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shades-of-stony · 3 years ago

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Time Travel Stony Fanfic

Character from the Future travels to the Past

A Shadow Hanging Over Our Fate by CaptainDean13

Summary: The Avengers get sent back in time to WWII where they run into the Howling Commandos... complete with Bucky and Steve. Little hard to explain that away, especially when you are trying to keep some major secrets. Secrets like how you ended up in the future and why the hell Bucky is now a scary (reformed) assassin with a metal arm, not to mention that you married your friend's son.

Note: A 1000/10 READ. THIS IS SO FREAKIN’ GOOD THAT I READ IT 3 TIMES SINCE I FIRST FOUND IT LAST YEAR. It’s a nice and well written time travel fic with the howling commandos and past Steve and Bucky!!

A New Way For Us by ann2who

Summary: They fight Thanos—and they’re losing. And before Tony knows what’s happening, he’s standing with Doctor Strange in front of the Eye of Agamotto and gets send back in time. Can he find a way to fix things this time around, or are they doomed to fall apart all over again?

Note: This is where Tony went back in time to fix everything that went wrong and prepare for the arrival of Thanos! Due to an unexpected twist of fate, he found himself getting closer to Steve of all people!

Two More Miracles (To Be A Saint) by queenpenthesilea

Summary: “Get up, Stark, you sleep too much. You said you would teach me paper football.”

Tony’s eyes snapped open. No. No. Had it all been a dream? Had he just imagined five years – five years - of an idyllic life, complete with a beautiful, wonderful daughter? He pushed himself up, looking around; he was on the Milano – he was on the fucking Milano, and either this was a really weird version of hell or everything had been a dream. Or, a little voice whispered, something had gone horribly, horribly wrong with the infinity stones.

Note: A nice and juicy post-Endgame Time Travel fanfic!! Though, this one held a few what ifs.

Saving the World is a 12 Step Program by janonny

Summary: Tony and Steve fall to pieces when Thanos’ wins.

Then they pick themselves up, and find a solution. They also find something infinitely more precious in the process.

“It’s going to sound pretty outrageous,” Tony admitted, rubbing a hand over his brow. While he had put on some weight and wasn’t as gaunt anymore, he was still easily tired nowadays.

“More outrageous than talking racoons and a purple villain traveling through space to collect magic stones?” Steve asked drily.

Note: This is another post-Endgame fanfic but with a twist and different take on the whole time travel!

Oh, Snap by wedelia

Summary: Peter wakes up, and he’s simultaneously five years too early and right on time.

Or, Post-Endgame Peter goes back in time and accidentally-on-purpose gets Steve and Tony together before the initial snap happens. And, oh, yeah—he also recruits a former-Air-Force-pilot-turned-galactic-hero, has lunch with Black Widow, and somehow befriends Nick Fury. This changes things.

Note: It’s Peter who time travels this time around!!

If We Never Got This Second Chance by Pookaseraph

Summary: When Tony and Steve’s son from the future, Jake Jensen, arrives at Avenger’s Tower, the two of them are forced to confront some hard truths: Tony that he might not actually become a horrible father, and Steve that he might not be able to set aside his discomfort with sharing a child with another man. When they both get a second chance at a first try at fatherhood, it’s up to the two of them to learn from their own future's past.

Note: Anyone up for some future son time travel? Enjoy this nicely written fanfic of Stony’s future son traveling and meeting the past versions of his parents! Past versions that are not even together yet! Things are about to get weird for Steve and Tony.

Your Name on Every Wall by Sineala

Summary: The Time Gem throws Steve into the past rather than the future, and in doing so, it gives him the opportunity to undo his past mistakes. But when it turns out that all of his mistakes involve Tony Stark, Steve begins to wonder if he's ever going to be able to mend things between them.

Note: A unique plot where Steve travels to the future and realizes what he is missing on!

Together, At Dawn by RoseGoldAmpersand

Summary: Steve returns the Infinity Stones to New York and finds himself in conversation with Tony of the past. More mature and willing to listen to Tony he realises that what he previously thought were taunts was actually Tony flirting with him.

In light of this new discovery and alone in Tony’s workshop after the battle of New York, one thing leads to another...

Note: ohhhhh, some juicy smut anyone?

Don't Look Back, You Can Never Look Back. by iL0Vsuperman

Summary: Tony Stark: billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and, now, superhero.

It’d only been a few months prior that he’d revealed to the world he was Iron Man and life couldn’t be better.

That is…until he stumbled upon an old abandoned Hydra lab and kinda set off one of their machines by accident. A blast of blue light later and he found himself in the same lab…only it is seventy years earlier and it is full of Hydra agents.

Cue the entrance of the Howling Commandos led by Tony’s childhood hero, Captain America.

Suddenly, Tony is living out a dream. He’s joining up with the Commandos in the search to get Tony back to his right era. It’s the adventure of a lifetime and, at first, it’s amazing…but then he and Steve connect in ways more than just friendship and he finds that he is torn between wanting to stay with him or go back home.

In the end, whatever the result, he loses.

Note: Tony meets his childhood heroes-the Howling Commandos and Captain America!

The Future is Yet in Your Power by FestiveFerret

Summary: "Now." Wong leaned back in his chair. "What would you do to save this world from Thanos' attack? What would you sacrifice?"

"Anything," Steve said. "Anything at all."

Wong considered him for a moment, expression unreadable. "There's one thing, maybe."

Note: This is nice fanfic about Steve putting everything on the line to hopefully make a change.

The Good or Bad Thing by petreparkour for SeetheSea

summary: “It’s the metal suit,” Thor informed Steve, his normally-booming voice tinny over the SHIELD comms. “What did Stark call it—Iron Man?”

“But he’s down here,” Steve protested as the Hulk roared in Stark’s face, startling him into waking with a shout. “How could—”“It’s damaged,” Thor reported. “But it looks different. More advanced. And he—ah. He’s carrying you, Captain.”

“Please tell me nobody kissed me,” Stark breathed out, and then Stark’s voice suddenly came over the comms, but the man lying next to him hadn’t moved.“

Guys, come on, you’re killing me here. What is it, 2012? God, I hate time travel. First, I'm fighting Thanos. Now, I have to deal with my past self and Thor's bad haircut? Oh my God, Cap, yes I hacked their comms, they’re my comms.”

Steve nearly opened his mouth to protest that he hadn’t said anything when he realized that this replica of Tony Stark wasn’t speaking to him.

Note: Future Tony and Steve accidentally traveling in the past!

Character from the Past travels to the Future

hold the things you wanna say by SailorChibi

Summary: Tony is still a consultant, and between SI, the team and SHIELD he's overworked and exhausted. That's okay.

He and Steve have been having sex for weeks but that's all it is, just sex, and Tony wants more but he'll never get it and that's okay. Really.

What's not okay is the fact that Howard Stark has somehow appeared in the future and is the same as always.

This is definitely going to fuck up his schedule.

Note: ANGST! READY YOUR TISSUES.

Twice Upon a Time by TsaritsaElena

Summary: Tony Stark has never had an easy relationship with his father, but when Howard Stark circa 1983 time travels to the future in a freak accident, things get even more complicated, especially since Tony is dating his dad’s idol, Captain America, and Howard doesn’t know. As they work toward a solution that will restore Howard to his own timeline, will Tony get a second chance at a father-son relationship with his dad, or is he in for more of the same unforgiving treatment from Howard? Time travel, Avengers missions, and a secret project of Howard’s: things at Stark Tower are about to get a little crazy.

Note: SOME MORE ANGST AND HOWARD TRAVELLING TO THE FUTURE.

The Future Is Ours (Whether We Want It Or Not) by ann2who

Summary: After a hit from the Time Stone, Steve switches places with his future self.

Note: Another of Steve traveling to the future! Though this time, it features both timeline! Both POV of the past and future!

Ordinary Men by RiaRose

Summary: "Aren't you at all happy to see me?" Howard shot back, holding his glass out and pointing with his index finger. At Steve's stony face, he dropped his arm. "Want a glass?" he tried, picking up an empty tumbler, "This is good stuff."

"Tony doesn't skimp on - well - anything. And no, thank you."

"Was that Tony?" he queried, gesturing toward the hallway the other man had disappeared down. Steve nodded but didn't give any more information, so Howard repeated his earlier question, "Aren't you happy to see me?"

It took Steve a moment to answer. Howard could see his jaw working.

"No, not anymore."

In which Howard travels to the future and just messes up everybody's day, Steve is conflicted, and Tony is a piping hot mess, as per usual. It's not going to be easy, but Steve and Tony have to somehow navigate through Howard's arrival and the strain it puts on their relationship.

Note: From the summary alone, you can tell that THIS WILL BE ANGSTY.

To Have My Time Again... by WilmaKins

Summary: It's been two years since Siberia, and Tony Stark is still dealing with the fallout - personal and political. Life is quite complicated enough, without Bruce falling through a wizards roof yelling that Thanos is coming.

Thor and Loki are stalling, but time is running out. The fate of the universe is at stake. Steve Rogers is back in the picture. Really, the last thing Tony needs is for their plan to go horribly wrong and bring Howard Stark forward in time.

But his Dad *is* standing in his office, whether he likes it or not.

So, it looks like Tony will have to fix that mess too.

Note: There is just something about Howard-travels-to-the-future fanfics.

Howard Stark Meets The Avengers by SerlinaBlack

Summary: Howard Stark unknowingly travels to the future with his son and wife. Luckily the heroes of the future were somewhat ready for it. Unluckily , they don't seem to like him very much

Alternative summery: when will Howard learn? Not now lmao.

Note: ANOTHER ONE.

#stony #stony fanfiction #stony fanfic #stony fic #stony fic rec #stevetony #stevetony fic rec #steve and tony #steve and tony fic #superhusbands #stevetony fanfic

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languageofsuffering · 11 months ago

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The fresh, clear air of the Kerch countryside, devoid of the strong, acerbic tang of black coal smoke that hung heavily in the polluted, turbid atmosphere above Ketterdam at all times, did little to reduce the growing trepidation within Kaz, nor the feeling of sickness that had settled deep in his gut, coiled around it like a sharp string that grew tighter with every passing second, as they made their way along a narrow dirt path, surrounded by wide stretches of frozen-over, snow-covered fields and distant woodlands, where the dark tree crowns of evergreens loomed behind the pastures, situated between the bare brown twigs of the trees that had lost their leaves for the winter, coated with snow like the sugary covering of banketstaaf, the ground frozen and firm, each step on the uneven terrain tough on his bad leg, but he welcomed the pain that had settled deep in the strained limb, spread through permanently damaged bone and muscle tissue, focused on it to prevent his mind from straying to places he didn't want it straying to. The journey was a challenging one, the wintry cold far from kind on his already suffering leg as they walked through miles of roads and paths such as this one, strewn with hidden dips and dastard little rocks one could easily miss and trip over ( once, as a child, he'd stepped in one of those devious crannies hiding in the ground of a field and sprained his ankle, which his father had nursed back to health with many, many cold compresses — a memory long forgotten, now, once more, as present as ever ), but he couldn't have brought himself to come here in the warmer months, when the air smelled of sour apples, drying hay and the sweet nectar of flowers blooming in vibrant colours amidst the tall grass, when it smelled of his childhood, when everything would remind him of the last good spring and summer they all had together, before their father had unexpectedly lost his life to an ox-pulled plough near the beginning of that year's harvest season and the boys he'd left behind had set off on a hopeless journey neither of them would return from. Even now, he thought he could smell it, a distant, but familiar scent that floated through the freezing cold air that reminded him of those terribly cold winter days they'd spent in their kitchen, the fire burning away as snow fell outside, sticking to fogged-up windowpanes, drinking hot chocolate made from the freshest cow's milk ( her name had been Hilda and she'd been around for as long as Kaz could remember, born three months before he had, and brought up, up until then, when the complications of childbirth that had come with an already difficult pregnancy, had put an early end to her life, by his mother ) and playing card games with their father, who'd spent the majority of the afternoon chopping lumber, that transported him right home, and he had to inwardly shake himself to get rid of the images that threatened to form ahead of his eyes.

He didn't know why he'd bought back the farm, he really didn't, and he knew even less why he'd chosen to come back here, at last, after all this time. Spite, perhaps, to gain something he'd lost back, perhaps it had been another investment, or, perhaps, he hadn't been ready yet to let the family he'd come from go fully, to let every last pieces and reminders of them die the way they had. He didn't know, but, once he'd started making a name for himself in the Barrel and acquiring important connections, it had been easy to track down the new owners of the farm, of whom he had a distant memory of — a married couple well in their fifties, who ran a successful farm shop in the nearby town of Lij, talking to Jordie in the kitchen of their former home, signing and handing him the check, of which every last penny had ultimately wandered into Pekka Rollins' pockets.

They'd never intended to do much with the house, but had needed the wide stretch of farmland for their constantly growing livestock in the long summer months — they'd wanted to tear it down eventually, as they'd told him when he'd made them an offer they couldn't refuse, and negotiated out the rest, adamant on getting back the piece of land on the outskirts of Lij his father had worked so hard for, expand the barn, but had never gotten around to it in the short time they'd owned it. And he could see that much now, as him and Inej were coming up on the land that had once belonged to his family, now once more was in the Rietveld name, even if that particular Rietveld had never truly existed, merely been an identity Kaz had fabricated in his favour, when he could no longer avoid the familiarity of these surroundings he'd left behind so long ago and avoided ever since, he'd since last walked these roads, but in the opposite direction, away from everything he'd ever known — it stood just as him and his brother had left it, well over a decade ago, a small, but pretty, two-story farmhouse with a white, half-timbered exterior, a dark blue front door and window frames painted in the same shade, connected to a wooden barn structure. Neglect and the elements of nature had evidently taken their toll on the exterior of the buildings, the white of the walls tinged black and green with dirt and streaks of moss, the wood chipped, gone entirely in some spots, the once vibrant paint faded, unkempt shrubs growing all around it and blocking part of the entry. Still, it held a familiarity that felt like a violent smack to the face that knocked the air straight from his lungs — he could see them again, two boys, brothers, walking hand in hand out of that very door, walking away from the lives they'd once lived, equal parts scared and naively hopeful for the future expanding before them. Now one of them was dead, lost forever in the sea that had carried him away, and the other was but a ghost of his former self, standing in a bizarre limbo between worlds, looking up at the facade of what had once been his home.

I knew you would end up here again, little brother. I knew you would come home.

This isn't my home, Jordie.

Cold, dismal and cruel as it may be, Ketterdam had become his home — the city that had taken everything from him, his brother, his sanity, every shred of kindness and trace of goodness he might've ever possessed, the city he'd challenged and claimed everything back from, except for what couldn't possibly be salvaged, merely avenged. He wasn't a dumb, frightened little farm boy anymore, hoping for his brother's success as a merchant, he was one of the wealthiest men in the city, richer than the majority of the merchant council, a skilled conman, the thief who stripped these hapless businessmen his brother had wanted to be one of, off their money. THAT was his home, the empire he'd built for himself, the gang he'd raised from nothing, the city that might've haunted his dreams hadn't he become the monster they all feared.

And, even if the vastness of the True Sea separated them for most of the year, in way, the woman next to him had become something like a home to him as well. Although he wasn't looking in her direction, he felt her presence next to him, felt how close she was standing, and, in the barest movement, he allowed his shoulder to brush against hers.

Before Jordie's voice could gain in prominence as it always did until he couldn't take it anymore, her voice came through, one he clung to like an anchor would tether a ship to the shallow waters of the harbour, one that was capable of bringing him back from the darkness he had a tendency of falling into, and he held onto it for a moment, the grip of his chilled fingers stiff and firm on the crow's head top of his cane, another comfort found in familiarity that he used to at least try to ground himself as his thoughts raced and his heart rate picked up pace, pulse thumping rapidly in his ears, throat growing constricted as he turned her words over in his head. Of course she knew the job he'd explained to her had been a mere pretence, of course she did, she knew him well enough, maybe too well ( although he had begun to develop a certain appreciation for that fact ), but she didn't know everything. She knew nothing about what they were currently looking at, nor Kaz's connection to it, the reason behind the tattoo on his bicep he knew she was aware of, the person he once had been.

There were a million lies and half-truths he could formulate in response to Inej's query that wouldn't include giving away this particular piece of his history — that this wasn't their destination, only a farmhouse of many in this area and that they'd better hurry if they wanted to reach the nearby town before night fell, that he'd purchased land in the countryside for no reason other than to increase his money inflow, that he'd changed his mind on the supposed ‘ job ’ they'd come here for, and that it was time to head back.

But he'd brought her this far already, and for a reason, even if he wasn't quite sure what that was, he might as well come clean now. For a moment, Kaz didn't say anything at all, only looked at the slowly disintegrating, abandoned building before them in silence, and then, finally, after minutes that, to him, felt like hours, he swallowed, loosened a tightly locked jaw and spoke, the raspy tone of his voice coming out at a quiet volume, but sounding surprisingly steady, despite his inner turmoil, something practised, that the harshness of the Barrel and the refusal to put emotions on display had instilled in him, a peculiar ability to stay uncannily calm in most situations, but here, looking directly at his past, fighting in vain against an onslaught of memories that could no longer be fought, he wasn't sure how long he could keep that up, “ . . . This is where I grew up. ”

planed starter for @languageofsuffering

A deep breath filled her lungs with the cold, crisp air of winter. The skies were so clear out in the country of Kerch that it left Inej longing for the widened rodes of Ravka. The endless trails the Suli caravans that followed from town to city to the borders into Fjerda and Shu Han. Her hand wandered to the knife sheathed right over her heart, Sankt Petyr, the name left her lips, escaping from her lips as a whisp of smoke. Her first protector, the first knife she ever named... the knife Kaz gave her when he taught her to fight. Her hand held the leather wrapped handle gently as the steady thump of Kaz's cane interrupted the silence between them.

The ground around them was frozen as they made their way to the top of the hill, fields lay barren, the trees had shed their leaves and the Saints left the land to sleep and rest, awaiting the warmth of spring. Despite the sun and bright blue sky, it was freezing, tufts of snow and ice glittered with the sunlight while the silence continued to stretch on between them.

Inej had arrived in Ketterdam to deliver a pair of slavers to the Council to recieve their judgement when a message intercepted her departure. Written in the neat scrawl that belonged to Kaz Brekker, he'd ask for her help on a job. The Suli wasn't one to deny him, especially now that they tried to be whatever they were. It still felt vulnerable and new, but Inej was glad to be close to him again. That, however, didn't explain why they took a barge to Belent and then continued on foot and wagon ride until they reached a small settlement sorrounded by nothing but farmland.

As they reached the top of the hill Inej stopped next to Kaz, who seemed to be frozen. In front of them lay miles and miles of fields, unkempt and overgrown by straw like shrubs and bushes who seemed too stubborn to give into the cold onset of winter. Gnarled fruit trees seemed to form a small orchard around a modest farm house and a spacious barn, but the fence was old and broken in places as if this place had been left unattended for a long time.

Inej took a step closer towards Kaz, her shoulder nearly touching his and she could feel his warmth through the fabric of her dark teal cloak. "What are we really doing here, Kaz?" She asked, her voice was soft as to not startle him from his thoughts. Whatever this place was... it held the ghost of the past and Inej was not about to let Kaz get haunted by old fears again. They both still struggled enough with their demons as it were.

#therooftopsofketterdam #i'm so excited #i have been wanting to write this for so long

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deerixiie · 4 years ago

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description: one by one, love stole the people oikawa cared about the most. it stole him, too.

pairings: oikawa tooru x fem!reader

w/c: 1.6k

genre/warning: angst, hanahaki au, major character death, mentions of blood, body horror?

a/n: this is a one day late birthday present for the wonderful @wanderynn!! rae ily don’t kill me for writing oikawa angst for your birthday

Oikawa was nervous.

Which was odd, because he had been in situations like this before. Interviews required being asked questions he was expected to answer, after all.

But those were interviews. This was a therapy session.

Oikawa’s gaze dropped down at his hands, slightly worn from years of slapping a volleyball with his entire strength. Those same hands that had slapped a ball with spine-chilling intensity were the same hands that gently caressed your cheek, the same hands that easily intertwined with yours, the same hands that tilted your chin up with every kiss he placed on your lips.

Oikawa’s eyes started to burn.

The therapist seated in front of him continued to tap away on the computer, her face devoid of any emotion. She seemed to be satisfied with whatever was behind the screen and swiveled around to face him, a disgustingly fake smile on her face.

(Oikawa would know, his smiles were fake as well. Slightly strained, a little too bright to be genuine.)

“So, Oikawa-san,” the therapist said, making eye contact with him.

“Oikawa is fine.”

“Oh, alright. So, Oikawa, how are you feeling?”

Tired. Numb. Odd. Guilty.

“Fine.” The fake smile came easily.

“Ah, okay. Is this your first experience with Hanahaki?”

No, of course it wasn’t. He was told that being well-known meant people will fall in love with him. “It’s not your fault, Tooru,” they said. “Some people fall in love very easily.” Oikawa remembered snorting, thinking that no one could possibly fall in love with him just because he was charming and good-looking.

He was wrong.

(It started with Ume, the bubbly girl in his second year of middle school. Then Riko and Akika in his first year of highschool, one other girl he didn’t remember the name of in his second year, and Mizuki in his third.

Only three of them had settled on getting amnesia and forgetting Oikawa entirely instead of dying. The adoring gazes he was once plagued with became empty stares.

But Riko didn’t. Oikawa couldn’t bring himself to her funeral; he knew the only stares he would get would be accusatory ones.)

The therapist continued. “And I mean, not just from being a celebrity, but with people close to you.”

Oikawa suddenly found it difficult to breath. He saw the flash of spiky dark hair, of rude nicknames and harsh shoulder slaps.

(“I’ll be alright.”

“Iwa, you’re dying!”

“I said I’ll be alright.”

Oikawa was in Argentina when Iwaizumi died. “He had a severe coughing fit on the street that made him pass out,” they told him. “He was dead before they could put him in an ambulance.”

Oikawa cried for hours.)

“Yes,” Oikawa said quietly. “A close friend of mine died from it.”

“Oh.” The therapist’s smile faded away. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“It’s fine,” he said, flashing his brightest of smiles.

The therapist’s expression became more serious. “Dealing with that much loss must be hard.”

Oikawa didn’t respond. What does he even say to that?

“Do you want to tell me about them?”

About Iwaizumi? No, about you. Oikawa’s smile was smaller, obviously less genuine. “No, not really.”

“Well, uhm…” the therapist drummed her fingers against her thigh. “Were you two close?”

“I’m not sure.” It wasn’t a lie. The lines between the two of you had been gray and blurred. Were the intoxicated kisses at two in the morning really love, or just drunken lust? Being tangled up under the covers as you lazily slept on top of the other wasn’t necessarily romantic, was it? You held his hand because you were afraid of losing him in the crowd, not because you loved him, right?

(Wrong.)

“Even if we were friends, we were closer than most friends were.”

“Ah.” The therapist typed something on her computer. “How did you find out?”

“Come again?”

“When she was diagnosed. How did you find out it was you she was in love with?”

“Oh.” Oikawa looked out the window. It seemed to be on the cusp of fall and winter, bare branches and freezing temperatures but no snow.

He found himself smiling. You hated the snow.

“She told me a couple hours before she died.”

The therapist sucked in an audible breath. “What was that like?”

Oikawa swallowed slowly. “We were sitting together, watching a movie or something like that. She had a coughing fit.”

(He remembered how weak you looked pressed up next to him, your knees drawn to your chest, your eyes hollow and empty, your body thin and frail. Your coughing fits were violent, more violent than most. Tissues and handkerchiefs followed you wherever you went, stained with shriveled, bloody petals.)

“She told me it was me. I didn’t understand her at first, but she was saying it was me over and over. And then I understood. Six hours later, she died.”

“Is that all?”

No. “Yes.”

“So you didn’t really have much time to think about it before she passed, but it must have made you feel guilty. That’s why you’re here today.”

Oikawa nodded.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself, Oikawa.”

That’s what they all said. But he couldn’t help it, could he? He saw you sprawled on the ground in a pool of crimson, serene white petals decorating the floor like it was some sort of aesthetic arrangement. You looked so unbelievably peaceful, finally freed from the death vice of your unrequited love for him.

Love for him.

Oikawa was blind. He was desperate. He was so desperate for affection that he accepted your kisses and touches with open arms, disregarding the fact that you could be in love with him. Pure, inhumane lust drew him to you, trailing his hands down your arms, pressing his lips against your skin. He was a monster.

“Oikawa, I take it that you’ve heard of PHH?”

(PHH - (Purple Hyacinth Hanahaki) A branch of hanahaki originating from guilt over the death of a loved one; usually one who had died a hanahaki-related death from being in love with them.”

Oikawa’s nose had wrinkled reading the definition off of his health textbook. “That can happen?” He asked, glancing over at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi shrugged and continued to fill out his homework. “Love is confusing.”

“If it’s this confusing I’m never going to fall in love!” Oikawa huffed. “Love is stupid!”

“That’s what you’ll say now, Stupidkawa. I bet you’re falling in love first.”

“Hey, Iwa-chan, not true!”

The world was an ironic, cruel place.)

Oikawa’s heart pounded in his chest, an ominous countdown. (Countdown to a diagnosis? Countdown to his death?) He nodded once. “I know about it.”

The therapist drums her nails on her desk, echoing his already racing heart. A sympathetic look passed on her face. “You might be at risk for that, Oikawa.”

Oikawa found his eyes drifting over to the window once more. He spotted a lone orange leaf clinging to the end of a tree branch, persisting even as the wind violently shook the branch.

(Your body shaking violently as you clung to Oikawa’s arm, whispering “it’s you” over and over, a mantra that would haunt him even in death.

Death. It was coming sooner now, wasn’t it?)

Another violent shake, and the leaf spiraled to the ground.

(Ghostly empty eyes, mouth slightly parted as blood dribbled from the corner. Your arms were wrapped around nothing, as if in those last moments of life you were holding something tight to your chest, a last connection to the mortal world.

Oikawa wished he was there. No—no he didn’t. He wouldn’t bear to see the light fading from your eyes as he held you in his arms.)

He closed his eyes. “I know.”

He found himself back on the court two days later.

“He always finds a way to come back to the court.” His coach had said that once. Highschool Oikawa had reveled in the praise, reveled in his devotion to a sport.

Now it felt shallow. How dare he be more devoted to a sport than the own two people who motivated him to even start playing? How dare he be blinded by the rush of dopamine a successful serve gave him? How dare he not support his closest friend when he was nearing his end? How dare he not notice your unyielding love for him? How dare he how dare he how dare he-

Oikawa swiveled on his heel and threw the volleyball onto the wall. It bounced off with a satisfying “thwack” and landed back into his hands.

Oikawa sighed.

His thumbs traced slow circles against the leather. Soothing. Calmi-

(His thumb rubbed a gentle circle into your cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured, his breath hot on your face.

Your lips quirked into a smile. “For what?”

“Mm,” he moved forward and closed the distance between you greedily, encapturing you in another kiss. “It doesn’t matter.”)

Oikawa threw the ball up and took a step forward, shifting his weight into his feet for the jump.

A violent cough tore itself from his throat.

Oikawa collapsed onto his knees, his hand pressed into his mouth. The coughs were aggressive, sending violent tremors throughout his entire body. His throat hurt.

(“Yeah, it hurts,” Iwaizumi muttered, quietly rubbing his throat. “It hurts like hell.”)

(“It hurts.” Your voice was a ghost whisper in the quiet hums of the night. “Tooru, it hurts.”)

The coughs subsided, leaving behind an eerie sort of silence. Oikawa removed his hand from his mouth.

Ah, he thought. I should’ve expected this.

A vivid purple petal dotted with crimson sat in the palm of his hand. He closed his fists around the flower petal, his eyes stinging with tears.

Love was harsh words and sore throats. Love was drunken lust in the ungodly hours of night. Love was confusing. Love was stupid.

Love, it seemed, was everyone’s demise.

-purple hyacinths represent sorrow or regret.

-white tulips represent forgiveness.

taglist: @joliechuchoter @pablopascal @yn-tingz @vannerz @strawberriimilkshake @sunarashi @hajiimes @tttournesolll @hajibee @semiis @kageyuji (send an ask/dm if you want to be removed, fill out the form here to be added!)

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screaming-into-my-void · 3 years ago

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I've nearly finished my seasonal watch of Over The Garden Wall and I have some thoughts on setting in fiction I feel the need to talk at you about

Okay, so, I have watched a lot of shows, both animated and live-action, that have quite different worlds from ours. Specifically, I want to talk about the ones that don't really talk about their settings, and just show the elements and mechanics of their world.

What I am suggesting is that, if two shows have about the same amount of exposition, and both take a show don't tell approach to worldbuilding, it is still fully possible to notice when more effort has been put into worldbuilding. I think it's a sense that you get from well world built settings, independent of how much they show off about their world. I have a good and bad example here as worldbuilding goes, these are very different shows though so I'm not comparing quality. The two shows are Over The Garden Wall, and Final Space. The first time I watched Over The Garden Wall was in 2018, and after I finished it I felt that I didn't really understand the mechanics of the world. This is usually a bad thing, but it wasn't a "That made no sense" type of not understanding, it was more an "I feel like there is so much depth to that world that I've only had a glimpse of through these 10 episodes". These are very different feelings. Basically, the impression I had was that I came away with a lot of questions about the Unknown and the version of our world Wirt and Greg came from, and the mechanics and characters and all that jazz, but I also had a strong sense that there were actual answers, I felt like somewhere in one of the writers' offices there is a copy of a guide doc that has so much more specific information about the Unknown than I could ever think of, and that all of my questions were probably in there.

It's a bit of an overused metaphor at this point, but it really did feel like the show was the tip of a massive iceberg, and the fact that I would never know most of it drew me to the show like a moth to a flame. Also, bit of a side note, but the Over The Garden Wall fandom is one of the friendliest communities I have ever been in, it's that level of small fandom experience you really don't get with bigger shows.

Anyway, time to rip Final Space a new one in the worldbuilding department. I like the aesthetic of this show, I like most of the characters and the stories just fine. But the world-building is just... There's a reason this is my bad worldbuilding example.

This is a show that has a save the world plot as its first season arc. That is already a hard position you're putting yourself in, especially with a sci-fi show where many of the characters may not even care about saving the earth for any personal reason apart from it being something that they should probably do. I'll get back to the issues this causes after I go over the worldbuilding

This is also a show with mostly show don't tell worldbuilding, but you get the sense that it is stretching itself way too thin. This is a show with a very large scope for its setting and bare minimum worldbuilding, which leads to everything having very shallow feeling to it. They have a veneer of sci-fi and comedy, but that's all there is. It feels surface level, and that is really not ideal for the type of story they are telling.

Over The Garden Wall is not about the Unknown. It is primarily about the characters of Wirt, Greg, and Beatrice, with the dynamic of The Beast and The Woodsman forming more connective tissue between episodes. Most of the early episodes involve the trio interacting with the weirdos that reside within The Unknown, and later episodes (say, 6 onwards) mainly delve more into the group dynamics and relationships. Mostly by putting them under massive strain. But the main goal of the main characters never changes, Beatrice wants to undo the curse she put her family under, and Wirt and Greg want to get home. Even though characters have moments when they feel that they can't go on, when they find another way to reach their goal they are right back on it. Final Space is not about characters, it's about plot. And the plot goes from saving the world to saving the universe, essentially saving the setting. The setting we don't know nearly enough about, with characters that haven't been developed well enough to understand what personal stake they have in saving their setting. Again, aside from "it would be bad" Final Space fails where Over The Garden Wall succeeds in this aspect, in my opinion, is that not only does it not communicate it's setting as well through tone and that level of behind the scenes worldbuilding where you don't see much of it outside the fact that everything you do see moves together really well, Final Space fails at this because it puts all the focus of its story from the start on it's setting.

The audience needs to care about your setting in a save the world plot, if Final Space wanted to do what it attempted it should have gone with the most comedic option for it's setting, which is having Gary and his interactions with everyone else be the main focus, and all of the plot happening be happening slightly out of focus in the background. This massive space epic that we only catch glimpses of because the audience's main source on the world and what is going on is too caught up in trying to be likable to both the people he is romantically and platonically interested in to pay attention to the actual stakes.

This got away from me very quickly, I tore a lot more into Final Space than I meant to. I do think it's a decent show, I just have a lot of issues with the basis of its storytelling.

That makes it sound even worse

Anyway in conclusion to wrap up what has become yet another stream of consciousness post: 1. World Building can be done fully behind the curtain and your audience will still pick up that it is there

2. Plots that center around a threat to the setting need good development, but the number one priority is the characters' investment in the setting. If the characters don't care the audience won't. If your characters don't care about the plot then that can't be the main focus, their characters and their interactions with each over need to be

3. Not doing character investment or worldbuilding well while focusing on saving the setting makes you Final Space. Don't be final space

4. If Over The Garden Wall was about saving the Unknown its type of worldbuilding would not have worked. It worked because the focus was on character.

See y'all in hell, goodnight tri-state area

#otgw #storytelling #worldbuilding #over the garden wall

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grigori77 · 4 years ago

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Movies of 2021 - My Pre-Summer Favourites (Part 2)

The Top Ten:

10. ZACK SNYDER’S JUSTICE LEAGUE – one of the undisputable highlights of the Winter-Spring period has to be the long-awaited, much vaunted redressing of a balance that’s been a particular thorn in the side of DC cinematic fans for over three years now – the completion and restoration of the true, unadulterated original director’s cut of the painfully abortive DCEU team-up movie that was absolutely butchered when Joss Whedon took over from original director Zack Snyder and then heavily rewrote and largely reshot the whole thing. It was a somewhat painful experience to view in cinemas back in 2017 – sure, there were bits that worked, but most of it didn’t and it wasn’t like the underrated Batman Vs Superman: Dawn of Justice, which improves immensely on subsequent viewings (especially in the three hour-long director’s cut). No, Whedon’s film was a MESS. Needless to say fans were up in arms, and once word got out that the finished film was not at all what Snyder originally intended, a vocal, forceful online campaign began to restore what quickly became known as the Snyder Cut. Thank the gods that Warner Bros listened to them, ultimately taking advantage of the intriguing alternative possibilities provided by their streaming service HBO Max to allow Snyder to present his fully reinstated creation in its entirety. The only remaining question, of course, is simply … is it actually any good? Well it’s certainly much more like BVS:DOG than Whedon’s film ever was, and there’s no denying that, much like the rest of Snyder’s oeuvre, this is a proper marmite movie – there are gonna people who hate it no matter what, but the faithful, the fans, or simply those who are willing to open their minds are going to find much to enjoy here. The damage has been thoroughly patched, most of the elements that didn’t work in the theatrical release having been swapped out or reworked so that now they pay off BEAUTIFULLY. This time the quest of Bruce Wayne/Batman (Ben Affleck) and Diana Prince/Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot) to bring the first iteration of the Justice League together – half-Atlantean superhuman Arthur Curry/the Aquaman (Jason Momoa), lightning-powered speedster Barry Allan/the Flash (Fantastic Beasts’ Ezra Miller) and cybernetically-rebuilt genius Victor Stone/Cyborg (relative newcomer Ray Fisher) – not only feels organic, but NECESSARY, as does their desperate scheme to use one of the three alien Mother Boxes (no longer just shiny McGuffins but now genuinely well-realised technological forces that threaten cataclysm as much as they provide opportunity for miracles) to bring Clark Kent/Superman (Henry Cavill) back from the dead, especially given the far more compelling threat of this version’s collection of villains. Ciaran Hinds’ mocapped monstrosity Steppenwolf is a far more palpable and interesting big bad this time round, given a more intricate backstory that also ties in a far greater ultimate mega-villain that would have become the DCEU’s Thanos had Snyder had his way to begin with – Darkseid (Ray Porter), tyrannical ruler of Apokolips and one of the most powerful and hated beings in the Universe, who could have ushered the DCEU’s now aborted New Gods storyline to the big screen. The newer members of the League receive far more screen-time and vastly improved backstory too, Miller’s Flash getting a far more pro-active role in the storyline AND the action which also thankfully cuts away a lot of the clumsiness the character had in the Whedon version without sacrificing any of the nerdy sass that nonetheless made him such a joy, while the connective tissue that ties Momoa’s Aquaman into his own subsequent standalone movie feels much stronger here, and his connection with his fellow League members feels less perfunctory too, but it’s Fisher’s Cyborg who TRULY reaps the benefits here, regaining a whole new key subplot and storyline that ties into a genuinely powerful tragic origin story, as well as a far more complicated and ultimately rewarding relationship with his scientist father, Silas Stone (the great Joe Morton). It’s also really nice to see Superman handled with the kind of skill we’d expect from the same director who did such a great job (fight me if you disagree) of bringing the character to life in two previous big screen instalments, as well as erasing the memory of that godawful digital moustache removal … similarly, it’s nice to see the new and returning supporting cast get more to do this time, from Morton and the ever-excellent J.K. Simmonds as fan favourite Gotham PD Commissioner Jim Gordon to Connie Nielsen as Diana’s mother, Queen Hippolyta of Themyscira and another unapologetic scene-stealing turn from Jeremy Irons as Batman’s faithful butler Alfred Pennyworth. Sure, it’s not a perfect movie – the unusual visual ratio takes some getting used to, while there’s A LOT of story to unpack here, and at a gargantuan FOUR HOURS there are times when the pacing somewhat lags, not to mention an overabundance of drawn-out endings (including a flash-forward to a potential apocalyptic future that, while evocative, smacks somewhat of overeager fan-service) that would put Lord of the Rings’ The Return of the King to shame, but original writer Chris Terrio’s reconstituted script is rich enough that there’s plenty to reward the more committed viewer, and the storytelling and character development is a powerful thing, while the action sequences are robust and thrilling (even if Snyder does keep falling back on his over-reliance on slow motion that seems to alienate some viewers), and the new score from Tom Holkenborg (who co-composed on BVS:DOJ) feels a far more natural successor than Danny Elfman’s theatrical compositions. The end result is no more likely to win fresh converts than Man of Steel or Batman Vs Superman, but it certainly stands up far better to a critical eye this time round, and feels like a far more natural progression for the saga too. Ultimately it’s more of an interesting tangential adventure given that Warner Bros seem to be stubbornly sticking to their original plans for the ongoing DCEU, but I can’t help hoping that they might have a change of heart in the future given just how much better the final product is than any of us had any right to expect …

9. SYNCHRONIC – writer-director duo Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead are something of a creative phenomenon in the science-fiction and fantasy indie cinema scene, crafting films that ensnare the senses and engage the brain like few others. Subtly insidious conspiracy horror debut Resolution is a sneaky little chiller, while deeply original body horror Spring (the film that first got me into them) is weird, unsettling and surprisingly touching, but it was breakthrough sleeper hit The Endless, a nightmarish time-looping cosmic horror that thoroughly screws with your head, that really put them on the map. Needless to say it’s led them to greater opportunities heading into the future, and this is their first film to really reap the benefits, particularly by snaring a couple of genuine stars for its lead roles. Steve (Anthony Mackie) and Dennis (Jamie Dornan) are paramedics working the night shift in New Orleans, which puts them on the frontlines when a new drug hits the streets, a dangerous concoction known as Synchronic that causes its users to experience weird localised fractures in time that frequently lead to some pretty outlandish deaths in adults, while teenage users often disappear entirely. As the situation worsens, the pair’s professional and personal relationships become increasingly strained, compounded by the fact that Steve is concealing his recent diagnosis of terminal cancer, before things come to a head when Dennis’ teenage daughter Brianna (Into the Badlands’ Ally Ioannides) vanishes under suspicious circumstances, and it becomes clear to Steve that she’s become unstuck in time … this is as mind-bendingly off-the-wall and spectacularly inventive as we’ve come to expect from Benson and Moorhead, another fantastically original slice of weirdness that benefits enormously from their exquisitely obsessive attention to detail and characteristically unsettling atmosphere of building dread, while their character development is second to none, benefitting their top-notch cast no end. Mackie is typically excellent, bringing compelling vulnerability to the role that makes it easy to root for him as he gets further out of his depth in this twisted temporal labyrinth, while Dornan invests Dennis with a painfully human fallibility, and Ioannides does a lot with very little real screen time in her key role as ill-fated Brianna. The time-bending sequences are suitably disorienting and disturbing, utilising pleasingly subtle use of visual effects to further mess with your head, and the overall mechanics of the drug and its effects are fiendishly crafted, while the directors tighten the screw of slowburn tension throughout, building to a suitably offbeat ending that’s as devastating as anything we’ve seen from them so far. Altogether this is another winning slice of genre-busting weirdness from a filmmaking duo who deserve continued success in the future, and I for one will be watching eagerly.

8. WITHOUT REMORSE – I’m a big fan of Tom Clancy, to me he was one of the ultimate escapist thriller writers, and whenever a new adaptation of one of his novels comes along I’m always front of the line to check it out. The Hunt For Red October is one of my favourite screen thrillers OF ALL TIME, while my very favourite Clancy adaptation EVER, the Jack Ryan TV series, is, in my opinion, one of the very best Original shows that Amazon have ever done. But up until now my VERY FAVOURITE Clancy creation, John Clark, has always remained in the background or simply absent entirely, putting in an appearance as a supporting character in only two of the movies, tantalising me with his presence but never more than a teaser. Well that’s all over now – after languishing in development hell since the mid-90s, the long-awaited adaptation of my favourite Clancy novel, the origin story of the top CIA black ops operative, has finally arrived, as well as a direct spin-off from distributor Amazon’s own Jack Ryan series. Michael B. Jordan plays John Kelly (basically Clark before he gained his more famous cover identity), a lethally efficient, highly decorated Navy SEAL whose life is turned upside down when a highly classified operation experiences deadly blowback as half of his team is assassinated in retaliation, while Kelly barely survives an attack in which his heavily pregnant wife is killed. With the higher-ups unwilling the muddy the waters while scrambling to control the damage, Kelly, driven by rage and grief, takes matters into his own hands, embarking on a violent personal crusade against the Russian operatives responsible, but as he digs deeper with the help of his former commanding officer, Lt. Commander Karen Greer (Queen & Slim’s Jodie Turner-Smith), and mid-level CIA hotshot Robert Ritter (Jamie Bell), it becomes clear that there’s a far more insidious conspiracy at work here … in the past the Clancy adaptations we’ve seen tend to be pretty tightly reined-in affairs, going for a PG-13 polish that maintains the intellectual fireworks but still tries to keep the violence clean and relatively family-friendly, but this was never going to be the case here – Clark has always been Jack Ryan’s dark shadow, Clancy’s righteous man without the moral restraint, and a PG-13 take never would have worked, so going for an unfettered R-rating is the right choice. Jordan’s Kelly/Clark is a blood-soaked force of nature, a feral dog let off the leash, bringing a brutal ferocity to the action that does the literary source proud, tempered by a wounded vulnerability that helps us to sympathise with the broken but still very human man behind the killer; Turner-Smith, meanwhile, regularly matches him in the physical stakes, jumping into the action with enthusiasm and looking damn fine doing it, but she also brings tight control and an air of pragmatic military professionalism that makes it easy to believe in her not only as an accomplished leader of fighting men but also as the daughter of Admiral Jim Greer, while Bell is arrogant and abrasive but ultimately still a good man as Ritter; Guy Pearce, meanwhile, brings his usual gravitas and quietly measured charisma to proceedings as US Secretary of Defence Thomas Clay, and Lauren London makes a suitably strong impression during her brief screen time to make her absence keenly felt as Kelly’s wife Pam. The action is intense, explosive and spectacularly executed, culminating in a particularly impressive drawn-out battle through a Russian apartment complex, while the labyrinthine plot is intricately crafted and unfolds with taut precision, but then the screenplay was co-written by Taylor Sheridan, who here reteams with Sicario 2 director Stefano Sollida, who’s also already proven to be a seasoned hand at this kind of thing, and the result is a tense, knuckle-whitening suspense thriller that pays magnificent tribute to the most compelling creation of one of the best authors in the genre. Amazon have signed up for more with already greenlit sequel Rainbow Six, and with this directly tied in with the Jack Ryan TV series too I can’t help holding out hope we just might get to see Jordan’s Clark backing John Krasinski’s Ryan up in the future …

7. RAYA & THE LAST DRAGON – with UK cinemas still closed I’ve had to live with seeing ALL the big stuff on my frustratingly small screen at home, but at least there’s been plenty of choice with so many of the big studios electing to either sell some of their languishing big projects to online vendors or simply release on their own streaming services. Thank the gods, then, for the House of Mouse following Warner Bros’ example and releasing their big stuff on Disney+ at the same time in those theatres that have reopened – this was one movie I was PARTICULARLY looking forward to, and if I’d had to wait and hope for the scheduled UK reopening to occur in mid-May I might have gone a little crazy watching everyone else lose it over something I still hadn’t seen. That said, it WOULD HAVE been worth the wait – coming across sort-of a bit like Disney’s long overdue response to Dreamworks’ AWESOME Kung Fu Panda franchise, this is a spellbinding adventure in a beautifully thought-out fantasy world heavily inspired by Southeast Asia and its rich, diverse cultures, bursting with red hot martial arts action and exotic Eastern mysticism and brought to life by a uniformly strong voice cast dominated by actors of Asian descent. It’s got a cracking premise, too – 500 years ago, the land of Kumandra was torn apart when a terrible supernatural force known as the Druun very nearly wiped out all life, only stopped by the sacrifice of the last dragons, who poured all their power and lifeforce into a mystical gem. But when the gem is broken and the pieces divided between the warring nations of Fang, Heart, Spine, Tail and Talon, the Druun return, prompting Raya (Star Wars’ Kelly Marie Tran), the fugitive princess of Heart, to embark on a quest to reunite the gem pieces and revive the legendary dragon Sisu in a desperate bid to vanquish the Druun once and for all. Moana director Don Hall teams up with Blindspotting helmer Carlos Lopez Estrada (making his debut in the big chair for Disney after helping develop Frozen), bringing to life a thoroughly inspired screenplay co-written by Crazy Rich Asians’ Adele Kim which is full to bursting with magnificent world-building, beautifully crafted characters and thrilling action, as well as the Disney prerequisites of playful humour and tons of heart and soul. Tran makes Raya an feisty and engaging heroine, tough, stubborn and a seriously kickass fighter, but with true warmth and compassion too, while Gemma Chan is icy cool but deep down ultimately kind of sweet as her bitter rival, Fang princess Namaari, and there’s strong support from Benedict Wong and Good Boys’ Izaac Wang as hard-but-soft Spine warrior Tong and youthful but charismatic Tail shrimp-boat captain Boun, two of the warm-hearted found family that Raya gathers on her travels. The true scene-stealer, however, is the always entertaining Awkwafina, bringing Sisu to life in wholly unexpected but thoroughly charming and utterly adorable fashion, a goofy, sassy and sweet-natured bundle of fun who grabs all the best laughs but also unswervingly champions the film’s core messages of peace, unity and acceptance in all things, something which Raya needs a lot of convincing to take to heart. Visually stunning, endlessly inventive, consistently thrilling and frequently laugh-out-loud funny, this is another solid gold winner once again proving that Disney can do this kind of stuff in their sleep, but it’s always most interesting when they really make the effort to create something truly special, and that’s just what they’ve done here. As far as I’m concerned, this is one of the studio’s finest animated features in a good long while, and thoroughly deserving of your praise and attention …

6. THE MITCHELLS VS THE MACHINES – so what piece of animation, you might be asking, could POSSIBLY have won over Raya as my animated feature of the year so far? After all, it would have to be something TRULY special … but then, remember Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse? Back in 2018, that blew me away SO MUCH that it very nearly became my top animated feature of THE PAST DECADE (only JUST losing out, ultimately, to Dreamworks’ unstoppable How to Train Your Dragon trilogy). When I heard its creators, the irrepressible double act of Phil Lord and Christopher Miller (The Lego Movie, Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs), were going to be following that up with this anarchic screwball comedy adventure, I was VERY EXCITED INDEED, a fervour which was barely blunted when its release was, inevitably, indefinitely delayed thanks to the global pandemic, so when it finally released at the tail end of the Winter-Spring season I POUNCED. Thankfully my faith was thoroughly rewarded – this is an absolute riot from start to finish, a genuine cinematic gem I look forward to going back to for repeated viewings in the near future, just to soak up the awesomeness – it’s hilarious to a precision-crafted degree, brilliantly thought-out and SPECTACULARLY well-written by acclaimed Gravity Falls writer-director Mike Rianda (who also helms here), injecting the whole film with a gleefully unpredictable, irrepressibly irreverent streak of pure chaotic genius that makes it a affectionately endearing and utterly irresistible joyride from bonkers start to adorable finish. The central premise is pretty much as simple as the title suggests, the utterly dysfunctional family in question – father Rick (Danny McBride), born outdoorsman and utter technophobe, mother Linda (Maya Rudolph), much put-upon but unflappable even in the face of Armageddon, daughter Katie (Broad City co-creator Abbi Jacobson), tech-obsessed and growing increasingly estranged from her dad, and son Aaron (Rianda himself), a thoroughly ODD dinosaur nerd – become the world’s only hope after naïve tech mogul Mark Bowman (Eric Andre), founder of PAL Labs, inadvertently sets off a robot uprising. Cue a wild ride comedy of errors of EPIC proportions … this is just about the most fun I’ve had with a movie so far this year, an absolute riot throughout, but there’s far more to it than just a pile of big belly laughs, with the Mitchells all proving to be a lovable bunch of misfits who inspire just as much deep, heartfelt affection as they learn from their mistakes and finally overcome their differences, becoming a better, more loving family in the process, McBride and Jacobson particularly shining as they make our hearts swell and put a big lump in our throat even while they make us titter and guffaw, while the film has a fantastic larger than (virtual) life villain in PAL (Olivia Colman), the virtual assistant turned megalomaniacal machine intelligence spearheading this technological revolution. Much like its Spider-Man-shaped predecessor, this is also an absolutely STUNNING film, visually arresting and spectacularly inventive and bursting with neat ideas and some truly beautiful stylistic flair, frequently becoming a genuine work of cinematic art that’s as much a feast for the eyes as it is the intellect and, of course, the soul. Altogether then, this is definitely the year’s most downright GORGEOUS film so far, as well as UNDENIABLY its most FUN. Lord and Miller really have done it again.

5. P.G. PSYCHO GOREMAN – the year’s current undeniable top guilty pleasure has to be this fantastic weird, thoroughly over-the-top and completely OUT THERE black comedy cosmic horror that doesn’t so much riff on the works of HP Lovecraft as throw them in a blender, douse them with maple syrup and cayenne pepper and then hurl the sloppy results to the four winds. On paper it sounds like a family-friendly cutesy comedy take on Call of Cthulu et al, but trust me, this sure ain’t one for the kids – the latest indie horror offering from Steven Kostanski, co-creator of the likes of Manborg, Father’s Day and The Void, this is one of the weirdest movies I’ve seen in years, but it’s also one of the most gleefully funny, playing itself entirely for yucks (frequently LITERALLY). Mimi (Nita Josee-Hanna) and Luke (Owen Myre) are a two small-town Canadian kids who dig a big hole of their backyard, accidentally releasing the Arch-Duke of Nightmares (Matthew Ninaber and the voice of Steven Vlahos), an ancient, god-tier alien killing machine who’s been imprisoned for aeons in order to protect the universe from his brutal crusade of death and destruction. To their parents’ dismay, Mimi decides to keep him, renaming him Psycho Goreman (or “P.G.” for short) and attempting to curb his superpowered murderous impulses so she can have a new playmate. But the monster’s original captors, the Templars of the Planetary Alliance, have learned of his escape, sending their most powerful warrior, Pandora (Kristen McCulloch), to destroy him once and for all. Yup, this movie is just as loony tunes as it sounds – Kostanski injects the film with copious amounts of his own outlandish, OTT splatterpunk extremity, bringing us a riotous cavalcade of bizarrely twisted creatures and mutations (brought to life through some deliciously disgusting prosthetic effects work) and a series of wonderfully off-kilter (not to mention frequently off-COLOUR) darkly comic skits and escapades, while the sense of humour is pretty bonkers but also generously littered with nuggets of genuine sharply observed genius. The cast, although made up almost entirely of unknowns, is thoroughly game, and the kids particularly impress, especially Josee-Hanna, who plays Mimi like a flamboyant, mercurial miniature psychopath whose zinger-delivery is clipped, precise and downright hilarious throughout. There are messages of love conquering all and the power of family, both born and made, buried somewhere in there too, but ultimately this is just 90 minutes of wonderful weirdness that’s sure to melt your brain but still leave you with a big dumb green when it’s all over. Which is all we really want from a movie like this, right?

4. SPACE SWEEPERS – all throughout the pandemic and the interminable lockdowns, Netflix have been a consistent blessing to those of us who’ve been craving the kind of big budget blockbusters we have (largely) been unable to get at the cinema. Some of my top movies of 2020 were Netflix Originals, and they’ve continued the trend into 2021, having dropped some choice cuts on us over the past four months, with some REALLY impressive offerings still to come as we head into the summer season (roll on, Zack Snyder’s Army of the Dead!). In the meantime, my current Netflix favourite of the year so far is this phenomenal milestone of Korean cinema, lauded as the country’s first space blockbuster, which certainly went big instead of going home. Writer-director Jo Sung-hee (A Werewolf Boy, Phantom Detective) delivers big budget thrills and spills with a bombastic science-fiction adventure cast in the classic Star Wars mould, where action, emotion and fun characters count for more than an admittedly simplistic but still admirably archetypical and evocative plot – it’s 2092, and the Earth has become a toxic wasteland ruined by overpopulation and pollution, leading the wealthy to move into palatial orbital habitats in preparation for the impending colonisation of Mars, while the poor and downtrodden are packed into rotting ghetto satellites facing an uncertain future left behind to fend for themselves, and the UTS Corporation jealously guard the borders between rich and poor, presided over by seemingly benevolent but ultimately cruel sociopathic genius CEO James Sullivan (Richard Armitage). Eking out a living in-between are the space sweepers, freelance spaceship crews who risk life and limb by cleaning up dangerous space debris to prevent it from damaging satellites and orbital structures. The film focuses on the crew of sweeper vessel Victory, a ragtag quartet clearly inspired by the “heroes” of Cowboy Bebop – Captain Jang (The Handmaiden’s Kim Tae-ri), a hard-drinking ex-pirate with a mean streak and a dark past, ace pilot Kim Tae-ho (The Battleship Island’s Song Joong-ki), a former child-soldier with a particularly tragic backstory, mechanic Tiger Park (The Outlaws’ Jin Seon-Kyu), a gangster from Earth living in exile in orbit, and Bubs (a genuinely flawless mocapped performance from A Taxi Driver’s Yoo Hae-jin), a surplus military robot slumming it as a harpooner so she can earn enough for gender confirmation. They’re a fascinating bunch, a mercenary band who never think past their next paycheque, but there’s enough good in them that when redemption comes knocking – in the form of Kang Kot-nim (newcomer Park Ye-rin), a revolutionary prototype android in the form of a little girl who may hold the key to bio-technological ecological salvation – they find themselves answering the call in spite of their misgivings. The four leads are exceptional (as is their young charge), while Armitage makes for a cracking villain, delivering subtle, restrained menace by the bucketload every time he’s onscreen, and there’s excellent support from a fascinating multinational cast who perform in a refreshingly broad variety of languages. Jo delivers spectacularly on the action front, wrangling a blistering series of adrenaline-fuelled and explosive set-pieces that rival anything George Lucas or JJ Abrams have sprung on us this century, while the visual effects are nothing short of astounding, bringing this colourful, eclectic and dangerous universe to vibrant, terrifying life; indeed, the world-building here is exceptional, creating an environment you’ll feel sorely tempted to live in despite the pitfalls. Best of all, though, there’s tons of heart and soul, the fantastic found family dynamic at the story’s heart winning us over at every turn. Ultimately, while you might come for the thrills and spectacle, you’ll stay for these wonderful, adorable characters and their compelling tale. An undeniable triumph.

3. JUDAS & THE BLACK MESSIAH – I’m a little fascinated by the Black Panther Party, I find them to be one of the most intriguing elements of Black History in America, but outside of documentaries I’ve never really seen a feature film that’s truly done the movement justice, at least until now. It’s become a major talking point of the Awards Season, and it’s easy to see why – director Shaka King is a protégé of Spike Lee, and together with up-and-coming co-screenwriter Wil Berson he’s captured the fire and fervour of the Party and their firebrand struggle for racial liberation through force of arms, as well as a compelling portrait of one of their most important figures, Fred Hampton, the Chairman of the Illinois Chapter of the BPP and a powerful political activist who could have become the next Martin Luther King or Malcolm X. Get Out’s Daniel Kaluuya is magnificent in the role, effortlessly holding your attention in every scene with his laconic ease and deceptively friendly manner, barely hinting at the zealous fire blazing beneath the surface, but the film’s true focus is the man who brought him down, William O’Neal, a fellow Panther and FBI informant placed in the Chapter to infiltrate the movement and find a way for the US Government to bring down what they believed to be one of the country’s greatest internal threats. Lakeith Stanfield (Sorry to Bother You, Knives Out) delivers a suitably complex performance as O’Neal, perfectly embodying a very clever but also very desperate man walking a constant tightrope to maintain his cover in some decidedly wary company, but there’s never any real sense that he’s playing the villain, Stanfield largely garnering sympathy from the viewer as we’re shamelessly made to root for him, especially once he starts falling for the very ideals he’s trying to subvert – it’s a true star-making performance, and he even holds his own playing opposite Kaluuya himself. The rest of the cast are equally impressive, Dominique Fishback (Project Power, The Deuce) particularly holding our attention as Hampton’s fiancée and fellow Panther Akua Njeri, as does Jesse Plemmons as O’Neal’s idealistic but sympathetic FBI handler Roy Mitchell, while Martin Sheen is the film’s nominal villain in a chillingly potent turn as J. Edgar Hoover. This is an intense and thrilling film, powered by a tense atmosphere of pregnant urgency and righteous fury, but while there are a few grittily realistic set pieces, the majority of the fireworks on display are performance based, the cast giving their all and King wrestling a potent and emotionally resonant, inescapably timely history lesson that informs without ever slipping into preachy exposition, leaving an unshakable impression long after the credits have rolled. This doesn’t just earn all the award-winning kudos it gained, it deserved A LOT MORE recognition that it got, and if this were a purely critical rundown list I’d have to put it in the top spot. As it is I’m monumentally enamoured of this film, and I can’t sing its praises enough …

2. RUN, HIDE, FIGHT – the biggest surprise hit for me so far this year was this wicked little indie suspense thriller from writer-director Kyle Rankin (Night of the Living Deb), which snuck in under the radar but is garnering an impressive reputation as a future cult sleeper hit. Critics have been less kind, but the subject matter is a pretty thorny issue, and if handled the wrong way it could have been in very poor taste indeed. Thankfully Rankin has crafted a corker here, initially taking time to set the scene and welcome the players before throwing us headfirst into an unbelievably tense but also unsettlingly believable situation – a small town American high school becomes the setting for a fraught siege when a quartet of disturbed students take several of their classmates hostage at gunpoint, creating a social media storm in the process as they encourage the capture of the crisis on phone cameras. While the local police gather outside, the shooters discover another threat from within the school throwing spanners in the works – Zoe Hull (Alexa & Katie’s Isabel May), a seemingly nondescript girl who happens to be the daughter of former marine scout sniper Todd (Thomas Jane). She’s wound pretty tight after the harrowing death of her mother to cancer, fuelled by grief and conditioned by her father’s training, so she’s determined to get her friends and classmates out of this nightmare, no matter what. Okay, so the premise reads like Die Hard in a school, but this is a very different beast, played for gritty realism and shot with unshowy cinema-verité simplicity, Rankin cranking up the tension beautifully but refusing to play to his audience any more than strictly necessary, drip-feeding the thrills to maximum effect but delivering some harrowing action nonetheless. The cast are top-notch too, Jane delivering a typically subtle, nuanced turn while Treat Williams is likeably stoic as world-weary but dependable local Sherriff Tarsey, Rhada Mitchell intrigues as the matter-of-fact phantom of Zoe’s mum, Jennifer, that she’s concocted to help her through her mourning, Olly Sholotan is sweetly geeky as her best friend Lewis, and Eli Brown raises genuine goosebumps as an all-too-real teen psychopath in the role of terrorist ringleader Tristan Voy. The real beating heart and driving force of the film, though, is May, intense, barely restrained and all but vibrating with wounded fury, perfectly believable as the diminutive high school John McClane who defies expectations to become a genuine force to be reckoned with, as far as I’m concerned one of this year’s TOP female protagonists. Altogether this is a cracking little thriller, a precision-crafted little action gem that nonetheless raises some troubling questions and treats its subject matter with utmost care and respect, a film that’s destined for major cult classic status, and I can’t recommend it enough.

1. NOBODY – do you love the John Wick movies but you just wish they took themselves a bit less seriously? Well fear not, because Derek Kolstad has delivered fantastically on that score, the JW screenwriter mashing his original idea up with the basic premise of the Taken movies (former government spook/assassin turned unassuming family man is forced out of retirement and shit gets seriously trashed as a result) and injecting a big dollop of gallows humour. This time he’s teamed up with Ilya Naishuller, the stone-cold lunatic who directed the deliriously insane but also thoroughly brilliant Hardcore Henry, and the results are absolutely unbeatable, a pitch perfect jet black action comedy bursting with neat ideas, wonderfully offbeat characters and ingenious plot twists. Better Call Saul’s Bob Odenkirk is perfect casting as Hutch Mansell, the aforementioned ex-“Auditor”, a CIA hitman who grew weary of the lifestyle and quit to find some semblance of normality with his wife Becca (Connie Nielsen), with whom he’s had two kids. Ultimately, he seems to have “overcompensated”, and his life has stagnated, Hutch following a autopiloted day-to-day routine that’s left him increasingly unfulfilled … then fate intervenes and a series of impulsive choices see him falling back on his old ways while defending a young woman from drunken thugs on a late night bus ride. Problem is, said lowlifes work for the Russian Mob, specifically Yulian Kuznetsov (Leviathan’s Aleksei Serebryakov), a Bratva boss charged with guarding the Obshak, who must exact brutal vengeance in order to save face. Cue much bloody violence and entertaining chaos … Kolstad can do this sort of thing in his sleep, but his writing married with Naishuller’s singularly BONKERS vision means that the anarchy is dialled right up to eleven, while the gleefully dark sense of humour shot through makes the occasional surreality and bitingly satirical observation on offer all the more exquisite. Odenkirk is a low-key joy throughout, initially emasculated and pathetic but becoming more comfortable in his skin as he reconnects with his old self, while Serebryakov hams things up spectacularly, chewing the scenery with aplomb; Nielsen, meanwhile, brings her characteristic restrained classiness to proceedings, Christopher Lloyd and the RZA are clearly having the time of their lives as, respectively, Hutch’s retired FBI agent father David and fellow ex-spook half-brother Harry, and there’s a wonderfully game cameo from the incomparable Colin Salmon as Hutch’s former handler, the Barber. Altogether then, this is the perfect marriage of two fantastic worlds – an action-packed thrill ride as explosively impressive as John Wick, but also a wickedly subversive laugh riot every bit as blissfully inventive as Hardcore Henry, and undeniably THE BEST MOVIE I’ve seen so far this year. Sure, there’s some pretty heavyweight stuff set to (FINALLY) come out later this year, but this really will take some beating …

#movies 2021 #zack snyder's justice league #synchronic #synchronic movie #without remorse #raya and the last dragon #the mitchells vs the machines #pg psycho goreman #psycho goreman #space sweepers #judas and the black messiah #run hide fight #nobody #nobody movie

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johannstutt413 · 4 years ago

Text

(requested by calligomiles; continuing from this)

“She shot her through the heart,” Platinum said, describing the same scene Nearl and Meteor had just watched with her. “How poetic.”

“In the end, it was the only way to get her feelings through to her. How tragic.” The knight wiped a tear from her eye with a tissue.

The guerilla looked at the pair of them, somewhat confused, as she hit the pause button on the remote. “Nothing about this movie has implied that.”

“You don’t think so?” The assassin shook her head. “I suppose you just don’t understand it the way we do.”

“There’s nothing to understand, though; they’ve seen each other once before, when Esau invited them both to the same party, and Jubilee died just now because she tried to sleep with him after he’d asked Belladonna to stay the night. They were basically strangers.”

Nearl chuckled. “Oh, Meteor, it’s not that simple. During that party, in the background of one of the scenes, Belladonna is clearly making out with someone wearing a skirt just like the one Jubilee’s wearing in this scene.”

“I don’t believe it...” Still, she knew the knight wouldn’t lie about something like this. “Here, Plat; rewind it to that part.”

“If you think it’ll help. Tell me when to stop, dear.”

After watching the past thirty minutes of film on high speed and reversed, Kazimierz’s most radiant squeezed the assassin’s hand. “Right there. Back left corner; do you see them?”

“Oh, wow...And we know she doesn’t drink because of the first date-” The guerilla stopped mid-sentence. “Wait, why did you pick this movie again, Platinum?”

“Maggie and I watched it the other night and thought you might like it,” she replied.

Meteor turned to look at her. “And out of curiosity, is it because of this secret truth you found?”

“No; we thought you would appreciate another Kuranta woman acting like a badass.” Nearl cracked open a soda bottle and took a drink. “Unless you are enjoying the underlying girls’ love narrative, in which case it was entirely intentional.”

“Alright, are we good to continue? We still have another two hours to go, after all.” Platinum let go of the knight to take a swig from the bottle she’d been offered.

The third wheel simply nodded. “Yes, let’s keep going. I have to wonder where they’ll find enough plot to keep it going that long.”

Despite her concerns, they did in fact manage to stitch together another 2 hours worth of story, even if one or two points were strained; what had started as a somewhat typical love-triangle-gone-wrong turned into a battle with the ghosts of guilt, regret, and escaping punishment as the narrative took a background detail, made the same observations Nearl and Platinum had, and bundled it into a package with a very real manhunt as Belladonna, after killing Jubilee and not facing legal action for it, became the enemy of the crime family her victim had had connections to, leading to a typical “unlikely action hero versus gang of mooks they end up destroying” with a bizarre underlying commentary on the circumstances that led to it and the pointlessness of it all, ultimately leading to the protagonist, the gang leader, and Esau (now working with the gang after being rejected) dying together as the warehouse they were dueling in collapsed.

“I...” As the credits rolled, Meteor was in utter disbelief. “I have never seen a movie anything like this.”

“The writing team hasn’t made any more - we looked - but apparently they’re working on something right now. Did you like it?” The assassin looked at her expectantly.

The woodsman thought for a moment. “I have some questions, but more for myself than anyone. It was interesting; I’d probably watch another like it if they make one.”

“Questions, you say?” Nearl stood from the couch to put on the next movie. “What kind of questions, if I may?”

“By the end of that movie, I wanted to fill that void in her life for her...”

Platinum had a strange sense she knew where this was going. “So that’s your type of girl? I would never have guessed.”

“I didn’t realize I had a type.” Meteor shook her head. “Maybe that’s why I never wanted to do more than tease the Doctor...”

“What a way to figure out you’re a lesbian, huh? I’m glad mine was straightforward,” the assassin sighed with a smile, leaning back deeper into the couch.

Nearl smiled as she returned from putting in Revenge on Aegir. “I found out during my time as a squire. The first time I helped my mistress don her armor, I had to stop myself from letting my hands wander.”

“Changing room for you, too, then?” A selection of flashbacks played through her mind. “The Anti-Knight changing area was a wild place when I went through my initial training...Hmm.”

“Hmm?” The woodsman watched her fellow Sniper’s gears turn.

The knight did as well, but she knew well enough to take a guess. “Yes, Platinum, I have noticed her combat outfit, and I very much approve.”

“Thought so.” Platinum smiled at the confused Meteor. “Maggie has a thing for girls’ abs.”

“Really? No wonder you enjoyed the movie, then. You’re referring to my outfit, I assume?”

The assassin nodded. “I’m not the only Kuranta she’s had her eyes on...and honestly, I totally get it. The other day I heard someone call you a ‘team mom,’ and you definitely rock those jeans like one.”

“Oh my.” She was getting a feeling she’d never had before. “I can’t remember the last time someone was so forward towards me.”

“Too much?” Nearl asked, setting her head on Plat’s shoulder to see her face better.

Meteor shook her head. “No, it’s just...gratifying, I suppose you could say. I may need to explore this some more.”

“Hmm.” Platinum shared a glance with the knight on her shoulder. “I wonder where she’d find help with that.”

“Yes, I wonder.” They both broke into knowing smiles.

The third Kuranta, knowing how to read a room, chuckled. “I’m not which is worse - the fact it was so easy for you to decide that for yourselves, or the fact I’m looking forward to where it will lead.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be fine. Here, switch spots with me.” The assassin offered her seat. “This one’s a slasher, and the last time I tried watching it, I buried my head in Maggie’s chest for half of it, so be ready for that.”

“Oh my...I’ll try to be.” The thought alone made her blush.

#arknights #arknights fic #platinum (arknights)#nearl (arknights)#meteor (arknights)#two Platinum fics in a row?#hey it happens #also movies return as a framing device #pretty sure this is a trope of some kind #(and the Revenge callback is a total meme)#but why change what works right?

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years ago

Text

From the ground up.

The road to recovery is a bumpy one, but Tim’s (reluctantly) ready for the drive. He just hopes they won’t crash and burn.

-.-.-

Tim recovers after an injury. Mending his bonds with the bats its a plus.

Or, Tim can’t exactly run away from a conversation, and they all take advantage of it.

( @animemangasoul asked for Tim actually needing his crutches. Of course my dumb ass brain needed to take that idea and make a whole, emotional thing of it. Threw in some family bonding cause why not.

Babe I did my best, and if it’s bad I’m blaming exams and life stress of me being unable to properly deliver what you hoped for)

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It had been a stupid decision. Self sacrificing, reckless, idiotic. He doesn’t know Bruce’s disappointed eyes, Dick’s worried ones or Damian’s disdainful sneer to know it.

Still, it had been his choice, and he’s going to stand by it. Even if it means having Steph pose as Red Robin for some time. Even if he has to deal with M’gann’s guilty looks at failing to convince him to change places, to allow her to get shot while he took the criminal out, instead of what they actually did. Even if it means getting annoyed, nearly hysterical texts from basically everyone he knows, condemning him for his stupidity.

The only ones he had explained himself to were Tam -who honestly deserves it after all the shit he was going to put her through, dealing with her recent trauma (courtesy of assassins) and the press going haywire at Tim’s broken engagement and then almost fatal injury-, Steph (who was going to be changing between Batgirl and Red Robin for some time to keep the whole charade up and Vale off their track) and M’gann herself, who had needed some serious explanation before she conceded to Tim getting shot in front of her for appearances sake.

The rest of the world? They could rot in curiosity, for all he cared. Bruce had probably extrapolated enough from his succinct explanation about Vicky to understand the whole plan. Dick was probably dying to know, but with their relationship strained as it was wouldn't dare to ask. Damian… who know how the devil’s mind works. Alfred was already used to the Bat’s collective shit, and would probably just sigh and make chicken soup for him.

What he wasn’t cool about was being forced to have his recovery period in the Manor. He had a perfectly funcional place for himself, thank you very much, and could wobble around in his crutches from bedroom to kitchen to his small, personal cave, no problem. But Bruce had been unmoving in his decision, going as far to physically carry Tim in his arms, like a toddler, from the hospital steps to the car. It had been humiliating, but he couldn't exactly wiggle free in front of all the reporters, could he? How to explain a nerve strike to his dad, and his own ability to withstand the pain of falling back to his feet?

(Because he totally could stand the pain. He had done it in the dessert with a ruptured spleen, he could deal with a slightly damaged spine)

He was going to have his revenge though. As soon as he was able to move freely without clenching his teeth from the pain.

He’s being deposited on the bed, when he notices Damian lingering around the door. He was looking at Bruce, a little unsure, more than a bit of envy at the care which his father bestowed on Tim. Before, those jealous eyes would have made him weary of an attack. Now, with Bruce and Dick having forced a promise of civility from the kid, he was still on guard but not ready to flee at any given second. Perpetually tensing would only dampen his recovery, after all.

It was still something to think of. The lack of fire in his eyes. He… looked like a kid. Not as much a demon as he had been when Tim went away.

Well. Only time would tell if he had truly changed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Bruce had ordered bed rest. No work, detective or CEO. Nothing more straining (for the mind or body) than watching a movie. Eating and sleeping were his only allowed activities. Even reading was to be moderated, because Tim was known to lose himself in any topic that caught his fancy and forget everything else.

Tim had listened to his reasoning, nodding along and adding his own helpful insight, smiling when his head was patted in response to his obedience. Waved cheerfully as Bruce left, made smalltalk with Dick when he visited hi room before heading out for patrol (theirs was a talk that he wasn’t really looking forward but knew he wouldn't be escaping for long), thanked Alfred for the food and ate half of it under his watchful eye. Even took the medicine with just mild complains.

The perfect picture of innocence and submission. Right until the butler went to the Cave to man the comms.

Then all bets were off.

Moving his bed out of the way to get the laptop hidden below the loose tile under it was impossible in his current condition, but thankfully he had been able to talk Bruce into letting him keep his phone, and his briefcase wasn’t too far to not be able to make the walk without crutches (painful as it was).

Before an hour had passed, he had the wall by his bed covered with post it notes, connected by red sting and pins here and there. A pretty evidence board, even with the lacking resources. Perrrfect for a little Tim-Time, a small bit of detective work.

Bruce would certainly bitch about him moving around so much, taping pieces of information or moving the string around, but, well. What Bruce didn’t knew…

-I thought Father ordered bed rest.

The voice, completely unexpected (he had either been in too deep thought, or the brat was getting better at stealth), made him jump so high and sudden he almost pulled his stitches. The medication, fading with each hour, had weaned enough he felt every bit of tissue, still torn from the shot, straining under the move.

It resulted in the longest, filthiest string of curses his sharp mind could come up with, partnered with gasps and a lot of hair pulling in a instinctual attempt to redirect the pain from his torso to somewhere less dire.

-No one taught you to knock and not to startle convalescent people, brat? -he spats between clenched teeth, squinting through barely-opened eyes to glare at him- And why aren’t you patrolling?

The kid was on pijamas. Tim can’t remember the last time he saw him unarmed. Though he probably still had at least a dagger on himself that he couldn't see.

Bruce and Dick’s promise echoed in his mind, but just in case, he let one of his arms go around his middle, acting as if trying to soothe his hurt (okay, maybe it wasn’t all an act) while he palmed the three Red Robin pallets he had secured between his bandages earlier.

Damian scoffed and approached him, careful to keep a healthy distance but enough so he could properly appreciate Tim’s wall.

-Apparently, Father knows better than to trust you to behave, and he came up with a schedule to keep an eye on you. For what reason, it escapes me. Your death could only serve as a stress relief for everyone, specially if it was caused by your own stupidity. And you didn’t answer my question.

A large part of him wanted to tell him to fuck off. An even larger reminded him he was barely armed, heavily incapacitated, and that Damian had actually answered him first, so, technically, it was fair to do the same.

He sighs and leans back into the pillows, shoulder on the wall crumpling the photo of his number three suspect.

-Whatever. Bruce clearly bought when I said I’d act the part, otherwise he would have cleaned my room of anything useful. You’re probably here because paranoia is too deeply ingrained in the man, or he thinks you could use a rest too. Or both.

Probably both, Tim thinks. He’s ready for Damian’s sneer and a declaration that he ‘didn’t need a rest’, most likely paired with an insult.

Instead, Damian surprises him by tilting his head and looking at him with something akin to curiosity.

-You lied to Father? And he… believed you?

Feeling his petty bitch inside stirring, he smirked- What, like it’s hard?

It actually was, it required a hell of a mental preparation and careful planning. But once you learned how to pull it off and took care to polish it, it was a often used weapon.

Damian wouldn't let any positive emotion towards Tim willingly show on his face, so the amaze was most likely honest. It was… a little humbling, truth be told.

-Tell you what -he decides, pulling his best negotiator voice, to cut the kid some slack-, you keep this little naughtiness -a nod towards the wall- between us and help me hide all proof before B comes back, and I give you some pointers in how to lie to Batman.

Damian seems truly torn. On one hand, Tim can guess, it's the mission his father entrusted him, and his deeply ingrained disdain to anything Tim proposed. On the other, the temptation of such a useful tactic, and the fact that he didn’t really care for Tim’s wellbeing enough to stop him from doing his thing.

-What are you working on?- he asked, likely gaining time while he mulled his options.

-Cold cases -a shrug-. It’s just a pastime of mine. I dig into Bruce’s old files, search for anything he couldn't solve, and work on it until I do. It’s really good for self esteem, and it helps a lot of people who never got closure for whatever it happened to them.

-Father will know you disobeyed if you solve it.

-I’ll wait until he gives me permission for some light work, and then dump all my worked out cases on him at the same time.

There’s something akin to wonder fighting to make itself known above Damian’s facade of indifference.

-Can you actually solve something Father himself couldn't?

-Done it before, will do it again. What will it be, Damian? Cause if you decide to snitch on me after all, then kindly leave me to this until then. I’m about to crack this, and if its going to be the last one I’m able to work on, I’d hate to leave it halfway.

A few seconds go by, before Damian takes the last step and carefully perches at the end of the bed, eyes solely on the wall.

-I’d prefer to aid in solving this. If it’s true this is something not even the Batman could do… it’d be highly rewarding to work on it. You can teach me the arts of lying another day.

Shocked it actually worked, Tim did his best to swiftly recover. Not one to look at a gift horse in the mouth, he kept his doubts in check to dwell on them later and went back to his wall.

Having Damian around was surprisingly useful. He could just lay there, in his pillows, and direct the brat through moving the string and adding post it notes here and there, until the whole thing mapped out in front of them, the answer staring at them as clear as the quickly approaching day.

Satisfaction strong enough to smile despite the ever growing pain in his side, he gave into the urge to give a small pat to Damian’s shoulder before telling him to help take it all down, least Bruce came from patrol and found them on the act. High on the success and more than a little stunned about it, the younger vigilante actually complied, even going as far as to put all their mess back in Tim’s briefcase and bringing him a glass of water to wash down his meds with.

When Batman came to check on his middle son after patro, Nightwing on his shadow, they were regaled with the shocking, unbelievable sight of Damian sleeping, sitting on the ground with the back of his head resting on Tim’s bed, while the bedridden boy himself snored, a hand on top of the smaller kid’s head.

The picture Dick took of them was gonna be his most treasured possession forever.

-.-.-.-.-

-And this will make me a better detective? -questioned Damian, frown scrunching his nose in a way that Tim couldn't help but think of as adorable. Or as adorable as it could be, in a hell spawn. Fuck, Dick was rubbing off on him.

-It helped me -he shrugs, eyes on his own screen as he makes the proper adjustments-. Long live the queen is a good place to start. You need to consider both the character’s mood when selecting the week’s classes, and the goal you aspire towards. All the while dodging assassinations attempts, commoners uprisings or noble plots depending on the choices you make, and… other stuff. And ruling a country. And getting engaged. It’s a lot of juggling, keeping in mind which skills you need for which event, and it forces you to consider how the character is doing emotionally, something you could seriously use to learn. Want me to give you a run through?

-No need -he scoffed, clicking in the start game option, dubiously reading the introduction-. It seems easy enough.

Tim just smiled, eerie, from his place behind him.

Damian was sitting in the floor by his bed, back resting against it. The position, if slightly uncomfortable (Drake wasn’t an enemy any longer, if Grayson was to be believed, and after the other night’s joint work he agreed to help train Damian in mind schemes, but he wasn’t a complete ally either… and having such a grey person with such a clear shot at his neck made the assassin in him nervous), was the best way for Drake to watch his progress in this… game, while keeping his wound unbothered. It also kept Damian from ‘sneaking a peek’ at his own screen and ‘cheating at the game’, as he had said. Not that he planned on it, but-- well, all resources, no matter how dirty, were still fair game in the arts of war, as far as he was concerned.

Not that Damian needed the help. This was a silly game. He would probably beat this first try, high score even. Really, the main screen image had a teenager dressed in a frilly, pink, magical girl outfit. How hard could this be?

---

-My cousin just got bitten by a snake. Will she die?

-Wouldn’t you like to know, demon child. You’ll figure it out later in the game. Just keep going.

---

-Why do I keep failing this skill-checks? What am I missing? Is it even relevant? I just passed one that was completely useless about world history, but somehow missed the one that would have helped me keep this stupid girl from getting betrothed.

-If it was relevant, you’ll know it when, not if, when it kills you.

-...I should save my game here.

-With these shitty skills you’ve built? Sure, if you want to, but at this point you’ll die no matter what.

---

-Is this woman trustworthy? Our father said it was her fault mother died, but she said…

-Hmm. I’m not giving you spoilers. Tell me when you figure it out, one way or the other.

-Well, at least we have our aunt, uncle and cousins. Surely they are on our side, as our family.

-...

-Drake, why are you laughing?

-...

-Stop it! You are not scaring me!

---

-Look, I said I was not going to help you… but you can’t keep pissing everyone off, baby bat. You’ll never survive until coronation if you do.

-Those people deserved to get executed.

-...some of them, maybe, but you failed a lot of skill checks there, so you don’t have all the facts. Also, if you are gonna fuck with people, at least choose if you are doing it with nobles or peasants. Both of them is taking it a bit too far.

-I am the Queen. Neither would dare oppose me. I will have their heads if they do!

-..okay then. Let the record say I tried.

---

-Is this birthday party important?

-Uhm… Kinda. Your friend just turned of age, which means she gets to inherit control of her lands. There’s also a whole new route if you do go to the party, if you have the necessary abilities for it.

Tim saw the back of Damian’s head bob as he nodded. He gave it a few minutes. Then-

-YOU DIDN’T TELL ME I WOULD DIE ON MY WAY THERE!

-I did say you needed specific skills. Both for the party itself, and to get there.

He was ready for the unholy sound that escaped from Damian’s mouth, finger quickly taping at his phone to record it. That treasure was going to be his new ringtone. It would help with the pain, too. Happiness therapy or something like that, to distract the mind from the hurt.

---

-Hey, Dami? I’m gonna go get ready for patrol. Are you com/?

-NO -he snapped, neck almost breaking from how quickly he raised his head to look at Dick at the door. Eyes red from staring at the screen for so long, hair a mess after messing it up in incalculable desperation- I’m about to win! This time, my strategy won’t fail!

Tim, game already finished and now watching a movie (at least until Bruce and Dick left and he could go back to coding a new security system that even Babs wouldn't be able to crack) tilted his head, examining his brother’s open game. Week 30, no medicine knowledge, no intrigue, little to no dog training, no composure and not enough divination...yeah, Damian was gonna die again. It was the first time he had lived long enough to reach the tournament, and subsequently, the poisoned chocolates.

Should he tell Damian? On one hand, the frustration, clear in his face, would tear him apart after yet another failure. But… this was the most fun he had in a long time, and the longest they had gone without either insulting the other.

-Okay then -mumbled Dick under his breath, smartly retreating out of the room.

Tim waited a few beats- Let me know if you need help.

-Leave me alone Drake! As if I’d lower myself to such tricks! The victory won’t be truly mine unless I win by my own merits!

Still at the door, feeling both a little ignored and elated at his brothers getting along so nicely, Dick decided to slowly exit the place, least Damian truly snapped and threw a dagger or something at his head.

---

The downside of the pain meds was how drowsy they made him. He didn’t know quite what to do with himself, now that the bags under his eyes were so close to disappearing. He had come so used to them… maybe he’d need to start investing in eyeliner and fake them.

Blinking himself awake, he moved a bit to look at the clock on his bedside table and immediately flinched. He kept forgetting the wound, and then moved and was painfully reminded.

A hand appeared out of nowhere, holding a familiar pill. He took it without prompting, accepting then the glass of water.

-Don’t think too much of this, Drake. I’m merely assisting Pennyworth. Since I’m already here working on my progress, I offered to make sure you don’t forgo your medicine. Again.

The disdainful voice, probably masking the smallest shadow of care, had come familiar enough in the last couple of days that he knew even without opening his eyes who it was. The question of what the hell was he still doing here, after spending the entire day at Tim’s side, remained.

-Damian? Are you still playing?

The kid seemed uncomfortable.

-The idiotic Queen wouldn't stop dying. It’s against my every principle to give up before achieving my goal, so I had to stay here until I passed this… training of yours.

Tim had to bit his check to keep from smiling. Damian was kinda decent at it, but the boy who lied to Batman wasn’t so easily fooled by a half assed attempt. The brat had actually stayed so he could make sure Tim didn’t forget his pain meds and woke the whole manor up with his groans later.

-Well, as your teacher for this particular test, I’m telling you to call it a day. Go to sleep and come back tomorrow with fresh mind and eyes.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Rehab… sucked. There was no way around it. Sure, he could go the nice, easy way, give himself enough time to heal before starting on the recovery path. But vigilantes didn’t have the luxury of nice, and he needed to be functional again asap. Steph was running herself ragged, working on keeping Tim’s identity on the streets alive and her own territory safe, and there was a limit on how much Tam could take over in WE before collapsing.

Bruce hadn’t been happy about his decision of starting physical therapy while his stitches were still there, but when was he, ever? And the doctors had said he could do it as long as he was careful about it, now that the swelling in his back had disappeared, so he couldn't use them as counterpoints. There was also the nice plus of being emancipated, which made his medical decisions his own, and not even Bruce could just breeze by and ignore them.

Sweet, sweet independence.

Too bad he forgot a tiny detail: how fucking painful it was.

He could move around now, using the crutches, and he had a series of exercises his doc gave him to help regain movement, which he followed like religious doctrine. Two reps before lunch, one before bed. Okay, the physical therapist had said only do one per day, but he couldn't take into account Tim’s vigilante resistance and strength, so he felt safe in his small expansion of the activities.

That was, until the sharp pain on his side made him lose balance during his last rep and trip over his crutches.

A strong arm around his upper chest stopped his fall to the ground, and took the air off his lungs. It didn’t touch his wound, though, which… nice.

-If you're falling jus’ from walking, maybe you're not as ‘recovered’ as I heard.

-Ja...son -he coughs, hand (with the crutch secured to him by nice straps, courtesy of WE’s medical division) raising up to hold Jason’s arm for support. The other man shifted, coming closer, shouldering his weight without a word, his other hand going around his waist, under the wound, to help him along- This… but a scratch.

-Quoting “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” at me won’t keep you out of trouble, little shit. C’mon, I’ll take you back to your room. Which way?

Pointing him in the right direction, Tim took advantage of their closeness to examine the other man.

They weren’t on ‘kill on sight’ terms any longer, but Tim wouldn’t exactly call the man when in a pinch. What was he even doing here? He was fairly sure he and Brucer were still at that ‘mindless anger/deeply rooted guilt’ stage of their relationship, and his book club meetings with Alfred were wednesday afternoons, not friday evenings…

-Stop thinking so much, you’ll strain som’ing.

-I’m not Dick -he fires back almost in instinct, earning a deep chuckle in turn. He shifts a little, looking for a position where his trembling arms wouldn't make the crutches shake quiet so much. If Jason saw his struggle, he respected him enough to say shit about it.

-Speaking of, how’s it going with him?

-I have no idea what you’re talking about. We are fine.

-Yeah, right. And he’s sitting out of helping you with rehab because he suddenly lost one of his hundred hearts and it’s just your luck it was the one he had for you?

-Fuck… -a misstep, and his arms automatically shift to compensate, keeping him standing but paying it in pain when the movement tugs at his side. Jason tightens his grip, an unvoiced promise to keep it from happening again- you.

-Really threatening, with all the gasping and whining.

-Shut up. Why would we be at odds?

There’s a minute of silence as one of Jason’s hands leave him long enough to open the door to his bedroom.

-I’m jus’ saying -he shrugs as he helps Tim inside and towards his bed-, I know a discarded Robin when I see one.

He’s not sure if the pained sound comes from the jostling as he’s carefully lowered into his pillows, or the strike to his most exposed nerve.

-It was… a tough situation. Dick didn’t have much choice. I -it hurts to say- I get it.

It had also been right, by Damian. Tim can see it, in the remarkably diminished killer intent he could feel from the kid, and his actual willingness at keeping Tim company and even helping him around when needed.

Even if it was the worst for him, at least one of the two fucked up kids under Dick’s watch had benefited from it. It was… it was good enough. It had to be. Tim was fine, after all.

Jason looks at him for a moment, waiting until the pain yields a bit and he can breath again. Then, taking a seat by his feet, he lets his eyes stray to the photographs mounted on the walls, avoiding Tim’s scrutinizing gaze.

-Even if it makes logical sense, it still hurts. I know how it is.

There’s… not really something he can counter. He moves a bit to find position easier on his side, hiding the nervous twitch with the action.

-I never blamed you for it -he feels compelled to add. Jason winces, as if struck. He’s still not looking at him.

-And the brat’ll probably be the same with you, someday. Means shit now, but… small comforts.

-I guess so… I mean, we’re kinda getting along, now that he can’t try to kill me since I’m convalescente and I’m bored enough to contribute to his training.

Jason seems pained again. Tim is annoyed by how confusing this entire situation is.

-Y’er a good predecessor. He’ll/

-What is this all about? -he cuts, unable to stop himself. This attempt at deep conversation is well and good, but it’s coming out of nowhere and Tim never pictured Jason as one to go around randomly offering wisdom- Why are you here, and with me of all people?

There was a shadow of something passing through his face, before it transformed into the physical intonation of the ‘Fair enough’ feeling.

-I heard what happened from blondie while she was takin’ care of soom goons on y’er part of town. And… well, I have some experience on getting back on your feet after a bad injury, just in the wake of loosing Robin. Figured you’d be over doing it and getting yourself hurt worse.

It… was a fair assessment of what he was doing, actually. And if there was anyone he could speak about this… it’d be Jason.

-There’s so much I have to do -he sighs, sagging into his bed, relaxing for the first time when in a room with his childhood idol-, and Steph can’t keep running all my cases for me. I keep solving them, but I need groundwork done and she has already so much on her plate by patrolling my side of town, I just… I can’t let people die because I couldn't spy on an arms deal and tore it apart before the guns made their way to the streets.

Jason looked at him again, his emotions in check, and he seemed to think about it for a minute, before humming.

-What about this? You take it slow and easy with the physical therapy, and I help with that stuff. My territory is somewhat in order, or as much as you can have it in this hellhole of a city, so I have plenty of free time, and… I could use the atonement. After, you know, trying to kill you so many times.

It…was unexpected. Jason, helping him? In exchange of Tim’s wellbeing? It seemed absurd beyond belief, but there was no mistaking the earnestness on his face.

And, well, fuck it. Tim was somehow on speaking terms with one of his formers almost-assassins, what was one more?

...it would also be so worth it, once Dick knew. Tim could already picture his jealousy, seeing the two brothers he was at odds or uncomfortable with, speaking at each other and working together.

And having Jason at his side would keep Bruce from checking on him so often. Two birds, one crowbar.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

This was shaping up to be the strangest week of his life. Had he entered the twilight zone?

He had gotten kinda used to Damian popping into his room before patrol, or during the nights B forced him to stay at home. He’d work Damian through one of the easiest cold cases, or aid him in his never ending game of Long Live the Queen (he was getting really close to a happy ending, though). In exchange, the kid would keep his work a secret, and help him move around if the pain was too strong, or if he wanted a glass of water and didn’t feel like getting his crutches out for the small trip to the bathroom.

Also, it was somewhat normal to have Jason swing by (morning or mid afternoon, while the vigilantes of the manor slept off their patrol), some case files in hand, informing him about a new development in whatever Tim had asked him to research. Alfred, highly approving of their newfound camaraderie, would insist Jason stayed for tea, and the three of them would dwell into a very satisfying bitch fest, with Bruce as their source material.

What he wasn’t ready for, was having both of them around at the same time.

-Drake, you need to stop lazing around and do your exercises! Father and the doctors said…!

-Chill out, Demon, he did ‘em already. Shouldn't be doin more reps than the doc said, y’know?

Acting like his nurses.

-And how do I know you’re not lying to me, Todd? Hurting Timothy could only benefit you!

-...In literally which way? He’s the ONE brother I like! And like you are any better, Mr slashed zip line.

-Who told you about/? No matter. That was before we became allies. You, on the other hand!

Had he stumbled into a different universe? It wouldn't be the first time. Just in case, he sent Bart, his time/multiverse travel expert, a quick text.

-Hey guys, what’s all this noise abou/ Damian! Drop the knife!

Oh yeah. Just what Tim needed; the awkwardness that seemed to appear whenever he and Dick were in a room together. Maybe it was time to book it back to his room.

-Grayson! Give it back, I need to/!

-Disembowel Jay? I don’t think so.

-Fuck off Dickiebird, I don’t need your protection.

Decision made, Tim slowly moved his crutches, walking backwards without taking his eyes from the three vigilantes. If he was really, really quiet...

-I know, just/ Wait. Is that a gun?

-Well, it’s not like I’m happy to see yar ugly face.

-Excuse you?!... Here, Dami. You can have it back.

-FUCK!

-DIE!

-TIM!

The last scream came from Dick, who looked in his direction just in time to catch the moment Tim’s crutch slipped in the carpet. As it was, he was the only one who could react fast enough to prevent a painful, possibly very bad for his injury fall.

It also meant Tim was being cradled like a baby. Which- no.

The other two fell silent for long minute, while their minds caught up to Tim’s almost accident. Then, apparently seeing him safe in Dick’s arms, they turned to fight again. Apparently, blaming the other for Tim’s misfortune. Which… okay maybe he’d been distracted watching them go at it when he tripped, but still!

-I’ll just… take him upstairs -informed them Dick, though it sounded almost like a question. Probably wondering their ability to keep the discussion verbal.

Used to the nagging, both of them raised their hands, showing them empty (which, truly, meant little in the face of two of the most weapon-inclined people he knew), without pausing their rapidly escalating exchange.

Halfway up the stairs, he stopped wallowing in self pity about his still recovering body to remember that, for the first time in a helluva long time, he’d be alone with Dick. Which translated in Talk Time. Fuck.

By the time they reached his door, he had ready no less than six deflections and twenty conversation topics which avoided mention of all their baggage and could potentially satisfy Dick’s need for socializing with a brother.

-Wipe that look off your face, Baby Bird. You won’t be orchestrating this chat -the older hero informed him, casually as one can be, kicking the door closed behind him and softly lowering Tim on his bed. He was having serious Deja Vu’s from his first encounter with Jason-. We are going to sit in your room. We are going to hear each other out. I’m going to apologize for hurting you and give you insight on the why I acted the way I did. You’ll decide whether or not you’re ready for forgiving me. We’ll bond. Maybe cry. There’ll definetly be hugs involved -that shouldn’t sound like a threat, why did it sound like a threat, Tim felt threatened-, that’s non negotiable, don’t even try to put the ‘tender wounds’ card on me ‘cause I won’t buy it. And…

Dick’s stern voice wavered, arms still around Tim shoulders even when it was clear he didn’t need his support to sit in the bed.

-And we’ll be brothers again.

The tiny, broken sound mid-sentence was what got Tim.

Hand a little shaky, scared for his own heart but unwilling to let the older boy (his hero and family for so long) keep hurting, he touched Dick’s cheek and smiled. Tentatively, because they were on unstable ground here, but hopeful, because god did he miss his brother.

-We never stopped being that, idiot.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was after dinner, when Bruce approached him in silence. Tim had been making his slow but steady way to the den, where Dick had roped them all into watching a movie together. He could hear the sounds of Jason and Damian roughosing (okay, Jason was; the brat probably believed the whole affair to be a fight to the death for honor or something like that) and Dick’s chirpy voice as he ranted about The Greatest Showman from the hall.

Bruce had been making the trip by his side, hand hovering close to Tim’s elbow, in case the crutches failed him or he tripped. Tim wanted to tell him it wouldn't happen, but… he’d missed his dad’s attention a little too much to complain about independency now.

-How’s the recovery going, son?

He stopped in the door leading to where his brothers waited, turning to face Bruce with an arched eyebrow.

-You know that better than me, Mr I’ve broken every bone in my body at some point. Also I’m dead sure you hacked my medical files and know every little detail my physical therapist wrote by heart. You can probably recite them to me verbatim.

-I didn’t mean the physical recovery. The shot in your side is not the only wound you’re carrying right now

Silence, the only noise coming from inside the room and Tim’s heavy breathing. Unable to refrain himself, he risks a glance at the tangle of limbs rolling around in the carpet (Dick’s tactic to stop the fight was to hug them into submission) and lets the tentative, frail smile tug at his lips.

-Honestly, B… That one is healing nicely. There’ll be scars but… That’ proof of what we overcame. Right?

Bruce’s smile looked kinda uncomfortable in that stony face of his, but warm all the same. His hand left Tim’s arm to tussle his hair a bit, careful to not unbalance him.

-When did you became the wisest of my children?

A crash came from inside the room, startling them both.

-TODD YOU…!

-DAMIAN NO! JASON PUT DOWN THE CHAIR! DON’T MAKE ME CALL ALFRED!

-C’ME AT ME, MIDGET!

-ALFIEEEE!!!

-Bruce…

-Yes?

-I’m the only wise child you have.

#My writing #tim drake #red robin #Batfamily Fanfic #batfamily #jason todd #red hood #damian wayne #robin #dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #recovery #tw: injury #family bonding #gift to babe

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jemelle · 4 years ago

Text

reflections {ncis}

rating: g

pairing: n/a, ziva david & abby sciuto

summary: 'Family. That’s what they are, aren’t they?' (or: Ziva & Abby celebrate Hanukkah)

a/n: set season 3 aka 2005. written for day 10 of the holiday special organized by @blakes-dictionxry, though i did stretch the prompt (when do i not?) i’m not Jewish, so if i’ve misrepresented something, please let me know! thank you for reading and chag chanukah sameach!

my masterlist

you can also read this story on ao3 here!

“There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." – Edith Wharton

Ziva is supposed to be on vacation. Right now, she should be at a nice hotel outside of Annapolis, taking a bubble bath and reading the kind of magazines that Tony would never let her live down. It’s the day after Christmas, after all. Judging from the way some people in this country act, if anyone should be able to convince people to hold off on committing crimes for a few days, it’s the Christian God. Yet somehow, she’s still at work.

The phone call had come at eight in the morning, jolting Ziva out of a rare lie-in. She had reached for the receiver in the darkness, cursing loudly in Hebrew as her hand banged into the lamp on the side table.

“What is it?” she had groused without bothering to check the caller ID, voice still heavy from sleep. There was only one person who would dare disturb her this early, and she already had a good idea of what Gibbs was going to say.

“We got a case,” was the response, much as she had expected. Ziva had sighed, hanging up and running a hand through her unkempt hair. She really did not get paid enough for this.

In the end, it had turned out to be a simple case. One hard look at the brother and he had confessed, a jealous rage taken too far. No red herrings, no international crime syndicates. A waste of their investigative skills, if she’s being honest.

The case itself had finished around four in the afternoon, but then there was the paperwork, and it was entirely possible Ziva had been putting off last week’s work as well. By the time she’s finished all of that, it’s too late to drive to her (non-refundable, she feels the need to add) reservation if she wants to arrive at a reasonable hour.

She’s getting ready to leave, promising herself that she can still salvage what’s left of this day, when McGee tells her that she’s needed urgently in Abby’s lab. As far as Ziva can remember, she hasn’t asked Abby for anything recently, so she approaches the lab carefully, half-expecting to find a sobbing Abby on the floor. Why Tony and Tim expect her to be able to deal with emotions, she’ll never understand. She may be a woman, but Ziva thinks she’s proven time and time again that emotional connection is not her forte.

The lights are dimmed when Ziva rounds the corner into Abby’s lab, but Abby herself is nowhere to be seen. Instead, Ziva sees a neatly set table with two place settings and, strangely, a hanukkiah.

Tonight is the second night of Hanukkah. Ziva knows that– she had packed her own hanukkiah in her suitcase, intending to light it and pray when she reached her hotel room. But, to the best of Ziva’s knowledge, Abby isn’t Jewish.

Ziva raps lightly on the door to the lab, watching as Abby emerges from a shadowed back corner of the room. She sure can hide, Ziva will give her that.

“What is this?” Ziva asks, gesturing at the spread in front of her.

“Happy Hanukkah!” Abby says, as if that answers the question. She steps further out of the shadows and Ziva can see that she’s holding a frying pan.

“Thank you.” Ziva is confused, to put it mildly. While she appreciates the sentiment, she's still no closer to understanding the rationale behind Abby’s actions.

“Well, I thought… you don’t really have any family in D.C, so I researched what to do!” Abby approaches the table, depositing what Ziva can now see are latkes on the plates. Leaving the pan on the nearest lab surface, she flicks on the lights, displaying blue and white garlands hung around the room. “I even got you a present!”

“Oh, Abby.” She really is touched, especially given the rocky start their relationship had gotten off to. This is a gesture she might expect from Jenny (well, at least the dinner portion. She doesn’t think Jenny has ever been one for tinsel), but Abby doing this is a true testament to her giant heart.

“But?” Abby prompts, and Ziva forgot that while Abby is kind, she is first and foremost always willing to speak her mind.

Ziva feigns innocence, the best she knows how to. “But what?”

Abby pouts. “There’s a but, I can tell.”

No one is immune to the Abby pout. Ziva relents, sitting down in one of the chairs and motioning for Abby to join her.

“It is just that Hanukkah is not very big in Israel.”

If Ziva were home right now, she would probably be helping to light Rivka’s family menorah, saying her blessings, and (Ziva’s personal favorite) having latkes and sufganiyot. When she was eight, Ziva had eaten so many sufganiyot that she’d sworn off them forever. Naturally, her family had never let her live that down. They had been a family once, before Eli had left and Tali had died and Ari had become someone she no longer recognized.

“It’s not?” Abby’s voice pulls Ziva out of her memories.

“No. It is a big deal in America because Christmas is such a big deal. Children see all their friends getting presents and they want them too. In Israel, Hanukkah is about family.” Sure, there are parties and festivals, but none of this extravagant gift-giving she has seen in America. Ziva has nothing against adapting traditions, but the American celebrations hold nothing of value to her.

Abby’s face falls, and Ziva mentally kicks herself. “It is lovely, though,” she says, reaching past Abby to dim the lights again. There. Without the garlands in sight, it reminds her much more of the Hanukkahs she remembers.

“I know I wasn’t always… the nicest to you,” Abby says, and Ziva laughs, because that is the understatement of the century. “But… I really like you, Ziva David, and even if I didn’t, you’re part of our family now.”

Family. That’s what they are, aren’t they? Though they are her team by definition, the word team can’t possibly encompass all they meant to her.

Gibbs is the only one who knows her secret and the only one she would have trusted with it. Tony and McGee are always by her side, ready to insult or defend her at a moment’s notice. Ducky is an ever-friendly ear and Jimmy a kind presence. Ziva includes Jenny in her count as well, though she isn’t sure Jenny would have included herself; she is always watching out for them, playing the games none of the rest of them want. And here is Abby, so different from Ziva in almost every regard, trying to make her feel at home.

If she were more sentimental, Ziva would call it a miracle. She had lost her first family a long time ago, even if Eli and Rivka are still alive. That a group of people are willing to accept her, to give her a second chance, makes her heart swell and her eyes water in an utterly un-Ziva fashion.

A tear must escape her eye, because before she knows it Abby is handing her a tissue. Ziva takes it, only slightly mortified, dabbing at her eyes until they’re dry.

“I am okay,” she says in response to Abby’s unasked question.

Wordlessly, Abby pulls a square box out of her pocket and slides it across the table. It’s wrapped in patterned paper, sparkling white stars against a midnight blue sky. Ziva slides a careful finger under the seam of the paper, trying not to rip it.

Inside is a plain white mug. Ziva picks it up with two hands, spinning it around to reveal a simple Z printed on it.

“Thank you, Abby,” she says sincerely, before chuckling. “Now Tony will not be able to pretend he accidentally forgot which coffee mug is his.”

Abby’s smile drops, and she looks as though she might cry. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, but no sound escapes. Ziva waits patiently, because getting information out of Abby when she’s not ready to speak is like trying to get an internationally wanted criminal to talk.

When she finally speaks, Ziva has to strain to hear her. “I’m sorry… it’s just that the way you said that reminded me of Kate. I miss her.”

“Kate sounds like a wonderful person,” Ziva says. When she had first joined, that might have been a lie. She had quickly gotten sick of hearing how amazing Kate had been, of trying to measure up to a ghost. Now, Ziva knows that she can’t try to be anyone but who she is, and she only wishes she could have met the woman who apparently was more than a match for Tony.

“She was,” Abby responds, and now she’s the one who’s crying.

Ziva leans across the table, letting Abby hold her hands while she sobs. After a little while, Abby lets go, wiping her eyes with another tissue pulled from the depths of her lab coat. Absent-mindedly, Ziva picks up the matchbox lying by the hanukkiah, turning it over in her hands.

“Do you know the story of Hanukkah?” she asks. Abby shakes her head, eyes still watery. Ziva smiles, letting her head fill with memories of Hanukkahs past, she and Tali and Ari all clamoring to be the one to tell the story.

“Well,” Ziva says, striking a match against the box and using the match to light the shammash, the tallest candle in the hanukkiah. She removes the candle from its holder, using it to light the first and second candles, before returning it to its place, Abby watching her raptly the entire time. “Although I could begin in many, many places, our story really starts with a temple in the city of Jerusalem...”

tags: @robins-gf, @chmpgneprblms

#ncis #ncis fanfiction #ziva david #abby sciuto #evas holiday special #ziva x abby #shippy if you squint #*mine #*fic

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elwingflight · 5 years ago

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Coronavirus: Information & Guidelines

What you can do now, and what to prepare for

There seems to be a lack of what-to-do suggestions on tumblr beyond handwashing, so I thought I’d put something together. I’ve never actually encouraged people to reblog something of mine before, but this might be the time. To be clear: I am not personally a public health expert of any kind. Both my parents are (epidemiology/global health degrees, worked for CDC) and I’ve run this by them. My information is coming from disease researchers on twitter and official public health guidelines online. Sources at the end of the post. This is mostly directed at people in countries where COVID-19 has been reported (I’m in the U.S.), but is not *yet* widespread in the community. Written Mar. 1st 2020, last updated 3/9 (shorter, helpful twitter thread here, helpful NPR article here)

General Info

Firstly, a lot of politicians are *still* trying to sugarcoat things, but it should be clear by now that the new coronavirus is spreading widely and will continue to do so. Because of the incubation period, and in the U.S. at least the delay in testing, the number of cases is almost certainly going to increase rapidly in the near future no matter what we do now. Official government sources are helpful, but its also good to look at what experts on viral epidemics who aren’t directly government-affiliated are saying. Their agenda is purely informing the public in the most constructive way possible, without politics getting in the way.

Two key points- COVID-19 can have a long incubation period (the time from when you catch the virus to when you start showing symptoms) and most people don’t get severe symptoms. Some are entirely asymptomatic, but most people get typical flu-like symptoms. Specifically, the early symptoms to watch out for are a fever and dry cough (meaning, a stuffy nose is probably just a regular cold). Its possible but unlikely to transmit the virus while asymptomatic, most transmission happens when you have heavier symptoms.

The most vulnerable people are the elderly (~ over 60) and those with preexisting health conditions (i.e. cardiovascular disease, respiratory condition, diabetes), or a simultaneous infection with something else (NOT kids in particular!) So far the mortality rate has been about 1-2% (compared to 0.1% for the general winter flu - yes, this really is worse). However, that might be an overestimate, both because people with mild cases aren’t getting tested (the denominator should be bigger), and because the early situation in Wuhan, where a lot of our numbers come from, was especially bad in regards to availability of healthcare.

This is an emotional, difficult situation. Don’t panic. The world didn’t end in 1918, and its not going to end now. But it is very serious, and we need to be thinking about it rationally, not pretending everything is just going to be okay, or uselessly pointing blame. Take care of your mental health, and check in with each other. Epidemics test our generosity and selflessness. Those qualities are needed right now, but don’t neglect yourself either.

What You Can Do Now

There is stuff everyone can do both to prevent yourself from getting infected, and to prepare if you do. ***The big picture to keep in mind is that the biggest risk of epidemics is that they overwhelm our system, especially our healthcare system. What I mean by this is that our society is built to deal with a certain volume of things happening at once- people buying groceries, getting sick, etc. If we suddenly all rush to do something, we overburden these systems and they won’t be there for the people who need them most. Therefore our goal is to slow down the spread of disease, buying time and lowering the overall burden on these systems. This is called “flattening the curve”. It looks like this, and I cannot stress how important this is.***

A very helpful thread on preparedness

Staying Healthy

Like similar viruses (think colds and flu), COVID-19 is mostly transmitted from person to person, usually by close contact but sometimes from an infected surface. More here.

Wash your hands. Everyone has heard this one- 20 seconds, soap all over your hands, wash the soap off. If you can’t wash your hands use an alcohol-based hand sanitizer (at least 60% alcohol). But handwashing is absolutely better. Also- cough into your elbow/shoulder, not your hand, and avoid shaking hands- try elbow bumps or maybe a polite nod instead! If you’re handwashing so much that you’re hands are threatening to crack and bleed though, consider washing more strategically or using hand sanitizer instead.

In combination with hand-washing- stop touching your face, especially while out! This takes practice, everyone does it all the time without thinking. A good practice is to avoid touching your face while out, then wash your hands thoroughly as soon as you get home.

Similarly, avoid touching surfaces as much as possible! Particularly bad are door handles, elevator buttons, that kind of thing. The virus can probably (based on studies of related viruses) last a while on these. Regular gloves can help a bit. Use a tissue then throw it away, use your elbow, etc.

Do Not buy face masks! There’s mixed evidence on whether they’re at all helpful when used by the general public to prevent catching a virus, but actual medical professionals who need them are facing shortages (that’s probably part of why so many healthcare workers got sick in Wuhan), so our buying them up is really bad. The only times you should be wearing them is if you yourself are sick (they do help then!) or if you’re looking after a sick person. Seek instruction in that case in how to use them properly. (Thread on why buying those fancy masks is not good).

If COVID-19 is in your community, try to stay 6 feet from people, which basically means going places as little as possible. See below.

Planning Ahead

Its also a good idea to prepare in case you need to self-quarantine. Self-quarantine is necessary if you’ve potentially been exposed to COVID-19, or if you’re sick but not enough to need to go to the hospital. Follow local guidelines- if there’s lots of transmission in your area, nonessential workers will probably be advised to stay home as much as possible.

If you’re able, get medication now. Don’t go crazy and buy out the drug store, just a reasonable amount. Try to get at least a month’s worth of any prescription medications. This can be hard at least in the U.S. - your doctor may well be able to prescribe more, but insurance companies and drug stores can be terrible. I’ve found trying a different drugstore can sometimes help. Try your best. They may also be reluctant to prescribe more to avoid causing shortages. Idk what the right answer is here.

Don’t go crazy and buy out the store, but start getting a little extra shelf-stable or frozen food. Even some root vegetables that will last a few weeks. You want enough for 2 weeks in case of self-quarantine, but you do NOT want to empty out stores. Panic buying is definitely a stress on the system. Just add a few extra things each time you shop. Don’t forget about pets. You can always eat the food and replenish it over time.

Make a plan with your family/community. If someone gets sick or needs to self-quarantine, is there a corner of the house they can stay in? Who can take care of them? etc. I haven’t focused on plans for schools/religious communities/workplaces etc but those are very important too! This is one place where keeping an eye on local and national news is important. In the U.S., for example, school systems are planning ways to make food available to kids if they’re not going to school.

If COVID-19 is starting to spread in your community, think about how else you can be a good community member. Cancelling nonessential doctor’s appointments, surgeries etc may be very important, for example. If schools are closed, can you help out neighbors with childcare? Do you have a cleaner who may need to be payed in advance if there’s a quarantine?

If You Might Be Sick/Need to Quarantine

See likely symptoms above. Remember, normal colds still exist, and if you go to the doctor for every one of those you will overwhelm the system.

Don’t just go to a hospital! Call ahead to your doctor/clinic/hospital and get instructions on what to do. Getting healthcare workers sick is something we really want to avoid. That said, DO get tested as soon as possible, and act as if you are contagious. The health coverage situation is the U.S. is not yet clear (and ofc its not something the current admin is eager to clarify). Hopefully testing will be covered financially by the government, but I can’t promise that at this time.

In the meantime, stay home and quarantined if you show any symptoms of illness if you possibly, possibly can. This is especially difficult in the U.S. if you don’t have sick leave/childcare, but please. Do your utmost.

Look after yourself. Skype/google hangouts/etc is great for keeping connected. Have some chocolate/chicken broth/other sick foods ready.

The Big Picture

Coronavirus/COVID-19 has not been declared a pandemic yet, but it probably will be before long. This is almost certainly going to get worse before it gets better. We don’t yet know if warmer weather will slow its spread, and a vaccine will probably take about 1-1.5 years to be developed and tested. As I mentioned before, the best thing we can do to keep the world working, minimize mortality, etc is to slow the spread as much as we can, and minimize the strain on the system. Hospitals are going to be overwhelmed. There aren’t infinite unoccupied beds or ventilators, or people to operate them, and supply chains could get disrupted. Thinking about these things is scary, and it will take time to adjust to what’s happening. Start that process now, and help everyone you know reach the point where they’re able to act, not panic. Another reassuring thing- if we slow the spread of COVID-19, in addition to fewer total people getting sick, you will soon have people who are recovered and almost certainly immune. These people will be invaluable as helpers in their communities.

Now that the practical stuff is out of the way, I want to say from a U.S. perspective that yes, our lack of social welfare other countries take for granted is going to hurt us. Lack of access to childcare, no guaranteed paid sick leave, and of course expensive healthcare are massive problems that will make it much harder to limit disease transmission. Help each other in any way you can, and vote for candidates that support implementing these policies! And of course, watch out for propaganda of all kinds, whether its using the virus as an excuse for racism, calls to delay elections, etc. So far my biggest concern is a lack of willingness to admit how serious this is, but we can do this. Lets put extra pressure on politicians to be honest and change policies to actually help people. But, yes, lets also stay united. We need each other now (just, you know, 6 feet apart).

A few sources

In general, the Guardian is a great, free, reliable source of news. In the U.S., NPR (website as well as radio) is another great source. The Washington Post and Seattle Times have made their coronavirus-related coverage open access, not sure about other national newspapers.

twitter thread from World Health Organization (WHO)

U.S. Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) COVID-19 homepage (not being updated in some ways it should be, like total # of tests)

A reality check from some non-Governmental experts (basically, what governments don’t want to say yet, which is that this virus is going to spread, and the goal now is to infect as few people as possible, as slowly as possible. Read this.)

Why you should act now, not when things get bad in your area (we’re always operating on outdated information)

If you want the latest technical info, The Lancet (major medical journal group) has all of their content compiled here, open access.

I can do my best to answer questions (i.e. ask my dad) but those or other reliable, readily find-able sources should have you pretty well covered. Do let me know if anything on here is wrong or needs to be updated! Stay safe, stay positive, we can do this.

#coronavirus #covid19 #covid-19 #healthcare #actually important shit

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chaoticly-shy-dragon · 4 years ago

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Today was the day.

Today was the day, they were going to execute him.

Today was the day Darth Vader would finally meet the fate, he sentenced so many to.

He, of course, had been on trial, even if it was a closed and discreet one, specifically requested by the Alliance hero and Jedi - Luke Skywalker.

The Dark Lord’s fate was publicly announced on the Holonet approximately a day before the execution.

At first, the early reactions to the sentence were good and happily accepted. Those were the reactions from the high society in the Core.

The backlash that happened during the Coruscant night was massive and utterly unexpected.

Alliance’s posts were brutally attacked on some of the Outer Rim planets, many of the Imperial forces, who had been standing down, were arming up and thousands upon thousands of troopers were preparing to storm the city-planet.

Hundreds of planets started passive measurements against the notion - many planets, from Wobani to Cato Neimoidia, had stopped their trade with the Core.

The still vulnerable Senate was shocked and confused by the whole situation. When the people of Coruscant, started protesting in front of the Senate and the regulation posts that were installed on the planet, many senators didn’t know what to make from it.

The Senate was truly bewildered. Didn’t the people of the Galaxy know what atrocities the man had committed?

No matter what the public thought, in order not to sentence themselves to another war, the Senate agreed to delay or utterly change the sentence.

Once again Darth Vader had to stand a trial, but this time publicly.

The media jumped at the opportunity. Many reporters were sent to different parts of the galaxy to get answers.

The information they found was a bucket of cold water, spilled over the Alliance leaders.

Many articles popped out and with every one of them, the new government grew more and more bewildered.

Stories of Vader allying himself with local rebels to overthrow the Moff in charge of the planet, of him helping the flooded Akiva and other planets having a crisis due to some natural disaster.

Vader was even found responsible for the final liberation of Ryloth, and the death of more than several dozens of warlords from the Hutt clan.

One really fearless reporter even went to Mustafar and got access to Vader’s mission reports. But the real gold found there was an old videotape from around the creation of the Empire. Unfortunately, parts of the video were destroyed (after all Sidious couldn’t allow his apprentice to see Kenobi and his very-much-alive wife escaping the hellish planet), but the reporter still managed to acquire one spectacular Jedi fight (even if they couldn’t see what it had to do with Vader, anything connecting the Jedi was finally allowed once again).

All these articles were slow blows to the government and the idea that they protected.

The final blow came when the public required a meeting with Darth Vader.

At first, the idea seemed fine, after all, what else could possibly go wrong.

They had forgotten the request put in by Luke Skywalker after it came to light that Vader might live. The request for extra medical attention.

The man that they led into the studio had little visual connection to the imposing Dragon of the Empire. The only similarities were the built and the height.

His face was half-covered in a clear mask, showing on full display his scars.

And there were scars. Every visible inch of his skin was covered in scar tissue and was so very pale, that it was whiter than the stormtrooper’s new armor.

The interviewer, the screen directors and staff were starting for quite some time, brought back by the insistent cough of Luke Skywalker who was the one guarding the ex-Sith.

The live broadcast started with easy questions with not so easy answers:

“Are you really Lord Vader?”

“If that’s not your real name, what is it?”

“Why are you in the state of requiring life support suit?”

Then it came down to the hard ones:

“Why were you sentenced to execution in the first place if you haven’t actually done anything of the things they accused you of?”

Darth Vader’s real name was apparently Anakin Skywalker. He had been Jedi for more than ten years and a General in the Clone Wars for three.

He described his life as a Jedi, his inability to fit in because of his past. He explained the non-attachment rule of the Jedi, about the age at which people were accepted into the Order. Anakin told them that the Jedi couldn’t have strong relationships with their birth families and non-Jedi (a fact which surprised the Jedi in the room as much as it surprised the staff). He told them about their decision that a nine years old was too old to become a Jedi (the statement was met with denial and outrage).

He explained that during his years as a Jedi, the Order was mistrustful of him and because of it he grew closer to his friend in the Senate - the Chancellor.

Anakin started talking about the Clone Wars, about the horrors, the atrocities. He told them about the planets ruined because of the inability of the galaxy to listen.

The ex-Sith told them about the clones, his men, who were bred to die and never even complained about it. He told them stories about heroism far beyond the capability of anyone else. He told them about their lack of rights. He told the galaxy how his men fought for the Republic, killed for the Republic, sacrificed their lives for the Republic and the same Republic never gave them citizenship but treated them as objects, possessions.

Almost every member of the crew was moved by his words.

Anakin continued telling them that even if many tried to stop it, the war continued. He told them about how he fell in love, right at the beginning of the war. How he and his angel agreed that they could not live without one another. He told them about the little secret wedding on a Mid-Rim world.

If there had been someone who hadn't been crying, now they were.

Anakin was breathing hard, silent tears running down his cheeks.

He explained the strain the war put on people, who then put the blame on the Jedi. He told them how The Senate ordered the Order around, how they were forced to follow their orders so the Jedi could keep the little favor of the public.

He told them about the propaganda, about the campaigns, about the millions of people dying because there was no more food. About the greedy corporations and clans that spend all their money on more droids and clones, feeding the war machine more and more.

They had called him The Hero With No Fear. He and his Jedi Master became The Team - The Hero and The Negotiator. Unbeatable.

But ironically they were. They were beaten more than once. He had been constantly afraid -for his men, for his wife, for his student, for his brother.

A sob cut off his speech allowing, letting the silence settle.

Finally, they had the courage to ask him how old he had been during the war.

The man, the war veteran left with almost nothing to show for his accomplishments, answered “I was 19 when they sent me on the front. I was 20 when I became a General. My padawan, my apprentice was 14 when they sent her on the front. My men were 10 years old. For those of you, who had read about the war from your pads or in school, let me tell you how old was the youngest Commander- 11. There were teens on the front fighting, getting shot, being tortured for information, and nobody then, found it strange and unnatural,” the man was stopped by a hard pat on his shoulder. Luke Skywalker was looking forward, not seeing anything with a glassy look over his eyes.

The silence was like a heavy blanket over the people. There was horror, anger and sadness, oh so much sadness, in the air, drowning the inhabitants.

Anakin started talking once again. He told the galaxy about Count Yan Dooku of Sereno, once a Jedi Master and a Sith Apprentice, Master of Makashi. He told them about Asajj Ventress, once Jedi Padawan and a Sith Apprentice. He told them about the terror bringing Jedi Killer General Grievous. He told the galaxy their stories, their tragedies. He told them about their deaths.

Anakin was breathing hard, mind somewhere else. He took one much-needed pause and spoke about the rise of the Empire.

He told them about his wife's pregnancy, he told them about his mother’s death. He told them about the sleepless night and the pressure of both sides - the Senate and the Jedi.

The Dark Lord told them about Sidious, about the Grand puppeteer, the master manipulator, the Sith Master behind the war.

Ignoring the viewers' shock, which resonated through the Force, he told them about Order 66, about the Jedi Purge and his own involvement. He told them about the round of applause, Palpatine received when he took control over the galaxy as a whole.

Anakin took a deep breath and told them about Mustafar “I was sent there to kill the Separatist Council. On my way back I met my wife, my angel. She begged me to come with her, to help her raise our baby together, to be happy. She only wanted from me, to come back to her.”

There was something that was utterly broken in Anakin’s gaze, “I didn’t accept, instead I called her a liar and... I tried to kill her.” His voice started trembling from emotions too intense to be understood. “My Jedi Master, Obi-Wan engaged me in a duel to keep me away from her. To keep the galaxy safe from me. We fought as we have never fought before, and in the end, he won - he cut off my three remaining limbs and left me to burn on the shore.”

The broken man ignored the sharp intakes of breaths, the gasps and the sinking feeling of horror that was filling the room.

After a tense pause, Anakin continued “I was found by the Emperor who saved my life and put me in that torture device he called life-support. When I woke, the first thing I did was ask for Padmè, only to be answered that I had killed her.” His voice became more and more emotionless as he kept talking, “Later I found out I had had a psychotic break caused by the stress and lack of sleep. In my weak state, Sidious had managed to influence me even more than before. You asked me why I allowed them to accuse me of crimes I haven’t committed? Because even if I had been manipulated, influenced and lied to, I am still the person who took those choices. I am the horrible human being that helped a man commit a genocide, helped a man create a dictatorship and I am a man who deserves nothing else than the same sentence I sent so many others to.”

The silence that followed was heavy, pregnant and absolutely no one had an idea how to break it.

Finally, a movement caught their attention, and the staff all turned their heads to follow the path of the war veteran and the Jedi Knight out of the room.

Right before they made their exit, Anakin Skywalker turned and said “I did the good things in her name. In the name of Padmè Amidala Skywalker, who supported democracy until her dying breath. I did it in the name of Shmi Skywalker who let her son be taken away, while she was left in slavery. I did it for my son and daughter who could have grown in a better galaxy if it weren’t for me. I did it for the bright-eyed free boy who wanted to free all the slaves.” He took one last calming breath, “I did it because the galaxy needs more people ready to help each other.”

A quiet laugh broke through the grave silence, and for the first time today, the Jedi Knight spoke, “Come on, Father. You promised to show me that restaurant.”

The father and son left, leaving the reporter and his crew gaping like fish.

Finally, someone managed to say, “We can't edit any of this. This was live.”

Nobody answered, letting the silence fill the room once again.

...Or an idea, continuing my Sidious is Sympathetic! Fic. There was more but it got deleted... again. I think I went a bit overboard so, sorry.

In addition, I started series connected to this AU on ao3. If you want, you can check it out here.

#star wars au #starwars #star wars #darth sidious #darth vader #luke skywalker #anakin skywalker #sw crack #crack #sympathizing!sidious

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bomberqueen17 · 4 years ago

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300 miles to go

Yeah I’m procrastinating on my drive, again, I gotta leave soon and I just don’t want to. C’est la vie, perpetually. Fuck.

What’s good is that when I’m supposed to be doing something else, that’s when I get good at writing. So, while I’m kind of stuck on Ancient Sea because it’s a complicated sex scene and kind of intense and ALSO high-stakes because I’ve realized that this probably should be the concluding chapter of that story, I’m actually making really good progress on Fugitive, which i’ve been stuck on for a month. (Who even remembers that story? I do. There’s absolutely another chapter here, I just have to find the end of it.)

so there’s that.

under the cut: lard-rendering and other unsavory processes

also I rendered a bunch of lard using the slow-cooker function on my Instant Pot and for a day and a half I was like “this isn’t going to work” but then it did work, so for the record, you can do that and like half of the process of rendering lard consists of staring moodily at really gross slimy hunks of fat and saying to yourself “I don’t think this is gonna work” so jot that down. Also I scraped the cracklins into muffin tins to freeze them, so I should repackage those before I go, now that I think of it. (It makes little pucks of fat and connective tissue and if you throw those in a frying pan and fry them really well you get this great seasoning/lubrication in whatever dish you’re making, it’s really good and a cheap way to make your caramelized onions at the start of every dish be higher in protein and such. Also lard/cracklins from pigs raised on pasture is high in vitamin D!) Lard is so gross and yet so good, and once you’re done it’s this creamy white pure-looking thing and you’re like, how. (If you render it gently enough and strain it well you can bake cookies with it, yes really. Also it’s a fantastic moisturizer but I won’t lie, the smell is pretty unmistakable. Use it for overnight creams.)

I’ve cut out and assembled a bunch of new facemasks but I need to finish assembling them and also put on elastic or ties and I have zero clue what my plan is for all that, so like. Yeah. Anyway I want to embroider things on some of them. We’ll see how that project goes, this week-- I figured bringing a bunch of ready-to-go handsewing would actually be something I could concretely do, so as experiments go, I mean, there’s one.

I made Jamie Oliver’s Chicken In Milk for dinner last night and it was super good, and instead of potatoes I served it over shredded cabbage and beets that I dumped the oil from browning the chicken over the top of and added some salt and herbs to, and then i shredded the chicken over that and poured the sauce over it all and it was super good. I recommend that to anyone, man. It was a tiny fucking chicken, a reject from the line-- like, two pounds at most, and it had a broken leg-end, so it was unsellable. Undersized birds like that tend to be tough, so I figured doing this recipe with the lid on would soften it up a bit and it worked. Probably that would be a good recipe for an old laying hen too, a more flavorful bird would hold its own.

Like a dumbass I didn’t wash the last load of my laundry, and it’s my delicates, so it’s all my bras and undies that I absolutely do need and don’t have spares of, so I have to wait for that to dry. That’s my excuse, today.

And my dilemma, as I sit and think and procrastinate-- I got my canvas tent that I impulse-bought eighty years ago, finally, and I should set it up, but I dont’ know what furniture will go in it, if any, and when will I have time to get it set up, I surely can’t do it alone, and I don’t know what else I need until I have it set up, so-- what I should do is set it up and leave it empty to get rained on one time, and in the meantime figure out what my furniture should be, and maybe take it back down afterward. Maybe that’s my goal this week. Find out if it’s even suitable, and if it’s not--

well, bring it to Rochester and have MM set it up in her yard for a play fort for her kids, is the eventual solution probably. But, maybe it’ll be okay after all and I should use it.

I did discover that it’s easy to claim partial unemployment benefits in NYS, today, so I did that, and. Gosh. My claim is really still in progress, they don’t give me any option for contacting them with questions about it. Weirdly they put the start date as 3/09, when I know I didn’t claim until two weeks after that. I wonder what that means.

Anyway. It’s $0, for now, and forever, but if I do get it it’ll be retroactive, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to make life plans around that. That’s twenty weeks, now... I don’t know what I’m meant to have been doing with myself, all this time.

Credit cards, I guess, which is actually sort of what’s happening, but since we started off rich it’s all 0% for six months this and 0% for twelve months that, and boy, I hope I get some kind of final determination before the six months expires.

#about the author #meandering

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aliceslantern · 4 years ago

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Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 26--Break

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary: Ienzo and Demyx try to come to terms with their broken soulbond. Ienzo helps Ansem rebuild their shattered kingdom.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Even just held his palm over Demyx’s chest for a long time. “I’d thought--something felt off--but back when you were injured, I was…” He swallowed. “Perhaps a bit compromised--”

“Is it possible?” Ienzo asked. He was feeling weak, and his legs were aching. His own chest felt heavy. He wondered if this was what heartbreak felt like.

“Is it possible ? Yes. Is it easy? No. Doubtless he used darkness to sever that bond. No wonder your attack was so powerful, Ienzo, and sent you right into shock.”

“So it’s… true?” Demyx sounded like he’d been punched in the groin. “We’re really…”

He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“But what about pairbonding?” Ienzo asked quickly. “If we are on some level intrinsically compatible, couldn’t we reestablish that bond in some small way? Choose it?”

“I suppose you… could,” Even said.

“Can it be fixed?” Demyx asked.

“It could only be fixed by whoever bound you… and the seeker colony in Destiny Islands is more or less eradicated.”

“What of my magic?” Ienzo asked. Yet again, he felt near tears. He didn’t think he’d ever cried so much. “If I am supposedly so powerful--”

Even’s eyes were very tired. “I suppose with your power--at its peak--it’s theoretically possible. But it’s not at its peak, Ienzo. Can you even feel it, after what happened?”

“...Scarcely.”

“What do we…” Demyx was gasping. “What do we do?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know.” It seemed to pain him to admit. “Perhaps you could work on this pairbond? Perhaps? There’s no spell or procedure I know that can fix this.”

Demyx just stared at Ienzo a long time. Wordlessly, he got up and left the room. Ienzo went to follow, but Even just took his hand.

“Let him,” he said. “He needs to grieve.”

“I feel such… pain,” Ienzo said. “Such…”

“Lie here.” He did so and felt Even probe him. “...Sadist,” he muttered.

“What?”

“He broke the bond on one end only.”

“Solely to cause me pain?”

“Quite.”

“But if I still have it…” His own breaths were coming hard and fast. “Can I… could it…”

“Reform? Ienzo, I have no idea. This is so far out of my depths I’m speculating.” He squeezed Ienzo’s shoulder. “You need time.”

“I feel like I’m bleeding.”

“I know, child.” He drew him into an embrace. “I know.”

To his surprise, Demyx was actually in with Amalia when he left Even’s lab. He was singing to her softly in that old language again, and she was clapping her hands and squealing with delight. If Ienzo had not been in so much pain, he would’ve garnered some pleasure from the grin she gave him when she saw him. She reached up to him.

“She wants you,” Demyx said numbly. Ienzo scooped her into his arms. He was still physically weak; it took work to pretend that picking her up didn’t tire him.

“Dad is giving you a concert, huh?” he asked. She just reached up to put her hands on his face.

“Noses are her new favorite thing,” he said, turning away to pick up toys off of the floor.

“I know, Demyx. I was here when that started.”

He jerked a little. “Right… I forgot. Still kinda stuck in single dad mode.”

“I suppose you must be.” Amalia babbled happily. “Do you want to see the gardens? Go outside?” She laughed. “How are you feeling?”

“Me?” His eyes were red. “Oh, you know.” His expression said as if I would answer in front of the baby.

“Perhaps you would want to… have some dinner later?”

He hesitated. “Okay. Just tell them to give her plastic this time, or maybe not anything glass they care about.”

He tried not to let his pain show. “...Alright.”

---

Ienzo thought he might be losing his mind. He knew giving into this heartbreak was exactly what Xehanort would’ve wanted, but it wasn’t like he could help it. Every time he saw Demyx he thought he might scream. Keeping something resembling peace between them for their daughter’s sake made it all the harder. Ienzo knew that as a seeker this was hitting doubly hard for him, but at the same time, was there really so little between them without the soulbond to justify this?

Ienzo began sleeping on the chaise in the drawing room near his daughter’s crib. He was not asked to do it, but sharing such a cold bed only made it harder. It wasn’t as though he slept well lately anyway. Demyx didn’t comment on it. Ienzo noticed he had stopped singing.

How could he begin to fix this?

Despite it all, there was still massive national upheaval. So Ienzo devoted himself to the care of Amalia and to his work.

The west coast was still giving them the most trouble. Pockets of Xehanort’s supporters--the ones who had helped the spread of his regime in the first place--held their towns hostage. The negotiations were complicated, and messy, and while Ienzo wanted nothing more for them to be judged for their heinous crimes, Ansem advocated leniency of all things. “If we jail them, they’ll just make it worse for their citizens,” he said. “The people’s safety is more important.”

“But if we let them off now there will never be a case in the future.” The courts, too, were still in shambles.

“You must learn compromise, Ienzo,” Ansem said gently.

Ienzo just stared at the sea of papers on the table where they were working. “After all these years… all the studies Even forced on me… I feel like I truly know nothing about becoming king.”

Ansem reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “You could have all the preparation in the world and you’d still feel naked,” he told him. “I did.”

“You did? But you’re so… well, wise.”

He chuckled. “Child, I was the “spare” in the “heir and a spare.” I did not anticipate ever having to go into politics, more than showing up to silly royal functions--that was all on your mother. So our mother let me go into my science, into my research, then all of a sudden one day I’m receiving a call that suddenly… I have been… ascended. ” He said the word bitterly. “I felt just as you do now. Helpless. Stupid. Ignorant.”

“How did you know I feel all those things?”

“It’s on your face.” He smiled. “I will help you, Ienzo. I’m not going to throw you to the wolves. We will rebuild together, which may take years. Once things have settled… we can revisit the matter as to whether or not you’re ready to rule independently.”

His eyes were hot from looking at so much paper. “Is it bad to say I did not think I’d ever get here? I always thought… I’d be running forever… I never envisioned a future for myself, much less my people. I never thought I'd actually live to rule.”

“A trauma response, doubtless.”

“You think I’m traumatized?”

“Surely you didn’t think such a life was mentally good for you? Living in the moment was the only way to cope.”

“I still don’t feel safe.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause. Ansem got up and turned on the electric kettle. “It is nice, to be together again,” Ienzo admitted. “Were I alone… I don’t think I could cope.”

Ansem handed him a cup of tea. “Connection is imperative.”

“...Yes.” He tried not to think of Demyx. He felt his nails digging into his palms. “Father, I…”

“It’s alright, Ienzo. You must grieve.” A substantial pause. “But with pain comes vulnerability, which might be useful. I was wondering…”

“What?”

“...If it might be time to reintroduce you to the people. The real you, not the mask you put on for Xehanort. You… and your daughter.”

Ienzo swallowed. “I looked like a traitor.”

“You were a captive doing your best to subvert an entire regime , which you did. Besides. I think the presence of your child… will make you look paternal. Trustworthy.”

“There’s so much we haven’t spoken about,” he murmured. “My time as a captive… my child… all this… this guilt I feel… the fact that I’ve taken human lives… I…”

“It’s alright to be upset.”

“My emotions are so close to my skin.”

“I’d be shocked if they weren’t.”

Ienzo shuddered. “And it feels strange to cry in front of you.”

He hugged him. “It’s alright, Ienzo. Best to do so rather than hold it all in.”

So he did. He felt like a child, but all the pain inside of him needed out somehow. Who else was he comfortable in front of? Not Demyx, surely, and Even was struggling with his own issues.

He wasn’t sure he felt better afterwards. He just felt exhausted. Ansem offered him a tissue. “I’m told Remy was able to recreate the sea salt ice cream you loved as a boy. Perhaps you might like to have some.”

“I think I need it, yes.”

---

Ienzo dangled Ansem’s proposal in front of Demyx, tentatively. “It was to happen eventually anyway, given her status,” he said. He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact.

“...She’s only eight months old,” he said.

“It’s not like she’d have any duties. That is to say--”

“It’s to clear your name.”

“...As I am to be king, you have to admit it’s important.”

“...I dunno. Seems like you made your bed on that one.”

He’d had about enough. “What was I do to, then?” he snapped. “Fight and fight and fight and what, get killed? All that would’ve meant is Xehanort would still be here, still quite literally killing the earth, and Amalia would’ve grown up without me. I am doing my best, Demyx. I am. She is my child too. And sometimes I am allowed to make decisions on her behalf.”

Amalia seemed confused at the razors in his voice. She gasped once and started to cry. “You’re upsetting her,” Demyx said. “She’s not used to people--” His face flushed. Then, “What are we going to do, Ienzo?”

“What do you mean?”

“Us. With her.”

For a moment, Ienzo thought he might faint. “Do you really think there’s nothing salvageable?” he asked in a strangled voice. “Do you really think it’s not worth trying --”

“I don’t know. ” He was shaking. “All I know is that a huge part of me is fucking dead. And I just… wonder…” He took a shuddering breath. “I lost everything. My family, my memories, my friends, and now you?”

“...I know. I know that. Did you forget I did too?”

Silence. Amalia was still crying, more quietly. Ienzo scooped her up and kissed her brow.

“I was in hiding for twelve years before I met you. I know how you feel, Demyx. I do. I can’t pretend to understand how this affects your magic. I just know that… squabbling about all this isn’t going to help anything. I still…” He swallowed. “I still love you. And I understand if you can’t find that love within you. But for our daughter…” Diplomacy. Diplomacy. “Can we please at least be friendly? Come to agreements?”

He was breathing hard. “I was alone for so long.”

“I know.”

“We were supposed to be happy.”

“I know.”

“Is this… ever going to end?”

Ienzo stroked Amalia’s hair. “Consider this,” he said softly. “By giving into this despair, we’re just giving Xehanort more power. By not fighting for one another, we’re letting him win. He wanted to divide us.”

Demyx’s eyes were watering.

“...I’m going to give her a bath. Let me know if you’d like to talk more about this. I certainly would.”

Once he had Amalia in the water, he couldn’t help but shed a few more tears of his own, feeling weak. She reached up with her wet little hands. “Ba,” she said, confused.

“I’m sorry for fighting in front of you, love. That wasn’t right. It won’t happen again.”

“Mm,” she said. He poured a cupful of water over her.

“Was what you told me right? Is this all going to work out?”

She cocked her head, her wet curls swaying slightly.

“...Perhaps you might like me to read you The Great Escape again before bed?”

She squealed. “Ba! Ba!”

“...Book. Very good.”

She picked at her navel. Ienzo found himself oddly envious of simpler times. This is not good for my mental state, he thought. Perhaps I should seek therapy as well. She made an odd face, and then shrugged her tiny shoulders.

“Are you itchy again?” He reached behind her to give her back a good scratch along the scales, in inverse Ls on her shoulder blades. She sighed. “Yes, feels better, doesn’t it?”

She opened her eyes wide. For a moment Ienzo was convinced she was seeing into him, and he felt dizzy. She reached up to touch his face, her small wet palm catching in his hair and pressing against his blind eye.

“Don’t poke people’s eyes, sweetie, it’s not ni…” A very, very odd feeling rushed over him, a vertigo, a prickling in his being. Everything inside of him went limp, and he collapsed.

#heartlines #ienzo #demyx #zemyx #child oc - amalia #even (kingdom hearts)#ansem the wise

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freerabbitmanandpig · 4 years ago

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My Friend With Parkinson’s

On Oct 1st of this year I was given compassionate release from Allenwood USP for (what was diagnosed as) an unspecified connective tissue disorder. I had served roughly 60 months of a 70 month sentence. To secure this extraordinary release my lawyer had sited the new emergency COVID increased risk criteria, pointing to my status of being prescribed immunosuppressants, as well as suffering from lifelong asthma. Being as that I’d been housed in a care-level 3 medical facility, most of my time had been spent around inmates with chronic conditions, many of them without a chance of making it home within the course of their natural lives. Conscious of the fact that many of these men lacked the financial resources available to my family, especially as the pandemic has left many people in the street without regular employment, I made promises to some of these men to attempt to get their stories out into the world.

Christian Tarantino (Reg. # 14684-050) is a middle-aged man that I met while in Allenwood. A gambler with a good sense of humor, who was generous with his friends and, while in the street, lethal to those who stood in his way. According to the FBI, back in the early 90s Chris was part of a crew that committed a number of armed robberies. In 2011 he was sentenced to three consecutive life-terms for the murder of a guard during an armored car robbery back in 1994, as well as the murder of one of the participants whom he feared would flip on him.

Criminals, conscious of their own status, tend to withhold judgement, and I’d be lying if the description of Chris as a “cold killer”, spoken to me with admiration by more than a few inmates, did not inspire this same admiration in me upon hearing the stories of his exploits. To be clear, I never personally heard Chris tell any stories about his case, or murder in general; the stories he did tell me were often funny ones about the club scene in NY, or his dog. The problem was that, when Chris spoke, I often had to strain to hear him. Still, the Parkinson’s had made him patient over the years, and he did not get frustrated when a person had to ask him to repeat himself, sometimes multiple times. No matter how long it took for him to finish the story, it was worth it to hear it all the way through – as I said, he was funny.

Chris and I had started talking more about his disease a month before my release, after having heard that the Marshall Project had published a short story of mine the year before. The problem, he’d told me one morning, was that a 15-minute analysis with the MD did not take in to account the fact that his PD fluctuated in intensity throughout the course of a given day. Even if you’re classified as a care level 3, you generally only get to see the facility’s MD once a year, with all subsequent outside appointments and medication adjustments being managed by your assigned PA. The key to adequate treatment lies then in the temperament of your PA. My PA was considered the best on the compound and was likely instrumental in getting me the workups and appointments I needed to secure my compassionate release. Chris’ PA was largely considered the worst on the compound (one of two), a bitter woman who often had to be compelled into action via administrative remedies, which Chris was inevitably forced to file. If he came to a sick-call and was not actively in the throes of intense contortions (which he sometimes referred to as ‘crazy legs’) then he was often disregarded. Chris and his PA were prone to devolve into shouting matches, nor was this a problem that she had only with him. Even when he wasn’t engaged in fighting the crazy legs, he was mostly still confined to his wheelchair. There were, on occasion, times when he felt in control of his legs enough to walk, albeit while holding on to another inmate’s shoulders. There was no shortage of willing shoulders, as inmates of all races would step up to ferry him, either to the computer room – where they would inevitable have to help him type his emails, or to the shower – where no handicap accommodations existed. This last omission struck many of us as particularly negligent, considering the yard’s care level. Another problem was the speech impediment. I’d often heard him ask, rhetorically, how it was that sounding like “a retard” when he spoke was not a clear enough indicator of the severity of his condition, regardless of the tremors. Of course ‘retard’ is not really the best adjective for any modern condition, but the point was still valid that, when he spoke, he sounded like a person recovering from a massive stroke – only he wasn’t recovering, Parkinson’s is a degenerative illness.

The prison had no choice but to provide him with follow-ups to the local neurologist after a highly invasive surgery, known as ‘deep brain stimulation’, in which a device, a ‘neurostimulator’, was implanted into his brain. This local doctor told Chris flat-out that he was incapable of treating him at this stage in his illness, nor is the facility capable of recalibrating his implant.

At night, a small group of us would walk to pill line to get our evening medications. I got Elavil and Gabba Pentin – the former for my interstitial cystitis, and the Gabba Pentin for more generalized pain. Chris, on the other hand, got a bunch of different pills, each with an Old Testament-sized list of potential side effects. To add insult to injury, the medical staff crushed most of his medications, as though this middle-aged man in a plastic, yellow wheelchair, barely able to get the cup of powder into his mouth, would somehow be able – or even willing, to cheek these many pills so that he could smuggle them back to the unit and…. What? For anyone curious enough to look, Federal Penitentiaries are full to the point of bursting with real narcotics. Who the fuck wants to sniff twenty different PD meds?

During these evening walks (some of our only time outside of the unit since the pandemic started) the subject of my pending motion came up on a regular basis. It was news, if nothing else. As for Chris, PD does not put him at an increased risk for COVID complications, and although I’d heard him, on occasion, tentatively breech the subject of outright compassionate release, his main request to me was that I put his story up, in the hope that perhaps someone else from the outside would get involved and get him moved to a medical facility. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about falling down in the shower and bearing the indignity of calling for help, alone and naked on a wet floor that’s covered with other men’s piss and body hair. Before I was released, I wrote one final staff request for him to the medical coordinator attempting to get him transferred to a care-level 4 facility. This was not his first attempt to obtain such a transfer, and, for the purposes of the request, Chris provided me with a list of names of staff members who had seen him fall down, or else had helped him get back to his cell after an accident. It was a long list.

For a man who devoted a large part of his life to fitness, it’s a hard pill to swallow. In my mind I am stuck wondering what three consecutive life sentences (or a thousand for that matter) really means for someone like Chris, who’s own body has become a prison. In a sense I have an idea – back in 2017, my uncle Steven Parr – a successful and well known archivist in San Francisco, was diagnosed first with Parkinson’s, which was later amended to a diagnoses of Lewy-Body syndrome – a disease that bears similarities to PD. His initial suicide attempt was precluded by his manager, Adam, who was on the phone with my mother at the time. His second attempt, however, was successful. To me, though, the most poignant encapsulation of Chris’s attitude was made apparent when I was pushing him to the showers one morning. He’d removed his shirt before getting back in his chair, and I was struck by his apparent muscle tone and total lack of body fat, despite his sedentary lifestyle,

“Damn Chris, you’re in a wheelchair and still in better shape than half these dudes in here.”

“Yea..” he spoke slowly – struggling to force his tongue to conform to the consonants, “..this is the worst thing god could’ve done to me.”

In a way it was cruel how the progress in my appeal seemed to engender a sense of hope in some of the other care level 3’s working fervently, without the aid of outside capital or competent legal help, to obtain their own releases before the virus made it’s way to the yard. By Oct 1st the USP at the Allenwood Correctional Complex had 7 cases, all of them quarantined in the shu after having arrived on a plane, and then a bus, with who-knows how many others potentially infected. They’d already shut the medium back down as, despite their ‘best’ efforts at screening all arrivals, 15 cases had popped up in general population. As I already stated above, the administration fought me every step of the way – even after the motion had been granted and I was only awaiting the end of my obligatory 2 week quarantine, the staff refused to allow me to call my family, my lawyer, or even probation, so that I could arrange for transport. I didn’t know whether I’d be going straight home or to a program until the last minute. I could see it in their faces every time they brought me legal mail or were forced to set up my screening for the drug program that I’m in now – they didn’t think I deserved it. Like they had only just found out via the granting of my motion that they presided over an unequal system. I got 8 months back – goodtime I’d lost, along with years-worth of visits and phone calls - “privileges” they justified in taking almost exclusively over dirty urines, and for what? Suboxone. At my final workup the MD confided in me that, prior to the pandemic, they’d been told by the region to start preparations for the MAT program (medication assisted treatment) and to apply for the DEA approval to begin prescribing both suboxone and vivitrol. Unfortunately, these proceedings had to be halted to focus their energies on the then emerging public health crisis. Maybe it’s my prejudices, but itt seemed to me that these people took it personally – as though those reclaimed 8 months had come directly off the end of their own lifespans.

#jail #mass incarceration #parkinsonsdisease #social justice #criminal justice

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waywardwhump · 5 years ago

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Attic Angel- False Wings

@cynicalwhump

Challenge accepted! This piece inspired by this post here. Thank you for the prompt, Cynical.

The chill seeps into her skin. It steals away her heat and leaves her shivering where she’s bound, forced to kneel on a hard, unfeeling floor.

It’s a familiar position, one that makes her feel sick to keep. With all her physical strength she writhes against the unseen beams, and with all her angelic power, she sends out pulse after pulse in an effort to tear the restraints apart. Yet they held steady. An invisible force keeping her down, crackling against her skin like static.

She’s been like this for almost two full days. Thariel’s body protests the strain she’s putting on it, but still she fights to get free, flooded with terror and the singular need for escape. All she’s done is exhaust herself.

Limp after her most recent bout of struggling, panting for breath as her eyes stare, unfocused, at the floor in front of her. She doesn’t have to hear him to know he’s back. His presence is strong, his power like a solid thing in the air. Behind her, looming over her like a shadow, and Thariel shrinks.

Curled in on herself, against the energy bindings like a fly in a spider’s web, but no matter how small she tries to be she’s still caught in the open. Still trapped. Her breath catches in her throat.

He chuckles, a warm, light sound. Gentle, even. “Poor thing. You don’t need to be so afraid, you know. I just want to be friends.”

“No,” she says in hardly more than a breath. There’s a shuffle behind her, and she flinches hard. Fingernails dig into the ground in front of her as she leans forward. Any moment, she expects pain. To be hurt, to be punished for her defiance.

But he doesn’t, not yet.

Lucifer circles around to her front, unarmed, his white suit spotless and without so much as a wrinkle. He kneels in front of her, and now she’s scrambling back, leaning away from him as far as she can go.

Not far enough. Thariel stares up, wide eyed into a crimson gaze that stares back.

“It’s a pity you won’t see reason,” he says. “Truly. No matter how many times you get hurt by your own kin, you still want to follow their rules. Even Ranizel’s started to question the way things are run. Did you know that? Someone who hasn’t fallen thinks you’ve been treated unfairly, and he’s not nearly as worthy of a second chance as you.”

He smiles fondly, wistfully, and she can’t crawl away as his hands reach for her face. The flat of his palms against her cheeks, the curl of his fingertips around her jaw.

Power extends from him, strength from angelic blood, though long corrupted. It washes over her in a wave. Hot, like the water from a bath, creeping under her chilled skin and chasing away every trace of frost. Terror thrashed in her, but then the heat set in, melting the pain in her muscles. It drew away the tension. It left her dazed, boneless in her restraints, soothed in the worst way possible.

His voice is a low hum, a promise of safety and protection. “I can be merciful. I can be on your side. Look at you. All you want is not to be hurt anymore. It’s not a sin. You’ve fallen anyway, what point is there to following their orders? They don’t appreciate it. They want to kill you.”

And Thariel, her voice is a tiny, breathy thing, shaking despite this moment of comfort. “There is a reason those rules are in place. You’re not my friend. You’re the devil.”

He doesn’t look at all disappointed. No. He’s still smiling as he pulls away, and as his hands leave her face the warmth vanishes, abandoning her to feel hollow and cold. It like there’s a hole somewhere near her heart. A void that can’t be filled, torn out of her on purpose. “Yes, I’m the devil. And you’re an angel, aren’t you? You really should look the part if you’re going to insist on holding yourself to their standards.”

“W-what does that mean?”

“It means I’ve brought you something. I thought I’d give you back what you’ve lost.”

Lucifer moves as he talks, circling behind her again. Her bindings tighten, push her upright. They hold her in place as a hand tugs up the back of her shirt.

Her back exposed. The ugly scars where her wings once were. The knob of bone, though sanded down and smooth, near each shoulder-blade. Dead tissue, burnt beyond recognition.

It’s the worst feeling, to have that part of her be seen.

But then he touches those old burn marks, and power spiderwebs through the broken nerve-endings, bringing them back to life. Lucifer presses an open palm against the flat of her back, and Thariel cowers, keening as she feels it, too-sharp and too present.

A coil of energy around the back of her neck, bowing her head. Her shoulders are locked into place. Completely immobile, she’s helpless to stop him as he presses something else to her back.

It’s white-hot, sharp, the agony immediate and absolute. Thariel screams, trying to arch away. Thrashing, shoving every bit of power she has in a mindless struggle to be free from the pain, but it doesn’t stop. It spreads outward, coating the entirety of the scar.

And it doesn’t stop when Lucifer pulls away. It lingers, a heated paste that clings and bubbles, searing the flesh with no chance for reprieve. First one scar, then the other, drawing out a wail form her lungs until she has no air left with which to scream.

Thariel prays.

There’s no connection to heaven, and no one there can hear her, but she’s reaching out blindly. Begging for help and for strength and for rescue.

She feels a pressure at her back. He’s pushing something against the burn, and just like that night in the attic her pleas fall on uncaring ears. In desperation her cries turn to him. “Stop, stop! Please, stop! I’m sorry, please, stop, just stop, please stop-”

Though still restrained, the bonds loosen, and Thariel buckles forward, her head falling onto her arms with an unwilling sob. There’s a weight on either side of her, both strange and familiar, a word just caught on the back of the tongue but too vague to name.

And he’s right to say that she just doesn’t want to be hurt, because between her cries and gasps she’s still begging him. But it’s still a sin; No angel should ask the devil of anything.

“Shh.” His hand is under her jaw, coaxing her up. “Look. Isn’t this what you wanted? This is your reward for following their rules.”

It takes her a moment to see it. To see anything through the pain, and the tears, and the sick coil in her stomach.

Upon her back, stretching out behind her, are two feathered wings. Plastic, fake. They’ve been glued on. It’s the glue that’s burning her.

When she moves, they move. The feathers drag against the ground, and the pressure tugs at her burns, the nerves still alive and searing. Her damaged skin threatens to tear, even at that small pressure.

She doesn’t think she could take it. She can’t fathom surviving the agony of feeling these false wings torn from her while her back can still feel. As if he knew her thoughts, (and Heavens, he did, didn’t he?) he placed a hand on the curve of one wing and applied the tiniest tug of warning. “Well? Do you like them? Are you grateful for what you’ve been given?”

“Y-yes,” she responds, breath hitching with panic, “yes I, I do. Thank you. Yes, please, don’t take- don’t take them away. Please. I l-like them. Please.”

Relief floods her when he pulls his hand away. He goes back to her her chin instead, and a part of her wants him to fill her with his energy again, to make everything stop, even for a little while.

His eyes are warm, soft things. Caring, like a kind mentor’s. “You claim to follow Heaven’s law, yet here you are. You just lied to me, little angel. Isn’t that against the rules?”

He uses his power to grab at the fake wings, and Thariel’s heart almost stops as he brushes a thumb over her cheek.

“I can be merciful. I can also make your life a living hell, and I can rip you apart piece by piece until every passing second feels like hours. I can keep you screaming for years. Decades. For eternity. I can keep going until your will buckles and your every thought is dedicated to my will. But you don’t want that, do you?”

“No.”

“Are we friends?”

“...yes.”

“And what do friends say when they give each other gifts, Thariel?”

“T-thank, thank you.”

The pressure at her back eases. He lets go of her wings, and curls a hand behind her head, carding a hand through her hair. “There there. That wasn’t so hard. See? I knew you had more potential than Ranizel ever had.”

“Thank you.”

There is no soothing rush of warmth, and Lucifer doesn’t stay long after that. He has more planned. He wants to see if this threat of his sticks.

When he leaves, she still has full feeling in her back. She still has those false wings glued to her.

And alone with her thoughts, she’s forced to face that she truly is a fallen now. She has made a choice that no true angel would make, and maybe these plastic feathers are a fitting punishment for every time she’s pretended to still be good since her fall.

#Whump #Attic Angel #Wing whump #Creepy whumper #creepy comfort #Tw: Torture #Tw: burns #tw: humiliation #Tw: restrained #Tw: stress position #tw: victim blaming #tw: manipulation #Attic Angel False Wings #wayward's favorites

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