#which i think is perhaps necessary for any sort of bang. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lesbiansandgayssupporttheminers · 3 years ago

Text

The Conquest of Insulin

Someone said, on a post I reblogged recently, that we need a good anarchist answer to the tumblr question du jour about insulin and how it would be produced “under anarchism”.

I suggest the answer has already been written, and that if you read Kropotkin’s “The conquest of bread” (yes, it’s all I’m banging on about at the moment) you can in fact apply the chapter on food to any essential of modern life that requires processing and is an immediate need.

Kropotkin was obviously writing at time when medicine was much less advanced than it is now, and I think it is necessary for modern anarchists to address the question directly. It does not apply just to insulin, but to many lifesaving drugs which are needed by people in the long term, as well as more short term medication, such as antibiotics, as well as preventatives such as vaccines. These are things that are essential in the modern world, and we should not accept that the revolution should not provide them, just as, as Kropotkin contends, the first concern of the revolution must be providing bread.

We cannot sit in our “talking shops” and discuss the provision of medication whilst people die- to do so would be to doom the revolution to failure, just as the French revolutions that Kropotkin references were doomed due to their inability to provision the people with food.

Yet we must also acknowledge that right now, even in “rich” or “civilized” western countries, there are people languishing due to lack of medical care, lack of access to drugs, indeed, including insulin. At the moment, the American government is engaged in the question of whether to cap the price of insulin at $35 a month-at the moment, people have to pay up to $300 a vial, and die for want of insulin. Which is, perhaps, why it is an issue present at the forefront of people’s minds, right now.

Anyway, what is the solution to providing insulin and other drugs during and after the revolution?

Kropotkin’s plan for bread and food is relatively simple, and I believe without much difficulty it could be reapplied to medicine.

Assuming the revolution takes place in a western country, there will be an existing supply of insulin (or whichever drug) in that country. All the drugs, held in pharmacies and hospitals, would need to be carefully catalogued and identified, and held in common by the revolutionaries. This, I believe, would not be difficult to do- just as Kropotkin says that committees of workers can do this for food, then I think committees of workers, ideally with the aid of a pharmacist, could do this for medicine.

For clarity, we are not talking about seizing medicine held in private homes, just that held by pharmacies and hospitals. (This is perhaps more relevant to the bit where Kropotkin talks about coats, and how he does not want to seize people’s coats, though this may be attractive to the shivering).

Then, the medicine that exists can be distributed according to need (rather than according to who has the ability to pay).

This would deal with short term need in the immediate aftermath of the revolution, and would hopefully provide an adequate level of medicine for all. Would it provide perfect medical care for everyone? Perhaps not, but neither does any extant system under capitalism, and it would at least be fair- because it would be done by the people, for the people and done according to need, not wealth.

So, what then? How do we obtain, or make, more of each medicine?

The process of making a known medicine is, in general, not that difficult. One needs the correct equipment, and the right “ingredients” but it’s a process that a lot of people can complete with relevant training. Many people will work in this industry without being degree educated, or having a high level of scientific knowledge- these people are by every definition “workers” and the hope of the revolution is that they would happily share this expertise with the rest of us, and we could all take a share in this sort of useful work.

If that seems naïve to you, then I think further work is required on your part to understand what is meant by “anarchism” and “worker” and “revolution” and that’s outside the scope of this essay.

A lot of the posts I see about this seem to assume all the infrastructure would be destroyed in the revolution- but that’s not the aim of the revolution. Equipment might be damaged, but workers have the skills to mend it, or assemble a similar process in an equally equipped lab.

The aim of the revolution is not to destroy every laboratory or factory in the country or the world. If this happens, one might argue that the revolution has already failed. The aim of the revolution is to take over the means of production and use them for the good of everyone. I think many people are trying to argue about the production of insulin (or other drugs) in the post apocalypse, and this is not the same as post revolution. It is very important to understand that! However, personally, I would rather live in an anarcho-communist society post apocalypse, than in a individualistic one clinging to the old ways of capitalism- but again, that is outside the scope of this essay.

Therefore, we, relatively quickly, post revolution, are likely to have the means available to make many common medications and provide them to the people in need of them. I will talk, shortly, about how one obtains the raw materials needed for this, but let us assume that some quantity of the raw materials will be available in the places where these things are made.

I want to talk a little bit about work now, because yes, making these things will require a level of work. People already do that work, and are, of course, paid for it. I believe many young people who look to anarchism look for a world without work- but that cannot exist- even in the “fully automated luxury space communism” of our memes, work would be needed of some kind.

The point is that the work would be significantly lessened and done for the good of all. The worker would be assured of good housing where they did not have to worry about turning on the heating, or using energy, with a supply of varied and interesting food, and all the basic things necessary for their wellbeing (think how many workers currently rent insecure and inadequate housing, think about the stories about nurses using foodbanks- this is no small gift).

Moreover, there would be many people engaged in what we might consider “useless work” in fields such as property or finance or “government” or indeed the provision of services to the wealthy, who would now have no work to do. These people, many of whom are not wealthy, may be willing to spend an hour of their day, or a day of their week doing work that is useful and beneficial to someone, given that all their basic needs are provided for. And so, the lab worker, who was working for five days a week, for eight hours a day, now only needs to work for three days a week, then perhaps two, or only half days- and therefore their life is further improved.

I am not talking about forced labour here, but I do believe that people would do it- because it is necessary, and it would not be hard. We can’t pretend that difficult jobs (and I think there are far more difficult or unpleasant jobs) would go away under anarchism. But I think if people knew they would have a good standard of living, and only needed to work for, say, 10 hours a week, they would do it. People would do it for the good of the community, because people are fundamentally good, and care about each other- “anarchy is for lovers” as it were. And again, if you don’t believe this, then there are far more fundamental problems in your understanding of anarchism, and they are outside the scope of this essay.

So, we have dealt with the immediate provision of insulin and other medicines, and we have dealt with the question of work. However, there is, perhaps, a more difficult question about obtaining raw materials. Many medicines, and their packaging, which keeps them safe for use, are complex and require complex ingredients which need to be obtained, and may well need to be obtained from outside the country or the area where the revolution has occurred.

Again, we return to Kropotkin and his bread. Kropotkin imagines a revolution occurring at first in one city (Paris, because the Paris commune is his model). Paris has no means of immediately producing more bread, and in this model, the countryside is not yet part of the revolution. But Kropotkin proposes that the city can produce things that are useful to the peasant farmers of the countryside and trade with them for bread, or the ingredients of bread, essentially by barter, offering them things they previously could not afford. (This, in turn, helps liberate the farmers).

So, this is difficult in a globalized society, where ingredients may come from other countries, and the movement and supply is run by large companies.

Firstly, the job is to find out what ingredients are needed. There are people (many) who know this, and companies keep records.

Secondly, you’d see which materials you can produce yourselves, or recycle. In the case of insulin specifically, it’s actually produced by gene editing certain bacteria and harvesting the products. As long as you keep the extant bacterial colonies alive, the raw materials needed for production are relatively minimal, and the packaging is something that is relatively easy to produce. I think there are drugs where obtaining them would actually be far more complex than insulin.

That’s obviously a very short step for a very difficult process, but with the relevant scientists (and there are a lot of them) given all the resources and help possible (which is not what they get under the current system) I do believe that many creative solutions could be found. And there would be a high level of help available, including from many, many people employed in the pharmaceutical industry in previously redundant roles such as “sales” and “marketing”- who still, often, have relevant scientific qualifications.

So, what about the things we can’t produce or recycle? Things we may need to obtain from an area outside of the revolution? It’s true, here, things become difficult, and of course we have to consider the issues of other powers imposing “sanctions” on the area of the revolution, as happens to countries such as Cuba, and Venezuela, and so on.

I do think Kropotkin’s proposition of direct barter with workers has merit. It is more logistically difficult when larger distances are involved, of course, but it’s something to be attempted, and has the added bonus of undermining capitalism in the areas of the world where it still exists.

I think we know, unfortunately, without the optimism of the early 20th Century, that revolution is slow to spread, and will be resisted in the strongest possible terms by capitalist powers. Therefore, for those of us who live in Capitalist countries, I think there is a very strong duty to aid any country where revolution is taking place or has recently taken place and to resist any efforts of our own country to impose sanctions, etc.

That said, those of us in “western” or wealthy countries have got used to depending on the resources of poorer countries- despite the fact that the empires of Europe are (largely) a thing of the past, countries still rely on system that is not so different to the colonial era. Some countries supply things to make other countries wealthier, whilst their own people suffer in poverty. This situation cannot be allowed to continue, and that is a problem that decentralized anarchist communities would have to grapple with. However, it may be, nonetheless possible for these communities to assist those in poorer communities and be repaid through a system of barter.

I do believe by the means I’ve described so far, most medication, and indeed most things considered essentials to wellbeing in modern life could be provided after the revolution, and in a better, fairer way than after capitalism.

However, perhaps we should talk about shortages. It’s true, shortages may exist. Capitalism is no protection against shortages- however, under capitalism, there is a mechanism of distribution during periods of shortage. Those that can pay the most get the item. When there is a shortage, prices rise, the rich pay, and the poor do without (or die).

Under an anarchist system, or an anarcho-communist one, at least, resources will be allocated according to need. Those who need the thing the most will get it. If there are lots of people in need, and not enough to go around, then a system of rationing may need to be implemented. Is this perfect? No. But is it fairer? Yes.

And during that rationing of that thing, people will at least be provided with the other things that can be provided- that is to say they won’t be selling all they own, or taking on excessive debt in order to try and get the thing. And they will know that people, very many people, are working together to try and get them the thing which they need.

I don’t believe it’s reasonable to hold any system set up in opposition to capitalism to the standard of perfection, certainly not in the immediate aftermath of revolution. The standard should be “significant improvement on capitalism for the majority of people” perhaps- and I believe fair provision of medicines without cost to the person who needs it is much fairer than current systems which exist in many so called “developed” countries, where people still die directly of poverty related causes, whilst the rich have so much surplus.

Taking the specific example of insulin to, perhaps, a worse case scenario, it is possible to obtain usable insulin from the pancreases of cows and pigs. Obviously this is very, very far from ideal, and would only need to be used in extremis, due to short term problems with production, but as an option it does exist. In examples that assume widespread destruction, this seems the most practical way of getting insulin to tide people over in the short term, whilst we rebuild. But as I say, such widespread destruction is not the aim of revolution, nor necessary to remove capitalism.

But the point is that for insulin, and most modern medicines that exist, the work of making them is not so different to working in a factory. There are lots of people who do it, lots of people who know how to do it, instructions held by companies on how to do it, facilities to do it or that can be adapted to it, and so doing it post revolution is not such a difficult problem.

The difficult work, for insulin, has already been done- that work is a) identifying the problem that causes the illness, b) finding a cure and c) finding a way to mass produce that cure.

On January 23rd, 1923 Banting, Best, and Collip were awarded the American patents for insulin. They sold the patent to the University of Toronto for $1 each. Banting said: “Insulin does not belong to me, it belongs to the world.” His desire was for everyone who needed access to it to have it.

Under capitalism, one will note that desire has not been met.

But this is not some esoteric knowledge known only to a few. It’s knowledge that is widely held, understood and accessible, and that post revolution can be taught to even more people. In the shortest term, immediately after the revolution, it’s possible that there may be some problems with the supply of some goods, and yes, that may include insulin. It’s most likely, that in the medium to longer term post revolution, the production of insulin would increase, and it would be more accessible, not less- because it wouldn’t be limited by patents, by private companies, there wouldn’t be the desire for profit making. There would be work involved in its production, but the work would be shared fairly, the workers would live in comparative security compared to today, and the products of that work would be shared fairly, according to need.

#anarchism #anarchocommunism #insulin #anarchy #anarchy essay #long post #kropotkin #inspired by kropotkin #politics #essay

122 notes · View notes

husbandohunter · 4 years ago

Text

Moments of Despair #1 [Genshin Impact/Diluc x Reader]

Synopsis: “The man who was on fire and realized it too late.”

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Albedo's despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death, graphic depictions of violence perhaps

(A/n): Had these ideas for a while after reading @/serensama To Mourn series of another fandom. So much sorrow and feeling I just was inspired to write 😫

_______________________________________________

The moment you fell lifeless in Diluc's arms, he wanted to disappear.

It was raining again, he had always despised the rain. How it trickles down the slope of your cheek, like tears falling from the heavens. The sight of it mixing with your blood creating a thin stream of red rivers flowing beside him. They patter down obnoxiously because time didn't care, the gods don't care, the world didn't care. You were just a small fragile person to their eyes but to him you were his light. A candle that used to shine in his dark world was now dissipitated by the waters of reality.

Many droplets have passed and he was still holding you. Diluc could do nothing but stare. He hadn't shed any tears nor could he make a coherent sound. Perhaps it was because his tears have long run out when his father was held in the very same way. Or it was because he was heartless. He's usually told for being cold and indifferent. But the pain clenching in his chest was proof that he still had one (proof that it was still beating), much to his dismay. It would be better if he didn't.

So why can't he just look away? Your wounds, your bruised features, everything now etched so deep into the back of his conciousness that is was starting to awaken his worst nightmares. They were the source of the bile growing in his stomach. The irony stench filling up his nostrils felt so sickening. He couldn't turn away. You're dead. You're dead. You're dead. As if reality had yet to register, or maybe he refused to accept it, Diluc helplessly gazed down your body with blank and empty eyes.

"Master Diluc..."

Jean's voice called out to him pitifully. He rises up with his back turned, ignoring the stares given to him, "Leave. The knights of favonius are not needed here."

"But she's a Mondstadt citizen," The anemo user retorts, slightly taken aback by his impassive reaction, "It's my responsibility to ensure this case doesn't go unnoticed."

Unnoticed. Diluc scoffs in his mind, what a tasteless joke.

"It seems you weren't listening," he announces as his head was turned ajar so they could see the deep hatred glowing red in his eyes, "Leave. Now."

Jean's lips trembled before barely being able to say, "Alright" and retreating her knights back to the city. Kaeya narrows his gaze at his bother, the sorrow was evident through his pupils. He steps forward until he was arms length away from his brother. Too little too late, another failure was added to the belt.

Kaeya was a man of many words but for once he was at loss of what to say. No underhanded suggestions, no ideas taunting him to spill his thoughts, he simply asks Diluc, "What are you planning to do now?"

Silence. Kaeya couldn't predict what sort of expression his brother was making as he looks at your corpse. It brought a heavy weight of unsettlement upon him and here he thought he had already grown used to his brother's quietness.

Slowly, he turns around while letting the water pour down his face. Kaeya tightens his jaw as Diluc drags his feet towards him, stopping when their shoulders were parallel, "It's none of your concern."

"You're just going to leave her here?"

There was a slight pause which was enough of an answer. The Cavalry Captain sighs when he watched him walk away, what was the point of asking when Kaeya knew Diluc so well? He glances at your form before swiftly shutting his eyes.

It was his concern.

-------

A week later, the staff of the Ragnvindr household could hardly recognize their Master's appearance. They knew not to bother him when he decides to lock himself in his chambers. Diluc drowns himself with work from hours to no end as he connects the findings of the person that took your life. As expected, it was one of his enemies- a fatui member. The question was, which one?

"Master Diluc, I beg of you, please take care of yourself," Elzer pleads.

The pyro user didn't bother to spare him a glance or look at the tray of food he carried.

Food...you always brought them whenever he had to work overtime.

"I do not remember specifiying anyone to be allowed in my office," he voices aloud, "If it's related to business affairs simply leave that with Adelinde and I'll take a look at it tomorrow."

"I understand. But you've been working all day and night yet refusing to take any breaks in between. At this rate, you'll harm your health."

The feather pen in his grip kept dragging it's course, "This is beyond the duties assigned to you Elzer."

"That's because it was a request sent by your father," he adds, knowing that stepping over his boundaries may cost him, "If Master Crepus was still here, I'm sure he would have said the same thing."

Taking a deep breath, Elzer lays out his last card, "And also your wife."

The pen slows into a halt.

No one had brought you up until now. Elzer anxiously watches his Master shifting in his seat, his red bangs covering half of his face but he could still see the frown pressing firmly on his lips. It wouldn't be a surprise if Diluc suddenly bursted at him for mentioning such a sensitive topic, all that matters was his master's well being and Elzer was willing to risk everything for it. But nothing. Diluc turns his attention ever so slightly at the tray he carried.

"Fine, but I'm not eating that."

"What? Wasn't this was her favourite-"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

Elzer furrows his brows before sighing, "...No, Master Diluc."

He exits the room while carrying the fresh dish of Once Upon A Mondstadt that you loved so much. The door closes with a soft click and he was alone again.

People found it strange how Diluc seemed so vacant to your passing. He didn't even show up at your funeral. Instead, he continues his duties as a Mondstadt nobleman like usual while taking care of business matters associated with the winery. Except those who were close to him could see the difference in his actions. Apathy, he was so mechanical in every task he did. Like a marionette attatched on strings, a doll without a soul. After all, his soul died the moment when yours did too. What remains was a shadow of Diluc and a being existing solely for revenge and duty. He was nothing but a remnant.

Fatigue begins to wash over him and he fights to stay awake. Because once he gives in it will all be over. Once he closes his eyes, he would see your face with a multitude of images from the past. He would hear your voice calling out his name from a distant space as it echoes off the walls of his mind. He would fall into a dream where you were still with him and as always, waking up to see that it was never real.

I should have pushed you away.

Because what hurt Diluc the most wasn't that you were gone, rather, it was how you were still here.

Then you'd still be-

Something breaks and it turned out to be the pen he was holding so tightly. Only now Diluc realized how fast his heart was thrumming as beads of sweat began rolling down his forehead. Focus. Don't waste time. He won't grant himself the liberty of anything when your murderer was still on the run. Every wound they inflicted on you was going to be returned in tenfold. He'll make sure of it. That's why, he refuses to think about you at all. Diluc occupies his mind with other matters since at this point, work was the only efficient method of keeping his sanity in tact.

She needs you to focus.

The door opens and Kaeya enters the room while holding a document, "We found the guy."

His reaction was immediate, "Where?"

"Hm, now that we meet, it's actually quite debateable," The captain notes wryly, "When was the last time you've gotten proper rest?"

"I don't have time for this, either you tell me or I'll do it by force."

Kaeya couldn't help but sigh, "Apologies but you don't seem to be in any state for a fight. I'm sure you know how it would end up if you were to face your enemy right now."

"..."

"Diluc, this isn't healthy," Kaeya asserts, it's been a while since he sounded so sincere, "I'm not here to prevent you from doing what's necessary however, perhaps it would be better if I finished it in your stead."

"No," Diluc stubbornly answers, "Hand that over."

"...Heh, then there's really nothing I can do to stop you it seems," he whispers with a sad smile, "At the very least, be careful."

"I intend to," The pyro user snatches the paper parchment out of Kaeya's hands before opening the window, "Also, if Elzer returns, tell him there's a few errands I have to take care of."

The night was a full moon and the sky was empty, Diluc leaps off the edge and disappears into the darkness. There was no telling of what could happen next. Since you weren't here, it was up to Kaeya to watch over him.

-------

The claymore dropped to the ground with a clang as it soaks up the blood of the fatui he just killed.

Diluc was tired, so tired.

He slumps down against the wall from pure exhaustion, all that adrenaline and hatred went up in fumes, leaving behind whatever was left in his heart: nothing. Two hours, not even that far from Mondstadt, the fatui hid in an abandoned building as he cowarded for his life. When Diluc arrived, he never expected this monster to be so weak. This was the person who murdered you? A pathetic nobody that was simply following orders? This was the reason why he lost you forever?

In the end, the only one to blame was himself, for being weak and unable to protect you. He was supposed to be your hero ("Darknight hero," you'd always tease), the rock that shields you just as you had been the warmth he longed for many years, did he give you enough? Was this enough? He thought avenging your death would grant him a peace of mind and the justice you deserved but deep down, he knew it will never be enough when it comes to his love for you.

"Diluc."

He closes his eyes, he hears your voice. He was so tired, it wouldn't be a surprise if he started hallucinating.

"Diluc."

"I'm sorry..."

The man lets out a trembled breath as he apologized to the image of you in his mind. I'm sorry I failed you. They were repeated like a mantra in hopes to reach you somehow. Of course that was impossible, his feelings, his emotions, love and sorrow altogether will never reach you again. And your arms that once comforted him and brushed his hair with a soothing voice, saying everything will be okay, where are they now?

"Diluc."

"Stop," he didn't want to hear your voice.

"Diluc, I'm here."

"Stop..."

"Diluc..."

He jolts his eyes open and lets out a yell, what was he saying? He doesn't know. All he needed now was to drown out the fake voices mocking in his head. Diluc grabs the nearest object and shatters it against the floor, the dam was broken and it flooded uncontrollably, breaking everything in it's way. The abandoned house was filled with loud cries of a man sobbing with agony like a broken-hearted child. He crumbles to his knees and falls to his side, lifting his forearms while clutching his face.

And screamed.

Archons, what did he do to deserve this? Why do the people he cherish get taken away from him? Diluc never wanted to be the Darknight hero if it meant having his father perish in his arms. He didn't want the feeling of stabs against his chest with every breath he took. He didn't want to feel cold while knowing it was because you weren't here to hold him. He didn't want your voice, your pictures or your memory.

He wanted you.

"(Y/n)..." he chokes. Rolling to his back, Diluc moves his arms to cover his eyes, letting the tears run down to his ears, "(Y/n)..."

For who knows how long, he lays there in the abandoned building and mourns. Diluc doesn't have the strength to move from his position, he found himself staring mindlessly through the cracks of the roof when his voice had gone hoarse. The corners of his eyes still burned and his head was throbbing with so much pain. Maybe he should just stay here but the thought of being in the same room as your murderer was unfathomable.

Picking up his claymore once again, Diluc drags himself out of the door. Where would he go? It's not like he had a home to return to because home was when he was with you. A doll without a soul, the marionette moves as if the strings have commanded him to do so. Where ever it takes him, he didn't care. He just knew he had to go.

1K notes · View notes

the-huntress · 4 years ago

Text

Little Moth - Chapter 4 - As The Snow Fell

[Thank you so much to everyone that has read, liked and re-blogged the chapters and master list of my fanfic so far, I really appreciate all the support!]

Masterlist

Y/N Protagonist, female. Reader X Karl Heisenberg. [18+]

Summary: You’ve barely even set foot into the village and have already had a taste of the unusual residents and otherworldly beings. Is there anyone that you can trust?

Trigger Warnings: Threat, theft.

Soundscape Ambience Suggestions:

Medieval Ruins Ambience

Quiet Tavern Ambience

[Photos are my own]

You woke with a start, the white canvas of the morning sky blinding you as a crow cawed from above. You cast you gaze about bleary eyed, taking in your surroundings. You were back at your camp, but mightily dishevelled, half your clothes on, half off, and various parts exposed to the elements. The last embers of the fire burned, soft wafts of smoke dying down.

What the hell happened last night? You wondered, casting your thoughts back and rubbing your face, feeling almost as if you had a hangover. Fixing your clothes, you turned your attention to your equipment and the camp. Anything that wasn’t necessary to have on you today you bagged back up into your luggage bag and pushed into the hollow of the tree that you had camped against; mostly some clothing, sleeping bag, tarpaulin… you paused as you got to the bow that the Duke had gifted to you, eyeing it up. As much as you felt safer with it, today you would have to try to be inconspicuous, and this weapon was not going to help with that. You stuffed it hastily as far bag into the hollow as you could, hooking it on a knot on the inside of the tree so that it hung safely, completely out of view, and then threw leaves over the bag.

The distance seemed shorter this time going towards the cliff edge that overlooked the village. You took out your binoculars from a pouch on your hip and got down onto your stomach to scout the area. From where you were you could easily see the castle with its spiky turrets in the distance, slightly shrouded by a fine mist at this hour. If it weren’t for the whole situation that you were in and the very obvious unease that this place was already causing you, you’d have maybe even called this gothic monster ‘beautiful’. Leading up to it were many small houses, each made slightly differently to the next, but somehow all similar. Some with thatched roofs, some tile, some metal. You were only at the brink of this village, but you could sense poverty from here, being used to living in a modern world and never feeling like you’d had to struggle too much for food or material needs. Your eyes were drawn to a route that should give you access easily into the village by way of going behind some of the closer buildings, and with a quick sweep, checking that no one was currently about, you decided to go now.

The village had a spattering of snow, less than a foot for sure, and for the most part it had been trodden down and thinned. Coming up to the first house you crouched down behind a small brick wall, which looked as though it had started to tumble over. Again, you couldn’t see anyone here, but you could definitely hear livestock; a pig and maybe some chickens. Peering over the top of the wall towards the house you noticed a washing line, its contents bouncing slowly in the slight breeze. There were yellowed white briefs, a petty coat, bonnets, a dress made out of material that looked itchier than it looked practical, and also a hooded cloak. You pondered for a moment if taking an entire line of clothes to disguise yourself was a good idea or not and then decided against it; you whipped the cloak down, it being very dull and drab in both colour and fabric, with no distinguishing features, and threw the large hood up over your head. It was big enough even to hide your eyes, the swells of fabric wrapping around your arms and body, providing more warmth as well as what you hoped would deter anyone from making too much notice of you. Your boots and trousers were visible, from the knee down, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Nearing the centre, you started to hear the sounds you’d expect to hear in a small village like this. The day was light enough to see everything clearly; a statue of a lady holding a sword and shield. Something about it sent a shiver down your back. It wasn’t that it looked creepy, it just felt… familiar somehow. This looked as though it was perhaps the centre of the village; a woman sat on a bench knitting, a couple of children played with a stick and hoop. That felt weird too. It was the turn of the millennium, and yet here children were playing with really outdated toys. A little way up you could see a hill rising with some gravestones dotted here and there to the left of it. Already you could feel the eyes of the children staring at you and the quiet clacking of the knitting needles had stopped. Keeping your head down, you carried on walking, your feet choosing to take you up the small hill, past the gravestones. You passed a strange wooden shine on your right, not daring to turn your head to look at the details right now, for you’d hoped that they people here might assume that you were one of them thus letting you become invisible. You’d had undercover jobs before that you’d excelled at, but things felt very different here. Every step you took made the feeling of foreboding grow stronger in you. Up ahead was a door depicting two characters, one looked like a woman, the other, you weren’t too sure, but it looked sturdy and as though it might lead to the great castle, so that didn’t seem like you’d be unnoticed if you tried that door. To the right a long alley way, but it looked to lead away from the village, and to the right again the iron gates into the grounds of a small church, with a bubble of people emerging from its doors now. Yes, you had to lay low and try not to turn heads, but you also needed information, maybe if you passed through this crowd as if you were going somewhere you could eavesdrop some clues.

You made your way over and saw a man dressed like a vicar of sorts standing at the church doors while the villagers left, his hands raised in the air and a grin on his face. His eyes were eerily shadowed with darkness, but this didn’t seem to deter his congregation.

“Thank you for coming to today’s assembly to pay our respects to our beloved saviour, Mother Miranda. Volunteers and the Heretic’s Judgement are to be held tomorrow at Mother’s church.”

Just then you accidentally bumped right into someone emerging from the crowd, the impact making you both exhaled audibly, and the villager dropping their item to the ground.

“I’m so sorry, are you ok?” You asked, seeing her face as she looked up to see whom she had bumped into. You mentally kicked yourself for being automatically nicely mannered when you could have just trundled past. Instead, you stopped to pick up what you saw now to be a small bouquet of flowers, seeing her smiling at you as you handed them to her.

“Oh yes, I’m quite alright.” She said warmly. She looked to be in her forties with grey blue eyes, mousy brown hair and bangs. “Are you?”

You were taken aback for a moment; you didn’t expect anyone to ask how you were. In all honesty you’d been better. “No damage done.” You smiled, making sure to pull the cloak over any item of clothing that might give you away for being from further afield than the next village or so. The church doors had closed, and the rest of the crowd had now disbanded into the rest of the village.

“You look to me like you could do with a hot meal and a warm bath. If you beg my pardon for saying so.” She took a step back and extended her hand. “I’m Luiza by the way.”

“Y/N.” You replied, shaking it. Is this a good idea? You asked yourself, but you couldn’t help but trust the woman.

“I was just about to lay these down in the cemetery, if you’d like to join me Y/N.” Luiza offered, indicating to the small bouquet. There was a look in her eyes, like she was trying to tell you something.

“Yes of course.”

The two of you made your way a little past the church and through some more iron gates, this time into a space that was on a slight slope with a couple of crypts and tombs. Checking around her to make sure that no one else was around, Luiza turned her eyes back to you slowly.

“You’re not from here.” She stated. You swallowed.

“No, I’m from the next town over, I’m passing through to –“

“Please. You’re not from here, your accent, your boots… but your eyes, your eyes are what really gave it away. If you’d ever lived near here, you’d never have the damn nerve to even come.” She waved a hand in the air, and yet looked remorsefully subdued. You didn’t quite know what to say.

You looked down to the ground, shame seeping in as if from the snow at your feet.

“I’m searching for a friend.” You said solemnly. “He’s here somewhere, at least, I think. I think that he came here on a lead; whether he’s here to help someone or it’s to do with something that concerns us… I’m not sure. But he’s been gone a while now, and I’d like to get him back home.” Saying it made it all the more real, and you could feel your throat growing tight. The whole time that you’d been speaking Luiza had listened intently, yet her face remained soft. Something twinkled in her pale eyes, a knowing.

“Do you have a picture, of your friend?” She asked.

“Yes.” You unzipped the RPD bag hanging at your side and carefully pulled the photo from the wallet inside. “His name is Leon, Leon Kennedy.” Luiza took the photo into her own hand carefully, studying it and then handed it back.

“You should come over for some dinner tonight Y/N. See that gate over there?” She pointed back towards the church but the opposite side from which you’d entered. “Through that gate, turn left and all the way up the hill. My husband and I are having goulash tonight, if that might tempt you.”

“With dumplings?”

“I can do them if you’d like.” She smiled, turning away to face a small gravestone. “Come after nightfall but be careful on your way.”

“I will.” You started heading back towards the church and then turned to ask, “Who is it? That you’re visiting I mean.”

“My daughter.” She replied.

You left Luiza at her daughter’s grave and felt your stomach rumble. The last 24 hours had been gruelling on your body, you were cramping with no pain relief, nor for your knee, which was already aching, a reminder of the stress you’d put it through the day before fighting that… beast, and then you remembered; the dream… what had happened? That was the same beast as the one you’d slain. But what, you’d resurrected it? You wondered what it meant, and then you started to recall what had happened after. Your cheeks burned red in an instant, spreading over your neck and ears. Confusion ultimately taking over. Well at least I’m warm now, you sneered at yourself, and then felt another rumble. I need food.

Luiza seemed like she could be a good ally to have here, and something told you that she recognised that picture of Leon; even if she was the only person that would help you out you felt happy that you had at least something potentially to go on. You headed back into the centre of the village, with the intention of heading back to your camp for another preserved snack and then it hit you; the smell of eggs and bacon. It was drifting up from somewhere a little way past the statue to the left and you followed it around without a care.

“The Fat Goose” The sign read above the door. It looked to be a small inn of sorts with a few townsfolk coming in and out, and in seemingly good spirits. You made sure that your hood was pulled back up over your eyes and made your way in. It was like many other humble pubs that you’d frequented here and there, mostly when visiting back home in England. A long bar at the back of the room, a door leading somewhere at the back, and the clientele sat hunched over round tables upon stools, leaning close to the fire, or shouting above one another at the bar itself. It wasn’t the busiest, but it seemed to be where the majority of the village had decided to spend their day if they did not have work to be done. You could see a couple of the villagers did indeed have meals here of all sorts; chicken, bread, cheese, and most importantly eggs and bacon. You could feel yourself salivating.

Keeping your head low you approached the barkeep, the Lei ready in your hand, and slid it across the surface towards him. “Eggs, bacon and ale, thank you.” You pushed your coin over to him. You’d been lucky, upon meeting the Duke he’d brought up local currency and exchanged what you’d made the mistake of purchasing at the airport.

The barkeeper was quietly suspicious, evident in the way that he eyed you up, taking a moment to pause cleaning the tankard in his hands to take the money and gave a nod back.

“We’ll bring it over to yer table.” He said, turning back to what he was doing. You chanced a glance around the room and decided to take a seat at a vacant table by the window. It felt like a safe spot; you could see the door and the bar, but you were also tucked into a corner out of the way, the only light cast by the fire on the other side of the room and a couple of candles over head in brackets.

The ale was with you in no time at all. You’d never actually drank ale before and weren’t expecting it to be the tastiest of drinks, but there wasn’t much choice here. The eggs and bacon shortly followed, filling the room with a smell that made you stomach growl again.

The door flew open and you suddenly noticed the difference between the warmth of the inn with the bite of the outside air. The chill swept into the pub with the figures of two men, both tall and brawny, but one much larger than the other. They seemed to be deep in conversation but trying to keep their voices to a murmur that they could only hear between themselves.

They were dressed similarly; the taller man’s clothes had more of a darker and subdued palette. He had a head of grey hair, and a beard to match, a broad forehead, kind eyes and a nose which looked as though it had been broken at least once. The shorter of the two, but by no means lacking in height had a similar long coat but in more earthy tones. His face was hidden by a dark brown leather hat of sorts, well-worn with a mess of dark hair streaked with grey. The other patrons went quiet as the men entered and then began nodding at them, some even tilting a hat, before going back to their business.

Something began stirring in your stomach and you looked down at your food, maybe the eggs were off? You looked up again, unconscious of being unable to stop watching them, or more specifically, the man with the hat. He definitely felt your gaze right at that moment as he slowly turned his face over his right shoulder to look at you from behind dark, circular shades hiding his eyes from view. Time seemed to stop. He was really looking, and you felt as though you were tumbling backwards down through the biggest chasm carved into the stars.

“Oh boy.” You breathed as the man suddenly turned his head back to reply to something that his towering friend had said, who in turn, then noticed you, glancing over his friend’s head. The feeling in your stomach had grown so intense that it felt as though it had now pummelled its way into your chest too. This felt like danger and sickness all wrapped into one. You had half a mind to leave now, but you knew that not only would that rouse more suspicion, you just also didn’t want to.

“Urias, Karl.” The bartender came over to the two men at the bar, “What can I get you?”

Sometime later a beautiful, red haired girl came to take your plate away. Despite being so hungry when you first came into the establishment, once the men had entered, you’d felt so nauseous that you’d barely been able to manage another bite. You tried to channel your thoughts, calm the storm in your stomach and ease your breathing. You were getting there, managing to ground yourself, but every few minutes your eyes were drawn back to that man, was he Urias or was he Karl? Which name suited him most? Urias sounded strong and noble, well he certainly looked strong. He pulled out a cigar and lit it, suddenly emitting raucous laughter from something that his friend said which shocked you out of your trance; and then he fell silent, starring at the other man so intensely that it scared you.

“You’re fucking kidding me?” He asked. The pub fell silent. You were so focused on the scene, as was everyone else that you neglected to notice the way your tankard had started to slowly drift up into the air along with everyone else’s.

“I’m sorry my friend, I am not. I am going to marry her.”

“God fucking damnit Urias!” He bellowed, slamming a fist down on the bar. Everything fell with a bang, ale sloshing over the tables and with that he stormed out of the pub. Urias rubbed a giant hand over his face, the skin gathering in mounds between each finger. The bartender brought over a new tankard, about three times the size of the regular ones and let it thud down in front of Urias.

“On the house, chief.”

Urias took it in his man-paw and without hesitation turned towards you, walking over.

“Are you going to tell me who you are then, fabled traveller. I can tell you come from very far away.” He sounded like how you imagined a talking bear to sound, deep and rumbly. He had a big, square chin, his jaw jutted out slightly, strong teeth, big lips and kind eyes. He poured a little of the ale from his giant vessel into your own, indicating for you to stay put. No one else in the pub seemed to be paying attention, at least not with their eyes, this man must have some hold or power over them.

“My name is Y/N, and I am looking for my friend.” You told him truthfully, face down, but eyes looking up at him. You were scared, for sure, but you wouldn’t let it show. You were here for a reason, you’d come this far, you weren’t going to leave without Leon, and you meant it. You slid the photo across the table to him and he took it tenderly, bringing it closer to his face, all that way up to take a look. He tilted his head to the side.

“Have you spoken to anyone else?” He asked, eyes flitting between you and the photo.

“One other.” You replied, not mentioning who.

“Y/A my name is Urias, as you might have heard my friend eloquently let the world know earlier. I am the chief of this village. My brother and I-“ He paused and looked down at his hands. “My brother and I came from a mountain clan, our blood line has been chief there for generations, but we wanted to see more of the world and make our mark, learn trades and earn our keep. We came to this village when we were both merely men grown, that was a long time ago now.” He had a faraway look in his eyes, turning now to look out of the window, it was already beginning to grow dark and a drift of snow had begun to descend once more. “We climbed the ranks here, doing what we could to help protect the village and its population…” He paused again in thought. “To help, however we could. It’s just me now, but I still want that, I still want to do what’s right for my people”

He took a deep drink from the tankard, which now that you were looking at it closely, looked more like a small barrel with a makeshift handle.

“Y/N I will help you however I can, but please understand this; this is no normal village, there are things at work here even I can’t quite explain. Tensions are very high, and an outsider coming in looking for a missing friend,” He tilted his head and gave a small chuckle, “Well, that’s not going to go down so well with some of the villagers, and especially not with the higher ups.”

“You mean Mother Miranda?” You asked bluntly. He swung his head to look you dead in the eyes.

“How do you know her name?”

“I did my research before I came; I don’t know much about her Urias, but I have a bad feeling about her.” Your cheeks burned from being so forward.

He laughed again, “You’re not the only one.” He muttered, casting you a careful sideways glance, taking you in some more. He looked like he was pondering or considering something. “There are a seldom few here that you can trust, so be careful. You can find me at my house, some of the folk they call it ‘the chief’s hut’, or else I’ll likely be here, at least for now.” His mind seemed to trail off somewhere else.

Noticing that night had indeed now fallen you bid your farewell and shook the giant’s paw and made your way outside into the chill of night, thankful for the stolen cloak wrapped around your frame.

You started around the side of the pub, back towards the route that would take you directly to Luiza’s house when something wrapped around your throat and shoved you against the wall. The breath was choked out of you upon impact and your hood fell, your hair falling down in-front of your eyes as you blinked them open, trying to see what had happened. Pain started spreading in your body; the cuts on your torso, your knee blazed and the cramps starting up again like knives. The thing around your throat was a hand, larger than your own but not huge, nails digging into your flesh.

You tried to say something, a warning a threat, but whoever it was, was closing your throat.

“Don’t pretend I didn’t see you making eyes at me in there darling,” A man’s voice drooled. “We don’t see tourists all too often around here, but I’m sure an outsider like you will be carrying something of value.”

You didn’t recognise the face in front of you at all. A man in his twenties, maybe, fairly non-descript with short mousey brown hair and some stubble. He absolutely reeked of alcohol. Your right hand shot instinctively towards your knife and he twisted your wrist anti-clockwise immediately disarming you, shoving you back against the wall with the force of his body and then reaching for any other weapons. Of course, he found the pistols, kicking one aside and holding the other to your temple.

“These will bring me a pretty Lei or two, I’m sure the Duke would be happy to pay me handsomely. What other souvenirs have you got under that cloak of yours?”

You scrabbled against his hands, trying to execute the self-defence you’d been taught for situations such as these. You tried to get to his weak points; wrist, elbow, knee, balls, but he had you at his mercy. The number of tight spots and situations you’d come up against in your time and you couldn’t do a damn thing if someone had you pinned when their strength was greater than your own. Your hands gripped against his arm, legs kicking.

“Hand it over and I won’t hurt you. Much.” He pressed the cold of your pistol harshly into the skin under your chin.

“No!” You rasped, suddenly being thrown down for a second but caught by something before you hit the ground. Strong, hot arms held you up from falling.

You dared to open your eyes, looking over the arm at the man’s fate. He was sprawled on the ground, blood gushing from his nose and mouth.

“Get the fuck out of here.” A voice rumbled from above you. You looked up. It was Karl. You winced again and the younger man tore off into the darkness without looking back. Your body trembled from pain, cold and something else.

You looked up again. Although you still couldn’t see his eyes you could see some sort of unearthly glow behind the glasses. His skin looked fairly tanned, smooth but worn, tired maybe, and small scars scattered here and there. You were still in his arms, entranced, and so warm.

“Thank you.” You breathed. He swallowed hard and blinked, turning his face away from you, he let his arms drop now that you were on your feet, but you were still close against his body, which now felt so tense. Was he shaking?

“Go.” He exhaled. You faltered, putting a hand to his arm, he flinched, his breathing deepened. “Please.” He shut his eyes. What was this man fighting?

You gulped, stepping back, not understanding, pulling your cloak around you, and stooping to retrieve your weapons.

“Karl, Y/N what’s going on?” Urias lurched out of the pub doors, “What was that commotion?”

A couple of moments passed where you were staring at Urias, holding your cloak to you and expecting Karl to answer, but nothing happened. You turned around to look at Karl, but he wasn’t there.

Urias offered to escort you himself to Luiza’s from there. You told him what happened and although he was furious at what had happened, swearing he’d try to find the culprit and have them punished; he did not seem surprised by Karl’s sudden disappearance. To say you were shaken up was an understatement, but you at least felt safer being with this humungous man of the mountains as you made your way through the snowy night.

Song Suggestion: ‘Stumble and Pain’ by Joseph Arthur

#Karl Heisenberg #karl heisenberg fanfic #karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg fluff #karl heisenberg smut #resident evil #resident evil fanfic #resident evil smut #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil heisenberg #resident evil karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x you #resident evil urias #resident evil luiza

52 notes · View notes

that-peach-anon · 4 years ago

Text

Did no one say Sam and Max coraline au? Ahaha i wrote for it anyways (:

Almost 3000 words of Geek angst because i adore her character kahshdkshs

This was written based on @lesbialien 's coraline au and i hope y'all enjoy it!

---

Geek had never been one to depend on others. She had grown up in the basement after all, and being a kid genius, she knew how to take care of anything necessary for survival.

Not that she had been taken care of before. Not many people are interested in adopting the kid that was busier studying bugs' corpses rather than playing dolls with her peers. But that was okay too. She'd much rather be left in the orphanage where there were no parents to smother her and distract her from her studies, she was a person of science after all.

And then came Sam and Max. A duo that called themselves “freelance police" but had much too twisted morals and messed up ethics to be considered any sort of responsible and trustworthy employees. And that was okay. Geek didn’t have that many worries about ethics and morals, after all, to learn things, sometimes morals and ethics get in the way. If she had been adopted by normal people, they would have insisted for her to stop with the dissections and chemically hazardous experiments because that's “not for kids", and that would have been awful. But no, Sam and Max didn't care about that, in fact, most of the times they were the ones in danger, where Max would eat dead animals or consume poisonous chemicals, and Sam would just laugh it off and never get angry at Geek for them allowing Max to do so.

And that made sense. They weren't her parents, so why should they berate her for doing whatever she wanted. She more or less worked for them, only seeing them every few times that they needed some wacky gadget for another case. And that was totally fine with geek. Yeah. They didn’t care if Sam and Max were always busy, they were just her employers, more or less. So it was fine that they didn't spend that much time with the duo, she was only there to make stuff for them, and that was okay. Or at least she liked to pretend so.

But then something changed. One day, the rabbit and dog approached her looking rather embarrassed, which wasn't common for them, and asked to talk to her. That had triggered some alarms. They never were serious or mature enough to have talks instead of just being ignorant to everything, so this meant they were about to do something drastic that involved her. And that wasn't bad, per say. They were glad to finally be able to spend some time with the two, but she wasn't sure if this was going to be time spent doing something enjoyable.

Maybe they had decided that her services were no longer necessary? Or they had found another child genius that was happier and more energetic than Geek will ever be, and they were about to trade her for them? The possibilities were endless. But nothing had prepared them for what truly happened.

Across from them sat a beaming Sam and Max, signed adoption papers on top of the table that stood between them. Adoption papers for them. They had adopted Geek. They were her parents. This wasn't really what she expected out of all the unpredictable things they could do.

“You two… adopted me?” Her voice had been quieter than she wanted it to be, barely able to fight back the nausea slowly crawling up their throat. “Officially? As in, legally?”

“Well, yes.” Sam looked rather calm for what was supposed to be a tremendous occasion for her. “Me and Max were talking during a case and we thought it would be a good idea to adopt you, so we did.”

“Plus, the orphanage was being annoying as hell and kept bothering us about if we were gonna adopt you or else you had to go back!” Max added, apparently picking something off the sharp blades he had as teeth. “And we don't wanna look for a replacement, so this was the least troublesome thing we could do.”

If she didn't know Max better, they would think he didn't care at all, but she could see how his left foot was bouncing in place, a nervous stim he had whenever he was anxious. Max always had a soft spot for kids, so she knew he was just trying to look calm while he panicked on the inside.

“Am… am I supposed to call you two dad and father from now on?” She asked, bunching the end of her skirt in one hand.

“Do whatever you want, kid.” Max answered dismissively, Geek ignoring the way he had one of his hands holding Sam's, another telltale sign of nervousness from him. “We don't care.”

“Okay.” Their usually strong voice was now soft, barely leaving their tongue as it weighed down like lead. “I'm going back to the basement if you don't mind.”

“We'll be here if you need to talk, alright, kiddo?” Sam had asked, already stretching as he got up from the chair. Geek had done nothing more than give a dismissive hum, already having their mind in a turmoil, thoughts thrashing around like a hurricane, making her head spin and stomach tighten.

That conversation had happened a few days ago, already just a sour memory she kept repeating in their head as her thoughts bothered and invaded her mind. Not much had changed noticeably. Now they would sometimes check up on her before grabbing a gadget and leaving, or tell her about a case before already going to another, leaving her alone for hours on end. Now Sam used more nicknames like kiddo and champ, and Max had taken to calling them kid instead of Geek. And that wasn't bad, Geek just couldn't bring herself to act with them as if everything was fine and nothing changed.

Were they going to stop her from doing her experiments because it was too dangerous and they had to make sure she stayed alive? Would they not let her do anything dangerous in case she could get hurt? Or maybe they would try putting her in school, even if she had already attended college at this point. Or they'd simply stop her from being herself and make them act like a normal child.

That would be way out of character for Sam and Max, but maybe this wasn't something she was scared of, but rather something she hoped for? Perhaps she longed for the two of them to worry about her and care about her instead of only herself being the only one that actually cares about what happens to them. Maybe she wanted a break from having to take care of herself while still a child and have someone else be the one caring for her.

But she couldn't ask that from Sam and Max, they had reckless personalities. They only really showed direct worry when something truly bad happened, like when one of the duo went missing and the other went mad trying to find them. To be honest, she didn't think they truly had showed any direct worry. Whenever they asked about how she felt they always dismissed her answer because they were more entertained by something else. They truly did try to care for them, but the two of them just weren't used to not being in tune with someone's feelings like they were with each other’s. She doesn't remember the last time one of them had to ask the other how they felt, they just usually knew.

She knew they didn't do it out of malice, they just didn't really know how to communicate. The two had never been the most in tune with feelings, barely acknowledging their own in favor of living a blissfully ignorant life. Their attempts at “parenting" Geek never quite worked out. She supposes it’s because they don't really know how to take care of something that has the capability of human thought. The most difficult thing the two had truly raised up until now was a crocodile, and he had had to be left in someone else's care in the end, so maybe it didn't count. But they tried, or at least tried to try.

The blame couldn't be placed only on the two, though. Geek's internal conflict also served as an incredibly unhelpful existence. While she did long for this whole family thing to be normal, it never did feel quite right. She felt like an intruder in the dynamic of the duo, like her only reason to interact with them was to provide a place where their gadgets came from. They felt… like a side-character, like someone who didn't belong. Maybe Sam and Max forgot about her whenever they weren't talking to her directly. I mean, the two barely knew she existed half of the time, so it was a possibility.

Anyway. So, listening wasn't their strong suit. But that's okay, at least they cared to ask, even if it did upset Geek when they found out none of them had truly listened. But that was alright, she could deal with being ignored, she already lived with that for 13 years. It was fine. She could just care for herself.

Which, wasn't something she was currently doing while dissecting a bass. In fact, she was so lost in thought, reminiscing over the words that kept playing in her head, that they had no time to notice as the scalpel slid and cut open a gash in their palm.

“Ow! Goddamn it!” They shouted in pain, the cutting tool falling on the tray next to her, letting out a loud bang as metal met metal.

Using a nearby tissue, she pressed it against the palm, grumbling at how much blood was seeping out and how annoying it would be when trying to move their hand. It was a bit deep; she probably would have needed to bandage it up but that was fine. They had created a gadget meant to cauterize wounds, so it would be healed pretty quickly.

Rummaging through the gadgets in their desk, she ignored the blood dripping and staining the tiles beneath her feet, sighing loudly when they remembered where the gadget was.

Max had taken it a few days ago to test his theory. The gadget looked like a simple butter knife, but it heated up dangerously, so the lagomorph had wanted to see if by stabbing someone with it, the wound would cauterize and it would be a good torture method. She hadn't been able to get in a word before Max had run away with it, a manic smile already on his face.

And just like with all the other gadgets they got from her that they didn’t end up destroying, it was most probably thrown half-hazardly into their closet, added to the junk pile they had, ranging from memoirs from their cases to just random crap they found and decided to keep.

Arriving to the office, she opened the door with her elbow, already prepared to apologize for all the blood falling from her hand, but just like every time Sam and Max left for a case, the office was empty, the only noise coming from the still on ceiling fan. Closing the door with their back, Geek looked around to examine the room, cringing at how everything was either littered with bullet holes or just plain destroyed.

Opening the closet with her foot, she pulled on the string that hung from the ceiling, closing her eyes as the artificial yellow light invaded their vision, fluorescent shine illuminating the room. Blinking to adjust, she stepped further in, eyes jumping around to try and spot the object she was searching for. Where would a gadget hide in such a messy-

The object she was looking for fell in front of her, startling them as it rolled away a bit. Sighing, she knelt down to grab it, eyes snapping up as she realized that before her stood a small purple door with a gold doorknob. It was one of the memoirs from a case that Sam and Max had gone on, a fight against a gigantic banana slug in a mostly inhabited building. In the end, the owner of the building, a nice woman named Coraline, had decided to destroy the place, claiming it had too many child disappearances and was no longer safe. Since the slug had left nothing, they both stole a door that was in the wreckage, just chucking it into the closet and forgetting about it.

But now, instead of being fallen as it had been before, it was vertical, attached to the wall, with a dim blue light coming from beneath it. Geek had seen stranger things in her life, so they simply shrugged it off and turned to leave.

“Geek.”

Freezing in place, she turned around as a lulling voice came from the door. How did it know their name? Putting the gadget down, seeing as the wound had already stopped bleeding, she stepped closer, already grabbing the knob to slowly pry the door open, tilting their head as inside there was only a long blue tunnel, similar to those fabric tubes cats and young babies played in.

This was new. It definitely wasn't her making, and Sam and Max aren't smart enough to make a whole dimensional portal, so this wasn't part of their knowledge. Crouching down, she started crawling through the tunnel, only looking back when the door clicked in place as it closed by itself. At the other end was a door almost identical to the one she had gone through, except this one held what looked to be like claw marks.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed it open, sighing in disappointment as it led back to the office. Stepping out, she gasped as they realized that Sam and Max were there now, both looking to their respective tasks as they worked away, Sam typing while Max carved something onto his desk. Above them hung a “welcome home, Geek!” poster, slightly crooked to the left as it held on by two thin nails, one in each of the top corner.

Hearing the door close behind her with a slam, both Sam and Max turn to her, Geek immediately turning around to look at the small, purple, closed, door.

“Geek! Where were you? We were worried sick! We were waiting for you to tell us about your gadget you're making but we couldn't find you anywhere!” Sam spoke, stopping his typing as he pushed the chair away from his table, already standing up to greet her.

“Yeah, I wanna know if I can kill someone with it!” Max shouted, jumping up from his chair as he tried scrambling after Sam, in a spider like way, crawling onto his shoulder.

“Sorry about disappearing, I was just going through that door in the closet.” She explained, turning back around and looking down at their feet. “I'm sorry.”

“That's okay, kiddo! Just tell us next time so we don't worry so much.” Sam ruffled her hair as he spoke, Max jumping down from where he had perched himself to hug Geek, making her tense up.

“Yeah, we missed you lots!” Max spoke, seeming not caring about how tense Geek was in his arms, or the way she was barely breathing.

Looking up at Sam, she let out a shout of surprise as they spotted the black buttons that substituted his eyes. Pushing away from Max, she stepped back, looking at him in horror to find Max, too, had button eyes.

“What's wrong, kid?” Max asked, tilting his head at them. “Got something in my teeth?”

“You're not Sam and Max.” She affirmed, backing away and already grabbing the doorknob once again.

“Well, of course not! We're Other Sam and Other Max!” The tall dog replied in a duh tone, as if it was obvious. “We're just like them, except better in every way! Now come on, tell us about the gadget.”

“Okay.” Even when talking only to what seemed to be imitations of Sam and Max, she couldn't bring herself too not be polite. Kids were supposed to obey their parents, according to all the movies and series she watched as a way to know how children normally behave. “It's a neutron destabilizer-"

“Ooooh, neutron destabilizer, huh? Sounds fun!” Max exclaimed, hanging off of one of Sam's shoulders, smiling.

“Do you even know what neutrons are?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“It's a part of the atom just like electrons and protons and all that sciency stuff.” He waved her off, and if he had actual eyes, she was sure he'd be rolling them.

“Yeah… anyway, I think the name is pretty self-explanatory so you must know what it does and-"

“But how does it work?” Sam interrupted, leaning back against his desk.

“You… actually want to know?”

“Of course, we like hearing about your day!”

“Oh.” She absent mindedly let go of the door, giving her full attention to them. “Well, it works by-"

And this was how she spent the rest of the evening. And sure, this Sam and Max weren't the real ones, but it actually felt nice to be heard once. Besides, they didn't seem to be hostile, so it didn't look as if they would be dangerous. So yeah, they did end up convincing them of sitting down to talk about other projects, but it was okay. It's not like she was going back. Visiting them was a one-time thing, right?

#sam and max #sam and max freelance husbands #sam and max freelance police #darla gugenheek #samandmax

36 notes · View notes

itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

Text

RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Dark”

Welcome back, everyone! Can you believe it's been six weeks already? I can't. Something something the uncomfortable passage of time during a pandemic as emphasized by a web-series.

But we're here to talk about RWBY the fictional story, not RWBY the cultural icon. At least, we will in a moment. First, I'd like to acknowledge that shaky line between the two, growing blurrier with every volume. A sort of good news, bad news situation.

The bad news — to get that out of the way — is that we cannot easily separate RWBY from its authors and those authors have, sadly, been drawing a lot of negative attention as of late. This isn't anything new, not at all, but I think the unexpectedly long hiatus gave a lot of fans (myself included) the chance to think about Rooster Teeth's failings without getting distracted by their biggest and brightest production. There's a laundry list of problems here — everything from the behavior of voice actors to the quality of their merch — but as a sort of summary issue, I'd like to highlight the reviews that continue to pop up on websites like Glassdoor, detailing the toxic, sexist, crunch-obsessed environment that RT employees are forced to work in. A lot of these websites requires a login to read more than a page of reviews, but you can check out a Twitter thread about it here.

Now, I want to be clear: I'm not bringing this up as a way to shame anyone enjoying RWBY. This isn't a simplistic claim of, "The authors are Problematic™ and therefore you can't like the stuff they produce." Nor is this meant to be a catch-all excuse for RWBY's problems. If it were, I'd have dropped these recaps years ago. I'm of the belief that audiences maintain the right to both praise and criticize the work they're given, regardless of the context in which that work was produced. At the end of the day, RT has presented RWBY as a finished product and, more than that, presents it as an excellent product, one worth both our emotional investment and our money (whether in the form of paying for a First account, or encouraging us to buy merch, attend cons, etc.) I'll continue to critique RWBY as needed, but I a) wanted fans to be at least peripherally aware of these issues and b) clarify that my use of "RT" in statements like, "I can't believe RT is screwing up this badly" is meant to be a broad, nebulas acknowledgement that someone in the company is screwing up, either creatively (doesn't have the skill to write a good scene) or morally (hasn't created an environment in which other creators are capable of crafting a good scene). The real, inner workings of such companies are mostly a secret to their audiences and thus it's near impossible for someone like me — random fan writing these for fun as a casual side hobby — to accurately point fingers. Hence, broad "RT." I just wanted to clarify that when I use this it's as a necessary placeholder for whoever is actually responsible, not a damnation of the overworked animator breaking down in a bathroom. Heavy stuff, but I thought it was necessary (or at least worthwhile) to acknowledge this issue as we head into the second half of the volume.

Now for the good news: RWBY has reached 100 episodes! For any who may not know, 100 is a pretty significant number in the TV world because, when talking about prime time programming, it guarantees syndicated reruns. Basically, networks don't want audiences to get burned out with a show — changing the channel when it comes on because ugh, I've seen this already, recently too — and 100 episodes allows for a roughly five month run without any repeats, making it very profitable. RWBY is obviously not a television show and doesn't benefit from any of this (hell, modern television doesn't benefit from this as much as it used to, not in the age of streaming), but the 100 episode threshold is still ingrained in American culture. Beyond just being a nice, rounded number, it is historically a measure of huge success and I can't imagine that RT isn't aware of that. Regardless of what we think of RWBY's current quality, this is one hell of a milestone and should be applauded.

All that being said... RWBY's quality is definitely still lacking lol.

Our 100th episode is titled "Dark" — keeping with the one word titles, then — and I'd like to emphasize that, as a 100th episode, it definitely delivers in terms of plot. There's plenty of action, important character beats, and at least one major reveal, everything we'd expect from a milestone and a Part II premiere. The animation also continues to be noteworthy for its beauty, as I found myself admiring many of the screenshots I took for this recap. There are certainly things to praise. The only problem (one we're all familiar with by now) is that these small successes are situated within a narrative that's otherwise falling apart. It's all good stuff... provided you ignore literally everything else surrounding it.

But let's dive into some examples. We open on Qrow starting, awoken by the thunder outside. Robyn has been watching him and makes a peppy comment about how none of them will be sleeping tonight, followed by a more serious, "Sounds bad out there." Yeah, it does sound bad, especially when they all know — thanks to Ruby's message back in Volume 7 — that this is due to Salem's arrival. I think a lot of the fandom has forgotten that little detail because people often discuss Qrow as if he is entirely ignorant of what is going on outside his cell. Even if we were to assume that he's forgotten all about the pesky Salem issue (the horror of Clover's death overriding everything else, perhaps) he still knows that Tyrian is running loose in a heat-less city with a creepy storm going on and, from his perspective, the Very Evil Ironwood is still running the show. So it's bad, which begs the question of why Qrow (and Robyn, for that matter) hasn't displayed an ounce of legitimate worry for everyone he knows out there. Thus far, their interactions have centered entirely around Qrow's misplaced blame and Robyn's terrible attempts to lighten the mood, despite the fact that a war is raging right beyond that wall. It's another example of RWBY's inability to manage tone properly, to say nothing of balancing the multiple concerns any one character should be trying to juggle. Just as it rankles that Ruby and Yang don't seem to care about what has happened to their uncle, Qrow likewise doesn't seem to care about what might be happening to his nieces. When did we reach a point where these relationships are so broken that someone can be arrested/chucked into a deadly battle and the others just... ignore that?

So Robyn's otherwise innocuous comment immediately reminds me of how badly the narrative has treated these conflicts and, sadly, things don't improve much from here. We are thankfully spared more of Robyn's jokes when Qrow realizes that what he's hearing can't be thunder. A second later, Cinder blasts through the wall — called it! — and Qrow instinctively transforms.

The only downside to this moment is that the whole ceiling falls down on Qrow and the others because APPARENTLY these cells don't have tops on them. Seriously. As far as I can recall we don't see the stone breaking through the forcefield somehow and this looks pretty open to me.

If it is... you're telling me these crazy powerful fighters who practice landing strategies and leap tall buildings in a single bound —

— can't just hop over this mildly high electric fence to get out? Qrow can't just fly away?

We're, like, two minutes in, folks.

We transfer to Nora's perspective as she wakes up, seeing Klein giving her the IV. He tells her not to worry, that "you and your friend are going to be just fine." What friend? Penny? Klein went upstairs prior to Weiss hugging Whitley or Penny crash landing outside. I had thought them bursting through the door with another unconscious friend was the first time he learned what the big bang outside was, but apparently not.

Penny is, obviously, a mess. While I now understand the choice to make her blood such an eye-catching color when that's crucial to the Hound's hunt, I still think it looks strange visually. Like someone has taken a copy of RWBY and painted over it. It doesn't look like it fits the art style. More than that, it implies some rather complicated things about Penny's humanity, especially in a volume focused around her being a "real girl." Real enough for Maiden powers, but with obviously inhuman blood that isn't even referred to as "bleeding." Penny "leaks" instead.

Toss in the fact that she's literally an android who is made up of tech — recall the running gags about her being heavy, or it hurts to fist-bump her, to say nothing of keeping things like multiple blades inside her body — yet Klein says that her "basic anatomy" is the same and he can "stitch up that wound."

I'm sorry, what? Whatever Penny looks like on the inside, it's not going to resemble a human woman's anatomy, and Klein might be able to stitch the outer layer of skin she's got, but that won't do anything to fix whatever metal bits have been broken underneath. Penny isn't a human-robot hybrid, she's a robot with an aura. Penny has knives in her back, rockets in her feet, and a super computer behind her eyes. When our clip introduced that Klein would be the one to help Penny, my initial reaction was, "Seriously? He's a butler and a doctor and an engineer?" But RWBY didn't even try to get away with a Super Klein explanation, they just waved away Penny's very obvious, inhuman anatomy. Yeah, I'm sure "stitching up" an android wound is just like giving Nora her IV. I hope the surgical sutures he used are extra strong!

In an effort to not entirely drag this episode, I do appreciate that Whitley is allowed an "ugh" moment about the non-blood covering his shirt without anyone calling him out on it. That felt like the sort of thing the show would usually try to make a character feel guilty about and I'm glad that, for once, he was just allowed to be frustrated without comment.

Then the power goes out and May calls, which raises questions about what state the CCTS is in and when scrolls are available to our protagonists vs. when they're not. But whatever. She's checking in because she just "saw another bombing run light up the Kingdom" and —

Wait. Bombing? Salem is bombing the city? I know we've seen explosions in the sky, but I'd always just attributed that to evil aesthetic. Why does this dialogue sound like it's from a World War II film and not a fantasy sci-fi show about literal monsters launching a ground attack?

May looks pretty against the sky though. I like her hair color against that purple.

I'm admittedly grasping at positives here because we finally return to her "You have to choose" ultimatum and — surprise! — May has pulled back completely. Ruby says that once they've helped Penny, "We'll...we'll do something!" which is once again her avoiding making a decision. Ruby still refuses to choose, instead falling back on generic, optimistic pep talks. They'll figure out how to stop Salem later. They'll think about the impact of telling the world later. They'll choose who to help later. Ruby keeps pushing these problems into the future where, she hopes, a perfect, magical solution will have appeared for her to latch onto. When that continues to not happen, others pressuring her to actually do something and stop waiting for perfection — Ironwood, Yang, May — she panics and continues stalling for time. Wait an episode and the narrative supports her in this.

Because initially May was forcing Ruby to decide. Now, May enables her desire to keep putting things off. "Don't beat yourself up, kid. At this point, I don't know how much is left to be done." That's the exact opposite of what May believed last episode, that there was still so much work and good to do for the people of Mantle. This is precisely what the show did with Yang and Ren's scenes too, having people call Ruby out... but then return to a message of, 'Don't worry, you're actually doing just fine' before Ruby is forced to actually change.

None of which even touches on May calling her "kid" in this moment. That continues to be a convenient way of absolving Ruby of any responsibility. When she wants to steal airships or Amity Tower, she's an adult everyone should listen to, the leader of this war. When the story wants to absolve her of previously mentioned flaws, she becomes a kid who shouldn't "beat herself up." I said years ago that RWBY couldn't continue to let the group be both children and adults simultaneously, yet here we are.

So that was a thoroughly disappointing scene. Ruby gets her moment to look sad and defeated, listing "the grimm, the crater, Nora, Penny" as problems she doesn't know how to solve. Note that 'Immortal witch attacking the city I've helped trap here' isn't included in that list. Ruby is still ignoring Salem herself and no one in the group is picking up where May left off, challenging her to do more than wring her hands over things others are already trying to take care of: Ironwood is fighting the grimm, May has gone off to help the crater, Klein is patching up Nora and Penny. Ruby, as one flawed individual, should not be expected to come up with a solution to everything, but she does need to stop acting like she can come up with a solution to everything when it matters most (office scene) and rejecting others' solutions when they ask for her help (Ironwood, May).

If it feels like I'm dragging the flawed, traumatized teenager too much, it's not in an effort to ignore those aspects of her identity. Rather, it's because she's also the licensed huntress who wrested control from a world leader and violently demanded she be put in charge of this battle. Ruby, by her own actions, is now responsible for dealing with these problems, or admitting she was wrong and letting others take the lead, without purposefully derailing their plans. She doesn't get to suddenly go, "I don't know," cry a little, and get sympathetic pats.

But of course that's precisely what happens, courtesy of Weiss.

During this whole scene I kept wondering why no one was celebrating Nora waking up, especially when Ruby outright mentions her. Have they just not noticed given all the Penny drama? Because Nora absolutely woke up.

Aaaand went back to sleep, I guess. What was the point of that POV shot? No worries though, she'll wake up again in a minute.

Willow arrives and announces that they can fix the power (and Penny) using the generator at the edge of the property. I'm convinced RT doesn't actually know what a generator is because the characters are acting like it's some super special device that only richy-rich could possibly have. Whitley says that it's the SDC executives who have their "own power supply" and that it's "extremely unfair." Now, don't get me wrong, a good generator powering large portions of your house can run you 30k+, but you can also get one that plugs into your extension cord and powers your fridge for a couple hundred. There's absolutely a class issue here, just not the one Whitley and Weiss seem to be commenting on. They make a generator sound like the sort of device that only a politician-CEO could possible have and it's weird.

Likely, it sounds weird because it's a choppy way of getting Whitley to bring up the wealth disparity so he can then go, 'That's right! We're crazy rich with a company housing tons of ships! We can use those to evacuate Mantle.' Awkwardness aside, I do like that the Schnee wealth is being used for good purposes, but... evacuate where? To the city currently under attack by a giant whale? In a RWBY that wasn't determined to demonize Ironwood, this would have been a great plot point during the office scene instead, with Weiss offering her services to Ironwood, even if the group decides that a continued evacuation still isn't possible.

Instead, we get it here from Whitley. Do I need to point out the obvious? That Whitley is the MVP of this episode? He's done more good in an HOUR than the group has managed in a year. Give this kid some training and make him a huntsmen instead.

We're given a (very pretty!) shot of the shattered moon because it wouldn't be RWBY if we weren't continually reminded that gods once wiped out humanity before destroying part of a celestial body... and absolutely no one talks about that lol.

Blake's coat might not make any sense for her color scheme, but it does make her easy to spot as she and Ruby run across the grounds. Oh my god, they're actually doing something together! It only took eight years. They even get a lovely talk where Blake admits how much she looks up to Ruby, despite her being younger, and once again I'm struck at how much more I would have loved this scene if it had appeared elsewhere in the series. It is, indeed, as sweet and emotional as all the RWBY GIF-ers are claiming... provided you overlook that this is the exact opposite of what Ruby needs to hear right now. She doesn't need to hear that she's more mature and reliable than her elders when she's functioning under a "We don't need adults" mentality. She doesn't need to hear that not knowing what to do is totally fine, not when that led to her turning on Ironwood, despite not knowing how to stop Salem. She doesn't need to hear that "doing something" — doing anything — is a strength, because Ruby keeps avoiding the big problems for smaller ones she's comfortable with, like standing by Penny's bedside instead of deciding between Mantle and Atlas. Blake's speech is heartfelt, but it's a speech that suits a Beacon days Ruby who is having some doubts about her leadership skills, not the girl whose impulsive — and now lack of — actions is having world-wide repercussions. Everyone is babying Ruby to a staggering degree. It's like if we had a med show where the doctor is standing by the bedside of a coding patient, fretting between two treatments. 'Don't worry,' their colleague says, patting their shoulder. 'I've always looked up to you. You'll do something when you're ready' and then they continue to watch the patient, you know, die.

Also: who does Ruby look up to? Everyone talks about how much they depend on and trust Ruby, but who does Ruby look to for guidance? A number of her problems stem from the fact that she has rejected the advice of everyone who has tried to help her improve: Qrow, Ozpin, Ironwood, even Yang. Ruby is presented as the pinnacle of what to strive for in a leader, rather than a leader who has only been doing this for two years and still has a great deal to learn.

Anyway, they get the generator on and the Hound shows up.

I am begging RT to just make RWBY a horror story. All their best scenes the last three years have been horror I am bEGGING —

Anyway, while Ruby waits to be eaten we cut to Willow and Klein, the former of which is reaching for her bottle, pulling back, reaching again, all while her hand shakes. This is good. This is what we should have gotten with Qrow. Which isn't to say that their (or anyone's) addiction should be identical, but rather that this is a far more engaging and complex look at addiction than what our birb got. Willow tells us that she doesn't drink in the dark despite bringing the bottle with her; tries to resist drinking when she's scared and ultimately fails. Qrow just decided to stop drinking after decades of addiction, seemingly for no reason, and that was that. Why is a side character we only met this volume written better than one of the main cast?

Blake manages to call Weiss about the Hound and she asks if Whitley can handle the airships without her. I mean, I assume so given that Weiss is looking at the bookshelves while Whitley does all the work lol. He makes a teasing comment about how he can if she can handle that grimm and she comments that they still need to work on his "attitude."

No they don't. Weiss stuck a weapon in her kid brother's face. Whitley made a joke. Even if Weiss' comment is likewise meant to be read as teasing, it's clear that we've bypassed any meaningful conversation between them. That hug was supposed to be a Fix Everything moment even though, as I've laid out elsewhere, it didn't even come close.

We cut back to Ruby getting thrown through a wall into the backyard and the Hound creepily coming after her. She's freaked out by this clearly abnormal grimm and Blake is weirdly... not? "It's just a grimm. Just focus!" Uh, it's obviously not. Have we reached the traumatized, sleep-deprived point where the group is sinking into full-blown denial? I wouldn't be surprised. They've been awake for like... 40+ hours.

Because the Hound knocks Ruby out with a single hit. Just, bam, she's down. "Focusing" is not the solution here.

Weiss calls to warn the others about the grimm, telling them to stick together. Willow (understandably) starts freaking out and flees the room (classic horror trope!). Klein is left alone when Penny wakes up with red eyes. Oh no!

Don't worry. You know nothing meaningful happens.

She shoves Klein before (somehow?) resisting the hack, her Maiden powers going wild in the process. Just when it looks as if Penny might cause some serious damage, Nora wakes up, takes her hand, and says, I kid you not:

"Hey... no one is going to make you do anything you don't want to do... It's just a part of you. Don't forget about the rest."

Okay. I want to re-emphasize that I love hopeful, uplifting, victory-won-through-the-power-of-love stories. Istg I'm not dead inside, it's just that RWBY does this so badly. I mean, what is this? It has similarities to the character shouting, 'No! Resist!' to their mind-controlled ally, but this is not presented as a desperate, last-ditch effort by Nora. She just speaks like this is the most obvious truth in the world. If you don't want to have your mind taken over... just don't! It's that simple. The problem definitely isn't that Watts has changed her coding and has implemented a command she can't override, it's that Penny has forgotten about the "rest" of her personhood.

And this works. Granted, not for long, but we leave Nora having successfully calmed Penny down and until her eyes unexpectedly go red again scenes later, we're left assuming that this is a permanent solution. That, imo anyway, is taking the Power of Love too far, overriding the basic reality of Penny being hacked. It’s not a personal failing she must overcome, it’s an external attack. I would have rather had Nora react to the scars she saw on her arm, or have a moment with Klein, or get some love from the group. Not a wakes up, falls asleep, wakes up again to save Penny with a Ruby level 'Just ignore reality' pep-talk, then back to sleep again.

So Penny isn't attacking her allies, or mistakenly hurting her allies with wild Maiden powers. Not that the group doesn't have enough to deal with, but still. Weiss arrives to help with the Hound and attempts a new summon, only to fail when two minor grimm burrow up into her glyphs. I really enjoyed that moment, both for the wing visual and the knowledge that Weiss' glyphs can fail if you break them somehow (which makes sense). Also, I just like that she failed in general? Weiss is, as per usual now, about to demonstrate just how OP she is compared to the rest of the team, so it was nice to see her faltering here.

The Hound tries to make off with Ruby and Blake does an excellent job of keeping it tethered. Ruby finally wakes, only to realize that the grimm is actually after Penny since it's staring at her power up through the window, no longer trying to escape. Moments like this remind me that there's someone on RT's writing team that knows what they're doing, at least some of the time. The assumption that the Hound is after Ruby as a SEW, the surprise that it's actually Penny, realizing it holds up because Ruby is covered in Penny's blood and Blake is not... that's all nice, tight plotting. More of that please!

The Hound drops her and Ruby's aura shatters when she hits the ground. I want everyone to remember this moment as an example of how strong the Hound is. The group may be tired, but unlike YJR they've been sitting around in the Schnee manor for a number of hours, regaining strength. We saw the Hound hit Ruby twice — once through the wall and once to knock her out — and then she falls from a not very high distance for a huntress, yet her aura is toast. That's the level of power and skill the Hound possesses. Decimating YJR, knocking Oscar out, same for Ruby, avoiding Blake and Weiss' hits, soon to treat Penny like a ragdoll. Just remember all this for the episode's end.

Blake tells Weiss she'll take care of Ruby, you go help the others. Yay breaking up the duos more! Bad timing though as the new acid-spitting grimm pops out of the ground and Blake is now left alone to face it.

Weiss re-enters the mansion, knowing the Hound is somewhere nearby, but not where. Suddenly, Willow's voice sounds through her scroll with an, "Above you!" which... doesn't keep Weiss from getting hit lol. But it's the thought that counts! Willow has accessed the cameras she's set up throughout the manor, watching the Hound's movements, and I have to say, that is a WAY better use of her separation from Klein than I thought we were getting. I legit thought they'd have Willow run away in a panic, meet the Hound, die, and then Weiss could be sad about losing her mom.

It does say something about RWBY's writing that this was my knee-jerk theory, as well as my surprise when we got something way better.

The Hound runs off, uninterested in Weiss, and she asks Willow to keep tabs on it. It heads for Whitley next (also covered in Penny's blood) and very creepily stalks him in the office with a, "I know you're here." Whitley is seconds away from being Hound chow before one of Weiss' boars pin it against the wall. He runs, then runs BACK to finish deploying the airships, before finally escaping assumed death. Goddamn this boy is pulling his weight.

I assume all these ships are automated then? I hope someone takes a moment to call May. Otherwise it's going to be super weird for the Mantle citizens if a fleet of SDC ships just show up and hover there...

I don't entirely understand how Weiss saved him though. She's nowhere to be seen when Whitley leaves and he runs a fair distance before he and Willow encounter Weiss again. We know her summons don't have to keep right next to her, but are they capable of rudimentary thought, attacking an enemy — and an enemy only — despite Weiss being a couple corridors down and unable to see the current battlefield? I don't know. In another series I'd theorize that this was a deliberate hint, a way to clue us into the fact that Willow, someone who we currently know almost nothing about, had training in the past and summoned the boar herself. Weiss and Winter certainly didn't get that hereditary skill from Jacques. Hell, we might still get that, Weiss reacting with confusion next episode when Whitley thanks her for the boar, but I doubt it. That scene with Ruby and the Hound aside, the show isn't this good at laying groundwork and then following up on it.

Case in point: Weiss says, "I didn't forget you" to Whitley after he gets away from the Hound, the moment trying to harken back to her promise to Willow. Key word is "trying." Because she absolutely forgot him! Weiss threatened and ignored Whitley until he proved his usefulness. I also shouldn't need to point out that, "Don't forget your brother" does not mean, "Don't let your brother die a horrible death by abnormal grimm." Weiss acts like her saving him is a fulfillment of her promise, rather than just the most basic of human decency. And also, you know, her job.

So that part is frustrating. The entire Schnee dynamic is a mess, from Weiss making a joke of her father's arrest, to Willow (presumably) fixing their relationship by putting a hand on her daughter's shoulder. Okay.

Then Weiss cuts off the Hound by summoning a giant wall of ice. My brain, every time this happens:

YOU COULD HAVE FIXED THE HOLE IN MANTLE'S WALL.

Moving on, Blake's fight against the acid... thing has some great choreography, including Blake using her semblance which we haven't seen in AGES.

I really like the fight itself, just not what Blake is shouting the whole time. "I need you, Ruby! We all need you!" This has really gotten ridiculous. Ruby is presented as everyone's sole savior despite failing time and time again. It's not that I don't think Blake as a character should have faith in her leader, it's that I don't think the writers should be crafting a story where everyone puts their unshakable hopes in an untrained, disloyal, impulsive 17 year old. I mean, Ruby is currently unconscious, yet Blake is acting like if she doesn't wake up — she, as an individual, if Ruby Rose does not re-join this fight — then all is lost. If Ruby doesn't save them, no one can. Which is, of course, absurd on numerous levels. Blake doesn't need the passed out, aura-less Ruby right now, she needs the still very healthy Weiss pulling out multiple summons and an ice wall! Use your scroll and call for backup again.

But of course, Ruby wakes up and kills the new, terrifying grimm with a single hit. It's a preview of what's to come with the Hound and it's just as ridiculous here as it will be there.

Speaking of the Hound, am I the only one who thought this was... cute?

I can't possibly be the only one. That head-tilt is exactly what my dogs do and my brain instinctively went, "Aww, puppy!"

Murderous puppy.

The Hound realizes none of the Schnees are who it's looking for and runs off. Penny, meanwhile, has been fully taken over because, well, that's just what's convenient now. She resists long enough keep Amity up, then succumbs, then resists to apologize to Ruby, then succumbs, then resists because Nora asked her to, then succumbs once it's time to knock her out. If RWBY was willing to commit to consequences, Penny would have been taken over and that was that. The characters would need to deal with whatever outcome happens as a result. Instead, the show very carefully avoids any of those pesky consequences by having Penny successfully resisting at key moments, despite no explanation of how she's managing that.

She shoves Klein again (Klein is having a Bad Time) and starts walking down the main steps. When Whitley wants to know where the hell she's going, Penny mechanically responds that she must "Open the vault, then self-destruct." I suppose the change Watts made was the self-destruct order? Ironwood obviously wants the vault open, though not necessarily Penny's death. Think what you will of his moral compass, she's a damn powerful ally — a research project, perhaps — and a Maiden to boot. At the very least, her death may give the powers to someone even worse.

God, please don't let them have brought Penny back and made her a Maiden just to kill her again.

The Hound arrives though and, as said, knocks Penny out. We're back to square one with her, then. Note though that this attack is near instantaneous. She grabs its hands one second, is hanging limply the next. Wow, the Hound sure is a terrifying antagonist!

Not for long.

"That's enough," Ruby says and one-shots it with her eyes.

Now, I want to talk for a moment about the implications of that line. "That's enough." Obviously Ruby is #done with this situation and emotionally unwilling to let the Hound kidnap Penny (congratulations, Nuts and Dolts shippers), but there's a meta reading here as well. Not intentional, but glaring to me nonetheless. Basically, the idea that the Hound has, from a plot perspective, done enough. It has served its singular purpose. It kidnapped Oscar and now it dies. Never-mind how insanely powerful we've established the Hound to be, never-mind how Ruby's eyes also work or don't work according to whether anything of actual import is on the line. From a plot perspective "that's enough" and the Hound can be disposed of instantly. It got Oscar and gave us an episode of filler creepiness. Move along now.

The idea behind Ruby's eyes isn't bad, but the execution absolutely is. RT has undermined a huge portion of the stakes by giving their protagonist an instant kill-shot that always works precisely when she needs it to. Starting with the Apathy, we have yet to get a moment where Ruby's eyes fail to save the day when she really needs them to, no matter how incredible the challenge. The Hound was very intentionally written to be a grimm outside of the group's current power level. It thinks, it talks, they literally can't touch it. This creates the expectation that the group will need to grow stronger — or at least become smarter — in order to surmount this new obstacle, yet Ruby's eyes undermine all of that. The group hasn't grown in years, the show just makes enemies weaker as needed (Ace Ops), or has Ruby pull out her eyes as a trump card. It wouldn't be that bad if we'd at least gotten a good battle out of it, one where the group gets close to defeating the Hound on their own, but needs Ruby's eyes to finish it off. Instead, she literally walks up without any aura, announces to the audience that this antagonist's time is up, and blasts it out a window.

Granted, Ruby's eyes don't completely finish it. The Hound pulls itself to its feet and we see this.

Yup, that's a guy and yup, those are silver eyes.

I would like to issue a formal apology to the "It's secretly Summer!" theorists in the fandom. I mean, I still think it would be ridiculous (and at this point highly improbable) that Ruby's dead mother has actually been a grimm mutant this whole time, just hanging out in Salem's realm while she waits for the plot to start before attacking the world, and then sends some no-name faunus dude after the group instead of their leader's mother for extra, emotional torture... but you all were definitely right about the “It's a person” part! I... don't know how I feel about this. Admittedly, it seems to be a logical continuation of the other grimm-human hybrids we've seen — namely Cinder and Salem herself — and it finally explains why Salem wants Ruby alive (even though it actually doesn't because WHY did she want more SEWs for Hound grimm when she wasn't even attacking back then? And already has all these other insanely powerful tools??), but at the same time, it feels like it's complicating a story that doesn't need further complications. The group fights monsters and has an immortal enemy. You don't need to add 'Some of those monsters are secretly human' to the mix.

It doesn't hurt that this twist is giving me Attack on Titan vibes, which, ew. A dark time in my fandom life, folks.

The Hound staggers a few steps before Whitley and Willow dump a suit of armor on it. That's all it takes to kill the most dangerous grimm we've ever seen: a single flash of silver eyes and some heavy metal. This also wreaks havoc with the implication that Salem wants SEWs alive because they create such powerful grimm. Obviously not. I mean yeah, normal huntsmen are going to have serious problems, we’ve seen that this volume, but any other SEWs nearby will take a Hound out instantaneously. For a villain with so many other powerful abilities — immortality, magic, endless normal grimm, her nifty soup — Salem would be much better served just killing SEWs straight out. Clearly, creating Hounds isn't worth the effort.

The Hound leaves some bones behind and Ruby collapses to her knees, overcome with the knowledge that this was once a person. Again, uncomfortable Attack on Titan parallels.

We finish our premiere with Cinder clearing away rubble to reveal Watts. Honestly, I like that we ended on this because her rescue is hilarious. She just slings him over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes and blasts off with her magic fire feet. Fantastic.

Note though that with this scene we've seen almost everything from the clip and the trailer. What's to come in the rest of Volume 8? No idea. Outside of Winter leading the charge with the bomb, we got it all here.

Time to update the bingo board!

I'm crossing off "Introducing new grimm that are quickly abandoned." Between the Hound and acid-dude both falling to a single blast/cut from Ruby, we've more than earned this square.

It doesn't look as if we'll get another Watts-Jacques team-up now that he's left, but you never know.

Maria's got me worried. I feel like her Yoda fight against Neo is the one thing she'll be allowed to do this volume, but given that we didn't see anyone except Ruby's group this episode, we don't yet know whether the story is now ignoring her and Pietro, or if they'll re-appear in another episode like YJR.

Qrow is free. Will he get a drink before trying to murder Ironwood? Perhaps.

Still no bingo :(

All in all, the episode was by no means horrible. I think there were lots of horrible parts, but also some legitimately well executed moments, fun action, and scenes that I can easily imagine as squee worthy if you lean back and squint. Everything is comparative and in the growing collection of bad RWBY episodes, this one isn't securing a top slot. Which doesn't mean I think it's good, just... not as bad as it could have been and primarily only bad due to long-running problems, not things this specific episode has done. That's my bar then, so low it has officially entered the underworld.

Still, RWBY is back and a part of me is eager to see where this volume takes us, for better or for worse.

Until next week! 💜

[Ko-Fi]

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 8 #mymetas #rwby recaps #rwby dark

75 notes · View notes

jwillowwolf · 3 years ago

Text

Magic and Miracles - Prologue

Tag List: @sandersidesbigbang @thomassanderssidesbigbang2021 @theimprobabledreamersworld

First Chapter > | Masterlist

This is a multi-chapter fic I've been working on for the last couple of months as a part of the 2021 Sanders Sides Big Bang. The original idea came from this post by @remy-please-come-back [thanks again for letting me use the idea 💜].

Summary: Ever present, never seen. Feared and admired by all beings. The life that bursts from the earth, the secrets hidden in stone. It dances in the fire’s flames; it gives the wind its mournful tone. Here it is, this is it. Defined yet unexplained. In the depths of the ocean, and of your own mind. In the veins of all creatures, including humankind. For magic is in everything, yet unknown all the same.

For the longest time, Logan wanted to learn magic. So, when he was offered the chance to study it at a new magic school, he decided to follow his dreams. Along the way, however, he'll learn about so much more.

Warning/s: food mention.

Characters: Logan, Emile, Remy, OCs.

Read on AO3

0 | The Underdog's Debut

Ever present, never seen. Feared and admired by all beings.

The life that bursts from the earth, the secrets hidden in stone.

It dances in the fire’s flames; it gives the wind its mournful tone.

Here it is, this is it. Defined yet unexplained.

In the depths of the ocean, and of your own mind.

In the veins of all creatures, including humankind.

For magic is in everything, yet unknown all the same.

Perhaps this was why people found it so intriguing from such a young age. They wanted answers to what magic was, and while they didn’t find what they sought, they did learn how it could be used to their advantage. Spells were created to do anything that their caster’s heart desired. From creating a small orb of light for reading in the night to manipulating a tidal wave that could crash down on your enemies.

Magic was something not easily understood, which was one reason why the Council of Wizards evaluated all potential magic users. They wanted to gage that these young mages could safely use the power they were wielding. If not, then they needed to be properly dealt with before things got out of hand.

This was a good thing, but also not because to learn magic safely you would need someone else to teach you first-hand.

Now that doesn’t seem like much of an obstacle, except the only established wizards were of the nobility, and therefore only worked with nobility. The system was pretty much rigged to make it hopeless for average people to learn and use magic. Or it was until our protagonist came along.

He rose from poverty to royalty, became a hero among heroes, and faced off against one of the greatest threats to humankind that ever existed! But I’m getting ahead of myself -sorry- let's start from the beginning, shall we?

Oh, but where to begin? Ah! We’ll start from his first test with the Council of Wizards when he was only a young lad of 15. It was the beginning of spring, which is when the COW always held the learner’s test. This test evaluated your magical potential and gave the council a heads up on how many new mages there were. Yes, COW, don’t ask me why they went with that acronym.

The ceremony was being held in the grand hall of the palace, and it was open for anyone from the Srednas Kingdom to come and watch. The test itself was rather simple but the festivities that came with it made things feel like a special holiday. Nobility and common folk alike were gathered to watch and see what new wizards would be taking on learning magic. There was even a small market of sorts set outside the palace to take advantage of the crowds and sell foods, drinks, and commemorative merchandise.

Inside, people were everywhere, talking excitedly to one another and trying to find good places to view the proceedings. At the end of the room, there was a dais with two thrones where King Thomas and his husband, Prince Consort Nico, sat to watch. In front of the dais were nine chairs for the COW members, who talked with the royals and amongst themselves. Even they seemed eager for what was about to happen, and yet no one knew truly how monumental today was going to be.

The event had begun the same as any other year. Noble children from across the land showed off whatever three spells they’d learnt for the test. Most were common tricks like lighting candles or making plants grow. A handful showed off with advanced versions of these spells, such as holding the flames in their hands or making entire trees grow. Still, regardless of how many times these spells were cast, the crowd watched in awe with each new user who passed their test.

And then a young man in a simple navy tunic and black trousers stepped forward. He looked to be in his mid-teens, the same as most of the young mages and walked with an air of subtle confidence. He had a slender form and soft features that pronounced his youthful appearance. His hair was raven black, swept neatly to the side, and his eyes were such a dark brown that they seemed almost black.

“Please state your name and title.” Silvia, the eldest council member, said.

“My name is Logan Picani.”

“Title?”

“I don’t have any.”

Silence fell over the hall. “Pardon?”

“I don’t have any titles.”

“How do you not have any titles?”

“I’m not a noble.”

Some people audibly gasped and began whispering conspiratorially to one another.

“Young man, you do understand what this test is, correct?” Allen, another council member, asked with a thinly veiled look of disgust.

“Yes sir, I do. I also know for a fact that there are no rules against my taking the test because of being a commoner.”

Allen frowned and opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Silvia. “I suppose not. Well then, let’s see what you can do.”

Logan took a deep breath and then held up his hand, “Ignyght.”

The tip of his little finger began to glow with golden light. The crowd watched on in silence as he carefully moved his hand to draw the necessary rune with the trail of light that flowed from his finger.

Once the rune was complete, he spoke again. “Solhart.”

The rune turned stark white and then disappeared. For a moment nothing happened, then a small white orb appeared where the rune had previously been floating. This earned a few excited claps from the crowd and an approving nod from two council members. But Logan didn’t stop there.

“Groh.” This time the light from his fingers was bright green. He made a different rune then repeated the sealing word, “Solhart.”

The orb multiplied until nearly fifty of them were floating in a cluster before Logan.

“Stahwynd.” A deep blue light flowed from Logan’s finger as he drew the final rune. “Solhart.”

The orbs burst apart from one another like birds flying off a tree in fear. Some people from the crowd shouted in shock as the balls of light zoomed off in all different directions until finally, they stopped. Now they were floating all around the room above the spectators who gasped as they realized what Logan had done. The hall’s ceiling was pitch black, so the lights looked like stars in the night sky. It was a breath-taking sight that inspired many to cheer and clap for the young mage.

“Alright, please settle down,” Silvia called over the noise before looking at Logan with a thoughtful expression. “Where did you learn this?”

“I taught myself.”

Silvia nodded then turned to talk with her fellow council members in hushed tones. Allen and two others seemed upset, while the rest of the council were neutral if not mildly impressed. After a few minutes, she looked back at Logan with a soft smile.

“Mr Picani, you are officially granted your learner’s license. I hope when we see you again in a few months time, you will once more surprise us all.”

The crowd cheered and Logan nodded before walking away with a look of pride. As he made his way through the crowd, he received congratulations from many strangers. And then he was tackled to the ground by an enthusiastic brown-haired girl.

“You did it! You did it! I knew you could do it!”

“Everleigh, my ribs.” Logan wheezed, causing the girl to release him.

“Oops, sorry. My bad. Is your chest okay?”

“It’s fine.” Both youths got up with smiles on their faces. “I did it.”

“Yep. In a couple of months, you’re going to be an official grand wizard.”

“Considering I just got my learners, I don’t think I’ll reach such a title that quickly.”

“You just created a night sky in the palace ballroom! I think you’re underestimating yourself.”

Logan smiled softly, “Come on, we should head back to the bakery to celebrate.”

Everleigh nodded in agreement and linked their arms so they could walk side by side. As they walked, Everleigh excitedly told Logan about how incredible it had looked from the crowd, and what kind of reactions the people around her had had.

Logan was uncharacteristically grinning by the time they’d reached the bakery. Walking inside only made his smile widen as the smell of fresh bread and sweet pastries filled his senses. It was after all the smell of home, so of course, it made him feel warm and welcomed. His father, Emile Picani, was standing by the counter helping an elderly customer when Logan and Everleigh walked in.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Oh, I should be the one thanking you, Mrs Goldstone. The brownie recipe you gave me has become a bestseller.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Have a nice day dear.”

“To you as well, ma’am. Oh, Logan, Everleigh, you’re back. And smiling,” Emile gasped, “did you get it?”

“He’s a wizard!” Everleigh dramatically announced.

“Not yet, I still need to finish the second test in a couple of months. I do have a learners’ license though.”

“Well, I think this calls for some celebratory tarts,” Emile said, ushering both youths into the back of the shop where the Picani’s sitting room/kitchen was located. “I’m proud of you logan. That hard work really paid off.”

“Speaking of hard work, you are going to take a break, right?” Everleigh asked.

Logan looked away from her sheepishly. “Well…”

“Come on, Lo. You’ve been working hard non-stop for months.”

“Yeah, kid, you work with me in the bakery all day, then study well into the night. And don’t think I haven’t seen you pull an all-nighter here and there.” Emile chastised.

It was true that Logan had worked long hard to get to where he was. it wasn’t exactly a simple task when books on magic were hard to find, and what knowledge they had was even harder to grasp. Figuring out pronunciation for the initiation/sealing words and learning to keep his hand steady as he drew the runes.

It had taken him many long nights of studying by candlelight to figure out the spells he’d performed. But with Everleigh’s library apprenticeship and his own persistent nature, he’d managed to learn a good deal about the basics. And now it was paying off. He officially had a learner’s license and would get a chance to become a genuine wizard.

Then he could use magic to help so many of the villagers who couldn’t afford the high-priced assistance of other magicians. Medicinal potions? Enchanted prosthetics? Transition spells? He would be able to give all this and more at prices his peers could afford.

Logan knew that what he was doing seemed near impossible, but he was going to do it or die trying! …okay, so maybe Emile and Everleigh were valid in their concern for his health, but this was his best and only way to study magic.

Before Logan could argue this, however, a stranger walked into the bakery. He was tall and slender, with a bronze tan and confident bearing. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a clean white tunic, black trousers, and dark brown riding boots. His short curly hair was the same dark brown shade as the boots, and his eyes were hidden by black tinted glasses.

“New customer, how do you how do?”

The stranger smiled. “Hey there, gorgeous. Sorry but I’m not a customer today. Is this where Logan Picani lives?”

“Yes, that’s my son.”

“Son? No offence honey but you look too young and handsome to be a dad.”

“Is there something I can help you with, sir?” Logan asked, taking over the conversation for his blushing father.

“Ah, yeah, I’m here to offer you a very special opportunity on behalf of the crown prince.”

Logan and Emile gaped. “The crown prince?”

The stranger nodded. “My name is Remy Animosni, and on behalf of his highness, I’m here to extend an exclusive invitation to the Srednas Magic School.”

Logan frowned. “I wasn’t aware that there was a magic school here in Srednas.”

“Well, that’s because there wasn’t, not until now anyway. It’s something that the prince arranged to start this year with a few students to show how good it could be to the council. You particularly caught his interest today with your starry spellcasting, hence the personal invite. You would learn alongside six other students under me about everything there is to know concerning magic, from the full basics of spells to how you can modify your own enchantments.”

“That sounds incredible,” Emile said.

Remy nodded. “Yep, and not only that but you will be given your own room at the school and anything you may need or want during your stay will be provided by us, free of charge. The location of the school is just an hour out of town, so you could visit home on weekends if you desired. So how about it, kid?”

Logan was gobsmacked. The crown prince had not only seen him but was impressed enough to send an invitation to learn magic at a special new magic school.

“Wait, what do I have to do for the prince in return?”

“Absolutely nothing. The offer is completely free of any fees or deceptive dealings. I promise. The prince even sent this with me to make sure you could have physical proof if so desired.” Remy stated, producing a scroll from inside his jacket.

Emile and Logan both looked over the document and found no problems. It was a straightforward invitation for Logan to study magic at the prince’s new school, with promises to provide anything he could need while he was living at said school, and nothing more. The father and son shared a thoughtful glance. It was definitely an opportunity.

Emile smiled. “Do it.”

“Really? You think I should accept?”

“A chance like this only comes around once, and I can always hire someone if I need the help. Follow your dreams kiddo.” Emile said with an encouraging smile.

Logan bit his lip as he considered things. He really hadn’t thought today could get any better, then this happened. He was worried about leaving his dad, but Emile had told him to take this chance. And he was right about this being a once in a lifetime opportunity. Besides, Remy had said he could still visit the town on the weekends…

“Okay. I accept.”

---

A/N: thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. I'll be posting two chapters a day until the full fic is up, so if you want to be tagged, you can just ask. [Also, here's a link to chapter 1]

I'd love to hear what you thought about the chapter if you wouldn't mind commenting. Thanks again for reading! Here's hoping you have a magical day 💜

#sanderssides #sander sides #sanders sides fic #logan sanders #ts logan sanders #ts logan #remy sanders #emile picani #fantasy au #Thomas Sanders Sides Big Bang 2021 #food mention tw

11 notes · View notes

shijiujun · 3 years ago

Text

NTTD is a masterpiece!!!! Spoilers below but combing through Casino Royale to No Time to Die

Q and Bond

Like we’ve all shipped 00q since Skyfall and for good reason - as Ben Whishaw said there’s affection even though between Q and 007 there’s irritation and annoyance, exasperation. And yes Q has a potential boyfriend in NTTD and ahhh still doesn’t stop me from shipping em both as an old 00q shipper.

They’re so consistent in every movie - I love Ben Whishaw’s Q and how they went from sitting in a museum looking at the painting of a sinking ship, of Q’s sassy and exasperated ‘Bond’s, and to the very last, panicked ‘James get out of there’. Although canon-wise we don’t get a lot of 00q moments but at the very least their friendship is profound and Q cares deeply for him. We don’t get to see it, going from Skyfall to Spectre to NTTD, but he must’ve been in Bond’s ears for years, and their very last hurrah together was fitting.

Q in Bond’s ears, the very last person to standing right at his back, yelling at him to get out of there, wanting to see him off the island safely and seeing probably his favorite and least favorite agent through on his last mission - that meant more to me throughout this entire franchise than anything else. Everything was just nice.

(Now time to go find all my fix-it fics and revisit some of my fave 00q ones)

Bond and Everyone Else

Wish we had more badass Moneypenny but glad she was there nonetheless - Mallory as always playing the in between white and black, and Tanner being the flustered, stressed out admin that needs a break. Nomi, who stood equally next to Bond and accompanied him on his very last mission. And perhaps it was also fitting that Felix Leiter went out with him, earlier than he, but since the start they stood shoulder to shoulder, a man Bond was glad to call his friend.

And these five movies gave Bond the dysfunctional family he never wanted but had to some extent - after Casino Royale and Quantum of Solace he truly was, even if he thought he was, never alone. Quite an anti-thesis to the suave, solo Bond that seems to we had until Skyfall. And contrary to the belief that he would die alone without anyone to remember him, he does. He truly does. And they are the ones who count.

Bond and Madeleine + Matilde

I thought I’d hate this token wife and kid and happy ending thing but I don’t. I really don’t. I love the different side we got to see for Madeleine, and Matilde was hilariously cute in several ways. It didn’t feel forced, like Casino Royale’s kind offff did. I love that they gave her characterization and that she was always generous with her emotions - of her longing for Bond on the train, of her anger, of how tough she was, and at the end.

Bond + The Villain + Safin

The only thing that kind of gets me is that Safin kind of came out of nowhere, doesn’t actually have much beef with Bond, and I can’t really tell what his obsession with Madeleine and Matilde is. I guess the moral of the story is that it’s always the same old story with villains right and that there’s always another one of Safin, but it’s almost hilarious how Safin doesn’t really have it coming for Bond. Blofeld’s antics were... just antics, and it’s almost like there was no true villain for this entire story, which is almost poetic.

Pacing + Other Things

We’ve come full circle from Casino Royal, Quantum of Solace to Skyfall (where I feel like Daniel Craig’s Bond really flourished) and then Spectre and No Time to Die - The storytelling is consistent throughout 15 years of run time and I’m glad we went from the cacophony of betrayal and trust issues, emo sadass i’m-gonna-die-alone vibes in every movie.

To be honest I thought it was going to be drawn out and cliched and it was to some extent but in all the nice ways - Daniel Craig really sang his swan song with NTTD and we had it all - the sort of happy ending he got with the love of his life and leaving behind a child, a part of him, with a strange professional but the closest thing to a family he ever had with Mallory and Tanner and Moneypenny, Q. He had the hero’s shot in the sunset at his very last moments, and not wanting to die but realizing at the moment that it was, to some degree, the end he was waiting for if he had no other choice.

He got to die as 007 - and it was never just a number to him, and I’m glad he got to die with it. He got to die after using up all his shiny gadgets from Q, after saying goodbye to the love of his life, after having at least one day and night as a normal, actual family with Madeleine and Matilde.

Did I think his death was necessary? I think it was fitting. I’d loved for him to get the happy ending truly, but this was a fitting way to go and as one review said “this eliminates any possibility of him having to come back and do a role he’s been wanting to drop since forever”. It was so fitting. His death was almost a quiet, peaceful and calm one, but at the same time he literally did go out with a bang as he probably thought he always would - he had both, and he had regrets but it truly was time and he was content with that.

Humour was on point too - softened Bond around the edges, made him seem not so emo and destructive (like he was at the beginning of Skyfall) anymore. A good mellowing out.

I also loved that they came back to the betrayal trope but didn’t go too much into it because we’ve had that for every single 007 movie so far. Loved that Ana de Armas came out as a hilariously anxious but also weirdly confident and exceptionally competent interjection to the whole movie - Bond gets to work with gorgeous women all the time and he’s almost slept with all so it’s so nice to see Paloma and Nomi like going ‘nopeeeeee gotta do ma job cool thanks’ - no standard Casino Royale situation.

(I’m still amused that he went to infiltrate the island with like a navy knit sweater and a thin white shirt damn man)

Plenty of regrets of course - if he didn’t let Madeleine go five years ago he would have gotten five more years of family time with her and Matilde but I suppose trouble would have come knocking sooner or later, and I’m glad he had some soft tender moments with the sunlight behind him - we didn’t get much or any of these in the first three movies.

NTTD was softer in all the right ways and every single loose end was tied up. I’d have loved for some mention of Judy Dench M or that pitbull figurine thing, but every box was checked, from Vesper to Felix to everyone else.

#nttd #nttd spoilers #00q #i sniffles #15 years of daniel craig's 007 #a little less than that of ben whishaw's q #this was a good full circle #no time to die

11 notes · View notes

writingfromkitchenator · 4 years ago

Text

Geralt ~ Death Comes In The Dark

1,300 Followers Challenge!

Round 2

Masterlist

Requested by Anon

Words: 1,321

Warnings: Neutral reader, angst, sold into servitude, mentions of abuse, magical abuse, suicidal thoughts about wanting death, vague mention of murder

More than once you’d hoped that someone could come along and save you from this fate. More than once you’d prayed away on a sleepless night that it would be your last, but as each night soon turned into day, your hope dimmed further and further away into the back of your mind.

You cursed your parents for selling you off, for seeing no use for you except to gain a few coins in their purse. This was not the life you wanted.

The bell was ringing again.

Tiredly, you sighed, and dragged yourself away from what you were doing, into the stuffy study where the sorcerer was bent over his steaming cauldron, eyes shifting colours as he worked his magic.

You waited silently for him to speak, knowing better than to interrupt whatever thought he was in the middle of having.

“I need you to go into town again.”

Your face screwed up, the weariness washing over you at just the thought of going on such a journey again. “I just went and got you human blood last night.”

The furious glint in his eyes as he looked up told you that this was not the correct response, and within moments, the burning began through your stomach, making you buckle up. If you had any food in your stomach, then you would’ve emptied it out on the floor.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” He hissed furiously. “That you belong to me. I brought you. You do as I tell you.”

Against the pain, against the well of tears in your eyes, you nodded silently, and the pain stopped.

“Good, now get going.” He waved his hand and you slid back, out the door, which slammed in your face.

You breathed heavily, glaring at the dark wood, beads of sweat pearling on your brow. This was going to be your last trip, somehow, you knew that, sure he would be rid of you when you got back.

Or someone would finally come and rescue you.

The hope faded as soon as you thought it.

You gathered what you needed and left as quickly as you could, seeing the setting of the sun and knowing you were short of time. Perhaps something would be rid of you in the dark? Even that would be a better fate than whatever he had planned for you.

Pulling your hood low, you began the long walk to town, barely watching the world around you, keeping your eyes on your feet. It would only be a matter of time before the villagers would start to recognise you, and you would have to move again, continuing on with whatever wild plan this sorcerer had in mind.

As you drew closer, you could see the lights in windows and your chest ached. This should have been your life. Simple. Nothing to do with magic, or blood, or all the other things that he’d gotten you to collect over the years.

You were tired, but there would never be any rest for you.

Keeping to the shadows, you went from building to building, hoping beyond hope that you could find an easy target, someone who wasn’t paying attention, and hopefully someone that wouldn’t be missed.

A drunkard stumbled from the tavern and you took your chance and followed.

There were tears in your eyes as you did what you had to, hiding the body as best you could, and with the necessary vials tucked safely away, you quickly made your way out of the town and back into the dark.

Something about it felt heavier tonight, and it made you even more certain that this was going to be the end for you. Death always came at night-time, at the deepest darkest hour of the early morning. You were no stranger to it, and as it seemed to cling to you closer and closer in an almost suffocating embrace, you walked with your head held high.

It was almost disappointing to see the home come into view, to see that it was exactly the way that you had left it, and for a single moment you hesitated outside.

A pressure began to grow in your chest and you sighed, returning.

You put the vials down silently on his desk, the sorcerer not even looking up as you entered. After a few more moments, he continues to remain silent, so you retreat to your room.

Laying down on the thin scrap of material that you supposed was called a bed, you stared at the ceiling and waited, barely aware of a drop of water dripping down onto your leg. You waited, waited for things to change, and as you waited, you cried, the tears silent and hot, and you were honestly glad that you could just feel something.

Then a noise got your attention.

This wasn’t the usual noise of the night, this wasn’t some spell being cast or whatever it was the sorcerer was doing with the human blood. No, this was something new.

You watched the door and listened, your heart racing a little, a small childhood fear creeping up in the back of your mind. There was more noise, a sort of shuffling, and then there was a sudden loud bang, the sudden clash of metal, and you quickly found yourself seated and pressed as close as you could against the wall.

Silence fell, heavy and dark, and you held your breath, waiting.

It seemed that death did come for you tonight.

Footfalls sounded outside your door, slow and cautious, and you curled up even tighter in on yourself, hoping to seem as small as possible.

The door opened slowly and torchlight burned into your room, making you shield your eyes and unable to see the dark figure standing in the doorway. If this was how death was to come to you, then so be it.

You expected the cold bite of steel at any moment, the bite that would put an end to this world for you, but the longer you waited, the more you realised that this was not to be.

Slowly, you managed to look up, your eyes adjusting to the light, and you found the figure crouched in front of you, examining you.

White hair shone in the light, and intense yellow eyes were searching yours as you met his gaze.

“Are you alright?” He asked slowly, carefully, still clearly judging how you would react.

“Are you here to kill me?” You whispered, not daring to believe anything else in this moment.

A slight frown creases his brow. “That depends on you.”

“Me?” You squeaked, and could feel the tears starting again. “What has he summoned you to do?”

His frown deepened further and he looked over his shoulder for a moment, thinking, before he looked back at you and holding out his hand. “My name is Geralt. I’m here to help.”

“Y-Y/N,” You said with a trembling voice, still not quite believing it. “I-I never wanted to help him. H-he…I was-I was s-sold to him and…and…”

“He tortured you,” Geralt said, quiet softly. “He’s been plaguing towns for a while now, but he’s gone. You don’t have to worry anymore. You can live your own life.”

The sobs started before you even registered them, and once they started, you had no idea how to make them stop, your chest aching with each breath, barely believing that what you’d prayed for for so long had actually happened.

Geralt gently took your hand. “Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe and away from all this.”

Having nothing else to do, you let him guide you from that awful place, you let him put those memories of all the things you’d been forced to do behind you. Dawn was breaking as he got you outside, and for the first time in a long time, you looked forward to the day ahead.

#1300 followers challenge #round 2 #the witcher #geralt x neutral reader #geralt x reader

46 notes · View notes

whittakerjodie · 4 years ago

Note

Heya, I absolutely love your writing! Could I request a 13th doctor x reader with prompts #12 and #25 (from list 5) if that's possible please?

Warnings for extreme angst, blood mention, burn mention. yeah, I went all out on this one. SPOILERS FOR S12

There was a moment, on Gallifrey, with the smoke of your planet burning through your lungs, that you were sure the Doctor wouldn’t go through with it. Your companions sent away, the cybermasters stationary, and the three remaining time lords silent. But the moment did not last long.

The Master, ever so eager to drag the Doctor down to his depths, commanded her to do it; activate the death particle and wipe out what remained of the time lords, of their shared history. You, too, would disappear with it all. But you were willing to go, if it meant being with the Doctor in such a time. Before the Doctor could go through with it, though, another figure entered. Ko Sharmus, offering to do it for her. Again, you were sure she wouldn’t do it- let someone else take on such a burden for her. Part of you wished she wouldn’t. This was something that, if done, had to be done by her or you- anyone who actually had a stake in the proceedings. Not a bystander, someone who should’ve listened to instructions and been safe.

Yet, she did. Pulling away from the Master, she ran, like she always did. Hand in hers you followed, despite reluctance, as you always had and always would. Reuniting with the TARDIS was both extremely relieving and questionable. It felt as though you were returning home, to safety and beyond. Simultaneously, though, it felt like you were leaving far too much behind and carrying everything with you all at once.

The Doctor and you did not speak for several moments, perhaps both acknowledging the conflicting concoction of emotion that sealed your lips shut. She floated over the console, poking and prodding, to mimic a reality in which she actually knew where she was going next. Neither of you knew, and you certainly weren’t expecting what would happen in the next following moments.

When the Judoon arrived, somehow making their way onto the TARDIS, your first instinct was to step in front of the Doctor. Why you felt like she needed to be protected from them, you had no idea. The Judoon didn’t appreciate this defensive movement. The one on the far right held up a small device, pointing it at you. Before you could properly analyze it and make the necessary precautions, the end of it flashed, and there was no light after that.

When you woke up, the Doctor was gone. Furious and confused, you worked with the TARDIS controls in a desperate attempt to get a trail on where the judoon had taken her. Unfortunately, it seemed as though their device had knocked you unconscious for quite a while. It had been too much time, and they had travelled too much distance, to properly get any sort of helpful reading. She was just… gone.

There was only one option remaining to contact her. Neither of you had used it much, being around humans with little to no psychic capabilities. But ever since your recent run in with the Master, you’d utilized it multiple times. You could feel that your skills were sharper and felt that they might be tuned in enough to contact the Doctor wherever she may be. Finding your shared room was the first step. Having a special space that connected the two of you would help your focus. Curled up in bed, head resting against her pillow, you imagined seeing her again. Her voice, her laugh, her being. After a few moments past, you whispered “Contact”

Despite the series of events that led you up to this moment, you weren’t quite prepared for the chaos that you found. Opening your eyes, you found yourself standing in a room made of rock. You were surprised that you’d managed to connect with anyone, given that you hadn’t even heard a contact in response. If it was the Doctor you connected with, she was in bad enough shape to let you in so easily.

Sure enough, you turned to find your timelord banging her fists against the walls. Wincing, you watched her fists make contact with the solid rock over, and over, and over, blood staining the surface.

“Stop!” you yelped, running over to her. Your hands passed through her, and you remembered that you were not actually there to help her. The sensation, though, was enough to make her jump back and swivel on her feet. Meeting her eyes, another piece of you shattered. Her own gaze was wild, afraid, her muscles tensed.

“Y/n!” She ran closer to you, trying to get a proper grip on you. “Are you actually here, or just an image? Because I’m really tired of asking and really tired of trying to get out of here.”

“W-well,” You stammered, not sure how to react to her frenzied state. “I mean, I am an image, but-”

The Doctor made a sound that was almost akin to a growl, returning to pounding against the walls. “Seriously?!”

“But I’m an actual image, Doctor!” You shouted. “I’m here, in your head, from the TARDIS” She leaned against the rock, shoulders shaking. Concerned, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around her as if you could actually do so. Looking closer, you saw that she was laughing, with a few tears to join the cynical sound. “I’m being honest, Doctor. Make proper contact with me, and you’ll see.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” She said shakily. “I can’t focus on so much at once!”

“Okay, well, we just need to focus, right? Please, Doctor, I really need to find out where you are and I think we can do that if we can make a proper connection”

“Focus on what?” She mumbled, sliding to the floor. Using the wall as her support she curled up, facing away from you. “What could I possibly want to focus on right now?”

“You could focus on me,” You offered quietly, trying to put more effort into your hand stroking her hair, so she could feel it more realistically. All it seemed to do was make her shake harder, retreating into herself. It was almost as if she was trying to get away from you. Throat tight, you whispered: “Doctor?”

“I saw how disappointed you were,” She admitted, shrugging away from your hand and the psychic comfort it brought. There was a small gasp before she continued, “On Gallifrey, you were..”

“No, no-” You assured her, but even you weren’t sure of the validity of your words.

“Please don’t lie to me now,” She cut you off. “I really don’t think I can take more lies”

Shrinking back in guilty, you whispered: “I’m sorry”

“ All of the lies, and loss and…” Her words were becoming more jumbled and rushed. “I feel sick…so anxious and sick and like my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest and I can’t think about everything I just have to get out of here-”

“Hey,” You cut in, trying to pull her to face you. It didn’t work, so you moved to where she could see you. Where she had to look at you, focus on you, hear you. “Stop, okay, just stop for a moment.”

“You really think I could?” The Doctor bit back, standing and walking to the window. “I can’t stop because I’m here now and I need to leave now.”

“Well you’re not leaving like this,” You scolded. She turned to you with a fire in her eyes and you knew that you had to find some way to calm her down before it burned through her entirely.

“Well that’s helpful,” She said sarcastically. Reaching for the bars on the window she quickly pulled back, yelping in pain. You ran to her side, gasping as you saw the burn marks start to appear on her palms. The connection became more strong in your desperation to ease her pain. When you grabbed her hands, it felt as if you were right there with her.

“Okay, we need to sit and focus for a moment.” The Doctor, exhausted from her attempts to leave and the pain flowing through her, nodded. You both sunk to the floor once again, your arms wrapped around her.

“I’m just so tired,” She whimpered. “But I can’t be, can I?”

“Yes, you can, Doctor. You’re allowed rest, reprieve. Especially after what’s happened.” She moved to rest her head against your chest but passed through you, head hitting the wall with a small thunk. She groaned and you smiled.

“I don’t think you’re going to be able to do much to get out of here like this,” You told her. “But that doesn’t mean you never will. It just means we need to tackle some other things first.”

“Yeah, maybe,” She returned, accepting defeat.

“You have to talk to me, Doctor.” and, much to your satisfaction she did. For a while, she went in circles, and you redirected her back. Soon enough, she came to the biggest peak standing in her way.

“I worked so hard to bring Gallifrey back. They mistreated me, still, but I still brought them back. And I always imagined, someday, that I could go back too. Just for a little while, and it would be good. And maybe Mi- The Master would be there, changed. Better. All these plans, ideals. Now they’re gone. Now it’s over…I don’t really know what to do.”

The confession seemed to be somewhat of a relief. She was no longer turned away from you, rather staring at the rock wall ahead of her emptily.

“You do your best to move on. We all do. Because it’s all that we can do.”

“I’ve moved on so many times, Y/n. Sometimes I don’t even think I know where I am now.”

“But you’ll find that place, eventually.” You countered hopefully. “It might take a while, but every time you’ve had to move on, it’s been to a new place, a certain place. What makes you think it’ll be different this time?”

The Doctor didn’t respond initially, lost in thought. “Not sure.”

“That’s because there isn’t anything different this time. “ Your head poked upward, towards the door to her cell. In the distance, you could hear noises, footsteps, words. People were coming. Guards perhaps? But surely you had no reason to worry. You weren’t actually there.

“Psychic activity detected” A low Judoon voice grumbled. Your eyes widened. How could they possibly know? Most importantly: what were they going to do about it?

“Activating Psychic Barrier” Another voice broke through. The Doctor turned to you, just as alarmed. You only had a few moments remaining. “Listen, Doctor, it’s no different this time, okay? You can move on. You deserve to move on and you have to. I’m- listen, I’m going to find the others, okay? And then we’re going to find-”

Before you could finish, you found yourself leaping off of the Doctors pillow. Suddenly, your mind was back in your body. Alone in the TARDIS.

“Contact,” You said into thin air. But there was no sensation, no feeling. Like you’d never reached out at all, you were suddenly cut off from the Doctor entirely.

#I hope this wasn't too angst.#13th doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x reader #13th Doctor imagine #thirteenth Doctor imagine

60 notes · View notes

sapphicscullyy · 4 years ago

Text

With You

100. “We could... you know, go together, if you wanted.”

Thank you so much for the prompt @bitshortforastormtrooper. I’m sorry it took agessss to get around to but please enjoy. This can also be read for your convenience on ao3. Tagging @today-in-fic

+++

8:29 am 27th August J. Edgar Hoover Building

Scully blustered her way into the office and shut the door behind her, slumping back against it with her eyes closed. She took several deep breaths before opening them again, attempting to cool the flush in her cheeks, only to find Mulder staring at her, concern in his eyes. The bastard. He didn’t say anything, just waited to see if she would explain her strange behaviour. Scully sighed.

“I just spoke to Skinner in the elevator,” she began slowly.

“If it was about the late case report, don’t worry,” he said quickly, “I was just about to head up there now to hand it in.”

“No, it wasn’t that.” She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “He asked me if I was attending the Director’s Ball on Friday evening. Of which Skinner informed me that he had given you both of our invitations several weeks ago.” Her tone implied that this was more of an interrogation than a statement.

At least he was smart enough to look slightly guilty. “He may have mentioned it.”

“Mulder…” she groaned in exasperation. “It’s in three days,” she stuttered, “and I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Scully, you could wear anything, even one of your old pantsuits with the massive shoulder pads, and you would still look amazing.”

She glared at him even as the blush returned to her cheeks. “I am not wearing a suit.”

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off?” Mulder suggested lightly. “We only have paperwork to do today. I can deal with it.”

“Are you sure?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

She huffed a laugh, deciding not to think about the answers to his question. “Thank you,” she said.

Silence filled the office for a moment, then the rustling of paperwork as Mulder collected some files from the desk.

“Are we-” Scully faltered, then continued tentatively. “Do we have to bring dates?”

“I think everyone has a plus-one invitation; I’m not taking anyone, though.” He stood, not meeting her gaze as he shuffled the papers in his hands.

“Why not?”

“I’m not sure anyone would want to go with Spooky Mulder.” He laughed as though he had told a joke.

“We could… you know, go together, if you wanted.” Scully swallowed, suddenly overly conscious of the lump in her throat, barely daring to breathe in wait of his response.

“It’s alright, Scully. You don’t have to stick with me. You could have any man you wanted.” He stood from behind the desk, file in hand, and walked over to where she was still standing by the door. He gently moved her aside as he opened it. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, flashing her a grin, the one that made her go weak at the knees every time, and shut the door behind him.

“What if I want you?” she whispered to the closed door, her words too loud in the empty office.

+++

2:43 pm

That afternoon, Scully pulled into a parking space in front of a small boutique shop that she often eyed as she drove past on the way to work each day. She had only been inside once before, and it had been a few years ago when she had treated herself to a day of therapeutic shopping after a particularly gruelling case. She had bought a new pair of heels, which she had only worn two or three times since, but the feeling of buying them had been worth it.

A small bell above the door chimed as she entered. A woman popped her head out from behind a rack of clothes, greeted Scully, and told her to yell out if she needed any help. Scully smiled at her in thanks and wandered along the rows of dresses, running her fingertips lightly across the fabric.

She wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to wear to the event, so she chose a few dresses at random to try on, hoping to find something that would work, or at least narrow down her choices.

“Would you like to try those on?” the voice of the saleswoman behind her made her jump. She had a hand outstretched for the dresses draped over Scully’s arm. “Let me take them to the changeroom for you while you keep looking.”

“Actually, I’m ready to try them on now.”

“Of course, come this way.” She led Scully to the changeroom, drawing aside the large curtain for her, but she paused before closing it. “May I make a recommendation?” She didn’t wait for a response. “There’s a dress that’s out the back and I think that it would look perfect on you. I’ll go grab it while you try these ones on.” With that, she closed the curtain, leaving Scully by herself.

The first dress was a red, strapless number that came to just below her knees. The fabric pooled nicely around her figure, and she had a pair of heels and a clutch at home that would go quite nicely with it, but she was concerned that there was too much skin being shown to be considered ‘proper’ for a work event, though she knew Mulder would most likely appreciate it.

As would every other straight male in the room. She silently chastised herself for letting her mind wander to such a dangerous topic.

The second dress she had picked up was a shade of green that she knew immediately would not suit her as she held the dress up to her body in the small changing room mirror. She replaced the dress on its hanger without even bothering to try it on.

As she slid on the third dress, she thought it might be the one. The black fabric was smooth against her skin and the neckline and figure were modest yet flattering. But as she stepped out from behind the curtain to admire herself in the larger mirror, she noticed the slit along her left leg, nearly going up to her hip. She sighed at her reflection. She didn’t particularly want to be that exposed in front of her male colleagues, especially since she knew Skinner would be amongst them. She wouldn’t be able to meet her boss’s eye for days afterwards.

At that moment, the saleswoman walked back in, another dress draped over her arm. She stopped when she saw Scully.

“Oh honey, you look absolutely stunning,” she exclaimed.

“Thank you,” Scully dipped her head at the compliment, “but I’m attending a work function and I’m not entirely convinced by this.” She gestured to her exposed leg.

“Of course,” she shook her head knowingly. “Here, give this one a try. I think it will suit you perfectly.” She handed Scully the dress from her arm.

Ducking back into the change room, she removed her current dress and slipped on the one the saleswoman had given her. Black, silky fabric that clung to her skin but almost appeared to be cascading down her body and onto the floor. The straps were thin and the neckline was low, although not dangerously so. The back dipped just low enough that she wouldn’t be able to wear a bra, but so that her ouroboros remained hidden.

The woman gasped quietly as she emerged from behind the curtain. “That dress looks like it was made just for you.”

Scully examined herself in the large mirror and felt her own breath catch in her throat. She did look amazing. Even with her hair and make-up having deteriorated throughout the day, she felt as though she could walk into any ballroom and fit right in.

She couldn’t even begin to imagine how Mulder would react upon seeing her in this dress. Would he stop short at the sight of her? Or perhaps he would only give her a quick once over before he swept her into his arms, unable to keep away for any longer than necessary.

The shrill ringing of her cell phone pierced through the fog of dangerous thoughts that had filled her mind.

“Excuse me,” she said, stepping back into the changing room. She rifled through her belongings and found her phone. “Scully,” she answered.

“Scully, it’s me,” he said, as a loud crash came through the tiny speaker.

“Mulder? Is everything alright?”

“Just fine,” he replied unconvincingly. She heard the crackling rustle of papers being shuffled. “Do you know where you put the file on Cordelia Knox?”

“Mulder, you put that file on the massive pile on your desk, which I strongly suggested that you sort out before you lose something.”

She heard more rustling. Then a muffled bang. “I found it.” She laughed quietly even as her head fell into her hand.

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

There was a pause. “Have you finished shopping?” he asked tentatively.

“Not quite.” She may have found her dress, but she wanted to buy a nice pair of heels to go with it.

“Then I have everything under control.” Another crash sounded through the phone. “Go enjoy yourself, Scully. You deserve it.”

+++

8:29 am 29th August FBI Director’s Ball

Scully was bored, tired, slightly drunk and extremely sick of the hot and clammy hands of the men who, because she had agreed to dance with them, believed that it was in their right to put said hands wherever they pleased on her body. She had been passed between the arms of the FBI’s worst perverts and creeps for the past hour and the only thing she wished for was a warm bath to wash away the lingering feeling of the many hands off her body. The man she was currently dancing with was no different from the others, in fact, they were all beginning to blend together. His hands sat hot and heavy on her lower back, making the skin itch and boil beneath the fabric.

There was a small, fickle part of herself that thought of that spot on the small of her back as Mulder’s. It was the same part of her that made her continuously scan the crowds over the shoulder of her dancing partner in the frail hope of seeing him. The same part of her that desperately hoped that he would see her despondence and sweep her far away from this place and all the people in it.

There was a high chance that he wouldn’t turn up at all; perhaps struck by a sudden ailment in the hours between leaving the office and the expected arrival time of the event. She usually didn’t mind his near-perfect streak of missing work events, as usually, he dragged her along with him to wherever he thought was a better place to be, which was anywhere else, really. All she wanted now was to be with him wherever that may be.

She snapped out of her thoughts as she felt the hands of her dance partner slip dangerously low on her back and she was so focused on attempting to keep them in a more respectable place that she did not notice Mulder step forward from the crowd at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes flying from face to face. She did not see the way he stopped dead at the sight of her in the wandering arms of another man. How his eyes sparked first with wonderment, then with indignation.

But then he was there, standing at her shoulder, politely asking for a dance and sweeping her away without waiting for an answer from the other man. He was inconsequential now that Mulder was there.

In the instant that he pulled her towards him, there was not a single soul present in the room that they were aware of, besides each other. He held her close, but his touch on her back was light and innocent, his fingertips deliciously burning the skin where her tattoo resided.

“Hi,” she whispered, tilting her head back so that their faces were aligned, noses only inches apart.

“Hi,” he responded, and she heard everything that he wanted to tell her at that moment. In the way he breathed that single word. She heard his wonder and his passion, and she heard his apology. She could see it reflected in his eyes, swimming there and exposed for her to see. An apology for letting her go alone, for being an idiot, and for all the arms that have held her tonight that weren’t his.

And she forgave him.

The music was slow and steady, a heartbeat thrumming in the air. She slid the hands which had been resting on his shoulders further up and looped them around his neck. They remained completely oblivious to the world around them as they swayed in place together, unaware of the stare and murmurs of their coworkers, not noticing how they diverted their attention to something else with a quick glare from AD Skinner. Men came up to them to ask Scully to dance, but they went unheard and ignored, skulking away after it became obvious they had no chance of interrupting.

He pulled her closer to him, and she turned to rest her head against his chest, listening to his heart beating out of sync with the music, so she danced to his rhythm instead. Both of them shifted slowly from side to side in synchrony, creating their own metronome.

She was pulled out of her trance-like state as the music changed to an upbeat song which she was no longer able to drown out with the sound of his heart beating in her ear. She extracted herself slightly from his arms and looked up at him, meeting his eyes. His face was clouded in an indecipherable storm of emotion, but when she smiled softly up at him, it cleared and he returned her small grin.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, and his smile grew even wider. He moved the hands that had rested on her back and took her hand in his own, holding it tight as though he might lose her in the crowd, and led them off the dancefloor. They wove through the tables and people surrounding it, ignoring the people who looked their way in curiosity.

The heavy doors to the event hall closed firmly behind them and an instant deafening silence filled the foyer. But it was quickly broken by the echoing sound of her heels clicking on the tiles as Mulder tugged her towards the revolving door at the entrance. A tiny laugh, one that could almost be described as a giggle, escaped her lips. They tumbled out of the door onto the street, both attempting and failing to hide their grins.

He hadn’t let go of her hand.

A cool evening breeze drifted down the street, curling around her bare arms and shoulders, so she stepped closer into him, stealing his warmth by proximity. But, for the second time that night, he pulled her closer, an arm wrapping around her waist, hands still entwined.

She tilted her head up and he tilted his down so that their noses were only an inch apart.

“Where are we going?” he whispered, his breath tickling her lips.

“Does it matter?” she breathed.

“No.”

There were words that remained unspoken, but she heard them all the same.

As long as I’m with you.

#so it appears that the more i write the more i dislike my writing #is that just me ??#anyway i dont love this but oh well #xf fanfic #msr #dana scully #fox mulder #the x files #txf #my fic

127 notes · View notes

crystxlclear · 4 years ago

Text

sudden desire

chapter eight: hey, one question! what the hell?

part nine of sudden desire

in which two best friends won’t admit they’re in love so decide to have a baby together instead.

pairing: marcus pike x original female character (coraline meyer)

word count: 1.6k (she’s a short queen)

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, the tiniest smidge of angst (not really), alcohol consumption, extremely overly-enthusiastic and unnecessary use of italics, not beta’d because of course

author’s note: this chapter was born of me needing more coraline x loren interaction in my life, but it not fitting in with the next chapter. it’s a oneshot, of sorts, but it does help the story so i’ve chucked it in here anyway! next chapter’s coming suuuuuper soon (it’s like 2/3 written!) so don’t worry about the lack of marcus!

“Coraline.” The way she says sounds like she’s being reprimanded. Like it’s her mother calling her name when she’s done something wrong, a little girl hiding away inside her bedroom. Her stoicism comes out along with the wine, though she knows she doesn’t mean it, not really. She never does; she snapped at her for drinking her wine too quickly once before. Her bravado seems to grow when the flush of red wine touches her cheeks. “I won’t lie to you, I think it’s a terrible idea.” Loren Hull cocks an eyebrow at Coraline as she sighs and sinks back into the couch cushions.

Loren leans forward and sets her glass on the coffee table. Coraline eyes her scepticism as she nurses her drink, swilling the liquid around her glass until it creates a whirlpool that’s suddenly far more interesting than the conversation. She wishes it was big enough to swallow her up.

“I knew you’d say that.” She sighs in resignation.

She’d toyed with the idea of not telling a soul. That, if she did get pregnant, she’d just pretend it was some crazy accident after too many glasses of wine one evening, when their loneliness had taken over and they were in need of a friend to hold them close. She still figures it best to let her parents believe that; as close as they all may be - Coraline, her parents, Daniel, and even her brother, Jamie who they still rarely see, especially when he’s wandering carefree across Europe with someone new every week - she’s not sure her parents are entirely ready to accept the unusual nature of Coraline and Marcus’ agreement.

They’re traditional, to an extent. Whimsy and blithe, sure, time spent at concerts or travelling, or anything that made them happy whenever their hearts so desired, but the kind to believe that pregnancy spelt marriage. That was the way they’d done it, when her mom had fallen pregnant with Daniel by happenstance.

But, as she wrestled with the idea, she settled on a list of people she thought best to confide in. But the list, still - limited exclusively to Loren, Daniel and Kimmy - was, perhaps, the most daunting collection of names she’d faced in her lifetime.

Kimmy had taken it the best. When she’d told her - drying the dishes, as they always did, gossiping about the week - she could see that she was trying not to yell out loud, so she didn't wake Piper, or let Daniel know something was up before she told him.

Daniel had taken it well, too. Surprisingly well, in comparison to how she’d imagined. She’d imagine he’d scoff at her, tell her she was being ridiculous and try to talk her out of it, but he’d smiled and even hugged her, and insisted that he’d support her as long as she was happy. He’d watched her fondly as she’d bounced Piper in her lap, her niece giggling jovially at her aunt’s ridiculous facial expressions. He’d hugged her again as she left and whispered that he was sure she’d be an amazing mom.

She’d almost cried in the car on the way home.

Loren, on the other hand, was taking it about as well as expected. By insisting that she had surely gone insane

“You can at least acknowledge that you’re both crazy and that this is a ridiculous idea, right?” Loren raises her eyebrows at her best friend. Coraline doesn’t expect her to support the idea, just support her, at least.

“I know it’s probably a stupid idea.” Coraline tilts her head back against the sofa and drains the last of her juice. She’d supposed it best not to drink too much alcohol - just in case - but she could sure do with the liquid confidence right now. “But I have thought it through, a lot,” she insists, “I didn’t just decide this on a whim.”

Loren hums. “It’s a big commitment, y’know? Huge.”

“I’m not a child, y’know?” Coraline counters.

“I know, I know-” She sighs. “Look, if this is what’s going to make you happy.” Loren watches her as she drinks, still nervous, her hands gripping the glass tight enough around the lip of the glass that she wouldn’t be entirely surprised if it broke between her fingers. It wouldn’t take a genius to see that she was still worried. “So-” She seems to perk up, a first attempt to comfort her best friend. She shakes her bangs from out of her face and smiles fondly over at her oldest friend. “-have you made your appointments yet?”

“Appointments?” She furrows her brows.

Loren blinks back at her as if she’s completely crazy, as if she should most definitely understand what she means. Like her confusion makes no sense. “... your IVF appointments? I mean, I assume that’s how you’re doing it.”

“Ooooh… about that... “

“Oh, Cora.” Loren lets out a chuckle she can’t contain. She raises her eyebrow at the revelation, then shakes her head and tilts it back. Her hair brushes against the couch cushions as she begins to laugh. “You two are so damn oblivious, it’s painful,” she insists.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Coraline picks up the pillow that’s propped behind her back, alleviating some of the ache that has been building up thanks to long hours on set and on her feet, rushing around like a mad woman with reckless abandon. She hits Loren on the arm with a resounding thump, trying to hold back the smile that threatens to break out on her face at the sound of her friend’s ridiculous snorting laughter.

“You know you don’t have to do it like that, right?”

“Right. But this just felt like the best way to do it, so-”

“But that’s how couples do it, not ‘friends’,” Loren insists, drawing air quotes around the final word.

“Were the air quotes really necessary?” Coraline glares over at her, rolling her eyes. It elicits another snort from Loren, shoulders shaking as she tries to masquerade her laughter, seemingly-permanent creases at the corners of her blue eyes. “Shut up,” she groans. She lets out one of those almost-pathetic sounding giggles, the kind that she’s sure makes her seem like a child, frustrated but not enough to really be upset. The kind that hides the hint of a laugh, when your emotions are thrown into turmoil and everything comes out confusing and muddled and vaguely incoherent. “We’re just friends, I told you!”

“And I’m the President of the United States! You can pretend all you want but you’re not fooling anyone, least of all me,” she exclaims, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“He looks at everyone like that. I’m nothing special.”

“So, he looks at everyone like he’s just seen the sun for the first time?” She tilts her head to the side and vaguely narrows her eyes. Coraline can tell that she’s digging for some kind of confession; it was a bad habit of Loren’s - one she’d vowed to break on several drunken New Years Eves in the town square of their hometown, but so far had failed to stick to - but the thirst for gossip always seems to overtake her. She’s been better since she’s had Maisie, she barely has time to worry about any potential news she’s missing out on. Coraline is the only one who seems of interest to her, now. Though Coraline has to admit, she finds her best friend’s gossiping endearing, even if she knew one-too-many secrets about people she’d never even met.

Coraline and Loren have been friends for about as long as they can remember. They’d met at three-years-old, pre-school, on that daunting first day without their parents. Loren had always been the exuberant one; vibrant and flamboyant, raucous and bright, while Coraline had been more of a reserved little girl, kind and sweet, and small for her age until she hit high school. Looking at them then, you would think that Loren was the one in the limelight, not Cora.

But they’d known each other for so long, been there through the good times - and the bad - and still, somehow, managed to stay close when Coraline had left for California for college and Loren had followed Cora’s younger brother to D.C. like, in her own words, she was some lost lovesick teen. Jamie had broken her heart and jetted off to Europe in search of adventure, and Loren had moved on with her life in that stoic, matter-of-fact way. Still, she’d cried on Coraline’s shoulder the moment she made it to D.C., her and Scott’s belongings in a thousand-and-one boxes trailing behind her. She'd been there for Cora after Scott, too.

But, for better or for worse, Loren could see right through Coraline, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t drive her utterly insane.

“He calls you Sunshine, for god sake.”

Loren had nearly collapsed when Cora had told her that. But Coraline has never seen what the big deal was - because, to her, it was just a friendly nickname born of the colour of the dress she’d chosen the day they met - but it seems to drive her best friend completely insane every time she mentions it or she hears the words pass from Marcus’ lips. She practically swoons at the sound of it, when he greets Coraline with his low voice and a hand pressed against her lower back..

“He doesn’t look at me like that, now, hush. Can a man and a woman not be ‘just friends’?”

“They absolutely can, but friends don’t look at each other like that. Believe me.”

Coraline shrugs. “Well, I guess we’re different then. We’re just friends.”

“But-”

“Uh uh uh.” Coraline points and wiggles her finger like she’s telling off a small child. Loren smirks at her irritation. “-friends.”

“Whatever you say.” Loren sips on her wine and side-eyes her. “Whatever you say.”

taglist: @wheresthewater @ah-callie @its--fandom--darling

#marcus pike x original female character #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x fem!oc #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #sudden desire #marcus pike x coraline meyer #the mentalist

23 notes · View notes

wallwriterstuff · 4 years ago

Text

It’s A Chore || Whole Guard ||

Summary: I have spent a weekend cleaning my parent’s house top to bottom and am now sick of chores, so it got me thinking about which chores the guard dislike the most!

Warnings: Felix’s one is perhaps a little dark with mild descriptions of death.

Alec

Alec is no stranger to hard work (he grew up in a time when he was expected to take on a fair bit of menial work from a young age just to keep his family fed) but that doesn’t mean he enjoys any of it. Alec isn’t one to use his fireplace for obvious reasons, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the guard don’t. Both he and Jane had argued that collecting firewood is something they should be exempt from but Aro’s yet to be persuaded by any of Alec’s arguments, his main one being that vampires don’t get cold so lighting a fire is both an unnecessary luxury and a safety hazard that every guard should be independently responsible for. Aro sees it as a sort of exposure therapy. Alec sees it as his own personal form of torture.

They live slap bang in the city centre, so they have to traipse just beyond city limits to gather the wood they need. Most people class it as a day off and a chance to fool around with the group that gets sent out every few weeks to collect enough to keep up stock levels for their floor, but Alec absolutely detests every moment. He can still remember collecting firewood near the village he grew up in and though it’s far easier now with his strength, he can recall exactly how bad swinging that axe made his shoulders and back ache. He can also recall the catcalls from the other village boys tormenting him about letting his devil sister freeze. It’s just not an activity he enjoys, so his solution was very simple.

Employ a human to do it.

Alec’s aversion to collecting firewood has kept one otherwise poor family on his payroll for centuries, and they deliver right to his door for a little extra tip he is always glad to give them. There are rumours amongst the family of course that their employer hasn’t aged a day since great-great-great-great Grandpa was employed by him but so long as Alec keeps paying them to chop the trees when it’s his turn, none of them ever bring it up.

Demetri:

This man has a love hate relationship with chores. He knows poverty, the stink of it clinging to your clothes, the dirt crusting under your nails and coating everything you own simply because your so busy working to live you don’t have time to clean. For that reason, he’s quite happy to do the chores required to keep his room clean and is one of those people who calls out others who aren’t doing their bit to keep the common areas of the castle clean to – he was the one who made the cleaning rota and every lower guard member that has ever complained about it very quickly shuts up when they realise he created and enforces it religiously.

On the flip side, ever since Amun created him he has been pulled out of squalor and living in the lap of luxury. He’s spent a millennium in the finest clothes, his food hand-picked and delivered to him, his quarters giving him more space than he was ever accustomed to before. So why should he do chores? He refuses to live in his own mess, so on one hand he’s happy to do his chores but on the flip side surely they can just pay someone else to do them? He has much more important things to do. While you can catch him dusting, polishing, changing bed sheets etc, one thing he absolutely cannot do is sew.

Now he has plenty of money, wealth is easy to accrue as a vampire, and he’s used it plenty to buy what he deems fashionable, but if there’s one human habit he hasn’t been able to shift in all the years he’s lived it’s the reuse and recycle policy. Why should he buy new clothes when he can reuse old ones? That requires a bit of skill in sewing, and unfortunately Demetri has very little. Consequently, he pays to have clothes repaired…and for sewing lessons. He’s just successfully darned his first pair of socks all by himself and is unjustifiably smug about it, but for everything else he pays a professional – no sense in wasting that ostentatious shirt he bought in the 60’s when it could come back into fashion at ANY moment.

Felix:

Felix is generally very happy with his place on the guard, but there’s one thing that really bugs him sometimes, and that’s the one particular chore he gets called on for a lot. There’s a lot of tourists that come through the castle on a fortnightly basis, and since they don’t leave…how do you get rid of them? With a contingent of lower guard under his command, it’s left for Felix to dispose of the bodies more often than not. The higher-ranking guard members do take turns to chip in and help with the clean-up, but more than one person has started to realise that more often than not Felix is the one left to the task.

He has a bulky frame and he’s exponentially strong, so he can shift a fair amount of bodies in record time once clean up begins. He strips the bodies of valuables, as the last of the blood drips down the drain, and once they’re ready for moving, he can take several at once down to the ovens near the dungeons and start cremating them. He’s good at his job, but he doesn’t like doing it. Burning flesh smells bad and if he’s brutally honest, he doesn’t want to end up looking twice at the people he’s fed from. It’s very obvious they all died in pain and more often than not their faces aren’t peaceful, mouths frozen open mid-scream and glassy eyes staring back at him till he closes them.

He’s made noise once or twice about being put on clean up duty less, but sadly he’s made himself invaluable at this task. He only does it so efficiently because he can’t wait to get the morbid task over with.

Jane:

Jane is…not spoiled per say, but she tends to get what she wants a lot. Her role as a woman in her human life was entirely domestic. She was meant to be a dainty little housewife so it’s really not a big deal for her to do the chores necessary to keep her room clean. There’s something oddly comforting actually, about cleaning her room. It’s one of the few things that makes her feel normal actually and she quite relishes the chance to drop the scary guard act. Hell, sometimes a quiet evening polishing her coin collection (whichever case happens to be on display gets polished once a week like clockwork) actually makes her smile.

What Jane appreciates less is having to clean the common areas. Demetri’s rota is the bane of her existence and she has tried multiple times to sabotage it but Demetri always has spare copies, and no amount of torture so far has gotten him to give up the location of these copies for her to destroy them. As far as Jane is concerned, she is responsible for her mess and her mess alone. Why should she clean up after anyone else? Nobody in the guard regardless of rank is younger than a few decades at best so they are all grown up enough to know to clean up after themselves, especially when they indulge in the secretary without permission and left a horrific blood stain she had to use three different types of Zoflora on to get rid of the smell.

#twilight #twilight headcanon #volturi #alec volturi #felix volturi #jane volturi #demetri volturi #volturi headcanon

96 notes · View notes

tinycaprisun · 4 years ago

Text

a song about it raining somewhere else

title: a song about it raining somewhere else characters: chuck taylor x trent beretta word count: 3822 part: 1/1 warnings: mild cursing, and like that’s kinda it? maybe mild angst? but also i’m a baby and it becomes fluff by the end? a/n: howdy, this is not another i’m back i’m back piece as much as it honestly is. no, see this time- this is actually a gift! 2 days ago was @trentjinshi’s birthday and i wanted to write him something! so i sat down for like 6 hours with my goopy goblin gay brain and spit out this obvious magnum opus. so, like, don’t hate it please. also hugest happy birthday to emil again!! yeehaw... i’ve technically already sent this to u

You know, of all days to have the soul crushing realization that you’ve secretly been in love with your best friend, Trent should have expected it to happen on Valentine’s Day.

The man had garbage luck anyways, and good things seemingly never happened to him. So when Chuck animatedly told him he had a date that night with some girl, Trent’s heart shouldn’t have blown apart like he had been shot. Sure, he pretended to be supportive of his buddy, returning his radiant smile despite the effect never reaching his eyes, And yeah, he wished him all the best, telling the taller man he hoped it went well.

But did Trent mean any of that? Fuck no! He was dying on the inside, mourning the loss of a relationship and love he didn’t even know he wanted! Perhaps he should have considered himself lucky that he didn’t start bawling his eyes out on the spot. The New Yorker had a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, so the crying really was not out of the question at that moment. But he contained his feelings somehow, moving on through the rest of that afternoon like he was trudging through a snowstorm. Slow, cold, and slowly dying from the inside out.

So that led him here, sitting in his car as the rain started to come down, refusing to turn the damn thing on. He didn’t want to go back to his hotel room. Because if he did, it would remind him of the obvious. He went home alone tonight.

Chuck wasn’t alone. His friend had a probably beautiful person with a perfect personality sitting across from him at a fancy restaurant. A person who wasn’t him. Why couldn’t Trent be his perfect date? He would laugh at his jokes, softly hold his hand as they walked in from the parking lot, pull his chair out for him, admire him like he was the sun-

A harsh banging came from his left, rhythmically tapping against the glass of his car window in time with the rain drops. Trent’s head jerked up from where it had defeatedly slumped against the steering wheel to see who was trying to get his attention.

It was a security guard, holding an umbrella in one hand and wavering him off with another, politely telling him to leave the premises as the arena building they were at was closing. To be honest, getting a ticket from not leaving and instead rotting in that parking lot forever sounded like a far better time than he was having. But, he didn’t have a choice. Story of his life.

Trent started up his car, quickly leaving off into the vast night with only his thoughts to keep him company. And that was rapidly becoming annoying. The singular thing on his mind was one person, and how all this time, his feelings were so obvious. Every time he even glanced in his friend’s direction his heart rate would spike. Before now, he had chalked that up to coincidence or - considering it was Trent and how his body loved to torture him - underlying health conditions. Evidently, it was neither of those things.

One would think he would catch on to his festering crush sooner; considering he thought the entire world of Chuck and whenever he had to go more than a few days without seeing him, he would get a weird sense of longing to be back in his presence, but nothing ever wanted to work out that way. Life thought it would be much funnier if Trent felt like he was being ripped apart at the seams by a simple sentence.

Between the still processing of what it even meant to have a crush on your best friend, and knowing that right now he was out with some other person having the time of his life, Trent was not feeling great as he drove down the freeway. Grumbling under his breath, he flicked the radio on to fill the car with something other than his problems. A song the brunette had never heard before crackled to life, being about part of the way through.

By the time we get there, everybody will be drunk The chairs will be on tables and the band will be unplugged We're gonna look real good, but we're gonna look real rude I'm sorry I'm not sorry that I'm-

Fucking perfect! The last person to mess with the radio in Trent’s car was Chuck, and bastard left it on one of his stupid country stations. Trent didn’t even like country music! That didn’t stop him, however, from a few days ago when they were driving from city to city and let Chuck put on whatever he liked, even if it was something he was going to hate. He would make tiny sacrifices like that all the time for his partner, because he knew it would earn him one of those sunlit smiles. Trent really would do anything to make Chuck happy, and had been since they met.

Late to the party with you Oh, who needs confetti? We're already falling into the groove And who needs a crowd when you're happy at a party for two? The world can wait 'Cause I'm never late to the party if I'm late to the party with you

It... It was a love song?

“Throw me off a fucking bridge.” Trent mumbled to himself as he exited an off ramp. Seriously, who out there was tormenting him and making him have possibly the worst day ever? What omnipotent being did he piss off? He thought he was an alright dude, not getting into other people’s business and sort of keeping to himself. Most days he made an attempt to be somewhat nice to others and never did any of that vile or cruel shit. And yet, he was cursed to drive home while listening to a love song in a genre that he hated, and only helped to remind him more of his best friend.

Let's promise when we get in that we'll try to get right out Fake a couple conversations, make the necessary rounds These kinda things just turn into "Who's leaving here with who?" But I just want 'em all to see me come in late to the party with you

Wasn’t that a funny line. Wanting others to see the person you’re with because of how much you loved them? Trent understood that. Whenever he would go anywhere with Chuck, he would always want people to know he was there with him- whether he realized it or not.

He could talk for hours about him. It could be the simple telling of a funny story, or gushing about how good he was in the ring. Or how great of a friend he was. That made Trent wonder about what Chuck would be like if they were together. His mind wandered, dreaming up scenarios and infinite possibilities as he pulled into his hotel’s parking garage.

The musing didn’t stop when he killed the engine, happily ending that fucking song that was starting to piss him off with how cute it was. Trent pushed himself out of the car, gathering his singular bag from the trunk and wandering inside through the rain. Which, if anyone was curious, was even worse than it was when he left. It was coming down in buckets now, being slung into the New Yorker’s face by the wind.

Checking in was easy enough, having the briefest of conversations with the man at the desk who happened to have a thick southern accent.

Chuck had an accent, but only when he drank a lot. It took about 3 and a half beers for it to come out, but by that point he didn’t care all that much to hide it. He wouldn’t be trashed, as he was a pretty solid drinker and had made putting strong shit back a hobby over the last few years. Trent knew exactly how it sounded, though. A smooth Kentucky accent that always caused him to punctuate the last word of his sentences and pronounce certain things differently. Never anything like “y’all” or something southern like that, after all Chuck wasn’t that dime store cowboy they worked with.

The thing Trent remembered the most about Chuck’s accent was how he said his name. He would draw it out, almost like he was whining, except it was low in his voice and always accompanied by a wide grin. One that’s toothy like Cheshire Cat, and annoyingly sweet like bubblegum. Trent idly wondered if he tasted like bubblegum too, but the thought turned vivid fantasy was interrupted for a moment by the elevator reaching his floor.

The brunette slowly approached his room, still partially entranced by the ideas he had created in his mind as he unlocked his door and slipped in. From there, it felt like he wasn’t even alive anymore. Not in a morbid sense, but as in he wasn’t participating in the concept of reality at that moment. Trent was so disconnected from his actions, it was almost as though he was outside of his body and looking in from somewhere else. So much so, that when he snapped out of his revere from his phone buzzing, he was lying in bed wearing only his boxers.

Not that what was on his phone was of any importance to him. All Trent saw were notifications for things he didn’t care about, the only thing sticking out was a short text from Orange sending him more condolences over his current “issue”. Damn, he was acting like someone had died, not his friend’s heart being broken. Trent didn’t bother responding, tossing the device back on the bedside table and rolling over to face away from it.

The alarm clock on the other stand read “10:17 p.m.”, blinking at him like the piece of shit was broken. It also only now occurred to Trent that he had never turned the lights on while he was basically astral projecting. So he was bathed in darkness, with the only illumination being that digital clock and the street lights below outside the window.

Was he going to fall asleep at a respectable time? Because deep in his bones he could feel the shroud of tiredness creeping through him from all of the emotional energy he drained today. And with that, Trent grabbed one of the unused pillows and wrapped himself around it, cuddling it tightly and not bothering to get under the bed covers.

Maybe if he tried hard enough, Trent could pretend the pillow was something else. --

Who in the hell was knocking at his door at - the New Yorker stopped his angry brain tirade to peek at the clock again - 11:53 at night? He had only gotten to sleep an hour and it was cut short by who knew what. If this was Orange coming to tell him he had broken another hotel microwave by “forgetting to take the metal spoon out of his mac and cheese”, Trent was going to fucking kill him.

Getting up from where he lay, Trent stumbled blearily across the room to the door. In those few seconds, it processed with him that his hair must have come untied while he was sleeping because it was messily draped around his shoulders. Among that, he was still only dressed in boxers, riding rather low on his hips. Maybe he had a restless sleep even though it was quick?

He didn’t care what he looked like though as he slowly pulled the door open with a yawn and blinked from the harsh light flooding in from the hallway. Trent prepared to open his mouth and berate his shorter friend when he heard a sniffle come from in front of him.

Chuck was standing on the other side of the doorway, soaking wet from the rain. By the look on his face, it seemed as though he had been crying as well, with red eyes and a running nose. His eyes didn’t meet Trent’s as he all but whispered, “H-hey, man.”

Did the longer haired brunette care that his friend was ice cold and drenched from head to toe? No. That was why without words, he dragged his friend into the room and hugged him tightly, letting the hotel door slip closed on its own. Chuck didn’t need to be told twice to hug back, nearly crushing Trent from the strength of his shaking arms.

They stayed like that for a good while, with Trent rubbing soothing circles into his back and letting him rest his head on his shoulder when he began to weep again. That was before he slowly drew back, silently taking Chuck’s hand and guiding him to his bed so he could sit. Trent grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around his friend, figuring he could just use a blanket later when he needed to sleep.

“I... didn’t even tell you- what’s wrong..?” murmured the Kentuckian, slouching in on himself and bringing his knees up so they were closer to his chest. He must have been really cold. Trent paused for a moment, looking with a pained yet sympathetic smile.

“Don’t need to. You’re upset, and I gotta fix that.” He wasn’t sure who hurt him, or even what, but just let it be known he was going to destroy whatever it was.

“Well, uh, t-thank you?”

“Yeah, dude. I-” Love you. “Care about you. You’re my friend and shit. Hurts to see you cry.” With that, Trent carefully maneuvered around Chuck and hopped off the bed to go rifle through his clothes for something dry he could wear. And- probably some pants for himself. When he first opened the door, he couldn’t help but notice Chuck gave him the slightest look up and down, with his cheeks going red afterwards. Trent assumed it was only because he was cold, and the warmth from his bedroom had fucked with his internal body temperature.

While digging through his bags trying to find some of the clothes he always packed for his friend - and if it were any other day than today, Trent would have told you it was because he was just being a nice guy. He knew better than that now. - Chuck began to talk again. “Date ditched me...”

“They didn’t show up?”

Chuck sighed. “No, she did. But- when her ex came around... She would’a rather been with him.”

Trent grabbed the extra clothes and stood, turning around to face Chuck who was staring off into the corner. Considering how already destroyed his heart already was from earlier, he was a bit surprised it still had a few more pieces that could shatter at this sight. Coming back over, he set the pile to one side of him, then sat back down on the other. “Chuck...”

“I don’t know what I expected? Every girl, or hell- every guy, I’ve ever tried to date has never worked out for me. I don’t get it.” Oh, Trent should not have been so happy to hear those words. Well, he wasn’t happy to hear most of them, and was hurting for his friend, but two of them in particular stuck out to him like a sore thumb. Every guy. That meant Chuck had been on dates with men. That meant, even though it was fucked up to think about this at the moment, that Trent still had a chance.

“You just haven’t found the right one, man. None of those assholes from before deserve you anyways.” Chuck brought his gaze back over to Trent, eyes glassy and expression- disbelieving. His hair was matted to his head, still wet in some places, but mostly stuck in small spots to his forehead. Everything else about him was still about the same caliber as that, slowly drying and clinging to parts of his body that weren’t being disrupted by the comforter.

“Or maybe I didn’t deserve them...” Something- came over Trent then. There wasn’t a word for the mix of emotions he felt upon hearing that. But what he could feel were his hands taking either side of his best friend’s face and holding his head up to where he would look him in the eyes.

“That’s not true, you and I both know that. Anyone in the world would be lucky to have you.”

Chuck honest to god laughed at that and tilted his head. “Name one person.”

Fuck. For all intents and purposes, the answer he desperately wanted to give was ‘Me’, but that never came out of his mouth. Instead, it was like Trent was suspended in fear, unable to say what he wanted for the thought of being rejected. Or somehow even worse, him thinking it was a joke and getting upset with him. So, Trent said nothing, trying to think of a different response that would be true, but didn’t give himself away.

That was the nail in the coffin, though. Chuck took his silence as an answer, unable to provide a single person who could possibly want to be with him. The other man shook Trent’s hands away from his face, hurt welling up in his eyes with a grimace as he moved to grab the clothes that were gotten for him.

“See,” Chuck hobbled to a standing position, holding the clean garments close to his sodden chest like it was going to protect him from the pain he was feeling. Trent, just say something, anything, he yelled to himself whilst watching Chuck shuffle over to the bathroom and pull the door open. He flicked his eyes down to the floor for a moment before coming back up and locking onto Trent’s. “No one could ever love me...”

“Chuck-” Trent was too late, Chuck had already disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. And God damn it, his stomach had sunk to the depth of his being, twisting and turning like he was going to be sick. He should have said something. Even if it meant ruining the only thing he really had left to care about. There was his job, his other friends, his family and that; and while they meant a lot to him as well, he truly believed in that moment, and probably for some while now, that Chuck was his world.

As goofy and kind of bullshit as it was to hear, that’s what he felt like. That this guy he’s known for a good chunk of his life was his sun, moon, and every star in the sky. And Trent knew he’s never felt that way about another person. He knew that no other person on this Earth - or fuck, any other planet - could beam at him when they pull an upset and win a match together like he could. No one else made his chest feel warm whenever they complimented him quite the same way that Chuck did. There wasn’t a soul who had the same giggle, the wit, the determination, the personality- fucking any of it. No one had quite what his best friend had, and that was why he loved him.

Trent had no idea how long Chuck was going to be in there, or if he was ever going to come out. Knowing him, he could stay in there all night, not wanting to face the world again- let alone his friend. Even still, he got up from where he was and placed himself a few paces away from his bathroom door. Within his head, he hyped himself up, vowing that no matter if he got scared or felt like everything was going to go wrong, the New Yorker was going to tell him the truth.

Approximately 4 minutes later - if you asked Trent it felt like 10 years - Chuck finally emerged from his hiding place, dressed in some of his friend’s clothes and with shockingly drier hair. Not sure why he was so surprised that he had run a towel through it or something, but that didn’t matter. The taller man seemed confused as to why Trent was standing at the door, but before he could ask what was happening, Trent said, “I do.”

Chuck squinted at him with a, “What?” but it came out choked off and shaky, like he wasn’t prepared to speak.

“You said no one could ever love you, and that’s not true. Because I love you,” He wanted to protest, but now that Trent was talking, he couldn’t stop. “And I didn’t realize it until today, but I seriously am so in love with you that I don’t think I could picture my life without you. You mean everything to me and I would do anything for you just to see your beautiful smile or hear you say my name. And I know it sounds like I’m lying and that I’m trying to make you feel better, but I’m not. If I think about it, I feel like I’ve loved you forever but never realized it, and I wish I could have known sooner. Because you need to know that you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I would be the luckiest guy in the world to even have a chance with you-”

“Trent-”

“I love the way you purposefully send me a string of those stupid emojis over text because you know it annoys me. I love how you can make anyone feel better with just one smile and your passion for loving others. I love how much you love animals and how every dog you see, you consider kidnapping-'' Trent had become so caught up in his declaration that he hadn’t noticed his friend had moved from in front of him and Chuck’s lips were on his.

Before he could even do anything; not even get a gasp at the sudden action, Chuck was already pulling away, breathing as if he had just run a mile. His face was bright red and his hands were holding either of Trent’s arms as he searched his face for a reaction. Or anything really.

“I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” It felt as though Trent was living in one of those shitty romantic comedies he secretly liked to watch, because he was the one who cut Chuck off while speaking with an somehow even more desperate kiss. He felt him respond almost instant, bringing one of his hands up to Trent’s face to cup it gently as his own arms latched cautiously onto Chuck’s hips. And that was where they stayed, for who knew how long, but every second of it was exactly where they wanted to be.

You know, of all days to have the life-changing realization that you’re secretly in love with your best friend, Trent - and Chuck for that matter - hadn’t expected it to happen on (the day after) Valentine’s Day.

13 notes · View notes