#the rock should feel like the weight of every soul and billy should see that

[weirdo-from-bonesborough]

Billy’s allowed to sit on the throne in the rock of eternity there’s just also another perfectly rectangular rock over his head to remind him that if he ever gets to full of himself and tries to take more then he was given, well… there’s a reason they call him the world’s mightiest mortal

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

I Had To Know Pain Before I Could Be Comforted

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Fem Reader

Requested by @steveyouarelate : “37 (Lie to me. I don’t care what you say, just lie to me. Make me feel okay again.) and 50 (I’m sorry I’m not enough for you) (with an happy ending, please) with billie dean x reader”

A/N: there’s a lot of crying and wallowing in self-pity in this one, you’ve been warned. I wanted it to have a tragic ending but you asked for happy, so here you go. I hope you’ll like it <3

Title is a line translated from this song.

Word count: ≈ 3 700

Someone catcalled you from across the street but you didn’t find it in you to care. You had no idea where you were. Night was falling, the cold, crisp air was biting your cheeks and making your whole body shiver. You could barely feel your fingers anymore. Your feet hurt. But the pain and the cold felt good. If you could, you would close your eyes and let yourself sink into it to forget everything else.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You ignored it. You kept on walking, straight ahead, left around a corner, past an old man sitting on a bench. He said something to you you did not understand. A car honked nearby. Let it. Let it hit you and put an end to your misery.

Your phone buzzed again. “Oh for fuck’s sake, leave me alone,” you muttered. But even as you said it, your hand reached in your pocket for your phone. Your heart swelled with a bubble of hope, that perhaps it would be her, that perhaps her words would be the right ones and they would make everything better. You turned on the screen and read your notifications.

Coming home soon? x

I’m making mackerel in white wine

It was the cold wind that made you tear up, nothing else. Certainly not the image of Billie in the kitchen, dressed in comfy clothes, sipping a glass of expensive white wine, hips swaying to some mellow jazz song as she chopped herbs and vegetables and stirred the sauce. Sassy, brave, confident, and just a little bit reckless Billie. How you adored her. She was everything to you.

Blinking back your tears, you texted her back a few words saying you were going to spend the night at your dad’s. That was a lie, but you really couldn’t face her right now.

And it wasn’t your fault, really. You had never meant to be so messed-up. But Billie – she was the sun, she was the moon and the stars in the sky and beyond, no matter how cliché that sounded, and you… you were lying on the ground covered with dirt. You were nothing. You had not achieved a single good thing in your life. You couldn’t talk to people without making a complete fool of yourself, you had no talent, no beauty, only a boring, dull personality.

You carried that knowledge in your chest like a rock. Most of the time its weight was bearable; but there were days when the rock seemed to expand and expand until it took all the room in your chest. When that happened, nothing could bring you relief. Negativity would cloud your mind. Dark little thoughts would chirp in your ears like birds in the spring. Useless, they would sing. Boring. Worthless, they would sing.

Today was one of those days. You had woken up with a feeling of dread and dejection and it had required all of your strength to get out of bed. Luckily Billie had left for work early; you didn’t want to bother her with your problems and your bad mood. And then things had just gotten worse and worse.

Today you had lost your job. Your boss had warned you several times before: you weren’t as efficient as your co-workers, you didn’t work fast enough, didn’t smile enough. You simply were not enough. So today he had held the front door open for you and slammed it behind you and had not even bothered to hide his satisfied smirk. Since then, you had walked. Roamed the streets, tried to make one with the cold.

Your phone rang. Billie’s name appeared on your screen. You stared at it for a moment before you accepted the call. You knew she may very well drive to your dad’s if you ignored her, and then what? She’d know you had lied to her. Besides, a tiny part of you was still hoping she would know what to say, she would just know, without you having to tell her, and that rock in your chest would turn to dust and flowers would bloom in its place.

“Hi sweetpea,” said Billie. Her voice was cheerful, but you knew her well enough now to hear the tinge of worry in it.

“Hey,” you said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand. Are you mad?”

There was a soft clang, something metallic being moved. “Of course I’m not. But are you sure you’re alright?”

You closed your eyes and swallowed hard. “I’m fine. My dad just really needs company right now.”

Did she even care? Or was she relieved that you wouldn’t be spending the night together?

“I’m sorry you made dinner for me,” you went on, eyes still shut tight.”I should have warned you, but he –“

“It’s fine, Y/N, really,” Billie cut you off. “We have that wonderful thing called a fridge that I can use to store leftovers.”

A small laugh escaped you.

“But I’ll miss you,” Billie said. She paused, and again you pictured her, her free hand on the counter, fingers drumming, an apron tied around her waist, hair as perfectly done as if she were about to attend a movie premiere. Another small laugh escaped you, affectionate, incredibly sad.

“Me too. I’ll be back tomorrow. Love you.”You hung up before she had time to say it back. You weren’t sure you could hear those words from her right now.

What would she think when you told her you had lost the one thing that still made you a person of value to the world? You couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on her face. She would be kind, of course, and tell you not to worry. Maybe she would even say that she still loved you. But that wouldn’t be true. Billie deserved someone who, like her, had shot for the stars and made it. Someone who shone as bright as she did, someone she could be proud of – not a liability like you.

You walked. When you took a look at your surroundings, you realized you didn’t know that part of the city. It looked like a wealthy residential neighbourhood, big white houses with large porches, impeccably mown lawns. The streets were deserted. You walked.

Spending the night at your dad’s wasn’t even an option. He was too boisterous, too loud. Your best friend would know something was wrong the minute she’d take a look at your face, and then she would ask questions, demand answers you didn’t want to give her. So you kept on walking, dragging around that rock which after so many years had become a part of you. You didn’t even know if you would want to get rid of it. It felt like company now.

A bridge, across a canal. Past the city hall. You reached downtown, busy, wild, buzzing with life. People brushed past you and laughed at each other and talked too loudly. The city watched you roam without offering the least bit of comfort. You had tried to find solace in its streets hundreds of times before, fueled by the naive belief that the city would welcome you with open arms and a kind smile. But the city was indifferent and selfish. The city sneered at the lost souls that wandered the night.

Maybe you could get a hotel room. You stopped in front of the first hotel you found and stared at the door, but soon realized you were incapable of going in. It was as if your legs had frozen, as if some sort of force were pushing you away. So you walked on. Your heart was secretly singing for home.

But you couldn’t go home. You couldn’t do that to Billie. You were a burden to her, and that had to stop. She had too many great things to achieve, a whole future made of gold and diamonds and glorious victories, to be held down by someone like you. So shut up, you ordered your heart. Don’t yearn for something you do not deserve.

You walked. You walked until you were sure your feet were bleeding and every muscle in your legs was screaming in agony. A little past midnight your mind went numb. You walked. At 1am a dog barked at you, at 1:34 a drunk whistled and called for you to come with him. At 2:30 you finally looked up and realized your aching feet had led you back home.

You tried, you really did, to go away. Go back downtown, get a freaking hotel room to spend the night. Your feet led you to the front door, your hand turned the key in the lock. You could sleep on the couch, you told yourself. You could sleep on the couch, and leave at dawn before Billie woke up.

The house was dark and silent. You waited a few seconds, your heart beating fast in your chest, listening for any sound, any indication that Billie was still awake. Nothing. You took off your coat and shoes, and dropped your bag on the floor. You waited a few seconds more. When you had convinced yourself Billie was asleep, you tip-toed all the way to the living-room. The floor was cold under your feet, the walls seemed to be closing in on you in the dark.

You hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but you weren’t sure your stomach could hold food right now. All you wanted was to collapse on the couch and bury your face in the pillows and sleep. Forget that you existed.

Your right foot slammed into a suitcase you had not bothered to put away earlier in the day. A curse escaped you, low and angry, and out of the corner of your eye you saw something stir in the darkness of the living-room. You jumped, raising an arm to defend yourself, and squinted at the shape that straightened and turned, light from outside falling on strawberry blond hair.

Billie reached out to turn on a lamp and grimaced as the bright light blinded her. She raised one hand to shield her eyes, blinking away sleep. There was a red mark on her left cheek, and you quickly realised she had fallen asleep at the table while doing crosswords. She often did that, when she couldn’t sleep. Crosswords helped her focus when her mind was buzzing with too many thoughts.

She met your eyes, blinked again, and then she smiled. You stood frozen as if you had turned into a statue, the mad pumping of your heart the only sign that you were still alive.

You could have tried to make a joke. You could have lied to her again, said you had tucked your dad in and left. Instead, your throat closed up, your heart dropped into your stomach, and to your utter shame and despair you felt your eyes fill with tears.

You were so tired. How so tired of being you.

All you wanted was to sink into Billie’s arms.

For a minute there was only silence. You watched as Billie’s expression turned from surprised to happy to confused. Oh God, what would she think of you? How she would despise you. She would think you were a sad, pitiful creature and she would be right.

You prayed for something, anything, an earthquake, a meteor crash, a tidal wave even though you lived miles from the ocean, that would put an end to your miserable life.

Billie stood up, smoothing one hand over her wrinkled clothes. Only now did you notice that she hadn’t changed from work. Had she been waiting for you this whole time? Your heart tightened in your chest. No, that couldn’t be. She had probably tried to make the best of her one evening of freedom, her one happy evening when she could celebrate your being finally out of her hair.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” she said with a small smug smile. She held out one hand as if to touch you and you flinched. She noticed, and her smile wavered.

“Are you alright?”

“I –“ With a shake of your head you took a few steps away from her, your throat thick with tears, and when you shot her a glance her face was blurry but you could still see the damned worry in her eyes –

“Y/N what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice getting higher and shaky as it always did when she was anxious. She walked up to you, but kept enough distance between you and her so as not to make you feel cornered.

“I lost my job.” The words tumbled out without permission. You were so tired. You just wanted to be held. “I got fired because I couldn’t do my job properly.”

Silence.

That was it, then. You had lost her. She was seeing you for who you really were; the veil love had dropped over her eyes was finally being lifted.

You couldn’t look at her, so you closed your eyes and let your tears fall.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, one hand coming up to your chest for it was too tight, it was crushing your heart and it hurt too much. “Billie, I’m so sorry I keep disappointing you.”

A hand, on your arm. A question, barely above a whisper. “Honey, what do you mean?”

A sob pushed out of your throat, loud and painful and so despicable. “I’m sorry I’m not enough for you.”

She let out a noise, a gasp, but to you it sounded like a contemptuous, mocking laugh, a laugh that said, Look at you, pitiful, pitiful little creature.

“Y/N,” she started, but you shook your head. You still couldn’t look at her.

“Listen, I’ll get my things, I understand. Just – let me sleep here tonight. Please. I’ll sleep on the couch, only for tonight, and then I’ll leave I’ll – “

“Y/N what are you talking about?”

You felt her grip on your arm tighten, acrylics digging into your skin.

“Just one more night, please, Billie,” you begged.

“Shut up. Stop talking. You’re not making any sense, honey.”

“I’m so sorry,” you cried.

A hand on your cheek. You almost flinched, almost recoiled, but you managed to stop yourself from doing so. There was no need to hurt her more than you already had.

“Please stop apologizing,” Billie whispered. Why did she sound so broken? “Tell me what to do. What can I do?”

You shook your head again, choked on a sob. Billie’s thumb was gently stroking your cheek, catching your tears and wiping them away.

“Lie to me,” you whispered. “I don’t care what you say, just lie to me. Make me feel okay again. Tell me I can be enough for you.” You opened your eyes, then, and looked up at her. And you could have hit yourself, you could have stabbed your chest and ripped off your heart, for her face was coated with tears that dripped down her chin, and her gaze was so terribly sad.

She let out a strangled breath. “Oh, Y/N… come here, come here baby.”

You didn’t even try to fight her. Your body sank into hers like a stone into water. Your hands slid up her back to grab fistfuls of her shirt as you buried your face in her shoulder. She wrapped one arm around your waist and put her other hand on the back of your head, pressing you closer against her. She was being so gentle, so loving, dropping kisses on your temple, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear – it only made you cry harder. Because you were going to lose this, to lose her, and you’d never have the strength nor the will to find that kind of sweet love ever again.

She started humming, a soft tune, as she rocked you like a child and you sobbed and wailed. Her voice was always a little bit raspy when she sang, a little bit out of tune, never quite managing to hit the right notes. Hearing her sing always soothed you. She ran her fingers through your hair, acrylics gently grazing your skull, just the way you liked it, because it always made your skin tingle everywhere.

Damn her, she knew you so well. She knew exactly how to help you calm down, how to make part of that ache in your chest disappear.

Minutes passed. Billie was still humming when you finally felt like you could breathe again. You turned your head, pressed your cheek against her shoulder – her blouse was wet now, you had done that, ruined it as you always ruined everything. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, relishing the smell of her, so precious, so loved – you would have to keep it safely stored in your mind to never forget it. Maybe, on the darkest of nights to come, when everything and everyone would fail to soothe your soul, if you closed your eyes tight enough you would be able to conjure her scent again, and then sleep would finally come.

Billie’s hand slid down the side of your face to cup your cheek. You closed your eyes, counted to three, then pulled away.

Her gaze was still so very sad when you met her eyes, but she managed to offer you a smile. She gracefully wiped a tear that rolled down her cheek.

“Why are you crying?” you frowned.

Billie let out an incredulous laugh. “Did you hear what you said to me?”

There was no reproach in her voice, only sadness, and that felt like a stab to your heart.

“I’m sor –“you started, but she interrupted you with a slender finger on your lips.

“I told you to stop apologizing.” She offered you another shaky smile, but then her brow pushed up in concern. “Did I –“Her voice broke. She swallowed, tried again. “Did I do something to make you feel like you were not enough?”

Did she… what? You weren’t sure you had heard her properly. Had those words really left her mouth, or had they been uttered by a malicious spirit? How could Billie, Billie who was so considerate, so loving, so utterly perfect – how could she think she had done anything wrong?

Her face crumpled as she misinterpreted your silence. “Oh no baby, I’m so s –“she started, but you interrupted her.

“No, Billie, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Your voice was hoarse from crying. You shook your head, biting your lower lip to hold back fresh tears. “You’ve been so good to me. The best thing that ever happened to me. The truth is, you’ve been too good and I don’t… I don’t want to hold you back.” She opened her mouth to protest, but you shook your head again, a silent pleading to let you finish. “Now that I’ve lost my job you’re gonna have to provide for me and I can’t let you do that. I can’t be a burden I can’t –“

Again, a finger on your lips. You fell silent. Something in you disappeared and you felt your body go limp, as if there was no strength left in you.

Billie’s finger gently tapped your lips as she gazed at you thoughtfully.

“I don’t mind providing for you while you look for another job,” she said after a while. Her brow furrowed. “Or maybe you should take a break. Maybe I should, too. We could go somewhere nice and relax for a while.”

“But I –“Another tap on your lips.

“But you –“you tried again, but again she interrupted you. You planted a kiss on her finger in retaliation, and were rewarded with a small smile.

“I couldn’t sleep without you,” Billie said in a low voice. Her eyes met yours, kind and vulnerable. “You’re not a disappointment, Y/N. It’s got to the point I cannot even imagine my future without you.”

You couldn’t help it: you dissolved into tears again. Billie cooed and gently guided your head against her shoulder. You clang to her, hoping you could get rid of your negative thoughts with every sob. It didn’t work like that, you knew it, but when you were in Billie’s arms it almost seemed life could be easy and kind.

You didn’t pull away when your tears subsided. You kept your eyes closed, enjoying Billie’s embrace, her hand running through your hair, her warmth. You felt thoroughly empty now, thoroughly spent. Sleep weighed on your eyelids. You wrapped your arms around Billie’s waist and pulled her closer still, breathed in her scent and let out a sigh.

“What happened?” Billie whispered after a while.

“I told you.” You nuzzled her shoulder. “I lost my job.”

“No, I mean… what happened?”

You got her meaning, somehow, as if your mind were perfectly attuned to hers. You hesitated. Swallowed hard.

“I don’t know,” you said in a breath. “Sometimes it feels like I can never be a viable option for anyone, especially not for you. I know it’s stupid, I know I have no real reasons to feel that way. But I can’t help it.”

Billie hummed. She dropped a kiss on your forehead, warm lips lingering on your skin. “I love you,” she said, voice firm and raspy. She ran one hand up and down your back, nails scratching gently.”And I want you, even when you’re at your lowest and ugliest, even when you don’t have a job.”Her hand slipped over your shoulder, under your chin, titled your head up. She waited for you to meet her eyes. “You’re allowed to not be at your best all the time. That doesn’t make you worthless.”

And as you gazed at her with half lidded eyes, her words sank into you and settled in your chest and bloomed there. Eased the ache. Maybe only for a few hours, maybe only for a few days, but it was all you needed right now. And somehow she had known exactly what to say. And she would know what to say the next time.

You blinked sleepily, and she cooed, smiled a smile that was half fond, half smug. “Do you need to get some shut-eye, my little bear?”

You rolled your eyes at her, but were betrayed by a yawn. Her smile grew into a smirk.

“Shut up,” you muttered, as you buried your face in her chest, nuzzled the exposed skin, and smiled.

[xiaomomowrites]

act V

Genshin Impact | TartaLi/ZhongChi

Summary:  “Anyway, childhood dreams are all too easily shattered. Even if you just leave them be, they will fall to pieces all by themselves,” Childe had said ruefully to the traveler, “So someone has to protect them, right?” 

And what about your own, Zhongli questioned, who will protect you, Tartaglia, if not me?

Or, Zhongli is incredibly soft for a specific ginger.

A continuation of act IV; takes place a couple months from where act IV left off. Both stories can be read individually.

A/N: This fic is entirely self indulgent haha. I played Childe’s individual story and couldn’t help but feel obligated to write him being doted on. Seriously, the guy went through that much trouble to take care of his brother and preserve his innocence :( made me wonder if there was anyone to take care of him, too, you know? 

Umm if you wanna cry with me, listen to the song Everything I Wanted by Billie Eilish while or after you read. Please enjoy! - u.n

Spoiler alert: contains spoilers for Childe’s story, Monoceros Caeli.

--

The warmth of the morning sun’s rays always had a way of withering down even the strongest of soldiers. 

A morning not so different from yesterday’s gently pulls Zhongli from a restful slumber. He cracks an amber eye open to observe his surroundings and takes a calming breath, and feels his own chest rise and fall. The sun crept through the window and past the curtains, enveloping the entirety of one ivory wall and reflecting against Childe’s pale skin. Two bodies lay intertwined underneath the thick duvet, creasing every which way where their legs tangled and rose and fell with each breath they took. He glanced down to where Childe had an arm slung across his waist protectively, and allowed himself to bask in the way the weight felt against his body. For the first time in a long time, Zhongli woke with his heart full of peace and completely void of discourse. 

The ex-Archon glances down at his peaceful lover with the ghost of a smile on his face. 

He inches closer and pulls his hand away from where it was laced with Childe’s between their faces. The action released a soft, discontented grunt from the ginger. Zhongli bit his lip to hide a smile, and brought the offending hand up to his Childe’s cheek. He brushes his knuckles across the smooth skin, running his thumb across his cheekbone as he gently pulled away, only to reach back in to repeat the action. 

Childe sniffles in his sleep and subconsciously leans into his touch. 

Zhongli’s heart flutters.

At the heart of it all, he knows that Tartaglia is incredibly soft hearted. Buried beneath is a soul that is desperately clinging to the innocence of childhood that was lost in the abyss. He’s a man that carries burdens as heavy as the rocks he breaks with the flick of his wrist, a man that would sprint to the ends of the earth for his family and anyone he loved. A man that loves so deeply, yet so exclusively. He’s a man that is careful with his heart, a man that needs to be, but in the event that he should entrust another with his entire essence, it should be considered the highest honor. Zhongli’s chest swells. Childe truly is one of a kind. 

Sometimes, Zhongli finds it hard to believe that someone as magnificent as Childe has chosen an old man like him.

His ginger hair falls against his forehead playfully and tickles the bridge of his nose. The side of his head that’s pressed against soft satin pillows also has ginger locks splaying out in every direction, unlike his usual semi-neat hair style. His fingers twitch subconsciously where Zhongli once held them between his own. His breath rises and falls with each steady inhale and exhale, and fuck Zhongli is so in love. He’s really in for it, now. Oddly enough, it’s a familiar feeling. It’s an all consuming feeling that blooms within his chest before spreading like a wildfire down his arms and into his core, down to his legs and out to his arms; the warmth will spread up to his neck and make his head feel a thousand pounds lighter before the process repeats again. It’s akin to what he feels on the battlefield, except, instead of adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, it’s more like a gentle wave of reassurance. It’s a feeling so unforgettable, even Zhongli in his densest moments has to be able to recognize it. 

Seeing that he roams the earth as a mortal, the only person who could truly be the cause of his downfall now lies in front of him, blissfully unaware of the world around him at the moment. 

What a beautiful feeling it must be, Zhongli ponders, to think of nothing but the luxuries that life has to offer. One of them being waking up next to the love of your unfortunately long life. 

Zhongli likes to think now more than ever, that Guizhong would be proud of him. Look at me now, old friend, he thinks proudly, look at what he’s taught me. Look at what you’ve opened my heart to.

Because even if Childe was a swirl reaction of multiple emotions at once, most of them chaotic, some of them malicious and some of them benevolent, he’s been one of the kindest teacher’s Zhongli has ever met. And the man is six thousand years old. 

It’s in his eyes, Zhongli concludes silently. 

Childe has never been one to be very open with his emotions, but like it or not, they constantly revealed themselves in his obnoxiously blue eyes. His eyes, ever cerulean, have led Zhongli through his heart and showed him the ropes, handling him with care. His eyes were the very reason Zhongli knew that he needed to make amends after the storm, three months ago. Because even if Childe’s posture and tone reflected but playful and meaningless feelings of betrayal, his eyes begged to differ. One look at him as he passed over his gnosis, and Zhongli knew he had hurt him more than he could imagine. More than he had ever expected he could. At the time, all Zhongli knew in him was a soldier. A Fatui Harbinger at the disposal of the Tsaritsa.

Oh, how he was wrong. 

As soon as the traveler, their floating companion, and Signora all but vacated the bank, he hauled ass to Wangshu Inn. Zhongli remembers the way his heart slammed against his chest as he pumped his legs as fast as they could go. It was Ekaterina that had informed him, vaguely, that Childe had plans to leave the next morning, if not earlier. He simply could not let that pass without saying his piece. Stubborn as a rock, Zhongli fled. There, he caught Childe at the last minute with his travel duffel already equipped and ready to go. He thought, for a terrifying second, that he had already lost him. 

And yet here they were, tangled together in a heap of limbs as the sun rose, ever upwards. 

I love him, Zhongli determines, I love him I love him I love him—

“Are you watching me sleep, old man?” 

Ah. He had been too caught up in his emotions to notice Childe’s obvious change in breathing. He had been awake for awhile. Zhongli’s hand, where it had once been running lovingly across his face, has stilled for quite some time and rested gently against Childe’s cheek. Still, Childe’s eyes remain closed.

Zhongli smiles, uninhibited. “I love you,” the words flowed out of him with such ease, he almost didn’t recognize his own voice. 

Both of Tartaglia’s eyes slam open. He doesn’t even get the chance to blink away the sleep the way he usually does in that infuriatingly cute manner. Instead, all he blinks once, nice and slow. Processing.

“Well,” the (former? It’s tentative) Harbinger starts dumbly, “good morning to you, too.”

Zhongli chuckles. “Good morning, my love.”

Tartaglia’s eyes widen once more. The ginger looks at the deity with disbelief, as if he were still processing the fact that the first confession was not a fluke. It truly is a comical sight for the ex-Archon. Another one of the simple pleasures in life, he deems, is bringing happiness to the one he loves most. 

The ginger sits up on one elbow and looks down at the man in confusion, tugging him closer in the process. “What’s up with you?” 

“Nothing is up with me,” Zhongli shrugs and looks up at the object of his affections with such nonchalance it makes Tartaglia’s head spin.

“You’re being all…” the sentence almost dies on his lips, “feely.” His head is too muddled with sleep to think of anything else to say.

“Feely?” He tilts his head in genuine confusion. Zhongli has never heard that word before. 

“Yes, feely!” Tartaglia shakes him restlessly, “what’s with the…” he waves a hand in the air aimlessly.

“I love you,” Zhongli states again, simple as breathing, “is it so wrong for me to tell you?”

“No!” He negates quickly, “I’ve just… you’ve never said it out loud before, I guess.”

Zhongli’s eyebrows pull together in slight distaste. “Have I done something that made you feel otherwise?”

At this, Tartaglia sighs and slumps forward. He lets his forehead thump against the other man’s collarbone and nuzzles closer. “No, you oaf, like I said, you’ve just never said it directly before. Caught me by surprise a little.”

Zhongli brings a free hand to tangle in red hair idly as he speaks. “I’ll be sure to say it more often, then.” And in a moment of insecurity, he follows with, “do you… share the sentiment?”

Tartaglia stills in his arms. Zhongli’s breath stutters for a moment. He wonders if he should drop the subject in its entirety when Ajax’s voice finally returns, albeit muffled by the sheets. 

“More than you could ever know,” he admits quietly. Zhongli ignores the quiver in his voice for Ajax’s sake. “So much so that it scares me.”

Zhongli’s heart soars. “You don’t need to be afraid, darling,” he assures him with confidence, “when was the last time you let someone take care of you?” 

There was a time, Zhongli recalls, when Tartaglia told him all about the day his little brother had visited him in Liyue. The little troublemaker took ten years off of Tartaglia’s life span when he rushed headfirst into a ruin guard factory with little regard to his own safety. Tartaglia, ever the family man, threw himself into danger and shifted into his Foul Legacy Form despite his slow recovery from the last instance. High on adrenaline was the excuse he had used when Zhongli looked at him sternly. He was left coughing and sputtering, a pathetic image of the Eleventh Harbinger that is usually so calm and collected, always looking for a fight. 

Had Zhongli been there, he would have scolded him endlessly. 

“Anyway, childhood dreams are all too easily shattered. Even if you just leave them be, they will fall to pieces all by themselves,” Childe had said ruefully to the traveler, “So someone has to protect them, right?” 

And what about your own, Zhongli questioned, who will protect you, Tartaglia, if not me?

“It’s been a long time, sensei,” Ajax admits into the sheets, “please be patient with me when I’m being difficult.”

Zhongli cradles his nape. “For you, my love, I’d wait another six thousand years.”

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Kira (15)

CHAPTER 15: NFWMB

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: Will contain fluff, smut, bloodshed, violence, anxiety, tears and the cries of my wilted soul.

Chapter content: It’s the end. ....or is it?

Warnings: that’s it. That...is it.

Word count: There are very few times when once I have a story in mind I have found the perfect soundtrack to go with it. I didn’t think I could have ever found any lyrics close to what I wanted to protray in this chapter but damn! Hozier outdid himself!!

And I need to eat more vegetables somebody help me

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

Fenrir's chin rests on the edge of the bed on the footboard, still as a ghost in a silent moonless night. His eyes do not stir. His breaths are steady. His hind legs have settled with the decision of taking in the long shift while his front paws support the self-proclaimed weight on his shoulders of looking after your well-being as your comatose figure lies in your room over his favourite bed, surrounded by wires and pipes and beeping mechanic monsters this wolf does not understand, neither does he like them very much- because twice has his sharp ears caught your heart flutter and then both times heard those machine monsters beep at him like senseless maniacs till the strange men in white clothing have touched you (without your or his permission) to get the hysterical sounds to calm down but not stop.

It's better this way. He did not like having to worry about you from outside your room, looking in through the glass, trying to gnaw his way inside when he wasn't able to figure out if you are all right or not. He likes sitting by your feet, keeping an eye on your steady breaths, growling at unfamiliar footsteps- loud enough to make anyone from the help that isn't Ygritte stop and think if they should go against his wishes but not too loud to disturb you. He knows what he is doing. He has done it before. He will do it again if he has to.

He knows Loki sits right behind him on the teal coloured sofa, his face resting on his hands, his eyes frozen just like his wolf's, his body still like his son's. Both Heimdall and Ygritte cannot help but stare in invisible spectrums of wonderment at the father-son duo not leaving the side of the one thing they have attached themselves to in a matter of days, sitting there, watching every single breath you take, praying to- some entity that they believe would hear them- make you better, as soon as possible. Till then, they will do whatever is in their power to make you better. And often even our most seems nothing when someone we love more than ourselves suffers and we cannot take their pain even if we want to.

Ygritte brings in breakfast for Loki and Fenrir, requesting them both to have something. She smiles at them, kindly asking to have at least enough for their bodies to have the energy to sit there by your side. It's just some juice and milk that Loki and Fenrir agree to; that too only because they can feel their mental exhaustion depleting their will to sit there with eyes open. The liquid going inside them does the trick to bring that fleeting will back by its neck, satiating the worry in Ygritte' heart.

She herself carries bags under her eyes. Those sleep-deprived eyes have cried alone in the kitchen when she saw Heimdall bringing in your bloodied figure. The sight of you- the most prominent splash of innocence she has seen after a very long time- half-dead and unrecognisable under all that blood and open wounds, your arm dangling lifelessly whilst the Watcher carried you to your room (as doctors and nurses followed the procedures they were supposed to in such situations) almost made her heart break into two, violently. The image of your clothes ripped, your nails broken and your face bruised heavily just does not leave her mind till she finally breaks down in the one place she finds comfort.

She had made sure the sniffles were silent; that only hot tears flowed freely and lightened up her grieving heart. She had been really cautious and yet Loki found her- when he'd been forced out by the doctors in charge. She'd tried her best to compose herself but those forsaken tears just would not stop, making Loki slowly soothe her till he was hugging her to comfort her shaking form. "She'll be fine," he’d whispered, more for himself than for her, letting his words become an affirmation in the heavy air around them. "She'll be fine."

She'll be fine.

The silence surrounding your room is unlawfully eerie, like the shadowy emptiness that rises like heavy smoke during a funeral. And neither of the people present in the room want to feel anything close to a funeral.

The vibration of Loki's phone breaks the horrid silence, that grim expression on his face turning into a splash of surprise before he picks up the call and presses the device to his ear.

"Robert?"

The name brings around the attention of all the ears present in the room save for yourself. Heimdall, Ygritte and Zair- your assistant who had been taking care of everything for you at the office front- shift their weight on hearing Robert's name.

"Is she okay?"

Loki nearly feels his heart being squeezed by a concoction of emotions for this man, taking him back to the day when he first found him. Or rather, he found Loki. This son of a bitch is not going to die that soon.

"She's...out of danger. The doctor said she has two broken ribs, a broken arm, internal bleeding and concussion. No signs of...no signs of any sexual assault. Ahem..."

"Loki..."

Loki closes his eyes at that familiar tone. Robert knows. He knows. But he cannot think about it. Right now there is no place for rational thought inside him.

"The doctor here says I cannot move from the bed for about another day."

"...Robert."

"So, I won't be able to hold my promise to you right now."

.

"Remember that time when we had to take our men over to Vanaheim in the summer to prepare for Odin's arrival to bless the wedding of Thor's cousin?"

Heimdall looks over at Loki from where he sits. His eyes dart to some invisible void behind Loki for a few seconds till the strain in his brows is relieved. "During the time his grace was supposed to present the infamous sword to the couple as a wedding gift?"

Loki barely stops himself from rolling his eyes but the feeling isn't lost on Heimdall. "My error," the Watcher confesses, "your sword."

"Thank you," Loki stresses with just a hint of sarcasm.

"You swapped the sword for a stuffed adder, clearly giving the bride and groom something to reminisce about for the rest of their lives."

Loki presses his lips, trying to suppress the smile that is rising up at the crystal clear memory. "I never liked Fruth. But I never realised my plan would have exposed his ill intentions with a devastating flight response."

Heimdall chuckles lightly. "Yeah. Even though I was supposed to be standing by your father's side I was impressed by your out of the box strategies. And your will to smash his face when he spoke ill of your mother."

Loki smiles, his eyes turning to look at you, the bruise on the side of your face hurting his chest every time he sees it. "Would have been nice to know that when I needed to hear it," he mutters, bringing his eyes back to Heimdall before looking down at the ground.

Heimdall does not know how to respond to that. He wants to speak well for him but no words come out for his heart too knows where it lay all those times. All the times Loki's mischief had been a cause for trouble both inside and outside the home, Heimdall was by Thor's side, mute at the words that got harsher with time for his sibling. Even when his unusual ways had brought success in times of trouble against the crown, there had been no sentences of appreciation. Just a look of abrogation at any method Loki used.

"You made me give you my word at the end of that day."

Loki's words bring Heimdall out of the sour memories. "You made me promise to never use my strength against another person. Even though they spoke poison about the people I used to care about."

Heimdall's brows are trying to adjust to this old promise being taken out of the dusty chest of forgotten memories and placed in front of him to analyse. He can feel a foreign emotion emanating from Loki where he sits in that teal sofa, still as a rock.

"I remember vividly," Heimdall responds, waiting to see where Loki was taking him on this ride.

"I want you to take back your word, Heimdall."

There is a tilt in the gravity present in the room once the words have been spoken. Fenrir shifts where he sits, turning to look around at Loki. Heimdall too is watching him intently. Both of them can feel something really dark exuding from inside the man, burning and crackling inside those green eyes laden with a sinful weight. Something ominous brews inside him, fuelling a boundless rage, so intense that Fenrir feels a need to shuffle where he sits, not looking at his father in the eye. Heimdall too feels the need to question this darkness but is made to stop short when those green eyes land their dark gaze upon him.

"I need you to take them back."

.

A farm rests on the outskirts of the city with a mansion mostly made of glass sitting in the middle of the land that has recently been made barren after the clearing of harvest from the fields all around. The path leading from the road to the gigantic house is lined up with black SUVs in a perfect caterpillar-like way to have them in and out in one smooth trail. Armed men dressed in black camo stand guard at the entrance of the gate, down the path to the door and inside the hall. The hall that welcomes its visitors has a skylight to let uninterrupted October sun warm up the white walls and white furniture all around. By the end of the hall where a spotless glass wall stands between the house and the little rocky hill it stands upon, Billy stands to look at the horizon of the city that is fogged up by its own relentless will to make money at the cost of everything else. He feels proud at the fact that the all-white suit he wears reflects more sun than that tallest building- which belongs to Sun Corp- he can see.

"So much for an empire to watch it crumble within seconds."

The smile on his lips just doesn't feel like fading away any time soon.

"You lookin' at this?" He gestures the guard standing closest to him, "those tallest buildings over there? They belong to the business that runs this country. Soon I will be running that place. And then this country."

He cannot help but chuckle at the thought of it.

Sun Corp. Anvil Corp.

If only that son of a bitch who mocked me could see me now, he thinks to himself. Loki never had a chance. The ones with humans as their weakness never do.

A shuffle at the main door perks his ears, denting his jovial mood a bit. There seems to be some petty commotion outside that has had the audacity to reach him all the way.

"What is going on?" He asks the guard standing next to him.

"I don't know, sir."

Billy looks at him with the will to smack his face into this very glass in front of him.

"Then go out there and look you cunt!"

The guard scuttles away scared, leaving Billy to contemplate how many more idiots like him did he have in his company.

A few seconds pass by whilst Billy revels in the concrete beauty in front of him before he feels a sudden change in the air, raising the hairs on his back with a subtle chill.

He turns around to watch Loki standing ten feet apart near a sofa, watching Billy with an unreadable gaze.

Billy cannot bring to admit to himself that he feels tiny specks of jolts go down his spine on watching Loki standing here after all of this. But then again, for what he's done to the man, it is all the more reason for him to be here looking for answers perhaps.

"Loki," Billy announces, his hands in his pant pockets still, his figure stoic as ever, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

The smirk growing on Loki's face sends such dangerously mixed signals. What is going on in this man's mind? Billy is internally frustrated within seconds of not being able to read him.

"It should be me asking you that, Mr Russo," Loki answers, running the hand that doesn't rest in his pocket over the expensive white fabric of that sofa that reflects the sun from a particular angle. "To what do I owe the pleasure of having you in my city?"

"Your city!" Billy cocks a brow at him before taking a step down the one stair and coming to the nearest sofa. "How awfully cheeky of you! I'm here on business."

"Oh," Loki's raised brows show genuine surprise before coming and sitting down on the sofa he has been observing, "I thought that was concluded last night."

Billy licks his lips at the surprising turn of events, a broad smile erupting at the thought of never having anyone be this blatantly forward with him. "Oh no, that was just the...uh...what do you call it...the linchpin needed to start with the overtake. Wasn't easy, I must admit."

Loki lets the luxurious armrest and back give him some relief, much against Billy's wishes. "What wasn't easy? Finding out that not everyone is moved by your charms?"

"Wasn't easy to hold down Kira. She is one hell of a biter."

Billy cannot help himself. He wants to see where this goes. He is loving every single moment of this. "Gave me quite the bruises, that little whore."

Loki sits there, not giving away anything to Billy, which entices the latter to reach further. "You should've seen how quickly she got wet on my fingers, Loki. Before either of us could tell, she was crying ou-"

"Five minutes."

Billy tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "Sorry?"

"Five minutes," Loki repeats, "I'll give you five and no more to leave the city, get on your jet and outside this continent. That is what I am offering you to walk away from all of this right now. One time offer. You won't be getting it again."

Laughter breaks out of Billy to echo through the naked walls around him. "Right. And what happens if I don't? Do I get dragged to hell? Does someone shoot me from outside the window? Or do you take me by my collar and try to threaten the shit outta me?"

Not a single nerve in Loki budges- not even when he looks down at his wristwatch- and the laughter dies down just as it came.

Billy feels an itch on his neck. "Will you kill me, Loki?"

Loki's smaragdines rise to face his dark ones. "I will hurt you enough that you'd wish you were dead, William. I promise you that."

The softness in his voice carries a soothing touch that hides the threat as an aftertaste, leaving undesirable convulsions in Billy's stomach, forcing him to stand and tower over Loki.

"What makes you think you can touch me and walk away, Odinson? I run a fucking army for business."

"And where is that army now?"

Billy feels the confusion hit his head for a split second before he notices not a single soul around them. The silence both inside and around the house is deafening, to say the least.

"You may run an army, Billy," Loki mentions as soothingly as the threat he just gave, getting up and removing his suit jacket, "but you clearly do not know what the army longs for the most apart from a little bit of money."

Billy is still trying to figure out where everyone went.

"Home and dignity," Loki continues, smoothing out the creases on his jacket before planting it on the headrest of the sofa. "Speaking of which, I have to say your mother is a darling."

Something inside Billy cracks and he whips his head towards Loki, the rage that was initially hidden now a full-blown volcano in his eyes.

"I'd suggest you stop right there-"

"Oh shush, little William," Loki cuts him short, removing his watch and throwing it on the sofa, "your five minutes are over."

The tie is loosened next and thrown next to the watch.

"It's time for you to pay for making the mistake of thinking you'd get away with this. Even your mother is looking forward to this, I can assure you."

Billy hisses, his eyes throwing daggers at Loki before his fingers are curling into a fist to find that jaw and smash it into pieces. "You son of a-"

The fist stops midway right where Loki's hand wants it to, bringing a halt to that blind rage for enough moment to make Billy realise the strength he never thought Loki could possibly have.

"You had your chance," Loki whispers close to his face, "you missed it."

.

Heimdall knows Loki has had something to do with the silence in this location but he still cannot make out the how what and when of the situation; something that keeps bugging him even when his car stops in the driveway right at the footsteps of the doorway into the house.

Take care of him.

  Take care of him.

That's the last thing he has said and then let silence reign over him all the way to The Hidden Gram. His arms hurt but the turn is made without so much as a squeak as the car comes to a halt at the door in the driveway. This time, instead of Fenrir, Loki sees Robert with an arm in a sling and a worried smile standing by the doorway.

  The crunch under his shoes brings Heimdall's attention to the fact that he has actually walked in through a broken window that has been shattered to such an extent that the glass pieces have gone all the way to the back. Every step he takes away from the entrance towards the house, some invisible and some glittering pieces crunch under his shoes making him curse out loud till he starts seeing them creating a trail on the white floor with smears of red.

 Loki turns off the engine and gets out of a vehicle with a limp. Robert cannot help but raise his brows in light surprise at the blood and bruises that mark Loki's clothes and any exposed body part, while Loki cannot help but be amused to watch that man in a white shirt and khaki trousers, nothing like the man he is used to seeing.

"You were supposed to be in the hospital," Loki states with a hint of betrayal and disgust, trying to keep the pain as much hidden as possible.

"You were supposed to wait for me," Robert spews back.

"Wait for you to attack that scum with your sling?"

"Shut up. You look like a battered mess."

"I'm better than your puny ass," Loki nearly spits the words before rolling his eyes and deciding to walk inside only to smile when Robert cannot see him.

Robert does the same.

  The blood trail goes all the way to the other hall next to this one, with it a scene of pure chaos on the way- sofas turned upside down, wall hanging lying broken on the floor, vases smashed, their remnants being puddles with flowers and scattered pieces, lamps thrown across the room, wooden and paper partitions smashed to the point of no return. The trail goes till the three steps at the end of this hall where Heimdall can a figure writhing in pain trying to crawl up the steps.

 The pain in his leg comes back every time he puts pressure on it. But Loki ignores it, having more important things on his mind than one fractured bone. In the back of his mind, he knows there is more than one, but that can be dealt with later.

Ygritte watches Loki limp his way to his room, letting a little gasp escape her lips on seeing the drops of blood he leaves behind, running away to get medical supplies and call the doctor, all before she gets her mop out to bring the floors back to their original beauty.

  Heimdall is careful when he starts walking towards the figure, who can clearly hear the footsteps behind him to stop the agonising efforts of crawling up the steps and turn around to face the Watcher.

It should not be a shock to Heimdall to see this sight after all that went down but he admits he never thought Frigga's raven-haired boy had it in him to sabotage the face of his enemy beyond recognition. He cannot even recognise the man lying in front of him, blood being the only distinct feature over that face. Heimdall nearly starts feeling guilty for having thought Loki might not make it out alive.

"Just kill me already."

A tired sigh leaves Heimdall and he comes down to sit beside Billy's figure, still seemingly towering over him. "I'm not here to kill you, Billy Russo. I'm here to take care of you."

 The blood is washed thoroughly by the hot water and the strain in aching muscles is relieved. Loki is careful with the cut on his lips but that doesn't stop him from desensitising all the wounds before drying himself and taking out a white cotton shirt and white trousers lying in the back of his closet. After much hisses and groans, while putting the clothes on, he is satisfied with the outcome in the mirror in front of him. With a lungful of breath, he walks out.

  "You have no idea what's coming for him. For all of you."

"For someone broken and near death you sure talk a lot."

"I'm gonna kill him for this."

Heimdall cannot help but rub his palms on his face.

"You have no idea, do you?"

Billy is far from being sane in this hell that Loki has left him in to know what Heimdall is referring to.

"The man who did this to you was not known for his physical prowess, Russo. He was more of a black sheep of the family. I don't know what happened in all those years he had disappeared but something clearly changed in him. I'm guessing you had the same thought too when you went after the one thing he had started to care about after a really long time. The only thing you didn't expect was him tearing you down while destroying your own empire at the same time."

Billy's eyes go wide, not knowing what to think through the humming ache. Heimdall bends down a little towards him, making him jolt a little.

"Anvil Corp is in pieces, William Russo. Your assets have been liquidated and your name no longer carries the dignity it once did. All because you wanted power. All of this...because you chose the worst path you could. You just opened a can of worms that none of us was ready for, Billy. And now the world knows that Loki is not someone to be messed with."

Billy can feel the rage poisoning his blood, increasing the pain tenfold.

Heimdall gets up and smoothens his jacket, looking down at the excuse of a man with no ounce of sympathy.

"And neither is Kira."

 One hand resting on the door frame of the room, Loki has to take deep breaths before he can prepare himself to enter your room again. And still, the sight of you creates ripples in his chest that send the ache thumping wherever he feels hurt.

Fenrir watches Loki stand by the door, taking your visage in. That wolf has not budged from where Loki left him, neither has he touched any morsel left in his bowl.

The side of your bed on which you lay now has a recliner placed next to it, making Loki switch his gaze from the recliner to you and then back before limping his way to it, settling down in it while stifling his groans and crack of bones.

Once settled, he takes an easy breath and closes his eyes, letting his ears find the rhythm of your breaths under that respiratory mask. It takes him a while but he finds the cadence and soon enough is syncing himself to you.

A few moments more pass and Fenrir can see both you and Loki in a slumber-like trance. The wolf, which had been using your bed as his chin rest, suddenly raises his head when he sees Loki's hand move. The pale fingers- bruised red and green- travel over the bedsheet to find your hand, grazing those long fingers against yours before finding the strength in themselves to go around the wrist and find your palm to be embraced by his.

Fenrir smells the change in Loki's scent the moment he does this, like a dark stench giving way to something light and sweet.

He lays there for a few moments like this. His heart at peace. His mind at peace. He knows you are there next to him. He can feel you in his hand. That's it. That's all he wants right now. You. safe. That's all he wishes.

And he doesn't realise the gravity of the universe that is you when he feels your fingers curling back into his and pulling him closer to you till his eyes are getting blurry and washing away the fear of losing you.

...

End of Volume One

[royalcordelia]

If the Seas Should Part (1/5)

Summary: Anne finds herself caught up in whirl of romance and adventure after rescuing Dr. Gilbert Blythe from the sea during a storm. She should let him go, but when she finds out Billy Andrews is plotting to take Gilbert's life and estate, she realizes there's nothing that can keep her from protecting him.

For my darlingest @hecksinki for her (very belated) birthday! ♥ I love you so much, friend! 

• Rated G • 5k words • Read on ao3 • Read on ff.net •

The day it all began, Anne sat with her legs kicking over the ledge of a grassy cliffside, waiting for the clouds to roll in. She knew it was coming.

Anne was the only one on the island who did not fear the storms. They rolled in over the horizon with the vengeance of a thousand souls scorned, havoc following in the wake of their whirlwinds and gales. But Anne, who had been born in the midst of the torrent, knew better than to think that the hurricanes held complete power over human fate. Most of the treasures that the icy waves swallowed up were returned to the shore in the morning, where Anne would walk in hushed steps in the damp sand. She always wondered why Providence had blessed her with such fearlessness, but she knew it was there for a reason.

“Where do you suppose the ships go when they round the island?” Anne asked Diana, who sat a few feet back, scared of the dirt crumbling from underneath her if she sat too close to the ledge.

“Well, I suppose they dock at the North Blythe Harbor. Avonlea certainly doesn’t have a big enough port for vessels that grand,” Diana responded. She plucked strands of grass in her fingers, watching a cluster of merchant ships turn into dots at the horizon.

“I already know that, ” Anne chided. “But don’t you think it’d be so much more romantic if they were headed for a mermaid’s cove to beg for audience with the Siren Queen herself. And of course, she’d decline, because how could such unnoble creatures as human men dare enter her kingdom when-”

She held her breath as a pang of dread settled in her stomach, a warning like a sixth sense. Turning her chin to the clouds of gray and crimson, she realized the cause.

“Diana, I think we ought to go home. There’s a storm coming and your mother will be dreadful angry if we get caught in it.”

“It’s just a little bit of clouds. Nothing to get worked up over.”

Anne looked to the waves that crashed into silver with each blast of wind sweeping over them. It was true that she never feared the storms, but she also knew how to choose her battles, and they’d see this one grow into a war if they stayed.

“Either way, I’m positively starving. Tell me about your letter from Jerry while we walk back. I know you’ve been avoiding the subject, but I’ve been dying to hear all about your romantic endeavors. I shall have to live vicariously through you, even into my spinstering days,” Anne said dramatically, gathering their picnic belongings into her basket and heading homeward.

“Oh please. Any day now, some dark haired ideal is going to appear in Avonlea and sweep you off of your freckled feet.”

Anne snorted, about to retort, when there was a rumble from the skies - a final warning from the impending gall. She turned her face up, her cheeks catching the first few raindrops with small little plops. There was a moment as realization dawned on them both, which was just enough time for the drizzle to turn heavier and the monsoon to open up.

Diana shrieked, wrapping the picnic blanket around her head, and scurrying toward the road.

“Land sakes, Anne, I do hate when you’re right!”

Rain whipped through Anne’s hair, pulling free the styled strands so that it was blowing madly against the angry gusts. She felt the cold droplets hit her arms and legs as sharp as hail, then sprinted away from the cliff after Diana. Before she could travel too far, lightning crashed onto the waves, releasing a deafening roll of thunder along with it. Diana let out another shriek, but Anne stood in silence. She whipped her head back to stare wide-eyed at the shore, and horror filled her stomach.

One of the merchant ships was nearly overturned. Its sails battled the storm, flying every which way. Anne was sure the sailors were aboard, trying to keep her steady, but if they made one wrong move, it’d all be over.

“Anne, what are you doing? Come on!” Diana called over the wind, but Anne ignored it.

She did not fear the storm. She did not allow it to take control over her. This reckless mantra played in the background of her thoughts as she walked closer to the edge. Bringing a hand to shield her eyes, she could see how close the ship gotten to the shore. Too close for comfort, she assumed, judging by the shouts she could hear from the sailors as they cursed, bellowed orders, prayed their last prayers.

A force that Anne did not understand kept her at that cliffside, helplessly staring at the sight before her. A distant voice heard in her mind from far away whispered to her soul, He’s there. He’s there! Struggling to stay standing against the building wind, Anne wanted to yell out, Who!?

Just then, the ship tipped dangerously to its side and a body went flying out into the water. Anne cried out in terror, suddenly feeling as if a weight had been dropped onto her heart. The man’s tiny head bobbed above the churning waters, arms reaching out to grab hold of something that wasn’t there. Time was running out, and she knew in every nerve and every bone in her body that this wasn’t supposed to be it for him. The sea could try to take what wasn’t hers, but Anne could try to take it back. He could be saved, she knew it. She tossed the basket aside and began to dart for the far end of the cliff where she could slide down the sandy incline.

“Anne?” Diana called out. “What are you doing? Anne, no! ”

But Anne could not be moved once her mind was set. She jumped over the side, thankful that her fall was cushioned by sand, and stumbled as fast as could down the moderate hill. Finally, she hit the ground, rocks digging into the palms of her hand as a blast of wind knocked her over. Once she was finally back on her feet, Anne stared, struck frozen at the tempest of salt water and rain before her. There was no way to penetrate through its walls. If the man had fallen into this there was no way he’d survived this long, even if only a minute had gone by.

Fate was prepared to prove to her otherwise.

“Help!”

Anne blanched. He didn’t even sound like a fully grown man. Someone her age? Bravery suddenly sparking her determination, she ran toward the sound. “ Please, help!’

She searched in a mess of waves for the man until finally she could see his head breaking through the surface of the sea and then plummeting back down. The waves had pulled him closer to the shore, almost within reach. Thankful she’d forgone a gown of heavy skirts for a simple white, cotton dress, she pulled off her shoes and dove into the water.

In later years, Anne would try to recall the memory of that moment - the agonizing seconds of floating in the heart of the ailing sea and reaching for a stranger’s tiring hand in the darkness of it. But all her mind allowed her was to recall distinct ache that came with swallowing saltwater and the strange icy coldness of the late summer sea. She did, however, remember the second she finally grabbed onto him. He’d stopped crying out by then, a listless body that had been flung toward her. Though her muscles ached and she had begun to wonder if she was crazy, she tugged the man toward her and kicked with all her might for the shore.

By some miracle, it worked. Anne grabbed the man by his underarms, heaving the brunt of his weight onto her shoulders and dragging him up onto the shore. She laid him there, heart anxiously beating as she waited for some sign of life. When none came, she pressed her ear onto his chest, but the cacophony of the storm muted any heartbeat the man had left.

Viciously wiping water from her face - rain, sea spray, tears - Anne felt herself crumbling. The man was all hard angles and soft pale skin. His face had lost color, but as she ran a finger across his cheek, she couldn’t help but think that he was... beautiful. A terrified sob escaped her lips at she pressed her fist down on his chest and leaned all her weight into it. She repeated it again and again, until finally the sailor gave a hearty cough, sending salt water into the sand beside them. The water in his lungs was replaced with sweet air, and suddenly, he began to breathe once more. He was still bleary with unconsciousness, but she felt as though she’d start crying in relief.

“Oh, thank Providence,” Anne whimpered. By then, her teeth were chattering from being soaked in the wind, her eyes stung from staring into the rain, and she was ready to succumb to the blackness of exhaustion. But with a deep inhale, she mustered up the last of his strength, and dragged them both toward a little hollow cavity in the side of the cliff, big enough to sit in. Certainly sufficient enough for two people to take shelter from the storm.  She’d come there before to read and write, and now she thought it might just save their lives.

Just as the storm was beginning to rage its worst, Anne had secured them in the den, finally out of wind and rain. She leaned up against the wall, heaving a lifetime’s worth of relief and pulling the sailor so his back was leaning up against her chest. In the dark, it was difficult to assess the damage done to him, but for now, he was breathing and she was in one piece. Her lunatic plan had worked.

Whispering a prayer of thanks, Anne held onto the injured man for dear life and let her body lower from its adrenaline to the sweet darkness of exhaustion.

* # * # *

When Anne’s eyes fluttered open, the muscles in her back and shoulders felt like dried clay. The young man she’d saved was still in her arms pressed up against her, a tactic that seemed successful in shielding them both from the rain. Biting her lip against the crick in her neck, Anne looked out of the alcove and saw the beach was bathed in sunshine.

Just as she was about to come up with a plan for getting the man to safety, he turned and let out a pained groan. Anne shifted so that she could take a good look at him, still holding him in the safety of her arms. With the help of yellow sunlight, Anne could see how his hair had dried into a mess of curls as soft and wild as ravens. Streaks of dirt lined his cheeks, but his eyelashes were long and his lips were the color of roses. He had a few gashes that Anne hadn’t noticed the night before, one on his neck, another across his forehead, but both seemed to have scabbed well enough. Through a tear in his trousers, she noticed a sickly midnight colored bruise on his calf.

Then the man coughed, brows knitting together as he tried to pry open his eyes. They fluttered a few times before landing up her in dazed confusion. Anne felt her heart bend down toward him when she saw how blue, blue, blue his eyes were.

“I stand quite corrected. Sirens are real,” he said in a quiet, raspy voice. Anne froze, suddenly wondering if he had hit his head on something during his fall. “You certainly live up to the legends.”

“I’m not a siren, but I’m flattered you think so,” Anne replied gently, cheeks hot. Before she could catch herself, she brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, making him lean up a little into her touch. “My name is Anne. You took quite a fall from your ship. Do you ache terribly anywhere?”

“Anne ,” he muttered dreamily, as if his mind were in a different room. He tried to sit up, then hissed in pain. “I feel like I was hit by a steam engine.”

Anne steadied him so he was leaning against the stony wall of the little cave. He gave a small smile when her breath hit his cheeks and keep staring into her eyes as if to prove to himself that she wasn’t a hallucination.

“It was something like that. Do you remember anything? Who you are, what happened?” He closed his eyes to clear his mind, then nodded.

“My name is Gilbert. I was on The Amaranth on our return voyage from Nova Scotia. We weren’t expecting any rain. My brother Sebastian was standing too close to the edge, and when I went to call him I guess I just…fell overboard.” He looked up suddenly. “How did you find me? I thought I was done for.”

“I’ll try not to take offense at your tone, sir,” she said defensively.

“I’m sorry, I meant no offense. I only meant that I don’t expect any person capable of surviving what you did. I’m grateful to be proven wrong.” Anne seemed appeased by this just a little and bit her lip to try to remember.

“I was sitting on the cliffside with a friend. When the storm hit, I had this feeling I should look out at the sea, and then I saw you.”

“So you simply jumped in after me?” he asked incredulously. Anne averted her eyes and grabbed a handful of sad, offering a small shrug.

“It certainly wasn’t simple by any means of imagination, but I suppose it does sound rather foolish when you say it like that.”

He was silent for a few moments.

“Did you happen to see what happened to The Amaranth? My brother was on that ship.”

“I...no, I guess I was just too focused on getting you to safety, I didn’t think to. I’m sorry.” Gilbert watched her wring her hands together, gaze turned away from him.

“Anne,” he grabbed her hand seriously, “you saved my life. I cannot thank you enough. ”

They stayed like that for a few moments, hand in hand, eyes fixed together so tightly that it might burn to look away. Anne suddenly felt her senses spiraling beyond her control, unable to reign back the butterflies in her stomach or the rose petals on her cheek.

“Well, we ought to see about getting taken care of. Where are you from?”

“Nearby the North Blythe Harbor, but I can send a telegraph to my brother. That is if he...” he shifted his leg and clenched his teeth. “I expect I’ll have a difficult time walking.”

“You’re in no condition to travel yet,” Anne warned. “I think your leg might be broken.”

“Oh, it’s broken alright,” he laughed bitterly. “The bone is broken clean through. I’m a doctor, so it isn’t the first I’ve seen.”

“You’re a...but I thought you were a sailor.”  

“And I thought you were a siren, but things are apparently not as they appear.”

“Well, either way, we’re going to have to get you back home to Green Gables to take care of those wounds. Maybe you could walk me through how to bind your leg? I’ve experience in croup and colic, but broken bones are foreign territory to me.”

“But I wouldn’t want to intrude on you and your family. Certainly your, uh, husband may not care for such company.”

“There’s no husband,” Anne rambled, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “It’s just my, uh, mother and a family friend. You’ll not be in a better hands, they practically invented hospitality.”  

“If you don’t mind my asking, where exactly is Green Gables?”

“About a mile north of here, in Avonlea.”

“So I am on the wrong side of the island,” Gilbert said with a slight groan. “I really do have to send a telegraph to my family. They’ll be sick with worry.”

“First things first, you need a warm meal and something for the pain. I don’t know how I’m going to get you up the cliff, though. It’s either that or take the long way around the shoreline-”

A violent cry broke onto the beach that sounded like the desperate cry of “ Anne? Anne, please , are you out here? ” The voice was familiar enough that she jolted to the side and stumbled out of the hollow. Her heart gave a relieved tug at the figure staggering down the beach in a frantic search.

“Jerry?” Anne yelled. Jerry’s head flung around to her, and the second he saw her, he let out a half-mad laugh of relief and ran forward. Anne caught him in her arms, and shook her head, her own laughter shaking her body.

“Are you crazy, fille idiote? ” he murmured, pulling back and checking over her limbs for injuries. “When Diana came home and said what had happened...I’ve never seen Marilla so frightened. You’ve really got some nerve and you look like you’ve been-”

“I’m fine , Jerry. I’ll tell you all about it later. But first, tell me, did you drive the carriage here?”

“Yes, but-”

“Good. There’s something I need your help with.”

Before Jerry could ask questions, Anne was grabbing his wrist and leading him over to where Gilbert still sat. The injured man was watching out of the small opening with apprehensive eyes, but his eyes softened when he saw her smile down at him. She wondered how she should explain the situation. I jumped into a hurricane to save him and by some miracle, we made it? Maybe - Isn’t this the most handsome man you’ve ever seen? He’s a doctor, not a sailor. I saved him because I had an unearthly feeling I should.

Instead, she settled on, “This is Gilbert. He needs our help.” Jerry eyed Gilbert warily, but when he met Anne’s stern look, he nodded and got to work.

By the time Gilbert was back on his feet, Jerry was supporting him on the side of his uninjured leg and Anne was holding his other arm with gentle fingers. The bright sunshine of the beach caused him to squint, but as his vision cleared, his jaw dropped.

The beach looked like it had endured divine wrath, torn apart with wreckage littered in the dirty sand - broken logs, scrap wood, cracked conch shells, and dead fish. Gilbert turned pale as he realized that he should have been included in these ravaged remnants, and when he glanced down at Anne, she seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Having been threatened by death didn’t seem to frighten her, though. Instead, she stood there like a victor does over his fallen prey and lifted her chin to the new day’s sun.

• # • # •

It was not easy to convince Mrs. Rachel Lynde to allow a strange man in their home. It had taken the combined effort of Anne, who had set her mind, and Marilla, who often sided with Anne when her heart was so assured. The noise of the encounter was enough that Gilbert certainly could hear it in Matthew’s old room, leg propped up against a pillow.

“Anne Shirley, of all the impetuous things y0u’ve ever done, this takes the cake!” Rachel scolded. “We know nothing of this doctor, and you know I don’t trust those Glen St. Mary folk.” She peered into her cup of tea with a sense of all-knowing righteousness that even the Almighty would’ve envied. Certainly whoever gave Mrs. Lynde authority over morality did not know what they were about, Anne thought bitterly.

“I saved a man’s life,” Anne argued, standing by the kitchen table with her arms crossed. “It’s as I’ve said, Mrs. Lynde. His safety is now my responsibility until he is fit enough to move on his own again.”

“Doesn’t he have any people to come and receive him?”

“His people were on that ship with him,” Anne said, dropping her voice in case Gilbert was listening. “I’m going into town to inquire about them in the morning, but as you can see, we’ve both been through quite a lot and I think it’s best if we rest.”

“Well, I think it might be best if you-”

“Rachel,” Anne stated firmly. The woman silenced as Anne placed her hands on the table and leaned down to stare her straight in the eye. “It is your duty to allow this man the safety of our home. If you’d like to argue with the teachings of your own Presbyterian upbringing, then that is a discussion you’ll have to take up with the Almighty. But the doctor is staying and that is final.”

With that, she lifted the tray of tea and biscuits from the table and turned toward Gilbert’s room. As she closed the door behind her, she heard an indignant “Well, I never. ”

The doctor was sitting up in bed waiting for her with an impressed look on his face. Anne herself couldn’t help but smile at his proud expression as she placed the tray down on Matthew’s old desk.

“You’re a force of nature, Miss Shirley. No wonder you jumped headfirst into a hurricane.”

Anne blushed.

“It wasn’t quite a hurricane, and I’ll have you know that I don’t make steady habit of tempting fate.” She turned to him and gave him a kind smile. “You’re looking a little better already. Some of the color is back in your cheeks. And I see you got into the clothes I left out for you alright.”

It was Gilbert’s turn to blush. He scratched behind his ear and looked down at the light quilt covering the bed.

“I changed into the shirt okay, but I couldn’t get the trousers over my leg.”

“That’s alright, Jerry will be by in the morning with the doctor to lend you a hand. For now, would it be alright if I gave you slight spongebath? I wouldn’t suggest it unless I thought it might help clean out some of your wounds. Of course, if you have any other suggestions, Doctor... ”

“Just call me Gilbert. I feel you’ve more than earned that right, and I’m not very particular,” he replied easily. “As for the spongebath, I think that’s an excellent idea.”

Anne worked in silence. Gilbert seemed surprised at how expertly and professionally she went about the cleansing, but he held his tongue. She was glad for this, reluctant to tell his stranger the details of her upbringing. He watched, stock still, as Anne unbuttoned the old shirt that had once belonged to Matthew.

“I am dreadfully sorry about this,” she muttered, showing a hint of embarrassment.

“Not at all, ma’am. I am aware of the necessary medical procedures.”

It was like clockwork. Anne would dip towel into the basin of clean water, run the steaming rag over his skin, and then apply a smooth bar of soap. She rinsed each section of skin with a tender touch, almost distracted. In the natural light of the room, Gilbert thought he could see the warmth of her cheeks that couldn’t hide behind her steadfast concentration.

“Tell me something about you,” he suggested playfully as Anne worked to clean dirt out of the hairs of his arms.

“Why should I?” she countered easily.

“I’d like to learn a little about the lovely woman who saved me. Nothing too incriminating, just an interesting fact or two.” A smile lifted her lips, one that Gilbert followed with transfixed eyes.

“I’m a published novelist and a college BA,” she said, with shy pride.

“Why, every moment I continue to be impressed by you. What school?”

“Redmond College. I graduated about three years ago.”

“What a small world! I graduated from Redmond only four years ago,” Gilbert said, somewhat amazed. “To think, you may have been in one of my large lecture classes and I didn’t realize I was sharing the hall with the Siren Queen.”

As the words left his lips, he couldn’t help wish he erase everything he’d just said. Talking with a lady - a beautiful, captivating lady - was apparently not one of his many skills. Anne took it in stride, though.

“I doubt that. You must’ve been a man of the sciences. I, however, kept myself as far from biology and chemistry as I could. You would’ve found me in the English lectures, analyzing sonnets and arguing with grown men over Sophocles.”

“I can only imagine. And your book, Anne! Have I read it?”

“Likely not. It was just a small little thing about living in a small town - the people here and their experiences. It rather makes me wonder that I didn’t take up psychoanalysis.”

“You’ll have to lend me a copy. I grew up a small town myself, with family in Alberta.”

“How did you end up on the island?”

A warm look passed over his face, shadowed with a residual grief and longing.

“My father was a traveler. But then he met my mother here on PEI and decided his traveling days were over. I believe her family was actually from Avonlea.”

Anne had begun to clean his hands, giving the space between his finger careful attention. He hissed against the burn of the small cuts that plagued his skin, but her kind touch distracted him against the sting.

“Now I understand why he would drop everything and pursue one woman,” he said distractedly. Anne’s eyes snapped up, but she was quick to busy herself with rinsing the rag out.

“I’ve given you my interesting fact. What of you? What are your fine accomplishments?” she asked, eager to change the subject. Gilbert blinked a few times, tensing uncomfortably.

It wasn’t that he wanted to hide the truth about him, but it was so much easier to be “Just Gilbert” instead of who he really was - at least, here with her.

“There hasn’t been anything particularly outstanding,” he said unconvincingly.

“You’re a doctor , Gilbert. You mean to tell me in your entire life, there hasn’t been a single achievement?”

“There may have been a few,” he shrugged. “But I’m not a published author, and I haven’t rescued anyone from the sea recently.”

Anne let out a tired exclamation, and Gilbert raised his free hand in surrender.

“Alright, alright. I delivered a child when I was fifteen.” That news was enough to have Anne halt her ministrations completely and stare directly at him with wide eyes. “It’s what convinced me to become a doctor. That amongst...other things.”

“Well, that is indeed a feat!” Anne said, impressed. “How did you know what to do?”

“I watched someone deliver a baby calf once. As it turns out, the general mechanisms of labor are the same.”

Releasing a hearty laugh, Anne shook her head.

“I fear I must return the sentiment. The more I learn about you, sir, the more I am amazed.”

He certainly hoped so.  The feeling was more than mutual. As the minutes ticked by, Gilbert found himself free falling at every spare look, every touch, every word she spoke. He listened to her stories intently, a steady smile on his lips as she filled the room with imaginings and laughter. She was the most peculiar girl, one who had set her friend drunk when they were children and broken her ankle after falling off of a ridgepole. She’d inspired poetry in pupils and accidentally sold her neighbors cow. But, oh, she was intelligent and humble, rich in spirit and love. Gilbert had forgotten she was bathing him in water, but merely felt the warmth of a growing infatuation as steam around him.

She only quieted herself to clean his face, when she had to draw near enough to him that her breath was on his lips. Moving the cloth across his cheeks, she studied him the way she might study a constellation, marveled and struck.

“You’ve many freckles,” he commented lightly. This struck a chord in her that made the warmth in her eyes turn cold and hurt. She pulled back the cloth and placed it in her basin.

“I do believe all your wounds are clean,” she said formally. “At least above your waist. I’ll leave the doctor to examine the rest of you. I’ll be just outside if you need anything.”

“Wait, Anne, wait!” he said, frustrated. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t my understanding that freckles were a bad thing. I quite like them.”

“It’s indelicate for a doctor to comment on a person’s looks, regardless of his preference.”

“You’ll have to forgive me. I am still a novice doctor, so I thank you for your advice. But please, Anne, don’t be mad for keeps. If our conversation just now was any indication, I’d bet that you and I could be good chums.”

His efforts seemed to be futile, if her caustic eyes and narrow brow told him anything. Then she sat down beside him as prim and straight backed a finishing school youth and picked up her cloth again.

“I seem to have missed a spot on your face, Doctor.”

“Well, then by all means,” Gilbert began. She wiped the cloth over a smudge of dirt on his cheek, sucking in a sharp breath when he leaned ever so slightly into her touch. “Please continue.”

[hellostarlight20]

Beyond the Sea 6/8

Catch up here (chapter 2 and 3 and 4 and 5) or here

Nine x Rose Island AU angst, fluff, romance, rated Teen+ All my thanks to Mrs. Bertucci for her beta and extensive knowledge of scuba diving. And to @kelkat9 for her fun, completely mad ideas you’ll see later in this fic. Also involves environmental commentary, the problem of plastics in our oceans, endangered fish, and drug running.

6.

 That night, the Doctor stole through the wood around the beach and unerringly made his way toward Rose’s bungalow. The faint moonlight peaking through the trees offered just enough light to see by.

 He hadn’t a plan, not really. The Doctor knew she roomed with Bill, and knew which place hers was, but other than that hadn’t any idea how to sneak into her room. And sneak in he planned. He missed her. God, he missed her.

 Shaking it off, determined, he stepped from the cover of the trees and decided on the bold stroll approach. When in doubt, just do it. Two steps from the tree line, her door opened. He froze.

 Rose looked around the deserted street, not even a car drove past, and ran down the steps. The Doctor grinned and waited. He knew the exact moment she spotted him, her gait quickened, and her smile widened.

 She ran the last few steps, and he braced, arms wide.

 “Missed you.” Rose threw her arms around him and hugged tight.

The Doctor pulled her up even as he leaned down to kiss her. The weight of her body, the feel of her warmth, eased the band around his chest, constricting his lungs and squeezing his heart. Just being with her made him better.

 “Missed you, too, sweetheart.” The Doctor lowered her to the ground, mouth pressed to hers. “When this is done, I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

 Rose’s hold tightened on him. “I should say something about that, about macho bullshit.” She pressed her lips hard to his. “But I may never let you out of our bed again.”

 He chuckled and pulled her deeper into the shadows. No sense blowing their cover now. Dried branches cracked underfoot, and the Doctor moved until his back hit a tree.

 “Wait a minute.” Rose pulled back, nearly out of his arms entirely. “I’m mad at you!” She poked him in the chest and he sighed.

 “It’s not my fault,” he groused. “Damn wily octopus, I’ve no idea how she got the necklace over my head.”

 Rose huffed and even in the tree cover, he saw her disbelieving glare. “I’m sure.”

 “Honestly, it’s all a blur. One minute I’m swatting 7 plastic straw filled tentacles from attacking me while I’m trying to surgically remove the straw imbedded in one tentacle, the next she’s got the necklace and your rings.”

 “Retaliation,” Rose announced. “She’s pissed you were messing with her.”

 “I was helping!” the Doctor protested.

 Rose giggled and snuggled against him. “I’m sure she’s grateful.” She pressed her lips to his chest. Through the thin cotton of his shirt, he felt her warmth. “What happens now? By now, the entire island knows you wore a necklace with an engagement and wedding ring. Saxon’s going to investigate.”

 “He won’t find you. I already phoned Jack.” His arms tightened around her and he scanned the area. Saxon and Lucy had retired to their private bungalow, they never emerged until morning, but the Doctor kept an eye for wandering flunkies.

 Saxon didn’t work alone.

 “Anyone approach you?” The Doctor leaned back just enough to see her. He never tired of watching her.

 “No.” Rose pouted. “I’m beginning to wonder if my past is a little too obvious. Saxon commented on it once, when I arrived, but nothing since then.”

 “Maybe we should’ve changed some of it. Maybe he thought parts were made up.”

 Rose snorted. “I wish. Unfortunately, it’s all true.”

 The Doctor hated how she spoke about her past, the scars it still left. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and forced himself not to lift her into his arms and take her back to his bed. Hold her, make love to her, be with her, just breathe her in.

 “We’ll get him,” he promised. “You only have another couple weeks here, he’ll make a move by then.”

 “And if he doesn’t?”

 “I don’t know,” the Doctor admitted. “I don’t know.”

 He held her half the night, until the moon arced through the sky and Rose dozed in his arms. Kissing her gently, the Doctor walked her back to the tree line.

 “Get some sleep, sweetheart.” He kissed her again. How had he ever let her out of his sight? “I love you.”

 “I love you, too.” Rose tightened her fingers around his and slowly walked away, fingers slipping with each step.

 The Doctor waited until she ran up the steps to her bungalow and closed the door behind her. Then he turned for his own rooms and his own restless night’s sleep.

 ****

Despite threats, cajoling, glaring, and outright grabbing, the Doctor could not outwit an octopus.

 “Catch me helping you again,” he grumbled at it.

 Damn cheeky thing merely swam around its small enclosure. Sure enough, in the barely risen sunlight, the Doctor swore it grinned up at him.

 The breeze off the Caribbean did little to cool his temper or the very real fear Rose might make good on her threat and kill him. Though she considered herself a lover not a fighter, the Doctor had seen her stand toe-to-toe against rude art patrons, ignorant men on the streets, and Jack Harkness.

 “If you don’t give that back to me, she’s going to skin me alive.”

 Idris—and no, he had no idea why he decided to name an octopus or where the name had come from—continued swimming around her tank, contorting herself into a corner, through a rock, and all the while holding Rose’s engagement and wedding rings secure in one tentacle.

 No matter how or where she swam, Idris never let the rings scrape the bottom, or the rocks, or clank the glass enclosure. The Doctor swore, but only to himself and never to another soul upon pain of execution, that the octopus took gentle care with them.

 “How the hell did you get them anyway?” The Doctor stood back and ran a hand over his face. His beard had grown out, salty and brittle from his early morning swim.

 He hadn’t been able to sleep after leaving Rose and had tossed and turned most of the night. Giving up on sleep, the Doctor had climbed from bed and gone for a swim, then decided to check on their newest camp addition.

 Gaze drifting to Saxon’s camp, he searched for Rose. Always searched for her. But it was entirely too early for anyone to be up and about.

 Except for Bill, apparently.

 She walked across the sand, keeping to the tree line and the shadows that afforded. The Doctor stilled, curious and cautious. Rose liked Bill, said the woman helped her with the specifics on the paperwork the Doctor hadn’t been able to teach her in time.

 The fact she crossed the beach now settled like a rock in his stomach. Could be she wanted a walk. Could be, she liked predawn and the quiet. Could be, she wanted to meet someone on the sly, though neither he nor Saxon had a rule about fraternization.

 Could be a hundred things.

 The Doctor knew it was not. He new Bill walked this beach, long before most anyone else rose, to find him.

 “Doctor.” Bill bit her lips, gaze bouncing from him to the water, to the shadowy trees, to Idris, back to him. “I don’t know who to tell, but I think I’m in trouble.”

 The Doctor frowned. “If you’re pregnant, it doesn’t matter for the fieldwork.”

 Had he misjudged the situation? Unsettled, he waited. He didn’t know what else to do.

 “What?” Bill blinked and snorted. “No, I’m not pregnant. Why is that every man’s first thought? Geez. I’m a lesbian.”

 “All right.” He nodded. “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. What sort of trouble?”

 “It’s—” she chewed her lip again and looked over her shoulder. “Billy and Ace say you’re standup, are you—I mean you aren’t working with—how do I know I can trust you?”

 “Ah.” He dropped his arms and plunged his hand into Idris’s tank. No sooner had he moved—or thought about moving—than the octopus curled in a tight ball around Rose’s rings. “Well I’m rubbish at keeping my wife’s wedding rings safe.” He sighed, shoulders slumped. “She’s going to skin me alive.”

 He didn’t know if he spoke to Bill or Idris.

 “Wife?” Bill perked up. “Didn’t know you were married. Congratulations!” Then she frowned and looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you here and she’s not then? And why do I hear rumors of you and Miss Jabe? Why were you wearing your wife’s rings around your neck? Oh, no, did something happen to her?”

 The Doctor opened his mouth but all he had was his own voice berating him for such a slip-up. Damn.

 “Don’t know how I can prove trustworthiness.” He cast one final glare at Idris then focused on Bill. “Don’t know how anyone can. Just is or isn’t, yeah? I can promise all sorts of things, and even though I don’t make promises I won’t try to keep, you don’t know that about me.”

 Bill watched him, head tilted slightly, her bright hairbow struggling against the wind. The Doctor held her gaze, calm and steady. He really wanted to hear Bill say she had the dirt on Saxon. Really wanted to hear that.

 Finally she nodded. Straightened as if in front of a school master. Or a court of law. “Professor Saxon enlisted me in what I feel is a highly illegal activity.” She paused and took a deep breath. “He wants me to collect endangered hawksbill sea turtles for selling.”

[miss-wanderlustwriter]

Drabble: “Don’t look at me like that, you know what it does to me.”

Billy Hargrove x Reader

[Using @hargroovin prompts ♥]

[It gets a bit steamy. I’m sorry not sorry.]

You were getting fed up. Your insecurities that were rarely thought about had started creeping into your mind and taking hold of you.

You were known as the badass bitch of the school, not taking any shit, not caring what people thought or said about you, and you were never seen without your stapled red lipstick and leather jacket. So when Billy Hargrove arrived in his tight jeans and bad attitude, revving his blue Camaro, it was only logical to assume that you two would end up together.

However he seemed to be taking his time tasting every other flavour of lipstick in school; which in all honesty, really pissed you off.

Drawn to each other you had become close friends. Lunches and free periods were spent on the hood of your cars, and class was ditched frequently to drive around aimlessly with the windows down, singing along to Billy’s rock and roll playlist at maximum volume.

But there was a hairline fracture in the friendship, your feelings for him were growing and you didn’t want to push it if he didn’t feel the same. But you were so sure you had caught his gaze lingering on you one too many times to just be friendly.

So when Tina’s annual Halloween party rolled around, and you had downed so many shots you’d lost count, you couldn’t control your loose tongue around Billy. Pretty sure you were seeing four of him, you told each one how gorgeous you thought he was and that you fancied the pants off him. But he didn’t take you in his arms like he had so many others. He left. He left Carol to take care of your emotional wreck and then Monday, at school, acted like you hadn’t just spilled your guts in front of him. So you snatched the opportunity from the jaws of pure embarrassment, and did the same.

But here you were again at another high school party, taking shots and not being able to get Billy Hargrove out of your head.

The alcohol was coursing through your bloodstream, you felt so alive, so confident. The next time you saw Billy you grabbed his hand and pulled him upstairs to one of the spare bedrooms before anyone could notice you were gone.

“Y/N? What’s going on?” His worried gaze looked you up and down for any sign of you being harmed as you slammed the door shut.

Billy never admitted it but he cared about you; more than he should, more than he had anyone in his whole life. He’d taken one look at your unruly hair and bright red lips with the personality to match and knew that was it for him. But he couldn’t allow himself that happiness, he knew he didn’t deserve it, so he limited himself to your friendship and nothing more.

“Why don’t you like me?” You blurted out, not beating around the bush.

He stopped searching for physical problems and met your wild accusing eyes with confusion, “What? Of course I like you crazy girl, come on I think you need to go home.”

“Don’t play stupid with me Billy Hargrove, why don’t you fancy me?” And that stumped him. For the first time since you had met him he was speechless. So your drunken tongue continued, “We get along and we flirt something rotten. You can’t tell me you don’t feel anything between us. Yet you go off sleeping with every other skank in this town! What is wrong with me?”

You went to open the door and walk away, not being able to look at him a moment longer for it was starting to hurt. But he caught your arm forcing you to face him before you could reach the handle.

“Is that what you think?” He whispered.

“Obviously, after Tina’s party what else am I supposed to think?!” Your voice still a level too loud.

“Oh baby girl,” he growled, “You have no idea.” And his eyes struck yours like they always do, like he’s seeing into your soul.

“Don’t look at me like that, you know what it does to me Billy.” The words escape your lips in the breath he was stealing from you.

“I do. But you don’t know what you do to me sweetheart.” And with that he let his guard down, a weight lifting off his shoulders as he was telling you how he felt, finally. “Since I saw you I’ve wanted you, my god you don’t know how much.” He let his gaze trail down your body and back up, causing the heat to rise in your already flushed cheeks. “But you’re good, no matter how much make-up or leather you wear, or how many classes you ditch baby. You’re a good person and you would be the one for me, but I’m not a good guy Y/N. I don’t get the happy ever after.”

You stared at him in utter disbelief. He painted you like a saint, like he didn’t deserve you, and it brought your anger back to the surface; he was making this decision for you, when it was your choice to make.

“I’m not asking for happy ever after Billy I’m asking you to kiss me!”

So he did.

He pushed you against the bedroom door, pressing his body to yours and kissed you like he was drowning and you were air. Trying to make up for all those times he wanted to touch you but never could, his callused hands ran up the sides of your body under your shirt, his rough grip causing a moan to rise in your throat and your back to arch in response.

Your nails were scraping down the back of neck before you wound your fingers into his hair, which only fueled his fire; neither of you could get enough. His mouth found your neck as your leather jacket found the floor. You breathed his name as he worked his way down to your chest only stopping to remove your top when it got in his way. You managed to rid him of his own jacket and shirt as well without his lips leaving your skin.

You barely remember pushing your skirt to the floor but noticed as soon as Billy drew back leaving a chill across your body.

“Hey what are you-”, but you didn’t need to finish the question, opening your eyes you saw he was lost in you. His gaze piercing every part of you. So you carried on where he left off, kissing and biting at his neck and chest.

There was no teasing, it was rough, passionate and determined; you both knew what you wanted. He told you to jump and he caught your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he took you towards the bed and found your lips once more.

[deciduwhy]

attempt one: part i

i heard some of you fuckers liked the last one WELL GUESS WHO GOT OFF THEIR ASS AND FINISHED THE NEXT PART.

no content warnings here, but it’ll get dark soon, i’m sure.

this is a fanfic for @turtletalks98‘s mission failed au - please give the au some love!

Dark fog blanketed the sky once again. It’d been one of the few constants in the past month - The sky was always dark over Pueltown’s cobbled roads, though the world was far from asleep.

The world was afraid. Few wandered the streets aside from Dim Sun grunts and that…That thing. It was Darkrai, it was clearly Darkrai, but few dared speak its name. It was always that thing, that beast that hardly seemed like it could be a Pokémon, that thing that had ruined everything.

It was easier to blame a Pokémon instead of Altru’s damned president, Garret mused as he awaited the moment one of his siblings returned to the room. Most of the world was afraid, and he’d admit that there was still some of that fear lingering in his chest, but he’d carry on. He’d do what he had to, no matter that that was, in order to keep his siblings safe in such dark times.

But this...Even leaving the hotel was dangerous.

Garret lay over the sofa in the hotel room his siblings and he had been using, a room in a place that’d been all but abandoned by everyone, save for the few brave souls who could handle the presence of something that always seemed to linger nearby.

Brave, or simply desperate. Garret knew that in his case, it was desperation that had caused him to take shelter in the abandoned hotel. There was enough for the four of them. Two beds and a sofa, and even if bed-sharing became awkward, the four of them would manage. They always would.

In not even an hour, he would be roaming those streets himself, his siblings not far from him as the four made their next move.

The click of the door opening nearly caused Garret’s heart to stop. His shuddering breaths as Tiffany walked in, immediately gesturing for him to follow without a word, were a testament to how the calamity had affected him. No part of his usual smooth demeanor could truly mask the fact that he, like the rest of his siblings, was afraid. Just like the world around him.

The hallway was barren. Barren, and damaged like nothing else. The carpet, once deep red, had been ripped apart and seemed to have faded, the wood beneath exposed and cracked. The walls fared no better; though they were still standing, the wallpaper was charred and had been slashed time after time.

It was a sign the group couldn’t stay. The building would come down on them if they stayed.

“Tiffany,” Garret began quietly as the two began to make for the elevator, something that stood just around a nearby corner, “Are Billy and Clyde out there already?”

Tiffany’s response was only a quiet hum of agreement. As the two neared the corner they were supposed to turn, Tiffany held out an arm to keep her brother from heading any further.

It was a gesture that said all it had to: There were grunts around, and they’d already seen Tiffany. Soon, Garret realized he could hear two voices nearby.

Voices that sounded far from friendly.

“So what’s with her, anyway?” one grunt asked, the sound of claws ripping at the walls echoing as he spoke.

“Beats me,” the other grunt replied, “We’re just here because we need to wreck something. She’s not gonna, like...Go for the boss or anything. And hey, maybe if we’re lucky, the building’ll come down on her!”

“What?!” the first grunt gasped, “Y-You dunce! That’d bring it down on us, too!”

A groan escaped the second grunt. It would have been amusing, reminiscent of the petty squabbles in the old Go-Rock Squad, had the two siblings not known that there were Pokémon with these grunts. It was true that the hotel was being torn apart slowly. Frustration had welled up in many grunts, and they’d found no better release than destruction. Shaking his head, Garret stepped forward, gesturing for Tiffany to stay where she was.

“What are you doing?!” Tiffany hissed, though it was near-inaudible.

“...I’m going to negotiate,” Garret replied in an equally low voice, “If they start to act up, we run.”

“...Hmph, fine.” Tiffany stepped back, watching as Garret turned a corner before muttering out her two cents on the situation. “Not like they’ll listen to a second one of us after seeing me…”

Garret let out a huff, turning the corner to see two Dim Sun grunts - One a man, notably lanky, with long, brown hair and deep olive green eyes, and the other a younger woman, her curled auburn hair a mess from her time patrolling the town. Both carried a Miniremo unit beneath one arm.

Both looked far more than exhausted. When the two locked eyes with Garret, the connection seemed to click in their minds instantly. At the feet of one, a Glameow stood with its hackles raised and claws out. At the feet of the other, a Magby stood with a bright glow emanating from its mouth.

These two really were going to destroy the place.

“...Wait,” Garret said, “We don’t want trouble. We just want to leave.”

The dark-haired grunt stifled a laugh as his partner stepped forward, placing her Miniremo down.

“Pff...Ha! And what, what are you going to do?” the female grunt challenged, “We’re just here to bring the hotel down! What do you think these are for?”

Garret had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes. He could tell, and he knew Tiffany knew this just as much, that this grunt was bluffing.

He gestured for Tiffany to step out, watching as annoyance crossed the grunts’ faces. When Tiffany walked to his side, she walked out smirking. The two of them had won their fight, clearly.

“...What?” the male grunt cut in, “Is that it? You think we’re gonna let you two go?”

“Yeah,” Tiffany said, not missing a beat, “Call back the Pokémon. I mean...Like...Everyone can tell you’re lying. Aren’t you both scared?”

Both grunts took a step back. Even the Magby seemed to step away with the two, no longer looking as if it was ready to burn the hotel to cinders. Tiffany had clearly hit a weak spot. Everyone knew what she was referring to, after all. Darkrai.

“...That’s why you’re both here, isn’t it?” Garret asked, “Both of you, move. If you’re going to be cowards and stay here, fine, but my siblings and I aren’t staying here.”

The two pairs stared each other down for a long while. Garret could hear his heart pounding with every passing second. The steady beat...For some reason, Clyde came to mind. Garret wondered if his brother ever heard drumbeats every time his heart pounded. Once again, Garret’s resolve swelled in his chest.

Tiffany and he would get past these grunts, and soon, they would once again be a family.

That was all he needed to feel as he stood, unmoving alongside his sister. However, this immobility didn’t last. In the last moment, Tiffany took a step forward, clearly intending to challenge the grunts herself.

Then, the grunts and their Pokémon stepped aside, and once again, everything went still.

“...Fine, fine fine,” the female grunt huffed, “Go on ahead. Get outta my sight already.”

“I’ll keep her from tearing the place down, I guess,” her partner added, “So go out there and leave. Who knows, we might be the next two out once you’ve left.”

“...Thank you,” Garret said quietly, “If you decide to escape, we wish you luck...And I’m sure our brothers would as well.”

As the two began to walk past the grunts, Garret could hear Tiffany grumble out a “Took you two long enough,” but he did nothing to stop her. After everything they had both been through, they had to make it out alive.

The lobby of the hotel fared no better than its halls, with the front desk torn to splinters and glass shards practically tiling parts of the floor, but the hotel’s door was open, and the outside air, though dark, placing weights on the chests of whoever stepped into it, had reached Garret’s nose.

Tiffany began to rush ahead, and Garret wasn’t one to argue with this. Wordlessly, the two ran out towards the streets, rushing into an alley between the hotel and whatever building was near it. (No doubt it was just as ruined as the hotel, though.)

Catching his breath, Garret turned to his sister. “You’re...Way too excited about this,” he whispered.

“What, do you think I’m not afraid?” Tiffany snapped back, “We’re outside, Garret. That was our goal, and we made it. Can’t I enjoy my victory?”

Garret shook his head, leaning back against a wall before snapping back into a defensive stance at the sound of footsteps behind him. Tiffany, however, immediately perked up - She knew who this was. A silhouette slowly became more visible, and the two could finally make out which one of their siblings had come for them.

“Billy!” Garret gasped, “Where’s Clyde?”

Billy grinned, gesturing for his siblings to follow behind him through the alleyway.

“We’ve got a lot to explain to you two,” Billy softly laughed, “Come on, you guys. Clyde’s just found something huge.”

“...Define huge,” Tiffany replied as the group began to move into what little light was available in the town. As they did, being greeted by stone buildings and patches of wilted foliage throughout the city, Billy glanced down a nearby road, one that all three of them knew would lead to a particularly dangerous area of the town: Altru Park.

“Guess I should say first that it’s dangerous, shouldn’t I?” Billy shrugged before he continued his explanation. “Clyde’ll be right here in a moment. If we’re right about something...There’s a way through there that’ll lead us to the outside world.”

[bones-bones-bones-bones-bon-blog]

Time is Passing (and the day is growing old)

[Ao3 link]

Emily grows up.

This seems both insignificant and inadequate, as statements go. All children grow up, if they're lucky.

But you spent a long, desperate year, in her youth, certain that it would not happen.

First, prison- dark and wretched, that time is shadowed in your memory like some cracked, dusty mirror; sharp and murky, and if you look to close, you'll probably see something you don't like.

Then, the loyalists. Mission after mission, mostly you remember being exhausted-

bone-deep, soul-deep tired, and always cold; tired with grief and fear and in every overworked muscle, mission after grimy mission perched on rooftops, hanging from ledges, the cold-damp of it cramped you in ways you never fully recovered from.

The Outsider visited you, too, during this time, but it seems somehow insignificant, in retrospect.

You remember, more than the favour of a god:

Callista: clever and frightened and hard as steel, always with a fishing knife tucked in her boot, sharp enough to open a man's throat in one swipe.

Samuel, old and gouty in ways you're just beginning to understand, cauliflower ear and scars on his knuckles, but gentler than anyone you've met since, and kind from his bones out.

And Emily-

Emily who was so quiet after you found her, in her grimy white dress, great purple shadows under her eyes, bruises under the cuffs of her sleeves when you first found her.

She looked at you like a rat looks at a hawk's shadow, all fear and animal instinct.

But, eventually, the fear mended and, eventually, you reclaimed Dunwall Tower,

and she grew up.

She reminds you a lot of her mother, when the both of you were young and stupid, sneaking out to the beach to walk laughing along the water, sand between your toes, like a dozen bad things couldn't happen to you there, alone in the night.

Emily, too, is restless, reckless. Sneaking out, always, into the city-

hiding bruises, still, but now from accidents of her own making.

Meeting up with that girl, Wyman (wild curly hair, a laugh like sails snapping in the wind, capable but not a threat).

But, unlike her mother, Emily lacks-

direction.

Hates court, too, but endures it out of obligation, not with any greater purpose in mind. She's nothing close to a tyrant, but she's not much of a leader, either.

Delilah comes, and everything goes wrong all over again.

She is all the wrong angles, sharp and out of place, brambles growing over her skin like some crumbling ruin, grand and wild.

Your drive your sword through her heart.

Peripherally, you see Emily fighting off two soldiers at once, fluidly (good form, you think, in some distant corner of your mind, and a flicker of incongruous pride licks through your chest).

Then Delilah meets your eyes, smiling like an amateur's painting, beautiful but not quite right-

and pulls your sword out of her chest (third and fourth ribs, it should have been fatal-), lets it clatter onto the tiles wet with strange, tarry blood, and she reaches for you, and everything goes blank.

When you come to, Emily is standing in front of you, watching you with those solemn, dark eyes (your eyes, bad for Jessamine's image back in the day but you thrill, privately, at the resemblance-)

Her eyes, which look like yours, are bloodshot, ringed with shadows. She looks like she had back in the first coup- tired, bruised, hunted.

But. Not quite like the first coup.

You note:

New scar on her lip. Broken nose; healed well but obvious, if you know how to look. A strange, straight tan-line across her cheeks, like she's been covering her face. Skin peeling with sun-and-wind-burn. Lips chapped, cracking, split at one corner (though that's healing, too).

She's favouring one leg- blood on the tiles, at her feet, a tear in in her pants, her coat ragged and sweat-stained-

she looks like some mercenary, some dock hand, some assassin-

someone you'd think was a threat, if you didn't know better. Someone who looks like a threat, anyway.

“Emily?” You say, throat cracking-dry.

Her sword (your sword- well kept but worn, blood dried near the hilt-) clatters out of her hand. She sags, obviously, out of that coiled-animal stance, no longer so ready to attack, fast-twitch muscles relaxing.

Tears fill her eyes, but don't spill over.

Tears fill your eyes, and do.

You open your arms, cautiously (and this, too, is like the old days- her eyeing you warily, like she's not sure what to expect- you're not sure what to expect, either, of this bloody thing in the shape of your daughter-)

She breathes out a sigh that slumps her shoulders, leans heavily into you- more of a collapse than a hug.

“I'm so glad you're safe,” she says, into your shoulder.

You wrap your arms around her- skinnier, under the coat, than she should be, telling of lean living. You tuck your chin over her head, try to feel for a moment like you can still protect her from any of the ills of the world.

She smells like blood and sweat and blackpowder, and that is not what your child should smell like, like war- (you remember clutching a newborn Emily to your chest- the top of her head had that sweet, baby-smell, milk and powder, she was more perfect and more delicate than anything you had ever seen-)

But she is not a child anymore, clearly.

You help her to a seat, and she falls asleep right there, slumped against your side, blood seeping slowly through her coat.

She tells you everything, later, after a bath and a change of clothes and a meal (clean, you can better see the scars and bruises she's accumulated- quite the collection. She has the ragged, feral look of some street-fighter, incongruous with the fine fabric of her robes).

She props her feet up on the table, as she talks, as if she doesn't know better.

You meet her allies, later, offer them a place in court, watch Emily, warily, out of the corner of your eye.

You're not so sure you know her, any more (not that she is not your child, any more- nothing can change that, there is no crime so great that you would disown her, but there is a gulf, between your life and hers, that there never was before).

Her voice has changed, for one- sharper and rougher, and she's dropped her noble affectation in court- has stopped mimicking the precise tones of her mother, finally, after all these years. There's a weight of authority to her words there has never been.

And she startles, more easily- her hand going to the hilt of her sword at every noise, every flicker, a nervous habit she'll have to break. You find yourself making sure to drag your feet, as you come into a room, because you hate seeing her jump like that.

And she no longer seems so- rudderless. Calls often on her advisors, as she recovers, asking after the state of this or that nation, what can be done to help Karnaca recover, what can be done for Dunwall's people, all of it's people-

they stare at her broken nose and her ragged hands and they gossip, but, slowly, you can feel like Empire right itself, like a great ship groaning its way over the crest of a wave.

She holds a dinner with Megan (Billie Lurk, you're fairly certain, but if Emily knows she does not show it) and a woman named Lucia- and Wyman- and they chat and laugh and roll out maps, plotting the course of your nation, and you realize, suddenly, that she has a life quite independent of your own.

All of this to say, in short, that Emily grew up.

You stand next to her throne, over the months and years to come.

She limps, on rainy days, like a woman older than her years- like you do, injuries playing up.

She rules, fairly, and falters rarely, and you hope-

you think-

you are fairly certain, that she will get to grow old.

Emily Kaldwin the Wise, they call her (Emily Kaldwin the Clever, an old friend of yours whispers, like the hiss of waves over rocks).

And if she still sneaks into the city, sometimes, comes back with salt in her hair and dust on her boots- if the backs of her knuckles shine sea-foam blue, under her gloves, like yours once had- if her and Wyman are closer, perhaps, that friends should be, than empress and advisor should be (like you and Jessamine were, so long ago)-

Well.

You can keep a secret.

[mnemememory]

Any Way But This

cross-posted on ao3

"I don't know what they want," Trini says. "But it's not me."

(or, the aftermath of an argument between trini and her parents. kim's there. there's a lot of hugging involved).

mild trini/kim

“Hey,” Kim says, running a soothing hand across Trini’s arm. “Hey, do you want to talk about it?”

Trini shakes her head and buried her face deeper into the crook of Kim’s shoulder. She’s safe, here. She’s safe, there’s nothing that can hurt her, not here. Not with Kim right next to her, not with Kim holding her close like she means something, like she’s worth something.

They’re sitting in Kim’s room, hunched in the spare space between the bed and the window. It’s an easy climb, now – it would have been easy before, even without all the new things that have been happening with her body. But now it’s laughable, it’s ridiculous. Trini can pull herself up without even thinking about it, can break a glass in her hand and the shards won’t even leave a dent.

Kim’s room is different than she expected. Then again, Trini doesn’t know what she expected, not from a girl like Kim, who wears her soul tucked tight under her arm and her eyes frosted over. The first-time Trini saw Kim she thought, Wow, she’s pretty. Then she thought, But trouble.

Then again, girls have always been trouble for Trini. No matter where she goes, it’s all the same.  

Except, this time – this is Kim, who knows her name. Trini’s not another face in the crowd, isn’t a perpetual New Girl (and all the names that come with the label). She’s a Power Ranger, now. It seems so silly to be upset over something so small, when there’s a world at her feet and alien blood pumping through her muscles. Trini doesn’t care what Zordon says about being human – scrambling up sheer rock-faces feels about as far away from human as it gets.

There are posters on the wall; motivational ones, the sort that dollar-stores sell discount every time university kicks into action. There are print-outs, too – Trini sees a few shirtless guys, a few shirtless girls. She sees sticky-notes pasted everywhere, peeling off the plaster and scattering across the floor like fluorescent pink autumn leaves.

There are clothes everywhere – a discarded bra lying next to the desk, a pair of loose sweatpants flung carelessly over the chair. Trini is almost envious at the lack of control.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Kim finally says, when it appears the silence has stretched out too thin for her to bare. Trini closes her eyes and takes a shuddering breath: In and out, she thinks. In and out.

Trini wants to talk. Trini wants to open her mouth and let everything spill out, a cut to the stomach, bile pouring out from her skin and scrubbing her clean. She wants, she wants – she wants things that she shouldn’t want, that she isn’t going to get.

“It’s okay,” Kim says, when it becomes clear that Trini isn’t going to say anything. Trini’s stomach does something incredibly unpleasant. “Hey, it’s okay. Whatever you want to tell me.”

Trini doesn’t want to tell her. Not Kim. Maybe someone else – Zach? She trusts Zach. She trusts the others too, of course, but she trusts Zach more. It’s hard to explain what it’s like to live in the spaces in-between, in the gaps between sentences. Even at their most ghostly, the others have never been invisible.

Of course, if she trusted Zach so much, maybe she should have gone to find him.

She hadn’t been thinking, though. That’s the crux of it – when the cards are down, when she’s feeling ripped into and hollow as a bird-bone, she comes to Kim. It’s so obvious now, and Trini almost wishes it wasn’t. She’s never been good at lying to herself.

“I don’t know what I am,” she says, and it feels like her throat is on fire. Kim tilts her head slightly, fluffy hair falling onto Trini’s nose. She gives a little sneeze, pulling away and wiping her nose with her sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” she says, wiping frantically at her eyes.

“No,” Kim says. “Hey, no, you can’t do that. What’s the matter? What’s gotten into you?”

Talk, Trini thinks. That’s all her mother wants; an absence of silence. Talk, Trini, why are you like this?

“I don’t know what I am,” Trini repeats, feeling stupid. She always feels stupid around pretty girls, but maybe especially with Kim. Or, maybe not – it’s difficult to feel stupid around Kim, not when she’s looking at Trini like she has something important to say. “But I’m not what my parents want.”

Kim’s face clears slightly. “This is about…” she says, leaving it hanging.

Trini laughs at herself. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I know, it’s stupid. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have –”

“Hey, wait, no,” Kim says, reaching up and pulling Trini back to the ground with a small thud. “Wait, don’t go. That isn’t what I meant. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Trini says, scraping a hand through her hair. She feels sticky. Did she remember to take a shower this morning? “I mean, nothing important. It’s just –”

“You can tell me,” Kim says, and she looks so earnest. Trini wants desperately to believe her. “You know that, right? You can tell me anything, especially stuff like this.”

Trini curls her arms around her knees, rocking forward slightly into her weight. It still catches her off-guard, sometimes, the way these people actually want to listen. They ask her questions and they wait for her replies. It’s almost eerie; her words now carry weight. She has to think carefully about what she says, now, least she injure them in some way. She’s so good at breaking things.

“The first time I tried to come out to my Dad,” she says, burying her face forward into her elbows. Kim leans forward to hear her properly, but that’s it. No interruptions. Trini’s heart is beating a thousand miles per hour in her chest. “We were driving somewhere. I don’t know where. But it was just him and me in the car, and we were listening to the radio.”

Rain had been pelting across the ground, drumming a loud tap-tap-tap against the roof of the car. Trini had been bundled up in four layers of clothing, resting her forehead against the window and watching the buildings pass by in blurs of greyscale colour.

“Something came on – I don’t know what – and Dad, he mentioned…I don’t know. Something about being gay. And I said, totally unplanned, What if I was gay? Like, how stupid is that?”

“Trini…” Kim says, and she’s sliding a comforting arm around Trini’s shoulder. The warmth burns.

“And he says – I mean, he turns to look at me. We’re at a traffic light, and he turns to look at me. And I don’t remember what he looks like, just that he says, Then don’t tell me. Doesn’t matter if you don’t tell me.”

Kim’s arm tightens.

“And that’s it. That’s everything. He probably doesn’t even remember having that conversation.”

“What a bastard,” Kim says, pressing her forehead into Trini’s shoulder blade.

Trini squeezes her eyes tightly shut. She’s not crying, because that would be stupid. “My family, we’re supposed to fit into each other,” she says. “Like we’re puzzle pieces, or something stupid like that. My Mum, she’s got this ridiculous idea that we all love each other and everything’s perfect. Every day, I come home, and she asks me: How’s your day? And then she starts yelling at my brothers or my Dad or whatever. I’m supposed to look a certain way. I’m supposed to eat a certain way. I’m supposed to talk a certain way.”

Kim’s eyes are feral. Trini looks up, and then she can’t look away. It’s ridiculous how far gone she is, and it hasn’t even been a month. She’s had crushes before, of course, but they’ve always been easy enough to ignore. Trini aches.

“You’re fine,” Kim says, leaning back. “Actually, you know what? You’re perfect. Fucking perfect. I don’t know what your parents are thinking, but they’re idiots, obviously.”

Trini shakes her head and chokes back another laugh. She shouldn’t have come here. She should have gone – somewhere else. The gold mines. The Ranger’s station. Somewhere quiet, where she can think and breathe and just – be. Trini doesn’t know what to do, here. Doesn’t know what she’s doing here. The air’s hot and sticky, and Kim is right there, and she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to be doing. Hell, she doesn’t even know what she wants. Everything’s just a jumbled mess of longing and frustration and confusion. Nothing’s making sense.

Why is she crying?

“I never talked about it to my Mum,” she says, and her voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of the moon, for all she can concentrate. “Or to my brothers. I think they know already. All of them. I mean, I’m not that great at hiding it, and I’ve never had a boyfriend –”

“You don’t need a boyfriend,” Kim hisses. “Not if you don’t want one.”

“Maybe I do want one?” Trini says. “Only probably not. Guys are gross.”

Kim laughs, and if she sounds kind of choked up, Trini’s mind is too tumultuous to really think about it. “They kind of are,” she says. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, some of them are okay.”

“Such as Jason,” Trini says, rolling her eyes slightly at Kim’s sudden flush. “And Zach, and Billy.”

“Zach’s an idiot,” Kim says, but she’s smiling when she says it. “But yeah, you’ve got the gist of it. But like, Trini, you know that you don’t have to like guys, right? That’s not something you should be forcing yourself to do.”

“I know,” Trini says, quiet.

Kim narrows her eyes at her. “Are you sure?” she says. “Because that wasn’t a lot of conviction I heard just now. Fuck your family, they obviously don’t know shit. What did they do?”

Trini can’t help but tense up, forcibly reminded of why she was here in the first place.

It wasn’t even a big thing; it was small enough to be ridiculous. Everything about this is frankly ridiculous. Trini can already feel hot shame rolling across her shoulders, settling underneath her skin like a swarm of fire ants. This is what happens when you talk, she thinks. You ruin things.

“It’s stupid,” she says, when Kim doesn’t say anything else. Kim just looks at her, and Trini can’t contain the sigh that builds in the back of her chest. There’s something heavy weighing down her lungs, a piece of lead stuck between her stomach and her throat. “We were just – talking. At least, I think that’s what we were doing. We were eating breakfast, and my Mum was pressing me, and I wasn’t answering, and.”

“And?” Kim prompts.

Trini lets her head fall back, until she’s leaning hard against the mattress. She doesn’t want to look at Kim, doesn’t want to look at anything, but she does anyway. “And I kind of mentioned it, I think. They kept asking, Do you have any friends? Are you keeping up with school? Stuff like that. And I mentioned you guys” – and it had hurt; it had hurt so much, to be able to say answer yes, yes, here they are – “And…I don’t know. They wanted to know a lot.”

Kim shifts around, so she’s facing Trini instead of listing off to the side. She meets Trini’s eyes dead on. “That’s not a bad thing,” she says, keeping her voice slow and careful.

Trini rolls her head, looking off to her left. There’s a box of fairy-lights stuffed into the corner, dust covering the cardboard. There’s a cracked bulk lying on the top, glass shards scattered like stars. The pieces are small, but sharp enough to draw blood.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says, rueful. “That’s my problem. But they kept on pressing, and pressing, and I mentioned that three of you were guys, and that just…”

“You don’t have to have a boyfriend,” Kim says. “You don’t even have to have a girlfriend, if you don’t want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Trini says, and nothing’s ever felt so true. “I don’t know what they want, but it’s not me. It’s never me.”

And then Kim’s hugging her. She’s soft, and warm, and Trini can feel it all the way to her bones.

[adambstingus]

5 Movie Conflicts That Only Happened To Advance The Plot

Action heroes need to overcome obstacles before they kick all of the asses presented to them in chronological order. After all, their victories need to feel like they were earned, through much struggle and hardship. But sometimes screenwriters can’t think of a good way to accomplish that, so they whip up some absurd personal or bureaucratic nonsense instead, like being refused service at the DMV because you’re wearing a beer helmet. It’s part of our religion, Janice. Look it up.

5

The Rebellion in Rogue One Wants To Surrender To A Threat They Don’t Think Exists

In Star Wars: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story About Star Wars, Jyn Erso, the Star Wars character who sounds most like an Asian car model, informs the Rebellion about the existence of the Death Star. A few members of the Rebel Council support her plan to steal the Death Star’s schematics, but most either don’t believe that the weapon exists, think it’s all a trap, or decide that they should surrender to the Empire in the face of such overwhelming superiority instead. Eventually, the Council leans toward disbanding the Rebellion … because of a weapon half of them don’t believe is real. Wait … what?

Oh, and the reason some of them don’t trust Jyn in the first place is because she’s the daughter of the Death Star’s designer … which is also the exact same reason they sent her out to find information about the Death Star at the start.

Ultimately, Jyn gives an inspiring speech on the nature of hope … to which the Council responds with a series of fart noises. Remember, the Rebellion has already been fighting for years, and was formed entirely to wage a series of risky battles against a much more powerful foe; the only reason they were being doubtful here is because the movie needed a drama infusion, stat. Luckily, the Rebel Fleet eventually does show up and help out, right when things were looking their most grim. Sadly, we weren’t shown the scene where the Rebellion’s Death Star Truthers rounded up the rest of the council and made them watch YouTube videos until they all saw the light.

4

The Guy In Charge Of Defense In Independence Day Objects To Defending Things

If everyone on Team Good Guy agrees that their daring plan to stop the villains is brilliant and flawless, that kills the suspense. So Independence Day gave us Secretary of Defence Albert Nimziki, whose sole purpose is doubting our heroes, even if there’s absolutely no reason to do so.

When Jeff Goldblum first suggests his desperate plan to stop the overwhelmingly powerful aliens by giving their mothership a virus, Nimziki’s response is “This is ridiculous” before calling it a “cockamamie plan” and complaining that they don’t have the manpower or resources. He then offers absolutely no alternative suggestions, despite the fact that that is his entire job.

Remember, they’re coming up with this plan after:

A) They discovered the aliens intended to exterminate humanity.

B) Most of the military had already been wiped out, and …

C) Pretty much every other option, including the use of nuclear missiles, had failed.

So Nimziki’s objections boil down to “Nuh uh, this will never work, let’s just sit around and wait to die instead.” He’s the friend who shoots down every pizza topping after claiming he’s “up for whatever.” The plan, of course, works — making Nimziki look both cowardly and stupid for ever doubting it. After all, what good is saving the world if it’s not in somebody’s face?

3

Die Hard 2‘s Captain Lorenzo Hates John McClane For Absolutely No Reason

Die Hard 2: Die Hard In An Airport features the beginning of John McClane’s transition from relatable everyman to a cursed muscle lord doomed to encounter elaborate criminal activities wherever he roams. Early on in this extremely pre-9/11 film, McClane gets in a shootout at the baggage claim, and discovers that the man he just killed is a mercenary who was supposed to be dead already. He takes this suspicious information to airport police chief Captain Lorenzo, who immediately … becomes a huge bureaucratic pain in the ass, solely because a more reasonable response would end the movie in about 15 minutes.

Lorenzo complains about McClane breaking regulations, doesn’t bother to properly investigate the crime scene, and accuses McClane of gunning down a luggage thief and blowing it out of proportion because his fame has gone to his head. All of which is completely unwarranted. And this is after McClane points out that the dead man was carrying an obscure, expensive gun designed to beat airport security which — even if Lorenzo wasn’t genre-savvy enough to realise that he was in a sequel by now — should have clued him in that he was dealing with more than a desperate underwear thief.

Instead, Lorenzo has McClane thrown out of his office. Then, even after the full scope of the attack on the airport is revealed when the bad guys crash a plane, killing hundreds, Lorenzo threatens to throw McClane in jail. He eventually does try to arrest John, before finally accepting that his whole purpose in life is to be a designated naysayer, and comes around. In the end, Lorenzo apologises to McClane by tearing up a parking ticket he got at the start of the movie. It’s unclear how he deals with the psychic weight of the hundreds of deceased souls that died horrifically because he “just plain didn’t like the dude’s face.”

2

The Argument Over Detonating The Nuke In Armageddon Is Pointless Drama

In Armageddon, a team of oil drillers are recruited to blow up an asteroid that threatens to annihilate all life on Earth, because Michael Bay went to film school in a burning dumpster. The plan is to drill 800 feet into the asteroid and then detonate a nuke inside it, because a direct hit on the surface of the improbably tough rock would be ineffective. But then, of course, there’s a plot twist, wherein the government decides to remotely detonate the nuke on the surface …

Soldiers forcibly occupy mission control down on Earth, while up in space, William Fichtner gets his space-gun out to space-seize the space-nuke.

“The president’s advisors feel that the drilling isn’t working,” General Keith David tells a lead scientist inexplicably played by Billy Bob Thornton, even though Thornton points out that “they haven’t drilled the damn hole yet.”

Every intelligent (relatively speaking) person in the movie has made it explicitly clear at this point that detonating the nuke on the surface will do approximately fuck all to the asteroid, yet the government’s argument is “Our plan might not work, so we’re going to switch to a plan that definitely won’t work,” because apparently this 150-minute movie about blowing up a big rock needed to be padded out.

And this comes before the drilling team faces their more serious obstacles, like one of their drills breaking down. This scene might make sense if it came when the heroes were really struggling — a last-minute act of desperation — but as it is, it feels like the president is secretly siding with the asteroid, a foreign force that clearly doesn’t care at all for our well-being. Colluding with it, even.

1

Just Offer Peter Parker A Wrestling Contract

Early in 2002’s Spider-Man, which was the Spider-Man before the Spider-Man, Peter wanted to impress Mary Jane by buying a car, because he thinks he lives in 1950s rural Nebraska and not modern-day New York City. Luckily, he finds a newspaper ad promising the exact amount of money he needs. Movie magic! The catch: He has to survive three minutes in the ring with a pro wrestler at a sketchy cage match. Lord knows we’ve all been there.

Parker not only survives the match but also wins it. It looks like he just made an easy 3,000 bucks, but the sleazy promotor only gives him a hundred, arguing that Parker didn’t earn the money because the fight only lasted two minutes. The promoter is then immediately robbed, and Parker lets the thief escape in retaliation. But that same thief soon kills Uncle Ben, Spider-Man 3 is eventually made, and all of life is revealed to be a cruel puzzle with no solution.

But let’s back up. Why did the promotor stiff Parker in the first place? Yeah, he only lasted two minutes (heh), but he just beat up a professional wrestler with inhuman strength, acrobatics, and freaking web slingers. The crowd went from cheering for his grisly death to loving him within moments. Fans would pay damn good money to see more of a mysterious masked man who can walk up walls, jump unnatural heights, and kick serious ass. That’s why we keep making Spider-Man movies, at any rate. Why on Earth wouldn’t the manager sign him up on the spot, and make Parker the guy who annihilates mooks answering the newspaper ad?

But no, Uncle Ben Must Die, so the promotor prioritizes being a jerk to Parker over doing his job and getting rich. Maybe when the Spider-Man franchise is inevitably rebooted again in a few years this plot point can be addressed.

Molly is an avid reader and writer with all sorts of millennial dreams. Is also willing to write for food. Joel B. Kirk is a San Francisco Bay Area resident. He plans to produce and act in his own films for the masses, as well as write for television someday.

For more things that make no sense in films, check out 7 Movies That Made You Ignore That Their Plots Make No Sense and 5 Dumb Things Movie Characters Do Only to Advance the Plot.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out 4 Plot Holes You Didn’t Notice in Your Favorite Movies, and other videos you won’t see on the site!

Follow us on Facebook, and we’ll follow you everywhere.

Get intimate with our new podcast Cracked Gets Personal. Subscribe for great episodes like What You Don’t Know About The Opiate Epidemic and How Illegal Drugs Saved Our Lives, available wherever you get your podcasts.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/10/15/5-movie-conflicts-that-only-happened-to-advance-the-plot/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/166414854562

[samanthasroberts]

5 Movie Conflicts That Only Happened To Advance The Plot

Action heroes need to overcome obstacles before they kick all of the asses presented to them in chronological order. After all, their victories need to feel like they were earned, through much struggle and hardship. But sometimes screenwriters can’t think of a good way to accomplish that, so they whip up some absurd personal or bureaucratic nonsense instead, like being refused service at the DMV because you’re wearing a beer helmet. It’s part of our religion, Janice. Look it up.

5

The Rebellion in Rogue One Wants To Surrender To A Threat They Don’t Think Exists

In Star Wars: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story About Star Wars, Jyn Erso, the Star Wars character who sounds most like an Asian car model, informs the Rebellion about the existence of the Death Star. A few members of the Rebel Council support her plan to steal the Death Star’s schematics, but most either don’t believe that the weapon exists, think it’s all a trap, or decide that they should surrender to the Empire in the face of such overwhelming superiority instead. Eventually, the Council leans toward disbanding the Rebellion … because of a weapon half of them don’t believe is real. Wait … what?

Oh, and the reason some of them don’t trust Jyn in the first place is because she’s the daughter of the Death Star’s designer … which is also the exact same reason they sent her out to find information about the Death Star at the start.

Ultimately, Jyn gives an inspiring speech on the nature of hope … to which the Council responds with a series of fart noises. Remember, the Rebellion has already been fighting for years, and was formed entirely to wage a series of risky battles against a much more powerful foe; the only reason they were being doubtful here is because the movie needed a drama infusion, stat. Luckily, the Rebel Fleet eventually does show up and help out, right when things were looking their most grim. Sadly, we weren’t shown the scene where the Rebellion’s Death Star Truthers rounded up the rest of the council and made them watch YouTube videos until they all saw the light.

4

The Guy In Charge Of Defense In Independence Day Objects To Defending Things

If everyone on Team Good Guy agrees that their daring plan to stop the villains is brilliant and flawless, that kills the suspense. So Independence Day gave us Secretary of Defence Albert Nimziki, whose sole purpose is doubting our heroes, even if there’s absolutely no reason to do so.

When Jeff Goldblum first suggests his desperate plan to stop the overwhelmingly powerful aliens by giving their mothership a virus, Nimziki’s response is “This is ridiculous” before calling it a “cockamamie plan” and complaining that they don’t have the manpower or resources. He then offers absolutely no alternative suggestions, despite the fact that that is his entire job.

Remember, they’re coming up with this plan after:

A) They discovered the aliens intended to exterminate humanity.

B) Most of the military had already been wiped out, and …

C) Pretty much every other option, including the use of nuclear missiles, had failed.

So Nimziki’s objections boil down to “Nuh uh, this will never work, let’s just sit around and wait to die instead.” He’s the friend who shoots down every pizza topping after claiming he’s “up for whatever.” The plan, of course, works — making Nimziki look both cowardly and stupid for ever doubting it. After all, what good is saving the world if it’s not in somebody’s face?

3

Die Hard 2‘s Captain Lorenzo Hates John McClane For Absolutely No Reason

Die Hard 2: Die Hard In An Airport features the beginning of John McClane’s transition from relatable everyman to a cursed muscle lord doomed to encounter elaborate criminal activities wherever he roams. Early on in this extremely pre-9/11 film, McClane gets in a shootout at the baggage claim, and discovers that the man he just killed is a mercenary who was supposed to be dead already. He takes this suspicious information to airport police chief Captain Lorenzo, who immediately … becomes a huge bureaucratic pain in the ass, solely because a more reasonable response would end the movie in about 15 minutes.

Lorenzo complains about McClane breaking regulations, doesn’t bother to properly investigate the crime scene, and accuses McClane of gunning down a luggage thief and blowing it out of proportion because his fame has gone to his head. All of which is completely unwarranted. And this is after McClane points out that the dead man was carrying an obscure, expensive gun designed to beat airport security which — even if Lorenzo wasn’t genre-savvy enough to realise that he was in a sequel by now — should have clued him in that he was dealing with more than a desperate underwear thief.

Instead, Lorenzo has McClane thrown out of his office. Then, even after the full scope of the attack on the airport is revealed when the bad guys crash a plane, killing hundreds, Lorenzo threatens to throw McClane in jail. He eventually does try to arrest John, before finally accepting that his whole purpose in life is to be a designated naysayer, and comes around. In the end, Lorenzo apologises to McClane by tearing up a parking ticket he got at the start of the movie. It’s unclear how he deals with the psychic weight of the hundreds of deceased souls that died horrifically because he “just plain didn’t like the dude’s face.”

2

The Argument Over Detonating The Nuke In Armageddon Is Pointless Drama

In Armageddon, a team of oil drillers are recruited to blow up an asteroid that threatens to annihilate all life on Earth, because Michael Bay went to film school in a burning dumpster. The plan is to drill 800 feet into the asteroid and then detonate a nuke inside it, because a direct hit on the surface of the improbably tough rock would be ineffective. But then, of course, there’s a plot twist, wherein the government decides to remotely detonate the nuke on the surface …

Soldiers forcibly occupy mission control down on Earth, while up in space, William Fichtner gets his space-gun out to space-seize the space-nuke.

“The president’s advisors feel that the drilling isn’t working,” General Keith David tells a lead scientist inexplicably played by Billy Bob Thornton, even though Thornton points out that “they haven’t drilled the damn hole yet.”

Every intelligent (relatively speaking) person in the movie has made it explicitly clear at this point that detonating the nuke on the surface will do approximately fuck all to the asteroid, yet the government’s argument is “Our plan might not work, so we’re going to switch to a plan that definitely won’t work,” because apparently this 150-minute movie about blowing up a big rock needed to be padded out.

And this comes before the drilling team faces their more serious obstacles, like one of their drills breaking down. This scene might make sense if it came when the heroes were really struggling — a last-minute act of desperation — but as it is, it feels like the president is secretly siding with the asteroid, a foreign force that clearly doesn’t care at all for our well-being. Colluding with it, even.

1

Just Offer Peter Parker A Wrestling Contract

Early in 2002’s Spider-Man, which was the Spider-Man before the Spider-Man, Peter wanted to impress Mary Jane by buying a car, because he thinks he lives in 1950s rural Nebraska and not modern-day New York City. Luckily, he finds a newspaper ad promising the exact amount of money he needs. Movie magic! The catch: He has to survive three minutes in the ring with a pro wrestler at a sketchy cage match. Lord knows we’ve all been there.

Parker not only survives the match but also wins it. It looks like he just made an easy 3,000 bucks, but the sleazy promotor only gives him a hundred, arguing that Parker didn’t earn the money because the fight only lasted two minutes. The promoter is then immediately robbed, and Parker lets the thief escape in retaliation. But that same thief soon kills Uncle Ben, Spider-Man 3 is eventually made, and all of life is revealed to be a cruel puzzle with no solution.

But let’s back up. Why did the promotor stiff Parker in the first place? Yeah, he only lasted two minutes (heh), but he just beat up a professional wrestler with inhuman strength, acrobatics, and freaking web slingers. The crowd went from cheering for his grisly death to loving him within moments. Fans would pay damn good money to see more of a mysterious masked man who can walk up walls, jump unnatural heights, and kick serious ass. That’s why we keep making Spider-Man movies, at any rate. Why on Earth wouldn’t the manager sign him up on the spot, and make Parker the guy who annihilates mooks answering the newspaper ad?

But no, Uncle Ben Must Die, so the promotor prioritizes being a jerk to Parker over doing his job and getting rich. Maybe when the Spider-Man franchise is inevitably rebooted again in a few years this plot point can be addressed.

Molly is an avid reader and writer with all sorts of millennial dreams. Is also willing to write for food. Joel B. Kirk is a San Francisco Bay Area resident. He plans to produce and act in his own films for the masses, as well as write for television someday.

For more things that make no sense in films, check out 7 Movies That Made You Ignore That Their Plots Make No Sense and 5 Dumb Things Movie Characters Do Only to Advance the Plot.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out 4 Plot Holes You Didn’t Notice in Your Favorite Movies, and other videos you won’t see on the site!

Follow us on Facebook, and we’ll follow you everywhere.

Get intimate with our new podcast Cracked Gets Personal. Subscribe for great episodes like What You Don’t Know About The Opiate Epidemic and How Illegal Drugs Saved Our Lives, available wherever you get your podcasts.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/10/15/5-movie-conflicts-that-only-happened-to-advance-the-plot/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/10/15/5-movie-conflicts-that-only-happened-to-advance-the-plot/

[allofbeercom]

5 Movie Conflicts That Only Happened To Advance The Plot

Action heroes need to overcome obstacles before they kick all of the asses presented to them in chronological order. After all, their victories need to feel like they were earned, through much struggle and hardship. But sometimes screenwriters can’t think of a good way to accomplish that, so they whip up some absurd personal or bureaucratic nonsense instead, like being refused service at the DMV because you’re wearing a beer helmet. It’s part of our religion, Janice. Look it up.

5

The Rebellion in Rogue One Wants To Surrender To A Threat They Don’t Think Exists

In Star Wars: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story About Star Wars, Jyn Erso, the Star Wars character who sounds most like an Asian car model, informs the Rebellion about the existence of the Death Star. A few members of the Rebel Council support her plan to steal the Death Star’s schematics, but most either don’t believe that the weapon exists, think it’s all a trap, or decide that they should surrender to the Empire in the face of such overwhelming superiority instead. Eventually, the Council leans toward disbanding the Rebellion … because of a weapon half of them don’t believe is real. Wait … what?

Oh, and the reason some of them don’t trust Jyn in the first place is because she’s the daughter of the Death Star’s designer … which is also the exact same reason they sent her out to find information about the Death Star at the start.

Ultimately, Jyn gives an inspiring speech on the nature of hope … to which the Council responds with a series of fart noises. Remember, the Rebellion has already been fighting for years, and was formed entirely to wage a series of risky battles against a much more powerful foe; the only reason they were being doubtful here is because the movie needed a drama infusion, stat. Luckily, the Rebel Fleet eventually does show up and help out, right when things were looking their most grim. Sadly, we weren’t shown the scene where the Rebellion’s Death Star Truthers rounded up the rest of the council and made them watch YouTube videos until they all saw the light.

4

The Guy In Charge Of Defense In Independence Day Objects To Defending Things

If everyone on Team Good Guy agrees that their daring plan to stop the villains is brilliant and flawless, that kills the suspense. So Independence Day gave us Secretary of Defence Albert Nimziki, whose sole purpose is doubting our heroes, even if there’s absolutely no reason to do so.

When Jeff Goldblum first suggests his desperate plan to stop the overwhelmingly powerful aliens by giving their mothership a virus, Nimziki’s response is “This is ridiculous” before calling it a “cockamamie plan” and complaining that they don’t have the manpower or resources. He then offers absolutely no alternative suggestions, despite the fact that that is his entire job.

Remember, they’re coming up with this plan after:

A) They discovered the aliens intended to exterminate humanity.

B) Most of the military had already been wiped out, and …

C) Pretty much every other option, including the use of nuclear missiles, had failed.

So Nimziki’s objections boil down to “Nuh uh, this will never work, let’s just sit around and wait to die instead.” He’s the friend who shoots down every pizza topping after claiming he’s “up for whatever.” The plan, of course, works — making Nimziki look both cowardly and stupid for ever doubting it. After all, what good is saving the world if it’s not in somebody’s face?

3

Die Hard 2‘s Captain Lorenzo Hates John McClane For Absolutely No Reason

Die Hard 2: Die Hard In An Airport features the beginning of John McClane’s transition from relatable everyman to a cursed muscle lord doomed to encounter elaborate criminal activities wherever he roams. Early on in this extremely pre-9/11 film, McClane gets in a shootout at the baggage claim, and discovers that the man he just killed is a mercenary who was supposed to be dead already. He takes this suspicious information to airport police chief Captain Lorenzo, who immediately … becomes a huge bureaucratic pain in the ass, solely because a more reasonable response would end the movie in about 15 minutes.

Lorenzo complains about McClane breaking regulations, doesn’t bother to properly investigate the crime scene, and accuses McClane of gunning down a luggage thief and blowing it out of proportion because his fame has gone to his head. All of which is completely unwarranted. And this is after McClane points out that the dead man was carrying an obscure, expensive gun designed to beat airport security which — even if Lorenzo wasn’t genre-savvy enough to realise that he was in a sequel by now — should have clued him in that he was dealing with more than a desperate underwear thief.

Instead, Lorenzo has McClane thrown out of his office. Then, even after the full scope of the attack on the airport is revealed when the bad guys crash a plane, killing hundreds, Lorenzo threatens to throw McClane in jail. He eventually does try to arrest John, before finally accepting that his whole purpose in life is to be a designated naysayer, and comes around. In the end, Lorenzo apologises to McClane by tearing up a parking ticket he got at the start of the movie. It’s unclear how he deals with the psychic weight of the hundreds of deceased souls that died horrifically because he “just plain didn’t like the dude’s face.”

2

The Argument Over Detonating The Nuke In Armageddon Is Pointless Drama

In Armageddon, a team of oil drillers are recruited to blow up an asteroid that threatens to annihilate all life on Earth, because Michael Bay went to film school in a burning dumpster. The plan is to drill 800 feet into the asteroid and then detonate a nuke inside it, because a direct hit on the surface of the improbably tough rock would be ineffective. But then, of course, there’s a plot twist, wherein the government decides to remotely detonate the nuke on the surface …

Soldiers forcibly occupy mission control down on Earth, while up in space, William Fichtner gets his space-gun out to space-seize the space-nuke.

“The president’s advisors feel that the drilling isn’t working,” General Keith David tells a lead scientist inexplicably played by Billy Bob Thornton, even though Thornton points out that “they haven’t drilled the damn hole yet.”

Every intelligent (relatively speaking) person in the movie has made it explicitly clear at this point that detonating the nuke on the surface will do approximately fuck all to the asteroid, yet the government’s argument is “Our plan might not work, so we’re going to switch to a plan that definitely won’t work,” because apparently this 150-minute movie about blowing up a big rock needed to be padded out.

And this comes before the drilling team faces their more serious obstacles, like one of their drills breaking down. This scene might make sense if it came when the heroes were really struggling — a last-minute act of desperation — but as it is, it feels like the president is secretly siding with the asteroid, a foreign force that clearly doesn’t care at all for our well-being. Colluding with it, even.

1

Just Offer Peter Parker A Wrestling Contract

Early in 2002’s Spider-Man, which was the Spider-Man before the Spider-Man, Peter wanted to impress Mary Jane by buying a car, because he thinks he lives in 1950s rural Nebraska and not modern-day New York City. Luckily, he finds a newspaper ad promising the exact amount of money he needs. Movie magic! The catch: He has to survive three minutes in the ring with a pro wrestler at a sketchy cage match. Lord knows we’ve all been there.

Parker not only survives the match but also wins it. It looks like he just made an easy 3,000 bucks, but the sleazy promotor only gives him a hundred, arguing that Parker didn’t earn the money because the fight only lasted two minutes. The promoter is then immediately robbed, and Parker lets the thief escape in retaliation. But that same thief soon kills Uncle Ben, Spider-Man 3 is eventually made, and all of life is revealed to be a cruel puzzle with no solution.

But let’s back up. Why did the promotor stiff Parker in the first place? Yeah, he only lasted two minutes (heh), but he just beat up a professional wrestler with inhuman strength, acrobatics, and freaking web slingers. The crowd went from cheering for his grisly death to loving him within moments. Fans would pay damn good money to see more of a mysterious masked man who can walk up walls, jump unnatural heights, and kick serious ass. That’s why we keep making Spider-Man movies, at any rate. Why on Earth wouldn’t the manager sign him up on the spot, and make Parker the guy who annihilates mooks answering the newspaper ad?

But no, Uncle Ben Must Die, so the promotor prioritizes being a jerk to Parker over doing his job and getting rich. Maybe when the Spider-Man franchise is inevitably rebooted again in a few years this plot point can be addressed.

Molly is an avid reader and writer with all sorts of millennial dreams. Is also willing to write for food. Joel B. Kirk is a San Francisco Bay Area resident. He plans to produce and act in his own films for the masses, as well as write for television someday.

For more things that make no sense in films, check out 7 Movies That Made You Ignore That Their Plots Make No Sense and 5 Dumb Things Movie Characters Do Only to Advance the Plot.

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out 4 Plot Holes You Didn’t Notice in Your Favorite Movies, and other videos you won’t see on the site!

Follow us on Facebook, and we’ll follow you everywhere.

Get intimate with our new podcast Cracked Gets Personal. Subscribe for great episodes like What You Don’t Know About The Opiate Epidemic and How Illegal Drugs Saved Our Lives, available wherever you get your podcasts.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/10/15/5-movie-conflicts-that-only-happened-to-advance-the-plot/