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skellebonez · 4 years ago

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Smoke, Flasks, and Unfinished Tasks: Chapter 11

AO3 Link!

Chapter 1 Link!, Chapter 2 Link!, Chapter 3 Link!, Chapter 4 Link!, Chapter 5 Link! Chapter 6 Link! Chapter 7 Link! Chapter 8 Link! Chapter 9 Link! Chapter 10 Link!

Summary: Things are coming to a head. Poor Red.

Warnings: descriptions of blood and injury, self depreciation, mentions of past abuse, mention of one character dismissing their own abuse in the past in passing

Chapter 11: Escalation and Benefaction

Jin was not expecting a celebratory parade when he managed to sneak his way out of his confinement, but he wasn’t expecting the dead silence that greeting him either.

“Hmn... maybe she can’t keep her attention divided up between the four of us as easily as I thought,” he muttered to himself. “Or maybe my extra tricks back there actually worked.”

There was only so much one person could pay attention to at any given moment, and Jin was looking to take advantage of that fact. That, and the fact Jade face didn’t know how easy it would be for him to set up a continuous loop of some of his past actions (pacing, laying down, pacing again, kicking the bed, etc) to distract her into thinking he had given up in frustration. Should she ask him something and he not answer, he hoped that she would be able to believe that he was giving her the silent treatment.

As for being on the outside... he needed to be careful. He had an extra cloak on him now, something that he knew would only fool the system for a short while and something that he couldn’t share with the others. If he had been able to, they all probably would have been out of here by now.

He needed to be quick, he needed to be silent, and he needed to use everything about the Calabash he and Yin had built from scratch deep in his own memory to his advantage.

... now if only he could remember the stupid shortcut key code so he wouldn’t have to wander around like a headless chicken...

Mei held back a wince as the blood on Pigsy’s back ceased flowing. It was much more than he should be able to survive losing, transparency to it allowing her to look at it without much more reaction. It worried her how the rest of it had started not to bother her, the sight of exposed bone quickly vanishing after that. Now, once she was able to properly ignore it, it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

She tried to think back to what MK and Jin had told her about the Calabash. Jin knew the inner workings of the machine (for some reason he called it more of a Lotus Eater than the original type of artifact the Calabash of old was, but she had no idea what that actually meant), but he had never actually been inside of one that was trying to work on him actively. Only test runs, and they weren’t a match for the real deal like MK had gone through.

The Monkie Kid had made one thing clear, smell in particular was dulled. And as long as the biting coppery smell of blood wasn’t there fully Mei knew she could handle this. None of it was real.

There were other things to look out for, little glitches that would showcase weaknesses in where the machine was trying to make things work but failed.

She’d seen a few of these so far, watching the monkey dancers she’d seen two of them buffer like on a live stream and then jump forward back into position. She watched as a cat seemed to teleport instead of jump from one food stand to another. The more she paid attention to them instead of her friends the more of them she began to notice.

The Calabash didn’t seem to be doing as good a job trying to keep four different people contained at once as Princess Jade Face seemed to think it was. Or maybe the fox spirit just didn’t care as long as the job was done.

“What’cha thinking about over there?” Tang voice called out from behind her. The parade was long since passed, faster than she thought it would have come to think of it, and the four of them were making their way back to Pigsy’s food stall. The festivities weren’t over with yet, they still had customers to feed and then they had to pack everything up, and-

When Mei turned to look at Tang they were all on the ground, a crowd surrounding all of them and half staring at the bodies while the rest stared at her sword. Brilliant and green and shining with freshly spilled blood.

“Bud?” The fake Wukong asked softly, stepping forward with a look of concern on his face. “Are you ok?”

“No,” MK answered honestly without even thinking, fighting the urge to take an immediate step back away from the sight of his mentor. Every time he looked his face seemed to flicker back to the one from not even a few minutes ago. Cold. Angry. Disappointed.

“No?” Fake Wukong repeated, looking at him for a second before scowling. MK did not fight the flinched step back this time as he shook his head, looking at his student with disdain. “Why did I ever pick someone like you to be my successor anyway? Damn, my brother was right, you are the worst possible choice for anything.”

“Wh-what?” MK asked, eyes widening in shock. “B-brother?”

Fake Wukong scoffed, looking more like Macaque in his motions than Wukong. MK didn’t know if this was making what was before his eyes better or worse.

“I knew you were dumb, Kid, but damn,” Wukong shook his head, and despite the fakeness of his words that still hurt. That hurt deeper down than he would ever admit to anyone out loud. “I didn’t know you were this much of an idiot. Your own boss is Zhu Bajie and you can’t even put the pieces together to realize that’s the brother I am talking about? Pathetic. I should have picked Mei, she would have been so much better at this than you. Or Red Son, even-”

MK didn’t pay attention to the rest of the Monkey King’s tirade. He couldn’t. He did what he was second best at. Not paying attention. He let his mind unfocus and wander and think about the only thing in this conversation that he latched on to.

Pigsy was Zhu Bajie's reincarnation. He knew that, he’d known that since he and Wukong had reunited and Pigsy got so angry at his mentor for not recognizing him even in his newest life. But he had forgotten just how important that was over time. He knew the stories, he knew who Sun Wukong’s enemies wore... and he knew who Zhu Bajie’s were. Pigsy was his father figure, the man next to Tang who had cared for him the longest and next to Wukong also cared about him the most. Pigsy was as close to Mei and Red Son as he was now. He’d called them both his kids before.

MK wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, he would readily admit that both Mei and Red Son were smarter than him in multiple ways, but the fake Wukong was wrong. He wasn’t an idiot. And now he knew exactly what Princess Jade Face actually wanted, what she was trying to do. He’d had it happen before, long ago with other people. Unfortunately for him, he was also smart enough to know that whatever happened to the three of them now... she probably didn’t care. They weren’t the ones she was truly after at all.

“Are you even listening to me?” Fake Wukong snapped, glowering down at him with even more anger than before. But then he softened, sighing as his form glitched and his concerned visage took back over. “Bud? I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me... can you forgive me?”

“Yeah,” MK said softly, nodding his head down. Now he focused, taking in everything around him and deciding on what to pay attention to. The monkeys that were with them during training glitched. He couldn’t hear the wind the way it should have been. The incense that should have been burning at the memorial shrine was not there. “I’m sorry Monkey King, I promise I can do better.”

He gave his widest and most fake smile, the one he had used on so many time and time again.

“OK,” Fake Wukong smiled, and the world glitched around them.

Red Son knew that to a lot of people this wouldn’t have been as bad as it seemed to him. Red Son knew that to a lot of people this would seem like something he should have been able to move past and forget. Red Son was like most people at first. Berating himself for not being over it, for being hurt, for running what his father said to him over and over in his head as he told himself “it wasn’t that bad, he barely even did anything why are you upset?”

“What I said back then,” DBK growled out, placing Red Son down once they were far away from their food stall. He didn’t hurt him, but the tight feeling of being held that way lingered. “When the spirit possessed me? I didn’t like the idea of thinking I had thought those things myself.”

MK and Mei were not "a lot of people”. They were the only two that knew what had happened between himself and his father on the day of the Lunar New Year festival. Not even Sun Wukong knew why he had fled to Flower Fruit Mountain to seek him out that day.

“But now I know you truly are a disappointment,” he continued, just as he had that day. His voice was low, both in volume and in tone, but the words his Red’s ears like they were screamed at him. “To throw everything away for something as petty as... what? Fear? Pain? You are a demon! Our whole lives are fear and pain! You have grown soft, under that teaching or over time I do not know which, but I have no place for a weakness like you.”

Red Son said nothing. There were no glitches. He had said nothing before. He clenched his fists, bit his lip, remembered what Mei and MK had told him.

His father scoffed, reaching forward with a claw to rip the necklace hidden under his shirt off his neck. The phantom pain of his neck burning from the pull as the chain snapped lingered longer than anything else here had.

“You are a disgrace,” DBK bit out, sounding for all the world like he had just been insulted in the highest degree. “You’re barely even my son. No... No, if you’re going to fall down to this? After your mother and I fought so hard to get you back? After I was trapped for so long because of you? Then I don’t have one.”

The world glitched forward a bit. He remembered, he had tried to argue with his father. But he hadn’t listened. The glitch ended and he was backed into a corner, his father’s huge face in his own as he scowled. He was intimidating him. Never touching, never laying a hand on him.

“Then prove it, calf. If you are my son, if you aren’t the disappointment you have proven yourself to be time and time again, then show me,” he stood back to his full height, scowling and eyes glowing in energy. “Go to the Little Thief. Join him. And either defeat me in battle, prove to me by besting me that we should no longer fight... or bring me his head.”

And that was it. His father jumped, leaving him behind feet from the food stall.

Disowned. Abandoned. With two impossible tasks.

Red Son slipped to the ground, shaking as he remembered what Mei and MK had told him when he told them the truth. Of why he flew to Flower Fruit Mountain, the one place where his father could never follow. Why he had let Wukong take him to Pigsy’s Noodles when he found him on the beach, sad and alone and soaking in the ocean water he had crashed landed in. Why he had been so hesitant to get close to anyone but was so willing to offer then any information or tech they needed.

Mei and MK told him that he was hurt. That it was ok that he felt hurt. That what his father had done wasn’t something to just get over. What his mother had done was much the same. That he was hurting because they had hurt him.

The steam that was his tears that billowed out from the corners of his eyes told him that he thought they were right.

“Oh... my poor little cub,” a soft voice rang out from behind his ear, and Red Son didn’t even have the chance to jump before arms that only felt half there wrapped around his shoulders. “Had I known that my husband would treat you this way I would have come back sooner. You don’t have to go back to him, you know.” The soft chuckling in his ear was warped, glitched, but sounded too close to not be from her. Princess Jade Face was smiling in the corner of his eye, soft and warm and terrifying.

“I don’t plan on hurting you, Red Boy. I promise.”

Red Son did not believe her.

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #fanfic #sfaut #smoke flasks and unfinished tasks

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derekfoxwit · 3 years ago

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Doctor Dorpden’s Critical Tips of Prestige

Note: This post was made with satirical intentions in mind. I’m only emphasizing because I’ve had a couple of comments on previous joke posts I’ve did take it seriously. With that said, here we go.

Tip 1: For starters, remember that when looking at the work, if the Mystic Knee twitches fast enough to punch a hole in a wall, this suggests that the work should be near the lowest of the low. No further development of opinion is needed.

Tip 2: For an equal degree of sophistication, give the warm comfort of nostalgia at least 5 times more chances than the new thing that MAY seem actually poggers.

Tip 3: If you have the anecdote of encountering shitty fans, then use them as a scapegoat for the show they flaunt over being shitty. Clearly, they’re always making the show the way it is.

Tip 4: If you haven’t heard much about a newer film or show you’re yet to watch, there’s an 85% chance that film or show is actually not worth your time. The Father (2020) isn’t as widespread as Joker (2019) for a reason.

Tip 5: At this point, just go for the Asian Artist Dick. I’m actually in the mood to see merit in that because I want to look edgy against cute doodles. Stop attacking Uzaki-Chan, you cowards!

Tip 6: Avoid the electronic tunes. They’ll make you smell like a bum, for there’s no structural in a music album that’s nothing but wubs.

Tip 7: If you see a Tweet that looks dumb, use it as a means of generalizing all the fans of a work as sharing that same opinion.

Tip 8: If the cartoon I’m given doesn’t provide me with mature ideas such as slicing an Arbok in half or fake boobs, then the cartoon might as well be on the same level as Teletubbies.

Tip 9: You know the music is (c)rap when it brings up drugs, regardless of lyrical context.

Tip 10: Raw mood is the indicator of quality cartooning. If you’re quick to assume the worst in the newest HBO Max original cartoon, then you got thyself a stinker. Same thing if you were super bummed out when watching a new thing, regardless of anecdotal context.

Tip 11: When you’re not given continuous throwbacks, ensure you’re as reductive and over-generalizing about the works shown as possible.

Tip 12: If your hazy and imperfect as hell recollection of a children’s film, whether it’s Wall-E or Lilo & Stitch, would describe said film as “too sugary” or “key-waving schlock”, then that HAS to be the case. No meat on that bone whatsoever.

Tip 13: Simpler, more graphic style that isn’t as realistic as old-school Disney or Anime? You got yourself a lazy style with zero passion put into it.

UPA? Who’s THAT?!

Tip 14: Don’t trust anyone saying that western children’s cartoons had any form of artistic development after 2008 (with, like, TWO exceptions). If it did, why didn’t we go from stealing organs in a 2001 cartoon to showing opened stomachs in a 2021 cartoon?

Tip 15: Big booba is always important to the strong female character’s quality.

Tip 16: Only MY ships count, for they provide me with a feeling of intelligence.

Tip 17: “PG-13″ and “R” rating just simply mean you’re not caring for expressing themes in a sophisticated manner. It’s just THAT simple until I dictate otherwise.

Tip 18: In this age of smelly radicals, “Death of the Author” is more important than ever. Without it, this’ll imply that a classic like The Matrix was secretly toxic, due to what the Wachowskis have to say about it being an “allegory of trans people.”

Tip 19: Turn the fandoms you hate into your torture porn. Ask in Tweets to Retweet one sentence that’d “trigger” them. Go out of your way to paint all of them as blind consoomers. That’ll show them, and it’ll show how much more intelligent you are compared to those clowns.

Tip 20: Whatever the Mystic Knee dictates upon the first viewing of a work is what shall indicate the full structural extent of the film.

Tip 21: The mindset of a 2000s edgelord is one that actually understands the artistry of the medium of animation. Listen to that crazy but ingenious man.

Tip 22: Because sheer ambition makes me feel manly, the high pedestal you bestow upon a cartoon work should be based mostly on the mere mention or mere suggestion of serious topics. This means that pure comedy is smelly.

Tip 23: Is the new work tackling subjects that you’ve loved a childhood work of yours for covering? Just assume it’s super bare-bones in that case compared to the older case, for there’s nothing the older work can do to truly prove itself otherwise. Seriously, Letterboxd. Stop giving any 2010s cartoon anything above a 4/5

Tip 24: If the Mystic Knee is suggesting that the work is crummy, then consider any explanation off the top of your head for why the work in question is crummy.

Tip 25: Sexual and gender identity is inherently political, so don’t focus on them in the story. It’s no wonder why Full Metal Alchemist has caught on more than the She-Ra reboot.

Tip 26: Since I got bothered by a random butt monkey type character in a crummy cartoon, I’m now obligated to assume that having a butt monkey will only harm the writing integrity of the cartoon.

Seriously, Mr. Enter....what?!

Tip 27: We’re at a point where pure comedy for a kids’ cartoon is doing nothing but dumbing down the children. Like seriously...... I doubt Billy and Mandy would ever use farts as a punchline, unlike these newer kids comedies.

Tip 28: The difference between the innuendo in kids’ cartoons I grew up on and the ones Zootopia made is the sense of prestige they give me. Just take notes from the former instead.

Tip 29: Wanna make a work of artistic merit? Just take notes from the stuff I whore out to. It’s just THAT simple until I dictate otherwise.

Tip 30: Always remember this golden rule: If the newer work, or a work you’ve recently experienced the first time, was truly great, why isn’t it providing the exact emotions from your younger, more impressionable years?

Tip 31: If the Mystic Knee aims to break the bones of a character doing certain things (.i.e. having body count of thousands; lashing out to character; etc.), that means the character is bad and deserves no redemption.

Tip 32: If you want me to believe there’s any intrigue or depth in your antagonist, give them redemption, for I am in need of that sorta thing being spelled out. Looking at you, Syndrome. Should’ve taken notes from Tai Lung.

Tip 33: In a case where you’re going “X > Y” (.i.e. manga compared to western comics), ALWAYS CHERRY PICK! Use the recent controversies of the “Y” item while pretending that the “X” item has never had anything of the sort.

Tip 34: BEFORE you bring up those comments that shat on the original Teen Titans cartoon back when it was new, whether for making Starfire “more PC” or whatever.......the DIFFERENCE between them and me is that THEY were just bad faith fools that couldn’t see true majesty out of blind rage. I, however, am truly certain that calling any western TV cartoon from 2014-onward a work that transcends its generation suggests a destruction of the medium.

Tip 35: Based on fandom growth, it shows that any newer show isn’t being watched much by kids, but rather loser adults that act like children. Therefore, there’s more prestige in what I grew with.

Tip 36: The focus on children is bad at this point since the children of today have attention spans that flies would have.

Tip 37: A select few screenshots (or even one) of either a less elaborate attacking animation, less realistic game graphics, or a less on-model image in a cartoon indicates EVERYTHING about the work’s quality.

Tip 38: Consuming or writing media where characters go through constant suffering is little more than gaining pleasure out of it. YOU SICKOS!

Looking at you, Lily Orchard!

Tip 39: Whether it’s a sexual awakening story or just simply a romance, focus on a character being lesbian, trans, bi, etc., then it shouldn’t be in a kids’ work. It’s too spicy for them by default. Kids don’t want romance anyway.

Tip 40: The very idea of a western cartoon with no full-blown antagonist (i.e. Inside Out) is a destruction of animated artistry. Sorry, but it’s just THAT simple until I dictate otherwise.

Tip 41: Unless it’s my fluffy pillow, such as Disney’s Robin Hood, it should be obligated to assume the inserting of anthros is only there to pleasure the furries. Looking at YOU, Zootopia!

Tip 42: With how rough and rash The Beast was, it shows that he was more of an abusive lover. Therefore, I refuse to believe that Beauty and the Beast has any of the meticulous moral writing that most of Disney’s other 90s films has.

Tip 43: When you suggest one work should’ve “taken notes” from another work in order to do better, BE VAGUE! Those who agree will be shown to be geniuses.

Tip 44: Remember how morally grey Invader Zim was? That really goes to show how little the Western Animation scene has been trying since that show. Really should just be taking notes from that series (and of course anime).

Tip 45: Even if I have a radar that clearly indicates such, hiding the item I look for inside an enemy is always bad, for I refuse to believe it would be inside the enemy.

Goddamn it, Arin!

Tip 46: People struggle understanding your gender identity or pronouns? All there is to see in that is a giant cloud of egotism that reads “My problems” zapping another smaller cloud that reads “other people’s problems”. Seriously, kids are starving, so WHAT if you identity confused someone. Grow a spine!

Tip 47: Stop pretending that adaptations should colorize how a story or comic series should be defined. No way in FUCK can a cartoon or film incarnation become the definitive portrayal of my precious superhero idol.

Tip 48: Enough with your precious “limited animation” techniques, YOU WESTERN HACKS! All you’re doing is admitting to sheer laziness and lacking artistic integrity. Now if you excuse me, I’ll be watching more anime, since that gives me a sense of prestige.

Tip 49: If getting five times more detail than the 2D animated visuals have requires someone getting hurt, so be it. No pain, no gain after all.

Tip 50: Yes, I genuinely struggle to believe there’s this majestic level of layered material without having the most immediate yet still vague re-assurance practically yelling in my face. But that’s STILL the work’s fault, not mine.

Tip 51: Every Klasky-Csupo cartoon has more artistic integrity than any of them cartoons with gay lovers such as Kipo or the Netflix She-Ra show.

Tip 52: If Sergio Pablos’ Klaus is anything to go by, we have no excuse to utilize those smelly as fuck digital animation “styles” found on Stinky Universe, Suck-Ra or Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turds.

Tip 53: Stop projecting your orientation onto works of actual talent. Seriously, how does Elton John’s I’m Still Standing expel ANY rainbow flag energy?

Tip 54: Hip hop and electronica have been the destruction of music, especially the kind that’s actually organic and not farting on the buttons of a beeping or drumming gadget.

Tip 55: The audience for cartoons has become significantly less clear over the years. We should just go back to Saturday mornings of being sold toys or shit kids actually want.

Tip 56: PSAs for kids shouldn’t be about ‘woke’ content. They should be actual problems such as doing drugs; not playing with knifes / outlets / matches; or acceptance.

Tip 57: The instant you realize a detail in a childhood work that’s better understood as an adult, you’re forced to paint that work as the most transcendent thing in the world. It’s just THAT simple until I dictate otherwise.

Tip 58: Before you lash out on ALL rich people, remember this: #Not All Rich People.

Tip 59: There’s nothing to gain out of the (c)rap scene other than becoming a spiteful, gun-wielding thug that sniffs weed for breakfast.

Tip 60: Since the Mystic Knee told me to get anal about prom episodes in several gay cartoons, this shows that writing about one’s younger experiences just makes you look pathetic.

Tip 61: Another smelly thing about Zootopia is how it was painting a police chief as stern and exclusive. #Not All Chiefs

Tip 62: Me catching a glimpse of Grave of the Fireflies as a kid and turning out fine shows that you may as well show kids more adult works without worry. No amount of psychological questions being asked will suggest otherwise.

Tip 63: There’s a reason why the Mystic Knee keeps leaning more toward the 90s and early 2000s than most decades. That knee KNOWS where there’s a sense of true refinement.

Tip 64: The BIG difference between rock and electronica? Steward Copeland actually DRUMS. All that the likes of Burial, Boards of Canada, Depeche Mode and several others did was push drum buttons.

Tip 65: One exception to the golden nostalgia is when the work in question doesn’t stuff your face with fantastical, bombastic stories. At which point, there can only be rose-colored blinds covering Nickelodeon’s Doug. Nothing of merit or personal resonance to be found.

Tip 66: Remember that the sense of nuance in the work comes down to there being everything including the kitchen sink, whether it involves multiple geographic landscapes; giving us hundreds of characters; etc. Only through the extremes will I be able to tell there is nuance.

Tip 67: Once you see a joke that has an involvement with sexual or violent content, just ignore the full picture and just reduce it to having nothing to it but “sex, violence, gimme claps.”

PKRussel has entered the chat

Tip 68: With all the SJWs messing up the art of comedy, lament the times where you could be called a comic genius, NOT a monster, for shouting out the word “STAB,” calling a gay weird, painting Middle Easterns as inherently violent, etc.

Tip 69: Guitar twang will always win out over (c)rap beats. There’s a reason your grandma is more likely to listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd than Kendrick Lamar.

Tip 70: Once the Mystic Knee notices a lack of squealing at the video game with linearity, that shows there’s more artistry in going full-blown open world.

Tip 71: Related to Tips 66 and 68, ensure your comedy gets as much information and mileage out of each individual skit as possible. EMPHASIZE if you need to. Continuously spout out your quirky phrase of “STAB” if needed.

Tip 72: Based on the onslaught of TV shows with many seasons and episodes, animated or otherwise, it shows that there’s more worth going for that than simply having a miniseries or a 26-episode anime.

Tip 73: Building off of the previous tip, you’re better off squeezing and exhausting every little detail and notable characterization rather than keeping anything simple and possibly leaving a stone unturned, especially if there’s supposed to be a story.

Tip 74: Playing through the fan translation of Mother 3 made me realize how much some newer kids’ works just try too hard to get serious. Why even make the kids potentially think about the death of a family member?

Tip 75: The fear I had over Sid’s toys from the first Toy Story and similar anecdotal emotions are the be-all indicators of what kind of show or film is fitting for the children.

Tip 76: Seeing this British rapper chick have a song titled “Point and Kill” just further exemplifies the fears I’ve had about rappers being some of the most harmful folks ever.

Tip 77: The problem with attempting to make a more “relatable” She-Ra is that kids aren’t looking for relatability. They want the escapism of buff fighters or something similar. This is why slice-of-life is so smelly.

Tip 78: Based on seeing the rating of “PG-13″ or “R,” I can tell that the dark humor is little more than “hur dur sex and guns.” Given the “TV-Y7 FV” rating of Invader Zim, the writers should’ve taken notes from that instead just so I can sense actual prestige.

Tip 79: The original He-Man has more visual intrigue in its animation than any of those smelly glorified doodles found in the “styles" of the 2010s and early 2020s.

Tip 80: It’s always the fault of the game that my first guess (that I refuse to divert from) on how I have to go through an obstacle won’t work.

Tip 81: Zootopia discussing prejudice ruins the majestic escapism I got from my precious childhood films from 1991-2004. Them kids might as well be watching the news. Now to watch some Hunchback after I finish these tips.

Tip 82: There is no such thing as an unreasonable expectation, and there’s especially no wrong way to address the lack of met expectations! For example, if you expect some early 2010s cartoon on the Disney Channel to be a Kids X-Files, yet you get moments such as some girl getting high on stick dipping candy, you got the right to paint the worst out of that show for not being “Kids’ X-Files.”

Tip 83: Related to my example for Tip 82, if you get the slightest impression of something being childish, you know you got yourself a children’s work that does little than wave keys and has basically nothing substantial for them. In this situation, those malfunctioning robots found in Wall-E are the guilty party.

Tip 84: Without the extensive dialogue that I’m used to getting, how can one say for certain there was any amount of characterization in the title character of Wall-E?

Tip 85: Ever noticed yourself gradually being less likely to expect an upcoming work or view a work you’re just consuming as “the next best thing”? That’s ALWAYS the fault of smelly “artists” (hacks really) and their refusal to give a shit.

Tip 86: It’s obligatory for your lead to be explicitly heroic just so there is this immediate re-assurance that they’re a good one.

Tip 87: Without the comforting safety net of throwbacks, one cannot be for certain that there has been an actual evolution of a series or the art of animation and video games.

Tip 88: Don’t PSA kids on stuff they give zero fucks about. That means no gender identities or pronouns, race, etc.

Tip 89: Don’t listen to Mamoru Hosoda saying that anime women tend to be “depicted through a lens” of sexual desire. He’s just distracting from the superior prestige found in anime women.

Tip 90: If you’re desperate to let others know that your talking points are reasonable, just repeat them over and over with little expansion on said talking points.

Tip 91: 7 or more seasons of art is better than 26 episodes of art. EVERY TIME!

Tip 92: Always remember to continuously talk up the innuendo and mature subject matter of the childhood work as the most prestigious, transcendent thing of all time. With that in mind, there’s a high chance that your favorite childhood work will be better known than Perfect Blue (1997), and there’s likely a reason for that.

Tip 93: An art style that gives many characters relatively more realistic arm muscle details will always shine through more than any sort of art style done for “simplicity” (laziness, really).

Tip 94: Seeing a few (like, even VERY FEW) people show more enthusiasm for Steven Universe over Invader Zim really shows the lower bar that has been expected out of the western animation scene compared to anime.

Tip 95: Electronic music makes less conventional time signatures cheap as hell. REAL music like rock makes them the exact opposite.

Tip 96: If your Mystic Knee suggests that the 90s cartoon being viewed doesn’t showcase a vague sense of refinement or artistic integrity, then every related assumption of yours is right. EVERY TIME!

Tip 97: Doing everything and the kitchen sink for one series or movie shows a better sense of refinement and prestige than any form of simplicity. THIS includes character design as well.

Tip 98: The advent of that Star Wars: Visions anime really shows just how stinky western cartoons have become.

Tip 99: For those wondering, no, Europe isn’t being counted in my definition of “western animation”. Doing so is a complete disservice to prestige.

Tip 100: If even less than half of these tips aren’t being considered, you can kiss that prestige badge goodbye. After all, I SAID SO!

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snowdice · 4 years ago

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Rats, Pizza, and Supply Closets (Part of the Cuffed Universe Series)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Remus/Virgil (a bit more Logan/Remus focus)

Characters: Logan, Virgil, Remus

Summary: Logan is very surprised by the fact that Remus did not come to this pizzeria with the goal to capture him, and now that they’re both here, it turns out their objectives align far more than expected.

AKA: The First Truce

This is a Cuffed Universe fic.

Previous fics in this series:

Tea, Cookies, and Handcuffs

Matboards and Subway Sandwiches

Espionage and Iced Coffee

Popcorn and Podcasts

Extras:

Moving Day

Notes: Non-consensual drug use mentioned, morally grey Logan, cop Remus, being restrained, one theoretical mention of eye injuries, human trafficking mentioned

Look at the boys! They’re getting along! Well.... Remus and Logan are getting along.

One would think, that is, one would think if one had even a single iota of sense in one’s monkey brain, that it would be difficult for a new hire to so quickly gain access to the location that one’s underground drug dealing operation ran out of. Particularly, one would think one would be cautious after having recently refused to pay for services from a cybercriminal.

Luckily for Logan, it seemed Haynes had a few disconnected synapses in his brain, and all it had taken was a fake ID and some forged paperwork to get hired on as a handyman for the business he used for money laundering. In addition to his work dolling out controlled substances, Haynes also owned a local rip off of a Chuck E Cheese called Cheeezeee the Cheese Rat. It was a dirty establishment with questionable food offerings and even more questionable decor.

Many times this week, Logan had found himself distracted by the large mural of a rat made out of cheese who was holding a smaller hunk of cheese as though he planned to eat it. Logan couldn’t help but stare at the image in horror, his mind desperately searching for some meaning in the piece. Was it meant to be a visual representation of pantheism wherein all things no matter the way humanity views them are ultimately the same and are god? That god is the creator, consumer, and consumed and god is reality itself. Was is a commentary on thoughtless, damaging consumption whereupon in one’s hunger and lust one eventually consumes themselves thereby destroying the vessel which one seeks to feed? Was the commissioner just deranged?

“Dude, for the 50th time, it is just a mural of a dumb character for kids,” the woman standing at the counter in the middle of the kitchen said as she sprinkled what could maybe pass for cheese on slabs of glorified cardboard the establishment called pizza crust. “I don’t know what to tell you. Just stop thinking about it and fix the sink.”

Logan tore his eyes away from the monstrosity he’d been staring at through the kitchen food window for the past minute and turned his attention back to the tool kit he’d been provided. He selected the correct tool and climbed back under the sink. He listened to the sounds of the woman continuing to make the “pizza.” Honestly, even if Logan did not know they were selling drugs out of the back, he still may have reported them to the authorities based solely on their food handling practices. In fact, perhaps the food was a worse offence considering that those buying their drugs knew they were purchasing and consuming harmful substances.

The underside of the sink he was under was disgusting, but the work wasn’t difficult. He’d learned enough about being generally handy from his father when he was young, and he had brushed up on those skills in the first apartment he’d shared with Virgil as that landlord did not care enough to fix things in a timely manner.

He still had his head under the sink when he heard footsteps enter the kitchen. He recognized Haynes’ voice as soon as the man spoke. He was explaining a few things about how his operation ran to whoever else was there. He used vague terms, but it was still a rather risky move with Logan and the “chef” in the same room, though it was quite possible she was in on the drug selling as well.

Logan finished fixing the sink without paying the conversation much mind; he already knew why he was here, and it was not to glean information. Logan intended to swipe what the man owed him as well as a steep amount of interest for his trouble. Then, he planned to send all of the information he had acquired about the business to the local law enforcement and let them deal with the rest.

He slid out from under the sink and glanced up. Immediately, he met the eyes of one of the room’s occupants and froze. He and Officer Remus Royal stared at each other for a few long moments before Remus tore his gaze away and looked back at Haynes. Logan breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t stupid enough to attempt to confront Logan in front of the drug dealer. That would have very likely ended badly for them both.

No longer being directly watched, though he imagined Remus was still tracking his movement from the corner of his eyes, Logan cleaned up his tools slowly and stood. His next task was to change a few lightbulbs behind the stage of the animatronic show, and while things had inevitably just changed, he still planned to at least keep up appearances until he could come up with an escape plan. He left the kitchen and moved towards the supply closet. He stored the toolbox there and his hand hovered over one of the screwdrivers for a moment, but he ultimately decided to leave it be. Remus was an inconvenience, but he couldn’t see himself stabbing the man through the eye socket with a screwdriver. He turned to the box of lightbulbs, wondering if he should take them with him or just completely throw out any pretenses of still intending to complete his handyman duties. That decision was made for him when the closet door suddenly opened.

Logan tensed for a fight, mind analyzing the situation. He didn’t have the element of surprise and Remus was bigger, but it was a smaller space that was more familiar to Logan. For most opponents, he’d want to try to angle them away from anything that could prove a fatal or extremely harmful improvised weapon, but in all the times Remus and he had fought in the past, the man always gentled his touch before it could do any true harm and never applied excessive force. Logan had found himself extending the same courtesy. So, in this case, the strategy would be to try to push him towards more deadly weapons which he would be unwilling to utilize. Of course, Remus still had the advantage as he was nearer to the door and Logan was more pinned into the back of the closet, but there was also a light switch right next to Logan and if he could turn it off…

“What are you doing here?” Remus asked the second the door closed behind him.

Logan hesitated. “You seem surprised. Are you not tracking me?”

His body language seemed to communicate that he didn’t intend to jump at Logan in the immediate future, but Logan still eyed him suspiciously. “Believe it or not,” Remus said. “I do have other jobs to do besides chasing you. I honestly did not expect to find you fixing a sink in a crappy pizzeria.”

“You’re truly not here for me?”

“You sound hurt,” Remus teased. “Apologies, I thought you knew this was an open relationship. I see other criminals all the time. Don’t you see other cops?”

“You’re the only one who’s ever been able to even partially keep up with me.”

“Well, I’ve been told I have quite the stamina,” he said, eyes sparkling.

Logan shifted slightly to the side but stilled again when Remus’s eyes immediately tracked the movement. “Stamina doesn’t provide much advantage when stuck in a closet with your opponent,” Logan said idly.

“Oh, I’d beg to differ,” he said lowly.

“So why are you here?” he asked instead of engaging.

“I’m undercover to help bring down Haynes,” Remus said. “He’s into some even skeevier stuff than his rat-infested restaurant”

“I’m aware,” Logan said. “I was actually planning to send an anonymous tip to local law enforcement when I was finished here, though it seems that will be unnecessary now.”

“You were?” Remus asked. “Why?”

“He owes me money, and besides that, he’s an asshole.”

“Asshole might be an understatement for a human trafficker.”

“A what?” Logan asked.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you know?” he asked, and suddenly the rat themed restaurant for kids took on an even more dark nauseating tone.

“I wouldn’t have done any work for him at all if I’d had even an inkling that he partook in that business as well,” Logan spat. “I’m taking him down even harder now.”

There was a moment of silence where Remus considered him, eyes unreadable and head slightly tilted. “So, we’re both here for the same reason,” he said.

“I guess we are.”

“Huh.”

“If you attempted to arrest me, it would blow your cover,” Logan pointed out and tilted his head, “and it would make my objective more difficult as well. Considering the severity of his crimes, would you be willing to make a temporary alliance just to make sure Haynes gets what he deserves?”

“Are you going to drug me at the end of it?” Remus asked.

“We’ll institute a 20-minute grace period after we’re finished. You don’t attempt to arrest me, and I don’t attempt to incapacitate you after we complete our objective.”

Remus took a moment to think through the offer, and then shoved his hands in his pocket. “Deal.”

“Very well,” Logan said. “So…”

The closet door was opened suddenly by a figure in one of the restaurant’s uniforms. “Wha-?” he started, but Remus reacted quickly, grabbing the person and slamming his hand over his mouth. Logan leaned forward and shut the door once Remus has wrestled him inside.

“Virgil?” Logan asked.

“Oh! Hey Virge,” Remus said in surprise. “You’re working at a pizzeria now?” Virgil tried to respond, but whatever he said was muffled by Remus’s hand. “Oh, right,” Remus said. “I’m going to uncover your mouth, but you have to promise not to scream.”

Virgil nodded vehemently.

“Wait,” Logan said, his eyes narrowed on Virgil. “He’s lying. He’s going to scream.”

Virgil shook his head in denial.

“I know you Virgil,” Logan said. “I can tell when you’re lying.” There was always a crinkle between his eyes because he overcorrected on trying to look earnest.

Virgil made a muffled whining sound in the back of his throat.

“Look,” Remus sighed. “I’ll take my hand off your mouth. Don’t scream, and we’ll talk it out, okay Virgil?”

Virgil nodded again, crinkle still prevalent between his eyes, and Logan pressed his lips together to watch.

Remus slowly removed his hand from Virgil’s mouth. There was a short moment of silence. Then… “AAAAmphpmphmpmphpm.” Logan slapped his own hand over the man’s mouth when he started to yell.

“I told you he was going to scream,” Logan commented idly.

“Mphfmkr,” was the angry reply as he tried to fight against Remus’s hold.

Remus sighed. “I was trying to be nice to you, Virge. Now we have to gag you.”

Virgil’s struggling increased, but Remus was easily able to hold him. Logan and Remus awkwardly managed to exchange their hands, so Logan was able to turn around and search the shelves for something to gag him with.

“Here,” Logan said. “This rope is still packaged so it should be clean.”

Virgil whined it protest.

“Well it’s that or duct tape, Virgil and I don’t relish in the pain that would doubtlessly result from the process of removing it.”

“Fmf. Ff.”

It was a struggle to get the rope between his teeth, but they managed it after a bit of wrestling. “Can I borrow your handcuffs?” Logan asked Remus.

“This time he asks,” Remus snarked, but handed them over.

Virgil made muffled irate noises behind the rope as he was cuffed to the metal shelving unit; Logan imagined whatever the man was trying to say was quite inspired.

“Sorry Virge,” Remus said, patting him on the head. “See you later.”

They shut the closet door behind them, and Logan locked the door with the keys he’d been provided. He handed the keys to Remus. “You’ll let him out after?” he asked.

“Of course,” Remus said. “I’ve got the emo.”

Logan nodded and turned from the closet. “Let’s go get a rat,” he said darkly.

Want to read more? The next installment is:

Kisses and Thai Noodle Leftovers

#sanders sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #intrulogical #virgil sanders #intruanalogical #adriana writes #cuffed universe #cop remus #morally grey logan #non-consensual drug use #drugs mentioned #being restrained #eye injury mentioned #human trafficking mentioned

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bewitching-elizabeth-olsen · 3 years ago

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Press: WandaVision Was Elizabeth Olsen’s Exercise in Reclaiming Her—and Wanda’s—Power

On this week’s Little Gold Men, Olsen explains why she was “mortified” to share WandaVision with the world and teases her upcoming turn in Doctor Strange.

VANITY FAIR: Despite her onscreen superhero status, Elizabeth Olsen admits to Vanity Fair’s Joanna Robinson that she gets “panic dreams” before beginning a new project. That was never more so the case than with WandaVision, the genre-bending Disney+ series that imagined Wanda Maximoff and Vision’s (Paul Bettany) married adventures through a sitcom-style lens. But after the show premiered to rave reviews and an eager fanbase, Olsen’s nerves about launching the Marvel TV empire could melt away, right?

That is, until she suited up as the Scarlet Witch once more for Sam Raimi’s upcoming sequel, Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness. Although writer Michael Waldron has compared the titular character to Indiana Jones, Olsen insists that the final product is edgier than that figure’s action epics. “I think it’s more than a glossy Indiana Jones movie, which I love Indiana Jones,” Olsen says on the latest Little Gold Men episode, adding, “But I feel like it has a darker thing going on.”

This week’s Little Gold Men podcast is a Disney+ double feature, featuring an interview with Sebastian Stan of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (also courtesy of Joanna). She joins Vanity Fair’s executive Hollywood editor, Jeff Giles, Richard Lawson, and Katey Rich in a conversation about Witness, which gave Harrison Ford his only Oscar nomination to date. Other top of mind topics include the lackluster box office performance of In the Heights, Emmy buzz for Bo Burnham’s Netflix special Inside, and Pixar’s newest release Luca, which arrives on Disney+ Friday.

This is a partial transcript:

You’ve talked about Wanda coming into her own power, discovering her power. Something that I think is so interesting is you were doing work as an executive producer on Sorry For Your Loss. And I was wondering what that experience taught you about your power, your ability to have input over your acting choices or your acting roles going forward?

It was incredible. It was truly one of the greatest learning experiences I could have had. I saw how everything can be done if I ever wanted to direct something, which I’m not sure yet. But I have seen how maybe the healthiest way to crew up a show is, to a writers room, to the whole journey in between and editing and color correction and sound mixing. All the things that I had wanted to experience, I got to do that on that show. And it created this neverending voice in my head that now just expresses all of her opinions when I’m on set. It’s great working with. Like, I’m starting to work with another director right now and it’s great just saying, when people sometimes would ask me, “How would you like to work?” I wouldn’t really know how to answer that because I’ve always been malleable to if other actors like working specific ways. I’m cool to kind of be fluid in that zone.

Now I can just say, “It’s really good for me to have all the information, just so I don’t have to ask questions in my head and think, why are they doing that instead of this?” But if I just have the information of “Oh, this is an issue, so we’re doing this instead” then I’m not going to try and make up what the issue is and spend weeks trying to figure out, “Why are we doing it this way?” S I know that that’s now something. I just like having information, even when I’m not a producer. It just helped. I’m sure other actors would be like, “How the fuck would you keep all that straight?” And it actually rests my brain. It rests my monkey brain, I think. to just have facts and information about how everything’s going, why schedules are changing. Yeah, I loved that experience.

I would say on every single ensemble job that I have done with Marvel, I try and take up the least space possible and let everyone else’s personalities fly. And that’s truly what I’m more comfortable with in that space. It’s kind of in the same way [that] it’s really nice to have one-on-one conversations, but if you put me in a theater with 50 people and having to address a TedTalk kind of thing, that’s my worst nightmare. So I just would rather be small and take up a little bit of space and do my part of the puzzle. I still think I’m going to be like that. And the other big ensemble ones, I didn’t feel that way with Dr. Strange because it wasn’t that kind of a thing. But yeah, between Age of Ultron and WandaVision it’s literally like someone who doesn’t want to peep up and who is so scared to do anything wrong, who just is going to defer to everyone else for information and just do it and just stay in my lane.

Now in WandaVision, it was like I wasn’t a producer on it but it felt like I wanted to be a leader. I wanted to take the opportunity to kind of set the tone of how we treated one another, how prepared we were, how collaborative we could be. And [director/producer] Matt Shakman was the ultimate, greatest leader. I think we didn’t come to work with our sides in our hands. We were giving notes to [creator] Jac [Schaeffer] at least a week before we…And obviously there are things that are always going to be coming up and changing but we didn’t want to do the whole thing where an actor has a brilliant idea at midnight and we have to kind of spend too much time that we do not have discussing that brilliant idea. Just look ahead and be prepared and then be really kind and treat everyone with respect. That just is how we worked and we had a joyful time doing it.

Wanda has always been a character embraced by the fandom, but what does it mean to you, given that you have this different approach this time, to see Wanda embraced by a much larger group of people and awards folks are knocking at your door and all this other stuff?

I feel really grateful. I was mortified when this show was coming out. I was having a lot of weird anxiety about it and felt pressure from the idea that Marvel hadn’t had something come out [like this] and it felt so different. And I was like, “They like the sitcom but they’re not going to like it when we get out of the sitcom.” I had strange, really strange experiences when I was working in England and it sounded like people were enjoying it and I just wasn’t believing it.

So it was really kind of when I wrapped Dr. Strange and came home and I now have this gratitude that I feel like Kathryn [Hahn] and Paul and Teyonah [Parris] had while we were doing press during it coming out. They had this nostalgia of the time we had. And I’m still playing the same frickin character, but like moved on. I just could not sit back and kind of have that gratitude. I do now. And it really feels good, even if nothing happens, to be continued to be a part of a conversation about people acknowledging work that was done. As much as I try not to have an attachment to it, it is a sense of gratitude and you just feel lucky.

Go here to listen to the podcast. Elizabeth is near the end after Sebastian Stan.

Press: WandaVision Was Elizabeth Olsen’s Exercise in Reclaiming Her—and Wanda’s—Power was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

#Elizabeth Olsen #WandaVision #Avengers #Scarlet Witch #Wanda Maximoff #Sorry For Your Loss #Avengers Infinity War #Avengers Age of Ultron #Captain America Civil War #Ingrid Goes West #Godzilla

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nellie-elizabeth · 4 years ago

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His Dark Materials: Theft (2x03)

I love Lee Scoresby, y'all.

Cons:

This one was pretty light on the "cons" column! If I had to say anything, I'd say that having an episode without Magesterium politics made me realize how much those elements were clogging up the pacing.

Also, Lee Scoresby is amazing and I love him, but I thought the daddy issues angle was a little played out. If that's in the book, it must be a passing reference. I think Marisa Coulter and Lee Scoresby have enough going on with regards to caring for Lyra as a daughter despite not having raised her, without introducing the idea that they both had crappy fathers.

Oh, also, this is a minor detail, but in the book Lyra loses the alethiometer because "Latrom" is sitting in the back seat with her (he has a driver) and he picks it out of her bag. I liked that much better than Lyra getting out of the car in a panic and leaving the whole bag behind. That girl carried that thing around with her in the frozen wastelands and was obsessive about keeping it with her at all times. Seems like the kind of mistake Lyra wouldn't make. Trusting a stranger at the wrong moment in desperation? Sure. Leaving her bag in the car? Maybe not.

Pros:

To me, this episode managed to capture the sweetness and depth of some of my favorite parts of the book, while not remaining beholden to the text to such a degree that it felt stagnant. I gather from reading reviews that others disagree, but I found myself pretty charmed by all of this!

Starting with what was added: see, the thing about Lee's adventures in the books is that they're vitally important in setting up some stuff for Will, and they totally matter in the emotional sense, but they are pretty divorced from the rest of the action. So, if plot-wise Lee needs to do what he does in order to help Will, which will in turn help Lyra, it makes sense to me to put something in here that more directly ties his actions to his goal, which is... to protect Lyra at all costs. Getting him in a room with Mrs. Coulter, a woman who is at once a huge threat to Lyra and also possibly one of her best chances of survival, allows so much to bubble to the surface.

During that whole scene between Marisa and Lee, I was thinking about Lyra. Childish, self-centered, but so brave and determined and tenacious, and these two adults who, really, barely know her, but would go to the ends of the earth for her. And what an important message to include, too! Lee flat-out says that just because Mrs. Coulter is Lyra's mother, doesn't mean she really has her best interests at heart, or can really keep her safe. And as much as Marisa might not want to admit that... she does, eventually. It plants a seed, it proves a truth that's very important moving forward, which is that Mrs. Coulter's love, terribly twisted and manipulative and bad for Lyra as it is, really is love. She's willing to let Lee go because she figures it's important for Lyra to have an extra ally on the board.

Lin Manuel-Miranda's performance as Scoresby really is great. He's playing it cool but also kind of dorky, which is so in line with who the actor is as a person, but also feels like this totally original spin on an iconic character. I loved the interplay when he pretended not to know who Coulter was immediately upon seeing her, and how you really saw the meeting of two minds in that moment, as they sized each other up and cut the crap. And, as an added bonus, we got to see Hester, my favorite daemon in the show to date. She and Lee have the relationship dynamic and bond that I want to see more of between Lyra and Pan, and other human/daemon combos. (Speaking of which... Mrs. Coulter letting the golden monkey hold her hand... I got chills.)

Before turning to Lyra, a few other notes... we got a brief check-in with Iorek this week, as Serafina's daemon comes to him and tells him the situation. The armored bears are leaving their homeland because the ice is melting, due to Asriel's hole in the sky. This was entirely setup for future plot elements, but I still enjoyed seeing one of my favorites!

Mary Malone gets some time with her sister and niece and nephew, which I liked as a humanizing moment for her, giving her stakes, giving her something rooting her to her current life that makes where she's going next feel all the more poignant. And she and Lyra have such a special connection; I like how they've managed to make me believe in Mary wanting to help Lyra, right from the jump. She's making some progress with Dust, even if she doesn't quite get the full picture yet... I'm excited to see her moving forward into having a bigger role in the story!

And now for Lyra and Will. As I keep saying, they are the heart of this season, and if any one thing needs to be right, it should be them. And holy hell, they're getting this right. That scene in the movie theatre? Pan sticking his little head out of the bag to see the movie, Lyra eating the popcorn, talking about Roger? And Will confessing that he came to look for Lyra not because he thought she was messing around, but because he was worried about her? I love it. All of this was golden, it solidified the special bond they already share.

This is a rough week for Lyra, as she inadvertently betrays Will, and then while trying to flee from Boreal's goon, ends up losing the alethiometer. What I love about this is that she fails because she doesn't listen to her own best judgment (represented by Pan), and this is a retread of mistakes we've seen her make before. Because change is hard, because getting past the mindset that she's the hero of her own story is difficult, especially when, in a cosmic sense... she kind of is the hero, as we know. There are prophecies about her, after all! But her regret over losing the alethiometer is so heart-wrenching, her determination to fix her mistake so steadfast, that you really can't stay mad at this kid for long.

In many ways, this was a filler episode. Or... not a filler, but a setup episode. Lee is still looking for Grumman. Mrs. Coulter is still on the hunt. The witches and bears are on the move. Lyra loses the alethiometer, and is given a side quest: fetch the thing that Boreal wants from the world through the window. Book readers know what's about to happen, and that makes me very excited for what's coming next! This episode managed to ratchet up the tension as the pieces on the chess board move closer together, and I think it was ultimately a success.

8/10

#review #his dark materials #his dark materials review #hdm

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violetmuses · 4 years ago

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Grey || Chapter 1

2023

Helmut Zemo

Scheisse!

I’d forgotten that some electronic devices would have spotty reception during this flight to Madripoor, but another part of me cursed once more for attempting to contact someone in particular. Several decades passed since I’d last seen her in and I knew better than to act as if she’d listen to me, especially since my imprisonment.

“Did something in your plan go awry?” James probed, sitting across from me without closing too much space between us both. Meanwhile, Sam perched himself into one chair of the opposite aisle, sitting alone.

“No, James, but I appreciate your concern regarding the mission.” I tucked away the small burner phone, hoping that he would not ask many other questions before we landed. We shared silence, but prompted gratefulness to reach my thoughts.

Only I knew the truth.

______

“Got word from high. You ain’t welcome here.” This bearded guard addressed me minutes after we reached Madripoor. By now, I’d entered the Brass Monkey Saloon with James and Sam, planning to contact Selby then after. This bar also lined with decor that would’ve reminded children of Halloween as skulls perched in all corners.

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if you insist, either come and talk to me or bring Selby for a chat.” Facing that guard, I motioned my gloved hand between him and James, showing authority I’d held by noting current placement of the Winter Soldier. Meanwhile, Sam, dressed in his red-brown suit, remained silent.

“The Power Broker, really?” James eyed me without much emotion whilst asking his brief question.

“Every kingdom needs its king. Let’s just pray that we stay under his radar.” I remarked, keeping my voice low amid the presence of others.

“Do you know him?” Sam countered, leaning as well.

“Only by reputation. In Madripoor, he’s judge, jury, and executioner.” I continued, acknowledging how influential The Power Broker had been.

“ Зимний солдат, атака.” A different patron of the bar had lurked nearby, but dared to touch my shoulder. In turn, I uttered Russian, signaling the need for James to attack. Voices of shock and surprise had filled the area, adding noise.

“What is going on?” Sam questioned me moments later. Across the room, James then turned the earlier patron’s arm and inflicted more pain to others almost immediately afterwards. Here, we won, earning slight notice in the venue now.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” I uttered to Sam , shoving another guest of the bar towards this fray. As long as we kept up notice here, there wouldn’t be problems, no matter how much people recorded with their phones.

“Shit.” Sam mumbled in return moments later, watching as various people aimed their guns or readied other weapons to defend against us. Meanwhile, James had now clutched his brace around someone’s throat, holding him near the bar counter.

“Stay in character before the whole bar turns on us…Молодец, Солдат.” I reminded James and Sam, keeping my warning quick as Sam peered. I then spoke in Russian once more and turned to face James, still encouraging him as The Winter Soldier.

“Selby will see you now.” The Bartender acknowledged what happened and permitted our entrance towards Selby. Meanwhile, that poor and seemingly helpless victim of James slipped off the bar with this large thud, coughing.

“Thank you.” I said, quickly leaving as Sam and James began to trail behind me. At least we could leave this bar alive.

______

“You should know Baron, people don’t just come into my bar and start making demands.” Selby lounged on her favorite sofa once more, resting her arm onto its backend.

“Not a demand, an offer.” I sat down in one of the adjacent armchairs. Both James and Sam cornered themselves to stand in the room, not bothering to act comfortable while staying in character.

“A lot has changed since you were here last. By the way, I thought you were rotting in a German prison. How did you escape?” Selby remarked back, noting my current presence and freedom away from those claustrophobic walls.

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” I smirked, emitting feigned arrogance to keep us alive just a bit longer. There was no other choice. Once again, I knew much better to give us away, especially now.

“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger. What’s the offer?” Selby bravely purred in the direction of Sam, gesturing her hands to imitate the ferocious cat of his alias-namesake. Yet, her eyes faced me, asking to describe the purpose of our visit.

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum and I will give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want” I stood up from the armchair and lurked to James, momentarily baiting Selby here.

“Now, that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right. The serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you or want or thank or condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the Serum, but things didn’t go as planned.” Selby almost plastered her wickedly famous smile whilst I then sat back down in the posh armchair and listened to this extremely significant information. James and Sam were once again quiet.

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” I asked, lifting one of my gloved fingers to emphasize the question itself.

“The breadcrumbs you can have for free, but the bakery’s gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” Selby rose from her sofa and gestured to me. I could only imagine what else had to be done.

Just when I planned to respond, Sam's cell phone buzzed out loud. My thoughts now raced with anger as we all glanced around the room. Selby’s guards had departed the nearby shadows and lifted weapons, planning to attack, of course.

After Selby demanded for the call to go on speaker, we heard Sam’s sister, Sarah. This clueless and innocent woman did not realize our mission in the slightest. As Sam and Sarah bickered to and fro, I froze, eying nothing but the farthest wall.

“Sam, let me call you back.” It was not long before Sarah had acknowledged Sam by name, ruining our cover during this mission immediately. Even James had nearly lost his own composure, for good reason.

“Sam, who’s Sam? Kill them!” Selby glanced around, realizing that we were all imposters now. Just moments later, however, this singular gunshot pierced through the glass of a nearby window, ending Selby’s life without fail. Accurate, perfect.

“They’re gonna pin this on us.” Sam huffed. Between gunshots, guards in the room aimed to put up a fight with us. James and Sam defend themselves as I rose from the armchair and cornered us all, lifting my hands when Sam had addressed me.

“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead.” I breathed to respond quickly. Outside the bar, cell phones chimed, pinging a bounty message. A reward would be given to anyone who found Selby’s killers.

______

“Deactivate your hustle mode because you sell fake Monet pieces.” Sam wasn’t convinced that Sharon Carter kept such exquisite artwork in this high-rise. James and Sam were moving around, eyeing the property as others would keep sight.

“No, she means real. This gallery is specialized in stolen artwork. Monet, Van Gogh, classics.” I recalled more information, but paused midway through my own acknowledgements… Sharon, James and Sam still conversed, but left me alone.

At that moment, I cornered to take out my burner phone, hoping to see if a call would actually go through. At least I could rid this device if need be, otherwise the digital exchange would be found by others. Blue and white lighting of the room kept me hidden to an extent.

Placing the phone against my ear, I watched as Sam and James kept chatting with one another. Sharon looked uninterested, but annoyed all at once. Meanwhile, I listened as three dialing rings filled my ears. I’d waited too long for this moment.

“Hi, you’ve reached Dionne Charles. I’m sorry for missing your call, but if you leave a message after the tone, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks and have a great day.”

There it was. Somehow, her sweet voice hadn’t aged in the decades that passed since we first met. I shut both eyes, immediately remembering the pretty smile that always hid whenever she sipped from those champagne flutes after the auction.

Before I could dare to clear my throat and leave a message, Sam caught me off guard.

“Are you just gonna stand there all night to use your phone or change into different clothes? Sharon’s got clients visiting soon.” Before I could dare to clear my throat and leave a message, Sam caught me off guard.

“Apologises.” Facing Sam in return, I tucked away my phone once more, heading towards one of the last guest rooms located here to switch my current attire.

Tonight would show a great reprieve until the next hurdle came along.

#zemo tfatws #helmut zemo #au fic

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winterisakillerwrites · 5 years ago

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Becoming - Part Five

Title: Becoming

One Shot: 5/6

Character: Tom Hiddleston

Genre: Realistic(?) fluff; Angst

Rating: T

Summary: Learning about his son was only just the start of the story. As Tom Hiddleston struggles to adapt to this sudden change in his life, he comes to learn that becoming a father might be the biggest role he’d ever taken on. *Sequel/Continuation of Lovers’ Eyes*

Authors Notes/Warnings: This story came about because I knew there was still so much about Tom and his son that I wanted to explore. I fully intended this to be a quick flash forward into their lives, a snapshot if you will….They had other ideas and so here we are. This is technically all one story but has been broken down into parts to make the reading easier.

Thanks so much first and foremost to @ciaodarknessmyheart who has dealt with me throwing all of these ideas at her and has helped shape them into something coherent and wonderful.

Hope you all enjoy!

Tag List: @tinchentitri @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @noplacelikehome77 @blacksuitofdoom @nonsensicalobsessions @theheartofpenelope @ms-cellanies @nuggsmum @inkededucatednnerdy @redfoxwritesstuff @just-the-hiddles @wolfsmom1 @theoneanna @hiddlescastle @sabine-leo @alexakeyloveloki @echantedbytwh @finchbaggins @kenzieam @ciaodarknessmyheart @ladyblablabla @trippedmetaldetector

It wasn’t an easy process and there had been push back on both sides. More often than not Tom found himself leaving meetings with his solicitor (a middle-aged no nonsense woman of his agent’s suggestion and of sterling reputation) feeling equal parts frustrated and terrified. She’d done her level best to reassure him that set-backs and disagreements were par for the course “After all,” she’d said pointedly after one such meeting, “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

Despite the constant feeling of unease and stagnation, they were at least starting to get somewhere. The time Tom spent with Jaime had an overlaying tension now which seemed to put both Tom and Keira on edge. They were never openly hostile towards each other around Jaime, but it was clear the boy felt the change. And that was something Tom knew neither he nor Keira wanted. It had taken tea and a fair bit of open, frank discussion on both of their parts for an uneasy truce to form between them. They both loved Jaime something fierce and both wanted the best for him. In order to do that they needed to work together, needed to be on similar pages. Jaime deserved no less.

The begrudging truce formed that night was tested a week later when pictures of Tom and Jaime playing in the park began to make their way around gossip sites and the papers. While Tom’s status as a father was known to family, close friends, and his management, a public announcement had never been formally made. Knowing the intrusive nature of the press, Tom wanted to shield Jaime from it as much as he possibly could. He’d known taking the boy out in public would eventually bring the matter to a head, but had hoped being outside of London would delay it. And it had, for a time.

When Luke called letting him know pictures had been released and several news agencies were reaching out for comment, Tom had been annoyed but not entirely surprised. He’d known from the beginning that sooner or later this would happen. The world he’d chosen to make his life in meant, whether unfairly or not, his life (both public and private) would be considered up for grabs. And because of who he was to Tom, Jaime could (and most likely would) very well be dragged into it. But knowing that did little to make any of it easier to bear. Nor was it any comfort.

Shortly after that initial call, Tom discussed the matter with his team and then shortly thereafter with Keira, as she had a stake in this just has Tom himself had, and they’d all begrudging agreed that something needed to be said. To ignore the matter entirely would only serve to worsen the issue. Saying nothing would only lead to the press and the public coming up with their own versions of events and more cameras as they sought to prove or disprove their theories. In being open, or at least in saying something, part of that power, that control would be back in their hands. It wouldn’t stop the press or the cameras (and Tom was no longer naïve enough to think it would) but it would allow them to have a say in the story being told. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the one card they had left to play. Jaime was his son and he wasn’t ashamed of that fact, saying nothing, hiding it would only serve to make it seem as if that were the case. And that was something Tom would not stand for.

The statement they had agreed on was short, simple, and to the point; it acknowledged that the boy Tom had been photographed with was indeed his son. That he and the boy’s mother had been in a serious relationship when the boy was conceived and that she had recently passed on. They asked for privacy in this matter and that while Tom himself was a public figure, his son was not and asked the press and the public to respect that.

It was far from perfect and the resulting push back was loud. Why as this only coming out now? What was Tom trying to gain? Who was the child’s mother anyway? Why had nothing about her ever come out?

Tom did his best to ignore the questions and the unkind words and had encouraged Keira to do the same. “It’s just noise,” he explained, hoping she could understand. Hoping she could see, in this instance, he knew what he was talking about. It was a hard lesson to learn and one Tom still found himself struggling with. But it was the only way to handle the madness. “It’s loud and painful but ultimately changes nothing. You can’t read everything they say about you or the ones you care for, doing so would drive you mad. You can’t change it, can’t stop it, so you just have to do your level best to ignore it. To treat it as if it’s nothing more than background noise.”

Following his own advice was easier said than done and he’d caught himself looking at the articles and speculation from time to time, fighting the bile rising in his throat as he did so. It could be worse, he told himself. It could be so much worse. But knowing that didn’t make seeing it any easier.

While he fought to keep things as normal as he could for Jaime’s sake, the boy clearly noticed the sudden amount of attention he’d garnered. They’d been in the park and had spent a fair amount of time in the play area, Tom laughing as Jaime horsed around on the monkey bars (ignoring the sense of dread he felt when Jaime nearly lost his grip) and ran up and down the slide. On one such trip up the climbing tower on a warm August afternoon, Jaime paused, confusion painting his features and pointed towards the far end of the play area. “Look daddy! That man’s taking pictures of us. Is he your friend?”

Tom swallowed the curse he wanted to utter. He’d gotten used to being followed in London, known it was a part of his life he couldn’t entirely escape. But here…This, here, was a part of his life that was solely his. They had so much of him but this part, this was his. Forcing himself to calm and smile warmly at Jaime, he asked, “Why don’t we go back to Nan’s for a bit? I’m sure she’s got tea nearly ready.”

Jaime didn’t seem wholly convinced but followed alongside Tom readily enough. Tom fought against the urge to turn and see if they were indeed being followed, as he strongly suspected they were. Jaime seemed mostly unconcerned, if not vaguely curious, about the photographers and they last thing Tom wanted was to scare the boy. He didn’t know if his son or Keira were bothered when he wasn’t around, Keira never mentioned and Tom was leery about bringing the subject up. They had been getting along over the last several weeks, despite Keira’s obvious frustration at this unwanted attention in her grandson’s life. Tom was loathe to do anything to rock the shaky peace they’d found.

Tea was indeed waiting once they’d arrived at the house. If Keira noted Tom’s unease as he helped Jaime wash up, she refrained from commenting. Jaime ate with gusto, Tom and Keira watched sharing knowing looks. The boy very much took after Tom in his veracity when it came to food and talking it seemed. Once he’d inhaled his meal, Jaime babbled almost nonstop about the fun he’d had with Tom in the park and, to Tom’s discomfort, the funny man taking pictures. Keira nodded and smiled indulgently at the boy but her discomfort at the situation was clear.

Once again, Tom cursed himself and the life he’d chosen to lead. Cursed how things that had no business in the public eye were thrown into it without warning simply because of their attachment to him. Luke had assured him that it was manageable and Tom knew enough of UK privacy laws to know that the papers couldn’t publish Jaime’s face without his consent…or at least the consent of his guardian and Keira would never allow it. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be followed. Pictures could tell stories and stories involving Tom seemed to sell for a great deal.

When Keira had sent Jaime upstairs to wash up, Tom told her such. Tried his best to explain he would do whatever it took to keep Jaime safe. Keira listened with a reserved silence, her face unreadable. Something Eliza had clearly inherited from her; Tom could remember many a time he’d sat wondering just what was going on in Eliza’s mind when her face refused to tell him a thing. Once he’d finished, Keira told him she’d known in theory what allowing him into Jaime’s life would entail and that Eliza had known as well. Keeping the boy from his father hadn’t done any of them any good and while she hated the risks involved, she knew that Jaime deserved to have his father be a part of his life.

“I don’t like this and I won’t pretend I do for either of our sakes, but I know it is what comes with the territory and you have proven yourself enough that I can trust you to put the needs of that little boy above your own. And that is why I won’t fight you on this, why I am agreeing to let you share custody. He is my grandson, but he is your son and this is, ultimately, what Eliza wanted.”

And with that, the discussion was done. There was little point in rehashing any of it. What mattered now was Jaime and keeping him healthy, safe, and happy. While Tom’s life brought challenges, having him in Jaime’s life far outweighed any of those risks. And life went on as normally as possible. Tom spent as much time as he could with the boy as the dawning school year drew closer. It was to be Jaime’s first and he couldn’t have been more excited. He talked of nothing else; excited to make new friends and to learn as much as he could. It warmed Tom’s heart, seeing the boy’s clear love and desire to learn. He was such a mix of Tom and of his mother. And again Tom felt the familiar longing loss of what could have been had he or Eliza made different choices.

The custody hearing concluded three weeks after the school year began, and for the most part the news was kept out of the papers (Luke was certainly worth his weight in gold and when Tom told him as much Luke joked and told him the bill would be sent right away then). Tom would share custody of his son with his grandmother while Keira would retain full physical custody for the time being with an understanding that in three years’ time a joint physical custody agreement would come into effect. Tom would have that time to rearrange his life as best he could to prepare. It would be easy enough to transition to more localized productions and it would give him the excuse to get back into his love of theatre. Visitation would be granted in an effort to ease Jaime into the idea of living at least part time with Tom.

Both Tom and Keira agreed to wait until Jaime had settled as much as he could into his school routine before starting any overnight visitation with Tom in London. Day trips on the weekends and time spent overnight at Keira’s were about as adventurous as either felt Jaime needed right then. The boy had enough changes coming as it was to pile on anymore. Jaime took to these outings and times spent with his father like a duck to water. He loved spending time with Tom, loved talking to him about school and all he was learning while there. Tom, in turn, was grateful to see the boy thriving. Jaime had a way with people that was so much like his mother, and he rationalized, like himself. Nothing about their situation was perfect, but it was working and that was enough for now.

Things became harder as the first anniversary of Eliza’s death drew near. Tom had been dreading the knowledge of it since he’d woken up that stormy morning in late September and realized with a sinking sense of pain and guilt just what the next week would mean. It would mean that it had been a year since he’d learned of her passing, a year since he’d lost the last vague hope of ever seeing her again, a year since Jaime had come so unexpectedly into his life. And in that year so much of his life had changed. Suddenly it wasn’t just him anymore, there was a little boy who needed him and he’d come to learn he needed him just as badly. So much good had come from something so painful.

His mind turned to Jaime, wondering just how much the boy understood of what was coming. Jaime still spoke often of his mother and Tom knew he missed her more than he was able to say. He wondered what Keira had planned for herself and for Jaime and if he had any right to involve himself in those plans. Yes, he was a part of Jaime’s life now and yes Eliza had been someone he loved (and always would love) very deeply, but he hadn’t been a part of her life by his own selfish decisions. Keira had been incredibly close to her daughter and had her own loss to mourn. Intruding in that, especially if he wasn’t wanted was the last thing Tom had any desire to do.

It was therefore a surprise when his mobile rang on the eve of the anniversary of that painful day. He’d seen Keira’s number and for a brief moment considered sending the call to voicemail. He didn’t know just why she was reaching out and if it was to ask him to stay away, Tom wasn’t sure he would have the nerve, or the heart, to hear it. But what if it were Jaime calling…What if something had happened? Tom slid his finger across the glass screen and with trepidation answered.

Keira’s voice was quiet, solemn, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt the memories of the person they had both lost were standing by her side. She did not ask him much, just to come by the house tomorrow. Jaime would need him, she’d said, and she believed he would need the boy as well. Tom had slept fitfully that night, memories and guilt swirling around him until he could not truly tell one from the other. He’d given up the ghost around four in the morning and had made his way down into the kitchen for coffee and something he hoped would distract him.

His mobile sat on the counter where he must had dropped it after Keira’s call. He had no real memory of any of it and that was probably for the best. Jaime would need him to be strong today, even if the boy did not fully understand why. Tom sighed, waiting for the water in the kettle to boil. Out of habit he reached for his mobile, hitting the home button to wake up the screen. There was a message waiting for him in WhatsApp from Benedict. His newest son hadn’t quite mastered the art of sleeping through the night and it seemed Ben had drawn the short straw and was sitting up with him allowing his wife her much needed sleep.

Tom smiled at the photograph of the little boy sat in his friend’s arms and fought to ignore the strange, pain of longing he felt. He would never have memories like that of Jaime and on most days he could live with that. He’d always known there were things out of his control, but sometimes that longing screamed in the back of his mind, so much time lost and for what?

He hit the call button in the app without thinking and waited as it rang. “Tom? I didn’t think you’d be up yet.”

Tom sighed, taking the kettle off the heat and pouring the water into the press. “Couldn’t really sleep. Saw your message and figured it would be safe to call.”

Benedict chuckled, “Yes, sleep has been rather elusive on this end as well.”

He placed the mobile on the counter, switching the device to speaker as he moved about finishing brewing his coffee. Through the tinny speakers Tom could hear the muffled grunts and squirming of the baby in his friend’s arms. “But it’s worth it, is it not?”

“Oh yes, even when it feels like you’ll go mad, it’s worth it.” There was a slight hesitation before Benedict spoke again “Tom?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Tom sighed, taking a sip from the mug in his hand. He grimaced at the heat, grateful though for the moment it gave him to decide how to respond. Briefly, he considered brushing off Benedict’s invitation to talk, the last thing he wanted to do was unload on his already sleep deprived friend. But he couldn’t do it, not when he knew Ben’s offer was genuine. He was one of the first people, outside of his family and his team, Tom had opened up to after learning of Jaime. And Benedict had been a sympathetic ear, offering both his ear and his counsel when required.

He knew that Benedict was well aware of the significance of the day to come and knowing had offered Tom a quiet hand in a way he knew his stubborn friend would accept. What he’d ever done to be worthy of such a friend, Tom would never know, but he was eternally grateful.

It didn’t take long for the thoughts and fears which had plagued him to come tumbling from Tom’s lips. Just saying the words aloud felt like a giant weight had been lifted from him. Even though there was nothing Ben could really do. Nothing he could really do about any of it other than simply do what needed to be done.

The call ended as sunlight began to pour through the kitchen window. His coffee had long since gone cold and Benedict, to his credit, could no longer pass off his yawning as a one off. With a sleeping infant in his arms, Benedict wished him well. “If I don’t sleep now, he’ll be up again and so will his older brother and sleep will be something that happens to more fortunate souls.”

Laughing, Tom bid his friend a pleasant sleep and surrounded once more by the silence of his kitchen, sighed. The clock on the stove read twenty-seven minutes past six. Keira hadn’t said how early he should come but if he showered and left within the half hour he could be at her’s around the time Jaime would be waking up. Mind made up, he placed the still full but now stone cold coffee by the microwave and jogged out of the kitchen and up the stairs to at a time.

Twenty minutes later he was clean and back in the kitchen to reheat his coffee. No sense in letting the brew go to waste and he desperately needed the caffeine. Wincing as he pulled the now steaming mug from the microwave and dumped its contents into the travel mug his mother had bought him last Christmas (“you drink enough of the blasted stuff so you might as well have something decent to carrying it in when you’re dashing about”). Shoving his mobile in his pocket, Tom jogged to the door, grabbed his keys from the hall table and made his way out into the bright sunlight.

Keira had clearly been expecting his early arrival Tom discovered as he found her waiting at the door as he pulled into her drive. She nodded at him and he did so in return. This was going to be a rough day for all of them.

“Thank you for coming,” she whispered as she pulled the door shut behind him.

“Thank you for having me.” He didn’t know what else to say. What else could he say? He shed his coat, hanging it on an empty arm of the hall tree. The sound of footfalls above signaled Jaime’s imminent arrival and Tom steadied himself to become whatever his son would need him to be.

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Becoming #guilt #grief #original child character #Dad!Tom #winterisakiller writes

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sweetcatmintea · 4 years ago

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Dogwood & Co scene 1

So I started writing a new wip and figured, hey, why not post it? So, here’s the first scene so far. (It doesn’t have a title yet so the place holder is Dogwood and co.) Image credits are in a reblog so tumblr doesn’t hide this post :v Feedback is always very much appreciated

[image description: a mood board of three images on a herb background. The first is a photo of pair of copper crane shaped scissors. The second is a digital illustration of a person’s eyes. They have brown skin, dark eyes, and curly hair that’s shaved on their right side. They have orange makeup under their eyes. The third image is a photo of a dogwood flower, a white four petalled flower with a yellow centre and dark stem. description end.]

Words: 1858 Trigger warning(s): None. Ask to tag Character(s): Dogwood, Suecica, Hosta, Niobe, and Dogwood’s mother.

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This is not one of the greats, an epic adventure of brave heroes bringing long overdue justice to an ancient evil. There is no shining knight, nor corrupt monarchy felled. It is a simple story of a young witch and the trials they never imagined themself facing. There is triumph, loss, magic, and food. There is a baker with a wild glint in her eye and a smile so infectious even the cantankerous little dragon is swayed to joy. There is danger, of course, but, at its core, this is a story about love. You may not agree with that at first. That’s fine. This story is not one of the greats, but you have some time and I have a tale so would you lend me your ear and hear Dogwood’s plight?

Death will always follow in your footsteps, an inevitable shadow at your heels, but Dogwood, it will never take you.

To start at the beginning is to start much too early. Instead, we come to meet our protagonist midway through their morning chores, kneeling in clovers and dewy soil, gently snipping countryside herbs with ornate scissors. Brass, carved in a crane’s image, they sat light in Dogwood’s grasp. Suecica, the youngest of Dogwood’s brothers, crouched as close as Dogwood’s movements allowed, eagerly thrusting a basket towards them at the first hint of its necessity. Though his enthusiastic help was in name only, Dogwood was happy for the company. They placed the cuttings with the others, a single fluid movement, never breaking the flow of their work. They mused an explanation here and there, the function of this herb, the necessity of that ritual. For many, it may not have been the fun side of magic, but for Dogwood, it felt like home. Magic was their heartbeat. To teach it was a fulfilment they knew they would not be able to indulge in for much longer. Suecica was a young lad of eight, in but a few more seasons, his own magic would begin to manifest. It was only a matter of time until he made his vows with Nes. Dogwood wondered idly what form Suecica’s Dustmorph would take. A cat like their mother? A fox like their father and brother? They thought a dog might suit him better but there was no way to tell. There was an element of inheritability, to be sure, but the shape of a person’s essence has many hands moulding it. Until he was ready, it was a secret between his soul and the Gods.

The tug of magic pulled them out of their thoughts. Followed quickly by the appearance of The Respected Hosta. Dogwood rose to greet her, wiping their hand on their pants as they stood. Although it was not uncommon to see a witch of Hosta’s status in the countryside, or that she might seek out an apprentice in person, it was strange to see her usual mischievous graces shadowed by a worried brow and stiff gait. Shoulders rigid and back straight, her natural flow was entirely absent. Her robes battled at her ankles as she approached, raising a hand in greeting as soon as she made out the pair. Sharp vision was not a blessing she had claim to. Dogwood wondered, not for the first time, if the snake draped around her neck was a cause or a coincidence.

“Hosta, Niobe, your presence blesses us. What brings you to the country?”

Never one to be left out, Suecica parroted Dogwood’s greeting. “Your presence blesses us!”

Hosta nodded in return. “Your company is appreciated, Dogwood, as is yours young Suecica.” Niobe curved around her wrist, sliding the dimming location charm Hosta had used to find them over his head until it might be needed once more. As he reclaimed it, the magic pull faded to nothing.

“Unfortunately, I am not here for pleasantries. In regard to your recent behaviour, the Council has deemed it appropriate that you are to report to the catacombs on the ninth hour of this night for disciplinary action.” Hosta’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument.

The drastic change a slap in the face to Dogwood. They blinked at her, eyebrows arching in surprise. Her stony gaze gave nothing away. Moments lapsed before they remembered they should respond.

“Oh, okay… Will I need to bring anything?”

“No. Do not be late.” With a dip of her head, she turned and left. Niobe stared from her shoulder as she went, studying their reactions with an emotion Dogwood couldn’t place.

The siblings exchanged a look, broken by Suecica jabbing Dogwood in the ribs, laughing as they jolted.

“Ooooh, you’re in TRouBle~”

“It would certainly seem so.” Dogwood shook their head, taking on a mock stern expression. “If you don’t want me to turn you into a toad for that, you’d better run!”

Of course, they weren’t capable of that kind of magic, but that really wasn’t the point. Following a threat through was never the point with siblings.

Suecica shrieked in delight, taking of in the direction of their home. “You can’t run with scissors!!”

Dogwood pocketed the scissors and took off after him. “Don’t think you can escape so easily Sue! You’d better not drop those herbs unless you want to be the one picking them all up again!”

They ran through fields, spooking chickens and amusing friendly neighbours until they arrived, panting, out of breath, at the pink picket fence lining their family property. Sue clamoured through the hard wood door, kicking off his shoes and nearly upending his basket in his haste to enter the house. Fortunately for the pair, Dogwood caught it in time. They followed him inside, slipping their shoes neatly beside the brick wall, and setting the herbs aside to be properly prepared later. Though a chore to some, Dogwood enjoyed each and every First Moon Ritual, the ceremonial burning of hand-picked herbs at the height of night under a new moon to thank the stars for their continued guardianship. There was such a monotonous peace to it, a feeling of belonging and purpose they could seldom word, let alone explain, even to fellow witches. Would they still be able to perform it tonight? Would three hours be long enough for the Council’s intent? Even in punishment, they had always respected the rituals. But then, the whole situation was not quite right, what sway would ‘always’ have here?

Sue thumped down the hallway, nearly barrelling into their mother as she left the nursery. “Mum! Muuumm!! Save me! Dogwood’s gonna turn me into a toad!!” He feigned terror at his sibling’s approach, tucking himself behind her for safety.

Porlock, the sturdy white and red striped cat sitting on her shoulder puffed their fur and hissed at him while their mother scolded his noise.

“Hush, you silly monkey! I just got your sister down!”

“Oops!” He dropped his tone to a stage whisper, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry!”

She sighed, rolling her eyes just as dramatically as his antics, and ruffled his hair. She ushered them away from the sleeping baby. Porlock’s fur settled back to the almost tabby pattern as they left. With a huff, the cat leapt to the floor, plodding back to nursery, their red tail a flag behind them.

The three gathered in the kitchen, Sue fishing a honey biscuit from the tin and offering one to his sibling. Their mother nodded towards the basket.

“How did you go?”

“Good. The plants have grown well this cycle. We found plenty for the First Moon, as well as some to eat. Sue listened to instructions but, unfortunately, will have to live the rest of his life as a toad.”

“That is a shame,” she laughed as Sue whined, “I suppose he will have to develop a taste for flies.”

“Muumm, no! I don’t want to be a toad!” He crumpled into her, the mockery too much to bear.

“Maybe we can work something out. I doubt a toad will be as useful as our little Sue.”

“Muuuuummmm.”

She laughed again. Dogwood’s mother had the warmest smile they had ever seen. Her brown eyes sparkled with so much joy and life, the tired lines running through her skin could do nothing to dampen her spirits. She had always been a lively woman, but fatigue was unavoidable at the moment. Nuttallii, the youngest member of their family, had proven herself a difficult sleeper. She seemed to be committed to keeping their parents awake as long as possible and had shown no signs of slowing her tirade yet. It was only a matter of time until she would though. Just like her siblings before her, Dogwood knew she would learn peace eventually.

Dogwood was the second born and eldest of their three siblings. They did not mirror their mother as Sue and Nut did, sharing her coppery hair and soft face, nor were they made in their father’s image like Cornel, their other brother, carrying his dark locks and straight features. Rather, they were somewhere in between. On multiple occasions, they had been compared to their Grandmother, a portrait of her youth. The same warm russet skin, deep brown, near black hair, and the same ebony eyes that seemed to say more than their face ever could. They missed her dearly, a weakened constitution taking her long before they were ready to say goodbye. It was not the first Memoria Bell they had received but it was the one that truly introduced them to loss.

“Besides, I shouldn’t get punished!” Sue’s face lit up in a treacherous grin, “Since Dogwood was the one who got in ~tRoUbLe~!”

What a brat. Siblings. Honestly.

Their mother paused her teasing, looking to them for an explanation. They’d like one too if it was on offer. Instead, they kind of shrugged.

“Hosta asked-”

“Ordered!”

“… Ordered my presence in the catacombs at ninth hour tonight. I am to be reprimanded for my recent behaviour. She didn’t say what I had done, or really anything else.”

“Except not to be late!”

“Except that. I’m not sure what this is about. The only thing I can think of is falling asleep in the library during studies, but I doubt that would amount to such formal measures…”

A worried moment passed between them. The kind that is all consuming between adults yet hardly noteworthy to children. Though witches may command change from their fingertips, it would seem they turn shy when it is thrust upon them.

Their mother tried to gather herself, putting on faux airs for her children. “Well, there’s nothing much we can do until tonight. I’m sure it is a simple mix up, nothing to fret about.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

She put a comforting hand on their shoulder. It would be okay. They would get through it together if it wasn’t.

“In the meantime, I have some deliveries that need to be made. The Roselia family have several pots to be delivered and Ms. Prunus has a mortar and pestle. Can you take them? If the pots are too heavy, leave them. I’ll get your brother to take them when he gets back.”

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Tag list

@snobbysnekboi, @inkovert, @kainablue, @i-rove-rock-n-roll , and @goblin-writer

#Writing #writblr #original fiction #original story #original characters #Dogwood and co #my story #Character mentions #Dogwood

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recurring-polynya · 5 years ago

Note

Ok since snake has Rukia's va, I wonder if he's supposed to be the physical representation of Renji's devotion to Rukia and him being a child is because their childhood friends or because his greatest moment from childhood was because he met Rukia. Monkey and Snake also scream Left and Right brain dynamics.

I mean, yeah, that’s where I was going with that, although I don’t think the characters in the Zanpakutou Rebellion Arc were *supposed* to be anything, aside from cool-looking.

For non-longtime readers, I like the Zanpakutou Rebellion arc a lot, it’s very fun, but I absolutely refuse to accept it as canon, and I don’t care if was actually in an omake, I do not accept Renji asking Kurotsuchi to alter Zabimaru from nue-form to Saru/Hebi form for horniness-based reasons. (Usual Polynya disclaimer: This is just like, my opinion, man, I am not now nor ever telling anyone how to feel about fictional characters)

I have a LOT of feelings about Zanpakutou Spirits-- they are honestly one of the most compelling parts of Bleach to me, and it’s really interesting to me *what* they really are. This is particularly fertile ground for fanficcers to go ham. My personal vision is that they are nebulous, independent spirits that embody certain values or abstract ideals-- justice, patience, winning-at-all-costs, abhorrence of violence, The Aesthetic, you get the idea. They attach themselves to young shinigami, and take form in some way based on the personality and hopes and fears and imagination of their human, and so their embodiment is sort of a union of human and spirit. When the shinigami dies, the zanpakuto returns to its unformed state, but having been changed and affected by the life it shared with its shinigami. Very strong shinigami tend to leave major marks on their zanpakutou spirit, which is where I think Hyourinmaru came from. I think zanpakutou spirits have a deeper existence than their shinigami are really able to grasp, do not have the same set of concerns that most humans/souls could possibly empathize with, and that they do not live in linear time.

And then the Zanpakutou Spirits arc comes along and it is, in my opinion, kinda of a hot mess. Are the spirits representative of their shinigami’s inner self? In some cases, like Zabimaru and Haineko, that seems true. On the other hand, take Senbonzakura: a guy who never runs out of masks and loves going ham. I mean, to be honest, that sounds pretty aspirational for ol’ B, rather than representative of what’s actually going on in his head (and if it is… dang, son).

But let’s go ahead and take for granted that Saru and Hebi are manifestations of Aspects of Renji, because of course that’s what I actually want to talk about. I have maintained many times before that Renji would be a very, very different person if he hadn’t been sent to Inuzuri. He’s a natural soldier, a guy who likes order in his life, a guy who wants there to be rules, for life to make sense. This is why he’s so fucked up at the beginning of the SSA: he has followed the rules for 40 years. He has done everything he was supposed to, and now the rules are failing him, and furthermore, Byakuya, the guy who exemplified order in his mind, has failed him by failing to look out for Rukia. But the fact was, Renji was sent to Inuzuri, where he learned that no one follows the rules, that you can’t trust those in authority, that you have to watch out for yourself and those you love, because no one else will. And that’s why he has a split psyche: Saru represents Squad 11 Renji: strong, loud, flamboyant, big hair, stripes, tall. (Why this half is female is extremely interesting to me, but I have absolutely no insight to draw from that). I think Hebi represents that Renji-That-Never-Was: the Renji who is smart and thoughtful and playful and vulnerable. The fact is, Renji never had a chance to be a kid-- when we see him in flashbacks, he is very serious and pragmatic, and at first, seems offended by Rukia’s lightheartedness before they really get to be friends and we see them laughing together. I think Renji tends to see his worth only in the Saru side-- Strong Guy, Punch Guy. Hebi is a kid, and largely bossed around by Saru because Renji hasn’t let that side of himself grow and shine much. The symbolism of having Rukia voice Hebi says to me that Renji thinks that Rukia is the only person who has seen and accepted his full worth (he is wrong, he is extremely transparent and all his close friends know How He Is and Love Him For It, they just don’t mention it too much out of the sense that he *wants* to be perceived as Shout Guy Sword Guy). That being said, the only actual symbolism of this is that Michelle Ruff does a lot of voices (I never listen to dubs, I don’t even know if they sound at all the same)

This concludes armchair psychology time with Polynya.

#asks #renji abarai #zabimaru #saru #hebi #zanpakutou spirits #headcanons

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dreamingsushi · 5 years ago

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Jade Dynasty

So. I am still mourning over the end of The Untamed which I finished not long and then as I was doing some research on xianxia and stuff, I found this movie. With Xiao Zhan. I loved him portraying Wei Wuxian and thought he was doing an awesome job and so... I’ll just watch this. I have no idea what’s the plot, no idea if people liked it. I don’t care, I just need more Xiao Zhan in my life.

First thoughts, I love the opening music. But I am confused at the beginning. There’s a girl looking mischievous flying on a big pink ribbon. I have seen people flying on their swords before, but not this. There are some other people behind her, it’s not really clear if they are chasing her, but I would rather think there are not. Then a guy wearing blue comes and takes her hand and she looks very happy to see him. As they dance together in the clouds, I would say that they are lovers. But maybe I’m wrong, who knows.

I am sorry, I am probably going to make a lot of links to The Untamed, because that’s all my mind is on right now, so please bear with me and don’t hate me for doing so, it’s not on purpose. So Xiao Zhan’s character is looking at the others flying next to the clouds and then has to go back cooking. There’s a dog. And he’s not scared. It’s weird for me, I am so used to his portrayal of Wei Wuxian being scared of dogs. Anyways, he calls out the others to eat and they all get excited. Well I understand very well, I also easily get excited over food. But I don’t fight for it. Even for Hongshaorou. It’s funny how all of them are fighting that one piece, when there’s more than enough for everyone. Xiao Zhan (I’m still waiting to know his character’s name) tries to keep everything under control, but those guys. Nope, too excited to listen. They end up spilling everything and hopefully somebody makes it that the food keeps in the air and they start eating.

hm. I hope it won’t be like this for all the movie because.. I won’t enjoy myself hahaha. It looks like a Chinese comedy and as much as I love China and its culture... their sense of humour is pretty weird. But that’s just my opinion. Sometimes, I do think it’s funny. But not their strength.

Then the Shiniang, which would the master, comes in and all the food drops on the ground and she gives them a beating for behaving like this.

Because they made all the food drop on the floor, there’s nothing but rice to eat, but the master prepared himself and go a whole duck that he doesn’t share with the others. I hope he doesn’t speak much, his voice is getting on my nerves. (I already wrote so much and I am just past six minutes in the movie... haha oh dear god)

The master asks if Xiaofan (Xiaozhan) practiced lately, but the other disciples all say he doesn’t have time to practice since he’s busy cooking for everyone. The master expresses his disappointment for Xiaofan haven’t even mastered the first level even though he has been there for a while. Xiaofan then says he almost mastered it and gets tested. However, things don’t turn out so well and even with the help of all the other disciples, he’s not up to it.

Later as he practices meditation with his shijie, he loses control. Seems like he is using two different energy, one which is his, another that comes from a jewel hanging at his neck. The shijie asks a little about it, but he says he just lost concentration. That day would be the anniversary of his parents’ death. So she decides to take him to his hometown village, even though it is forbidden for disciple to go down the mountain by themselves.

I guess there’s a flashback of what happened that day, some scary guy was fighting with a monk. And that is the worst fighting scene ever. The monk only uses his head to hit the other guy. Probably it’s meant to be funny, but it just looks so stupid. After that, everyone in the village was dead and that’s when they took Xiaofan in. They still haven’t found the culprit.

Later al the disciples go to spy on some other disciples, it’s all girls and then somehow, even though it was already so obvious they were there, somebody pushes Xiaofan and he gets caught. Apparently those girls are unhappy with that and the leader threatens him so he would tell who else was there. In the end, she puts bugs on his body and Xiaofan’s shixiong try to get him rid of them which seems complicated. They don’t dare going to fetch Shiniang, who would be able to help efficiently, in fear of punishment.

I don’t like the dubbing. It’s very bad so far... I think the acting could be okay, but the dubbing makes it... well not believable. I don’t know if my love for Xiao Zhan is enough to endure this until the end. Well, I got through 20 minutes. Not bad. An hour more to go.

Fortunately for Xiaofan, his shijie come and saves him from the bugs. It seems he likes romantically his shijie, but she treats him more like a little brother. In my opinion. He calls out for some water dragon later and asks him advice to confess his feelings for his shijie. Okay. I wouldn’t think of asking a celestial creature for that kind of advice though. Even the celestial beast seems to think so.

Okay. So basically, he’s not bad, it’s just that he first promised to be the disciple of that old monk from earlier. He’s also the one that gave him the weird jewel to find so deep gorge where to throw it away. Weird. Also, it doesn’t sound familiar, like have I already seen a movie based on the same story? Is it possible? Doesn’t seem so, but there’s a drama about it. Maybe I will try it. Yang Zi a main lead and I like her. Anyways, basically, the buddhist monk taught him, but he shall not uses it in front of others.

When he finally decides to throw away the gem that makes him less and less stable, a monkey stops him from doing so. While trying to escape the monkey, he falls in a lake. In the bottom of that lake, there’s something dragging him down.

Oh god. I complained about the turtle monster and the wolf like puppet in the Untamed. It was art. This is... When he gets out of the water, Xiaofan is bitten by the monkey and his blood drips horizontally until it reaches the jewel which “drinks” the blood. It’s a vampire stone or what? Anyways, it calls out to that stuff in the bottom of the lake which emerges with a huge ominous aura, that even all the masters can see. They all guess it’s related with the blood pearl and the leader of the Mo sect wants the weapon and the pearl back. Annoying voice... AGAIN. Gahhhh. The dubbing of this movie though. Awful.

So a lady comes to get the stick he got and she fights to grab. However the lady that gave him bugs and his shijie come to save him. Later that night, the same girl comes in to steal the stick. Follows a very boring scene where he keeps preventing her to do so in his sleep (like hugging and stuff). When she manages to take it, it magically goes back to Xiaofan. Who doesn’t notice anything.

Omg. So the girl happens to sleep with him? I mean, sleeping like sleeping, nothing inappropriate. When he wakes up he gets scared to death and she asks for the stick to compensate the fact that they shared a bed. Then, he doesn’t even have the time to agree before she snatches it away and again, the stick wants to go back to his owner. And when he speaks to it... it moves. Okay. This is getting weirder and weirder...

I have to make a comment. The hairstylist from this drama. I never want that person to touch my hair. It’s all so ugly.

He realizes his beloved shijie likes someone else, then yells outloud that he likes her. But not in her face, just on top of a cliff. Why? Anyways, the other disciples heard him and he runs away. A bunch of people also runs after him, but I think they are chasing the girl trying to steal away the stick. Anyways, they hide together in a grotto and he tells her all about his love for his shijie, while she tries to steal away the stick all over again, which ends up with her being stunned yet again. He goes out to get food and when he comes back they talk about their deceased parents.

So I skipped the whole fighting contest in details, but basically, where everyone thought he would lose, Xiaofan wins thanks to his stick, even against his friend Jingyu. Which makes him angry because he thinks Xiaofan lied about being unskilled.

Now there’s like... 30 minutes left to that movie and I still don’t know where are we going with this plot.

Anyways, he throws away the stick because it made him lose his good friend.

Later at night, he gets dragged by the monkey and finds an unconscious Lu Xueqi. He helps her a little and tells her to take care, but she doesn’t really care for what he has to say and leaves without letting him notice.

As he fights with Lu Xueqi in the last contest, he keeps getting back at her no matter what even though he is no match. I definitely saw some other Chinese movie or drama with something like this. It’s... How weird... I don’t know anymore. Anyways, the stick comes again and heals all of his wounds and he’s about to win, he notices that Xueqi has a nosebleed, so let her win. People are starting to think his stick isn’t normal. Was about time.

Okay... now there’s a weird puppet dude. A weird invisible man, a weird chainsaw dude. Some kind of evil Zhubajie. What the hell. Is there a second movie coming up? I mean there’s only like fifteen minutes left. What the hell.

Now they are thinking that Xiaofan knows of evil ways, but when they search his energy, it’s still pure. So it’s probably a problem with the weapon. However they can’t do anything with it so people want to kill him, but then the disciples beg for him and they tie him under a bell? Weird, very weird. Anyways, then Biyao comes to take him away and meet with his dad, who is the king of the devils. Oh god... They start having a fight, it’s awfully bad.

All the other “good” people come to the rescue. It’s a... well very weird. And then all he masters work together, but that devil king is way too powerful. Then the skill they is recognized by Xiaofan as the one used to kill everyone in his village. He jumps between the master and the devil king and ends up somewhat defeating the devil king. Then he asks if they are the culprit for killing his whole village. One of the old master wants to kill him because he has a mix of all three ways of cultivation. He’s also very green. Please call a doctor. Thank you. But no, they try to kill him. He went crazy and defeats all the others, until he hits his shijie and she brings him back. Is she dead? He hit her pretty hard. Xueqi is about to kill him and an older disciple sacrifices for him. Even his master tells him to leave. But he doesn’t. I guess he’s asking to die. But then Xueqi doesn’t kill him. She tells him to leave too. So he does. Wow. He takes Biyao away with him to a place where nobody will find them.

And maybe the version I found was incomplete? But that’s how it ends.

I am. Well. At a lost of words and not because this was amazing. That was the weirdest movie ever. I still don’t know what was the plot? The acting wasn’t so bad, I’ve seen better, but I’ve seen worst too. The big problem was the dubbing. It was just... disgusting. The voices didn’t match the actors, didn’t match the characters, didn’t match anything. The storyline is pretty empty, there’s not really any point to it. And I am sure I saw something similar in the past, I just can’t remember the name... Maybe the drama with Yangzi? I might have seen it in China, like parts of it, I don’t know. Or is it just deja vu?

The music was nice.

Xiao Zhan was handsome, but he did a better job with Wei Wuxian, but I guess also the script was really bad, hard to make it any better.

I would not recommend this movie. Unless you have time to lose. Or if you are madly and blindly in love with Xiao Zhan. I see where it could have been a nice story, but I think they lost the essence of the book in the end by trying to put too much, but not enough in an hour and a half movie.

Now I will jus go back to mopping around. Missing Lan Zhan and Wei Ying and waiting for the Legend of Fei with Wang Yibo (which is only announced yet for december... let me sleep like sleeping beauty until then).

#jade dynasty #xianzhu #zhang xiaofan #xiao zhan #biyao #lu xueqi #chinese movie #movie recap #movie review #movie reaction

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secretshinigami · 5 years ago

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Author: @translightyagami For: @kratqa Pairings/Characters: L, Light Yagami, Kiyomi Takada, Sayu Yagami, Kyosuke Higuchi Rating/Warnings: T for, you know. Murder happening off screen but its still gross. Prompt: Roleswap AU between L and Light. Author’s notes: I hope you like junior sleuths Light and Kiyomi, L and Ryuk having a mutual candy-and-TV = Death Note agreement, and letter-writing, because when I write a fic…you know there’s gonna b letters. i also appreciate your patience with any typos; I am a human with sticky fingers.

To-Oh during spring made Light’s skin crawl: love notes proliferated the campus from students not quite grown out of youthful notions; heat creeping beneath his sweaters, tugging at them as if to say short sleeves begged entrance; and the anniversary of his father’s heart attack—one year past—hung over all the landmarks no matter their relation to cardiac health. In that way, he noticed the newspaper story of the murderer who died of a heart attack blaring on a nearby kiosk. Without any real eye of the bizarre, Light didn’t notice things unless their relevance was near to his own life or those around him. Dark ink stared back at him, a jack-knifed business man laid out next to a graphic discussing murder statistics in the Kanto region. It was of no surprise or consequence to Light, whose policeman father made him all too aware of how life flitted from a people every day.

Slipping payment to the newsstand worker and stalking off to his next class, Light read through the story: a well-liked business man succumbing to a heart attack mid-quarter projections meeting and was found—after a house search was requested by the detective L—to have four intact human skeletons buried in his backyard. The wife, a woman with a name that flew in one ear and out the other, claimed no knowledge of her husband’s cruel hobby of picking up young men and then poisoning them with club drugs concocted in their garage; however, the great detective was said to still hold her in suspicion and no innocence was assumed.

A woman bumped into Light, who flicked his newspaper down and apologized for not paying attention. His thoughts were scrambled between happiness for a murderer slain and a stomachache—born not of bad food but an innate strangeness to what he’d just read. The newspaper went into his bag, the story out of his mind, and Light continued classes at To-Oh without much more than passing conversation devoted to “that criminal who died of a heart attack, can you believe it?”

Which, of course, wasn’t his last thought on the case. He chewed the flavor out of the incident, but in quiet. Light never liked to burden people with more than they could take and while his own voice was his favorite song, he knew people had limits. Off-hand, he mentioned the report to his father at dinner, whose murmured response left Light’s trap shut tight to further inquisitions.

“How troubling,” his father said. “We must treasure every day, and live our lives as honestly as possible.”

Three weeks later, in a smaller column, another criminal’s heart attack was reported; this time, Light didn’t pay for the newspaper as Kiyomi put her copy down in front of him. Her near-despot rule over the school’s journalism outfit drove her to often drop stories in front of him, asking for his interest and time to discuss various dictates of law enforcement. For this story, however, she asked not for his expertise, but instead to prod in tandem with her at the curiosity of it all.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” She traced a finger over the meager profile shot of the victim, who was discovered post-death to have been collecting severed human fingers in his fridge door. “That one guy dies, turns out to be awful, and then another one?”

“Makes a person want to believe in patterns.” Light looked at her through his lashes, fork to his lips as he took another bite of their shared tart. Whenever they discussed important issues, Kiyomi liked to do it at cafes; Light suspected it was out of journalistic habit, since she took all her interviews to the same place they sat now. “Or even luck, I guess.”

“Luck?”

“Well,” he said, “luck for anyone who would have been those guys’ victims. Luck for the rest of us. Not so much for them.”

Kiyomi took a larger piece of tart, shining with a glazed cherry, and chewed it in vigorous gnashes. “Do you believe in patterns?” Her question was idle, almost absent between chews.

Light shook his head, fork placed down on a napkin and his hand now free to fish his phone from his pocket. “I don’t think there’s anything to this random stuff besides a few jerks getting their comeuppance,” he said. “Nothing but justice, you know. I have to go; my sister texted me.”

Sayu sent him a string of texts, to be honest, about how his mom needed him to come home and help with dinner. Of course, when Light arrived he saw the situation for what it was: his sister needed to watch a TV drama premiere; his mother needed onions chopped; and both of them were unwilling to compromise. Fortunately, the best brother and good son arrived home in time to accommodate them by chopping onions and fending suggestions that he was on a date with Kiyomi.

He fell into his computer chair, swung himself around in lazy circles until his brain became dizzy—one word thoughts all that remained. Onions. Kiyomi. Death. Patterns. Luck. Sticking his foot out, Light halted his movement and froze. In two scoots, he was at his keyboard, and he typed in his query to the Internet as quick as he thought it: Recent Murder Investigations Detective L. After a second, he added quotations around the phrase Detective L and pressed enter. Floods of pixel results washed over him as Light took in link after link to articles covering the great detective who solved any case put on his desk but never revealed himself to the public.

Three articles spoke of specific cases L solved: the Monkey Thief Theory (a jeweled monkey stolen from a well-loved heiress, ultimately found to have been absconded by her own hand); the Pit Viper Peril (a man who used viper venom to poison his business associates); and the Beautiful Woman Break-ins (a woman broke into several of the world’s richest mansions but stole only their fresh fruit. The woman was caught, but no details on her arrest were ever given to the public.) Two articles called L the single most important person in criminal justice history. One article mentioned, albeit as an end note, that L had worked on both cases whose solving had more to do with sudden heart attacks claiming the perpetrators than his own prowess.

A headache formed at the horizon of Light’s skull after reading too close to the screen, so he tried to print the articles. Only one printed all the way—on the second, he ran out of paper and went to Sayu’s room to bug her for using all the printer paper, which she insisted she needed for art.

“You print off pictures of that actor guy in full color and paste them onto your binders,” Light complained. “I need that paper for important stuff. You can’t be so wasteful.”

“It’s the art of collage,” she intoned. “You wouldn’t understand. You don’t have passions like I do, otherwise you’d go out with Kiyomi.”

Light took a third of her printer paper as revenge for the comment and brought in the articles to show Kiyomi. Her eyes were luminous when he arrived at the café table, arms similarly weighted with information which they swapped. She gave him a newspaper with intriguing, if distressing, updates: another man killed by cardiac arrest, revealed to be a secret killer.

“Do you know who was pursuing this one’s death?” He paused, pushing the paper away to give the waitress his full attention and order: black coffee and banana muffin, if they still have some. Kiyomi ordered ahead of him, and her meal sits in front of her pock-holed by her absent bites. In answer, she shakes her head and takes another minuscule clump of her rolled omelet.

“Nobody special was named, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said. “These articles are pretty good, but it’s hard to know whether L has been involved in more without knowing how many heart attack deaths like this have happened.” She gestured with her chopsticks as she continued, pointing at the highlighted National Police Association in the paper’s text. “From what I can gather, the Japanese police are the ones that found the posthumous evidence in the man’s apartment, same as with the other ones.”

“What’s the rub is how would they know?” Light tapped his chin, wristwatch catching café lamp glow and projecting a jiggling circle down on the laminate table. “A heart attack happens, you can just rule that as someone’s poor health, or maybe just a sad stroke of fate. But someone must be alerting police to these people’s suspicious nature for them to be investigating in depth.” He coughed, his next sentence making his throat close in embarrassment, but continued. “Listen. I support the police, you know that, right?”

“Sure,” Kiyomi mumbled around more egg. “You support your dad, at least.”

“Yeah. Well. I know the guys he works with, and while they’re not stupid, there’s no way they got this intuitive so quick.” His muffin slipped in front of him and Light nodded his thanks to the waitress, waiting until she left to pull over one printed article. “Here’s what I know: at least one of these cases was under L’s purview. Who’s to say the other ones aren’t also?”

Discarding the article, Light reached for the condiment caddy and snatched up two creamer cups, while Kiyomi set her chopsticks down in contemplation. Her eyes—dark blue to the point of midnight—scanned both the newspaper and articles. With her mouth pressed together, red lips shining with waxen smoothness, Light could see why she held sway over so much of the school’s masculine consciousness: a beautiful woman who thought before anything. His own attention settled further from attraction and more into an approach toward admiration; she would’ve made a good rival, were he still seventeen and looking for the challenge.

“How would we find out what cases L has worked on?” Kiyomi’s gaze darted from the papers to Light’s coffee, swirling ever more auburn with the creamer added. “Why didn’t you just get a latte, if you’re going to make it so sweet with cream?”

“I like to make things myself.” Light waved his hand to dispel her remark. “I don’t know how to find all the cases lining up to this particular situation, which also have L’s involvement, but I think I can get us to a starting place.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. But I’ll need my computer.” Light took a sip of his coffee and couldn’t resist the pleased smile it brought to his lips: the satisfaction of something useful and pleasurable mixed into one cup. “And about an hour of time, so I’ll probably skip contemporary law today. You don’t have to come, but you can if you like.”

“I should stay, go to class to get notes so you don’t fall behind.” Kiyomi ran her finger around her own teacup, liquid no longer steaming but cool and green with tea leaves solidified at the bottom. “Can I ask you something?” Her voice wavered and Light couldn’t catch its true colors—only flashes of uncertain purple, vulnerable red. “Is it silly to be excited about this? Trying to figure out a mystery together?”

Swallowing, Light pretended not to hear the word together as he knew she meant it: you and me, an item, a duo. “No,” he said. “It’s exciting to solve mysteries, in any case. Every time I’ve worked on stuff like this with my dad, I feel changed, uplifted. Like,” he paused, rubbing his fingers together, “someone just turned on the lights in a pitch-dark room, and now I get to see all the secrets around me.”

“I understand,” Kiyomi said, and in that moment, Light looked at her midnight eyes and saw that she did.

…

It was easier than expected to hack into his dad’s account on the NPA intraweb, although Light knew he used the same password for everything: ssl226. He wanted, in a strange way, for his dad’s heart to be harder to crack—to know less about the key and earn it fitting in the lock—but couldn’t dig into why he felt such a way. Not with Kiyomi sending him text after text from class, each one a more urgent call for updates on his progress. His attention snapped from phone, to computer, to an odd hole in his stomach after their earlier meeting.

He never enjoyed when people tried to get close to him, as though they wanted a piece of Light the same way a child wants a piece of adulthood—desperate without knowledge of what lay beneath. While a social creature, thriving on connection, he cringed from women’s fumbled confessions of attraction and roamed away from their asking mouths toward men, who wanted silent partners to their escapades and were willing to return the favor. In many ways, those interactions left Light cold as well: tacky plastic bandages peeling off at the slightest friction.

The truth was it was easier to want what was right in front of him and not consider the far off. So, Light’s fingers flew across his keyboard with the neon flash from his cell phone ignored. He flipped through files labeled in long numerical defaults—a mark of his father’s tech-illiteracy—with time ticking away. When he finally alighted on the correct documents, his phone inbox was full. Without reading any of the messages, he deleted them all and texted Kiyomi to meet him later at the library.

Armed with a large stack of paper, he weighed down his backpack and left, waving off his mother’s question about why he was skipping class. On the television, a reporter spoke about rising stock in the Yotsuba Corporation’s new make-up company. She laughed after her speech and admitted to wearing their lipstick during the segment. Both Sayu and Light’s mother laughed along too. Light ran out the door, his bag smacking on his side.

The library was quiet except for a few students banging on keyboards, their faces shining with essay-deadline sweat. Light found Kiyomi lounged on a two-seat bench, her legs propped onto the low table and a style guide opened over her face. She sat up when he dropped in beside her, pushing the guide off and starting into an interrogation on why he didn’t answer her texts. Holding up a hand, Light pulled out his papers and set them on the table, smacking a finger on them.

“I know who he’s attacking next,” he said.

“What?” Kiyomi pushed his hand aside and flicked through his findings. “Okay, so these are the last, what? Twenty or so cases the NPA worked on with L?”

“Yes, about twenty,” Light agreed. “But we don’t usually call on him, unless it’s a difficult case. I mean, it’s pretty rare he takes any case at all unless it’s big news. But look at the cases he’s worked on since 2002.”

“Heart attacks.” Stopping at the top page, Kiyomi drew her finger along the chart labels—suspect name, suspect location, case title, behavior—and ended on the final column of conclusion. “Not all of them, though. Only a few scattered ones.”

“I know!” Light couldn’t stop a little eagerness leaking in; his sleuthing was about to pay off. He took out another stack of paper—thinner than the last—and handed those to Kiyomi. “I looked at those cases. All of them had victim counts lower than ten. Some of them were even cases the NPA didn’t put much resources behind. But,” he raised his finger in emphasis, “these ones had interesting details. Like the guy who had skeletons in his backyard? He was some kind of cannibal who left organs behind. The finger guy was notorious, even though he was pretty low activity.”

“You sound like you have a theory.”

“I might. Check out the most recent listing.”

Kiyomi flipped back to the case chart and narrowed her eyes. “Do we know this guy? Kyosuke Higuchi?”

Light sighed and tapped his finger to his knee. “He’s some kind of executive, at the Yotsuba Corporation. I tracked the case listed to one about a bunch of their new make-up brand’s younger interns going missing. The count is five right now, but one of them was the niece of a big government person so the NPA got told to ask L about it.” He smiled at Kiyomi. “Do you want to hear my theory?”

She tapped the paper stack and set it on the table, turning her full attention to him. “Someone is picking off the small fries,” she said, “with heart attacks, and the link between cases is L.”

A frustrated puff of breath exited Light. “Well. Yeah. I guess,” he said. “But it’s pretty smart, right? Getting rid of the guys who you can find, but can’t super prove anything about, before they get to higher numbers.”

“He’s still killing people,” Kiyomi said. “I mean, isn’t that just like what they’re doing? These guys are victims too, in a sense, and this L guy is offing them before they get a trial. What if he’s wrong?”

Light folded his arms across his chest. “But he hasn’t been wrong,” he said. “Not yet.” Shuffling in his seat, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and took a deep inhale. “I want to send him a message.”

“What? A message?” Kiyomi laughed, her long earrings shaking with her clipped hair. “What’re you going to say? We’re on to you, buddy. Better watch out.” She shook her head, laughter making way for a more serious expression. “It’s not a good idea,” she said. “We don’t know how he’s giving people heart attacks, other than by magic or something. It’s dangerous.”

Air lifted and deflating from Light’s chest as he mulled her response around inside. It burned a trail through his soft meats, where enthusiasm continued to grow through whatever scorch she inflicted with sense and caution. His body was a garden growing thicker at just the idea of communicating with the person who had such a power, who made such a decision as to end someone’s life when they ended someone else’s.

Headless of his contemplation, Kiyomi stood and took the papers. “It’s interesting, I’ll give you that,” she said. “But we shouldn’t contact L directly. It will alert him to our own knowledge; we’d give more ground than gain. Let me look over what you have, and later this week, we’ll pool our thoughts and start to put together a better case.”

He handed over his print outs, not too precious about them since he had the real digital versions at home. As she left, Light’s eyes danced away from Kiyomi’s prim stride and toward the tall bookcases. His mind brought to him a scenario where he, and everyone else in the library, was crushed by toppled bookcases and the ceiling caving in. A tragedy without a pinpoint reason behind it—only a god who wanted to see something destroyed. Or maybe it was some kid who leaned too hard. Life was so random in how it could be taken or given, and that thought propelled him further into whatever L’s powers were.

Somehow, there was a man out there able to control death and Light, despite Kiyomi’s warning, wanted to know the shape of his tools.

…

L counted three red candies from his pack and collected them into his palm. They rattled against each other like gemstones, gleaming under computer-haze lights until long black claws pinched one away.

“Red ones are best,” Ryuk said. “Except for cherry flavor.”

“Cherry flavor is fine if you get the right brand.” L turned back to his laptop, nabbing a pink hard candy for himself and sucking its watermelon flavor into a slow, sugar liquid. It subsumed his entire mouth, coated his tongue and teeth. His hand stayed outstretched as Ryuk one-by-one crunched the red candies into his toothsome mouth. Clattering shards collected at his lip corners only to be wiped away by his skeletal hand.

At the moment, both occupied the same opulent hotel room despite their aesthetic pairing more implied them existing in different realities. L had laid out over his hotel desk his laptop, a bowl of packaged sweets, and a thin notebook—opened to a page half-filled by his scrawl. Methodical in his fingers, he looked over the most recent reports sent in from Japan, his interest waning here and there into an intense focus on whatever candy he opened next. Ryuk, on the other hand, was taken up by the television, which L left on for him in most hotel rooms, and all the small colored blotches fizzled together on the screen. He laughed as one blotch fell down a flight of stairs.

Their relationship often balanced on this mutual agreement for entertainment—it flowed between them as Ryuk received TV, movies, and candy from L and L, of course, got the Death Note. While this arrangement meant they were in constant contact, Ryuk did fly between the human world and Shinigami realm on his own whims; he told L human poker wasn’t as good as the death gods played it, which L couldn’t argue being he wasn’t too fond of poker either way. At one point, L asked why he—of all people on Earth and beyond—received such an unholy tool of death and Ryuk responded, “Oh, yeah. The thing sort of fell out of my pocket. I need one of those chain wallets, keep that on me.” As if to prove his point, the next time Ryuk showed up to see how L and the Death Note were progressing, he had his personal Note hooked to a thick metal chain.

“Made it myself.” His voice smacked of undue pride, although L complimented the chain without trace of sarcasm. “Not as good as the human ones, but pretty cool.”

L didn’t care if the Shinigami made a thousand ugly chain wallets, or watched TV all day. What he cared about was the ease the Death Note brought to his work. So often fissures of stress cracked along his psyche when dug into cases which were clean cut—to him, at least—but couldn’t get traction enough with local enforcement to make arrests: to bring justice to people who screamed their guilt to L’s careful crow eyes. But with the Death Note, all he had to do was write a name, wait and assign a search team to the killer’s home posthumously.

Spread in front of him, he tapped a pen end to the blank Note page. All that was left in the Higuchi case was to find a time to kill him while he was alone; for that purpose, L wormed around several important forms and decision-makers to install camera into the vile businessman’s home and office. Blue connective fuzz overlaid the images displayed on his laptop and made Higuchi, idling behind his large desk, appear alien. To some degree, L felt the man was alien to him—in thought, in action (or lack of it), in intention—and had no interest in learning a scrap about Higuchi. He cared more about the space beneath the man’s home, which would be unlocked and unloaded of its human prisoners once Wedy got her go-ahead; keeping a successful thief on his payroll benefited L tremendously.

“He’s been alone for two hours,” L said, to himself and also Ryuk, if the Shinigami wanted to hear. “If I kill him now, how long before someone finds the body?”

“Weekend,” Ryuk piped back. L looked over his shoulder to see his long ebony chicken legs crossed on the bed while yellow eyes stared at the television without blinking. “He might just rot there over the next two days.”

“Oh, I think so—,” L stopped mid-speech at Higuchi’s secretary and her brown ponytail bobbing into frame. She stood at near two inches taller than the man, who sneered as she spoke. At the very least, L knew she was not in danger of kidnapping. He sat straighter and leaned to hear their conversation over the microphones, the secretary’s voice soft and faint from many miles away.

“A young man left this for you.” She held out an envelope; even at his angle, L saw no address or marker beyond Higuchi’s name. “He said he needs you to give it to someone.”

“What?” Higuchi’s nasal intonation pinched his words. “I’m not some kind of messenger. Tell him to just send it by post, if he needs someone to see it so bad.”

“He sounded urgent that you give it,” the secretary said, and dropped the envelope down. “I’ll tell you something, he was very handsome. Seemed like a smart young man. This is probably his resume, you know.”

“Ah.” Snake oil slithered through Higuchi’s response as he took hold of the envelope. “Well, who am I to keep down a young upstart? Anything else he said?”

The secretary taped her finger to her lip and hummed. “Just that it was important someone get this message,” she said. “Someone powerful, who knew what you’d done. I don’t know what he meant by that.”

L’s eyes lit up; Higuchi became pale. “Ah yes,” the businessman simpered. “I’m not sure I know either. Well, why don’t you go home? I’ll see you on Monday.”

The moment the secretary left, Higuchi threw the envelope into the trash and L whipped around to Ryuk.

“Can you fly somewhere for me?” he asked. “And pick something up?”

“Dunno,” Ryuk said. “Depends what I get in return.”

After an hour and a promise for several all large candy purchases, L held a faintly sticky gold envelope in his hands. His hands, covered by white fabric gloves, turned the item over and over in curious rotation. Thumbing the corners, he admired how thick the stock seemed, how elegant the adhesion of the close seemed to lay, and upon opening it, he was sorry to mar the lines. Out fell a quarter-folded page with lines as crisp as the outer shell. L unfolded the page, smoothed it with both hands with delicacy he hadn’t practiced on something non-confectionery in years. Across the fine surface was hard-black typed words, struck out in small font but for some reason read to him like slow cream—a voice L never heard before but caught him, easily, by his mind’s tongue.

Dear L, the letter started. I know what you’ve been doing, but I don’t know how. I’d like to know. I’d like to know you and what tools you’ve picked up that let you wrack such havoc inside cruel men’s bodies.

Are you like them? A cruel man? I can’t say; but I’d like to be able to reject the sentiment.

Each word dropped into L’s consciousness as water on a garden and flourished greenery within him until his interest became a full forest. Someone caught on to him; their fingers brushed his toes but couldn’t quite hold the tiger. Still, the letter’s writer was unknown and on this front, L couldn’t abide. He took to his laptop and rolled back footage upon footage until video of a man at Higuchi’s secretary’s desk showed. At all times, the man’s face was out of view and his voice so low, L couldn’t make out his exact words. Had the letter writer known he’d been watched? A subtle tingle wormed through L’s chest: he knew about the cameras, or suspected them; he knew Higuchi was next; and he knew L was listening, in some capacity.

But how much did this man—who still carried handsomeness in his stature, turned head or no, and had a whisper coated by sugared familiarity—actually know? L frowned and turned back to the letter, scanning it again. He then turned to Ryuk.

“If someone wanted to send a message with the Note,” he said, “how might they do so?”

Ryuk laughed, throaty and amused. “Few ways,” he demurred. “You’re a smart guy. You figure it out.”

L raised an eyebrow, but not an argument. After all, he was the world’s greatest detective; a smart guy who could figure it out. He set to work and by nightfall had a plan. As he finished, he imbued his last pen stroke with some warped hope—that the letter writer saw what his message truly was: not cruelty but a hand beckoning him closer. An invitation.

“A challenge,” L said, to himself, to Ryuk, to the young man whose face he didn’t know. “And an answer.”

…

“Is that the newspaper?” Light slipped in next to Kiyomi, who held ink-covered pages in front of her face, elegant nails curled against headlines like red slashed wounds. Their first period literature class—a dreaded requirement on their degrees which neither enjoyed—found him harried from waking up late. He was unpracticed in disordered sleep and didn’t know how to control panic when it seeped from his pores and into his routine; ever since he gave the letter off to that Higuchi, Light was aware to his core something might happen—something deadly, even.

Kiyomi tilted the front page down enough to show her disappointed gaze trained on Light’s perfect smile—beguiling by practice, not nature. “You can buy your own,” she said. “After all, you don’t want anything from me, much less information.”

“Don’t be like that,” he countered. “You know, I didn’t make any moves.”

“Don’t lie,” Kiyomi said. “Look,” she flattened the newspaper to the desk, and after glancing around, pointed to a large headline, “your little love note found its recipient.”

Light leaned over the paper and scanned the article. Phrases floated forward—a sex dungeon with the women freed by an unknown accomplice—and others were faded but intriguing—Higuchi succumbing to cardiac arrest after consuming an energy drink, a large latte and a bottle of caffeine pills. His eyes froze on one paragraph, detailing a letter found in Higuchi’s handwriting and tucked inside his pocket.

“Experts say the letter was written within an hour of the man’s death,” the article read. “It’s contents are, however, not addressed to anyone known to the victim but instead a mysterious figure called ‘letter writer.’ Beneath we have listed some of the letter, which was confiscated by police and edited for clarity.”

Kiyomi sighed. “You’re in real danger now,” she said softly. “We’re both in danger.”

“He responded,” Light said, breathless. “He wrote back to me.”

Dear letter writer,

I don’t want to alarm you or make it seem as though I am on a crusade. Far from it. This is just my job, and I am good at my job. I get rid of people doing terrible things, but time and resources don’t always play on my side. This is my way of prioritizing.

I’m not a cruel man; and I hope you never think of me as such. But understand I can’t tell you what my methods are. After all, where’s the interest in that for me? But I can give you something small, something to hold onto: without your face, I can’t harm you.

Speak to you soon,

Light’s heart thudded in his throat. “Do you still have that chart on you?” He asked Kiyomi, who brought out the papers with eyes warmed by the prospect of research.

“Of course.” She laid them out and shrugged in closer to Light. “What are we looking for? What do we do next?”

Light couldn’t answer. Around and around in his head echoed Speak to you soon in a voice he didn’t know. Yes, they’d speak again soon enough, but he just needed to find out what they’d talk about. Right now, the room was dark; it was all a matter of turning on the light and seeing the secrets in the room.

#fanfiction #L #L Lawliet #Light Yagami #Kiyomi Takada #Sayu Yagami #Kyosuke Higuchi #pairings: none #ratings: teen #murder #translightyagami #kratqa #B's Bitchin Borthday 2k19 #submission

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unofferable-fic · 5 years ago

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The Flower & The Serpent (Arthur Morgan x OFC)

Chapter 1 - Orphans from the East

Summary: In the early 1890s, the Van der Linde Gang were truly at their finest. Experts at stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, they've made a name for themselves across the West. Two of their newest recruits, a pair of rebellious Irish siblings with an unknown past, slowly find their footing and settle into their new lives as outlaws. And yet, as they grow older, threats from all sides begin to appear. A strained relationship with Colm O'Driscoll spells disaster for the gang, and no matter how far they roam across America, the world continues to change around them. If they want to survive, difficult choices must be made. No one is as they seem and the impending arrival of law and order threatens to tear the siblings, and everything they hold dear, apart. Is it too late for anyone to find a happy ending?

Originally posted by loga-boga

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Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OFC

Warnings: Language, violence.

Word Count: 4,699

Next Chapter

Playlist: “Red Dead Redemption 2 Trailer Theme” — L’Orchestra Cinematique, “Blessed Are The Peacemakers” — Woody Jackson, “Old Dog” — The Scratch

————

A/N: Also available on AO3. So I've been obsessing over the Red Dead series since December and decided to finally bite the bullet and write a fic about my favourite cowboys and gals. That being said, this bad boy is the result of smashing heads together with a friend of mine, who is also a writer and contributing just as much to the narrative and characters. So this is essentially a mutual creation of ours and we hope y'all enjoy some western shenanigans with some Irish patriotism sprinkled on top. This is my first attempt at anything Red Dead related, so hopefully it isn't a steaming pile of trash! Any thoughts at all, comments are always welcome.

“What the hell is this?”

Arthur Morgan had found himself in many sticky situations in his short life, but standing with his revolver pointed at a pair of kids was definitely a new one.

Well, they were pointing their own guns right back at him, so it wasn’t exactly a situation that required basic manners.

“Looks like they got to our take first,” Dutch replied in disbelief from his spot between the two parties. Their agitated mounts continuously shuffled on their hooves, neighing restlessly as each rider did their best to focus on the newest threat before them. “Hold on a minute there, son—”

“Who are you lot?” the young boy demanded, with his revolver currently pointed directly at Dutch. Behind him, a girl had just finished shoving the much sought after contents of the stagecoach lockbox into a large bag. In her other hand was a gun pointed directly between Arthur’s eyes.

“You best drop that gun, you little shit!” a very wound up John Marston ordered. “Before I put a bullet in your head!”

The girl swiftly pointed her gun towards John, the threat apparently cutting deep. Despite her slight frame and obvious youth, her voice sounded confident from beneath her bandana. “Try it, greasy! I’ll take great pleasure in riddlin’ your fuck-ugly face!”

Of course, John was never one for staying calm. “You ain’t in charge here, little missy!”

“Marston!” Arthur cut in, seeing things spiralling quickly if they didn’t do something. His furrowed brow was already covered in sweat beneath his hat. “Shut your damn mouth and take it easy!”

“No one needs to die here,” Hosea added, his voice surprisingly calm despite their current predicament. “We all need to relax.”

Dutch agreed and tried to take control of the situation as he always did. “My good friend here is right. How about lowerin’ your guns, fellers, and we can talk this out.”

The boy’s eyes flared on his mostly hidden face. “How about you get your monkeys to lower theirs first!”

While the insult barely fazed Arthur, John was a little more sensitive. “Shut your damn mouth!”

Well Jesus, this couldn’t possibly end well…

* * *

8th June, 1890, outside Waukesha, Wisconsin

Today is the day. Dutch wants me and Marston to scout out the road before the stagecoach comes through later this evening. It’ll be the kid’s first real try at a robbery like this, so Dutch thinks getting familiar with the area might help settle his nerves a little… I was against it at first, but he said we need the extra man if we’re going to deal with the Pinkerton escort afterwards.

As long as he keeps a cool head he should be fine, but he’s still not one for taking orders very well, even if he’s been with us for five years. Still young, dumb as shit, and eager to prove himself. I’m hoping he learns to listen though — Lord knows I’d hate to see anything happen to him.

* * *

“Grub’s up, folks! Grub’s up!”

Arthur closed over his journal at Pearson’s call. Glancing up to see the cook placing a steaming pot of stew over the fire, he returned the book to its spot on his bedside table. Morning had swiftly arrived at the camp, and most of the inhabitants were up and about already, attending to the many chores that needed doing. It was a clear and sunny day, with only a few fluffy white clouds littering the blue sky. The heat was somewhat intense despite the early hour and brought a light sheen of sweat to his forehead. This camp had been their home for some weeks now, and Arthur really didn’t mind. He quite liked it out here — he always preferred the open plains to dense cities. The cosy field where they now resided was situated on the bank of a river outside a small city called Waukesha. The surrounding lowlands were flat, open, and easy to traverse, but the gang was safely hidden from the nearest trail by a thick group of green trees. Though the region was home to some of Wisconsin’s largest cities, most of it was made up of farmland, so it was relatively easy for them to remain here without being noticed. He really hoped they could stay in these vast fields for some time. He could get used to travelling across the stretching green pastures atop Boadicea, and the first breath of fresh air he inhaled every morning bought a genuine smile to his face.

Arthur’s eyes flitted over the lightly dancing trees on the camp’s outskirts before looking to what had originally grabbed his attention. Though Pearson’s food was in dire need of some seasoning, his stomach rumbled at the prospects of a hot meal. He got to his feet, wiping some of his unruly hair out of his eyes, and went to get his share.

“Mornin’, Mr Morgan,” Susan greeted him as she grabbed a cup of coffee.

“Miss Grimshaw,” he replied with a nod, helping himself to a large bowl of stew. “Mornin’.”

She took a seat on one of the nearby tables and urged him to join her.

With a shrug, he took a seat and set his bowl down. “Coffee good?”

“As always,” she said. “As long as it calms my nerves it’ll do.”

“What do you have to be nervous about?” he asked before taking a mouthful of stew and ignoring the mild bland taste.

“I seem to be more concerned with this stagecoach than you are!”

“You concerned about the coach, or the fact Marston will be near the coach?”

“He can be a headstrong little brat at times, but I’d rather not see him with a hole in his head.”

Miss Grimshaw shook her head in exasperation, but the gesture only brought a smirk to Arthur’s lips. She could be quite a harsh woman, especially when people lounged around and didn’t do their part in keeping everything running smoothly. Despite being the current flame of the ever flirtatious Dutch van der Linde, Susan Grimshaw refused to sit idly by and act like the lady of the manor. She was very much involved in ensuring that the camp remained a functioning unit. She was perfect for the role, probably because she could be positively terrifying if you didn’t help out.

“I’ll admit,” Arthur began, swallowing some food. “I wasn’t exactly happy ’bout the idea at first, but Dutch has faith in the little brat. And besides, he’s got me, Dutch, and Hosea lookin’ out for him. He’ll be fine as long as he does what we say.”

Susan eyed him carefully, but nodded, seemingly happy with his words. “As long as you do look out for him, Mr Morgan. You know how he can be — he reminds me a lot of you at that age.”

“Hey now! Don’t go comparin’ me to that fool—”

Miss Grimshaw cut across him with ease. “It is the reason you two get on so well, what with bein’ such like-minded individuals…”

Arthur finished his breakfast while she reeled off the many reasons why he and John were one and the same. Sometimes it as best just to keep his mouth shut, and this seemed like one such moment. His saving grace came when Dutch called him over to his tent.

“Mornin’, Dutch.”

“And a fine morning it is, son,” he replied with gusto and set down the book he had been reading. He offered Arthur a cigarette before taking one for himself. He lit the two, then continued on. “Hosea and Bessie took young John into town to get some supplies for tonight.”

“How’s he seem?” Arthur asked and took a drag.

“John? Seems fine to me. Maybe a little… let’s say, eager, to get goin’.”

“Still got faith in him?”

“O’course,” Dutch said, his voice firm. “We all gotta start somewhere, Arthur, you know that. He’s seventeen now, so it ain’t a bad age to get goin’. Heck, you did it even younger.”

He knew Dutch was right — there was no point letting John fester around camp doing nothing. They definitely didn’t need a second Uncle around the place, and Marston seemed keen to please… Or maybe he was just passionate about shooting something, who knew? It seemed that Dutch did though, and if there was someone whose opinion mattered, it was Dutch.

Arthur kept busy around the camp doing numerous chores while he waited for the trio to return. Chopping firewood and helping Pearson prepare their dinner for later at least meant that time flew by for him. He was playing fetch with Copper when John finally returned with Hosea and Bessie in tow. While the older couple went to check in with Dutch, Arthur and John mounted their horses and, with Copper running along side them, headed out down the road to the spot where they intended to rob the stagecoach.

“Why are we robbin’ it at this spot exactly?” Marston asked, scanning his eyes over the strip of dirt road.

“It’s the best distance outside town where a robbery won’t attract any attention,” Arthur explained, gently patting Boadicea. “The stagecoach is carryin’ bank transfers into Milwaukee, so you can bet that robbin’ it close to town would bring a whole heap of law on us. See that turn there?” He pointed off in the distance, tipping the brim of his hat to keep the shimmering sunlight out of his eyes. “It’s gonna come down that road there and loop this way. We’ll be waitin’ on this here ridge and hidden in some of the trees so that they don’t spot us.”

“What about them?” the younger boy asked. “They got any guns?”

“Four in total, if Hosea’s intel is right. So we should be able to take ’em out with the four of us. They’ll have a backup escort comin’ in from there, though.” He pointed up the road in the opposite direction. “’The bank in Milwaukee will be sendin’ out some of their own guns to meet the stagecoach just a little ways up the road, considerin’ this lil strip is so deserted. So we’re expectin’ maybe four more guns to show, which is why Dutch wants you involved. Once we rob the coach and the extra men arrive, there’ll be enough of us to take ’em out if needs be.”

“Sounds dangerous,” John mused, hanging on his every word.

Arthur let out a chuckle and proceeded to light himself a cigarette. “What, you scared, boy?”

“No! I ain’t scared, just bein’ honest about things.”

“You’ll do just fine,” the older man reassured him and offered him a cigarette. “You just need’a keep a cool head, and do as Dutch says. That’s how we make sure things go smoothly.” He paused to take a drag. “You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about if you do that.”

John nodded and puffed away to calm his nerves. “Thanks. I’m just glad that you’ll have my back, brother.”

“That’s what family is for,” Arthur responded with a small grin. He watched Copper as the dog sniffed along the roadside. “You’ll be fine.”

The two of them remained there for a few moments more as Arthur went over their plan of action in more detail. Though he knew how John could be, he was glad to see that he was eager to get to work. He hoped this wouldn’t make him over excited when the time came, but he thought back on what Dutch had said — he needed to put faith in his brother to do the job right. Thankfully, Marston had yet to give him a reason to doubt him so aggressively.

They returned to camp and waited out the rest of the day going over their plan with Hosea and Dutch. They had everything planned perfectly — it had to be, otherwise they could find themselves in a sticky situation once the Pinkerton escort arrived. Regardless, spirits were high at dinner time when Arthur, Dutch, Hosea, and young John mounted up and headed out to rob the stagecoach. They road through the fields in the late evening sun, avoiding the main road so that they wouldn’t be spotted ahead of time. The familiar buzz that came with performing robberies and the like was already stirring within Arthur’s chest. It was always risky business, but a part of him loved the thrill and feeling of power that came with these takes. Knowing that the money would be given to those who needed it most also gave him a nice sense of self-worth — it was one of the only things in his life that made him feel that way. He wasn’t a good man by any means, but he still tried to do some small bit of good where he could.

“And here we are,” Dutch announced from atop his horse as the group arrived at the waiting spot. He glanced at his pocket watch and nodded. “Right on time. Does everyone remember the plan?”

“O’course,” Arthur confirmed.

“Good. Now, cover your faces; we won’t be waitin’ too long for the stage to swing by.”

Arthur quickly pulled his bandana up to cover his mouth and nose and double-checked that his guns were fully loaded and ready to be used if things took a turn.

“Remember, gentlemen,” Dutch continued on. “No killing unless absolutely necessary.”

“Best of luck, everyone,” Hosea added.

Then the group descended into silence and waited.

And waited.

Arthur’s fingers flexed on his reigns. He could see John beginning to get anxious. Something definitely wasn’t right.

The only noise they could hear was the light breeze on the leaves above their heads, and the persistent ticking of Dutch’s pocket watch as he checked the time again.

“Somethin’ ain’t right,” Hosea whispered, mimicking Arthur’s own concerns. “They should have come through here by now.”

“Maybe you got the times wrong?” John suggested. “Or the place?”

Arthur shook his head. “That ain’t it. We heard from multiple people and all of them said it would come through this road at this time.”

“So what do we do then?”

“Well,” Dutch sighed, somewhat vexed with the development. He pulled down his bandana and turned to the rest of them. “We can’t stay here and wait for it to possibly arrive. I suggest we head up road and see do we come across it. But we stay out of sight and appear as inconspicuous as we can until I say otherwise.”

Hosea nodded and uncovered his face. “I agree. It’s definitely a better idea than waitin’ here and hopin’ for the best.”

“In that case, follow me, gentlemen.”

Arthur followed as the group made their way through the fields adjacent to the strip of road. They kept an eye out, but met no one along the way, and their anxiety only grew with each passing second. This was some take according to the locals, so missing it would be a great loss to the gang.

“Up ahead!” Dutch suddenly announced in a hushed tone.

Arthur looked up to see a stagecoach in the distance, stationary on the road. “Why’s it stopped?”

“Because,” Dutch growled out. “It’s bein’ robbed.”

“It’s what?”

“Somebody beat us to it! C’mon!”

Right well, this certainly wasn’t an outcome for which the gang was prepared. Arthur hastily followed Dutch’s lead as their horses galloped up to the precious stage. He strained his eyes to get a look at who had intercepted the take before they even had a chance. The closer he got, the more information became apparent to him — two figures crowded the rear of the coach, one of whom was emptying its contents into a bag. The other stood by guarding her every move. The drivers and guards were nowhere to be found. At first, Arthur just assumed that the figures were small because of their position in the distance, but the closer he got, the more he realised that this was no normal robbery.

“It’s a pair of kids!” John exclaimed, disgust evident in his tone. “We got beaten to it by some damn kids!”

“Kids?” Arthur repeated in disbelief.

With the noise of their arrival, the pair of young thieves looked up from their prize to see four men thundering towards them on horseback. They were clothed in dirty outfits with bandanas hiding their identities. A quick once over told Arthur that it was boy and a girl who had managed to rob an obscene amount of money from the stage. How in the hell had two kids manage that?

Perhaps riding directly to them hadn’t been the best idea, as the pair were quick to point their guns at the gang.

“Hold on there!” Dutch called, grinding his mount to a halt and holding up his hands. The trio behind him followed suit, but Arthur and John instead chose to aim a weapon at each of them just in case.

“What the hell is this?” Arthur asked, completely dumbfounded with the situation they found themselves in.

“Cé hiad na leaids sin?” the girl asked her companion.

“The fuck you say?” John demanded, already losing his temper.

“Who are you lot?” the boy demanded, his eyes very skeptical already and completely unfazed by this strange man’s apparent aggression.

And now here they were — facing off against a pair of kids on a quiet dirt road. Sometimes Arthur really got tired of this shit.

“How about you get your monkeys to lower theirs first!”

“Take it easy, son,” Dutch answered calmly with his hands still raised. “We mean you no harm.”

“Your friends with the guns there don’t give us much comfort,” the girl replied in a thick Irish accent. “Now do as he said and get them to lower their weapons!”

“If you give me your word that you won’t shoot ’em, I will.”

“Is that a good idea?” Arthur asked, not exactly enjoying pointing his gun at a kid, but also not liking the idea of being defenceless.

“Trust me, Arthur. You and John, put the guns away.”

Arthur released a heavy sigh, but listened to his mentor and returned his gun to its holster. “Goddammit…”

John obliged, though he was far more hesitant to listen. A stern look from Hosea got the point across.

“Now,” Dutch announced. “We did as you asked. How about you meet us halfway and lower yours?”

The pair exchanged a knowing look before slowly lowering their revolvers, but not putting them away. The boy called out to them again. “Now, as I was sayin’, who are you lot and what do you want?”

“No harm in bein’ honest. We were the ones plannin’ on gettin’ that coach, but it seems like you beat us to it.”

“Not our problem,” the girl replied. “We got to it first, so you’s aren’t gettin’ any of it.”

Dutch shook his head. “We ain’t gonna steal it from you. You two earned it, fair and square. I don’t quite know how you managed it, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t impressed.”

“We’re used to bumping into rival gangs every now and then,” Hosea added with a goodnatured chuckle. “But not so used to seein’ kids out on jobs.”

“Yeah, well,” the girl grumbled. “You gotta get by somehow when you’ve nothin’ else.”

“Of course!” Dutch agreed. “We ain’t here to judge.”

As they spoke, Arthur briefly turned his head as the sound of horses grabbed his attention. He looked back down the road from where they came, and suddenly remembered an important detail of the plan. “Awh, shit. We got company!”

“Wait, what?” the boy asked, looking baffled. “What’s goin’ on?”

“The Pinkertons!” Hosea confirmed just as the escort appeared at the end of the trail. “How many we got, Arthur?”

“I see six comin’ in!” he confirmed, looking through his binoculars at the patrol heading down the road.

“That’s more than expected!” John commented in dismay.

“Pinkertons?” the young girl repeated. “What Pinkertons?”

“An escort sent to meet the stagecoach,” Dutch elaborated. “I assume by your confused expressions that you two didn’t know about that part.”

“Jaysus Christ,” the boy muttered and drew a carbine from his back. “No, we didn’t.”

“Well then I think your best odds are to come with us, or you can stay here and try to fight off six guns.”

The kids shared a look again before the girl spoke first in a language that Arthur didn’t understand. “Cad a dhéanfaimid anois?”

The boy shook his and gave her hand a squeeze. “Níl an dara rogha againn. Let’s get outta here.”

“You got horses?”

“No,” the girl explained. “We came on foot.”

“Well then, you hop up here with me, son, and your partner can jump on with my friend, Mr Morgan, there.”

The boy took Dutch’s outstretched hand and hauled himself on to the back of the horse, while Arthur offered the girl a hand and helped to pull her up behind him. “Hold on tight now, you hear?”

“I’ll be grand,” she replied, though he could hear the hint of fear in her voice. “Just move.”

Just as shouts and some shots rang out from the arriving escort, the gang sped off and through a nearby bunch of trees in an effort to lose their pursuers. Arthur felt the young girl hold on to his shoulders tightly as he pushed Boadicea as hard as she could go. The noise of the horses thundering along and jumping over bushes and fences was one that he knew well, and one that was always accompanied by a small amount of worry and excitement. He could hear John and Hosea urging their mounts forwards, realising how risky it was being out in the open like this. The head start thankfully gave them a decent advantage over the Pinkertons as they spend through the Wisconsin fields. Unfortunately, despite the distance between them and the men chasing them, the Pinkertons persisted and were hard to lose.

“They’re still on us,” the girl shouted from behind him. “You’s need to do somethin’!”

“I know,” Arthur answered, breathing in deep. “Just lemme think.”

“What about those trees?” William called, pointing to the outskirts of a bunch of greenery just in front of them.

Right on queue, bullets whizzed over their heads, some a mile off and others unnervingly close.

Arthur let out a huff and ducked his head down as one very nearly got him. “Keep your head down, girl! We’re sittin’ ducks out in the open like this!”

“We can lose them in there!” Dutch confirmed. “We just need to make it past the tree line.”

Behind them, the rate of gunfire began to increase the closer they got to the safety of the trees. The escort clearly knew that they’d lose them amidst the thick foliage. Thankfully, the trees drew closer and closer and their bullets managed to miss their targets as they shifted side to side to throw them off. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as they breached the tree line and slowed to navigate between the brush. He felt the girl’s grip on his frame ease up a little with their new cover and he gave her a swift glance to see how she was holding up.

Dutch called out orders to once more grab their attention. “Everyone, veer left and follow me!”

They manoeuvred carefully between the tall trees and bushes, keeping a careful eye out behind them incase the escort appeared on their tail once more. Thankfully, as they weaved to and fro between the shrubbery, the Pinkertons weren’t seen again. When they finally broke through the edge of the forest and reappeared in an open field, the sun had just about set on the distance and the threat seemed to have been lost.

The horses were eased to a halt and Arthur placed a loving pat on trusty Boadicea’s neck. “You did good, girl.”

“Everyone alright?” Hosea asked the group. The responses he received were unanimously positive though out of breath.

“That certainly could’ve gone worse,” the boy mused as he jumped from The Count. Seeing no danger around, he pulled his bandana back down to reveal his youthful face. Arthur was surprised to see just how young he was — he looked to be about the same age as he was when he first joined the gang. Despite this, he looked like he was sleeping rough, with a dirty face and a fresh red scar that ran over his right brow and down his cheek. “But at least nobody got shot.”

Arthur noticed the girl dismounting to join her companion and she too pulled off her mask. She seemed just as young as him and showed signs of dirt and older scars. Immediately she went to the boy’s side and gave him a once over. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small smile and let out a huff as he got his breath back. “I’m grand. Are you?”

“Yeah. Thankfully these lads are good riders.”

She wiped her brow and reached back to tie her messy brown hair out of her face as Dutch addressed them. “I thought you two did pretty good out there, considerin’ you managed that stage all on your own.”

“Yeah, bar the squad that we weren’t even remotely prepared for showin’ up,” the girl replied with a pained smile. She looked up at Dutch and gave him a thankful nod. “We definitely would’a been captured or worse if it wasn’t for you lot.”

“Outlaws gotta stick together in times like these,” he said calmly. “We’re livin’ in different times, and we’re just tryin’ to survive.”

The boy nodded in agreement and then shared a look with the girl. “We appreciate the help Mister, uh…”

“Van der Linde,” Dutch replied and reached out to shake their hands. “Dutch van der Linde. These are my friends, Hosea Matthews, Arthur Morgan, and young John Marston.”

“I’m Maebh Hennigan,” the girl replied. “And this is my brother, William.”

“A pleasure. Can I ask, is it just the two of you? No parents or family around?”

Maebh flinched slightly at the question. “Uh, yeah. Our parents died a while back and the rest of our family is back in Ireland. We have nothin’, so we have to rob sometimes to get by. But that doesn’t matter, we owe you’s a lot for this. I suppose it's only fair that we give you’s a bit of the money from the stage.”

Dutch grinned at her suggestion and Arthur recognised that look almost immediately. He could already see his leader’s mind coming up with his next plan of action. Based on everything that happened today, he thought he had an idea of what it might be. “That’s a very kind offer, Miss Hennigan, but I actually have an offer for you.”

Maebh and William met each others gaze before the latter sceptically asked. “You have an offer for us?”

“As I already said, outlaws have to stick together if we want to get by out here. It’s the best way to ensure that we survive, that we live.”

Dutch was descending into a classic rousing speech with which Arthur and the group were quite familiar. He had heard it many times himself when he needed a bit of self belief in what they were doing. The most notable time he heard it was when he first met Dutch and Hosea as an unruly fifteen year old with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Yes, this was certainly an encounter with which he had some personal experience.

Atop The Count, Dutch stretched out his arms in a welcoming gesture and grinned from ear to ear. “If we want to live like Americans, then we got to have each others backs, no matter how tough or worrisome things may be. You need a family, you need stability, you need to know that you are safe. But I think that today is a sign of what you both could have.” He paused and Maebh and William hung on every word. “My offer to you two, is how’d you like to join my gang?”

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #john marston #red dead redemption fandom #rdr #rdr2 #fanfiction #fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #the flower and the serpent #dutch van der linde #hosea mathews #rdr fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x ofc

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hillyans · 6 years ago

Text

Characters: Pey’j

This post will be updated when new information comes out.

Species: Hybrid (pig/human)

Born: 2385 (age ?? in BGE2, age 50 in BGE1)

Gender: Male

Shares DNA with: Unnamed Pey’j clone, Player Character

Occupation: chief cook of the Gada in BGE2, handyman, inventor, and chief of the IRIS Network on Hillys in BGE1

Relationships: Jade (unknown in BGE2, adoptive niece in BGE1) Dakini (captain) Knox (fellow crew member) Shani (fellow crew member) Callum (fellow crew member) Uma (fellow crew member) Geneva (aunt; unseen character)

Status: Alive

In BGE2

Chief Cook and a familiar face to most of you Space Monkeys who know and love Pey’j from the original Beyond Good and Evil! In this prequel, he’s still the beloved-uncle type who believes in tough love and has a penchant for a certain Old-Earth alcohol, which is the not-so-secret ingredient in the dishes he cooks up for the crew. - Official Site, 9/27/18

BGE2 Development:

6/12/17 E3 2017 Trailer Breakdown:

Chris: Now, I know I'm not the only one who looked at this and heard:

[Zhou Yuzhu: "Peyjin."]

Chris: What he said just there, and thought of our beloved Uncle Pey'j from BGE.

Michel: Right! There is a direct connection, you know, so he's very clearly saying "Peyjin" which is kind of a divinity for this kind of hybrid. It's a way to add depth and to show how deep the world can be. And even though those hybrids are created by humans, they have their own religion. Because BGE2 is a prequel to BGE1, we want to add a lot of details about how the world is, those names, "Pey'j"... is it a common name, a divinity name, so... Sometimes you know, in some religions, you give the name of a divinity to a boy or a girl... So all these details are here to make people understand more about the world of BGE.

2/28/18 Instagram: Michel Ancel posts a picture of a bust that looks suspiciously a lot like Pey’j.

6/8/18 Instagram: Ancel teases artwork from E3 2018. “A good friend of mine is back in Beyond Good and Evil 2 . Get prepared for more surprises during the 2018 UbiSoft E3 conference !!!”

6/11/18 E3 2018: Pey’j is shown in the trailer. “And Pey'j is back as the the incorrigible Chief Cook of the Gada.”

6/11/18 E3 2018 Trailer Breakdown (video):

I think last year people sort of thought when they saw Zhou Yuzhu, the big hybrid from the criminal underworld, that perhaps that was Pey'j. So it's pretty cool this year that it actually is Pey'j. We were super excited about being able to reveal the fact that he's going to be in BGE2.

...

Pey'j, as you can see in this image, is carrying Knox, who was wounded. You can see how close these guys are. They've probably been flying in space for a very long time in this crew and they know each other very well and they're always helping each other.

6/11/18 Instagram: Ancel says that even though Jade has forgotten her past, Pey’j remembers.

9/28/2019 Inside Look of Beyond Good and Evil 2 with Ubisoft Montpellier - 2019 ZBRush Summit:

"So let's start with Pey'j. Pey'j is probably one of the most iconic characters in BGE. Originally, he is the best friend of Jade, who is the main character of this game, so you can imagine the importance of him. Our goal was to bring a new vision of him without destroying the old one. So how did we do that? First step: we start with some 2D artwork, just to figure out which emotion we want to give him, what narrative part that he will have, and at this stage, everything is possible. The only question which is important is "what makes Pey'j's identity?

Secondly, Pey'j has got a very long history. And I don't know if you've noticed, but in the original BGE which was more cartoony, Pey'j was based on a really round, primitave shape. And, well, it makes him much more easy to recognize. So while we decide to keep this philosophy, but we decide to pass from a round shape to a more hexagonal shape just to bring a more mature and tough feeling. So that's why I use a weight on the screen as a symbol of what emotion we want to give to Pey'j. This shape process I think is a very simple way to communicate with the character artist. That's all the process is based on. Collaboration between the concept artist and the character artist, we need those kinds of tools to speak together."

...

“We start with the most complicated part of this character, it's the head. So Sebastien gives me concept art of his head and asked: "try to match it". Okay, so I have made a rough, and as you can see, ugly model of Pey'j after some couple of hours. And then, Sebastien provided me with comprehensive feedback of the character he wants. At the beginning of the process, all the feedback is "macro feedback". And I make my ping-pong with him, and after that other feedback, going more in detail in the character. And that was done."

Pey’j in BGE1

Media

Profile (official website):

Age: 50

Occupation: Handyman

Personality: Grumpy, yet attentive and endearing, Pey’j is a fighter who’s seen and done it all. He’s often seen hanging out in the Akuda Bar with a stiff drink and a cigar, telling jokes and old stories of his life experiences.

Special Skills: A mechanical and electronic genius, Pey’j is renowned for his skills as a handyman and his ability to fix anything he gets his hands on. He keeps Jade’s equipment up and running, and is constantly inventing new gadgets and machines for Jade Reporting - or just for the fun of it...

Background: Pey’j is a hybrid being - half-man and half-hog. He’s Jade’s adoptive uncle and has brought her up since she was a child. Despite his reservations and fears, he’s been a great influence and tutor for Jade, and still tries to protect her and help her out with her missions whenever he can.

Current Residence: Pey’j lives on the small island in Hyllis with Jade in a cozy lighthouse that he built from scratch many years ago.

Vehicle: Pey’j doesn’t like to drive – Jade’s usually behind the wheel. He does take care of all the vehicles mechanically, though, and he has a special place in his heart for his famed Beluga Spaceship.

Prized Possession: His Jet Boots – a one-of-a-kind invention that allows Pey’j to blast himself or other objects high into the air.

What He’s Doing Now: Pey’j spends a lot of time with Jade - in fact, you will usually find him right by her side on her reporting missions. Otherwise, Pey’j spends most of his time in his workshop, although no one is really sure what he does down there!

Official Guide (Bradygames):

Characters: Meet Jade’s adoptive uncle and cantankerous right-hand pig. Pey’j is a mechanic and inventor-- indeed, a couple of his inventions play a large role in this adventure. Use his Super Action Jet Boots stomp to bounce certain opponents into the air so Jade can bat them into distant targets. His dogged (or perhaps we should say pigged) loyalty keeps him at Jade’s side despite his reservations about the evolving adventure.

Live Chat Interview with Michel Ancel 10/21/2003:

Question 6: (BircGuest-24085213): Hello - How much of a part will Jade's friend 'Pey’J' play in the game?

(Michel): Pey’J is very important in the story and for the gameplay. You'll spend about one third of the game with him but , for the other part, he will still have a very important role (but I can t say too much.... )

...

Question 12: (dreamdancer5): why is Pey’J styled like a pig? and not like a man or anything else?

(Michel): please, instead of snipe, read style in the "having their own...." sentence....I m sooooo tired.....need some holidays :).... (Michel): I like the spirit of self derision. Pey’J is very important; he's got a strong personality but looks like a beast. I believe that most of us have more inside that outside our appearance. If you finish the game, you’ll see what I mean.

Early Storyboard: (unused and revised in final game)

Age: 56

Race: Hybrid clone Sn-b5234

Name: Pey’j

In-game Dialogue & Cutscenes (SPOILERS)

“For Jade” Mdisk:

Jade, You inherited generosity and courage from your parents. You know, I think about them a lot. We were very close friends.

Twenty years ago we were forced to separate because we were all having some major problems with the authorities. Your parents put you under my care… to save your life…

We came to Hillys. Back then, it was a peaceful planet. I had hoped to raise you there safely. But the conflict spread. Now, you must know something… if I was able to get here, it was thanks to the "Beluga”, the spaceship that I designed and built with your father.

It still exists. But I haven’t exactly finished getting it back in top shape. You’ll find the check-up report on my desk.

The “Beluga” is at our place. You have to enter a code into each one of the consoles to open the secret hiding place. I can’t say any more on this Mdisk about it, but I hope this information will be useful to you, if, one day, you have to use the “Beluga”.

No matter what happens, good luck, Jade…

Uncle Pey'j

DomZ Priest (cutscene):

DOMZ PRIEST: Shauuuuuuuuniiiiii. You have finally come back to me… You have served your master well, Shauni. You alone have brought the Hillyans to me. They have followed you blindly.

HH: Miss Jade ?!

DOMZ PRIEST: DorthKaul Pahkahn! You are not who you think you are. The pig has hidden your origins from you…

PEY'J: Jade! NO!! Don’t listen to him! Hhh!… Aaaarrh!…

DOMZ PRIEST: You are the source of my powers the instrument of my strength. They took you away in the hope of destroying me. But I have survived, feeding me with only the most miserable of sacrifices. They made you human. But you are not like them. You are mine, Shauni, and I am going to kill the human part of you.

HH: Jade!!

DOMZ PRIEST: Shauni DomZ ThindraaaHHH!!

#characters #returning characters #pey'j

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