#the one single team my heart should feel for makes me feel SOULLESS

[ynwa4eva]

Ergo (the tags) this is not my fault at all but dalićs.... letting pricks and antivaxxers play... oh and guess what NATIONALISTS... letting these stellar players carry him through 10 matches of extra time.... who the FUCK wants to watch that??? Who wants to PLAY that game??? THIS IS WHY I NEED HIM TO BE FIRED

[twitchyglitchy]

Goodbye Hand, Goodbye Gordon.

An AU I thought about a couple months back, but had forgotten to post about. I was originally going to make an animatic out of this. I might still do it, I don’t know yet. Depends on how much people want it.

Bear with me, this is copy and pasted from a Discord chat and I only looked over it like once or twice. This was more or less half explaining the AU half fanfiction.

Content Warnings: Major character death, bl//d, amputation, unsanitary, funerals, and a whole lotta angst.

So the AU basically starts at the betrayal scene, that's when things get different.

Gordon does his thing: Be skeptical about Bubby and Benrey but goes into the room anyways. 

Lights go out, Gordon is ambushed and loses his hand, etc. Everyone scatters in fear, especially Bubby and Benrey for what they did. Bubby still ends up being taken to his tube. 

Gordon is losing a lot of blood as you would when you get your hand severed. Getting chemicals, dirt and grime in the wound isn't doing much to help either. He wakes up in the trash compactor and narrowly escapes it, stumbling his way through the sewer drains outside until he gets to where Tommy is. 

Being attacked by headcrabs along the way that were scurrying around outside, and the HEV suit's morphine isn't doing him any good, nor is the suit charged at this point so it’s lack of support is like an extra set of twenty pounds on his shoulders and back.

Tommy finds him when he falls from the sewer grate into the room, horrified to see his friend in such a horrid state. Despite how heavy Gordon is with the suit and his deadweight, Tommy helps carry him around through the facility until he finds the Coomer clones. Gordon is protected by Tommy to the best of his ability but is still greatly injured by the clones' attacks.

Soon all the clones are gone, bodies everywhere. Tommy celebrates their victory, but is quickly cut short when he turns to see Gordon lying on the floor, breathing shallowly. He rushes to his friend and tries to cover the wound where his hand was so it could clot, but it's so infected and lost so much blood at this point that his lab coat he tried to use to hold it is drenched. Gordon shakes his head and reaches out to Tommy with his good hand, holding his forearm since he couldn't reach his shoulder. "It's okay, Tommy... I should've seen this coming." Gordon lowers his hand, but Tommy drops what he's doing and holds it close to his heart. The 36 year old is panicked and distraught.

He can't- he can't go. He was the leader of their Science Team. He said he'd help them get out despite the circumstances, and he promised. Tommy feels Gordon's hand get colder, losing body warmth. Gordon set down his crowbar and smiled the best he could. It was small, weak, but warm all the same. The most genuine smile Tommy's seen from him since this whole mess started in the first place.

Tommy begs him to stay awake, saying that if the clones were nearby then maybe their Coomer was there. It was all too late by the time Coomer arrived though. He greeted Tommy who had his back turned on him, grieving over a body. His friend has never seen him so upset over a dead person this entire time with all the bodies they saw and caused. Coomer comes around Tommy to see what he's crying over. His heart stops for a few beats and his breath is caught in his throat. The world felt colder, and crept up his spine like a snake bite.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. This wasn’t meant to happen.

Gordon Freeman, he didn't make it.. 

Coomer stands there for only a few minutes or so in silence, both of them staring over the soulless body in the HEV suit. This can't be. The room with metal from wall to wall echoed and bounced with the sound of Tommy's loud cries. It was gross sobbing, but the young scientist didn't care. He didn't care about anything else right now. Not even escaping Black Mesa. He only cared about his friend. A friend who actually understood him and cared for him back. A friend who's. . Well, now gone.

It was a long while, what felt like hours, until Tommy's cries died down and had the time to actually catch his breath. Coomer had a hand on his shoulder and soon picked up Gordon's crowbar. He held it out to Tommy and set it in his lap.

"I think he'd like for you to have this." He spoke softly. Not like his cryptic whispering or his boisterous voice. It dripped with misfortune and despair that overcame the physicist. 

Tommy hesitated, but took the cold piece of metal into his hands and hugged it close to him for dear life.

Tommy didn't want to leave Gordon behind, but they couldn't just carry a dead body through the facility. He doesn't even know how much further they have to go. Coomer could carry him, but only for so long, and he needs his fists to fight. Tommy leaned down and cupped Gordon's cheek, carefully sliding off his glasses with his other hand and tucking it into his lab coat pocket.

"We- We'll come.. We'll come b-back for you.. We'll come get you once we get out of here, Gordon." He stammered, lowering his hand from his face and staggering to his feet. Coomer adjusted Gordon's body to look more comfortable and presentable. Despite his bloodied state, it's only fair to do something nice for his body out of respect.

The two said their goodbyes to Gordon and soon left, taking his glasses and crowbar with him. 

Later on, they meet up with Bubby, who's in his tube complaining. Tommy ends up going nonverbal for a bit, to which Coomer quickly takes note of and tries to lead the conversation. Bubby and Coomer go back and forth for a bit, Coomer showing sympathy, and decides to let Bubby out. It wouldn't be fair anyways, Bubby didn't know this would happen. It’d be best to break the news.

Bubby steps out of the broken containment tube and looks around. 

"Where's Gordon? I thought he was with you."

Tommy's words are caught in his throat, tears threatening to fall again. Coomer's expression falters and soon does his own words. The silence was enough evidence for Bubby to catch on to what's going on. "Oh. . .He's not, with you, is he?" Tommy gripped the crowbar until his knuckles turned white. It hurt too much to talk, to think, to breathe. His head felt like it was pounding but a headache never came. His hands felt clammy but never broke a sweat. His eyes burned but tears never came. 

Coomer nodded and told them that they should keep going, and that he'll explain later. Bubby for once had no quip or even a scoff to their words, he held his own tongue and decided to keep quiet.

They never did find Benrey. Wherever he went, he was long gone now. The journey was long and uneventful too. Silence wasn't ever awkward since everyone was trapped inside their own heads, thinking about their friend. They do meet Darnold though on the way to the Lambda Lab and take him with them, and he actually comes along with them until they escape. The military finally ceased their fire, and surrendered offhandedly. The US government soon came forth to offer them a full removal of their bounty and move on with their lives if they swore to never speak of the events. After some- or a lot of paperwork, The Science Team was free to just go back to their normal lives. It's not normal anymore though. Every single one of them had trauma and. .Oh god, breaking the news was horrible.

They had to tell Joshua, but telling a kid was enough to make all of them cry. He was too young to understand, but knew that he'd never see his dad again, and that was enough to break the poor child. 

The funeral was private, and rather small, since no one could tell anyone how Gordon died under the agreement of their contracts. The government was kind enough to go retrieve Gordon's body from Black Mesa once all the aliens were dead and mostly gone. At least, to their knowledge. They probably just contained what remained of them.

The Nihilanth never came, and somewhere within Xen, you could find it's body gone, dead.

He looked so nice when they held the service, and was made sure they hid his cleaned and wrapped nub of a hand under the sheet he lied with. The casket was closed after everyone's goodbyes and was lowered. The whole thing hurt every ounce of their bodies, and not much could be said once everything was over. Everyone who attended said their condolences, their sorrows, their goodbyes, and dispersed.

Within a week, his tombstone was set, it was small but it was sweet. The all too familiar lambda was engraved below his name. Flowers decorated the barren space around the grave, and his crowbar was set right in front of it all.

Joshua ends up being taken care of by Tommy and his dad, who he sees as a older brother and Bubby and Coomer as his grandparents. Whenever they're busy, Darnold is around to take care of him, who is actually great with kids. At least Joshua is beginning to be happy again. After everything that’s happened that is. He still misses his dad a lot.

Slightly off canon Epilogue (as requested by previous readers)

Sometime later, someone approaches the grave, standing over it with a rose in their hand. These are good enough, right?

Benrey was there, in his still bloodied and dirty uniform, holding a rose and staring down at the grave. He kneeled down and rested the rose next to the crowbar and all the other flowers. Looked good enough. Hope he liked it. 

"Uhh.. Hey, Gordon. I know you hate me, and- and all.. I just wanted to say my condol- con- I'm sorry. I didn't know, man. I just wanted them to eruh, toughen you up. I didn't think they'd go that far. You can't really forgive me now, can you? You're not here. I bet you're sooo mad at me right now. Yeah, I guess I deserve it. You can come haunt my ass or whatever if you want, at least we can talk then. I didn't mean half the stuff I said either. I was just coming up with an excuse to follow you around. I knew the cascade thing was going to happen, so I tried to get you to stop it. I guess I can't change that from happening either. So uhh.. I didn't actually write anything- I should've- should've done that.. I saw everything from the outer walls too, I should've used the... The heal beam thing. I don't think it would've worked though. Too big of aaa.. Hurt. Anyway, I'm sorry. I'll go now. Bye Gordon." 

Benrey hears a gust of wind sing past his ears under the helmet, and leaves pass by his head. He turns around and sees someone there, wearing the same nice and fancy suit they wore earlier. They looked calm and even smiled a little. Benrey stopped in his tracks and just stared at them as they stood there with their hands held with fingers intertwined. 

"Hey Benrey."

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 23- the Labyrinth

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU and Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

So close to the end, so close to winning the entire championship. Only one more challenge, one more maze- and one more corrupted beast to prove themselves as the best in the entire kingdom. 

________________________________________________

“Are you sure Magistrate Dolios is the dark wizard?” Keralis questions, tilting his head. “I mean, what he did was pretty mean, but...to practice dark magic?” 

“It’s him.” Zedaph hisses, his fingers curling in the fabric set on his lap. “He had a crystal in the antichamber, he had a horrible collection of parts used for spells.” Zed clenches his fists and jaw, struggling not to burst out. Tango and Impulse try to ease their friend’s worries. “He… I read through his log. He killed our guild. We were just the first, the opening act. He used our friends, our family, to start his path of destruction.” 

“But why? Why would he need dark magic? He’s the godsdamned Magistrate of Lairyon!” False looks around, leaning forward in the tavern they’re huddled in. It’s not the inn, but one closer to the stadium. They have a labyrinth to defeat soon. 

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Doc growls, tapping his fingers together into a triangle shape. “Regular magic just wasn’t enough. Regular power just wasn’t enough.” 

“So he’s using the crystals to gather energy. Like what we saw in Gildara, with the grey landscape. And when the crystals sap energy for him to steal, it leaves those husk monsters behind.” Cub is slowly piecing together the puzzle, coming to understand everything he saw with the others in the heist. 

“And he’s using the Chimaera’s championship to sap more energy. That’s why we feel so tired when we finish an event. He’s stealing our power, my dudes.” Ren shivers at the thought. His energy being drained, taken by some creepy crystal and fueling Dolios’s insatiable thirst. 

“And we’re going back in soon.” TFC hums. “We have the labyrinth challenge.” 

“We don’t have to go in- we got what we needed. We can leave, make a plan with this knowledge we have. Tell the king, tell the people. They’ll take care of it.” Etho leans back in a chair, tipping till it nearly dumps him backwards. 

“But we’ve come so far!” Grian whines. “We could win the whole games, prove to Dolios that he never should have messed with us! Wouldn’t you love to see that smug smile of his wiped off when we win?” 

Agreements rise around Grian, and even Etho can’t help but want to prove that bastard wrong. Xisuma steps in. “At least we know why we’re getting so exhausted. We’ll know to rest, calm down while we’re in the labyrinth. And...we can warn Team Crafted.” 

“And then we’ll tell the king, tell the people. They’ll have to listen to us, we’ll be the champions!” Iskall grins. They’ve got this labyrinth challenge in the bag. 

The group rises, walking out of the tavern and back to the stadium. All around them, Milliara is buzzing with excitement. The final challenge of the Chimaera’s championship, the end of the games, has come. A river of people flow along the raised streets, flowing like the canals beside them. Rushing towards the stadium. They pass by other guilds, who sneer and turn away. Angry they lost, especially to a team. Do any of them know that the Magistrate practices dark magic? That he’s killed entire guilds in his search for power? For what? Surely he doesn’t keep all of it. 

It’s no matter to the hermits. They found the truth, and once they pass on this knowledge, it’ll be out of their hands. Entering into the bowels of the stadium, the locker room they sit in is empty. Once full of dozens more teams, now only two teams remain.

The entire guild sneers at the sound of Dolios’s voice welcoming the crowd. It’s muffled by the thick stone walls, but they can hear him tell of the harrowing journey ahead. And the grand prize that awaits for the team that defeats the labyrinth. All they need to do is pour a single bowl of water over the statue at the center of the labyrinth. 

But between that and both teams were beasts, traps, and spells designed to slow them down. Perhaps even kill them, if they aren’t prepared. Across the way, Grian can see nerves crease across Quentin and Jerome’s faces. He can hear Mumbo muttering next to him. Anyone can walk into the labyrinth, but only the best teams can walk out. Grian isn’t going to let anyone die- not on his oath as a healer. Not from the hermits, and not from Team Crafted either. 

Grian stands, walking across the locker room and coming face to face with Sky. The leader looks up, an easy and golden grin meeting Grian. “Hey, you here to wish us luck?” 

“Not exactly.” Grian wrings his hands, looking over his shoulder, before dropping his voice. “Listen, Sky, we hermits discovered something… the reason we’re always exhausted?” Sky leans forward, his eyes looking out over the rim of his sunglasses. “The magistrate is doing something dark, and he’s taking our power for his own. If you see a crystal that’s pitch black, or a creature with soulless white eyes and ash grey bodies- run. It’s dark magic.” 

Sky’s eyes widen, and behind him Grian sees Jerome and Mitch coil and look out at where Dolios’s voice can be heard. But Jason looks less convinced. “Why should we trust you? You’re trying to get us to fail, huh?” 

Grian’s sighs, collapsing his head into his hands. “No, we’re trying to help you. Us illegal guilds have to stick together.” 

Team Crafted’s faces all exhibit a mix of shock, surprise, and hints of defiance at Grian’s suggestion. But he’s smarter than he lets on. Jerome is the first to speak up. “Thank you for the warning, I knew that man wasn’t to be trusted. Good luck, hermits.” 

With that, the stadium erupts in a roar. Team Crafted stands, and disappears into the field, disappears from view. A few moments later, the hermits are called into the spotlight. Just like the opening ceremony, TFC leads them out onto the pitch. 

Or, what was the pitch. Massive hedges of writhing vines and ivy twist around the guild, engulfing them into a thicket that fills the once open arena. A dark, misty haze swirls, thickening where the hermits know the crowd is watching. Despite no eyes, no bodies visible, they can feel being observed. And yet the entire field is eerily quiet. They feel alone, no voices or light, only the sensation of sight. 

In the distance, a grumbling roar pierces the mist. Captured by the damp air, it hangs and echoes around the hermits. Iskall hides behind Stress while False, Wels, and Etho draw their blades. But TFC is the one to break the silence. “No use standing here. Team Crafted already has a headstart, and I’m not letting them get any further. Cleo and Jevin, take point. If anything looks suspicious, or even if it doesn’t, Cleo can search for a soul. Jevin, can you whip up slime warriors to be our...ahem, bait?”

“You got it boss.” Jevin draws his circle, blue light dappling the misty grey and green. Blue bodies of slime morph to shape, awkward steps pushing the hermits forward. Deep into the maze. The mist engulfs the comforting stone wall of the stadium, and they were only among hedge and haze. 

They push past traps set off by the slime warriors, around chimaeras and banshees soothed by Zedaph and Cleo, and over illusionary spells meant to turn them back. At each intersection, Scar marks off the way they came by plowing a giant X in the ground. When they reach a dead end and turn around, he blocks it off completely. 

“I don’t remember the field being this big.” Impulse groans, feeling his body ache at the feeling he now knows to be the work of dark magic. They haven’t seen a crystal or a husk, which only makes the feeling worse. It’s coming from everywhere. 

“They must’ve used expansion magic to make this place bigger.” Xisuma hums, kicking his boot at the feeling of something on his head. And again. He turns around, glaring at BDubs. “Would you quit trying to flat-tire me? It doesn’t work on boot, ya know.” 

BDubs’s face causes X’s head to spin and his heart to drop. His eyes are wide, confused as to why X is yelling at him. “Tha-that wasn’t me, X. That was-” 

One moment, BDubs is clear in Xisuma’s vision through his mask. The next, he’s disappeared. However, it’s not hard to find him with all the screaming. Writhing on the ground, mist and vines wrapping struggling in a fight with the plant mage. No matter how many times he casts his magic, it doesn’t shake off the ivy that crawls and drags him towards the hedges. 

“Help! Help it’s got me!” BDubs screams, digging his fingers into the ground and rooting himself there He groans, the vines still pulling on him despite being an immovable object. “It’s gonna rip me in half!” 

False swings her sword, the sharp steel biting into the vines and severing it from the briars snaked around BDubs. From the split branches, a red ochre spills out. Blood. The entire hedge rumbles to life, two eyes appearing in the mist. A branch breaks through the fog, colliding with a shield held aloft by Wels. The limb of the plant monster crushes the steel, tossing the shield aside and depositing the paladin onto his rear. 

Glowing white eyes draw closer, and the twisted grey vines of the plant monster’s face appears in the dark mist. Vines grab for any limb the hermits aren’t watching, engulfing arms, pulling on tails, wrapping around heads. Xisuma traps a few of the thousand limbs in a blackhole, rolling away from the beast. Grian takes to the sky, dodging around the shoots that threaten to skewer him. He whips a blast of air, clearing the fog to get a better view below.

It’s not the whole labyrinth, but the beast has spread it’s vines in an intricate system among it. All which are slithering over the ivy, like snakes in search of the hermits. What he also sees in the sky, beneath the plant monster’s perch and dug into the ground beneath the pitch, was the one thing he’s learned to despise. 

A dark crystal. It’s controlling the plant monster, black smog wrapping around the roots of the beast like chains. It’s practically bursting with energy, all the power and strength taken by the crystal during the entire course of the games. Even flying this high, he can feel the effects of his magic being siphoned from his body. “There’s one of those-” 

Swatted from the sky like a bug, Grian crashes into the ground with a sickening thud. Scar and Mumbo race to help him up. Mumbo nearly throws up, hearing the sound of bones cracking under Grian’s feathers and skin. But nothing can keep the sky angel quiet. “The plant thing...it’s protecting the crystal, or powered by the crystal, I dunno.”

“Where is it?” TFC questions, eyes flicking across the battling guild. Stress freezes the blood and vines solid, while Cub severs the limbs with portal after portal opening and closing. 

Grian grabs his head, trying to steady the spinning sensation. The moving hedges of the false maze, the limbs of the beast, don’t help to ease his confusion. He points a shaking finger at about 2 o’clock, relieved to have support from Mumbo and Iskall back to his feet. 

“Should we run away from it? Obviously it’s going to try and take our energy- shouldn’t we stay as far away as possible?” Joe raises an eyebrow. His quill rushes across the pages beneath the tip, a rushed spell spouting forth. A million beetles emerge from the aged paper, tiny pincers digging into the plant monster and ripping it apart. Keralis plucks one from the sky, swallowing the beetle whole and feeling reinvigorated by the bug.

“If Dolios placed that there, he obviously intended for us to get close to it. If he knew we’d be going that way, that means the statue must be this direction.” Xisuma proposes, sending a ball of void into the chest of the many limbed vine creature. 

“We should...we should destroy the crystal.” Grian hisses, grasping at his ribs and gasping for air. “So he can’t steal any more magic from here.” 

“How?” Doc growls, despite plowing ahead. Towards the monster. Towards the crystal. “We could hardly put a dent in it last time!”

“We’ll figure it out. We’re pretty clever.” TFC hums, hopping over a whipping vine. He grasps a thin rod of corundum, steeling himself when another attempts to toss him into oblivion. The hermits battle their way through the shifting maze, but with each vine they cut down, more seem to spring from the bloody limbs and misty air. The attacks only grow more aggressive as they near the body of the beast, near the dark crystal controlling it. The air grows thick, hard to breathe and pressing down on the team. In the distance, they can hear the roar of a chimaera. Team Crafted. Hopefully they’re safe, as far away from this beast as possible. 

The crystal comes into view. Ashen roots are planted firm around the massive crystalline structure, the gem pulsing with energy. Energy it’s stealing from the hermits and Team Crafted. Right on cue, black mist swirls around the opaque crystal, natural defenses going up. The hermits leap aside, avoiding the crushing blow from a twisted cable of vines by a narrow margin of time and air. From across the writhing greenery, TFC’s voice booms out commands. “You guys on the other side distract the monster- or better yet, try to kill it! Us over here will do our best to break the crystal.” 

A cacophony of acknowledgements lets the guildmaster know they heard him, and he wastes no time scrabbling to his feet. He ignores the sound of fighting behind him, the cracks and groans of the beast or the screams of his guildmembers. He needs to focus on this crystal first and foremost. 

TFC is a mineral mage. He knows gemstones- but not corrupted gems. His stomach clenches as his fingers brush against the smooth surface, and his head aches at the mere thought of how it controlled him before. He still feels horrible, snapping at his friends. It’s too dangerous to use, even in regular magic. This twisted, barbaric magical conduit needs to be destroyed. 

But if there’s one thing he knows, all gems can only take so much energy before they cleave. And this crystal is practically brimming with stolen magic. “Let’s feed the beast then.” 

“Have a snack, you mega crystal of doom!” Iskall shouts, bolts of radioactive energy crackling from his magic circle to the crystal. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow his attack until he can hardly stand. The gemstone remains standing, half buried in the dirt. But then False steps up, the multitude of cinquedeas summoned around her imbued with magic by Wels. A flick of the wrist, and the blades dig into the crystal. Rusted, but protruding from the gem like spines from a dragon. 

“Yes! Focus the strikes on False’s swords! Use them like conduits!” TFC grins, leaping free as a rooted foot rips from the ground beside him. For a brief moment, he turns his attention back to the fighting hermits. He clasps his hands over his ears, the telltale shriek of Cleo’s banshee scream almost rupturing his eardrums. Impulse is on his back, protected by a weak bolt of lightning shot from Mumbo’s stuttering magic. But otherwise, they’re holding their own just fine. 

“We’ve almost got it!” Wels cheers, noticing the cracks forming along the gem’s surface. Black smoke pours from the fractures, grasping at their feet and attempting to steal their magic. Attempting to keep control of the plant monster that protects it. 

The ground beneath their feet rolls and rumbles, the dirt and hedges shivering and bucking against the hermits’ feet. Wels turns around, grinning when he sees what- or who- is the cause of the earthquake. Like a geyser of stone, a spike of rock pierces through the heart of the dark crystal. The mist around the hermits’ dissipates like morning fog chased off by the sun. Above the team, the plant monster erupts into ash, raining flakes of the husked creature with one final creak of wood and vine. 

And the dark crystal shatters. It blows the hermits back, sending them tumbling among the shards of gemstone. The black aura fades with the color- it’s just a regular quartz crystal, albeit destroyed into a million tiny conchoidal pieces. The depressing weight on their bodies, that left them struggling to breathe and their magic weak, falls away like shed skin of a snake. None of them have felt this invigorated since the start of the games. 

“Guys, there’s the statue!” Grian prods Mumbo in the back, both wincing as pain ricochets through both wounded hermits. A lush garden at the center of the labyrinth, gardenia and lilac flowers growing around a tall statue rising from a fresh, crystal clear spring. Carved in stone from the Lionheart mountains, the statue features each and every god in the main pantheon of Lairyon. From Echol to Limal, and Artyne- god of water.

Water, the symbol of life and magic in Lairyon. Water flows fresh, clean, and pure from the spring surrounding the stone gods. Two bowls rest untouched at the spring’s edge, carved from the very cyprus trees that inspired Milliara to be founded. Ren steps up, pausing and looking back at his teammates. Bruised, battered, broken. But urging him not to waste another second. This is it. 

Ren dips the bowl in the spring. He swears he can feel energy, deep ancient magic within the cool water, chasing away the aftereffects of the crystal. In the distance, he can hear shouts of encouragement from vaguely familiar voices. Team Crafted is almost here. He doesn’t waste a second, wading across the water and pouring the bowl over the stone statue. 

The mist disappears, and the statues move, as if brought to life by the mystical spring. Merkal, the god of mischief, moves his cloak to the side. Deliss brushes away the lilacs and gardenia. And the stone rendition of Artyne smiles, revealing the chalice. Crowning the hermits as victors of the Chimaera’s Championship.

[365days365movies]

January 26, 2021: The Expendables (2010)

I don’t think you understood how big of a deal this was when it came out, OK? Sylvester Stallone. Dolph Lundgren. Jason Statham. Jet Li. Terry Crews. Randy Couture. Mickey Rooney. In ONE MOVIE? Some of the biggest action stars of all time, in one movie, kicking names and taking ass?

YOU HEARD ME GODDAMIT, IT’S THE EXPENDABLES!

I chose this movie because it contains multiple action stars, rather than just a single one. And since this month started off with Stallone, makes sense to finish with him! Plus, I can also get Statham, Lundgren, and Li in this month! Win-win-win! I’m pumped, no rigamarole needed, LET’S DO IT!!! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

It’s 2010, and our introductory villains of choice are Somali pirates! Yayyyyyyy. They’re holding hostage some shipmates, and haven’t received any money for them in a while. However, as they’re making a new demands video, they find themselves lit up by laser-sights. 

These lasers are from guns pointed by a group of commandos, sent to deliver the money and rescue the hostages. When they demand more money, one of them fires a warning shot.

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

Well…after that, we get an INSANE action sequence, and some one-liners courtesy of the leader. At the end, one of the men, Gunnar Jensen (Dolph Lundgren), is particularly unhinged. He was the one to fire the warning shot, and he’s about to hang a pirate, which is a little much for this team.

The leader, Barney Ross (Sylvester Stallone) tells him off, and he’s taken down by Yin Yang (Jet Li), who...YIN YANG??? You CANNOT be serious! REALLY? WHO WROTE THIS???

Anyway, they fire Gunnar, and head home from the mission. Lee Christmas (Mickey Rourke) goes home, only to find that his girlfriend has left him for another, less secretive and murdery man. He catches up with Barney, who’s getting tattoo work done by an old friend, Tool (Mickey Rourke).

The next day, Barney accepts a mission from Mr. Church and Trench Mauser, played by...oh my God.

OH GOD, MY WORLD’S ON FIRE

Anyway, Bruce Willis hires Sylvester Stallone for a job which Arnold Schwarzenegger passes on. And I could use their character names, BUT I PHYSICALLY CANNOT TYPE THEM WHILE THEY’RE TOGETHER. THIS IS ALL I EVER WANTED.

Barney accepts the mission, and is confronted by Gunnar, who’s clearly on something. He wants in on the mission, but Barney can’t trust him any more. He leaves, but quite reluctantly.

The group gets together to discuss the mission. This includes Toll Road (Randy Couture) and...Hale Caesar (Terry Crews). Jesus.

The mission: overthrow General Garza (David Zayaz), corrupt dictator on the South American island of Vilena. They make their way to the islands, posing as ornithologists...and I can’t decide if I’m professionally offended by this or not. I’m, uh...I’m in that field. We’ll see how they handle that.

Lee and Barney go to meet a contact for more information, talking about women on the way. And who should walk in but Sandra (Giselle Itié), who I’m calling as an Inevitable Love Interest right now...although I’m not sure for whom. She describes how Americans came and supplied money to Garza, allowing him to ruin the island and take over.

This American is James Monroe (Eric Roberts), and his henchman...STONE COLD STEVE AUSTIN (Stone Cold Steven Austin). Sure, I could call him Dan Paine…but, nah, he’s Stone Bold, baby!

As tensions run high between Munroe and Garza, due to a lack of profit on Garza’s end. Meanwhile, as Barney determines Sandra’s guilt, military men come in to take them all in. It’s revealed that Sandra is the General’s daughter, and the group gets into a fight. The men are, of course, defeated handily, and our three escape before Munroe and Garza get there.

However, Sandra refuses to leave as Lee brings her to the chopper. After taking out some guards, Barney joins him...by jumping into the plane from the dock. But they go back, and Statham fires on Garza’s men.. from the outside of the plane. AND THEN THEY SPRAY PLANE FUEL ON THEM AND SET IT ON FUCKING FIRE

Is this...is this gonna be the whole movie? IS THIS GONNA BE THE WHOLE MOVIE

Anyway, they figure out that Sandra did this immediately, and unambiguously evil Munroe tells Garza to kill his daughter. He also brings in Gunnar, who OF COURSE betrays them. He’s brought in by Roberts, who BY THE WAY, is an ex-FBI agent.

Yup. Apparently, the US Government hired Mr. Church to hire the mercenaries to take care of Munroe, with the assumption that they would die in the process of the mission. So, in other words, they’re like a squad…

Upon learning all of this, the group returns home. Lee goes back to his ex, Lacy (Charisma Carpenter), who’s clearly in an abusive relationship with her current boyfriend. So, Lee does what he does, and BEATS THE EVER-LOVING SHIT OUT OF HIM AND HIS FRIENDS. Barney, meanwhile, goes to talk to Tool, where Mickey Rourke turns in some QUALITY ACTING, LEMME TELL YOU. He talks about a traumatic past mission, and you feel it, lemme tell you.

But back in Vilena, looks like they’re trying to get information out of Sandra via good old-fashioned water boarding! Yaaaaaaaay. It’s not particularly easy to watch. Luckily for her, Barney decides to go back for Sandra, out of guilt. Yang goes along with him this time. However, Gunnar’s been sent to kill them, and this results in a car-gun battle with Barney, Yang, Gunnar, and Monroe’s other men.

They end up in a warehouse, where they engage in a fist fight. As Gunnar’s about to kill Yang, Barney shoots him through the chest. With his last words, Gunnar tells him where to find Munroe. And despite Barney’s initial intent to go alone, the rest of the Expendables go along. 

Meanwhile, in Vilena, Garza now turns against Munroe. Y’know, AFTER the whole water boarding torture thing, which seems a little too late for your daughter, buddy. The Expendables storm the castle, so to speak, and they take out all of the men while destroying the drugs in the building, and…

...I am so bored.

No, really, I mean it! I am INCREDIBLY bored by this movie. I don’t know HOW I could be bored at this movie...but I am! Seriously! I feel...wrong. Like, this should be an amazingly engaging movie, but it just...isn’t.

OK, what’s going on? Right, right, Barney decapitated a man with a single knife stroke, saved Sandra, and then they both got captured. Uh, the other Expendables save him, and Barney’s fighting Stone Cold Steve Austin. Which, again...should be exciting? But somehow, the impact just...isn’t there. Is it me? Is this my fault? Why isn’t this exciting to me?

Garza gives Munroe his money back, sick of the death and destruction, apparently. He almost kills Munroe, but his blade is stilled...by his daughter’s heart? He goes outside, and blames everything on the Americans, which is totally fair. Munroe shoots him dead, then escapes with Sandra, Austin, and the money. And then, they blow up the building.

...Which is somehow boring. What...what is happening to me? WHY AM I NOT ENJOYING THIS?

As the Expendables continue shooting and blowing up the place, I slip into a meditative trance. I think on the nature of the action genre, as Terry Crews destroys three sentry towers with a single big gun. And as I watch these men take out everybody without a SINGLE SCRATCH ON THEM EVER...It dawns on me.

There are absolutely no stakes in this movie. I’m not worried about the Expendables, they’re gonna be fine! And even then, I barely know them! Nothing revealed about their characters has gotten me to root for them or even really LIKE them that much. And even then, I still know that they’re going to succeed.

And as Stallone jump-punches Austin in the face, I continue my meditation. The special effects in this movie are noticeably subpar, as is the fight choreography. The face that these guys are basically supermen is boring. And this is coming from a guy whose favorite DC Comics hero IS SUPERMAN.

As Stone Cold Steve Austin burns to death, it isn’t even Stallone who delivers the final face punch. Instead, it’s Toll, WHOM I DO NOT REALLY KNOW. And as they take down a helicopter using nothing but a single gun and Terry Crews’ muscles, I feel NOTHING.

As Barney confronts Munroe, and Munroe shoots him, I zone out as Munroe monologues, and is summarily shot and stabbed. As expected. And as Barney and Lee trade some more quipped lines, a line of Monroe’s resonates with me. He said that both of them are dead inside, and that’s how this entire movie feels: soulless, without substance or true purpose. It just. Feels. Empty.

Am I numb to the violence? Is it just that it was too much at once? Is it this month, or just this movie? And as Barney and Lee take off into the sunrise and head to Tool’s to celebrate, I...genuinely don’t care. And I also know that I won’t remember ANYTHING in this movie. And then, AND THEN, JUST when I think I couldn’t care less, JUST when I think there were no stakes whatsoever…

GUNNAR’S ALIVE?!? YOU GODDAMN KIDDING ME???

[incorrectly-quoted-queers]

Mass Effect fanfiction Shakarian prompt: Sole Survivor FemShep freezes during Grunt's loyalty mission (ME2) when the Thresher Maw appears. Garrus is the only one who notices and manages to snap Shepard out of her fear/PTSD. Maybe afterward have a concerned Garrus confront Shepard alone and check up on how she is doing?

This is a great idea! I am so happy you gave it. I might have to use some of this for my long-form FemshepxGarrus fanfic. 

Anyway, here’s: The Maw of Memories 

...

Anya Shepard couldn’t believe the pillar of writhing death rising above her. It was like something from a far-off, ruined fairytale, where she was someone else who laughed harder and danced across the battlefield because everyone else had her back, right?

And it stood there like a nightmarish idol reminding her that she would always end up alone. 

A foot from her, her Krogan was practically vibrating in anticipation. His smile was wider than she’d ever seen it and he kept hopping from foot to foot, like he was going toe to toe in a boxing match, not facing off with something that leeched the marrow from her bones just by looking at her. 

Grunt said, "Now that looks like a good fucking fight." On the other side of the spectrum, Anya could feel her face paling, this overgrown leech taking everything it could from her. 

And she didn’t know how to stop it. Not when all she could see was Commander Garen in the gape of its mouth, being torn to shreds by its teeth. She couldn’t stop it. She never knew how to stop it. 

She remembered the last thing he said to her, when that thing showed up out of nowhere. He hunkered the rest of her team down, pointed at the release button for her tactical cloak, and said, “Run.” 

Like an idiot, she did. 

On the other side of Grunt, Garrus was chuckling, but it sounded so far away, like she was underwater and they were on dry land, no clue she’d gone. 

She could even move.

Garrus answered, saying, "Yeah, sure, kid. Guess since dancers on Omega won’t work, washing Thresher guts off me for weeks is the price to get you back in working order." 

Anya knew she should laugh. It was funny; it was exactly what they would joke about on a normal mission, the average beat-down. 

But this wasn’t average, not when she could still hear Erim screaming in her ear. He was even screaming her name. She forgot that he screamed her name. When his blood splattered on her, Anya had felt it hot and burning down her arm while she just kept running. 

It’s what her Commander told her to do, right?

That’s what she was supposed to do, right? 

"Let's go behind cover and switch to our snipers, right Shepard?" Garrus was talking to her, and she should answer, tell him he was right, but she was as stiff as Winkler’s body after the Thresher arm tossed her into the air and slammed her on the ground. Every bone in her body wasn’t hers anymore; it was broken, wrong. 

Anya could see Winkler’s helmet fly off into the air like it didn’t matter. Compared to a Thresher, it didn’t. 

This one didn’t have the same bloodstains on its body, but she could swear she saw them, staining it all back on her hands. 

All those people dead, and she just kept running. 

Commander Garen’s orders weren’t a good enough excuse. Insubordination wasn’t rare for her. Why didn’t she stay? 

She could’ve stayed. 

She was their best sniper; what if she saved them?

Anya should’ve fucking stayed.

 "Shep- shit." Her lips were shaking, underneath her own heavy helmet. She wondered how much it would take for the Thresher to toss hers off. Some acid spit? A few swipes? One single bite?

Anya knew Garrus’ arm was grabbing hers, that he was dragging her body like a soggy rag doll behind some cover. But she couldn’t feel it, none of it.  Garrus was yelling, "Grunt, keep it's attention." 

"Don't mind if I do."

Garrus was yelling. Grunt was yelling. There were so many people yelling. 

If Shepard could, she’d be screaming, too. 

 His hands were on her helmet, lightly knocking her face. It felt like he was making her bob at the water’s edge, surfacing but never able to keep herself up. She was leaning into some sort of object, but she couldn’t look because if she did she might glance over and see it ripping them apart, over and over and over and-

"Shepard. It's okay. We got this." Even though she was trapped under a helmet, suffocating, drowing, remembering, dying, surviving, he was stroking it like it was her face, soft and lovable. 

She wasn’t lovable. 

She was the sole soulless fucking survivor. 

Garrus tried to reassure her, "Even if you need to sit down and breathe, we got this."

Finding her voice, she said the only things she could: "Erim. Winkler. Garen." 

"Anya." This time, he grabbed her arm, like it could make her surface. But her limbs weren’t the problem. It was the screaming, the images flashing, the soreness of her muscles that she hadn’t felt since that day, where she just kept running. 

Why did she keep running? 

Why wasn’t she running now?

She couldn’t save them then, she couldn’t save them now. "You aren't stuck there right now. You're here with us. With me." Garrus pulled her into his arms, tight. “You’re Commander Anya Shepard and you’re not running anymore.”

It was like she finally broke the surface. Gulping for air, Anya felt her chest heaving up and down. Maybe it had been doing that the entire time. It was sore, she was breathing so hard.

Still gasping, Anya said, "I haven't seen one this close since-"

"I gathered." Garrus was calculated, making quick glances between her, the Thresher, and Grunt shooting his little heart out. "The faster we shoot our asses out of here, the faster we can get back on the Normandy and watch Bond movies or talk about it, alright?" Shepard knew those sounded nice, or they should sound nice. But right now they just felt so far away. Her limbs her heavy and also so light that she could float away at any moment. 

Right into the Thresher’s maw, a free snack for anyone who’d claim her. That’s what it was like, right? 

They hadn’t had a fucking shot. 

Garrus placed his hands on her shoulder again. "You're Commander fucking Shepard. So you'll be okay or I'll rip that thing apart with my bare hands." He pressed his helmet’s forehead against hers and, while the contact was second-hand, it felt like something to hold onto. “I took care of the one on Edolus for you. Trust me that we got this one and stay.”

Anya wanted to scream, to run. 

But despite her instincts, she trusted his voice. She nodded and he let go of her. Sniper and Krogan working side by side, they fought the Thresher Maw. 

And despite her better instincts and screaming insides, Anya Shepard stayed. 

...

After the Thresher Maw, Shepard got flown back to Chakwas and spent an hour or so with the good doctor. She was given a fast-acting benzodiazepine. Chakwas also gave her water, juice, and chocolate to try to get her back to herself. 

And a lot of time to breathe. 

When she was finally released, she went back to her room. Even though the PTSD-related panic attack was over, she could still feel her body shaking all the way to her toes. 

Anya wasn’t surprised by the door pinging only a minute later, though. She knew someone wouldn’t just let her ignore what happened. 

His voice was as low and soothing as ever, even when his chuckle was fake as fuck. “And here we are again, talking in your room.”

Anya was on her couch, staring at an old picture of her team, her knees tucked under her chin. She used to smile so stupid and big, back then. “I thought I was over it.” Sighing, she put it back down on the ledge. Garrus took the opportunity to sit across from her, just barely touching the tips of her toes with his thighs. Anya admitted, “I guess it was dumb, thinking I’ll ever be over it.”

“You’re not dumb.”

Snorting, Anya didn’t mean to let her laugh be so shaky. The walls of her chest still felt so unstable. “You say that, but I just turned into a pile of oatmeal that wanted to take up jogging in front of one of the most dangerous creatures in the galaxy.”

“If that was me out there, you wouldn’t be saying I was dumb.”

“I dunno. I might.” The turian glared at her. Anya hated it when he called her bluff, and ended up groaning. “Fine. You’re right. But that doesn’t make me feel better.” Pulling at the ends of her long brown hair, twirling strands between her fingertips, she asked, “I mean, what kind of Commander am I if Thresher Maws turn me into oatmeal?”

“The human kind.” Anya glared at him. “I know you like to forget that, but everyone has weaknesses.” Even though she was a ball of angst, Garrus opened his arms and pulled her into his arms. “C’Mere.” She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t fight him. Settling down between his legs, caged in his arms, Anya let him wrap her in his comfort.

Even though she didn’t deserve it. 

Sighing, she said, “Whatever you say probably won’t make me feel better.” When Garrus grumbled behind her, she just told him what she was thinking. It was all Anya had right now. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“Such a  lack of faith in me.”

“It’s more a lack of faith in me. I’m stubborn and troublesome and-”

Garrus pressed his face into the back of her head before saying, “Mine is C-Sec officers.”

“What?”

“My weakness is C-Sec. Awkward, since I worked there for years. But I was a loner for a reason. If I ever was arguing with one of my co-workers, I couldn’t get a hold of myself. It would always get out of hand. Something about them always reminded me too much of my father, which isn’t a great thing for me. But they were versions of my father that I could punch. Not that I punched them... often.” While he talked, he intertwined his fingers with one of hers. Anya just kept staring at his hand in hers, something she wasn’t completely disappointed with right now; even when talking about punching fellow officers. “Let’s just say, I probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer even if I hadn’t left.”

Anya said, “That’s... not good.”

“The point is, you think I’m a good person. But that’s an unpleasant flaw of mine, one that sometimes gets other people hurt. And sure, I wish it didn’t happen and the punching part was my fault. But if it's an association I can’t control, then...”

“Then you shouldn’t keep blaming yourself for feeling certain things. You should just control what you can.”

“Exactly.”

“And you’re saying I do well otherwise, but I can’t control the fact that those... things get to me.”

“So the student becomes the teacher.” 

Anya leaned into his forearm and groaned. “I don’t like when you’re right.”

“Why not? I find it refreshing to have someone else get to be the brains around here.”

Pressing her lips to his arms, he glanced up at those wonderful blue eyes of his. Even though she still felt like she broke half her ribs screaming from the inside, looking up at him didn’t feel so bad. “Oh, but I love being the one always right.”

“You can be right about everything else. But when it comes to Thresher Maws, you don’t have to always be the hero. There’s a reason you have a team, Anya.” Now that? That made her hold a little tighter on her knees. “You have every right to fear them; hate them. But you’re not alone anymore. Let us make sure they never take something away from you ever again.”

She didn’t have anything good to say. She felt overwhelmed, remembering Erim’s amazing pies or Winkler’s chess prowess or how Commander Garen secretly practiced ballet with her in the mornings; he taught her how to tap.

So many years she stayed tough.

Then Garrus’ arms tightened around her and Anya figured maybe she didn’t have to be so tough. Not all the time, at least. He added, “If that fear ever turns angry, though, I’ll be happy to go on a revenge spree with you. Hunting’s not normally my style, but anything bothering you is free game in my book.”

Anya laughed. Not just when she should, but because she wanted to, even if it hurt her sore ribs. “You’re stupid.” Turning around, she pressed her lips to his cheek and scanned his face, never wanting to forget a single detail. Maybe next Thresher, she could remember that this face was there to make sure she was okay. With a smile, she said, “But you’re my kind of stupid.” 

And they spent the rest of the night together, not running, not punching, just staying right there in each other’s arms. 

Neither of them were alone. 

[lunelantern]

~Sasusaku analysis ~

                                      ~Sasusaku analysis ~                                ~~ Sasuke and Sakura - - pair analysis ~~                                            ~THE BRIDGE SCENE~                            (Team 7 Reunion - - after the Five Kage Summit)

                                        ----PART 3---

And Sasuke knows as well.

Sakura isn't a naive egocentric fool. She is humble enough to admit the limitations of her skills. Inwardly, she didn't think that she'll lay a single finger on Sasuke, let alone kill him.

Which makes the reader (and Sasuke) wonder why exactly is she doing there? What's her motivation? She obviously can't be fool enough to expect that she'll stop him when he survived the Five Kage and Shimura Danzo and has Akatsuki and Team Hawk as allies.

It's suicidal mission from Sakura to attempt something like this which makes us wonder whether she didn't come to plead with him to stop acting so erratically - which she does in the first panels - or kill him.

Maybe Sakura had a change of heart en route after she realized that this isn't the Sasuke that she hoped /expected /prayed to find, and her repentine decision almost cost her life.

It's subtle and barely visible as Sasuke flawlessly hides his emotions and draws the shinobi mask on his irate face, but we can depict a subtle nuance of bittersweet amusement at her foolishness; what exactly is she trying to do, facing him with such obviously conflicting and erratic approaches? Her lack of solid prior plan is unflattering to someone like Sakura, because Sasuke knows exactly what kind of person Sakura is.

He knows that she has a brilliant mind, tactical and analytical skills, creativeness and talent and tremendous skills that she polished under the tutelage of the legendary Sannin and Kage, Tsunade Senju herself.

And this is the best that she can come up with? It's almost like HE doesn't recognize THIS Sakura anymore and her approach becomes a copious source of dark humor mixed into the concoction of this tragi-comedy.

Symbolically however, Sakura's indecision and her pendulating emotions are illustrative for how terrible the battle between the shinobi and the lover is, for both Sasuke and Sakura.

One can have more friends, family members, enemies, teachers, idols or brothers, but a lover is singular. SHE... Is only one. She's unique and thus all the pent up feelings percolate to one single person alone and that puts a lot of pressure on Sasuke.

As for Sakura's part, her pain is so hauntingly lucid that it's almost palpable. We can actually taste the pain on our own tongues as we hear the soul-crushing despair of her unspoken words.

"I don't care!" She states flippantly with such an implied confidence that's almost ignoramus and she follows the trite in the same manner. "I'll follow any order you give me."

Only someone with the author's superb skills can create an almost comical situation in the cusp of a tragic angst that's rapidly escalading to the peak of its drama.

By Sakura's statement I could almost picture Sasuke starting to laugh and hiss something along the lines of: "Are you stupid?"

She will follow any order, who is she, Haku?

Of course, it's just obvious that Sasuke - - as playful as Suigetsu humorously  correctly depicts him - - enters this game and starts to play.

If Sakura has no problems in following any ominous order from him that's overtly bordering the Criminal Code, if she wants to be like Haku - - a soulless disposable tool in the hands of a renewed criminal with a penchant for arbitrary murder - - then he'll treat her exactly like this. Emphasizing that if she wants to be a helpless puppet in his hands then she'll become like Karin and share her fate. He practically shows her with a real life example, her hasty words materialized.

You want to follow any of my orders and join me? Then you'll be staying in Karin place too - - half-dead and ignored.

Clearly, she didn't think about what she was mumbling and how stupid it sounded and she didn't strategize before. Sakura should have chosen her words more carefully.

It's only when Sasuke makes his intentions known to her does Sakura realize the extenct of her mistake and implicitly the fact that she is actually in real danger.

Her shock is evident as it hit home. We see the black background as we glimpse into her consciousness and souls, a familiar technique used in the manga when the author lets us glimpse into the characters minds. The transition between the exterior and interior is highlighted by the dark background.

In the end, symbolically their moment stops with the panel of her kunai wavering and stopping as she couldn't pierce through the Uchiha crest meaning that she couldn't quench her love for him as she accepts him for what he is - - Sasuke AND Uchiha.

Her falter must be interpreted in conjunction to Naruto’s words when he says that he and Sasuke will finally make amends when both of them will stop being tied to their designed role and, in a sense, Obito is right when he sarcastically  tells Naruto that he is also selfish for trying to force Sasuke to accept his life philosophy (the political triumph  of democracy as status quo). In which case, Sasuke's family name becomes a hindrance, an impediment.

But that's not the case with Sakura. No, she falters and stops with her kunai never piercing through the Uchiha crest that's sewed on Sasuke's back (she is not backstabbing him by hitting where it most hurts - - his family).

No, Sakura loves ALL of him. He accepts every part of him with his past and present, she sees him at his lowest and she still loves him with unfaltering despair. Her love stands this test, Uchiha surname is a huge burden even in Sasuke's shoulders but Sakura's unyielding love is benediction and suffices in shouldering even this burden (the Uchiha "curse" / the primordial curse).

Consequently, she eventually takes the same infamous surname, Uchiha, and wears it with pride and love, accepting, assuming what it represents, with both his flaws and qualities.

She doesn't try to change anything in Sasuke. She accepts 3very part of him. She never wavered. She loved him before and she loves him now in fact, she never gave her love a moment of respiro. She loved him continuously with same bravery and ardent passion. Sasuke attacks her when she is on the verge of laughing a physical attack as a logical self-defense, treating her as he'd treat another shinobi who attacks him, with his signature attack.

If Sakura wouldn't have attacked him, Sasuke wouldn't have laid a finger on her. He reacted accordingly to her.

When she was honest with him, his face softened.

When she attacked him with murderous intent, he retaliates never taking her lightly as respecting the strong shinobi that she has become (he didn’t take her skills as subpar, as if it was enough for him to simply step aside to avoid her attack).

She could have pour all her heart out openly and uncensored and he'd have listened to her; he always listened when she said she loved him. Never interrupting her as long as she was sincere with him.

Even so... Even if her emotions are a roller-coaster and she caved in babbling and rambling incoherences, he still calmly converses with her, in fact, Sasuke talks more to her than he normally does. Sasuke isn't a talkative person and yet he chatters with her.

"Are you really willing to betray the Leaf for me?" against, his manner of speaking reels with romantic substrate, akin to lovers` conversation. Me, you, Sasuke hardly use such personal undertone. He gives her one final chance to come clean to him because he says" really", so he tempts her playfully further appealing to her feelings, throwing her words back at her.

He knew that she was more than willing to leave the safety of her village as a child, to leave everything - friends and family - behind and become a traitor for him when she was 12, even though her lack of life experience prevented her from having a clear representation of the consequences of her actions.

What about now when the more mature Sakura DOES have the clear representation of such an act? Did her feelings change? Will she follow him blindly?

Does she still love him?

He's willing to listen, he provoked her even to answer just like wanting to confirm for himself whether she's the same woman who loves him - - who HE loves - - or a complete stranger who grow over her childhood crush (like Karin).

He also tests whether is an infatuation or genuine love for Sasuke has been an unwilling subject of women attention and flirts before (Mei, Ino, Karin, the young employees from the Land of Waves...).

She replies with a seemingly confident tone. "Yes... If that's what you want me to do."

Sasuke knows that 3 years ago, she would have so it unconditionally and he thanked her for that.

Now he's skeptical the atmosphere is not romantic anymore; is cynical, is mischievous, it's reeling in underlying ambitions and dark schemes, is mocking and ironic, is deceiving and cruel, sarcastic, bittersweet with laced irony, is trifling and clownish.

Totally different from the sincere atmosphere that melted our hearts in their farewell scene.

When the 12 years old Sakura in all her earnest innocence and naivety offered to join him and desert the village... He believed it and even thanked her for that devotion in the name of love.

But this Sakura... He doesn't believe anymore and consequently he asks for a PROOF. which he didn't in Part 1 because it wasn't necessary for he believed it.

A lover doesn't need a token for their love because love when honest and reciprocated doesn't need to be proven.

And yet that's what he asks for it and she gets trapped into his game falling badly for it. "Hmpf..." He snorts like he's amused by her pathetic attempt to lure him in a trap, mocking her and playing her game. "Then prove it." he is no more "playing at romance", he's not Sasuke the lover anymore. He's just the wicked shinobi who just killed one of the best shinobi in the Leaf.

"Kill her and I'll accept your offer." the trap is so blatantly obvious and amateurish that's even laughable. Obviously, that in order to kill Karin who's lying right at his feet, Sakura has to come ridiculously close to him - - the enemy. Which is a fatal mistake for a shinobi. You don't casually parade to Karin and pass him by with the intent to kill him and expect Sasuke to be a silent voyeur.

But one can't notice how incredibly erotic and sexy this dialogue is if deconstructed and taken out of the battle context. It is teeming with that archetypal dark and sensual bad-romance that conjure the darkest most sinfully delicious and incredibly erotic love stories in popular fiction world.

The thrill of having a dark hero who's unpredictable, passionate, dangerous, savage, the one who could give a woman glimpses of a scorching passion and fulfill her darkest desires.

Sasusaku is the very epitome of the passionate couple.

A quick glimpse over the dialogue is deliciously hot if taken out of the context and very uncharacteristic for someone like Sasuke.

"Sakura..." the way he says her name in that low baritone voice that sends delicious shivers along the spine.

"What do you want with me?"

"Why would you want to join me? What are you trying to pull?"

"Are you really willing to betray the Leaf for me?"

"Hmpf... Then prove it."

"Kill her and I'll accept your offer."

"well? Can't you handle this Sakura?" this particular line and the mocking way he says it so enticing dangerous like a bad boy... Is overly sexy. Is hot, is dark dangerous and erotic, is the exact type of fiction that entices because it oozes of pure passion. I can't help but replace the j spoken word in my head: "Can't you handle ME... Sakura?" are you capable to be with the current me?

It is hard to discern what's sincere and what's deceiving from this heated interplay between Sasuke and Sakura because it's written intentionally ambiguous and enigmatic to keep us constantly enticed and confused.

There's a fine line between shinobi and lovers and we are just as confused as the two protagonists.

Apparently, one wouldn't associate Sasuke with intimacy passion and erotica but the Uchiha is full of surprises and severely underestimated.

He is perfectly capable to "play at ROMANCE" when he so desires. When he shuts Kakashi down with "You want me to play at ROMANCE?" Sasuke automatically implies that he KNOWS how to do so. He isn't an unschooled rookie in the art of romance, he isn't the disimpassioned man that has no appetite for love and intimacy.

Not in the least.

And this is the only woman that he ever loved romantically and proved to do so only his inconsistent and dynamic character perfectly masked his emotions. He's way more subtle than the others.

He is calm up and composed, even letting her to bypass him closely knowing that she had weapons hidden under her clothes.

Objectively speaking the confrontation is absurd and lacks any verisimilitude. Sakura isn't credible and Sasuke is ironic, calm and abnormally tranquil and playful.

He's way too serene considering who he has just fought. I couldn't guess that Danzo`s death brought Sasuke a pang of relief as he's directly responsible for the downfall of Uchiha but revenge is like a drug; it never brings relief and the more you have the more toy crave for. And one would never satiate. So he experiences a momentary relief.

But that's not the case for the purpose of this entire scene is to emphasize the internal conflict between the shinobi and the lover.

[lovelahela]

❛ it lives in the woods ❜ ─ prologue

⇢ masterlist ; check masterlist for fancast!

⇢ pairing: noah marshall x f!mc (marisol reyes)

⇢ genre: horror

⇢ chapter: zero (prologue)

⇢ words: 2687

⇢ description: something old and powerful lives in the woods surrounding the small town of westchester... something that knows their names. tensions flare, old wounds are reopened, and lives hang in the balance of one, very important question: are you scared?

⇢ notes + warning: this story will include disturbing scenes, potentially dark/triggering subjects (including but not limited to underage substance/alcohol abuse, depression, anxiety) and strong language. reader discretion is advised.

        Tonight, the moon is playing peek-a-boo, weaving in and out of ribbons of black clouds scudding across the sky. Accompanying the flickering radiance of lampposts scattered across the small town of Westchester, the light of the moon stretched across the vast cluster of trees that surrounded it and to a cosy, modern house far away from said lampposts that stood out significantly next to the worn-out, withering shack that stood meters away from it. The town was characteristically quiet, its folk invested in whatever dream of winning the lottery and marrying the most good-looking Hollywood actor they were having. It was almost peaceful.

        The functioning word here being almost.

        Inside that modern little house lay a young teenage girl, fast asleep in the comfort of her mattress and scented candles. Marisol Reyes tried very hard to be normal, thank you very much. She ran two clubs, maintained outstanding grades, and managed Westchester High's successful swimming team as an efficient captain. Some might even say she was one of the "popular kids," but she was no where near that (proven by the constant degradation courtesy of Britney and her posse), and preferred to keep it that way. All Marisol wanted was to blend, to be away from the spotlight - she had enough of it after being drowned in all the wrong kinds of attention when one of her best friends perished a decade ago. Being pointed at by judgemental kids and gossiping parents took a toll on her, and she swore to go out of her way to erase the devastating, untimely death of Jane Marshall from her life - she would never be the "best friend of that girl who died" ever again.

        Although Marisol strongly refused her mother Soledad's advice to see a child psychologist and cope with the horrible trauma that cost her her childhood, she insisted that she was able to, get over it. She pushed aside the recurrent nightmares and the obsession with self-defense and martial arts classes, plastered on a smile, and said she was fine - every single time, all through the ten years of looking over shoulder and denying just how damaged she really was.

        The sound of violent vibrations against a wooden surface startled Marisol Reyes out of her uncharacteristically peaceful slumber. She jumped out of her bed and grabbed the kitchen knife that always lied stoically on her bedside table like a war veteran, hair frazzled and muscles tense. The focus of her almond-shaped eyes darted around the room frantically, fingers tightening around the hilt of the knife as her heart beat wildly in her chest. Once she could not make out an outline of an intruder in the darkness that enveloped the area, she realized the vibrations were coming from her phone, buzzing enthusiastically with text notifications. She groaned at her overreaction to such a harmless event while rubbing the sleep from her eyes and picked up the small electronic device in her tense hands.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:12 AM

UNKNOWN NUMBER

marisol, you there?

it's dan.

i messed up. i'm sorry, i'm so sorry

Mark as spam?

Block number?

        "Oh my God..." whispered Marisol, rereading that one text over and over again to make sure she didn't imagine it.

        it's dan.

        Those two words stole the breath and heat from her very skin. Suddenly her defenses are like paper, paper being soaked by rapidly falling rain drops. Dan Pierce. They hadn't spoken since the tragic incident a decade prior - after the funeral, the eight children went their separate ways, determined carry the truth behind that catastrophe with them to the grave no matter how deep they buried it inside of them. She debated replying - she hadn't so much as greeted him in so many years, and suddenly he bombards her phone with frantic messages in the middle of the night? Something seemed off. Marisol could practically feel danger creeping up slowly but surely behind her.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:15 AM

DAN PIERCE

marisol?

MARISOL

dan, hey.

it's been a while, u okay? what's up?

DAN PIERCE

i went into the woods.

i had to be sure, i had to prove to myself that he wasn't real.

that it was all in our heads.

but he is, mari. he's real. it was all real.

read 3:16 AM

        Marisol's previously tense hands began shivering vigorously along with the rest of her limbs, all of them weakening by the second. She closed her eyes and drew in long, deep breaths, attempting to calm down and muster up whatever courage she had left. She wasn't sure if the texts she responded with were an attempt to convince Dan, or herself.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:17 AM

MARISOL

hey man, u sure ure not drunk?

DAN PIERCE

he was whispering, just like when we were kids.

MARISOL

dan, please stop.

we made all that stuff up, we were kids.

mr red was just a dumb game that spun out of control.

we made it all up.

DAN PIERCE

 he does. he's with me right now.

MARISOL

for fuck's sake dan

if ure in the woods get out NOW

it's not safe in the dark

DAN PIERCE

i can hear him in the trees.

i can hear him whispering...

read 3:18 AM

        Marisol hissed a long string of curse words, fumbling around in the dark for her jacket. It didn't matter that they lost touch with each other, she couldn't bear the thought of losing him - of losing someone else in the disbanded group that she once would have said she trusted with her life. Maybe, if you dug deep enough through the traumatic, emotional baggage she lugged around every waking moment, she still would.

        Just as she snatched the keys to her mother's car (which she was only allowed to use in the case of an emergency, much to her dismay), someone rapped the window harshly, startling a shriek out of her. Her phone slipped out of her hands and landed on the wooden floorboard with an upsetting thud, just barely illuminating the room with a disturbing glow.

        With the manner of a paranoid animal about to get preyed on viciously, Marisol snuck a peek at the window. Her blood ran cold when she made out the shape of what she was hoping was a human. Wasting no time, she jumped towards her lamp and turned it on. A yellow light filled just enough of the vicinity - enough to see that the man waiting outside her window was none other than Dan. She heaved out a relieved sigh and opened the window  (reluctantly so), ushering him inside outside of the chilly embrace of the crisp night.

        He climbed into his former friend's bedroom, hoodie dirtied by mud and hints of dead leaves. His long hair was unkempt, his eyes were accompanied by worrying and prominent bruises under them, and what used to be his beautifully tanned skin was then pale and sickly as though he was near death itself. Dan sat hunched over on the floor like a frail puppet being held up by a single fraying string. It was horribly peculiar to see him like this - he always held himself with confidence, tall and muscular frame towering over even those taller than him. To see him lying on her floor, so vulnerable and beaten down, it was heartbreaking to say the least.

        "God, Dan, what happened to you?" asked Marisol, eyes softened with concern as she scanned his body for the injuries littered on his skin and mud staining his clothes. He looked up at her, expression shallow, striking a faint but growing fear inside of her. "How... how did you even get here? We're on the second floor."

        "I climbed." His answer was curt and simple, no emotion to his voice at all. Nothing in his eyes or the tone of his voice supported the signs of terrifying struggle that blemished him. Marisol gulped.

        "Oooookay, Spider-Man!" Nervous laughter cut through the uncomfortable silence choking them. She frowned and took small, careful steps forward as to not startle him. She crouched down to look him in the eyes as calmly as she should, slowly pulling down the zipper of his hoodie.

        "Listen, bud, why don't you take a shower? I'll wash your clothes, give you some of my dad's, and you can tell me happened, yeah?" Her voice was low and soft, as though she was consoling a frightened child. Peeling the hoodie off his slouched shoulders, she avoided his eyes, which were - very creepily - trained on her paling face. She sighed, visibly relieved when he decided to focus on the string of Polaroid pictures and what looked like dozens of framed award certificates hung up on her wall, suddenly completely neglecting her physical existence next to his enfeebled body.

        "I'm fine." His words resembled that of an accused, soulless criminal awaiting his punishment in court, perfectly trained to deny his guilt to his grave no matter what the situation was — it seemed to rehearsed. Then, abruptly, his head snapped in her direction and he grabbed her forearms tightly, staring at her with wide, crazed eyes. She could have sworn she felt all of her internal organs cease functioning for a split second and yelped pathetically. "Come on! We need to get the others!"

        Her breath hitched in her throat. She searched and searched her brain for the proper response, hyper-aware of the growing madness that distorted his handsome face. When she spoke, the pitch of her voice was a bit too high for her liking. "What — What others?"

        Dan's hold on her tightened noticeably, causing her to flinch and whimper involuntarily. A curt, mad laugh that sounded like one the Joker himself would utter left his lips. "Our friends, of course! Noah, Lily, Ava, Lucas, Andy, Stacy — the whole gang!" Another laugh that deepened the pit in her stomach, a laugh that would haunt her for days.

        Suddenly, Marisol regretted turning away psychological help. The rate of her breathing quickened anxiously as she felt a gate in her mind burst open, letting unwanted memories flood it mercilessly at the mention of their names. She could not see Dan anymore, only flashing images of ruins, of an eerie forest, and of nine children irresponsibly skipping through the trees, on their way to revisit the entity that would then change their lives forever. Her eyes were coated with a glossy sheen of tears that were more than ready to flow down her cheeks against her weakening will. When she finally mustered the courage to speak again, she whispered: "I've barely spoken to them for years, Dan. Not since Jane — "

        Before she could register what was happening, Dan stood up and pulled her with him with an unimaginable force that was sure to leave bruises. Their faces were uncomfortably close, so close she could smell the scent of blood and dirt that replaced his usual cologne. He stared at her like an enraged panther, tiny bubbles of froth forming at the corners of his mouth and face contorted with a venomous outburst. Fear was struck inside her that she felt in her very core — she almost thought he would kill her right then and there. "They have to come. Everyone has to be there. That's the rule."

        She could feel the sweat trickle down her neck, the throbbing of her tear-filled eyes, the ringing screaming of a little girl in her ears, and the thumping of her horror-stricken heart against her chest. "Rule?"

        The world stilled around them. Suddenly, she could not hear a single thing, not even her own breathing — only the awfully familiar words that the boy hissed: "Everyone plays together."

        Marisol could not have been more thankful for the sound of her phone buzzing yet again against the floorboards. She took that as an excuse to gingerly wiggle out of his loosened grip and, with shaking legs, approached her cell and picked it up. A crack tarnished the previously pristine screen, but she decided to worry about that later when it was a more appropriate time to fret over a slightly broken phone. 

        But what she saw was her breaking point. Her free hand reached up to cover her mouth and stifle a sob threatening to spill out of her quivering lips and before she could control it a steady flow of salty tears coated her cheeks.

TEXT MESSAGE

3:26 AM

DAN PIERCE

are you still there?

i think i'm lost

marisol? my battery's almost dead, please help me!!

read 3:26 AM

        The shock ricocheted up her skeleton; an enormous engulfing terror made her feel so, so sick in her mind and body. She's seen darkness before, the kind that makes an empty street look like an old-fashioned photograph, but this was different — this was the kin of darkness that robbed her of her common sense and replaced it with a paralyzing fear. By her genes, she is a predator with the intelligence and perceptive eyes to hunt, but in that moment, she felt like a helpless prey. Marisol slowly rose from the illuminating screen of her phone, her wide, suspicious eyes meeting his. 

        "Dan?" She sniffled weakly.

        Although his eyes were cold an empty, right underneath them a grin stretched his lips impossibly from one ear to the other, radiating clear indications of raging madness.

        "Marisol."

        She lunged for the knife on her bedside table yet again, shrieking as he took large and quick steps towards her violently shaking form. She searched desperately for an escape route that wasn't blocked by the towering body of the intruder in front of her but to no avail. He grabbed her wrist with a bone-crushing hold, squeezing yet another helpless screech out of her. Her voice broke when she cried out: "Dan, please! Don't make me do this!"

        And he did nothing but widen the frightening smile that would permanently etch itself into her retinas, haunting her every time she closed her eyes.

        So Marisol did the only logical thing her frantic brain could come up with — with a heart-wrenching scream, pained by having to inflict pain on a friend who was once very dear to her, she drove the blade of the knife into his abdomen. Much to her increasing horror, he did not so much as flinch at the pain, only tightened the hold around her throbbing wrist. He merely growled like a feral animal, burning holes into her with his enraged gaze. "Wrong move."

        Dan tackled her effortlessly to the floor, straddling her hips and forcing her into a cage that she would never break out of in her wildest dreams. He smashed her head against the rough surface underneath her, darkening her fading vision. "We all have to go back, remember?"

        "LEAVE ME ALONE! GET — OFF — ME!" She thrashed in his hold, no longer attempting to swallow the sobs. Finally, after agonizing attempts to kick and thrash and flail, she was able to free one of her hands and in result scraped her previously perfectly manicured fingernails down the skin of his face.

         A cry of disgust and disbelief bounced off the walls of the room when it peeled right off, revealing putrid flesh under it. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, leaving her to stare into milky whiteness while the stink of stale dirt burned the  insides of her nostrils. His long, skinny fingers curled around her neck, pressing, closing with a lack of mercy or remorse, feeling like tendrils wound around her oxygen supply. Despite her lungs blazing with agony, Marisol continued to fight fruitlessly until her energy started to dissipate like water going down a drain. Her hands fell to her side and her body grew limp, using her last breath to scream for help that, somewhere in the back of her min, she knew would never come. The last thing she saw before she embraced the coming blackness of unconsciousness was the ghastly monster that rendered her powerless and savagely tore open her old wounds.

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Her eyes, the stars - Bucky Barnes x Reader (Steve Rogers x Reader)

[I know, I am a ghost. Sorry guys. Enjoy.]

The reminiscence of a rose - the single flower that’s so impossible to hate, delicate and pretty, even when it stops blooming. Her voice could calm even the most chaotic oceans, always soothing with soft notes of comfort. Even her eyes could mesmerize the most soulless creature; her sweet face left him dreaming in heartache. On the nights his loneliness stung him harder than cheap liquor; he was always thinking of her. For he reveled in the memory of her heart placed on his hands. As he tried to get drunk on other people’s skin. Yet all that regret still burned his chest. And he realized that he once had the best. Since she loved his highs and lows. He thought about what he once held. He regretted leaving her. But she deserved more than his pettiness and demeanor.

She begged herself to stop loving him.She hated herself for all the mistakes she had made, all those wrong decisions - she blamed him for he made her vulnerable. He was the sun, never really committed to one planet, always dancing around the universe, with bright colors revealing themselves, leaving her in awe. Her heavy blues of night opened to reveal the chariot of the sun lighting up the sky with various shades of yellow and gold. The feeling was almost theatrical and the dramatic intensity was palpable. How could they end up in the same sky, when he was the sun and she was always so fond of the night? They were just celestial objects, trying to find the one perfectly still moment, so they could co-exist in harmony without worrying about nature's balance. That moment had passed them by, ignoring their desperate attempts to escape the chaotic force.She was a whole universe in motion - he had guessed that was why she seemed so tired lately...It must be an exhausting, yet beautiful thing to brush the orbits of all the universes she walked by. He had tried to stop thinking that he made her so unhappy. He couldn't. Instead, he tried to understand her a bit better than before, to get close to her, without hurting her. Again. She was no pawn in his game, she was clever and cunning - but just to hide her true self.

"You think you can define me, that I am a tick in just one box. Like my being is a door that a single key unlocks. But let me tell you something - something I figured out after you broke me. I have the universe inside, I hold an untamed ocean with a constantly changing tide. I'm home to endless mountains with tips that touch the sky, flocks of grand migrating birds and deserts harsh and dry. Please, don't tell me that you know me. That "this right here is what you are", trying to get an old and very dead version of me back. I am the universe in motion, for I was born from the stars" she was talking to him, trying to make a point, to seem sure about what she had become - but she was scared of her heart. Oh, the things it made her do. He wasn't taken aback, which surprised her. He was looking into her eyes, watching the soft colors of the sky fooling around with the dark strokes of her irises. It was true, her eyes held the stars. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the swirling feelings inside her. She felt every single cell of her body begging for her to forgive him - there was nothing to forgive, really, for he had done nothing wrong. It was her that could not - would not - handle things. She never saw herself in a relationship - so many obligations. She was not made for ballgowns and parties but for battlefields and saddles.

"I am yours, forever yours… and when the last star of the universe blinks silent, I will still be yours", his answer came naturally to him. It was the most sincere thing he had ever said. He knew her as a sea breeze, but now she met her as a hurricane. So he knew, she needed to be alone. She had been craving freedom so long and he had been blind. He was a liar- he lied to her, to the entire world, to his own self. He wasn't the Golden Boy, people made him to be. He had hurt her in ways he couldn't have imagined before. She softly smiled to his words, because she knew he was being honest. Once upon a time, everything was magical and they were found themselves walking through a chaotic paradise. The entire multi-universe had changed.

"I might have been too harsh, Stevie. Truth is that this, us, has turned to dust right after we were defeated. Five years now, we have been foolish enough to try and make things work. We have been lying to everyone, we want them to move on and be alright when I know that all those sleepless nights we have been thinking of a way to make everything as it was. I also know, and please do not try to deny it, that you are not mine. Not really, not entirely, not ever. For you, it's always gonna be Peggy. Accepting that, was the hardest thing I have ever done". His face twisted in a guilty way. Everything she had experienced for the first time, had been with him. It hurt her but she would move on, find someone else to make her feel alive again.

"I... I am sorry. I love you, you should know that. It's just. I can't shake the feeling… I am so sorry" he calmly apologized to her. He couldn't control his heart.

" And I love you. You can't unlove someone. You can, however, become just friends with them. I wouldn't want to lose you from my life. So... Hey dude" she tried to change the dark and painful situation into something less... 

It all happened so quickly and slow at the same time. It was a disaster and a triumph. Everyone came back - well, not everyone. Once she laid eyes on Bucky, she ran like hell and almost knocked him down as she enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug. How she had missed him - her best friend, companion and well...it would take her a while to admit it but there were butterflies, even though she did push them away every time, convincing herself that it was nothing more.

"I missed you Jay, so damn much" was all that she managed to say before Steve called them to assemble. 

They won. And they lost. All thanks to the amazing Tony Stark. After a horrific scene of Thanos wearing the gauntlet and snapping his fingers - only to realize that Tony had stolen them right on time - everyone's heart fell and crushed and burnt. Yes, Tony defeated Thanos but at what cost?

He had always been the only father figure she knew- if she thought that standing against him with the Sokovian Accords was devastating, this was torture.

When things slowed down, Steve looked at her for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. Her porcelain-like skin was bruised, stained and twisted forming a pained mask, her hands were trembling and she was leaning against his best friend- why was this the first time he was noticing the look on Bucky's face? Why was this the first time he felt that his friend craved to be more than a friend to her? 

Life has a strange way of revealing her secrets, a dark sense of humor. It goes on, like a circular river, never-ending, never resting. After the simple ceremony to honor Tony's memory, she took a step back, asking for a few weeks off of the team to help Pepper and Morgan. All she wanted was to feel normal again. One more task before that though.

Seconds before Steve stepped into that platform to be teleported back in time, she called for him. He knew it and so did she. She had seen it in his eyes after they had mourn Natasha. In all honesty, she understood why - he deserved the life that was taken away from him, without asking him if he liked the alternative options. Bucky knew it. He knew it when he saw him on the blood-stained battlefield. He felt it in their hug. He also knew that she knew- he was the one both her and Steve had asked for help before Thanos. He was the one who swallowed his feelings for her and gave her a friendly shoulder to rest her head. "Thank you" Steve mouthed to her. She smiled, eyes covered in tears threatening to spill. "Go".And he was gone. Bucky gave her hand a gentle squeeze and she turned to face him. Unknown him, she had become aware of his feelings. And her own, slowly but steadily. "A soul that carries empathy is a soul which has survived enormous pain" she softly whispered as if she didn't want to be heard. He felt that she could read his mind. All those years ago, another Bucky had existed- one who flirted shamelessly with everyone. He had to get in touch with him if he wanted a chance with her, he thought, only to be proven wrong after a while. He just had to be himself. 

She had finally realized that Steve and her were exactly like the moon and the sun- and their time together was an eclipse, a breathtaking phenomenon, a glimpse of what it could have been. A moment. And that was okay. She regretted nothing. It was perfect in its imperfection.

She found herself knocking Bucky's door, not knowing why. All she wanted was to see the stars but somehow when she was greeted by sliver blue eyes, the stars seemed inefficient. He was the night, she thought.

"Can I stay here for a while?"... because I am scared when I am alone? He opened up his door to let her get inside because he knew the part of the sentence that left unsaid. His room was warm with a serene view of the night sky. He knew that she loved to gaze the stars, how she would always complain that the moon was a hypocrite. But not tonight. She felt gravitated towards him which made him blush, thankful for the darkness. To say that he hadn't wished for a moment with her, it would be a lie. He was pulled towards her like a magnet and in all honesty, he didn't want to leave far away and get over her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked her in a hushed tone as he laid to his bed, eyes watching her every move. She let a tired chuckle and sat down next to him. He pierced her eyes and she felt naked - and she didn't mind. It was okay for him to see her in all her doomed glory.

"Jay, its past midnight and I’ve pretty much thought of all the words hoping to find something that can remedy this... I can try but my vocabulary falls short when it comes to describing the matters of my heart. My heart. Not yours - mine. I could fill pages about the likes and dislikes of your heart. What makes you tremble what softens you up. I know you like the back of my hand. I know your anger and I know your vulnerability. Vulnerability…. what does that even mean? I guess it happens when you finally take the leap to open up to one who might not ever see you the same again. I guess that your weakness is not supposed to be a different form of feeling when it comes to me. And it isn't. I guess that attachments don’t exist between the two of us. But it does. And I guess, well I guess, that I love you a bit more each day and bit less on the days you choose to ignore me. No, wait, that's a lie. And I know that this is way too forward and yes, he was, is, your best friend, and my ex, which can be a bit awkward -  but you know what? He made a choice, but not before I do. I had already fallen for you and if it's weird -" he did not let her finish. The words coming from hee mouth were burning fires inside his head, for years now. His lips were ever so gently upon hers. It almost didn't feel like a kiss.

In the end, everyone wanted to be like Icarus, hoping to fly high and soar far. Nobody was satisfied with their standing and kept pushing their limits. And that was human...  full of life, blinded, arrogant, wonderful... always falling in the end. But not every fall hurts. She landed softly on his lips, her hands caressing his face and his were holding her tight as if she was a dream and he would soon wake up.

He was the stars and she was the moon. Finally, it worked.

'From stars we came, to stars we'll return and in the middle is all we are'

[hangmanshands]

Hangman’s Commissions #1

Here it is! My first commission ever. A big thank you to @hicsaster​ for working with me through this process and, of course, for commissioning me! This series was a lot of fun to work on, and I hope we work together more in the future! Please enjoy! Summary: Soraru returns home from tour. Mafumafu's been having a hard time since he's been gone. Established relationship. TW: Mentions and discussions of self-harm, stalking, threats of various kinds.

Home, Sweet Home (1684 words) [Mafu, I’m Comin' Home Part I]

Soraru has been on his latest tour for three months. The rush of playing directly for his fans, digital avatar on screen for their amusement, is nearly unparalleled. It’s better than any drug, any rollercoaster, any thrill--except one. He loves his job, just like he always hoped he would as a child, but he’s beyond excited to finally be going home. He lands at four p.m. and has his bag by four-fifteen, impatient to get home to a shower, to his bed, to Mafu. He rushes out to find the car they’ve sent for him. 

It’s easy to find. They always send a nondescript silver car, something like a Volvo, a vehicle middle-class middle aged white men might drive. Nice and vague. Surely nothing that the face behind a famous Vocaloid would ever be caught dead in. Soraru’s team arranged for it to take him from the airport directly to his home. His driver is the retired father of one of the members of the marketing team this time. They change it up frequently--even more often now, considering the threats Mafumafu’s been receiving lately.

Soraru frowns.

He feels guilty, having left Mafu to field such a dangerous--and, to be frank, treacherous--time alone. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to be done. Contracts are contracts, and he’s got to honor them. They won’t get anywhere if they’re not selling music; the harassment and the protection have the same origin. He sighs. He wishes there was more he could do about it. But, he’s not police or security, after all. He’s just a concerned boyfriend.

It takes an hour to get home because of the traffic. Despite pleasant conversation with whoever’s father this is, it leaves Soraru in a sour mood. He thanks the older man shortly, and heads up to the apartment he shares with Mafumafu. His heart feels heavy as he inserts his key into the lock, but joy creeps in as his door creeps open. “Mafu!” he says. “I’m home!”

He closes the door behind him, dropping his bag and stretching. Home smells like peace, like quiet. He stretches, satisfied. The lights are off, so he makes his way to the bedroom. He needs to freshen up as much as he needs to see his boyfriend’s sleeping form. He’s sure he’d have heard if something had happened to Mafumafu while he was gone, but it’s infinitely better to see him in person.

He walks in the room with a big, loud greeting ready, but Mafumafu is very much a curled lump on the bed. Soraru imagines that this is the result of Mafu not watching his diet as closely as he should. As much as Mafu likes to say that it’s under control, but he’s as guilty as anyone about being lazy when no one holds him accountable for how his eating impacts his health and this causes him to end up in bed feeling sick more often than he’d like. Sora is used to this.

The bathroom light is still on, illuminating a single stripe that crosses Mafu’s body. He aborts the greeting and heads to the bathroom instead to freshen up before waking his boyfriend up.

Sora takes the state of the bathroom in, and comes to a very simple conclusion. His normally picture-perfect bathroom strongly resembles a fucking crime scene.

At least, the kind of romantic, stylized crime scene Sora’s seen countless times in movies and on television--there’s signs of a struggle: soaps knocked off of the edge of the sink in a hurry, cracked caps spilling pearly soap in pools on the tile, skidmarks through the wreckage. There’s a pile of disheveled towels, the top one stained crimson and turning maroon with half-dried blood. There’s discarded bloodied toilet paper and ripped bandage wrappings in the garbage. They half-obscure discarded glass shards. The sink is coated in rivulets of dried, cracking blood, smeared and half rinsed away. There’s blood on the box of band-aids and gauze threads stuck in the residue caking the basin. There’s a bloody thumb impression on the medical tape. Tweezers. And the mirror. Cracked in a spiderweb pattern around a singular impression--sized for one small, bony fist.

Sora very easily pieces together what kind of struggle took place in the bathroom before he got home. Mafumafu knocked the soaps to hell. Mafumafu threw a punch. Mafumafu shattered the mirror. Mafumafu used the broken glass to hurt himself. Mafumafu tried to fix it. Mafumafu went to bed.

Sora reaches under the sink for the Clorox wipes. He cleans the sink first, tossing everything bloody in the trash. He uses a towel to clean up the soap and throws away the unsalvageable bottles. They can always buy more. When he’s finished, he throws the towel in the hamper and the wipes in the garbage. The bloodied towel joins the trash.

Soraru leaves the light on and the door wide open when he exits the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the bed and runs his hand over Mafumafu’s side. “Sweetheart,” he says softly. “Are you awake?”

Mafu flips over and wraps his body around Sora’s in the fetal position. “Thank you for cleaning up,” he responds, voice just as hushed.

Ah, so he’s been awake.

Sora pets Mafu’s white hair. “Want to tell me what’s happened?”

Mafumafu sighs quietly and presses his head into Soraru’s hand. “Suzumu called me while you were gone. A lot of times.”

Sora feels his stomach turn over and over, as if in the dryer. “What did he say?”

“He threatened our home. Our cars. My family.” He swallows, closing his eyes tight. “He said he’d spread rumors about how terrible I am to you, discredit my work, say that I believe in horrible things and hate women. He said he’d turn all of our friends against me, and then you.” 

Sora feels Mafu tremble under his hand.

“He said he’d have people find me and hurt me, Soraru.”

Anger blossoms, explosive, in his chest. Every cell in his lungs is a match head, aflame. “He won’t,” Sora says, vehement and venomous.

Mafu continues, “I started to panic after his last voicemail. I know I shouldn’t listen to them, but I can’t help it. I have to know.” His voice is weak, apologetic. “I locked myself in the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror. I looked so scared and helpless. I looked so....” he makes a disgusted noise. “I looked like a child, useless and reliant on his mother. I couldn’t stand it. I... I punched myself in the mirror.”

Mafu snakes his hand out of the blanket and shows Sora the damage. There’s gauze wrapped around his knuckles like boxing tape, lightly stained with blood. Below that, a large brown bandage needs changed, a red rose bud soaking through the pad. It’s not nearly as bad as the bathroom looked, and that alone makes Sora feel better.

“I’m sorry, Sora,” Mafu says. “I know I promised I would stop. I didn’t mean it, I-I just needed to ground myself! I was out of control--he’s driving me crazy. A bird flies in front of our window and I scatter like a cockroach.” Mafu clenches his fist and lays it on Sora’s leg. More red stains appear on his gauze. “I couldn’t take it--I still can’t. I had to, Sora. It would have been worse if I hadn’t.”

Sora pulls Mafu up and holds him tight against his chest. “I know,” he whispers. “I know. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” Mafu leans back, his unharmed hand on Sora’s chest so Mafu can look at him.

“No,” he promises. “I’m just glad you’re okay, Mafu. I know how hard all of this has been on you. I’m not mad at you. I’m not disappointed in you. You’re getting better still, and doing your best to do so. This is a hiccup. I’m glad you could control the situation to the extent you did. I’m glad I came home to you, alive. That’s what’s important to me. Recovery isn’t linear, and I’m so proud of you.”

“You swear?” Mafu asks, red eyes big and teary.

Sora nods. “I swear. I’m very angry at Sumuzu. No one should treat another person like this. Especially not one that I love. But, you have to know he’s full of hot air by now. He’s all threats and no action. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, and it’s going to take a lot more than that... that... soulless copycat to take you away from me, Sweetheart. I promise you that.”

Mafu throws his arms around Sora, pulling him tight. The dam--full of three months’ dread and fury, helplessness and loneliness, and pure, cleansing relief--breaks. He cries with his cheek against Sora’s shoulder, ugly and too-hard. He can’t control this, either, and it’s freeing. The catharsis of falling apart in the place you’re the safest is unlike anything in the world.

Sora kisses his head, tender. He rests his cheek against the back of Mafu’s head and speaks softly. “I’ve got you,” and “I’m here, now,” and “I won’t let anything happen to you,” and “Let it out,” and “It’s okay, Sweetheart,” and “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

When there’s nothing left inside of Mafumafu but the calm, he leans back up and wipes his face. He looks up at Sora and smiles. “Thanks,” he says, almost embarrassed. “I needed that.”

Sora runs a hand through Mafu’s pretty hair. “Feel better?” “Much,” he agrees. He pauses. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Sora says with a shrug.

Mafu smiles. “I’ve been so nauseous-anxious for the last couple days, I haven’t really eaten.”

Sora’s eyes are the size of tea plates. “Mafu!” He peels the blankets off of his boyfriend. “Get to the kitchen! Go!” He pulls Mafu off the bed by the uninjured hand. “What do you want?”

“Something spicy?” he asks, playful.

Sora makes a disgruntled noise. “I said I thought you were doing better!”

Mafu laughs, following Sora into the kitchen.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Early Ink Hell, Chapter 2: What Goes Around, Comes Around

Welcome to Early Ink Hell. It’s essentially my “canon” backstory for several ink creatures, showing how they interacted and became the way they did before Henry arrived.

While both Sammy and the Butcher Gang will both have chapters from their perspectives, this is mostly going to be about Alice Angel.

This is an Alice-centered chapter. Next is a Sammy-focused chapter.

---

Everyone was silent as Joey and Sammy walked. I didn't why, but I did the same. Sammy looked troubled- a little scared.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Just a few cages down," Joey replied. Then, they ended up in front of me. "Here she is."

"Susie-"

"We don't know if that's Susie," Joey corrected.

"I am," I replied.

"Be careful," Joey told Sammy. "That could be the demon talking. Well, you know how we figure out who's in control. Shall we?"

Sammy hesitated. "There must be a better way. Susie, tell me something that only you would know."

Joey cut me off before I could say anything. "They share memories, Sammy. You know that."

Sammy sighed. Then, he pulled out two pairs of shackles. The two of them got into my cage and overpowered me- Joey holding me down, Sammy attaching the shackles to my wrists behind my back and to my ankles. Then, they carried me out. I didn't make it easy- I'm made of dense ink, so I'm hard and heavy, and I writhed the entire way, kicking and screaming. These are the two men who slit my throat, and if Sammy had found reasonable, I did not want to know where he drew the line. Still, eventually they got me into another room, and strapped me down against an operating table.

"Can I at least speak to her first?" Sammy asked.

In that moment, I saw him as my ticket to freedom. "Sammy. Remember our first date? You were playing it cool, said you had two tickets to that music festival and no one to take. I wasn't having none of that 'playing it cool' junk so I asked Jack to join you so that you'd confess, and it worked. And by the end of the night we were making out on a picnic blanket. You remember that? A demon wouldn't have. I promise you- it's me, Susie!"

Sammy just kept looking at me with these soulless, disappointed eyes, like he was having to tell me something he wasn't looking forward to telling me. "Susie, I know you're there. And I do remember. But the demon does, too, and we need to know if it's in control. The only way to know that it's really you is to make you have a sudden, verbal response to something- sudden enough that you couldn't disguise your voice. In other words, we need to make you scream."

I was panicking, writhing against those binds. I screamed something to Sammy about the first time I'd been to his home and met his cat while Joey Drew approached me with a knife. I screamed for Sammy to make it stop. There was no pain when Joey sunk the blade into my chest- it felt wrong, but there was no pain. He put his two hands into my chest, and I stopped writhing for my safety. I felt something that I hadn't felt for a long, long, time- my heart racing. I hadn't even known that I still had a pulse. He split my chest apart as though it were made of clay, and reached it. He pulled out this writhing black heart, still attatched to my chest by a white tendril, which stretched as he tore my organ four feet away from my body. Never have I felt so much pain. I saw white light, like I might have been dying. My screams must have been audible for miles.

"She's definitely not demonic now," came Joey's voice. My vision was still really fuzzy, but I felt the heart going back into my chest four hands smoothing the black ink over my chest, making it look like new.

"Does that mean she can come out?" Sammy asked.

"No. She could still go to the police about this. And even if that weren't the case, she's very dangerous. Her demonic side could come out at any time, just like the last time. It's for the good of everyone that she stay locked up."

Sammy came back into focus, and he looked nauseated.

"Sammy, please talk to me," I begged. But he looked back to Joey.

"I don't even want to think about this. Joey, please just put her back in her cage. I never want to see her again."

"Sure thing," Joey said, "there's nothing we can do for her now. I promise, you'll never have to think of her again unless you want to.

I never thought of Sammy as so cowardly. He didn't want to face what he'd done. I didn't resist on the way back to my cage. Once I was back inside of it, my cage was given a new label, painted right in front of it in black ink: human-fronted. I'd seen those labels. Some of them read "toon-fronted, some read "demon-fronted," and some read "human fronted." This is about what I would have guessed, but until now I didn't know what they'd meant.

The two of them stayed a while and experimented on some toon-fronted ink creatures, then left. The worst part is that Sammy seemed happy with some of those ink creature experiments. I'm just so disappointed in him.

Day 46 since I last lost count,

It was Saturday today, and that's the day that Thomas pays us a visit. He did, today, but he brought some ugly news with him: he'd been fired. At the end of our recess period, he hugged me goodbye, petted some of his favourite Borises, and said, "Well, I might as well give you all an extended recess and leave a nasty surprise for the next guy. I'm going to leave every last one of you that I can trust out in the open." A toon-fronted Barley clung to his leg. "Not you. You're going in the cage."

After he put away all the toons that he didn't trust to be out without supervision (I helped him with this), he turned to me. "Susie, do you think you'll be alright to stay out on your own?"

"Yes," I answered. I don't even hear the demon anymore, most days. It rears its ugly head sometimes- once I even had to be put back in my cage because I'd tried to collect some thick black ink from a drippy Charley in order to fix my hair. My action, of which I am justly ashamed, but the gave me the idea. I wasn't expecting it to cause him that much pain.

So, finally I'm on the outside. And I should tell that Thomas wasn't the only one being laid off- so was all of GENT, apparently. So, while a part of me wonders how long it'll be before I lose this degree of freedom, another part of me wonders if the walls are falling in around Joey Drew. Maybe we'll all be let out soon. I hope so.

Day 47 since I last lost count,

I was wrong. Joey seems to have hired on a new team. I don't know what their company name is. I just know that today, two men in burgundy uniforms were dragging in a new ink creature. It was humanoid. It was all black. It was, by the sound of its voice, Sammy. And they put him in the cage right across from my old one. I had been out in the open at the time, as I wasn't expecting any visitors that time of day. All I could do when they came was to head to sides and stay still, hoping they wouldn't notice me. The two toon-fronted Borises weren't as wise- they went right up and tried to greet them. The two men took a while to get those two locked up, and I snuck into a cage and closed its door while they were distracted. Thankfully, they didn't notice that my cage was unlocked. They rounded up all the other toons and put them away, and then left.

Sammy was in the cage directly across from mine. I didn't really know what to say to him. What do you say when a person betrays you, then ends up right back in your situation? I started with, "what happened to you?" in a neutral tone.

"It’s... hard to explain. You see, me and Joey worship a demon. That demon wants me in this form, and I am in no place to object. Though, I do hope my lord will set me free soon- both from this body and from this cage."

"Your... lord...?"

"The ink demon, Bendy. He will set us free, Alice. He will set us free."

I felt the demon in me echoing his words. "Did... Joey tell you that...?"

"Yes. Words of comfort. After the ink began to take effect. You work differently, I assume, since you're a sacrifice. But my lord is very powerful. I imagine that there's hope for you, too. Can you forgive me, Susie? And come join me in prayer so that we might summon him?"

"No. No, thank you."

I left my cage after that. I don't know if I feel vindicated by this or not. To be honest it's strange- even though he's talking nonsense, it still seems like Sammy to me, if you know what I mean. Well, I ended up talking to him again, that evening, about things other than religion. Of course I'm still angry at him, but there's no sense in making enemies with someone you're trapped with.

Day 81 since I last lost count,

I don't really know how to describe what happened today. In less than a single second, it seemed like texture just went out of the world. I rarely talk to Sammy these days since he can't seem to talk about anything but his lord, and him talking about his lord seems to give the demon some sort of stregnth, but I did today because I thought he might know what was going on. He didn't have a clue.

Day 95 since I last lost count,

It's been two weeks since our vision changed, or whatever it is that happened. No one has come to visit us. It would be strange if GENT (or whatever company thereafter) had gone without bringing anyone new for this long, or if Joey had gone this long without experimenting on us, but the fact that both stopped at once really makes me think that something is afoot.

Also, my demon is back, and it's trying to convince me that something very dangerous has happened and that I need to give it control so that it can keep me safe. When it first started talking, it made sense, but now it's spewing all kinds of nonsense about Joey Drew shoving us into a pocket dimension and a very powerful Bendy ink creature with no presence other than a demon's having escaped. It's just pathetic at this point and I wish it would stop.

---

While Alice lay helpless in her own prison, Bendy was escaping his own.

Bendy had spent over a month, maybe two or three, locked into a giant machine designed to keep him captive, built by a company even less scrupulous than GENT. He had been chained so tightly to the walls that he could barely move. These had been annoying, but he'd managed to escape them in a matter of days. The chamber he'd been put in, he'd determined, was large and circular. The walls were too thick to simply walk through, so he'd begun scratching and tearing at them, day and night. Those walls had been a full inch of steel, then a full inch of ink, then a full inch of steel. Amazing how foolish these people were, thinking that corruptive ink would slow him down. He was corruption. There was nothing that ink could possibly steal from his body or mind. After weeks of work, he'd finally broken a hole in that first layer of steel. The next step towards his escape was to allow that ink to suck him in, and travel through it to find an opening. The ink demon lost more time than he cared to admit on that before finally realizing that his containment chamber was entirely airtight. He'd have to spend another several weeks breaking a hole in that second layer of steel if he ever wanted out, this time working through that first layer, and through the layer of tar-like ink. Finally, he made it, squeezing his body out of a hole the size of a pinprick.

There was a final, laughable "barrier" between him and freedom- a river made of ink. It might have stopped any other ink creature, but for him it was not even an obstacle. He walked over it like a God walking on water.

While Bendy didn't get weak from hunger, he did feel hungry- so very hungry. And he could hear the faint shuffling of a number of souls, all resting in one place very nearby.

[hartenstraat-matt]

Early Morning Talk || Maurel

Tagging: Matthew Davidson and Laurel Lance When: July 22, 2018  Where: Matt’s place Notes: Laurel comes to Matt’s around 5am to talk.

Matt 

This wasn't how Matt thought his morning would start. The talk about her past, what she shared, and the fact he didn't know how secure his son's safety would be with this Garcia person in Laurel's life kept him unable to see himself having much to do with Laurel. It brought Matt to a place which caused him pain, a type of pain he felt when he and Kelly called it quits but it went deeper and he knew it had to do with his own feelings which he felt for her. Feelings he never expressed or allowed himself to feel until now... Matt went outside his house, after he checked on James, and waited for Laurel while he sat on the step of his house. This conversation was going to be hard and he didn't want to have it. But...he didn't know what else to do.

Laurel 

Laurel wasn't sure how to process anything happening in her texts with Matt. Every one he sent broke her heart just a little bit more than the one before it. Wiping her eyes, she almost couldn't believe she had agreed to go over there. She took a minute to try and compose herself- the last thing she wanted was for him to see that she had been crying. Though, she was sure that he would probably be able to tell anyway. When she stepped outside, she could see Matt a few doors down, sitting outside just like he said he'd be. She didn't blame him for saying and feeling what he did. Ricardo Diaz was a dangerous man. She knew that better than anyone else, having worked with him for as long as she did. She just never thought things would end up like this. She tugged her sleeves of her long sleeved grey shirt around her hands, and wrapped her arms around herself as she approached his steps with no idea what she was even supposed to say to him.

Matt 

When Matt heard a door close a short distance away he watched Laurel come down the sidewalk and head in his direction. A hand went to the step and he used it to help him to his feet. He kept in his sleep clothes: flannel pj bottoms and a dark blue shirt, hair still messy from the way his hair dried after going to bed with it wet. He waited for Laurel to come face to face with him and just looking at her felt like a punch to the heart. He didn't say anything and kept his lips pressed together. There was a glassiness to her eyes and he knew he felt the same way. Matt reached his hand out and took hold of her arm, which was crossed, and pulled Laurel close and into an embrace.

Laurel 

There wasn't a single part of her that felt good about any of this. Just being there with him, it was hard for her to keep herself together. No words had even been spoken, but looking at him in the sleep clothes, with the messy hair, it flooded her memories with all of the great times they'd had together, waking up side by side in the morning. It broke her heart to think that it might never happen again. As his hand touched her arm, part of her wanted to pull away, but she couldn't bring herself too. Laurel let him pull her close, and slowly but surely her arms found their way around him too. She let out a soft, shaky sob, holding onto him a little tighter, afraid to let him go.

Matt 

There was a type of desperation in the way her arms secured around him and Matt worked his arms more around her. He pressed his face into her neck and breathed in Laurel's natural scent;something he'd looked forward to smell whenever he was with her. Traces of her perfume lingered on whatever pillow she used when she stayed the night. "You have no idea how much I hate this." he said into her skin, kissing it because he needed to. Matt pulled from the comfort of her neck and looked down at Laurel. "If it wasn't for James I wouldn't give a shit and offer to go take care of that guy for you. But with Kelly not in a good place. Probably will forever be stuck in that world she lives in. He only has me and he's my everything. And I feel so fucking-" he closed his eyes and tried not to let his emotions get the better of him. Matt opened them back up and looked at her. "Who is this guy, Laurel? I mean. What the fuck is going on?"

Laurel 

All that she wanted was to be in his arms. The minute it would end would be when she'd really lose it.  "Please don't do this," she whispered, barely audible. He looked down at her and she didn't know what to do. "I know. Matt, you need to understand that I care about James a lot. I've never.. I didn't think that I'd be at attached to him as I am. He's so amazing, and after that morning I spent with him just the two of us, I've been thinking about how much I loved it. But I know that you want and need to keep him safe," she said. Laurel couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Ricardo Diaz. Remember a while back I told you about someone trying to take over Star City? He's.. insane. He is the most soulless man I have ever seen. If it wasn't for James, and you were to offer to do that for me, I'd never let you. I don't want you anywhere near him because you.. You're tough but he would destroy you. He and I are on bad terms. I told you that we've had altercations. He did keep me captive. He was going to kill me. If my father hadn't stepped in front of that bullet I would not be here right now. He said he was going to give me a third eye because he was ready to get rid of me. And when I went back the other day, I ran into him. And things happened. But Matt, he doesn't.. he has no idea where I am. Nobody does. Right now, you and James are just as safe as you were before." She sighed, hesitantly stepping away a little. She reached up and wiped at her eyes, because she couldn't keep herself from crying. "Nobody in Star City knows you exist."

Matt 

There was so much thrown at him in the span of a few hours and to hear more about what happened he looked at this woman, who he thought he knew but realized he didn't know anywhere as near as much as he thought. In fact, she felt a stranger to him but it didn't push him away. Instead he saw there was real fear. Matt stood away from her but only because he wanted to get what was being sad through to his head. "You can't go back there, Laurel. If what you're saying is true and people don't know you're here you're only tempting someone to figure it out. I get you miss your dad but that life. That's not a life you need to keep pushing yourself back into."

Laurel 

The space between them felt like a thousand miles. She didn't like it at all. "Everything I've said tonight is true." Laurel tried to ignore her tears as they trickled down her face. She wasn't sure what she was most upset about- the fears she had regarding Diaz, or her fears of losing Matt. "I feel like I haven't even grieved yet with so much going on," she admitted. Quentin had died so recently, it was still such a fresh open wound. "And my whole life was there." Shaking her head, she was internally kicking herself for crying. "I don't want to go back. I came here to get away, but I needed to be there one last time. I needed to see where things were at," she explained. "I don't wanna go back again. At least not any time soon." Her tears fell a little harder, and she chuckled sadly. "My life is here now. The people I love are here now, and I..." She stopped, running her hands through her hair in frustration.

Matt 

This was too much for him to just stand there and watch and Matt stepped up to her and placed his hand around her waist to pull her back to him. "Okay..." he said quietly while he listened to the way she breathed, the crying new as he'd never seen her get this level of upset before. "Look. We'll find  a way. Okay. We'll find something." he pulled from her and laid a hand on her wet cheek. "We have to make sure you keep under the radar. That this man never finds you. Not because of the possibility of him hurting Jame or me. But you, too. Thinking about putting distance between us is hard enough but to have anything happen to you." he shook his head. Matt licked his lips and said, "Come inside. We'll keep in the small storage room so we don't wake James. There's a loveseat in there."

Laurel 

Laurel almost felt sick. There was so much happening in her head. She wondered all the time if Amsterdam was the right spot for her. She knew there was no place to hide where Diaz couldn't eventually find her. She just had to hope that Team Arrow could put him in his place and kill him before he managed to get to her or kill any of them. Crying like this in front of Matt as scary in itself. Laurel was not the kind of woman to show vulnerability like this, not unless you were something special to her. She hadn't realized how much she had been storing up inside until the tears began flowing. Him pulling her close made her feel safe. Finally looking up at him with her teary eyes, Laurel nodded. "I've been doing pretty good at that so far.. Aside from being caught at home." Exhaling shakily, her eyes drifted to the house. "Are you sure?"

Matt 

His thumb pushed fresh tears to the side and he nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure. Lets get off the street." He could have easily said that was it. That this was where they had to go their separate ways but it didn't feel right. Maybe it never will and he could possibly be setting things up for disaster for everyone involved but...Here he was, going up his steps with her hand in his. Matt opened his door and led Laurel to the small room, which kept a lot of the home owner's furniture that he moved down there after they decided to stay. He waited for Laurel to be in before he closed the door behind them. "You're sure you won't go back, Laurel?" He asked with his back to the door.

Laurel 

"Okay," she whispered. She really thought he would change his mind. She was expecting him to say no, to tell her that she should leave. Being invited in wasn't what she expected at all. Between him telling her about the changes he wanted to make with people with the whole casual thing, and then saying he didn't want her around James, she thought for sure she'd already be going home more of a sobbing mess than she already was. He had her hand in his, and as Matt lead her inside, Laurel's heart broke as she wondered whether this would be the last time. Once the door was closed and he spoke, she looked down. "I can't honestly tell you that I'll never be back. If the situation changes, of course I'll go back. But for as long as Diaz is there, I am safer here." She sighed. "When I went home, fighting him sucked. He knows how to knock me down and has fun doing it. I still have bruises and scratches from it all.  I came to Amsterdam to get away from all of that, to start over. And I wondered if I made the right choice, coming here. But I know now that I did."

Matt 

"How is this man not in jail?" he asked the obvious question. Matt went to the love seat and sat next to her. "He abused you and kept you locked up against your will. Fuck, Laurel. He killed your dad when he was trying to kill you. This man's supposed to be behind bars and not a threat to you anymore." Then. "I know you said you thought he was dead but he clearly isn't. You need to get the cops involved and have them do their thing." He was part of another world than her and didn't realize it by the way he spoke, as if police had actual power. Which, from what Matt had seen himself, they were a disappointment for the most part. But he didn't know what else to say other than killing the man but that would make it worse.

Laurel 

"Because he's got almost the entire SCPD working for him," she stated. "So the regular police are useless. The FBI were working with us. But Diaz got away. Nobody can catch him like that. He's got so many people working for him. He's always armed. He can fight. And to top it all off he is always a few steps ahead of everyone else." Laurel couldn't seem to look at him. She put her face in her hands for a moment. "I hoped he was dead, but deep down, I knew that he was out there somewhere. I just needed to know for sure. And now I do."

Matt 

"This is insane, Laurel. You must know how crazy all of this sounds. I thought it was wild when you told me about being a vigilante but now we've got this man who's practically a bad guy plucked out of a movie." He tried to find comfort in what she said before. How this Diaz doesn't know where she is but he seems to have a lot of people on his payroll. That didn't settle him by much. Matt looked at her, really looked at her and sighed. "What would you do if you're in my position?"

Laurel 

"I know how this sounds, believe me.. " She remembered the confusion and questions that came after she told him she was a vigilante. She fed him all the information she really had about when this Earth's Laurel Lance was the Black Canary. So now talking about a threat like this? She knew it was insane. Laurel  shook her head. "You can't ask me that," she said. "This has to be your choice," she said. "W-without me influencing your decision by telling you what I think." Her eyes welled up again, but she was fighting hard to keep it in.

Matt 

"I know it is, Laurel. I just wanted to hear your side. But I suppose I know the answer to that already." He took her hand and sat quietly, thumb brushed across her skin and he stared at this because he never realized how much he enjoyed this. Not when it was too late. He looked over to her with such a sad expression. "Come here," he said as he moved her hand across his lap to pull her closer to him.

Laurel 

Laurel didn't know what to say. She looked at their hands, staying quiet and just taking the moment in. He made her feel ways she didn't think she could. When he started to pull her closer, she did just that. Curled up to him, she tried to find words. "I.." She paused for a moment, "I don't want to lose you," she whispered. "I don't want to lose either of you. And I can feel you slipping away and it is one of the worst feelings.." she admitted, her voice wavering with sadness.

Matt 

Matt leaned back with her, turning on the love seat so he could lay. He pulled on her hand and beckoned for Laurel to move on him, helping her rest within the back cushions of the sofa before wrapping her completely within his arm. "You're not losing me." He assured her. "But I need honesty from you." he said, voice low. "You must have people who'll warn you if it seems you're found out. If it happens tell me and get the hell out of this city and go somewhere safe. I'll do the same with James and I." The way he talked sounded crazy. Was he actually suggesting this? With someone who he wanted to just have a platonic relationship with until he got his head figured out? Because with the way he was talking it was clear where his heart was but he couldn't come out and say it. To say it would make this harder for the both of them.

Laurel 

Once she was comfortably laying with her body against his, her head resting against his upper chest and shoulder, she felt more relaxed. She was sure Matt could feel the way some of the tension left her body. "Really?" she asked. Laurel didn't know what to make of what he requested. She hoped she had proved herself to be a decent enough ally to Team Arrow to warrant a warning if he was on his way to get her. "I'll tell you," she said. "I promise. I don't want to see either of you get hurt. You mean too much to me." She breathed deeply, trying to relax a little more. "I know I haven't made this easy with all the information and bad stuff I've told you. But I really hope you can trust me enough to believe that you're safe right now."

Matt 

This was hard and Matt knew that this talk tonight revealed something more than he realized between them. He kept holding her, aware this calmed not only her but him as well. "You haven't given me any reason to not trust you." he said honestly. "But I still have concerns about James' safety." He spoke honestly. "We'll keep going with things but now you and I have this whole other thing between us. How I need to figure out what it is I want. It feels so stupid now knowing what you shared with me." He didn't know what to do anymore. Matt looked at her and the redness of her eyes and thought of everything she shared. He leaned down and kissed her lips, pushing himself into her while he did so.

Laurel 

"I don't blame you for being concerned.. But for now, he is safe. And if there is ever something to worry about, I promise you will know. And I'll do whatever I need to keep you both safe." She was being more honest with him than she had been probably ever. Sure, she had left details out about herself and her involvement with Diaz. But nothing she was telling him was a lie. Her fears, her feelings, it was all so real. "Right.. that," she said, almost sadly. "Why does what I shared make it feel stupid?" She closed her eyes for a second. "Whatever you do, just choose whatever is best for you. I.. don't care what you do as long as I don't lose you entirely." She was taken a  little off guard by the kiss, but she immediately welcomed it. Her hand found it's way to his cheek as she kissed him back deeply, savoring every second of it.

Matt 

Matt pulled from her lips and brushed Laurel’s blonde hair away from her cheek. “With what’s going on and for James’ sake I’m going to keep with things staying platonic for awhile. I still need to process what you told me tonight and also have to work on myself.” Once her hair way back he caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “We’ll keep talking and carry on but it’ll be more keeping our clothes on and talking than all the fucking we’ve been doing.” He hoped trusting her wouldn’t backfire because if his son got hurt in anyway he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. “You should get going. I need to get the day started before James wakes up.”

Laurel 

“Okay,” she said softly. Laurel understood. She didn’t love it, but she knew before she got there that things were going to stay more friendly than anything else for now. “I can deal with talking and keeping clothes on.” When he suggested she leave, something inside of her felt more sad than before. After a kiss like that she didn’t want to go. But she nodded, rising from her seat. “I’ll see you around,” she said with a forced smile, making quick work letting herself out his place before she let her emotions crumble her again.

[footbaliimagines]

green light (an antoine griezmann imagine)

these are intended to be like snippets of a relationship between two people who <3 each other from the start but cant quite get their timing right. Idk it’s all a bit random and jumbled but i like the idea and the individual bits and the song and i hope you like it!! (p.s. the timeline is not 100% nailed tbh there isnt really much of a coherent timeline at all oops but let’s just go with it and not overthink it too much LOL SORRY)  also it is ridiculously long so its allllll under the cut down there and also i have basically just lifted and edited one of my other drabbles in here so yeah

 I know about what you did and I wanna scream the truth

You’re 18 and you hate him so much that you’re sure you never want to see him again.

(Never want to speak to him again, never want to look at his stupid smile, never want to set sights on another football match again in your entire life.)

He left you, alone, sad, single and still pining, after pledging his commitment to you and your relationship only to have his head turned by a stupid football team.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It was all so god damn stupid.

“You’re not stupid,” Your best friend rolls her eyes and nudges you with her elbow.

You hum unresponsively, and silence envelops your bedroom once again. Rolling onto your back, you scrunch your eyes shut and groan, “I am. I’m stupid for believing him, and stupid for falling in love with such a stupid guy and I’m stupid because I’m here whining and crying and feeling sorry for myself while he’s out having the time of his life.”

“You’re not stupid.” This time, she laughs at your stubbornness, and flops next to you on your bed. “You’re in love. That’s not stupid. That’s life.”

She looks at you knowingly, and you hum again. It feels like your world is crumbling around you, but her words are probably the wisest you’ve ever heard. “I still feel stupid.” You mumble.

Before you’re about to burst into tears again, she wraps her arms around you and murmurs into your shoulder, “You can, and that’s valid. But you’ll be okay, you’ll move on and in a few years’ you won’t even remember his name. I promise.”

thought you said that you would always be in love

“Wine? Beer? I have some whiskey somewhere if you’d prefer that?”

You shrug, “I don’t mind. Whatever you’ve got open already.”

He pours you a gin and tonic and waits expectantly for you to speak up.

But you don’t.

You stare, fixated, at your glass, and swirl your straw around in the ice with one hand, fiddling with the zipper on your jacket with the other, waiting for him to make the first move.

It feels stranger than you can imagine to be sat here in silence next to Antoine. You want to speak, you feel like you should speak, but the words can’t quite come and there’s an insurmountable lump lodged in your throat. You haven’t seen each other in months, and it feels like there’s been a hole in your heart ever since he left.

(A huge, horrible Antoine-shaped hole.)

It’s not like you don’t see him at all, but his visits have slowly become less frequent and university has begun to occupy more and more of your time, and you’ve inevitably drifted. Awkwardness was never something you feared with Antoine, but now the atmosphere couldn’t be any more uncomfortable.

You cave after a few more minutes of strained silence. “How have you been?”

He’s grateful that he didn’t have to be the one to make the first move, and nods quickly. “Good, good. How’s home?”

“Home’s good too.”

“And yourself?”

“All good.”

(You want the ground to swallow you up.)

“Hey- you know that you can tell me anything, right? You don’t have to hold anything back.”

“Bit difficult when you’ve not been around, but sure.” You say, and there’s a bitterness in your voice that you don’t bother to hide. “And maybe if you bothered to call every once in awhile I’d feel a bit more comfortable spilling my guts to you.”

“Don’t be a dick about this. Calm down.”

He leans back on his seat, sipping coolly at his water. He’s cool and casual and acting like he doesn’t give a single fuck, and the arrogance of it all, the way he swans back home and acts as if he’s the bees knees just because he can kick a ball about for a bit makes you seethe.

“Fuck you.”

Then he laughs - he has the audacity to laugh - and salty tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “What’s so funny?”

You place your glass down on the table with extra force and stare him down, dead in the eye. “I’m sorry- hey, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m a joke.” You scold him. “You’re the one that left and created all of this. You’re the one who has to pick up the pieces. Not me.”

And with that, you sweep out of the room, only for Antoine to lurch forward, clasping your hands in his and looking at you intently, his blue eyes flaming wildly, begging you, persuading you to stay. “I’m sorry.”

You slow to a stop and bite your lip.

“I think I’m just nervous. Not seeing you in so long - you’ve- you’ve changed. You look so, so beautiful. And it threw me off. I’m sorry. I swear, I’m sorry.”

You glance around his apartment. It’s empty, save for a pile of video games and dog toys. There’s nothing there, nothing of substance, and it feels empty, soulless, not like a home. A pang of sympathy burns through your heart as you realise you can’t leave him like this.

Whispered apologies and breathless ‘i-miss-you’s’ lead from one thing to another.

You pull him in and try not to overthink too much as he leads you to his room.

did it frighten you how we kissed when we danced on the light up floor?

You’re 22 now, and Antoine’s taking on San Sebastian by storm.

(Or at least, that was what you told everyone.)

It’s the end to his first proper season, and the club are hosting a summer party at a swanky hotel in the city centre. You’ve been flown out specially and introduced proudly to his teammates and coaching team, and the way he looks at you makes your stomach tumble.

(It’s like you’re seventeen again.)

He spins you around on the dancefloor with glee, and his parents and siblings are laughing at his goofy behaviour as you twirl with him to whatever was top of the charts in 2012.

(You’re too giddy to be seeing him again to remember properly.)

“I’m so happy for you.” You’re practically shouting to be heard above the music. “There’s no one who deserves success more.”

He smiles bashfully and blushes, before dipping his head and pressing his lips to yours. It’s a quick, short kiss, and probably looked much less romantic to outsiders than it felt to you, but it winds you and makes the blood rush to your head. “I love you.”

You tell him, in a hushed, breathy voice that you love him too.

I whisper things, the city sings them back to you

Now, it’s 2014 and Antoine’s just completed his transfer to Atletico Madrid.

“How’s life treating you in the capital, Senor?”

He laughs, and it’s only then that the amount you miss him hits home. His laugh is homely, it’s comforting and melodic and rumbles through his chest, and you can’t help but grin. “Life is great.” He chuckles, and a pang sears through your heart.

You want him to be happy, of course you do, but you’d be lying if you told yourself that it didn’t hurt to know he wasn’t just coping, but flourishing without you. “I’m glad to hear that.” You say gently. “You deserve it.”

“The city looks so beautiful at night.” Antoine observes, tipping his glass and nodding in the direction of the Madrid skyline in front of you two. “Doesn’t feel like home yet, but the view doesn’t hurt.”

You smile, and nod in agreement. It’s chilly, and before you know it he’s draping his jacket around your shoulders, speaking softly, “I miss you. And I think about you every day.”

His words knock the air out of you, and your face breaks into a smile. You want to reach over and link your fingers with his, but you swiftly compose and refrain yourself.

(You’re over him, completely 100% over him, and it wasn’t worth going back to square one again for one night, only to fly back to France the next morning and then not speak for weeks again.)

Antoine laughs again, and places his wine glass down on the side before gesturing at you to do the same. You down your champagne in one swift gulp and the bubbles rush to your head, making you burp- and subsequently, making Antoine laugh even harder. He entwines your fingers together, tugging you to the middle of the rooftop space. His steps mirror yours and wobble slightly, wavering as the alcohol works its familiar magic, and he pulls you in. You can’t help but let yourself get pulled along, and your hands link between his neck.

His black suit is stiff and ironed, and fitting tightly around his neck, and you press down on the material as he draws you closer. The music from the Atleti Christmas party is faint in the background- some playful, piano sonata serving as little more than ambient white noise- and you can barely make out the notes, never mind the beat, but Antoine starts to dance with you.

(Well, slowly wandering in circles because you’ve both consumed far too much alcohol to dance properly, but the sentiment remained the same.)

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world to me, you know that, right?” He mumbles into your shoulder, as you slow back to stillness.

You roll your eyes and shake your head, trying to pry yourself out of his grasp to no avail. His arms around you tighten, as if he can’t, won’t, let go, as if you’re the most precious thing in the world and letting go could have disastrous consequences. His voice wobbles, and all of a sudden he’s that small, scared, nervous 18 year old boy you said goodbye to at the airport so many years ago.

“You’re a massive liar.”

He shakes his head determinedly; your quirk your eyebrow at him, challenging him. “The most beautiful, the silliest, the most annoying-.” He continues, and he smiles playfully at you.

“Sorry, do you want me to throw you off the roof, or-?”

He laughs, and his grip eventually loosens.

Antoine follows you as you walk back inside the party, and doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night.

sometimes I wake up in a different bedroom

You’re 25 now, older, wiser, more mature.

Shaped by life as a working woman with a house and a mortgage and a new swanky job in Paris.

(The fact that seeing photos of him continues to make you swoon to this day and that you still fall victim to his blue eyes whenever he visits makes you kind of hate yourself.)

(God, it’s all so cliche and messy that you can’t even recognise yourself anymore.)

“I don’t know what it is, but I always go back to him.” You mumble.

Your best friend smiles sympathetically. She’s been there for you every step of the way of this horrible, drawn out convoluted Antoine-saga that she’s basically become the third person of your relationship.

(If you could even call it that.)

“He was your first love, your first boyfriend, your childhood sweetheart, if you will.” She reasons.

“Of course you’re going to think about him. He’s not just an average, normal ex.”

“I think he was it for me.” You admit, in a tiny and quiet voice. “Which makes the fact that I don’t know if we’ll ever work so much scarier.”

Years have passed and life has changed, but there’s one thing (well, one person) that remains constant.

You’re not sure if you’ll ever get over him.

I hear sounds in my mind

brand new sounds in my mind

You pick up the bottle of champagne from the bar, letting the heavy glass bottle rock in your hands. The liquid inside warms from your touch, and you sit gingerly at the end of the hotel bed while he lingers by the window. You feel like an intruder invading somewhere where you don’t really belong, but he calms your nerves by smiling reassuringly and reaching out to sling an arm around your waist. “Congratulations.”

It’s the night after the semi-finals of the EUROs, and Antoine’s face is fixated with a rapturous grin, blue eyes fixated on you and scanning your body hungrily.

You haven’t seen him in months’; it feels new and nervous and kind of exciting. “Stop looking at me like that.” You narrow your eyes at him.

He laughs, leaning his head back and tipping up his chin before gently lifting the champagne bottle out of your hands. “Looking at you like what?”

“Like you,” You struggle for the words. “I don’t know, like you like me.”

He replies emphatically, “I do like you. What do you want me to do? Give you evils? Chuck you out of my hotel room, which you rudely barged into with no invitation, as a matter of fact?”

“Very funny.” You roll your eyes.

“You’re my best friend. Of course I like you.”

“I like you too, then.” You take the bottle of champagne back off of him and pad to the side cabinet to deftly pick up two flutes, as he spins you around to hug you from behind.

You can feel his lashes tickle the back of your neck and the smell of his aftershave drifts to your nostrils. The lights are dim and there’s music playing from his phone in the background; he takes your hands and spins you around, laughing maniacally.

There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

honey I’ll be seeing you down every road

The next time you see him, it’s his summer break and you both return to your hometown. Despite your insistence to everyone that this time, things would be different and you wouldn’t go down that same stupid route again, it’s Friday night and you’re in his old bedroom, lying on the floor with a bottle of red wine sat between you.

“Love is stupid, and confusing, and I hate it.” You moan.

You’re spilling the details of your latest breakup to him, and the wine is making your blood run hot and your view foggy.

“I’ll cheers to that.”

He clinks your wine glasses together and mirrors your body language as you down the rest of it in a rapid gulp. “And breakups are shit. And men are shit, and I hate-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He interrupts. “I’m not shit. Don’t tarnish me with the same brush.”

You feel a chuckle bubble up in your throat and choke out indignantly, “Oh Antoine, believe me, you’re the shittest. The absolute worst.”

He feigns indignation, but you leap to your feet and point your finger at his face before he can argue back. “You made me think that we were in love, when I was naive and gullible and 18, for Christ’s sake, and you lied to me and told me we’d always be together and all that bullshit.” What had started as mere joking had escalated to something bigger, and your voice seethes with poison and spite.

(You would later come to blame liquid confidence for your outburst.)

“And then we see each other and every now and then, and you tell me again that you love and miss me but you do absolutely fucking nothing about it.” You rub your eyes with your hands and feel them sting with tears. “I’m sick and I’m tired, and I’m so, so fed up. And I can’t do this anymore, being your bit on the side, you know, your convenient fuck buddy because you know I’d do anything for you and that once you go back home you don’t have to deal with the consequences.”

He nods numbly, shellshocked, and can’t bring himself to look at you. For once, for you feel like you have the upper hand.

(It’s a refreshing, empowering, satisfying feeling.)

(So why do you still feel so shit?)

“I understand.”

“I really fucking hate you sometimes, Antoine.” You say, in a small voice. “For what you’ve done to me- for what you do to me. How I’m strong and capable and I have my head screwed on until I see you, and then I’m a mess with no control. And how it happens every single fucking time.”

“Stay.”

One word, like it’s that simple, like it’s that easy, like you’re that stupid.

Like you’d believe a single word that came out of his stupid, piece of shit mouth.

He’s begging and he jumps to his feet, and the look in his eyes and the way his hands tremble is nearly enough to make you crumble again but you stand strong. Because you’re selfish - as you should be, for once - and you refuse to accept it this time.

You’re resentful, selfish and you’re bitter as hell.

He mutters, “You’re all I have these days. Please don’t leave.”

“I can’t be what you need me to be anymore.” You shake your head and back away. “I really can’t.”

It hurts more than you can imagine to reject him at his most vulnerable but there’s a feeling of accomplishment and adrenaline running through your veins as you leave.

honey I’ll be seeing you wherever I go

After that night, you go without seeing Antoine for a good five months, and you’re doing fine.

(Fine. A-okay. Great, even, depending on the day.)

Life, football, the Champions League, your new job - you name it - they all get in the way, and as if following a routine, your friendship returns to sporadic text messages, occasional email exchanges and promises to meet up that never really pan out.

You’ve realised you don’t care as much about the football, and sometimes find it difficult to even hear the word Madrid in conversation, but it’s okay, and all is good and happy and constant in your life.

Change is good, and Paris is incredible. And you’ve discovered a bunch of new shows and singers and artists and you remind yourself constantly that broadening your horizons is beneficial and necessary and nothing bad could possibly have come from it.

Sometimes, you think you spot him in the corner of your eye. A flurry of dark hair in front of you in the street, a broad set of shoulders ordering coffee, a man speaking Spanish lilted with a French accent, a booming laugh and a twinkling smile. You see him and it’s like a switch has been flicked within you, it’s him, you know it’s him immediately, and suddenly it’s like you’ve stepped into a time machine and you want to approach him and say hi, hey, how are you, you look great, we should grab coffee.

(Or something. You can’t guarantee that it would be a friendly exchange, and knowing your temper and the sour way you last left things, the likelihood of an amiable reunion was very slim.)

Then it dawns on you, that it’s not Antoine at all.  It’s another man, a complete stranger, and you’ve been staring at him like an idiot for no reason at all.

You think sometimes that you could have simply got it all wrong. Antoine’s invaded your brain, marked his stamp and presence in your head and ruined every other man on the planet with brown hair and a handsome grin and a deep laugh. In fact, if you were never able to form a healthy relationship with another man in your life, he’d be to blame, you often muse moodily. He’s trapped you, preventing you from moving forward, because it’s like you’re stuck in this vicious cycle where everything comes back to him and you see him everywhere you go.

The man you’ve been staring at for the better part of the last 10 minutes’ flashes eye contact with you briefly when he gets up to leave. You’ve been imagining this man as him, projecting a story and a life and a plot onto a random stranger you would never see again, all of that potential.

The possibilities, the what-ifs and all the what-could-have-beens, how your life could have been so different if you’d accepted Antoine’s offer to move out with him so many years ago.

You try to push these thoughts as far as possible out of your mind.

honey I’ll come get my things, but I can’t let go

You’re sitting in the waiting room of the dentist when you spot the glossy cover of Closer in the corner of your eye, photographs of Antoine splashed across the front. He’s holding hands with a mystery brunette, shielding her from the paparazzi’s glares.

You pick it up and it feels like watching as an outsider to a parallel universe, like sitting on the wrong side of a glass enclosure or like a spectator at the zoo watching on. He’s thriving, prospering, blossoming in Madrid, partying with the world’s elite and living the life that you always knew he would get to one day. You should feel happy for him, but there’s an uneasy, gnawing feeling in your gut.

You toss the magazine back onto the table.

I wish I could get my things and just let go

The streets of Paris are beautiful and picturesque, you muse, as you walk home. It’s been a long day at work, and there’s a tempting bottle of chilled pinot grigio waiting for you in your fridge, and a bath calling your name. You stretch your neck, digging out your keys and glancing back up to your front door.

He’s sat there, waiting patiently, fiddling around doing something or other on his phone with his hood up. It’s dark by this point, and if you hadn’t recognised his shadow you’d have been ready to whip out your pepper spray and pounce. He’s in casual wear, presumably after his spontaneous flight out to Paris, and takes his hood off. It’s probably to deter any potential fans or paparazzi, but gives off an awful impression nonetheless.  “Hey.” You call out.

Antoine jumps before looking up at you. “Hi.”

“Is there a reason you’re sat on my front step?”

He laughs nervously. Your first glance at him makes your throat dry up and your heart stutter, and suddenly you regret your decision to put a spectacular lack of effort into your appearance today. “I wanted to talk. I was in town and just thought I’d drop by.”

“What, you were just casually in Paris?” You raise an eyebrow at him questioningly and he shrugs in response. “You shouldn’t wait around at people’s doorsteps in all black with your hood up. Could give off the wrong impression. You’re lucky I didn’t attack you or call 911.”

He smiles cheekily, “Duly noted.”

He aligns his steps next to yours as easy as anything, and follows you into your hallway when you unlock the door. The lights slowly flicker on, and it feels like you’re sat on a knife’s edge.

Why was he here? What did he want? Why didn’t he call beforehand? Who told him that blonde and blue highlights would seriously be a good idea?

Your mind fizzes to the brim with unanswered, desperate questions, but you are determined to keep your cool. “I don’t know what to say.” Is what you mumble out instead.

Antoine smiles softly, that ridiculously, perfectly photogenic smile, and your heart starts beating incessantly already.

“Let me speak, then.” He clears his throat. “I just want to apologise.”

“What for?”

He cuts you off, “And I want to explain some things to you.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve been a dick.”

You smile and shrug. “Can’t say I massively disagree.”

“But I’m ready to stop that now.”

“So honourable. Jeez.” You mock, and he gives you a look.

(As if to say, shut up, i’m trying here, let me finish my god damn sentence.)

“Because I’m ready now. I know it’s taken me so long but I know now, it’s dawned on me. It’s you, it’s all you and it always has been you. You deserve the best, not just with this, whatever this is, but with everything in your life, and I haven’t been able to give you me at my best, not until now. That’s why I’ve been so hesitant, that’s why we’ve always been so unsure, because I could never give you what you deserved. But It’s so clear to me now. God, I love you more than I ever thought was possible, I love you so much that when you’re not here it’s like I can’t breathe, and food has no taste and it’s all so pointless. I love you. I think deep down I always have. And I want to make the plunge now, because I’m all in. All, 100%, completely, truly, unfailingly all in.”

He offers you a hand which you take, pulled in like a magnet. “I never want to be without you, ever, ever again. Not a single day.”

You gulp, your eyes welling with tears. “Flying out to Paris was probably unnecessary, I know. But- hey, just give me a call when you get the chance, okay? When you’ve made a decision, thought about it-”

“I don’t need to think about it.” You interrupt him eagerly, and you cup his face with both hands.

His chest is heaving with deep, nervous, shaky breaths, mirroring yours, and when you smile it takes over your face.

(You’re probably terrifying him because you’re pretty sure the smile on your face makes you look like a lunatic, but you don’t care.)

His hands find your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and he kisses you roughly, like no time has passed. His lips are soft and familiar and they feel like coming home.

You breathe, “I’m yours.”

“Hm?”

Antoine swings you up and your legs wrap around his waist, as his arm hooks around you with ease and he continues to press kisses to your neck.

“All yours.”

I’m waiting for it, that green light, I want it

“Til death do us part.”

“Til death do us part.”

You opt for an intimate, cosy reception, but the music resonating soundly around the hall, your guests’ chatter and laughter, and the never ending clinking of cutlery and glassware makes it sound like you’ve invited the whole population of France. Antoine grips your hand so tightly that his nails leave marks on the back of your hand and before you can even blink (or, as the cliche goes, have a slice of your own cake), you’re whizzing round, saying goodbyes.

(It’s the happiest day of your life by a mile.)

Antoine presses a line of kisses down your neck, marking a pattern from below your ear to the base of your neck. He murmurs, “God, I feel like I’ve been waiting to marry you for the whole of my life.”

“Maybe we should have just eloped when we were like, eighteen.” You laugh. It’s a tongue in cheek comment but you can’t help but feel like there’s some truth in your statement. “ It would have saved lots of back of forth-”

“And lots of pain, crying- the latter, mostly on my part.” He chuckles, and you laugh again, like it’s something infectious and like your entire body has just been taken over by bubbles and champagne and all things light and fizzy.

(It feels like you’re floating on air.)

(And for the first time, you start to think that maybe, all the heartache and the fighting and the angry pledges you made that you would never speak to him again, were worth it.)

(Love did weird things to you.)

“Now, would you like to join me in our wedding suite, Mrs Griezmann?”

It rolls off his tongue like honey and you bite your lip in euphoric anticipation, nodding emphatically. The sound of your shared laughter (there it is again, that hyperactive, constant bubble of laughter) echoes around the empty hotel corridor as you follow him to your suite.

There’s a twinkle in his eyes when he looks back at you.

[caffeineivore]

Trashy Regency Fic for Kate and whoever else wants it

R/J-ish? Written at the behest of @antivanruffles

***

“Don’t do this, James.” Serena’s eyes are the blue of summer skies and currently welling with tears, but James Townsend ignores his sister’s beseeching expression and quivery voice as he makes his way outside. “You’ll end up dead or arrested for killing a peer! It’s not worth it.”

“That pompous, arrogant bastard had the nerve to humiliate you in front of everyone, and then send that soulless letter of apology as though he accidentally spilled tea on your gloves, and you want me to just let it go?” James has the same corn-silk hair as his sister, though his eyes are a darker, fiercer blue, and he storms through the foyer of their modest townhouse. “His Grace, the Duke of Terrence,” the title is spat out like a curse, “has always been an uppity, too-good-for-others sort. It does not matter to him in the least that he made you look ridiculous in front of the ton. And someone needs to show him that his title and wealth and privilege does not excuse him from the rules of decent human behaviour!”

“I really thought you two were friends, at one point, but maybe I am wrong,” Serena mutters, too low for her brother to hear, then bites her full lower lip. “He was pleasant enough when we danced at the ball, you know.”

James harrumphs and ignores her soft-hearted attempts to peace-make between himself and the Duke of Terrence, and glances at the window. The faintest streaks of red are visible through the inky black sky. Dawn. 

He has an appointment with His Grace and a brace of pistols.

**

The field where the duel is to take place is foggy with morning and the grass is slippery with dew. His Grace is already there, the red rose which is his family’s crest is visible on his coach, and James reluctantly admits to himself that he thought the duke would not have the courage to show his face. But then again, Dare wasn’t always a spineless, toadying snob. 

He tamps down that thought as quickly as it surfaces, and consults with his second for a moment. 

“His Grace’s second is Lord Kensey,” Nathan Davies, Viscount Cresswell, tells James after a brief consultation with the man in question. “I am under the impression that the Duke is still willing to call off the duel if you are. He does not want to shoot you.”

“Not everything is about what he wants,” James snarls. “Kensey can come and inspect the weapons, as his duty requires. Then we can get this done and over with.”

Nathan shakes his brandy-coloured head. “For some reason, I do not think that this morning will end the way you anticipate it ending, Townsend.”

“It isn’t about what I think will happen,” James snaps. “It’s about the fact that Terrence has all but ruined my sister, a girl who has never harmed a single soul in all her nineteen years. This may not matter to anyone else, but it matters to me!”

The weapons are inspected in short order, and both James and the Duke walk the allotted distance towards opposite ends of the field. Terrence, his face expressionless and pale under his inky black hair, stares James straight in the eye, aims his pistol at the sky, and delopes. 

And then, before anyone else can react, another carriage careens onto the field with clearly reckless disregard for the events unfolding, and before the driver can even pull the team of gorgeous matched greys to a complete stop, the door slams open, and a vision in cream-coloured silk with a gorgeous crimson spencer sails out, straight into the line of fire. 

“Stop this madness now, the both of you! Dare, for shame! And you, sir, lower that gun at once!”

The speaker is clearly a lady in high dudgeon, her wealth and breeding obvious in the proud lift of her chin and the exquisitely detailed morning dress she’s wearing, with hair as black as a raven’s wings pinned back from an aristocratic face that is all snapping violet eyes and ruby lips. Terrence’s lips curve up in a rueful smile, and he bows slightly. 

“Lady Roseanna. I feel as though I should ask what you’re doing here.”

“I am putting a stop to this nonsense, as someone must,” comes the sharp rejoinder. “Your grandmother was appalled to hear of this duel. She has taken to bed for the rest of the day.”

“And so will your grandfather if he hears of your method of stopping it,” Terrence seems to almost crack a smile, and James is suddenly wondering who this mysterious, dark-haired beauty is. She certainly seems familiar enough with the Duke, enough to call him by his given name, though certainly a milksop aristocrat like Terrence would find such a fiery, spirited lass to be distasteful. Perhaps Terrence senses James’ thoughts, because he turns a rueful smile towards the latter. “Perhaps I should make introductions, odd as this meeting may be. Mr Townsend, this is the Honourable Lady Roseanna Warrington, daughter of the Marquess of Blackburn. Cousin, this is Mr James Townsend.”

“I have heard the particulars,” Lady Roseanna replies acidly, though she manages an elegant curtsy to James. Her polite gesture belies the dark fire of her incredible eyes as she fixes an unabashed stare at James. “You will not shoot my cousin, sir. I will stand right here until you give me your word.”

James is reasonably certain that no other woman of his acquaintance would even dream of such a thing, and meets her amethyst stare with a surprised one of his own. “I promise not to hurt him, at this time, My Lady.”

“Good,” she raises her chin another notch, as though his acquiescence is merely her due, and damned if he doesn’t admire her for her brand of reckless courage. “Now, this is about your sister, is it not? Don’t fret. This is an easy problem to fix, if only you stupid gentlemen would let us ladies take charge of it instead of going about it in this infantile way.” Now, in the strangest turn of events yet, Lady Roseanna strides right up to James, and reaches into her reticule for a calling card. Her gloved fingers brush his as she hands him the little piece of paper, and it feels like the brush of candle-flame. “I will call upon her this afternoon, Mr Townsend. And mark my words, the old biddies will find a new person to talk about in a fortnight.”

[kidolegend]

Renewals - A Prompto Argentum Fic (Part 5)

Previous | AO3 Link

Heyas! In the wake of Episode Prompto, I’m back with my weekly update for Renewals! After four parts of character development, Prompto and Aylin finally get to see some action as they take on a Niff stronghold~ I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and made sure to include some references from Episode Prompto (But nothing that spoils anything past the trailer, for those that have not gotten to it quite yet).

As always, any comments, reblogs, moral support, constructive criticism, or just some hellos are always appreciated~

Tagging: @blindbae @joioliviapolaroid @xnoctits @themissimmortal @poisonous-panda​  @insomniascure​ @thegoddesseos​ @crossedquills​ @cupnoodle-queen (and as always please message me if you would like to be removed from my tagging list)

Operation’s A-Go!

Prompto gave a heavy sigh. He was sitting at the edge of the watch tower, leaning his arms against the railing and dangling his feet off the edge. Aylin was a few feet away, sitting with her legs crossed and her back to the imperial base. She was staring off into the distance, but every so often she’d glance over at him or fiddle with her cell phone.

Prompto kicked his feet back and forth impatiently. He hadn’t gotten the signal from Ignis or Gladio that they had started and the fortress in front of him was eerily silent. Until he got the go-ahead, they would just had to wait.

“Once you see reinforcements moving out of your area, that will be your signal to move. However, if they decide against sending aid to Fort Vaullerey after we’ve launched our assault, then wait for a message from Gladio or me, so you know that we have the military occupied on our front.” Ignis’ instructions were clear and logical, and Prompto had agreed to follow them for his own safety. Thankfully, Aylin didn’t protest and--outside of a few minor details--thought his strategy was solid.

‘Can’t really tell until we’re out there, but it seems like we’d make a pretty good team.’ Prompto mused, turning his head slightly to look at Aylin from the corner of his eye.

She was a bit shorter than him and she had an agile, but sturdy build. Her skin was a little darker than his and her green eyes were narrow, giving her a more exotic look. Prompto couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was sure he saw people who looked similar in the Kingsglaive, back when everyone was in Insomnia--and weren’t they from other territories on the outskirts of Lucis?

He was tempted to ask her about it, but refrained. Asking about her background would only risk questions about his own--questions he wasn’t comfortable answering quite yet. Besides, it didn’t really matter in the end--she was a pretty girl, she was friendly…

And she was going to help him take down an entire military fortress. Big plus.

“Hey,” He broke the silence as an odd thought crossed his mind.

“Hmm?” Aylin looked up from her cell phone.

“How’ d you get past my wire trap?” Granted, it wouldn’t have been difficult for a normal person to maneuver around, but with the ever-present darkness the wires would have been difficult to spot in the first place.

“Wire… trap?”

“Yeah, I looped some wires at the bottom of the stairwell, in case any MTs decided to swing by.” Prompto couldn’t help but pout, irked that his ‘awesome plan’ had been foiled so unwittingly.

“Oh, I climbed up through the second level,” Her reply was sheepish. “I was kinda paranoid about any Niffs seeing me from that side so I didn’t enter through the stairwell.”

“Aaaah, okay.” So she had been overly cautious. Granted, Prompto knew the workings of an MT far too well, so he was positive none of the troopers or armors would be able to spot anybody from that distance, but...

They both lapsed into another silence. It took several moments, but Prompto eventually realized that the quiet was comfortable--he didn’t feel the need to constantly fill the dead air with noise. It was a familiar feeling--one he felt when he was around Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio. Sure, the four of them talked a lot, but that was more out of interest as opposed to some social obligation.

It felt nice.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when his cell phone buzzed in his hand. Aylin looked over at him as he unlocked the screen, his eyes scanning the message.

‘We are beginning our operation. Message glad leo if you happen to spot any airships being diverted our way, so he can call for a retreat if necessary.’ Prompto snorted at the typo--obviously Ignis’ phone didn’t recognize Gladio’s name over the voice-to-text function and of course Ignis would be none the wiser unless he had the Shield proofread his messages beforehand.

Aylin had read the message over his shoulder. “So… that means we wait a little longer, right?”

Prompto nodded. “Yup, that’ll give them enough time to raise hell and get any reinforcements up and on the way over to them.”

“Leaving the base clear for us to destroy?” Aylin raised an eyebrow at him.

“Hell yeah.”

Another buzz caught his attention and he opened a second message from Ignis.

‘Send me a message when you begin your assault. I shall assume you have started when my phone vibrates. Good luck.’

Aylin settled back into her spot, pulling her odd looking blades out and polishing them with the end of her shirt. Prompto let out a slow breath, trying to relax as he whispered into the night air.

“You too, guys… Be safe.”

  It only took another hour before Prompto and Aylin heard movement in the garrison. They exchanged tense looks as the sound of heavy machinery came to life and after several minutes, one of the Niflheim airships appeared over the top of the stronghold, ascending slowly into the air. It rotated slowly before it began its flight, heading away from them and out towards the rest of the continent.

Out towards Ignis and Gladio.

Prompto had his phone out in an instant. ‘One airship headed your way.’

The first message was sent out to Gladio and the second one to Ignis followed seconds after. ‘Operation’s a-go, I’m heading in!’

Prompto double-checked that his phone was on silent before tucking it into his pocket--there was little chance he would get a response when they were also in the middle of their ambush.

He summoned his pistol, making sure it was fully loaded before concealing it and facing Aylin. “I'm good to go!”

She looked impressed by his unwitting display of the Lucian arsenal, but she focused quickly and unsheathed her blades, attaching them at the hilt to form a shortbow. “Ready when you are.” She replied, determination coloring her features.

Prompto felt a thrill at the familiarity of it all, and he grinned. “Then… Let’s do this!”

 Getting into the military base was simple enough--Aylin was a decent shot with her arrows and Prompto didn’t miss a single bullet, keeping a silencer on the muzzle to conceal their location.

Prompto gave an impressed nod as Aylin took out another enemy in complete silence. “Nice work, dude. I-I mean… Aylin.”

“With standing targets? I guess,” She gave him a cheeky smile as they headed into the fortress, unchallenged due to their combined sharpshooting. She paused, realizing it would probably be better to express gratitude than sarcasm, but she couldn’t help but water down the praise regardless. “Thank you… but my brother was a lot better than I'll probably ever be.”

“Oh? And where's he?” The moment the question left Prompto’s mouth, he knew the answer and felt his heart sink.

Aylin confirmed his suspicion with a tight smile. “A Niff airship dropped MTs on us during a hunt, making the job way longer and more exhausting than it ever should have been… Before we knew it, night had fallen and the daemons appeared…”

The gunner ducked his head apologetically. “I'm sorry.”

She shook her head, taking a deep breath. “It was a few years ago, and now that I'm here,” She gestured at the fortress around them. “I can give Levant a bit of the justice he deserves.”

“Of course.” Prompto agreed, suddenly arming himself with his pistol. “Duck!”

Aylin obeyed, instinctively trusting the blonde’s judgement. Prompto vaulted over her shoulder and kicked out at an infantryman that had unexpectedly rounded the corner and lifted its gun at them.

The trooper's knees buckled under it, its balance thrown forward so Prompto could lock it's head under his arm. The blonde rotated and shifted his weight, bringing the soulless machinery to the ground. He gave a grunt as he snapped the MT’s neck, holding it still until he was sure it was gone for good.

Aylin held out her hand as he grimaced and shoved the trooper away from him, the light-resistant armor starting to dissolve into gray smoke.

“Phew, close call.” He muttered, accepting her help gratefully. “You okay?”

Aylin nodded, checking around the corner again for any other enemies before waving him forward. “Yeah, you?”

He locked eyes with the still fading infantryman and felt a chill run up his spine. For a moment, he caught an image of the emotionless red eyes mirrored in his own and he glanced down at his hands, flexing them slowly.

Human hands. Not an MT’s.

“Uh, Prompto?”

The sound of his name was almost like a balm. It wasn’t a lab number or specimen label--it was familiar.

It was home.

“Yup, sorry,” He cleared his throat, blinking as the last wisps of smoke dissolved into the night air. ‘That’s not who I am. And that’s not what I’ll become.’

He re-checked his gun--more out of habit than actual necessity--and took a quick breath before nodding at her. “All right, bring it on.”

  Things grew more difficult as they progressed deeper into the base--while the MTs on the outer areas were on their own and could be picked off without being noticed, the ones closer to the center either traveled in groups or were in the views of others. After a few more close calls, Aylin and Prompto had managed to work their way towards the the control booths.

“That’s the one, right?” Aylin whispered, nodding her head towards one of the larger bungalows, where at least seven guards were visible.

“Yeah… Of course it had to be in front of that warehouse, too.” Prompto bit his lip, his eyes narrowed as he glared down the ten mechs lying in wait under the shelter. “If one of ‘em spots us, we’ll have all those giant magitek armors headed our way as well.”

“Greaaat.” The dryness in Aylin’s voice made Prompto chuckle. They were crouched on top of one of the shipping containers, keeping clear of any searchlights or sniper guards. Prompto scanned their surroundings once again, trying to find something--anything--that they could use to give them an advantage.

“If one of us could get up to those turrets, we’d be able to take down a lot of the MTs in a snap.” Aylin murmured.

“Mm but you’re pretty much a sitting duck for any snipers or armors.” The gunner pointed out. “We should get their numbers down before that… Or at least find a way to take out the big baddies easily.”

“True…” Aylin sighed. “Got any ideas?”

“Hold on a sec,” The blonde pursed his lips, his eyebrows knitting together in thought. His bright blue eyes darted around more, glancing over various construction pipelines, shipping freights, mounted turrets, those exploding energy tanks… Prompto inhaled sharply, sitting up so he could dig around in his pockets. “Now I do.”

“Oh?”

“Yup. Gimme a sec,” Prompto pulled out a Lumen Flare, turning it over in his gloved hands. Back in Niflheim, he had some leftover from his time in the Magitek production facility. However, once he started making things difficult… Well, it wasn't until Noctis regained access to his powers in Gralea that Prompto was able to get his hands on another weapon.

Sure, Prompto might not have been able to steal any of the Niflheim technology to use against them… But that sure didn't stop him from creating replicas that worked just as well--or in some cases, even better.

“Is that a… a grenade?” Aylin looked impressed as her eyes skimmed over the craftsmanship. “A Niff grenade?”

“Eh, kinda. ‘Borrowed’ some ideas and added a few of my own. I wasn't gonna use it since it packs a punch and I wouldn’t have been able to get out of its blast range quick enough…” He turned to Aylin, gesturing at her weapon. “Buuut now that you're here…”

She raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, I get where you’re going, but I’ll need a target to aim at first.”

“Right, I just gotta check one thing.” Prompto flopped back over onto his stomach, squinting in the direction of the main warehouse. He waited for the searchlight to make another round, trying to confirm what he had spotted earlier. “Hmmm… yes!”

“Keep it down,” Aylin chastised him. “What's up?”

“In the warehouse, not quite in the center… it's a little to the right.” He turned her in the correct direction.

“The freight?”

“No, right next to it, the stack of barrel-things.”

Aylin leaned forward a bit and Prompto scooted closer to her, trying to center his pointer finger. After a moment, she nodded. “I see something that looks kinda like that covered under a military tarp…”

“Bingo,” The blonde gave her a thumbs up. “I've seen those things a million times; they're magitek energy tanks. They power the control panels and armors aaand... they're highly flammable.”

Aylin’s face lit up in understanding. “Aha, so one of your grenades and my arrow, plus those energy tanks…”

“Equals...!” Prompto made an exploding motion with his hands. “We'll have to be as far back as possible, but that should clear out that entire warehouse in one go.”

Had they not been surrounded by hostiles, Aylin would have given an impressed whistle. “It'll be that strong?”

“With the energy tanks? Totally. Even if the explosion’s weaker than I’m expecting it to be, those magitek armors will be nothin’ but junk.”

“And… if it’s stronger than you think?”

“Ahaha…” Prompto leaned on his elbows, propping his head up and looking proud of himself. “We’ll be able to blow the whole warehouse straight to hell.”

[theclacks]

Buffy - Season Three Thoughts

So… that was a thing.

Where do I start on season 3… Okay, I’m going to recap in chronological order and then do over all thoughts (especially compared to season 2) because if I start with overall thoughts, I’ll be here all night and probably not make much sense.

So yeah. I really like Buffy’s period of mourning. There’s something very cathartic about watching characters mourn. And watching characters get mad at each other. And the first two episodes did that in spades, I love how Willow acted dismissively cheerful and then just LAID into Buffy later. I love how Buffy’s originally close-friends party turned into a random party and the one overheard line along the lines of “do you know who this party’s for? I don’t know, some girl who just got out of rehab” just hit stone cold.

And then Angel showed up.

Now I know Angel was GOING to show up because 1) he was in the credits and 2) he goes on to star in his own spin-off, but I don’t know… I was expecting the whole first half of the season to be a life without Angel/search for Spock Angel kind of thing. And I was really liking the whole mourning/slowly accepting Angel’s death so for him to come back as SOON as Buffy put down her ring I was like “……okay?” but then I also couldn’t complain because ANGEL.

And then it turned out he was feral Angel which was cool but then THAT got resolved in a single episode which was another kind of “…..okay?” then again. ANGEL.

I’m just glad they had Buffy’s super quick temp boyfriend Scott dump her because that would’ve been an even more annoying obviously-one-ship-is-the-preferred-ship love triangle than Twilight.

Oh, speaking of love triangles… quadrangles… things. The Willow/Xander sudden attraction love fest thing. Not a huge fan. But it lasted comparatively shortly and didn’t destroy the Oz/Willow pairing (in fact kind of strengthened it) and it gave way for adorable Cordelia/Wesley flustered shenanigans AND Cordelia subconsciously summoning Anya, so overall I don’t mind where it ended up leading the series in the slightest.

Although I do want to talk about Faith.

I hate Faith.

Maybe she gets better in later seasons (if she’s in later seasons? I assume yes even though I hope no), maybe part of my hate is just missing Kendra and viewing Kendra as the superior alt!slayer. Although Buffy did make many references to Mr Pointy this season, so I guess Kendra still lives on in spirit.

But yeah, the gang had such a chill, well working groove this season that the ONLY way to cause tension was to throw a Faith-shaped socket into the works. Like she was pretty much only there to stir trouble and be a pity fest and I’m sorry Faith fans, but it’s an EXTREMELY big leap to go from bitter “Buffy’s more popular than me” to “I’m going to join forces with the dude who wants to murder the town because he gives me things.” IDK, I think it would’ve actually made more sense for her skip town entirely, forge her own path? But maybe she wasn’t brave enough for that? IDK. Her darkside turn simultaneously didn’t feel as fluid (i.e. didn’t make sense) OR as shocking (i.e. she’d always been the “bad” girl) as the Angel losing his soul thing did.

Although speaking of Angel losing his soul, THAT EPISODE WHERE FAITH TRIES TO CAST IT OUT OF HIM. And at the end she’s like “guess I’m the best actor in the world” and Angel suddenly goes “second best” and it slips into slo-mo, I gasped. I literally gasped. I’d been going “nooo not a repeat” while also going “soulless Angel is extremely entertaining” and then in just 5 seconds everything turned 100% awesome again.

Which, yeah, Angel and Buffy. I think I love Angel and Buffy the most when they’re working together as I team which is why I loved the second half of season 3 more than the first half. They finally got their groove back and he was helping out in fights (even after Buffy said “let’s take a break” and Angel said “let’s break up”) and they just worked. There were a couple earlier episodes, especially the one where Giles drugs Buffy of her powers and regrets it and Buffy’s mom gets kidnapped and Buffy goes off to save her alone that I was like, “ummmmm… bring Angel with you? I know the ‘theme’ of this episode is doing this alone, but in-character Buffy, you should really be caring more about getting your mom out alive than episode themes”.

So yeah. Angel and Buffy watching an erotic indie film together, Angel and Buffy fighting seaside cave demons together, Angel and Buffy acting together to pull one over on faith. That is the best kind of Angel and Buffy and I’m glad the show finally veered back into that direction before he ultimately left the show.

Which leaves the Mayor and the overall plot arc of Season 3.

So I honestly thought the Mayor was going to be a multi-season villain (same with Mr Trick) and was really kind of shocked when he just ate it (along with the library and half of the school building). But more than that, I think I was a little disappointed by the Mayor just because of HOW LONG it took for him and Buffy to face off… which is really my one complaint about season 3, that is, the overall plot arcs weren’t as defined as they were in season 2.

Season 2 had two very clear halves and evolving goals for both sides. The first half had Buffy and Angel’s will they/won’t they on the heroes side and Spike’s wanting to heal Dru on the villain’s side. They both get their wishes near the middle of season and that’s the greatest thing because it ends up being an Into the Woods type thing with their granted wishes causing new problems. Buffy/Angel’s relationship causes Angel to turn evil and Dru’s restoration causes Spike becomes useless in a wheelchair. The goals in the second half suddenly flip on their heads: find a way to either restore Angel’s soul (or kill Angel) on the heroes side and Spike wanting Angel out of the picture and Dru back on the villains side. There was a constant forward momentum, a goal to strive for.

And so wrapping back around to what I THOUGHT season 3 was going to be about, getting Angel back so soon kind of killed that momentum. There wasn’t any greater goal the heroes were really striving for over the course of multiple episodes. Even when Faith turned, the gang didn’t seem to care that much. It was kind of like “good riddance, at least she’s not back-stabbing me anymore” from Buffy’s side. They just sort of went along through their senior high school days with minimum drama.

Which don’t get me wrong. It was nice. It was fun. And I’m probably going to be missing the minimum drama in later seasons. And overall, the quality of the individual episodes was stronger (I’m looking at you Lovers Walk, The Zeppo, Doppelgangland, Enemies, Earshot… heck what am I saying, all the episodes from that until the end). But I really did miss that constantly-striving-for-something feel that Season 2 had.

But then I’ll also give credit where credit is due and just be grateful that I wasn’t emotionally deadened like I was at the end of season 2. If the series had ended at season 2, it would’ve been the most depressingly awesome bittersweet series ending ever. If it’d ended at season 3, it’d be a super entertaining and sweet bookend.

I didn’t even place together the connection until I started writing this review, but I think this season more than anything else was about Buffy’s acceptance, both of her accepting herself and of the Sunnydale community accepting her. This season started off with jocks half-joking/chanting “no more mysterious deaths!” and the guy at Buffy’s welcome home party thinking she was some sort of drug addict. It ended up with Buffy getting crowned (umbrella’d?) as Class Protector and the entire graduating class taking up arms and fighting vampires and a demon alongside her. I mean, regardless of what happens later, those are some firm, shining YES moments.

Final/stray observations

Favorite episode was Lovers Walk by far. I am a Spike fan and not afraid to admit it. Between him falling asleep drunk and his hand catching on fire, drinking cocoa while having a heart to heart with Joyce (and asking for marshmallows), taunting Angel behind Joyce’s back when he can’t come inside Buffy’s house, reminiscing about a park bench where he and Dru killed a homeless man, and cheering up at the end because he’s realized that all he needs to do is become the man he was and torture Dru into loving him again… yeah. That episode was a pure treasure.

I loved the resolution to the Wesley/Cordelia thing. I’ve had those kind of kisses before, the kisses that make you go “oh, umm… awkward, nevermind.” This show, it reads my soul.

While I hated Faith, I loved the addition of Anya to the cast. I knew by her name that she’d become a series regular so when she first introduced herself as “Anyanka” I was like “no….. it can’t be.” And then it was. And she rambled about her past curses to Xander at the prom. And it was awesome.

Also Oz’s thoughts in the mind-reading episode. Grabbing from a transcript because they’re just too good to paraphrase:

Oz (thinking): I am my thoughts. If they exist in her, Buffy contains everything that is me and she becomes me. I cease to exist.

Oz (speaking): Hmm…

I just love Oz so much. He is one of the characters I had no idea existed going into this and I’m scared for what’s going to happen to him because I know Willow eventually gets with someone else, so he’s either going to leave or die. And I’m REALLY hoping he doesn’t die.

Also are we going to eventually get a human!Spike/William flashback episode? Because we’ve gotten two Angel/Liam flashback episodes and one Dru flashblack episode. I DEMAND A SPIKE FLASHBACK EPISODE.

As for thoughts and guesses on what’s going to happen in season four, I have no idea. All the plot threads are resolved (except for, I guess, Faith kinda, who I don’t care about), everyone graduated, and Angel’s off in his own spin off land. I did cheat though and I watched the first three minutes of Angel + opening credits before I started writing this and Angel and Cordelia being spin-off bros? I don’t know how that’s going to happen but sign me the hell up! I’m guessing she just decided to leave Sunnydale since her dad went broke and all and Xander’s not her BF and yeah? There’s really not too much there for her anymore.

Anyways yeah. I’m planning to watch BTVS AND Angel simultaneously now which means these recaps will become a biweekly thing.

Of course both shows are leaving Netflix this week which sucks (pun not intended). Originally I was going to grab the DVDs from the library but apparently the rest of the city had that idea. Buffy season 4 went from having 3 open copies to 10+ holds over the course of the past couple days. I reserved Angel no problem though and I ended up ordering a used copy of BTVS complete series off Amazon because, hey, it was half off, I’m super enjoying the series so far, and some times it’s nice to pay.

[mechagalaxy]

John T. Mainer: Keradon for niodes, the advice is free

Keradon for niodes, the advice is free

Tracked the smugglers down to a fake spur of the rail line that ran into a warehouse but not out. It ran through a portable gate generator that ran back to Vupa 6. The long battle with I AM’s ready squadrons was pretty much a formality. His squads were good enough to crush newbies in Holmes or Hoplites, but not exactly ready to take their Fides up against my Humbaba and Fext.

We had a good killing of cannibals, and crazy as they were, they were also sloppy so their suicide protocols failed to destroy all of their machines cleanly. I got a mecha, and a handful of guns, even a working shield module. Granted none of this stuff was going to make it into my lineup, but in Mecha Galaxy, guns are the hardest currency of all.

I had the usual network of scum and villains get a quiet word out that I had some material I was looking to offload fast and quiet. I had mecha that needed upgrade bad, and tax issues with Sengakuji Reaches meant I wasn’t going to Cherry Blossom mechworks for open trading.

My haul was modest, but for a low level pilot, as good as gold, or maybe survival. Rail Cannon x1 Johnny 5 x 1 White Knight x 1 Machete x 2 Keradon x 1 Illumina Mark 3

Madame Wu from the House of the Sideways smile passed the word that she had a buyer. A real neophyte. Some sort of corporate salaryman was looking to buy a light mecha, and guns to go with it. He seemed almost clueless as to how the shadow trade worked, but his credit was just on the high side of freaking unreal.

I entered Madame Wu’s House of the Sideways Smile with a grin. The place smelled of cheap booze, bad decisions, and the kind of diseases you paid extra to have not included in your medical records. There were drugs available here for every taste, and rooms in the back where you could practice things forbidden is three of the major empires, and earn a round of applause in six major hells for style and innovation.

It was the kind of place where deals went down as often as panties, where intelligence agents hunted for secrets, mercenaries hunted for clients, and every night a few people entered who were never seen again.

Madame Wu arched one well sculpted eyebrow at me, and directed me to table nine. My client was huddled under a holographic curtain, just behind a table where Mariea and Melissa were tucking twenty ferrite notes in a dancer’s g string and doing Rock Paper Scissors to find out which of them was going to get to have the lap dance.

Honestly, it was at least half theater, they were keeping my client from getting casually murdered by one of the bar maids, let alone the patrons, at least until we had done business. The suit was worth as much as a new Shocklite, and he didn’t even have the sense to bring a bodyguard, let alone a weapon.

I slid into the booth, flashing him the code string through my implants that we had arraigned to set up the meeting. “Mr Johnson I presume?” I said, giving him the standard false name every fixer used.

The poor fool actually started to give me his actual name, when Sweet Sally slid a drink in front of each of us, and placed one finger lightly on his lips to stop him speaking.

“Ah, ah, ah, Mr Johnson. No real names in Madame Wu’s unless you want your little Johnson to get shot off.” Sweet Sally gave a girlish giggle, and Mr Johnson gave a small scream as he felt the small Hellfire slimline laser pistol she pressed into his crotch below the table.

I smiled and sipped my drink, before offering our foundering Mr Johnson a lifeline.

“That was a good tip Sweet Sally just gave you, Mr Johnson. See you give her a good tip in return before you leave. No true names in the deal, just cash and hard goods. No records and no regrets. So, rumor has it my mecha and guns are of interest to you.” I looked at the salaryman, and wondered what this merchant would want with a mecha, as he was clearly too old and too soft to be a pilot starting out, and too rich to be buying a single light mecha for a guard force.

Adjusting his tie, and taking a sip of the twenty year old scotch, the Asian businessman seemed to settle himself. He took out a top of the line scanner, watched its read outs play across his retinal implants and then put a second box on the table, a very much not on the market shadow box. Once he keyed that, even my own implants couldn’t record what he was saying on anything except my bare neurons. Very good ECM, easily worth some Niodes all on its own.

“I have a son” Mr Johnson stated simply. “He has won a commission with the Prince of Flowers, the first in my family to ever serve as Samurai. He has won a Warhorse, but so many promising young officers start out with a Warhorse and a dream, and end only with a coffin and a flag. I seek to give him a better chance. It is forbidden to purchase a mecha if you are not samurai or noble, no matter how wealthy you are. I hear from my sources, that you Mercenaries don’t care about anything but coin, and will sell to anyone. I have coin.”

I grinned, it wasn’t flattering, but it wasn’t wrong either. I keyed my implants and showed him my haul, letting him see the book value of what I had, and the performance compared to what his son had been issued.

We got down to dickering, and his heart wasn’t in it. I got more than the one third the cost I should have gotten for black market sales, and he was throwing in dinner and drinks. Madame Wu sent a couple of girls to keep us company, and once he loosened up he began to talk about his son.

It was kind of funny, Mr Johnson was the kind of corporator who sends us out to die for their mineral rights, trading rights, hell for product placement in frigging subways, we have killed and lost people for battles over copyright law and screwing someone out of their own business because they didn’t read the fine print on the sweet deal their corporate partner cut them. I was used to evil, was used to callous, I was not used to actual human feelings. It made him almost cute, in a stick up the ass and awkward kind of way.

“My son Ishohito wants to defend the innocent, stand up for the little guy who will never afford to buy the judges, the politicians, the law the way the nobles and corporations do. He thinks one stout heart, and strong mecha are all that is required to make a difference. I just want him to stay alive long enough to learn his limits”

That caused the joy-girl on his arm to give him a big hug and kiss on the cheek, as he did sound too adorable for words to be caught dead in Madame Wu’s. It also caused me to remember starting out, knowing nothing about how things actually worked. If this kid really had the heart of a clansman, at least I could see he had a chance to survive.

“Listen Mr Johnson, I am going to do you a favour right now, and give you a chance to spend those niodes where they might make a difference. Forget the Niode guns. Sell them, I can broker the deal for you right from the booth. Dead men bought guns, their killers bought equipment. Listen to me”

I leaned forward, and Mr Johnson suddenly matched my intensity as he finally listened as hard to me as to his own research team when brokering a big deal.

“Your boy soon is going to have a chassis slot, and cockpit slot available. You get him Hip Shocks and an Immersive Neural Rig, and just give him the bigger crystal weapons I will sell you. Don’t focus on what a gun would do if it hit. Hip shocks make him harder to hit, make him more likely to hit, and make him more likely to shoot first. Immersive Neural Rig makes him a lot more likely to hit, have a decent chance of doing a lot more damage or even killing outright with one shot, no matter what weapon he fires.”

He looked confused, pointing to the hologram of the Niode weapons he was so proud to have bought. I pointed out to him how many guns a Keradon has, and how many more it gets.

“Look boss, your kid is going to go through a lot of guns, which is better, to have one or two that hit really hard, if they hit, hell if he even gets a chance to fire; or firing first, hitting, and doing a crap ton of damage with whatever you shoot when you do?”

We brokered the deal from the booth while we ate spring rolls and had the ladies quietly rake off their commission for keeping my ID and his from being listed on anything like official paperwork. More laws get violated in Madame Wu’s every night about interplanetary trade in arms, than about vice or personal violence.

Mr Johnson shook my hand with disarming intensity, thanking me for my advice. He may be a soulless corporate shill, but somehow he produced a Ronin for a son, who was out to make Mecha Galaxy a better place with optimism and heavy gunfire. If he survives, well hell, he just might.

It’s a cruel galaxy, and eats newbies for breakfast. On the other hand, some of those tasty little minnows who survive Pirate Moon and escape into the gateways of battle space grow up to become mighty sharks. Every once in a long while, they remember they started out to be good guys when they do.

John T Mainer 28840