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leiawritesstories · 3 years

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Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

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Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair.

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job.

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth.

As if she knew anything her staff actually did.

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together.

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation.

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself.

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order.

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English.

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple.

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved.

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure.

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved.

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve.

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind.

“You broke both of your hearts”

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart.

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice.

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds.

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city.

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner.

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed.

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction.

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth.

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love. We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath.

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages.

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan.

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof.

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech.

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying.

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan.

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing.

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow.

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything.

She was worthy of him.

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified.

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

Present day.

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked.

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch.

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.”

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

#my writing #rowaelin month #aaaaaangst

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captaincravatthecapricious · 4 years

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Black Eye- Prompt Fill

Three times Jon gives himself a black eye.

Cw alcohol, minor injuries, mentions of misgendering

@thevengefulhufflepuff

I have one more bingo fic left to post, and after that I am doing the "things you said" prompt list, so if there is something you want written for Jon or Martin or Tim, please please please send me a prompt because I need at least one by Friday, because that be writing day! Card by the wonderful @celosiaa

Jon is nine years old. Jon is nine years old and he’s given himself a black eye.

He doesn’t want to go home to his grandmother.

Technically it had been her fault anyhow. If she’d gotten him a book of activities for Boys instead of one for Girls, it probably would have better explained how to make a sling shot… and how to avoid punching yourself in the face while trying to use it.

But no. He has a book of activities for Girls. It has about seven different ways to braid your hair, and how to sew (which Jon does find useful so his grandmother won’t scold him for tearing his clothes), how to make dolls out of yarn, a handful of useless ways to use a bandana, a dozen crafts with doilies, and so on. Useless.

It wouldn’t help him protect himself, which clearly he Needs to protect himself after…. After That. Not to mention, he isn’t a girl, no matter what his Grandmother and teachers keep trying to tell him.

He thinks it’s the hair. If he could cut it maybe they would start getting it right. Grandmother probably wouldn’t mind, it would make him easier to deal with. No stray hairs on everything, no urging him to brush it, no forcibly making him get it out of his face.

Still. He doesn’t want his grandmother to see his black eye, because that will mean scolding him for fighting, which he wasn’t, and getting told it isn’t ladylike. He isn’t a lady.

Still. He can’t exactly wander as far as he used to. He knows his Grandmother will be no help at all with the Things he knows are out there now, but the illusion of safety is better than nothing.

He doesn’t try to cover it with makeup. He’s seen characters do that in books and in movies and it never works. So why bother? (Not to mention he doesn’t want to touch his eye. He’d been so afraid that he’d broken his glasses. He wouldn’t be able to explain that, and then his grandmother would have to pay for another pair and the thought of her spending more money on him makes his stomach twist with guilt. But his overlarge glasses that earned him many ridicules slipped down his face before he’d punched himself. (For a moment he’d worried he’d popped his eyeball, before remembering that eyes don’t pop like squished grapes… or at least not as easily as most people thought. There were tougher parts of the eye not to mention he could still see through it, and open it (mostly) and there wasn’t any blood or virtuous humor leaking out of him, so it was probably fine… or so he’d thought until he caught his reflection in a window and seen the darkening contusion.) He’d rather get the yelling over with. So he calmly washes up before supper and sits at the table.

“Have you been fighting?” She looks over the table at him with cold disapproval.

“No.” Jon stays calm. He is practically an adult. He can have a discussion as such.

“Then, how did this happen?”

“I made a slingshot and was practicing my aim in the yard, and I hit myself in the face.”

She studies in, trying to gauge if he’s lying.

The yelling never comes, so he guesses she believes him. But he does get the lecture on ladylike behavior.

That night he cuts his hair short with scissors. It effectively distracts his grandmother and his teachers from his black eye.

Jon is freshly appointed as head Archivist. Already piled down with paperwork, struggling with the keys to his office. Cursing as several papers escape his pile and drift to the floor. He can hardly see over the stack he’s carrying, and he’s afraid some of the files will fall instead of the loose papers on top. Mostly his notes and instructions and to-do lists. He wants to cry. Barely a week in and he’s already in over his head.

Why did He get this job? Why not Sasha?

There is already an aching chasm between him and the people that have been his friends, and he’s carved out a rift between himself and Martin. And what for?

He can’t do this on his own.

He can’t even do it, period.

Can’t even open his office door.

No. No. He isn’t going to cry in the hallway.

His key is in the lock now, but he can’t turn it. Can’t even manage to turn it half the time when he can see the lock and isn’t carrying things.

“Heya Boss!”

Jon jumps, just as the door unsticks.

His files tumble to the ground, his glasses slide off his face, and the door smacks him in the eye.

“FUCK.” Jon is knocked on his ass.

Tim snickers, because of Course Tim came along just in time to startle him.

Jon stifles a sob. “Go away, Tim.” If he isn’t going to help, and evidence from the last week points to Tim not helping, he can leave Jon to his stress and exhaustion and bruising eye.

Something in Jon’s tone must give him away, because it shuts Tim up, and he kneeling by his side, prying his hands away from his face, and giving a low whistle at the rapidly forming bruise.

“Shit Jon, do… do you need some ice? Do you want a hand with… Jesus, Jon how did you even carry all this?”

Jon curls away from him. “Not like you were helping.” Petulant like a child. Christ, what happened since his childhood, he had been irritating and rude, sure, but much less needy… right? Surely his nine-year-old self wouldn’t have been near tears in the hall because his friend might hate him. Stupid and sensitive. When did he start needing people? He’d been fine alone. Always fine. And no one got hurt when there was no one to hurt.

“I’m fine.” Probably would be more convincing if he weren’t curled up like a frightened child.

“Sure. How about we get you to the breakroom, and you can have a sit-down on the couch with some ice on that eye of yours, and I clean up this mess, okay?”

Jon doesn’t have it in him to say no. Because that sounds very, very nice.

Jon nods off there and wakes to find significantly less work than he had before, and all the files reassembled and organized.

It’s New Years, and Jon is struggling with a bottle of champagne.

He’s never really opened a bottle before. He’s not have champagne that often, in all fairness. A couple of office parties that were terrible and the drinks were cheap, despite the dress code. And there was the time Georgie bought them a bottle. But Georgie had opened it with a satisfying pop and it had tasted strange to him, but it had also tasted like happiness and contentment and safety.

Jon can’t get the foil off, and Tim is laughing at him.

Sasha is trying to help him, but she’s laughing too hard to get a word out, let alone stand up.

Jon is faking a pout, and fighting actual irritation, and trying to bite down his pride and ask Martin for help.

He gets the foil off, but can’t get a grip on the cork.

Tim is giggling something about his little noodle arms, which Sasha smacks him lightly and tells him to be nice about, but they are both laughing harder now, and it’s… all so Good. In a way that Jon hadn’t thought possible.

Or it Was good until the cork slips out of his hands as he finally pulls it free and it hits him in the eye. Again, knocking his glasses sideways (but thankfully not breaking them).

He stands there startled, only a little champagne spilling.

“Oh shit, Jon!” Sasha takes the bottle from him.

Martin comes running. “Jon! What happened?”

Jon is still processing what happened.

Tim is still laughing so hard he’s crying.

“Fine, Martin, just got punched by the champagne.” It honestly doesn’t hurt (especially not after everything else he’s been through), but Jon is very aware that it is likely bruising before their eyes. Damn his EDS.

“Ice! You need some ice!” Martin already reaching for one of their Many ice packs.

“Really, Martin, doesn’t even hurt!” He appreciates the care, it feels good to know that people are looking out for him… even Tim who still has tears of laughter streaming down his face.

“BOSS, IT LOOKS LIKE YOU GOT IN A FISTFIGHTTTTT REMEMBER WHEN YOU WALKED INTO THAT DOOR.”

Jon hmms in his driest academic voice, “I seem to recall that was your fault.”

“I REMEMBER THAT, JON WOULDN’T TELL US WHAT HAPPENED!” Sasha’s laughing again now too.

Jon is biting back a smile. He’s glad he has them back.

“You sure you’re alright?” Martin examines his eye, before handing over the ice, and leading Jon to a seat, with a kiss.

“Perfect. Promise. …Although I wouldn’t say no to some of that champagne.”

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #tim stoker #timothy stoker #cw misgendering #trans jonathan sims #cw alcohol #cw black eye #cw minor injuries #jonmartin #happy ending #my art #my writing #my words #fic #my fic

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Chapter 14 (Witcher of the Night)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 13.1 (PREVIOUS CHAPTER)

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: NSFW. 18+ Geralt tried his best to resist. With Destiny sitting on her throne, utterly anticipating for how the witcher would react to your rut. She won the game this time because Geralt of Rivia was a lone man who couldn't say no to a woman who was thirsty for what the Djinn has held her in, especially when this woman was you.

Warnings: Size kink? Cockwarming? Insecure reader. Unprotected sex but no worries because it's Geralt? The long awaited smut. Smol tittie reader? (Respect to the big tittie committee, please do donate some to us!) Frustrated Geralt and reader. Wet Geralt? He's in the tub okay! 😂💕 Loss of virginity. NSFW. 18+. Explicit words. They’re both in a rut on this one. This is basically just smut before the plot shifts.

Words: 7.8k

A/N: STARTED FROM THE BOTTOM NOW WE HERE 😎 GET WRECKED, MIDGET! Also, SCREAM FOR ME, BB'S! I know y'all are waiting for this moment to shine! xD I've realized that the next smut after this is more explicit than Chapter 14. So, get ready for that as well. Most GIF’s are from (demivampirew) 💕

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Geralt's touches nearly pacified the scathing heat surging through your body. Your head that was nuzzling in between his neck helps soothe the pain. Howbeit, with Geralt; he was feeling rather tormented especially when the simple intimacy was winding the witcher up in a very hellish way.

The tip of your nose brushing against that part of his neck that had him turning rigid was driving him insane. Just your nose perched in the curvatures of his neck made the tent even more bigger, thoroughly agrestal and waiting to be unshackled from its pound.

Your satisfied sighs, breath that brushed and tickled his skin had received a deep timbre of warning from the man whom you were precariously desiring for. The way your breath touched his skin made his jaw clench so tight as he brought you up stairs, surrounding you in his rugged arms that you also wanted to kiss, wondering how strong it looks like once he was disrobed.

You never had seen Geralt in the raw. The way his clothes strains on top of his Herculean body was enough vision that he was utterly jacked; shredded and a man whom made your reticence plummet down the sewers like it has never been there before, the sexual longing and curiosity filling the void of lechery that has been furtively hidden and was now growing in absolute masses because of how one man can ruin that sobriety you have been holding dear.

When you were gently dropped down to your feet, torrid kisses and passionate touches were expected; but the way he'd stepped away to tell you that you needed a bath to take the heat away had your head turning hotter from how he wasn't dealing with your ache just like the way you wanted him to.

It was better if he joined, you asked him that but his silence was enough of an answer that he wouldn't despite of how you've noticed the wolf that rested in between his leather pants, waiting to be released from its cage and find relief in between that hollow cave you've been dying to be visited at.

"Midget..." the white haired witcher was belligerent as he seethed, giving you a frown because of how uncooperative you were becoming; turning hostile as much as you can get.

Geralt took a step closer, his actions appearing to be quite the contrary of his words when he'd tried to grab onto the hem of your sweater before you immediately jerked away; maddened for your wishes to be dismissed like he wasn't feeling the same way. You were desperate now. You understood and knew what relief that the pain needed to take.

"Stop touching me! I'm not going to undress myself in front of you, Geralt! I want you! Not a bath!" you loudly snapped, voice definitely ear-piercing by how you wanted to be followed; shaking the tranquil night away from your antagonism.

The way you've jerked away from him had dropped down more frustration to himself and to you as well. You've wanted nothing but to be in his arms, kissing him, touching anywhere you haven't touched, exploring the deepest depths of him that you haven't discovered. Geralt lowly groaned, his mouth in a tight lour that simply tells you he was utmost pissed-off from your resistance.

"Cease the mulish act even just for tonight!" he barked rather furiously, teeth gritted together with his eyebrows tightly curved in a way that alarmed you that he seemed to also be in pain; struggling with the appetite he seemed to be famished with, the cravings he desired standing before him whom also had the same wishes in her mind.

"Oh! now, I'm the one stubborn?! Why don't you do it for yourself too, Mr. stubborn-pants!? Why don’t you cease the mulish act even just for tonight, huh?!" you sent a snark, glaring back at the infuriated witcher. His eyes were burning in aggravation and midnight, dilated in a process of telling you he was in mania. Carnal manias. Geralt emitted a feral growl; in distress for himself, what was happening to him and also to your inflexible decisions.

"---and also cease the fucking crabbiness!" he snarled out loud.

The heat stirring below your belly wasn't helping his exasperation towards the situation at hand. His enraged demeanor stirring a strong prurient desire that sat between your legs, making you cross them together as you've continued your narks; trying to get under his skin. Literally or figuratively.

Your nose was flaring and so was his, emotions riling up your mind as you truthfully snapped the grudging feelings out in the open; freely for Geralt to hear and react upon.

"Stop caring like you're actually fond of me when you're not!"

"You're in pain!" the white haired witcher was quick to bark, hands on his sides and tightening them into tight fists as he mindlessly raked your ungraceful form; dilated pupils and your legs crossed like the heat was starting to pool down your pants. You were aroused alright.

Hence, Geralt knew that, sensed that. He could smell you from afar and the scent that naturally dripped from you was far more better than the Lemon and Peony he'd been thoroughly accustomed with.

It was heating him up; a lot more than he ever felt, if that was even possible.

You've given him a black look, teeth clenched together as you were hopping mad. The words that came out of your mouth seeming to be a sudden slip of your tongue.

"It's all your genie's fault and I'm blaming the Djinn again for even letting me fall for you hard because apparently, in your oh-so-silent witcher perspective; all that I’m feeling had magical or supernatural explanations! Thank you for letting me realize that, sir! I really needed that subtle rejection!"

The witcher blinked, his stance thoroughly livid. Back tense and piping warm as his heated gaze was solely on your enraged, elfin self. Your candor stirring and kindling with the fire that was sipping through his veins, wanting nothing but to strafe your lips with passionate kisses he'd fantasized about, exploring fascinating chasms and cavities that has never been traversed yet.

You were hot under the collar, completely seething as you've given him the most nasty lour you could. Still, being pigheaded from what you wanted, trying to furiously explain to him that you needed a different kind of relief that involved intercourse and not a lame bath. He couldn't help but try to soothe his displeasure by fluttering his amber eyes shut, controlled breathing slipping through his flaring nose as he lowly seethed.

"You need to calm down!---Stop shouting."

Your indignant self was awakening something barbarous within him, violently rousing the thirst that has been there from the start and he was certain that if you push harder, he may never be able to control.

Not anymore.

Severe profanities tripped out of your tongue, the profound sensations and feelings consuming you too much; more so difficult to handle as the clock ticks by with Geralt who stood maddened and raging with such desire that he appeared to be in denial about. His glowing amber eyes piercing through the piety of your soul, begging nothing but to corrupt you in any way despite of his refusal to accept.

"Don't go all alpha-shit on me, Geralt! I'm shouting because I'm in pain! I'm fucking frustrated, sad, weirdly thrilled, very infuriated because of your foolishness and I don't even know the fuck why!"

Your sudden impiety had the witcher cocking his head to the side, feeling his leather pants grow tighter by how you've spat those words with such a harsh tone when he shouldn't be feeling things by being cursed back by a midget who he'd seen to be vindicated and a little bit demented for his sanity.

"I know you're in pain!" Geralt fumed, heavily swallowing the discomfort from his thrilled, angered excitement for what was about to come.

You've growled, sounding rather a bit dinky for the latter like a kitten who was livid and trying to scratch a big dog. If you were trying to be intimidating, then it was totally a failure because it only got him more charmed than he ever was before.

"You don't know that, Geralt! Because, it's not happening to you!"

He angrily shook his head, heavily marching to where you stood till he was looming before you like a lion to its prey, utterly intimidating as his gaze was smoldering your core. The dampness of your panties making you wary of Geralt's effect on you when he isn't even doing anything but be mad. It was nutty to even feel aroused from his lambasting; getting thrilled and excited by his livid state? You were probably going bonkers.

"It is!" the enraged, white haired witcher roared, peering down at you as your feet ceaselessly stepped backwards till your spine hit a wooden; storage cabinet that was a lot higher than you, he trapped you in between his presence and the cabinet. Nonetheless, still galvanized for his fit of pique.

You were spitting false assumptions to his face because you never know what forbidding and rapturous sensations you were giving him. Hence, it was like you both were sharing each other's anger and frustrations. Your breath hitched when his abrasive, thick fingers caught your hips as he thoroughly hunched down to your level. The haze in his Aurum eyes making you catch a breath as a spark of flame utterly triggered the enthusiasm.

"I can feel what you feel and it's driving me fucking insane!"

Before you even know it, his rough padded fingers brushed onto your heated skin; oblivious of his ardent fingers that has slipped under your sweater, swiftly hauling you on top of the cabinet with ease as it felt a loud thud from his abrupt, hurried gestures.

"Geralt!" you loudly shrieked when he carried you; eyes bulging out of its eye sockets, not due to fear but utmost jubilant that you were ceasing yourself from grinning back at the glaring witcher because your carnal self was loving where the crossness was heading. Yet, you still chose to kindle with the raging fire that he had in him, stirring the witcher up more than you could ever do; bringing it out of him for you to succeed.

"That's bullshit! What are we? soulmates? a freakin' soulmate AU? Feeling what I feel like our hearts are connected? Some fantasy fanfic where you magically become my destiny when I somehow teleported in your world?!"

You were now in-level with him; close enough, but he still had the leverage to look down on your face. The gaze in his eyes intensified, to the point that it was telling you how much he wanted to ravish you in so many ways.

With the way how you were smart mouthing him and the desperation in your sentences was working him up more than how those women in the brothels do. Just one word from you could wind him up in sinful ways.

Geralt tightly kept his pretty mouth shut, his gaze too penetrating as you could feel your heat twitching and moist to the point that you were soaking in ways you've never known it would despite of how you've not used your fingers in this one. Which explains how Geralt's presence was too overwhelming for a midget's heart and vagina.

Your words were obviously a conflict to how you've uncorked the lock of your legs, slightly unfastening them open till Geralt took a brooding step close to fill in the gap. The proximity rather fatal for your palpitating heart and raging fire that surrounded you both.

His fingers teased and witlessly glided along your imperfectly pouched belly, making you softly gasp from his touches as you've both shared heaving breaths. Your eyes connected with his in a way that got you wanting to hyperventilate from the choking tension you both have given to each other. You couldn't help yourself but shiver from Geralt's languid thumbs that brushed along the tubby curvatures of your waist; along the parts that has given you self-doubt because it was a body flaw that was quite difficult to erase.

Your mind wasn't thinking straight. It was in a whirlwind that no any other man could give with only his eyes staring straight into your soul. Tantalizing, wild and unchaste. The small stumble of words was enough to give Geralt the upper hand, knowing that only one touch was enough to make you feel like jello as he stood in between those unlatched legs of yours, waiting to be taken in any way that won't make you form any coherent words nor make you remember your own name.

"Stop...stop staring at me like that. You don't even like me that deep; for you to know what I'm feeling right now,"

You've avoided looking at him in the eye, your abashed state still passing through every now and then because it was what makes you, yourself. The timorous tone of your voice sounded titillating in the witcher's perspective as it stirred him up even more, wanting and urgently waiting to be free from the leather constrains that his pants locked him in.

His tender, teasing touches heightened your senses as it was the only thing you focus on as it brushed against your skin like a pencil to its paper, light and delicate. You were heedless of his other hand that moved under your sweater, his rough thumb and index finger giving you a spark of tingles when he'd lightly held your chin, ushering you to stare into his glowing amber eyes that captured your heart since the night he saved you.

The dimples of his nose caressed your plump cheeks, nuzzling the side of your face that gave such delectation of shivers through your spine; his breath was warm and impending as it fanned your ear, turning your body stiff as he gravelly whispered so closely to your ear.

"You don't get to decide nor tell me that you know what I'm feeling when you're uncertain of the verity," he apprised, taking a brief pause as you could feel the tickling tip of Geralt's nose nestling between the back of your ear, ponderously breathing in your scent that makes him feel like he was in paradise.

You could feel your heart thumping out of your chest, the hurried heartbeat of your heart ringing in your ears as it felt like molten lava pouring down on you both when Geralt seem to finally give in to your wishes.

He was a man, an amorous one, indeed. Hence, a tiny woman whom he was smitten with? Begging for a nooky? Well, why would he even be too obstinate to reject such bliss?

Your eyes immediately fluttered closed, teeth biting the insides of your cheeks as you were utterly thrilled. The voices who had been whispering inside your head has died down from the moment you both have shared the peeve out of the boiling kettle. Breathing turned erratic, thoughts quickly moving down south as Geralt heavily breathed against your ear.

You knew you were done for when he'd fondled with the hem of your sweater; those thick, sleek fingers of his, slithering higher and higher till you could never think straight; towards a place no one has ever did just yet and you were gladly letting him explore you in places you have never been touched.

His name clouded inside your head like a bell ringing from a church. Geralt's comforting warmth seething through your senses as you've felt him plant one soft kiss on the back of your ear, igniting a sensual whimper out of you that got him heavily breathing. The witcher's mind pooling with debauched thoughts for you.

And so, he let the palpable sensations control him for once; maybe not once, if he was given the chance again, letting his emotions get the best of him as he finally let go and like a warning, he rasped; "---you are asking a lot from me that not any other person could seek for a witcher,"

"---Yet, here I am; standing before you, succumbing to your wishes and trying to think of ways to help you overcome your struggles despite of knowing the repercussions, midget."

Based on how he'd let his gorgeous head fall in between the crevice of your neck, tempestuously giving your skin starved, open mouth kisses; those adorable fangs you've adored having its way as it was giving your neck a delicate bite every once in a while, you knew you were in for a delightful night.

The Djinny-Djinn-Djinn would surely be worth it.

Warm water pooled just below the lower parts of your bodies. Bare bodies submerged beneath till it stopped before your chests. Awning whatever it is that was needed to be sheltered. The abrupt reserved demeanor dawning on you every now and then when you were reminded why you've acted the way you were before, like a desperate animal that was needed breeding. But, the pain that stung in your chest was enough reminder that it was a needed reason for Geralt to just do it.

You have covertly imagined how Geralt would be crafted. Heedful to be expecting a brobdingnagian man molded like one of Michael Angelo's fine pieces or a painting made by Vincent Vann Gogh; utterly a prepossessing sight which needed to be reminded for yourself that you still needed to breathe.

Geralt of Rivia's birthday suit could wholly take a woman or man's breath away; you were gawking and he'd caught your sly peepers, gaping at the lofty man who was undressing while you sat in the end of the tub has got him humming in interest.

The vision of himself who was stripping his clothes off brought you in hell and also in heaven. He had his back turned away as he peeled his black tunic off him in one go; the gesture sucking all of your breath in your lungs, giving you a harsh whiplash when you've seen his wide shoulders and his sinewy upper body in the flesh, your heat pulsing with just the image of the witcher who was shedding his clothes off in idle; the zeal growing much more impatient as minutes pass by.

You were going to get wrecked tonight.

Your faint clearing of your throat resonated in the room when you've seen his fingers move through the front of his pantaloons, never wanting to snap your head away because seeing him strip fascinates you in so many ways; marveling at the sight of his chiseled, stark naked form. Your alter ego asking God how he was perfectly imperfect with those disfigurements that has wallowed up his fiborous back.

It was a wide-reaching scar; like a Megalodon shark has sunk its teeth along his shoulders and ribs. The mark made you give him another once over before he pulled his pants down straight off, making you snap your head away due to the blush that wanted to burn your face. Your fingers itched, in a way that it was pleading for you to brush your soft fingers against the scars that obviously appeared to be painful. You couldn't help but gnaw on your lower lip because of the despairing feeling that suddenly crept up your chest from how he was thoroughly scarred, imagining what happened to the witcher when he had it.

You were weak-kneed. The batter of bath water slightly swaying you when he'd finally walked in the tub. But, your shyness was simply manhandled by the witcher himself when you've heard him hum in amusement, a small grin curving his luscious lips when you seemed to be stilled from hearing him sitting beside you. Those buff arms on either side as you could feel his ardent gaze on you, forbearing your abrupt timidness that you were slowly trying to process the idea that he was bathing together with you, thoroughly stark naked as you were also the same way.

Geralt was silently hoping you weren't thinking about leaving him alone after all of that, bearing with his raging boner has been quite a torture.

It took minutes after before he literally hauled you over his thick, slightly unlatched, brawny legs. You were tormenting him in ways he could never imagine as his hardened girth twitched under the warm water. There was a bashful squeal that erupted out of you when you were manhandled by the strong witcher, sitting you in front of him as you were greeted with his hirsute chest that gave your cunt a thump. He was also welcomed by your perky, right-sized breasts and a glowing cicatrix with the image of his medallion that rested in between the valley of your chest; while his, shone beneath the moonlight seeping through the opened windows.

Your diffident self was immediately forgotten with just one touch of Geralt's fingers brushing over your mark. The scorching heat now seemed to be blistering with one thing in both of your minds.

Coition.

"Thought you had other ways to help me?" you skittishly questioned in between torrid, passionate kisses you were sharing with him. Those calloused fingers of his rested and raked behind your nape, eager fingers slipping through your locks as yours fell on his thatch of hair on his prominent, wide chest; tenderly caressing over the medallion he wore.

Only a low, hoarse and short grunt was said. The way his mouth moved and brushed along the soft pillows of your lips was utterly enticing, perfectly molding against yours in a fervid way. His warm, febrile tongue slipping inside your mouth of its own volition; making you catch your breath as he'd lapped your stilled tongue. His vigor seeming to be over the top as you tried leveling with his fervor as well.

His torrid kisses was enough to make you forget your own name. What more if he was finally pummeling inside of you?

"I do." Geralt gruffly murmured, his succulent lips trailing from your side of your lips before you've took his face in between your palms, urging his vermillion to give you more passionate kisses that you were greedy for.

He'd willingly gave you another, his lips falling in between yours as you've given him another scalding smooch that unconsciously made you mewl when you've felt the tip of his tongue brushing against your lips and teeth. An unconscious nibble of his lower lip got the witcher growling beneath his chest, his other hand tightening around your hip while the one raking behind your hair, pushing your face further to his. Those simple touches making you struggle for breath; momentarily breaking away to look into those diluted, darkened amber eyes.

"Doesn't seem like it, Rivia. You're falling for the bard's suggestion," you grinned like a Cheshire cat, heaving breaths as you sat on his lap. Your forehead delicately falling on his temple when you've licked your swollen vermillion from all the bites it took.

His hot breath fanned your lips, nails tenderly scratching along the skin of your nape as he ceased his ministrations to admire the small, naked woman in his arms. He never imagined for this to happen so quick; like it was even meant to be because of how right it felt. Geralt was sure you'd be all faint-hearted once the effects of your scar dies down; if it ever would. Then, you were back with your abashed self; entirely blushing to even realize that he had finally bed you all night.

As long as you could remember everything. He was alright.

Your heart was palpitating; feeling overwrought for the words that wants to be frankly said. You beseeched, "I also thought---you...you didn't want me?---"

You've fidgeted with the medallion that rested upon his chest, his hand on your hips leaving to take your chin to cease you from saying anything further as he slightly moved his face away from yours. His features soft and understanding, "I didn't say that. Never. " pause. "---you are certainly unaware of how much I want you, midget. Too much that it's frightening and utmost perilous,"

Those lips of his that you've been kissing simply lifted into a small beam, making your heart flutter and feel ways that you could never fathom. You carry a torch for those scars that laid upon his face. Some were miniscule, difficult to notice unless you were staring up close and some were deep that probably held some menacing experiences.

Your delicate fingers glided down the pockmark he had that rested on the side of his ribs. The wonders in your head being filled by the experience your hand can get. Geralt let you, his scars never fazing him nor you as well. Just a touch for your curiosity to be quenched.

You've heard him inhale a deep breath, the simple action making his chest vibrate beneath your fingers as another hum slipped past through. Both hands grabbed onto your hip, ushering you closer to him in a proximity that weakened your legs. His hardened cock; feeling it veiny, protruding and thick, resting in between your damp folds that made your breath hitch as you've finally felt how he was gifted within his pantaloons.

Hence, it made you bite the insides of your cheeks. A question inside your mind as to how it would fit inside your damn vagina.

Geralt noticed you stuck in a daydream that he ought to withdraw yourself from, you've felt his breath glazing along your collarbone, languidly puckering his pillowy lips along your skin with every pass of his breath. The honeyed sound that leaves his lips whenever he pecked, sending jolts of heat up your spine as he took his wondrous time to worship the body you somehow have been insecure about.

He knew your low self-esteem; probably even have his own issues as well so that was why he could understand. If he would focus on how you've tried covering yourself up when he firstly sat in the tub, those eyes of yours demanding for him to not be ashamed of what sat in front of him. Geralt instantly knew and the white haired witcher planned to glorify all night, if you'd let him.

"That scent. Hmm. Your tangy scent makes me forget of what and who I really am," the latter roughly whispered, his lips on your skin; savoring your salty, sugary and rich taste against his tongue as he brushed his lips through the depths of your chest, ending in that glowing Cicatrix that made you audibly gasp before his sweet lips.

"Geralt---" you salaciously and softly whimpered, his name sounding raunchy when you did so. Irritable pain punctured through the symbol, like a spear being stabbed through your chest for a hundred times with no explanations why it was making you suffer like this, "The pain---It's not helping---It's just turning worse---I can't take it anymore,"

As the pain tripled, Geralt halted his smooth kisses that he'd wanted to give on the mount of your perky breasts. Your eyes demanding for him to satiate each other's cravings, aggressively, passionately or whatever could quench the lust. You were begging.

"Take me," you've raised your hands and grabbed onto the side of his pretty, white head. Peepers dazed and overflowing with obscurity, "---Claim me. Over and over, I don't care. Just take the heat and pain away,"

Geralt of Rivia was no angel nor any knight that honored the dignity of one deprived woman. He was a hunger-stricken man who yearned for all of what you could offer and if he had the chance to honor your chastity to be corrupted by the witcher himself; he wholeheartedly would.

That was what he would just do. Corrupt you in so many ways till his hunger would be sated. But, he doubted it would be slaked.

From the moment you were in pain and also pleading to be ravished, it didn't take him two darn seconds to continue his onslaught on peppering your breasts with searing kisses that gave you a shiver, his wet tongue hiking down a trail around your areolas before taking your nub in his god-forsaken mouth, suckling on your nipples like a starving man.

"U-Ugh, shit." you've quietly moaned in the back of your throat as you’ve taken a sharp intake of breath, utterly lewd for anyone to hear as you held onto Geralt's wide, muscular shoulders; giving them a gentle squeeze while your eyes fluttered in exstacy. The image of him who suckled your teat was utmost impure for your once chastised thoughts.

A moaning mess was what you've become, the slight hitches of your mouth whenever he'd licked your nub after his rough suckling made his stone hard girth twitch beneath you. One shift of your hips was enough for the witcher to be grumbling a grunt from the action that has made his cock feel your moistened heat which started to grind onto him mindlessly.

"Geralt," you've whined in the back of your throat as your hips moved in its own accord, his thick girth that rested in between your cunt being rubbed by its own and you were stroking in a way that could get the little nub finding the release it wanted.

He was sucking through your neck, making you whimper as his thick, calloused fingers went straight to knead at your teat that needed attention, his hands seeming to be larger than your breasts but he certainly didn't mind as he was loving the feeling of them that rested beneath his palms. Geralt lowly grunted beneath your ear, sucking on a spot that got you sighing as another lewd plaint slipped between your lips, mouth slightly opening. The coil starting to build up in between your heat.

His fingers ceased you from continuing so, making you whine in complaint as you were already feeling an orgasm approaching. Though, he may want you gushing around his girth and not through bathwater or humping him in the middle of the tub.

The hunk of a witcher passionately kissed you one more time, fervently devouring your lips like he would chump them for his sate. You weakly moaned in between his assaulting lips, tightly shutting your eyes closed as you feel euphoria surround yourselves by whatever natural deed that was happening from the both of you.

He grabbed onto the base of his reddened, swollen cock; lining the bulbous head on your seeping entrance. The water from the bath and your position would probably help you for your first time. Geralt went on in kissing you, never breaking apart as he'd dragged his leaking tip to your wet mound and throbbing clit, flicking his tongue inside of your mouth as he'd lowly hummed out of his chest, vibrating your breasts as it was closely rested together with his, sending ripples through your soul.

His girth pressed along the insides of your heated cunt before ceasing on your entrance, it took only one tight grope of Geralt's hair for him to deeply groan, letting him take control and delve inside, his size ginormous filling every depth and fissure that ignited a kittenish moan which certainly made him whimper once he was abnormally tightly snuggled inside.

Geralt felt like he was over the moon; your grip bringing himself into a delirium that made his mind shake, choking in his own breath when all he could ever think of was you, alone. Y/N. His midget. The way your mouth tasted. Your warmth. A solace that only you could give. More, he wanted and more of you he would take.

You hold him like a vice; your mound choking his girth from how delightful you felt around him. The idea of being sexually connected with Geralt in this way was totally a different feeling, bringing you in rhapsodies of pleasure that you didn't know existed in your life.

He was fully sheathed inside before you even know it. Too distracted by his kisses that you don't feel any ache from being filled to the brim; expecting the unexpected from that experience. His hardened cock that has slithered inside you felt uncomfortable at first, though it seemed to have no problem with slipping in because you were too aroused and wet. Good. Geralt didn't want you feeling anymore pain and only hoped for your pleasure.

You've took your time to adjust, wiggling your hips every now and then; making you slightly wince because it had a pinch of ache when you tried to move. So much for feeling no pain. Your squirming got the witcher humming in displeasure; speechless and observant of what you were feeling. Geralt patiently waited despite of the howling feeling inside his chest; wanting nothing but to begin his corrupting, yet he respected your adjustments. Both of you were throbbing in each other's hold, before you've shakily got on your position, firmly on your knees, hands on either side of his shoulders as he was intensely staring into your eyes; all darkened, piercing and libidinous like a hawk while he waited for your next move.

Your hips got the best of you, wantonly stroking in a way that made the both of you whimper in sheer gratification for trying to get comfortable with the way he fits inside of you. The way you'd slowly lift yourself up before tormentingly coming back down, his jutting veins that rubbed you in the right way as your mouth went ajar when his length and size stretched you in pure exaltation.

Geralt's focal point was on you and your mound that choked and clasped around him, intently eyeing how your face contorted in such rapture that got him adoring the coltish mewl that emitted out of you, the way you've concentrated at the blurry image of his meaty girth that has been swallowed by your pulsing heat, he knew he would beg for another round.

Your wanton pace was torturing him; more so than hunting a beast in the continent that was difficult to find. He hoarsely groaned in the back of his throat, doing his very best to not turn you around and have his way with you. You bit your lip out of loving how he filled you to the rim, uttering out another weak, sensual moan that got the witcher feeling the pining rather agonizing while he silently watched you take your time.

But, he couldn't take it anymore. He was close to sputtering out profanities from how it was growing more intolerable as minutes go by.

"Fuck." he suddenly spat, sounding like a throaty whimper as you languidly sunk back into his twitching girth for a couple more times, his amber eyes blazing with the need to brutally ravish.

"---You are planning to give me an early death,"

Which got the witcher abruptly grabbing onto your waist, pulling himself out of you as you were suddenly turned around in the bath, your back hitting the edge of the tub as you loudly shrieked, whining for the lack of being filled thereof and also for the slight pain that his prompt actions got you.

"Well, that...that hurt." you honestly whined at the witcher, curious peepers gazing up at him as he moved in front of you, his fingers taking in your knees as he spread them widely apart. The water splurging around you as he'd move, seemingly fascinating to see how largely built his body was, before feeling his robust fingers on your waist, pulling you closer to his body; your back slightly slanted before gasping when he'd fervently entered, starting to consume you again and again.

"N-Nevermind. The pain--Ugh, probably's---Ugh, fuck! Geralt!---worth it," have been coyly moaned out loud, your face scrunched out in utter ecstacy as Geralt began to avidly pummel inside you, his girth violently ravishing your soaking mound with sharp thrusts of his hips.

His body was making you feel tiny compare to his gargantuan built. The way he situated himself above you, a hand tightly clasped onto your pinguid hip while the other rested on your side, his sweaty and earthy scent choking you as he drove you instantly to heaven.

The rousing sounds of his low grunts and hushed whimpers was enough to take you on edge. You've never...ever can tell how it was music to your ears as it also does the same to Geralt, your moans and mewls were bringing him to utopia, his heavy weight thoroughly crushing your bones apart no matter how he was helping himself up.

You didn't know you had a kink where you've wanted his body crushing you down; apparently, it was a new fact that you knew would instigate the fire and excitement. A size kink, then.

He went on with his ceaseless, wild, hammering of his girth. Your arms closely embracing him tight in a way that tells him you didn't want to let go; only wanting him to surround you in his warmth forever. Your palms gliding down his wide back till you've brushed your fingers along his own scar that you've handled oh-so-delicately, urging Geralt to utter a lewd audible grunt. He was congenial to your mushy touches; new to the gentleness he was receiving rather than ruthless force.

Thusly, it was entirely spiffing as it came with the freedom of impaling you till you were thrashing against his arms.

Your orgasm was quickly building up as you clenched around him, feeling his lips giving your neck wet, open mouthed kisses as he deeply whimpered. All-consuming changing his strokes as he pummeled yet again, holding onto your legs to surround himself better as he thrust brutishly, hitting a spot that loudly made you gasp, curving your spine as your breasts brushed against his fleecy chest, his medallion seeming to be in contrast to the heat that your mark has been giving.

This was what the voices inside your head wanted. The question is, why? For what reason?

"Geralt!" Your mouth was scrunched in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed together in a frenzy as you gripped onto Geralt's hair a little more tighter than you intended to, earning a low murmur of your nickname as he deathlessly shove and shove his hips, reaching you both in a place that'll give you what you needed and wanted.

A mind-wrecking orgasm.

One last drive of his hips, hitting the spot that uncoiled the havoc burning down below. You've seen the stars, maybe even the whole universe as you've obscenely moaned out with your mouth ajar, your orgasm making your eyes roll at the back of your head as you shuddered against his hold. Though, Geralt didn't stop there when you've continued to milk him whole. The swashing of bath water resonating the whole room and your amatory whimpers of delight came with his as he tries to reach his peak.

His thrusts turned sloppy and you knew he was close to coming. Your body was writhing against his, your cunt utterly sensitive as he nailed you over and over with his mouth-watering girth. Your body squirmed below him, moaning his name like a chant as it was the only word you could ever form.

You could feel another burst of bliss that spread through you as Geralt took one last sloppy thrust to your mound, lately realizing that he had slipped a hand between you both, urging you into another orgasm as he flicked and rubbed your clit; your second orgasm letting you emit a rather loud, noisy moan that would get any porn star shunning away because of how sensuous it sounded.

That last moan really got the witcher spewing out his load inside of you, also sending a witless guttural grunt when he came after you, ceasing once he rode out the orgasm with several sloppy thrusts before you've feebly and shakily reach out to grab onto the side of his sweaty and wet face as he slowly came to a stop, ushering him to look at you.

You've felt his come spread through you, summery and utterly pleasurable for the glow of your Cicatrix to be twinkling against the candle light. You were trying to catch your breath as Geralt also does to do so.

Your half-lidded eyes met his still diluted ones, the glow inside of it thoroughly comforting to your debauched form. The afterglow of sex making you feel spent but slightly quelled from your carnal gluttony.

You could feel his breathing turn even in less than a minute; the vulgar act washing away from how quick he seemed to got a hold of himself as your fingers brush against his temples, delicately wiping away the drop of sweat with your finger as the simple gesture was enough to make Geralt lean onto your touch.

He'd slightly turned his head, his nose nuzzling against your cheeks as this newfangled closeness was making him feel relaxed than he can ever get; having such a type of blessed peace that he may never imagine it to be, "Don’t worry," he huskily reassured, his thick fingers unclasping the hold he had on your waist, leaving a slight bruise that you obviously didn't mind.

You've heard the water splurge, his fingers lightly grasping your chin, turning you to look into his earnest eyes that was filled with sudden pique within it, "I'm---" his whole explanation was quickly cut off with a coaxing, soft tone of yours; doleful of what he wanted say.

"Shhh. I-I know,"

A breathless, depleted midget laid beneath the witcher. His soft cock still inside your sensitive mound but paid no heed as you warmed him up. His face etched of bliss, though it appeared emotionless. Well, what man would be glum when he had a lay?

Geralt contemplated whether or not to pull out of you as he'd raked your naked body that stowed beneath him, those divine looking bites that rested upon your neck and even on your chest when he'd worship your body that no one ever had. Even so, he wasn't satisfied. Well, when did the witcher even been?

"Hmm." he fascinatingly hummed, eyes burning your skin as you watched him admire your midget of a body that he somehow find utterly exquisite.

His enthralling amber landed on yours, his eyes darkening as it was keen for more. More he wanted to take and have because of the ravenous hunger utterly palpable. The Cicatrix that was engraved on the valley of your breast still gleaming beneath the candle light; his impassioned self seeming to be shared with you as the cravings were still there, strong and unwavering.

"I may need you one more time, midget." he roughly admitted, the tine of his nose brushing against yours in a sweet caress.

The latter has his eyes fluttered closed as he sighed, his salmon colored lips dangerously close to your swollen ones as he continued to rasp, "---or maybe all night," he leaned in close to leave a soft peck to your lips that he couldn't get enough with.

"---and the weeks after,"

He consumed your lips once again, zealously keeping the sweltering heat going as he breathlessly snogged with you. Those needy fingers of his snaking to grip along the side of your neck; his kisses growing impatient and demanding as the sound of your lips smacking together was the only thing running in your mind, the urgency quickly building up again like it never even left.

The way he began to torridly kiss you felt like you were struggling to breath. His desire in having you again feverishly lighting you up as you've instantaneously break the kiss, panting before him as he chased for your lips before you had a finger laid between them, your face in flames while you got flustered, those rough fingers ceasing from kneading your taut breast on his other hand, "Maybe---maybe, a bed is nice to be ravished on? you know, with a mattress or something soft?"

You were completely flushed. Nose scrunched as you felt your heart pounding; waiting for his answer to your suggestion. Your mind was scolding you all through out as he held his silence, aware of his semi hard on that seemed to never want to leave your cunt as he tried and hinted for another nightly ravishing between you both.

Never in your life; even back in earth that you would actually get to experience sex in the making. The idea of you and another man going at it disturbing you before because you were worried they would despise your body and how you actually looked like, entirely bare. Yet, here you were, having your virginity taken by an attractive, hot mutant who slaughters beasts for a living in their dimension.

Fortunately, you were lucky in this department because of how magically you've met him and how gloriously you've been dicked down.

You wouldn't get to forget this once the effects of the Cicatrix finally comes to its halt or probably the morning after you've slept with Geralt. Your ribald suggestions for moving in a much more comfortable place while being rode off to Neverland will probably horrify you if the idea was taken into deliberation.

"I think I may have to agree, midget." Geralt gave a soft nod of understanding, intensely staring into your eyes as he has seen the same salacious look he has been giving; simmering down his worry about the thought that you weren't in the same page as he also was.

Perhaps, beasts aren't the only thing he butchers at night and in daylight.

Geralt only wanting this to be a one time opportunity? Oh, heck no. IT’S A PRANK! He never gets satisfied! LMAO JK 😂💖 FEEDBACKS ARE SO MUCH APPRECIATED! Please do! Heehee! (Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you, bb’s!)

Taglist for WOTN: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferblog @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @winter-moons @cheesecakeisapie @silverkitten547 @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a--1--1--3

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza

440 notes · View notes

vegetacide · 4 years

Photo

Veggie art’ing Part II complete… This is a continuation of THIS

Also for something a bit new as I had several notes asking what was going on with the previous pic I wrote a little something to accompany this. It took a rather unexpected direction on me as I had ordinally intended for this to be a reconciliation picture.. Just were my mind veered for some reason.. I blame these two idiots…

I have spent far too long plunking away at this so bare with me if its absolutely crap.

Anyway.. if you wish to read it.. look check out below

Working title: …haven’t come up with one yet.. meh. Sue me

Blanket warning: Hints to adult subject matter that some might find offensive or triggery..mentions of past trama…. etc etc

Rating: Teen.. I guess

Word count: 2726 words

Characters: Virgil/Kayo

Fandom: TaG’verse A/U

Location: My made up beach house located somewhere on Tracy Island..

Veggie notes: Any errors are completely my own and I am sure I will catch them at some point on one of my obsessive read throughs of self doubt. :D

Enjoy…

o0o

Damn, how in the world had it come to this?

Virgil watched as she padded on quiet, bare feet across the beach house deck. Retreating again and effectively shutting him out. Her slender shoulders so small under the too big flannel of his shirt, were hunched as she protectively wrapped her arms around herself. Closing off like she always did when things got too close and too real for her to deal with.

His chest hurt, a dull ache behind his breast bone and he rubbed at it subconsciously. Like his heart was too big and in its floundering it was trying to break through the meager sack of flesh that housed it.

Cursing, he rubbed at it again and resisted the urge to drive his fist in the plastered wall of the beach house. The effort wouldn’t serve any meaningful purpose anyways other than splitting his knuckles. There was no detracting from his present circumstances and potential broken bones wouldn’t change that.

He should have taken more care with his words instead of letting his thoughts run free as he did and he kicked himself for his short sightedness, not that it fixed anything. He’d been too caught up in his own little world, completely forgetting the reality they were living and now here they were.

On opposing ends of a vast chasm. Him holding on with all his might to keep his family whole while Kayo fought against it. The horrible twisted image of family that a mad man had imprinted on her at too young an age warping her view on things to the detriment of them both. An idea she had been fighting her whole life to make different and one she couldn’t escape, it seemed no matter how hard they tried to.

The old doubts and worries were always just beneath the surface just waiting to spring forth to bugger things up. The present being a prime example.

The morning had started out completely different and felt almost like a dream to where they were now. Warm and lazy with a vague like quality one found just upon waking.

Kayo had been snuggled in his arms. Her legs tangled with his among the rumpled sheets. A sweet ocean breeze blowing through the gossamer curtains and dancing pleasantly over their satiated bodies. Wicking the dew of sweat from their skin as their pulses slowed and their minds drifted back from the bliss of carnal sensation.

His fingers had been lazily tracing up and down her back, over the sinewy grace of her shoulders and down the curve of her spine. Paying homage and mapping every glorious inch to his artist brain.

He’d been lost in a day dream of what could be. The gentle rise of her hip, the varied valleys of her ribs directing the course of his thoughts. A picture was forming of a future, one that stretched out before them like a blank canvas, waiting for them to take up the brush and fill it with colour and life.

A story in images had started to sketch itself in his mind’s eye. The two of them, together. Healing, growing and evolving with a world of opportunity before them and nothing to hold them back.

Not being able to contain himself as he lazed with her, Virgil had voiced his thoughts. Letting loose all that he’d hoped for. A tumble of words spewing forth that had Kayo suddenly growing still and stiff to his touch.

“Virgil, stop…” Had been all she’d uttered before she’d turned from his embrace and slipped from the soft comfort of their bed. Her hair a tumble of love tousled ebony, hiding her face.

“It would be a nice picture to paint.” He’d replied, mind still on other things and not on the present. “Go anywhere, wherever we want. Take in the sights for a change instead of just jetting by them. Go to that little cabin by that lake I told you about… it would be a perfect spot to..”

“Enough! …” The abruptness of her raised voice had him snapping his jaw shut.

With jerking motions, she’d grabbed up his shirt. The match to his favourite pair of lounge pants. The one she loved to cozy into and entice him with. A glimpse of flesh here as it rode up her thighs, a flash there as supple mounds peaked out between the row of loosed buttons. Now though it covered her in a different manner entirely. Like a shield, she clasped it tightly

He’d pushed up to his elbows, brows dropped low with concern as he’d finally taken note that something wasn’t quite right.. “Kay?"

She’d cast her gaze back at him then. The briefest of looks had been enough for him to catch the shadow of disquiet in them. Their usual vibrancy muddied by brewing clouds of anger that had him sliding from the sheets and reaching for her.

“Don’t.” Was all she said, shaking her head as he’d risen and moved towards her. Her hands held aloft to hold him back as she’d strode from the room.

“What… Tin, what’s going on?”

Grabbing up his pants Virgil had stumbled after her, hopping as he yanked them on amid a litany of colourful words.

“Shit… Wait..”

Steps later he was confronted by a fury he hadn’t expected considering where and what they had been doing mere moments before.

She had been pacing like a caged animal, across the expanse of the living room and back again. Rage flowing from her with each hurried step.

“What…?” Was all he managed to say before she turned on him. Fire in her gaze, colour high on her cheeks.

“You know what?” She seethed, poking a finger in his direction as she did another circuit of the room.

He’s own anger bubbled to the surface, “Actually, I don’t. So would you enlighten me to whatever erroneous infraction it is that you think that I’ve done?”

“Oh, don’t give me that. You know exactly what the problem is.”

Virgil’s brows shot up as her words had struck a chord in his grey matter. “Problem? You really think…”

“What in the hell were we thinking?!” She growled out, shoving a chair out to the way and knocking it over with a crash. “Selfish..Stupid.”

“With the lives we lead….You can’t ask this of me!”

Her words had been like a physical blow and Virgil had taken an involuntary step back. She’d wanted her words to hurt and she’d succeeded. She never did pull her punches and her aim was as impeccable as ever.

He’d seen the realization of what she’d said flicker through her gaze but she’d quickly buried it. Instead of saying more, she shook her head, turned her back on him once more and walked out the open sliding doors putting more than just distance between them.

And he’d let her go, his shoulders slumping at the writing between the lines of what had been said. In his mind there was only one option open to them but maybe for her that wasn’t the case. The implications of those options was something he couldn’t dare to fathom…but it was a road he wouldn’t let her travel down alone.

He had a responsibility to uphold, as her husband and as the man he prided himself on being. A rescuer in dark times, when there was no one else capable of the job and sometimes those that needed rescuing were closer to home.

Squaring his shoulders he went after her. She was begging for a fight. An obvious distraction from the core reasoning behind her lashing out at him but he wouldn’t take her up on the invitation. He wouldn’t let her push him away to deal with whatever this was on her own.

Passing through the doors, his eyes scanned over the deck and his breath had caught.

She looked so small, fragile and it had brought him up short. Slumping, he braced himself between a support post and the beach house wall. An uncanny exhaustion suffusing him as he saw the uphill battle of the task ahead. A task he was determined to see through to the end, no matter the outcome.

He hated seeing her like this and despite her best efforts to push him away, Virgil knew her too well. Had spent most of his life knowing her. He could read her nuances, gestures and mood even when she tried to close off from him like she was trying to do now under a mask of anger.

“Tin,” He said carefully, dropping his hand and pushing away from the post. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly, letting the tension slip from his shoulders. Approaching her with all guns blazing would only crank her defenses up higher and wouldn’t get them anywhere.

He watched her stance with a practiced eye as he stepped closer. She was like an abused animal. Even with all of her training, when she was emotionally compromised as she was right now the scared little girl she had been came to the fore. The one they met when she’d first came to live with them, hiding behind her father’s leg.

He hadn’t known her history then, the actions of her uncle and the effect that it would have on the rest of her life. How it would shape her into the strong, determined woman she was today. Never letting anyone get close enough to see the frightened child she closeted away inside. Virgil though had managed to find his way inside, found the cracks in her apparent impenetrable armour and had broken through to the core of the woman inside. The one she tried desperately to hide from the world in a shell of fierce resolve and purpose.

Under it all was a woman, who had seen too much. Abused, battered, basically orphaned by her absentee father and desperately afraid. To top it all off, she hated the weakness and fought tooth and nail to hide it from everyone. With the exception of him, she didn’t have a choice there. He’d wormed his way in and he wouldn’t stand by and let her retreat from herself or from him.

Gently he placed his hands on her tight shoulders, cupping their slender, wavering strength and he whispered her name again. “Tanusha…”

Her head bowed further, a meager attempt to hide in the fall of her hair but he could feel the quiver in her body now, hear the soft stuttered intake of her breath. She was crying and trying oh so hard not to be.

Pain and love swelled through his chest, and an undeniable protectiveness.

Virgil pulled her back into his embrace, encircling his arms around her waist and with little resistance she melted.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered over the curve of her ear, brushing his lips across the elven-like arch of it. “I’m so sorry.”

He put all his love he could into the words, hoping that by apologizing for something he wasn’t wholly the cause of would help alleviate her suffering in some way.

“I wasn’t thinking and it was insensitive of me.” He tightened his hold on her, reassurance imbued into the gesture and slowly began to rock giving her the time to pull herself back together again.

The slight tremor slowly dissipated, her breathing settling into a somewhat normal rhythm and he knew that she was ready to hear. More so when she dragged in a ragged breath and exhaled a long drawn out sigh. He could almost hear her counting to ten in her head. A method she used to reign back in some of her control and a calm he knew well creeped back in. One that camouflaged a great deal of hurt.

He did the same, his warm breath stirring her hair and ghosting across the smooth column of her neck which peeked out from the drooping collar of his shirt.

“You know we’ve got this, right?” He questioned though he wasn’t expecting an answer. “Yes, he’s out…” She stilled once more in his hold but Virgil couldn’t stop now, Kayo needed to hear this even if it was just a band-aid to the problem. He couldn’t sit by and let her lose herself in fear so he pushed on. There was too much at stake.

“Yes, he’s upped his game in a big way. Dad knew he was capable, your Dad knew….” A flinch at the mention of the absentee man but again he pressed on. There was no backing down now. What he had to say, needed to be said.

“We were unprepared but we know better now and I promise you, Tanusha Kyrano Tracy; just like I did on the day you said ‘Yes’.. That I will never, ever let that man hurt you again.”

He slipped a hand down, between the soft folds of flannel, across her silky, soft skin that concealed honed muscle and deadly skills. Brushed the edge of fine lace and stilled, cupped and shielded that which was only known to the two of them.

With strength of purpose his chest swelled, a determination unlike any he had ever known bulked up the threat behind his next words. “I’ll do everything in my power to protect both of you, I swear it or the Hood will regret the day he heard the name Tracy.”

She turned, taking his hand in her own and lightly brushing her lips across his knuckles. “You’re too good for me Virgil Grissom Tracy and I don’t deserve you.”

The brief storm of anger has fled from her eyes, leaving behind only doubt and fear. “But I don’t think it’s as easy as that. You’re too good a man to stoop to such levels and I don’t think I could live with myself if you made that sort of sacrifice on my behalf.

Besides, what sort of life could we offer with him out there. He’s already been the cause of so much pain. You and your brother’s have suffered for years because of it..I don’t think I would have the strength if he was to get you or….”

Virgil’s frowned. “Tin, I married you. All of you and everything you brought with you. I knew full well what I was marrying into but that man, that bastard… he can’t come between us and what we want unless you let him.”

Her gaze dropped and with gentle fingers he lifted her chin and waited for her to meet his pleading eyes. “Don’t let him win… not in this. Please God, not in this.”

“We may not have a choice…” Came the whisper of her response, her forehead resting against his own as a lingering tear slipped from her lashes.

“Tin, please….”

“Virgil, I love you. God, how I love you but I can’t tell you what you want to hear. Not right now. If the Hood found out….

Just then the island klaxon blared and Virgil’s comms started to ping with urgency.

Kayo took a step back from him and he stared after her. Brain going a mile a minute with words he wanted to say, emotions he wanted to express.

“Go…” She said with resignation, her arms once more crossing over her frame. “You’re needed..”

“I’m needed more here.”

His comms buzzed again followed by the voice of his star loving sibling. “Virgil, you’re needed in Ops. A.S.A.P. Please confirm.””

Conflicted, Virgil stood unmoving, his fist clenched at his side. Trapped between the woman he loved and the life they’d chosen.

“Go, I’ll be here when you get back..”

His brother’s voice sounded again from his comms, pulling him in two directions at once. The hint of stress he picks up in it though had him unfreezing and heading for the underground access to the hanger.

Passing through the automated door and hitting his comms to reply to John, he looked back at Kayo. His heart sinking and doubt filling him as he watched her turn away from him.

Uncertainty prickling across his skin as he questioned the validity of her words but there was nothing he could do right now. Lives were at stack…more so than just those that needed rescuing and his hands were tied…

“FAB John, on my way…”

FIN….????

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preservationandruin · 4 years

Text

Rhythm of War Liveblog, Part One Part 2 (Chapters 3-8)

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[to the tune of Things I Bought At Sheetz] Now It’s time for Notes I Took At Work. This is going to be a weird experiment, because I read these chapters while at my job and took extensive notes on my reactions, which I’m now going to try to condense into something coherent.

Navani revels in a successful invention, Shallan encounters a very bad cult, I quote--of all things--Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, A Certain Fucker reappears, Leshwi becomes a character I like, Shallan finds a journal, I digress on Renarin’s abilities, and everyone is rightfully worried about Kaladin. Content warning; discussion of suicide and suicidal tendencies

Alright, we open Chapter Three with Navani’s AIRSHIP, which is a kickass sentence. She’s leaning over the side of the ship, to the distress of one of her fellow scholars who attempts to appeal to Dalinar to get her to stop.

“It’s Navani’s ship, Velat,” Dalinar said from behind, his voice as steady as steel, as immutable as mathematics. She loved his voice. “I think she’d have me thrown off if I tried to prevent her from enjoying this moment.”

This is great both because Dalinar and Navani are great, but also as a contrast to Gavilar saying that Navani doesn’t accomplish anything herself, she just pretends to be an inventor and stays behind other, smarter people. Dalinar says no, this is Navani’s ship, this is her victory. The ship’s base design is one of the chasm bridges; it’s operated on the same principles as spanreeds, a kind of sympathetic link where you link two fabrials and whatever happens to one, happens to the other. Just augmented with aluminum and a LOT of pulleys and hard work.

My notes also say “Eat Shit Gavilar” which i think is just, a general note.

Anyway she also wishes that Elhokar was there because he loved being up high and also watching her draw...so now I’m feeling emotions, and if that wasn’t enough, I get hit in the feelings again because the name of the ship is the Fourth Bridge, after Bridge Four because of the time they saved Dalinar and Adolin at the tower, and it not only has the Bridge Four glyph inlaid but the original bridge inlaid.

We see Dalinar and Lirin interact (my notes call this a “Dad convention”) --Lirin, of course because he’s Kaladin’s father, doesn’t really defer to Dalinar at all but does see the potential of this platform as a movable hospital; he’s discomfited by the reminder that Edgedancers are usually used for that now. Lirin really is a practical man who doesn’t believe in heroes or hero stories, which is unfortunate because they’re coming to life all around him. Also Dalinar calls him Lirin Stormblessed which is pretty funny because Lirin is Not Having It.

Also, we get this great line from Navani about Lirin and Kaladin:

However, as she stepped up beside Dalinar, she caught Lirin’s eyes--and the familial connection became more obvious. That same quiet intensity, that same faintly judgmental gaze that seemed to know too much about you. In that moment she saw two men with the same soul, for all their physical differences.

This is really interesting in light of how Kaladin and Lirin are at the moment arguing; they both are at their core very driven, caring people who want the best for their community, but they are at odds for the best way to achieve that in part because they’ve had such different experiences; Kaladin’s life hasn’t let him be the surgeon Lirin is.

For more changes in the year since we last met these characters, Dalinar has learned how to recharge stormlight and open perpendicularities at will, which essentially makes him a portable battery for the Radiants. That’s super useful. Navani likes observing the process, hoping that somewhere in it is a key to how Urithiru functions; she knows that it used to be powered by the Sibling, the third god-spren of Roshar, but after the Recreance the Sibling either died or fell so asleep the spren treat it as having died.

That’s interesting; the Sibling has been something I’ve been wondering about a lot, and confirmation that it was tied to Urithiru seems to preclude it being a godspren of Odium like I’d thought for a bit (and in any case, Odium has the Unmade and doesn’t seem the time to fragment himself into a godspren). Another spren of Honor or Cultivation? Or perhaps a spren of both? More importantly, if it really is dead, is there still a way to revive Urithiru? Last book talked about possibly recruiting Sja-anat; if we do, could she serve as an alternate power source for the tower?

We also get the Mink, the Herdazian general, slipping up on Dalinar and Navani without them noticing and also calling Dalinar the fuck out for the many atrocities that his armies and nation had unleashed on the Herdazians, which Dalinar can’t really refute. I like this guy, honestly; I’m not sure what’s up with him, if he’s just really good at sneaking around or if he has something Up With Him, but I like him.

Back with the Three (Shallan/Radiant/Veil), they wake up to find themselves in the chasms with an EXTREMELY melodramatic cult. They’re looking for proof Ialai is now running the Hypocrites Association--sorry, the Sons of Honor; Radiant refuses to move against Ialai without proof, even though Shallan and Veil both kinda wish Adolin had killed her at the same time as Sadeas and saved everyone some trouble. Anyway, the Hypocrites association wear deep, fancy hoods that leads to a great Shallan thought:

Shallan had a fleeting thought, wondering at the seamstress they’d hired to do all this work. What had they told her? “Yes, we want twenty identical, mysterious robes, sewn with ancient arcane symbols. They’re for...parties.”

They claim both to have guided the return of the Radiants and to be overthrowing Dalinar, which is hilarious because Dalinar is a Radiant so the only real extrapolation here is that, in the fantasy where they’re right about any of this, they brought the radiants back and lost control of the situation immediately and now are recruiting random strangers to try to help rein it back in. Which is still not a good look.

Oh and also they claim to be “something greater” than the Radiants, and I really doubt they’re the Heralds, so everything they say is horseshit, as is proven a second later when they test if Shallan is wearing an illusion with a device she herself sold them at an exorbitant price. And then claiming that Radiants can’t tell untrue oaths, right in front of Shallan, who is bonded to a liespren.

They’re just a very bad cult.

Also they say Ialai is the true queen, which raises many questions to me about the line of succession that gives them THAT math, especially with Gavinor alive and there. Like, somehow Sadeas’s widow gets priority over the last king’s living child? I know they’re just a stupid cult but guys, that’s not how lines of succession work in monarchies.

Anyway, Shallan hears them say that they have a mole in Dalinar’s inner circle--bad--and goes off-script, taking control to say she’s not who they think she is, and we cut back to Kaladin for the next chapter, which is called Broken Spears which prompted my note of “I don’t trust like that.” And then instantly I started laughing because of this quote:

[The windrunners] hung in the air like no skyeel ever could: motionless, equidistant.

This is not a particularly funny line unless you, like me, have never been able to forget a line from Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy:

“The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't.”

So there’s that.

Kaladin has apparently fought with Leshwi before at this point (she is, iirc, the Fused who was one of the main points of contact for Moash during his arc in Oathbringer); last time, Rock’s daughter Cord managed to shoot her down. The Windrunners, like the Edgedancers, have grown in number; there are about 50 knights, now, and five times that in squires; the problem is that there aren’t enough willing honorspren to bond. Kaladin mentions that “almost all” of Bridge Four had bonded honorspren and that he knew one honorspren who was willing but unbonded, all of which leads me to believe that Rock hasn’t sworn the Oaths yet.

Meanwhile, these Fused--the Heavenly Ones--prefer one on one battles, as Kaladin noted in earlier chapters, so the Windrunners do the same; as long as they do this, the Heavenly Ones will keep to the ideals of honorable combat and will not gang up on the Windrunners. Again, it shows that they are both the orders that deal with Honorspren, even if the Heavenly Ones deal with...void-honorspren, I guess.

Also, it’s another nod to the idea of if there can be such a thing as honorable combat in a war. Both the Heavenly Ones and the Windrunners are trying for it, clearly, but is that sustainable?

Leshwi is in fact there, with a very cool aluminum-edged sword that can absorb stormlight into a gem at the hilt. She, along with the rest of the Fused and apparently the Heralds (Shalash and Taln are both in Urithiru), are stunned by the Fourth Bridge; fuck yeah, Navani and her team. She’s so cool, guys, I love Navani. Also, everyone is worried about Kaladin.

Shallan, meanwhile, is ad-libbing having even more information, which leads to a hilarious moment of her being accused of treason by a member of the cult who are trying to overthrow the current queen, so...there’s a reason I’m calling them the Hypocrites Association, alright? Anyway, Adolin decides it’s time to attack, and Radiant and Shallan manage to bluff their way into being taken along to the hideout as the Hypocrites Association retreats.

With Kaladin again, we get that the Fused see him as a particular challenge they enjoy fighting, although Leshwi always has first dibs; he fights another Fused and manages to disarm him, but decides not to kill him because killing him is pointless. Also, the teleporting fucker comes back, and yes, that is what I’m calling him until further notice.

Something happened in Aimia that led to Cord getting a set of shardplate. Is this the Dawnshard novel? Is that what happened in Aimia? I’m going to read it next regardless but now I’m curious about what happened on the Radiant expedition to Aimia.

So it turns out that the Hypocrites Association has a secret passage into and out of the chasms with a hidden door, which was probably a bolthole for escape that Sadeas put in early during the war at the Shattered Plains. His keep is also noted by Veil to be fortresslike; she notes that he was a cunning man, not just the blowhard that Shallan had taken him for. Ialai is now the sole remaining leader of the dissident Alethi army; while Radiant wants evidence against her that can have her be taken in, Veil is here just to assassinate her and have done with it.

And honestly there is a nice symmetry in Adolin killing Sadeas and Shallan/the Three killing Ialai.

Anyway, we go back to Kaladin as Leshwi fights Sigzil now; she manages to spear him through the chest, and I swear to god if any of the original Bridgemen actually die, I’m going to kick Brandon Sanderson’s ass. Those are my BOYS. In any case, Leshwi doesn’t kill Sigzil, because Kaladin spared one of the Fused earlier--honor in combat, again. There’s definitely a whole essay I could discuss about this opening few chapters and the idea of if continuing a fight is the right thing to do and if that fight can be continued in a way that is moral, but I don’t have the time for that, I’m trying to do NaNoWriMo and read this book.

I’ll shelve it along with the Oathbringer and the idea of personal responsibility essay.

We go back to Navani and get another real sense of how well she knows her team; she knows the personal tics and oddities of all the ardents and scholars who are helping her on the Fourth Bridge, which is nice to see. We also get that Renarin is here, distracting crying children by having Glys form a ball of light, and Navani has this observation:

Renarin claimed the spren [Glys] was trustworthy, but something was odd about his powers. They had managed to recruit several standard Truthwatchers--and they could create illusions like Shallan. Renarin couldn’t do that. He could only summon lights, and they did strange, unnatural things sometimes...

Really excited to see how Renarin’s powers develop similarly to or different from standard Truthwatchers; I agree that Glys is probably trustworthy because Renarin is the best judge of that at the moment and also because “the corrupted spren turns out to be evil” isn’t a very interesting plot development compared to “there can be good corrupted spren”

And then I got yanked forcibly off-topic because guess who fucking showed up. Moash decided to show his backstabbing, treacherous little face again, wearing--of all things--a uniform cut exactly like Bridge Four’s but in black rather than blue, which is just a stupendous dick move. Navani is the one who sees him, too, and we get a sharp reminder that he murdered her son.

Kaladin doesn’t hear the alarm that Navani raises, though, because he’s busy fighting Leshwi, something he seems to genuinely enjoy as a test of his skills. He pushes his home-field advantage here, managing to distract Leshwi to the point that they both seriously injure the other; Kaladin is grinning throughout, which is actually somewhat disturbing. To me it reads like Kaladin’s stopped caring about his own life in favor of trying to help others at any cost, but I’m not sure if that’ll play through as an accurate read.

In any case, someone set Roshone’s house on fire, and the teleporting fucker is there and actively attacking civilians. Leshwi is pissed off to see this and gestures for Kaladin to go and deal with that rather than continuing their fight; at this point, I really started loving Leshwi as a character. I’m a sucker for a good principled antagonist lady, they’re just a good trope.

Anyway, we get to Chapter Seven. Navani’s epigraph notes that zinc makes the spren in fabrials more active, while brass quiets them. So...you could say...that brass soothes them...while zinc...makes them riot....

Anyway, back to Ialai, Shallan notes that she seems extremely worn and tired, and she claims to support Gavinor to the throne--with herself as regent, of course. She and Shallan proceed to have an entire conversation in wine metaphors, talking about who they are working with or for, and Ialai assumes that the Ghostbloods sent the Three to kill her, claiming they want the Sons of Honor out of the way and will send her after Restares next. Veil instantly switches her vote to not killing Ialai bc she doesn’t like to be manipulated, and Adolin kicks down the door.

Ialai tells Shallan to search her rooms for “the rarest vintage” before the Ghostbloods can, and then--before she can even leave the building--she dies of poisoning, implying there’s a mole somewhere in Adolin and Shallan’s people. That’s not great, and the Ghostbloods aren’t fucking around in the slightest with her.

Meanwhile, with Kaladin, the teleporting fucker took Godeke--the one named Edgedancer here other than Lift--hostage to lure Kaladin inside, where he uses a strange, void-fabrial to drain Surgebinder powers in the room. And then makes a critical error in thinking that that will be enough:

The Fused laughed and spoke in Alethi. “Radiants! You rely too much on your powers. Without them, what are you? A peasant child with no real training in the art of warfare or--” Kaladin slammed himself against the soldier to the right.

Oh you poor idiots, Kaladin was a prodigy with the spear LONG before he was a Windrunner, went most of his army career without bonding Syl, and--crucially--one of you is carrying a physical spear. Checkmate, assholes. Kaladin quickly beats most of the ones there, including killing the teleporting fucker before he can teleport again, and lets the last one go--of course--before helping Lift get Godeke out and telling her to get the void fabrial to Navani.

Meanwhile, he’s going to go make sure Roshone is alright, where I have the very prescient note of “I bet actual money Moash is killing him as we speak.”

Ialai’s probable method of death was blackbane poison in her bloodstream; one of Shallans’ people examines the body for it, while Shallan goes to search ialai’s rooms.

Another epigraph note, this time about bronze and heliodor being used to make warning fabrials. Scadrial really was just a primer on the uses of various metals with investiture, huh?

Meanwhile, Kaladin finds the prisoners below the manor killed with a shardblade, and spins around to find Moash slitting Roshone’s throat before making what I called, in a late-night worktime daze, “just a series of rat bastard moves. Hate that guy. Just honestly hate that guy.”

Specifically, he surrenders so that Kal cannot keep attacking him--because Kal’s a good person--just after taunting him for wanting to rescue someone.

Back with Shallan, Veil is pushing her again to continue remembering their past, but she still resists; she finds a rare Shin wine in Ialai’s store, before using that to find a pattern on the floor of old, shadowyears-era glyphs with maps of the ten Epoch Kingdoms, under one of which is a notebook of Ialai’s; she tucks it in her safepouch, and we go back to Kaladin.

I really think the arc for Kaladin in this book is going to be accepting that he can’t save everyone, particularly from themselves, because he pauses and remembers how Moash had been a friend, but even more than that, he had been Bridge Four--someone that Kaladin had sworn to protect, and he’d failed:

Kaladin had failed Moash. As soundly as he’d failed Dunny, Mart, and Jaks. And of them all, losing Moash hurt the most. Because in those callous eyes, Kaladin saw himself.

Kaladin can’t keep blaming himself for Moash’s choices, because Moash chose to do this, and was given ways out, and didn’t take them. It’s not Kaladin’s fault, and believing that it is is going to get Kaladin killed.

And then, Moash winds up and delivers a grade-A Odium-powered Breaking Speech:

"They're going to die, you know," Moash said softly. "Everyone you love, everyone you think you can protect. They're all going to die anyway. There's nothing you can do about it." [...] "Do you remember the chasm, Kal?" Moash whispered. "In the rain that night? Standing there, looking down into the darkness, knowing it was your sole release? You knew it hen. You try to pretend you've forgotten. But you know. As sure as the storms will come. As sure as every lighteyes will lie. There is only one answer. One path. One result. [...] I've found the better way," Moash said. "I feel no guilt. I've given it away, and in so doing became the person I always could have become--if I hadn't been restrained. I can take away the pain, Kal. Isn't that what you want? An end to your suffering?”

Odium’s deal all over again--he will take away your pain and your responsibility for your actions, but the price for that is your integrity and your honor. It’s so insidious, especially because Moash is exploiting the fact that Kaladin was suicidal to play into the idea of life being hopeless--he’s implying that Kaladin’s suicidal impulses were right and then offering another way out. It’s so, so so so awful, and Kaladin can’t even bring himself to fight it, because it’s coming from an unarmed man and it’s targeted so directly at him.

“The answer is to stop existing, Kal. You’ve always known it, haven’t you?” Kaladin blinked away tears, and the deepest part of him--the little boy who hated the rain and the darkness--withdrew into his soul and curled up. Because...he did want to stop hurting.

He wanted it so badly.

Ugh, Moash’s whole thing here is just seeding that suicidality back into Kaladin--because frankly, most of the time? When someone is suicidal, in my (admittedly limited and personal) experience? What they genuinely want isn’t to die--they just want not to hurt anymore, and they see that as the only way.

Light exploded into the room. Clean and white, like the light of the brightest diamond. The light of the sun. A brilliant, concentrated purity. Moash growled, spinning around, shading his eyes against the source of the light--which came from the doorway. The figure behind it wasn’t visible as anything more than a shadow. Moash shied away from the light--but a version of him, transparent and filmy, broke off and stepped toward the light instead. Like an afterimage. In it, Kaladin saw the same Moash--but somehow standing taller, wearing a brilliant blue uniform. This one raised a hand, confident, and although Kaladin couldn’t see them, he knew people gathered behind this Moash. Protected. Safe. The image of Moash burst alight as a Shardspear formed in his hands.

FUCK YEAH, RENARIN.

I’m gonna end this section by just discussing what happened here, because there’s a lot to unpack there. We’ve seen Shallan use her illusions to create versions of people who they could be, but this isn’t doing that--if you look at the cause and effect, it’s not that Renarin created this illusory Moash, but more that the light Renarin created called forth that Moash from this one.

More than anything, it reminds me of the effects of Gold Allomancy--creating a past version of the self, splitting the self into who you are and who you were, or who you are and who you could have been. This is not a version of Moash that could exist. He’s burned too many bridges and killed too many people in front of their infant children for that to happen.

But it could have been Moash. It’s not calling forth the truth, really, it’s showing an alternate path. It’s strange and I can’t wait to see it explored more, and it shakes Moash to his core--because of course it does. Moash’s entire speech was saying “there are only two ways out, dying and giving in to Odium,” and Renarin’s light showed that that was a stark fucking lie. There’s the third choice of deciding to stand up and protect people anyway, and it was a choice Moash could have taken, and that kills him. It eats him up inside; it’s the pain that Odium can’t fully take away.

As Kaladin said to Amaram: if what Odium says is true, if what you claim is true, than why do you still hurt?

#fuck yeah bridge four #rowliveblog #row spoilers #navani kholin protection squad #kaladin has a saving people thing #fuck moash #renarin kholin kicks ass #leshwi is unfortunately VERY cool

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thorne93 · 4 years

Text

Unforeseen Chasm (Part 67)

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together.

Word Count:4131

Warnings: Language, endgame plot, character death Song for this part: Memories- Maroon 5 Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my novels). It’s a collaboration with the amazing @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo. It started as a funny “What if…?” and it evolved and got huge. This took two years to write. We are both proud and happy and we hope you enjoy it. It follows from Thor 1 to Endgame in the MCU. Some of the timelines may be off in order to fit certain people, and some characters may show up earlier or in different ways than they have in the movie. But for the most part, it follows the MCU. It also has a bit of crossover with some other Marvel characters throughout the story.

Masterlist for Unforeseen Chasm

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The time had finally come. The time and places were gathered. Everyone knew their mission. Shannon would be staying behind since she was pregnant. Remy stayed behind as well, as there wasn’t much he needed to do.

You, Steve, Tony, Bruce, and Scott would return to New York in 2012. The rest had their various locations to head to, and you all started your way towards the platform.

Your heart was racing. This was it. You’d finally get Loki back. You’d finally see him again. This was happening, it was very real.

Shannon had gotten to the group a little behind but she wanted to make sure that they would be safe. She had pulled both of her men aside and told them she loved them and to watch each other’s back after that she pulled you aside and asked you to make sure those two goofs would be okay and that you needed to be safe too.

After everyone promised her they’d be safe, Steve began an inspired speech.

“Five years ago, we lost. All of us. We lost friends... We lost our family... We lost a part of ourselves. Today, we have a chance to take it all back. You know your teams, you know your missions. Get the stones, get them back. One round trip each. No mistakes. No do-overs. Most of us are going somewhere we know. But it doesn't mean we should know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives. And we're gonna win. Whatever it takes. Good luck.”

Everyone synced their time machine watches, and you all zapped off to your designated time. In a few seconds, you were in New York, with all of the Chitauri flying, causing destruction. All three men turned to you and gave you a look, to which you gave a sympathetic, humor filled smile.

“Sorry,” you sheepishly said.

“All right, we all have our assignments. Two Stones uptown, one Stone, down. Stay low. Keep an eye on the clock,” Steve reminded.

With that, Bruce set off towards Bleeker street, and the rest of you headed towards the tower.

Steve had to take the civilians entrance, but you and Tony flew up several stories, until you were at the same story as the Avengers from 2012, with all their weapons aimed at Loki and you.

Loki…

Your heart stopped at the sight of him. How did he somehow look better than you remembered? Even bruised, and brainwashed, he was still more handsome than you remembered.

You knew this would happen. You knew you’d see him. You’d already seen him once in the past but now… again? You had more time now.

Past-Shannon had just walked in, eyeing the two of you in the past.

Good lord, you’d forgotten what you’d done to her. She was a bloody mess, her hair disarrayed, her cheeks still red from crying. She thought she’d lost Tony, and she thought she’d lost you as a friend. You weren’t looking too hot yourself. Your clothing was torn, tattered, your breathing labored as your hair stuck out in all directions.

You and Tony stayed in the shadows, watching it unfold. You kept your emotions in check. The tears weren’t coming. Somehow, you knew, your mind overrode your heart. This was your one chance to get Loki back, and you couldn’t blow it, no matter what was happening.

Tony suddenly said, “Uh, Mr. Rogers. I almost forgot that that suit did nothing for your ass.”

You rolled your eyes. “Really, Tony? We’re gonna talk about Steve’s--”

“No one asked you to look, Tony,” Steve retorted.

“I think you look great, Cap. As far as I'm concerned, that's America's ass,” Scott said proudly, saluting.

“Can we focus up here?” you stressed to the team.

For the next few moments, Scott and Tony were talking about Hydra and you were watching everything unfold. Past-you and Loki were put in handcuffs before Past-Steve said, “On my way down to coordinate search and rescue.”

To which, Loki transfigured like Steve to mock him before returning to his normal form and saying, “I mean, honestly! How do you think you'll be--”

Thor slapped the human muzzle on him and said, “Shut up.”

A big part of you wanted to laugh at his antics, you missed them so much. But you didn’t miss this version of you. This version was dark, scary, unstable, and selfish.

You weren’t sure you were much better now, but at least you were a tiny bit more stable.

Tony informed Scott it was his time to shine, and he shot him over to the Tesseract, where he landed on it. You glanced at Tony and nodded before he fell out of the window and hit his nanotech suit. You followed behind him, using your power to keep you elevated.

Tony and you got into suits that matched SWAT before heading into the lobby to watch the argument unfold between Hydra and the Avengers.. Past-Thor insisted that Loki and you would be answering to Odin, or at the very least the Avengers.

Tony, into the coms, said, “All right, move it, Stuart Little. Things are getting dicey up here. Let's go.”

You gave him a nervous glance, surprised that you could take your eyes off of Loki.

Past Stark was still talking with Pierce. “I'm not gonna argue who's got the higher authority here, all right?”

Nervously, Scott asked, “You promise me you won't die?”

“You're only giving me a mild cardiac dysrhythmia.”

“That doesn't sound mild.”

The situation got hairier and hairier as Tony and Thor argued with Pierce and Hydra. Tony kept ordering Scott to pull the pin, but he kept hesitating.

Finally though, Scott pulled the pin, and Tony seized up, gasping for breath. It was hard to watch, but he dropped the case holding the Tesseract.

After a second, present-Tony yelled for a medic, but then Scott pushed the case your way. Your eyes fell on the case as Tony grabbed it, but then your eyes drifted to Loki’s. His gaze met yours for a second before narrowing. You had a lot of gear on your face, but you knew even Loki would know your eyes. His gaze had been following that case though, and that worried you.

But you had to go. You wanted to stay in this past, grab Loki, go far away, return when Shannon had cooled down, when she could understand. But you couldn’t. This timeline was done, you’d seen how it all played out. It was time to fix your current timeline and bring him back.

You followed Tony as he said, “Good job. Meet us in the alley. I'm gonna grab a quick slice.”

“Pizza? At a time like--” you were asking, following along quickly before Hulk suddenly slammed open the door, knocking both of you back. The case opened and the Tesseract flew out.

The blue cube hit Loki’s foot and your heart constricted.

No.

You scrambled to get to the cube. If you could use your powers, you could’ve grabbed it, but everyone was armed and waiting for past-you to do something. If you so much as sparked, you’d risk jeopardizing your past-self.

In all the commotion from Stark and Hulk though, Loki seized the moment in half a second, grabbing the Tesseract. He picked it up, looked at you with loving eyes, and past-Loki and past-you were standing in a portal. The two of you gave each other a look of adoration, and then you were gone in the portal.

You went numb instantly. Loki and you had just escaped with the only way to get the real Loki back.

But some small part of you was actually happy for this timeline. As selfish as it was, wherever the two of you were going, you wished them nothing but happiness.

But now you had a new problem, a very large problem. Where the hell were you going to get the Space stone?

Suddenly, Steve said through the coms, “Oh you gotta be shitting me.”

“Steve?” you breathed into the coms.

“Y/N, get up here. Old me thinks I’m Loki,” he said quietly before speaking to his past self.

“Fuck,” you hissed. “On my way.” You escaped back into the stairwell, using your powers to fly to his location as soon as possible. You just lost the Tesseract, you couldn’t lose the scepter too. When you got there, you saw old Steve and current Steve fighting. Steve had sat the scepter case down. You picked it up and started to carry it off. “Let me know if you need me, Cap. I’ve got the scepter. I’m going to keep to the mission.”

You continued walking as Steve took care of himself. You turned the corner and saw Shannon coming out of a room. For a split second, you were happy to see her, but then you realized this wasn’t your Shannon. This was Past-Shannon. This was the Shannon that just saw you throw Tony out a window. This was Very-Pissed-At-You-Shannon.

You went to open your mouth to talk to her, but it only took her a fraction of a second to respond and fire her powers at you.

“Y/N?!” She looked alarmed to see you standing there. “You're coming with me.” She blasted shots of electric shocks at you to keep you from running off.

Her power stunned you, making you freeze, your entire body going rigid. Of course, this was Past-Shannon which was unstable, and she had your old powers. You were wiser now, a better fighter, and your powers had evolved. But you weren’t here to hurt Shannon.

You dropped to your knees, making no sign to fight her. You held your hands up as she ran at you. “Shannon, no, please! Wait!” you pleaded.

“No, Y/N, I’m not falling for your manipulations. Not again!” She threw a supercharged punch at you but missed as you moved lower. “How did you escape from your holding?” she grabbed you by the back of your neck and applied pressure.

In a swift movement, you knocked her hand and arm off of your neck, jumping to your feet as you held her hands down at her side. “Shannon, listen to me for two seconds. I’m not wearing the same clothes. I didn’t escape holding. I’m not fighting you.”

You hoped being extra calm would get her to listen to you without causing any more of a scene. You hoped she would see you were being sincere.

“You want me to calm down?” She sounded livid and her eyes began clouding over. “You expect me to calm down when you're standing here acting like you are not violating your arrest?” The lights began to flicker and a strike of lighting hit one of the windows causing it to shatter. “You could have just used your illusion powers to change clothes.” Shannon slowly but strongly charged her arms where you were holding her.

Suddenly, the power she built up blasted you off of her. You went flying, the scepter falling out of your grasp. You rolled on the floor. You could’ve taken the blast, but you were trying really hard not to use your powers or get caught up in a fight. You groaned as she stalked over to you. “Peter Parker is your son!” you cried out, looking up at her.

She stopped in her tracks, her face full of shock that quickly turned into a scowl. “H-how did you... That's not true!” she yelled at you, her eyes still milky with red swirling around. Her emotions were getting the better of her as the sky darkened. “You and I both know I can’t have kids, why would you make up such a lie!” Her eyes begin to change back. “I don’t even know a Peter Parker.” She winced as she told that lie.

“I don’t have time for this, Shannon! How else would I know this? He’s your son. You had May be a surrogate. You and Tony saved your eggs and sperm, and you created Peter, that’s how he has his powers,” you stressed, slowly standing up. “Shannon, you know this is true. You know I can’t get inside your head. Loki has that power, but not me. You know I’m not lying. You told me this…” You made a face of uncertainty, but you needed her to stop and let you through. “You told me this at your cabin, that you live in with Bruce and Tony. You have another child, a daughter, named Morgan, and in my time, you’re pregnant with another child. Please… just let me through with the scepter. The Y/N that stands before you isn’t the same one that just invaded New York. She’s twelve years younger than I am. Look at me and tell you don’t see a difference. Look at me and tell me you don’t see a different person from the one that just fought you a flew floors up.” You stared at her, begging her with your gaze to just listen, hope, and believe you.

Shannon closed her eyes, took a deep breath and looked at you, really looked at you. She noticed just how tired you were, she could sense that there was a great amount of grief within you but also a sliver of hope. “W-why do I feel your grief? What happened?” She stuttered and moved to come closer to see your face. “I can feel it blanketed on you but there’s a tiny bit that isn’t.” She cocked her head and her eyes softened at you when she realized that you're telling the truth. “How…how are you even here? I thought that time travel was impossible.” Her heart told her to hug you and so she did, hoping to help to take away some of your pain with her powers.

Her hug breathed some life back into you and you felt some form of closure. Giving this past version of Shannon some sort of hope that you weren’t a monster coming to kill her.

“It isn’t impossible. Tony and Scott Lang figured it out. Bruce helped build the machine,” you explained. “I know it’s hard to trust me. I get that. But the fate of the universe depends on me getting this scepter back to my time. I hope you can believe me or trust me.”

She pulled back hearing your word. “What happens in the future that requires you to get the scepter from my timeline?” She hoped she could get a better understanding of things. She hesitated asking the next question, but did so anyway. “Do.. Do we fix things? I mean between you and me in the future?” She looked up at you with hopeful eyes. “Is Peter happy in the future?” There were so many questions she wanted to ask but wasn’t sure if she would get answers.

Tears formed in your eyes at the mention of Peter. “Shan, uh… Peter… Peter’s part of the reason I need this scepter. But you and I…” You laughed slightly. “Yeah, things get fixed between us. It takes a bit, and it’s not easy, but we work through everything. You find out why I did what I did, and you understand it and forgive us.”

She blanched, shrinking away from what you could possibly mean about needing the scepter because of Peter. What had he done? Was he in trouble, did he get taken or hurt? Her thoughts began to spiral. “I’m glad to hear we fix things. I would have hated it if we hadn’t.” She tried to conceal her emotions from her face.

You smiled past the tears. “No, no, you and I are good. More than good. We’re always there for each other. Through thick and thin,” you assured.

Tears had made trails down her cheeks. “Good. That’s really good.” She bits her lip and looked you in the eyes. “Hey Y/N, did something bad happen to Peter for you to need to come here?” Her voice lowered slightly fearing the worst about what you would say.

You weren’t sure if you should tell her. Sure, this was a different timeline, but you didn’t want to break Shannon’s heart for something that might not even happen in her timeline. This Shannon didn’t deserve to suffer.

“Everything turns out alright. You’ll see,” you assured, nodding. “I wish I could stay,” you said, your voice swelling with tons of emotion. “There are so many things I wish I could change about this moment in time. So many things I wish we could do together, do all over again. Just know that I never meant to hurt you. I love you. I did what I had to and I’m trying to save everyone. But I really have to go.” You looked at her with a pained expression.

She felt every single one of your emotions, the strongest was the heartbreak causing her eyes to water. “You’re right. I shouldn’t keep you from your mission.” She wiped her eyes and gave you a small smile. “Here, just please be careful?” She handed you the scepter but she sounded worried about you. “I know you’ll prove everyone wrong about what they think of you.” And with that she gave you one final hug and moved to the side for you to leave.

You grinned at her, blew her a kiss, and flew out of the window to meet the guys. As soon as you got there though, all three men were beyond upset.

“Shit, the Tesseract,” you remembered. “What are we going to do?” you asked.

Steve and Tony started thinking of other ways to get to the Tesseract. They seemed to concoct a plan where they could get more Pym Particles and get a shot at the Tesseract.

“Where are you two going to go?” you asked, narrowing your gaze.

“Trust me for once, will ya kid?” Tony requested with a smirk.

“You’re not the one who has to face Shannon if I lose you in the past,” you retorted.

“That’s fair,” he assessed with a bob of his head.

“So what are you going to do?” you asked again

“We’ll be alright,” he assured. “See you in a bit. Get that scepter back home, hmm? Don’t go misusing it like last time.” He gave you a teasing look.

You glared at the two of them, but they nodded to you before syncing their watches to some odd time and place. Scott looked as if he was about to have an anxiety attack.

“Scott,” you started, turning to him. “Scott, Scott,” you continued. “Calm down.”

“They… They just left,” he stammered, nearly hyperventilating.

You put your hands on the side of his face. “Hey, hey, listen to me. Focus on my voice,” you soothed. “They know what they’re doing. They won’t ruin the time heist.” You smiled at him and he calmed down. “We’ve gotta get this cepter back to our time,though. We did our part of the mission. Let them do theirs.”

He nodded, listening to you, and you two shot back to the future. You were back on the platform. Everyone was standing there triumphantly. Tony and Steve were there too and you were relieved beyond measure.

“Did we do it?” you breathed, euphoria filling your body before Shannon moved towards the platform.

“Where’s Natasha, Clint?” She walked up the platform and she could tell that something was wrong. “Clint, where is she?!” Her voice was full of emotions.

“She…” He stopped himself. “She didn’t make it.”

“What happened?” She got close and grabbed him by the arms.

“There had to be a sacrifice,” he said numbly, his eyes not quite meeting hers.

Shannon collapsed, hearing what she was dreading that her only other female friend was gone. “No, it can’t be.” She began shaking, her emotions were going haywire and then the lights started to flicker. “Nat, nooooooo,” she cried out.

Bruce walked over to where Shannon was and knelt beside her, holding her and weeping for the one friend he had made who saw him as just a man not a monster. “It’s okay, baby, we’ll get through this.”

You stared down at your best friend, your heart breaking for her, and for Clint, for everyone. The sound of her crying, the look on Clint’s face made you just want to wrap them up and soak up their pain. But you couldn’t, and that killed you.

Tony walked over to the two of them to console them. “Alright, honey, come on,you need to breathe. Your powers are starting to form from the pain.” He got Bruce to get up and give him a hand getting her to stand and she leaned on him as they walked down the platform.

The last thing that the others heard before Shannon was gone was. “We were all she had—-” the rest was gone with her.

Horror and sorrow wrapped around you. Why did someone else have to die for this mission? Hadn’t enough people lost their lives? Tears sprung to your eyes.

---------------------

Rhodey, Nebula, and Rocket worked on getting the stones in a safe place while the rest of you went down to the dock. One by one, everyone went down to the dock. First it was Clint, then it was Steve, then you, then before you knew it, most of the Avengers were out there.

Clint explained somewhat of what happened. The soul stone had to be taken by another soul. Someone you loved had to die in order to obtain the stone. He explained that she sacrificed herself despite his best efforts.

Tony solemnly asked, “Do we know if she had family?”

“Yeah. Us,” Steve responded firmly.

Everyone from the original team was at the dock plus you and Shannon for support. You were near Clint in case he needed a shoulder to lean on. Meanwhile Shannon was sitting on a bench being hugged by her husband, she was pretty quiet, she hadn’t said a word since she was taken to her room.

Thor walked over, and demanded, “What?”

Tony backed up, a little nervous and defensive. “I just asked him a question–”

“Yeah, you're acting like she's dead. Why are we acting like she's dead? We have the stones, right? As long as we have the stones, Cap, we can bring her back, isn't that right?” Thor was beyond angry now. “So stop this shit. We're the Avengers, get it together.”

“We can't get her back,” Clint deadpanned.

“Wha– what?” Thor stammered.

“It can't be undone. It can't.”

Thor laughed, but there was no emotion in it. “I'm sorry. No offense, but you're a very earthly being. Okay? We're talking about space magic. And ‘can't’ seems very definitive don't you think?”

“Yeah, look, I know that I'm way outside my paygrade here. But she still isn't here, is she?” Clint snapped.

“No, that's my point–”

“It can't– be undone. Or that's at least what the red floating guy had to say.” At this point, Clint was shouting. “Maybe you wanna go talk to him, okay? Go grab your hammer, and you go fly and you talk to him!” Tears filled his eyes as he said, “It was supposed to be me. She sacrificed her life for that goddamn stone. She bet her life on it.”

You slowly walked over to him and rubbed his arms. You two had been through a lot in the last couple of years together. “No, Clint, it shouldn’t have been you, or her. It’s a terrible price that had to be paid.”

You wrapped your arms around Clint’s shoulders, resting your head on his left shoulder. He put his hand on your hand and leaned his head against yours. The two of you tried comforting each other.

In a burst of anger, Bruce Hulked out and grabbed a bench, hurling it clear across the lake. His anger spent, he turned to the others with a resigned look on his face.

Shannon flinched at the sudden change from Bruce to Hulk, but she got up anyway and got the big guy to sit and calm down. “Hey, big guy I know this is tough. It hurts me too but I need you to bring back the other guy okay?” She looked into his big green eyes. “I promise you can come back later and we can lay in the grass so you can feel the baby kick.”

His features change and soften noticing how sad she looked. “Okay,” his voice boomed, “be back soon.”

Bruce returned and with a look of determination, said, “She's not coming back. We have to make it worth it. We have to.”

“We will,” Steve vowed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr @kaelingoat-blog @friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo @damalseer @heyitscam99 @yknott81 @sorryimacrapwriter @glitterquadricorn @xxqueenofisolationxx @little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama @bittersweetunicorm @alyssaj23 @sea040561

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Loki: @lostinspace33 @ultrarebelheart @lenawiinchester @esoltis280 @tngrayson @wangdeasang @harrymewmew @jayfantasyatyourservice

UC: @lokis-high-priestess

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turqrambles · 4 years

Text

The Five Worst Things About Digimon World

I did it.

It took 20 years but I did it.

I finally beat Digimon World for the Playstation 1, a game that has haunted me for most of my lifetime, and I did it with a Phoenixmon, the reason why I use “Turquoisephoenix” as a handle!

This is who I used to beat the game, named after an obscure Ratchet and Clank character because that’s just how I roll. The final boss battle involved a lot of Prominence Beam spamming and med recovery floppy spamming but I did it fair and square.

Before I get into what I thought about this game as a whole - and I do have a lot of good things to say about this game since I obviously enjoyed it enough to get to the end - I gotta talk about my least favorite things about this game. In a concise, Buzzfeed-esque list because I like writing things in easy to digest chunks.

Because, like most charming yet difficult games of the late 90′s, this game is very flawed and the flaws are pretty annoying!

1. Care Mistakes

The three emojis - Smile, Cool, and Poop.

Okay. This one - my least favorite part in the game - is going to take a bit of explanation.

First off, I don’t actually hate care mistakes existing as a mechanic. I think it’s a cute, virtual pet-y way to add a different wrinkle to evolution requirements, even if I think it’s a bit counter-intuitive to have to suddenly abuse my little companion once they reach Champion just because I want them to evolve into a floating metallic ball with a chainsaw.

My problem with care mistakes is that there’s literally no way of telling many care mistakes you have on your given Digimon.

Literally everything else in this game is concisely recorded and easily displayed on your Digimon’s stats screen. You can see how much your Digimon weighs. You can see their Happiness, their Discipline. How much Life they have left. Their Age. Even how many poops they need to make before they digivolve into a sentient pile of feces.

But Care Mistakes? Naaaaw, you just gotta remember every single thing that you did to your Digimon from the moment it evolves in your fallible human brain. What’s that? A good portion of this game involves grinding in the Green Gym and it’s really easy to make a Care Mistake there without knowing you did so because you mashed A too fast like the stat-grinding numskull that you are? Well, that’s just too fucking bad for you, then! Enjoy not getting some of the best evolutions, you piece of shit. You stooge. You moron!

This game, multiple times: You know who I hate? The player.

Care Mistakes are such an invisible mechanic that, to this day, there are many guides with misleading info about what counts as a Care Mistake and what doesn’t, which...really stinks for a game such as this where you will be using a guide pretty extensively to get the Digimon you deserve. And you know why that is? Because we don’t get any indication as to whether or not some random event counts against you when raising your Digimon.

And honestly, having one of your main mechanics of the game being entirely invisible to the player is a terrible idea. Just put a little number in my profile that says “Care Mistakes: 0″ in there. Let me know this information without guessing.

2. The Glitches

Pictured: Something that will CRASH YOUR GAME if you try it on a physical copy.

Let me start with a disclaimer that most of the glitches I’m going to complain about were added into the game when Digimon World was localized and therefore aren’t the original intent of the developers. There are certain versions of Digimon World that are more stable than others (The English PAL version is the best version to play because of this) and, if you play this game via “certain methods”, there are patches to circumvent some of the bigger problems.

That being said! Boy! Isn’t it ironic that a game where I’m exploring the digital world is plagued with so many annoying, game-ruining glitches? Especially if I’m playing this game on a physical 20-year old copy like a dunce?

“Ohhhh...so Agumon thinks that they can block the Digimon game with their big fat Digimon-blocking head, do they?!”

The NTSC version of this game has a jukebox that will crash the game if you try to use it, keeping you from ever using a bonus feature meant to be a fun little reward for completing a certain dungeon, but that’s not as heinous as the Spanish, French, German, and Italian PAL versions of this game locking a good portion of the game to players because they forgot to make the Agumon in front of Ogremon’s Fortress an object you can interact with.

So that means, if you happened to get this game in one of four lucky countries, you can’t complete the Ogremon mission, you can’t recruit Whamon, you can’t recruit Shellmon, you can’t recruit anything tied to Shellmon’s bulletin board (which means no Vademon or Skullgreymon), and you can’t go to Factorial Town and recruit Giromon, Andromon, or Numemon. Ogremon is a key part of the Digimon World storyline and causes so many different things in the game to change, meaning that it should’ve been imperative to make sure this part of the game works!

But no. Instead this one little bastard Agumon keeps most players from finishing the game, because it starves players of those PAL regions of a bunch of Prosperity points, the main source of progression in this game. That means that Mt. Infinity and the final boss is just that much harder to unlock. It’s doable, but it’s more grueling process.

This really is a problem with the translators and really highlights a lack of general care with testing this game. Why this game was allowed to be shipped with such glaring bugs is anyone’s guess, especially in an era where you couldn’t release any patches over the Internet to fix retail versions.

3. The Monochromon’s Shop Minigame

Ohhhh....this one was so close to getting the top spot. When I first wrote this draft, this was the top spot.

Monochromon was only spared of my true ire on account of the fact that it really only exists for one part of the game (rather than being a constant problem like the Care Mistakes and the Glitches are) and you can easily cheese it by sleeping in front of the store so that you can save scum your way to victory. Like a true Digital Champion!

At one point in the game, you gotta help a entrepreneur dinosaur rhino man make a profit, because he was stupid and put his convenience store in the middle of a giant canyon next to a gaping chasm. So you play a little game of haggling, where you try to ruthlessly oversell a bunch of random items to customers until you make enough of a profit that this talking dinosaur tells you that you passed his secret test of character, abandons his store, and moves into File City.

There’s just one problem with this minigame - everything is decided by RNG.

“Get the hell out of my shop”

This minigame hates you. It wants nothing but to see you fail and to waste your time. The difference in profit margins of the three items (Meat sells for 50g, Portable Potties sell for 300g, and Medicine sells for 1000g) are so stark that, if you get too many customers asking for Meat, you might as well just reset the game and start over because it will be literally impossible to meet the requirement even if you busted the customer’s proverbial balls and squeezed every last bit out of their cutesy penguin faces.

Oh! It’s also RNG as to whether or not your customers will take your asking price or storm out of the store without buying anything!

It’s all the fun of working at retail! In a video game!

4. Three on One Battles

What you see before you is a battle system that is really fun when it’s one vs. one, manageable at two vs. one, and downright unbearable at three vs. one.

The battle system works for the most part. You don’t have full control of your Digimon (and yes, you only have one Digimon with you at one time, so you can never stack the numbers in your favor) so you shout commands at it, commands that the Digimon’s AI are pretty good at following, and hope for the best as you chuck healing items at it.

It’s not the best battle system, but it’s fun. And it definitely reinforces the whole “this is a pet you’re taking care of with its own thoughts and feelings” atmosphere that this game is going for.

However, nothing can protect your Digimon from enemy fire concentrated on them, especially if you did the thing that most players do and equipped your Digimon with the most powerful attacks that also happen to have slower cast times than the faster, weaker attacks.

What then happens is your Digimon’s Health is slowly whittled away as you are powerless to stop it, watching as your digital friend is straight up bullied by enemy Digimon as they keep falling to the ground over and over and over and over again.

The one saving grace is that Friendly Fire exists in this game so that oftentimes the enemy Digimon will damage each other in their mad dash to ruin your day, but that seems more like a band-aid than an actual fix to this system.

5. Fishing Seadramon

“Hi, kid. Let me guess - you also thought you had to talk to the Tankmon in Factorial Town in order to unlock me, huh.”

This one is a lot less of a pain than the other four and it’s only a little annoying but boy...getting Seadramon kinda sucks in this game.

It took me almost a goddamn hour to catch Seadramon. One hour of gameplay devoted to catching one fish. Just like real fishing!

I will say, besides Seadramon, the fishing minigame in this game is pretty competent. It’s just that Seadramon is very elusive, showing up at only two hours in a 24 hour day, and is a very finicky fish that won’t take your bait even if you literally placed it in front of his dumb fish face.

Don’t be fooled by this screenshot. The heart just means you have the right bait. The heart means that you didn’t actually get within range of hooking him.

IT’S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!!!

Seadramon is also subject to almost as many gaming myths as the Care Mistakes are, due to how elusive he is, but that’s less to do with poor communication (the game does at least explain multiple times in multiple places how to find him) and more to do with the fact that catching him is just such a goddamn chore to do that players of this game always assume they’re doing something wrong.

When in reality, Seadramon is just a picky little bitch.

Next time I discuss Digimon World, I’ll talk about things I liked, don’t worry. I just had to get all of this negativity out before discussing the full game proper.

#Digimon World #Turq Reviews #Turq Plays a Game

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breakingsomething · 4 years

Note

"Stay. Please" or "Do you trust me?" for the fall prompt stuff!! with anyone :0

trigger warnings: blood, gore, aftermath of torture

figured i'd write from the perspective of a character i hadn't done before. don't tell jackson, though :0

the sound of a clock was funny. tick, tick, tick - each sound a second of a minute of an hour of a day, slipping away right in front of his eyes. tick, tick, tick. three seconds, four seconds, five.

"jackson," he whispered to the silent room. "jack-son."

the man didn't move. he appeared to have fallen asleep against aaron's side, curled up into himself with his arms wrapped around his chest. his glasses had slipped off down his nose, shaking with every soft burst of breath that passed his lips. aaron frowned down at him, stroking his hair out of his face gently. jackson was tired. aaron couldn't blame him. so much bullshit had happened recently.

he pushed his boyfriend off him with agonizing slowness, so as not to wake him. once jackson was laying down across the couch, aaron stood, wincing at how his legs buckled. he hadn't moved in hours, and he hissed through his teeth at the pins and needles that sparked up and down his body. once he was fully upright with all four limbs working, he stretched and wandered into the kitchen for something to parch his thirst.

tick, tick, tick. he could hear the clock piercing the silence throughout the flat, the only noise he could hear at all. it made him think about the glitch, alone under that store. maybe he was also counting the seconds. time was driving aaron up the wall.

water in a cup. drinking it made a heavy pang of guilt slice through his chest. the glitch wouldn't have water right now. he might need some. aaron licked his lips, breathing heavily; and all that did was remind him of what jackson had done to the man, how he wouldn't be able to do what aaron had just done anymore. he still couldn't believe jackson had actually… he knew his boyfriend had a sadistic streak, but cutting out his own brother's tongue seemed a bit too far.

not brother, aaron reminded himself. jackson says he's not his brother.

aaron barely stopped to think. he filled up several water bottles and left the house quietly, clicking the door shut behind him. he had to go see if jackson had really done what he said he'd done. aaron wouldn't believe it. tick, tick, tick. aaron was nowhere near the clock anymore, but he could still hear it loud and clear as he padded through the dim, rain scented streets.

he barely breathed until he reached the shop and went down to the door of the basement. part of him didn't want to open it. there was blood on the floor. lots of blood on the floor. aaron hadn't even gone in yet and there was blood on the floor. he wouldn't be sick. he'd just go inside.

and oh, his heart stopped when he saw anti.

the man was covered in blood. that was the first thing. jackson appeared to have tried to clean some of it up, but anti's chin was soaked in it, cut marks from knife slips all over his face. his shirt was drenched. walls, floor. everything. anti looked barely conscious, and flinched when aaron stepped closer. god, he nearly passed out when the glitch looked up with shining black eyes, full of pain even as they were empty looking chasms. fucking hell, fucking christ, jackson hadn't been lying.

"brought you water," aaron croaked, his legs weak under him. he fell to his knees, sliding his bag off his back. it squished as it fell in the blood. "can you drink it? i - i didn't know he was going to - shit, man, i'm so sorry."

anti shook his head. he opened his mouth as though to speak, but of course he couldn't. a small gasping wheeze escaped instead, and when he coughed, more blood ran down his chin.

aaron wasn't squeamish. he was good with gore. really, it was part of his job description at this point. but just knowing his boyfriend had done this - "anti, sit up. i'm going to undo your bonds. just - can't tell jackson, i think he'll kill me."

the fact that anti made no effort to acknowledge what he'd said told aaron how bad this situation was. he took him by the shoulder, and the glitch gasped at the contact, flinching again and whimpering softly. "sorry, sorry," aaron murmured, turning anti round as much as he could to undo the cuffs and zipties up his arms. anti didn't move once he was freed. just slumped against aaron's form, shivering, whining softly in pain.

aaron gently pushed him away. he'd gotten blood on his own shirt now. "fuck," he hissed, rummaging through his bag for the water. "here, let's get you cleaned up."

anti barely reacted, just moved wherever aaron moved him and sobbed softly through the pain. aaron hadn't seen anti like this before. so different from his normal cocky attitude. aaron supposed he might not see that from him again.

"drink some water," aaron said softly. anti shook, eyes wet, hair falling in his face. he pressed his bleeding lips together and shrank back, terrified. aaron sighed. "i - i'm not jackson. i'm trying to make sure you don't die."

anti made a small sound that could have been mistaken for a laugh.

tick, tick tick. each sound a second of a minute of an hour of a day. eventually anti was more or less clean of blood, his mouth having been rinsed out, plasters gently placed over his broken skin. all the water used up. aaron studied his work, stomach rolling with unease. "there we go," he murmured. he brushed anti's hair from his face with a scarlet stained finger. "a bit better. i - i have to restrain you again. i'm sorry."

anti didn't protest. his head fell against aaron's shoulder, trembling as the man fixed his bonds. "i'm so sorry," he mumbled as he did it. "this is all i can do for you. i'm sorry."

he stood and stepped away from the shivering man. anti looked up at him once, his eyes pleading. stay, please. don't leave me here with the pain, please, please. you fucking did this to me.

aaron swallowed back bile. his throat burned.

he left anti alone again.

#boop writes #antisepticeye #i. really should make a tag for my ocs huh #aaron mckenzie #there we go!#prompt #anon #the fall

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killscreencinema · 4 years

Text

Death Stranding (PS4)

youtube

The first week of quarantine, I lost my job. It wasn’t COVID related, more like “I hated my job and my employers finally realized it” related. So it was actually really good timing that I began this game while unemployed, as virtually delivering packages to people made me at least feel like I still had a job!

Death Stranding, released by Hideo Kojima’s new independent studio in 2019, is set in a bleak, post-Apocalyptic future where the world of the living and the dead have converged in a catastrophic event called, well, the “death stranding”. Dangerous phantoms, called “BTs”, roam the countryside, dragging anyone unlucky enough to encounter them into their world. The only person who can stand up to them is a porter named Sam Bridges (Norman Reedus), who has a unique condition called DOOMS which allows him to sense a BTs presence (who are otherwise invisible to the naked eye). Paired with a child bred to act as a link between the living and dead, called a Bridge Baby, or BB, Sam can even see a BT, making him the only candidate who can possibly bring the world back together by traveling the wastelands of the former United States, delivering packages and connecting the surviving human cities via something called the “chiral network”.

So it’s basically a fucked up, but better, version of that Kevin Costner movie The Postman.

Also, if it seems like my story summary took longer than usual, welcome to the world of Hideo Kojima! I tried my best to explain the story in a brief synopsis, but I still didn’t even scratch the surface of it. For example, I didn’t even mention how Mads Mikkelson intermittently drags Sam to a battlefield-like purgatory so he can steal his BB; or how Sam’s mysterious connection to the BTs makes his bodily fluids deadly to them, so you will often use weaponry made from his piss, blood, and shit to fight them; or how his primary objective is to rescue an enigmatic woman named Amelie, who may or may not be the daughter of the recently deceased President of the United States, from terrorists who want to use Amelie to bring about the extinction of humanity.

This game is bananas, ya’ll... but in the best way.

I started this game with extremely low expectations, as it had been critically lambasted by most of the major gaming sites and YouTubers. From the previews of the game I watched, it just seemed.... weird. I didn’t understand what the hell I was looking at - Norman Reedus with a pod baby strapped to his chest, and a strange flappy doodad on his shoulder, while walking on a tar beach strewn about with dead whales? What the fuck, Hideo? Visually alone the game was such a stark (and I mean *stark*) departure from the Metal Gear games, so when I found out the gameplay was delivering packages, I became convinced that Hideo Kojima had done lost his goddamn mind.

Turns out... and this should hardly come as a surprise... the man is a goddamn genius.

Truly brilliant art always offends and bewilders the senses at first because your mind doesn’t know how to cope with what its experiencing. Watch any given David Lynch movie and you’ll see what I mean. The human mind has trouble processing totally new information that has no frame of reference in memory or cultural awareness, which is why “weird” art initially repulses before it gains a following (and many great artists die in poverty before they are recognized for their genius). Imagine introducing a peasant from the Middle Ages to a helicopter - they’d think it looks absolutely ridiculous, so when you tell them it can fly, just IMAGINE their incredulity.

Anyway, I think that is why initial impressions of Death Stranding were so negative - it was a lot to take in for a lot of gamers used to being spoon fed repackaged versions of the same games but with different titles. Even things that seem at first “original” have recognizable gaming mechanics that ease the player in. I mean a game set in the apocalypse where the core gameplay is centralized on package delivery??? There’s nothing like this! So your reaction is either going to be “This is brilliant” or, like the medieval peasant, “this is ridiculous”.

Mind you, I’m not saying if you don’t like this game, you’re as stupid as a medieval peasant.

I get why people would hate this game - it’s very different than a lot of games out there. Death Stranding is bold and audacious in its storytelling and its gameplay. It takes a lot of risks that most AAA publishers (like Konami for example) would balk at, which is why Kojima had to create his own company to make it.

The gameplay seems simplistic at first - deliver packages from point A to point B. However, it’s a little more complicated than that. For one, the key element of the game is item management and learning not to bite off more than you can chew. Sam can only carry so many boxes, and the more you stack on top of him, the more difficult the journey will be, especially when crossing BT territory or bandits (called MULES) nipping at your heels. You also have to take into account the rocky terrain, river crossings, and weather (oh, did I mention that rain in this game, referred to as “Time Fall”, can rapidly age items and people?). The game is all about carefully choosing equipment you’ll think you will need, whether it be weapons, ladders (for climbing large cliff faces or crossing deep rivers or chasms), sprays for repairing damage to packages, or even a spare pair of boots in case the shoes you’re wearing wear out. So to say that the game is “just delivering packages” greatly diminishes some of the nuance going on here. Yes, there are lots of long stretches of just walking across a landscape to some of the most melancholy music ever assembled on a soundtrack, but I’d argue that having patience for those moments is part of the gameplay.

The game can be frustrating, such as when Sam refuses to climb a ledge you KNOW is climbable, so he just trips and falls over instead. The vehicles that you eventually unlock are some of the most goddamn frustrating vehicles in video game history. At first, I figured it was because I would eventually unlock better modes of conveyance more adequately adapted to crossing rough terrain, but no - they all drive like shit. Just getting the truck to drive up a hill without spinning out and rolling backwards can fray on one’s nerves. It’s hard to discern how much of it is the vehicle and how much might be poor controls.

The story, as alluded to above, is ambitious at best and pretentiously bloated at worst. However, if you’ve played any of the Metal Gear games, you know what you’re signing up for when it comes to high concept, over-indulgent story. I would say that for the most part, Death Stranding’s story is coherent enough to enjoy, although there are long expository cut scenes that convolute the plot more than clear it up. Fortunately, the characters are well developed enough, and are interesting enough, to keep you invested (a storytelling skill that is perhaps Kojima’s saving grace). Also, the more dramatic beats of the story are impactful enough to still resonate, even if you’re not entirely sure what the fuck is going on. It helps to have talent like Norman Reedus, Mads Mikkelson, and Lea Seydoux in the cast, whose performances bring the characters to life. Sam in particular might have been an insufferable loner, were it not for Reedus’ gruff likeability that made him famous from Walking Dead.

If you’ve avoided this game because, like me, you were convinced by bad reviews that it sucks, I would highly suggest that you reconsider. It may not be as fun, or compelling, as a Metal Gear Solid game, but it’s an interesting departure and one worth experiencing.

#death stranding #hideo kojima #norman reedus #mads mikkelsen #guillermo del toro #ps4 #playstation 4 #sony #video game

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mrs-dragneel-stark-solo · 5 years

Text

Unforseen Chasm

Part 1 of Unforseen Chasm

Prompt: Two sisters fall for men that are absolute enemies. The love they have could tear all of them apart, or it could bring them together.

Word Count: 2191 Warnings: Language, Note: This is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written (including my other fic series). first major Collab with my best friend @thorne93 what was first a simple "what if" moment turned into a two year writing session and I've never been more prouder of myself than when i started my first series. goes through most of the MCU plots there are some changes to accommodate for what we wanted and there is a bit of a crossover between the MCU and other characters. I hope you guys enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

___________

Once in a lifetime, and sometimes not even then, people meet someone who can be described as their better half. The person who knows them better than anyone. The person who completes them. Sometimes it can be found in a lover, or a sibling, or sometimes...once in a blue moon, it can be found in just a friend -- a stranger you cross paths with one day. A stranger that eventually means more to you than anyone else in the world.

That’s how it was for you and Shannon.

It was freshman year of college when she walked into your life. The two of you were set together as roommates. She had a touch of pluckiness to her, drive that you’d never witnessed, intelligence that rivaled yours, and a take no shit attitude.

Of course, she was shy at first, so were you. But within just a few minutes, you realized that you two were destined to be best friends. Her major lied in anatomical mutation and molecular engineering with a minor in foreign language. Meanwhile, you majored in physics and engineering, minoring in Norse mythology.

Shannon definitely teased you for that. She wondered why or how you would ever need that, but your reasoning was simply that you enjoyed it. If you were going to spend thousands upon thousands studying something for a career for the rest of your life, the least you could do was study one thing that was a little different that fascinated you, even if was just for four years.

Your areas of study may have overlapped, but your upbringing didn’t. Shannon had parents, who loved her, and according to her “sent her to a prestigious academy to refine all skills”. And you saw these skills in the way she moved, talked, carried herself, and focused her skills. She was all things a lady should be. In fact, she did so well in this so called “Red Room”, that Howard Stark (founder of Stark Industries) caught wind of her accomplishments and decided to invest further in her. He gave her a full ride scholarship to any college she wanted, to study whatever she wanted. He thought maybe, one day, she might be of use to his son Tony.

In fact, they became good friends too. Tony and Shannon, that is. He was a few years older than her, but he helped her with her work, and became curious as to why Shannon was always hanging around his dad’s company. It didn’t take a genius to see why Shannon was selected -- she was elite, one of a kind.

You on the other hand, you were the nerd. The little bit dorky type. All you ever really loved was science, math, technology. You were raised by foster parents, but they weren’t the greatest. They didn’t ever give you any attention past making sure the foster money cleared for you. The only person you had was Remy, another boy that lived in the foster family with you. Kids were in and out of that house for years, but you and Remy seemed to stay, that is, until you left for college. College was where you met Shannon and her family, and ever since then, Shannon’s family was now your family, making you far closer to Shannon than you’d ever been to anyone besides Remy. You went to her house for holidays, even met with Tony a handful of times.

Once the two of you graduated college and decided on grad school, you didn’t want to separate. Four years of living together had made you two almost inseparable. Not wanting to lose each other just yet, you grabbed an apartment only thirty minutes away from your graduate school. Graduate school was surprisingly a breeze, and when you completed it, the two of you moved into a studio apartment together.

After being best friends for nearly a decade, you got a dog together, both of you animal lovers and you thought it might add some more character to your home. And he certainly did.

While the both of you, yes, were involved in STEM, for the most part, your paths slightly diverged.

After graduation from graduate school for both of you, Tony Stark offered a job to Shannon at his company as his assistant. She would help oversee nearly every operation, invention, gizmo, gadget. All of it, would be under her supervision. Through this, she became good friends with Dr. Bruce Banner, and Tony, being at the labs day in and day out with them.

It was actually in those labs that her… well… accident happened. A lab malfunction caused a chemical gas to react with her molecular structure causing a strange reaction. By strange you meant, well, unusual. She developed a mutation, but not like a third eye, or another pinky. No, she gained the ability to manipulate the weather and drain people of their powers. It was the most magnificent thing to watch. She accidentally discovered her powers at home, in the kitchen, and you witnessed it, but you swore yourself to secrecy for her. You could never hurt her and betray her like that.

Tony knew, of course, because he had to help her figure out what was wrong with her. And Bruce was an expert in lab experiments gone wrong. Between those two helping her control her powers, and your emotional support, she was just like a normal person -- until you pissed her off.

Just another crowning jewel on an already nearly perfect woman. She was the epitome of a femme fatale -- beautiful, genius, deadly, and powerful beyond human strength.

As for you? Your work placed you in the field. Your physics took you to some crazy locations and you picked up work wherever you could find it. You loved physics, you were good at it, damned good. But you weren’t winning Nobel prizes, you weren’t heading huge projects for Stark Industries, you weren’t getting offers from MIT for research. No, you were scrounging for contract jobs, for little pick me ups with NASA. It wasn’t that you didn’t like it, or that you were desperate for work. People knew of your work, you spoke at conferences, you were in high demand.

But by your dumb luck, it wasn’t you that ended up with the glitz, glam, and glory that came from working for Stark.

For the last few months you’d been in the field with Jane Foster - a highly respected physicist -- with barely any funding. The two of you could barely split the research grant you’d been given and you had to hire an intern. You were all the way out in New Mexico while Shannon was still in NYC, living the dream. You missed her like crazy, but this work you were doing was important… At least that's what you kept telling yourself…

____________

Jane and you had set up camp in Small Town, New Mexico, you’d been out here for a few weeks now. There were these strange atmospheric phenomenon that were going on that Jane felt were connected to the research the two of you were involved with. She called Dr. Selvig out to study it with you two, seeing as he was a pioneer in this field.

Just before you all headed out to the site, you decided to give Shannon a call, a strong case of homesickness hitting you.

You propped open your laptop and selected her contact and called. The familiar ring only went through twice before her wonderful face filled the screen.

Y/N! Hey!” she greeted delightfully.

“Hey!”

She stepped away from the computer and back to her workbench in Tony’s lab -- a very familiar sight to you.

“What’s up?”

“Just missing you. We’re about to go study that aurora again tonight, but Selvig is here now, so it’ll be another set of eyes,” you explained.

“Ah, yes, the light in the sky. Any headway on that?”

“None. Hopefully he’ll have some insight because I’m growing tired of staring at clouds each night. I’m not out here to be a storm chaser…”

“What’s this about storm chasing?” Tony suddenly said, entering your field of view.

“Hey, Tony,” you greeted in a friendly tone.

“Why don’t you ditch the desert and come to a real lab?” he asked as he walked backwards, looking at the camera before spinning to stand next to Shannon and work on the tool she was soldering. “You could have unlimited technology here. I could really use someone with your expertise on physics when it comes to landing gear for my suit. What do you say, Y/N? A real job, in air conditioning, not out in the dirt…?”

“Tempting,” you said with a smirk. “But I’m gonna stick to real work for now.”

“Did she just insinuate I don’t do real work?” Tony asked Shannon, pretending to be offended. She merely rolled her eyes and laughed, shaking her head.

“You two…” she lovingly chided. “When are you going to come home? I miss you. I need your world famous tacos.”

You laughed. “My tacos are trash and you know it.”

She returned the laugh before becoming serious again. “Seriously though. When? Things aren’t the same without you.”

You sighed, wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. I’m trying to get all this data, but since we have to wait every night… There’s no telling.”

“Well work hard,” she requested, sadness but understanding in her voice.

“I’m trying.”

“Seriously. Y/N, pick up the pace, I can’t take another week of this. She is killing the morale,” Tony remarked, gesturing to her with a tool.

“Okay, Tony, for you, I’ll try,” you said with heavy sarcasm, making the two of them smile. “Oh, shit, gotta go. Time to go watch the sky give me some pretty colors.” You rolled your eyes and told them goodbye before signing off of your laptop.

The four of you set off about twenty miles west from your little lab in the middle of town. You sat out there for several minutes, nothing happening. Selvig started to question Jane and you, and Darcy was getting restless. Jane was pleading that he just hold on a few more minutes. Finally, Darcy saw something and drew your attention to it.

This was no subtle aurora. This was… something else.

Jane ordered Darcy to drive, and all of you launched back into the camper full of equipment, bumping and knocking things as you went over the rough terrain of the desert. Darcy was pushing the camper to full speed, zooming towards the odd light in the sky when suddenly a funnel of light and wind swirled toward the ground. Jane was filming it all and you were taking in what you could.

Just as you were about to go through the tornado-like event, Darcy cut away from it.

“Darcy!” you shouted, needing to get inside this event.

“I’m not dying for six college credits!” she yelled before Jane tried to take the wheel from her.

The two of them fought over the steering wheel for a few seconds before -- THUD. You hit something… actually, you think it was someone. Darcy slammed on the brakes and all of you jumped out of the camper.

You ran over to a man lying on the ground as Jane said, “Do me a favor and don’t be dead.”

“I think legally that was your fault!” Darcy called.

“Get the first aid kit,” you commanded as you kneeled beside him. You grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse -- there was a strong one, good. Next you looked at his face to examine any damage -- but before you could do that, you were taken aback by his beauty. He was… handsome, very handsome. Then he opened his eyes.

He jumped up, muttering and stumbling around. Jane noticed the markings on the ground, and you saw them too, and they should’ve been important to you, but right now all you could focus on was this stranger.

“Hammer...Hammer!” he suddenly yelled.

“Yeah we can tell you’re hammered, that’s pretty obvious,” Darcy noted.

Jane began trying to note the markings on the ground, telling Erik to look at them, but he was telling her they needed to get this stranger to a hospital. Your mind wasn’t exactly focused on either thing as you watched him. There was something… familiar about him, but you were sure you’d never seen him before in your life.

“Father! Heimdall! I know you can hear me! Open the Bifrost!” the man commanded, making your hair stand on end.

“Bifrost,” you muttered inaudibly. You’d heard that a lot. Actually you’d heard that in Norse mythology. Clearly this man was delusional and thought he was some Viking God…

“You! What Realm is this? Alfheim? Nornheim?” the man asked of Darcy.

“New Mexico?”

She pulled out her taser and aimed it at him. “Darcy, no!” you demanded.

“You dare threaten me, Thor, with so puny of a weapon?!”

She pulled the trigger and he dropped, just as a mortal man would, making some of your suspicion (and hope) fizzle out. Of course gods weren’t real, that was just silly.

Tag list:

@reigningqueenofwords

@cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you

@winchester-writes

@winchesterenthusiast

@georgialouisea

@deansdirtylittlesecretsblog

@dammit-stark

@livelikeawinchester

@sammysbuttcheek

@bran2015

@misz-adrii

@sandlee44

@womanxofletters

@natsuccs

@childishhoebinoo

@depressed-moose-78

@oldfreakything

@expecteddifferent

@girl-next-door-writes

@fanaticfanfiction

@dakotapaigelove

@sassy-spn-knight-of-hell

#marvel #MCU #loki x reader #tony x ofc #unforseen chasm #tony stark #thor #loki

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killian-whump · 5 years

Note

Just saw your recent post about lady whump and I wanted to thank you for hitting the nail on the head when it comes to lady whump and the problems with it. I couldn't figure out why my favorite whumpees were female but I couldn't enjoy ALL female whump despite my clear enjoyment of it. I'm much more picky about the females I whump than the men, even though my favorite characters are actually woman. I thought it had something to do with actor preference (which it does to a point) 1/3

but I'm realizing it has more to do with the style of writing for me and the tropes involved than the whumpee themself. Because you're so right about lady whump being written different than male. I'm not a fan of the damsel in distress trope but I love a broken strong character and those are almost always written for men.I'm a lurker in the whump community because my favorite whumpees are female (Regina Mills currently because she's such a well written whumpee) 2/3

and I just don't feel like there's a lot of love for lady whump. But preferences aside, it does make me wonder how much good lady whump goes unappreciated or overlooked simply because there's a stigma around it due to bad writing surrounding female characters and not necessarily because of the whump itself. Anyways I'm rambling now but thank you for putting into words some of the problems I've had. 3/3

------------- why did tumblr take away our line breaks --------------

Thanks for the messages, Nonny! I’m glad that post of mine helped put your problems and thoughts into words. It’s good to know I’m not totally in left field with my thinking on this, too, because it’s just something I’ve only started tossing around as a whump theory, but I think it’s got a lot of merit!

And the more I think on these subjects, the more I notice other aspects of it, too... Like, most shows have their different “types” of men - Say, Criminal Minds, how it has the more “physically weak/vulnerable” type like Spencer Reid but also the “physically average/stoic” type like Aaron Hotchner, AND the “physically strong/tough” type like Derek Morgan... and they coincide with the types of men we whumpers tend to like seeing whumped. Well, generally speaking... women tend to come in much fewer “types” in Hollywood. And those types are basically “shapely/useful” and “not shapely/comic relief”. Oh, and then there’s the “shapely/bitchy” category, usually reserved for villains and mean girls.

And I think the problem STARTS there, because let’s be real, most female characters fall into that chasm of interchangeability and lack of individuality, even today. It’s getting better, yeah, but it’s still not moved much beyond “So we have a team made up of the strong guy, the stoic guy, the smart guy, the funny guy, and the girl...” mode of storywriting.

And we know that whumpers who like male whump generally have a “type” that they go for - and will even complain about their frustration when a show whumps “the wrong one” for them. Naturally, whumpers who like female whump ALSO have a “type”... but if Hollywood’s never showing/whumping the specific “female type” that an individual whumper goes for then how would that individual ever even realize they LIKE ladywhump at all?

Anyway, in that line of thinking, I think this is why I’ve generally always found shows with predominantly male casts and “teams” tend to have crappy ladywhump. Shows like Once, built on more female-led casts, tend to have better ladywhump. And I happen to agree with you that Regina is an EXCELLENT whumpee, because she is definitely a strong, independent woman who doesn’t take any shit... which is, not-so-oddly-enough, the exact same “type” I go for in my male whumpees, as well.

I’m also getting fascinated by the lame whump in Lifetime movies. Lemme tell you, it’s lame as all hell, because these are like C class made-for-TV movies on a budget and all that, so it’s generally not “great” in the acting or staging or make-up departments... but because these films are MADE for a predominantly female audience, the “types” of female characters are a lot more varied and created more so to appeal to women. And I notice the exact opposite phenomenon going on in Lifetime movies - The male characters are all basically the same cardboard cutout Idiot Husband/Boyfriend/Murderer character, and the whump they get is generally stupid, like a 2x4 to the back of the head and we don’t see him again for, like, 20 minutes while the woman saves the day. Whereas when the women get whumped, you see all the spills and thrills and peril we normally associate with men getting in Hollywood. It’s really all very fascinating, and I find myself entranced by the different reactions I have to male whump and female whump when seen through this medium.

I gotta apologize if this post is rambly or lacking focus, because this really is just me spitballing here and throwing ideas out into the ether, because I’m thinking a lot about all of this, but I’m still not fully “locked in” on all the wheres and whyfores of it all. It’s sort of more like a jumble of ideas and thoughts at this point, less like a cohesive theory.

But yeah, the more I’m thinking about it, the more I’m coming to the conclusion that the lack of love ladywhump gets compared to malewhump has a lot less to do with US and a lot more to do with the differences in the whump that gets MADE of each gender and how it’s done...

Oh, and check out my Bonus Regina Whump tag if you haven’t already :D That’s where I very cleverly hide the Regina Whump stuff I’ve made ;)

#whump #whump meta #lady whump #womp #notcolin for ts #bonus regina whump #anonymous #kw ask box

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lamiasluck · 5 years

Text

Freebird

(This was a fun story from start to finish! Thanks for sticking around til the end!)

Summary: Illinois is finally out of jail! Immediately, he's eager to start adventuring again, and this time he's accompanied by a new adventuring partner. Yancy isn't sure what to expect out of this endeavour, but he's along for the ride.

Characters: Yancy & Illinois

Words: 4349

Read on AO3!

Chapter One Chapter Two

The day was beautiful. Birds sang their songs with reckless abandon, the sun shone brightly…

And Illinois was housing an established criminal.

Yet, he has never slept better. Waking up in his bed was a dream come true. Putting on basic comfy clothes felt like heaven. There was a pep to his step as he got ready for the day. He was always a morning person, but he never had more energy than today.

In the guest room, Yancy slowly got up and stretched. Clad in a baggy shirt and sweatpants Illinois let him borrow. Prison made him a morning person too, because of routine. However, he had a rough night in the new environment. Even if the bed was something he’d call “one of ‘em fancy, soft beds,'' he had a rocky night. He blamed it on homesickness. The door cracked open and he saw Illinois.

“Oh, you’re up early,” Illinois said. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, s’alright I guess,” he replied through a yawn.

“Must be weird, huh?” Illinois read his mind like a book. “I’m gonna make us breakfast. You can stay here if you want.”

Yacny swung his legs out of the bed. “Nah, nah, I’m already up. What youse gonna make?”

“Whatever didn’t spoil.” He shrugged. Being away for more than a month must’ve been hell for for his food supply.

When he got to the kitchen he tried to see what he could cook. There weren’t many options, but he could figure something out. “You alright with bacon and eggs?” He asked as Yancy trailed after him.

“I’ll eat anything. Just make it edible.” Yancy sat down by the kitchen aisles and watched Illinois cook. The kitchen was big, everything was. Illinois lived in a fancy house in the middle of nowhere. A house that could only be brought with the riches he collected during his adventures. Awfully big for one person, some might say, but he was out so often he barely noticed.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m a natural cook,” he flaunted. “It’ll be better than what they gave us in prison. Anything’s better than that slob…”

“Watch ya mouth,” Yancy warned. “Youse were there for a month, barely got the experience.”

“I think I’ll pass…”

“I didn’t even see ya in solitary.” Yancy shivered at the thought of the punishment. “Would’ve been funny to see a freebird all caged up,” he snickered.

Illinois flicked water at the other. “I already regret bringing you.”

“That’s rude! And ‘ere I thought we’s bonded… let bygones be bygones!”

“Well, I guess that’s true,” Illinois hummed. “I’d much rather hit on you than hit you~” He looked at Yancy briefly to shoot him a wink.

“I - wha…?” Yancy stuttered, staring wide eyed at Illinois as he cooked. Suddenly his throat felt dry and he couldn’t find anything to respond with. After a few moments, Illinois laughed and broke the silence.

“Oh, the jailbird can stop singing? Glad to know.”

“You asshole!” Yancy snapped. Masking his bashfulness with an exaggerated pout, he cast his eyes downward. “Just… what the hell are we’s gonna do anyways? Youse wanted to adventure, yeah?”

“We’ll get to that don’t you worry.” The pan sizzled as Illinois put in the bacon. A knowing smile made its way to his face as he heard the panic in Yancy’s voice. “We’ll enjoy breakfast, then get ready to set off.” He glanced over at him again. “You should wear something different. You can borrow something else from my closet.”

“What’s wrong with my regular clothes?”

“They’re prison clothes. If police come by, we’ll get arrested again,” Illinois sighed. “Just go to my closet, you look about my size anyways. Play dress up and I’ll finish this.” Just for fun, and because he was a little shit, he looked at Yancy again and gave him another wink. “Pick out something pretty~”

“Sh-Shut up!” Yancy stuttered, pushing himself away from the counter and storming off.

Like the rest of the house, Illinois’ closet was fairly big. Lots of the clothes looked practical for adventuring, some were for fancy occasions. As Yancy browsed through the selections, he found an outfit that made him audibly gasp. He didn’t care if it wasn’t the most practical, he needed to wear this one. He looked at himself in the mirror, smoothing out the jacket before making his way back to the kitchen.

“Ay, freebird!” he called out. “Why do youse have this?”

Illinois turned to look at him, blatantly checking him out with an up and down look. He picked out a leather jacket, white shirt, and black pants. “You know, I was expecting you to pick that.”

“Youse didn’t answer my question.”

“I had to ride with a biker gang for one of my missions. The jacket costs a lot so I kept it,” Illinois explained. “You don’t look half bad in it.”

“Damn right,” Yancy boasted. “Haven’t wore something like this in forever. Youse got good taste, I bet I look better than youse in this, though.”

“Well, it’s not really my style.” He plated the food while Yancy sat down again. “I do look good in everything, of course.” His usual outfit worked well for him, in a practical sense and a social sense. Yancy eagerly took the plate of food as he sat down himself. “Bon appetit.”

“So,” Yancy started, talking through mouthfuls of food, “can youse tell me where we goin’ now?”

“With pleasure.”

The day was still young when they reached their destination. Not like they could tell, because they had travelled to a cave. Ancient carvings decorated the walls, depicting rituals and unknown cultures.

Yancy let out a low whistle as he looked around. “Ain’t this something?”

“Better than any museum,” Illinois hummed. He lead the charge deeper into the cave, analyzing his surroundings with a careful eye. “Just like how I remember it. Glad to see those brutes that took me away didn’t mess with anything.”

“Yeah, theys only messed wit’ youse,” Yancy laughed. The idea of Illinois being taken away by police amused him greatly. He wished he was there to see it. Now that would have been an adventure.

At first, their path seemed like a straightforward cakewalk. Yancy was about to say how bored he was before Illinois stuck out his arm to stop him.

“Now, for this next part,” Illinois reached in his bag and pulled out a blindfold, “I’m gonna need you to wear this.”

Yancy stared deadpan. “You’re fucking wit’ me, yeah? Youse seriously want pay back for that?”

The blindfold was already being wrapped around his head, he didn’t protest. “Yes and no,” Illinois answered, a smug smile no doubtedly plastered on his face. “You’ve never done this before since you’re always all cooped up, jailbird. So it’s up to me to make sure you stay safe.”

“Youse not gonna kill me?”

“I’d never.” He placed his hands on Yancy’s shoulders and lead him further into the cave. “Just follow my lead.”

The next part of the cave was dangerous. Traps galore. Any wrong move and it’d be game over. Any bit of panic and Illinois would have to bring Yancy back to the jail in a body bag. As much as he disliked the guy ---could he even say that anymore?--- he didn’t deserve a gruesome end. Ignorance was bliss, in this case. Yancy would be better off not knowing what death traps he was walking through.

“I’m going to need you to calm down, okay? Don’t hesitate from this pace. Free your mind from any panic.”

“Youse sound like a motivational speaker,” Yancy snickered. As they continued walking, a spike trap lunged forward just a few inches shy from his chest. “What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing, don’t worry about it.” It wasn’t quiet anymore. The sounds of metal grinding against rock echoed throughout the walls. Arrows sliced through the air inches behind them. Illinois felt Yancy falter at the sounds.

“Illinois… what’s going on?” He didn’t outright stop their pace, but he resisted slightly against Illinois’ push.

A harder push forward made Yancy narrowly miss another spike trap. Illinois’ eyes widen. “I need you to trust me, Yancy. Follow my pace.” His voice was stern, yet calm. An axe appeared from the walls, barely grazing his arm in a single swing. “Think of something else. Distract your mind and let me handle everything.”

Yancy gave a short nod. A soft hum then began to juxtapose the harsh weaponry. He began to hum a familiar tune that everyone in the prison heard at least once.

“I don’t wanna be free~” Yancy started, singing much softer than usual, but who could blame him.

Illinois smiled. Already he felt Yancy loosen up as they continued their walk. “Leave me in luxury~” he continued, voice stronger but unpracticed. The song went against all his values, but damn was it catchy.

By the time they reached the end of the song, they were homefree. Illinois untied the blindfold and gave Yancy a pat on the shoulder.

“Good job, jailbird! You’re a natural,” he praised. Not a single scratch on Yancy and only a little cut on his arm. Could’ve been a perfect run, but not bad.

Yancy blinked once he could see again. He looked back at where they were and paled. “What the fuck?!” He looked back at Illinois with frantic eyes. “We walked through that?!”

“See? This is why you needed the blindfold!”

“How the fuck am I alive?!”

Yancy was only met with a chuckle from the other. Illinois grabbed his arm and began to walk again. “Enough about that! We’re only getting started,” he mused, clearly enjoying his reaction.

“Oh, I’m gonna die, aren’t I?” Yancy asked, breathless. In his disbelieved daze he followed obediently.

“I promised you that I’ll return you safe and sound, didn’t I? I’m not one to break a promise.” While his tone was playful, there was sincerity in his words. Yancy gave another silent nod and they continued further into the cave.

Eventually they stood before a huge chasm blocking their path. Illinois went over to a pile of nearby rocks and rummaged through them, pulling out an odd statue from the rumble.

“This is where I got caught,” he said. “My mission was to return this artifact,” he pointed to the statue, brushing away the dirt, “It’s a wonder how those brutes managed to find me, but I bet someone ratted me out.”

Yancy listened while staring down at the dark abyss. He threw a rock into it. He didn’t hear it hit the bottom.

“How did they make it through… that?” He gestured towards the death hallway they strolled through.

“Oh, they barely made it. They sent a whole team after me, only two made it out. Gave me enough time to hide the artifact, but not enough time to figure this out,” he explained, gesturing to the chasm.

Yancy shivered when he looked back at the dark abyss. There was no way in hell they could jump over it, so they would have to scale the rocky walls. Surprisingly, Yancy found a path fairly quickly. He recalled scaling a wall like this when escaping the prison.

“1, 2, 3… 1, 2, 3… 1, 2, 3, 4…”

Illinois watched in awe as Yancy got to work. He repeated the mantra quietly as he fearlessly scaled the wall, never faltering once. In no time, he was on the other side.

There was a shine to his eyes as Yancy bounced on the balls of his feet. Probably adrenaline in technical terms, but Illinois always referred to it as “the spark of adventure”. Illinois hooked his thumbs on the loops of his belt, trying to remember the exact steps Yancy took.

“That was easy!” Yancy exclaimed. “Should be alright for youse, yeah? If you can survive all that then you can do this.”

“Yeah…” Illinois swallowed harshly. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he reassured himself, putting the artifact in his bag. The elegance Yancy had scaling the wall was nowhere near present in Illinois’ recreation. Nearly every thought in his head was a version of how the hell did he do that? but he tried his best to repeat the mantra Yancy created.

For a minute, everything seemed fine and he was nearly done. Yancy stood close near the edge, carefully watching his footing. Then a rock broke loose under his feet.

“Shit-!” Illinois yelped as he slipped. He didn’t react fast enough to regain his composure, but Yancy reacted fast enough to grab his arm and pull him to stable ground. Yancy pulled him close to his chest with a death grip on his wrist. Much better than death at the bottom of the chasm.

“Youse alright?” Yancy asked, voice laced with concern and fear.

Illinois gave a short nod in return. “I’m alright now.” The two backed away from the edge and regained their breath. “Thanks for saving me. Told you a partner would come in handy for this.”

“To make sure your dumbass doesn’t die, sure.” The both of them laughed, airy with disbelief. At least the rest of their path was peaceful. Great for calming down after nearly dying and watching someone nearly die.

From his bag, Illinois pulled out the artifact again to examine. Yancy grabbed it from his hands before he could realize.

“What’s this thing anyways?” The statue looked to be pure crystal, depicting a long forgotten idol.

“Easy there,” Illinois snickered. “It’s the heart of this place, stole it from a pirate ship that were gonna sell it to make a quick buck, but… well,” he looked around at the walls. Only a careful eye like his could tell how unstable this place was because of its absence, “taking it is dangerous. I’m surprised whatever spirits cursing this place didn’t wreak havoc while I was gone.”

“Oh.” Yancy quickly handed off the statue to Illinois, wiping his hands on his pants. “Didn’t realize.”

A loud laugh echoed as Illinois giggled at Yancy’s reaction. He tossed the statue between his hands and continued to talk casually. “Just another day in the life! I could tell you so many stories, if only we had the time,” he trailed off.

Ahead of them were two pedestals illuminated by a crystal light.

“Looks like the place to return this,” Illinois hummed.

“Which one is it?”

Illinois hooked his thumb in his belt. “That’s a good question.” He pondered to himself, looking at Yancy and the statue. “Why don’t you chose?”

“Me?!” Yancy gasped. “Why do I gotta do it? What if I choose wrong?”

“Come on, what’s an adventure without a little risk? What are you afraid of?”

Yancy stared at him deadpanned. “Dying.”

“Fair point,” Illinois nodded, “But I’m just as blind as you are, jailbird. So let’s take the gamble.”

“Alright…” Yancy scratched the back of his neck as his examined the pedestals. He pointed at the one on the left. “Do that one.”

None of them breathed as Illinois placed that statue slowly. “You know, I would’ve picked that one too.”

“So did I pick right?”

“I think so-” His thoughts were interrupted by a loud thud. Then, by the sound of a boulder rolling towards them. They looked at the dark hallway in front of them with wide eyes. He looked back at Yancy. “Run.”

They didn’t dare to look back, running a full sprint. A boulder big enough to barely fit within the cave’s walls was fast approaching. Fully intent on crushing them for their mistake. Yancy was swearing like a sailor as he ran. Illinois’ mind was racing just as quickly as he was running.

“Wait, Illinois!” He realized something grave. “The hole! We can’t fuckin’ pass that!” In the distance, they saw the chasm, just as intimidating as before.

If it was possible, Illinois’ eyes widened more. He looked desperately for any solutions. Then he saw it.

He grabbed Yancy’s arm and shoved him in a small crevice broken in the wall. While a tight fit, he managed to squeeze himself in too. Now chest to chest, they watched the boulder pass the mouth of the hole in suffocating silence. There was a loud thud following as it fell into the chasm. As if the boulder was going to magically get out of the chasm, they kept their gazes at the crevice’s opening for a bit longer. With how close their were, they could feel the heavy rise and fall of their chests.

“Are you alright?” Illinois asked.

At first, Yancy only replied with an under the breath “Holy fuck…” Afterwards, he did his best to clear his throat and nodded. “Yeah, I’m alright now.”

He turned to look at Yancy, only to realize how claustrophobic of a space they were in. They were nearly nose to nose, and both were too aware of that fact. “Oh. Hey there,” he said awkwardly. A small smile made its way to the adventurer’s lips, a smile he usually shined after barely dodging certain death. “Let’s get out of here.” He squeezed his way out of the hole and offered a hand to Yancy.

Yancy brushed off the dirt on him. He was a bit scuffed, being slammed into a tight corner and all, but overall he was alive and well. Though being up close and personal with his friend ---could he call him that?--- was… an experience. “Damn, youse gonna kiss me or something? Way too close, freebird.”

“What? You’d rather kiss the boulder? I saved your life.”

“Guess we’re even then.” Yancy fidgeted. “So... what now?”

“We should head back and put that statue in the right place this time.” Illinois nodded, shaking off the dirt on his hat. “Doubt the spirits are satisfied, after all.”

The trek back to the pedestals was quiet. What could they say after nearly being crushed to death? When they got back, the statue stood untouched where Illinois left it.

“I swear if I gotta run like that again…” Yancy mumbled under his breath while Illinois picked it up.

“Don’t worry,” Illinois reassured, placing it on the other pedestal. “There usually isn’t a second boulder.”

For a moment, nothing happened. The hairs on the back of their necks stood up in anticipation.

From behind them, the walls cracked open with an ugly sound on rock against rock. Their attention snapped towards the sound. Yancy jumped, ready to run again, but Illinois held him back. The new passage revealed a staircase leading to the surface.

Illinois’ shoulders slumped. “What, no reward? Lame.”

“Lame?!” Yancy gasped, staring at Illinois like he was crazy. “Christ, I think I’ve had enough adventure for today. I wanna get the hell outta here.”

“Alright, alright…” Illinois gave a lopsided smile, clearly tired. He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. “But you have to admit, that was pretty fun, wasn’t it?”

Yancy was already walking towards the staircase. He thought to himself for a moment. Yeah, he almost died multiple times, but goddamn was that a thrill. He legs wanted to give out at any moment, his heart pumped and made his ears ring, and he was scuffed and dirty as all hell. Yet, he has never felt more alive.

“Y’know what? Yeah, youse right! Must be fun to do that all the time, yeah?”

Illinois gave him a pat on the shoulder. The two of them began to walk out of the cave. “You have no idea.”

Maybe he was getting used to the bed, maybe he was so tired that he could sleep on anything, but Yancy slept like a baby when they got back to Illinois’ house. During the next day, they both slept well into the afternoon.

Illinois was the first to wake up. He made oatmeal for the two of them and waited for Yancy. Despite the sun shining, the day felt somber for him. For once he found an adventure partner that didn’t die on the first trap, and he was going to leave him. Just like all the rest. All he could do was accept it at this point. Yancy had his own responsibilities and his own life, it’d be cruel for Illinois to keep him from that.

“Mornin’, freebird,” Yancy greeted as he walked in the kitchen. He put on the leather jacket again after he woke up.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Illinois snickered at Yancy’s tired state. Rather than his usual slicked back hair, he had a messy bedhead. “You really like that jacket, hm? What, did you sleep in it?”

Yancy shrugged. “Might as well wear it now. Not like I can again.”

“That’s true.” Illinois picked at his bowl then looked Yancy in the eyes. “So you’re still going back?” he asked, tone disappointed.

Somehow, Yancy didn’t falter under his gaze. He nodded. “Didn’t even say goodbye to the others, y’know? It was fun while it lasted, though. This was nice.”

“I’m glad you thought so. You were a natural yesterday so, lemme give you something.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a flip phone. “I’m not going to stop you from leaving, but if you ever want some fresh air just give me a call. I’ll be more than happy to let you out of your cage for a bit, jailbird.”

The phone was slid over to Yancy, who grabbed it in surprise. “Woah… Thank youse!” He let out an airy laugh. “I’ll be sure to call youse! Hopefully I can hide this when I get back.”

“Just do your best, I’d love another adventure with you,” he said, sincere. Then, he flashed a smile as he thought of something. “And if it helps when you get back, maybe say I kidnapped you or something. So you won’t get punished.”

“Oh yeah? Like I’m your lil’ damsel in distress? Hold on.” Yancy cleared his throat and faked an exaggerated hurt expression. “Oh, w-warden-!” he gasped and did his best to quiver his lip, “It was so scary, youse have no idea! He was such a brute a-and I couldn’t stop him! Heavens know I tried…”

Illinois threw his head back in laughter. “Dear god…”

Yancy broke his facade slightly to snicker, only to return to his dramatic state. “He’s was out for blood I tells ya! He’s held me hostage for fun and was all like,” Yancy then proceeded to do the worst impression of Illinois’ voice, “That’ll teach them to lock me up! You’ll never escape me~”

It sounded like an oversexualized villian that was played by someone who clearly couldn’t get rid of their accent. Illinois laughed even harder, voice going up a pitch in volume.

“Is that what I sound like to you?! I’m insulted!” He snorted.

Yancy gripped the table for support, joining in on the laughter. “Well, yeah! I sound just like youse!”

“You better pray that that performance gets you out of trouble, you asshole!” Illinois wheezed, trying to catch his breath. He covered his mouth to hide a sudden mischievous smile. “Youse better watch ya mouth.” He tried his best to do that raspy accent that Yancy had, but failed horribly.

Yancy visibly cringed as he giggled. “Never do that again.”

“Right back at ya,” he continued to talk like a West Side Story reject, snickering.

A couple more hours passed with the two of them talking their heads off. Lots of stories of adventures from Illinois, and lots of stories of prison from Yancy. Though eventually, Yancy began to get ready to leave. He changed back to his prison clothes and gave back the jacket to Illinois.

“If you ever come back here,” Illinois started, hanging up the jacket, “This jacket and I will be waiting with a warm welcome.”

“Aw~” Yancy gave a bashful smile, scratching the back of his neck while looking down. He let out a heavy sigh and looked back at Illinois. “C’mere, freebird!”

Next thing Illinois knew, he was being pulled into a tight hug. He returned the gesture and hugged back just as tight. They lingered for a moment, the realization that they’d actually miss each other set in. Who would have thought?

“I’ll be sure to take youse up on that offer.” Yancy pulled back and gave him a heart pat on the shoulder. “Youse not gettin’ rid of me that easily, ya hear?”

“I would hope not.”

Yancy sighed and stepped back. He made his way out the front door. The car keys he stole still in his possession, so at least he had a way back. Illinois stood by the door frame, ignoring the ache in his chest as he watched him walk away.

His mind still raced with things to talk about, but they could wait. He furrowed his brows as he saw the car, turning back to Illinois one more time. “And uh, Illinois?”

“Yes?”

He swallowed his pride and muttered his next sentence, abnormally quiet, but Illinois could hear it loud and clear. “Youse pretty alright.”

Illinois huffed and rolled his eyes. “When I’m not annoying as hell?”

“Nah, I think it builds character.” He shrugged. “Youse a good man.”

Illinois felt his heart ache more at that comment, actually taken aback. “Yancy…” he gave an airy chuckle, shaking his head with a small smile. “You’re a good man, too. I’m glad I met you.”

It looked like Yancy had more to say, but decided against it. His throat tightened more as he stepped closer to the car. He cast one more look back at Illinois. “Stay safe, okay freebird?”

“Likewise, jailbird. Take care of yourself,”

Yancy nodded and finally got in the car. Illinois watched him drive away, offering one last wave goodbye.

He shut the door behind him, now alone in his quiet house. He was a free man at least, but what now? He had lost many, many partners in his time, but this one struck a chord. Well, Yancy did have his number, so he could call at any time. He hoped that he was serious about keeping in touch.

#yancy #illinois #ahwm #markiplier #markiplier egos #fanfic

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emoshinso · 6 years

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What Makes Purple Boy so Weird?: Notes on the storytelling strategies employed in Shinsou’s introduction arc

*By ‘weird,’ I mean intriguing/interesting, but in a break-the-mold kinda way.

This really has no objective other than I wanted to break down what makes Shinsou’s intro arc so impactful. Specifically, the buildup before his quirk reveal.

As heroic and well-intentioned as our boy is, the creators do a very good job creating an air of ominous suspense before revealing his true character and quirk in his match against Deku. Up till then, it’s like they wanted us to think Shinsou was a bad guy...

Part commentary, part analysis

Just kinda… finding an excuse to rewatch the Sports Festival arc while focusing on Shinsou’s perspective.

this post goes from his first appearance in episode 15 to the beginning of episode 20

in the future, I plan on dedicating an entire post just to his fight against Deku - but in the meantime, this one centers on the buildup before his quirk reveal

So, if you’re interested, read on! If not, I understand. This is gonna be one heckin nerdy ramble. oh gosh im so excited

First Appearance: Episode 15: Roaring Sports Festival

Confrontation with Bakugo

First, some background on what’s going on right before our boy shows up: The day after Aizawa introduces the sports festival, a bunch of kids from the general studies department show up at the hero class’s threshold, right? There’s no explanation as to why. They’re all kinda just... there (psst it’s for the drama. Large crowds create intrigue.)

Dekusquad mutters collectively, wondering if the general studies kids are scouting the competition… The general studies kids don’t really answer or react. They just keep gawking awkwardly. (psst once again: it’s purely for the drama)

Enter: Bakugo. Trying to leave for the day, but those damn gen studies kids are in his way.

“Move it, extras.”

This prompts a reaction. From one student, at least.

“So this is Class 1-A? I heard you guys were impressive, but you just sound like an ass.”

First time we see Shinsou: pushing his way unapologetically through the other general studies kids. First impression: he already kinda looks like a jerk. Him being at the back of the crowd also makes me think Shinsou didn’t exactly jump at the chance to size up 1-A after school like his classmates, but eventually gave in and followed them over a bit later. Then after that “extras” comment out of Blasty Boy, he decided to retaliate. A jerk with a bit of a proud streak.

”Scouting the competition? Maybe some of my peers are, but I came to let you know that if you don’t bring your very best, I’ll steal your spot right out from under you. Consider this a declaration of war.”

What a drama queen.

That’s all he says. That pretty much concludes his first notable appearance as a character

His appearance essentially serves two purposes: 1) to (fleetingly) introduce him as a character 2) to establish how resentful the general studies department is towards 1-A

It’s important to note that he didn’t get any of those usual name + quirk tag thingies that occasionally pop up whenever a new character is introduced (or as a reminder for recurring characters)

AND he never introduces himself (he just straight up declares war and falls silent, the little shit xD)

Point being, forget his quirk, we don’t even learn his name right away. For all intents and purposes, he’s just that random purple asshole who declared war for no good reason

And as soon as Shinsou delivers his little war monologue, Tetsutetsu shows up, shouting loud and a n g e r y. His and Bakugo’s little shouting match quickly overshadows Shinsou’s cold declaration, making it even easier for both the other characters and the audience to forget about Shinsou pretty quick. Despite that very conspicuous purple hair, the chronic insomnia, and the WHITE PUPILS.

I know I kinda forgot about him - the first time watching, at least.

Sports Festival Opening Ceremony

The next time we see Shinsou, he’s walking into the arena with the other 1-C kids, who are all looking pretty dejected about being forced to participate in a competition rigged to make them look inferior:

“We’re just here to make [the hero kids] look better...”

“Yeah, I can’t wait for this to be over...”

It’s a key reminder that Shinsou is one of these kids, and by all logic should be thinking the same thing. But his expression is hard to read:

Is he bored? Tired? Ready for it all to be over like those other kids? Or is he steeling himself to make good on his declaration of war?

We don’t really get a chance to find out. Not until MUCH later...

Todoroki’s Ice Trick

The next shot we see of Shinsou is my absolute FAVORITE. After getting through the tunnel to the obstacle course, Todoroki uses ice attack. It’s super effective, but somehow there’s still plenty of students who dodged it including our boy Shinsou

A LOT is going on. We see shots of all the different students who evaded Todoroki: Yaoyorozu, Bakugo, Aoyama (lol), Ashido... the montage ends with Uraraka, who makes a comment about waiting for the right time to show off her quirk, and hence alludes to someone else who’s trying to be sneaky:

“So they are good at using their powers, huh?”

What I love most about this scene is first time watching I LITERALLY DID NOT QUESTION the fact that he was being carried by three other students

I chalked it up to him being a charismatic figure in his class who somehow convinced his fellow students to carry him as part of some elaborate grand strategy

And hey... I wasn’t wrong?

Also interesting to note how none of the three non-brainwashed students around him seem too concerned he’s hitching a free ride on their classmates... they’re all too busy dealing with Todoroki’s ice

Point being, between Todoroki’s flashy ice attack and the other students’ equally flashy evasive maneuvers, it was pretty easy for us as an audience to overlook that one purple-haired kid who decided to play cavalry battle a little early. The inclusion of the extra kids stumbling around him in the frame also helps him blend into the background. All this seems very intentional on both the animators’/Horikoshi’s part AND as part of Shinsou’s grand strategy.

Episode 15 ends with us still wondering what this guy’s deal is...

Episode 16: In Their Own Quirky Ways

We don’t see Shinsou at all this episode, which both builds up the suspense and leaves me with a lot of questions:

Q: How did he get past the robots? (Theory 1: By using other kids’ quirks and directing them like his own personal quirk army 2: (more likely) waited till a path was clear and ran through)

Q: How did he get past the chasm? (Theory 1: Again, by hitching a ride with a kid with the ideal quirk 2: Human rope?)

Q: How’d he get past the MINES?! (Theory: By brainwashing other students to walk ahead of him and clear a path)

Regardless of how he got through the course, the ONLY glimpse of Shinsou we get is when Midnight goes over the rankings in the race. Shinsou came in 27th, by the way, not that you’d even notice because the camera cuts off almost before you even see him in the rankings. (I couldn’t even pause it that fast) I have no idea if that was intentional or not, but man does it fit the mood:

This is also the first time we see his name.

But it’s so fast literally no one could’ve actually read and retained it without the help of a quirk. I know I didn’t. BUT I remember from the first time watching, this one tiny glimpse of the random purple asshole with the derpy ass smile ranking so high was enough to make me start wondering just what this guy’s deal was...

It was enough to get me curious. But I wasn’t invested quite yet.

Also, in retrospect, my absolute favorite thing about this screenshot is all the other contestants look angry/disappointed by their ranking EXCEPT FOR SHINSOU. Nope, he just looks like a smug little asshole happy to be the ONLY rep from Class 1-C.

And that further adds to the suspense...

Episode 17: Strategy, Strategy, Strategy

Once again, we only get glimpses of Shinsou this episode. But they’re crucial:

1: Him smirking as the rules for the cavalry battle are explained. Makes us wonder, as an audience: why does he look so confident when everyone else is gritting their teeth over this? What advantage does he have?

(Notes brought to you by 20/20 hindsight: He was probably so confident because he literally had his pick of teammates. As soon as he asked anyone about teaming up and they answered, boom, they were on the team. I would guess he intentionally picked teammates that wouldn’t stand out (no offense Aoyama,) so he could hang around and not call attention to himself during the cavalry battle, both from other teams and from the commentators.)

AND WAIT. LOOK HERE:

2: Once all the teams have coalesced, they’re all just kinda standing around haphazardly, or facing each other slightly to talk strategy... BUT NOT SHINSOU’S. They’re all facing the same direction he is. Yep, you guessed it... they’re already brainwashed.

At the ready with his team. This also marks the second time we see his name. But it’s not announced, it only appears in tiny letters/kanji in the scoring bracket. Also note that his teammates are definitely all brainwashed now, but we wouldn’t be able to tell unless we were looking for it. Aoyama really doesn’t look too different lol

Before the episode ends, we get our first glance at the scoreboard. The game’s already been underway for a bit by now, and Shinsou’s team is at 0 points. Which means Shinsou most likely let Monoma take his bandana to avoid being targeted later in the game, and therein, avoid attention.

End of episode 17. Still no name (unless you were super attentive), and no quirk.

Episode 18: Cavalry Battle Finale

Between the Todoroki vs. Midoriya and the Monoma vs. Bakugo showdowns, there’s so much drama happening it’s no surprise Present Mic didn’t pay much attention to Team Shinsou...

...and that really left me wondering... What were they up to this whole time?

Quick glance at the scoreboard tells us he’s still at zero, and he stays that way for most of the episode again:

BUT. WAIT FOR IT.

HERE’S THE SCOREBOARD RIGHT AFTER PRESENT MIC ANNOUNCED THERE WERE ONLY 11 SECONDS LEFT:

TETSUTETSU STILL HAS HIS POINTS.

Which means...

TEAM SHINSOU MANAGED TO SWIPE THE POINTS IN LESS THAN 11 SECONDS.

Just look how smug he is about it too:

“In third place is Team Tetsute- wait, what?! It’s Team Shinsou! When did they come back from the dead?!”

Point being, Present Mic is so surprised by Shinsou’s comeback he almost says the wrong name. Thanks to all the drama radiating off of Monoma and the Traffic Light Trifecta and Shinsou’s strategy of staying out of the fray until the last possible second, he pulled off a victory without anyone even knowing who the heck he is or what he can do.

This also marks the first time his name is stated clearly enough to catch.

Also note his confused (and frightened) teammates behind him. How ominous...

Little by little, we’re getting hints at who he actually is as a character, which up to this point, still looks a lot like ‘first class jerk’

that smug grin gahhh

Episode 19: The Boy Born with Everything

Okay, here’s where things get s u p e r dramatic.

First half of the episode is dedicated to Todoroki and Deku’s little confrontation, so gives us more time to forget about our purple son...

Second half jumps into discussing the next round: sixteen contestants remaining, waiting to be divided into one-on-one matches. Things are progressing smoothly until....

OJIRO WITHDRAWS.

Everyone’s shocked, why the heck would this kid pass up on the chance of a lifetime? Ojiro explains it’s a matter of pride for him: “It just wouldn’t be right. I barely remember anything from the cavalry battle until the very end of it. I… think it was that guy’s quirk.”

“Wait, who was Ojiro with again?”

Again, no one seems to remember. But once Ojiro points him out, the camera pans over to Shinsou, who looks away. As if he’s worried about getting exposed. Interestingly enough, however, Ojiro doesn’t immediately reveal what Shinsou’s quirk is (which also might have to do with his personal honor code), instead just presses to withdraw:

“Everyone gave their all in Round 2, but I was just someone’s puppet. I don’t want to advance if I don’t even know how I got here.”

‘Someone’s puppet’? That’s ominous as hell... but once again, it doesn’t fully reveal what Shinsou did. Ojiro could’ve been speaking metaphorically for all we know at this point. But it sure makes us start wondering what the heck’s up with this purple guy, and just what his true motives are...

Later on, once the full bracket’s announced, Izuku looks at the lineup. He’s initially more concerned about the prospect of facing down Todoroki, but then he remembers he’s got a whole match ahead of that: “First I’ve got to worry about this Shinsou guy (whoever the hell he is...)” As someone who l o v e s to collect and analyse data on heroes and quirks, it probably bothers Izuku to no end that he knows absolutely nothing about his upcoming opponent.

“Izuku Midoriya, that is you, isn’t it?”

To top it off, SHINSOU SNEAKS UP ON HIM. I mean, in all fairness, it probably isn’t even that hard to sneak up on Izuku, given how lost in his head he gets. But again, it helps build that aura of suspense: Shinsou’s the type of character to sneak up on people. He’s also the type to stay out sight, use clever strategy instead of shine in the limelight like a typical hero in the BNHA world would. In all fairness, he’s acting a lot like a villain would.

Izuku: “You’re the guy from before, from general studies?”

Shinsou: “A pleasure. So, are you excited?”

Once again. Doesn’t even properly introduce himself. What is with this guy and introductions? And before Izuku gets a chance to respond, Ojiro intervenes, covering Izuku’s mouth with his tail and leaving Shinsou to smirk and walk away.

Izuku: “Ojiro, what’s the deal?”

Ojiro: “You can’t say a word to him.”

These are the first real clues we get as to what Shinsou’s quirk actually is and how it works. but we still. don’t. get. full. disclosure.

The scene cuts to the side games / preparations of the remaining contestants for the final round:

I really appreciate the sheer amount of dread on Izuku’s face.

This is a meme. We all have Shinsou to thank for this meme. At this point, we can’t even hear what they’re discussing, we just know it’s making a nervous boi e x t r a nervous...

A few scenes later, and we finally get what we’ve all been waiting for:

“Whoa, he looks kinda scared in that picture, doesn’t he? It’s Izuku Midoriya from the hero course!!”

VS.

“Hitoshi Shinsou from general studies, who really hasn’t done anything to stand out yet…”

Once again, Present Mic reminds us just how much of a dark horse Shinsou is. Discounting a few strategic bits and pieces, two whole rounds have passed already, and we still know next to nothing about him. It’s interesting to note how Present Mic explains the rules of the match too:

“The rules are simple: immobilize your opponent or force him out of the ring!! You can also win by making the other person cry uncle. Anything goes… so don’t be afraid to put your morals aside and play dirty!”

Which Shinsou does.

He starts playing before the match even begins, already trying to get Izuku to talk:

“So you can just give up, huh?”

Izuku doesn’t respond, so Shinsou continues:

“In a way, this is a test of how strong your spirit is. If you know what you want your future to hold for you, you can’t worry about what other people think.”

Present Mic: “READY?!”

“That monkey was going on about his pride earlier...”

Present Mic: “BEGIN!”

“...but I just think he’s an idiot for throwing away his chance like that.”

Shinsou started playing even before the match began, and he started off by saying a whole lot of incendiary things:

Why would you care what other people thought of you? (In a world where pro heroes depend on popular appeal for their livelihood, that’s not something a typical aspiring hero would say...)

“That monkey... is an idiot” (insulting a former teammate... not very hero-like)

Who cares about pride? (People who say that often hint they’re willing to get their hands dirty if the ends justify the means... again, not very hero-like)

In retrospect, of course we know Shinsou’s primary motivation for saying all those things was to elicit a response from Izuku, but at the time... it just made him look like a jerk. Maybe even a jerk with a potential villainous streak...

Regardless, it does get a rise out of Izuku, and that’s when it finally happens.

We openly see Shinsou use his quirk for the first time.

Izuku freezes.

Everyone’s shocked. But even then not everyone understands what’s going on yet... even Present Mic seems confused, even possibly chalking it up to stage fright:

“Huh?! What’s the dealio? This is the first match, it should start out with a bang! The fight has just begun and Izuku Midoriya is… completely frozen?!”

AND THAT’S WHERE EPISODE 19 ENDS.

WE STILL DON’T KNOW SHINSOU’S QUIRK.

Yes, we’ve seen it in action, we can infer, but it still takes a whole episode to put a clear label on it...

Episode 20: Victory or Defeat

Way to build up the suspense with a corny episode title am I right

Present Mic introduces us back into the fray: “Izuku Midoriya is completely frozen?! He’s not moving a muscle! And what’s with that look on his face? Could this be a quirk at work? Hitoshi Shinsou seems to have Izuku Midoriya completely stunned!”

Let’s take a quick inventory on just how sh00k everyone is:

Concerned frens. I was too the first time I watched this. I think we all were. Our baby Izuku’s been frozen by the weird purple jerk who we don’t really have any sympathy for yet.

Even the pro heroes are stunned. They don’t seem to have any idea what’s going on either, which suggests maybe they haven’t seen a quirk like Shinsou’s before...

BUT what really gets me are these guys. I’m pretty certain they’re all general studies kids. Shinsou’s classmates. Meaning they KNOW Shinsou. And assumedly they know his quirk too, since that’s like the second question that comes up whenever you meet someone in this universe, right after “What’s your name?” YET THEY’RE JUST AS SHOCKED AS EVERYONE ELSE. Which makes me wonder... what if Shinsou never told his UA classmates what his quirk was?

Regardless, it builds up the suspense even more.

And at long last, as the crowd still sits stunned, Aizawa steps in to finally answer all our unspoken questions:

“Since we’re on to the individual matches, I had some information compiled about our final competitors. Shinsou failed the practical exam to get into the hero course. Since he also applied for general studies, he probably figured that would happen. His quirk is incredibly strong, but that entrance test consisted of fighting faux villains. It gave a huge advantage to those who had physical superpowers they could show off. Despite his abilities, Shinsou never stood a chance at passing.”

He never stood a chance beCAUSE...

*cue ambient unsettling music*

Izuku turns around and starts walking out of bounds.

EVERYONE FLIPS THE HELL OUT.

All Might, watching from the sidelines: “What is this power?”

And finally, thanks to Aizawa’s data, Present Mic tells us:

‘When an opponent answers his question, it flips a switch in their minds, forcing them to do whatever he says. Not every question does it though. He only brainwashes when he wants to.”

There it is.

After five episodes of ominous, behind-the-scenes buildup, we finally have it. I don’t know about everyone else, but I was blown away. Looking back, it made total sense, and I had no idea how I didn’t figure it out beforehand, (maybe someone did, lol, I am kind of a dumbass). But, main point here: Shinsou’s intro had a lot of great suspense built into it, culminating in his match with Izuku, which reveals not only his quirk but also his true character (which I’ll talk about in a future post - specifically how Shinsou’s backstory reveal completely flips our perception of him). Along the way, we had plenty of opportunities to forget about Shinsou, discount him - at least in favor of our already well-established favorites - and most importantly, type cast him as villainous. But all that turns on its head the moment we learn what he can do - and as I’ll talk about later on, when we find out his true intentions.

What a brilliant intro.

And he knows it too. Just look how smug he is.

#shinsou hitoshi #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha meta #long post #bnha anime #hitoshi shinsou #shinso hitoshi #hitoshi shinso #my hero academia #mha #mine #text post #bnha plot analysis #bnha analysis

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