#this is just a Loose Collection of Thoughts I Had. none of this is insightful. but since u asked HDBHJFD | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

glimmerglanger · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! Thank you so much for sharing Bush League.

Is there any chance we could get some more insight into Meg and Bobas side of things?

cannibalisticgalaxy asked:

Can you write what happens with Meg in the baseball AU? Like do they and Anakin come and live with Cody and Obi-Wan because of toxic homes? (I love the Bush League au so much omg.)

peachville1982 asked:

Snippet request: anything about anakin or qui-gon and their perspective on the boys' relationship? OR The wedding? OR The outcome of the boys getting Meg and Boba out of their parents poisonous hands? If none of these suit, please know I love this story and am super enjoying the snippets you've provided.

adiduck asked:

A snippet request: so does Cody ever see any of his parents again after he cuts contact with them? How does that go?

EHEHE. I am VERY happy to get to dip some more into the situation with Meg and Boba! Which ALSO folded in nicely with Cody’s parents showing up….

(Set after the Coda, warnings for EVERYTHING warned for in the original fic). Also: this got kind of long.

~~~~~~~~

When they’d bought the house, they’d mutually agreed to go for one with lots of guest bedrooms. Cody’s siblings and Anakin were all regular enough guests, after all, and frequently they brought friends with them, so it had only been sensible.

Meg and Boba had never seen the house, though, not in person. They were minors, still, and Cody’s parents had forbidden it. They hadn’t wanted any of their children in the same house with Ben, not if they could help it.

Well, they were in his house now, looking at the rooms set aside for them.

Ben watched from the doorway, a knot in his gut. Cody was in Meg’s room with her, explaining how the bed worked, apparently. He’d not stopped radiating nervous, protective energy since he’d gotten the call from his sister.

Ben hadn’t seen him so unbalanced for a long time. Years, now. Since he’d gone almost completely no-contact with his parents after some kind of conflict that Cody didn’t like to talk about directly. Ben knew it had involved a disagreement about him.

He frowned, itchy down his back. He knew, by now, the kind of support Cody needed when the trauma from his childhood crawled back into his life. And he’d provide it. He left Cody fussing over Meg and turned to check on Boba, who he found just sitting on the side of the bed in his room, staring forward at the wall.

It was strange how much he looked like the Cody from years ago, when Ben had first met him. But Boba had longer hair, loose curls, and no scar on his brow. The same worried tension around his eyes and mouth, though….

“Hey,” Ben said, quietly. He knew how to comfort Fetts, at this point. “I thought I’d go grab some dinner. You want to come along?”

Boba looked up at him, dark eyes bloodshot and worried, and he said, “Will Meg be okay here?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, working a comforting smile onto his face. “You’re both going to be okay here. And Cody’ll stay with her.”

Dinner settled some more of the anxiety pouring off their guests. They started eating slowly, but ended up putting away the better part of three pizzas. Ben got the feeling they hadn’t eaten much, the last few days.

Afterwards, the kids - well, they were so close to graduating, he thought they’d probably resent being referred to as kids - went to the living room and picked a movie, wedging themselves on the couch to watch.

Ben stayed in the kitchen, cleaning away the leftovers, aware that Cody was still sitting at the table, hands clenched together and head bowed over. Ben gave him the quiet, letting him think and collect himself.

“I want them to stay here,” Cody said, as Ben slid the decimated remains of the pizzas into the fridge; if he recalled what it was like to be that age well enough, he doubted the plates would make it through until morning.

“Okay,” he said, simply, because ‘I know,’ while true, would have felt presumptuous.

“Can we do that?” Cody asked, and Ben turned to look at him, finding him staring at the far wall, expression all tense. “Legally, I mean. Can we do it legally?”

“You’re family,” Ben said, coming over and pulling a chair over so he could sit down close to Cody, leaning into him. “And Satine says that’ll make this easier.” He’d spent hours talking to her, earlier. She’d gone into law, instead of politics, in the end, and did a damn fine job of it. “And they’re old enough to have a lot of say about where they live.”

“So…” Cody said, relaxing a little, turning to look at him, “the police can’t just--come and take them away?”

“We can make it very hard for them to do that,” Ben told him, squeezing Cody’s hand when Cody reached for him. “I’ve already got paperwork started.”

Cody stared at him for a moment, and then let out a ragged breath and slumped down into him. Ben curled an arm around his shoulders, and murmured, soft, “It’s fine. It’s okay. They’re safe. And so are you.”

“Thank you,” Cody whispered, soft, against his shoulder, and Ben just hummed, tightened his grip, and held him a little tighter.

Ben felt grateful that the season had ended as they made their way through the coming weeks. They had so much to do, contacting the online schooling program that he’d got Anakin signed up for during his Senior year, when he’d begged and begged to come stay….

It was easier to get the entire thing working, this time. Money, he found, made many things smoother, especially when it came to taking in two teenagers.

They filled out countless legal forms, some of them beginning to blur together, and got both twins in to see their doctor, just to make sure they were healthy and to let Meg start going over her options….

Not everything felt productive.

Cody’s parents called--a lot, at first. It got somewhat better when they started screening each call, relieved some of the pressure around them. Ben felt more than content to let the lawyers handle all contact with the Fett parents.

He was frowning at another legal form sent along for them to sign while Cody moved around the kitchen with Meg and Boba; they were baking cookies, apparently, to go with all the rest of the cooking they’d been doing the last few days in preparation for the rest of their siblings to arrive, along with Anakin and maybe even Qui-Gon, if he remembered.

Everyone had focused…intensely on the holidays, though he supposed he couldn’t blame them, even if--

He looked up when someone knocked, and Cody’s phone chimed to let them know the cameras had something to show them. Cody rubbed flour off a hand on one leg of his jeans, grabbing for the phone while teasing Boba about some long-ago kitchen mishap, looking down at the screen and--

Freezing.

Ben watched his expression crack, eyes widening as his hand tightened around the phone and he stopped speaking in the middle of a sentence.

Ben slid to his feet without thought, crossing to him. Cody looked at him, blankly, unseeing, when Ben took the phone from his hand and looked down at the screen. He had a pretty good idea what he’d find, only wondering if it would be one or both of them--

It was just one. A woman he’d seen once in his life, when they’d ended up in the same room during their postseason run. She’d refused to look in his direction, neatly editing him out of the world.

Cody’s mother.

“Would you and Boba and Meg go upstairs and see if you can find the rest of the decorations?” Ben said softly, putting the phone down on the island. The twins were watching them, picking up on the tension, huddling closer to Cody.

“What?” Cody asked, blinking rapidly. “I should--”

“You should go upstairs and see if you can find the rest of the decorations,” Ben repeated, because he’d seen this expression on Cody’s face too often, in the years after they met, and he’d never liked it, and he wasn’t going to let anyone make it worse.

“Right,” Cody said, blinking again. “You’ll get the door?”

“I’ll get the door,” Ben confirmed, and watched them move towards the stairs. And then he cracked his neck to the side, exhaled, and went to get the door.

Cody’s mother - Adelaide, he’d heard - stood on their porch. She’d left little of herself in her children, physically, as far as Ben could tell. They all took heavily after Jango. Perhaps that was why she’d dug into their brains so much, trying to imprint something of herself on them.

She was frowning, bundled up for the cold weather, when Ben opened the door, stepped out, and shut it neatly behind his back. She wasn’t much shorter than Cody, with the same dark hair hidden under the hood of her winter coat.

He saw no one else with her, no one else in the car pulled to one side.

She said, the first words he thought she’d ever said to him, “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Ben tilted his head to the side, trying not to think about every halting conversation he’d ever had with Cody about what his childhood had been like, about Cody curled into a knot against his chest, about Cody crying-- And said, “Strange, then, that you’d come to my house.”

She scowled up at him. “This is my son’s house.”

“Not legally until the wedding,” Ben told her, keeping his voice airy, mouth twitching in the corner when she visibly flinched at the word wedding. “We’re going to put his name on everything then. Part of our postnuptial plans--”

He caught her arm when she jerked a hand towards his face, grateful for the reaction speed trained into him over so many years, and said, mild, “Ma’am, don’t give me reason to accuse you of assault in addition to the trespassing.”

She wrenched her arm free; he let her. “I’m not trespassing,” she said, eyes flashing and bright, jaw tight. “You kidnapped my sons.”

He snorted, could not help it, and said, “Not your daughter?”

“I don’t have any daughters,” she snapped back, and he had no softness left to burn away for her, but he thought, if he had, it would have dissolved then.

“You’re not welcome here,” he said, because he had--a family inside. Cody would be upset, and trying to hide it, and probably Meg and Boba would be, too. Taking care of them mattered more than bandying words with a bigot on his porch on a cold December morning. “You don’t have my permission to be on the property. Leave, now, or I’ll have to call the police.”

“If my husband was here--”

“He’d what?” Ben interrupted, narrowing his eyes, because, oh, had they moved into threats? He should have expected it, he supposed. “Attack me? Hurt me?” He shrugged. “He wouldn’t be the first. Do you think that’s going to frighten me? Do you think it would get you what you want? He could kill me, and you’d still never get them back.”

“You’re going to pay for what you’ve done,” she said, voice almost a hiss, and he could see her trembling, more with adrenaline than the cold, he thought.

She wasn’t the first to say it, in his life. He regarded her, taking a step forward, and she stepped back. He asked, “What is it you think I’ve done?”

“You stole my sons,” she said, chin up and quivering, voice cracking with whatever emotion it was she felt. “Cody was a good boy before you ruined him.”

“Cody’s a good man,” he said, and meant it with every bit of his being. “An amazing man, actually. The best I’ve ever met. And he is despite what you did to him. So, now--”

“Don’t you feel guilty at all? Whoring yourself--”

“Everything I’ve ever done with your son, I did for free,” Ben interrupted, chirpy, and she flinched back from him. “And we’re done with this conversation. Go, now, and I won’t call the police, won’t make this all front page news, won’t make sure everyone knows exactly what you did to your sons and daughter. Don’t come back here. Don’t contact any of them, because I swear, if you hurt them again, I’ll find a way to ruin both of you.”

She stared at him for a long, long moment, and he read the hatred on her face even as she screwed up her mouth, turning his face to the side when she spat.

He ignored the slurs - ugly, but nothing he hadn’t been hearing off and on since he was fourteen - she snarled at him when she turned on her heel and walked, fast and jerky, back to the rental car.

He watched her leave, exhaled, and went back inside.

Ben washed his face in the downstairs bathroom, scrubbing at his beard until it felt clean again, and then turned off the water and--

Startled, a little, when Cody offered him a towel from the side. He took it, shaking it open to dry his hands, and assessed Cody’s expression. He looked, outwardly, almost blank, but there was nothing but tension in his shoulders and jaw.

“She’s gone,” Ben told him, softly, bringing the towel up to pat at his cheeks and beard.

“I know,” Cody said, and wiggled his hand a little, drawing attention to the phone he held.

Ben winced, hissing and reaching out to take it; the app for the doorcam was still up. “You didn’t need to listen to that,” he said, aching inside, all at once, because his parents had hurt Cody enough, he shouldn’t have to--

“Yes,” Cody disagreed, voice hoarse, “I did. Ben--” His voice broke, cracking uneven and jagged, like a pane of glass dropped on a corner, and his expression shattered with it. Ben swore, softly, stepping into his space and curling arms around him, pulling him closer.

Cody slumped into him, rasping, “I shouldn’t have made you talk to her. I should have done it. I--”

“You shouldn’t ever talk to her again,” Ben countered, kissing the side of his head. “She didn’t hurt me, Cody. Nothing she could have said would have hurt me.”

Cody made a faint, disbelieving sound, but Ben already expected that the next few days were going to be rough, emotionally. That was fine. He’d be there, anyway. And they’d finish up with all the legalities. And he’d make sure, somehow, that Cody and all his siblings stayed safe.

#glimmer replies #ask me anything #bush league snippets #bush league #the fallout of awful parenting

132 notes · View notes

critrolesideblog · 3 years ago

Text

Caleb Widogast pushed his hair out of his face for the ei--nineteenth time in about as many minutes. Caleb and Essek were reading for pleasure this evening, with the aid of Comprehend Languages: Caleb the collected poems of Erdan Niemi, a famous Drow bard, and Essek, Die Waldhexe und andere Zemnische Volksmärchen. They were seated at opposite ends of one of the sofas in the tower salon, their legs in the middle not quite touching. But some time into Essek's reading, the repeated scrape of sweater against paper edge and rustle of hand in hair became too much for him to ignore.

It was a long time coming really. Essek recalled that it had been Veth who had braided back Caleb's hair for him, when they were in Aeor last. Since there was no Veth to braid it this time around, Caleb had fallen into the habit of roughly tying it back in a ponytail or bun, with varying degrees of success, depending on the amount of effort he put into it, which, lately, was middling, and tonight, none at all. There were times when the mess was charming: when Caleb shuffled into the dining room in the morning, stray locks framing his face; when he ran his hand through his hair in excitement at a new discovery; when some friendly wind caused wayward strands to brush just so against his lips. At the moment, though... Essek took a large sip of his wine and set the glass gently back on the table. "Caleb?"

"Hmm?"

Despite the response, Essek knew better than to continue right away. Caleb's head tilted up toward him slowly, but his eyes lingered on the page a moment longer. When blue finally met lilac, Essek took a deep breath breath. "May I... braid your hair for you?"

Caleb blinked once, twice, three times, before his eyebrow and lips quirked up with a humor that was a little too insightful. "Well, if it’s bothering you..."

Essek gave a huff of laughter at being caught, before pressing his hands together in front of his lips, arranging his features into a semblance of solemnity. "It is driving me insane." Caleb laughed, as Essek hoped he would.

"I apologize if I have driven you to distraction," he replied, in a voice that sounded not remotely contrite. Essek averted his eyes and took another small sip of wine to provide an alibi for the warmth in his cheeks. "Please, by all means." Caleb pulled free the tie holding his hair in place, and with a small shake of his head, the copper strands fell down around his face and shoulders.

Essek gathered his composure, clearing his throat slightly. "Excellent -- ah, Liesl?" He said quickly, turning to the tortoiseshell cat relaxing in front of the fireplace. She opened one amber eye in response.

Liesl was Essek's right-hand cat. She had been standoffish at first, it was true, but it seemed Essek's years in politics were not wasted in the ruins of Aeor. "Liesl, would you please have Jaakko fetch me some additional hair ties and a comb?" Liesl, without raising her head from her paws, turned her gaze to the cat in question, all black and slender, whose interpretation of cleaning apparently included batting a piece of crumpled paper around the legs of a desk with incredible enthusiasm. At some unseen signal, he turned his attention to Liesl, and after a series of tail twitches, trotted off into a nearby cat door. She turned her gaze back to Essek. "Thank you, Liesl. That will be all." She chirped at him in response and returned to her nap.

Caleb's eyes were back on his book now, but Essek did not recall anything in Niemi's works amusing enough to justify the grin on Caleb's face, which Essek now had an excuse to give due consideration. He did not think the braids that Verin favored in their youth would suite him particularly well, and they were a bit elaborate for a night in, besides. Perhaps just a variation on the Gwardanian-style braid Veth employed.

Jaakko returned in no time, the items required laid out neatly on a tray held aloft by his long tail, and, with one last small sip of wine, Essek rose from the sofa and moved to stand behind Caleb. He took a deep breath as he picked up the amber comb from the tray. There was no cause, he told himself sternly, for his heart to be racing as it was, which was, of course, a lie. He raised the comb above the copper strands. "I am going to begin now?"

"Ja, danke."

Whether the thanks was for the impending braid or the warning, Essek was not sure, but he drew the edge of the comb gently back along the scalp, carefully delineating a section of hair at the top of Caleb's head. He tied the sides and back out of the way, and if his face warmed at the brush of fingertips on neck, there was no one able to see it. He gathered up the hair closest to Caleb's face and divided it in thirds, before weaving the right third over the center and then left over center. He repeated the process, carefully gathering more strands in on the sides as he went. He was about halfway through with the braid, when Caleb leaned to the left without warning, nearly pulling the locks from his grasp.

"Pysy paikallasi!" Essek hissed, decades-old habit causing the words to spill from his lips in Undercommon, but it did not matter. Comprehend Languages was still in effect. "Mitä sinä teet?"

"I want some wine," Caleb explained, extending his arm to the side to demonstrate that the glass was just out reach.

"Did Veth allow you to move around when she braided your hair?"

"She never complained."

"Then she spoiled you terribly."

"Will you hand me the wine?"

"No," he replied sternly, gathering the strands into one hand, careful not to mix them up, and then leaning over and passing the goblet to its owner.

"You are a riot, Herr Thelyss," Caleb said dryly, but Essek caught a glimpse of a grin as he straightened.

"I am glad you think so. I have been thinking of taking my comedy show on the road when we are done here."

"You should ask Veth if she has any material you can use. Will there be a Mighty Nein discount on tickets?"

"Please, if anything, I should charge you all extra for the honor of heckling me."

Caleb gave a mock gasp. "The Nein? Heckle you? We would never."

"Ha! Tell me another one!"

Caleb's shoulders shook with quiet laughter.

Essek stopped gathering new hair into the top braid, braiding the remaining length of the locks together, and tying them off. He then shifted to the left and began the process again with a section starting at Caleb's left temple. From this vantage point, he could spy the gilded edges and precise black script of the book in Caleb hands (and what hands they were! Capable, as he knew, of both great destruction and healing. And, perhaps, from this vantage, he could also glimpse the stately sweep of his cheekbones, the curve of his nose, the strength of his jaw, but who was to say.).

"How are you enjoying the poetry so far?" He asked, affixing his eyes firmly to the task in front of him. He had not known whether Caleb enjoyed poetry, when he gifted it to him. He had doubted, though, that Caleb had much opportunity to avail himself of Kryn literature during his time in Rosohna, and Caleb had seemed delighted, even touched, by the gift. He did not seem to be making quick progress through the text, however.

"Very much so," Caleb replied after taking a sip of wine. "I imagine I am sometimes missing some nuance or cultural context -- Comprehend Languages is a bit of a blunt instrument -- but I am enjoying it even more than I thought I would. You almost made it sound dry in your description, when you gave it to me."

"Ah, no, not dry. Only, all young Drow are forced to read his works as part of our schooling, and it colors our enjoyment of it somewhat."

"I see."

"Do you have a favorite passage so far?"

Caleb did not respond right away. "Yes..." He admitted, at last, and added, "It is from the Courtship of Lael."

Essek nearly lost his grip on the braid as he fumbled the strands mid-crossing. He had forgotten the Courtship was so early in the text. "Oh?" He asked, hoping it came across as polite interest.

"Would you like to hear it?" Caleb's voice had a softer, deeper hue than usual.

"If you like."

There was quiet for a moment.

Caleb did not turn to the page -- he did not need to. He merely cleared his throat lightly, and began:

"My lover's skin is a field of stars. What bliss to wander among the heavens! Let me approach as a pilgrim from the dark. Let me worship on my knees before the holy light. Let no beacon go without a prayer from my lips."

Every opalescent freckle on Essek's skin was now a flame. He swallowed hard. "That--that was, ah ... evocative."

"Ja, I thought so too." Caleb chuckled.

Essek tied off the left braid and moved around to the opposite side. They passed the time in quiet, as Essek's dexterous hands, having found their rhythm, made quick work on the braid on the right. And if he had a new awareness of the freckles that made fiery constellations along the slope of Caleb's neck, he gave no indication.

"You know it is a good thing you are braiding my hair up, with us going deeper into the Genesis Ward tomorrow." Caleb said at last, as Essek gathered the braids and the loose strands left over in the back up into a neat ponytail, tying it off with Caleb's original tie. There was more than a little mischief in his voice. "I should hate for Devexian to see me for the first time in months with my hair a mess."

"You are a riot, Caleb Widogast," Essek drawled.

"I'm glad you think so."

----

Notes: Pysy paikallasi! Mitä sinä teet? - Stay still! What are you doing?

#some fluff for your Sunday evening #this was originally going to involve more reflections on Essek's childhood #but Caleb had other ideas #Caleb: I'm gonna read him my actual favorite passage from this book. Me: you don't have to. Caleb: No I'm gonna #Shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #shoutout to neverlain for fixing my Finnish!#my writing tag

212 notes · View notes

witch-hazels-musings · 4 years ago

Note

Requests are still open? If so, how about zhongli or kaeya with a GN reader that has trouble falling asleep? (bonus points if they look drowsy during daytime)

^ with the time change I’m feeling really sleepy most of the day. I would love for Zhongli to make me a cup of tea ... like I bet it's a treat.

Warning -> none :)

How about some tea?

Includes: Zhongli, Kaeya

Character X GN reader | Anthology

Zhongli

There is something about this man's level of knowledge and insight into the things around him that’s incredible - somehow he knows the strangest of things while nothing of the simplest of things

Ask him the price of a common item, he has no idea, but ask him why the sun dances across the sky and he will tell you a tale long forgotten to the sands of time

So it’s both surprising and not that he knows something is strange about you

“Your demeanor looks strange.” He states with his hand against his chin and head slightly tilted.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, I just had a hard time sleeping last night is all.” You wave him away and continue with your task. You had started early with it, since you couldn’t sleep, and were nearly done.

“If you’d like, I could brew you some tea with valerian root. It has an interesting flavor, but will suffice.” He hasn’t really moved from his place throughout your whole conversation. He’s almost like a statue, one hand at his chin, the other resting against the small of his back.

“Uh, maybe.” You grab the large bag of items and lift it into your arms. You let out a sigh at its weight and try to shift it until it rests more comfortably in your arms. “I’ll get back to you.” With a warm smile, you give him a quick nod and head off.

You look back at him and he is still standing there, just as he was before.

Zhongli is a person who will keep his promises no matter what, even if you aren’t sure you created a promise with him

He can be very persistent and often takes people at their word - so when you see him show up later that day with all the material needed for a nice cup of tea, you shouldn’t be shocked

“Zhongli?” You stand with your hand on your door and the other in your hair. You had returned only shortly before he arrived and thought a nice shower would help refresh your mind.

“I was able to acquire the root I mentioned earlier today.” He’s just standing there, totally deadpan and serious. It makes you laugh.

“You didn’t need to go out of your way for that.” You say through laughter, the lightness of it lifting the atmosphere.

“I do recall I said I would brew you tea.”

“Yes, you did. Come in.”

You watch as he enters your home, something he hasn’t done very often. The two of you always found each other on the streets or walking along the harbor. Your relationship had always been friendly, and you enjoyed spending time with him. Truthfully, you longed for the relationship to be more. It somehow felt so domestic to see him moving through your kitchen with ease as if he’d lived there for years.

You sit at the counter and watch as he nimbly gets everything ready. The way he cuts the root into small pieces, the way he collects water in the teapot and sets it over the stove. The skillful way he organizes the loose leaves of the tea he’s brought which, you knew, would complement nicely with the valerian.

You enjoyed watching him as he prepared the tea. The simple process turned into an elegant orchestra of movement and execution. Once the water was at the right temperature, he poured the liquid into the cup and you watched as it turned a playful yellow.

Elegantly, he placed a saucer before you before resting the cup quietly in its place. You take in the fragrance and catch the hint of wood and sweet flowers.

“Do enjoy.” He gestured before following the same process to pour his own.

You bring the liquid to your lips and are surprised at how perfect the water temperature is. As the contents fill your mouth, you immediately sense the earthy taste. It’s overpowering, but only for a moment. Once the initial aroma passes there is a relief of sweetness and floral, which is quite refreshing.

“This is …” you pull your gaze from your cup before continuing, “kinda awesome.”

“And it is much better when spent in good company.” There is a warm smile on his face and you wonder if the liquid was making you warm or if it was him.

“I appreciate you doing this. It was nice of you.”

“My pleasure. I could sense you were in need of something.”

“I’ve just had a hard time sleeping lately, well, really most of the time.” You take another sip of the warm liquid.

“Mmm, perhaps there is something plaguing you?”

“Ha, not really. I’ve just always had a hard time sleeping at night. My mind won’t turn off I guess.” The soothing smell of the tea is starting to make your head heavy.

“If this aids you, then I am happy to teach you how to make it. Or do so myself if you wish.”

“Thank you, Zhongli.” You look back at the teacup and take a few more drinks before placing it on the saucer. Outside, you hear the citizens walking by and the distant shouting of those on the docks. Most of the time, you didn’t pay any attention to the sounds of the city, but today they seemed to be a soothing noise. Something about the way it all mixed and settled in your ears just felt right.

“It must be working.” You catch his eyes and turn your head. For some reason, his eyes seem more powerful than normal.

“It must be. I’m going to go rest on the couch for a minute.”

“Please do, I will clean up here.”

You settle into the couch and observe Zhongli from your place there. He’s already emptied your cup and cleaned it in the sink. His hands perfectly worked just the way he wanted them to. It feels like there are weights on your eyelids and it becomes harder and harder to keep them open.

The last thing you see is Zhongli standing in your kitchen drinking his cup of tea as he looks out the window.

Kaeya

He doesn’t let anything get past him, so he would definitely know something was up with you

“You look a little tired there.” Kaeya appeared out of thin air. You had been so distracted that you hadn’t noticed anything for a while. The passing of the time or the citizens walking from place to place, none of them registered. So when Kaeya’s face was suddenly before you and you caught his half-smile, you didn’t pay it much attention.

“Do I?” Your head was fuzzy like someone had turned on the radio but all the channels were missing. This sensation had gotten so commonplace that you often ignored it too.

“Yeah. Are you okay?” He leaned down, his smile gone and replaced with a concerned expression.

“I’m okay. Thanks.” You try to give him a reassuring smile and hope he doesn’t worry.

He watches as you walk away. There is something off about your steps, but he isn’t quite sure.

He’d likely do his own background investigation to figure out what is troubling you. He’s ready to tackle any problem no matter the size in order to bring back your more cheery disposition

When he finds out that it’s because you have trouble sleeping he gets to work. He’s asking the alchemists to come up with a potion, he goes to the church to see if the healers can assist in any way, he might even try some non-conventional tactics to help you sleep

After many days of rain, the sun had started to return to the city. There was a cool chill that ran across your arms and the back of your neck as you bent down to pour out the excess water from the plants. I should probably replace this with some dry dirt, you think to yourself as the water spreads across the cobblestone.

When you finish, you watch as the other citizens pass by. A few wave and some just keep on about their day. A few drops of cold water fall on your face and make you jump as it runs down your cheek.

“Hello, again.” A familiar voice calls out to you and when you look, you see Kaeya confidently making his way toward you.

“Hello.” You return and wipe the raindrops off of your face. You’re reminded how tall his when he stops but a few inches in front of you and stares down at you.

“Heading out now that the rain has stopped?” His hand is on his hip and he’s wearing his dashing smile.

“Yeah, I was thinking of returning some books to the Library. I’m sure Lisa isn’t pleased I haven’t returned them yet.”

“I’ll accompany you.”

“You sure?” You give him a quizzical look. He’s always so busy, it’s strange for him to have extra time to spare.

“Of course.”

“Okay, well let me grab the books.” He waits patiently outside until you return, books in hand.

He’s a man with a plan, and he’s going to enact that plan

He may have a pleasant smile plastered to his face, but he always has something working in the background, shifting in the shadows

Somehow he has convinced you to visit his office. You aren’t sure how he convinced you, the conversation you had with him didn’t seem to discuss anything about having a cup of tea, and especially not in his office.

“Thanks for the drink, it smells delicious.” You let the warm vapors run across your face and breath in the sweet smell.

“Please take your time.” He sits in the chair next to you, his leg resting on his knee and his back against the plush cushion.

You sit for a while and listen to the sounds of the room. The way the wind slides over the glass window, the sounds of footsteps walking through the hallways, voices of the knights growing and fading as they accomplish their tasks. The atmosphere starts to make you drowsy and you close your eyes for a minute, the warm cup resting on your legs.

“You seem relaxed now.” You hear his voice and open your eyes again.

“Yeah, there is something comforting about this place. I’m not sure why.”

“Probably because I’m here.” You chuckle at his comment and take another sip of tea. When there are only a few drinks left you placed the cup back onto the saucer before preparing yourself to leave.

“Well, thanks again.” You start to get up but he stops you. He’s grabbing your shoulder and ushering you down onto the couch.

“You should rest.”

“Huh, I don’t need to?” You try to sit back up, but he continues to push you down.

“Yes, you do. I can tell how tired you are. When was the last time you slept.”

“Kaeya, you’re being silly.”

“When was the last time?” He asks again, sitting on the coffee table and crossing his arms.

“... I don’t know … I tried to get some sleep last night but It didn’t really work.” You feel the soft cushion of the couch under you. It smells like Kaeya and it's pulling you in.

“I have some more things to do, but you are welcome to rest here.”

“I have a house…”

“Yes, but you already said this place was comforting.” He smirks at you, again somehow convincing you his way is the best way.

“I won’t fall asleep.” You retort, rubbing your eyes.

“Just give it a try.” He stands up and you follow him with your gaze. You watch as he grabs a blanket and starts to unravel it over you. It’s thick and extremely soft. “Now, close your eyes.”

“I’m telling you …”

“Mmhm, just be good and do it.”

Your eyes track him as he makes his way to his desk. The sun is hitting his back and the color of blue reflects against the wall. You blink a few times. The blanket is so warm and the pillow is just right. You close your eyes for just a few seconds, I definitely won’t fall asleep, you think to yourself before you slip into a world of pleasant dreams.

#genshin impact #genshin impact X reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact musings #genshin impact fiction #genshin kaeya #genshin zhongli #kaeya x reader #Zhongli X reader #zhongli #kaeya #kaeya alberich

402 notes · View notes

vodkassassin · 4 years ago

Note

For SVSS- Gifts of jewelry, with spite.

I could have sworn I had another prompt asking for what the other peak lords thought of the cucumberplane friendship, and I was going to smoosh it together with this incredibly vague prompt, but I couldn’t find it lmao. Anyway, here @starfata

There are OC peak lords in this, including the POV character. Rong Qingsheng peak lord of the agriculture peak number 12, Ju Qingsong peak lord of the 11th peak, and I finally named the booze peak lord Shui Qingyu. That’s it, I think. Read away!

—

Shang Qinghua enters the peak lord meeting with a loud bang, slamming open the door with much more force than it really needs. Being the last one to arrive, everyone else is already seated and exchanging quiet conversation with one another.

They all jump when he comes in, and stare in confusion at the scowl that adorns his face. They watch in abrupt silence as he steps into the hall, at how his eyes zero in on a suddenly smirking Shen Qingqiu, and Qi Qingqi leans her shoulder into the master of the agricultural peak that sits next to her.

Rong Qingsheng raises his eyebrow at her, keeping one eye on the An Ding lord that stalks forward without looking at any of them to sit in his own seat with a noisy and very pointed huff.

Voice lowered, Qi Qingqi smirks at him. “How much?”

“For what, exactly, this time?” Rong Qingsheng heaves a quiet sigh, long since used to his martial sister’s gambling ways.

If there’s even a hint of wavering odds in the balance of the drama that occasionally befalls the inner workings of their sect, you can be certain that Qi Qingqi has a betting pool running behind the scenes of it.

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” She asks, and Rong Qingsheng is never one to wager money in any of her ridiculous and time-eating schemes, but then again— despite speaking directly to him, she’s not exactly asking him.

Seated to Rong Qingsheng’s right, the peak lord of the beast tamers peak leans around him to eye Qi Qingqi with a sharp gaze and an even sharper smile. “What do you think the stakes are, that Shen-shixiong did something to piss him off?” He asks, eagerly, always one to fall into a bet.

“I think that it’s already clear that he has, indeed, done just that,” Rong Qingsheng says, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder and pushing him out of his personal space and back into his proper seat.

Ju Qingsong pouts at him, the ridiculous man. “Yes, but the question is, did he do it on purpose, or on accident and is just pretending he did it intentionally in the face of Shang-shixiong’s anger?”

“Why would he do that?” Rong Qingsheng asks, confused.

“Because he’s a dick?” Ju Qingsong shrugs, and leans behind his back this time to make eye contact with Qi Qingqi. “Ten silver on Shen-shixiong doing it on accident, though. He’s a good actor, we can’t be sure he doesn’t have as much of a clue as to why Shang-shixiong is upset with him as we do.”

Qi Qingqi grins, pulling a loose sheaf of parchment out of absolutely nowhere — no, that had definitely come from in between her breasts. And a charcoal pencil, too? How does it all fit? Why.

Rong Qingsheng feels so tired, all of a sudden.

“Qi-shijie,” someone else murmurs, and Rong Qingsheng glances over his shoulder, already exhausted, to see Shui Qingyu of the brewery peak hunched behind them like he thinks he’s being sneaky. “Five silver on Shen-shixiong purposefully having antagonized Shang-shixiong.”

“All of you are idiots,” Liu Qingge grunts from where he’s sidled over to lean over Ju Qingsong’s table.

The rest of them eye him closely, and Qi Qingqi’s charcoal pencil pauses on its scribbling. If anyone were to have any sort of inside perspective of the odd friendship that exists between the Qing Jing and An Ding peak lords, it’s the Bai Zhan one. For some reason that probably makes no sense whatsoever, Rong Qingsheng is certain.

Liu Qingge continues, “Qinghua definitely started it.”

Immediately, Ju Qingsong rolls his eyes and leans heavily into Rong Qingsheng’s shoulder. He shoves the man away, once more, but he just returns, again.

“Shang-shixiong wouldn’t be this pissed if he’d made the initial insult himself, would he?” Ju-shixiong ponders. “He’s always been pretty good about taking responsibility for his own actions and accepting any retribution for them.”

Rong Qingsheng watches as Liu Qingge squints at their martial brother, and then reluctantly nods.

“He is,” the man says, tapping a finger thoughtfully to the base of his sword. “But…”

Qi Qingqi’s charcoal pencil shivers with anticipation as it hovered over her parchment. Rong Qingsheng isn’t sure it contains notes solely about the wagers, anymore. “Liu-shidi? What’s your insight?”

Liu Qingge makes a face, like having any sort of insight to it at all is a burden and insult to himself personally. “It’s different,” he eventually admits, “when it’s Shen Qingqiu.”

For some goddamn reason, isn’t vocalized, but all the peak lords exchange knowing looks anyway. Not even Liu Qingge, who’s closest to them, knows what the hell is going on there. Mu Qingfang might have a better take on the two ‘bros’, but even he looks confused, in that exasperated and tired sort of way of his, half the time whenever Shang Qinghua or Shen Qingqui pull their antics with one another.

Speaking of which—

“I’m going to get you back for this,” Shang Qinghua is grumbling, loudly. His arms are crossed, and he’s glaring balefully across the room at where Shen Qingqiu so smugly lounges in his seat beside a faintly puzzled looking Yue Qingyuan.

“You can certainly try,” Shen Qingqui says so quietly that it’s more like he’s mouthing the words than actually saying them, and the An Ding peak lord bristles like he’s been insulted in the gravest of ways.

Rong Qingsheng takes a moment to study him. Shang Qinghua is dressed in his usual peak lord attire, dark blue robes and flowing silk indigo over pants and a high-collared shirt of black, a gauzy and transparent light colored, shorter outer robe thrown over the entire ensemble. For someone who spends a lot of his time running two and fro across all the peaks of the sect chasing down some paperwork or report or other, Shang Qinghua has always been surprisingly stylish. His hair is done up in his usual full bun, held in place with the An Ding lord hairpiece and two silver needles.

Rong Qingsheng narrows his eyes, trying to parse out what, exactly, is different about his senior martial brother today, aside from his current outburst that isn’t typically within his personality unless he’s chasing after someone for an audit of their peak finances.

He resists the urge to shiver. Rong Qingsheng has never had any glaring holes in his peak’s budget histories, but he can quite vividly remember the last time An Ding had come to audit them, and he fervently hopes that the next occasion will not come any time soon.

It takes a few moments, but he eventually spots a difference in Shang Qinghua’s wardrobe. The man isn’t typically one to wear earrings unless they’re simple gems or small hoops. It could be theorized that the dangling ones just get in the way during work? Are distracting when attempting complicated maths and other calculations? Whatever the case is, the ones Shang Qinghua wears today are ornate and incredibly expensive looking, long enough to brush against the tops of his shoulders if he were to shrug, and completely uncharacteristic of the An Ding peak lord.

Not that Rong Qingsheng makes it a habit to creepily examine all his martial siblings whenever he comes across them, but he’s not blind. If you place a pretty person in front of him, what’s he suppose to do? Not look them over? Being a lord of the twelve peaks of Cang Qiong, Rong Qingsheng has ample opportunity to observe his beautiful martial siblings, and Shang Qinghua is as pretty as the rest of them. So what if he’s stared at him enough times to notice a minute change in his jewelry?

There’s a nudge against his ribs. Ju Qingsong leans into his space again, his breath ghosting across his face.

“You’re blushing,” his martial brother whispers, and Rong Qingsheng shoves him.

Ju Qingsong comes back like a boomerang, a grin on his face and his hands latching around Rong Qingsheng’s arm like some sort of infatuated maiden. “Who is it this time?”

“Nothing,” Rong Qingsheng says, calmly, and turns his eyes pointedly away from the line of Shang Qinghua’s neck. Definitely doesn’t notice how the new earrings accentuate it, or how they sparkle in the light and swing just barely with the man’s smallest movements.

He gets poked in the ribs again for his non-answer, but thankfully their sect leader finally stands to bring the meeting to order, so Ju Qingsong has no time to continue needling him.

The meeting is boring as all the others, only highlighted by the brief snack break that the Qiong Ding and Zui Xian disciples tag team to cater. Zhangmen-shixiong always goes out of his way to make sure the monthly meet between peak lords aren’t so dry and mundane that they all simply end up dying of boredom, but there’s only so much even their honorable sect leader can do. By the time the meeting rolls to an end, Rong Qingsheng can feel the edges of sleep tugging at his awareness, and none of his martial siblings look any better.

Except Shang Qinghua, that is. Then again, the peak lord of An Ding has never seemed to allow himself to feel boredom, especially at meetings of any kind. Being in charge of such a detail-oriented sphere of the sect business, Rong Qingsheng assumes, requires one to pay close attention to even the littlest of trivialities.

How time consuming. How much work does it take, to constantly be on alert for every little mention of every little faucet of their collective lives, taking careful note of every little action and reaction and conversation and tucking them away to be used at a later date in conjunction with the running of the sect, without going absolutely mad in the process? Shang-shixiong is the most frequent visitor of their sect leader’s offices for a reason.

He’s never once fallen asleep during a meeting. Rong Qingsheng simply cannot relate, and neither can any of the other peak lords.

The very second that Zhangmen-shixiong brings the meeting to a close, Shang Qinghua jumps up from his seat and makes a beeline toward Shen Qingqiu, who has also begun to look incredibly sleepy and bored out of his mind, but much better at concealing it behind his trusty fan. The Qing Jing peak lord glances up to meet the gaze of Shang Qinghua as he approaches him, and he brings the fan down an inch, a lazy smirk steals across his face.

“Do you like them?” Shen Qingqiu asks almost coyly.

The rest of the peak lords loiter in the room, holding conversations with one another but not paying attention to them because they’re all focused on the confrontation happening at the front. Rong Qingsheng is a little ashamed that he’s one of them. Not ashamed enough to leave, though.

Shang Qinghua comes to a stop before Shen Qinqiu’s table and kneels, huffily, directly onto the hard stone floor across from him, sweeping his sleeves behind him before crossing his arms over his chest. How he’s able to act befitting of a peak lord and yet behave so casually at the same time is surely a paradox, yet he somehow manages it.

“I fail to see why I have been gifted them in the first place,” Shang Qinghua comments idly, though he sounds oddly sarcastic.

Shen Qingqui sets down his fan, only to go for his teacup and use tha to cover his rather sharp smile instead. “But, do you like them?”

Distantly, he can hear Qi Qingqi murmur gleefully from behind him. “How much did you want to wager on Shang-shixiong starting it, Liu-Shidi?”

There’s a grunt. Then, reluctantly, “... Three silver.”

“So low? Liu-Shidi, that’s not very confident of you.”

“S-seven silver!”

“Qi-Shijie, stop trying to extort Liu-shidi. He’s never placed a bet before.” Oh, did Mu Qingfang join them? “Also, put me down for ten silver on Shen-shixiong being the one who started it, but Shang-shixiong being the one who caused it to continue.”

Ju Qingsong frowns. “Are they actually fighting? Shen-shixiong hasn’t intentionally aggravated anyone for a reaction since the fever.”

“What would they be fighting about?” Shui Qingyu asks, confused.

“Something stupid.” Liu Qingge grumbles, but in a knowing way, and so they all turn to listen, like a bunch of nosy eavesdroppers. Which is precisely what they are.

Rong Qingsheng feels so, so tired.

Across the room, Shang Qinghua is scowling. “You can’t just give me expensive jewelry and think that’ll make everything better.”

“Aren’t you calling the kettle black, here, Shang-ge?” Shen Qingqiu asks, using another of the odd metaphoric phrases than only he and Shang Qinghua seem to understand the meanings of. And then there’s the overly familiar form of address, which he’d begun using a few months after the fever broke, but to which Shang Qinghua had rather suspiciously had very little reaction to, and even reciprocated.

It’s all just really, really weird, if you asked Rong Qingsheng. But, then again, no one ever does.

“Are you calling me a hypocrite?” Shang Qinghua asks incredulously, fingering one of the new earrings as if self conscious. Ah, is that what Shen Qingqiu had been saying?

“Well, I’m not calling you a stalwart.”

“Joke’s on you then, Shen-ge, because I’m the most stalwart person here.”

Shen Qingqiu pauses, eyes flitting over to a bemused Yue Qingyuan, and then briefly across the rest of the peak lords, who all very consciously do not duck their heads, before he nods slowly in acquiescence.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’ve got me there. But, you still haven’t answered my question.”

Shang Qinghua scowls, removing his hand from the earring and folding it pointedly against his other in his lap.

“... Fine,” he huffs irritably. “Yes, I do.”

Shen Qingqiu takes a sip of tea, eyebrows raised. “You what?”

“I’m not saying it again.”

“You have to. That was the deal.”

“There was no— ugh!” Shang Qinghua throws up his hands, and Shen Qingqiu’s lips quirk a little before he chuckles. Actually chuckles! Yue Qingyuan looks positively poleaxed, from where he sits silently and as unobtrusively as possible at his table a foot away from the two bickering friends.

“You can’t insult my sense of fashion and style and then just, what, not expect me to get revenge? Shang-ge, please. You know me better than that.”

Rong Qingsheng’s brows furrow. This is revenge? Gifting Shang Qinghua expensive earrings was a form of revenge? Revenge for what, exactly?

“And you know me better than to think I won’t be getting you back for this,” Shang Qinghua sniffs, standing up from the floor. He points a finger at the fan-toting lord of Qing Jing, and exclaims, “I’m going to get you a gift so great that you won’t possibly be able to top it.”

��Watch me,” Shen Qingqiu immediately retorts, as if Shang Qinghua’s announcement had been some sort of threat, eyes narrow and fan flipping open to cover his lower face.

It’s a beautiful face. Rong Qingsheng has always wondered why Shen-shixiong is so self conscious about it as to constantly cover it up. It can’t be to hide his expressions — he hardly ever allows his thoughts or feelings to show on his face in the first place. It has to be something else.

Shang Qinghua glares, pivots on his heel, and stomps toward the exit. He breezes right on by the eavesdropping peak lords without even sparing them a glance, and slams the door behind him on his way out.

Rong Qingsheng is so confused, and it doesn’t look like any of his martial siblings are much better.

“I can’t even figure out who wins the pot,” Qi Qingqi harrumphs grumpily. She shoves the parchment and charcoal stick back into her cleavage like it’s just another pocket. Both items vanish, and Rong Qingsheng wonders a little hysterically whether she’s got some sort of quankin space array tattooed in between them or something else equally as absurd.

“Well, that would require knowing who started it,” Ju Qingsong shrugs. He’s got a hand on Rong Qingsheng’s shoulder and is leaning against him. He shrugs him off like the irritant that he is, and gets another pout for his troubles.

Mu Qingfang hums. “We will just have to wait until things settle down between them, and ask.”

He and Liu Qingge exchange a glance, and then look away from each other with odd, amused little smiles on their faces.

“It might be a while,” the doctor adds.

He walks away toward the exit himself just as Yue Qingyuan approaches their little group.

“If the peaks lords wish to have lunch together in Qiong Ding, arrangements can certainly be made,” the sect leader begins, and gives them a placid smile. “However, I do not not believe this to be the case. Do my shidi and shimei not have any work to do today?”

Rong Qingsheng cringes, exchanging a sheepish look with his martial siblings. They all beat a hasty retreat back to their own peaks. Finding out what exactly is going on between their two most dramatic and ridiculous martial brothers is going to have to wait.

#svsss prompts #peak lord OC #Shang Qinghua #shen qingqiu #liu qingge #Mu qingfang #yue qingyuan #qi qingqi #starfata #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #scumbag system

150 notes · View notes

ethvn-torchio · 4 years ago

Text

Walls Could Talk | Chapter Two

a/n: sorry this chapter took so long! writer’s block is a bitch 😩✌

Summary: Steve and Peggy's search brings them to Paris - where they happen to meet up with an old friend.

Warnings: an intense makeout session/implied sexual content (it’s not smut, i haven’t decided if I’m putting actual smut in this fic)

Wordcount: 1.5k (unedited, also I'm sorry it's so short 🙃)

AO3 | prev chapter | next chapter (coming soon!)

ᴏᴄᴛ 𝟸𝟿, 𝟷𝟿𝟺𝟿

ᴏxғᴏʀᴅ, ᴇɴɢʟᴀɴᴅ

Steve wakes up in a cold sweat, bolting upright in bed. Was he still dreaming? Was this...was this real?

He gazes at Peggy - to make sure she was there, that all of this wasn't a mere fantasy, who begins to stir.

So, not a dream then, at least. His heart is racing, his mind buzzing and yet still confused and his breathing erratic. She's speaking to him, saying something, and he isn't quite listening, his heart thundering his ears. Adrenaline surges through his veins.

“I’m...I’m sorry, Peg. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he whispers. His pulse was still racing.

Lightning illuminates the room for a split second and he can see the sympathy in her eyes.

"It's quite alright, Darling. Will you tell me what's wrong?" She asks, trailing her fingers through his hair.

"I...I don't- I don't remember much," he admits. "It was just...some stuff from the past...or, future..." he could almost laugh at that if he was in a better mood.

She nods sympathetically. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He drinks in her appearance, nodding slightly. He presses his lips against hers softly.

He kisses her, gently and imploringly at first.

His one hand softly trails down her back, and he notices her sharp intake of breath when his hand ghosts over her lower back.

"This hurt?" he asks.

She nods stiffly. "I do believe I forgot to tell you with everything that happened tonight. I had a bit of a scuffle in the restroom with a Hydra agent. She slammed me against the sink," Peggy explains.

An idea forms in Steve's head; a single minded goal to make her forget.

He would make the only thing on her mind be him.

Wordlessly, he smiles and dips his head towards her neck, brushing his lips against it. His teeth graze against a sensitive spot on her neck and she makes a soft "Oh,"

His hands go to rest against either of her thighs. He pulls back, pupils blown.

“Steve,” she whispers. She lifts her hips in a silent invitation.

He leans down to kiss her, his lips against hers, and she's already breathless. He doesn't want to rush things, but he can't resist her.

Her hand slides down his back, and she lets out a soft moan against his mouth. His hands trail up her shirt, he can feel the goosebumps on her skin. He kisses her neck, and she can feel his hot breath against her skin.

"God, you're so beautiful. I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," she replies.

He pulls her in for a desperate kiss once again, pulling her close.

—

The rain came and went, and with it sunshine followed.

“Peggy. Peggy, wake up,” is the first thing Peggy is greeted with in the morning.

Peggy groans, rolling over in an effort to ignore him. “No, not now,” she mutters, burying her face in the pillow.

Peggy feels weight on the bed as Steve sits down next to her. She tries in vain to ignore him.

"Oh, c'mon now, Peg. It's a new day, it's time to get up," he says.

“You are far too cheerful considering how early it is,” Peggy complains, shielding her eyes from the light pouring in from the blinds.

“...Peggy, it’s eleven in the morning.”

Peggy groans, glancing at the clock as if to make sure he’s right. “Point withstanding, you’re still too cheerful.”

“Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Steve teases, narrowly missing a pillow flung haphazardly at him.

“Do shut up, Steve.”

He snickers.

Peggy yawns, stretching her sleep-infused joints. "Where are we going, again?"

"Word is our target's in Paris,” Steve replies. “Or at the very least, someone important is.”

Peggy hums, sitting up. The blanket wrapped around her falls off, revealing her bruised back.

"Jesus, Peg. Have you seen your back? That looks like it hurts," Steve notes.

"Yes, thank you for that insightful observation."

"I just mean- do you want ice or something?"

Peggy shrugs nonchalantly. "It doesn’t quite hurt. I can deal with it, I’ve faced worse."

“To be fair, you are the woman who fell asleep standing up in a trench.”

“Exactly,” Peggy winks. She stands up, beginning to sift through her suitcase. “So tell me, Steve. When’s our train leaving?”

—

ᴘᴀʀɪs, ғʀᴀɴᴄᴇ

A few hours later, they arrive at their dingy, rundown hotel just outside of Paris. The lobby smells like bleach and old carpet, and a radio plays a somber, mellow jazz tune.

Peggy clears her throat, waiting for the receptionist to acknowledge them.

The receptionist does not, however, care to notice.

“Can we have a room, please?” Peggy asks the woman at the front desk.

The woman hardly looks up from her magazine. “Name?”

“Carver,” Peggy answers automatically before Steve can.

The receptionist takes a long, seemingly never ending sip of her tea. Finally, she says. “Take the elevator to the third room, first one on the left. Here’s your key,” the woman says, sounding as disinterested as she possibly can. “Enjoy your stay,” she adds dryly.

Peggy eyes her warily. There was something a bit...off, about that woman.

Perhaps it was just her imagination.

They make their way to the elevator, and Steve finally breaks the silence. “So...is it just me or was there something weird about her? I mean, she could’ve just been a disgruntled employee, but…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck.

Peggy hums. “No, I happen to agree. Though, perhaps we were just inconveniencing her by making her do her job.”

The smile fades from her face. “Stop,” Peggy whispers. She tilts her head toward the door, which was ajar. She clutches her gun in her purse.

Steve snorts. “Maybe,”

She laughs right along with him, but she pauses abruptly outside their door.

It could be the maid...but they haven’t even gotten into the room once.

Silently, the two stalk toward the door. The smell of smoke escapes from the room when Steve nudges the door open.

Which, in both of their experiences, usually did not happen to be a good thing.

In the chair in the corner, there sat...

Howard Stark.

A collective groan escapes the couple.

“Howard, must you break into our hotel room?” Peggy scolds, turning on the light.

“We thought you were an intruder.” Steve adds.

Howard smirks, taking a long drag of his cigar. “Technically, I am. But don’t you kids worry - I bring a peace offering. By peace offering, I mean I’m inviting you to stay in my Paris apartment instead of this dump,” Howard gestures loosely. “I mean, I don’t think this building even has heat.”

Steve shrugs. “Wouldn’t it be better to stay somewhere inconspicuous?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Peggy agrees, her arms crossed.

Howard sniffs. “Okay, fine, don’t accept my extremely generous offer to let you stay at my apartment. I know when I’m not wanted. Just know I’ll remember that in the summer when you want to come over because I have air conditioning and you don’t.”

Peggy rolls her eyes. “Quit the melodramatics, Howard. We’ll stay with you,”

Steve wraps an arm around her. “Yeah, we- wait, we will?”

“...What? This building doesn’t have heat, and quite frankly I enjoy summer visits to Howard’s house.”

“Attagirl, Peg.” Howard beams. “I’ll meet you two in the lobby,”

—

Later, the trio eats lunch at Howard’s apartment.

"-you are not funny, Howard." Peggy informs him, pointing at him with her fork. "You could've at least feigned innocence."

"Innocent? If you looked up "innocent' in the dictionary, you'd see my picture on it," Howard says defensively.

Peggy snorts at that. "Oh, please, Howard. With your history you could easily father a small country,"

Howard grimaces. "Eugh, kids hate me. Plus, who has time to tend to a baby all the time? I mean sure, kids probably aren't annoying when they're...late teenagers? But for most of their lives, kids just seem so clingy and needy."

Steve picks at his plate absentmindedly, reminded of a conversation he had with Tony.

"Clearly, you must've met a different version of my father. He was cold. He was calculating. He never told me he loved me, he never even told me he liked me."

The sound of Peggy’s voice brings him back to reality. "...That's because they're children, Howard. Babies aren't self-sufficient from birth. Do you expect them to come out of the womb ready for rocket science?"

"Well, thank you for absolutely shattering my argument, Agent Carter." Howard mutters, downing his coffee. Deciding to change the subject in order to deflect attention off of himself, he says, "Steve, you still with us?"

Steve snaps to attention. "I, uh, yeah. I was just daydreaming, I guess."

Peggy makes a mental note to ask Steve about that later.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Howard asks.

Steve shrugs noncommittally, continuing to eat with much less gusto than before. "Just thinking about our mission,”

Peggy eyes him carefully, choosing to say nothing but clearly knowing something was wrong. In due time, she would ask.

In due time hopefully meant whenever Howard left the room.

—

lmao so like i was listening to a bunch of james bond songs bc they’re dramatic and spy-ey right (cough cough tho a song that fits the general tone of the fic would be "the world is not enough" by garbage)?? and then there’s absolutely none of that in this chapter lmao. sorry if this chapter was boring compared to last one but i mean we can’t have constant action in the fic, silly goose.

also can we talk about how it took me like 8 DAYS TO WRITE THIS and it’s this short i’m sorry ajsjdfkgjjklk 😶✌

taglist (dm me if you’d like to be added!):

everything taglist: @return-of-the-simp @thereblogcrusader @stillmourningtonystark

walls could talk taglist: @deedepee @rizwritesfandom (extra thanks to riz for helping me when i was struggling with being descriptive u a real one) @mcu-academy

If you enjoyed, please rb/leave a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts!

#steggy fanfiction #jo's writing #steggy #steve rogers #peggy carter #fanfiction #fanfic #mcu fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #peggy carter fanfiction #walls could talk #I'm sorry like this chapter lowkey kinda sucked and akdhdkhdjsj

21 notes · View notes

muertawrites · 4 years ago

Text

Aphrodite Kallipygos (Zuko x Plus Size Reader) [Modern AU]

Summary: Zuko takes up an art class as part of his therapy and ends up falling in love with a woman who’s a work of art in her own right.

Word Count: 3,500

Disclaimer: There’s a scene in this fic where a couple of thin girls engage in some rude behavior and are criticized in a few none-too-kind words. I want to make it very clear that this scene does not reflect my views of thin people or body positivity - these characters are meant to be a metaphor for greater culture and its strict, unrealistic views of what women should look like.

Author’s Note: I hate rom coms but after writing this fic it dawned on me that I would be excellent at writing them. Also, this one goes out to all my art hoes out there. I geek out pretty hard about art history in this one.

Speaking of which, I reference real-world cultures within the structure of the Avatar universe in this one as well. Something I like to do when I zone out is think about which actual countries would belong to which bending nations; my heritage is primarily from the British Isles, and what with liths like Stonehenge and the hella castles hanging around out there, I think we’d be earth benders - same with cultures like the ancient Egyptians and the Pueblos. I also love the idea of Pacific Islanders who can bend both water and lava, and Incan air benders, and I really wish the idea of global cultures as benders were explored more in the Avatar universe.

Have I mentioned that I’m a massive fucking nerd?

~ Muerta

Zuko never considered himself much of a creative. When he thought about it, he realized that that part of his life had never really been explored; his father always pushed him to focus solely on his bending and combat skills, never allowing even the consideration of other practices or hobbies. As much as Zuko was passionate about the martial arts he'd mastered, he also came to learn that he never had a choice in being passionate about anything else.

“I think you should take an art class,” his therapist suggested. “It would be a good outlet for you, and one that isn't directly influenced by your family.”

“I don't think I've ever drawn anything, though,” Zuko admitted. “I wouldn't be any good.”

“It's not about being good,” his therapist explained, “it's about exploring things that weren't available to you in your youth, freedom of expression. Consider it - there's a shop in this neighborhood that offers classes.”

She handed him a business card adorned with an array of different art styles, from delicate watercolors to bright, bold cartoons; it read, “classes for everything” in a cheerful, clearface font.

Zuko shrugged and pocketed the card. A week later, he was enrolled in a basic studio art course.

He arrived for his first class embarrassingly early, passing under the bell of the shop’s front door twenty minutes before it was scheduled to begin.

The building that housed the shop looked to be older than the rest of the neighborhood around it; the storefront was tiny, with crowded shelves lining each wall and tables and racks wound throughout the center of the space, creating a maze that led to the checkout counter. The room’s ceilings were high, supported by beams in a dark stained wood that matched the floor below. Paper mache sculptures and handmade lanterns hung from the rafters, and the simple, antique plaster walls were decorated with paintings and sketches, likely given by the shop’s clientele. From somewhere in the back, a radio sang folk music, accompanied by the hum of an electric fan.

Zuko wandered through the labyrinthine merchandise displays until he reached the register, where he was met with the single most beautiful sight he may have ever laid eyes on.

You stood behind the counter, leaned over a textbook with a pencil in hand, tapping it back and forth over the pages; you bit your lip in concentration, a few strands of your hair falling loose from the messy knot atop your head and over your cheeks, though you were too focused on your reading to care. An apron bearing the shop’s logo was tied around your waist, emphasizing your body's dramatic curves.

To Zuko, you were gorgeous. He couldn't place what exactly about you allured him; all he knew was that his pulse had quickened to a near dangerous pace.

You looked up at him when you noticed you were no longer alone, flashing him a kind, somewhat distracted smile. He nodded curtly, too nervous to do anything but stare.

“Can I help you?” you greeted him politely.

He cleared his throat, his voice coming out a pitch higher than normal as he spoke.

“I'm here for the art class,” he told you.

You smirked a little, peering down to check the time on your phone.

“It's a little early,” you said. “I was just about to start setting up. You could help me if you want? So you're not so bored while you wait?”

“Yeah,” Zuko mumbled, “yeah, sure.”

You grinned, waving him behind the counter and through a door to the back room. To his surprise, what he expected to be a minuscule stockroom turned out to be a space larger than the actual shop, lined on one wall with massive warehouse windows that poured late afternoon sunlight into the room. Metal shelves and boxes lay haphazardly about, mixed in with a scattering of easels, pottery spinners, canvases, and other art supplies. You directed your guest to a stack of chairs in the corner, instructing him to line them in a half circle in an empty portion of the room while you placed the easels.

“So, do you have a name?” you asked, attempting to make conversation that could drown out the repetitive radio drone.

“Zuko,” he introduced himself.

You stopped what you were doing, fixing him with an awed, slightly amused gape.

“Firelord Zuko?” you wondered.

He blushed, nodding.

“Oh spirits, I'm sorry I didn't bow!” you exclaimed, dropping into a low curtsy. The gesture was mixed with equal parts mirth and genuine respect; Zuko was unsure how to respond, his heart flickering as he watched you.

“I heard you were living somewhere in the city,” you continued after making your own introduction, setting an easel in front of each chair he positioned. “Not into the whole royalty thing?”

Zuko shrugged. He focused on his work, too nervous to look you in the eye.

“Just weird going back there,” he told you. “I don't really want taxpayer money going to making sure I live above my means.”

You leaned against the last chair he set down, smiling warmly at him.

“That's very respectable,” you responded. “Thank you. Y’know, as someone who pays taxes.”

Zuko chuckled softly as you handed him a bin of art supplies, instructing him to set one of each item at every station. He did as he was told, stealing glances at you whenever he was sure you weren’t looking.

“So, uh… do you own this place?” he asked, fumbling over his words.

“Oh, no, this is my professor’s shop,” you replied. “I just work here part time.”

“You’re a student?”

You shook your head.

“Nope. Graduated last year. I work days at the history museum downtown. I also give art history classes here, and help out with the ones Professor Cong teaches.”

“Oh.”

Zuko paused, unsure of what else to say.

“... They teach a different type of history just for art?” he asked after a moment.

You laughed, covering your mouth to muffle the sound and apologizing, giving him a little nod as you collected yourself.

“Yes. Some people even get whole degrees in it,” you giggled. “Not that it’s a useful field to learn anything about.”

Zuko shrugged, trying to shake off the embarrassment of sounding stupid in front of such a cute girl; little did he know, you found the question beyond endearing.

“It sounds important,” he contested. “I’ve been meeting historians from all over the world to correct all the propaganda from the past hundred years. It never occurred to me that I would need different historians for art.”

You smiled at him, meeting him where he stood and handing him one of the sketch pads from your bin. His cheeks pinkened, his eyes darting away from yours as he took it and mumbled a “thank you”.

“I like you, Firelord Zuko,” you decided aloud. “My classes are on Wednesdays. You can come if you want - free of charge.”

Zuko nodded, swallowing heavily as he met your gaze once again.

“Thank you,” he replied. “I appreciate it.”

You laughed a little bit, taking his now empty bin and returning both to their place on a nearby shelf. The shop’s bell rang from beyond the threshold and you went back to the front counter, telling Zuko to take a spot wherever he liked. He sat in the front row; wherever he thought he could be closest to you.

For the next five weeks, Zuko attended not only his studio art class, but your art history class, showing up early to each lesson so he could spend time alone with you. Despite the fact that you invited him to sit in, he paid the fee for the second course, not wanting you to go without the extra pay for your work - he found a doodle of a turtle duck on his seat the next time he showed up, the fuzzy little penciled duckling telling him he was a terrible listener, but thanking him anyway (with a heart scribbled in beside the words).

With your guidance, Zuko learned that there was much more to art than just vibrant colors and pretty decoration. Everything in art, it turned out, had significance, each piece and work holding insight into the people and cultures who created it; you spoke passionately about the art of the Egyptians, who used specific shapes and colors in their imagery to tell stories beyond the written word, about the mysteries of prehistoric structures that revealed how early humanity was much more sophisticated and interconnected than considered at a glance, about the symbols that translated and influenced across centuries to shape how each nation, each culture, portrayed themselves into the modern world. He found himself hanging on every word, falling even more deeply enamored with you with each moment he spent with you.

It didn’t take you long - what with the easy, pleasant conversations you shared before classes - to discover that Zuko lived relatively close to you, only two stops away on the local metro. Knowing this, you often saw each other on the days you weren't at the shop, meeting at the station between each of your respective neighborhoods and having coffee or dinner in one of its many cafes, talking about anything and everything and managing to pass several hours together in what seemed like the blink of an eye. You loved being with Zuko, finding the more you did it, the less you wanted your rendezvous to end; you thought about him all the time, getting all kinds of giddy whenever he crossed your mind.

On one of your extracurricular excursions, you and Zuko wandered around the local high street, marveling at the different streetside vendors and dreamily window shopping behind the glass of the upscale boutiques, doing little more than enjoying each other’s company. It was a hot day, and along your way, Zuko stopped at a coffee stand to get you each something cold to drink.

A pretty young woman in line in front of you eyed you up and down, her gaze flicking from between you and Zuko with disgust. She jabbed her slim, graceful elbow into her equally as flawless friend’s side, whispering something in the other woman’s ear as they both glared at you, sniggering cruelly behind flat stomachs and angular, willowy frames.

You sneered at them, making a point of hooking your arm within Zuko’s and pressing your much wider hip against his, the poison of the encounter sinking into your skin and infecting your thoughts. Zuko noticed your change in demeanor immediately, steering you away from the scene as soon as your drinks were served.

“You okay?” he asked, still holding tight to your arm.

“Fine,” you quipped, biting back tears. “Just a couple of pretty bitches proving how fucking hideous they are on the inside.”

“Wait, seriously?”

Zuko halted, pulling you to the side of the street and out of the way of traffic. He lay a hand on your shoulder, the firm, able grasp of his palm somehow making you feel even worse.

“Someone would really make fun of you?” he wondered, outraged and incredulous. “Why?”

You shook your head, smiling defeatedly as your lower lip quivered.

“People have made fun of me since I was a kid, Zu,” you told him, speaking as if he should’ve just assumed it. “I’m fat. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“So?” Zuko replied. You were so shocked, you physically leaned away from him, raising your eyebrows. “Yeah, you’re fat. That doesn’t mean you’re not pretty. I… I think you’re really pretty. Gorgeous, even. You’re beautiful.”

You blinked at him, taken aback. He gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his eyes never once leaving yours.

“... Did I break you?” he tried after a moment, sounding concerned that it was a genuine possibility.

You laughed, shaking your head in feverish disbelief, attempting to clear the confusion that fogged your battered brain.

“No, I just… Nobody’s ever called me pretty and fat before.”

Zuko shrugged.

“Both are true,” he told you. “I like your body. You look like one of those Greek sculptures. Of the goddesses.”

You stared at him, searching his eyes for any sign of dishonesty or patronization; all you found looking back at you was the clumsily genuine man you were quickly falling in love with.

“... Have I ever told you about Aphrodite Kallipygos?” you asked.

Zuko shook his head, as confused as you had been a few seconds ago.

“She’s a statue of Venus,” you explained. “She’s got her dress raised up over her backside, and when they found her originally, she didn’t have her head; the guy who restored her sculpted it so that she was looking back at herself, admiring her body. There’s even a whole folktale about a pair of brothers who fell in love with two women because they had, like, beautifully fat asses and the town built a temple dedicated to Venus and her butt. The name literally translates to ‘Aphrodite of the Beautiful Buttocks’.”

Zuko chuckled, raising the hand at your shoulder to cup your cheek.

“See?” he said. “Men have worshiped thick, juicy butts since the dawn of time!”

You laughed, your cheeks turning bright red as you buried your face in your hands, leaning forward to rest your forehead on his chest and further hide yourself.

“Zuko, oh my god,” you breathed. “Promise me you’ll never say that out loud in a public setting ever again, please. You’re the fucking Firelord for Tui’s sake.”

Zuko chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and hugging you tightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, still grinning. “Made you feel better, though.”

You pulled away from him, affectionately punching him in the shoulder. He laughed, gasping at you in mock reproach before pressing a finger into your side, shocking you with a burst of static electricity; you cackled as you jumped away, sticking your tongue out at him.

Zuko felt a rush of lightheadedness as he watched you, savoring the sound of your laugh and the radiance of your smile. It was then he realized he was in love with you.

The next studio art class focused on model drawing - more specifically, a nude model. Zuko, having been raised in what was arguably the most reserved family in the world, was nervous about the idea of having to sit in front of a stranger for an hour, not only staring at their naked body, but immortalizing it in graphite on a page.

He was mortified when he arrived at the class and found you sitting in the corner, wrapped in nothing but a silk dressing gown.

As you climbed the platform you were meant to model on, your limbs rattled. You began to question your sanity, wondering what you thought you were doing offering to pose for the class, what kind of statement you thought it would make. You faced enough judgement from others about your weight with your clothes on - what the hell did you think they would do when you stood before them completely naked, every bump and crevice on full display for them to gawk at and criticize?

You glanced to the side at Professor Cong, seeking some sort of assurance or comfort from him; he, being the seasoned professional in his mid-sixties that he was, sat reclined in a chair in his Hawaiian shirt and flip flops, scrolling totally undisturbed through Pinterest on his phone. Honestly, you expected no less - his obtuse reactions in the face of the awkward and uncomfortable were basically a superpower.

Taking a deep breath, you untied the knot holding your dressing gown together and let it fall, slipping gracefully from your shoulders and to the floor. You assumed a comfortable, classic pose, purposely facing yourself away from the man whose eyes you could feel searing into your back.

Zuko’s breath hitched as he watched you undress. Though he only saw the full of your body for a moment, he was captivated. The swell of your breasts and curve of your stomach sent him into a dizzy spell, his mouth going dry and his skin heating with a noticeable flush. The rolls of your back, the ripples and divots along your thighs and rump, the stripes etched into your skin like the veins through a granite block, he drank in every part of you, moulding every detail with a focused hand as he sketched. He made note every scar and beauty mark. Once or twice, his mind drifted towards the salacious, imagining how your body would feel beneath his, soft and supple, releasing exalted breaths and enraptured moans, your nails dragging down his back as he drove you closer and closer to infinity…

He inhaled sharply, snapping himself back to his work. You were Venus, Minerva, Diana - a goddess among men. He would gladly spend the rest of his life worshiping you.

The moment the class ended, you gathered your dressing gown and made a beeline for the employee bathroom, getting back into your clothes as quickly as you could physically manage. The experience of nude modeling wasn’t nearly as harrowing as you expected it to be; you actually found it kind of freeing, being able to show yourself to a room full of other people and come out of it unscathed, in fact feeling quite beautiful - what had you nervous was the fact that you’d have to face Zuko immediately after the fact, seeing as you took the train home together after classes. His was the only opinion you cared about, and you wanted nothing more than to convince yourself that he hadn’t judged you as harshly as the self-hatred brainwashed into you made you believe.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Professor Cong stood in front of one of the empty easels in the back, smirking at the drawing the student had left there.

“Your boyfriend left you his piece,” he teased.

You blushed, glaring at him as you approached and snatched the sketch from his hands.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you tried in vain to defend yourself.

Professor Cong just chuckled.

“I’ll believe that when I see evidence to the contrary,” he replied.

You looked down at the paper in your hand and felt the breath drain from your lungs, your heart and stomach soaring into your throat.

Zuko had drawn you in the image of Venus, your body draped in gossamer fabric and your head turned over your shoulder, eyes cast downward and lips slightly parted in a blissful, ethereal expression. In the corner of the page, he’d written “Aphrodite Kallipygos” in his sweeping handsome script, beneath which was his signature and the date. You’d never once seen yourself look so beautiful, let alone in the eyes of someone you loved so fiercely.

You swallowed hard, rolling the drawing and securing it with a hair tie from your bag before exiting the shop through the back, knowing Zuko would be in the alley waiting for you.

“Hey,” he greeted you when you appeared through the storeroom door. “Are you okay? You looked really ner-”

You interrupted him by throwing your arms around his neck, slamming your lips into his in a desirous kiss. It took him less than a second to recover himself from the shock of the action and curl his arms around your waist, pressing his body against yours and lifting you every so slightly off the ground, kissing you just as hard as you kissed him. When you parted, you were breathless, your cheeks fiery red and your lips swollen the color of vermilion. Zuko smiled at you, one side of his mouth curling up slightly higher than the other.

“So you liked it?” he asked.

You laughed, nodding.

“Zuko, I loved it,” you gasped. “I love you. I think I loved you as soon as I met you but that sort of thing is really cliche and stupid to admit.”

Zuko chuckled, raising his hand to your cheek and kissing you again, his lips soft and tender this time around. You sighed happily into his mouth, closing your eyes and losing yourself in the feeling of his body sharing the same space as yours.

“I think I loved you the moment I met you, too,” Zuko confessed, his nose grazing against yours as he pulled away. “But you’re right. That sort of thing is really stupid and cliche.”

You giggled, tugging gently on the collar of his jacket.

“Come on,” you prompted him. “Let’s go back to my apartment. You’ve already seen me naked; we need to make it even.”

Zuko laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and leading you out of the alley, his side pressed firmly against yours.

“Fair,” he agreed. “But if you want me to pose for any art, you’ll have to sign some paperwork. I’m still Firelord, you know.”

📚 table of contents 📚

✨ join me on patreon ✨

{ subscribers: @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @celamoon @omgwhattheeven @i-am-not-a-thot @fandomtrash1616 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @just-another-romantic @berkeliums @eridanuswave @oleander-in-the-wind @kinismanditory @lammello @peppermenty @theawesomefactor123 @loganrwebb @ijustwannabecanadian @a-hopeless-fan @softvv @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak @pearl-stonecutter @crazy0t @commander-rex @kittyddandnyla @abbyarchie @smol-grandpa @nonbinary-rogers @themanwiththemetalarmsdoll @witchywrter @canibea-whore-yet @fuckwhateverfuck @eridanuswave @duh-dobrik @sum-stuff13 }

73 notes · View notes

cicada-bones · 4 years ago

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 14: The Assassin

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

That night Rowan lay awake, brooding.

He had been jerked from his usual nightmares, and could still feel the blood dripping from his fingers, see the faces of her killers, feel the heat on his skin of his home in flames. He wondered idly if the images would always weigh on him so, if he would never be free of them. He wondered if he even wanted to be.

Rowan sighed, shifting his thoughts away from such pointlessness. He had lost his mate, his life partner. He would always be searching, forever waiting for her to reappear, until he finally joined her in the Afterworld.

Instead, Rowan turned his thoughts to the questions the girl had thrown at him that afternoon. It had almost seemed as though she was skirting around the subject, avoiding asking about what really interested her. Not that he didn’t suspect what was really on her mind.

And this time, her curiosity hadn’t irritated him. Most of the questions she’d voiced aloud had revolved around the life of Fae. She had lived most of her life in ignorance of half of her heritage – of her very identity. Rowan didn’t fault her for wanting to understand her own family and history.

And the princess had made a deal with Maeve knowing even less about Fae than he had originally suspected. She had absolutely no idea who she made a bargain with, no idea what awaited her Doranelle. What she would likely be forced into when he took her there.

For now he had little doubt that the girl would eventually pass his tests, and he would be forced by the blood oath to abide by Maeve’s orders, and bring the girl to the city of rivers. But he was still unsure what Maeve would do upon their arrival, what she really wanted from the girl. The obvious answer was that she wanted her for her power, wanted to use her. Perhaps even wanted her to swear the blood oath, and join her warrior court.

But all of them had taken the oath willingly, regardless of their feelings about it now, and the Heir of Terrasen had no intention of becoming a weapon in his queen’s arsenal. She had her own agenda, her own questions for Maeve. Not that Rowan had any idea what those were.

Obviously, Maeve was planning something, and the princess would walk into Doranelle unprepared and unawares. And Rowan would be the one who took her there. For some reason, that didn’t sit well with him.

Rowan turned over, facing away from the stream of moonlight spreading across the bedcovers and instead turning to the blank stone wall of the small, cold room.

The fire he’d set before he’d fallen asleep had long since burned out, but he could still taste its embers in the air, a memory of the flicker of flames. So similar to the scent of the princess’ power.

Rowan swallowed. He could almost taste it – the girl’s blood in his mouth. Like an echo, or a pale remnant. Something twisted in his gut.

It had been strange, today, speaking to her without any animosity. To have some level of peace flow between them. The scent of her flames didn’t even disconcert him anymore.

Not that Rowan had any idea what the girl’s attitude was towards him. Earlier, he hadn’t cared, hadn’t thought of her beyond just an infuriating chore, a punishment he had to endure. But now she was a person, albeit an irritating one. And Rowan couldn’t help wondering what she thought.

He knew she didn’t understand the significance of biting in Fae culture, and at the time he hadn’t found it within himself to fully explain it to her. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to explain even now. He told himself it was nothing – she’d provoked him one to many times, he’d lost control of himself, and that was that.

Even so, the girl was an enigma. So much so that he couldn’t stop thinking about her – no matter how much he wanted to. She was a frustrating puzzle, one he couldn’t put down until it was solved.

He hadn’t considered it much before, but he’d never been able to speak with anyone in such a way either. It was almost like he could read the girl’s thoughts in her eyes. No matter how confusing she was, that part of her was simple. Easy. And Rowan trusted it implicitly – knew that he wasn’t seeing things, or misreading her.

It was strange, to have such a connection with the princess, when everything else was so confusing. Very strange.

Rowan turned over again, shutting out the faint moonlight and letting his thoughts settle back down into sleep. It was restless though, barely a doze, and permeated through with flickers of flame and blood and darkness.

···

Around mid-morning, Malakai interrupted Rowan’s usual pattern by knocking on his door, his face drawn tight with anxiety. Rowan just looked at him, waiting for the old male to speak.

“Prince.” Malakai swallowed. “I’ve just received notice that another body has been found.” Rowan’s jaw tightened, that familiar fury writhing in his gut.

“It wasn’t from the long-range scouts either. The report came from Bas, who just completed a foray into the west. His task was to make a circuit of the western flank, cutting a line through the southwest, along the coast, and then back up along the northern diagonal.”

Malakai paused momentarily, clenching his teeth at the words he had to deliver. “But then on his way back, he found the body of a demi-Fae female, half submerged in a stream on the edge of the pine forest, barely three miles from the sea.”

“Any discrepancies?”

“None that Bas could convey – but he hasn’t seen any of the other bodies in person, only heard tell of them from me or the other scouts. So it’s possible he didn’t know what to look for.”

Rowan grunted. “Has the body been identified?”

“No and once again, she hadn’t been reported missing. We have no idea who she was, where she came from, or why she was killed.” Malakai paused, then asked hesitantly, “Are you going to go view the site?”

Rowan nodded gruffly, his lips pursed, most of his attention focused inwards. Malakai inclined his head in return and left without another word, heading back towards the sentry station. Once the male was out of sight, Rowan cursed loudly.

A familiar guilt and shame had now joined the anger roiling in his stomach. He wasn't protecting the demi-Fae, wasn't preventing these deaths. He was failing, he would keep failing until he could solve this problem, could figure out whatever the hell he was missing…

He turned back to sit at the desk, grabbing a map of the western flank of the fortress. He knew the circuits made by the sentries, and could find the approximate location of the body without the Malakai’s help. He would wait until he visited the site before marking the exact location on the map however.

Rowan noted the date and time, then cursed violently again. It was too late for him to go visit the body before he had to collect the girl. He could either cancel training for the day, go that evening after leaving the girl alone for the night, or…he could take her with him. The site was just close enough for them to walk.

And, she had lived and worked in the assassin’s keep, among murderers and thieves. Been trained as a killer herself. While it irked him to resort to asking the girl for help, she wasn’t unintelligent. Perhaps she would have some useful insight. And it would give him a break from the endless sitting, the insufferable waiting for the shift that seemed like it would never come. Give them both a chance to do something actually productive with their afternoon.

Half an hour later, Rowan stood outside the kitchens, shifting his weight in irritation. She was late. He sighed, then moved to collect her from her rooms.

The girl’s door was open, and inside she was shrugging on her jacket and hastily pulling her golden hair into a loose braid. It was brighter, much shinier than when she’d first arrived at Mistward. Healthier. Probably from the consistent access to food and bathwater.

Rowan leaned against the doorframe. “You’re already late.”

She turned to face him, “There were extra dishes this morning,” she replied calmly, not reacting to the frustration in his voice. “Can I expect to do something useful with you today, or will it be more sitting and growling and glaring? Or will I just wind up chopping wood for hours on end?”

Rowan just turned and strode into the hall, the girl’s taunts unable to ruffle him. She followed soon after, her steps light and spirited, her fingers still tangling in the unfinished braid at her shoulder.

As they headed out of the fortress, her scent wafted over him as usual. But something about it seemed slightly different today, almost…cleaner. The lemon verbena was stronger, sharper, while the jasmine was more herbal. More like a salve, or a tea. Perfectly bittersweet. Also it was easier to smell Terrasen on her, easier to scent those tiny hints of biting wind, evergreen, and ice – of her throne.

The hostile scent she’d put out was gone, had ebbed away. Something had evidently shifted in the girl, an edge had been soothed.

And it showed in other ways, too: as they walked past a few off-duty sentries on their way out of the fortress, she looked them in the eye and smiled a greeting. They both flinched slightly in surprise, blinking, their nostrils flaring as they also took in the change.

Both males returned her grin, and they hesitated on the stairs beside them. Rowan had to lock his teeth together to prevent a growl. What was wrong with him today?

She just kept following him across the courtyard and past the front gates, without acknowledging the warm greeting given by the two males. However, her brow furrowed and her newly clean scent was polluted by the stink of confusion and irritation. Obviously, she didn’t understand the sudden change in behavior.

The smell of her whirling emotions only intensified as they walked, heading south and up into the mountains. So eventually Rowan said, “They’ve all been keeping their distance because of the scent you put out.”

“Excuse me?” She was practically indignant. Rowan was almost amused. The assassin really knew so little about the ways of the Fae.

“There are more males than females here – and they’re fairly isolated from the world. Haven’t you wondered why they haven’t approached you?”

“They stayed away because I…smell?” Her face burned a dull rose. Rowan suppressed a flicker of a grin.

“Your scent says that you don’t want to be approached. The males smell it more than the females, and have been staying the hell away. They don’t want their faces clawed off.”

Her mouth opened slightly, her eyes widening. It seemed she didn’t know how to react to that. Eventually, she said, “Good. I’m not interested in men- males.”

Rowan stared pointedly at the amethyst ring resting on one of her fingers. She never took it off - obviously, whoever had given the trinket to her mattered. She cared about him, longed for him. Unless he had misread the taste of the man in her blood.

So he couldn’t help but ask, “What happens if you become queen? Will you refuse a potential alliance through marriage?”

Her lips pursed, her breath huffing out. But Rowan didn’t think she was reacting to his dig at her lover – instead she seemed sensitive to his reference to her throne. To the idea of becoming queen. Aelin Galathynius still rejected the truth of her own identity.

She turned inwards, then shook herself back to reality. She almost rolled her eyes. Instead of taking his question honestly, the girl decided to treat it as a taunt, and responded only with, “Nice try.”

He smirked, letting the mood lighten. “You’re learning.”

“You get baited by me every now and then, too, you know.”

Rowan just looked at her slyly. I let you bait me, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m not some mortal fool.

There was a moment of silence, then, “Where the hell are we going today? We never head west.”

The grin vanished from his face, her words a stark reminder of what was awaiting them. “You want to do something useful. So here’s your chance.”

···

It wasn’t until after three in the afternoon that they finally reached the edge of the pine wood, the girl’s mortal pace slowing them to a crawl. He’d almost been ready to tear out his own hair.

As they grew closer, Rowan carefully tracked their path through the trees, marking every stone, stump, and fallen log. He could hear the crash of the sea against the surf and the cries of gulls overhead, while the scent of brine and fish wafted towards them from the west. Behind him, the girl’s booted feet crunched into the pine needles carpeting the forest floor. The wind began to whisper to him of trickling water, the pattering feet of small creatures, the scent of death and –

The dark shape of a body sending ripples in the stream ahead.

It was the same as all the others. The body of a demi-Fae female lay wedged between the rocks of a slow-moving creek, the running water not yet rotted her. The body was a dried husk, withered and desiccated and shrunken, protected from the force of the moving water.

The assassin swore violently, her scent flaring with fury and horror.

Even though Rowan had known what to expect, his reaction was much the same as the girl’s. Particularly as the foul stench began to bore into him, filling up his mouth and nose with its putrid, nauseating reek. It almost felt like it was pitting holes in his throat, like he was breathing acid.

The assassin moved closer, examining the body and the surrounding earth. The ground had been churned up, the brush broken and trampled. There were no wounds on the female, save for those trickles of dried blood from her mouth and ears. And just like the others, the demi-Fae’s face was twisted, contorted by terror and sorrow alike.

“What did this?” the girl asked, her voice soft and open with shock. Rowan knelt beside her, examining the remains more closely while the assassin turned to study the surrounding brush. “Why not just dump her in the sea? Leaving her in a stream seems idiotic. They left tracks, too – unless those are from whoever found her.”

“Malakai gave me the report this morning – and he and his men are trained not to leave tracks.” He strode into the water, continuing his examination. “But this scent…I’ll admit it’s different.”

Rowan’s jaw clenched tight. He could only barely contain his fury at the destroyed body. He didn’t want the girl’s questions, he wanted her experience. His eyes flashed to hers. “So you tell me, assassin. You wanted to be useful.”

She bristled slightly at his tone, but then sniffed. And winced violently. He honestly didn’t blame her. “You claimed you didn’t know what that thing in the barrow field was,” she responded through bated breath, “I think this is what it does.”

So the girl had made the connection as well, and with mortal senses to boot. Rowan inhaled deeply again, bracing his hands on his hips to drive away the nausea. He couldn’t ignore it any more – it was the dark creature from the barrow fields that was committing these killings. When they’d chanced upon it, all those weeks ago, the girl had only barely escaped with her life.

Rowan’s eyes scanned over her, remembering how she had looked after appearing from the black cloud. “You came out of that darkness looking as if someone had sucked the life from you. Your skin was a shade paler, your freckles gone.”

She hesitated, pursing her lips, then said, “It forced me to go through … memories. The worst kind.” Her eyes roved over the female’s terrified features. “Have you ever heard of a creature that can feed on such things? When I glimpsed it, I saw a man – a beautiful man, pale and dark-haired, with eyes of full black. He wasn’t human. I mean, he looked it, but his eyes – they weren’t human at all.”

Rowan grimaced at his own ignorance. “Even my queen doesn’t know every foul creature roaming these lands. If the skinwalkers are venturing down from the mountains, perhaps other things are, too.”

The girl turned towards the south, where they’d heard bells chiming only a few minute ago. “The townspeople might know something. Maybe they’ve seen it or heard rumors.”

He shook his head roughly, “We don’t have the time; you wasted daylight by coming here in your human form.” He couldn’t hide the frustration in his words. Perhaps foolishly, he’d hoped the assassin would’ve proven a greater help. “We have an hour before we head back. Make the most of it.”

They spent the next half hour or so following the faint scent trail left by the female through the underbrush, as there was no trace left of the creature. But it only led to the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea, with no easy path to the beach below nor any sign of recent habitation nearby. Perhaps the demi-Fae female could shift, and had appeared there. Either that or she had dropped from the sky.

Rowan stared out at the ocean, arms crossed, fury pulsing through him with each beat of his heart. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said, more to himself than to her. “This is the fourth body in the last few weeks – none of them reported missing.” He squatted on the sandy ground and drew a rough line in the dirt with a tattooed finger. The shape of Wendlyn’s coastline.

“They’ve been found here.” He marked each location of the body sites from as small dots in the dirt, all close to the coast. “We’re here,” he said, making another dot. He sat back on his heels as the assassin leaned over to peer at the crude map. “And yet you and I encountered the creature lurking amongst the barrow-wights here,” he added, and drew an X to mark the location of the barrow mounds, deep inland. “I haven’t seen any further signs of it remaining by the barrows, and the wights have returned to their usual habits.”

“Were the other bodies the same?”

“All were drained like this, with expressions of terror on their faces – not a hint of a wound, beyond dried blood at the nose and ears.”

“All dumped in the forest, not the sea?”

He nodded.

“But all within walking distance of the water.”

He nodded again.

“If it were a skilled, sentient killer, it would hide the bodies better. Or, again, use the sea.” She gazed off towards the ocean, the sun beginning to descend over the waves. “Or maybe it doesn’t care. Maybe it wants us to know what it’s doing. There were – there were times when I left bodies so that they’d be found by a certain person, or to send a type of message.” Her voice was tight and hesitant, restraining some deep emotion. “What do the victims have in common?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “We don’t even know their names or where they came from.” He rose and dusted his hands off. “We need to return to the fortress.”

She grabbed his elbow, and he had to restrain himself from swatting her hand away. “Wait. Have you seen enough of the body?”

He nodded slowly.

“Then we’ve got to bury her.”

He cocked his head. “The ground’s too hard here.”

She stalked out towards the forest, saying, “Then we’ll do it the ancient way.”

He followed her reluctantly, but within a few minutes they returned to the section of the stream where the demi-Fae female lay, slowly rotting under the pressure of the running water. The assassin heaved the body out from between the rocks and onto the dry bed of pine needles next to the crumpled undergrowth. Then she turned, collecting kindling and branches and pine needles and dumping them next to the body.

Though anger filled her scent, sharpening every line of her hard form, the girl knelt carefully beside the body, gently placing the gathered wood. Assembling a funeral pyre for the unknown female.

Rowan just watched, not saying anything at all as the Heir of Fire struggled to create a flame by hand, those iron bars within her never seeming colder, or more like a cage, than they did in that moment.

After a few strokes of her rudimentary flint, the pine needles began to smoke, and the branches caught, the flames leaping across the pyre to cradle the form of the dead female, a final embrace.

Aelin rose and moved away from the burning body, while Rowan stepped forwards to stand beside her. He called a wind towards them, feeding the slowly dancing flames with his power.

Aelin’s eyes were dark and hooded, her mouth set in a hard line. But she looked at the steadily burning body as if it held answers for her, as if it held punishment, or absolution. That, at least, Rowan understood. The grief, and the guilt that never went away, was always there, hidden just beneath. The assassin looked at the body as if it offered her the atonement she surely sought.

The two of them stood, the warrior and the assassin, holding a vigil for the dead demi-Fae until her body was nothing but ashes. The silence between them was heavy with fury and sorrow, but for the first time, those emotions were not directed at each other. Instead, the pair of them burned together, their shared anger itself a way to pay respect to the dead female.

A silent promise – your death will not be in vain. We will witness, and take your revenge. We will ensure that no others share your fate.

Rowan felt that promise echo in his bones as he lifted the ashes of the dead female on a swift wind, carrying them up and away, over the trees and towards the sea beyond.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

#WatE repost

11 notes · View notes

utouchmycookie · 4 years ago

Text

Open Your Eyes

Chapter One: Flash

I (utouchmycookie) am the author of this piece. I don’t own the characters or locations, but the idea is mine. Also, I am ignoring my boring class by putting this here.

Flash walks into AcaDec expecting the heated glares of the girls, at the very least. Being verbally berated and kicked off the team by unanimous decision at the most likely. He doesn't even know what to think of at the most. Social death outside of the popular jocks (who have sway, but not nearly as much as they would at non-preppy need schools) seems like a possible outcome.

None of this happens. He does a double-take. Apparently there are no sides, which leaves the options that a) nobody gives a fuck (possible, but unlikely), or b) she said nothing (he'd figure this to be unlikely, but apparently it was entirely possible). She doesn't bother to look up at him entering the room, earbuds in and hair shielding the notebook she's scratching away in. Ned Leeds gives him the most dangerous look he's ever seen the happy go lucky President of the Computer Science, Ethical Hacking, Cybersecurity, IT, and Coding Clubs give; Michelle Jones manages to scare any sense of relief he'd mustered right off as she glances over the top of her book at him, and her glance says she knows, but the perfect expressionless deadpan and the way she almost immediately turns back to her book without giving him any further insight to what her thoughts are sends him into a horror and terror related trauma induced break down. Yes, he knows that's not a thing or the least bit grammatically correct but it's exactly what was headed for him.

He wishes she would do anything - scream at him in anger, sob in heartbreak, curse hysterically in hurt, even sigh in disappointment. She does none of these. She doesn't even bother to give him particularly serious cold shoulders and silence treatments and talk as if he isn't there and walk as if she doesn't even realize he's in the vicinity of her.

She's colder than she's ever been to him, including when he'd shoved Leeds into a locker, but she's no less polite than she's ever been. God, she's never been anything worse than curt with him, and he's such a dick and a douchebag and a tool and a piece of shit and a worthless waste of space. Even now, as he jostles to get her attention, she simply turns her eyes on him, listens to his cruel jests, and turns away when he's finished. God, here he was hoping for her to show him her heartbreak and here he was falling to pieces with his (and it was his own damn fault, his own stupid fucking choices).

Their (out of the know) teammates definitely recognize the difference in her behavior, but they chalk it up to her finally building an extra wall between them (something they've been trying to get her to do for literal years now. It was always, "Why are you so nice to him? He just shoves your books out of your hands to be a dick!" "I think he just needs some kindness in his life," "As if! I have all the kindness I could ever need, you psychotic whore!" "Sure seems like it." and god-fucking-damn her perceptiveness, her big heart, her endless kindness, her naïvety that she could help him; he would be forever indebted to her kindness and her gentleness and how much it had saved him and then he had ruined it with his stupid ass dumb fucking decisions and even now she couldn't be cruel to him, not even once.). Mr. Harrington pulls her aside after practice to double-check that he didn't hurt her, and the honesty and lack of attack in her response had made it hurt more (and how was that fucking possible anymore?!).

"He's Flash, Sir. He's always rude to me, and yes he did something nasty and it hurt, but it's not of the school's concern, it won't affect my performance in AcaDec, it's nothing I can't handle, and quite honestly, Mr. Harrington? I just don't want to stoop to his level."

"You are one of the most brilliant students I've had the honor of teaching, and are miles kinder and wiser than any other human being I've ever met. You're going to go far someday, and I cannot wait to see what you do someday."

"Thank you, Mr. Harrington. I couldn't do any of it if you didn't put your heart and soul into helping us even when it seems impossibly difficult." And then she smiled that innocent, sweet smile that let you know that she had no idea that she sounded like a brown-noser because she honest to God meant it.

So here's the thing: Peter Parker is an angel of a human being. The planet Earth 's disturbingly large number of vocal, disgusting humans didn't deserve her one bit. Flash among them.

But Peter Parker also suffered left and right.

She had been one of the few who had joined Midtown Tech's high school portion their freshman year, on one of the few scholarships offered. She'd started with an hour commute to school, and her high school career had started horribly. She was alone and friendless and new and definitely not in her socioeconomic class. What she had going for her was the school being an elitist nerd school. You had to be smart, and damn was she smart. That made her popular here. The geeky clubs made her cooler - Marching Band was perhaps not the straight dash to popularity choice, but one that gave her lots of social exposure. The International Club was a genius decision, because nobody at the school had less than Tier 1 universities in their future and everyone knew it was about being well-rounded. Acing Academic Decathlon had shot her right up to the top, earning her a spot in the likes of Liz Allen's favorite people to talk to. Peter hadn't intentionally done it, either, but she'd enchanted herself to the school by being utterly introverted and sweeter than a Pixie Stix without an ounce of dishonesty in her.

Then they'd gone to OsCorp. Norman Osborn and Dr. Curt Connors had revealed an open secret and it should have ruined her social life, but the students in the room had had nothing but sympathy for the horrible way of spilling her private life's facts - her parents were famous scientists, and dead.

The story hadn't gotten outside of their graduating class, at least, but the majority seemed to collectively decide she was their epitome of a Class Cinnamon Roll.

It helped their case that she was out sick for two weeks after OsCorp, and most people assumed that the stress of such horrible things being dragged up in such awful ways meant her mental health giving out and depleting her physical health. She'd come back and looked like shit for a week before she started looking healthier than she had before.

And then the hardest hit yet had slammed her, because Peter Parker never caught a single break.

Everyone in the school knew about Ben Parker's death. Peter's truancy was waived when she missed another week of school. Even the toughest teachers softened at the sight of her puffy, red eyes constantly wet with tears and ghost white face. Someone read the paper, and everyone doubled down on trying to soften up on Peter. Even Flash's buddies didn't have the heart to pick on her knowing she'd seen her uncle shot and held his hand as he died, helpless to do anything. She pulled herself together and two weeks later, and finally made her best friend out of Ned Leeds, generic friends with all the AcaDec girls, and at least acquaintances with the guys. Midtown decided she was not a cinnamon roll, but a gingersnap cookie from the Dollar Tree, like Seymour had once been dared to eat by a Brooklyn Visions' student back in middle school, when they had a kid from lower end Brooklyn who sold the cheap-ass things like damn drugs. Betty had told them they all needed to watch Ouran High School Host Club because they had the same energy as the Host Club drinking instant coffee, but everyone just took her word for it. Anyways, Peter. Dollar Tree gingersnaps. Tough as a Chips Ahoy cookie in light blue packaging, but not crumbly at all, and horribly sweet and spicy all at once.

Two years had been difficult, but survivable, until Thanos.

Plenty of people got fucked by the Decimation and the Blip. Half of the universe had died and returned five years later. A sixteenth of Earth's human occupants had been killed by factors associated with appearing and disappearing. An estimated fourth of all lives had been left in ruins with no way to restart. Not a single person went unaffected. Peter Parker though, she really could not catch a break.

No one outside of Flash's crew didn't believe Peter's having a Stark Internship. Therefore, learning that she had been at Stark's funeral due to being a close companion of his - and seemingly the girl out of the "girl and Spider-Man" who he had saved half the universe for, according to Ms. Potts-Stark directly, was a good sign as to the hurt she was feeling.

It was Thursday afternoon, and Mr. Mounts didn't care what they did this afternoon, because they had a paper due on Friday and half of a class in specialty Tech school that had an entrance exam who were taking AP Lit a year early had already turned in their papers. Mr. Mounts was a smart man, and a great teacher, but he was not technically inclined. He did not care though, so they all saw his YouTube views projected onto the Promethean Board with the noise up. That meant there was no stopping if the viewing of an ad — sort of.

A live news channel cut off the video with an announcement, the scene of a man who had lost it as a direct result of the Decimation and Blip completely ruining his old life during an appointment with the Maria Stark Foundation trying to help him get a new one on track. He'd gone absolutely psychotic, murdering the innocent charity worker, and setting himself loose on the streets. The news was warning of him being loose still and mourning the middle-aged woman now dead, by displaying a nice picture of her from the Maria Stark Foundation. Peter had announced, "I'm going to puke," and bolted out of the room. Ned and MJ had been on her heels, and the rest of the class was in shock.

"Oh Jesus Fuck," Sally finally said. And yeah, that was fair, because Flash knew that face as well as the rest of the AcaDec kids. It was the face of the sweet lady who once brought them Belgian Cream Pie straight from the German Bakery down the street from her apartment; she had got it at half-price because the owner's son was thoroughly charmed and the owner thought she would make an excellent daughter-in-law and that was deserving of half-priced pie even though he knew it was never going to happen.

There's a knock on the door, which opens to reveal Principal Morita looking very depressed and trying not to cry - "I need to borrow Miss Parker - oh fucking shit," he hisses.

"She went to the bathroom to puke, Sir. With Michelle Jones and Ned Leeds."

Somehow, the day only gets crazier. Everyone knows by the time Peter is safely tucked away in Mr. Morita's office, with the police officer who had to deliver the news, Mr. Morita, MJ, and Ned. The only people to go in or out is the secretary - who sends messages to the three students' teachers, as if they aren't tuned into the rumor mill - and a social worker.

MJ and Ned are sent to fetch lunch so the social worker can talk to Peter with only adults.

"Peter?... Do you have any other family you can contact? We... Uh, we tried the contact left in case of this type of horrible event, but given the nature of the contact, we couldn't get a call through -" the social worker pauses, "If not, we have options. Good homes that want a beautiful, brilliant girl like you."

"I'm sorry about that, Ma'am, but I'm sure you're aware that phone lines are a bit risky where my family is concerned. I can as soon as I heard," Pepper Potts-Stark announces as she brushes into the room. A mild-looking man follows her in, his red and white cane rattling as he swipes if in front of him. "And this is Miss Parker's lawyer, Matthew Murdock."

"I hate that we have to meet in such dismal circumstances."

"Oh, Honey," Pepper coos sadly to Peter, sinking down beside her and setting off another round of tears. "I know, Baby, let it all out, I know."

Chapters 2 and 3 up now!

#peter parker #peter parker/flash thompson #female peter parker #marvel #spider-man #pepper potts #team red #wade wilson #matt murdock #michelle jones #ned leeds #midtown #acadec #flash thompson

15 notes · View notes

5-falsehoods-phonated · 5 years ago

Text

We'll Be Okay

Summary: A scene between Patton and Janus discussing how to move forward.

Warnings: none, but if you see any please point them out. Spoilers for newest episode

Ships: Platonic Mociet

WC: 902

"How're ya feeling, kiddo?"

Janus barely looks up from his place at the table, coffee mug gripped loosely in one hand with his phone in the other. "I'm older than you."

Patton nods, fishing out the carton of eggs from the fridge. "Not by much, but I'll allow it."

He hears the other scoff quietly and smiles to himself, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. It was unusually quiet in the mindscape today. No music bled down from upstairs, Disney and alternative gradually getting louder as the players competed for dominant volume. No annoyed knocking from Logan as he chided them for disturbing the morning peace and what did either of them have headphones for if they were never used? Even Remus' room stayed locked and silent, explosions and odd smells that had become a staple for the side long ago no more than a memory in the tense peace that had blanketed the household. Patton tried humming softly as he began cracking eggs in the pan, the tune petering out after only a couple seconds as it seemed to echo with a disturbed wrongness against the walls. The sudden sizzling of the eggs made him cringe and he nearly jumped out of his skin when the deceitful side began to speak.

"It's...odd...being able to sit here."

Sparing him a glance as he grabbed a spatula offered him no insight as to what that meant, so he simply hummed for him to continue.

The quiet riened however, even as Patton split the fluffy breakfast between two plates and sat across from Janus, carefully pushing over the plate to bump against the long black screened phone.

Smiling slightly, he put his phone to the side and slid the plate the rest of the way in front of him, nearly moaning with delight at the soft texture of the eggs.

Patton laughed. "Good?"

Janus' eyes shone with appreciate as he began shoveling his food one massive forkful after the other. "No crunch!" He mumbled out between bites.

Scrunching his face in distaste he made a mental note not to let Remus near the stove again until he had had proper cooking lessons, a feeling of guilt panging in his chest at the thought of the so called "dark sides" having to fend on their own for so long.

"Patton?"

His head snapped up at the nervous tone, mentally struggling to contain the dad mode switch from being cranked to eleven.

"What is it kid- Janus?"

That earned a slight smile before his face fell again as he bowed his head towards his practically licked clean plate.

"Do you think what I said....I suppose I could have been...I truly didn't mean it the way it came out, I just-" taking a deep breath to compose himself, he looked back up at Patton. "Was I too harsh?"

Patton knew exactly what he was talking about and why he had brought it up. Not only had he hurt Roman with his bite back the day before, but Remus was no stranger to being used as the low blow. He bit his lip as he slowly shook his head.

"A lot of things were said yesterday that could either be interpreted as hurtful or were outright hurtful. Emotions were high and frazzled and...I don't think anyone could blame you for snapping back like you did." He looked back up at the others face. "That isn't to say you were in the right...but I think in that moment what we should have done was step back and calm down before trying to find our footing again after everything that had already happened. But..."

"But what should have been done and what was actually said is niether here nor there." Janus finished for him. Patton stood and gathered the dishes, putting them in the sink for later before taking his same spot at the table. He only hesitated a second before reaching across and laying what he hoped was a comforting hand on Janus' gloved one, immediately stopping the nervous twisting in the material.

"None of us are perfect, Thomas realized that last night and I guess...so did I. What we need now is to take your advice." He smiled reassuredly when the other flipped his hand to squeeze it, seeming uncomfortable but not about back out after it was already done. "We need to take some time for ourselves. Reflect on what was done and what we can do once things calm down to make it better. That's all any of us can ever do. Try our best to keep moving forward."

Janus nodded slowly, slipping his hand out from Pattons and standing with a sigh. He straightened and looked towards the common room, his characteristic smirk taking its rightful place as he moved out of the kitchen.

"Well I, for one, have had enough of reminiscing about philosophical bull*coin* for at least the next week." Patton watched as he flopped on the couch with a dramatic sweep of his cape. "I'll make popcorn later if you set up the first few movies? Your choice to start, I'd like to see what you light sides' sad little movie collection is lacking."

Patton smiled at the playful jab, bounding up out of his chair to pick through their collection. Everything would turn out okay, one movie at a time.

This along with other one one shots is available on AO3.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #ts spoilers #sanders fic #ao3 #deciet sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders

33 notes · View notes

jawsandbones · 5 years ago

Text

The Evening Red - Chapter Five

Rating: E

Summary: The blighted plague at your feet, and ghosts at your bedside. Those things that go bump in the night? They follow behind you. If only you had someone to protect you. A late-Victorian era re-imagining of Dragon Age Origins.

Pairing: Zevran x Female Warden

AO3 Link: Click Here

Chapter Five: Allegiance

He is a particular presence in this place. It is unlike with Alistair, or with her, where they can easily blend into their surroundings, into a crowd. Zevran does not need to be alone to stand out. He rests a hand on the back of a chair, looks around her flat as she places the revolver on the round table. There’s a scarf hanging around his neck, a white silk thing, and Zevran holds his hat in his other hand. The suit is pressed and clean, stitched to his perfection. King’s Row has made its mark however – his shiny black shoes now have flecks of mud and dirt upon them.

Noya has taken her robe from her bed, wrapped it around her. She pulls it closer now as she takes a seat, leans forward, and crosses her arm over the table. She watches as Zevran slowly turns, taking in all the wretched emptiness of her flat. Then, he pulls the chair out, and takes a seat. He rests his hat upon the table, drapes his scarf over it. As he removes his gloves, plucking fingers one by one, he says, “I had a strange thought today.” He laces his hands together, places them on the table and looks at her intently, without straying.

His hair is pulled back in a fairly loose bun, and wisps of wheat sway by his cheeks. Even the harsh cold lights do nothing to dim how warm he feels. Noya’s fingers play with a loose thread by her elbow. “In our every interaction, you have not shown any fear. It is easy to tell, you see, by the sound of one’s heart. A faster heartbeat gives away the game but yours, ah, yours is very calm. There is only one time it quickened. When you thought I might retaliate against your wolf – what was his name again?” He says, looking to her for the answer.

“Alistair.”

“Yes,” Zevran snaps his fingers together, points at her briefly, before joining his hands together once again. “You were not afraid for yourself, but you were afraid for him. That I might hurt him.”

“Couldn’t it also be that I was afraid he might hurt you?” Zevran’s eyes widen slightly, and he lets out a surprised laugh. As it quickly dies, he leans back, and crosses his legs. He lets a hand fall to rest over his knee. He rocks the chair back and forth, one foot firmly planted on the floor.

“Ah, now, I do not think you are this kind of woman.”

“What kind of woman?”

“Soft-hearted. We have only met briefly while I imagine you and this Alistair are good friends, yes? Your concern and your fear would not be for some stranger,” he says. It’s Noya’s turn to lean back and smile, cross her legs, rest a hand on her knee.

“I don’t think you know me at all,” she says. He chuckles at that, his eyes dropping from hers.

“That is quite true,” he says, fingers playing with the fringe of his scarf. “And you do not know me. Yet, here we are.” A twinge of a smile at the edge of Noya’s lips.

“Here you are,” she says.

He leaves the scarf alone with a twinge that mirrors hers. “I would like to know you, if you’d let me.” Noya leans forward, elbows on the table, linking her hands together as a bridge to rest her chin upon. “How long has it been since you’ve had a friend?”

“I have friends,” he says with a scoff, “you believe yourself insightful, but you are quite wrong in this.” Noya doesn’t let this deter her.

“Fine, not friends, specifically. People you trust.”

“Ah, now, here is the proper question. I have found that giving your trust to others is a rather foolish way to get yourself killed.” He tilts his chin upwards, suddenly proud of himself, “I have been hunted by many, and caught by none.” Zevran leans forward, fingers touching at the cold barrel of the revolver on the table. “Is this for me?”

“That sounds exhausting,” Noya says as she reaches for the gun, pulls it towards her, and holds it in her lap. “And no, it’s not. I thought you might have been someone else.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Expecting trouble?”

“Yes.” His eyes follow her as she stands, goes to the box on her bed. She places the revolver back inside, closes the lid, and puts the box by her pillow. It will not go far. “I, and a few others, were attacked by blighted.”

“I was wondering of the sick I smelled on you,” he says. As if to confirm it, he takes a deep inhale. She stands near him, one hand flirting at the edge of the table. She allows her other hand to play with the edges of her robe; dark and plain, lined with lace.

“I only had time to wipe off the gore,” she says.

“Strange days when the sick attack those who seek to cure them,” Zevran tells her.

“I can’t help but agree,” she says. Noya lets her hip rest against the edge of the table, and looks towards him. She studies him carefully, from the perfectly curved brows to the lack of stubble on his smooth olive skin. He reaches up, rubs a hand along the jaw.

“Do you see something you enjoy?” He asks as the smile begins to spread across his face.

“All the books I’ve read describe vampires as monstrous, and yet I see nothing monstrous about you.” The smile quickly fades, goes dim and into dark. A cloud hangs above his brows and he looks away from her as his hand falls back to his lap. In those silent seconds, he comes to a certain decision. He feels the fangs grow long in his mouth, press against his lips. Vision intensifies, ears grow to a point, and nails become sharp. He lets it all go, and the tattoos slowly appear on his face. He turns back to her, sclera dark and unnatural quality to the color of his eyes. Bright, almost sick.

To her credit, she does not flinch. Neither does he, when she reaches out. Her fingertips follow the dark lines at the side of his face. “When did you get these?”

“A lifetime ago,” he says.

“Do you have more?”

“Oh yes.” His smile makes a sly return. Her touch drifts, makes its way towards his mouth. She can feel them, just underneath. As she goes to raise his lips, he wraps a hand around her wrist. “As much as I enjoy your lack of fear of me, I less enjoy being examined as though I were some sort of strange animal.”

“You’re right. My apologies. No one deserves to be treated that way,” she says as he lets go of her wrist, and she draws her hand back. “Do they hurt?” He runs a thoughtful tongue over them, and shrugs.

“All of it is rather painless. Did you know that I am quite resistant to cold now? Ah, I remember when those terrible winter days used to bother me. But now?” He looks up at her and grins, “I could chart paths through the most terrible of places.”

“Is it true that vampires are sensitive to fire?”

“It is a most peculiar sensation, not unlike pins and needles. It does give some discomfort, and I would be quite upset if my hair burned off.” He pinches a strand of it, pulls at it, as if to confirm that it is still indeed atop his head.

“And the sun?” she asks.

“It weakens us, yes. Quite spectacularly. It will not kill, but it will wound. Consider vampires hardier humans. There are things which do not touch us, such as age, but enough bullets will be a danger. The myth that we can only be killed by stakes is amusing, but it is more our hearts being pierced which causes the killing. Some have tried the oddest things: knives blessed by the Chantry, water blessed by the Chantry, bullets blessed by the Chantry –” he says nonchalantly, as though he’s simply reciting from a list “– Odd how they always think the Chantry’s blessing will simply solve their problems. Hmm.”

“You’ve been hunted often?” Noya asks. Zevran sighs as he leans back in the chair, spreads out his hands.

“I admit to being a troublemaker in my youth,” he says.

“And now?”

“Only slightly less so.” They both smile at each other. “What of you?”

“The others would say I’m a troublemaker, I suppose. Although I usually get them out of the trouble that I bring,” she says.

“You have a strange collection of friends. A Chantry sister, a werewolf, and two witches.”

“Strange yes – a strange coincidence. It’s not as though I’d sought them out. It simply… happened to be,” she says.

“Now you consort with a vampire,” Zevran says.

“The only question that remains is if you’ll stay. You could have your own strange collection of friends,” she says. He huffs a laugh at that.

“For now, I come to collect on our deal. More than that – what can I offer but more of my blood? I am not skilled in medicine, or knowledgeable of plague. I do not wish to test your cures, nor do I wish to be experimented upon.”

“Isn’t it enough not to be alone? Hunted? Haven’t you ever wanted to take a breath?”

“That usually ends in tragedy.”

“If you don’t see it through with us, then you won’t know. Perhaps our end is decidedly worthwhile,” Noya says with a smile as she leans back against the table even more, steps slightly closer to him. One shoulder of her robe threatens to fall, and it clings precariously to her. “Even if it does end tragically, do you truly not remember how comforting it is to be surrounded by people you trust?”

“I remember. I also remember the tragedy which came from my complacency.”

“I see there’s no changing your mind,” she says. He can only smile, shrug. “The blighted also ransacked our research. You say you only have your blood to offer, but you don’t know exactly how valuable that is.” That only makes him frown.

“If this partnership is to continue, then you know what I will ask in return. If the blighted are attacking others, then it will only spread. I do not think it appetizing to drink from someone with a plague. It is also rare, to find a source that a vampire does not need to beguile, trick, or kill afterwards.” He fixes her with a level gaze.

“You know that I’ll agree.” She pulls all her loose, long locks over one shoulder, exposing the jugular of her neck. There isn’t any hesitation in the movement, and she returns his gaze just as evenly. Zevran rises to his feet with ease, and stands before her, the table now biting into the back of her thighs. She tilts her head, closes her eyes.

“You do not think I will hurt you?”

“Does it usually hurt?”

“I do not mean – I’ve been told it is like a pinch – but…” he trails off as she opens her eyes once again. A simple urging, to get on with it. He closes the distance between them, one hand settling on her hip. The other goes to her cheek, while his mouth goes to her neck. She closes her eyes, waits for the pinch, but instead, he plants the kiss lightly. Up and down, moving the neck of her nightgown out of the way. The robe begins to fall, and she catches it with her elbows.

“What are you doing?”

“It is easier,” he murmurs against her skin, “if your blood is pumping quickly.”

“I see.” She takes his hand from her cheek, presses his palm against her breast, over her nightgown. “Then should we have sex?”

“It is entirely up to you,” he says, pulling away from her neck, and they look at each other for a moment. Then, she presses her other hand against his trousers, over his cock.

“I don’t want to be kissed,” she says.

“Ah, but we have before.”

“That was acting.”

“I understand,” he nods. He pulls some of it back. The claws are never helpful, here. The fangs stay, the ears remain, but his eyes soften, sclera returning to white. He puts a hand against her thigh, begins to walk his fingers over her nightgown. Slowly it raises, bunches in his hand. When it’s high enough, he slips a hand underneath, finds that her skin is warm to the touch. He moves his hand from her thigh to her hip, as he rolls her breast in his hand.

Noya reaches for the buttons of his trousers, undoing them one by one. “What do you enjoy?” He asks her.

“Anything,” she says as her hand moves over the outline of his cock, trapped behind his undergarments, “everything.”

“Very specific,” he says as she moves her hands to his shoulder, plants him back down onto the chair. His hard work unraveled, she hikes up her skirts herself as she moves to straddle him. She balances herself on him, a foot on either side, pressing into the floor. She reaches between them, but before she can touch him, he puts a hand at the nape of her neck. “Noya. Wait.” Her fingers curl, and she pulls her hands back to herself. “You are certain this is what you want?”

“Yes,” she says. He nods, and his hands go to rest at her thighs. He moves upwards, in sync with both, wrapping around. His touch moves over the bumps of her spine, while she pulls his cock free of his trousers. Her nightgown against the back of his hand, he moves one around to cup her breast once again. It’s heavy in his hand, and he rolls her nipple between his fingers. He keeps his other hand at her lower back, flat and steady, as she wraps her hand around the base of his cock.

Her head falls against his shoulder, his against hers, the only sound between them being quickening breath. “Should we take precautions?” she asks in a low whisper.

“If you would like. There is no fear of pregnancy between a human and a vampire, if this is what you are concerned about,” he says.

“Mmmm.” Her thumb presses gently against his slit, smearing the wetness down the underside of his cock, and she turns her focus back to masturbating him. His hand moves from her breast, over her belly, to the soft patch of curls at her cunt. The first touch is electric. She sucks in air between her teeth as he begins to gently rub at her clit. One of her legs begin to tremble, after a while, and he eases his touch, moves his fingers through her wet folds. His middle takes a different path, pushes against her entrance. It’s here that she now pulls at his wrist, moves him aside.

“Are you certain? I can do more for you –”

“This is enough,” she says, taking his cock in her hand. She holds him steady as she shifts forward, rolls her cunt against him. She stands on her tip toes, her forehead pressed against his, and searches for her entrance with the head of him. Then, she slowly lowers herself, her hands moving to and clenching into his shoulder. She begins to move her hips, a quick up and down, the floor creaking underneath them.

He holds her hips steady, her nightgown slowly creeping up his arms. The robe is still only held by her elbows, completely gone from her back. It pools around his feet, over his knees. He reaches up, at the nape of her neck again, and pulls her down to him. His nose moves against her collarbone, up to the soft flesh in the crook of her neck. His mouth salivates. His tongue, against her skin. Salt, and something sweeter. Not as sweet as this. Teeth pierce flesh, plunge deep down. “Ah.” It is the only sound she makes. Something of surprise, of the pinch. Blood begins to pour into his mouth, and he grasps her hips tightly. She moves a hand through his hair, undoing the messy bun to do so.

When he stands, he takes her with him with ease. Setting her down onto the table, he never once takes his mouth from her, the taste of her iron filling his senses. She keeps one foot against the floor, the other leg wrapped around him as he takes over the thrusts – deep, heavy, quick in tempo, and without cessation. She holds tightly to him, her hands clenched in fists at the back of his jacket. His eyes are open, pupils wide. The black seeps into his sclera, unable to stop it. His jaw clenches down tighter, bites her harder.

#zevran #warden #zevwarden #dragon age #zevran x warden #zevran x mahariel #zevran x f!warden #zevran x f!mahariel #f!zevwarden #f!warden #f!mahariel #dragon age origins #dao #writing #mine #the evening red #dragon age au #victorian au

30 notes · View notes

derekscorner · 4 years ago

Text

When relevancy goes too far

Relevancy is a bit of a complex topic the more you think about it. How far do you push it? Which parts of a story are needed to know the other? How should something define the follow up? These questions have widely different answers depending on the person and especially depending on format.

Hell, if you wish to nit pick it further, even the series in question is a factor. Some series’ thrive on whats done while others drown in their own scripts. I believe Kingdom Hearts is one of the latter.

That said, I am not someone who hates KH’s expanded stories simply for existing. The “side games” in of themselves aren’t bad nor is the idea of using such things to expand a world. The same could be said for game novels or comics in my opinon.

However, these things can be a slippery slope or a lazy exist. For example, Assassin’s Creed threw out it’s whole Juno arc into a comic just to get it out of the way which completely shattered my investment.

In turn, Nomura himself isn’t at fault for as much as we bash him for. Something he’s admitted himself as seen here;

So, the new Days is one of the three titles announced in the Autumn of 2007 as new projects in the KH series.

Nomura: Those three titles were all announced at the same time, but in reality the opportunities for the projects were raised in a disjointed way. Birth by Sleep is a project that was raised within our company, but Days is from Nintendo, and coded is from Disney, so we started by talking to each of them.

-source <--Link btw

And anyone that’s read interviews out of curiosity will know that there’s also factors like how ‘Birth By Sleep’ was shifted from PS2 to PSP or that ‘Chain of Memories’ wasn’t a planned title either. (seen here)

So if these things aren’t inherently bad or planned that begs the question of why it’s a problem here? At least in my opinion of the series.

The answer is simple and it lies solely on Nomura’s shoulders for it as a fault, relevancy. The man goes out of his way to make each and every game, concert, or otherwise is attached to the series in some meaningful way going forward.

Naturally, any expanded media is tied to the main narrative in some way. I know this, I am not that foolish. The problem is that Nomura makes them plot relevant going forward.

These titles can’t be true “side games” because they dictate the story going forward in some way. It’s for this reason the more radical fans hate to hear the terminology “side game” to begin with.

This problem was especially bad for years because of how spread out the series became among other gaming systems. And while some like to say it’s fine now due to the collection discs I dont think this will last long given the “phase 2″ images released for KH’s near future.

Hell, I’d even argue this problem isn’t even fixed in truth because the current KH story involving Foretellers, Luxu, and so on is all things spun from a mobile game. Yes, you have to sit through scenes on YT or play a mobile game to fully grasp that cat creature (Chirithy) you saw in KH3.

Naturally, it’s much easier to watch the scenes on YT these days but that also feeds into the loop of not paying for the game itself. I personally see no issue with it but companies are much worse in recent years for shutting down Youtube channels over loose definition of “piracy”.

No game series is worth several consoles. Of course, I’m just speaking from experience, with KH now on the Xbox this may be a moot point in a few years.

I am rambling, off track, lets focus. “Why is this an issue?” is what you’ve read this far for me to explain. The biggest issue with this poor decision making is how it harms the main narrative you’re telling.

For comparison, look at Sora in KH3. He’s often confused by people he doesn’t remember meeting or events he doesn’t remember nor took part in. This is roughly close to what it would be like for someone that’s only played KH1, 2, and 3.

Sora has that same level of insight including what he was told about others like Roxas or Aqua but other characters in-game. This feeds into KH’s misconceived air of complexity.

Kingdom Hearts, as a story, isn’t that complex. It has deeper themes it throws to the wayside but it is easy to follow if you play most games in some form. This ties back into how the series was handled up until the PS4/KH3.

Ever want to know who Roxas was in KH2? Well you had to play Days or you can sit through that horribly boring 3 hour movie on the Remix disc. Even then, the Roxas you see in Days wont be like the one in KH2.

Wish to know who Xehanort was? Play Birth by Sleep! All three campaigns with little variance. Then once you’re done get ready to sit on YT or download a phone app and play Kingdom Hearts Dark Road.

The Foretellers, Luxu, or the Master of Masters? That’s another set of hours, if not days, with the KH Union X Cross, KH Dark Road, and should you choose you can even watch the Back Cover movie which answers nothing at all but shows you the Foretellers in Kh3 graphical glory.

You wish to know how Namine knew who The Lingering Will was? Well dig up a fan translation of a script the Japanese voice cast read for a music concert event. (yes that happened)

You can see where this is going I assume and this is just scratching the surface by the way. You wish to know the finer details like Keyblade types, the inconsistent time traveling, “recompletion”, and so on then be prepared to read word of god interviews, in-game dictionaries/journals and always be ready for a few to change.

Whether it’s a true retcon or just an ambiguous statement, the series is ongoing, Nomura heads the ship, and he is by no means obligated to stick to previous statements if he can make a new one to alter those events.

Then again, holding too much weight in words said outside the game itself is a faulty way of doing things that most fans (like me) have fallen victim too at least once.

At the same time, all of these things are relevant by Nomura’s decision. Sure, the remixes have fixed this to a degree but it’s anyone’s guess for how long. Better yet, at what cost did the remixes fix anything?

The best example of what I mean is Coded. It was originally a game for phones. At the time, only Japan had a phone capable of playing it. Feeling that a shame the game later found it’s way to the DS for all fans to play.

At this point in time Coded was the only true example of a “side story”. It was by no means necessary. The whole datascape plot was more convoluted than it needed to be despite data!Sora being far better than the original at this point, and easy to miss.

But...well that was good. The DS version of Coded was fun as hell to play. The only version of the “command deck system” I’d consider worth any semblance of praise. It did it’s job of getting some level of fans invested such as my friend @blackosprey and it’s story was missable.

You did not need to play Coded to understand Dream Drop Distance or further. This was perfect. This is what games like Days, KH Chi/UX, 0.2, and DDD should’ve been.

Games that reached out to grab new people, games that played around, and games that expanded on the main narrative without dictating it’s direction. A side game is something that exists alongside or outside your main story.

However this isn’t what we got. 0.2 A Fragmentary Passage was a short sequel to BBS but also a pretty tech demo for KH3. Dream Drop Distance was there to show the real Sora that people needed help and to show us that Xehanort was back.

KH Chi was a browser game meant to show the Keyblade War and how it shaped Sora’s era. Now it’s an ongoing curse on the series with time traveling plot that affected KH3 directly.

Coded was made into a movie you needed to sit through thanks to one small newly added scene. Days lost many small interactions it’s fans loved in the transition to a movie that is hard to sit through.

I’ve also heard KHDDD and 0.2 were “shaved off” KH3 in a sense to be their own titles...this...this makes so little sense.

Nomura calls KH “Sora’s story” but this is a lie. If it truly was Sora’s story then your main narrative would be BBS, KH1, CoM, 2, and the original combined form of KH3. That’s the titles he’s relevant, those are the titles he stops Xehanort’s plans.

These other titles could’ve been so fun but none of them were truly allowed to breath and be themselves. They were weakened and limited by Nomura deciding to prop the ongoing story upon them like they’re stilts.

Then as a result you can’t close out KH3 without resolving all of these other events and characters which drags it’s own story down. KH3 feels all over the place because it is. It’s trying to tie as many knots as it can from threads created in titles that were way more relevant then they needed to be.

Kh3 can be seen as a clean break for many but I see it as a matter of time. KHUX and now KHDR are still there casting a shadow, dictating what comes next. Melody of Memory is one of several games planned for an unknown but hopefully more thought out direction.

I worry I haven’t explained what I meant well enough but moral of my story is that making things too relevant hurts not only your main story but these new stories you wish to explore.

You can’t have a story and it’s cast breath if you’re tying a knot of mythos too tightly around their necks and this is a tragedy to me. KH began life with such potential but it constantly holds itself back because so few entries into it’s story are truly just an entry.

And I am not saying games can’t follow up one another nor that they shouldn’t. What’s needed is a clear idea and some breathing room. A good example would be to save people in Days with the game DDD. DDD could’ve wiped away some clutter to focus on the final Xehanort battle in a sense.

Nomura has a huge problem with wanting connectivity without letting games be connected by the name alone. It’s like he wants to do the opposite of what Final Fantasy has done but to detrimental results.

This harms so much but worst of them it hurts development. Because Days was made so important, we had a movie made. Because Coded was elevated, a movie was made. Because the keyblade war was so popular, Union Cross was made.

The Remixes would’ve been better to consolidate lore not waste time trying to appease every whim. KH’s relevancy is a huge problem and I doubt it’ll stop any time soon.

#kingdom hearts #kh3 #khdr #kingdom hearts melody of memory

4 notes · View notes

renaer-is-allegedly-hot · 4 years ago

Text

session 12 notes

one day . one day i swear i will fix this formatting but today is not that day

Lol late is my brand

Let's go

The halflings can stack up under a trench coat

Adam has disguise self

Aerana and asyna don't need to do anything kinda

Now we're talking abt the road to el dorado

We just killed loser boy

Kenku got info from adam, cel and theo

What are we doing lmao

Adam is jiggling the small room's door and we go inside the room

Inside looks like an office, shelf w pickled body parts + cataloguing what the parts r and what they do

They were running away lmao ok

Yes we're still salty about this

"different interpretations of charm person" - jacob, 2020

Body part stuff

No halfling writing system in waterdeep

Dwarf toes, elven ears

Magic items ? Cel rolls perception 22

Weird jar w dull amber colored liquid, don't know if it's magical but noticed; unlabeled

"the jar of necrotic pee" - jacob, 2020

Smells like aloe

Adam smells his fire-resistant potion and it smells more like burnt ash

Smth else cel found has strange engravings

Just looks like metal bar

Boxy squarish iron bar abt the size of a halfling; it's strong but surprisingly light

Adam picks it up and hits a wall w it

Adam rolls for attack, 4

Nothing rlly happens

Makes a ringing sound

None of us can read giant

Looks rlly strange, written in blocky linear runes

A few things on it that stick out like engravings of ppl

Big bearded humanoids but small and fine so difficult to make out

Adam rolled 17 for investigation through files

Some stuff related to running wig shop; shop was at least somewhat a legitimate business

Notes abt billing for criminal organizations and guilds

Some ref to meeting w xant middlemen who would collect bodies

Names

Noska

Hired gorrick to track us down ??

N ?????

Adam looking for a key in the desk, doesn't find it

Head to the chest, adam tries to open

Not locked

A bunch of teeth

It's a mimic, adam has to roll damage

Adam is hit

Adam takes 10 damage

We're looking at diff things around the room and then hear a screech of pain as adam gets bitten

Slams down on adam's hand and four little eyes pop up and stare as it eats adam's hand

Mimic takes 9 damage as adam explodes

Cel shoots an arrow into the eye

22 to hit, 8 damage

Adam uses cutting words

-1d6

"hey fuck"

Adam could try to pull his hands away

Adam pulls his hands out

Adam bends down to it and takes a ration out of his backpack

"dom I'm gonna bend down to it"

The chest has closed back

Adam is going to throw rations instead, dex check

13; doesn't open so adam drops food on its head

Chest sits there looking at adam and eventually out of the side of the chest a weird stretchy amoeba-like arm comes out of it, takes the food and throws it in its mouth

"who's a good boy ? Who's a good boy !! Who's a good chest !!" adam, 2020

Adam takes out all his five rations and makes a trail leading out of the room

Chomper ? Maybe

It looks uninterested and its eyes have shut

Looks exactly like a chest now and hasn't moved; still has an arrow but just looks like a normal chest

It's a small chest that's pickuppable

Adam wants to walk his chest

Adam casts sleep on the chest

7d8s

27hp

When adam casts sleep the chest doesn't move, adam rolls perception 5

Adam tries to pick it up from behind v carefully from the bottom

It's kinda stuck to the floor and the wall; doesn't appear willing to budge

Asyna is still ape!asyna

Tries picking it up from behind like adam

Rolls a 6; won't move

One of its creepy tendrils sticks out and hits ape!asyna

10 bludgeoning damage; ape!asyna basically got slapped but now stuck to the chest

It's kind of loose now

Ape!asyna rolls a 20 and yanks it off the wall, now just dangling off asyna's arm and it's heavier than asyna thought it was

Feels dense

Adam is gonna try and tie its mouth shut

"he kinda starts flailing around a bit" dom, 2020

"aw he likes his new leash" jacob, 2020

Jacob gets hit again

Ape!asyna is gonna try and pull it off, 17 and gets off

Large clump of fur comes off and it's painful

adam "I'm going to try and use centrifugal force to swing it over my head"

"make a strength check" dom, 2020

Rolls 17

Slams it on desk, doesn't let go, nature check adam has no idea what it is

At some point the chest drops off, we stand back and adam casts shatter

11 damage

Chest kind of melts into the floor almost like it deflated, starts snaking way across room until it finds a hole and slithers up and disappears

"fuck you too chompi" adam 2020

Where it dissolves is 20 gold

"n I c e . That was worth the four spell slots" adam, 2020

Adam disguises self and turns into his dad

Adam is a tiefling

Dad is not a tiefling

Taller, dark black hair but not curly, short on the sides + floof forward

Looks more confident than adam

Same freckles

No one knew adam had freckles

Look p similar overall

Sounds the same as adam when he talks

He's a human

We don't know it's adam's dad

"a real dilf" dom, 2020, about adam's dad

"not like your REAL DAD, JACOB, JESUS" dom, 2020

Now we don't have time to unpack ALL OF THAT

Gonna find a hotel or smth

Except gotta disguise selves first

In the wig shop there is any wig u could possibly desire

Some mounted beards

Can't tell if any of the wigs r magical

I don't haAve magicccc :(

Adam puts a blonde wig on the ape

I thought asyna un-aped

Asyna un-apes and disguises self as asyna

Theo takes a long brunette wig w a braid down the back

Cel wants to pretend to be adam's child

Gets a curly dark hair wig

Hammer pants

Cel theo and adam all have freckles

It's nighttime springtime in waterdeep; it's raining

Trades ward going to find a hotel

Avoid own houses for awhile

Going to nearest inn

Let's go to the yawning portal

It is an inn not just a bar

Typ is in fact in the trades ward

One room as the father and two daughters and one room as lesbian elves

Durnan's downstairs and is friends w mirt

We head over to typ

This ward is busier than others we've seen at this time of night

Walk over to side entrance of typ

It never shuts down; always ppl here

Familiar warmth as we approach

Bard competition

Ppl placing bets, drinking, sitting in booths

The rooms r upstairs

Adam calls himself lysander

"a room for me and my daughters"

They get a room on the third story

Room on the third floor

We rendezvous in adam's room

We hear a scream echo out from the well

Adam has two plans

One includes his pants

The pants plan is we track down the dude w the pants

Second includes him singing, waiting to get mugged by the zants

Get mercenary help ?

Pants is plan c

Durnan is plan a

Cel is portia

Theo is lavinia

The doors lock

Long rest? Long rest maybe later

Adam and cel go up to one of the goliaths

"hey there big friend"

He looks like a well-read person

Takes out honey and asks him if he knows what it is

O it's honey

"well there r means of finding this out . For a price"

How much per item - FIVE GOLD

Adam hands him 10 gold and the big rod

"this is a jar of ointment that was first created by the wizard kyogton" I have no idea what that wizard's name is but that's what it sounded like

A dose can be swallowed or applied to the skin and in addition to healing and rejuvenating health, any poison or disease it may have is instantaneously cured

Can't tell how many doses in it

It's v expensive, v rare

Now the stick and he looks uber interested in it

"hm , where did you find this"

"my dad's attic ,,, he's a hoarder"

"let's make a deception check with a capital d"

Nat 1

Adam tells this guy the whole thing and the guy nods

"this is a valuable piece . Would you be interested in parting with it"

Cloud giants made them so their servants could help them build their castles

It's an immovable rod

Writing speaks of ancient cloud giants that were war-inclined

Flat button on the end of it

He sticks it out into the air and presses the button; when he takes his hand away, the rod doesn't fall and it stays floating in the air

Adam grabs onto it but he can't move it

Anybody can push the button tho

Adam asks what the goliath is offering

Offers us 5,000 gold

Adam gets his name - woetheir ????

Woetheir frequents typ when he's here

They're going on a quest; were asked by the open lord to complete a task on the isle of chault

Adam's gonna go to bed

Cel's gonna take a bath

We take long rest

Durnan time

Adam gives durnan a quick rundown of what happened

"ayo what's poppin durnan long time no see my guy"

It's morning it's 9ish breakfast time

Doesn't give any indication whether or not he recognizes them

Adam asks for scrambled eggs and bacon

Adam's asking if he knows anything abt the xants

Theo asks durnan if there's somewhere more secluded they can talk

Gestures to one of the booths and theo cel adam go over

They're uh . Telling durnan everything p much

He has look of passive disinterest but slightly less disinterest the more of the story they tell

"how is mirt?"

"he has renaer and floon"

"he's let himself go"

The xants r v powerful; leadership inscrutable even to open lord herself

Prior, durnan didn't care abt open lord

Guesses whoever obtains the stone would b hunted by the city which could b problematic

Half a million gold dragons

Could get help outside the city ? Roots go deep but do not extend outwards

Flee or contact city officials

"I think theo has a crush on him" adam, 2020

Stone is likely being taken or was already taken to guild hq

We could bust into hq but probs bad idea

Durnan says he's sure anyone could break into xants hq

Lmao durnan sounds so weighed down by life

Every now and then he looks over to well

Durnan is basically saying friendship is magic

The xants don't often come to typ and don't draw swords there

They fear it and durnan

"what's the hole?" adam rolls for insight, dirty 20

Odd expression comes across durnan's face

Mixture of disgust and longing

Uh … disgust and longing … for a hole? Ok durnan

We don't have to talk abt that I guess

Cel asks durnan to send a message to mirt to let him know we're safe but probs not gonna see him for awhile

Apparently the xants aren't too particular abt their henchmen

He says ask the barkeep abt it

Passive perception

At some point durnan leaves and right as theo says that we hear a loud thump and someone says "cripes"

Jones ?

Cel looks under the table and there's jones

Cel drags him out

Theo has a new idea "hey guys let's not go through with using adam as bait yet"

Adam looks down at the goblin and threatens to make him deaf

Plan d is to eat jones

We take jones upstairs

Theo explains her new plan

If the stone is already at their hq

We go to them

Jones doesn't mess w the xants

Why is jones rhyming

What r we talking abt lmao oops I was looking at primary results

I'M SCREAMING I DIDN'T KNOW GOODSPACEGUY WAS 81

No one has asked us for info abt the stone ?

Lmao is this like @me abt what's his name

Jb nevercaught ???? Jp nevercaught ?????? Idk who he is

What's our goal

We gotta figure out what we wanna do ig

We just wanna know where the xants r otherwise we duct tape his mouth and tie him up

"consider it stroked and very, very much needed" jones, 2020

To the dock ward in a wrecked whale oh the wrecked whale

"not the erect whale" cel, 2020 ????

There's a knock at the door

There's no peephole

Asyna asks "who is it"

HAHAHHAHAHA

MARGUERITE LMAO

"uh I work at the bar downstairs uh durnan had some - he wanted to speak to the drow"

I'm screwed

He has page hat on

"first durnan said we could stay as long as we'd like"

And he was offered money by this guy to speak to me

There's an elven man w v long and stringy hair, pointed nose and pointy ears

Looks rlly skinny and physically weak

Looking over scrolls

"guess who"

What the fuck

Nareel ??? naREEL????? WHO THE FUCK IS NAREEL???????

I don't kNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING !!!!!!

The stone fascinates him

Offering us partial membership

Occasional encouragement to go on various missions

He has resources

Treasure and gold involved, but not for the weak-willed

Offering 500 gold for completion of a task

They have captured a high-ranking member of the xants and tried to get info of him

More resilient than they thought he would be

They need him back in three days

Is this a roast session ???? Of aerana ???? When she dips to hang out with the other guy ???????

They're trying to figure out who her friend is

Jones wanted to be a painter

Adam is offering to have jones join us to maybe kill him??????

If he wants gold he has to go get it

They'll keep

"I'm gonna fill your goody bag real good so you better keep your mouth shut" adam, 2020 to jones

Oh god I'm such an avoidant lmao

Oh god I don't

"these conversations will become more difficult as things become more difficult but I think for now that went as well as it could have possibly gone"

"you will find him in your basement"

wHICH BASEMENT

We're gonna go home

To the north ward we go

You go to the basement

The ropes look kinda weird

He's not tied with rope

They're metal bands looped around him

Metal bindings

Doesn't look like he's gonna get out of it

Adam and cel don't see anything out of the ordinary but have noticed things moved around a little bit

Dwarf w dark brown skin, white/gray beard, looks roughed up - not injured, just worse for wear

Adam has him make a wisdom saving throw

Adam charms him

Approaches him first

Adam starts massaging his shoulders

Jfdkaslfha then takes the gag off

"are you here to let me out?" the dwarf

"even better I'm here to spend some quality time with you" adam, 2020

Says he has to get back to the master

Master silgar must be fed

His sacred duty is to feed master silgar

Master silgar has a shimmering son what

"Shakes the oceans with a swish of his body"

In the beginning there was xanathar and then he said silgar should be the one they care for until the seas rise and destroy the city

Controls the eye of the xanathar as the eye of the xanathar control him

His name is ot stillgeer

Adam says his name is cain

Blasphemy for adam to propose bringing lord silgar to him

Lord silgar lives in a great temple

He's the high priest of silgar

We're telling him it's our summer home

Adam winks at everyone and we go upstairs

Adam casts second-level sleep on him

44hp puts him to sleep

Adam is gonna disguise-self a beard when the dwarf next wakes up

Stage it so it looks like he had been there for a month

Everyone changes their clothes

Tally marks on the wall

It's like late afternoon at this time

Adam tells him he woke up after 79 days, rolls for deception

Rolls a 24

Looks over and says "79 days"

"am I dead"

"no but the xanathar want you dead"

"I'm free"

23 for deception

Lord silgar is a fish? A fish ? A goldfish

Lord xanathar loves his goldfish more than anything

Ot has to replace the fish

19 mans is telling the truth

Not really any sign we're being watched when cel rolls for perception

We watch ot, take turns resting and surveilling our own house

Night comes

When asyna is on watch in the tower

Sees figures start making way across street to our house

6 humanoids start trying to break into the house

Glass shatters as one goes through a window

The tapestry was lord silgar

The goldfish has no connection to the koi fish asyna spoke to

Two objectives?

Find the stone

Or control the xanathar w a fish

The stone is a map to half a million gold

#12 #sn #dnd #wdh #d&d

1 note · View note

storywriting · 5 years ago

Text

Anemone, An Enemy, Anemone, An Enemy Anemone, Anne, Nemo, and Another Me

[ So.......Anemone huh? Here’s some loose thoughts after a first viewing, including my takes of H1-Evo #1 and how my opinion has evolved now that this film is in the mix. I’ve seen it through with the JP audio exactly one time and I do wonder if my opinion on this film will change at all on a second viewing or when I get around to the dub. It’s less about plot details and more about review and general discussion type stuff, doesn’t delve heavy into theorizing just yet. That’s a trip for a different post. Cut because long as fuck even though literally nobody asked. ]

Hi Evolution #1, starring our main man Renton “Only a Miniscule Few Braincells Above Himbo” Thurston, hit me in weird ways which I think is true for most everybody I’ve seen talking about it. Part of my problem with it honestly was that I came into things with the misconception that Hi-Evolution would be a reboot of sorts. A somewhat faithful retelling of the original story with new insight into things we didn’t get to see much of. I don’t know why this is the impression I had other than screencaps and stuff, but if you only watch the first Hi Evo movie you definitely could continue to think that once it’s over. When I thought it would be an encapsulation of the original series, I had intended to use the film to introduce @himbologythestudyofhimbo to the story. She has long known it to be one one of my most favorite anime franchises and I thought a film would be a good way to gauge whether she might find it interesting enough to hit 50 episodes with me.

Ha. Haha. That didn’t work.

I hadn’t seen Hi-Evo when I was like “hey wanna watch this?” so that’s my own fault. I had seen screenshots and thought it looked gorgeous, but that was about it. I was imagining something akin to the Berserk trilogy of movies, mostly faithful to the original story with some new tidbits of information thrown in for old fans.

And again, you could be forgiven for seeing the first Hi-Evo movie and still thinking that’s what you’re in for. It is mostly compliant to the original canon and the parts that aren’t compliant are pretty wishy washy about saying so. Unfortunately what I found out really quickly is that that it’s not at all a good entry point for new fans, and that really disappointed me. I’ve been hoping for years for something to get more young blood in this fandom, BUT ANYWAY--

The whole play forward/play back thing really hinders the flow of the film, as much as I understand the point of it, especially with the Anemone film for more context. Skipping around the timeline harms new viewers in particular. It’s challenging to understand the timeline and flow of events because everything is presented out of order and without context. Sure, the first Hi-Evolution covers a ton of major story beats surrounding Renton’s personal development, but the non-chronological presentation coupled with the utter lack of lead up to key moments from the original series robs this movie of carrying any emotional weight. Who is Renton? What’s the deal with him and wheelchair girl? Are these people his parents or not? Why do we care about this Eureka girl who has been on screen in Renton’s presence for a cumulative 30 seconds. Wait a minute what’s this ship? Where did he leave from again? I thought he had a home and parents? Who are these people and why do I care?

Put bluntly this movie sucks if you can’t answer these questions going in, and even if you can you may feel a bit cheated by it. As much as I feel the need to talk about how the film is inaccessible for new fans, these films clearly are not for new fans. They function to remind you of events of the original story and then play off of those events with the new content. Even as an established fan, Hi-Evo #1 feels very watered down on its own, but it’s not on its own anymore is it? So let’s finally talk about Anemone.

What becomes clear about these movies is that they are not divided by chronology, but by character. The first movie was about Renton which is why we saw so so little of everybody else even when that robbed the story of needed context and worked to the story’s detriment. I’m telling myself the reason titular character Eureka was not on screen demonstrating her relationship to the world and to Renton despite it most likely being a central element is because they shoved her scenes into Hi-Evolution 3: Eureka, which will not be released for another year or so.

I do feel a bit more forgiving toward these movies now that I understand the format they’re going for, but I think most of my previous criticisms still stand despite that. The character focused presentation may be a deliberate creative decision, but that doesn’t make it an ideal storytelling mechanism. THAT SAID, while a character centric format really harms well developed characters like Renton, it does loads and loads of good for a character like Anemone whose screen time was always hindered by her role as accessory to Renton and Eureka’s story. We don’t get that constant stream of unfiltered perspective from her or really any secondary character, so it’s very interesting to see the world filtered purely through her eyes. I honestly found myself significantly more interested in all the new Anemone content than I ever could have been over watered-down, abbreviated rehashing of Renton’s character arc. I’m much more excited for the last film than I was with just the context of the first Hi-Evolution movie.

Speaking of which, very early on in the Anemone film, the viewer is clued into the fact that this is most certainly AU content, something that was less clear about the first movie. Eureka Seven as a franchise has really been in the 24/7 AU zone for like 10 years, which I think is cool but I also find a little disappointing. I like AU content well enough, but I also think they had a rich world already in the original series and I feel like there are a few more rich veins to explore further in the original world without necessarily needing to wrap it up in a convoluted alternate universe. Not to say I’m against like the AU stuff or anything, I’m okay with it existing, I just want a little more variety in the stuff that’s coming out. Keep up with the AU stuff if you guys wanna but I wouldn’t say no to more backstory and lore, you know? If they’re gonna pander to old fans instead of attracting new ones, they may as well hit me where it hurts. But I digress. Hi Evolution#2: Anemone’s AUness is pretty central to the story it wants to tell, so it has my full attention there.

Alternate universe characterization is something I’ve had both complaints and praise for in the past, and I’m happy to say that in the case of Anemone I have mostly praise. It’s nice to get a glimpse of an Anemone who isn’t like....as unhinged as her original incarnation. She’s well adjusted comparably, which makes her a decently reliable narrator. While she loses some of the edge that people are drawn to about her, she maintains most of the underlying personality traits you would expect of even the earliest incarnation of Anemone. This is an Anemone who had the opportunity to be socialized. You can relate to her and appreciate her feelings more easily than the Anemone viewers are most familiar with. This is an Anemone with hardships, but she hasn’t been pushed to the same extremes as her PoP counterpart. Likely due to the pretty direct narration and background, there’s also a lot more substance to her than PFoR Anemone in my opinion. It’s not really a chore to like her and take interest in her. She feels very natural in most instances. She’s a real breath of fresh air for fans who love Anemone and wanted to see her living with a healthier mindset and some better outcomes. Good on you, Anemone. Four for you, Anemone.

Most of the other characters--Dominic, the scientists, background people, Anemone’s father, new crew members, etc--are all about what you’d expect from either their previous incarnations or the archetypes they’re filling. None of the new characters or secondary characters are particularly developed, but I don’t really consider that a huge fault of it. I wouldn’t expect a 2 hour movie to meander the way a 50 episode anime can, but in times like this when I am with very few developed characters, I am forcefully reminded of what an asset and a strength the original’s depth and breadth of character writing is.

And then there’s Eureka. I expect her to be polarizing in the reviews, assuming at least some people didn’t straight up hate her in it. Everybody may have just hated it, idk.

As I said earlier alternate universe characterization is something I’ve had both complaints and praise for in the past, often both at the same time. What often comes about is characterization that I don’t necessarily like, but because the character has lived a different life I can’t really say that characterization is wrong. I feel that pull in this film quite a bit. Wrathful Eureka is boring to me. Conceptually, it just is. But does that make it bad?

Man, idk, I guess not. I didn’t like it, but I’ll defend it to a degree. In the original story Eureka was born into violence and conditioned to perpetuate violence early in life. The original Eureka Seven has a dense messaging about propaganda and information and the ways in which society conditions people of all kinds. Eureka is a docile character in the original but more and more as we learn about her, we realize that this tendency toward gentleness isn’t just a cutesy character trait of hers. It’s a choice that she’s making on a daily basis, even when more forceful options would be easier or make more sense to her. It’s a choice that has come about from a collection of experiences. Eureka becomes pacifistic because she develops her own ideals about the world. She comes to conclusions about what things make her a good or bad person and she makes the decision to be the person she wants to be. There’s weight to it. That’s something that always really drawn me to her as a character. It’s very easy to blow up in the face of something horrible. It’s much harder to keep a cool head and exercise mercy. I just don’t find the Eureka of this world all that compelling.

That said, I don’t necessarily think this read of her is wrong or even impossible. In fact, I think if this read had 50 episodes of development and justification behind it, I might even come to appreciate it. Certainly if anything could drive her to this, it would be losing Renton, so it’s not exactly out of left field for the character given the circumstances she’s in. I feel somewhat similarly about PFoR Eureka. Only somewhat. Eureka in general is a character who would probably be much more in touch with her anger if she had been raised any other way than she was. Even in the original series Eureka has a passive aggressive streak. She’s probably very fortunate that more productive methods of expressing her feelings were accessible to her before any natural tendency toward aggression was. Angrier more volatile reads of Eureka aren’t wrong or even uninteresting necessarily, but to me a lot of her charm is wrapped up in the reasons she works so hard not to be that type of character.

I also think that subversion and role reversal can be an interesting in AU stuff, so I don’t really fault them for using it here. In contrast to our typical unhinged Anemone, Eureka gets to be the one teetering on the edge so that Anemone can shine and show a little more humanity than she typically gets to. I think that’s honestly okay. I want to see Anemone have her day to be the hero. That’s something I’m okay with sacrificing a little of my preferred characterization for. I see a lot of value in a portrayal that allowed Eureka and Anemone to bond and more directly learn together. I think a lot of fans, myself included, wonder about a reality where Eureka and Anemone could have been sources of support for one another rather than pitted against one another.

That isn’t to say that I’m automatically okay with chopping up the writing in arbitrary ways, though. The thing about the reversals and subversions in Hi-Evo #2 is that they’re consistent. Compare to something like Pocketful of Rainbows and you’ll see what I mean. In that movie Renton, for some unclear reason, is the one who can understand Nirvash even though that writing decision doesn’t really serve the story in any meaningful way because Eureka is still the one who isn’t human and still is wanted by the military for....being whatever unclear thing she is in that film. Renton is no longer childish and is in fact the patient one in the story while Eureka is the one with a stubborn attitude and defined temper. Renton is made out to be more of a coward so that he has something to grow from, except for all the many many times he isn’t cowardly pretty much immediately, and the only flimsy defense of this concept that is that he was afraid of adults with guns when he was a literal child. Meanwhile, Eureka in this film is a much more brash character than we’re used to. Unlike Original Eureka, this one doesn’t want to be led or take orders anymore. She’s a loose canon who takes matters into her own hands except for all the times she cries for Renton to save her both before and after she’s teetering on her own Independence Event Horizon. There are a lot of creative decisions in that film that just plain don’t make sense to me because the writing doesn’t commit to them at all and tends to flounder around between them. I could barely make it through that film because I felt like it was contradicting itself every 5 minutes. It feels less like a new exploration of old characters and more like a bunch of ideas the writing team couldn’t agree on and slapped together anyway. If it wasn’t unclear, I don’t like Pocketful of Rainbows very much.

By contrast, any subversions or reversals in Hi-Evolution 2 fell earned enough. The writing choices are for the most part played straight and well justified. The choices are interesting. Unlike literally anything about the lore of Pocketful of Rainbows, I want to know more about Hi-Evolution. I want to understand what Anemone’s mission is and about Silver Box. I want to know why Dewey is so different from the Dewey I know. As much as I complained about Eureka’s characterization, the portrayal is decently justified by the writing. Eureka believes she killed Renton and seems to be privy to other realities where she turned out much happier. She has good enough reasons to be bitter in this iteration.

This film has honestly made me way more forgiving of Hi-Evo #1 and given me a lot of reason to take interest in what the last film might be. I’m going to reserve any big overarching judgement until that comes out in 6000 years, but I’m getting the sense that it might be New Order adjacent, in that Renton and Eureka will have to find one another and possibly revisit places that will be nostalgic for fans.I wouldn’t complain if this becomes the flagship verse wherein Eureka and Anemone form a meaningful friendship because they’ve been denied that opportunity in basically every other telling that exists so far.

Also big thank god the last film will be hand drawn because, I hate to be that guy but the GC looked like shitgarbage. I’ve become very forgiving of CG and Mocap recently but I just really disliked it in this film. Animation is a medium I know a lot about, I know compositing is a tricky job, I respect the work put into it, but...oof. I do wonder if that was a stylistic choice or more of an “oh shit the budget is disappearing” choice.

My final word on Eureka Seven Hi Evolution #2 is that....I didn’t hate it. I didn’t love it either but I had a nice enough time watching it. I’m realizing I’m having trouble landing in one particular spot on Hi Evolution #2 because I expect the next film will effect how I judge this one in the same way that this film has affected how I judged the first one. If you’re an Eureka Seven fan who is on the fence about the Hi-Evolution trilogy, I’d say give it a watch. You’ll still love your favorite characters even if they’re a little different than you’d hoped. If you’re still feeling iffy maybe wait a year until the last one comes out and binge them all at once. I suspect the experience might be improved that way. Definitely don’t go in expecting the story you already know, though. Doing that set me up for failure here.

Honorable mention for the fansubber who kept translating 勘 as very rude words describing the penis for some reason? That really enhanced my experience.

#;Eureka Seven Commentary #long post #please tumblr mobile load the cut don't hurt these people #∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹To Be Continued⊹ — 「 OOC 」#;Hi Evolution Commentary #Hi Evolution Spoilers

4 notes · View notes

wolfpawn · 5 years ago

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 66

Chapter Summary - Tom and Ben catch up after Christmas as Danielle and Emma try to repair their friendship.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

“Do I want to know?” Tom asked as he made room for Benedict to walk past him into his house.

“I love my wife, I cannot put into words how much I love her and my son and the baby she is carrying, I truly can’t, but I need two hours without a teething toddler and I need her to get some fucking sleep because she is like a grizzly bear with a headache from a sore back and Kit waking us, then finally, my parents take Kit and she is saying I kept her up last night snoring, I have no idea what she is thinking, but she was too tired to talk and told me to leave to let her have some rest before I collect him so I just ran,” Ben explained almost frantically. “I had no idea where to go.”

“Why in the hell did you think you could not say that in front of Danielle?”

“Because if she told Sophie, I would be castrated with a rusty knife, slowly.”

“Except she acted as an ear to Sophie yesterday, so she actually has some insight into how your wife is feeling.”

“Shit.” Ben growled, “What time did you say she was back?”

“She said three, but knowing her and Emma, they will get sidetracked on the way back and do something together,” Tom stated as he put some soup in front of Ben. “She baked bread as well, want some?”

“I assume you’re not staying as trim as usual.” Ben grinned as he looked at the fresh bread in front of him.

“I have had to add nearly a mile a day onto my runs, and that is with her feeding me a salad instead of the bread.”

“Lucky prick.” Ben bit into the bread. “Fuck me, I would need to be shoved through the door if I was eating this every day, this is incredible.”

“Yes.” Tom smiled proudly.

“So, how are things, I see she is still around, I thought she had work after Christmas?”

“There was a small incident on Christmas Eve, she fractured her wrist in a biking accident and is currently unable to work, nothing serious, she even seems to have stopped taking anything stronger than a Nurofen for it, but it means she is at a loose end, so she is studying for some enhancement at work, or she does, when she is here, her calendar is like a promo tour for us these days, she has people asking to meet her as often as she is here. Not that that is a complaint, I am delighted, it means she is settling in surely.”

“So she hanging around a while?” Ben pressed slightly.

“I asked her to move in with me, she said yes, so she’s living here now.” Tom smiled.

Ben stared at him for a moment. “Danielle lives here, with you?”

“Yes.”

“That was fast.” Tom gave him a look. “I am not saying it is a bad thing, Hiddleston, calm it, it is just that you were mister ‘as good as celibate’ for so long and now you are effectively setting up the whole devoted home man setting, I mean, Mac seems to own a corner of the living room.” Ben pointed to the area Tom had removed a chair from to allow Mac to have his bed in a sunny spot. “And Danielle is as sensible as an umbrella in autumn, so how did you manage to convince her?”

“I just asked and said no pressure. She is giving it a bit of a trial to see if she likes living in the city.”

“And?”

“It’s been less than a week Ben.”

“Some people don’t give it that.”

“She is gone to lunch with my sister, yesterday she was with your wife for lunch, which I have no idea why you don’t know all of this already and on the way back from said lunch with your wife, she bumped into another friend and made plans for next week.”

“A friend independent of you?”

“Yes, a woman named Nacelle she got to know when working.”

“As a safety officer or as a paramedic.”

“Safety Officer, Nacelle is a makeup artist.”

“Wait, is her name Nacelle Campbell?”

“I have no idea.”

“Her father is Jamaican, mother English, living around Camden somewhere?”

“She looks like she could be that and yes, she lives there.”

“You are fucking kidding me.” Ben smiled in disbelief, “Elle knows Nacelle Campbell?”

“Why are you saying this as though it is something of great note?” Tom asked worriedly.

“She is the most coveted makeup artist there is in these parts, you don’t want to know what her prices are, there are productions on the West End that cannot afford her, I heard Soph say something once, well her colleague did, about getting in Campbell before they both laughed at the idea, saying they would never be able to afford her.”

“She did Elle’s make up for last night, she made her look completely natural yet more radiant.” Tom smiled. “Her fiance helped too.”

“She’s getting married?”

“On the 22nd of June I believe, I have been told to check my availability, we are having them for dinner next week.”

“Who’s the guy?”

“Woman actually, Becky Matthews.” He waited a moment to see Benedict’s reaction. “Yes, The Rebecca Matthews.”

“Danielle has some friends in high places.”

“It appears so.”

“So, you actually know her a little?”

“I did not recall her yesterday when I saw her, considering she was in a tracksuit and whatnot, but I remembered her later. They are forcing Elle out to go get some clothes suitable for different events next week”

“So Elle is settling in if she is making all these friends, all is good then, right?” Ben smiled, Toms momentary delay in responding did not go unnoticed. “What happened?”

“She saw a fan interaction with me online this morning when I was out jogging,” Tom began.

“Right?”

“She got upset.”

“Anything untoward?” Ben knew to ask, with some ‘fans’ anything could happen.

“No.”

“So, why the upset?”

“She read comments on it and felt inadequate, but then apologised, saying it was an issue with her and that I did not deserve her reaction.”

“Fucking comments,” Ben cursed.

“None were too bad, I checked after, but a few made mention about the girl being a likeness to Taylor and that I would do well with her.”

“What was her name?”

“Whose?”

“The girl, obviously.”

“I cannot remember, honestly.”

“Well then, you were not interested.”

“It’s not something in Elle, last night I had some socialite nip my ear and leave lipstick on it and she knew there was nothing to worry about, but the comments got her slightly.”

“They get us all from time to time.”

“I just get worried, when people find out, there are going to be some who will do nothing but tear her to shreds.”

“Who are you talking to, I have a PR wife and two PR kids created solely to better me in Hollywood as a family man, the first of which is supposedly not even mine.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes, apparently some director we met once that she was photographed with got her pregnant and I know this or don’t know this, pending the source, and I use that term lightly.”

“How do you not let that get to you, how does Sophie not?”

Ben shrugged, “These things have no basis in truth, I think more than once Sophie got upset about it, but getting upset won’t help, we have Kit and another little one coming and we don’t give a fuck what the naysayers say. Danielle is as tough as old boots, she’ll develop a skin against these things, the way you are doing it is best, though, fair dues for thinking if it.”

“It was Danielle’s idea.”

“No shock there, she is a pillar of sense.”

Danielle sat waiting in the restaurant for Emma, it was fifteen minutes after they were supposed to turn up and there was no sign of her, no text or call to say she was late. Terrified that she had decided not to show, Danielle’s breathing increased slightly, as she was about to text Tom to ask him what to do, she noticed the blonde hair of her friend enter the restaurant. “I am so sorry, there was something delaying the Underground, I was going to go topside and text, but since a train could come at any moment, I thought it best to wait and well, there’s no reception in the tunnels.”

“You’re fine.” Danielle smiled politely. “How are you?”

“Not going to lie, hungover.” Emma’s confession made her laugh. “Did you go to that party with Tom last night?”

“Yeah, didn’t get too tipsy, but I played it smart.”

“Fuck you, I am dying.” Emma groaned.

“What’s good hangover food here?”

“All day breakfast,” Emma stated. “So long as you are not on a diet now.”

“I ate lasagna yesterday, what do you think?”

“They will eat you alive for not being skinny enough,” Emma warned.

“If they think I am fat, well then, I’ll threaten to eat them.” Danielle shrugged in return causing Emma to laugh for a moment. “So what is new with you?”

The meal passed swiftly enough, both women catching the other one up on what they had missed in the time they had not really been speaking with one another.

“So, you like London?”

“It’s been four days.” Danielle laughed.

“You were here before Christmas too apparently.”

“Working my ass off, I could have been in outer Uzbekistan and not have noticed anything.” Emma nodded in agreement. “So now I have been here with actual time to look around and of the four days, I have had lunch out for two, I will apparently never get my study done.”

“How is your hand.” Emma seemed almost awkward asking about it.

“It’s fine, the brace is a pain, though, I keep forgetting to take it off going for a shower.” she looked down at it. “I mean, it could have been worse.”

“I’m sorry,” Danielle silenced. “I was such a bitch, I made you feel like you couldn’t come to us.”

“I was being a tad dramatic too, I should have just called Tom regardless, that was my own foolishness, but as I said before Em, it’s done.” She smiled.

“I got you something.”

“Emma.” Danielle scolded.

“I love the jacket you got me.” She smiled meekly, touching the jacket that was on the back of her chair before grabbing her bag. “I was being petty and bratty, I didn’t even get you a present, I feel really crappy for that.”

“How were things after we left?”

“Are you kidding, I could have dealt with being yelled at, mum just looked at me and said how disappointed she was that I would do that to two of the people that love me the most in the world, I felt as though I was three inches tall, not because of her saying that, although it hurt, because it is true, Tom is my brother, and he does so much for me, and you, you have always been there for me, no judgement, more so than girls I went to school with, you actually give a fuck.”

“Damn right.” Danielle smiled with a wink.

Extending her hand, Emma held out her gift. “It’s nothing mad, I promise.”

Danielle took the present. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but when you see it.”

Emma seemed almost excited for her to see it, so opening it swiftly, Danielle took a moment to study it before smiling. “Thank you, it’s perfect.” She took it out of the small long jewellery box and studied the one lone trinket on it; a small little Celtic knot. “Em.”

“You know what it is?”

“A friendship knot.” She smiled knowingly.

“You know a lot about Celtic stuff.”

“I always loved it, let me guess, Jack?”

“Yeah, he told me about it. There are links for other ones to be added.” She explained.

“Thank you.” She pulled Emma in and hugged her. “It’s perfect.” When she pulled back again, Danielle went to put it on, wincing slightly as her wrist seemed to fight her actions to open the clasp. For a second, Emma watched her before her guilt became too much and she extended her hand and took the bracelet, silently placing it around her wrist before Danielle looked at it. “Thank you.”

“I really am sorry Elle.”

“It’s done, what time are you heading to Belfast?”

Tom left the room while Ben rang his mother regarding him collecting Kit and headed to the kitchen with the cups he and Ben had used for their tea, checking his watch as he went, he smiled, seeing it was almost four and since he had not received a text from Danielle, he concluded she was having a good time with Emma. Putting the cups in the sink, he took out his phone to text her to ask how she was getting on, a moment after he pressed send, a phone beeped next to him, it was then he saw her phone charging in the socket next to the kettle. It had not been there when he went to make the tea and he saw her put it in her pocket as she left. Looking around, he realised that her bag and coat were also in the kitchen, going to the hallway, he called up the stairs before walking back towards the kitchen just as Ben came out of the living room.

“Everything alright?”

“I think Danielle is back.”

“And?”

“She only left at twelve, she and Emma always take forever to have lunch.”

“Well, they are still patching things up, maybe they didn’t want to overdo it,” Ben suggested. “She’s outside if you want to ask her.”

Tom looked to the kitchen window, sure enough, Danielle was in the garden wearing the clothes Tom noticed she seemed to do the vast majority of the housework in, as she stood on a stepladder. “What is she doing?” He asked fearfully, worried that with her injured arm, she could end up even more injured.

“She appears to be putting up a little birdhouse,” Ben noted.

Tom walked outside, opening the door slowly and letting Mac give Danielle notice to his presence. “Darling?”

“Oh hey, is Ben gone home?” She asked as she looked around, but the other actor came into her view, answering her question. “Hey, Ben.”

“Elle.” He nodded. “Nice job you’re doing here.”

“Elle, what are you doing?” Tom half demanded. Danielle’s smile fell immediately. “How long have you been home?”

“Since three, like I said I would be,” she stated, her voice small.

Benedict looked at Tom who seemed somewhat angered. “Tom?”

“Why are you doing that, you should have asked me, what if you fell, you shouldn’t be using your hand like that, you are supposed to be resting it? Why didn’t you tell us you were back?”

“The living room door was closed over, I heard your voices but I didn’t want to interrupt, you could have been talking about anything, work, personal things, Avenger stuff.” She rambled.

Tom finally seemed to realise she was somewhat meek as a result of his manner, “Elle,” he walked over to her, helping her off the stepladder. “I’m sorry, I just was worried.”

“I put up the birdhouses in my house too.” She stated. “I have a tiny fracture, seriously, I have a copy of the x-ray, it’s called a hairline fracture, because it is the width of a single hair, it is tiny, I am not going to lose my balance, fall to the floor and shatter.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, I…How many bird things have you put up?” He asked, looking around.

“There are three nesting boxes and a few feeders.”

“They’ve different foods in them.”

“Because different birds like different food.” she laughed before realising something. “You didn’t know that?” Tom’s cheeks reddened slightly. “You sweet summer child.” She shook her head as she spoke, causing Benedict to chuckle. “I suppose you are going to tell me you did?”

“I said nothing.”

“That’s a no then.” She shook her head smiling before turning back to Tom who was studying the bird boxes. “Are they okay? You said I could…”

Tom gave her a warm smile that made her anxiety at his early sharp tone dissipate. “Yes, they are lovely, I just overreacted to seeing you on the ladder, I was worried, yes, they are nice, you did a great job. How was lunch?”

“Good,” She smiled happily.

“You’re never back this early.”

“Emma and Jack are off to Ireland to his family for a few days, she said this over Christmas, their flight leaves this afternoon, but we wanted to catch up for a bit before she left.” She explained.

“So when you said three…”

“We finished up at two, but I wanted to get these so I was delayed coming back.” She stated as she tidied up the few last bits from her work. “Now, in a few days, this place should have birds.”

“Why a few days?”

“Because they don’t know it’s here yet, they’re not telepathic.” She laughed at the men’s confused faces, “I hope your parents didn’t pay too much for those educations of yours, you haven’t got a clue between ye.” She commented walking back into the house. “By the way, Ben,” He looked at her. “You really need to get Sophie a mammy spa day, she is stressed as fuck, she needs a day to get to relax.”

For a moment, Ben just stared at the spot Danielle had been standing in before shaking his head, “How the fuck did I not think of that?” Taking out his phone, he began googling.

Danielle smiled as she put on the kettle for her tea before washing her hands. “What’s this?” Tom extended his hand to the bracelet now dangling from her left wrist. “Did Emma…?”

“Yeah, it’s a friendship knot.” She explained, holding it up for him, a hopeful smile on her face.

“That’s wonderful, so it went well?”

“Yeah,” Danielle curled in against his chest.

“Are you alright?”

“Tired.”

“I was thinking, how about a takeaway tonight?”

“That nice Indian place?” Tom made a noise of confirmation. “You are speaking my language.”

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 66 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #wolfpawn

8 notes · View notes