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thelibrarbian · 3 years ago

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Alright. Alright, he could do this. He was the Great Papyrus, he knew how to fix bones, he knew how to heal, and Fell wasn't– His HP was stable now. There was no need to panic. It was fine.

Or: Underfell Papyrus is injured on patrol and four skeletons deal with the aftermath.

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Rating: T

Tags: Platonic Edgepuff, Multiverse Shenanigans, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Description of Injuries, Healing Magic, Papyrus Tries His Best, Everyone Needs A Hug, Eventual Fluff

Chapter word count: 1944

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I wrote a thing!

I started working on this for Camp NaNo in April. It was supposed to be a one-shot... it did not want to stay a one-shot :’D

Read on Ao3

or below the cut:

Papyrus rarely slept.

For all the unusualness that this night was about to bring, in this regard it was perfectly normal. It was 1:30 in the morning and Papyrus was wide awake, sitting up against the headboard of his race car-shaped bed and scribbling increasingly intricate puzzle designs into a notebook when he was interrupted by an urgent knocking from the front door.

He silently sprinted down the stairs on sock-clad feet - he didn't want to wake his brother, after all - wondering who could be visiting them this early in the day. Most monsters he knew did not share his sleep schedule (or non-sleep schedule, as the case may be) - the most likely explanation was that Undyne had burned down her house again with a midnight snack.

He skidded to a halt at the door, reaching for the handle. The knocking hadn't stopped; if anything, in the few moments it had taken Papyrus to come downstairs and open the door, it had only grown in intensity.

The monster on the other side was not Undyne.

And Papyrus realized that something was very, very wrong.

He only caught one glimpse of the sharp-toothed, fur-hooded version of his brother before he was pushed aside without so much as a 'hello' as Red staggered past him. It was rare for their parallel universe doubles to visit unannounced, but that surprise quickly faded when Papyrus' eyes fell on the second, larger monster that Red was dragging more than carrying inside.

To say that Fell looked bad would have been an understatement. He was hanging limply in Red's hold, his armor dented and torn open in places, and even though his clothes covered most of where Papyrus suspected the worst injuries to be, what he could see of the damage was bad enough. He thought he could make out several spots of something dark in the snow, leading from the basement to the front door, and he firmly decided to think about it later. Or not at all.

Thick beads of sweat were clinging to Red's forehead as he panted, visibly struggling to hold onto his brother. With a rather undignified noise of alarm, Papyrus sprung into action, helping Red to bring Fell into the living room and lower the tall monster to the ground. Cleaning, too, was something to worry about later.

He saw Red open his mouth, looking as if the next sentence was taking him a lot of effort to get out, then took one glance at Fell's plummeting HP and didn't wait to hear whatever Red was going to say. A second later he was crouching next to his unconscious alternate, his hands on his breastplate - stars, that piece of armor was not supposed to bend this way! - and pushing healing magic into him.

Papyrus was proud to proclaim that he had trained and mastered every aspect of magic at his disposal. He was a formidable fighter and a more than competent healer, but even so, whatever had happened to Fell was almost past Papyrus' abilities. Trying to stop his HP from falling felt as if he was attempting to catch running water with his hands. Which! Was not quite as impossible as it initially seemed, but it took all his concentration to bring the damage down to a slow trickle. He thanked the stars for having blessed him with such a large pool of magic reserves - he did not want to imagine running out in the middle of this.

Just when he thought he was starting to get things under control and could think about asking what in Asgore's name had happened to them, there was a soft huff next to him, then an equally soft thump as, in the corner of his eye, Red slumped to the ground.

"Oh no, not you too!" Papyrus reached out to catch him, but he wasn't quite fast enough - at least the carpet Red had landed on was soft - and as soon as his concentration on the healing slipped, Fell's HP started plummeting again.

Papyrus was not panicking! Solely for the reason that he absolutely could not afford to panic right now! He sent one desperate pulse of green magic in Red's direction before placing both hands on Fell again.

"SANS!!" There was a very small part of him that felt bad for waking his brother at one-something in the morning, but the majority of Papyrus was painfully aware that he did not have nearly enough hands to handle this situation alone. It took a few long seconds (during which Papyrus was absolutely not panicking as he tried to stabilize Fell's HP and prayed that Red wasn't about to dust in the meantime) before he heard shuffling steps upstairs.

"bro, what's-" There was a pregnant pause as Sans, thank the stars, seemed to figure out for himself what was going on. A second later, the familiar sound of a shortcut right next to Papyrus announced that his brother had foregone the stairs entirely on his way down.

Papyrus had no time to watch what exactly Sans was doing, but from the corner of his eye, he noticed him crouching down next to Red for a minute before he got up and disappeared somewhere behind Papyrus. A few moments later, the front door fell shut and the key clicked in the lock. Sans didn't say anything, for which Papyrus was grateful - he couldn't get distracted at the moment. He also didn't seem particularly panicked about Red's state, which Papyrus could only take to mean that his brother's alternate was not about to dust right there and then.

Sans wandered off again to somewhere, and Papyrus returned his full attention to Fell. It took a few more minutes before his HP wasn't dropping any further, and Papyrus finally dared to let his magic fade out.

"don't suppose you know what happened to them?" came Sans' voice from somewhere in front of Papyrus.

"No." He checked Fell again before he dared to look up, first at his brother, then at the unconscious Red next to him. The latter had been arranged into a more comfortable position, a cushion from the couch under his head. "Is Red alright? No, forget that question, what am I saying, obviously he would not be taking an impromptu nap on our living room floor if he was-"

"he should be fine," Sans reassured him before Papyrus could work himself further into his not-panic. "he isn't hurt, just exhausted. one shortcut too many, if i had to guess." He rubbed the back of his head. "'m gonna take him upstairs so he can sleep on a mattress, but… thought you could use a hand here first." He nodded towards the unconscious Fell.

Papyrus relaxed marginally. "Thank you, brother." It was only then that he noticed the first-aid kit on the ground in front of him that Sans must have brought with unusual, but very welcome helpfulness. "And yes, actually - an additional appendage or two would certainly make things easier." He carefully inspected Fell's armor, looking for a way to take it off with the least amount of movement possible.

His caution turned out to be justified. As he and Sans started removing the armor, Papyrus got the disturbing impression that the breastplate was most of what was currently holding Fell's ribcage together. It almost seemed like a miracle when they eventually managed to get the dented pieces of metal off him without causing any further damage.

Sans was looking vaguely nauseous.

The undershirt came off much more easily than the armor, mostly because Papyrus declared it unsalvageable after one look and had no qualms about simply cutting it apart. After his earlier struggle just to get him stabilized, Papyrus knew that what he was about to see would be… not good. He braced himself before he pulled the fabric aside, barely hearing Sans' muttered curse next to him.

He… had not been aware of just how many scars his counterpart had. Not that Fell usually made any attempts to hide them, but it was only now that Papyrus realized that almost every bone he could see was marked in some way. But those injuries were old, and he didn't let himself linger on them when there were much more pressing matters.

The right side of Fell's torso was a mess. There was barely a rib that wasn't broken, cracked, or bruised. Where the largest dent in the armor had been, a section of his ribcage was caved in entirely, the bone fragments just barely held together by magic. At least the healing magic had served to stop the bleeding, though, so Papyrus moved on, wanting to get a full picture first.

Fell's arms were smeared with something that could be either blood or marrow, but the cracks and cuts he found there were relatively minor by comparison. (He decided that it was not the right moment to speculate how much of the blood had belonged to someone else.) The same was true for the rest of the injuries - they were numerous but small, as if Fell had been caught in the middle of a tight bullet pattern, but aside from the ribs nothing looked immediately concerning - until Papyrus reached his legs and found one tibia snapped cleanly in half.

Sans had gone completely silent. When Papyrus glanced over, his sockets had gone dark and he looked like he was about to throw up.

"Sans?"

No response.

Papyrus swallowed dryly. "Brother?" he said, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Sans jumped slightly, blinking rapidly before his eye lights reappeared - tiny specks of light in his sockets that immediately darted over to Papyrus. "y-yeah? sorry, think i spaced out for a moment." His gaze flicked briefly to the unconscious skeletons on the floor again, then back to Papyrus. "what now?"

"First of all -" Papyrus gently squeezed Sans' shoulder, meeting his eye. "It's going to be okay, brother. This is nothing we can't handle." He adamantly refused to believe anything else. "Okay?"

"'kay."

"Secondly… If you could bring some water and clean towels, that would be much appreciated."

Sans gave a nod and disappeared, returning shortly after with the requested items and a mask of calmness plastered onto his face. If Papyrus hadn't seen him just a minute ago, it might have been convincing.

"Thank you." Papyrus looked his brother over. "I believe Red has been napping on the floor for long enough," he said.

Sans paused for a second before a look of understanding passed over his face. "right." He didn't take the out that Papyrus was trying to give him. Instead of taking Red upstairs and staying there with him, he only lifted him onto the couch and loosely draped a blanket over him before returning to Papyrus' side.

"I am quite certain that I can handle this myself, if you would rather be elsewhere," Papyrus felt the need to clarify.

"'course you can, bro." Sans crouched down next to him. "but an extra hand would help, right? 'm fine, really. just got a bit rattled there for a sec."

Papyrus rolled his eyes, more out of habit than anything else, and Sans' permanent smile became a bit more genuine.

"just tell me what to do." He wiggled his fingers. "extra hands at your service."

Alright. Alright, he could do this. He was the Great Papyrus, he knew how to fix bones, he knew how to heal, and Fell wasn't– His HP was stable now. There was no need to panic. It was fine. And Sans was helping, so it was doubly fine.

He took a deep breath, grabbed the first-aid kit, and got to work.

#undertale #undertale fanfiction #papyrus #sans #underfell papyrus #underfell sans #hurt/comfort #platonic edgepuff #my writing #out of action fic

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kojinnie · 4 years ago

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Maybe, One Day, We Will | Jean, Sasha & Connie

Summary: Before the defining Raid of Liberio mission, the Survey Corps was instructed to write their wills, and Connie reminisced the night he talked about life after the war with Jean and Sasha when they were younger.

Tags: Canon universe, coming-of-age, light angst, bittersweet.

Set: The night before Battle of Shiganshina District, parallel to Eren-Mikasa-Armin’s talk on the steps.

WC: 3.1K

A/N: My tribute to the trio that holds a special place in my heart. Consider this my ode to all of us whose heart has been broken by Chapter 138. A slight nod to conversation in Chapter 137 (No spoiler, don’t worry!)

I suppose memory wore off eventually, and if I’d be lucky enough to survive this contemptible war, my only hope is one thing: to never lose the gift of memory over moments I hold dear in my heart. Especially the memory of that one night. The night before Shiganshina.

Connie Springer put down his quill as he marked the end of a sentence. He was quite surprised with how far bolder was this paragraph compared to its precedents, he smiled and remembered one of the things his mum said when he was younger, something about how one’s action is nothing but a mere reflection of one’s feeling, and perhaps Connie took the importance of that paragraph over the others and that’s why he put so much pressure on his quill upon writing that down.

He looked over his shoulder to catch Jean pondering over his paper across the room, looking visibly puzzled on what to write, “Oi Jean, you finished?”

He shook his head, grunting, “This feels so absurd.” The tall man leaned to his desk and dragged his gaze upwards, “To be so young and writing your own will.”

Connie hummed from his desk, affirming Jean’s dismay. The whole predicament the two men find themselves in were indeed absurd, albeit predictable. They both knew that to be immersed in the eyes of war mean bruising with deaths countless times, but with the war advancing at unprecedented rate, the notion of mortality grew even more palpable before the soldiers’ eyes. It was no surprise that at one night after a debriefing with the high-ranking officials, Hange finally caught up with the prospect of dying. The first time they had ever been so sure of death, regardless whether it would be immediate or later in this godforsaken war. The thought led Hange to saying before the rest of the Survey Corps, “Maybe we all should write our wills. To leave something behind, you know? Just in case.” Everyone remembered how the Commander threw a reassuring smile amidst such vivid qualm among them, “What could be more fulfilling than to have our stories and legacy passed down?”

And so there they were that night, all of the Survey Corps, taking their night off to write their will before the D-Day tomorrow: The Ambush of Liberio.

“Jean,” Connie called again. There was only the two of them in the common room, the rest were scattered all over Mitras. Taking their own space to write their own piece of mind before the mission, “do you remember the night before Shiganshina?”

The sounds of scribbling ceased immediately from Jean’s end, as he sighed, almost painfully, “Yeah, of course.” Jean found it eerie that there was a misplaced lightness in Connie’s voice, when his own was drowned in unspoken distress, “What about it?”

“I’m writing about it on my…” there was a hesitation in Connie’s words as his mind finally caught up with how unbecoming his reality was, “…will.”

The man of Ragako continued, “I hope after we’re gone, whoever reads this would know that we were once kids,” Connie’s voice dropped into a heavy murmur, “that had something to live for, yeah?”

Jean nodded his head as he forced a smile, although Connie wouldn’t be able to see as they were sitting opposite each other, “Sounds great. Something to prove that I’m not a suicidal maniac. Do you think Sasha is now writing about it too?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then I’ll write about it too.”

The noise from the dining hall finally subsided after the soldiers headed back to their quarter. Despite having tonight’s tasty feast and the raucous fun that most of these soldiers were not as privileged to have often, the lingering dread remained visible among them for what awaited them tomorrow. These men and women were to head for battle against creatures they barely understood, and to reclaimed the district that most thought to be unsalvageable with the horde of titans roaming freely within.

There were also murmurs about a menacingly gigantic beast titan, one that had took the handful lives of their comrades. One that had mystical power to summon and control titans all it pleased. One that was so frightening that the brass in the likes of Erwin Smith and Levi Ackerman were not at ease to disclose to the rest of the soldiers, leaving them in the dark of what may happen. The murmurs about the beast titan were persistent and these soldiers, no matter how hardened had they grown by deaths and battles all their lives, were all equally afraid.

Among them were three teenagers, barely made it out alive after their last encounter with the seemingly mythical creature. Now bound for yet another mission, they scrambled out of the dining hall. The tallest among them was slightly limping, leaning for support from the two others.

“Guys—” Jean grunted, followed by a disgraceful whimper as another step sent a sharp sting to his stomach, “—thanks for the help but would appreciate if it came sooner.”

They stopped and finally sat around when they found a comfortable spot underneath a building’s canopy, looking over to the city steps that glimmered underneath the full moon’s lights. From afar, they could see Eren, Mikasa and Armin sitting together down the steps, although the Shiganshina trio weren’t aware of their presence.

Jean finally let out an audible groan as he sat on a deserted wooden crate, the two others found comfort on the cold cobblestone.

“As you know, I was in no position to do so.” Sasha shot a jeer at Connie, to which he replied with a remorseful grin, “Sorry Sash, you were acting crazy—”

“—BUT IT’S MEAT! How could you take away my happiness like that, Connie!” the shriek was lunatic indeed and the bald boy just cackled, mouthing yet another apology for tying her up to the pole earlier tonight. Sasha was not amused, obviously, but she eventually caved in as she let out a long, deep sigh, retreating her head to Connie’s shoulder, “Could’ve been my last meat, you know?”

“Nonsense,” Jean snorted, still inspecting his stomach that was bludgeoned by Eren’s fist earlier. He would only finally surrender to the pain where no one would see other than two of his most trusted comrades.

“Yeah, Sasha. Nonsense.” Connie repeated, turning his head to Jean as he sought for reassurance, “We’re gonna survive this one. Right?”

There was a brief silence between them. It was clear that despite their best hope, they were thinking the possibilities of meeting their lethal ends with this mission. The idea of being young had never crossed their minds before – how they should not be thinking of their own death, how they should cast hope for the future – these were some distant ideas that they never got acquainted with. For these young soldiers, there were moments when they passingly imagined of being in their adulthood and what would they do by that time; but to their surprise, along with it often arrived the feeling of remorse, as if their wish to live on were nothing but wishful thinking. They had been conversant with death too early in their lives, and it had become a recurring visitor that they had to greet reluctantly.

“I really hope so…” she mumbled, her eyes gazed afar at the trio down the steps, “Must be hard for them, isn’t it?”

“Them?”

“Yeah,” Sasha raised his head from Connie’s shoulder and scooted over so she could look at both Connie and Jean, “I can’t imagine having to put up with such burden, returning to their decimated district.”

“Poor Armin and… Mikasa. And then there’s that maniac,” Jean scoffed, “he better does his job right. Tch. Such great power on meekly little hands—”

“—Jean,” the interruption was unprecedented as it was stern, Sasha was looking directly to him, “Cut it off, alright? It’s no use.”

There was a brief look of surprise from Jean that he immediately masked with a low chuckle, joined by Connie who was quick to disperse the tension.

Connie and Sasha knew how Jean felt about himself, and how hard he fought his own inner battle. His nightly mumbles of the regret and grief about the passing of Marco, and how he wished he had been better and stronger for tens of his fallen comrades. In those treacherous hours, often slipped through his lips ‘If only I had the power of the titans, I could have made a difference.’ or the seemingly vengeful, ‘If only we didn’t have to save Eren so many times.’ They both knew how calculating, cautious and capable Jean was, and how much he felt overshadowed by unfortunate circumstances, or how he’d always felt like he could have done more if only he had been given the chance to. Each time he succumbed into the dark clouds of his mind, Jean and Sasha was the voice of reason that brought him back from his own demon, ‘For greater good,’ was the convincing phrase that the two of them uttered to Jean, and for greater good did Jean thrived to drown his individual desire and pursuit.

“Let’s just focus on each other, okay?” Connie spoke reassuringly, trying to maintain the lightness in his voice no matter how somber had his heart grown to be, “The three of us. Let’s keep each other safe, okay?

There was a quick yet solemn unison between Jean and Sasha, “Okay.” they said, before a deep silence ensued. From afar, they could hear the sound of Armin from down the step, he was standing and babbling enthusiastically to Eren and Mikasa about the vast prairies of boundless salty water – where merchant could spend their whole life collecting its salt yet it would never deplete. The three of them let silence hung among them as they listened to Armin, and each tried to picture how marvelous the discovery would be. How beautiful, how magnificence would that feeling be. The greater good beyond the wall.

Intuitively they turned to look at each other and the smiles were poignant on their faces, each engulfed in their own thoughts. For a moment the idea of a vast world out there brought a keen warmth inside Connie’s chest, before it was abruptly ceased by the recognition that he no longer had anyone to return home to and tell the story about his journey. Sasha could read the pain that was growing to be visible on Connie’s face, she reached for his arms and squeezed it playfully, “Connie, don’t you think Armin’s crazy?”

“Eh?”

“Eh?” the two exchanged confusion, the similarity their minds shared was uncanny, “Don’t you think so? What kind of weird place would that be? Boundless prairie with water that never runs out of salt to mine… He’s crazy. Maybe knocked himself on the head too hard on the last mission.”

And then the three of them burst out laughing in the kind of humor only they would understand. Jean slid down from his seat and embraced his two friends closely, muttering under his breath, he spoke deeply, “I care so much about the two of you guys…”

There was no audible ‘We do too’ or the likes of it in their friendship for they already knew how they felt about each other. Sasha knew that the forest had long gone for her, and she knew that her home had now resided in the shared battles and journeys with her two best friends. She had accepted the fact that her days would never return to normalcy in the forest like what she had hoped in her early cadet days, but the thought that she would share these days as a soldier with Jean and Connie –no matter how awful or hard would those days be— never failed to bring her at ease. The thought of it made her smile again as she said, wondering, “What do you guys want to do once the war ends?”

The two boys looked at each other, puzzlement was quick to show. When would the war end? They all thought, as each of them had different imagery of what post-war life would look like. For Jean, it would simply look like his childhood: the return to that warm omelet lunch cooked by his mum, laid out on the dining table of his home that he hadn’t been for years, and the faint sound of his mum caressing his hair, ‘Eat well, Jean-boy!’; For Sasha it would simply mean a stroll down the market, buying all the juiciest meat she could buy, and then cook it for the town’s orphans. She thought of chopping down the oak tree behind her old home in the forest, and turned it into the largest dining table she had ever seen, so it would house enough seat for each orphan in the district; As for Connie, after the malady of Ragako, he thought hard what kind of life would he lead after the war ends. For a while, he had thought how meaningless would that be to stay alive after Ragako had been done for. ‘But maybe,’ he thought to himself one day, when he saw Jean and Sasha argued intensely about the best type of dish that eggs could be made into, ‘Maybe I could stay alive just to hear these two idiots argue every day. Maybe I could keep on fighting for everyday’s little, precious moment like this.’ Connie finally knew what kind of post-war life would he like to have: A future where he would no longer have to fight and kill. To have nights when his slumber would be soundly and peaceful, without the voices of death and miseries ringing inside his head no more. He hoped that one day he could tell the tales of his youth to all his grandkids, and how he defeated all the monsters with his two best friends.

“I think this might sound lame but,” Jean broke the silence, “I think I wanna buy my mum a house in the capital. She might like the fancy dwelling, you know.”

Jean and Connie nodded, acknowledging how close was Jean to her mum, and how there was no day passing without Jean regretting his bad behavior towards her during his insecure cadet days. Sasha giggled a little, to the confusion of the two boys, “For me… Maybe I wanna get married.”

The boys suddenly erupted into a fit of laughter, as Connie shrieked, “You—Sasha Braus? Married—to what?”

Sasha kicked the boy’s shin, making Connie whimpered in overdramatic tone, “Of course to a living, breathing man, you idiot.”

“Come, come Sasha, tell us what he’d look like,” amidst his laughter, Jean tried to hype her up, “so we would know what to look for.”

The girl looked up to the starless night and mumbled to herself, “Hmm… maybe… a cute… blond man…” her wondering was quick to be cut-off by the boys’ yet another voluptuous laughter.

“Whoa Sasha, that makes neither of us then! Are you sure?”

“So, like—Armin?”

“…or Commander Erwin?”

Sasha blew a raspberry in disapproval, but carried on with her imagery of whom to marry, “…who likes to cook and also good at it…”

The two boys were still immersed in their own laughter while patting Sasha’s shoulders teasingly, “Let’s stay alive together so we can meet your blond cook one day, okay?”

Sasha giggled to herself, drawing her knees to her chest and hid her face in a childish embarrassment. Jean turned to Connie and nudged him on the waist, making him flinched, tickled, “Oi Connie, your turn.”

He fell to a deep, prolonged hum, before shrugging his shoulder, “I don’t know, maybe something simple.”

“Like what?” Sasha asked, raising her face from her knees.

“Maybe I want to write a book,” Connie said, her mind wandered, “and maybe live close to you guys. Maybe I can try your mum’s legendary omelet, yeah, Jean?”

Jean chuckled in approval, letting Connie to continue, “I’ll have the neighborhood kids –or my own grandkids— come over to my house and listen to our deadly attack on titans. I’ll have Armin come over too since he’s a great story-teller.”

The three teenagers fell deeply into their imagination of how pretty that picture would be. Jean sighed, letting the two others know that there was still a sour fruit hanging in his mind, “Do you think one day someone would write a story about all these?”

“Possibly.”

“Do you think they’ll mention our names too? Jean Kirstein, Sasha Braus and Connie Springer…”

“Probably.”

“Do you think anyone would root for us?” Jean asked again, “Obviously we don’t have the power of the titans, nor are we humanity’s strongest soldiers…”

The three of them drowned into yet another deep silence. Their eyes stared afar at Eren, Mikasa and Armin who were getting ready to leave, secretly mirroring their own to them.

“Hmm,” Connie hummed, ever characteristically so, he maintained the keenness in his voice, “maybe someone would root for us because we remind them of themselves. Just ordinary people who thrive…”

Jean raised his brows as he looked at his best friend, “Even when we’re greeted with struggles beyond compare?”

“Exactly.”

Sasha chimed in, “Even when sometimes it feels like it’s beyond our ability…”

“We keep on fighting. Right, guys?” Connie threw his smile to the two fellow soldiers whom he had grown to love and care for, more than he had to himself, “Because that’s what matters, right? As long as we put the effort, we give our own meaning to this futile fate of being alive.”

“That’s right.” – “Yes, Connie.”

Connie sighed, this time it was the sound of relief, “I’m grateful.”

“For what?”

“For the two of you. You both are the only family I have left.” There was still a stinging pain in Connie’s words, but he was finally at terms with it. He had made peace with his grief, and it was visible to both Jean and Sasha as they hug the shorter boy closer to even a warmer embrace, and finally, they laughed again.

“Or maybe we can rebuild Ragako after this?” Jean sparked the idea, sending a glimmer of hope into Connie’s eyes, “Find the cure for your mum, and let’s live closely together there. We can be neighbors. You said there’s plenty of boar for Sasha to hunt, right, Connie?”

Sasha squealed in excitement to which Jean responded by a loving pat to his brunette hair, as he spoke again, “And maybe we can go to Sasha’s house for dinner every night since his husband’s a good cook.”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

“Let’s stay alive, guys.”

“The three of us.”

“Yeah.”

“Together?” – “As long as we can.”

And so that night, they laughed and laughed. For once, under the starless skies they became what they had not been able to become: children with child-like wonders. Casting hope for tomorrow, they were there to laugh at the odds and to live their lives so well that Death would tremble to take them.

A/N: Hi guys, I hope you like it! Please let me know what you think! Comments or reblogs are highly appreciated, like so so much.

Out of all angst fics I ever read, my heart hurt the most writing this down. Truly, what an ending for them by Yams.

Credit: The last line was derived from Charles Bukowski’s publication.

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lovecolibri · 4 years ago

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Michael's relationships with Alex and Maria have quite a lot of parallels, except Alex had better reasons even if it still sucks and Maria did it all speedrun style. Nice fun connection, drama at the start, they can't decide if they want to have him or push him away, insulting him, a bit of making the relationship about sex, deciding they want to be friends after telling him it's over. But! Alex has realised that's all not good, so part of me wants someone to just lay this all out in front of these two, the parallels, and have Alex be like, how dare you! You were supposed to do better than me, not be worse faster! Or something, just love Alex defending Michael. Thoughts?

There are a lot of parallels but the important thing to remember, that a lot of fans and C*rina in particular liked to forget, is that we have seen Alex’s backstory and trauma history with Michael. We know his motivation for what he does, even when it’s a shitty thing to do. Same with Michael. We see them trade these barbs and talk past each other, and both at different points trying so hard and ultimately being misunderstood. I don’t think the want to, or enjoy hurting each other, but trauma ruts can be hard to get out of and seeing past your own trauma filter takes time and practice, and often some professional guidance. Both these boys hold responsibility for their own actions, but neither of them are to blame for the trauma they endured.

On the flip side, we have zero insight into what M*ria’s motivation is beyond the fact that her and Michael were drunk and sad and fucked in the desert and then she found out exactly who Michael was to Alex, and how Alex was feeling hopeful about him, and she decided that now, after all these years, and the continued insults into his character, presentation, and smell, that she just has to have him. But only when she wants, in a way that is convenient for her, and only when he is performing in the way she approves of, but he is also in no way allowed to meet her mother because they are just on a “trial basis” and she doesn’t have to be exclusive, but he does.

Yes there are some parallels, but the situation and backstory for all the characters involved matter to the context of the story (as I said in this post).

We have seen Alex constantly defending Michael literally any time someone has something to say about him (now say it to his face, ya big dumb), so it would have been narratively satisfying to see Alex being allowed to have an opinion on that, but of course, M*ria didn’t do anything wrong so why would he? 🙃🙃🙃 I would actually like it if some things like this from season 2 were addressed but I’m sure the writers would rather sweep it all under the rug as, short of labeling the whole season a dream, some things are pretty unsalvageable, and after such a long hiatus they’re probably hoping most people forgot a lot of this stuff.

But not me. The Salt Gremlin always remembers.

#my sweet nonnie friends #roswell nm #anti maria deluca #anti miluca #alex manes #michael guerin #malex #i am so happy every day that c*rina is no longer allowed to be involved

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alteredphoenix · 3 years ago

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I wonder what it says about Sylvanas as a character when you look at the community - whether it’s on Twitter, Reddit, MMO-Champion, on Tumblr or any other forum WoW can carve a niche in - and see the absolute divide she has on people the likes of which I don’t think I’ve seen in any fandom before. I can’t say I’ve seen the fandom be this tense since...hmm, well, I guess we can say Jaina in Battle of Dazar’alor, since she’s another long mainstay in the cast.

But it’s as the devs said: Sylvanas makes Garrosh look like a child; his crimes pale in comparison to what she has done and the people she has allied herself with. Not to mention the ‘let’s break the Machine of Death and upend the Cycle that shoehorns predetermination against our will for a new system where we can have free reign on our choices without the threat of otherworldly powers and artificial intelligence puppeteering us in the direction they want us to go’, which sounds well and dandy...until you remember that all souls post-Emerald Nightmare are being funneled into the Maw and, as the SL artbook states, tortured until they’re driven mad and side with the Jailer to increase his numbers.

As a fanfic writer and a player that tends to stay away from discourse as much as humanly possible, I personally don’t mind the direction the story is going in. I’m a lot more patient now than I was when I was a girl; after all, my white whale of anticipation isn’t Sylvanas, but Turalyon and Alleria, whom I waited on for eight years to properly debut. Even now, with their roles currently solidified in the current state of canon, I’m content to wait even longer for the inevitable Light Versus Void expansion to see what will happen to them. People like them have the equivalent of the Sword of Daedalus hanging over their heads. It poses the question “Will they or will they not die?” It is the natural progression one can see when we look at integral characters that we follow for a set number of expansions, such as Garrosh, Varok Saurfang, Jaina, and Tyrande.

It’s no different with Sylvanas when you look at her, except this time she doesn’t just come with the Sword. She comes with so many impressions and conclusive feelings that anticipating the finale of Sanctum of Domination is akin to betting all your money on the horse you want to believe for a fact is going to win the Kentucky Derby; hell, let’s replace that with the Super Bowl instead, because that’s how monumental this is being hyped up to be. There’s a strong taste of tension, bloodthirst, and outright mental anxiety over what will happen to her, and that comes off as a little worrying for me - more so the anxiety than the bloodthirst, that’s to be expected with Sylvanas. I have read posts from users during my Tumblr surfing sessions where the more diehard fans are having panic attacks just thinking about the outcome.

I am a Sylvanas fan. I like her. I disagree with some of her decisions, but I still like her just as I like Arthas - her parallel - and disagree with his decisions. But be she hero or villain, the story direction is not worth damaging your mental health over. The story so far has been told and will yet to be told. It’s okay to step away. It’s okay to turn out the noise and focus on yourself. As much as I find some of the dedication toward her to be too extreme and obsessive for my tastes, I also don’t want those fans that feel that strongly to hurt themselves in the process. Then again, I’m no doctor; that’s going into territory I’m not educated in. There’s not really much I can offer you other than that, and you are free to take of it what you will.

I’m not sure where else to take this; I’ve rambled far more than I wanted to, and I’ve deviated more than intended. But let me put it like this: if the story is easy enough for me to understand and I like it, then I’m content with where it’s heading. Maybe that makes me foolish and naïve, but that’s just who I am. I don’t think in terms of ‘is this bad writing’, I think of ‘do the plot and characters make sense for me’. I do wish the lore were a little more consistent, but WoW is going on 17 years old, some of the stuff I’ve seen from older expansions haven’t aged well or have holes in them that need to be patched. I guess that’s why I get confused when some people really stretch out the ‘irredeemable, unsalvageable, maniacal, mustache-twirling Saturday Morning Cartoon Snidely Whiplash’ impression they put on Sylvanas, and I’m over here thinking she’s always been that harsh, cruel Banshee Queen of Undercity who has had her moments of relatability born from tragedy and a specter of love for her people and family that has been stomped on so much she’s willing to tear down the System of Death. If the Split Soul Theory plays into any of this, that’s something I will have to accommodate to.

I am a writer, after all. I’m patient. Whatever happens, happens, and to see the amount of discussion that Sylvanas brings to the fandom solidifies her as a memorable character. You could even argue this makes her a great character, and as a person with writerly aspirations I think, in my personal opinion, that nothing would make me happier than seeing a character of questionable morality who commits even more questionable actions to reach such heights of sympathy, fame, and notoriety.

That’s all that matters to me.

Take care of yourselves. Be nice to each other.

#warcraft #sylvanas windrunner #tbh the fact that i even have to put this out here BECAUSE of the raid speaks volumes to her character #no matter how you look at her she's bringing everyone together #and i say that's better than what jaina azshara and garrosh brought to the table #in terms of anticipation #i'm positive there are characters from other fandoms that have generated this much tension that i'm unaware of #but sylvanas is the only one that comes to my mind that's got people talking #i would not be surprised if she somehow ends up trending on twitter #i am just expecting it at this point

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lovedsammy · 5 years ago

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head above water; [commission for samwinchesterlesbian]

This was the 2nd commission from @samwinchesterlesbian, still focusing on Sam + trauma and Casifer. I went with their instances of interaction in 11.14, 11.18 and 11.22 (I believe). This took forever because I’m sick as hell with the flu, but I hope it has some sense of clarity to it! Giving this a trigger warning for implied/referenced sexual assault (this is Lucifer after all) so please be careful when reading. Nothing explicit, I promise, but just in case. Also a lot of Sam & Cas friendship and Sam reflecting on Cas’s situation and paralleling it to his own.

In hindsight, Sam knows that he should have seen this coming. After all, what was the saying? The Devil always had a way of getting his due? Standing here with Lucifer before him, inhabiting Castiel’s body, Sam guesses that saying was more than accurate. He just stares in disbelief at his friend, or the man that he recognizes his friend anyway, when Cas starts, quite eerily, laughing. He should’ve seen it, then, the odd behavior coming from Cas. Because Castiel, while much less reserved than other angels, was mostly stoic in nature and not easily amused. So the laughing in of itself was an oddity, especially when Sam had just bared himself, heart and literal soul to the angel, offering to let him use his soul for the power to save his brother. Castiel was perhaps not only the sole angelic being that he trusted, but the only one he’d ever entrust with the safety of his soul. Cas was his friend. Cas would not laugh at his declaration of trust, no matter the situation. So, really, the alarm bells should’ve been shooting off at that instant. But it isn’t until he’s pressed against the pillar with Lucifer’s fingers curled in his shirt that it hits him. The fear, the absolute horror of it all, keeps him from trying to fight back. Even if Lucifer weren’t pinning him in place right now, Sam doesn’t think he’d be fighting, or running, for that matter.

He’s rooted to the spot in absolute terror.

“Lucifer,” He realizes, and saying it aloud only makes it more real.

“In the flesh.”

There’s an absolute glee in Lucifer’s eyes, a personal enjoyment he gets out of wearing Castiel, and more so the fact that he can use Sam’s friend to violate him. Sam’s thoughts are racing a mile a minute, and his usually quick brain was having trouble processing. Was Lucifer so desperate to escape the cage again that he took over Cas’s -- Jimmy’s -- body, even without consent? What did that mean for Cas? Was the angel just gone? Worse? Could two angelic beings even possess the same body? He doesn’t have long to think about it, because he watches the way Lucifer’s hand loosens on his shirt and instead moves lower, down to the base of his stomach. Sam wants to hurl, unbidden memories coming back to him: of Lucifer’s hands going even lower, touching him in places that made Sam want to dissolve into nonexistence. Of how Lucifer could force his body to react no matter how much Sam tried to fight it. Sam had never known as much shame or felt as dirty. He was tainted by the Devil, in every sense of the word.

He’s brought back to the present when a fist pushes its way inside his gut, past his clothing and skin and muscles and organs, down into the very embodiment of his being itself. The pain is unlike anything he’s ever felt on the physical plane. He can vaguely remember Cas doing this once before when he was soulless, but it hadn’t been on the same level. Cas had been gentler, kinder, not intending to harm. But Lucifer… he was the opposite. Sam’s body remembers then, with the forceful limb inside him, the countless years and decades that the Devil had done this on a different realm, over and over again.

The body remembers what the mind forgets.

Sam throws his head back and screams.

He’s not really aware now, not anymore. His soul is like a frayed nerve, inflamed and raw from the violent intrusion, trying to shrink away from the Devil. It scorches and burns and freezes all at once. A burning cold. It recognizes its torturer. Lucifer strokes it in a way that one might mistake as fond, except it’s more possessive than anything. The touch says, ‘you’re mine, and I can do anything I want with you.’ And sadly, his soul will remember every instance of this violation, even if Sam’s mind and body will not.

When Sam wakes, Lucifer is still in front of him, on his knees, his face closer than Sam’s comfortable with. Sam can’t help it -- all of his bravery leaves him, and he puts his hands up placatingly, attempting to plead, skirting back as much as he can. “No, no,” He whispers. “Please.”

But it’s not Lucifer. It’s Cas, who is fighting to reign Lucifer in, to hold him back. Sam feels a sting of betrayal when he learns Cas voluntarily let the Devil in, but he tries to convince Cas to eject him all the same. Because of course it had gone that way, right? Lucifer prided himself on ‘consent’ but that was only after he’d found a way to play on the insecurities and doubts already there, and taken advantage of them. It was dubious at best, and… well, Sam knew the worst. He’d experienced it. Castiel’s intentions had been good, so of course the Devil had preyed upon those and convinced the angel to let him in. That part was done and over. What mattered now was not that Cas let Lucifer in, it was encouraging him to cast him out.

“You have to fight, Cas,” He tells the angel. “Eject him now!”

Except Cas can’t. He’s already using every bit of his strength to protect Sam. And in any case, they needed him to save Dean. Sam would have to find some other way to get rid of Lucifer, at least for now. And when he gets his chance, he catapults Lucifer far out of their vicinity, drawing the angel banishing sigil in his own blood.

The reprieve does little to ease Sam’s troubled mind. He feels like his entire foundation has been rocked. Lucifer was walking the Earth once again.

Holy fire and an entrapped Cas - it felt like history was repeating itself. But it is Lucifer still wearing his friend, whose cocky grin he sees when the vessel turns to face him and Dean, unperturbed by the flames surrounding him. Sam fights down the shudder when they lock eyes, and squares his shoulders, features determined. Castiel was trapped inside his own body with the Devil for a room - well, mind - mate, and Sam knew firsthand how much of a terror that was. Even if Castiel didn’t realize it now, it was, and Sam wasn’t going to expose him to more of that than he already had been. Sam circles the Devil, still somehow managing to feel like prey rather than a predator, still the victim despite Lucifer being the one restrained. That’s always how it was. No matter how much power Sam obtained, Lucifer was still stronger. He never deluded himself into believing otherwise. There was no beating the Devil.

They’d thought that maybe, just maybe, they could reach Cas long enough for him to expel Lucifer. Unlike Dean, however, Sam knew Lucifer’s games, and even though Cas was apparently staring right at him, body jerking as he fought to keep control, the younger Winchester hadn’t believed it was him as quickly. Lucifer liked to play with his targets before he pounced. Chances were he was just pretending to be Cas, continuing to string them along. The warding was beginning to fail, too, which would leave them without protection.

Not even Crowley also taking a dive into Cas’s body could expel the Devil. The hold that Lucifer had on Cas was just too strong. Sam no longer has any capacity for feeling bitterness or anger at Castiel -- all he can feel is sadness and empathy. How useless was the angel feeling, how unsalvageable and unneeded, that he’d no longer try and fight the epitome of evil residing inside of him? Sam knew that feeling well, too. Just one more thing for himself and Cas to bond over, he guesses.

And when Amara takes off with Lucifer as her prize, Sam releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. And he’s far more ashamed to acknowledge that the relief of being away from Lucifer overwhelms the depths of concern he has for Cas.

And he hates himself for it.

Rescuing Lucifer from Amara is just rescuing Cas, plain and simple. Or that’s what Sam tells himself. He’s doing this because it’s necessary, and the pliant body he’s got slung over his shoulder in support is still the body of his friend. It didn’t matter who was currently in control. He can feel the chill emanating from the vessel, and inhales through his nose to calm his breathing, and keep his body sturdy. He knows that Lucifer can feel it, the way Sam’s heart races, the way his palms go clammy with anxiety, but luckily, for once, the Devil says nothing of it.

When they finally get back to the Bunker, Chuck - God - smiles sadly at Sam when he stands outside the door of his occupied bedroom.

“I won’t let him hurt you,” He says, placing a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You don’t need to worry. He has no power here.”

Except he does, Sam wants to insist. He has all the power in the world. It didn’t matter that the Devil could physically hurt him. Every second that he was within Sam’s vicinity, every second that he walked free, was a demonstration of his power. He was inhabiting Sam’s friend, and now his bedroom, the place that Sam felt safest in. The place that Sam let Cas in to. Lucifer knew that. He had to. This was just how Lucifer was – he exploited Sam’s vulnerabilities, took away the things that made him feel safest. He didn’t want Sam to feel safe, not even in his own home. Not even with God present.

Later, when he bypasses Sam on the way to the library, Sam tries to make himself seem smaller, pressing himself into the cold wall to let the Devil pass. Lucifer pauses mid-step, smiling in the way that makes Sam’s skin crawl.

“I’ve gotta say, your bed is extremely comfortable, Sam,” He practically purrs. “No wonder Cassie enjoys it so much. It smells just like you.”

He laughs when he glimpses Sam’s traumatized expression and saunters off again, his grace creating a soft, crisp wind about the place that only Sam can feel. It’s intentional, and it works.

Sam stays pressed against the wall until his heart is no longer trying to work its way out of his body and his legs feel solid again.

#samwinchesterlesbian #sam winchester #sam and trauma #sam and ptsd #spn #supernatural #*mine #sam and lucifer #samcas #kinda

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gascon-en-exil · 5 years ago

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FE16 Golden Deer Liveblogging

Chapters 14-15. So many supports...

Yeah...seven chapters left in this route, and the Deer have maxed out all their supports with each other, with Byleth (barring a few gated behind later chapters), and with a few exceptions the non-student characters. Supports are absurdly easy to build en masse in this game, and having lived through the GBA era I’m not complaining about that at all. It does however reinforce my point that the internal priority for paired endings has no feasible mechanical reason to take into account certain characters being gone or unable to build supports for a period.

Lysithea, predictably, finished up gremory in short order, so I guess I’ve got to work on that sword rank after all. With a Levin Sword or her combat art Soulblade she’s still just as strong, but her STR is unsalvageable. Leonie has made it up to bow knight, and even though she doesn’t keep her Part 2 outfit in that class I like that it incorporates elements of both sniper and paladin - the former representing her natural inclination, the latter her Jeralt obsession. Not much else to report on the unit building front, but I have been working on Raphael’s riding and heavy armor skills so he might be able to take a turn in great knight eventually. After using it with Ferdinand I can say it’s not a bad class apart from the awkward certification requirements - axes but not lances, why?

Didn’t notice it at first, but Claude’s upgraded personal skill in Part 2 gives him Pass, as if he didn’t get enough broken toys. Dimitri can top him *snickers* in sheer stats, but Claude is far more versatile in his personal classes. Edelgard feels like a poorly-optimized mess compared to these two.

These two chapters are identical to the equivalent ones on the Lions route. I’ve seen it said many places that the Deer and church routes are basically identical apart from their final bosses, but the Deer and Lions look like they’ve got a lot of overlap too at least up through Chapter 17. Randolph doesn’t live after the battle to get tortured, and Judith shows up in Ailell instead of Rodrigue, but the gameplay is all identical.

One new bit though: Marianne’s paralogue. It’s a fog of war map on the same map as the Petra/Bernadetta paralogue, full of powerful beasts. I had a bit of a rough time protecting the force-deployed Byleth (who I’m not using) and keeping everyone healthy with all the poison and AoE attacks, but at least the boss doesn’t start moving until you enter his range. Because of that Marianne is actually not in that much danger even though she starts off separated from everyone.

Story/Character observations

Maybe I was just feeling overwhelmed, but I don’t recall all that much about most of the supports I got this time around. So much het...ahem. Most of it isn’t bad, exactly, just not very engaging for me. Lorenz is much smoother than he initially seems, and Claude’s romantic A supports dance around his heritage while being for the most part genuinely emotional in a way that makes Quan/Ethlyn parallels seem appropriate. I was though underwhelmed by Claude/Lysithea; it’s Claude’s only paired ending where he completely gives up rule of Almyra for his partner, yet the support itself isn’t especially romantic or poignant. On the less straight side..there really isn’t much of one. Raphael/Ignatz could have gone that route with Raphael wanting Ignatz to paint his muscular body, but no - Ignatz gets to marry his friend’s sister instead. On the other hand Byleth/Raphael is like Byleth/Hubert where the emotional tenor of it makes it come off as really gay if you’re playing as the male version, but no S support for them.

Leonie gets a meta moment comparable to Ferdinand’s, where she asks Byleth if they’d like to be called by their name now that they’re no longer a professor. You can agree to this, but she stops herself and says it’s too weird. I’m left wondering why Byleth couldn’t have had a fixed name when their appearance is fixed and their role in the story and in supports is handled the way it is. Of course, I am the sort of person who never renames Link in any Legend of Zelda game even if that’s an option for every one aside from Breath of the Wild, so I guess I just don’t get it.

Claude continues to show off how much of a Quan he is, turning Byleth into a literal symbol by designating the Crest of Flames as their army’s banner in place of the Alliance’s. In doing so he neatly smooths over (offscreen, for now) internal dissent within the Alliance and dodges the issue of whether he’s truly sympathetic to the church’s cause or whether he’s just using them for their military support - although it’s no effort to guess which it is. It is a bit strange how this route thus far has followed all the same story beats as the Lions route only with a sane, strategically-minded leader at the helm, and apparently that’s going to continue up through the threeway battle at Gronder Field. It’ll be interesting to see where it diverges after that.

Even knowing now that she’s not his mother, I still can’t put my finger on what I think about Claude’s relationship with Judith. It’s...odd, like you’d expect some kind of big reveal involving the two of them at some point but it doesn’t look like they’ll be one? Narratively she currently occupies the same space as Rodrigue does in the Lions, although I wouldn’t count on her getting killed off.

#Fire Emblem #FE16 #Fire Emblem Three Houses #Spoilers

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millennialdemon · 6 years ago

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Have you ever seen two teens any more over their heads than these two teens abandoning their families and friends to marry each other and elope to the fucking Norse-mythology flavored BRONZE AGE and adapt to life in constant warfare without electricity or health care.

Well. This is the finale of The Master of Ragnarok & Blesser of Einherjar... Sigyn thanos snaps Yuuto back to this own world and then he quickly decides he needs to go back to his helpless harem because it was bad timing, and he brings his girlfriend turned wife with him so it’s uhh... it’s the uh. The Good End.

It’s folly to criticize a story for the elements it doesn’t have, but I like the idea of a fantasy story pivoting into a more mundane story (like Alice & Zoroku) where we see someone cope with living a normal life after having lived such a dangerous and fantastical one -- but I don’t think Ragnarok could have ever remotely succeeded in that way because it didn’t go from a dangerous and fantastical life to a mundane one, it went from a ridiculous and offensive magical harem, and I don’t think that could have been reconciled. It’s kind of like regardless of where the story went, it would be bad, because it’s a terrible concept with terrible execution throughout...

So never mind the inevitably boring ending possibilities, because nothing that could have happened would have made up for:

First and foremost, rampant p-dophilia throughout. Yikes.

Being yet another rancid entry into the tragically growing list of recent isekai titles that have, specifically!, underage slaves in the harem

The obviously fetishistic and vile inc*st elements

The designs... character designs, clothing designs... bad.

Just being an ecchi, period. The inherent misogyny of that really does render a series unsalvageable for anyone with brain cells!

All of the women/girls in the series, despite almost all of them being warriors, were either wildly under-used (Sigyn) or inexplicably useless (everyone else, save for Siegrune but even then she was pathetically obsessed with Yuuto)

That episode where the archaeologist lady proposed that Yuuto is Fenrir and he’s living in Norse Mythology World and made comparisons from Norse Myths to the characters for a good 5 minutes straight

ONE (1) CAMEL defeating an entire army because the smell of ONE CAMEL made the hundreds, maybe thousands, of horses turn tail and run

And probably many more things I’m not remembering off the top of my head. So the final verdict is that - despite Scarfior and Sigyn who deserve to be in better anime - this series is badly written, badly animated, badly designed, and just plainly disgusting. It’s barely deserving of the 2/10, just for being a smidge less awful than Death March to the Parallel World Rhapsody.

#:The Master of Ragnarok & Blesser of Einherjar #The Master of Ragnarok and Blesser of Einherjar

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jeanandthedreamofhorses · 7 years ago

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It was already heavily implied that humanity wasn't extinct as soon as we knew the titan trio came from outside the walls. Ymir's story being moved in the anime made it hit a lot harder emotionally. In the manga its placement came years after we'd last seen her, and knowing she was probably dead by then made it feel flatter. And Marco's death coming up when Reiner was having an identity crisis made more sense of how the stuff going on in his works. And it's important for Annie, too.

Sorry for the late response; I’ll answer point by point.

1) Not necessarily, because remember, at around the same time we knew that they came from outside of the walls (Reiner and Bertholdt’s reveal) we also learnt that all titans were once humans. I don’t know what general fandom consensus was, but I at least assumed humanity was still extinct but there were a select number of titans who had managed to shift back into humans. Alternatively, there could have been a small human community that survived the apocalypse and existed rudimentarily beyond the walls. There was nothing to strongly suggest that the apocalypse never happened at all.

The early inclusion of Ymir’s flashback revealed explicitly that the cause of the titans was humans creating them, knowledge which skips a massive part of SNK’s thematic journey from monster to human - the whole purpose of the Uprising Arc is to introduce the idea that the Titan threat is really a human one. Revealing this now undoes a large part of what makes it so great and essential in SNK’s unwinding narrative. But, it shouldn’t be all that surprising given that this journey has been undermined before by the removal of Eren’s sympathy for Annie, which was its first major step. As is sadly so often the case with producers of adaptations, they clearly haven’t looked for anything below the surface.

Additionally, Ymir’s backstory is far more enjoyable to watch with the knowledge of who the real Ymir actually is, and the presentation of it as a series of images flashing besides the letter’s quiet melancholy to a loved one shortly before death was, to me, much more moving than the anime’s basic flashback technique, entirely within the mind of a character and at a random time for the sole purpose of filling up the episode quota of the season; which is also dumb, because since Clash is quite a short arc and Uprising was quite a long one, why oh why didn’t they just combine the two into a 25-episode run like last time and allow adequate time for both? I mourn for the inevitable compression of Season 3. No matter what anyone else says (even Yams himself!), I really liked how the manga paced it.

But most importantly, Ymir’s letter fits with thematic perfection at the end of an arc about the uncovering of mysteries and delusions and dealing with the emptiness that exists beyond them.

Return to Shiganshina was the arc of Pyrrhic victories, the arc that really tested whether the lives lost in this grand pursuit were really worth it after the human and morally ambiguous elements were emphasised in Uprising. Erwin never got to see the basement, and though Eren did he found that the thing meant to bring an end to the war only revealed it to be far larger than he thought. Grisha’s revolutionary dreams are destroyed after being betrayed by his own son and realising the monster he’s become. Mikasa finds out the person she’s been fighting to protect will inevitably die in a few years. Armin who had longed for acceptance finds the man he had looked up to has died because of him and now is the figure of widespread distrust. Levi has to make the choice to let the man he lives to serve die, and fails to avenge him. Hange loses both people closest to them as well as their eye. Jean is unable to completely conquer his humanity for the sake of the mission (his constant struggle from the start, now being tested again in the latest chapter - I think he’ll try and shoot anyway but Magath will jump on him and sacrifice himself to save them), Connie is unable to avenge his family, Sasha is flat-out knocked unconscious in an explicit deprivation of ability. Marlowe loses hold of his grand ideals at the end. Reiner’s attempt to be a hero fails in just about every way possible, Bertholdt’s attempt to take responsibility ends with his death and the loss of the Colossal Titan power, and Zeke’s arrogance is humiliated by his ignoble defeat by Levi.

The revelation of Ymir’s death fed into that greater theme as, to Historia, just as to the reader, her mystery and her absence kept us hoping - but now that hope is dashed against the wall as it is revealed that she was not a god like her name suggested, but a human, and one had already died long ago. And so Eren can take no pleasure in seeing the sea, because the dream associated with it is dead. It’s this nihilistic pit that allows the SC, and especially Eren, to commit the atrocities they are now - hopefully the final Arc will eventually help the, rediscover the passion, hope and soul they have lost after too much time spent with monsters.

So, if it’s disappointing to hear Ymir’s backstory knowing she’s likely dead…that’s the point.

2) I don’t see how it helps to have a flashback of Reiner’s split personality to explain his split personality. That’s not explanation, just…repetition. The reason Reiner’s role in the death scene is so effective in the manga is that Reiner’s reaction is the crown on top of the helplessness of the situation of the Warriors (and all sides) - Reiner had acted as the monster figure but it’s just part of his inability to process his grief, superbly perfecting the tragic pathos for the Warriors throughout the scene even while doing something so terrible. Three flashed images cannot compare to the drawn-out desperation of the situation that gradually generates the pathos culminating in Reiner’s reaction, nor does it explain (in the season itself) why they do it in the first place. And once again, thematic timing! Bertholdt’s death so clearly parallels Marco’s that if they don’t include this scene in Season 4 I’m gonna get mad - and just with Bertholdt’s death that gave no-one any satisfaction, so it was with Marco - another example of the Pyrrhic victory that belongs to the RTS Arc.

3) While I agree wholeheartedly that Annie deserves the best treatment, they had the good sense of including her training Eren to build sympathy for her (although still no “Maybe I could teach you” ARGH), and the Lost Girls light novel made Annie sympathetic before the Marco scene was even written. Including it before its time in both the season and the OVA was unnecessary and thematically harmful padding.

The SNK anime has been unsalvageable since Episode 25′s Rage-Monster Eren; even their attempts to fix their mistakes just disturb other careful formations. Its value lies solely in its music, voice acting, and function as a gateway to the manga.

TLDR, the SNK anime is to the manga what this cake is to The Simpsons:

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meltangospelhour · 3 years ago

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Notes on Reverie & Discipline: Chapter 2

Format: 1st Person Narrative

Chapter Rating: R / +17 [Smut, smut, smut]

Summary: This story was written after and based upon the 2020 GOFest that's been collecting dust. It's a first person recollection of thoughts after certain events, as well as repressed feelings coming to the surface between three characters in particular.

Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

Candela

In the sense of Pokémon types, Steel and Ice have quite a bit in common. In the world outside of Pokémon, these rules apply, too! Steel needs fire to be born. It must be tempered and strengthened. Too hot, and the steel can lose its strength. It isn’t an issue of control--the steel has to know when to step away from the fire and show its strength on its own. It must accept its limits. Through fire, steel can also be reborn; combined with more elements to restore what’s lost in the flame, and properly worked into something possibly more brilliant and better than before. Steel fears fire because it never knows what it might become on the other side of those flames. If it stagnates and never exposes itself to the heat, it risks rusting and crumbling into something unsalvageable.

Ice, on the other hand, must be exposed to fire to become water. In order to protect itself, it must suffer, evolve, and conquer its enemy in its new form. A fire too hot can evaporate it. But, even then? Water isn’t defeated; it finds new life in a different form; rain, or snow. And it becomes ice once again. It has a fluid and harmonious cycle that moves like Suicune. Even through its most ravaging moments, it’s still graceful. If ice wants momentum, it has to discover fire. Some ice is content staying in the cold darkness. But, if the ice becomes restless, it has to change form.

It’s also helpful to fire at the forge by cooling the steel down so that it isn’t consumed beyond repair. Water is their mediator.

Does that mean…

... Water marries fire and steel?

…!

These kinds of parallels helped me understand Pokémon types, and helped me teach trainers who gravitate towards certain types. As far as Steel and Ice goes, I appreciate both types, but I’ve come to prefer the occasional company of dragons and even ghosts alongside my fire.

You don’t even have to specialize in dragons to behave like a dragon, but some people just… are.

“Little fangs like Raihan?”

“Nope.”

“Salamence maw like Leon’s beard?”

“Nah-uh,”

“Garchomp stance like Cynthia?”

“...Perhaps? Huh, she does kind of stand like one--”

“A tail.”

“S-sonia!”

That was the topic of discussion Sonia and I were having. I had an assignment at the mobile lab with Professor Willow. Professor Magnolia (Senior) called in for a remote collaboration between our laboratories. While Willow stepped out to grab a few extra components from his Jeep, Professor Magnolia (Junior) and I had our own banter while performing the initial setups necessary for our work to begin. For a little, almost as a ritual with these remote collaborations, I'd spoken with her about a nameless entity who was dear to me, but had been weighing on my mind. I described their appearance to her, abstaining from photos, and let her vivid imagination do the rest. I couldn't tell if she believed me, was humoring me, or genuinely enjoyed the way I spoke about them.

Why and when did I start telling her? Right; that night she wanted to talk outside of work, after I’d finished my inspection of a new Valor facility. She’d mentioned how she'd felt for Leon, and wanted someone close, but distant, to confide in.

Somewhere along the lines of Sonia’s confession, I’d let my mask slip off.

“...Wow, I think I can really relate to that,” I said, like a fool.

"...What do you mean?" she asked.

Why did I answer? Because it felt good. Perhaps my heart needed it more than I’d care to accept. Since that night in the field over a year ago to this day, I felt like a pressure cooker. I opened up some parts of myself to the Professor, but only the parts that mattered to him. Sonia saw the parts of my heart I’d kept hidden from everyone else, and only the parts that related to the story.

(The way she spoke of Nessa and the conflict she felt in her heart between her and Leon… That was rather relatable, too. But I didn’t want to admit it made no sense to say so.)

Looking at it, she's been the one I've opened up the most to. We'd only spoken for a few months over the course of the project and a few video calls. Just as she had wanted in me with the topic of Leon, I found Sonia to be familiar enough to open up towards, but enough of a stranger to where she wouldn't pry. She doesn't know me well enough to put the pieces together.

...Unless she mentions it to Willow. Fortunately, she never did. Their talks, like with myself and her grandmother, always remained casual, yet academic.

Even after four years, no one else really knows the entire story, aside from--

“From how you've described them, I think they'd look almost like a Garchomp. Wouldn’t you think?” she asked.

“...I can see it, but this person is a Mawile. At least right now.”

“Who’s a Mawile?” Willow’s voice startled me when he stepped inside of the mobile lab. I didn’t think he’d be back so soon.

“S-steven Stone is!” I replied. I gave Sonia a knowing wink, then swapped chairs with the professor.

“Really?” Willow replied. “He seems more of a Metagross!”

I could only grin and agree. A Metagross? Certainly.

🔥🔥🔥

I talked! I talk... a lot. And I talked throughout our lunch. I have more than enough to talk about. Whenever Professor Willow gets that look in his eye, that tension where he wants to clearly ask me something that might be a hard subject to bring up with me, I’ll do one of two things:

Give him a very long-winded answer that only exhausts him and never gets to the point. (With him being an introvert, I take advantage of his lack of conversational stamina outside of work-related things.)

Stop talking and instead answer him when I’m ready.

Within our group, Professor Willow knows the most about what happened between Arlo and myself. Lately, after our annual festival, he seems much more on-edge. Perhaps he noticed I'd been tense? I realize that this isn’t the time to push his words back. I’m quiet as I chew my food, but I chew it more slowly. I make eye contact with him. His bottom lip trembles, he carefully chooses his slowly-spoken words as he speaks to me:

“...Y’know; I was thinking back to the other weekend at the festival, and I just wanted to make sure everything was alright after your encounter with Arlo.”

“Of course it is,” I reply, making sure to add enough delay to be organic, but not so much as to make the professor assume I was hesitating; or worse, lying. “I’ve made my peace with the fact that I want to incinerate him for what he’s done.”

“I mean, when you rode off with your Rapidash like that--”

“I was still angry,” I quickly interrupted.

“I see.” The Professor looked relieved. “The both of you must have been so very close.”

...Why are you prying again? Don’t pry, Professor; I’ve told you everything that I’ve wanted to tell you. I could tell you wanted to ask me more on our walk back. How much did you want to know? How much of it was vital to our work?

How much of it could be considered ‘professional?’

Someday, I’ll tell you everything. It’s not time yet; not today.

“We were,” I choked up. I could cry on cue, but it was especially easy to do today; the food we had ordered was pretty mediocre and I had nearly gagged on it a few times. Besides wanting to eat on time, I wasn’t even sure why I continued to eat it beyond not wanting to disrespect the professor for insisting upon treating me to a meal. I should introduce him to better eateries in the area. He himself isn’t a bad cook, and I had already handled our breakfast; but we just didn’t have the time to do any extra cooking with our deadline for the data Professor Cerise and Doctor Fennel had commissioned us for.

This was a good cue to leave the table. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I need to go for a walk. I’ll be back to finish my section in a bit.”

I left behind the guilty face of the professor, and, even after my return, kept my back turned to it as much as possible in the sanctuary of data. My Vulpixes fought over my lap, eventually compromising that there was enough room for the both of them as I took down notes that would have to be categorized and elaborated upon later.

I have two phones: one for my work, and one for my personal life. I don’t dare mix the two; it’s important to remain organized with this kind of thing. Maintaining a certain image as a leader is important; but having an access point for a more grounded life is also required for that balance to even exist. I had considered getting a Poryphone instead of a Rotomphone for my personal use. Despite lacking certain features, the security on those phones were immaculate.

But, I got a two-for-one deal. Hard to resist!

It was on my personal phone that I also received some very odd notes that I couldn’t trace the origin of. Today, it buzzed in the middle of my work. I checked the message:

[Beautiful]

I didn’t know what it meant and I tried not to assume. Even so, my cheeks felt warm upon just reading the word.

{Is this a new passcode?}

[The progress that everyone has been making has been beautiful.]

Oh.

I smiled.

{We couldn’t have done it without your help! These little details you’ve sent us have been giving us the edge!}

I put my phone aside, hands back on the console… then reached for the phone again. I was curious about something...

“You okay, Candela?”

Hands back on the console. Was I smiling too much? Willow swore up and down that he could see my smile from 100 meters away. I don’t think he was lying; I have a rather radiant set of teeth, if I do say so myself.

“Everything’s fine!” I bent my head back while my Vulpixes licked at my chin.

They only did this to me when I felt tense.

Summer, after the festival; I remember riding off and standing in that field. What would be dismissed as a ride of emotional impulses was really a chance to be alone with my thoughts. I could still hear Blanche’s voice echoing in my ear.

...That was part of the problem.

When the wind hits the grasses in this field, it almost sounds like the sea. They bend back and roll like large, looming waves over a storm. On a summer night like this, it’s easy to smell the fresh greenery and any fragrance from nearby berry shrubs along the edge. It brought back memories.

Desires.

Even my Rapidash is weary to graze due to the fact it may disrupt the tranquility.

...Or, that’s what I’d like to think. It'd filled itself up with berries and other treats during the festival. Still, I encouraged it to take a few bites of grass; it would help with digestion. I made sure the food offered for both humans and Pokémon weren’t junk, but they could still be considered quite indulgent, and everyone caught up in the revelry could be prone to overeating. I fully expected to return to Spark nursing a tummy ache before dinner.

Because I had my hand running down Rapidash's back, I felt its muscles seize up. No words were needed to ask what the matter was; immediately following this, I felt a heavy presence around me. The beauty of the twilight field had to fall upon the backburner while preparing myself for what may be there.

It wasn’t a Pokémon. Pokémon were easy to sense. You’re around so many every day that you understand the signature of a curious or passing creature, versus a human with intentions.

My Rapidash lifted its head and focused on something, but didn’t attack. I soon felt soft fingers over my eyes. My mind immediately processed the oddity of the situation. If my Rapidash wasn’t attacking, then who--

Who did I want it to be?

Your heart had to be racing as fast as mine.

Hug me from behind. I want to feel it.

Apologize for making me wait.

Make it up to me?

Take your hair down; it's only you and I now.

“Who--!? Wait--”

Soft fingers. Manicured nails. The person is pressed against my back and I can tell they are… This is either a D or an E cup--

“S-sonia!” I cried whirling around and cupping her hysterically laughing face in my hands. "Sneaking up on people like that is my bag!"

“Sorry, Luv! Willow sent me to find you! He said you weren’t answering your phone, but that you must’ve not gone too far off. Lo and behold, here you are! Ready to eat?” Her Yamper had followed, and it was running circles around my Rapidash. Quite a cute sight that helped me get my mind off of things, for the moment.

“I…” I should eat on time. I really didn’t want to. I wanted to stay out here and think… And wait for… nothing? But this was once a year we all got together like this. And this year was really special: Sonia and Professor Magnolia had come all the way to Galar to celebrate with us, so it would be incredibly disrespectful to say no.

While cradling her Yamper in her arms, Sonia and I mounted my Rapidash, and rode back to the festival grounds in no time thanks to its speed.

Like yin and yang, my Vulpixes were curled up together at the foot of the bed. It looks so pretty, the way their fluffy tails embrace one another when they’re asleep.

Yin and yang; fire and ice.

Contrasts are nice. Sometimes people are so alike in these kinds of differences.

I laid in bed, on my back and propped up against my pillows so that I could look out into the wilderness and towards the horizon from the window walls. When I had a lot on my mind, sometimes meditating upon the glow of a fire helps me sort through my thoughts. Tonight, I was met with an array of the most powerful flames in the universe: the stars themselves. With no moonlight to disrupt them, their twinkling in glowing bands across the sky would be my fire tonight. Starpieces and stardust shattered across the vastness.

[Beautiful.]

That message. I wanted to see it again. I had been getting messages to my personal phone like that for years.

I didn't know who it was from, and I foolishly and perhaps dangerously played with the idea that it was from someone specific.

I reached for my personal phone. I wanted to send them, whomever they were, a photo of what I was seeing.

Why, though, was I was projecting so much upon this mysterious informant? I wanted so badly for this to be something that you’d read in some novel full of the perfect mix of action, adventure, romance, and intrigue. I love burying myself in stories like that! I always think about the one I read about a spy and the budding romance between them and the faceless entity they sent information to. In the end, everyone was successful; but the spy couldn’t reveal their identity. The faceless entity, revealed to be an empress, was left with a legacy of peace throughout her empire, but forever wondering who that person was she found herself confiding in. The spy, happy but broken hearted, had to leave the empire and assume a new identity.

...Come to think of it, I kind of hate that story.

Still, that’s not me. I’m not an empress. There are a lot of things that come with my duty. Maybe I haven’t realized the full scope of my potential in this role. Words from the past resonate in my mind that remind me that I never would in full, which made me ideal for this role. That’s what keeps me from becoming a greed-driven leader in the vein of Giovanni, and made sure I continued to improve and persist with a healthy sense of ego, confidence, and empathy.

The potential for power is there. Always there.

I want the power to take away from Giovanni just like he’s taken away from us.

From me.

The bed is extra comfy tonight, and my thoughts are too scattered to really appreciate it. But then, my phone buzzes in my hand, and my heart palpitates so hard that it gives me pain; who is it? I don’t want to check it out of fear of who it won’t be; and I don’t have to, at this hour! But, I do anyway. Not many people can reach me on this phone. So, it must be important.

Ah, it’s a call.

It’s Blanche.

I suddenly felt guilty. Why? All of the reasons that I could think of weren't rational.

“Hey,” I answer, my voice trudging through an unexpected yawn.

“Candela,” Blanche replied, curt, but soft. Unexpectedly breathy. They must’ve been alone. “Did I wake you?” they ask.

“Nah-uh,” I answer. “Everything alright?”

A pause. I noticed, when they are nervous, Blanche’s hesitation lasts as long as whatever is about to come out of their mouth next. They’re rehearsing in their head whatever it is they’ve prepared to say.

“...I simply wanted to see if you were doing alright. You’ve not said much since the battle; likewise, you spent most of your time with Sonia during dinner. Not wanting to interrupt as well as enjoying my own conversation with Professor Magnolia-Senior regarding the Dynamax phenomena, I figured that I would inquire about your well-being at a later time. My original plan was to contact you in the morning; however, I’ve found that I cannot sleep until I am reassured that your mind is at peace, tonight, Candela.”

Blanche’s voice remained fluid and stable enough to make me tense, until they uttered my name in that serene tone. It was like skidding across slippery ice and landing in soft, powdery snow. There was something in their voice that conveyed that; like a cooling, gentle breeze. “I… I appreciate that,” I told them. “I’m fine. Like I told the Professor, I made my peace with everything that’s going on with Arlo.”

“...Have you really, Candela?” Blanche suddenly snapped. There was a rock under that powdery snow. It’s 2AM, neither of us should be on edge at this hour. Especially not Blanche, of all people. “Have you really given up on him so easily?”

A Charmander on a sinking raft, its tail barely above water. Just that quickly, that’s what I felt like.

Too many people dismiss Blanche as lacking emotional intelligence. Just because they have a hard time expressing themselves in ornate and nuanced ways doesn’t mean they miss the cues of others. It’s a requirement for both a team leader and a good Pokémon trainer to be able to read people in their entirety. What wasn’t being done and said could often be louder than what was being done and said by the subject. While I certainly didn’t dismiss them, I must’ve let my own guard down around them.

But where, and when?

Perhaps I never had to. There are premium seats in this theatre, and I may have offered one to this particular someone without realizing it. I’d given Blanche an angle where they could peek behind that mask.

Well, I can’t throw you out. What do you think of the show? One of these days, I’ll give you a personal performance!

...Wait; what am I saying? What am I even thinking? This is Blanche, not--

“...I have to, for now,” I replied, my voice heavy with fatigue and emotion. “If I focus too much on him, I’ll bring everyone down and Team GO Rocket will gain an advantage. We have Pokémon to rescue and protect, Blanche.”

“You’re behaving in a manner that is unlike yourself. Perhaps it is my fault for reaching out to you at an inconvenient and, frankly, selfish hour. If you want to end this conversation, then I implore you to be direct with me, Candela.”

I was confused by the accusation. On one hand, they were exactly right; I hadn’t written off Arlo, but I knew how to juggle. On the other hand? They were behaving in a way I’d never seen from them. For them to be this concerned, it’s incredibly sweet.

...And now I felt guilty again. But why?

“...It’s fine,” I murmured. “I like hearing your voice.”

“...As do I yours,” they replied, that soft, drifting snow returning. “Listen, Candela?”

“Yes, Blanche?”

“I would like for us to meet up sometime, outside of comparing notes. I would demand a visit right now, but, outside of emergencies, that’s an irrational thing to do at this hour.”

It really isn’t, Blanche. I could recall more than a few incidents in the past between myself and a certain someone meeting up late at night. That being said, I really wanted to sleep.

I wanted to return to those thoughts, the sound of windswept grassy fields, arms encircling my waist...

"Stop by tomorrow," I said. "We'll have brunch."

I awoke to a bouquet of red and white mottled roses being delivered to my home.

I'd gotten them every once in a while after becoming leader, but could never trace the sender. Always anonymous. They were among my favorites. Some arrangements would contain them with a mix of pure white and deep red, almost black blooms. They weren't ever sent for any particular event; not even on my birthday. And even then, it would come exactly a week or two after that with a gift of some kind of precious jewelry often depicting a cute Pokemon or my initials. There was no other discernible pattern. Sometimes, they'd follow consecutive days. Others, a month would pass. It made no sense.

I had already planned on using this arrangement for the centerpiece that would be on our brunch table. Blanche had arrived on time, as always…

... With their own bouquet.

Carnations and peonies in red, pink, and yellow. So vibrant and exciting, I was almost taken by surprise to see Blanche choosing such a brilliant array of colors.

"I saw them on the way over and thought it would be a reasonable gesture of sentimentality. They…" Blanche looked away from me and extended their arm out to offer the bouquet. "... Reminded me of you."

They cleared their throat, as they often did when they felt as if their comfort zone were thawing out from under them. I cradled the bouquet and thanked them.

The roses had to go into the bedroom. For now, Blanche's gift would take their place, front and center.

🔥🔥🔥

Brunch was nice. We enjoyed our meal out on the balcony to take in the fresh air of the wilds. The heat of the summer sun had yet to kick in, so it was a pleasant late morning for us both. I even suggested going swimming before the afternoon rains arrived, but Blanche seemed unusually hesitant at the idea of taking up one of the few outdoor activities they truly enjoyed.

...I'm now more than certain my joking about not needing a swimsuit is what incinerated that idea. To go skinnydipping with close friends didn't bother me, but I respected Blanche's boundaries.

Spending a quiet day together at home was pleasant enough. I felt a certain bliss around Blanche. The sound of the rains made for a lovely and cozy summer afternoon. No words were necessary to be exchanged at some points; being so close to one another, lazing around, going through my study’s library and indulging the books, and feeling alone in the world together, was something I hadn't felt in a long time.

(Not since--)

I was in the other room, looking for an artifact that I had that I wanted to show Blanche before I sent it off to Lenora, per Cynthia's suggestion.

I felt an eerie quiet; not even the patter of little paws that followed the tension of suspecting mischief.

"Blanche?" I called out, and found myself running through my house to find them again.

I felt a knot in my stomach, a chill of cold anger and tension that felt new, yet from a familiar source I had yet to pinpoint. That guilt again. No, it's… not pure guilt. Was it ever guilt? I can't find another word for it.

How fast was I running?

Had I run through the entire house!?

This whole time, Blanche had been in the study with me, and had never left during my frantic outburst. My study, which was filled with all kinds of oddities related to my research and adventures, housed everything from precious children’s books containing accounts from young trainers on their first years of battle, to forbidden tomes filled with notes smuggled from the laboratories of notorious scientists like Colress and Ein.

One would think that I would be worried about them finding those latter things, but they were well aware of the gamut that my collection spanned and the types of material a researcher could amass.

However, my fears and reaction were justified.

Blanche stood at my desk with a picture frame in their hands, their concentration upon it, intense. I only had one photo on that desk, at the time.

"...I had never paid attention to the photography you kept in your home, Candela," they said, speaking at a slower pace than normal, which implied the weight of the thoughts that bogged their mind against potentially calloused calculations. "Acknowledging them was often unrelated to our note sessions. So, I had refrained."

I fought hard to hide my emotions, but, even with their slight glance, I could tell they knew something was up with that picture they held.

"...And yet, I had seen this picture several times with my mind in a different place than before," they continued, never once looking up at me. "The angle that I was often positioned and my proximity made me dismiss it quite often. But now…"

Would Blanche be able to recognize the man with his arms around my waist in that photo we took during our vacation to Wyndon years ago?

Hair down, the rays of sunlight captured in the photo obfuscated the true color of his locks, but the lushness was undeniably his. Without the huge spectacles and the bratty sneer, the princely, cherubic face that rested on my shoulder in the photo was unobstructed in its undeniable sweetness and felt like it belonged to a completely different person. Without that coat and those bulky gloves, his athleticism was pronounced to the point where it was clear he was a higher ranking performer in Team Valor; his hands, elegant and large, were soft and well-manicured in a way that mirrored his upbringing. My arms were reaching up and behind his head to pull him closer to my own for the photo.

"Salacious. He's practically groping you."

I suddenly realized that recognition was irrelevant; Blanche knew about my past, so seeing photos of us together on its own shouldn’t have alarmed them. It was the positioning that we had taken the photo in that had given them pause, as well as it sitting out so brazenly upon my desk. The picture itself was pure in its intentions, but Blanche's appraisal was correct; that purity was an untainted passion between two people eager to toss themselves into the fires that blazed from the most primal depths. I gently took the photo out of their hands and tucked it away into my desk drawer. "...Perhaps it isn't the most appropriate photo to have out when guests are around," I muttered. “That just comes to show you how little company I have here these days!”

From behind, a pair of arms suddenly went around my waist.

I had hugged Blanche countless times, only to be met with an awkward pet in return of some kind, or the feeling of their body relaxing against my touch after initiating the affection; yielding without much reciprocation.

This was different. Those arms were trembling, and I was tense.

Now I knew exactly why I felt this guilt. I didn't even need to ask why Blanche was carrying on like this. I felt guilty because there was something growing between us that I had chosen to ignore; that I had flung into the flames that weren’t yet hot enough to scorch it away. I’d been stifling a magnetism that was hard to resist, and one that I was afraid to allow.

The trembling arms stopped where the press of delicate lips against my ear began. The movements of the one who often tensed when I came close were so suddenly confident and fluid. One elegant hand cupping my breast through my blouse; the other with its thumb hooked into the waistband of my shorts, determined towards its removal.

I trusted Blanche, and my tense body wanted to surrender to their fingers that were quickly discovering particularly sweet spots as their soft voice tenderly uttered and pleaded with me to give in. This was the logical outcome, they said. Forget the past, they said. Blanche is here to take you to heaven. This was Blanche's now, not his. You're warm. You're trembling. You're wet, and I know exactly how to handle wet.

To hear Blanche speak to me in such a way I'd never heard, that alone threatened to bring me over. I wanted to ascend, to wake up the next day in their arms, but things weren't that easy; Blanche knew it. Before I could even allow myself to utter a sweet moan that would have added more strife to our conflict with a layer of pointless jealousy destined to turn up in the future, I made them stop. Both of our hearts were racing and our breaths, heavy, with them bewildered by what had just happened, and me finding myself bent over my own desk with my clothing disheveled.

"Candela. My apologies. I'm not sure what compelled me to--"

"--It's fine," I interrupted, managing my most commanding tone possible in that state. "I think you should go. I'll see you at the next meeting in a few days."

I wasn't quite ready for a certain fire to be put out. For now, I felt more comfortable in entertaining my delusions about this made up romance behind the informant and their messages than ruining a professional relationship. Entertaining my memories and marrying them with this fantasy had given me an outlet, and the ability to avoid crossing the line.

Blanche wasn’t sorry. Blanche isn’t some naïve child. Blanche isn’t impulsive. They concocted a plan the very moment they touched that frame, down to the apology in case I backed out.

Blanche is still human; they aren’t immune to baser desires.

I hurriedly adjusted my clothing and picked up the objects knocked off of the desk from that moment. Blanche had dismissed themselves to clean up, but not before I caught the sight of them licking their fingers as they headed out to do so.

I hadn’t seen Blanche lick anything like that since Spark and I bought that cake.

I was right. Blanche wasn’t sorry. And... I’m not exactly sorry for nearly giving in.

Still...What if I let them--

No.

Blanche and I maintained our facades and I mandated that our note meetings be remote for a while, much to their dismay; their reaction very subtly expressed by them with a guilty side-glance and nothing more. For the time being, our minds were too stained with a lust we had to corral for the sake of our teams. Worse yet, the image of them licking their fingertips--after apologizing, no less-- remained with me. It wasn’t that visual alone, but the potential of what it could have led to that persisted.

I had an upcoming assignment with Willow for a remote collaboration between Professor Magnolia and Sonia. I knew he'd ask questions about my tension, and why I'd ridden off after the festival. I had to prepare myself.

Perhaps after this war is all over, Blanche, I might give you that private show. But, brace yourself; I have no idea how this is all going to end.

Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

#pokemon go #pokemon fanfiction #leader candela #leader blanche #professor willow #professor magnolia #professor sonia #smut #candela x blanche #candela x ???#leader arlo

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lookatthisdork · 7 years ago

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First Impressions: Harper Row

Pursuant of my long-term goal to write more about my AU-meta Where are the grandkids?, I decided to track down and read some of the New 52 canon of Harper + Cullen Row and Duke Thomas. Immediately after starting this quest, I realized that for my own sanity, I simply MUST write about why Harper Row bothers me. Because I actually LIKE the character, but I HATE the context she appears in.

I’ve read a max of ten issues with Harper, which is why this is titled First Impressions, not Final Judgement. If you don’t agree with me, cool. If you agree with me, also cool.

(Warning: this post is really really long.)

The first time Harper (named) appears is in the Court of Owls arc, saving Batman’s life. She is entirely unfamiliar to the viewers, but Batman knows her and tells her “I told you once already, leave me alone. I meant it.” Her name is dropped by Harper herself who, after Bruce storms off, says:

Ignoring my immediate cringe at “epic bat-fail”, this is a weird introduction. This had me going back to google, convinced that I had the comic order wrong. But no, this is Harper’s first named appearance. For some reason. (In media res is going to kill me one day.)

(She has a cameo in the first New 52 Batman issue, but lord knows she’s not recognizable without hindsight. This is her)

The next time she shows up in Batman #12, we actually confirm her hairstyle changed between her last two appearances via flashback. We also get a proper origin as well as an intro for her brother Cullen.

Two things here: 1) Harper focuses a lot on providing for Cullen, who would instead like his sister to chill out and live a little; and 2) Cullen would like to win the heart of Tim Drake. (+1 canon points for Cullen/Tim, if anyone ships that)

Harper goes to a Wayne gala, stuffs her bag with pastries, and chats with Alfred (who recommends she take some brownies, gosh I really love Alfred). She’s super skeptical about the Wayne development that’s going to replace her current apartment building because she doubts Bruce has even set foot in a neighborhood like hers, let alone knows enough to not screw them all over.

She comes home to find some people broke into her apartment, beat her brother and shaved “FAG” in the back of his hair. Which, wow, fuck his unnamed assailants. Cullen’s hair is pretty much unsalvageable, so Harper cuts her own hair to match in solidarity.

Harper has nerves and a spine of steel.

We find out that Harper is emancipated from her abusive dad, her mom is dead, and she works as an electrical engineer (she’s not old enough to have the education for that, but comic logic, don’t think about it too hard).

Going home from school, Harper and Cullen run into the guys that messed with Cullen. Harper tasers the fuck out of one, but about a dozen more crawl out of the woodwork. The Row siblings are pretty screwed, but then Batman swoops in and knocks some heads. He leaves, and we get this:

If this were a manga, the artist would have drawn literal stars in Harper’s eyes on that last panel.

She then proceeds to stalk the shit out of Batman, watching what little video the internet has before staring at street cams long enough to notice that Batman is hacking them. Upon realizing this, she tracks down the physical grid mods for the hacks and improves them as a “thank you” to Batman. Of course, she runs into Batman chasing a dude down, almost gets hurt but still helps apprehend the villain. Bruce, bit of a dick that he is, tells her not to do it again and ditches.

Ignoring the weirdness with her in media res introduction during the Court of Owls, I honestly like this origin and I like the potential of Harper as well as Cullen. She reminds a bit of Jason with her more troubled childhood grounding her approach to vigilantism, and there’s a bit of tech-guru and stalker tendencies (lol) that echoes Tim. I get a bit of Stephanie too, though less so than Jason and Tim. She’s also unique in having a younger sibling that she has a solid, loving relationship with even before the Bat-stuff. I hope writers capitalize on the Harper-Cullen dynamic; it’s the strong point of this origin.

After the origin, things get...contentious. Harper next shows up in #18 which I think happens after Damian’s death? And maybe after Dick’s “death?” I’m not quite sure. She confronts Batman who is spiraling, beating on low-level people who don’t really deserve that level of force while also getting injured from stupid mistakes.

This whole section echoes the time immediately after Jason died a lot, and her thoughts on the matter are pretty close to Tim’s (pre-Flashpoint). Which...isn’t a super good thing because Tim’s “Batman needs a Robin” shtick was a bit tone-deaf while Batman was grieving his youngest son back in 1988-9. In 2012, it was still a bit tone-deaf.

“I have no interest in knowing whoever’s under that mask. I don’t want you to be a person.” Harper, I know you don’t know Batman just lost a kid, but holy hell, you’re echoing the worst Batman tendencies Bruce has, please no.

(Also, while I’m making the Tim parallel, post-Jason’s death it was just Dick and Bruce against the world, with Dick firmly not at home (and Barbara still in recovery from the Joker iirc). Post-Damian (and post-Dick), Tim is still alive. Tim, the guy who’s origin involved pulling Bruce out of his funk the first time, is around for this second crisis of faith. Tim, what are you doing while Bruce is self-destructing here? Off with the Teen Titans and exploiting his New 52 origin as a reason not to be interested, I imagine.)

We then get this response:

Now, I haven’t tracked down Stephanie’s first appearances, but to my untrained eye, this strongly resembles of Bruce’s early and complete disapproval of Spoiler. And since Stephanie is noticeably absent from the New 52 at this point, we have example 1 of what I think is Pre-Flashpoint’s fans’ biggest complaint: Harper Row occupies roles formerly established by Stephanie and/or Cassandra. Because someone at DC (writers or publishing execs, I don’t know) decided to reset the Batgirls rather than port them over with their experiences intact, New 52 introduces Harper first (also Barbara, but that’s a discussion for another day).

It makes some sense in the narrative to give Harper the same difficulties as Stephanie since Spoiler didn’t exist to pave the path, but Spoiler not yet existing was an arbitrary executive decision unpopular with long-term fans. It’s not weird to think that people who like a female batfam character from pre-Flashpoint - Stephanie, Cassandra or Barbara - are the fans DC should be courting to accept Harper. Giving Harper a parallel to Stephanie without also giving them Stephanie does the opposite - it alienates them and causes them to project their saltiness onto Harper.

Even after Stephanie is introduced, she comes back as Spoiler, losing her hard-won (very hard-won) progress form her days as Robin and Batgirl. Meanwhile Harper and New52-Stephanie become friends, meaning that an older Stephanie fan cannot consume Stephanie or Harper content without seeing the other girl. Thus Steph fans are constantly filled with low-burning rage at DC and probably also Harper for not giving them their preferred version of Steph.

It gets even worse with Cassandra. DC reintroduces her two years after Steph and four years after Harper’s first cameo, so Cass fans have been living in a content desert with no promise of salvation. Like Steph, Cass’s hard-won progress as Batgirl and Black Bat is gone, supplanted by a new origin as Orphan. Cass becomes good friends with Harper and Steph, which on the surface is great for original Cass fans - her pre-Flashpoint friendship with Steph is very important to her character. But now you’ve retconned away Cass as Batgirl playing rooftop tag with Steph. You’ve erased the gravity of Cass giving Steph the Batgirl title. Now Harper is a vital part of a dynamic that can no longer emulate the original.

And Cassandra killed Harper’s mom in her origin. Not randomly either - Batman & Robin Eternal has Mother - the villain of Cass’s origin and the B&R title’s final boss-villain - ordering Cass to kill Harper’s mom to forge Harper into a better minion down the line. Disclaimer: I didn’t read all of this arc - but tying Harper and Cassandra irrevocably to each other’s origins is really bad. To an older Cass fan, it feels manipulative, as if the writers are trying to give Harper some of Cassandra’s clout by making them both important to the same villain. Having entwined origins makes it near impossible to separate out Cass and Harper going forward if you like one but dislike the other.

I therefore conclude as a newer comic reader that there is nothing wrong with Harper Row herself and A LOT wrong with how she was packaged. By herself, Harper is a capable engineer and hacker who utilizes her expertise well and with training could be a capable vigilante. But with New 52 Spoiler and Orphan, she is a constant reminder of how this is not the Pre-Flashpoint Earth. Retconning the Batgirl histories back into existence would be the same as retconning Harper’s character development back out of existence. DC basically shot itself in the foot by resetting Cass and Steph while tying them both to Harper, dividing their original Batgirl fanbase into polarized pro- and anti-reboot groups.

Which is a pity, because I really think Cass and Steph fans could have found something to like in Harper without the resets.

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