four days across the border drunk on spice cookies. At Ross's command I ran endless displays of wit and skill from dawn to dusk and then fell into the role of musician and storyteller from sunset to moonset. We all ate and slept well, either in the jongleur’s cell every Southern inn kept free for just such an occasion, or in the home of any particularly ambitious small time politician looking for goodwill.

It soon became clear that I had fallen into good luck indeed. Ross was well regarded in the south and the members of his troop were treated with a lavish respect usually reserved on the other side of the border for the landed.

I felt as though I had obtained divinity, that first foray across the river, and long after the spice cookies were eaten I remained dizzy and drunk on that intoxicating taste of fame.

Most of Ross's adopted family had been across the border many times already. Seasoned players, they knew what to expect and how to keep in good graces.

But one young tumbler took the same heady sip of life I was savoring and let it drown her good sense. I do not recall her given name. Her given name was Lilah but Ross called her Whelp for the lively dance she did with our costumed dogs. Maurice called her darling and took her often to his bed.

In my own head I named her Red, not for the color of her scarlet hair but for the webs of pink sleeplessness her new addiction to opiate gum left in her eyes.

Our Red was lovely enough, so it was no surprise when, during a long stop over at a large village bordering Emman city, she was taken up by an ordained Temple priest. I do not know if she loved him. I suspect it was his sumptuous gifts and the thin reek of power that snagged her heart.

It came time for Ross's Troop to bow a last farewell and Red refused to leave her priest. Ross might have let her be but Southern tongues wag. Her priest had not been particularly subtle about his new attachment. The Seat is a jealous lord and his gods have not a single finger bone of mercy.

A small group of soldiers from the local barracks came for Red our last evening in town as we worked a small private performance in a barrister's manse. They swept in amongst the guests, an inexorable tide of leather and sword point and pistol. They took Red from her dancing dogs before most of us noticed her absence.

The barrister appeared apologetic but resigned. Ross was unsurprised. He delayed our departure one more day while he and I rode the mule into Emman. We sat on the white temple steps under the weight of a sizzling sun and waited until bells rang for evening prayer. Soon after an acolyte brought us a rough wool bag neatly packed with Red's blouse, and hose, and boots, and a few pieces of jewelry she had chosen from a Southern silver merchant the day we crossed the River Ann.

*****

Maurice didn't often think of regret. A man could not live his life forward if he always looked back over his shoulder. He'd killed his fair share of men and women, but he took no real joy in violence. He did what a man must to survive and he tried his best, day by day, to please both himself and his gods. And, of course, to please Bliss.

He did regret Lilah. He had loved her, he supposed, in his own way. He'd loved the way her red curls tangled about his fists, and the way she saved him the choicest bits of supper before the others descended on the communal cook pot. He loved the low songs she sang to him, late at night, as they lay wrapped together in his bedding.

But he'd found her temper annoying, and her arrogance, and her disdain of his little cigarettes. So he'd sometimes snapped at her when she was late with his dinner, or when she sang off tune, or faltered during performance. Which made it his fault she had at last one night tossed dinner in his face and walked away. The very next day she'd taken up with a scrawny Low Temple priest.

Lilah he regretted.

So Maurice was not surprised when his feet led him eventually away from the barracks and the shadow of the Seat's white spire,and then along the curving busy roads to Emman's center, and at last up the one hundred steps of the Low Temple.

The red was unfurled here, too. Crimson flags flew from needle thin pinnacles. Wide red silk swathed the Temple pillars. Maurice climbed the steps slowly, each boot heel placed carefully upon planed limestone so as not to slip. He'd seen penitents fall while climbing the steps, from grief or fear or weariness. He'd seen them slip and slide and tumble on the sharp edges, and he'd heard their bones crack.

The stair was full of pilgrims, jostling as they climbed. Maurice ignored them. Under the Seat's shadow god worship was more than a man's choice. The Temple's blessing was as essential as bread and water. A Southern lord would give up his single heir to an unnamed god without so much as a shudder, or slit his mother's throat upon a gilded alter at the Seat's whispered suggestion.

Maurice had no interest in mindless avidity. He knew far better. A Northern man, landed or peasant, loved his god as best as possible but sacrificed blooded kin for no less than the king.

The gods watched as a man made his own destiny. No amount of time spent in the glare of whitewashed walls or endless heat would ever convince Maurice otherwise.

The priests waiting at the top of the stairs blessed Maurice with a scattering of perfumed water. He made the proper knee bend as they murmured at him in tones no less sweet than Lilah's own.

He almost paused, almost asked the questions he had not dared voice nine summers earlier, but Ross's old warnings still echoed between his ears: make your sale, collect your coin, and smile as you walk on.

Maurice found a smile as he shoved his way into the crowded Temple, aware always that no pilgrim went unnoticed. The dozen or so of solicitous and grave priests ranged around the front altar were as watchful as hounds.

He felt their eyes on him as he dropped his last silver pennies into the elaborately carved receiving box just inside the wide doors. For an instant he sympathized with Bliss's distrust of all things godly.

Maurice scrubbed a hand over his face, callusing emotion away.

"Fox's balls, man," he scolded himself quietly. He desperately wanted a cigarette. "Show some courage, soldier."

A woman robed all in gray glanced up from her obeisance. She wore her hair long, in the way of the priesthood, but the braids and curls were still free of beads. An initiate, Maurice guessed. Praying for acceptance or mourning lost freedom. He shrugged and hurried on.

The Low Temple had more tiers than a baker's butter cake. The main floor was reserved for the penitent, and above that, a floor for private worship. Another two floors for the entombment of the blessed or wealthy, and yet another three filled with cots; the ordained were allowed little in the way of privacy. The topmost floor sheltered the Temple Roll, shelf upon shelf of books as regimented and ordered as the beds on the floor beneath.

Maurice had seen that endless army of volumes once already in his life. He was not eager to do so again.

"Pilgrim." A skeletal hand reached through the throng and grasped Maurice by the shoulder. "Are you lost?"

"No."

The hand belonged to a bony priest wearing a welcoming smile. The multitude of sapphire beads in the fellow's hair glittered in the candlelight.

Maurice slipped from beneath the priest's fingers. "No," he repeated. "Not lost, Brother. Only meaning to light a candle for one I miss."

"Ah." The priest's smile became, if possible, even wider. "You'll find we have votives set in all three alcoves this day. So many people! The city simply buzzes with celebrants eager to pay their respects before ordination."

"Ordination." Maurice paused in mid flight. He eyed the smaller man. The priest was growing bald between his carefully detailed beads. "Not just initiation?"

"Oh, no." The priest patted Maurice's arm gently. "This year we are lucky enough to have a few pure enough of heart and intention to rise straight through the ranks. Nearly unheard of, I know! Why, the last time such a thing happened I was barely an initiate myself."

"The year this Seat was born." Maurice knew the tale. He'd heard it over and over to numbness on the muddy Southern battlefield.

The priest nodded. "The year our Seat was born."

Maurice found a wedge of space in the second alcove and knelt before a village of bright candles. The woman to his left was weeping over her votive. The boy to his right was stiff-lipped and angry where he bowed over his candle. Maurice drew his own small flame from his sleeve and lit a votive. Regret seemed faded as he bowed his head in respect, whispering Lilah's name.

"Dead or damned for bedding a priest," he murmured over the wick, "may you find a parcel of peace."

When he looked up the boy and the old woman had gone. It was not until Maurice found his feet and steadied his bones that he missed the faltered, crowded breathing that had, until a moment ago, been the music of his surroundings.

He turned slowly and found the alcove cleared but for the elderly priest and his new escort of solemn guards.

"Sergeant," the priest said, still gentle. "Have you spoken your remembrances to the lost?"

"Yes." So after all they knew him. Maurice clenched his fist to keep the fire quenched. He wished fervently that he had been brazen enough to wear a knife.

"Then, come with us, if you please."

The priest gripped Maurice's arm, inexorable, and the guards closed in.

They took him down instead of up, down a long straight staircase as slippery and dangerous as the one hundred outside, although far less busy with life and movement. The guards did not let him fall. The held him fast, shoulder to shoulder and breast to back. The thin priest proved surprisingly nimble. He led the way, robes pulled up about his knees to bare naked feet. He paused occasionally to turn and see that his hostage still followed.

For hostage Maurice was, if wrapped only in the silken chains of the priest's polite smile. By the time Maurice decided that he was willing to risk fire for escape the chance had long passed. He could feel the weight of the earth and temple above his head and in the heavy air. He did not think he would find his way free even if he murdered every one of the six soldiers.

He wondered if this was the way they had taken Lilah. And then he wondered what Bliss would do once she noticed his disappearance.

"Sergeant." The climb ended abruptly. An unlatched door loomed of the very foot of the staircase. The priest pushed the door open and gestured Maurice through.

He might have hesitated. He wanted to. But if no one else knew he died a coward, still he would know.

He stepped past the priest into darkness and then because he heard the sudden scrape of sword on scabbard and could not help himself, he lit the room with a burst of flame and smoke. The priest protested in shrill tones until one of the guards brought Maurice down with a heavy blow to the back of the head.

The world tilted. Maurice's flame went out but the room remained bright. He blinked hard. Eventually the world steadied just enough so that beyond the throbbing in his head he could recognize a small round table set with fruit, and bread, and ale.

From beyond the table stepped a young lad with an oddly familiar face. He cocked the silver pistol in his hand and leveled it, taking careful, precise and steady aim at Maurice's heart.

"How beautiful your flame is, conjured from thin air! And yet you told me, did you not," the lad said gently chiding, "that there was no such thing as witchery."

#writing #fantasy #lgbtq

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ziskandra · 8 years ago

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PRIORITY OPS: REPOPULATING HELEUS (Ch. 2)

what did you do today, natasha? i made a dress and cried in a bunning’s parking lot and i also finished the next chapter of the longfic (finally!) HERE YOU GO. ao3 link. 1 | 2 |

2. Home Truth

When Liam returned from Prodromos, Sara was nowhere to be seen. Liam wasn't an idiot. He knew Sara hadn't been herself lately. Still, he hadn't expected her to simply disappear without a trace; while part of him understood why she'd done it, it caused a strong feeling of foreboding to settle in his gut. Why couldn't she just talk to him? What had he done wrong? Had he screwed things up already? The thoughts swirled around in his mind, but they did nothing but agitate him. He wasn't going to get answers like this, and he was torn between going searching for them or finding a distraction to throw himself in. God knew they had enough to be working on, and right now, he'd like to be doing something with his hands.

It was shortly after he found Sara's note attached to the fridge, her penmanship all hard lines and contained angles, that there came a knock at the door. Liam pulled up the security feed, and at first when he saw bright blue eyes staring back at him, he thought it was Sara. His heart washed with relief before common sense kicked in. He blinked once, twice, before realising it wasn’t indeed Sara but someone with those very same eyes. Scott.

“Hey,” Sara’s brother called, waving in the general direction of the security cam. “I know I’m dropping by unannounced and all, but, can I come in?” He bent at the knees, lifting a carton up into Liam’s field of view. “I brought beer!”

Liam couldn't help but laugh, even though it still did little to ease his nerves. He didn’t know the guy well, yet, but from what he did know? He liked him. And maybe Scott’s sudden appearance here had something to do with Sara’s disappearance. It was surely too much to be a coincidence. “All right, all right,” he acquiesced, pressing the button for the door’s override on his omnitool. “Come on up.”

Once he heard Scott struggling to heft the carton up the stairs, Liam popped out himself to help him carry it inside. Scott’s breath was heavy with exertion, fingers pale where he’d been gripping the box, his forehead a fine sheen of sweat. “Please don’t tell the doc I’ve been overdoing it,” Scott huffed. “I should be able to carry a fucking box…”

The box, by Liam’s reckoning, weighed at least a good fifteen kilograms. Hardly anything to a man like Scott at the peak of his physical conditioning, but he wasn’t, and therein lay the rub. He raised an eyebrow. “I won’t if you stop,” he offered as a compromise.

Scott threw his head back and let out an exaggerated sigh as they settled the box down in the kitchen. “Oh, God, not you too.”

It struck Liam then, as he busied himself with opening the carton, just how similar the twins were. It made him smile despite himself, despite how frustrated he currently was with Sara. Was this galaxy really ready for both of Alec Ryder’s kids?

“This is just like Sare,” Scott muttered from where he was stood by the fridge, finger running over the note Liam had discovered just before the other man had arrived.

“Is this the part where you tell me why you’re really here?” Liam asked, handing some to Scott to put away; they wouldn’t all fit in the fridge, but he’d like to at least try.

“That obvious, huh?” Scott answered with a laugh.

“That obvious.”

Excess beer safely stowed, Liam busied himself with pouring one for himself, and one for Scott. “Tell me about it,” he asked, doing his best to keep the trace of neediness out of his voice. He’d always been the kind of person who’d striven to understand people, know what made them tick so he could help them, if and when they needed it. The fact that he’d so obviously missed the mark with the person he cared most about in this whole galaxy still stung.

“All right,” Scott agreed, “but let’s get comfortable. Nice place, by the way!” He cocked his head to the side, as though appreciating the architecture of the ceiling. It looked to Liam like most of the other buildings that they'd built in Heleus since their arrival. “Still waiting for the housewarming, though.”

They settled on the couch, a look of deep thought settling on Scott’s face, deepening the thought lines on his forehead. He was a young bloke, young looking even, but the expression aged him. “Okay,” he started slowly, hardly looking at Liam, “Firstly, I know it’s not my business. But secondly, I saw Sara before she went off-planet and just… thought you deserved a better explanation than whatever the hell that was.” He waved a hand at the fridge. "If you want to hear it."

Scott's repeated hesitation made Liam wonder just how many sternly-worded warnings Sara had given him about getting involved in her business. He wondered, too, whether he should accept Scott's offer. Possible that Sara would see it as some transgression of boundaries. And yet. The situation seemed to warrant it. He closed his eyes, taking a deep sip of his beer. It helped, somewhat. "Okay," he agreed, settling back into the couch cushions, "hit me with it."

"Ah, shit," Scott sighed, "I didn't actually think this far ahead." He fiddled with his glass, twirling it between his fingers. If they were drinking real beer, out of real bottles, old-school style, Scott Ryder was definitely the kind of guy who'd rip off the label. "Just first, let me tell you, it's got nothing to do with you, all right? She's always been a bit like this." As though sensing Liam would seek clarification, Scott shrugged his shoulders gently before continuing. "Things get all up in her head, under her skin, and then poof, she's gone. Always took after Dad more, for the better and the worse."

Liam couldn't miss the way Scott's eyes clouded over; he nudged the other man in the shoulder with his beer. "I'm sorry," he said, because what else could he say? He didn't know what it was like to lose a parent, not the way Sara and Scott did. He'd left his behind, yeah, but they'd gone on to live long and fruitful lives without him. He'd made a decision. A choice. One the twins had never had.

The corner of Scott's mouth curved upward, a sad and tiny smile. "It's okay. I had a lot of time to think while I was stuck in that coma. It's more... I wish I could have been there. For Sara."

Liam sagged slightly at Scott's words, because he knew that he'd tried his best in those early Andromeda days, hell, the whole crew of the Tempest had. But it still hadn't been enough.

As though reading Liam's mind, Scott threw him a shrewd look. "I know you love her. And I think you're good for her. But you don't know her like I do, and honestly? That's probably for the best."

There was something about the look in Scott's eyes that told Liam that if he wanted to dig more deeply, Scott would probably let him. But he’d heard enough for now, and maybe recklessly pushing Scott's buttons would just tell him things he was better off not knowing. Sara's not even here but it was hard to ignore the way she'd affected him, especially after she'd voiced her disappointment in him after the mess with Verand. The old Liam would have pushed and pushed and pushed. Now? He was more cautious, and his nerves were somewhat calmed, and that was all he could really ask for. "So, I left for Eos, and she took the opportunity to ...go?" he asked, just to be certain about the timeline of the whole thing.

"With the Tempest to Havarl," Scott confirmed. "She should be back soon enough. Give or take a few days. Still not certain about the travel time between places here." He took a long gulp of his beer, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "You know, one day, they're gonna have a proper comm buoy network all set up again, and everyone will be able to talk properly. Maybe." He winked.

Liam ran a hand through his hair. He really, really hoped he hadn't screwed things up.

***

Sara's return was marked by as little fanfare as possible. Liam was dozing off on the couch when he heard the door slide open. It could only be one person, the only other person who had access to their little house-slash-unit, whatever it was called. Liam felt his heart thump erratically in his chest as he heard Sara shuffle around in the bedroom before heading to the kitchen. He'd never been good at putting off confrontation, so he pushed himself up and forced himself to talk to her. He'd never really been good at this part of relationships; everything had always been fine until reality had set in, and that's when things got hard and when Liam started to feel out of his depth. Ended things, usually, before his temper did.

But he'd also never been this stupidly in love before, and with everything he and Sara had been through together? Hell, it still felt like something straight out of a vid. He took a deep breath and tried to remember all the other relationship advice his dad had ever given him. People like to feel they're being heard rose to the forefront of his mind, and it made him wonder if maybe he hadn't been listening enough. Sara wasn't ready for the kind of commitments that he had taken for granted. That was fine. He still loved her, and so long as she still loved him, they could work something out. Together.

Still. His throat felt raw and tight, like he was about to cry, as he approached her. She was standing by the refrigerator, stripped down to a singlet top and leggings, fastidiously removing the note she'd left there, the note that had Liam felt had been mocking him ever since he'd arrived home. "So," he started, doing his best to keep his voice even, "are we going to talk about it?"

Sara jumped, almost as though she hadn't expected him around, hadn't given his presence a second thought, a flash of guilt passing through her bright blue eyes before her gaze hardened. He'd recognise that look anywhere. Doubling down. With a shrug so careful it seemed practiced, she crumpled the piece of paper in one fist. "I left a note," she deadpanned.

"That's your explanation?" Liam said, more sharply than he anticipated. "'Hey, Liam, just have some things that need doing. Be back in a bit.'" He shut his eyes as he did his best to get a handle on his emotions. On one hand, yeah, Sara deserved to be listened to, and maybe he hadn't been doing a good enough job of that lately. On the other, his own feelings were still valid, and being left so thoroughly out of the loop like this? Well, it made him feel a bit shit, to be honest.

There was a moment of silence as Sara rustled around in the fridge, with a confused mutter about why the hell there was so much beer inside it. Eventually resurfacing with a large bottle of reconstituted orange juice, she took a deep sip straight from the container, wiping at her mouth with her wrist. "Yeah, that note," she answered with a jerk of her head. "Sorry it wasn't good enough for you or anything."

Sara's stubborn passive-aggression unfurls something tightly coiled within his chest, he felt it crawl up his neck before he could quite stop himself. "God damn it, Sara," he started, eyes bunched up tight as though it would stop the inevitable tears from falling, "I was worried about you." He'd pretty much watched her die three times now and he still hadn't cried in front of her. Not really. The thing was, Liam had never been ashamed of his emotions; had told her, even, about how he still cried at night when he thought about his parents, the Milky Way and the life he left behind. Yes, even though he loved his new life now. But Sara has always been his strength, his rock, and as long as she was happy, he was happy, and now she was in obvious distress and he still wasn't enough.

He watched Sara's face drop out of the corner of her eye; she set the juice down on the corner as she whispered to herself, "Oh my God, I'm such a jerk." She reached out for him, a hand hovering just inches from his arm. He recognised the gesture from her own need for personal space; she was never the type of person to touch without permission, and also the kind of person who liked to be asked first. Liam, conversely, had always been very tactile. Dating Sara had been a learning curve.

Taking the offer as intended, he took her hand and drew her into a hug, burying his head into her hair and inhaling deeply through his nose. She smelt like some sort of angaran flower that he couldn't quite place, but what was most important was that she was there and real and he hadn't lost her. "You might not have come back," he whispered against her ear, and he wasn't really talking about just Sara's ill-timed interplanetary jaunt. He was thinking about all those other times he'd almost lost her, to the kett, to the Archon, and to think that after they'd survived all that, he could have lost her because he couldn't stop running at the mouth about just how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

He knew Sara had never been emotionally demonstrative; empathetic, yes, likely to get caught up in the heat of the moment, most definitely. Yet the depth of her feelings was something she'd always kept close and tight to her chest. It wasn't that Sara didn’t love him, Liam realised, just that she showed it in different ways. God knew he knew enough about the beginnings of relationships to remember how easy it was to get caught up in lust and discovering a new partner without taking the time to think about one's own self. One's own needs. Probably something Sara had already done but Liam hadn't even stopped to think about. But there was time. They had time.

Sara buried her face into his chest, arms wrapping around him, holding him tight against her body. "I'll always come back for you, Liam Kosta," she assured him with a little laugh, a laugh that makes him feel a bit stupid for ever considering the opposite. "I just. Freaked out, okay? You were so certain about everything and I wasn't. But I'm feeling much better now." Her fingers splayed at his hips, running over the material they found there. "And I love you," she added, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

"I love you," he responded automatically, sniffling slightly to get all the last bits of congestion and whatnot out of his eyes and nose. "Are you going to tell me what you were doing down in Havarl?"

"I will," she promised, cupping his face with one hand, fingers wondering ponderously over his chin. Liam realised he'd forgotten to shave. "But let's go to bed first?"

Liam yawned. Sleep? Sleep sounded good.

#mass effect #mass effect andromeda #rydam #liam kosta #ryder #me:a spoilers #asha fic #nat fic: repopulating heleus

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kiribakus · 8 years ago

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the secrets you keep

kiribaku || first kiss || 3,700 words || sfw

These are just the growing pains of growing up and falling in love.

>> READ ON AO3 <<

“Ah,” Kirishima says, tapping at his lower back. “My spine hurts.”

Bakugou, lying on his bed with a textbook propped up on one leg, crossed over his knee, grunts and doesn’t look up from the page he’s reading. “If you stopped hunching over the table like an old man you wouldn’t bend your body into a fucking pretzel.”

“Mm, you’re right,” Kirishima says. “Ah, there’s tightness in my shoulder, too.” He squeezes at the sore muscle.

“Do I look like your physical therapist?”

“You could at least show some concern. I’ve been slaving over this homework for hours.”

“If you don’t like it, go back to your room and work at a real desk.”

“That’s cold. How could I pass up time spent with my crush?”

“I really will sock you in the jaw if you keep talking nonsense,” Bakugou says, flipping a page and still not looking at Kirishima.

“Okay, okay,” Kirishima says, flopping onto his back and staring at the ceiling of Bakugou’s room. It’s plain, devoid of posters, much like his walls. His furniture, his fuzzy rug, his sheets—black. The only indication of any personality is the bright comforter patterned with explosions that Bakugou’s mother had insisted he bring. Bakugou’s room was dark like Tokoyami’s, but instead of shining a light into Bakugou’s mind it was simply…blank.

Kirishima kneads his fingers in the rug and stares at the light, above him, turned off. The only light in the room was the generic desk lamp on Bakugou’s desk. Kirishima had offered to turn on the light but Bakugou seemed adamant to read in the darkness, grunting at Kirishima and throwing a pillow at him when he made to flip the switch.

“So welcoming,” Kirishima had said, just to tease Bakugou. But there was something about the darkness hanging heavy behind Kirishima’s eyes every time he blinked and swallowing his legs in shadow beneath the table that comforted like a blanket, making him feel safe in its embrace. Did Bakugou feel the same?

Nah, he probably just wanted to chase Kirishima out.

“You should stick some glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling,” Kirishima says.

“What did I just say about spouting nonsense,” Bakugou snaps, throwing another pillow at Kirishima. “Shut up and work or leave.”

It would be surprising if you did, though, Kirishima thinks. It would show something.

What did he know about Bakugou? Explosive temper, formidable physical power, iron willpower, and more pride than could fit in a room. Kirishima himself wasn’t weak by any means, but even his more modest personality exploded onto his walls and bounced around his room, taking the shape of posters and bedspreads and weights littered about the corners of his dorm. Someone like Bakugou shouldn’t have been this subdued. He should be uncontainable.

“I don’t know a thing about you,” Kirishima murmurs.

“Aaah?” Bakugou calls.

“Nothing,” Kirishima says, rolling onto his side to look at Bakugou. “You don’t like nonsensical statements and I’m no good at ruminating in the first place.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bakugou says, “but there’s a history paper not even halfway written on your laptop that’s due in two days. Soul search later.”

“Mm,” Kirishima replies, still looking at Bakugou.

Bakugou lets him get away with it for three minutes. He closes his textbook and exhales heavily from his nose. When his eyes meet Kirishima's, they’re just a little bloodshot. There are creases on his forehead running down his nose to meet the slight curl of his lip, the calm before the snarl. Looking Bakugou in the eyes was something like standing in the eye of a hurricane, still enough to hear your heartbeat pound with the anticipation of what was to come.

Bakugou opens his mouth. “If you keep staring at me—”

“What should I get you for your birthday?” Kirishima asks.

Bakugou’s eyes twitches. “Bastard, I told you not to—”

“There’s a vending machine downstairs,” Kirishima interrupts. “I can get you something if you tell me what you want. A drink, a snack, I don’t really care.”

“I want you to get the hell out of my room.”

“Fine,” Kirishima says. “But first you have to tell me what your favorite book was growing up.”

Bakugou holds eye contact with him for a long moment, grinding his teeth. Then, he clicks his tongue and turns his back on Kirishima. “Do whatever the hell you want.”

I make you angry, Kirishima thinks. But you let me get away with it. Why?

There’s so much he doesn’t know about Bakugou. In that way, Kirishima supposes he’s jealous of Midoriya. Even with their bad blood, Midoriya knew Bakugou. He’d grown up with him. Played with him, eaten lunch with him, met his parents. He knows things Bakugou likes, things he doesn’t like. If he collected bugs, or if he was good at sports; the way he reacted to a bad grade and how he celebrated graduation.

Kirishima doesn’t know those things. He can watch, and he can learn, but Bakugou, for all his explosiveness and his attitude, is secretive. His temper and foul mouth put off most, but those who can look around it find a blank wall. A carefully crafted, well devised, blank wall. The kind of wall you passed on the streets and forgot the moment you saw it, so plain it barely registered. Bakugou, at his core, was invisible.

“Bakugou, I like you.”

Kirishima doesn’t remember why he said it. He’d taken a liking to Bakugou from the very start, once he saw Bakugou in his element. Bakugou had that kind of subtle charisma that has you going why the fuck am I following this guy? as you run into the fray after him, covering his blind spot like you’re a couple of pro heroes who’ve been working together for years.

Kaminari understood. Kaminari also laughed when Kirishima told him about his crush and patted him on the back with a that’s rough, buddy.

Liking Bakugou came naturally for Kirishima, who had always admired men with strong convictions and honor in their actions. A fledgling crush on a boy who could punch villains twice his size with snap judgments and a composed face wasn’t unreasonable. It helped that Bakugou had a pretty face. Kirishima acknowledged his feelings without much fanfare. A crush was a crush was a crush.

“Bakugou, I like you.”

Why did he say that? He didn’t expect or even suspect Bakugou of returning his feelings. Kirishima hadn’t even the slightest inkling of how to tell if Bakugou felt anything but the urge to blow a hole through anyone who spoke to him. The closer he got to Bakugou, the further he got from any kind of understanding. Like his room, Bakugou was a black hole of emptiness.

“He’s so mysterious, man,” Kaminari had said. “A guy like that could do anything. I don’t think there's anything left that he could do to surprise me. I just trust him, you know? Guy’s got the kind of vibe to him that makes you think even if you don’t agree with him or his methods, he’s going to do the right thing.”

Kirishima had wanted him to break character. He wanted to surprise him, to throw a situation at him that he couldn’t expect, couldn’t react to in a way that would keep his wall intact. A sudden confession—who was prepared for that? Bakugou couldn’t possibly be prepared to face Kirishima’s feelings. He would be able to see something, anything, behind that wall.

“Aaah? You stupid? Stop talking nonsense.”

No, you don’t understand. It’s not a joke.

“This is a confession. I’m confessing to you.”

If you would just let me in…

“Just die already.”

…if I could just once…

“I’m serious! I’m seriously in love with you, dude.”

…but I can’t.

“I see. If you have time to talk nonsense, I don’t need to help you with those math problems.”

I understand.

“W-wait! Limits are too hard!”

I’ll continue to support you from the shadows. I won’t get in your way. I’ll learn what I can on my own.

“Ah,” Kirishima says. “I’m definitely the sidekick, aren’t I?”

From the bed, Bakugou snorts. “With an attitude like that, you won’t even make it to a pro’s side."

Kirishima laughs. “I guess compared to you, I’m not quite what they’re looking for.”

“Damn straight.”

“Oh, but I have a better attitude.”

Bakugou rolls over. “You wanna go?”

Kirishima smiles. “I thought I had a paper to write?”

Bakugou clicks his tongue and rolls onto his back, thumbing through his phone without replying.

“Besides,” Kirishima says, sitting up and opening his laptop. “If I was a sidekick to someone like you, I think things would turn out okay.”

Their paper is on dawn of the Golden Age of Heroes, before there were schools dedicated to raising hero eggs and vigilante work began to organize. Kirishima’s report focuses on Everest, one of the first named heroes, who Crimson Riot cites as one of his inspirations. Everest was a modest man who would drop the criminals he captured outside police headquarters and refused to officially take credit for his hero work. Kirishima’s searching for a famous quote of his when Bakugou says, “The All Might Adventure Chronicles.”

Blinking, Kirishima looks up. “The what?”

Bakugou doesn’t look at him. “The All Might Adventure Chronicles. They were watered down comics based on All Might’s real achievements. I knew they were exaggerated, but I still raced Deku to the store every week to buy a copy.”

Kirishima’s jaw drops.

“Green tea. I don’t like sugar and the caffeine in coffee gives me a headache. If you ever offer to buy me something again, I’ll blow you sky high. I hate giving and receiving gifts.” He shifts away from Kirishima. “And I would never have use for a sidekick in the first place. I either want someone who can stand at my side as a real hero or I want no one at all.”

Kirishima can hear every individual beat of his heart. His questions from earlier. Bakugou didn't--he never just answered questions.

But maybe, finally I could know why--

Kirishima swallows. “Why did Midoriya say it had to be me who called out to you, back then?”

“Watch yourself,” Bakugou says.

“Please,” Kirishima says, voice raw.

Bakugou rolls over and gets to his feet. He beckons sharply. “Come on. Get up.”

Mystified, Kirishima does.

Bakugou pushes the coffee table to the side of the room and takes up a sparring stance. “Your form was sloppy in class today. Your hand-to-hand in general is sloppy because you trust your Quirk too much.”

“Bakugou—”

“Put your fists up,” Bakugou orders. Kirishima does.

“We’ll move slowly,” Bakugou says. “Block me properly.”

He swings at Kirishima in slow motion. Kirishima holds up an arm and moves to block the punch. It’s followed up by a kick, equally slow. Kirishima sidesteps. He makes to counter and Bakugou bats him away.

“No,” he says. “Focus on blocking.”

So Kirishima keeps his guard up, taking soft hits to his arm, soft kicks to his legs, and dodging Bakugou while his eyes follow each of the movements. As Bakugou gets faster, Kirishima gets sloppier, eyes darting and trying to focus on Bakugou’s constant attacks, never giving him time to break. Kirishima trips over his own legs at one point.

“Your eyes are everywhere and nowhere,” Bakugou says. “You have to see everything.”

Kirishima shifts his focus to trying to see all of Bakugou’s attacks at once. He takes more hits, but as Bakugou picks up his speed again, Kirishima’s dodging and prediction of movements gets better. He keeps his eyes fixed on Bakugou’s core but darts up to his eyes, watching where Bakugou looks before he strikes, until he can keep up with a normal speed Bakugou. They dance around each other, Bakugou giving away fewer and fewer hints as Kirishima starts to catch up with him. It’s almost rhythmic, and Kirishima feels himself loosening up and blocking more fluidly, until he takes a step back and crashes into a wall.

Bakugou’s fist lands right next to his head, against the wall. “I said you have to see everything, your surroundings included.”

“I caught up to you, though,” Kirishima says, grinning. “I’m a fast learner.”

“You’re missing the point,” Bakugou says, stepping closer to him.

Oh, Kirishima thinks. The light from Bakugou’s desk catches on the ends of his hair and the muscles of his shoulders and lines of his neck, revealed by a black tank top. His eyes are definitely bloodshot and dark in the low light. He scowls with chapped lips that Kirishima can’t take his eyes off of.

“You’re doing it again,” Bakugou says, and Kirishima's eyes snap to his.

“I didn’t—”

“Not that,” Bakugou says. “You aren’t looking at the whole picture. Again. As usual.”

The whole picture? What was he talking about? The sparring? His answers before the sparring? The fact that he was here, in Kirishima’s space, close enough to bump Kirishima’s chest with his own? Kirishima’s mind races, but he can’t find a definite answer.

Bakugou presses his palm flat against Kirishima’s chest. Kirishima flinches under his touch, his pulse spiking.

“It really does excite you to be this close to me,” Bakugou says.

Kirishima makes a noise in his throat and shakes his head, but he can’t hold Bakugou’s unwavering gaze.

“Don’t bother lying to me,” Bakugou says. “It’s written all over your face. I don’t even need to touch you to know.”

Kirishima watches a droplet of sweat slide down Bakugou’s jaw.

“You’re the type of guy who likes to spar because he gets to touch the other person,” Bakugou says. “You’re into skin-on-skin.”

“That sounds dirty,” Kirishima says. “It’s not like—”

Bakugou lets go of him and instead leans in even closer, pressing his chest to Kirishima’s and resting his forearms on either side of Kirishima’s head. Kirishima flattens himself to the wall, face burning and every nerve lighting up when Bakugou moves, warm, against him. Lips brushing Kirishima’s ear, Bakugou murmurs, “You’re probably the type of guy who likes this kind of thing, too.”

“Bakugou, you…” Kirishima starts.

“Pretty far to go, just to get some,” Bakugou says. “All the times we’ve studied together—you’re persistent.”

“No,” Kirishima says as Bakugou leans away. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what?” Bakugou says. “You don’t want me?”

“Stop saying that,” Kirishima says. “Stop saying it like I’m using you. That’s not it.”

“No?” Bakugou says, stepping away. “You’re happy with things as they are? I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself.”

“I just wanted—”

“I know what you want,” Bakugou says. “Do you?”

Kirishima sinks to the floor.

Bakugou mirrors him, sitting on his bed. “Consider this from my perspective, for a moment. I never asked for any of this. I didn’t come to UA to make friends or have a wonderful high school life like you all did—I came here to be the best and that’s it.

“Imagine my irritation when this fucking annoying spikeball insists on being my friend. I never asked for backup—but he’s there. I never asked for someone to spend my afternoons with—but he’s begging me to tutor him. I’m not looking to have conversations, and yet he’s always at my side, bringing me into discussions with the class and checking in on me when I want to be left alone and frankly, making an absolute nuisance of himself.”

Bakugou rubs at his neck, scowling. “This guy is an open book. God forbid a villain comes along—they’d be able to read his greatest weakness as if it were in neon fucking lights. He always says what’s on his mind and never lies and opens up to anyone who takes the time to listen, even to those who don’t. Someone like that, you don’t try to get to know, you just know them. Whether or not you wanted to. You find yourself depending on them. Whether or not you wanted to.”

“Kirishima,” Bakugou says. “I’m not an open book. I will never be an open book. You’re looking for answers I will never give you. So stop asking.”

Kirishima swallows. “Does it annoy you that much?”

“Hell yeah it does,” Bakugou says. “I’m not here to answer your dumbfuck questions. Especially not when I’ve been giving you answers the whole time.”

—“Dude, your perceptiveness sucks,” Kaminari had said—

Tutoring him, agreeing to partner up with him, letting him stay over, answering his questions, giving him hints in sparring—could that really just be Bakugou’s way of saying “we’re friends”? No—Bakugou wanted him to look at the whole picture.

“I like you.”

“Stop talking nonsense.”

I already know, Bakugou was saying. You don’t have to say it.

And I feel the same way, he said when he took Kirishima’s hand.

“Don’t cry,” Bakugou says, scowling harder.

“Sorry,” Kirishima sniffles, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “I just—this whole time, I thought—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Bakugou says, lying back down on his bed and tucking his head under his arms. “You suck at taking a hint. You’re the least subtle guy I know. Too fucking bad for you.”

Kirishima blinks. “Does that mean we’re—”

“Not a chance in hell,” Bakugou says. “You still don’t know what you want, let alone have the ability to put a name on it.”

Kirishima pouts. “Stingy.” For lack of something better to do, he crawls back over to the coffee table, pulls his laptop into his lap, and goes back to working on his paper.

Except, he’d kind of just gotten confessed to, and focusing on hero work wasn’t possible. Kirishima, hero or not, was still a teenager, and having the boy he liked say (more or less) “hey, I like you back” was a recipe for zero concentration.

“Bakugou,” Kirishima asks. “Can I kiss you?”

“More stupid questions,” Bakugou says. “Just so you know, the three I answered earlier were your only freebies. Figure the rest of it out on your own.”

Well. It wasn’t a no.

Kirishima stands up and moves to Bakugou’s side, settling at the edge of his bed. Bakugou’s eyes are closed and he’s scowling. When Kirishima’s weight dips the bed, Bakugou cracks one eye open. “Well?”

Kirishima smiles. He wasn’t going to make this easy, was he? It’s not like Bakugou had a reputation for being exceedingly romantic. Or even interested in things like romance or kissing or sex.

“It’s really okay?” Kirishima asks.

“Didn’t you hear what I said? Figure—”

“Cross your wrists over your head,” Kirishima says.

Bakugou’s other eye opens. His expression doesn’t change, but he moves his arms from under his head and crosses his wrists.

Kirishima leans over him and secures his hands above his head, gripping them firmly without hurting Bakugou. His other hand slides under Bakugou’s shirt and presses against his skin, over his heart. Beneath his fingers, Kirishima can feel the steady thrumming of a wild animal’s heartbeat, a tad too quick to be normal. Kirishima smiles.

Bakugou clicks his tongue and looks away, hunching his shoulders.

“Hey,” Kirishima says.

Bakugou glares at him.

“I see the whole picture,” Kirishima says. He lifts the hand on Bakugou’s chest and cups his cheek instead, leaning in to kiss him.

He kisses light, just the press of lips. This close, he can feel the tension in Bakugou’s body and the barely returned kisses. Kirishima brushes his thumb over Bakugou’s cheek, smoothing the skin beneath his finger. He gives Bakugou’s wrists a squeeze. Bakugou hunches his shoulders tighter as if to say I know, and he forcibly relaxes himself, kissing back at Kirishima with quick, deliberate motions.

Kirishima grins into the kiss, leading Bakugou to hold out for a few moments and retreating only to brush their lips and foreheads together, the suggestion of intimacy. Bakugou’s lips are as chapped as they look, not smooth like Kirishima’s, and the sensation when they kiss tickles. As if resisting Kirishima’s gentleness Bakugou kisses back forcibly, searching for something more.

Kirishima isn’t sure of himself, but he tilts his head and gives Bakugou more.

Mouths parted means that Bakugou can seal their mouths together in a different way, their wetted lips fused as if by fire and feeling just as hot. It’s Kirishima who introduces tongue, the experimental brush of his tongue tip along the seam of their mouths. Bakugou inhales sharply through his nose, but his teeth tug at Kirishima’s tongue and Kirishima presses harder, both with hands and mouth.

He thinks he’s got it, thinks he’s found a rhythm, but when Kirishima tries to pull back Bakugou is chasing after him, arching his spine so their chests touch again and pulling Kirishima back. His fingers flex under Kirishima’s grasp and he pulls against the restraints. Kirishima’s breath stutters and he lets go of Bakugou’s face to push his chest down, holding him in place. Bakugou growls, but allows Kirishima to sit up, looking down on him.

“I’m sorry for making you wait,” Kirishima says. “And I’m sorry for being dense.”

“Whatever,” Bakugou says, voice rough.

“I know what I want,” Kirishima says. “I want it slow. I want to be with you, and learn to read you without words, so you never have to go out of your way to show me what you mean again. I’ll learn your body language, and your choice of words. I won’t be your sidekick; I’ll be your partner.”

Kirishima’s eyes widen and he sucks in a breath. “I want to be your partner.”

“Obviously,” Bakugou says. “You’re so gay.”

Kirishima grins. “Only for you.”

Kirishima watches Bakugou’s eyes dip below his eyes, to his mouth, then back to his face. He watches Bakugou jut out his chin and shift under Kirishima’s hands—not pulling, just reminding Kirishima that he’s there. And he draws his legs up, bumping into Kirishima’s back.

“I know what you want,” Kirishima says, and he leans in again.

#kiribaku #bakushima #bnha #fics #growing pains of me relearning my style #fiction workshop makes me cognizant of my own style and its #uh #not ideal

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hautekurture · 8 years ago

Text

[para] truth at first sight

characters → @happilyeveranders, @hautekurtures

location → nyada campus, new york

timeframe → dec. 18, 2016 afternoon

summary → blaine and kurt meet for the first time on the way to the nyada post office. blaine is truth-stickered and kurt is honestly blunt, naturally, as they get into a discussion about what to believe.

notes → none.

Kurt had finished his letter to his dad that very morning. Who knew letter writing would be so hard? He missed the ability to call his dad over multiple states or texting him when things got too hard. Even if Burt Hummel would send him dumb things on Facebook and share it on public mode for all to see, Kurt missed communicating with his dad easily. But apparently that was breaking one of the rules. Kurt was not allowed to contact his friends or family regularly until he was approved by the Committee. Whoever they were, they had sent Kurt to this place. The New York Academy of Divine Arcanum. A-u-g-h. NYADA on the outside was some progressive learning annex but in reality, it was a bourgeois prison. A prison that had no clothing storage options that Kurt could go behind on.

After three different drafts of his letter, Kurt finally had one that the censors wouldn’t strike out. In the lies of the letter, Kurt had written to Burt that he wanted to try acting, and had auditioned at NYADA out of a whim, and had gotten in on scholarship. This would sting Kurt, as he had always mocked actors moving to New York for their Big Apple Break. He also wrote something stupid about trying a tech-free cleanse that was a New York trend among the artsy elites, which was why his phone and social media were currently quiet. Kurt knew that Burt could smell a lie a mile away but when it came to his son, Burt would always believe Kurt. The guilt piled on.

Kurt wrote that he was sorry but he had cancelled his flight to Lima. Christmas and New Years Eve plans were going to change. That part hurt the most. The holidays were the only time Kurt allowed himself actual family time, and now he wouldn’t be able to see his dad for who knew how long. He had to excuse himself from writing at times so that he wouldn’t get worked up emotionally and cry.

If there was one thing he wasn’t going to do, it was going to be crying at NYADA.

His lies now sealed in an envelope, Kurt took to one of the things that cheered him up, picking his outfit for the day. The new closets that Tina and Elliott had brought over were to Kurt’s taste, and when he opened the doors, Kurt felt like he was back to his normal life, just over three months ago.

Seeing the weather was going to be cold, Kurt layered on his black wool garbadine and leather Saint Laurent Classic Teddy Studded Jacket over his Alexander McQueen embroidered skull long-sleeved sweatshirt. It was a stunning match with his Givenchy star-embroidered slim leg jeans. Kurt checked himself out in the full-length mirror that he had installed and then pulled off his navy and red single-striped Paul Smith double-breasted coat from its hangar to complete the look. Perfection, the name was Kurt Elizabeth.

He was feeling his inner diva as he took his Saint Laurent Nevada 20 Harness Boots, black suede obviously, and flicked off his dorm’s light with gloved hands. It was time to deliver a letter in style.

Blaine felt like he was going mad; gluing his eyes to his phone was an endeavor that he would add to his list of un-enjoyable acts of subterfuge. Having to pretend not to hear the greetings his way had made the first year representative for Florence Farr feel like he was letting down in constituents, but Blaine knew the tricky traditions of NYADA enough to steel himself from an unavoidable dosage of truth serum. He walked quickly, eyes scanning the moving dot on his map app, and turned up one collar on his coat to avoid being recognized. Why didn’t he bring a scarf? Blaine thought of himself as real dumb, for real, as he hummed a song in his head in efforts to drown out the voices calling his name. Jabir Ibn Hayyan wasn’t too far... He could make it to the Marketplace!

Kurt grumbled. His life was the worst. He had nearly tripped over some strange goo on the floor while leaving his building and did not want to think what that was like. He would never complain about New York City’s trash again. At least NYC didn’t have shiny blue liquids that looked like it came from the ass of an unicorn. Annoyed with the bad SyFy effects he had to live with for the next four years, Kurt was taken aback when on the way to the JIH Marketplace, he spotted someone who looked familiar looking down and frowning a storm into a phone.

Wait a second, wasn’t that guy that one weird optimist whom Kurt briefly chatted on tumblr and then later instagram-stalked? What the hell was his name? Kurt had it on the tip of his tongue. “Blaine!” Kurt then gasped in the back of his throat for he had said the name out loud.

Blaine would deny that he raised his head because the voice reminded him of someone. He would deny it, if he could. At the moment he lifted up his eyes from his phone, he was buffeted by a sudden breath he took in, sharp like winter wind, because that fair skin, auburn-hair, in the distance there, could that have been -- Blaine only barely recognized his own feet quickening toward the boy that was -- “Kir--” the name hurt to say, his throat got half-choked, half-burned in his desperation, but it wasn’t -- the figure was taller, eyes cooler, and hair a grander fanfare. Blaine stopped himself. All of himself. A foot or so away, Blaine stared, trying to mask his disappointment. It wasn’t Kirk. Blaine stood in front of -- “Kurt.” Oh aetherflip.

Kurt ’s lips parted when Blaine approached him with such unexpected energy. On the internet, the boy before him sounded delusional, like he had fairy tales for breakfast. However it seemed with the trim and bespoke manner that were present that Blaine Devon Anderson looked like he had come out of a fairy tale, one of those Disney ones that Kurt sort-of grew out of when he was in middle school. Princely, wasn’t Blaine? The dark and neat parted hair, vibrant hazel eyes, and the warmth radiating from Blaine’s face was, Kurt dared to say, okay to look at. However Blaine looked it didn’t change the fact that Blaine was one of those magician buffoons. Coolly Kurt crossed his arms and smirked. “Well hello there, Blaine Devon Anderson. Charmed to make my acquaintance?” He snarked, making light of the way Blaine introduced himself.

Blaine ‘s reply came out automatic. And the strange thing was, it was true. “Delighted. Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. You want everyone to remember the name because they’ll be working for you?” Blaine remembered reading the line when he checked on Kurt’s blog the first time the self-professed Common student had made his mark on Blane’s tumblr dashboard. The longer that Kurt looked over him with those pale blue eyes, Blaine was reminded of Kirk. He looked away, unable to face it any longer. The image stung, his own eyelashes were nettles as Blaine blinked. He felt a growing panic in his stomach. It was whirring in his gut gently like a little twister and built up every second. How could he mitigate this? Kurt was the first people he saw -- aetherheck, this was going to be something dreadful. He was starting to get red and flushed in that sharp gaze of Kurt’s.

Kurt ‘s lips turned into a pout. That wasn’t the reaction he had expected from Blaine. Why was the boy so friendly? Biting away the unpleasant sensation in his throat, Kurt aimed to change the topic. His voice was high and still cool like a December freeze. He smirked, commenting, “You keep looking away, am I keeping you from your magician things?”

Blaine jerked his head back up toward Kurt. While Kirk was taller than Blaine by an inch or so, Kurt was noticeably taller. To say that the different dynamic affected Blaine was an understatement, he felt more raw and vulnerable, mostly attributing to the sticker’s hex. He tried to fight Kurt’s question, admitting to the other student that he was thinking about a missing friend... that would be a mood-killer, no? Blaine was sweating, his tongue floppy and useless in his mouth while he tried to come up with something, but the sticker prevented Blaine from saying it. Instead out came the rushed and anxious, “N-no, hahaha... It’s a normal errand. What about you? Still looking for the closet, are you going to the marketplace?” He felt out of breath at the end of his rapid-fire sentence. Better to shift the focus to Kurt than him.

Kurt ‘s perplexed face only grew the more Blaine squirmed around. Was Blaine nervous around him? A part of Kurt hated that for he was no bully. While he was sharp-tongued, he didn’t want anyone to fear him. But another part of Kurt was delighted. Something about Blaine acting so skittish around him was indestructibly potent. There was no name for this feeling but Kurt didn’t mind it. Which made Kurt himself feel nauseated as the feeling passed. He flexed his toes and lifted up on his tip-toes for a second, moving tired muscles and partly to shake off this nausea. Blaine’s questions didn’t need a long answer. “...No, I was able to find one thanks to Tina. Yes. It’s close by here, isn’t it.”

Blaine lit up at the mention of Tina -- his best friend was so helpful and lovely -- and that Kurt was answering his questions without any sort of snark to them. Seeing as though Kurt had semi-asked a question (though the tone didn’t betray one), Blaine offered himself smiling up at Kurt with honest warmth, “I’m headed that way, too.” Whilst at the moment he was truth-stickered and his plan to greet the postman struck out badly by the distinctly fashionable boy in front of him, Blaine didn’t mind sight-seeing NYADA during Yuletide. He already seen some of the marketplace’s decorations but not in full detail as he had been busily traveling around for traditional celebrations. “Want to go together?”

Kurt sniffed. Did Blaine see him like a lost child? Even if he didn’t know where exactly the Post Office was in that sprawling marketplace, he could do it by himself. Sticking up his nose, Kurt turned to walk past Blaine. “As if I need help. No thanks, I can read a map.” He muttered, loud enough for Blaine to hear. It was a mean-spirited challenge. Maybe finally Blaine would break that stupid charming smile.

Blaine reached out, putting up a hand to stop Kurt before the other got the wrong impression. Blaine’s eyebrows rose when he saw Kurt’s soured features and he gently lowered his tone, patient and cordial. He explained, “Not help, just company’s sake. It’s going to be the holiday season soon, so why don’t we take it easy before everything goes a little awry? Besides, we are headed the same way. I’d love to enjoy your company.” Blaine slowly angled his outstretched hand so that his palm faced upward at Kurt; it was inviting and open.

Kurt kept on feeling off-kilter around Blaine. Why didn’t Blaine get mad at him? Kurt had rejected the boy’s way of life too many times to count on one of his manicured hands. But Blaine was relentless, he was determined, and he wasn’t so in Kurt’s face with everything. That thick guilt made Kurt’s neck heavy. The walk wasn’t so long from what Kurt remembered seeing on his phone. He looked down at Blaine, rolled his eyes, and grasped at Blaine’s hand to shake. “Only until the marketplace.” He said.

Blaine ‘s grin was broad as can be, eyes crinkling up into two indented crescents. His fingers wrapped around Kurt’s gloved hand as he lead them into the walk toward Jabir Ibn Hayyan, oblivious to how they looked in their surroundings. He was more focused on Kurt, “I noticed that you have a letter in your hand, so post office?” Blaine questioned, wondering who the recipient could be.

Kurt couldn’t believe that he was holding hands and walking. With Blaine. He kept on glancing over at the weird boy but Blaine was either ignorant or stupid or sweet or all three. He hoped no one was noticing them and picked up his pace. He almost felt embarrassment until Blaine mentioned the letter, cradled in his free arm, and suddenly he could care less about hand-holding. “Christmas. Letter. For my dad.”

Blaine ‘s face fell, eyebrows furrowed. Kurt was separated from his family during this time of year. Kurt had made quite a fuss about not caring that he was alone on the dashboard, but that was then and this was now. Wouldn’t someone be lonely as they were if they had to be taken from their home? Blaine swallowed down a horrible gulp; did all Lusus Naturae suffer this? He asked quietly and solemnly to Kurt, “Does he know about NYADA?”

Kurt noticed the tone change in Blaine’s soft voice and didn’t ask. Kurt didn’t want to dwell on anything. He was stuck here. The day where someone were to rescue him and tell him that this was a nightmare, that Kurt had been Punk’d, wasn’t going to arrive. No Ashton Kutcher. But even if he was out of his element, it didn’t mean that Kurt was going to be accepting of this world’s inhumane laws or labels. It was snarkier than intended, but Kurt was not the one to take back his words. “No. What about you. You got one of those elaborate satanic rituals to be all excited about? What are you doing for holiday.”

Blaine chuckled, taking Kurt’s joke in stride. He looked over his shoulder to spy at Kurt’s grumbling and shook his head. His other hand turning into an index finger point, Blaine went through the complete dialogue of satanism versus magical craft. At times he got a little too into it, moving his hand around as though he were casting. “Oh, satanic rituals are for witches who dabble in dark necromancy! ....That’s outlawed by the United Magic Council. It’s one of the cardinal laws.” He gave Kurt a brief run-down of the rules, though Kurt didn’t seem to be very interested. However at the second part of Kurt’s question, Blaine’s confidence faltered. Again, here he wanted to lie so much. Tell Kurt how immensely important and lovely the Anderson banquets were but that dizzying sensation returned stronger than ever. He stammered, “And--ah, um, I--” and then sighed, giving up the fight. “I actually don’t like... Yuletide, much. Our family traditions are... too fake for me.” He gave Kurt a weak smile, hoping that Kurt wouldn’t be disappointed or worst, judging of Blaine for being rude toward his own family.

Kurt discovered for the first time that Blaine Anderson had something to him that wasn’t a children’s crayon art of sunshine and rainbows.“...I’m surprised.” Kurt said, and let a silence hang. Then Kurt was the one to step forward in his Saint Laurent and pull Blaine into a walk. Why did Kurt hold on? He supposed that finally Blaine felt... common? Normal to him, approachable honestly. Even inside this insane magic school, there was something human and familiar. Kurt was gruff but said, “I didn’t expect you to tell me that. Here I thought you’d smile and say it’s paramount or whatever SAT word for the simple definition of great...” He glanced at Blaine and actually smiled for once during their conversation.

Blaine ‘s mouth was little open as he breathed out a relieved huff of a laugh. “Hah, I guess it’s hard to lie around you. Are you going to be celebrating Christmas?” He asked, walking faster to match Kurt’s longer legs. Soon they were side-to-side. Jabir Ibn Hayyan’s marketplace was in the distance, very close by. Blaine could spot the chimney smoke from the multiple roofs there.

Kurt snorted and said, “I don’t believe in Christmas. I only celebrate it because of my dad. He always loved the Hallmark side of things.” He gave Blaine a look and tossed his hair. Now this was the time for Blaine to snap, wasn’t it? Kurt showed a toothy, daring grin. Many people snapped at this point. Kurt recalled his grandparents whom he had to write cards to when he was younger. Kurt finally lost in touch with when they had visited their son Burt in Lima, and was appalled that their cute grandson was a born sinner for not only being gay, but for not believing in God. How could Kurt do it? How could he when the religion said that who he felt love toward was wrong? His stare at Blaine was callous. “If you couldn’t tell, Atheist here. I don’t believe in gods, much less a god. Is that against your magic values?”

Blaine tried to figure out the sharpness in the blue eyes but realized that this wasn’t right. If his intuition was guiding him right, Kurt had unveiled -- perhaps involuntarily -- a core wound. Blaine felt terrible for the boy, at the things he might have gone through. While Blaine wasn’t a believer of the Christian faith, he knew many Commons were in the United States. Without warning, he squeezed Kurt’s hand that was wrapped around his, emoting that he was here and present. He replied, “No, not at all. Many esoteric traditions are open, whatever you believe in, is what you believe in.”

Kurt chuckled darkly, amazed by Blaine’s openness. This was all for show. Blaine was saying this to make Kurt feel better. He held Kurt’s hand to look nice, to be kind and all that fake niceties. That was it. Kurt hated people who sucked up to him to try to make him feel better. “What if I believe in science? In what I know is true?”

Blaine found no fault in that. “Of course, then. Why not?” He asked Kurt aloud.

Kurt stopped in his tracks. He whipped his head, eyes wide and mouth hanging out so low that it might as well be unhinged from his jaw. Kurt was shocked that Blaine had uttered a thing. “Excuse me. What?”

Blaine grinned as he talked; Kurt’s expression at times, was funny to see. He repeated himself with confidence. “Why not, Kurt? I believe in science too.”

Kurt yanked his hand away and glared at Blaine. The gloved hands waved through the air as Kurt accused Blaine, “But you’re a--you’re one of those loony magicians! Fakes. It’s all smokes and mirrors--you believe in that crap. How can you believe in science!”

Blaine held his ground, not perturbed by the outburst. Blaine went to Florence Farr. People flipped for the smallest of things (Blaine himself not excluded from this trait). He said to Kurt, calmly and with a little smile. “Belief is open, as I said. Atoms can’t be seen but we believe that they exist, don’t we? Through science? We have never seen a black hole close up but we believe they exist and that they can suck up everything, including light. What I’m saying is both are valid. Magic isn’t the only answer to everything, I admit that. I read up on things not only related to magic, you know.” He crossed his arms and gave Kurt a protective look.

Kurt didn’t know how to react--for a blink’s worth. Doggedly, he then countered, “So if I say that my powers aren’t... magic, augh, but a genetic mutation, like a--a deficiency, you’d believe me?” This was the belief that Kurt had held his entire life. The one that those on tumblr kept on saying wasn’t real.

Blaine thought for a moment and then shrugged. “Why not. Biochemistry is complex.” Aether knew that the supernatural sciences, especially transmutation, was a hot field that was constantly changing.

Kurt then implored, voice breaking at the start, “What about that I’m not a--a Changeling, that I’m human?” He finished strong and exhaled, staring at Blaine afterward.

Blaine looked at Kurt honestly for the first time in true shock, then pity, then empathy. He knew what it felt like to be out of his identity, in some way, though not to the extent of Kurt. That high voice and even higher prideful facade that Kurt had crafted -- there was some cracks that Blaine could see now. But that didn’t diminish Kurt at all. Blaine closed his eyes, breathed, and stared back at the glassy blue eyes in resolution. He said, “If that’s the belief you have, that’s the truth to you. Why not.”

Kurt didn’t say anything. Instead he turned around, continuing on the way to the marketplace. Shoving his gloved hands into his pockets, Kurt kept his eyes to the ground, watching as his boots crunched in the leftover slush of winter. Quietly but with enough volume for Blaine to hear, he turned his neck around to say to Blaine, “I still won’t believe in magic.” There was a bit of a smirk though. He waited for Blaine to follow.

Blaine followed, initially wrought with worry that Kurt was mad at him, but the other seemed not be. He grinned and then followed, jogging lightly to catch up the distance. “Consider it to be a genetic mutation, something scientific, then, Kurt. You don’t have to change yourself to a different rubric. Everyone believes in something.” He explained as they finally entered the marketplace. Decorations of every kind lit up the square and people were going around, carrying presents. Blaine smiled at the scene and then led Kurt to the Post Office, pointing out the green building’s sign. They entered together and heard a ring as the door opened for them.

Kurt was quiet as Blaine explained some more. “Hm,” was all he said, but he took what Blaine said to heart. Maybe he didn’t believe in magic, but others could... or something. He sighed, fighting himself on his complicated emotions. He took some brief glances at how the square was prettied up, but not to the extent of Blaine. No matter how beautiful, this place didn’t feel like home with the simple tree and little decorations Burt did himself. Now that was what was truthfully gorgeous. Once inside, Kurt handed off the mail to the post office clerk without a hitch. “So, are you here to pick up something?” He asked Blaine.

Blaine was thinking of how the gala invites would be this year and was out of it until Kurt re-entered his personal atmosphere. Oh no! The sticker! Blaine tried o lie but in the end, he was bound by the hex. “Ah, no! I... urk. Needed -- uh, wanted to see a postman, that’s it. But I don’t have to. Anymore. Yes...” He trailed off pathetically and then weakly grinned at Kurt. Exiting the building, Blaine felt like an idiot.

Kurt made a face and followed Blaine outside. Blaine was cute but had weirdness stamped onto him like a clothing brand. “You are so odd. I finished dropping off my letter so, I’ll be heading back into my dorm to have a normal night. Bye.” He was going to leave, expecting the conversation to end like that.

Blaine “Ah wait, Kurt.” He reached out and grasped at Kurt’s arm with little force. Thinking of Kurt being alone pained Blaine. “I know you might not want to, so don’t feel bad if you want to decline... but would you be interested in attending a Yulemas party that Tina and I are throwing? It’ll be on the twenty-third. I’ll be posting an online itinerary on tumblr. I’d... I’d really love to see you there.”

Kurt eyed the hand on his arm with short distaste before his attention was diverted Blaine-ward. He didn’t know what to say at first. Blaine was inviting him to a party? What for? Pity? But Blaine wasn’t looking at him for pity. It was complicated. He said, unsure, “Thanks for the invite. I’ll... I’ll think about it. Blaine, thank you.” Kurt eyed to his left, signaling his departure, and then started to walk away.

Blaine moved the hand away and then grinned wide. That wasn’t a rejection! Kurt might come! Excited beyond doubt, Blaine waved great motions at the leaving figure. “Then... See you around, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel!”

Kurt waved like he had seen the queen do on television, many years ago. It was a swivel of his wrist, nothing too big, but when Blaine waved back, hand outstretched and arm flapping like some idiot, Kurt ended up smiling when he turned away to walk back to his dorm.

#ref: paras #para: blaine anderson #// thank lapi for their patience :x

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theimaginesyouneveraskedfor · 8 years ago

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Forgotten Vows XVIII

Chapter 18: Not the End

Thranduil could barely recall how he had found his way out of the forest. His elk had been waiting where he had left him and he wiped away the welling of tears in his eyes as he mounted the creature. It was all he had left. The only living beast to offer comfort to the elven king when all others had run away. Swaying with the easy movement of the elk, he found his way back to the inn from which he had skirted away in the early morning, tracking the path of his lost lover.

He could not blame her for reacting as she had but in a moment of raw emotion, he had been surprised at himself. It had been long since he had felt such overwhelming chaos within. She had sparked in him those years before the remnants of passions which had been shredded at the loss of his first love and her flight had buried them once more. Yet seeing the elfling, who in his heart he could not deny as his own, even if blood would say otherwise, it had thrown him into a whirlwind.

His heart did not cease its racing even as he greeted the frantic guards who halted at his sudden arrival and looked to each other in confusion. They had likely spent their day searching out their missing liege and did not so much as expect him to come riding up so lackadaisically.

He dismounted and entered the tavern without a word, passing the drunkards and guests within before climbing the stairs to his chambers. The venue was dingy and he had brushed away the protests of his escort at the state of the place, knowing he would spend little time there. He had chosen it because he had sensed her presence beyond the trees not because he sought a clean bed or hot bath. Sitting heavily on the sagging mattress, he looked down at his long legs, his leather boots still dirty with forest growth. Kicking it off, he closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hands.

He would not give up so easily, he could not. He had looked for years, for traces of Yeyette and those of his son but both had eluded him. It was with disbelief that he had stumbled upon her little forest home hidden between the evergreens and he had awaited her with the certainty that she would never appear. Yet when he had laid eyes upon her it was as if she were the only thing which existed in the world. And the elfling, how he could not stop thinking about her.

Suddenly, he stood with a new sense of resolve though he had little inkling of what to do next, he only knew he had to do something. Pacing the floor for a moment, he stopped before the cracked mirror which presented a warped reflection of his silver eyes. There was not much hope in the plan blooming inside his mind but it was all he had and he refused to slink home to Mirkwood just yet. A long road stretched before him and the only one he could see which led to Yeyete.

Thick sheets of snow formed hills atop those naturally curved over the earth, weighing down the hooves of horse and elk alike. Four elven guards rode alongside Thranduil as he crested the broadest of the slopes and he peered out over the pristine hinterland of the Frost Meadows. The wrought iron and oaken gates stood starkly in the distant, barely visible under the blankets of snow upon them. The last time he had spied the walls of the elven kingdom he had come to speak of the very same princess, though now the circumstances were not so appealing.

He expected little fanfare and even less welcome as he set off down the hillside, his elk carefully plunging its hooves into the endless snow. One wrong step and rider and steed would find themselves overturned, or even buried. While summer glowed in those other elven kingdoms of Middle Earth, the Frost Meadows was in the midst of their harshest and longest winter. It was news across the land that the snows had not melted since the old king had died.

Horns blasted as the arrival of the Mirkwood king was noticed and the tower guards harried to stand their posts, looking down on the five riders below. Thranduil brought his elk to a halt and looked up implacably as his banner-bearer cleared his throat.

“Thranduil Opherion, King of Mirkwood, seeks entrance to the kingdom of the Frost Meadows and an audience with King Ciaran of the Niqeth.”

Chatter ensued upon the ramparts before a rusted helmet peeked over the side and examined the party of pale elves. “King Thranduil of Mirkwood may enter but no audience will be given.”

“King Ciaran cannot refuse court to an ally,” The banner-holder, Eris, called up and Thranduil waved away more of his words.

“We will accept entrance and barter for nothing more.” Thranduil’s elk turned in its track impatiently, “It is cold and the snows deep. We are want to be under a roof more than anything.”

“Then you may enter,” The rusty-helmed guard replied gruffly, “One night and then you return to whence you came.”

“My king,” One of Thranduil’s guard, Orin began to speak but was silenced by his leige’s silver eyes piercing him.

“News of our arrival will not see us without visitors,” Thranduil assured as the great wheels of the gate began to turn and the doors slowly creaked inward, “The king must keep his public grudges strong but behind closed doors, he will tend to his duties.”

Orin silenced and the rest of the elven guard regained their placid expressions, only want to be done with the fool’s journey of their king. They had trekked across river and ice, grass and snow, plain and mountain, and all for a missing princess with no desire to be found. Thranduil had not told them of his meeting with Yeyette and they did not guess at it; they were bound to serve him and not ask questions.

The Mirkwood king was led through the gate with his five standard-bearers, the rusty-armoured elf introducing himself as Cullen before leading them through the frozen streets of the kingdom. The Frost Meadows were rustic compared to the splendor of Mirkwood but Thranduil knew of its hidden beauty; when the snow would melt away, it could rival even his own kingdom. Even with the winter, it had a certain touch of charm.

As his other visits, he was shown to the chambers of royal guests in the king’s own ancient abode; a castle bastioned with iron and silver and guarded by several wrought statues of snarling wolves. His escort was shown to their own lesser rooms and the king was at last, left on his own to await the calling of those who had sworn not to see him.

Ciaran was Bernard’s son and he would come; he would likely be angry, but he was just as stubborn. So, the king draped one leg over the other on a cushioned chair and waited for another king to appear at his door.

Patience had often flown from him when it was needed but in dire times, it always served as his stronghold. Hours after he had planted himself in his seat and leaned his elbow against the carved arm of the chair, a knock came at his door and he stood, calling for entrance of his guest. However, it was not the king of the Niqeth who appeared before him but the Dowager Queen, her honey silk hair pinned back primly as she wore a black gown of mourning, though her husband had been dead for years now.

“Queen Thea, I--” He began to greet her but his words were cut off as she quickly closed the distance between them and her hand struck his cheeks sharply. He stood silent and passive, knowing he deserved much and more than her strike.

“You,” She scowled and her famed elven beauty showed the lines of bitterness and age alike, “My daughter goes missing and I hear nothing from you but a line of ink.” She pulled forth the crumpled strip of parchment from her sleeve, his broken wax seal hung from it still and he surmised she had been holding onto it for as long as Yeyette had been gone, “You told me my daughter would be safe in your kingdom.”

“I did,” Thranduil looked down guiltily and braced himself for another blow that did not come, “I know any apology I give is not enough to atone for the wrongs I have done you and your kingdom, but--”

The silver king was interrupted once more as the door whipped open behind Queen Thea and a familiar angry face appeared before him. Thranduil was barely able to marvel at Ciaran’s resemblance to his father before the Niqeth’s brawny fist took him in the same cheek as his mother’s palm. Thranduil kept silent but his eyes watered at the pain as he brought his hand up to hold his face and watched as Thea struggled to control Ciaran, holding him back with whispered words.

“You,” Ciaran growled, he had grown the same beard as his father since they last saw one another; the Niqeth were the only elves who sported such facial hair, “You drove my sister away! What did you do to her?”

“Before you feed us some pathetic lie, I will have you know we heard elsewise from your very son,” Thea turned back to Thranduil as she kept her hand on Ciaran’s, “Legolas at least had the grace to tell us in person of Yeyette’s disappearance…though I suspect he withheld some significant information of the reasons for it.”

“Legolas?” Thranduil choked out; he had found no trail of his son in all those years since he had fled, “Is he here?”

“He came and went,” Ciaran waved his hand in the air, “We asked if he was going to look for her but all he said was he was merely looking to get away from you.”

“Our own scouts have been searching for her, of course,” Thea intoned solemnly, “But it would seem she does not wish to be found.” Tears rose to the queen’s eyes but she held them back as she squared her shoulders, “She is her father’s daughter and she is of her own will.”

“Queen Thea, King Ciaran,” Thranduil began in the meekest tone he could muster, bowing his head slightly, “I come because I have found Yeyette…but I seek your help in bringing her back.”

“You’ve found her?” Thea’s eyes went wide and Ciaran steadied her with and hand on her shoulder as he looked to Thranduil.

“Where would you bring her back to? Mirkwood? She belongs here with us.”

“If she feels she belongs here, I would bring her here, though I wish her with me. All I can say is she should not remain where she is but she refuses to go home,” Thranduil explained as gently as he could, “She has a daughter now and the elfling is the heir to Mirkwood, as it were.”

“A daughter?” Thea seemed like to faint at the revelations, “I have a granddaughter?”

“You do…but there are things you must know, likely that which my son did not tell you,” Thranduil inhaled and readied himself for what he would say next, “About Yeyette and myself. Her marriage to your son. It is…complicated, but you must know of it if we are to get her back.”

Thea and Ciaran looked to each other with concern before slowly returning their sharp eyes to the Mirkwood king, “Speak,” Thea commanded, “And it better be worth it or you should find yourself in the snow with nothing but your ridiculous silk to keep you warm.”

#chapter 18 #series #oc #fic #yeyette #thranduil #legolas #thea #ciaran #frost meadows #the hobbit #forgotten vows

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recentanimenews · 5 years ago

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THE GREAT CRUNCHYROLL NARUTO REWATCH Goes Matchmaking in Episodes 190-196!

Welcome to THE GREAT CRUNCHYROLL NARUTO REWATCH! I’m Kara Dennison, and I’ll be your host this week as we run through all 220 episodes of the original Naruto anime adaptation like an army of Kyles through Area 51. In last week's episodes 183-189, we left behind the Hidden Star Village and took on the Peddlers Escort Mission. This week, episodes 190-196 close out our journey to the Land of Greens and then take us on a series of one-shot and two-episode missions.

I figured after Joseph Luster nearly tapped out last week that things had to start looking up... but boy, it's been a mixed bag. Out of the frying pan that was the Hidden Greens Village and straight into the fire that was "Chubby Paradise" - probably my least favorite episode to date. And judging by this week's answers, I wasn't alone. Fortunately, that was balanced out with some fun: Hinata awesomeness, a hungry hungry house, and Tsunade being... well... peak Tsunade. Plus, we get the return of Rock Lee and Might Guy!

So, as we approach the threshhold of the final two dozen episodes, let's see what the team thought of this batch of filler!

We’ve seen some pretty nasty jutsu before, but between Jiga’s suffocating magnetized sand and Renga’s “ants under a magnifying glass” treatment, the Janin brought (and suffered) some brutal tactics. What Naruto death or attack has freaked you out the most so far… or are you too stone cold for that kind of thing?

Paul: “Death by Wooly Willy into giant sand pit” is a pretty bad way to go, but honestly the technique that freaks me out the most is the Shinigami one that the Third Hokage uses to seal Orochimaru's arms. If that Jutsu lands properly, then both the wielder and the victim are banished to an eternal hell-realm where their spirits remained locked in combat forever, and that's some messed up metaphysics.

Kevin: A lot of the more shocking deaths and techniques probably would’ve been more effective if I hadn’t seen the show before. That being said, I’d probably choose the Sound Ninja that used the gauntlets and had half his face wrapped up (okay look, the death and character design made an impression. The actual character, not so much). We didn’t see any detail, but we see his terror, we get a silhouette of what Gaara can become (if I’m remembering the episode correctly), and then he’s just gone. There’s so little fanfare that we don’t even hear about it beyond Sasuke mentioning that his opponent didn’t show up for some reason.

Joseph: I’d say it’s that Mangekyou Sharingan move Itachi used on Sasuke and others to essentially lock them in an eternal loop of reliving their own personal tragedies.

Noelle: Same like Kevin, I’ve seen the show before, so I know what’s coming. I don’t think I remember being particularly creeped out by any of the deaths, because none of them were major characters. More than the gruesome factor of character deaths, I react to the emotional weight of them so no, I haven’t really felt anything.

Danni: Getting caught by Itachi’s Mangekyou Sharingan seems like a pretty raw deal, to say the least.

Jared: Mangekyou Sharingan would definitely rank up there in terms of just pure psychological horror. Also any bug attacks. Just yuck.

David: Honestly Gaara’s entire skill set gives me the creeps, just because of how intensely it would set off any sort of claustrophobia (before crushing me to death of course).

Carolyn: I guess I just watch too much horror to really be affected like that. From a writing/storytelling standpoint, the most emotional death was the Third Hokage’s. Every character ended up dealing with his death in their own way (including Orochimaru), while also being a major point of growth for Naruto.

So, that whole Princess Fuku scenario… I’m going to save us all a bunch of time and ask if there’s anything you dislike about Naruto that didn’t make its way into this episode.

Paul: Fat-phobia? Check. Weird assumptions and gender-based hang-ups? Check. Naruto turning into a piss-sprinkler? Check. Jiraiya, even though he's not physically present, still managing to encourage Naruto’s questionable behavior? Check. With the free space in the middle, I think I've got a “bingo” here...

Kevin: Fart jokes, I guess? In looking for something, anything, good in this episode, a few of Ino’s reactions are so over the top and abrupt that I chuckled a little. But even those were humorous more due to the sudden tonal shift, and the more you remember what caused them, the less funny they become.

Joseph: It’s a bad episode through and through. I really disliked the previous arc, though, so I was fine with just letting my eyes glaze over at the screen for this one.

Noelle: I don’t even know where to begin, admittedly. I don’t think I liked a single moment of this one. It’s just... bad, and not worth a watch at all.

Danni: At least there were no dead ghost moms?

Jared: I guess there’s no Jiraiya accosting sexy jutsu Naruto, which is probably one of the few bad things this show does that it didn’t somehow include here.

David: Oh, to be a fly on the wall in the writers' room as they were checking off the list of obnoxious things to include here. Really feels purposeful at this point.

Carolyn: Sasuke.

Up next is yet another “outsider infiltrates with disastrous results” episode, once again with the cast unsuspecting of a disguise in play. If you were a ninja, how could a friend or family member verify you’re you, and not an enemy ninja using a Disguise Jutsu?

Paul: My family would be able to identify the real me by inquiring about embarrassing childhood moments that – even though I'm now 37 years of age – they still bring up on the regular for some reason. My friends would be doomed, though, since they don't know the hidden meaning of the phrase “Baby Brontosaurus." They're not asking. I'm not telling.

Kevin: Until this episode, I would’ve thought that a sparring match would be pretty definitive evidence in a world where practically every named character can fight and knows magical martial arts. But apparently everyone decided to leave their brains at home for a few episodes.

Joseph: They’d probably just ask what my favorite Nightmare on Elm Street movie is and if I ever gave the same answer twice they’d know it’s not really me.

Noelle: Beyond some personal information that I rarely disclose, getting me to start monologuing about doujin and the discrepancy between US self-pub and JP/KR self-pub is a good way to start.

Danni: They’d play either of the Love Live! Sunshine!! ending themes for me and if I did not immediately start crying, they would Hurricane Leaf Kick my doppleganger to death.

Jared: Probably something similar to Danni’s with it being a Sunshine!! question or asking if Garou: Mark of the Wolves has one of the pettiest stories in all of video games.

David: Just start asking me about my hyper-specific opinions on the Fate franchise as a whole, and you’ll know it’s me when it goes on far longer than you were hoping.

Carolyn: If they asked which Stephen King books I own and the imposter actually knew all of them without pulling up a Google doc, they are lying. Also probably anything involving Buffy.

And we’re back to another ghost episode… so yeah, we’re to the point when recycling concepts is much more the rule than the exception, and there’s not long left for that to change. To that end, is there a filler episode whose concept you’d like to see revisited, and how would you improve on it?

Paul: As others have already mentioned, I'd like to see more exploration of the shinobi-inspired offshoots of ordinary jobs, like the ninja chefs and the ninja postal delivery service. In the former case, a straightforward cooking contest without the kidnapping angle would work, and in the latter case, anything that didn't involve Jiraiya's erotic literature preventing a war between rival nations would be a step up. I'd also love an entire episode that's just everyone taking their pets and summons to the ninja veterinarian for check-ups.

Kevin: Two options: One, Naruto as a mentor, maybe in charge of Konohamaru’s group, maybe not, but take the episode to show that he’s changed a little and has a bit more patience now. Two, back to the idea of the Ninja Chefs and Ninja Postmen. Just take normal jobs, slap Ninja on the front, and make a fun episode from it. It may not make any sense, but at least it could be entertaining.

Joseph: I’d love to see literally anyone else but the main crew we’ve been following. Show me what Gamabunta is up to in the land of the big frogs or something.

Noelle: Honestly, thirding the ‘normal jobs, but with ninja’ idea. We get a good enough grasp on the world, not down to the details, but enough that we can have a general idea of how things work. I’m the type of person that likes looking at small details, so show me the gears of this world, and how people function on the day to day (with ninja superpowers).

Danni: Anything involving Might Guy, honestly. I’ve said it multiple times and it’s because I believe it: give me a day-in-the-life episode of Guy and Kakashi as roommates. I want to see them fight over who has to do the dishes.

Jared: Definitely weird ninja jobs that haven’t been discussed yet or maybe something as simple as a non-Naruto focused episode where we just get a look at other characters doing either their routine or how they handle things when Naruto isn’t around.

David: More food episodes, this time without the baggage of an actual “threat”. I just want to see our cast cooking up food in ridiculous magic ninja ways!

Carolyn: My favorite filler episodes so far have been the Scooby-Doo ghost and the live-burial death cult. I’d be happy to explore the actual psychology and lore of the death cult.

We finish out with two episodes of Rock Lee goodness, this time with Lee and Guy beating the snot out of each other via chakra WiFi. Several of us expressed (understandable) concern about Guy’s mentoring style during the Chunin Exam. How do we feel about the sensei/student interaction a couple dozen episodes from the end?

Paul: I like the idea of Rock Lee and Might Guy clashing by proxy through Chakra-controlled practice dummies, and I enjoy how that situation resolves, but I'm ambivalent about Guy's tutoring style and Lee's ambitions. Even though they explicitly address the idea of over-training, and even though Lee ends up on crutches again this episode, I don't feel that Lee has internalized any lessons about not absolutely destroying himself on his quest to achieve ninja mastery through Taijutsu. I’d like to see him fight smarter, not harder.

Kevin: Honestly, Guy and Lee’s relationship may be one of the more complicated in the series. Sure, it’s as simple as “Lee follows after Guy like a puppy,” but that means that Lee is always driving himself far beyond his natural limits, and Guy encourages him pretty much the whole way, until Lee’s body gives out. It’s a self-destructive relationship for Lee, and Guy is enabling it while also genuinely trying to be a supportive figure, to the point that he gets Lee to accept a potentially lethal surgery by telling him that if Lee dies, they’ll die together. There’s a lot of darkness hiding behind the shining teeth and can-do attitudes. As for how I feel about it, I honestly would need to sit down and think for a while, and even then I’m not sure I could come up with a definitive answer.

Joseph: The whole ‘you die, I die’ thing still bugs me. I like where Guy is coming from but these filler episodes don’t do much to convince me he’s the best teacher ever. He may be the most supportive teacher ever, but it’s to a fault. Rock Lee is still great but honestly he’s too good for this show at this point.

Noelle: It’s honestly very complicated, because there is no clean-cut answer. The truth is that Lee does have to work twice as hard to stand up to his peers, because he naturally doesn’t have the talents that they do. Having someone who wholeheartedly supports him is pretty alluring, no matter how you look at it. At the same time, Guy is 100% enabling Lee to go past his limits in an unhealthy way, and that doesn’t really change here.

Danni: Ever since Lee miraculously recovered from his surgery in time to come to Naruto’s aid in the Sasuke Retrieval arc, I’ve kind of just accepted that subplot is entirely meaningless. Plus, at this point in the plot desert they’re clearly rehashing every single concept they’ve had so who cares?

Jared: Guy can be bad about allowing Lee to push past his limits in ways that he really shouldn’t, but at the same time, I think Lee would do that anyways as you’d really have to nail that into him that he shouldn’t. That’s pretty much what we saw here again. As some of the other’s have said, Guy is very supportive, but there’s a line between being supportive and being toxically supportive.

David: Unfortunately given Lee’s insistence, I really doubt there’s a realistic other option aside from someone convincing him that maybe he just isn’t meant to be a combat ninja, which maybe actually is the right answer?

Carolyn: Guy didn’t make Lee the way he is. Lee already had this tenacity and work ethic, Guy just helps it along by being supportive. And I still maintain that Jiraiya has done literally nothing for Naruto. So, as far as I’m concerned, Guy is far from the worst Sensei. Plus, Lee’s injuries don’t typically come from his training but in actual fights with abnormally powerful foes. You could also argue that the fact that he can actually walk and fight again at all is due to his drive, which Guy definitely helps to foster. I think their relationship is fine.

It’s probably a given what half of this answer will be, but for the sake of symmetry, what are your HIGH and LOW points of the week?

Paul: My high point is Tsunade attaching a pair of dummy arms to her overcoat so she can secretly drink sake when she’s supposed to be working, with an honorable mention going to the “ghost” episode which is actually about Naruto, Hinata, and Kiba encountering a “House Hunter” Mimic from Dungeons & Dragons. My low point is everything from the Princess Fuku episode. Fat people deserve to be romantic leads without being the butt of an endless series of lazy jokes.

Kevin: High – Tsunade entire setup before she sends out Tenten, Neji and Naruto to help Guy. She has fake arms to make it look like she’s actually doing work as she sneaks a cup of sake, and when she needs to make a team, she literally just has cards of the available genin and tries to form something half way workable for the few that are around. Low – I mean, is anyone NOT going to say the Princess Fuku episode? It was a 23 minute long fat joke that got maybe a chuckle out of me due to severe tonal shifts.

Joseph: My high was the living house episode. Look, sorry, I’m a simple man who’s a huge sucker for living houses. The low would have to be everything from the Greens arc. I’m just so tired of the bad Saturday morning action cartoon DiC side of Naruto. Don’t tease me with action and fights when it’s all so contrived, poorly animated, and laughably motivated.

Noelle: High point, the haunted house episode. As fun as actual supernatural stuff is, finding out that something is totally ridiculous instead is just as fun. Low point, if I ever have to think of the Princess Fuku episode again, it’ll be too soon.

Danni: My high point was easily when Hinata straight up killed a guy by burying him alive in his own jutsu without even batting an eye. She’s low-key cold-blooded when the chips are down. As for my low point, obviously it’s the Princess Fuku episode, even if it did give me lots of randomly inserted English and an evergreen line about not discriminating based on color.

Jared: High points would be Hinata getting a good bit of time to be super rad, the weird headshots Tsunade had of Lee, Tenten, Neji, and Naruto when she was doing her fake arms bit, Lee just randomly seeing a dojo challenge and thinking that’s a brilliant idea, flesh castle, and that ska ending. Low points would obviously be the Princess Fuku episode, end of the Land of Greens arc, and seeing multiple themes repeated that we’ve already seen in the filler.

David: Totally agree on the high point being Hinata being completely awesome this week (I put it down as something I was highly looking forward to last week and it didn’t disappoint.) The low point is of course Princess Fuku, but it probably deserves an award for being the lowest point of this entire run so far.

Carolyn: Yeah, how could the low be anything but that episode. Most specifically for me, Naruto being totally shocked that two people he considers heavy being in love as if that couldn’t possibly happen. And also … how old is Ino? Because … uh … High point: Rock Lee lives by his own rules! That’s not how medical science works, my dude. That line was hilarious.

COUNTERS:

Ramen: 3 bowls Hokage: 0 Clones: 22 + 1 uncountable scene

Total so far:

Ramen: 185 bowls, 13 cups Hokage: 62 Clones: 811

And that’s it for this week! Remember that you’re always welcome to watch along with the Rewatch, especially if you’ve never seen the original Naruto! Watch Naruto today!

Here’s our upcoming schedule:

-Next week, NOELLE OGAWA shows us the formation of the Konoha 11!

-On August 9, DANIEL DOCKERY returns to explore the mystery of Yakumo!

-Finally, NICOLE MEJIAS guides us through the end of the Gantetsu Escort Mission!

CATCH UP ON THE REWATCH!

Episodes 183-189: No Laughter Allowed!

Episodes 176-182: Reach for the Stars!

Episodes 169-175: Anko’s Backstory At Sea

Episodes 162-168: The Tale of the Phantom Samurai

Episodes 155-161: Quickfire Curry

Episodes 148-154: The Forest is Abuzz With Ninjas

Episodes 141-147: Mizuki Strikes Back!

Episodes 134-140: The Climactic Clash

Episodes 127-133: Naruto vs Sasuke

Episodes 120-126: The Sand Siblings Return

Episodes 113-119: Operation Rescue Sasuke

Episodes 106-112: Sasuke Goes Rogue

Episodes 99-105: Trouble in the Land of Tea

Episodes 92-98: Clash of the Sannin

Episodes 85-91: A Life-Changing Decision

Episodes 78-84: The Fall of a Legend

Episodes 71-77: Sands of Sorrow

Episodes 64-70: Crashing the Chunin Exam

Episodes 57-63: Family Feud

Episodes 50-56: Rock Lee Rally

Episodes 43-49: The Gate

Episodes 36-42: Through the Woods

Episodes 29-35: Sakura Unleashed

Episodes 22-28: Chunin Exams Kickoff

Episodes 15-21: Leaving the Land of Waves

Episodes 8-14: Beginners' Battle

Episodes 1-7: I'm Gonna Be the Hokage!

Thank you for joining us for the GREAT CRUNCHYROLL NARUTO REWATCH! Have a great weekend, and we'll see you all next time!

Have anything to say about our thoughts on Episodes 190-106? Let us know in the comments! Don't forget, we're also accepting questions and comments for next week, so don't be shy and feel free to ask away!

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Kara Dennison is a writer, editor, and interviewer with bylines at VRV, We Are Cult, Fanbyte, and many more. She is also the co-founder of Altrix Books and co-creator of the OEL light novel series Owl's Flower. Kara blogs at karadennison.com and tweets @RubyCosmos.

By: [email protected]

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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thewalkhome-blog · 8 years ago

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Rogue One: A Star Wars Story - What’s Old Is New - Review written by Daniel Boyd on 19/12/16

So our yearly Star Wars movie has arrived and after a complicated production it has released to rave reviews, with some outlets going as far as to compare it in quality to Empire Strikes Back, (which is widely considered to be the superior Star Wars film,) and it has even garnered a fair amount of Oscar buzz. This, along with the fact it’s a Star Wars movie meant that my expectations for this were pretty high going in and after seeing the movie there are parts of the flick that I loved and parts that I didn’t. When I wrote my Force Awakens review last year, I wrote both a spoiler free and a spoiler filled version of the review, but this year I have less time on my hands, so from this point on this will be a spoiler filled review, but the movie has been out for almost a week at the time of writing this, so if you haven’t seen the movie yet and are reading my review, well that is your own fault.

This movie for the most part impressed me. I loved how well it tied into A New Hope and how it actually fixed that movie’s biggest plothole by explaining that the weak point in the Death Star was installed on purpose by Galen Erso while designing the battle station under the Empire’s thumb, so that the Rebels would have a chance to destroy it. I loved how the movie had the balls to kills off the entire crew of the Rogue One team at the end of the movie and that corridor scene at the end with Vader was possibly the best scene I’ve seen in the cinema this year, it’s definitely up there with the airport scene in Civil War. Those are the stand out positives of the movie for me, however there were also a few flaws throughout the film.

First of all, that Grand Mof Tarkin CGI recreation of Peter Cushing was awful, the whole thing looked like a character from the Star Wars animated series. When he is first introduced it is through a glass reflection on a window he is looking out of and in that part of the scene it was fairly convincing, however he then turns around and the camera moves to a medium close up shot and all of a sudden it feels like watching a video game cutscene. Guy Henry was the actor who did the motion capture for Tarkin and that actor actually looks relatively similar to Peter Cushing, so why they didn’t just apply some makeup to Guy Henry and dye his hair gray to resemble Cushing more and recast the Tarkin role is a mystery to me, it would have also been a lot cheaper than the method that they went with. Either that or he should have only been seen in the reflection of the glass, since that was the only time that the CGI effect actually looked convincing. However, I did think that the CGI recreation of 1970’s Carrie Fischer at the end of the movie was very convincing and if it wasn’t for the movement in her mouth, I wouldn’t have known that was a CGI character. Another flaw I had with the movie was the how rushed and choppy the first act was, the characters were all introduced quickly and vaguely, then it took them ages to actually form up as a team. I get that introducing a whole cast of brand new characters in a short space of time isn’t easy, but Tarantino pulls it off in Hateful 8 and Inglorious Bastards and it works a lot better than it works here.

In a lot of ways Rogue One is a contrast to Force Awakens. In Force Awakens, the plot was essentially the same as A New Hope and was a fairly by the book, traditional Star Wars story, but the characters were what made that movie, if Poe Dameron, Rey, Finn, Kylo Ren, Han and Chewie weren’t as well written, that movie would have been mediocre at best. In Rogue One, the characters are pretty shallow and underdeveloped and they are introduced quickly and by the end of the movie none of them have really had a proper character arc. However that is not what this movie is about, this film is about a team of people coming together in order to complete a task to set up the events of the original trilogy and in that sense this movie does what it sets out to do. An example of this is the robot character K2SO, who I thought was going to start off with no humanity, then over the course of the movie realize the value of human life and then sacrifice himself for the greater good at the movie’s climax, but it turns out that the only real reason that he is helping the Rebels, is because he has been programmed to do so. This I feel sums up the level of character development present in the movie and demonstrates that it is not necessary in the film as that isn’t the movie’s purpose. What Force Awakens lacked in an original plot, it made up for in character development and what Rogue One lacks in character development, it makes up for in plot and setup, so both movies have their strengths and their flaws. Bearing in mind that I have only seen Rogue One once so far, I currently prefer Force Awakens to Rogue One, but then I prefer Return of the Jedi to Empire, so maybe that’s just me.

The writing moves the story along at a brisk pace, but it is effective in that you are constantly kept aware of where we are and what is happening at least from the end of the first act onwards. The performances are also suitable to the characters in each role, but I wouldn’t say anyone was incredible, my personal favourite was Cassian, the Alliance’s trigger finger who had shades of Han Solo thrown in as well. While watching Diego Luna’s performance, I actually thought he would be a good pick to play Nathan Drake in the Uncharted movie. The lighting in the film is well used and the CGI is spectacular for the most part other than weird waxwork Peter Cushing. The space battles are breathtaking and the action on the ground is also exciting.

Now, let’s talk about the characters that weren’t part of the Rogue One team. Forest Whittaker and Mads Mikkelson are two of my favourite actors working in Hollywood today and they are both in this movie, but I feel that both could have been used more. When they are onscreen, they are brilliant, it’s just a pity they make up such a small part of the movie. Whittaker appears only to be killed off minutes later and Mikkelson is only in two major scenes outside of a brief hologram appearance and then also gets killed off unceremoniously. The reason that a lot of people will go and see this movie however, will be to see Darth Vader. He isn’t in the movie much, but when he is it is fantastic. All of this reminds me a lot of Edwards’ last movie Godzilla, where Bryan Cranston and the monster were clearly the best parts of that movie, but for some reason were hardly in the thing. It’s as if Edwards has this idea in his head that less is always more and if he doesn’t show what people want to see in the movie for more than a few minutes at a time, then he is being original and artistic. While I understand this way of thinking from an auteur perspective, it’s fucking Star Wars and Godzilla mate, just give the people what they want. It is far less of an issue here however, since the rest of the cast in Rogue One are far more compelling than the rest of the cast in Godzilla.

Anyway, back to Vader. We first see Vader when Krennic goes to see him in his Imperial Castle in Mustafar, the same location that he was relieved of his limbs and burnt alive in a pool of lava. The way he is introduced is awesome, when Krennic arrives one of Vader’s cloaked minions enters a large room containing an ominous bacta tank, which we see Vader floating in without his suit on. This is the most vulnerable we have ever seen Vader since we saw him getting his suit fitted for the first time in Revenge Of The Sith. The tank empties and we see Vader’s stumps where his arms and legs once were and we see the burnt skin that covers his torso. Then we cut to him in full costume, complete with the classic James Earl Jones voice and force choking Krennic. He then disappears again for most of the movie, until the second to last scene where he is at his most powerful and this could genuinely be my favourite Vader scene of all time, perhaps even beating the infamous, ‘I am your father,’ scene from Empire. Vader in this scene is pure raw anger and power and the way the scene is shot and lit is fucking perfect, the audio and the editing fantastic also. The scene opens with a dark corridor with Rebels scrambling to get the hard drive containing the Death Star plans to the other end of the corridor and onto the ship that Leia is on, so that she can go on to get the plans into R2 in order to kick off A New Hope’s events. At first you wonder why the Rebels are in such a panic then you hear the terrifying breathing from Vader’s suit, but he still isn’t shown. Then the first and only lightsaber in the movie is sparked and it illuminates Vader in all of his terrifying glory before he starts tearing through the Rebels like a monster in a horror movie. This minute long scene is one of the best I’ve seen this year and it alone made the ticket price worth it for me.

Overall, Rogue One was essentially what I thought it would be based on the trailers. I don’t personally understand the overblown critical fanfare that the movie is receiving, but I’m glad that Star Wars fans like it. There are many parts of the movie that could be considered polarizing, such as the lack of Vader scenes, the dodgy Tarkin CGI, the fact that the entire Rogue One squad is killed off at the end of the movie, the absence of an opening crawl and Forest Whittaker’s raspy voice, which admittedly takes a bit of getting used to. Some of these elements I loved and some I hated, but for the most part this is an enjoyable addition to the Star Wars saga, I love how well it ties into and sets up the events of the films following this one and it was an added bonus that they actually resolved some of the original trilogy’s flaws. As I said earlier, I still prefer The Force Awakens to this, but I can see how an argument could be made for this one being a better movie. 8.2/10.

#star wars #rogue one #movie #movie review #the walk home

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