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downtonabbeyrevisited · 3 years ago

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Season Two Episode Four

A 1918 timestamp ushers us into one of Downton’s more slow moving episodes where three parts painful banality has been mixed with one part life-or-death peril.

Providing more interesting political and cultural conflict than WW1 (at least at Downton) is Isobel’s ongoing grating at Cora’s very soul. Cora has had the temerity to ensure that the staff don’t collapse on their feet and has done something with the linen that I can’t quite fathom which, of course, Isobel takes as a slight upon her medical knowledge. Isobel makes the fatal error of calling Cora’s bluff threatening to ‘seek some other place’ if she is not appreciated at Downton. Major Clarkson also takes sides with Cora and Isobel now has no choice but to throw herself and her messiah complex upon the Red Cross in Northern France. I am sure they will be thrilled.

With Isobel’s departure, Moseley and Mrs Bird find themselves at a loss having deep cleaned the house and moaned about their employer’s eating habits. Turns out that one thing they forgot to do was deploy any semblance of a security system as a random man with a drama school limp wanders into the house looking for food. In a manner that would make the current Conservative front bench recoil with horror, Mrs Bird starts up a soup kitchen out of her own (presumably rather small) pocket. In her latest attempt to not do her job, Mrs Patmore drags Daisy out for some fresh air and in the process uncovers this particular bit of well meaning but financially unsustainable charity. Mrs Patmore scales up the operation, creating a “special storage area” to squirrel away surplus from the army’s stock, which O’Brien conveniently overhears (but to be honest, it’s not that much of a coincidence. I imagine most of the kitchen heard it considering that Mrs Patmore practically yelled it). In an effort to try and inject a bit of actual drama into this episode, O’Brien reports this to Mrs Hughes but (un)fortunately, Mrs Hughes could not care less. But after watching the world’s most appalling secret handover of goods in the village, O’Brien rallies and this time is successful in bringing Cora to the nefariously compassionate Bird-Patmore coalition. To absolutely everyone’s surprise (viewers included) Cora orders food to be taken from the house stock rather than army and with all the over-confidence of a consultant sets about re-arranging tables and streamlining the workflow.

Feeling much less charitable than Mrs Bird, Moseley heads to the Abbey and attempts to make himself indispensable and reach the dizzying heights of ‘Valet to the Earl of Grantham’. But not long after the peels of laughter that such a notion invites have died down, Bates returns and takes Mr Molesley’s shoehorn which one can’t help but think is emblematic of something. The return of Mr Bates is, naturally, a painfully protracted process that involves key protagonists not talking to each other, Thomas smoking on a wall, and the obligatory invocation of Kamal Pamuk. Robert invites Bates back to help him through the ‘veil of shadow’ and as such I was intrigued to learn that he is a World of Warcraft devotee. Bates reappearance downstairs also allows for the return of two other key Downton Abbey tropes: Anna and (John)Bates having a heart to heart under the cover of darkness, and Thomas and O’Brien’s irrational loathing/scapegoating of Britain’s most infuriatingly lovelorn character (outside of Thomas Thorne) to resume with aplomb.

Less happy to be within the confines of the Abbey is Edith who continues to signal that all of this is really a bit beneath her (certain elements quite literally). Ever the teacher’s pet, Mr Molesley reports the sighting of an Officer by the maid’s staircase to Mrs Hughes who hears that there have been lots of rumours on the timeline tonight and comes out to say that she does not live in a sack. Unfortunately, Major Bryant does not live in one but definitely frequents one and, as such, it is of course Ethel is dismissed. As she rapidly packs all her belongings, Anna pleas to Mrs Hughes on her behalf confirming that she is indeed the friend we all want but probably don’t deserve. But Mrs Hughes can’t get rid of her that easily as Edith (and passenger) skulk back to liven up the end of the episode with news of an oncoming baby *Eastenders drums intensify*.

Talking of undeserving relationships, Sybil and Branson receive more air-time than usual, providing the latter the opportunity to demonstrate that at times he really can be a muppet. And a slightly malevolent one at that. Sybil is firmly under the cosh this week with Violet making thinly veiled references to inappropriate alliances and Mary asking probing questions whilst she tries to get on with her job. Mary thinks that she has spotted her sister and Branson having some kind of romantic exchange but in reality, all that she has seen from afar is Branson telling Sybil that she is in love with him which when you think about it, is all kinds of awful and hardly the basis for a healthy relationship. After a long walk through the grounds where I am half expecting Branson to appear on a horse Willoughby-style, Sybil eventually caves and confesses to Mary that she doesn’t know if she likes Branson despite his eminently creepy voice over. Sybil then relays her sororal confidence and rather than taking this as an opportunity to ingratiate himself, Branson for whatever reason attempts to coerce Sybil into a relationship but not before he belittles her job. Sybil looks rightfully outraged as some equally emotionally manipulative strings wail in the background in an attempt to try and make us think that anything that has just happened was evenly slightly dreamy.

Threaded through this glacially paced episode has been the looming threat of a both a concert and the death of Matthew and (to a much lesser extent because that is how class works) William. In an effort to break the monotony of walking around the exact same bit of French trench (see previous re-caps for further details), William and Matthew take to wandering across some largely unadulterated land and into the path of some nonchalant Germans. Daisy’s lack of (presumably fawning) letters from William starts off a chain of enquiry which confirms that the War Office has declared Matthew and William missing enabling Mary to once again deploy her signature move: weeping into her gloves. But only one hand this time because she needs to keep a bit of composure for the show must go on! Apparently. Following some abysmal piano playing (I grew up in an appallingly musical household and we all had to endure the torture of other people at the early stages of learning an instrument. It was of course blissful when we got good but, heck, I was thrown straight back to the horror of it all with that ‘accompaniment’ and had an odd sort of stress response which I won’t describe here), Mary and Edith do a rendition of If You Were the Only Girl (In the World) as everyone looks on stony-faced before participating in the millenia’s most morose sing-a-long. With a very good sense of drama, Matthew and (to a much lesser extent) William make their return. Matthew takes his place at Mary’s side and joins in the signing to what is now presumably quite a bewildered audience. Ah, Downton.

Romantic declaration of the moment

Violet raises reasonable concerns about Richard Carlisle but Mary is more interested in expanding her real estate portfolio and agrees to throw her lot in with a fiscal agreement disguised as a marriage. Upon his ‘miraculous’ return, Matthew gives the union his blessing on the condition that Richard remains deserving. Not that he ever really was. But the sentiment is what matters here and what is more loving* than putting another’s presumed happiness before your own.

*there are actually a lot of other more loving things but in the interest of formatting, we’re going to sweep those under a very large rug for now.

Expressive eyebrow of the week

Rather than training as a nurse or being actually pretty useful in a convalescent home, Mary’s contribution to the war effort is being amicable with Edith. Violet declares that she has now “seen everything” as the spirit of Mrs Adelman moves on.

Wait, what?

“I wish we had a man” Presented without comment

“If I am not appreciated here, I will seek some other place” Yes. PLEASE.

“What must he do to persuade you he is in love with Lavinia? Open his chest and carve her name on his heart” No, Mary. Matthew merely needs to carve her name with a compass on his forehead to prove that…

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“I hate the word ‘missing’. It leaves so much room for optimism.” Robert is a bit emotionally weird isn’t he?

“We haven't kissed or anything. I don't think we've shaken hands. I'm not even sure if I like him like that. He says I do, but I'm still not sure.” And lo, another red flag is raised. But because Branson is Downton’s version of a Bolshevik, both Mary and Sybil view this not as a warning about the boy’s behaviour but rather a symbol of his political leanings and such signals are duly ignored.

“He always seems a romantic figure to me” Daisy Robinson writes fanfic. Pass it on.

“Sometimes in war, one can make friendships that aren't quite…appropriate. And can be awkward, you know, later on. I mean, we've all done it.” Once again, Violet, tell us more!

Bates says that he has returned to “Downton at war” which sounds like a lucrative exhibition name if I ever did hear one.

Despite Mary’s most valiant efforts, no musical performance had ever gone out to such an impassive audience until Rosalind came along

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Matthew of course is used to a much better quality sing-, sorry, song-a-long

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#Downton #downton abbey #downton rewatch #Mary Crawley #Matthew Crawley #thomas barrow #thomas branson #mrs o'brien #Mrs Patmore #daisy mason #william mason #Cora Crawley #Lady Grantham #lord grantham #john bates #Joseph Molseley #anna bates #Youtube

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kraviolis · 4 years ago

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does it feel like a triumph? - Half-Life

Rating: Teen Relationships: Gordon Freeman/Barney Calhoun Words: 1.7k Additional Tags: Evil Barney, Stream of Consciousness, Post-Episode 2, Guilt, Confessions, Betrayal Content Warnings: Mild Suicidal Ideation, Moderate Self Hate Summary:

Damn it all.

Leave it to Gordon to do the exact opposite of what Barney wants.

AO3 LINK ___________

Every time he looks at Gordon, Barney feels his guts twist painfully.

Barney’s not even sure Gordon’s doing it on purpose, honestly. He’s just got this look in his eyes. It’s not anger, no, because for some reason no matter what he does Gordon just can’t be mad. It’s not fear, either, because why would The One Free Man be afraid?

It’s love. He can see it plain as day. And the longer he stares, the harder Barney’s heart clenches.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that.” He mutters, grimacing. Gordon’s expression sinks but it’s still there. That adoration. How can he still look at him like that, right now? He doesn’t get it.

It’s not like he can change what he’s done, what he’s going to do. He made a deal with the devil, shook his hand while looking right into his pale blue eyes and said he’d do what was needed. He can’t imagine how Alyx must feel, or Kleiner. They’d be angry, hurt, hissing out insults and trying to escape.

But they aren’t here. Gordon is.

And Gordon won’t look away from him, won’t spare him the gaze of those big, green eyes.

His hands are free from chains (except for a pair of strong handcuffs) but his legs aren’t. Barney wanted him to be able to talk but not get away, just so he could see every jab Gordon would send at him and really feel that guilt.

(Maybe then, he’d find the strength to give this up. Right this wrong.)

(And he knows it’s wrong, he knows he’s on the wrong side here, but… this is the only way he can keep them safe. Keep them all safe.)

But instead, Gordon just stares. Stares and stares and stares and he won’t fucking stop and Barney--

“I said stop !” He snaps, baring his teeth down at him. “For pete’s sake, Gordon, would’ya just quit it? ”

Gordon blinks, but looks down. Barney huffs, tightening his grip on his gun.

He watches Gordon clench and unclench his hands, the material of the HEV suit creaking as he does.

“No matter what ya say, I’m not…” He pauses, wets his lips. “I can’t go back. Not anymore. So just… don’t.” Please, God, try to snap me out of this, Gordon.

Gordon stops, lets his arms hang heavy. There’s a lull where nothing happens, just the two of them sitting there listening to the heavy whirr of the HEV suit vents.

Barney wonders what’s going on in Gordon’s head, what complex physics calculations he’s doing to determine how he’s gonna get out. Maybe he’s deciding if he wants to kill him or not. Maybe he’s given up.

He doesn’t want him to. Barney desperately wants Gordon to keep going, keep winning. Even if it means… even if it means he dies.

(Even if it means Gordon is the one to kill him.)

Gordon’s hands move up and Barney prepares himself to fall into his words, fully believing every single thing Gordon says while still putting on a show for the cameras. He can’t find his own willpower to do it without Gordon’s help. That’s all he needs.

(That’s all he’s ever needed.)

“I’m sorry,” Gordon signs, movements slow and jerky. He looks up again, meeting Barney’s eyes. “I love you.”

Barney inhales sharply. A flood of emotion washes over him and he does a little gasp-laugh, surprised and trying not to burst into tears. Goddamnit. Damn it all. Leave it to Gordon to do the exact opposite of what he wants.

He expected Gordon to call him every horrible word under the sun and demand for him to give up and he would’ve done it. He swears he would have.

But now Barney swears under his breath, clenching his jaw and muttering curses at himself and God and that son of a bitch in the suit.

Twenty years. Twenty fuckin’ years he cried himself to sleep while drunk off his ass, dreaming of seeing those words again. Those three tiny, giant words.

It’s not the beautiful hallmark movie moment he wanted. He doesn’t feel ecstatic to see those words. He’s not about to stand on his tiptoes and kiss Gordon in the middle of a summer rainstorm. He doesn’t feel sparks flying, doesn’t have hearts in his eyes.

It's a pain he feels. God, it hurts so fucking bad. His chest is about to rip itself open and he still, still can’t find it in himself to undo this huge goddamn mistake. Gordon just said he loved him and he’s still fucking standing here, pointing a gun at him.

Gordon reaches a hand out, not quite managing to bridge the gap between them. Even as distracted as he is, Gordon isn’t even trying to escape. He’s trying to comfort him. Him, his captor, his enemy, the one who betrayed him and who has betrayed everything he’s ever stood for.

Barney looks to him, anger and guilt and pain mixing into a cruel concoction in his head.

“I’m sorry.” Gordon repeats, and Barney isn’t going to be able to take much more of that look in his eyes. “Can I hold your hand?”

Oh Lord, there’s nothing Barney wouldn’t do for this man, if only he just asked.

Barney doesn’t answer. He just reaches a hand out and Gordon takes it gently in his own, so gently.

He wishes they weren’t separated by two layers of thick gloving, wishes he could feel Gordon’s skin against his. Would it be warm? Or are his hands still chronically cold?

He remembers Gordon would surprise Barney by pressing his fingers against his neck just to make him yelp. He remembers learning how to knit just to make Gordon a pair of thick, fingerless gloves for the winter. The kind he could talk more easily in.

He remembers the first night he wore them out, how happy he was to have warm hands while still being able to talk to Barney. It was snowing while they walked and talked, and they’d stopped under an awning for a bit only for Gordon to notice the mistletoe above them.

Barney remembers all of this as Gordon presses a kiss to his knuckles before pressing his cheek to his palm. All the air leaves him at once and he can’t breathe, eyes going wide.

They stay like that for a moment. Everything else disappears. Barney keeps his eyes focused on Gordon, on the way his eyes flutter shut as he just holds his hand there. When was the last time he was touched like this? Barney doesn’t know. He just knows that he can’t help but smooth his thumb against his cheekbone.

It makes Gordon sigh and turn his face more into his palm, pressing his lips there. There’s a moment where Barney considers falling to his knees and replacing his palm with his mouth. Where he considers undoing the restraints and handing Gordon his crowbar, then kneeling before him with his neck bared and waiting for his judgement.

He doesn’t do either of these. He just holds his breath.

Gordon looks tired, Barney notices. Deep, dark bags under his eyes and hastily-healed scars covering his face. Wounds that have been knitted together too fast, making the skin around it tight and firm. He runs his thumb over one on Gordon’s lip. Even through the glove he can feel the change between scar tissue and skin.

Being the Atlas of humanity must weigh on him something fierce, he thinks. If Barney goes through with this, Gordon wouldn’t have to worry about that. Maybe he could just rest. He looks like he hasn’t properly slept in days.

How long has it been? How long has it been since the resonance cascade, for Gordon? He looks the same. He acts the same. Barney’s 20 years feels like nothing in the face of what Gordon’s gone through.

Gordon opens his eyes again, looking up at him through his eyelashes. Beautiful and just so damn green. Barney could get lost, if he wanted. If he looked for just a little too long.

But he has the look in them, again. Soft and welcoming, almost silently pleading with him for… for something.

Barney notices, like a lightning strike, that it’s not love there. Not like he thought. Not quite. Not entirely .

It’s forgiveness .

The realization makes Barney pull his hand away like he’s been burned, stumbling backwards. He balls his fist up, his entire arm shaking. He swallows thickly, his entire chest burning.

Gordon forgives him.

Barney hasn’t even done anything to show remorse or guilt.

Gordon forgives him.

Barney’s barely even been kind to him.

Gordon forgives him .

How is it enough ? How is he enough?

It’s tearing through him like a jagged edge. Barney can barely breathe as he stares at Gordon. He wants to scream. He wants to tear his hair out.

(He wants to drag Gordon up by the collar and ask why? Why do you keep looking at me like that? Don’t you see me? Don’t you see what I’ve done? Please, God, stop looking at me like that and just kill me already.)

He’s blind. He can’t see Barney’s faults, his flaws, his mistakes-- not even when they’re glaring right at him.

Barney’s not a good person, he can’t be, not anymore. Not after this. But Gordon keeps looking at him like he’s the messiah of humanity, instead. Like he’s his entire world.

(He can’t stand it. He can’t. It’s like he’s being torn to pieces.)

So Barney does what he’s always done best. He blinks, steels his expression, and carefully tucks his emotions away.

“Backup is on the way.” He says coldly, looking down his nose at Gordon. “Don’t try anything and… and you’ll be unharmed. Got it?”

He turns and opens the door to the room they’re in. He signals for one of the other CPs standing outside to come in.

Gordon doesn’t respond. He just stares. Barney can’t meet his eyes.

He sighs harshly and takes a moment to collect himself before leaving Gordon behind. He doesn’t look back.

(Not even when he hears the muffled sounds of fighting coming from the room.)

#Half Life #half-life #gordon freeman #barney calhoun #freehoun #my writing #fics

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uomo-accattivante · 4 years ago

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The Dune trailer (1:37) releasing online on Wed., September 9!

Sources have confirmed to Inside The Film Room that the first official “Dune” trailer will be released online on Wednesday, September 9. The will come in the wake of a special, theater-exclusive teaser that is attached to screenings of “Tenet.”

A Canadian cinema employee shared the following details to ITFR. The teaser will run for one minute and 37 seconds and will give audiences around the world a glimpse of Frank Herbert’s classic sci-fi world through the eyes of Academy Award-nominee Denis Villeneuve (“Arrival,” “Blade Runner 2049”).

But wait… There’s more! Not only did our source confirm the teaser’s existence and Warner Bros.’ plan for marketing the full official trailer’s release, but they have actually seen the footage – and so have I. It’s nothing short of spectacular and a true tease.

*Teaser Spoilers Below, Scroll Down For Non-Spoiler Section*

It opens with gorgeous, custom WB and Legendary logos that fit the gold and black aesthetic the marketing material has shown so far. Then, it hops right into an iconic scene fans of the novel will immediately recognize: the Gom Jabbar test. This scene takes place early in the novel and is the focal point of this teaser.

Before traveling to Arrakis, Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) is introduced to the Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam (Charlotte Rampling). She asks Paul to place his hand inside a box that causes Paul to feel excruciating pain without physically harming him. The catch? He’ll die if he removes his hand. The Gom Jabbar is a lethal poisonous needle that Mohiam wears on her finger and presses against Paul’s neck during this test of his humanity, awarenesses and animal instincts. You’ll discover the reason for this test during his journey.

This is nothing short of stunning from a visual perspective. The set that Chalamet and Rampling sit in is enormous and circular, with beautifully ornate carvings in the walls and floor. Sunlight beams through a skylight, and the two characters are centered in the room. The Reverend Mother is wearing a complex gown. It’s almost terrifying how the black, netted material drapes over her entire body, from head to toe. She speaks with a taunting, almost mechanical voice, explaining the test to Paul – the poor boy is clearly in over his head.

As the test plays out and his fear and pain increases, the footage is intercut with a sweeping shot of Arrakis’ deep desert, with dunes as far as the eye can see. It’s exactly how you would imagine it. They’re bright yellow, and you can feel the sun through the screen. We also get quick, big shots of almost every cast member, making their faces obvious to viewers.

We see the door open on an aircraft and the Atreides men stand in their armor as the Arrakis sun shines onto them. Oscar Isaac looks absolutely regal and badass as Duke Leto Atreides. Rebecca Ferguson is hooded and smiling as Lady Jessica, and Duncan Idaho (Jason Momoa) makes a quick appearance wearing a stillsuit. We also see Javier Bardem’s Stilgar remove his face mask to speak to someone and Zendaya’s Chani climbing over rocks with a group of Fremen.

Some quick shots also include an ornithopter touching down in the desert and Paul stepping off. We also see Chang Chen as Dr. Wellington Yueh, Sharon Duncan-Brewster as Liet-Kynes and our first look as “Beast” Glossu Rabban Harkonnen, played by Dave Bautista. He looks almost painted white or covered in dust. There is also the quickest glimpse of a large character’s head emerging from a huge tub full of a liquid that had a similar color to Rabban’s skin. This character seemed to be Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgård), and it was a perfectly grotesque moment.

Throughout the teaser, the intensity of Paul’s test build and builds with each new cast member that is introduced, finally culminating with an epic closeup of Paul in the desert in a stillsuit, walking among Fremen. The score really comes in as the title reveals itself, and I am almost certain this is a piece from Hans Zimmer himself. It sounded like a cross between “Blade Runner” and “The Lion King,” with a good amount of drums mixed in with some ethereal, synth vibes. It perfectly fits “Dune.”

The teaser finishes with the title reveal, followed by a stacked list of every cast member that fills the screen from top to bottom, and a stamp that says “FILMED IN IMAX.” This film wasn’t captured with IMAX cameras, so this could mean they’re going the “Top Gun” Maverick” route of having their digital cameras certified by IMAX themselves. I’d expect expanded aspect ratios for at least part of the film, if not the entire film, when you eventually see it in IMAX. The images themselves look unbelievably crisp and almost surreal in a way that’s hard to put my finger on. I don’t know what exactly Villeneuve and cinematographer Greig Fraser did here (anamorphic lenses might’ve done the trick), but if these simple character shots look this good, I can’t wait to see the big and complex stuff.

*No Teaser Spoilers Beyond This Point*

It must be noted the teaser closes with the phrase “ONLY IN THEATERS,” but this is nothing new. Despite their upcoming films having official release dates picked out, all of WB’s recent trailers have forgone these dates in favor of highlighting the theatrical experience and keeping their trailers evergreen in the event of a delay — they won’t have to release a new trailer just because the date is wrong. I actually recognized this pattern last week with “Judas and the Black Messiah” and “Tenet” and predicted that the new trailers for “Wonder Woman 1984” and “Dune” would also go this route. The absence of a date is not any indication that “Dune” will be delayed; this is simply the new normal in a pandemic.

So, we know it exists, but when and where will this theater-exclusive teaser be available? That is a little less clear. In social media messages posted yesterday, both the Facebook and Twitter accounts for Canadian theater chain Cinemark stated “the teaser trailer for ‘Dune’ will be debuted in select Tenet screenings starting August 31.” Additionally, the Twitter account stated “Warner Bros. has pushed back the date for the ‘Dune’ trailer.”

But despite being rated and ready for theaters when Canada and countries around the world show “Tenet” today, WB has asked for Cinemark to withhold the teaser until next week. The explanation for this is likely two-fold.

Firstly, the trailer for “The Batman” made an earth-shattering splash when it arrived on Saturday and is still dominating social media conversation. I suspect WB didn’t want one of their babies stealing limelight from the other. Despite this teaser being exclusive to theaters, news of it (and bootleg footage, no doubt) would have been all over social media the remainder of the week. Secondly, the first screenings of “Tenet” in the United States begin on Monday. It is entirely possible that WB wanted to wait until domestic public screenings began before allowing the teaser to show overseas, as well.

The final impression that I will leave you with is that this teaser did not disappoint me in the slightest. Although the 1:37 runtime whisked by in a flash, I could not have been more impressed with the look of this film and the way Villeneuve and company are capturing the world of Dune. This will blow every previous adaptation out of the water.

With all the cast members getting shown off, the music, the designs and tease of the official trailer coming soon, this is truly Warner Bros. and Legendary flexing their muscles. They know they have something special on their hands, and they want the trailer debut for this event film to be an event all on its own. With the marketing to this point having been basically nonexistent, I have to admit some concern was growing in me. That’s all gone now. I have no doubt in my mind that the official trailer that drops online on September 9 is going to melt faces and blow minds.

The wait is almost over, everyone. The sleeper has awakened.

“Dune” is set to hit theaters December 18, 2020.

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#oscar isaac #dune #dune 2020 #denis villeneuve #timothée chalamet #rebecca ferguson #jason momoa #josh brolin #zendaya #javier bardem #stellan skarsgard #charlotte rampling #sharon duncan brewster #chang chen #trailer

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greylunar · 4 years ago

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Hat Trick by Casper Grey Transcription under the cut

Hat Trick I am writing you a poem because it is the only thing I know how to write. I am writing you a poem because I worry if I wrote you a letter I would sound like a deranged lunatic, or at least concerning, manic like the time I thought Allen Ginsberg’s ghost had possessed me and you had to google whether or not he was dead. I am writing you a letter because it is my secret trick to remind myself I am alive or perhaps I am writing it because whenever I feel alive I have to write you a poem because it is the only thing I know how to and at this point, the Pavlov between living and writing is so intertwined I am either a ghost or a poet and rarely ever a self. I tried to give myself a new name today. I tried to look him/her/them in the eye but they looked away, I am uncomfortable with strangers and we had never met before. I dug the self I buried in the yard last week up and asked him to play nice, he wanted to know if he forgave me yet and I told him forgiveness and I are kind of in an awkward place with our relationship now, we are seeing other people. I am irrationally worried I will snap and murder my cat so I am writing you a poem. I have not yet killed my house plants and I have not yet killed myself, only the daisies in the garden which I cut back and the boys and girls I used to be who I gently pat more dirt over so we can pretend we all live happily in the apartment complex of my body, I am not what I look like when I picture a happy home. I am writing a poem for you to apologize for being 80 years old and still having daddy issues I am 14 years old and waiting for a train to come, talking to god, 22 and admitting I am the messiah only in the sense that god is a fuzzy object with less than 20/20 vision and I am made in their image and therefore I am writing you a poem because there is nothing else to do. There is nowhere else to go. I have return addressed this letter to your house so either way you have to get it. I do this because I have always chickened out of saying what happens if one day I am not in love with you, not because it will ever be true, but because I do not like naming the fear. I worry that if I poke a single hole in my hope it will drop like a lead balloon or a star producing iron which is to say I still recite my father’s metaphors and I am worried that I love like him, something I could not forgive myself for any less than him. I worry I will drown myself and the cat in the bath at different times this is all I know how to do. I woke up fine this morning, moved to another room, woke up trying to scream, moved to the couch, woke up uncertain I had woken, woke up certain I had been screaming, woke up too alone to prove it how often do you worry your mother resents you? I am a man with a broken finger pointing at different parts of himself asking “is this normal?” I am a girl in the back of a subaru certain the man outside the window is going to kill her, I am the angel driving the taxi cab asking if I would like to know how good I am Yes. How good do you think? I don’t know, not like, I mean, not like 90% material but I think I’m more than 50/50 you know? 96 percent. Oh shit, well, awesome. How good are you? 50/50. I thought you were an angel God wants to make sure we know how to use both. I am writing you a letter that is also a taxicab that I am using as a murder accessory in a hit and run to kill my cat and then my father. I know I only truly love one of these two things but I am still too scared to ask. I heard there’s going to be a parade. I am writing you a poem to ask why they are called floats. I am 30 and I am laughing because I have always liked puns and I once drowned myself in the bathtub I am writing a poem because you are the one who googles things in the relationship because I never learned to write simple fucking questions or ask them and I once was a boy who ate omelets for eight years straight because he couldn’t ask himself to stop and now I am a girl with tits and a shovel in her hand thinking about dismembering herself to make the burying a little easier. I am writing a poem to ask for help I am writing a poem to avoid sleeping I am writing you a poem because I love you and I am scared that will not be enough. If I have to bury you you will not get up. Fuck what if I did get possessed and that’s how this body thing works? I am getting feedback from the microphone so I go back to the paper. My mother pats me on the shoulder, knees uncomfortable and cold on the linoleum, holds my hair back over the toilet “you just gotta get it all out, baby.” Have you seen the magician’s trick with the hat and the scarves? Of course you have. I am writing you a poem in the hopes that it will end, if it doesn’t I’m really fucked aren’t I? Sun helps the garden grow. I wish I was a farmer, instead. Or at least, if I have to be me, that I was crazy enough to kill the cat. I let her out in the dead of night so she can talk to her ghosts while I talk to mine. I am writing you a poem because I am scared no one is out there, that I am the only “I” I will ever be. I love you, not forgiveness, who slept with resignation behind my back. I am tired. It is too cold to sleep outside. What if the cat doesn’t come back? Will I just have to write out here all night?

#poetry #i read richard siken too hard #im fine ps so is my cat it is a metaphor #tw: death #tw suidice #tw animal death #cw animal harm #tw body mutilation #tw: father mention #tw mother mention #tw god mention #cw mental illness #ask to tag I know that was a lot #writing #tal writes #okay to rb

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new-sandrafilter · 4 years ago

Photo

Confirmation of the upcoming theater-exclusive “Dune” teaser accompanying “Tenet” via the theater video system..

It must be noted the teaser closes with the phrase “ONLY IN THEATERS,” but this is nothing new. Despite their upcoming films having official release dates picked out, all of WB’s recent trailers have forgone these dates in favor of highlighting the theatrical experience and keeping their trailers evergreen in the event of a delay — they won’t have to release a new trailer just because the date is wrong. I actually recognized this pattern last week with “Judas and the Black Messiah” and “Tenet” and predicted that the new trailers for “Wonder Woman 1984” and “Dune�� would also go this route. The absence of a date is not any indication that “Dune” will be delayed; this is simply the new normal in a pandemic.

The wait is almost over, everyone. The sleeper has awakened.

“Dune” is set to hit theaters December 18, 2020.

insidefilmroom - EXCLUSIVE: ‘Dune’ trailer to release online Sept. 9

#timmy #timothee chalamet #dune 2020 #denis villeneuve

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phantastus · 4 years ago

Note

Is there any symbolism behind the bird scientific names tags representing Silent Hill characters? Like, did you pick them for any particular reasons? 👀

Oh man, well, I guess I never went into detail about them anywhere. They definitely were picked for a reason but the reason is related to a currently-unwritten fanfic and literally who knows when that’s going to happen (Gravity needs to get finished first and who knows when that’s going to happen :’]), so I might as well try and do it now.

When I was in college I started coming up with concepts and symbolism for a fic project and because I’m obsessed with birds all of it involved birds and the title of the fic was appropriately “Four and Twenty Blackbirds��, with the ‘four’ specifically referring to Harry, James, Heather, and Henry (because they were the main characters). Each of them had a different ‘blackbird’ species representing them.

So when I decided to make separate aesthetic/inspo tags for individual characters (I already have a #silent feels tag for general SH inspiration, but I am crazy and it was NOT CONVOLUTED ENOUGH FOR ME), I decided to use the scientific bird names since it was conveniently already cemented in my brain. THIS IS GOING TO BE VERY, VERY LONG SO I’M PUTTING IT UNDER A READMORE. Click for pretentious Silent Hill fan analysis.

HARRY MASON | CORVUS BRACHYRYNCHOS (American Crow)

Harry Mason is the “”generic”” all-American protagonist who rises to a heroic status pretty much out of sheer determination and a commitment to his loved one. He’s not an unusual person, in fact he’s deceptively normal-- so the American crow felt right for him since they’re so common. You see them so often you don’t even think about them, but they’re smart, resourceful, and resilient survivors (something that especially comes into play with Harry post-SH1 when he’s eluding the Order). Harry is underestimated because of his normalcy but he’s capable of incredible things.

Also crows (and other corvids) have deep, almost humanlike family bonds between parents and offspring. They’ll maintain relationships even after the babies grow up and become fully self-sufficient, with the adult children regularly visiting their parents and socializing or helping to take care of younger siblings.

In the context of the fic Harry’s symbolic/prophetic connection to such a common “pest” species is sort of a derogatory assignment on the part of the Order/the town, as he’s seen as a heretic troublemaker (CULTS HATE HIM!! LOCAL MAN STEALS MESSIAH AND THWARTS FATE WITH ONE COOL TRICK!)

JAMES SUNDERLAND | CORVUS CORAX (Common Raven)

Ravens are like the most symbolic corvid, every gothic poet/novelist/artist and their grandma used them to represent death, grief and malaise, and James’s story is nothing if not filled with all three of those things. I mean, come on: “By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore— Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” -Edgar Allen Poe, u know where it’s from.

Also in college, I got very interested in the myth “Raven Steals the Sun”, which has a number of different variations (it’s a story shared across multiple First Nations peoples of the Pacific Northwest and Alaska, there’s no one clear origin-- you can read about a couple of versions here!) but most involve the titular Raven delivering the Sun to the world after stealing or freeing it from a dark place where it was kept. Depending on the version, Raven's motives can either be purely selfish or more benevolent, and sometimes starts the story as a pure white bird who is stained black with soot in the act of taking the Sun. The duality of Raven’s intentions as well as the theme of light/warmth being hidden in darkness until it’s brought out felt fitting for a character whose motivations are complex and left a little ambiguous in canon (James grapples with whether his own act was purely selfish or one of love/mercy) AND someone who is naturally warm and caring but slipped behind a cold, dark wall of depression and self-isolation. The theme of being permanently marked/transformed by an act, whether for good or for bad, felt fitting too.

(Obligatory Disclaimer That My (Very White) Personal Interpretation Should Not Remotely Be Considered An Authentic Take On The Myth And Is Not Intended To Be Appropriation. For fic purposes the story would only have come up as an interesting symbolic parallel/running motif among many others, not a Literal Connection. James is a clueless white dude and Silent Hill doesn’t even take place on the west coast.)

“BUT WAIT! Doesn’t stealing the sun from a malevolent party and freeing it sound sort of like Harry rescuing Alessa/Cheryl/Heather??” Yes, this was going to be a source of in-character confusion and a surprise twist when it turns out they got their birds mixed up. Blah blah nothing is as it seems and destiny is mutable.

One time while I was walking on a foggy beach I got followed around by an enormous raven who was just sort of waddle-hopping after me looking forlorn and scruffy and the experience stuck with me and now all these years later my enormous galaxy brain is just like “That was Big James Energy”.

Wow that was long, I’m sorry.

HENRY TOWNSHEND | CORVUS FRUGILEGUS (Rook)

The most obvious symbolism is probably the chess piece with the same name-- that felt fitting for Henry since he’s probably the protagonist who has to do the most strategizing. Between his limited inventory and his progressively-more-cursed apartment and escorting Eileen and his five billion trips across multiple fractured Otherworlds, my poor guy has a lot to mentally keep track of. In the fic, he was going to wind up being the one to keep track of all the weird complicated bullshit items and rituals they had to complete to get through the Otherworld.

The rook chess piece also resembles a castle, and unlike the other protagonists whose stories progress in a linear fashion, Henry operates from/returns to his home base shitty cursed apartment.

BUT ONTO THE BIRD the rook is a corvid like the crow and the raven, and shares their pest/death omen status in popular culture. Just appropriate for SH protags in general since they keep getting in the way of the cult’s business and also misfortune follows them.

In the SH3 Crematorium Puzzle (I’ll talk more about that in Heather’s section), there is a poem: "The black Rook is the praying sort Who hears the gods in the skies His whispered petitions go on without end And glassy and dim are his eyes" Obviously this does NOT describe Henry as a person, but it IS eerily reminiscent of the title that was thrust upon him: Receiver. Maybe if Walter’s plans had succeeded, this is how Henry would have ended up.

There is also an old belief that if rooks abandon an established “rookery” (place where they regularly roost), it’s a sign of calamity to follow. If Henry the Certified Homebody (tm) bursts out of the apartment complex and goes staggering down the street, you should get out of that apartment complex.

HEATHER MASON | AGELAIUS PHOENICEUS (Red-Winged Blackbird)

Oh boy this one’s probably the weirdest but here we go.

The first obvious thing is that unlike the other three, the red-winged blackbird is not actually a corvid (it’s from the Icteridae family, not the Corvidae family). In-universe, this was supposed to represent Heather being inherently different from the rest (like... she basically is an iteration of the Silent Hill deity), even if she seems to be a normal human. Harry’s act of stealing her from the Order and changing her appearance/name to hide her was going to be depicted as “dousing Her in black ink, but [the ink] not able to fully conceal Her radiance”. The red and gold shoulders of the blackbird visually symbolize her “””true nature””” peeking out.

I also associate her specifically with the MALE red-winged blackbird (the female looks completely different, hooray sexual dimorphism) because gender is a fuck and Heather understandably has some really intense and complicated issues with womanhood/femininity. One of my favorite aspects of her as a character is how she blurs the line between masculine and feminine, especially since she’s been through so much... extremely gendered violence, to put it lightly. Heather Mason says FUCK YOUR GENDER BINARY.

As a fun side-note, Heather is also represented (or appears to be, ymmv) by a bird in canon! The SH3 Crematorium puzzle (on hard mode) features a series of poems each about birds, and each one represents a character if you squint. Heather seems to be referenced in this one: "The Wren, with pure heart as yet unrefined Makes us laugh with his feeble lip-smacking But still we all know he shall never grow old And he knows not how much he is lacking." Heather’s role as a brash, foolhardy youth who talks tough to cope is pretty blatantly summed up in there, as is the fact that she’s... functionally immortal and keeps fucking reincarnating. The wren, a plucky little bird, is perfect for her. The part of the main riddle that references the wren is also... ominously on the nose, given Heather’s backstory: "Burn the one who knows no death Pure, adored by those above No prayers within, just simple love.”

YET ANOTHER CREMATORIUM POEM could be construed as representing the town’s God (or the spiritual force of the land, w/e), damaged/corrupted/turned malevolent by All The Bullshit: "The Kite, hot, crazy, and panting mad Sweet shackles that tease and excite Death itself would drive him wild Red blood that turns milky white" Heather is a pure-hearted protagonist in one sense, but there’s plenty of not-so-subtle hints to a bloodlust and desire for violence just waiting to break free (ESPECIALLY when Heather does certain things that could be considered taking on the role of God). So to me the Kite is what happens when Heather gets sick of being nice and decides to go apeshit.

“BUT WAIT what does this have to do with the red-winged blackbird?” The inherent trinity of Heather’s character (Alessa/Cheryl/Heather, the Mother of God/Daughter of God/God Herself) deserves a bird trinity too. I’M GREEDY, I WANT *ALL* THE BIRD METAPHORS!

Red-winged blackbirds are bold little shits who will straight up harass birds of prey. Kind of like Heather does to God.

The fact that “phoeniceus” was part of the scientific name was a VERY delightful coincidence-- but I’m not complaining about how satisfying I found it that my Bird Choice (tm) inadvertently connects her to the concept of the phoenix, poster child of pyrogenesis.

That was even longer than James’, I’m so sorry.

SO THAT’S THE META BEHIND THOSE CHOICES FOR THE FOUR MAIN CHARACTERS. If you’re still interested after all that BS, I can write up another (probably much shorter) post for the other characters. Thanks for the ask!

#Silent Hill #Harry Mason #James Sunderland #Heather Mason #kit rambles about silent hill #my dumb fanfic #poppycrowns

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thran-duils · 5 years ago

Text

Devils Look Like Angels (Ch. 5)

Title: Devils Look Like Angels (Chapter 5) Summary: Fem!Reader x Psychotic!Castiel. An unhinged, criminal, supernatural artifact collector extraordinaire… and the reader caught his eye. It will not take her long to realize that beneath the charm and mystique is a crazed killer who will go to great lengths to woo her. Words: 1,933 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Stalking, angst, death/murder, violence

Author’s Note: I have reset my tag list. If you want to be added back, please DM or send me an ask!

Chap 4 || Chap 6 || Masterpost || Fanfic masterpost

This time, Sam did not protest when Dean suggested calling Castiel. The fact he had bothered you at the hospital when you were vulnerable had seemed to cross a line for him. As it should have. You did not protest either, frightened because he had found you and you knew Dean was right.

Door closed, Dean paced as the phone rang, his jaw set in determination.

Castiel barely got out hello on speaker phone before Dean cut him off furiously.

“The hell are you playing at?”

Castiel scoffed, bristled. He told Dean coolly, “I said what I needed to say to Y/N. This is between us, not you.”

“She is my family, so, no, you are wrong. I am one hundred percent involved when it comes to my family’s safety.” Dean growled. “You listen to me, you absolute psycho: Stop stalking her. Leave her the hell alone or things are going to get really ugly.”

Dean did not give Castiel time to respond before he hung up the call and unceremoniously tossed your cell phone onto the end of your bed. He ran his hand through his hair angrily, throwing an expectant look at you and Sam.

Sam leaned forward, giving him a nod of affirmation. His elbows rested on his thighs as he asked, “How the hell did he even know where she was?”

“He could have someone watching us,” you said quietly.

Dean sighed heavily, “Which means we need to even more so keep our head on a swivel.” Sam nodded in agreement.

“Please don’t leave me alone again in here,” you begged, looking between the two, eyes pleading.

Sam assured you quickly, “We won’t. We promise.”

You relaxed a little, slowly reclining again. Nervousness was eating away at you still, your mind traveling to dark places. Images of Castiel coming back during the night in retaliation for Dean’s call. Or blowing up the hospital in anger. Would he do that? You could not be sure he would not.

Your call light, you remembered.

“He unplugged this,” you said holding it up. “It’s why I couldn’t call for help when he was in here.”

Agitated with the situation, Dean sighed, “I’ll go find someone to properly get your call light set back up.”

<> <> <>

The following day, you were deemed well enough to be discharged from the hospital. You had to be on crutches for at least another week, although the doctor recommended continuing to use at least one for another week afterwards for support. They had set you up with enough painkillers too. You would most certainly have leftovers though since the medication made your head heavy, which meant you wanted to wean off as soon as possible.

At least over the next week, Dean and Sam were willing to wait on you hand and foot. You made sure to milk it as much as possible, reminding them because of you, you were all getting a two-week vacation. Dean scornfully told you unless his toes were in sand, it was not a vacation. You had merely held out your water bottle and gave him puppy dog eyes and smirked when he got up to assist.

Nearing the middle of the second week, as you and Sam headed out the door for a grocery run, you told them that you had a craving for takeout. Dean was quick to jump on board with this and texted Sam his order since he was staying behind at the bunker. On the way to the store, Sam pulled off at the restaurant to run inside and place the order for pick up on the way back home. The restaurant parking lot was empty except for a few cars, that could just be staff. This was not odd since it was late on a Sunday evening.

As he got back into the car, Sam made a quip about you needing to hobble faster when you were getting groceries since the pickup window was relatively short considering they were not being hit up for business at the restaurant. It was ten minutes into town, but you knew he was right, still you scowled, drawing a laugh from him.

When you parked back at the restaurant, you insisted that you ‘hobble’ your way inside to get some more exercise.

The bell rang on the door when you walked inside. You had been inside before a handful of times. The décor was a little outdated, but it was comfortable, and the food was good. Not to your surprise, the restaurant was indeed empty inside as you made your way to the front counter.

What did surprise you was that no one came out to greet you when you walked in and the bell rang. No host, server, owner… it was quiet.

Too quiet.

Despite all the alarm bells going off in your head, you reached out and hit the service bell. The ring echoed through the still air. You leaned on your crutch, craning your neck to see through the kitchen door windows.

You heard footsteps and saw a flash of brown hair through the window before they opened and your heart fell into your stomach.

Castiel smirked and said, “Well, I was expecting the tall halfwit, but what a lovely surprise. I guess my men do not get to lay their hands on anyone tonight. Pity.”

Your stomach was in knots and you turned, clumsily on the crutch, trying to leave. But two of his men were behind you now. They must have came from the hall at the same time he had walked out, while you were distracted. You barely wasted a second before turning back to face him, leveling him with a glare with more calm than you currently felt.

“I could scream. Sam would hear it,” you threatened.

“By all means, call him in here. I promised my guys here a brawl and if you would like to indulge them…” Castiel tsked you, waving a leather gloved finger, “But, my sweet, that is entirely unnecessary now that you are in here.” He held up the large back he was holing, the aroma of delicious food wafting. “I brought your food out. No need to scream. I even covered the bill.”

He placed it on the counter and reached into his pocket. You resisted the urge to flinch although you were entirely unsure of what he was reaching for.

When he presented you with a museum ticket, he looked proud of himself. ‘That is a good first date, no?” He placed it on the counter next to your food. “It is for anytime, just text me when and I will make time for you.”

He straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. His tone changed telling you tightly, “But… speaking of unnecessary… Dean. Threatening me. Me.” He took a step closing, his eyes burning into you. “Now, I do not fault you of course, kitten. He is an adult and made his own choices, albeit foolish ones.” Another step and he was close. “Can I request a favor from you regarding that?”

You did not think it was wise to refuse the request, so you gave him a small shrug of acceptance.

“In the future,” he reached out, resting his hand on your shoulder gently. You fought the urge to jerk away from him, more so due to your current altered state of balance. “Can you – silly me, we. We are a team. Can we make sure he keeps his nose out of our business? Hmm? I can guarantee he cannot conceptualize what ugly can really be.”

Silence suspended as he stared you down, waiting for an answer.

Swallowing sharply, you vowed, “I’ll do my best. He’s headstrong.”

A satisfied smile pulled at the corners of Castiel’s lips. “I daresay he would find a formidable challenge when put up against you, no?”

He stepped back, giving you breathing room. “I put two extra orders of crab rangoon in the bag for you. Courtesy of the chef since he made you such subpar rice and the girl was going to serve you it without batting an eye. I despise terrible service, it is unbecoming.”

Tapping the ticket on the counter, he requested, “Please let me know when you decide to go. I know the museum here is not grand, so this is for the National Gallery in D.C. I will need some time to arrange flights and lodgings.”

His men walked around you when he beckoned them. “An unexpected pleasure to lay my eyes on your charming face, kitten. Your face happened to save your friend’s.” With a wink, he told you, “I am glad to see you are doing far better. I will be seeing you.”

Following him, the men went through the kitchen door, leaving you standing by yourself.

Your eyes were trained on the kitchen door, dread swirling in your stomach. You had thought it the moment Castiel had walked out but there was no doubt deep down that something was wrong with the staff considering they had still not shown themselves. And he had sounded so upset with them, which you knew would not bode well for them.

A part of you did not want to check.

But the messiah complex was winning.

Slowly, you hobbled towards the swinging doors. Heart hammering, you swung one of the doors open and shuffled through the doorway.

At the first sight of what you assumed was the server with her hand pinned to the wood counter with a long knife and a gash across her throat, you almost keeled over. Your hand on the wall caught you, bile rushing up your throat.

The bell ringing on the other side of the door startled you.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Y/N?”

All the worry slipped away hearing Sam’s voice. It was not Castiel returning or another customer that would see your face and ID you to the cops.

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to will the nausea away before leaving the kitchen.

“Hello?” Sam called again.

You emerged from the kitchen, pushing your way through the door.

“The hell you doing back there for?” he questioned, his brow pinched in confusion.

Shaking your head, you gestured at the food. “I… we just need to get out of here. As soon as possible. Can you carry the food? It’s too heavy for me.”

Cocking his head concerned, Sam asked you expectantly, “Y/N….?”

“We do not want to be here if the cops show up, Sam. Trust me.”

Sam eyes moved to the kitchen behind you and when he moved around you, you sighed, knowing you could not stop him even if you tried. He disappeared through the doors and you heard him exclaim in alarm. He was back out in the blink of an eye.

Pointing behind him, he demanded, “What the hell is that?”

“What do you think. Or for that matter, who?”

Sam’s face darkened. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m unfortunately not. But like I said, we need to leave or we are going to have a huge problem on our hands.”

Turning his eyes upward, Sam eyed the security camera above the door. You followed his gaze and reassured him quickly, “I don’t think Castiel would leave tape that would incriminate himself or me for that matter. Now can we go?” Sam shot you an incredulous look. “Don’t give me that look.”

Sam did as you asked, keeping watch around you as you both walked to the car.

You did not realize until later that the museum ticket had been left behind.

~~~

CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass

#castiel x reader #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #castiel fic #psycho!cas #psycho!castiel #my shit

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pinnithin-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Good Jokes

Chapter 18

Benrey reappeared with a vengeance to play hardball with Gordon’s head.

Tommy could do little to buffer it. As soon as they set foot in the Lambda Complex, he was gripped by a sense of vertigo that nearly knocked him flat.

This sucked. God, this sucked. He could feel the rift in space like a tear in his gut, and it only grew worse the farther into the sector they went. Staggering along with the group took all he had, lacerated as his nerves were by the rending of time, and Benrey took full advantage of his weakness to find new and creative ways to make Gordon suffer.

The entity very carefully skirted around the man’s modified arm, having received a taste of the beating it could give and preferring not to subject himself to it further. The damage he dealt was more psychological in nature, and he seesawed wildly between making ominous threats and firing off nonsensical bullshit. Gordon held onto his resolve as best as he could, gritting those pretty teeth of his and brushing the entity off as he and the team waded through waves of aliens.

Some of his resiliency slipped when they encountered the first helpful soul they’d seen in hours and Benrey promptly shot him. This nameless person had stayed behind for them, surviving unimaginable horrors alone at his post by the door, an admirable bravery for the sake of such a slim hope. Benrey put a bullet in his skull with a bored look on his face and stepped neatly over him while he bled out.

Pointless. Death for death’s sake, purely for the sick satisfaction of watching Gordon’s expression crumple as he passed the fresh corpse on the ground.

“I’m sorry, man,” Tommy heard him murmur, his words brittle and shaky. “I’m fuckin’ sorry.”

His heart broke for him.

The best he could offer in comfort were fleeting touches here and there, halfhearted jokes that landed flat, his words dropping limply to the floor as soon as they left his mouth. He could barely put one foot in front of the other, much less keep the mood light as time knotted a noose around his neck. Whatever was at the heart of the Lambda Complex, it undeniably wanted them dead.

Everyone except Benrey. He was beginning to hum with a vitality Tommy rarely picked up on, taking bullets as an afterthought and grinning like a maniac while the laws of physics loosened around them. The extraterrestrials continued to pay the entity no mind, but the portals they opened into Black Mesa hit Tommy with the force of gunshots, and he suddenly knew what it felt like to be helpless. He stuck behind the others for protection as the interdimensional nausea rendered him all but useless. The pressure built behind his head like a hungry thundercloud.

This sucked.

Tommy felt too shitty to be relieved when they reached the sector they were looking for. A huddle of nervous scientists greeted the team when they arrived, and they hurriedly gathered around Gordon, because Gordon was the leader, Gordon was the one with the suit, Gordon was the messiah that would deliver them from this hell. What a burden to place on someone who just wanted to go home - who probably no longer possessed a home to return to.

He didn’t have the necessary energy to pay attention to the exchange, so he trusted Gordon to handle it as he sat wearily against the wall. Tommy rested his head in his hands and ran them obsessively through his hair, as if he could make the awful boiling in his stomach go away if he fingercombed hard enough. Dimly, he registered discussions of teleportation and a planet called Xen, a term he recalled vaguely but certainly never possessed the security clearance to know much more beyond that.

Off to the side, Benrey had a scientist cornered and was grilling him about PlayStation Plus, which seemed like a suspiciously benign conversation topic considering the gravity of the situation they were in. The entity caught Tommy’s eyes from where he stood and showed his teeth in a cheeky grin, causing the scientist he was speaking with to take a nervous step backward. Tommy returned his head to his hands, too overwhelmed to bother.

Once Gordon was given the appropriate run down, the science team reassembled to keep moving. Their destination: a rift in the very fabric of space. This should be fun, Tommy thought grimly as they headed down the hall.

All at once, the pressure bearing down on him lifted and he could breathe again as a presence entered the complex. A familiar wave of energy rippled outward and everything stood still, freezing Tommy in place along with the other members of the group, save for Gordon. Tommy would let out a sigh of relief if he could make any sound. His father had arrived.

Up ahead, Gordon stopped in his tracks as he registered the change in the air. “Oh, no, not this again,” he breathed. He cast a narrowed glance to the entryway in front of him. “Come on - come out,” he said, waving his left hand in a beckoning gesture. “Come out, man.”

Tommy’s father stalked coolly into the hall with them, looking pin-sharp as always. The barest ghost of a smile touched his lips as he surveyed the group before landing his nebulous gaze on Gordon.

The man huffed out a sigh. “What do you - what now?”

“Doctor Freeman,” his father began, “it’s so good to see you in such… good spirits.”

‘Good spirits’ was a stretch, Tommy guessed, considering Gordon had been on the receiving end of Benrey’s psychological warfare for the past several hours. He tried desperately to make eye contact with his father, but the man in the suit was lasered in on Gordon. His chosen one.

He went on. “You are nearing the end of your journey, my friend, and I thought it would be only fitting to-”

His sentence crumbled in the middle as Benrey stepped casually out of his place in time. The entity cut his cat’s eyes over to Tommy while he passed his frozen form, grinning a smug grin and joining the two bewildered men at the head of the hallway.

Tommy’s nerves raced with alarm. Benrey wasn’t able to do this last time. Breaking free of his father’s influence was something that was beyond even Tommy’s power, and the fact that Benrey had shaken off the shackles of time with merely a shrug did not bode well for them. He held his breath and watched.

Gordon was equally disbelieving, eyebrows drawn behind the frames of his glasses. “What?”

Benrey ignored him and stared straight at Tommy’s father. “D’you have - you have credentials?” he asked.

The swirling galaxies that made up his father’s eyes flicked to the entity, a gaze so piercing it would make any mortal man balk. He knew who Benrey was - had heard enough stories about him to place his name and face - but had never been formally acquainted. Benrey held his stare defiantly.

In that hall in Black Mesa, a god actually faltered. “Uh - I-”

Tommy had never seen his father fidget before. The sight of Benrey causing his father to scramble for words made his skin crawl.

“They’re in my… other coat.” he finally said. “I - if you wouldn’t mind, I’m trying to um, talk to Mister Freeman over here.”

Enjoying the man’s discomfort, Benrey pressed further. “It’s okay, I wanna see them, though? Do you have PlayStation Plus - uh, voucher?”

“Oh my god,” Gordon murmured.

“I don’t know... what - um…” Tommy’s father paused, forehead furrowed into contemplative lines. “Hm.”

“I just - I’m waiting, I wanna - I wanna get another month, but I want, like, a free trial?”

Gordon wheezed with incredulous laughter under his breath.

Tommy’s father tried once again to ignore the entity. “Right, um. Doctor Freeman, if you wouldn’t mind. You have to bear in mind, now, the next leg of your journey is going to be the-”

“Where are we?” Benrey cut him off suddenly.

Tommy, motionless, could only watch as his father snapped his mouth shut in shock. An achingly long stretch of silence followed, and Tommy wondered if his father was contemplating destroying the entity then and there. Benrey had an innocent look plastered on his face, expectantly awaiting an answer.

“What is happening?” Gordon asked, darting his eyes between the two.

The god among them finally waved a dismissive hand and turned his back on the group. “Y- You’ll You - You’ll f - figure it out,” he said. “You’ll figure it out.”

As the space around them began to shimmer and warp, Tommy’s stomach dropped with realization. His father was leaving them to deal with this on their own, all because some churlish creature had caused him to misstep? Anger and disappointment warred inside him, but both feelings were quickly overpowered by nausea as the pressure of space tearing apart gripped him once more.

His father hadn’t even looked at him.

“Bro, add me - what’s your tag on PSN?” Benrey called, but the man in the suit was already gone.

Time began wheeling again and the team shook out of their stupor.

“Yo what the fuck,” Benrey sighed. “I just wanna play games with people, man.”

Bubby, who apparently hadn’t witnessed anything from the past few minutes, shouldered past the entity toward the next room. “Um… me too, I guess?” he commented.

Gordon gave a sharp shake of his head, freeing a few stray curls into his face. “Can I confide in you guys about what just happened?” he asked. “You’re never going to believe me.”

Racked by vertigo and the crushing reality of being left to his fate by his own father, Tommy barely paid attention to the conversation. No, Gordon was not going crazy, and yes, the previous maddening exchange had actually happened, but whatever was beyond the threshold of that door was hammering into Tommy’s skull with a painful, distracting insistence. His head might split open if they stood out here deliberating much longer. He pinned Gordon with a troubled look through slitted eyes.

Gordon got the message, nodding back at Tommy with a grimace. “Let’s go to the alien homeworld,” he said with finality, “and kill a space god or something.”

In the chamber beyond, the Dimensional Portal Device looked a lot like the machine that started this whole disaster, and Tommy could tell right away it was the source of his torment. Colossal metal claws thrust up from the subsurface of the chamber, looming over a cylindrical conduit in the center. Tommy trailed behind Gordon blindly, fighting down the nausea and the memories as Gordon called to the attendant to turn it on.

The room rumbled with the force of the machine groaning to life, and as Tommy flinched away, he caught a wide, placid smile unfurling across Benrey’s face. The entity’s expression was an eerie calm, relaxed and expectant as his skin was bathed in the blue glow of the device powering on.

He looked like he was awaiting a homecoming.

As Tommy realized this, a tremendous shockwave overhead sparked and spat, and an alien ripped into their dimension. Coomer and Bubby, already alert to danger, pelted the creature with artillery as it swung around the chamber. Gordon grabbed Tommy by the sleeve of his lab coat and dragged him out of the line of fire. A jarring vibration hummed deep in Tommy’s chest, but he suspected that had more to do with the machine that was rapidly expanding with power than Gordon’s concern for his life.

Benrey continued to move through the chamber with a dreamlike bliss, and it was an unsettling contrast to the gunfire and the flailing monster and the great, shuddering drone from the portal. Tommy nearly blacked out from the rift in space that appeared at the device’s epicenter, a debilitating punch to his solar plexus. Gordon kept him standing with a strong hand under his elbow, his free arm raised to fire at the flood of aliens that began rolling into the chamber.

“We’ve gotta go!” he roared to be heard over the din.

Bubby’s mouth was a grim line, taking shots at the creatures like they were clay birds. “You’re wearing the suit,” he called back, “you go!”

“It’s ready? Okay!”

Gordon passed Tommy to Dr. Coomer as gently as he could with the world ripping apart around him. Tommy sagged against the old boxer’s steely shoulder, watching Gordon as he strode toward the platform. Extraterrestrials and bullets screamed around them and the machine began to buckle under the weight of its own creation. In Tommy’s periphery, Benrey was smiling.

“I’m going for it!” Gordon called over his shoulder.

He charged in with the boldness of a supernova, and Tommy didn’t think he would ever be that brave in his life.

The portal flashed outward and the world went white.

Chapter 17 <-----> Chapter 19

#ink #fanfiction #good jokes #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work #guns #violence #hlvrai

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obutsuwrites · 5 years ago

Text

A Little Wicked (overhaul x reader)

Summary: “Are you denying yourself your innermost wishes? Do you not quiver for my touch?” Overhaul countered, his gruff voice shrewd. The sorcerer tried to hide his morbid pleasure. Lips curled into a lustful grin. The knot in his stomach was hot. Touch-starved fingertips excited.

warnings: non-con~!

word count: 3,460 xxx basically a self-indulgent overhaul smut fic~! oops,,

my ao3 for more shitposts

my ask box is also always open 4 requests or wateva

Notes:

numinous (adj.) - describing an experience that makes you fearful yet fascinated, awed yet attracted--the powerful, personal feeling of being overwhelmed and inspired

nemophilist (n.) - a haunter of the woods; one who loves the forest and its beauty and solitude

The young adventurer navigated through the overgrown forest, screeches of owls echoed over head; sounds of nature after dark. Thick trees obscured the woman’s vision. Mother nature was finally reclaiming lost land. However, this particular forest held a secret as precious as new life. A powerful sorcerer was said to inhabit this jungle of trees and predators. She knew man-eating animals roamed this land. The woman had grown up on heroic tales of would-be heroes besting creatures of the night. Heroism. Adventure. Glory. Tales she idolized. Titans of old seemed almost god-like to her. Abilities she had prayed for every night. However, her pleas fell upon deaf ears.

After enduring this for years, she realized she must manifest her own destiny. The allure of magicks too tempting for her quest. She knew it was wrong. No respectable explorer had stood on the back of giants. No. They started small; stories eventually amassing to celebrity. Folk tales repeated for generations. The ultimate means of being remembered, she acknowledged. Mortality no longer applied to them. They gained immortality through legends.

The young woman sighed. The lantern was her only light source in the decrepit grove. Thick roots ran along the leaf scattered earth. She had already tripped once, her lantern almost shattering. Tonight, even the moon hid. Just like the predators. The hoot of owls were the only sound in the moonlight. She wondered if the fabled Sorcerer of the Forest even existed. The tales of him on par with legends of heroics. Was it possible the man didn’t exist? The land showed no sign of recent travel. Untamed earth.

She stopped. The sudden thirst hit her senses. Her mouth was like the desert. Quickly, slender hands grasped the gourd that sat upon a leather belt. The woman drank deeply; water trickling down exposed flesh. After a swallow, oxygen-starved lungs greedily inhaled. Earth and pine wafted through her nostrils.

Suddenly, a twig snapped behind her. The rhythmic pounding of her heart threatened to leap out from her bosom. Primal fear seeped into her body. Goosebumps painted into her skin. The dame paused, her hand at her side, clutching the gourd.

Breathe, she told herself, You are brave.

“Who is t-there?” The explorer called, her tone momentarily faulting. Anxiety ridden eyes waited. Could be a rabbit, right?

A gruff voice broke their silence, “Filthy mortal. You have been searching for me, haven’t you?” The man sounded perturbed. As if her very presence was a nuisance. “Well, here I am.” Ungrateful.

The woman blinked. Surely, this wasn’t the Sorcerer of the Forest? The male sounded no older than her. Far too youthful to be such a myth.

“I don’t t-think you’re him,” she replied, slowly turning to face the owner of the voice.

Foreign eyes observed her, his nose crunched with disdain. The young man was adorned in black; a pulled hood and avian mask blurring his features. A pristine cloak hung around his wiry frame. Leather gloved hands fidgeted. His posture betrayed his voice, uncomfortability spread throughout his spine.

“A sorcerer. You mortals ask for such frivolous things,” the masked man replied. Despite his age, the Sorcerer of the Forest never quite understood mortals. Useless stories amused them. Inspired them. This caused a problem for him. Rarely the man would receive dim-witted guests to his side of nature. Naive mortals that didn’t understand his terms. They would agree to his services, not realizing the peril.

A laugh escaped from the woman, a nervous habit. Clearly, this man was mortal, too. Just has a little superiority complex. It wasn’t unexpected. Such a talented display of magic was too prideful. Like a secret to be shared.

“...okay. Wait. You know what I need?”

The words hung in the dusk. Disgusted eyes still trained upon her, memorizing her. He looked almost pensive. A leather gloved hand rested against a clothed elbow. The masked man’s dark brows furrowed together.

“Moronic girl,” he chastised, “you desire a strength potion. It’s rather bold to assume I’d stoop to such a vile practice.” The man was a sorcerer, not a desperate apothecary.

Another laugh bubbled from her. Genuine sounds. “You’re a sorcerer. Surely, you mix potions?”

The woman’s tone was immature. Naive wonder spread across her face. She prayed he would remove the formerly intimidating birdlike mask. It’s shape provoked a primal fear within her. As if she should run as far as her legs would carry her. Instincts screaming.

The man stepped forward, dead leaves crunched under his boots.

He scoffed, his eyes darting from her. The mysterious man smoothed invisible hairs along auburn hair. His hair looks soft, the woman noted. Perhaps he was an Adonis underneath the beak. With the distance between them shortened, she noticed brass goggles upon gilded orbs. The same contempt within them.

“Do you even carry a sword? Perhaps a dagger. Oh, I know. You don’t do you?” he quizzed. The man clearly taking delight in her vulnerable form.

The maiden softly gasped and dropped her gourd to the ground. Her hands now wrung in doubt. No legend about the Sorcerer of the Forest told of his scorn. He was the un-sung hero; the powerful force that provided the hero a winner’s edge.

She didn’t reply. Horror locked the adventurer in place. Her eyes trained on the man before her.

He closed the gap between them, the linen of his cloak brushed against the woman’s shirt. “What you desire will cost you.”

The young explorer had followed the mysterious, angry man to his hut. The design was simple, but presistine. Not a single ingredient or amulet out of place. His shack reminded her of the shaman huts in her village. The after smell of incense a permanent fixture.

The two discussed their deal. An insistent voice spouted a word vomit of myths. Her eyes alight with passion. The possibility within her hands now.

“...and that’s why I need this potion, talented Sorcerer of the Forest! I don’t care about t-the consequences.” The maiden stuttered, her excitement had gotten the best of her.

“I have told you, mortal. I am Overhaul. This fantasy of the ‘Sorcerer of the Forest’ doesn’t exist. Merely stupid childish stories,” the man corrected. His tone stern.

Overhaul.

Instantly, the woman realized the mistake she had made. The man before her was not the great Sorcerer of the Forest, but his antithesis; Chisaki Kai. A rumored lesser demon in fables. Overhaul being his preferred title. His deals the catalyst for despair in his epics. The being a play on devil’s advocate. A strong occultist that dealt in absolutes. In his parables, the heroes would receive their most intimate desires, but at the grievous cost of their humanity. Their soul.

Her features were clouded by concentration. The temptation mulled over in her mind. Is… Is it immortal to sell my humanity for the greater good? Surely, heroism cancels out sins.

She offered her hand in a show of solidarity. “Please.”

A good handshake was the cornerstone for any business transaction. Even the resident smithy had a crushing grip. A truth the maiden had learned early, the concept of goodwill familiar to her.

Golden eyes stared at her. His indifferent glare almost seeing through her.

“Handshakes are informal. If you weren’t so naive, you would know.” Naive laced with venom. Ignorance was a sin to him. Cretins were beneath a messiah.

Stand tall. Make your demand known.

The nervous woman straightened her back. Eyes meeting Overhaul.

“Sorcerer or lesser demon; I humbly request the potion. Please,” she asked, her hands clasped in prayer. Stubborn hands with steadfast faith. Illusions of adventure plagued her. The poison deep in her bones. She could taste her immortality in fiction.

Overhaul almost pitied the woman before him. Feminine graces for deceit. The ghost of a smile stretched across his features.

“As you desire.”

The aspiring adventurer had inquired about a strength potion. A rudimentary task that would only require several days work for Overhaul. The reply caused a grin to break out upon the young woman’s face. Her face… almost cute.

While working, Overhaul caught flashes of the maiden’s frightened expressions. A sick delight taking root into him. His psyche was a chasm of perverse thoughts. The mixture of worry and dread intoxicated him. Like an inch he couldn’t scratch.

He felt on fire.

She wandered aimlessly, soft footsteps echoed through the abyss of trees. This was her ritual now. Naively calling for Overhaul. The beaked man was behind on his promise. The confident woman’s belief in him wavered. A gourd still hung from her belt; a failed lesson.

“You can be so damn loud. Do you realize that?”

The naive mortal’s expression tightened; the intimate reaction caused a flush to scatter across him. Foreign anxiety and a rush of dopamine through his body. Hot breath huffed against the hollow of his beak. The fervor burned like a wildfire.

She averted her eyes; the earthen ground her chosen subject. Overhaul’s aura engulfed the young woman in anxiety. Instincts feral.

The nemophilist beamed; fangs bared for prey. Sadistic glee painted into his face. Amber eyes studied her. Victim no match for an apex predator.

“Sorry… I’m happy I found you, I think. You’re behind schedule, Overhaul, but it’s for good reason, right? Maybe you ran into a lack of ingredients?” the woman hoped, her heart unable to conjure the alternative. Panic surged through her nerves. A feeling she couldn’t ignore. Body hot with anxiety.

“Follow.”

Yet again, the young maiden found herself in the wooden cabin of the occultist. A scent of wood and flowers assaulted her nose. The smell less pleasant than before.

Overhaul held the vial; gloved hands gingerly guarding her desire. She felt a pang in her bosom. The promise of immortality dangled before her. Breath caught in an eager throat, words cramped.

“Please. I have money. Gold. I can pay you.” Desperation covered her tone. The zealous woman features pulled tight. Eyes glued to the vial. The key to her quest.

The masked man laughed, placing the vial on the wooden table between them. His eyes stuck to her. Selfish eyes fixated. Overhaul’s chest hitched; the anticipation of her fear tantalizing. He felt drunk from her presence.

“No… No money. As Overhaul we both know I’ll claim my due. For someone that prides themselves on mythos; you genuinely are stupid,” he sneered. His words overrun with acid. The man was merely prodding for her adorably fearful visage. An image that haunted him. Perhaps, he could coax the emotion out of the meek woman via insults. Overhaul knew the power he held. His veins burned with it.

The woman nodded. Distinct horrible stories flooded her. The sparks of misery burning into her psyche. A terror she prayed to avoid. “Whatever, Overhaul. We made the deal. So drop the act. It’s embarrassing.” As soon as the words tumbled from her mouth; the ignorant mortal understood the weight of them. The nervousness in her back.

“Take it before I change my mind.”

An empty threat, or so she thought.

A week passed. The young explorer still felt as before. No obvious strength stockpiled within her. It took her three days to deduce that the willowy man she met had been a pretender. Merely a man fascinated with Overhaul. She was familiar with the insanity of it. The very same thing motivated her to find the Sorcerer of the Forest. A pretend man.

Life for her was stagnant as before, too. No excitement lived in the heart of the village. Routine a sacred theme. Mundane.

Despite this, the steadfast mortal had continued her prayer. Feverish belief burned in her chest. Perhaps faith was the secret to immortality in mythos.

Soft knocks echoed through the woman’s door. A late night visitor. Panicky fear settled in her bones. After dusk visits only brought tragedy. Slowly, she rose from bed. Anxiety flowed through her muscles; simple movements a struggle.

Delicate feet dragged across wooden floors. Tired eyes in a haze. She reached for the door knob, the brass cold against her. The young explorer cautiously opened the door. A sheepish plastered. One must be strong in misery.

The exhausted mortal’s eyes dropped; Overhaul curiously before her. The man barely an inch from her. Just as before. The kindling of a blush erupted across her face. Pink, squeezable cheeks.

Overhaul’s urge to touch such a filthy creature was almost overwhelming. And yet, he restrained himself. A promise of fulfilling her desire fueled him. He ached to see her afraid again.

“What are you doing here?” She was unprepared for the gravity of her choice. No soul was worth heroics. Not even a naive mortal’s. Humanity was the last shred of chaos the woman had. Every aspect of her life routine.

A smirk took root. “Moronic girl. I’m fulfilling your greatest desire. Follow.”

A phantom hand guided the woman’s numb body through the village and into the forest. Overhaul only a few paces ahead. A haze developed over her; the extent of her actions a mystery.

She had no memory of adventuring to the occultist Overhaul’s hut, yet, here she was. A dressing gown clad body sat across from gold eyes. The ghost of a smirk still lingered on his face. Her distressed frame was the source for his perverse joy. A sick knot settled into his stomach.

“Do I give you my soul?” she inquired, a sniffle in her tone. Tears building inside her chest.The reality of her agreement attacked her.

Overhaul stifled a chorkle. An unrealistic expectation mortals held. So side-eyed. He assumed nothing less from her. Naivety was an illness. “No, idiot. Strip.”

Her mind glazed over. Robotic limbs carried out the sorcerer’s demand. Dark magicks at work.

“Please… stop. I don’t desire t-this.” The maiden stood before him; horror in wide eyes. She cowered. No memory of disrobing; her heart in her ears. Had he drugged her? Was the vial a love potion?

Gently, gloved hands removed the avian mask and goggles; Overhaul’s face on display. She did not expect him to be handsome. His features carved from stone by da Vinci. The ironic nature not lost. How could a vile man be so beautiful?

“Are you denying yourself your innermost wishes? Do you not quiver for my touch?” Overhaul countered, his gruff voice shrewd. The sorcerer tried to hide his morbid pleasure. Lips curled into a lustful grin. The knot in his stomach was hot. Touch-starved fingertips excited.

He licked his lips. Pining yellow eyes burned into her. The man known as Overhaul drank from her vulnerability. The woman’s soft body was a treat. Only for him.

The mortal blushed. Crimson obvious in the moonlight. “Not like t-this.” She was attracted to him, but every instinct screamed at her to flee. The man was suffocating.

Overhaul reached out, pinching her flesh between his fingers. Tense skin responded to his touch. She shivered.

“A brat like you doesn’t deserve to use my title, don’t you agree? Refer to me as Kai.”

The woman felt helpless beneath him. Even his thin frame towered over her. The height difference only incited Chisaki Kai. Her vulnerability was a luxury. A privilege. She shifted, a futile attempt to escape him.

Kai suddenly grasp the woman; his hands finding purchase around her wrists. Her skin was a map of goosebumps. He pulled her to him; the heat of her body melted into him. A delicate form for him to break. He shuddered at the thought. A tapestry of bruises. Lilac suits you.

“O-Kai. Kai, please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. It hurts,” she pleaded, as purple blossomed on her wrists. The beginning of a bruise. Gloved hands ignored her cries. The filthy mortal’s request only riled up Kai. A throbbing ache formed between his thighs. An urge to bury himself inside her crawled from the back of his psyche.

Lecherous eyes scanned her body. Kai’s body snug against the frightened woman. Clean linens. A faint bouquet of clean linens drifted to him. This must be the essence of the disrobed body before him. Simple fabric separated Kai from eden. The garments weren’t flattering, he convinced himself. That’s why a gloved hand detached from her wrist; her arm falling limp as the sorcerer examined dull cloth between disinterested fingers. Florcets of pink rested twisted into pure horror. Traces of anxiety now settled in her ribs; the woman’s throat choked shut. The lack of sound a disappointment to Kai. The inch on fire with arousal for terrified looks.

“You don’t need this,” Kai whispered, his breath hot against the woman’s exposed skin. Unceremoniously, Kai ripped the brassiere. Fabric ripping the only sound between them. Quick, short breaths followed. The occultist felt overwhelmed. His fantasy before him. Saliva pooled; the man’s mouth flooded.

Delicate skin winced in the biting chill. A free arm shot up in a frantic attempt to cover shame. Chisaki Kai frowned. Adonis features twisted. Fangs threatened in a snarl. “Show me.”

She held steadfast, a lilac now settled into her wrists. The naive explorer refused to allow an erratic man the pleasure of her stripped bosom. A right reserved for lovers. Not a cruel con man.

Gloved hands swiftly detached from her. He harshly pulled off the leather gloves and pathetically tossed them behind him. Kai was finally able to feel her. Feverish hands returned to exposed flesh. Sadistic hands roughly grabbed the numinous woman. A yelp sounded from her, his impatient touch a cause for surprise. In her nerves, she felt a spark.

Yellow eyes marveled at the beauty before him. Inspiration.

“On your knees.”

The mortal woman before him obeyed. Dread flowed through her body. Images of violence danced before her. Promises of Chisaki Kai’s power.

“Not such a bitch, now are we?” Kai teased, a cruel smirk upon his face. Satisfaction from her blind devotion. Warmth tightened against his pants. The compassion he held for her. A little gift for not misbehaving. Kai couldn’t spell his excitement; his chest heaved in anticipation.

“Isn’t t-this enough? I’m begging you; please stop.” A chorus of no’s followed after as Kai pressed the dame’s face against his crotch. His throbbing need now stimulated by the friction. He moaned, the sound deep and guttural. Animalistic.

Satisfied, Kai released her face. Feverish hands unbuttoned his pants. The furor caused slender hands to shake. “I don’t care. You desired this, wicked girl.”

The scared woman audibly gulped, terror and arousal swirled in her mind. Gentle hands found his hard cock. Length throbbed in her palm. The man’s very body craved her touch. She began to tenderly stroke him; her hand exploring veins.

Kai growled, instinctively bucked into her. No time for shame. He could chastise the adventurer later. Her hands were heaven sent. Curiosity mingled with lust. A free hand snaked to her panties. The woman teasing herself. A whine fell from her lips. The syrupy sound encouraged Kai; the sorcerer’s sentence spilling out.

“Suck my cock.”

She stopped pumping him, her hand poised around his head, foreskin pulled down. Innocent eyes viewed the brown haired man. A meek air engulfed the woman. Moist hands now covered the grove of rose upon her cheeks. The heat devouring her. Was she on fire?

Breathe.

Plump lips wrapped around his cock, veins pulsating. Kai’s pleasure was obvious. The flustered woman began to swirl her tongue around him; her hands caressing his manhood. He melted into her touch. The man’s bucking now at a sweltering pace. An idea presented itself.

He knew he had to be quick. Otherwise, she could bite him. A degloved hand shoved her head down him. The wet chasm of her mouth coupled with gagged sent Kai into ecstasy. The knot branded into his stomach, working its way to his chest. An orgasm approaching.

“Don’t fucking stop,” the auburn man mewled. Spit spewed from the asphyxiated woman; droplets decorating his hips. She needed to breathe, he reasoned. Hands clawed at thighs in a vain attempt for air. He released her.

Hungry lungs inhaled; the aroma of wood and flower heaven sent.

“No more…” she rasped. Voice hoarse from the man’s violent bucking. Snot leaked from her nose, eyes brimmed with tears.

She looked so broken, Kai realized. The fire within him a roaring blaze. A dire need exploded in his chest. The man roughly grabbed the woman’s face, shoving her against him again.

An anxiety fueled mouth played with his length. Muffled cries juxtaposed against moans. Tiny streaks of fear now displayed down her cheeks. Pink cheeks shining.

Orgasic euphoria burst from Kai. The abrupt event caused her to gag; a sloppy spray of hot cum and saliva ran from the woman’s chin, the final droplets resting against her bosom.

#chisaki kai x reader #overhaul x reader #bnha #smut #quirkless!au

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drkoestersmithrpg · 4 years ago

Text

FINALLY

Tony might have actually been drifting off to sleep – if such a thing were possible – when Peter’s phone chimed. It was Quentin’s tone. Tony wasn’t supposed to know these things, but he knew.

Peter hadn’t seemed to have heard. He was still asleep, looking angelic (as usual) with one hand still resting on Tony’s chest. They had been laying that way as evening turned into night, laying close together, touching and talking, trading compliments, trading secrets.

Even now, the lights were still on. Tony intended to call to Friday to lower them, but that would mean speaking, and speaking would wake the sleeping angel. Tony preferred to watch. Watch and wonder.

To say that Tony had planned for this evening would be… well it would be brutally honest which is why Tony never planned to plan it at all. But he had. Had stood in the mirror and adjusted the light levels until he felt he could comfortably take his shirt off with Peter in the room (but just to make his fantasies more realistic, not because he had ever planned to get Peter here, oh no.) But when the moment of truth came, the lights stayed on. Because that’s what Peter wanted.

And what Peter wanted was to ask a million questions, and never, not in his wildest dreams, had Tony imagined that he could stay so calm about it all. But under Peter’s eyes, under his scrutiny (and under his fingertips) all of it melted away. The part of his body Pepper could never stand to look at, all that which he had dutifully kept covered pre- and post-arc reactor, what he had hidden from lovers past and present, all of that was suddenly laid bear for Peter to examine, because that’s what Peter wanted.

And the lights stayed on. Tony was expecting a slightly more hesitant game of “I’ll Show You Mine If.” But the body Peter was in tears over in the limo was no longer an issue in Tony’s arms. He willingly shed whatever article of clothing Tony mentioned without hesitation, then returned to his careful examination of Tony’s body.

“How did anyone convince you this was disgusting,” Tony asked gently, but now Peter only looked down at himself and giggled.

“Just no hair anywhere,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe puberty will catch up with me eventually.” He might have other things to say but he appeared to become distracted by Tony’s mouth on the multiple places lacking hair.

“Let Go And Let Peter” was the theme for the night, although, in the end, the younger man clearly expected Tony to take the lead, and so Tony did.

“Let me make love to you, Peter,” he had whispered, just as he had a thousand times in his dreams – but never once, not even once, could he have imagined the radiant smile that lit up Peter’s entire face when he had said it. Or the delighted way the boy had stammered “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

The sounds he coaxed out of the boy that night were nothing short of heavenly, and mentally he made a note to delete every porn vid from every file he had (he had developed quite a library, carefully sorted into categories: Peter-like, Almost Peter-like, Vaguely Peter-like, Close to Peter-like etc.) They were all going to go. Because not one of them came close.

He coaxed two orgasms out of the boy that night. Once with his mouth. The second time moving gently inside the boy’s body with long, slow strokes.

Peter was mortified when he broke the headboard.

When the boy started to apologize (the way Tony KNEW he would) Tony kissed him silent before he could speak.

“Oh baby I knew… I mean I thought that it would… I mean I hoped…” He found himself grinning helplessly, almost giggling at the absurdity of it all. Was he really going to admit to…

“You’ve been thinking about this?” Peter ask in a tiny voice. Tiny, adorable.

“…maybe…”

Afterward they had lay close to each other, Peter’s fingers tracing the scars on Tony’s chest, remembering more questions. He knew about the surgeries in details Tony hadn’t discussed since those endless doctor-days. He mentioned pictures of the surgery that hadn’t been available to the public… then blushed beautifully when he was forced to admit he had hacked into some places that he shouldn’t have when he was younger.

“Why you lookin’ at naked pictures of me, baby?” Tony said with a teasing smile.

“I… might have been obsessed with you for a very long time,” was the adorable answer. Tony stroked his eyelids closed and kissed them tenderly (all while making mental notes to erase his large stash of Compound-security photos he had of Peter in the pool.)

They talked for a while afterward. It seemed like they would talk all night… until Tony started pressing him for information about what they had started talking about in the limo. Only then did Peter claim sleepiness.

“It’s not just the lack of hair,” he said finally, miserably. “It’s my voice. It’s not getting any lower… and I don’t think it’s going to.”

“So, I’m hearing… voice lessons. But I still don’t get…

“Prolactin, Tony.” Peter said, irritation showing in his voice. “When you’re a kid, you have a lot of prolactin in your brain, so you cry a lot. You grow up, you get more testosterone, and that inhibits crying. But not me. I cry all the damn time. I mean it was every day for a while…”

Tony sat up on one elbow. He stroked one lock of hair back and chose his words very, very carefully.

“You’re talking about crying jags… Peter did this… did this start after you started at Columbia?”

“Oh no, I was in seventh heaven when I started at Columbia. Couldn’t sleep I was so damn happy. It was like kid-in-a-candy-shop happy, like all the time… no… I guess the crying jags started about six months ago…”

Tony opened his mouth to point out that Peter had also started dating Quentin six months ago, then closed it quickly. Officially they had only been dating for four months, and Tony wasn’t supposed to know the real date. But there were a lot of things Tony wasn’t supposed to know.

“I had crying jags at MIT,” Tony said finally. (Peter was looking up at him, so he had to say something.) “The year I was supposed to graduate. Crying jags can be about changes in life – even good changes. Or just plain-old stress…”

“You had crying jags?” Peter asked sweetly. “What did you do?”

“Coke. I don’t suggest it.”

“I don’t know if it would have an effect on me – alcohol doesn’t. Believe me I tried.”

“Peter… you know Dr. Cho was going to be a psychiatrist before she changed majors and wound up where she is now?”

“What?”

“I’m trying to tell you that Dr. Cho is team therapist. Big secret - I’m Ietting you in on it. We all talk to her sooner or later. Most of us have Savior Syndrome and we all have Messiah Complexes. If you’re stressed out, you should think about talking to her…” But Peter was far more interested in cuddling and sleeping by then, and who was Tony to argue?

But not now. Quentin’s tone was vibrating Peter’s phone, this was the sixth time, which meant it was the 3rd message, and suddenly Tony couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

“Baby?” he whispered finally, but only because Peter seemed to be waking up.

“…muhony?” Peter mumbled, looking around him, trying to remember where he was. “Do I need to leave?”

“Don’t you dare,” Tony growled, his arms tightening around the boy, surprising himself. He tried to cover it with a joke. “I’ll have Happy take you home tomorrow in the limo. Let you do the ‘walk of shame’ in style.

“But your phone is talking to you,” he said regretfully, even as Peter snuggled back into his arms in relief.

Watching Peter try to retrieve his phone without leaving Tony’s arms left Tony grinning like a fool. They had moved away from the wet spot and further to the middle of his Alaskan King bed. Peter even tried to web the phone to him, but he had shed his shooters with the rest of his clothing hours ago. Finally he stretched out to get the phone with only their legs intertwined. He didn’t quite make it, but Tony tried to help by keeping a firm grip on his waist. And if he took some time to admire the view, well, should he feel guilty about that.

He jumped a bit when Peter flung the phone out the room without even looking at the screen. He braced himself for the crash, although the crash never came. Peter hadn’t taken aim, but had successfully thrown the device out the door and down the hallway where it landed harmlessly on the carpet in the living room. Tony gaped even as the boy snuggled back into his arms, mumbling.

“Wait… what? What did you say?”

“I said I’m done with it. It’s a waste of time.”

“But… what? I didn’t catch the first part.”

“I said it’s a waste of time. I’m finished playing that game… never taking him at his word and always trying to listen around what he was saying to figure out what he meant and then feeling guilty because I should have just taken him at his word and then feeling guilty because I got that wrong too. I’m done. I’m done feeling guilty. Guilt is a waste of time.”

“Guilt… is a waste of time?”

“I’m making it my new lockscreen. S’gonna be my new password. I’m tattooing it on my wrist.”

“Can you be tattooed?”

“Nope. Need vibranium needles. Gonna hurt a lot…”

“Guilt is a waste of time,” Tony repeated to himself. Peter seemed to be asleep, and now Tony was beginning to wonder if falling asleep in each other’s arms was actually possible. He nuzzled his face into the boy’s hair and repeated the words to himself.

He wondered if they were true.

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johannas-motivational-insults · 6 years ago

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She-Ra season 2 episodes, ranked

All right, I have a lot of feelings about She-Ra season 2 and what was good and not so good. I’ve been doing a lot of shitposting but this is legit analysis/meta, or at least it wants to be.

To be fair, though I’m trying to rank these as objectively as possible, it will be influenced by what I care most about and find most interesting in the series. I stan Catra and the Superpal Trio and think Adora is a loveable mess, and I really can’t stand Swift Wind. So, take this with a grain of salt. Needless to say, SPOILERS AHEAD.

7. 2x03 “Signals”

I would rank this episode higher, except the A plot was so meh. It felt like it should have been a Halloween special, and if it was I’d give it a pass, but I found it so thoroughly disinteresting I all but tuned out. Of course, people who stan the Best Friend Squad might have still loved it, but their dynamic isn’t as interesting for me anymore because we’ve seen so much of it, and this episode didn’t do much to change it other than add Swift Wind in (and he really, really annoys me). The only real thing it did to move the plot forward was introduce the subplot about the mysterious transmissions, and it didn’t do anything characterization wise. Ultimately, it’s a set up episode, and to be fair it might be more interesting in retrospect once we get some payoff and see where that whole thing is going. But I dunno, I kinda doubt it.

It’s mostly a set up episode in the other subplots too, but I enjoyed watching the political machinations in the Horde because there were real, tangible stakes and important power shifts. Catra learning that having power and authority is not all it’s cracked up to be was a crucial bit of character development. That bit of her getting the air sucked out of her lungs was more genuinely scary than the creepy ghost holograms by far. You felt her desperation trying to save face with Hordak and regain her sense of power and safety after that terrifying threat, and watching Shadow Weaver tune in to and play with her insecurities was a good bit of development for and insight into their relationship. It also foreshadows how easily Shadow Weaver is able to manipulate Catra later in the season.

Meanwhile, Entrapta’s excursions and work with Hordak supplied some comic relief (which I think the A plot also tried and failed to do) and also made the Horde plot take an interesting turn. This is the episode where Catra really starts to lose power, and meanwhile Entrapta gains a lot without even meaning to. She just wanted to fix the problem with Hordak’s experiment, dear girl. On that note, I did not expect to enjoy watching Hordak and Entrapta so much, but one thing this show does really well is throw together unexpected combinations of characters and make an amazing dynamic (e.g. the Superpal Trio, Scorpia and Seahawk, Catra and Glimmer and Bow).

The Entrapta subplot was the most interesting of the episode and unfortunately it was relegated to the C plot. This episode would have been way better if they’d put more focus on the Horde side of things and/or given the “Best Friend Quad” something with more substance.

6. 2x01 “The Frozen Forest”

This episode was fine, but it didn’t do much to stand out. It was important, of course, to follow up on the end of season 1, and if they had skipped this episode entirely it would have left a huge gap. But with the two main groups of characters not interacting at all in person, there was little reason to be emotionally invested in the fight scenes. We don’t really care if Horde bots get destroyed. It would have been more interesting to see the Superpal Trio directly fighting the Princess Alliance, but on the other hand it did set up just how big a role Entrapta’s tech knowledge was going to play this season. The stuff with the princess alliance was cute, I always enjoy seeing more of Mermista, and they did some character work (which I can always appreciate) with Glimmer and Frosta. But since we only see the princesses once more this season, it hasn’t had much of a chance to pay off yet.

The highlight of this episode was Adora fighting Catra in the simulation and her ensuing conversation with Light Hope. (“There. There.” and “I also have buttons” were two of my favorite one-liners of the season.) The simulated fight was very cute, and I definitely screamed when Catra grabbed Adora’s hand while delivering her customary “Hey Adora,” right before taking her down. And look, the fact that Catra was flirting so hard with Adora in that simulation means that an AI with very poor social awareness has picked up on their sexual/romantic tension, and that’s hilarious.

The Horde side of things gave us more time with the Superpal Trio, who are always delightful, but not a ton happened over there either. This episode established that Entrapta has fully moved in to the Fright Zone and Catra is comfortably leading the Horde’s advances and has respect from Hordak and the Horde’s soldiers. It also foreshadows how impressed Hordak is going to become with Entrapta’s work (and unimpressed with Catra’s) when her EKS bots steal the show in that meeting. Finally, the episode introduced the shifted dynamic between Catra and Shadow Weaver now that the power position has flipped. That ongoing subplot was possibly the saddest part of the season, and this one scene did a good job of setting that up.

Overall, this was a good and necessary setup episode, but because it had all that exposition and setup to do we didn’t get a ton of good character/relationship moments (Frosta/Glimmer and Catra/Shadow Weaver being the notable exceptions). So yeah, it was fine. But there were definitely stronger episodes, which we will now get into...

5. 2x04 “Roll With It”

This was a very cute episode, a fun one to watch. The reason I ranked it fifth is because there are three very strong episodes this season and 2x07 had higher stakes, being the season (mid-season, lbr) finale. On the Horde side of things, I loved seeing more of Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio. Lonnie really shined this episode and I keep waiting for someone to realize how smart and capable she is and promote her. And of course, Scorpia. Darling oblivious Scorpia who just wants to impress her crush. She’s not very smart but she’s earnest af and can pack a punch, and this is the first episode where she really stands out.

The planning session in the rebellion camp was really fun to watch, though I’m sure I missed a ton of jokes because I’ve never played D&D. The chaotic way the princesses all play off each other was more evident here than in 2x01, which made for some great gags. The different approaches they each take and the different aninmation styles used to portray them were a lot of fun. Glimmer’s noir hero fantasies were my favorite, personally. (And apparently she sees Catra as a very sexy villain? I need more on this, please.)

Adora’s monologue about the worst possible secenario revealed all her insecurities, and it was one of the highlights of the season. Her anxiety issues and messiah complex have been touched on before many times, but this is the first time they’ve really come bubbling to the surface this season. It was really nice to see the whole group reassure her that she isn’t in this alone, much like Bow and Glimmer did before the Battle of Bright Moon. And while it’s been hinted at before, this episode really solidified her obsession with Catra. And Scorpia’s too, as I mentioned above.

It’s easy to forget that Catra wasn’t actually in this episode (AJ Michalka was, but her character was not, not for real) because you felt her presence everywhere. The bit with all the princesses’ different renditions of her was hilarious. But you know, it was nice to see the show put together such a strong episode without Catra. Having the emotional focus on Adora again was a nice change of pace.

4. 2x07 “Reunion”

This episode gave us what 2x03 lacked: it made the Best Friend Squad interesting again. That group is most compelling to watch when there’s conflict among them, like in the stretches of 1x01-1x02 and 1x08-1x10. They weren’t in an actual fight this time, but Glimmer and Adora being so thrown by Bow’s secret family life meant that things didn’t feel “as usual.” Glimmer’s insecurity about not meaning that much to Bow resurfaced, and Bow’s “coming out” scene was extremely moving. But thankfully there was comic relief, too. Adora mispronouncing words to try and sound scholarly was a great ongoing gag, and the eventual fight between the Best Friend Squad and the elemental was really fun because it was so chaotic with Bow’s dads being extremely confused.

Okay and look, Bow’s dads. Finally we get to see why Bow is the most well-adjusted person in the group. His parents aren’t perfect, but they did way less to fill their kids with insecurities than Angella or Shadow Weaver. Angella’s not a bad mom but it’s easy to see why Glimmer feels so inadequate. And Shadow Weaver is, well, Shadow Weaver.

This episode was sort of oddly structured for what is essentially a mid-season finale in the sense that the A plot was about relationships more than the overarching plot, but that’s not necessarily bad. And they tied the plot back in at the end with the reveal about the Crimson Waste, setting us up to finally move forward in this transmissions subplot in season 3.

There wasn’t a lot of time for Horde stuff this episode, but Scorpia forcibly loving Catra and turning her into a burrito was one of my favorite scenes of the season (maybe I will do a Top 10 later on). Catra opening up to Scorpia about her problems for the second episode in a row was huge, especially after experiencing a heart-shattering betrayal in the previous episode. Catra’s final scene where she gets exposed as a liar and choked out felt a bit truncated to me... like after they set that up as this terrifying threat in 2x03, they lingered a lot less in the terror of that moment in this episode. So that was kind of disappointing, but it still worked well as half of the cliffhanger (the weaker half, imo, but it was still extremely nerve-wracking).

It was hard to pick between #4 and 5 on this list, but ultimately the amazing cliffhanger was what put this one over the top. Both our protagonists are in danger, at the mercy of our two worst villains, and even though I knew what was coming as soon as I saw Adora sleeping, the shot of Shadow Weaver standing over her bed made me scream. I hate this show for leaving me hanging here, so they did it right.

3. 2x02 “Ties That Bind”

Ranking this one so high may be an unpopular opinion, but I personally loved this episode. I didn’t care much for the B plot except it was good insight into Adora, but the A plot was so delightful it made up for it. Mixing members of the Superpal Trio and Best Friend Squad almost always results in something good... maybe not for the characters, but for the audience. Watching Catra and Glimmer play off each other’s insecurites was great, and it was sweet watching Bow attempting to befriend Catra, just like he did with Adora. The conflict between him and Glimmer about how to treat their hostage felt very in-character, a good callback to the beginning of season 1.

Of course, Catra is a much more annoying hostage than Adora was. Her being a little shit and doing everything she could to get on their nerves was amazing, and I would have gladly watched a full hour episode just of that. The sassiness and manipulation we see from her in this episode balances nicely with the deep emotional stuff she goes through this season in her fight to win approval and prove her worth. It also produced my favorite joke of the season: “How are you such a nightmare?!?”/”Eh, years of practice.” I felt that in my soul as a youngest child. I also loved all the cat mannerisms they incorporated in this episode, it was very cute.

There is a bit of emotional meat to that story, with Catra and Glimmer’s confrontation at the end after Glimmer says Adora ran away from Catra, not the Horde (rude, btw). But the real emotional moment comes when Bow and Glimmer find out Entrapta stayed willingly with the Horde. That was heart-breaking. Heart-shattering, even. Especially because Bow and Glimmer feel such guilt for her being left there in the first place. I wish there had been more follow-up on this major emotional beat, but that’s not a weakness of this episode itself. This was my favorite Entrapta scene of the season, even though there were a lot of other great ones.

Like I said, the B plot was... okay, but not amazing? The bits with Light Hope glitching were funny, if a bit creepy. (But she’s always creepy, so.) Swift Wind annoys the hell out of me when he’s being hyper, but seeing his eventual heart-to-heart with Adora gave him some good depth and development. Plus, this episode does a really good job of illustrating not only how uptight Adora is, but why. There’s that messiah complex again (which I don’t blame her for btw, that’s Shadow Weaver’s fault). I like episodes that focus on Adora emotionally, and separating her from Glimmer and Bow meant her storyline got to be a bit more serious and in-depth. I just wish it hadn’t been opposite Swift Wind... not because it wasn’t effective, but because Adora’s arc was good but I have little desire to rewatch it if it means I have to watch more of him. Sorry, I guess I’m an anti.

2. 2x05 “White Out”

As I’ve said before, this episode is the highlight of season 2. Once again, that has a lot to do with the dynamics that occur whenever we mix members of the Best Friend Squad and Superpal Trio, and this time we got all of them in one place! And they added Seahawk to the mix too, which I didn’t expect to like because he tends to get on my nerves, but pairing him with Scorpia was a move of pure brilliance.

Scorpia and Sea Hawk’s little heart-to-heart about feeling unappreciated and Drunk Adora validating and encouraging them was so so cute and heartwarming. All the Drunk Adora and Scorpia stuff was great, actually. It was funny but also made very textual how much Catradora is an insecurity for Scorpia and how she’s afraid she’ll never be able to live up to that and Catra will never open up to her the same way. And Adora actually seems to genuinely like Scorpia when she’s not focused on the evils of the Horde, so that’s good to know moving forward. And yeah, that pairing also brought us “Girls night in!” and the closet joke, another highlight of the season.

In the other mixed grouping, Catra and Glimmer renewed their rivalry, and that’s always fun to watch. Entrapta continued to be her usual chaotic self, and any time we see her interacting with Bow it tends to be a great scene. The reveal at the end that she had the tech all along but didn’t tell Catra because she liked hanging out in this remote place with her friends was really, really cute.

I would be amiss to not mention the Catradora of it all in this episode, because holy shit this is actually the only time they interact in person all season. That is just wrong, by the way, but I did thoroughly enjoy what we got. It’s very clear they still have an emotional hold over each other despite their attempts to “let go,” between Adora’s overly-focused anger and Catra’s expressions whenever she hears or sees Adora. Adora actually kind of hates Catra right now and I think that caught Catra off guard. Catra’s panic when Evil She-Ra almost killed her was a great moment of vulnerability, how she tried to appeal to the Adora inside. She dropped the act for a moment and genuinely tried to connect with Adora, and maybe it made me tear up a little.

Along those same lines, the one thing that pissed me off about this episode was that we didn’t get to see Catra interacting with Drunk Adora. That would have allowed Adora to interact with Catra in a vulnerable state too, and in general it just would have been amazing. And the trailer kinda suggested we would get to see that, so that made it extra disappointing. Can’t these two just talk about their feelings and actually hear each other and communicate properly, please? Ugh. Still, despite these frustrations, I loved the Catradora content.

But the real highlight of the episode was Scorptra. The scene where Scorpia tried to ask Catra out on a date was amazing and so freaking cute. Of course there’s also the stuff I mentioned where her insecurities about Adora came spilling out. And the look on Catra’s face when Scorpia aborted a mission to save her life and then whisked her away despite her protests... that was a huge moment. She doesn’t think of herself as worth saving, but someone else does. And despite the fact that Scorpia disobeyed direct orders, I think this is where Catra really comes to trust her. It’s certainly where she comes to respect her. And then they shared a blanket! God, this was so cute. I expected to enjoy the Catradora stuff more but a) there wasn’t all that much of it and b) this was so incredibly pure and sweet, watching Scorpia finally make some headway and Catra finally open up to someone again, even if it was only a little bit. I am a multi-shipper now, I can’t help it.

1. 2x06 “Light Spinner”

It was hard choosing between this and White Out for top spot, but I’m a slut for villain backstories. This episode was the less entertaining of the two, and I think I’d have to say White Out is my subjective favorite, but objectively I do think this is the better episode. Why? Character development.

Shadow Weaver was a bit too twirly-moustache of a villain at times in season 1, so seeing how she became what she is now did a lot for her character. Seeing how a desire to do good mixing with a thirst for power can drive someone to make mistakes and turn evil was very interesting, and having Micah be part of the backstory made it all the more compelling.

The ways Shadow Weaver tries to mold people with more intrinsic power than her so she can use that power was a crucial new insight, one we’ve never seen before. It explains why she’s so obessed with Adora, which was never really explained in season 1. And it also suggests that part of Shadow Weaver’s dislike for Catra came from Adora’s connection to and therefore influence over her. Shadow Weaver wanted Adora’s loyalty to be to her above all, even above the Horde, and Adora having a close friend (who’s a rebellious loose cannon, to boot) was a danger to that goal.

This episode is essentially about Shadow Weaver and Catra, both separately and together, and it does a great job of drawing parallels between them even before Shadow Weaver outright tells Catra that they are the same. They both go off on a rant about how no matter what they do, no one listens to or respects them. Shadow Weaver seems to have a bit of a self-loathing streak that she took out on Catra, too... kinda like Glimmer being annoyed by all her worst qualities manifesting in Frosta.

As for Catra, it shocked me that she was so upset about Shadow Weaver being sent away to die. Though she obviously still craved Shadow Weaver’s approval, I didn’t expect her to react so badly to this. Clearly Scorpia didn’t either, and her trying to tease Catra’s reasons out of her was sweet. It was nice to see Catra continuing to open up to Scorpia after that moment with the blanket at the end of White Out, but there’s still a lot she’s holding inside. She still genuinely cares about Shadow Weaver despite how she’s been trying to hurt her for revenge and her own satisfaction... that sound familiar?

And unfortunately, Catra’s connection to Shadow Weaver and her need for maternal love and approval was her downfall. After she mocked the rebellion for their bleeding hearts and how easily manipulated they are, mind you. This is where Catra’s tendency to sympathize with Shadow Weaver (which we saw at least twice in season 1) finally came back to bite her in the ass. It was terribly sad because Catra actually has a big heart and Shadow Weaver knew that and took advantage of it.

It’s hard to say how much Shadow Weaver meant of what she said to Catra when they had their big confrontation. It wasn’t clear whether or not she had seen her badge hidden in the food, whether she was only trying to manipulate Catra or if she was being earnest about any of it. Was the physical affection she gave her genuine, her way of making up for things and saying goodbye, or was she just fucking with Catra? I dunno, but either way this betrayal she pulled was awful, and if she was trying to be nice she would’ve been better off holding Catra at a distance than letting her get her hopes up. For real, Catra’s reaction when she realized Shadow Weaver had used and betrayed her was gut-wrenching, one of the rawest moments we’ve seen from her. I might have cried, a lot. She let herself be vulnerable in a way she rarely does, and for that she got absolutely obliterated emotionally. Again.

So yeah, this wasn’t a particularly fun episode, but it was a very strong episode of television and it did a lot to make Shadow Weaver more fleshed out and interesting. It finally brought one of the show’s most fraught relationships into the spotlight and let it combust in front of us, and as painful as it was to watch, I can’t help rewatching the Catra and Shadow Weaver scenes again and again. I never expected Catra to so openly ask Shadow Weaver why she was never good enough for her and what she did to deserve all the abuse. It was an incredibly rewarding scene to watch with great emotional payoff. And for a stan like me, that made it the best episode of the season.

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years ago

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Kira (14)

CHAPTER 14: Even The Devil Has A Heart

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

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

Chapter content: I said there will be everything in this series, didn’t I

Warnings: yeah...brace yourselves. Just don’t curse me ‘cause I’m already a little cursed on the inside

Word count: My brothers and sister have been keeping me busy these past few days. So it has been nice as well as exhausting. I have changed my office for a few days. It’s...cool. Yeah, I mean for now, yeah. And I really need a drink. Hopefully this weekend.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

Ygritte has laid out the table for dinner. Loki's favourites wait for him. All things light. Soups and salads fit for a king. A bowl of glass noodles rests in the centre of the table. That one has been made specifically for Kira. It hasn't been often that she has told Ygritte what she prefers but when she did not stop complimenting the ramen Ygritte had made for her once, she made sure to keep something pan-Asian for her favourite kid on the table. To go with the food, fresh beer and iced tea in three flavours wait in glass jugs, making the woman proud of her arrangements. Content with the table, she goes to Loki and Kira's rooms to ready them before they arrive, turning on the geysers and lighting up a scented candle to help them ease them into sleep after the long journey. Of course, it wouldn't be easy ever since the incident with Robert, but she has to do everything in her power to make sure they rest well and have enough energy the next day to go to war with that cursed creature that did this to her fine boy.

With every last bit done and dusted in both rooms, she finally moves out to the hall to hear the same scratching noise echo through that she heard two hours ago. All she can do is sigh and walk towards the front door to find Fenrir whining and carving new patterns in the wood of the door.

"Fenrir! Stop ruining the door. They'll be here when they're here."

Fenrir outrightly ignores every word Ygritte says, carrying on with his mission of wood destruction.

"Do you really want your father to put you in time out?"

Now that seems to catch the wolf's ears as he puts his paws down, looks at the door, looks up at Ygritte, looks back at the door, scoffs and walks towards the back to go to the lounge, stops midway as his ears catch a moment, comes back in two huge steps and skids to a halt just as the lights from the SUV light up the walls in the entrance.

The door barely opens when Fenrir is lunging towards Loki, catching him in his own style of hug, licking him clean.

"Yes, yes! I missed you too. Now get off before I throw you out," Loki declares, hugging his wolf and petting him.

"Welcome back, Master Loki."

"Thank you, Ygritte."

Ygritte looks behind him to watch Heimdall standing and judging the wolf, who clearly isn't happy to see the Watcher either.

"Master Loki, where's Miss Kira?"

"She's coming home with Kol."

Ygritte smiles in acknowledgement, stepping aside to let the men in, looking at the night outside. The skies have gathered thunder clouds in a matter of minutes and the wind chimes around the estate are going off at every strong gust teasing them, alerting the grounds of the storm that is about to come. Even though she trusts what Loki says, her heart seems to be feeling a nauseating feeling, forcing her to close the door till about three inches are left, letting the soft lights from the driveway form a straight beam into the entrance hall. Doing that, she walks away to carry on with her work.

Heimdall notices this. When their ancestors had gone through the biblical famines in old history, a group of men had sought to find anything their families could live on. The women and children were left in protected shelters, where the women took to intricate- and impressive- measures to protect them and their children from the cold and the predators. But in order to let their men know they were alive and it was safe to enter the shelter, they would keep the entrance open with the fire on- the fire having to be fed after considerate intervals. And so began a tradition. Later on in the wars, the men and women would leave at least one door open when their partner was out and it was truly unknown if they would return. Heimdall can feel the same patience and anxiousness in Ygritte's actions. When he watches her leave, he turns on the porch light and walks away to his observatory.

Too loud.

Your heartbeat is too loud for you to make out anything that is going on around you.

Breathe.

Breathe, Kira, breathe.

Deep long breaths help a little, calming those thumping beats enough to make sense of the sounds around you. The sounds outside the walls where you've been kept sound thin. Heavy vehicles seem to hum around the huge hollow building. The walls and floor are cold and it smells like the outskirts of the city- the pungent smell of sulphur in the air too familiar to be breathed in this long; the only relief being the periodic wind forcing its way through whatever hole that you cannot see, bringing with it four seconds of freshness and the smell of rain.

Where the fuck am I?

From what you can recall, after being literally clad in darkness, you were forced up into a vehicle and brought to the outskirts on quite the bumpy road. The henchmen surrounding you had been hard at work, ignoring your anxious muffled cries yet keeping you in place whenever you tried to struggle with the zip ties keeping your hands tied in front.

There had been too much commotion wherever the vehicle had stopped. Sounds of heavy metal being thrown on thick concrete, wooden crates being opened, cries of moving the 'packages' away in local languages. The black fabric was no help in letting you make out the figures under the orange lights walking around the premise. You, amongst all the noise, were forced by your arm inside a building, the door- or whatever ominous frame closes with a metallic clang- shut behind you.

So, here you are, after taking careful steps towards the wall in God-knows-what direction, sitting on the cold floor, your hands limp inside your lap, your body realising the tiredness after the rush, your brain going into a shutdown.

What did I do to deserve this? Your sore muscles and bleeding scratches ask you.

You fell for the wrong man, a voice inside your head whispers. You try not to ignore it but it's like a demon attached to your back whose presence is heavy even though it's invisible.

The solitary confinement does give you a minute to gather yourself, mentally. How long have I gone missing? Someone ought to look for me, right?

You feel your body slide down the wall a little more, the cold touch of the wall on your neck dissipating the hotness gathering there. And before you know it, the basic instincts take over, instantly putting you to sleep.

You don't know how long it's been when you jerk at the clang of the door opening- five minutes, ten, an hour, the concept of time is not even a question anymore- and the sounds of multiple footsteps proceeding towards you.

You think it's bad to not know who these people are that are approaching you while keeping you in complete darkness till the footsteps stop a few feet away and no amount of concentration can help you concur what exactly is going on in this situation. And the accelerated thumping of your veins does not help.

You do not notice when your knees came up and close to your chest to wrap you in an invisible protective shield against the strangers in the room. But just as that happens, a lone pair of footsteps walk towards you, their echo a prick inside your just woken up brain. A low grunt follows the touch of strong arms grasping onto yours and picking you up without much effort before nearly dragging you away from the corner to stop dead somewhere; not before you find yourself bumping into what seems like a table. The same set of hands that brought you here undo the complex clasp at the back to take away the black fabric from over your head to reveal the gentle hollow eyes of Billy Russo smiling at you three feet away.

"I owe you my sincerest apologies for the way over the top charades to get you here. Though I'm not really sure if you'd have come with me if I'd asked you to."

You rub the bruises on your wrists where the ties were a minute ago, flashing a judgmental look at Billy for the comment he makes.

"You shot Robert."

"Well, I wasn't planning to," Billy states with a simple shrug and tilts his head at you with the look of sympathy in his eyes that is inciting all the wrong emotions inside you.

"Oh, so, you wanted me dead." The sharpness of your voice seems to add weight to the betrayal you're feeling right now.

Billy narrows his eyes in contemplation. "No, not really. No. I just wanted to-" he takes one step closer to you, visibly surprised when you don't flinch even a bit- "let the fact graze past your boss that I could've taken your life if I wanted to. Really simple strategy. Don't blame me for Robert tryna' be a hero, sweetheart."

The disgust your belly feels at his addressal leaves a sour taste in your mouth. "His security is tighter than before. I really don't get how you plan on getting past that and for what reason. Just because he didn't a business deal with you, Russo?"

"Aw, we'd just started on the first name basis!" He exclaims, taking another step towards you- forcing you to move back and away from him and his deceiving face. "And come on! You're smarter than you show the world, Kira. You know how a sturdy castle can crumble with the right blow at the right spot. It just so happens that you are the right spot when it comes to Loki Odinson, the Messiah of the third world countries!"

The distance is closed again. You do not hesitate to step back. "I'm just his assis-"

"Enough." His voice is low but the tremble it sends through the hollow building makes you second guess that slight smear of courage inside your heart. "I'm tired of hearing it. How aren't you? Have you seen the way that orphan looks at you? Like someone looks at their precious pet. Admiring them, showcasing them to the world and feeling proud when others stand in awe of their cute little slave-"

"You're going too far-"

"Glaring at the people with the stare of most violent death to anyone who looks at their pet with an intention they deem inappropriate. I mean-" he steps towards you, forcing you into the wall at the back- "I know he's killed me at least ten times in his mind since I've met you."

The perfect white smile is ominous at best, chilling your insides. His dark eyes gazing you with a haunted lust add to the dread.

"He does not-" you graze away his fingers trying to play with your stray hair- "like me. If that's what you're implying."

"Mm-hmm," Billy hums, not at all fazed by your hands trying to keep his away from you, "then how do you explain him not signing the deal with me? Hmm? Last I heard he and Solaris were this close to closing it on my name. Why does. A man. With such a powerful sway. Let his assistant make decisions for him?"

"Wha-"

"I know it was you who stopped him from closing on Anvil Corp, Kira."

The words should not hit as hard as they do in your gut but the shade of malice swimming in Billy's eyes seems to take control, wanting to reduce you to nothing. "I know you were the one who swung the deal from the Adachis in your favour."

"I had nothing t-"

"You had everything to do with this, Kira!" He shouts, failing his hands as he does a frustrated three-sixty. "Everything!"

"You had to go and be all sweet to their daughter, be the nicest person on the planet with them. The bonus? You and Loki being all heart-eyes in each other's presence. Ugh!"

He comes back to put his arms on the wall around you, trapping you in without so much as a window for a thought to escape. "You ruined our entire plan."

You want to be diffused into the wall for it sounds better than feeling the microscopic jolts of uneasiness from his stare lingering over your skin and hot breaths trying to tease your existence into withering away.

"And to think I nearly started questioning my motives in seducing you." His thumb grazes your jaw. His fingers plant themselves on your neck before you feel the force in his hand mercilessly turning your face to look at him while he presses himself against you. "I nearly started to think of you, Kira. I started to dream what it would be like to take you home. To wonder what it would be like to tie your hands and bend you on my table, ripping off your clothes one by one and fucking you till I made you cry. Ohhh...to force my cock in your mouth till you licked my orgasm clean. You really did a number on me, Kira."

The restraints are crumbling to the last bits when you feel his erection grinding against you. That's it. You cannot take it anymore.

"I'd rather die than let you fuck me," you hiss through your teeth.

Billy's eyes go wide. His face blank. Laughter roars through the room followed by his hand slapping the wall.

"Oh you never cease to amaze me, do you?"

Billy bites his lips through the smile still lingering on them. One hand goes away from the wall to gesture at the two men clad in black camo to walk away. And they do. Leaving you alone with this scum.

"You'd rather die than fuck me, hmm?" He whispers into your ear, inhaling the scent of fear coming out from you before kissing your forehead tenderly.

Your fists try to drive his chest away but his hand takes your wrists in them, letting his perfectly manicured nails dig into your skin to remind you of the dormant pain still lingering in there. The other hand has found its way into your trousers, fingers entering your folds to watching you grit your teeth and feel your muscles clench in rebellion at his touch.

"Ah!" He whispers, "let's see how you call upon death to get you out of this."

It is a split-second decision through the pain to find your knee making an impact with his balls, bringing him down groaning and pushing him back as his grip loosens on you. "You are a psychopath! No wonder your own mother hates you so much," your lungs shout.

The mention of his mother breaks something inside him; like a vial of toxins crushed under pressure to let them mingle in with the rest of the solution.

Even as you try in vain to run towards the door, he is catching you by the waist to throw you at the table.

All you can see is red in his eyes when you get up. All you see is the face of a mad man before his fist makes an impact with the side of your face.

"Aaah! It's so good to be back home!"

"Tell me about it."

"Friday! Put on something soothing, please. And get the fire started."

The hall livens up with soft jazz music as Pepper cocks her brow at the crackle of a fire in her fireplace before turning to Tony.

"Wow," she mentions, wetting her lips, "for someone who hosted a freaking convention, you seem not tired at all."

"No, you hosted the convention," Tony asserts as he fills two glass with champagne, "I just popped by to say hi to all the people I invited."

"Right," Pepper nods smirks, taking her glass from Tony and waiting for him to settle down next to her. Tony scooches as close to her as possible before putting his arm around the headrest of the couch and clinking his glass with hers.

"To Miss Potts and her work in making this expo the most successful thing yet." Tony smiles with his eyes.

"Why thank you, Mr Stark," Pepper mentions before raising her glass a little, "to Stark Industries. For having the most generous man running the company with the happiest employees."

Pepper rests her head on Tony's arm, making him smile his softest smile. He lets his arm embrace her, his fingers making patterns on her sleeve.

"So, Miss Potts," Tony coos into Pepper's ears, "are you dead tired or do you have enough energy for an entertaining shower?"

Pepper bites her lips to restrain the giggle. "Oh, I don't know Mr Stark. Are you really up for a round or do you plan on passing out midway to the bathroom like last time?"

"Ooh! Cocky much! You do have the energy."

Pepper giggles, giving Tony a long kiss on his lips.

"How about you turn on your favourite playlist while I warm up the water for you, Miss Potts."

"I'd like that very much, Mr Stark."

Giving another peck on his cheek, Pepper gets up to go towards the music system, undoing her hair bun on the way while Tony collects the champagne glasses to get up and walk towards the bathroom.

"Fri-"

The words leave Pepper midway as she watches the screen in front of her, her eyes squinting in the gesture of finding out what exactly she was seeing. Two seconds later the very same blue eyes are going wide with a low gasp escaping her lungs.

"Oh, my G-TONY!"

The hot pressured water eases the muscles in Loki's back, lightly scarring the already decorated skin. Everything except his head gets this torture. The heat is turned off to be followed by the cold current that numbs his skull before disappearing at the turn of the handle. Towel wrapped around his waist, Loki walks out to the ring of his phone on the bed, his heartbeat quickening at the thought of watching your name on the screen, only to be disappointed to find the exact opposite energy calling him.

Loki accepts the call and puts it on the speaker at the very same moment Heimdall opens the door to his room.

"Stark," Loki greets the man, making Heimdall pause midway, preventing him from speaking.

"Where is she?"

Loki's heard Tony enough time to let his ears know which emotion Tony is pouring at that moment. And the amount of poisonous rage bubbling on speakerphone has been heard only once before- a time neither of them talks about. The voice carries rage and frustration. Not to mention a hidden pain that would drown thousands at any moment if Loki does not answer it correctly. The question, by this time, can only meant to be directed towards you. But how does Tony know about you so quickly? Has the news already been informed?

"Kira's fine. She's on her way home from her examina-"

"She is NOT fine, Loki!"

"Tony she's f-"

"Her heart rates' high, Loki! Her vitals are worse and her blood pressure is all kinds of abnormal!"

The confusion hits before the surprise. "What are you talking about?"

"YOU SON OF A-"

Loki can hear Pepper's voice trying to calm Tony down to retain an ounce of common sense to talk to him in a language that makes sense.

"Loki," Tony comes back, this time one breath cooler, "Kira is not fine right now. I just got an alert about her being in an emergency. So, tell me where she is."

The restraint in his voice is loud and clear. Loud enough to tell anyone listening that he would come out of the speakerphone and strangle someone right this very moment.

"Her phone's off. I can't locate her."

Loki turns around to find Heimdall looking down at his golden crystal balls and phone in either hand, suddenly clicking a switch inside Loki.

"The pendant I gave her," Tony calls out from the phone, "it has a beacon. But it'll take me two minutes to activate it. You guys better hurry because her vitals are not looking good."

"I'm on it," Heimdall states before turning to Loki, "you stay here in case-Loki? Loki?!"

All sounds feel like one streak of white noise being drowned out by shallow breaths increasing with every passing moment. The legs are on the edge of giving way any second while the neck burns like a firepit from hell, sweating and steaming away the stray water on the skin.

"Ygritte!" Heimdall shouts out for the woman before coming back to Loki, "Hey, hey, hey. It's okay. You're okay. She'll be fine. Hey. Hey! Look at me! Look. At. Me. Kira will be fine. I'll bring her back. Okay?"

Loki, breathless on the floor by this moment nods halfway, pushing away Heimdall's hands from his arms, gesturing him to be out of the room.

"Loki..."

Tony calls out for the man- no poison this time.

This voice, Loki doesn't like.

"Stark," Loki's trying to breathe through his airless aching lungs, "Stark lis-listen-"

"I'm not going anywhere till you find yourself. Breathe before you speak. I can't hear you through your wheezing anyway."

Loki hates the voice that reminds of the father he did not have.

The handkerchief cleans up the blood sticking over the lean fingers in multiple strokes, having to make a little extra effort to get the fabric to wipe away the piece of skin caught under the nails; not to mention the dried blood resting in between the foreskin and those recently manicured pieces of french art. It really is a task. How did he ever make it through those old army days without caring for the perfection that was him is really surprising for Billy. The handkerchief is folded to bring the clean side over and wipe off the blood dripping from wounds made down his throat. A curse leaves his lips to having found his flawless skin marred by a lowely woman.

"The car is ready, sir."

Billy looks up at the soldier he has hired for a few green bucks, scoffing and smirking at him before throwing the handkerchief. "Clear the area. Leave that trash."

The soldier walks away along with five other men, leaving Billy to turn to the unconscious figure lying on the ground in its own blood.

He sits down next to it, takes out a little wildflower from his jacket pocket and puts it beside the hand that flinches a little at the closeness of the man.

"It’s a shame really. You choosing death, I mean. We really could’ve had it all if you wanted, Kira."

He tilts his head and sighs before giving a farewell smile.

"Because death was still going to knock on your door later."

Getting up with one long look, etching his artwork in his mind, he walks away with a giddy tune being whistled on his lips, leaving you on the edge of eternal unconsciousness, the violent pain waiting to tip you over any moment.

Second-last chapter of Kira

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imaginedeux · 5 years ago

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Catch Fire (P.P AU) Pt. 3

Part 1, 2

“So, your name is ‘Happy’? Do I call you Mr. Happy, or does Don Happy work?” You asked from the back of the black car Tony sent for you.

“Happy is fine, kid. Do you know Peter from school?”

“N-No, he’s a friend of a friend, I literally only met him less than a week ago.”

“So, you’re Spider-Man?”

“You’re Messiah?”

“And I am Ironman, now that we’ve got introductions out of the way, would you care to enlighten us on how you have powers?”

“Fine. I dont think you were state side when it happened, but within like a weeks time 5 people in my apartment complex all died of dehydration, malnutrition because they couldnt keep anything down and from a fever double our natural body temperature. The owners said that it was nothing to worry about, and that it was an isolated incident because it happened to a family.” You explained, looking between two dark pairs of eyes. “A week later, a fire broke out in my apartment after I had started to get sick. The only damage that happened was to the door because I was able to control it. Another week passes and the police arrested this mad scientist that was living in the basement and confessed to the ‘accidental murders’, as he called them, saying something about creating an army to go against you guys.”

“No, not us, me,” Tony corrected you, taking out his phone. “From what you’ve said,you might be one of the members of the army he was trying to make. The other people who dies in your building were the failed subjects.”

“It appears so,” You spoke over Peter, who was complaining about not being an Avenger. “Thats enough questions from you, I have questions of my own. Why are you here? I did nothing wrong last night, and I made sure that help was called.” That really shut Peter up, making him look up at Tony, who was on a phone call. “Well are one of you going to answer me?”

“M-Mr. Stark?” Peter stuttered, trying to get Tony’s attention.

“Um, hello!?”

“Alright, thanks Happy. So, no more questions, until you get from the tower. Happy will be here to pick you up when your shift is over. Come on Peter.”

_____

“What exactly am I going to do here?” You asked stepping out of the black car, looking up at the new Avengers building.

“You’ll be living here, and we’re going to help you with your powers.” A woman, with strawberry blonde hair, answered walking through the glass doors at the front of the building.

“Um, what? What do you mean, ‘live here’? What about my stuff, what about the apartment?” You almost yelled, looking between Happy and the new woman. “Wait, what give Mr. Stark the right to dictate where I live?”

“Um, that’s something to bring up with Tony.” The woman answered before opening the glass doors. “By the way, my name is Pepper Potts, but you can call me Pepper.”

“STARK!” You yelled walking through the front doors, leaving a confused Happy and Pepper behind.

“Mr. Stark isn’t here at the moment.” A voice sounded from around the building.

“Where is he, and who am I talking to?”

“He has told me to not disclose his location, and my name is Friday. Mr. Stark has given me instructions to allow you to enter your living quarters and has told me to inform you that you training in an hour.”

“Training? What? No! I need to talk to Stark right now! He has no authority over me. This is practically kidnapping, actually I’m calling the police right now!” You yelled taking out your phone ready to do something. Before you could input 9 your phone went from 42% to dead, in a split second. “Hey, was this your doing?! I want my phone battery back!”

“(Y/N), we’re not here to hurt you, we’re here to protect you and to help you.” Pepper said coming in behind you, trying her best to calm the situation down.

“Keeping me in the dark isnt helping me! Kidnapping me from my home isnt protecting me! I want to go home, and i’m going to get there the easy way or the hard way, and im ready for the hard way if I have to.” You yelled, your hands igniting themselves in fire. “Now, let me go home!”

“Sorry kid we can’t let you go.” Happy said, standing in front of the front door way, blocking your exit.

“(Y/N), we’re going to explain everything when Tony comes back. For now, we just need you to go to your room so you can settle in.” Pepper explained, coming closer to you, not afraid of the fire in your hands.

“Do as they say kid.” A new voice sounded from behind you. A man, about Tony’s age stood there, his arms crossed across his chest, not impressed with the sight in front of him. “I know how to handle kids like you.”

“Really? Try me then Tin-Man.” You mocked seeing his artificial legs, you knew that someone was hurt over seas when the Avengers went against each other but you were fed up, and ready to go home.

____

“Looks like you met Rhodey.” The millionaire laughed as he entered your room. Going up against Rhodey was your first mistake, your second mistake was thinking that Tony didnt fire proof the building, bringing you to a down fall very quickly. “By the way, Tin-Man, inappropriate yes, funny? Most definitely.” You looked up at him from the bed post you were tied to. After the fire extinguisher took out your flames, Rhodey used one of the suits to tie you down and take you to the room, well your room. The scariest part of the room was, it was almost identical to your old room, except the back wall was all glass, but for privacy sake it was a one way glass looking out. They were able to bring everything from your apartment to the Avengers building in less than 4 hours, but it isnt surprising, it is Tony Stark after all.

“Ha, ha, ha. Well now that we’ve established that i’m hilarious, can you let me go and let me go back home?” You struggled against the rope you had tied around your person. “By the way Stark, I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Get in line kid, and no you’re not going home, this is going to be home. Now, lets go and spar.” Tony said undoing the rope. “We have to see how skilled you actually are.”

“Hey! Come back here!” You yelled as Tony walked out the door. “Who gave you the permission to control my life? You’re technically kidnapping me!”

“Ill answer all your questions after you’ve showed off your skills. Now follow me, its your first day and I dont want you getting lost in here. Peter did the first day and he had to ask Friday for directions out.” Tony grinned as he continued to walk down random hallways. At that point, you knew fighting back wasnt going to get you anywhere, so following his demands was the only way to get out of there. “Ah, here we are.”

The room looked like any other gym, it had training equipment, weight machines, and even a boxing ring in the middle of it. There was a separate room to the side that looked like you could play racket ball in, but knowing Tony Stark, it was probably for superhero training. “I see you eyeing the boxing ring, but you’re going to that room.” Tony explained, pointing at the racket ball room. You were lucky that you wore work out clothes to work, using your powers in normal clothes sucked, it got too hot too quickly. “There are going to be holograms you have to fight against, and Friday will be taking notes on your fighting style and of your powers.”

“So when i’m done here, can I spar against you?” You grinned looking up at Tony. A deep chuckle escaped him as he turned away from the room.

“One day kid.”

#peter parker #peter parker au #peter parker imagine #peter parker blurb #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland au #Marvel AU #marvel imagine

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my-arya-underfoot · 6 years ago

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Starklings post-war speculation (book based)

You’ve talked before about Westeros after the Long Night and war and also a bit about the Starks roles (Bran being King in the North rather than Arya or Sansa). How do you think the Starks will fit into whatever happens ‘after’?

Finally answering your question anon, sorry for the long wait :/

Going off the theory of the post-Long Night Westeros undergoing social reform and breaking up into separate kingdoms again (maybe held together by a central council or alliance of some sort) - how do the Starklings fit into it all?

Not to get too emotional, but our bb’s are going to change the world. GRRM has put Bran, Arya, Sansa and Jon on specific development arcs, each honing particular skills, and I think those skills will be instrumental in the roles they’ll take on in rebuilding Westeros.

Arya

Based on the books so far, I’d bet a lot of money on Arya ultimately taking on a leadership role championing the smallfolk. (Linking back to Westeros’ probable social upheaval).

Her arc is saturated with witnessing the abuse of commoners and the warping of justice; from Mycah to Harrenhal to the Brotherhood to opposing the Faceless Men’s philosophy.

They'd let the queen kill Lady, that was horrible enough, but then the Hound found Mycah....And no one had raised a voice or drawn a blade or anything, not Harwin who always talked so bold, or Alyn who was going to be a knight, or Jory who was captain of the guard. Not even her father.

Arya watched them die and did nothing. What good did it do you to be brave? There were no brave people on that march, only scared and hungry ones. Most were women and children.

She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought it down across her knee. It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside. I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth.

Arya drew back from him. "He killed the slave?" That did not sound right.

GRRM seems to be setting her up a a representative of the smallfolk, pushing for a more just, egalitarian society and reforming oppressive laws. If a united council/leadership of sorts exists, then it’s entirely viable that Arya will be the one voicing the needs of the common people.

Imo, the role brings together all of Arya’s many strengths: a) being able to connect with and befriend anyone b) caring fiercely about justice and trying to take it into her own hands c) protecting the underdogs d) being a go-between/liaison between the highborn world she was born in and the commoners she became part of, e) travelling over a lot of Westeros and beyond.

(Maybe she’ll even take over the Brotherhood without Banners from her mother?? A group that was about helping the helpless but got warped by vengeance along the way – exactly what Arya is grappling with right now).

Also, worth mentioning Arya has lived outside of Westeros in Braavos, which has a different type of governing structure, giving her a broader perspective on ruling and society than most characters.

While she may be based in the North, given how much time Arya spent in the Riverlands – where the worst abuses of smallfolk and injustice took place – she may end up becoming a key figure there.

(…+ Gendry)

Moving more from speculation to wishful thinking – though not so wishful nowadays – it’s entirely conceivable Gendry would be involved in Arya’s endgame.

Gendry is one of the most prominent smallfolk characters, is vocal about his disdain of highborns and attracted to the early Brotherhood without Banners. Him being someone who helps Arya with her work and reforms would fit.

"Gendry, do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children.” - Arya, ASoS

(Plus, with a side of forge sex and gowns of golden leaves).

Book-wise, I don’t think Arya will become Lady of Storms End: Ruler of one kingdom and lady of a castle seems very limiting for Arya, she’s had no connections to the Stormlands thus far and it would be weird for her resolution to suddenly become subservient to Gendry’s inheritance. I still think it’s more likely that Edric Storm will get Storms End.

(The show is a different matter and D&D have devalued Arya so much it’s anyone’s guess where she’ll end up).

So that’s my call for Arya.

Sansa

With Sansa, as a recurring foil to Arya it would make sense if her role in Westeros as the flipside of her sisters’ – while Arya is reforming the underbelly of Westeros, Sansa has been built to work amongst high lords.

Over the series, we’ve seen her hone her skills in court, among nobles and in politics; and apprentice to Littlefinger’s in the art of manipulation:

Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, "I'm sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord." - ACoK

Tyrion led Sansa around the yard, to perform the necessary courtesies.She is good at this, he thought, as he watched her tell Lord Gyles that his cough was sounding better, compliment Elinor Tyrell on her gown, and question Jalabhar Xho about wedding customs in the Summer Isles. - Tyrion, ASoS

Sansa was asleep on her feet by then, wanting only to crawl off to her bed, but Petyr caught her by the wrist. "You see the wonders that can be worked with lies and Arbor gold?" - Sansa, AFFC

". . . Lord Nestor's claim to the Gates will suddenly be called into question. I promise you, that is not lost on him. It was clever of you to see it. Though no more than I'd expect of mine own daughter.""Thank you." She felt absurdly proud for puzzling it out...” - Sansa, AFFC

GRRM has indicated that Sansa is ideally suited for post-Long-Night politics, particularly in whatever network or council that’s put in place between kingdoms: Managing relationships between nations, negotiating treaties and agreements, smoothing over conflicts, brokering peace between parties; winning leaders over; image-management; the nitty-gritting politicking.

It would be satisfying if Sansa – who the world originally saw as nothing more than a pretty, airheaded wife-to-be – ends up doing the hard, complex, political brainwork.

In connection to all that, I honestly love the idea of Sansa as a Northern ambassador: She loves Winterfell but knows how to play the game in the South – so let her represent her kingdom and Northern interests to the rest of Westeros.

(Sansa seems to be heading towards becoming a politician akin to Tyrion or Littlefinger; while Bran, Dany and Jon have trained more for leadership and that is an important distinction and separate skillset).

(Again, this is book not show based, as the show is hammering us over the head with Sansa becoming ruler in the North/Lady of Winterfell, which…ok. I’ve talked before how unfortunately the writers have trampled over the other Starks siblings’ connections to their home to justify Sansa’s position).

Bran

All hail, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell, Bran the Rebuilder.

There are a lot of reasons why it makes sense for Bran to be the Stark rebuilding Winterfell and doing the day-to-day governing of its people:

He’s the one who’s spent the most time in the North; he’s the one we’ve actually seen being taught to rule as Lord of Winterfell; he’s the heir and first in-line; he’s connected to the deep, mystical heart of the North of the weirwood networks and greenseers, he has the Starkiest-of-Stark names of the former Stark Kings and legends.

Unlike Arya and Sansa, he hasn’t been to other parts of Westeros (apart from further North) and built as many relationships and learned about politics or dynamics in other places. He’s fully rooted in the North, Winterfell and its people.

There’s a much more detailed examination of why exactly Bran should be King in the North and Lord of Winterfell here, which says it much better than I can, but I don’t see how you can read these quotes, and think it will be anyone but Bran:

Bran could see all of Winterfell in a glance. He liked the way it looked spread out beneath him… It made him feel like he was lord of the castle, in a way even Robb would never know.” – AGoT

"Your notion about the bastard may have merit, Bran," Maester Luwin said after. "One day you will be a good lord for Winterfell, I think." – ACoK

“The stone is strong, Bran told himself, the roots of the trees go deep, and under the ground the Kings of Winter sit their thrones. So long as those remained, Winterfell remained. It was not dead, just broken. Like me, he thought. I'm not dead either.” – AcoK

“You are only a boy, I know, but you are our prince as well, our lord's son and our king's true heir. We have sworn you our faith by earth and water, bronze and iron, ice and fire….we are your servants to command.” - ASoS

(I’m not expecting robot!Bran to get king/lordship in the show – D&D massacring his character and turning him into an emotionless, Google search bar is still imo one of the worst things they’ve done imo).

As for all the theories for Sansa (and more rarely Arya) becoming Queen in the North, I actually think that role is too limiting for both of them – they’ve travelled over Westeros and seem suited to having much wider role than just Northerners. That’s not to say the two of them– and Jon if he lives – couldn’t have a place in their home, be based at Winterfell and travel further afield; it doesn’t mean they couldn’t advice Bran or work for the good of the North; it doesn’t mean they would be Princesses of Winterfell. It’s just there’s a hell lot more foreshadowing for King Bran.

(…+ Meera)

So, if we’re going to have any Queen in the North, it’s gotta be Meera. The gods only know how much the Reeds deserve it and Bran is literally hearteyes already.

Jon (...+ Dany)

Much as it physically pains me to admit it, chances are Jon and Dany will die saving the world: As many have said, they’ve got ‘messiah’ written all over them. As GRRM has always said – in the end the throne doesn’t matter, the ultimate fight is about the living. So, for Jon and Dany, it makes sense their ultimate fate wouldn’t be getting the throne but ensuring there’s a Westeros left to rebuild at all.

The only thing that makes me doubt them kicking it, is the sheer amount of time GRRM has spent giving the pair leadership training (see above point with Bran) as Lord Commander and Queen of Meereen respectively. GRRM’s issue with wanting to justify having a ‘good ruler’ in the end and not just ‘they ruled wisely’ gives me a smidge of hope the two of them might make it.

So, playing a fun game of if they survive; they’d logically be the ones getting the different kingdoms to cooperate, managing a central council/alliance, leading change, and acting as symbols of peace and the future. With the upheaval and massive change Westeros would be facing, they’re both leaders who would be equipped to forge a new way.

Both of them have experience in upending old systems, ushering in new eras and struggling to make different groups cooperate – Jon with the Nights Watch making peace with the Free Folk, the Nights Watch and the North; and Dany in Meeren with the slaves and former slave-owners.

Of course, it didn’t go perfectly, but they were learning and sure as hell have more experience than anyone else in taking on the role of rebuilding Westeros and forcing newly-independent kingdoms to cooperate.

Again, it may be Daenerys’ “I want to break the wheel” is a clumsy way of the writers trying to set that up.

Bonus: Tyrion and Davos

I’d put Tyrion’s chances of survival above Jon and Dany’s, but way below Bran, Arya and Sansa’s. In the books it does seem likely he’ll be the third head of the dragon and will be joining Jon and Dany on their mission to martyrdom.

That said, if he does survive, like Sansa he’d be ideal to play a role on a centralized council.

Out of the main characters he’s the one who spent the most time doing actual politicking in Kings Landing; he’s recognised for his brain; the main character who’s been up-close with the inner workings of government and was excellent acting as Hand. It’s not beyond the realms of possibility he’d be able to flex all those muscles in forcing post-Westeros leaders to work with each other and manage the logistics of rebuilding the kingdom.

Preferably Davos will get to retire, raise his remaining kids and live a quiet life. But in adding to the social upheaval and how he’s played the role of bringing in a different perspective to Stannis’ court and moved from commoner to lord, I’d put him in the running of being one of the main voices and architects of post-war Westeros.

#asoiaf theory #asoiaf speculation #asoiaf ending

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