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honeyhenry · 5 years ago

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Brother Bubba

this was my first piece of writing so I'm extremely nervous posting! pls be kind if offering any feedback. also this took way longer to write than I intended so I’m sorry if anyone has been waiting for it!

word count: 2k+

warnings: pregnant!reader, lots of fluff, copious amounts of Dodger Evans

enjoy!

Chris sighs as he pulls the large BMW into the driveway. He had of course, ensured that the journey from the hospital was cautious and careful - completely different from the journey taken from home to the hospital only 2 days ago. In his defence, you had yelled at him, telling him to “step on it, I refuse to have this baby in a car Chris I swear!!”

So this time, on the journey back to the large 5-bedroom house, he stays vigilant despite being away for most of the last 48 hours, wary of every turn on the drive home, holding the most precious cargo that at one point he could only possibly dream of. His wife and newborn son.

His family.

For the majority of his career, Chris had been known as one of America’s finest bachelors. Sure, he had friends to hang out with, and a schedule that led to a series of relationships burning out, or indeed them lighting his house on fire with him trapped inside. Metaphorically, of course. And so it had been just him, until one life changing moment a few years ago. Suddenly, it wasn’t just him, anymore.

Because then came Dodger.

Chris’ best friend in the whole world and someone who he could rely on for company, loyalty, and comfort. Chris wanted the whole “picket fence” life, and had thought that he may as well be a step ahead with adopting a fun energetic dog. There had been an instantaneous love and trust between the two, and so Chris reckoned that anyone who he wanted to keep in his life for the long-term, had to pass the Dodger test. Anything less than love and respect shown by and towards the sweet dog, was a small but still quite blaring red flag.

But Dodger had taken to you, almost instantly in fact. He saw you as wholesome and trustworthy, even when Chris himself was still working out what your relationship was blossoming into. Whether Dodger’s adoration of you was due to your character, or the fact that you always loved to sneak him some treats whenever his owner wasn’t looking, Chris couldn’t be sure. But he was glad of Dodger’s approval even during the awkward “what exactly are we?” stage in the beginning.

It was safe to say that the pup had in fact deduced your character, as even though the treats had eventually been halted - ”Y/N, he’s getting a bit of a belly and we’re running low on treats” - Dodger made sure to have a toy or pillow just to give to you when you started going round to Chris’ place more. You were so good to Chris - you made him question if he’d ever fully lived before meeting you, and so Dodger didn’t mind that he was kept out of his owner’s room every now and then. As long as it was made up for in the morning with snuggles that Dodger knew he could get from you. Whenever Chris would leave to go to the bathroom, he’d come back to find that you’d let Dodger in to cuddle and pet him.

“You’re gonna replace me with Dodge, Y/N? Really? My own mutt?” he’d ask, mock hurt while you giggled from between the sheets, stroking Dodger’s soft fur.

“Well it’s hardly my fault you Evans boys are so whiny for cuddles”

And so, after two happy, loving years spent with Chris and his closest buddy, navigating through this new life you’d created together, Chris knew you were the one.

He’d have told Dodger the proposal plans, alongside a couple of your and his own family members.

“S’not just gonna be you and me anymore bubba; but that’s a good thing I promise. Gonna make sure you have lots of friends to play with though, a bigger house and a bigger yard to run around in. Mom and I are gonna be forever bubba, and you’re always in the picture, i promise.”

And he fully kept his promise, only delighted to do so when you cried and said yes as he had got down on one knee. The wedding was held a year on from that night he proposed, and only a month following your honeymoon, you found out that Dodger would have a little friend to play with after all.

During your pregnancy, Dodger was incredibly protective of you. Sometimes not even Chris was allowed past Dodger, particularly after a day at work when he’d been working and ended up smelling or looking different to his normal dusky scent and fresh face. Dodger liked to bark and growl at whoever got what he deemed to be too close, to make sure you weren’t left vulnerable and alone with nothing but a belly full of Evans.

You never had to complain about a lack of love or protection - not with your two boys almost fighting over you for cuddles or kisses. Most nights, Dodger would put his big fluffy head on your stomach and rest there, being as close as he could to his growing friend. It was fair to say that Dodger’s big head and Chris’ hands fought for who got to feel the baby move around the most.

Baby Evans would be completely impartial of course, rolling around for anyone who brought a sense of comfort. Nobody missed out - you were all family.

Therefore, as Dodger has truly been part of so much of your life, it was only fair that Chris felt bad for leaving him for the past 2 days. Of course, his sister had come over to feed him and play with him, however Chris wanted to make sure that his bubba knew he’d not been forgotten by you or him.

But leaving had been worth it, as this time, you and Chris now return to your family home with someone brand new for your lovable dog to meet.

After parking the car, he turns to face you in the backseat as you gaze fondly over the tiny person wrapped up and buckled into the big clunky safe car seat. Your little angel, your honeymoon baby who was most definitely conceived in the villa you’d rented out for 3 weeks in The Bahamas for your honeymoon.

Your husband smiles at you, watching you interact with your son. You feel his gaze on you and you look up to him, not even the impact of the sheer exhaustion you felt course through your body, could change how lovingly he looked at you. It still makes you blush.

“I love him so much.” You whisper, to Chris, to yourself, to anyone who will listen. “ And yes, before you ask, he’s totally fine, still hasn’t woken up. he’s even clutching his tiny teddy.” Chris looks at you the same way you’ve been looking at your newborn son. In utter adoration.

However he soon springs into action, helping you out of the car, using his strength to lift out the baby carrier from the backseat. He gently fixes the blanket on top of his son’s tiny body, a blanket knitted for the newborn Evans by his Chris’ own Ma - now a Grandma to his own child, not just his nieces and nephews. He smiles at the thought of his whole family getting to meet his son, and his son getting to grow up in a huge family full of love and laughter. Putting the carrier next to you at the front door, he retrieves the rest of the luggage, before he grabbing his keys to open the door.

He hears a bark. Then another. And then, a few excitable, louder woofs.

You can both hear Dodger jumping up at the door and so mutually decide for Chris to enter first, going straight to the mutt, cuddling him and letting him jump around in excitement. Chris fluffs his pup’s ears as he laughs at Dodger’s rambunctious behaviour, getting all his pent up energy out while you try to sneak past the two of them having their moment, taking the baby carrier to the living room.

“Hey Dodge! Yeah it’s me, your old man, and Mom is here too!!! Yeah Mommy’s here!! And we have a big surprise for you - we’re gonna introduce you to your new brother! Your baby brother huh, yeah that’s right bubba!” Chris smiles, still laughing and talking away to Dodger who he’s missed just as much the past couple of days. It makes you so happy to see the bond between your man and his ever loyal dog.

Before you know it, Dodger has lost interest in Chris - “Sorry Chris, I guess I’m his favourite now” you had said when you first got together - keen to see you and whatever the new smelling thing is that you’ve brought home.

Finally, the momentous occasion had arrived. the first meeting of Chris’ special boys. You had both been a little nervous for the newest arrival to be introduced to Dodger, given how loving and excitable he could be. But you both trusted him, and your gut instincts, and decided that if you wanted everything to be as normal as possible, then Dodger was going to be with you all from the first day you bring the baby home, and start their sure to be close bond from then.

You take your son out, cradling him close to your chest. From Dodger’s viewpoint, he can see Mom, but also two tiny socked feet. Chris is holding his bubba’s collar, but only loosely as Dodger settles down beside you quickly and quietly.

“Okay easy bud, we’re gonna introduce you now to someone really special. Good boy, Dodge, nice and calm.” Dodger sits patiently, still sniffing at the new smell, but can tell that whatever is happening is important.

You smile, thankful that your pup is staying true to his kind nature. “It’s ok Chris, he’s fine. Dodge honey - this is CJ.”

You lower down your sweet baby to your lap where Dodger can see. CJ is a small, delicate bundle, with a soft mop of dark hair, while his long delicate lashes rest on soft cheeks. You’ve only seen his little peepers once today as you changed him before you left the hospital, but it’s only when Dodger nudges a foot with his nose that CJ opens his eyes again. You smile, and Chris breathes a sigh of relief as Dodger makes no plans to act suddenly or nastily.

“Yeah sweetheart” you address the bundle on your lap, “that’s Dodger. That’s your big brother. He’s been looking after you so much already, and you’re gonna have so much fun with him.” Dodger rests his head on your lap by the sweet boy and sniffs at him, while CJ slowly flutters his big eyes, sleep planning to take him once more.

“Good boy Dodge...good job buddy” Chris pats Dodger, as he watches the scene before him slowly unfold, just as it had in his dreams. Dodgers big eyes are just staring at the baby, and apart from the odd sniff now and then, he doesn’t move. Already, he wants to make sure that his little buddy is good.

You turn to Chris. “See, I told you he’d be fine”.

CJ closes his eyes ready for some more sleep and Dodger turns to look at Chris, which makes him laugh softly.

“Yeah bud he can’t play right now, not like your old man here. But give him a little while and he’ll be chasing you round the garden like nobody’s business.”

Chris goes to give his oldest bud more pats, wanting to let him know what a good job he’s doing already, but quickly Dodger rushes off, only to return with his favourite toy lion, planting it on your lap right next to your newborn son.

“Ohhh thank you bubba”, you nearly cry at the sweet gesture. “What do you say CJ? We say ‘Thank you Dodger’”.

Chris smiles. He’ll take the hospital stuff upstairs later but for now you’re his priority. Well, not just you now, but baby CJ too. His family.

He looks at Dodger resting his head by his lion and CJ, knowing already that the loyal pup would do anything for his little brother. He made no mistake in starting this family with a loveable, trustworthy dog.

He couldn’t have chosen a better best friend and protector for his son, Chris reckons.

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#chris evans x reader #chris evans writing #chris evans au #dodger evans #daddy!chris evans #daddy!chris #chris evans #my writing

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bucklesomeswashswan · 4 years ago

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At the Beginning (5/11)

Once Upon a December Sequel

Thank you! Thank you a million times for everyone who read and responded to the last chapter! You put a smile on my face each and every day!

This chapter has one of the first scenes that came to me for this story, and one of the reasons I wanted to write a full sequel. Hope you enjoy it!

Captain Swan Steampunk Anastasia AU Summary: Emma might have thought her troubles were over after she defeated Gold, the leader of the Industrialists. But not everything is as it seems and Misthaven is in danger. Mysterious new faces and gangs lurk in the shadows as Misthaven struggles to find its footing in the power vacuum left behind when the Industrialists fell. Time is running out to regain control and alliances form and crumble as the betrayals come from those closer and closer to Emma. Will she be able to have the life she always wanted with her family and Killian or will the secrets from the past tear apart everything she thought she knew?

Rated M AO3 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 Start over with Once Upon a December [AO3]

Chapter 5: When the Storm is Through

Emma woke to the feeling of pale sunlight blanketing over her and soft lips brushing against her bare back. She smiled into the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut.

Killian’s hand brushed her lower back as his nose traced up her spine. She felt his warm breath as he sighed against her, his forehead resting between her shoulder blades.

She squinted one eye open looking back over her shoulder to the messy black hair falling over her skin. “Killian?” she whispered.

“Shh,” he murmured into her skin, “If we don’t make a sound, maybe the world will forget to wake up.”

As if in answer to that thought there was a clatter on the street outside, the sound of hooves across the cobblestones. He groaned, letting out another sigh.

He pressed a last kiss into her skin before pulling away. She half expected him to try to initiate another round of last night’s activities, but instead he said something even better.

“You want some breakfast?” he asked.

She rolled over, pulling the sheet with her, meeting his gaze. “Yes,” she said, the word almost a moan. “I’m starving.”

Suddenly she frowned and leaned up on her elbows, a thought striking her. “Wait, you haven’t been here in months. How can you have food? Are we going to have stale crackers and dry beans?”

His eyes skimmed over her like a touch, making her very aware of the thin sheet that was all that was between them. “Look who’s getting awfully entitled now that they’re a princess,” he said with mock indignation.

She reached out to swat at him.

He chuckled, dodging her hand. “Don’t worry, love, there’s a bakery up the street.”

It was such an incredibly normal sentence. She was struck again by how the city was familiar and natural to him. He lived here, knew the bakeries, knew the people. She had been given a country by birthright that felt foreign to her and she wanted so badly to see it through his eyes. The way he knew it.

“Any specific requests?” He asked her, an eyebrow arching up.

She bit her lip thinking. “Hmmm, cheese pastry.”

He leaned forward his fingers tangling in the sheet, it slipped an inch down her.

“Cheese pastry,” he repeated, placing a kiss on her abdomen over the sheet.

“And apple turnovers,” she said.

The sheet slipped another couple inches. “Mmmm,” he murmured, placing a kiss at the base of her ribs.

“Eggs and bacon.”

He shook his head against her as the sheet slipped over her breasts. “I’m not sure they have that.”

“Fresh strawberries.”

“It’s the middle of winter, love,” he said, the words a little muffled against her skin.

“Any kind of fruit.”

He placed a kiss over her heart. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The last kiss he placed on her lips. Her hands came up to hold him there, but too soon he pulled away.

“I’ll be right back,” he told her. “You won’t even miss me.”

She watched him move about the room pulling on clothes, a light blush colored her cheeks thinking of the reason they had gotten so scattered. She loved when he got desperate, his usual calm and collected demeanor gone, his skilled fingers hasty.

Knowing exactly what she was doing she leaned back on the soft pillows, stretching languidly, the sheet still around her hips. She saw him glance back at her from the doorway, the way he froze, the words dying on his lips, his eyes wide. It seemed an effort for him to make himself turn and leave the room.

Emma bit her lip, breathing a laugh into her hand. She’d never get used to the way Killian made her beautiful.

She heard the front door downstairs close behind him. After a moment of quiet she looked around the room, morning chasing away the shadows in the corners.

She rolled off the bed and pulled on Killian’s shirt from the night before, the fabric soft and worn. Her bare legs were a little cold now that the fire had burned out. She sank back onto the soft mattress, comfortable. She wondered if they would spend a thousand winter days like this, just the two of them.

Or maybe not alone…the thought was so dangerous and one that she had never really entertained. She imagined a quiet home and the patter of small feet. A family like she had wished for every night, full of love, and always there. It wasn’t even something she truly wanted right now, with everything so turbulent around them, but maybe after things stabilized. It was a glimmer of a future she’d never fully allowed herself to imagine before. She’d never met anyone she had wanted to consider more with, but now...

As if her thoughts had conjured him, Killian pushed open the bedroom door with a couple paper bags in his hand. There was a dusting of snow on his jacket and melting into his hair. He caught sight of her on the bed in his shirt and his smile was like the morning sun, waking in her all the possibilities. And she felt herself fall just a little more in love with him.

He dumped their loot between them, rattling off all the treats he’d brought. She barely waited for him to finish before reaching for the bear claw in the center. The sweet pastry and honey made her eyes fall closed in bliss. Killian was making quick work of one of the cheese danishes. He chuckled at her expression as she licked thick sugar off her fingers, utterly content.

They ate through a frankly alarming amount of sweets and pastries. Teasing and talking about nothing. This was what lazy mornings should be like: muted sunshine, easy laughs, unmade bed, and crumbs on the sheets.

“The snow is starting to accumulate out there,” he told her. “That storm is picking up.”

She glanced toward the grey clouds out the window, the snow in the air.

“Maybe we’ll be snowed in,” she said in a teasing tone. “We’ll have to think of lots of ways to spend the time.”

His answering frown surprised her, he didn’t rise to the bait.

She sat up straighter. “What is it?”

“As lovely as that sounds,” he said, pulling a piece of paper from his jacket. “There’s something else I have to do today. This was slipped under the door, it’s from Agatha.”

“What’s it say?”

“I need to go speak with her,” he said. He glanced from the paper to her. “You should stay here though.”

She crossed her arms. “Why? I can go with you.”

He shook his head. “Not this time, Emma.”

She held his gaze steadily. “You don’t need to protect me.”

“I know.”

“But?”

His expression almost begged her not to pick this fight. “But,” he said slowly, “There are dangerous people here who don’t support your family. We don’t know how to harness your magic, or even how powerful it is. We can’t act like you’re invincible when really it’s unpredictable. I'm not willing to risk anything we don’t have to.”

“You let me go with you last night,” she reminded him. “You didn’t care that they saw us together.”

He looked away. She wondered if he regretted it.

She didn’t want another fight, but if they never talked about what was bothering them then they’d only drift apart again.

She took a deep breath.

“I know you’re still upset that I went to the city with August, but I didn’t choose him over you. You were already gone and I can’t explain it, but there was something calling me to the castle. I needed to see it again for myself.”

“I’m not upset about August,” he said softly. “I was terrified when I heard you were with that witch from the Dark Palace.”

“Witch?” she repeated in surprise, it felt like cold water had been dumped over her. “Her name’s Regina and I think she might actually be able to help me.”

His hand rubbed over his face. “She’s dangerous. She’s a killer.”

“She understands magic.”

“Dark magic, Emma,” he said. “She understands dark magic. It poisons, corrupts, and destroys. I don’t trust her.”

His tone was so final. She picked at the hem of his shirt.

“Do you trust me?” she asked him, not looking at him.

“Yes,” he said at once. His eyes moved over her face. “Of course I trust you.”

“Then promise me we won’t judge her too quickly.”

He seemed to struggle against that request. She could tell it was warring against his instincts.

At last he nodded. A small gesture but one she knew he’d have never done if anyone else had asked. She knew exactly how much it meant.

“Thank you.”

“Will you do something for me too?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Let me do this alone today.”

She wanted to protest but this was how it was meant to work. Compromise. It felt like finally they weren’t keeping so many secrets from each other.

It was another step, hard won. She had to believe it would make them stronger.

He looked over at the worn clock on the mantel. “I should go,” he said. “Make yourself at home.”

She liked the way that sounded. Home.

“Like this?” she asked, pulling at the fabric of his shirt she was wearing. “Try all your things?”

He leaned forward. “Just like that,” he murmured against her lips.

His kiss was soft and sweet. An apology. A promise they’d talk more later. Do many things later.

For a moment she almost asked him to stay. To forget the world outside. But he drew away and pulled his heavy coat back on and left.

She fell back onto the pillows staring at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the old paint. She pondered the day stretching out before her, boredom creeping in, it almost felt like a luxury greater than gems. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a day all to herself when no one was expecting anything from her.

Her fingers drew lazy patterns into the sheets around her as she remembered their night. The feeling of dancing pressed against him, the wild energy of the catacombs. She had never dreamed such a place existed. The surprise of seeing Killian’s home. Butterflies fluttered within her again as she thought about his lips on her, the desire that flared even now as she thought about him under her, the firm grip of his fingers on her.

Suddenly it felt like an eternity until Killian would return. She couldn’t just lay in this bed missing him, wanting him. She had half a mind to race after him and ravage him in some secluded back street. But she had promised to let him go alone.

Determined to remain true to her word she explored the room a little more, trying to take in any new details about Killian, any new secrets she hadn’t learned yet. She loved the way it felt familiar, the home of an old friend. It felt like being back at the castle had, like she had found a part of herself she had forgotten, hadn’t realized was missing.

She walked over to the window in the corner. There was a small window seat beneath the sill. She climbed up folding herself into the spot looking out at the view. The way the thick snowflakes fell outside the glass.

She knew at once why Killian and Ruby had chosen this place, it hadn’t looked like much from the outside, but the view from here was priceless. The city spread out before her blanketed in a layer of white sparkling snow. The sloping roofs, small patches of the canals visible through the gaps between buildings, and up on the hill was the crumbling ruin of the castle. She paused staring at it.

She wondered how many times Killian had sat here looking up at its silhouette against the sky.

She wondered if he had ever thought of that night years ago. If he’d ever remembered her. If she had ever crossed his mind as he looked out over the city and the castle.

She thought of his words just now. He was right, she didn’t know how powerful her magic was. And she’d be a liability until she knew how to use it.

As relaxing as lying around reading Killian’s books and snacking on leftover dates and apples from breakfast sounded, as she looked out at the castle a new plan formed. Regina might be in the castle right now. So close. She didn’t know when she’d be in the city again. She doubted Regina made house calls. And she had no idea how long Killian would be, but she’d probably be gone and back before he returned.

With her mind made up, she gathered up her clothes from the floor. But she frowned as she held up the leather bodice, thinking of her bare arms last night. She glanced again at the thick snow falling. She had known what she was doing when she chose them, but despite the lovely effect these clothes had had on Killian, they weren’t really winter attire.

She glanced around his room for other options, her eyes landing on the dresser in the corner. She knew his clothes would be too big, the shirt she was wearing now was proof of that. It hung loose and baggy enough to slip right off of her. And while that seemed ideal for a day spent in bed with Killian, she wasn’t sure the streets of the city were ready for that kind of scandal.

But even if she looked hard enough, did she actually want to find another woman’s clothes in his things? She didn’t have illusions that she was the first, hell, you didn’t do the things he did without a little practice. But that didn’t mean she wanted to see the concrete proof, or that she’d even be willing to wear anything she found.

Her eyes moved to the open doorway and the hall beyond. Ruby. She’d forgotten.

Emma moved out to the landing and the narrow door at the other end. She almost knocked just to be polite, even knowing Ruby wasn’t inside. She gently turned the knob and stepped inside.

Ruby’s room was different from Killian’s. Tucked under the sloping roof, it felt like a cozy den. And while Killian had surrounded himself with sentimental items and books filled with adventures, Ruby’s room was filled with bits of luxury she had scraped together for herself. The plush pillows and comforter piled on her bed. The thick velvet curtains hanging beside the windows. A set of polished silver candlesticks. A stack of gold bangles on a table with bottles of perfume and rose water. Bits of makeup sat beside a mirror in a thick scrolling frame.

And Emma understood it immediately, Ruby had not been trying to emulate some life she had lost, she was proving to herself that she didn’t have to be the girl the world would try to see her as. She might have lost everything but she wouldn’t be held down forever. And she would get to decide everything she was and had.

Emma moved to the closet door that was propped open with a pair of black leather boots. The bedroom had only slightly prepared her for Ruby’s closet. The tiny room was filled to bursting with clothes in rich reds, purples, and blacks. Not the lace and silk and tulle that filled Emma’s armoire in the palace. This was thick wool, printed velvet, and leather. Warm and grounded but elegant. Emma smiled. Very like the girl they belonged to.

She found a blouse of soft cotton and lined leggings to wear under her skirt. She let her hands run lazily over the textures of Ruby’s many cloaks before at last settling on a thick black one. It wasn’t as much of a statement as the bright red cloak Ruby typically favored, but it was beautiful in its own way.

“Thanks, Ruby,” she whispered to the room as she took her finds back across the hall.

It took a few minutes to pull on all her layers. She laced her boots and braced for the cold outside these warm walls.

~*~

Ruby ran her hand along the rough walls as she wandered through the second story gallery of the factory. She was searching for secret corners and listening for bits of conversations between the other Lost Boys. Anything that would give her information about what they did here, what Peter’s plan was.

He'd found her early this morning, bringing her into his office, no whiskey this time. He'd asked her about the King and Queen, and Emma: their relationship, their history. Peter was poking at the royal family looking for weakness. Ruby told him about Emma's desire to be a part of her family, the way she was trying so hard to make them proud. And Emma was their source of hope. She was the glue holding them together.

"Give me something that would break her then," Peter had said, his words like a hiss.

Ruby had stared at him, wondering how a person got to such a place, where people were obstacles to be destroyed.

She knew the easy answer to his request: Killian. She knew Emma would do anything to protect him, she'd seen it first hand. But she'd sooner tear herself apart than give Peter any reason to hurt Killian or Emma.

"Don't underestimate her," Ruby had told him seriously, meeting his eyes. "She's been fighting her whole life and she's got the strongest natural magic I've ever heard of."

He seemed to consider her words. "Then we don't fight her head on. Not without something equally powerful or impervious to magic."

He didn't elaborate, and he'd dismissed her soon after. Getting rid of her as soon as her usefulness ran out. She was just another pawn on his chessboard. A game too complicated for her to understand the scope of.

She ran through his words over and over. Trying to find their true meaning. Something to break her. We won't fight her head on. Something impervious to magic.

Footsteps echoed on the steel floors behind her pulling her from her thoughts, and she glanced back to see Robin approaching.

She leaned against a wide window looking out over the narrow winding streets and waited for him to catch up.

“There you are,” he said. “I heard Peter was looking for you this morning.”

Ruby lifted a brow. “Jealous?”

“I was just worried…” he looked around to be sure they were alone. “Everyone's on edge. I don't want anything to happen to you.”

She gave him a smile. Every moment she was aware of the fact she was in enemy territory. One misstep from danger. She was out of her depth and losing ground. No matter how much Peter appeared to trust her, confided in her, he never gave her any useful information.

Having Robin here, a familiar face, was a huge comfort. They had to protect each other here. They'd promised as much last night when he'd given her Killian's message, warning them about Peter's history with Gold.

A flash of shadow down on the snowy street below the window caught her attention. She straightened and pushed back off the glass and leaned closer to the window, squinting through the falling snow.

“What is it?” Robin asked, moving to see what she’d seen.

“I thought I just saw… me,” Ruby said moving to the next window to get a better view.

“There,” she said pointing. “That’s definitely my cloak.”

“Your cloak?” he asked. “Were you robbed?”

She watched the figure in her cloak turn down the side street away from the factory disappearing from view. The pieces falling in place in Ruby’s mind as the figure's tracks were covered over with new snow.

“No,” she smirked. “It means Emma spent the night at our place.”

“Emma? Where’s she going?” Robin asked his eyes following the path the street took.

“You mean where’s she going alone,” Ruby said, already pulling on her gloves. “Let’s find out.”

“Ruby!” Robin said in a harsh whisper.

She turned back to him eyeing him up and down. “Are you not coming then?” she asked him.

He rolled his eyes with a long suffering sigh. “I guess someone’s got to make sure you don’t yourself killed.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “When have I ever gotten myself killed before?”

Robin didn’t seem to find that comment funny but she didn’t wait to see if he was following her. She slipped down the back stairs of the factory and out the back door. Robin was beside her even before the door had fully closed.

They found Emma easily enough. They knew shortcuts she didn’t. They strolled up the street, tailing her at a distance until she turned up the hill to the ruin of the castle.

“The castle?” Robin asked.

“She’s going to talk to the dark sorceress,” Ruby said, she should have figured it out sooner. She glanced back the way they had come wondering where the hell Killian was. He wouldn’t be thrilled with this plan. She wondered how Emma had slipped him.

“Bloody hell, why do I keep letting myself get into these situations for you lot?” Robin muttered beside her.

Ruby hurried up the slick cobblestones without answering. Honestly, she wasn’t sure why he stuck around either. Maybe he craved the adventure like she did.

She led the way through the broken battlements to the eastern wall and the small door tucked behind the tower. It was the entrance she always used with Killian. Hidden and long forgotten.

“This way,” she said to Robin as she slipped inside the cold, dark, silent castle.

Maybe she should have been ashamed that she knew the layout so well from countless times breaking in. A thousand petty crimes with Killian, sometimes to steal something to sell for food, sometimes for business, sometimes just to get out of the biting wind for a few hours. She spied the small room where she had cheated at poker with a few miscreants from South Bend, and she led Robin up the staircase she had slipped down when she was thirteen and twisted her ankle. Killian had carried her around for a week, and though he’d grumbled she knew he loved playing the chivalrous knight.

They passed the main hall, the ballroom still covered in ashes from the revolt, the half crumbling entryway. All around the place felt frozen in time, stuck in the moment the monarchy died day after day. This place was a tomb to memories and ideas from another time.

“Wait,” Robin said, grabbing her arm. “There’s something here.”

He pulled her into the old library. Unlike the rest of the abandoned castle, this room didn’t look as neglected. There were even a couple candles burning on the tables at the center of the room, a sure sign someone had been here recently.

Ruby studied the flame, the way the light flickered, the cone of black at the center. It was conjured false-fire. She remembered the smell of burning cloves and black center of the flames from when she’d seen it as a girl. A group of gypsies from the south performing in the square. Their brand of magic was as wild and wicked as they were, born from the dry air and desert rocks and burning sun from where they lived. Acrobats and fortune tellers, and fire eaters who could summon false-fire, flames dancing across their knuckles and lips. She remembered thinking they must have been descended from the dragons in her bedtime stories. They never returned after the revolt, driven off or smart enough to stay away, now they were just a story too.

Ruby looked carefully around for anyone who might be hiding among the stacks of heavy books covered in cobwebs. False-fire was a bit of dark magic and that meant the sorceress was here. She didn’t want any surprises, with only one door this room could easily become an ambush.

Robin shifted through some of the papers on the table, too new to have been from before the revolt.

“Help me look through this,” he said. “There may be something useful here.”

Ruby joined him and grabbed a stack of parchment and started skimming the endless writing for anything important.

“She’s been gathering information on anyone important in the city,” Robin murmured, shuffling through several pages.

Ruby glanced over. “What’d she write about me?”

Robin flipped over the last page. “Absolutely nothing.”

“That’s rude,” Ruby huffed.

Robin chuckled. “Well if you’ve got a pen I can write in some notes. Tall, brunette, smartass, spy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Perhaps leave that out while I’m on a top secret assignment. Don’t want to blow my cover.”

“And this is just an assignment?” he asked her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked him, putting her hands on her hips.

“I know you like the thrill of the chase. You don’t sit by and just discuss action at a council table.”

Ruby paused. The words surprised her, cutting right down to her truth. “Maybe I’ve changed. Things are changing.”

She thought of the royal banners moving through the streets, the empty airship docks, the way Killian looked at Emma.

“People don’t change that much. People are predictable,” he told her. “Mulan told me she found you at the Central Station. That was always your favorite spot.”

She jerked at Mulan’s name, awkwardly turning back and becoming fascinated with the papers in front of her.

She felt Robin’s heavy gaze on her, dissecting her reaction. He’d always been a better poker player than she was.

“I had a feeling you two would get along,” he said. A loaded observation.

“Just making friends,” she shrugged.

“Sure, sure,” he said a smile in his tone. “You’ve always got a smooth answer for everything.”

“What do you know about her?” Ruby asked casually, turning over another sheet of parchment.

She saw his smirk but he didn’t tease her.

“She’s one of the good ones,” he said. “She appeared after Gold fell. Peter scooped up many people he felt would be assets.”

“You and her included,” she said.

He nodded.

“She’s got military experience that Peter wants. She fought in the Ogre Wars deep in the Enchanted Forest. They massacred her village. She’s seen real monsters, she’s not about to be taken for a fool by -”

“Wait,” Ruby said, cutting him off. “Look at this.”

She held out the bit of parchment that had caught her eye.

Robin studied the page. “Ingredients? Some kind of potion?”

“Valerian root, moonflower, nightshade,” Ruby said, pointing out a few items on the list. “It’s a sleeping potion. A curse.”

Ruby glanced again at the light of the false-fire. The dark magic core. The malice needed to create a sleeping curse.

“The sorceress could make this,” she told him.

“There’s more,” Robin said, pointing to the next piece of parchment. “She’s been monitoring the Royals’ movements. She knows all their plans.”

Ruby blew out a shaking breath. “She’s going to put the King and Queen under a sleeping curse,” she said.

Robin nodded. “She’s probably using Emma to get close to them.”

They both looked toward the door of the library to the rest of the castle where Emma was with the sorceress at that moment. She’d thought this could be an ambush, but it wasn’t a trap set for them.

~*~

“You’re not listening,” Regina scolded. “How am I supposed to teach someone who isn’t willing to learn?”

“I’m trying,” Emma said through gritted teeth as she stared at a small candle that would not light no matter how hard she tried. How could she have done so much powerful magic but not this?

“You need to focus, bend the magic to your will. Until now you’ve been throwing out random waves of magic, the power knocking over anything in its path, but some problems require precision. You lack control.

“Imagine what you are trying to achieve. See the flame, think about the light, the heat, the smell, the way it changes how the rest of the room looks. The ripples of every action.”

Emma stared at the candle but nothing happened.

Regina leaned back against the bookshelf on the wall. “You’re scared of your power aren’t you? You’re afraid to let any of it out, afraid of what you’ll unleash.”

“I’m not afraid,” Emma said stubbornly.

“Stop acting like a petulant child and listen,” she said. Emma shot her a glare. Regina continued, “Your fear will paralyze you. Magic cannot come from a place of fear. Fear makes you reactionary. Magic is not a reaction, it’s a decision. It has to come from a solid, grounded place within you. It has to come from an emotion more powerful than fear.”

Emma hated that there might be a little truth to it. She was afraid to open the lid on her power. When she tried to release the tight grip she had on the small place within her that she had pushed her magic down into, she saw the destroyed forest and she panicked.

“But you use dark magic,” Emma said. “Maybe it’s different?”

“It’s not.”

Emma looked at her flatly. “How would you know?”

“My magic used to be much like yours.”

Emma balked. “You had light magic?”

“Magic can evolve.”

Emma thought about the stories she knew. Merlin and Maleficent. Good wizards and Evil sorcerers. You were born with a proclivity for one or the other.

“But how can light magic just become dark?”

Regina walked over to one of the gas lamps. “Light and darkness are a balance.” She turned the knob and the flame sprang to life throwing out light so bright it was almost painful to look at. “The brighter the light, the darker the shadows it creates when it encounters an obstacle.” She held up her hand and a stark shadow appeared on the wall behind it. “Using light magic has the potential for great darkness. You must acknowledge the darkness too or you’ll never be able to truly control it, or understand the consequences.”

Regina sighed. “I wish I had known that at the beginning.”

Her words were heavy with a story Emma realized went much deeper than she’d thought. Everything about magic was more complicated and tangled than she’d imagined.

“What happened?”

Regina looked out the narrow window for a long moment. Emma could tell she was about to get to the secret she had sensed from the moment they met. Some truth that would explain everything.

“Emma, there are things you have to understand,” Regina said, and from anyone else that might have been condescending enough to ruffle her feathers but from Regina it just made her straighten in her chair, intent.

“Things were different, it was a different time,” Regina continued. “Magic was more prevalent, woven into our everyday lives. It wasn’t vilified. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t still mysterious or coveted. I discovered I had magic when I was twelve years old. I was riding in the back pasture when my horse spooked. She took off and tried to buck me off. I clung to her terrified. I was sure I was going to die. She galloped off blind with fear just running from some imagined danger. I couldn’t calm her or get her to slow down. We were headed right for the wall surrounding the pasture. A high stone wall with a deep ravine on the other side. I knew there was no way we would make the jump or survive the fall. I closed my eyes and tried with all my might to stop her, to save us. I felt weightless for a moment. I thought we had jumped and I waited for the impact. But it didn’t come. I opened my eyes and we were standing in the middle of the pasture. My horse was calmly grazing grass. It was like it had never happened. I might have even believed I had imagined the whole thing if my mother hadn’t seen it. She rushed out to me, pulled me down from the saddle, and held me tight.”

Emma knew all too well the fear and exhaustion that she had felt after using magic the first time. She knew the feeling of just wanting to be held and feel safe after it was over. Regina seemed to read her expression and she frowned.

“My mother was never a loving woman. She was practical, driven. As she held me I felt loved, the way a girl should feel in her mother’s arms. But then she pulled away with tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips. ‘We’re saved’ she said. I didn’t understand at the time. But my mother had seen an opportunity the moment my magic had saved me from disaster. She saw a way to elevate herself and crawl her way out of our humble life.”

“She wanted to use your magic for herself?” Emma asked.

Regina gave a slow shake of her head. “No, not for herself. She sold my magic to whoever would pay for it. I was trying to get used to the feeling of having magic and learn how to use it and my mother was demanding I use it for increasingly complex things, never worried about the cost or the strain.”

Emma knew exactly what Regina was describing; the restless feeling of new magic not quite harnessed or understood. At times it seemed to rage within her like a wildfire and at other times it slipped out of reach like water through her fingers. She tried to imagine going through all this with someone as ruthless as Regina’s mother pushing her past her limits.

“My mother made sure to spread the word of my abilities far and wide. It became more exaggeration than truth. People came to us claiming to have heard that I had done, things I had never dreamed of. Then my mother would look at me with that look and demand I make it so. Within a year we were summoned to the capital and the castle.”

“The castle?” Emma asked in surprise. “My family?”

Regina nodded. “King Leopold, your grandfather. He was very interested in what I could do. I wasn’t even allowed to be part of the conversation, my mother speaking for me, shuffling me from the room so I couldn’t contradict her. But whatever happened during those negotiations, the end result was my indenture to the king and my mother got an advantageous engagement to a wealthy lord. She didn’t even say goodbye before she left to go to his castle.”

“She left?”

“I never saw her again. I guess she got everything she wanted: position, wealth, connections. Well, perhaps until the revolt. Those early days of Industrialist control were not kind to the gentry. I never cared to find out what happened to her. She was never a mother to me.”

“What did King Leopold want your magic for?” Emma asked, already dreading the answer, but this was her family and she needed to know.

“It was small things at first. I would ensure favorable weather for the harvest and smooth sailing along the shipping routes. For a while that was enough to placate the king. He was delighted as the profits poured into his country and his coffers. It was a prosperous time. But it wasn’t long before the nearby kingdoms took notice. As Misthaven grew wealthy and powerful it also became a target. There were skirmishes on the borders and soon armies were massing against the King.”

Emma frowned at the similarity. The dark forces gathering against them, except this time it wasn’t neighboring kingdoms looking to get a share of the spoils, now it was vultures looking to pick clean the withered corpse of something that was once grand.

“Leopold was demanding I be a weapon to help him in his wars. We would travel to the front lines along the borders and I would tear out the hearts of rival commanders, pull air from the lungs of entire legions of infantry, and burn down camps to embers with alchemical fire. I left death and destruction in a smoldering wake behind us. In the end it helped us win the wars. The King was thrilled. But neither of us had anticipated what it would do to me and my magic.”

“Magic is a living thing. It has a soul that is both a part of you and something entirely separate. As I tapped into the darkness to bring about such evil and carnage it poisoned my magic and my heart. I could feel it blackening. At night the nightmares consumed me and during the day my hate haunted me, bleeding into my thoughts. I began to resent everything that had happened. I hated myself for letting this be done to me. I knew I couldn’t be a pawn any longer. I wasn’t going to be used for my magic.”

Emma looked up at Regina and felt like she was looking into a mirror. Used for her magic, Gold had it ripped from her and set to an evil use. For so long Emma had felt so completely alone but now hearing Regina’s story she felt like there might be someone who could truly understand. Someone who was like her.

“I ran away,” Regina continued. “I went to the deepest part of the forest and I built a castle. I poured every bit of malice and hurt into the very stones. I built a fortress to protect me from those who had wronged me. Even the forest around it twisted and grew thorns. Lakes turned to sulfur, boulders came alive as huge trolls and rotting corpses rose again as ogres. Eventually it crept through the forest to the villages at the edge of the wood. My knights guarded the shadows, crops turned to ash, the ogres flattened hovels. I didn’t stop it. I let them fear me. The Dark Palace they called it, a place fit for an evil sorceress. The one who could tear out hearts, the one who only brought death. If they wanted death I was more than willing to give it to any who came near my palace. Of course Leopold couldn’t have that kind of threat within his borders. But he also knew exactly how lethal he had crafted me to be.

“At first he sent letters, pleading for me to leave his lands. He offered passage across the sea. A chance to start over in a fleet of ships filled with gold. He didn’t understand, I didn’t want to leave. I had everything I wanted: my free will, my powers, and my revenge. The longer Leopold did nothing against me the more he looked weak, the more his power eroded.

“Eventually he sent his army. They breached the walls, roaches scurrying through my halls. Leopold found me in the throne room. I fought him and his best fighters, one by one they fell. Until at last Leopold took up the sword of one his generals stood his ground and demanded a truce. He said he’d cut out the heart of a deer from the wood and tell his people it was my heart. That I was vanquished. In return I would be left in peace to live a quieter existence within my palace. A shadow only, not a danger to him and his people. I agreed.

“I stayed in that palace until I knew he was dead. Until I heard his beloved daughter had been thrown off her throne, their kingdom dashed. I’m ashamed now at the joy I felt at that news. Because it turned out the man who took control was even worse. Gold soon banished magic and hunted down anyone rumored to have it. He came to me in my palace. Looking for a way to harness magic, to use it to fuel his infernal machines, trinkets, and inventions. I turned him down, but I knew he’d be back, and next time he wouldn’t ask. I fled my home, the only thing I still cared about. In the end everything I had sacrificed along the way meant nothing and I lost it all again.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma said softly. She knew it wasn’t enough. She knew her apology wasn’t the one Regina had wanted and that it wouldn’t do any good at this point. But the words slipped from her.

“Emma,” Regina said. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me. I’m telling you so you will understand. This country is fragile. It’s unstable, now more than ever. If it falls into the wrong hands none of us will be safe. You and I least of all.”

“The wrong hands?” Emma said.

“Anyone without magic. We all saw what happened with the Industrialists. They don’t understand us, and eventually they all come to fear us. We are too different from them. Too powerful.”

“My parents aren’t like that,” Emma said. “They know I have magic. They love me. They aren’t anything like the Industrialists.”

Regina gave her a skeptical look. “They’re so different from the Industrialists? They wouldn’t misuse people with magic?” she asked. “Not like... your grandfather?”

Emma frowned. “That wasn’t them.”

“We won’t ever be protected if someone without magic is in charge.”

“What are you saying?” Emma asked. “That my parents shouldn’t rule?”

“I’m saying they have had their chance, and the people made their opinions quite clear about their leadership.”

Emma’s thoughts raced. If Regina wanted someone with magic to rule, did that mean she wanted Emma to rule?

She watched as Regina poured herself a glass of wine. Regina had never seemed to think all that highly of her, but maybe she had been mistaken. She couldn’t help but be flattered. And Regina would be a powerful ally to have on her side.

Feeling bolstered, Emma looked at the candle on the table again. A flame suddenly lit the wick sending flickering shadows dancing across the table. Emma beamed.

“See,” Regina said, looking smug. “You need to have confidence in yourself alone. Don’t listen to the other voices and doubts within you.”

You can do it by yourself. Don’t listen to anything else.

She knew what Regina wanted now. Knew why she wanted it and everything she had been through. She would help her get it.

It was unforgivable what her family had done in the name of power. And more than anything she needed to know if her parents, her mother, had known. She had to know exactly what kind of world her parents thought they had come back to restore.

“I need to go,” she said, grabbing the black cloak from where she’d laid it by the fire.

“The snow will be thick on the roads outside the city,” Regina said looking out the window.

Emma wondered if Regina would insist she stay at the castle. But instead she said, “Take a horse from the stable. I have a few.”

Emma nodded her thanks and hurried down the dark hallways. Stray snowflakes drifted in through broken windows and danced across the stone and marble floors as she went past.

She found the stables easily. Old memories guiding her. She quickly saddled up a black mare in one of the stalls and snapped the reins cantering out of the castle grounds, guiding the horse around the drifting snow in the streets and out of the city.

~*~

Regina took a sip of wine dark as blood. The castle echoed with silence since Emma had left. The air felt heavy with tension like clouds gathering and pressing down around her. The storm outside rattled against the windows. The wind howling through the ruined castle walls.

She turned to the heavy gilt mirror on the wall. The image that faced her was one she knew well, her eyes stared darkly back and she could sense her magic like a shadow beside her. A dark partner to her reflection.

“That could have gone worse,” she murmured to the glass.

The first part of any trap is always the least certain. She heard in response, a whisper like cold wind. All prey will consider their options before temptation wins out.

The candle flickered on the table, guttering out. She wondered distantly when the voice so deep it could have only come from the darkest depths of her mind had started to seem like sound advice.

“Her faith in her family will be hard to completely break.”

It’s already begun even before you, seeds planted years ago. You cannot unroot abandonment.

“Perhaps,” she said, swirling the liquid in her cup, watching the wine streak down the sides. “But she still holds on to hope.”

She felt more than saw the shadow sneer back at her. If the darkness is deep enough it can devour any light.

For a moment she wondered if that was referring to Emma, or her.

She drained her cup, the face in the mirror started to blur, the edges growing dimmer. She couldn’t quite tell now where she stopped and the shadows started. She didn’t mind the haziness, not like she used to. In the end it was always easier to give in. Darkness won only when you stopped fighting it, it was like sleep that way.

And for years she’d been so damn tired.

~*~

Emma passed off Regina’s horse to the farrier at the lakeside palace. Barely pausing on her way toward the wide front doors. She’d made good time, she knew she could catch her parents before they retired for the night.

She shrugged off Ruby’s cloak and left it beside the door.

“You’re back,” a voice said behind her. She spun to see her mother and father waiting for her.

“Where were you?” her mother asked.

Emma looked at them, the judgement clear on their faces. She’d always just be a child to them. But she’d learned long ago how to survive without a parent. Regina was right, she could do just fine on her own.

“I’m back now,” she told them, skirting the question.

“You shouldn’t be alone in the city,” her father said.

She looked between them. The worry on their faces had an edge of something darker.

“I wasn’t alone,” she assured them.

They looked over her shoulder as if expecting someone to follow in after her.

“Where’s Killian?” her mother asked.

Guilt flooded through her. Killian. She’d been in such a rush to know the truth for herself she’d forgotten she was meant to be waiting for him.

She shook her head. “I wasn’t with Killian.”

They exchanged a loaded glance. For a moment she was sure they somehow knew the truth.

“Who were you with?”

“Regina,” Emma said, challenging her parents to berate her. But they stayed perfectly still, silent. Their lack of reaction confirmed her fears.

Emma shifted her weight, narrowing her eyes. “What do you know about her?”

It was a test, but she had to know.

“She’s dangerous and manipulative,” her mother said.

“Yeah, I’ve been told.”

Her parents were watching her so carefully. Warily. They both seemed nervous about what she might say next.

Magic crackled through her, desperate to give real power to her anger. She took a deep breath, remembering to find the part inside her that would keep her from losing control. What would they think if they knew it was Regina helping her right that moment not to detonate.

“Emma-” her father started.

She didn’t want to hear excuses or careful diplomatic explanations. She wanted the truth.

“Did you know?” she asked them.

“Know what?”

She met her mother’s gaze. “Did you know what your father did to Regina? Do you know what he did to his enemies? What he did to keep his power? Is that the legacy you came back to continue?”

Her mother’s face drained of color. It was answer enough.

Emma felt tears in her eyes. Her family had lied to her. Lied to everyone. They were worse than the monsters they claimed they’d saved everyone from.

“Emma, you need to understand that-”

“No.” Emma shook her head, holding up her hand to stop them. She didn’t want to listen to what they had to say. “I understand perfectly.”

With that she turned, leaving them behind and ran for her room. She wanted to be alone.

Emma sank down onto the mattress, her head falling into her hands. She couldn’t stop the sobs that tore from her. Everything she held within her for so long was finally escaping.

She cried for Regina and she cried for herself. For everything a person could lose. For the people who had known and still hadn’t saved them. She cried until she didn’t have any more tears, and exhausted, with nothing left within her to fight, she fell asleep.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs au #cs crew #steampunk anastasia au #once upon a december sequel #at the beginning #My writing

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baellgobb · 5 years ago

Text

Cupid’s classic play conspiracy

Premise: At this time Winter and Qrow have quarrelled for months at every opportunity before busloads of witnesses, they are thoroughly busted before everyone except themselves.

Salem’s attack on Vacuo was stopped just barely in the last moment at the cost of many casualties. To bolster troop morale before going into the villain’s territory a week of rest and recreation was decided. The camp was set up on a desolate plain in the vicinity of an ancient amphitheatre which had served as a makeshift fortress during the Grimm attack.

A council was elected to organize the recreation activities. After the council’s session the members were presenting their results in the damaged theatre. Winter professionally approving of this strategy sat in the audience composed of battled huntsmen and huntresses.

The council’s spokesperson proclaimed “We will stage “Much ado about nothing”, the cast will be decided by lot. Obviously there are not enough roles in the play, so there will also be tasks for stage setting, costume preparation and other supportive work in the lot. If you are lucky, you will be just audience and enjoy other people’s effort. After the lots have been prepared we will start immediately with the draw”

Winter dug into her classic education. It was a romance comedy with a silly subplot about two people Beatrice and Benedick who constantly quarrelled not noticing that they were in love - absurd, but seemingly appropriate for cheering up and distracting young warriors.

Later a comittee member with Weiss in tow showed up at Winter’s ship with a wicker basket filled with an enormous amount of lots. “Draw” the comittee member mocked. Fully expecting an “audience” lot, because it was the most numerous Winter obliged, picked and opened her lot, actually a folded piece of paper. “Benedick” She would have to memorize a considerable amount of text, and obviously she was in the silly, absurd subplot. But duty demanded that she did her best to restore troop morale after such horrendous losses. Her sister immediately broke out into laughter: “I am in the costume party, I will make sure you get an awesome beard to start with and then some”.

Being now part of the cast, Winter took a look at the roster after it was pinned on posts which were erected throughout the camp. She did not get farther than the first line

Beatrice: Qrow Branwen

Within an instant she found herself trying to trade assignments with her sister. However her sister bounced her off, and even started lecturing: “The point about the lots is exactly that you cannot pick, trading would obviously ruin part of the fun. Furthermore, you are not afraid of a little crossdressing aren’t you? Besides you had stellar grades in infiltration (Winter had never shown her grades, because of classified, but she had stellar grades in every subject) some impersonation should be no problem for you.”

Although Winter desperately wanted to get rid of her role, she had a feeling that extensive efforts in trading it off would draw in absolutely undesired attention, so she decided to stay quiet and surrendered herself to this fate bestowed on her. With inexplicable creeping nervousness she started memorizing her part.

After several days of preparation the great day of performing had finally arrived ...

The first act started and Beatrice (Qrow, wearing a blonde wig with a distinct list and a voluminous, colourful dress emanating the decadence of a bygone era as far as that goes based on a hodgepodge of sewn-together leftover textiles) was waiting for the party containing Benedick (Winter) to arrive. Beatrice started a barrage of insults against the yet absent Benedick. As expected by everyone Qrow delivered a lively performance and the audience started laughing.

Then the party arrived having disembarked at harbour and moved to the house of Beatrice’s uncle. Weiss had not promised too much, Winter’s beard was awesome though more in length than in density. She was also decked out with helmet and breastplate of the finest aluminium foil and a trusty wood sword. To relieve her tension Winter as Benedick went all in and let fly her scripted verbal counterfire, she actually had not to act that much. The audience jeered them on enthusiastically. Emboldened Winter decided to go through with the act, verbal exchanges, marriage ceremony and kiss. It was just a play after all, so nobody would get the wrong idea. Furthermore it was for the morale of the troops. Finally she would not be outdone by that idiot in the realm of impersonation and by extension infiltration.

After the play finished the cast received the applause of the audience, play pairs holding hands.

During the seventh curtain of roaring applause (mixed with laughter) from the audience Winter finally snapped and pounced at Qrow. Too many people were obviously having too much fun including and especially that idiot and even worse herself. The roar of laughter only increased in intensity. as they rolled back and forth across the floor of the stage with her screaming unintelligible abuse, shedding wig and foil helmet left and right. The wrestling extra was abruptly ended by the two contestants missing to reverse at the edge of the stage and falling out of view behind it. Winter’s fall was softened by three wicker baskets then Qrow crashed on top of her. She found herself beneath Qrow lying in an empty basket with her arms in the other two, both her hands buried in - paper lots. She retrieved her left hand full of lots, when she crumpled them, some of them opened, reading: “Benedick”, “Benedick”, “Benedick”... When she checked the content of her other hand, she already knew it: “Beatrice”, “Beatrice”, “Beatrice”. It was a conspiracy with a capital “C”.

Sobered, she freed herself from the equally astonished Qrow (simulated or real?) and went straight to her personal cabin in her ship not paying attention to anyone. She had a conspirator to expose. With professional, efficient movements, she prepared a piece of paper and arranged a table. First row: suspects, this row was filled in alphabetical order with people known to her. Second row: motive, people related to me in a sufficient way, to do something like that. She put an “X” in Ironwood’s row, then went on through the list until she reached Qrow, She hesitated thinking “What have I to do with him?” but then gave him an “X” anyway obviously because “This idiot is the prime suspect for pranks.” Near the bottom of the list another X was placed in the row of her sister Weiss while she already thought about the next item. Then she added a column for means, which was knowledge about classic plays. the conspiracy was organized around one. Blake got an “X”, but her first column was empty. Agitated, she moved on in anticipation of pinning the prime suspect, but when she arrived at Qrow’s row she could not imagine that moron to read a classic play in the original. And it was no modern comic adaptation the conspirator had used. Almost running out of suspects she arrived at her sister who as a daughter of a “noble” house had received the same kind of prestigious education as herself. That made her sister the only person with “Xs” in both columns. “YOU????” Winter exclaimed in disbelief. No need to go on to the fourth row for opportunity, the conspirator was unmasked.

Regaining her incredible self-control in an instant Winter ordered her treacherous sister to meet her at her ship. Weiss showed up after a suspiciously short time. Not wasting any precious time Winter immediately confronted her sister, shouing: “You rigged the lottery!” surprisingly she lost steam after this introduction and continued with a lame “... but why???”. Weiss grinned and retorted: “Because you have to bring your love live in order!”. Winter stepped back then froze for an instant, after recovering she moved in to slap Weiss who dodged leaving Winter defenseless for the split of a second. Weiss counterslapped her big sister “I knew that was coming. There are just two people you are treating like that. Me and HIM. I know you love me. Actually I should be jealous, because I only get slaps while you are going with sharp blades after him.” Standing like a midsize Grimm hit by Silver Eyes Winter had to endure a follow up backhand slap from Weiss. “That was just to drive my point home, I have to admit, I wanted to do that for a long time. Just needed a sufficient piece of advice to go with.”

Winter started pacing madly in the confined space of her ship ruminating about what to do with her sister’s revelation,

Thanks to everyone who made it this far. I hope that qunatity of letters was not all what was delivered in this 50th post. Sorry, that the tags give away the identity of cupid. Here again a link to the actual play Much ado about nothing. There is also a movie.

If inspired feel free to alter/expand as you please for your own fanfic, a lot of roles are unaccounted for.

#Qrowin #Winter #Winter Schnee #Weiss #Weiss Schnee #Qrow #Qrow Branwen #Snowbird #Snowbirds #RWBY #fanfic

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drawsndrabbles · 7 years ago

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72. “Just smile, I really need to see you smile right now.”

I’ve never really written full on angst or a hurt/comfort fic because I’m a hoe for fluff but here’s a thing I had in my head. I love feedback! Tell me what you think!

(It takes place post infinity war and there’s some spoilers about survivors so beware!!)

Time seemed to stop short in the following of Thanos’s victory. Thor watched his team, his friends and fellow warriors drop to their knees as the dust of their comrades slipped through the creases of their fingers. Thor watches as the strongest men and women he’s ever known cry out their agony to an indifferent sky as Thano’s armies roar in triumph, even as they disappear themselves. The world fell silent in the wake of a mass genocide and Thor felt his knees buckle with the need to vomit.

He should have gone for the head.

Thor turned numbly to the remainder of his comrades as the good captain called for survivors and gathered them in the clearing. Thor instinctively took a headcount and he felt his stomach roll when he took in those who were missing, specifically-

Bruce.

He distantly heard someone call his name as he turned and ran back into the treeline, tearing through the forest and leaving a trail of panicked destruction in his wake, too distressed to keep his own strength in check. “Banner?! Banner!”

Thor threw himself into the air, scanning the surrounding area for the hulkbuster and spotting it in a clearing near a cliff face. He landed next to it and nearly found himself reeling as he took in the damage. The machine was missing an arm and a leg and it’s center had been crushed in like a tin can, sharp and mangled metal bursting outwards like a horrible fauna.

Thor’s stomach plummeted as he climbed atop it, tearing and scraping the twisted pieces out of the way. “Banner! Banner are you in there? Can you hear me?”

No response.

As the last bit of shrapnel was peeled away Thor peered into the remains of the control center, his heart in his throat.

Bruce was incredibly bloodied, alarmingly so, the side of his hair was caked and matted with blood from a cut across his temple and each shallow, hiccuping breath seemed to cause him pain.

“Bruce… Don’t worry I’ll get you out of there.”

Thor worked as careful and quickly as he could, speaking in nonsensical murmurings in an attempt to keep Bruce calm should he come to awareness. Thor made his voice as soothing as he could muster even as he felt his own panic continue to rise in him as the graveness of Bruce’s condition became clearer.

After managing to clear enough space around him, Thor carefully pulled Bruce from the wreckage, wincing in sympathy at Bruce’s small pained noises and whispering softly as he turned tail and ran back through the forest, being careful not to jostle the man.

With each step Thor felt Bruce’s pulse get weaker and his panic grow, “Stay with me now, stay with me, you’ll be alright.”

Thor felt Bruce stir in his arms and he glanced down to see Bruce’s eyes open, blurred and unfocused with pain. “T...Thor?”

Thor slowed, kneeling to the ground and cradling Bruce’s head as he tried to speak, only to watch in increasing horror as he coughed and blood stained his lips. “Shh, yes it’s me. I’m here Bruce.”

Bruce coughed again and spoke so softly Thor had to strain himself to hear him. “The hulk, he won’t…” Another coughing fit. “He won’t come out, I-I can’t…”

Thor shushed him again, “It’s okay it’s alright we’re going to get help and you’ll be alright I promise.”

Bruce’s eyes closed and he let out a stuttering breath as Natasha came rushing out of the forest and over to them. “Everyone else isn’t far behind. What happened?”

“He’s gravely injured. The hulk buster had been severely damaged and Bruce got crushed inside before he could escape, he needs help.”

Natasha looked up and down Bruce’s limp form, the furrow in her brow increasing the longer she looked.

“What is it?” Thor demanded.

Natasha shook her head, “This is all wrong.” she whispered. “Part of the accident and Bruce’s exposure to the radiation was the fact that he’s supposed to have regenerative abilities.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means something’s incredibly wrong. Lay him flat I need to test the extent of his injures.”

Thor did as instructed and paced beside them, feeling unbearably helpless as he watched Natasha poke and prod Bruce’s muscle mass and rib cage, nearly stopping her a few times as Bruce’s expression grew more pained. When the rest of their team came into view Thor ran to meet them.

“Bruce is incredibly injured,” He said in lieu of a greeting. “He needs help, now.”

Steve cursed outwardly and ran a hand through his hair, turning to the remaining avengers and parsing out tasks, “Alright, you go check for survivors, you two-”

“Steve!” Thor insisted. “Bruce isn’t healing, if he doesn’t get help soon, he will die.”

“A lot of people have died!” Steve shouted, his face coloring from rage before he realized what he’d said. “I didn’t, that’s not what I-”

Overhead the clouds started to billow and funnel downwards as Thor’s fingers began to spark, thunder echoed in the distance.

“And another will die if nothing is done.” Thor rumbled, his voice seeming to come from all directions simultaneously. “If you won’t help him then I’ll find someone who will.”

There was the crack-boom of a lightning strike as the avengers shielded themselves from the blast of white light and heat. It was over as quickly as it happened, ears ringing they all opened their eyes to see that Thor and Bruce were gone, leaving only a smoldering circle in their wake.

Thor sailed through the sky, clutching Bruce protectively to his chest. This method of transportation wasn’t going to be the easiest on Bruce but if it was the fastest way to ensure his survival Thor was willing to take that risk.

Bruce whimpered in his arms and Thor looked down at him, alarmed to see how tightly he was clutching the man. He released his hold minutely, as his scowl deepened with how pale Bruce had become. “Just hold on a little longer Bruce just a little more.”

Thor landed as gently as he could manage in front of a giant looking building in the midst of the city and even in the panic state of the citizens around him many stopped to look at what had appeared in the flash of lightning. Thor stood, eyes frantically searching for anyone who may be of a higher social standing. He rushed towards the building only to be stopped by a group of elite female warriors.

“Stop there! What are your intentions?”

Thor paused looking at them imploringly, “Please. My friend is very badly injured, he’s dying and I need help.”

The woman at the friend of the groups face softened for a moment, “There are many injured, look around, the world is in chaos. I am sorry, I truly am, but we cannot help you.”

Thor felt his heart sink as his rage and disbelief built inside him, he’d almost lost him to Thanos once, he refused to let that happen again. The electricity built around him and Thor felt his eyes begin to glow as the woman raised their weapons. “By Odin’s beard, if this man should lose his life today you will all feel the wrath of Thor, Son of-”

“Wait!”

Thor paused as a young girl came pushing through the group of warriors, dodging their hands as they attempted to stop her. “You’re Thor right? One of the avengers and friends with Captain America?”

Thor watched her approach, the light fading from his eyes, “Indeed. My friend Dr. Bruce Banner is dying and I can’t allow that to happen.”

The girl came closer and held up her hands in a placating manner as she leaned up to look at Bruce. Her face twisting with concentration as her eyes scanned his body. She turned to the warriors behind her, “Stand down.”

“But-”

“I said stand down! This man doesn’t have much time left!” She looked up at Thor, her eyes were bloodshot the skin around them wet but her face was set with determination. “I’ll save him. But in exchange when he’s better, you and your friends are going to find that bastard Thanos, kill him, and bring back my brother.”

Thor couldn’t stop the half smile that appeared on his face. “Agreed.”

The young scientist introduced herself as Shuri, the younger sister of the Black Panther, King T’challa.

Thor was incredibly grateful to her and he thanked her multiple times as they hurried down long hallways and winding staircases. She insisted he think nothing of it but at the same time Thor felt she might be a bit grateful for the distraction and opportunity to do something other than stand. Thor gripped Bruce tighter in his arms as he felt his breathing stutter.

He understood.

In Shuri’s impressive lab Thor reluctantly laid Bruce on a long flat table that levitated away from him, causing his worry to spike for a moment. He reached for it before Shuri assured him that Bruce would be alright. She was going to run some tests to assess the damage and that they could work from there.

Thor loitered in the corner for a moment, watching as little devices floated around Bruce and lit up certain parts of his anatomy.

“What can you see?” He inquired.

Shuri offered him a reluctant smile and motioned him closer. “From what I can see so far he’s definitely got a nasty concussion and a possible brain bleed. His rib cage is crushed in pretty badly with a decent amount of cracks and breaks and some inner organs have probably been punctured.”

“Will he be alright?” Thor asked, feeling his nervousness spike with every injury and explanation.

Shuri’s expression clouded for a moment as she turned back to the moving pictures. “I’ve treated worse but, his anatomy might reject treatment. I’ve worked thesis’s on the science behind gamma radiation, Bruce Banner’s accident and what that meant for the strain of his body and its regenerative properties. I know that his transformation to the hulk is supposed to restore and renew his own body, and that he can regenerate limbs and his entire body if he needed. So, I’m not exactly sure what might happen if I treated him like you would someone with normal biology, or if I should treat him at all.”

Thor stood there for a moment, taking in all of what had been explained to him. He walked to Bruce’s side and gently traced from his forehead down to the right side of his face.

“You should proceed.”

“But what if that makes him worse?”

“And what if it cures him? This is a gamble I’m willing to take. If he must go, I’d rather have done all I could then watch helplessly by his side.” Thor caressed the side of Bruce’s face and frowned and Bruce shivered beneath his touch. “Should anything happen to him, blame will be mine, not yours.”

Shuri gave Thor a sympathetic look and ushered him to the side. “Then I’d better hurry, he won’t last long like this, and you need to promise me whatever you hear, whatever you see, you need to trust that I know what I’m doing. Or else he might not make it.”

Thor looked to Bruce’s still and mangled form, feeling his heart twist in his chest. “As you say.”

Shuri worked in silence for the first few hours, every so often glancing in the direction of Thor who was standing with his arms crossed in the corner of the room. He’d insisted at first being by Bruce’s side but Shuri had told him the equipment was sensitive and that it needed space to work properly. Disgruntled but amenable Thor moved to the side of the room, keeping an eye on the Bruce as well as the doorway.

After a moment or two Shuri cleared her throat, causing Thor to look towards her.

“So, Dr. Banner must mean a lot to you for you to threaten an entire city for him.” She said in way of conversation.

Thor returned his gaze to Bruce’s face, his eyes softening ever so slightly and he hummed noncommently. “Indeed, and the other avengers as well. Banner is a very dear friend.”

Shuri paused in her work, giving Thor an unreadable expression. “Friend?”

“Indeed. He’s done me a great service in helping me escape Sakaar and save my people. We are also quite similar in many ways, I value him as a trusted comrade.”

Shuri snorted and smiled at Thor. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say it’s a bit more than friendship.”

Thor frowned thoughtfully and looked towards Bruce on the operating table. “How do you mean?”

“Well, you said it yourself that you guys have a bond and you care about each other. Not to mention you two work together and live together. And you’re so scared to lose him that you were willing to threaten not only the palace but your other teammates.” She offered Thor a crooked grin. “Seems a bit more than your everyday friendship to me.”

Thor didn’t responded and instead stared unseeingly into the distance, seeming to be lost in thought.

Shuri had finished long ago, Thor wasn’t exactly sure how much time had gone by, he’d stopped counting by the 7th hour. She had assured him that Bruce’s body was essentially good as new, though when he woke he would be extremely fatigued after the great stress that had been put on it. However the problem arose that it would only matter if Bruce woke.

Although his body was mended and vital signs stable, for whatever reason Bruce remained unconscious and unresponsive.

In the time passed Thor hadn’t left Bruce’s bedside, and between checking for fevers, cold sweat and any abnormalities Thor had done alot of thinking over the words Shuri had expressed to him regarding his and Bruce’s friendship.

“Just think about it… What it would mean to you if you lost him. You may be surprised what that can tell you.”

Thor thought about it. Bruce was, all he had left, after losing everything. His home, his family, his people, but through all of it Bruce remained constant. Without him… without him.

Thor staggered backward as a full frontal assault rained down his realizations upon him.

Through it all, Bruce had been there. From the scorching and bloody battlefields to the bedroom on quiet nights when Thor needed a listening ear and a hand to hold. Thor was never alone with Bruce by his side, and he would have it be the same for Bruce.

Before him, Bruce had never known someone could be so powerful and fragile at the same time. His equal, was someone who was just as gentle and kind as he was strong. Despite how much he despises himself, for his past and for his present, Bruce Banner is the most powerful man Thor knows, and when Thor needed him most, Bruce, even with the fear he may never return, released the hulk to save his people.

Thor felt his heart throb, painfully full with emotions he never realized he had. He can’t lose him, not now. Not after everything.

“Bruce…” Thor’s voice echoed in the emptiness of the room and he feels his pulse quicken when it dawns on him it is possible the man before him may never come awares again. “Bruce it’s Thor, I need you to hear me, I need you to wake, I have something I need to tell you.”

No response.

Thor slammed his open palm on the table in frustration, unsure of who or what it was directed towards. “Bruce answer me! I refuse to let you die without hearing what I have to say, not after everything we’ve gone through thus far.”

The monitor Shuri told him to watch began to beep more rapidly, Thor glanced to it, alarmed.

“That, that’s your heart, Bruce can you hear me?”

It continued to increase, and for a moment Thor felt himself smile, his heart lightened as Bruce began to wake, except… His face was contorted, twisted with pain, as though… he was getting worse.

“Bruce? Bruce! No no you can’t you need to wake up! You need to wake up right now!” Thor was shouting frantically, shaking Bruce’s shoulders and sliding his palms up and down his arms hysterically. “Bruce! Answer me!”

Thor turned to the door and shouted up the stairs, “Shuri?! Anyone?! I need help! Please! Bruce is, he’s…” Thor trailed off, collapsing next to the operating table his head in his hands as the heart monitor went still. He’d lost everything, everyone.

What was he meant to do now?

For a moment Thor allowed himself to mourn, to cry and curse the world for its cruelty and humiliation, but stilled as a hand ran gingerly through his hair. The god looked up, eyes and face damp, to see Bruce smiling a bit dazedly down at him, The IV needle plucked from the tender skin of his forearm. “I don’t really like hospitals and needles,” Bruce explained, his voice raw and hoarse. “Reminds me of some bad memories.”

Thor could only stare at him, open mouthed and gasping like he couldn’t breathe, or like he was going to pass out. And at the moment it felt like he could.

“I felt like I was floating,” Bruce continued. “It was kind of just lethargic, I wasn’t doing anything really I was just. There. It was dark, and quiet, and empty. But I, But then I heard you and then there was this whole flash of light and-”

Bruce’s eyebrows knit together and he paused as he took in the ragged and emotionally exhausted state of the God. But before he could say anything Thor launched himself off his knees and sealed their lips together. He grabbed onto Bruce’s face like a lifeline and all the poor doctor could do was hang on for the ride, and what a ride it was. He could feel electricity spark down his veins as Thor put all his emotions into kissing Bruce like he would disappear.

Thor eventually knew he had to pull away and when he did Bruce followed him making Thor chuckle a bit when Bruce opened his eyes looking bewitched.

Bruce blinked at him and refocused at the sound, flushing when what had just transpired settled into him. “Wha-What was that for?”

Thor smiled, and curled his hand behind Bruce’s neck, bringing their foreheads together. “Bruce Banner, you are my Asgard. You are my home, my family and my people, anything I could ever need has always been right here in front of me and I’ve been blind to it all this time. Just say the word and I will belong to you and you to me.”

Bruce stared at Thor, eyes wide and dewey, “Oh man, Oh Thor I mean I guess you’ve really, understood me in a way no one else has. I. I feel like I don’t have to be afraid or, or hate myself around you but I never thought you would… That you’d… I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes, say yes and just, smile. I really need to see you smile right now.”

Bruce gave Thor the biggest smile he could muster, a smile that was all teeth and dimples, “Yeah. Yes, yes.” Bruce whispered.

Thor could feel Bruce’s smile against his own, and for a moment, their charred, battle torn world became paradise. It became Asgard.

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kinsie · 6 years ago

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Overly Belated Game Impressions from PAX Aus 2018

Every year I go to PAX Aus with some close friends to check out the Incredible Future of Games that everyone else already checked out six months ago. This is usually coupled with checking out some wonderfully well-preserved old games and hardware, along with some typically wonderfully weird indie stuff I've never heard about before. Every year, I've written up a little review of things I've played (or watched get played) on an old private forum some friends maintain, but this year, I've figured, fuck it, I might as well post it publicly, right?

Not Indie Games

Super Smash Bros Ultimate sure is a Smash game. That's not a bad thing, but since this was the same demo build from E3 (so before the Castlevania reveals) there wasn't a huge amount of surprises - just a damn good fightfest. Amusingly, the demo booths were split into two groups - For Fun (items on, Switch Pro Controller) and For Glory (items off, the new Gamecube controllers). New Super Mario Bros. U Deluxe has a nonsensical name and spawned an even more nonsensical meme. The demo had six levels to play - three from the base game, three from the Luigi expansion - with both the new and old characters to play. It doesn't look like anyone other than Toadette can get the meme crown, meaning players using that character won't have to jostle for powerups in multiplayer. I didn't play Pokemon Let's Go Eevee because the queue was like 90 minutes long, but my friend braved it and gave it a resounding "ehhhh" with a hand gesture resembling a teetering see-saw. Apparently the co-op stuff wasn’t available in the demo, either, which concerned my friend since that was specifically what he was interested in.

V-Rally 4 looks nice aesthetically, but the gameplay seems pretty "eh". The name seems to be about the most interesting part. Dragonball FighterZ for Switch seems like a pretty decent port. I don’t know much about the source material or original game, but it ran fast and I didn't notice any obvious hitching or whatever.

Luigi's Mansion for Nintendo 3DS is... a 3DS port of the Gamecube launch title. It ran at a solid 30fps... a whole lot better than I recall Luigi's Mansion 2/Dark Moon running, but I was also using a vanilla 3DS for that game while the demo units at PAX were New models.

Indie Stuff

The Xbox Adaptive Controller was present as part of a demo setup for a version of One More Line. I wasn't expecting to have to push the Big Novelty Button as hard as I did, I thought it'd be a lighter touch for some reason. Although I know the button kinda isn't the point of the thing...

Supertrucks Offroad is a PC adaption of a mobile take on old top-down racing games. There's promise here, but the current handling and physics leave a lot to be desired. Hopefully it continues to develop and evolve.

Infinity Heroes is a card game with some simplified mechanics and animated versions of all the card graphics. Has potential, but still plenty of rough edges and pre-alpha grit to sand out.

Metal Wolf Chaos XD sure is a port of an Xbox game. It feels pretty well done, all things considered - the framerate is great, the controls are responsive, and the English subtitles are sometimes even connected to what's being said by the characters!

Ghoul Britannia: Land of Hope and Gorey is a point-and-click adventure game that, unexpectedly, uses a Fallout-esque isometric perspective instead of the usual side-on.

Table of Tales is a VR tabletop RPG where you control an entire party of Scoundrels by moving pieces around a constantly-changing board and playing ability cards. Since it was a VR game, there was a long sign-up queue to play, so the developers set up a little booth where Arbitrix, the game's DM (and, incidentally, a mechanical talking bird), would cheerfully explain the game for you. He said my goatee was perfect for a pirate adventure. It was probably intended as a compliment.

Supermarket Shriek is very similar to a game I prototyped years ago, except it's got a Supermarket Sweep theme and shrieking goats. Also, it's actually getting finished and has more than one level, which is another differentiator. Use the shoulder triggers to make the characters inside a shopping trolley scream their lungs out, propelling the trolley and allowing you to steer it through silly retail-themed obstacle courses.

You probably think, based on the squat protagonist and camera angle, that Tunic is a riff on Zelda: A Link to the Past. Surprise! It's actually a riff on Zelda: Ocarina of Time! The combat is very similar, with a dodge/roll button and Z-targeting (although I guess it's more RT-targeting now) that jumps to the next enemy upon beating your current one. I can't say enough nice things about the graphics... One thing that's interesting is that the entire game is in a fictional language. This includes stuff like the pause menu!

Dash Blitz is a pretty amateurish attempt at a Smash-esque platform fighter. The "feel" just isn't there, sadly.

Nom Nom Apocalypse is a top-down dual-stick roguelite about fighting off food monsters. It looks pretty interesting, but sadly I didn’t get to go back and give it a hands-on look.

Henry Mosse and the Wormhole Conspiracy is a good old-fashioned point and click adventure. The graphics are wonderfully drawn in a cartoon style, but they suffer from really puppet-y animation like an old Flash cartoon, and it breaks my heart.

No Moss Studios bought along Beam Team, a couch co-op game about fighting a giant donut that I didn’t get to try, as well as a collection of weird little Patreon-funded oddities like Sprout Up, a simple little mobile game about weaving through vines, and My Magpie, a bird-aiding simulator of sorts.

Little Reaper is a platformer with a fun movement twist in that you can throw your scythe - which travels in an arc like a hammer in Mario - and teleport to where it lands. I'll have to give this a closer look.

Mars Underground is an Earthbound-esque RPG-style adventure game with a Groundhog Day-style conceit of being stuck in a time-loop. I can't really say it struck me, to be honest.

Scout's Honor is a co-op party game where four players team up to set-up a camp-site in a limited amount of time while dealing with hazards and such. It looks kinda cute, reminds me of Overcooked a bit.

Ice Caves of Europa is a rather odd-controlling game where you pilot a hover-drone controlled by an artificial intelligence. This one probably takes a bit more time to wrap your head around than a convention center allows.

Introspect looks really cool - a Shadow of the Colossus-style boss rush with an emphasis on movement tricks and agility. I didn't get to play it while I was there, but the developers were handing out download codes for the show floor build. It seems pretty fun, although it still needs a good deal of polish.

Soundfall is a dual-stick rhythm-shooter where you have to get to the end of a course before the song ends, with rewards for shooting and slashing to the beat ala Crypt of the NecroDancer. One to watch.

Ticket to Earth is a tactical strategy RPG ala Fire Emblem with a tile-matching mechanic that makes how you move to your enemies even more important by limiting your movement and charging your special abilities. The comic artwork is nice, although the talking heads only seem to have one or two facial expressions.

Nova Flow is a first-person speedrunner that reminds me of a blend of Mirror's Edge's DLC maps and that one paint game that got incorporated into Portal 2. One of the demo levels was apparently one of the hardest levels in the game, and the developer was quite impressed at my getting within inches of completing it before the demo timer ran out...

Dawnblade seems to be an attempt at doing the whole Diablo thing on a phone, with the player hacking their way through short, pre-made maps. Visually, it looks like any of a million other games riffing off of Warcraft 3, and it seems to have some weird mobile game trappings like a stamina system to limit the amount of time you can play in a period of time.

Little Bit Lost is a survival game where you've been shrunk down to the point where ants tower over you and are powerful monsters. This one felt real early. It has promise, but needs a lot of polish to truly deliver on it.

Rogue Singularity is a 3D platformer with procgen levels. The feel didn't gel with me, and I can't really say I liked it all that much. It didn't help that the Switch port I played seemed to lack anti-aliasing entirely, giving the entire scene an unpleasant jagged look.

Ashen looks utterly fascinating - an open-world Souls-esque action RPG with Journey-style "passive" co-op where you can occasionally meet other, anonymous players out in the world and either help them or leave them to their fate. It looks really pretty.

Speaking Simulator is a hilarious puzzler where you have to manually operate a human mouth in order to say Entirely Normal Phrases in order to convince people that you are absolutely a human and not a murder robot in disguise.

Untitled Goose Game had a massive queue that I was absolutely not going to fuck with. :(

yeop

#gaming #paxaus2018

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secret-rendezvous1d · 7 years ago

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Christmas Promises

DECEMBER 3RD, 2017

Maybe at Christmas Eve after being with H and his family for a couple of days the whole Styles family and the missus would be sitting under the Christmas tree and opening presents. There would be a little box with the name of our lady and inside of it there would be a promise ring and Harry would be the cutey he is and go up to the missus and tell her a little monologue then put the ring on her finger. ADDED: So...I have an idea for a Christmas blurb. Harry and the missus spending the Holidays in his parents house and one night they are on the couch watching some film then they make out and Anne sees them but sais nothing and than talks it out with Gemma and afterwards she tolds Harry how cute they are and Harry getting all embarassed and everything....If you could do that, that would be lovely! Thanks so much!

I found this one to be so god damn adorable... someone get me a boyfriend who would do this for me on Christmas Eve... in fact, someone get me a Harry Styles. Preferably the real thing. :’)))

Feedback is welcomed, as always.

Enjoy. xx

CHRISTMAS EVE, 2014, 3PM.

“I haven’t seen him this happy in so long,” Anne hummed with a low volume to her voice, keeping her observations at bay, eyes still glancing through the kitchen entryway and cast upon the two twenty-two year olds snuggled up on her living room sofa as she kneaded sticky dough on the counter top. Her words falling deaf upon Gemma’s ears as she stood at the doorframe, nursing a cup of tea that steamed around her face. “Gemma,” she hissed, bringing her daughter from the trance she distanced herself into, “did you hear me?”

Gemma furrowed her eyebrows and sheepishly shook her head.

“I was just watching those two in there. They’re so in love, aren’t they? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him as happy as this,” she confessed over the rim of her mug, tilting it back and taking a sip of the warm liquid inside. Peppermint spiking the buds on her tongue. Anne’s eyes widening in humoured disbelief as she shook her head and tilted her gaze back upon the ball of dough between her hands, a smile twisting her lips as her daughter took to realising that, her observations were much too similar to her own. “I guess I was listening then. Or we just think the same.”

“It’s incredibly obvious, sweetheart. We don’t need to scratch so hard upon the surface this time around. When has he ever been so-”

“So disgusting with a girlfriend?” Gemma disclosed with a humoured smirk on her lips, dodging the swat of the tea-towel in Anne’s hand as she swung the material in her direction, “I’m kidding. I’m kidding. It’s surprisingly lovely to see him so, I don’t know, can we say relaxed? He just looks so happy.”

“It’s a huge change from what happened in May, don’t you think?” She asked. The memory was something that had been pushed into the deepest and darkest depths of her mind. One that she couldn’t bring herself to think about again. Her heart shattering at the mere chance of the topic being brought up. “I can never, ever get the image of him so broken out of my head, Gemma. I don’t think I ever will. It’s every mother’s worst nightmare to see her child so broken and distraught,” Anne sighed, wiping her fingertips on the chequered material, “but, just by seeing them so close and cuddling together, you never would have thought they’d gone through the roughest of patches just seven months ago.”

“He really fought for her. He really loves her. He’s not been as lucky in love as some,” Gemma murmured, spinning on her socked heels at the sound of Robin’s crunching boots walking up the gravel of the back garden patio, a hefty cough escaping his dry throat as he cleared away the lumps, “all he wanted was to fall in love with someone without people speculating or commenting on how he lived his life. He found her, don’t you think?”

Harry Styles had never been lucky in love.

Yes, he had his fair share of school relationships, and travelled as far, as his mother would allow him to go, to spend time with them, and he had a fair amount of crushes on girls he had grown up around. Some that he hung around with at school and some that he saw walk passed the bakery windows when he had a shift. But nothing had ever turned long-term. Settling for weeks before he was back to his single life. Back to himself. Back to moping and thinking about his life, his future, and what his life would be like when he met the girl that he knew was the end-game for him. That he knew would be there, present in his life, for the rest of time. Who he would wake up beside every morning, who he cooked breakfast for before they left for work every day, who he got to kiss and cuddle and call his own when introductions were made, who he got to end his day with and who he fell asleep beside every night.

A running thought in his mind, when his teenage-year old self had been pushed into the sudden limelight of fame and fortune, was that he had his pick of the women who threw themselves at him, now. He no longer had to hide his misery of not having girls pay him the attention he desired from them. He was of legal age to consent and he had experience; he’d watched porn, more times than he could count on both his fingers and his toes, and, he was no innocent young man when it came to the top shelf magazines in the paper shops, and he was no sinner to being present, around his male friends, when they were full of testosterone and thought about nothing but boobs and getting their dicks wet on a twenty-four seven basis. He was young and immature and unknowing of how he was to handle his life now that he was a heartthrob in an in-demand band. He didn’t know what he was doing, he didn’t know how his life had changed so drastically, he didn’t know how to cope, but, he did know that he just couldn’t let the opportunities go to waste.

And it wasn’t long, give or take a year or two, before he realised that the way he was living his life was bringing him pure misery.

He was everywhere because he start reckless. From gossip magazines to the front page on newspapers to being the butt end of a rumour spreading across the internet to, eventually, having women look upon him as a young boy, who hadn’t quite got a handle upon his new-found way of life, who slept around with anyone who batted an eyelash in his direction. Titles being pushed upon him, swallowing him whole, that hurt him and tore his innocent identity away, shredding any ounce of innocence from his past self to pieces. He was no longer Harry Styles - the youngest member of One Direction... he was now Harry Styles - the womanising teenager that married men needed to worry over.

And he didn’t want that for the rest of his life.

He didn’t want women to look at him and never give him the time of day; how was he supposed to find the one to settle down with? He didn’t want to leave a hotel room every night and come back with a girl on his arm; because, what other labels could have been pushing the real him to side? He didn’t want to be known as the teen heartthrob who slept around; he had urges but he was still respectful, despite a mucky beginning... right? He didn’t want to have his face, mounted onto a front page, with a girl he couldn’t remember the name of; because it made him look sleazy. He didn’t want to look his mother in the eye, he didn’t want to talk to his sister, and know that the both of them were thinking disgraced thoughts of him; because, deep down, he felt that he was treating women in the poorest of fashions and it needed to be changed,

He was seventeen when he found himself in his first public relationship. One that lasted longer than a handful of weeks, and had surpassed the Christmas of 2011, and happened to make it passed her birthday and, evidently, had only just skimmed over his eighteenth. But even then, despite there never being any public displays of loving affection and despite him never being as open as he had been, it never brought good news to him. Caroline was 15 years his senior, had been there from the start of his career, had never been an issue with him, neither for her, and had only ever brought judgemental comments and raised a few eyebrows from the general public who had unnecessary things to say about his life. It just wasn’t his way out.

He was eighteen when he found you.

And he was sure, by the apologetic look in your eyes as his socked feet, and new boots, took the wrath of spilt coffee from squashed takeaway cups, that you were someone special. That you were someone who flashed before his eyes when he blinked. That you were someone he would take home to his mother and show off that he’d met someone so wonderful and... normal. A tiny inkling within his belly that made him reach out to keep you in his life. Swapping numbers in the middle of the coffee shop, going on dates before he took off on a jet to America, Skyping and calling each other when he found a spare five minutes to waste, and making plans to see each other, as soon as he stepped off the plane at Heathrow.

And you... you were the brightly shining exit sign above a door that brought him back to himself.

You were his way out.

“Yeah,” Anne agreed, her heart bursting as she watched her son press a kiss to the top of your head, squeezing you closer to his side as he reached for the remote and switched off the television. The credits Christmas film that had been playing, one that was your favourite to watch the day before Christmas day, rolling up the screen. “Yeah, I think he found her.”

“Your mum always makes the house smell so good whenever we come to visit. She doesn’t just do that for us, does she? Or just for me?” You murmured into his shoulder, nose pushed into the curve above his armpit as his fingers, attached to the hand that belonged to the arm that was swung across your shoulders, drew gentle patterns in the soft material of your jumper. His musk-scented tee making you feel content beneath his arm. Beanie upon his head to keep his wildly, untamed curls hidden and a pair of skinnies on his legs. A pair of his worn-out tracksuit bottoms on your legs because you’d only packed sleep shorts and they weren’t the best attire for a chilly afternoon, spent inside, in Cheshire. Blanket pulled up to your chest. “What’s she making this time? It smells delicious.”

“Cheese and onion bread, I think. To have with the stew cooking. I don’t know why though, because she’s never made bread in her life,” he snickered, looking over his shoulder to see his mother undoing the apron from around her neck, splattered with dried dough and covered in flour, reaching behind her waist and untying the knot that hung at the small of her back, before looking back to you and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “she likes showing off when you come back with me. Cracks out the Gordon Ramsey and Nigella books. The house never usually smells this good. In fact, it hasn’t smelt this good in years. I’m guessing this is one recipe that my aunt told her to try out. It’s all she’ll be making now, bringing her fresh loaves to family gatherings and parties, until someone insists she try and make something they’d found. She went through a phase, when I was younger, of making the donuts you get at the beach, because a friend of hers said that they were a doddle to make,” Harry chuckled lowly and shook his head, “she spent three days making the batter because it never tasted right.”

You giggled into his side and curled your legs up tighter to your chest, your feet, with toes that felt numb, coming to rest upon his lap.

“I’m envious that you grew up in a house like this, you know? Spacious and warm and in the nicest f neighbourhoods. A back-garden big enough for you have any swing set you wanted as a kid. I bet you had so many friends down this road,” you grinned up at him as he wrapped his free hand around the base of one of your feet. His palm being warm and sending tingles through your skin. “You’re like my very own personal heater.” His fingers dragged up the sole of your foot, jerking your leg out, as far as it would go with the grip he had. “Why are you so annoying?”

“You love me, though,” he hummed, “didn’t have that many friends who lived down this road. All my mates lived a bike ride away and I used to go and meet them at the local paper shop. We got loads of sweets and sugar drinks and we used to eat them in the park. Felt like a rebel at the time but, really, I was just a kid who consumed too much sugar and had toothaches for days.”

“Toothache with the perfect gnashers you have behind here?” You frowned as your thumb brushed over his bottom lip, tugging it down to catch a look at the pearly whites hidden in his mouth, “I find that hard to believe. Although, it would explain the juice kicks you’ve been on. I take it you won’t be eating any sugar tomorrow?”

“Why are you so annoying?” He mocked, wrapping his lips around the tip of your thumb, tasting the sweet leftover of the mince pies eaten throughout the film, “I don’t know how I put up with you, sometimes.”

“You love me, though.”

There’s no clear explanation to how the moment changed.

One minute you were giving him a tight-lipped smile with a sticky sheen on your pink flesh, tucked beneath his arm and cosy against his side, beneath a thick blanket that smelt of him and the cologne he’d sprayed that morning, and the next minute, you were no longer beside him, but rather beneath him, Your lips moulding against his in a hungry kiss, your tongue swiping over his bottom lip and he was hovering, tauntingly above you. Legs around his waist, ankles crossed at the bottom of his spine, heels pushing into he small of his back, as your back found the sofa behind you.

Settled in your own little bubble that Anne’s delicate cough went unheard.

Off in your own world that Robin’s presence, in the arm-chair closest to the both of you, hadn’t phased either of you

But not so far away that Gemma’s yells and gagging could go unheard.

The both of you pulling away abruptly, eye contact held for a second longer as a string of saliva broke from between your mouths, before you took in the nosey eyes of his family settled around the room. One behind the sofa, one on the arm of the sofa, and one to the right of the sofa. Evident smirks on their faces. Their gazes making heat rise to your cheeks and making Harry’s bottom lip lodge between his teeth.

“Once you’re done shagging on the sofa, I’d like to sit down and watch some telly now that you’re both finished with that film,” she grunted, swiping the back of Harry’s thighs with her slipper-clad foot, jerking him closer to you as he pushed himself up and fell to the middle seat of the sofa, “that was disgusting. If that’s what your snogging looks like, I dread to think what it’s like walking in you when you’re fucki-”

“Gemma!” Anne’s scolding voice came from behind, cutting her short as she turned her head to give her brother a teasing glare, jerking her eyebrows up whilst a hand came to rest upon Harry’s shoulder, “you know I don’t mind the both of you sharing a kiss every now and then, sweet boy, but, please bear in mind where you are. We have rules in this house which apply to both my children and their respected partners. I know the both of you are rather quite active back home, and, you’re both young but-”

“Mum,” Harry hissed, tilting his head back to give her ‘shushing’ look, “it won’t happen again. I promise.”

“The walls are paper thin, too,” Anne continues. Harry’s eyes widening as a silent plea for her to stop where she was going with her public thoughts, “alright, alright. I’ll shush for now. But, it goes for tonight, as well. I know how you get after a few glasses of fizz, sweet boy. A little touchy and a little cheeky. I just ask, for tonight, for you to keep it to just a kiss before bed, okay?”

“Mum!”

CHRISTMAS EVE, 4:30PM.

“Is there anything you want me to help you with, Mum? YN’s fallen asleep,” Harry stretched his back, lifting his arms up, as he stepped upon the cool tiles beneath his feet. Hit with the delicious aroma of freshly made bread that was cooling down in the corner and the mouth-watering smell of a beef stew stewing away in a pot. Steaming wafting up. “It smells lovely.”

“Thank you. I’ll give you the recipe and you can give it a crack yourself. When you get back home, of course. It makes me feel very content to know you’re being well fed,” his mother’s eyes twinkled, reaching up to squeeze his cheeks as he hunched over to press a kiss to her cheek, “you could get the mulled wine brewing, if you want to. I was just about to start it myself. Just peel up some clementies and some lemon and limes. The sugar’s already in the pan.”

“‘course,” he smiled, twisting on his heels and perching himself at the island in the middle of the kitchen, hands reaching for the fruits set at the top of the fruit bowl. He set the the lemon and the lime down, making sure they stayed where they were and didn’t roll from the counter and took to the floor with a thud. “Mum, you know we didn’t intend for that to happen earlier, right? Just, kind of happened, out of the blue. Spontaneous n’all that. I know you have a no sex rule in the house and stuff. Wouldn’t go far beyond a snog.”

“Oh, Harry, shush. It’s fine. I’m not as blind and oblivious as you may think I am. I know that you’ve been a little naughty with that rule when we’re out or when we’ve gone to bed. Need I remind you of that morning in May, hm? I know what happened the night before,” Anne said, a hint of teasing with her words as his cheeks flushed pink, his eyes focused on the curves of his nails as he dug his fingers into the peel of the clementine in his hand. Refusing eye contact because, well, what son could ever make eye contact with his mother when the topic of sex was on the cards? “I know you’re both very active an-”

“Mum,” Harry warned, his voice wobbling, “stop with this. It’s happened once and it won’t happen again. I promise you. What happened that night, it happened for a reason, whether you had a rule in the house or not. It was overdue, needed, and,” he paused to take a breath, puffing the air out from between his puckered lips as he grin and beared the awkwardness and looked up from orange fruit in his hands, “I bloody love her, Mum. I wasn’t going to let her walk out of my life.”

“I know you do,” Anne smiled warmly, leaving the cooker on low as she scuffed across the space and leant, upon her arms, on the breakfast island, “me and Gem were talking earlier. When we came in here to let you have some time together. It was nothing bad because we can never find anything bad to talk about. We just,” she watches as he popped a clementine segment between his lips and chewed on the fruit, a dribble of juice slipping down his chin that he wiped away with the sleeve of his jumper, “we spoke about how in love you look, Harry. About how happy the both of you are, and in articular, you. I will never not see the image of you so broken because I’d never seen you so sad before. But it’s a big difference to the smile that sits on your face when she’s around.”

“She makes me so happy,” he took a glance over his shoulder to see you, still asleep and curled up on the sofa, out like a light, despite Gemma’s cackles and Robin’s deep chuckle that rumbled round the lower level of the house. The topic smile forming on his lips. “She’s just, she’s just amazing. Never felt so lucky in my life, before. Being with her makes everything worth it. The distance, the time differences, the rumours, the hate that she gets. Everything we go through, it never stops us from being who we are. Who we’re meant to be” he admitted, twisting back around and setting down the split clementine, from his hand, to reach for the lime, “I think she’s it for me, Mum. And I have a ring that m’gon’a give ‘er later on tonight to show her that I don’t want anyone else in my life but her.”

“When you say a ring, you don’t mean...” Anne’s voice trailed off, her words becoming distant. “Are we talking engagement?”

He shook his head, hesitantly.

“Not yet, no. We’re only twenty and I think we could fit in so much more before engagement is on the cards. Give it a few more years,” he grinned, his bottom lip falling open as his tongue slipped from behind his teeth. Concentration taking over as he worked his thumbnail into the top of the green fruit, ripe and heavy in his hand. “S’a promise ring. I have a whole big speech planned, but, I’ll probably balls it up from nerves. I just, I hope she thinks of me in the same way. I’ve never felt like this before. Never been with someone for as long as I’ve been with her and, I guess I can’t imagine my life without her. If I could make her mine tomorrow, I would do it in a heartbeat, Mum.”

CHRISTMAS EVE, 11:45PM.

“I was wondering how long it would take for you to find that.”

You looked over your shoulder and found Harry, hands braced on the back of the sofa in Anne’s living room, leaning on his palms as he watched you with the small gift in your hands, with a grin sitting on his pink lips, stained with red wine and, probably, tasting sweet and delicious and a little sticky, too, because he’d been enjoying one too many of the homemade mince pies that Gemma had brought home, in a beautiful decorated tin that he recognised as one from his kitchen cupboards. His cheeks pink and bitten at, and his eyes were a little bloodshot and watery and red around the rims from the chilled air of the conservatory connected to Anne’s kitchen, where everyone had gathered with warm mugs of eggnog and mulled wine and bundled up, nice and warm, with scarves around their necks and slippers on their feet. Bringing in the end of Christmas Eve in front of a wood fire, that smelt delicious and felt toasty warm, watching the soft and gentle snowflakes flurry down from the dark sky, outside the window, giving the grass a frosty glow.

“I thought we’d already given our Christmas Eve gifts. I gave you hair-ties and you gave me socks,” you snickered, wiggling your toes in the fuzzy reindeer socks that you’d opened hours before. A chuckle escaping Harry’s lips as he made his way around the sofa and kicked off the slippers that were comfy on his feet. “Warm socks, need I add. My toes haven’t felt this warm in ages, Harry. And that’s saying something. What is this? It’s so small.”

“Open it and find out.”

“Harry, if this is something that’s beyond our price range, I’m going to spill my mug of chocolate over you,” you warned, his eyes rolling in his head as a smirk formed on his pink lips. You pinched the lid of the striped, pink and white with glitter lining each and every stripe, box that sat in your palm, the square lid popping free and falling to the floor beside her crossed legs. Revealing a beautifully designed ring with a diamond settled in the middle. “Harry...” You gawked, eyes darting from the glistening ring, that shone beneath the light of the living room, to his green eyes, that shone with a glint of adoration and hope and a slither of nerves, “it’s beautiful.”

Harry settled himself on his bum, after adjusting the baggy tracksuit bottoms slung low on his hips, upon the cream carpet of his mum’s living room, almost toppling back into the Christmas tree. A bauble knocked by his shoulder. A comparable contrast from the comfortable cushioned chair he’d occupied in the conservatory, just moments ago, with a lap that was empty and waiting for you to settle upon, when you decided that you could brace the cold for a few minutes. Back to his chest, admiring the crackle of the fire and the glow that came from the flames, as they sat on the edge of dozing off. His bare toes coiling up and bending, fingers becoming the aid to his joints as they cracked, before he pulled his knees to his chest and kept them trapped between his arms, fingertips hooking together.

“Is it really? Not jus’ sayin’ that because I’m sat ahead of you, right? You actually mean it?”

His lips twitch as you scoffed and sent a kick in his direction. The wool material from one foot, of your new pair of socks, brushing over the top of his foot.

“It’s beautiful. Harry, it is. I love it,” you whispered, your eyes completely focused upon the band that fit perfectly between the cushioned base of the box, “I really, really do love it. Thank you.”

“And, before you say anything else, it’s not an engagement ring. I’d spend so much more on one o’ those,” he pointed out, ”it’s just my sickeningly romantic way of telling you that I love you, with every fibre of my being, and I plan to do so until I have no more love to give. I was going to give it to you when we were back in London, but, I thought that Christmas would be a more memorable way to go about it,” he added, your eyes working their way over him. From the messy hair that sat upon his head, growing long and curling around his ears and almost passing his shoulders, to the tip of his reddened nose, that just needed some loving care before you both fell asleep, to the pink of his lips, that seemed inviting. Staring long enough to make him squirm beneath your gaze. His knees dropping from his chest and straightening, fanning his toes out as he worked the kinks from his joints. “what?”

“Nothing,” you grinned.

He pushed a hand in your direction, fingers wiggling as his eyes landed upon the box on your palm, “will you let me do it properly? Had a whole speech planned and everythin’. It might score me some Christmas Eve sex but that’s something we’ll only find out,” he snickered as you transferred the pink and white box into his much large palm. His fingers shaking as he took the front from between the cushion and held it tightly between the tips of his thumb and his forefinger, ”unless Christmas Eve sex was already on the cards. That way, it’s a win-win scenario, right?”

You hummed in mock thought before you scooted a little closer to him. His legs crossing over each other, twisted up into the pretzel position, as his elbows came to rest upon his knees. The ring still held tightly between his fingertips.

“Been together for a coupl’a years now, haven’t we? Best two years of my life, I’m telling you. I couldn’t imagine loving someone else as much as I love you. In fact, I can’t imagine being here in Chapel, and in my mum’s house on Christmas Eve, with anyone else but you. Had that slip up this year because I was an absolute wanker but we made it through and it got me thinking that,” his eyes never left yours as he swallowed back the lump in his throat, “if we made it through our break-up and still came out fighting stronger than ever, then, we can conquer anything that gets thrown in our direction. We’ve beaten time differences. We’ve smacked long distance out the park. We made it through rumours and the fiction people make up about our relationship. We can do anything,” he took a pause before continuing, “I said s’not an engagement ring, just yet. This is just a promise. From me to you. I promise to never go back to being the guy I was when I went on tour. I promise to love you until I just can’t fit any more love inside me. I promise to always call you when I’m away and I promise to send you those stupid memes because I know they make you smile. Even more so, when I’m the butt end of the meme,” he frowned, ignoring the snicker that escaped your mouth, hidden behind your palm to muffle the sound, “I promise to be the best boyfriend I can be until that title no longer needs to remain. Until we’re ready to take that next step in our relationship. Until I pluck up that courage and find some balls to ask you to marry me. Because, then, this ring can be replaced with one that means more than a simple statement. This is my promise, to you, that you’re it for me. That I don’t want anyone else but you. Because I can’t imagine what my life would have ended up like without you in it and I don’t think I could ever imagine what life would end up like without you.”

You felt your eyes begin to sting as he slipped the silver band down your finger. Slotting perfectly against your digit as he twisted the ring to make sure the diamond was perfectly situated in the middle. Your vision blurring over as your knees dropped from your chest and propped your figure up from the carpet, toes bending to keep you stable as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His arms snaking around your waist. And you soon found yourself sliding into his lap and wrapping your legs around his waist. Your head pushed into the hollow of his neck, where it curved into his shoulder, and smelt like the festive cologne, with a hint of orange zest, that he only ever decided to crack out at Christmas time. Delicate kisses being sponged to the material, clinging to his upper body, and back up his jaw, slowly and aching, as your nose nudged into the outer shell.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you whispered into his ear, his squeeze tightening around you. Hushed whispers, echoing around the kitchen, coming from the conservatory as the clock, in the kitchen, struck midnight. “Merry Christmas, baby. I can’t wait to celebrate tomorrow with you.”

#harry styles imagines #one direction imagines #one direction preferences #harry blurbs #harry styles blurbs #harry imagines #1d harry #1d harry styles #blogmas 2017

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bffhreprise · 5 years ago

Text

Entry 302

Time passed as I stared at the ceiling, still trying to catch up with my world toppling me around yesterday. Magic was real. I had seen it in so very many forms. Fairies existed. I saw one, felt her projected thoughts in my mind, and had fallen without any knowledge that stopping my descent was effortless for these people, though Mila was the one who did the actual catching. My memories were no longer certainties. They could be altered or erased with a spell, and James would do that to me if ever I attempted to tell others. I had no way of knowing if he had already cast a spell on me to tell him if I broke my word, but I was certain he would.

Shuddering, I hugged one of the plump pillows against me. Tall and exceptionally handsome, James had always carried himself with the rare certainty of someone accustomed to getting their way, but I saw a new side of him yesterday, a power in him that was frightening to behold. Even if I could know of some magic he had been using, I wouldn’t be any less awed by the memory of that towering man speaking in a way that made his words seem as if he was forcing the universe to accept new laws.

“Breakfast is already being served.” stated Mila from nearby. She had spoken a while ago, warning me that breakfast would be ready soon.

How long had I lay here lost in my thoughts? “Coming!” I told her, my mind already checking to see if I was at risk of breaking contract in some way, but I knew I was being silly. James didn’t care about whether or not I ate with everyone. He was only protecting us… I knew he was trying to protect me as well, though I wasn’t certain from what. How did I know? What had he said to give me that impression?

I left the soft bed behind, wandering through the halls on autopilot as my mind still attempted to find logic in the chaos of yesterday. I had known this place was incredible after the first visit. The people here had all seemed intelligent, educated, and… confident, few rooms hosted as many people with absolute confidence. Having magic surely helped bolster their confidence, but I suspected some of it came from having James as a boss. With him backing them—my eyes looked from the soft, highly-decorated carpet to the paintings to the ceilings—there was an incredible amount of wealth, and it was meaningless next to the power of these people. Even Brandon had magic, and he still struck me as the most normal, approachable one of the lot.

Despite the great length of the halls here, I arrived before I was mentally prepared, hearing voices just ahead.

“... get you out there more quickly if you want.” came James’ voice.

“No-no. Thank you, but I’m actually liking it. I know how to build most of a house from scratch now. This is pretty cool.” replied Jemal, sounding nervous.

James sounded amused as he said, “Some of us do a fair amount of that type of work. The wages vary greatly, but you’ll hopefully always be entertained by the diversity of work here.”

Jemal’s mouth snapped shut as I stepped into the room. For him, I obviously wasn’t one of them yet. Could I ever be without magic of my own? Maybe. Jarod supposedly didn’t have magic, though his inventions might as well be from my perspective. “That smells amazing.” I admitted aloud to break the silence.

Marco smiled and nodded toward me.

“Here’s one for you!” exclaimed Kayla, skipping over to me and handing a card to me.

“Wow. Thank you! This is pretty amazing.” I assured her, completely shocked at the three-dimensional heart portrayed on it. A piece of candy was attached, reminding me today was Valentine’s Day. “I’ll try the chocolate later.” I told her, not wanting to be even an ounce filled up before eating Marco’s cooking.

Kayla grinned at me before running to Jarod and the twin sisters as they entered the room. James hadn’t lied about not knowing which was which. I had seen identical twins before, but every hair on their heads seemed to match. The two seemed as delighted as I had felt about the cards, but my eyes were quickly drawn elsewhere as a clear image of pancake at the end of a fork entered my mind.

I quickly looked around but was too late to catch the fairy grabbing her target, only seeing her after she was already expressing her joy at the stolen chunk of pancake nearly as large as her. “Does she eat here often?” I questioned, surprised that she was inside.

“Yay! The fairy!” exclaimed Kayla, bouncing on her feet.

No one had to speak to answer my question. The tiny fairy was showing me countless meals on which she had dined here, and I understood her excitement completely as she shared the sensation of each mouthful. Then a questioning feeling came to me as the fairy recognized that Kayla was trying to hand something to her. Suddenly, she dropped the bit of remaining pancake to dive at the chocolate on the card, biting the wrapper as soon as she arrived. Spitting that out with distaste, her feelings returned to joy as she teeth met the dark substance underneath. The rest of the foil was quickly torn away, so she could hug the chocolate with both arms as she continued to devour it.

Before I could express concern over whether that was safe for her, Marco proclaimed “One day, I will a get her to use her plate. Then I will a make the most amazing fairy food.” As he spoke, he had glanced at a dollhouse that had previously seemed out-of-place in a kitchen. Now I understood.

“I have no doubts.” stated James with a small smile as he looked to his chef.

My hand brushed over the baggy clothes, reminding me of what I was wearing before I had managed to find a seat. “I should go change.” I muttered aloud, half-hoping they’d tell me not to worry about it, though every Kayla was dressed for the day.

“Change!?” questioned Emma from behind me. “You’re perfectly adorable as you are!”

“Happy birthday!” exclaimed numerous people behind me.

“Thank you!” she replied with a big grin.

“It’s your birthday?” I verified, feeling embarrassed that I hadn’t known. What was being born on Valentine’s Day like?

“Yep! So kisses for everyone!” she insisted, pulling me down slightly as she got on her toes and kissed my cheek.

I stared at her dumbfounded, not sure how to react as she immediately moved to Jemal, gracefully dodging his hand to kiss his forehead.

Moving onto James, she said, “Pucker up, man-slave!”

“Don’t you dare.” stated Lady Alma sourly.

Emma’s grin suggested she would dare as she wrapped her arms around James’ neck. Then she kissed the top of his head. “Kayla! Kisses!”

Kayla stretched as tall as she could with her cheek raised toward Emma. As soon as Emma had kissed her cheek, Kayla was handing her a card.

“It’s adorable! I’ll keep it forever!” promised Emma as she hugged Kayla.

“You’re welcome!” replied Kayla, looking perfectly proud.

Emma danced over to Alma, kneeling down as she took her hand, kissing it. “Were I to try for your cheeks, I’d surely hit your lips.” she teased.

Alma’s lips twitched ever so slightly as she rolled her eyes.

“Good morning. Am I missing something?” came Cosette, entering the room from the other door.

“You’re next!” exclaimed Emma, looking ready to jump at her. “My birthday is a global kissing day!”

“Careful, I’m said to have a very deep kiss.” replied Cosette, opening her mouth wide. Her fangs elongated to at least an inch.

Forgetting myself, I swore as I stepped back, dumbly pointing at the vampire.

“Sorry. I guess we didn’t inform you that I’m a vampire yet.” apologized Cosette, nodding at me.

My feeble brain recognized the concern in her eyes and only then realized that I was still pointing. I quickly lowered my arm before asking “Vampires are real!?”

“And so cute too!” insisted Emma just before grabbing Cosette’s head, turning it, and kissing her full on the lips.

“That wasn’t my cheek.” pointed out Cosette with a smirk.

My eyes were fixed on her perfectly white teeth, expecting the fangs to reappear at any moment.

With a shrug, Emma said, “I miss at times.” Then she danced over to the twins, stopping only when the fairy flew over to kiss her cheek. “Thank you! Looks like she understands the day!” exclaimed Emma gleefully as she watched the fairy dart around to kiss every cheek.

“You’re a terrible influence.” stated Alma.

“Should I give everyone kisses too?” questioned Kayla.

“Yes!” exclaimed Emma immediately.

At the same time, Jemal said, “No!”

“But Jemal…” complained Kayla, the disappointment adorably plain in her voice.

“Get it over with.” stated one of the twins as she moved her hair out of the way for Emma.

Emma kissed her cheek immediately and then moved to kiss Jarod.

“Ah! Not my neck!” complained the other twin after Emma had pretended to be going for her cheek before dipping after he neck.

“Sorry. Cosette inspired me.” teased Emma with a big grin.

“Sounds extra lively today. What’s for breakfast?” questioned Brandon, finally arriving.

“You are!” exclaimed Emma, literally jumping several yards at him.

He dodged, staring at her in confusion.

“Fine. Hand then.” stated Emma, grabbing his hand and kissing it. Then she giggled as he looked even more bewildered.

“Wait. Were you going to kiss me? Like kiss me, kiss me?” he asked with clear disappointment.

“Easy there.” I warned him, staring up at him.

“What? I was just asking!” he insisted, though his face told another story. We were going to have to work on his poker face.

“Where’s Portentia hiding?” asked Emma hopefully.

“I’m walking towards you with her at the moment.” replied Mila.

“Which door?” questioned Emma with a grin.

Mila briefly appeared on a mirror next to the door where I had entered, winking and vanishing just after. Emma moved into position. The moment Portentia reached the door, Emma sprang around it to embrace her, kissing her just after.

“What was that for?” asked Portentia in surprise.

“My birthday! Kisses for everyone!” explained Emma, grinning again.

Portentia nodded as if that made perfect sense. “I see.”

I quickly found myself wondering if I would ever grow that accustomed to the endless oddities here. Deciding not to bother changing, I took a seat next to Brandon at the enormous table. The food was every bit as amazing this time as before, though I mentally questioned whether the fairy had better taste buds than me. I was certain this was the same type of pancake, but through her thoughts, everything seemed exaggerated to me. In time, I’d learn. I always did. I just needed to take things one step at a time.

#Best Friend For Hire Reprise #Best #Friend #For #Hire #Reprise #Jovial Times #Jovial #Times #Fantasy #Fiction #Story

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metalraindrops · 7 years ago

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Holding the Line

The irony of Douglas's present situation wasn't lost on him. He'd been here just a scant few hours prior, giving necessary infantry support to the group of Militia infantry that had stormed this firebase. It was a vital IMC strongpoint on Tariq, a desert world that wasn’t too keen on the concept of being habitable, but held a massive amount of mineral treasures beneath its depths. It was a jewel in the rough (from the perspective of resources) that the Militia had kept from the IMC as long as they could - but eventually the IMC found out, and they mustered a sizeable invasion force to take it for themselves.

The fighting on Tariq had been bitter and vicious. The IMC really wanted this world; it may not have been very habitable, but it was a cornucopia of resources, and that meant that even heavy losses were acceptable if they could take over the mining facilities. What the IMC may have lacked in discipline among the vast majority of its human troops, it more than made up for in tremendous waves of robotic infantry and Titans. The Militia were losing ground in nearly every hotspot, simply because there were too many enemies and not enough ammunition to kill them with. And if my luck fails me, they’ll lose ground here, too.

Compounding on all of this, he was fighting without his Titan; VEGA had taken severe damage helping to drive back IMC occupation forces from a titanium mine, and he was currently in a repair base about 200 miles north of his position, getting patched up as quickly as Militia engineers could weld a new arm onto him. It’d be a while until he would see combat again, but not for Douglas; he was still useful outside his Titan, so after promising VEGA he wouldn’t do anything stupid, he was shipped out to another hot zone. And another. And another.

The firebase he currently found himself holed up in had been hastily set up in an important strategic position giving it sightlines for miles around, which would make it effectively impossible to attack once the IMC had really taken root. And here was where the Militia had seen the opportunity; while it may have been heavily fortified, it was still lightly guarded. An infantry division striking at the right time could take the base, securing a valuable position to hold off future IMC assaults. And adding a decorated, Combat-Certified 6-4 Pilot to the attacking group would ensure certain victory.

The assault's planners were right; Douglas and company killed the IMC forces guarding what they were terming “TAP Alpha”, hacked what Spectres they could, ensured the base was secure and locked down, and then Douglas headed off via dropship to assist in the defense of another Militia position from concentrated IMC attack. Pilots were hot commodities today; there were far more places in need of a Pilot than there were Pilots to man them. The day went well there, too - though Douglas got the distinct feeling that, already having four or five Titans there with well-trained pilots, he wasn’t really all that necessary.

He was on his way back to the nearest base - low on munitions, desperately wanting a bite to eat, a few words with his squad deployed elsewhere, and a nap for at least an hour - when the same squad he'd been fighting with called him back. Apparently the IMC weren't too happy that they'd taken that firebase, and the rifle team had spotted a Titan, two Reapers, and a large amount of robotic shock troops rolling in, a recon spear. Instead of getting a break, he loaded up on ammo and Stim and headed out to continue killing.

Things didn't go so well this time around. The immediate order of target prioritization was that the infantry carrying anti-personnel weapons targeted the inbound Stalkers, while anyone with AT weapons helped him take care of the Reapers before destroying the Ion. Unfortunately, thirty seconds after being fired upon, half of the Stalkers decided to showcase that they were very capable of sprinting, and before he knew it the base was buried in machines, with the Reapers hot on their tails. It had been a terrifying few minutes of constant rifle fire, and he'd had to steal weapons from dead Militiamen to survive.

The situation, as it stood, wasn't good. The Ion was closing in on the firebase, Splitter Rifle particle blasts and lasers searing holes through the defenses and buildings. One of the Reapers lay in pieces, as did all of the charging Stalkers- but so did every other Militiaman he'd been fighting with, and all of the Spectres they’d hacked. The Stalker charge was not something he was expecting, and judging by all the bodies, he wasn’t alone in thinking that. The Militia had tried their best at fighting back, granted, but Stalkers were incredibly good at soaking up damage. Humans weren't. Douglas was able to make up for this disadvantage in mobility, and was able to take out a good 20 Stalkers on his own after they had killed everyone else.

That didn’t solve his problems, though; there was still a Titan coming at him, there was a Reaper in his base camp, and from the looks of it, there were still at least 30 or 40 more Stalkers moving with that Ion.

Douglas slid into a building just as a salvo of rockets from that other Reaper hit the ground where he was going; the Reaper didn't stop shooting, and plasma-warhead missiles continued to batter the armory he'd entered. He scooped an Archer rocket up and plugged it into his launcher, then ran outside and boost jumped onto the top of a wall. Bringing the launcher up as the Reaper noticed his new position and turned to face him, he forced himself to hold position, aiming the weapon until the yellow ring in its electronic sight closed red around the Reaper and the launcher gave him the “locked-on” tone.

The Reaper started shooting; he fired, Stimmed instinctively and got the hell out of Dodge - the yellow laser beam that suddenly scythed through the air where he'd once been sent a chill to his core as it shone in the slow-mo, like a ray from the sun. That Ion was a hell of a lot closer than he’d previously seen if if it could pull off a shot like that. It meant even more bad news for him.

Good news, though; the Archer rocket he'd fired smacked the Reaper right in its "head"; the heavy assault platform reeled for a second, having already taken a pretty bad hit to its center-of-mass earlier that had disabled its Tick launchers. The Reaper’s central processing hardware was buried inside its body, but it still needed a head to see, and now it was blind.

And then it exploded. A lot. Shrapnel from the missile had probably hit the Ticks that it couldn’t deploy, and even though they were inert, they were still explosives. The Reaper died in a military fireworks show, suicide drones going off like popcorn in God’s microwave. That took care of an immediate issue, but there was still a bunch of other things he’d need to take care of before the day was out.

He'd already made his distress call, but he repeated it, just to be safe. "All callsigns, this is Hammerhead! Requesting immediate assistance at TAP Alpha! I'm the only one here right now, still looking at about twelve squads of Stalkers and a hostile Titan! If we lose this point, we’ll lose this zone! I need anyone who can get over here, NOW!"

The same responses. Help was inbound, but the nearest elements would take five minutes to reach his position. That Titan and the Stalkers would be on him in two. The math didn't add up very well for him. A Pilot he was, but there wasn't much of a way to fight against 50 machine guns.

Douglas retreated back into the Armory, steeling himself for what might well end up being his final fight.

#lucy-b091 #(whoa I wrote a lot of stuff here #feel free to respond whenever!)

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eremika0000 · 7 years ago

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(Ferriswheelshipping) Awakened Emotions Chapter 11

Hey guys, I'm back with another chapter. Thanks for the comments so far, they mean a lot to me! I always get a big grin when I read them. Anyways, please enjoy the new chapter!

*I swear I'll save you, Dialga.*

N tosses out his Zoroark as the plasma grunt sends out his Krookodile. The two began to fight, and White was left to watch. She hated this feeling of being unable to do anything without her Pokemon. She regretted leaving them in the PC for her vacation and promised herself that she would take them out once they got out of this mess.

She scans her surroundings, wondering how she can help. The plasma machine seemed to be drawing energy from the legendary pokemon Dialga.

*If I can just shut off that machine, I can free Dialga! I don't see pokeballs on any of the other grunts… Maybe I can shut off the machine without them harassing me with their pokemon? They'll probably tackle me down, though… But I think I can see the power switch from here. If I can just quickly turn it off, Dialga should have time to escape. If only N could help me with this… But I know he will have to finish the battle with the grunt which will take a little while.*

White stares deeply at where team plasma was working on their machine. They weren't paying attention to her, they thought she was useless. White was about to prove them wrong. She sprints across the temple, and the grunts at the machine notice. They aren't sure exactly what she was doing, and they start shouting at each other to stop her. Two grunts dive at her, trying to grab her. She narrowly dodges, and both grunts end up diving straight for the floor. She grins as she approaches the plasma machine, and there was a female grunt there waiting to stop her. White shoves her away, sending her falling to the ground. She quickly switches the power off on the machine, causing the yellow beam of light to cease, freeing Dialga.

"Plasma bastards." White whispers under her breath with a triumphant smirk.

Dialga roars, now being free from its restraints. It angrily opens its mouth, sending an intimidating dragon pulse in the direction of the plasma grunts. They narrowly dodge the pulse, screaming and running down the mountain with their tails between their legs. "Plasma retreat!" One of them shrieks as they all sprint down the mountain.

The grunt fighting N had just recalled his final pokemon after losing. He hisses in frustration. "No way in hell am I retreating! Ghetsis will have my head if he knows we failed again. He begins to desperately sprint back towards the plasma machine with the pointless hope of starting it back up again. N recalls his pokemon, then runs after the grunt and roughly grabs his wrist. "Stop! You've lost, so retreat! Why do you have to hurt innocent-"

His sentence is cut short as the angered grunt has suddenly pulled out a small knife, slicing up N's arm harshly. "You stay the hell out of my way." The grunt growls furiously, raking the weapon up a little farther up N's arm to prove his point. N falls to his knees in pain, whimpering as he holds his profusely bleeding upper arm. White screams for N, rushing to his side as Dialga roars, upset that its rescuers have been harmed. It sends out another dragon pulse, this time aiming for the plasma machine. The machine explodes and crumbles upon impact. The grunt swears under his breath, and takes a run for it, knowing that he had no chance of trying to draw power from Dialga without the plasma machine.

White wanted to chase after the grunt and give him a piece of her mind, but she was much more worried about N. He was currently on his knees, holding his wound on his upper arm. "N, are you okay?" She demands. N whimpers under his breath, the burning in his arm very hard to ignore. "It hurts a lot… But I'm okay..." He tries to stop his tears from flowing out, but a few escape from his blue eyes, rolling down his cheeks silently.

Her heart convulses as she sees N in pain. It made her want to cry too, and she wished she had been able to stop the grunt. However, it had all happened too fast for them to have done anything about it. She quickly brings out her bag, furiously digging through it to find her medical kit. She finds it, pulling it open and hastily setting it beside N.

She knew she was going to have to ask the impending question in order to treat him. Although it embarrassed her, N's health was obviously much more important. "N, it's going to be hard to bandage your upper arm with that sweater on. Can you please take it off so I can treat you?"

N was in too much pain to care what she did right now. He complies with her wishes, pulling off his black sweater with a wince as the fabric brushes against his wound. Although he was embarrassed for her to see him only partially clothed, he wanted relief from the pain. With his breathing labored and his vision a bit blurry, he holds out his arm in hopes White can soothe the pain. She gasps when she sees the amount of blood from his upper arm. Luckily, on further inspection, it seemed he wasn't going to need switches nor a hospital trip. He was just going to need a large bandage and a lot of medicine.

She takes out her bandage roll, applying some medicine onto it and gingerly rolls it around his large wound. She covers the wound, wincing as she notices the amount of blood soaking into the bandage. After wrapping it, she ties up the ends and securing it. She leans forward, kissing him on the cheek, hoping he would feel better. "There you go, N."

With the medicine applied, his arm was already beginning to feel a bit better. Her kiss upon his cheek had definitely made him feel better as well. He manages a small smile towards her as he reaches for his sweater. "Thank you, White."

"You're welcome. You're okay, right?"

He nods. "Thanks to you."

Secretly, White was a bit sad to see the sweater going back on him. She thought he looked good shirtless, and she found herself staring at his naked chest as he begins to pull the sweater over his head. N notices her stare upon his body and blush creeps onto his cheeks.

A loud stomp interrupts the two of them. Startled, the two look behind them. In the midst of the injury happening, they had both forgotten that Dialga was still there.

*I give my gratitude to you both for assisting me in this situation. Thank you.*

N smiles warmly at the large legendary pokemon. He turns to White, whispering a translation to her. "Dialga says thank you."

"You're welcome!" N and White both shout in unison. They look back at each other, amused that they had spoken the same words at the same time.

With a farewell roar, Dialga summons a portal and disappears inside. The portal closes behind it. N and White watch this scene unfold with wide eyes.

"Legendary pokemon really are amazing..." White whispers.

N grins, taking her smaller hand in his own. They had gotten quite comfortable holding hands, and now it felt like second nature to them. "I'm glad we were able to help Dialga." N says, looking towards where the portal Dialga used had been.

"I wish we could have taught those plasma bastards a lesson. But I was so worried about you, I let them get away..." White grumbles under her breath, cursing the plasma team again.

Guilt dawns upon N. "Sorry for getting hurt, White. Those grunts need to pay for what they have done."

White shakes her head, putting her hand upon his head and ruffling his green hair gently. "It's fine, N. I'm just glad you're okay."

After talking a bit more, the pair decided they should climb down the mountain and set up camp for the night, since the sun was beginning to set. By the time they had climbed down the mountain and exited the cave, it had already grown to nearly night time. The new route they had found had a bridge crossing a river, and they decided to set up their sleeping bags under the bridge for the night.

As N lays in his sleeping bag waiting for sleep to come, he notices White had her back to him, and she was slumped over with her arms seeming to be moving furiously. Curiosity overtakes him as he silently crawls out of his sleeping bag. He sneakily peers over her shoulder, incredibly curious as to what she was doing. She was currently writing in her journal.

"White, what's that?" N murmurs, resting his chin on her shoulder as he peers over to see what she was doing. His warm breath tickles her collar bone, and she gasps at his sudden closeness. Blush creeps upon her cheeks as she quickly closes the journal. "I'm writing a diary."

N's curiosity peaks as she quickly tucks away her diary. "A diary? Like an auto biography?"

"Well, I guess it's sort of a biography. I write about my day and my feelings in here, as well as my secrets."

His eyes sparkle. "Secrets? Can I read your journal, White?"

She crosses her arms, huffing. "No way! I have super secret things in there." She tucks her journal back in her bag, laying back down in her sleeping bag with a sigh.

*There's no way I'd let him see what's in my journal… That would be way too embarrassing…*

Disappointment consumes N as she puts her journal away. He had really wanted to see what was inside. After she said he couldn't look at it because of the secrets inside, he found himself wanting to look at it even more. He was curious about the inner workings of White's mind and he wanted to learn and understand more thing about her.

However, he decided he would respect her wishes. He lays down in his sleeping bag as well, pulling out his own Zorua doll that White had bought for him. He hugs it close as the pair both attempt to get some sleep. White had fallen asleep quickly, evident by her now heavy breathing. However, N found his mind being taken over by the thoughts of her journal.

After a while of tossing and turning, N sits up from his sleeping bag with a sigh. He wanted to respect White's wishes, but he really wanted to know what sort of secrets she had. As he sits up, he notices her pink journal poking out of her bag. With a bit of guilt, he gives into temptation and quietly grabs her journal, flipping it open with nervous hands.

*I'll just take a little peek…*

He flips through the various entries, turning it to a random entry, He begins to read, his heart pumping fast in nervousness. The entry date was a few months ago.

*Today I watched that new romantic comedy movie. These always make me so happy but also jealous of how cute their relationships are together. I really wish someone would carry me princess style in their arms like he did in the movie.*

N begins to think to himself, planning that he would surprise her by picking her up and carrying her princess style. He hoped it would make her happy. Although he knew he should put the journal back, he guilty finds himself flipping to a more recent entry, the one from the current date.

*Today N and I saved a legendary pokemon from team plasma. It was really crazy, and I thought we weren't gonna be able to do it. However, he was able to fight off the grunt and I was able to turn off the machine. But he got hurt! I was really worried that he was going to be very seriously injured, but luckily he didn't need stitches. The wound still looked very painful though. It made me really sad seeing him in pain… It made me want to cry. Ever since N and I have been traveling together, I've been so happy. He always brightens up my day because he is just so adorable and kind. I hope we can continue to travel together. He always makes me feel so nervous… I wonder if I'm starting to like him as more than a friend? That would be very embarrassing…*

N quickly shuts the diary, stuffing it back into her bag with his face flushed and his heart soaring. It made him feel so warm and fuzzy on the inside but also nervous.

*She feels the same way as me… She makes me nervous as well, and I love traveling with her. But, I think she is more kind than me. She is the kindest person I ever met… I'm lucky that she wants to be friends with me. But what did she mean that she likes me as more than a friend?*

As N lays back into his sleeping bag, he continues to ponder White's words from her journal as he slips into a deep sleep filled with dreams of her smile, her kisses on his cheek, and her fluffy hair.

Thanks for reading, guys! Please review and or comment, I love feedback! I read all comments and reviews, and I appreciate them a lot. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and please stay tuned for the next one!

#ferriswheelshipping #pokemon black and white #pokemon #hilda pokemon #trainer touko #trainer hilda #n x touko #touko pokemon #toukowhite #natural harmonia gropius #fanfic #fanfiction #romance

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metavanaj · 6 years ago

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‘Travis Strikes Again: No More Heroes’ | I’m not mad, just disappointed...

Hi, my name’s MetaVanAJ and you’re too late. Of late, I’ve been diving into Suda51’s return to the directorial seat, Travis Strikes Again: No More Heroes, for the Nintendo Switch. I don’t want to give my ‘pre-release story & thoughts’ because ultimately it didn’t impact my final feelings on the title. All you need to know is I entered the game with a fresh & positive mindset - I went in open minded, looking for a new experience and above all else...a Suda experience. I still got one so I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed. The recurring theme you’ll see in this article, and by extension the game, is that TSA gives but it also taketh away. But what is it giving and who is it giving to? And what does it take away from itself? Read on, little reader, read on. I wish it was as clear-cut as saying ‘TSA takes one step forward, two steps back’ but it isn’t. I’ll break it down for you and hopefully, you’ll see what I’m trying to communicate about the various elements of Travis Strikes Again: No More Heroes.

Combat

The meat of TSA is the beat ‘em up combat - I’d say it’s top down but occasionally, the camera likes to remember it’s a camera and it takes up a different/interesting angles, to frame the action. The majority of the time though, it remains in a birds eye view. To order my thoughts, I’ll be splitting up this section, in two: player character control, and enemy composition. The player can take control of series, lovable and hateable, Travis Touchdown & the newcomer with a grudge, Badman (with the DLC adding the two brilliant ladies of Bad Girl & Shinobu). The character’s moveset, for the most part, is incredibly well-designed. You have light and heavy attacks, a jump and a dodge. Light attacks are best for clearing mobs while heavies do the big damage. Unfortunately, they can’t be mixed and matched so you are best off finishing a string of light attacks with a couple of heavy hit. Your attacks can also be used in conjunction with your other moves, meaning you have access to a jumping heavy & light attack, as well as lunge move, inputted by rolling and then attacking. Holding down the L button gives you access to four pre-equipped skills, all of which correspond to a face button. When a special gauge is filled, you can vigorously smash that R button for a 3-hit super move, that does the big numbers and the big AOE. Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it? Well, it is - sadly, nothing really combos into anything but combat is more about keeping enemies trapped in a constant barrage relentless hitboxes than it is about ‘comboing’.

While you may have a fun, customisable toolset, the instances/encounters you can use it in are...unsatisfying. See, any good action game knows the toolset is only half the story; the other half being enemy composition. And oh boy, TSA’s enemy composition is flaccid. Enemies either go down in two hits, like total punks, or can take up to a solid minute of nothing but heavy attacks, to eat the digital dust. It begins to feel like a musou...that’s not a good thing. This ain’t no 1000 heartless fight from Kingdom Hearts II, bub. TSA’s mobs for 90% of its duration are mind-numbing and dull. I say 90% because in the 4th game, Golden Dragon GP (it’s the racing one), contextually it makes sense for it to feel ‘grindy’; as well as, in the latter half of the last ‘full’ game, Serious Moonlight, the game starts to demonstrate competency, with its enemy encounters. The only saving grace of the combat is the boss encounters. The only gripe I have, with those set encounters, being that their 2nd phase doesn’t differ enough from their first but hey, neither of the prior two games did this so it’s a mute point. I had fun with the bosses of TSA, but that’s about the extent to which I enjoyed fighting the enemies, in this title.

Level Design

I think it’s very easy to bash TSA’s level and so I will. I jest, of course, my beautiful reader. You see, a lot of the design philosophy from the series past has subliminally snuck into this title as well, thus I kind of have to forgive the often, sub-par level design. That and the game actually does showcase some promising elements; a running theme you might be starting to notice. The ‘puzzles’ contained in Life is Destroy (the 2nd game) is an interesting concept, but is never elaborated/expanded upon. The idea of Travis going through a Resi-style mansion (Coffee & Doughnuts, the 3rd game) in a more trippy-esque fashion sounds great, but isn’t executed in an engaging way. On some level, it’s not ok to attack TSA’s level design but had the level’s been, gosh I don’t know, somewhat interesting to traverse maybe it could of disguised the monotony found in the game’s combat. Its levels feel a whole lot like the past two NMH’s titles, and Killer Is Dead, so it’s exactly what you expect from another Grasshopper hack and slash. However, in the grand scheme of good game design, it’s got a long way to go before being considered decent.

Soundtrack

The soundtrack is a bit of a mixed bag. Most of it is a thumping techno assault to the ears, to match the cliche ‘ video game-y’ aesthetic of the game - whether or not, this is a good thing varies from track to track. Personally, I love the techno remix of the main NMH theme but I can see why others wouldn’t. Rarely does the game whip out a sensational track that completely juxtaposes its premise because when it does boy, is it beautiful. Probably, the best example of this is in Golden Dragon GP, when the track Cold Rice kicks in. It’s a beautiful sombre piece and it really highlights just what TSA’s OST can do...and this is just song about cold leftovers. I get that, like, on an emotional level. The soundtrack, like the game, is a little conceptually messy but occasionally, when it wants to it can deliver on something truly magical and unique.

Writing/Presentation

The highlight (and personally, the only redeeming factor) of TSA is the writing and how the story is presented. The visual novel segments are a quaint little way to tell the meaty sections of story and I adore them. These are a not-so-subtle throwback to Grasshopper’s early titles, like The Silver Case. The absolute absurdity of the sections makes them difficult to present in any other format than just that...a wall of text. There’s nothing with the way it has been executed that is inherently ‘wrong’ but it could have been done so in a more engaging manner. I would’ve loved to have seen a level try to encapsulate what occur in these visual novel segments, due to just how entertaining they are to read; this where the ‘Suda-ness’ of the game shines. Instead, we got an incredibly well written visual novel, accompanied by a lacklustre game; I wish it was the other way around. Oh well, the writing’s the best it has ever been, I guess.

Is this shit good?

SO that’s TSA...or at least the elements you should take into account when trying to sum up whether this strange little game is worth it. To summarise crudely, everything in TSA starts off as a promising concept, but is often sloppily done in execution. Ultimately, I can only recommend it to the Suda fans, not even NMH fans, as the cheeky amount of hidden fanfare and that brilliant writing is sure to bring a smile to anyone who believes in the big 51. Even so, still pick it up but only for a discount... just if you’re curious. It’s incredibly sad that the nicest thing I can say about a game, to the mainstream consumer, is that hey ‘at least it runs at 60FPS’. As a fan, I’m glad TSA happened but at the end of the experience, the actual ‘game’ in this video game left me feeling flaccid.

Did I just a end a review with a dick joke? Yes. Godspeed, reader...

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modernart2012 · 7 years ago

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An Arrow Can Only Be Shot Forward (Unless it's a Boomerang Arrow)

For @lostindarkplaces Happy belated birthday!

(At AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11445942)

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Katherine, called Kate. Kate was on the cusp of full adulthood when she met a man who would change her life, but only after she had knocked his around too. They met in a war, when he was running and she was just trying to be a hero. He gave her his nom de guerre to use, because she embodied everything he tried to be as a hero. She was worthy and so he dubbed her “Hawkeye”. After, when the war was over and they were both heroes using the name Hawkeye, they were friends and equals. Which isn't quite right, because he was an Unmitigated Disaster and she was Not As Much of A Disaster but still Equal. This isn't that story, though, because frankly, they got up to (Mis)Adventures and those were WILD.

”Clint, boomerang arrow. Why?”

Clint looked up from where he was fiddling with the eponymous boomerang arrow. He signed, grinning, “Kate, I think I figured out how to fix the boomerang arrow!” He waved the arrow around by the shaft.

Kate, having learned from the last time(s) there were boomerang arrows around backed away a (possibly) safe distance (read, an arms length away). She signed back, “Clint wear your hearing aids, F-F-S.”

Clint frowned, “Can't. Stark has them because I keep hearing this high pitched squealing.”

Kate stared at him, unamused, “Dot. Dot. Dot. Like, maybe the squeal of a metal tire rim against wooden floors?”

Clint stared, then squinted, “Did you just sign ‘Dot. Dot. Dot.’?”

“That's what you focus on, not the fact Lucky’s been chewing on a tire rim?! T-E-T-N-U-S!!!” Kate threw up her hands in defeat.

Clint gesticulated back, “I thought that was a random but specific example! Nat does that a lot!”

Now, the thing is, the Hawkeyes are remarkably remarkably human. When your normal standard is machines, robots, super-powered individuals (of various varieties) and Gods and Creatures of Legend and Myth, not to mention plain old aliens, the fact that they're just human is easily forgotten. By which, you should understand that they are prone to forgetting nearby hazards such as (but not limited to): a one-eyed dog dragging around its latest chew toy (a SUVs metal tire rim, slightly rusted), a half-full coffee cup (cold and from last night) precariously placed on the edge of Clint's fletching bench, and most importantly a half fiddled with boomerang arrow.

Which brings us to the salient event: Kate signs sloppily and wildly to which Clint reacts by signing back sloppily, and in doing so waves the boomerang arrow right in front of Lucky, who for all his intelligence is still just a dog, and who then leaps for the arrow. Kate reacts by trying to catch Lucky by the collar (ineffectively), but they all still end up knocking into a surprised Clint (still holding a boomerang arrow). They all go falling back, and instead of landing on Clint's fletching bench, they land in well-manicured gardens.

(Elsewhere, in a rather worn apartment in BedStuy a mug of coffee spins and falls to the floor, shattering. There is no one there to mourn the loss.)

Kate would like to have it formally On Record that she Stuck the Landing, thank you very much. A perfect front tuck and roll, textbook if anything. Kate wants this On Record because it is Quantifiable Proof that she is the Better Hawkeye, and it is Irrefutable. Mainly because while Clint also Stuck the Landing, he did so in a topiary. A very nice topiary, but still. It has A Hawkeye stuck in it and that is Problematic. (It also has a Lucky stuck in the topiary, but that’s less of a problem because the dog gets himself unstuck after a bit of wriggling. Clint, however, does not.)

Kate is thankful Clint can’t see her, because it means she can keep up a running commentary while extracting Hawkeye from a shrub and not get any lip back, “F-F-S, Hawkeye, can you ever not do things like this? First with the War and the dead, then the dog, and the building, and the whole Bros thing, and then the kids, and more kids, and the War and more dead - do I have to go on? I mean, honestly, where’s the Hawkeye who bluffed a God? Where’s that Hawkeye?” She planted her foot on the body of the shrub and tugged backwards, hands fisted in Clint’s tactical vest, “Though, the Time with Santa was awesome- we took out Santa. He is plausibly a villain, and we just roasted him. Definitely ranks on the list of escapades. Why don’t we have more of those adventures?” She pauses to reset her foot more securely, “And another thing - we are cutting you off from the pizza when we get back, oh my Gods. We will invest in cooking classes and exercise proper nutrition -”

Kate would like to preemptively deny any and all accusations that she squeaked when Clint finally was removed from the shrub. She would also like to deny that she shrieked at the mass of well dressed people staring at them from the gravel path. Neither of those two events happened. At all. There is no evidence, you cannot prove anything. There are not witnesses.

The crowd of people don’t count.

Of course this is all moot by the fact that Clint climbs back to his feet, smiles broadly, and exclaims, “Hello!” The crowd stares back blankly, a few awkwardly smiling back. The general atmosphere is uncomfortable as the group stares and Clint (plus Kate who fails to take over about the time Clint starts beaming because that always promises shenanigans, for which she will never forgive herself) stare back. When it becomes clearly apparent that Clint isn’t going to do squat to salvage the situation, Kate steps forth to offer, “We’re Hawkeye. Sorry about your topiary.”

This does not stop the strange and uncomfortable looks pointed their way; a man with a massive, dark, curly wig addresses the (slightly, it’s really not much, but still) less ornately dressed man next to him, “Qu'est ce qu'elle dit?”

The second man stiffly clears his throat, before responding, “Je vous demande pardon, Majesté, je ne le sais pas. Ça ressemble à ... Anglais?

For once in her life Kate is thankful to the sodden sack of shit that is her biological father for forcing her to take French lessons. She turns to Clint and signs, “Aw, flèche Boomerang, non.”

In all fairness, the subsequent chase was less of a premeditated and agreed upon event and more of a ‘Oh-look-one-of-those-tiny-fluffy-rat-dogs-just-started-barking-at-Lucky-and-then-took-off-Oh-hells-Lucky-chased-the-damn-dog-come-back-dog-oh-shit-they’ve-sent-mens-after-us-oh-Gods-run-for-your-life-catch-that-dog-not-the-other-one-shit-twat-dodge-zig-zag-serpentine-jump-run-run-reindeer-Clint-this-is-not-the-time-to-sign-Christmas-songs-aggggggghk!’ (The last bit was from toppling into a fountain. Everyone has those days, okay. No judgement.)

Though honestly, the full 5 minute chase was delightfully full of highlights - trampling on the back of ladies dresses (who in their right mind had a cape built into their dress?!) and jerking them backwards or straight to the floor, yelling (lots of French, Kate was learning lots of curses and was looking forward to the next opportune moment to use them), toppling some poor person headfirst through a door in a highly mirrored hall, and knocking over a latrine and the unfortunate soul perched on said latrine. It also became increasingly apparent, during these 5 minutes, that they were in fact in Versailles. America had taken Kate once, and certain things sort of stuck with you. Like the amount of gold. And the highly mirrored hall. (Not the latrines. Those were new old.)

Of course, none of this really registered until about the time both Hawkeyes and dogs were cornered in a particularly elaborate bedroom, complete with guardrail. While it was ever increasingly apparent that the uniformed men were not well trained soldiers and either Clint or Kate could probably take them blindfolded and without coffee, these sort of altercations tended not to happen in historic monuments without a Good Reason. Or a Billy or Wanda or Strange On Hand, in that order of preference. Which would have been all well and good, had some enterprising fool not taken their cornering as an opportunity to whack both Hawkeyes over the head with something heavy. (Kate would like to have it on record that her last coherent thought was, “How Rude.” This is, somehow, Incredibly Historically Important and Need to Be Recorded for Posterity.)

Kate wakes up in a Cloud of Perfume and Lace. No, like literally. She is being sprayed down by perfume and the lace frills on the ladies spraying her down tickled her nose enough to wake her in annoyance.

“Hey, hey - what -” She struggles up off the divan, suddenly in a only shift over her undergarments, only to have a sweet cake stuffed into her mouth by one of the many hands in the cloud surrounding her. It’s delightfully cakey, and chocolatey, but too much for her cake-hole and difficult to chew and swallow politely. By then it was entirely too late and she was half in some Gods Cursed contraption, some thing with lacing being yanked on and another apparatus that looked more like it belonged in a dungeon than in the ornate room Kate was presently in.

“Wait, what - hang on, that’s not - oh come on, ack - ow, what is this?!” Another strong tug of the lacing thing and Kate yelped harder. “Torture is not legal under the Geneva Convention you know!”

Not that it helped any, all the women kept fluttering like so many silk-clothed butterflies, except one who sharply rapped Kate on the wrist with a fan, “Mademoiselle, eef you keep wreeggling wee weel neveer get you drezzed en tiime to meet with zee King.” The lady paused, “ Marie, laisse ses vêtements seuls. Le pourpre n'est pas votre couleur, et vous êtes entièrement trop gros.”

Kate caught that, “OI, MARIE, GET OUT OF MY COSTUME!” She twisted hard away from the woman with the pins and the triangular piece of cloth, only to get caught by a woman who pulled a mass of (still, thankfully purple) cloth over her head and then stuck with one of the pins. “Fils de Pute!”

“Oh, you speeak ze French? Tres bien!”

“Non, non, non my French is horrible!” Another cake was thrust into her mouth. “Where is my belt?!” It wasn’t with her jumpsuit; Nat was going to kill her for losing her utility belt, especially with a taser in Versailles. Old Versailles. Pre-World War Versailles. Carnie Gods above, what if someone set it off? Talk about a security nightmare!

“Ze, ceinture, comment dites-vous….? Ze ceinture, eet weel bee reeturned lateer. For now, ze clothes. Quelle scandale, une fille qui court dans un pantalon!”

Truth be told, the subsequent attempts to run away were often thwarted by liberal application of cake to face, which Kate did attempt to protest, “Eating cake is going to get people dead!” Or sharp swats by the lady with the fan, whom everyone paid attention to, and was also the only one who seemed to know some English, however accented, and also seemed to be some ancestor of Nat or Director Hill because She Always Got Her Way. Only, instead of Her Way being World Domination and Complete Authority of Humanity As We Know It, her way was decidedly getting Kate into a massive purple outfit covered in embroidery and sparkled more than a debutante coming out party. Did Kate fail to mention it was hard to walk? It was hard to walk. The draping at the back did not help, not to mention the massive panniers and her hair. Kate was going to have a Time getting her hair Sorted back home, she could already tell.

The only plus side was that Kate found at least 45 different places to hide weapons in her monstrosity of an outfit, not counting the hair. Maybe Nat was right about ball gowns being walking armories? It didn’t really matter at present, because she was without her belt, bow, and quiver, but Thoughts, Kate was Having Them. If she could just get her weapons and belt, she and Clint could break out of this place and make a run for it with adequate protection.

The room they are herded to is by any modern standard lavish, almost to the point of distaste. The rest of the ladies wait outside, but Kate is pushed through the doors and almost entirely into Clint. Which is good, because at least he’s not causing a Disaster somewhere where Kate can’t keep an eye on him, but sucks, because he doesn’t have her stuff, which included their back up bows and quivers. It also sucks, because the whole place seems to be wanting to blind people with wealth. Every available solid surface is decorated in bright gold, and the walls and furniture are draped in damask, brocade, and velvet. Including, and certainly not limited to, both Hawkeyes, who are positively chafing under their sartorial gifts.

“No wonder the lot of them lost their heads,” Kate signs to Clint, who per usual, isn’t really paying attention.

“This has to be the best detention cell I’ve ever been in!” Clint signs excitedly to Kate, from where he’s been examining the massive painting mounted on the wall. The far corner, filled with 3 guards, a priest, and a nun, dissolves into whispers, and Kate breaks out her (admittedly rusty) French with her best glare from his side, “Il n'est pas un magicien diabolique, il est sourd.”

This does not abate the whispers, but given that they are no longer talking about trying them for witchcraft, probably, Kate lets them be. Also because Clint is signing to her about guard patterns and she needs to pay attention - Clint keeps throwing in commentary about how sloppy the fortifications are and it’s hard to parse where the actual information is and where the commentary is due to the lack of punctuation and intonation.

They both get jolted out of their collusion on how to break out of the worst defended prison in the world, oh my Gods, this is going to be a cakewalk by the sudden stillness of the cadre to their right. The whole bunch have bowed, and our intrepid Hawkeyes spin around to face the same man with the largest curliest wig known to the rest of humanity. The man next to him is completely different from before, but the lady whom was getting Kate dressed is there, and Kate Loses All Hope. Of What, Precisely, is uncertain, but She Loses it and Loses it Hard. (There is no way, her subconscious supplies, that this isn’t going to end in an explosion. It’s the way these Things always End. It’s practically a Law of the Universe, or barring that, a Law of Hawkeye-hood. Hawkeye-ism? Hawkeye being? Hawkeye Existence? Watchful Eyes of Luck and Fortune, apparently she does need to take that higher level philosophy class, even though it’s not required for her major. )

It takes a long moment, but the gentleman previously established to be a King, gestured at the stools placed by the table. “Pleaze, sit sit.” A second gesture and servants bustled in bringing a steaming teapot and small cakes and other such items. Just as quickly as they came, they were gone, though Kate didn’t notice because Clint was wearing his gleeful evil smile and the last time he had done that was before the dog chase and Kate could only presume that meant he was aiming for Socially Unacceptable Awkwardness in the name of …. Science? General Chaos? A Larger Plan that Kate wasn’t Yet Aware of? Kate stares at a point somewhere around the woman’s shoulder, her wits slipping past her. Lucky panted at her heels, freshly cleaned and neck sparkling with a diamond collar that looked like it belonged on a Queen rather than a dog. Still it was comforting to have her dog. At least the dog didn’t fail to follow species conventional rules at random, unlike someone else.

She only comes to when she notices everyone staring. The King takes a pointed, yet condescending sip of his drink, nonchalant. Clint’s still smiling that slightly manic smile and Kate feels the despair begin eating at her again.

The gentleman who is not the King clears his throat, “Monsieur, Mademoiselle, youu aree iin ze prezenze of Hiis Majeesty, ze Kiing Louis XV. Hiis Majeesty haz zome queztiionz for youu, and wee wouuld greeatly appreciiate eef youu wouuld anzer zem. Comprenez vous?”

Kate exchanges a pointed glance with Clint, who just grins harder and Kate can feel her lifespan shorten dramatically. The man continued, “ I aam le Duc du Fronsac*, and I weel translate for youu aand foor ze King aas weel.” He shuffled his legs on his stool, “ Youu mustt eemaginee zhat yourr … appeerrance in ze garrden waz …. Uuneexpeected. We eexamiineed yourr appareil, whiich waz perfecctly cleear in zhat youu aree Engliz, zhough what zhis appareil eez, wee aree not zurre. What wee wouuld likee too knoow eez whaat youu aree dooing ‘eree in ourr beloved Versailles.”

Kate stares at the delicate teapot, and then into her still full cup of chocolate. She could drown Clint in that much chocolate right? Nat said something about only needing three inches, but Kate had been concussed and wasn’t sure if that was the minimum length of a stilletto knife to kill a man or the amount of water to drown a man. Clint waves frantically to get her attention. Kate Has So Many Regrets.

“So we’re from the future! Not that frogs need to know exactly when from, they don’t even have heliocentrism down as a scientific fact!”

“Greetings, Your Majesty, Duke, Madame. I am Katherine Bishop. My… mentor, Monsieur Clinton Barton, says that we are not from here and that this has been an unfortunate event caused by Science practiced by those uneducated in its practice.” Kate speaks carefully - Bruce and Jane have both regularly give seminars and review seminars on Time Paradoxes and How to Avoid Causing Them, Kate has religiously attended and taken notes okay. She is Prepared.

She lets Duc du Fronsac translate, listen, then respond, “Wee arre preepareed too acceept zhis, yourr appareil makeez eet verry oobvioouz zhat youu ‘aave ze, ‘oow doo youu zay… eet eez cleaar youu aree noot off zhis … timee.”

Kate groans internally, “Monsieur Barton and I are very glad that you have … extended us such faith over such … unbelievable news.”

“In any case, this stuck up dickwad took the boomerang arrow and that’s gonna cause problems. Tell them that under no circumstances are they to touch it. Hell, they shouldn’t even breathe on it. They’re gonna blow something up and then Nat will glare and Steve will do his disappointed face and Tony will cackle and Tony isn’t allowed to cackle. He sounds deranged.”

“Monsieur Barton would like to express his… concern over the technology that made us arrive here. He believes it is still in your possession and that it could pose a great risk to the empire of France and her people due to its dangerousness.”

The Duc frowns, and relays that to the King, who whispers back in less urgent tones. “‘ees Majeesty wouuld liike to say zhat zhere ees no need too woorree, ourr finezt scieentific minds aree handeling yourr teechnologee. ‘ee eez verry eenterezted een zhe taalking deevice.”

Kate and Clint both went deadly still at the same time. They’d been messing with their phones? Had the unauthorized opening attempts set off the security measures? “Aww, phone noo. I just took new photos of Lucky on that! How else am I supposed to rig the SHIELD cutest pet lottery?”

“Ze fleche, zhat eez an eenterezting deezign, non? Noo onne caan geet eet too woork.” He put down the fine bone china on the low table, then picked up the teapot and gestured at Kate in the universally understood language of ‘shall I pour you some more?’ This must have been one of those situations Nat talked about, where you have to understand that your captor (thinks, but that’s only ever true in Nat’s case) has you in a corner and you have to comply in order to (hopefully) get more information out of them. Carefully, she leans forward to let the Duc fill her cup, trying not to let the way the Duc and King watch her chest un-nerve her.

The Lady interrupts, “Mademoiselle, doo noot bee soo aalarmed. Wee aree seemplee eenterested een yourr knoowledgee.” That in fact, does not help the alarm, but rather alarms Kate further. No one is ever “just interested” in knowledge, not unless they had ulterior motives.

The Duc continues as if he does not note Kate’s stillness or the vicious edge to Clint’s unfaltering grin. “Le Madame eez correct. Wee arre simplee … curious, non? ‘armless.”

Kate cannot bite her tongue any longer, “You know what they say about curiosity.” And there’s the famous Hawkeye need to talk. Lucky, from beside her barks.

The King rejoiners, “Aah, but ze satisfaction, az you say, it brings ze cat back.” He waves off the Duc, “Youu steel havee not spoken of ze waay youu arrived ‘eere.”

The Duc looks (falsely, the frou-frou futz-stick isn’t even trying to fake well) appalled, “Majjesty! Zhey were jjust abouut too saay, oui? Teel uz, ze eventz zhat led youu ‘eere?”

Clint smiles harder and Kate can feel a migraine building - Clint only ever looks so delighted when he has Plans. Last time he looked like that he punched a Doombot in the face. With a boxing glove arrow. “Well, what do they want to know?” Clint pauses, then lights up like Tony at Christmas, “Katie-Kate, my favoritest Hawkeye, help me Do the Thing?” He then clearly signals for “Just remember if we’re caught, I’m deaf and you don’t speak English.”

Kate signs back, “Clint, we’re already caught, you are deaf, and we both speak English!” She pauses, “And I don’t think that plan works when people already know all three of those things!”

Clint signs back, suspiciously gleeful, “Which is why they’ll never suspect! How ludacris do you think we can get? How many ‘Yeah!’ references do you think I can fit in?”

“Clint, this is not what Nat meant when she said to give interrogators hell. They could cut our heads off! And ‘Yeah!’ is by Usher!”

“Eez zhere a prroblem?” La Madame taps her fan against her knee.

“No, there’s no problem! None at all. There’s just… a lot that happened. And neither of us … agrees when to start.”

“Zhen just start. ‘ees Majjesty eez verry buizee, afterr alll.”

“Oh come on Kate!” Clint signs. “When else are we going to get a chance to jerk around a King? T’Challa won’t even blink an eye anymore!”

“Monsieur Barton is in full agreement with this. We just need a moment to agree on the start?”

“But of courze.” The King sat back on his armchair and nibbled at a small cake.

“Okay, obviously we have to start with the the carnival. There was a carnival that was coming down, and word of mouth had let me know. So we had to check it out. It was a pretty poor carnival, let me tell you; it takes a Carnie to know a good carnival from a bad one.”

“A traveling entertainment group came by our… town. We are the primary law-keepers of our town, and because of the size we had to supervise the event.”

“Bien sûr. One must enforce the law, especially during such times.” The Duc nodded. Okay, so they were definitely still in the clear for beheading. No one was meeting a guillotine today. Unless guillotines weren’t invented yet? When were guillotines invented? Kate cut herself off. She still had Clint Wrangling to complete.

“The duck shooting stall was okay though, perfectly fine for civilians. Obviously, you and I were smoking the place out. Then I noticed the Dagger-thrower giving me the Stink Eye.Totally full on, no remorse, no blinking. Every Carnie knows you don’t go Full on Stink Eye unless you want to start Something. So he started it, got up in my face and said I was a pathetic sharpshooter and that I was a Disgrace.”

“There was a bit of trouble by the target shooting booth.” If Kate wasn’t completely and utterly sure Clint was making this up on the fly, she almost would have believed it.

The King interjected, “Quite ze lot of gesturez for a bit of trouuble?”

“Your Majesty, if I believed you needed the … finer points of what occurred to start the trouble, then I would most certainly tell you. However, if you must know, one man had too much ale and called another man’s mother - ” Kate spread her hands and did her best to project innocence.

The King winced, “Ah, in zat caze, continuee.”

“Oh, are you going off script? In which case, King Lou here is a total lackwit. Ruining the monarchy and all that. Has no one told him eating cake is going to get people killed? Heads will roll. Oh, hey, bread pun!”

“It seems that at some point during that trouble, there was a sinkhole.” Kate pauses and considers the blank faces. “When the ground suddenly collapses.”

Enlightenment dawns. “Ah, que horrible.” Madame exclaims.

“Since we were trying to quell the fight, we fell as well. There was a secret laboratory, and the fight hadn’t stopped - drunkards, you know - and we were pushed into something which brought us here. That’s all we know.”

The Duc only sighs. “Zis doez not address ‘oow youu got here. Buut timeez muzt ‘ave chaanged foor woomeen to bee offeecerz of ze law. Arre zer noo otheer men?”

Clint was suitably offended. “Kate, tell Dick du Fondlesac to go jump in a flaming barricade if he thinks we know how the hell a boomerang arrow works. And while you’re at it, inform that sleezeball of a King to quit staring at you chest.”

“Did you just call him Dick of Fondlesac?”

“I don’t really remember his actual name… And he’s being a dick.”

“That doesn’t make things better!”

The Madame interrupts, “Eet doees noot seem az eef youu knoow of ze deetailz beehind ze eevent. Purrhhaps zhen wee shhouuld deescuz zhis, zhen deecide, non?”

The King rises, “Zhis eez ze bezt plan. Youu may await Ouur verrdict wherreverr youu pleaz.” The nobles sweep out of the room, the King with the Madame in emerald trailing after and the Duc bowing out after.

Clint squints after them. “Boo, I didn’t even get to punch out Dick of Fiddlestick.” Lucky barks, seemingly in agreement. Kate sighs.

“Mademoiselle Bis’op, bonjour.”

Kate would like to Update the Record in order to categorically deny that a flamboyant man in heels on marble floor snuck up on her ever. It did not happen, there are less witnesses than with the garden. Of course, her stupid trained debutante muscles flex and she sinks into something vaguely resembling a curtsey. Though, she’s glad the King is here and not elsewhere, because Clint is currently climbing the outside of the palace after they’ve successfully eavesdropped on some guards about where their stuff is. “Bonjour, Your Majesty.”

“Ah, please, rize.” He extends his hand and grasps her fingertips, holding them a waist height away from their bodies. “I am verry glad zhat I fouund youu. Wee deed noot geet muuch chaance too speak beefore. Tell me, wwheere aree youu frrom?”

“Ah, from what you would know as the colonies, Your Majesty.”

“Ze coloniez? Zer aree verry manyy of zhem; wwheech one?” The King strolled slowly, as if the herd of courtiers trailing behind him weren’t there.

“Mmm, a British colony Majesty. I’m quite sure the details thereof aren’t in your interest.”

“Aaaah, but zhere youu arre wrrong. Eef ze coloniez ‘ave such beautiez such as youu, zhen I believee eet eez verry much myy eenterest to knoww.” His gaze flicked over the front of Kate again, and she immediately wished she could punch him in the face. Repeatedly. With a knife. Through each eye socket.

The King was (unfortunately) saved from grievous bodily injury and Kate from having her head chopped off for causing said grievous bodily injury by the admittedly questionably executed call of a peacock, and screaming. Plus French cursing for good measure.

Kate, taking her cue, dove through the windows, just in time to slam on top of the carriage racing past. Lucky barked at her from within the cab of the carriage, clearly alarmed as she forced her way through the too tiny window - she could hear the damned panniers ripping and breaking, but she could not care less, this is why her normal jumpsuit was formfitting for Lucks sake.

Clearly, Clint had done his job well for once, with their gear neatly stowed on the plush seat. The Arrow Alarm was already up and pulsing with the activated alarm, so she ignored it in favor of undoing the transdimensional pouch with her spare energy bow. She checked out the window, then pulled Lucky to the floor and crouched over him, just in time to weather the massive crash through the gate.

Just in time for a volley of gunshot to punch into the back of the carriage. Kate leaned out to yell at Clint, praying he had taken the time to put in his spare hearing aids, “Hawkeye, can we get this thing moving a little faster?” She then leaned back and sent off three energy arrows into the chests of the pursuing mounted guards. They fall off, foundering the men behind them and sending horses skittering and careening into a mosh pit of panic and trampling, but there’s still pursuing guards coming up fast which can only mean one thing. She bangs twice on the roof, “Clint, I’ve got a Plan.”

She vaguely hears Clint swear, and call back “Hawkeye, your Plans suck!” as the carriage bumps and jolts and outright races through the bumps and twists of the path.

Kate straightens her posture and thinks of the Battle of the Nile, of the Orient and the 10 minutes of confusion. She pulls back her bow, lets the plasma thrum and churn and get hotter and hotter as it builds up potential energy, until the skin on the side of her face is probably really truely burned. Then she carefully aims, and with the exhale lets go.

The Resultant Explosion sends a shockwave through the chasing men, leaving the only noise the shake and rattle of the carriage. Clint slows the lathered horses, working his jaw against the ringing in his ears, “Kate, why do we always have explosions. I’m already deaf, this is going to leave me more deaf.”

Kate climbs out of the carriage cab window again to slip in beside Clint on the driver’s seat. “Maybe we need to step up on offering The Good Stuff to your Carnie Gods?” The Alarm buzzed faintly in her hand, indicating that they were headed up on the extraction point.

“Do you think they’ll like scones? Or will they need something more?”

Kate shrugged, “Who knows. Wanna empirically test it?”

Clint grimaces, “The Neighborhood Association will have to sign off on it.”

So that’s a no then. That’s fine, cause She’s Hawkeye, and the Rules Don’t Really Apply to Hawkeyes for Some Unknown Reason. Murphy’s Law or something, they’ll figure it out eventually. Until then maybe being Kate Bishop, Hawkeye and Going On (Strictly Ill-Advised) (Mis) Adventures with (and without) her fellow Hawkeye would be enough.

Afterwards:

“Princess, I have never seen you look so fancy.” America whistled lowly from the portal. “What do I have to do to get me some Fancy Clothes like that.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU MIGHT HAVE BLOWN UP VERSAILLES?!” Steve bellowed from the distance.

“Eh, it’s a long story….” said Hawkeye.

#art writes #for lost #i'm so sorry #dumpster fire #crack dumpster fire #disaster fic #i did the thing #I have so many regrets #asjdfhaldhflahlfd

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zolzhin · 8 years ago

Text

War For Peace (SWToR)

A story I wrote based on the character of Mara-sur, whom I created as a Sith Cyborg Operative. I did not get to explore her character much but I did write several of her adventures. If I get a couple of likes on it, I'll post more of her stories.

Enjoy!

The Balmorran sun rose hot in the sky, dissipating the morning mist which clung to the land. The Imperial lines, strategically placed to make use of the shade of the nearby mountains continued to cling to a dawn twilight, while the Republic position was already fully exposed to the punishing sun. The No Man's Land between the two position suffered the worst of the heat, the lack of cover or shade leaving waves of eddying heat across its battle torn environs. Destroyed walkers, vehicles and the bodies of many loyal Imperials and Republic soldiers lay where they fell, their own side unwilling to risk more lives in the recovery.

Between the two positions were also the remnants of old positions. Trenches dug my Republic defenders and foxholes blown into the earth by Imperial heavy weaponry. In all the terrain could not have been worse for culminating a final assault. The Republic dared not attack the tactically superior forces of the Imperials, while the Imperials could not match the sheer numbers of soldiers of the Republic opposition forces. Militia and grunts could not stand before the Imperial war machine, but they could stall it long enough to win a battle of attrition.

Yet even so, the word went out from captains to sergeants to privates along the Imperial line. An assault was coming. Sith Apprentices were moving forward to bolster the assault, alongside a small command of Special Forces. As the morning sun continued to rise, the Imperial beast was rousing. Massive volleys of artillery were already falling along the Republic lines, more to keep their heads down than to do any real damage. They were too entrenched to be pulled out except by brute force.

The Imperial lines teemed as they prepared for the assault. Weapons were checked, armor strapped tight to the body, helmet sensors calibrated. It was a dance of war, and every man added his own step. As the trenches flooded with grunts, Sith warriors and the more enigmatic Inquisitors began to filter amongst the ranks. Some moved without speaking to the rank and file, focused wholly on the bloodshed to come. Some hectored and lashed out at the rank and file, warning of dire consequences for cowardice and failure. Still fewer Sith who knew well that breeding resentment amongst their ranks would only endanger their lives promised wealth and power to those who acquitted themselves well, giving purpose and zeal to those who might have lacked it.

The first charges and volleys were a test, blaster bolts flying into the No Man's Land to hope a lucky shot or to rouse the massive waves of Republic aligned soldiers. Yet the Jedi in command of the defensive lines were not so foolish to waste their people. No, they would hold them until the true charge began. Then they would mire the Imperial forces in a wall of flesh, forcing a stalemate. The charge came suddenly, as the rank and file of the Imperials was pushed forward by their Sith and Army commanders. With a roar like a great monster crying defiance, they boiled out of their lines and into No Man's Land in a desperate run for the old trench works. Moments later the massive ragtag army of the Republic charged to take their own place in the torn landscape, laying down withering fire at the Imperials who dared the temerity of a frontal assault.

Out of the harsh lighted sky a drop ship roared over the mountains, keeping low to the terrain at top speed. The pilot must have been daring or mad, as he dodged Imperials turret towers and building by the narrowest margins. As it blazed above the Imperial Army, a cheer was roused from the ranks. The Sith didn't seem to care of course, but the emblems on the bottom of the shuttle were enough to raise morale. The Special Operations teams were landing.

Air brakes screamed and the drop ship flipped on its horizontal axis in a maneuver that might have sheared a lesser ship in half from the titanic air pressure and g-forces placed upon it. Now with its bay doors facing the Republic lines, it opened its cargo hold, disgorging its content to the ground below. Commandos jumped to the ground below, eschewing grapple lines or ramps. The moment their boots hit dirt they moved forward into the cover rich landscape before them.

Mara-sur was the last to leave the ship

Her steps were light and calculated as she hit the dirt. Dressed in black armor of a carapace design she moved like a shadow into the trenches, her rifle held tight in her gloved grip. Unlike the rest of the commandos she had no real objective. Her only orders were to cause as much turmoil and chaos as she could. She had accepted the mission with her trademark lack of response, simply accepting her duty without comment. As she moved from low trenches to pieces of heavy cover she made sure to minimize the target she gave to the enemy as well as minimized the amount of time she was seen. In this moment, it was important to not be seen until she began her task.

An explosion nearby caused her to jump behind a crashed hover tank, taking refuge as she took stock of the overall situation. The explosion had been an Imperial droid, probably used as a distraction being hit by a missile. She ran a gloved hand through her hair, suddenly mindful of the sting of sweat on the implants of her face. She stuck her head out from cover, to see how far she would have to dash without cover to make it to the next place of safety.

A blazing hot bolt of power hit the hover tank right next to her face, causing her to stumble back and into cover. It was a sniper no doubt, having probably been tracking her movements since she got off the drop ship. She reached into one of her belt pouches, drawing out a smoke canister. She pulled the pin with her teeth and rolled it into the land beyond her hard cover. The pall of smoke rose quickly blanketing her surrounding area in a dense smog.

With cover made she rushed out and forward following her instincts instead of her eyes to keep her footing sure during the mad run. Inaccurate fire lanced through the clouds of smoke, peppering the landscape all around her. She simply lowered her head and kept charging, hoping to speed and skill to get her through alive.

She was suddenly out of the bank of smoke and seemingly on the edge of the very trenches of the Republic forces. Without hesitation she dropped down into the trench-line, priming her rifle with practiced ease. She stalked down the trench, and fired at any enemy she saw. Unaware that someone had made it through No Man's Land they had barely the time to react. The action of killing was casual for her, without the joy and glee of the Sith warriors. She killed because it was her job, not because she enjoyed it.

Further along the line of trenches she ambushed a trio of Balmorran militia, their dirty civilian clothing a marked difference from the armor of the true Republic soldiers. She gunned down the first without a moment's hesitation, the second turning just quick enough to bring his gun to bare. She was close enough to knock the gun aside with her left hand executing a swift sweep as she did so, taking the man's legs out from under him. She delivered the coup' d' grace with the stock of her rifle, smashing the man's face in.

That left the last one, who dropped his weapon in terror. He fell to his knees, and for the next short moments begged for his life. He mentioned family, kids, and anything else he could think of to engender sympathy. She stared at him for several heartbeats, before mouthing the words “I'm sorry” and shooting him in the chest. With a sigh she moved off, leaving the dead behind.

With the element of her surprise lost, the only thing she could do now was to infiltrate as much as she could and cause as much damage as possible. She activated the special arrays on her armor, causing her form to shimmer and her lines to break up. The minor cloaking device was only useful if she was incredibly careful, but it would allow her to pass those distracted by the war before them.

Sliding over the lip of the trench she crawled her way deeper into the enemy lines. Men ran about her form unknowing that she lay only inches away. Mud and grim coated her armor and her face as she crawled through the muck, but she didn't seem to notice. This was just a part of the job, and a hot shower would perk her up once she was relieved to return to her spartan barracks room. She paused to catch her breath for a moment, laying prone in the dirt her rifle still locked in her grasp. Her outline would be hard to see against the earth, but she knew she couldn't remain for long. She had to find a target of opportunity, something that would help put a dent in the defensive morale. She found what she was looking for fifty yards away from her position, half-hidden behind an outcropping of rocks.

She found a Jedi. The robed figure of a Twi'lek Jedi stood alone, speaking into a headset. Obviously he was directing and encouraging some portion of the line. Jedi in and of themselves were considered high value targets, not to mention those leading dissident groups. She licked her lips, as if savoring the concept of a meal. This would be a glorious kill. She checked to ensure her pistol was strapped firmly to her thigh and that her long bladed knife was also still at her belt. There could be no mistakes, Jedi were not easy to surprise.

She crawled up onto her knees, unmindful of the dirt and grime that coated her front. Her cloaking field remained active, hiding her from sight. With the swift grace of a cat she prowled forward, her eyes locked on the target sights of her rifle, trying to get a clear shot. Every step was calculated to make no noise, ever movement was judged to not let armor or leather creak. She exhaled deeply, releasing all the breath in her lungs as she sighted at the Jedi. Between the beating of her heart she could feel the microsecond of perfect stillness required for precision shots. In the fifth microsecond of stillness she fired.

Yet Jedi were skilled in many arts. Perhaps it was precognition, perhaps his reflexes were just that good. Because before the superheated bolt could strike him, his saber was out and spinning deflecting the shot away. Without a word he jumped towards her, his green blade humming, his robes fluttering around him. She fired twice before he landed but it did no good, he deflected both shots in mid-air.

He landed short feet from her, as her cloaking field died away. It was quite the contrast. The blue-skinned Twi'lek was well dressed even in the simple robes of his order, his demeanor being one of competency, assurance, and relaxation. Mara-sur on the other hand was ragged and dirty, her hair wild from sweat and grim, her body poised and taut like whipcord. She was anything but relaxed as this Jedi slowly examined and judged her.

“You are Special Forces? You have caused much death today. But today will be the last day you kill innocent men and women.” The Jedi spoke in cultured tones filled with the sort of arrogance and haughtiness that sickened Mara.

“Jedi arrogance. You think your allies are innocent because they follow you. You show great contempt for someone who is in truth greater than you. You hide from the truth of the universe, I embrace it.” Mara-sur replied with a cold hatred that many did not see in her. This girl who stuttered and stumbled around allies, could speak so well and strongly to an enemy. As if she were more used to this than speaking to friends.

“Those who follow the Empire willingly will never understand the truth. You are lost to the Dark Side, and I will stop you falling further. I am sorry it has to be this way.” The Jedi actually almost looked sorry for Mara-sur, which only infuriated her more.

“This is not the day I fall Jedi. I am just now finding my destiny.” She suddenly dropped her rifle drawing her pistol in one swift motion.

The Jedi countered her sudden shot, and lanced forward with his saber. She dodged back and to the side, her free hand palming her long bladed knife up. The Jedi was on the offensive slashing and hacking at her. Yet her movements were sinuous and focused, sliding like a serpent around each attack. She sought and opening in his defenses, a time and a place where she could land a telling blow with her knife or get off a useful blast with her pistol.

For a time, there seemed to be nothing else in the universe except for Mara-sur and her opponent. The war stilled raged around them but for the moment, each was so wholly consumed with the other, that all other concerns were blocked. In other situations it might have been an intimate moment as two beings became so entwined that nothing else mattered. And perhaps it was an intimacy, this duel to the death between so different of foes. The dodging, spinning, slashing, shooting, and other acts of battle could almost have been a dance, meant for only these two.

Yet every dance has to end sometime, every act of intimacy must come to a close. As the two fought each other to the point of exhaustion the Jedi drew on the one talent Mara-sur had never had. He lifted her up with the Force, clamping down her limbs as spider might hold tight its prey. He smiled a haughty smile as he captured this elusive warrior in his grasp. Even in Jedi there could be a mild vindictiveness at the back of the mind when one defeated a powerful foe.

“So now you see that the Light will always conquer. For the Force is with me Imperial. I am sorry you have been so lost. But I will banish the darkness for you.” The Jedi's voice was measured and calm, but somewhere deep beneath the veneer of Jedi calm and focus, there was the hard edge of anger and hate.

“I have walked in darkness Jedi. But I've already seen the light.” She hissed her fingers twitching and fidgeting. Her blaster fell from her fingers, somehow moving even under the iron grip of the Force hold. They quested then for something far simpler than any energy weapon. She unlatched a grenade close to hand, letting the small cylinder drop activated from her hand. The Jedi was at first shocked that someone could move under his power, then the shock transmuted into pain.

The world exploded for both of them, fire and smoke erupting up and outwards in a cacophony of dirt and shrapnel. Mara-sur was flung back by the force of the explosion, landing in the dirt to finalize her coating of muck. She groaned in pain, feeling at least a bruised rib or two, but it was a small price to pay for life. She stumbled to her feet, mindful to pick up her knife which she had dropped during her impromptu flight.

Nearby was the Jedi, who took the brunt of the explosion. His poise and arrogance was gone, to be replaced with shock and horror as he came to the realization of what had happened. She stumbled up to his supine form, her equilibrium tatters from the sound and pressure wave of the grenade. She fell to a knee at his side her blade poised. He stared at her before speaking. She couldn't hear his words, her ears still ringing but she read his lips.

“How have you done this? You are no Force Sensitive. It makes no sense.” He said, confusion etched on his features.

“I am my father's daughter. I can overcome anything.” She whispered her knife arcing out and down. In a glittering red trail, his throat was slashed, and his eyes paled. It was over.

Though not quite. There was still a war waging. Even without the calm assured commands of the Jedi the Republic was still putting up a fight. In a rush the sound of battle returned to her ear, reminding her of her duty. She stood up and moved to where the Jedi had been standing originally, directing his comrades by radio.

There she found a small device which appeared to be some sort of command control. She examined it with practiced ease and began typing in numbers. She hissed softly as she began to feel her scrapes and bruises more keenly. The adrenalin was wearing off. She tapped in a final command into the little machine and then used her blade to shatter the screen. No one else should make use of the thing.

She cast about, locating her rifle and pistol. She would rather part with an arm than lose her weapons. She dragged them up onto a nearby boulder, to sit and watch as Republic artillery rained down on their own people. She watched as some forward elements of the Imperials died, but so many more of the Republic fell. In short order their defense would be shattered, their morale broken by their own people shelling them. The Republic would call it a mistake, the Imperials would use it to show the Republic's incompetence.

Yet all that didn't matter. Mara-sur simply took this time to rest her aching body against the parched boulder beneath her. She stretched out, lengthening her body like a cat, grimacing at the pain it caused. In a short time she would get up, and find her way back to Imperial held territory. Yet for now she simply looked up at the sky, still barely morning. She looked into the heavens, and sent a soft thought for her passed father.

He would be watching with pride. His daughter was a warrior. Now, to become more.

#Zolstories

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